{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_3350/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_3350","id":"gutenberg_3350","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3350","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: French Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","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\nTHE WANDERING JEW\n\nBy Eugene Sue\n\n\n\nA NOTE ON THE AUTHOR OF THE WANDERING JEW: EUGENE SUE\n\n(1804-1857)\n\nTime and again physicians and seamen have made noteworthy reputations as\nnovelists. But it is rare in the annals of literature that a man trained\nin both professions should have gained his greatest fame as a writer of\nnovels. Eugene Sue began his career as a physician and surgeon, and then\nspent six years in the French Navy. In 1830, when he returned to\nFrance, he inherited his father's rich estate and was free to follow\nhis inclination to write. His first novel, \"Plick et Plock\", met with\nan unexpected success, and he at once foreswore the arts of healing and\nnavigation for the precarious life of a man of letters. With varying\nsuccess he produced books from his inexhaustible store of personal\nexperiences as a doctor and sailor. In 1837, he wrote an authoritative\nwork on the French Navy, \"Histoire de la marine Francaise\".\n\nMore and more the novel appealed to his imagination and suited his\ngifts. His themes ranged from the fabulous to the strictly historical,\nand he became popular as a writer of romance and fictionized fact.\nHis plays, however, were persistent failures. When he published \"The\nMysteries of Paris\", his national fame was assured, and with the writing\nof \"The Wandering Jew\" he achieved world-wide renown. Then, at the\nheight of his literary career, Eugene Sue was driven into exile after\nLouis Napoleon overthrew the Constitutional Government in a coup d'etat\nand had himself officially proclaimed Emperor Napoleon III. The author\nof \"The Wandering Jew\" died in banishment five years later.\n\n\n\n  Book I.\n\n       Part First.--The Transgression.\n       Prologue.--The Lands End of the World.\n  I.        Morok\n  II.       The Travellers\n  III.      The Arrival\n  IV.       Morok and Dagobert\n  V.        Rose and Blanche\n  VI.       The Secret\n  VII.      The Traveller\n  VIII.     Extracts from General Simon's Diary\n  IX.       The Cages\n  X.        The Surprise\n  XI.       Jovial and Death\n  XII.      The Burgomaster\n  XIII.     The Judgment\n  XIV.      The Decision\n  XV.       The Despatches\n  XVI.      The Orders\n\n\n\n  Book II.\n\n       Interval.--The Wandering Jew's Sentence.\n\n  XVII.     The Ajoupa\n  XVIII.    The Tattooing\n  XIX.      The Smuggler\n  XX.       M. Joshua Van Dael\n  XXI.      The Ruins of Tchandi\n  XXII.     The Ambuscade\n  XXIII.    M. Rodin\n  XXIV.     The Tempest\n  XXV.      The Shipwreck\n  XXVI.     The Departure for Paris\n  XXVII.    Dagobert's Wife\n  XXVIII.   The Sister of the Bacchanal Queen\n  XXIX.     Agricola Baudoin\n  XXX.      The Return\n  XXXI.     Agricola and Mother Bunch\n  XXXII.    The Awakening\n  XXXIII.   The Pavilion\n  XXXIV.    Adrienne at her Toilet\n  XXXV.     The Interview\n\n\n\n  Book III.\n\n  XXXVI.    A Female Jesuit\n  XXXVII.   The Plot\n  XXXVIII.  Adrienne's  Enemies\n  XXXIX.    The Skirmish\n  XL.       The Revolt\n  XLI.      Treachery\n  XLII.     The Snare\n  XLIII.    A False Friend\n  XLIV.     The Minister's Cabinet\n  XLV.      The Visit\n  XLVI.     Presentiments\n  XLVII.    The Letter\n  XLVIII.   The Confessional\n  XLIX.     My Lord and Spoil-sport\n  L.        Appearances\n  LI.       The Convent\n  LII.      The Influence of a Confessor\n  LIII.     The Examination\n\n\n\n  Book IV.\n\n  Part Second.--The Chastisement.\n  Prologue.--The Bird's-Eye View of Two Worlds.\n\n  I.        The Masquerade\n  II.       The Contrast\n  III.      The Carouse\n  IV.       The Farewell\n  V.        The Florine\n  VI.       Mother Sainte-Perpetue\n  VII.      The Temptation\n  VIII.     Mother Bunch and Mdlle. De Cardoville\n  IX.       The Encounters--The Meeting\n  XI.       Discoveries\n  XII.      The Penal Code\n  XIII.     Burglary\n\n\n\n  Book V.\n\n  XIV.      The Eve of a Great Day\n  XV.       The Thug\n  XVI.      The Two Brothers of the Good Work\n  XVII.     The House in the Rue Saint-Francois\n  XVIII.    Debit and Credit\n  XIX.      The Heir\n  XX.       The Rupture\n  XXI.      The Change\n  XXII.     The Red Room\n  XXIII.    The Testament\n  XXIV.     The Last Stroke of Noon\n  XXV.      The Deed of Gift\n\n\n  Book VI.\n\n  Part Second.--The Chastisement. (Concluded.)\n\n  XXVI.     A Good Genius\n  XXVII.    The First Last, And the Last First\n  XXVIII.   The Stranger\n  XXIX.     The Den\n  XXX.      An Unexpected Visit\n  XXXI.     Friendly Services\n  XXXII.    The Advice\n  XXXIII.   The Accuser\n  XXXIV.    Father d'Aigrigny's Secretary\n  XXXV.     Sympathy\n  XXXVI.    Suspicions\n  XXXVII.   Excuses\n  XXXVIII.  Revelations\n  XXXIX.    Pierre Simon\n\n\n\n  Book VII.\n\n  XL.       The East Indian in Paris\n  XLI.      Rising\n  XLII.     Doubts\n  XLIII.    The Letter\n  XLIV.     Adrienne and Djalma\n  XLV.      The Consultation\n  XLVI.     Mother Bunch's Diary\n  XLVII.    The Diary Continued\n  XLVIII.   The Discovery\n  XLIX.     The Trysting-Place of the Wolves\n  L.        The Common Dwelling-House\n  LI.       The Secret\n  LII.      Revelations\n\n  Book VIII.\n\n  Part Third.--The Redemption.\n\n  I.        The Wandering Jew's Chastisement\n  II.       The Descendants of the Wandering Jew\n  III.      The Attack\n  IV.       The Wolves and the Devourers\n  V.        The Return\n  VI.       The Go-Between\n  VII.      Another Secret\n  VIII.     The Confession\n  IX.       Love\n  X.        The Execution\n  XI.       The Champs-Elysees\n  XII.      Behind the Scenes\n  XIII.     Up with the Curtain\n  XIV.      Death\n\n\n\n  Book IX.\n\n  XV.       The Constant Wanderer\n  XVI.      The Luncheon\n  XVII.     Rendering the Account\n  XVIII.    The Square of Notre Dame\n  XIX.      The Cholera Masquerade\n  XX.       The Defiance\n  XXI.      Brandy to the Rescue\n  XXII.     Memories\n  XXIII.    The Poisoner\n  XXIV.     In the Cathedral\n  XXV.      The Murderers\n  XXVI.     The Patient\n  XXVII.    The Lure\n  XXVIII.   Good News\n  XXIX.     The Operation\n  XXX.      The Torture\n  XXXI.     Vice and Virtue\n  XXXII.    Suicide\n\n\n\n  Book X.\n\n  XXXIII.   Confessions\n  XXXIV.    More Confessions\n  XXXV.     The Rivals\n  XXXVI.    The Interview\n  XXXVII.   Soothing Words\n  XXXVIII.  The Two Carriages\n  XXXIX.    The Appointment\n  XL.       Anxiety\n  XLI.      Adrienne and Djalma\n  XLII.     \"The Imitation\"\n  XLIII.    Prayer\n  XLIV.     Remembrances\n  XLV.      The Blockhead\n  XLVI.     The Anonymous Letters\n  XLVII.    The Golden City\n  XLVIII.   The Stung Lion\n  XLIX.     The Test\n\n\n\n  Book XI.\n\n  L.        The Ruins of the Abbey of St. John the Baptist\n  LI.       The Calvary\n  LII.      The Council\n  LIII.     Happiness\n  LIV.      Duty\n  LV.       The Improvised Hospital\n  LVI.      Hydrophobia\n  LVII.     The Guardian Angel\n  LVIII.    Ruin\n  LIX.      Memories\n  LX.       The Ordeal\n  LXI.      Ambition\n  LXII.     To a Socius, a Socius and a Half\n  LXIII.    Faringhea's Affection\n  LXIV.     An Evening at St. Colombe's\n  LXV.      The Nuptial Bed\n  LXVI.     A Duel to the Death\n  LXVII.    A Message\n  LXVIII.   The First of June\n\n\n  Epilogue.\n\n  I.        Four Years After\n  II.       The Redemption\n\n\n\n\nTHE WANDERING JEW.\n\n\n\n\nFirst Part.--The Transgression.\n\n\n\n\nPrologue.\n\n\n\n\nThe Land's End of Two Worlds.\n\nThe Arctic Ocean encircles with a belt of eternal ice the desert\nconfines of Siberia and North America--the uttermost limits of the Old\nand New worlds, separated by the narrow, channel, known as Behring's\nStraits.\n\nThe last days of September have arrived.\n\nThe equinox has brought with it darkness and Northern storms, and night\nwill quickly close the short and dismal polar day. The sky of a dull\nand leaden blue is faintly lighted by a sun without warmth, whose\nwhite disk, scarcely seen above the horizon, pales before the dazzling,\nbrilliancy of the snow that covers, as far as the eyes can reach, the\nboundless steppes.\n\nTo the North, this desert is bounded by a ragged coast, bristling with\nhuge black rocks.\n\nAt the base of this Titanic mass lied enchained the petrified ocean,\nwhose spell-bound waves appear fired as vast ranges of ice mountains,\ntheir blue peaks fading away in the far-off frost smoke, or snow vapor.\n\nBetween the twin-peaks of Cape East, the termination of Siberia, the\nsullen sea is seen to drive tall icebergs across a streak of dead green.\nThere lies Behring's Straits.\n\nOpposite, and towering over the channel, rise the granite masses of Cape\nPrince of Wales, the headland of North America.\n\nThese lonely latitudes do not belong to the habitable world; for the\npiercing cold shivers the stones, splits the trees, and causes the earth\nto burst asunder, which, throwing forth showers of icy spangles seems\ncapable of enduring this solitude of frost and tempest, of famine and\ndeath.\n\nAnd yet, strange to say, footprints may be traced on the snow, covering\nthese headlands on either side of Behring's Straits.\n\nOn the American shore, the footprints are small and light, thus\nbetraying the passage of a woman.\n\nShe has been hastening up the rocky peak, whence the drifts of Siberia\nare visible.\n\nOn the latter ground, footprints larger and deeper betoken the passing\nof a man. He also was on his way to the Straits.\n\nIt would seem that this man and woman had arrived here from opposite\ndirections, in hope of catching a glimpse of one another, across the arm\nof the sea dividing the two worlds--the Old and the New.\n\nMore strange still! the man and the woman have crossed the solitudes\nduring a terrific storm! Black pines, the growth of centuries, pointing\ntheir bent heads in different parts of the solitude like crosses in a\nchurchyard, have been uprooted, rent, and hurled aside by the blasts!\n\nYet the two travellers face this furious tempest, which has plucked up\ntrees, and pounded the frozen masses into splinters, with the roar of\nthunder.\n\nThey face it, without for one single instant deviating from the straight\nline hitherto followed by them.\n\nWho then are these two beings who advance thus calmly amidst the storms\nand convulsions of nature?\n\nIs it by chance, or design, or destiny, that the seven nails in the sole\nof the man's shoe form a cross--thus:\n\n               *\n             * * *\n               *\n               *\n               *\n\nEverywhere he leaves this impress behind him.\n\nOn the smooth and polished snow, these footmarks seem imprinted by a\nfoot of brass on a marble floor.\n\nNight without twilight has soon succeeded day--a night of foreboding\ngloom.\n\nThe brilliant reflection of the snow renders the white steppes still\nvisible beneath the azure darkness of the sky; and the pale stars\nglimmer on the obscure and frozen dome.\n\nSolemn silence reigns.\n\nBut, towards the Straits, a faint light appears.\n\nAt first, a gentle, bluish light, such as precedes moonrise; it\nincreases in brightness, and assumes a ruddy hue.\n\nDarkness thickens in every other direction; the white wilds of the\ndesert are now scarcely visible under the black vault of the firmament.\n\nStrange and confused noises are heard amidst this obscurity.\n\nThey sound like the flight of large night--birds--now flapping\nnow-heavily skimming over the steppes-now descending.\n\nBut no cry is heard.\n\nThis silent terror heralds the approach of one of those imposing\nphenomena that awe alike the most ferocious and the most harmless, of\nanimated beings. An Aurora Borealis (magnificent sight!) common in the\npolar regions, suddenly beams forth.\n\nA half circle of dazzling whiteness becomes visible in the horizon.\nImmense columns of light stream forth from this dazzling centre, rising\nto a great height, illuminating earth, sea, and sky. Then a brilliant\nreflection, like the blaze of a conflagration, steals over the snow of\nthe desert, purples the summits of the mountains of ice, and imparts a\ndark red hue to the black rocks of both continents.\n\nAfter attaining this magnificent brilliancy, the Northern Lights fade\naway gradually, and their vivid glow is lost in a luminous fog.\n\nJust then, by a wondrous mirage an effect very common in high latitudes,\nthe American Coast, though separated from Siberia by a broad arm of the\nsea, loomed so close that a bridge might seemingly be thrown from one\nworld to other.\n\nThen human forms appeared in the transparent azure haze overspreading\nboth forelands.\n\nOn the Siberian Cape, a man on his knees, stretched his arms towards\nAmerica, with an expression of inconceivable despair.\n\nOn the American promontory, a young and handsome woman replied to the\nman's despairing gesture by pointing to heaven.\n\nFor some seconds, these two tall figures stood out, pale and shadowy, in\nthe farewell gleams of the Aurora.\n\nBut the fog thickens, and all is lost in the darkness.\n\nWhence came the two beings, who met thus amidst polar glaciers, at the\nextremities of the Old and New worlds?\n\nWho were the two creatures, brought near for a moment by a deceitful\nmirage, but who seemed eternally separated?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I. MOROK.\n\nThe month of October, 1831, draws to its close.\n\nThough it is still day, a brass lamp, with four burners, illumines the\ncracked walls of a large loft, whose solitary window is closed against\nouter light. A ladder, with its top rungs coming up through an open trap\nleads to it.\n\nHere and there at random on the floor lie iron chains, spiked collars,\nsaw-toothed snaffles, muzzles bristling with nails, and long iron rods\nset in wooden handles. In one corner stands a portable furnace, such as\ntinkers use to melt their spelter; charcoal and dry chips fill it, so\nthat a spark would suffice to kindle this furnace in a minute.\n\nNot far from this collection of ugly instruments, putting one in mind\nof a torturer's kit of tools, there are some articles of defence and\noffence of a bygone age. A coat of mail, with links so flexible, close,\nand light, that it resembles steel tissue, hangs from a box beside iron\ncuishes and arm-pieces, in good condition, even to being properly fitted\nwith straps. A mace, and two long three-cornered-headed pikes, with ash\nhandles, strong, and light at the same time; spotted with lately-shed\nblood, complete the armory, modernized somewhat by the presence of two\nTyrolese rifles, loaded and primed.\n\nAlong with this arsenal of murderous weapons and out-of-date\ninstruments, is strangely mingled a collection of very different\nobjects, being small glass-lidded boxes, full of rosaries, chaplets,\nmedals, AGNUS DEI, holy water bottles, framed pictures of saints, etc.,\nnot to forget a goodly number of those chapbooks, struck off in Friburg\non coarse bluish paper, in which you can hear about miracles of our own\ntime, or \"Jesus Christ's Letter to a true believer,\" containing awful\npredictions, as for the years 1831 and '32, about impious revolutionary\nFrance.\n\nOne of those canvas daubs, with which strolling showmen adorn their\nbooths, hangs from a rafter, no doubt to prevent its being spoilt by too\nlong rolling up. It bore the following legend:\n\n \"THE DOWNRIGHT TRUE AND MOST MEMORABLE CONVERSION OF IGNATIUS MOROK,\n KNOWN AS THE PROPHET, HAPPENING IN FRIBURG, 1828TH YEAR OF GRACE.\"\n\nThis picture, of a size larger than natural, of gaudy color, and in bad\ntaste, is divided into three parts, each presenting an important phase\nin the life of the convert, surnamed \"The Prophet.\" In the first, behold\na long-bearded man, the hair almost white, with uncouth face, and clad\nin reindeer skin, like the Siberian savage. His black foreskin cap is\ntopped with a raven's head; his features express terror. Bent forward in\nhis sledge, which half-a-dozen huge tawny dogs draw over the snow, he\nis fleeing from the pursuit of a pack of foxes, wolves, and big bears,\nwhose gaping jaws, and formidable teeth, seem quite capable of devouring\nman, sledge, and dogs, a hundred times over. Beneath this section,\nreads:\n\n \"IN 1810, MOROK, THE IDOLATER, FLED FROM WILD BEASTS.\"\n\nIn the second picture, Morok, decently clad in a catechumen's white gown\nkneels, with clasped hands, to a man who wears a white neckcloth, and\nflowing black robe. In a corner, a tall angel, of repulsive aspect,\nholds a trumpet in one hand, and flourishes a flaming sword with the\nother, while the words which follow flow out of his mouth, in red\nletters on a black ground:\n\n \"MOROK, THE IDOLATER, FLED FROM WILD BEASTS; BUT WILD BEASTS WILL FLEE\n FROM IGNATIUS MOROK, CONVERTED AND BAPTIZED IN FRIBURG.\"\n\nThus, in the last compartment, the new convert proudly, boastfully, and\ntriumphantly parades himself in a flowing robe of blue; head up, left\narm akimbo, right hand outstretched, he seems to scare the wits out of a\nmultitude of lions, tigers, hyenas, and bears, who, with sheathed claws,\nand masked teeth, crouch at his feet, awestricken, and submissive.\n\nUnder this, is the concluding moral:\n\n \"IGNATIUS MOROK BEING CONVERTED, WILD BEASTS CROUCH BEFORE HIM.\"\n\nNot far from this canvas are several parcels of halfpenny books,\nlikewise from the Friburg press, which relate by what an astounding\nmiracle Morok, the Idolater, acquired a supernatural power almost\ndivine, the moment he was converted--a power which the wildest animal\ncould not resist, and which was testified to every day by the lion\ntamer's performances, \"given less to display his courage than to show\nhis praise unto the Lord.\"\n\nThrough the trap-door which opens into the loft, reek up puffs of a\nrank, sour, penetrating odor. From time to time are heard sonorous\ngrowls and deep breathings, followed by a dull sound, as of great bodies\nstretching themselves heavily along the floor.\n\nA man is alone in this loft. It is Morok, the tamer of wild beasts,\nsurnamed the Prophet.\n\nHe is forty years old, of middle height, with lank limbs, and an\nexceedingly spare frame; he is wrapped in a long, blood-red pelisse,\nlined with black fur; his complexion, fair by nature is bronzed by the\nwandering life he has led from childhood; his hair, of that dead yellow\npeculiar to certain races of the Polar countries, falls straight\nand stiff down his shoulders; and his thin, sharp, hooked nose, and\nprominent cheek-bones, surmount a long beard, bleached almost to\nwhiteness. Peculiarly marking the physiognomy of this man is the wide\nopen eye, with its tawny pupil ever encircled by a rim of white.\nThis fixed, extraordinary look, exercises a real fascination over\nanimals--which, however, does not prevent the Prophet from also\nemploying, to tame them, the terrible arsenal around him.\n\nSeated at a table, he has just opened the false bottom of a box, filled\nwith chaplets and other toys, for the use of the devout. Beneath this\nfalse bottom, secured by a secret lock, are several sealed envelopes,\nwith no other address than a number, combined with a letter of the\nalphabet. The Prophet takes one of these packets, conceals it in the\npocket of his pelisse, and, closing the secret fastening of the false\nbottom, replaces the box upon a shelf.\n\nThis scene occurs about four o'clock in the afternoon, in the White\nFalcon, the only hostelry in the little village of Mockern, situated\nnear Leipsic, as you come from the north towards France.\n\nAfter a few moments, the loft is shaken by a hoarse roaring from below.\n\n\"Judas! be quiet!\" exclaims the Prophet, in a menacing tone, as he turns\nhis head towards the trap door.\n\nAnother deep growl is heard, formidable as distant thunder.\n\n\"Lie down, Cain!\" cries Morok, starting from his seat.\n\nA third roar, of inexpressible ferocity, bursts suddenly on the ear.\n\n\"Death! Will you have done,\" cries the Prophet, rushing towards the trap\ndoor, and addressing a third invisible animal, which bears this ghastly\nname.\n\nNotwithstanding the habitual authority of his voice--notwithstanding\nhis reiterated threats--the brute-tamer cannot obtain silence: on the\ncontrary, the barking of several dogs is soon added to the roaring of\nthe wild beasts. Morok seizes a pike, and approaches the ladder; he is\nabout to descend, when he sees some one issuing from the aperture.\n\nThe new-comer has a brown, sun-burnt face; he wears a gray hat, bell\ncrowned and broad-brimmed, with a short jacket, and wide trousers of\ngreen cloth; his dusty leathern gaiters show that he has walked some\ndistance; a game-bag is fastened by straps to his back.\n\n\"The devil take the brutes!\" cried he, as he set foot on the floor;\n\"one would think they'd forgotten me in three days. Judas thrust his paw\nthrough the bars of his cage, and Death danced like a fury. They don't\nknow me any more, it seems?\"\n\nThis was said in German. Morok answered in the same language, but with a\nslightly foreign accent.\n\n\"Good or bad news, Karl?\" he inquired, with some uneasiness.\n\n\"Good news.\"\n\n\"You've met them!\"\n\n\"Yesterday; two leagues from Wittenberg.\"\n\n\"Heaven be praised!\" cried Morok, clasping his hands with intense\nsatisfaction.\n\n\"Oh, of course, 'tis the direct road from Russia to France, 'twas a\nthousand to one that we should find them somewhere between Wittenberg\nand Leipsic.\"\n\n\"And the description?\"\n\n\"Very close: two young girls in mourning; horse, white; the old man has\nlong moustache, blue forage-cap; gray topcoat and a Siberian dog at his\nheels.\"\n\n\"And where did you leave them?\"\n\n\"A league hence. They will be here within the hour.\"\n\n\"And in this inn--since it is the only one in the village,\" said Morok,\nwith a pensive air.\n\n\"And night drawing on,\" added Karl.\n\n\"Did you get the old man to talk?\"\n\n\"Him!--you don't suppose it!\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Go, and try yourself.\"\n\n\"And for what reason?\"\n\n\"Impossible.\"\n\n\"Impossible--why?\"\n\n\"You shall know all about it. Yesterday, as if I had fallen in with\nthem by chance, I followed them to the place where they stopped for the\nnight. I spoke in German to the tall old man, accosting him, as is usual\nwith wayfarers, 'Good-day, and a pleasant journey, comrade!' But, for an\nanswer, he looked askant at me, and pointed with, the end of his stick\nto the other side of the road.\"\n\n\"He is a Frenchman, and, perhaps, does not understand German.\"\n\n\"He speaks it, at least as well as you; for at the inn I heard him ask\nthe host for whatever he and the young girls wanted.\"\n\n\"And did you not again attempt to engage him in conversation?\"\n\n\"Once only; but I met with such a rough reception, that for fear of\nmaking mischief, I did not try again. Besides, between ourselves, I can\ntell you this man has a devilish ugly look; believe me, in spite of his\ngray moustache, he looks so vigorous and resolute, though with no more\nflesh on him than a carcass, that I don't know whether he or my mate\nGiant Goliath, would have the best of it in a struggle. I know not your\nplans: only take care, master--take care!\"\n\n\"My black panther of Java was also very vigorous and very vicious,\" said\nMorok, with a grim, disdainful, smile.\n\n\"What, Death? Yes; in truth; and she is vigorous and vicious as ever.\nOnly to you she is almost mild.\"\n\n\"And thus I will break this tall old man; notwithstanding his strength\nand surliness.\"\n\n\"Humph! humph! be on your guard, master. You are clever, you are as\nbrave as any one; but, believe me, you will never make a lamb out of the\nold wolf that will be here presently.\"\n\n\"Does not my lion, Cain--does not my tiger, Judas, crouch in terror\nbefore me?\"\n\n\"Yes, I believe you there--because you have means--\"\n\n\"Because I have faith: that is all--and it is all,\" said Morok,\nimperiously interrupting Karl, and accompanying these words with such a\nlook, that the other hung his head and was silent.\n\n\"Why should not he whom the Lord upholds in his struggle with wild\nbeasts, be also upheld in his struggle with men, when those men are\nperverse and impious?\" added the Prophet, with a triumphant, inspired\nair.\n\nWhether from belief in his master's conviction, or from inability to\nengage in a controversy with him on so delicate a subject, Karl answered\nthe Prophet, humbly: \"you are wiser than I am, master; what you do must\nbe well done.\"\n\n\"Did you follow this old man and these two young girls all day long?\"\nresumed the Prophet, after a moment's silence.\n\n\"Yes; but at a distance. As I know the country well, I sometimes cut\nacross a valley, sometimes over a hill, keeping my eye upon the road,\nwhere they were always to be seen. The last time I saw them, I was hid\nbehind the water-mill by the potteries. As they were on the highway for\nthis place, and night was drawing on, I quickened my pace to get here\nbefore them, and be the bearer of what you call good news.\"\n\n\"Very good--yes--very good: and you shall be rewarded; for if these\npeople had escaped me--\"\n\nThe Prophet started, and did not conclude the sentence. The expression\nof his face, and the tones of his voice, indicated the importance of the\nintelligence which had just been brought him.\n\n\"In truth,\" rejoined Karl, \"it may be worth attending to; for that\nRussian courier, all plastered with lace, who came, without slacking\nbridle, from St. Petersburg to Leipsic, only to see you, rode so fast,\nperhaps, for the purpose--\"\n\nMorok abruptly interrupted Karl, and said:\n\n\"Who told you that the arrival of the courier had anything to do with\nthese travellers? You are mistaken; you should only know what I choose\nto tell you.\"\n\n\"Well, master, forgive me, and let's say no more about it. So! I will\nget rid of my game-bag, and go help Goliath to feed the brutes, for\ntheir supper time draws near, if it is not already past. Does our big\ngiant grow lazy, master?\"\n\n\"Goliath is gone out; he must not know that you are returned; above all,\nthe tall old man and the maidens must not see you here--it would make\nthem suspect something.\"\n\n\"Where do you wish me to go, then?\"\n\n\"Into the loft, at the end of the stable, and wait my orders; you may\nthis night have to set out for Leipsic.\"\n\n\"As you please; I have some provisions left in my pouch, and can sup in\nthe loft whilst I rest myself.\"\n\n\"Go.\"\n\n\"Master, remember what I told you. Beware of that old fellow with\nthe gray moustache; I think he's devilish tough; I'm up to these\nthings--he's an ugly customer--be on your guard!\"\n\n\"Be quite easy! I am always on my guard,\" said Morok.\n\n\"Then good luck to you, master!\"--and Karl, having reached the ladder,\nsuddenly disappeared.\n\nAfter making a friendly farewell gesture to his servant, the Prophet\nwalked up and down for some time, with an air of deep meditation; then,\napproaching the box which contained the papers, he took out a pretty\nlong letter, and read it over and over with profound attention. From\ntime to time he rose and went to the closed window, which looked upon\nthe inner court of the inn, and appealed to listen anxiously; for he\nwaited with impatience the arrival of the three persons whose approach\nhad just been announced to him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II. THE TRAVELLERS.\n\nWhile the above scene was passing in the White Falcon at Mockern, the\nthree persons whose arrival Morok was so anxiously expecting, travelled\non leisurely in the midst of smiling meadows, bounded on one side by\na river, the current of which turned a mill; and on the other by the\nhighway leading to the village, which was situated on an eminence, at\nabout a league's distance.\n\nThe sky was beautifully serene; the bubbling of the river, beaten by the\nmill-wheel and sparkling with foam, alone broke upon the silence of an\nevening profoundly calm. Thick willows, bending over the river, covered\nit with their green transparent shadow; whilst, further on, the stream\nreflected so splendidly the blue heavens and the glowing tints of the\nwest, that, but for the hills which rose between it and the sky, the\ngold and azure of the water would have mingled in one dazzling sheet\nwith the gold and azure of the firmament. The tall reeds on the bank\nbent their black velvet heads beneath the light breath of the breeze\nthat rises at the close of day--for the sun was gradually sinking behind\na broad streak of purple clouds, fringed with fire. The tinkling bells\nof a flock of sheep sounded from afar in the clear and sonorous air.\n\nAlong a path trodden in the grass of the meadow, two girls, almost\nchildren--for they had but just completed their fifteenth year--were\nriding on a white horse of medium size, seated upon a large saddle with\na back to it, which easily took them both in, for their figures were\nslight and delicate.\n\nA man of tall stature, with a sun-burnt face, and long gray moustache,\nwas leading the horse by the bridle, and ever and anon turned towards\nthe girls, with an air of solicitude at once respectful and paternal. He\nleaned upon a long staff; his still robust shoulders carried a soldier's\nknapsack; his dusty shoes, and step that began to drag a little, showed\nthat he had walked a long way.\n\nOne of those dogs which the tribes of Northern Siberia harness to their\nsledges--a sturdy animal, nearly of the size, form, and hairy coat of\nthe wolf--followed closely in the steps of the leader of this little\ncaravan, never quitting, as it is commonly said, the heels of his\nmaster.\n\nNothing could be more charming than the group formed by the girls. One\nheld with her left hand the flowing reins, and with her right encircled\nthe waist of her sleeping sister, whose head reposed on her shoulder.\nEach step of the horse gave a graceful swaying to these pliant forms,\nand swung their little feet, which rested on a wooden ledge in lieu of a\nstirrup.\n\nThese twin sisters, by a sweet maternal caprice, had been called Rose\nand Blanche; they were now orphans, as might be seen by their sad\nmourning vestments, already much worn. Extremely, like in feature, and\nof the same size, it was necessary to be in the constant habit of seeing\nthem, to distinguish one from the other. The portrait of her who slept\nnot, might serve them for both of them; the only difference at the\nmoment being, that Rose was awake and discharging for that day the\nduties of elder sister--duties thus divided between then, according to\nthe fancy of their guide, who, being an old soldier of the empire, and a\nmartinet, had judged fit thus to alternate obedience and command between\nthe orphans.\n\nGreuze would have been inspired by the sight of those sweet faces,\ncoifed in close caps of black velvet, from beneath which strayed a\nprofusion of thick ringlets of a light chestnut color, floating down\ntheir necks and shoulders, and setting, as in a frame, their round,\nfirm, rosy, satin like cheeks. A carnation, bathed in dew, is of no\nricher softness than their blooming lips; the wood violet's tender blue\nwould appear dark beside the limpid azure of their large eyes, in which\nare depicted the sweetness of their characters, and the innocence of\ntheir age; a pure and white forehead, small nose, dimpled chin, complete\nthese graceful countenances, which present a delightful blending of\ncandor and gentleness.\n\nYou should have seen them too, when, on the threatening of rain or\nstorm, the old soldier carefully wrapped them both in a large pelisse\nof reindeer fur, and pulled over their heads the ample hood of this\nimpervious garment; then nothing could be more lovely than those fresh\nand smiling little faces, sheltered beneath the dark-colored cowl.\n\nBut now the evening was fine and calm; the heavy cloak hung in folds\nabout the knees of the sisters, and the hood rested on the back of their\nsaddle.\n\nRose, still encircling with her right arm the waist of her sleeping\nsister, contemplated her with an expression of ineffable tenderness,\nakin to maternal; for Rose was the eldest for the day, and an elder\nsister is almost a mother.\n\nNot only, did the orphans idolize each other; but, by a psychological\nphenomenon, frequent with twins, they were almost always simultaneously\naffected; the emotion of one was reflected instantly in the countenance\nof the other; the same cause would make both of them start or blush, so\nclosely did their young hearts beat in unison; all ingenuous joys, all\nbitter griefs were mutually felt, and shared in a moment between them.\n\nIn their infancy, simultaneously attacked by a severe illness, like two\nflowers on the same steam, they had drooped, grown pale, and languished\ntogether; but together also had they again found the pure, fresh hues of\nhealth.\n\nNeed it be said, that those mysterious, indissoluble links which united\nthe twins, could not have been broken without striking a mortal blow at\nthe existence of the poor children?\n\nThus the sweet birds called love-birds, only living in pairs, as if\nendowed with a common life, pine, despond, and die, when parted by a\nbarbarous hand.\n\nThe guide of the orphans, a man of about fifty-five, distinguished by\nhis military air and gait, preserved the immortal type of the warriors\nof the republic and the empire--some heroic of the people, who became,\nin one campaign, the first soldiers in the world--to prove what the\npeople can do, have done, and will renew, when the rulers of their\nchoice place in them confidence, strength, and their hope.\n\nThis soldier, guide of the sisters, and formerly a horse-grenadier\nof the Imperial Guard, had been nicknamed Dagobert. His grave, stern\ncountenance was strongly marked; his long, gray, and thick moustache\ncompletely concealed his upper lip, and united with a large imperial,\nwhich almost covered his chin; his meagre cheeks, brick-colored, and\ntanned as parchment, were carefully shaven; thick eyebrows, still black,\noverhung and shaded his light blue eyes; gold ear-rings reached down to\nhis white-edged military stock; his topcoat, of coarse gray cloth, was\nconfined at the waist by a leathern belt; and a blue foraging cap, with\na red tuft falling on his left shoulder, covered his bald head.\n\nOnce endowed with the strength of Hercules, and having still the\nheart of a lion--kind and patient, because he was courageous and\nstrong--Dagobert, notwithstanding his rough exterior, evinced for his\norphan charges an exquisite solicitude, a watchful kindness, and a\ntenderness almost maternal. Yes, motherly; for the heroism of affection\ndwells alike in the mother's heart and the soldiers.\n\nStoically calm, and repressing all emotion, the unchangeable coolness of\nDagobert never failed him; and, though few were less given to drollery,\nhe was now and then highly comic, by reason of the imperturbable gravity\nwith which he did everything.\n\nFrom time to time, as they journeyed on, Dagobert would turn to bestow\na caress or friendly word on the good white home upon which the orphans\nwere mounted. Its furrowed sides and long teeth betrayed a venerable\nage. Two deep scars, one on the flank and the other on the chest, proved\nthat his horse had been present in hot battles; nor was it without an\nact of pride that he sometimes shook his old military bridle, the brass\nstud of which was still adorned with an embossed eagle. His pace was\nregular, careful, and steady; his coat sleek, and his bulk moderate; the\nabundant foam, which covered his bit, bore witness to that health which\nhorses acquire by the constant, but not excessive, labor of a long\njourney, performed by short stages. Although he had been more than six\nmonths on the road, this excellent animal carried the orphans, with a\ntolerably heavy portmanteau fastened to the saddle, as freely as on the\nday they started.\n\nIf we have spoken of the excessive length of the horse's teeth--the\nunquestionable evidence of great age--it is chiefly because he often\ndisplayed them, for the sole purpose of acting up to his name (he was\ncalled Jovial), by playing a mischievous trick, of which the dog was the\nvictim.\n\nThis latter, who, doubtless for the sake of contrast, was called\nSpoil-sport (Rabat-joie), being always at his master's heels, found\nhimself within the reach of Jovial, who from time to time nipped him\ndelicately by the nape of the neck, lifted him from the ground, and\ncarried him thus for a moment. The dog, protected by his thick coat,\nand no doubt long accustomed to the practical jokes of his companion,\nsubmitted to all this with stoical complacency; save that, when he\nthought the jest had lasted long enough, he would turn his head and\ngrowl. Jovial understood him at the first hint, and hastened to set him\ndown again. At other times, just to avoid monotony, Jovial would gently\nbite the knapsack of the soldier, who seemed, as well as the dog, to be\nperfectly accustomed to his pleasantries.\n\nThese details will give a notion of the excellent understanding that\nexisted between the twin sisters, the old soldier, the horse, and the\ndog.\n\nThe little caravan proceeded on its ways anxious to reach, before night,\nthe village of Mockern, which was now visible on the summit of a hill.\nEver and anon, Dagobert looked around him, and seemed to be gathering up\nold recollections; by degrees, his countenance became clouded, and\nwhen he was at a little distance from the mill, the noise of which had\narrested his attention, he stopped, and drew his long moustache several\ntimes between his finger and thumb, the only sign which revealed in him\nany strong and concentrated feeling.\n\nJovial, having stopped short behind his master, Blanche, awakened\nsuddenly by the shock, raised her head; her first look sought her\nsister, on whom she smiled sweetly; then both exchanged glances of\nsurprise, on seeing Dagobert motionless, with his hands clasped and\nresting on his long staff, apparently affected by some painful and deep\nemotion.\n\nThe orphans just chanced to be at the foot of a little mound, the summit\nof which was buried in the thick foliage of a huge oak, planted half\nway down the slope. Perceiving that Dagobert continued motionless and\nabsorbed in thought, Rose leaned over her saddle, and, placing her\nlittle white hand on the shoulder of their guide, whose back was turned\ntowards her, said to him, in a soft voice, \"Whatever is the matter with\nyou, Dagobert?\"\n\nThe veteran turned; to the great astonishment of the sisters, they\nperceived a large tear, which traced its humid furrow down his tanned\ncheek, and lost itself in his thick moustache.\n\n\"You weeping--you!\" cried Rose and Blanche together, deeply moved. \"Tell\nus, we beseech, what is the matter?\"\n\nAfter a moments hesitation, the soldier brushed his horny hand across\nhis eyes, and said to the orphans in a faltering voice, whilst he\npointed to the old oak beside them: \"I shall make you sad, my poor\nchildren: and yet what I'm going to tell you has something sacred in it.\nWell, eighteen years ago, on the eve of the great battle of Leipsic,\nI carried your father to this very tree. He had two sabre-cuts on the\nhead, a musket ball in his shoulder; and it was here that he and I--who\nhad got two thrust of a lance for my share--were taken prisoners; and by\nwhom, worse luck?--why, a renegado! By a Frenchman--an emigrant marquis,\nthen colonel in the service of Russia--and who afterwards--but one day\nyou shall know all.\"\n\nThe veteran paused; then, pointing with his staff to the village of\nMockern, he added: \"Yes, yes, I can recognize the spot. Yonder are the\nheights where your brave father--who commanded us, and the Poles of\nthe Guard--overthrew the Russian Cuirassiers, after having carried\nthe battery. Ah, my children!\" continued the soldier, with the utmost\nsimplicity, \"I wish you had, seen your brave father, at the head of our\nbrigade of horse, rushing on in a desperate charge in the thick of a\nshower of shells!--There was nothing like it--not a soul so grand as\nhe!\"\n\nWhilst Dagobert thus expressed, in his own way, his regrets and\nrecollections, the two orphans--by a spontaneous movement, glided gently\nfrom the horse, and holding each other by the hand, went together to\nkneel at the foot of the old oak. And there, closely pressed in each\nother's arms, they began to weep; whilst the soldier, standing behind\nthem, with his hands crossed on his long staff, rested his bald front\nupon it.\n\n\"Come, come you must not fret,\" said he softly, when, after a pause of\na few minutes, he saw tears run down the blooming cheeks of Rose and\nBlanche, still on their knees. \"Perhaps we may find General Simon in\nParis,\" added he; \"I will explain all that to you this evening at the\ninn. I purposely waited for this day, to tell you many things about\nyour father; it was an idea of mine, because this day is a sort of\nanniversary.\"\n\n\"We weep because we think also of our mother,\" said Rose.\n\n\"Of our mother, whom we shall only see again in heaven,\" added Blanche.\n\nThe soldier raised the orphans, took each by the hand, and gazing from\none to the other with ineffable affection, rendered still the more\ntouching by the contrast of his rude features, \"You must not give way\nthus, my children,\" said he; \"it is true your mother was the best of\nwomen. When she lived in Poland, they called her the Pearl of Warsaw--it\nought to have been the Pearl of the Whole World--for in the whole world\nyou could not have found her match. No--no!\"\n\nThe voice of Dagobert faltered; he paused, and drew his long gray\nmoustache between finger and thumb, as was his habit. \"Listen, my\ngirls,\" he resumed, when he had mastered his emotion; \"your mother could\ngive you none but the best advice, eh?\"\n\n\"Yes Dagobert.\"\n\n\"Well, what instructions did she give you before she died? To think\noften of her, but without grieving?\"\n\n\"It is true; she told us than our Father in heaven, always good to poor\nmothers whose children are left on earth, would permit her to hear us\nfrom above,\" said Blanche.\n\n\"And that her eyes would be ever fixed upon us,\" added Rose.\n\nAnd the two, by a spontaneous impulse, replete with the most touching\ngrace, joined hands, raised their innocent looks to heaven, and\nexclaimed, with that beautiful faith natural to their age: \"Is it not\nso, mother?--thou seest us?--thou hearest us?\"\n\n\"Since your mother sees and hears you,\" said Dagobert, much moved, \"do\nnot grieve her by fretting. She forbade you to do so.\"\n\n\"You are right, Dagobert. We will not cry any more.\"--And the orphans\ndried their eyes.\n\nDagobert, in the opinion of the devout, would have passed for a very\nheathen. In Spain, he had found pleasure in cutting down those monks of\nall orders and colors, who, bearing crucifix in one hand, and poniard\nin the other, fought not for liberty--the Inquisition had strangled her\ncenturies ago--but, for their monstrous privileges. Yet, in forty years,\nDagobert had witnessed so many sublime and awful scenes--he had been\nso many times face to face with death--that the instinct of natural\nreligion, common to every simple, honest heart, had always remained\nuppermost in his soul. Therefore, though he did not share in the\nconsoling faith of the two sisters, he would have held as criminal any\nattempt to weaken its influence.\n\nSeeing them this downcast, he thus resumed: \"That's right, my\npretty ones: I prefer to hear you chat as you did this morning and\nyesterday--laughing at times, and answering me when I speak, instead of\nbeing so much engrossed with your own talk. Yes, yes, my little ladies!\nyou seem to have had famous secrets together these last two days--so,\nmuch the better, if it amuses you.\"\n\nThe sisters colored, and exchanged a subdued smile, which contrasted\nwith the tears that yet filled their eyes, and Rose said to the soldier,\nwith a little embarrassment. \"No, I assure you, Dagobert, we talk of\nnothing in particular.\"\n\n\"Well, well; I don't wish to know it. Come, rest yourselves, a few\nmoments more, and then we must start again; for it grows late, and we\nhave to reach Mockern before night, so that we may be early on the road\nto-morrow.\"\n\n\"Have we still a long, long way to go?\" asked Rose.\n\n\"What, to reach Paris? Yes, my children; some hundred days' march. We\ndon't travel quick, but we get on; and we travel cheap, because we have\na light purse. A closet for you, a straw mattress and a blanket at your\ndoor for me, with Spoil-sport on my feet, and a clean litter for old\nJovial, these are our whole traveling expenses. I say nothing about\nfood, because you two together don't eat more than a mouse, and I have\nlearnt in Egypt and Spain to be hungry only when it suits.\"\n\n\"Not forgetting that, to save still more, you do all the cooking for us,\nand will not even let us assist.\"\n\n\"And to think, good Dagobert, that you wash almost every evening at our\nresting-place. As if it were not for us to--\"\n\n\"You!\" said the soldier, interrupting Blanche, \"I, allow you to chap\nyour pretty little hands in soap-suds! Pooh! don't a soldier on a\ncampaign always wash his own linen? Clumsy as you see me, I was the best\nwasherwoman in my squadron--and what a hand at ironing! Not to make a\nbrag of it.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes--you can iron well--very well.\"\n\n\"Only sometimes, there will be a little singe,\" said Rose, smiling.\n\n\"Hah! when the iron is too hot. Zounds! I may bring it as near my cheek\nas I please; my skin is so tough that I don't feel the heat,\" said\nDagobert, with imperturbable gravity.\n\n\"We are only jesting, good Dagobert!\"\n\n\"Then, children, if you think that I know my trade as a washerwoman, let\nme continue to have your custom: it is cheaper; and, on a journey, poor\npeople like us should save where we can, for we must, at all events,\nkeep enough to reach Paris. Once there, our papers and the medal you\nwear will do the rest--I hope so, at least.\"\n\n\"This medal is sacred to us; mother gave it to us on her death-bed.\"\n\n\"Therefore, take great care that you do not lose it: see, from time to\ntime, that you have it safe.\"\n\n\"Here it is,\" said Blanche, as she drew from her bosom a small bronze\nmedal, which she wore suspended from her neck by a chain of the same\nmaterial. The medal bore on its faces the following inscriptions:\n\n                 Victim\n                  of\n               L. C. D. J.\n               Pray for me!\n                   ----\n                  Paris\n            February the, 13th, 1682.\n\n                At Paris.\n            Rue Saint Francois, No. 3,\n            In a century and a half\n               you will be.\n            February the 13th, 1832.\n                   ----\n                PRAY FOR ME!\n\n\"What does it mean, Dagobert?\" resumed Blanche, as she examined the\nmournful inscriptions. \"Mother was not able to tell us.\"\n\n\"We will discuss all that this evening; at the place where we sleep,\"\nanswered Dagobert. \"It grows late, let us be moving. Put up the medal\ncarefully, and away!--We have yet nearly an hour's march to arrive at\nquarters. Come, my poor pets, once more look at the mound where your\nbrave father fell--and then--to horse! to horse!\"\n\nThe orphans gave a last pious glance at the spot which had recalled to\ntheir guide such painful recollections, and, with his aid, remounted\nJovial.\n\nThis venerable animal had not for one moment dreamed of moving; but,\nwith the consummate forethought of a veteran, he had made the best use\nof his time, by taking from that foreign soil a large contribution of\ngreen and tender grass, before the somewhat envious eyes of Spoil-sport,\nwho had comfortably established himself in the meadow, with his snout\nprotruding between his fore-paws. On the signal of departure, the dog\nresumed his post behind his master, and Dagobert, trying the ground with\nthe end of his long staff, led the horse carefully along by the bridle,\nfor the meadow was growing more and more marshy; indeed, after advancing\na few steps, he was obliged to turn off to the left, in order to regain\nthe high-road.\n\nOn reaching Mockern, Dagobert asked for the least expensive inn, and was\ntold there was only one in the village--the White Falcon.\n\n\"Let us go then to the White Falcon,\" observed the soldier.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III. THE ARRIVAL.\n\nAlready had Morok several times opened with impatience the window\nshutters of the loft, to look out upon the inn-yard, watching for the\narrival of the orphans and the soldier. Not seeing them, he began once\nmore to walk slowly up and down, with his head bent forward, and his\narms folded on his bosom, meditating on the best means to carry out\nthe plan he had conceived. The ideas which possessed his mind, were,\ndoubtless, of a painful character, for his countenance grew even more\ngloomy than usual.\n\nNotwithstanding his ferocious appearance, he was by no means deficient\nin intelligence. The courage displayed in his taming exercises (which\nhe gravely attributed to his recent conversion), a solemn and mystical\nstyle of speech, and a hypocritical affectation of austerity, had given\nhim a species of influence over the people he visited in his travels.\nLong before his conversion, as may well be supposed, Morok had been\nfamiliar with the habits of wild beasts. In fact born in the north of\nSiberia, he had been, from his boyhood, one of the boldest hunters of\nbears and reindeer; later, in 1810, he had abandoned this profession, to\nserve as guide to a Russian engineer, who was charged with an exploring\nexpedition to the Polar regions. He afterwards followed him to St.\nPetersburg, and there, after some vicissitudes of fortune, Morok became\none of the imperial couriers--these iron automata, that the least\ncaprice of the despot hurls in a frail sledge through the immensity of\nthe empire, from Persia to the Frozen Sea. For these men, who travel\nnight and day, with the rapidity of lightning there are neither seasons\nnor obstacles, fatigues nor danger; living projectiles, they must either\nbe broken to pieces, or reach the intended mark. One may conceive the\nboldness, the vigor, and the resignation, of men accustomed to such a\nlife.\n\nIt is useless to relate here, by what series of singular circumstances\nMorok was induced to exchange his rough pursuit for another profession,\nand at last to enter, as catechumen, a religious house at Friburg;\nafter which, being duly and properly converted, he began his nomadic\nexcursions, with his menagerie of unknown origin.\n\nMorok continued to walk up and down the loft. Night had come. The three\npersons whose arrival he so impatiently expected had not yet made their\nappearance. His walk became more and more nervous and irregular.\n\nOn a sudden he stopped abruptly; leaned his head towards the window; and\nlistened. His ear was quick as a savage's.\n\n\"They are here!\" he exclaimed and his fox like eye shone with diabolic\njoy. He had caught the sound of footsteps--a man's and a horse's.\nHastening to the window-shutter of the loft, he opened it cautiously,\nand saw the two young girls on horseback, and the old soldier who served\nthem as a guide, enter the inn-yard together.\n\nThe night had set in, dark and cloudy; a high wind made the lights\nflicker in the lanterns which were used to receive the new guests. But\nthe description given to Morok had been so exact, that it was impossible\nto mistake them. Sure of his prey, he closed the window. Having remained\nin meditation for another quarter of an hour--for the purpose, no doubt,\nof thoroughly digesting his projects--he leaned over the aperture, from\nwhich projected the ladder, and called, \"Goliath!\"\n\n\"Master!\" replied a hoarse voice.\n\n\"Come up to me.\"\n\n\"Here I am--just come from the slaughter-house with the meat.\"\n\nThe steps of the ladder creaked as an enormous head appeared on a level\nwith the floor. The new-comer, who was more than six feet high, and\ngifted with herculean proportions, had been well-named Goliath. He was\nhideous. His squinting eyes were deep set beneath a low and projecting\nforehead; his reddish hair and beard, thick and coarse as horse-hair,\ngave his features a stamp of bestial ferocity; between his broad jaws,\narmed with teeth which resembled fangs, he held by one corner a piece of\nraw beef weighing ten or twelve pounds, finding it, no doubt, easier to\ncarry in that fashion, whilst he used his hands to ascend the ladder,\nwhich bent beneath his weight.\n\nAt length the whole of this tall and huge body issued from the aperture.\nJudging by his bull-neck, the astonishing breadth of his chest and\nshoulders, and the vast bulk of his arms and legs, this giant need not\nhave feared to wrestle single-handed with a bear. He wore an old pair\nof blue trousers with red stripes, faced with tanned sheep's-skin, and\na vest, or rather cuirass, of thick leather, which was here and there\nslashed by the sharp claws of the animals.\n\nWhen he was fairly on the floor, Goliath unclasped his fangs, opened his\nmouth, and let fall the great piece of beef, licking his blood-stained\nlips with greediness. Like many other mountebanks, this species of\nmonster had began by eating raw meat at the fairs for the amusement of\nthe public. Thence having gradually acquired a taste for this barbarous\nfood, and uniting pleasure with profit, he engaged himself to perform\nthe prelude to the exercises of Morok, by devouring, in the presence of\nthe crowd, several pounds of raw flesh.\n\n\"My share and Death's are below stairs, and here are those of Cain\nand Judas,\" said Goliath, pointing to the chunk of beef. \"Where is\nthe cleaver, that I may cut it in two?--No preference here--beast or\nman--every gullet must have it's own.\"\n\nThen, rolling up one of the sleeves of his vest, he exhibited a fore-arm\nhairy as skin of a wolf, and knotted with veins as large as one's thumb.\n\n\"I say, master, where's the cleaver?\"--He again began, as he cast round\nhis eyes in search of that instrument. But instead of replying to this\ninquiry, the Prophet put many questions to his disciple.\n\n\"Were you below when just now some new travellers arrived at the inn?\"\n\n\"Yes, master; I was coming from the slaughter-house.\"\n\n\"Who are these travellers?\"\n\n\"Two young lasses mounted on a white horse, and an old fellow with a\nbig moustache. But the cleaver?--my beasts are hungry and so am I--the\ncleaver!\"\n\n\"Do you know where they have lodged these travellers?\"\n\n\"The host took them to the far end of the court-yard.\"\n\n\"The building, which overlooks the fields?\"\n\n\"Yes, master--but the cleaver--\"\n\nA burst of frightful roaring shook the loft, and interrupted Goliath.\n\n\"Hark to them!\" he exclaimed; \"hunger has driven the beasts wild. If I\ncould roar, I should do as they do. I have never seen Judas and Cain as\nthey are to-night; they leap in their cages as if they'd knock all to\npieces. As for Death, her eyes shine more than usual like candles--poor\nDeath!\"\n\n\"So these girls are lodged in the building at the end of the\ncourt-yard,\" resumed Morok, without attending to the observations of\nGoliath.\n\n\"Yes, yes--but in the devil's name, where is the cleaver? Since Karl\nwent away I have to do all the work, and that makes our meals very\nlate.\"\n\n\"Did the old man remain with the young girls?\" asked Morok.\n\nGoliath, amazed that, notwithstanding his importunities, his master\nshould still appear to neglect the animals' supper, regarded the Prophet\nwith an increase of stupid astonishment.\n\n\"Answer, you brute!\"\n\n\"If I am a brute, I have a brute's strength,\" said Goliath, in a surly\ntone, \"and brute against brute, I have not always come the worst off.\"\n\n\"I ask if the old man remained with the girls,\" repeated Morok.\n\n\"Well, then--no!\" returned the giant. \"The old man, after leading his\nhorse to the stable, asked for a tub and some water, took his stand\nunder the porch--and there--by the light of a lantern--he is washing\nout clothes. A man with a gray moustache!--paddling in soap-suds like\na washerwoman--it's as if I were to feed canaries!\" added Goliath,\nshrugging his shoulders with disdain. \"But now I've answered you,\nmaster, let me attend to the beasts' supper,\"--and, looking round for\nsomething, he added, \"where is the cleaver?\"\n\nAfter a moment of thoughtful silence, the Prophet said to Goliath, \"You\nwill give no food to the beasts this evening.\"\n\nAt first the giant could not understand these words, the idea was so\nincomprehensible to him.\n\n\"What is your pleasure, master?\" said he.\n\n\"I forbid you to give any food to the beasts this evening.\"\n\nGoliath did not answer, but he opened wide his squinting eyes, folded\nhis hands, and drew back a couple of steps.\n\n\"Well, dost hear me?\" said Morok, with impatience. \"Is it plain enough?\"\n\n\"Not feed? when our meat is there, and supper is already three hours\nafter time!\" cried Goliath, with ever-increasing amazement.\n\n\"Obey, and hold your tongue.\"\n\n\"You must wish something bad to happen this evening. Hunger makes the\nbeasts furious--and me also.\"\n\n\"So much the better!\"\n\n\"It'll drive 'em mad.\"\n\n\"So much the better!\"\n\n\"How, so much the better?--But--\"\n\n\"It is enough!\"\n\n\"But, devil take me, I am as hungry as the beasts!\"\n\n\"Eat then--who prevents it? Your supper is ready, as you devour it raw.\"\n\n\"I never eat without my beasts, nor they without me.\"\n\n\"I tell you again, that, if you dare give any food to the beasts--I will\nturn you away.\"\n\nGoliath uttered a low growl as hoarse as a bear's, and looked at the\nProphet with a mixture of anger and stupefaction.\n\nMorok, having given his orders, walked up and down the loft, appearing\nto reflect. Then, addressing himself to Goliath, who was still plunged\nin deep perplexity, he said to him.\n\n\"Do you remember the burgomaster's, where I went to get my passport\nsigned?--To-day his wife bought some books and a chaplet.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the giant shortly.\n\n\"Go and ask his servant if I may be sure to find the burgomaster early\nto-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"What for?\"\n\n\"I may, perhaps, have something important to communicate; at all events,\nsay that I beg him not to leave home without seeing me.\"\n\n\"Good! but may I feed the beasts before I go to the burgomaster's?--only\nthe panther, who is most hungry? Come, master; only poor Death? just a\nlittle morsel to satisfy her; Cain and I and Judas can wait.\"\n\n\"It is the panther, above all, that I forbid you to feed. Yes, her,\nabove all the rest.\"\n\n\"By the horns of the devil!\" cried Goliath, \"what is the matter with you\nto-day? I can make nothing of it. It is a pity that Karl's not here; he,\nbeing cunning, would help me to understand why you prevent the beasts\nfrom eating when they are hungry.\"\n\n\"You have no need to understand it.\"\n\n\"Will not Karl soon come back?\"\n\n\"He has already come back.\"\n\n\"Where is he, then?\"\n\n\"Off again.\"\n\n\"What can be going on here? There is something in the wind. Karl goes,\nand returns, and goes again, and--\"\n\n\"We are not talking of Karl, but of you; though hungry as a wolf you\nare cunning as a fox, and, when it suits you, as cunning as Karl.\" And,\nchanging on the sudden his tone and manner, Morok slapped the giant\ncordially on the shoulder.\n\n\"What! am I cunning?\"\n\n\"The proof is, that there are ten florins to earn to-night--and you will\nbe keen enough to earn them, I am sure.\"\n\n\"Why, on those terms, yes--I am awake,\" said the giant, smiling with a\nstupid, self-satisfied air. \"What must I do for ten florins?\"\n\n\"You shall see.\"\n\n\"Is it hard work?\"\n\n\"You shall see. Begin by going to the burgomaster's--but first light the\nfire in that stove.\" He pointed to it with his finger.\n\n\"Yes, master,\" said Goliath, somewhat consoled for the delay of his\nsupper by the hope of gaining ten florins.\n\n\"Put that iron bar in the stove,\" added the Prophet, \"to make it\nred-hot.\"\n\n\"Yes, master.\"\n\n\"You will leave it there; go to the burgomaster's, and return here to\nwait for me.\"\n\n\"Yes, master.\n\n\"You will keep the fire up in the stove.\"\n\n\"Yes, master.\"\n\nMorok took a step away, but recollecting himself, he resumed: \"You say\nthe old man is busy washing under the porch?\"\n\n\"Yes, master.\"\n\n\"Forget nothing: the iron bar in the fire--the burgomaster--and return\nhere to wait my orders.\" So saying, Morok descended by the trap-door and\ndisappeared.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV. MOROK and DAGOBERT\n\nGoliath had not been mistaken, for Dagobert was washing with that\nimperturbable gravity with which he did everything else.\n\nWhen we remember the habits of a soldier a-field, we need not be\nastonished at this apparent eccentricity. Dagobert only thought of\nsparing the scanty purse of the orphans, and of saving them all care and\ntrouble; so every evening when they came to a halt he devoted himself\nto all sorts of feminine occupations. But he was not now serving his\napprenticeship in these matters; many times, during his campaigns, he\nhad industriously repaired the damage and disorder which a day of battle\nalways brings to the garments of the soldier; for it is not enough to\nreceive a sabre-cut--the soldier has also to mend his uniform; for the\nstroke which grazes the skin makes likewise a corresponding fissure in\nthe cloth.\n\nTherefore, in the evening or on the morrow of a hard-fought engagement,\nyou will see the best soldiers (always distinguished by their fine\nmilitary appearance) take from their cartridge-box or knapsack a\nhousewife, furnished with needles, thread, scissors, buttons, and other\nsuch gear, and apply themselves to all kinds of mending and darning,\nwith a zeal that the most industrious workwoman might envy.\n\nWe could not find a better opportunity to explain the name of Dagobert,\ngiven to Francis Baudoin (the guide of the orphans) at a time when he\nwas considered one of the handsomest and bravest horse-grenadiers of the\nImperial Guard.\n\nThey had been fighting hard all day, without any decisive advantage. In\nthe evening, the company to which our hero belonged was sent as outliers\nto occupy the ruins of a deserted village. Videttes being posted, half\nthe troopers remained in saddle, whilst the others, having picketed\ntheir horses, were able to take a little rest. Our hero had charged\nvaliantly that day without receiving any wound--for he counted as a mere\nmemento the deep scratch on his thigh, which a kaiserlitz had inflicted\nin awkwardly attempting an upward thrust with the bayonet.\n\n\"You donkey! my new breeches!\" the grenadier had exclaimed, when he\nsaw the wide yawning rent, which he instantly avenged by running the\nAustrian through, with a thrust scientifically administered. For, if he\nshowed a stoical indifference on the subject of injury to his skin, it\nwas not so with regard to the ripping up of his best parade uniform.\n\nHe undertook, therefore, the same evening, at the bivouac, to repair\nthis accident. Selecting his best needle and thread from the stores of\nhis housewife, and arming his finger with a thimble, he began to play\nthe tailor by the light of the watch-fire, having first drawn off his\ncavalry-boots, and also (if it must be confessed) the injured garment\nitself, which he turned the wrong side out the better to conceal the\nstitches.\n\nThis partial undress was certainly a breach of discipline: but the\ncaptain, as he went his round, could not forbear laughing at the sight\nof the veteran soldier, who, gravely seated, in a squatting position,\nwith his grenadier cap on, his regimental coat on his back, his boots\nby his side, and his galligaskins in his lap, was sewing with all the\ncoolness of a tailor upon his own shop-board.\n\nSuddenly, a musket-shot is heard, and the videttes fall back upon the\ndetachment, calling to arms. \"To horse!\" cries the captain, in a voice\nof thunder.\n\nIn a moment, the troopers are in their saddles, the unfortunate clothes\nmender having to lead the first rank; there is no time to turn the\nunlucky garment, so he slips it on, as well as he can, wrong side out,\nand leaps upon his horse, without even stopping to put on his boots.\n\nA party of Cossacks, profiting by the cover of a neighboring wood, had\nattempted to surprise the detachment: the fight was bloody, and our hero\nfoamed with rage, for he set much value on his equipments, and the day\nhad been fatal to him. Thinking of his torn clothes and lost boots, he\nhacked away with more fury than ever; a bright moon illumined the scene\nof action, and his comrades were able to appreciate the brilliant valor\nof our grenadier, who killed two Cossacks, and took an officer prisoner,\nwith his own hand.\n\nAfter this skirmish, in which the detachment had maintained its\nposition, the captain drew up his men to compliment them on their\nsuccess, and ordered the clothes-mender to advance from the ranks, that\nhe might thank him publicly for his gallant behavior. Our hero could\nhave dispensed with this ovation, but he was not the less obliged to\nobey.\n\nJudge of the surprise of both captain and troopers, when they saw this\ntall and stern-looking figure ride forward at a slow pace, with his\nnaked feet in the stirrups, and naked legs pressing the sides of his\ncharger.\n\nThe captain drew near in astonishment; but recalling the occupation of\nthe soldier at the moment when the alarm was given, he understood the\nwhole mystery. \"Ha, my old comrade!\" he exclaimed, \"thou art like King\nDagobert--wearing thy breeches inside out.\"\n\nIn spite of discipline, this joke of the captain's was received with\npeals of ill-repressed laughter. But our friend, sitting upright in his\nsaddle, with his left thumb pressing the well adjusted reins, and his\nsword-hilt carried close to his right thigh, made a half-wheel, and\nreturned to his place in the ranks without changing countenance, after\nhe had duly received the congratulations of his captain. From that day,\nFrancis Baudoin received and kept the nickname of Dagobert.\n\nNow Dagobert was under the porch of the inn, occupied in washing, to the\ngreat amazement of sundry beer-drinkers, who observed him with curious\neyes from the large common room in which they were assembled.\n\nIn truth, it was a curious spectacle. Dagobert had laid aside his gray\ntop-coat, and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt; with a vigorous hand,\nand good supply of soap, he was rubbing away at a wet handkerchief,\nspread out on the board, the end of which rested in a tub full of\nwater. Upon his right arm, tattooed with warlike emblems in red and\nblue colors, two scars, deep enough to admit the finger, were distinctly\nvisible. No wonder then, that, while smoking their pipes, and emptying\ntheir pots of beer, the Germans should display some surprise at the\nsingular occupation of this tall, moustached, bald-headed old man, with\nthe forbidding countenance--for the features of Dagobert assumed a harsh\nand grim expression, when he was no longer in presence of the two girls.\n\nThe sustained attention, of which he saw himself the object, began\nto put him out of patience, for his employment appeared to him quite\nnatural. At this moment, the Prophet entered the porch, and, perceiving\nthe soldier, eyed him attentively for several seconds; then approaching,\nhe said to him in French, in a rather sly tone: \"It would seem, comrade,\nthat you have not much confidence in the washerwomen of Mockern?\"\n\nDagobert, without discontinuing his work, half turned his head with a\nfrown, looked askant at the Prophet, and made him no answer.\n\nAstonished at this silence, Morok resumed: \"If I do not deceive myself,\nyou are French, my fine fellow. The words on your arm prove it, and your\nmilitary air stamps you as an old soldier of the Empire. Therefore I\nfind, that, for a hero, you have taken rather late to wear petticoats.\"\n\nDagobert remained mute, but he gnawed his moustache, and plied the soap,\nwith which he was rubbing the linen, in a most hurried, not to say angry\nstyle; for the face and words of the beast-tamer displeased him\nmore than he cared to show. Far from being discouraged, the Prophet\ncontinued: \"I am sure, my fine fellow, that you are neither deaf nor\ndumb; why, then, will you not answer me?\"\n\nLosing all patience, Dagobert turned abruptly round, looked Morok full\nin the face, and said to him in a rough voice: \"I don't know you: I\ndon't wish to know you! Chain up your curb!\" And he betook himself again\nto his washing.\n\n\"But we may make acquaintance. We can drink a glass of Rhine-wine\ntogether, and talk of our campaigns. I also have seen some service, I\nassure you; and that, perhaps, will induce you to be more civil.\"\n\nThe veins on the bald forehead of Dagobert swelled perceptibly; he saw\nin the look and accent of the man, who thus obstinately addressed him,\nsomething designedly provoking; still he contained himself.\n\n\"I ask you, why should you not drink a glass of wine with me--we could\ntalk about France. I lived there a long time; it is a fine country; and\nwhen I meet Frenchmen abroad, I feel sociable--particularly when they\nknow how to use the soap as well as you do. If I had a housewife I'd\nsend her to your school.\"\n\nThe sarcastic meaning was no longer disguised; impudence and bravado\nwere legible in the Prophet's looks. Thinking that, with such an\nadversary, the dispute might become serious, Dagobert, who wished to\navoid a quarrel at any price, carried off his tub to the other end of\nthe porch, hoping thus to put an end to the scene which was a sore\ntrial of his temper. A flash of joy lighted up the tawny eyes of the\nbrute-tamer. The white circle, which surrounded the pupil seemed to\ndilate. He ran his crooked fingers two or three times through his yellow\nbeard, in token of satisfaction; then he advanced slowly towards the\nsoldier, accompanied by several idlers from the common-room.\n\nNotwithstanding his coolness, Dagobert, amazed and incensed at the\nimpudent pertinacity of the Prophet, was at first disposed to break\nthe washing-board on his head; but, remembering the orphans, he thought\nbetter of it.\n\nFolding his arms upon his breast, Morok said to him, in a dry and\ninsolent tone: \"It is very certain you are not civil, my man of suds!\"\nThen, turning to the spectators, he continued in German: \"I tell this\nFrenchman, with his long moustache, that he is not civil. We shall\nsee what answer he'll make. Perhaps it will be necessary to give him\na lesson. Heaven preserve me from quarrels!\" he added, with mock\ncompunction; \"but the Lord has enlightened me--I am his creature, and I\nought to make his work respected.\"\n\nThe mystical effrontery of this peroration was quite to the taste of\nthe idlers; the fame of the Prophet had reached Mockern, and, as a\nperformance was expected on the morrow, this prelude much amused the\ncompany. On hearing the insults of his adversary, Dagobert could not\nhelp saying in the German language: \"I know German. Speak in German--the\nrest will understand you.\"\n\nNew spectators now arrived, and joined the first comers; the adventure\nhad become exciting, and a ring was formed around the two persons most\nconcerned.\n\nThe Prophet resumed in German: \"I said that you were not civil, and I\nnow say you are grossly rude. What do you answer to that?\"\n\n\"Nothing!\" said Dagobert, coldly, as he proceeded to rinse out another\npiece of linen.\n\n\"Nothing!\" returned Morok; \"that is very little. I will be less brief,\nand tell you, that, when an honest man offers a glass of wine civilly\nto a stranger, that stranger has no right to answer with insolence, and\ndeserves to be taught manners if he does so.\"\n\nGreat drops of sweat ran down Dagobert's forehead and cheeks; his\nlarge imperial was incessantly agitated by nervous trembling--but he\nrestrained himself. Taking, by two of the corners, the handkerchief\nwhich he had just dipped in the water, he shook it, wrung it, and began\nto hum to himself the burden of the old camp ditty:\n\n     \"Out of Tirlemont's flea-haunted den,\n     We ride forth next day of the sen,\n     With sabre in hand, ah!\n     Good-bye to Amanda,\" etc.\n\nThe silence to which Dagobert had condemned himself, almost choked him;\nthis song afforded him some relief.\n\nMorok, turning towards the spectators, said to them, with an air of\nhypocritical restraint: \"We knew that the soldiers of Napoleon were\npagans, who stabled their horses in churches, and offended the Lord a\nhundred times a day, and who, for their sins, were justly drowned in the\nBeresino, like so many Pharaohs; but we did not know that the Lord,\nto punish these miscreants, had deprived them of courage--their single\ngift. Here is a man, who has insulted, in me, a creature favored by\ndivine grace, and who affects not to understand that I require an\napology; or else--\"\n\n\"What?\" said Dagobert, without looking at the Prophet.\n\n\"Or you must give me satisfaction!--I have already told you that I have\nseen service. We shall easily find somewhere a couple of swords, and to\nmorrow morning, at peep of day, we can meet behind a wall, and show the\ncolor of our blood--that is, if you have any in your veins!\"\n\nThis challenge began to frighten the spectators, who were not prepared\nfor so tragical a conclusion.\n\n\"What, fight?--a very, fine idea!\" said one. \"To get yourself both\nlocked up in prison: the laws against duelling are strict.\"\n\n\"Particularly with relation to strangers or nondescripts,\" added\nanother. \"If they were to find you with arms in your hands, the\nburgomaster would shut you up in jail, and keep you there two or three\nmonths before trial.\"\n\n\"Would you be so mean as to denounce us?\" asked Morok.\n\n\"No, certainly not,\" cried several; \"do as you like. We are only giving\nyou a friendly piece of advice, by which you may profit, if you think\nfit.\"\n\n\"What care I for prison?\" exclaimed the Prophet. \"Only give me a couple\nof swords, and you shall see to-morrow morning if I heed what the\nburgomaster can do or say.\"\n\n\"What would you do with two swords?\" asked Dagobert, quietly.\n\n\"When you have one in your grasp, and I one in mine, you'd see. The Lord\ncommands us to have a care of his honor!\"\n\nDagobert shrugged his shoulders, made a bundle of his linen in his\nhandkerchief, dried his soap, and put it carefully into a little\noil-silk bag--then, whistling his favorite air of Tirlemont, moved to\ndepart.\n\nThe Prophet frowned; he began to fear that his challenge would not be\naccepted. He advanced a step or so to encounter Dagobert, placed himself\nbefore him, as if to intercept his passage, and, folding his arms, and\nscanning him from head to foot with bitter insolence, said to him:\n\"So! an old soldier of that arch-robber, Napoleon, is only fit for a\nwasherwoman, and refuses to fight!\"\n\n\"Yes, he refuses to fight,\" answered Dagobert, in a firm voice, but\nbecoming fearfully pale. Never, perhaps, had the soldier given to his\norphan charge such a proof of tenderness and devotion. For a man of\nhis character to let himself be insulted with impunity, and refuse to\nfight--the sacrifice was immense.\n\n\"So you are a coward--you are afraid of me--and you confess it?\"\n\nAt these words Dagobert made, as it were, a pull upon himself--as if a\nsudden thought had restrained him the moment he was about to rush on\nthe Prophet. Indeed, he had remembered the two maidens, and the fatal\nhindrance which a duel, whatever might be the result, would occasion\nto their journey. But the impulse of anger, though rapid, had been so\nsignificant--the expression of the stern, pale face, bathed in sweat,\nwas so daunting, that the Prophet and the spectators drew back a step.\n\nProfound silence reigned for some seconds, and then, by a sudden\nreaction, Dagobert seemed to have gained the general interest. One of\nthe company said to those near him; \"This man is clearly not a coward.\"\n\n\"Oh, no! certainly not.\"\n\n\"It sometimes requires more courage to refuse a challenge than to accept\none.\"\n\n\"After all the Prophet was wrong to pick a quarrel about nothing--and\nwith a stranger, too.\"\n\n\"Yes, for a stranger, if he fought and was taken up, would have a good\nlong imprisonment.\"\n\n\"And then, you see,\" added another, \"he travels with two young girls.\nIn such a position, ought a man to fight about trifles? If he should be\nkilled or put in prison, what would become of them, poor children?\"\n\nDagobert turned towards the person who had pronounced these last words.\nHe saw a stout fellow, with a frank and simple countenance; the soldier\noffered him his hand, and said with emotion:\n\n\"Thank you, sir.\"\n\nThe German shook cordially the hand, which Dagobert had proffered, and,\nholding it still in his own, he added: \"Do one thing, sir--share a bowl\nof punch with us. We will make that mischief-making Prophet acknowledge\nthat he has been too touchy, and he shall drink to your health.\"\n\nUp to this moment the brute-tamer, enraged at the issue of this scene,\nfor he had hoped that the soldier would accept his challenge, looked on\nwith savage contempt at those who had thus sided against him. But now\nhis features gradually relaxed; and, believing it useful to his projects\nto hide his disappointment, he walked up to the soldier, and said to\nhim, with a tolerably good grace: \"Well, I give way to these gentlemen.\nI own I was wrong. Your frigid air had wounded me, and I was not master\nof myself. I repeat, that I was wrong,\" he added, with suppressed\nvexation; \"the Lord commands humility--and--I beg your pardon.\"\n\nThis proof of moderation and regret was highly appreciated and loudly\napplauded by the spectators. \"He asks your pardon; you cannot expect\nmore, my brave fellow?\" said one of them, addressing Dagobert. \"Come,\nlet us all drink together; we make you this offer frankly--accept it in\nthe same spirit.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes; accept it, we beg you, in the name of your pretty little\ngirls,\" said the stout man, hoping to decide Dagobert by this argument.\n\n\"Many thanks, gentlemen,\" replied he, touched by the hearty advances of\nthe Germans; \"you are very worthy people. But, when one is treated, he\nmust offer drink in return.\"\n\n\"Well, we will accept it--that's understood. Each his turn, and all\nfair. We will pay for the first bowl, you for the second.\"\n\n\"Poverty is no crime,\" answered Dagobert; \"and I must tell you honestly\nthat I cannot afford to pay for drink. We have still a long journey to\ngo, and I must not incur any useless expenses.\"\n\nThe soldier spoke these words with such firm, but simple dignity, that\nthe Germans did not venture to renew their offer, feeling that a man of\nDagobert's character could not accept it without humiliation.\n\n\"Well, so much the worse,\" said the stout man. \"I should have liked to\nclink glasses with you. Good-night, my brave trooper!--Good-night--for\nit grows late, and mine host of the Falcon will soon turn us out of\ndoors.\"\n\n\"Good-night, gentlemen,\" replied Dagobert, as he directed his steps\ntowards the stable, to give his horse a second allowance of provender.\n\nMorok approached him, and said in a voice even more humble than before:\n\"I have acknowledged my error, and asked your pardon. You have not\nanswered me; do you still bear malice?\"\n\n\"If ever I meet you,\" said the veteran, in a suppressed and hollow tone,\n\"when my children have no longer need of me, I will just say two words\nto you, and they will not be long ones.\"\n\nThen he turned his back abruptly on the Prophet, who walked slowly out\nof the yard.\n\nThe inn of the White Falcon formed a parallelogram. At one end rose\nthe principal dwelling; at the other was a range of buildings, which\ncontained sundry chambers, let at a low price to the poorer sort of\ntravellers; a vaulted passage opened a way through this latter into\nthe country; finally, on either side of the court-yard were sheds and\nstables, with lofts and garrets erected over them.\n\nDagobert, entering one of these stables, took from off a chest the\nportion of oats destined for his horse, and, pouring it into a winnowing\nbasket, shook it as he approached Jovial.\n\nTo his great astonishment, his old travelling companion did not respond\nwith a joyous neigh to the rustle of the oats rattling on the wicker\nwork. Alarmed, he called Jovial with a friendly voice; but the animal,\ninstead of turning towards his master a look of intelligence, and\nimpatiently striking the ground with his fore-feet, remained perfectly\nmotionless.\n\nMore and more surprised, the soldier went up to him. By the dubious\nlight of a stable-lantern, he saw the poor animal in an attitude which\nimplied terror--his legs half bent, his head stretched forward, his ears\ndown, his nostrils quivering; he had drawn tight his halter, as if\nhe wished to break it, in order to get away from the partition that\nsupported his rack and manger; abundant cold-sweat had speckled his hide\nwith bluish stains, and his coat altogether looked dull and bristling,\ninstead of standing out sleek and glossy from the dark background of\nthe stable; lastly, from time to time, his body shook with convulsive\nstarts.\n\n\"Why, old Jovial!\" said the soldier, as he put down the basket, in\norder to soothe his horse with more freedom, \"you are like thy\nmaster--afraid!--Yes,\" he added with bitterness, as he thought of the\noffence he had himself endured, \"you are afraid--though no coward in\ngeneral.\"\n\nNotwithstanding the caresses and the voice of his master, the horse\ncontinued to give signs of terror; he pulled somewhat less violently\nat his halter, and approaching his nostrils to the hand of Dagobert,\nsniffed audibly, as if he doubted it were he.\n\n\"You don't know me!\" cried Dagobert. \"Something extraordinary must be\npassing here.\"\n\nThe soldier looked around him with uneasiness. It was a large stable,\nfaintly lighted by the lantern suspended from the roof, which was\ncovered with innumerable cobwebs; at the further end, separated from\nJovial by some stalls with bars between, were the three strong, black,\nhorses of the brute-tamer--as tranquil as Jovial was frightened.\n\nDagobert, struck with this singular contrast, of which he was soon\nto have the explanation, again caressed his horse; and the animal,\ngradually reassured by his master's presence, licked his hands, rubbed\nhis head against him, uttered a low neigh, and gave him his usual tokens\nof affection.\n\n\"Come, come, this is how I like to see my old Jovial!\" said Dagobert,\nas he took up the winnowing-basket, and poured its contents into the\nmanger. \"Now eat with a good appetite, for we have a long day's march\ntomorrow; and, above all, no more of these foolish fears about nothing!\nIf thy comrade, Spoil-sport, was here, he would keep you in heart; but\nhe is along with the children, and takes care of them in my absence.\nCome, eat! Instead of staring at me in that way.\"\n\nBut the horse, having just touched the oats with his mouth, as if in\nobedience to his master, returned to them no more, and began to nibble\nat the sleeve of Dagobert's coat.\n\n\"Come, come, my poor Jovial! there is something the matter with you. You\nhave generally such a good appetite, and now you leave your corn. 'Tis\nthe first time this has happened since our departure,\" said the soldier,\nwho was now growing seriously uneasy, for the issue of his journey\ngreatly depended on the health and vigor of his horse.\n\nJust then a frightful roaring, so near that it seemed to come from the\nstable in which they were, gave so violent a shock to Jovial, that with\none effort he broke his halter, leaped over the bar that marked his\nplace, and rushing at the open door, escaped into the court-yard.\n\nDagobert had himself started at the suddenness of this wild and fearful\nsound, which at once explained to him the cause of his horse's terror.\nThe adjoining stable was occupied by the itinerant menagerie of the\nbrute-tamer, and was only separated by the partition, which supported\nthe mangers. The three horses of the Prophet, accustomed to these\nhowlings, had remained perfectly quiet.\n\n\"Good!\" said the soldier, recovering himself; \"I understand it now.\nJovial has heard another such roar before, and he can scent the animals\nof that insolent scoundrel. It is enough to frighten him,\" added he,\nas he carefully collected the oats from the manger; \"once in another\nstable, and there must be others in this place, he will no longer leave\nhis peck, and we shall be able to start early to-morrow morning!\"\n\nThe terrified horse, after running and galloping about the yard,\nreturned at the voice of the soldier, who easily caught him by the\nbroken halter; and a hostler, whom Dagobert asked if there was another\nvacant stable, having pointed out one that was only intended for a\nsingle animal, Jovial was comfortably installed there.\n\nWhen delivered from his ferocious neighbors, the horse became tranquil\nas before, and even amused himself much at the expense of Dagobert's\ntop coat, which, thanks to his tricks, might have afforded immediate\noccupation for his master's needle, if the latter had not been fully\nengaged in admiring the eagerness with which Jovial dispatched his\nprovender. Completely reassured on his account, the soldier shut the\ndoor of the stable, and proceeded to get his supper as quickly as\npossible, in order to rejoin the orphans, whom he reproached himself\nwith having left so long.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V. ROSE AND BLANCHE.\n\nThe orphans occupied a dilapidated chamber in one of the most remote\nwings of the inn, with a single window opening upon the country. A bed\nwithout curtains, a table, and two chairs, composed the more than modest\nfurniture of this retreat, which was now lighted by a lamp. On the\ntable, which stood near the window, was deposited the knapsack of the\nsoldier.\n\nThe great Siberian dog, who was lying close to the door, had already\ntwice uttered a deep growl, and turned his head towards the window--but\nwithout giving any further affect to this hostile manifestation.\n\nThe two sisters, half recumbent in their bed, were clad in long white\nwrappers, buttoned at the neck and wrists. They wore no caps, but their\nbeautiful chestnut hair was confined at the temples by a broad piece\nof tape, so that it might not get tangled during the night. These white\ngarments, and the white fillet that like a halo encircled their brows,\ngave to their fresh and blooming faces a still more candid expression.\n\nThe orphans laughed and chatted, for, in spite of some early sorrows,\nthey still retained the ingenuous gayety of their age. The remembrance\nof their mother would sometimes make them sad, but this sorrow had in it\nnothing bitter; it was rather a sweet melancholy, to be sought instead\nof shunned. For them, this adored mother was not dead--she was only\nabsent.\n\nAlmost as ignorant as Dagobert, with regard to devotional exercises, for\nin the desert where they had lived there was neither church nor priest,\ntheir faith, as was already said, consisted in this--that God, just and\ngood, had so much pity for the poor mothers whose children were left\non earth, that he allowed them to look down upon them from highest\nheaven--to see them always, to hear them always, and sometimes to\nsend fair guardian angels to protect therein. Thanks to this guileless\nillusion, the orphans, persuaded that their mother incessantly watched\nover them, felt, that to do wrong would be to afflict her, and to\nforfeit the protection of the good angels.--This was the entire theology\nof Rose and Blanche--a creed sufficient for such pure and loving souls.\n\nNow, on the evening in question, the two sisters chatted together whilst\nwaiting for Dagobert. Their theme interested them much, for, since\nsome days, they had a secret, a great secret, which often quickened the\nbeatings of their innocent hearts, often agitated their budding bosoms,\nchanged to bright scarlet the roses on their cheeks, and infused a\nrestless and dreamy langour into the soft blue of their large eyes.\n\nRose, this evening, occupied the edge of the couch, with her rounded\narms crossed behind her head, which was half turned towards her sister;\nBlanche, with her elbow resting on the bolster, looked at her smilingly,\nand said: \"Do you think he will come again to-night?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! certainly. He promised us yesterday.\"\n\n\"He is so good, he would not break his promise.\"\n\n\"And so handsome, with his long fair curls.\"\n\n\"And his name--what a charming name!--How well it suits his face.\"\n\n\"And what a sweet smile and soft voice, when he says to us, taking us by\nthe hand: 'My children, bless God that he has given you one soul. What\nothers seek elsewhere, you will find in yourselves.'\"\n\n\"'Since your two hearts,' he added, 'only make one.'\"\n\n\"What pleasure to remember his words, sister!\"\n\n\"We are so attentive! When I see you listening to him, it is as if I\nsaw myself, my dear little mirror!\" said Rose, laughing, and kissing her\nsister's forehead. \"Well--when he speaks, your--or rather our eyes--are\nwide, wide open, our lips moving as if we repeated every word after him.\nIt is no wonder we forget nothing that he says.\"\n\n\"And what he says is so grand, so noble, and generous.\"\n\n\"Then, my sister, as he goes on talking, what good thoughts rise within\nus! If we could but always keep them in mind.\"\n\n\"Do not be afraid! they will remain in our hearts, like little birds in\ntheir mother's nests.\"\n\n\"And how lucky it is, Rose, that he loves us both at the same time!\"\n\n\"He could not do otherwise, since we have but one heart between us.\"\n\n\"How could he love Rose, without loving Blanche?\"\n\n\"What would have become of the poor, neglected one?\"\n\n\"And then again he would have found it so difficult to choose.\"\n\n\"We are so much like one another.\"\n\n\"So, to save himself that trouble,\" said Rose, laughing, \"he has chosen\nus both.\"\n\n\"And is it not the best way? He is alone to love us; we are two together\nto think of him.\"\n\n\"Only he must not leave us till we reach Paris.\"\n\n\"And in Paris, too--we must see him there also.\"\n\n\"Oh, above all at Paris; it will be good to have him with us--and\nDagobert, too--in that great city. Only think, Blanche, how beautiful it\nmust be.\"\n\n\"Paris!--it must be like a city all of gold.\"\n\n\"A city, where every one must be happy, since it is so beautiful.\"\n\n\"But ought we, poor orphans, dare so much as to enter it? How people\nwill look at us!\"\n\n\"Yes--but every one there is happy, every one must be good also.\"\n\n\"They will love us.\"\n\n\"And, besides, we shall be with our friend with the fair hair and blue\neyes.\"\n\n\"He has yet told us nothing of Paris.\"\n\n\"He has not thought of it; we must speak to him about it this very\nnight.\"\n\n\"If he is in the mood for talking. Often you know, he likes best to gaze\non us in silence--his eyes on our eyes.\"\n\n\"Yes. In those moments, his look recalls to me the gaze of our dear\nmother.\"\n\n\"And, as she sees it all, how pleased she must be at what has happened\nto us!\"\n\n\"Because, when we are so much beloved, we must, I hope, deserve it.\"\n\n\"See what a vain thing it is!\" said Blanche, smoothing with her slender\nfingers the parting of the hair on her sister's forehead.\n\nAfter a moment's reflection, Rose said to her: \"Don't you think we\nshould relate all this to Dagobert?\"\n\n\"If you think so, let us do it.\"\n\n\"We tell him everything, as we told everything to mother. Why should we\nconceal this from him?\"\n\n\"Especially as it is something which gives us so much pleasure.\"\n\n\"Do you not find that, since we have known our friend, our hearts beat\nquicker and stronger?\"\n\n\"Yes, they seem to be more full.\"\n\n\"The reason why is plain enough; our friend fills up a good space in\nthem.\"\n\n\"Well, we will do best to tell Dagobert what a lucky star ours is.\"\n\n\"You are right--\" At this moment the dog gave another deep growl.\n\n\"Sister,\" said Rose, as she pressed closer to Blanche, \"there is the dog\ngrowling again. What can be the matter with him?\"\n\n\"Spoil-sport, do not growl! Come hither,\" said Blanche, striking with\nher little hand on the side of the bed.\n\nThe dog rose, again growled deeply, and came to lay his great,\nintelligent looking head on the counterpane, still obstinately casting\na sidelong glance at the window; the sisters bent over him to pat\nhis broad forehead, in the centre of which was a remarkable bump, the\ncertain sign of extreme purity of race.\n\n\"What makes you growl so, Spoil-sport?\" said Blanche, pulling him gently\nby the ears--\"eh, my good dog?\"\n\n\"Poor beast! he is always so uneasy when Dagobert is away.\"\n\n\"It is true; one would think he knows that he then has a double charge\nover us.\"\n\n\"Sister, it seems to me, Dagobert is late in coming to say good-night.\"\n\n\"No doubt he is attending to Jovial.\"\n\n\"That makes me think that we did not bid good-night to dear old Jovial.\n\n\"I am sorry for it.\"\n\n\"Poor beast! he seems so glad when he licks our hands. One would think\nthat he thanked us for our visit.\"\n\n\"Luckily, Dagobert will have wished him good-night for us.\"\n\n\"Good Dagobert! he is always thinking of us. How he spoils us! We remain\nidle, and he has all the trouble.\"\n\n\"How can we prevent it?\"\n\n\"What a pity that we are not rich, to give him a little rest.\"\n\n\"We rich! Alas, my sister! we shall never be anything but poor orphans.\"\n\n\"Oh, there's the medal!\"\n\n\"Doubtless, there is some hope attached to it, else we should not have\nmade this long journey.\"\n\n\"Dagobert has promised to tell us all, this evening.\"\n\nShe was prevented from continuing, for two of the windowpanes flew to\npieces with a loud crash.\n\nThe orphans, with a cry of terror, threw themselves into each other's\narms, whilst the dog rushed towards the window, barking furiously.\n\nPale, trembling, motionless with affright, clasping each other in a\nclose embrace, the two sisters held their breath; in their extreme fear,\nthey durst not even cast their eyes in the direction of the window.\nThe dog, with his forepaws resting on the sill, continued to bark with\nviolence.\n\n\"Alas! what can it be?\" murmured the orphans. \"And Dagobert not here!\"\n\n\"Hark!\" cried Rose, suddenly seizing Blanche by the arm; \"hark!--some\none coming up the stairs!\"\n\n\"Good heaven! it does not sound like the tread of Dagobert. Do you not\nhear what heavy footsteps?\"\n\n\"Quick! come, Spoil-sport, and defend us!\" cried the two sisters at\nonce, in an agony of alarm.\n\nThe boards of the wooden staircase really creaked beneath the weight\nof unusually heavy footsteps, and a singular kind of rustling was\nheard along the thin partition that divided the chamber from the\nlanding-place. Then a ponderous mass, falling against the door of the\nroom, shook it violently; and the girls, at the very height of terror,\nlooked at each other without the power of speech.\n\nThe door opened. It was Dagobert.\n\nAt the sight of him Rose and Blanche joyfully exchanged a kiss, as if\nthey had just escaped from a great danger.\n\n\"What is the matter? why are you afraid?\" asked the soldier in surprise.\n\n\"Oh, if you only knew!\" said Rose, panting as she spoke, for both her\nown heart and her sister's beat with violence.\n\n\"If you knew what has just happened! We did not recognize your\nfootsteps--they seemed so heavy--and then that noise behind the\npartition!\"\n\n\"Little frightened doves that you are! I could not run up the stairs\nlike a boy of fifteen, seeing that I carried my bed upon my back--a\nstraw mattress that I have just flung down before your door, to sleep\nthere as usual.\"\n\n\"Bless me! how foolish we must be, sister, not to have thought of\nthat!\" said Rose, looking at Blanche. And their pretty faces, which had\ntogether grown pale, together resumed their natural color.\n\nDuring this scene the dog, still resting against the window, did not\ncease barking a moment.\n\n\"What makes Spoil-sport bark in that direction, my children?\" said the\nsoldier.\n\n\"We do not know. Two of our windowpanes have just been broken. That is\nwhat first frightened us so much.\"\n\nWithout answering a word Dagobert flew to the window, opened it quickly,\npushed back the shutter, and leaned out.\n\nHe saw nothing; it was a dark night. He listened; but heard only the\nmoaning of the wind.\n\n\"Spoil-sport,\" said he to his dog, pointing to the open window, \"leap\nout, old fellow, and search!\" The faithful animal took one mighty spring\nand disappeared by the window, raised only about eight feet above the\nground.\n\nDagobert, still leaning over, encouraged his dog with voice and gesture:\n\"Search, old fellow, search! If there is any one there, pin him--your\nfangs are strong--and hold him fast till I come.\"\n\nBut Spoil-sport found no one. They heard him go backwards and forwards,\nsnuffing on every side, and now and then uttering a low cry like a hound\nat fault.\n\n\"There is no one, my good dog, that's clear, or you would have had him\nby the throat ere this.\" Then, turning to the maidens, who listened to\nhis words and watched his movements with uneasiness: \"My girls,\" said\nhe, \"how were these panes broken? Did you not remark?\"\n\n\"No, Dagobert; we were talking together when we heard a great crash, and\nthen the glass fell into the room.\"\n\n\"It seemed to me,\" added Rose, \"as if a shutter had struck suddenly\nagainst the window.\"\n\nDagobert examined the shutter, and observed a long movable hook,\ndesigned to fasten it on the inside.\n\n\"It blows hard,\" said he; \"the wind must have swung round the shutter,\nand this hook broke the window. Yes, yes; that is it. What interest\ncould anybody have to play such a sorry trick?\" Then, speaking to Spoil\nsport, he asked, \"Well, my good fellow, is there no one?\"\n\nThe dog answered by a bark, which the soldier no doubt understood as a\nnegative, for he continued: \"Well, then, come back! Make the round--you\nwill find some door open--you are never at a loss.\"\n\nThe animal followed this advice. After growling for a few seconds\nbeneath the window, he set off at a gallop to make the circuit of the\nbuildings, and come back by the court-yard.\n\n\"Be quite easy, my children!\" said the soldier, as he again drew near\nthe orphans; \"it was only the wind.\"\n\n\"We were a good deal frightened,\" said Rose.\n\n\"I believe you. But now I think of it, this draught is likely to give\nyou cold.\" And seeking to remedy this inconvenience, he took from a\nchair the reindeer pelisse, and suspended it from the spring-catch\nof the curtainless window, using the skirts to stop up as closely as\npossible the two openings made by the breaking of the panes.\n\n\"Thanks, Dagobert, how good you are! We were very uneasy at not seeing\nyou.\"\n\n\"Yes, you were absent longer than usual. But what is the matter with\nyou?\" added Rose, only just then perceiving that his countenance was\ndisturbed and pallid, for he was still under the painful influence of\nthe brawl with Morok; \"how pale you are!\"\n\n\"Me, my pets?--Oh, nothing.\"\n\n\"Yes, I assure you, your countenance is quite changed. Rose is right.\"\n\n\"I tell you there is nothing the matter,\" answered the soldier, not\nwithout some embarrassment, for he was little used to deceive; till,\nfinding an excellent excuse for his emotion, he added: \"If I do look at\nall uncomfortable, it is your fright that has made me so, for indeed it\nwas my fault.\"\n\n\"Your fault!\"\n\n\"Yes; for if I had not lost so much time at supper, I should have been\nhere when the window was broken, and have spared you the fright.\"\n\n\"Anyhow, you are here now, and we think no more of it.\"\n\n\"Why don't you sit down?\"\n\n\"I will, my children, for we have to talk together,\" said Dagobert, as\nhe drew a chair close to the head of the bed.\n\n\"Now tell me, are you quite awake?\" he added, trying to smile in order\nto reassure them. \"Are those large eyes properly open?\"\n\n\"Look, Dagobert!\" cried the two girls, smiling in their turn, and\nopening their blue eyes to the utmost extent.\n\n\"Well, well,\" said the soldier, \"they are yet far enough, from shutting;\nbesides, it is only nine o'clock.\"\n\n\"We also have something to tell, Dagobert,\" resumed Rose, after\nexchanging glances with her sister.\n\n\"Indeed!\"\n\n\"A secret to tell you.\"\n\n\"A secret?\"\n\n\"Yes, to be sure.\"\n\n\"Ah, and a very great secret!\" added Rose, quite seriously.\n\n\"A secret which concerns us both,\" resumed Blanche.\n\n\"Faith! I should think so. What concerns the one always concerns the\nother. Are you not always, as the saying goes, 'two faces under one\nhood?'\"\n\n\"Truly, how can it be otherwise, when you put our heads under the great\nhood of your pelisse?\" said Rose, laughing.\n\n\"There they are again, mocking-birds! One never has the last word with\nthem. Come, ladies, your secret, since a secret there is.\"\n\n\"Speak, sister,\" said Rose.\n\n\"No, miss, it is for you to speak. You are to-day on duty, as eldest,\nand such an important thing as telling a secret like that you talk of\nbelongs of right to the elder sister. Come, I am listening to you,\"\nadded the soldier, as he forced a smile, the better to conceal from\nthe maidens how much he still felt the unpunished affronts of the brute\ntamer.\n\nIt was Rose (who, as Dagobert said, was doing duty as eldest) that spoke\nfor herself and for her sister.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI. THE SECRET.\n\n\"First of all, good Dagobert,\" said Rose, in a gracefully caressing\nmanner, \"as we are going to tell our secret--you must promise not to\nscold us.\"\n\n\"You will not scold your darlings, will you?\" added Blanche, in a no\nless coaxing voice.\n\n\"Granted!\" replied Dagobert gravely; \"particularly as I should not well\nknow how to set about it--but why should I scold you.\"\n\n\"Because we ought perhaps to have told you sooner what we are going to\ntell you.\"\n\n\"Listen, my children,\" said Dagobert sententiously, after reflecting a\nmoment on this case of conscience; \"one of two things must be. Either\nyou were right, or else you were wrong, to hide this from me. If you\nwere right, very well; if you were wrong, it is done: so let's say no\nmore about it. Go on--I am all attention.\"\n\nCompletely reassured by this luminous decision, Rose resumed, while she\nexchanged a smile with her sister.\n\n\"Only think, Dagobert; for two successive nights we have had a visitor.\"\n\n\"A visitor!\" cried the soldier, drawing himself up suddenly in his\nchair.\n\n\"Yes, a charming visitor--he is so very fair.\"\n\n\"Fair--the devil!\" cried Dagobert, with a start.\n\n\"Yes, fair--and with blue eyes,\" added Blanche.\n\n\"Blue eyes--blue devils!\" and Dagobert again bounded on his seat.\n\n\"Yes, blue eyes--as long as that,\" resumed Rose, placing the tip of one\nforefinger about the middle of the other.\n\n\"Zounds! they might be as long as that,\" said the veteran, indicating\nthe whole length of his term from the elbow, \"they might be as long as\nthat, and it would have nothing to do with it. Fair, and with blue eyes.\nPray what may this mean, young ladies?\" and Dagobert rose from his seat\nwith a severe and painfully unquiet look.\n\n\"There now, Dagobert, you have begun to scold us already.\"\n\n\"Just at the very commencement,\" added Blanche.\n\n\"Commencement!--what, is there to be a sequel? a finish?\"\n\n\"A finish? we hope not,\" said Rose, laughing like mad.\n\n\"All we ask is, that it should last forever,\" added Blanche, sharing in\nthe hilarity of her sister.\n\nDagobert looked gravely from one to the other of the two maidens, as if\ntrying to guess this enigma; but when he saw their sweet, innocent faces\ngracefully animated by a frank, ingenuous laugh, he reflected that they\nwould not be so gay if they had any serious matter for self-reproach,\nand he felt pleased at seeing them so merry in the midst of their\nprecarious position.\n\n\"Laugh on, my children!\" he said. \"I like so much to see you laugh.\"\n\nThen, thinking that was not precisely the way in which he ought to treat\nthe singular confession of the young girls, he added in a gruff voice:\n\"Yes, I like to see you laugh--but not when you receive fair visitors\nwith blue eyes, young ladies!--Come, acknowledge that I'm an old fool to\nlisten to such nonsense--you are only making game of me.\"\n\n\"Nay, what we tell you is quite true.\"\n\n\"You know we never tell stories,\" added Rose.\n\n\"They are right--they never fib,\" said the soldier, in renewed\nperplexity.\n\n\"But how the devil is such a visit possible? I sleep before your\ndoor--Spoil-sport sleeps under your window--and all the blue eyes and\nfair locks in the world must come in by one of those two ways--and, if\nthey had tried it, the dog and I, who have both of us quick ears, would\nhave received their visits after our fashion. But come, children! pray,\nspeak to the purpose. Explain yourselves!\"\n\nThe two sisters, who saw, by the expression of Dagobert's countenance,\nthat he felt really uneasy, determined no longer to trifle with his\nkindness. They exchanged a glance, and Rose, taking in her little hand\nthe coarse, broad palm of the veteran, said to him: \"Come, do not plague\nyourself! We will tell you all about the visits of our friend, Gabriel.\"\n\n\"There you are again!--He has a name, then?\"\n\n\"Certainly, he has a name. It is Gabriel.\"\n\n\"Is it not a pretty name, Dagobert? Oh, you will see and love, as we do,\nour beautiful Gabriel!\"\n\n\"I'll love your beautiful Gabriel, will I?\" said the veteran, shaking\nhis head--\"Love your beautiful Gabriel?--that's as it may be. I must\nfirst know--\" Then, interrupting himself, he added: \"It is queer. That\nreminds me of something.\"\n\n\"Of what, Dagobert?\"\n\n\"Fifteen years ago, in the last letter that your father, on his return\nfrom France, brought me from my wife: she told me that, poor as she was,\nand with our little growing Agricola on her hands, she had taken in\na poor deserted child, with the face of a cherub, and the name of\nGabriel--and only a short time since I heard of him again.\"\n\n\"And from whom, then?\"\n\n\"You shall know that by and by.\"\n\n\"Well, then--since you have a Gabriel of your own--there is the more\nreason that you should love ours.\"\n\n\"Yours! but who is yours? I am on thorns till you tell me.\"\n\n\"You know, Dagobert,\" resumed Rose, \"that Blanche and I are accustomed\nto fall asleep, holding each other by the hand.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, I have often seen you in your cradle. I was never tired of\nlooking at you; it was so pretty.\"\n\n\"Well, then--two nights ago, we had just fallen asleep, when we\nbeheld--\"\n\n\"Oh, it was in a dream!\" cried Dagobert. \"Since you were asleep, it was\nin a dream!\"\n\n\"Certainly, in a dream--how else would you have it?\"\n\n\"Pray let my sister go on with her tale!\"\n\n\"All, well and good!\" said the soldier with a sigh of satisfaction;\n\"well and good! To be sure, I was tranquil enough in any\ncase--because--but still--I like it better to be a dream. Continue, my\nlittle Rose.\"\n\n\"Once asleep, we both dreamt the same thing.\"\n\n\"What! both the same?\"\n\n\"Yes, Dagobert; for the next morning when we awoke we related our two\ndreams to each other.\"\n\n\"And they were exactly alike.\"\n\n\"That's odd enough, my children; and what was this dream all about?\"\n\n\"In our dream, Blanche and I were seated together, when we saw enter a\nbeautiful angel, with a long white robe, fair locks, blue eyes, and so\nhandsome and benign a countenance, that we elapsed our hands as if\nto pray to him. Then he told us, in a soft voice, that he was called\nGabriel; that our mother had sent him to be our guardian angel, and that\nhe would never abandon us.\"\n\n\"And, then,\" added Blanche, \"he took us each by the hand, and, bending\nhis fair face over us, looked at us for a long time in silence, with\nso much goodness--with so much goodness, that we could not withdraw our\neyes from his.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" resumed Rose, \"and his look seemed, by turns, to attract us, or\nto go to our hearts. At length, to our great sorrow, Gabriel quitted us,\nhaving told us that we should see him again the following night.\"\n\n\"And did he make his appearance?\"\n\n\"Certainly. Judge with what impatience we waited the moment of sleep, to\nsee if our friend would return, and visit us in our slumbers.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" said Dagobert, scratching his forehead; \"this reminds me, young\nladies, that you kept on rubbing your eyes last evening, and pretending\nto be half asleep. I wager, it was all to send me away the sooner, and\nto get to your dream as fast as possible.\"\n\n\"Yes, Dagobert.\"\n\n\"The reason being, you could not say to me, as you would to Spoil-sport:\nLie down, Dagobert! Well--so your friend Gabriel came back?\"\n\n\"Yes, and this time he talked to us a great deal, and gave us, in the\nname of our mother, such touching, such noble counsels, that the next\nday, Rose and I spent our whole time in recalling every word of our\nguardian angel--and his face, and his look--\"\n\n\"This reminds me again, young ladies, that you were whispering all along\nthe road this morning; and that when I spoke of white, you answered\nblack.\"\n\n\"Yes, Dagobert, we were thinking of Gabriel.\"\n\n\"And, ever since, we love him as well as he loves us.\"\n\n\"But he is only one between both of you!\"\n\n\"Was not our mother one between us?\"\n\n\"And you, Dagobert--are you not also one for us both?\"\n\n\"True, true! And yet, do you know, I shall finish by being jealous of\nthat Gabriel?\"\n\n\"You are our friend by day--he is our friend by night.\"\n\n\"Let's understand it clearly. If you talk of him all day, and dream of\nhim all night, what will there remain for me?\"\n\n\"There will remain for you your two orphans, whom you love so much,\"\nsaid Rose.\n\n\"And who have only you left upon earth,\" added Blanche, in a caressing\ntongue.\n\n\"Humph! humph! that's right, coax the old man over, Nay, believe me, my\nchildren,\" added the soldier, tenderly, \"I am quite satisfied with my\nlot. I can afford to let you have your Gabriel. I felt sure that Spoil\nsport and myself could take our rest in quiet. After all, there is\nnothing so astonishing in what you tell me; your first dream struck your\nfancy, and you talked so much about it that you had a second; nor should\nI be surprised if you were to see this fine fellow a third time.\"\n\n\"Oh, Dagobert! do not make a jest of it! They are only dreams, but\nwe think our mother sends them to us. Did she not tell us that orphan\nchildren were watched over by guardian angels? Well, Gabriel is our\nguardian angel; he will protect us, and he will protect you also.\"\n\n\"Very kind of him to think of me; but you see, my dear children, for the\nmatter of defence, I prefer the dog; he is less fair than your angel,\nbut he has better teeth, and that is more to be depended on.\"\n\n\"How provoking you are, Dagobert--always jesting!\"\n\n\"It is true; you can laugh at everything.\"\n\n\"Yes, I am astonishingly gay; I laugh with my teeth shut, in the style\nof old Jovial. Come, children, don't scold me: I know I am wrong. The\nremembrance of your dear mother is mixed with this dream, and you do\nwell to speak of it seriously. Besides,\" added he, with a grave air,\n\"dreams will sometimes come true. In Spain, two of the Empress's\ndragoons, comrades of mine, dreamt, the night before their death, that\nthey would be poisoned by the monks--and so it happened. If you continue\nto dream of this fair angel Gabriel, it is--it is--why, it is, because\nyou are amused by it; and, as you have none too many pleasures in the\ndaytime, you may as well get an agreeable sleep at night. But, now, my\nchildren, I have also much to tell you; it will concern your mother;\npromise me not to be sad.\"\n\n\"Be satisfied! when we think of her we are not sad, though serious.\"\n\n\"That is well. For fear of grieving you, I have always delayed the\nmoment of telling what your poor mother would have confided to you as\nsoon as you were no longer children. But she died before she had time to\ndo so, and that which I have to tell broke her heart--as it nearly\ndid mine. I put off this communication as long as I could, taking for\npretext that I would say nothing till we came to the field of battle\nwhere your father was made prisoner. That gave me time; but the moment\nis now come; I can shuffle it off no longer.\"\n\n\"We listen, Dagobert,\" responded the two maidens, with an attentive and\nmelancholy air.\n\nAfter a moment's silence, during which he appeared to reflect, the\nveteran thus addressed the young girls:\n\n\"Your father, General Simon, was the son of a workman, who remained a\nworkman; for, notwithstanding all that the general could say or do, the\nold man was obstinate in not quitting his trade. He had a heart of gold\nand a head of iron, just like his son. You may suppose, my children,\nthat when your father, who had enlisted as a private soldier, became a\ngeneral and a count of the empire, it was not without toil or without\nglory.\"\n\n\"A count of the Empire! what is that, Dagobert?\"\n\n\"Flummery--a title, which the Emperor gave over and above the promotion,\njust for the sake of saying to the people, whom he loved because he was\none of them: Here, children! You wish to play at nobility! You shall be\nnobles. You wish to play at royalty! You shall be kings. Take what you\nlike--nothing is too good for you--enjoy yourselves!\"\n\n\"Kings!\" said the two girls, joining their hands in admiration.\n\n\"Kings of the first water. Oh, he was no niggard of his crowns, our\nEmperor! I had a bed-fellow of mine, a brave soldier, who was afterwards\npromoted to be king. This flattered us; for, if it was not one, it was\nthe other. And so, at this game, your father became count; but, count or\nnot, he was one of the best and bravest generals of the army.\"\n\n\"He was handsome, was he not, Dagobert?--mother always said so.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! indeed he was--but quite another thing from your fair guardian\nangel. Picture to yourself a fine, dark man, who looked splendid in his\nfull uniform, and could put fire into the soldiers' hearts. With him to\nlead, we would have charged up into Heaven itself--that is, if Heaven\nhad, permitted it,\" added Dagobert, not wishing to wound in any way the\nreligious beliefs of the orphans.\n\n\"And father was as good as he was brave, Dagobert.\"\n\n\"Good, my children? Yes, I should say so!--He could bend a horse-shoe in\nhis hand as you would bend a card, and the day he was taken prisoner\nhe had cut down the Prussian artillerymen on their very cannon. With\nstrength and courage like that, how could he be otherwise than good? It\nis then about nineteen years ago, not far from this place--on the spot\nI showed you before we arrived at the village--that the general,\ndangerously wounded, fell from his horse. I was following him at\nthe time, and ran to his assistance. Five minutes after we were made\nprisoners--and by whom think you?--by a Frenchman.\"\n\n\"A Frenchman?\"\n\n\"Yes, an emigrant marquis, a colonel in the service of Russia,\" answered\nDagobert, with bitterness. \"And so, when this marquis advanced towards\nus, and said to the general: 'Surrender, sir, to a countryman!'--'A\nFrenchman, who fights against France,' replied the general, 'is no\nlonger my countryman; he is a traitor, and I'd never surrender to a\ntraitor!' And, wounded though he was, he dragged himself up to a Russian\ngrenadier, and delivered him his sabre, saying: 'I surrender to you my\nbrave fellow!' The marquis became pale with rage at it.\"\n\nThe orphans looked at each other with pride, and a rich crimson mantled\ntheir cheeks, as they exclaimed: \"Oh, our brave father!\"\n\n\"Ah, those children,\" said Dagobert, as he proudly twirled his\nmoustache. \"One sees they have soldier's blood in their veins! Well,\"\nhe continued, \"we were now prisoners. The general's last horse had been\nkilled under him; and, to perform the journey, he mounted Jovial, who\nhad not been wounded that day. We arrived at Warsaw, and there it was\nthat the general first saw your mother. She was called the Pearl of\nWarsaw; that is saying everything. Now he, who admired all that is good\nand beautiful, fell in love with her almost immediately; and she loved\nhim in return; but her parents had promised her to another--and that\nother was the same--\"\n\nDagobert was unable to proceed. Rose uttered a piercing cry, and pointed\nin terror to the window.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII. THE TRAVELER.\n\nUpon the cry of the young girl, Dagobert rose abruptly.\n\n\"What is the matter, Rose?\"\n\n\"There--there!\" she said, pointing to the window. \"I thought I saw a\nhand move the pelisse.\"\n\nShe had not concluded these words before Dagobert rushed to the window\nand opened it, tearing down the mantle, which had been suspended from\nthe fastening.\n\nIt was still dark night, and the wind was blowing hard. The soldier\nlistened, but could hear nothing.\n\nReturning to fetch the lamp from the table, he shaded the flame with\nhis hand, and strove to throw the light outside. Still he saw nothing.\nPersuaded that a gust of wind had disturbed and shaken the pelisse: and\nthat Rose had been deceived by her own fears he again shut the window.\n\n\"Be satisfied, children! The wind is very high; it is that which lifted\nthe corner of the pelisse.\"\n\n\"Yet methought I saw plainly the fingers which had hold of it,\" said\nRose, still trembling.\n\n\"I was looking at Dagobert,\" said Blanche, \"and I saw nothing.\"\n\n\"There was nothing to see, my children; the thing is clear enough. The\nwindow is at least eight feet above the ground; none but a giant could\nreach it without a ladder. Now, had any one used a ladder, there would\nnot have been time to remove it; for, as soon as Rose cried out, I ran\nto the window, and, when I held out the light, I could see nothing.\"\n\n\"I must have been deceived,\" said Rose.\n\n\"You may be sure, sister, it was only the wind,\" added Blanche.\n\n\"Then I beg pardon for having disturbed you, my good Dagobert.\"\n\n\"Never mind!\" replied the soldier musingly, \"I am only sorry that Spoil\nsport is not come back. He would have watched the window, and that would\nhave quite tranquillized you. But he no doubt scented the stable of his\ncomrade, Jovial, and will have called in to bid him good-night on the\nroad. I have half a mind to go and fetch him.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, Dagobert! do not leave us alone,\" cried the maidens; \"we are\ntoo much afraid.\"\n\n\"Well, the dog is not likely to remain away much longer, and I am sure\nwe shall soon hear him scratching at the door, so we will continue our\nstory,\" said Dagobert, as he again seated himself near the head of the\nbed, but this time with his face towards the window.\n\n\"Now the general was prisoner at Warsaw,\" continued he, \"and in love\nwith your mother, whom they wished to marry to another. In 1814, we\nlearned the finish of the war, the banishment of the Emperor to the Isle\nof Elba, and the return of the Bourbons. In concert with the Prussians\nand Russians, who had brought them back, they had exiled the Emperor.\nLearning all this, your mother said to the general: 'The war is\nfinished; you are free, but your Emperor is in trouble. You owe\neverything to him; go and join him in his misfortunes. I know not when\nwe shall meet again, but I shall never marry any one but you, I am yours\ntill death!'--Before he set out the general called me to him, and said:\n'Dagobert, remain here; Mademoiselle Eva may have need of you to\nfly from her family, if they should press too hard upon her; our\ncorrespondence will have to pass through your hands; at Paris, I shall\nsee your wife and son; I will comfort them, and tell them you are my\nfriend.'\"\n\n\"Always the same,\" said Rose, with emotion, as she looked affectionately\nat Dagobert.\n\n\"As faithful to the father and mother as to their children,\" added\nBlanche.\n\n\"To love one was to love them all,\" replied the soldier. \"Well, the\ngeneral joined the Emperor at Elba; I remained at Warsaw, concealed in\nthe neighborhood of your mother's house; I received the letters, and\nconveyed them to her clandestinely. In one of those letters--I feel\nproud to tell you of it my children--the general informed me that the\nEmperor himself had remembered me.\"\n\n\"What, did he know you?\"\n\n\"A little, I flatter myself--'Oh! Dagobert!' said he to your father,\nwho was talking to him about me; 'a horse-grenadier of my old guard--a\nsoldier of Egypt and Italy, battered with wounds--an old dare-devil,\nwhom I decorated with my own hand at Wagram--I have not forgotten\nhim!'--I vow, children, when your mother read that to me, I cried like a\nfool.\"\n\n\"The Emperor--what a fine golden face he has on the silver cross with\nthe red ribbon that you would sometimes show us when we behaved well.\"\n\n\"That cross--given by him--is my relic. It is there in my knapsack, with\nwhatever we have of value--our little purse and papers. But, to return\nto your mother; it was a great consolation to her, when I took her\nletters from the general, or talked with her about him--for she suffered\nmuch--oh, so much! In vain her parents tormented and persecuted her;\nshe always answered: 'I will never marry any one but General Simon.' A\nspirited woman, I can tell you--resigned, but wonderfully courageous.\nOne day she received a letter from the general; he had left the Isle of\nElba with the Emperor; the war had again broken out, a short campaign,\nbut as fierce as ever, and heightened by soldiers' devotion. In that\ncampaign of France; my children, especially at Montmirail, your father\nfought like a lion, and his division followed his example it was no\nlonger valor--it was frenzy. He told me that, in Champagne, the peasants\nkilled so many of those Prussians, that their fields were manured with\nthem for years. Men, women, children, all rushed upon them. Pitchforks,\nstones, mattocks, all served for the slaughter. It was a true wolf\nhunt!\"\n\nThe veins swelled on the soldier's forehead, and his cheeks flushed as\nhe spoke, for this popular heroism recalled to his memory the sublime\nenthusiasm of the wars of the republic--those armed risings of a whole\npeople, from which dated the first steps of his military career, as the\ntriumphs of the Empire were the last days of his service.\n\nThe orphans, too, daughters of a soldier and a brave woman, did not\nshrink from the rough energy of these words, but felt their cheeks glow,\nand their hearts beat tumultuously.\n\n\"How happy we are to be the children of so brave a father!\" cried\nBlanche.\n\n\"It is a happiness and an honor too, my children--for the evening of the\nbattle of Montmirail, the Emperor, to the joy of the whole army, made\nyour father Duke of Ligny and Marshal of France.\"\n\n\"Marshal of France!\" said Rose in astonishment, without understanding\nthe exact meaning of the words.\n\n\"Duke of Ligny!\" added Blanche with equal surprise.\n\n\"Yes; Peter Simon, the son of a workman, became duke and marshal--there\nis nothing higher except a king!\" resumed Dagobert, proudly. \"That's how\nthe Emperor treated the sons of the people, and, therefore, the people\nwere devoted to him. It was all very fine to tell them 'Your Emperor\nmakes you food for cannon.' 'Stuff!' replied the people, who are no\nfools, 'another would make us food for misery. We prefer the cannon,\nwith the chance of becoming captain or colonel, marshal, king--or\ninvalid; that's better than to perish with hunger, cold, and age, on\nstraw in a garret, after toiling forty years for others.'\"\n\n\"Even in France--even in Paris, that beautiful city--do you mean to say\nthere are poor people who die of hunger and misery, Dagobert?\"\n\n\"Even in Paris? Yes, my children; therefore, I come back to the point,\nthe cannon is better. With it, one has the chance of becoming, like your\nfather, duke and marshal: when I say duke and marshal, I am partly right\nand partly wrong, for the title and the rank were not recognized in\nthe end; because, after Montmirail, came a day of gloom, a day of great\nmourning, when, as the general has told me, old soldiers like myself\nwept--yes, wept!--on the evening of a battle. That day, my children, was\nWaterloo!\"\n\nThere was in these simple words of Dagobert an expression of such deep\nsorrow, that it thrilled the hearts of the orphans.\n\n\"Alas!\" resumed the soldier, with a sigh, \"there are days which seem\nto have a curse on them. That same day, at Waterloo, the general fell,\ncovered with wounds, at the head of a division of the Guards. When he\nwas nearly cured, which was not for a long time, he solicited permission\nto go to St. Helena--another island at the far end of the world, to\nwhich the English had carried the Emperor, to torture him at their\nleisure; for if he was very fortunate in the first instance, he had to\ngo through a deal of hard rubs at last, my poor children.\"\n\n\"If you talk in that way, you will make us cry, Dagobert.\"\n\n\"There is cause enough for it--the Emperor suffered so much! He bled\ncruelly at the heart believe me. Unfortunately, the general was not with\nhim at St. Helena; he would have been one more to console him; but\nthey would not allow him to go. Then, exasperated, like so many others,\nagainst the Bourbons, the general engaged in a conspiracy to recall the\nson of the Emperor. He relied especially on one regiment, nearly all\ncomposed of his old soldiers, and he went down to a place in Picardy,\nwhere they were then in garrison; but the conspiracy had already been\ndivulged. Arrested the moment of his arrival, the general was taken\nbefore the colonel of the regiment. And this colonel,\" said the soldier,\nafter a brief pause, \"who do you think it was again? Bah! it would be\ntoo long to tell you all, and would only make you more sad; but it was\na man whom your father had many reasons to hate. When he found himself\nface to face with him, he said: 'if you are not a coward, you will give\nme one hour's liberty, and we will fight to the death; I hate you for\nthis, I despise you for that'--and so on. The colonel accepted the\nchallenge, and gave your father his liberty till the morrow. The duel\nwas a desperate one; the colonel was left for dead on the spot.\"\n\n\"Merciful heaven!\"\n\n\"The general was yet wiping his sword, when a faithful friend came to\nhim, and told him he had only just time to save himself. In fact, he\nhappily succeeded in leaving France--yes, happily--for a fortnight\nafter, he was condemned to death as a conspirator.\"\n\n\"What misfortunes, good heaven!\"\n\n\"There was some luck, however, in the midst of his troubles. Your mother\nhad kept her promise bravely, and was still waiting for him. She had\nwritten to him: 'The Emperor first, and me next!' both unable to do\nanything more for the Emperor, nor even for his son, the general,\nbanished from France, set out for Warsaw. Your mother had lost her\nparents, and was now free; they were married--and I am one of the\nwitnesses to the marriage.\"\n\n\"You are right, Dagobert; that was great happiness in the midst of great\nmisfortunes!\"\n\n\"Yes, they were very happy; but, as it happened with all good hearts,\nthe happier they were themselves, the more they felt for the sorrows\nof others--and there was quite enough to grieve them at Warsaw. The\nRussians had again begun to treat the Poles as their slaves; your brave\nmother, though of French origin, was a Pole in heart and soul; she spoke\nout boldly what others did not dare speak in a whisper, and all the\nunfortunate called her their protecting angel. That was enough to\nexcite the suspicions of the Russian governor. One day, a friend of the\ngeneral's, formerly a colonel in the lancers, a brave and worthy man,\nwas condemned to be exiled to Siberia for a military plot against the\nRussians. He took refuge in your father's house, and lay hid there; but\nhis retreat was discovered. During the next night, a party of Cossacks,\ncommanded by an officer, and followed by a travelling-carriage, arrive\nat our door; they rouse the general from his sleep and take him away\nwith them.\"\n\n\"Oh, heaven! what did they mean to do with him?\"\n\n\"Conduct him out of the Russian dominions, with a charge never to\nreturn, on pain of perpetual imprisonment. His last words were:\n'Dagobert, I entrust to thee my wife and child!'--for it wanted yet some\nmonths of the time when you were to be born. Well, notwithstanding that,\nthey exiled your mother to Siberia; it was an opportunity to get rid of\nher; she did too much good at Warsaw, and they feared her accordingly.\nNot content with banishing her, they confiscated all her property; the\nonly favor she could obtain was, that I should accompany her, and, had\nit not been for Jovial, whom the general had given to me, she would have\nhad to make the journey on foot. It was thus, with her on horseback,\nand I leading her as I lead you, my children, that we arrived at the\npoverty-stricken village, where, three months after, you poor little\nthings were born!\"\n\n\"And our father?\"\n\n\"It was impossible for him to return to Russia; impossible for your\nmother to think of flight, with two children; impossible for the general\nto write to her, as he knew not where she was.\"\n\n\"So, since that time, you have had no news of him?\"\n\n\"Yes, my children--once we had news.\"\n\n\"And by whom?\"\n\nAfter a moment's silence, Dagobert resumed with a singular expression of\ncountenance: \"By whom?--by one who is not like other men. Yes--that\nyou may understand me better, I will relate to you an extraordinary\nadventure, which happened to your father during his last French\ncampaign. He had been ordered by the Emperor to carry a battery, which\nwas playing heavily on our army; after several unsuccessful efforts,\nthe general put himself at the head of a regiment of cuirassiers, and\ncharged the battery, intending, as was his custom, to cut down the men\nat their guns. He was on horseback, just before the mouth of a cannon,\nwhere all the artillerymen had been either killed or wounded, when one\nof them still found strength to raise himself upon one knee, and to\napply the lighted match to the touchhole--and that when your father was\nabout ten paces in front of the loaded piece.\"\n\n\"Oh! what a peril for our father!\"\n\n\"Never, he told me, had he run such imminent danger for he saw the\nartilleryman apply the match, and the gun go off--but, at the very nick,\na man of tall stature, dressed as a peasant, and whom he had not before\nremarked, threw himself in front of the cannon.\"\n\n\"Unfortunate creature! what a horrible death!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Dagobert, thoughtfully; \"it should have been so. He ought by\nrights to have been blown into a thousand pieces. But no--nothing of the\nkind!\"\n\n\"What do you tell us?\"\n\n\"What the general told me. 'At the moment when the gun went off,' as he\noften repeated to me, 'I shut my eyes by an involuntary movement, that\nI might not see the mutilated body of the poor wretch who had sacrificed\nhimself in my place. When I again opened them, the first thing I saw in\nthe midst of the smoke, was the tall figure of this man, standing\nerect and calm on the same spot, and casting a sad mild look on the\nartilleryman, who, with one knee on the ground, and his body thrown\nbackward, gazed on him in as much terror as if he had been the devil.\nAfterwards, I lost sight of this man in the tumult,' added your father.\"\n\n\"Bless me Dagobert! how can this be possible?\"\n\n\"That is just what I said to the general. He answered me that he had\nnever been able to explain to himself this event, which seemed as\nincredible as it was true. Moreover, your father must have been greatly\nstruck with the countenance of this man, who appeared, he said, about\nthirty years of age--for he remarked, that his extremely black eyebrows\nwere joined together, and formed, as it were, one line from temple to\ntemple, so that he seemed to have a black streak across his forehead.\nRemember this, my children; you will soon see why.\"\n\n\"Oh, Dagobert! we shall not forget it,\" said the orphans, growing more\nand more astonished as he proceeded.\n\n\"Is it not strange--this man with a black seam on his forehead?\"\n\n\"Well, you shall hear. The general had, as I told you, been left for\ndead at Waterloo. During the night which he passed on the field of\nbattle, in a sort of delirium brought on by the fever of his wounds, he\nsaw, or fancied he saw, this same man bending over him, with a look\nof great mildness and deep melancholy, stanching his wounds, and using\nevery effort to revive him. But as your father, whose senses were still\nwandering, repulsed his kindness saying, that after such a defeat, it\nonly remained to die--it appeared as if this man replied to him; 'You\nmust live for Eva!' meaning your mother, whom the general had left at\nWarsaw, to join the Emperor, and make this campaign of France.\"\n\n\"How strange, Dagobert!--And since then, did our father never see this\nman?\"\n\n\"Yes, he saw him--for it was he who brought news of the general to your\npoor mother.\"\n\n\"When was that? We never heard of it.\"\n\n\"You remember that, on the day your mother died, you went to the pine\nforest with old Fedora?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Rose, mournfully; \"to fetch some heath, of which our\nmother was so fond.\"\n\n\"Poor mother!\" added Blanche; \"she appeared so well that morning, that\nwe could not dream of the calamity which awaited us before night.\"\n\n\"True, my children; I sang and worked that morning in the garden,\nexpecting, no more than you did, what was to happen. Well, as I was\nsinging at my work, on a sudden I heard a voice ask me in French:\n'Is this the village of Milosk?'--I turned round, and saw before me a\nstranger; I looked at him attentively, and, instead of replying, fell\nback two steps, quite stupefied.\"\n\n\"Ah, why?\"\n\n\"He was of tall stature, very pale, with a high and open forehead; but\nhis eyebrows met, and seemed to form one black streak across it.\"\n\n\"Then it was the same man who had twice been with our father in battle?\"\n\n\"Yes--it was he.\"\n\n\"But, Dagobert,\" said Rose, thoughtfully, \"is it not a long time since\nthese battles?\"\n\n\"About sixteen years.\"\n\n\"And of what age was this stranger?\"\n\n\"Hardly more than thirty.\"\n\n\"Then how can it be the same man, who sixteen years before, had been\nwith our father in the wars?\"\n\n\"You are right,\" said Dagobert, after a moment's silence, and shrugging\nhis shoulders: \"I may have been deceived by a chance likeness--and\nyet--\"\n\n\"Or, if it were the same, he could not have got older all that while.\"\n\n\"But did you ask him, if he had not formerly relieved our father?\"\n\n\"At first I was so surprised that I did not think of it; and afterwards,\nhe remained so short a time, that I had no opportunity. Well, he asked\nme for the village of Milosk. 'You are there, sir,' said I, 'but how\ndo you know that I am a Frenchman?' 'I heard you singing as I passed,'\nreplied he; 'could you tell me the house of Madame Simon, the general's\nwife?' 'She lives here, sir.' Then looking at me for some seconds in\nsilence, he took me by the hand and said: 'You are the friend of General\nSimon--his best friend?' Judge of my astonishment, as I answered: 'But,\nsir, how do you know?' 'He has often spoken of you with gratitude.' 'You\nhave seen the general then?' 'Yes, some time ago, in India. I am also\nhis friend: I bring news of him to his wife, whom I knew to be exiled\nin Siberia. At Tobolsk, whence I come, I learned that she inhabits this\nvillage. Conduct me to her!'\"\n\n\"The good traveller--I love him already,\" said Rose.\n\n\"Yes, being father's friend.\"\n\n\"I begged him to wait an instant, whilst I went to inform your mother,\nso that the surprise might not do her harm; five minutes after, he was\nbeside her.\"\n\n\"And what kind of man was this traveller, Dagobert?\"\n\n\"He was very tall; he wore a dark pelisse, and a fur cap, and had long\nblack hair.\"\n\n\"Was he handsome?\"\n\n\"Yes, my children--very handsome; but with so mild and melancholy an\nair, that it pained my heart to see him.\"\n\n\"Poor man! he had doubtless known some great sorrow.\"\n\n\"Your mother had been closeted with him for some minutes, when she\ncalled me to her and said that she had just received good news of the\ngeneral. She was in tears, and had before her a large packet of papers;\nit was a kind of journal, which your father had written every evening to\nconsole himself; not being able to speak to her, he told the paper all\nthat he would have told her.\"\n\n\"Oh! where are these papers, Dagobert?\"\n\n\"There, in the knapsack, with my cross and our purse. One day I will\ngive them to you: but I have picked out a few leaves here and there for\nyou to read presently. You will see why.\"\n\n\"Had our father been long in India?\"\n\n\"I gathered from the few words which your mother said, that the general\nhad gone to that country, after fighting for the Greeks against the\nTurks--for he always liked to side with the weak against the strong.\nIn India he made fierce war against the English, they had murdered our\nprisoners in pontoons, and tortured the Emperor at St. Helena, and the\nwar was a doubly good one, for in harming them he served a just cause.\"\n\n\"What cause did he serve then?\"\n\n\"That of one of the poor native princes, whose territories the English,\nlay waste, till the day when they can take possession of them against\nlaw and right. You see, my children, it was once more the weak against\nthe strong, and your father did not miss this opportunity. In a few\nmonths he had so well-trained and disciplined the twelve or fifteen\nthousand men of the prince, that, in two encounters, they cut to pieces\nthe English sent against them, and who, no doubt, had in their reckoning\nleft out your brave father, my children. But come, you shall read some\npages of his journal, which will tell you more and better than I\ncan. Moreover, you will find in them a name which you ought always to\nremember; that's why I chose this passage.\"\n\n\"Oh, what happiness! To read the pages written by our father, is almost\nto hear him speak,\" said Rose.\n\n\"It is as if he were close beside us,\" added Blanche.\n\nAnd the girls stretched out their hands with eagerness, to catch hold\nof the leaves that Dagobert had taken from his pocket. Then, by a\nsimultaneous movement, full of touching grace, they pressed the writing\nof their father in silence to their lips.\n\n\"You will see also, my children, at the end of this letter, why I\nwas surprised that your guardian angel, as you say, should be called\nGabriel. Read, read,\" added the soldier, observing the puzzled air of\nthe orphans. \"Only I ought to tell you that, when he wrote this,\nthe general had not yet fallen in with the traveller who brought the\npapers.\"\n\nRose, sitting up in her bed, took the leaves, and began to read in a\nsoft and trembling voice, Blanche, with her head resting on her sister's\nshoulder, followed attentively every word. One could even see, by\nthe slight motion of her lips, that she too was reading, but only to\nherself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII. EXTRACTS FROM GENERAL SIMON'S DIARY.\n\nBivouac on the Mountains of Avers February the 20th, 1830.\n\n\"Each time I add some pages to this journal, written now in the heart\nof India, where the fortune of my wandering and proscribed existence has\nthrown me--a journal which, alas! my beloved Eva, you may never read--I\nexperience a sweet, yet painful emotion; for, although to converse thus\nwith you is a consolation, it brings back the bitter thought that I am\nunable to see or speak to you.\n\n\"Still, if these pages should ever meet your eyes, your generous heart\nwill throb at the name of the intrepid being, to whom I am this day\nindebted for my life, and to whom I may thus perhaps owe the happiness\nof seeing you again--you and my child--for of course our child lives.\nYes, it must be--for else, poor wife, what an existence would be yours\namid the horrors of exile! Dear soul! he must now be fourteen. Whom\ndoes he resemble? Is he like you? Has he your large and beautiful blue\neyes?--Madman that I am! how many times, in this long day-book, have\nI already asked the same idle question, to which you can return no\nanswer!--How many times shall I continue to ask it?--But you will teach\nour child to speak and love the somewhat savage name of Djalma.\"\n\n\"Djalma!\" said Rose, as with moist eyes she left off reading.\n\n\"Djalma!\" repeated Blanche, who shared the emotion of her sister. \"Oh,\nwe shall never forget that name.\"\n\n\"And you will do well, my children; for it seems to be the name of a\nfamous soldier, though a very young one. But go on, my little Rose!\"\n\n\"I have told you in the preceding pages, my dear Eva, of the two\nglorious days we had this month. The troops of my old friend, the\nprince, which daily make fresh advances in European discipline, have\nperformed wonders. We have beaten the English, and obliged them to\nabandon a portion of this unhappy country, which they had invaded in\ncontempt of all the rights of justice, and which they continue to\nravage without mercy, for, in these parts, warfare is another name for\ntreachery, pillage, and massacre. This morning, after a toilsome march\nthrough a rocky and mountainous district, we received information from\nour scouts, that the enemy had been reinforced, and was preparing to act\non the offensive; and, as we were separated from them by a distance of\na few leagues only, an engagement became inevitable. My old friend\nthe prince, the father of my deliverer, was impatient to march to the\nattack. The action began about three o'clock; it was very bloody\nand furious. Seeing that our men wavered for a moment, for they were\ninferior in number, and the English reinforcements consisted of fresh\ntroops, I charged at the head of our weak reserve of cavalry. The old\nprince was in the centre, fighting, as he always fights, intrepidly; his\nson, Djalma, scarcely eighteen, as brave as his father, did not leave my\nside. In the hottest part of the engagement, my horse was killed under\nme, and rolling over into a ravine, along the edge of which I was\nriding, I found myself so awkwardly entangled beneath him, that for an\ninstant I thought my thigh was broken.\"\n\n\"Poor father!\" said Blanche.\n\n\"This time, happily, nothing more dangerous ensued thanks to Djalma!\nYou see, Dagobert,\" added Rose, \"that I remember the name.\" And she\ncontinued to read,\n\n\"The English thought--and a very flattering opinion it was--that, if\nthey could kill me, they would make short work of the prince's army.\nSo a Sepoy officer, with five or six irregulars--cowardly, ferocious\nplunderers--seeing me roll down the ravine, threw themselves into it\nto despatch me. Surrounded by fire and smoke, and carried away by their\nardor, our mountaineers had not seen me fall; but Djalma never left me.\nHe leaped into the ravine to my assistance, and his cool intrepidity\nsaved my life. He had held the fire of his double-barrelled carbine;\nwith one load, he killed the officer on the spot; with the other he\nbroke the arm of an irregular, who had already pierced my left hand\nwith his bayonet. But do not be alarmed, dear Eva; it is nothing--only a\nscratch.\"\n\n\"Wounded--again wounded--alas!\" cried Blanche, clasping her hands\ntogether, and interrupting her sister.\n\n\"Take courage!\" said Dagobert: \"I dare say it was only a scratch, as\nthe general calls it. Formerly, he used to call wounds, which did not\ndisable a man from fighting, blank wounds. There was no one like him for\nsuch sayings.\"\n\n\"Djalma, seeing me wounded,\" resumed Rose, wiping her eyes, \"made use\nof his heavy carbine as a club, and drove back the soldiers. At that\ninstant, I perceived a new assailant, who, sheltered behind a clump of\nbamboos which commanded the ravine, slowly lowered his long gun, placed\nthe barrel between two branches, and took deliberate aim at Djalma.\nBefore my shouts could apprise him of his danger, the brave youth\nhad received a ball in his breast. Feeling himself hit, he fell bark\ninvoluntarily two paces, and dropped upon one knee: but he still\nremained firm, endeavoring to cover me with his body. You may conceive\nmy rage and despair, whilst all my efforts to disengage myself were\nparalyzed by the excruciating pain in my thigh. Powerless and disarmed,\nI witnessed for some moments this unequal struggle.\n\n\"Djalma was losing blood rapidly; his strength of arm began to fail him;\nalready one of the irregulars, inciting his comrades with his voice,\ndrew from his belt a huge, heavy kind of bill-hook, when a dozen of\nour mountaineers made their appearance, borne towards the spot by the\nirresistible current of the battle. Djalma was rescued in his turn, I\nwas released, and, in a quarter of an hour, I was able to mount a horse.\nThe fortune of the day is ours, though with severe loss; but the fires\nof the English camp are still visible, and to-morrow the conflict will\nbe decisive. Thus, my beloved Eva, I owe my life to this youth. Happily,\nhis wound occasions us no uneasiness; the ball only glanced along the\nribs in a slanting direction.\"\n\n\"The brave boy might have said: 'A blank wound,' like the general,\"\nobserved Dagobert.\n\n\"Now, my dear Eva,\" continued Rose, \"you must become acquainted, by\nmeans of this narrative at least, with the intrepid Djalma. He is but\njust eighteen. With one word, I will paint for you his noble and valiant\nnature; it is a custom of this country to give surnames, and, when only\nfifteen, he was called 'The Generous'--by which was, of course, meant\ngenerous in heart and mind. By another custom, no less touching than\nwhimsical, this name was reverted to his parent, who is called 'The\nFather of the Generous,' and who might, with equal propriety, be called\n'The Just,' for this old Indian is a rare example of chivalrous honor\nand proud independence. He might, like so many other poor princes of\nthis country, have humbled himself before the execrable despotism of\nthe English, bargained for the relinquishment of sovereign power,\nand submitted to brute force--but it was not in his nature. 'My whole\nrights, or a grave in my native mountains!'--such is his motto. And this\nis no empty boast; it springs from the conviction of what is right and\njust. 'But you will be crushed in the struggle,' I have said to him--'My\nfriend,' he answered, 'what if, to force you to a disgraceful act, you\nwere told to yield or die?'--From that day I understood him, and have\ndevoted myself, mind and body, to the ever sacred cause of the weak\nagainst the strong. You see, my Eva, that Djalma shows himself worthy of\nsuch a father. This young Indian is so proud, so heroic in his bravery,\nthat, like a young Greek of Leonidas' age, he fights with his breast\nbare; while other warriors of his country (who, indeed, usually have\narms, breast, and shoulders uncovered) wear, in time of battle, a thick,\nimpenetrable vest. The rash daring of this youth reminds me of Murat,\nKing of Naples, who, I have so often told you, I have seen a hundred\ntimes leading the most desperate charges with nothing but a riding-whip\nin his hand.\"\n\n\"That's another of those kings I was telling you of, whom the Emperor\nset up for his amusement,\" said Dagobert. \"I once saw a Prussian officer\nprisoner, whose face had been cut across by that mad-cap King of Naples'\nriding-whip; the mark was there, a black and blue stripe. The\nPrussian swore he was dishonored, and that a sabre-cut would have been\npreferable. I should rather think so! That devil of a king; he only\nhad one idea: 'Forward, on to the cannon!' As soon as they began to\ncannonade, one would have thought the guns were calling him with all\ntheir might, for he was soon up to them with his 'Here I am!' If I\nspeak to you about him, my children, it's because he was fond of\nrepeating,--'No one can break through a square of infantry, if General\nSimon or I can't do it.'\"\n\nRose continued:\n\n\"I have observed with pain, that, notwithstanding his youth, Djalma\nis often subject to fits of deep melancholy. At times, I have seen\nhim exchange with his father looks of singular import. In spite of our\nmutual attachment, I believe that both conceal from me some sad family\nsecret, in so far as I can judge from expressions which have dropped\nfrom them by chance.\n\n\"It relates to some strange event which their vivid imaginations have\ninvested with a supernatural character.\n\n\"And yet, my love, you and I have no longer the right to smile at the\ncredulity of others. I, since the French campaign, when I met with\nthat extraordinary adventure, which, to this day, I am quite unable to\nunderstand--\"\n\n\"This refers to the man who threw himself before the mouth of the\ncannon,\" said Dagobert.\n\n\"And you,\" continued the maiden, still reading, \"you, my dear Eva,\nsince the visits of that young and beautiful woman, whom, as your mother\nasserted, she had seen at her mother's house forty years before.\"\n\nThe orphans, in amazement, looked at the soldier.\n\n\"Your mother never spoke to me of that, nor the general either, my\nchildren; this is as strange to me as it is to you.\"\n\nWith increasing excitement and curiosity, Rose continued:\n\n\"After all, my dear Eva, things which appear very extraordinary, may\noften be explained by a chance resemblance or a freak of nature. Marvels\nbeing always the result of optical illusion or heated fancy, a time must\ncome, when that which appeared to be superhuman or supernatural, will\nprove to be the most simple and natural event in the world. I doubt not,\ntherefore, that the things, which we denominate our prodigies, will one\nday receive this commonplace solution.\"\n\n\"You see, my children--things appear marvelous, which at bottom are\nquite simple--though for a long time we understand nothing about them.\"\n\n\"As our father relates this, we must believe it, and not be\nastonished--eh, sister?\"\n\n\"Yes, truly--since it will all be explained one day.\"\n\n\"For example,\" said Dagobert, after a moment's reflection, \"you two\nare so much alike, that any one, who was not in the habit of seeing you\ndaily, might easily take one for the other. Well! if they did not know\nthat you are, so to speak,'doubles,' they might think an imp was at work\ninstead of such good little angels as you are.\"\n\n\"You are right, Dagobert; in this way many things may be explained, even\nas our father says.\" And Rose continued to read:\n\n\"Not without pride, my gentle Eva, have I learned that Djalma has French\nblood in his veins. His father married, some years ago, a young girl,\nwhose family, of French origin, had long been settled at Batavia in the\nisland of Java. This similarity of circumstances between my old friend\nand myself--for your family also, my Eva, is of French origin, and long\nsettled in a foreign land--has only served to augment my sympathy for\nhim. Unfortunately, he has long had to mourn the loss of the wife whom\nhe adored.\n\n\"See, my beloved Eva! my hand trembles as I write these words. I am\nweak--I am foolish--but, alas! my heart sinks within me. If such a\nmisfortune were to happen to me--Oh, my God!--what would become of our\nchild without thee--without his father--in that barbarous country?\nBut no! the very fear is madness; and yet what a horrible torture is\nuncertainty! Where may you now be? What are you doing? What has become\nof you? Pardon these black thoughts, which are sometimes too much for\nme. They are the cause of my worst moments--for, when free from them,\nI can at least say to myself: I am proscribed, I am every way\nunfortunate--but, at the other end of the world, two hearts still beat\nfor me with affection--yours, my Eva, and our child's!\"\n\nRose could hardly finish this passage; for some seconds her voice was\nbroken by sobs. There was indeed a fatal coincidence between the fears\nof General Simon and the sad reality; and what could be more touching\nthan these outpourings of the heart, written by the light of a watch\nfire, on the eve of battle, by a soldier who thus sought to soothe the\npangs of a separation, which he felt bitterly, but knew not would be\neternal?\n\n\"Poor general! he is unaware of our misfortune,\" said Dagobert, after\na moment's silence; \"but neither has he heard that he has two children,\ninstead of one. That will be at least some consolation. But come,\nBlanche; do go on reading: I fear that this dwelling on grief fatigues\nyour sister, and she is too much affected by it. Besides, after all, it\nis only just, that you should take your share of its pleasure and its\nsorrow.\"\n\nBlanche took the letter, and Rose, having dried her eyes, laid in her\nturn her sweet head on the shoulder of her sister, who thus continued:\n\n\"I am calmer now, my dear Eva; I left off writing for a moment,\nand strove to banish those black presentiments. Let us resume our\nconversation! After discoursing so long about India, I will talk to\nyou a little of Europe. Yesterday evening, one of our people (a trusty\nfellow) rejoined our outposts. He brought me a letter, which had arrived\nfrom France at Calcutta; at length, I have news of my father, and am no\nlonger anxious on his account. This letter is dated in August of last\nyear. I see by its contents, that several other letters, to which he\nalludes, have either been delayed or lost; for I had not received\nany for two years before, and was extremely uneasy about him. But my\nexcellent father is the same as ever! Age has not weakened him; his\ncharacter is as energetic, his health as robust, as in times past--still\na workman, still proud of his order, still faithful to his austere\nrepublican ideas, still hoping much.\n\n\"For he says to me, 'the time is at hand,' and he underlines those\nwords. He gives me also, as you will see, good news of the family of old\nDagobert, our friend--for in truth, my dear Eva, it soothes my grief\nto think, that this excellent man is with you, that he will have\naccompanied you in your exile--for I know him--a kernel of gold beneath\nthe rude rind of a soldier! How he must love our child!\"\n\nHere Dagobert coughed two or three times, stooped down, and appeared\nto be seeking on the ground the little red and blue check-handkerchief\nspread over his knees. He remained thus bent for some seconds, and, when\nhe raised himself, he drew his hand across his moustache.\n\n\"How well father knows you!\"\n\n\"How rightly has he guessed that you would love us!\"\n\n\"Well, well, children; pass over that!--Let's come to the part where the\ngeneral speaks of my little Agricola, and of Gabriel, my wife's adopted\nchild. Poor woman! when I think that in three months perhaps--but\ncome, child, read, read,\" added the old soldier, wishing to conceal his\nemotion.\n\n\"I still hope against hope, my dear Eva, that these pages will one\nday reach you, and therefore I wish to insert in them all that can be\ninteresting to Dagobert. It will be a consolation to him, to have some\nnews of his family. My father, who is still foreman at Mr. Hardy's,\ntells me that worthy man has also taken into his house the son of old\nDagobert. Agricola works under my father, who is enchanted with him.\nHe is, he tells me, a tall and vigorous lad, who wields the heavy\nforge hammer as if it were a feather, and is light-spirited as he is\nintelligent and laborious. He is the best workman on the establishment;\nand this does not prevent him in the evening, after his hard day's work,\nwhen he returns home to his mother, whom he truly loves, from making\nsongs and writing excellent patriotic verses. His poetry is full of fire\nand energy; his fellow-workmen sing nothing else, and his lays have the\npower to warm the coldest and the most timid hearts.\"\n\n\"How proud you must be of your son, Dagobert,\" said Rose, in admiration;\n\"he writes songs.\"\n\n\"Certainly, it is all very fine--but what pleases me best is, that he is\ngood to his mother, and that he handles the hammer with a will. As\nfor the songs, before he makes a 'Rising of the People,' or a\n'Marseillaise,' he will have had to beat a good deal of iron; but where\ncan this rascally sweet Agricola have learned to make songs at all?--No\ndoubt, it was at school, where he went, as you will see, with his\nadopted brother Gabriel.\"\n\nAt this name of Gabriel, which reminded them of the imaginary being whom\nthey called their guardian angel, the curiosity of the young girls was\ngreatly excited. With redoubled attention, Blanche continued in these\nwords:\n\n\"The adopted brother of Agricola, the poor deserted child whom the wife\nof our good Dagobert so generously took in, forms, my father tells me, a\ngreat contrast with Agricola; not in heart, for they have both excellent\nhearts; but Gabriel is as thoughtful and melancholy as Agricola is\nlively, joyous, and active. Moreover, adds my father, each of them, so\nto speak, has the aspect, which belongs to his character. Agricola\nis dark, tall, and strong, with a gay and bold air; Gabriel, on\nthe contrary, is weak, fair, timid as a girl, and his face wears an\nexpression of angelic mildness.\"\n\nThe orphans looked at each other in surprise; then, as they turned\ntowards the soldier their ingenuous countenances, Rose said to him;\n\"Have you heard, Dagobert? Father says, that your Gabriel is fair, and\nhas the face of an angel. Why, 'tis exactly like ours!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, I heard very well; it is that which surprised me, in your\ndream.\"\n\n\"I should like to know, if he has also blue eyes,\" said Rose.\n\n\"As for that, my children, though the general says nothing about it, I\nwill answer for it: your fair boys have always blue eyes. But, blue or\nblack, he will not use them to stare at young ladies; go on, and you\nwill see why.\"\n\nBlanche resumed:\n\n\"His face wears an expression of angelic mildness. One of the Brothers\nof the Christian Schools, where he went with Agricola and other children\nof his quarter, struck with his intelligence and good disposition, spoke\nof him to a person of consequence, who, becoming interested in the lad,\nplaced him in a seminary for the clergy, and, since the last two years,\nGabriel is a priest. He intends devoting himself to foreign missions,\nand will soon set out for America.\"\n\n\"Your Gabriel is a priest, it appears?\" said Rose, looking at Dagobert.\n\n\"While ours is an angel,\" added Blanche.\n\n\"Which only proves that yours is a step higher than mine. Well, every\none to his taste; there are good people in all trades; but I prefer that\nit should be Gabriel who has chosen the black gown. I'd rather see my\nboy with arms bare, hammer in hand, and a leathern apron round him,\nneither more nor less than your old grandfather, my children--the father\nof Marshal Simon, Duke of Ligny--for, after all, marshal and duke he is\nby the grace of the Emperor. Now finish your letter.\"\n\n\"Soon, alas, yes!\" said Blanche; \"there are only a few lines left.\" And\nshe proceeded:\n\n\"Thus, my dear, loving Eva, if this journal should ever reach its\ndestination, you will be able to satisfy Dagobert as to the position of\nhis wife and son, whom he left for our sakes. How can we ever repay such\na sacrifice? But I feel sure, that your good and generous heart will\nhave found some means of compensation.\n\n\"Adieu!--Again adieu, for to-day, my beloved Eva; I left off writing\nfor a moment, to visit the tent of Djalma. He slept peacefully, and\nhis father watched beside him; with a smile, he banished my fears. This\nintrepid young man is no longer in any danger. May he still be spared in\nthe combat of to-morrow! Adieu, my gentle Eva! the night is silent\nand calm; the fires of the bivouac are slowly dying out, and our poor\nmountaineers repose after this bloody day; I can hear, from hour to\nhour, the distant all's well of our sentinels. Those foreign words\nbring back my grief; they remind me of what I sometimes forget in\nwriting--that I am faraway, separated from you and from my child! Poor,\nbeloved beings! what will be your destiny? Ah! if I could only send you,\nin time, that medal, which, by a fatal accident, I carried away with\nme from Warsaw, you might, perhaps, obtain leave to visit France, or\nat least to send our child there with Dagobert; for you know of what\nimportance--But why add this sorrow to all the rest? Unfortunately, the\nyears are passing away, the fatal day will arrive, and this last hope,\nin which I live for you, will also be taken from me: but I will not\nclose the evening by so sad a thought. Adieu, my beloved Eva! Clasp our\nchild to your bosom, and cover it with all the kisses which I send to\nboth of you from the depths of exile!\"\n\n\"Till to-morrow--after the battle!\"\n\nThe reading of this touching letter was followed by long silence. The\ntears of Rose and Blanche flowed together. Dagobert, with his head\nresting on his hand, was absorbed in painful reflections.\n\nWithout doors, the wind had now augmented in violence; a heavy rain\nbegan to beat on the sounding panes; the most profound silence reigned\nin the interior of the inn. But, whilst the daughters of General Simon\nwere reading with such deep emotion, these fragments of their father's\njournal, a strange and mysterious scene transpired in the menagerie of\nthe brute-tamer.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX. THE CAGES.\n\nMorok had prepared himself. Over his deer-skin vest he had drawn\nthe coat of mail--that steel tissue, as pliable as cloth, as hard as\ndiamonds; next, clothing his arms and legs in their proper armor,\nand his feet in iron-bound buskins, and concealing all this defensive\nequipment under loose trousers and an ample pelisse carefully buttoned,\nhe took in his hand a long bar of iron, white-hot, set in a wooden\nhandle.\n\nThough long ago daunted by the skill and energy of the Prophet, his\ntiger Cain, his lion Judas, and his black panther Death, had sometimes\nattempted, in a moment of rebellion, to try their fangs and claws on\nhis person; but, thanks to the armor concealed beneath his pelisse, they\nblunted their claws upon a skin of steel, and notched their fangs upon\narms or legs of iron, whilst a slight touch of their master's metallic\nwand left a deep furrow in their smoking, shrivelled flesh.\n\nFinding the inutility of their efforts, and endowed with strong memory,\nthe beasts soon learned that their teeth and claws were powerless\nwhen directed against this invulnerable being. Hence, their terrified\nsubmission reached to such a point that, in his public representations,\ntheir master could make them crouch and cower at his feet by the least\nmovement of a little wand covered with flame-colored paper.\n\nThe Prophet, thus armed with care, and holding in his hand the iron made\nhot by Goliath, descended by the trapdoor of the loft into the large\nshed beneath, in which were deposited the cages of his animals. A mere\nwooden partition separated this shed from the stable that contained his\nhorses.\n\nA lantern, with a reflector, threw a vivid light on the cages. They were\nfour in number. A wide iron grating formed their sides, turning at one\nend upon hinges like a door, so as to give ingress to the animal; the\nbottom of each den rested on two axle-trees and four small iron castors,\nso that they could easily be removed to the large covered wagon in which\nthey were placed during a journey. One of them was empty; the other\nthree contained, as already intimated, a panther, a tiger, and a lion.\n\nThe panther, originally from Java, seemed to merit the gloomy name\nof Death, by her grim, ferocious aspect. Completely black, she lay\ncrouching and rolled up in the bottom of her cage, and her dark hues\nmingling with the obscurity which surrounded her, nothing was distinctly\nvisible but fixed and glaring eyes--yellow balls of phosphoric light,\nwhich only kindled, as it were, in the night-time; for it is the nature\nof all the animals of the feline species to enjoy entire clearness of\nvision but in darkness.\n\nThe Prophet entered the stable in silence: the dark red of his long\npelisse contrasted with the pale yellow of his straight hair and beard;\nthe lantern, placed at some height above the ground, threw its rays full\nupon this man, and the strong light, opposed to the deep shadows around\nit, gave effect to the sharp proportions of his bony and savage looking\nfigure.\n\nHe approached the cage slowly. The white rim, which encircled his\neyeball, appeared to dilate, and his look rivaled in motionless\nbrilliancy the steadily sparkling gaze of the panther. Still crouching\nin the shade, she felt already the fascination of that glance; two\nor three times she dropped her eyelids, with a low, angry howl; then,\nreopening her eyes, as if in spite of herself, she kept them fastened\nimmovably on those of the Prophet. And now her rounded ears clung to\nher skull, which was flattened like a viper's; the skin of her forehead\nbecame convulsively wrinkled; she drew in her bristling, but silky\nmuzzle, and twice silently opened her jaws, garnished with formidable\nfangs. From that moment a kind of magnetic connection seemed to be\nestablished between the man and the beast.\n\nThe Prophet extended his glowing bar towards the cage, and said, in a\nsharp, imperious tone: \"Death! come here.\"\n\nThe panther rose, but so dragged herself along that her belly and the\nbend of her legs touched the ground. She was three feet high, and nearly\nfive in length; her elastic and fleshy spine, the sinews of her thighs\nas well developed as those of a race-horse, her deep chest, her enormous\njutting shoulders, the nerve and muscle in her short, thick paws--all\nannounced that this terrible animal united vigor with suppleness, and\nstrength with agility.\n\nMorok, with his iron wand still extended in the direction of the cage,\nmade a step towards the panther. The panther made a stride towards the\nProphet. Morok stopped; Death stopped also.\n\nAt this moment the tiger, Judas, to whom Morok's back was turned,\nbounded violently in his cage, as if jealous of the attention, which his\nmaster paid to the panther. He growled hoarsely, and, raising his head,\nshowed the under-part of his redoubtable triangular jaw, and his broad\nchest of a dirty white, with which blended the copper color, streaked\nwith black, of his sides; his tail, like a huge red serpent, with rings\nof ebony, now clung to his flanks, now lashed them with a slow and\ncontinuous movement: his eyes, of a transparent, brilliant green, were\nfixed upon the Prophet.\n\nSuch was the influence of this man over his animals, that Judas almost\nimmediately ceased growling, as if frightened at his own temerity; but\nhis respiration continued loud and deep. Morok turned his face towards\nhim, and examined him very attentively during some seconds. The panther,\nno longer subject to the influence of her master's look, slunk back to\ncrouch in the shade.\n\nA sharp cracking, in sudden breaks, like that which great animals make\nin gnawing hard substances, was now heard from the cage of the lion.\nIt drew the attention of the Prophet, who, leaving the tiger, advanced\ntowards the other den.\n\nNothing could be seen of the lion but his monstrous croup of a reddish\nyellow. His thighs were gathered under him, and his thick mane served\nentirely to conceal his head. But by the tension and movement of the\nmuscles of his loins, and the curving of his backbone, it was easy to\nperceive that he was making violent efforts with his throat and his\nforepaws. The Prophet approached the cage with same uneasiness, fearing\nthat, notwithstanding his orders, Goliath had given the lion some bones\nto gnaw. To assure himself of it, he said in a quick and firm voice:\n\"Cain!\"\n\nThe lion did not change his position.\n\n\"Cain! come here!\" repeated Morok in a louder tone. The appeal was\nuseless; the lion did not move, and the noise continued.\n\n\"Cain! come here!\" said the Prophet a third time; but, as he pronounced\nthese words, he applied the end of the glowing bar to the haunch of the\nlion.\n\nScarcely did the light track of smoke appear on the reddish hide of\nCain, when, with a spring of incredible agility, he turned and\nthrew himself against the grating, not crouching, but at a single\nbound--upright, superb, terrifying. The Prophet being at the angle of\nthe cage, Cain, in his fury, had raised himself sideways to face his\nmaster, and, leaning his huge flank against the bars, thrust between\nthem his enormous fore leg, which, with his swollen muscles, was as\nlarge as Goliath's thigh.\n\n\"Cain! down!\" said the Prophet, approaching briskly.\n\nThe lion did not obey immediately. His lips, curling with rage,\ndisplayed fangs as long, as large, and as pointed as the tusks of a wild\nboar. But Morok touched those lips with the end of the burning metal;\nand, as he felt the smart, followed by an unexpected summons of his\nmaster, the lion, not daring to roar, uttered a hollow growl, and his\ngreat body sank down at once in an attitude of submission and fear.\n\nThe Prophet took down the lantern to see what Cain had been gnawing. It\nwas one of the planks from the floor of his den, which he had succeeded\nin tearing up, and was crunching between his teeth in the extremity of\nhis hunger. For a few moments the most profound silence reigned in the\nmenagerie. The Prophet, with his hands behind his back, went from one\ncage to the other, observing the animals with a restless contemplative\nlook, as if he hesitated to make between them an important and difficult\nchoice.\n\nFrom time to time he listened at the great door of the shed, which\nopened on the court-yard of the inn. At length this door turned on its\nhinges, and Goliath appeared, his clothes dripping with water.\n\n\"Well! is it done?\" said the Prophet.\n\n\"Not without trouble. Luckily, the night is dark, it blows hard, and it\npours with rain.\"\n\n\"Then there is no suspicion?\"\n\n\"None, master. Your information was good. The door of the cellar opens\non the fields, just under the window of the lasses. When you whistled to\nlet me know it was time, I crept out with a stool I had provided; I put\nit up against the wall, and mounted upon it; with my six feet, that made\nnine, and I could lean my elbows on the window-ledge; I took the shutter\nin one hand, and the haft of my knife in the other, and, whilst I broke\ntwo of the panes, I pushed the shutter with all my might.\"\n\n\"And they thought it was the wind?\"\n\n\"Yes, they thought it was the wind. You see, the 'brute' is not such a\nbrute, after all. That done, I crept back into my cellar, carrying my\nstool with me. In a little time, I heard the voice of the old man; it\nwas well I had made haste.\"\n\n\"Yes, when I whistled to you, he had just entered the supper-room. I\nthought he would have been longer.\"\n\n\"That man's not built to remain long at supper,\" said the giant,\ncontemptuously. \"Some moments after the panes had been broken, the old\nman opened the window, and called his dog, saying: 'Jump out!'--I went\nand hid myself at the further end of the cellar, or that infernal dog\nwould have scented me through the door.\"\n\n\"The dog is now shut up in the stable with the old man's horse.\"\n\n\"Go on!\"\n\n\"When I heard them close shutter and window, I came out of my cellar,\nreplaced my stool, and again mounted upon it. Unfastening the shutter,\nI opened it without noise, but the two broken panes were stopped up with\nthe skirts of a pelisse. I heard talking, but I could see nothing; so I\nmoved the pelisse a little, and then I could see the two lasses in bed\nopposite to me, and the old man sitting down with his back to where I\nstood.\"\n\n\"But the knapsack--the knapsack?--That is the most important.\"\n\n\"The knapsack was near the window, on a table, by the side of a lamp; I\ncould have reached it by stretching out my arm.\"\n\n\"What did you hear said?\"\n\n\"As you told me to think only of the knapsack, I can only remember what\nconcerns the knapsack. The old man said he had some papers in it--the\nletter of a general--his money--his cross.\"\n\n\"Good--what next?\"\n\n\"As it was difficult for me to keep the pelisse away from the hole, it\nslipped through my fingers. In trying to get hold of it again, I put\nmy hand too much forward. One of the lasses saw it, and screamed out,\npointing to the window.\"\n\n\"Dolt!\" exclaimed the Prophet, becoming pale with rage, \"you have ruined\nall.\"\n\n\"Stop a bit! there is nothing broken yet. When I heard the scream, I\njumped down from my stool, and got back into the cellar; as the dog was\nno longer about, I left the door ajar, so that I could hear them open\nthe window, and see, by the light, that the old man was looking out with\nthe lamp; but he could find no ladder, and the window was too high for\nany man of common size to reach it!\"\n\n\"He will have thought, like the first time, that it was the wind. You\nare less awkward than I imagined.\"\n\n\"The wolf has become a fox, as you said. Knowing where the knapsack was\nto be found with the money and the papers, and not being able to do more\nfor the moment, I came away--and here I am.\"\n\n\"Go upstairs and fetch me the longest pike.\"\n\n\"Yes, master.\"\n\n\"And the red blanket.\"\n\n\"Yes, master.\"\n\n\"Go!\"\n\nGoliath began to mount the ladder; half-way up he stopped. \"Master,\"\nsaid he, \"may I not bring down a bit of meat for Death?--you will see\nthat she'll bear me malice; she puts it all down to my account; she\nnever forgets, and on the first occasion--\"\n\n\"The pike and the cloth!\" repeated the Prophet, in an imperious tone.\nAnd whilst Goliath, swearing to himself, proceeded to execute his\ninstructions, Morok opened the great door of the shed, looked out into\nthe yard, and listened.\n\n\"Here's the pike and the cloth,\" said the giant, as he descended the\nladder with the articles. \"Now what must I do next?\"\n\n\"Return to the cellar, mount once more by the window, and when the old\nman leaves the room--\"\n\n\"Who will make him leave the room?\"\n\n\"Never mind! he will leave it.\"\n\n\"What next?\"\n\n\"You say the lamp is near the window?\"\n\n\"Quite near--on the table next to the knapsack.\"\n\n\"Well, then, as soon as the old man leaves the room, push open the\nwindow, throw down the lamp, and if you accomplish cleverly what remains\nto do--the ten florins are yours--you remember it all?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes.\"\n\n\"The girls will be so frightened by the noise and darkness, that they\nwill remain dumb with terror.\"\n\n\"Make yourself easy! The wolf turned into a fox; why not a serpent?\"\n\n\"There is yet something.\"\n\n\"Well, what now?\"\n\n\"The roof of this shed is not very high, the window of the loft is easy\nof access, the night is dark--instead of returning by the door--\"\n\n\"I will come in at the window.\"\n\n\"Ay, and without noise.\"\n\n\"Like a regular snake!\" and the giant departed.\n\n\"Yes!\" said the Prophet to himself, after a long silence, \"these means\nare sure. It was not for me to hesitate. A blind and obscure instrument,\nI know not the motives of the orders I have received: but from the\nrecommendations which accompany them--but from the position of him who\nsends them--immense interests must be involved--interests connected with\nall that is highest and greatest upon earth!--And yet how can these\ntwo girls, almost beggars, how can this wretched soldier represent such\ninterests?--No matter,\" added he, with humility; \"I am the arm which\nacts--it is for the head, which thinks and orders, to answer for its\nwork.\"\n\nSoon after the Prophet left the shed, carrying with him the red cloth,\nand directed his steps towards the little stable that contained Jovial.\nThe crazy door, imperfectly secured by a latch, was easily opened. At\nsight of a stranger Spoil-sport threw himself upon him; but his teeth\nencountered the iron leggings of the Prophet, who, in spite of the\nefforts of the dog took Jovial by his halter, threw the blanket over\nhis head to prevent his either seeing or smelling, and led him from the\nstable into the interior of the menagerie, of which he closed the door.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X. THE SURPRISE.\n\nThe orphans, after reading the journal of their father, remained for\nsome moments silent, sad, and pensive, contemplating the leaves yellowed\nby time. Dagobert, also plunged in a reverie, thought of his wife and\nson, from whom he had been so long separated, and hoped soon to see\nagain.\n\nThe soldier was the first to break the silence, which had lasted for\nseveral minutes. Taking the leaves from the hand of Blanche, he folded\nthem carefully, put them into his pocket, and thus addressed the\norphans:\n\n\"Courage, my children! you see what a brave father you have. Think only\nof the pleasure of greeting him, and remember always the name of the\ngallant youth, to whom you will owe that pleasure--for without him your\nfather would have been killed in India.\"\n\n\"Djalma! we shall never forget him,\" said Rose.\n\n\"And if our guardian angel Gabriel should return,\" added Blanche, \"we\nwill ask him to watch over Djalma as over ourselves.\"\n\n\"Very well, my children; I am sure that you will forget nothing that\nconcerns good feeling. But to return to the traveller, who came to visit\nyour poor mother in Siberia, he had seen the general a month after the\nevents of which you have read, and at a moment when he was about to\nenter on a new campaign against the English. It was then that your\nfather entrusted him with the papers and medal.\"\n\n\"But of what use will this medal be to us, Dagobert?\"\n\n\"And what is the meaning of these words engraved upon it?\" added Rose,\nas she drew it from her bosom.\n\n\"Why it means, my children, that on the 13th of February, 1832, we must\nbe at No. 3, Rue Saint Francois, Paris.\"\n\n\"But what are we to do there?\"\n\n\"Your poor mother was seized so quickly with her last illness, that she\nwas unable to tell me. All I know is, that this medal came to her from\nher parents, and that it had been a relic preserved in her family for\nmore than a century.\"\n\n\"And how did our father get it?\"\n\n\"Among the articles which had been hastily thrown into the coach,\nwhen he was removed by force from Warsaw, was a dressing-case of your\nmother's, in which was contained this medal. Since that time the general\nhad been unable to send it back, having no means of communicating with\nus, and not even knowing where we were.\"\n\n\"This medal is, then, of great importance to us?\"\n\n\"Unquestionably; for never, during fifteen years, had I seen your mother\nso happy, as on the day the traveller brought it back to her. 'Now,'\nsaid she to me, in the presence of the stranger, and with tears of joy\nin her eyes, 'now may my children's future be brilliant as their life\nhas hitherto been miserable. I will entreat of the governor of Siberia\npermission to go to France with my daughters; it will perhaps be thought\nI have been sufficiently punished, by fifteen years of exile, and the\nconfiscation of my property. Should they refuse, I will remain here; but\nthey will at least allow me to send my children to France, and you must\naccompany them, Dagobert. You shall set out immediately, for much time\nhas been already lost; and, if you were not to arrive before the 13th\nof next February, this cruel separation and toilsome journey would have\nbeen all in vain.'\"\n\n\"Suppose we were one day after?\"\n\n\"Your mother told me that if we arrived the 14th instead of the 13th, it\nwould be too late. She also gave me a thick letter, to put into the\npost for France, in the first town we should pass through--which I have\ndone.\"\n\n\"And do you think we shall be at Paris in time?\"\n\n\"I hope so; still, if you are strong enough, we must sometimes make\nforced marches--for, if we only travel our five leagues a day, and that\nwithout accident, we shall scarcely reach Paris until the beginning of\nFebruary, and it is better to be a little beforehand.\"\n\n\"But as father is in--India, and condemned to death if he return to\nFrance, when shall we see him?\"\n\n\"And where shall we see him?\"\n\n\"Poor children! there are so many things you have yet to learn. When the\ntraveller quitted him, the general could not return to France, but now\nhe can do so.\"\n\n\"And why is that?\"\n\n\"Because the Bourbons, who had banished him, were themselves turned out\nlast year. The news must reach India, and your father will certainly\ncome to meet you at Paris, because he expects that you and your mother\nwill be there on the 13th of next February.\"\n\n\"Ah! now I understand how we may hope to see him,\" said Rose with a\nsigh.\n\n\"Do you know the name of this traveller, Dagobert?\"\n\n\"No, my children; but whether called Jack or John, he is a good sort.\nWhen he left your mother, she thanked him with tears for all his\nkindness and devotion to the general, herself, and the children; but he\npressed her hands in his, and said to her, in so gentle a voice that\nI could not help being touched by it: 'Why do you thank me? Did He not\nSay--LOVE YE ONE ANOTHER!'\"\n\n\"Who is that, Dagobert?\"\n\n\"Yes, of whom did the traveller speak?\"\n\n\"I know nothing about it; only the manner in which he pronounced those\nwords struck me, and they were the last he spoke.\"\n\n\"Love one another!\" repeated Rose, thoughtfully.\n\n\"How beautiful are those words!\" added Blanche.\n\n\"And whither was the traveller going?\"\n\n\"Far, very far into the North, as he told your mother. When she saw\nhim depart, she said to me: 'His mild, sad talk has affected me even to\ntears; whilst I listened to him, I seemed to be growing better--I\nseemed to love my husband and my children more--and yet, to judge by the\nexpression of his countenance, one would think that this stranger had\nnever either smiled or wept!' She and I watched him from the door as\nlong as we could follow him with our eyes; he carried his head down, and\nhis walk was slow, calm, and firm; one might fancy that he counted his\nsteps. And, talking of steps, I remarked yet another thing.\"\n\n\"What was it, Dagobert?\"\n\n\"You know that the road which led to our house way, always damp, because\nof the overflowing of the little spring.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, then, the mark of the traveller's footsteps remained in the clay,\nand I saw that he had nails under his shoe in the form of a cross.\"\n\n\"How in the form of a cross?\"\n\n\"Look!\" said Dagobert, placing the tip of his finger seven times on the\ncoverlet of the bed; \"they were arrange: thus beneath his heel:\"\n\n          *\n        * * *\n          *\n          *\n          *\n\n\"You see it forms a cross.\"\n\n\"What could it mean, Dagobert?\"\n\n\"Chance, perhaps--yes, chance--and yet, in spite of myself, this\nconfounded cross left behind him struck me as a bad omen, for hardly was\nhe gone when misfortune after misfortune fell upon us.\"\n\n\"Alas! the death of our mother!\"\n\n\"Yes--but, before that, another piece of ill-luck. You had not yet\nreturned, and she was writing her petition to ask leave to go to France\nor to send you there, when I heard the gallop of a horse. It was a\ncourier from the governor general of Siberia. He brought us orders to\nchange our residence; within three days we were to join other condemned\npersons, and be removed with them four hundred leagues further north.\nThus, after fifteen years of exile, they redoubled in cruelty towards\nyour mother.\"\n\n\"Why did they thus torment her?\"\n\n\"One would think that some evil genius was at work against her. A few\ndays later, the traveller would no longer have found us at Milosk; and\nif he had joined us further on, it would have been too far for the medal\nand papers to be of use--since, having set out almost immediately, we\nshall hardly arrive in time at Paris. 'If they had some interest to\nprevent me and my children from going to France,' said your mother,\n'they would act just as they have done. To banish us four hundred\nleagues further, is to render impossible this journey, of which the term\nis fixed.' And the idea overwhelmed her with grief.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it was this unexpected sorrow that was the cause of her sudden\nillness.\"\n\n\"Alas! no, my children; it was that infernal cholera, who arrives\nwithout giving you notice--for he too is a great traveller--and strikes\nyou down like a thunderbolt. Three hours after the traveller had left\nus, when you returned quite pleased and gay from the forest, with your\nlarge bunches of wild-flowers for your mother, she was already in the\nlast agony, and hardly to be recognized. The cholera had broken out in\nthe village, and that evening five persons died of it. Your mother had\nonly time to hang the medal about your neck, my dear little Rose,\nto recommend you both to my care, and to beg that we should set out\nimmediately. When she was gone, the new order of exile could not apply\nto you; and I obtained permission from the governor to take my departure\nwith you for France, according to the last wishes--\"\n\nThe soldier could not finish the sentence; he covered his eyes with his\nhand, whilst the orphans embraced him sobbing.\n\n\"Oh! but,\" resumed Dagobert, with pride, after a moment of painful\nsilence, \"it was then that you showed yourselves the brave daughters of\nthe general. Notwithstanding the danger, it was impossible to tear\nyou from your mother's bedside; you remained with her to the last, you\nclosed her eyes, you watched there all night, and you would not leave\nthe village till you had seen me plant the little wooden cross over the\ngrave I had dug for her.\"\n\nDagobert paused abruptly. A strange, wild neighing, mingled with\nferocious roarings, made the soldier start from his seat. He grew pale,\nand cried: \"It is Jovial! my horse! What are they doing to my horse?\"\nWith that, opening the door he rushed down the stairs precipitately.\n\nThe two sisters clung together, so terrified at the sudden departure of\nthe soldier, that they saw not an enormous hand pass through the broken\npanes, unfasten the catch of the window, push it violently open,\nand throw down the lamp placed on the little table, on which was the\nsoldiers's knapsack. The orphans thus found themselves plunged into\ncomplete darkness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI. JOVIAL and DEATH.\n\nMorok had led Jovial into the middle of the menagerie, and then removed\nthe cloth which prevented him from seeing and smelling. Scarcely had\nthe tiger, lion, and panther caught a glimpse of him than they threw\nthemselves, half famished, against the bars of their dens.\n\nThe horse struck with stupor, his neck stretched out, his eye fixed, and\ntrembling through all his limbs, appeared as if nailed to the ground;\nan abundant icy sweat rolled suddenly down his flanks. The lion and the\ntiger uttered fearful roarings, and struggled violently in their dens.\nThe panther did not roar, but her mute rage was terrific.\n\nWith a tremendous bound, at the risk of breaking her skull, she sprang\nfrom the back of the cage against the bars; then, still mute, still\nfurious, she crawled back to the extreme corner of the den, and with a\nnew spring, as impetuous as it was blind, she again strove to force\nout the iron grating. Three times had she thus bounded--silent,\nappalling--when the horse, passing from the immobility of stupor to the\nwild agony of fear, neighed long and loud, and rushed in desperation at\nthe door by which he had entered. Finding it closed he hung his head,\nbent his knees a little, and rubbed his nostrils against the opening\nleft between the ground and the bottom of the door, as if he wished\nto inhale the air from the outside; then, more and more affrighted, he\nbegan to neigh with redoubled force, and struck out violently with his\nfore-feet.\n\nAt the moment when Death was about once more to make her spring, the\nProphet approached her cage. The heavy bolt which secured the grating\nwas pushed from its staple by the pike of the brute-tamer, and, in\nanother second, Morok was half way up the ladder that communicated with\nthe loft.\n\nThe roaring of the lion and tiger, mingled with the neighing of Jovial,\nnow resounded through all parts of the inn. The panther had again\nthrown herself furiously on the grating, and this time yielding with one\nspring, she was in the middle of the shed.\n\nThe light of the lantern was reflected from the glossy ebon of her\nhide, spotted with stains of a duller black. For an instant she remained\nmotionless, crouching upon her thick-set limbs, with her head close to\nthe floor, as if calculating the distance of the leap by which she was\nto reach the horse; then suddenly she darted upon him.\n\nOn seeing her break from her cage Jovial had thrown himself violently\nagainst the door, which was made to open inwards, and leaned against\nit with all his might, as though he would force it down. Then, at\nthe moment when Death took her leap, he reared up in almost an erect\nposition; but she, rapid as lightning, had fastened upon his throat and\nhung there, whilst at the same time she buried the sharp claws of her\nfore-feet in his chest. The jugular vein of the horse opened; a torrent\nof bright red blood spouted forth beneath the tooth of the panther, who,\nnow supporting herself on her hind legs, squeezed her victim up against\nthe door, whilst she dug into his flank with her claws, and laid bare\nthe palpitating flesh. Then his half-strangled neighing became awful.\n\nSuddenly these words resounded: \"Courage, Jovial!--I am at hand!\nCourage!\"\n\nIt was the voice of Dagobert, who was exhausting himself in desperate\nexertions to force open the door that concealed this sanguinary\nstruggle. \"Jovial!\" cried the soldier, \"I am here. Help! Help!\"\n\nAt the sound of that friendly and well-known voice, the poor animal,\nalmost at its last gasp, strove to turn its head in the direction whence\ncame the accents of his master, answered him with a plaintive neigh,\nand, sinking beneath the efforts of the panther, fell prostrate, first\non its knees, then upon its flank, so that its backbone lay right\nacross the door, and still prevented its being opened. And now all was\nfinished. The panther, squatting down upon the horse, crushed him with\nall her paws, and, in spite of some last faint kicks, buried her bloody\nsnout in his body.\n\n\"Help! help! my horse!\" cried Dagobert, as he vainly shook the door.\n\"And no arms!\" he added with rage; \"no arms!\"\n\n\"Take care!\" exclaimed the brute-tamer, who appeared at the window\nof the loft; \"do not attempt to enter it might cost you your life. My\npanther is furious.\"\n\n\"But my horse! my horse!\" cried Dagobert, in a voice of agony.\n\n\"He must have strayed from his stable during the night, and pushed open\nthe door of the shed. At sight of him the panther must have broken out\nof her cage and seized him. You are answerable for all the mischief that\nmay ensue,\" added the brute-tamer, with a menacing air; \"for I shall\nhave to run the greatest danger, to make Death return to her den.\"\n\n\"But my horse! only save my horse!\" cried Dagobert, in a tone of\nhopeless supplication.\n\nThe Prophet disappeared from the window.\n\nThe roaring of the animals and the shouts of Dagobert, had roused from\nsleep every one in the White Falcon. Here and there lights were seen\nmoving and windows were thrown open hurriedly. The servants of the\ninn soon appeared in the yard with lanterns, and surrounding Dagobert,\ninquired of him what had happened.\n\n\"My horse is there,\" cried the soldier, continuing to shake the door,\n\"and one of that scoundrel's animals has escaped from its cage.\"\n\nAt these words the people of the inn, already terrified by the frightful\nroaring, fled from the spot and ran to inform the host. The soldier's\nanguish may be conceived, as pale, breathless, with his ear close to\nthe chink of the door, he stood listening. By degrees the roaring had\nceased, and nothing was heard but low growls, accompanied by the stern\nvoice of the Prophet, repeating in harsh, abrupt accents: \"Death! come\nhere! Death!\"\n\nThe night was profoundly dark, and Dagobert did not perceive Goliath,\nwho, crawling carefully along the tiled roof entered the loft by the\nattic window.\n\nAnd now the gate of the court-yard was again opened, and the landlord of\nthe inn appeared, followed by a number of men. Armed with a carbine, he\nadvanced with precaution; his people carried staves and pitchforks.\n\n\"What is the row here?\" said he, as he approached Dagobert. \"What a\nhubbub in my house! The devil take wild beast showmen, and negligent\nfellows who don't know how to tie a horse to the manger! If your beast\nis hurt, so much the worse for you; you should have taken more care of\nit.\"\n\nInstead of replying to these reproaches, the soldier, who still listened\nattentively to what was going on in the shed, made a sign to entreat\nsilence. Suddenly a ferocious roar was heard, followed by a loud scream\nfrom the Prophet; and, almost immediately after, the panther howled\npiteously.\n\n\"You are no doubt the cause of some great accident,\" said the frightened\nhost to the soldier; \"did you not hear that cry? Morok is, perhaps,\ndangerously wounded.\"\n\nDagobert was about to answer, when the door opened, and Goliath appeared\non the threshold.\n\n\"You may enter now,\" said he; \"the danger is over.\"\n\nThe interior of the menagerie presented a singular spectacle. The\nProphet, pale, and scarcely able to conceal his agitation beneath an\napparent air of calmness, was kneeling some paces from the cage of the\npanther, in the attitude of one absorbed in himself; the motion of his\nlips indicating that he was praying. At sight of the host and the people\nof the inn, he rose, and said in a solemn voice: \"I thank thee, my\nPreserver, that I have been able to conquer, by the strength which Thou\nhast given me.\"\n\nThen folding his arms, with haughty brow and imperious glance, he seemed\nto enjoy the triumph he had achieved over Death, who, stretched on the\nbottom of her den, continued to utter plaintive howlings. The spectators\nof this scene, ignorant that the pelisse of the brute-tamer covered a\ncomplete suit of armor, and attributing the cries of the panther solely\nto fear, were struck with astonishment and admiration at the intrepidity\nand almost supernatural power of this man. A few steps behind him stood\nGoliath, leaning upon the ashen pikestaff. Finally, not far from the\ncage, in the midst of a pool of blood, lay the dead body of Jovial.\n\nAt sight of the blood-stained and torn remains, Dagobert stood\nmotionless, and his rough countenance assumed an expression of the\ndeepest grief: then, throwing himself on his knees, he lifted the head\nof Jovial; and when he saw those dull, glassy, and half-closed eyes,\nonce so bright and intelligent, as they turned towards a much-loved\nmaster, the soldier could not suppress an exclamation of bitter anguish.\nForgetting his anger, forgetting the deplorable consequences of this\naccident, so fatal to the interests of the two maidens, who would thus\nbe prevented from continuing their journey--he thought only of the\nhorrible death of his poor old horse, the ancient companion of his\nfatigues and wars, the faithful animal, twice wounded like himself, and\nfrom whom for so many years he had never been separated. This poignant\nemotion was so cruelly, so affectingly visible in the soldier's\ncountenance, that the landlord and his people felt themselves for a\nmoment touched with pity, as they gazed on the tall veteran kneeling\nbeside his dead horse.\n\nBut, when following the course of his regrets, he thought how Jovial had\nalso been the companion of his exile, how the mother of the orphans had\nformerly (like her daughters) undertaken a toilsome journey with the aid\nof this unfortunate animal, the fatal consequences of his loss presented\nthemselves on a sudden to his mind. Then, fury succeeding to grief,\nhe rose, with anger flashing from his eyes, and threw himself on the\nProphet; with one hand he seized him by the throat, and with the other\nadministered five or six heavy blows, which fell harmlessly on the coat\nof mail.\n\n\"Rascal! you shall answer to me for my horse's death!\" said the soldier,\nas he continued his correction. Morok, light and sinewy, could not\nstruggle with advantage against Dagobert, who, aided by his tall\nstature, still displayed extraordinary vigor. It needed the intervention\nof Goliath and the landlord to rescue the Prophet from the hands of the\nold grenadier. After some moments, they succeeded in separating the two\nchampions. Morok was white with rage. It needed new efforts to prevent\nhis seizing the pike to attack Dagobert.\n\n\"It is abominable!\" cried the host, addressing the soldier, who pressed\nhis clinched fists in despair against his bald forehead. \"You expose\nthis good man to be devoured by his beasts, and then you wish to beat\nhim into the bargain. Is this fitting conduct for a graybeard? Shall\nwe have to fetch the police? You showed yourself more reasonable in the\nearly part of the evening.\"\n\nThese words recalled the soldier to himself. He regretted his\nimpetuosity the more, as the fact of his being a stranger might augment\nthe difficulty of his position. It was necessary above all to obtain\nthe price of his horse, so as to be enabled to continue his journey, the\nsuccess of which might be compromised by a single day's delay. With a\nviolent effort, therefore, he succeeded in restraining his wrath.\n\n\"You are right--I was too hasty,\" said he to the host, in an agitated\nvoice, which he tried to make as calm as possible. \"I had not the same\npatience as before. But ought not this man be responsible for the loss\nof my horse? I make you judge in the matter.\"\n\n\"Well, then, as judge, I am not of your opinion. All this has been your\nown fault. You tied up your horse badly, and he strayed by chance into\nthis shed, of which no doubt the door was half-open,\" said the host,\nevidently taking the part of the brute-tamer.\n\n\"It was just as you say,\" answered Goliath. \"I can remember it. I left\nthe door ajar, that the beasts might have some air in the night. The\ncages were well shut, and there was no danger.\"\n\n\"Very true,\" said one of the standers-by.\n\n\"It was only the sight of the horse,\" added another, \"that made the\npanther furious, so as to break out of its cage.\"\n\n\"It is the Prophet who has the most right to complain,\" observed a\nthird.\n\n\"No matter what this or that person says,\" returned Dagobert, whose\npatience was beginning to fail him, \"I say, that I must have either\nmoney or a horse on the instant--yes, on the instant--for I wish to quit\nthis unlucky house.\"\n\n\"And I say, it is you that must indemnify me,\" cried Morok, who had kept\nthis stage-trick for the last, and who now exhibited his left hand all\nbloody, having hitherto concealed it beneath the sleeve of his pelisse.\n\"I shall perhaps be disabled for life,\" he added; \"see what a wound the\npanther has made here!\"\n\nWithout having the serious character that the Prophet ascribed to it,\nthe wound was a pretty deep one. This last argument gained for him the\ngeneral sympathy. Reckoning no doubt upon this incident, to secure the\nwinning of a cause that he now regarded as his own, the host said to the\nhostler: \"There is only one way to make a finish. It is to call up the\nburgomaster, and beg him to step here. He will decide who is right or\nwrong.\"\n\n\"I was just going to propose it to you,\" said the soldier, \"for, after\nall, I cannot take the law into my own hands.\"\n\n\"Fritz, run to the burgomaster's!\"--and the hustler started in all\nhaste. His master, fearing to be compromised by the examination of the\nsoldier, whose papers he had neglected to ask for on his arrival, said\nto him: \"The burgomaster will be in a very bad humor, to be disturbed so\nlate. I have no wish to suffer by it, and I must therefore beg you to\ngo and fetch me your papers, to see if they are in rule. I ought to have\nmade you show them, when you arrived here in the evening.\"\n\n\"They are upstairs in my knapsack; you shall have them,\" answered the\nsoldier--and turning away his head, and putting his hand before his\neyes, as he passed the dead body of Jovial, he went out to rejoin the\nsisters.\n\nThe Prophet followed him with a glance of triumph, and said to himself:\n\"There he goes!--without horse, without money, without papers. I could\nnot do more--for I was forbidden to do more--I was to act with as much\ncunning as possible and preserve appearances. Now every one will think\nthis soldier in the wrong. I can at least answer for it, that he will\nnot continue his journey for some days--since such great interests\nappear to depend on his arrest, and that of the young girls.\"\n\nA quarter of an hour after this reflection of the brute-tamer, Karl,\nGoliath's comrade, left the hiding-place where his master had concealed\nhim during the evening, and set out for Leipsic, with a letter which\nMorok had written in haste, and which Karl, on his arrival, was to put\nimmediately into the post.\n\nThe address of this letter was as follows:\n\n\"A Monsieur Rodin, Rue du Milieu-des-Ursins, No, 11, A Paris, France.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII. THE BURGOMASTER.\n\nDagobert's anxiety increased every moment. Certain that his horse had\nnot entered the shed of its own accord, he attributed the event which\nhad taken place to the spite of the brute-tamer; but he sought in vain\nfor the motive of this wretch's animosity, and he reflected with dismay,\nthat his cause, however just, would depend on the good or bad humor of\na judge dragged from his slumbers and who might be ready to condemn upon\nfallacious appearances.\n\nFully determined to conceal, as long as possible, from the orphans the\nfresh misfortunes, which had befallen them, he was proceeding to open\nthe door of their chamber, when he stumbled over Spoil-sport--for the\ndog had run back to his post, after vainly trying to prevent the Prophet\nfrom leading away Jovial. \"Luckily the dog has returned; the poor little\nthings have been well guarded,\" said the soldier, as he opened the door.\nTo his great surprise, the room was in utter darkness.\n\n\"My children,\" cried he, \"why are you without a light?\" There was no\nanswer. In terror he groped his way to the bed, and took the hand of one\nof the sisters; the hand was cold as ice.\n\n\"Rose, my children!\" cried he. \"Blanche! Give me some answer! you\nfrighten me.\" Still the same silence continued; the hand which he held\nremained cold and powerless, and yielded passively to his touch.\n\nJust then, the moon emerged from the black clouds that surrounded her,\nand threw sufficient light into the little room, and upon the bed,\nwhich faced the window, for the soldier to see that the two sisters\nhad fainted. The bluish light of the moon added to the paleness of the\norphans; they held each other in a half embrace, and Rose had buried her\nhead on Blanche's bosom.\n\n\"They must have fainted through fear,\" exclaimed Dagobert, running to\nfetch his gourd. \"Poor things! after a day of so much excitement, it is\nnot surprising.\" And moistening the corner of a handkerchief with a few\ndrops of brandy, the soldier knelt beside the bed, gently chafed the\ntemples of the two sisters, and held the linen, wet with the spirituous\nliquor, to their little pink nostrils.\n\nStill on his knees, and bending his dark, anxious face over the orphans,\nhe waited some moments before again resorting to the only restorative in\nhis power. A slight shiver of Rose gave him renewed hope; the young girl\nturned her head on the pillow with a sigh; then she started, and\nopened her eyes with an expression of astonishment and alarm; but, not\nimmediately recognizing Dagobert, she exclaimed: \"Oh, sister!\" and threw\nherself into the arms of Blanche.\n\nThe latter also was beginning to experience the effect of the soldier's\ncare. The exclamation of Rose completely roused her from her lethargy,\nand she clung to her sister, again sharing the fright without knowing\nits cause.\n\n\"They've come to--that's the chief point,\" said Dagobert, \"now we shall\nsoon get rid of these foolish fears.\" Then softening his voice, he\nadded: \"Well, my children, courage? You are better. It is I who am\nhere--me, Dagobert!\"\n\nThe orphans made a hasty movement, and, turning towards the soldier\ntheir sweet faces, which were still full of dismay and agitation, they\nboth, by a graceful impulse, extended their arms to him and cried: \"It\nis you, Dagobert--then we are safe!\"\n\n\"Yes, my children, it is I,\" said the veteran, taking their hands in\nhis, and pressing them joyfully. \"So you have been much frightened\nduring my absence?\"\n\n\"Oh, frightened to death!\"\n\n\"If you knew--oh, goodness! if you knew--\"\n\n\"But the lamp is extinguished--why is that?\"\n\n\"We did not do it.\"\n\n\"Come--recover yourselves, poor children, and tell me all about it. I\nhave no good opinion of this inn; but, luckily, we shall soon leave it.\nIt was an ill wind that blew me hither--though, to be sure, there was no\nother in the village. But what has happened?\"\n\n\"You were hardly gone, when the window flew open violently, and the lamp\nand table fell together with a loud crash.\"\n\n\"Then our courage failed--we screamed and clasped each other, for we\nthought we could hear some one moving in the room.\"\n\n\"And we were so frightened, that we fainted away.\"\n\nUnfortunately, persuaded that it was the violence of the wind which had\nalready broken the glass, and shaken the window, Dagobert attributed\nthis second accident to the same cause as the first, thinking that he\nhad not properly secured the fastening and that the orphans had been\ndeceived by a false alarm. \"Well, well--it is over now,\" said he to\nthem: \"Calm yourselves, and don't think of it any more.\"\n\n\"But why did you leave us so hastily, Dagobert?\"\n\n\"Yes, now I remember--did we not hear a great noise, sister, and see\nDagobert run to the staircase, crying: 'My horse! what are they doing to\nmy horse?'\"\n\n\"It was then Jovial who neighed?\"\n\nThese questions renewed the anguish of the soldier; he feared to answer\nthem, and said, with a confused air: \"Yes--Jovial neighed--but it was\nnothing. By the by, we must have a light here. Do you know where I put\nmy flint and steel last evening? Well, I have lost my senses; it is here\nin my pocket. Luckily, too, we have a candle, which I am going to light;\nI want to look in my knapsack for some papers I require.\"\n\nDagobert struck a few sparks, obtained a light, and saw that the window\nwas indeed open, the table thrown down, and the lamp lying by the side\nof the knapsack. He shut the window, set the little table on its feet\nagain, placed the knapsack upon it, and began to unbuckle this last in\norder to take out his portfolio, which had been deposited along with his\ncross and purse, in a kind of pocket between the outside and the lining.\nThe straps had been readjusted with so much care, that there was no\nappearance of the knapsack having been disturbed; but when the soldier\nplunged his hand into the pocket above-mentioned, he found it empty.\nStruck with consternation, he grew pale, and retreated a step, crying:\n\"How is this?--Nothing!\"\n\n\"What is the matter?\" said Blanche. He made her no answer. Motionless,\nhe leaned against the table, with his hand still buried in the pocket.\nThen, yielding to a vague hope--for so cruel a reality did not appear\npossible--he hastily emptied the contents of the knapsack on the\ntable--his poor half-worn clothes--his old uniform-coat of the\nhorse-grenadiers of the Imperial Guard, a sacred relic for the\nsoldiers--but, turn and return them as he would, he found neither his\npurse, nor the portfolio that contained his papers, the letters of\nGeneral Simon, and his cross.\n\nIn vain, with that serious childishness which always accompanies a\nhopeless search, he took the knapsack by the two ends, and shook it\nvigorously; nothing came out. The orphans looked on with uneasiness, not\nunderstanding his silence or his movements, for his back was turned\nto them. Blanche ventured to say to him in a timid voice: \"What ails\nyou--you don't answer us.--What is it you are looking for in your\nknapsack?\"\n\nStill mute, Dagobert searched his own person, turned out all his\npockets--nothing!--For the first time in his life, perhaps, his two\nchildren, as he called them, had spoken to him without receiving a\nreply. Blanche and Rose felt the big tears start into their eyes;\nthinking that the soldier was angry, they darst not again address him.\n\n\"No, no! it is impossible--no!\" said the veteran, pressing his hand to\nhis forehead, and seeking in his memory where he might have put those\nprecious objects, the loss of which he could not yet bring himself to\nbelieve. A sudden beam of joy flashed from his eyes. He ran to a chair,\nand took from it the portmanteau of the orphans; it contained a little\nlinen, two black dresses, and a small box of white wood, in which were\na silk handkerchief that had belonged to their mother, two locks of her\nhair, and a black ribbon she had worn round her neck. The little she\npossessed had been seized by the Russian government, in pursuance of\nthe confiscation. Dagobert searched and researched every article--peeped\ninto all the corners of the portmanteau--still nothing!\n\nThis time, completely worn out, leaning against the table, the strong,\nenergetic man felt himself giving way. His face was burning, yet bathed\nin a cold sweat; his knees trembled under him. It is a common saying,\nthat drowning men will catch at straws; and so it is with the\ndespair that still clings to some shred of hope. Catching at a last\nchance--absurd, insane, impossible--he turned abruptly towards the\norphans, and said to them, without considering the alteration in\nhis voice and features: \"I did not give them to you--to keep for\nme?--speak?\"\n\nInstead of answering, Rose and Blanche, terrified at his paleness and\nthe expression of his countenance, uttered a cry. \"Good heavens! what is\nthe matter with you?\" murmured Rose.\n\n\"Have you got them--yes, or no?\" cried in a voice of thunder the\nunfortunate, distracted man. \"If you have not--I'll take the first knife\nI meet with, and stick it into my body!\"\n\n\"Alas! You are so good: pardon us if we have done anything to afflict\nyou! You love us so much, you would not do us any harm.\" The orphans\nbegan to weep, as they stretched forth their hands in supplication\ntowards the soldier.\n\nHe looked at them with haggard eye, without even seeing them; till, as\nthe delusion passed away, the reality presented itself to his mind with\nall its terrible consequences. Then he clasped his hands together, fell\non his knees before the bed of the orphans, leaned his forehead upon\nit, and amid his convulsive sobs--for the man of iron sobbed like a\nchild--these broken words were audible: \"Forgive me--forgive!--I do not\nknow how it can be!--Oh! what a misfortune!--what a misfortune!--Forgive\nme!\"\n\nAt this outbreak of grief, the cause of which they understood not, but\nwhich in such a man was heart-rending, the two sisters wound their arms\nabout his old gray head, and exclaimed amid their tears: \"Look at us!\nOnly tell us what is the matter with you?--Is it our fault?\"\n\nAt this instant, the noise of footsteps resounded from the stairs,\nmingled with the barking of Spoil-sport, who had remained outside the\ndoor. The nearer the steps approached, the more furious became the\nbarking; it was no doubt accompanied with hostile demonstrations, for\nthe host was heard to cry out in an angry tone: \"Hollo! you there! Call\noff your dog, or speak to him. It is Mr. Burgomaster who is coming up.\"\n\n\"Dagobert--do you hear?--it is the burgomaster,\" said Rose.\n\n\"They are coming upstairs--a number of people,\" resumed Blanche.\n\nThe word burgomaster recalled whatever had happened to the mind of\nDagobert, and completed, so to express it, the picture of his terrible\nposition. His horse was dead, he had neither papers nor money, and\na day, a single day's detention, might defeat the last hope of the\nsisters, and render useless this long and toilsome journey.\n\nMen of strong minds, and the veteran was of the number, prefer great\nperils, positions of danger accurately defined, to the vague anxieties\nwhich precede a settled misfortune. Guided by his good sense and\nadmirable devotion, Dagobert understood at once, that his only resource\nwas now in the justice of the burgomaster, and that all his efforts\nshould tend to conciliate the favor of that magistrate. He therefore\ndried his eyes with the sheet, rose from the ground, erect, calm, and\nresolute, and said to the orphans: \"Fear nothing, my children; it is our\ndeliverer who is at hand.\"\n\n\"Will you call off your dog or no?\" cried the host, still detained on\nthe stairs by Spoil-sport, who, as a vigilant sentinel, continued to\ndispute the passage. \"Is the animal mad, I say? Why don't you tie him\nup? Have you not caused trouble enough in my house? I tell you, that Mr.\nBurgomaster is waiting to examine you in your turn, for he has finished\nwith Morok.\"\n\nDagobert drew his fingers through his gray locks and across his\nmoustache, clasped the collar of his top-coat, and brushed the sleeves\nwith his hand, in order to give himself the best appearance possible;\nfor he felt that the fate of the orphans must depend on his interview\nwith the magistrate. It was not without a violent beating of the heart,\nthat he laid his hand upon the door-knob, saying to the young girls, who\nwere growing more and more frightened by such a succession of events:\n\"Hide yourselves in your bed, my children; if any one must needs enter,\nit shall be the burgomaster alone.\"\n\nThereupon, opening the door, the soldier stepped out on the landing\nplace, and said: \"Down, Spoil-sport!--Here!\"\n\nThe dog obeyed, but with manifest repugnance. His master had to speak\ntwice, before he would abstain from all hostile movements towards the\nhost. This latter, with a lantern in one hand and his cap in the other,\nrespectfully preceded the burgomaster, whose magisterial proportions\nwere lost in the half shadows of the staircase. Behind the judge, and\na few steps lower, the inquisitive faces of the people belonging to the\ninn were dimly visible by the light of another lantern.\n\nDagobert, having turned the dog into the room, shut the door after him,\nand advanced two steps on the landing-place, which was sufficiently\nspacious to hold several persons, and had in one corner a wooden bench\nwith a back to it. The burgomaster, as he ascended the last stair, was\nsurprised to see Dagobert close the door of the chamber, as though he\nwished to forbid his entrance. \"Why do you shut that door?\" asked he in\nan abrupt tone.\n\n\"First, because two girls, whom I have the charge of, are in bed in\nthat room; secondly, because your examination would alarm them,\" replied\nDagobert. \"Sit down upon this bench, Mr. Burgomaster, and examine me\nhere; it will not make any difference, I should think.\"\n\n\"And by what right,\" asked the judge, with a displeased air, \"do you\npretend to dictate to me the place of your examination?\"\n\n\"Oh, I have no such pretension, Mr. Burgomaster!\" said the soldier\nhastily, fearing above all things to prejudice the judge against him:\n\"only, as the girls are in bed, and already much frightened, it would be\na proof of your good heart to examine me where I am.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" said the magistrate, with ill-humor; \"a pretty state of things,\ntruly!--It was much worth while to disturb me in the middle of the\nnight. But, come, so be it; I will examine you here.\" Then, turning to\nthe landlord, he added: \"Put your lantern upon this bench, and leave\nus.\"\n\nThe innkeeper obeyed, and went down, followed by his people, as\ndissatisfied as they were at being excluded from the examination. The\nveteran was left alone with the magistrate.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII. THE JUDGEMENT.\n\nThe worthy burgomaster of Mockern wore a cloth cap, and was enveloped in\na cloak. He sat down heavily on the bench. He was a corpulent man, about\nsixty, with an arrogant, morose countenance; and he frequently rubbed\nwith his red, fat fist, eyes that were still swollen and blood shot,\nfrom his having been suddenly roused from sleep.\n\nDagobert stood bareheaded before him, with a submissive, respectful air,\nholding his old foraging cap in his hands, and trying to read in the\nsullen physiognomy of his judge what chance there might be to interest\nhim in his favor--that is, in favor of the orphans.\n\nIn this critical juncture, the poor soldier summoned to his aid all his\npresence of mind, reason, eloquence and resolution. He, who had twenty\ntimes braved death with the utmost coolness--who, calm and serene,\nbecause sincere and tried, had never quailed before the eagle-glance\nof the Emperor, his hero and idol--now felt himself disconcerted and\ntrembling before the ill-humored face of a village burgomaster. Even\nso, a few hours before, he had submitted, impassive and resigned, to the\ninsults of the Prophet--that he might not compromise the sacred mission\nwith which a dying mother had entrusted him--thus showing to what a\nheight of heroic abnegation it is possible for a simple and honest heart\nto attain.\n\n\"What have you to say in your justification? Come, be quick!\" said the\njudge roughly, with a yawn of impatience.\n\n\"I have not got to justify myself--I have to make a complaint, Mr.\nBurgomaster,\" replied Dagobert in a firm voice.\n\n\"Do you think you are to teach me in what terms I am to put my\nquestions?\" exclaimed the magistrate, in so sharp a tone that the\nsoldier reproached himself with having begun the interview so badly.\nWishing to pacify his judge, he made haste to answer with submission:\n\n\"Pardon me, Mr. Burgomaster, I have ill-explained my meaning. I only\nwished to say that I was not wrong in this affair.\"\n\n\"The Prophet says the contrary.\"\n\n\"The Prophet?\" repeated the soldier, with an air of doubt.\n\n\"The Prophet is a pious and honest man,\" resumed the judge, \"incapable\nof falsehood.\"\n\n\"I cannot say anything upon that subject; but you are too just, and have\ntoo good a heart, Mr. Burgomaster, to condemn without hearing me. It is\nnot a man like you that would do an injustice; oh, one can see that at a\nglance!\"\n\nIn resigning himself thus to play the part of a courtier, Dagobert\nsoftened as much as possible his gruff voice, and strove to give to his\naustere countenance a smiling, agreeable, and flattering expression.\n\"A man like you,\" he added, with redoubled suavity of manner, \"a\nrespectable judge like you, never shuts his ears to one side or the\nother.\"\n\n\"Ears are not in question, but eyes; and, though mine smart as if I had\nrubbed them with nettles, I have seen the hand of the brute-tamer, with\na frightful wound on it.\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Burgomaster, it is very true; but consider, if he had shut his\ncages and his door, all this would not have happened.\"\n\n\"Not so; it is your fault. You should have fastened your horse securely\nto the manger.\"\n\n\"You are right, Mr. Burgomaster, certainly, you are right,\" said the\nsoldier, in a still more affable and conciliating voice. \"It is not for\na poor devil like me to contradict you. But supposing my horse was\nlet loose out of pure malice, in order that he might stray into the\nmenagerie--you will then acknowledge that it was not my fault. That is,\nyou will acknowledge it if you think fit,\" hastily added the soldier \"I\nhave no right to dictate to you in anything.\"\n\n\"And why the devil should any one do you this ill-turn?\"\n\n\"I do not know, Mr. Burgomaster--but--\"\n\n\"You do not know--well, nor I either,\" said the burgomaster impatiently.\n\"Zounds! what a many words about the carcass of an old horse!\"\n\nThe countenance of the soldier, losing on a sudden its expression of\nforced suavity, became once more severe; he answered in a grave voice,\nfull of emotion: \"My horse is dead--he is no more than a carcass--that\nis true; but an hour ago, though very old, he was full of life and\nintelligence. He neighed joyously at my voice--and, every evening, he\nlicked the hands of the two poor children, whom he had carried all the\nday--as formerly he had carried their mother. Now he will never\ncarry any one again; they will throw him to the dogs, and all will\nbe finished. You need not have reminded me harshly of it, Mr.\nBurgomaster--for I loved my horse!\"\n\nBy these words, pronounced with noble and touching simplicity, the\nburgomaster was moved in spite of himself, and regretted his hasty\nspeech. \"It is natural that you should be sorry for your horse,\"\nsaid he, in a less impatient tone; \"but what is to be done?--It is a\nmisfortune.\"\n\n\"A misfortune?--Yes, Mr. Burgomaster, a very great misfortune. The\ngirls, who accompany me, were too weak to undertake a long journey on\nfoot, too poor to travel in a carriage--and yet we have to arrive in\nParis before the month of February. When their mother died, I promised\nher to take them to France, for these children have only me to take care\nof them.\"\n\n\"You are then their--\"\n\n\"I am their faithful servant, Mr. Burgomaster; and now that my horse\nhas been killed, what can I do for them? Come, you are good, you have\nperhaps children of your own; if, one day, they should find themselves\nin the position of my two little orphans--with no wealth, no resources\nin the world, but an old soldier who loves them, and an old horse\nto carry them along--if, after being very unfortunate from their\nbirth--yes, very unfortunate, for my orphans are the daughters of\nexiles--they should see happiness before them at the end of a\njourney, and then, by the death of their horse, that journey become\nimpossible--tell me, Mr. Burgomaster, if this would not touch your\nheart? Would you not find, as I do, that the loss of my horse is\nirreparable?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" answered the burgomaster, who was not ill natured at\nbottom, and who could not help taking part in Dagobert's emotion; \"I now\nunderstand the importance of the loss you have suffered. And then your\norphans interest me: how old are they?\"\n\n\"Fifteen years and two months. They are twins.\"\n\n\"Fifteen years and two months--that is about the age of my Frederica.\"\n\n\"You have a young lady of that age?\" cried Dagobert, once more awaking\nto hope; \"ah, Mr. Burgomaster! I am really no longer uneasy about my\npoor children. You will do us justice.\"\n\n\"To do justice is my duty. After all, in this affair, the faults are\nabout equal on both sides. You tied up your horse badly, and the brute\ntamer left his door open. He says: 'I am wounded in the hand.' You\nanswer: 'My horse has been killed--and, for a thousand reasons, the loss\nof my horse is irreparable.'\"\n\n\"You make me speak better than I could ever speak on my own account, Mr.\nBurgomaster,\" said the soldier, with a humble, insinuating smile; \"but\n'tis what I meant to express--and, as you say yourself, Mr. Burgomaster,\nmy horse being my whole fortune, it is only fair--\"\n\n\"Exactly so,\" resumed the magistrate, interrupting the soldier; \"your\nreasons are excellent. The Prophet--who is a good and pious man with all\nhas related the facts to me in his own way; and then, you see, he is an\nold acquaintance. We are nearly all zealous Catholics here, and he sells\nto our wives such cheap and edifying little books, with chaplets and\namulets of the best manufacture, at less than the prime cost. All this,\nyou will say, has nothing to do with the affair; and you will be right\nin saying so: still I must needs confess that I came here with the\nintention--\"\n\n\"Of deciding against me, eh, Mr. Burgomaster?\" said Dagobert, gaining\nmore and more confidence. \"You see, you were not quite awake, and your\njustice had only one eye open.\"\n\n\"Really, master soldier,\" answered the judge with good humor, \"it is not\nunlikely; for I did not conceal from Morok that I gave it in his favor.\nThen he said to me (very generously, by the way): 'Since you condemn\nmy adversary, I will not aggravate his position by telling you certain\nthings--'\"\n\n\"What! against me?\"\n\n\"Apparently so; but, like a generous enemy, when I told him that I\nshould most likely condemn you to pay him damages, he said no more about\nit. For I will not hide from you, that, before I heard your reasons,\nI fully intended that you should make compensation for the Prophet's\nwound.\"\n\n\"See, Mr. Burgomaster, how the most just and able persons are subject\nto be deceived,\" said Dagobert, becoming once more the courtier; then,\ntrying to assume a prodigiously knowing look, he added: \"But such\npersons find out the truth at last, and are not to be made dupes of,\nwhatever prophets may say.\"\n\nThis poor attempt at a jest--the first and only one, perhaps, that\nDagobert had ever been guilty of--will show the extremity to which he\nwas reduced, and the desperate efforts of all kinds he was making to\nconciliate the good graces of his judge. The burgomaster did not at\nfirst see the pleasantry; he was only led to perceive it by the self\nsatisfied mien of Dagobert, and by his inquiring glance, which seemed to\nsay: \"Is it not good, eh?--I am astonished at it myself.\"\n\nThe magistrate began, therefore, to smile with a patronizing air, and,\nnodding his head, replied in the same jocular spirit: \"Ha! Ha! Ha! You\nare right; the Prophet is out in his prophecy. You shall not pay him any\ndamages. The faults on both sides are equal, and the injuries balance\none another. He has been wounded, your horse has been killed; so you may\ncry quits, and have done with it.\"\n\n\"But how much then, do you think he owes me?\" asked the soldier, with\nsingular simplicity.\n\n\"How much?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Burgomaster, what sum will he have to pay me? Yes--but, before\nyou decide, I must tell you one thing, Mr. Burgomaster. I think I shall\nbe entitled to spend only part of the money in buying a horse. I am\nsure, that, in the environs of Leipsic, I could get a beast very cheap\nfrom some of the peasants; and, between ourselves, I will own to you,\nthat, if I could meet with only a nice little donkey--I should not be\nover particular--I should even like it just as well; for, after my poor\nJovial, the company of another horse would be painful to me. I must also\ntell you--\"\n\n\"Hey-day!\" cried the burgomaster, interrupting Dagobert, \"of what money,\nwhat donkey, and what other horse are you talking? I tell you, that you\nowe nothing to the Prophet, and that he owes you nothing!\"\n\n\"He owes me nothing?\"\n\n\"You are very dull of comprehension, my good man. I repeat, that, if the\nProphet's animals have killed your horse, the Prophet himself has\nbeen badly wounded; so you may cry quits. In other words, you owe him\nnothing, and he owes you nothing. Now do you understand?\"\n\nDagobert, confounded, remained for some moments without answering,\nwhilst he looked at the burgomaster with an expression of deep anguish.\nHe saw that his judgment would again destroy all his hopes.\n\n\"But, Mr. Burgomaster,\" resumed he, in an agitated voice, \"you are too\njust not to pay attention to one thing: the wound of the brute-tamer\ndoes not prevent him from continuing his trade; the death of my horse\nprevents me from continuing my journey; therefore, he ought to indemnify\nme.\"\n\nThe judge considered he had already done a good deal for Dagobert, in\nnot making him responsible for the wound of the Prophet, who, as we have\nalready said, exercised a certain influence over the Catholics of the\ncountry by the sale of his devotional treasures, and also from its being\nknown that he was supported by some persons of eminence. The soldier's\npertinacity, therefore, offended the magistrate, who, reassuming his\nlofty air, replied, in a chilling tone: \"You will make me repent my\nimpartiality. How is this? Instead of thanking me, you ask for more.\"\n\n\"But, Mr. Burgomaster, I ask only for what is just. I wish I were\nwounded in the hand, like the Prophet, so that I could but continue my\njourney.\"\n\n\"We are not talking of what you wish. I have pronounced sentence--there\nis no more to say.\"\n\n\"But, Mr. Burgomaster--\"\n\n\"Enough, enough. Let us go to the next subject. Your papers?\"\n\n\"Yes, we will speak about my papers; but I beg of you, Mr. Burgomaster,\nto have pity on those two children. Let us have the means to continue\nour journey, and--\"\n\n\"I have done all I could for you--perhaps, more than I ought. Once\nagain, your papers!\"\n\n\"I must first explain to you--\"\n\n\"No! No explanation--your papers!--Or would you like me to have you\narrested as a vagabond?\"\n\n\"Me---arrested!\"\n\n\"I tell you that, if you refuse to show me your papers, it will be as if\nyou had none. Now, those people who have no papers we take into custody\ntill the authorities can dispose of them. Let me see your papers, and\nmake haste!--I am in a hurry to get home.\"\n\nDagobert's position was the more distressing, as for a moment he had\nindulged in sanguine hope. The last blow was now added to all the\nveteran had suffered since the commencement of this scene, which was a\ncruel as well as dangerous trial, for a man of his character--upright,\nbut obstinate--faithful, but rough and absolute--a man who, for a long\ntime a soldier, and a victorious one, had acquired a certain despotic\nmariner of treating with civilians.\n\nAt these words--\"your papers,\" Dagobert became very pale; but he tried\nto conceal his anguish beneath an air of assurance, which he thought\nbest calculated to gain the magistrate's good opinion. \"I will tell you\nall about it, Mr. Burgomaster,\" said he. \"Nothing can be clearer. Such\na thing might happen to any one. I do not look like a beggar and a\nvagabond, do I? And yet--you will understand, that an honest man who\ntravels with two young girls--\"\n\n\"No more words! Your papers!\"\n\nAt this juncture two powerful auxiliaries arrived to the soldier's aid.\nThe orphans, growing more and more uneasy, and hearing Dagobert still\ntalking upon the landing-place, had risen and dressed themselves; so\nthat just at the instant, when the magistrate said in a rough voice--\"No\nmore words! Your papers!\"--Rose and Blanche holding each other by the\nhand, came forth from the chamber.\n\nAt sight of those charming faces, which their poor mourning vestments\nonly rendered more interesting, the burgomaster rose from his seat,\nstruck with surprise and admiration. By a spontaneous movement, each\nsister took a hand of Dagobert, and pressed close to him, whilst they\nregarded the magistrate with looks of mingled anxiety and candor.\n\nIt was so touching a picture, this of the old soldier presenting as\nit were to his judge the graceful children, with countenances full of\ninnocence and beauty, that the burgomaster, by a sudden reaction, found\nhimself once more disposed to sentiments of pity. Dagobert perceived it;\nand, still holding the orphans by the hand, he advanced towards him, and\nsaid in a feeling voice: \"Look at these poor children, Mr. Burgomaster!\nCould I show you a better passport?\" And, overcome by so many\npainful sensations--restrained, yet following each other in quick\nsuccession--Dagobert felt, in spite of himself, that the tears were\nstarting to his eyes.\n\nThough naturally rough, and rendered still more testy by the\ninterruption of his sleep, the burgomaster was not quite deficient in\nsense of feeling. He perceived at once, that a man thus accompanied,\nought not to inspire any great distrust. \"Poor dear children!\" said he,\nas he examined them with growing interest; \"orphans so young, and they\ncome from far--\"\n\n\"From the heart of Siberia, Mr. Burgomaster, where their mother was an\nexile before their birth. It is now more than five months that we have\nbeen travelling on by short stages--hard enough, you will say, for\nchildren of their age. It is for them that I ask your favor and support\nfor them against whom everything seems to combine to-day for, only just\nnow, when I went to look for my papers, I could not find in my knapsack\nthe portfolio in which they were, along with my purse and cross--for you\nmust know, Mr. Burgomaster--pardon me, if I say it--'tis not from vain\nglory--but I was decorated by the hand of the Emperor; and a man whom\nhe decorated with his own hand, you see, could not be so bad a fellow,\nthough he may have had the misfortune to lose his papers--and his\npurse. That's what has happened to me, and made me so pressing about the\ndamages.\"\n\n\"How and where did you suffer this loss?\"\n\n\"I do not know, Mr. Burgomaster; I am sure that the evening before\nlast, at bed-time, I took a little money out of the purse, and saw the\nportfolio in its place; yesterday I had small change sufficient, and did\nnot undo the knapsack.\"\n\n\"And where then has the knapsack been kept?\"\n\n\"In the room occupied by the children: but this night--\"\n\nDagobert was here interrupted by the tread of some one mounting the\nstairs: it was the Prophet. Concealed in the shadow of the staircase, he\nhad listened to this conversation, and he dreaded lest the weakness of\nthe burgomaster should mar the complete success of his projects.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV. THE DECISION.\n\nMorok, who wore his left arm in a sling, having slowly ascended the\nstaircase, saluted the burgomaster respectfully. At sight of the\nrepulsive countenance of the lion-tamer, Rose and Blanche, affrighted,\ndrew back a step nearer to the soldier. The brow of the latter grew\ndark, for he felt his blood boil against Morok, the cause of all\nhis difficulties--though he was yet ignorant that Goliath, at the\ninstigation of the Prophet, had stolen his portfolio and papers.\n\n\"What did you want, Morok?\" said the burgomaster, with an air half\nfriendly and half displeased. \"I told the landlord that I did not wish\nto be interrupted.\"\n\n\"I have come to render you a service, Mr. Burgomaster.\"\n\n\"A service?\"\n\n\"Yes, a great service; or I should not have ventured to disturb you. My\nconscience reproaches me.\"\n\n\"Your conscience.\"\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Burgomaster, it reproaches me for not having told you all that\nI had to tell about this man; a false pity led me astray.\"\n\n\"Yell, but what have you to tell?\"\n\nMorok approached the judge, and spoke to him for sometime in a low\nvoice.\n\nAt first apparently much astonished, the burgomaster became by degrees\ndeeply attentive and anxious; every now and then be allowed some\nexclamation of surprise or doubt to escape him, whilst he glanced\ncovertly at the group formed by Dagobert and the two young girls. By\nthe expression of his countenance, which grew every moment more unquiet,\nsevere, and searching, it was easy to perceive that the interest\nwhich the magistrate had felt for the orphans and for the soldier, was\ngradually changed, by the secret communications of the Prophet, into a\nsentiment of distrust and hostility.\n\nDagobert saw this sudden revolution, and his fears, which had been\nappeased for an instant, returned with redoubled force; Rose and\nBlanche, confused, and not understanding the object of this mute scene,\nlooked at the soldier with increased perplexity.\n\n\"The devil!\" said the burgomaster, rising abruptly; \"all of this never\noccurred to me. What could I have been thinking of?--But you see, Morok,\nwhen one is roused up in the middle of the night, one has not always\npresence of mind. You said well: it is a great service you came to\nrender me.\"\n\n\"I assert nothing positively, but--\"\n\n\"No matter; 'tis a thousand to one that you are right.\"\n\n\"It is only a suspicion founded upon divers circumstances; but even a\nsuspicion--\"\n\n\"May give you scent of the truth. And here was I, going like a gull into\nthe snare!--Once more, what could I have been thinking of?\"\n\n\"It is so difficult to be on guard against certain appearances.\"\n\n\"You need not tell me so, my dear Morok, you need not tell me so.\"\n\nDuring this mysterious conversation, Dagobert was on thorns; he saw\nvaguely that a violent storm was about to burst. He thought only of how\nhe should still keep his anger within bounds.\n\nMorok again approached the judge, and glancing at the orphans,\nrecommenced speaking in a low voice. \"Oh\" cried the burgomaster, with,\nindignation, \"you go too far now.\"\n\n\"I affirm nothing,\" said Morok, hastily; \"it is a mere supposition\nfounded on--\" and he again brought his lips close to the ear of the\njudge.\n\n\"After all, why not?\" resumed the magistrate, lifting up his hands;\n\"such people are capable of anything. He says that he brings them from\nthe heart of Siberia: why may not all this prove to be a tissue of\nimpudent falsehoods?--But I am not to be made a dupe twice,\" cried\nthe burgomaster, in an angry tone, for, like all persons of a weak\nand shifting character, he was without pity for those whom he thought\ncapable of having beguiled his compassion.\n\n\"Do not be in a hurry to decide--don't give to my words more weight\nthan they deserve,\" resumed Morok with a hypocritical affectation of\nhumility. \"I am unhappily placed in so false a position with regard to\nthis man,\"--pointing to Dagober--\"that I might be thought to have acted\nfrom private resentment for the injury he has done me; perhaps I may so\nact without knowing it, while I fancy that I am only influenced by love\nof justice, horror of falsehood, and respect for our holy religion.\nWell--who lives long enough will know--and may heaven forgive me if I\nam deceived!--In any case, the law will pronounce upon it; and if they\nshould prove innocent, they will be released in a month or two.\"\n\n\"And, for that reason, I need not hesitate. It is a mere measure of\nprecaution; they will not die of it. Besides, the more I think of it,\nthe more it seems probable. Yes this man is doubtless a French spy\nor agitator, especially when I compare these suspicions with the late\ndemonstration of the students at Frankfort.\"\n\n\"And, upon that theory, nothing is better fitted to excite and stir\nup those hot-headed youths than--\" He glanced significantly at the two\nsisters; then, after a pause, he added with a sigh, \"Satan does not care\nby what means he works out his ends!\"\n\n\"Certainly, it would be odious, but well-devised.\"\n\n\"And then, Mr Burgomaster, look at him attentively: you will see that\nthis man has a dangerous face. You will see--\"\n\nIn continuing thus to speak in a low tone, Morok had evidently pointed\nto Dagobert. The latter, notwithstanding his self-command, felt that the\nrestraint he had imposed upon himself, since his arrival at this unlucky\ninn, and above all wince the commencement of the conversation between\nMorok and the burgomaster, was becoming no longer bearable; besides, he\nsaw clearly that all his efforts to conciliate the favor of the judge\nwere rendered completely null by the fatal influence of the brute-tamer;\nso, losing patience, he advanced towards him with his arms folded on his\nbreast, and said to him in a subdued voice: \"Was it of me that you were\nwhispering to Mr. Burgomaster?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Morok, looking fixedly at him.\n\n\"Why did you not speak out loud?\" Having said this, the almost\nconvulsive movement of his thick moustache, as he stood looping Morok\nfull in the face, gave evidence of a severe internal conflict. Seeing\nthat his adversary preserved a contemptuous silence, he repeated in\na sterner voice: \"I ask you, why you did not speak out loud to Mr.\nBurgomaster, when you were talking of me?\"\n\n\"Because there are some things so shameful, that one would blush to\nutter them aloud,\" answered Morok insolently.\n\nTill then Dagobert had kept his arms folded; he now extended them\nviolently, clenching his fists. This sudden movement was so expressive\nthat the two sisters uttered a cry of terror, and drew closer to him.\n\n\"Hark ye, Mr. Burgomaster!\" said the soldier, grinding his teeth with\nrage: \"bid that man go down, or I will not answer for myself!\"\n\n\"What!\" said the burgomaster, haughtily; \"do you dare to give orders to\nme?\"\n\n\"I tell you to make that man go down,\" resumed Dagobert, quite beside\nhimself, \"or there will be mischief!\"\n\n\"Dagobert!--good heaven!--be calm,\" cried the children, grasping his\nhands.\n\n\"It becomes you, certainly--miserable vagabond that you are--not to say\nworse,\" returned the burgomaster, in a rage: \"it becomes you to give\norders to me!--Oh! you think to impose upon me, by telling me you have\nlost your papers!--It will not serve your turn, for which you carry\nabout with you these two girls, who, in spite of their innocent looks,\nare perhaps after all--\"\n\n\"Wretch!\" cried Dagobert, with so terrible a voice and gesture that the\nofficial did not dare to finish. Taking the children by the arm before\nthey could speak a word, the soldier pushed them back into the chamber;\nthen, locking the door, and putting the key into his pocket, he returned\nprecipitately towards the burgomaster, who, frightened at the menacing\nair and attitude of the veteran, retreated a couple of steps, and held\nby one hand to the rail of the staircase.\n\n\"Listen to me!\" said the soldier, seizing the judge by the arm. \"Just\nnow, that scoundrel insulted me--I bore with it--for it only concerned\nmyself. I have heard patiently all your idle talk, because you seemed\nfor a moment to interest yourself in those poor children. But since you\nhave neither soul, nor pity, nor justice--I tell you that, burgomaster\nthough you are--I will spurn you as I would spurn that dog,\" pointing\nagain to the Prophet, \"if you have the misfortune to mention those\ntwo young girls, in any other way than you would speak of your own\nchild!--Now, do you mark me?\"\n\n\"What!--you dare to say,\" cried the burgomaster, stammering with rage,\n\"that if I happen to mention two adventuresses--\"\n\n\"Hats off!--when you speak of the daughters of the Duke of Ligny,\" cried\nthe soldier, snatching the cap of the burgomaster and flinging it on\nthe ground. On this act of aggression, Morok could not restrain his joy.\nExasperated and losing all hope, Dagobert had at length yielded to the\nviolence of his anger, after struggling so painfully against it for some\nhours.\n\nWhen the burgomaster saw his cap at his feet, he looked at the brute\ntamer with an air of stupefaction, as if he hesitated to believe so\ngreat an enormity. Dagobert, regretting, his violence, and feeling that\nno means of conciliation note remained, threw a rapid glance around\nhim, and, retreating several paces, gained the topmost steps of the\nstaircase. The burgomaster stood near the bench, in a corner of the\nlanding-place, whilst Morok, with his arm in the sling, to give the more\nserious appearance to his wound, was close beside him. \"So!\" cried the\nmagistrate, deceived by the backward movement of Dagobert, \"you think to\nescape, after daring to lift hand against me!--Old villain!\"\n\n\"Forgive me, Mr. Burgomaster! It was a burst of rashness that I was not\nable to control. I am sorry for it,\" said Dagobert in a repentant voice,\nand hanging his head humbly.\n\n\"No pity for thee, rascal! You would begin again to smooth me over with\nyour coaxing ways, but I have penetrated your secret designs. You are\nnot what you appear to be, and there is perhaps an affair of state at\nthe bottom of all this,\" added the magistrate, in a very diplomatic\ntone. \"All means are alike to those who wish to set Europe in flames.\"\n\n\"I am only a poor devil, Mr. Burgomaster; you, that have a good heart,\nwill show me some mercy.\"\n\n\"What! when you have pulled off my cap?\"\n\n\"And you,\" added the soldier, turning towards Morok, \"you, that\nhave been the cause of all this--have same pity upon me--do not bear\nmalice!--You, a holy man, speak a word in my favor to Mr. Burgomaster.\"\n\n\"I have spoken to him what I was bound to speak,\" answered the Prophet\nironically.\n\n\"Oho! you can look foolish enough now, you old vagabond! Did you think\nto impose on me with lamentations?\" resumed the burgomaster, advancing\ntowards Dagobert. \"Thanks be, I am no longer your dupe!--You shall see\nthat we have good dungeons at Leipsic for French agitators and female\nvagrants, for your damsels are no better than you are. Come,\" added he,\npuffing out his cheeks with an important air, \"go down before me--and as\nfor you, Morok--\"\n\nThe burgomaster was unable to finish. For some minutes Dagobert had only\nsought to gain time, and had cast many a side-glance at a half-open\ndoor on the landing-place, just opposite to the chamber occupied by the\norphans: finding the moment favorable, he now rushed quick as lightning\non the burgomaster, seized him by the throat, and dashed him with such\nviolence against the door in question, that the magistrate, stupefied\nby this sudden attack, and unable to speak a word or utter a cry, rolled\nover to the further end of the room, which was completely dark. Then,\nturning towards Morok, who, with his arm encumbered by the sling, made\na rush for the staircase, the soldier caught him by his long, streaming\nhair, pulled him back, clasped him with hands of iron, clapped his hand\nover his mouth to stifle his outcries, and notwithstanding his desperate\nresistance, dragged him into the chamber, on the floor of which the\nburgomaster lay bruised and stunned.\n\nHaving double-locked the door, and put the key in his pocket, Dagobert\ndescended the stairs at two bounds, and found himself in a passage, that\nopened on the court-yard. The gate of the inn was shut, and there was no\npossibility of escape on that side. The rain fell in torrents. He could\nsee through the window of a parlor, in which a fire was burning, the\nhost and his people waiting for the decision of the burgomaster. To bolt\nthe door of the passage, and thus intercept all communication with the\nyard, was for the soldier the affair of an instant, and he hastened\nupstairs again to rejoin the orphans.\n\nMorok, recovering from his surprise, was calling for help with all his\nmight; but, even if the distance had permitted him to be heard, the\nnoise of the wind and rain would have drowned his outcries. Dagobert\nhad about an hour before him, for it would require some time to elapse\nbefore the length of his interview with the magistrate would excite\nastonishment; and, suspicion or fear once awakened, it would be\nnecessary to break open two doors--that which separated the passage from\nthe court-yard, and that of the room in which the burgomaster and the\nProphet were confined.\n\n\"My children, it is now time to prove that you have a soldier's blood\nin your veins,\" said Dagobert, as he entered abruptly the chamber of the\nyoung girls, who were terrified at the racket they had heard for some\nminutes.\n\n\"Good heaven, Dagobert! what has happened?\" cried Blanche.\n\n\"What do you wish us to do?\" added Rose.\n\nWithout answering, the soldier ran to the bed, tore off the sheets, tied\nthem strongly together, made a knot at one end, passed it over the top\nof the left half of the casement, and so shut it in. Thus made fast by\nthe size of the knot, which could not slip through, the sheets, floating\non the outside, touched the ground. The second half of the window was\nleft open, to afford a passage to the fugitives.\n\nThe veteran next took his knapsack, the children's portmanteau, and the\nreindeer pelisse, and threw them all out of the window, making a sign to\nSpoil-sport to follow, to watch over them. The dog did not hesitate, but\ndisappeared at a single bound. Rose and Blanche looked at Dagobert in\namazement, without uttering a word.\n\n\"Now, children,\" said he to them, \"the doors of the inn are shut, and it\nis by this way,\" pointing to the window, \"that we must pass--if we\nwould not be arrested, put in prison--you in one place, and I in the\nother--and have our journey altogether knocked on the head.\"\n\n\"Arrested! put in prison!\" cried Rose.\n\n\"Separated from you!\" exclaimed Blanche.\n\n\"Yes, my poor children!--They have killed Jovial--we must make our\nescape on foot, and try to reach Leipsic--when you are tired, I will\ncarry you, and, though I have to beg my way, we will go through with it.\nBut a quarter of an hour later, and all will be lost. Come, children,\nhave trust in me--show that the daughters of General Simon are no\ncowards--and there is yet hope.\"\n\nBy a sympathetic movement, the sisters joined hands, as though they\nwould meet the danger united. Their sweet faces, pale from the effect of\nso many painful emotions, were now expressive of simple resolve, founded\non the blind faith they reposed in the devotion of the soldier.\n\n\"Be satisfied, Dagobert! we'll not be frightened,\" said Rose, in a firm\nvoice.\n\n\"We will do what must be done,\" added Blanche, in a no less resolute\ntone.\n\n\"I was sure of it,\" cried Dagobert; \"good blood is ever thicker than\nwater. Come! you are light as feathers, the sheet is strong, it is\nhardly eight feet to the ground, and the pup is waiting for you.\"\n\n\"It is for me to go first--I am the eldest for to-day,\" cried Rose, when\nshe had tenderly embraced Blanche; and she ran to the window, in order,\nif there were any danger, to expose herself to it before her sister.\n\nDagobert easily guessed the cause of this eagerness. \"Dear children!\"\nsaid he, \"I understand you. But fear nothing for one another--there is\nno danger. I have myself fastened the sheet. Quick, my little Rose!\"\n\nAs light as a bird, the young girl mounted the ledge of the window,\nand assisted by Dagobert, took hold of the sheet, and slid gently down\naccording to the recommendation of the soldier, who, leaning out his\nwhole body, encouraged her with his voice.\n\n\"Don't be afraid, sister!\" said she, as soon as she touched the ground,\n\"it is very easy to come down this way. And Spoil-sport is here, licking\nmy hands.\" Blanche did not long keep her waiting; as courageous as her\nsister, she descended with the same success.\n\n\"Dear little creatures! what have they done to be so\nunfortunate?--Thousand thunders! there must be a curse upon the family,\"\ncried Dagobert, as, with heavy heart, he saw the pale, sweet face of\nthe young girl disappear amid the gloom of the dark night, which violent\nsqualls of wind and torrents of rain rendered still more dismal.\n\n\"Dagobert, we are waiting for you; come quickly!\" said the orphans in\na low voice, from beneath the window. Thanks to his tall stature, the\nsoldier rather leaped than glided to the ground.\n\nDagobert and the two young girls had not fled from the inn of the White\nFalcon more than a quarter of an hour, when a long crash resounded\nthrough the house. The door had yielded to the efforts of the\nburgomaster and Morok, who had made use of a heavy table as a battering\nram. Guided by the light, they ran to the chamber of the orphans, now\ndeserted. Morok saw the sheets floating from the casement, and cried:\n\"Mr. Burgomaster, they have escaped by the window--they are on foot--in\nthis dark and stormy night, they cannot be far.\"\n\n\"No doubt, we shall catch them, the miserable tramps! Oh, I will be\nrevenged! Quick, Morok; your honor is concerned as well as mine.\"\n\n\"My honor?--Much more is concerned than that, Mr. Burgomaster,\" answered\nthe Prophet, in a tone of great irritation. Then, rapidly descending the\nstairs, he opened the door of the court-yard, and shouted in a voice of\nthunder:\n\n\"Goliath! unchain the dogs!--and, landlord! bring us lanterns,\ntorches--arm your people--open the doors!--We must pursue the fugitives;\nthey cannot escape us; we must have them--alive or dead!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV. THE DESPATCHES.\n\nWhen we read, in the rules of the order of the Jesuits, under the title\nDe formula scribendi (Institut. 2, 11, p. 125, 129), the development\nof the 8th part of the constitutions, we are appalled by the number of\nletters, narratives, registers, and writings of all kinds, preserved in\nthe archives of the society.\n\nIt is a police infinitely more exact and better informed than has ever\nbeen that of any state. Even the government of Venice found itself\nsurpassed by the Jesuits: when it drove them out in 1606, it seized\nall their papers, and reproached them for their great and laborious\ncuriosity. This police, this secret inquisition, carried to such\na degree of perfection, may give some idea of the strength of a\ngovernment, so well-informed so persevering in its projects, so powerful\nby its unity, and, as the constitutions have it, by the union of its\nmembers. It is not hard to understand, what immense force must belong to\nthe heads of this society, and how the general of the Jesuits could say\nto the Duke de Brissac: \"From this room, your grace, I govern not only\nParis, but China--not only China, but the whole world--and all without\nany one knowing how it is done:\" (Constitution of the Jesuits, edited by\nPaulin, Paris, 1843.)\n\nMorok, the lion-tamer, seeing Dagobert deprived of his horse, and\nstripped of his money and papers, and thinking it was thus out of his\npower to continue his journey, had, previous to the arrival of the\nburgomaster, despatched Karl to Leipsic, as the bearer of a letter which\nhe was to put immediately into the post. The address of this letter was\nas follows: \"A Monsieur Rodin, Rue du Milieu des Ursins, Paris.\"\n\nAbout the middle of this obscure and solitary street, situate below the\nlevel of the Quai Napoleon, which it joins not far from the Rue Saint\nLandry, there stood a house of unpretentious appearance, at the bottom\nof a dark and narrow court-yard, separated from the street by a low\nbuilding in front, with arched doorway, and two windows protected by\nthick iron bars. Nothing could be more simple than the interior of this\nquiet dwelling, as was sufficiently shown by the furniture of a pretty\nlarge room on the ground floor. The walls of this apartment were lined\nwith old gray wainscot; the tiled floor was painted red, and carefully\npolished; curtains of white calico shaded the windows.\n\nA sphere of about four feet in diameter, raised on a pedestal of massive\noak, stood at one end of the room, opposite to the fireplace. Upon this\nglobe, which was painted on a large scale, a host of little red crosses\nappeared scattered over all parts of the world--from the North to the\nSouth, from the rising to the setting sun, from the most barbarous\ncountries, from the most distant isles, to the centres of civilization,\nto France itself. There was not a single country which did not present\nsome spots marked with these red crosses, evidently indicative of\nstations, or serving as points of reference.\n\nBefore a table of black wood, loaded with papers, and resting against\nthe wall near the chimney, a chair stood empty. Further on, between the\ntwo windows, was a large walnut-wood desk, surmounted by shelves full of\npasteboard boxes.\n\nAt the end of the month of October, 1831, about eight o'clock in\nthe morning, a man sat writing at this desk. This was M. Rodin, the\ncorrespondent of Morok, the brute-tamer.\n\nAbout fifty years of age, he wore an old, shabby, olive greatcoat, with\na greasy collar, a snuff-powdered cotton handkerchief for a cravat, and\nwaistcoat and trousers of threadbare black cloth. His feet, buried in\nloose varnished shoes, rested on a petty piece of green baize upon\nthe red, polished floor. His gray hair lay flat on his temples, and\nencircled his bald forehead; his eyebrows were scarcely marked; his\nupper eyelid, flabby and overhanging, like the membrane which shades the\neyes of reptiles, half concealed his small, sharp, black eye. His thin\nlips, absolutely colorless, were hardly distinguishable from the wan hue\nof his lean visage, with its pointed nose and chin; and this livid mask\n(deprived as it were of lips) appeared only the more singular, from\nits maintaining a death-like immobility. Had it not been for the rapid\nmovement of his fingers, as, bending over the desk, he scratched along\nwith his pen, M. Rodin might have been mistaken for a corpse.\n\nBy the aid of a cipher (or secret alphabet) placed before him he was\ncopying certain passages from a long sheet full of writing, in a manner\nquite unintelligible to those who did not possess the key to the system.\nWhilst the darkness of the day increased the gloom of the large, cold,\nnaked-looking apartment, there was something awful in the chilling\naspect of this man, tracing his mysterious characters in the midst of\nprofound silence.\n\nThe clock struck eight. The dull sound of the knocker at the outer door\nwas heard, then a bell tinkled twice, several doors opened and shut, and\na new personage entered the chamber. On seeing him, M. Rodin rose\nfrom the desk, stuck his pen between his teeth, bowed with a deeply\nsubmissive air, and sat down again to his work without uttering a word.\n\nThe two formed a striking contrast to one another. The newcomer, though\nreally older than he seemed, would have passed for thirty-six or thirty\neight years of age at most. His figure was tall and shapely, and few\ncould have encountered the brightness of his large gray eye, brilliant\nas polished steel. His nose, broad at the commencement, formed a\nwell-cut square at its termination; his chin was prominent, and the\nbluish tints of his close-shaved beard were contrasted with the bright\ncarnation of his lips, and the whiteness of his fine teeth. When he took\noff his hat to change it for a black velvet cap which he found on the\nsmall table, he displayed a quantity of light chestnut hair, not yet\nsilvered by time. He was dressed in a long frock-coat, buttoned up to\nthe neck in military fashion.\n\nThe piercing glance and broad forehead of this man revealed a powerful\nintellect, even as the development of his chest and shoulders announced\na vigorous physical organization; whilst his gentlemanly appearance, the\nperfection of his gloves and boots, the light perfume which hung about\nhis hair and person, the grace and ease of his least movements, betrayed\nwhat is called the man of the world, and left the impression that he\nhad sought or might still seek every kind of success, from the most\nfrivolous to the most serious. This rare combination of strength of\nmind, strength of body, and extreme elegance of manners, was in this\ninstance rendered still more striking by the circumstance, that whatever\nthere might be of haughtiness or command in the upper part of that\nenergetic countenance, was softened down, and tempered by a constant\nbut not uniform smile--for, as occasion served, this smile became\neither kind or sly, cordial or gay, discreet or prepossessing, and thus\naugmented the insinuating charm of this man, who, once seen, was never\nagain forgotten. But, in yielding to this involuntary sympathy, the\ndoubt occurred if the influence was for good--or for evil.\n\nM. Rodin, the secretary of the newcomer, continued to write.\n\n\"Are there any letters from Dunkirk, Rodin?\" inquired his master.\n\n\"Post not yet in.\"\n\n\"Without being positively uneasy as to my mother's health, since she\nwas already convalescent,\" resumed the other, \"I shall only be quite\nreassured by a letter from my excellent friend, the Princess de Saint\nDizier. I shall have good news this morning, I hope.\"\n\n\"It is to be desired,\" said the secretary, as humble and submissive as\nhe was laconic and impassible.\n\n\"Certainly it is to be desired,\" resumed his master; \"for one of\nthe brightest days of my life was when the Princess de Saint-Dizier\nannounced to me that this sudden and dangerous illness had yielded to\nthe care and attention with which she surrounds my mother. Had it not\nbeen for that I must have gone down to her instantly, though my presence\nhere is very necessary.\"\n\nThen, approaching the desk, he added: \"Is the summary of the foreign\ncorrespondence complete?\"\n\n\"Here is the analysis.\"\n\n\"The letters are still sent under envelope to the places named, and are\nthen brought here as I directed?\"\n\n\"Always.\"\n\n\"Read to me the notes of this correspondence; if there are any letters\nfor me to answer, I will tell you.\" And Rodin's master began to walk\nup and down the room, with his hands crossed behind his back, dictating\nobservations of which Rodin took careful note.\n\nThe secretary turned to a pretty large pile of papers, and thus began:\n\n\"Don Raymond Olivarez acknowledges from Cadiz receipt of letter No.19;\nhe will conform to it, and deny all share in the abduction.\"\n\n\"Very well; file it.\"\n\n\"Count Romanoff, of Riga, finds himself in a position of pecuniary\nembarrassment.\"\n\n\"Let Duplessis send him fifty louis; I formerly served as captain in his\nregiment, and he has since given us good information.\"\n\n\"They have received at Philadelphia the last cargo of Histories of\nFrance, expurgated for the use of the faithful they require some more of\nthe same sort.\"\n\n\"Take note of it, and write to Duplessis. Go on.\"\n\n\"M. Spindler sends from Namur the secret report on M. Ardouin.\"\n\n\"To be examined.\"\n\n\"M. Ardouin sends from the same town the secret report on M. Spindler.\"\n\n\"To be examined.\"\n\n\"Doctor Van Ostadt, of the same town, sends a confidential note on the\nsubject of Messrs. Spindler and Ardouin.\"\n\n\"To be compared. Go on!\"\n\n\"Count Malipierri, of Turin, announces that the donation of 300,000\nfrancs is signed.\"\n\n\"Inform Duplessis. What next?\"\n\n\"Don Stanislaus has just quitted the waters of Baden with Queen Marie\nErnestine. He informs us that her majesty will receive with gratitude\nthe promised advices, and will answer them with her own hand.\"\n\n\"Make a note of it. I will myself write to the queen.\"\n\nWhilst Rodin was inscribing a few remarks on the margin of the paper,\nhis master, continuing to walk up and down the room, found himself\nopposite to the globe marked with little red crosses, and stood\ncontemplating it for a moment with a pensive air.\n\nRodin continued: \"In consequence of the state of the public mind in\ncertain parts of Italy, where sundry agitators have turned their eyes in\nthe direction of France, Father Arsenio writes from Milan, that it would\nbe of importance to distribute profusely in that country, some little\nbook, in which the French would be represented as impious and debauched,\nrapacious and bloody.\"\n\n\"The idea is excellent. We might turn to good account the excesses\ncommitted by our troops in Italy during the wars of the Republic. You\nmust employ Jacques Dumoulin to write it. He is full of gall, spite,\nand venom: the pamphlet will be scorching. Besides, I may furnish a\nfew notes; but you must not pay Dumoulin till after delivery of the\nmanuscript.\"\n\n\"That is well understood: for, if we were to pay him beforehand, he\nwould be drunk for a week in some low den. It was thus we had to pay\nhim twice over for his virulent attack on the pantheistic tendencies of\nProfessor Martin's philosophy.\"\n\n\"Take note of it--and go on!\"\n\n\"The merchant announces that the clerk is about to send the banker to\ngive in his accounts. You understand?' added Rodin, after pronouncing\nthese words with a marked emphasis.\n\n\"Perfectly,\" said the other, with a start; \"they are but the expressions\nagreed on. What next?\"\n\n\"But the clerk,\" continued the secretary, \"is restrained by a last\nscruple.\"\n\nAfter a moment's silence, during which the features of Rodin's master\nworked strongly, he thus resumed: \"They must continue to act on the\nclerk's mind by silence and solitude; then, let him read once more the\nlist of cases in which regicide is authorized and absolved. Go on!\"\n\n\"The woman Sydney writes from Dresden, that she waits for instructions.\nViolent scenes of jealousy on her account have again taken place between\nthe father and son; but neither from these new bursts of mutual hatred,\nnor from the confidential communications which each has made to her\nagainst his rival, has she yet been able to glean the information\nrequired. Hitherto, she has avoided giving the preference to one or the\nother; but, should this situation be prolonged, she fears it may rouse\ntheir suspicion. Which ought she then to choose--the father or the son?\"\n\n\"The son--for jealous resentment will be much more violent and cruel in\nthe old man, and, to revenge himself for the preference bestowed upon\nhis son, he will perhaps tell what they have both such an interest to\nconceal. The next?\"\n\n\"Within the last three years, two maid-servants of Ambrosius whom\nwe placed in that little parish in the mountains of the Valais, have\ndisappeared, without any one knowing what has become of them. A third\nhas just met with the same fate. The Protestants of the country are\nroused--talk of murder with frightful attendant circumstances--\"\n\n\"Until there is proof positive and complete of the fact, Ambrosius must\nbe defended against these infamous calumnies, the work of a party that\nnever shrinks from; monstrous inventions. Go on!\"\n\n\"Thompson, of Liverpool, has at length succeeded in procuring for Justin\nthe place of agent or manager to Lord Stewart, a rich Irish Catholic,\nwhose head grows daily weaker.\"\n\n\"Let the fact be once verified, and Thompson shall have a premium of\nfifty louis. Make a note of it for Duplessis. Proceed.\"\n\n\"Frantz Dichstein, of Vienna,\" resumed Rodin, \"announces that his father\nhas just died of the cholera, in a little village at some leagues from\nthat city: for the epidemic continues to advance slowly, coming from the\nnorth of Russia by way of Poland.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" said Rodin's master, interrupting him; \"may its terrible\nmarch be stayed, and France be spared.\"\n\n\"Frantz Dichstein,\" resumed Rodin, \"says that his two brothers are\ndetermined to contest the donation made by his father, but that he is of\nan opposite opinion.\"\n\n\"Consult the two persons that are charged with all matters of\nlitigation. What next?\"\n\n\"The Cardinal Prince d'Amalfi will conform to the three first points of\nthe proposal: he demands to make a reservation upon the fourth point.\"\n\n\"No reserve!--Either full and absolute acceptance--or else war--and\n(mark me well) war without mercy--on him and his creatures. Go on!\"\n\n\"Fra Paolo announces that the Prince Boccari, chief of a redoubtable\nsecret society, in despair at seeing his friends accuse him of\ntreachery, in consequence of suspicions excited in their minds by Fra\nPaolo himself, has committed suicide.\"\n\n\"Boccari! is it possible?\" cried Rodin's master. \"Boccari! the patriot\nBoccari! so dangerous a person!\"\n\n\"The patriot Boccari,\" repeated the impassible secretary.\n\n\"Tell Duplessis to send an order for five-and-twenty louis to Fra Paolo.\nMake a note of it.\"\n\n\"Hausman informs us that the French dancer, Albertine Ducornet, is the\nmistress of the reigning prince; she has the most complete influence\nover him, and it would be easy through her means to arrive at the end\nproposed, but that she is herself governed by her lover (condemned in\nFrance as a forger), and that she does nothing without consulting him.\"\n\n\"Let Hausman get hold of this man--if his claims are reasonable, accede\nto them--and learn if the girl has any relations in Paris.\"\n\n\"The Duke d'Orbano announces, that the king his master will authorize\nthe new establishment, but on the conditions previously stated.\"\n\n\"No condition!--either a frank adhesion or a positive refusal. Let\nus know our friends from our enemies. The more unfavorable the\ncircumstances, the more we must show firmness, and overbear opposition\nby confidence in ourselves.\"\n\n\"The same also announces, that the whole of the corps diplomatique\ncontinues to support the claims of the father of that young Protestant\ngirl, who refuses to quit the convent where she has taken refuge, unless\nit be to marry her lover against her father's will.\"\n\n\"Ah! the corps diplomatique continues to remonstrate in the father's\nname?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then, continue to answer, that the spiritual power has nothing to do\nwith the temporal.\"\n\nAt this moment, the bell of the outer door again sounded twice. \"See who\nit is,\" said Rodin's master; and the secretary rose and left the room.\nThe other continued to walk thoughtfully up and down, till, coming near\nto the huge globe, he stopped short before it.\n\nFor some time he contemplated, in profound silence, the innumerable\nlittle red crosses, which appeared to cover, as with an immense net, all\nthe countries of the earth. Reflecting doubtless on the invisible action\nof his power, which seemed to extend over the whole world, the features\nof this man became animated, his large gray eye sparkled, his nostrils\nswelled, and his manly countenance assumed an indescribable expression\nof pride, energy, and daring. With haughty brow and scornful lip, he\ndrew still nearer to the globe, and leaned his strong hand upon the\npole.\n\nThis powerful pressure, an imperious movement, as of one taking\npossession, seemed to indicate, that he felt sure of governing this\nglobe, on which he looked down from the height of his tall figure,\nand on which he rested his hand with so lofty and audacious an air of\nsovereignty.\n\nBut now he no longer smiled. His eye threatened, and his large forehead\nwas clad with a formidable scowl. The artist, who had wished to\npaint the demon of craft and pride, the infernal genius of insatiable\ndomination, could not have chosen a more suitable model.\n\nWhen Rodin returned, the face of his master had recovered its ordinary\nexpression. \"It is the postman,\" said Rodin, showing the letters which\nhe held in his hand; \"there is nothing from Dunkirk.\"\n\n\"Nothing?\" cried his master--and his painful emotion formed a\nstrange contrast to his late haughty and implacable expression of\ncountenance--\"nothing? no news of my mother?--Thirty-six hours more,\nthen, of anxiety.\"\n\n\"It seems to me, that, if the princess had bad news to give, she would\nhave written. Probably the improvement goes on.\"\n\n\"You are doubtless right, Rodin--but no matter--I am far from easy. If,\nto-morrow, the news should not be completely satisfactory, I set out for\nthe estate of the princess. Why would my mother pass the autumn in that\npart of the country? The environs of Dunkirk do not, I fear, agree with\nher.\"\n\nAfter a few moments' silence, he added, as he continued to walk:\n\"Well--these letters--whence are they?\"\n\nRodin looked at the post-marks, and replied: \"Out of the four there are\nthree relative to the great and important affairs of the medals.\"\n\n\"Thank heaven!--provided the news be favorable,\" cried his master,\nwith an expression of uneasiness, which showed how much importance he\nattached to this affair.\n\n\"One is from Charlestown, and no doubt relative to Gabriel, the\nmissionary,\" answered Rodin; \"this other from Batavia, and no doubt\nconcerns the Indian, Djalma. The third is from Leipsic, and will\nprobably confirm that received yesterday, in which the lion-tamer,\nMorok, informed us, that, in accordance with his orders, and without his\nbeing compromised in any way, the daughters of General Simon would not\nbe able to continue their journey.\"\n\nAt the name of General Simon, a cloud passed over the features of\nRodin's master.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI. THE ORDERS.\n\nThe principal houses correspond with that in Paris; they are also\nin direct communication with the General, who resides at Rome. The\ncorrespondence of the Jesuits so active, various, and organized in so\nwonderful a manner, has for its object to supply the heads with all the\ninformation they can require. Every day, the General receives a host\nof reports, which serve to check one another. In the central house, at\nRome, are immense registers, in which are inscribed the names of all\nthe Jesuits, of their adherents, and of all the considerable persons,\nwhether friends or enemies, with whom they have any connection. In these\nregisters are reported, without alteration, hatred or passion the\nfacts relating to the life of each individual. It is the most gigantic\nbiographical collection that has ever been formed. The frailties of a\nwoman, the secret errors of a statesman, are chronicled in this book\nwith the same cold impartiality. Drawn up for the purpose of being\nuseful, these biographies are necessarily exact. When the Jesuits wish\nto influence an individual, they have but to turn to this book, and they\nknow immediately his life, his character, his parts, his faults, his\nprojects, his family, his friends, his most sacred ties. Conceive,\nwhat a superior facility of action this immense police-register, which\nincludes the whole world, must give to any one society! It is not\nlightly that I speak of these registers; I have my facts from a person\nwho has seen this collection, and who is perfectly well acquainted with\nthe Jesuits. Here then, is matter to reflect on for all those families,\nwho admit freely into their houses the members of a community that\ncarries its biographical researches to such a point. (Libri, Member of\nthe Institute. Letters on the Clergy.)\n\nWhen he had conquered the involuntary emotion which the name or\nremembrance of General Simon had occasioned, Rodin's master said to the\nsecretary: \"Do not yet open the letters from Leipsic, Charlestown, and\nBatavia; the information they contain will doubtless find its place\npresently. It will save our going over the same ground twice.\"\n\nThe secretary looked inquiringly at his master.\n\nThe latter continued--\"Have you finished the note relating to the\nmedals?\"\n\n\"Here it is,\" replied the secretary; \"I was just finishing my\ninterpretation of the cipher.\"\n\n\"Read it to me, in the order of the facts. You can append to it the news\ncontained in those three letters.\"\n\n\"True,\" said Rodin; \"in that way the letters will find their right\nplace.\"\n\n\"I wish to see,\" rejoined the other, \"whether this note is clear and\nfully explanatory; you did not forget that the person it is intended for\nought not to know all?\"\n\n\"I bore it in mind, and drew up the paper accordingly.\"\n\n\"Read,\" said the master.\n\nM. Rodin read as follows, slowly and deliberately:\n\n\"'A hundred and fifty years ago, a French Protestant family, foreseeing\nthe speedy--revocation of the edict of Nantes, went into voluntary\nexile, in order to avoid the just and rigorous decrees already issued\nagainst the members of the reformed church--those indomitable foes of\nour holy religion.\n\n\"'Some members of this family sought refuge in Holland, and afterwards\nin the Dutch colonies; others in Poland, others in Germany; some in\nEngland, and some in America.\n\n\"'It is supposed that only seven descendants remain of this family,\nwhich underwent strange vicissitudes since; its present representatives\nare found in all ranks of society, from the sovereign to the mechanic.\n\n\"'These descendants, direct or indirect, are:\n\n\"'On the mother's side,\n\n\"'Rose and Blanche Simon--minors.\n\n\"'General Simon married, at Warsaw, a descendant of the said family.\n\n\"'Francois Hardy, manufacturer at Plessis, near Paris.\n\n\"'Prince Djalma, son of Kadja-sing, King of Mondi.\n\n\"'Kadja-sing, married, in 1802, a descendant of the said family, then\nsettled at Batavia, in the Island of Java, a Dutch colony.\n\n\"'On the father's side--Jacques Rennepont, surnamed Sleepinbuff,\nmechanic.\n\n\"'Adrienne de Cardoville, daughter of the Count of Rennepont, Duke of\nCardoville.\n\n\"'Gabriel Rennepont, priest of the foreign missions.\n\n\"'All the members of this family possess, or should possess, a bronze\nmedal bearing the following inscriptions:\n\n                Victim\n                  of\n               L. C. D. J.\n               Pray for me!\n                 Paris\n            February the 13th, 1682.\n\n                At Paris,\n            Rue Saint Francois, No. 3,\n            In a century and a half\n               you will be.\n            February the 13th, 1832.\n               Pray For Me!\n\n\"'These words and dates show that all of them have a great interest to\nbe at Paris on the 13th of February, 1832; and that, not by proxy, but\nin person, whether they are minors, married or single.\n\n\"'But other persons have an immense interest that none of the\ndescendants of this family be at Paris on the 13th February, except\nGabriel Rennepont, priest of the foreign missions.\n\n\"'At all hazards, therefore, Gabriel must be the only person present at\nthe appointment made with the descendants of this family, a century and\na half ago.\n\n\"'To prevent the other six persons from reaching Paris on the said day,\nor to render their presence of no effect, much has been already done;\nbut much remains to be done to ensure the success of this affair,\nwhich is considered as the most vital and most important of the age, on\naccount of its probable results.'\"\n\n\"'Tis but too true,\" observed Rodin's master, interrupting him, and\nshaking his head pensively. \"And, moreover, that the consequences of\nsuccess are incalculable, and there is no forseeing what may follow\nfailure. In a word, it almost involves a question of existence or non\nexistence during several years. To succeed, therefore, 'all possible\nmeans must be employed. Nothing must be shunned,' except, however, that\nappearances must be skillfully maintained.\"\n\n\"I have written it,\" said Rodin, having added the words his master had\njust dictated, who then said,\n\n\"Continue.\"\n\nRodin read on:\n\n\"'To forward or secure the affair in question, it is necessary to give\nsome private and secret particulars respecting the seven persons who\nrepresent this family.\n\n\"'The truth of these particulars may be relied on. In case of need\nthey might be completed in the most minute degree for contradictory\ninformation having been given, very lengthened evidence has been\nobtained. The order in which the names of the persons stand will be\nobserved, and events that have happened up to the present time will only\nbe mentioned.\n\n\"'NOTE, No. I. \"'Rose and Blanche Simon, twin sisters, about fifteen\nyears of age; very pretty, so much alike, one might be taken for the\nother; mild and timid disposition, but capable of enthusiasm. Brought\nup in Siberia by their mother, a woman of strong mind and deistical\nsentiments, they are wholly ignorant of our holy religion.\n\n\"'General Simon, separated from his wife before they were born, is not\naware, even now, that he has two daughters.\n\n\"'It was hoped that their presence in Paris, on the 13th of February,\nwould be prevented, by sending their mother to a place of exile, much\nmore distant than the one first allotted her; but their mother dying,\nthe Governor of Siberia, who is wholly ours, supposing, by a deplorable\nmistake, that the measure only affected the wife of General Simon\npersonally, unfortunately allowed the girls to return to France, under\nthe guidance of an old soldier.\n\n\"'This man is enterprising, faithful, and determined. He is noted down\nas dangerous.\n\n\"'The Simon girls are inoffensive. It is hoped, on fair grounds, that\nthey are now detained in the neighborhood of Leipsic.'\"\n\nRodin's master interrupted him, saying:\n\n\"Now, read the letter just received from Leipsic; it may complete the\ninformation.\"\n\nRodin read it, and exclaimed:\n\n\"Excellent news! The maidens and their guide had succeeded in escaping\nduring the night from the White Falcon Tavern, but all three were\novertaken and seized about a league from Mockern. They have been\ntransferred to Leipsic, where they are imprisoned as vagabonds;\ntheir guide, the soldier, is accused and condemned of resisting the\nauthorities, and using violence to a magistrate.\"\n\n\"It is almost certain, then, considering the tedious mode of proceeding\nin Germany (otherwise we would see to it), that the girls will not be\nable to be here on the 13th February,\" added Rodin's master. \"Append\nthis to the note on the back.\"\n\nThe secretary obeyed, and endorsed \"An abstract of Morok's letter.\"\n\n\"It is written,\" he then added.\n\n\"Go on,\" resumed his master.\n\nRodin continued reading.\n\n\"'NOTE, No. II. \"'Francois Hardy, manufacturer at Plessis, near\nParis, forty years old; a steady, rich, intelligent, active, honest,\nwell-informed man, idolized by his workmen--thanks to numberless\ninnovations to promote their welfare. Never attending to the duties of\nour holy religion. Noted down as a very dangerous man: but the hatred\nand envy he excites among other manufacturers, especially in M. le Baron\nTripeaud, his competitor, may easily be turned against him. If other\nmeans of action on his account, and against him, are necessary, the\nevidence may be consulted; it is very voluminous. This man has been\nmarked and watched for a long time.\n\n\"'He has been so effectually misguided with respect to the medal, that\nhe is completely deceived as to the interests it represents. He\nis, however, constantly watched, surrounded, and governed, without\nsuspecting it; one of his dearest friends deceives him, and through his\nmeans we know his secret thoughts.\n\n\"'NOTE, No. III. \"'Prince Djalma; eighteen; energetic and generous,\nhaughty, independent and wild; favorite of General Simon, who commanded\nthe troops of his father, Kadja-sing, in the struggle maintained by the\nlatter against the English in India. Djalma is mentioned only by way of\nreminder, for his mother died young, while her parents were living. They\nresided at Batavia. On the death of the latter, neither Djalma nor\nthe king, his father, claimed their little property. It is, therefore,\ncertain that they are ignorant of the grave interests connected with the\npossession of the medal in question, which formed part of the property\nof Djalma's mother.\"'\"\n\nRodin's master interrupted him.\n\n\"Now read the letter from Batavia, and complete the information\nrespecting Djalma.\"\n\nRodin read, and then observed:\n\n\"Good news again. Joshua Van Dael, merchant at Batavia (he was educated\nin our Pondicherry establishment), learns from his correspondent at\nCalcutta that the old Indian king was killed in the last battle with\nthe English. His son, Djalma, deprived of the paternal throne, is\nprovisionally detained as a prisoner of state in an Indian fortress.\"\n\n\"We are at the end of October,\" said Rodin's master. \"If Prince Djalma\nwere to leave India now, he could scarcely reach Paris by the month of\nFebruary.\"\n\n\"Van Dael,\" continued Rodin, \"regrets that he has not been able to prove\nhis zeal in this case. Supposing Prince Djalma set at liberty, or having\neffected his escape, it is certain he would come to Batavia to claim his\ninheritance from his mother, since he has nothing else left him in the\nworld. In that case, you may rely on Van Dael's devotedness. In return,\nhe solicits very precise information, by the next post, respecting the\nfortune of M. le Baron Tripeaud, banker and manufacturer, with whom he\nhas business transactions.\"\n\n\"Answer that point evasively. Van Dael as yet has only shown zeal;\ncomplete the information respecting Djalma from these new tidings.\"\n\nRodin wrote.\n\nBut in a few minutes his master said to him with a singular expression:\n\n\"Does not Van Dael mention General Simon in connection with Djalma's\nimprisonment and his father's death?\"\n\n\"He does not allude to him,\" said the secretary, continuing his task.\n\nRodin's master was silent, and paced the room.\n\nIn a few moments Rodin said to him: \"I have done it.\"\n\n\"Go on, then.\"\n\n\"'NOTE, No. IV. \"'Jacques Rennepont, surnamed \"Sleepinbuff,\" i.e. Lie\nnaked, workman in Baron Tripeaud's factory. This artisan is drunken,\nidle, noisy, and prodigal; he is not without sense, but idleness and\ndebauch have ruined him. A clever agent, on whom we rely, has become\nacquainted with his mistress, Cephyse Soliveau, nicknamed the Bacchanal\nQueen. Through her means, the agent has formed such ties with him that\nhe may even now be considered beyond the reach of the interests that\nought to insure his presence in Paris on the 13th of February.\n\n\"'NOTE, No. V. \"'Gabriel Rennepont, priest of foreign missions, distant\nrelation of the above, but he is alike ignorant of the existence of his\nrelative and the relationship. An orphan foundling, he was adopted by\nFrances Baudoin, the wife of a soldier going by the name Dagobert.\n\n\"'Should this soldier, contrary to expectation, reach Paris, his wife\nwould be a powerful means of influencing him. She is an excellent\ncreature, ignorant and credulous, of exemplary piety, over whom we have\nlong had unlimited control. She prevailed on Gabriel to take orders,\nnotwithstanding his repugnance.\n\n\"'Gabriel is five-and-twenty; disposition as angelic as his countenance;\nrare and solid virtues; unfortunately he was brought up with his\nadopted brother, Agricola, Dagobert's son. This Agricola is a poet\nand workman--but an excellent workman; he is employed by M. Hardy;\nhas imbibed the most detestable doctrines; fond of his mother; honest,\nlaborious, but without religious feeling. Marked as very dangerous. This\ncauses his intimacy with Gabriel to be feared.\n\n\"'The latter, notwithstanding his excellent qualities, sometimes causes\nuneasiness. We have even delayed confiding in him fully. A false step\nmight make him, too, one of the most dangerous. Much precaution must be\nused then, especially till the 13th of February; since, we repeat it,\non him, on his presence in Paris at that time, depend immense hopes and\nequally important interests.\n\n\"'Among other precautions, we have consented to his taking part in the\nAmerican mission, for he unites with angelic sweetness of character a\ncalm intrepidity and adventurous spirit which could only be satisfied\nby allowing him to engage in the perilous existence of the missionaries.\nLuckily, his superiors at Charlestown have received the strictest orders\nnot to endanger, on any account, so precious a life. They are to send\nhim to Paris, at least a month or two before February 13th.\"'\n\nRodin's master again interrupted him, and said: \"Read the letter\nfrom Charlestown, and see what it tells you in order to complete the\ninformation upon this point also.\"\n\nWhen he had read the letter, Rodin went on: \"Gabriel is expected every\nday from the Rocky Mountains, whither he had absolutely insisted on\ngoing alone upon a mission.\"\n\n\"What imprudence!\"\n\n\"He has no doubt escaped all danger, as he himself announces his speedy\nreturn to Charlestown. As soon as he arrives, which cannot (they write)\nbe later than the middle of this month, he will be shipped off for\nFrance.\"\n\n\"Add this to the note which concerns him,\" said Rodin's master.\n\n\"It is written,\" replied the secretary, a few moments later.\n\n\"Proceed, then,\" said his master. Rodin continued\n\n\"'NOTE, No. VI. \"'ADRIENNE RENNEPONT DE CARDOVILLE.\n\n\"'Distantly related (without knowing it) to Jacques Rennepont, alias\nSleepinbuff, and Gabriel Rennepont, missionary priest. She will soon\nbe twenty-one years of age, the most attractive person in the\nworld--extraordinary beauty, though red-haired--a mind remarkable\nfor its originality--immense fortune--all the animal instincts. The\nincredible independence of her character makes one tremble for the\nfuture fate of this young person. Happily, her appointed guardian, Baron\nTripeaud (a baron of 1829 creation, formerly agent to the late Count of\nRennepont, Duke of Cardoville), is quite in the interest, and almost in\nthe dependence, of the young lady's aunt. We count, with reason, upon\nthis worthy and respectable relative, and on the Baron Tripeaud, to\noppose and repress the singular, unheard-of designs which this young\nperson, as resolute as independent, does not fear to avow--and which,\nunfortunately, cannot be turned to account in the interest of the affair\nin question--for--\"\n\nRodin was here interrupted by two discreet taps at the door. The\nsecretary rose, went to see who knocked, remained a moment without, and\nthen returned with two letters in his hand, saying: \"The princess has\nprofited by the departure of a courier to--\"\n\n\"Give me the letter!\" cried his master, without leaving him time to\nfinish. \"At length,\" he added, \"I shall have news of my mother--\"\n\nHe had scarcely read the first few lines of the letter, when he grew\ndeadly pale, and his features took an expression of painful astonishment\nand poignant grief. \"My mother!\" he cried, \"oh, heavens! my mother!\"\n\n\"What misfortune has happened!\" asked Rodin, with a look of alarm, as he\nrose at the exclamation of his master.\n\n\"The symptoms of improvement were fallacious,\" replied the other,\ndejectedly; \"she has now relapsed into a nearly hopeless state. And\nyet the doctor thinks my presence might save her, for she calls for me\nwithout ceasing. She wishes to see me for the last time, that she\nmay die in peace. Oh, that wish is sacred! Not to grant it would be\nmatricide. If I can but arrive in time! Travelling day and night, it\nwill take nearly two days.\"\n\n\"Alas! what a misfortune!\" said Rodin, wringing his hands, and raising\nhis eyes to heaven.\n\nHis master rang the bell violently, and said to the old servant that\nopened the door: \"Just put what is indispensable into the portmanteau\nof my travelling-carriage. Let the porter take a cab, and go for\npost horses instantly. Within an hour, I must be on the road. Mother!\nmother!\" cried he, as the servant departed in haste. \"Not to see her\nagain--oh, it would be frightful!\" And sinking upon a chair, overwhelmed\nwith sorrow, he covered his face with his hands.\n\nThis great grief was sincere--he loved tenderly his mother that divine\nsentiment had accompanied him, unalterable and pure, through all the\nphases of a too often guilty life.\n\nAfter a few minutes, Rodin ventured to say to his master, as he showed\nhim the second letter: \"This, also, has just been brought from M.\nDuplessis. It is very important--very pressing--\"\n\n\"See what it is, and answer it. I have no head for business.\"\n\n\"The letter is confidential,\" said Rodin, presenting it to his master.\n\"I dare not open it, as you may see by the mark on the cover.\"\n\nAt sight of this mark, the countenance of Rodin's master assumed an\nindefinable expression of respect and fear. With a trembling hand he\nbroke the seal. The note contained only the following words: \"Leave all\nbusiness, and without losing a minute, set out and come. M. Duplessis\nwill replace you. He has orders.\"\n\n\"Great God!\" cried this man in despair. \"Set out before I have seen my\nmother! It is frightful, impossible--it would perhaps kill her--yes, it\nwould be matricide!\"\n\nWhilst he uttered these words, his eyes rested on the huge globe, marked\nwith red crosses. A sudden revolution seemed to take place within him;\nhe appeared to repent of the violence of his regrets; his face, though\nstill sad, became once more calm and grave. He handed the fatal letter\nto his secretary, and said to him, whilst he stifled a sigh: \"To be\nclassed under its proper number.\"\n\nRodin took the letter, wrote a number upon it, and placed it in a\nparticular box. After a moment's silence, his master resumed: \"You will\ntake orders from M. Duplessis, and work with him. You will deliver to\nhim the note on the affair of the medals; he knows to whom to address\nit. You will write to Batavia, Leipsic, and Charlestown, in the sense\nagreed. Prevent, at any price, the daughters of General Simon from\nquitting Leipsic; hasten the arrival of Gabriel in Paris; and should\nPrince Djalma come to Batavia, tell M. Joshua Van Dael, that we count on\nhis zeal and obedience to keep him there.\"\n\nAnd this man, who, while his dying mother called to him in vain, could\nthus preserve his presence of mind, entered his own apartments; whilst\nRodin busied himself with the answers he had been ordered to write, and\ntranscribed them in cipher.\n\nIn about three quarters of an hour, the bells of the post-horses were\nheard jingling without. The old servant again entered, after discreetly\nknocking at the door, and said:\n\n\"The carriage is ready.\"\n\nRodin nodded, and the servant withdrew. The secretary, in his turn, went\nto knock at the door of the inner room. His master appeared, still grave\nand cold, but fearfully pale, and holding a letter in his hand.\n\n\"This for my mother,\" said he to Rodin; \"you will send a courier on the\ninstant.\"\n\n\"On the instant,\" replied the secretary.\n\n\"Let the three letters for Leipsic, Batavia and Charlestown, leave\nto-day by the ordinary channel. They are of the last importance. You\nknow it.\"\n\nThose were his last words. Executing merciless orders with a merciless\nobedience, he departed without even attempting to see his mother. His\nsecretary accompanied him respectfully to his carriage.\n\n\"What road, sir?\" asked the postilion, turning round on his saddle.\n\n\"The road to ITALY!\" answered Rodin's master, with so deep a sigh that\nit almost resembled a sob.\n\nAs the horses started at full gallop, Rodin made a low bow; then he\nreturned to the large, cold, bare apartment. The attitude, countenance,\nand gait of this personage seemed to have undergone a sudden change. He\nappeared to have increased in dimensions. He was no longer an automaton,\nmoved by the mechanism of humble obedience. His features, till now\nimpassible, his glance, hitherto subdued, became suddenly animated with\nan expression of diabolical craft; a sardonic smile curled his thin,\npale lips, and a look of grim satisfaction relaxed his cadaverous face.\n\nIn turn, he stopped before the huge globe. In turn, he contemplated\nit in silence, even as his master had done. Then, bending over it, and\nembracing it, as it were, in his arms, he gloated with his reptile-eye\non it for some moments, drew his coarse finger along its polished\nsurface, and tapped his flat, dirty nail on three of the places dotted\nwith red crosses. And, whilst he thus pointed to three towns, in very\ndifferent parts of the world, he named them aloud, with a sneer.\n\n\"Leipsic--Charlestown--Batavia.\"\n\n\"In each of these three places,\" he added, \"distant as they are from one\nanother, there exist persons who little think that here, in this\nobscure street, from the recesses of this chamber, wakeful eyes are\nupon them--that all their movements are followed, all their actions\nknown--and that hence will issue new instructions, which deeply concern\nthem, and which will be inexorably executed; for an interest is at\nstake, which may have a powerful influence on Europe--on the world.\nLuckily, we have friends at Leipsic, Charlestown, and Batavia.\"\n\nThis funny, old, sordid, ill-dressed man, with his livid and death-like\ncountenance, thus crawling over the sphere before him, appeared still\nmore awful than his master, when the latter, erect and haughty, had\nimperiously laid his hand upon that globe, which he seemed desirous of\nsubjecting by the strength of his pride and courage. The one resembled\nthe eagle, that hovers above his prey--the other the reptile, that\nenvelops its victim in its inextricable folds.\n\nAfter some minutes, Rodin approached his desk, rubbing his hands briskly\ntogether, and wrote the following epistle in a cipher unknown even to\nhis master:\n\n\"Paris, 3/4 past 9 A.M.\n\n\"He is gone--but he hesitated!\n\n\"When he received the order, his dying mother had just summoned him\nto her. He might, they told him, save her by his presence; and he\nexclaimed: 'Not to go to my mother would be matricide!'\n\n\"Still, he is gone--but he hesitated. I keep my eye upon him\ncontinually. These lines will reach Rome at the same time as himself.\n\n\"P.S.--Tell the Cardinal-Prince that he may rely on me, but I hope for\nhis active aid in return.\"\n\nWhen he had folded and sealed this letter, Rodin put it into his pocket.\nThe clock struck ten, M. Rodin's hour for breakfast. He arranged and\nlocked up his papers in a drawer, of which he carried away the key,\nbrushed his old greasy hat with his sleeve, took a patched umbrella in\nhis hand, and went out. (1)\n\nWhilst these two men, in the depths of their obscure retreat, were thus\nframing a plot, which was to involve the seven descendants of a race\nformerly proscribed--a strange mysterious defender was planning how to\nprotect this family, which was also his own.\n\n1 Having cited the excellent, courageous letters of M. Libri, and the\ncurious work edited by M. Paulin, it is our duty likewise to mention\nmany bold and conscientious writings on the subject of the \"Society of\nJesus,\" recently published by the elder Dupin, Michelet, Quinet, Genin,\nand the Count de Saint Priest--works of high and impartial intellects,\nin which the fatal theories of the order are admirably exposed and\ncondemned. We esteem ourselves happy, if we can bring one stone towards\nthe erection of the strong, and, we hope, durable embankment which these\ngenerous hearts and noble minds are raising against the encroachments of\nan impure and always menacing flood.--E. S.\n\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II. INTERVAL.--THE WANDERING JEW'S SENTENCE.\n\n     XVII. The Ajoupa XVIII. The Tattooing XIX. The Smuggler XX.\n     M. Joshua Van Dael XXI. The Ruins of Tchandi XXII. The\n     Ambuscade XXIII. M. Rodin XXIV. The Tempest XXV. The\n     Shipwreck XXVI. The Departure for Paris XXVII. Dagobert's\n     Wife XXVIII. The Sister of the Bacchanal Queen XXIX.\n     Agricola Baudoin XXX. The Return XXXI. Agricola and Mother\n     Bunch XXXII. The Awakening XXXIII. The Pavilion XXXIV.\n     Adrienne at her Toilet XXXV. 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,\nfertile, and half-veiled in light vapor by the evening mist. The rich\nmeadows, the tufts of bushy trees the fields from which the ripe corn\nhas been gathered in, all blend together in one dark, uniform tint,\nwhich contrasts with the limpid azure of the heavens. Steeples of gray\nstone or slate lift their pointed spires, at intervals, from the midst\nof this valley; for many villages are spread about it, bordering a\nhigh-road which leads from the north to the west.\n\nIt is the hour of repose--the hour when, for the most part, every\ncottage window brightens to the joyous crackling of the rustic hearth,\nand shines afar through shade and foliage, whilst clouds of smoke issue\nfrom the chimneys, and curl up slowly towards the sky. But now, strange\nto say, every hearth in the country seems cold and deserted. Stranger\nand more fatal still, every steeple rings out a funeral knell. Whatever\nthere is of activity, movement, or life, appears concentrated in that\nlugubrious and 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\nthe churchyard 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\nthe earth 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\nthe same day for their many dead, and buried them at night by the lurid\nglare of 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\nthe seas 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\nof the valley to the summit of the hill, like the complaining of a\nmighty voice; the glare of the funeral torches was still seen afar\nthrough the mist of evening; it was the hour of twilight--that strange\nhour, which gives to the most solid forms a vague, indefinite fantastic\nappearance--when the sound of firm and regular footsteps was heard on\nthe stony soil of the rising ground, and, between the black trunks of\nthe trees, 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\neighteen centuries, through all its migrations and exiles, its changes\nof religion, fortune, and name!\n\n\"Oh! for this family, descended from the sister of the poor\nshoemaker,(2) what grandeur and what abasement, what obscurity and what\nsplendor, what misery and what glory! By how many crimes has it been\nsullied, by how many virtues honored! The history of this single family\nis the history of the 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\nhas thrown 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\nmy presence 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\na single hour of repose!--'GO ON!'--Alas! I leave those I love on the\nbrink of 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\nwith hate and despair, because, in spite of my incessant labor, I and\nmine wanted for everything, the Saviour passed before my door.\n\n\"Reviled, insulted, covered with blows, hardly able to sustain the\nweight of his heavy cross, He asked me to let Him rest a moment on my\nstone bench. The sweat poured from His forehead, His feet were bleeding,\nHe was well-nigh sinking with fatigue, and He said to me, in a mild,\nheart piercing voice: 'I suffer!' 'And I too suffer,' I replied, as with\nharsh anger I pushed Him from the place; 'I suffer, and no one comes to\nhelp me! I find no pity, and will give none. Go on! go on!' Then, with\na deep sigh of pain, He answered, and spake this sentence: 'Verily,\nthou shalt go on till the day of thy redemption, for so wills the Father\nwhich art in 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\nwith commiseration 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\nbeen delivered.\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:\n'Oh, for pity's sake! a few moments of repose; we are worn out with\ntoil.'--Go on!'--'And if we perish in our pain, what will become of\nour little children and our aged mothers?'--'Go on! go on!' And, for\neighteen centuries, they and I have continued to struggle forward and to\nsuffer, and 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\nin the 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\nthe descendants of my dear sister. But, when the sorrow is above my\nstrength, when I foresee some danger from which I cannot preserve my\nown, then my thoughts, travelling over the world, go in search of that\nwoman like me accursed, that daughter of a queen, who, like me, the\nson of a laborer, wanders, and will wander on, till the day of her\nredemption.(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\ninfinite course.\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\naway, and the voice speaks in her ear: 'Go on!'--'Oh that I might finish\nmy sentence!' repeats she also,--'Go on!'--'A single hour--only a single\nhour of 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\nme to 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\na movement; 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\nof the 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\npainfully irregular, like that of one impelled by an irresistible power,\nor carried along by the whirl of a frightful wind. In vain he extended\nhis supplicating hands to heaven. Soon he disappeared in the shades of\nnight, and 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\nthe eloquent 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\nthe kindness 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. THE AJOUPA.\n\nWhile Rodin despatched his cosmopolite correspondence, from his retreat\nin the Rue du Milieu des Ursins, in Paris--while the daughters of\nGeneral Simon, after quitting as fugitives the White Falcon, were\ndetained prisoners 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\nfar from the city of Batavia, the residence of M. Joshua Van Dael, one\nof the correspondents 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\nthe gigantic vampire bat sucks the blood of its victims whilst it\nprolongs their sleep, by surrounding them with a fresh and balmy air, no\nfan moving 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,\ndisappears beneath an inextricable mass of creepers, ferns, and tufted\nreeds, of a freshness and vigor of vegetation almost incredible,\nreaching nearly to the top of the ajoupa, which lies hid like a nest\namong 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\nthe strongest and sharpest scents; for the cinnamon-tree, ginger-plant,\nstephanotis and Cape jasmine, mixed with these trees and creepers,\nspread around in puffs their penetrating odors. A roof, formed of large\nIndian fig-leaves, covers the cabin; at one end is a square opening,\nwhich serves 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\nmore glossy black: those unknown birds we see in our dreams, have no\nmore grotesque forms than these specimens of the orchis--winged flowers,\nthat seem always ready to fly from their frail and leafless stalks. The\nlong, flexible stems of the cactus, which might be taken for reptiles,\nencircle also this trunk, and clothe it with their bunches of silvery\nwhite, shaded inside with bright orange. These flowers emit a strong\nscent of vanilla.\n\nA serpent, of a brick-red, about the thickness of a large quill, and\nfive or 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\nis simple and graceful; his right arm sustains his head, a little raised\nand turned on one side; his ample robe of white muslin, with hanging\nsleeves, leaves uncovered his chest and arms worthy of the Antoinous.\nMarble is not more firm, more polished than his skin, the golden hue of\nwhich contracts strongly with the whiteness of his garments. Upon his\nbroad manly 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.\nYet now the tall ferns, which cover the soil, begin to move almost\nimperceptibly, as though their stems were shaken by the slow progress\nof some crawling body. From time to time, this trifling oscillation\nsuddenly ceases, and all is again motionless. But, after several of\nthese alternations of rustling and deep silence, a human head appears\nin the midst of the jungle, a little distance from the trunk of the dead\ntree.\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\nthick coat of oil. Stretching himself along the huge trunk on the side\nfurthest from the cabin, and thus sheltered by the whole breadth of the\ntree with its surrounding creepers, he began to climb silently, with\nas much patience as caution. In the undulations of his form, in the\nflexibility of his movements, in the restrained vigor, which fully\nput forth would have been alarming, there was some resemblance to the\nstealthy and treacherous advance of the tiger upon its prey.\n\nHaving reached, completely unperceived, the inclined portion of the\ntree, which almost touched the roof of the cabin, he was only separated\nfrom the window by a distance of about a foot. Cautiously advancing his\nhead, he 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\nof a 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\nrested his hand on the ledge of the opening that served for a window.\nThis movement shook the large cactus-flowers, within which the little\nserpent lay curled, and, darting forth it twisted itself rapidly round\nthe wrist of the Strangler. Whether from pain or surprise, the man\nuttered a low cry; and as he drew back swiftly, still holding by the\ntrunk of the tree, he 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\nadvanced his head, and saw the young Indian once more plunged in sleep.\nThen he descended the tree with the same precautions, though his left\nhand was somewhat swollen from the sting of the serpent, and disappeared\nin the jungle.\n\nAt that instant a song of monotonous and melancholy cadence was heard\nin the distance. The Strangler raised himself, and listened attentively,\nand his face took an expression of surprise and deadly anger. The song\ncame nearer and nearer to the cabin, and, in a few seconds, an Indian,\npassing through an open space in the jungle, approached the spot where\nthe Thug lay concealed.\n\nThe latter unwound from his waist a long thin cord, to one of the ends\nof which was attached a leaden ball, of the form and size of an egg;\nhaving fastened the other end of this cord to his right wrist, the\nStrangler again listened, and then disappeared, crawling through the\ntall grass in the direction of the Indian, who still advanced slowly,\nwithout interrupting 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\nscarce forty 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\nof ultramarine, 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\nnoise like that of a sling; he feels a cord, thrown with as much\nrapidity as force, encircle his neck with a triple band; and, almost in\nthe same instant, the leaden ball strikes violently against the back of\nhis 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\nveins of his neck and temples were swollen, and the same savage laugh,\nwhich had curled his lips at the aspect of the sleeping Djalma, again\ndisplayed his pointed black teeth, which a nervous trembling of the jaws\nmade to chatter. But soon he crossed his arms upon his heaving breast,\nbowed his forehead, and murmured some mysterious words, which sounded\nlike an invocation 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\nneck of his victim, fastened it round his own body, dragged the corpse\nout of the 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\nof this opening, which was to serve him for a passage, that Djalma was\nstill fast asleep, the Thug, with incredible temerity, glided into the\ncabin.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII. THE 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\nvapor. This strange light gave to every object a weird appearance, of\nwhich one might form an idea, by looking at a landscape through a piece\nof copper colored glass. In those climates, this phenomenon, when united\nwith an increase of burning heat, always announces the approach of a\nstorm.\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\nupon his hands and knees, with his neck stretched forward, his eye fixed\nand dilated, continued motionless as a wild beast about to spring. Only\na slight 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\nmade still more active, and the orders he had received not to attempt\nthe life of Djalma, though the design, which brought him to the ajoupa,\nmight perhaps be as fatal to the young Indian as death itself. Twice did\nthe Strangler, with look of flame, resting only on his left hand, seize\nwith his right the rope's end; and twice his hand fell--the instinct of\nmurder yielding 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,\nand so 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\nsweat, which bathed the forehead of Djalma, became more abundant:\nhe heaved a smothered sigh, and the muscles of his face gave several\ntwitches, for the strokings, although too light to rouse him, yet caused\nin him a feeling 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\nno longer able to bear this vague, annoying sensation, raised his right\nhand mechanically to his face, as if he would have brushed away an\nimportunate insect. But he had not strength to do it; almost immediately\nafter, his hand, inert and heavy, fell back upon his chest. The\nStrangler saw, by this symptom, that he was attaining his object, and\ncontinued to stroke, with the same address, the eyelids, brow, and\ntemples.\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,\nhe rapidly 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\nfell into 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\nsuch was 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\nlast look of ferocious longing on the slumbering Indian, and creeping\naway from the mat, regained the opening by which he had entered the\ncabin; next, closely uniting the edges of the incision, so as to obviate\nall suspicion, he disappeared just as the thunder began to rumble\nhoarsely in the distance.(4)\n\n(4) We read in the letters of the late Victor Jacquemont upon India,\nwith regard 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\nand limbs take any position which suits their purpose.\" Count Edward\nde Warren, in his excellent work on English India, which we shall have\nagain occasion 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\nyou are 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\nand crouch on the outside, in some shady corner, where he can hear the\nbreathing of those within. As soon as the European sleeps, he feels\nsure of 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\nto admit him. He glides through like a phantom, without making the least\ngrain of sand creak beneath his tread. He is perfectly naked, and all\nhis body is rubbed over with oil; a two-edged knife is suspended from\nhis neck. He will squat down close to your couch, and, with incredible\ncoolness and dexterity, will gather up the sheet in very little folds,\nso as to occupy the least surface possible; then, passing to the other\nside, he will lightly tickle the sleeper, whom he seems to magnetize,\ntill the latter shrinks back involuntarily, and ends by turning round,\nand leaving the sheet folded behind him. Should he awake, and strive to\nseize the robber, he catches at a slippery form, which slides through\nhis hands like an eel; should he even succeed in seizing him, it would\nbe fatal--the dagger strikes him to the heart, he falls bathed in his\nblood, and the assassin disappears.\"--E. S.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX. THE SMUGGLER\n\nThe tempest of the morning has long been over. The sun is verging\ntowards the horizon. Some hours have elapsed, since the Strangler\nintroduced himself into Djalma's cabin, and tattooed him with a\nmysterious sign during 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\nlong tails change in the light to a golden brown, are chasing the prince\noriels, clothed in their glossy feathers of black and orange; Kolo\ndoves, of a changeable violet hue, are gently cooing by the side of the\nbirds of paradise, in whose brilliant plumage are mingled the prismatic\ncolors of the 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\npurple fins, others gleaming with azure and vermilion; so still were\nthey that they looked as if set in a mass of bluish crystal, and, as\nthey dwelt motionless near the surface of the pool, on which played a\ndazzling ray of the sun, they revelled in the enjoyment of the light\nand heat. A thousand insects--living gems, with wings of flame--glided,\nfluttered and buzzed over the transparent wave, in which, at an\nextraordinary depth, were mirrored the variegated tints of the aquatic\nplants on the bank.\n\nIt is impossible to give an adequate idea of the exuberant nature of\nthis scene, luxuriant in the sunlight, colors, and perfumes, which\nserved, so to speak, as a frame to the young and brilliant rider, who\nwas advancing along the avenue. It was Djalma. He had not yet perceived\nthe indelible marks, which the Strangler had traced upon his left arm.\n\nHis Japanese mare, of slender make, full of fire and vigor, is black\nas night. 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\nblack locks of Djalma, sets off to advantage the golden tint of his\ncomplexion; his throat is bare; he is clad in his robe of white muslin\nwith large sleeves, confined at the waist by a scarlet sash; very full\ndrawers, in white cotton stuff, leave half uncovered his tawny and\npolished legs; their classic curve stands out from the dark sides of the\nhorse, which he presses tightly between his muscular calves. He has no\nstirrups; his foot, small and narrow, is shod with a sandal of morocco\nleather.\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\nall this fantastic course, his least movements were distinguished by a\nproud, independent 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\nmodest inheritance of his maternal ancestors. And amongst this property,\nso long despised or forgotten by his father, he found some important\npapers, and a 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\nDjalma's mother, but which also seemed to promise great advantages for\nthe future. Leaving Djalma at Batavia, to terminate some business there,\nhe had gone to the neighboring island of Sumatra, in the hope of finding\na vessel that would make the passage to Europe directly and rapidly;\nfor it was now necessary that, cost what it might, the young Indian also\nshould be at Paris on the 13th February, 1832. Should General Simon\nfind a vessel ready to sail for Europe, he was to return immediately, to\nfetch Djalma; and the latter, expecting him daily, was now going to the\npier of Batavia, hoping to see the father of Rose and Blanche arrive by\nthe mail boat 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\nmidst of 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,\nthe silent dignity of his bearing had overawed his jailers. Never a\nreproach, never a complaint--a proud and melancholy calm was all that\nhe opposed to a treatment as unjust as it was barbarous, until he was\nrestored to freedom.\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\nto their extreme limits. Obstinately faithful to his pledged word,\ndevoted to 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\na traitor, 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.\nSuch a man, brought into contact with the temperaments, calculations,\nfalsehoods, deceptions, tricks, restrictions, and hollowness of a\nrefined society, such as Paris, for example, would, without doubt,\nform a very curious subject for speculation. We raise this hypothesis,\nbecause, since his journey to France had been determined on, Djalma had\none fixed, ardent 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\npulses of 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,\ngreen arch, he could see pass and repass, white and sylph-like, a host\nof adorable and voluptuous phantoms, that threw him kisses from the tips\nof their rosy fingers. Unable to restrain his burning emotions, carried\naway by a strange enthusiasm, Djalma uttered exclamations of joy, deep,\nmanly, and sonorous, and made his vigorous courser bound under him in\nthe excitement of a mad delight. Just then a sunbeam, piercing the dark\nvault of 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\nindeed a charming sight, to behold, in the midst of a blaze of dazzling\nlustre, this youth, so handsome, joyous, and ardent, clad in his white\nand flowing vestments, gayly and lightly seated on his proud black mare,\nwho covered her red bridle with her foam, and whose long tail and thick\nmane floated 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\nthe reins to fall on the mane of his docile steed, which, instantly\nstopping, stretched out its long neck, and turned its head in the\ndirection of the personage, whom it could see approaching through the\ncoppice.\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\nvery low-crowned straw hat. His face was brown, with strongly-marked\nfeatures, and, 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\nDjalma; but, wishing doubtless to be still more certain, he resumed:\n\"You must have received, two days ago, a letter from General Simon,\nwritten from Sumatra?\"\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\non a 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\nTchandi.\"\n\n\"Obliged to hide himself!\" repeated Djalma, and his countenance\nexpressed increasing 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,\nto wait 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\nthe Smuggler not unfounded. After a moment's silence he said to him:\n\"Can you undertake to lead home my horse? My dwelling is without the\ntown--there, in the midst of those trees--by the side of the new mosque.\nIn ascending the mountain of Tchandi, my horse would be in my way; I\nshall go much faster 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\nthe Smuggler, bowing with respect and gratitude. He took the road to\nBatavia, leading Djalma's horse. The young Indian, on the contrary,\nplunged into the coppice, and, walking with great strides, he directed\nhis course towards the mountain, on which were the ruins of Tchandi,\nwhere he could not arrive before night.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX. M. 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.\"\nIt was there that he was initiated into the order as \"professor of the\nthree vows,\" or lay member, commonly called \"temporal coadjutor.\"\n\nJoshua was a man of probity that passed for stainless; of strict\naccuracy in business, cold, careful, reserved, and remarkably skillful\nand sagacious; his financial operations were almost always successful,\nfor a protecting power gave him ever in time, knowledge of events\nwhich might advantageously influence his commercial transactions. The\nreligious house of Pondicherry was interested in his affairs, having\ncharged him with the exportation and exchange of the produce of its\nlarge possessions in this colony.\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\nwith great regularity, and his exterior had something of austerity about\nit, which tended to overawe.\n\nThe following scene took place at Batavia, while Djalma was on his way\nto the 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\nsecond thick door, studded with nail-heads, in the Dutch fashion,\ncautiously entered the court (so as not to be heard by the people in\nthe house), and drew back the secret bolt of a gate six feet high,\nformidably garnished with iron spikes. Leaving this gate unfastened, he\nregained his cabinet, after he had successively and carefully closed the\ntwo other doors behind him.\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\nletters, and sent them on as if untouched to Djalma, I felt myself\nobliged, from the pressure of the circumstances, to have recourse\nto extreme measures--taking care always to preserve appearances, and\nrendering at the same time a signal service to humanity, which last\nreason chiefly decided 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\nvessel at Alexandria, which will bring them to France. This voyage, as\nrapid as it is direct, will not take more than seven or eight weeks. We\nare now at the end of October; Prince Djalma might then be in France\nby the commencement of the month of January; and according to your\ninstructions, of which I know not the motive, but which I execute with\nzeal and submission, his departure must be prevented at all hazards,\nbecause, you tell me, some of the gravest interests of the Society would\nbe compromised, by the arrival of this young Indian in Paris before the\n13th of 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\nor five months to reach Europe.\n\n\"Before telling you the means which I have thought right to employ,\nto detain 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\nthem, than in obedience to a homicidal vocation, and to the laws of an\ninfernal divinity 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\nby Colonel Sleeman, who has hunted out this dark association with\nindefatigable zeal. The report in question was published about two\nmonths ago. Here is the 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\na day'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\nupon all the roads which cross each other in this locality--I should\nhave taken such a person for a madman, or one who had been imposed upon\nby idle tales. And yet nothing could be truer; hundreds of travellers\nhad been buried every year in the groves of Mundesoor; a whole tribe\nof assassins lived close to my door, at the very time I was supreme\nmagistrate of the province, and extended their devastations to the\ncities of Poonah and Hyderabad. I shall never forget, when, to convince\nme of the fact, one of the chiefs of the Stranglers, who had turned\ninformer against them, caused thirteen bodies to be dug up from the\nground beneath my tent, and offered to produce any number from the soil\nin the immediate vicinity.'(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\nlaws, human and divine. Devoted to each other, even to heroism,\nblindly obedient 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\nin particular, named Faringhea, whose extraordinary energy and eminent\nqualities make him every way redoubtable. He is of the mixed race,\nhalf white 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\nby giving up these three chiefs and their adept, came to me, knowing, as\nall the 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\nthe Malay. 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\nsome information as to the solvency of Baron Tripeaud, banker and\nmanufacturer at Paris, who has also an agency at Calcutta. This\ninformation will now be useless, if what I have just learned should,\nunfortunately, turn out to be correct, and it will be for you to act\naccording 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\nalready sunk and lost a large capital in this enterprise: he has no\ndoubt done a great deal of harm to M. Francois Hardy; but he has also,\nthey say, seriously compromised his own fortune--and, were he to fail,\nthe effects of his disaster would be very fatal to us, seeing that he\nowes a large sum of money to me and to us.\n\n\"In this state of things it would be very desirable if, by the\nemployment of the powerful means of every kind at our disposal, we could\ncompletely discredit and break down the house of M. Francois Hardy,\nalready shaken by M. Tripeaud's violent opposition. In that case, the\nlatter would soon regain all he has lost; the ruin of his rival would\ninsure his prosperity, 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,\nare we not surely justified in sometimes using the arms that are\nincessantly turned against us? If we are reduced to such steps by the\ninjustice and wickedness of men, we may console ourselves with the\nreflection that we only seek to preserve our worldly possessions, in\norder to devote them to the greater glory of God; whilst, in the hands\nof our enemies, those very goods are the dangerous instruments of\nperdition 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\ngentle taps 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;\n\"are you 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\nMalay, who 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\ntell me all, before he went to join them at the ruins of Tchandi--for\nhe had remained 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\nprecipitately, and then silence reigned once more in the house. Joshua\nreturned to his desk, and hastily added these words to the despatch,\nwhich he had before commenced:\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\nParis by the 13th of next February. As I foresaw, I shall have to be up\nall night.--I am just going to the governor's. To-morrow I will add\na few lines to this long statement, which the steamship 'Ruyter' will\nconvey to Europe.\"\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\nwork, \"British India in 1831.\"--E. S.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI. THE RUINS OF TCHANDI. To the storm in the middle of the\nday, the approach of which so well served the Strangler's designs upon\nDjalma, has succeeded a calm and serene night. The disk of the moon\nrises slowly behind a mass of lofty ruins, situated on a hill, in the\nmidst of a thick wood, about three leagues 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\nof these porticoes, fall upon two colossal statues at the foot of\nan immense staircase, the loose stones of which are almost entirely\nconcealed by grass, moss, and brambles.\n\nThe fragments of one of these statues, broken in the middle, lie\nstrewed upon the ground; the other, which remains whole and standing, is\nfrightful to behold. It represents a man of gigantic proportions, with\na head three feet high; the expression of the countenance is ferocious,\neyes of brilliant slaty black are set beneath gray brows, the large,\ndeep mouth gapes immoderately, and reptiles have made their nest between\nthe lips of stone; by the light of the moon, a hideous swarm is\nthere dimly visible. A broad girdle, adorned with symbolic ornaments,\nencircles the body of this statue, and fastens a long sword to its right\nside. The giant has four extended arms, and, in his great hands, he\nbears an elephant's head, a twisted serpent, a human skull, and a bird\nresembling a heron. The moon, shedding her light on the profile of this\nstatue, serves 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\nbest preservation represents a man with the head of an elephant, and the\nwings of a bat, devouring a child. Nothing can be more gloomy than these\nruins, buried among thick trees of a dark green, covered with frightful\nemblems, and seen by the moonlight, in the midst of the deep silence of\nnight.\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\nthis hovel, 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\nthe European fashion; his pale, almost white, complexion, announces\nthat he belongs to the mixed race, being offspring of a white father and\nIndian mother.\n\nThe second is a robust African negro, with thick lips, vigorous\nshoulders, and lank legs; his woolly hair is beginning to turn gray;\nhe is 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;\n\"listen! he is repeating the answers of the traveller, when we told\nhim he must die, or serve with us on Thuggee. His mind is still\nimpressed--deeply impressed--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\nhave greatly suffered.'--'For a long time?'--'Yes, for a very long\ntime.'--'You suffer even now?'--'Yes, even now.'--What do you reserve\nfor those 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\nhe replied: \"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\none of our brothers--the sun was setting behind the pagoda, to the right\nof the 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.\nI remained motionless with fear, gazing at him with eyes aghast. He\nstopped, bending upon me his calm, sad look. In spite of myself, I\ncould not help exclaiming: 'It is he!'--'Yes,' he replied, in his gentle\nvoice, 'it is I. Since all whom thou killest must needs live again,' and\nhe pointed to heaven as he spoke, 'why shouldst thou kill?--Hear me! I\nhave just 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\nof those who fall beneath thy kalleepra; in this world or up above, in\nthis garb or in another, the soul must still be a soul; thou canst not\nsmite it. Why then kill?'--and shaking his head sorrowfully, he went on\nhis way, walking slowly, with downcast eyes; he ascended the hill of\nthe pagoda; 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\nhe!\" added the Indian with a shudder, after a long pause: \"it was none\nbut he.\"\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\nthat the children of Bowanee have sacrificed since the commencement of\nages, is nothing compared to the immense heap of dead and dying, whom\nthis terrible 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\nthe cholera, and we learned sometime after, that this plague had first\nbroken out 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.\nThe cholera also went towards the north, passing through\nMuscat--Ispahan--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,\nthe awe-struck negro said to the last speaker: \"So you think that this\nman--\"\n\n\"I think that this man, whom we killed, restored to life by some\ninfernal divinity, has been commissioned to bear this terrible scourge\nover the earth, and to scatter round his steps that death, from which he\nis himself 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\nunexplained) of that fearful malady, which has never been known to\ntravel more than five or six leagues a day, or to appear simultaneously\nin two spots. Nothing can be more curious, than to trace out, on the\nmaps prepared at the period in question, the slow, progressive course of\nthis travelling pestilence, which offers to the astonished eye all the\ncapricious incidents of a tourist's journey. Passing this way rather\nthan that--selecting provinces in a country--towns in a province--one\nquarter in a town--one street in a quarter--one house in a\nstreet--having its place of residence and repose, and then continuing\nits slow, mysterious, fear 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\nhave themselves 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\nhelp each other, but for them there is neither country nor family; they\nowe no allegiance save to a dark, invisible power, whose decrees they\nobey with blind submission, and in whose name they spread themselves\nabroad, to make 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\nruins; the stars sparkled in the heavens; from time to time, a faint\nbreeze rustled through the thick and varnished leaves of the bananas and\nthe palms.\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\nthe aperture, which thus formed itself without noise, a man, dressed\nin uniform, 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\nsoon, accompanied by two other soldiers, he ascended, with the greatest\nsilence and precaution, the last steps of the subterranean staircase,\nand went gliding amongst the ruins. For a few moments, their moving\nshadows were thrown upon the moonlit ground; then they disappeared\nbehind some fragments 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\nfor the sake of the booty they hope to find upon travellers, there is a\nclass of assassins, forming an organized society, with chiefs of their\nown, a slang-language, a science, a free-masonry, and even a religion,\nwhich has its fanaticism and its devotion, its agents, emissaries,\nallies, its militant forces, and its passive adherents, who contribute\ntheir money to the good work. This is the community of the Thugs or\nPhansegars (deceivers or stranglers, from thugna, to deceive, and\nphansna, to strangle), a religious and economical society, which\nspeculates with the human race by exterminating men; its origin is lost\nin 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:\nbut until 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\nas the dreams of a heated imagination. And yet for many years, at the\nvery least for half a century, this social wound had been frightfully\non the increase, devouring the population from the Himalayas to Cape\nComorin and from 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\nher disciple 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,\nand may share all in common with them, because, like himself, they are\nthe ministers 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\ntracking the wild beast to his den, in attacking the boar, the tiger,\nbecause there is danger to brave, energy and courage to display. Think\nhow this attraction must be redoubled, when the contest is with man,\nwhen it is man that is to be destroyed. Instead of the single faculty\nof courage, all must be called into action--courage, cunning, foresight,\neloquence, intrigue. What springs to put in motion! what plans to\ndevelop! To sport with all the passions, to touch the chords of love\nand friendship, and so draw the prey into one's net--that is a glorious\nchase--it is a delight, a 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. THE 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\nthe Cholera 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\nIndia, three chiefs of the good work--but what matter? We leave there\nour brethren, 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\nan inspired 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\nwith us may be our prey, let us stand alone in the midst of all, against\nall, and in spite of all. For us, there must be neither country nor\nfamily. Our family is composed of our brethren; our country is the\nworld.\"\n\nThis kind of savage eloquence made a deep impression on the negro\nand the Indian, over whom Faringhea generally exercised considerable\ninfluence, his intellectual powers being very superior to theirs, though\nthey were themselves two of the most eminent chiefs of this bloody\nassociation. \"Yes, you are right, brother!\" cried the Indian, sharing\nthe enthusiasm of Faringhea; \"the world is ours. Even here, in Java, let\nus leave some trace of our passage. Before we depart, let us establish\nthe good work in this island; it will increase quickly, for here also\nis great misery, and the Dutch are rapacious as the English. Brother,\nI have seen in the marshy rice-fields of this island, always fatal to\nthose who cultivate them, men whom absolute want forced to the deadly\ntask--they were livid as corpses--some of them worn out with sickness,\nfatigue, and hunger, fell--never to rise again. Brothers, the good work\nwill prosper in this country!\"\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\nyour father'--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\nhis black slaves with whips, a withered old merchant of Batavia left\nhis country-house to come to the town. Lolling in his palanquin, he\nreceived, with languid indolence, the sad caresses of two of those\ngirls, whom he had bought, to people his harem, from parents too poor to\ngive them food. The palanquin, which held this little old man, and the\ngirls, was carried by twelve young and robust men. There are here, you\nsee, mothers who in their misery sell their own daughters--slaves\nthat are scourged--men that carry other men, like beasts of\nburden.--Brothers, the good work will prosper 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\nsuddenly: \"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\nto take 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\nhate mankind?\"\n\n\"Then--Bowanee will decide his fate,\" said Faringhea, with a gloomy\nlook; \"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,\"\nsaid Faringhea. \"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\nand of 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\nthey have seized their prey.\"\n\nIn a few minutes, the Malay appeared at the door of the hut. He had\nwound around him a broad length of cotton, adorned with bright colored\nstripes.\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,\nwhat we 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.\nHe approaches 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\nhe resists--I have my project.\"\n\nHardly had Faringhea disappeared, saying these words, when Djalma\narrived at the door of the hovel. At sight of those three personages\nwith their forbidding aspect, Djalma started in surprise. But ignorant\nthat these men belonged to the Phansegars, and knowing that, in a\ncountry where there are no inns, travellers often pass the night under\na tent, or beneath the shelter of some ruins, he continued to advance\ntowards them. After the first moment, he perceived by the complexion and\nthe dress of one of these men, that he was an Indian, and he accosted\nhim in the Hindoo language: \"I thought to have found here a European--a\nFrenchman--\"\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\ndraw him 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\nexplain to himself this mysterious adventure. \"And who are you?\" asked\nhe, with a look of suspicion; for the gloomy silence of the Phansegar's\ntwo companions, 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\nhim 'Father of the Generous,' and he was well named. Will you leave his\ndeath unavenged? Will the hate, which gnaws at your heart, be without\nfruit?\"\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\nmy liberty, I swore never again to set foot in India--and I keep the\noaths I make.\"\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\nis unworthy, I despise him. So that I have no hate--either for brave men\nor cowards.\"\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\nthe midst of the ruins. All this passed so instantaneously, that, when\nDjalma turned 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\npursuit of 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\nnext.\"\n\nDjalma had remained petrified with surprise, not understanding what\nwas passing 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\nlong service 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\nan hour--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\nagain advancing to bind the son of Kadja-sing; \"these men form part\nof that horrible 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\njoy: \"You have hit it; the sons of the good work do know each other by\nmarks tattooed on their skin. For us, the hour has come--we give our\nnecks to the cord. Often enough have we twined it round the necks of\nthose who served not with us the good work. Now, look at our arms, and\nlook at the arms 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\nyour arm the mysterious symbol--(we are going to assure ourselves of\nthe fact), 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\nDjalma is 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\nit believed 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,\nwide left 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\nyet satisfied, he assured himself that the negro and the Indian were\nlikewise so 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\nriveted on the fatal mark, was unable to pronounce a word, or make the\nleast movement: his powers of thought seemed to fail him, in presence of\nthis incomprehensible 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,\nafter spending an hour in fruitless endeavors, he set out for Batavia,\nwhere the 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\nall into 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\nshow me 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\nthe ruins of Tchandi, I was far from anticipating that any one would\nconfound with those wretches the adopted son of General Simon, an\nexcellent man, with whom I have had for some time the most honorable\nrelations. We must, then, at any cost, discover the inconceivable\nmystery that has placed Djalma in this dangerous position;' and, I\ncontinued, 'so convinced am I of his innocence, that, for his own sake,\nI would not ask for any favor on his behalf. He will have sufficient\ncourage and dignity to wait patiently in prison for the day of justice.'\nIn all this, you see, I spoke nothing but the truth, and had not to\nreproach myself with the least deception, for nobody in the world is\nmore convinced than I am of Djalma'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\nhave its course, because it would be the only way of demonstrating\nthe falsehood 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\npassage. At the same time, he will be the bearer of this long despatch,\nfor the 'Ruyter' is to sail in an hour, and the last letter-bag for\nEurope was made up yesterday evening. But I wished to see the governor\nthis morning, before 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\nand power, and the times appear opposed to us; but circumstances only\nchange; we 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,\nthey found 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\nof the \"Ruyter,\" in order to be received as passenger.\n\nFinally, the searches and bushwhacking ordered throughout the country\nfor the purpose of discovering Faringhea, were of no avail. The\ndangerous chief of the Stranglers was never seen again in Java.\n\n(7) It is known that the doctrine of passive and absolute obedience,\nthe main-spring of the Society of Jesus, is summed up in those terrible\nwords of the dying Loyola: \"Every member of the Order shall be, in the\nhands of his superiors, even as a corpse (Perinde ac Cadaver).\"--E. S.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII. M. 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,\na dangerous 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\nnoise, like the discharge of artillery, thunders in the distance, and\nis repeated 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\nthis apartment, in which a lamp is burning, a woman of about sixty years\nof age, with a simple and honest countenance, dressed as a rich\nfarmer's wife 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\nand honesty, enlivened by a touch of rustic humor; he wears a\nshooting-jacket of green cloth, and long gaiters of tan-colored leather,\nwhich half conceal his black velveteen breeches.\n\nThe terrible storm which rages without renders still more agreeable\nthe picture of this peaceful interior. A rousing fire burns in a broad\nchimney-place faced with white marble, and throws its joyous light on\nthe carefully 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\nof grotesque shapes--complete the decorations of this apartment.\n\nOut-doors, the gale continued to howl furiously, and sometimes a gust\nof wind would rush down the chimney, or shake the fastenings of the\nwindows. The man who was occupied in sorting the samples of grain was M.\nDupont, bailiff of Cardoville manor.\n\n\"Holy Virgin!\" said his wife; \"what dreadful weather, my dear! This\nM. Rodin, 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\nbelongs to 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\nstout lady who came from Paris last week on purpose to see the chateau\nappeared to 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\npretty dove, truly! She is round as a hogshead, with the voice of a\ntown-crier; has gray moustachios like an old grenadier, and without\nher knowing it, I heard her say to her servant: 'Stir your stumps, my\nhearty!'--and yet she calls herself Sainte-Colombe!\"\n\n\"How hard on her you are, Dupont; a body don't choose one's name. And,\nif she 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\nno church 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\nis one.\"\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\nas large 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;\n'our allies, good, dear allies! they and the Restoration began my\nfortune!' So you see, Dupont, I said to myself directly: 'She was no\ndoubt one of the noble women who fled abroad--'\"\n\n\"Madame de la Sainte-Colombe!\" cried the bailiff, laughing heartily.\n\"Oh, my poor, poor wife!\"\n\n\"Oh, it is all very well; but because you have been three years at\nParis, don't think yourself a conjurer!\"\n\n\"Catherine, let's drop it: you will make me say some folly, and there\nare certain 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\nby pilfering--and truly, at our age, it would be hard to seek another\nplace, which perhaps we should not find. What I regret is, that\nMademoiselle Adrienne should not keep the land; it seems that she wished\nto sell it, against 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\nlife?\"\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\nown. Dost remember, ten years ago, when the count brought her down here\none summer?--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\nto say she has red hair. On the contrary, it always appears to me so\nfine, so bright, so sunny, and to suit so well her snowy complexion and\nblack eyes, that in truth I would not have had it other than it was;\nand I am sure, that now this very color of her hair, which would be\na blemish in any one else, must only add to the charm of Mademoiselle\nAdrienne's face. She must have such a sweet vixen look!\"\n\n\"Oh! to be candid, she really was a vixen--always running about the\npark, aggravating her governess, climbing the trees--in fact, playing\nall manner of naughty tricks.\"\n\n\"I grant you, Mademoiselle Adrienne was a chip of the old block; but\nthen what 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\nher new merino frock to a poor little beggar girl, and came back to the\nhouse in 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,\nthat Mademoiselle Adrienne never sets foot in a church, but lives in a\nkind of heathen temple in her aunt's garden, where she has masked women\nto dress her up like a goddess, and scratches them very often, because\nshe gets tipsy--without mentioning, that every night she plays on a\nhunting horn of massive gold--all which causes the utmost grief and\ndespair to her poor 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\nwas who told her all this--and surely she ought to know, being in the\nhouse.\"\n\n\"Yes, a fine piece of goods that Grivois! once she was a regular bad\n'un, but now she professes to be as over-nice as her mistress; like\nmaster like 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\nserved in 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\nis now such a saint. Oh! those were the jolly times. Every evening, some\nnew entertainment 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,\nhe was dressed even more than plainly. With an air of great humility,\nhe saluted the bailiff and his wife, and at a sign from her husband,\nthe latter 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\nfar from prepossessing; yet this man knew how, when it was necessary,\nto affect, with diabolical art, so much sincerity and good-nature--his\nwords were 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\nhis dupe or victim in the tortuous windings of an eloquence as pliant\nas it was honeyed and perfidious; for ugliness and evil have their\nfascination, as well as what is good and fair.\n\nThe honest bailiff looked at this man with surprise, when he thought\nof the 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\nde Saint-Dizier.\"\n\n\"Pray, sir, draw near the fire, whilst I just see what is in this\nletter. The weather is so bad,\" continued the bailiff, obligingly, \"may\nI not offer 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\njust and useful inductions from those little appearances, which,\nrevealing a taste or habit, give at the same time some notion of a\ncharacter; on this occasion, 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\nof. But to come to business: there is a room here which is called the\nGreen Chamber?\"\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\nshut up in a cabinet in that room, and the lawyers took the keys with\nthem to Paris.\"\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\nthe tip of his little finger to the corner of his right eye, as if to\nstop a rising 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\nis yet another. 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\nin garrison at Abbeville, spent some time in this house.\"\n\n\"Oh, sir! what a dashing officer was there! It was only just now, that\nI was talking about him to my wife. He was the life of the house!--how\nwell he could perform plays--particularly the character of a scapegrace.\nIn the Two Edmonds, for instance, he would make you die with laughing,\nin that part of a drunken soldier--and then, with what a charming voice\nhe sang Joconde, sir--better than they could sing it at Paris!\"\n\nRodin, having listened complacently to the bailiff, said to him:\n\"You doubtless 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\na great 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,\nthat M. 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\nM. d'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\nis sold. 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\nowe you! 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\nevery way worthy of veneration; Madame de la Sainte-Colombe is the name\nof this respectable--\"\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\nPalais Royal. 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\nof her soul--Madame de la Sainte-Colombe is now in a likely way\nto experience grace--which renders her, as I told you, worthy\nof veneration, because nothing is so respectable as a sincere\nrepentance--always providing it to be lasting. Now to make the good work\nsure and effectual, we 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\nof Roiville, 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\ncurate of 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\nan aged 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\nof zeal 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\nto render him this small service, which, as you see, will not remain\nwithout a recompense. For I tell you once more, and I will prove it,\nthat I have the 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,\nwith redoubled hilarity; \"a Jesuit!--Now really, my dear M. Dupont, for\na man of sense, experience, and intelligence, how can you believe such\nidle stories?--A Jesuit--are there such people as Jesuits?--in our time,\nabove all, can you believe such romance of the Jacobins, hobgoblins of\nthe old freedom lovers?--Come, come; I wager, you have read about them\nin the Constitutionnel!\"\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\nformer, and 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\non this 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\nthe whole 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\nyears' standing 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\nthe same 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\ndrifting right upon the shore--the ship is firing minute gulls--it will\nbe 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\nwith the people of the farm, and try to save some of them, poor\ncreatures!--Light large fires in several rooms--get ready linen,\nclothes, cordials--I scarcely dare hope to save any, but we must do our\nbest. Will you come with me, M. Rodin?\"\n\n\"I should think it a duty, if I could be at all useful, but I am too\nold and 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\nshe trembled on account of her husband, whose courage she well knew.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV. THE 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\nof black 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\nas the 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\nher monstrous hull upon the waves--now plunges into their trough. A\nflash is seen, followed by a dull sound, scarcely perceptible in\nthe midst of the roar of the tempest. That gun is the last signal of\ndistress from this lost 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,\nmust some 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\nwas carried away, the paddle box stove in, one of the wheels rendered\nuseless. A second white-cap, following the first, again struck the\nvessel amidships, and so increased the damage that, no longer answering\nto the helm, she also drifted towards the shore, in the same direction\nas the ship. But the latter, though further from the breakers, presented\na greater surface to the wind and sea, and so gained upon the steamer\nin swiftness that a collision between the two vessels became imminent--a\nnew clanger 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\nthe Red Sea, had disembarked at the Isthmus of Suez, from on board\nthe steamship \"Ruyter.\" The \"Black Eagle,\" quitting the Straits of\nGibraltar, had gone to touch at the Azores. She headed thence for\nPortsmouth, when she was overtaken in the Channel by the northwester.\nThe steamer was the \"William Tell,\" coming from Germany, by way of the\nElbe, and bound, in the 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.\nThe deck 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\nwith courageous coolness. The smaller boats had been carried away by\nthe waves; 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\nthe awful approach of death. A young mother, pale as a specter, holding\nher child clasped tightly to her bosom, went supplicating from sailor\nto sailor, 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\nwith the fury of the waves; others renouncing all hope, prepared to meet\ndeath with 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\ncloak, he leaned his back against the bulwarks, with his feet resting\nagainst one of the bulkheads. Suddenly, the unhappy mother, who, with\nher child in her arms, and gold in her hand, had in vain addressed\nherself to several of the mariners, to beg them to save her boy,\nperceiving the young man with the copper-colored complexion, threw\nherself on her knees before him, and lifted her child towards him with\na burst of inexpressible agony. The young man took it, mournfully shook\nhis head, and pointed to the furious waves--but, with a meaning gesture,\nhe appeared to promise that he would at least try to save it. Then the\nyoung mother, in a mad transport of hope, seized the hand of the youth,\nand bathed it with her tears.\n\nFurther on, another passenger of the \"Black Eagle,\" seemed animated\nby sentiments 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\nwhite neck-band. Applying himself to comfort the most desponding, he\nwent from one to the other, and spoke to them pious words of hope and\nresignation; to hear him console some, and encourage others, in language\nfull of unction, tenderness, and ineffable charity, one would have\nsupposed him unaware 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\ntaken him 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\nwas another 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\nfrom the union of the white race with the East. He wore only a shirt and\nlinen drawers; from his neck was suspended, by a cord, a cylindrical tin\nbox, similar to that in which soldiers carry their leave of absence.\n\nThe more the danger augmented, the nearer the ship came to the\nbreakers, or 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\nin the paddle-box and broke one of the paddles, had also carried away\nnearly the whole of the bulwarks on that side; the waves, entering\nevery instant by this large opening, swept the decks with irresistible\nviolence, and every time bore away with them some fresh victims.\n\nAmongst the passengers, who seemed only to have escaped this danger\nto be hurled against the rocks, or crushed in the encounter of the two\nvessels, one group was especially worthy of the most tender and painful\ninterest. Taking refuge abaft, a tall old man, with bald forehead and\ngray moustache, had lashed himself to a stanchion, by winding a piece of\nrope round 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\neyes to heaven, full of confidence and ingenuous hope, as though they\nexpected to be 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\na prodigious height on a mountain of water, remained, as it were,\nsuspended over the \"William Tell,\" during the second which preceded the\nshock of the 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\nthought, one catches sometimes a momentary glimpse of a picture, rapid\nand fleeting, as if illumined by a flash of lightning.\n\nThus, when the \"Black Eagle,\" poised aloft by the flood, was about\nto crash 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\nthe immense 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\ntheir expected Saviour. The old man, struck down by the fall of a plank,\nlay helpless 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\nof the 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\nthe contracted arms, the livid and despairing faces of some unhappy\nwretches, striving to make their way to the reefs along the shore, at\nthe risk of being crushed to death by the shock of the furious breakers.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV. THE 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.\nRodin, conducted by Catherine to the Green Chamber, had there found the\narticles that 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\nthe inhabitants of the Castle, Rodin returned to the chamber commonly\noccupied by the bailiff, a room which opened upon a long gallery. When\nhe entered it he found nobody there. Under his arm he held a casket,\nwith silver fastenings, almost black from age, whilst one end of a\nlarge red morocco portfolio projected from the breast-pocket of his half\nbuttoned great 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\nthe casket 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\ncalls his 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:\nin their youth, they serve the devil; in riper years, they make others\nserve him; in their old age, they are horribly afraid of him; and this\nfear must continue till she has left us the Chateau de Cardoville,\nwhich, from its isolated position, will make us an excellent college.\nAll then goes well. As for the affair of the medals, the 13th of\nFebruary approaches, without news from Joshua--evidently, Prince Djalma\nis still kept prisoner by the English in the heart of India, or I must\nhave received letters from Batavia. The daughters of General Simon will\nbe detained at Leipsic for at least a month longer. All our foreign\nrelations are in the best condition. 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,\nand to wish him joy if successful--for I am unfortunately compelled to\ndepart, my moments are precious. I shall be much obliged if you will\nhave the carriage 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\nhe will, 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\nwe should 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\nthat the person who saved these young girls was a hero; and certainly\nhis courage was beyond anything one could have imagined. When I left\nhere with the men of the farm, we descended the little winding path,\nand arrived 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\nto dry a tear, which was very seldom visible.\n\n\"What struck me was their great resemblance to each other,\" resumed\nthe bailiff; \"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\nby a 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\nno ordinary 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\nsay?\"\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\nof a man appear from behind one of the rocks, which he was trying to\nclimb, clinging to it by one hand; we ran to him, and luckily in the\nnick of time, for he was clean worn out, and fell exhausted into the\narms of our men. It was of him I spoke when I talked of a hero; for, not\ncontent with having saved the two young girls by his admirable courage,\nhe had attempted to rescue a third person, and had actually gone back\namongst the rocks and breakers--but his strength failed him, and,\nwithout the aid of our men, he would certainly have been washed away\nfrom the ridge to which 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\nchain with a bronze medal; he could scarcely doubt that they were the\ndaughters of General Simon. But how could those sisters be amongst the\nnumber of shipwrecked passengers? How could they have escaped from the\nprison at Leipsic? How did it happen, that he had not been informed of\nit? Could they have fled, or had they been set at liberty? How was\nit possible that he should not be apprise of such an event? But these\nsecondary thoughts, which offered themselves in crowds to the mind of\nM. Rodin, were swallowed up in the one fact: \"the daughters of General\nSimon are here!\"--His plan, so laboriously laid, was thus entirely\ndestroyed.\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\nof mind, \"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\nmy eyes, was to see the young girls, when they came to themselves. As\nsoon as they saw him, they threw themselves at his feet, and seemed to\nlook up to him and thank him, as one would pray. Then they cast their\neyes around them, as if in search of some other person, and, having\nexchanged a few words, 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\nof the coast-guard, and they will remain all day on the look-out; and\nif, as I hope, any more should escape with life, they are to be\nbrought here. But surely that is the sound of voices!--yes, it is our\nshipwrecked guests!\"\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\nto whom they owed their lives. Rose and Blanche were on either side of\ntheir deliverer, who, walking with great difficulty, supported himself\nlightly on their arms.\n\nThough he was full twenty-five years of age, the juvenile countenance\nof this man made him appear younger. His long, fair hair, parted on\nthe forehead, streamed wet and smooth over the collar of a large brown\ncloak, with which he had been covered. It would be difficult to describe\nthe adorable expression of goodness in his pale, mild face, as pure as\nthe most ideal creations of Raphael's pencil--for that divine artist\nalone could have caught the melancholy grace of those exquisite\nfeatures, the serenity of that celestial look, from eyes limpid and blue\nas those of an archangel, 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\na wound inflicted many months before, appeared to encompass his fair\nforehead with a purple band; and (still more sad!) his hands had\nbeen cruelly 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,\nobscure and unknown, in the midst of the solitudes of the two\nworlds!--And for these humble soldiers of the cross, who have nothing\nbut their faith and their intrepidity, there is never reserved on their\nreturn (and they seldom do return) the rich and sumptuous dignities of\nthe church. Never does the purple or the mitre conceal their scarred\nbrows and mutilated limbs; like the great majority of other soldiers,\nthey die forgotten.(8)\n\nIn their ingenuous gratitude, the daughters of General Simon, as soon\nas they recovered their senses after the shipwreck, and felt themselves\nable to ascend the cliffs, would not leave to any other person the\ncare of sustaining the faltering steps of him who had rescued them from\ncertain death.\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\ntears were on their cheeks, and, with sad, downcast eyes, they trembled\nboth from agitation and cold, as the agonizing thought recurred to them,\nthat they should never again see Dagobert, their friend and guide; for\nit was to him that Gabriel had stretched forth a helping hand, to assist\nhim to climb the rocks. Unfortunately the strength of both had failed,\nand the soldier 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\na nature, and he felt so much joy in beholding the missionary safe after\nsuch imminent peril, that the painful impression, caused by the view\nof General Simon's daughters, was a little softened. It must not\nbe forgotten, 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\norphans, approached them with eagerness. Just then a farm-boy entered\nthe room, crying: \"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;\nthe other 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\nin the 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\nat the 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;\nwhile Spoil-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\ndown altogether, 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\nwas carried fainting into an adjoining apartment.\n\nAt sight of the soldier, Rodin's face was again violently contracted,\nfor he had till then believed that the guide of General Simon's\ndaughters was dead. The missionary, worn out with fatigue, was leaning\nupon a chair, and 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\nthe name 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\nwrecked. This vessel touched at the Azores, where I then was; the ship\nthat brought me from Charlestown having been obliged to put in there,\nand being likely to remain for some time, on account of serious damage,\nI embarked on board the 'Black Eagle,' where I met Prince Djalma. We\nwere bound 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\nhope, which he knows beforehand to be vain, he said to Gabriel: \"Can you\ntell me 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\nto him with anxious interest: \"How is the Prince? are his wounds\ndangerous?\"\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\nof Tchandi, 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\nthe \"Ruyter.\" When Faringhea left the hut in the ruins of Tchandi,\nhe had not been seen by Djalma; and the latter, when he met him on\nshipboard, after his escape (which we shall explain by and by), not\nknowing that he belonged to the sect of Phansegars, treated him during\nthe voyage as a fellow-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\nhad passed; 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\nof Japan, and thus concluded his letter: \"Adieu, my dear mother! they\nsay there is much danger where I am now sent to. Pray for me, and tell\nall our good neighbors that I think of them very often.\" These few\nwords, addressed from the centre of Asia to poor peasants in a hamlet of\nFrance, are only the more touching from their very simplicity--E. S.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI. THE DEPARTURE FOR PARIS.\n\nThe most profound silence reigns throughout Cardoville House. The\ntempest has lulled by degrees, and nothing is heard from afar but the\nhoarse murmur 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\nhad failed 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\nhas been able to convince him of his affection, remains to watch over\nhim.\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,\nhas quitted 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\nold Jovial; unless we recognize as a token of remembrance on his part,\nhis irresistible propensity to bite all the white horses he has met\nwith, ever since the death of his venerable companion, though before, he\nwas the 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\nreturned again to tell them that the village doctor found nothing\nserious in the hurt of the old soldier, still they hoped to meet some\none belonging to the chateau, of whom they could make further inquiries\nabout 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\nconfusion, not 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\nof the damask covering of the arm-chair. His beautiful countenance\nexpressed a profound melancholy, either caused by the influence of some\npainful dream, or else that he was in the habit of keeping down, when\nawake, some sad regrets, which revealed themselves without his knowledge\nwhen he was sleeping. Notwithstanding this appearance of bitter grief,\nhis features preserved their character of angelic sweetness, and seemed\nendowed with an inexpressible charm, for nothing is more touching than\nsuffering goodness. The two young girls cast down their eyes, blushed\nsimultaneously, and exchanged anxious glances, as if to point out to\neach other 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\nwith clasped 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\nto their youthful appearance: \"Gabriel! speak to us of our mother!\"\n\nOn this appeal, the missionary gave a slight start, half-opened his\neyes, and, still in a state of semi-consciousness, between sleep and\nwaking, beheld those two beauteous faces turned towards him, and heard\ntwo gentle voices 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.\" \"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,\nwho expected 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\nLeipsic. I could not, therefore, have let you out of prison. Tell me, my\nsisters,\" added 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\nmother from 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\nby the 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\nhad adopted 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\nstriving to cling to the rocks, the soldier had only seen Gabriel\nvery imperfectly, at the moment when, having snatched the sisters from\ncertain death, the young priest had fruitlessly endeavored to come to\nhis aid. And when, after the shipwreck, Dagobert had found the orphans\nin safety beneath the roof of the Manor House, he fell, as we have\nalready stated, into a swoon, caused by fatigue, emotion, and the\neffects of his wound--so that he had again no opportunity of observing\nthe features of the missionary.\n\nThe veteran began to frown from beneath his black bandage and thick,\ngray brows, at beholding a stranger so familiar with Rose and Blanche;\nbut the sisters ran to throw themselves into his arms, and to cover him\nwith filial 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\nmore wrappings. 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\nbe so unreasonable--at your age?\"\n\n\"Well, well! don't scold! I will do what you wish, and keep it on.\"\nThen, drawing the sisters to one end of the room, he said to them in a\nlow voice, whilst he looked at the young priest from the corner of his\neye: \"Who is that gentleman who was holding your hands when I came in?\nHe has very much the look of a curate. You see, my children, you must be\non your guard; 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:\n\"Sir, I owe you the lives of these two children. I feel what a debt\nthat service 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\nI was trying to cling to a rock, so as not to be carried away by the\nwaves, was it not you that held out your hand to me? Yes--that light\nhair--that youthful countenance--yes--it was certainly you--now I am\nsure 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.\nBut what 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\npriest!\" added 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,\nuntil now,\" cried Gabriel, clasping his hands together, \"I knew not all\nthe gratitude that I owed to heaven!\"\n\n\"And my wife! my child!\" resumed Dagobert, in a trembling voice; \"how\nare they? 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\nwas unable 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\nour part 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\nstill live 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\nher from 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\nshould be still at Leipsic, but for an event which the Devil must have\nhad a hand 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\nlittle ladies,\" he added, pointing with a smile to Rose and Blanche,\n\"pretended to know more about it than I did, and were continually\nrepeating: 'It was the angel that came to our assistance, Dagobert--the\ngood angel we told thee of--though you said you would rather have Spoil\nsport to defend us--'\"\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\nuttered a 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\nof Rodin, 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\ninstant we have just met? No, by my faith! you shall not go. I have\ntoo much to tell you, and to ask in return. We will make the journey\ntogether. It will 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\nbetween his teeth. Then he added, with an air of impatience and\nvexation: \"Shall I tell him that he will much oblige us by marching off\nby himself?\"\n\n\"I beg you not to do so,\" said Gabriel; \"it would be useless; I know\nmy duty, and have no will but my superior's. As soon as you arrive in\nParis, I will come and see you, as also my adopted mother, and my dear\nbrother, Agricola.\"\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;\nfor they 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\nwith you 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\ntoo much 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. DAGOBERT'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\nof the year, is the sun able to throw into it a few straggling beams;\nwhilst, during the cold damps of winter, a chilling fog, which seems to\npenetrate everything, hangs constantly above the miry pavement of this\nspecies of oblong well.\n\nIt was about eight o'clock in the evening; by the faint, reddish light\nof the street lamp, hardly visible through the haze, two men, stopping\nat the angle of one of those enormous walls, exchanged a few words\ntogether.\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\nhumpbacked sister, if possible--for it is very important. Women of her\nfeather change 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\npassage next 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\nsoon found the number of the house he sought--a tall, narrow building,\nhaving, like all the other houses in the street, a poor and wretched\nappearance. When he saw he was right, the man commenced walking\nbackwards and forwards 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\nthe putrid exhalations of the drains. The few openings, cut at rare\nintervals in the walls of the staircase, could hardly admit more than\nsome faint rays of glimmering light.\n\nIn this quarter, one of the most populous in Paris, such houses as\nthese, poor, cheerless, and unhealthy, are generally inhabited by\nthe working classes. The house in question was of the number. A dyer\noccupied the ground floor; the deleterious vapors arising from his vats\nadded to the stench of the whole building. On the upper stories, several\nartisans lodged with their families, or carried on their different\ntrades. Up four flights of stairs was the lodging of Frances Baudoin,\nwife of Dagobert. It consisted of one room, with a closet adjoining, and\nwas now lighted by a single candle. Agricola occupied a garret in the\nroof.\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\niron rod, concealed the windows; the brick floor, not polished, but\noften washed, had preserved its natural color. At one end of this room\nwas a round iron stove, with a large pot for culinary purposes. On the\nwooden table, painted yellow, marbled with brown, stood a miniature\nhouse made of iron--a masterpiece of patience and skill, the work of\nAgricola Baudoin, 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,\ncuriously fashioned, and almost black with time; an old arm-chair,\ncovered with green cotton velvet (Agricola's first present to his\nmother), a few rush bottomed chairs, and a worktable on which lay\nseveral bags of coarse, brown cloth, completed the furniture of this\nroom, badly secured by a worm-eaten door. The adjoining closet contained\na few kitchen and household utensils.\n\nMean and poor as this interior may perhaps appear, it would not seem\nso to the greater number of artisans; for the bed was supplied with\ntwo mattresses, clean sheets, and a warm counterpane; the old-fashioned\npress contained linen; and, moreover, Dagobert's wife occupied all to\nherself a room as large as those in which numerous families, belonging\nto honest and laborious workmen, often live and sleep huddled\ntogether--only too happy if the boys and girls can have separate beds,\nor if the sheets and blankets 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\nof blue 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\nhad succeeded, by unwearied energy, in bringing up not only her own\nson Agricola, 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\nstrength nearly exhausted; but, at all events, her boys had wanted for\nnothing, and had received such an education as children of the people\ncan obtain. About this time, M. Francois Hardy took Agricola as an\napprentice, and Gabriel prepared to enter the priest's seminary,\nunder the active patronage of M. Rodin, whose communications with the\nconfessor of Frances Baudoin had become very frequent about the year\n1820.\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\nheart supply 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\nhad now for many years been accustomed to submit. She regarded this\ninfluence as most venerable and sacred; no mortal power, no human\nconsideration, could have prevented her from obeying it. Did any dispute\narise on the subject, nothing could move her on this point; she opposed\nto every argument a resistance entirely free from passion--mild as her\ndisposition, calm as her conscience--but, like the latter, not to\nbe shaken. 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)\nshe rubbed and polished as well as she was able, and laid by the side of\nher son's plate. They were the most precious of her possessions, not so\nmuch for 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\nher son's plate; she then returned to the stove, to watch the cooking of\nthe supper.\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\nlong and 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\nher eyesight gradually failed her, to abandon the finer for the\ncoarser sorts of work, and her earnings had necessarily diminished in\nproportion; she had at length been reduced to the necessity of making\nthose coarse bags for the army, which took about four yards of sewing,\nand were paid at the rate of two sous each, she having to find her own\nthread. This work, being very hard, she could at most complete three\nsuch bags in a day, and her gains thus amounted to threepence (six\nsous)!\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\nof visiting daily the parish church. Scarcely a day passed but she had\nmasses sung, or tapers burnt, either for Dagobert, from whom she had\nbeen so long separated, or for the salvation of her son Agricola, whom\nshe considered on the high-road to perdition. Agricola had so excellent\na heart, so loved and revered his mother, and considered her actions\nin this 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\nfaith, never 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\nperson came in.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII. THE 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\nwas regular, but long, thin, very pale, and pitted with the small pox;\nyet it expressed great sweetness and melancholy. Her blue eyes beamed\nwith kindness and intelligence. By a strange freak of nature, the\nhandsomest woman would have been proud of the magnificent hair twisted\nin a coarse net at the back of her head. She held an old basket in her\nhand. Though miserably clad, the care and neatness of her dress revealed\na powerful struggle with her poverty. Notwithstanding the cold, she\nwore a scanty frock made of print of an indefinable color, spotted with\nwhite; but it had been so often washed, that its primitive design and\ncolor had long since disappeared. In her resigned, yet suffering face,\nmight be read a long familiarity with every form of suffering, every\ndescription of taunting. From her birth, ridicule had ever pursued her.\nWe have said that she was very deformed, and she was vulgarly called\n\"Mother Bunch.\" Indeed it was so usual to give her this grotesque name,\nwhich every moment reminded her of her infirmity, that Frances and\nAgricola, though they felt as much compassion as other people showed\ncontempt for her, never 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\nwould often come, weeping, to Frances, on this account, who tried to\nconsole her, and in the long evenings amused her by teaching her to read\nand sew. Accustomed to pity her by their mother's example, instead of\nimitating other children, who always taunted and sometimes even beat\nher, Agricola and Gabriel liked her, and used to protect and defend her.\n\nShe was about fifteen, and her sister Cephyse was about seventeen,\nwhen their 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\nto her lot; and, having learnt to sew, worked like her sister, for\nabout a year. But, unable to endure any longer the bitter privations her\ninsignificant earnings, notwithstanding her incessant toil, exposed\nher to--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\ngain her three-and-six a week. The unfortunate girl, having been taught\nsewing by Frances, made coarse shirts for the common people and the\narmy. For these she received half-a-crown a dozen. They had to be\nhemmed, stitched, provided with collars and wristbands, buttons, and\nbutton holes; and at the most, when at work twelve and fifteen hours a\nday, she rarely succeeded in turning out more than fourteen or sixteen\nshirts a week--an excessive amount of toil that brought her in about\nthree shillings and fourpence a week. And the case of this poor girl\nwas neither accidental nor uncommon. And this, because the remuneration\ngiven for women's work is an example of revolting injustice and savage\nbarbarism. They are paid not half as much as men who are employed at the\nneedle: such as tailors, and makers of gloves, or waistcoats, etc.--no\ndoubt because women can work as well as men--because they are more weak\nand delicate--and because their need may be twofold as great when they\nbecome mothers.\n\nWell, Mother Bunch fagged on, with three-and-four a week. That is to\nsay, toiling hard for twelve or fifteen hours every day; she succeeded\nin keeping 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\nworkman and 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\nhard daily labor, which enriches his country, demand wages that will\nenable him to live in the enjoyment of health: nothing more, and\nnothing less. For is it living, to drag along on the extreme edge which\nseparates life from the grave, and even there continually struggle\nagainst cold, hunger, and disease? And to show how far the mortification\nwhich society imposes thus inexorably on its millions of honest,\nindustrious laborers (by its careless disregard of all the questions\nwhich concern the just remuneration of labor), may extend, we will\ndescribe how this poor girl contrived to live on three shillings and\nsixpence 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\nblame the poor wretches who sell themselves not through debauchery, but\nbecause they are cold and famishing. This poor girl spent her wages as\nfollows:\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\nmight not 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\nfive shillings a year. But Agricola, in fulfilment of his agreement with\nthe porter, paid the balance, to make up the actual rent of the\ngarret, which was twelve and sixpence. The poor girl had thus about\neighteenpence a month left for her other expenses. But many workwomen,\nwhose position is less fortunate than hers, since they have neither\nhome nor family, buy a piece of bread and some other food to keep them\nthrough the day; and at night patronize the \"twopenny rope,\" one with\nanother, in a wretched room containing five or six beds, some of which\nare always engaged by men, as male lodgers are by far the most abundant.\nYes; and in spite of the disgust that a poor and virtuous girl must feel\nat this arrangement, she must submit to it; for a lodging-house keeper\ncannot have separate rooms for females. To furnish a room, however\nmeanly, the poor workwoman must possess three or four shillings in ready\nmoney. But how save this sum, out of weekly earnings of a couple of\nflorins, which are scarcely sufficient to keep her from starving, and\nare still less sufficient to clothe her? No! no! The poor wretch must\nresign herself to this repugnant cohabitation; and so, gradually, the\ninstinct of modesty becomes weakened; the natural sentiment of chastity,\nthat saved her from the \"gay life,\" becomes extinct; vice appears to be\nthe only means of improving her intolerable condition; she yields;\nand the first \"man made of money,\" who can afford a governess for his\nchildren, cries out against the depravity of the lower orders! And\nyet, painful as the condition of the working woman is, it is relatively\nfortunate. Should work fail her for one day, two days, what then? Should\nsickness come--sickness almost always occasioned by unwholesome food,\nwant of fresh air, necessary attention, and good rest; sickness, often\nso enervating as to render work impossible; though not so dangerous\nas to procure the sufferer a bed in an hospital--what becomes of the\nhapless wretches then? The mind hesitates, and shrinks from dwelling on\nsuch 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\nweek. This poor workwoman, then, notwithstanding the advantages she\nunknowingly enjoyed through Agricola's generosity, lived very miserably;\nand her health, already shattered, was now wholly undermined by these\nconstant hardships. Yet, with extreme delicacy, though ignorant of\nthe little sacrifice already made for her by Agricola, Mother Bunch\npretended she earned more than she really did, in order to avoid offers\nof service which it would have pained her to accept, because she knew\nthe limited means of Frances and her son, and because it would have\nwounded her natural delicacy, rendered still more sensitive by so many\nsorrows and humiliations.\n\nBut, singular as it may appear, this deformed body contained a loving\nand generous soul--a mind cultivated even to poetry; and let us add,\nthat this was owing to the example of Agricola Baudoin, with whom she\nhad been brought up, and who had naturally the gift. This poor girl was\nthe first confidant to whom our young mechanic imparted his literary\nessays; and when he told her of the charm and extreme relief he found\nin poetic reverie, after a day of hard toil, the workwoman, gifted with\nstrong natural intelligence, felt, in her turn, how great a resource\nthis would be 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\ncomplaint entrusted to a friendly hearer. From that day Agricola and she\nheld frequent consultations; they gave each other mutual encouragement:\nbut with this exception, no one else knew anything of the girl's\npoetical essays, whose mild timidity made her often pass for a person of\nweak intellect. This soul must have been great and beautiful, for in all\nher unlettered strains there was not a word of murmuring respecting her\nhard lot: her note was sad, but gentle--desponding, but resigned; it\nwas especially the language of deep tenderness--of mournful sympathy--of\nangelic charity for all poor creatures consigned, like her, to bear\nthe double burden of poverty and deformity. Yet she often expressed\na sincere free-spoken admiration of beauty, free from all envy or\nbitterness; she admired beauty as she admired the sun. But, alas! many\nwere the verses of hers that Agricola had never seen, and which he was\nnever 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\ncan love, who, dreading cruel ridicule, is obliged to hide her affection\nin the depths of her heart, and adopt reserve and deep dissimulation.\nShe did not seek to combat her love; to what purpose should she do\nso? No one would ever know it. Her well known sisterly affection for\nAgricola explained the interest she took in all that concerned him; so\nthat no one was surprised at the extreme grief of the young workwoman,\nwhen, in 1830, Agricola, after fighting intrepidly for the people's\nflag, was brought bleeding home to his mother. Dagobert's son, deceived,\nlike others, on this point, had never suspected, and was destined never\nto suspect, this love 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\nlight at noon, he would enjoy, like the other workmen, at very little\nexpense, a good light room, warm in winter, airy in summer, with a view\nof the garden. And he is so fond of trees! not to mention that this\nplace is so far from his work, that it is quite a toil to him to get to\nit.\"\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. AGRICOLA 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,\nand aquiline nose, and an open, expressive countenance. His resemblance\nto Dagobert was rendered more striking by the thick brown moustache\nwhich he wore according to the fashion; and a sharp-pointed imperial\ncovered his chin. His cheeks, however, were shaven, Olive color\nvelveteen trousers, a blue blouse, bronzed by the forge smoke, a black\ncravat, tied carelessly round his muscular neck, a cloth cap with\na narrow vizor, composed his dress. The only thing which contrasted\nsingularly with his working habiliments was a handsome purple flower,\nwith silvery pistils, which he held 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\nstove on 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\nsupper waiting that you get ready for me, for fear it should be spoilt,\neh?\"\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\nwhat it 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\nto put away the money, \"what a handsome flower you have in your hand,\nAgricola. I never saw a finer. In winter, too! Do look at it, Mrs.\nBaudoin.\"\n\n\"See there, mother,\" said Agricola, taking the flower to her; \"look\nat it, admire it, and especially smell it. You can't have a sweeter\nperfume; a 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\nFrances's curiosity.\n\n\"Oh! you would like to know? Well, I'll satisfy you, and explain why\nI came home so late; for something else detained me. It has been an\nevening of adventures, I promise you. I was hurrying home, when I heard\na low, gentle barking at the corner of the Rue de Babylone; it was just\nabout dusk, and I could see a very pretty little dog, scarce bigger than\nmy fist, 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\nI came 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\nthat she did not perceive her son's supper was beginning to burn.\n\n\"First,\" said the blacksmith, smiling at the curiosity he had excited,\n\"a young lady opened the door to me, but so lovely, so beautifully\nand gracefully 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\nwill be! Come, pray come in instantly; she would so regret not having\nan opportunity to thank you in person!' And without giving me time to\nreply, she beckoned me to follow her. Oh, dear mother, it is quite out\nof my power to tell you, the magnificence I saw, as I passed through\na small saloon, partially lighted, and full of perfume! It would be\nimpossible. The young woman walked too quickly. A door opened,--Oh, such\na sight! I was so dazzled I can remember nothing but a great glare of\ngold and light, crystal and flowers; and, amidst all this brilliancy,\na young lady of extreme beauty--ideal beauty; but she had red hair, or\nrather hair shining like gold! Oh! it was charming to look at! I never\nsaw such hair before. She had black eyes, ruddy lips, and her skin\nseemed white as snow. This is all I can recollect: for, as I said\nbefore, I was so dazzled, I seemed to be looking through a veil.\n'Madame,' said the young woman, whom I never should have taken for\na lady's-maid, she was dressed so elegantly, 'here is Frisky. This\ngentleman found him, and brought him back.' 'Oh, sir,' said the young\nlady with the golden hair, in a sweet silvery voice, 'what thanks I owe\nyou! I am foolishly attached to Frisky.' Then, no doubt, concluding from\nmy dress that she ought to thank me in some other way than by words, she\ntook up a silk purse, and said to me, though I must confess with some\nhesitation--'No doubt, sir, it gave you some trouble to bring my pet\nback. You have, perhaps, lost some valuable time--allow me--' She held\nforth 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\nmy looks 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\nvexed at having wounded me, she said--'At least, sir, you will accept\nthis flower.'\"\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\ndaring to raise my eyes (for, notwithstanding the young lady's kind\nmanner, there was something very imposing about her) another handsome\ngirl, tall and dark, and dressed to the top of fashion, came in and said\nto the red-haired young lady, 'He is here, Madame.' She immediately rose\nand said to me, 'A thousand pardons, sir. I shall never forget that I\nam indebted 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\nthere I stood in the Rue de Babylone, as dazzled and astonished as if I\nhad come 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,\non seeing her little dog, did not forget me for it, as many would\nhave done in her place, and took no notice of it before me. That shows\ndelicacy and feeling, does it not? Indeed, I believe this young lady to\nbe so kind and generous, that I should not hesitate to have recourse to\nher in any important 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\nwithin the reach of a work, girl's vision; but, making an involuntary\ncomparison of this fortunate condition with her own, the poor thing had\nnever felt more cruelly her deformity and poverty. Yet such were the\nhumility and gentle resignation of this noble creature, that the only\nthing which made her feel ill-disposed towards Adrienne de Cardoville\nwas the offer of the purse to Agricola; but then the charming way in\nwhich the young lady had atoned for her error, affected the sempstress\ndeeply. Yet her heart was ready to break. She could not restrain her\ntears as she contemplated the magnificent flower--so rich in color and\nperfume, which, given by a charming hand, was doubtless very precious to\nAgricola.\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\nor not.\" 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\nit to the blacksmith, said to him in a gentle tone-\"Agricola--for your\nhands.\"\n\n\"Thank you, little sister. How kind you are!\" Then with a most\nunaffected gesture and tone, he added, \"There is my fine flower for your\ntrouble.\"\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\nverses yesterday, which I am rather satisfied with. I will read them to\nyou.\"\n\nWith this, Agricola wiped his hands naturally on the front of his\nblouse, while Mother Bunch replaced the basin on the chest of drawers,\nand laid the 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,\nmother? Scold me, then, if you dare! Come, let us see you.\"\n\nFrances made no reply; but, placing her hands on either side of her\nson's head, 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\na good apostle; but I am quite at ease in your arm-chair, after all.\nSince I sat down on the throne in the Tuileries, I have never had a\nbetter seat.\"\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\nonly just 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\nfast without complaining. He affected to enjoy his meal; and the good\nwoman accordingly 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\nof luxuries, 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\nseem very 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\nwill simply take a walk with Mother Bunch on the Boulevards. It is\nnearly three months since she went out with us; and she never goes out\nwithout us.\"\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\nobserved punctilious discretion. The girl had gone out with Agricola and\nhis mother. Such occasions were, indeed, holidays for her. Many days and\nnights had she toiled hard to procure a decent bonnet and shawl, that\nshe might not do discredit to her friends. The five or six days of\nholidays, thus spent arm in arm with him whom she adored in secret,\nformed the sum of her happy days.\n\nTaking their last walk, a coarse, vulgar man elbowed her so rudely\nthat the 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\nthan Agricola could imagine, for she loved him passionately, and her\ninfirmity had been the cause of that quarrel. Notwithstanding his\nstrength and resolution, Agricola was childishly sensitive; and,\nthinking how painful that thought must be to the poor girl, a large tear\nfilled his eyes, and, holding out his hands, he said, in a brotherly\ntone, \"Forgive my heedlessness! Come, kiss me.\" And he gave her thin,\npale cheeks two hearty 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\nrecollection of that quarrel pains me--I was so alarmed on your account;\nif the crowd had sided with that man!\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said Frances, coming to the sewing-girl's relief, without\nknowing it, \"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\nher head sadly, \"do not speak in that way. Besides, you are talking of\nyour father.\"\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\npain it 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,\nhe told us that, if he could read tolerably well, he could not write);\nwell, in that letter he said we were not to be anxious about him; that\nhe expected to be in Paris about the end of January, and would send us\nword, three or four days before, by what road he expected to arrive,\nthat I might 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\nmore: I should not be surprised if our good Gabriel were to come back\nabout the same time. His last letter from America makes me hope so. What\npleasure, mother, 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\nburned for them, will you? Well, that saving will enable father to have\ntobacco to smoke, and his bottle of wine every day. Then, on Sundays, we\nwill take 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\ndoor, and, 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\nhim. But that's not it--come, come quickly! It is very important,\" said\nthe dyer, 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. THE 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\na moment, 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\nto the sempstress,--\"mother, expect news that will astonish you; but\npromise me you 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,\ndrying his eyes--\"you will be so happy. But, again, you must try and\ncommand your feelings, for too much joy is as hurtful as too much\ngrief.\"\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,\nyou have 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\nin prayer. She thanked heaven with profound gratitude for hearing her\nprayers, and thus accepting her offerings. During a second, the actors\nof this scene stood silent and motionless. Agricola, by a sentiment of\nrespect and delicacy, which struggled violently with his affection,\ndid not 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,\nwho in the fulness of her religious fervor, forgot, perhaps, too much\nthe creature 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\nat the 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\nbut a few sighs, mingled with sighs of joy. And, when the aged couple\nlooked up, their expression was calm, radiant, serene; for the full and\ncomplete enjoyment of simple and pure sentiments never leaves behind a\nfeverish and 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\nalike!\" said 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\nand his son, and the crushing grip of their hands, which Dagobert\ninterrupted only to look in Agricola's face; while he rested his hands\non the young blacksmith's broad shoulders that he might see to more\nadvantage his frank masculine countenance, and robust frame. Then he\nshook his hand again, exclaiming, \"He's a fine fellow--well built--what\na good-hearted look 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\nso forgotten amidst the emotions of the scene--that Frances, entirely\noccupied with Rose and Blanche, only perceived the fire when she felt\nits warmth 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\nso discreetly that no one noticed her departure. After this exchange\nof mutual 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,\nit must be confessed. But be at ease; these young ladies are drilled\ninto not being hard to suit on that score. To-morrow, I and my boy will\ngo arm and arm, and I'll answer for it he won't walk the more upright\nand straight of the two, and find out General Simon's father, at M.\nHardy's factory, to talk about business.\"\n\n\"To-morrow,\" said Agricola to Dagobert, \"you will not find at the\nfactory either 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\nwould hardly 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\nmoment, for 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\nestablished in 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\nyou must put up with the chances of war. Poor things! they will not be\nworse off 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\nit looks.\"\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,\nmy brave, brave wife!\" said Dagobert, with emotion, \"you did a good\nthing, poor as you were, taking the unfortunate child--and bringing him\nup with your 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\nif you expect to sleep, you are mistaken. You'll give me half your room,\nand a fine chat we'll have. Spoil-sport will stay outside of this door;\nhe is accustomed to sleep at the children's door.\"\n\n\"Dear me, love, I think of nothing. But, at such a moment, if you and\nthe young 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\nhave nothing 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\nat my blunder: I thought this was the room of that young person. I\nbrought her 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\nrubbed his 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,\nwho preceded 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\nover polite Paul Pry slunk along to the end of Brise-Miche Street. He\nadvanced towards a hackney-coach drawn up on the Cloitre Saint-Merry\nSquare.\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\nsleep with her, in that room, to-night; the old man with gray moustache\nwill share 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\non the subject of the Bacchanal Queen; I intend returning to-morrow, to\nlearn the effect of the letter she must have received this evening by\nthe post 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\nat Rue 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\nto Rodin, as the coach drove quickly away.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI. AGRICOLA AND MOTHER BUNCH.\n\nWithin one hour after the different scenes which have just been\ndescribed the most profound silence reigned in the soldier's humble\ndwelling. A flickering light, which played through two panes of glass\nin a door, betrayed that Mother Bunch had not yet gone to sleep; for\nher gloomy recess, without air or light, was impenetrable to the rays\nof day, except by this door, opening upon a narrow and obscure passage,\nconnected with the roof. A sorry bed, a table, an old portmanteau, and a\nchair, so nearly filled this chilling abode, that two persons could not\npossibly be seated within it, unless one of them sat upon the side of\nthe 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\none hand resting on the bolster; and, inclining towards the door,\nlistened with painful eagerness, every instant hoping to hear the\nfootsteps of Agricola. The heart of the young sempstress beat violently;\nher face, usually very pale, was now partially flushed--so exciting was\nthe emotion by which she was agitated. Sometimes she cast her eyes with\nterror upon a letter which she held in her hand, a letter that had\nbeen delivered by post in the course of the evening, and which had\nbeen placed by the housekeeper (the dyer) upon the table, while she\nwas rendering some trivial domestic services during the recognitions of\nDagobert and his family.\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.\n\"But what is the matter, my good sister? How your countenance is\nchanged! You weep! What has happened? About what danger would you speak\nto 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\nyou. That young and worthy workman will probably be arrested in the\ncourse of to-morrow.\"\n\n\"I!\" exclaimed Agricola, looking at Mother Bunch with an air of\nstupefied amazement. \"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\nwho was lurking about below, this evening, who was observed by the dyer,\nwas, doubtless, a spy, lying in wait for you coming home.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" exclaimed Agricola. \"This accusation is quite ridiculous!\nDo not 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,\nin order that he may escape a confinement of two or three months\nprevious to trial--an imprisonment which would be a terrible blow for\nhis mother, whose 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\ncountenance resumed its serenity; and laughing, he said: \"Reassure\nyourself, good Mother Bunch, these jokers have made a mistake by trying\ntheir games on me. It is plainly an attempt at making an April-fool of\nme before the time.\"\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,\nand listen 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\nto me! No doubt you uphold in the verses the sacred love of labor; but\nyou do also grievously deplore and deprecate the unjust lot of the poor\nlaborers, devoted as they are, without hope, to all the miseries of\nlife; you recommend, indeed, only fraternity among men; but your good\nand noble heart vents its indignation, at the same time, against the\nselfish and the wicked. In fine, you fervently hasten on, with the ardor\nof your wishes, the emancipation of all the artisans who, less fortunate\nthan you, have not generous M. Hardy for employer. Say, Agricola, in\nthese times of trouble, is there anything more necessary to compromise\nyou than that numerous copies of your song have been found in possession\nof the persons who have been apprehended?\"\n\nAgricola was moved by these affectionate and judicious expressions of\nan excellent 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\nquite insignificant, was found in the house of a person arrested last\nyear for conspiracy; and Remi, in consequence, remained a month in\nprison.\"\n\n\"That is true, but the injustice of his implication was easily shown,\nand he 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!\nA month in prison! Good heavens! Agricola, think of that! and your\nmother.\"\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\nnow their 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\nerror though it be, is not the less cruel. But they don't commit a man\nwithout hearing 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\nit be that I am in prison or that I fly to conceal myself, my working\nfor my family 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\nRue des Prouvaires conspiracy, a very great number of arrests had been\nmade among the working classes, in consequence of a violent reaction\nagainst democratical 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\nshe idolized; while she herself, poor creature, was powerless and\nwretched.\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\nfor him. 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,\nyou will 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\nwhat could possibly lower you in the eyes of any one, and above all--do\nyou understand?--above all, in the eyes of this young lady. I do not\npropose that you should ask money from her; but only that she should\ngive surety for you, in order that you may have the liberty of\ncontinuing at your employment, so that the family may not be without\nresources. Believe me, Agricola, that such a request is in no respect\ninconsistent with what is noble and becoming upon your part. The heart\nof the young lady is generous. She will comprehend your position. The\nrequired surety will be as nothing to her; while to you it will be\neverything, and will even be the very life to those who depend upon\nyou.\"\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\nso heart-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\nresplendent youth, beauty, and opulence--that Agricola was moved even to\ntears; and, holding out one of his hands to the speaker, he said to her,\ntenderly, \"How very good you are; how full of nobleness, good feeling,\nand delicacy!\"\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\nnaught, they sometimes, too, are cheered by humble and timid joys, of\nwhich the world is equally ignorant. The least word of true tenderness\nand affection, 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\nyour father,\" said the hunchback. \"The quarter in which the young lady\ndwells, is so deserted, that the mere going there will almost serve for\nyour present 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\nand the 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,\nlest its 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\nnot seen 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\nclosed not an eye during the night, painfully awaiting the appearance of\nday, in order that she might watch over the safety of Agricola. However,\nin spite of her vivid anxieties for the morrow, she sometimes allowed\nherself to sink into the reveries of a bitter melancholy. She compared\nthe conversation she had just had in the silence of night, with the man\nwhom she secretly adored, with what that conversation might have been,\nhad she possessed some share of charms and beauty--had she been loved as\nshe loved, with a chaste and devoted flame! But soon sinking into belief\nthat she should never know the ravishing sweets of a mutual passion, she\nfound consolation in the hope of being useful to Agricola. At the dawn\nof day, she rose softly, and descended the staircase with little noise,\nin order to see if anything menaced Agricola from without.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII. THE 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\nof Agricola'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\nthe edge of their mean little bed, the old soldier, by break of day,\nhad dressed and shaved with military care; he now held between his hands\nboth those 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\nme; have 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\nthis is but the beginning! What say you, Agricola? I am like the\nfamished wretches who have been some days without food. It is but by\nlittle and little that they recover themselves, and can eat. Now, you\nmay expect to be tasted, my boy, morning and evening, and devoured\nduring the day. No, I wish not to think that--not all the day--no, that\nthought dazzles and perplexes me; and I am no longer myself.\"\n\nThese words of Dagobert caused a painful feeling to Agricola. He\nbelieved that they sprang from a presentiment of the separation with\nwhich he was menaced.\n\n\"Well,\" continued Dagobert; \"you are quite happy; M. Hardy is always\ngood to 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\nin his factory! Compared to all others, it is a paradise beside the\nstithies of 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\nhave suffered.\"\n\n\"Suffered!\" exclaimed Dagobert, \"who the deuce has suffered? Look me\nwell in the face; and see if I have a look of suffering! Bombs and\nbayonets! Since I have put my foot here, I feel myself quite a young man\nagain! You shall see me march soon: I bet that I tire you out! You must\nrig yourself up something extra! Lord, how they will stare at us! I\nwager that in beholding your black moustache and my gray one, folks will\nsay, behold father and son! But let us settle what we are to do with the\nday. You will write to the father of Marshal Simon, informing him the\nhis grand-daughters have arrived, and that it is necessary that he\nshould hasten his return to Paris; for he has charged himself with\nmatters which are of great importance for them. While you are writing,\nI will go down to say good-morning to my wife, and to the dear little\nones. We will then eat a morsel. Your mother will go to mass; for I\nperceive that she likes to be regular at that: the good soul! no great\nharm, if it amuse her! and during her absence, we will make a raid\ntogether.\"\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\nit! Oh! 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.\n\"Now that I have recovered myself,\" said Dagobert, laughing, \"let\nus speak of business. Know you where I find the addresses of all the\nnotaries in Paris?\"\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,\nsome important papers to a Parisian notary. As it was my duty to see\nthis notary 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\narms, were 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\neyes become moist. There was something truly touching in the affection\nof the young men--in their hearts so much alike, and yet of characters\nand aspects so very different--for the manly countenance of Agricola\ncontrasted strongly with the delicacy and angelic physiognomy of\nGabriel.\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\na hundred times the greater, because I have had all the pleasures of\nhoping for it.\"\n\n\"And my good mother?\" asked Gabriel, in affectionately grasping the\nhands of 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\na hundred 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\nof ineffable affection, Dagobert added:\n\n\"Let it be remembered, that, with the soft cheek of a young girl,\nGabriel has the courage of a lion; I have already told with what\nintrepidity he saved the lives of Marshal Simon's daughters, and tried\nto save mine also.\"\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,\nwhich extended from one eyebrow to the other, was therefore distinctly\nvisible.\n\nIn the midst of the powerful and diversified emotion, and of the\nexciting events which so rapidly followed the shipwreck on the rocky\ncoast near Cardoville House, Dagobert, during the short interview he\nthen had with Gabriel, had not perceived the scar which seamed the\nforehead of the young missionary. Now, partaking, however, of the\nsurprise of his son, Dagobert 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,\nwith renewed surprise, while he seized one of the hands which the young\npriest held out towards him in order to tranquillize his fears.\n\n\"Gabriel, my brave boy, explain this to us!\" added Dagobert; \"who\nhas wounded 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\ntaken down alive from a cross, erected at the junction of several roads,\nupon which the monks had crucified, and left him to die of hunger,\nthirst, and agony. Ever afterwards he bore scars upon his hands, exactly\nsimilar to this upon your hand.\"\n\n\"My father is right!\" exclaimed Agricola. \"It is evident that your\nhands have 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\nRocky Mountains, 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\nin him, 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\nheroism thus calm and resigned; and the old soldier, as well as his\nson, now contemplated Gabriel with the most earnest feelings of mingled\nadmiration and 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\nto be about as courageous as any man. And now I find I have a master!\nAnd that 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\ntook with transport both of Gabriel's hands), \"that these wounds are\nas glorious--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\nvenerate them! 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\nwith me? 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\nyou not 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;\nand this 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\nnot as brave as he?\"\n\n\"And besides, too,\" resumed Dagobert, \"the dear boy did all that for\na thankless paymaster; for it is true, Agricola, that his wounds will\nnever change his humble black robe of a priest into the rich robe of a\nbishop!\"\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\nmuch virtue and valor is among those whom the highest orders in the\npriesthood insolently call the inferior clergy,--the unseen merit and\nthe blind devotedness to be found amongst worthy, but obscure, country\ncurates, who are inhumanly treated and subjugated to a pitiless yoke by\nthe lordly lawnsleeves! Like us, those poor priests are worthy laborers\nin their vocation; and for them, also, all generous hearts ought to\ndemand enfranchisement! Sons of common people, like ourselves, and\nuseful as we are, justice ought to be rendered both to them and to us.\nDo I say right, Gabriel? You will not contradict it; for you have told\nme, that your ambition would have been to obtain a small country curacy;\nbecause you understand 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\nchange the conversation, he, addressing himself to Dagobert, added:\n\"Believe me: be more just than to undervalue your own courage by\nexalting mine. Your courage must be very great--very great; for, after\na battle, the spectacle of the carnage must be truly terrible to a\ngenerous and feeling heart. We, at least, though we may be killed, do\nnot 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\nnight after a general engagement, I have been mounted as a\nvidette,--alone,--by night,--amid the moonlight, on the field of battle\nwhich remained in our possession, and upon which lay the bodies of\nseven or eight thousand of the slain, amongst whom were mingled the\nslaughtered remains of some of my old comrades: and then this sad scene,\nwhen the profound silence has restored me to my senses from the thirst\nfor bloodshed and the delirious whirling of my sword (intoxicated\nlike the rest), I have said to myself, 'for what have these men been\nkilled?--FOR WHAT--FOR WHAT?' But this feeling, well understood as it\nwas, hindered me not, on the following morning, when the trumpets again\nsounded the charge, from rushing once more to the slaughter. But the\nsame thought always recurred when my arm became weary with carnage; and\nafter wiping my sabre upon the mane of my horse, I have said to myself,\n'I have killed!--killed!!--killed!!! and, FOR 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\nman is 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\ndeceived by a fallacy of my senses, during that abstracted moment in\nwhich I awaited death with resignation. My enfeebled mind, in spite of\nme, must have been cheated by an illusion; or that, which to the present\nhour has remained inexplicable, would have been more slowly developed;\nand I should have known with greater certainty that it was the strange\nwoman--\"\n\nDagobert, while listening to the missionary, was perfectly amazed; for\nhe also 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\nthe fears 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.\nBut the 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.\nBut I could not resist the happiness of remaining some little time with\nhim.\"\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\nmother has requested me to give you this letter for your father. She has\njust received 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\nSimon with 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\nto no other person, some documents indispensable to the interests of\nGeneral Simon.\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\naddress was Paris, not Chartres. And, besides,\" said the soldier,\nthoughtfully, \"if he has some important documents, why didn't he\ntransmit 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\nwould withdraw 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,\nit is 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;\nand Gabriel, 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\nagain into 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\nsomething of men. He you call superior, whom I saw for some moments\nafter the shipwreck at Cardoville Castle, has a bad look; and I am sorry\nto see you enrolled under such a commander.\"\n\n\"At Cardoville Castle!\" exclaimed Agricola, struck with the identity\nof the 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\nmade to Mother Bunch, he said to Dagobert; \"Dear father, excuse me; but\nit is already 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\nhim to 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\nyou),\" added 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\npriest's robe, I should believe, from the manner in which you have\nspoken to us, that you are about to be engaged in a duel--in a mortal\ncombat.\"\n\n\"In a duel?\" said Gabriel, starting. \"Yes; it may be a duel--uncommon\nand fearful--at which it is necessary to have two witnesses such as\nyou--A FATHER 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. THE 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\ndepressing than the aspect of this old mansion. Several immense windows,\nfilled with small squares of glass, painted a grayish white, increased\nthe sombre effect of the massive layers of huge stones, blackened by\ntime, of which the 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,\nwhich was reached from the outside by a circular flight of broad stone\nsteps. One of the fronts looked on an immense court-yard, on each side\nof which an 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\nof flowers, and chubby cupids. This pavilion, inhabited by Adrienne\nde Cardoville 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\nthe entire 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\nextremity of an extensive lawn, on which were planted here and there\ngigantic clumps 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\nplace in the scale of creation, was not less distinguished by beauty of\nits own, which was very striking. In plain terms two individuals, one of\nthem a young girl, and the other a tiny English dog, of great beauty,\nof that breed of spaniels called King Charles's, made their appearance\nunder the peristyle of the rotunda. The name of the young girl was\nGeorgette; the beautiful little spaniel's was Frisky. Georgette was in\nher eighteenth year. Never had Florine or Manton, never had a lady's\nmaid of Marivaux, a more mischievous face, an eye more quick, a smile\nmore roguish, teeth more white, cheeks more roseate, figure more\ncoquettish, feet smaller, or form smarter, attractive, and enticing.\nThough it was yet very early, Georgette was carefully and tastefully\ndressed. A tiny Valenciennes cap, with flaps and flap-band, of half\npeasant fashion, decked with rose-colored ribbons, and stuck a little\nbackward upon bands of beautiful fair hair, surrounded her fresh and\npiquant face; a robe of gray levantine, and a cambric neck-kerchief,\nfastened to her bosom by a large tuft of rose-colored ribbons, displayed\nher figure elegantly rounded; a hollands apron, white as snow, trimmed\nbelow by three large hems, surmounted by a Vandyke-row, encircled her\nwaist, which was as round and flexible as a reed; her short, plain\nsleeves, edged with bone lace, allowed her plump arms to be seen, which\nher long Swedish gloves, reaching to the elbow, defended from the rigor\nof the cold. When Georgette raised the bottom of her dress, in order to\ndescend more quickly the steps, she exhibited to Frisky's indifferent\neyes a beautiful ankle, and the beginning of the plump calf of a fine\nleg, encased in white silk, and a charming little foot, in a laced\nhalf-boot of Turkish satin. When a blonde like Georgette sets herself\nto be ensnaring; when vivid glances sparkle from her eyes of bright yet\ntender blue; when a joyous excitement suffuses her transparent skin,\nshe is more resistless for the conquest of everything before her than a\nbrunette.\n\nThis bewitching and nimble lady's-maid, who on the previous evening\nhad introduced Agricola to the pavilion, was first waiting woman to\nthe Honorable Miss Adrienne de Cardoville, niece of the Princess Saint\nDizier.\n\nFrisky, so happily found and brought back by the blacksmith, uttered\nweak but joyful barks, and bounded, ran, and frolicked upon the turf.\nShe was not much bigger than one's fist; her curled hair, of lustrous\nblack, shone like ebony, under the broad, red satin ribbon which\nencircled her neck; her paws, fringed with long silken fur, were of\na bright and fiery tan, as well as her muzzle, the nose of which was\ninconceivably pug; her large eyes were full of intelligence; and her\ncurly ears so long that they trailed upon the ground. Georgette seemed\nto be as brisk and petulant as Frisky, and shared her sportiveness,--now\nscampering after the happy little spaniel, and now retreating, in order\nto be pursued upon the greensward in her turn. All at once, at the sight\nof a second person, who advanced with deliberate gravity, Georgette\nand Frisky were suddenly stopped in their diversion. The little King\nCharles, some steps in advance of Georgette, faithful to her name,\nand bold as the devil, held herself firmly upon her nervous paws, and\nfiercely awaited the coming up of the enemy, displaying at the same time\nrows of little teeth, which, though of ivory, were none the less pointed\nand sharp. The enemy consisted of a woman of mature age, accompanied by\na very fat dog, of the color of coffee and milk; his tail was twisted\nlike a corkscrew; he was pot-bellied; his skin was sleek; his neck was\nturned little to one side; he walked with his legs inordinately spread\nout, and stepped with the air of a doctor. His black muzzle, quarrelsome\nand scowling showed two fangs sallying forth, and turning up from the\nleft side of the mouth, and altogether he had an expression singularly\nforbidding and vindictive. This disagreeable animal, a perfect type of\nwhat might be called a \"church-goer's pug,\" answered to the name of \"My\nLord.\" His mistress, a woman of about fifty years of age, corpulent and\nof middle size, was dressed in a costume as gloomy and severe as that of\nGeorgette was gay and showy. It consisted of a brown robe, a black silk\nmantle, and a hat of the same dye. The features of this woman might\nhave been agreeable in her youth; and her florid cheeks, her correct\neyebrows, her black eyes, which were still very lively, scarcely\naccorded with the peevish and austere physiognomy which she tried to\nassume. This matron, of slow and discreet gait, was Madame Augustine\nGrivois, first woman to the Princess Saint-Dizier. Not only did the age,\nthe face, and the dress of these two women present a striking contrast;\nbut the contrast extended itself even to the animals which attended\nthem. There were similar differences between Frisky and My Lord, as\nbetween Georgette and Mrs. Grivois. When the latter perceived the\nlittle King Charles, she could not restrain a movement of surprise\nand repugnance, which escaped not the notice of the young lady's maid.\nFrisky, who had not retreated one inch, since the apparition of My\nLord, regarded him valiantly, with a look of defiance, and even advanced\ntowards him with an air so decidedly hostile, that the cur, though\nthrice as big as the little King Charles, uttered a howl of distress\nand terror, and sought refuge behind Mrs. Grivois, who bitterly said to\nGeorgette:\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\nugly animal from similar alarms, that you tried to make us lose Frisky\nyesterday, by driving her into the street through the little garden\ngate. But fortunately an honest young man found Frisky in the Rue de\nBabylone, and brought her back to my mistress. However,\" continued\nGeorgette, \"to what, madame, do I owe the pleasure of seeing you this\nmorning?\"\n\n\"I am commanded by the Princess,\" replied Mrs. Grivois, unable to\nconceal a smile of triumphant satisfaction, \"immediately to see Miss\nAdrienne. It regards a very important affair, which I am to communicate\nonly to herself.\"\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\nawaken your 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\ngreatest coquette and the most frisky and fluttering of all the\nPrincess's women. At least, that is what is still spoken of you in the\nhotel, as having been handed down from time out of mind, by generation\nto generation, even unto ours!\"\n\n\"How! from generation to generation! do you mean to insinuate that I am\na hundred 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\nhas too 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\nthe cloak, who, doubtless, during all that time, was, as you say,\npronouncing the 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\nParis of 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\nnot come here to listen to your impertinent stuff. Once again I ask\nyou--will you, or will you not, introduce me to the presence of Miss\nAdrienne?\"\n\n\"I repeat, madame, that my mistress sleeps, and that she has forbidden\nme to enter her bed-chamber before mid-day.\"\n\nThis conversation took place at some distance from the summer-house,\nat a spot from which the peristyle could be seen at the end of a grand\navenue, terminating in trees arranged in form of a V. All at once\nMrs. Grivois, extending her hand in that direction, exclaimed: \"Great\nheavens! is it possible? 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\nthe morning!\" 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\nmy story 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\nthat open's on the street lets one into the quincunx near the pavilion.\nIt is by that door, doubtless, that mademoiselle has re-entered.\nOh, what shameful conduct! what will the Princess say to it! Ah!\nher presentiments have not yet been mistaken. See to what her weak\nindulgence of her niece's caprices has led her! It is monstrous!--so\nmonstrous, that, though I have seen her with my own eyes, still I can\nscarcely believe it!\"\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\nhas passed. To go out in the night! Re-enter at eight o'clock in the\nmorning! Why, I am all in a whirl! Certainly, if I had not seen it with\nmy own eyes, I could not have believed it! Still, it is only what was to\nbe expected. It will astonish nobody. Assuredly not! All those to whom I\nam going 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\nfor her!\"\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. ADRIENNE 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\nof Saint-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\nMiss de Cardoville.\n\nThis originality consisted in an excessive independence of mind, joined\nto a natural horror of whatsoever is repulsive or deformed, and to\nan insatiable 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\nAdrienne did the noble enthusiasm which the view of perfect beauty\nalways excites in the chosen favorites of nature.\n\nAnd it was not only the pleasures of sight which this young lady\nloved to gratify: the harmonious modulations of song, the melody of\ninstruments, the cadences of poetry, afforded her infinite pleasures;\nwhile a harsh voice or a discordant noise made her feel the same painful\nimpression, or one nearly as painful as that which she involuntarily\nexperienced from the sight of a hideous object. Passionately fond of\nflowers, too, and of their sweet scents, there are some perfumes which\nshe enjoyed equally with the delights of music or those of plastic\nbeauty. It is necessary, alas, to acknowledge one enormity: Adrienne was\ndainty in her food! She valued more than any one else the fresh pulp\nof handsome fruit, the delicate savor of a golden pheasant, cooked to a\nturn, and the odorous cluster 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\nto the adoration of moral beauty; for if the expression of a low and bad\npassion render uncomely the most beautiful countenances, those which\nare in 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\npersonification of SENSUALITY--not of vulgar, ignorant, non intelligent,\nmistaken sensuousness which is always deceit ful and corrupted by habit\nor by the necessity for gross and ill-regulated enjoyments, but that\nexquisite sensuality which is to the senses what intelligence is to the\nsoul.\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\nto resolve to withdraw herself from them. She was a woman, the most\nwomanish that it is possible to imagine--a woman in her timidity as well\nas in her audacity--a woman in her hatred of the brutal despotism of\nmen, as well as in her intense disposition to self-devoting herself,\nmadly even and blindly, to him who should merit such a devotion from\nher--a woman whose piquant wit was occasionally paradoxical--a superior\nwoman, in brief, who entertained a well-grounded disdain and contempt\nfor certain men either placed very high or greatly adulated, whom she\nhad from time to time met in the drawing-room of her aunt, the Princess\nSaint-Dizier, when she resided 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\nMaker who has lavished so many charms upon woman, not to be neglected by\nher, or to cover and conceal them with ashes, or to destroy them by\nthe contact of her person with sordid and harsh haircloth; but in order\nthat, with fervent gratitude for the divine gifts wherewith she is\nendowed, she may enhance her charms with all the illusions of grace and\nall the splendors of apparel, so as to glorify the divine work of her\nown perfections 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\nwalls of the pavilion being constructed of stone of great thickness, the\ndepth of the aperture for the windows was therefore very great. That of\nAdrienne's dressing-room was closed on the outside by a sash containing\na single large pane of plate glass, and within, by another large plate\nof ground glass. In the interval or space of about three feet left\nbetween these two transparent enclosures, there was a case or box filled\nwith furze mould, whence sprung forth climbing plants, which, directed\nround the ground glass, formed a rich garland of leaves and flowers. A\ngarnet damask tapestry, rich with harmoniously blended arabesques, in\nthe purest style, covered the walls and a thick carpet of similar color\nwas extended over the floor: and this sombre ground, presented by the\nfloor and walls, marvellously enhanced the effects of all the harmonious\nornaments and decorations 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\nlids precisely 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\nformed a sort of grove, diversified with the most brilliant colors. At\nthe farther end of the apartment, opposite the casement, was to be seen,\nsurrounded by another mass of flowers, a reduction in white marble of\nthe enchanting group of Daphnis and Chloe, the more chaste ideal of\ngraceful modesty 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\nfeet of gilt bronze, contained various necessaries for the toilette;\ntwo frosted Psyches, decorated with diamond ear-rings; some excellent\ndrawings from Raphael and Titian, painted by Adrienne herself,\nconsisting of portraits of both men and women of exquisite beauty;\nseveral consoles of oriental jasper, supporting ewers and basins of\nsilver and of silver gilt, richly chased and filled with scented waters;\na voluptuously rich divan, some seats, and an illuminated gilt fable,\ncompleted the furniture of this chamber, the atmosphere of which was\nimpregnated with the sweetest 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\nwas with the love of beauty and of harmony in all things, Adrienne had\nwished the young women who served her to be very pretty, and be dressed\nwith attention 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\ngirl, with the air and form of Diana Huntress, was of a pale brown\ncomplexion. Her thick black hair was turned up behind, where it was\nfastened with a long golden pin. Like the two other girls, her arms were\nuncovered to facilitate the performance of her duties about and upon the\nperson of her charming mistress. She wore a dress of that gay green so\nfamiliar to the Venetian painters. Her petticoat was very ample. Her\nslender waist curved in from under the plaits of a tucker of white\ncambric, plaited in five minute folds, and fastened by five gold\nbuttons. The third of Adrienne's women had a face so fresh and\ningenuous, a waist so delicate, so pleasing, and so finished, that her\nmistress had given her the name of Hebe. Her dress of a delicate rose\ncolor, and Grecian cut, displayed her charming neck, and her beautiful\narms up to the very shoulders. The physiognomy of these three young\nwomen was laughter loving and happy. On their features there was no\nexpression of that bitter sullenness, willing and hated obedience, or\noffensive familiarity, or base and degraded deference, which are the\nordinary results of a state of servitude. In the zealous eagerness of\nthe cares and attentions which they lavished upon Adrienne, there seemed\nto be at least as much of affection as of deference and respect. They\nappeared to derive an ardent pleasure from the services which they\nrendered to their lovely mistress. One would have thought that they\nattached to the dressing and embellishment of her person all the merits\nand the enjoyment arising from the execution of a work of art, in the\naccomplishing of which, fruitful of delights, they were stimulated by\nthe 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\nmore than 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\nand flexible as a bird's, was uncovered, as were also her shoulders and\narms, and all were of incomparable beauty. Despite the vulgarity of\nthe comparison, 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\nroots of her hair from the bath, rolled in serpentine lines over her\nshoulders, like 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\nher nails, as bright and glossy, as if they had been varnished. In every\nspot, indeed, where her pure arterial blood, full of animation and\nheat, could 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\nand wit; and now they widened and extended themselves, languishing and\nswimming between their double fringes of long crisp eyelashes, of as\ndeep a black as her finely-drawn and exquisitely arched eyebrows; for,\nby a delightful 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\nmouth voluptuously sensual, seemed to call for sweet kisses, and the\ngay smiles and delectations of dainty and delicious pleasure. It is\nimpossible to behold or to conceive a carriage of the head freer, more\nnoble, or more elegant than hers; thanks to the great distance which\nseparated the neck and the ear from their attachment to her outspread\nand dimpled shoulders. We have already said that Adrienne was\nred-haired; but it was the redness of many of the admirable portraits\nof women by Titian and Leonardo da Vinci,--that is to say, molten gold\npresents not reflections more delightfully agreeable or more glittering,\nthan the naturally undulating mass of her very long hair, as soft and\nfine as silk, so long, that, when let loose, it reached the floor; in\nit, she could wholly envelop herself, like another Venus arising from\nthe sea. At the present moment, Adrienne's tresses were ravishing to\nbehold; Georgette, her arms bare, stood behind her mistress, and had\ncarefully collected into one of her small white hands, those splendid\nthreads whose naturally ardent brightness was doubled in the sunshine.\nWhen the pretty lady's-maid pulled a comb of ivory into the midst of\nthe undulating and golden waves of that enormously magnificent skein of\nsilk, one might have said that a thousand sparks of fire darted forth\nand coruscated away from it in all directions. The sunshine, too,\nreflected not less golden and fiery rays from numerous clusters of\nspiral ringlets, which, divided upon Adrienne's forehead, fell over her\ncheeks, and in their elastic flexibility caressed the risings of her\nsnowy bosom, to whose charming undulations they adapted and applied\nthemselves. Whilst Georgette, standing, combed the beautiful locks of\nher mistress, Hebe, with one knee upon the floor, and having upon\nthe other the sweet little foot of Miss Cardoville, busied herself in\nfitting it with a remarkably small shoe of black satin, and crossed its\nslender ties over a silk stocking of a pale yet rosy flesh color, which\nimprisoned the smallest and finest ankle in the world. Florine, a little\nfarther back, presented to her mistress, in a jeweled box, a perfumed\npaste, with which Adrienne slightly rubbed her dazzling hands\nand outspread fingers, which seemed tinted with carmine to their\nextremities. Let us not forget Frisky, who, couched in the lap of\nher mistress, opened her great eyes with all her might, and seemed to\nobserve the different operations of Adrienne's toilette with grave and\nreflective attention. A silver bell being sounded from without, Florine,\nat a sign from her mistress, went out and presently returned, bearing\na letter upon a small silver-gilt salve. Adrienne, while her women\ncontinued fitting on her shoes, dressing her hair, and arranging her in\nher habiliments, took the letter, which was written by the steward of\nthe estate of Cardoville, and 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\nhere; but 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.\nRodin came 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\nhim being 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,\nand that he was sure of being able to obtain our continuance in our\nplace, if we would assist him in imposing a priest not of good character\nupon the new proprietress as her future confessor; and if, the better\nto attain this end, we would consent to calumniate another priest,\na deserving and excellent man, much loved and much respected in the\ncountry. Even that is not all. I was required to write twice or thrice\na week to M. Rodin, and to relate to him everything that should occur in\nthe house. I ought to acknowledge, honored madame, that these infamous\nproposals were as much as possible disguised and dissimulated under\nsufficiently specious pretexts; but, notwithstanding the aspect which\nwith more or less skill it was attempted to give to the affair, it was\nprecisely and substantially what I have now had the honor of stating to\nyou.\"\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,\nvenomous, and vile reptiles, of aspects most hideous indeed. How much\nmore do I love to dwell upon the consoling thought of honest Dupont and\nhis wife!\" Adrienne proceeded:\n\n\"Believe me, we hesitated not an instant. We quit Cardoville, which\nhas been 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,\nwho are so benevolent and amiable--could find a place for us by your\nrecommendation, then, with endless gratitude to you, we shall escape\nfrom a position of most cruel embarrassment.\"\n\n\"Surely, surely,\" said Adrienne, \"they shall not in vain appeal to me.\nTo wrest excellent persons from the grip of M. Rodin, is not only a\nduty but a pleasure: for it is at once a righteous and a dangerous\nenterprise; and dearly do I love to brave powerful oppressors!\" Adrienne\nagain went on reading:\n\n\"After having thus spoken to you of ourselves, honored madame, permit\nus to implore your protection for other unfortunates; for it would be\nwicked to think only of one's self. Three days ago, two shipwrecks took\nplace upon our ironbound coast. A few passengers only were saved, and\nwere conducted hither, where I and my wife gave them all necessary\nattentions. All these passengers have departed for Paris, except one,\nwho still remains, his wounds having hitherto prevented him from leaving\nthe house, and, indeed, they will constrain him to remain for some days\nto come. He is a young East Indian prince, of about twenty years of age,\nand he appears to be as amiable and good as he is handsome, which is\nnot a little 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\nof an ordinary or vulgar nature! Oh! this Indian prince has already\nawakened all my sympathies! But what can I do with this Adonis from\nthe banks of the Ganges, who has come to wreck himself upon the Picardy\ncoast?\"\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\nhad called 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\nhas lost 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\nvery greatest importance. It is not from the prince himself that I have\nobtained this information: no; he appears to be too dignified and\nproud to 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\nonly necessary to see the nobleness of expression and the sweetness\nof countenance of this young Indian, to enable me to judge that he is\nworthy of the interest which I have taken the liberty to request in his\nbehalf. It would be sufficient to transmit to him a small sum of money\nfor the purchase of some European clothing; for he has lost all his\nIndian vestments in the shipwreck.\"\n\n\"Good heavens! European clothing!\" exclaimed Adrienne, gayly. \"Poor\nyoung prince! Heaven preserve him from that; and me also! Chance has\nsent hither from the heart of India, a mortal so far favored as never\nto have worn the abominable European costume--those hideous habits, and\nfrightful hats, which render the men so ridiculous, so ugly, that in\ntruth there is not a single good quality to be discovered in them, nor\none spark of what can either captivate or attract! There comes to me at\nlast a handsome young prince from the East, where the men are clothed\nin silk and cashmere. Most assuredly I'll not miss this rare and\nunique opportunity of exposing myself to a very serious and formidable\ntemptation! No, no! not a European dress for me, though poor Dupont\nrequests it! But the name--the name of this dear prince! Once more, what\na singular event is this! If it should turn out to be that cousin from\nbeyond the Ganges! During my childhood, I have heard so much in praise\nof his royal father! Oh! I shall be quite ravished to give his son the\nkind reception which he merits!\" And then she read on:\n\n\"If, besides this small sum, honored madame, you are so kind as to\ngive him, and also his companion, the means of reaching Paris, you\nwill confer a very great service upon this poor young prince, who is at\npresent so unfortunate.\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\nnothing more chivalric or heroic in the world than the old king, our\nrelation by marriage; and the son has not derogated, it would seem, from\nthat character. Yes, Djalma, Radja-sing--once more, that is it--such\nnames are not so common,\" she added, smiling, \"that one should either\nforget or confound them with others. This Djalma is my cousin! Brave\nand good--young and charming! above all, he has never worn the\nhorrid European dress! And destitute of every resource! This is quite\nravishing! It is too much happiness at once! Quick, quick let us\nimprovise a pretty fairy tale, of which the handsome and beloved prince\nshall be the hero! The poor bird of the golden and azure plumage has\nwandered into our dismal climate; but he will find here, at least,\nsomething to remind him of his native region of sunshine and perfumes!\"\nThen, addressing one of her women, she said: \"Georgette, take paper and\nwrite, my child!\" The young girl went to the gilt, illuminated table,\nwhich contained materials for writing; and, having seated herself, she\nsaid to her mistress: \"I await orders.\"\n\nAdrienne de Cardoville, whose charming countenance was radiant with the\ngayety of happiness and joy, proceeded to dictate the following letter\nto a 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\nsure, with 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\nand correctness, magnificently rich, and of the greatest elegance. You\nwill choose the most beautiful stuffs possible; and endeavor, above all\nthings, that they be, or resemble, tissues of Indian manufacture; and\nyou will 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\nyou know so well. The steward, the excellent Dupont, one of your old\nfriends, will there introduce you to a young Indian Prince, named\nDjalma; and you will tell that most potent grave, and reverend signior,\nof another quarter of the globe, that you have come on the part of an\nunknown friend, who, taking upon himself the duty of a brother, sends\nhim what is necessary to preserve him from the odious fashions\nof Europe. You will add, that his friend expects him with so much\nimpatience that he conjures him to come to Paris immediately. If he\nobjects that he is suffering, you will tell him that my carriage is an\nexcellent bed-closet; and you will cause the bedding, etc., which it\ncontains, to be fitted up, till he finds it quite commodious. Remember\nto make very humble excuses for the unknown friend not sending to the\nprince either rich palanquins, or even, modestly, a single elephant;\nfor alas! palanquins are only to be seen at the opera; and there are\nno elephants but those in the menagerie,--though this must make us seem\nstrangely barbarous in his eyes.\n\n\"As soon as you shall have decided on your departure, perform the\njourney as rapidly as possible, and bring here, into my house, in the\nRue de Babylone (what predestination! that I should dwell in the street\nof BABYLON,--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\nto be 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\nof battle: yes, for within an hour I shall give battle, a pitched\nbattle--to my dear pew-dwelling aunt. Fortunately, audacity and courage\nnever failed me, and I burn with impatience for the engagement with my\naustere princess.\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,\nin order 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\nbeen seen 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\nto execute 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\ngo to 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\nFrisky yesterday, entreats you to admit him for an instant. He is very\npale, and he 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. THE INTERVIEW.\n\nWhen Adrienne de Cardoville entered the saloon where Agricola expected\nher, she was dressed with extremely elegant simplicity. A robe of\ndeep blue, perfectly fitted to her shape, embroidered in front with\ninterlacings of black silk, according to the then fashion, outlined\nher nymph-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\nblouse though, and the collar of his shirt, of stout linen, very white,\nfell over upon a black cravat, negligently tied; his gray trousers\nallowed his well polished boots to be seen; and he held between his\nmuscular hands a cap of fine woolen cloth, quite new. To sum up, his\nblue blouse, embroidered with red, showing off the nervous chest of the\nyoung blacksmith, and indicating his robust shoulders, falling down\nin graceful folds, put not the least constraint upon his free and easy\ngait, and became him much better than either frock-coat or dress-coat\nwould have done. While awaiting Miss de Cardoville, Agricola\nmechanically examined a magnificent silver vase, admirably graven. A\nsmall tablet, of the same metal, fitted into a cavity of its antique\nstand, bore the words--\"Chased by 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,\nI ordered his name to be inscribed upon it, instead of that of the\ngoldsmith, which had already been affixed to the stand. In the absence\nof the rich profits, let the artisan enjoy the fame of his skill. Is it\nnot just, 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\nsuch a 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\nsaid to him gayly: \"This poor little animal, to which I am very much\nattached, will always afford me a lively remembrance of your obliging\ncomplaisance, sir. And this visit seems to me to be of happy augury;\nI know not what good presentiment whispers to me, that perhaps I shall\nhave the pleasure of being useful to you in some affair.\"\n\n\"Madame,\" said Agricola, resolutely, \"my name is Baudoin: a blacksmith\nin the 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\nof you perhaps ten or twenty times the sum that you had generously\nproposed. I have said thus much all at once, madame, because it causes\nme the greatest effort. The words blistered my lips, but now I shall be\nmore at ease.\"\n\n\"I appreciate the delicacy of your scruples, sir,\" said Adrienne; \"but\nif you knew me, you would address me without fear. How much do you\nrequire?\"\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\nhad picked 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.\n\"I understand 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\nis deformed, which is the reason why she is called Mother Bunch. But\nthough, on the one hand, she is sunk, as low as you are highly elevated\non the other, yet as regards the heart--as to delicacy--oh, lady, I am\ncertain that your heart is of equal worth with hers! That was at once\nher own thought, after I had related to her in what manner, yesterday,\nyou had presented 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\nwe are rich. I accept, then, your comparison; but on condition that\nyou will quickly put me in a situation to deserve it. Pray go on,\ntherefore.\"\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.\nI should 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,\nour excellent neighbors, who would willingly succor her. But, they\nthemselves are far from being well off; and as they would incur\nprivations by assisting her, their little benefit would still be more\npainful to my mother than the endurance even of misery by herself. And\nbesides, it is not only for my mother that my exertions are required,\nbut for my father, whom we have not seen for eighteen years, and who has\njust arrived from Siberia, where he remained during all that time, from\nzealous devotion to his 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,\nso sweet; 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.\nMy excellent father! you will not believe, madame, that, with the\ncourage of a 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\nsent by 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\nmass of the working classes, an equitable, sincere, warm, and earnest\nclaim--nothing more. But you are aware, perhaps, Madame, that in\ntimes of conspiracy, and commotion, people are often incriminated and\nimprisoned on very slight grounds. Should such a misfortune befall me,\nwhat will become of my mother, my father, and the two orphans whom we\nare bound to regard as part of our family until the return of their\nfather, Marshal Simon? It is on this account, madame, that, if I remain,\nI run the risk of being arrested. I have come to you to request you to\nprovide surety for me; so that I should not be compelled to exchange\nthe workshop for the prison, in which case I can answer for it that the\nfruits of my labor will suffice for all.\"\n\n\"Thank the stars!\" said Adrienne, gayly, \"this affair will arrange\nitself quite easily. Henceforth, Mr. Poet, you shall draw your\ninspirations in the midst of good fortune instead of adversity. Sad\nmuse! But first of all, 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\nday on which his portfolio was taken from him. Keep yourself, then,\nperfectly at ease. If the surety be insufficient, we shall be able to\ndevise some other 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\nthose who have too much should have the right of coming to the aid of\nthose who have too little. Marshal Simon's daughters are members of my\nfamily, and they will reside here with me, which will be more suitable.\nYou will apprise your worthy mother of this; and in the evening, besides\ngoing to thank her for the hospitality which she has shown to my young\nrelations, I shall fetch them home.\"\n\nAt this moment Georgette, throwing open the door which separated the\nroom from an adjacent apartment, hurriedly entered, with an affrighted\nlook, exclaiming:\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.\nMerry: and now it is beyond doubt. They must have seen me enter your\nhouse; and are on the watch to arrest me. Well, now that your interest\nhas been acquired for my mother,--now that I have no farther uneasiness\nfor Marshal Simon's daughters,--rather than hazard your exposure to\nanything the least unpleasant, I run to deliver myself up.\"\n\n\"Beware of that sir,\" said Adrienne, quickly. \"Liberty is too precious\nto be voluntarily sacrificed. Besides, Georgette may have been mistaken.\nBut in any case, I entreat you not to surrender yourself. Take\nmy advice, and escape being arrested. That, I think, will greatly\nfacilitate my measures; for I am of opinion that justice evinces a great\ndesire to keep possession 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\nnamed Agricola 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\nis rendered 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\nloves you as a brother, and whom I value as a sister;--say, sir, do you\nforget them also? Believe me, it is better to spare those torments to\nyour family. Remain here; and before the evening I am certain, either\nby giving 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\na nobleman's left-handed wife,--you see, sir,\" said Adrienne, smiling,\n\"that live in a very profane place--there is here a secret place\nof concealment, 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\nyou have restored to my fondles? Seriously, if I laugh,\" continued this\nsingular and extravagant creature, \"it is because I know that you\nare entirely 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;\nfor Adrienne 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\nout of her house. Eight o'clock was the time at which she returned,\nhowever.\"\n\nFlorine looked at Mrs. Grivois with profound astonishment, and said-\"I\ndo not 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\nI have 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;\nand with 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\ninterview which she is to have to-day with the princess? She conceals so\nlittle of what 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\nday.\" Then addressing Florine, she continued-\"Return, and keep yourself,\nI advise 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.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK III.\n\n     XXXVI. A Female Jesuit XXXVII. The Plot XXXVIII. Adrienne's\n     Enemies XXXIX. The Skirmish XL. The Revolt XLI. Treachery\n     XLII. The Snare XLIII. A False Friend XLIV. The Minister's\n     Cabinet XLV. The Visit XLVI. Presentiments XLVII. The Letter\n     XLVIII. The Confessional XLIX. My Lord and Spoil-sport L.\n     Appearances LI. The Convent LII. The Influence of a\n     Confessor LIII. The Examination\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVI. A FEMALE JESUIT.\n\nDuring the preceding scenes which occurred in the Pompadour rotunda,\noccupied by Miss de Cardoville, other events took place in the residence\nof the Princess Saint-Dizier. The elegance and sumptuousness of the\nformer dwelling presented a strong contrast to the gloomy interior of\nthe latter, the first floor of which was inhabited by the princess, for\nthe plan of the ground floor rendered it only fit for giving parties;\nand, for a long time past, Madame de Saint-Dizier had renounced all\nworldly splendors. The gravity of her domestics, all aged and dressed in\nblack; the profound silence which reigned in her abode, where everything\nwas spoken, if it could be called speaking, in an undertone; and\nthe almost monastic regularity and order of this immense mansion,\ncommunicated to everything around the princess a sad and chilling\ncharacter. A man of the world, who joined great courage to rare\nindependence of spirit, speaking of the princess (to whom Adrienne\nde Cardoville went, according to her expression, to fight a pitched\nbattle), said of her as follows: \"In order to avoid having Madame de\nSaint-Dizier for an enemy, I, who am neither bashful nor cowardly, have,\nfor the first time in my life, been both a noodle and a coward.\" This\nman spoke sincerely. But Madame de Saint-Dizier had not all at once\narrived at this high degree of importance.\n\nSome words are necessary for the purpose of exhibiting distinctly some\nphases in the life of this dangerous and implacable woman who, by\nher affiliation with the Order of Jesuits, had acquired an occult and\nformidable power. For there is something even more menacing than a\nJesuit: it is a Jesuits; and, when one has seen certain circles, it\nbecomes evident that there exist, unhappily, many of those affiliated,\nwho, more or less, uniformly dress (for the lay members of the Order\ncall themselves \"Jesuits of the short robe\").\n\nMadame de Saint-Dizier, once very beautiful, had been, during the last\nyears of the Empire, and the early years of the Restoration, one of the\nmost fashionable women of Paris, of a stirring, active, adventurous,\nand commanding spirit, of cold heart, but lively imagination. She was\ngreatly given to amorous adventures, not from tenderness of heart, but\nfrom a passion for intrigue, which she loved as men love play--for the\nsake of the emotions it excites. Unhappily, such had always been the\nblindness or the carelessness of her husband, the Prince of Saint-Dizier\n(eldest brother of the Count of Rennepont and Duke of Cardoville, father\nof Adrienne), that during his life he had never said one word that could\nmake it be thought that he suspected the actions of his wife. Attaching\nherself to Napoleon, to dig a mine under the feet of the Colossus, that\ndesign at least afforded emotions sufficient to gratify the humor of\nthe most insatiable. During some time, all went well. The princess was\nbeautiful and spirited, dexterous and false, perfidious and seductive.\nShe was surrounded by fanatical adorers, upon whom she played off a\nkind of ferocious coquetry, to induce them to run their heads into grave\nconspiracies. They hoped to resuscitate the Fonder party, and carried\non a very active secret correspondence with some influential personages\nabroad, well known for their hatred against the emperor and France.\nHence arose her first epistolary relations with the Marquis d'Aigrigny,\nthen colonel in the Russian service and aide-de-camp to General Moreau.\nBut one day all these petty intrigues were discovered. Many knights\nof Madame de Saint-Dizier were sent to Vincennes; but the emperor, who\nmight have punished her terribly, contented himself with exiling the\nprincess to one of her estates near Dunkirk.\n\nUpon the Restoration, the persecutions which Madame de Saint-Dizier had\nsuffered for the Good Cause were entered to her credit, and she acquired\neven then very considerable influence, in spite of the lightness of her\nbehavior. The Marquis d'Aigrigny, having entered the military service of\nFrance, remained there. He was handsome, and of fashionable manners and\naddress. He had corresponded and conspired with the princess, without\nknowing her; and these circumstances necessarily led to a close\nconnection between them.\n\nExcessive self-love, a taste for exciting pleasures, aspirations\nof hatred, pride, and lordliness, a species of evil sympathy, the\nperfidious attraction of which brings together perverse natures without\nmingling them, had made of the princess and the Marquis accomplices\nrather than lovers. This connection, based upon selfish and bitter\nfeelings, and upon the support which two characters of this dangerous\ntemper could lend to each other against a world in which their spirit of\nintrigue, of gallantry, and of contempt had made them many enemies, this\nconnection endured till the moment when, after his duel with General\nSimon, the Marquis entered a religious house, without any one\nunderstanding the cause of his unexpected and sudden resolution.\n\nThe princess, having not yet heard the hour of her conversion strike,\ncontinued to whirl round the vortex of the world with a greedy, jealous,\nand hateful ardor, for she saw that the last years of her beauty were\ndying out.\n\nAn estimate of the character of this woman may be formed from the\nfollowing fact:\n\nStill very agreeable, she wished to close her worldly and volatile\ncareer with some brilliant and final triumph, as a great actress knows\nthe proper time to withdraw from the stage so as to leave regrets\nbehind. Desirous of offering up this final incense to her own vanity,\nthe princess skillfully selected her victims. She spied out in the world\na young couple who idolized each other; and, by dint of cunning and\naddress, she succeeded in taking away the lover from his mistress, a\ncharming woman of eighteen, by whom he was adored. This triumph being\nachieved, Madame Saint-Dizier retired from the fashionable world in the\nfull blaze of her exploit. After many long conversations with the Abbe\nMarquis d'Aigrigny, who had become a renowned preacher, she departed\nsuddenly from Paris, and spent two years upon her estate near Dunkirk,\nto which she took only one of her female attendants, viz., Mrs. Grivois.\n\nWhen the princess afterwards returned to Paris, it was impossible\nto recognize the frivolous, intriguing, and dissipated woman she had\nformerly been. The metamorphosis was as complete as it was extraordinary\nand even startling. Saint-Dizier House, heretofore open to the banquets\nand festivals of every kind of pleasure, became gloomily silent and\naustere. Instead of the world of elegance and fashion, the princess now\nreceived in her mansion only women of ostentatious piety, and men of\nconsequence, who were remarkably exemplary by the extravagant rigor of\ntheir religious and monarchial principles. Above all, she drew around\nher several noted members of the higher orders of the clergy. She was\nappointed patroness of a body of religious females. She had her own\nconfessor, chaplin, almoner, and even spiritual director; but this\nlast performed his functions in partibus. The Marquis-Abbe d'Aigrigny\ncontinued in reality to be her spiritual guide; and it is almost\nunnecessary to say that for a long time past their mutual relations as\nto flirting had entirely ceased.\n\nThis sudden and complete conversion of a gay and distinguished woman,\nespecially as it was loudly trumpeted forth, struck the greater number\nof persons with wonder and respect. Others, more discerning, only\nsmiled.\n\nA single anecdote, from amongst a thousand, will suffice to show the\nalarming influence and power which the princess had acquired since her\naffiliation with the Jesuits. This anecdote will also exhibit the deep,\nvindictive, and pitiless character of this woman, whom Adrienne de\nCardoville had so imprudently made herself ready to brave.\n\nAmongst the persons who smiled more or less at the conversion of Madame\nde Saint-Dizier were the young and charming couple whom she had so\ncruelly disunited before she quitted forever the scenes of revelry\nin which she had lived. The young couple became more impassioned and\ndevoted to each other than ever; they were reconciled and married, after\nthe passing storm which had hurled them asunder; and they indulged in\nno other vengeance against the author of their temporary infelicity than\nthat of mildly jesting at the pious conversion of the woman who had done\nthem so much injury.\n\nSome time after, a terrible fatality overtook the loving pair. The\nhusband, until then blindly unsuspicious, was suddenly inflamed by\nanonymous communications. A dreadful rupture ensued, and the young wife\nperished.\n\nAs for the husband, certain vague rumors, far from distinct, yet\npregnant with secret meanings, perfidiously contrived, and a thousand\ntimes more detestable than formal accusations, which can, at least, be\nmet and destroyed, were strewn about him with so much perseverance, with\na skill so diabolical, and by means and ways so very various, that his\nbest friends, by little and little, withdrew themselves from him,\nthus yielding to the slow, irresistible influence of that incessant\nwhispering and buzzing, confused as indistinct, amounting to some such\nresults as this-\"Well! you know!\" says one.\n\n\"No!\" replies another.\n\n\"People say very vile things about him.\"\n\n\"Do they? really! What then?\"\n\n\"I don't know! Bad reports! Rumors grievously affecting his honor!\"\n\n\"The deuce! That's very serious. It accounts for the coldness with which\nhe is now everywhere received!\"\n\n\"I shall avoid him in future!\"\n\n\"So will I,\" etc.\n\nSuch is the world, that very often nothing more than groundless surmises\nare necessary to brand a man whose very, happiness may have incurred\nenvy. So it was with the gentleman of whom we speak. The unfortunate\nman, seeing the void around him extending itself,--feeling (so to speak)\nthe earth crumbling from beneath his feet, knew not where to find or\ngrasp the impalpable enemy whose blows he felt; for not once had the\nidea occurred to him of suspecting the princess, whom he had not seen\nsince his adventure with her. Anxiously desiring to learn why he was so\nmuch shunned and despised, he at length sought an explanation from\nan old friend; but he received only a disdainfully evasive answer;\nat which, being exasperated, he demanded satisfaction. His adversary\nreplied--\"If you can find two persons of our acquaintance, I will fight\nyou!\" The unhappy man could not find one!\n\nFinally, forsaken by all, without having ever obtained an explanation of\nthe reason for forsaking him--suffering keenly for the fate of the\nwife whom he had lost, he became mad with grief, rage, and despair, and\nkilled himself.\n\nOn the day of his death, Madame de Saint-Dizier remarked that it was\nfit and necessary that one who had lived so shamefully should come to\nan equally shameful end, and that he who had so long jested at all laws,\nhuman and divine, could not seemly otherwise terminate his wretched life\nthan by perpetrating a last crime--suicide! And the friends of Madame de\nSaint-Dizier hawked about and everywhere repeated these terrible words\nwith a contrite air, as if beatified and convinced! But this was not\nall. Along with chastisements there were rewards.\n\nObservant people remarked that the favorites of the religious clan of\nMadame de Saint-Dizier rose to high distinction with singular rapidity.\nThe virtuous young men, such as were religiously attentive to tiresome\nsermons, were married to rich orphans of the Sacred Heart Convents, who\nwere held in reserve for the purpose; poor young girls, who, learning\ntoo late what it is to have a pious husband selected and imposed upon\nthem by a set of devotees, often expiated by very bitter tears the\ndeceitful favor of thus being admitted into a world of hypocrisy and\nfalsehood, in which they found themselves strangers without support,\ncrushed by it if they dared to complain of the marriages to which they\nhad been condemned.\n\nIn the parlor of Madame de Saint-Dizier were appointed prefects,\ncolonels, treasurers, deputies, academicians, bishops and peers of\nthe realm, from whom nothing more was required in return for the\nall-powerful support bestowed upon them, but to wear a pious gloss,\nsometimes publicly take the communion, swear furious war against\neverything impious or revolutionary,--and above all, correspond\nconfidentially upon \"different subjects of his choosing\" with the Abbe\nd'Aigrigny,--an amusement, moreover, which was very agreeable; for the\nabbe was the most amiable man in the world, the most witty, and above\nall, the most obliging. The following is an historical fact, which\nrequires the bitter and vengeful irony of Moliere or Pascal to do it\njustice.\n\nDuring the last year of the Restoration, there was one of the mighty\ndignitaries of the court a firm and independent man, who did not\nmake profession (as the holy fathers call it), that is, who did\nnot communicate at the altar. The splendor amid which he moved was\ncalculated to give the weight of a very injurious example to his\nindifference. The Abbe-Marquis d'Aigrigny was therefore despatched to\nhim; and he knowing the honorable and elevated character of the non\ncommunicant, thought that if he could only bring him to profess by\nany means (whatever the means might be) the effect would be what was\ndesired. Like a man of intellect, the abbe prized the dogma but cheaply\nhimself. He only spoke of the suitableness of the step, and of the\nhighly salutary example which the resolution to adopt it would afford to\nthe public.\n\n\"M. Abbe,\" replied the person sought to be influenced, \"I have a greater\nrespect for religion than you have. I should consider it an infamous\nmockery to go to the communion table without feeling the proper\nconviction.\"\n\n\"Nonsense! you inflexible man! you frowning Alcestes,\" said the Marquis\nAbbe, smiling slyly. \"Your profits and your scruples will go together,\nbelieve me, by listening to me. In short, we shall manage to make it a\nBLANK COMMUNION for you; for after all, what is it that we ask?--only\nthe APPEARANCE!\"\n\nNow, a BLANK COMMUNION means breaking an unconsecrated wafer!\n\nThe Abbe-Marquis retired with his offers, which were rejected with\nindignation;--but then, the refractory man was dismissed from his place\nat court. This was but a single isolated fact. Woe to all who found\nthemselves opposed to the interest and principles of Madame de Saint\nDizier or her friends! Sooner or later, directly or indirectly, they\nfelt themselves cruelly stabbed, generally immediately--some in their\ndearest connections, others in their credit, some in their honor;\nothers in their official functions; and all by secret action, noiseless,\ncontinuous, and latent, in time becoming a terrible and mysterious\ndissolvent, which invisibly undermined reputations, fortunes, positions\nthe most solidly established, until the moment when all sunk forever\ninto the abyss, amid the surprise and terror of the beholders.\n\nIt will now be conceived how under the Restoration the Princess de Saint\nDizier had become singularly influential and formidable. At the time of\nthe Revolution of July (1830) she had \"rallied,\" and, strangely enough,\nby preserving some relation of family and of society with persons\nfaithful to the worship of decayed monarchy, people still attributed to\nthe princess much influence and power. Let us mention, at last, that\nthe Prince of Saint-Dizier, having died many years since, his very large\npersonal fortune had descended to his younger brother, the father of\nAdrienne de Cardoville; and he, having died eighteen months ago, that\nyoung lady found herself to be the last and only representative of that\nbranch of the family of the Renneponts.\n\nThe Princess of Saint-Dizier awaited her niece in a very large room,\nrendered dismal by its gloomy green damask. The chairs, etc., covered\nwith similar stuff, were of carved ebony. Paintings of scriptural\nand other religious subjects, and an ivory crucifix thrown up from\na background of black velvet, contributed to give the apartment a\nlugubrious and austere aspect.\n\nMadame de Saint-Dizier, seated before a large desk, has just finished\nputting the seals on numerous letters; for she had a very extensive and\nvery diversified correspondence. Though then aged about forty-five she\nwas still fair. Advancing years had somewhat thickened her shape, which\nformerly of distinguished elegance, was still sufficiently handsome to\nbe seen to advantage under the straight folds of her black dress. Her\nheaddress, very simple, decorated with gray ribbons, allowed her fair\nsleek hair to be seen arranged in broad bands. At first look, people\nwere struck with her dignified though unassuming appearance; and would\nhave vainly tried to discover in her physiognomy, now marked with\nrepentant calmness, any trace of the agitations of her past life. So\nnaturally grave and reserved was she, that people could not believe her\nthe heroine of so many intrigues and adventures and gallantry.\nMoreover, if by chance she ever heard any lightness of conversation, her\ncountenance, since she had come to believe herself a kind of \"mother\nin the Church,\" immediately expressed candid but grieved astonishment,\nwhich soon changed into an air of offended chastity and disdainful pity.\n\nFor the rest, her smile, when requisite, was still full of grace, and\neven of the seducing and resistless sweetness of seeming good-nature.\nHer large blue eyes, on fit occasions, became affectionate and\ncaressing. But if any one dared to wound or ruffle her pride, gainsay\nher orders or harm her interests, her countenance, usually placid and\nserene, betrayed a cold but implacable malignity. Mrs. Grivois entered\nthe cabinet, holding in her hand Florine's report of the manner in which\nAdrienne de Cardoville had spent the morning.\n\nMrs. Grivois had been about twenty years in the service of Madame de\nSaint-Dizier. She knew everything that a lady's-maid could or ought to\nhave known of her mistress in the days of her sowing of wild (being a\nlady) flowers. Was it from choice that the princess had still retained\nabout her person this so-well-informed witness of the numerous follies\nof her youth? The world was kept in ignorance of the motive; but one\nthing was evident, viz., that Mrs. Grivois enjoyed great privileges\nunder the princess, and was treated by her rather as a companion than as\na tiring woman.\n\n\"Here are Florine's notes, madame,\" said Mrs. Grivois, giving the paper\nto the princess.\n\n\"I will examine them presently,\" said the princess; \"but tell me, is my\nniece coming? Pending the conference at which she is to be present, you\nwill conduct into her house a person who will soon be here, to inquire\nfor you by my desire.\"\n\n\"Well, madame?\"\n\n\"This man will make an exact inventory of everything contained in\nAdrienne's residence. You will take care that nothing is omitted; for\nthat is of very great importance.\"\n\n\"Yes, madame. But should Georgette or Hebe make any opposition?\"\n\n\"There is no fear; the man charged with taking the inventory is of such\na stamp, that when they know him, they will not dare to oppose either\nhis making the inventory, or his other steps. It will be necessary\nnot to fail, as you go along with him, to be careful to obtain certain\npeculiarities destined to confirm the reports which you have spread for\nsome time past.\"\n\n\"Do not have the slightest doubt, madame. The reports have all the\nconsistency of truth.\"\n\n\"Very soon, then, this Adrienne, so insolent and so haughty, will be\ncrushed and compelled to pray for pardon; and from me!\"\n\nAn old footman opened both of the folding doors, and announced the\nMarquis-Abbe d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"If Miss de Cardoville present herself,\" said the princess to Mrs.\nGrivois, \"you will request her to wait an instant.\"\n\n\"Yes, madame,\" said the duenna, going out with the servant.\n\nMadame de Saint-Dizier and D'Aigrigny remained alone.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVII. THE PLOT.\n\nThe Abbe-Marquis d'Aigrigny, as the reader has easily divined, was\nthe person already seen in the Rue du Milieu-des-Ursins; whence he had\ndeparted from Rome, in which city he had remained about three months.\nThe marquis was dressed in deep mourning, but with his usual elegance.\nHis was not a priestly robe; his black coat, and his waistcoat, tightly\ngathered in at the waist, set off to great advantage the elegance of\nhis figure: his black cassimere pantaloons disguised his feet, exactly\nfitted with lace boots, brilliantly polished. And all traces of his\ntonsure disappeared in the midst of the slight baldness which whitened\nslightly the back part of his head. There was nothing in his entire\ncostume, or aspect, that revealed the priest, except, perhaps,\nthe entire absence of beard, the more remarkable upon so manly a\ncountenance. His chin, newly shaved, rested on a large and elevated\nblack cravat, tied with a military ostentation which reminded the\nbeholder, that this abbe-marquis this celebrated preacher--now one of\nthe most active and influential chiefs of his order, had commanded a\nregiment of hussars upon the Restoration, and had fought in aid of the\nRussians against France.\n\nReturned to Paris only this morning, the marquis had not seen the\nprincess since his mother, the Dowager Marchioness d'Aigrigny, had died\nnear Dunkirk, upon an estate belonging to Madame de Saint-Dizier, while\nvainly calling for her son to alleviate her last moments; but the order\nto which M. d'Aigrigny had thought fit to sacrifice the most sacred\nfeeling and duties of nature, having been suddenly transmitted to him\nfrom Rome, he had immediately set out for that city; though not without\nhesitation, which was remarked and denounced by Rodin; for the love of\nM. d'Aigrigny for his mother had been the only pure feeling that had\ninvariably distinguished his life.\n\nWhen the servant had discreetly withdrawn with Mrs. Grivois, the marquis\nquickly approached the princess, held out his hand to her, and said with\na voice of emotion:\n\n\"Herminia, have you not concealed something in your letters. In her last\nmoments did not my mother curse me?\"\n\n\"No, no, Frederick, compose yourself. She had anxiously desired your\npresence. Her ideas soon became confused. But in her delirium it was\nstill for you that she called.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the marquis, bitterly; \"her maternal instinct doubtless\nassured her that my presence could have saved her life.\"\n\n\"I entreat you to banish these sad recollections,\" said the princess,\n\"this misfortune is irreparable.\"\n\n\"Tell me for the last time, truly, did not my absence cruelly affect\nmy mother? Had she no suspicion that a more imperious duty called me\nelsewhere?\"\n\n\"No, no, I assure you. Even when her reason was shaken, she believed\nthat you had not yet had time to come to her. All the sad details which\nI wrote to you upon this painful subject are strictly true. Again, I beg\nof you to compose yourself.\"\n\n\"Yes, my conscience ought to be easy; for I have fulfilled my duty in\nsacrificing my mother. Yet I have never been able to arrive at that\ncomplete detachment from natural affection, which is commanded to us\nby those awful words: 'He who hates not his father and his mother, even\nwith the soul, cannot be my disciple.'\"(9)\n\n\"Doubtless, Frederick,\" said the princess, \"these renunciations are\npainful. But, in return, what influence, what power!\"\n\n\"It is true,\" said the marquis, after a moment's silence. \"What ought\nnot to be sacrificed in order to reign in secret over the all-powerful\nof the earth, who lord it in full day? This journey to Rome, from which\nI have just returned, has given me a new idea of our formidable power.\nFor, Herminia, it is Rome which is the culminating point, overlooking\nthe fairest and broadest quarters of the globe, made so by custom, by\ntradition, or by faith. Thence can our workings be embraced in their\nfull extent. It is an uncommon view to see from its height the myriad\ntools, whose personality is continually absorbed into the immovable\npersonality of our Order. What a might we possess! Verily, I am always\nswayed with admiration, aye, almost frightened, that man once thinks,\nwishes, believes, and acts as he alone lists, until, soon ours, he\nbecomes but a human shell; its kernel of intelligence, mind, reason,\nconscience, and free will, shrivelled within him, dry and withered by\nthe habit of mutely, fearingly bowing under mysterious tasks, which\nshatter and slay everything spontaneous in the human soul! Then do we\ninfuse in such spiritless clay, speechless, cold, and motionless as\ncorpses, the breath of our Order, and, lo! the dry bones stand up and\nwalk, acting and executing, though only within the limits which are\ncircled round them evermore. Thus do they become mere limbs of the\ngigantic trunk, whose impulses they mechanically carry out, while\nignorant of the design, like the stonecutter who shapes out a stone,\nunaware if it be for cathedral or bagnio.\"\n\nIn so speaking, the marquis's features wore an incredible air of proud\nand domineering haughtiness.\n\n\"Oh, yes! this power is great, most great,\" observed the princess; \"and\nthe more formidable because it moves in a mysterious way over minds and\nconsciences.\"\n\n\"Aye, Herminia,\" said the marquis: \"I have had under my command a\nmagnificent regiment. Very often have I experienced the energetic and\nexquisite enjoyment of command! At my word my squadrons put themselves\nin action; bugles blared, my officers, glittering in golden embroidery,\ngalloped everywhere to repeat my orders: all my brave soldiers, burning\nwith courage, and cicatrized by battles, obeyed my signal; and I felt\nproud and strong, holding as I did (so to speak) in my hands, the force\nand valor of each and all combined into one being of resistless strength\nand invincible intrepidity,--of all of which I was as much the\nmaster, as I mastered the rage and fire of my war-horse! Aye! that was\ngreatness. But now, in spite of the misfortunes which have befallen\nour Order, I feel myself a thousand times more ready for action, more\nauthoritative, more strong and more daring, at the head of our mute\nand black-robed militia, who only think and wish, or move and obey,\nmechanically, according to my will. On a sign they scatter over the\nsurface of the globe, gliding stealthily into households under the guise\nof confessing the wife or teaching the children, into family affairs\nby hearing the dying avowals,--up to the throne through the quaking\nconscience of a credulous crowned coward;--aye, even to the chair of\nthe Pope himself, living manifesto of the Godhead though he is, by the\nservices rendered him or imposed by him. Is not this secret rule, made\nto kindle or glut the wildest ambition, as it reaches from the cradle to\nthe grave, from the laborer's hovel to the royal palace, from palace\nto the papal chair? What career in all the world presents such splendid\nopenings? what unutterable scorn ought I not feel for the bright\nbutterfly life of early days, when we made so many envy us? Don't you\nremember, Herminia?\" he added, with a bitter smile.\n\n\"You are right, perfectly right, Frederick!\" replied the princess\nquickly. \"How little soever we may reflect, with what contempt do we not\nthink upon the past! I, like you, often compare it with the present;\nand then what satisfaction I feel at having followed your counsels! For,\nindeed, without you, I should have played the miserable and ridiculous\npart which a woman always plays in her decline from having been\nbeautiful and surrounded by admirers. What could I have done at this\nhour? I should have vainly striven to retain around me a selfish and\nungrateful world of gross and shameful men, who court women only\nthat they may turn them to the service of their passions, or to the\ngratification of their vanity. It is true that there would have remained\nto me the resource of what is called keeping an agreeable house for all\nothers,--yes, in order to entertain them, be visited by a crowd of\nthe indifferent, to afford opportunities of meeting to amorous young\ncouples, who, following each other from parlor to parlor, come not\nto your house but for the purpose of being together; a very pretty\npleasure, truly, that of harboring those blooming, laughing, amorous\nyouths, who look upon the luxury and brilliancy with which one surrounds\nthem, as if they were their due upon bonds to minister to their\npleasure, and to their impudent amours!\"\n\nHer words were so stinging, and such hateful envy sat upon her face,\nthat she betrayed the intense bitterness of her regrets in spite of\nherself.\n\n\"NO, no; thanks to you, Frederick,\" she continued, \"After a last and\nbrilliant triumph, I broke forever with the world, which would soon have\nabandoned me, though I was so long its idol and its queen. And I have\nonly changed my queendom. Instead of the dissipated men whom I ruled\nwith a frivolity superior to their own, I now find myself surrounded by\nmen of high consideration, of redoubtable character, and all-powerful,\nmany of whom have governed the state; to them I have devoted myself, as\nthey have devoted themselves to me! It is now only that I really enjoy\nthat happiness, of which I ever dreamt. I have taken an active part and\nhave exercised a powerful influence over the greatest interests of the\nworld; I have been initiated into the most important secrets; I have\nbeen able to strike, surely, whosoever scoffed at or hated me; and I\nhave been able to elevate beyond their hopes those who have served or\nrespected and obeyed me.\"\n\n\"There are some madmen, and some so blind, that they imagine that we\nare struck down, because we ourselves have had to struggle against some\nmisfortunes,\" said M. d'Aigrigny, disdainfully, \"as if we were not,\nabove all others, securely founded, organized for every struggle, and\ndrew not from our very struggles a new and more vigorous activity.\nDoubtless the times are bad. But they will become better; and, as you\nknow, it is nearly certain that in a few days (the 13th of February), we\nshall have at our disposal a means of action sufficiently powerful for\nre establishing our influence which has been temporarily shaken.\"\n\n\"Yes, doubtless this affair of the medals is most important,\" said the\nprincess.\n\n\"I should not have made so much haste to return hither,\" resumed the\nabbe, \"were it not to act in what will be, perhaps, for us, a very great\nevent.\"\n\n\"But you are aware of the fatality which has once again overthrown\nprojects the most laboriously conceived and matured?\"\n\n\"Yes; immediately on arriving I saw Rodin.\"\n\n\"And he told you--?\"\n\n\"The inconceivable arrival of the Indian, and of General Simon's\ndaughters at Cardoville Castle, after a double shipwreck, which threw\nthem upon the coast of Picardy; though it was deemed certain that the\nyoung girls were at Leipsic, and the Indian in Java. Precautions were\nso well taken, indeed,\" added the marquis in vexation, \"that one would\nthink an invisible power protects this family.\"\n\n\"Happily, Rodin is a man of resources and activity,\" resumed the\nprincess. \"He came here last night, and we had a long conversation.\"\n\n\"And the result of your consultation is excellent,\" added the marquis:\n\"the old soldier is to be kept out of the way for two days; and his\nwife's confessor has been posted; the rest will proceed of itself. To\nmorrow, the girls need no longer be feared; and the Indian remains at\nCardoville, wounded dangerously. We have plenty of time for action.\"\n\n\"But that is not all,\" continued the princess: \"there are still, without\nreckoning my niece, two persons, who, for our interests, ought not to be\nfound in Paris on the 13th of February.\"\n\n\"Yes, M. Hardy: but his most dear and intimate friend has betrayed him;\nfor, by means of that friend, we have drawn M. Hardy into the South,\nwhence it is impossible for him to return before a month. As for that\nmiserable vagabond workman, surnamed 'Sleepinbuff!'\"\n\n\"Fie!\" exclaimed the princess, with an expression of outraged modesty.\n\n\"That man,\" resumed the marquis, \"is no longer an object of inquietude.\nLastly, Gabriel, upon whom our vast and certain hope reposes, will not\nbe left by himself for a single minute until the great day. Everything\nseems, you see, to promise success; indeed, more so than ever; and it is\nnecessary to obtain this success at any price. It is for us a question\nof life or death; for, in returning, I stopped at Forli, and there\nsaw the Duke d'Orbano. His influence over the mind of the king is all\npowerful--indeed, absolute; and he has completely prepossessed the royal\nmind. It is with the duke alone, then, that it is possible to treat.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"D'Orbano has gained strength; and he can, I know it, assure to us a\nlegal existence, highly protected, in the dominions of his master, with\nfull charge of popular education. Thanks to such advantages, after two\nor three years in that country we shall become so deeply rooted, that\nthis very Duke d'Orbano, in his turn, will have to solicit support and\nprotection from us. But at present he has everything in his power; and\nhe puts an absolute condition upon his services.\"\n\n\"What is the condition?\"\n\n\"Five millions down; and an annual pension of a hundred thousand\nfrancs.\"\n\n\"It is very much.\"\n\n\"Nay, but little if it be considered that our foot once planted in that\ncountry, we shall promptly repossess ourselves of that sum, which, after\nall, is scarcely an eighth part of what the affair of the medals, if\nhappily brought to an issue, ought to assure to the Order.\"\n\n\"Yes, nearly forty millions,\" said the princess, thoughtfully.\n\n\"And again: these five millions that Orbano demands will be but an\nadvance. They will be returned to us in voluntary gifts, by reason even\nof the increase of influence that we shall acquire from the education\nof children; through whom we have their families. And yet, the fools\nhesitate! those who govern see not, that in doing our own business, we\ndo theirs also;--that in abandoning education to us (which is what we\nwish for above all things) we mold the people into that mute and quiet\nobedience, that servile and brutal submission, which assures the repose\nof states by the immobility of the mind. They don't reflect that most\nof the upper and middle classes fear and hate us; don't understand that\n(when we have persuaded the mass that their wretchedness is an eternal\nlaw, that sufferers must give up hope of relief, that it is a crime to\nsigh for welfare in this world, since the crown of glory on high is the\nonly reward for misery here), then the stupefied people will resignedly\nwallow in the mire, all their impatient aspirations for better days\nsmothered, and the volcano-blasts blown aside, which made the future of\nrulers so horrid and so dark? They see not, in truth, that this blind\nand passive faith which we demand from the mass, furnishes their rulers\nwith a bridle with which both to conduct and curb them; whilst we ask\nfrom the happy of the world only some appearances which ought, if they\nhad only the knowledge of their own corruption, to give an increased\nstimulant to their pleasures.\n\n\"It signifies not,\" resumed the princess; \"since, as you say, a great\nday is at hand, bringing nearly forty millions, of which the Order can\nbecome possessed by the happy success of the affair of the medals. We\ncertainly can attempt very great things. Like a lever in your hands,\nsuch a means of action would be of incalculable power, in times during\nwhich all men buy and sell one another.\"\n\n\"And then,\" resumed M. d'Aigrigny, with a thoughtful air, \"here the\nreaction continues: the example of France is everything. In Austria and\nHolland we can rarely maintain ourselves; while the resources of the\nOrder diminish from day to day. We have arrived at a crisis; but it can\nbe made to prolong itself. Thus, thanks to the immense resource of the\naffair of the medals, we can not only brave all eventualities, but we\ncan again powerfully establish ourselves, thanks to the offer of the\nDuke d'Orbano, which we accept; and then, from that inassailable centre,\nour radiations will be incalculable. Ah! the 13th of February!\" added M.\nd'Aigrigny, after a moment of silence, and shaking his head: \"the 13th\nof February, a date perhaps fortunate and famous for our power as that\nof the council which gave to us (so to say) a new life!\"\n\n\"And nothing must be spared.\" resumed the princess, \"in order to succeed\nat any price. Of the six persons whom we have to fear, five are or will\nbe out of any condition to hurt us. There remains then only my niece;\nand you know that I have waited but for your arrival in order to take\nmy last resolution. All my preparations are completed; and this very\nmorning we will begin to act.\"\n\n\"Have your suspicions increased since your last letter?\"\n\n\"Yes, I am certain that she is more instructed than she wishes to\nappear; and if so, we shall not have a more dangerous enemy.\"\n\n\"Such has always been my opinion. Thus it is six month: since I advised\nyou to take in all cases the measures which you have adopted, in order\nto provoke, on her part, that demand of emancipation, the consequences\nof which now render quite easy that which would have been impossible\nwithout it.\"\n\n\"At last,\" said the princess, with an expression of joy, hateful and\nbitter, \"this indomitable spirit will be broken. I am at length about to\nbe avenged of the many insolent sarcasms which I have been compelled to\nswallow, lest I should awaken her suspicions. I! I to have borne so much\ntill now! for this Adrienne has made it her business (imprudent as she\nis!) to irritate me against herself!\"\n\n\"Whosoever offends you, offends me; you know it,\" said D'Aigrigny, \"my\nhatreds are yours.\"\n\n\"And you yourself!\" said the princess, \"how many times have you been the\nbutt of her poignant irony!\"\n\n\"My instincts seldom deceive me. I am certain that this young girl\nmay become a dangerous enemy for us,\" said the marquis, with a voice\npainfully broken into short monosyllables.\n\n\"And, therefore, it is necessary that she may be rendered incapable\nof exciting further fear,\" responded Madame de Saint-Dizier, fixedly\nregarding the marquis.\n\n\"Have you seen Dr. Baleinier, and the sub-guardian, M. Tripeaud?\" asked\nhe.\n\n\"They will be here this morning. I have informed them of everything.\"\n\n\"Did you find them well disposed to act against her?\"\n\n\"Perfectly so--and the best is, Adrienne does not at all suspect the\ndoctor, who has known how, up to a certain point, to preserve her\nconfidence. Moreover, a circumstance which appears to me inexplicable\nhas come to our aid.\"\n\n\"What do you allude to?\"\n\n\"This morning, Mrs. Grivois went, according to my orders, to remind\nAdrienne that I expected her at noon, upon important business. As she\napproached the pavilion, Mrs. Grivois saw, or thought she saw, Adrienne\ncome in by the little garden-gate.\"\n\n\"What do you tell me? Is it possible? Is there any positive proof of\nit?\" cried the marquis.\n\n\"Till now, there is no other proof than the spontaneous declaration of\nMrs. Grivois: but whilst I think of it,\" said the Princess, taking up a\npaper that lay before her, \"here is the report, which, every day, one of\nAdrienne's women makes to me.\"\n\n\"The one that Rodin succeeded in introducing into your niece's service?\"\n\n\"The same; as this creature is entirely in Rodin's hands, she has\nhitherto answered our purpose very well. In this report, we shall\nperhaps find the confirmation of what Mrs. Grivois affirms she saw.\"\n\nHardly had the Princess glanced at the note, than she exclaimed almost\nin terror: \"What do I see? Why, Adrienne is a very demon!\"\n\n\"What now?\"\n\n\"The bailiff at Cardoville, having written to my niece to ask her\nrecommendation, informed her at the same time of the stay of the Indian\nprince at the castle. She knows that he is her relation, and has just\nwritten to her old drawing-master, Norval, to set out post with Eastern\ndresses, and bring Prince Djalma hither--the man that must be kept away\nfrom Paris at any cost.\"\n\nThe marquis grew pale, and said to Mme. de Saint-Dizier: \"If this be not\nmerely one of her whims, the eagerness she displays in sending for this\nrelation hither, proves that she knows more than you even suspected. She\nis 'posted' on the affair of the medals. Have a care--she may ruin all.\"\n\n\"In that case,\" said the princess, resolutely, \"there is no room to\nhesitate. We must carry things further than we thought, and make an end\nthis very morning.\"\n\n\"Yes, though it is almost impossible.\"\n\n\"Nay, all is possible. The doctor and M. Tripeaud are ours,\" said the\nprincess, hastily.\n\n\"Though I am as sure as you are of the doctor, or of M. Tripeaud,\nunder present circumstances, we must not touch on the question of\nacting--which will be sure to frighten them at first--until after\nour interview with your niece. It will be easy, notwithstanding her\ncleverness, to find out her armor's defect. If our suspicions should be\nrealized--if she is really informed of what it would be so dangerous for\nher to know--then we must have no scruples, and above all no delay. This\nvery day must see all set at rest. The time for wavering is past.\"\n\n\"Have you been able to send for the person agreed on?\" asked the\nprincess, after a moment's silence.\n\n\"He was to be here at noon. He cannot be long.\"\n\n\"I thought this room would do very well for our purpose. It is separated\nfrom the smaller parlor by a curtain only behind which your man may be\nstationed.\"\n\n\"Capital!\"\n\n\"Is he a man to be depended on?\"\n\n\"Quite so--we have often employed him in similar matters. He is as\nskillful as discreet.\"\n\nAt this moment a low knock was heard at the door.\n\n\"Come in,\" said the princess.\n\n\"Dr. Baleinier wishes to know if her Highness the Princess can receive\nhim,\" asked the valet-de-chambre.\n\n\"Certainly. Beg him to walk in.\"\n\n\"There is also a gentleman that M. l'Abbe appointed to be here at noon,\nby whose orders I have left him waiting in the oratory.\"\n\n\"'Tis the person in question,\" said the marquis to the princess. \"We\nmust have him in first. 'Twould be useless for Dr. Baleinier to see him\nat present.\"\n\n\"Show this person in first,\" said the princess; \"next when I ring\nthe bell, you will beg Dr. Baleinier to walk this way: and, if Baron\nTripeaud should call, you will bring him here also. After that, I am at\nhome to no one, except Mdlle. Adrienne.\" The servant went out.\n\n(9) With regard to this text, a commentary upon it will be found in the\nConstitutions of the Jesuits, as follows: \"In order that the habit of\nlanguage may come to the help of the sentiments, it is wise not to say,\n'I have parents, or I have brothers;' but to say, 'I had parents; I had\nbrothers.'\"--General Examination, p. 29; Constitutions.--Paulin; 1843.\nParis.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVIII. ADRIENNE'S ENEMIES.\n\nThe Princess de Saint-Dizier's valet soon returned, showing in a little,\npale man, dressed in black, and wearing spectacles. He carried under his\nleft arm a long black morocco writing-case.\n\nThe princess said to this man: \"M. l'Abbe, I suppose, has already\ninformed you of what is to be done?\"\n\n\"Yes, your highness,\" said the man in a faint, shrill, piping voice,\nmaking at the same time a low bow.\n\n\"Shall you be conveniently placed in this room?\" asked the princess,\nconducting him to the adjoining apartment, which was only separated from\nthe other by a curtain hung before a doorway.\n\n\"I shall do nicely here, your highness,\" answered the man in spectacles,\nwith a second and still lower bow.\n\n\"In that case, sir, please to step in here; I will let you know when it\nis time.\"\n\n\"I shall wait your highness's order.\"\n\n\"And pray remember my instructions,\" added the marquis, as he unfastened\nthe loops of the curtain.\n\n\"You may be perfectly tranquil, M. l'Abbe.\" The heavy drapery, as it\nfell, completely concealed the man in spectacles.\n\nThe princess touched the bell; some moments after, the door opened, and\nthe servant announced a very important personage in this work.\n\nDr. Baleinier was about fifty years of age, middling size, rather plump,\nwith a full shining, ruddy countenance. His gray hair, very smooth and\nrather long, parted by a straight line in the middle, fell flat over\nhis temples. He had retained the fashion of wearing short, black silk\nbreeches, perhaps because he had a well-formed leg; his garters were\nfastened with small, golden buckles, as were his shoes of polished\nmorocco leather; his coat, waistcoat, and cravat were black, which gave\nhim rather a clerical appearance; his sleek, white hand was half hidden\nbeneath a cambric ruffle, very closely plaited; on the whole, the\ngravity of his costume did not seem to exclude a shade of foppery.\n\nHis face was acute and smiling; his small gray eye announced rare\npenetration and sagacity. A man of the world and a man of pleasure,\na delicate epicure, witty in conversation, polite to obsequiousness,\nsupple, adroit, insinuating, Baleinier was one of the oldest favorites\nof the congregational set of the Princess de Saint-Dizier. Thanks to\nthis powerful support, its cause unknown, the doctor, who had been\nlong neglected, in spite of real skill and incontestable merit, found\nhimself, under the Restoration, suddenly provided with two medical\nsinecures most valuable, and soon after with numerous patients. We must\nadd, that, once under the patronage of the princess, the doctor began\nscrupulously to observe his religious duties; he communicated once a\nweek, with great publicity, at the high mass in Saint Thomas Aquinas\nChurch.\n\nAt the year's end, a certain class of patients, led by the example and\nenthusiasm of Madame de Saint-Dizier's followers, would have no other\nphysician than Doctor Baleinier, and his practice was now increased to\nan extraordinary degree. It may be conceived how important it was for\nthe order, to have amongst its \"plain clothes members\" one of the most\npopular practitioners of Paris.\n\nA doctor has in some sort a priesthood of his own. Admitted at all hours\nto the most secret intimacy of families, he knows, guesses, and is able\nto effect much. Like the priest, in short, he has the ear of the sick\nand the dying. Now, when he who cares for the health of the body, and he\nwho takes charge of the health of the soul, understands each other, and\nrender mutual aid for the advancement of a common interest, there is\nnothing (with certain exceptions), which they may not extract from the\nweakness and fears of a sick man at the last gasp--not for themselves\n(the laws forbid it)--but for third parties belonging more or less\nto the very convenient class of men of straw. Doctor Baleinier was\ntherefore one of the most active and valuable assistant members of the\nParis Jesuits.\n\nWhen he entered the room, he hastened to kiss the princess's hand with\nthe most finished gallantry.\n\n\"Always punctual, my dear M. Baleinier.\"\n\n\"Always eager and happy to attend to your highness's orders.\" Then\nturning towards the marquis, whose hand he pressed cordially, he added:\n\"Here we have you then at last. Do you know, that three months' absence\nappears very long to your friends?\"\n\n\"The time is as long to the absent as to those who remain, my dear\ndoctor. Well! here is the great day, Mdlle. de Cardoville is coming.\"\n\n\"I am not quite easy,\" said the princess; \"suppose she had any\nsuspicion?\"\n\n\"That's impossible,\" said M. Baleinier; \"we are the best friends in the\nworld. You know, that Mdlle. Adrienne has always had great confidence in\nme. The day before yesterday, we laughed a good deal, and as I made some\nobservations to her, as usual, on her eccentric mode of life, and on the\nsingular state of excitement in which I sometimes found her--\"\n\n\"M. Baleinier never fails to insist on these circumstances, in\nappearance so insignificant,\" said Madame de Saint-Dizier to the marquis\nwith a meaning look.\n\n\"They are indeed very essential,\" replied the other.\n\n\"Mdlle. Adrienne answered my observations,\" resumed the doctor, \"by\nlaughing at me in the gayest and most witty manner; for I must confess,\nthat this young lady has one of the aptest and most accomplished minds I\nknow.\"\n\n\"Doctor, doctor!\" said Madame de Saint-Dizier, \"no weakness!\"\n\nInstead of answering immediately, M. Baleinier drew his gold snuff-box\nfrom his waistcoat pocket, opened it, and took slowly a pinch of snuff,\nlooking all the time at the princess with so significant an air, that\nshe appeared quite reassured. \"Weakness, madame?\" observed he at last,\nbrushing some grains of snuff from his shirt-front with his plump white\nhand; \"did I not have the honor of volunteering to extricate you from\nthis embarrassment?\"\n\n\"And you are the only person in the world that could render us this\nimportant service,\" said D'Aigrigny.\n\n\"Your highness sees, therefore,\" resumed the doctor, \"that I am not\nlikely to show any weakness. I perfectly understand the responsibility\nof what I undertake; but such immense interests, you told me, were at\nstake--\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said D'Aigrigny, \"interests of the first consequence.\"\n\n\"Therefore I did not hesitate,\" proceeded M. Baleinier; \"and you need\nnot be at all uneasy. As a man of taste, accustomed to good society,\nallow me to render homage to the charming qualities of Mdlle. Adrienne;\nwhen the time for action comes, you will find me quite as willing to do\nmy work.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, that moment may be nearer than we thought,\" said Madame de\nSaint-Dizier, exchanging a glance with D'Aigrigny.\n\n\"I am, and will be, always ready,\" said the doctor. \"I answer for\neverything that concerns myself. I wish I could be as tranquil on every\nother point.\"\n\n\"Is not your asylum still as fashionable--as an asylum can well be?\"\nasked Madame de Saint-Dizier, with a half smile.\n\n\"On the contrary. I might almost complain of having too many boarders.\nIt is not that. But, whilst we are waiting for Mdlle. Adrienne, I will\nmention another subject, which only relates to her indirectly, for\nit concerns the person who, bought Cardoville Manor, one Madame de la\nSainte-Colombe, who has taken me for a doctor, thanks to Rodin's able\nmanagement.\"\n\n\"True,\" said D'Aigrigny; \"Rodin wrote to me on the subject--but without\nentering into details.\"\n\n\"These are the facts,\" resumed the doctor. \"This Madame de la Sainte\nColombe, who was at first considered easy enough to lead, has shown\nherself very refractory on the head of her conversion. Two spiritual\ndirectors have already renounced the task of saving her soul. In\ndespair, Rodin unslipped little Philippon on her. He is adroit,\ntenacious, and above all patient in the extreme--the very man that was\nwanted. When I got Madame de la Sainte-Colombe for a patient, Philippon\nasked my aid, which he was naturally entitled to. We agreed upon our\nplan. I was not to appear to know him the least in the world; and he\nwas to keep me informed of the variations in the moral state of his\npenitent, so that I might be able, by the use of very inoffensive\nmedicines--for there was nothing dangerous in the illness--to keep my\npatient in alternate states of improvement or the reverse, according as\nher director had reason to be satisfied or displeased--so that he might\nsay to her: 'You see, madame, you are in the good way! Spiritual grace\nacts upon your bodily health, and you are already better. If, on the\ncontrary, you fall back into evil courses, you feel immediately some\nphysical ail, which is a certain proof of the powerful influence of\nfaith, not only on the soul, but on the body also?'\"\n\n\"It is doubtless painful,\" said D'Aigrigny, with perfect coolness, \"to\nbe obliged to have recourse to such means, to rescue perverse souls\nfrom perdition--but we must needs proportion our modes of action to the\nintelligence and the character of the individual.\"\n\n\"By-the-bye, the princess knows,\" resumed the doctor, \"that I have often\npursued this plan at St. Mary's Convent, to the great advantage of\nthe soul's peace and health of some of our patients, being extremely\ninnocent. These alternations never exceed the difference between 'pretty\nwell,' and 'not quite so well.' Yet small as are the variations, they\nact most efficaciously on certain minds. It was thus with Madame de la\nSainte-Colombe. She was in such a fair way of recovery, both moral\nand physical, that Rodin thought he might get Philippon to advise\nthe country for his penitent, fearing that Paris air might occasion a\nrelapse. This advice, added to the desire the woman had to play 'lady of\nthe parish,' induced her to buy Cardoville Manor, a good investment in\nany respect. But yesterday, unfortunate Philippon came to tell me, that\nMadame de la Sainte-Colombe was about to have an awful relapse--moral,\nof course--for her physical health is now desperately good. The said\nrelapse appears to have been occasioned by an interview she has had with\none Jacques Dumoulin, whom they tell me you know, my dear abbe; he has\nintroduced himself to her, nobody can guess how.\"\n\n\"This Jacques Dumoulin,\" said the marquis, with disgust, \"is one of\nthose men, that we employ while we despise. He is a writer full of gall,\nenvy, and hate, qualities that give him a certain unmercifully cutting\neloquence. We pay him largely to attack our enemies, though it is often\npainful to see principles we respect defended by such a pen. For this\nwretch lives like a vagabond--is constantly in taverns--almost always\nintoxicated--but, I must own, his power of abuse is inexhaustible, and\nhe is well versed in the most abstruse theological controversies, so\nthat he is sometimes very useful to us.\"\n\n\"Well! though Madame de la Sainte-Colombe is hard upon sixty, it appears\nthat Dumoulin has matrimonial views on her large fortune. You will do\nwell to inform Rodin, so that he may be on his guard against the dark\ndesigns of this rascal. I really beg a thousand pardons for having so\nlong occupied you with such a paltry affair--but, talking of St. Mary's\nConvent,\" added the doctor, addressing the princess, \"may I take the\nliberty of asking if your highness has been there lately?\"\n\nThe princess exchanged a rapid glance with D'Aigrigny, and answered:\n\"Oh, let me see! Yes, I was there about a week ago.\"\n\n\"You will find great changes then. The wall that was next to my asylum\nhas been taken down, for they are going to build anew wing and a chapel,\nthe old one being too small. I must say in praise of Mdlle. Adrienne\"\ncontinued the doctor with a singular smile aside, \"that she promised me\na copy of one of Raphael's Madonnas for this chapel.\"\n\n\"Really? very appropriate!\" said the princess. \"But here it is almost\nnoon, and M. Tripeaud has not come.\"\n\n\"He is the deputy-guardian of Mdlle. de Cardoville, whose property he\nhas managed, as former agent of the count-duke,\" said the marquis, with\nevident anxiety, \"and his presence here is absolutely indispensable. It\nis greatly to be desired that his coming should precede that of Mdlle.\nde Cardoville, who may be here at any moment.\"\n\n\"It is unlucky that his portrait will not do as well,\" said the doctor,\nsmiling maliciously, and drawing a small pamphlet from his pocket.\n\n\"What is that, doctor?\" asked the princess.\n\n\"One of those anonymous sheets, which are published from time to time.\nIt is called the 'Scourge,' and Baron Tripeaud's portrait is drawn with\nsuch faithfulness, that it ceases to be satire. It is really quite life\nlike; you have only to listen. The sketch is entitled: 'TYPE OF THE LYNX\nSPECIES.'\n\n\"'The Baron Tripeaud.--This man, who is as basely humble towards his\nsocial superiors, as he is insolent and coarse to those who depend upon\nhim--is the living, frightful incarnation of the worst pardon of\nthe moneyed and commercial aristocracy--one of the rich and cynical\nspeculators, without heart, faith or conscience, who would speculate for\na rise or fall on the death of his mother, if the death of his mother\ncould influence the price of stocks.\n\n\"'Such persons have all the odious vices of men suddenly elevated, not\nlike those whom honest and patient labor has nobly enriched, but like\nthose who owe their wealth to some blind caprice of fortune, or some\nlucky cast of the net in the miry waters of stock-jobbing.\n\n\"'Once up in the world, they hate the people--because the people remind\nthem of a mushroom origin of which they are ashamed. Without pity for\nthe dreadful misery of the masses, they ascribe it wholly to idleness\nor debauchery because this calumny forms an excuse for their barbarous\nselfishness.\n\n\"'And this is not all. On the strength of his well-filled safe, mounted\non his right of the candidate, Baron Tripeaud insults the poverty and\npolitical disfranchisement--of the officer, who, after forty years of\nwars and hard service, is just able to live on a scanty pension--Of the\nmagistrate, who has consumed his strength in the discharge of stern and\nsad duties, and who is not better remunerated in his litter days--Of the\nlearned man who has made his country illustrious by useful labors;\nor the professor who has initiated entire generations in the various\nbranches of human knowledge--Of the modest and virtuous country curate,\nthe pure representative of the gospel, in its charitable, fraternal, and\ndemocratic tendencies, etc.\n\n\"'In such a state of things, how should our shoddy baron of in-dust-ry\nnot feel the most sovereign contempt for all that stupid mob of honest\nfolk, who, having given to their country their youth, their mature age,\ntheir blood, their intelligence, their learning, see themselves deprived\nof the rights which he enjoys, because he has gained a million by unfair\nand illegal transactions?\n\n\"'It is true, that your optimists say to these pariahs of civilization,\nwhose proud and noble poverty cannot be too much revered and honored:\n\"Buy an estate and you too may be electors and candidates!\"'\n\n\"'But to come to the biography of our worthy baron--Andrew Tripeaud, the\nson of an ostler, at a roadside inn.'\"\n\nAt this instant the folding-doors were thrown open, and the valet\nannounced: \"The Baron Tripeaud!\"\n\nDr. Baleinier put his pamphlet into his pocket, made the most cordial\nbow to the financier, and even rose to give him his hand. The baron\nentered the room, overwhelming every one with salutations. \"I have the\nhonor to attend the orders of your highness the princess. She knows that\nshe may always count upon me.\"\n\n\"I do indeed rely upon you, M. Tripeaud, and particularly under present\ncircumstances.\"\n\n\"If the intentions of your highness the princess are still the same with\nregard to Mdlle. de Cardoville--\"\n\n\"They are still the same, M. Tripeaud, and we meet to-day on that\nsubject.\"\n\n\"Your highness may be assured of my concurrence, as, indeed, I have\nalready promised. I think that the greatest severity must at length be\nemployed, and that even if it were necessary.\"\n\n\"That is also our opinion,\" said the marquis, hastily making a sign to\nthe princess, and glancing at the place where the man in spectacles was\nhidden; \"we are all perfectly in harmony. Still, we must not leave any\npoint doubtful, for the sake of the young lady herself, whose interests\nalone guides us in this affair. We must draw out her sincerity by every\npossible means.\"\n\n\"Mademoiselle has just arrived from the summer-house and wishes to see\nyour highness,\" said the valet, again entering, after having knocked at\nthe door.\n\n\"Say that I wait for her,\" answered the princess; \"and now I am at home\nto no one--without exception. You understand me; absolutely to no one.\"\n\nThereupon, approaching the curtain behind which the man was concealed,\nMme. de Saint-Dizier gave him the cue--after which she returned to her\nseat.\n\nIt is singular, but during the short space which preceded Adrienne's\narrival, the different actors in this scene appeared uneasy and\nembarrassed, as if they had a vague fear of her coming. In about a\nminute, Mdlle. de Cardoville entered the presence of her aunt.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIX. THE SKIRMISH.\n\nOn entering, Mdlle. de Cardoville threw down upon a chair the gray\nbeaver hat she had worn to cross the garden, and displayed her fine\ngolden hair, falling on either side of her face in long, light ringlets,\nand twisted in a broad knot behind her head. She presented herself\nwithout boldness, but with perfect ease: her countenance was gay and\nsmiling; her large black eyes appeared even more brilliant than usual.\nWhen she perceived Abbe d'Aigrigny, she started in surprise, and her\nrosy lips were just touched with a mocking smile.\n\nAfter nodding graciously to the doctor, she passed Baron Tripeaud by\nwithout looking at him, and saluted the princess with stately obeisance,\nin the most fashionable style.\n\nThough the walk and bearing of Mdlle. de Cardoville were extremely\nelegant, and full of propriety and truly feminine grace, there was about\nher an air of resolution and independence by no means common in women,\nand particularly in girls of her age. Her movements, without being\nabrupt, bore no traces of restraint, stiffness, or formality. They were\nfrank and free as her character, full of life, youth, and freshness; and\none could easily divine that so buoyant, straightforward, and decided a\nnature had never been able to conform itself to the rules of an affected\nrigor.\n\nStrangely enough, though he was a man of the world, a man of great\ntalent, a churchman distinguished for his eloquence, and, above all,\na person of influence and authority. Marquis d'Aigrigny experienced\nan involuntary, incredible, almost painful uneasiness, in presence of\nAdrienne de Cardoville. He--generally so much the master of himself, so\naccustomed to exercise great power--who (in the name of his Order)\nhad often treated with crowned heads on the footing of an equal, felt\nhimself abashed and lowered in the presence of this girl, as remarkable\nfor her frankness as for her biting irony. Now, as men who are\naccustomed to impose their will upon others generally hate those who,\nfar from submitting to their influence, hamper it and make sport of\nthem, it was no great degree of affection that the marquis bore towards\nthe Princess de Saint-Dizier's niece.\n\nFor a long time past, contrary to his usual habit, he had ceased to try\nupon Adrienne that fascinating address to which he had often owed an\nirresistible charm; towards her he had become dry, curt, serious, taking\nrefuge in that icy sphere of haughty dignity and rigid austerity which\ncompletely hid all those amiable qualities with which he was endowed\nand of which, in general, he made such efficient use. Adrienne was much\namused at all this, and thereby showed her imprudence--for the most\nvulgar motives often engender the most implacable hatreds.\n\nFrom these preliminary observations, the reader will understand the\ndivers sentiments and interests which animated the different actors in\nthe following scene.\n\nMadame de Saint-Dizier was seated in a large arm-chair by one side\nof the hearth. Marquis d'Aigrigny was standing before the fire. Dr.\nBaleinier seated near a bureau, was again turning over the leaves\nof Baron Tripeaud's biography, whilst the baron appeared to be very\nattentively examining one of the pictures of sacred subjects suspended\nfrom the wall.\n\n\"You sent for me, aunt, to talk upon matters of importance?\" said\nAdrienne, breaking the silence which had reigned in the reception-room\nsince her entrance.\n\n\"Yes, madame,\" answered the princess, with a cold and severe mien; \"upon\nmatters of the gravest importance.\"\n\n\"I am at your service, aunt. Perhaps we had better walk into your\nlibrary?\"\n\n\"It is not necessary. We can talk here.\" Then, addressing the marquis,\nthe doctor, and the baron, she said to them, \"Pray, be seated,\ngentlemen,\" and they all took their places round the table.\n\n\"How can the subject of our interview interest these gentlemen, aunt?\"\nasked Mdlle. de Cardoville, with surprise.\n\n\"These gentlemen are old family friends; all that concerns you must\ninterest them, and their advice ought to be heard and accepted by you\nwith respect.\"\n\n\"I have no doubt, aunt, of the bosom friendship of M. d'Aigrigny for our\nfamily: I have still less of the profound and disinterested devotion\nof M. Tripeaud; M. Baleinier is one of my old friends; still, before\naccepting these gentlemen as spectators, or, if you will, as confidants\nof our interview, I wish to know what we are going to talk of before\nthem.\"\n\n\"I thought that, among your many singular pretensions, you had at least\nthose of frankness and courage.\"\n\n\"Really, aunt,\" said Adrienne, smiling with mock humility, \"I have no\nmore pretensions to frankness and courage than you have to sincerity and\ngoodness. Let us admit, once for all, that we are what we are--without\npretension.\"\n\n\"Be it so,\" said Madame de Saint-Dizier, in a dry tone; \"I have long\nbeen accustomed to the freaks of your independent spirit. I suppose,\nthen, that, courageous and frank as you say you are, you will not be\nafraid to speak before such grave and respectable persons as these\ngentlemen what you would speak to me alone?\"\n\n\"Is it a formal examination that I am to submit to? if so, upon what\nsubject?\"\n\n\"It is not an examination: but, as I have a right to watch over you, and\nas you take advantage of my weak compliance with your caprices, I mean\nto put an end to what has lasted too long, and tell you my irrevocable\nresolutions for the future, in presence of friends of the family. And,\nfirst, you have hitherto had a very false and imperfect notion of my\npower over you.\"\n\n\"I assure you, aunt, that I have never had any notion, true or false, on\nthe subject--for I have never even dreamt about it.\"\n\n\"That is my own fault; for, instead of yielding to your fancies, I\nshould have made you sooner feel my authority; but the moment has come\nto submit yourself; the severe censures of my friends have enlightened\nme in time. Your character is self-willed, independent, stubborn; it\nmust change--either by fair means or by force, understand me, it shall\nchange.\"\n\nAt these words, pronounced harshly before strangers, with a severity\nwhich did not seem at all justified by circumstances, Adrienne tossed\nher head proudly; but, restraining herself, she answered with a smile:\n\"You say, aunt, that I shall change. I should not be astonished at it.\nWe hear of such odd conversions.\"\n\nThe princess bit her lips.\n\n\"A sincere conversion can never be called odd, as you term it, madame,\"\nsaid Abbe d'Aigrigny, coldly. \"It is, on the contrary, meritorious, and\nforms an excellent example.\"\n\n\"Excellent?\" answered Adrienne: \"that depends! For instance, what if one\nconverts defects into vices?\"\n\n\"What do you mean, madame?\" cried the princess.\n\n\"I am speaking of myself, aunt; you reproach me of being independent and\nresolute--suppose I were to become hypocritical and wicked? In truth,\nI prefer keeping my dear little faults, which I love like spoiled\nchildren. I know what I am; I do not know what I might be.\"\n\n\"But you must acknowledge, Mdlle. Adrienne,\" said Baron Tripeaud, with a\nself-conceited and sententious air, \"that a conversion--\"\n\n\"I believe,\" said Adrienne, disdainfully, \"that M. Tripeaud is well\nversed in the conversion of all sorts of property into all sorts of\nprofit, by all sorts of means--but he knows nothing of this matter.\"\n\n\"But, madame,\" resumed the financier, gathering courage from a glance\nof the princess, \"you forget that I have the honor to be your deputy\nguardian, and that--\"\n\n\"It is true that M. Tripeaud has that honor,\" said Adrienne, with still\nmore haughtiness, and not even looking at the baron; \"I could never tell\nexactly why. But as it is not now the time to guess enigmas, I wish to\nknow, aunt, the object and the end of this meeting?\"\n\n\"You shall be satisfied, madame. I will explain myself in a very clear\nand precise manner. You shall know the plan of conduct that you will\nhave henceforth to pursue; and if you refuse to submit thereto, with the\nobedience and respect that is due to my orders, I shall at once see what\ncourse to take.\"\n\nIt is impossible to give an idea of the imperious tone and stern look\nof the princess, as she pronounced these words which were calculated to\nstartle a girl, until now accustomed to live in a great measure as she\npleased: yet, contrary perhaps to the expectation of Madame de Saint\nDizier, instead of answering impetuously, Adrienne looked her full in\nthe face, and said, laughing: \"This is a perfect declaration of war.\nIt's becoming very amusing.\"\n\n\"We are not talking of declarations of war,\" said the Abbe d'Aigrigny,\nharshly, as if offended by the expressions of Mdlle. de Cardoville.\n\n\"Now, M. l'Abbe!\" returned Adrienne, \"for an old colonel, you are really\ntoo severe upon a jest!--you are so much indebted to 'war,' which gave\nyou a French regiment after fighting so long against France--in order to\nlearn, of course, the strength and the weakness of her enemies.\"\n\nOn these words, which recalled painful remembrances, the marquis\ncolored; he was going to answer, but the princess exclaimed: \"Really,\nmadame, your behavior is quite intolerable!\"\n\n\"Well, aunt, I acknowledge I was wrong. I ought not to have said this\nis very amusing--for it is not so, at all; but it is at least very\ncurious--and perhaps,\" added the young girl, after a moment's silence,\n\"perhaps very audacious and audacity pleases me. As we are upon this\nsubject, and you talk of a plan of conduct to which I must conform\nmyself, under pain of (interrupting herself)--under pain of what, I\nshould like to know, aunt?\"\n\n\"You shall know. Proceed.\"\n\n\"I will, in the presence of these gentlemen, also declare, in a very\nplain and precise manner, the determination that I have come to. As it\nrequired some time to prepare for its execution, I have not spoken of it\nsooner, for you know I am not in the habit of saying, 'I will do so and\nso!' but I do it.\"\n\n\"Certainly; and it is just this habit of culpable independence of which\nyou must break yourself.\"\n\n\"Well, I had intended only to inform you of my determination at a later\nperiod; but I cannot resist the pleasure of doing so to-day, you seem so\nwell disposed to hear and receive it. Still, I would beg of you to speak\nfirst: it may just so happen, that our views are precisely the same.\"\n\n\"I like better to see you thus,\" said the princess. \"I acknowledge at\nleast the courage of your pride, and your defiance of all authority. You\nspeak of audacity--yours is indeed great.\"\n\n\"I am at least decided to do that which others in their weakness dare\nnot--but which I dare. This, I hope, is clear and precise.\"\n\n\"Very clear, very precise,\" said the princess, exchanging a glance of\nsatisfaction with the other actors in this scene. \"The positions being\nthus established, matters will be much simplified. I have only to\ngive you notice, in your own interest, that this is a very serious\naffair--much more so than you imagine--and that the only way to dispose\nme to indulgence, is to substitute, for the habitual arrogance and irony\nof your language, the modesty and respect becoming a young lady.\"\n\nAdrienne smiled, but made no reply. Some moments of silence, and some\nrapid glances exchanged between the princess and her three friends,\nshowed that these encounters, more or less brilliant in themselves, were\nto be followed by a serious combat.\n\nMdlle. de Cardoville had too much penetration and sagacity, not\nto remark, that the Princess de Saint-Dizier attached the greatest\nimportance to this decisive interview. But she could not understand how\nher aunt could hope to impose her absolute will upon her: the threat of\ncoercive measures appearing with reason a mere ridiculous menace. Yet,\nknowing the vindictive character of her aunt, the secret power at\nher disposal, and the terrible vengeance she had sometimes\nexacted--reflecting, moreover, that men in the position of the marquis\nand the doctor would not have come to attend this interview without some\nweighty motive--the young lady paused for a moment before she plunged\ninto the strife.\n\nBut soon, the very presentiment of some vague danger, far from weakening\nher, gave her new courage to brave the worst, to exaggerate, if that\nwere possible, the independence of her ideas, and uphold, come what\nmight, the determination that she was about to signify to the Princess\nde Saint Dizier.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XL. THE REVOLT\n\n\"Madame,\" said the princess to Adrienne de Cardoville, in a cold,\nsevere tone, \"I owe it to myself, as well as to these gentlemen, to\nrecapitulate, in a few words, the events that have taken place for some\ntime past. Six months ago, at the end of the mourning for your father,\nyou, being eighteen years old, asked for the management of your fortune,\nand for emancipation from control. Unfortunately, I had the weakness\nto consent. You quitted the house, and established yourself in\nthe extension, far from all superintendence. Then began a train of\nexpenditures, each one more extravagant than the last. Instead of being\nsatisfied with one or two waiting-women, taken from that class\nfrom which they are generally selected, you chose governesses for\nlady-companions, whom you dressed in the most ridiculous and costly\nfashion. It is true, that, in the solitude of your pavilion, you\nyourself chose to wear, one after another, costumes of different ages.\nYour foolish fancies and unreasonable whims have been without end and\nwithout limit: not only have you never fulfilled your religious duties,\nbut you have actually had the audacity to profane one of your rooms,\nby rearing in the centre of it a species of pagan altar, on which is a\ngroup in marble representing a youth and a girl\"--the princess uttered\nthese words as if they would burn her lips--\"a work of art, if you will,\nbut a work in the highest degree unsuitable to a person of your age. You\npass whole days entirely secluded in your pavilion, refusing to see any\none; and Dr. Baleinier, the only one of my friends in whom you seem to\nhave retained some confidence, having succeeded by much persuasion in\ngaining admittance, has frequently found you in so very excited a state,\nthat he has felt seriously uneasy with regard to your health. You have\nalways insisted on going out alone, without rendering any account of\nyour actions to any one. You have taken delight in opposing, in every\npossible way, your will to my authority. Is all this true?\"\n\n\"The picture of my past is not much flattered,\" said Adrienne; smiling,\n\"but it is not altogether unlike.\"\n\n\"So you admit, madame,\" said Abbe d'Aigrigny, laying stress on his\nwords, \"that all the facts stated by your aunt are scrupulously true?\"\n\nEvery eye was turned towards Adrienne, as if her answer would be of\nextreme importance.\n\n\"Yes, M. l'Abbe,\" said she; \"I live openly enough to render this\nquestion superfluous.\"\n\n\"These facts are therefore admitted,\" said Abbe d'Aigrigny, turning\ntowards the doctor and the baron.\n\n\"These facts are completely established,\" said M. Tripeaud, in a pompous\nvoice.\n\n\"Will you tell me, aunt,\" asked Adrienne, \"what is the good of this long\npreamble?\"\n\n\"This long preamble, madame,\" resumed the princess with dignity,\n\"exposes the past in order to justify the future.\"\n\n\"Really, aunt, such mysterious proceedings are a little in the style\nof the answers of the Cumaean Sybil. They must be intended to cover\nsomething formidable.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, mademoiselle--for to certain characters nothing is so\nformidable as duty and obedience. Your character is one of those\ninclined to revolt--\"\n\n\"I freely acknowledge it, aunt--and it will always be so, until duty and\nobedience come to me in a shape that I can respect and love.\"\n\n\"Whether you respect and love my orders or not, madame,\" said the\nprincess, in a curt, harsh voice, \"you will, from to-day, from this\nmoment, learn to submit blindly and absolutely to my will. In one word,\nyou will do nothing without my permission: it is necessary, I insist\nupon it, and so I am determined it shall be.\"\n\nAdrienne looked at her aunt for a second, and then burst into so free\nand sonorous a laugh, that it rang for quite a time through the vast\napartment. D'Aigrigny and Baron Tripeaud started in indignation. The\nprincess looked angrily at her niece. The doctor raised his eyes to\nheaven, and clasped his hands over his waistcoat with a sanctimonious\nsigh.\n\n\"Madame,\" said Abbe d'Aigrigny, \"such fits of laughter are highly\nunbecoming. Your aunt's words are serious, and deserve a different\nreception.\"\n\n\"Oh, sir!\" said Adrienne, recovering herself, \"it is not my fault if\nI laugh. How can I maintain my gravity, when I hear my aunt talking\nof blind submission to her orders? Is the swallow, accustomed to\nfly upwards and enjoy the sunshine, fledged to live with the mole in\ndarkness?\"\n\nAt this answer, D'Aigrigny affected to stare at the other members of\nthis kind of family council with blank astonishment.\n\n\"A swallow? what does she mean?\" asked the abbe of the baron making a\nsign, which the latter understood.\n\n\"I do not know,\" answered Tripeaud, staring in his turn at the doctor.\n\"She spoke too of a mole. It 'is quite unheard-of--incomprehensible.\"\n\n\"And so, madame,\" said the princess, appearing to share in the surprise\nof the others, \"this is the reply that you make to me?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" answered Adrienne, astonished herself that they should\npretend not to understand the simile of which she had made use,\naccustomed as she was to speak in figurative language.\n\n\"Come, come, madame,\" said Dr. Baleinier, smiling good-humoredly, \"we\nmust be indulgent. My dear Mdlle. Adrienne has naturally so uncommon and\nexcitable a nature! She is really the most charming mad woman I know; I\nhave told her so a hundred times, in my position of an old friend, which\nallows such freedom.\"\n\n\"I can conceive that your attachment makes you indulgent--but it is\nnot the less true, doctor,\" said D'Aigrigny, as if reproaching him for\ntaking the part of Mdlle. de Cardoville, \"that such answers to serious\nquestions are most extravagant.\"\n\n\"The evil is, that mademoiselle does not seem to comprehend the serious\nnature of this conference,\" said the princess, harshly. \"She will\nperhaps understand it better when I have given her my orders.\"\n\n\"Let us hear these orders, aunt,\" replied Adrienne as, seated on the\nother side of the table, opposite to the princess, she leaned her small,\ndimpled chin in the hollow of her pretty hand, with an air of graceful\nmockery, charming to behold.\n\n\"From to-morrow forward,\" resumed the princess, \"you will quit the\nsummer-house which you at present inhabit, you will discharge your\nwomen, and come and occupy two rooms in this house, to which there will\nbe no access except through my apartment. You will never go out alone.\nYou will accompany me to the services of the church. Your emancipation\nterminates, in consequence of your prodigality duly proven. I will take\ncharge of all your expenses, even to the ordering of your clothes,\nso that you may be properly and modestly dressed. Until your majority\n(which will be indefinitely postponed, by means of the intervention of a\nfamily-council), you will have no money at your own disposal. Such is my\nresolution.\"\n\n\"And certainly your resolution can only be applauded, madame,\" said\nBaron Tripeaud; \"we can but encourage you to show the greatest firmness,\nfor such disorders must have an end.\"\n\n\"It is more than time to put a stop to such scandal,\" added the abbe.\n\n\"Eccentricity and exaltation of temperament--may excuse many things,\"\nventured to observe the smooth-tongued doctor.\n\n\"No doubt,\" replied the princess dryly to Baleinier, who played his part\nto perfection; \"but then, doctor, the requisite measures must be taken\nwith such characters.\"\n\nMadame de Saint-Dizier had expressed herself in a firm and precise\nmanner; she appeared convinced of the possibility of putting her threats\ninto execution. M. Tripeaud and D'Aigrigny had just now given their full\nconsent to the words of the princess. Adrienne began to perceive that\nsomething very serious was in contemplation, and her gayety was at once\nreplaced by an air of bitter irony and offended independence.\n\nShe rose abruptly, and colored a little; her rosy nostrils dilated, her\neyes flashed fire, and, as she raised her head, she gently shook the\nfine, wavy golden hair, with a movement of pride that was natural to\nher. After a moment's silence, she said to her aunt in a cutting tone:\n\"You have spoken of the past, madame; I also will speak a few words\nconcerning it, since you force me to do so, though I may regret the\nnecessity. I quitted your dwelling, because it was impossible for me to\nlive longer in this atmosphere of dark hypocrisy and black treachery.\"\n\n\"Madame,\" said D'Aigrigny, \"such words are as violent as they are\nunreasonable.\"\n\n\"Since you interrupt me, sir,\" said Adrienne, hastily, as she fixed her\neyes on the abbe, \"tell me what examples did I meet with in my aunt's\nhouse?\"\n\n\"Excellent, examples, madame.\"\n\n\"Excellent, sir? Was it because I saw there, every day, her conversion\nkeep pace with your own?\"\n\n\"Madame, you forget yourself!\" cried the princess, becoming pale with\nrage.\n\n\"Madame, I do not forget--I remember, like other people; that is all. I\nhad no relation of whom I could ask an asylum. I wished to live alone.\nI wished to enjoy my revenues--because I chose rather to spend them\nmyself, than to see them wasted by M. Tripeaud.\"\n\n\"Madame,\" cried the baron, \"I cannot imagine how you can presume--\"\n\n\"Sir!\" said Adrienne, reducing him to silence by a gesture of\noverwhelming lordliness, \"I speak of you--not to you. I wished to spend\nmy income,\" she continued, \"according to my own tastes. I embellished\nthe retreat that I had chosen. Instead of ugly, ill-taught servants, I\nselected girls, pretty and well brought up, though poor. Their education\nforbade their being subjected to any humiliating servitude, though I\nhave endeavored to make their situation easy and agreeable. They do\nnot serve me, but render me service--I pay them, but I am obliged to\nthem--nice distinctions that your highness will not understand, I know.\nInstead of seeing them badly or ungracefully dressed, I have given them\nclothes that suit their charming faces well, because I like whatever is\nyoung and fair. Whether I dress myself one way or the other, concerns\nonly my looking-glass. I go out alone, because I like to follow my\nfancy. I do not go to mass--but, if I had still a mother, I would\nexplain to her my devotions, and she would kiss me none the less\ntenderly. It is true, that I have raised a pagan altar to youth and\nbeauty, because I adore God in all that He has made fair and good, noble\nand grand--because, morn and evening, my heart repeats the fervent and\nsincere prayer: 'Thanks, my Creator! thanks!'--Your highness says that\nM. Baleinier has often found me in my solitude, a prey to a strange\nexcitement: yes, it is true; for it is then that, escaping in thought\nfrom all that renders the present odious and painful to me, I find\nrefuge in the future--it is then that magical horizons spread far before\nme--it is then that such splendid visions appear to me, as make me\nfeel myself rapt in a sublime and heavenly ecstasy, as if I no longer\nappertained to earth!\"\n\nAs Adrienne pronounced these last words with enthusiasm, her countenance\nappeared transfigured, so resplendent did it become. In that moment, she\nhad lost sight of all that surrounded her.\n\n\"It is then,\" she resumed, with spirit soaring higher and higher, \"that\nI breathe a pure air, reviving and free--yes, free--above all, free--and\nso salubrious, so grateful to the soul!--Yes, instead of seeing my\nsisters painfully submit to a selfish, humiliating, brutal dominion,\nwhich entails upon them the seductive vices of slavery, the graceful\nfraud, the enchanting perfidy, the caressing falsehood, the contemptuous\nresignation, the hateful obedience--I behold them, my noble sisters!\nworthy and sincere because they are free, faithful and devoted because\nthey have liberty to choose--neither imperious not base, because they\nhave no master to govern or to flatter--cherished and respected, because\nthey can withdraw from a disloyal hand their hand, loyally bestowed.\nOh, my sisters! my sisters! I feel it. These are not merely consoling\nvisions--they are sacred hopes.\"\n\nCarried away, in spite of herself, by the excitement of her feelings,\nAdrienne paused for a moment, in order to return to earth; she did not\nperceive that the other actors in this scene were looking at each other\nwith an air of delight.\n\n\"What she says there is excellent,\" murmured the doctor in the\nprincess's ear, next to whom he was seated; \"were she in league with us,\nshe would not speak differently.\"\n\n\"It is only by excessive harshness,\" added D'Aigrigny, \"that we shall\nbring her to the desired point.\"\n\nBut it seemed as if the vexed emotion of Adrienne had been dissipated by\nthe contact of the generous sentiments she had just uttered. Addressing\nBaleinier with a smile, she said: \"I must own, doctor, that there\nis nothing more ridiculous, than to yield to the current of certain\nthoughts, in the presence of persons incapable of understanding them.\nThis would give you a fine opportunity to make game of that exaltation\nof mind for which you sometimes reproach me. To let myself be carried\naway by transports at so serious a moment!--for, verily, the matter in\nhand seems to be serious. But you see, good M. Baleinier, when an idea\ncomes into my head, I can no more help following it out, than I could\nrefrain from running after butterflies when I was a little girl.\"\n\n\"And heaven only knows whither these brilliant butterflies of all\ncolors,\" said M. Baleinier, smiling with an air of paternal indulgence,\n\"that are passing through your brain, are likely to lead you. Oh,\nmadcap, when will she be as reasonable as she is charming?\"\n\n\"This very instant, my good doctor,\" replied Adrienne. \"I am about\nto cast off my reveries for realities, and speak plain and positive\nlanguage, as you shall hear.\"\n\nUpon which, addressing her aunt, she continued: \"You have imparted to\nme your resolution, madame; I will now tell you mine. Within a week,\nI shall quit the pavilion that I inhabit, for a house which I have\narranged to my taste, where I shall live after my own fashion. I have\nneither father nor mother, and I owe no account of my actions to any but\nmyself.\"\n\n\"Upon my word, mademoiselle,\" said the princess, shrugging her\nshoulders, \"you talk nonsense. You forget that society has inalienable\nmoral rights, which we are bound to enforce. And we shall not neglect\nthem, depend upon it.\"\n\n\"So madame, it is you, and M. d'Aigrigny, and M. Tripeaud, that\nrepresent the morality of society! This appears to me very fine. Is it\nbecause M. Tripeaud has considered (I must acknowledge it) my fortune as\nhis own? Is it because--\"\n\n\"Now, really, madame,\" began Tripeaud.\n\n\"In good time, madame,\" said Adrienne to her aunt, without noticing the\nbaron, \"as the occasion offers, I shall have to ask you for explanations\nwith regard to certain interests, which have hitherto, I think, been\nconcealed from me.\"\n\nThese words of Adrienne made D'Aigrigny and the princess start, and then\nrapidly exchange a glance of uneasiness and anxiety. Adrienne did\nnot seem to perceive it, but thus continued: \"To have done with your\ndemands, madame, here is my final resolve. I shall live where and how I\nplease. I think that, if I were a man, no one would impose on me, at my\nage, the harsh and humiliating guardianship you have in view, for living\nas I have lived till now--honestly, freely, and generously, in the sight\nof all.\"\n\n\"This idea is absurd! is madness!\" cried the princess. \"To wish to\nlive thus alone, is to carry immorality and immodesty to their utmost\nlimits.\"\n\n\"If so, madame,\" said Adrienne, \"what opinion must you entertain of so\nmany poor girls, orphans like myself, who live alone and free, as I\nwish to live? They have not received, as I have, a refined education,\ncalculated to raise the soul, and purify the heart. They have not\nwealth, as I have, to protect them from the evil temptations of misery;\nand yet they live honestly and proudly in their distress.\"\n\n\"Vice and virtue do not exist for such tag-rag vermin!\" cried Baron\nTripeaud, with an expression of anger and hideous disdain.\n\n\"Madame, you would turn away a lackey, that would venture to speak thus\nbefore you,\" said Adrienne to her aunt, unable to conceal her disgust,\n\"and yet you oblige me to listen to such speeches!\"\n\nThe Marquis d'Aigrigny touched M. Tripeaud with his knee under the\ntable, to remind him that he must not express himself in the princess's\nparlors in the same manner as he would in the lobbies of the Exchange.\nTo repair the baron's coarseness, the abbe thus continued: \"There is no\ncomparison, mademoiselle, between people of the class you name, and a\nyoung lady of your rank.\"\n\n\"For a Catholic priest, M. l'Abbe, that distinction is not very\nChristian,\" replied Adrienne.\n\n\"I know the purport of my words, madame,\" answered the abbe, dryly;\n\"besides the independent life that you wish to lead, in opposition to\nall reason, may tend to very serious consequences for you. Your family\nmay one day wish to see you married--\"\n\n\"I will spare my family that trouble, sir, if I marry at all, I will\nchoose for myself, which also appears to me reasonable enough. But, in\ntruth, I am very little tempted by that heavy chain, which selfishness\nand brutality rivet for ever about our necks.\"\n\n\"It is indecent, madame,\" said the princess, \"to speak so lightly of\nsuch an institution.\"\n\n\"Before you, especially, madame, I beg pardon for having shocked your\nhighness! You fear that my independent planner of living will frighten\naway all wooers; but that is another reason for persisting in my\nindependence, for I detest wooers. I only hope that they may have the\nvery worst opinion of me, and there is no better means of effecting that\nobject, than to appear to live as they live themselves. I rely upon my\nwhims, my follies, my sweet faults, to preserve me from the annoyance of\nany matrimonial hunting.\"\n\n\"You will be quite satisfied on that head,\" resumed Madame de Saint\nDizier, \"if unfortunately the report should gain credit, that you have\ncarried the forgetfulness of all duty and decency, to such a height, as\nto return home at eight o'clock in the morning. So I am told is the case\nbut I cannot bring myself to believe such an enormity.\"\n\n\"You are wrong, madame, for it is quite true.\"\n\n\"So you confess it?\" cried the princess.\n\n\"I confess all that I do, madame. I came home this morning at eight\no'clock.\"\n\n\"You hear Gentlemen?\" ejaculated the princess.\n\n\"Oh!\" said M. d'Aigrigny, in a bass voice.\n\n\"Ah!\" said the baron, in a treble key.\n\n\"Oh!\" muttered the doctor, with a deep sigh.\n\nOn hearing these lamentable exclamations, Adrienne seemed about to\nspeak, perhaps to justify herself; but her lip speedily assumed a\ncurl of contempt, which showed that she disdained to stoop to any\nexplanation.\n\n\"So it is true,\" said the princess. \"Oh, wretched girl, you had\naccustomed me to be astonished at nothing; but, nevertheless, I doubted\nthe possibility of such conduct. It required your impudent and audacious\nreply to convince the of the fact.\"\n\n\"Madame, lying has always appeared to be more impudent than to speak the\ntruth.\"\n\n\"And where had you been, madame? and for what?\"\n\n\"Madame,\" said Adrienne, interrupting her aunt, \"I never speak\nfalse--but neither do I speak more than I choose; and then again, it\nwere cowardice to defend myself from a revolting accusation. Let us say\nno more about it: your importunities on this head will be altogether\nvain. To resume: you wish to impose upon me a harsh and humiliating\nrestraint; I wish to quit the house I inhabit, to go and live where I\nplease, at my own fancy. Which of us two will yield, remains to be seen.\nNow for another matter: this mansion belongs to me! As I am about to\nleave it, I am indifferent whether you continue to live here or not;\nbut the ground floor is uninhabited. It contains, besides the\nreception-rooms, two complete sets of apartments; I have let them for\nsome time.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" said the princess, looking at D'Aigrigny with intense\nsurprise. \"And to whom,\" she added ironically, \"have you disposed of\nthem?\"\n\n\"To three members of my family.\"\n\n\"What does all this mean?\" said Mme. de Saint-Dizier, more and more\nastonished.\n\n\"It means, madame, that I wish to offer a generous hospitality to a\nyoung Indian prince, my kinsman on my mother's side. He will arrive in\ntwo or three days, and I wish to have the rooms ready to receive him.\"\n\n\"You hear, gentlemen?\" said D'Aigrigny to the doctor and Tripeaud, with\nan affectation of profound stupor.\n\n\"It surpasses all one could imagine!\" exclaimed the baron.\n\n\"Alas!\" observed the doctor, benignantly, \"the impulse is generous in\nitself--but the mad little head crops out?\"\n\n\"Excellent!\" said the princes. \"I cannot prevent you madame, from\nannouncing the most extravagant designs but it is presumable that you\nwill not stop short in so fair a path. Is that all?\"\n\n\"Not quite, your highness. I learned this morning, that two of my female\nrelations, also on my mother's side--poor children of fifteen--orphan\ndaughters of Marshal Simon arrived yesterday from a long journey, and\nare now with the wife of the brave soldier who brought them to France\nfrom the depths of Siberia.\"\n\nAt these words from Adrienne, D'Aigrigny and the princess could not help\nstarting suddenly, and staring at each other with affright, so far were\nthey from expecting that Mdlle. de Cardoville was informed of the coming\nof Marshal Simon's daughters. This discovery was like a thunder-clap to\nthem.\n\n\"You are no doubt astonished at seeing me so well informed,\" said\nAdrienne; \"fortunately, before I have done, I hope to astonish you still\nmore. But to return to these daughters of Marshal Simon: your highness\nwill understand, that it is impossible for me to leave them in charge of\nthe good people who have afforded them a temporary asylum. Though this\nfamily is honest, and hard-working, it is not the place for them. I\nshall go and fetch them hither, and lodge them in apartments on the\nground-floor, along with the soldier's wife, who will do very well to\ntake care of them.\"\n\nUpon these words, D'Aigrigny and the baron looked at each other, and the\nbaron exclaimed: \"Decidedly, she's out of her head.\"\n\nWithout a word to Tripeaud, Adrienne continued: \"Marshal Simon cannot\nfail to arrive at Paris shortly. Your highness perceives how pleasant it\nwill he, to be able to present his daughters to him, and prove that they\nhave been treated as they deserve. To-morrow morning I shall send for\nmilliners and mantua makers, so that they may want for nothing. I desire\ntheir surprised father, on his return, to find them every way beautiful.\nThey are pretty, I am told, as angels--but I will endeavor to make\nlittle Cupids of them.\"\n\n\"At last, madame, you must have finished?\" said the princess, in a\nsardonic and deeply irritated tone, whilst D'Aigrigny, calm and cold in\nappearance, could hardly dissemble his mental anguish.\n\n\"Try again!\" continued the princess, addressing Adrienne. \"Are there no\nmore relations that you wish to add to this interesting family-group?\nReally a queen could not act with more magnificence.\"\n\n\"Right! I wish to give my family a royal reception--such as is due to\nthe son of a king, and the daughters of the Duke de Ligny. It is well to\nunite other luxuries of life with the luxury of the hospitable heart.\"\n\n\"The maxim is assuredly generous,\" said the princess, becoming more and\nmore agitated; \"it is only a pity that you do not possess the mines of\nEl Dorado to make it practicable.\"\n\n\"It was on the subject of a mine, said to be a rich one, that I also\nwished to speak to your highness. Could I find a better opportunity?\nThough my fortune is already considerable, it is nothing to what may\ncome to our family at any moment. You will perhaps excuse, therefore,\nwhat you are pleased to call my royal prodigalities.\"\n\nD'Aigrigny's dilemma became momentarily more and more thorny. The affair\nof the medals was so important, that he had concealed it even from\nDr. Baleinier, though he had called in his services to forward immense\ninterests. Neither had Tripeaud been informed of it, for the princess\nbelieved that she had destroyed every vestige of those papers of\nAdrienne's father, which might have put him on the scent of this\ndiscovery. The abbe, therefore was not only greatly alarmed that Mdlle.\nde Cardoville might be informed of this secret, but he trembled lest she\nshould divulge it.\n\nThe princess, sharing the alarms of D'Aigrigny, interrupted her niece by\nexclaiming: \"Madame, there are certain family affairs which ought to be\nkept secret, and, without exactly understanding to what you allude, I\nmust request you to change the subject.\"\n\n\"What, madame! are we not here a family party? Is that not sufficiently\nevident by the somewhat ungracious things that have been here said?\"\n\n\"No matter, madame! when affairs of interest are concerned, which\nare more or less disputable, it is perfectly useless to speak of them\nwithout the documents laid before every one.\"\n\n\"And of what have we been speaking this hour, madame, if not of\naffairs of interest? I really do not understand your surprise and\nembarrassment.\"\n\n\"I am neither surprised nor embarrassed, madame; but for the last two\nhours, you have obliged me to listen to so many new and extravagant\nthings, that a little amaze is very permissible.\"\n\n\"I beg your highness's pardon, but you are very much embarrassed,\" said\nAdrienne, looking fixedly at her aunt, \"and M. d'Aigrigny also--which\nconfirms certain suspicions that I have not had the time to clear up.\nHave I then guessed rightly?\" she added, after a pause. \"We will see--\"\n\n\"Madame, I command you to be silent,\" cried the princess, no longer\nmistress of herself.\n\n\"Oh, madame!\" said Adrienne, \"for a person who has in general so much\ncommand of her feelings, you compromise yourself strangely.\"\n\nProvidence (as some will have it) came to the aid of the princess and\nthe Abbe d'Aigrigny at this critical juncture. A valet entered the\nroom; his countenance bore such marks of fright and agitation, that the\nprincess exclaimed as soon as she saw him: \"Why, Dubois! what is the\nmatter?\"\n\n\"I have to beg pardon, your highness, for interrupting you against\nyour express orders, but a police inspector demands to speak with you\ninstantly. He is below stairs, and the yard is full of policemen and\nsoldiers.\"\n\nNotwithstanding the profound surprise which this new incident occasioned\nher, the princess, determining to profit by the opportunity thus\nafforded, to concert prompt measures with D'Aigrigny on the subject of\nAdrienne's threatened revelations, rose, and said to the abbe: \"Will you\nbe so obliging as to accompany me, M. d'Aigrigny, for I do not know what\nthe presence of this commissary of police may signify.\"\n\nD'Aigrigny followed the speaker into the next room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLI. TREACHERY.\n\nThe Princess de Saint-Dizier, accompanied by D'Aigrigny, and followed\nby the servants, stopped short in the next room to that in which had\nremained Adrienne, Tripeaud and the doctor.\n\n\"Where is the commissary?\" asked the princess of the servant, who had\njust before announced to her the arrival of that magistrate.\n\n\"In the blue saloon, madame.\"\n\n\"My compliments, and beg him to wait for me a few moments.\"\n\nThe man bowed and withdrew. As soon as he was gone Madame de Saint\nDizier approached hastily M. d'Aigrigny, whose countenance, usually firm\nand haughty, was now pale and agitated.\n\n\"You see,\" cried the princess in a hurried voice, \"Adrienne knows all.\nWhat shall we do?--what?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell,\" said the abbe, with a fixed and absent look. \"This\ndisclosure is a terrible blow to us.\"\n\n\"Is all, then, lost?\"\n\n\"There is only one means of safety,\" said M. d'Aigrigny;--\"the doctor.\"\n\n\"But how?\" cried the princess. \"So, sudden? this very day?\"\n\n\"Two hours hence, it will be too late; ere then, this infernal girl will\nhave seen Marshal Simon's daughters.\"\n\n\"But--Frederick!--it is impossible! M. Baleinier will never consent. I\nought to have been prepared before hand as we intended, after to-day's\nexamination.\"\n\n\"No matter,\" replied the abbe, quickly; \"the doctor must try at any\nhazard.\"\n\n\"But under what pretext?\"\n\n\"I will try and find one.\"\n\n\"Suppose you were to find a pretext, Frederick, and we could act\nimmediately--nothing would be ready down there.\"\n\n\"Be satisfied: they are always ready there, by habitual foresight.\"\n\n\"How instruct the doctor on the instant?\" resumed the princess.\n\n\"To send for him would be to rouse the suspicions of your niece,\" said\nM. d'Aigrigny, thoughtfully; \"and we must avoid that before everything.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" answered the princess; \"her confidence in the doctor is one\nof our greatest resources.\"\n\n\"There is a way,\" said the abbe quickly; \"I will write a few words in\nhaste to Baleinier: one of your people can take the note to him, as if\nit came from without--from a patient dangerously ill.\"\n\n\"An excellent idea!\" cried the princess. \"You are right. Here--upon this\ntable--there is everything necessary for writing. Quick! quick--But will\nthe doctor succeed?\"\n\n\"In truth, I scarcely dare to hope it,\" said the marquis, sitting down\nat the table with repressed rage. \"Thanks to this examination, going\nbeyond our hopes, which our man, hidden behind the curtain, has\nfaithfully taken down in shorthand--thanks to the violent scenes, which\nwould necessarily have occurred to-morrow and the day after--the doctor,\nby fencing himself round with all sorts of clever precautions, would\nhave been able to act with the most complete certainty. But to ask this\nof him to-day, on the instant!--Herminia--it is folly to think of!\"--The\nmarquis threw down the pen which he held in his hand; then he added,\nin a tone of bitter and profound irritation: \"At the very moment of\nsuccess--to see all our hopes destroyed!--Oh, the consequences of all\nthis are incalculable. Your niece will be the cause of the greatest\nmischief--oh! the greatest injury to us.\"\n\nIt is impossible to describe the expression of deep rage and implacable\nhatred with which D'Aigrigny uttered these last words.\n\n\"Frederick,\" cried the princess with anxiety, as she clasped her hands\nstrongly around the abbe's, \"I conjure you, do not despair!--The doctor\nis fertile in resources, and he is so devoted to us. Let us at least,\nmake the attempt.\"\n\n\"Well--it is at least a chance,\" said the abbe, taking up the pen again.\n\n\"Should it come to the worst.\" said the princess, \"and Adrienne go this\nevening to fetch General Simon's daughters, she may perhaps no longer\nfind them.\n\n\"We cannot hope for that. It is impossible that Rodin's orders should\nhave been so quickly executed. We should have been informed of it.\"\n\n\"It is true. Write then to the doctor; I will send you Dubois, to carry\nyour letter. Courage, Frederick! we shall yet be too much for that\nungovernable girl.\" Madame de Saint-Dizier added, with concentrated\nrage: \"Oh, Adrienne! Adrienne! you shall pay dearly for your insolent\nsarcasms, and the anxiety you have caused us.\"\n\nAs she went out, the princess turned towards M. d'Aigrigny, and said to\nhim: \"Wait for me here. I will tell you the meaning of this visit of the\npolice, and we will go in together.\"\n\nThe princess disappeared. D'Aigrigny dashed off a few words, with a\ntrembling hand.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLII. THE SNARE.\n\nAfter the departure of Madame de Saint-Dizier and the marquis, Adrienne\nhad remained in her aunt's apartment with M. Baleinier and Baron\nTripeaud.\n\nOn hearing of the commissary's arrival, Mdlle. de Cardoville had felt\nconsiderable uneasiness; for there could be no doubt that, as Agricola\nhad apprehended, this magistrate was come to search the hotel and\nextension, in order to find the smith, whom he believed to be concealed\nthere.\n\nThough she looked upon Agricola's hiding-place as a very safe one,\nAdrienne was not quite tranquil on his account; so in the event of any\nunfortunate accident, she thought it a good opportunity to recommend the\nrefugee to the doctor, an intimate friend, as we have said, of one\nof the most influential ministers of the day. So, drawing near to the\nphysician, who was conversing in a low voice with the baron, she said\nto him in her softest and most coaxing manner: \"My good M. Baleinier, I\nwish to speak a few words with you.\" She pointed to the deep recess of\none of the windows.\n\n\"I am at your orders, madame,\" answered the doctor, as he rose to follow\nAdrienne to the recess.\n\nM. Tripeaud, who, no longer sustained by the abbe's presence, dreaded\nthe young lady as he did fire, was not sorry for this diversion. To keep\nup appearances, he stationed himself before one of the sacred pictures,\nand began again to contemplate it, as if there were no bounds to his\nadmiration.\n\nWhen Mdlle. de Cardoville was far enough from the baron, not to be\noverheard by him, she said to the physician, who, all smiles and\nbenevolence, waited for her to explain: \"My good doctor, you are\nmy friend, as you were my father's. Just now, notwithstanding the\ndifficulty of your position, you had the courage to show yourself my\nonly partisan.\"\n\n\"Not at all, madame; do not go and say such things!\" cried the doctor,\naffecting a pleasant kind of anger. \"Plague on't! you would get me\ninto a pretty scrape; so pray be silent on that subject. Vade retro\nSatanas!--which means: Get thee behind me, charming little demon that\nyou are!\"\n\n\"Do not be afraid,\" answered Adrienne, with a smile; \"I will not\ncompromise you. Only allow me to remind you, that you have often made me\noffers of service, and spoken to me of your devotion.\"\n\n\"Put me to the test--and you will see if I do not keep my promises.\"\n\n\"Well, then! give me a proof on the instant,\" said Adrienne, quickly.\n\n\"Capital! this is how I like to be taken at my word. What can I do for\nyou?\"\n\n\"Are you still very intimate with your friend the minister?\"\n\n\"Yes; I am just treating him for a loss of voice, which he always has,\nthe day they put questions to him in the house. He likes it better.\"\n\n\"I want you to obtain from him something very important for me.\"\n\n\"For you? pray, what is it?\"\n\nAt this instant, the valet entered the room, delivered a letter to M.\nBaleinier, and said to him: \"A footman has just brought this letter for\nyou, sir; it is very pressing.\"\n\nThe physician took the letter, and the servant went out.\n\n\"This is one of the inconveniences of merit,\" said Adrienne, smiling;\n\"they do not leave you a moment's rest, my poor doctor.\"\n\n\"Do not speak of it, madame,\" said the physician, who could not conceal\na start of amazement, as he recognized the writing of D'Aigrigny; \"these\npatients think we are made of iron, and have monopolized the health\nwhich they so much need. They have really no mercy. With your\npermission, madame,\" added M. Baleinier, looking at Adrienne before he\nunsealed the letter.\n\nMdlle. de Cardoville answered by a graceful nod. Marquis d'Aigrigny's\nletter was not long; the doctor read it at a single glance, and,\nnotwithstanding his habitual prudence, he shrugged his shoulders, and\nsaid hastily: \"Today! why, it's impossible. He is mad.\"\n\n\"You speak no doubt of some poor patient, who has placed all his hopes\nin you--who waits and calls for you at this moment. Come, my dear M.\nBaleinier, do not reject his prayer. It is so sweet to justify the\nconfidence we inspire.\"\n\nThere was at once so much analogy, and such contradiction, between the\nobject of this letter, written just before by Adrienne's most implacable\nenemy, and these words of commiseration which she spoke in a touching\nvoice, that Dr. Baleinier himself could not help being struck with it.\nHe looked at Mdlle. de Cardoville with an almost embarrassed air, as he\nreplied: \"I am indeed speaking of one of my patients, who counts much\nupon me--a great deal too much--for he asks me to do an impossibility.\nBut why do you feel so interested in an unknown person?\"\n\n\"If he is unfortunate, I know enough to interest me. The person for whom\nI ask your assistance with the minister, was quite as little known to\nme; and now I take the deepest interest in him. I must tell you, that he\nis the son of the worthy soldier who brought Marshal Simon's daughters\nfrom the heart of Siberia.\"\n\n\"What! he is--\"\n\n\"An honest workman, the support of his family; but I must tell you all\nabout it--this is how the affair took place.\"\n\nThe confidential communication which Adrienne was going to make to\nthe doctor, was cut short by Madame Saint-Dizier, who, followed by M.\nd'Aigrigny, opened abruptly the door. An expression of infernal joy,\nhardly concealed beneath a semblance of extreme indignation, was visible\nin her countenance.\n\nM. d'Aigrigny threw rapidly, as he entered the apartment, an inquiring\nand anxious glance at M. Baleinier. The doctor answered by a shake of\nthe head. The abbe bit his lips with silent rage; he had built his last\nhopes upon the doctor, and his projects seemed now forever annihilated,\nnotwithstanding the new blow which the princess had in reserve for\nAdrienne.\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" said Madame de Saint-Dizier, in a sharp, hurried voice, for\nshe was nearly choking with wicked pleasure, \"gentlemen, pray be seated!\nI have some new and curious things to tell you, on the subject of this\nyoung lady.\" She pointed to her niece, with a look of ineffable hatred\nand disdain.\n\n\"My poor child, what is the matter now?\" said M. Baleinier, in a soft,\nwheedling tone, before he left the window where he was standing with\nAdrienne. \"Whatever happens, count upon me!\"--And the physician went to\nseat himself between M. d'Aigrigny and M. Tripeaud.\n\nAt her aunt's insolent address, Mdlle. de Cardoville had proudly lined\nher head. The blood rushed to her face, and irritated at the new attacks\nwith which she was menaced, she advanced to the table where the princess\nwas seated, and said in an agitated voice to M. Baleinier: \"I shall\nexpect you to call on me as soon as possible, my dear doctor. You know\nthat I wish particularly to speak with you.\"\n\nAdrienne made one step towards the arm-chair, on which she had left her\nhat. The princess rose abruptly, and exclaimed: \"What are you doing,\nmadame?\"\n\n\"I am about to retire. Your highness has expressed to me your will, and\nI have told you mine. It is enough.\"\n\nShe took her hat. Madame de Saint-Dizier, seeing her prey about to\nescape, hastened towards her niece, and, in defiance of all propriety,\nseized her violently by the arm with a convulsive grasp, and bade her,\n\"Remain!\"\n\n\"Fie, madame!\" exclaimed Adrienne, with an accent of painful contempt,\n\"have we sunk so low?\"\n\n\"You wish to escape--you are afraid!\" resumed Madame de Saint-Dizier,\nlooking at her disdainfully from head to foot.\n\nWith these words \"you are afraid,\" you could have made Adrienne de\nCardoville walk into a fiery furnace. Disengaging her arm from her\naunt's grasp, with a gesture full of nobleness and pride, she threw down\nthe hat upon the chair, and returning to the table, said imperiously to\nthe princess: \"There is something even stronger than the disgust with\nwhich all this inspires me--the fear of being accused of cowardice. Go\non, madame! I am listening!\"\n\nWith her head raised, her color somewhat heightened, her glance half\nveiled by a tear of indignation, her arms folded over her bosom, which\nheaved in spite of herself with deep emotion, and her little foot\nbeating convulsively on the carpet, Adrienne looked steadily at her\naunt. The princess wished to infuse drop by drop, the poison with\nwhich she was swelling, and make her victim suffer as long as possible,\nfeeling certain that she could not escape. \"Gentlemen,\" said Madame de\nSaint-Dizier, in a forced voice, \"this has occurred: I was told that\nthe commissary of police wished to speak with me: I went to receive this\nmagistrate; he excused himself, with a troubled air, for the nature of\nthe duty he had to perform. A man, against whom a warrant was out, had\nbeen seen to enter the garden-house.\"\n\nAdrienne started, there could be no doubt that Agricola was meant. But\nshe recovered her tranquillity, when she thought of the security of the\nhiding-place she had given him.\n\n\"The magistrate,\" continued the princess, \"asked my consent to search\nthe hotel and extension, to discover this man. It was his right. I\nbegged him to commence with the garden-house, and accompanied him.\nNotwithstanding the improper conduct of Mademoiselle, it never, I\nconfess, entered my head for a moment, that she was in any way mixed up\nwith this police business. I was deceived.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, madame?\" cried Adrienne.\n\n\"You shall know all, madame,\" said the princess, with a triumphant air,\n\"in good time. You were in rather too great a hurry just now, to show\nyourself so proud and satirical. Well! I accompanied the commissary\nin his search; we came to the summer-house; I leave you to imagine the\nstupor and astonishment of the magistrate, on seeing three creatures\ndressed up like actresses. At my request, the fact was noted in the\nofficial report; for it is well to reveal such extravagances to all whom\nit may concern.\"\n\n\"The princess acted very wisely,\" said Tripeaud, bowing; \"it is well\nthat the authorities should be informed of such matters.\"\n\nAdrienne, too much interested in the fate of the workman to think of\nanswering Tripeaud or the princess, listened in silence, and strove to\nconceal her uneasiness.\n\n\"The magistrate,\" resumed Madame de Saint-Dizier, \"began by a severe\nexamination of these young girls; to learn if any man had, with their\nknowledge, been introduced into the house; with incredible effrontery,\nthey answered that they had seen nobody enter.\"\n\n\"The true-hearted, honest girls!\" thought Mademoiselle de Cardoville,\nfull of joy; \"the poor workman is safe! the protection of Dr. Baleinier\nwill do the rest.\"\n\n\"Fortunately,\" continued the princess, \"one of my women, Mrs. Grivois,\nhad accompanied me. This excellent person, remembering to have seen\nMademoiselle return home at eight o'clock in the morning, remarked with\nmuch simplicity to the magistrate, that the man, whom they sought,\nmight probably have entered by the little garden gate, left open,\naccidentally, by Mademoiselle.\"\n\n\"It would have been well, madame,\" said Tripeaud, \"to have caused to be\nnoted also in the report, that Mademoiselle had returned home at eight\no'clock in the morning.\"\n\n\"I do not see the necessity for this,\" said the doctor, faithful to his\npart: \"it would have been quite foreign to the search carried on by the\ncommissary.\"\n\n\"But, doctor,\" said Tripeaud.\n\n\"But, baron,\" resumed M. Baleinier, in a firm voice, \"that is my\nopinion.\"\n\n\"It was not mine, doctor,\" said the princess; \"like M. Tripeaud, I\nconsidered it important to establish the fact by an entry in the report,\nand I saw, by the confused and troubled countenance of the magistrate,\nhow painful it was to register the scandalous conduct of a young person\nplaced in so high a position in society.\"\n\n\"Certainly, madame,\" said Adrienne, losing patience, \"I believe your\nmodesty to be about equal to that of this candid commissary of police;\nbut it seems to me, that your mutual innocence was alarmed a little too\nsoon. You might, and ought to have reflected, that there was nothing\nextraordinary in my coming home at eight o'clock, if I had gone out at\nsix.\"\n\n\"The excuse, though somewhat tardy, is at least cunning,\" said the\nprincess, spitefully.\n\n\"I do not excuse myself, madame,\" said Adrienne; \"but as M. Baleinier\nhas been kind enough to speak a word in my favor, I give the possible\ninterpretation of a fact, which it would not become me to explain in\nyour presence.\"\n\n\"The fact will stand, however, in the report,\" said Tripeaud, \"until the\nexplanation is given.\"\n\nAbbe d'Aigrigny, his forehead resting on his hand, remained as if a\nstranger to this scene; he was too much occupied with his fears at the\nconsequences of the approaching interview between Mdlle. de Cardoville\nand Marshal Simon's daughters--for there seemed no possibility of using\nforce to prevent Adrienne from going out that evening.\n\nMadame de Saint-Dizier went on: \"The fact which so greatly scandalized\nthe commissary is nothing compared to what I yet have to tell you,\ngentlemen. We had searched all parts of the pavilion without finding any\none, and were just about to quit the bed-chamber, for we had taken\nthis room the last, when Mrs. Grivois pointed out to us that one of the\ngolden mouldings of a panel did not appear to come quite home to the\nwall. We drew the attention of the magistrate to this circumstance; his\nmen examined, touched, felt--the panel flew open!--and then--can you\nguess what we discovered? But, no! it is too odious, too revolting; I\ndare not even--\"\n\n\"Then I dare, madame,\" said Adrienne, resolutely, though she saw with\nthe utmost grief the retreat of Agricola was discovered; \"I will spare\nyour highness's candor the recital of this new scandal, and yet what I\nam about to say is in nowise intended as a justification.\"\n\n\"It requires one, however,\" said Madame de Saint-Dizier, with a\ndisdainful smile; \"a man concealed by you in your own bedroom.\"\n\n\"A man concealed in her bedroom!\" cried the Marquis d'Aigrigny, raising\nhis head with apparent indignation, which only covered a cruel joy.\n\n\"A man! in the bedroom of Mademoiselle!\" added Baron Tripeaud. \"I hope\nthis also was inserted in the report.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, baron,\" said the princess with a triumphant air.\n\n\"But this man,\" said the doctor, in a hypocritical tone, \"must have\nbeen a robber? Any other supposition would be in the highest degree\nimprobable. This explains itself.\"\n\n\"Your indulgence deceives you, M. Baleinier,\" answered the princess,\ndryly.\n\n\"We knew the sort of thieves,\" said Tripeaud; \"they are generally young\nmen, handsome, and very rich.\"\n\n\"You are wrong, sir,\" resumed Madame de Saint-Dizier. \"Mademoiselle does\nnot raise her views so high. She proves that a dereliction from duty\nmay be ignoble as well as criminal. I am no longer astonished at the\nsympathy which was just now professed for the lower orders. It is the\nmore touching and affecting, as the man concealed by her was dressed in\na blouse.\"\n\n\"A blouse!\" cried the baron, with an air of extreme disgust; \"then he is\none of the common people? It really makes one's hair stand on end.\"\n\n\"The man is a working smith--he confessed it,\" said the princess; \"but\nnot to be unjust--he is really a good-looking fellow. It was doubtless\nthat singular worship which Mademoiselle pays to the beautiful--\"\n\n\"Enough, madame, enough!\" said Adrienne suddenly, for, hitherto\ndisdaining to answer, she had listened to her aunt with growing and\npainful indignation; \"I was just now on the point of defending myself\nagainst one of your odious insinuations--but I will not a second time\ndescend to any such weakness. One word only, madame; has this honest and\nworthy artisan been arrested?\"\n\n\"To be sure, he has been arrested and taken to prison, under a strong\nescort. Does not that pierce your heart?\" sneered the princess, with a\ntriumphant air. \"Your tender pity for this interesting smith must indeed\nbe very great, since it deprives you of your sarcastic assurance.\"\n\n\"Yes, madame; for I have something better to do than to satirize that\nwhich is utterly odious and ridiculous,\" replied Adrienne, whose eyes\ngrew dim with tears at the thought of the cruel hurt to Agricola's\nfamily. Then, putting her hat on, and tying the strings, she said to the\ndoctor: \"M. Baleinier, I asked you just now for your interest with the\nminister.\"\n\n\"Yes, madame; and it will give me great pleasure to act on your behalf.\"\n\n\"Is your carriage below?\"\n\n\"Yes, madame,\" said the doctor, much surprised.\n\n\"You will be good enough to accompany me immediately to the minister's.\nIntroduced by you, he will not refuse me the favor, or rather the act of\njustice, that I have to solicit.\"\n\n\"What, mademoiselle,\" said the princess; \"do you dare take such a\ncourse, without my orders, after what has just passed? It is really\nquite unheard-of.\"\n\n\"It confounds one,\" added Tripeaud; \"but we must not be surprised at\nanything.\"\n\nThe moment Adrienne asked the doctor if his carriage was below,\nD'Aigrigny started. A look of intense satisfaction flashed across his\ncountenance, and he could hardly repress the violence of his delight,\nwhen, darting, a rapid and significant glance at the doctor, he saw\nthe latter respond to it by trace closing his eyelids in token of\ncomprehension and assent.\n\nWhen therefore the princess resumed, in an angry tone,\naddressing herself to Adrienne: \"Madame, I forbid you leaving the\nhouse!\"--D'Aigrigny said to the speaker, with a peculiar inflection\nof the voice: \"I think, your highness, we may trust the lady to the\ndoctor's care.\"\n\nThe marquis pronounced these words in so significant a manner, that\nthe princess, having looked by turns at the physician and D'Aigrigny,\nunderstood it all, and her countenance grew radiant with joy.\n\nNot only did this pass with extreme rapidity, but the night was already\nalmost come, so that Adrienne, absorbed in painful thoughts with regard\nto Agricola, did not perceive the different signals exchanged between\nthe princess, the doctor, and the abbe. Even had she done so, they would\nhave been incomprehensible to her.\n\nNot wishing to have the appearance of yielding too readily, to the\nsuggestion of the marquis, Madame de Saint-Dizier resumed: \"Though the\ndoctor seems to me to be far too indulgent to mademoiselle, I might not\nsee any great objection to trusting her with him; but that I do not wish\nto establish such a precedent, for hence forward she must have no will\nbut mine.\"\n\n\"Madame,\" said the physician gravely, feigning to be somewhat shocked by\nthe words of the Princess de Saint-Dizier, \"I do not think I have been\ntoo indulgent to mademoiselle--but only just. I am at her orders,\nto take her to the minister if she wishes it. I do not know what\nshe intends to solicit, but I believe her incapable of abusing the\nconfidence I repose in her, or making me support a recommendation\nundeserved.\"\n\nAdrienne, much moved, extended her hand cordially to the doctor, and\nsaid to him: \"Rest assured, my excellent friend, that you will thank me\nfor the step I am taking, for you will assist in a noble action.\"\n\nTripeaud, who was not in the secret of the new plans of the doctor and\nthe abbe in a low voice faltered to the latter, with a stupefied air,\n\"What! will you let her go?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" answered D'Aigrigny abruptly, making a sign that he should\nlisten to the princess, who was about to speak. Advancing towards her\nniece, she said to her in a slow and measured tone, laying a peculiar\nemphasis on every word: \"One moment more, mademoiselle--one last word\nin presence of these gentlemen. Answer me! Notwithstanding the heavy\ncharges impending over you, are you still determined to resist my formal\ncommands?\"\n\n\"Yes, madame.\"\n\n\"Notwithstanding the scandalous exposure which has just taken place, you\nstill persist in withdrawing yourself from my authority?\"\n\n\"Yes, madame.\"\n\n\"You refuse positively to submit to the regular and decent mode of life\nwhich I would impose upon you?\"\n\n\"I have already told you, madame, that I am about to quit this dwelling\nin order to live alone and after my own fashion.\"\n\n\"Is that your final decision?\"\n\n\"It is my last word.\"\n\n\"Reflect! the matter is serious. Beware!\"\n\n\"I have given your highness my last word, and I never speak it twice.\"\n\n\"Gentlemen, you hear all this?\" resumed the princess; \"I have tried in\nvain all that was possible to conciliate. Mademoiselle will have only\nherself to thank for the measures to which this audacious revolt will\noblige me to have recourse.\"\n\n\"Be it so, madame,\" replied Adrienne. Then, addressing M. Baleinier, she\nsaid quickly to him: \"Come, my dear doctor; I am dying with impatience.\nLet us set out immediately. Every minute lost may occasion bitter tears\nto an honest family.\"\n\nSo saying, Adrienne left the room precipitately with the physician.\nOne of the servants called for M. Baleinier's carriage. Assisted by\nthe doctor, Adrienne mounted the step, without perceiving that he said\nsomething in a low whisper to the footman that opened the coach-door.\n\nWhen, however, he was seated by the side of Mdlle. de Cardoville, and\nthe door was closed upon them, he waited for about a second, and\nthen called out in a loud voice to the coachman: \"To the house of the\nminister, by the private entrance!\" The horses started at a gallop.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIII. A FALSE FRIEND.\n\nNight had set in dark and cold. The sky, which had been clear till the\nsun went down, was now covered with gray and lurid clouds; a strong wind\nraised here and there, in circling eddies, the snow that was beginning\nto fall thick and fast.\n\nThe lamps threw a dubious light into the interior of Dr. Baleinier's\ncarriage, in which he was seated alone with Adrienne de Cardoville.\nThe charming countenance of the latter, faintly illumined by the lamps\nbeneath the shade of her little gray hat, looked doubly white and pure\nin contrast with the dark lining of the carriage, which was now filled\nwith that, sweet, delicious, and almost voluptuous perfume which hangs\nabout the garments of young women of taste. The attitude of the girl,\nseated next to the doctor, was full of grace. Her slight and elegant\nfigure, imprisoned in her high-necked dress of blue cloth, imprinted its\nwavy outline on the soft cushion against which she leaned; her little\nfeet, crossed one upon the other, and stretched rather forward, rested\nupon a thick bear-skin, which carpeted the bottom of the carriage.\nIn her hand, which was ungloved and dazzlingly white, she held a\nmagnificently embroidered handkerchief, with which, to the great\nastonishment of M. Baleinier, she dried her eyes, now filled with tears.\n\nYes; Adrienne wept, for she now felt the reaction from the painful\nscenes through which she had passed at Saint-Dizier House; to the\nfeverish and nervous excitement, which had till then sustained her, had\nsucceeded a sorrowful dejection. Resolute in her independence, proud\nin her disdain, implacable in her irony, audacious in her resistance\nto unjust oppression, Adrienne was yet endowed with the most acute\nsensibility, which she always dissembled, however, in the presence of\nher aunt and those who surrounded her.\n\nNotwithstanding her courage, no one could have been less masculine, less\nof a virago, than Mdlle. Cardoville. She was essentially womanly, but as\na woman, she knew how to exercise great empire over herself, the moment\nthat the least mark of weakness on her part would have rejoiced or\nemboldened her enemies.\n\nThe carriage had rolled onwards for some minutes; but Adrienne, drying\nher tears in silence, to the doctor's great astonishment, had not yet\nuttered a word.\n\n\"What, my dear Mdlle. Adrienne?\" said M. Baleinier, truly surprised at\nher emotion; \"what! you, that were just now so courageous, weeping?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Adrienne, in an agitated voice; \"I weep in presence of a\nfriend; but, before my aunt--oh! never.\"\n\n\"And yet, in that long interview, your stinging replies--\"\n\n\"Ah me! do you think that I resigned myself with pleasure to that war\nof sarcasm? Nothing is more painful to me than such combats of bitter\nirony, to which I am forced by the necessity of defending myself\nfrom this woman and her friends. You speak of my courage: it does not\nconsist, I assure you, in the display of wicked feelings--but in the\npower to repress and hide all that I suffer, when I hear myself\ntreated so grossly--in the presence, too, of people that I hate and\ndespise--when, after all, I have never done them any harm, and have only\nasked to be allowed to live alone, freely and quietly, and see those\nabout me happy.\"\n\n\"That's where it is: they envy your happiness, and that which you bestow\nupon others.\"\n\n\"And it is my aunt,\" cried Adrienne, with indignation, \"my aunt, whose\nwhole life has been one long scandal that accuses me in this revolting\nmanner!--as if she did not know me proud and honest enough never to\nmake a choice of which I should be ashamed! Oh! if I ever love, I shall\nproclaim it, I shall be proud of it: for love, as I understand it, is\nthe most glorious feeling in the world. But, alas!\" continued Adrienne,\nwith redoubled bitterness, \"of what use are truth and honor, if they do\nnot secure you from suspicions, which are as absurd as they are odious?\"\nSo saying, she again pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.\n\n\"Come, my dear Mdlle. Adrienne,\" said M. Baleinier, in a voice full\nof the softest unction, \"becalm--it is all over now. You have in me a\ndevoted friend.\" As he pronounced these last words, he blushed in spite\nof his diabolical craft.\n\n\"I know you are my friend,\" said Adrienne: \"I shall never forget that,\nby taking my part to-day, you exposed yourself to the resentment of my\naunt--for I am not ignorant of her power, which is very great, alas! for\nevil.\"\n\n\"As for that,\" said the doctor, affecting a profound indifference, \"we\nmedical men are pretty safe from personal enmities.\"\n\n\"Nay, my dear M. Baleinier! Mme. de Saint-Dizier and her friends\nnever forgive,\" said the young girl, with a shudder. \"It needed all my\ninvincible aversion, my innate horror for all that is base, cowardly,\nand perfidious, to induce me to break so openly with her. But if death\nitself were the penalty, I could not hesitate and yet,\" she added, with\none of those graceful smiles which gave such a charm to her beautiful\ncountenance, \"yet I am fond of life: if I have to reproach myself\nwith anything, it is that I would have it too bright, too fair, too\nharmonious; but then, you know, I am resigned to my faults.\"\n\n\"Well, come, I am more tranquil,\" said the doctor, gayly; \"for you\nsmile--that is a good sign.\"\n\n\"It is often the wisest course; and yet, ought I smile, after the\nthreats that my aunt has held out to me? Still, what can she do? what is\nthe meaning of this kind of family council? Did she seriously think that\nthe advice of a M. D'Aigrigny or a M. Tripeaud could have influenced me?\nAnd then she talked of rigorous measures. What measures can she take; do\nyou know?\"\n\n\"I think, between ourselves, that the princess only wished to frighten\nyou, and hopes to succeed by persuasion. She has the misfortune to fancy\nherself a mother of the Church, and dreams of your conversion,\" said the\ndoctor, maliciously, for he now wished to tranquillize Adrienne at any\ncost; \"but let us think no more about it. Your fire eyes must shine with\nall their lustre, to fascinate the minister that we are going to see.\"\n\n\"You are right, dear doctor; we ought always avoid grief, for it has the\ndisadvantage of making us forget the sorrows of others. But here am\nI, availing myself of your kindness, without even telling you what I\nrequire.\"\n\n\"Luckily, we shall have plenty of time to talk over it, for our\nstatesman lives at some distance.\"\n\n\"In two words, here's the mystery,\" answered Adrienne. \"I told you what\nreasons I had to interest myself in that honest workman. This morning he\ncame to me in great grief, to inform me that he was compromised by some\nsongs he had written (for he is a poet), and that, though innocent,\nhe was threatened with an arrest; and if they put him into prison, his\nfamily, whose sole support he is, would die of hunger. Therefore he came\nto beg me to procure bail for him, so that he might be left at liberty\nto work: I promised immediately, thinking of your interest with the\nminister; for, as they were already in pursuit of the poor lad, I chose\nto conceal him in my residence, and you know how my aunt has twisted\nthat action. Now tell me, do you think, that, by means of your\nrecommendation, the minister will grant me the freedom of this workman,\nbail being given for the same?\"\n\n\"No doubt of it. There will not be the shadow of a\ndifficulty--especially when you have explained the facts to him, with\nthat eloquence of the heart which you possess in perfection.\"\n\n\"Do you know, my dear Dr. Baleinier, why I have taken the resolution\n(which is perhaps a strange one) to ask you to accompany me to the\nminister's?\"\n\n\"Why, doubtless, to recommend your friend in a more effective manner.\"\n\n\"Yes--but also to put an end, by a decisive step, to the calumnies which\nmy aunt will be sure to spread with regard to me, and which she has\nalready, you know, had inserted in the report of the commissary of\npolice. I have preferred to address myself at once, frankly and openly,\nto a man placed in a high social position. I will explain all to him,\nwho will believe me, because truth has an accent of its own.\"\n\n\"All this, my dear Mdlle. Adrienne, is wisely planned. You will, as the\nsaw says, kill two birds with one stone--or rather, you will obtain by\none act of kindness two acts of justice; you will destroy a dangerous\ncalumny, and restore a worthy youth to liberty.\"\n\n\"Come,\" said Adrienne, laughing, \"thanks to this pleasing prospect, my\nlight heart has returned.\"\n\n\"How true that in life,\" said the doctor, philosophically, \"everything\ndepends on the point of view.\"\n\nAdrienne was so completely ignorant of the forms of a constitutional\ngovernment, and had so blind a confidence in the doctor, that she did\nnot doubt for an instant what he told her. She therefore resumed with\njoy: \"What happiness it will be! when I go to fetch the daughters of\nMarshal Simon, to be able to console this workman's mother, who is now\nperhaps in a state of cruel anxiety, at not seeing her son return home!\"\n\n\"Yes, you will have this pleasure,\" said M. Baleinier, with a smile;\n\"for we will solicit and intrigue to such purpose, that the good, mother\nmay learn from you the release of her son before she even knows that he\nhas been arrested.\"\n\n\"How kind, how obliging you are!\" said Adrienne. \"Really, if the motive\nwere not so serious, I should be ashamed of making you lose so much\nprecious time, my dear M. Baleinier. But I know your heart.\"\n\n\"I have no other wish, than to prove to you my profound devotion, my\nsincere attachment,\" said the doctor inhaling a pinch of snuff. But\nat the same time, he cast an uneasy glance through the window, for the\ncarriage was just crossing the Place de l'Odeon, and in spite of\nthe snow, he could see the front of the Odeon theatre brilliantly\nilluminated. Now Adrienne, who had just turned her head towards that\nside, might perhaps be astonished at the singular road they were taking.\n\nIn order to draw off her attention by a skillful diversion, the doctor\nexclaimed suddenly: \"Bless me! I had almost forgotten.\"\n\n\"What is the matter, M. Baleinier?\" said Adrienne, turning hastily\ntowards him.\n\n\"I had forgotten a thing of the highest importance, in regard to the\nsuccess of our petition.\"\n\n\"What is it, please?\" asked the young girl, anxiously.\n\nM. Baleinier gave a cunning smile. \"Every man,\" said he, \"has his\nweakness--ministers even more than others. The one we are going to visit\nhas the folly to attach the utmost importance to his title, and the\nfirst impression would be unfavorable, if you did not lay great stress\non the Minister.\"\n\n\"Is that all, my dear M. Baleinier?\" said Adrienne, smiling in her turn.\n\"I will even go so far as Your Excellency, which is, I believe, one of\nhis adopted titles.\"\n\n\"Not now--but that is no matter; if you could even slide in a My Lord or\ntwo, our business would be done at once.\"\n\n\"Be satisfied! since there are upstart ministers as well as City-turned\ngentlemen, I will remember Moliere's M. Jourdain, and feed full the\ngluttonous vanity of your friend.\"\n\n\"I give him up to you, for I know he will be in good hands,\" replied the\nphysician, who rejoiced to see that the carriage had now entered those\ndark streets which lead from the Place de l'Odeon to the Pantheon\ndistrict; \"I do not wish to find fault with the minister for being\nproud, since his pride may be of service to us on this occasion.\"\n\n\"These petty devices are innocent enough,\" said Mdlle. de Cardoville,\n\"and I confess that I do not scruple to have recourse to them.\" Then,\nleaning towards the door-sash, she added: \"Gracious! how sad and dark\nare these streets. What wind! what snow! In which quarter are we?\"\n\n\"What! are you so ungrateful, that you do not recognize by the absence\nof shops, your dear quarter of the Faubourg Saint Germain?\"\n\n\"I imagine we had quitted it long ago.\"\n\n\"I thought so too,\" said the physician, leaning forward as if to\nascertain where they were, \"but we are still there. My poor coachman,\nblinded by the snow, which is beating against his face, must have gone\nwrong just now--but we are all right again. Yes, I perceive we are in\nthe Rue Saint Guillaume--not the gayest of streets by the way--but, in\nten minutes, we shall arrive at the minister's private entrance, for\nintimate friends like myself enjoy the privilege of escaping the honors\nof a grand reception.\"\n\nMdlle. de Cardoville, like most carriage-people, was so little\nacquainted with certain streets of Paris, as well as with the customs\nof men in office, that she did not doubt for a moment the statements of\nBaleinier, in whom she reposed the utmost confidence.\n\nWhen they left the Saint-Dizier House, the doctor had upon his lips a\nquestion which he hesitated to put, for fear of endangering himself in\nthe eyes of Adrienne. The latter had spoken of important interests, the\nexistence of which had been concealed from her. The doctor, who was\nan acute and skillful observer, had quite clearly remarked the\nembarrassment and anxiety of the princess and D'Aigrigny. He no longer\ndoubted, that the plot directed against Adrienne--one in which he was\nthe blind agent, in submission to the will of the Order--related to\ninterests which had been concealed from him, and which, for that very\nreason, he burned to discover; for every member of the dark conspiracy\nto which he belonged had necessarily acquired the odious vices inherent\nto spies and informers--envy, suspicion, and jealous curiosity.\n\nIt is easy to understand, therefore, that Dr. Baleinier, though quite\ndetermined to serve the projects of D'Aigrigny, was yet very anxious\nto learn what had been kept from him. Conquering his irresolution, and\nfinding the opportunity favorable, and no time to be lost, he said to\nAdrienne, after a moment's silence: \"I am going perhaps to ask you a\nvery indiscreet question. If you think it such, pray do not answer.\"\n\n\"Nay--go on, I entreat you.\"\n\n\"Just now--a few minutes before the arrival of the commissary of police\nwas announced to your aunt--you spoke, I think, of some great interests,\nwhich had hitherto been concealed from you.\"\n\n\"Yes, I did so.\"\n\n\"These words,\" continued M. Baleinier, speaking slowly and emphatically,\n\"appeared to make a deep impression on the princess.\"\n\n\"An impression so deep,\" said Adrienne, \"that sundry suspicions of mine\nwere changed to certainty.\"\n\n\"I need not tell you, my charming friend,\" resumed M. Baleinier, in a\nbland tone, \"that if I remind you of this circumstance, it is only to\noffer you my services, in case they should be required. If not--and\nthere is the shadow of impropriety in letting me know more--forget that\nI have said a word.\"\n\nAdrienne became serious and pensive, and, after a silence of some\nmoments, she thus answered Dr. Baleinier: \"On this subject, there are\nsome things that I do not know--others that I may tell you--others again\nthat I must keep from you: but you are so kind to-day, that I am happy\nto be able to give you a new mark of confidence.\"\n\n\"Then I wish to know nothing,\" said the doctor, with an air of humble\ndeprecation, \"for I should have the appearance of accepting a kind of\nreward; whilst I am paid a thousand times over, by the pleasure I feel\nin serving you.\"\n\n\"Listen,\" said Adrienne, without attending to the delicate scruples of\nDr. Baleinier; \"I have powerful reasons for believing that an immense\ninheritance must, at no very distant period, be divided between\nthe members of my family, all of whom I do not know--for, after the\nRevocation of the Edict of Nantes, those from whom we are descended\nwere dispersed in foreign countries, and experienced a great variety of\nfortunes.\"\n\n\"Really!\" cried the doctor, becoming extremely interested. \"Where is\nthis inheritance, in whose hands?\"\n\n\"I do not know.\"\n\n\"Now how will you assert your rights?\"\n\n\"That I shall learn soon.\"\n\n\"Who will inform you of it?\"\n\n\"That I may not tell you.\"\n\n\"But how did you find out the existence of this inheritance?\"\n\n\"That also I may not tell you,\" returned Adrienne, in a soft and\nmelancholy tone, which remarkably contrasted with the habitual vivacity\nof her conversation. \"It is a secret--a strange secret--and in those\nmoments of excitement, in which you have sometimes surprised me, I have\nbeen thinking of extraordinary circumstances connected with this secret,\nwhich awakened within me lofty and magnificent ideas.\"\n\nAdrienne paused and was silent, absorbed in her own reflections.\nBaleinier did not seek to disturb her. In the first place, Mdlle.\nde Cardoville did not perceive the direction the coach was taking;\nsecondly, the doctor was not sorry to ponder over what he had just\nheard. With his usual perspicuity, he saw that the Abbe d'Aigrigny\nwas concerned in this inheritance, and he resolved instantly to make a\nsecret report on the subject; either M. d'Aigrigny was acting under the\ninstructions of the Order, or by his own impulse; in the one event, the\nreport of the doctor would confirm a fact; in the other, it would reveal\none.\n\nFor some time, therefore, the lady and Dr. Baleinier remained perfectly\nsilent, no longer even disturbed by the noise of the wheels, for the\ncarriage now rolled over a thick carpet of snow, and the streets had\nbecome more and more deserted. Notwithstanding his crafty treachery,\nnotwithstanding his audacity and the blindness of his dupe, the doctor\nwas not quite tranquil as to the result of his machinations. The\ncritical moment approached, and the least suspicion roused in the\nmind of Adrienne by any inadvertence on his part, might ruin all his\nprojects.\n\nAdrienne, already fatigued by the painful emotions of the day, shuddered\nfrom time to time, as the cold became more and more piercing; in her\nhaste to accompany Dr. Baleinier, she had neglected to take either shawl\nor mantle.\n\nFor some minutes the coach had followed the line of a very high wall,\nwhich, seen through the snow, looked white against a black sky. The\nsilence was deep and mournful. Suddenly the carriage stopped, and\nthe footman went to knock at a large gateway; he first gave two rapid\nknocks, and then one other at a long interval. Adrienne did not notice\nthe circumstance, for the noise was not loud, and the doctor had\nimmediately begun to speak, to drown with his voice this species of\nsignal.\n\n\"Here we are at last,\" said he gayly to Adrienne; \"you must be very\nwinning--that is, you must be yourself.\"\n\n\"Be sure I will do my best,\" replied Adrienne, with a smile; then she\nadded, shivering in spite of herself: \"How dreadfully cold it is! I must\nconfess, my dear Dr. Baleinier, that when I have been to fetch my poor\nlittle relations from the house of our workman's mother, I shall be\ntruly glad to find myself once more in the warmth and light of my own\ncheerful rooms, for you know my aversion to cold and darkness.\"\n\n\"It is quite natural,\" said the doctor, gallantly; \"the most charming\nflowers require the most light and heat.\"\n\nWhilst the doctor and Mdlle. de Cardoville exchanged these few words,\na heavy gate had turned creaking upon its hinges, and the carriage had\nentered a court-yard. The physician got down first, to offer his arm to\nAdrienne.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIV. THE MINISTER'S CABINET.\n\nThe carriage had stopped before some steps covered with snow, which led\nto a vestibule lighted by a lamp. The better to ascend the steps, which\nwere somewhat slippery, Adrienne leaned upon the doctor's arm.\n\n\"Dear me! how you tremble,\" said he.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied she, shuddering, \"I feel deadly cold. In my haste, I\ncame out without a shawl. But how gloomy this house appears,\" she added,\npointing to the entrance.\n\n\"It is what you call the minister's private house, the sanctum\nsanctorum, whither our statesman retires far from the sound of the\nprofane,\" said Dr. Baleinier, with a smile. \"Pray come in!\" and he\npushed open the door of a large hall, completely empty.\n\n\"They are right in saying,\" resumed Dr. Baleinier, who covered his\nsecret agitation with an appearance of gayety, \"that a minister's house\nis like nobody else's. Not a footman--not a page, I should say--to be\nfound in the antechamber. Luckily,\" added he, opening the door of a room\nwhich communicated with the vestibule,\n\n\"'In this seraglio reared, I know the secret ways.'\"\n\nMdlle. de Cardoville was now introduced into an apartment hung with\ngreen embossed paper, and very simply furnished with mahogany chairs,\ncovered with yellow velvet; the floor was carefully polished, and\na globe lamp, which gave at most a third of its proper light, was\nsuspended (at a much greater height than usual) from the ceiling.\nFinding the appearance of this habitation singularly plain for the\ndwelling of a minister, Adrienne, though she had no suspicion, could not\nsuppress a movement of surprise and paused a moment on the threshold of\nthe door. M. Baleinier, by whose arm she held, guessed the cause of her\nastonishment, and said to her with a smile:\n\n\"This place appears to you very paltry for 'his excellency,' does it\nnot? If you knew what a thing constitutional economy is!--Moreover,\nyou will see a 'my lord,' who has almost as little pretension as his\nfurniture. But please to wait for me an instant. I will go and inform\nthe minister you are here, and return immediately.\"\n\nGently disengaging himself from the grasp of Adrienne, who had\ninvoluntarily pressed close to him, the physician opened a small side\ndoor, by which he instantly disappeared. Adrienne de Cardoville was left\nalone.\n\nThough she could not have explained the cause of her impression, there\nwas something awe-inspiring to the young lady in this large, cold,\nnaked, curtainless room; and as, by degrees, she noticed certain\npeculiarities in the furniture, which she had not at first perceived,\nshe was seized with an indefinable feeling of uneasiness.\n\nApproaching the cheerless hearth, she perceived with surprise that an\niron grating completely enclosed the opening of the chimney, and that\nthe tongs and shovel were fastened with iron chains. Already astonished\nby this singularity, she was about mechanically to draw towards her\nan armchair placed against the wall, when she found that it remained\nmotionless. She then discovered that the back of this piece of\nfurniture, as well as that of all the other chairs, was fastened to the\nwainscoting by iron clamps. Unable to repress a smile, she exclaimed:\n\"Have they so little confidence in the statesman in whose house I am,\nthat they are obliged to fasten the furniture to the walls?\"\n\nAdrienne had recourse to this somewhat forced pleasantry as a kind of\neffort to resist the painful feeling of apprehension that was gradually\ncreeping over her; for the most profound and mournful silence reigned in\nthis habitation, where nothing indicated the life, the movement and the\nactivity, which usually surround a great centre of business. Only,\nfrom time to time, the young lady heard the violent gusts of wind from\nwithout.\n\nMore than a quarter of an hour had elapsed, and M. Baleinier did not\nreturn. In her impatient anxiety, Adrienne wished to call some one to\ninquire about the doctor and the minister. She raised her eyes to look\nfor a bell-rope by the side of the chimney-glass; she found none, but\nshe perceived, that what she had hitherto taken for a glass, thanks to\nthe half obscurity of the room, was in reality a large sheet of\nshining tin. Drawing nearer to it, she accidentally touched a bronzed\ncandlestick; and this, as well as a clock, was fixed to the marble of\nthe chimney-piece.\n\nIn certain dispositions of mind, the most insignificant circumstances\noften assume terrific proportions. This immovable candlestick, this\nfurniture fastened to the wainscot, this glass replaced by a tin sheet,\nthis profound silence, and the prolonged absence of M. Baleinier, had\nsuch an effect upon Adrienne, that she was struck with a vague terror.\nYet such was her implicit confidence in the doctor, that she reproached\nherself with her own fears, persuading herself that the causes of them\nwere after all of no real importance, and that it was unreasonable to\nfeel uneasy at such trifles.\n\nStill, though she thus strove to regain courage, her anxiety induced her\nto do what otherwise she would never have attempted. She approached the\nlittle door by which the doctor had disappeared, and applied her ear to\nit. She held her breath, and listened, but heard nothing.\n\nSuddenly, a dull, heavy sound, like that of a falling body, was audible\njust above her head; she thought she could even distinguish a stifled\nmoaning. Raising her eyes, hastily, she saw some particles of the\nplaster fall from the ceiling, loosened, no doubt, by the shaking of the\nfloor above.\n\nNo longer able to resist the feeling of terror, Adrienne ran to the door\nby which she had entered with the doctor, in order to call some one. To\nher great surprise, she found it was fastened on the outside. Yet, since\nher arrival, she had heard no sound of a key turning in the lock.\n\nMore and more alarmed, the young girl flew to the little door by which\nthe physician had disappeared, and at which she had just been listening.\nThis door also was fastened on the outside.\n\nStill, wishing to struggle with the terror which was gaining invincibly\nupon her, Adrienne called to her aid all the firmness of her character,\nand tried to argue away her fears.\n\n\"I must have been deceived.\" she said; \"it was only a fall that I heard.\nThe moaning had no existence, except in my imagination. There are a\nthousand reasons for believing that it was not a person who fell down.\nBut, then, these locked doors? They, perhaps, do not know that I am\nhere; they may have thought that there was nobody in this room.\"\n\nAs she uttered these words, Adrienne looked round with anxiety; then\nshe added, in a firm voice: \"No weakness! it is useless to try to blind\nmyself to my real situation. On the contrary, I must look it well in the\nface. It is evident that I am not here at a minister's house; no end of\nreasons prove it beyond a doubt; M. Baleinier has therefore deceived me.\nBut for what end? Why has he brought me hither? Where am I?\"\n\nThe last two questions appeared to Adrienne both equally insoluble. It\nonly remained clear, that she was the victim of M. Baleinier's perfidy.\nBut this certainly seemed so horrible to the young girl's truthful\nand generous soul, that she still tried to combat the idea by the\nrecollection of the confiding friendship which she had always shown this\nman. She said to herself with bitterness: \"See how weakness and fear\nmay lead one to unjust and odious suspicions! Yes; for until the\nlast extremity, it is not justifiable to believe in so infernal a\ndeception--and then only upon the clearest evidence. I will call some\none: it is the only way of completely satisfying these doubts.\" Then,\nremembering that there was no bell, she added: \"No matter; I will knock,\nand some one will doubtless answer.\" With her little, delicate hand,\nAdrienne struck the door several times.\n\nThe dull, heavy sound which came from the door showed that it was very\nthick. No answer was returned to the young girl. She ran to the other\ndoor. There was the same appeal on her part, the same profound silence\nwithout--only interrupted from time to time by the howling of the wind.\n\n\"I am not more timid than other people,\" said Adrienne, shuddering;\n\"I do not know if it is the excessive cold, but I tremble in spite of\nmyself. I endeavor to guard against all weakness; yet I think that any\none in my position would find all this very strange and frightful.\"\n\nAt this instant, loud cries, or rather savage and dreadful howls, burst\nfuriously from the room just above, and soon after a sort of stamping\nof feet, like the noise of a violent struggle, shook the ceiling of the\napartment. Struck with consternation, Adrienne uttered a loud cry of\nterror became deadly pale, stood for a moment motionless with affright,\nand then rushed to one of the windows, and abruptly threw it open.\n\nA violent gust of wind, mixed with melted snow, beat against Adrienne's\nface, swept roughly into the room, and soon extinguished the flickering\nand smoky light of the lamp. Thus, plunged in profound darkness, with\nher hands clinging to the bars that were placed across the window,\nMdlle. de Cardoville yielded at length to the full influence of her\nfears, so long restrained, and was about to call aloud for help, when an\nunexpected apparition rendered her for some minutes absolutely mute with\nterror.\n\nAnother wing of the building, opposite to that in which she was, stood\nat no great distance. Through the midst of the black darkness, which\nfilled the space between, one large, lighted window was distinctly\nvisible. Through the curtainless panes, Adrienne perceived a white\nfigure, gaunt and ghastly, dragging after it a sort of shroud, and\npassing and repassing continually before the window, with an abrupt and\nrestless motion. Her eyes fixed upon this window, shining through the\ndarkness, Adrienne remained as if fascinated by that fatal vision: and,\nas the spectacle filled up the measure of her fears, she called for help\nwith all her might, without quitting the bars of the window to which\nshe clung. After a few seconds, whilst she was thus crying out, two tall\nwomen entered the room in silence, unperceived by Mdlle. de Cardoville,\nwho was still clinging to the window.\n\nThese women, of about forty to fifty years of age, robust and masculine,\nwere negligently and shabbily dressed, like chambermaids of the lower\nsort; over their clothes they wore large aprons of blue cotton, cut\nsloping from their necks, and reaching down to their feet. One of them,\nwho held a lamp in her hand, had a broad, red, shining face, a large\npimpled nose, small green eyes, and tow hair, which straggled rough and\nshaggy from beneath her dirty white cap. The other, sallow, withered,\nand bony, wore a mourning-cap over a parchment visage, pitted with\nthe small-pox, and rendered still more repulsive by the thick black\neyebrows, and some long gray hairs that overshadowed the upper lip. This\nwoman carried, half unfolded in her hand, a garment of strange form,\nmade of thick gray stuff.\n\nThey both entered silently by the little door, at the moment when\nAdrienne, in the excess of her terror, was grasping the bars of the\nwindow, and crying out: \"Help! help!\"\n\nPointing out the young lady to each other, one of them went to place the\nlamp on the chimney-piece, whilst the other (she who wore the mourning\ncap) approached the window, and laid her great bony hand upon Mdlle. de\nCardoville's shoulder.\n\nTurning round, Adrienne uttered a new cry of terror at the sight of this\ngrim figure. Then, the first moment of stupor over, she began to feel\nless afraid; hideous as was this woman, it was at least some one to\nspeak to; she exclaimed, therefore, in an agitated voice: \"Where is M.\nBaleinier?\"\n\nThe two women looked at each other, exchanged a leer of mutual\nintelligence, but did not answer.\n\n\"I ask you, madame,\" resumed Adrienne, \"where is M. Baleinier, who\nbrought me hither? I wish to see him instantly.\"\n\n\"He is gone,\" said the big woman.\n\n\"Gone!\" cried Adrienne; \"gone without me!--Gracious heaven! what can\nbe the meaning of all this?\" Then, after a moment's reflection, she\nresumed, \"Please to fetch me a coach.\"\n\nThe two women looked at each other, and shrugged their shoulders. \"I\nentreat you, madame,\" continued Adrienne, with forced calmness in her\nvoice, \"to fetch me a coach since M. Baleinier is gone without me. I\nwish to leave this place.\"\n\n\"Come, come, madame,\" said the tall woman, who was called \"Tomboy,\"\nwithout appearing to listen to what Adrienne asked, \"it is time for you\nto go to bed.\"\n\n\"To go to bed!\" cried Mdlle. Cardoville, in alarm. \"This is really\nenough to drive one mad.\" Then, addressing the two women, she added:\n\"What is this house? where am I? answer!\"\n\n\"You are in a house,\" said Tomboy, in a rough voice, \"where you must not\nmake a row from the window, as you did just now.\"\n\n\"And where you must not put out the lamp as you have done,\" added the\nother woman, who was called Gervaise, \"or else we shall have a crow to\npick with you.\"\n\nAdrienne, unable to utter a word, and trembling with fear, looked in a\nkind of stupor from one to the other of these horrible women; her reason\nstrove in vain to comprehend what was passing around her. Suddenly she\nthought she had guessed it, and exclaimed: \"I see there is a mistake\nhere. I do not understand how, but there is a mistake. You take me for\nsome one else. Do you know who I am? My name is Adrienne de Cardoville\nYou see, therefore, that I am at liberty to leave this house; no one in\nthe world has the right to detain me. I command you, then, to fetch me\na coach immediately. If there are none in this quarter, let me have some\none to accompany me home to the Rue de Babylone, Saint-Dizier House. I\nwill reward such a person liberally, and you also.\"\n\n\"Well, have you finished?\" said Tomboy. \"What is the use of telling us\nall this rubbish?\"\n\n\"Take care,\" resumed Adrienne, who wished to try every means; \"if you\ndetain me here by force, it will be very serious. You do not know to\nwhat you expose yourselves.\"\n\n\"Will you come to bed; yes or no?\" said Gervaise, in a tone of harsh\nimpatience.\n\n\"Listen to me, madame,\" resumed Adrienne, precipitately, \"let me out\nthis place, and I will give each of you two thousand francs. It is not\nenough? I will give you ten--twenty--whatever you ask. I am rich--only\nlet me out for heaven's sake, let me out!--I cannot remain here--I\nam afraid.\" As she said this, the tone of the poor girl's voice was\nheartrending.\n\n\"Twenty thousand francs!--that's the usual figure, ain't it, Tomboy?\"\n\n\"Let be, Gervaise! they all sing the same song.\"\n\n\"Well, then? since reasons, prayers, and menaces are all in vain,\" said\nAdrienne gathering energy from her desperate position, \"I declare to\nyou that I will go out and that instantly. We will see if you are bold\nenough to employ force against me.\"\n\nSo saying, Adrienne advanced resolutely towards the door. But, at this\nmoment, the wild hoarse cries, which had preceded the noise of the\nstruggle that had so frightened her, again resounded; only, this time\nthey were not accompanied by the movement of feet.\n\n\"Oh! what screams!\" said Adrienne, stopping short, and in her terror\ndrawing nigh to the two women. \"Do you not hear those cries? What, then,\nis this house, in which one hears such things? And over there, too,\"\nadded she almost beside herself, as she pointed to the other wing where\nthe lighted windows shone through the darkness, and the white figure\ncontinued to pass and repass before it; \"over there! do you see? What is\nit?\"\n\n\"Oh! that 'un,\" said Tomboy; \"one of the folks who, like you, have not\nbehaved well.\"\n\n\"What do you say?\" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville, clasping her hands in\nterror. \"Heavens! what is this house? What do they do to them?\"\n\n\"What will be done to you, if you are naughty, and refuse to come to\nbed,\" answered Gervaise.\n\n\"They put this on them,\" said Tomboy, showing the garment that she had\nheld under her arm, \"they clap 'em into the strait-waistcoast.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Adrienne, hiding her face in her hands with horror. A\nterrible discovery had flashed suddenly upon her. She understood it all.\n\nCapping the violent emotions of the day, the effect of this last blow\nwas dreadful. The young girl felt her strength give way. Her hands fell\npowerless, her face became fearfully pale, all her limbs trembled, and\nsinking upon her knees, and casting a terrified glance at the strait\nwaistcoat she was just able to falter in a feeble voice, \"Oh, no:--not\nthat--for pity's sake, madame. I will do--whatever you wish.\" And, her\nstrength quite failing, she would have fallen upon the ground if the\ntwo women had not run towards her, and received her fainting into their\narms.\n\n\"A fainting fit,\" said Tomboy; \"that's not dangerous. Let us carry her\nto bed. We can undress her, and this will be all nothing.\"\n\n\"Carry her, then,\" said Gervaise. \"I will take the lamp.\"\n\nThe tall and robust Tomboy took up Mdlle. de Cardoville as if she\nhad been a sleeping child, carried her in her arms, and followed her\ncompanion into the chamber through which M. Baleinier had made his exit.\n\nThis chamber, though perfectly clean, was cold and bare. A greenish\npaper covered the walls, and a low, little iron bedstead, the head of\nwhich formed a kind of shelf, stood in one corner; a stove, fixed in the\nchimney-place, was surrounded by an iron grating, which forbade a near\napproach; a table fastened to the wall, a chair placed before this\ntable, and also clamped to the floor, a mahogany chest of drawers, and\na rush bottomed armchair completed the scanty furniture. The curtainless\nwindow was furnished on the inside with an iron grating, which served to\nprotect the panes from being broken.\n\nIt was into this gloomy retreat, which formed so painful a contrast with\nthe charming little summer-house in the Rue de Babylone, that Adrienne\nwas carried by Tomboy, who, with the assistance of Gervaise, placed the\ninanimate form on the bed. The lamp was deposited on the shelf at the\nhead of the couch. Whilst one of the nurses held her up, the other\nunfastened and took off the cloth dress of the young girl, whose head\ndrooped languidly on her bosom. Though in a swoon, large tears trickled\nslowly from her closed eyes, whose long black lashes threw their shadows\non the transparent whiteness of her cheeks. Over her neck and breast of\nivory flowed the golden waves of her magnificent hair, which had come\ndown at the time of her fall. When, as they unlaced her satin corset,\nless soft, less fresh, less white than the virgin form beneath, which\nlay like a statue of alabaster in its covering of lace and lawn, one of\nthe horrible hags felt the arms and shoulders of the young girl with\nher large, red, horny, and chapped hands. Though she did not completely\nrecover the use of her senses, she started involuntarily from the rude\nand brutal touch.\n\n\"Hasn't she little feet?\" said the nurse, who, kneeling down, was\nemployed in drawing off Adrienne's stockings. \"I could hold them both\nin the hollow of my hand.\" In fact, a small, rosy foot, smooth as a\nchild's, here and there veined with azure, was soon exposed to view, as\nwas also a leg with pink knee and ankle, of as pure and exquisite a form\nas that of Diana Huntress.\n\n\"And what hair!\" said Tomboy; \"so long and soft!--She might almost walk\nupon it. 'Twould be a pity to cut it off, to put ice upon her skull!\" As\nshe spoke, she gathered up Adrienne's magnificent hair, and twisted it\nas well as she could behind her head. Alas! it was no longer the fair,\nlight hand of Georgette, Florine, or Hebe that arranged the beauteous\nlocks of their mistress with so much love and pride!\n\nAnd as she again felt the rude touch of the nurse's hand, the young\ngirl was once more seized with the same nervous trembling, only more\nfrequently and strongly than before. And soon, whether by a sort of\ninstinctive repulsion, magnetically excited during her swoon, or from\nthe effect of the cold night air, Adrienne again started and slowly came\nto herself.\n\nIt is impossible to describe her alarm, horror, and chaste indignation,\nas, thrusting aside with both her hands the numerous curls that covered\nher face, bathed in tears, she saw herself half-naked between these\nfilthy hags. At first, she uttered a cry of shame and terror; then to\nescape from the looks of the women, by a movement, rapid as thought, she\ndrew down the lamp placed on the shelf at the head of her bed, so that\nit was extinguished and broken to pieces on the floor. After which, in\nthe midst of the darkness, the unfortunate girl, covering herself with\nthe bed-clothes, burst into passionate sobs.\n\nThe nurses attributed Adrienne's cry and violent actions to a fit of\nfurious madness. \"Oh! you begin again to break the lamps--that's your\npartickler fancy, is it?\" cried Tomboy, angrily, as she felt her way\nin the dark. \"Well! I gave you fair warning. You shall have the strait\nwaistcoat on this very night, like the mad gal upstairs.\"\n\n\"That's it,\" said the other; \"hold her fast, Tommy, while I go and fetch\na light. Between us, we'll soon master her.\"\n\n\"Make haste, for, in spite of her soft look, she must be a regular fury.\nWe shall have to sit up all night with her, I suppose.\"\n\nSad and painful contrast! That morning, Adrienne had risen free,\nsmiling, happy, in the midst of all the wonders of luxury and art, and\nsurrounded by the delicate attentions of the three charming girls whom\nshe had chosen to serve her. In her generous and fantastic mood, she\nhad prepared a magnificent and fairy-like surprise for the young Indian\nprince, her relation; she had also taken a noble resolution with regard\nto the two orphans brought home by Dagobert; in her interview with Mme.\nde Saint-Dizier, she had shown herself by turns proud and sensitive,\nmelancholy and gay, ironical and serious, loyal and courageous; finally,\nshe had come to this accursed house to plead in favor of an honest and\nlaborious artisan.\n\nAnd now, in the evening delivered over by an atrocious piece of\ntreachery to the ignoble hands of two coarse-minded muses in a\nmadhouse--Mdlle. de Cardoville felt her delicate limbs imprisoned in\nthat abominable garment, which is called a strait-waistcoat.\n\nMdlle. de Cardoville passed a horrible night in company with the two\nhags. The next morning, at nine o'clock, what was the young lady's\nstupor to see Dr. Baleinier enter the room, still smiling with an air at\nonce benevolent and paternal.\n\n\"Well, my dear child?\" said he, in a bland, affectionate voice; \"how\nhave we spent the night?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLV. THE VISIT.\n\nThe keepers, yielding to Mdlle. de Cardoville's prayers, and, above all,\nto her promises of good behavior, had only left on the canvas jacket a\nportion of the time. Towards morning, they had allowed her to rise and\ndress herself, without interfering.\n\nAdrienne was seated on the edge of her bed. The alteration in her\nfeatures, her dreadful paleness, the lurid fire of fever shining in\nher eyes, the convulsive trembling which ever and anon shook her\nframe, showed already the fatal effects of this terrible night upon a\nsusceptible and high-strung organization. At sight of Dr. Baleinier,\nwho, with a sign, made Gervaise and her mate leave the room, Adrienne\nremained petrified.\n\nShe felt a kind of giddiness at the thought of the audacity of the man,\nwho dared to present himself to her! But when the physician repeated,\nin the softest tone of affectionate interest: \"Well, my poor child! how\nhave we spent the night?\" she pressed her hands to her burning forehead,\nas if in doubt whether she was awake or sleeping. Then, staring at the\ndoctor, she half opened her lips; but they trembled so much that it was\nimpossible for her to utter a word. Anger, indignation, contempt, and,\nabove all, the bitter and acutely painful feeling of a generous heart,\nwhose confidence has been basely betrayed, so overpowered Adrienne that\nshe was unable to break the silence.\n\n\"Come, come! I see how it is,\" said the doctor, shaking his head\nsorrowfully; \"you are very much displeased with me--is it not so? Well!\nI expected it, my dear child.\"\n\nThese words, pronounced with the most hypocritical effrontery, made\nAdrienne start up. Her pale cheek flushed, her large eyes sparkled, she\nlifted proudly her beautiful head, whilst her upper lip curled slightly\nwith a smile of disdainful bitterness; then, passing in angry silence\nbefore M. Baleinier, who retained his seat, she directed her swift and\nfirm steps towards the door. This door, in which was a little wicket,\nwas fastened on the outside. Adrienne turned towards the doctor, and\nsaid to him, with an imperious gesture; \"Open that door for me!\"\n\n\"Come, my dear Mdlle. Adrienne,\" said the physician, \"be calm. Let us\ntalk like good friends--for you know I am your friend.\" And he inhaled\nslowly a pinch of snuff.\n\n\"It appears, sir,\" said Adrienne, in a voice trembling with indignation,\n\"I am not to leave this place to-day?\"\n\n\"Alas! no. In such a state of excitement--if you knew how inflamed your\nface is, and your eyes so feverish, your pulse must be at least eighty\nto the minute--I conjure you, my dear child, not to aggravate your\nsymptoms by this fatal agitation.\"\n\nAfter looking fixedly at the doctor, Adrienne returned with a slow step,\nand again took her seat on the edge of the bed. \"That is right,\" resumed\nM. Baleinier: \"only be reasonable; and, as I said before, let us talk\ntogether like good friends.\"\n\n\"You say well, sir,\" replied Adrienne, in a collected and perfectly calm\nvoice; \"let us talk like friends. You wish to make me pass for mad--is\nit not so?\"\n\n\"I wish, my dear child, that one day you may feel towards me as much\ngratitude as you now do aversion. The latter I had fully foreseen--but,\nhowever painful may be the performance of certain duties, we must resign\nourselves to it.\"\n\nM. Baleinier sighed, as he said this, with such a natural air of\nconviction, that for a moment Adrienne could not repress a movement of\nsurprise; then, while her lip curled with a bitter laugh, she answered:\n\"Oh, it's very clear, you have done all this for my good?\"\n\n\"Really, my dear young lady--have I ever had any other design than to be\nuseful to you?\"\n\n\"I do not know, sir, if your impudence be not still more odious than\nyour cowardly treachery!\"\n\n\"Treachery!\" said M. Baleinier, shrugging his shoulders with a grieved\nair; \"treachery, indeed! Only reflect, my poor child--do you think, if\nI were not acting with good faith, conscientiously, in your interest,\nI should return this morning to meet your indignation, for which I was\nfully prepared? I am the head physician of this asylum, which belongs\nto me--but I have two of my pupils here, doctors, like myself--and might\nhave left them to take care of you but, no--I could not consent to it--I\nknew your character, your nature, your previous history, and (leaving\nout of the question the interest I feel for you) I can treat your case\nbetter than any one.\"\n\nAdrienne had heard M. Baleinier without interrupting him; she now looked\nat him fixedly, and said: \"Pray, sir, how much do they pay you to make\nme pass for mad?\"\n\n\"Madame!\" cried M. Baleinier, who felt stung in spite of, himself.\n\n\"You know I am rich,\" continued Adrienne, with overwhelming disdain;\n\"I will double the sum that they give you. Come, sir--in the name of\nfriendship, as you call it, let me have the pleasure of outbidding\nthem.\"\n\n\"Your keepers,\" said M. Baleinier, recovering all his coolness, \"have\ninformed me, in their report of the night's proceedings, that you made\nsimilar propositions to them.\"\n\n\"Pardon me, sir; I offered them what might be acceptable to poor women,\nwithout education, whom misfortune has forced to undertake a painful\nemployment--but to you, sir a man of the world, a man of science, a man\nof great abilities--that is quite different--the pay must be a great\ndeal higher. There is treachery at all prices; so do not found your\nrefusal on the smallness of my offer to those wretched women. Tell\nme--how much do you want?\"\n\n\"Your keepers, in their report of the night, have also spoken of\nthreats,\" resumed M. Baleinier, with the same coolness; \"have you any\nof those likewise to address me? Believe me, my poor child, you will\ndo well to exhaust at once your attempts at corruption, and your vain\nthreats of vengeance. We shall then come to the true state of the case.\"\n\n\"So you deem my threats vain!\" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville, at length\ngiving way to the full tide of her indignation, till then restrained.\n\"Do you think, sir, that when I leave this place--for this outrage must\nhave an end--that I will not proclaim aloud your infamous treachery? Do\nyou think chat I will not denounce to the contempt and horror of all,\nyour base conspiracy with Madame de Saint-Dizier? Oh! do you think that\nI will conceal the frightful treatment I have received! But, mad as\nI may be, I know that there are laws in this country, by which I\nwill demand a full reparation for myself, and shame, disgrace, and\npunishment, for you, and for those who have employed you! Henceforth,\nbetween you and me will be hate and war to the death; and all my\nstrength, all my intelligence--\"\n\n\"Permit me to interrupt you, my dear Mdlle. Adrienne,\" said the doctor,\nstill perfectly calm and affectionate: \"nothing can be more unfavorable\nto your cure, than to cherish idle hopes: they will only tend to keep\nup a state of deplorable excitement: it is best to put the facts fairly\nbefore you, that you may understand clearly your position.\n\n\"1. It is impossible for you to leave this house. 2. You can have no\ncommunication with any one beyond its walls. 3. No one enters here that\nI cannot perfectly depend upon. 4. I am completely indifferent to your\nthreats of vengeance because law and reason are both in my favor.\"\n\n\"What! have you the right to shut me up here?\"\n\n\"We should never have come to that determination, without a number of\nreasons of the most serious kind.\"\n\n\"Oh! there are reasons for it, it seems.\"\n\n\"Unfortunately, too many.\"\n\n\"You will perhaps inform me of them?\"\n\n\"Alas! they are only too conclusive; and if you should ever apply to\nthe protection of the laws, as you threatened me just now, we should be\nobliged to state them. The fantastical eccentricity of your manner of\nliving, your whimsical mode of dressing up your maids, your extravagant\nexpenditure, the story of the Indian prince, to whom you offered a royal\nhospitality, your unprecedented resolution of going to live by yourself,\nlike a young bachelor, the adventure of the man found concealed in your\nbed-chamber; finally, the report of your yesterday's conversation, which\nwas faithfully taken down in shorthand, by a person employed for that\npurpose.\"\n\n\"Yesterday?\" cried Adrienne, with as much indignation as surprise.\n\n\"Oh, yes! to be prepared for every event, in case you should\nmisinterpret the interest we take in you, we had all your answers\nreported by a man who was concealed behind a curtain in the next room;\nand really, one day, in a calmer state of mind, when you come to read\nover quietly the particulars of what took place, you will no longer be\nastonished at the resolution we have been forced to adopt.\"\n\n\"Go on, sir,\" said Adrienne, with contempt.\n\n\"The facts I have cited being thus confirmed and acknowledged, you will\nunderstand, my dear Mdlle. Adrienne, that your friends are perfectly\nfree from responsibility. It was their duty to endeavor to cure this\nderangement of mind, which at present only shows itself in idle whims,\nbut which, were it to increase, might seriously compromise the happiness\nof your future life. Now, in my opinion, we may hope to see a radical\ncure, by means of a treatment at once physical and moral; but the first\ncondition of this attempt was to remove you from the scenes which so\ndangerously excited your imagination; whilst a calm retreat, the repose\nof a simple and solitary life combined with my anxious, I may say,\npaternal care, will gradually bring about a complete recovery--\"\n\n\"So, sir,\" said Adrienne, with a bitter laugh, \"the love of a noble\nindependence, generosity, the worship of the beautiful, detestation of\nwhat is base and odious, such are the maladies of which you wish to cure\nme; I fear that my case is desperate, for my aunt has long ago tried to\neffect that benevolent purpose.\"\n\n\"Well, we may perhaps not succeed; but at least we will attempt it. You\nsee, then, there is a mass of serious facts, quite enough to justify the\ndetermination come to by the family-council, which puts me completely at\nmy ease with regard to your menaces. It is to that I wish to return; a\nman of my age and condition never acts lightly--in such circumstances,\nand you can readily understand what I was saying to you just now. In a\nword, do not hope to leave this place before your complete recovery,\nand rest assured, that I am and shall ever be safe from your resentment.\nThis being once admitted, let us talk of your actual state with all the\ninterest that you naturally inspire.\"\n\n\"I think, sir, that, considering I am mad, you speak to me very\nreasonably.\"\n\n\"Mad! no, thank heaven, my poor child, you are not mad yet--and I hope\nthat, by my care, you will never be so. It is to prevent your becoming\nmad, that one must take it in time; and believe me, it is full time. You\nlook at me with such an air of surprise--now tell me, what interest can\nI have in talking to you thus? Is it the hatred of your aunt that I wish\nto favor? To what end, I would ask? What can she do for me or against\nme? I think of her at this moment neither more nor less than I thought\nyesterday. Is it a new language that I hold to yourself? Did I not speak\nto you yesterday many times, of the dangerous excitement of mind in\nwhich you were, and of your singular whims and fancies? It is true,\nI made use of stratagem to bring you hither. No doubt, I did so. I\nhastened to avail myself of the opportunity, which you yourself offered,\nmy poor, dear child; for you would never have come hither with your own\ngood will. One day or the other, we must have found some pretext to get\nyou here: and I said to myself; 'Her interest before all! Do your duty,\nlet whatever will betide!'--\"\n\nWhilst M. Baleinier was speaking, Adrienne's countenance, which had\nhitherto expressed alternately indignation and disdain, assumed an\nindefinable look of anguish and horror. On hearing this man talk in such\na natural manner, and with such an appearance of sincerity, justice and\nreason, she felt herself more alarmed than ever. An atrocious deception,\nclothed in such forms, frightened her a hundred times more than the\navowed hatred of Madame de Saint-Dizier. This audacious hypocrisy seemed\nto her so monstrous, that she believed it almost impossible.\n\nAdrienne had so little the art of hiding her emotions, that the\ndoctor, a skillful and profound physiognomist, instantly perceived the\nimpression he had produced. \"Come,\" said he to himself, \"that is a great\nstep. Fright has succeeded to disdain and anger. Doubt will come next.\nI shall not leave this place, till she has said to me: 'Return soon, my\ngood M. Baleinier!'\" With a voice of sorrowful emotion, which seemed to\ncome from the very depths of his heart, the doctor thus continued: \"I\nsee, you are still suspicious of me. All I can say to you is falsehood,\nfraud, hypocrisy, hate--is it not so?--Hate you? why, in heaven's name,\nshould I hate you? What have you done to me? or rather--you will perhaps\nattach more value to this reason from a man of my sort,\" added M.\nBaleinier, bitterly, \"or rather, what interest have I to hate you?--You,\nthat have only been reduced to the state in which you are by an over\nabundance of the most generous instincts--you, that are suffering, as\nit were, from an excess of good qualities--you can bring yourself coolly\nand deliberately to accuse an honest man, who has never given you any\nbut marks of affection, of the basest, the blackest, the most abominable\ncrime, of which a human being could be guilty. Yes, I call it a crime;\nbecause the audacious deception of which you accuse me would not deserve\nany other name. Really, my poor child, it is hard--very hard--and I now\nsee, that an independent spirit may sometimes exhibit as much injustice\nand intolerance as the most narrow mind. It does not incense me--no--it\nonly pains me: yes, I assure you--it pains me cruelly.\" And the doctor\ndrew his hand across his moist eyes.\n\nIt is impossible to give the accent, the look, the gesture of M.\nBaleinier, as he thus expressed himself. The most able and practiced\nlawyer, or the greatest actor in the world, could not have played this\nscene with more effect than the doctor--or rather, no one could have\nplayed it so well--M. Baleinier, carried away by the influence of the\nsituations, was himself half convinced of what he said.\n\nIn few words, he felt all the horror of his own perfidy but he felt also\nthat Adrienne could not believe it; for there are combinations of\nsuch nefarious character, that pure and upright minds are unable to\ncomprehend them as possible. If a lofty spirit looks down into the abyss\nof evil, beyond a certain depth it is seized with giddiness, and no\nlonger able to distinguish one object from the other.\n\nAnd then the most perverse of men have a day, an hour, a moment, in\nwhich the good instincts, planted in the heart of every creature, appear\nin spite of themselves. Adrienne was too interesting, was in too cruel a\nposition, for the doctor mot to feel some pity for her in his heart; the\ntone of sympathy, which for some time past he had been obliged to assume\ntowards her, and the sweet confidence of the young girl in return, had\nbecome for this man habitual and necessary ratifications. But sympathy\nand habit were now to yield to implacable necessity.\n\nThus the Marquis d'Aigrigny had idolized his mother; dying, she called\nhim to her--and he turned away from the last prayer of a parent in the\nagony of death. After such an example, how could M. Baleinier hesitate\nto sacrifice Adrienne? The members of the Order, of which he formed a\npart, were bound to him--but he was perhaps still more strongly bound to\nthem, for a long partnership in evil creates terrible and indissoluble\nties.\n\nThe moment M. Baleinier finished his fervid address to Mdlle. de\nCardoville, the slide of the wicket in the door was softly pushed back,\nand a pair of eyes peered attentively into the chamber, unperceived by\nthe doctor.\n\nAdrienne could not withdraw her gaze from the physician's, which seemed\nto fascinate her. Mute, overpowered, seized with a vague terror, unable\nto penetrate the dark depths of this man's soul, moved in spite of\nherself by the accent of sorrow, half feigned and half real--the young\nlady had a momentary feeling of doubt. For the first time, it came into\nher mind, that M. Baleinier might perhaps be committing a frightful\nerror--committing it in good faith.\n\nBesides, the anguish of the past night, the dangers of her position,\nher feverish agitation, all concurred to fill her mind with trouble and\nindecision. She looked at the physician with ever increasing surprise,\nand making a violent effort not to yield to a weakness, of which she\npartly foresaw the dreadful consequences, she exclaimed: \"No, no, sir;\nI will not, I cannot believe it. You have too much skill, too much\nexperience, to commit such an error.\"\n\n\"An error!\" said M. Baleinier, in a grave and sorrowful tone. \"Let me\nspeak to you in the name of that skill and experience, which you are\npleased to ascribe to me. Hear me but for a moment, my dear child; and\nthen I will appeal to yourself.\"\n\n\"To me!\" replied the young girl, in a kind of stupor; \"you wish to\npersuade me, that--\" Then, interrupting herself, she added, with a\nconvulsive laugh: \"This only is wanting to your triumph--to bring me to\nconfess that I am mad--that my proper place is here--that I owe you--\"\n\n\"Gratitude. Yes, you do owe it me, even as I told you at the\ncommencement of this conversation. Listen to me then; my words may be\ncruel, but there are wounds which can only be cured with steel and fire.\nI conjure you, my dear child--reflect--throw back one impartial glance\nat your past life--weigh your own thoughts--and you will be afraid of\nyourself. Remember those moments of strange excitement, during which,\nas you have told me, you seemed to soar above the earth--and, above all,\nwhile it is yet time--while you preserve enough clearness of mind to\ncompare and judge--compare, I entreat, your manner of living with that\nof other ladies of your age? Is there a single one who acts as you\nact? who thinks as you think? unless, indeed, you imagine yourself so\nsuperior to other women, that, in virtue of that supremacy, you can\njustify a life and habits that have no parallel in the world.\"\n\n\"I have never had such stupid pride, you know it well,\" said Adrienne,\nlooking at the doctor with growing terror.\n\n\"Then, my dear child, to what are we to attribute your strange and\ninexplicable mode of life? Can you even persuade yourself that it is\nfounded on reason? Oh, my child! take care?--As yet, you only indulge\nin charming originalities of conduct, poetical eccentricities, sweet\nand vague reveries--but the tendency is fatal, the downward course\nirresistible. Take care, take care!--the healthful, graceful, spiritual\nportion of your intelligence has yet the upper hand, and imprints its\nstamp upon all your extravagances; but you do not know, believe me, with\nwhat frightful force the insane portion of the mind, at a given moment,\ndevelops itself and strangles up the rest. Then we have no longer\ngraceful eccentricities, like yours, but ridiculous, sordid, hideous\ndelusions.\"\n\n\"Oh! you frighten me,\" said the unfortunate girl, as she passed her\ntrembling hands across her burning brow.\n\n\"Then,\" continued M. Baleinier, in an agitated voice, \"then the last\nrays of intelligence are extinguished; then madness--for we must\npronounce the dreaded word--gets the upper hand, and displays itself in\nfurious and savage transports.\"\n\n\"Like the woman upstairs,\" murmured Adrienne, as, with fixed and eager\nlook, she raised her finger towards the ceiling.\n\n\"Sometimes,\" continued the doctor, alarmed himself at the terrible\nconsequences of his own words, but yielding to the inexorable fatality\nof his situation, \"sometimes madness takes a stupid and brutal form; the\nunfortunate creature, who is attacked by it, preserves nothing human\nbut the shape--has only the instincts of the lower animals--eats with\nvoracity, and moves ever backwards and forwards in the cell, in which\nsuch a being is obliged to be confined. That is all its life--all.\"\n\n\"Like the woman yonder.\" cried Adrienne, with a still wilder look, as\nshe slowly raised her arm towards the window that was visible on the\nother side of the building.\n\n\"Why--yes,\" said M. Baleinier. \"Like you, unhappy child, those women\nwere young, fair, and sensible, but like you, alas! they had in them the\nfatal germ of insanity, which, not having been destroyed in time, grew,\nand grew, larger and ever larger, until it overspread and destroyed\ntheir reason.\"\n\n\"Oh, mercy!\" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville, whose head was getting confused\nwith terror; \"mercy! do not tell me such things!--I am afraid. Take\nme from this place--oh! take me from this place!\" she added, with a\nheartrending accent; \"for, if I remain here, I shall end by going mad!\nNo,\" added she, struggling with the terrible agony which assailed her,\n\"no, do not hope it! I shall not become mad. I have all my reason. I\nam not blind enough to believe what you tell me. Doubtless, I live\ndifferently from others; think differently from others; am shocked by\nthings that do not offend others; but what does all this prove? Only\nthat I am different from others. Have I a bad heart? Am I envious or\nselfish? My ideas are singular, I knew--yes, I confess it--but then,\nM. Baleinier, is not their tendency good, generous, noble!--Oh!\" cried\nAdrienne's supplicating voice, while her tears flowed abundantly, \"I\nhave never in my life done one malicious action; my worst errors have\narisen from excess of generosity. Is it madness to wish to see everybody\nabout one too happy? And again, if you are mad, you must feel it\nyourself--and I do not feel it--and yet--I scarcely know--you tell me\nsuch terrible things of those two women! You ought to know these things\nbetter than I. But then,\" added Mdlle, de Cardoville, with an accent\nof the deepest despair, \"something ought to have been done. Why, if you\nfelt an interest for me, did you wait so long? Why did you not take pity\non me sooner? But the most frightful fact is, that I do not know whether\nI ought to believe you--for all this may be a snare--but no, no!\nyou weep--it is true, then!--you weep!\" She looked anxiously at M.\nBaleinier, who, notwithstanding his cynical philosophy, could not\nrestrain his tears at the sight of these nameless tortures.\n\n\"You weep over me,\" she continued; \"so it is true! But (good heaven!)\nmust there not be something done? I will do all that you wish--all--so\nthat I may not be like those women. But if it should be too late? no, it\nis not too late--say it is not too late, my good M. Baleinier! Oh, now\nI ask your pardon for what I said when you came in--but then I did not\nknow, you see--I did not know!\"\n\nTo these few broken words, interrupted by sobs, and rushing forth in a\nsort of feverish excitement, succeeded a silence of some minutes, during\nwhich the deeply affected physician dried his tears. His resolution\nhad almost failed him. Adrienne hid her face in her hands. Suddenly she\nagain lifted her head; her countenance was calmer than before, though\nagitated by a nervous trembling.\n\n\"M. Baleinier,\" she resumed, with touching dignity, \"I hardly know what\nI said to you just now. Terror, I think, made me wander; I have again\ncollected myself. Hear me! I know that I am in your power; I know that\nnothing can deliver me from it. Are you an implacable enemy? or are you\na friend? I am not able to determine. Do you really apprehend, as\nyou assure me, that what is now eccentricity will hereafter become\nmadness--or are you rather the accomplice in some infernal machination?\nYou alone can answer. In spite of my boasted courage, I confess myself\nconquered. Whatever is required of me--you understand, whatever it may\nbe, I will subscribe to, I give you my word and you know that I hold it\nsacred--you have therefore no longer any interest to keep me here. If,\non the contrary, you really think my reason in danger--and I own that\nyou have awakened in my mind vague, but frightful doubts--tell it me,\nand I will believe you. I am alone, at your mercy, without friends,\nwithout counsel. I trust myself blindly to you. I know not whether I\naddress myself to a deliverer or a destroyer--but I say to you--here is\nmy happiness--here is my life--take it--I have no strength to dispute it\nwith you!\"\n\nThese touching words, full of mournful resignation and almost hopeless\nreliance, gave the finishing stroke to the indecision of M. Baleinier.\nAlready deeply moved by this scene, and without reflecting on the\nconsequences of what he was about to do, he determined at all events\nto dissipate the terrible and unjust fears with which he had inspired\nAdrienne. Sentiments of remorse and pity, which now animated the\nphysician, were visible in his countenance.\n\nAlas! they were too visible. The moment he approached to take the hand\nof Mdlle. de Cardoville, a low but sharp voice exclaimed from behind the\nwicket: \"M. Baleinier!\"\n\n\"Rodin!\" muttered the startled doctor to himself; \"he's been spying on\nme!\"\n\n\"Who calls you?\" asked the lady of the physician.\n\n\"A person that I promised to meet here this morning.\" replied he, with\nthe utmost depression, \"to go with him to St. Mary's Convent, which is\nclose at hand.\"\n\n\"And what answer have you to give me?\" said Adrienne with mortal\nanguish.\n\nAfter a moment's solemn silence, during which he turned his face towards\nthe wicket, the doctor replied, in a voice of deep emotion: \"I am--what\nI have always been--a friend incapable of deceiving you.\"\n\nAdrienne became deadly pale. Then, extending her hand to M. Baleinier,\nshe said to him in a voice that she endeavored to render calm: \"Thank\nyou--I will have courage--but will it be very long?\"\n\n\"Perhaps a month. Solitude, reflection, a proper regimen, my attentive\ncare, may do much. You will be allowed everything that is compatible\nwith your situation. Every attention will be paid you. If this room\ndispleases you, I will see you have another.\"\n\n\"No--this or another--it is of little consequence,\" answered Adrienne,\nwith an air of the deepest dejection.\n\n\"Come, come! be of good courage. There is no reason to despair.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you flatter me,\" said Adrienne with the shadow of a smile.\n\"Return soon,\" she added, \"my dear M. Baleinier! my only hope rests in\nyou now.\"\n\nHer head fell upon her bosom, her hands upon her knees and she remained\nsitting on the edge of the bed, pale, motionless, overwhelmed with woe.\n\n\"Mad!\" she said when M. Baleinier had disappeared. \"Perhaps mad!\"\n\nWe have enlarged upon this episode much less romantic than it may\nappear. Many times have motives of interest or vengeance or perfidious\nmachination led to the abuse of the imprudent facility with which\ninmates are received in certain private lunatic asylums from the hands\nof their families or friends.\n\nWe shall subsequently explain our views, as to the establishment of a\nsystem of inspection, by the crown or the civil magistrates, for\nthe periodical survey of these institutions, and others of no less\nimportance, at present placed beyond the reach of all superintendence.\nThese latter are the nunneries of which we will presently have an\nexample.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVI. PRESENTIMENTS.\n\nWhilst the preceding events took place in Dr. Baleinier's asylum, other\nscenes were passing about the same hour, at Frances Baudoin's, in the\nRue Brise-Miche.\n\nSeven o'clock in the morning had just struck at St. Mary church; the day\nwas dark and gloomy, and the sleet rattled against the windows of the\njoyless chamber of Dagobert's wife.\n\nAs yet ignorant of her son's arrest, Frances had waited for him the\nwhole of the preceding evening, and a good part of the night, with the\nmost anxious uneasiness; yielding at length to fatigue and sleep, about\nthree o'clock in the morning, she had thrown herself on a mattress\nbeside the bed of Rose and Blanche. But she rose with the first dawn\nof day, to ascend to Agricola's garret, in the very faint hope that he\nmight have returned home some hours before.\n\nRose and Blanche had just risen, and dressed themselves. They were alone\nin the sad, chilly apartment. Spoil-sport, whom Dagobert had left in\nParis, was stretched at full length near the cold stove; with his long\nmuzzle resting on his forepaws, he kept his eye fixed on the sisters.\n\nHaving slept but little during the night, they had perceived the\nagitation and anguish of Dagobert's wife. They had seen her walk up and\ndown, now talking to herself, now listening to the least noise that came\nup the staircase, and now kneeling before the crucifix placed at one\nextremity of the room. The orphans were not aware, that, whilst she\nbrayed with fervor on behalf of her son, this excellent woman was\npraying for them also. For the state of their souls filled her with\nanxiety and alarm.\n\nThe day before, when Dagobert had set out for Chartres, Frances, having\nassisted Rose and Blanche to rise, had invited them to say their morning\nprayer: they answered with the utmost simplicity, that they did not know\nany, and that they never more than addressed their mother, who was in\nheaven. When Frances, struck with painful surprise, spoke to them of\ncatechism, confirmation, communion, the sisters opened widely their\nlarge eyes with astonishment, understanding nothing of such talk.\n\nAccording to her simple faith, terrified at the ignorance of the young\ngirls in matters of religion, Dagobert's wife believed their souls to\nbe in the greatest peril, the more so as, having asked them if they had\never been baptized (at the same time explaining to them the nature of\nthat sacrament), the orphans answered they did not think they had, since\nthere was neither church nor priest in the village where they were born,\nduring their mother's exile in Siberia.\n\nPlacing one's self in the position of Frances, you understand how much\nshe was grieved and alarmed; for, in her eyes, these young girls,\nwhom she already loved tenderly, so charmed was she with their sweet\ndisposition, were nothing but poor heathens, innocently doomed to\neternal damnation. So, unable to restrain her tears, or conceal her\nhorrors, she had clasped them in her arms, promising immediately to\nattend to their salvation, and regretting that Dagobert had not thought\nof having them baptized by the way. Now, it must be confessed, that this\nnotion had never once occurred to the ex-grenadier.\n\nWhen she went to her usual Sunday devotions, Frances had not dared to\ntake Rose and Blanche with her, as their complete ignorance of sacred\nthings would have rendered their presence at church, if not useless,\nscandalous; but, in her own fervent prayers she implored celestial mercy\nfor these orphans, who did not themselves know the desperate position of\ntheir souls.\n\nRose and Blanche were now left alone, in the absence of Dagobert's wife.\nThey were still dressed in mourning, their charming faces seeming\neven more pensive than usual. Though they were accustomed to a life of\nmisfortune, they had been struck, since their arrival in the Rue Brise\nMiche, with the painful contrast between the poor dwelling which they\nhad come to inhabit, and the wonders which their young imagination had\nconceived of Paris, that golden city of their dreams. But, soon this\nnatural astonishment was replaced by thoughts of singular gravity for\ntheir age. The contemplation of such honest and laborious poverty made\nthe orphans have reflections no longer those of children, but of young\nwomen. Assisted by their admirable spirit of justice and of sympathy for\nall that is good, by their noble heart, by a character at once delicate\nand courageous, they had observed and meditated much during the last\ntwenty-four hours.\n\n\"Sister,\" said Rose to Blanche, when Frances had quitted the room,\n\"Dagobert's poor wife is very uneasy. Did you remark in the night, how\nagitated she was? how she wept and prayed?\"\n\n\"I was grieved to see it, sister, and wondered what could be the cause.\"\n\n\"I am almost afraid to guess. Perhaps we may be the cause of her\nuneasiness?\"\n\n\"Why so, sister? Because we cannot say prayers, nor tell if we have ever\nbeen baptized?\"\n\n\"That seemed to give her a good deal of pain, it is true. I was quite\ntouched by it, for it proves that she loves us tenderly. But I could not\nunderstand how we ran such terrible danger as she said we did.\"\n\n\"Nor I either, sister. We have always tried not to displease our mother,\nwho sees and hears us.\"\n\n\"We love those who love us; we are resigned to whatever may happen to\nus. So, who can reproach us with any harm?\"\n\n\"No one. But, perhaps, we may do some without meaning it.\"\n\n\"We?\"\n\n\"Yes, and therefore I thought: We may perhaps be the cause of her\nuneasiness.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Listen, sister! yesterday Madame Baudoin tried to work at those sacks\nof coarse cloth there on the table.\"\n\n\"Yes; but in about an half-hour, she told us sorrowfully, that she could\nnot go on, because her eyes failed her, and she could not see clearly.\"\n\n\"So that she is not able to earn her living.\"\n\n\"No--but her son, M. Agricola, works for her. He looks so good, so gay,\nso frank, and so happy to devote himself for his mother. Oh, indeed! he\nis the worthy brother of our angel Gabriel!\"\n\n\"You will see my reason for speaking of this. Our good old Dagobert told\nus, that, when we arrived here, he had only a few pieces of money left.\"\n\n\"That is true.\"\n\n\"Now both he and his wife are unable to earn their living; what can a\npoor old soldier like him do?\"\n\n\"You are right; he only knows how to love us, and take care of us, like\nhis children.\"\n\n\"It must then be M. Agricola who will have to support his father; for\nGabriel is a poor priest, who possesses nothing, and can render no\nassistance to those who have brought him up. So M. Agricola will have to\nsupport the whole family by himself.\"\n\n\"Doubtless--he owes it to father and mother--it is his duty, and he will\ndo it with a good will.\"\n\n\"Yes, sister--but he owes us nothing.\"\n\n\"What do you say, Blanche?\"\n\n\"He is obliged to work for us also, as we possess nothing in the world.\"\n\n\"I had not thought of that. True.\"\n\n\"It is all very well, sister, for our father to be Duke and Marshal of\nFrance, as Dagobert tells us, it is all very well for us to hope great\nthings from this medal, but as long as father is not here, and our hopes\nare not realized, we shall be merely poor orphans, obliged to remain a\nburden to this honest family, to whom we already owe so much, and who\nfind it so hard to live, that--\"\n\n\"Why do you pause, sister?\"\n\n\"What I am about to say would make other people laugh; but you will\nunderstand it. Yesterday, when Dagobert's wife saw poor Spoil-sport at\nhis dinner, she said, sorrowfully: 'Alas! he eats as much as a man!'--so\nthat I could almost have cried to hear her. They must be very poor, and\nyet we have come to increase their poverty.\"\n\nThe sisters looked sadly at each other, while Spoil-sport pretended not\nto know they were talking of his voracity.\n\n\"Sister, I understand,\" said Rose, after a moment's silence. \"Well, we\nmust not be at the charge of any one. We are young, and have courage.\nTill our fate is decided, let us fancy ourselves daughters of\nworkmen. After all, is not our grandfather a workman? Let us find some\nemployment, and earn our own living. It must be so proud and happy to\nearn one's living!\"\n\n\"Good little sister,\" said Blanche, kissing Rose. \"What happiness! You\nhave forestalled my thought; kiss me!\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Your project is mine exactly. Yesterday, when I heard Dagobert's wife\ncomplain so sadly that she had lost her sight. I looked into your large\neyes, which reminded me of my own, and said to myself: 'Well! this poor\nold woman may have lost her sight, but Rose and Blanche Simon can see\npretty clearly'--which is a compensation,\" added Blanche, with a smile.\n\n\"And, after all,\" resumed Rose, smiling in her turn, \"the young ladies\nin question are not so very awkward, as not to be able to sew up great\nsacks of coarse cloth--though it may chafe their fingers a little.\"\n\n\"So we had both the same thought, as usual; only I wished to surprise\nyou, and waited till we were alone, to tell you my plan.\"\n\n\"Yes, but there is something teases me.\"\n\n\"What is that?\"\n\n\"First of all, Dagobert and his wife will be sure to say to us: 'Young\nladies, you are not fitted for such work. What, daughters of a Marshal\nof France sewing up great ugly bags!' And then, if we insist upon it,\nthey will add: 'Well, we have no work to give you. If you want any, you\nmust hunt for it.' What would Misses Simon do then?\"\n\n\"The fact is, that when Dagobert has made up his mind to anything--\"\n\n\"Oh! even then, if we coax him well--\"\n\n\"Yes, in certain things; but in others he is immovable. It is just as\nwhen upon the journey, we wished to prevent his doing so much for us.\"\n\n\"Sister, an idea strikes me,\" cried Rose, \"an excellent idea!\"\n\n\"What is it? quick!\"\n\n\"You know the young woman they call Mother Bunch, who appears to be so\nserviceable and persevering?\"\n\n\"Oh yes! and so timid and discreet. She seems always to be afraid\nof giving offence, even if she looks at one. Yesterday, she did not\nperceive that I saw her; but her eyes were fixed on you with so good and\nsweet an expression, that tears came into mine at the very sight of it.\"\n\n\"Well, we must ask her how she gets work, for certainly she lives by her\nlabor.\"\n\n\"You are right. She will tell us all about it; and when we know,\nDagobert may scold us, or try to make great ladies of us, but we will be\nas obstinate as he is.\"\n\n\"That is it; we must show some spirit! We will prove to him, as he says\nhimself, that we have soldier's blood in our veins.\"\n\n\"We will say to him: 'Suppose, as you say, we should one day be rich, my\ngood Dagobert, we shall only remember this time with the more pleasure.\"\n\n\"It is agreed then, is it not, Rose? The first time we are alone\nwith Mother Bunch, we must make her our confidant, and ask her for\ninformation. She is so good a person, that she will not refuse us.\"\n\n\"And when father comes home, he will be pleased, I am sure, with our\ncourage.\"\n\n\"And will approve our wish to support ourselves, as if we were alone in\nthe world.\"\n\nOn these words of her sister, Rose started. A cloud of sadness, almost\nof alarm, passed over her charming countenance, as she exclaimed: \"Oh,\nsister, what a horrible idea!\"\n\n\"What is the matter? your look frightens me.\"\n\n\"At the moment I heard you say, that our father would approve our wish\nto support ourselves, as if we were alone in the world--a frightful\nthought struck me--I know not why--but feel how my heart beats--just as\nif some misfortune were about to happen us.\"\n\n\"It is true; your poor heart beats violently. But what was this thought?\nYou alarm me.\"\n\n\"When we were prisoners, they did not at least separate us, and,\nbesides, the prison was a kind of shelter--\"\n\n\"A sad one, though shared with you.\"\n\n\"But if, when arrived here, any accident had parted us from Dagobert--if\nwe had been left alone, without help, in this great town?\"\n\n\"Oh, sister! do not speak of that. It would indeed be terrible. What\nwould become of us, kind heaven?\"\n\nThis cruel thought made the girls remain for a moment speechless with\nemotion. Their sweet faces, which had just before glowed with a noble\nhope, grew pale and sad. After a pretty long silence, Rose uplifted\nher eyes, now filled with tears, \"Why does this thought,\" she said,\ntrembling, \"affect us so deeply, sister? My heart sinks within me, as if\nit were really to happen to us.\"\n\n\"I feel as frightened as you yourself. Alas! were we both to be lost in\nthis immense city, what would become of us?\"\n\n\"Do not let us give way to such ideas, Blanche! Are we not here in\nDagobert's house, in the midst of good people?\"\n\n\"And yet, sister,\" said Rose, with a pensive air, \"it is perhaps good\nfor us to have had this thought.\"\n\n\"Why so?\"\n\n\"Because we shall now find this poor lodging all the better, as it\naffords a shelter from all our fears. And when, thanks to our labor,\nwe are no longer a burden to any one, what more can we need until the\narrival of our father?\"\n\n\"We shall want for nothing--there you are right--but still, why did this\nthought occur to us, and why does it weigh so heavily on our minds?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed--why? Are we not here in the midst of friends that love us?\nHow could we suppose that we should ever be left alone in Paris? It is\nimpossible that such a misfortune should happen to us--is it not, my\ndear sister?\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" said Rose, shuddering. \"If the day before we reached that\nvillage in Germany, where poor Jovial was killed, any one had said to\nus: 'To-morrow, you will be in prison'--we should have answered as now:\n'It is impossible. Is not Dagobert here to protect us; what have we to\nfear?' And yet, sister, the day after we were in prison at Leipsic.\"\n\n\"Oh! do not speak thus, my dear sister! It frightens me.\"\n\nBy a sympathetic impulse, the orphans took one another by the hand,\nwhile they pressed close together, and looked around with involuntary\nfear. The sensation they felt was in fact deep, strange, inexplicable,\nand yet lowering--one of those dark presentiments which come over us,\nin spite of ourselves--those fatal gleams of prescience, which throw a\nlurid light on the mysterious profundities of the future.\n\nUnaccountable glimpses of divination! often no sooner perceived than\nforgotten--but, when justified by the event, appearing with all the\nattributes of an awful fatality!\n\nThe daughters of Marshal Simon were still absorbed in the mournful\nreverie which these singular thoughts had awakened, when Dagobert's\nwife, returning from her son's chamber, entered the room with a\npainfully agitated countenance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVII. THE LETTER.\n\nFrances' agitation was so perceptible that Rose could not help\nexclaiming: \"Good gracious, what is the matter?\"\n\n\"Alas, my dear young ladies! I can no longer conceal it from you,\" said\nFrances, bursting into tears. \"Since yesterday I have not seen him. I\nexpected my son to supper as usual, and he never came; but I would not\nlet you see how much I suffered. I continued to expect him, minute after\nminute; for ten years he has never gone up to bed without coming to kiss\nme; so I spent a good part of the night close to the door, listening if\nI could hear his step. But he did not come; and, at last, about three\no'clock in the morning, I threw myself down upon the mattress. I have\njust been to see (for I still had a faint hope), if my son had come in\nthis morning--\"\n\n\"Well, madame!\"\n\n\"There is no sign of him!\" said the poor mother, drying her eyes.\n\nRose and Blanche looked at each other with emotion; the same thought\nfilled the minds of both; if Agricola should not return, how would this\nfamily live? would they not, in such an event, become doubly burdensome?\n\n\"But, perhaps, madame,\" said Blanche, \"M. Agricola remained too late at\nhis work to return home last night.\"\n\n\"Oh! no, no! he would have returned in the middle of the night, because\nhe knew what uneasiness he would cause me by stopping out. Alas! some\nmisfortune must have happened to him! Perhaps he has been injured at the\nforge, he is so persevering at his work. Oh, my poor boy! and, as if I\ndid not feel enough anxiety about him, I am also uneasy about the poor\nyoung woman who lives upstairs.\"\n\n\"Why so, madame?\"\n\n\"When I left my son's room, I went into hers, to tell her my grief, for\nshe is almost a daughter to me; but I did not find her in the little\ncloset where she lives, and the bed had not even been slept in. Where\ncan she have gone so early--she, that never goes out?\"\n\nRose and Blanche looked at each other with fresh uneasiness, for they\ncounted much upon Mother Bunch to help them in the resolution they had\ntaken. Fortunately, both they and Frances were soon to be satisfied\non this head, for they heard two low knocks at the door, and the\nsempstress's voice, saying: \"Can I come in, Mrs. Baudoin?\"\n\nBy a spontaneous impulse, Rose and Blanche ran to the door, and opened\nit to the young girl. Sleet and snow had been falling incessantly since\nthe evening before; the gingham dress of the young sempstress, her\nscanty cotton shawl, and the black net cap, which, leaving uncovered\ntwo thick bands of chestnut hair, encircled her pale and interesting\ncountenance, were all dripping wet; the cold had given a livid\nappearance to her thin, white hands; it was only in the fire of her blue\neyes, generally so soft and timid, that one perceived the extraordinary\nenergy which this frail and fearful creature had gathered from the\nemergency of the occasion.\n\n\"Dear me! where do you come from, my good Mother Bunch?\" said Frances.\n\"Just now, in going to see if my son had returned, I opened your door,\nand was quite astonished to find you gone out so early.\"\n\n\"I bring you news of Agricola.\"\n\n\"Of my son!\" cried Frances, trembling all over. \"What has happened to\nhim? Did you see him?--Did you speak to him?--Where is he?\"\n\n\"I did not see him, but I know where he is.\" Then, perceiving that\nFrances grew very pale, the girl added: \"He is well; he is in no\ndanger.\"\n\n\"Blessed be God, who has pity on a poor sinner!--who yesterday restored\nme my husband, and to-day, after a night of cruel anguish, assures me of\nthe safety of my child!\" So saying, Frances knelt down upon the floor,\nand crossed herself with fervor.\n\nDuring the moment of silence, caused by this pious action, Rose and\nBlanche approached Mother Bunch, and said to her in a low voice, with\nan expression of touching interest: \"How wet you are! you must be very\ncold. Take care you do not get ill. We did not venture to ask Madame\nFrances to light the fire in the stove, but now we will do so.\"\n\nSurprised and affected by the kindness of Marshal Simon's daughters,\nthe hunchback, who was more sensible than others to the least mark of\nkindness, answered them with a look of ineffable gratitude: \"I am much\nobliged to you, young ladies; but I am accustomed to the cold, and am\nmoreover so anxious that I do not feel it.\"\n\n\"And my son?\" said Frances, rising after she had remained some moments\non her knees; \"why did he stay out all night? And could you tell me\nwhere to find him, my good girl? Will he soon come? why is he so long?\"\n\n\"I assure you, Agricola is well; but I must inform you, that for some\ntime--\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"You must have courage, mother.\"\n\n\"Oh! the blood runs cold in my veins. What has happened? why shall I not\nsee him?\"\n\n\"Alas, he is arrested.\"\n\n\"Arrested!\" cried Rose and Blanche, with affright.\n\n\"Father! Thy will be done!\" said Frances; \"but it is a great misfortune.\nArrested! for what? He is so good and honest, that there must be some\nmistake.\"\n\n\"The day before yesterday,\" resumed Mother Bunch, \"I received an\nanonymous letter, by which I was informed that Agricola might be\narrested at any moment, on account of his song. We agreed together that\nhe should go to the rich young lady in the Rue de Babylone, who had\noffered him her services, and ask her to procure bail for him; to\nprevent his going to prison. Yesterday morning he set out to go to the\nyoung lady's.\"\n\n\"And neither of you told me anything of all this--why did you hide it\nfrom me?\"\n\n\"That we might not make you uneasy, mother; for, counting on the\ngenerosity of that young lady, I expected Agricola back every moment.\nWhen he did not come yesterday evening. I said to myself: 'Perhaps the\nnecessary formalities with regard to the bail have detained him.' But\nthe time passed on, and he did not make his appearance. So, I watched\nall night, expecting him.\"\n\n\"So you did not go to bed either, my good girl?\"\n\n\"No, I was too uneasy. This morning, not being able to conquer my fears,\nI went out before dawn. I remembered the address of the young lady in\nthe Rue de Babylone, and I ran thither.\"\n\n\"Oh, well!\" said Frances, with anxiety; \"you were in the right.\nAccording to what my son told us, that young lady appeared very good and\ngenerous.\"\n\nMother Bunch shook her head sorrowfully; a tear glittered in her eyes,\nas she continued: \"It was still dark when I arrived at the Rue de\nBabylone; I waited till daylight was come.\"\n\n\"Poor child! you, who are so weak and timid,\" said Frances, with deep\nfeeling, \"to go so far, and in this dreadful weather!--Oh, you have been\na real daughter to me!\"\n\n\"Has not Agricola been like a brother to me!\" said Mother Bunch, softly,\nwith a slight blush.\n\n\"When it was daylight,\" she resumed: \"I ventured to ring at the door\nof the little summer-house; a charming young girl, but with a sad,\npale countenance, opened the door to me. 'I come in the name of an\nunfortunate mother in despair,' said I to her immediately, for I was so\npoorly dressed that I feared to be sent away as a beggar; but seeing, on\nthe contrary, that the young girl listened to me with kindness, I asked\nher if, the day before, a young workman had not come to solicit a\ngreat favor of her mistress. 'Alas! yes,' answered the young girl; 'my\nmistress was going to interest herself for him, and, hearing that he was\nin danger of being arrested, she concealed him here; unfortunately, his\nretreat was discovered, and yesterday afternoon, at four o'clock, he was\narrested and taken to prison.'\"\n\nThough the orphans took no part in this melancholy conversation, the\nsorrow and anxiety depicted in their countenances, showed how much they\nfelt for the sufferings of Dagobert's wife.\n\n\"But the young lady?\" cried Frances. \"You should have tried to see her,\nmy good Mother Bunch, and begged her not to abandon my son. She is so\nrich that she must have influence, and her protection might save us from\ngreat calamities.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said Mother Bunch, with bitter grief, \"we must renounce this\nlast hope.\"\n\n\"Why?\" said Frances. \"If this young lady is so good, she will have\npity upon us, when she knows that my son is the only support of a whole\nfamily, and that for him to go to prison is worse than for another,\nbecause it will reduce us all to the greatest misery.\"\n\n\"But this young lady,\" replied the girl, \"according to what I learned\nfrom her weeping maid, was taken last evening to a lunatic asylum: it\nappears she is mad.\"\n\n\"Mad! Oh! it is horrible for her, and for us also--for now there is no\nhope. What will become of us without my son? Oh, merciful heaven!\" The\nunfortunate woman hid her face in her hands.\n\nA profound silence followed this heart-rending outburst. Rose and\nBlanche exchanged mournful glances, for they perceived that their\npresence augmented the weighty embarrassments of this family. Mother\nBunch, worn out with fatigue, a prey to painful emotions, and trembling\nwith cold in her wet clothes, sank exhausted on a chair, and reflected\non their desperate position.\n\nThat position was indeed a cruel one!\n\nOften, in times of political disturbances, or of agitation amongst the\nlaboring classes, caused by want of work, or by the unjust reduction of\nwages (the result of the powerful coalition of the capitalists)--often\nare whole families reduced, by a measure of preventive imprisonment, to\nas deplorable a position as that of Dagobert's household by Agricola's\narrest--an arrest, which, as will afterwards appear, was entirely owing\nto Rodin's arts.\n\nNow, with regard to this \"precautionary imprisonment,\" of which the\nvictims are almost always honest and industrious mechanics, driven to\nthe necessity of combining together by the In organization of Labor and\nthe Insufficiency of Wages, it is painful to see the law, which ought to\nbe equal for all, refuse to strikers what it grants to masters--because\nthe latter can dispose of a certain sum of money. Thus, under many\ncircumstances, the rich man, by giving bail, can escape the annoyance\nand inconveniences of a preventive incarceration; he deposits a sum of\nmoney, pledges his word to appear on a certain day, and goes back to\nhis pleasures, his occupations, and the sweet delights of his family.\nNothing can be better; an accused person is innocent till he is proved\nguilty; we cannot be too much impressed with that indulgent maxim. It is\nwell for the rich man that he can avail himself of the mercy of the law.\nBut how is it with the poor?\n\nNot only has he no bail to give, for his whole capital consists of his\ndaily labor; but it is upon him chiefly that the rigors of preventive\nmeasures must fall with a terrible and fatal force.\n\nFor the rich man, imprisonment is merely the privation of ease\nand comfort, tedious hours, and the pain of separation from his\nfamily--distresses not unworthy of interest, for all suffering deserves\npity, and the tears of the rich man separated from his children are as\nbitter as those of the poor. But the absence of the rich man does not\ncondemn his family to hunger and cold, and the incurable maladies caused\nby exhaustion and misery.\n\nFor the workman, on the contrary, imprisonment means want, misery,\nsometimes death, to those most dear to him. Possessing nothing, he is\nunable to find bail, and he goes to prison. But if he have, as it often\nhappens, an old, infirm father or mother, a sick wife, or children in\nthe cradle? What will become of this unfortunate family? They could\nhardly manage to live from day to day upon the wages of this man, wages\nalmost always insufficient, and suddenly this only resource will be\nwanting for three or four months together.\n\nWhat will this family do? To whom will they have recourse?\n\nWhat will become of these infirm old men, these sickly wives, these\nlittle children, unable to gain their daily bread? If they chance to\nhave a little linen and a few spare clothes, these will be carried\nto the pawnbroker's, and thus they will exist for a week or so--but\nafterwards?\n\nAnd if winter adds the rigors of the season to this frightful and\ninevitable misery?\n\nThen will the imprisoned artisan see in his mind's eyes, during the long\nand sleepless nights, those who are dear to him, wan, gaunt, haggard,\nexhausted, stretched almost naked upon filthy straw, or huddled close\ntogether to warm their frozen limbs. And, should he afterwards be\nacquitted, it is ruin and desolation that he finds on his return to his\npoor dwelling.\n\nAnd then, after that long cessation from labor, he will find it\ndifficult to return to his old employers. How many days will be lost in\nseeking for work! and a day without employment is a day without bread!\n\nLet us repeat our opinion, that if, under various circumstances, the law\ndid not afford to the rich the facility of giving bail, we could only\nlament over all such victims of individual and inevitable misfortune.\nBut since the law does provide the means of setting provisionally at\nliberty those who possess a certain sum of money, why should it deprive\nof this advantage those very persons, for whom liberty is indeed\nindispensable, as it involves the existence of themselves and families?\n\nIs there any remedy for this deplorable state of things? We believe\nthere is.\n\nThe law has fixed the minimum of bail at five hundred francs. Now five\nhundred francs represent, upon the average, six months' labor of an\nindustrious workman.\n\nIf he have a wife and two children (which is also about the average), it\nis evidently quite impossible for him to have saved any such sum.\n\nSo, to ask of such a man five hundred francs, to enable him to continue\nto support his family, is in fact to put him beyond the pale of the law,\nthough, more than any one else, he requires its protection, because of\nthe disastrous consequences which his imprisonment entails upon others.\n\nWould it not be equitable and humane, a noble and salutary example,\nto accept, in every case where bail is allowed (and where the good\ncharacter of the accused could be honorably established), moral\nguarantees, in the absence of material ones, from those who have no\ncapital but their labor and their integrity--to accept the word of an\nhonest man to appear upon the day of trial? Would it not be great and\nmoral, in these days to raise the value of the lighted word, and exalt\nman in his own eyes, by showing him that his promise was held to be\nsufficient security?\n\nWill you so degrade the dignity of man, as to treat this proposition as\nan impossible and Utopian dream? We ask, how many prisoners of war have\never broken their parole, and if officers and soldiers are not brothers\nof the workingman?\n\nWithout exaggerating the virtue of promise-keeping in the honest and\nlaborious poor, we feel certain, that an engagement taken by the accused\nto appear on the day of trial would be always fulfilled, not only with\nfidelity, but with the warmest gratitude--for his family would not have\nsuffered by his absence, thanks to the indulgence of the law.\n\nThere is also another fact, of which France may well be proud. It is,\nthat her magistrates (although miserably paid as the army itself) are\ngenerally wise, upright, humane, and independent; they have the true\nfeeling of their own useful and sacred mission; they know how to\nappreciate the wants and distresses of the working classes, with whom\nthey are so often brought in contact; to them might be safely granted\nthe power of fixing those cases in which a moral security, the only one\nthat can be given by the honest and necessitous man, should be received\nas sufficient.(10)\n\nFinally, if those who make the laws have so low an opinion of the people\nas to reject with disdain the suggestions we have ventured to throw\nout, let them at least so reduce the minimum of bail, as to render it\navailable for those who have most need to escape the fruitless rigors of\nimprisonment. Let them take as their lowest limit, the month's wages of\nan artisan--say eighty francs.\n\nThis sum would still be exorbitant; but, with the aid of friends, the\npawnbroker's, and some little advances, eighty francs might perhaps be\nfound--not always, it is true--but still sometimes--and, at all events,\nmany families would be rescued from frightful misery.\n\nHaving made these observations, let us return to Dagobert's family, who,\nin consequence of the preventive arrest of Agricola, were now reduced to\nan almost hopeless state.\n\nThe anguish of Dagobert's wife increased, the more she reflected on her\nsituation, for, including the marshal's daughters, four persons were\nleft absolutely without resource. It must be confessed, however, that\nthe excellent mother thought less of herself, than of the grief which\nher son must feel in thinking over her deplorable position.\n\nAt this moment there was a knock at the door.\n\n\"Who is there?\" said Frances.\n\n\"It is me--Father Loriot.\"\n\n\"Come in,\" said Dagobert's wife.\n\nThe dyer, who also performed the functions of a porter, appeared at the\ndoor of the room. This time, his arms were no longer of a bright apple\ngreen, but of a magnificent violet.\n\n\"Mrs. Baudoin,\" said Father Loriot, \"here is a letter that the giver of\nholy water at Saint Merely's has just brought from Abbe Dubois, with\na request that I would bring it up to you immediately, as it is very\npressing.\"\n\n\"A letter from my confessor?\" said Frances, in astonishment; and, as she\ntook it, added: \"Thank you, Father Loriot.\"\n\n\"You do not want anything?\"\n\n\"No, Father Loriot.\"\n\n\"My respects to the ladies!\" and the dyer went out.\n\n\"Mother Bunch, will you read this letter for me?\" said Frances, anxious\nto learn the contents of the missive in question.\n\n\"Yes, mother,\"--and the young girl read as follows:\n\n\"'MY DEAR MADAME BAUDOIN,--I am in the habit of hearing you Tuesday and\nSaturday, but I shall not be at liberty either to-morrow or the last day\nof the week; you must then come to me this morning, unless you wish to\nremain a whole week without approaching the tribunal of penance.'\"\n\n\"Good heavens! a week!\" cried Dagobert's wife. \"Alas! I am only too\nconscious of the necessity of going there today, notwithstanding the\ntrouble and grief in which I am plunged.\"\n\nThen, addressing herself to the orphans, she continued: \"Heaven has\nheard the prayers that I made for you, my dear young ladies; this very\nday I shall be able to consult a good and holy man with regard to the\ngreat dangers to which you are exposed. Poor dear souls, that are so\ninnocent, and yet so guilty, without any fault of your own! Heaven is my\nwitness, that my heart bleeds for you as much as for my son.\"\n\nRose and Blanche looked at each other in confusion; they could not\nunderstand the fears with which the state of their souls inspired\nthe wife of Dagobert. The latter soon resumed, addressing the young\nsempstress:\n\n\"My good girl, will you render me yet another service?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"My husband took Agricola's week's wages with him to pay his journey\nto Chartres. It was all the money I had in the house; I am sure that my\npoor child had none about him, and in prison he will perhaps want some.\nTherefore take my silver cup, fork, and spoon, the two pair of sheets\nthat remain over, and my wadded silk shawl, that Agricola gave me on my\nbirthday, and carry them all to the pawnbroker's. I will try and find\nout in which prison my son is confined, and will send him half of\nthe little sum we get upon the things; the rest will serve us till my\nhusband comes home. And then, what shall we do? What a blow for him--and\nonly more misery in prospect--since my son is in prison, and I have\nlost my sight. Almighty Father!\" cried the unfortunate mother, with an\nexpression of impatient and bitter grief, \"why am I thus afflicted? Have\nI not done enough to deserve some pity, if not for myself, at least for\nthose belonging to me?\" But immediately reproaching herself for this\noutburst, she added, \"No, no! I ought to accept with thankfulness all\nthat Thou sandiest me. Forgive me for these complaints, or punish only\nmyself!\"\n\n\"Be of good courage, mother!\" said Mother Bunch. \"Agricola is innocent,\nand will not remain long in prison.\"\n\n\"But now I think of it,\" resumed Dagobert's wife, \"to go to the\npawnbroker's will make you lose much time, my poor girl.\"\n\n\"I can make up that in the night, Madame Frances; I could not sleep,\nknowing you in such trouble. Work will amuse me.\"\n\n\"Yes, but the candles--\"\n\n\"Never mind, I am a little beforehand with my work,\" said the poor girl,\ntelling a falsehood.\n\n\"Kiss me, at least,\" said Frances, with moist eyes, \"for you are the\nvery best creature in the world.\" So saying, she hastened cut of the\nroom.\n\nRose and Blanche were left alone with Mother Bunch; at length had\narrived the moment for which they had waited with so much impatience.\nDagobert's wife proceeded to St. Merely Church, where her confessor was\nexpecting to see her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVIII. THE CONFESSIONAL\n\nNothing could be more gloomy than the appearance of St. Merely Church,\non this dark and snowy winter's day. Frances stopped a moment beneath\nthe porch, to behold a lugubrious spectacle.\n\nWhile a priest was mumbling some words in a low voice, two or three\ndirty choristers, in soiled surplices, were charting the prayers for the\ndead, with an absent and sullen air, round a plain deal coffin, followed\nonly by a sobbing old man and a child, miserably clad. The beadle and\nthe sacristan, very much displeased at being disturbed for so wretched\na funeral, had not deigned to put on their liveries, but, yawning\nwith impatience, waited for the end of the ceremony, so useless to the\ninterests of the establishment. At length, a few drops of holy water\nbeing sprinkled on the coffin, the priest handed the brush to the\nbeadle, and retired.\n\nThen took place one of those shameful scenes, the necessary consequence\nof an ignoble and sacrilegious traffic, so frequent with regard to the\nburials of the poor, who cannot afford to pay for tapers, high mass,\nor violins--for now St. Thomas Aquinas' Church has violins even for the\ndead.\n\nThe old man stretched forth his hand to the sacristan to receive the\nbrush. \"Come, look sharp!\" said that official, blowing on his fingers.\n\nThe emotion of the old man was profound, and his weakness extreme; he\nremained for a moment without stirring, while the brush was clasped\ntightly in his trembling hand. In that coffin was his daughter, the\nmother of the ragged child who wept by his side--his heart was breaking\nat the thought of that last farewell; he stood motionless, and his bosom\nheaved with convulsive sobs.\n\n\"Now, will you make haste?\" said the brutal beadle. \"Do you think we are\ngoing to sleep here?\"\n\nThe old man quickened his movements. He made the sign of the cross over\nthe corpse, and, stooping down, was about to place the brush in the hand\nof his grandson, when the sacristan, thinking the affair had lasted long\nenough, snatched the sprinkling-brush from the child, and made a sign to\nthe bearers to carry away the coffin--which was immediately done.\n\n\"Wasn't that old beggar a slow coach?\" said the beadle to his companion,\nas they went back to the sacristy. \"We shall hardly have time to get\nbreakfast, and to dress ourselves for the bang-up funeral of this\nmorning. That will be something like a dead man, that's worth the\ntrouble. I shall shoulder my halberd in style!\"\n\n\"And mount your colonel's epaulets, to throw dust in the eyes of the\nwomen that let out the chairs--eh, you old rascal!\" said the other, with\na sly look.\n\n\"What can I do, Capillare? When one has a fine figure, it must be seen,\"\nanswered the beadle, with a triumphant air. \"I cannot blind the women to\nprevent their losing their hearts!\"\n\nThus conversing; the two men reached the sacristy. The sight of the\nfuneral had only increased the gloom of Frances. When she entered the\nchurch, seven or eight persons, scattered about upon chairs, alone\noccupied the damp and icy building. One of the distributors of holy\nwater, an old fellow with a rubicund, joyous, wine-bibbing face, seeing\nFrances approach the little font, said to her in a low voice: \"Abbe\nDubois is not yet in his box. Be quick, and you will have the first wag\nof his beard.\"\n\nThough shocked at this pleasantry, Frances thanked the irreverent\nspeaker, made devoutly the sign of the cross, advanced some steps into\nthe church, and knelt down upon the stones to repeat the prayer, which\nshe always offered up before approaching the tribunal of penance. Having\nsaid this prayer, she went towards a dark corner of the church, in which\nwas an oaken confessional, with a black curtain drawn across the grated\ndoor. The places on each side were vacant; so Frances knelt down in that\nupon the right hand, and remained there for some time absorbed in bitter\nreflections.\n\nIn a few minutes, a priest of tall stature, with gray hair and a stern\ncountenance, clad in a long black cassock, stalked slowly along one of\nthe aisles of the church. A short, old, misshapen man, badly dressed,\nleaning upon an umbrella, accompanied him, and from time to time\nwhispered in his ear, when the priest would stop to listen with a\nprofound and respectful deference.\n\nAs they approached the confessional, the short old man, perceiving\nFrances on her knees, looked at the priest with an air of interrogation.\n\"It is she,\" said the clergyman.\n\n\"Well, in two or three hours, they will expect the two girls at St.\nMary's Convent. I count upon it,\" said the old man.\n\n\"I hope so, for the sake of their souls,\" answered the priest; and,\nbowing gravely, he entered the confessional. The short old man quitted\nthe church.\n\nThis old man was Rodin. It was on leaving Saint Merely's that he went to\nthe lunatic asylum, to assure himself that Dr. Baleinier had faithfully\nexecuted his instructions with regard to Adrienne de Cardoville.\n\nFrances was still kneeling in the interior of the confessional. One\nof the slides opened, and a voice began to speak. It was that of\nthe priest, who, for the last twenty years had been the confessor of\nDagobert's wife, and exercised over her an irresistible and all-powerful\ninfluence.\n\n\"You received my letter?\" said the voice.\n\n\"Yes, father.\n\n\"Very well--I listen to you.\"\n\n\"Bless me, father--for I have sinned!\" said Frances.\n\nThe voice pronounced the formula of the benediction. Dagobert's wife\nanswered \"amen,\" as was proper, said her confider to \"It is my fault,\"\ngave an account of the manner in which she had performed her last\npenance, and then proceeded to the enumeration of the new sins,\ncommitted since she had received absolution.\n\nFor this excellent woman, a glorious martyr of industry and maternal\nlove, always fancied herself sinning: her conscience was incessantly\ntormented by the fear that she had committed some incomprehensible\noffence. This mild and courageous creature, who, after a whole life\nof devotion, ought to have passed what time remained to her in calm\nserenity of soul, looked upon herself as a great sinner, and lived in\ncontinual anxiety, doubting much her ultimate salvation.\n\n\"Father,\" said Frances, in a trembling voice, \"I accuse myself of\nomitting my evening prayer the day before yesterday. My husband, from\nwhom I had been separated for many years, returned home. The joy and the\nagitation caused by his arrival, made me commit this great sin.\"\n\n\"What next?\" said the voice, in a severe tone, which redoubled the poor\nwoman's uneasiness.\n\n\"Father, I accuse myself of falling into the same sin yesterday evening.\nI was in a state of mortal anxiety, for my son did not come home as\nusual, and I waited for him minute after minute, till the hour had\npassed over.\"\n\n\"What next?\" said the voice.\n\n\"Father, I accuse myself of having told a falsehood all this week to\nmy son, by letting him think that on account of his reproaching me for\nneglecting my health, I had taken a little wine for my dinner--whereas I\nhad left it for him, who has more need of it, because he works so much.\"\n\n\"Go on!\" said the voice.\n\n\"Father, I accuse myself of a momentary want of resignation this\nmorning, when I learned that my poor son was arrested; instead of\nsubmitting with respect and gratitude to this new trial which the Lord\nhath sent me--alas! I rebelled against it in my grief--and of this I\naccuse myself.\"\n\n\"A bad week,\" said the priest, in a tone of still greater severity, \"a\nbad week--for you have always put the creature before the Creator. But\nproceed!\"\n\n\"Alas, father!\" resumed Frances, much dejected, \"I know that I am a\ngreat sinner; and I fear that I am on the road to sins of a still graver\nkind.\"\n\n\"Speak!\"\n\n\"My husband brought with him from Siberia two young orphans, daughters\nof Marshal Simon. Yesterday morning, I asked them to say their prayers,\nand I learned from them, with as much fright as sorrow, that they know\nnone of the mysteries of our holy faith, though they are fifteen years\nold. They have never received the sacrament, nor are they even baptized,\nfather--not even baptized!\"\n\n\"They must be heathens!\" cried the voice, in a tone of angry surprise.\n\n\"That is what so much grieves me, father; for, as I and my husband are\nin the room of parents to these young orphans, we should be guilty of\nthe sins which they might commit--should we not, father?\"\n\n\"Certainly,--since you take the place of those who ought to watch over\ntheir souls. The shepherd must answer for his flock,\" said the voice.\n\n\"And if they should happen to be in mortal sin, father, I and my husband\nwould be in mortal sin?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the voice; \"you take the place of their parents; and fathers\nand mothers are guilty of all the sins which their children commit when\nthose sins arise from the want of a Christian education.\"\n\n\"Alas, father! what am I to do? I address myself to you as I would to\nheaven itself. Every day, every hour, that these poor young girls remain\nheathens, may contribute to bring about their eternal damnation, may it\nnot, father?\" said Frances, in a tone of the deepest emotion.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the voice; \"and the weight of this terrible\nresponsibility rests upon you and your husband; you have the charge of\nsouls!\"\n\n\"Lord, have mercy upon me!\" said Frances weeping.\n\n\"You must not grieve yourself thus,\" answered the voice, in a softer\ntone; \"happily for these unfortunates, they have met you upon the way.\nThey, will have in you and your husband good and pious examples--for\nI suppose that your husband, though formerly an ungodly person, now\npractices his religious duties!\"\n\n\"We must pray for him, father,\" said Frances, sorrowfully; \"grace has\nnot yet touched his heart. He is like my poor child, who has also not\nbeen called to holiness. Ah, father!\" said Frances, drying her tears,\n\"these thoughts are my heaviest cross.\"\n\n\"So neither your husband nor your son practises,\" resumed the voice,\nin a tone of reflection; \"this is serious--very serious. The religious\neducation of these two unfortunate girls has yet to begin. In your\nhouse, they will have ever before them the most deplorable examples.\nTake care! I have warned you. You have the charge of souls--your\nresponsibility is immense!\"\n\n\"Father, it is that which makes me wretched--I am at a loss what to do.\nHelp me, and give me your counsels: for twenty years your voice has been\nto me as the voice of the Lord.\"\n\n\"Well! you must agree with your husband to send these unfortunate girls\nto some religious house where they may be instructed.\"\n\n\"We are too poor, father, to pay for their schooling, and unfortunately\nmy son has just been put in prison for songs that he wrote.\"\n\n\"Behold the fruit of impiety,\" said the voice, severely; \"look at\nGabriel! he has followed my counsels, and is now the model of every\nChristian virtue.\"\n\n\"My son, Agricola, has had good qualities, father; he is so kind, so\ndevoted!\"\n\n\"Without religion,\" said the voice, with redoubled severity, \"what you\ncall good qualities are only vain appearances; at the least breath of\nthe devil they will disappear--for the devil lurks in every soul that\nhas no religion.\"\n\n\"Oh! my poor son!\" said Frances, weeping; \"I pray for him every day,\nthat faith may enlighten him.\"\n\n\"I have always told you,\" resumed the voice, \"that you have been too\nweak with him. God now punishes you for it. You should have parted from\nthis irreligious son, and not sanctioned his impiety by loving him\nas you do. 'If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off,' saith the\nScripture.\"\n\n\"Alas, father! you know it is the only time I have disobeyed you; but I\ncould not bring myself to part from my son.\"\n\n\"Therefore is your salvation uncertain--but God is merciful. Do not fall\ninto the same fault with regard to these young girls, whom Providence\nhas sent you, that you might save them from eternal damnation. Do not\nplunge them into it by your own culpable indifference.\"\n\n\"Oh, father! I have wept and prayed for them.\"\n\n\"That is not sufficient. These unfortunate children cannot have any\nnotion of good or evil. Their souls must be an abyss of scandal and\nimpurity--brought up as they have been, by an impious mother, and a\nsoldier devoid of religion.\"\n\n\"As for that, father,\" said Frances, with simplicity, \"they are gentle\nas angels, and my husband, who has not quitted them since their birth,\ndeclares they have the best hearts in the world.\"\n\n\"Your husband has dwelt all his life in mortal sin,\" said the voice,\nharshly; \"how can he judge of the state of souls? I repeat to you, that\nas you represent the parents of these unfortunates, it is not to-morrow,\nbut it is today, and on the instant, that you must labor for their\nsalvation, if you would not incur a terrible responsibility.\"\n\n\"It is true--I know it well, father--and I suffer as much from this fear\nas from grief at my son's arrest. But what is to be done? I could not\ninstruct these young girls at home--for I have not the knowledge--I have\nonly faith--and then my poor husband, in his blindness, makes game of\nsacred things, which my son, at least, respects in my presence, out of\nregard for me. Then, once more, father, come to my aid, I conjure you!\nAdvise me: what is to be done?\"\n\n\"We cannot abandon these two young souls to frightful perdition,\" said\nthe voice, after a moment's silence: \"there are not two ways of saving\nthem: there is only one, and that is to place them in a religious house,\nwhere they may be surrounded by good and pious examples.\"\n\n\"Oh, father! if we were not so poor, or if I could still work, I would\ntry to gain sufficient to pay for their board, and do for them as I did\nfor Gabriel. Unfortunately, I have quite lost my sight; but you, father,\nknow some charitable souls, and if you could get any of them to interest\nthem, selves for these poor orphans--\"\n\n\"Where is their father?\"\n\n\"He was in India; but, my husband tells me, he will soon be in France.\nThat, however, is uncertain. Besides, it would make my heart bleed\nto see those poor children share our misery--which will soon be\nextreme--for we only live by my son's labor.\"\n\n\"Have these girls no relation here?\" asked the voice.\n\n\"I believe not, father.\"\n\n\"It was their mother who entrusted them to your husband, to bring them\nto France?\"\n\n\"Yes, father; he was obliged to set out yesterday for Chartres, on some\nvery pressing business, as he told me.\"\n\nIt will be remembered that Dagobert had not thought fit to inform his\nwife of the hopes which the daughters of Marshall Simon founded on the\npossession of the medal, and that he had particularly charged them not\nto mention these hopes, even to Frances.\n\n\"So,\" resumed the voice, after a pause of some moments' duration, \"your\nhusband is not in Paris.\"\n\n\"No, father; but he will doubtless return this evening or to-morrow\nmorning.\"\n\n\"Listen to me,\" said the voice, after another pause. \"Every minute lost\nfor those two young girls is a new step on the road to perdition. At any\nmoment the hand of God may smite them, for He alone knows the hour of\nour death; and were they to die in the state in which they now are, they\nwould most probably be lost to all eternity. This very day, therefore,\nyou must open their eyes to the divine light, and place them in a\nreligious house. It is your duty--it should be your desire!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, father; but, unfortunately, I am too poor, as I have already\ntold you.\"\n\n\"I know it--you do not want for zeal or faith--but even were you capable\nof directing these young girls, the impious examples of your husband and\nson would daily destroy your work. Others must do for these orphans, in\nthe name of Christian charity, that which you cannot do, though you are\nanswerable for them before heaven.\"\n\n\"Oh, father! if, thanks to you, this good work could be accomplished,\nhow grateful I should be!\"\n\n\"It is not impossible. I know the superior of a convent, where these\nyoung girls would be instructed as they ought. The charge for their\nboard would be diminished in consideration of their poverty; but,\nhowever small, it must be paid and there would be also an outfit to\nfurnish. All that would be too dear for you.\"\n\n\"Alas! yes, father.\"\n\n\"But, by taking a little from my poor-box, and by applying to one or two\ngenerous persons, I think I shall be able to complete the necessary sum,\nand so get the young girls received at the convent.\"\n\n\"Ah, father! you are my deliverer, and these children's.\"\n\n\"I wish to be so--but, in the interest of their salvation, and to make\nthese measures really efficacious, I must attach some conditions to the\nsupport I offer you.\"\n\n\"Name them, father; they are accepted beforehand. Your commands shall be\nobeyed in everything.\"\n\n\"First of all, the children must be taken this very morning to\nthe convent, by my housekeeper, to whom you must bring them almost\nimmediately.\"\n\n\"Nay, father; that is impossible!\" cried Frances.\n\n\"Impossible? why?\"\n\n\"In the absence of my husband--\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"I dare not take a such a step without consulting him.\"\n\n\"Not only must you abstain from consulting him, but the thing must be\ndone during his absence.\"\n\n\"What, father? should I not wait for his return?\"\n\n\"No, for two reasons,\" answered the priest, sternly: \"first, because\nhis hardened impiety would certainly lead him to oppose your pious\nresolution; secondly, because it is indispensable that these young girls\nshould break off all connection with your husband, who, therefore, must\nbe left in ignorance of the place of their retreat.\"\n\n\"But, father,\" said Frances, a prey to cruel doubt and embarrassment,\n\"it is to my husband that these children were entrusted--and to dispose\nof them without his consent would be--\"\n\n\"Can you instruct these children at your house--yes or no?\" interrupted\nthe voice.\n\n\"No, father, I cannot.\"\n\n\"Are they exposed to fall into a state of final impenitence by remaining\nwith you--yes or no?\"\n\n\"Yes, father, they are so exposed.\"\n\n\"Are you responsible, as you take the place of their parents, for the\nmortal sins they may commit--yes or no?\"\n\n\"Alas, father! I am responsible before God.\"\n\n\"Is it in the interest of their eternal salvation that I enjoin you to\nplace them this very day in a convent?\"\n\n\"It is for their salvation, father.\"\n\n\"Well, then, choose!\"\n\n\"But tell me, I entreat you, father if I have the right to dispose of\nthem without the consent of my husband?\"\n\n\"The right! you have not only the right, but it is your sacred duty.\nWould you not be bound, I ask you, to rescue these unfortunate creatures\nfrom a fire, against the will of your husband, or during his absence?\nWell! you must now rescue them, not from a fire that will only consume\nthe body, but from one in which their souls would burn to all eternity.\"\n\n\"Forgive me, I implore you, father,\" said the poor woman, whose\nindecision and anguish increased every minute; \"satisfy my doubts!--How\ncan I act thus, when I have sworn obedience to my husband?\"\n\n\"Obedience for good--yes--but never for evil. You confess, that, were\nit left to him, the salvation of these orphans would be doubtful, and\nperhaps impossible.\"\n\n\"But, father,\" said Frances, trembling, \"when my husband returns, he\nwill ask me where are these children? Must I tell him a falsehood?\"\n\n\"Silence is not falsehood; you will tell him that you cannot answer his\nquestion.\"\n\n\"My husband is the kindest of men; but such an answer will drive him\nalmost mad. He has been a soldier, and his anger will be terrible,\nfather,\" said Frances, shuddering at the thought.\n\n\"And were his anger a hundred times more terrible, you should be proud\nto brave it in so sacred a cause!\" cried the voice, with indignation.\n\"Do you think that salvation is to be so easily gained on earth? Since\nwhen does the sinner, that would walk in the way of the Lord, turn aside\nfor the stones and briars that may bruise and tear him?\"\n\n\"Pardon, father, pardon!\" said Frances, with the resignation of despair.\n\"Permit me to ask one more question, one only. Alas! if you do not guide\nme, how shall I find the way?\"\n\n\"Speak!\"\n\n\"When Marshal Simon arrives, he will ask his children of my husband.\nWhat answer can he then give to their father?\"\n\n\"When Marshal Simon arrives, you will let me know immediately, and\nthen--I will see what is to be done. The rights of a father are only\nsacred in so far as he make use of them for the salvation of his\nchildren. Before and above the father on earth, is the Father in heaven,\nwhom we must first serve. Reflect upon all this. By accepting what I\npropose to you, these young girls will be saved from perdition; they\nwill not be at your charge; they will not partake of your misery; they\nwill be brought up in a sacred institution, as, after all, the daughters\nof a Marshal of France ought to be--and, when their father arrives at\nParis, if he be found worthy of seeing them again, instead of finding\npoor, ignorant, half savage heathens, he will behold two girls, pious,\nmodest, and well informed, who, being acceptable with the Almighty, may\ninvoke His mercy for their father, who, it must be owned, has great need\nof it--being a man of violence, war, and battle. Now decide! Will you,\non peril of your soul, sacrifice the welfare of these girls in this\nworld and the next, because of an impious dread of your husband's\nanger?\"\n\nThough rude and fettered by intolerance, the confessor's language was\n(taking his view of the case) reasonable and just, because the honest\npriest was himself convinced of what he said; a blind instrument of\nRodin, ignorant of the end in view, he believed firmly, that, in forcing\nFrances to place these young girls in a convent, he was performing a\npious duty. Such was, and is, one of the most wonderful resources of the\norder to which Rodin belonged--to have for accomplices good and sincere\npeople, who are ignorant of the nature of the plots in which they are\nthe principal actors.\n\nFrances, long accustomed to submit to the influence of her confessor,\ncould find nothing to object to his last words. She resigned herself to\nfollow his directions, though she trembled to think of the furious anger\nof Dagobert, when he should no longer find the children that a dying\nmother had confided to his care. But, according to the priest's opinion,\nthe more terrible this anger might appear to her, the more she would\nshow her pious humility by exposing herself to it.\n\n\"God's will be done, father!\" said she, in reply to her confessor.\n\"Whatever may happen, I wilt do my duty as a Christian--in obedience to\nyour commands.\"\n\n\"And the Lord will reward you for what you may have to suffer in the\naccomplishment of this meritorious act. You promise then, before God,\nthat you will not answer any of your husband's questions, when he asks\nyou for the daughters of Marshal Simon?\"\n\n\"Yes, father, I promise!\" said Frances, with a shudder.\n\n\"And will preserve the same silence towards Marshal Simon himself, in\ncase he should return, before his daughters appear to me sufficiently\ngrounded in the faith to be restored to him?\"\n\n\"Yes, father,\" said Frances, in a still fainter voice.\n\n\"You will come and give me an account of the scene that takes place\nbetween you and your husband, upon his return?\"\n\n\"Yes, father; when must I bring the orphans to your house?\"\n\n\"In an hour. I will write to the superior, and leave the letter with my\nhousekeeper. She is a trusty person, and will conduct the young girls to\nthe convent.\"\n\nAfter she had listened to the exhortations of her confessor, and\nreceived absolution for her late sins, on condition of performing\npenance, Dagobert's wife left the confessional.\n\nThe church was no longer deserted. An immense crowd pressed into it,\ndrawn thither by the pomp of the grand funeral of which the beadle\nhad spoken to the sacristan two hours before. It was with the greatest\ndifficulty that Frances could reach the door of the church, now hung\nwith sumptuous drapery.\n\nWhat a contrast to the poor and humble train, which had that morning so\ntimidly presented themselves beneath the porch!\n\nThe numerous clergy of the parish, in full procession, advanced\nmajestically to receive the coffin covered with a velvet pall; the\nwatered silks and stuffs of their copes and stoles, their splendid\nsilvered embroideries, sparkled in the light of a thousand tapers. The\nbeadle strutted in all the glory of his brilliant uniform and flashing\nepaulets; on the opposite side walked in high glee the sacristan,\ncarrying his whalebone staff with a magisterial air; the voice of the\nchoristers, now clad in fresh, white surplices, rolled out in bursts\nof thunder; the trumpets' blare shook the windows; and upon the\ncountenances of all those who were to have a share in the spoils of this\nrich corpse, this excellent corpse, this first-class corpse, a look\nof satisfaction was visible, intense and yet subdued, which suited\nadmirably with the air and attitude of the two heirs, tall, vigorous\nfellows with florid complexions, who, without overstepping the limits\nof a charming modesty of enjoyment, seemed to cuddle and hug themselves\nmost comfortably in their mourning cloaks.\n\nNotwithstanding her simplicity and pious faith, Dagobert's wife was\npainfully impressed with this revolting difference between the reception\nof the rich and the poor man's coffin at the door of the house of\nGod--for surely, if equality be ever real, it is in the presence of\ndeath and eternity!\n\nThe two sad spectacles she had witnessed, tended still further to\ndepress the spirits of Frances. Having succeeded with no small trouble\nin making her way out of the church, she hastened to return to the\nRue Brise-Miche, in order to fetch the orphans and conduct them to the\nhousekeeper of her confessor, who was in her turn to take them to St.\nMary's Convent, situated, as we know, next door to Dr. Baleinier's\nlunatic-asylum, in which--Adrienne de Cardoville was confined.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIX. MY LORD AND SPOIL-SPORT.\n\nThe wife of Dagobert, having quitted the church, arrived at the corner\nof the Rue Brise-Miche, when she was accosted by the distributor of\nholy water; he came running out of breath, to beg her to return to Saint\nMery's, where the Abbe Dubois had yet something of importance to say to\nher.\n\nThe moment Frances turned to go back, a hackney-coach stopped in front\nof the house she inhabited. The coachman quitted his box to open the\ndoor.\n\n\"Driver,\" said a stout woman dressed in black, who was seated in the\ncarriage, and held a pug-dog upon her knees, \"ask if Mrs. Frances\nBaudoin lives in this house.\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am,\" said the coachman.\n\nThe reader will no doubt have recognized Mrs. Grivois, head\nwaiting-woman to the Princess de Saint-Dizier, accompanied by My Lord,\nwho exercised a real tyranny over his mistress. The dyer, whom we have\nalready seen performing the duties of a porter, being questioned by the\ncoachman as to the dwelling of Frances, came out of his workshop, and\nadvanced gallantly to the coach-door, to inform Mrs. Grivois, that\nFrances Baudoin did in fact live in the house, but that she was at\npresent from home.\n\nThe arms, hands, and part of the face of Father Loriot were now of\na superb gold-color. The sight of this yellow personage singularly\nprovoked My Lord, and at the moment the dyer rested his hand upon the\nedge of the coach-window, the cur began to yelp frightfully, and bit him\nin the wrist.\n\n\"Oh! gracious heaven!\" cried Mrs. Grivois, in an agony, whilst Father\nLoriot, withdrew his hand with precipitation; \"I hope there is nothing\npoisonous in the dye that you have about you--my dog is so delicate!\"\n\nSo saying, she carefully wiped the pug-nose, spotted with yellow. Father\nLoriot, not at all satisfied with this speech, when he had expected to\nreceive some apology from Mrs. Grivois on account of her dog's behavior,\nsaid to her, as with difficulty he restrained his anger: \"If you did not\nbelong to the fair sex, which obliges me to respect you in the person\nof that wretched animal I would have the pleasure of taking him by the\ntail, and making him in one minute a dog of the brightest orange color,\nby plunging him into my cauldron, which is already on the fire.\"\n\n\"Dye my pet yellow!\" cried Mrs. Grivois, in great wrath, as she\ndescended from the hackney-coach, clasping My Lord tenderly to her\nbosom, and surveying Father Loriot with a savage look.\n\n\"I told you, Mrs. Baudoin is not at home,\" said the dyer, as he saw the\npug-dog's mistress advance in the direction of the dark staircase.\n\n\"Never mind; I will wait for her,\" said Mrs. Grivois tartly. \"On which\nstory does she live?\"\n\n\"Up four pair!\" answered Father Loriot, returning abruptly to his shop.\nAnd he added to himself, with a chuckle at the anticipation: \"I hope\nFather Dagobert's big prowler will be in a bad humor, and give that\nvillainous pug a shaking by the skin of his neck.\"\n\nMrs. Grivois mounted the steep staircase with some difficulty, stopping\nat every landing-place to take breath, and looking about her with\nprofound disgust. At length she reached the fourth story, and paused an\ninstant at the door of the humble chamber, in which the two sisters and\nMother Bunch then were.\n\nThe young sempstress was occupied in collecting the different articles\nthat she was about to carry to the pawnbroker's. Rose and Blanche seemed\nhappier, and somewhat less uneasy about the future; for they had learned\nfrom Mother Bunch, that, when they knew how to sew, they might between\nthem earn eight francs a week, which would at least afford some\nassistance to the family.\n\nThe presence of Mrs. Grivois in Baudoin's dwelling was occasioned by a\nnew resolution of Abbe d'Aigrigny and the Princess de Saint-Dizier; they\nhad thought it more prudent to send Mrs. Grivois, on whom they could\nblindly depend, to fetch the young girls, and the confessor was charged\nto inform Frances that it was not to his housekeeper, but to a lady\nthat would call on her with a note from him, that she was to deliver the\norphans, to be taken to a religious establishment.\n\nHaving knocked at the door, the waiting-woman of the Princess de Saint\nDizier entered the room, and asked for Frances Baudoin.\n\n\"She is not at home, madame,\" said Mother Bunch timidly, not a little\nastonished at so unexpected a visit, and casting down her eyes before\nthe gaze of this woman.\n\n\"Then I will wait for her, as I have important affairs to speak of,\"\nanswered Mrs. Grivois, examining with curiosity and attention the\nfaces of the two orphans, who also cast down their eyes with an air of\nconfusion.\n\nSo saying, Madame Grivois sat down, not without some repugnance, in the\nold arm-chair of Dagobert's wife, and believing that she might now\nleave her favorite at liberty, she laid him carefully on the floor.\nImmediately, a low growl, deep and hollow, sounding from behind the\narmchair, made Mrs. Grivois jump from her seat, and sent the pug-dog,\nyelping with affright, and trembling through his fat, to take refuge\nclose to his mistress, with all the symptoms of angry alarm.\n\n\"What! is there a dog here?\" cried Mrs. Grivois, stooping precipitately\nto catch up My Lord, whilst, as if he wished himself to answer\nthe question, Spoil-sport rose leisurely from his place behind the\narm-chair, and appeared suddenly, yawning and stretching himself.\n\nAt sight of this powerful animal, with his double row of formidable\npointed fangs, which he seemed to take delight in displaying as he\nopened his large jaws, Mrs. Grivois could not help giving utterance to\na cry of terror. The snappish pug had at first trembled in all his limbs\nat the Siberian's approach; but, finding himself in safety on the lap\nof his mistress, he began to growl insolently, and to throw the most\nprovoking glances at Spoil-sport. These the worthy companion of the\ndeceased Jovial answered disdainfully by gaping anew; after which he\nwent smelling round Mrs. Grivois with a sort of uneasiness, turned\nhis back upon My Lord, and stretched himself at the feet of Rose and\nBlanche, keeping his large, intelligent eyes fixed upon them, as if he\nforesaw that they were menaced with some danger.\n\n\"Turn out that beast,\" said Mrs. Grivois, imperiously; \"he frightens my\ndog, and may do him some harm.\"\n\n\"Do not be afraid, madame,\" replied Rose, with a smile; \"Spoil-sport\nwill do no harm, if he is not attacked.\"\n\n\"Never mind!\" cried Mrs. Grivois; \"an accident soon happens. The very\nsight of that enormous dog, with his wolf's head and terrible teeth, is\nenough to make one tremble at the injuries he might do one. I tell you\nto turn him out.\"\n\nMrs. Grivois had pronounced these last words in a tone of irritation,\nwhich did not sound at all satisfactory in Spoil-sport's ears; so he\ngrowled and showed his teeth, turning his head in the direction of the\nstranger.\n\n\"Be quiet, Spoil-sport!\" said Blanche sternly.\n\nA new personage here entered the room, and put an end to this situation,\nwhich was embarrassing enough for the two young girls. It was a\ncommissionaire, with a letter in his hand.\n\n\"What is it, sir?\" asked Mother Bunch.\n\n\"A very pressing letter from the good man of the house; the dyer below\nstairs told me to bring it up here.\"\n\n\"A letter from Dagobert!\" cried Rose and Blanche, with a lively\nexpression of pleasure. \"He is returned then? where is he?\"\n\n\"I do not know whether the good man is called Dagobert or not,\" said\nthe porter; \"but he is an old trooper, with a gray moustache, and may be\nfound close by, at the office of the Chartres coaches.\"\n\n\"That is he!\" cried Blanche. \"Give me the letter.\"\n\nThe porter handed it to the young girl, who opened it in all haste.\n\nMrs. Grivois was struck dumb with dismay; she knew that Dagobert had\nbeen decoyed from Paris, that the Abbe Dubois might have an opportunity\nto act with safety upon Frances. Hitherto, all had succeeded; the good\nwoman had consented to place the young girls in the hands of a religious\ncommunity--and now arrives this soldier, who was thought to be absent\nfrom Paris for two or three days at least, and whose sudden return might\neasily ruin this laborious machination, at the moment when it seemed to\npromise success.\n\n\"Oh!\" said Blanche, when she had read the letter. \"What a misfortune!\"\n\n\"What is it, then, sister?\" cried Rose.\n\n\"Yesterday, half way to Chartres, Dagobert perceived that he had lost\nhis purse. He was unable to continue his journey; he took a place upon\ncredit, to return, and he asks his wife to send him some money to the\noffice, to pay what he owes.\"\n\n\"That's it,\" said the porter; \"for the good man told me to make haste,\nbecause he was there in pledge.\"\n\n\"And nothing in the house!\" cried Blanche. \"Dear me! what is to be\ndone?\"\n\nAt these words, Mrs. Grivois felt her hopes revive for a moment, they\nwere soon, however, dispelled by Mother Bunch, who exclaimed, as she\npointed to the parcel she had just made up: \"Be satisfied, dear young\nladies! here is a resource. The pawnbroker's, to which I am going, is\nnot far off, and I will take the money direct to M. Dagobert: in half an\nhour, at latest, he will be here.\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear friend! you are right,\" said Rose. \"How good you are! you\nthink of everything.\"\n\n\"And here,\" said Blanche, \"is the letter, with the address upon it. Take\nthat with you.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" answered Mother Bunch: then, addressing the porter, she\nadded: \"Return to the person who sent you, and tell him I shall be at\nthe coach-office very shortly.\"\n\n\"Infernal hunchback!\" thought Mrs. Grivois, with suppressed rage, \"she\nthinks of everything. Without her, we should have escaped the plague of\nthis man's return. What is to be done now? The girls would not go with\nme, before the arrival of the soldier's wife; to propose it to them\nwould expose me to a refusal, and might compromise all. Once more, what\nis to be done?\"\n\n\"Do not be uneasy, ladies,\" said the porter as he went out; \"I will\ngo and assure the good man, that he will not have to remain long in\npledge.\"\n\nWhilst Mother Bunch was occupied in tying her parcel, in which she had\nplaced the silver cup, fork, and spoon, Mrs. Grivois seemed to reflect\ndeeply. Suddenly she started. Her countenance, which had been for some\nmoments expressive of anxiety and rage, brightened up on the instant.\nShe rose, still holding My Lord in her arms, and said to the young\ngirls: \"As Mrs. Baudoin does not come in, I am going to pay a visit in\nthe neighborhood, and will return immediately. Pray tell her so!\"\n\nWith these words Mr. Grivois took her departure, a few minutes before\nMother Bunch left.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER L. APPEARANCES.\n\nAfter she had again endeavored to cheer up the orphans, the sewing-girl\ndescended the stairs, not without difficulty, for, in addition to the\nparcel, which was already heavy, she had fetched down from her own room\nthe only blanket she possessed--thus leaving herself without protection\nfrom the cold of her icy garret.\n\nThe evening before, tortured with anxiety as to Agricola's fate, the\ngirl had been unable to work; the miseries of expectation and hope\ndelayed had prevented her from doing so; now another day would be lost,\nand yet it was necessary to live. Those overwhelming sorrows, which\ndeprive the poor of the faculty of labor, are doubly dreaded; they\nparalyze the strength, and, with that forced cessation from toil, want\nand destitution are often added to grief.\n\nBut Mother Bunch, that complete incarnation of holiest duty, had yet\nstrength enough to devote herself for the service of others. Some of the\nmost frail and feeble creatures are endowed with extraordinary vigor\nof soul; it would seem as if, in these weak, infirm organizations, the\nspirit reigned absolutely over the body, and knew how to inspire it with\na factitious energy.\n\nThus, for the last twenty-four hours, Mother Bunch had neither slept\nnor eaten; she had suffered from the cold, through the whole of a frosty\nnight. In the morning she had endured great fatigue, in going, amid rain\nand snow, to the Rue de Babylone and back, twice crossing Paris and yet\nher strength was not exhausted--so immense is the power of the human\nheart!\n\nShe had just arrived at the corner of the Rue Saint Mery. Since the\nrecent Rue des Prouvaires conspiracy, there were stationed in this\npopulous quarter of the town a much larger number of police-officers\nthan usual. Now the young sempstress, though bending beneath the weight\nof her parcel, had quickened her pace almost to a run, when, just as she\npassed in front of one of the police, two five-franc pieces fell on the\nground behind her, thrown there by a stout woman in black, who followed\nher closely.\n\nImmediately after the stout woman pointed out the two pieces to the\npoliceman, and said something hastily to him with regard to Mother\nBunch. Then she withdrew at all speed in the direction of the Rue\nBrise-Miche.\n\nThe policeman, struck with what Mrs. Grivois had said to him ( for it\nwas that person), picked up the money, and, running after the humpback,\ncried out to her: \"Hi, there! young woman, I say--stop! stop!\"\n\nOn this outcry, several persons turned round suddenly and, as always\nhappens in those quarters of the town, a nucleus of five or six persons\nsoon grew to a considerable crowd.\n\nNot knowing that the policeman was calling to her, Mother Bunch only\nquickened her speed, wishing to get to the pawnbroker's as soon as\npossible, and trying to avoid touching any of the passers-by, so much\ndid she dread the brutal and cruel railleries, to which her infirmity so\noften exposed her.\n\nSuddenly, she heard many persons running after her, and at the same\ninstant a hand was laid rudely on her shoulder. It was the policeman,\nfollowed by another officer, who had been drawn to the spot by the\nnoise. Mother Bunch turned round, struck with as much surprise as fear.\n\nShe found herself in the centre of a crowd, composed chiefly of that\nhideous scum, idle and in rags, insolent and malicious, besotted with\nignorance, brutalized by want, and always loafing about the corners.\nWorkmen are scarcely ever met with in these mobs, for they are for the\nmost part engaged in their daily labors.\n\n\"Come, can't you hear? you are deaf as Punch's dog,\" said the policeman,\nseizing Mother Bunch so rudely by the arm, that she let her parcel fall\nat her feet.\n\nWhen the unfortunate girl, looking round in terror, saw herself exposed\nto all those insolent, mocking, malicious glances, when she beheld the\ncynical and coarse grimace on so many ignoble and filthy countenances,\nshe trembled in all her limbs, and became fearfully pale. No doubt the\npoliceman had spoken roughly to her; but how could he speak otherwise to\na poor deformed girl, pale and trembling, with her features agitated\nby grief and fear--to a wretched creature, miserably clad, who wore\nin winter a thin cotton gown, soiled with mud, and wet with melted\nsnow--for the poor sempstress had walked much and far that morning. So\nthe policeman resumed, with great severity, following that supreme law\nof appearances which makes poverty always suspected: \"Stop a bit,\nyoung woman! it seems you are in a mighty hurry, to let your money fall\nwithout picking it up.\"\n\n\"Was her blunt hid in her hump?\" said the hoarse voice of a match-boy, a\nhideous and repulsive specimen of precocious depravity.\n\nThis sally was received with laughter, shouts, and hooting, which served\nto complete the sewing-girl's dismay and terror. She was hardly able to\nanswer, in a feeble voice, as the policeman handed her the two pieces of\nsilver: \"This money, sir, is not mine.\"\n\n\"You lie,\" said the other officer, approaching; \"a respectable lady saw\nit drop from your pocket.\"\n\n\"I assure you, sir, it is not so,\" answered Mother Bunch, trembling.\n\n\"I tell you that you lie,\" resumed the officer; \"for the lady, struck\nwith your guilty and frightened air, said to me: 'Look at yonder little\nhunchback, running away with that large parcel, and letting her money\nfall without even stopping to pick it up--it is not natural.'\"\n\n\"Bobby,\" resumed the match-vendor in his hoarse voice, \"be on your\nguard! Feel her hump, for that is her luggage-van. I'm sure that you'll\nfind boots, and cloaks, and umbrellas, and clocks in it--for I just\nheard the hour strike in the bend of her back.\"\n\nThen came fresh bursts of laughter and shouts and hooting, for this\nhorrible mob has no pity for those who implore and suffer. The crowd\nincreased more and more, and now they indulged in hoarse cries, piercing\nwhistles, and all kinds of horse play.\n\n\"Let a fellow see her; it's free gratis.\"\n\n\"Don't push so; I've paid for my place!\"\n\n\"Make her stand up on something, that all may have a look.\"\n\n\"My corns are being ground: it was not worth coming.\"\n\n\"Show her properly--or return the money.\"\n\n\"That's fair, ain't it?\"\n\n\"Give it us in the 'garden' style.\"\n\n\"Trot her out in all her paces! Kim up!\"\n\nFancy the feelings of this unfortunate creature, with her delicate\nmind, good heart, and lofty soul, and yet with so timid and nervous a\ncharacter, as she stood alone with the two policemen in the thick of the\ncrowd, and was forced to listen to all these coarse and savage insults.\n\nBut the young sempstress did not yet understand of what crime she was\naccused. She soon discovered it, however, for the policeman, seizing the\nparcel which she had picked up and now held in her trembling hands, said\nto her rudely: \"What is there in that bundle?\"\n\n\"Sir--it is--I am going--\" The unfortunate girl hesitated--unable, in\nher terror, to find the word.\n\n\"If that's all you have to answer,\" said the policeman, \"it's no great\nshakes. Come, make haste! turn your bundle inside out.\"\n\nSo saying, the policeman snatched the parcel from her, half opened it,\nand repeated, as he enumerated the divers articles it contained:\n\"The devil!--sheets--a spoon and fork--a silver mug--a shawl--a\nblanket--you're a downy mot! it was not so bad a move. Dressed like a\nbeggar, and with silver plate about you. Oh, yes! you're a deep 'un.\"\n\n\"Those articles do not belong to you,\" said the other officer.\n\n\"No, sir,\" replied Mother Bunch, whose strength was failing her; \"but--\"\n\n\"Oh, vile hunchback! you have stolen more than you are big!\"\n\n\"Stolen!\" cried Mother Bunch, clasping her hands in horror, for she now\nunderstood it all. \"Stolen!\"\n\n\"The guard! make way for the lobsters!\" cried several persons at once.\n\n\"Oh, ho! here's the lobsters!\"\n\n\"The fire-eaters!\"\n\n\"The Arab devourers!\"\n\n\"Come for their dromedary!\"\n\nIn the midst of these noisy jests, two soldiers and a corporal advanced\nwith much difficulty. Their bayonets and the barrels of their guns were\nalone visible above the heads of this hideous and compact crowd. Some\nofficious person had been to inform the officer at the nearest guard\nhouse, that a considerable crowd obstructed the public way.\n\n\"Come, here is the guard--so march to the guard-house!\" said the\npoliceman, taking Mother Bunch by the arm.\n\n\"Sir,\" said the poor girl, in a voice stifled by sobs, clasping her\nhands in terror, and sinking upon her knees on the pavement; \"sir,--have\npity--let me explain--\"\n\n\"You will explain at the guard-house; so come on!\"\n\n\"But, sir--I am not a thief,\" cried Mother Bunch, in a heart-rending\ntone; \"have pity upon me--do not take me away like a thief, before all\nthis crowd. Oh! mercy! mercy!\"\n\n\"I tell you, there will be time to explain at the guard-house. The\nstreet is blocked up; so come along!\" Grasping the unfortunate creature\nby both her hands, he set her, as it were, on her feet again.\n\nAt this instant, the corporal and his two soldiers, having succeeded\nin making their way through the crowd, approached the policeman.\n\"Corporal,\" said the latter, \"take this girl to the guard-house. I am an\nofficer of the police.\"\n\n\"Oh, gentlemen!\" cried the girl, weeping hot tears, and wringing her\nhands, \"do not take me away, before you let me explain myself. I am not\na thief--indeed, indeed, I am not a thief! I will tell you--it was to\nrender service to others--only let me tell you--\"\n\n\"I tell you, you should give your explanations at the guard-house; if\nyou will not walk, we must drag you along,\" said the policeman.\n\nWe must renounce the attempt to paint this scene, at once ignoble and\nterrible.\n\nWeak, overpowered, filled with alarm, the unfortunate girl was dragged\nalong by the soldiers, her knees sinking under her at every step.\nThe two police-officers had each to lend an arm to support her, and\nmechanically she accepted their assistance. Then the vociferations and\nhootings burst forth with redoubled fury. Half-swooning between the two\nmen, the hapless creature seemed to drain the cup of bitterness to the\ndregs.\n\nBeneath that foggy sky, in that dirty street, under the shadow of the\ntall black houses, those hideous masses of people reminded one of the\nwildest fancies of Callot and of Goya: children in rags, drunken women,\ngrim and blighted figures of men, rushed against each other, pushed,\nfought, struggled, to follow with howls and hisses an almost inanimate\nvictim--the victim of a deplorable mistake.\n\nOf a mistake! How one shudders to think, that such arrests may often\ntake place, founded upon nothing but the suspicion caused by the\nappearance of misery, or by some inaccurate description. Can we forget\nthe case of that young girl, who, wrongfully accused of participating\nin a shameful traffic, found means to escape from the persons who were\nleading her to prison, and, rushing up the stairs of a house, threw\nherself from a window, in her despair, and was crushed to death upon the\npaving-stones?\n\nMeanwhile, after the abominable denunciation of which Mother Bunch was\nthe victim, Mrs. Grivois had returned precipitately to the Rue Brise\nMiche. She ascended in haste to the fourth story, opened the door of\nFrances Baudoin's room, and saw--Dagobert in company with his wife and\nthe two orphans!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LI. THE CONVENT.\n\nLet us explain in a few words the presence of Dagobert. His countenance\nwas impressed with such an air of military frankness that the manager\nof the coach-office would have been satisfied with his promise to return\nand pay the money; but the soldier had obstinately insisted on remaining\nin pledge, as he called it, till his wife had answered his letter.\nWhen, however, on the return of the porter, he found that the money was\ncoming, his scruples were satisfied, and he hastened to run home.\n\nWe may imagine the stupor of Mrs. Grivois, when, upon entering the\nchamber, she perceived Dagobert (whom she easily recognized by the\ndescription she had heard of him) seated beside his wife and the\norphans. The anxiety of Frances at sight of Mrs. Grivois was equally\nstriking. Rose and Blanche had told her of the visit of a lady, during\nher absence, upon important business; and, judging by the information\nreceived from her confessor, Frances had no doubt that this was the\nperson charged to conduct the orphans to a religious establishment.\n\nHer anxiety was terrible. Resolved to follow the counsels of Abbe\nDubois, she dreaded lest a word from Mrs. Grivois should put Dagobert on\nthe scent--in which case all would be lost, and the orphans would\nremain in their present state of ignorance and mortal sin, for which she\nbelieved herself responsible.\n\nDagobert, who held the hands of Rose and Blanche, left his seat as the\nPrincess de Saint-Dizier's waiting-woman entered the room and cast an\ninquiring glance on Frances.\n\nThe moment was critical--nay, decisive; but Mrs. Grivois had profited by\nthe example of the Princess de Saint-Dizier. So, taking her resolution\nat once, and turning to account the precipitation with which she had\nmounted the stairs, after the odious charge she had brought against poor\nMother Bunch, and even the emotion caused by the unexpected sight of\nDagobert, which gave to her features an expression of uneasiness and\nalarm--she exclaimed, in an agitated voice, after the moment's silence\nnecessary to collect her thoughts: \"Oh, madame! I have just been the\nspectator of a great misfortune. Excuse my agitation! but I am so\nexcited--\"\n\n\"Dear me! what is the matter?\" said Frances, in a trembling voice, for\nshe dreaded every moment some indiscretion on the part of Mrs. Grivois.\n\n\"I called just now,\" resumed the other, \"to speak to you on some\nimportant business; whilst I was waiting for you, a poor young woman,\nrather deformed, put up sundry articles in a parcel--\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Frances; \"it was Mother Bunch, an excellent, worthy\ncreature.\"\n\n\"I thought as much, madame; well, you shall hear what has happened. As\nyou did not come in, I resolved to pay a visit in the neighborhood. I go\nout, and get as far as the Rue St. Mery, when--Oh, madame!\"\n\n\"Well?\" said Dagobert, \"what then?\"\n\n\"I see a crowd--I inquire what is the matter--I learn that a policeman\nhas just arrested a young girl as a thief, because she had been seen\ncarrying a bundle, composed of different articles which did not appear\nto belong to her--I approached--what do I behold?--the same young woman\nthat I had met just before in this room.\"\n\n\"Oh! the poor child!\" exclaimed Frances, growing pale, and clasping her\nhands together. \"What a dreadful thing!\"\n\n\"Explain, then,\" said Dagobert to his wife. \"What was in this bundle?\"\n\n\"Well, my dear--to confess the truth--I was a little short, and I asked\nour poor friend to take some things for me to the pawnbroker's--\"\n\n\"What! and they thought she had robbed us!\" cried Dagobert; \"she,\nthe most honest girl in the world! it is dreadful--you ought to have\ninterfered, madame; you ought to have said that you knew her.\"\n\n\"I tried to do so, sir; but, unfortunately, they would not hear me. The\ncrowd increased every moment, till the guard came up, and carried her\noff.\"\n\n\"She might die of it, she is so sensitive and timid!\" exclaimed Frances.\n\n\"Ah, good Mother Bunch! so gentle! so considerate!\" said Blanche,\nturning with tearful eyes towards her sister.\n\n\"Not being able to help her,\" resumed Mrs. Grivois \"I hastened hither\nto inform you of this misadventure--which may, indeed, easily be\nrepaired--as it will only be necessary to go and claim the young girl as\nsoon as possible.\"\n\nAt these words, Dagobert hastily seized his hat, and said abruptly to\nMrs. Grivois: \"Zounds, madame! you should have begun by telling us that.\nWhere is the poor child? Do you know?\"\n\n\"I do not, sir; but there are still so many excited people in the street\nthat, if you will have the kindness to step out, you will be sure to\nlearn.\"\n\n\"Why the devil do you talk of kindness? It is my duty, madame. Poor\nchild!\" repeated Dagobert. \"Taken up as a thief!--it is really horrible.\nI will go to the guard-house, and to the commissary of police for this\nneighborhood, and, by hook or crook, I will find her, and have her out,\nand bring her home with me.\"\n\nSo saying, Dagobert hastily departed. Frances, now that she felt more\ntranquil as to the fate of Mother Bunch, thanked the Lord that this\ncircumstance had obliged her husband to go out, for his presence at this\njuncture caused her a terrible embarrassment.\n\nMrs. Grivois had left My Lord in the coach below, for the moments were\nprecious. Casting a significant glance at Frances she handed her Abbe\nDubois' letter, and said to her, with strong emphasis on every word:\n\"You will see by this letter, madame, what was the object of my visit,\nwhich I have not before been able to explain to you, but on which I\ntruly congratulate myself, as it brings me into connection with these\ntwo charming young ladies.\" Rose and Blanche looked at each other in\nsurprise. Frances took the letter with a trembling hand. It required all\nthe pressing and threatening injunctions of her confessor to conquer\nthe last scruples of the poor woman, for she shuddered at the thought of\nDagobert's terrible indignation. Moreover, in her simplicity, she knew\nnot how to announce to the young girls that they were to accompany this\nlady.\n\nMrs. Grivois guessed her embarrassment, made a sign to her to be at her\nease, and said to Rose, whilst Frances was reading the letter of her\nconfessor: \"How happy your relation will be to see you, my dear young\nlady!'\n\n\"Our relation, madame?\" said Rose, more and more astonished.\n\n\"Certainly. She knew of your arrival here, but, as she is still\nsuffering from the effects of a long illness, she was not able to come\nherself to-day, and has sent me to fetch you to her. Unfortunately,\"\nadded Mrs. Grivois, perceiving a movement of uneasiness on the part of\nthe two sisters, \"it will not be in her power, as she tells Mrs. Baudoin\nin her letter, to see you for more than a very short time--so you may\nbe back here in about an hour. But to-morrow or the next day after,\nshe will be well enough to leave home, and then she will come and make\narrangements with Mrs. Baudoin and her husband, to take you into her\nhouse--for she could not bear to leave you at the charge of the worthy\npeople who have been so kind to you.\"\n\nThese last words of Mrs. Grivois made a favorable impression upon the\ntwo sisters, and banished their fears of becoming a heavy burden to\nDagobert's family. If it had been proposed to them to quit altogether\nthe house in the Rue Bris-Miche, without first asking the consent of\ntheir old friend, they would certainly have hesitated; but Mrs. Grivois\nhad only spoken of an hour's visit. They felt no suspicion, therefore,\nand Rose said to Frances: \"We may go and see our relation, I suppose,\nmadame, without waiting for Dagobert's return?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Frances, in a feeble voice, \"since you are to be back\nalmost directly.\"\n\n\"Then, madame, I would beg these dear young ladies to come with me as\nsoon as possible, as I should like to bring them back before noon.\n\n\"We are ready, madame,\" said Rose.\n\n\"Well then, young ladies, embrace your second mother, and come,\" said\nMrs. Grivois, who was hardly able to control her uneasiness, for she\ntrembled lest Dagobert should return from one moment to the other.\n\nRose and Blanche embraced Frances, who, clasping in her arms the two\ncharming and innocent creatures that she was about to deliver up, could\nwith difficulty restrain her tears, though she was fully convinced that\nshe was acting for their salvation.\n\n\"Come, young ladies,\" said Mrs. Grivois, in the most affable tone, \"let\nus make haste--you will excuse my impatience, I am sure--but it is in\nthe name of your relation that I speak.\"\n\nHaving once more tenderly kissed the wife of Dagobert, the sisters\nquitted the room hand in hand, and descended the staircase close\nbehind Mrs. Grivois, followed (without their being aware of it), by\nSpoil-sport. The intelligent animal cautiously watched their movements,\nfor, in the absence of his master, he never let them out of his sight.\n\nFor greater security, no doubt, the waiting-woman of Madame de Saint\nDizier had ordered the hackney-coach to wait for her at a little\ndistance from the Rue Brise-Miche, in the cloister square. In a few\nseconds, the orphans and their conductress reached the carriage.\n\n\"Oh, missus!\" said the coachman, opening the door; \"no offence, I\nhope--but you have the most ill-tempered rascal of a dog! Since you put\nhim into my coach, he has never ceased howling like a roasted cat,\nand looks as if he would eat us all up alive!\" In fact, My Lord, who\ndetested solitude, was yelling in the most deplorable manner.\n\n\"Be quiet, My Lord! here I am,\" said Mrs. Grivois; then addressing the\ntwo sisters, she added: \"Pray, get in, my dear young ladies.\"\n\nRose and Blanche got into the coach. Before she followed them, Mrs.\nGrivois was giving to the coachman in a low voice the direction to St.\nMary's Convent, and was adding other instructions, when suddenly the pug\ndog, who had growled savagely when the sisters took their seats in\nthe coach, began to bark with fury. The cause of this anger was clear\nenough; Spoil-sport, until now unperceived, had with one bound entered\nthe carriage.\n\nThe pug, exasperated by this boldness, forgetting his ordinary prudence,\nand excited to the utmost by rage and ugliness of temper, sprang at his\nmuzzle, and bit him so cruelly, that, in his turn, the brave Siberian\ndog, maddened by the pain, threw himself upon the teaser, seized him\nby the throat, and fairly strangled him with two grips of his powerful\njaws--as appeared by one stifled groan of the pug, previously half\nsuffocated with fat.\n\nAll this took place in less time than is occupied by the description.\nRose and Blanche had hardly opportunity to exclaim twice: \"Here, Spoil\nsport! down!\"\n\n\"Oh, good gracious!\" said Mrs. Grivois, turning round at the noise.\n\"There again is that monster of a dog--he will certainly hurt my love.\nSend him away, young ladies--make him get down--it is impossible to take\nhim with us.\"\n\nIgnorant of the degree of Spoil-sport's criminality, for his paltry foe\nwas stretched lifeless under a seat, the young girls yet felt that it\nwould be improper to take the dog with them, and they therefore said to\nhim in an angry tone, at the same time slightly touching him with their\nfeet: \"Get down, Spoil-sport! go away!\"\n\nThe faithful animal hesitated at first to obey this order. Sad and\nsupplicatingly looked he at the orphans, and with an air of mild\nreproach, as if blaming them for sending away their only defender. But,\nupon the stern repetition of the command, he got down from the coach,\nwith his tail between his legs, feeling perhaps that he had been\nsomewhat over-hasty with regard to the pug.\n\nMrs. Grivois, who was in a great hurry to leave that quarter of the\ntown, seated herself with precipitation in the carriage; the coachman\nclosed the door, and mounted his box; and then the coach started at a\nrapid rate, whilst Mrs. Grivois prudently let down the blinds, for fear\nof meeting Dagobert by the way.\n\nHaving taken these indispensable precautions, she was able to turn her\nattention to her pet, whom she loved with all that deep, exaggerated\naffection, which people of a bad disposition sometimes entertain for\nanimals, as if then concentrated and lavished upon them all those\nfeelings in which they are deficient with regard to their fellow\ncreatures. In a word. Mrs. Grivois was passionately attached to this\npeevish, cowardly, spiteful dog, partly perhaps from a secret sympathy\nwith his vices. This attachment had lasted for six years, and only\nseemed to increase as My Lord advanced in age.\n\nWe have laid some stress on this apparently puerile detail, because the\nmost trifling causes have often disastrous effects, and because we wish\nthe reader to understand what must have been the despair, fury, and\nexasperation of this woman, when she discovered the death of her dog--a\ndespair, a fury, and an exasperation, of which the orphans might yet\nfeel the cruel consequences.\n\nThe hackney-coach had proceeded rapidly for some seconds, when Mrs.\nGrivois, who was seated with her back to the horses, called My Lord. The\ndog had very good reasons for not replying.\n\n\"Well, you sulky beauty!\" said Mrs. Grivois, soothingly; \"you have taken\noffence, have you? It was not my fault if that great ugly dog came into\nthe coach, was it, young ladies? Come and kiss your mistress, and let us\nmake peace, old obstinate!\"\n\nThe same obstinate silence continued on the part of the canine noble.\nRose and Blanche began to look anxiously at each other, for they knew\nthat Spoil-sport was somewhat rough in his ways, though they were far\nfrom suspecting what had really happened. But Mrs. Grivois, rather\nsurprised than uneasy at her pug-log's insensibility to her affectionate\nappeals, and believing him to be sullenly crouching beneath the seat,\nstooped clown to take him up, and feeling one of his paws, drew it\nimpatiently towards her whilst she said to him in a half-jesting, half\nangry tone: \"Come, naughty fellow! you will give a pretty notion of your\ntemper to these young ladies.\"\n\nSo saying, she took up the dog, much astonished at his unresisting\ntorpor; but what was her fright, when, having placed him upon her lap,\nshe saw that he was quite motionless.\n\n\"An apoplexy!\" cried she. \"The dear creature ate too much--I was always\nafraid of it.\"\n\nTurning round hastily, she exclaimed: \"Stop, coachman! stop!\" without\nreflecting that the coachman could not hear her. Then raising the cur's\nhead, still thinking that he was only in a fit, she perceived with\nhorror the bloody holes imprinted by five or six sharp fangs, which left\nno doubt of the cause of his deplorable end.\n\nHer first impulse was one of grief and despair. \"Dead!\" she exclaimed;\n\"dead! and already cold! Oh, goodness!\" And this woman burst into tears.\n\nThe tears of the wicked are ominous. For a bad man to weep, he must\nhave suffered much; and, with him, the reaction of suffering, instead of\nsoftening the soul, inflames it to a dangerous anger.\n\nThus, after yielding to that first painful emotion, the mistress of My\nLord felt herself transported with rage and hate--yes, hate--violent\nhate for the young girls, who had been the involuntary cause of the\ndog's death. Her countenance so plainly betrayed her resentment, that\nBlanche and Rose were frightened at the expression of her face, which\nhad now grown purple with fury, as with agitated voice and wrathful\nglance she exclaimed: \"It was your dog that killed him!\"\n\n\"Oh, madame!\" said Rose; \"we had nothing to do with it.\"\n\n\"It was your dog that bit Spoil-sport first,\" added Blanche, in a\nplaintive voice.\n\nThe look of terror impressed on the features of the orphans recalled\nMrs. Grivois to herself. She saw the fatal consequences that might arise\nfrom yielding imprudently to her anger. For the very sake of vengeance,\nshe had to restrain herself, in order not to awaken suspicion in the\nminds of Marshal Simon's daughters. But not to appear to recover too\nsoon from her first impression, she continued for some minutes to cast\nirritated glances at the young girls; then, little by little, her anger\nseemed to give way to violent grief; she covered her face with her\nhands, heaved a long sigh, and appeared to weep bitterly.\n\n\"Poor lady!\" whispered Rose to Blanche. \"How she weeps!--No doubt, she\nloved her dog as much as we love Spoil-sport.\"\n\n\"Alas! yes,\" replied Blanche. \"We also wept when our old Jovial was\nkilled.\"\n\nAfter a few minutes, Mrs. Grivois raised her head, dried her eyes\ndefinitively, and said in a gentle, and almost affectionate voice:\n\"Forgive me, young ladies! I was unable to repress the first movement\nof irritation, or rather of deep sorrow--for I was tenderly attached to\nthis poor dog he has never left me for six years.\"\n\n\"We are very sorry for this misfortune, madame,\" resumed Rose; \"and we\nregret it the more, that it seems to be irreparable.\"\n\n\"I was just saying to my sister, that we can the better fancy your\ngrief, as we have had to mourn the death of our old horse, that carried\nus all the way from Siberia.\"\n\n\"Well, my dear young ladies, let us think no more about it. It was\nmy fault; I should not have brought him with me; but he was always so\nmiserable, whenever I left him. You will make allowance for my weakness.\nA good heart feels for animals as well as people; so I must trust to\nyour sensibility to excuse my hastiness.\"\n\n\"Do not think of it, madame; it is only your grief that afflicts us.\"\n\n\"I shall get over it, my dear young ladies--I shall get over it. The joy\nof the meeting between you and your relation will help to console\nme. She will be so happy. You are so charming! and then the singular\ncircumstance of your exact likeness to each other adds to the interest\nyou inspire.\"\n\n\"You are too kind to us, madame.\"\n\n\"Oh, no--I am sure you resemble each other as much in disposition as in\nface.\"\n\n\"That is quite natural, madame,\" said Rose, \"for since our birth we have\nnever left each other a minute, whether by night or day. It would be\nstrange, if we were not like in character.\"\n\n\"Really, my dear young ladies! you have never left each other a minute?\"\n\n\"Never, madame.\" The sisters joined hands with an expressive smile.\n\n\"Then, how unhappy you would be, and how much to be pitied, if ever you\nwere separated.\"\n\n\"Oh, madame! it is impossible,\" said Blanche, smiling.\n\n\"How impossible?\"\n\n\"Who would have the heart to separate us?\"\n\n\"No doubt, my dear young ladies, it would be very cruel.\"\n\n\"Oh, madame,\" resumed Blanche, \"even very wicked people would not think\nof separating us.\"\n\n\"So much the better, my dear young ladies--pray, why?\"\n\n\"Because it would cause us too much grief.\"\n\n\"Because it would kill us.\"\n\n\"Poor little dears!\"\n\n\"Three months ago, we were shut up in prison. Well when the governor of\nthe prison saw us, though he looked a very stern man, he could not help\nsaying: 'It would be killing these children to separate them;' and so we\nremained together, and were as happy as one can be in prison.\"\n\n\"It shows your excellent heart, and also that of the persons who knew\nhow to appreciate it.\"\n\nThe carriage stopped, and they heard the coachman call out \"Any one at\nthe gate there?\"\n\n\"Oh! here we are at your relation's,\" said Mrs. Grivois. Two wings of a\ngate flew open, and the carriage rolled over the gravel of a court-yard.\n\nMrs. Grivois having drawn up one of the blinds, they found themselves in\na vast court, across the centre of which ran a high wall, with a kind\nof porch upon columns, under which was a little door. Behind this wall,\nthey could see the upper part of a very large building in freestone.\nCompared with the house in the Rue Brise-Miche, this building appeared\na palace; so Blanche said to Mrs. Grivois, with an expression of artless\nadmiration: \"Dear me, madame, what a fine residence!\"\n\n\"That is nothing,\" replied Madame Grivois; \"wait till you see the\ninterior, which is much finer.\"\n\nWhen the coachman opened the door of the carriage, what was the rage of\nMrs. Grivois, and the surprise of the girls, to see Spoil-sport, who\nhad been clever enough to follow the coach. Pricking up his ears, and\nwagging his tail, he seemed to have forgotten his late offences, and to\nexpect to be praised for his intelligent fidelity.\n\n\"What!\" cried Mrs. Grivois, whose sorrows were renewed at the sight;\n\"has that abominable dog followed the coach?\"\n\n\"A famous dog, mum,\" answered the coachman \"he never once left the heels\nof my horses. He must have been trained to it. He's a powerful beast,\nand two men couldn't scare him. Look at the throat of him now!\"\n\nThe mistress of the deceased pug, enraged at the somewhat unseasonable\npraises bestowed upon the Siberian, said to the orphans, \"I will\nannounce your arrival, wait for me an instant in the coach.\"\n\nSo saying, she went with a rapid step towards the porch, and rang the\nbell. A woman, clad in a monastic garb, appeared at the door, and bowed\nrespectfully to Mrs. Grivois, who addressed her in these few words, \"I\nhave brought you the two young girls; the orders of Abbe d'Aigrigny and\nthe princess are, that they be instantly separated, and kept apart in\nsolitary cells--you understand, sister--and subjected to the rule for\nimpenitents.\"\n\n\"I will go and inform the superior, and it will be done,\" said the\nportress, with another bend.\n\n\"Now, will you come, my dear young ladies?\" resumed Mrs. Grivois,\naddressing the two girls, who had secretly bestowed a few caresses upon\nSpoil sport, so deeply were they touched by his instinctive attachment;\n\"you will be introduced to your relation, and I will return and fetch\nyou in half an hour. Coachman keep that dog back.\"\n\nRose and Blanche, in getting out of the coach, were so much occupied\nwith Spoil-sport, that they did not perceive the portress, who was half\nhidden behind the little door. Neither did they remark, that the person\nwho was to introduce them was dressed as a nun, till, taking them by\nthe hand, she had led them across the threshold, when the door was\nimmediately closed behind them.\n\nAs soon as Mrs. Grivois had seen the orphans safe into the convent, she\ntold the coachman to leave the court-yard, and wait for her at the\nouter gate. The coachman obeyed; but Spoil-sport, who had seen Rose and\nBlanche enter by the little door, ran to it, and remained there.\n\nMrs. Grivois then called the porter of the main entrance, a tall,\nvigorous fellow and said to him: \"Here are ten francs for you, Nicholas,\nif you will beat out the brains of that great dog, who is crouching\nunder the porch.\"\n\nNicholas shook his head, as he observed Spoil-sport's size and strength.\n\"Devil take me, madame!\" said he; \"'tis not so easy to tackle a dog of\nthat build.\"\n\n\"I will give you twenty francs; only kill him before me.\"\n\n\"One ought to have a gun, and I have only an iron hammer.\"\n\n\"That will do; you can knock him down at a blow.\"\n\n\"Well, madame--I will try--but I have my doubts.\" And Nicholas went to\nfetch his mallet.\n\n\"Oh! if I had the strength!\" said Mrs. Grivois.\n\nThe porter returned with his weapon, and advanced slowly and\ntreacherously towards Spoil-sport, who was still crouching beneath the\nporch. \"Here, old fellow! here, my good dog!\" said Nicholas striking\nhis left hand on his thigh, and keeping his right behind him, with the\ncrowbar grasped in it.\n\nSpoil-sport rose, examined Nicholas attentively, and no doubt perceiving\nby his manner that the porter meditated some evil design, bounded away\nfrom him, outflanked the enemy, saw clearly what was intended, and kept\nhimself at a respectful distance.\n\n\"He smells a rat,\" said Nicholas; \"the rascal's on his guard. He will\nnot let me come near him. It's no go.\"\n\n\"You are an awkward fellow,\" said Mrs. Grivois in a passion, as she\nthrew a five-franc piece to Nicholas: \"at all events, drive him away.\"\n\n\"That will be easier than to kill him, madame,\" said the porter. Indeed,\nfinding himself pursued, and conscious probably that it would be useless\nto attempt an open resistance, Spoil-sport fled from the court-yard into\nthe street; but once there, he felt himself, as it were, upon neutral\nground, and notwithstanding all the threats of Nicholas, refused to\nwithdraw an inch further than just sufficient to keep out of reach of\nthe sledge-hammer. So that when Mrs. Grivois, pale with rage, again\nstepped into her hackney-coach, in which were My Lord's lifeless\nremains, she saw with the utmost vexation that Spoil-sport was lying at\na few steps from the gate, which Nicholas had just closed, having given\nup the chase in despair.\n\nThe Siberian dog, sure of finding his way back to the Rue Brise-Miche,\nhad determined, with the sagacity peculiar to his race, to wait for the\norphans on the spot where he then was.\n\nThus were the two sisters confined in St. Mary's Convent, which, as we\nhave already said, was next door to the lunatic asylum in which Adrienne\nde Cardoville was immured.\n\nWe now conduct the reader to the dwelling of Dagobert's wife, who was\nwaiting with dreadful anxiety for the return of her husband, knowing\nthat he would call her to account for the disappearance of Marshal\nSimon's daughters.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LII. THE INFLUENCE OF A CONFESSOR.\n\nHardly had the orphans quitted Dagobert's wife, when the poor woman,\nkneeling down, began to pray with fervor. Her tears, long restrained,\nnow flowed abundantly; notwithstanding her sincere conviction that she\nhad performed a religious duty in delivering up the girl's she waited\nwith extreme fear her husband's return. Though blinded by her pious\nzeal, she could not hide from herself, that Dagobert would have good\nreason to be angry; and then this poor mother had also, under these\nuntoward circumstances, to tell him of Agricola's arrest.\n\nEvery noise upon the stairs made Frances start with trembling anxiety;\nafter which, she would resume her fervent prayers, supplicating strength\nto support this new and arduous trial. At length, she heard a step\nupon the landing-place below, and, feeling sure this time that it was\nDagobert, she hastily seated herself, dried her tears, and taking a\nsack of coarse cloth upon her lap, appeared to be occupied with\nsewing--though her aged hands trembled so much, that she could hardly\nhold the needle.\n\nAfter some minutes the door opened, and Dagobert appeared. The soldier's\nrough countenance was stern and sad; as he entered, he flung his hat\nviolently upon the table, so full of painful thought, that he did not at\nfirst perceive the absence of the orphans.\n\n\"Poor girl!\" cried he. \"It is really terrible!\"\n\n\"Didst see Mother Bunch? didst claim her?\" said Frances hastily,\nforgetting for a moment her own fears.\n\n\"Yes, I have seen her--but in what a state--twas enough to break one's\nheart. I claimed her, and pretty loud too, I can tell you; but they said\nto me, that the commissary must first come to our place in order--\"\nhere Dagobert paused, threw a glance of surprise round the room, and\nexclaimed abruptly: \"Where are the children?\"\n\nFrances felt herself seized with an icy shudder. \"My dear,\" she began in\na feeble voice--but she was unable to continue.\n\n\"Where are Rose and Blanche! Answer me then! And Spoil-sport, who is not\nhere either!\"\n\n\"Do not be angry.\"\n\n\"Come,\" said Dagobert, abruptly, \"I see you have let them go out with a\nneighbor--why not have accompanied them yourself, or let them wait for\nme, if they wished to take a walk; which is natural enough, this room\nbeing so dull. But I am astonished that they should have gone out before\nthey had news of good Mother Bunch--they have such kind hearts. But how\npale you are?\" added the soldier looking nearer at Frances; \"what is the\nmatter, my poor wife? Are you ill?\"\n\nDagobert took Frances's hand affectionately in his own but the latter,\npainfully agitated by these words, pronounced with touching goodness,\nbowed her head and wept as she kissed her husband's hand. The soldier,\ngrowing more and more uneasy as he felt the scalding tears of his wife,\nexclaimed: \"You weep, you do not answer--tell me, then, the cause of\nyour grief, poor wife! Is it because I spoke a little loud, in asking\nyou how you could let the dear children go out with a neighbor? Remember\ntheir dying mother entrusted them to my care--'tis sacred, you see--and\nwith them, I am like an old hen after her chickens,\" added he, laughing\nto enliven Frances.\n\n\"Yes, you are right in loving them!\"\n\n\"Come, then--becalm--you know me of old. With my great, hoarse voice,\nI am not so bad a fellow at bottom. As you can trust to this neighbor,\nthere is no great harm done; but, in future, my good Frances, do not\ntake any step with regard to the children without consulting me. They\nasked, I suppose, to go out for a little stroll with Spoil-sport?\"\n\n\"No, my dear!\"\n\n\"No! Who is this neighbor, to whom you have entrusted them? Where has\nshe taken them? What time will she bring them back?\"\n\n\"I do not know,\" murmured Frances, in a failing voice.\n\n\"You do not know!\" cried Dagobert, with indignation; but restraining\nhimself, he added, in a tone of friendly reproach: \"You do not know? You\ncannot even fix an hour, or, better still, not entrust them to any one?\nThe children must have been very anxious to go out. They knew that I\nshould return at any moment, so why not wait for me--eh, Frances? I ask\nyou, why did they not wait for me? Answer me, will you!--Zounds! you\nwould make a saint swear!\" cried Dagobert, stamping his foot; \"answer\nme, I say!\"\n\nThe courage of Frances was fast failing. These pressing and reiterated\nquestions, which might end by the discovery of the truth, made her\nendure a thousand slow and poignant tortures. She preferred coming\nat once to the point, and determined to bear the full weight of her\nhusband's anger, like a humble and resigned victim, obstinately faithful\nto the promise she had sworn to her confessor.\n\nNot having the strength to rise, she bowed her head, allowed her arms to\nfall on either side of the chair, and said to her husband in a tone of\nthe deepest despondency: \"Do with me what you will--but do not ask what\nis become of the children--I cannot answer you.\"\n\nIf a thunderbolt had fallen at the feet of the soldier, he would not\nhave been more violently, more deeply moved; he became deadly pale; his\nbald forehead was covered with cold sweat; with fixed and staring look,\nhe remained for some moments motionless, mute, and petrified. Then, as\nif roused with a start from this momentary torpor, and filled with a\nterrific energy, he seized his wife by the shoulders, lifted her like\na feather, placed her on her feet before him, and, leaning over her,\nexclaimed in a tone of mingled fury and despair: \"The children!\"\n\n\"Mercy! mercy!\" gasped Frances, in a faint voice.\n\n\"Where are the children?\" repeated Dagobert, as he shook with his\npowerful hands that poor frail body, and added in a voice of thunder:\n\"Will you answer? the children!\"\n\n\"Kill me, or forgive me, I cannot answer you,\" replied the unhappy\nwoman, with that inflexible, yet mild obstinacy, peculiar to timid\ncharacters, when they act from convictions of doing right.\n\n\"Wretch!\" cried the soldier; wild with rage, grief, despair, he lifted\nup his wife as if he would have dashed her upon the floor--but he was\ntoo brave a man to commit such cowardly cruelty, and, after that first\nburst of involuntary fury, he let her go.\n\nOverpowered, Frances sank upon her knees, clasped her hands, and, by the\nfaint motion of her lips, it was clear that she was praying. Dagobert\nhad then a moment of stunning giddiness; his thoughts wandered; what had\njust happened was so sudden, so incomprehensible that it required some\nminutes to convince himself that his wife (that angel of goodness, whose\nlife had been one course of heroic self-devotion, and who knew what the\ndaughters of Marshal Simon were to him) should say to him: \"Do not ask\nme about them--I cannot answer you.\"\n\nThe firmest, the strongest mind would have been shaken by this\ninexplicable fact. But, when the soldier had a little recovered himself,\nhe began to look coolly at the circumstances, and reasoned thus sensibly\nwith himself: \"My wife alone can explain to me this inconceivable\nmystery--I do not mean either to beat or kill her--let us try every\npossibly method, therefore, to induce her to speak, and above all, let\nme try to control myself.\"\n\nHe took a chair, handed another to his wife, who was still on her\nknees, and said to her: \"Sit down.\" With an air of the utmost dejection,\nFrances obeyed.\n\n\"Listen to me, wife,\" resumed Dagobert in a broken voice, interrupted\nby involuntary starts, which betrayed the boiling impatience he\ncould hardly restrain. \"Understand me--this cannot pass over in this\nmanner--you know. I will never use violence towards you--just now, I\ngave way to a first moment of hastiness--I am sorry for it. Be sure, I\nshall not do so again: but, after all, I must know what has become of\nthese children. Their mother entrusted them to my care, and I did not\nbring them all the way from Siberia, for you to say to me: 'Do not ask\nme--I cannot tell you what I have done with them.' There is no reason in\nthat. Suppose Marshal Simon were to arrive, and say to me, 'Dagobert,\nmy children?' what answer am I to give him? See, I am calm--judge\nfor yourself--I am calm--but just put yourself in my place, and tell\nme--what answer am I to give to the marshal? Well--what say you! Will\nyou speak!\"\n\n\"Alas! my dear--\"\n\n\"It is of no use crying alas!\" said the soldier wiping his forehead,\non which the veins were swollen as if they would burst; \"what am I to\nanswer to the marshal?\"\n\n\"Accuse me to him--I will bear it all--I will say--\"\n\n\"What will you say?\"\n\n\"That, on going out, you entrusted the two girls to me, and that not\nfinding them on return you asked be about them--and that my answer was,\nthat I could not tell you what had become of them.\"\n\n\"And you think the marshal will be satisfied with such reasons?\" cried\nDagobert, clinching his fists convulsively upon his knees.\n\n\"Unfortunately, I can give no other--either to him or you--no--not if I\nwere to die for it.\"\n\nDagobert bounded from his chair at this answer, which was given with\nhopeless resignation. His patience was exhausted; but determined not to\nyield to new bursts of anger, or to spend his breath in useless menaces,\nhe abruptly opened one of the windows, and exposed his burning forehead\nto the cool air. A little calmer, he walked up and down for a few\nmoments, and then returned to seat himself beside his wife. She, with\nher eyes bathed in tears, fixed her gaze upon the crucifix, thinking\nthat she also had to bear a heavy cross.\n\nDagobert resumed: \"By the manner in which you speak, I see that no\naccident has happened, which might endanger the health of the children.\"\n\n\"No, oh no! thank God, they are quite well--that is all I can say to\nyou.\"\n\n\"Did they go out alone?\"\n\n\"I cannot answer you.\"\n\n\"Has any one taken them away?\"\n\n\"Alas, my dear! why ask me these questions? I cannot answer you.\"\n\n\"Will they come back here?\"\n\n\"I do not know.\"\n\nDagobert started up; his patience was once more exhausted. But, after\ntaking a few turns in the room, he again seated himself as before.\n\n\"After all,\" said he to his wife, \"you have no interest to conceal from\nme what is become of the children. Why refuse to let me know?\"\n\n\"I cannot do otherwise.\"\n\n\"I think you will change your opinion, when you know something that I\nam now forced to tell you. Listen to me well!\" added Dagobert, in an\nagitated voice; \"if these children are not restored to me before the\n13th of February--a day close at hand--I am in the position of a\nman that would rob the daughters of Marshal Simon--rob them, d'ye\nunderstand?\" said the soldier, becoming more and more agitated. Then,\nwith an accent of despair which pierced Frances's heart, he continued:\n\"And yet I have done all that an honest man could do for those poor\nchildren--you cannot tell what I have had to suffer on the road--my\ncares, my anxieties--I, a soldier, with the charge of two girls. It was\nonly by strength of heart, by devotion, that I could go through with\nit--and when, for my reward, I hoped to be able to say to their father:\n'Here are your children!--'\" The soldier paused. To the violence of his\nfirst emotions had succeeded a mournful tenderness; he wept.\n\nAt sight of the tears rolling slowly down Dagobert's gray moustache,\nFrances felt for a moment her resolution give way; but, recalling\nthe oath which she had made to her confessor, and reflecting that the\neternal salvation of the orphans was at stake, she reproached herself\ninwardly with this evil temptation, which would no doubt be severely\nblamed by Abbe Dubois. She answered, therefore, in a trembling voice:\n\"How can they accuse you of robbing these children?\"\n\n\"Know,\" resumed Dagobert, drawing his hand across his eyes, \"that if\nthese young girls have braved so many dangers, to come hither, all the\nway from Siberia, it is that great interests are concerned--perhaps\nan immense fortune--and that, if they are not present on the 13th\nFebruary--here, in Paris, Rue Saint Francois--all will be lost--and\nthrough my fault--for I am responsible for your actions.\"\n\n\"The 13th February? Rue Saint Francois?\" cried Frances, looking at her\nhusband with surprise. \"Like Gabriel!\"\n\n\"What do you say about Gabriel?\"\n\n\"When I took him in (poor deserted child!), he wore a bronze medal about\nhis neck.\"\n\n\"A bronze medal!\" cried the soldier, struck with amazement; \"a bronze\nmedal with these words, 'At Paris you will be, the 13th of February,\n1832, Rue Saint Francois?\"\n\n\"Yes--how do you know?\"\n\n\"Gabriel, too!\" said the soldier speaking to himself. Then he added\nhastily: \"Does Gabriel know that this medal was found upon him?\"\n\n\"I spoke to him of it at some time. He had also about him a portfolio,\nfilled with papers in a foreign tongue. I gave them to Abbe Dubois, my\nconfessor, to look over. He told me afterwards, that they were of little\nconsequence; and, at a later period, when a charitable person named\nM. Rodin, undertook the education of Gabriel, and to get him into the\nseminary, Abbe Dubois handed both papers and medal to him. Since then, I\nhave heard nothing of them.\"\n\nWhen Frances spoke of her confessor a sudden light flashed across the\nmind of the soldier, though he was far from suspecting the machinations\nwhich had so long been at work with regard to Gabriel and the orphans.\nBut he had a vague feeling that his wife was acting in obedience to some\nsecret influence of the confessional--an influence of which he could\nnot understand the aim or object, but which explained, in part at least,\nFrances's inconceivable obstinacy with regard to the disappearance of\nthe orphans.\n\nAfter a moment's reflection, he rose, and said sternly to his wife,\nlooking fixedly at her: \"There is a priest at the bottom of all this.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, my dear?\"\n\n\"You have no interest to conceal these children. You are one of the best\nof women. You see that I suffer; if you only were concerned, you would\nhave pity upon me.\"\n\n\"My dear--\"\n\n\"I tell you, all this smacks of the confessional,\" resumed Dagobert.\n\"You would sacrifice me and these children to your confessor; but take\ncare--I shall find out where he lives--and a thousand thunders! I will\ngo and ask him who is master in my house, he or I--and if he does\nnot answer,\" added the soldier, with a threatening expression of\ncountenance, \"I shall know how to make him speak.\"\n\n\"Gracious heaven!\" cried Frances, clasping her hands in horror at these\nsacrilegious words; \"remember he is a priest!\"\n\n\"A priest, who causes discord, treachery, and misfortune in my house, is\nas much of a wretch as any other; whom I have a right to call to account\nfor the evil he does to me and mine. Therefore, tell me immediately\nwhere are the children--or else, I give you fair warning, I will go and\ndemand them of the confessor. Some crime is here hatching, of which\nyou are an accomplice without knowing it, unhappy woman! Well, I prefer\nhaving to do with another than you.\"\n\n\"My dear,\" said Frances, in a mild, firm voice, \"you cannot think to\nimpose by violence on a venerable man, who for twenty years has had the\ncare of my soul. His age alone should be respected.\"\n\n\"No age shall prevent me!\"\n\n\"Heavens! where are you going? You alarm me!\"\n\n\"I am going to your church. They must know you there--I will ask for\nyour confessor--and we shall see!\"\n\n\"I entreat you, my dear,\" cried Frances, throwing herself in a fright\nbefore Dagobert, who was hastening towards the door; \"only think, to\nwhat you will expose yourself! Heavens! insult a priest? Why, it is one\nof the reserved cases!\"\n\nThese last words, which appeared most alarming to the simplicity of\nDagobert's wife, did not make any impression upon the soldier. He\ndisengaged himself from her grasp, and was going to rush out bareheaded,\nso high was his exasperation, when the door opened, and the commissary\nof police entered, followed by Mother Bunch and a policeman, carrying\nthe bundle which he had taken from the young girl.\n\n\"The commissary!\" cried Dagobert, who recognized him by his official\nscarf. \"Ah! so much the better--he could not have come at a fitter\nmoment.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LIII. THE EXAMINATION.\n\n\"Mistress Frances Baudoin?\" asked the magistrate.\n\n\"Yes, sir--it is I,\" said Frances. Then, perceiving the pale and\ntrembling sewing-girl, who did not dare to come forward, she stretched\nout her arms to her. \"Oh, my poor child!\" she exclaimed, bursting into\ntears; \"forgive--forgive us--since it is for our sake you have suffered\nthis humiliation!\"\n\nWhen Dagobert's wife had tenderly embraced the young sempstress, the\nlatter, turning towards the commissary, said to him with an expression\nof sad and touching dignity: \"You see, sir, that I am not a thief.\"\n\n\"Madame,\" said the magistrate, addressing Frances, \"am I to understand\nthat the silver mug, the shawl, the sheets contained in this bundle--\"\n\n\"Belong to me, sir. It was to render me a service that this dear girl,\nwho is the best and most honest creature in the world, undertook to\ncarry these articles to the pawnbroker's.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the magistrate sternly to the policeman, \"you have committed\na deplorable error. I shall take care to report you, and see that you\nare punished. You may go, sir.\" Then, addressing Mother Bunch, with an\nair of real regret, he added: \"I can only express my sorrow for what has\nhappened. Believe me, I deeply feel for the cruel position in which you\nhave been placed.\"\n\n\"I believe it, sir,\" said Mother Bunch, \"and I thank you.\" Overcome by\nso many emotions, she sank upon a chair.\n\nThe magistrate was about to retire, when Dagobert, who had been\nseriously reflecting for some minutes, said to him in a firm voice:\n\"Please to hear me, Sir; I have a deposition to make.\"\n\n\"Speak, Sir.\"\n\n\"What I am about to say is very important; it is to you, in your quality\nof a magistrate, that I make this declaration.\"\n\n\"And as a magistrate I will hear you, sir.\"\n\n\"I arrived here two days ago, bringing with me from Russia two girls who\nhad been entrusted to me by their mother--the wife of Marshal Simon.\"\n\n\"Of Marshal Simon, Duke de Ligny?\" said the commissary, very much\nsurprised.\n\n\"Yes, Sir. Well, I left them here, being obliged to get out on pressing\nbusiness. This morning, during my absence, they disappeared--and I am\ncertain I know the man who has been the cause of it.\"\n\n\"Now, my dear,\" said Frances, much alarmed.\n\n\"Sir,\" said the magistrate, \"your declaration is a very serious one.\nDisappearance of persons--sequestration, perhaps. But are you quite\nsure?\"\n\n\"These young ladies were here an hour ago; I repeat, sir, that during my\nabsence, they have been taken away.\"\n\n\"I do not doubt the sincerity of your declaration, sir; but still it is\ndifficult to explain so strange an abduction. Who tells you that these\nyoung girls will not return? Besides, whom do you suspect? One word,\nbefore you make your accusation. Remember, it is the magistrate who\nhears you. On leaving this place, the law will take its course in this\naffair.\"\n\n\"That is what I wish, Sir; I am responsible for those young ladies to\ntheir father. He may arrive at any moment, and I must be prepared to\njustify myself.\"\n\n\"I understand all these reasons, sir; but still have a care you are not\ndeceived by unfounded suspicions. Your denunciation once made, I may\nhave to act provisionally against the person accused. Now, if you should\nbe under a mistake, the consequences would be very serious for you; and,\nwithout going further,\" said the magistrate, pointing to Mother Bunch,\nwith emotion, \"you see what are the results of a false accusation.\"\n\n\"You hear, my dear,\" cried Frances, terrified at the resolution of\nDagobert to accuse Abbe Dubois; \"do not say a word more, I entreat you.\"\n\nBut the more the soldier reflected, the more he felt convinced that\nnothing but the influence of her confessor could have induced Frances to\nact as she had done; so he resumed, with assurance: \"I accuse my wife's\nconfessor of being the principal or the accomplice in the abduction of\nMarshal Simon's daughters.\"\n\nFrances uttered a deep groan, and hid her face in her hands; while\nMother Bunch, who had drawn nigh, endeavored to console her. The\nmagistrate had listened to Dagobert with extreme astonishment, and he\nnow said to him with some severity: \"Pray, sir, do not accuse unjustly\na man whose position is in the highest degree respectable--a priest,\nsir?--yes, a priest? I warned you beforehand to reflect upon what you\nadvanced. All this becomes very serious, and, at your age, any levity in\nsuch matters would be unpardonable.\"\n\n\"Bless me, sir!\" said Dagobert, with impatience; \"at my age, one has\ncommon sense. These are the facts. My wife is one of the best and most\nhonorable of human creatures--ask any one in the neighborhood, and they\nwill tell you so--but she is a devotee; and, for twenty years, she has\nalways seen with her confessor's eyes. She adores her son, she loves me\nalso; but she puts the confessor before us both.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the commissary, \"these family details--\"\n\n\"Are indispensable, as you shall see. I go out an hour ago, to look\nafter this poor girl here. When I come back, the young ladies have\ndisappeared. I ask my wife to whom she has entrusted them, and where\nthey are; she falls at my feet weeping, and says: 'Do what you will with\nme, but do not ask me what has become of the children. I cannot answer\nyou.'\"\n\n\"Is thus true, madame?\" cried the commissary, looking at Frances with\nsurprise.\n\n\"Anger, threats, entreaties, had no effect,\" resumed Dagobert; \"to\neverything she answered as mildly as a saint: 'I can tell you nothing!'\nNow, sir, I maintain that my wife has no interest to take away these\nchildren; she is under the absolute dominion of her confessor; she has\nacted by his orders and for his purposes; he is the guilty party.\"\n\nWhilst Dagobert spoke, the commissary looked more and more attentively\nat Frances, who, supported by the hunchback, continued to weep bitterly.\nAfter a moment's reflection, the magistrate advanced towards Dagobert's\nwife, and said to her: \"Madame, you have heard what your husband has\njust declared.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"What have you to say in your justification?\"\n\n\"But, sir,\" cried Dagobert, \"it is not my wife that I accuse--I do not\nmean that; it is her confessor.\"\n\n\"Sir, you have applied to a magistrate; and the magistrate must act as\nhe thinks best for the discovery of the truth. Once more, madame,\"\nhe resumed, addressing Frances, \"what have you to say in your\njustification?\"\n\n\"Alas! nothing, sir.\"\n\n\"Is it true that your husband left these young girls in your charge when\nhe went out?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Is it true that, on his return, they were no longer to be found?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Is it true that, when he asked you where they were, you told him that\nyou could give him no information on the subject?\"\n\nThe commissary appeared to wait for Frances' reply with kind of anxious\ncuriosity.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" said she, with the utmost simplicity, \"that was the answer I\nmade my husband.\"\n\n\"What, madame!\" said the magistrate, with an air of painful\nastonishment; \"that was your only answer to all the prayers and commands\nof your husband? What! you refused to give him the least information? It\nis neither probable nor possible.\"\n\n\"It is the truth, sir.\"\n\n\"Well, but, after all, madame, what have you done with the young ladies\nthat were entrusted to your care?\"\n\n\"I can tell you nothing about it, sir. If I would not answer my poor\nhusband, I certainly will not answer any one else.\"\n\n\"Well, sir,\" resumed Dagobert, \"was I wrong? An honest, excellent woman\nlike that, who was always full of good sense and affection, to talk in\nthis way--is it natural? I repeat to you, sir that it is the work of her\nconfessor; act against him promptly and decidedly, we shall soon know\nall, and my poor children will be restored to me.\"\n\n\"Madame,\" continued the commissary, without being able to repress a\ncertain degree of emotion, \"I am about to speak to you very severely.\nMy duty obliges me to do so. This affair becomes so serious and\ncomplicated, that I must instantly commence judicial proceedings on the\nsubject. You acknowledge that these young ladies have been left in your\ncharge, and that you cannot produce them. Now, listen to me: if you\nrefuse to give any explanation in the matter, it is you alone that will\nbe accused of their disappearance. I shall be obliged, though with great\nregret, to take you into custody.\"\n\n\"Me!\" cried Frances, with the utmost alarm.\n\n\"Her!\" exclaimed Dagobert; \"never! It is her confessor that I accuse,\nnot my poor wife. Take her into custody, indeed!\" He ran towards her, as\nif he would protect her.\n\n\"It is too late, sir,\" said the commissary. \"You have made your charge\nfor the abduction of these two young ladies. According to your wife's\nown declaration, she alone is compromised up to this point. I must\ntake her before the Public Prosecutor, who will decide what course to\npursue.\"\n\n\"And I say, sir,\" cried Dagobert, in a menacing tone, \"that my wife\nshall not stir from this room.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the commissary coolly, \"I can appreciate your feelings; but,\nin the interest of justice, I would beg you not to oppose a necessary\nmeasure--a measure which, moreover, in ten minutes it would be quite\nimpossible for you to prevent.\"\n\nThese words, spoken with calmness, recalled the soldier to himself.\n\"But, sir,\" said he, \"I do not accuse my wife.\"'\n\n\"Never mind, my dear--do not think of me!\" said Frances, with the\nangelic resignation of a martyr. \"The Lord is still pleased to try me\nsorely; but I am His unworthy servant, and must gratefully resign myself\nto His will. Let them arrest me, if they choose; I will say no more in\nprison than I have said already on the subject of those poor children.\"\n\n\"But, sir,\" cried Dagobert, \"you see that my wife is out of her head.\nYou cannot arrest her.\"\n\n\"There is no charge, proof, or indication against the other person whom\nyou accuse, and whose character should be his protection. If I take\nyour wife, she may perhaps be restored to you after a preliminary\nexamination. I regret,\" added the commissary, in a tone of pity, \"to\nhave to execute such a mission, at the very moment when your son's\narrest--\"\n\n\"What!\" cried Dagobert, looking with speechless astonishment at his wife\nand Mother Bunch; \"what does he say? my son?\"\n\n\"You were not then aware of it? Oh, sir, a thousand pardons!\" said the\nmagistrate, with painful emotion. \"It is distressing to make you such a\ncommunication.\"\n\n\"My son!\" repeated Dagobert, pressing his two hands to his forehead. \"My\nson! arrested!\"\n\n\"For a political offence of no great moment,\" said the commissary.\n\n\"Oh! this is too much. All comes on me at once!\" cried the soldier,\nfalling overpowered into a chair, and hiding his face with his hands.\n\nAfter a touching farewell, during which, in spite of her terror, Frances\nremained faithful to the vow she had made to the Abbe Dubois--Dagobert,\nwho had refused to give evidence against his wife, was left leaning\nupon a table, exhausted by contending emotions, and could not help\nexplaining: \"Yesterday, I had with me my wife, my son, my two poor\norphans--and now--I am alone--alone!\"\n\nThe moment he pronounced these words, in a despairing tone, a mild sad\nvoice was heard close behind him, saying timidly: \"M. Dagobert, I am\nhere; if you will allow me, I will remain and wait upon you.\"\n\nIt was Mother Bunch!\n\nTrusting that the reader's sympathy is with the old soldier thus left\ndesolate, with Agricola in his prison, Adrienne in hers, the madhouse,\nand Rose and Blanche Simon in theirs, the nunnery; we hasten to assure\nhim (or her, as the case may be), that not only will their future steps\nbe traced, but the dark machinations of the Jesuits, and the thrilling\nscenes in which new characters will perform their varied parts, pervaded\nby the watching spirit of the Wandering Jew, will be revealed in Part\nSecond of this work, entitled: THE CHASTISEMENT.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IV.\n\n\n\n\nPART SECOND.--THE CHASTISEMENT.\n\n\n\n\nPROLOGUE.--THE BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF TWO WORLDS.\n\n     I. The Masquerade II. The Contrast III. The Carouse IV. The\n     Farewell V. The Florine VI. Mother Sainte-Perpetue VII. The\n     Temptation VIII. Mother Bunch and Mdlle. De Cardoville IX.\n     The Encounters--The Meeting XI. Discoveries XII. The Penal\n     Code XIII. Burglary\n\n\nAs the eagle, perched upon the cliff, commands an all-comprehensive\nview--not only of what happens on the plains and in the woodlands, but\nof matters occurring upon the heights, which its aerie overlooks, so may\nthe reader have sights pointed out to him, which lie below the level of\nthe unassisted eye.\n\nIn the year 1831, the powerful Order of the Jesuits saw fit to begin\nto act upon information which had for some time been digesting in their\nhands.\n\nAs it related to a sum estimated at no less than thirty or forty\nmillions of francs, it is no wonder that they should redouble all\nexertions to obtain it from the rightful owners.\n\nThese were, presumably, the descendants of Marius, Count of Rennepont,\nin the reign of Louis XIV. of France.\n\nThey were distinguished from other men by a simple token, which all, in\nthe year above named, had in their hands.\n\nIt was a bronze medal, bearing these legends on reverse and obverse:\n\n                 VICTIM\n                  of\n               L. C. D. J.\n               Pray for me!\n\n                 PARIS,\n            February the 13th, 1682.\n\n                IN PARIS\n            Rue St Francois, No. 3,\n            In a century and a half\n               you will be.\n\n            February the 13th, 1832.\n               PRAY FOR ME!\n\nThose who had this token were descendants of a family whom, a hundred\nand fifty years ago, persecution scattered through the world, in\nemigration and exile; in changes of religion, fortune and name. For this\nfamily--what grandeur, what reverses, what obscurity, what lustre, what\npenury, what glory! How many crimes sullied, how many virtues honored\nit! The history of this single family is the history of humanity!\nPassing through many generations, throbbing in the veins of the poor\nand the rich, the sovereign and the bandit, the wise and the simple, the\ncoward and the brave, the saint and the atheist, the blood flowed on to\nthe year we have named.\n\nSeven representatives summed up the virtue, courage, degradation,\nsplendor, and poverty of the race. Seven: two orphan twin daughters of\nexiled parents, a dethroned prince, a humble missionary priest, a man\nof the middle class, a young lady of high name and large fortune, and a\nworking man.\n\nFate scattered them in Russia, India, France, and America.\n\nThe orphans, Rose and Blanche Simon, had left their dead mother's grave\nin Siberia, under charge of a trooper named Francis Baudoin, alias\nDagobert, who was as much attached to them as he had been devoted to\ntheir father, his commanding general.\n\nOn the road to France, this little party had met the first check, in the\nonly tavern of Mockern village. Not only had a wild beast showman, known\nas Morok the lion-tamer, sought to pick a quarrel with the inoffensive\nveteran, but that failing, had let a panther of his menagerie loose\nupon the soldier's horse. That horse had carried Dagobert, under General\nSimon's and the Great Napoleon's eyes, through many battles; had borne\nthe General's wife (a Polish lady under the Czar's ban) to her home of\nexile in Siberia, and their children now across Russia and Germany, but\nonly to perish thus cruelly. An unseen hand appeared in a manifestation\nof spite otherwise unaccountable. Dagobert, denounced as a French spy,\nand his fair young companions accused of being adventuresses to help his\ndesigns, had so kindled at the insult, not less to him than to his old\ncommander's daughters, that he had taught the pompous burgomaster of\nMockern a lesson, which, however, resulted in the imprisonment of the\nthree in Leipsic jail.\n\nGeneral Simon, who had vainly sought to share his master's St. Helena\ncaptivity, had gone to fight the English in India. But notwithstanding\nhis drilling of Radja-sings sepoys, they had been beaten by the troops\ntaught by Clive, and not only was the old king of Mundi slain, and the\nrealm added to the Company's land, but his son, Prince Djalma, taken\nprisoner. However, at length released, he had gone to Batavia, with\nGeneral Simon. The prince's mother was a Frenchwoman, and among the\nproperty she left him in the capital of Java, the general was delighted\nto find just such another medal as he knew was in his wife's possession.\n\nThe unseen hand of enmity had reached to him, for letters miscarried,\nand he did not know either his wife's decease or that he had twin\ndaughters.\n\nBy a trick, on the eve of the steamship leaving Batavia for the Isthmus\nof Suez, Djalma was separated from his friend, and sailing for Europe\nalone, the latter had to follow in another vessel.\n\nThe missionary priest trod the war trails of the wilderness, with that\nfaith and fearlessness which true soldiers of the cross should evince.\nIn one of these heroic undertakings, Indians had captured him, and\ndragging him to their village under the shadow of the Rocky Mountains,\nthey had nailed him in derision to a cross, and prepared to scalp him.\n\nBut if an unseen hand of a foe smote or stabbed at the sons of\nRennepont, a visible interpositor had often shielded them, in various\nparts of the globe.\n\nA man, seeming of thirty years of age, very tall, with a countenance\nas lofty as mournful, marked by the black eyebrows meeting, had thrown\nhimself--during a battle's height--between a gun of a park which General\nSimon was charging and that officer. The cannon vomited its hail of\ndeath, but when the flame and smoke had passed, the tall man stood erect\nas before, smiling pityingly on the gunner, who fell on his knees as\nfrightened as if he beheld Satan himself. Again, as General Simon lay\nupon the lost field of Waterloo, raging with his wounds, eager to die\nafter such a defeat, this same man staunched his hurts, and bade him\nlive for his wife's sake.\n\nYears after, wearing the same unalterable look, this man accosted\nDagobert in Siberia, and gave him for General Simon's wife, the diary\nand letters of her husband, written in India, in little hope of them\never reaching her hands. And at the year our story opens, this man\nunbarred the cell-door of Leipsic jail, and let Dagobert and the orphans\nout, free to continue their way into France.\n\nOn the other hand, when the scalping-knife had traced its mark around\nthe head of Gabriel the missionary, and when only the dexterous turn and\ntug would have removed the trophy, a sudden apparition had terrified\nthe superstitious savages. It was a woman of thirty, whose brown\ntresses formed a rich frame around a royal face, toned down by endless\nsorrowing. The red-skins shrank from her steady advance, and when her\nhand was stretched out between them and their young victim, they uttered\na howl of alarm, and fled as if a host of their foemen were on their\ntrack. Gabriel was saved, but all his life he was doomed to bear that\nhalo of martyrdom, the circling sweep of the scalper's knife.\n\nHe was a Jesuit. By the orders of his society he embarked for Europe. We\nshould say here, that he, though owning a medal of the seven described,\nwas unaware that he should have worn it. His vessel was driven by storms\nto refit at the Azores, where he had changed ship into the same as was\nbearing Prince Djalma to France, via Portsmouth.\n\nBut the gales followed him, and sated their fury by wrecking the \"Black\nEagle\" on the Picardy coast. This was at the same point as were a\ndisabled Hamburg steamer, among whose passengers where Dagobert and his\ntwo charges, was destroyed the same night. Happily the tempest did not\nannihilate them all. There were saved, Prince Djalma and a countryman\nof his, one Faringhea, a Thuggee chief, hunted out of British India;\nDagobert, and Rose and Blanche Simon, whom Gabriel had rescued. These\nsurvivors had recovered, thanks to the care they had received in\nCardoville House, a country mansion which had sheltered them, and except\nthe prince and the Strangler chief, the others were speedily able to go\non to Paris.\n\nThe old grenadier and the orphans--until General Simon should be\nheard from--dwelt in the former's house. His son had kept it, from his\nmother's love for the life-long home. It was such a mean habitation as\na workman like Agricola Baudoin could afford to pay the rent of, and far\nfrom the fit abode of the daughters of the Duke de Ligny and Marshal of\nFrance, which Napoleon had created General Simon, though the rank had\nonly recently been approved by the restoration.\n\nBut in Paris the unknown hostile hand showed itself more malignant than\never.\n\nThe young lady of high name and large fortune was Adrienne de\nCardoville, whose aunt, the Princess de Saint-Dizier, was a Jesuit.\nThrough her and her accomplices' machinations, the young lady's forward\nyet virtuous, wildly aspiring but sensible, romantic but just, character\nwas twisted into a passable reason for her immurement in a mad-house.\n\nThis asylum adjoined St. Mary's Convent, into which Rose and Blanche\nSimon were deceitfully conducted. To secure their removal, Dagobert had\nbeen decoyed into the country, under pretence of showing some of General\nSimon's document's to a lawyer; his son Agricola arrested for treason,\non account of some idle verses the blacksmith poet was guilty of, and\nhis wife rendered powerless, or, rather, a passive assistant, by the\ninfluence of the confessional! When Dagobert hurried back from his wild\ngoose chase, he found the orphans gone: Mother Bunch (a fellow-tenant of\nthe house, who had been brought up in the family) ignorant, and his wife\nstubbornly refusing to break the promise she had given her confessor,\nand acquaint a single soul where she had permitted the girls to be\ntaken. In his rage, the soldier rashly accused that confessor, but\ninstead of arresting the Abbe Dubois, it was Mrs. Baudoin whom the\nmagistrate felt compelled to arrest, as the person whom alone\nhe ventured to commit for examination in regard to the orphans'\ndisappearance. Thus triumphs, for the time being, the unseen foe.\n\nThe orphans in a nunnery; the dethroned prince a poor castaway in a\nforeign land; the noble young lady in a madhouse; the missionary priest\nunder the thumb of his superiors.\n\nAs for the man of the middle class, and the working man, who concluded\nthe list of this family, we are to read of them, as well as of the\nothers, in the pages which now succeed these.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I. THE MASQUERADE.\n\nThe following day to that on which Dagobert's wife (arrested for not\naccounting for the disappearance of General Simon's daughters) was led\naway before a magistrate, a noisy and animated scene was transpiring\non the Place du Chatelet, in front of a building whose first floor and\nbasement were used as the tap-rooms of the \"Sucking Calf\" public-house.\n\nA carnival night was dying out.\n\nQuite a number of maskers, grotesquely and shabbily bedecked, had rushed\nout of the low dance-houses in the Guildhall Ward, and were roaring out\nstaves of songs as they crossed the square. But on catching sight of a\nsecond troop of mummers running about the water-side, the first party\nstopped to wait for the others to come up, rejoicing, with many a shout,\nin hopes of one of those verbal battles of slang and smutty talk which\nmade Vade so illustrious.\n\nThis mob--nearly all its members half seas over, soon swollen by the\nmany people who have to be up early to follow their crafts--suddenly\nconcentrated in one of the corners of the square, so that a pale,\ndeformed girl, who was going that way, was caught in the human tide.\nThis was Mother Bunch. Up with the lark, she was hurrying to receive\nsome work from her employer. Remembering how a mob had treated her when\nshe had been arrested in the streets only the day before, by mistake,\nthe poor work-girl's fears may be imagined when she was now surrounded\nby the revellers against her will. But, spite of all her efforts--very\nfeeble, alas!--she could not stir a step, for the band of merry-makers,\nnewly arriving, had rushed in among the others, shoving some of them\naside, pushing far into the mass, and sweeping Mother Bunch--who was in\ntheir way--clear over to the crowd around the public-house.\n\nThe new-comers were much finer rigged out than the others, for they\nbelonged to the gay, turbulent class which goes frequently to the\nChaumiere, the Prado, the Colisee, and other more or less rowdyish\nhaunts of waltzers, made up generally of students, shop-girls, and\ncounter skippers, clerks, unfortunates, etc., etc.\n\nThis set, while retorting to the chaff of the other party, seemed to be\nvery impatiently expecting some singularly desired person to put in her\nappearance.\n\nThe following snatches of conversation, passing between clowns and\ncolumbines, pantaloons and fairies, Turks and sultans, debardeurs and\ndebardeuses, paired off more or less properly, will give an idea of the\nimportance of the wished-for personage.\n\n\"They ordered the spread to be for seven in the morning, so their\ncarriages ought to have come up afore now.\"\n\n\"Werry like, but the Bacchanal Queen has got to lead off the last dance\nin the Prado.\"\n\n\"I wish to thunder I'd 'a known that, and I'd 'a stayed there to see\nher--my beloved Queen!\"\n\n\"Gobinet; if you call her your beloved Queen again, I'll scratch you!\nHere's a pinch for you, anyhow!\"\n\n\"Ow, wow, Celeste! hands off! You are black-spotting the be-yutiful\nwhite satin jacket my mamma gave me when I first came out as Don\nPasqually!\"\n\n\"Why did you call the Bacchanal Queen your beloved, then? What am I, I'd\nlike to know?\"\n\n\"You are my beloved, but not my Queen, for there is only one moon in\nthe nights of nature, and only one Bacchanal Queen in the nights at the\nPrado.\"\n\n\"That's a bit from a valentine! You can't come over me with such\nrubbish.\"\n\n\"Gobinet's right! the Queen was an out-and-outer tonight!\"\n\n\"In prime feather!\"\n\n\"I never saw her more on the go!\"\n\n\"And, my eyes! wasn't her dress stunning?\"\n\n\"Took your breath away!\"\n\n\"Crushing!\"\n\n\"Heavy!\"\n\n\"Im-mense!\"\n\n\"The last kick!\"\n\n\"No one but she can get up such dresses.\"\n\n\"And, then, the dance!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! it was at once bounding waving, twisting! There is not such\nanother bayadere under the night-cap of the sky!\"\n\n\"Gobinet, give me back my shawl directly. You have already spoilt it\nby rolling it round your great body. I don't choose to have my things\nruined for hulking beasts who call other women bayaderes!\"\n\n\"Celeste, simmer down. I am disguised as a Turk, and, when I talk of\nbayaderes, I am only in character.\"\n\n\"Your Celeste is like them all, Gobinet; she's jealous of the Bacchanal\nQueen.\"\n\n\"Jealous!--do you think me jealous? Well now! that's too bad. If I chose\nto be as showy as she is they would talk of me as much. After all, it's\nonly a nickname that makes her reputation! nickname!\"\n\n\"In that you have nothing to envy her--since you are called Celeste!\"\n\n\"You know well enough, Gobinet, that Celeste is my real name.\"\n\n\"Yes; but it's fancied a nickname--when one looks in your face.\"\n\n\"Gobinet, I will put that down to your account.\"\n\n\"And Oscar will help you to add it up, eh?\"\n\n\"Yes; and you shall see the total. When I carry one, the remainder will\nnot be you.\"\n\n\"Celeste, you make me cry! I only meant to say that your celestial name\ndoes not go well with your charming little face, which is still more\nmischievous than that of the Bacchanal Queen.\"\n\n\"That's right; wheedle me now, wretch!\"\n\n\"I swear by the accursed head of my landlord, that, if you liked, you\ncould spread yourself as much as the Bacchanal Queen--which is saying a\ngreat deal.\"\n\n\"The fact is, that the Bacchanal had cheek enough, in all conscience.\"\n\n\"Not to speak of her fascinating the bobbies!\"\n\n\"And magnetizing the beaks.\"\n\n\"They may get as angry as they please; she always finishes by making\nthem laugh.\"\n\n\"And they all call her: Queen!\"\n\n\"Last night she charmed a slop (as modest as a country girl) whose\npurity took up arms against the famous dance of the Storm-blown Tulip.\"\n\n\"What a quadrille! Sleepinbuff and the Bacchanal Queen, having opposite\nto them Rose-Pompon and Ninny Moulin!\"\n\n\"And all four making tulips as full-blown as could be!\"\n\n\"By-the-bye, is it true what they say of Ninny Moulin?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Why that he is a writer, and scribbles pamphlets on religion.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is true. I have often seen him at my employer's, with whom he\ndeals; a bad paymaster, but a jolly fellow!\"\n\n\"And pretends to be devout, eh?\"\n\n\"I believe you, my boy--when it is necessary; then he is my Lord\nDumoulin, as large as life. He rolls his eyes, walks with his head on\none side, and his toes turned in; but, when the piece is played out, he\nslips away to the balls of which he is so fond. The girls christened him\nNinny Moulin. Add, that he drinks like a fish, and you have the photo\nof the cove. All this doesn't prevent his writing for the religious\nnewspapers; and the saints, whom he lets in even oftener than himself,\nare ready to swear by him. You should see his articles and his\ntracts--only see, not read!--every page is full of the devil and\nhis horns, and the desperate fryings which await your impious\nrevolutionists--and then the authority of the bishops, the power of the\nPope--hang it! how could I know it all? This toper, Ninny Moulin, gives\ngood measure enough for their money!\"\n\n\"The fact is, that he is both a heavy drinker and a heavy swell. How\nhe rattled on with little Rose-Pompon in the dance and the full-blown\ntulip!\"\n\n\"And what a rum chap he looked in his Roman helmet and top-boots.\"\n\n\"Rose-Pompon dances divinely, too; she has the poetic twist.\"\n\n\"And don't show her heels a bit!\"\n\n\"Yes; but the Bacchanal Queen is six thousand feet above the level of\nany common leg-shaker. I always come back to her step last night in the\nfull-blown tulip.\"\n\n\"It was huge!\"\n\n\"It was serene!\"\n\n\"If I were father of a family, I would entrust her with the education of\nmy sons!\"\n\n\"It was that step, however, which offended the bobby's modesty.\"\n\n\"The fact is, it was a little free.\"\n\n\"Free as air--so the policeman comes up to her, and says: 'Well,\nmy Queen, is your foot to keep on a-goin' up forever?' 'No, modest\nwarrior!' replies the Queen; 'I practice the step only once every\nevening, to be able to dance it when I am old. I made a vow of it, that\nyou might become an inspector.'\"\n\n\"What a comic card!\"\n\n\"I don't believe she will remain always with Sleepinbuff.\"\n\n\"Because he has been a workman?\"\n\n\"What nonsense! it would preciously become us, students and shop-boys,\nto give ourselves airs! No; but I am astonished at the Queen's\nfidelity.\"\n\n\"Yes--they've been a team for three or four good months.\"\n\n\"She's wild upon him, and he on her.\"\n\n\"They must lead a gay life.\"\n\n\"Sometimes I ask myself where the devil Sleepinbuff gets all the money\nhe spends. It appears that he pays all last night's expenses, three\ncoaches-and-four, and a breakfast this morning for twenty, at ten francs\na-head.\"\n\n\"They say he has come into some property. That's why Ninny Moulin, who\nhas a good nose for eating and drinking, made acquaintance with him last\nnight--leaving out of the question that he may have some designs on the\nBacchanal Queen.\"\n\n\"He! In a lot! He's rather too ugly. The girls like to dance with him\nbecause he makes people laugh--but that's all. Little Rose-Pompon, who\nis such a pretty creature, has taken him as a harmless chap-her-own, in\nthe absence of her student.\"\n\n\"The coaches! the coaches!\" exclaimed the crowd, all with one voice.\n\nForced to stop in the midst of the maskers, Mother Bunch had not lost\na word of this conversation, which was deeply painful to her, as it\nconcerned her sister, whom she had not seen for a long time. Not that\nthe Bacchanal Queen had a bad heart; but the sight of the wretched\npoverty of Mother Bunch--a poverty which she had herself shared, but\nwhich she had not had the strength of mind to bear any longer--caused\nsuch bitter grief to the gay, thoughtless girl, that she would no more\nexpose herself to it, after she had in vain tried to induce her sister\nto accept assistance, which the latter always refused, knowing that its\nsource could not be honorable.\n\n\"The coaches! the coaches!\" once more exclaimed the crowd, as they\npressed forward with enthusiasm, so that Mother Bunch, carried on\nagainst her will, was thrust into the foremost rank of the people\nassembled to see the show.\n\nIt was, indeed, a curious sight. A man on horseback, disguised as a\npostilion, his blue jacket embroidered with silver, and enormous tail\nfrom which the powder escaped in puffs, and a hat adorned with long\nribbons, preceded the first carriage, cracking his whip, and crying with\nall his might: \"Make way for the Bacchanal Queen and her court!\"\n\nIn an open carriage, drawn by four lean horses, on which rode two old\npostilions dressed as devils, was raised a downright pyramid of men and\nwomen, sitting, standing, leaning, in every possible variety of odd,\nextravagant, and grotesque costume; altogether an indescribable mass of\nbright colors, flowers, ribbons, tinsel and spangles. Amid this heap of\nstrange forms and dresses appeared wild or graceful countenances, ugly\nor handsome features--but all animated by the feverish excitement of\na jovial frenzy--all turned with an expression of fanatical admiration\ntowards the second carriage, in which the Queen was enthroned, whilst\nthey united with the multitude in reiterated shouts of \"Long live the\nBacchanal Queen.\"\n\nThis second carriage, open like the first, contained only the four\ndancers of the famous step of the Storm-blown Tulip--Ninny Moulin, Rose\nPompon, Sleepinbuff, and the Bacchanal Queen.\n\nDumoulin, the religious writer, who wished to dispute possession of Mme.\nde la Sainte-Colombe with his patron, M. Rodin--Dumoulin, surnamed\nNinny Moulin, standing on the front cushions, would have presented a\nmagnificent study for Callot or Gavarni, that eminent artist, who\nunites with the biting strength and marvellous fancy of an illustrious\ncaricaturist, the grace, the poetry, and the depth of Hogarth.\n\nNinny Moulin, who was about thirty-five years of age, wore very much\nback upon his head a Roman helmet of silver paper. A voluminous plume of\nblack feathers, rising from a red wood holder, was stuck on one side\nof this headgear, breaking the too classic regularity of its outline.\nBeneath this casque, shone forth the most rubicund and jovial face, that\never was purpled by the fumes of generous wine. A prominent nose, with\nits primitive shape modestly concealed beneath a luxuriant growth of\npimples, half red, half violet, gave a funny expression to a perfectly\nbeardless face; while a large mouth, with thick lips turning their\ninsides outwards, added to the air of mirth and jollity which beamed\nfrom his large gray eyes, set flat in his head.\n\nOn seeing this joyous fellow, with a paunch like Silenus, one could not\nhelp asking how it was, that he had not drowned in wine, a hundred times\nover, the gall, bile, and venom which flowed from his pamphlets against\nthe enemies of Ultramontanism, and how his Catholic beliefs could float\nupwards in the midst of these mad excesses of drink and dancing. The\nquestion would have appeared insoluble, if one had not remembered how\nmany actors, who play the blackest and most hateful first robbers on the\nstage, are, when off it, the best fellow in the world.\n\nThe weather being cold, Ninny Moulin wore a kind of box-coat, which,\nbeing half-open, displayed his cuirass of scales, and his flesh-colored\npantaloons, finishing just below the calf in a pair of yellow tops to\nhis boots. Leaning forward in front of the carriage, he uttered wild\nshouts of delight, mingled with the words: \"Long live the Bacchanal\nQueen!\"--after which, he shook and whirled the enormous rattle he held\nin his hand. Standing beside him, Sleepinbuff waved on high a banner\nof white silk, on which were the words: \"Love and joy to the Bacchanal\nQueen!\"\n\nSleepinbuff was about twenty-five years of age. His countenance was gay\nand intelligent, surrounded by a collar of chestnut-colored whiskers;\nbut worn with late hours and excesses, it expressed a singular mixture\nof carelessness and hardihood, recklessness and mockery; still, no base\nor wicked passion had yet stamped there its fatal impress. He was the\nperfect type of the Parisian, as the term is generally applied, whether\nin the army, in the provinces, on board a king's ship, or a merchantman.\nIt is not a compliment, and yet it is far from being an insult; it is an\nepithet which partakes at once of blame, admiration, and fear; for if,\nin this sense, the Parisian is often idle and rebellious, he is also\nquick at his work, resolute in danger, and always terribly satirical and\nfond of practical jokes.\n\nHe was dressed in a very flashy style. He wore a black velvet jacket\nwith silver buttons, a scarlet waistcoat, trousers with broad blue\nstripes, a Cashmere shawl for a girdle with ends loosely floating, and\na chimney-pot hat covered with flowers and streamers. This disguise set\noff his light, easy figure to great advantage.\n\nAt the back of the carriage, standing up on the cushions, were Rose\nPompon and the Bacchanal Queen.\n\nRose-Pompon, formerly a fringe-maker, was about seventeen years old, and\nhad the prettiest and most winning little face imaginable. She was gayly\ndressed in debardeur costume. Her powdered wig, over which was smartly\ncocked on one side an orange and green cap laced with silver, increased\nthe effect of her bright black eyes, and of her round, carnation cheeks.\nShe wore about her neck an orange-colored cravat, of the same material\nas her loose sash. Her tight jacket and narrow vest of light green\nvelvet, with silver ornaments, displayed to the best advantage a\ncharming figure, the pliancy of which must have well suited the\nevolutions of the Storm blown Tulip. Her large trousers, of the same\nstuff and color as the jacket, were not calculated to hide any of her\nattractions.\n\nThe Bacchanal Queen, being at the least a head taller, leaned with one\nhand on the shoulder of Rose-Pompon. Mother Bunch's sister ruled, like\na true monarch, over this mad revelry, which her very presence seemed\nto inspire, such influence had her own mirth and animation over all that\nsurrounded her.\n\nShe was a tall girl of about twenty years of age, light and graceful,\nwith regular features, and a merry, racketing air. Like her sister, she\nhad magnificent chestnut hair, and large blue eyes; but instead of being\nsoft and timid, like those of the young sempstress, the latter shone\nwith indefatigable ardor in the pursuit of pleasure. Such was the energy\nof her vivacious constitution, that, notwithstanding many nights and\ndays passed in one continued revel, her complexion was as pure, her\ncheeks as rosy, her neck as fresh and fair, as if she had that morning\nissued from some peaceful home. Her costume, though singular\nand fantastic, suited her admirably. It was composed of a tight,\nlong-waisted bodice in cloth of gold, trimmed with great bunches of\nscarlet ribbon, the ends of which streamed over her naked arms, and\na short petticoat of scarlet velvet, ornamented with golden beads and\nspangles. This petticoat reached half way down a leg, at once trim and\nstrong, in a white silk stocking, and red buskin with brass heel.\n\nNever had any Spanish dancer a more supple, elastic, and tempting form,\nthan this singular girl, who seemed possessed with the spirit of dancing\nand perpetual motion, for, almost every moment, a slight undulation of\nhead, hips, and shoulders seemed to follow the music of an invisible\norchestra; while the tip of her right foot, placed on the carriage door\nin the most alluring manner, continued to beat time--for the Bacchanal\nQueen stood proudly erect upon the cushions.\n\nA sort of gilt diadem, the emblem of her noisy sovereignty, hung with\nlittle bells, adorned her forehead. Her long hair, in two thick braids,\nwas drawn back from her rosy cheeks, and twisted behind her head. Her\nleft hand rested on little Rose-Pompon's shoulder, and in her right she\nheld an enormous nosegay, which she waved to the crowd, accompanying\neach salute with bursts of laughter.\n\nIt would be difficult to give a complete idea of this noisily animated\nand fantastic scene, which included also a third carriage, filled, like\nthe first, with a pyramid of grotesque and extravagant masks. Amongst\nthe delighted crowd, one person alone contemplated the picture with deep\nsorrow. It was Mother Bunch, who was still kept, in spite of herself, in\nthe first rank of spectators.\n\nSeparated from her sister for a long time, she now beheld her in all the\npomp of her singular triumph, in the midst of the cries of joy, and\nthe applause of her companions in pleasure. Yet the eyes of the young\nsempstress grew dim with tears; for, though the Bacchanal Queen seemed\nto share in the stunning gayety of all around her--though her face was\nradiant with smiles, and she appeared fully to enjoy the splendors\nof her temporary elevation--yet she had the sincere pity of the poor\nworkwoman, almost in rags, who was seeking, with the first dawn of\nmorning, the means of earning her daily bread.\n\nMother Bunch had forgotten the crowd, to look only at her sister,\nwhom she tenderly loved--only the more tenderly, that she thought her\nsituation to be pitied. With her eyes fixed on the joyous and beautiful\ngirl, her pale and gentle countenance expressed the most touching and\npainful interest.\n\nAll at once, as the brilliant glance of the Bacchanal Queen travelled\nalong the crowd, it lighted on the sad features of Mother Bunch.\n\n\"My sister!\" exclaimed Cephyse--such was the name of the Bacchanal\nQueen--\"My sister!\"--and with one bound, light as a ballet-dancer, she\nsprang from her movable throne (which fortunately just happened to\nbe stopping), and, rushing up to the hunchback, embraced her\naffectionately.\n\nAll this had passed so rapidly, that the companions of the Bacchanal\nQueen, still stupefied by the boldness of her perilous leap, knew not\nhow to account for it; whilst the masks who surrounded Mother Bunch drew\nback in surprise, and the latter, absorbed in the delight of embracing\nher sister, whose caresses she returned, did not even think of the\nsingular contrast between them, which was sure to soon excite the\nastonishment and hilarity of the crowd.\n\nCephyse was the first to think of this, and wishing to save her sister\nat least one humiliation, she turned towards the carriage, and said:\n\"Rose Pompon, throw me down my cloak; and, Ninny Moulin, open the door\ndirectly!\"\n\nHaving received the cloak, the Bacchanal Queen hastily wrapped it round\nher sister, before the latter could speak or move. Then, taking her by\nthe hand, she said to her: \"Come! come!\"\n\n\"I!\" cried Mother Bunch, in alarm. \"Do not think of it!\"\n\n\"I must speak with you. I will get a private room, where we shall be\nalone. So make haste, dear little sister! Do not resist before all these\npeople--but come!\"\n\nThe fear of becoming a public sight decided Mother Bunch, who, confused\nmoreover with the adventure, trembling and frightened, followed her\nsister almost mechanically, and was dragged by her into the carriage, of\nwhich Ninny Moulin had just opened the door. And so, with the cloak of\nthe Bacchanal Queen covering Mother Bunch's poor garments and deformed\nfigure, the crowd had nothing to laugh at, and only wondered what this\nmeeting could mean, while the coaches pursued their way to the eating\nhouse in the Place du Chatelet.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II. THE CONTRAST.\n\nSome minutes after the meeting of Mother Bunch with the Bacchanal Queen,\nthe two sisters were alone together in a small room in the tavern.\n\n\"Let me kiss you again,\" said Cephyse to the young sempstress; \"at least\nnow we are alone, you will not be afraid?\"\n\nIn the effort of the Bacchanal Queen to clasp Mother Bunch in her arms,\nthe cloak fell from the form of the latter. At sight of those miserable\ngarments, which she had hardly had time to observe on the Place du\nChatelet, in the midst of the crowd, Cephyse clasped her hands, and\ncould not repress an exclamation of painful surprise. Then, approaching\nher sister, that she might contemplate her more closely, she took her\nthin, icy palms between her own plump hands, and examined for some\nminutes, with increasing grief, the suffering, pale, unhappy creature,\nground down by watching and privations, and half-clothed in a poor,\npatched cotton gown.\n\n\"Oh, sister! to see you thus!\" Unable to articulate another word, the\nBacchanal Queen threw herself on the other's neck, and burst into tears.\nThen, in the midst of her sobs, she added: \"Pardon! pardon!\"\n\n\"What is the matter, my dear Cephyse?\" said the young sewing-girl,\ndeeply moved, and gently disengaging herself from the embrace of her\nsister. \"Why do you ask my pardon?\"\n\n\"Why?\" resumed Cephyse, raising her countenance, bathed in tears, and\npurple with shame; \"is it not shameful of me to be dressed in all this\nfrippery, and throwing away so much money in follies, while you are thus\nmiserably clad, and in need of everything--perhaps dying of want, for I\nhave never seen your poor face look so pale and worn.\"\n\n\"Be at ease, dear sister! I am not ill. I was up rather late last night,\nand that makes me a little pale--but pray do not cry--it grieves me.\"\n\nThe Bacchanal Queen had but just arrived, radiant in the midst of the\nintoxicated crowd, and yet it was Mother Bunch who was now employed in\nconsoling her!\n\nAn incident occurred, which made the contrast still more striking.\nJoyous cries were heard suddenly in the next apartment, and these words\nwere repeated with enthusiasm: \"Long live the Bacchanal Queen!\"\n\nMother Bunch trembled, and her eyes filled with tears, as she saw her\nsister with her face buried in her hands, as if overwhelmed with shame.\n\"Cephyse,\" she said, \"I entreat you not to grieve so. You will make me\nregret the delight of this meeting, which is indeed happiness to me! It\nis so long since I saw you! But tell me--what ails you?\"\n\n\"You despise me perhaps--you are right,\" said the Bacchanal Queen,\ndrying her tears.\n\n\"Despise you? for what?\"\n\n\"Because I lead the life I do, instead of having the courage to support\nmisery along with you.\"\n\nThe grief of Cephyse was so heart-breaking, that Mother Bunch, always\ngood and indulgent, wishing to console her, and raise her a little in\nher own estimation, said to her tenderly: \"In supporting it bravely for\na whole year, my good Cephyse, you have had more merit and courage than\nI should have in bearing with it my whole life.\"\n\n\"Oh, sister! do not say that.\"\n\n\"In simple truth,\" returned Mother Bunch, \"to what temptations is a\ncreature like me exposed? Do I not naturally seek solitude, even as\nyou seek a noisy life of pleasure? What wants have I? A very little\nsuffices.\"\n\n\"But you have not always that little?\"\n\n\"No--but, weak and sickly as I seem, I can endure some privations better\nthan you could. Thus hunger produces in me a sort of numbness, which\nleaves me very feeble--but for you, robust and full of life, hunger is\nfury, is madness. Alas! you must remember how many times I have seen\nyou suffering from those painful attacks, when work failed us in our\nwretched garret, and we could not even earn our four francs a week--so\nthat we had nothing--absolutely nothing to eat--for our pride prevented\nus from applying to the neighbors.\"\n\n\"You have preserved the right to that honest pride.\"\n\n\"And you as well! Did you not struggle as much as a human creature\ncould? But strength fails at last--I know you well, Cephyse--it was\nhunger that conquered you; and the painful necessity of constant labor,\nwhich was yet insufficient to supply our common wants.\"\n\n\"But you could endure those privations--you endure them still.\"\n\n\"Can you compare me with yourself? Look,\" said Mother Bunch, taking her\nsister by the hand, and leading her to a mirror placed above a couch,\n\"look!--Dost think that God made you so beautiful, endowed you with such\nquick and ardent blood, with so joyous, animated, grasping a nature\nand with such taste and fondness for pleasure, that your youth might be\nspent in a freezing garret, hid from the sun, nailed constantly to your\nchair, clad almost in rags, and working without rest and without hope?\nNo! for He has given us other wants than those of eating and drinking.\nEven in our humble condition, does not beauty require some little\nornament? Does not youth require some movement, pleasure, gayety? Do not\nall ages call for relaxation and rest? Had you gained sufficient wages\nto satisfy hunger, to have a day or so's amusement in the week, after\nworking every other day for twelve or fifteen hours, and to procure\nthe neat and modest dress which so charming a face might naturally\nclaim--you would never have asked for more, I am sure of it--you have\ntold me as much a hundred times. You have yielded, therefore, to an\nirresistible necessity, because your wants are greater than mine.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" replied the Bacchanal Queen, with a pensive air; \"if I\ncould but have gained eighteenpence a day, my life would have been quite\ndifferent; for, in the beginning, sister, I felt cruelly humiliated to\nlive at a man's expense.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes--it was inevitable, my dear Cephyse; I must pity, but cannot\nblame you. You did not choose your destiny; but, like me, you have\nsubmitted to it.\"\n\n\"Poor sister!\" said Cephyse, embracing the speaker tenderly; \"you can\nencourage and console me in the midst of your own misfortunes, when I\nought to be pitying you.\"\n\n\"Be satisfied!\" said Mother Bunch; \"God is just and good. If He has\ndenied me many advantages, He has given me my joys, as you have yours.\"\n\n\"Joys?\"\n\n\"Yes, and great ones--without which life would be too burdensome, and I\nshould not have the courage to go through with it.\"\n\n\"I understand you,\" said Cephyse, with emotion; \"you still know how to\ndevote yourself for others, and that lightens your own sorrows.\"\n\n\"I do what I can, but, alas! it is very little; yet when I succeed,\"\nadded Mother Bunch, with a faint smile, \"I am as proud and happy as a\npoor little ant, who, after a great deal of trouble, has brought a big\nstraw to the common nest. But do not let us talk any more of me.\"\n\n\"Yes, but I must, even at the risk of making you angry,\" resumed the\nBacchanal Queen, timidly; \"I have something to propose to you which you\nonce before refused. Jacques Rennepont has still, I think, some money\nleft--we are spending it in follies--now and then giving a little to\npoor people we may happen to meet--I beg of you, let me come to your\nassistance--I see in your poor face, you cannot conceal it from me, that\nyou are wearing yourself out with toil.\"\n\n\"Thanks, my dear Cephyse, I know your good heart; but I am not in want\nof anything. The little I gain is sufficient for me.\"\n\n\"You refuse me,\" said the Bacchanal Queen, sadly, \"because you know\nthat my claim to this money is not honorable--be it so--I respect your\nscruples. But you will not refuse a service from Jacques; he has been a\nworkman, like ourselves, and comrades should help each other. Accept it\nI beseech you, or I shall think you despise me.\"\n\n\"And I shall think you despise me, if you insist any more upon it, my\ndear Cephyse,\" said Mother Bunch, in a tone at once so mild and firm\nthat the Bacchanal Queen saw that all persuasion would be in vain. She\nhung her head sorrowfully, and a tear again trickled down her cheek.\n\n\"My refusal grieves you,\" said the other, taking her hand; \"I am truly\nsorry--but reflect--and you will understand me.\"\n\n\"You are right,\" said the Bacchanal Queen, bitterly, after a moment's\nsilence; \"you cannot accept assistance from my lover--it was an insult\nto propose it to you. There are positions in life so humiliating, that\nthey soil even the good one wishes to do.\"\n\n\"Cephyse, I did not mean to hurt you--you know it well.\"\n\n\"Oh! believe me,\" replied the Bacchanal Queen, \"gay and giddy as I am,\nI have sometimes moments of reflection, even in the midst of my maddest\njoy. Happily, such moments are rare.\"\n\n\"And what do you think of, then?\"\n\n\"Why, that the life I lead is hardly the thing; then resolve to ask\nJacques for a small sum of money, just enough to subsist on for a year,\nand form the plan of joining you, and gradually getting to work again.\"\n\n\"The idea is a good one; why not act upon it?\"\n\n\"Because, when about to execute this project, I examined myself\nsincerely, and my courage failed. I feel that I could never resume the\nhabit of labor, and renounce this mode of life, sometimes rich, as\nto day, sometimes precarious,--but at least free and full of leisure,\njoyous and without care, and at worst a thousand times preferable to\nliving upon four francs a week. Not that interest has guided me. Many\ntimes have I refused to exchange a lover, who had little or nothing,\nfor a rich man, that I did not like. Nor have I ever asked anything for\nmyself. Jacques has spent perhaps ten thousand francs the last three\nor four months, yet we only occupy two half-furnished rooms, because\nwe always live out of doors, like the birds: fortunately, when I first\nloved him, he had nothing at all, and I had just sold some jewels\nthat had been given me, for a hundred francs, and put this sum in the\nlottery. As mad people and fools are always lucky, I gained a prize of\nfour thousand francs. Jacques was as gay, and light-headed, and full of\nfun as myself, so we said: 'We love each other very much, and, as long\nas this money lasts, we will keep up the racket; when we have no more,\none of two things will happen--either we shall be tired of one another,\nand so part--or else we shall love each other still, and then, to remain\ntogether, we shall try and get work again; and, if we cannot do so, and\nyet will not part--a bushel of charcoal will do our business!'\"\n\n\"Good heaven!\" cried Mother Bunch, turning pale.\n\n\"Be satisfied! we have not come to that. We had still something left,\nwhen a kind of agent, who had paid court to me, but who was so ugly that\nI could not bear him for all his riches, knowing that I was living\nwith Jacques asked me to--But why should I trouble you with all these\ndetails? In one word, he lent Jacques money, on some sort of a doubtful\nclaim he had, as was thought, to inherit some property. It is with this\nmoney that we are amusing ourselves--as long as its lasts.\"\n\n\"But, my dear Cephyse, instead of spending this money so foolishly, why\nnot put it out to interest, and marry Jacques, since you love him?\"\n\n\"Oh! in the first place,\" replied the Bacchanal Queen, laughing, as her\ngay and thoughtless character resumed its ascendancy, \"to put money out\nto interest gives one no pleasure. All the amusement one has is to look\nat a little bit of paper, which one gets in exchange for the nice little\npieces of gold, with which one can purchase a thousand pleasures. As for\nmarrying, I certainly like Jacques better than I ever liked any one;\nbut it seems to me, that, if we were married, all our happiness would\nend--for while he is only my lover, he cannot reproach me with what has\npassed--but, as my husband, he would be stare to upbraid me, sooner or\nlater, and if my conduct deserves blame, I prefer giving it to myself,\nbecause I shall do it more tenderly.\"\n\n\"Mad girl that you are! But this money will not last forever. What is to\nbe done next?\"\n\n\"Afterwards!--Oh! that's all in the moon. To-morrow seems to me as if it\nwould not come for a hundred years. If we were always saying: 'We must\ndie one day or the other'--would life be worth having?\"\n\nThe conversation between Cephyse and her sister was here again\ninterrupted by a terrible uproar, above which sounded the sharp, shrill\nnoise of Ninny Moulin's rattle. To this tumult succeeded a chorus of\nbarbarous cries, in the midst of which were distinguishable these words,\nwhich shook the very windows: \"The Queen! the Bacchanal Queen!\"\n\nMother Bunch started at this sudden noise.\n\n\"It is only my court, who are getting impatient,\" said Cephyse--and this\ntime she could laugh.\n\n\"Heavens!\" cried the sewing-girl, in alarm; \"if they were to come here\nin search of you?\"\n\n\"No, no--never fear.\"\n\n\"But listen! do you not hear those steps? they are coming along the\npassage--they are approaching. Pray, sister, let me go out alone,\nwithout being seen by all these people.\"\n\nThat moment the door was opened, and Cephyse, ran towards it. She saw in\nthe passage a deputation headed by Ninny Moulin, who was armed with his\nformidable rattle, and followed by Rose-Pompon and Sleepinbuff.\n\n\"The Bacchanal Queen! or I poison myself with a glass of water;\" cried\nNinny Moulin.\n\n\"The Bacchanal Queen! or I publish my banns of marriage with Ninny\nMoulin!\" cried little Rose-Pompon, with a determined air.\n\n\"The Bacchanal Queen! or the court will rise in arms, and carry her off\nby force!\" said another voice.\n\n\"Yes, yes--let us carry her off!\" repeated a formidable chorus.\n\n\"Jacques, enter alone!\" said the Bacchanal Queen, notwithstanding these\npressing summonses; then, addressing her court in a majestic tone, she\nadded: \"In ten minutes, I shall be at your service--and then for a--of a\ntime!\"\n\n\"Long live the Bacchanal Queen,\" cried Dumoulin, shaking his rattle as\nhe retired, followed by the deputation, whilst Sleepinbuff entered the\nroom alone.\n\n\"Jacques,\" said Cephyse, \"this is my good sister.\"\n\n\"Enchanted to see you,\" said Jacques, cordially; \"the more so as you\nwill give me some news of my friend Agricola. Since I began to play the\nrich man, we have not seen each other, but I like him as much as ever,\nand think him a good and worthy fellow. You live in the same house. How\nis he?\"\n\n\"Alas, sir! he and his family have had many misfortunes. He is in\nprison.\"\n\n\"In prison!\" cried Cephyse.\n\n\"Agricola in prison! what for?\" said Sleepinbuff.\n\n\"For a trifling political offence. We had hoped to get him out on bail.\"\n\n\"Certainly; for five hundred francs it could be done,\" said Sleepinbuff.\n\n\"Unfortunately, we have not been able; the person upon whom we relied--\"\n\nThe Bacchanal Queen interrupted the speaker by saying to her lover: \"Do\nyou hear, Jacques? Agricola in prison, for want of five hundred francs!\"\n\n\"To be sure! I hear and understand all about it. No need of your\nwinking. Poor fellow! he was the support of his mother.\"\n\n\"Alas! yes, sir--and it is the more distressing, as his father has but\njust returned from Russia, and his mother--\"\n\n\"Here,\" said Sleepinbuff, interrupting, and giving Mother Bunch a purse;\n\"take this--all the expenses here have been paid beforehand--this is\nwhat remains of my last bag. You will find here some twenty-five or\nthirty Napoleons, and I cannot make a better use of them than to serve\na comrade in distress. Give them to Agricola's father; he will take the\nnecessary steps, and to-morrow Agricola will be at his forge, where I\nhad much rather he should be than myself.\"\n\n\"Jacques, give me a kiss!\" said the Bacchanal Queen.\n\n\"Now, and afterwards, and again and again!\" said Jacques, joyously\nembracing the queen.\n\nMother Bunch hesitated for a moment; but reflecting that, after all,\nthis sum of money, which was about to be spent in follies, would restore\nlife and happiness to the family of Agricola, and that hereafter these\nvery five hundred francs, when returned to Jacques, might be of the\ngreatest use to him, she resolved to accept this offer. She took the\npurse, and with tearful eyes, said to him: \"I will not refuse your\nkindness M. Jacques; you are so good and generous, Agricola's father\nwill thus at least have one consolation, in the midst of heavy sorrows.\nThanks! many thanks!\"\n\n\"There is no need to thank me; money was made for others as well as\nourselves.\"\n\nHere, without, the noise recommenced more furiously than ever, and Ninny\nMoulin's rattle sent forth the most doleful sounds.\n\n\"Cephyse,\" said Sleepinbuff, \"they will break everything to pieces,\nif you do not return to them, and I have nothing left to pay for the\ndamage. Excuse us,\" added he, laughing, \"but you see that royalty has\nits duties.\"\n\nCephyse deeply moved, extended her arms to Mother Bunch, who threw\nherself into them, shedding sweet tears.\n\n\"And now,\" said she, to her sister, \"when shall I see you again?\"\n\n\"Soon--though nothing grieves me more than to see you in want, out of\nwhich I am not allowed to help you.\"\n\n\"You will come, then, to see me? It is a promise?\"\n\n\"I promise you in her name,\" said Jacques; \"we will pay a visit to you\nand your neighbor Agricola.\"\n\n\"Return to the company, Cephyse, and amuse yourself with a light heart,\nfor M. Jacques has made a whole family happy.\"\n\nSo saying, and after Sleepinbuff had ascertained that she could go down\nwithout being seen by his noisy and joyous companions, Mother Bunch\nquietly withdrew, eager to carry one piece of good news at least to\nDagobert; but intending, first of all, to go to the Rue de Babylone, to\nthe garden-house formerly occupied by Adrienne de Cardoville. We shall\nexplain hereafter the cause of this determination.\n\nAs the girl quitted the eating-house, three men plainly and comfortably\ndressed, were watching before it, and talking in a low voice. Soon\nafter, they were joined by a fourth person, who rapidly descended the\nstairs of the tavern.\n\n\"Well?\" said the three first, with anxiety.\n\n\"He is there.\"\n\n\"Are you sure of it?\"\n\n\"Are there two Sleepers-in-buff on earth?\" replied the other. \"I have\njust seen him; he is togged out like one of the swell mob. They will be\nat table for three hours at least.\"\n\n\"Then wait for me, you others. Keep as quiet as possible. I will go and\nfetch the captain, and the game is bagged.\" So saying, one of the three\nmen walked off quickly, and disappeared in a street leading from the\nsquare.\n\nAt this same instant the Bacchanal Queen entered the banqueting-room,\naccompanied by Jacques, and was received with the most frenzied\nacclamations from all sides.\n\n\"Now then,\" cried Cephyse, with a sort of feverish excitement, as if she\nwished to stun herself; \"now then, friends--noise and tumult, hurricane\nand tempest, thunder and earthquake--as much as you please!\" Then,\nholding out her glass to Ninny Moulin, she added: \"Pour out! pour out!\"\n\n\"Long live the Queen!\" cried they all, with one voice.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III. THE CAROUSE.\n\nThe Bacchanal Queen, having Sleepinbuff and Rose-Pompon opposite her,\nand Ninny Moulin on her right hand, presided at the repast, called a\nreveille-matin (wake-morning), generously offered by Jacques to his\ncompanions in pleasure.\n\nBoth young men and girls seemed to have forgotten the fatigues of a\nball, begun at eleven o'clock in the evening, and finished at six in\nthe morning; and all these couples, joyous as they were amorous and\nindefatigable, laughed, ate, and drank, with youthful and Pantagruelian\nardor, so that, during the first part of the feast, there was less\nchatter than clatter of plates and glasses.\n\nThe Bacchanal Queen's countenance was less gay, but much more animated\nthan usual; her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes announced a feverish\nexcitement; she wished to drown reflection, cost what it might. Her\nconversation with her sister often recurred to her, and she tried to\nescape from such sad remembrances.\n\nJacques regarded Cephyse from time to time with passionate adoration;\nfor, thanks to the singular conformity of character, mind, and taste\nbetween him and the Bacchanal Queen, their attachment had deeper and\nstronger roots than generally belong to ephemeral connections founded\nupon pleasure. Cephyse and Jacques were themselves not aware of all the\npower of a passion which till now had been surrounded only by joys and\nfestivities, and not yet been tried by any untoward event.\n\nLittle Rose-Pompon, left a widow a few days before by a student, who, in\norder to end the carnival in style, had gone into the country to raise\nsupplies from his family, under one of those fabulous pretences which\ntradition carefully preserves in colleges of law and medicine--Rose\nPompon, we repeat, an example of rare fidelity, determined not to\ncompromise herself, had taken for a chaperon the inoffensive Ninny\nMoulin.\n\nThis latter, having doffed his helmet, exhibited a bald head, encircled\nby a border of black, curling hair, pretty long at the back of the head.\nBy a remarkable Bacchic phenomenon, in proportion as intoxication gained\nupon him, a sort of zone, as purple as his jovial face, crept by degrees\nover his brow, till it obscured even the shining whiteness of his crown.\nRose-Pompon, who knew the meaning of this symptom, pointed it out to the\ncompany, and exclaimed with a loud burst of laughter: \"Take care, Ninny\nMoulin! the tide of the wine is coming in.\"\n\n\"When it rises above his head he will be drowned,\" added the Bacchanal\nQueen.\n\n\"Oh, Queen! don't disturb me; I am meditating, answered Dumoulin, who\nwas getting tipsy. He held in his hand, in the fashion of an antique\ngoblet, a punch-bowl filled with wine, for he despised the ordinary\nglasses, because of their small size.\n\n\"Meditating,\" echoed Rose-Pompon, \"Ninny Moulin is meditating. Be\nattentive!\"\n\n\"He is meditating; he must be ill then!\"\n\n\"What is he meditating? an illegal dance?\"\n\n\"A forbidden Anacreontic attitude?\"\n\n\"Yes, I am meditating,\" returned Dumoulin, gravely; \"I am meditating\nupon wine, generally and in particular--wine, of which the immortal\nBossuet\"--Dumoulin had the very bad habit of quoting Bossuet when he was\ndrunk--\"of which the immortal Bossuet says (and he was a judge of good\nliquor): 'In wine is courage, strength joy, and spiritual fervor'--when\none has any brains,\" added Ninny Moulin, by way of parenthesis.\n\n\"Oh, my! how I adore your Bossuet!\" said Rose-Pompon.\n\n\"As for my particular meditation, it concerns the question, whether the\nwine at the marriage of Cana was red or white. Sometimes I incline to\none side, sometimes to the other--and sometimes to both at once.\"\n\n\"That is going to the bottom of the question,\" said Sleepinbuff.\n\n\"And, above all, to the bottom of the bottles,\" added the Bacchanal\nQueen.\n\n\"As your majesty is pleased to observe; and already, by dint of\nreflection and research, I have made a great discovery--namely, that, if\nthe wine at the marriage of Cana was red--\"\n\n\"It couldn't 'a' been white,\" said Rose-Pompon, judiciously.\n\n\"And if I had arrived at the conviction that it was neither white nor\nred?\" asked Dumoulin, with a magisterial air.\n\n\"That could only be when you had drunk till all was blue,\" observed\nSleepinbuff.\n\n\"The partner of the Queen says well. One may be too athirst for science;\nbut never mind! From all my studies on this question, to which I have\ndevoted my life--I shall await the end of my respectable career with\nthe sense of having emptied tuns with a historical--theological--and\narcheological tone!\"\n\nIt is impossible to describe the jovial grimace and tone with which\nDumoulin pronounced and accentuated these last words, which provoked a\ngeneral laugh.\n\n\"Archieolopically?\" said Rose-Pompon. \"What sawnee is that? Has he a\ntail? does he live in the water?\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" observed the Bacchanal Queen; \"these are words of wise men\nand conjurers; they are like horsehair bustles--they serve for filling\nout--that's all. I like better to drink; so fill the glasses, Ninny\nMoulin; some champagne, Rose-Pompon; here's to the health of your\nPhilemon and his speedy return!\"\n\n\"And to the success of his plant upon his stupid and stingy family!\"\nadded Rose-Pompon.\n\nThe toast was received with unanimous applause.\n\n\"With the permission of her majesty and her court,\" said Dumoulin, \"I\npropose a toast to the success of a project which greatly interests me,\nand has some resemblance to Philemon's jockeying. I fancy that the toast\nwill bring me luck.\"\n\n\"Let's have it, by all means!\"\n\n\"Well, then--success to my marriage!\" said Dumoulin, rising.\n\nThese words provoked an explosion of shouts, applause, and laughter.\nNinny Moulin shouted, applauded, laughed even louder than the rest,\nopening wide his enormous mouth, and adding to the stunning noise the\nharsh springing of his rattle, which he had taken up from under his\nchair.\n\nWhen the storm had somewhat subsided, the Bacchanal Queen rose and said:\n\"I drink to the health of the future Madame Ninny Moulin.\"\n\n\"Oh, Queen! your courtesy touches me so sensibly that I must\nallow you to read in the depths of my heart the name of my\nfuture spouse,\" exclaimed Dumoulin. \"She is called Madame\nHonoree-Modeste-Messaline-Angele de la Sainte-Colombe, widow.\"\n\n\"Bravo! bravo!\"\n\n\"She is sixty years old, and has more thousands of francs-a-year than\nshe has hair in her gray moustache or wrinkles on her face; she is\nso superbly fat that one of her gowns would serve as a tent for this\nhonorable company. I hope to present my future spouse to you on Shrove\nTuesday, in the costume of a shepherdess that has just devoured her\nflock. Some of them wish to convert her--but I have undertaken to divert\nher, which she will like better. You must help me to plunge her headlong\ninto all sorts of skylarking jollity.\"\n\n\"We will plunge her into anything you please.\"\n\n\"She shall dance like sixty!\" said Rose-Pompon, humming a popular tune.\n\n\"She will overawe the police.\"\n\n\"We can say to them: 'Respect this lady; your mother will perhaps be as\nold some day!'\"\n\nSuddenly, the Bacchanal Queen rose; her countenance wore a singular\nexpression of bitter and sardonic delight. In one hand she held a glass\nfull to the brim. \"I hear the Cholera is approaching in his seven-league\nboots,\" she cried. \"I drink luck to the Cholera!\" And she emptied the\nbumper.\n\nNotwithstanding the general gayety, these words made a gloomy\nimpression; a sort of electric shudder ran through the assemblage, and\nnearly every countenance became suddenly serious.\n\n\"Oh, Cephyse!\" said Jacques, in a tone of reproach.\n\n\"Luck to the Cholera,\" repeated the Queen, fearlessly. \"Let him spare\nthose who wish to live, and kill together those who dread to part!\"\n\nJacques and Cephyse exchanged a rapid glance, unnoticed by their joyous\ncompanions, and for some time the Bacchanal Queen remained silent and\nthoughtful.\n\n\"If you put it that way, it is different,\" cried Rose-Pompon, boldly.\n\"To the Cholera! may none but good fellows be left on earth!\"\n\nIn spite of this variation, the impression was still painfully\nimpressive. Dumoulin, wishing to cut short this gloomy subject,\nexclaimed: \"Devil take the dead, and long live the living! And, talking\nof chaps who both live and live well, I ask you to drink a health most\ndear to our joyous queen, the health of our Amphitryon. Unfortunately,\nI do not know his respectable name, having only had the advantage\nof making his acquaintance this night; he will excuse me, then, if I\nconfine myself to proposing the health of Sleepinbuff--a name by no\nmeans offensive to my modesty, as Adam never slept in any other manner.\nI drink to Sleepinbuff.\"\n\n\"Thanks, old son!\" said Jacques, gayly; \"were I to forget your name, I\nshould call you 'Have-a-sip?' and I am sure that you would answer: 'I\nwill.'\"\n\n\"I will directly!\" said Dumoulin, making the military salute with one\nhand, and holding out the bowl with the other.\n\n\"As we have drunk together,\" resumed Sleepinbuff, cordially, \"we ought\nto know each other thoroughly. I am Jacques Rennepont?\"\n\n\"Rennepont!\" cried Dumoulin, who appeared struck by the name, in spite\nof his half-drunkenness; \"you are Rennepont?\"\n\n\"Rennepont in the fullest sense of the word. Does that astonish you?\"\n\n\"There is a very ancient family of that name--the Counts of Rennepont.\"\n\n\"The deuce there is!\" said the other, laughing.\n\n\"The Counts of Rennepont are also Dukes of Cardoville,\" added Dumoulin.\n\n\"Now, come, old fellow! do I look as if I belonged to such a family?--I,\na workman out for a spree?\"\n\n\"You a workman? why, we are getting into the Arabian Nights!\" cried\nDumoulin, more and more surprised. \"You give us a Belshazzar's banquet,\nwith accompaniment of carriages and four, and yet are a workman? Only\ntell me your trade, and I will join you, leaving the Vine of the Divine\nto take care of itself.\"\n\n\"Come, I say! don't think that I am a printer of flimsies, and a\nsmasher!\" replied Jacques, laughing.\n\n\"Oh, comrade! no such suspicion--\"\n\n\"It would be excusable, seeing the rigs I run. But I'll make you easy on\nthat point. I am spending an inheritance.\"\n\n\"Eating and drinking an uncle, no doubt?\" said Dumoulin, benevolently.\n\n\"Faith, I don't know.\"\n\n\"What! you don't know whom you are eating and drinking?\"\n\n\"Why, you see, in the first place, my father was a bone-grubber.\"\n\n\"The devil he was!\" said Dumoulin, somewhat out of countenance, though\nin general not over-scrupulous in the choice of his bottle-companions:\nbut, after the first surprise, he resumed, with the most charming\namenity: \"There are some rag-pickers very high by scent--I mean\ndescent!\"\n\n\"To be sure! you may think to laugh at me,\" said Jacques, \"but you are\nright in this respect, for my father was a man of very great merit. He\nspoke Greek and Latin like a scholar, and often told me that he had not\nhis equal in mathematics; besides, he had travelled a good deal.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" resumed Dumoulin, whom surprise had partly sobered, \"you\nmay belong to the family of the Counts of Rennepont, after all.\"\n\n\"In which case,\" said Rose-Pompon, laughing, \"your father was not a\ngutter-snipe by trade, but only for the honor of the thing.\"\n\n\"No, no--worse luck! it was to earn his living,\" replied Jacques; \"but,\nin his youth, he had been well off. By what appeared, or rather by\nwhat did not appear, he had applied to some rich relation, and the\nrich relation had said to him: 'Much obliged! try the work'us.' Then he\nwished to make use of his Greek, and Latin, and mathematics. Impossible\nto do anything--Paris, it seems, being choke-full of learned men--so\nmy father had to look for his bread at the end of a hooked stick, and\nthere, too, he must have found it, for I ate of it during two years,\nwhen I came to live with him after the death of an aunt, with whom I had\nbeen staying in the country.\"\n\n\"Your respectable father must have been a sort of philosopher,\" said\nDumoulin; \"but, unless he found an inheritance in a dustbin, I don't see\nhow you came into your property.\"\n\n\"Wait for the end of the song. At twelve years of age I was an\napprentice at the factory of M. Tripeaud; two years afterwards, my\nfather died of an accident, leaving me the furniture of our garret--a\nmattress, a chair, and a table--and, moreover, in an old Eau de Cologne\nbox, some papers (written, it seems, in English), and a bronze medal,\nworth about ten sous, chain and all. He had never spoken to me of these\npapers, so, not knowing if they were good for anything, I left them at\nthe bottom of an old trunk, instead of burning them--which was well for\nme, since it is upon these papers that I have had money advanced.\"\n\n\"What a godsend!\" said Dumoulin. \"But somebody must have known that you\nhad them?\"\n\n\"Yes; one of those people that are always looking out for old debts came\nto Cephyse, who told me all about it; and, after he had read the papers,\nhe said that the affair was doubtful, but that he would lend me ten\nthousand francs on it, if I liked. Ten thousand francs was a large sum,\nso I snapped him up!\"\n\n\"But you must have supposed that these old papers were of great value.\"\n\n\"Faith, no! since my father, who ought to have known their value, had\nnever realized on them--and then, you see, ten thousand francs in good,\nbright coin, falling as it were from the clouds, are not to be sneezed\nat--so I took them--only the man made me do a bit of stiff as guarantee,\nor something of that kind.\"\n\n\"Did you sign it?\"\n\n\"Of course--what did I care about it? The man told me it was only a\nmatter of form. He spoke the truth, for the bill fell due a fortnight\nago, and I have heard nothing of it. I have still about a thousand\nfrancs in his hands, for I have taken him for my banker. And that's the\nway, old pal, that I'm able to flourish and be jolly all day long, as\npleased as Punch to have left my old grinder of a master, M. Tripeaud.\"\n\nAs he pronounced this name, the joyous countenance of Jacques became\nsuddenly overcast. Cephyse, no longer under the influence of the painful\nimpression she had felt for a moment, looked uneasily at Jacques, for\nshe knew the irritation which the name of M. Tripeaud produced within\nhim.\n\n\"M. Tripeaud,\" resumed Sleepinbuff, \"is one that would make the good\nbad, and the bad worse. They say that a good rider makes a good horse;\nthey ought to say that a good master makes a good workman. Zounds! when\nI think of that fellow!\" cried Sleepinbuff, striking his hand violently\non the table.\n\n\"Come, Jacques--think of something else!\" said the Bacchanal Queen.\n\"Make him laugh, Rose-Pompon.\"\n\n\"I am not in a humor to laugh,\" replied Jacques, abruptly, for he was\ngetting excited from the effects of the wine; \"it is more than I can\nbear to think of that man. It exasperates me! it drives me mad! You\nshould have heard him saying: 'Beggarly workmen! rascally workmen! they\ngrumble that they have no food in their bellies; well, then, we'll give\nthem bayonets to stop their hunger.'(11) And there's the children in his\nfactory--you should see them, poor little creatures!--working as long\nas the men--wasting away, and dying by the dozen--what odds? as soon\nas they were dead plenty of others came to take their places--not like\nhorses, which can only be replaced with money.\"\n\n\"Well, it is clear, that you do not like your old master,\" said\nDumoulin, more and more surprised at his Amphitryon's gloomy and\nthoughtful air, and, regretting that the conversation had taken this\nserious turn, he whispered a few words in the ear of the Bacchanal\nQueen, who answered by a sign of intelligence.\n\n\"I don't like M. Tripeaud!\" exclaimed Jacques. \"I hate him--and shall\nI tell you why? Because it is as much his fault as mine, that I have\nbecome a good-for-nothing loafer. I don't say it to screen myself; but\nit is the truth. When I was 'prenticed to him as a lad, I was all heart\nand ardor, and so bent upon work, that I used to take my shirt off to\nmy task, which, by the way, was the reason that I was first called\nSleepinbuff. Well! I might have toiled myself to death; not one word of\nencouragement did I receive. I came first to my work, and was the last\nto leave off; what matter? it was not even noticed. One day, I was\ninjured by the machinery. I was taken to the hospital. When I came out,\nweak as I was, I went straight to my work; I was not to be frightened;\nthe others, who knew their master well, would often say to me: 'What\na muff you must be, little one! What good will you get by working so\nhard?'--still I went on. But, one day, a worthy old man, called Father\nArsene, who had worked in the house many years, and was a model of good\nconduct, was suddenly turned away, because he was getting too feeble. It\nwas a death-blow to him; his wife was infirm, and, at his age, he could\nnot get another place. When the foreman told him he was dismissed, he\ncould not believe it, and he began to cry for grief. At that moment, M.\nTripeaud passes; Father Arsene begs him with clasped hands to keep him\nat half-wages. 'What!' says M. Tripeaud, shrugging his shoulders; 'do\nyou think that I will turn my factory into a house of invalids? You are\nno longer able to work--so be off!' 'But I have worked forty years of my\nlife; what is to become of me?' cried poor Father Arsene. 'That is not\nmy business,' answered M. Tripeaud; and, addressing his clerk, he added:\n'Pay what is due for the week, and let him cut his stick.' Father\nArsene did cut his stick; that evening, he and his old wife suffocated\nthemselves with charcoal. Now, you see, I was then a lad; but that story\nof Father Arsene taught me, that, however hard you might work, it would\nonly profit your master, who would not even thank you for it, and leave\nyou to die on the flags in your old age. So all my fire was damped, and\nI said to myself: 'What's the use of doing more than I just need? If\nI gain heaps of gold for M. Tripeaud, shall I get an atom of it?'\nTherefore, finding neither pride nor profit in my work, I took a disgust\nfor it--just did barely enough to earn my wages--became an idler and a\nrake--and said to myself: 'When I get too tired of labor, I can always\nfollow the example of Father Arsene and his wife.\"'\n\nWhilst Jacques resigned himself to the current of these bitter thoughts,\nthe other guests, incited by the expressive pantomime of Dumoulin and\nthe Bacchanal Queen, had tacitly agreed together; and, on a signal from\nthe Queen, who leaped upon the table, and threw down the bottles and\nglasses with her foot, all rose and shouted, with the accompaniment\nof Ninny Moulin's rattle \"The storm blown Tulip! the quadrille of the\nStorm-blown Tulip!\"\n\nAt these joyous cries, which burst suddenly, like shell, Jacques\nstarted; then gazing with astonishment at his guests, he drew his hand\nacross his brow, as if to chase away the painful ideas that oppressed\nhim, and exclaimed: \"You are right. Forward the first couple! Let us be\nmerry!\"\n\nIn a moment, the table, lifted by vigorous arms, was removed to the\nextremity of the banqueting-room; the spectators, mounted upon chairs,\nbenches, and window-ledges, began to sing in chorus the well-known air\nof les Etudiants, so as to serve instead of orchestra, and accompany\nthe quadrille formed by Sleepinbuff, the Queen, Ninny Moulin, and Rose\nPompon.\n\nDumoulin, having entrusted his rattle to one of the guests, resumed his\nextravagant Roman helmet and plume; he had taken off his great-coat\nat the commencement of the feast, so that he now appeared in all the\nsplendor of his costume. His cuirass of bright scales ended in a tunic\nof feathers, not unlike those worn by the savages, who form the oxen's\nescort on Mardi Gras. Ninny Moulin had a huge paunch and thin legs,\nso that the latter moved about at pleasure in the gaping mouths of his\nlarge top boots.\n\nLittle Rose-Pompon, with her pinched-up cocked-hat stuck on one side,\nher hands in the pockets of her trousers, her bust a little inclined\nforward, and undulating from right to left, advanced to meet\nNinny-Moulin; the latter danced, or rather leaped towards her, his\nleft leg bent under him, his right leg stretched forward, with the toe\nraised, and the heel gliding on the floor; moreover, he struck his neck\nwith his left hand, and by a simultaneous movement, stretched forth\nhis right, as if he would have thrown dust in the eyes of his opposite\npartner.\n\nThis first figure met with great success, and the applause was\nvociferous, though it was only the innocent prelude to the step of\nthe Storm-blown Tulip--when suddenly the door opened, and one of the\nwaiters, after looking about for an instant, in search of Sleepinbuff,\nran to him, and whispered some words in his ear.\n\n\"Me!\" cried Jacques, laughing; \"here's a go!\"\n\nThe waiter added a few more words, when Sleepinbuff's face assumed\nan expression of uneasiness, as he answered. \"Very well! I come\ndirectly,\"--and he made a step towards the door.\n\n\"What's the matter, Jacques?\" asked the Bacchanal Queen, in some\nsurprise.\n\n\"I'll be back immediately. Some one take my place. Go on with the\ndance,\" said Sleepinbuff, as he hastily left the room.\n\n\"Something, that was not put down in the bill,\" said Dumoulin; \"he will\nsoon be back.\"\n\n\"That's it,\" said Cephyse. \"Now cavalier suel!\" she added, as she took\nJacques's place, and the dance continued.\n\nNinny Moulin had just taken hold of Rose Pompon with his right hand,\nand of the Queen with his left, in order to advance between the two, in\nwhich figure he showed off his buffoonery to the utmost extent, when\nthe door again opened, and the same waiter, who had called out Jacques,\napproached Cephyse with an air of consternation, and whispered in her\near, as he had before done to Sleepinbuff.\n\nThe Bacchanal Queen grew pale, uttered a piercing scream, and rushed out\nof the room without a word, leaving her guests in stupefaction.\n\n(11) These atrocious words were actually spoken during the Lyons Riots.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV. THE FAREWELL\n\nThe Bacchanal Queen, following the waiter, arrived at the bottom of the\nstaircase. A coach was standing before the door of the house. In it she\nsaw Sleepinbuff, with one of the men who, two hours before, had been\nwaiting on the Place du Chatelet.\n\nOn the arrival of Cephyse, the man got down, and said to Jacques, as he\ndrew out his watch: \"I give you a quarter of an hour; it is all that I\ncan do for you, my good fellow; after that we must start. Do not try to\nescape, for we'll be watching at the coach doors.\"\n\nWith one spring, Cephyse was in the coach. Too much overcome to speak\nbefore, she now exclaimed, as she took her seat by Jacques, and remarked\nthe paleness of his countenance: \"What is it? What do they want with\nyou?\"\n\n\"I am arrested for debt,\" said Jacques, in a mournful voice.\n\n\"You!\" exclaimed Cephyse, with a heart-rending sob.\n\n\"Yes, for that bill, or guarantee, they made me sign. And yet the man\nsaid it was only a form--the rascal!\"\n\n\"But you have money in his hands; let him take that on account.\"\n\n\"I have not a copper; he sends me word by the bailiff, that not having\npaid the bill, I shall not have the last thousand francs.\"\n\n\"Then let us go to him, and entreat him to leave you at liberty. It was\nhe who came to propose to lend you this money. I know it well, as he\nfirst addressed himself to me. He will have pity on you.\"\n\n\"Pity?--a money broker pity? No! no!\"\n\n\"Is there then no hope? none?\" cried Cephyse clasping her hands in\nanguish. \"But there must be something done,\" she resumed. \"He promised\nyou!\"\n\n\"You can see how he keeps his promises,\" answered Jacques, with\nbitterness. \"I signed, without even knowing what I signed. The bill is\nover-due; everything is in order, it would be vain to resist. They have\njust explained all that to me.\"\n\n\"But they cannot keep you long in prison. It is impossible.\"\n\n\"Five years, if I do not pay. As I'll never be able to do so, my fate is\ncertain.\"\n\n\"Oh! what a misfortune! and not to be able to do anything!\" said\nCephyse, hiding her face in her hands.\n\n\"Listen to me, Cephyse,\" resumed Jacques, in a voice of mournful\nemotion; \"since I am here, I have thought only of one thing--what is to\nbecome of you?\"\n\n\"Never mind me!\"\n\n\"Not mind you?--art mad? What will you do? The furniture of our two\nrooms is not worth two hundred francs. We have squandered our money so\nfoolishly, that we have not even paid our rent. We owe three quarters,\nand we must not therefore count upon the furniture. I leave you without\na coin. At least I shall be fed in prison--but how will you manage to\nlive?\n\n\"What is the use of grieving beforehand?\"\n\n\"I ask you how you will live to-morrow?\" cried Jacques.\n\n\"I will sell my costume, and some other clothes. I will send you half\nthe money, and keep the rest. That will last some days.\"\n\n\"And afterwards?--afterwards?\"\n\n\"Afterwards?--why, then--I don't know--how can I tell you!\nAfterwards--I'll look about me.\"\n\n\"Hear me, Cephyse,\" resumed Jacques, with bitter agony. \"It is now that\nI first know how mach I love you. My heart is pressed as in a vise at\nthe thought of leaving you and I shudder to thinly what is to become of\nyou.\" Then--drawing his hand across his forehead, Jacques added: \"You\nsee we have been ruined by saying--'To-morrow will never come!'--for to\nmorrow has come. When I am no longer with you, and you have spent the\nlast penny of the money gained by the sale of your clothes--unfit for\nwork as you have become--what will you do next? Must I tell you what you\nwill do!--you will forget me and--\" Then, as if he recoiled from his own\nthoughts, Jacques exclaimed, with a burst of rage and despair--\"Great\nHeaven! if that were to happen, I should dash my brains out against the\nstones!\"\n\nCephyse guessed the half-told meaning of Jacques, and throwing her arms\naround his neck, she said to him: \"I take another lover?--never! I am\nlike you, for I now first know how much I love you.\"\n\n\"But, my poor Cephyse--how will you live?\"\n\n\"Well, I shall take courage. I will go back and dwell, with my sister,\nas in old times; we will work together, and so earn our bread. I'll\nnever go out, except to visit you. In a few days your creditor will\nreflect, that, as you can't pay him ten thousand francs, he may as well\nset you free. By that time I shall have once more acquired the habit of\nworking. You shall see, you shall see!--and you also will again acquire\nthis habit. We shall live poor, but content. After all, we have had\nplenty of amusement for six month, while so many others have never known\npleasure all their lives. And believe me, my dear Jacques, when I say\nto you--I shall profit by this lesson. If you love me, do not feel the\nleast uneasiness; I tell you, that I would rather die a hundred times,\nthan have another lover.\"\n\n\"Kiss me,\" said Jacques, with eyes full of tears. \"I believe you--yes,\nI believe you--and you give me back my courage, both for now and\nhereafter. You are right; we must try and get to work again, or else\nnothing remains but Father Arsene's bushel of charcoal; for, my girl,\"\nadded Jacques, in a low and trembling voice, \"I have been like a drunken\nman these six months, and now I am getting sober, and see whither we are\ngoing. Our means once exhausted, I might perhaps have become a robber,\nand you--\"\n\n\"Oh, Jacques! don't talk so--it is frightful,\" interrupted Cephyse; \"I\nswear to you that I will return to my sister--that I will work--that I\nwill have courage!\"\n\nThus saying, the Bacchanal Queen was very sincere; she fully intended\nto keep her word, for her heart was not yet completely corrupted. Misery\nand want had been with her, as with so many others, the cause and the\nexcuse of her worst errors. Until now, she had at least followed the\ninstincts of her heart, without regard to any base or venal motive. The\ncruel position in which she beheld Jacques had so far exalted her love,\nthat she believed herself capable of resuming, along with Mother Bunch,\nthat life of sterile and incessant toil, full of painful sacrifices and\nprivations, which once had been impossible for her to bear, and which\nthe habits of a life of leisure and dissipation would now render still\nmore difficult.\n\nStill, the assurances which she had just given Jacques calmed his grief\nand anxiety a little; he had sense and feeling enough to perceive that\nthe fatal track which he had hitherto so blindly followed was leading\nboth him and Cephyse directly to infamy.\n\nOne of the bailiffs, having knocked at the coach-door, said to Jacques:\n\"My lad, you have only five minutes left--so make haste.\"\n\n\"So, courage, my girl--courage!\" said Jacques.\n\n\"I will; you may rely upon me.\"\n\n\"Are you going upstairs again?\"\n\n\"No--oh no!\" said Cephyse. \"I have now a horror of this festivity.\"\n\n\"Everything is paid for, and the waiter will tell them not to expect us\nback. They will be much astonished,\" continued Jacques, \"but it's all\nthe same now.\"\n\n\"If you could only go with me to our lodging,\" said Cephyse, \"this\nman would perhaps permit it, so as not to enter Sainte-Pelagie in that\ndress.\"\n\n\"Oh! he will not forbid you to accompany me; but, as he will be with\nus in the coach, we shall not be able to talk freely in his presence.\nTherefore, let me speak reason to you for the first time in my life.\nRemember what I say, my dear Cephyse--and the counsel will apply to\nme as well as to yourself,\" continued Jacques, in a grave and feeling\ntone--\"resume from to-day the habit of labor. It may be painful,\nunprofitable--never mind--do not hesitate, for too soon will the\ninfluence of this lesson be forgotten. By-and-bye it will be too late,\nand then you will end like so many unfortunate creatures--\"\n\n\"I understand,\" said Cephyse, blushing; \"but I will rather die than lead\nsuch a life.\"\n\n\"And there you will do well--for in that case,\" added Jacques, in a deep\nand hollow voice, \"I will myself show you how to die.\"\n\n\"I count upon you, Jacques,\" answered Cephyse, embracing her lover\nwith excited feeling; then she added, sorrowfully: \"It was a kind of\npresentiment, when just now I felt so sad, without knowing why, in the\nmidst of all our gayety--and drank to the Cholera, so that we might die\ntogether.\"\n\n\"Well! perhaps the Cholera will come,\" resumed Jacques, with a gloomy\nair; \"that would save us the charcoal, which we may not even be able to\nbuy.\"\n\n\"I can only tell you one thing, Jacques, that to live and die together,\nyou will always find me ready.\"\n\n\"Come, dry your eyes,\" said he, with profound emotion. \"Do not let us\nplay the children before these men.\"\n\nSome minutes after, the coach took the direction to Jacques's lodging,\nwhere he was to change his clothes, before proceeding to the debtors'\nprison.\n\nLet us repeat, with regard to the hunchback's sister--for there are\nthings which cannot be too often repeated--that one of the most fatal\nconsequences of the Inorganization of Labor is the Insufficiency of\nWages.\n\nThe insufficiency of wages forces inevitably the greater number of\nyoung girls, thus badly paid, to seek their means of subsistence in\nconnections which deprave them.\n\nSometimes they receive a small allowance from their lovers, which,\njoined to the produce of their labor, enables them to live. Sometimes\nlike the sempstress's sister, they throw aside their work altogether,\nand take up their abode with the man of their choice, should he be\nable to support the expense. It is during this season of pleasure and\nidleness that the incurable leprosy of sloth takes lasting possession of\nthese unfortunate creatures.\n\nThis is the first phase of degradation that the guilty carelessness of\nSociety imposes on an immense number of workwomen, born with instincts\nof modesty, and honesty, and uprightness.\n\nAfter a certain time they are deserted by their seducers--perhaps when\nthey are mothers. Or, it may be, that foolish extravagance consigns\nthe imprudent lover to prison, and the young girl finds herself alone,\nabandoned, without the means of subsistence.\n\nThose who have still preserved courage and energy go back to their\nwork--but the examples are very rare. The others, impelled by misery,\nand by habits of indolence, fall into the lowest depths.\n\nAnd yet we must pity, rather than blame them, for the first and virtual\ncause of their fall has been the insufficient remuneration of labor and\nsudden reduction of pay.\n\nAnother deplorable consequence of this inorganization is the\ndisgust which workmen feel for their employment, in addition to the\ninsufficiency of their wages. And this is quite conceivable, for\nnothing is done to render their labor attractive, either by variety\nof occupations, or by honorary rewards, or by proper care, or by\nremuneration proportionate to the benefits which their toil provides, or\nby the hope of rest after long years of industry. No--the country thinks\nnot, cares not, either for their wants or their rights.\n\nAnd yet, to take only one example, machinists and workers in foundries,\nexposed to boiler explosions, and the contact of formidable engines,\nrun every day greater dangers than soldiers in time of war, display rare\npractical sagacity, and render to industry--and, consequently, to their\ncountry--the most incontestable service, during a long and honorable\ncareer, if they do not perish by the bursting of a boiler, or have not\ntheir limbs crushed by the iron teeth of a machine.\n\nIn this last case, does the workman receive a recompense equal to that\nwhich awaits the soldier's praiseworthy, but sterile courage--a place in\nan asylum for invalids? No.\n\nWhat does the country care about it? And if the master should happen to\nbe ungrateful, the mutilated workman, incapable of further service, may\ndie of want in some corner.\n\nFinally, in our pompous festivals of commerce, do we ever assemble any\nof the skillful workmen who alone have woven those admirable stuffs,\nforged and damascened those shining weapons, chiselled those goblets of\ngold and silver, carved the wood and ivory of that costly furniture, and\nset those dazzling jewels with such exquisite art? No.\n\nIn the obscurity of their garrets, in the midst of a miserable and\nstarving family, hardly able to subsist on their scanty wages, these\nworkmen have contributed, at least, one half to bestow those wonders\nupon their country, which make its wealth, its glory, and its pride.\n\nA minister of commerce, who had the least intelligence of his high\nfunctions and duties, would require of every factory that exhibits\non these occasions, the selection by vote of a certain number of\ncandidates, amongst whom the manufacturer would point out the one that\nappeared most worthy to represent the working classes in these great\nindustrial solemnities.\n\nWould it not be a noble and encouraging example to see the master\npropose for public recompense and distinction the workman, deputed by\nhis peers, as amongst the most honest, laborious, and intelligent of his\nprofession? Then one most grievous injustice would disappear, and the\nvirtues of the workman would be stimulated by a generous and noble\nambition--he would have an interest in doing well.\n\nDoubtless, the manufacturer himself, because of the intelligence he\ndisplays, the capital he risks, the establishment he founds, and the\ngood he sometimes does, has a legitimate right to the prizes bestowed\nupon him. But why is the workman to be rigorously excluded from these\nrewards, which have so powerful an influence upon the people? Are\ngenerals and officers the only ones that receive rewards in the army?\nAnd when we have remunerated the captains of this great and powerful\narmy of industry, why should we neglect the privates?\n\nWhy for them is there no sign of public gratitude? no kind or consoling\nword from august lips? Why do we not see in France, a single workman\nwearing a medal as a reward for his courageous industry, his long and\nlaborious career? The token and the little pension attached to it, would\nbe to him a double recompense, justly deserved. But, no! for humble\nlabor that sustains the State, there is only forgetfulness, injustice,\nindifference, and disdain!\n\nBy this neglect of the public, often aggravated by individual\nselfishness and ingratitude, our workmen are placed in a deplorable\nsituation.\n\nSome of them, notwithstanding their incessant toil, lead a life of\nprivations, and die before their time cursing the social system that\nrides over them. Others find a temporary oblivion of their ills in\ndestructive intoxication. Others again--in great number--having no\ninterest, no advantage, no moral or physical inducement to do more or\nbetter, confine themselves strictly to just that amount of labor which\nwill suffice to earn their wages. Nothing attaches them to their work,\nbecause nothing elevates, honors, glorifies it in their eyes. They have\nno defence against the reductions of indolence; and if, by some chance,\nthey find means of living awhile in repose, they give way by degrees to\nhabits of laziness and debauchery, and sometimes the worst passions soil\nforever natures originally willing, healthy and honest--and all for\nwant of that protecting and equitable superintendence which should have\nsustained, encouraged, and recompensed their first worthy and laborious\ntendencies.\n\nWe now follow Mother Bunch, who after seeking for work from the person\nthat usually employed her, went to the Rue de Babylone, to the lodge\nlately occupied by Adrienne de Cardoville.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V. FLORINE.\n\nWhile the Bacchanal Queen and Sleepinbuff terminated so sadly the most\njoyous portion of their existence, the sempstress arrived at the door of\nthe summer-house in the Rue de Babylone.\n\nBefore ringing she dried her tears; a new grief weighed upon her\nspirits. On quitting the tavern, she had gone to the house of the person\nwho usually found her in work; but she was told that she could not have\nany because it could be done a third more cheaply by women in prison.\nMother Bunch, rather than lose her last resource, offered to take it at\nthe third less; but the linen had been already sent out; and the\ngirl could not hope for employment for a fortnight to come, even if\nsubmitting to this reduction of wages. One may conceive the anguish of\nthe poor creature; the prospect before her was to die of hunger, if\nshe would not beg or steal. As for her visit to the lodge in the Rue de\nBabylone, it will be explained presently.\n\nShe rang the bell timidly; a few minutes after, Florine opened the door\nto her. The waiting-maid was no longer adorned after the charming taste\nof Adrienne; on the contrary, she was dressed with an affectation of\naustere simplicity. She wore a high-necked dress of a dark color, made\nfull enough to conceal the light elegance of her figure. Her bands of\njet-black hair were hardly visible beneath the flat border of a starched\nwhite cap, very much resembling the head-dress of a nun. Yet, in spite\nof this unornamental costume, Florine's pale countenance was still\nadmirably beautiful.\n\nWe have said that, placed by former misconduct at the mercy of Rodin\nand M. d'Aigrigny, Florine had served them as a spy upon her mistress,\nnotwithstanding the marks of kindness and confidence she had received\nfrom her. Yet Florine was not entirely corrupted; and she often suffered\npainful, but vain, remorse at the thought of the infamous part she was\nthus obliged to perform.\n\nAt the sight of Mother Bunch, whom she recognized--for she had told\nher, the day before, of Agricola's arrest and Mdlle. de Cardoville's\nmadness--Florine recoiled a step, so much was she moved with pity at the\nappearance of the young sempstress. In fact, the idea of being thrown\nout of work, in the midst of so many other painful circumstances, had\nmade a terrible impression upon the young workwoman, the traces of\nrecent tears furrowed her cheeks--without her knowing it, her features\nexpressed the deepest despair--and she appeared so exhausted, so weak,\nso overcome, that Florine offered her arm to support her, and said to\nher kindly: \"Pray walk in and rest yourself; you are very pale, and seem\nto be ill and fatigued.\"\n\nSo saying, Florine led her into a small room; with fireplace and carpet,\nand made her sit down in a tapestried armchair by the side of a good\nfire. Georgette and Hebe had been dismissed, and Florine was left alone\nin care of the house.\n\nWhen her guest was seated, Florine said to her with an air of interest:\n\"Will you not take anything? A little orange flower-water and sugar,\nwarm.\"\n\n\"I thank you, mademoiselle,\" said Mother Bunch, with emotion, so easily\nwas her gratitude excited by the least mark of kindness; she felt, too,\na pleasing surprise, that her poor garments had not been the cause of\nrepugnance or disdain on the part of Florine.\n\n\"I thank you, mademoiselle,\" said she, \"but I only require a little\nrest, for I come from a great distance. If you will permit me--\"\n\n\"Pray rest yourself as long as you like, mademoiselle; I am alone in\nthis pavilion since the departure of my poor mistress,\"--here Florine\nblushed and sighed;--\"so, pray make yourself quite at home. Draw near\nthe fire--you wilt be more comfortable--and, gracious! how wet your feet\nare!--place them upon this stool.\"\n\nThe cordial reception given by Florine, her handsome face and agreeable\nmanners, which were not those of an ordinary waiting-maid, forcibly\nstruck Mother Bunch, who, notwithstanding her humble condition, was\npeculiarly susceptible to the influence of everything graceful\nand delicate. Yielding, therefore, to these attractions, the young\nsempstress, generally so timid and sensitive, felt herself almost at her\nease with Florine.\n\n\"How obliging you are, mademoiselle!\" said she in a grateful tone. \"I am\nquite confused with your kindness.\"\n\n\"I wish I could do you some greater service than offer you a place at\nthe fire, mademoiselle. Your appearance is so good and interesting.\"\n\n\"Oh, mademoiselle!\" said the other, with simplicity, almost in spite\nof herself; \"it does one so much good to sit by a warm fire!\" Then,\nfearing, in her extreme delicacy, that she might be thought capable of\nabusing the hospitality of her entertainer, by unreasonably prolonging\nher visit, she added: \"the motive that has brought me here is this.\nYesterday, you informed me that a young workman, named Agricola Baudoin,\nhad been arrested in this house.\"\n\n\"Alas! yes, mademoiselle. At the moment, too, when my poor mistress was\nabout to render him assistance.\"\n\n\"I am Agricola's adopted sister,\" resumed Mother Bunch, with a slight\nblush; \"he wrote to me yesterday evening from prison. He begged me to\ntell his father to come here as soon as possible, in order to inform\nMdlle. de Cardoville that he, Agricola, had important matters to\ncommunicate to her, or to any person that she might send; but that he\ncould not venture to mention them in a letter, as he did not know if\nthe correspondence of prisoners might not be read by the governor of the\nprison.\"\n\n\"What!\" said Florine, with surprise; \"to my mistress, M. Agricola has\nsomething of importance to communicate?\"\n\n\"Yes, mademoiselle; for, up to this time, Agricola is ignorant of the\ngreat calamity that has befallen Mdlle. de Cardoville.\"\n\n\"True; the attack was indeed so sudden,\" said Florine, casting down her\neyes, \"that no one could have foreseen it.\"\n\n\"It must have been so,\" answered Mother Bunch; \"for, when Agricola saw\nMdlle. de Cardoville for the first time, he returned home, struck with\nher grace, and delicacy, and goodness.\"\n\n\"As were all who approached my mistress,\" said Florine, sorrowfully.\n\n\"This morning,\" resumed the sewing-girl, \"when, according to Agricola's\ninstructions, I wished to speak to his father on the subject, I found\nhim already gone out, for he also is a prey to great anxieties; but\nmy adopted brother's letter appeared to me so pressing, and to involve\nsomething of such consequence to Mdlle. de Cardoville, who had shown\nherself so generous towards him, that I came here immediately.\"\n\n\"Unfortunately, as you already know, my mistress is no longer here.\"\n\n\"But is there no member of her family to whom, if I could not speak\nmyself, I might at least send word by you, that Agricola has something\nto communicate of importance to this young lady?\"\n\n\"It is strange!\" said Florine, reflecting, and without replying. Then,\nturning towards the sempstress, she added: \"You are quite ignorant of\nthe nature of these revelations?\"\n\n\"Completely so, mademoiselle; but I know Agricola. He is all honor and\ntruth, and you may believe whatever he affirms. Besides, he would have\nno interest--\"\n\n\"Good gracious!\" interrupted Florine, suddenly, as if struck with a\nsadden light; \"I have just remembered something. When he was arrested\nin a hiding-place where my mistress had concealed him, I happened to\nbe close at hand, and M. Agricola said to me, in a quick whisper: 'Tell\nyour generous mistress that her goodness to me will not go unrewarded,\nand that my stay in that hiding-place may not be useless to her.'\nThat was all he could say to me, for they hurried him off instantly. I\nconfess that I saw in those words only the expression of his gratitude,\nand his hope of proving it one day to my mistress; but now that I\nconnect them with the letter he has written you--\" said Florine,\nreflecting.\n\n\"Indeed!\" remarked Mother Bunch, \"there is certainly some connection\nbetween his hiding-place here and the important secrets which he wishes\nto communicate to your mistress, or one of her family.\"\n\n\"The hiding-place had neither been inhabited nor visited for some time,\"\nsaid Florine, with a thoughtful air; \"M. Agricola may have found therein\nsomething of interest to my mistress.\"\n\n\"If his letter had not appeared to me so pressing,\" resumed the other,\n\"I should not have come hither; but have left him to do so himself, on\nhis release from prison, which now, thanks to the generosity of one of\nhis old fellow-workmen, cannot be very distant. But, not knowing if\nbail would be accepted to-day, I have wished faithfully to perform his\ninstructions. The generous kindness of your mistress made it my first\nduty.\"\n\nLike all persons whose better instincts are still roused from time to\ntime, Florine felt a sort of consolation in doing good whenever she\ncould with impunity--that is to say, without exposing herself to the\ninexorable resentments of those on whom she depended. Thanks to Mother\nBunch, she might now have an opportunity of rendering a great service to\nher mistress. She knew enough of the Princess de Saint-Dizier's hatred\nof her niece, to feel certain that Agricola's communication could not,\nfrom its very importance, be made with safety to any but Mdlle. de\nCardoville herself. She therefore said very gravely: \"Listen to me,\nmademoiselle! I will give you a piece of advice which will, I think, be\nuseful to my poor mistress--but which would be very fatal to me if you\ndid not attend to my recommendations.\"\n\n\"How so, mademoiselle?\" said the hunchback, looking at Florine with\nextreme surprise.\n\n\"For the sake of my mistress, M. Agricola must confide to no one, except\nherself, the important things he has to communicate.\"\n\n\"But, if he cannot see Mdlle. Adrienne, may he not address himself to\nsome of her family?\"\n\n\"It is from her family, above all, that he must conceal whatever he\nknows. Mdlle. Adrienne may recover, and then M. Agricola can speak to\nher. But should she never get well again, tell your adopted brother that\nit is better for him to keep his secret than to place it (which would\ninfallibly happen) at the disposal of the enemies of my mistress.\"\n\n\"I understand you, mademoiselle,\" said Mother Bunch, sadly. \"The family\nof your generous mistress do not love her, and perhaps persecute her?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell you more on this subject now; and, as regards myself, let\nme conjure you to obtain M. Agricola's promise that he will not mention\nto any one in the world the step you have taken, or the advice I have\ngiven you. The happiness--no, not the happiness,\" resumed Florine\nbitterly, as if that were a lost hope, \"not the happiness--but the peace\nof my life depends upon your discretion.\"\n\n\"Oh! be satisfied!\" said the sewing-girl, both affected and amazed\nby the sorrowful expression of Florine's countenance; \"I will not be\nungrateful. No one in the world but Agricola shall know that I have seen\nyou.\"\n\n\"Thank you--thank you, mademoiselle,\" cried Florine, with emotion.\n\n\"Do you thank me?\" said the other, astonished to see the large tears\nroll down her cheeks.\n\n\"Yes! I am indebted to you for a moment of pure, unmixed happiness; for\nI have perhaps rendered a service to my dear mistress, without risking\nthe increase of the troubles that already overwhelm me.\"\n\n\"You are not happy, then?\"\n\n\"That astonishes you; but, believe me, whatever may be, your fate, I\nwould gladly change with you.\"\n\n\"Alas, mademoiselle!\" said the sempstress: \"you appear to have too good\na heart, for me to let you entertain such a wish--particularly now.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I hope sincerely, mademoiselle,\" proceeded Mother Bunch, with deep\nsadness, \"that you may never know what it is to want work, when labor is\nyour only resource.\"\n\n\"Are you reduced to that extremity?\" cried Florine, looking anxiously\nat the young sempstress, who hung her head, and made no answer. She\nreproached herself, in her excessive delicacy, with having made a\ncommunication which resembled a complaint, though it had only been wrung\nfrom her by the thought of her dreadful situation.\n\n\"If it is so,\" went on Florine, \"I pity you with all my heart; and yet I\nknow not, if my misfortunes are not still greater than yours.\"\n\nThen, after a moment's reflection, Florine exclaimed, suddenly: \"But let\nme see! If you are really in that position, I think I can procure you\nsome work.\"\n\n\"Is it possible, mademoiselle?\" cried Mother Bunch. \"I should never have\ndared to ask you such a service; but your generous offer commands my\nconfidence, and may save me from destruction. I will confess to you,\nthat, only this morning, I was thrown out of an employment which enabled\nme to earn four francs a week.\"\n\n\"Four francs a week!\" exclaimed Florine, hardly able to believe what she\nheard.\n\n\"It was little, doubtless,\" replied the other; \"but enough for me.\nUnfortunately, the person who employed me, has found out where it can be\ndone still cheaper.\"\n\n\"Four francs a week!\" repeated Florine, deeply touched by so much misery\nand resignation. \"Well! I think I can introduce you to persons, who will\nsecure you wages of at least two francs a day.\"\n\n\"I could earn two francs a day? Is it possible?\"\n\n\"Yes, there is no doubt of it; only, you will have to go out by the day,\nunless you chose to take a pace as servant.\"\n\n\"In my position,\" said Mother Bunch, with a mixture of timidity and\npride, \"one has no right, I know, to be overnice; yet I should prefer to\ngo out by the day, and still more to remain at home, if possible, even\nthough I were to gain less.\"\n\n\"To go out is unfortunately an indispensable condition,\" said Florine.\n\n\"Then I must renounce this hope,\" answered Mother Bunch, timidly; \"not\nthat I refuse to go out to work--but those who do so, are expected to be\ndecently clad--and I confess without shame, because there is no disgrace\nin honest poverty, that I have no better clothes than these.\"\n\n\"If that be all,\" said Florine, hastily, \"they will find you the means\nof dressing yourself properly.\"\n\nMother Bunch looked at Florine with increasing surprise. These offers\nwere so much above what she could have hoped, and what indeed was\ngenerally earned by needlewomen, that she could hardly credit them.\n\n\"But,\" resumed she, with hesitation, \"why should any one be so generous\nto me, mademoiselle? How should I deserve such high wages?\"\n\nFlorine started. A natural impulse of the heart, a desire to be useful\nto the sempstress, whose mildness and resignation greatly interested\nher, had led her to make a hasty proposition; she knew at what price\nwould have to be purchased the advantages she proposed, and she now\nasked herself, if the hunchback would ever accept them on such terms.\nBut Florine had gone too far to recede, and she durst not tell all. She\nresolved, therefore, to leave the future to chance and as those,\nwho have themselves fallen, are little disposed to believe in the\ninfallibility of others, Florine said to herself, that perhaps in\nthe desperate position in which she was, Mother Bunch would not be so\nscrupulous after all. Therefore she said: \"I see, mademoiselle, that you\nare astonished at offers so much above what you usually gain; but I\nmust tell you, that I am now speaking of a pious institution, founded\nto procure work for deserving young women. This establishment, which is\ncalled St. Mary's Society, undertakes to place them out as servants,\nor by the day as needlewomen. Now this institution is managed by such\ncharitable persons, that they themselves undertake to supply an\noutfit, when the young women, received under their protection are not\nsufficiently well clothed to accept the places destined for them.\"\n\nThis plausible explanation of Florine's magnificent offers appeared to\nsatisfy the hearer. \"I can now understand the high wages of which\nyou speak, mademoiselle,\" resumed she; \"only I have no claim to be\npatronized by the charitable persons who direct this establishment.\"\n\n\"You suffer--you are laborious and honest--those are sufficient claims;\nonly, I must tell you, they will ask if you perform regularly your\nreligious duties.\"\n\n\"No one loves and blesses God more fervently than I do, mademoiselle,\"\nsaid the hunchback, with mild firmness; \"but certain duties are an\naffair of conscience, and I would rather renounce this patronage, than\nbe compelled--\"\n\n\"Not the least in the world. Only, as I told you, there are very pious\npersons at the head of this institution, and you must not be astonished\nat their questions on such a subject. Make the trial, at all events;\nwhat do you risk? If the propositions are suitable--accept them; if, on\nthe contrary, they should appear to touch your liberty of conscience,\nyou can always refuse--your position will not be the worse for it.\"\n\nMother Bunch had nothing to object to this reasoning which left her at\nperfect freedom, and disarmed her of all suspicion. \"On these terms,\nmademoiselle,\" said she, \"I accept your offer, and thank you with all my\nheart. But who will introduce me?\"\n\n\"I will--to-morrow, if you please.\"\n\n\"But they will perhaps desire to make some inquiries about me.\"\n\n\"The venerable Mother Sainte-Perpetue, Superior of St, Mary's Convent,\nwhere the institution is established, will, I am sure, appreciate your\ngood qualities without inquiry; but if otherwise, she will tell you, and\nyou can easily satisfy her. It is then agreed--to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Shall I call upon you here, mademoiselle?\"\n\n\"No; as I told you before, they must not know that you came here on the\npart of M. Agricola, and a second visit might be discovered, and excite\nsuspicion. I will come and fetch you in a coach; where do you live?\"\n\n\"At No. 3, Rue Brise-Miche; as you are pleased to give yourself so\nmuch trouble, mademoiselle, you have only to ask the dyer, who acts as\nporter, to call down Mother Bunch.\"\n\n\"Mother Bunch?\" said Florine, with surprise.\n\n\"Yes, mademoiselle,\" answered the sempstress, with a sad smile; \"it is\nthe name every one gives me. And you see,\" added the hunchback, unable\nto restrain a tear, \"it is because of my ridiculous infirmity, to which\nthis name alludes, that I dread going out to work among strangers,\nbecause there are so many people who laugh at one, without knowing the\npain they occasion. But,\" continued she, drying her eyes, \"I have no\nchoice, and must make up my mind to it.\"\n\nFlorine, deeply affected, took the speaker's hand, and said to her: \"Do\nnot fear. Misfortunes like yours must inspire compassion, not ridicule.\nMay I not inquire for you by your real name?\"\n\n\"It is Magdalen Soliveau; but I repeat, mademoiselle, that you had\nbetter ask for Mother Bunch, as I am hardly known by any other name.\"\n\n\"I will, then, be in the Rue Brise-Miche to-morrow, at twelve o'clock.\"\n\n\"Oh, mademoiselle! How can I ever requite your goodness?\"\n\n\"Don't speak of it: I only hope my interference may be of use to you.\nBut of this you must judge for yourself. As for M. Agricola, do not\nanswer his letter; wait till he is out of prison, and then tell him to\nkeep his secret till he can see my poor mistress.\"\n\n\"And where is the dear young lady now?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell you. I do not know where they took her, when she was\nattacked with this frenzy. You will expect me to-morrow?\"\n\n\"Yes--to-morrow,\" said Mother Bunch.\n\nThe convent whither Florine was to conduct the hunchback contained the\ndaughters of Marshal Simon, and was next door to the lunatic asylum of\nDr. Baleinier, in which Adrienne de Cardoville was confined.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI. MOTHER SAINTE-PERPETUE.\n\nSt. Mary's Convent, whither the daughters of Marshal Simon had been\nconveyed, was a large old building, the vast garden of which was on\nthe Boulevard de l'Hopital, one of the most retired places in Paris,\nparticularly at this period. The following scenes took place on the 12th\nFebruary, the eve of the fatal day, on which the members of the family\nof Rennepont, the last descendants of the sister of the Wandering Jew,\nwere to meet together in the Rue St. Francois. St. Mary's Convent was a\nmodel of perfect regularity. A superior council, composed of influential\necclesiastics, with Father d'Aigrigny for president, and of women of\ngreat reputed piety, at the head of whom was the Princess de Saint\nDizier, frequently assembled in deliberation, to consult on the means\nof extending and strengthening the secret and powerful influence of this\nestablishment, which had already made remarkable progress.\n\nSkillful combinations and deep foresight had presided at the foundation\nof St. Mary's Convent, which, in consequence of numerous donations,\npossessed already real estate to a great extent, and was daily\naugmenting its acquisitions. The religious community was only a pretext;\nbut, thanks to an extensive connection, kept up by means of the most\ndecided members of the ultramontane (i. e. high-church) party, a great\nnumber of rich orphans were placed in the convent, there to receive a\nsolid, austere, religious education, very preferable, it was said, to\nthe frivolous instruction which might be had in the fashionable boarding\nschools, infected by the corruption of the age. To widows also, and\nlone women who happened moreover to be rich, the convent offered a sure\nasylum from the dangers and temptations of the world; in this peaceful\nretreat, they enjoyed a delightful calm, and secured their salvation,\nwhilst surrounded by the most tender and affectionate attentions. Nor\nwas this all. Mother Sainte-Perpetue, the superior of the convent,\nundertook in the name of the institution to procure for the faithful,\nwho wished to preserve the interior of their houses from the depravity\nof the age, companions for aged ladies, domestic servants, or\nneedlewomen working by the day, all selected persons whose morality\ncould be warranted. Nothing would seem more worthy of sympathy and\nencouragement than such an institution; but we shall presently unveil\nthe vast and dangerous network of intrigue concealed under\nthese charitable and holy appearances. The lady Superior, Mother\nSainte-Perpetue, was a tall woman of about forty years of age, clad in a\nstuff dress of the Carmelite tan color, and wearing a long rosary at her\nwaist; a white cap tied under the chin, and a long black veil, closely\nencircled her thin, sallow face. A number of deep wrinkles had impressed\ntheir transverse furrows in her forehead of yellow ivory; her marked and\nprominent nose was bent like the beak of a bird of prey; her black eye\nwas knowing and piercing; the expression of her countenance was at once\nintelligent, cold and firm.\n\nIn the general management of the pecuniary affairs of the community,\nMother Sainte-Perpetue would have been a match for the most cunning\nattorney. When women are possessed of what is called a talent for\nbusiness, and apply to it their keen penetration, their indefatigable\nperseverance, their prudent dissimulation, and, above all, that quick\nand exact insight, which is natural to them, the results are often\nprodigious. To Mother Sainte-Perpetue, a woman of the coolest and\nstrongest intellect, the management of the vast transactions of the\ncommunity was mere child's play. No one knew better how to purchase a\ndepreciated property, to restore it to its former value, and then sell\nit with advantage; the price of stock, the rate of exchange, the current\nvalue of the shares in the different companies, were all familiar to\nher; she had yet never been known to make bad speculation, when the\nquestion was to invest any of the funds which were given by pious souls\nfor the purposes of the convent. She had established in the house the\nutmost order and discipline, and, above all, an extreme economy. The\nconstant aim of all her efforts was to enrich, not herself, but the\ncommunity she directed; for the spirit of association, when become a\ncollective egotism, gives to corporations the faults and vices of an\nindividual. Thus a congregation may dote upon power and money, just as\na miser loves them for their own sake. But it is chiefly with regard to\nestates that congregations act like a single man. They dream of landed\nproperty; it is their fixed idea, their fruitful monomania. They pursue\nit with their most sincere, and warm, and tender wishes.\n\nThe first estate is to a rising little community what the wedding\ntrousseau is to a young bride, his first horse to a youth, his first\nsuccess to a poet, to a gay girl her first fifty-guinea shawl; because,\nafter all, in this material age, an estate gives a certain rank to a\nsociety on the Religious Exchange, and has so much the more effect upon\nthe simple-minded, that all these partnerships in the work of salvation,\nwhich end by becoming immensely rich, begin with modest poverty as\nsocial stock-in-trade, and charity towards their neighbors as security\nreserve fund. We may therefore imagine what bitter and ardent rivalry\nmust exist between the different congregations with regard to the\nvarious estates that each can lay claim to; with what ineffable\nsatisfaction the richer society crushes the poorer beneath its inventory\nof houses, and farms and paper securities! Envy and hateful jealousy,\nrendered still more irritable by the leisure of a cloistered life, are\nthe necessary consequences of such a comparison; and yet nothing is less\nChristian--in the adorable acceptation of that divine word--nothing has\nless in common with the true, essential, and religiously social spirit\nof the gospel, than this insatiable ardor to acquire wealth by every\npossible means--this dangerous avidity, which is far from being atoned\nfor, in the eyes of public opinion, by a few paltry alms, bestowed in\nthe narrow spirit of exclusion and intolerance.\n\nMother Sainte-Perpetue was seated before a large cylindrical-fronted\ndesk in the centre of an apartment simply but comfortably furnished.\nAn excellent fire burned within the marble chimney, and a soft carpet\ncovered the floor. The superior, to whom all letters addressed to the\nsisters or the boarders were every day delivered, had just been opening\nshe first, according to her acknowledged right, and carefully unsealing\nthe second, without their knowing it, according to a right that she\nascribed to herself, of course, with a view to the salvation of those\ndear creatures; and partly, perhaps, a little to make herself acquainted\nwith their correspondence, for she also had imposed on herself the duty\nof reading all letters that were sent from the convent, before they were\nput into the post. The traces of this pious and innocent inquisition\nwere easily effaced, for the good mother possessed a whole arsenal of\nsteel tools, some very sharp, to cut the pager imperceptibly round the\nseal--others, pretty little rods, to be slightly heated and rolled round\nthe edge of the seal, when the letter had been read and replaced in its\nenvelope, so that the wax, spreading as it melted, might cover the first\nincision. Moreover, from a praiseworthy feeling of justice and equality,\nthere was in the arsenal of the good mother a little fumigator of the\nmost ingenious construction, the damp and dissolving vapor of which was\nreserved for the letters humbly and modestly secured with wafers, thus\nsoftened, they yielded to the least efforts, without any tearing of the\npaper. According to the importance of the revelations, which she thus\ngleaned from the writers of the letters, the superior took notes more or\nless extensive. She was interrupted in this investigation by two gentle\ntaps at the bolted door. Mother Sainte-Perpetue immediately let down the\nsliding cylinder of her cabinet, so as to cover the secret arsenal, and\nwent to open the door with a grave and solemn air. A lay sister came to\nannounce to her that the Princess de Saint-Dizier was waiting for her\nin the parlor, and that Mdlle. Florine, accompanied by a young girl,\ndeformed and badly dressed, was waiting at the door of the little\ncorridor.\n\n\"Introduce the princess first,\" said Mother Sainte Perpetue. And, with\ncharming forethought, she drew an armchair to the fire. Mme. de Saint\nDizier entered.\n\nWithout pretensions to juvenile coquetry, still the princess was\ntastefully and elegantly dressed. She wore a black velvet bonnet of the\nmost fashionable make, a large blue cashmere shawl, and a black satin\ndress, trimmed with sable, to match the fur of her muff.\n\n\"To what good fortune am I again to-day indebted for the honor of your\nvisit, my dear daughter?\" said the superior, graciously.\n\n\"A very important recommendation, my dear mother, though I am in a\ngreat hurry. I am expected at the house of his Eminence, and have,\nunfortunately, only a few minutes to spare. I have again to speak of the\ntwo orphans who occupied our attention so long yesterday.\"\n\n\"They continue to be kept separate, according to your wish; and this\nseparation has had such an effect upon them that I have been obliged\nto send this morning for Dr. Baleinier, from his asylum. He found much\nfever joined to great depression, and, singular enough, absolutely the\nsame symptoms in both cases. I have again questioned these unfortunate\ncreatures, and have been quite confounded and terrified to find them\nperfect heathens.\"\n\n\"It was, you see, very urgent to place them in your care. But to the\nsubject of my visit, my dear mother: we have just learned the unexpected\nreturn of the soldier who brought these girls to France, and was thought\nto be absent for some days; but he is in Paris, and, notwithstanding his\nage, a man of extraordinary boldness, enterprise and energy. Should he\ndiscover that the girls are here (which, however, is fortunately\nalmost impossible), in his rage at seeing them removed from his impious\ninfluence, he would be capable of anything. Therefore let me entreat\nyou, my dear mother, to redouble your precautions, that no one may\neffect an entrance by night. This quarter of the town is so deserted!\"\n\n\"Be satisfied, my dear daughter; we are sufficiently guarded. Our porter\nand gardeners, all well armed, make a round every night on the side\nof the Boulevard de l'Hopital. The walls are high, and furnished with\nspikes at the more accessible places. But I thank you, my dear daughter,\nfor having warned me. We will redouble our precautions.\"\n\n\"Particularly this night, my dear mother.\"\n\n\"Why so?\"\n\n\"Because if this infernal soldier has the audacity to attempt such a\nthing, it will be this very night.\"\n\n\"How do you know, my dear daughter?\"\n\n\"We have information which makes us certain of it,\" replied the\nprincess, with a slight embarrassment, which did not escape the notice\nof the Superior, though she was too crafty and reserved to appear to see\nit; only she suspected that many things were concealed from her.\n\n\"This night, then,\" resumed Mother Sainte-Perpetue, \"we will be more\nthan ever on our guard. But as I have the pleasure of seeing you, my\ndear daughter, I will take the opportunity to say a word or two on the\nsubject of that marriage we mentioned.\"\n\n\"Yes, my dear mother,\" said the princess, hastily, \"for it is very\nimportant. The young Baron de Brisville is a man full of ardent devotion\nin these times of revolutionary impiety; he practises openly, and is\nable to render us great services. He is listened to in the Chamber, and\ndoes not want for a sort of aggressive and provoking eloquence; I know\nnot any one whose tone is more insolent with regard to his faith, and\nthe plan is a good one, for this cavalier and open manner of speaking\nof sacred things raises and excites the curiosity of the indifferent.\nCircumstances are happily such that he may show the most audacious\nviolence towards our enemies, without the least danger to himself,\nwhich, of course, redoubles his ardor as a would-be martyr. In a\nword, he is altogether ours, and we, in return, must bring about this\nmarriage. You know, besides, my dear mother, that he proposes to offer\na donation of a hundred thousand francs to St. Mary's the day he gains\npossession of the fortune of Mdlle. Baudricourt.\"\n\n\"I have never doubted the excellent intentions of M. de Brisville\nwith regard to an institution which merits the sympathy of all pious\npersons,\" answered the superior, discreetly; \"but I did not expect to\nmeet with so many obstacles on the part of the young lady.\"\n\n\"How is that?\"\n\n\"This girl, whom I always believed a most simple, submissive, timid,\nalmost idiotic person--instead of being delighted with this proposal of\nmarriage, asks time to consider!\"\n\n\"It is really pitiable!\"\n\n\"She opposes to me an inert resistance. It is in vain for me to speak\nseverely, and tell her that, having no parents or friends, and being\nabsolutely confided to my care, she ought to see with my eyes, hear with\nmy ears, and when I affirm that this union is suitable in all respects,\ngive her adhesion to it without delay or reflection.\"\n\n\"No doubt. It would be impossible to speak more sensibly.\"\n\n\"She answers that she wishes to see M. de Brisville, and know his\ncharacter before being engaged.\"\n\n\"It is absurd--since you undertake to answer for his morality, and\nesteem this a proper marriage.\"\n\n\"Therefore, I remarked to Mdlle. Baudricourt, this morning, that till\nnow I had only employed gentle persuasion, but that, if she forced me\nto it, I should be obliged, in her own interest, to act with rigor, to\nconquer so much obstinacy that I should have to separate her from her\ncompanions, and to confine her closely in a cell, until she made up her\nmind, after all, to consult her own happiness, and--marry an honorable\nman.\"\n\n\"And these menaces, my dear mother?\"\n\n\"Will, I hope, have a good effect. She kept up a correspondence with\nan old school-friend in the country. I have put a stop to this, for it\nappeared to me dangerous. She is now under my sole influence, and I hope\nwe shall attain our ends; but you see, my dear daughter, it is never\nwithout crosses and difficulties that we succeed in doing good!\"\n\n\"And I feel certain that M. de Brisville will even go beyond his first\npromise, and I will pledge myself for him, that, should he marry Mdlle.\nBaudricourt--\"\n\n\"You know, my dear daughter,\" said the superior, interrupting the\nprincess, \"that if I were myself concerned, I would refuse everything;\nbut to give to this institution is to give to Heaven, and I cannot\nprevent M. de Brisville from augmenting the amount of his good works.\nThen, you see, we are exposed to a sad disappointment.\"\n\n\"What is that, my dear mother?\"\n\n\"The Sacred Heart Convent disputes an estate with us that would have\nsuited us exactly. Really, some people are quite insatiable! I gave the\nlady superior my opinion upon it pretty freely.\"\n\n\"She told me as much,\" answered Madame de Saint-Dizier, \"and laid the\nblame on the steward.\"\n\n\"Oh! so you see her, my dear daughter?\" exclaimed the superior, with an\nair of great surprise.\n\n\"I met her at the bishop's,\" answered Madame de Saint-Dizier, with a\nslight degree of hesitation, that Mother Sainte-Perpetue did not appear\nto notice.\n\n\"I really do not know,\" resumed the latter, \"why our establishment\nshould excite so violently the jealousy of the Sacred Heart. There is\nnot an evil report that they have not spread with regard to St. Mary's\nConvent. Certain persons are always offended by the success of their\nneighbors!\"\n\n\"Come, my dear mother,\" said the princess, in a conciliating tone, \"we\nmust hope that the donation of M. de Brisville will enable you to outbid\nthe Sacred Heart. This marriage will have a double advantage, you see,\nmy dear mother; it will place a large fortune at the disposal of a man\nwho is devoted to us, and who will employ it as we wish; and it will\nalso greatly increase the importance of his position as our defender,\nby the addition to his income of 100,000 francs a year. We shall have at\nlength an organ worthy of our cause, and shall no longer be obliged to\nlook for defenders amongst such people as that Dumoulin.\"\n\n\"There is great power and much learning in the writings of the man you\nname. It is the style of a Saint Bernard, in wrath at the impiety of the\nage.\"\n\n\"Alas, my dear mother! if you only knew what a strange Saint Bernard\nthis Dumoulin is! But I will not offend your ears; all I can tell you\nis, that such defenders would compromise the most sacred cause. Adieu,\nmy dear mother! pray redouble your precautions to-night--the return of\nthis soldier is alarming.\"\n\n\"Be quite satisfied, my dear daughter! Oh! I forgot. Mdlle. Florine\nbegged me to ask you a favor. It is to let her enter your service. You\nknow the fidelity she displayed in watching your unfortunate niece; I\nthink that, by rewarding her in this way, you will attach her to you\ncompletely, and I shall feel grateful on her account.\"\n\n\"If you interest yourself the least in the world in Florine, my dear\nmother, the thing is done. I will take her into my service. And now it\nstrikes me, she may be more useful to me than I thought.\"\n\n\"A thousand thanks, my dear daughter, for such obliging attention to my\nrequest. I hope we shall soon meet again. The day after to-morrow, at\ntwo o'clock, we have a long conference with his Eminence and the Bishop;\ndo not forget!\"\n\n\"No, my dear mother; I shall take care to be exact. Only, pray, redouble\nyour precautions to-night for fear of a great scandal!\"\n\nAfter respectfully kissing the hand of the superior, the princess\nwent out by the great door, which led to an apartment opening on the\nprincipal staircase. Some minutes after, Florine entered the room by\nanother way. The superior was seated and Florine approached her with\ntimid humility.\n\n\"Did you meet the Princess de Saint-Dizier?\" asked Mother Sainte\nPerpetue.\n\n\"No, mother; I was waiting in the passage, where the windows look out on\nthe garden.\"\n\n\"The princess takes you into her service from to-day,\" said the\nsuperior.\n\nFlorine made a movement of sorrowful surprise, and exclaimed: \"Me,\nmother! but--\"\n\n\"I asked her in your name, and you have only to accept,\" answered the\nother imperiously.\n\n\"But, mother, I had entreated you--\"\n\n\"I tell you, that you accept the offer,\" said the superior, in so firm\nand positive a tone that Florine cast down her eyes, and replied in a\nlow voice: \"I accept.\"\n\n\"It is in M. Rodin's name that I give you this order.\"\n\n\"I thought so, mother,\" replied Florine, sadly; \"on what conditions am I\nto serve the princess?\"\n\n\"On the same conditions as those on which you served her niece.\"\n\nFlorine shuddered and said: \"I am, then, to make frequent secret reports\nwith regard to the princess?\"\n\n\"You will observe, you will remember, and you will give an account.\"\n\n\"Yes, my mother.\"\n\n\"You will above all direct your attention to the visits that the\nprincess may receive from the lady superior of the Sacred Heart. You\nmust try and listen--for we have to preserve the princess from evil\ninfluences.\"\n\n\"I will obey, my mother.\"\n\n\"You will also try and discover why two young orphans have been brought\nhither, and recommended to be severely treated, by Madame Grivois, the\nconfidential waiting-woman of the princess.\"\n\n\"Yes, mother.\"\n\n\"Which must not prevent you from remembering anything else that may be\nworthy of remark. To-morrow I will give you particular instructions upon\nanother subject.\"\n\n\"It is well, mother.\"\n\n\"If you conduct yourself in a satisfactory manner, and execute\nfaithfully the instructions of which I speak, you will soon leave the\nprincess to enter the service of a young bride; it will be an excellent\nand lasting situation always on the same conditions. It is, therefore,\nperfectly understood that you have asked me to recommend you to Madame\nde Saint Dizier.\"\n\n\"Yes, mother; I shall remember.\"\n\n\"Who is this deformed young girl that accompanies you?\"\n\n\"A poor creature without any resources, very intelligent, and with an\neducation above her class; she works at her needle, but is at present\nwithout employment, and reduced to the last extremity. I have made\ninquiries about her this morning; she has an excellent character.\"\n\n\"She is ugly and deformed, you say?\"\n\n\"She has an interesting countenance, but she is deformed.\"\n\nThe superior appeared pleased at this information, and added, after a\nmoment's reflection: \"She appears intelligent?\"\n\n\"Very intelligent.\"\n\n\"And is absolutely without resources?\"\n\n\"Yes, without any.\"\n\n\"Is she pious?\"\n\n\"She does not practice.\"\n\n\"No matter,\" said the superior to herself; \"if she be intelligent, that\nwill suffice.\" Then she resumed aloud. \"Do you know if she is a good\nworkwoman?\"\n\n\"I believe so, mother.\"\n\nThe superior rose, took a register from a shelf, appeared to be looking\ninto it attentively for some time, and then said, as she replaced it:\n\"Fetch in this young girl, and go and wait for me in the press-room.\"\n\n\"Deformed--intelligent--clever at her needle,\" said the superior,\nreflecting; \"she will excite no suspicion. We must see.\"\n\nIn about a minute, Florine returned with Mother Bunch, whom she\nintroduced to the superior, and then discreetly withdrew. The young\nsempstress was agitated, trembling, and much troubled, for she could, as\nit were, hardly believe a discovery which she had chanced to make during\nFlorine's absence. It was not without a vague sense of terror that the\nhunchback remained alone with the lady superior.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII. THE TEMPTATION.\n\nThis was the cause of Mother Bunch's emotion. Florine, when she went to\nsee the superior, had left the young sempstress in a passage supplied\nwith benches, and forming a sort of ante-chamber on the first story.\nBeing alone, the girl had mechanically approached a window which\nlooked upon the convent garden, shut in by a half demolished wall, and\nterminating at one end in an open paling. This wall was connected with\na chapel that was still building, and bordered on the garden of a\nneighboring house. The sewing-girl, at one of the windows on the ground\nfloor of this house--a grated window, still more remarkable by the sort\nof tent-like awning above it--beheld a young female, with her eyes fixed\nupon the convent, making signs with her hand, at once encouraging and\naffectionate. From the window where she stood, Mother Bunch could not\nsee to whom these signs were addressed; but she admired the rare beauty\nof the telegrapher, the brilliancy of her complexion, the shining\nblackness of her large eyes, the sweet and benevolent smile which\nlingered on her lips. There was, no doubt, some answer to her graceful\nand expressive pantomime, for, by a movement full of elegance, the girl\nlaid her left hand on her bosom, and waved her right, which seemed to\nindicate that her heart flew towards the place on which she kept her\neyes. One faint sunbeam, piercing the clouds, came at this moment to\nplay with the tresses of the pale countenance, which, now held close\nto the bars of the window, was suddenly, as it were, illuminated by\nthe dazzling reflection of her splendid golden hair. At sight of that\ncharming face, set in its admirable frame of red curls, Mother Bunch\nstarted involuntarily; the thought of Mdlle. de Cardoville crossed her\nmind, and she felt persuaded (nor was she, indeed, mistaken), that\nthe protectress of Agricola was before her. On thus beholding, in\nthat gloomy asylum, this young lady, so marvellously beautiful, and\nremembering the delicate kindness with which a few days before she had\nreceived Agricola in her luxurious little palace of dazzling splendor,\nthe work-girl felt her heart sink within her. She believed Adrienne\ninsane; and yet, as she looked attentively at her, it seemed as if\nintelligence and grace animated that adorable countenance. Suddenly,\nMdlle. de Cardoville laid her fingers upon her lips, blew a couple of\nkisses in the direction towards which she had been looking, and all\nat once disappeared. Reflecting upon the important revelations which\nAgricola had to make to Mdlle. de Cardoville, Mother Bunch regretted\nbitterly that she had no means of approaching her; for she felt sure\nthat, if the young lady were mad, the present was a lucid interval.\nShe was yet absorbed in these uneasy reflections, when she saw Florine\nreturn, accompanied by one of the nuns. Mother Bunch was obliged,\ntherefore, to keep silence with regard to the discovery she had made,\nand soon after she found herself in the superior's presence. This\nlatter, after a rapid and searching examination of the countenance of\nthe young workwoman, judged her appearance so timid, gentle and honest,\nthat she thought she might repose full confidence in the information\ngiven by Florine.\n\n\"My dear daughter,\" said Mother Sainte-Perpetue, in an affectionate\nvoice, \"Florine has told me in what a cruel situation you are placed. Is\nit true that you are entirely without work?\"\n\n\"Alas! yes, madame.\"\n\n\"Call me mother, my dear daughter; that name is dearer to me, and it is\nthe rule of our house. I need not ask you what are your principles?\"\n\n\"I have always lived honestly by my labor, mother,\" answered the girl,\nwith a simplicity at once dignified and modest.\n\n\"I believe you, my dear daughter, and I have good reasons for so doing.\nWe must thank the Lord, who has delivered you from temptation; but tell\nme--are you clever at your trade?\"\n\n\"I do my best, mother, and have always satisfied my employers. If you\nplease to try me, you will be able to judge.\"\n\n\"Your affirmation is sufficient, my dear daughter. You prefer, I think,\nto go out by the day?\"\n\n\"Mdlle. Florine told me, mother, that I could not have work at home.\"\n\n\"Why, no--not for the present, my child. If hereafter an opportunity\nshould offer, I will think of it. Just now I have this to propose to\nyou. A very respectable old lady has asked me to recommend to her a\nneedle-woman by the day; introduced by me, you will certainly suit\nher. The institution will undertake to clothe you becomingly, and this\nadvance we shall retain by degrees out of your wages, for you will look\nto us for payment. We propose to give you two francs a day; does that\nappear to you sufficient?\"\n\n\"Oh, mother! it is much more than I could have expected.\"\n\n\"You will, moreover, only be occupied from nine o'clock in the morning\ntill six in the evening; you will thus have still some off hours, of\nwhich you might make use. You see, the situation is not a hard one.\"\n\n\"Oh! quite the contrary, mother.\"\n\n\"I must tell you, first of all, with whom the institution intends to\nplace you. It is a widow lady, named Mme. de Bremant, a person of the\nmost steadfast piety. In her house, I hope, you will meet with none but\nexcellent examples. If it should be otherwise, you can come and inform\nme.\"\n\n\"How so, mother?\" said the sewing-girl, with surprise.\n\n\"Listen to me, my dear daughter,\" said Mother Sainte-Perpetue, in a\ntone ever more and more affectionate; \"the institution of St. Mary has\na double end in view. You will perfectly understand that, if it is our\nduty to give to masters and mistresses every possible security as to the\nmorality of the persons that we place in their families, we are likewise\nbound to give to the persons that we so place out every possible\nsecurity as to the morality of their employers.\"\n\n\"Nothing can be more just and of a wiser foresight, mother.\"\n\n\"Naturally, my dear daughter; for even as a servant of bad morals may\ncause the utmost trouble in a respectable family, so the bad conduct of\na master or mistress may have the most baneful influence on the persons\nwho serve them, or who come to work in their houses. Now, it is to offer\na mutual guarantee to good masters and honest servants, that we have\nfounded this institution.\"\n\n\"Oh, madame!\" cried Mother Bunch, with simplicity; \"such designs merit\nthe thanks and blessings of every one.\"\n\n\"And blessings do not fail us, my dear daughter, because we perform our\npromises. Thus, an interesting workwoman--such as you, for example--is\nplaced with persons that we suppose irreproachable. Should she, however,\nperceive, on the part of her employers, or on that of the persons who\nfrequent the house, any irregularity of morals, any tendency to what\nwould offend her modesty, or shock her religious principles, she should\nimmediately give us a detailed account of the circumstances that have\ncaused her alarm. Nothing can be more proper--don't you think so?\"\n\n\"Yes, mother,\" answered Mother Bunch, timidly, for she began to find\nthis provision somewhat singular.\n\n\"Then,\" resumed the superior, \"if the case appears a serious one, we\nexhort our befriended one to observe what passes more attentively, so\nas to convince herself whether she had really reason to be alarmed.\nShe makes a new report to us, and should it confirm our first fears,\nfaithful to our pious guardianship, we withdraw her instantly from the\nhouse. Moreover, as the majority of our young people, notwithstanding\ntheir innocence and virtue, have not always sufficient experience to\ndistinguish what may be injurious to their soul's health, we think it\ngreatly to their interest that they should confide to us once a week, as\na child would to her mother, either in person or by letter, whatever has\nchanced to occur in the house in which we have placed them. Then we can\njudge for them, whether to withdraw them or not. We have already about\na hundred persons, companions to ladies, young women in shops, servants,\nand needlewomen by the day, whom we have placed in a great number\nof families, and, for the interest of all, we have every reason to\ncongratulate ourselves on this mode of proceeding. You understand me, do\nyou not, my dear daughter?\"\n\n\"Yes-yes, mother,\" said the sempstress, more and more embarrassed. She\nhad too much uprightness and sagacity not to perceive that this plan of\nmutually insuring the morality of masters and servants resembled a vast\nspy system, brought home to the domestic hearth, and carried on by the\nmembers of the institution almost without their knowledge, for it would\nhave been difficult to disguise more skillfully the employment for which\nthey were trained.\n\n\"If I have entered into these long details my dear daughter,\" resumed\nMother Sainte-Perpetue, taking the hearer's silence for consent, \"it\nis that you may not suppose yourself obliged to remain in the house in\nquestion, if, against our expectation, you should not find there holy\nand pious examples. I believe Mme. de Bremont's house to be a pure and\ngodly place; only I have heard (though I will not believe it) that Mme.\nde Bremont's daughter, Mme. de Noisy, who has lately come to reside with\nher, is not so exemplary in her conduct as could be desired, that she\ndoes not fulfil regularly her religious duties, and that, during the\nabsence of her husband, who is now in America, she receives visits,\nunfortunately too frequent, from one M. Hardy, a rich manufacturer.\"\n\nAt the name of Agricola's master, Mother Bunch could not suppress a\nmovement of surprise, and also blushed slightly. The superior\nnaturally mistook this surprise and confusion for a proof of the modest\nsusceptibility of the young sempstress, and added: \"I have told you all\nthis, my dear daughter, that you might be on your guard. I have even\nmentioned reports that I believe to be completely erroneous, for the\ndaughter of Mme. de Bremont has always had such good examples before\nher that she cannot have so forgotten them. But, being in the house from\nmorning to night, you will be able, better than any one, to discover if\nthese reports have any foundation in truth. Should it unfortunately so\nturn out, my dear daughter, you would come and confide to me all the\ncircumstances that have led you to such a conclusion; and, should I\nthen agree in your opinion, I would withdraw you instantly from the\nhouse--for the piety of the mother would not compensate sufficiently for\nthe deplorable example of the daughter's conduct. For, as soon as you\nform part of the institution, I am responsible for your salvation, and,\nin case your delicacy should oblige you to leave Mme. de Bremont's, as\nyou might be some time without employment, the institution will allow\nyou, if satisfied with your zeal and conduct, one franc a day till we\ncould find you another place. You see, my dear daughter, that you have\neverything to gain with us. It is therefore agreed that the day after\nto-morrow you go to Mme. de Bremont's.\" Mother Bunch found herself in a\nvery hard position. Sometimes she thought that her first suspicions were\nconfirmed, and, notwithstanding her timidity, her pride felt hurt at the\nsupposition, that, because they knew her poor, they should believe\nher capable of selling herself as a spy for the sake of high wages.\nSometimes, on the contrary, her natural delicacy revolted at the idea\nthat a woman of the age and condition of the superior could descend to\nmake a proposition so disgraceful both to the accepter and the proposer,\nand she reproached herself with her first doubts and asked herself if\nthe superior had not wished to try her, before employing her, to see if\nher probity would enable her to resist a comparatively brilliant offer.\nMother Bunch was naturally so inclined to think well of every one, that\nshe made up her mind to this last conclusion, saying to herself, that\nif, after all, she were deceived, it would be the least offensive mode\nof refusing these unworthy offers. With a movement, exempt from all\nhaughtiness, but expressive of natural dignity, the young workman raised\nher head, which she had hitherto held humbly cast down, looked the\nsuperior full in the face, that the latter might read in her countenance\nthe sincerity of her words, and said to her in a slightly agitated\nvoice, forgetting this time to call her \"mother\": \"Ah, madame! I cannot\nblame you for exposing me to such a trial. You see that I am very poor,\nand I have yet done nothing to command your confidence. But, believe\nme, poor as I am, I would never stoop to so despicable an action as\nthat which you have thought fit to propose to me, no doubt to assure\nyourself, by my refusal, that I am worthy of your kindness. No, no,\nmadame--I could never bring myself to be a spy at any price.\"\n\nShe pronounced these last words with so much animation that her cheeks\nbecame slightly flushed. The superior had too much tact and experience\nnot to perceive the sincerity of the words. Thinking herself lucky that\nthe young girl should put this construction upon the affair, she smiled\nupon her affectionately, and stretched out her arms to her, saying: \"It\nis well, my dear daughter. Come and embrace me!\"\n\n\"Mother--I am really confused--with so much kindness--\"\n\n\"No--you deserve it--your words are so full of truth and honesty. Only\nbe persuaded that I have not put you to any trial, because there is no\nresemblance between the act of a spy and the marks of filial confidence\nthat we require of our members for the sake of watching over their\nmorals. But certain persons--I see you are of the number, my dear\ndaughter--have such fixed principles, and so mature a judgment, that\nthey can do without our advice and guardianship, and can appreciate\nthemselves whatever might be dangerous to their salvation. I will\ntherefore leave the entire responsibility to yourself, and only ask you\nfor such communications as you may think proper to make.\"\n\n\"Oh, madame! how good you are!\" said poor Mother Bunch, for she was\nnot aware of the thousand devices of the monastic spirit, and thought\nherself already sure of gaining just wages honorably.\n\n\"It is not goodness--but justice!\" answered Mother Sainte-Perpetue,\nwhose tone was becoming more and more affectionate. \"Too much tenderness\ncannot be shown to pious young women like you, whom poverty has only\npurified because they have always faithfully observed the divine laws.\"\n\n\"Mother--\"\n\n\"One last question, my child! how many times a month do you approach the\nLord's table?\"\n\n\"Madame,\" replied the hunchback, \"I have not taken the sacrament since\nmy first communion, eight years ago. I am hardly able, by working every\nday, and all day long, to earn my bread. I have no time--\"\n\n\"Gracious heaven!\" cried the superior, interrupting, and clasping her\nhands with all the signs of painful astonishment. \"Is it possible? you\ndo not practise?\"\n\n\"Alas, madame! I tell you that I have no time,\" answered Mother Bunch,\nlooking disconcertedly at Mother Saint-Perpetue.\n\n\"I am grieved, my dear daughter,\" said the latter sorrowfully, after a\nmoment's silence, \"but I told you that, as we place our friends in none\nbut pious houses, so we are asked to recommend none but pious persons,\nwho practise their religious duties. It is one of the indispensable\nconditions of our institution. It will, therefore, to my great regret,\nbe impossible for me to employ you as I had hoped. If, hereafter, you\nshould renounce your present indifference to those duties, we will then\nsee.\"\n\n\"Madame,\" said Mother Bunch, her heart swollen with tears, for she\nwas thus forced to abandon a cheering hope, \"I beg pardon for having\ndetained you so long--for nothing.\"\n\n\"It is I, my dear daughter, who regret not to be able to attach you\nto the institution; but I am not altogether hopeless, that a person,\nalready so worthy of interest, will one day deserve by her piety the\nlasting support of religious people. Adieu, my dear daughter! go in\npeace, and may God be merciful to you, until the day that you return\nwith your whole heart to Him!\"\n\nSo saying, the superior rose, and conducted her visitor to the door,\nwith all the forms of the most maternal kindness. At the moment she\ncrossed the threshold, she said to her: \"Follow the passage, go down\na few steps, and knock at the second door on the right hand. It is the\npress-room, and there you will find Florine. She will show you the way\nout. Adieu, my dear daughter!\"\n\nAs soon as Mother Bunch had left the presence of the superior, her\ntears, until now restrained, gushed forth abundantly. Not wishing to\nappear before Florine and the nuns in this state, she stopped a moment\nat one of the windows to dry her eyes. As she looked mechanically\ntowards the windows of the next house, where she fancied she had seen\nAdrienne de Cardoville, she beheld the latter come from a door in the\nbuilding, and advance rapidly towards the open paling that separated the\ntwo gardens. At the same instant, and to her great astonishment, Mother\nBunch saw one of the two sisters whose disappearance had caused the\ndespair of Dagobert, with pale and dejected countenance, approach the\nfence that separated her from Mdlle. de Cardoville, trembling with fear\nand anxiety, as though she dreaded to be discovered.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII. MOTHER BUNCH AND MDLLE. DE CARDOVILLE.\n\nAgitated, attentive, uneasy, leaning from one of the convent-windows,\nthe work-girl followed with her eyes the movements of Mdlle. de\nCardoville and Rose Simon, whom she so little expected to find together\nin such a place. The orphan, approaching close to the fence, which\nseparated the nunnery-garden from that of Dr. Baleinier's asylum, spoke\na few words to Adrienne, whose features at once expressed astonishment,\nindignation, and pity. At this juncture, a nun came running, and\nlooking right and left, as though anxiously seeking for some one; then,\nperceiving Rose, who timidly pressed close to the paling, she seized her\nby the arm, and seemed to scold her severely, and notwithstanding some\nenergetic words addressed to her by Mdlle. de Cardoville, she hastily\ncarried off the orphan, who with weeping eyes, turned several times to\nlook back at Adrienne; whilst the latter, after showing the interest\nshe took in her by expressive gestures, turned away suddenly, as if to\nconceal her tears.\n\nThe passage in which the witness stood, during this touching scene, was\nsituated on the first story. The thought immediately occurred to the\nsempstress, to go down to the ground-floor, and try to get into the\ngarden, so that she might have an opportunity of speaking to the fair\ngirl with the golden hair, and ascertaining if it were really Mdlle. de\nCardoville, to whom; if she found her in a lucid interval, she might say\nthat Agricola had things of the greatest importance to communicate, but\nthat he did not know how to inform her of them. The day was advancing,\nthe sun was on its decline, and fearing that Florine would be tired\nof waiting for her, Mother Bunch made haste to act; with a light step,\nlistening anxiously as she went, she reached the end of the passage,\nwhere three or four stairs led down to the landing-place of the press\nroom, and then formed a spiral descent to the ground-floor. Hearing\nvoices in the pressroom, the sempstress hastened down the stairs, and\nfound herself in a long passage, in the centre of which was a glass\ndoor, opening on that part of the garden reserved for the superior.\nA path, bordered by a high box-hedge, sheltered her from the gaze of\ncurious eyes, and she crept along it, till she reached the open paling;\nwhich, at this spot, separated the convent-garden from that of Dr.\nBaleinier's asylum. She saw Mdlle. de Cardoville a few steps from her,\nseated, and with her arm resting upon a rustic bench. The firmness\nof Adrienne's character had for a moment been shaken by fatigue,\nastonishment, fright, despair, on the terrible night when she had\nbeen taken to the asylum by Dr. Baleinier; and the latter, taking a\ndiabolical advantage of her weakness and despondency, had succeeded\nfor a moment in making her doubt of her own sanity. But the calm, which\nnecessarily follows the most painful and violent emotions, combined\nwith the reflection and reasoning of a clear and subtle intellect, soon\nconvinced Adrienne of the groundlessness of the fears inspired by the\ncrafty doctor. She no longer believed that it could even be a mistake on\nthe part of the man of science. She saw clearly in the conduct of this\nman, in which detestable hypocrisy was united with rare audacity, and\nboth served by a skill no less remarkable, that M. Baleinier was, in\nfact, the blind instrument of the Princess de Saint-Dizier. From\nthat moment, she remained silent and calm, but full of dignity; not a\ncomplaint, not a reproach was allowed to pass her lips. She waited. Yet,\nthough they left her at liberty to walk about (carefully depriving her\nof all means of communicating with any one beyond the walls), Adrienne's\nsituation was harsh and painful, particularly for her, who so loved to\nbe surrounded by pleasant and harmonious objects. She felt, however,\nthat this situation could not last long. She did not thoroughly\nunderstand the penetration and action of the laws; but her good sense\ntaught her, that a confinement of a few days under the plea of some\nappearances of insanity, more or less plausible in themselves, might\nbe attempted, and even executed with impunity; but that it could not be\nprolonged beyond certain limits, because, after all, a young lady of\nher rank in society could not disappear suddenly from the world, without\ninquiries being made on the subject--and the pretence of a sudden attack\nof madness would lead to a serious investigation. Whether true or false,\nthis conviction had restored Adrienne to her accustomed elasticity and\nenergy of character. And yet she sometimes in vain asked herself the\ncause of this attempt on her liberty. She knew too well the Princess de\nSaint-Dizier, to believe her capable of acting in this way, without\na certain end in view, and merely for the purpose of inflicting a\nmomentary pang. In this, Mdlle. de Cardoville was not deceived: Father\nd'Aigrigny and the princess were both persuaded, that Adrienne, better\ninformed than she wished to acknowledge, knew how important it was for\nher to find herself in the house in the Rue Saint-Francois on the 13th\nof February, and was determined to maintain her rights. In shutting up\nAdrienne as mad, it was intended to strike a fatal blow at her future\nprospects; but this last precaution was useless, for Adrienne, though\nupon the true scent of the family-secret they lead wished to conceal\nfrom her, had not yet entirely penetrated its meaning, for want of\ncertain documents, which had been lost or hidden.\n\nWhatever had been the motives for the odious conduct of Mdlle. de\nCardoville's enemies, she was not the less disgusted at it. No one could\nbe more free from hatred or revenge, than was this generous young girl,\nbut when she thought of all the sufferings which the Princess de Saint\nDizier, Abbe d'Aigrigny, and Dr. Baleinier had occasioned her, she\npromised herself, not reprisals, but a striking reparation. If it were\nrefused her, she was resolved to combat--without truce or rest--this\ncombination of craft, hypocrisy, and cruelty, not from resentment for\nwhat she had endured, but to preserve from the same torments other\ninnocent victims, who might not, like her, be able to struggle and\ndefend themselves. Adrienne, still under the painful impression which\nhad been caused by her interview with Rose Simon, was leaning against\none of the sides of the rustic bench on which she was seated, and held\nher left hand over her eyes. She had laid down her bonnet beside her,\nand the inclined position of her head brought the long golden curls\nover her fair, shining cheeks. In this recumbent attitude, so full of\ncareless grace, the charming proportions of her figure were seen to\nadvantage beneath a watered green dress, while a broad collar, fastened\nwith a rose-colored satin bow, and fine lace cuffs, prevented too strong\na contrast between the hue of her dress and the dazzling whiteness of\nthe swan-like neck and Raphaelesque hands, imperceptibly veined with\ntiny azure lines. Over the high and well-formed instep, were crossed the\ndelicate strings of a little, black satin shoe--for Dr. Baleinier had\nallowed her to dress herself with her usual taste, and elegance of\ncostume was not with Adrienne a mark of coquetry, but of duty towards\nherself, because she had been made so beautiful. At sight of this young\nlady, whose dress and appearance she admired in all simplicity, without\nany envious or bitter comparison with her own poor clothes and deformity\nof person, Mother Bunch said immediately to herself, with the good sense\nand sagacity peculiar to her, that it was strange a mad woman should\ndress so sanely and gracefully. It was therefore with a mixture of\nsurprise and emotion that she approached the fence which separated her\nfrom Adrienne--reflecting, however, that the unfortunate girl might\nstill be insane, and that this might turn out to be merely a lucid\ninterval. And now, with a timid voice, but loud enough to be heard,\nMother Bunch, in order to assure herself of Adrienne's identity, said,\nwhilst her heart beat fast: \"Mdlle. de Cardoville!\"\n\n\"Who calls me?\" said Adrienne. On hastily raising her head, and\nperceiving the hunchback, she could not suppress a slight cry of\nsurprise, almost fright. For indeed this poor creature, pale, deformed,\nmiserably clad, thus appearing suddenly before her, must have inspired\nMdlle, de Cardoville, so passionately fond of grace and beauty, with a\nfeeling of repugnance, if not of terror--and these two sentiments were\nboth visible in her expressive countenance.\n\nThe other did not perceive the impression she had made. Motionless, with\nher eyes fixed, and her hands clasped in a sort of adoring admiration,\nshe gazed on the dazzling beauty of Adrienne, whom she had only half\nseen through the grated window. All that Agricola had told her of the\ncharms of his protectress, appeared to her a thousand times below the\nreality; and never, even in her secret poetic visions, had she dreamed\nof such rare perfection. Thus, by a singular contrast, a feeling of\nmutual surprise came over these two girls--extreme types of deformity\nand beauty, wealth and wretchedness. After rendering, as it were, this\ninvoluntary homage to Adrienne, Mother Bunch advanced another step\ntowards the fence.\n\n\"What do you want?\" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville, rising with a\nsentiment of repugnance, which could not escape the work-girl's notice;\naccordingly, she held down her head timidly, and said in a soft voice:\n\"I beg your pardon, madame, to appear so suddenly before you. But\nmoments are precious, I come from Agricola.\"\n\nAs she pronounced these words, the sempstress raised her eyes anxiously,\nfearing that Mdlle. de Cardoville might have forgotten the name of\nthe workman. But, to her great surprise and joy, the fears of Adrienne\nseemed to diminish at the name of Agricola, and approaching the fence,\nshe looked at the speaker with benevolent curiosity.\n\n\"You come from M. Agricola Baudoin?\" said she. \"Who are you?\"\n\n\"His adopted sister, madame--a poor needlewoman, who lives in the same\nhouse.\"\n\nAdrienne appeared to collect her thoughts, and said, smiling kindly,\nafter a moment's silence: \"It was you then, who persuaded M. Agricola to\napply to me to procure him bail?\"\n\n\"Oh, madame, do you remember--\"\n\n\"I never forget anything that is generous and noble. M. Agricola was\nmuch affected when he spoke of your devotion. I remember it well; it\nwould be strange if I did not. But how came you here, in this convent?\"\n\n\"They told me that I should perhaps be able to get some occupation here,\nas I am out of work. Unfortunately, I have been refused by the lady\nsuperior.\"\n\n\"And how did you recognize me?\"\n\n\"By your great beauty, madame, of which Agricola had told me.\"\n\n\"Or rather by this,\" said Adrienne, smiling as she lifted, with the tips\nof her rosy fingers, one end of a long, silky ringlet of golden hair.\n\n\"You must pardon Agricola, madame,\" said the sewing girl, with one of\nthose half smiles, which rarely settled on her lips: \"he is a poet, and\nomitted no single perfection in the respectful and admiring description\nwhich he gave of his protectress.\"\n\n\"And what induced you to come and speak to me?\"\n\n\"The hope of being useful to you, madame. You received Agricola with so\nmuch goodness, that I have ventured to go shares in his gratitude.\"\n\n\"You may well venture to do so, my dear girl,\" said Adrienne, with\nineffable grace; \"until now, unfortunately, I have only been able to\nserve your adopted brother by intention.\"\n\nAs they exchanged these words, Adrienne and Mother Bunch looked at each\nother with increasing surprise. The latter was, first of all, astonished\nthat a person who passed for mad should express herself as Adrienne\ndid; next, she was amazed at the ease and freedom with which she herself\nanswered the questions of Mdlle. de Cardoville--not knowing that the\nlatter was endowed with the precious privilege of lofty and benevolent\nnatures, to draw out from those who approached her whatever sympathized\nwith herself. On her side, Mdlle. de Cardoville was deeply moved and\nastonished to hear this young, low-born girl, dressed almost like a\nbeggar, express herself in terms selected with so much propriety. The\nmore she looked at her, the more the feeling of repugnance she at\nfirst experienced wore off, and was at length converted into quite the\nopposite sentiment. With that rapid and minute power of observation\nnatural to women, she remarked beneath the black crape of Mother Bunch's\ncap, the smoothness and brilliancy of the fair, chestnut hair. She\nremarked, too, the whiteness of the long, thin hand, though it displayed\nitself at the end of a patched and tattered sleeve--an infallible proof\nthat care, and cleanliness, and self-respect were at least struggling\nagainst symptoms of fearful distress. Adrienne discovered, also, in the\npale and melancholy features, in the expression of the blue eyes, at\nonce intelligent, mild and timid, a soft and modest dignity, which made\none forget the deformed figure. Adrienne loved physical beauty, and\nadmired it passionately, but she had too superior a mind, too noble a\nsoul, too sensitive a heart, not to know how to appreciate moral beauty,\neven when it beamed from a humble and suffering countenance. Only, this\nkind of appreciation was new to Mdlle. de Cardoville; until now, her\nlarge fortune and elegant habits had kept her at a distance from persons\nof Mother Bunch's class. After a short silence, during which the fair\npatrician and the poor work-girl had closely examined each other,\nAdrienne said to the other: \"It is easy, I think, to explain the cause\nof our mutual astonishment. You have, no doubt, discovered that I speak\npretty reasonably for a mad woman--if they have told you I am one. And\nI,\" added Mdlle. de Cardoville, in a tone of respectful commiseration,\n\"find that the delicacy of your language and manners so singularly\ncontrast with the position in which you appear to be, that my surprise\nmust be even greater than yours.\"\n\n\"Ah, madame!\" cried Mother Bunch, with a welling forth of such deep and\nsincere joy that the tears started to her eyes; \"is it true?--they have\ndeceived me--you are not mad! Just now, when I beheld you so kind\nand beautiful, when I heard the sweet tone of your voice, I could not\nbelieve that such a misfortune had happened to you. But, alas! how is it\nthen, madame, that you are in this place?\"\n\n\"Poor child!\" said Adrienne, touched by the affectionate interest of\nthis excellent creature; \"and how is it that you, with such a heart and\nhead, should be in such distress? But be satisfied! I shall not always\nbe here--and that will suffice to tell you, that we shall both resume\nthe place which becomes us. Believe me, I shall never forget how, in\nspite of the painful ideas which must needs occupy your mind, on seeing\nyourself deprived of work--your only resource--you have still thought of\ncoming to me, and of trying to serve me. You may, indeed, be eminently\nuseful to me, and I am delighted at it, for then I shall owe you\nmuch--and you shall see how I will take advantage of my gratitude!\" said\nAdrienne, with a sweet smile. \"But,\" resumed she, \"before talking\nof myself, let us think of others. Is your adopted brother still in\nprison?\"\n\n\"By this time, madame, I hope he has obtained his freedom; thanks to the\ngenerosity of one of his comrades. His father went yesterday to offer\nbail for him, and they promised that he should be released to-day. But,\nfrom his prison, he wrote to me, that he had something of importance to\nreveal to you.\"\n\n\"To me?\"\n\n\"Yes, madame. Should Agricola be released immediately by what means can\nhe communicate with you?\"\n\n\"He has secrets to tell me!\" resumed Mdlle. de Cardoville, with an air\nof thoughtful surprise. \"I seek in vain to imagine what they can be; but\nso long as I am confined in this house, and secluded from every one, M.\nAgricola must not think of addressing himself directly or indirectly\nto me. He must wait till I am at liberty; but that is not all, he must\ndeliver from that convent two poor children, who are much more to be\npitied than I am. The daughters of Marshal Simon are detained there\nagainst their will.\"\n\n\"You know their name, madame?\"\n\n\"When M. Agricola informed me of their arrival in Paris, he told me they\nwere fifteen years old, and that they resembled each other exactly--so\nthat, the day before yesterday, when I took my accustomed walk, and\nobserved two poor little weeping faces come close to the windows of\ntheir separate cells, one on the ground floor, the other on the first\nstory, a secret presentiment told me that I saw in them the orphans\nof whom M. Agricola had spoken, and in whom I already took a lively\ninterest, as being my relations.\"\n\n\"They are your relations, madame, then?\"\n\n\"Yes, certainly. So, not being able to do more, I tried to express by\nsigns how much I felt for them. Their tears, and the sadness of their\ncharming faces, sufficiently told me that they were prisoners in the\nconvent, as I am myself in this house.\"\n\n\"Oh! I understand, madame--the victim of the animosity of your family?\"\n\n\"Whatever may be my fate, I am much less to be pitied than these two\nchildren, whose despair is really alarming. Their separation is what\nchiefly oppresses them. By some words that one of them just now said to\nme, I see that they are, like me, the victims of an odious machination.\nBut thanks to you, it will be possible to save them: Since I have been\nin this house I have had no communication with any one; they have not\nallowed me pen or paper, so it is impossible to write. Now listen to me\nattentively, and we shall be able to defeat an odious persecution.\"\n\n\"Oh, speak! speak, madame!\"\n\n\"The soldier, who brought these orphans to France, the father of M.\nAgricola, is still in town?\"\n\n\"Yes, madame. Oh! if you only knew his fury, his despair, when, on his\nreturn home, he no longer found the children that a dying mother had\nconfided to him!\"\n\n\"He must take care not to act with the least violence. It would ruin\nall. Take this ring,\" said Adrienne, drawing it from her finger, \"and\ngive it to him. He must go instantly--are you sure that you can remember\na name and address?\"\n\n\"Oh! yes, madame. Be satisfied on that point. Agricola only mentioned\nyour name once, and I have not forgotten it. There is a memory of the\nheart.\"\n\n\"I perceive it, my dear girl. Remember, then, the name of the Count de\nMontbron.\"\n\n\"The Count de Montbron--I shall not forget.\"\n\n\"He is one of my good old friends, and lives on the Place Vendome, No.\n7.\"\n\n\"Place Vendome, No. 7--I shall remember.\"\n\n\"M. Agricola's father must go to him this evening, and, if he is not at\nhome, wait for his coming in. He must ask to speak to him, as if from\nme, and send him this ring as a proof of what he says. Once with him, he\nmust tell him all--the abduction of the girls, the name of the convent\nwhere they are confined, and my own detention as a lunatic in the asylum\nof Dr. Baleinier. Truth has an accent of its own, which M. de Montbron\nwill recognize. He is a man of much experience and judgment, and\npossessed of great influence. He will immediately take the necessary\nsteps, and to-morrow, or the day after, these poor orphans and myself\nwill be restored to liberty--all thanks to you! But moments are\nprecious; we might be discovered; make haste, dear child!\"\n\nAt the moment of drawing back, Adrienne said to Mother Bunch, with so\nsweet a smile and affectionate a tone, that it was impossible not to\nbelieve her sincere: \"M. Agricola told me that I had a heart like yours.\nI now understand how honorable, how flattering those words were for me.\nPray, give me your hand!\" added Mdlle. de Cardoville, whose eyes were\nfilling with tears; and, passing her beautiful hand through an opening\nin the fence, she offered it to the other. The words and the gesture\nof the fair patrician were full of so much real cordiality, that the\nsempstress, with no false shame, placed tremblingly her own poor thin\nhand in Adrienne's, while the latter, with a feeling of pious respect,\nlifted it spontaneously to her lips, and said: \"Since I cannot embrace\nyou as my sister, let me at least kiss this hand, ennobled by labor!\"\n\nSuddenly, footsteps were heard in the garden of Dr. Baleinier; Adrienne\nwithdrew abruptly, and disappeared behind some trees, saying: \"Courage,\nmemory, and hope!\"\n\nAll this had passed so rapidly that the young workwoman had no time\nto speak or move; tears, sweet tears, flowed abundantly down her pale\ncheeks. For a young lady, like Adrienne de Cardoville, to treat her as a\nsister, to kiss her hand, to tell her that she was proud to resemble\nher in heart--her, a poor creature, vegetating in the lowest abyss\nof misery--was to show a spirit of fraternal equality, divine, as the\ngospel words.\n\nThere are words and impressions which make a noble soul forget years of\nsuffering, and which, as by a sudden flash, reveal to it something of\nits own worth and grandeur. Thus it was with the hunchback. Thanks to\nthis generous speech, she was for a moment conscious of her own value.\nAnd though this feeling was rapid as it was ineffable, she clasped\nher hands and raised her eyes to heaven with an expression of fervent\ngratitude; for, if the poor sempstress did not practise, to use the\njargon of ultramontane cant, no one was more richly endowed with that\ndeep religious sentiment, which is to mere dogmas what the immensity of\nthe starry heaven is to the vaulted roof of a church.\n\nFive minutes after quitting Mdlle. de Cardoville, Mother Bunch, having\nleft the garden without being perceived, reascended to the first story,\nand knocked gently at the door of the press-room. A sister came to open\nthe door to her.\n\n\"Is not Mdlle. Florine, with whom I came, still here, sister?\" asked the\nneedlewoman.\n\n\"She could not wait for you any longer. No doubt, you have come from our\nmother the superior?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, sister,\" answered the sempstress, casting down her eyes;\n\"would you have the goodness to show me the way out?\"\n\n\"Come with me.\"\n\nThe sewing-girl followed the nun, trembling at every step lest she\nshould meet the superior, who would naturally have inquired the cause of\nher long stay in the convent.\n\nAt length the inner gate closed upon Mother Bunch. Passing rapidly\nacross the vast court-yard and approaching the porter's lodge, to ask\nhim to let her out, she heard these words pronounced in a gruff voice:\n\"It seems, old Jerome, that we are to be doubly on our guard to-night.\nWell, I shall put two extra balls in my gun. The superior says we are to\nmake two rounds instead of one.\"\n\n\"I want no gun, Nicholas,\" said the other voice; \"I have my sharp\nscythe, a true gardener's weapon--and none the worse for that.\"\n\nFeeling an involuntary uneasiness at these words, which she had heard by\nmere chance, Mother Bunch approached the porter's lodge, and asked him\nto open the outer gate.\n\n\"Where do you come from?\" challenged the porter, leaning half way out\nof his lodge, with a double barrelled gun, which he was occupied in\nloading, in his hand, and at the same time examining the sempstress with\na suspicious air.\n\n\"I come from speaking to the superior,\" answered Mother Bunch timidly.\n\n\"Is that true?\" said Nicholas roughly. \"You look like a sanctified\nscarecrow. Never mind. Make haste and cut!\"\n\nThe gate opened, and Mother Bunch went out. Hardly had she gone a few\nsteps in the sweet, when, to her great surprise, she saw the dog Spoil\nsport run up to her, and his master, Dagobert, a little way behind him,\narriving also with precipitation. She was hastening to meet the soldier,\nwhen a full, sonorous voice exclaimed from a little distance: \"Oh my\ngood sister!\" which caused the girl to turn round. From the opposite\nside to that whence Dagobert was coming, she saw Agricola hurrying\ntowards the spot.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX. THE ENCOUNTERS.\n\nAt the sight of Dagobert and Agricola, Mother Bunch remained motionless\nwith surprise, a few steps from the convent-gate. The soldier had not\nyet perceived the sempstress. He advanced rapidly, following the dog,\nwho though lean, half-starved, rough-coated, and dirty, seemed to frisk\nwith pleasure, as he turned his intelligent face towards his master, to\nwhom he had gone back, after caressing Mother Bunch.\n\n\"Yes, yes; I understand you, old fellow!\" said the soldier, with\nemotion. \"You are more faithful than I was; you did not leave the dear\nchildren for a minute. Yes, you followed them, and watched day and\nnight, without food, at the door of the house to which they were\ntaken--and, at length, weary of waiting to see them come forth, ran home\nto fetch me. Yes; whilst I was giving way to despair, like a furious\nmadman, you were doing what I ought to have done--discovering their\nretreat. What does it all prove? Why, that beasts are better than\nmen--which is well known. Well, at length I shall see them again. When\nI think that tomorrow is the 13th, and that without you, my did\nSpoil-sport, all would be lost--it makes me shudder. But I say, shall we\nsoon be there? What a deserted quarter! and night coming on!\"\n\nDagobert had held this discourse to Spoil-sport, as he walked along\nfollowing the good dog, who kept on at a rapid pace. Suddenly, seeing\nthe faithful animal start aside with a bound, he raised his eyes, and\nperceived the dog frisking about the hunchback and Agricola, who had\njust met at a little distance from the convent-gate.\n\n\"Mother Bunch?\" exclaimed both father and son, as they approached the\nyoung workwoman, and looked at her with extreme surprise.\n\n\"There is good hope, M. Dagobert,\" said she with inexpressible joy.\n\"Rose and Blanche are found!\" Then, turning towards the smith, she\nadded, \"There is good hope, Agricola: Mdlle. de Cardoville is not mad. I\nhave just seen her.\"\n\n\"She is not mad? what happiness!\" exclaimed the smith.\n\n\"The children!\" cried Dagobert, trembling with emotion, as he took the\nwork-girl's hands in his own. \"You have seen them?\"\n\n\"Yes; just now--very sad--very unhappy--but I was not able to speak to\nthem.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Dagobert, stopping as if suffocated by the news, and pressing\nhis hands on his bosom; \"I never thought that my old heart could beat\nso!--And yet, thanks to my dog, I almost expected what has taken place.\nAnyhow, I am quite dizzy with joy.\"\n\n\"Well, father, it's a good day,\" said Agricola, looking gratefully at\nthe girl.\n\n\"Kiss me, my dear child!\" added the soldier, as he pressed Mother Bunch\naffectionately in his arms; then, full of impatience, he added: \"Come,\nlet us go and fetch the children.\"\n\n\"Ah, my good sister!\" said Agricola, deeply moved; \"you will restore\npeace, perhaps life, to my father--and Mdlle. de Cardoville--but how do\nyou know?\"\n\n\"A mere chance. And how did you come here?\"\n\n\"Spoil-sport stops and barks,\" cried Dagobert, who had already made\nseveral steps in advance.\n\nIndeed the dog, who was as impatient as his master to see the orphans,\nand far better informed as to the place of their retreat, had posted\nhimself at the convent gate, and was beginning to bark, to attract the\nattention of Dagobert. Understanding his dog, the latter said to\nthe hunchback, as he pointed in that direction with his finger: \"The\nchildren are there?\"\n\n\"Yes, M. Dagobert.\"\n\n\"I was sure of it. Good dog!--Oh, yes! beasts are better than\nmen--except you, my dear girl, who are better than either man or beast.\nBut my poor children! I shall see them, I shall have them once more!\"\n\nSo saying, Dagobert, in spite of his age, began to run very fast towards\nSpoil-sport. \"Agricola,\" cried Mother Bunch, \"prevent thy father from\nknocking at that door. He would ruin all.\"\n\nIn two strides, the smith had reached his father, just as the latter was\nraising his hand to the knocker. \"Stop, father!\" cried the smith, as he\nseized Dagobert by the arm.\n\n\"What the devil is it now?\"\n\n\"Mother Bunch says that to knock would ruin all.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"She will explain it to you.\" Although not so nimble as Agricola, Mother\nBunch soon came up, and said to the soldier: \"M. Dagobert, do not let us\nremain before this gate. They might open it, and see us; and that would\nexcite suspicion. Let us rather go away--\"\n\n\"Suspicion!\" cried the veteran, much surprised, but without moving from\nthe gate; \"what suspicion?\"\n\n\"I conjure you, do not remain there!\" said Mother Bunch, with so much\nearnestness, that Agricola joined her, and said to his father: \"Since\nsister rashes it, father, she has some reason for it. The Boulevard de\nl'Hopital is a few steps from here; nobody passes that way; we can talk\nthere without being interrupted.\"\n\n\"Devil take me if I understand a word of all this!\" cried Dagobert,\nwithout moving from his post. \"The children are here, and I will fetch\nthem away with me. It is an affair of ten minutes.\"\n\n\"Do not think that, M. Dagobert,\" said Mother Bunch. \"It is much more\ndifficult than you imagine. But come! come!--I can hear them talk in the\ncourt-yard.\"\n\nIn fact, the sound of voices was now distinctly audible. \"Come father!\"\nsaid Agricola, forcing away the soldier, almost in spite of himself.\nSpoil-sport, who appeared much astonished at these hesitations, barked\ntwo or three times without quitting his post, as if to protest against\nthis humiliating retreat; but, being called by Dagobert, he hastened to\nrejoin the main body.\n\nIt was now about five o'clock in the evening. A high wind swept thick\nmasses of grayish, rainy cloud rapidly across the sky. The Boulevard de\nl'Hopital, which bordered on this portion of the convent-garden, was,\nas we before said, almost deserted. Dagobert, Agricola, and the serving\ngirl could hold a private conference in this solitary place.\n\nThe soldier did not disguise the extreme impatience that these delays\noccasioned in him. Hardly had they turned the corner of the street, when\nhe said to Mother Bunch: \"Come, my child, explain yourself. I am upon\nhot coals.\"\n\n\"The house in which the daughters of Marshal Simon are confined is a\nconvent, M. Dagobert.\"\n\n\"A convent!\" cried the soldier: \"I might have suspected it.\" Then he\nadded: \"Well, what then? I will fetch them from a convent as soon as\nfrom any other place. Once is not always.\"\n\n\"But, M. Dagobert, they are confined against their will and against\nyours. They will not give them up.\"\n\n\"They will not give them up? Zounds! we will see about that.\" And he\nmade a step towards the street.\n\n\"Father,\" said Agricola, holding him back, \"one moment's patience; let\nus hear all.\"\n\n\"I will hear nothing. What! the children are there--two steps from me--I\nknow it--and I shall not have them, either by fair means or foul? Oh!\nthat would indeed be curious. Let me go.\"\n\n\"Listen to me, I beseech you, M. Dagobert,\" said Mother Bunch, taking\nhis hand: \"there is another way to deliver these poor children. And that\nwithout violence--for violence, as Mdlle. de Cardoville told me, would\nruin all.\"\n\n\"If there is any other way--quick--let me know it!\"\n\n\"Here is a ring of Mdlle. de Cardoville's.\"\n\n\"And who is this Mdlle. de Cardoville?\"\n\n\"Father,\" said Agricola, \"it is the generous young lady, who offered to\nbe my bail, and to whom I have very important matters to communicate.\"\n\n\"Good, good,\" replied Dagobert; \"we will talk of that presently. Well,\nmy dear girl--this ring?\"\n\n\"You must take it directly, M. Dagobert, to the Count de Montbron,\nNo. 7, Place Vendome. He appears to be a person of influence, and is a\nfriend of Mdlle. de Cardoville's. This ring will prove that you come on\nher behalf, and you will tell him, that she is confined as a lunatic in\nthe asylum next door to this convent, in which the daughters of Marshal\nSimon are detained against their will.\"\n\n\"Well, well--what next?\"\n\n\"Then the Count de Montbron will take the proper steps with persons in\nauthority, to restore both Mdlle. de Cardoville and the daughters of\nMarshal Simon to liberty--and perhaps, to-morrow, or the day after--\"\n\n\"To-morrow or the day after!\" cried Dagobert; \"perhaps?--It is to-day,\non the instant, that I must have them. The day after to-morrow would be\nof much use! Thanks, my good girl, but keep your ring: I will manage my\nown business. Wait for me here, my boy.\"\n\n\"What are you going to do, father?\" cried Agricola, still holding back\nthe soldier. \"It is a convent, remember.\"\n\n\"You are only a raw recruit; I have my theory of convents at my fingers'\nend. In Spain, I have put it in practice a hundred times. Here is what\nwill happen. I knock; a portress opens the door to me; she asks me what\nI want, but I make no answer; she tries to stop me, but I pass on; once\nin the convent, I walk over it from top to bottom, calling my children\nwith all my might.\"\n\n\"But, M. Dagobert, the nuns?\" said Mother Bunch, still trying to detain\nthe soldier.\n\n\"The nuns run after me, screaming like so many magpies. I know them. At\nSeville I fetched out an Andalusian girl, whom they were trying to keep\nby force. Well, I walk about the convent calling for Rose and Blanche.\nThey hear me, and answer. If they are shut in, I take the first piece of\nfurniture that comes to hand, and break open the door.\"\n\n\"But, M. Dagobert--the nuns--the nuns?\"\n\n\"The nuns, with all their squalling, will not prevent my breaking open\nthe door, seizing my children in my arms, and carrying them off. Should\nthe outer door be shut, there will be a second smash--that's all. So,\"\nadded Dagobert, disengaging himself from the grasp, \"wait for me here.\nIn ten minutes I shall be back again. Go and get a hackney-coach ready,\nmy boy.\"\n\nMore calm than Dagobert, and, above all, better informed as to the\nprovisions of the Penal Code, Agricola was alarmed at the consequences\nthat might attend the veteran's strange mode of proceeding. So, throwing\nhimself before him, he exclaimed: \"One word more, I entreat you.\"\n\n\"Zounds! make haste!\"\n\n\"If you attempt to enter the convent by force, you will ruin all.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"First of all, M. Dagobert,\" said Mother Bunch, \"there are men in the\nconvent. As I came out just now, I saw the porter loading his gun, and\nheard the gardener talking of his sharp scythe, and the rounds he was to\nmake at night.\"\n\n\"Much I care for a porter's gun and a gardener's scythe!\"\n\n\"Well, father; but listen to me a moment, I conjure you. Suppose you\nknock, and the door is opened--the porter will ask you what you want.'\n\n\"I tell him that I wish to speak to the superior, and so walk into the\nconvent.\"\n\n\"But, M. Dagobert,\" said Mother Bunch, \"when once you have crossed the\ncourt-yard, you reach a second door, with a wicket. A nun comes to it,\nto see who rings, and does not open the door till she knows the object\nof the visit.\"\n\n\"I will tell her that I wish to see the lady superior.\"\n\n\"Then, father, as you are not known in the convent, they will go and\ninform the superior.\"\n\n\"Well, what then?\"\n\n\"She will come down.\"\n\n\"What next?\"\n\n\"She will ask you what you want, M. Dagobert.\"\n\n\"What I want?--the devil! my children!\"\n\n\"One minute's patience, father. You cannot doubt, from the precautions\nthey have taken, that they wish to detain these young ladies against\ntheir will, and against yours.\"\n\n\"Doubt! I am sure of it. To come to that point, they began by turning\nthe head of my poor wife.\"\n\n\"Then, father, the superior will reply to you that she does not know\nwhat you mean, and that the young ladies are not in the convent.\"\n\n\"And I will reply to her, that they are in the convent witness--Mother\nBunch and Spoil-sport.\"\n\n\"The superior will answer, that she does not know you; that she has no\nexplanations to give you; and will close the wicket.\"\n\n\"Then I break it open--since one must come to that in the end--so leave\nme alone, I tell you! 'sblood! leave me alone!\"\n\n\"And, on this noise and violence, the porter will run and fetch the\nguard, and they will begin by arresting you.\"\n\n\"And what will become of your poor children, then, M. Dagobert?\" said\nMother Bunch.\n\nAgricola's father had too much good sense not to feel the truth of these\nobservations of the girl and his son; but he knew also, that, cost\nwhat it might, the orphans must be delivered before the morrow. The\nalternative was terrible--so terrible, that, pressing his two hands\nto his burning forehead, Dagobert sunk back upon a stone bench, as if\nstruck down by the inexorable fatality of the dilemma.\n\nAgricola and the workwoman, deeply moved by this mute despair, exchanged\na sad look. The smith, seating himself beside the soldier, said to him:\n\"Do not be down-hearted, father. Remember what's been told you. By going\nwith this ring of Mdlle. de Cardoville's to the influential gentleman\nshe named, the young ladies may be free by to-morrow, or, at worst, by\nthe day after.\"\n\n\"Blood and thunder! you want to drive me mad!\" exclaimed Dagobert,\nstarting up from the bench, and looking at Mother Bunch and his son with\nso savage an expression that Agricola and the sempstress drew back, with\nan air of surprise and uneasiness.\n\n\"Pardon me, my children!\" said Dagobert, recovering himself after a long\nsilence. \"I am wrong to get in a passion, for we do not understand one\nanother. What you say is true; and yet I am right to speak as I do.\nListen to me. You are an honest man, Agricola; you an honest girl; what\nI tell you is meant for you alone. I have brought these children from\nthe depths of Siberia--do you know why? That they may be to-morrow\nmorning in the Rue Saint-Francois. If they are not there, I have failed\nto execute the last wish of their dying mother.\"\n\n\"No. 3, Rue Saint Francois?\" cried Agricola, interrupting his father.\n\n\"Yes; how do you know the number?\" said Dagobert.\n\n\"Is not the date inscribed on a bronze medal?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Dagobert, more end more surprised; \"who told you?\"\n\n\"One instant, father!\" exclaimed Agricola; \"let me reflect. I think I\nguess it. Did you not tell me, my good sister, that Mdlle. de Cardoville\nwas not mad?\"\n\n\"Not mad. They detain her in this asylum to prevent her communicating\nwith any one. She believes herself, like the daughters of Marshal Simon,\nthe victim of an odious machination.\"\n\n\"No doubt of it,\" cried the smith. \"I understand all now, Mdlle. de\nCardoville has the same interest as the orphans to appear to-morrow at\nthe Rue Saint-Francois. But she does not perhaps know it.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"One word more, my good girl. Did Mdlle. de Cardoville tell you that she\nhad a powerful motive to obtain her freedom by to-morrow?\"\n\n\"No; for when she gave me this ring for the Count de Montbron, she said\nto me: 'By this means both I and Marshal Simon's daughters will be at\nliberty either to-morrow or the day after--'\"\n\n\"But explain yourself, then,\" said Dagobert to his son, with impatience.\n\n\"Just now,\" replied the smith, \"when you came to seek me in prison, I\ntold you, father, that I had a sacred duty to perform, and that I would\nrejoin you at home.\"\n\n\"Yes; and I went, on my side, to take some measures, of which I will\nspeak to you presently.\"\n\n\"I ran instantly to the house in the Rue de Babylone, not knowing that\nMdlle. de Cardoville was mad, or passed for mad. A servant, who opened\nthe door to me, informed me that the young lady had been seized with a\nsudden attack of madness. You may conceive, father, what a blow that was\nto me! I asked where she was: they answered, that they did not know.\nI asked if I could speak to any of the family; as my jacket did not\ninspire any great confidence, they replied that none of her family were\nat present there. I was in despair, but an idea occurred to me. I said\nto myself: 'If she is mad, her family physician must know where they\nhave taken her; if she is in a state to hear me, he will take me to\nher; if not, I will speak to her doctor, as I would to her relations.\nA doctor is often a friend.' I asked the servant, therefore, to give me\nthe doctor's address. I obtained it without difficulty--Dr. Baleinier,\nNo. 12, Rue Taranne. I ran thither, but he had gone out; they told me\nthat I should find him about five o'clock at his asylum, which is next\ndoor to the convent. That is how we have met.\"\n\n\"But the medal--the medal?\" said Dagobert, impatiently; \"where did you\nsee it?\"\n\n\"It is with regard to this and other things that I wished to make\nimportant communications to Mdlle. de Cardoville.\"\n\n\"And what are these communications?\"\n\n\"The fact is, father, I had gone to her the day of your departure, to\nbeg her to get me bail. I was followed; and when she learned this from\nher waiting-woman, she concealed me in a hiding-place. It was a sort of\nlittle vaulted room, in which no light was admitted, except through a\ntunnel, made like a chimney; yet in a few minutes, I could see pretty\nclearly. Having nothing better to do, I looked all about me and saw that\nthe walls were covered with wainscoting. The entrance to this room\nwas composed of a sliding panel, moving by means of weights and wheels\nadmirably contrived. As these concern my trade, I was interested in\nthem, so I examined the springs, spite of my emotion, with curiosity,\nand understood the nature of their play; but there was one brass knob,\nof which I could not discover the use. It was in vain to pull and move\nit from right to left, none of the springs were touched. I said\nto myself: 'This knob, no doubt, belongs to another piece of\nmechanism'--and the idea occurred to me, instead of drawing it towards\nme, to push it with force. Directly after, I heard a grating sound,\nand perceived, just above the entrance to the hiding-place, one of the\npanels, about two feet square, fly open like the door of a secretary. As\nI had, no doubt, pushed the spring rather too hard, a bronze medal and\nchain fell out with a shock.\"\n\n\"And you saw the address--Rue Saint-Francois?\" cried Dagobert.\n\n\"Yes, father; and with this medal, a sealed letter fell to the ground.\nOn picking it up, I saw that it was addressed, in large letters: 'For\nMdlle. de Cardoville. To be opened by her the moment it is delivered.'\nUnder these words, I saw the initials 'R.' and 'C.,' accompanied by a\nflourish, and this date: 'Paris, November the 13th, 1830.' On the other\nside of the envelope I perceived two seals, with the letters 'R.' and\n'C.,' surmounted by a coronet.\"\n\n\"And the seals were unbroken?\" asked Mother Bunch.\n\n\"Perfectly whole.\"\n\n\"No doubt, then, Mdlle. de Cardoville was ignorant of the existence of\nthese papers,\" said the sempstress.\n\n\"That was my first idea, since she was recommended to open the letter\nimmediately, and, notwithstanding this recommendation, which bore date\ntwo years back, the seals remained untouched.\"\n\n\"It is evident,\" said Dagobert. \"What did you do?\"\n\n\"I replaced the whole where it was before, promising myself to inform\nMdlle. de Cardoville of it. But, a few minutes after, they entered my\nhiding-place, which had been discovered, and I did not see her again. I\nwas only able to whisper a few words of doubtful meaning to one of her\nwaiting-women, on the subject of what I had found, hoping thereby to\narouse the attention of her mistress; and, as soon as I was able to\nwrite to you, my good sister, I begged you to go and call upon Mdlle. de\nCardoville.\"\n\n\"But this medal,\" said Dagobert, \"is exactly like that possessed by the\ndaughter of Marshal Simon. How can you account for that?\"\n\n\"Nothing so plain, father. Mdlle. de Cardoville is their relation. I\nremember now, that she told me so.\"\n\n\"A relation of Rose and Blanche?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" added Mother Bunch; \"she told that also to me just now.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" resumed Dagobert, looking anxiously at his son, \"do you\nnow understand why I must have my children this very day? Do you now\nunderstand, as their poor mother told me on her death-bed, that one\nday's delay might ruin all? Do you now see that I cannot be satisfied\nwith a perhaps to-morrow, when I have come all the way from Siberia,\nonly, that those children might be to-morrow in the Rue Saint-Francois?\nDo you at last perceive that I must have them this night, even if I have\nto set fire to the convent?\"\n\n\"But, father, if you employ violence--\"\n\n\"Zounds! do you know what the commissary of police answered me this\nmorning, when I went to renew my charge against your mother's confessor?\nHe said to me that there was no proof, and that they could do nothing.\"\n\n\"But now there is proof, father, for at least we know where the young\ngirls are. With that certainty we shall be strong. The law is more\npowerful than all the superiors of convents in the world.\"\n\n\"And the Count de Montbron, to whom Mdlle. de Cardoville begs you to\napply,\" said Mother Bunch, \"is a man of influence. Tell him the reasons\nthat make it so important for these young ladies, as well as Mdlle. de\nCardoville, to be at liberty this evening and he will certainly hasten\nthe course of justice, and to-night your children will be restored to\nyou.\"\n\n\"Sister is in the right, father. Go to the Count. Meanwhile, I will run\nto the commissary, and tell him that we now know where the young girls\nare confined. Do you go home, and wait for us, my good girl. We will\nmeet at our own house!\"\n\nDagobert had remained plunged in thought; suddenly, he said to Agricola:\n\"Be it so. I will follow your counsel. But suppose the commissary says\nto you: 'We cannot act before to-morrow'--suppose the Count de Montbron\nsays to me the same thing--do not think I shall stand with my arms\nfolded until the morning.\"\n\n\"But, father--\"\n\n\"It is enough,\" resumed the soldier in an abrupt voice: \"I have made\nup my mind. Run to the commissary, my boy; wait for us at home, my good\ngirl; I will go to the Count. Give me the ring. Now for the address!\"\n\n\"The Count de Montbron, No. 7, Place Vendome,\" said she; \"you come on\nbehalf of Mdlle. de Cardoville.\"\n\n\"I have a good memory,\" answered the soldier. \"We will meet as soon as\npossible in the Rue Brise-Miche.\"\n\n\"Yes, father; have good courage. You will see that the law protects and\ndefends honest people.\"\n\n\"So much the better,\" said the soldier; \"because, otherwise, honest\npeople would be obliged to protect and defend themselves. Farewell, my\nchildren! we will meet soon in the Rue Brise-Miche.\"\n\nWhen Dagobert, Agricola, and Mother Bunch separated, it was already dark\nnight.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X. THE MEETING.\n\nIt is eight o'clock in the evening, the rain dashes against the windows\nof Frances Baudoin's apartment in the Rue Brise-Miche, while violent\nsqualls of wind shake the badly dosed doors and casements. The disorder\nand confusion of this humble abode, usually kept with so much care and\nneatness, bore testimony to the serious nature of the sad events which\nhad thus disturbed existences hitherto peaceful in their obscurity.\n\nThe paved floor was soiled with mud, and a thick layer of dust covered\nthe furniture, once so bright and clean. Since Frances was taken away by\nthe commissary, the bed had not been made; at night Dagobert had thrown\nhimself upon it for a few hours in his clothes, when, worn out with\nfatigue, and crushed by despair, he had returned from new and vain\nattempts to discover Rose and Blanche's prison-house. Upon the drawers\nstood a bottle, a glass, and some fragments of dry bread, proving the\nfrugality of the soldier, whose means of subsistence were reduced to the\nmoney lent by the pawnbroker upon the things pledged by Mother Bunch,\nafter the arrest of Frances.\n\nBy the faint glimmer of a candle, placed upon the little stove, now cold\nas marble, for the stock of wood had long been exhausted, one might have\nseen the hunchback sleeping upon a chair, her head resting on her bosom,\nher hands concealed beneath her cotton apron, and her feet resting on\nthe lowest rung of the chair; from time to time, she shivered in her\ndamp, chill garments.\n\nAfter that long day of fatigue and diverse emotions, the poor creature\nhad eaten nothing. Had she even thought of it, she would have been at a\nloss for bread. Waiting for the return of Dagobert and Agricola, she\nhad sunk into an agitated sleep--very different, alas! from calm\nand refreshing slumber. From time to time, she half opened her eyes\nuneasily, and looked around her. Then, again, overcome by irresistible\nheaviness, her head fell upon her bosom.\n\nAfter some minutes of silence, only interrupted by the noise of the\nwind, a slow and heavy step was heard on the landing-place. The door\nopened, and Dagobert entered, followed by Spoil-sport.\n\nWaking with a start, Mother Bunch raised her head hastily, sprang from\nher chair, and, advancing rapidly to meet Agricola's father, said to\nhim: \"Well, M. Dagobert! have you good news? Have you--\"\n\nShe could not continue, she was so struck with the gloomy expression of\nthe soldier's features. Absorbed in his reflections, he did not at first\nappear to perceive the speaker, but threw himself despondingly on a\nchair, rested his elbows upon the table, and hid his face in his\nhands. After a long meditation, he rose, and said in a low voice: \"It\nmust--yes, it must be done!\"\n\nTaking a few steps up and down the room, Dagobert looked around him,\nas if in search of something. At length, after about a minute's\nexamination, he perceived near the stove, a bar of iron, perhaps two\nfeet long, serving to lift the covers, when too hot for the fingers.\nTaking this in his hand, he looked at it closely, poised it to judge\nof its weight, and then laid it down upon the drawers with an air of\nsatisfaction. Surprised at the long silence of Dagobert, the needlewoman\nfollowed his movements with timid and uneasy curiosity. But soon her\nsurprise gave way to fright, when she saw the soldier take down his\nknapsack, place it upon a chair, open it, and draw from it a pair of\npocket-pistols, the locks of which he tried with the utmost caution.\n\nSeized with terror, the sempstress could not forbear exclaiming: \"Good\ngracious, M. Dagobert! what are you going to do?\"\n\nThe soldier looked at her as if he only now perceived her for the first\ntime, and said to her in a cordial, but abrupt voice: \"Good-evening, my\ngood girl! What is the time?\"\n\n\"Eight o'clock has just struck at Saint-Mery's, M. Dagobert.\"\n\n\"Eight o'clock,\" said the soldier, speaking to himself; \"only eight!\"\n\nPlacing the pistols by the side of the iron bar, he appeared again to\nreflect, while he cast his eyes around him.\n\n\"M. Dagobert,\" ventured the girl, \"you have not, then, good news?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nThat single word was uttered by the soldier in so sharp a tone, that,\nnot daring to question him further, Mother Bunch sat down in silence.\nSpoil sport came to lean his head on the knees of the girl, and followed\nthe movements of Dagobert with as much curiosity as herself.\n\nAfter remaining for some moments pensive and silent, the soldier\napproached the bed, took a sheet from it, appeared to measure its\nlength, and then said, turning towards Mother Bunch: \"The scissors!\"\n\n\"But, M. Dagobert--\"\n\n\"Come, my good girl! the scissors!\" replied Dagobert, in a kind tone,\nbut one that commanded obedience. The sempstress took the scissors from\nFrances' work-basket, and presented them to the soldier.\n\n\"Now, hold the other end of the sheet, my girl, and draw it out tight.\"\n\nIn a few minutes, Dagobert had cut the sheet into four strips, which he\ntwisted in the fashion of cords, fastening them here and there with bits\nof tape, so as to preserve the twist, and tying them strongly together,\nso as to make a rope of about twenty feet long. This, however, did not\nsuffice him, for he said to himself: \"Now I must have a hook.\"\n\nAgain he looked around him, and Mother Bunch, more and more frightened,\nfor she now no longer doubted Dagobert's designs, said to him timidly:\n\"M. Dagobert, Agricola has not yet come in. It may be some good news\nthat makes him so late.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the soldier, bitterly, as he continued to cast round his\neyes in search of something he wanted; \"good news like mine! But I must\nhave a strong iron hook.\"\n\nStill looking about, he found one of the coarse, gray sacks, that\nFrances was accustomed to make. He took it, opened it, and said to the\nwork girl: \"Put me the iron bar and the cord into this bag, my girl. It\nwill be easier to carry.\"\n\n\"Heavens!\" cried she, obeying his directions; \"you will not go without\nseeing Agricola, M. Dagobert? He may perhaps have some good news to tell\nyou.\"\n\n\"Be satisfied! I shall wait for my boy. I need not start before ten\no'clock--so I have time.\"\n\n\"Alas, M. Dagobert! have you last all hope?\"\n\n\"On the contrary. I have good hope--but in myself.\"\n\nSo saying, Dagobert twisted the upper end of the sack, for the purpose\nof closing it, and placed it on the drawers, by the side of his pistols.\n\n\"At all events, you will wait for Agricola, M. Dagobert?\"\n\n\"Yes, if he arrives before ten o'clock.\"\n\n\"Alas; you have then quite made up your mind?\"\n\n\"Quite. And yet, if I were weak enough to believe in bad omens--\"\n\n\"Sometimes, M. Dagobert, omens do not deceive one,\" said the girl,\nhoping to induce the soldier to abandon his dangerous resolution.\n\n\"Yes,\" resumed Dagobert; \"old women say so--and, although I am not an\nold woman, what I saw just now weighed heavily on my heart. After all, I\nmay have taken a feeling of anger for a presentiment.\"\n\n\"What have you seen?\"\n\n\"I will tell it you, my good girl; it may help to pass the time, which\nappears long enough.\" Then, interrupting himself, he exclaimed: \"Was it\nthe half hour that just struck?\"\n\n\"Yes, M. Dagobert; it is half-past eight.\"\n\n\"Still an hour and a half,\" said Dagobert, in a hollow voice. \"This,\"\nhe added, \"is what I saw. As I came along the street, my notice was\nattracted by a large red placard, at the head of which was a black\npanther devouring a white horse. That sight gave me a turn, for you\nmust know, my good girl, that a black panther destroyed a poor old white\nhorse that I had, Spoil-sport's companion, whose name was Jovial.\"\n\nAt the sound of this name, once so familiar, Spoil-sport, who was\ncrouching at the workwoman's feet, raised his head hastily, and looked\nat Dagobert.\n\n\"You see that beasts have memory--he recollects,\" said the soldier,\nsighing himself at the remembrance. Then, addressing his dog he added:\n\"Dost remember Jovial?\"\n\nOn hearing this name a second time pronounced by his master, in a voice\nof emotion, Spoil-sport gave a low whine, as if to indicate that he had\nnot forgotten his old travelling companion.\n\n\"It was, indeed, a melancholy incident, M. Dagobert,\" said Mother Bunch,\n\"to find upon this placard a panther devouring a horse.\"\n\n\"That is nothing to what's to come; you shall hear the rest. I drew near\nthe bill, and read in it, that one Morok, just arrived from Germany, is\nabout to exhibit in a theatre different wild beasts that he tamed, among\nothers a splendid lion, a tiger, and a black Java panther named Death.\"\n\n\"What an awful name!\" said the hearer.\n\n\"You will think it more awful, my child, when I tell you, that this is\nthe very panther which strangled my horse at Leipsic, four months ago.\"\n\n\"Good Heaven! you are right, M. Dagobert,\" said the girl, \"it is awful.\"\n\n\"Wait a little,\" said Dagobert, whose countenance was growing more and\nmore gloomy, \"that is not all. It was by means of this very Morok, the\nowner of the panther, that I and my poor children were imprisoned in\nLeipsic.\"\n\n\"And this wicked man is in Paris, and wishes you evil?\" said Mother\nBunch. \"Oh! you are right, M. Dagobert; you must take care of yourself;\nit is a bad omen.\"\n\n\"For him, if I catch him,\" said Dagobert, in a hollow tone. \"We have old\naccounts to settle.\"\n\n\"M. Dagobert,\" cried Mother Bunch, listening; \"some one is running up\nthe stairs. It is Agricola's footsteps. I am sure he has good news.\"\n\n\"That will just do,\" said the soldier, hastily, without answering.\n\"Agricola is a smith. He will be able to find me the iron hook.\"\n\nA few moments after, Agricola entered the room; but, alas! the\nsempstress perceived at the first glance, in the dejected countenance of\nthe workman, the ruin of her cherished hopes.\n\n\"Well!\" said Dagobert to his son, in a tone which clearly announced the\nlittle faith he attached to the steps taken by Agricola; \"well, what\nnews?\"\n\n\"Father, it is enough to drive one mad--to make one dash one's brains\nout against the wall!\" cried the smith in a rage.\n\nDagobert turned towards Mother Bunch, and said: \"You see, my poor\nchild--I was sure of it.\"\n\n\"Well, father,\" cried Agricola; \"have you seen the Court de Montbron?\"\n\n\"The Count de Montbron set out for Lorraine three days ago. That is\nmy good news,\" continued the soldier, with bitter irony; \"let us have\nyours--I long to know all. I need to know, if, on appealing to the laws,\nwhich, as you told me, protect and defend honest people, it ever happens\nthat the rogues get the best of it. I want to know this, and then I want\nan iron hook--so I count upon you for both.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, father?\"\n\n\"First, tell me what you have done. We have time. It is not much more\nthan half-past eight. On leaving me, where did you go first?\"\n\n\"To the commissary, who had already received your depositions.\"\n\n\"What did he say to you?\"\n\n\"After having very kindly listened to all I had to state, he answered,\nthat these young girls were placed in a respectable house, a convent--so\nthat there did not appear any urgent necessity for their immediate\nremoval--and besides, he could not take upon himself to violate the\nsanctity of a religious dwelling upon your simple testimony; to-morrow,\nhe will make his report to the proper authorities, and steps will be\ntaken accordingly.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes--plenty of put offs,\" said the soldier.\n\n\"'But, sir,' answered I to him,\" resumed Agricola, \"'it is now, this\nvery night, that you ought to act, for if these young girls should not\nbe present to-morrow morning in the Rue Saint Francois, their interests\nmay suffer incalculable damage. 'I am very sorry for it,' replied he,\n'but I cannot, upon your simple declaration, or that of your father,\nwho--like yourself--is no relation or connection of these young persons,\nact in direct opposition to forms, which could not be set aside, even on\nthe demand of a family. The law has its delays and its formalities, to\nwhich we are obliged to submit.'\"\n\n\"Certainly!\" said Dagobert. \"We must submit to them, at the risk of\nbecoming cowardly, ungrateful traitors!\"\n\n\"Didst speak also of Mdlle. de Cardoville to him?\" asked the work-girl.\n\n\"Yes--but he: answered me on this subject in much the same manner: 'It\nwas very serious; there was no proof in support of my deposition. A\nthird party had told me that Mdlle. de Cardoville affirms she was not\nmad; but all mad people pretend to be sane. He could not, therefore,\nupon my sole testimony, take upon himself to enter the house of a\nrespectable physician. But he would report upon it, and the law would\nhave its course--'\"\n\n\"When I wished to act just now for myself,\" said Dagobert, \"did I not\nforsee all this? And yet I was weak enough to listen to you.\"\n\n\"But, father, what you wished to attempt was impossible, and you agreed\nthat it would expose you to far too dangerous consequences.\"\n\n\"So,\" resumed the soldier, without answering his son, \"they told you in\nplain terms, that we must not think of obtaining legally the release of\nRose and Blanche this evening or even to-morrow morning?\"\n\n\"Yes, father. In the eyes of the law, there is no special urgency. The\nquestion may not be decided for two or three days.\"\n\n\"That is all I wished to know,\" said Dagobert, rising and walking up and\ndown the room.\n\n\"And yet,\" resumed his son, \"I did not consider myself beaten. In\ndespair, but believing that justice could not remain deaf to such\nequitable claims, I ran to the Palais de Justice, hoping to find there a\njudge, a magistrate who would receive my complaint, and act upon it.\"\n\n\"Well?\" said the soldier, stopping him.\n\n\"I was told that the courts shut every day at five o'clock, and do not\nopen again til ten in the morning. Thinking of your despair, and of the\nposition of poor Mdlle. de Cardoville, I determined to make one more\nattempt. I entered a guard-house of troops of the line, commanded by a\nlieutenant. I told him all. He saw that I was so much moved,\nand I spoke with such warmth and conviction, that he became\ninterested.--'Lieutenant,' said I to him, 'grant me one favor; let\na petty officer and two soldiers go to the convent to obtain a legal\nentrance. Let them ask to see the daughters of Marshal Simon, and\nlearn whether it is their choice to remain, or return to my father, who\nbrought them from Russia. You will then see if they are not detained\nagainst their will--'\"\n\n\"And what answer did he give you, Agricola?\" asked Mother Bunch, while\nDagobert shrugged his shoulders, and continued to walk up and down.\n\n\"'My good fellow,' said he, 'what you ask me is impossible. I understand\nyour motives, but I cannot take upon myself so serious a measure. I\nshould be broke were I to enter a convent by force.--'Then, sir, what am\nI to do? It is enough to turn one's head.'--'Faith, I don't know,' said\nthe lieutenant; 'it will be safest, I think, to wait.'--Then, believing\nI had done all that was possible, father, I resolved to come back, in\nthe hope that you might have been more fortunate than I--but, alas! I\nwas deceived!\"\n\nSo saying, the smith sank upon a chair, for he was worn out with anxiety\nand fatigue. There was a moment of profound silence after these words of\nAgricola, which destroyed the last hopes of the three, mute and crushed\nbeneath the strokes of inexorable fatality.\n\nA new incident came to deepen the sad and painful character of this\nscene.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI. DISCOVERIES.\n\nThe door which Agricola had not thought of fastening opened, as it were,\ntimidly, and Frances Baudoin, Dagobert's wife, pale, sinking, hardly\nable to support herself, appeared on the threshold.\n\nThe soldier, Agricola, and Mother Bunch, were plunged in such deep\ndejection, that neither of them at first perceived the entrance. Frances\nadvanced two steps into the room, fell upon her knees, clasped her\nhands together, and said in a weak and humble voice; \"My poor\nhusband--pardon!\"\n\nAt these words, Agricola and the work-girl--whose backs were towards the\ndoor--turned round suddenly, and Dagobert hastily raised his head.\n\n\"My mother!\" cried Agricola, running to Frances.\n\n\"My wife!\" cried Dagobert, as he also rose, and advanced to meet the\nunfortunate woman.\n\n\"On your knees, dear mother!\" said Agricola, stooping down to embrace\nher affectionately. \"Get up, I entreat you!\"\n\n\"No, my child,\" said Frances, in her mild, firm accents, \"I will not\nrise, till your father has forgiven me. I have wronged him much--now I\nknow it.\"\n\n\"Forgive you, my poor wife?\" said the soldier, as he drew near with\nemotion. \"Have I ever accused you, except in my first transport of\ndespair? No, no; it was the bad priests that I accused, and there I was\nright. Well! I have you again,\" added he, assisting his son to raise\nFrances; \"one grief the less. They have then restored you to liberty?\nYesterday, I could not even learn in what prison they had put you. I\nhave so many cares that I could not think of you only. But come, dear\nwife: sit down!\"\n\n\"How feeble you are, dear mother!--how cold--how pale!\" said Agricola\nwith anguish, his eyes filling with tears.\n\n\"Why did you not let us know?\" added he. \"We would have gone to fetch\nyou. But how you tremble! Your hands are frozen!\" continued the smith,\nas he knelt down before Frances. Then, turning towards Mother Bunch:\n\"Pray, make a little fire directly.\"\n\n\"I thought of it, as soon as your father came in, Agricola, but there is\nno wood nor charcoal left.\"\n\n\"Then pray borrow some of Father Loriot, my dear sister. He is too good\na fellow to refuse. My poor mother trembles so--she might fall ill.\"\n\nHardly had he said the words, than Mother Bunch went out. The smith rose\nfrom the ground, took the blanket from the bed, and carefully wrapped\nit about the knees and feet of his mother. Then, again kneeling down, he\nsaid to her: \"Your hands, dear mother!\" and, taking those feeble palms\nin his own, he tried to warm them with his breath.\n\nNothing could be more touching than this picture: the robust young man,\nwith his energetic and resolute countenance, expressing by his looks\nthe greatest tenderness, and paying the most delicate attentions to his\npoor, pale, trembling old mother.\n\nDagobert, kind-hearted as his son, went to fetch a pillow, and brought\nit to his wife, saying: \"Lean forward a little, and I will put this\npillow behind you; you will be more comfortable and warmer.\"\n\n\"How you both spoil me!\" said Frances, trying to smile. \"And you to\nbe so kind, after all the ill I have done!\" added she to Dagobert,\nas, disengaging one of her hands from those of her son, she took the\nsoldier's hand and pressed it to her tearful eyes. \"In prison,\" said she\nin a low voice, \"I had time to repent.\"\n\nAgricola's heart was near breaking at the thought that his pious and\ngood mother, with her angelic purity, should for a moment have been\nconfined in prison with so many miserable creatures. He would have made\nsome attempt to console her on the subject of the painful past, but he\nfeared to give a new shock to Dagobert, and was silent.\n\n\"Where is Gabriel, dear mother?\" inquired he. \"How is he? As you have\nseen him, tell us all about him.\"\n\n\"I have seen Gabriel,\" said Frances, drying her tears; \"he is confined\nat home. His superiors have rigorously forbidden his going out. Luckily,\nthey did not prevent his receiving me, for his words and counsels have\nopened my eyes to many things. It is from him that I learned how guilty\nI had been to you, my poor husband.\"\n\n\"How so?\" asked Dagobert.\n\n\"Why, you know that if I caused you so much grief, it was not from\nwickedness. When I saw you in such despair, I suffered almost as much\nmyself; but I durst not tell you so, for fear of breaking my oath. I had\nresolved to keep it, believing that I did well, believing that it was\nmy duty. And yet something told me that it could not be my duty to\ncause you so much pain. 'Alas, my God! enlighten me!' I exclaimed in\nmy prison, as I knelt down and prayed, in spite of the mockeries of\nthe other women. 'Why should a just and pious work, commanded by my\nconfessor, the most respectable of men, overwhelm me and mine with so\nmuch misery? 'Have mercy on me, my God, and teach me if I have done\nwrong without knowing it!' As I prayed with fervor, God heard me, and\ninspired me with the idea of applying to Gabriel. 'I thank Thee, Father!\nI will obey!' said I within myself. 'Gabriel is like my own child; but\nhe is also a priest, a martyr--almost a saint. If any one in the world\nimitates the charity of our blessed Saviour, it is surely he. When I\nleave this prison, I will go and consult him and he will clear up my\ndoubts.'\"\n\n\"You are right, dear mother,\" cried Agricola; \"it was a thought from\nheaven. Gabriel is an angel of purity, courage, nobleness--the type of\nthe true and good priest!\"\n\n\"Ah, poor wife!\" said Dagobert, with bitterness; \"if you had never had\nany confessor but Gabriel!\"\n\n\"I thought of it before he went on his journey,\" said Frances, with\nsimplicity. \"I should have liked to confess to the dear boy--but I\nfancied Abbe Dubois would be offended, and that Gabriel would be too\nindulgent with regard to my sins.\n\n\"Your sins, poor dear mother?\" said Agricola. \"As if you ever committed\nany!\"\n\n\"And what did Gabriel tell you?\" asked the soldier.\n\n\"Alas, my dear! had I but had such an interview with him sooner! What\nI told him of Abbe Dubois roused his suspicions, and he questioned me,\ndear child, as to many things of which he had never spoken to me before.\nThen I opened to him my whole heart, and he did the same to me, and\nwe both made sad discoveries with regard to persons whom we had always\nthought very respectable, and who yet had deceived each of us, unknown\nto the other.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Why, they used to tell him, under the seal of secrecy, things that were\nsupposed to come from me; and they used to tell me, under the same\nseal of secrecy, things that were supposed to come from him. Thus, he\nconfessed to me, that he did not feel at first any vocation for the\npriesthood; but they told him that I should not believe myself safe in\nthis world or in the next, if he did not take orders, because I felt\npersuaded that I could best serve the Lord by giving Him so good a\nservant; and that yet I had never dared to ask Gabriel himself to give\nme this proof of his attachment, though I had taken him from the street,\na deserted orphan, and brought him up as my own son, at the cost of\nlabor and privations. Then, how could it be otherwise? The poor dear\nchild, thinking he could please me, sacrificed himself. He entered the\nseminary.\"\n\n\"Horrible,\" said Agricola; \"'tis an infamous snare, and, for the priests\nwho were guilty of it, a sacrilegious lie!\"\n\n\"During all that time,\" resumed Frances, \"they were holding very\ndifferent language to me. I was told that Gabriel felt his vocation, but\nthat he durst not avow it to me, for fear of my being jealous on account\nof Agricola, who, being brought up as a workman, would not enjoy the\nsame advantages as those which the priesthood would secure to Gabriel.\nSo when he asked my permission to enter the seminary dear child!\nhe entered it with regret, but he thought he was making me so\nhappy!--instead of discouraging this idea, I did all in my power to\npersuade him to follow it, assuring him that he could not do better, and\nthat it would occasion me great joy. You understand, I exaggerated, for\nfear he should think me jealous on account of Agricola.\"\n\n\"What an odious machination!\" said Agricola, in amazement. \"They were\nspeculating in this unworthy manner upon your mutual devotion. Thus\nGabriel saw the expression of your dearest wish in the almost forced\nencouragement given to his resolution.\"\n\n\"Little by little, however, as Gabriel has the best heart in the world,\nthe vocation really came to him. That was natural enough--he was born\nto console those who suffer, and devote himself for the unfortunate.\nHe would never have spoken to me of the past, had it not been for this\nmorning's interview. But then I beheld him, who is usually so mild and\ngentle, become indignant, exasperated, against M. Rodin and another\nperson whom he accuses. He had serious complaints against them already,\nbut these discoveries, he says, will make up the measure.\"\n\nAt these words of Frances, Dagobert pressed his hand to his forehead, as\nif to recall something to his memory. For some minutes he had listened\nwith surprise, and almost terror, to the account of these secret plots,\nconducted with such deep and crafty dissimulation.\n\nFrances continued: \"When at last I acknowledged to Gabriel, that by the\nadvice of Abbe Dubois, my confessor, I had delivered to a stranger the\nchildren confined to my husband--General Simon's daughters--the dear boy\nblamed me, though with great regret, not for having wished to instruct\nthe poor orphans in the truths of our holy religion, but for having\nacted without the consent of my husband, who alone was answerable before\nGod and man for the charge entrusted to him. Gabriel severely censured\nAbbe Dubois' conduct, who had given me, he said, bad and perfidious\ncounsels; and then, with the sweetness of an angel, the dear boy\nconsoled me, and exhorted me to come and tell you all. My poor husband!\nhe would fain have accompanied me, for I had scarcely courage to\ncome hither, so strongly did I feel the wrong I had done you; but,\nunfortunately, Gabriel is confined at the seminary by the strict order\nof his superiors; he could not come with me, and--\"\n\nHere Dagobert, who seemed much agitated, abruptly interrupted his wife.\n\"One word, Frances,\" said he; \"for, in truth, in the midst of so many\ncares, and black, diabolical plots, one loses one's memory, and the head\nbegins to wander. Didst not tell me, the day the children disappeared,\nthat Gabriel, when taken in by you, had round his neck a bronze medal,\nand in his pocket a book filled with papers in a foreign language?\"\n\n\"Yes, my dear.\"\n\n\"And this medal and these papers were afterwards delivered to your\nconfessor?\"\n\n\"Yes, my dear.\"\n\n\"And Gabriel never spoke of them since?\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\nAgricola, hearing this from his mother, looked at her with surprise,\nand exclaimed: \"Then Gabriel has the same interest as the daughters of\nGeneral Simon, or Mdlle. de Cardoville, to be in the Rue Saint-Francois\nto-morrow?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Dagobert. \"And now do you remember what he said to us,\njust after my arrival--that, in a few days, he would need our support in\na serious matter?\"\n\n\"Yes, father.\"\n\n\"And he is kept a prisoner at his seminary! And he tells your mother\nthat he has to complain of his superiors! and he asked us for our\nsupport with so sad and grave an air, that I said to him--\"\n\n\"He would speak so, if about to engage in a deadly duel,\" interrupted\nAgricola. \"True, father! and yet you, who are a good judge of valor,\nacknowledged that Gabriel's courage was equal to yours. For him so to\nfear his superiors, the danger must be great indeed.\"\n\n\"Now that I have heard your mother, I understand it all,\" said Dagobert.\n\"Gabriel is like Rose and Blanche, like Mdlle. de Cardoville, like your\nmother, like all of us, perhaps--the victim of a secret conspiracy of\nwicked priests. Now that I know their dark machinations, their infernal\nperseverance, I see,\" added the soldier, in a whisper, \"that it requires\nstrength to struggle against them. I had not the least idea of their\npower.\"\n\n\"You are right, father; for those who are hypocritical and wicked do as\nmuch harm as those who are good and charitable, like Gabriel, do good.\nThere is no more implacable enemy than a bad priest.\"\n\n\"I know it, and that's what frightens me; for my poor children are\nin their hands. But is all lost? Shall I bring myself to give them up\nwithout an effort? Oh, no, no! I will not show any weakness--and yet,\nsince your mother told us of these diabolical plots, I do not know how\nit is but I seem less strong, less resolute. What is passing around me\nappears so terrible. The spiriting away of these children is no longer\nan isolated fact--it is one of the ramifications of a vast conspiracy,\nwhich surrounds and threatens us all. It seems to me as if I and those I\nlove walked together in darkness, in the midst of serpents, in the midst\nof snares that we can neither see nor struggle against. Well! I'll\nspeak out! I have never feared death--I am not a coward and yet I\nconfess--yes, I confess it--these black robes frighten me--\"\n\nDagobert pronounced these words in so sincere a tone, that his son\nstarted, for he shared the same impression. And it was quite natural.\nFrank, energetic, resolute characters, accustomed to act and fight in\nthe light of day, never feel but one fear--and that is, to be ensnared\nand struck in the dark by enemies that escape their grasp. Thus,\nDagobert had encountered death twenty times; and yet, on hearing his\nwife's simple revelation of this dark tissue of lies, and treachery, and\ncrime, the soldier felt a vague sense of fear; and, though nothing\nwas changed in the conditions of his nocturnal enterprise against the\nconvent, it now appeared to him in a darker and more dangerous light.\n\nThe silence, which had reigned for some moments, was interrupted by\nMother Bunch's return. The latter, knowing that the interview between\nDagobert, his wife, and Agricola, ought not have any importunate\nwitness, knocked lightly at the door, and remained in the passage with\nFather Loriot.\n\n\"Can we come in, Mme. Frances?\" asked the sempstress. \"Here is Father\nLoriot, bringing some wood.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes; come in, my good girl,\" said Agricola, whilst his father\nwiped the cold sweat from his forehead.\n\nThe door opened, and the worthy dyer appeared, with his hands and arms\nof an amaranthine color; on one side, he carried a basket of wood, and\non the other some live coal in a shovel.\n\n\"Good-evening to the company!\" said Daddy Loriot. \"Thank you for having\nthought of me, Mme. Frances. You know that my shop and everything in it\nare at your service. Neighbors should help one another; that's my motto!\nYou were kind enough, I should think, to my late wife!\"\n\nThen, placing the wood in a corner, and giving the shovel to Agricola,\nthe worthy dyer, guessing from the sorrowful appearance of the different\nactors in this scene, that it would be impolite to prolong his visit,\nadded: \"You don't want anything else, Mme. Frances?\"\n\n\"No, thank you, Father Loriot.\"\n\n\"Then, good-evening to the company!\" said the dyer; and, addressing\nMother Bunch, he added: \"Don't forget the letter for M. Dagobert. I\ndurstn't touch it for fear of leaving the marks of my four fingers and\nthumb in amaranthine! But, good evening to the company!\" and Father\nLoriot went out.\n\n\"M. Dagobert, here is a letter,\" said Mother Bunch. She set herself to\nlight the fire in the stove, while Agricola drew his mother's arm-chair\nto the hearth.\n\n\"See what it is, my boy,\" said Dagobert to his son; \"my head is so heavy\nthat I cannot see clear.\" Agricola took the letter, which contained only\na few lines, and read it before he looked at the signature.\n\n     \"At Sea, December 25th, 1831.\n\n     \"I avail myself of a few minutes' communication with a ship bound\n     direct for Europe, to write to you, my old comrade, a few hasty\n     lines, which will reach you probably by way of Havre, before the\n     arrival of my last letters from India. You must by this time be at\n     Paris, with my wife and child--tell them--I am unable to say more\n     --the boat is departing. Only one word; I shall soon be in France.\n     Do not forget the 13th February; the future of my wife and child\n     depends upon it.\n\n     \"Adieu, my friend! Believe in my eternal gratitude.\n\n     \"SIMON.\"\n\n\"Agricola--quick! look to your father!\" cried the hunchback.\n\nFrom the first words of this letter, which present circumstances made so\ncruelly applicable, Dagobert had become deadly pale. Emotion, fatigue,\nexhaustion, joined to this last blow, made him stagger.\n\nHis son hastened to him, and supported him in his arms. But soon the\nmomentary weakness passed away, and Dagobert, drawing his hand across\nhis brow, raised his tall figure to its full height. Then, whilst his\neye sparkled, his rough countenance took an expression of determined\nresolution, and he exclaimed, in wild excitement: \"No, no! I will not\nbe a traitor; I will not be a coward. The black robes shall not frighten\nme; and, this night, Rose and Blanche Simon shall be free!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII. THE PENAL CODE.\n\nStartled for a moment by the dark and secret machinations of the black\nrobes, as he called them, against the persons he most loved, Dagobert\nmight have hesitated an instant to attempt the deliverance of Rose and\nBlanche; but his indecision ceased directly on the reading of Marshal\nSimon's letter, which came so timely to remind him of his sacred duties.\n\nTo the soldier's passing dejection had succeeded a resolution full of\ncalm and collected energy.\n\n\"Agricola, what o'clock is it?\" asked he of his son.\n\n\"Just struck nine, father.\"\n\n\"You must make me, directly, an iron hook--strong enough to support my\nweight, and wide enough to hold on the coping of a wall. This stove will\nbe forge and anvil; you will find a hammer in the house; and, for iron,\"\nsaid the soldier, hesitating, and looking around him, \"as for iron--here\nis some!\"\n\nSo saying, the soldier took from the hearth a strong pair of tongs, and\npresented them to his son, adding: \"Come, my boy! blow up the fire, blow\nit to a white heat, and forge me this iron!\"\n\nOn these words, Frances and Agricola looked at each other with surprise;\nthe smith remained mute and confounded, not knowing the resolution\nof his father, and the preparations he had already commenced with the\nneedlewoman's aid.\n\n\"Don't you hear me, Agricola,\" repeated Dagobert, still holding the pair\nof tongs in his hand; \"you must make me a hook directly.\"\n\n\"A hook, father?--for what purpose?\"\n\n\"To tie to the end of a cord that I have here. There must be a loop at\none end large enough to fix it securely.\"\n\n\"But this cord--this hook--for what purpose are they?\"\n\n\"To scale the walls of the convent, if I cannot get in by the door.\"\n\n\"What convent?\" asked Frances of her son.\n\n\"How, father?\" cried the latter, rising abruptly. \"You still think of\nthat?\"\n\n\"Why! what else should I think of?\"\n\n\"But, father, it is impossible; you will never attempt such an\nenterprise.\"\n\n\"What is it, my child?\" asked Frances, with anxiety. \"Where is father\ngoing?\"\n\n\"He is going to break into the convent where Marshal Simon's daughters\nare confined, and carry them off.\"\n\n\"Great God! my poor husband--a sacrilege!\" cried Frances, faithful to\nher pious traditions, and, clasping her hands together, she endeavored\nto rise and approach Dagobert.\n\nThe soldier, forseeing that he would have to contend with observations\nand prayers of all sorts, and resolved not to yield, determined to cut\nshort all useless supplications, which would only make him lose precious\ntime. He said, therefore, with a grave, severe, and almost solemn air,\nwhich showed the inflexibility of his determination: \"Listen to me,\nwife--and you also, my son--when, at my age, a man makes up his mind to\ndo anything, he knows the reason why. And when a man has once made up\nhis mind, neither wife nor child can alter it. I have resolved to do my\nduty; so spare yourselves useless words. It may be your duty to talk to\nme as you have done; but it is over now, and we will say no more about\nit. This evening I must be master in my own house.\"\n\nTimid and alarmed, Frances did not dare to utter a word, but she turned\na supplicating glance towards her son.\n\n\"Father,\" said the latter, \"one word more--only one.\"\n\n\"Let us hear,\" replied Dagobert, impatiently.\n\n\"I will not combat your resolution; but I will prove to you that you do\nnot know to what you expose yourself.\"\n\n\"I know it all,\" replied the soldier, in an abrupt tone. \"The\nundertaking is a serious one; but it shall not be said that I neglected\nany means to accomplish what I promised to do.\"\n\n\"But father, you do not know to what danger you expose yourself,\" said\nthe smith, much alarmed.\n\n\"Talk of danger! talk of the porter's gun and the gardener's scythe!\"\nsaid Dagobert, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously. \"Talk of them,\nand have done with it for, after all, suppose I were to leave my carcass\nin the convent, would not you remain to your mother? For twenty years,\nyou were accustomed to do without me. It will be all the less trying to\nyou.\"\n\n\"And I, alas! am the cause of these misfortunes!\" cried the poor mother.\n\"Ah! Gabriel had good reason to blame me.\"\n\n\"Mme. Frances, be comforted,\" whispered the sempstress, who had drawn\nnear to Dagobert's wife. \"Agricola will not suffer his father to expose\nhimself thus.\"\n\nAfter a moment's hesitation, the smith resumed, in an agitated voice:\n\"I know you too well, father, to think of stopping you by the fear of\ndeath.\"\n\n\"Of what danger, then, do you speak?\"\n\n\"Of a danger from which even you will shrink, brave as you are,\" said\nthe young man, in a voice of emotion, that forcibly struck his father.\n\n\"Agricola,\" said the soldier, roughly and severely, \"that remark is\ncowardly, you are insulting.\"\n\n\"Father--\"\n\n\"Cowardly!\" resumed the soldier, angrily; \"because it is cowardice to\nwish to frighten a man from his duty--insulting! because you think me\ncapable of being so frightened.\"\n\n\"Oh, M. Dagobert!\" exclaimed the sewing-girl, \"you do not understand\nAgricola.\"\n\n\"I understand him too well,\" answered the soldier harshly.\n\nPainfully affected by the severity of his father, but firm in his\nresolution, which sprang from love and respect, Agricola resumed, whilst\nhis heart beat violently. \"Forgive me, if I disobey you, father; but,\nwere you to hate me for it, I must tell you to what you expose yourself\nby scaling at night the walls of a convent--\"\n\n\"My son! do you dare?\" cried Dagobert, his countenance inflamed with\nrage-\"Agricola!\" exclaimed Frances, in tears. \"My husband!\"\n\n\"M. Dagobert, listen to Agricola!\" exclaimed Mother Bunch. \"It is only\nin your interest that he speaks.\"\n\n\"Not one word more!\" replied the soldier, stamping his foot with anger.\n\n\"I tell you, father,\" exclaimed the smith, growing fearfully pale as he\nspoke, \"that you risk being sent to the galleys!\"\n\n\"Unhappy boy!\" cried Dagobert, seizing his son by the arm; \"could you\nnot keep that from me--rather than expose me to become a traitor and a\ncoward?\" And the soldier shuddered, as he repeated: \"The galleys!\"--and,\nbending down his head, remained mute, pensive, withered, as it were, by\nthose blasting words.\n\n\"Yes, to enter an inhabited place by night, in such a manner, is what\nthe law calls burglary, and punishes with the galleys,\" cried Agricola,\nat once grieved and rejoicing at his father's depression of mind--\"yes,\nfather, the galleys, if you are taken in the act; and there are ten\nchances to one that you would be so. Mother Bunch has told you, the\nconvent is guarded. This morning, had you attempted to carry off the two\nyoung ladies in broad daylight, you would have been arrested; but, at\nleast, the attempt would have been an open one, with a character of\nhonest audacity about it, that hereafter might have procured your\nacquittal. But to enter by night, and by scaling the walls--I tell you,\nthe galleys would be the consequence. Now, father, decide. Whatever you\ndo, I will do also--for you shall not go alone. Say but the word, and I\nwill forge the hook for you--I have here hammer and pincers--and in an\nhour we will set out.\"\n\nA profound silence followed these words--a silence that was only\ninterrupted by the stifled sobs of Frances, who muttered to herself in\ndespair: \"Alas! this is the consequence of listening to Abbe Dubois!\"\n\nIt was in vain that Mother Bunch tried to console Frances. She was\nherself alarmed, for the soldier was capable of braving even infamy, and\nAgricola had determined to share the perils of his father.\n\nIn spite of his energetic and resolute character, Dagobert remained for\nsome time in a kind of stupor. According to his military habits, he had\nlooked at this nocturnal enterprise only as a ruse de guerre, authorized\nby his good cause, and by the inexorable fatality of his position; but\nthe words of his son brought him back to the fearful reality, and\nleft him the choice of a terrible alternative--either to betray the\nconfidence of Marshal Simon, and set at naught the last wishes of the\nmother of the orphan--or else to expose himself, and above all his\nson, to lasting disgrace--without even the certainty of delivering the\norphans after all.\n\nDrying her eyes, bathed in tears, Frances exclaimed, as if by a sudden\ninspiration: \"Dear me! I have just thought of it. There is perhaps a way\nof getting these dear children from the convent without violence.\"\n\n\"How so, mother?\" said Agricola, hastily.\n\n\"It is Abbe Dubois, who had them conveyed thither; but Gabriel supposes,\nthat he probably acted by the advice of M. Rodin.\n\n\"And if that were so, mother, it would be in vain to apply to M. Rodin.\nWe should get nothing from him.\"\n\n\"Not from him--but perhaps from that powerful abbe, who is Gabriel's\nsuperior, and has always patronized him since his first entrance at the\nseminary.\"\n\n\"What abbe, mother?\"\n\n\"Abbe d'Aigrigny.\"\n\n\"True mother; before being a priest, he was a soldier he may be more\naccessible than others--and yet--\"\n\n\"D'Aigrigny!\" cried Dagobert, with an expression of hate and horror.\n\"There is then mixed up with these treasons, a man who was a soldier\nbefore being a priest, and whose name is D'Aigrigny?\"\n\n\"Yes, father; the Marquis d'Aigrigny--before the Restoration, in the\nservice of Russia--but, in 1815, the Bourbons gave him a regiment.\"\n\n\"It is he!\" said Dagobert, in a hollow voice. \"Always the same! like an\nevil spirit--to the mother, father, children.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, father?\"\n\n\"The Marquis d'Aigrigny!\" replied Dagobert. \"Do you know what is this\nman? Before he was a priest, he was the murderer of Rose and Blanche's\nmother, because she despised his love. Before he was a priest, he fought\nagainst his country, and twice met General Simon face to face in war.\nYes; while the general was prisoner at Leipsic, covered with wounds\nat Waterloo, the turncoat marquis triumphed with the Russians and\nEnglish!--Under the Bourbons, this same renegade, loaded with honors,\nfound himself once more face to face with the persecuted soldier of the\nempire. Between them, this time, there was a mortal duel--the marquis\nwas wounded--General Simon was proscribed, condemned, driven into exile.\nThe renegade, you say, has become a priest. Well! I am now certain, that\nit is he who has carried off Rose and Blanche, in order to wreak on them\nhis hatred of their father and mother. It is the infamous D'Aigrigny,\nwho holds them in his power. It is no longer the fortune of these\nchildren that I have to defend; it is their life--do you hear what I\nsay?--their very life?\"\n\n\"What, father! do you think this man capable--\"\n\n\"A traitor to his country, who finishes by becoming a mock priest, is\ncapable of anything. I tell you, that, perhaps at this moment he may\nbe killing those children by a slow-fire!\" exclaimed the soldier, in a\nvoice of agony. \"To separate them from one another was to begin to kill\nthem. Yes!\" added Dagobert, with an exasperation impossible to describe;\n\"the daughters of Marshal Simon are in the power of the Marquis\nd'Aigrigny and his band, and I hesitate to attempt their rescue, for\nfear of the galleys! The galleys!\" added he, with a convulsive burst of\nlaughter; \"what do I care for the galleys? Can they send a corpse there?\nIf this last attempt fail, shall I not have the right to blow my brains\nout?--Put the iron in the fire, my boy--quick! time presses--and strike\nwhile the iron's hot!\"\n\n\"But your son goes with you!\" exclaimed Frances, with a cry of maternal\ndespair. Then rising, she threw herself at the feet of Dagobert, and\nsaid: \"If you are arrested, he will be arrested also.\"\n\n\"To escape the galleys, he will do as I do. I have two pistols.\"\n\n\"And without you--without him,\" cried the unhappy mother, extending her\nhands in supplication, \"what will become of me?\"\n\n\"You are right--I was too selfish,\" said Dagobert. \"I will go alone.\"\n\n\"You shall not go alone, father,\" replied Agricola.\n\n\"But your mother?\"\n\n\"Mother Bunch sees what is passing; she will go to Mr. Hardy, my master,\nand tell him all. He is the most generous of men, and my mother will\nhave food and shelter for the rest of her days.\"\n\n\"And I am the cause of all!\" cried Frances, wringing her hands in\ndespair. \"Punish me, oh, heaven! for it is my fault. I gave up those\nchildren. I shall be punished by the death of my child!\"\n\n\"Agricola, you shall not go with me--I forbid it!\" said Dagobert,\nclasping his son closely to his breast.\n\n\"What! when I have pointed out the danger, am I to be the first to\nshrink from it? you cannot think thus lowly of me, father! Have I not\nalso some one to deliver? The good, the generous Mdlle. de Cardoville,\nwho tried to save me from a prison, is a captive in her turn. I will\nfollow you, father. It is my right, my duty, my determination.\"\n\nSo saying, Agricola put into the heated stove the tongs that were\nintended to form the hook. \"Alas! may heaven have pity upon us!\" cried\nhis poor mother, sobbing as she still knelt, whilst the soldier seemed a\nprey to the most violent internal struggle.\n\n\"Do not cry so, dear mother; you will break my heart,\" said Agricola,\nas he raised her with the sempstress's help. \"Be comforted! I have\nexaggerated the danger of my father. By acting prudently, we two may\nsucceed in our enterprise; without much risk--eh, father?\" added he,\nwith a significant glance at Dagobert. \"Once more, be comforted, dear\nmother. I will answer for everything. We will deliver Marshal Simon's\ndaughters, and Mdlle. de Cardoville too. Sister, give me the hammer and\npincers, there in the press.\"\n\nThe sempstress, drying her tears, did as desired, while Agricola, by the\nhelp of bellows, revived the fire in which the tongs were heating.\n\n\"Here are your tools, Agricola,\" said the hunchback, in a\ndeeply-agitated voice, as she presented them with trembling hands to\nthe smith, who, with the aid of the pincers, soon drew from the fire\nthe white-hot tongs, and, with vigorous blows of the hammer, formed them\ninto a hook, taking the stove for his anvil.\n\nDagobert had remained silent and pensive. Suddenly he said to Frances,\ntaking her by the hand: \"You know what metal your son is. To prevent his\nfollowing me would now be impossible. But do not be afraid, dear wife;\nwe shall succeed--at least, I hope so. And if we should not succeed--if\nAgricola and me should be arrested--well! we are not cowards; we shall\nnot commit suicide; but father and son will go arm in arm to prison,\nwith heads high and proud, look like two brave men who have done their\nduty. The day of trial must come, and we will explain all, honestly,\nopenly--we will say, that, driven to the last extremity, finding no\nsupport, no protection in the law, we were forced to have recourse to\nviolence. So hammer away, my boy!\" added Dagobert, addressing his son,\npounding the hot iron; \"forge, forge, without fear. Honest judges will\nabsolve honest men.\"\n\n\"Yes, father, you are right, be at ease dear mother! The judges will see\nthe difference between rascals who scale walls in order to rob, and\nan old soldier and his son who, at peril of their liberty, their life,\ntheir honor, have sought only to deliver unhappy victims.\"\n\n\"And if this language should not be heard,\" resumed Dagobert, \"so much\nthe worse for them! It will not be your son, or husband, who will be\ndishonored in the eyes of honest people. If they send us to the galleys,\nand we have courage to survive--the young and the old convict will wear\ntheir chains proudly--and the renegade marquis, the traitor priest,\nwill bear more shame than we. So, forge without fear, my boy! There are\nthings which the galleys themselves cannot disgrace--our good conscience\nand our honor! But now,\" he added, \"two words with my good Mother Bunch.\nIt grows late, and time presses. On entering the garden, did you remark\nif the windows of the convent were far from the ground?\"\n\n\"No, not very far, M. Dagobert--particularly on that side which is\nopposite to the madhouse, where Mdlle. de Cardoville is confined.\"\n\n\"How did you manage to speak to that young lady?\"\n\n\"She was on the other side of an open paling, which separates the two\ngardens.\"\n\n\"Excellent!\" said Agricola, as he continued to hammer the iron: \"we can\neasily pass from one garden to the other. The madhouse may perhaps\nbe the readier way out. Unfortunately, you do not know, Mdlle. de\nCardoville's chamber.\"\n\n\"Yes, I do,\" returned the work-girl, recollecting herself. \"She is\nlodged in one of the wings, and there is a shade over her window,\npainted like canvas, with blue and white stripes.\"\n\n\"Good! I shall not forget that.\"\n\n\"And can you form no guess as to where are the rooms of my poor\nchildren?\" said Dagobert.\n\nAfter a moment's reflection, Mother Bunch answered, \"They are opposite\nto the chamber occupied by Mdlle. de Cardoville, for she makes signs\nto them from her window: and I now remember she told me, that their two\nrooms are on different stories, one on the ground-floor, and the other\nup one pair of stairs.\"\n\n\"Are these windows grated?\" asked the smith.\n\n\"I do not know.\"\n\n\"Never mind, my good girl: with these indications we shall do very\nwell,\" said Dagobert. \"For the rest, I have my plans.\"\n\n\"Some water, my little sister,\" said Agricola, \"that I may cool my\niron.\" Then addressing his father: \"Will this hook do?\"\n\n\"Yes, my boy; as soon as it is cold we will fasten the cord.\"\n\nFor some time, Frances Baudoin had remained upon her knees, praying with\nfervor. She implored Heaven to have pity on Agricola and Dagobert,\nwho, in their ignorance, were about to commit a great crime; and she\nentreated that the celestial vengeance might fall upon her only, as she\nalone had been the cause of the fatal resolution of her son and husband.\n\nDagobert and Agricola finished their preparations in silence. They\nwere both very pale, and solemnly grave. They felt all the danger of so\ndesperate an enterprise.\n\nThe clock at Saint-Mery's struck ten. The sound of the bell was faint,\nand almost drowned by the lashing of the wind and rain, which had not\nceased for a moment.\n\n\"Ten o'clock!\" said Dagobert, with a start. \"There is not a minute to\nlose. Take the sack, Agricola.\"\n\n\"Yes, father.\"\n\nAs he went to fetch the sack, Agricola approached Mother Bunch, who was\nhardly able to sustain herself, and said to her in a rapid whisper: \"If\nwe are not here to-morrow, take care of my mother. Go to M. Hardy, who\nwill perhaps have returned from his journey. Courage, my sister! embrace\nme. I leave poor mother to you.\" The smith, deeply affected, pressed the\nalmost fainting girl in his arms.\n\n\"Come, old Spoil-sport,\" said Dagobert: \"you shall be our scout.\"\nApproaching his wife, who, just risen from the ground, was clasping her\nson's head to her bosom, and covering it with tears and kisses, he said\nto her, with a semblance of calmness and serenity: \"Come, my dear wife,\nbe reasonable! Make us a good fire. In two or three hours we will bring\nhome the two poor children, and a fine young lady. Kiss me! that will\nbring me luck.\"\n\nFrances threw herself on her husband's neck, without uttering a word.\nThis mute despair, mingled with convulsive sobs, was heart-rending.\nDagobert was obliged to tear himself from his wife's arms, and striving\nto conceal his emotion, he said to his son, in an agitated voice:\n\"Let us go--she unmans me. Take care of her, my good Mother Bunch.\nAgricola--come!\"\n\nThe soldier slipped the pistols into the pocket of his great coat, and\nrushed towards the door, followed by Spoil-sport.\n\n\"My son, let me embrace you once more--alas! it is perhaps for the last\ntime!\" cried the unfortunate mother, incapable of rising, but stretching\nout her arms to Agricola. \"Forgive me! it is all my fault.\"\n\nThe smith turned back, mingled his tears with those of his mother--for\nhe also wept--and murmured, in a stifled voice: \"Adieu, dear mother! Be\ncomforted. We shall soon meet again.\"\n\nThen, escaping from the embrace, he joined his father upon the stairs.\n\nFrances Baudoin heaved a long sigh, and fell almost lifeless into the\nneedlewoman's arms.\n\nDagobert and Agricola left the Rue Brise-Miche in the height of\nthe storm, and hastened with great strides towards the Boulevard de\nl'Hopital, followed by the dog.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII. BURGLARY.\n\nHalf-past eleven had just struck, when Dagobert and his son arrived on\nthe Boulevard de l'Hopital.\n\nThe wind blew violently, and the rain fell down in torrents, but\nnotwithstanding the thickness of the watery clouds, it was tolerably\nlight, thanks to the late rising of the moon. The tall, dark trees, and\nthe white walls of the convent garden, were distinguishable in the midst\nof the pale glimmer. Afar off, a street lamp, acted on by the wind, with\nits red lights hardly visible through the mist and rain, swung backwards\nand forwards over the dirty causeway of the solitary boulevard.\n\nAt rare intervals, they heard, at a very great distance, the rattle and\nrumble of a coach, returning home late; then all was again silent.\n\nSince their departure from the Rue Brise-Miche, Dagobert and his son had\nhardly exchanged a word. The design of these two brave men was noble\nand generous, and yet, resolute but pensive, they glided through the\ndarkness like bandits, at the hour of nocturnal crimes.\n\nAgricola carried on his shoulders the sack containing the cord, the\nhook, and the iron bar; Dagobert leaned upon the arm of his son, and\nSpoil sport followed his master.\n\n\"The bench, where we sat down, must be close by,\" said Dagobert,\nstopping.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Agricola, looking around; \"here it is, father.\"\n\n\"It is oily half-past eleven--we must wait for midnight,\" resumed\nDagobert. \"Let us be seated for an instant, to rest ourselves, and\ndecide upon our plan.\"\n\nAfter a moment's silence, the soldier took his son's hands between his\nown, and thus continued: \"Agricola, my child--it is yet time. Let me\ngo alone, I entreat you. I shall know very well how to get through the\nbusiness; but the nearer the moment comes, the more I fear to drag you\ninto this dangerous enterprise.\"\n\n\"And the nearer the moment comes, father, the more I feel I may be\nof some use; but, be it good or bad, I will share the fortune of your\nadventure. Our object is praiseworthy; it is a debt of honor that you\nhave to pay, and I will take one half of it. Do not fancy that I will\nnow draw back. And so, dear father, let us think of our plan of action.\"\n\n\"Then you will come?\" said Dagobert, stifling a sigh.\n\n\"We must do everything,\" proceeded Agricola, \"to secure success. You\nhave already noticed the little garden-door, near the angle of the\nwall--that is excellent.\"\n\n\"We shall get by that way into the garden, and look immediately for the\nopen paling.\"\n\n\"Yes; for on one side of this paling is the wing inhabited by Mdlle.\nde Cardoville, and on the other that part of the convent in which the\ngeneral's daughters are confined.\"\n\nAt this moment, Spoil-sport, who was crouching at Dagobert's feet, rose\nsuddenly, and pricked up his ears, as if to listen.\n\n\"One would think that Spoil-sport heard something,\" said Agricola. They\nlistened--but heard only the wind, sounding through the tall trees of\nthe boulevard.\n\n\"Now I think of it, father--when the garden-door is once open, shall we\ntake Spoil-sport with us?\"\n\n\"Yes; for if there is a watch-dog, he will settle him. And then he will\ngive us notice of the approach of those who go the rounds. Besides, he\nis so intelligent, so attached to Rose and Blanche, that (who knows?) he\nmay help to discover the place where they are. Twenty times I have seen\nhim find them in the woods, by the most extraordinary instinct.\"\n\nA slow and solemn knell here rose above the noise of the wind: it was\nthe first stroke of twelve.\n\nThat note seemed to echo mournfully through the souls of Agricola and\nhis father. Mute with emotion, they shuddered, and by a spontaneous\nmovement, each grasped the hand of the other. In spite of themselves,\ntheir hearts kept time to every stroke of the clock, as each successive\nvibration was prolonged through the gloomy silence of the night.\n\nAt the last strobe, Dagobert said to his son, in a firm voice: \"It is\nmidnight. Shake hands, and let us forward!\"\n\nThe moment was decisive and solemn. \"Now, father,\" said Agricola, \"we\nwill act with as much craft and daring as thieves going to pillage a\nstrong box.\"\n\nSo saying, the smith took from the sack the cord and hook; Dagobert\narmed himself with the iron bar, and both advanced cautiously, following\nthe wall in the direction of the little door, situated not far from the\nangle formed by the street and the boulevard. They stopped from time to\ntime, to listen attentively, trying to distinguish those noises which\nwere not caused either by the high wind or the rain.\n\nIt continued light enough for them to be able to see surrounding\nobjects, and the smith and the soldier soon gained the little door,\nwhich appeared much decayed, and not very strong.\n\n\"Good!\" said Agricola to his father. \"It will yield at one blow.\"\n\nThe smith was about to apply his shoulder vigorously to the door, when\nSpoil-sport growled hoarsely, and made a \"point.\" Dagobert silenced the\ndog with a word, and grasping his son's arm, said to him in a whisper:\n\"Do not stir. The dog has scented some one in the garden.\"\n\nAgricola and his father remained for some minutes motionless, holding\ntheir breath and listening. The dog, in obedience to his master, no\nlonger growled, but his uneasiness and agitation were displayed more and\nmore. Yet they heard nothing.\n\n\"The dog must have been deceived, father,\" whispered Agricola.\n\n\"I am sure of the contrary. Do not move.\"\n\nAfter some seconds of expectation, Spoil-sport crouched down abruptly,\nand pushed his nose as far as possible under the door, snuffling up the\nair.\n\n\"They are coming,\" said Dagobert hastily, to his son.\n\n\"Let us draw off a little distance,\" replied Agricola.\n\n\"No,\" said his father; \"we must listen. It will be time to retire, if\nthey open the door. Here, Spoil-sport! down!\"\n\nThe dog obeyed, and withdrawing from the door, crouched down at the feet\nof his master. Some seconds after, they heard a sort of splashing on the\ndamp ground, caused by heavy footsteps in puddles of water, and then the\nsound of words, which carried away by the wind, did not reach distinctly\nthe ears of the soldier and the smith.\n\n\"They are the people of whom Mother Bunch told us, going their round,\"\nsaid Agricola to his father.\n\n\"So much the better. There will be an interval before they come round\nagain, and we shall have some two hours before us, without interruption.\nOur affair is all right now.\"\n\nBy degrees, the sound of the footsteps became less and less distinct,\nand at last died away altogether.\n\n\"Now, quick! we must not lose any time,\" said Dagobert to his son, after\nwaiting about ten minutes; \"they are far enough. Let us try to open the\ndoor.\"\n\nAgricola leaned his powerful shoulder against it, and pushed vigorously;\nbut the door did not give way, notwithstanding its age.\n\n\"Confound it!\" said Agricola; \"there is a bar on the inside. I am sure\nof it, or these old planks would not have resisted my weight.\"\n\n\"What is to be done?\"\n\n\"I will scale the wall by means of the cord and hook, and open the door\nfrom the other side.\"\n\nSo saying, Agricola took the cord, and after several attempts, succeeded\nin fixing the hook on the coping of the wall.\n\n\"Now, father, give me a leg up; I will help myself up with the cord;\nonce astride on the wall, I can easily turn the hook and get down into\nthe garden.\"\n\nThe soldier leaned against the wall, and joined his two hands, in the\nhollow of which his son placed one of his feet, then mounting upon the\nrobust shoulders of his father, he was able, by help of the cord, and\nsome irregularities in the wall, to reach the top. Unfortunately, the\nsmith had not perceived that the coping of the wall was strewed with\nbroken bottles, so that he wounded his knees and hands; but, for fear of\nalarming Dagobert, he repressed every exclamation of pain, and replacing\nthe hook, he glided down the cord to the ground. The door was close by,\nand he hastened to it; a strong wooden bar had indeed secured it on the\ninside. This was removed, and the lock was in so bad a state, that it\noffered no resistance to a violent effort from Agricola.\n\nThe door was opened, and Dagobert entered the garden with Spoil-sport.\n\n\"Now,\" said the soldier to his son, \"thanks to you, the worst is\nover. Here is a means of escape for the poor children, and Mdlle. de\nCardoville. The thing is now to find them, without accident or delay.\nSpoil-sport will go before as a scout. Come, my good dog!\" added\nDagobert, \"above all--fair and softly!\"\n\nImmediately, the intelligent animal advanced a few steps, sniffing and\nlistening with the care and caution of a hound searching for the game.\n\nBy the half-light of the clouded moon, Dagobert and his son perceived\nround them a V-shaped grove of tall trees, at which several paths met.\nUncertain which to choose, Agricola said to his father: \"Let us take\nthe path that runs alongside the wall. It will surely lead to some\nbuilding.\"\n\n\"Right! Let us walk on the strips of grass, instead of through the mud.\nIt will make less noise.\"\n\nThe father and son, preceded by the Siberian dog, kept for some time in\na winding path, at no great distance from the wall. They stopped now\nand then to listen, or to satisfy themselves, before continuing their\nadvance, with regard to the changing aspects of the trees and bushes,\nwhich, shaken by the wind, and faintly illumined by the pale light of\nthe moon, often took strange and doubtful forms.\n\nHalf-past twelve struck as Agricola and his father reached a large\niron gate which shut in that part of the garden reserved for the\nSuperior--the same into which Mother Bunch had intruded herself, after\nseeing Rose Simon converse with Adrienne de Cardoville.\n\nThrough the bars of this gate, Agricola and his father perceived at a\nlittle distance an open paling, which joined a half-finished chapel, and\nbeyond it a little square building.\n\n\"That is no doubt the building occupied by Mdlle. de Cardoville,\" said\nAgricola.\n\n\"And the building which contains the chambers of Rose and Blanche, but\nwhich we cannot see from here, is no doubt opposite it,\" said Dagobert.\n\"Poor children! they are there, weeping tears of despair,\" added he,\nwith profound emotion.\n\n\"Provided the gate be but open,\" said Agricola.\n\n\"It will probably be so--being within the walls.\"\n\n\"Let us go on gently.\"\n\nThe gate was only fastened by the catch of the lock. Dagobert was about\nto open it, when Agricola said to him: \"Take care! do not make it creak\non its hinges.\"\n\n\"Shall I push it slowly or suddenly?\"\n\n\"Let me manage it,\" said Agricola; and he opened the gate so quickly,\nthat it creaked very little; still the noise might have been plainly\nheard, in the silence of the night, during one of the lulls between the\nsqualls of wind.\n\nAgricola and his father remained motionless for a moment, listening\nuneasily, before they ventured to pass through the gate. Nothing\nstirred, however; all remained calm and still. With fresh courage, they\nentered the reserved garden.\n\nHardly had the dog arrived on this spot, when he exhibited tokens of\nextraordinary delight. Picking up his ears, wagging his tail, bounding\nrather than running, he had soon reached the paling where, in\nthe morning, Rose Simon had for a moment conversed with Mdlle. de\nCardoville. He stopped an instant at this place, as if at fault, and\nturned round and round like a dog seeking the scent.\n\nDagobert and his son, leaving Spoil-sport to his instinct, followed\nhis least movements with intense interest, hoping everything from his\nintelligence and his attachment to the orphans.\n\n\"It was no doubt near this paling that Rose stood when Mother Bunch saw\nher,\" said Dagobert. \"Spoil-sport is on her track. Let him alone.\"\n\nAfter a few seconds, the dog turned his head towards Dagobert, and\nstarted at full trot in the direction of a door on the ground-floor of\na building, opposite to that occupied by Adrienne. Arrived at this door,\nthe dog lay down, seemingly waiting for Dagobert.\n\n\"No doubt of it! the children are there!\" said Dagobert, hastening to\nrejoin Spoil-sport; \"it was by this door that they took Rose into the\nhouse.\"\n\n\"We must see if the windows are grated,\" said Agricola, following his\nfather.\n\n\"Well, old fellow!\" whispered the soldier, as he came up to the dog and\npointed to the building, \"are Rose and Blanche there?\"\n\nThe dog lifted his head, and answered by a joyful bark. Dagobert had\njust time to seize the mouth of the animal with his hands.\n\n\"He will ruin all!\" exclaimed the smith. \"They have, perhaps, heard\nhim.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Dagobert. \"But there is no longer any doubt--the children are\nhere.\"\n\nAt this instant, the iron gate, by which the soldier and his son had\nentered the reserved garden, and which they had left open, fell to with\na loud noise.\n\n\"They've shut us in,\" said Agricola, hastily; \"and there is no other\nissue.\"\n\nFor a moment, the father and son looked in dismay at each other; but\nAgricola instantly resumed: \"The gate has perhaps shut of itself. I will\nmake haste to assure myself of this, and to open it again if possible.\"\n\n\"Go quickly; I will examine the windows.\"\n\nAgricola flew towards the gate, whilst Dagobert, gliding along the wall,\nsoon reached the windows on the ground floor. They were four in number,\nand two of them were not grated. He looked up at the first story; it was\nnot very far from the ground, and none of the windows had bars. It would\nthen be easy for that one of the two sisters, who inhabited this story,\nonce informed of their presence, to let herself down by means of a\nsheet, as the orphans had already done to escape from the inn of\nthe White Falcon. But the difficult thing was to know which room she\noccupied. Dagobert thought they might learn this from the sister on the\nground floor; but then there was another difficulty--at which of the\nfour windows should they knock?\n\nAgricola returned precipitately. \"It was the wind, no doubt, which shut\nthe gate,\" said he. \"I have opened it again, and made it fast with a\nstone. But we have no time to lose.\"\n\n\"And how shall we know the windows of the poor children?\" said Dagobert,\nanxiously.\n\n\"That is true,\" said Agricola, with uneasiness. \"What is to be done?\"\n\n\"To call them at hap-hazard,\" continued Dagobert, \"would be to give the\nalarm.\"\n\n\"Oh, heavens!\" cried Agricola, with increasing anguish. \"To have arrived\nhere, under their windows, and yet not to know!\"\n\n\"Time presses,\" said Dagobert, hastily, interrupting his son; \"we must\nrun all risks.\"\n\n\"But how, father?\"\n\n\"I will call out loud, 'Rose and Blanche'--in their state of despair, I\nam sure they do not sleep. They will be stirring at my first summons. By\nmeans of a sheet, fastened to the window, she who is on the first\nstory will in five minutes be in our arms. As for the one on the ground\nfloor--if her window is not grated, we can have her in a second. If it\nis, we shall soon loosen one of the bars.\"\n\n\"But, father--this calling out aloud?\"\n\n\"Will not perhaps be heard.\"\n\n\"But if it is heard--all will be lost.\"\n\n\"Who knows? Before they have time to call the watch, and open several\ndoors, the children may be delivered. Once at the entrance of the\nboulevard, and we shall be safe.\"\n\n\"It is a dangerous course; but I see no other.\"\n\n\"If there are only two men, I and Spoil-sport will keep them in check,\nwhile you will have time to carry off the children.\"\n\n\"Father, there is a better way--a surer one,\" cried Agricola, suddenly.\n\"From what Mother Bunch told us, Mdlle. de Cardoville has corresponded\nby signs with Rose and Blanche.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Hence she knows where they are lodged, as the poor children answered\nher from their windows.\"\n\n\"You are right. There is only that course to take. But how find her\nroom?\"\n\n\"Mother Bunch told me there was a shade over the window.\"\n\n\"Quick! we have only to break through a wooden fence. Have you the iron\nbar?\"\n\n\"Here it is.\"\n\n\"Then, quick!\"\n\nIn a few steps, Dagobert and his son had reached the paling. Three\nplanks, torn away by Agricola, opened an easy passage.\n\n\"Remain here, father, and keep watch,\" said he to Dagobert, as he\nentered Dr. Baleinier's garden.\n\nThe indicated window was easily recognized. It was high and broad; a\nsort of shade surmounted it, for this window had once been a door, since\nwalled in to the third of its height. It was protected by bars of iron,\npretty far apart. Since some minutes, the rain had ceased. The moon,\nbreaking through the clouds, shone full upon the building. Agricola,\napproaching the window, saw that the room was perfectly dark; but light\ncame from a room beyond, through a door left half open. The smith,\nhoping that Mdlle. de Cardoville might be still awake, tapped lightly at\nthe window. Soon after, the door in the background opened entirely, and\nMdlle. de Cardoville, who had not yet gone to bed, came from the other\nchamber, dressed as she had been at her interview with Mother Bunch. Her\ncharming features were visible by the light of the taper she held in\nher hand. Their present expression was that of surprise and anxiety. The\nyoung girl set down the candlestick on the table, and appeared to listen\nattentively as she approached the window. Suddenly she started and\nstopped abruptly. She had just discerned the face of a man, looking\nat her through the window. Agricola, fearing that Mdlle. de Cardoville\nwould retire in terror to the next room, again tapped on the glass, and\nrunning the risk of being heard by others, said in a pretty loud voice:\n\"It is Agricola Baudoin.\"\n\nThese words reached the ears of Adrienne. Instantly remembering her\ninterview with Mother Bunch, she thought that Agricola and Dagobert\nmust have entered the convent for the purpose of carrying off Rose\nand Blanche. She ran to the window, recognized Agricola in the clear\nmoonlight, and cautiously opened the casement.\n\n\"Madame,\" said the smith, hastily; \"there is not an instant to lose.\nThe Count de Montbron is not in Paris. My father and myself have come to\ndeliver you.\"\n\n\"Thanks, thanks, M. Agricola!\" said Mdlle. de Cardoville, in a tone\nexpressive of the most touching gratitude; \"but think first of the\ndaughters of General Simon.\"\n\n\"We do think of them, madame, I have come to ask you which are their\nwindows.\"\n\n\"One is on the ground floor, the last on the garden-side; the other is\nexactly over it, on the first story.\"\n\n\"Then they are saved!\" cried the smith.\n\n\"But let me see!\" resumed Adrienne, hastily; \"the first story is pretty\nhigh. You will find, near the chapel they are building, some long poles\nbelonging to the scaffolding. They may be of use to you.\"\n\n\"They will be as good as a ladder, to reach the upstairs window. But now\nto think of you madame.\"\n\n\"Think only of the dear orphans. Time presses. Provided they are\ndelivered to-night, it makes little difference to me to remain a day or\ntwo longer in this house.\"\n\n\"No, mademoiselle,\" cried the smith, \"it is of the first importance that\nyou should leave this place to-night. Interests are concerned, of which\nyou know nothing. I am now sure of it.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I have not time to explain myself further; but I conjure you madame, to\ncome. I can wrench out two of these bars; I will fetch a piece of iron.\"\n\n\"It is not necessary. They are satisfied with locking the outer door\nof this building, which I inhabit alone. You can easily break open the\nlock.\"\n\n\"And, in ten minutes, we shall be on the boulevard,\" said the smith.\n\"Make yourself ready, madame; take a shawl, a bonnet, for the night is\ncold. I will return instantly.\"\n\n\"M. Agricola,\" said Adrienne, with tears in her eyes, \"I know what you\nrisk for my sake. I shall prove to you, I hope, that I have as good a\nmemory as you have. You and your adopted sister are noble and valiant\ncreatures, and I am proud to be indebted to you. But do not return for\nme till the daughters of Marshal Simon are in safety.\"\n\n\"Thanks to your directions, the thing will be done directly, madame. I\nfly to rejoin my father, and we will come together to fetch you.\"\n\nFollowing the excellent advice of Mdlle. de Cardoville, Agricola took\none of the long, strong poles that rested against the wall of the\nchapel, and, bearing it on his robust shoulders, hastened to rejoin\nhis father. Hardly had Agricola passed the fence, to direct his steps\ntowards the chapel, obscured in shadow, than Mdlle. de Cardoville\nthought she perceived a human form issue from one of the clumps of trees\nin the convent-garden, cross the path hastily, and disappear behind\na high hedge of box. Alarmed at the sight, Adrienne in vain called to\nAgricola in a low voice, to bid him beware. He could not hear her; he\nhad already rejoined his father, who, devoured by impatience, went from\nwindow to window with ever-increasing anguish.\n\n\"We are saved,\" whispered Agricola. \"Those are the windows of the poor\nchildren--one on the ground floor, the other on the first story.\"\n\n\"At last!\" said Dagobert, with a burst of joy impossible to describe. He\nran to examine the windows. \"They are not grated!\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"Let us make sure, that one of them is there,\" said Agricola; \"then, by\nplacing this pole against the wall, I will climb up to the first story,\nwhich is not so very high.\"\n\n\"Right, my boy!--once there, tap at the window, and call Rose or\nBlanche. When she answers, come down. We will rest the pole against\nthe window, and the poor child will slide along it. They are bold and\nactive. Quick, quick! to work!\"\n\n\"And then we will deliver Mdlle. de Cardoville.\"\n\nWhilst Agricola placed his pole against the wall, and prepares to mount,\nDagobert tapped at the panes of the last window on the ground floor, and\nsaid aloud: \"It is I--Dagobert.\"\n\nRose Simon indeed occupied the chamber. The unhappy child, in despair\nat being separated from her sister, was a prey to a burning fever, and,\nunable to sleep, watered her pillow with her tears. At the sound of the\ntapping on the glass, she started up affrighted, then, hearing the voice\nof the soldier--that voice so familiar and so dear--she sat up in bed,\npressed her hands across her forehead, to assure herself that she was\nnot the plaything of a dream, and, wrapped in her long night-dress, ran\nto the window with a cry of joy. But suddenly--and before she could open\nthe casement--two reports of fire-arms were heard, accompanied by loud\ncries of \"Help! thieves!\"\n\nThe orphan stood petrified with terror, her eyes mechanically fixed upon\nthe window, through which she saw confusedly, by the light of the moon,\nseveral men engaged in a mortal struggle, whilst the furious barking\nof Spoil-sport was heard above all the incessant cries of \"Help! Help!\nThieves! Murder!\"\n\n\n\n\nBOOK V.\n\n     XIV. The Eve of a Great Day XV. The Thug XVI. The Two\n     Brothers of the Good Work XVII. The House in the Rue Saint-\n     Francois XVIII. Debit and Credit XIX. The Heir XX. The\n     Rupture XXI. The Change XXII. The Red Room XXIII. The\n     Testament XXIV. The Last Stroke of Noon XXV. The Deed of\n     Gift\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV. THE EVE OF A GREAT DAY.\n\nAbout two hours before the event last related took place at St. Mary's\nConvent, Rodin and Abbe d'Aigrigny met in the room where we have already\nseen them, in the Rue du Milieu-des-Ursins. Since the Revolution of\nJuly, Father d'Aigrigny had thought proper to remove for the moment to\nthis temporary habitation all the secret archives and correspondence of\nhis Order--a prudent measure, since he had every reason to fear that the\nreverend fathers would be expelled by the state from that magnificent\nestablishment, with which the restoration had so liberally endowed their\nsociety. (11)\n\nRodin, dressed in his usual sordid style, mean and dirty as ever, was\nwriting modestly at his desk, faithful to his humble part of secretary,\nwhich concealed, as we have already seen a far more important\noffice--that of Socius--a function which, according to the constitutions\nof the Order, consists in never quitting his superior, watching his\nleast actions, spying into his very thoughts, and reporting all to Rome.\n\nIn spite of his usual impassibility, Rodin appeared visibly uneasy and\nabsent in mind; he answered even more briefly than usual to the commands\nand questions of Father d'Aigrigny, who had but just entered the room.\n\n\"Has anything new occurred during my absence?\" asked he. \"Are the\nreports still favorable?\"\n\n\"Very favorable.\"\n\n\"Read them to me.\"\n\n\"Before giving this account to your reverence,\" said Rodin, \"I must\ninform you that Morok has been two days in Paris.\"\n\n\"Morok?\" said Abbe d'Aigrigny, with surprise. \"I thought, on leaving\nGermany and Switzerland, he had received from Friburg the order to\nproceed southward. At Nismes, or Avignon, he would at this moment be\nuseful as an agent; for the Protestants begin to move, and we fear a\nreaction against the Catholics.\"\n\n\"I do not know,\" said Rodin, \"if Morok may not have had private reasons\nfor changing his route. His ostensible reasons are, that he comes here\nto give performances.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"A dramatic agent, passing through Lyons, engaged him and his menagerie\nfor the Port Saint-Martin Theatre at a very high price. He says that he\ndid not like to refuse such an offer.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, shrugging his shoulders, \"but by\ndistributing his little books, and selling prints and chaplets, as\nwell as by the influence he would certainly exercise over the pious and\nignorant people of the South or of Brittany, he might render services,\nsuch as he can never perform in Paris.\"\n\n\"He is now below, with a kind of giant, who travels about with him. In\nhis capacity of your reverence's old servant, Morok hoped to have the\nhonor of kissing your hand this evening.\"\n\n\"Impossible--impossible--you know how much I am occupied. Have you sent\nto the Rue Saint-Francois?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have. The old Jew guardian has had notice from the notary. To\nmorrow, at six in the morning, the masons will unwall the door, and,\nfor the first time since one hundred and fifty years, the house will be\nopened.\"\n\nFather d'Aigrigny remained in thought for a moment, and then said to\nRodin: \"On the eve of such a decisive day, we must neglect nothing,\nand call every circumstance to memory. Read me the copy of the note,\ninserted in the archives of the society, a century and a half ago, on\nthe subject of Rennepont.\"\n\nThe secretary took the note from the case, and read as follows:\n\n\"'This 19th day of February, 1682, the Reverend Father-Provincial\nAlexander Bourdon sent the following advice, with these words in the\nmargin: Of extreme importance for the future.\n\n\"'We have just discovered, by the confession of a dying person to one of\nour fathers, a very close secret.\n\n\"'Marius de Rennepont, one of the most active and redoubtable partisans\nof the Reformed Religion, and one of the most determined enemies of our\nHoly Society, had apparently re-entered the pale of our Mother Church,\nbut with the sole design of saving his worldly goods, threatened with\nconfiscation because of his irreligious and damnable errors. Evidence\nhaving been furnished by different persons of our company to prove that\nthe conversion of Rennepont was not sincere, and in reality covered a\nsacrilegious lure, the possessions of the said gentleman, now considered\na relapsed heretic, were confiscated by our gracious sovereign, his\nMajesty King Louis XIV, and the said Rennepont was condemned to the\ngalleys for life.(12) He escaped his doom by a voluntary death; in\nconsequence of which abominable crime, his body was dragged upon a\nhurdle, and flung to the dogs on the highway.\n\n\"'From these preliminaries, we come to the great secret, which is of\nsuch importance to the future interests of our Society.\n\n\"'His Majesty Louis XIV., in his paternal and Catholic goodness towards\nthe Church in general, and our Order in particular, had granted to us\nthe profit of this confiscation, in acknowledgment of our services in\ndiscovering the infamous and sacrilegious relapse of the said Rennepont.\n\n\"'But we have just learned, for certain, that a house situated in Paris,\nNo. 3, Rue Saint-Francois, and a sum of fifty thousand gold crowns, have\nescaped this confiscation, and have consequently been stolen from our\nSociety.\n\n\"'The house was conveyed, before the confiscation, by means of a feigned\npurchase, to a friend of Rennepont's a good Catholic, unfortunately, as\nagainst him we cannot take any severe measures. Thanks to the culpable,\nbut secure connivance of his friend, the house has been walled up, and\nis only to be opened in a century and a half, according to the last\nwill of Rennepont. As for the fifty thousand gold crowns, they have been\nplaced in hands which, unfortunately, are hitherto unknown to us, in\norder to be invested and put out to use for one hundred and fifty years,\nat the expiration of which time they are to be divided between the then\nexisting descendants of the said Rennepont; and it is calculated that\nthis sum, increased by so many accumulations, will by then have become\nenormous, and will amount to at least forty or fifty millions of livres\ntournois. From motives which are not known, but which are duly stated\nin a testamentary document, the said Rennepont has concealed from his\nfamily, whom the edicts against the Protestants have driven out of\nFrance, the investment of these fifty thousand crowns; and has only\ndesired his relations to preserve in their line from generation to\ngeneration, the charge to the last survivors, to meet in Paris, Rue\nSaint-Francois, a hundred and fifty years hence, on February the 13th,\n1832. And that this charge might not be forgotten, he employed a person,\nwhose description is known, but not his real occupation, to cause to\nbe manufactured sundry bronze medals, on which the request and date are\nengraved, and to deliver one to each member of the family--a measure the\nmore necessary, as, from some other motive equally unknown, but probably\nexplained in the testament, the heirs are to present themselves on the\nday in question, before noon, in person, and not by any attorney, or\nrepresentative, or to forfeit all claim to the inheritance. The stranger\nwho undertook to distribute the medals to the different members of the\nfamily of Rennepont is a man of thirty to thirty-six years of age, of\ntall stature, and with a proud and sad expression of countenance. He has\nblack eyebrows, very thick, and singularly joined together. He is\nknown as JOSEPH, and is much suspected of being an active and dangerous\nemissary of the wretched republicans and heretics of the Seven\nUnited Provinces. It results from these premises, that this sum,\nsurreptitiously confided by a relapsed heretic to unknown hands, has\nescaped the confiscation decreed in our favor by our well-beloved king.\nA serious fraud and injury has therefore been committed, and we are\nbound to take every means to recover this our right, if not immediately,\nat least in some future time. Our Society being (for the greater glory\nof God and our Holy Father) imperishable, it will be easy, thanks to the\nconnections we keep up with all parts of the world, by means of missions\nand other establishments, to follow the line of this family of Rennepont\nfrom generation to generation, without ever losing sight of it--so that\na hundred and fifty years hence, at the moment of the division of this\nimmense accumulation of property, our Company may claim the inheritance\nof which it has been so treacherously deprived, and recover it by\nany means in its power, fas aut nefas, even by craft or violence--our\nCompany not being bound to act tenderly with the future detainers of\nour goods, of which we have been maliciously deprived by an infamous and\nsacrilegious heretic--and because it is right to defend, preserve,\nand recover one's own property by every means which the Lord may place\nwithin one's reach. Until, therefore, the complete restitution of this\nwealth, the family of Rennepont must be considered as reprobate and\ndamnable, as the cursed seed of a Cain, and always to be watched with\nthe utmost caution. And it is to be recommended, that, every year\nfrom this present date, a sort of inquisition should be held as to the\nsituation of the successive members of this family.'\"\n\nRodin paused, and said to Father d'Aigrigny: \"Here follows the account,\nyear by year, of the history of this family, from the year 1682, to our\nown day. It will be useless to read this to your reverence.\"\n\n\"Quite useless,\" said Abbe d'Aigrigny. \"The note contains all the\nimportant facts.\" Then, after a moment's silence, he exclaimed, with\nan expression of triumphant pride: \"How great is the power of the\nAssociation, when founded upon tradition and perpetuity! Thanks to this\nnote, inserted in our archives a century and a half ago, this family has\nbeen watched from generation to generation--our Order has always had\nits eyes upon them, following them to all points of the globe, to which\nexile had distributed them--and at last, to-morrow, we shall obtain\npossession of this property, at first inconsiderable, but which a\nhundred and fifty years have raised to a royal fortune. Yes, we shall\nsucceed, for we have foreseen every eventuality. One thing only troubles\nme.\"\n\n\"What is that?\" asked Rodin.\n\n\"The information that we have in vain tried to obtain from the guardian\nof the house in the Rue Saint-Francois. Has the attempt been once more\nmade, as I directed?\"\n\n\"It has been made.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"This time, as always before, the old Jew has remained impenetrable.\nBesides he is almost in his second childhood, and his wife not much\nbetter.\"\n\n\"When I think,\" resumed Father d'Aigrigny, \"that for a century and a\nhalf, this house in the Rue Saint-Francois has remained walled up, and\nthat the care of it has been transmitted from generation to generation\nin this family of the Samuels--I cannot suppose that they have all been\nignorant as to who were and are the successive holders of these funds,\nnow become immense by accumulation.\"\n\n\"You have seen,\" said Rodin, \"by the notes upon this affair, that the\nOrder has always carefully followed it up ever since 1682. At different\nperiods attempts have been made to obtain information upon subjects\nnot fully explained in the note of Father Bourdon. But this race of Jew\nguardians has ever remained dumb, and we must therefore conclude that\nthey know nothing about it.\"\n\n\"That has always struck me as impossible; for the ancestor of these\nSamuels was present at the closing of the house, a hundred and fifty\nyears ago. He was according to the file, a servant or confidential clerk\nof De Rennepont. It is impossible that he should not have known many\nthings, the tradition of which must have been preserved in the family.\"\n\n\"If I were allowed to hazard a brief observation,\" began Rodin, humbly.\n\n\"Speak.\"\n\n\"A few years ago we obtained certain information through the\nconfessional, that the funds were in existence, and that they had risen\nto an enormous amount.\"\n\n\"Doubtless; and it was that which called the attention of the Reverend\nFather-General so strongly to this affair.\"\n\n\"We know, then, what probably the descendants of the family do not--the\nimmense value of this inheritance?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Father d'Aigrigny, \"the person who certified this fact\nin confession is worthy of all belief. Only lately, the same declaration\nwas renewed; but all the efforts of the confessor could not obtain the\nname of the trustee, or anything beyond the assertion, that the money\ncould not be in more honest hands.\"\n\n\"It seems to me, then,\" resumed Rodin, \"that we are certain of what is\nmost important.\"\n\n\"And who knows if the holder of this enormous sum will appear to-morrow,\nin spite of the honesty ascribed to him? The nearer the moment the more\nmy anxiety increases. Ah!\" continued Father d'Aigrigny, after a moment's\nsilence, \"the interests concerned are so immense that the consequences\nof success are quite incalculable. However, all that it was possible to\ndo, has been at least tried.\"\n\nTo these words, which Father d'Aigrigny addressed to Rodin, as if asking\nfor his assent, the socius returned no answer.\n\nThe abbe looked at him with surprise, and said: \"Are you not of my\nopinion--could more have been attempted? Have we not gone to the extreme\nlimit of the possible?\"\n\nRodin bowed respectfully, but remained mute.\n\n\"If you think we have omitted some precaution,\" cried Father d'Aigrigny,\nwith a sort of uneasy impatience, \"speak out! We have still time. Once\nmore, do you think it is possible to do more than I have done? All the\nother descendants being removed, when Gabriel appears to-morrow in\nthe Rue Saint-Francois, will he not be the only representative of this\nfamily, and consequently the rightful possessor of this immense fortune?\nNow, according to his act of renunciation, and the provisions of our\nstatutes, it is not to him, but to the Order, that these possessions\nmust fall. Could I have acted better, or in any other manner? Speak\nfrankly!\"\n\n\"I cannot permit myself to offer an opinion on this subject,\" replied\nRodin, humbly, and again bowing; \"the success of the measures taken must\nanswer your reverence.\"\n\nFather d'Aigrigny shrugged his shoulders, and reproached himself for\nhaving asked advice of this writing-machine, that served him for\na secretary, and to whom he only ascribed three qualities--memory,\ndiscretion, and exactness.\n\n(11) This was an idle fear, for we read in the Constitutionnel, Feb. 1st\n1832, as follows: \"When in 1822, M. de Corbiere abruptly abolished that\nsplendid Normal School, which, during its few years' existence, had\ncalled forth or developed such a variety of talent, it was decided,\nas some compensation, that a house in the Rue des Postes should be\npurchased, where the congregation of the Holy Ghost should be located\nand endowed. The Minister of Marine supplied the funds for this purpose,\nand its management was placed at the disposal of the Society, which then\nreigned over France. From that period it has held quiet possession of\nthe place, which at once became a sort of house of entertainment, where\nJesuitism sheltered, and provided for, the numerous novitiates that\nflocked from all parts of the country, to receive instructions from\nFather Ronsin. Matters were in this state when the Revolution of\nJuly broke out, which threatened to deprive the Society of this\nestablishment. But it will hardly be believed; this was not done. It\nis true that they suppressed their practice, but they left them in\npossession of the house in the Rue des Postes; and to this very day, the\n31st of January, 1832, the members of the Sacred Heart are housed at the\nexpense of government, during the whole of which time the Normal School\nhas been without a shelter--and on its reorganization, thrust into a\ndirty hole, in a narrow corner of the College of Louis the Great.\"\n\nThe above appeared in the Constitutionnel, respecting the house in\nthe Rue des Posses. We are certainly ignorant as to the nature of the\ntransactions, since that period, that have taken place between the\nreverend fathers and the government; but we read further, in a recently\npublished article that appeared in a journal, in reference to the\nSociety of Jesus, that the house in the Rue des Postes, still forms a\npart of their landed property. We will here give some portions of the\narticle in question.\n\n\"The following is a list of the property belonging to this branch of\n\n  Jesuits:                                       Fr.\n     House in the Rue de Postes, worth about 500,000\n     One in the Rue de Sevres, estimated at  300,000\n     Farm, two leagues from Paris.....150,000\n     House and church at Bourges..... 100,000\n     Notre Dame de Liesse, donation in 1843   60,000\n     Saint Acheul, House for Novitiates..  400,000\n     Nantes, a house...........100,000\n     Quimper, ditto...........  40,000\n     Laval, house and church......  150,000\n     Rennes, a house..........  20,000\n     Vannes, ditto...........  20,000\n     Metz, ditto............  40,000\n     Strasbourg............   60,000\n     Rouen, ditto...........   15,000\n\n\"By this it appears that these various items amount to little less than\ntwo millions. Teaching, moreover, is another important source of revenue\nto the Jesuits. The college at Broyclette alone brings in 200,000\nfrancs. The two provinces in France (for the general of the Jesuits at\nRome has divided France into two provinces, Lyons and Paris) possess,\nbesides a large sum in ready money, Austrian bonds of more than 260,000\nfrancs. Their Propagation of Faith furnishes annually some 50,000\nfrancs; and the harvest which the priests collect by their sermons\namounts to 150,000 francs. The alms given for charity may be estimated\nat the same figure, producing together a revenue of 540,000 francs. Now,\nto this revenue may be added the produce of the sale of the Society's\nworks, and the profit obtained by hawking pictures. Each plate costs,\ndesign and engraving included, about 600 francs, off which are struck\nabout 10,000 copies, at 40 francs per thousand, and there is a further\nexpense of 250 francs to their publisher; and they obtain a net profit\nof 210 francs on every thousand. This, indeed, is working to advantage.\nAnd it can easily be imagined with what rapidity all these are sold. The\nfathers themselves are the travellers for the Society, and it would be\ndifficult to find more zealous or persevering ones. They are always well\nreceived, and do not know what it is to meet with a refusal. They always\ntake care that the publisher should be one of their own body. The first\nperson whom they selected for this occupation was one of their members,\npossessing some money; but they were obliged, notwithstanding, to make\ncertain advances to enable him to defray the expenses of its first\nestablishment. But, when they became fully convinced of the success of\ntheir undertaking, they suddenly called in these advances, which the\npublisher was not in a condition to pay. They were perfectly aware of\nthis, and superseded him by a wealthy successor, with whom they could\nmake a better bargain; and thus, without remorse, they ruined the\nman, by thrusting him from an appointment of which they had morally\nguaranteed the continuance.\"\n\n(12) Louis XIV., the great King, punished with the Galleys those\nProtestants who, once converted, often by force, afterwards returned\nto their first belief. As for those Protestants who remained in France,\nnotwithstanding the rigor of the edicts against them, they were deprived\nof burial, dragged upon a hurdle, and given to the dogs.--E. S.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV. THE THUG.\n\nAfter a moment's silence, Father d'Aigrigny resumed \"Read me to-day's\nreport on the situation of each of the persons designated.\"\n\n\"Here is that of this evening; it has just come.\"\n\n\"Let us hear.\"\n\nRodin read as follows: \"Jacques Rennepont, alias Sleepinbuff, was seen\nin the interior of the debtors' prison at eight o'clock this evening.\"\n\n\"He will not disturb us to-morrow. One; go on.\"\n\n\"The lady superior of St. Mary's Convent, warned by the Princess\nde Saint-Dizier, has thought fit to confine still more strictly the\nDemoiselles Rose and Blanche Simon. This evening, at nine o'clock, they\nhave been carefully locked in their cells, and armed men will make their\nround in the convent garden during the night.\"\n\n\"Thanks to these precautions, there is nothing to fear from that side,\"\nsaid Father d'Aigrigny. \"Go on.\"\n\n\"Dr. Baleinier, also warned by the Princess de Saint-Dizier, continues\nto have Mdlle. de Cardoville very closely watched. At a quarter to nine\nthe door of the building in which she is lodged was locked and bolted.\"\n\n\"That is still another cause the less for uneasiness.\"\n\n\"As for M. Hardy,\" resumed Rodin \"I have received this morning, from\nToulouse, a letter from his intimate friend, M. de Bressac, who has been\nof such service to us in keeping the manufacturer away for some\ndays longer. This letter contains a note, addressed by M. Hardy to a\nconfidential person, which M. de Bressac has thought fit to intercept,\nand send to us as another proof of the success of the steps he has\ntaken, and for which he hopes we shall give him credit--as to serve us,\nhe adds, he betrays his friend in the most shameful manner, and acts a\npart in an odious comedy. M. de Bressac trusts that, in return for these\ngood offices, we will deliver up to him those papers, which place him\nin our absolute dependence, as they might ruin for ever a woman he loves\nwith an adulterous passion. He says that we ought to have pity on the\nhorrible alternative in which he is placed--either to dishonor and ruin\nthe woman he adores, or infamously to betray the confidence of his bosom\nfriend.\"\n\n\"These adulterous lamentations are not deserving of pity,\" answered\nFather d'Aigrigny, with contempt. \"We will see about that; M. de Bressac\nmay still be useful to us. But let us hear this letter of M. Hardy, that\nimpious and republican manufacturer, worthy descendant of an accursed\nrace, whom it is of the first importance to keep away.\"\n\n\"Here is M. Hardy's letter,\" resumed Rodin. \"To-morrow, we will send it\nto the person to whom it is addressed.\" Rodin read as follows:\n\n\"TOULOUSE, February the 10th.\n\n\"At length I find a moment to write to you, and to explain the cause\nof the sudden departure which, without alarming, must at least have\nastonished you. I write also to ask you a service; the facts may be\nstated in a few words. I have often spoken to you of Felix de Bressac,\none of my boyhood mates, though not nearly so old as myself. We have\nalways loved each other tenderly, and have shown too many proofs of\nmutual affection not to count upon one another. He is a brother to me.\nYou know all I mean by that expression. Well--a few days ago, he wrote\nto me from Toulouse, where he was to spend some time: 'If you love me,\ncome; I have the greatest need of you. At once! Your consolations\nmay perhaps give me the courage to live. If you arrive too late--why,\nforgive me--and think sometimes of him who will be yours to the last.'\nJudge of my grief and fear on receipt of the above. I seat instantly\nfor post-horses. My old foreman, whom I esteem and revere (the father of\nGeneral Simon), hearing that I was going to the south, begged me to take\nhim with me, and to leave him for some days in the department of the\nCreuse, to examine some ironworks recently founded there. I consented\nwillingly to this proposition, as I should thus at least have some one\nto whom I could pour out the grief and anxiety which had been caused\nby this letter from Bressac. I arrive at Toulouse; they tell me that\nhe left the evening before, taking arms with him, a prey to the most\nviolent despair. It was impossible at first to tell whither he had gone;\nafter two days, some indications, collected with great trouble, put me\nupon his track. At last, after a thousand adventures, I found him in a\nmiserable village. Never--no, never, have I seen despair like this.\nNo violence, but a dreadful dejection, a savage silence. At first, he\nalmost repulsed me; then, this horrible agony having reached its height,\nhe softened by degrees, and, in about a quarter of an hour, threw\nhimself into my arms, bathed in tears. Beside him were his loaded\npistols: one day later, and all would have been over. I cannot tell you\nthe reason of his despair; I am not at liberty to do so; but it did not\ngreatly astonish me. Now there is a complete cure to effect. We must\ncalm, and soothe, and heal this poor soul, which has been cruelly\nwounded. The hand of friendship is alone equal to this delicate task,\nand I have good hope of success. I have therefore persuaded him to\ntravel for some time; movement and change of scene will be favorable to\nhim. I shall take him first to Nice; we set out tomorrow. If he wishes\nto prolong this excursion. I shall do so too, for my affairs do not\nimperiously demand my presence in Paris before the end of March. As\nfor the service I have to ask of you, it is conditional. These are the\nfacts. According to some family papers that belonged to my mother,\nit seems I have a certain interest to present myself at No. 3, Rue\nSaint-Francois, in Paris, on the 13th of February. I had inquired about\nit, and could learn nothing, except that this house of very antique\nappearance, has been shut up for the last hundred and fifty years,\nthrough a whim of one of my maternal ancestors, and that it is to be\nopened on the 13th of this month, in presence of the co-heirs who, if\nI have any, are quite unknown to me. Not being able to attend myself, I\nhave written to my foreman, the father of General Simon, in whom I have\nthe greatest confidence, and whom I had left behind in the department\nof the Creuse, to set out for Paris, and to be present at the opening\nof this house, not as an agent (which would be useless), but as a\nspectator, and inform me at Nice what has been the result of this\nromantic notion of my ancestor's. As it is possible that my foreman may\narrive too late to accomplish this mission, I should be much obliged\nif you would inquire at my house at Plessy, if he has yet come, and,\nin case of his still being absent, if you would take his place at the\nopening of the house in the Rue Saint-Francois. I believe that I have\nmade a very small sacrifice for my friend Bressac, in not being in Paris\non that day. But had the sacrifice been immense, I should have made it\nwith pleasure, for my care and friendship are at present most necessary\nto the man whom I look upon as a brother. I count upon your compliance\nwith my request, and, begging you to be kind enough to write me, 'to\nbe called for,' at Nice, the result of your visit of inquiry, I remain,\netc., etc.\n\n\"FRANCIS HARDY.\"\n\n\"Though his presence cannot be of any great importance, it would be\npreferable that Marshal Simon's father should not attend at the opening\nof this house to-morrow,\" said Father d'Aigrigny. \"But no matter. M.\nHardy himself is out of the way. There only remains the young Indian.\"\n\n\"As for him,\" continued the abbe, with a thoughtful air, \"we acted\nwisely in letting M. Norval set out with the presents of Mdlle. de\nCardoville. The doctor who accompanies M. Norval, and who was chosen by\nM. Baleinier, will inspire no suspicion?\"\n\n\"None,\" answered Rodin. \"His letter of yesterday is completely\nsatisfactory.\"\n\n\"There is nothing, then, to fear from the Indian prince,\" said\nD'Aigrigny. \"All goes well.\"\n\n\"As for Gabriel,\" resumed Rodin, \"he has again written this morning, to\nobtain from your reverence the interview that he has vainly solicited\nfor the last three days. He is affected by the rigor exercised towards\nhim, in forbidding him to leave the house for these five days past.\"\n\n\"To-morrow, when we take him to the Rue Saint-Francois, I will hear what\nhe has to say. It will be time enough. Thus, at this hour,\" said Father\nd'Aigrigny, with an air of triumphant satisfaction, \"all the descendants\nof this family, whose presence might ruin our projects, are so\nplaced that it is absolutely impossible for them to be at the Rue\nSaint-Francois to-morrow before noon, while Gabriel will be sure to be\nthere. At last our end is gained.\"\n\nTwo cautious knocks at the door interrupted Father d'Aigrigny. \"Come\nin,\" said he.\n\nAn old servant in black presented himself, and said: \"There is a man\ndownstairs who wishes to speak instantly to M. Rodin on very urgent\nbusiness.\"\n\n\"His name?\" asked Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"He would not tell his name; but he says that he comes from M. Van Dael,\na merchant in Java.\"\n\nFather d'Aigrigny and Rodin exchanged a glance of surprise, almost of\nalarm.\n\n\"See what this man is,\" said D'Aigrigny to Rodin, unable to conceal\nhis uneasiness, \"and then come and give me an account of it.\" Then,\naddressing the servant, he added: \"Show him in\"--and exchanging\nanother expressive sign with Rodin, Father d'Aigrigny disappeared by a\nside-door.\n\nA minute after, Faringhea, the ex-chief of the Stranglers, appeared\nbefore Rodin, who instantly remembered having seen him at Cardoville\nCastle.\n\nThe socius started, but he did not wish to appear to recollect his\nvisitor. Still bending over his desk, he seemed not to seen Faringhea,\nbut wrote hastily some words on a sheet of paper that lay before him.\n\n\"Sir,\" said the servant, astonished at the silence of Rodin, \"here is\nthe person.\"\n\nRodin folded the note that he had so precipitately written, and said to\nthe servant: \"Let this be taken to its address. Wait for an answer.\"\n\nThe servant bowed, and went out. Then Rodin, without rising, fixed his\nlittle reptile-eyes on Faringhea, and said to him courteously: \"To whom,\nsir, have I the honor of speaking?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI. THE TWO BROTHERS OF THE GOOD WORK.\n\nFaringhea, as we have before stated, though born in India, had travelled\na good deal, and frequented the European factories in different parts\nof Asia. Speaking well both English and French, and full of intelligence\nand sagacity, he was perfectly civilized.\n\nInstead of answering Rodin's question, he turned upon him a fixed and\nsearching look. The socius, provoked by this silence, and forseeing\nvaguely that Faringhea's arrival had some connection--direct or\nindirect--with Djalma, repeated, though still with the greatest\ncoolness: \"To whom, sir, have I the honor of speaking?\"\n\n\"Do you not recognize me,\" said Faringhea, advancing two steps nearer to\nRodin's chair.\n\n\"I do not think I have ever had the honor of seeing you,\" answered the\nother, coldly.\n\n\"But I recognize you,\" said Faringhea; \"I saw you at Cardoville Castle\nthe day that a ship and a steamer were wrecked together.\"\n\n\"At Cardoville Castle? It is very possible, sir. I was there when a\nshipwreck took place.\"\n\n\"And that day I called you by your name, and you asked me what I\nwanted. I replied: 'Nothing now, brother--hereafter, much.' The time has\narrived. I have come to ask for much.\"\n\n\"My dear sir,\" said Rodin, still impassible, \"before we continue this\nconversation, which appears hitherto tolerably obscure, I must repeat my\nwish to be informed to whom I have the advantage of speaking. You have\nintroduced yourself here under pretext of a commission from Mynheer\nJoshua Van Dael, a respectable merchant of Batavia, and--\"\n\n\"You know the writing of M. Van Dael?\" said Faringhea, interrupting\nRodin.\n\n\"I know it perfectly.\"\n\n\"Look!\" The half-caste drew from his pocket (he was shabbily dressed in\nEuropean clothes) a long dispatch, which he had taken from one Mahal the\nSmuggler, after strangling him on the beach near Batavia. These papers\nhe placed before Rodin's eyes, but without quitting his hold of them.\n\n\"It is, indeed, M. Van Dael's writing,\" said Rodin, and he stretched\nout his hard towards the letter, which Faringhea quickly and prudently\nreturned to his pocket.\n\n\"Allow me to observe, my dear sir, that you have a singular manner of\nexecuting a commission,\" said Rodin. \"This letter, being to my address,\nand having been entrusted to you by M. Van Dael, you ought--\"\n\n\"This letter was not entrusted to me by M. Van Dael,\" said Faringhea,\ninterrupting Rodin.\n\n\"How, then, is it in your possession?\"\n\n\"A Javanese smuggler betrayed me. Van Dael had secured a passage to\nAlexandria for this man, and had given him this letter to carry with him\nfor the European mail. I strangled the smuggler, took the letter, made\nthe passage--and here I am.\"\n\nThe Thug had pronounced these words with an air of savage boasting; his\nwild, intrepid glance did not quail before the piercing look of Rodin,\nwho, at this strange confession, had hastily raised his head to observe\nthe speaker.\n\nFaringhea thought to astonish or intimidate Rodin by these ferocious\nwords; but, to his great surprise, the socius, impassible as a corpse,\nsaid to him, quite simply: \"Oh! they strangle people in Java?\"\n\n\"Yes, there and elsewhere,\" answered Faringhea, with a bitter smile.\n\n\"I would prefer to disbelieve you; but I am surprised at your sincerity\nM.--, what is your name?\"\n\n\"Faringhea.\"\n\n\"Well, then, M. Faringhea, what do you wish to come to? You have\nobtained by an abominable crime, a letter addressed to me, and now you\nhesitate to deliver it.\"\n\n\"Because I have read it, and it may be useful to me.\"\n\n\"Oh! you have read it?\" said Rodin, disconcerted for a moment. Then he\nresumed: \"It is true, that judging by your mode of possessing yourself\nof other people's correspondence, we cannot expect any great amount of\nhonesty on your part. And pray what have you found so useful to you in\nthis letter?\"\n\n\"I have found, brother, that you are, like myself, a son of the Good\nWork.\"\n\n\"Of what good work do you speak\" asked Rodin not a little surprised.\n\nFaringhea replied with an expression of bitter irony. \"Joshua says to\nyou in his letter--'Obedience and courage, secrecy and patience, craft\nand audacity, union between us, who have the world for our country, the\nbrethren for our family, Rome for our queen.'\"\n\n\"It is possible that M. Van Dael has written thus to me Pray, sir, what\ndo you conclude from it?\"\n\n\"We, too, have the world for our country, brother, our accomplices for\nour family, and for our queen Bowanee.\"\n\n\"I do not know that saint,\" said Rodin, humbly.\n\n\"It is our Rome,\" answered the Strangler. \"Van Dael speaks to you of\nthose of your Order, who, scattered over all the earth, labor for\nthe glory of Rome, your queen. Those of our band labor also in divers\ncountries, for the glory of Bowanee.\"\n\n\"And who are these sons of Bowanee, M. Faringhea?\"\n\n\"Men of resolution, audacious, patient, crafty, obstinate, who, to make\nthe Good Work succeed, would sacrifice country and parents, and sister\nand brother, and who regard as enemies all not of their band!\"\n\n\"There seems to be much that is good in the persevering and exclusively\nreligious spirit of such an order,\" said Rodin, with a modest and\nsanctified air; \"only, one must know your ends and objects.\"\n\n\"The same as your own, brother--we make corpses.\"(13)\n\n\"Corpses!\" cried Rodin.\n\n\"In this letter,\" resumed Faringhea, \"Van Dael tells you that the\ngreatest glory of your Order is to make 'a corpse of man.' Our work also\nis to make corpses of men. Man's death is sweet to Bowanee.\"\n\n\"But sir,\" cried Rodin, \"M. Van Dael speaks of the soul, of the will, of\nthe mind, which are to be brought down by discipline.\"\n\n\"It is true--you kill the soul, and we the body. Give me your hand,\nbrother, for you also are hunters of men.\"\n\n\"But once more, sir,--understand, that we only meddle with the will, the\nmind,\" said Rodin.\n\n\"And what are bodies deprived of soul, will, thought, but mere corpses?\nCome--come, brother; the dead we make by the cord are not more icy and\ninanimate than those you make by your discipline. Take my hand, brother;\nRome and Bowanee are sisters.\"\n\nNotwithstanding his apparent calmness, Rodin could not behold, without\nsome secret alarm, a wretch like Faringhea in possession of a long\nletter from Van Dael, wherein mention must necessarily have been made of\nDjalma. Rodin believed, indeed, that he had rendered it impossible for\nthe young Indian to be at Paris on the morrow, but not knowing what\nconnection might have been formed, since the shipwreck, between the\nprince and the half-caste, he looked upon Faringhea as a man who might\nprobably be very dangerous. But the more uneasy the socius felt in\nhimself, the more he affected to appear calm and disdainful. He replied,\ntherefore: \"This comparison between Rome and Bowanee is no doubt very\namusing; but what, sir, do you deduce from it?\"\n\n\"I wish to show you, brother, what I am, and of what I am capable, to\nconvince you that it is better to have me for a friend than an enemy.\"\n\n\"In other terms, sir,\" said Rodin, with contemptuous irony, \"you belong\nto a murderous sect in India, and, you wish, by a transparent allegory,\nto lead me to reflect on the fate of the man from whom you have stolen\nthe letter addressed to me. In my turn, I will take the freedom just\nto observe to you, in all humility, M. Faringhea, that here it is not\npermitted to strangle anybody, and that if you were to think fit to make\nany corpses for the love of Bowanee, your goddess, we should make you a\nhead shorter, for the love of another divinity commonly called justice.\"\n\n\"And what would they do to me, if I tried to poison any one?\"\n\n\"I will again humbly observe to you, M. Faringhea, that I have no time\nto give you a course of criminal jurisprudence; but, believe me, you\nhad better resist the temptation to strangle or poison any one. One word\nmore: will you deliver up to me the letters of M. Van Dael, or not?\"\n\n\"The letters relative to Prince Djalma?\" said the half-caste, looking\nfixedly at Rodin, who, notwithstanding a sharp and sudden twinge,\nremained impenetrable, and answered with the utmost simplicity: \"Not\nknowing what the letters which you, sir, are pleased to keep from me,\nmay contain, it is impossible for me to answer your question. I beg, and\nif necessary, I demand, that you will hand me those letters--or that you\nwill retire.\"\n\n\"In a few minutes, brother, you will entreat me to remain.\"\n\n\"I doubt it.\"\n\n\"A few words will operate--this miracle. If just now I spoke to you\nabout poisoning, brother, it was because you sent a doctor to Cardoville\nCastle, to poison (at least for a time) Prince Djalma.\"\n\nIn spite of himself, Rodin started almost imperceptibly, as he replied:\n\"I do not understand you.\"\n\n\"It is true, that I am a poor foreigner, and doubtless speak with an\naccent; I will try and explain myself better. I know, by Van Dael's\nletters, the interest you have that Prince Djalma should not be here to\nmorrow, and all that you have done with this view. Do you understand me\nnow?\"\n\n\"I have no answer for you.\"\n\nTwo cautious taps at the door here interrupted the conversation. \"Come\nin,\" said Rodin.\n\n\"The letter has been taken to its address, sir,\" said the old servant,\nbowing, \"and here is the answer.\"\n\nRodin took the paper, and, before he opened it, said courteously to\nFaringhea: \"With your permission, sir?\"\n\n\"Make no ceremonies,\" said the half-caste.\n\n\"You are very kind,\" replied Rodin, as, having read the letter he\nreceived, he wrote hastily some words at the bottom, saying: \"Send this\nback to the same address.\"\n\nThe servant bowed respectfully, and withdrew.\n\n\"Now can I continue\"' asked the half-caste, of Rodin.\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"I will continue, then,\" resumed Faringhea:\n\n\"The day before yesterday, just as the prince, all wounded as he\nwas, was about, by my advice, to take his departure for Paris, a fine\ncarriage arrived, with superb presents for Djalma, from an unknown\nfriend. In this carriage were two men--one sent by the unknown\nfriend--the other a doctor, sent by you to attend upon Djalma, and\naccompany him to Paris. It was a charitable act, brother--was it not\nso?\"\n\n\"Go on with your story, sir.\"\n\n\"Djalma set out yesterday. By declaring that the prince's wound would\ngrow seriously worse, if he did not lie down in the carriage during all\nthe journey, the doctor got rid of the envoy of the unknown friend, who\nwent away by himself. The doctor wished to get rid of me too; but Djalma\nso strongly insisted upon it, that I accompanied the prince and doctor.\nYesterday evening, we had come about half the distance. The doctor\nproposed we should pass the night at an inn. 'We have plenty of time,'\nsaid he, 'to reach Paris by to-morrow evening'--the prince having told\nhim, that he must absolutely be in Paris by the evening of the 12th. The\ndoctor had been very pressing to set out alone with the prince. I knew\nby Van Dael's letter, that it was of great importance to you for Djalma\nnot to be here on the 13th; I had my suspicions, and I asked the\ndoctor if he knew you; he answered with an embarrassed air, and then my\nsuspicion became certainty. When we reached the inn, whilst the doctor\nwas occupied with Djalma, I went up to the room of the former, and\nexamined a box full of phials that he had brought with him. One of them\ncontained opium--and then I guessed--\"\n\n\"What did you guess, sir?\"\n\n\"You shall know. The doctor said to Djalma, before he left him: 'Your\nwound is doing well, but the fatigue of the journey might bring on\ninflammation; it will be good for you, in the course of to-morrow, to\ntake a soothing potion, that I will make ready this evening, to have\nwith us in the carriage.' The doctor's plan was a simple one,\" added\nFaringhea; \"to-day the prince was to take the potion at four or five\no'clock in the afternoon--and fall into a deep sleep--the doctor to grow\nuneasy, and stop the carriage--to declare that it would be dangerous to\ncontinue the journey--to pass the night at an inn, and keep close watch\nover the prince, whose stupor was only, to cease when it suited your\npurposes. That was your design--it was cleverly planned--I chose to make\nuse of it myself, and I have succeeded.\"\n\n\"All that you are talking about, my dear sir,\" said Rodin, biting his\nnails, \"is pure Hebrew to me.\"\n\n\"No doubt, because of my accent. But tell me, have you heard speak of\narray--mow?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Your loss! It is an admirable production of the Island of Java, so\nfertile in poisons.\"\n\n\"What is that to me?\" said Rodin, in a sharp voice, but hardly able to\ndissemble his growing anxiety.\n\n\"It concerns you nearly. We sons of Bowanee have a horror of shedding\nblood,\" resumed Faringhea; \"to pass the cord round the neck of our\nvictims, we wait till they are asleep. When their sleep is not deep\nenough, we know how to make it deeper. We are skillful at our work; the\nserpent is not more cunning, or the lion more valiant, Djalma himself\nbears our mark. The array-mow is an impalpable powder, and, by letting\nthe sleeper inhale a few grains of it, or by mixing it with the tobacco\nto be smoked by a waking man, we can throw our victim into a stupor,\nfrom which nothing will rouse him. If we fear to administer too strong a\ndose at once, we let the sleeper inhale a little at different times, and\nwe can thus prolong the trance at pleasure, and without any danger,\nas long as a man does not require meat and drink--say, thirty or\nforty hours. You see, that opium is mere trash compared to this divine\nnarcotic. I had brought some of this with me from Java--as a mere\ncuriosity, you know--without forgetting the counter poison.\"\n\n\"Oh! there is a counter-poison, then?\" said Rodin, mechanically.\n\n\"Just as there are people quite contrary to what we are, brother of\nthe good work. The Javanese call the juice of this root tooboe; it\ndissipates the stupor caused by the array-mow, as the sun disperses the\nclouds. Now, yesterday evening, being certain of the projects of your\nemissary against Djalma, I waited till the doctor was in bed and\nasleep. I crept into his room, and made him inhale such a dose of\narray-mow--that he is probably sleeping still.\"\n\n\"Miscreant!\" cried Rodin, more and more alarmed by this narrative, for\nFaringhea had dealt a terrible blow at the machinations of the socius\nand his friends. \"You risk poisoning the doctor.\"\n\n\"Yes, brother; just as he ran the risk of poisoning Djalma. This morning\nwe set out, leaving your doctor at the inn, plunged in a deep sleep.\nI was alone in the carriage with Djalma. He smoked like a true Indian;\nsome grains of array-mow, mixed with the tobacco in his long pipe, first\nmade him drowsy; a second dose, that he inhaled, sent him to sleep; and\nso I left him at the inn where we stopped. Now, brother, it depends\nupon me, to leave Djalma in his trance, which will last till to-morrow\nevening or to rouse him from it on the instant. Exactly as you\ncomply with my demands or not, Djalma will or will not be in the Rue\nSaint-Francois to morrow.\"\n\nSo saying, Faringhea drew from his pocket the medal belonging to Djalma,\nand observed, as he showed it to Rodin: \"You see that I tell you\nthe truth. During Djalma's sleep, took from him this medal, the only\nindication he has of the place where he ought to be to-morrow. I finish,\nthen as I began: Brother, I have come to ask you for a great deal.\"\n\nFor some minutes, Rodin had been biting his nails to the quick, as was\nhis custom when seized with a fit of dumb and concentrated rage. Just\nthen, the bell of the porter's lodge rang three times in a particular\nmanner. Rodin did not appear to notice it, and yet a sudden light\nsparkled in his small reptile eyes; while Faringhea, with his arms\nfolded, looked at him with an expression of triumph and disdainful\nsuperiority. The socius bent down his head, remained silent for some\nseconds, took mechanically a pen from his desk, and began to gnaw the\nfeather, as if in deep reflection upon what Faringhea had just said.\nThen, throwing down the pen upon the desk, he turned suddenly towards\nthe half-caste, and addressed him with an air of profound contempt \"Now,\nreally, M. Faringhea--do you think to make game of us with your cock-and\nbull stories?\"\n\nAmazed, in spite of his audacity, the half-caste recoiled a step.\n\n\"What, sir!\" resumed Rodin. \"You come here into a respectable house,\nto boast that you have stolen letters, strangled this man, drugged that\nother?--Why, sir, it is downright madness. I wished to hear you to the\nend, to see to what extent you would carry your audacity--for none but a\nmonstrous rascal would venture to plume himself on such infamous crimes.\nBut I prefer believing, that they exist only in your imagination.\"\n\nAs he barked out these words, with a degree of animation not usual\nin him, Rodin rose from his seat, and approached the chimney, while\nFaringhea, who had not yet recovered from his surprise, looked at him\nin silence. In a few seconds, however, the half-caste returned, with a\ngloomy and savage mien: \"Take care, brother; do not force me to prove to\nyou that I have told the truth.\"\n\n\"Come, come, sir; you must be fresh from the Antipodes, to believe us\nFrenchmen such easy dupes. You have, you say, the prudence of a serpent,\nand the courage of a lion. I do not know if you are a courageous lion,\nbut you are certainly not a prudent serpent. What! you have about you a\nletter from M. Van Dael, by which I might be compromised--supposing all\nthis not to be a fable--you have left Prince Djalma in a stupor, which\nwould serve my projects, and from which you alone can rouse him--you are\nable, you say, to strike a terrible blow at my interests--and yet you do\nnot consider (bold lion! crafty serpent as you are!) that I only want to\ngain twenty-four hours upon you. Now, you come from the end of India to\nParis, an unknown stranger--you believe me to be as great a scoundrel as\nyourself,--since you call me brother--and do not once consider, that you\nare here in my power--that this street and house are solitary, and\nthat I could have three or four persons to bind you in a second, savage\nStrangler though you are!--and that just by pulling this bell-rope,\"\nsaid Rodin, as he took it in his hand. \"Do not be alarmed,\" added he,\nwith a diabolical smile, as he saw Faringhea make an abrupt movement of\nsurprise and fright; \"would I give you notice, if I meant to act in\nthis manner?--But just answer me. Once bound and put in confinement for\ntwenty-four hours, how could you injure me? Would it not be easy for\nme to possess myself of Van Dael's letter, and Djalma's medal? and the\nlatter, plunged in a stupor till to-morrow evening, need not trouble me\nat all. You see, therefore, that your threats are vain because they rest\nupon falsehood--because it is not true, that Prince Djalma is here and\nin your power. Begone, sir--leave the house; and when next you wish to\nmake dupes, show more judgment in the selection.\"\n\nFaringhea seemed struck with astonishment. All that he had just heard\nseemed very probable. Rodin might seize upon him, the letter, and the\nmedal, and, by keeping him prisoner, prevent Djalma from being awakened.\nAnd yet Rodin ordered him to leave the house, at the moment when\nFaringhea had imagined himself so formidable. As he thought for\nthe motives of this inexplicable conduct, it struck him that Rodin,\nnotwithstanding the proofs he had brought him, did not yet believe that\nDjalma was in his power. On that theory, the contempt of Van Dael's\ncorrespondent admitted of a natural explanation. But Rodin was playing a\nbold and skillful game; and, while he appeared to mutter to himself,\nas in anger, he was observing, with intense anxiety, the Strangler's\ncountenance.\n\nThe latter, almost certain that he had divined the secret motive of\nRodin, replied: \"I am going--but one word more. You think I deceive\nyou?\"\n\n\"I am certain of it. You have told me nothing but a tissue of fables,\nand I have lost much time in listening to them. Spare me the rest; it is\nlate--and I should like to be alone.\"\n\n\"One minute more: you are a man, I see, from whom nothing should be\nhid,\" said Faringhea, \"from Djalma, I could now only expect alms and\ndisdain--for, with a character like this, to say to him, 'Pay me,\nbecause I might have betrayed you and did not,' would be to provoke his\nanger and contempt. I could have killed him twenty times over, but his\nday is not yet come,\" said the Thug, with a gloomy air; \"and to wait for\nthat and other fatal days, I must have gold, much gold. You alone can\npay me for the betrayal of Djalma, for you alone profit by it. You\nrefuse to hear me, because you think I am deceiving you. But I took the\ndirection of the inn where we stopped--and here it is. Send some one to\nascertain the truth of what I tell you, and then you will believe me.\nBut the price of my services will be high; for I told you that I wanted\nmuch.\"\n\nSo saying, Faringhea offered a printed card to Rodin: the socius, who,\nout of the corner of his eye, followed all the half-caste's movements,\nappeared to be absorbed in thought, and taking no heed of anything.\n\n\"Here is the address,\" repeated Faringhea, as he held out the card to\nRodin; \"assure yourself that I do not lie.\"\n\n\"Eh? what is it?\" said the other, casting a rapid but stolen glance at\nthe address, which he read greedily, without touching the card.\n\n\"Take this address,\" repeated the half-caste, \"and you may then assure\nyourself--\"\n\n\"Really, sir,\" cried Rodin, pushing back the card with his hand, \"your\nimpudence confounds me. I repeat that I wish to have nothing in common\nwith you. For the last time, I tell you to leave the house. I know\nnothing about your Prince Djalma. You say you can injure me--do so--make\nno ceremonies--but, in heaven's name, leave me to myself.\"\n\nSo saying, Rodin rang the bell violently. Faringhea made a movement as\nif to stand upon the defensive; but only the old servant, with his quiet\nand placid mien, appeared at the door.\n\n\"Lapierre, light the gentleman out,\" said Rodin, pointing to Faringhea.\n\nTerrified at Rodin's calmness, the half-caste hesitated to leave the\nroom.\n\n\"Why do you wait, sir?\" said Rodin, remarking his hesitation. \"I wish to\nbe alone.\"\n\n\"So, sir,\" said Faringhea, as he withdrew, slowly, \"you refuse my\noffers? Take care! to-morrow it will be too late.\"\n\n\"I have the honor to be your most humble servant, sir,\" said Rodin,\nbowing courteously. The Strangler went out, and the door closed upon\nhim.\n\nImmediately, Father d'Aigrigny entered from the next room. His\ncountenance was pale and agitated.\n\n\"What have you done?\" exclaimed he addressing Rodin.\n\n\"I have heard all. I am unfortunately too sure that this wretch spoke\nthe truth. The Indian is in his power, and he goes to rejoin him.\"\n\n\"I think not,\" said Rodin, humbly, as bowing, he reassumed his dull and\nsubmissive countenance.\n\n\"What will prevent this man from rejoining the prince?\"\n\n\"Allow me. As soon as the rascal was shown in, I knew him; and so,\nbefore speaking a word to him, I wrote a few lines to Morok, who was\nwaiting below with Goliath till your reverence should be at leisure.\nAfterwards, in the course of the conversation, when they brought me\nMorok's answer, I added some fresh instructions, seeing the turn that\naffairs were taking.\"\n\n\"And what was the use of all this, since you have let the man leave the\nhouse?\"\n\n\"Your reverence will perhaps deign to observe that he did not leave it;\ntill he had given me the direction of the hotel where the Indian now is,\nthanks to my innocent stratagem of appearing to despise him. But, if it\nhad failed, Faringhea would still have fallen into the hands of Goliath\nand Morok, who are waiting for him in the street, a few steps from the\ndoor. Only we should have been rather embarrassed, as we should not have\nknown where to find Prince Djalma.\"\n\n\"More violence!\" said Father d'Aigrigny, with repugnance.\n\n\"It is to be regretted, very much regretted,\" replied Rodin; \"but it was\nnecessary to follow out the system already adopted.\"\n\n\"Is that meant for a reproach?\" said Father d'Aigrigny, who began to\nthink that Rodin was something more than a mere writing-machine.\n\n\"I could not permit myself to blame your reverence,\" said Rodin,\ncringing almost to the ground. \"But all that will be required is to\nconfine this man for twenty-four hours.\"\n\n\"And afterwards--his complaints?\"\n\n\"Such a scoundrel as he is will not dare to complain. Besides, he left\nthis house in freedom. Morok and Goliath will bandage his eyes when they\nseize him. The house has another entrance in the Rue Vieille-des-Ursins.\nAt this hour, and in such a storm, no one will be passing through this\ndeserted quarter of the town. The knave will be confused by the change\nof place; they will put him into a cellar, of the new building, and to\nmorrow night, about the same hour, they will restore him to liberty with\nthe like precautions. As for the East Indian, we now know where to find\nhim; we must send to him a confidential person, and, if he recovers from\nhis trance, there would be, in my humble opinion,\" said Rodin, modestly,\n\"a very simple and quiet manner of keeping him away from the Rue Saint\nFrancois all day to-morrow.\"\n\nThe same servant with the mild countenance, who had introduced and shown\nout Faringhea, here entered the room, after knocking discreetly at the\ndoor. He held in his hand a sort of game-bag, which he gave to Rodin,\nsaying: \"Here is what M. Morok has just brought; he came in by the Rue\nVieille.\"\n\nThe servant withdrew, and Rodin, opening the bag, said to Father\nd'Aigrigny, as he showed him the contents: \"The medal, and Van Dael's\nletter. Morok has been quick at his work.\"\n\n\"One more danger avoided,\" said the marquis; \"it is a pity to be forced\nto such measures.\"\n\n\"We must only blame the rascal who has obliged us to have recourse to\nthem. I will send instantly to the hotel where the Indian lodges.\"\n\n\"And, at seven in the morning, you will conduct Gabriel to the Rue Saint\nFrancois. It is there that I must have with him the interview which he\nhas so earnestly demanded these three days.\"\n\n\"I informed him of it this evening, and he awaits your orders.\"\n\n\"At last, then,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, \"after so many struggles, and\nfears, and crosses, only a few hours separate us from the moment which\nwe have so long desired.\"\n\nWe now conduct the reader to the house in the Rue Saint-Francois.\n\n(13) The doctrine of passive and absolute obedience, the principal tool\nin the hands of the Jesuits, as summed up in these terrible words of the\ndying Loyola--that every member of the order should be in the hands of\nhis superiors as a dead body--'perinde ad cadaver'.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII. THE HOUSE IN THE RUE SAINT-FRANCOIS.\n\nOn entering the Rue Saint-Gervais, by the Rue Dore (in the Marais),\nyou would have found yourself, at the epoch of this narrative, directly\nopposite to an enormously high wall, the stones of which were black and\nworm-eaten with age. This wall, which extended nearly the whole length\nof that solitary street, served to support a terrace shaded by trees\nof some hundred years old, which thus grew about forty feet above the\ncauseway. Through their thick branches appeared the stone front, peaked\nroof and tall brick chimneys of an antique house, the entrance of which\nwas situated in the Rue Saint-Francois, not far from the Rue Saint\nGervais corner. Nothing could be more gloomy than the exterior of this\nabode. On the entrance-side also was a very high wall, pierced with two\nor three loop-holes, strongly grated. A carriage gateway in massive oak,\nbarred with iron, and studded with large nail-heads, whose primitive\ncolor disappeared beneath a thick layer of mud, dust, and rust, fitted\nclose into the arch of a deep recess, forming the swell of a bay window\nabove. In one of these massive gates was a smaller door, which served\nfor ingress and egress to Samuel the Jew, the guardian of this dreary\nabode. On passing the threshold, you came to a passage, formed in the\nbuilding which faced in the street. In this building was the lodging of\nSamuel, with its windows opening upon the rather spacious inner court\nyard, through the railing of which you perceived the garden. In the\nmiddle of this garden stood a two-storied stone house, so strangely\nbuilt, that you had to mount a flight of steps, or rather a\ndouble-flight of at least twenty steps, to reach the door, which had\nbeen walled up a hundred and fifty years before. The window-blinds\nof this habitation had been replaced by large thick plates of lead,\nhermetically soldered and kept in by frames of iron clamped in the\nstone. Moreover, completely to intercept air and light, and thus to\nguard against decay within and without, the roof had been covered with\nthick sheets of lead, as well as the vents of the tall chimneys, which\nhad previously been bricked up. The same precautions had been taken with\nrespect to a small square belvedere, situated on the top of the house;\nthis glass cage was covered with a sort of dome, soldered to the roof.\nOnly, in consequence of some singular fancy, in every one of the leaden\nplates, which concealed the four sides of the belvedere, corresponding\nto the cardinal points, seven little round holes had been bored in\nthe form of a cross, and were easily distinguishable from the outside.\nEverywhere else the plates of lead were completely unpierced. Thanks\nto these precautions, and to the substantial structure of the\nbuilding, nothing but a few outward repairs had been necessary; and the\napartments, entirely removed from the influence of the external air, no\ndoubt remained, during a century and a half, exactly in the same state\nas at the time of their being shut up. The aspect of walls in crevices,\nof broken, worm-eaten shutters, of a roof half fallen in, and windows\ncovered with wall-flowers, would perhaps have been less sad than the\nappearance of this stone house, plated with iron and lead, and preserved\nlike a mausoleum. The garden, completely deserted, and only regularly\nvisited once a week by Samuel, presented to the view, particularly in\nsummer, an incredible confusion of parasites and brambles. The trees,\nleft to themselves, had shot forth and mingled their branches in all\ndirections; some straggling vines, reproduced from offshoots, had\ncrept along the ground to the foot of the trees, and, climbing up their\ntrunks, had twined themselves about them, and encircled their highest\nbranches with their inextricable net. You could only pass through this\nvirgin forest by following the path made by the guardian, to go from the\ngrating to the house, the approaches to which were a little sloped to\nlet the water run off, and carefully paved to the width of about ten\nfeet. Another narrow path which extended all around the enclosure, was\nevery night perambulated by two or three Pyrenees dogs--a faithful race,\nwhich had been perpetuated in the house during a century and a half.\nSuch was the habitation destined for the meeting of the descendants of\nthe family of Rennepont. The night which separated the 12th from the\n13th day of February was near its close. A calm had succeeded the storm,\nand the rain had ceased; the sky was clear and full of stars; the moon,\non its decline, shone with a mild lustre, and threw a melancholy light\nover that deserted, silent house, whose threshold for so many years no\nhuman footstep had crossed.\n\nA bright gleam of light, issuing from one of the windows of the\nguardian's dwelling, announced that Samuel was awake. Figure to yourself\na tolerably large room, lined from top to bottom with old walnut\nwainscoting browned to an almost black, with age. Two half-extinguished\nbrands are smoking amid the cinders on the hearth. On the stone\nmantelpiece, painted to resemble gray granite, stands an old iron\ncandlestick, furnished with a meagre candle, capped by an extinguisher.\nNear it one sees a pair of double-barrelled pistols, and a sharp\ncutlass, with a hilt of carved bronze, belonging to the seventeenth\ncentury. Moreover, a heavy rifle rests against one of the chimney jambs.\nFour stools, an old oak press, and a square table with twisted legs,\nformed the sole furniture of this apartment. Against the wall were\nsystematically suspended a number of keys of different sizes, the shape\nof which bore evidence to their antiquity, whilst to their rings were\naffixed divers labels. The back of the old press, which moved by a\nsecret spring, had been pushed aside, and discovered, built in the wall,\na large and deep iron chest, the lid of which, being open, displayed\nthe wondrous mechanism of one of those Florentine locks of the sixteenth\ncentury, which, better than any modern invention, set all picklocks\nat defiance; and, moreover, according to the notions of that age, are\nsupplied with a thick lining of asbestos cloth, suspended by gold wire\nat a distance from the sides of the chest, for the purpose of rendering\nincombustible the articles contained in it. A large cedar-wood box\nhad been taken from the chest, and placed upon a stool; it contained\nnumerous papers, carefully arranged and docketed. By the light of a\nbrass lamp, the old keeper Samuel, was writing in a small register,\nwhilst Bathsheba, his wife, was dictating to him from an account. Samuel\nwas about eighty two years old, and, notwithstanding his advanced age, a\nmass of gray curling hair covered his head. He was short, thin, nervous,\nand the involuntary petulance of his movements proved that years had not\nweakened his energy and activity; though, out of doors, where, however,\nhe made his appearance very seldom, he affected a sort of second\nchildhood, as had been remarked by Rodin to Father d'Aigrigny. An old\ndressing-gown, of maroon-colored camlet, with large sleeves, completely\nenveloped the old man, and reached to his feet.\n\nSamuel's features were cast in the pure, Eastern mould of his race. His\ncomplexion was of a dead yellow, his nose aquiline, his chin shaded by\na little tuft of white beard, while projecting cheek-bones threw a harsh\nshadow upon the hollow and wrinkled cheeks. His countenance was full of\nintelligence, fine sharpness, and sagacity. On his broad, high forehead\none might read frankness, honesty, and firmness; his eyes, black and\nbrilliant as an Arab's, were at once mild and piercing.\n\nHis wife, Bathsheba, some fifteen years younger than himself, was of\ntall stature, and dressed entirely in black. A low cap, of starched\nlawn, which reminded one of the grave head-dresses of Dutch matrons,\nencircled a pale and austere countenance, formerly of a rare and haughty\nbeauty, and impressed with the Scriptural character. Some lines in the\nforehead, caused by the almost continual knitting of her gray brows,\nshowed that this woman had often suffered from the pressure of intense\ngrief.\n\nAt this very moment her countenance betrayed inexpressible sorrow. Her\nlook was fixed, her head resting on her bosom. She had let her right\nhand, which held a small account-book, fall upon her lap, while the\nother hand grasped convulsively a long tress of jet-black hair, which\nshe bore about her neck. It was fastened by a golden clasp, about an\ninch square, in which, under a plate of crystal, that shut in one side\nof it like a relic-case, could be seen a piece of linen, folded square,\nand almost entirely covered with dark red spots that resembled blood a\nlong time dried.\n\nAfter a short silence, during which Samuel was occupied with his\nregister, he read aloud what he had just been writing: \"Per contra,\n5,000 Austrian Metallics of 1,000 florins, under date of October 19th,\n1826.\"\n\nAfter which enumeration, Samuel raised his head, and said to his wife:\n\"Well, is it right, Bathsheba? Have you compared it with the account\nbook?\"\n\nBathsheba did not answer. Samuel looked at her, and, seeing that she was\nabsorbed in grief, said to her, with an expression of tender anxiety:\n\"What is the matter? Good heaven! what is the matter with you?\"\n\n\"The 19th of October, 1826,\" said she, slowly, with her eyes still\nfixed, and pressing yet more closely the lock of black hair which she\nwore about her neck; \"It was a fatal day--for, Samuel, it was the date\nof the last letter which we received from--\"\n\nBathsheba was unable to proceed. She uttered a long sigh, and concealed\nher face in her hands.\n\n\"Oh! I understand you,\" observed the old man, in a tremulous voice; \"a\nfather may be taken up by the thought of other cares; but the heart of\na mother is ever wakeful.\" Throwing his pen down upon the table, Samuel\nleaned his forehead upon his hands in sorrow.\n\nBathsheba resumed, as if she found a melancholy pleasure in these cruel\nremembrances: \"Yes; that was the last day on which our son, Abel, wrote\nto us from Germany, to announce to us that he had invested the funds\naccording to your desire and was going thence into Poland, to effect\nanother operation.\"\n\n\"And in Poland he met the death of a martyr,\" added Samuel. \"With no\nmotive and no proof, they accused him falsely of coming to organize\nsmuggling, and the Russian governor, treating him as they treat our\nbrothers in that land of cruel tyranny, condemned him to the dreadful\npunishment of the knout, without even hearing him in his defence. Why\nshould they hear a Jew? What is a Jew? A creature below a serf, whom\nthey reproach for all the vices that a degrading slavery has engendered.\nA Jew beaten to death? Who would trouble themselves about it?\"\n\n\"And poor Abel, so good, so faithful, died beneath their stripes, partly\nfrom shame, partly from the wounds,\" said Bathsheba, shuddering. \"One\nof our Polish brethren obtained with great difficulty permission to\nbury him. He cut off this lock of beautiful black hair--which, with this\nscrap of linen, bathed in the blood of our dear son, is all that\nnow remains to us of him.\" Bathsheba covered the hair and clasp with\nconvulsive kisses.\n\n\"Alas!\" said Samuel, drying his tears, which had burst forth at these\nsad recollections, \"the Lord did not at last remove our child, until the\ntask which our family has accomplished faithfully for a century and a\nhalf was nearly at an end. Of what use will our race be henceforth upon\nearth?\" added Samuel, most bitterly. \"Our duty is performed. This casket\ncontains a royal fortune--and yonder house, walled up for a hundred\nand fifty years, will be opened to-morrow to the descendants of my\nancestor's benefactor.\" So saying, Samuel turned his face sorrowfully\ntowards the house, which he could see through the window. The dawn was\njust about to appear. The moon had set; belvedere, roof, and chimneys\nformed a black mass upon the dark blue of the starry firmament.\n\nSuddenly, Samuel grew pale, and, rising abruptly, said to his wife in\na tremulous tone, whilst he still pointed to the house: \"Bathsheba! the\nseven points of light--just as it was thirty years ago. Look! look:\"\n\nIndeed, the seven round holes, bored in the form of a cross in the\nleaden plates which covered the window of the belvedere, sparkled like\nso many luminous points, as if some one in the house ascended with a\nlight to the roof.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII. DEBIT AND CREDIT.\n\nFor some seconds, Samuel and Bathsheba remained motionless, with their\neyes fixed in fear and uneasiness on the seven luminous points,\nwhich shone through the darkness of the night from the summit of the\nbelvedere; while, on the horizon, behind the house, a pale, rosy hue\nannounced the dawn of day.\n\nSamuel was the first to break silence, and he said to his wife, as he\ndrew his hand across his brow: \"The grief caused by the remembrance of\nour poor child has prevented us from reflecting that, after all, there\nshould be nothing to alarm us in what we see.\"\n\n\"How so, Samuel?\"\n\n\"My father always told me that he, and my grandfather before him, had\nseen such lights at long intervals.\"\n\n\"Yes, Samuel--but without being able, any more than ourselves, to\nexplain the cause.\"\n\n\"Like my father and grandfather, we can only suppose that some secret\npassage gives admittance to persons who, like us, have some mysterious\nduty to fulfil in this dwelling. Besides, my father warned me not to be\nuneasy at these appearances, foretold by him, and now visible for the\nsecond time in thirty years.\"\n\n\"No matter for that, Samuel, it does strike one as if it was something\nsupernatural.\"\n\n\"The days of miracles are over.\" said the Jew, shaking his head\nsorrowfully: \"many of the old houses in this quarter have subterraneous\ncommunications with distant places--some extending even to the Seine and\nthe Catacombs. Doubtless, this house is so situated, and the persons who\nmake these rare visits enter by some such means.\"\n\n\"But that the belvedere should be thus lighted up?\"\n\n\"According to the plan of the building, you know that the belvedere\nforms a kind of skylight to the apartment called the Great Hall of\nMourning, situated on the upper story. As it is completely dark, in\nconsequence of the closing of all the windows, they must use a light to\nvisit this Hall of Mourning--a room which is said to contain some very\nstrange and gloomy things,\" added the Jew, with a shudder.\n\nBathsheba, as well as her husband, gazed attentively on the seven\nluminous points, which diminished in brightness as the daylight\ngradually increased.\n\n\"As you say, Samuel, the mystery may be thus explained,\" resumed the\nHebrew's wife. \"Besides, the day is so important a one for the family\nof Rennepont, that this apparition: ought not to astonish us under the\ncircumstances.\"\n\n\"Only to think,\" remarked Samuel, \"that these lights have appeared at\nseveral different times throughout a century and a half! There must,\ntherefore, be another family that, like ours, has devoted itself, from\ngeneration to generation, to accomplish a pious duty.\"\n\n\"But what is this duty? It will perhaps be explained today.\"\n\n\"Come, come, Bathsheba,\" suddenly exclaimed Samuel, as if roused from\nhis reverie, and reproaching himself with idleness; this is the day,\nand, before eight o'clock, our cash account must be in order, and these\ntitles to immense property arranged, so that they may be delivered to\nthe rightful owners\"--and he pointed to the cedar-wood box.\n\n\"You are right, Samuel; this day does not belong to us. It is a solemn\nday--one that would have been sweet, oh! very sweet to you and me--if\nnow any days could be sweet to us,\" said Bathsheba bitterly, for she was\nthinking of her son.\n\n\"Bathsheba,\" said Samuel, mournfully, as he laid his hand on his wife's;\n\"we shall at least have the stern satisfaction of having done our duty.\nAnd has not the Lord been very favorable to us, though He has thus\nseverely tried us by the death of our son? Is it not thanks to His\nprovidence that three generations of my family have been able to\ncommence, continue, and finish this great work?\"\n\n\"Yes, Samuel,\" said the Jewess, affectionately, \"and for you at least\nthis satisfaction will be combined with calm and quietness, for on\nthe stroke of noon you will be delivered from a very terrible\nresponsibility.\"\n\nSo saying, Bathsheba pointed to the box.\n\n\"It is true,\" replied the old man; \"I had rather these immense riches\nwere in the hands of those to whom they belong, than in mine; but, to\nday, I shall cease to be their trustee. Once more then, I will check the\naccount for the last time, and compare the register with the cash-book\nthat you hold in your hand.\"\n\nBathsheba bowed her head affirmatively, and Samuel, taking up his pen,\noccupied himself once more with his calculations. His wife, in spite\nof herself, again yielded to the sad thoughts which that fatal date had\nawakened, by reminding her of the death of her son.\n\nLet us now trace rapidly the history, in appearance so romantic and\nmarvellous, in reality so simple, of the fifty thousand crowns, which,\nthanks to the law of accumulation, and to a prudent, intelligent and\nfaithful investment, had naturally, and necessarily, been transformed,\nin the space of a century and a half, into a sum far more important\nthan the forty millions estimated by Father d'Aigrigny--who, partially\ninformed on this subject, and reckoning the disastrous accidents,\nlosses, and bankruptcies which might have occurred during so long a\nperiod, believed that forty millions might well b e considered enormous.\n\nThe history of this fortune being closely connected with that of the\nSamuel family, by whom it had been managed for three generations, we\nshall give it again in a few words.\n\nAbout the period 1670, some years before his death, Marius de Rennepont,\nthen travelling in Portugal, had been enabled, by means of powerful\ninterest, to save the life of an unfortunate Jew, condemned to be burnt\nalive by the Inquisition, because of his religion. This Jew was Isaac\nSamuel, grandfather of the present guardian of the house in the Rue\nSaint-Francois.\n\nGenerous men often attach themselves to those they have served, as much,\nat least, as the obliged parties are attached to their benefactors.\nHaving ascertained that Isaac, who at that time carried on a petty\nbroker's business at Lisbon, was industrious, honest, active, laborious,\nand intelligent, M. de Rennepont, who then possessed large property\nin France, proposed to the Jew to accompany him, and undertake the\nmanagement of his affairs. The same hatred and suspicion with which the\nIsraelites have always been followed, was then at its height. Isaac was\ntherefore doubly grateful for this mark of confidence on the part of\nM. de Rennepont. He accepted the offer, and promised from that day to\ndevote his existence to the service of him who had first saved his life,\nand then trusted implicitly to his good faith and uprightness, although\nhe was a Jew, and belonged to a race generally suspected and despised.\nM. de Rennepont, a man of great soul, endowed with a good spirit, was\nnot deceived in his choice. Until he was deprived of his fortune, it\nprospered wonderfully in the hands of Isaac Samuel, who, gifted with an\nadmirable aptitude for business, applied himself exclusively to advance\nthe interests of his benefactor.\n\nThen came the persecution and ruin of M. de Rennepont, whose property\nwas confiscated and given up to the reverend fathers of the Company of\nJesus only a few days before his death. Concealed in the retreat he had\nchosen, therein to put a violent end to his life, he sent secretly for\nIsaac Samuel, and delivered to him fifty thousand crowns in gold, the\nlast remains of his fortune. This faithful servant was to invest the\nmoney to the best advantage, and, if he should have a son, transmit to\nhim the same obligation; or, should he have no child, he was to seek out\nsome relation worthy of continuing this trust, to which would moreover\nbe annexed a fair reward. It was thus to be transmitted and perpetuated\nfrom relative to relative, until the expiration of a century and a half.\nM. de Rennepont also begged Isaac to take charge, during his life, of\nthe house in the Rue Saint-Francois, where he would be lodged gratis,\nand to leave this function likewise to his descendants, if it were\npossible.\n\nIf even Isaac Samuel had not had children, the powerful bond of union\nwhich exists between certain Jewish families, would have rendered\npracticable the last will of De Rennepont. The relations of Isaac would\nhave become partner; in his gratitude to his benefactor, and they, and\ntheir succeeding generations, would have religiously accomplished the\ntask imposed upon one of their race. But, several years after the death\nof De Rennepont, Isaac had a son.\n\nThis son, Levy Samuel, born in 1689, not having had any children by his\nfirst wife, married again at nearly sixty years of age, and, in 1750, he\nalso had a son--David Samuel, the guardian of the house in the Rue Saint\nFrancois, who, in 1832 (the date of this narrative), was eighty-two\nyears old, and seemed likely to live as long as his father, who had died\nat the age of ninety-three. Finally, Abel Samuel, the son whom Bathsheba\nso bitterly regretted, born in 1790, had perished under the Russian\nknout, at the age of thirty-six.\n\nHaving established this humble genealogy, we easily understand how this\nsuccessive longevity of three members of the Samuel family, all of whom\nhad been guardians of the walled house, by uniting, as it were, the\nnineteenth with the seventeenth century, simplified and facilitated\nthe execution of M. de Rennepont's will; the latter having declared his\ndesire to the grandfather of the Samuels, that the capital should only\nbe augmented by interest at five per cent.--so that the fortune might\ncome to his descendants free from all taint of usurious speculation.\n\nThe fellow men of the Samuel family, the first inventors of the bill of\nexchange, which served them in the Middle Ages to transport mysteriously\nconsiderable amounts from one end of the world to the other, to conceal\ntheir fortune, and to shield it from the rapacity of their enemies--the\nJews, we say, having almost the monopoly of the trade in money and\nexchanges, until the end of the eighteenth century, aided the secret\ntransactions and financial operations of this family, which, up to about\n1820, placed their different securities, which had become progressively\nimmense, in the hands of the principal Israelitish bankers and merchants\nof Europe. This sure and secret manner of acting had enabled the present\nguardian of the house in the Rue Saint-Francois, to effect enormous\ninvestments, unknown to all; and it was more especially during the\nperiod of his management, that the capital sum had acquired, by the mere\nfact of compound interest, an almost incalculable development. Compared\nwith him, his father and grandfather had only small amounts to manage.\nThough it had only been necessary to find successively sure and\nimmediate investments, so that the money might not remain as it were\none day without bearing interest, it had acquired financial capacity to\nattain this result, when so many millions were in question. The last of\nthe Samuels, brought up in the school of his father, had exhibited\nthis capacity in a very high degree, as will be seen immediately by the\nresults. Nothing could be more touching, noble, and respectable, than\nthe conduct of the members of this Jewish family, who, partners in the\nengagement of gratitude taken by their ancestor, devote themselves for\nlong years, with as much disinterestedness as intelligence and honesty,\nto the slow acquisition of a kingly fortune, of which they expect no\npart themselves, but which, thanks to them, would come pure, as immense,\nto the hands of the descendants of their benefactor! Nor could anything\nbe more honorable to him who made, and him who received this deposit,\nthan the simple promise by word of mouth, unaccompanied by any security\nsave mutual confidence and reciprocal esteem, when the result was only\nto be produced at the end of a century and a half!\n\nAfter once more reading his inventory with attention, Samuel said to his\nwife: \"I am certain of the correctness of my additions. Now please\nto compare with the account-book in your hand the summary of the\ninvestments that I have just entered in the register. I will assure\nmyself, at the same time, that the bonds and vouchers are properly\narranged in this casket, that, on the opening of the will, they may be\ndelivered in order to the notary.\"\n\n\"Begin, my dear, and I will check you,\" said Bathsheba.\n\nSamuel read as follows, examining as he went on, the contents of his\ncasket:\n\nStatement of the account of the heirs of M. DE RENNEPONT, delivered by\nDAVID SAMUELS.\n\nDEBIT.\n\n     2,000,000 francs per annum,\n      in the French 5 P. C.,\n      bought from 1825 to 1832,\n      at an average price of 99f.\n      50c............ 39,800,000\n     900,000 francs, ditto, in\n      the French 3 P. C.,\n      bought during the\n      same years, at an average\n      of 74f 25c........ 22,275,000\n     5;000 shares in the Bank\n      of France, bought at 1,900 9,500,000\n     3,000 shares in the Four\n      Canals, in a certificate\n      from the Company,\n      bought at 1,115f..... 3,345,000\n     125,000 ducats of\n      Neapolitans, at an average\n      of 82. 2,050,000 ducats,\n      at 4f. 400.......  9,020,000\n     5,000 Austrian Metallics,\n      of 1,000 florins, at 93\n     --say 4,650,000 florins,\n      at 2f. 50c........ 11,625,000\n     75,000 pounds sterling\n      per annum, English\n      Consolidated 3 P. C.,\n      at 88 3/4--say 2,218,750,\n      at 25f......... 55,468,750\n     1,200,000 florins, Dutch\n     2 1/2 P. C., at 60-28,\n     860,000 florins, at 2f.\n     100........... 60,606,000\n     Cash in banknotes, gold\n     and silver........   535,250\n                          ------\n              Francs  212,175,000\n\n     Paris, 12th February, 1832.\n     CREDIT.\n\n     150,000 francs\n      received from M.\n      de Rennepont,\n      in 1682, by Isaac\n      Samuel my grandfather;\n      and invested by him,\n      my father, and myself,\n      in different securities,\n      at Five per Cent.\n      Interest, with a\n      settlement of account\n      and Investment of\n      interest every six\n      months, producing,\n      as by annexed vouchers, 225,950,000\n\n     Less losses sustained\n      by failures, expenses of\n      commission and\n      brokerage, and\n      salary of three\n      generations of\n      trustees, as per\n      statement annexed    13,775,000\n                           ----------\n                          212,175,000\n\n     Francs 212,175,000\n\n\"It is quite right,\" said Samuel, after examining the papers, contained\nin the cedar-wood box. \"There remains in hand, at the absolute disposal\nof the heirs of the Rennepont family, the Sum Of TWO HUNDRED AND TWELVE\nMILLIONS, ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIVE THOUSAND FRANCS.\" And the old man\nlooked at his wife with an expression of legitimate pride. \"It is hardly\ncredible!\" cried Bathsheba, struck with surprise. \"I knew that you had\nimmense property in your hands; but I could never have believed, that\none hundred and fifty thousand francs, left a century and a half ago,\nshould be the only source of this immense fortune.\"\n\n\"It is even so, Bathsheba,\" answered the old man, proudly. \"Doubtless,\nmy grandfather, my father, and myself, have all been exact and faithful\nin the management of these funds; doubtless, we have required some\nsagacity in the choice of investments, in times of revolution and\ncommercial panics; but all this was easy to us, thanks to our relations\nwith our brethren in all countries--and never have I, or any of mine,\nmade an usurious investment, or even taken the full advantage of\nthe legal rate of interest. Such were the positive demands of M. de\nRennepont, given to my grandfather; nor is there in the world a\nfortune that has been obtained by purer means. Had it not been for this\ndisinterestedness, we might have much augmented this two hundred\nand twelve millions, only by taking advantage of a few favorable\ncircumstances.\"\n\n\"Dear me! is it possible?\"\n\n\"Nothing is more simple, Bathsheba. Every one knows, that in fourteen\nyears a capital will be doubled, by the mere accumulation of interest\nand compound interest at five per cent. Now reflect, that in a century\nand a half there are ten times fourteen years, and that these one\nhundred and fifty thousands francs have thus been doubled and redoubled,\nover and over again. All that astonishes you will then appear plain\nenough. In 1682, M. de Rennepont entrusted my grandfather with a hundred\nand fifty thousand francs; this sum, invested as I have told you, would\nhave produced in 1696, fourteen years after, three hundred thousand\nfrancs. These last, doubled in 1710, would produce six hundred thousand.\nOn the death of my grandfather in 1719, the amount was already near a\nmillion; in 1724, it would be twelve hundred thousand francs; in 1738,\ntwo millions four hundred thousand; in 1752, about two years after my\nbirth, four millions eight hundred thousand; in 1766, nine millions six\nhundred thousand; in 1780, nineteen millions two hundred thousand; in\n1794, twelve years after the death of my father, thirty-eight millions\nfour hundred thousand; in 1808, seventy-six millions eight hundred\nthousand; in 1822, one hundred and fifty-three millions six hundred\nthousand; and, at this time, taking the compound interest for ten years,\nit should be at least two hundred and twenty-five millions. But losses\nand inevitable charges, of which the account has been strictly kept,\nhave reduced the sum to two hundred and twelve millions one hundred and\nseventy-five thousand francs, the securities for which are in this box.\"\n\n\"I now understand you, my dear,\" answered Bathsheba, thoughtfully;\n\"but how wonderful is this power of accumulation! and what admirable\nprovision may be made for the future, with the smallest present\nresources!\"\n\n\"Such, no doubt, was the idea of M. de Rennepont; for my father has\noften told me, and he derived it from his father, that M. de Rennepont\nwas one of the soundest intellects of his time,\" said Samuel, as he\nclosed the cedar-box.\n\n\"God grant his descendants may be worthy of this kingly fortune, and\nmake a noble use of it!\" said Bathsheba, rising.\n\nIt was now broad day, and the clock had just struck seven.\n\n\"The masons will soon be here,\" said Samuel, as he replaced the\ncedar-box in the iron safe, concealed behind the antique press. \"Like\nyou, Bathsheba, I am curious and anxious to know, what descendants of M.\nde Rennepont will now present themselves.\"\n\nTwo or three loud knocks on the outer gate resounded through the house.\nThe barking of the watch-dogs responded to this summons.\n\nSamuel said to his wife: \"It is no doubt the masons, whom the notary has\nsent with his clerk. Tie all the keys and their labels together; I will\ncome back and fetch them.\"\n\nSo saying, Samuel went down to the door with much nimbleness,\nconsidering his age, prudently opened a small wicket, and saw three\nworkmen, in the garb of masons, accompanied by a young man dressed in\nblack.\n\n\"What may you want, gentlemen?\" said the Jew, before opening the door,\nas he wished first to make sure of the identity of the personages.\n\n\"I am sent by M. Dumesnil, the notary,\" answered the clerk, \"to be\npresent at the unwalling of a door. Here is a letter from my master,\naddressed to M. Samuel, guardian of the house.\"\n\n\"I am he, sir,\" said the Jew; \"please to put the letter through the\nslide, and I will take it.\"\n\nThe clerk did as Samuel desired, but shrugged his shoulders at what\nhe considered the ridiculous precautions of a suspicious old man. The\nhousekeeper opened the box, took the letter, went to the end of\nthe vaulted passage in order to read it, and carefully compared the\nsignature with that of another letter which he drew from the pocket\nof his long coat; then, after all these precautions, he chained up his\ndogs, and returned to open the gate to the clerk and masons.\n\n\"What the devil, my good man!\" said the clerk, as he entered; \"there\nwould not be more formalities in opening the gates of a fortress!\"\n\nThe Jew bowed, but without answering.\n\n\"Are you deaf, my good fellow?\" cried the clerk, close to his ears.\n\n\"No, sir,\" said Samuel, with a quiet smile, as he advanced several steps\nbeyond the passage. Then pointing to the old house, he added: \"That,\nsir, is the door which you will have to open; you will also have to\nremove the lead and iron from the second window to the right.\"\n\n\"Why not open all the windows?\" asked the clerk.\n\n\"Because, sir, as guardian of this house, I have received particular\norders on the subject.\"\n\n\"Who gave you these orders?\"\n\n\"My father, sir, who received them from his father, who transmitted them\nfrom the master of this house. When I cease to have the care of it, the\nnew proprietor will do as he pleases.\"\n\n\"Oh! very well,\" said the clerk, not a little surprised. Then,\naddressing himself to the masons, he added: \"This is your business, my\nfine fellows; you are to unwall the door, and remove the iron frame-work\nof the second window to the right.\"\n\nWhilst the masons set to work, under the inspection of the notary's\nclerk, a coach stopped before the outer gate, and Rodin, accompanied by\nGabriel, entered the house in the Rue Saint-Francois.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX. THE HEIR\n\nSamuel opened the door to Gabriel and Rodin.\n\nThe latter said to the Jew, \"You, sir, are the keeper of this house?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" replied Samuel.\n\n\"This is Abbe Gabriel de Rennepont,\" said Rodin, as he introduced his\ncompanion, \"one of the descendants of the family of the Renneponts.\"\n\n\"Happy to hear it, sir,\" said the Jew, almost involuntarily, struck with\nthe angelic countenance of Gabriel--for nobleness and serenity of soul\nwere visible in the glance of the young priest, and were written upon\nhis pure, white brow, already crowned with the halo of martyrdom. Samuel\nlooked at Gabriel with curiosity and benevolent interest; but feeling\nthat this silent contemplation must cause some embarrassment to his\nguest, he said to him, \"M. Abbe, the notary will not be here before ten\no'clock.\"\n\nGabriel looked at him in turn, with an air of surprise, and answered,\n\"What notary, sir?\"\n\n\"Father d'Aigrigny will explain all this to you,\" said Rodin, hastily.\nThen addressing Samuel, he added, \"We are a little before the time. Will\nyou allow us to wait for the arrival of the notary?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Samuel, \"if you please to walk into my house.\"\n\n\"I thank you, sir,\" answered Rodin, \"and accept your offer.\"\n\n\"Follow me, then, gentlemen,\" said the old man.\n\nA few moments after, the young priest and the socius, preceded by\nSamuel, entered one of the rooms occupied by the latter, on the\nground-floor of the building, looking out upon the court-yard.\n\n\"The Abbe d'Aigrigny, who has been the guardian of M. Gabriel, will soon\nbe coming to ask for us,\" added Rodin; \"will you have the kindness, sir\nto show him into this room?\"\n\n\"I will not fail to do so, sir,\" said Samuel, as he went out.\n\nThe socius and Gabriel were left alone. To the adorable gentleness which\nusually gave to the fine features of the missionary so touching a charm,\nthere had succeeded in this moment a remarkable expression of sadness,\nresolution, and severity. Rodin not having seen Gabriel for some days,\nwas greatly struck by the change he remarked in him. He had watched him\nsilently all the way from the Rue des Postes to the Rue Saint-Francois.\nThe young priest wore, as usual, a long black cassock, which made still\nmore visible the transparent paleness of his countenance. When the Jew\nhad left the room, Gabriel said to Rodin, in a firm voice, \"Will you at\nlength inform me, sir, why, for some days past, I have been prevented\nfrom speaking to his reverence Father d'Aigrigny? Why has he chosen this\nhouse to grant me an interview?\"\n\n\"It is impossible for me to answer these questions,\" replied Rodin,\ncoldly. \"His reverence will soon arrive, and will listen to you. All I\ncan tell you is, that the reverend father lays as much stress upon this\nmeeting as you do. If he has chosen this house for the interview, it is\nbecause you have an interest to be here. You know it well--though you\naffected astonishment on hearing the guardian speak of a notary.\"\n\nSo saying, Rodin fixed a scrutinizing, anxious look upon Gabriel, whose\ncountenance expressed only surprise.\n\n\"I do not understand you,\" said he, in reply to Rodin. \"What have I to\ndo with this house?\"\n\n\"It is impossible that you should not know it,\" answered Rodin, still\nlooking at him with attention.\n\n\"I have told you, sir, that I do not know it,\" replied the other, almost\noffended by the pertinacity of the socius.\n\n\"What, then, did your adopted mother come to tell you yesterday? Why did\nyou presume to receive her without permission from Father d'Aigrigny, as\nI have heard this morning? Did she not speak with you of certain family\npapers, found upon you when she took you in?\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" said Gabriel; \"those papers were delivered at the time to\nmy adopted mother's confessor, and they afterwards passed into Father\nd'Aigrigny's hands. This is the first I hear for a long time of these\npapers.\"\n\n\"So you affirm that Frances Baudoin did not come to speak to you on\nthis subject?\" resumed Rodin, obstinately, laying great emphasis on his\nwords.\n\n\"This is the second time, sir, that you seem to doubt my affirmation,\"\nsaid the young priest, mildly, while he repressed a movement of\nimpatience, \"I assure you that I speak the truth.\"\n\n\"He knows nothing,\" thought Rodin; for he was too well convinced of\nGabriel's sincerity to retain the least doubt after so positive a\ndeclaration. \"I believe you,\" went on he. \"The idea only occurred to me\nin reflecting what could be the reason of sufficient weight to induce\nyou to transgress Father d'Aigrigny's orders with regard to the absolute\nretirement he had commanded, which was to exclude all communication with\nthose without. Much more, contrary to all the rules of our house, you\nventured to shut the door of your room, whereas it ought to remain half\nopen, that the mutual inspection enjoined us might be the more easily\npracticed. I could only explain these sins against discipline, by the\nnecessity of some very important conversation with your adopted mother.\"\n\n\"It was to a priest, and not to her adopted son, that Madame Baudoin\nwished to speak,\" replied Gabriel, in a tone of deep seriousness. \"I\nclosed my door because I was to hear a confession.\"\n\n\"And what had Frances Baudoin of such importance to confess?\"\n\n\"You will know that by-and-bye, when I speak to his reverence--if it be\nhis pleasure that you should hear me.\"\n\nThese words were so firmly spoken, that a long silence ensued. Let us\nremind the reader that Gabriel had hitherto been kept by his superiors\nin the most complete ignorance of the importance of the family interests\nwhich required his presence in the Rue Saint-Francois. The day before,\nFrances Baudoin, absorbed in her own grief, had forgotten to tell him\nthat the two orphans also should be present at this meeting, and had she\neven thought of it, Dagobert would have prevented her mentioning this\ncircumstance to the young priest.\n\nGabriel was therefore quite ignorant of the family ties which united him\nwith the daughters of Marshal Simon, with Mdlle. de Cardoville, with M.\nHardy, Prince Djalma, and Sleepinbuff. In a word, if it had then been\nrevealed to him that he was the heir of Marius de Rennepont, he would\nhave believed himself the only descendant of the family. During the\nmoment's silence which succeeded his conversation with Rodin, Gabriel\nobserved through the windows the mason's at their work of unwalling the\ndoor. Having finished this first operation, they set about removing the\nbars of iron by which a plate of lead was fixed over the same entrance.\n\nAt this juncture, Father d'Aigrigny, conducted by Samuel, entered the\nroom. Before Gabriel could turn around, Rodin had time to whisper to the\nreverend father, \"He knows nothing--and we have no longer anything to\nfear from the Indian.\"\n\nNotwithstanding his affected calmness, Father d'Aigrigny's countenance\nwas pale and contracted, like that of a player who is about to stake all\non a last, decisive game. Hitherto, all had favored the designs of the\nSociety; but he could not think without alarm of the four hours which\nstill remained before they should reach the fatal moment. Gabriel having\nturned towards him, Father d'Aigrigny offered him his hand with a smile,\nand said to him in an affectionate and cordial tone, \"My dear son, it\nhas pained me a good deal to have been obliged to refuse you till now\nthe interview that you so much desired. It has been no less distressing\nto me to impose on you a confinement of some days. Though I cannot give\nany explanation of what I may think fit to order, I will just observe to\nyou that I have acted only for your interest.\"\n\n\"I am bound to believe your reverence,\" answered Gabriel, bowing his\nhead.\n\nIn spite of himself, the young priest felt a vague sense of fear, for\nuntil his departure for his American mission, Father d'Aigrigny,\nat whose feet he had pronounced the formidable vows which bound him\nirrevocably to the Society of Jesus, had exercised over him that\nfrightful species of influence which, acting only by despotism,\nsuppression, and intimidation, breaks down all the living forces of\nthe soul, and leaves it inert, trembling, and terrified. Impressions of\nearly youth are indelible, and this was the first time, since his\nreturn from America, that Gabriel found himself in presence of Father\nd'Aigrigny; and although he did not shrink from the resolution he had\ntaken, he regretted not to have been able, as he had hoped, to gather\nnew strength and courage from an interview with Agricola and Dagobert.\nFather d'Aigrigny knew mankind too well not to have remarked the emotion\nof the young priest, and to have endeavored to explain its cause. This\nemotion appeared to him a favorable omen; he redoubled, therefore, his\nseductive arts, his air of tenderness and amenity, reserving to himself,\nif necessary, the choice of assuming another mask. He sat down, while\nGabriel and Rodin remained standing in a respectful position, and said\nto the former: \"You desire, my dear son, to have an important interview\nwith me?\"\n\n\"Yes, father,\" said Gabriel, involuntarily casting down his eyes before\nthe large, glittering gray pupil of his superior.\n\n\"And I also have matters of great importance to communicate to you.\nListen to me first; you can speak afterwards.\"\n\n\"I listen, father.\"\n\n\"It is about twelve years ago, my dear son,\" said Father d'Aigrigny,\naffectionately, \"that the confessor of your adopted mother, addressing\nhimself to me through M. Rodin, called my attention to yourself, by\nreporting the astonishing progress you had made at the school of the\nBrothers. I soon found, indeed, that your excellent conduct, your\ngentle, modest character, and your precocious intelligence, were worthy\nof the most tender interest. From that moment I kept my eyes upon\nyou, and at the end of some time, seeing that you did not fall off, it\nappeared to me that there was something more in you than the stuff that\nmakes a workman. We agreed with your adopted mother, and through my\nintervention, you were admitted gratuitously to one of the schools of\nour Company. Thus one burden the less weighed upon the excellent woman\nwho had taken charge of you, and you received from our paternal care all\nthe benefits of a religious education. Is not this true, my dear son?\"\n\n\"It is true, father,\" answered Gabriel, casting down his eyes.\n\n\"As you grew up, excellent and rare virtues displayed themselves in your\ncharacter. Your obedience and mildness were above all exemplary. You\nmade rapid progress in your studies. I knew not then to what career you\nwished to devote yourself, but I felt certain that, in every station of\nlife, you would remain a faithful son of the Church. I was not deceived\nin my hopes, or rather, my dear son, you surpassed them all. Learning,\nby a friendly communication, that your adopted mother ardently desired\nto see you take orders, you acceded generously and religiously to the\nwish of the excellent woman to whom you owed so much. But as the Lord is\nalways just in His recompenses, He willed that the most touching work of\ngratitude you could show to your adopted mother, should at the same time\nbe divinely profitable by making you one of the militant members of our\nholy Church.\"\n\nAt these words, Gabriel could not repress a significant start, as he\nremembered Frances' sad confidences. But he restrained himself, whilst\nRodin stood leaning with his elbow on the corner of the chimney-piece,\ncontinuing to examine him with singular and obstinate attention.\n\nFather d'Aigrigny resumed: \"I do not conceal from you, my dear son,\nthat your resolution filled me with joy. I saw in you one of the future\nlights of the Church, and I was anxious to see it shine in the midst\nof our Company. You submitted courageously to our painful and difficult\ntests; you were judged worthy of belonging to us, and, after taking in\nmy presence the irrevocable and sacred oath, which binds you for ever to\nour Company for the greater glory of God, you answered the appeal of our\nHoly Father(14) to willing souls, and offered yourself as a missionary,\nto preach to savages the one Catholic faith. Though it was painful to us\nto part with our dear son, we could not refuse to accede to such\npious wishes. You set out a humble missionary you return a glorious\nmartyr--and we are justly proud to reckon you amongst our number. This\nrapid sketch of the past was necessary, my dear son to arrive at what\nfollows, for we wish now, if it be possible, to draw still closer the\nbonds that unite us. Listen to me, my dear son; what I am about to say\nis confidential and of the highest importance, not only for you, but the\nwhole Company.\"\n\n\"Then, father,\" cried Gabriel hastily, interrupting the Abbe d'Aigrigny,\n\"I cannot--I ought not to hear you.\"\n\nThe young priest became deadly pale; one saw, by the alteration of\nhis features, that a violent struggle was taking place within him, but\nrecovering his first resolution, he raised his head, and casting an\nassured look on Father d'Aigrigny and Rodin, who glanced at each other\nin mute surprise, he resumed: \"I repeat to you, father, that if it\nconcerns confidential matters of the Company, I must not hear you.\"\n\n\"Really, my dear son, you occasion me the greatest astonishment. What\nis the matter?--Your countenance changes, your emotion is visible. Speak\nwithout fear; why can you not hear me?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell you, father, until I also have, in my turn, rapidly\nsketched the past--such as I have learned to judge it of late. You\nwill then understand, father, that I am no longer entitled to your\nconfidence, for an abyss will doubtlessly soon separate us.\"\n\nAt these words, it is impossible to paint the look rapidly exchanged\nbetween Rodin and Father d'Aigrigny. The socius began to bite his nails,\nfixing his reptile eye angrily upon Gabriel; Father d'Aigrigny grew\nlivid, and his brow was bathed in cold sweat. He asked himself with\nterror, if, at the moment of reaching the goal, the obstacle was going\nto come from Gabriel, in favor of whom all other obstacles had been\nremoved. This thought filled him with despair. Yet the reverend\nfather contained himself admirably, remained calm, and answered with\naffectionate unction: \"It is impossible to believe, my dear son, that\nyou and I can ever be separated by an abyss--unless by the abyss of\ngrief, which would be caused by any serious danger to your salvation.\nBut speak; I listen to you.\"\n\n\"It is true, that, twelve years ago, father,\" proceeded Gabriel, in a\nfirm voice, growing more animated as he proceeded, \"I entered, through\nyour intervention, a college of the Company of Jesus. I entered it\nloving, truthful, confiding. How did they encourage those precious\ninstincts of childhood? I will tell you. The day of my entrance, the\nSuperior said to me, as he pointed out two children a little older than\nmyself: 'These are the companions that you will prefer. You will always\nwalk three together. The rules of the house forbid all intercourse\nbetween two persons only. They also require, that you should listen\nattentively to what your companions say, so that you may report it to\nme; for these dear children may have, without knowing it, bad thoughts\nor evil projects. Now, if you love your comrades, you must inform me of\nthese evil tendencies, that my paternal remonstrances may save them from\npunishment; it is better to prevent evil than to punish it.'\"\n\n\"Such are, indeed, my dear son,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, \"the rules\nof our house, and the language we hold to all our pupils on their\nentrance.\"\n\n\"I know it, father,\" answered Gabriel, bitterly; \"three days after,\na poor, submissive, and credulous child, I was already a spy upon my\ncomrades, hearing and remembering their conversation, and reporting it\nto the superior, who congratulated me on my zeal. What they thus made\nme do was shameful, and yet, God knows! I thought I was accomplishing a\ncharitable duty. I was happy in obeying the commands of a superior whom\nI respected, and to whose words I listened, in my childish faith, as I\nshould have listened to those of Heaven. One day, that I had broken some\nrule of the house, the superior said to me: 'My child, you have deserved\na severe punishment; but you will be pardoned, if you succeed in\nsurprising one of your comrades in the same fault that you have\ncommitted.' And for that, notwithstanding my faith and blind obedience,\nthis encouragement to turn informer, from the motive of personal\ninterest, might appear odious to me, the superior added. 'I speak to\nyou, my child, for the sake of your comrade's salvation. Were he\nto escape punishment, his evil habits would become habitual. But by\ndetecting him in a fault, and exposing him to salutary correction, you\nwill have the double advantage of aiding in his salvation, and escaping\nyourself a merited punishment, which will have been remitted because of\nyour zeal for your neighbor--\"\n\n\"Doubtless,\" answered Father d'Aigrigny, more and more terrified by\nGabriel's language; \"and in truth, my dear son, all this is conformable\nto the rule followed in our colleges, and to the habits of the members\nof our Company, 'who may denounce each other without prejudice to mutual\nlove and charity, and only for their greater spiritual advancement,\nparticularly when questioned by their superior, or commanded for the\ngreater glory of God,' as our Constitution has it.\"\n\n\"I know it,\" cried Gabriel; \"I know it. 'Tis in the name of all that is\nmost sacred amongst men, that we are encouraged to do evil.\"\n\n\"My dear son,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, trying to conceal his secret and\ngrowing terror beneath an appearance of wounded dignity, \"from you to me\nthese words are at least strange.\"\n\nAt this, Rodin quitted the mantelpiece, on which he had been leaning,\nbegin to walk up and down the room, with a meditative air, and without\nceasing to bite his nails.\n\n\"It is cruel to be obliged to remind you, my dear son, that your are\nindebted to us for the education you have received,\" added Father\nd'Aigrigny.\n\n\"Such were its fruits, father,\" replied Gabriel. \"Until then I had been\na spy on the other children, from a sort of disinterestedness; but the\norders of the superior made me advance another step on that shameful\nroad. I had become an informer, to escape a merited punishment. And yet,\nsuch was my faith, my humility, my confidence, that I performed with\ninnocence and candor this doubly odious part. Once, indeed, tormented by\nvague scruples, the last remains of generous aspirations that they were\nstifling within me, I asked myself if the charitable and religious end\ncould justify the means, and I communicated my doubts to the superior.\nHe replied, that I had not to judge, but to obey, and that to him alone\nbelonged the responsibility of my acts.\"\n\n\"Go on, my dear son,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, gelding, in spite of\nhimself, to the deepest dejection. \"Alas! I was right in opposing your\ntravel to America.\"\n\n\"And yet it was the will of Providence, in that new, productive, and\nfree country, that, enlightened by a singular chance, on past and\npresent, my eyes were at length opened. Yes!\" cried Gabriel, \"it was in\nAmerica that, released from the gloomy abode where I had spent so many\nyears of my youth, and finding myself for the first time face to face\nwith the divine majesty of Nature, in the heart of immense solitudes\nthrough which I journeyed--it was there that, overcome by so much\nmagnificence and grandeur, I made a vow--\" Here Gabriel interrupted\nhimself, to continue: \"Presently, father, I will explain to you that\nvow; but believe me,\" added the missionary, with an accent of deep\nsorrow, \"it was a fatal day to me when I first learned to fear and\ncondemn all that I had hitherto most revered and blessed. Oh! I assure\nyou father,\" added Gabriel, with moist eyes, \"it was not for myself\nalone, that I then wept.\"\n\n\"I know the goodness of your heart, my dear son,\" replied Father\nd'Aigrigny, catching a glimpse of hope, on seeing Gabriel's emotion; \"I\nfear that you have been led astray. But trust yourself to us, as to\nyour spiritual fathers, and I doubt not we shall confirm your faith,\nso unfortunately shaken, and disperse the darkness which at present\nobscures your sight. Alas, my dear son, in your vain illusions, you have\nmistaken some false glimmer for the pure light of day. But go on.\"\n\nWhilst Father d'Aigrigny was thus speaking, Rodin stopped, took a pocket\nbook from his coat, and wrote down several notes. Gabriel was becoming\nmore and more pale and agitated. It required no small courage in him,\nto speak as he was speaking, for, since his journey to America, he\nhad learned to estimate the formidable power of the Company. But this\nrevelation of the past, looked at from the vantage-ground of a more\nenlightened present, was for the young priest the excuse, or rather the\ncause of the determination he had just signified to his superior, and\nhe wished to explain all faithfully, notwithstanding the danger he\nknowingly encountered. He continued therefore, in an agitated voice:\n\n\"You know, father, that the last days of my childhood, that happy age\nof frankness and innocent joy, were spent in an atmosphere of terror,\nsuspicion, and restraint. Alas! how could I resign myself to the least\nimpulse of confiding trust, when I was recommended to shun the looks of\nhim who spoke with me, in order to hide the impression that his words\nmight cause--to conceal whatever I felt, and to observe and listen to\neverything? Thus I reached the age of fifteen; by degrees, the rare\nvisits that I was allowed to pay, but always in presence of one of our\nfathers, to my adopted mother and brother, were quite suppressed, so as\nto shut my heart against all soft and tender emotions. Sad and fearful\nin that large, old noiseless, gloomy house, I felt that I became more\nand more isolated from the affections and the freedom of the world.\nMy time was divided between mutilated studies, without connection and\nwithout object, and long hours of minute devotional exercises. I ask\nyou, father, did they ever seek to warm our young souls by words of\ntenderness or evangelic love? Alas, no! For the words of the divine\nSaviour--Love ye one another, they had substituted the command: Suspect\nye one another. Did they ever, father, speak to us of our country or of\nliberty?--No! ah, no! for those words make the heart beat high; and with\nthem, the heart must not beat at all. To our long hours of study and\ndevotion, there only succeeded a few walks, three by three--never two\nand two--because by threes, the spy-system is more practicable, and\nbecause intimacies are more easily formed by two alone; and thus might\nhave arisen some of those generous friendships, which also make the\nheart beat more than it should.15 And so, by the habitual repression of\nevery feeling, there came a time when I could not feel at all. For six\nmonths, I had not seen my adopted mother and brother; they came to visit\nme at the college; a few years before, I should have received them with\ntransports and tears; this time my eyes were dry, my heart was cold. My\nmother and brother quitted me weeping. The sight of this grief struck me\nand I became conscious of the icy insensibility which had been creeping\nupon me since I inhabited this tomb. Frightened at myself, I wished to\nleave it, while I had still strength to do so. Then, father, I spoke to\nyou of the choice of a profession; for sometimes, in waking moments,\nI seemed to catch from afar the sound of an active and useful life,\nlaborious and free, surrounded by family affections. Oh! then I felt the\nwant of movement and liberty, of noble and warm emotions--of that life\nof the soul, which fled before me. I told it you, father on my\nknees, bathing your hands with my tears. The life of a workman or a\nsoldier--anything would have suited me. It was then you informed me,\nthat my adopted mother, to whom I owed my life--for she had taken me in,\ndying of want, and, poor herself, had shared with me the scanty bread\nof her child--admirable sacrifice for a mother!--that she,\" continued\nGabriel, hesitating and casting down his eyes, for noble natures blush\nfor the guilt of others, and are ashamed of the infamies of which they\nare themselves victims, \"that she, that my adopted mother, had but one\nwish, one desire--\"\n\n\"That of seeing you takes orders, my dear son,\" replied Father\nd'Aigrigny; \"for this pious and perfect creature hoped, that, in\nsecuring your salvation, she would provide for her own: but she did not\nventure to inform you of this thought, for fear you might ascribe it to\nan interested motive.\"\n\n\"Enough, father!\" said Gabriel, interrupting the Abbe d'Aigrigny, with\na movement of involuntary indignation; \"it is painful for me to hear you\nassert an error. Frances Baudoin never had such a thought.\"\n\n\"My dear son, you are too hasty in your judgments,\" replied Father\nd'Aigrigny, mildly. \"I tell you, that such was the one, sole thought of\nyour adopted mother.\"\n\n\"Yesterday, father, she told me all. She and I were equally deceived.\"\n\n\"Then, my dear son,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, sternly, \"you take the word\nof your adopted mother before mine?\"\n\n\"Spare me an answer painful for both of us, father,\" said Gabriel,\ncasting down his eyes.\n\n\"Will you now tell me,\" resumed Father d'Aigrigny, with anxiety, \"what\nyou mean to--\"\n\nThe reverend father was unable to finish. Samuel entered the room, and\nsaid: \"A rather old man wishes to speak to M. Rodin.\"\n\n\"That is my name, sir,\" answered the socius, in surprise; \"I am much\nobliged to you.\" But, before following the Jew, he gave to Father\nd'Aigrigny a few words written with a pencil upon one of the leaves of\nhis packet-book.\n\nRodin went out in very uneasy mood, to learn who could have come to seek\nhim in the Rue Saint-Francois. Father d'Aigrigny and Gabriel were left\nalone together.\n\n(14) It is only in respect to Missions that the Jesuits acknowledge the\npapal supremacy.\n\n(15) This rule is so strict in Jesuit Colleges, that if one of three\npupils leaves the other two, they separate out of earshot till the first\ncomes back.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX. THE RUPTURE.\n\nPlunged into a state of mortal anxiety, Father d'Aigrigny had taken\nmechanically the note written by Rodin, and held it in his hand without\nthinking of opening it. The reverend father asked himself in alarm, what\nconclusion Gabriel would draw from these recriminations upon the\npast; and he durst not make any answer to his reproaches, for fear of\nirritating the young priest, upon whose head such immense interests now\nreposed. Gabriel could possess nothing for himself, according to the\nconstitutions of the Society of Jesus. Moreover, the reverend father had\nobtained from him, in favor of the Order, an express renunciation of\nall property that might ever come to him. But the commencement of his\nconversation seemed to announce so serious a change in Gabriel's views\nwith regard to the Company, that he might choose to break through the\nties which attached him to it; and in that case, he would not be legally\nbound to fulfil any of his engagements.(16) The donation would thus be\ncancelled de facto, just at the moment of being so marvellously realized\nby the possession of the immense fortune of the Rennepont family, and\nd'Aigrigny's hopes would thus be completely and for ever frustrated.\nOf all these perplexities which the reverend father had experienced\nfor some time past, with regard to this inheritance, none had been more\nunexpected and terrible than this. Fearing to interrupt or question\nGabriel, Father d'Aigrigny waited, in mute terror, the end of this\ninterview, which already bore so threatening an aspect.\n\nThe missionary resumed: \"It is my duty, father, to continue this sketch\nof my past life, until the moment of my departure for America. You will\nunderstand, presently, why I have imposed on myself this obligation.\"\n\nFather d'Aigrigny nodded for him to proceed.\n\n\"Once informed of the pretended wishes of my adopted mother, I resigned\nmyself to them, though at some cost of feeling. I left the gloomy abode,\nin which I had passed my childhood and part of my youth, to enter one\nof the seminaries of the Company. My resolution was not caused by an\nirresistible religious vocation, but by a wish to discharge the sacred\ndebt I owed my adopted mother. Yet the true spirit of the religion of\nChrist is so vivifying, that I felt myself animated and warmed by the\nidea of carrying out the adorable precepts of our Blessed Saviour. To my\nimagination, a seminary, instead of resembling the college where I had\nlived in painful restraint, appeared like a holy place, where all that\nwas pure and warm in the fraternity of the Gospel would be applied to\ncommon life--where, for example, the lessons most frequently taught\nwould be the ardent love of humanity, and the ineffable sweets of\ncommiseration and tolerance--where the everlasting words of Christ\nwould be interpreted in their broadest sense--and where, in fine, by\nthe habitual exercise and expansion of the most generous sentiments, men\nwere prepared for the magnificent apostolic mission of making the rich\nand happy sympathize with the sufferings of their brethren, by unveiling\nthe frightful miseries of humanity--a sublime and sacred morality, which\nnone are able to withstand, when it is preached with eyes full of tears,\nand hearts overflowing with tenderness and charity!\"\n\nAs he delivered these last words with profound emotion, Gabriel's eyes\nbecame moist, and his countenance shone with angelic beauty.\n\n\"Such is, indeed, my dear son, the spirit of Christianity; but one must\nalso study and explain the letter,\" answered Father d'Aigrigny, coldly.\n\"It is to this study that the seminaries of our Company are specially\ndestined. Now the interpretation of the letter is a work of analysis,\ndiscipline, and submission--and not one of heart and sentiment.\"\n\n\"I perceive that only too well, father. On entering this new house, I\nfound, alas! all my hopes defeated. Dilating for a moment, my heart soon\nsunk within me. Instead of this centre of life, affection, youth, of\nwhich I had dreamed. I found, in the silent and ice-cold seminary,\nthe same suppression of every generous emotion, the same inexorable\ndiscipline, the same system of mutual prying, the same suspicion, the\nsame invincible obstacles to all ties of friendship. The ardor which had\nwarmed my soul for an instant soon died out; little by little, I fell\nback into the habits of a stagnant, passive, mechanical life, governed\nby a pitiless power with mechanical precision, just like the inanimate\nworks of a watch.\"\n\n\"But order, submission and regularity are the first foundations of our\nCompany, my dear son.\"\n\n\"Alas, father! it was death, not life, that I found thus organized. In\nthe midst of this destruction of every generous principle, I devoted\nmyself to scholastic and theological studies--gloomy studies--a wily,\nmenacing, and hostile science which, always awake to ideas of peril,\ncontest, and war, is opposed to all those of peace, progress, and\nliberty.\"\n\n\"Theology, my dear son,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, sternly, \"is at once\na buckler and a sword; a buckler, to protect and cover the Catholic\nfaith--a sword, to attack and combat heresy.\"\n\n\"And yet, father, Christ and His apostles knew not this subtle science:\ntheir simple and touching words regenerated mankind, and set freedom\nover slavery. Does not the divine code of the Gospel suffice to teach\nmen to love one another? But, alas! far from speaking to us this\nlanguage, our attention was too often occupied with wars of religion,\nand the rivers of blood that had flowed in honor of the Lord, and for\nthe destruction of heresy. These terrible lessons made our life still\nmore melancholy. As we grew near to manhood, our relations at the\nseminary assumed a growing character of bitterness, jealousy and\nsuspicion. The habit of tale bearing against each other, applied to more\nserious subjects, engendered silent hate and profound resentments. I\nwas neither better nor worse than the others. All of us, bowed down\nfor years beneath the iron yoke of passive obedience, unaccustomed to\nreflection or free-will, humble and trembling before our superiors, had\nthe same pale, dull, colorless disposition. At last I took orders; once\na priest, you invited me, father, to enter the Company of Jesus, or\nrather I found myself insensibly brought to this determination. How,\nI do not know. For a long time before, my will was not my own. I went\nthrough all my proofs; the most terrible was decisive; for some months,\nI lived in the silence of my cell, practicing with resignation the\nstrange and mechanical exercises that you ordered me. With the exception\nof your reverence, nobody approached me during that long space of time;\nno human voice but yours sounded in my ear. Sometimes, in the night,\nI felt vague terrors; my mind, weakened by fasting, austerity, and\nsolitude, was impressed with frightful visions. At other times, on the\ncontrary, I felt a sort of quiescence, in the idea that, having once\npronounced my vows, I should be delivered for ever from the burden of\nthought and will. Then I abandoned myself to an insurmountable torpor,\nlike those unfortunate wretches, who, surprised by a snow-storm,\nyield to a suicidal repose. Thus I awaited the fatal moment. At last,\naccording to the rule of discipline, choking with the death rattle,(17)\nI hastened the moment of accomplishing the final act of my expiring\nwill--the vow to renounce it for ever.\"\n\n\"Remember, my dear son,\" replied Father d'Aigrigny, pale and tortured by\nincreasing anguish, \"remember, that, on the eve of the day fixed for\nthe completion of your vows; I offered, according to the rule of our\nCompany, to absolve you from joining us--leaving you completely free,\nfor we accept none but voluntary vocations.\"\n\n\"It is true, father,\" answered Gabriel, with sorrowful bitterness;\n\"when, worn out and broken by three months of solitude and trial, I was\ncompletely exhausted, and unable to move a step, you opened the door\nof my cell, and said to me: 'If you like, rise and walk; you are free;\nAlas! I had no more strength. The only desire of my soul, inert and\nparalyzed for so long a period, was the repose of the grave; and\npronouncing those irrevocable vows, I fell, like a corpse, into your\nhands.\"\n\n\"And, till now, my dear son, you have never failed in this corpse--like\nobedience,--to use the expression of our glorious founder--because, the\nmore absolute this obedience, the more meritorious it must be.\"\n\nAfter a moment's silence, Gabriel resumed: \"You had always concealed\nfrom me, father, the true ends of the Society into which I entered. I\nwas asked to abandon my free-will to my superiors, in the name of the\nGreater Glory of God. My vows once pronounced, I was to be in your hands\na docile and obedient instrument; but I was to be employed, you told me,\nin a holy, great and beauteous work. I believed you, father--how should\nI not have believed you? but a fatal event changed my destiny--a painful\nmalady caused by--\"\n\n\"My son,\" cried Father d'Aigrigny, interrupting Gabriel, \"it is useless\nto recall these circumstances.\"\n\n\"Pardon me, father, I must recall them. I have the right to be heard. I\ncannot pass over in silence any of the facts, which have led me to take\nthe immutable resolution that I am about to announce to you.\"\n\n\"Speak on, my son,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, frowning; for he was much\nalarmed at the words of the young priest, whose cheeks, until now pale,\nwere covered with a deep blush.\n\n\"Six months before my departure for America,\" resumed Gabriel, casting\ndown his eyes, \"you informed me, that I was destined to confess\npenitents; and to prepare then for that sacred ministry, you gave me a\nbook.\"\n\nGabriel again hesitated. His blushes increased. Father d'Aigrigny could\nscarcely restrain a start of impatience and anger.\n\n\"You gave me a book,\" resumed the young priest, with a great effort\nto control himself, \"a book containing questions to be addressed by\na confessor to youths, and young girls, and married women, when they\npresent themselves at the tribunal of penance. My God!\" added Gabriel,\nshuddering at the remembrance. \"I shall never forget that awful moment.\nIt was night. I had retired to my chamber, taking with me this book,\ncomposed, you told me, by one of our fathers, and completed by a holy\nbishop.(18) Full of respect, faith, and confidence, I opened those\npages. At first, I did not understand them--afterwards I understood--and\nthen I was seized with shame and horror--struck with stupor--and had\nhardly strength to close, with trembling hand, this abominable volume.\nI ran to you, father, to accuse myself of having involuntarily cast my\neyes on those nameless pages, which, by mistake, you had placed in my\nhands.\"\n\n\"Remember, also, my dear son,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, gravely, \"that I\ncalmed your scruples, and told you that a priest, who is bound to\nhear everything under the seal of confession, must be able to know and\nappreciate everything; and that our Company imposes the task of reading\nthis Compendium, as a classical work, upon young deacons seminarists,\nand priests, who are destined to be confessors.\"\n\n\"I believed you, father. In me the habit of inert obedience was so\npowerful, and I was so unaccustomed to independent reflection, that,\nnotwithstanding my horror (with which I now reproached myself as with\na crime), I took the volume back into my chamber, and read. Oh, father!\nwhat a dreadful revelation of criminal fancies, guilty of guiltiest in\ntheir refinement!\"\n\n\"You speak of this book in blamable terms,\" skid Father d'Aigrigny,\nseverely; \"you were the victim of a too lively imagination. It is to it\nthat you must attribute this fatal impression, and not to an excellent\nwork, irreproachable for its special purpose, and duly authorized by the\nChurch. You are not able to judge of such a production.\"\n\n\"I will speak of it no more, father,\" said Gabriel: and he thus resumed:\n\"A long illness followed that terrible night. Many times, they feared\nfor my reason. When I recovered, the past appeared to me like a painful\ndream. You told me, then, father, that I was not yet ripe for certain\nfunctions; and it was then that I earnestly entreated you to be allowed\nto go on the American missions. After having long refused my prayer,\nyou at length consented. From my childhood, I had always lived in the\ncollege or seminary, to a state of continual restraint and subjection.\nBy constantly holding down my head and eyes, I had lost the habit of\ncontemplating the heavens and the splendors of nature. But, oh!\nwhat deep, religious happiness I felt, when I found myself suddenly\ntransported to the centre of the imposing grandeur of the seas-half-way\nbetween the ocean and the sky!--I seemed to come forth from a place of\nthick darkness; for the first time, for many years, I felt my heart beat\nfreely in my bosom; for the first time, I felt myself master of my own\nthoughts, and ventured to examine my past life, as from the summit of\na mountain, one looks down into a gloomy vale. Then strange doubts rose\nwithin me. I asked myself by what right, and for what end, any beings\nhad so long repressed, almost annihilated, the exercise of my will, of\nmy liberty, of my reason, since God had endowed me with these gifts. But\nI said to myself, that perhaps, one day, the great, beauteous, and holy\nwork, in which I was to have my share, would be revealed to me, and\nwould recompense my obedience and resignation.\"\n\nAt this moment, Rodin re-entered the room. Father d'Aigrigny questioned\nhim with a significant look. The socius approached, and said to him in\na low voice, so, that Gabriel could not hear: \"Nothing serious. It was\nonly to inform me, that Marshal Simon's father is arrived at M. Hardy's\nfactory.\"\n\nThen, glancing at Gabriel, Rodin appeared to interrogate Father\nd'Aigrigny, who hung his head with a desponding air. Yet he resumed,\nagain addressing Gabriel, whilst Rodin took his old place, with his\nelbow on the chimney-piece: \"Go on, my dear son. I am anxious to learn\nwhat resolution you have adopted.\"\n\n\"I will tell you in a moment, father. I arrived at Charleston. The\nsuperior of our establishment in that place, to whom I imparted my\ndoubts as to the object of our Society, took upon himself to clear them\nup, and unveiled it all to me with alarming frankness. He told me the\ntendency not perhaps of all the members of the Company, for a great\nnumber must have shared my ignorance--but the objects which our leaders\nhave pertinaciously kept in view, ever since the foundation of the\nOrder. I was terrified. I read the casuists. Oh, father! that was a\nnew and dreadful revelation, when, at every page, I read the excuse and\njustification of robbery, slander, adultery, perjury, murder, regicide.\nWhen I considered that I, the priest of a God of charity, justice,\npardon, and love, was to belong henceforth to a Company, whose chiefs\nprofessed and glorified in such doctrines, I made a solemn oath to break\nfor ever the ties which bound me to it!\"(19)\n\nOn these words of Gabriel, Father d'Aigrigny and Rodin exchanged a look\nof terror. All was lost; their prey had escaped them. Deeply moved by\nthe remembrances he recalled, Gabriel did not perceive the action of\nthe reverend father and the socius, and thus continued: \"In spite of my\nresolution, father, to quit the Company, the discovery I had made was\nvery painful to me. Oh! believe me, for the honest and loving soul,\nnothing is more frightful than to have to renounce what it has long\nrespected!--I suffered so much, that, when I thought of the dangers of\nmy mission, I hoped, with a secret joy, that God would perhaps take me\nto Himself under these circumstances: but, on the contrary, He watched\nover me with providential solicitude.\"\n\nAs he said this, Gabriel felt a thrill, for he remembered a Mysterious\nWoman who had saved his life in America. After a moment's silence, he\nresumed: \"My mission terminated, I returned hither to beg, father, that\nyou would release me from my vows. Many times but in vain, I solicited\nan interview. Yesterday, it pleased Providence that I should have a long\nconversation with my adopted mother; from her I learned the trick by\nwhich my vocation had been forced upon me--and the sacrilegious abuse\nof the confessional, by which she had been induced to entrust to other\npersons the orphans that a dying mother had confided to the care of\nan honest soldier. You understand, father, that, if even I had before\nhesitated to break these bonds, what I have heard yesterday must have\nrendered my decision irrevocable. But at this solemn moment, father,\nI am bound to tell you, that I do not accuse the whole Society; many\nsimple, credulous, and confiding men, like myself, must no doubt form\npart of it. Docile instruments, they see not in their blindness the work\nto which they are destined. I pity them, and pray God to enlighten them,\nas he has enlightened me.\"\n\n\"So, my son,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, rising with livid and despairing\nlook, \"you come to ask of me to break the ties which attach you to the\nSociety?\"\n\n\"Yes, father; you received my vows--it is for you to release me from\nthem.\"\n\n\"So, my son, you understand that engagements once freely taken by you,\nare now to be considered as null and void?\"\n\n\"Yes, father.\"\n\n\"So, my son, there is to be henceforth nothing in common between you and\nour Company?\"\n\n\"No, father--since I request you to absolve me of my vows.\"\n\n\"But, you know, my son, that the Society may release you--but that you\ncannot release yourself.\"\n\n\"The step I take proves to you, father, the importance I attach to an\noath, since I come to you to release me from it. Nevertheless, were\nyou to refuse me, I should not think myself bound in the eyes of God or\nman.\"\n\n\"It is perfectly clear,\" said Father d'Aigrigny to Rodin, his voice\nexpiring upon his lips, so deep was his despair.\n\nSuddenly, whilst Gabriel, with downcast eyes, waited for the answer\nof Father d'Aigrigny, who remained mute and motionless, Rodin appeared\nstruck with a new idea, on perceiving that the reverend father still\nheld in his hand the note written in pencil. The socius hastily\napproached Father d'Aigrigny, and said to him in a whisper, with a look\nof doubt and alarm: \"Have you not read my note?\"\n\n\"I did not think of it,\" answered the reverend father, mechanically.\n\nRodin appeared to make a great effort to repress a movement of violent\nrage. Then he said to Father d'Aigrigny, in a calm voice: \"Read it now.\"\n\nHardly had the reverend father cast his eyes upon this note, than\na sudden ray of hope illumined his hitherto despairing countenance.\nPressing the hand of the socius with an expression of deep gratitude, he\nsaid to him in a low voice: \"You are right. Gabriel is ours.\"\n\n(16) The statutes formally state that the Company can expel all drones\nand wasps, but that no man can break his ties, if the Order wishes to\nretain him.\n\n(17) This is their own command. The constitution expressly bids the\nnovice wait for this decisive climax of the ordeal before taking the\nvows of God.\n\n(18) It is impossible, even in Latin, to give our readers an idea of\nthis infamous work.\n\n(19) This is true. See the extracts from the Compendium for the use of\nSchools, published under the title of \"Discoveries by a Bibliophilist.\"\nStrasburg, 1843. For regicide, see Sanchez and others.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI. THE CHANGE.\n\nBefore again addressing Gabriel, Father d'Aigrigny carefully reflected;\nand his countenance, lately so disturbed, became gradually once more\nserene. He appeared to meditate and calculate the effects of the\neloquence he was about to employ, upon an excellent and safe theme,\nwhich the socius struck with the danger of the situation, had suggested\nin a few lines rapidly written with a pencil, and which, in his despair,\nthe reverend father had at first neglected. Rodin resumed his post of\nobservation near the mantelpiece, on which he leaned his elbow,\nafter casting at Father d'Aigrigny a glance of disdainful and angry\nsuperiority, accompanied by a significant shrug of the shoulders.\n\nAfter this involuntary manifestation, which was luckily not perceived\nby Father d'Aigrigny, the cadaverous face of the socius resumed its\nicy calmness, and his flabby eyelids, raised a moment with anger and\nimpatience, fell, and half-veiled his little, dull eyes. It must be\nconfessed that Father d'Aigrigny, notwithstanding the ease and elegance\nof his speech, notwithstanding the seduction of his exquisite manners,\nhis agreeable features, and the exterior of an accomplished and refined\nman of the world, was often subdued and governed by the unpitying\nfirmness, the diabolical craft and depth of Rodin, the old, repulsive,\ndirty, miserably dressed man, who seldom abandoned his humble part of\nsecretary and mute auditor. The influence of education is so powerful,\nthat Gabriel, notwithstanding the formal rupture he had just provoked,\nfelt himself still intimidated in presence of Father d'Aigrigny, and\nwaited with painful anxiety for the answer of the reverend father to his\nexpress demand to be released from his old vows. His reverence having,\ndoubtless, regularly laid his plan of attack, at length broke silence,\nheaved a deep sigh, gave to his countenance, lately so severe and\nirritated, a touching expression of kindness, and said to Gabriel, in an\naffectionate voice: \"Forgive me, my dear son, for having kept silence\nso long; but your abrupt determination has so stunned me, and has raised\nwithin me so many painful thoughts, that I have had to reflect for some\nmoments, to try and penetrate the cause of this rupture, and I think\nI have succeeded. You have well considered, my dear son, the serious\nnature of the step you are taking?\"\n\n\"Yes, father.\"\n\n\"And you have absolutely decided to abandon the Society, even against my\nwill?\"\n\n\"It would be painful to me, father--but I must resign myself to it.\"\n\n\"It should be very painful to you, indeed, my dear son; for you took the\nirrevocable vow freely, and this vow, according to our statutes, binds\nyou not to quit the Society, unless with the consent of your superiors.\"\n\n\"I did not then know, father, the nature of the engagement I took. More\nenlightened now, I ask to withdraw myself; my only desire is to obtain\na curacy in some village far from Paris. I feel an irresistible vocation\nfor such humble and useful functions. In the country, there is so much\nmisery, and such ignorance of all that could contribute to ameliorate\nthe condition of the agricultural laborer, that his existence is as\nunhappy as that of a negro slave; for what liberty has he? and what\ninstruction? Oh! it seems to me, that, with God's help, I might, as a\nvillage curate, render some services to humanity. It would therefore be\npainful to me, father, to see you refuse--\"\n\n\"Be satisfied, my son,\" answered Father d'Aigrigny; \"I will no longer\nseek to combat your desire to separate yourself from us.\"\n\n\"Then, father, you release me from my vows?\"\n\n\"I have not the power to do so, my dear son; but I will write\nimmediately to Rome, to ask the necessary authority from our general.\"\n\n\"I thank you, father.\"\n\n\"Soon, my dear son, you will be delivered from these bonds, which you\ndeem so heavy; and the men you abandon will not the less continue to\npray for you, that God may preserve you from still greater wanderings.\nYou think yourself released with regard to us, my dear son; but we do\nnot think ourselves released with regard to you. It is not thus that we\ncan get rid of the habit of paternal attachment. What would you have? We\nlook upon ourselves as bound to our children, by the very benefits with\nwhich we have loaded them. You were poor, and an orphan; we stretched\nout our arms to you, as much from the interest which you deserved, my\ndear son, as to spare your excellent adopted mother too great a burden.\"\n\n\"Father,\" said Gabriel, with suppressed emotion, \"I am not ungrateful.\"\n\n\"I wish to believe so, my dear son. For long years, we gave to you, as\nto our beloved child, food for the body and the soul. It pleases you now\nto renounce and abandon us. Not only do we consent to it--but now that I\nhave penetrated the true motives of your rupture with us, it is my duty\nto release you from your vow.\"\n\n\"Of what motives do you speak, Father?\"\n\n\"Alas! my dear son, I understand your fears. Dangers menace us--you know\nit well.\"\n\n\"Dangers, father?\" cried Gabriel.\n\n\"It is impossible, my dear son, that you should not be aware that,\nsince the fall of our legitimate sovereigns, our natural protectors,\nrevolutionary impiety becomes daily more and more threatening. We\nare oppressed with persecutions. I can, therefore, comprehend and\nappreciate, my dear son, the motive which under such circumstances,\ninduces you to separate from us.\"\n\n\"Father!\" cried Gabriel, with as much indignation as grief, \"you do not\nthink that of me--you cannot think it.\"\n\nWithout noticing the protestations of Gabriel, Father d'Aigrigny\ncontinued his imaginary picture of the dangers of the Company, which,\nfar from being really in peril, was already beginning secretly to\nrecover its influence.\n\n\"Oh! if our Company were now as powerful as it was some years ago,\"\nresumed the reverend father; \"if it were still surrounded by the respect\nand homage which are due to it from all true believers--in spite of the\nabominable calumnies with which we are assailed--then, my dear son, we\nshould perhaps have hesitated to release you from your vows, and have\nrather endeavored to open your eyes to the light, and save you from\nthe fatal delusion to which you are a prey. But now that we are weak,\noppressed, threatened on every side, it is our duty, it is an act of\ncharity, not to force you to share in perils from which you have the\nprudence to wish to withdraw yourself.\"\n\nSo, saying, Father d'Aigrigny cast a rapid glance at his socius,\nwho answered with a nod of approbation, accompanied by a movement of\nimpatience that seemed to say: \"Go on! go on!\"\n\nGabriel was quite overcome. There was not in the whole world a heart\nmore generous, loyal, and brave than his. We may judge of what he\nmust have suffered, on hearing the resolution he had come to thus\nmisinterpreted.\n\n\"Father,\" he resumed, in an agitated voice, whilst his eyes filled\nwith tears, \"your words are cruel and unjust. You know that I am not a\ncoward.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Rodin, in his sharp, cutting voice, addressing Father\nd'Aigrigny, and pointing to Gabriel with a disdainful look; \"your dear\nson is only prudent.\"\n\nThese words from Rodin made Gabriel start; a slight blush colored his\npale cheeks; his large and blue eyes sparkled with a generous anger;\nthen, faithful to the precepts of Christian humility and resignation,\nhe conquered this irritable impulse, hung down his head, and, too much\nagitated to reply, remained silent, and brushed away an unseen tear.\nThis tear did not escape the notice of the socius. He saw in it no\ndoubt, a favorable symptom, for he exchanged a glance of satisfaction\nwith Father d'Aigrigny. The latter was about to touch on a question of\ngreat interest, so, notwithstanding his self-command, his voice trembled\nslightly; but encouraged, or rather pushed on by a look from Rodin,\nwho had become extremely attentive, he said to Gabriel: \"Another motive\nobliges us not to hesitate in releasing you from your vow, my dear son.\nIt is a question of pure delicacy. You probably learned yesterday\nfrom your adopted mother, that you will perhaps be called upon to take\npossession of an inheritance, of which the value is unknown.\"\n\nGabriel raised his head hastily and said to Father d'Aigrigny: \"As I\nhave already stated to M. Rodin, my adopted mother only talked of her\nscruples of conscience, and I was completely ignorant of the existence\nof the inheritance of which you speak.\"\n\nThe expression of indifference with which the young priest pronounced\nthese last words, was remarked by Rodin.\n\n\"Be it so,\" replied Father d'Aigrigny. \"You were not aware of it--I\nbelieve you--though all appearances would tend to prove the contrary--to\nprove, indeed, that the knowledge of this inheritance was not\nunconnected with your resolution to separate from us.\"\n\n\"I do not understand you, Father.\"\n\n\"It is very simple. Your rupture with us would then have two motives.\nFirst, we are in danger, and you think it prudent to leave us--\"\n\n\"Father!\"\n\n\"Allow me to finish, my dear son, and come to the second motive. If I\nam deceived, you can tell me so. These are the facts. Formerly, on the\nhypothesis that your family, of which you knew nothing, might one day\nleave you some property, you made, in return for the care bestowed on\nyou by the Company, a free gift of all you might hereafter possess, not\nto us--but to the poor, of whom we are the born shepherds.\"\n\n\"Well, father?\" asked Gabriel, not seeing to what this preamble tended.\n\n\"Well, my dear son--now that you are sure of enjoying a competence, you\nwish, no doubt, by separating from us, to annul this donation made under\nother circumstances.\"\n\n\"To speak plainly, you violate your oath, because we are persecuted,\nand because you wish to take back your gifts,\" added Rodin, in a\nsharp voice, as if to describe in the clearest and plainest manner the\nsituation of Gabriel with regard to the Society.\n\nAt this infamous accusation, Gabriel could only raise his hands and eyes\nto heaven, and exclaim, with an expression of despair, \"Oh, heaven!\"\n\nOnce more exchanging a look of intelligence with Rodin, Father\nd'Aigrigny said to him, in a severe tone, as if reproaching him for his\ntoo savage frankness: \"I think you go too far. Our dear son could only\nhave acted in the base and cowardly manner you suggest, had he known his\nposition as an heir; but, since he affirms the contrary, we are bound to\nbelieve him--in spite of appearances.\"\n\n\"Father,\" said Gabriel, pale, agitated trembling, and with half\nsuppressed grief and indignation, \"I thank you, at least, for having\nsuspended your judgment. No, I am not a coward; for heaven is my\nwitness, that I knew of no danger to which the Society was exposed. Nor\nam I base and avaricious; for heaven is also my witness, that only at\nthis moment I learn from you, father, that I may be destined to inherit\nproperty, and--\"\n\n\"One word, my dear son. It is quite lately that I became informed of\nthis circumstance, by the greatest chance in the world,\" said Father\nd'Aigrigny, interrupting Gabriel; \"and that was thanks to some family\npapers which your adopted mother had given to her confessor, and which\nwere entrusted to us when you entered our college. A little before your\nreturn from America, in arranging the archives of the Company, your file\nof papers fell into the hands of our father-attorney. It was examined,\nand we thus learned that one of your paternal ancestors, to whom the\nhouse in which we now are belonged, left a will which is to be opened to\nday at noon. Yesterday, we believed you one of us; our statutes command\nthat we should possess nothing of our own; you had corroborated those\nstatutes, by a donation in favor of the patrimony of the poor--which we\nadminister. It was no longer you, therefore, but the Company, which, in\nmy person, presented itself as the inheritor in your place, furnished\nwith your titles, which I have here ready in order. But now, my clear\nson, that you separate from us, you must present yourself in your own\nname. We came here as the representatives of the poor, to whom in former\ndays you piously abandoned whatever goods might fall to your share. Now,\non the contrary, the hope of a fortune changes your sentiments. You are\nfree to resume your gifts.\"\n\nGabriel had listened to Father d'Aigrigny with painful impatience. At\nlength he exclaimed. \"Do you mean to say, father, that you think me\ncapable of canceling a donation freely made, in favor of the Company, to\nwhich I am indebted for my education? You believe me infamous enough to\nbreak my word, in the hope of possessing a modest patrimony?\"\n\n\"This patrimony, my dear, son, may be small; but it may also be\nconsiderable.\"\n\n\"Well, father! if it were a king's fortune,\" cried Gabriel, with proud\nand noble indifference, \"I should not speak otherwise--and I have,\nI think, the right to be believed listen to my fixed resolution. The\nCompany to which I belong runs, you say, great dangers. I will inquire\ninto these dangers. Should they prove threatening--strong in the\ndetermination which morally separates me from you--I will not leave you\ntill I see the end of your perils. As for the inheritance, of which you\nbelieve me so desirous, I resign it to you formally, father, as I once\nfreely promised. My only wish is, that this property may be employed\nfor the relief of the poor. I do not know what may be the amount of this\nfortune, but large or small, it belongs to the Company, because I have\nthereto pledged my word. I have told you, father, that my chief\ndesire is to obtain a humble curacy in some poor village--poor, above\nall--because there my services will be most useful. Thus, father, when a\nman, who never spoke falsehood in his life, affirms to you, that he only\nsighs for so humble an existence, you ought, I think, to believe him\nincapable of snatching back, from motives of avarice, gifts already\nmade.\"\n\nFather d'Aigrigny had now as much trouble to restrain his joy, as he\nbefore had to conceal his terror. He appeared, however, tolerably calm,\nand said to Gabriel: \"I did not expect less from you, my dear son.\"\n\nThen he made a sign to Rodin, to invite him to interpose. The latter\nperfectly understood his superior. He left the chimney, drew near\nto Gabriel, and leaned against the table, upon which stood paper and\ninkstand. Then, beginning mechanically to beat the tattoo with the tips\nof his coarse fingers, in all their array of flat and dirty nails, he\nsaid to Father d'Aigrigny: \"All this is very fine! but your dear son\ngives you no security for the fulfilment of his promise except an\noath--and that, we know, is of little value.\"\n\n\"Sir!\" cried Gabriel\n\n\"Allow me,\" said Rodin, coldly. \"The law does not acknowledge our\nexistence and therefore can take no cognizance of donations made in\nfavor of the Company. You might resume to-morrow what you are pleased to\ngive us to-day.\"\n\n\"But my oath, sir!\" cried Gabriel.\n\nRodin looked at him fixedly, as he answered: \"Your oath? Did you not\nswear eternal obedience to the Company, and never to separate from\nus?--and of what weight now are these oaths?\"\n\nFor a moment Gabriel was embarrassed; but, feeling how false was this\nlogic, he rose, calm and dignified, went to seat himself at the desk,\ntook up a pen, and wrote as follows:\n\n\"Before God, who sees and hears me, and in the presence of you, Father\nd'Aigrigny and M. Rodin, I renew and confirm, freely and voluntarily,\nthe absolute donation made by me to the Society of Jesus, in the person\nof the said Father d'Aigrigny, of all the property which may hereafter\nbelong to me, whatever may be its value. I swear, on pain of infamy, to\nperform tis irrevocable promise, whose accomplishment I regard, in my\nsoul and conscience, as the discharge of a debt, and the fulfilment of a\npious duty.\n\n\"This donation having for its object the acknowledgment of past\nservices, and the relief of the poor, no future occurrences can at\nall modify it. For the very reason that I know I could one day legally\ncancel the present free and deliberate act, I declare, that if ever I\nwere to attempt such a thing, under any possible circumstances, I should\ndeserve the contempt and horror of all honest people.\n\n\"In witness whereof I have written this paper, on the 13th of February,\n1832, in Paris, immediately before the opening of the testament of one\nof my paternal ancestors.\n\n\"GABRIEL DE RENNEPONT.\"\n\nAs he rose, the young priest delivered this document to Rodin, without\nuttering a word. The socius read it attentively, and, still impassible,\nanswered, as he looked at Gabriel: \"Well, it is a written oath--that is\nall.\"\n\nGabriel dwelt stupefied at the audacity of Rodin, who ventured to tell\nhim, that this document, in which he renewed his donation in so noble,\ngenerous, and spontaneous a manner, was not all sufficient. The\nsocius was the first again to break the silence, and he said to Father\nd'Aigrigny, with his usual cool impudence. \"One of two things must be.\nEither your dear son means to render his donation absolutely valuable\nand irrevocable,--or--\"\n\n\"Sir,\" exclaimed Gabriel, interrupting him, and hardly able to restrain\nhimself, \"spare yourself and me such a shameful supposition.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" resumed Rodin, impassible as ever, \"as you are perfectly\ndecided to make this donation a serious reality, what objection can you\nhave to secure it legally?\"\n\n\"None, sir,\" said Gabriel, bitterly, \"since my written and sworn promise\nwill not suffice you.\"\n\n\"My dear son,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, affectionately, \"if this were\na donation for my own advantage, believe me I should require no better\nsecurity than your word. But here I am, as it were, the agent of the\nSociety, or rather the trustee of the poor, who will profit by your\ngenerosity. For the sake of humanity, therefore, we cannot secure this\ngift by too many legal precautions, so that the unfortunate objects of\nour care may have certainty instead of vague hopes to depend upon. God\nmay call you to him at any moment, and who shall say that your heirs\nwill be so ready to keep the oath you have taken?\"\n\n\"You are right, father,\" said Gabriel, sadly; \"I had not thought of the\ncase of death, which is yet so probable.\"\n\nHereupon, Samuel opened the door of the room, and said: \"Gentlemen, the\nnotary has just arrived. Shall I show him in? At ten o'clock precisely,\nthe door of the house will be opened.\"\n\n\"We are the more glad to see the notary,\" said Rodin, \"as we just happen\nto have some business with him. Pray ask him to walk in.\"\n\n\"I will bring him to you instantly,\" replied Samuel, as he went out.\n\n\"Here is a notary,\" said Rodin to Gabriel. \"If you have still the same\nintentions, you can legalize your donation in presence of this public\nofficer, and thus save yourself from a great burden for the future.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Gabriel, \"happen what may, I am as irrevocably engaged by\nthis written promise, which I beg you to keep, father\"--and he handed\nthe paper to Father d'Aigrigny \"as by the legal document, which I am\nabout to sign,\" he added, turning to Rodin.\n\n\"Silence, my dear son,\" said Father d'Aigrigny; \"here is the notary,\"\njust as the latter entered the room.\n\nDuring the interview of the administrative officer with Rodin, Gabriel,\nand Father d'Aigrigny, we shall conduct the reader to the interior of\nthe walled-up house.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII. THE RED ROOM.\n\nAs Samuel had said, the door of the walled-up house had just been\ndisencumbered of the bricks, lead, and iron, which had kept it from\nview, and its panels of carved oak appeared as fresh and sound, as on\nthe day when they had first been withdrawn from the influence of the air\nand time. The laborers, having completed their work, stood waiting\nupon the steps, as impatient and curious as the notary's clerk, who\nhad superintended the operation, when they saw Samuel slowly advancing\nacross the garden, with a great bunch of keys in his hand.\n\n\"Now, my friends,\" said the old man, when he had reached the steps,\n\"your work is finished. The master of this gentleman will pay you, and I\nhave only to show you out by the street door.\"\n\n\"Come, come, my good fellow,\" cried the clerk, \"you don't think. We\nare just at the most interesting and curious moment; I and these honest\nmasons are burning to see the interior of this mysterious house, and you\nwould be cruel enough to send us away? Impossible!\"\n\n\"I regret the necessity, sir, but so it must he. I must be the first to\nenter this dwelling, absolutely alone, before introducing the heirs, in\norder to read the testament.\"\n\n\"And who gave you such ridiculous and barbarous orders?\" cried the\nclerk, singularly disappointed.\n\n\"My father, sir.\"\n\n\"A most respectable authority, no doubt; but come, my worthy guardian,\nmy excellent guardian,\" resumed the clerk, \"be a good fellow, and let us\njust take a peep in at the door.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, sir, only a peep!\" cried the heroes of the trowel, with a\nsupplicating air.\n\n\"It is disagreeable to have to refuse you, gentlemen,\" answered Samuel;\n\"but I cannot open this door, until I am alone.\"\n\nThe masons, seeing the inflexibility of the old man, unwillingly\ndescended the steps; but the clerk had resolved to dispute the ground\ninch by inch, and exclaimed: \"I shall wait for my master. I do not leave\nthe house without him. He may want me--and whether I remain on these\nsteps or elsewhere, can be of little consequence to you my worthy\nkeeper.\"\n\nThe clerk was interrupted in his appeal by his master himself, who\ncalled out from the further side of the courtyard, with an air of\nbusiness: \"M. Piston! quick, M. Piston--come directly!\"\n\n\"What the devil does he want with me?\" cried the clerk, in a passion.\n\"He calls me just at the moment when I might have seen something.\"\n\n\"M. Piston,\" resumed the voice, approaching, \"do you not hear?\"\n\nWhile Samuel let out the masons, the clerk saw, through a clump of\ntrees, his master running towards him bareheaded, and with an air of\nsingular haste and importance. The clerk was therefore obliged to leave\nthe steps, to answer the notary's summons, towards whom he went with a\nvery bad grace.\n\n\"Sir, sir,\" said M. Dumesnil, \"I have been calling you this hour with\nall my might.\"\n\n\"I did not hear you sir,\" said M. Piston.\n\n\"You must be deaf, then. Have you any change about you?\"\n\n\"Yes sir,\" answered the clerk, with some surprise.\n\n\"Well, then, you must go instantly to the nearest stamp-office, and\nfetch me three or four large sheets of stamped paper, to draw up a deed.\nRun! it is wanted directly.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" said the clerk, casting a rueful and regretful glance at the\ndoor of the walled-up house.\n\n\"But make haste, will you, M. Piston,\" said the notary.\n\n\"I do not know, sir, where to get any stamped paper.\"\n\n\"Here is the guardian,\" replied M. Dumesnil. \"He will no doubt be able\nto tell you.\"\n\nAt this instant, Samuel was returning, after showing the masons out by\nthe street-door.\n\n\"Sir,\" said the notary to him, \"will you please to tell me where we can\nget stamped paper?\"\n\n\"Close by, sir,\" answered Samuel; \"in the tobacconist's, No. 17, Rue\nVieille-du-Temple.\"\n\n\"You hear, M. Piston?\" said the notary to his clerk. \"You can get the\nstamps at the tobacconist's, No. 17, Rue Vieille-du-Temple. Be quick!\nfor this deed must be executed immediately before the opening of the\nwill. Time presses.\"\n\n\"Very well, sir; I will make haste,\" answered the clerk, discontentedly,\nas he followed his master, who hurried back into the room where he had\nleft Rodin, Gabriel, and Father d'Aigrigny.\n\nDuring this time, Samuel, ascending the steps, had reached the door,\nnow disencumbered of the stone, iron, and lead with which it had been\nblocked up. It was with deep emotion that the old man having selected\nfrom his bunch of keys the one he wanted, inserted it in the keyhole,\nand made the door turn upon its hinges. Immediately he felt on his\nface a current of damp, cold air, like that which exhales from a cellar\nsuddenly opened. Having carefully re-closed and double-locked the door,\nthe Jew advanced along the hall, lighted by a glass trefoil over the\narch of the door. The panes had lost their transparency by the effect of\ntime, and now had the appearance of ground-glass. This hall, paved with\nalternate squares of black and white marble, was vast, sonorous, and\ncontained a broad staircase leading to the first story. The walls of\nsmooth stone offered not the least appearance of decay or dampness; the\nstair-rail of wrought iron presented no traces of rust; it was inserted,\njust above the bottom step, into a column of gray granite, which\nsustained a statue of black marble, representing a negro bearing a\nflambeau. This statue had a strange countenance, the pupils of the eyes\nbeing made of white marble.\n\nThe Jew's heavy tread echoed beneath the lofty dome of the hall.\nThe grandson of Isaac Samuel experienced a melancholy feeling, as he\nreflected that the footsteps of his ancestor had probably been the last\nwhich had resounded through this dwelling, of which he had closed the\ndoors a hundred and fifty years before; for the faithful friend,\nin favor of whom M. de Rennepont had made a feigned transfer of the\nproperty, had afterwards parted with the same, to place it in the name\nof Samuel's grandfather, who had transmitted it to his descendants, as\nif it had been his own inheritance.\n\nTo these thoughts, in which Samuel was wholly absorbed, was joined the\nremembrance of the light seen that morning through the seven openings in\nthe leaden cover of the belvedere; and, in spite of the firmness of his\ncharacter, the old man could not repress a shudder, as, taking a second\nkey from his bunch, and reading upon the label, The Key of the Red\nRoom, he opened a pair of large folding doors, leading to the inner\napartments. The window which, of all those in the house, had alone been\nopened, lighted this large room, hung with damask, the deep purple of\nwhich had undergone no alteration. A thick Turkey carpet covered the\nfloor, and large arm-chairs of gilded wood, in the severe Louis XIV.\nstyle, were symmetrically arranged along the wall. A second door,\nleading to the next room, was just opposite the entrance. The\nwainscoting and the cornice were white, relieved with fillets and\nmouldings of burnished gold. On each side of this door was a large\npiece of buhl-furniture, inlaid with brass and porcelain, supporting\nornamental sets of sea crackle vases. The window was hung with heavy\ndeep-fringed damask curtains, surmounted by scalloped drapery, with\nsilk tassels, directly opposite the chimney-piece of dark-gray marble,\nadorned with carved brass-work. Rich chandeliers, and a clock in the\nsame style as the furniture, were reflected in a large Venice glass,\nwith basiled edges. A round table, covered with a cloth of crimson\nvelvet, was placed in the centre of this saloon.\n\nAs he approached this table, Samuel perceived a piece of white vellum,\non which were inscribed these words: \"My testament is to be opened in\nthis saloon. The other apartments are to remain closed, until after the\nreading of my last will--M. De R.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Jew, as he perused with emotion these lines traced so\nlong ago; \"this is the same recommendation as that which I received from\nmy father; for it would seem that the other apartments of this house are\nfilled with objects, on which M. de Rennepont set a high value, not for\ntheir intrinsic worth, but because of their origin. The Hall of Mourning\nmust be a strange and mysterious chamber. Well,\" added Samuel, as he\ndrew from his pocket a register bound in black shagreen, with a brass\nlock, from which he drew the key, after placing it upon the table, \"here\nis the statement of the property in hand, which I have been ordered to\nbring hither, before the arrival of the heirs.\"\n\nThe deepest silence reigned in the room, at the moment when Samuel\nplaced the register on the table. Suddenly a simple and yet most\nstartling occurrence roused him from his reverie. In the next apartment\nwas heard the clear, silvery tone of a clock, striking slowly ten. And\nthe hour was ten! Samuel had too much sense to believe in perpetual\nmotion, or in the possibility of constructing a clock to go far one\nhundred and fifty years. He asked himself, therefore, with surprise and\nalarm, how this clock could still be going, and how it could mark so\nexactly the hour of the day. Urged with restless curiosity, the old man\nwas about to enter the room; but recollecting the recommendation of his\nfather, which had now been confirmed by the few lines he had just read\nfrom De Rennepont's pen, he stopped at the door, and listened with\nextreme attention.\n\nHe heard nothing--absolutely nothing, but the last dying vibration of\nthe clock. After having long reflected upon this strange fact, Samuel,\ncomparing it with the no less extraordinary circumstance of the light\nperceived that morning through the apertures in the belvedere, concluded\nthat there must be some connection between these two incidents. If\nthe old man could not penetrate the true cause of these extraordinary\nappearances, he at least explained them to himself, by remembering the\nsubterraneous communications, which, according to tradition, were said\nto exist between the cellars of this house and distant places; and he\nconjectured that unknown and mysterious personages thus gained access\nto it two or three times in a century. Absorbed in these thoughts Samuel\napproached the fireplace, which, as we have said, was directly opposite\nthe window. Just then, a bright ray of sunlight, piercing the clouds,\nshone full upon two large portraits, hung upon either side of the\nfireplace, and not before remarked by the Jew. They were painted life\nsize, and represented one a woman, the other a man. By the sober yet\npowerful coloring of these paintings, by the large and vigorous style,\nit was easy to recognize a master's hand. It would have been difficult\nto find models more fitted to inspire a great painter. The woman\nappeared to be from five-and-twenty to thirty years of age. Magnificent\nbrown hair, with golden tints, crooned a forehead, white, noble, and\nlofty. Her head-dress, far from recalling the fashion, which Madame de\nSevigne brought in during the age of Louis XIV., reminded one rather of\nsome of the portraits of Paul Veronese, in which the hair encircles the\nface in broad, undulating bands, surmounted by a thick plait, like a\ncrown, at the back of the head. The eyebrows, finely pencilled, were\narched over large eyes of bright, sapphire blue. Their gaze at once\nproud and mournful, had something fatal about it. The nose, finely\nformed, terminated in slight dilated nostrils: a half smile, almost\nof pain, contracted the mouth; the face was a long oval, and the\ncomplexion, extremely pale, was hardly shaded on the cheek by a light\nrose-color. The position of the head and neck announced a rare mixture\nof grace and dignity. A sort of tunic or robe, of glossy black material,\ncame as high as the commencement of her shoulders, and just marking\nher lithe and tall figure, reached down to her feet, which were almost\nentirely concealed by the folds of this garment.\n\nThe attitude was full of nobleness and simplicity. The head looked white\nand luminous, standing out from a dark gray sky, marbled at the horizon\nby purple clouds, upon which were visible the bluish summits of distant\nhills, in deep shadow. The arrangement of the picture, as well as the\nwarm tints of the foreground, contrasting strongly with these distant\nobjects, showed that the woman was placed upon an eminence, from which\nshe could view the whole horizon. The countenance was deeply pensive and\ndesponding. There was an expression of supplicating and resigned grief,\nparticularly in her look, half raised to heaven, which one would have\nthought impossible to picture. On the left side of the fireplace was the\nother portrait, painted with like vigor. It represented a man, between\nthirty and thirty-five years of age, of tall stature. A large brown\ncloak, which hung round him in graceful folds, did not quite conceal a\nblack doublet, buttoned up to the neck, over which fell a square white\ncollar. The handsome and expressive head was marked with stern powerful\nlines, which did not exclude an admirable air of suffering, resignation,\nand ineffable goodness. The hair, as well as the beard and eyebrows, was\nblack; and the latter, by some singular caprice of nature, instead\nof being separated and forming two distinct arches, extended from one\ntemple to the other, in a single bow, and seemed to mark the forehead of\nthis man with a black line.\n\nThe background of this picture also represented a stormy sky; but,\nbeyond some rocks in the distance, the sea was visible, and appeared to\nmingle with the dark clouds. The sun, just now shining upon these two\nremarkable figures (which it appeared impossible to forget, after once\nseeing them), augmented their brilliancy.\n\nStarting from his reverie, and casting his eyes by chance upon these\nportraits, Samuel was greatly struck with them. They appeared almost\nalive. \"What noble and handsome faces!\" he exclaimed, as he approached\nto examine them more closely. \"Whose are these portraits? They are not\nthose of any of the Rennepont family, for my father told me that they\nare all in the Hall of Mourning. Alas!\" added the old man, \"one might\nthink, from the great sorrow expressed in their countenances, that they\nought to have a place in that mourning-chamber.\"\n\nAfter a moment's silence, Samuel resumed: \"Let me prepare everything for\nthis solemn assembly, for it has struck ten.\" So saying, he placed the\ngilded arm-chairs round the table, and then continued, with a pensive\nair: \"The hour approaches, and of the descendants of my grandfather's\nbenefactor, we have seen only this young priest, with the angelic\ncountenance. Can he be the sole representative of the Rennepont family?\nHe is a priest, and this family will finish with him! Well! the moment\nis come when I must open this door, that the will may be read. Bathsheba\nis bringing hither the notary. They knock at the door; it is time!\" And\nSamuel, after casting a last glance towards the place where the clock\nhad struck ten, hastened to the outer door, behind which voices were now\naudible.\n\nHe turned the key twice in the lock, and threw the portals open. To his\ngreat regret, he saw only Gabriel on the steps, between Rodin and Father\nd'Aigrigny. The notary, and Bathsheba, who had served them as a guide,\nwaited a little behind the principal group.\n\nSamuel could not repress a sigh, as he stood bowing on the threshold,\nand said to them: \"All is ready, gentlemen. You may walk in.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII. THE TESTAMENT.\n\nWhen Gabriel, Rodin, and Father d'Aigrigny entered the Red Room, they\nwere differently affected. Gabriel, pale and sad, felt a kind of painful\nimpatience. He was anxious to quit this house, though he had already\nrelieved himself of a great weight, by executing before the notary,\nsecured by every legal formality, a deed making over all his rights of\ninheritance to Father d'Aigrigny. Until now it had not occurred to the\nyoung priest, that in bestowing the care upon him, which he was about\nto reward so generously, and in forcing his vocation by a sacrilegious\nfalsehood, the only object of Father d'Aigrigny might have been to\nsecure the success of a dark intrigue. In acting as he did, Gabriel was\nnot yielding, in his view of the question, to a sentiment of exaggerated\ndelicacy. He had made this donation freely, many years before. He would\nhave looked upon it as infamy now to withdraw it. It was hard enough\nto be suspected of cowardice: for nothing in the world would he have\nincurred the least reproach of cupidity.\n\nThe missionary must have been endowed with a very rare and excellent\nnature, or this flower of scrupulous probity would have withered\nbeneath the deleterious and demoralizing influence of his education; but\nhappily, as cold sometimes preserves from corruption, the icy atmosphere\nin which he had passed a portion of his childhood and youth had\nbenumbed, but not vitiated, his generous qualities, which had indeed\nsoon revived in the warm air of liberty. Father d'Aigrigny, much paler\nand more agitated than Gabriel, strove to excuse and explain his anxiety\nby attributing it to the sorrow he experienced at the rupture of his\ndear son with the Order. Rodin, calm, and perfectly master of himself,\nsaw with secret rage the strong emotion of Father d'Aigrigny, which\nmight have inspired a man less confiding than Gabriel with strange\nsuspicions. Yet, notwithstanding his apparent indifference, the socius\nwas perhaps still more ardently impatient than his superior for the\nsuccess of this important affair. Samuel appeared quite desponding, no\nother heir but Gabriel having presented himself. No doubt the old man\nfelt a lively sympathy for the young priest; but then he was a priest,\nand with him would finish the line of Rennepont; and this immense\nfortune, accumulated with so much labor, would either be again\ndistributed, or employed otherwise than the testator had desired. The\ndifferent actors in this scene were standing around the table. As they\nwere about to seat themselves, at the invitation of the notary, Samuel\npointed to the register bound in black shagreen, and said: \"I was\nordered, sir, to deposit here this register. It is locked. I will\ndeliver up the key, immediately after the reading of the will.\"\n\n\"This course is, in fact, directed by the note which accompanies the\nwill,\" said M. Dumesnil, \"as it was deposited, in the year 1682, in the\nhands of Master Thomas Le Semelier, king's counsel, and notary of the\nChatelet of Paris, then living at No. 13, Place Royale.\"\n\nSo saying, M. Dumesnil drew from a portfolio of red morocco a large\nparchment envelope, grown yellow with time; to this envelope was\nannexed, by a silken thread, a note also upon vellum.\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" said the notary, \"if you please to sit down, I will read\nthe subjoined note, to regulate the formalities at the opening of the\nwill.\"\n\nThe notary, Rodin, Father d'Aigrigny, and Gabriel, took seats. The young\npriest, having his back turned to the fireplace, could not see the two\nportraits. In spite of the notary's invitation, Samuel remained standing\nbehind the chair of that functionary, who read as follows:\n\n\"'On the 13th February, 1832, my will shall be carried to No. 3, in the\nRue Saint-Francois.\n\n\"'At ten o'clock precisely, the door of the Red Room shall be opened\nto my heirs, who will no doubt have arrived long before at Paris, in\nanticipation of this day, and will have had time to establish their line\nof descent.\n\n\"'As soon as they are assembled, the will shall be read, and, at the\nlast stroke of noon, the inheritance shall be finally settled in favor\nof those of my kindred, who according to my recommendation (preserved,\nI hope, by tradition in my family, during a century and a half); shall\npresent themselves in person, and not by agents, before twelve o'clock,\non the 13th of February, in the Rue Saint-Francois.'\"\n\nHaving read these words in a sonorous voice, the notary stopped an\ninstant, and resumed, in a solemn tone: \"M. Gabriel Francois Marie de\nRennepont, priest, having established, by legal documents, his descent\non the father's side, and his relationship to the testator, and being at\nthis hour the only one of the descendants of the Rennepont family here\npresent, I open the testament in his presence, as it has been ordered.\"\n\nSo saying, the notary drew from its envelope the will, which had been\npreviously opened by the President of the Tribunal, with the formalities\nrequired by law. Father d'Aigrigny leaned forward, and resting his elbow\non the table, seemed to pant for breath. Gabriel prepared himself to\nlisten with more curiosity than interest. Rodin was seated at some\ndistance from the table, with his old hat between his knees, in the\nbottom of which, half hidden by the folds of a shabby blue cotton\nhandkerchief, he had placed his watch. The attention of the socius was\ndivided between the least noise from without, and the slow evolution of\nthe hands of the watch, which he followed with his little, wrathful eye,\nas if hastening their progress, so great was his impatience for the hour\nof noon.\n\nThe notary, unfolding the sheet of parchment, read what follows, in the\nmidst of profound attention:\n\nHameau de Villetaneuse,\n\n\"'February 13th, 1682.\n\n\"'I am about to escape, by death, from the disgrace of the galleys, to\nwhich the implacable enemies of my family have caused me to be condemned\nas a relapsed heretic.\n\n\"'Moreover, life is too bitter for me since the death of my son, the\nvictim of a mysterious crime.\n\n\"'At nineteen years of age--poor henry!--and his murderers unknown--no,\nnot unknown--if I may trust my presentiments.\n\n\"'To preserve my fortune for my son, I had feigned to abjure the\nProtestant faith. As long as that beloved boy lived, I scrupulously kept\nup Catholic appearances. The imposture revolted me, but the interest of\nmy son was concerned.\n\n\"'When they killed him, this deceit became insupportable to me. I\nwas watched, accused, and condemned as relapsed. My property has been\nconfiscated, and I am sentenced to the galleys.\n\n\"'Tis a terrible time we live in! Misery and servitude! sanguinary\ndespotism and religious intolerance! Oh, it is sweet to abandon life!\nsweet to rest and see no more such evils and such sorrows!\n\n\"'In a few hours, I shall enjoy that rest. I shall die. Let me think\nof those who will survive--or rather, of those who will live perhaps in\nbetter times.\n\n\"'Out of all my fortune, there remains to me a sum of fifty thousand\ncrowns, deposited in a friend's hands.\n\n\"'I have no longer a son; but I have numerous relations, exiled in\nvarious parts of Europe. This sum of fifty thousand crowns, divided\nbetween them, would profit each of them very little. I have disposed of\nit differently.\n\n\"'In this I have followed the wise counsels of a man, whom I venerate\nas the image of God on earth, for his intelligence, wisdom, and goodness\nare almost divine.\n\n\"'Twice in the course of my life have I seen this man, under very fatal\ncircumstances--twice have I owed him safety, once of the soul, once of\nthe body.\n\n\"'Alas! he might perhaps have saved my poor child, but he came too\nlate--too late.\n\n\"'Before he left me, he wished to divert me from the intention of\ndying--for he knew all. But his voice was powerless. My grief, my\nregret, my discouragement, were too much for him.\n\n\"'It is strange! when he was convinced of my resolution to finish my\ndays by violence, some words of terrible bitterness escaped him, making\nme believe that he envied me--my fate--my death!\n\n\"'Is he perhaps condemned to live?\n\n\"'Yes; he has, no doubt, condemned himself to be useful to humanity,\nand yet life is heavy on him, for I heard him repeat one day, with an\nexpression of despair and weariness that I have never forgotten: \"Life!\nlife! who will deliver me from it?\"\n\n\"'Is life then so very burdensome to him?\n\n\"'He is gone. His last words have made me look for my departure with\nserenity. Thanks to him, my death shall not be without fruit.\n\n\"'Thanks to him, these lines, written at this moment by a man who, in a\nfew hours, will have ceased to live, may perhaps be the parents of great\nthings a century and a half hence--yes! great and noble things, if my\nlast will is piously followed by my descendants, for it is to them that\nI here address myself.\n\n\"'That they may understand and appreciate this last will--which I\ncommend to the care of the unborn, who dwell in the future whither I am\nhastening--they must know the persecutors of my family and avenge their\nancestor, but by a noble vengeance.\n\n\"'My grandfather was a Catholic. Induced by perfidious counsels rather\nthan religious zeal, he attached himself, though a layman, to a Society\nwhose power has always been terrible and mysterious--the Society of\nJesus--'\"\n\nAt these words of the testament, Father d'Aigrigny, Rodin, and Gabriel\nlooked involuntarily at each other: The notary, who had not perceived\nthis action, continued to read:\n\n\"'After some years, during which he had never ceased to profess the\nmost absolute devotion to this Society, he was suddenly enlightened by\nfearful revelations as to the secret ends it pursued, and the means it\nemployed.\n\n\"'This was in 1510, a month before the assassination of Henry IV.\n\"'My grandfather, terrified at the secret of which he had become the\nunwilling depositary, and which was to be fully explained by the death\nof the best of kings, not only broke with the Society, but, as if\nCatholicism itself had been answerable for the crimes of its members,\nhe abandoned the Romish religion, in which he had hitherto lived, and\nbecame a Protestant.\n\n\"'Undeniable proofs, attesting the connivance of two members of the\nCompany with Ravaillac, a connivance also proved in the case of Jean\nChatel, the regicide, were in my grandfather's possession.\n\n\"'This was the first cause of the violent hatred of the Society for our\nfamily. Thank Heaven, these papers have been placed in safety, and if my\nlast will is executed, will be found marked A. M.C. D. G., in the ebony\ncasket in the Hall of Mourning, in the house in the Rue Saint-Francois.\n\n\"'My father was also exposed to these secret persecutions. His ruin, and\nperhaps his death, would have been the consequence, had it not been for\nthe intervention of an angelic woman, towards whom he felt an almost\nreligious veneration.\n\n\"'The portrait of this woman, whom I saw a few years ago, as well as\nthat of the man whom I hold in the greatest reverence, were painted\nby me from memory, and have been placed in the Red Room in the Rue\nSaint-Francois--to be gratefully valued, I hope, by the descendants of\nmy family.'\"\n\nFor some moments Gabriel had become more and more attentive to the\nreading of this testament. He thought within himself by how strange a\ncoincidence one of his ancestors had, two centuries before, broken with\nthe Society of Jesus, as he himself had just done; and that from this\nrupture, two centuries old, dated also that species of hatred with which\nthe Society of Jesus had always pursued his family. Nor did the young\npriest find it less strange that this inheritance, transmitted to him\nafter a lapse of a hundred and fifty years, from one of his kindred (the\nvictim of the Society of Jesus), should return by a voluntary act to the\ncoffers of this same society. When the notary read the passage relative\nto the two portraits, Gabriel, who, like Father d'Aigrigny, sat with his\nback towards the pictures, turned round to look at them. Hardly had the\nmissionary cast his eyes on the portrait of the woman, than he uttered\na loud cry of surprise, and almost terror. The notary paused in his\nreading, and looked uneasily at the young priest.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV. THE LAST STROKE OF NOON.\n\nAt the cry uttered by Gabriel, the notary had stopped reading the\ntestament, and Father d'Aigrigny hastily drew near the young priest. The\nlatter rose trembling from his seat and gazed with increasing stupor at\nthe female portrait.\n\nThen he said in a low voice, as if speaking to himself. \"Good Heaven!\nis it possible that nature can produce such resemblances? Those eyes--so\nproud and yet so sad--that forehead--that pale complexion--yes, all her\nfeatures, are the same--all of them!\"\n\n\"My dear son, what is the matter?\" said Father d'Aigrigny, as astonished\nas Samuel and the notary.\n\n\"Eight months ago,\" replied the missionary, in a voice of deep emotion,\nwithout once taking his eyes from the picture, \"I was in the power of\nthe Indians, in the heart of the Rocky Mountains. They had crucified,\nand were beginning to scalp me; I was on the point of death, when Divine\nProvidence sent me unexpected aid--sent me this woman for a deliverer.\"\n\n\"That woman!\" cried Samuel, Father d'Aigrigny, and the notary, all\ntogether.\n\nRodin alone appeared completely indifferent to this episode of the\npicture. His face contracted with angry impatience, he bit his nails to\nthe quick, as he contemplated with agony the slow progress of the hands\nof his watch.\n\n\"What! that woman saved your life?\" resumed Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"Yes, this woman,\" replied Gabriel, in a still lower and more trembling\nvoice; \"this woman--or rather a woman so much resembling her, that if\nthis picture had not been here for a century and a half, I should have\nfelt sure it was the same--nor can I explain to myself that so striking\na resemblance could be the effect of chance. Well,\" added he, after\na moment's silence, as he heaved a profound sigh, \"the mysteries of\nNature, and the will of God, are impenetrable.\"\n\nGabriel fell back into his chair, in the midst of a general silence,\nwhich was broken by Father d'Aigrigny saying, \"It is a case of\nextraordinary resemblance; that is all, my dear son. Only, the natural\ngratitude which you feel towards your benefactress, makes you take a\ndeep interest in this singular coincidence.\"\n\nRodin, bursting with impatience, here said to the notary, by whose side\nhe stood, \"It seems to me, sir, that all this little romance has nothing\nto do with the testament.\"\n\n\"You are right,\" answered the notary, resuming his seat; \"but the fact\nis so extraordinary, and as you say, romantic, that one cannot help\nsharing in this gentleman's astonishment.\"\n\nHe pointed to Gabriel, who, with his elbow resting on the arms of the\nchair, leaned his forehead upon his hand, apparently quite absorbed in\nthought. The notary continued the reading of the will, as follows:\n\n\"'Such are the persecutions to which my family has been exposed on the\npart of the Society of Jesus.\n\n\"'The Society possesses at this hour the whole of my confiscated\nproperty. I am about to die. May its hatred perish with me, and spare my\nkindred, whose fate at this solemn moment is my last and only thought.\n\n\"'This morning I sent for a man of long tried probity Isaac Samuel. He\nowes his life to me, and every day I congratulate myself on having been\nable to preserve to the world so honest and excellent a creature.\n\n\"'Before the confiscation of my property, Isaac Samuel had long managed\nit with as much intelligence as uprightness. I have entrusted him with\nthe fifty thousand crowns, returned to me by a faithful friend. Isaac\nSamuel, and his descendants after him, to whom he will leave this debt\nof gratitude, will invest the above sum, and allow it to accumulate,\nuntil the expiration of the hundred and fiftieth year from this time.\n\n\"'The amount thus accumulated may become enormous, and constitute a\nroyal fortune, if no unfavorable event should occur. May my descendants\nattend to my wishes, as to the division and employment of this immense\nsum!\n\n\"'In a century and a half, there happen so many changes, so many\nvarieties of fortunes, such a rise and fall in the condition of the\nsuccessive generations of a family, that probably, a hundred and fifty\nyears hence, my descendants will belong to various classes of society,\nand thus represent the divers social elements of their time.\n\n\"'There may, perhaps, be among them men of great intelligence great\ncourage, or great virtue--learned men, or names illustrious in arts\nand arms. There may, perhaps, also be obscure workmen, or humble\ncitizens--perhaps, also, alas! great criminals.\n\n\"'However, this may be, my most earnest desire is that my descendants\nshould combine together, and, reconstituting one family, by a close and\nsincere union, put into practice the divine words of Christ, \"Love ye\none another.\"\n\n\"'This union would have a salutary tendency; for it seems to me that\nupon union, upon the association of men together, must depend the future\nhappiness of mankind.\n\n\"'The Company, which so long persecuted my family, is one of the most\nstriking examples of the power of association, even when applied to\nevil.\n\n\"'There is something so fruitful and divine in this principle, that it\nsometimes forces to good the worst and most dangerous combinations.\n\n\"'Thus, the missions have thrown a scanty but pure and generous light on\nthe darkness of this Company of Jesus--founded with the detestable and\nimpious aim of destroying, by a homicidal education, all will, thought,\nliberty, and intelligence, in the people, so as to deliver them,\ntrembling, superstitious, brutal, and helpless, to the despotism of\nkings, governed in their turn by confessors belonging to the Society.'\"\n\nAt this passage of the will, there was another strange look exchanged\nbetween Gabriel and Father d'Aigrigny. The notary continued:\n\n\"'If a perverse association, based upon the degradation of humanity,\nupon fear and despotism, and followed by the maledictions of the people,\nhas survived for centuries, and often governed the world by craft and\nterror--how would it be with an association, which, taking fraternity\nand evangelic love for its means, had for its end to deliver man\nand woman from all degrading slavery, to invite to the enjoyment of\nterrestrial happiness those who have hitherto known nothing of life but\nits sorrows and miseries, and to glorify and enrich the labor that feeds\nthe state?--to enlighten those whom ignorance has depraved?--to favor\nthe free expansion of all the passions, which God, in His infinite\nwisdom, and inexhaustible goodness, gave to man as so many powerful\nlevers?--to sanctify all the gifts of Heaven: love, maternity, strength,\nintelligence, beauty, genius?--to make men truly religious, and deeply\ngrateful to their Creator, by making them understand the splendors of\nNature, and bestowing on them their rightful share in the treasures\nwhich have been poured upon us?\n\n\"'Oh! if it be Heaven's will that, in a century and a half, the\ndescendants of my family, faithful to the last wishes of a heart that\nloved humanity, meet in this sacred union!--if it be Heaven's will\nthat amongst them be found charitable and passionate souls, full of\ncommiseration for those who suffer, and lofty minds, ardent for liberty!\nwarm and eloquent natures! resolute characters! women, who unite beauty\nand wit with goodness--oh! then, how fruitful, how powerful will be the\nharmonious union of all these ideas, and influences, and forces--of\nall these attractions grouped round that princely fortune, which,\nconcentrated by association, and wisely managed, would render\npracticable the most admirable Utopias!\n\n\"'What a wondrous centre of fertile and generous thoughts! What precious\nand life-giving rays would stream incessantly from this focus of\ncharity, emancipation, and love! What great things might be attempted\nwhat magnificent examples given to the world! What a divine mission!\nWhat an irresistible tendency towards good might be impressed on the\nwhole human race by a family thus situated, and in possession of such\nmeans!\n\n\"'And, then, such a beneficent association would be able to combat the\nfatal conspiracy of which I am the victim, and which, in a century and a\nhalf, may have lost none of its formidable power.\n\n\"'So, to this work of darkness, restraint, and despotism, which weighs\nheavily on the Christian world, my family would oppose their work of\nlight, expansion, and liberty!\n\n\"'The genii of good and evil would stand face to face. The struggle\nwould commence, and God would protect the right.\n\n\"'And that these immense pecuniary resources, which will give so much\npower to my family, may not be exhausted by the course of years,\nmy heirs, following my last will, are to place out, upon the same\nconditions, double the sum that I have invested--so that, a century and\na half later, a new source of power and action will be at the disposal\nof their descendants. What a perpetuity of good!\n\n\"'In the ebony cabinet of the Hall of Mourning will be found some\npractical suggestions on the subject of this association.\n\n\"'Such is my last will--or rather, such are my last hopes.\n\n\"'When I require absolutely that the members of my family should appear\nin person in the Rue Saint-Francois, on the day of the opening of this\ntestament, it is so that, united in that solemn moment, they may see and\nknow each other. My words may then, perhaps, have some effect upon them;\nand, instead of living divided, they will combine together. It will be\nfor their own interest, and my wishes will thus be accomplished.\n\n\"'When I sent, a few days ago, to those of my family whom exile has\ndispersed over Europe, a medal on which is engravers the date of the\nconvocation of my heirs, a century and a half from this time, I was\nforced to keep secret my true motive, and only to tell them, that my\ndescendants would find it greatly to their interest to attend this\nmeeting.\n\n\"'I have acted thus, because I know the craft and perseverance of the\nsociety of which I have been the victim. If they could guess that my\ndescendants would hereafter have to divide immense sums between them,\nmy family would run the risk of much fraud and malice, through the fatal\nrecommendations handed down from age to age in the Society of Jesus.\n\n\"'May these precautions be successful! May the wish, expressed upon\nthese medals, be faithfully transmitted from generation to generation!\n\n\"'If I fix a day and hour, in which my inheritance shall irrevocably\nfall to those of my descendants who shall appear in the Rue\nSaint-Francois on the 13th February, in 1832, it is that all delays\nmust have a term, and that my heirs will have been sufficiently informed\nyears before of the great importance of this meeting.\n\n\"'After the reading of my testament, the person who shall then be the\ntrustee of the accumulated funds, shall make known their amount, so\nthat, with the last stroke of noon, they may be divided between my heirs\nthen and there present.\n\n\"'The different apartments of the house shall then be opened to them.\nThey will see in them divers objects, well worthy of interest, pity, and\nrespect--particularly in the Hall of Mourning.\n\n\"'My desire is, that the house may not be sold, but that it may remain\nfurnished as it is, and serve as a place of meeting for my descendants,\nif, as I hope, they attend to my last wishes.\n\n\"'If, on the contrary, they are divided amongst themselves--if, instead\nof uniting for one of the most generous enterprises that ever signalized\nan age, they yield to the influence of selfish passions--if they prefer\na sterile individuality to a fruitful association--if, in this immense\nfortune, they see only an opportunity for frivolous dissipation, or\nsordid interest--may they be accursed by all those whom they might have\nloved, succored, and disfettered!--and then let this house be utterly\ndemolished and destroyed, and the papers, of which Isaac Samuel\npossesses the inventory, as well as the two portraits in the Red Room,\nbe burnt by the guardian of the property.\n\n\"'I have spoken. My duty is accomplished. In all this, I have followed\nthe counsels of the man whom I revere and love as the image of God upon\nearth.\n\n\"'The faithful friend, who preserved for me the fifty thousand crowns,\nthe wreck of my fortune, knows the use I mean to make of them. I could\nnot refuse his friendship this mark of confidence. But I have concealed\nfrom him the name of Isaac Samuel--for to have mentioned it might have\nexposed this latter and his descendants to great dangers.\n\n\"'In a short time, this friend, who knows not that my resolution to die\nis so near its accomplishment, will come hither with my notary. Into\ntheir hands, after the usual formalities, I shall deliver my sealed\ntestament.\n\n\"'Such is my last will. I leave its execution to the superintending care\nof Providence. God will protect the cause of love, peace, union, and\nliberty.\n\n\"'This mystic testament,(20) having been freely made by me, and written\nentirely with my own hand, I intend and will its scrupulous execution\nboth in spirit and the letter.\n\n\"'This 13th day of February, 1682, at one o'clock in the afternoon.\n\n                \"'MARIUS DE RENNEPONT.'\"\n\nAs the notary had proceeded with the reading of the testament, Gabriel\nwas successively agitated by divers painful impressions. At first, as\nwe have before said, he was struck with the singular fatality which\nrestored this immense fortune, derived from a victim of the Society of\nJesus, to the hands of that very association, by the renewal of his\ndeed of gift. Then, as his charitable and lofty soul began fully to\ncomprehend the admirable tendency of the association so earnestly\nrecommended by Marius de Rennepont, he reflected with bitter remorse,\nthat, in consequence of his act of renunciation, and of the absence of\nany other heir, this great idea would never be realized, and a fortune,\nfar more considerable than had even been expected, would fall to\nthe share of an ill-omened society, in whose hands it would become a\nterrible means of action. At the same time, it must be said that the\nsoul of Gabriel was too pure and noble to feel the slightest personal\nregret, on hearing the great probable value of the property he had\nrenounced. He rejoiced rather in withdrawing his mind, by a touching\ncontrast, from the thought of the wealth he had abandoned, to the humble\nparsonage, where he hoped to pass the remainder of his life, in the\npractice of most evangelical virtue.\n\nThese ideas passed confusedly through his brain. The sight of that\nwoman's portrait, the dark revelations contained in the testament, the\ngrandeur of the views exhibited in this last will of M. de Rennepont,\nall these extraordinary incidents had thrown Gabriel into a sort of\nstupor, in which he was still plunged, when Samuel offered the key\nof the register to the notary, saying: \"You will find, sir, in this\nregister, the exact statement of the sums in my possession, derived from\nthe investment and accumulation of the one hundred and fifty thousand\nfrancs, entrusted to my grandfather by M. Marius de Rennepont.\"\n\n\"Your grandfather!\" cried Father d'Aigrigny, with the utmost surprise;\n\"it is then your family that has always had the management of this\nproperty.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; and, in a few minutes, my wife will bring hither the casket\nwhich contains the vouchers.\"\n\n\"And to what sum does this property amount?\" asked Rodin, with an air of\nthe most complete indifference.\n\n\"As M. Notary may convince himself by this statement,\" replied Samuel,\nwith perfect frankness, and as if he were only talking of the original\none hundred and fifty thousand francs, \"I have in my possession various\ncurrent securities to the amount of two hundred and twelve millions, one\nhundred and seventy--\"\n\n\"You say, sir'\" cried Father d'Aigrigny, without giving Samuel time to\nfinish, for the odd money did not at all interest his reverence.\n\n\"Yes, the sum!\" added Rodin, in an agitated voice, and, for the first\ntime, perhaps, in his life losing his presence of mind; \"the sum--the\nsum--the sum!\"\n\n\"I say, sir,\" resumed the old man, \"that I hold securities for two\nhundred and twelve millions, one hundred and seventy-five thousand\nfrancs, payable to self or bearer--as you may soon convince yourself, M.\nNotary, for here is my wife with the casket.\"\n\nIndeed, at this moment, Bathsheba entered, holding in her arms the cedar\nwood chest, which contained the securities in question; she placed it\nupon the table, and withdrew, after exchanging an affectionate glance\nwith Samuel. When the latter declared the enormous amount of the sum in\nhand, his words were received with silent stupor. All the actors in\nthis scene, except himself, believed that they were the sport of some\ndelusion. Father d'Aigrigny and Rodin had counted upon forty millions.\nThis sum, in itself enormous, was more than quintupled. Gabriel, when he\nheard the notary read those passages in the testament, which spoke of\na princely fortune, being quite ignorant of the prodigious effects of\neligible investments, had valued the property at some three or\nfour millions. He was, therefore, struck dumb with amazement at the\nexorbitant amount named. Notwithstanding his admirable disinterestedness\nand scrupulous honor, he felt dazzled and giddy at the thought, that\nall these immense riches might have belonged to him--alone. The notary,\nalmost as much amazed as Gabriel, examined the statement, and could\nhardly believe his eyes. The Jew also remained mute, and seemed\npainfully absorbed in thought, that no other heir made his appearance.\n\nIn the depth of this profound silence, the clock in the next room began\nslowly to strike twelve. Samuel started, and heaved a deep sigh. A\nfew seconds more, and the fatal term would be at an end. Rodin, Father\nd'Aigrigny, Gabriel, and the notary, were all under the influence of\nsuch complete surprise, that not one of them even remarked how strange\nit was to hear the sound of this clock.\n\n\"Noon!\" cried Rodin, as, by an involuntary movement, he hastily placed\nhis two hands upon the casket, as if to take possession of it.\n\n\"At last!\" cried Father d'Aigrigny, with an expression of joy, triumph\ntransport, which it is impossible to describe. Then he added, as he\nthrew himself into Gabriel's arms, whom he embraced warmly: \"Oh, my dear\nson! how the poor will bless you! You will be a second Vincent de Paul.\nYou will be canonized, I promise you.\"\n\n\"Let us first thank Providence,\" said Rodin, in a grave and solemn\ntone, as he fell upon his knees, \"let us thank Providence, that He has\npermitted so much wealth to be employed for His glory!\"'\n\nFather d'Aigrigny, having again embraced Gabriel, took him by the hand,\nand said: \"Rodin is right. Let us kneel, my dear son, and render thanks\nto Providence!\"\n\nSo saying, Father d'Aigrigny knelt down, dragging Gabriel with him, and\nthe latter, confused and giddy with so many precipitate events, yielded\nmechanically to the impulse. It was the last stroke of twelve when they\nall rose together.\n\nThen said the notary, in a slightly agitated voice, for there was\nsomething extraordinary and solemn in this scene--\n\n\"No other heir of M. Marius de Rennepont having presented himself,\nbefore noon on this day, I execute the will of the testator, by\ndeclaring, in the name of law and justice, that M. Francois Marie\nGabriel de Rennepont, here present, is the sole heir and possessor of\nall the estate, real and personal, bequeathed under the said will;\nall which estate the said Gabriel de Rennepont, priest, has freely and\nvoluntarily made over by deed of gift to Frederic Emanuel de Bordeville,\nMarquis d'Aigrigny, priest, who has accepted the same, and is,\ntherefore, the only legal holder of such property, in the room of the\nsaid Gabriel de Rennepont, by virtue of the said deed, drawn up and\nengrossed by me this morning, and signed in my presence by the said\nGabriel de Rennepont and Frederic d'Aigrigny.\"\n\nAt this moment, the sound of loud voices was heard from the garden.\nBathsheba entered hastily, and said to her husband with an agitated air:\n\"Samuel--a soldier--who insists--\"\n\nShe had not time to finish. Dagobert appeared at the door of the Red\nRoom. The soldier was fearfully pale. He seemed almost fainting; his\nleft arm was in a sling, and he leaned upon Agricola. At sight of\nDagobert, the pale and flabby eyelids of Rodin were suddenly distended,\nas if all the blood in his body had flowed towards the head. Then the\nsocius threw himself upon the casket, with the haste of ferocious rage\nand avidity, as if he were resolved to cover it with his body, and\ndefend it at the peril of his life.\n\n(20) This term is sanctioned by legal usage.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV. THE DEED OF GIFT.\n\nFather d'Aigrigny did not recognize Dagobert, and had never seen\nAgricola. He could not therefore, at first explain the kind of angry\nalarm exhibited by Rodin. But the reverend father understood it all,\nwhen he heard Gabriel utter a cry of joy, and saw him rush into the\narms of the smith, exclaiming: \"My brother! my second father--oh! it is\nheaven that sends you to me.\"\n\nHaving pressed Gabriel's hand, Dagobert advanced towards Father\nd'Aigrigny, with a rapid but unsteady step. As he remarked the soldier's\nthreatening countenance, the reverend father, strong in his acquired\nrights, and feeling that, since noon, he was at home here; drew back a\nlittle, and said imperiously to the veteran: \"Who are you, sir!--What do\nyou want here?\"\n\nInstead of answering, the soldier continued to advance, then, stopping\njust facing Father d'Aigrigny, he looked at him for a second with such\nan astounding mixture of curiosity, disdain, aversion, and audacity,\nthat the ex-colonel of hussars quailed before the pale face and glowing\neye of the veteran. The notary and Samuel, struck with surprise,\nremained mute spectators of this scene, while Agricola and Gabriel\nfollowed with anxiety Dagobert's least movements. As for Rodin, he\npretended to be leaning on the casket, in order still to cover it with\nhis body.\n\nSurmounting at length the embarrassment caused by the steadfast look\nof the soldier, Father d'Aigrigny raised his head, and repeated. \"I ask\nyou, sir, who you are, and what you want?\"\n\n\"Do you not recognize me?\" said Dagobert, hardly able to restrain\nhimself.\n\n\"No, sir--\"\n\n\"In truth,\" returned the soldier, with profound contempt, \"You cast\ndown your eyes for shame when, at Leipsic, you fought for the Russians\nagainst the French, and when General Simon, covered with wounds,\nanswered you, renegade that you were, when you asked him for his sword,\n'I do not surrender to a traitor!'--and dragged himself along to one of\nthe Russian grenadiers, to whom he yielded up his weapon. Well! there\nwas then a wounded soldier by the side of General Simon--I am he.\"\n\n\"In brief, sir, what do you want?\" said Father d'Aigrigny, hardly, able\nto control himself.\n\n\"I have come to unmask you--you, that are as false and hateful a priest,\nas Gabriel is admirable and beloved by all.\"\n\n\"Sir!\" cried the marquis, becoming livid with rage and emotion.\n\n\"I tell you, that you are infamous,\" resumed the soldier, with still\ngreater force. \"To rob Marshal Simon's daughters, and Gabriel, and\nMdlle. de Cardoville of their inheritance, you have had recourse to the\nmost shameful means.\"\n\n\"What do you say?\" cried Gabriel. \"The daughters of Marshal Simon?\"\n\n\"Are your relations, my dear boy, as is also that worthy Mdlle. de\nCardoville, the benefactress of Agricola. Now, this priest,\" he added,\npointing to Father d'Aigrigny, \"has had them shut up--the one as mad,\nin a lunatic asylum--the others in a convent. As for you, my dear boy, I\ndid not hope to find you here, believing that they would have prevented\nyou, like the others, from coming hither this morning. But, thank God,\nyou are here, and I arrive in time. I should have been sooner, but for\nmy wound. I have lost so much blood, that I have done nothing but faint\nall the morning.\"\n\n\"Truly!\" cried Gabriel, with uneasiness. \"I had not remarked your arm in\na sling. What is the wound?\"\n\nAt a sign from Agricola, Dagobert answered: \"Nothing; the consequence of\na fall. But here I am, to unveil many infamies.\"\n\nIt is impossible to paint the curiosity, anguish, surprise, or fear,\nof the different actors in this scene, as they listened to Dagobert's\nthreatening words. But the most overcome was Gabriel. His angelic\ncountenance was distorted, his knees trembled under him. Struck by the\ncommunication of Dagobert which revealed the existence of other heirs,\nhe was unable to speak for some time; at length, he cried out, in a tone\nof despair: \"And it is I--oh, God! I--who am the cause of the spoliation\nof this family!\"\n\n\"You, brother?\" exclaimed Agricola.\n\n\"Did they not wish to rob you also?\" added Dagobert.\n\n\"The will,\" cried Gabriel, with increasing agony, \"gave the property to\nthose of the heirs that should appear before noon.\"\n\n\"Well?\" said Dagobert, alarmed at the emotion of the young priest.\n\n\"Twelve o'clock has struck,\" resumed the latter. \"Of all the family, I\nalone was present. Do you understand it now? The term is expired. The\nheirs have been thrust aside by me!\"\n\n\"By you!\" said Dagobert, stammering with joy. \"By you, my brave boy!\nthen all is well.\"\n\n\"But--\"\n\n\"All is well,\" resumed Dagobert, radiant with delight. \"You will share\nwith the others--I know you.\"\n\n\"But all this property I have irrevocably, made over to another,\" cried\nGabriel, in despair.\n\n\"Made over the property!\" cried Dagobert, quite petrified. \"To whom,\nthen?--to whom?\"\n\n\"To this gentleman,\" said Gabriel, pointing to Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"To him!\" exclaimed Dagobert, overwhelmed by the news; \"to him--the\nrenegade--who has always been the evil genius of this family!\"\n\n\"But, brother,\" cried Agricola, \"did you then know your claim to this\ninheritance?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered the young priest, with deep dejection; \"no--I only\nlearned it this morning, from Father d'Aigrigny. He told me, that he\nhad only recently been informed of my rights, by family papers long ago\nfound upon me, and sent by our mother to her confessor.\"\n\nA sudden light seemed to dawn upon the mind of the smith, as he\nexclaimed: \"I understand it all now. They discovered in these papers,\nthat you would one day have a chance of becoming rich. Therefore, they\ninterested themselves about you--therefore, they took you into their\ncollege, where we could never see you--therefore, they deceived you in\nyour vocation by shameful falsehoods, to force you to become a priest,\nand to lead you to make this deed of gift. Oh, sir!\" resumed Agricola,\nturning towards Father d'Aigrigny, with indignation, \"my father is\nright--such machinations are indeed infamous!\"\n\nDuring this scene, the reverend father and his socius, at first alarmed\nand shaken in their audacity, had by degrees recovered all their\ncoolness. Rodin, still leaning upon the casket, had said a few words in\na low voice to Father d'Aigrigny. So that when Agricola, carried away by\nhis indignation, reproached the latter with his infamous machinations,\nhe bowed his head humbly, and answered: \"We are bound to forgive\ninjuries, and offer them to the Lord as a mark of our humility.\"\n\nDagobert, confounded at all he had just heard, felt his reason begin to\nwander. After so much anxiety, his strength failed beneath this new and\nterrible blow. Agricola's just and sensible words, in connection with\ncertain passages of the testament, at once enlightened Gabriel as to\nthe views of Father d'Aigrigny, in taking charge of his education, and\nleading him to join the Society of Jesus. For the first time in his\nlife, Gabriel was able to take in at a glance all the secret springs of\nthe dark intrigue, of which he had been the victim. Then, indignation\nand despair surmounting his natural timidity, the missionary, with\nflashing eye, and cheeks inflamed with noble wrath, exclaimed, as he\naddressed Father d'Aigrigny: \"So, father, when you placed me in one of\nyour colleges, it was not from any feeling of kindness or commiseration,\nbut only in the hope of bringing me one day to renounce in favor of your\nOrder my share in this inheritance; and it did not even suffice you\nto sacrifice me to your cupidity, but I must also be rendered the\ninvoluntary instrument of a shameful spoliation! If only I were\nconcerned--if you only coveted my claim to all this wealth, I should not\ncomplain. I am the minister of a religion which honors and sanctifies\npoverty; I have consented to the donation in your favor, and I have not,\nI could never have any claim upon it. But property is concerned which\nbelong to poor orphans, brought from a distant exile by my adopted\nfather, and I will not see them wronged. But the benefactress of my\nadopted brother is concerned, and I will not see her wronged. But\nthe last will of a dying man is concerned, who, in his ardent love\nof humanity, bequeathed to his descendants an evangelic mission--an\nadmirable mission of progress, love, union, liberty--and I will not\nsee this mission blighted in its bud. No, no; I tell you, that this his\nmission shall be accomplished, though I have to cancel the donation I\nhave made.\"\n\nOn these words, Father d'Aigrigny and Rodin looked at each other with a\nslight shrug of the shoulders. At a sign from the socius, the reverend\nfather began to speak with immovable calmness, in a slow and sanctified\nvoice, keeping eyes constantly cast down: \"There are many incidents\nconnected with this inheritance of M. de Rennepont, which appear very\ncomplicated--many phantoms, which seem un usually menacing--and yet,\nnothing could be really more simple and natural. Let us proceed in\nregular order. Let us put aside all these calumnious imputations; we\nwill return to them afterwards. M. Gabriel de Rennepont--and I humbly\nbeg him to contradict me, if I depart in the least instance from the\nexact truth--M. Gabriel de Rennepont, in acknowledgment of the care\nformerly bestowed on him by the society to which I have the honor to\nbelong, made over to me, as its representative, freely and voluntarily,\nall the property that might come to him one day, the value of which was\nunknown to him, as well as to myself.\"\n\nFather d'Aigrigny here looked at Gabriel, as if appealing to him for the\ntruth of this statement.\n\n\"It is true,\" said the young priest: \"I made this donation freely.\"\n\n\"This morning, in consequence of a private conversation, which I will\nnot repeat--and in this, I am certain beforehand, of the Abbe Gabriel--\"\n\n\"True,\" replied Gabriel, generously; \"the subject of this conversation\nis of little importance.\"\n\n\"It was then, in consequence of this conversation that the Abbe Gabriel\nmanifested the desire to confirm this donation--not in my favor, for I\nhave little to do with earthly wealth--but in favor of the sacred and\ncharitable works of which our Company is the trustee. I appeal to the\nhonor of M. Gabriel to declare if he have not engaged himself towards\nus, not only by a solemn oath, but by a perfectly legal act, executed in\npresence of M. Dumesnil, here present?\"\n\n\"It is all true,\" answered Gabriel.\n\n\"The deed was prepared by me,\" added the notary.\n\n\"But Gabriel could only give you what belonged to him,\" cried Dagobert.\n\"The dear boy never supposed that you were making use of him to rob\nother people.\"\n\n\"Do me the favor, sir, to allow me to explain myself,\" replied Father\nd'Aigrigny, courteously; \"you can afterwards make answer.\"\n\nDagobert repressed with difficulty his painful impatience. The reverend\nfather continued: \"The Abbe Gabriel has therefore, by the double\nengagement of an oath and a legal act, confirmed his donation. Much\nmore,\" resumed Father d'Aigrigny: \"when to his great astonishment and\nto ours, the enormous amount of the inheritance became known, the Abbe\nGabriel, faithful to his own admirable generosity, far from repenting of\nhis gifts, consecrated them once more by a pious movement of gratitude\nto Providence--for M. Notary will doubtless remember, that, after\nembracing the Abbe Gabriel with transport, and telling him that he was\na second Vincent de Paul in charity, I took him by the hand, and we both\nknelt down together to thank heaven for having inspired him with the\nthought too offer these immense riches to the Greater Glory of the\nLord.\"\n\n\"That is true, also,\" said Gabriel, honestly; \"so long as myself was\nconcerned, though I might be astounded for a moment by the revelation of\nso enormous a fortune, I did not think for an instant of cancelling the\ndonation I had freely made.\"\n\n\"Under these circumstances,\" resumed Father d'Aigrigny, \"the hour fixed\nfor the settlement of the inheritance having struck, and Abbe Gabriel\nbeing the only heir that presented himself, he became necessarily\nthe only legitimate possessor of this immense wealth--enormous, no\ndoubt--and charity makes me rejoice that it is enormous, for, thanks to\nit, many miseries will be relieved and many tears wiped away. But,\nall on a sudden, here comes this gentleman,\" said Father d'Aigrigny,\npointing to Dagobert; \"and, under some delusion, which I forgive from\nthe bottom of my soul, and which I am sure he will himself regret,\naccuses me, with insults and threats, with having carried off (I know\nnot where) some persons (I know not whom), in order to prevent their\nbeing here at the proper time--\"\n\n\"Yes, I accuse you of this infamy!\" cried the soldier exasperated by the\ncalmness and audacity of the reverend father: \"yes--and I will--\"\n\n\"Once again, sir, I conjure you to be so good as to let me finish; you\ncan reply afterwards,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, humbly, in the softest\nand most honeyed accents.\n\n\"Yes, I will reply, and confound you!\" cried Dagobert.\n\n\"Let him finish, father. You can speak presently,\" said Agricola.\n\nThe soldier was silent as Father d'Aigrigny continued with new\nassurance: \"Doubtless, if there should really be any other heirs,\nbesides the Abbe Gabriel, it is unfortunate for them that they have not\nappeared in proper time. And if, instead of defending the cause of the\npoor and needy, I had only to look to my own interest, I should be far\nfrom availing myself of this advantage, due only to chance; but, as a\ntrustee for the great family of the poor, I am obliged to maintain my\nabsolute right to this inheritance; and I do not doubt that M. Notary\nwill acknowledge the validity of my claim, and deliver to me these\nsecurities, which are now my legitimate property.\"\n\n\"My only mission,\" replied the notary, in an agitated voice, \"is\nfaithfully to execute the will of the testator. The Abbe Gabriel\nde Rennepont alone presented himself, within the term fixed by the\ntestament. The deed of gift is in due form; I cannot refuse, therefore,\nto deliver to the person named in the deed the amount of the heritage--\"\n\nOn these words Samuel hid his face in his hands, and heaved a deep\nsigh; he was obliged to acknowledge the rigorous justice of the notary's\nobservations.\n\n\"But, sir,\" cried Dagobert, addressing the man of law, \"this cannot be.\nYou will not allow two poor orphans to be despoiled. It is in the name\nof their father and mother that I speak to you. I give you my honor--the\nhonor of a soldier!--that they took advantage of the weakness of my wife\nto carry the daughters of Marshal Simon to a convent, and thus prevent\nme bringing them here this morning. It is so true, that I have already\nlaid my charge before a magistrate.\"\n\n\"And what answer did you receive?\" said the notary.\n\n\"That my deposition was not sufficient for the law to remove these young\ngirls from the convent in which they were, and that inquiries would be\nmade--\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" added Agricola, \"and it was the same with regard to Mdlle.\nde Cardoville, detained as mad in a lunatic asylum, though in the full\nenjoyment of her reason. Like Marshal Simon's daughters, she too has a\nclaim to this inheritance. I took the same steps for her, as my father\ntook for Marshal Simon's daughters.\"\n\n\"Well?\" asked the notary.\n\n\"Unfortunately, sir,\" answered Agricola, \"they told me; as they did my\nfather, that my deposition would not suffice, and that they must make\ninquiries.\"\n\nAt this moment, Bathsheba, having heard the street-bell ring, left the\nRed Room at a sign from Samuel. The notary resumed, addressing Agricola\nand his father: \"Far be it from me, gentlemen, to call in question your\ngood faith; but I cannot, to my great regret, attach such importance to\nyour accusations, which are not supported by proof, as to suspend the\nregular legal course. According to your own confession, gentlemen,\nthe authorities, to whom you addressed yourselves, did not see fit to\ninterfere on your depositions, and told you they would inquire further.\nNow, really, gentlemen, I appeal to you: how can I, in so serious\na matter, take upon myself a responsibility, which the magistrates\nthemselves have refused to take?\"\n\n\"Yes, you should do so, in the name of justice and honor?\" cried\nDagobert.\n\n\"It may be so, sir, in your opinion; but in my view of the case, I\nremain faithful to justice and honor, by executing with exactness the\nlast will of the dead. For the rest you have no occasion to despair. If\nthe persons, whose interests you represent, consider themselves injured,\nthey may hereafter have recourse to an action at law, against the person\nreceiving as donee of the Abbe Gabriel--but in the meanwhile, it is my\nduty to put him in immediate possession of the securities. I should be\ngravely injured, were I to act in any, other manner.\"\n\nThe notary's observations seemed so reasonable, that Samuel, Dagobert\nand Agricola were quite confounded. After a moment's thought, Gabriel\nappeared to take a desperate resolution, and said to the notary, in a\nfirm voice--\n\n\"Since, under these circumstances, the law is powerless to obtain the\nright, I must adopt, sir, an extreme course. Before doing so, I will ask\nM. l'Abbe d'Aigrigny, for the last time, if he will content himself with\nthat portion of the property which falls justly to me, on condition that\nthe rest shall be placed in safe hands, till the heirs, whose names have\nbeen brought forward, shall prove their claim.\"\n\n\"To this proposition I must answer as I have done already,\" replied\nFather d'Aigrigny; \"it is not I who am concerned, but an immense work of\ncharity. I am, therefore, obliged to refuse the part-offer of the Abbe\nGabriel, and to remind him of his engagements of every kind.\"\n\n\"Then you refuse this arrangement?\" asked Gabriel, in an agitated voice.\n\n\"Charity commands me to do so.\"\n\n\"You refuse it--absolutely?\"\n\n\"I think of all the good and pious institutions that these treasures\nwill enable us to establish for the Greater Glory of the Lord, and I\nhave neither the courage nor the desire to make the least concession.\"\n\n\"Then, sir,\" resumed the good priest, in a still more agitated manner,\n\"since you force me to do it, I revoke my donation. I only intended to\ndispose of my own property, and not of that which did not belong to me.\"\n\n\"Take care M. l'Abbe,\" said rather d'Aigrigny; \"I would observe that I\nhold in my hand a written, formal promise.\"\n\n\"I know it, sir; you have a written paper, in which I take an oath\nnever to revoke this donation, upon any pretext whatever, and on pain of\nincurring the aversion and contempt of all honest men. Well, sir! be it\nso,\" said Gabriel, with deep bitterness; \"I will expose myself to all\nthe consequences of perjury; you may proclaim it everywhere. I may be\nhated and despised by all--but God will judge me!\" The young priest\ndried a tear, which trickled from his eye.\n\n\"Oh! do not be afraid, my dear boy!\" cried Dagobert, with reviving hope.\n\"All honest men will be on your side!\"\n\n\"Well done, brother!\" said Agricola.\n\n\"M. Notary,\" said Rodin, in his little sharp voice, \"please to explain\nto Abbe Gabriel, that he may perjure himself as much as he thinks\nfit, but that the Civil Code is much less easy to violate than a mere\npromise, which is only--sacred!\"\n\n\"Speak, sir,\" said Gabriel.\n\n\"Please to inform Abbe Gabriel,\" resumed Rodin, \"that a deed of gift,\nlike that made in favor of Father d'Aigrigny, can only be cancelled for\none of three reasons--is it not so?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, for three reasons,\" said the notary.\n\n\"The first is in case of the birth of a child,\" said Rodin, \"and I\nshould blush to mention such a contingency to the Abbe Gabriel. The\nsecond is the ingratitude of the donee--and the Abbe Gabriel may\nbe certain of our deep and lasting gratitude. The last case is the\nnon-fulfilment of the wishes of the donor, with regard to the employment\nof his gifts.\n\n\"Now, although the Abbe Gabriel may have suddenly conceived a very bad\nopinion of us, he will at least give us some time to show that his\ngifts have been disposed of according to his wishes, and applied to the\nGreater Glory of the Lord.\"\n\n\"Now, M. Notary,\" added Father d'Aigrigny, \"it is for you to decide and\nsay, if Abbe Gabriel can revoke the donation he has made.\"\n\nJust as the notary was going to answer, Bathsheba reentered the room,\nfollowed by two more personages, who appeared in the Red Room at a\nlittle distance from each other.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VI.\n\n\n\n\nPART SECOND.--THE CHASTISEMENT. (Concluded.)\n\n     XXVI. A Good Genius XXVII. The First Last, And the Last\n     First XXVIII. The Stranger XXIX. The Den XXX. An Unexpected\n     Visit XXXI. Friendly Services XXXII. The Advice XXXIII. The\n     Accuser XXXIV. Father d'Aigrigny's Secretary XXXV. Sympathy\n     XXXVI. Suspicions XXXVII. Excuses XXXVIII. Revelations\n     XXXIX. Pierre Simon\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI. A GOOD GENIUS.\n\nThe first of the two, whose arrival had interrupted the answer of the\nnotary, was Faringhea. At sight of this man's forbidding countenance,\nSamuel approached, and said to him: \"Who are you, sir?\"\n\nAfter casting a piercing glance at Rodin, who started but soon recovered\nhis habitual coolness, Faringhea replied to Samuel: \"Prince Djalma\narrived lately from India, in order to be present here this day, as it\nwas recommended to him by an inscription on a medal, which he wore about\nhis neck.\"\n\n\"He, also!\" cried Gabriel, who had been the shipmate of the Indian\nPrince from the Azores, where the vessel in which he came from\nAlexandria had been driven into port: \"he also one of the heirs! In\nfact, the prince told me during the voyage that his mother was of French\norigin. But, doubtless, he thought it right to conceal from me the\nobject of his journey. Oh! that Indian is a noble and courageous young\nman. Where is he?\"\n\nThe Strangler again looked at Rodin, and said, laying strong emphasis\nupon his words: \"I left the prince yesterday evening. He informed me\nthat, although he had a great interest to be here, he might possibly\nsacrifice that interest to other motives. I passed the night in the same\nhotel, and this morning, when I went to call on him, they told me he was\nalready gone out. My friendship for him led me to come hither, hoping\nthe information I should be able to give might be of use to the prince.\"\n\nIn making no mention of the snare into which he had fallen the day\nbefore, in concealing Rodin's machinations with regard to Djalma, and\nin attributing the absence of this latter to a voluntary cause, the\nStrangler evidently wished to serve the socius, trusting that Rodin\nwould know how to recompense his discretion. It is useless to observe,\nthat all this story was impudently false. Having succeeded that morning\nin escaping from his prison by a prodigious effort of cunning, audacity,\nand skill, he had run to the hotel where he had left Djalma; there\nhe had learned that a man and woman, of an advanced age, and most\nrespectable appearance, calling themselves relations of the young\nIndian, had asked to see him--and that, alarmed at the dangerous state\nof somnolency in which he seemed to be plunged, they had taken him home\nin their carriage, in order to pay him the necessary attention.\n\n\"It is unfortunate,\" said the notary, \"that this heir also did not\nmake his appearance--but he has, unhappily, forfeited his right to the\nimmense inheritance that is in question.\"\n\n\"Oh! an immense inheritance is in question,\" said Faringhea, looking\nfixedly at Rodin, who prudently turned away his eyes.\n\nThe second of the two personages we have mentioned entered at this\nmoment. It was the father of Marshal Simon, an old man of tall stature,\nstill active and vigorous for his age. His hair was white and thin. His\ncountenance, rather fresh-colored, was expressive at once of quickness,\nmildness and energy.\n\nAgricola advanced hastily to meet him. \"You here, M. Simon!\" he\nexclaimed.\n\n\"Yes, my boy,\" said the marshal's father, cordially pressing Agricola's\nhand \"I have just arrived from my journey. M. Hardy was to have been\nhere, about some matter of inheritance, as he supposed: but, as he will\nstill be absent from Paris for some time, he has charged me--\"\n\n\"He also an heir!--M. Francis Hardy!\" cried Agricola, interrupting the\nold workman.\n\n\"But how pale and agitated you are, my boy!\" said the marshal's father,\nlooking round with astonishment. \"What is the matter?\"\n\n\"What is the matter?\" cried Dagobert, in despair, as he approached the\nforeman. \"The matter is that they would rob your granddaughters, and\nthat I have brought them from the depths of Siberia only to witness this\nshameful deed!\"\n\n\"Eh?\" cried the old workman, trying to recognize the soldiers face, \"you\nare then--\"\n\n\"Dagobert.\"\n\n\"You--the generous, devoted friend of my son!\" cried the marshal's\nfather, pressing the hands of Dagobert in his own with strong emotion;\n\"but did you not speak of Simon's daughter?\"\n\n\"Of his daughters; for he is more fortunate than he imagines,\" said\nDagobert. \"The poor children are twins.\"\n\n\"And where are they?\" asked the old man.\n\n\"In a convent.\"\n\n\"In a convent?\"\n\n\"Yes; by the treachery of this man, who keeps them there in order to\ndisinherit them.\"\n\n\"What man?\"\n\n\"The Marquis d'Aigrigny.\"\n\n\"My son's mortal enemy!\" cried the old workman, as he threw a glance of\naversion at Father d'Aigrigny, whose audacity did not fail him.\n\n\"And that is not all,\" added Agricola. \"M. Hardy, my worthy and\nexcellent master, has also lost his right to this immense inheritance.\"\n\n\"What?\" cried Marshal Simon's father; \"but M. Hardy did not know that\nsuch important interests were concerned. He set out hastily to join one\nof his friends who was in want of him.\"\n\nAt each of these successive revelations, Samuel felt his trouble\nincrease: but he could only sigh over it, for the will of the testator\nwas couched, unhappily, in precise and positive terms.\n\nFather d'Aigrigny, impatient to end this scene, which caused him cruel\nembarrassment, in spite of his apparent calmness, said to the notary,\nin a grave and expressive voice: \"It is necessary, sir, that all\nthis should have an end. If calumny could reach me, I would answer\nvictoriously by the facts that have just come to light. Why attribute\nto odious conspiracies the absence of the heirs, in whose names this\nsoldier and his son have so uncourteously urged their demands? Why\nshould such absence be less explicable than the young Indian's, or than\nM. Hardy's, who, as his confidential man has just told us, did not even\nknow the importance of the interests that called him hither? Is it not\nprobable, that the daughters of Marshal Simon, and Mdlle. de Cardoville\nhave been prevented from coming here to-day by some very natural\nreasons? But, once again, this has lasted too long. I think M. Notary\nwill agree with me, that this discovery of new heirs does not at all\naffect the question, which I had the honor to propose to him just now;\nnamely whether, as trustee for the poor, to whom Abbe Gabriel made a\nfree gift of all he possessed, I remain notwithstanding his tardy and\nillegal opposition, the only possessor of this property, which I\nhave promised, and which I now again promise, in presence of all here\nassembled, to employ for the Greater Glory of the Lord? Please to answer\nme plainly, M. Notary; and thus terminate the scene which must needs be\npainful to us all.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" replied the notary, in a solemn tone, \"on my soul and conscience,\nand in the name of law and justice--as a faithful and impartial executor\nof the last will of M. Marius de Rennepont, I declare that, by virtue\nof the deed of gift of Abbe Gabriel de Rennepont, you, M. l'Abbe\nd'Aigrigny, are the only possessor of this property, which I place at\nyour immediate disposal, that you may employ the same according to the\nintention of the donor.\"\n\nThese words pronounced with conviction and gravity, destroyed the last\nvague hopes that the representatives of the heirs might till then have\nentertained. Samuel became paler than usual, and pressed convulsively\nthe hand of Bathsheba, who had drawn near to him. Large tears rolled\ndown the cheeks of the two old people. Dagobert and Agricola were\nplunged into the deepest dejection. Struck with the reasoning of\nthe notary, who refused to give more credence and authority to their\nremonstrances than the magistrates had done before him, they saw\nthemselves forced to abandon every hope. But Gabriel suffered more than\nany one; he felt the most terrible remorse, in reflecting that, by his\nblindness, he had been the involuntary cause and instrument of this\nabominable theft.\n\nSo, when the notary, after having examined and verified the amount of\nsecurities contained in the cedar box, said to Father d'Aigrigny:\n\"Take possession, sir, of this casket--\" Gabriel exclaimed, with bitter\ndisappointment and profound despair: \"Alas! one would fancy, under these\ncircumstances, that an inexorable fatality pursues all those who are\nworthy of interest, affection or respect. Oh, my God!\" added the young\npriest, clasping his hands with fervor, \"Thy sovereign justice will\nnever permit the triumph of such iniquity.\"\n\nIt was as if heaven had listened to the prayer of the missionary. Hardly\nhad he spoken, when a strange event took place.\n\nWithout waiting for the end of Gabriel's invocation, Rodin, profiting by\nthe decision of the notary, had seized the casket in his arms, unable\nto repress a deep aspiration of joy and triumph. At the very moment\nwhen Father d'Aigrigny and his socius thought themselves at last in safe\npossession of the treasure, the door of the apartment in which the clock\nhad been heard striking was suddenly opened.\n\nA woman appeared upon the threshold.\n\nAt sight of her, Gabriel uttered a loud cry, and remained as if\nthunderstruck. Samuel and Bathsheba fell on their knees together, and\nraised their clasped hands. The Jew and Jewess felt inexplicable hopes\nreviving within them.\n\nAll the other actors in this scene appeared struck with stupor.\nRodin--Rodin himself--recoiled two steps, and replaced the casket on the\ntable with a trembling hand. Though the incident might appear natural\nenough--a woman appearing on the threshold of a door, which she had just\nthrown open--there was a pause of deep and solemn silence. Every bosom\nseemed oppressed, and as if struggling for breath. All experienced,\nat sight of this woman, surprise mingled with fear, and indefinable\nanxiety--for this woman was the living original of the portrait, which\nhad been placed in the room a hundred and fifty years ago. The same\nhead-dress, the same flowing robe, the same countenance, so full of\npoignant and resigned grief! She advanced slowly, and without appearing\nto perceive the deep impression she had caused. She approached one of\nthe pieces of furniture, inlaid with brass, touched a spring concealed\nin the moulding of gilded bronze, so that an upper drawer flew open, and\ntaking from it a sealed parchment envelope, she walked up to the table,\nand placed this packet before the notary, who, hitherto silent and\nmotionless, received it mechanically from her.\n\nThen, casting upon Gabriel, who seemed fascinated by her presence, a\nlong, mild, melancholy look, this woman directed her steps towards the\nhall, the door of which had remained open. As she passed near Samuel and\nBathsheba, who were still kneeling, she stopped an instant, bowed her\nfair head towards them, and looked at them with tender solicitude. Then,\ngiving them her hands to kiss, she glided away as slowly as she had\nentered--throwing a last glance upon Gabriel. The departure of this\nwoman seemed to break the spell under which all present had remained for\nthe last few minutes. Gabriel was the first to speak, exclaiming, in an\nagitated voice. \"It is she--again--here--in this house!\"\n\n\"Who, brother?\" said Agricola, uneasy at the pale and almost wild\nlooks of the missionary; for the smith had not yet remarked the strange\nresemblance of the woman to the portrait, though he shared in the\ngeneral feeling of amazement, without being able to explain it to\nhimself. Dagobert and Faringhea were in a similar state of mind.\n\n\"Who is this woman?\" resumed Agricola, as he took the hand of Gabriel,\nwhich felt damp and icy cold.\n\n\"Look!\" said the young priest. \"Those portraits have been there for more\nthan a century and a half.\"\n\nHe pointed to the paintings before which he was now seated, and\nAgricola, Dagobert, and Faringhea raised their eyes to either side of\nthe fireplace. Three exclamations were now heard at once.\n\n\"It is she--it is the same woman!\" cried the smith, in amazement, \"and\nher portrait has been here for a hundred and fifty years!\"\n\n\"What do I see?\" cried Dagobert, as he gazed at the portrait of the man.\n\"The friend and emissary of Marshal Simon. Yes! it is the same face that\nI saw last year in Siberia. Oh, yes! I recognize that wild and sorrowful\nair--those black eyebrows, which make only one!\"\n\n\"My eyes do not deceive me,\" muttered Faringhea to himself, shuddering\nwith horror. \"It is the same man, with the black mark on his forehead,\nthat we strangled and buried on the banks of the Ganges--the same man,\nthat one of the sons of Bowanee told me, in the ruins of Tchandi, had\nbeen met by him afterwards at one of the gates of Bombay--the man of the\nfatal curse, who scatters death upon his passage--and his picture has\nexisted for a hundred and fifty years!\"\n\nAnd, like Dagobert and Agricola, the stranger could not withdraw his\neyes from that strange portrait.\n\n\"What a mysterious resemblance!\" thought Father d'Aigrigny. Then, as if\nstruck with a sudden idea, he said to Gabriel: \"But this woman is the\nsame that saved your life in America?\"\n\n\"It is the same,\" answered Gabriel, with emotion; \"and yet she told me\nshe was going towards the North,\" added the young priest, speaking to\nhimself.\n\n\"But how came she in this house?\" said Father d'Aigrigny, addressing\nSamuel. \"Answer me! did this woman come in with you, or before you?\"\n\n\"I came in first, and alone, when this door was first opened since a\ncentury and half,\" said Samuel, gravely.\n\n\"Then how can you explain the presence of this woman here?\" said Father\nd'Aigrigny.\n\n\"I do not try to explain it,\" said the Jew. \"I see, I believe, and now I\nhope.\" added he, looking at Bathsheba with an indefinable expression.\n\n\"But you ought to explain the presence of this woman!\" said Father\nd'Aigrigny, with vague uneasiness. \"Who is she? How came she hither?\"\n\n\"All I know is, sir, that my father has often told me; there are\nsubterraneous communications between this house and distant parts of the\nquarter.\"\n\n\"Oh! then nothing can be clearer,\" said Father d'Aigrigny; \"it only\nremains to be known what this woman intends by coming hither. As for\nher singular resemblance to this portrait, it is one of the freaks of\nnature.\"\n\nRodin had shared in the general emotion, at the apparition of this\nmysterious woman. But when he saw that she had delivered a sealed packet\nto the notary, the socius, instead of thinking of the strangeness of\nthis unexpected vision, was only occupied with a violent desire to quit\nthe house with the treasure which had just fallen to the Company. He\nfelt a vague anxiety at sight of the envelope with the black seal, which\nthe protectress of Gabriel had delivered to the notary, and was still\nheld mechanically in his hands. The socius, therefore, judging this a\nvery good opportunity to walk off with the casket, during the general\nsilence and stupor which still continued, slightly touched Father\nd'Aigrigny's elbow, made him a sign of intelligence, and, tucking the\ncedar-wood chest under his arm, was hastening towards the door.\n\n\"One moment, sir,\" said Samuel, rising, and standing in his path; \"I\nrequest M. Notary to examine the envelope, that has just been delivered\nto him. You may then go out.\"\n\n\"But, sir,\" said Rodin, trying to force a passage, \"the question is\ndefinitively decided in favor of Father d'Aigrigny. Therefore, with your\npermission--\"\n\n\"I tell you, sir,\" answered the old man, in a loud voice, \"that this\ncasket shall not leave the house, until M. Notary has examined the\nenvelope just delivered to him!\"\n\nThese words drew the attention of all, Rodin was forced to retrace his\nsteps. Notwithstanding the firmness of his character, the Jew shuddered\nat the look of implacable hate which Rodin turned upon him at this\nmoment.\n\nYielding to the wish of Samuel, the notary examined the envelope with\nattention. \"Good Heaven!\" he cried suddenly; \"what do I see?--Ah! so\nmuch the better!\"\n\nAt this exclamation all eyes turned upon the notary. \"Oh! read, read,\nsir!\" cried Samuel, clasping his hands together. \"My presentiments have\nnot then deceived me!\"\n\n\"But, sir,\" said Father d'Aigrigny to the notary, for he began to share\nin the anxiety of Rodin, \"what is this paper?\"\n\n\"A codicil,\" answered the notary; \"a codicil, which reopens the whole\nquestion.\"\n\n\"How, sir?\" cried Father d'Aigrigny, in a fury, as he hastily drew\nnearer to the notary, \"reopens the whole question! By what right?\"\n\n\"It is impossible,\" added Rodin. \"We protest against it.\n\n\"Gabriel! father! listen,\" cried Agricola, \"all is not lost. There is\nyet hope. Do you hear, Gabriel? There is yet hope.\"\n\n\"What do you say?\" exclaimed the young priest, rising, and hardly\nbelieving the words of his adopted brother.\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" said the notary; \"I will read to you the superscription\nof this envelope. It changes, or rather, it adjourns, the whole of the\ntestamentary provisions.\"\n\n\"Gabriel!\" cried Agricola, throwing himself on the neck of the\nmissionary, \"all is adjourned, nothing is lost!\"\n\n\"Listen, gentlemen,\" said the notary; and he read as follows:\n\n\"'This is a Codicil, which for reasons herein stated, adjourns and\nprorogues to the 1st day of June, 1832, though without any other change,\nall the provisions contained in the testament made by me, at one o'clock\nthis afternoon. The house shall be reclosed, and the funds left in the\nhands of the same trustee, to be distributed to the rightful claimants\non the 1st of June, 1832.\n\n\"'Villetaneuse, this 13th of February, 1682, eleven o'clock at night.\n\"'MARIUS DE RENNEPONT.'\"\n\n\"I protest against this codicil as a forgery!\" cried Father d'Aigrigny\nlivid with rage and despair.\n\n\"The woman who delivered it to the notary is a suspicious character,\"\nadded Rodin. \"The codicil has been forged.\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" said the notary, severely; \"I have just compared the two\nsignatures, and they are absolutely alike. For the rest--what I said\nthis morning, with regard to the absent heirs, is now applicable to\nyou--the law is open; you may dispute the authenticity of this codicil.\nMeanwhile, everything will remain suspended--since the term for the\nadjustment of the inheritance is prolonged for three months and a half.\"\n\nWhen the notary had uttered these last words, Rodin's nails dripped\nblood; for the first time, his wan lips became red.\n\n\"Oh, God! Thou hast heard and granted my prayer!\" cried Gabriel,\nkneeling down with religious fervor, and turning his angelic face\ntowards heaven. \"Thy sovereign justice has not let iniquity triumph!\"\n\n\"What do you say, my brave boy?\" cried Dagobert, who, in the first\ntumult of joy, had not exactly understood the meaning of the codicil.\n\n\"All is put off, father!\" exclaimed the smith; \"the heirs will have\nthree months and a half more to make their claim. And now that these\npeople are unmasked,\" added Agricola, pointing to Rodin and Father\nd'Aigrigny, \"we have nothing more to fear from them. We shall be on\nour guard; and the orphans, Mdlle. de Cardoville, my worthy master, M.\nHardy, and this young Indian, will all recover their own.\"\n\nWe must renounce the attempt to paint the delight, the transport of\nGabriel and Agricola, of Dagobert, and Marshal Simon's father, of Samuel\nand Bathsheba. Faringhea alone remained in gloomy silence, before the\nportrait of the man with the black-barred forehead. As for the fury of\nFather d'Aigrigny and Rodin, when they saw Samuel retake possession of\nthe casket, we must also renounce any attempt to describe it. On the\nnotary's suggestion, who took with him the codicil, to have it opened\naccording to the formalities of the law, Samuel agreed that it would be\nmore prudent to deposit in the Bank of France the securities of immense\nvalue that were now known to be in his possession.\n\nWhile all the generous hearts, which had for a moment suffered so much,\nwere overflowing with happiness, hope, and joy, Father d'Aigrigny and\nRodin quitted the house with rage and death in their souls. The reverend\nfather got into his carriage, and said to his servants: \"To Saint-Dizier\nHouse!\"--Then, worn out and crushed, he fell back upon the seat, and hid\nhis face in his hands, while he uttered a deep groan. Rodin sat next to\nhim, and looked with a mixture of anger and disdain at this so dejected\nand broken-spirited man.\n\n\"The coward!\" said he to himself. \"He despairs--and yet--\"\n\nA quarter of an hour later, the carriage stopped in the Rue de Babylone,\nin the court-yard of Saint-Dizier House.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII. THE FIRST LAST, AND THE LAST FIRST.\n\nThe carriage had travelled rapidly to Saint-Dizier House. During all\nthe way, Rodin remained mute, contenting himself with observing Father\nd'Aigrigny, and listening to him, as he poured forth his grief and fury\nin a long monologue, interrupted by exclamations, lamentations, and\nbursts of rage, directed against the strokes of that inexorable destiny,\nwhich had ruined in a moment the best founded hopes. When the carriage\nentered the courtyard, and stopped before the portico, the princess's\nface could be seen through one of the windows, half hidden by the folds\nof a curtain; in her burning anxiety, she came to see if it was really\nFather d'Aigrigny who arrived at the house. Still more, in defiance\nof all ordinary rules, this great lady, generally so scrupulous as to\nappearances, hurried from her apartment, and descended several steps\nof the staircase, to meet Father d'Aigrigny, who was coming up with\na dejected air. At sight of the livid and agitated countenance of the\nreverend father, the princess stopped suddenly, and grew pale. She\nsuspected that all was lost. A look rapidly exchanged with her old lover\nleft her no doubt of the issue she so much feared. Rodin humbly followed\nthe reverend father, and both, preceded by the princess, entered the\nroom. The door once closed, the princess, addressing Father d'Aigrigny,\nexclaimed with unspeakable anguish: \"What has happened?\"\n\nInstead of answering this question, the reverend father, his eyes\nsparkling with rage, his lips white, his features contracted, looked\nfixedly at the princess, and said to her: \"Do you know the amount of\nthis inheritance, that we estimated at forty millions?\"\n\n\"I understand,\" cried the princess; \"we have been deceived. The\ninheritance amounts to nothing, and all you have dare has been in vain.\"\n\n\"Yes, it has indeed been in vain,\" answered the reverend father,\ngrinding his teeth with rage; \"it was no question of forty millions, but\nof two hundred and twelve millions.\n\n\"Two hundred and twelve millions!\" repeated the princess in amazement,\nas she drew back a step. \"It is impossible!\"\n\n\"I tell you I saw the vouchers, which were examined by the notary.\"\n\n\"Two hundred and twelve millions?\" resumed the princess, with deep\ndejection. \"It is an immense and sovereign power--and you have\nrenounced--you have not struggled for it, by every possible means, and\ntill the last moment?\"\n\n\"Madame, I have done all that I could!--notwithstanding the treachery\nof Gabriel, who this very morning declared that he renounced us, and\nseparated from the Society.\"\n\n\"Ungrateful!\" said the princess, unaffectedly.\n\n\"The deed of gift, which I had the precaution to have prepared by the\nnotary, was in such good, legal form, that in spite of the objections of\nthat accursed soldier and his son, the notary had put me in possession\nof the treasure.\"\n\n\"Two hundred and twelve millions!\" repeated the princess clasping her\nhands. \"Verily it is like a dream!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Father d'Aigrigny, bitterly, \"for us, this possession is\nindeed a dream, for a codicil has been discovered, which puts off for\nthree months and a half all the testamentary provisions. Now that our\nvery precautions have roused the suspicion of all these heirs--now that\nthey know the enormous amount at stake--they will be upon their guard;\nand all is lost.\"\n\n\"But who is the wretch that produced this codicil?\"\n\n\"A woman.\"\n\n\"What woman?\"\n\n\"Some wandering creature, that Gabriel says he met in America, where she\nsaved his life.\"\n\n\"And how could this woman be there--how could she know the existence of\nthis codicil?\"\n\n\"I think it was all arranged with a miserable Jew, the guardian of the\nhouse, whose family has had charge of the funds for three generations;\nhe had no doubt some secret instructions, in case he suspected the\ndetention of any of the heirs, for this Marius de Rennepont had foreseen\nthat our Company would keep their eyes upon his race.\"\n\n\"But can you not dispute the validity of this codicil?\"\n\n\"What, go to law in these times--litigate about a will--incur the\ncertainty of a thousand clamors, with no security for success?--It is\nbad enough, that even this should get wind. Alas! it is terrible. So\nnear the goal! after so much care and trouble. An affair that had been\nfollowed up with so much perseverance during a century and a half!\"\n\n\"Two hundred and twelve millions!\" said the princess. \"The Order would\nhave had no need to look for establishments in foreign countries; with\nsuch resources, it would have been able to impose itself upon France.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" resumed Father d'Aigrigny, with bitterness; \"by means of\neducation, we might have possessed ourselves of the rising generation.\nThe power is altogether incalculable.\" Then, stamping with his foot, he\nresumed: \"I tell you, that it is enough to drive one mad with rage! an\naffair so wisely, ably, patiently conducted!\"\n\n\"Is there no hope?\"\n\n\"Only that Gabriel may not revoke his donation, in as far as concerns\nhimself. That alone would be a considerable sum--not less than thirty\nmillions.\"\n\n\"It is enormous--it is almost what you hoped,\" said the princess; \"then\nwhy despair?\"\n\n\"Because it is evident that Gabriel will dispute this donation. However\nlegal it may be, he will find means to annul it, now that he is free,\ninformed as to our designs, and surrounded by his adopted family. I tell\nyou, that all is lost. There is no hope left. I think it will be even\nprudent to write to Rome, to obtain permission to leave Paris for a\nwhile. This town is odious to me!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! I see that no hope is left--since you, my friend, have decided\nalmost to fly.\"\n\nFather d'Aigrigny was completely discouraged and broken down; this\nterrible blow had destroyed all life and energy within him. He threw\nhimself back in an arm-chair, quite overcome. During the preceding\ndialogue, Rodin was standing humbly near the door, with his old hat in\nhis hand. Two or three times, at certain passages in the conversation\nbetween Father d'Aigrigny and the princess, the cadaverous face of the\nsocius, whose wrath appeared to be concentrated, was slightly flushed,\nand his flappy eyelids were tinged with red, as if the blood mounted in\nconsequence of an interior struggle; but, immediately after, his dull\ncountenance resumed its pallid blue.\n\n\"I must write instantly to Rome, to announce this defeat, which has\nbecome an event of the first importance, because it overthrows immense\nhopes,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, much depressed.\n\nThe reverend father had remained seated; pointing to a table, he said to\nRodin, with an abrupt and haughty air:\n\n\"Write!\"\n\nThe socius placed his hat on the ground, answered with a respectful\nbow the command, and with stooping head and slanting walk, went to\nseat himself on a chair, that stood before a desk. Then, taking pen\nand paper, he waited, silent and motionless, for the dictation of his\nsuperior.\n\n\"With your permission, princess?\" said Father d'Aigrigny to Madame de\nSaint-Dizier. The latter answered by an impatient wave of the hand, as\nif she reproached him for the formal demand at such a time. The reverend\nfather bowed, and dictated these words in a hoarse and hollow voice:\n\"All our hopes, which of late had become almost certainties, have been\nsuddenly defeated. The affair of the Rennepont inheritance, in spite\nof all the care and skill employed upon it, has completely and\nfinally failed. At the point to which matters had been brought, it is\nunfortunately worse than a failure; it is a most disastrous event for\nthe Society, which was clearly entitled to this property, fraudulently\nwithdrawn from a confiscation made in our favor. My conscience at least\nbears witness, that, to the last moment, I did all that was possible\nto defend and secure our rights. But I repeat, we must consider this\nimportant affair as lost absolutely and forever, and think no more about\nit.\"\n\nThus dictating, Father d'Aigrigny's back was turned towards Rodin. At a\nsudden movement made by the socius, in rising and throwing his pen upon\nthe table, instead of continuing to write, the reverend father turned\nround, and, looking at Rodin with profound astonishment, said to him:\n\"Well! what are you doing?\"\n\n\"It is time to end this--the man is mad!\" said Rodin to himself, as he\nadvanced slowly towards the fireplace.\n\n\"What! you quit your place--you cease writing?\" said the reverend\nfather, in amazement. Then, addressing the princess, who shared in his\nastonishment, he added, as he glanced contemptuously at the socius, \"He\nis losing his senses.\"\n\n\"Forgive him,\" replied Mme. de Saint-Dizier; \"it is, no doubt, the\nemotion caused by the ruin of this affair.\"\n\n\"Thank the princess, return to your place, and continue to write,\" said\nFather d'Aigrigny to Rodin, in a tone of disdainful compassion, as, with\nimperious finger, he pointed to the table.\n\nThe socius, perfectly indifferent to this new order, approached the\nfireplace, drew himself up to his full height as he turned his arched\nback, planted himself firmly on his legs, stamped on the carpet with the\nheel of his clumsy, greasy shoes, crossed his hands beneath the flaps of\nhis old, spotted coat, and, lifting his head, looked fixedly at\nFather d'Aigrigny. The socius had not spoken a word, but his hideous\ncountenance, now flushed, suddenly revealed such a sense of his\nsuperiority, and such sovereign contempt for Father d'Aigrigny, mingled\nwith so calm and serene a daring, that the reverend father and the\nprincess were quite confounded by it. They felt themselves overawed by\nthis little old man, so sordid and so ugly. Father d'Aigrigny knew too\nwell the customs of the Company, to believe his humble secretary capable\nof assuming so suddenly these airs of transcendent superiority without\na motive, or rather, without a positive right. Late, too late, the\nreverend father perceived, that this subordinate agent might be partly\na spy, partly an experienced assistant, who, according to the\nconstitutions of the Order, had the power and mission to depose and\nprovisionally replace, in certain urgent cases, the incapable person\nover whom he was stationed as a guard. The reverend father was not\ndeceived. From the general to the provincials, and to the rectors of\nthe colleges, all the superior members of the Order have stationed\nnear them, often without their knowledge, and in apparently the lowest\ncapacities, men able to assume their functions at any given moment, and\nwho, with this view, constantly keep up a direct correspondence with\nRome.\n\nFrom the moment Rodin had assumed this position, the manners of Father\nd'Aigrigny, generally so haughty, underwent a change. Though it cost him\na good deal, he said with hesitation, mingled with deference: \"You have,\nno doubt, the right to command me--who hitherto have commanded.\" Rodin,\nwithout answering, drew from his well-rubbed and greasy pocket-book a\nslip of paper, stamped upon both sides, on which were written several\nlines in Latin. When he had read it, Father d'Aigrigny pressed this\npaper respectfully, even religiously, to his lips: then returned it to\nRodin, with a low bow. When he again raised his head, he was purple with\nshame and vexation. Notwithstanding his habits of passive obedience\nand immutable respect for the will of the Order, he felt a bitter and\nviolent rage at seeing himself thus abruptly deposed from power. That\nwas not all. Though, for a long time past, all relations in gallantry\nhad ceased between him and Mme. de Saint-Dizier, the latter was not the\nless a woman; and for him to suffer this humiliation in presence of a\nwoman was, undoubtedly, cruel, as, notwithstanding his entrance into the\nOrder, he had not wholly laid aside the character of man of the world.\nMoreover, the princess, instead of appearing hurt and offended by this\nsudden transformation of the superior into a subaltern, and of the\nsubaltern into a superior, looked at Rodin with a sort of curiosity\nmingled with interest. As a woman--as a woman, intensely ambitious,\nseeking to connect herself with every powerful influence--the princess\nloved this strange species of contrast. She found it curious and\ninteresting to see this man, almost in rags, mean in appearance, and\nignobly ugly, and but lately the most humble of subordinates look down\nfrom the height of his superior intelligence upon the nobleman by\nbirth, distinguished for the elegance of his manners, and just before so\nconsiderable a personage in the Society. From that moment, as the more\nimportant personage of the two, Rodin completely took the place of\nFather d'Aigrigny in the princess's mind. The first pang of humiliation\nover, the reverend father, though his pride bled inwardly, applied all\nhis knowledge of the world to behave with redoubled courtesy towards\nRodin, who had become his superior by this abrupt change of fortune. But\nthe ex-socius, incapable of appreciating, or rather of acknowledging,\nsuch delicate shades of manner, established himself at once, firmly,\nimperiously, brutally, in his new position, not from any reaction of\noffended pride, but from a consciousness of what he was really worth.\nA long acquaintance with Father d'Aigrigny had revealed to him the\ninferiority of the latter.\n\n\"You threw away your pen,\" said Father d'Aigrigny to Rodin with extreme\ndeference, \"while I was dictating a note for Rome. Will you do me the\nfavor to tell me how I have acted wrong?\"\n\n\"Directly,\" replied Rodin, in his sharp, cutting voice. \"For a long time\nthis affair appeared to me above your strength; but I abstained from\ninterfering. And yet what mistakes! what poverty of invention; what\ncoarseness in the means employed to bring it to bear!\"\n\n\"I can hardly understand your reproaches,\" answered Father d'Aigrigny,\nmildly, though a secret bitterness made its way through his apparent\nsubmission. \"Was not the success certain, had it not been for this\ncodicil? Did you not yourself assist in the measures that you now\nblame?\"\n\n\"You commanded, then, and it was my duty to obey. Besides, you were just\non the point of succeeding--not because of the means you had taken--but\nin spite of those means, with all their awkward and revolting\nbrutality.\"\n\n\"Sir--you are severe,\" said Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"I am just. One has to be prodigiously clever, truly, to shut up any one\nin a room, and then lock the door! And yet, what else have you done? The\ndaughters of General Simon?--imprisoned at Leipsic, shut up in a\nconvent at Paris! Adrienne de Cardoville?--placed in confinement.\nSleepinbuff--put in prison. Djalma?--quieted by a narcotic. One only\ningenious method, and a thousand times safer, because it acted morally,\nnot materially, was employed to remove M. Hardy. As for your other\nproceedings--they were all bad, uncertain, dangerous. Why? Because they\nwere violent, and violence provokes violence. Then it is no longer a\nstruggle of keen, skillful, persevering men, seeing through the darkness\nin which they walk, but a match of fisticuffs in broad day. Though we\nshould be always in action, we should always shrink from view; and yet\nyou could find no better plan than to draw universal attention to us\nby proceedings at once open and deplorably notorious. To make them more\nsecret, you call in the guard, the commissary of police, the jailers,\nfor your accomplices. It is pitiable, sir; nothing but the most\nbrilliant success could cover such wretched folly; and this success has\nbeen wanting.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, deeply hurt, for the Princess de Saint\nDizier, unable to conceal the sort of admiration caused in her by the\nplain, decisive words of Rodin, looked at her old lover, with an air\nthat seemed to say, \"He is right;\"--\"sir, you are more than severe in\nyour judgment; and, notwithstanding the deference I owe to you, I must\nobserve, that I am not accustomed--\"\n\n\"There are many other things to which you are not accustomed,\" said\nRodin, harshly interrupting the reverend father; \"but you will accustom\nyourself to them. You have hitherto had a false idea of your own value.\nThere is the old leaven of the soldier and the worlding fermenting\nwithin you, which deprives your reason of the coolness, lucidity, and\npenetration that it ought to possess. You have been a fine military\nofficer, brisk and gay, foremost in wars and festivals, with pleasures\nand women. These things have half worn you out. You will never be\nanything but a subaltern; you have been thoroughly tested. You will\nalways want that vigor and concentration of mind which governs men and\nevents. That vigor and concentration of mind I have--and do you know\nwhy? It is because, solely devoted to the service of the Company, I have\nalways been ugly, dirty, unloved, unloving--I have all my manhood about\nme!\"\n\nIn pronouncing these words, full of cynical pride, Rodin was truly\nfearful. The princess de Saint-Dizier thought him almost handsome by his\nenergy and audacity.\n\nFather d'Aigrigny, feeling himself overawed, invincibly and inexorably,\nby this diabolical being, made a last effort to resist and exclaimed,\n\"Oh! sir, these boastings are no proofs of valor and power. We must see\nyou at work.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Rodin, coldly; \"do you know at what work?\" Rodin was fond\nof this interrogative mode of expression. \"Why, at the work that you so\nbasely abandon.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried the Princess de Saint-Dizier; for Father d'Aigrigny,\nstupefied at Rodin's audacity, was unable to utter a word.\n\n\"I say,\" resumed Rodin, slowly, \"that I undertake to bring to a good\nissue this affair of the Rennepont inheritance, which appears to you so\ndesperate.\"\n\n\"You?\" cried Father d'Aigrigny. \"You?\" \"I.\"\n\n\"But they have unmasked our maneuvers.\"\n\n\"So much the better; we shall be obliged to invent others.\"\n\n\"But they; will suspect us in everything.\"\n\n\"So much the better; the success that is difficult is the most certain.\"\n\n\"What! do you hope to make Gabriel consent not to revoke his donation,\nwhich is perhaps illegal?\"\n\n\"I mean to bring in to the coffers of the Company the whole of the two\nhundred and twelve millions, of which they wish to cheat us. Is that\nclear?\"\n\n\"It is clear--but impossible.\"\n\n\"And I tell you that it is, and must be possible. Do you not understand,\nshort-sighted as you are!\" cried Rodin, animated to such a degree that\nhis cadaverous face became slightly flushed; \"do you not understand that\nit is no longer in our choice to hesitate? Either these two hundred\nand twelve millions must be ours--and then the re-establishment of our\nsovereign influence in France is sure--for, in these venal times, with\nsuch a sum at command, you may bribe or overthrow a government, or light\nup the flame of civil war, and restore legitimacy, which is our natural\nally, and, owing all to us, would give us all in return--\"\n\n\"That is clear,\" cried the princess, clasping her hands in admiration.\n\n\"If, on the contrary,\" resumed Rodin, \"these two hundred and twelve\nmillions fall into the hands of the family of the Renneponts, it will\nbe our ruin and our destruction. We shall create a stock of bitter and\nimplacable enemies. Have you not heard the execrable designs of that\nRennepont, with regard to the association he recommends, and which, by\nan accursed fatality, his race are just in a condition to realize? Think\nof the forces that would rally round these millions. There would be\nMarshal Simon, acting in the name of his daughters--that is, the man of\nthe people become a duke, without being the vainer for it, which secures\nhis influence with the mob, because military spirit and Bonapartism\nstill represent, in the eyes of the French populace, the traditions of\nnational honor and glory. There would be Francis Hardy, the liberal,\nindependent, enlightened citizen, the type of the great manufacturer,\nthe friend of progress, the benefactor of his workmen. There would be\nGabriel--the good priest, as they say!--the apostle of the primitive\ngospel, the representative of the democracy of the church, of the poor\ncountry curate as opposed to the rich bishop, the tiller of the vine as\nopposed to him who sits in the shade of it; the propagator of all\nthe ideas of fraternity, emancipation, progress--to use their own\njargon--and that, not in the name of revolutionary and incendiary\npolitics, but in the name of a religion of charity, love, and peace--to\nspeak as they speak. There, too, would be Adrienne de Cardoville, the\ntype of elegance, grace, and beauty, the priestess of the senses, which\nshe deifies by refining and cultivating them. I need not tell you of\nher wit and audacity; you know them but too well. No one could be more\ndangerous to us than this creature, a patrician in blood, a plebeian in\nheart, a poet in imagination. Then, too, there would be Prince Djalma,\nchivalrous, bold, ready for adventure, knowing nothing of civilized\nlife, implacable in his hate as in his affection, a terrible instrument\nfor whoever can make use of him. In this detestable family, even such\na wretch as Sleepinbuff, who in himself is of no value, raised and\npurified by the contact of these generous and far from narrow natures\n(as they call them), might represent the working class, and take a large\nshare in the influence of that association. Now do you not think that if\nall these people, already exasperated against us, because (as they say)\nwe have wished to rob them, should follow the detestable counsels of\nthis Rennepont--should unite their forces around this immense fortune,\nwhich would strengthen them a hundred-fold--do you not think that, if\nthey declare a deadly war against us, they will be the most dangerous\nenemies that we have ever had? I tell you that the Company has never\nbeen in such serious peril; yes, it is now a question of life and\ndeath. We must no longer defend ourselves, but lead the attack, so as\nto annihilate this accursed race of Rennepont, and obtain possession of\nthese millions.\"\n\nAt this picture, drawn by Rodin with a feverish animation, which had\nonly the more influence from its unexpectedness, the princess and Father\nd'Aigrigny looked at each other in confusion.\n\n\"I confess,\" said the reverend father to Rodin, \"I had not considered\nall the dangerous consequences of this association, recommended by M. de\nRennepont. I believe that the heir, from the characters we know them to\nbe possessed of, would wish to realize this Utopia. The peril is great\nand pressing; what is to be done?\"\n\n\"What, sir? You have to act upon ignorant, heroic, enthusiastic natures\nlike Djalma's--sensual and eccentric characters like Adrienne de\nCardoville's--simple and ingenuous minds like Rose and Blanche\nSimon's--honest and frank dispositions like Francis Hardy's--angelic and\npure souls like Gabriel's--brutal and stupid instincts like Jacques--and\ncan you ask, 'What is to be done?'\"\n\n\"In truth, I do not understand you,\" said Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"I believe it. Your past conduct shows as much,\" replied Rodin,\ncontemptuously. \"You have had recourse to the lowest and most mechanical\ncontrivances, instead of acting upon the noble and generous passions,\nwhich, once united, would constitute so formidable a bond; but which,\nnow divided and isolated, are open to every surprise, every seduction,\nevery attack! Do you, at length understand me? Not yet?\" added Rodin,\nshrugging his shoulders. \"Answer me--do people die of despair?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"May not the gratitude of successful love reach the last limits of\ninsane generosity?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"May there not be such horrible deceptions, that suicide is the only\nrefuge from frightful realities?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"May not the excess of sensuality lead to the grave by a slow and\nvoluptuous agony?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Are there not in life such terrible circumstances that the most\nworldly, the firmest, the most impious characters, throw themselves\nblindly, overwhelmed with despair, into the arms of religion, and\nabandon all earthly greatness for sackcloth, and prayers, and solitude?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Are there not a thousand occasions in which the reaction of the\npassions works the most extraordinary changes, and brings about the most\ntragic catastrophes in the life of man and woman?\"\n\n\"No doubt.\"\n\n\"Well, then! why ask me, 'What is to be done?' What would you say, for\nexample, if before three months are over, the most dangerous members of\nthis family of the Renneponts should come to implore, upon their knees,\nadmission to that very Society which they now hold in horror, and from\nwhich Gabriel has just separated?\"\n\n\"Such a conversion is impossible,\" cried Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"Impossible? What were you, sir, fifteen years ago?\" said Rodin. \"An\nimpious and debauched man of the world. And yet you came to us, and your\nwealth became ours. What! we have conquered princes, kings, popes; we\nhave absorbed and extinguished in our unity magnificent intelligences,\nwhich, from afar, shone with too dazzling a light; we have all but\ngoverned two worlds; we have perpetuated our Society, full of life,\nrich and formidable, even to this day, through all the hate, and all the\npersecutions that have assailed us; and yet we shall not be able to\nget the better of a single family, which threatens our Company, and has\ndespoiled us of a large fortune? What! we are not skillful enough to\nobtain this result without having recourse to awkward and dangerous\nviolence? You do not know, then, the immense field that is thrown\nopen by the mutually destructive power of human passions, skillfully\ncombined, opposed, restrained, excited?--particularly,\" added Rodin,\nwith a strange smile, \"when, thanks to a powerful ally, these passions\nare sure to be redoubled in ardor and energy.\"\n\n\"What ally?\" asked Father d'Aigrigny, who, as well as the Princess de\nSaint-Dizier, felt a sort of admiration mixed with terror.\n\n\"Yes,\" resumed Rodin, without answering the reverend father; \"this\nformidable ally, who comes to our assistance, may bring about the most\nastonishing transformations--make the coward brave, and the impious\ncredulous, and the gentle ferocious--\"\n\n\"But this ally!\" cried the Princess, oppressed with a vague sense of\nfear. \"This great and formidable ally--who is he?\"\n\n\"If he comes,\" resumed Rodin, still impassible, \"the youngest and most\nvigorous, every moment in danger of death, will have no advantage over\nthe sick man at his last gasp.\"\n\n\"But who is this ally?\" exclaimed Father d'Aigrigny, more and more\nalarmed, for as the picture became darker, Rodin's face become more\ncadaverous.\n\n\"This ally, who can decimate a population, may carry away with him in\nthe shroud that he drags at his heels, the whole of an accursed race;\nbut even he must respect the life of that great intangible body, which\ndoes not perish with the death of its members--for the spirit of the\nSociety of Jesus is immortal!\"\n\n\"And this ally?\"\n\n\"Oh, this ally,\" resumed Rodin, \"who advances with slow steps, and whose\nterrible coming is announced by mournful presentiments--\"\n\n\"Is--\"\n\n\"The Cholera!\"\n\nThese words, pronounced by Rodin in an abrupt voice, made the Princess\nand Father d'Aigrigny grow pale and tremble. Rodin's look was gloomy and\nchilling, like a spectre's. For some moments, the silence of the\ntomb reigned in the saloon. Rodin was the first to break it. Still\nimpassible, he pointed with imperious gesture to the table, where a few\nminutes before he had himself been humbly seated, and said in a sharp\nvoice to Father d'Aigrigny, \"Write!\"\n\nThe reverend father started at first with surprise; then, remembering\nthat from a superior he had become an inferior, he rose, bowed lowly to\nRodin, as he passed before him, seated himself at the table, took the\npen, and said, \"I am ready.\"\n\nRodin dictated, and the reverend Father wrote as follows: \"By the\nmismanagement of the Reverend Father d'Aigrigny, the affair of the\ninheritance of the Rennepont family has been seriously compromised.\nThe sum amounts to two hundred and twelve millions. Notwithstanding\nthe check we have received, we believe we may safely promise to prevent\nthese Renneponts from injuring the Society, and to restore the two\nhundred and twelve millions to their legitimate possessors. We only ask\nfor the most complete and extensive powers.\"\n\nA quarter of an hour after this scene, Rodin left Saint Dizier House,\nbrushing with his sleeve the old greasy hat, I which he had pulled off\nto return the salute of the porter by a very low bow.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII. THE STRANGER.\n\nThe following scene took place on the morrow of the day in which\nFather d'Aigrigny had been so rudely degraded by Rodin to the subaltern\nposition formerly occupied by the socius.\n\nIt is well known that the Rue Clovis is one of the most solitary streets\nin the Montagne St. Genevieve district. At the epoch of this narrative,\nthe house No. 4, in this street, was composed of one principal building,\nthrough which ran a dark passage, leading to a little, gloomy court, at\nthe end of which was a second building, in a singularly miserable and\ndilapidated condition. On the ground-floor, in front of the house, was a\nhalf-subterraneous shop, in which was sold charcoal, fagots, vegetables,\nand milk. Nine o'clock in the morning had just struck. The mistress of\nthe shop, one Mother Arsene, an old woman of a mild, sickly countenance,\nclad in a brown stuff dress, with a red bandanna round her head, was\nmounted on the top step of the stairs which led down to her door, and\nwas employed in setting out her goods--that is, on one side of her\ndoor she placed a tin milk-can, and on the other some bunches of stale\nvegetables, flanked with yellowed cabbages. At the bottom of the steps,\nin the shadowy depths of the cellar, one could see the light of the\nburning charcoal in a little stove. This shop situated at the side of\nthe passage, served as a porter's lodge, and the old woman acted as\nportress. On a sudden, a pretty little creature, coming from the house,\nentered lightly and merrily the shop. This young girl was Rose-Pompon,\nthe intimate friend of the Bacchanal Queen.--Rose-Pompon, a widow for\nthe moment, whose bacchanalian cicisbeo was Ninny Moulin, the orthodox\nscapegrace, who, on occasion, after drinking his fill, could transform\nhimself into Jacques Dumoulin, the religious writer, and pass gayly from\ndishevelled dances to ultramontane polemics, from Storm-blown Tulips to\nCatholic pamphlets.\n\nRose-Pompon had just quitted her bed, as appeared by the negligence of\nher strange morning costume; no doubt, for want of any other head-dress,\non her beautiful light hair, smooth and well-combed, was stuck jauntily\na foraging-cap, borrowed from her masquerading costume. Nothing could\nbe more sprightly than that face, seventeen years old, rosy, fresh,\ndimpled, and brilliantly lighted up by a pair of gay, sparkling blue\neyes. Rose Pompon was so closely enveloped from the neck to the feet\nin a red and green plaid cloak, rather faded, that one could guess the\ncause of her modest embarrassment. Her naked feet, so white that one\ncould not tell if she wore stockings or not, were slipped into little\nmorocco shoes, with plated buckles. It was easy to perceive that her\ncloak concealed some article which she held in her hand.\n\n\"Good-day, Rose-Pompon,\" said Mother Arsene with a kindly air; \"you are\nearly this morning. Had you no dance last night?\"\n\n\"Don't talk of it, Mother Arsene; I had no heart to dance. Poor\nCephyse--the Bacchanal Queen--has done nothing but cry all night. She\ncannot console herself, that her lover should be in prison.\"\n\n\"Now, look here, my girl,\" said the old woman, \"I must speak to you\nabout your friend Cephyse. You won't be angry?\"\n\n\"Am I ever angry?\" said Rose-Pompon, shrugging her shoulders.\n\n\"Don't you think that M. Philemon will scold me on his return?\"\n\n\"Scold you! what for?\"\n\n\"Because of his rooms, that you occupy.\"\n\n\"Why, Mother Arsene, did not Philemon tell you, that, in his absence, I\nwas to be as much mistress of his two rooms as I am of himself?\"\n\n\"I do not speak of you, but of your friend Cephyse, whom you have also\nbrought to occupy M. Philemon's lodgings.\"\n\n\"And where would she have gone without me, my good Mother Arsene? Since\nher lover was arrested, she has not dared to return home, because she\nowes ever so many quarters. Seeing her troubles. I said to her: 'Come,\nlodge at Philemon's. When he returns, we must find another place for\nyou.'\"\n\n\"Well, little lovey--if you only assure me that M. Philemon will not be\nangry--\"\n\n\"Angry! for what? That we spoil his things? A fine set of things he has\nto spoil! I broke his last cup yesterday--and am forced to fetch the\nmilk in this comic concern.\"\n\nSo saying, laughing with all her might, Rose-Pompon drew her pretty\nlittle white arm from under her cloak, and presented to Mother Arsene\none of those champagne glasses of colossal capacity, which hold about a\nbottle.\n\n\"Oh, dear!\" said the greengrocer in amazement; \"it is like a glass\ntrumpet.\"\n\n\"It is Philemon's grand gala-glass, which they gave him when he took his\ndegrees in boating,\" said Rose-Pompon, gravely.\n\n\"And to think you must put your milk in it--I am really ashamed,\" said\nMother Arsene.\n\n\"So am I! If I were to meet any one on the stairs, holding this glass in\nmy hand like a Roman candlestick, I should burst out laughing, and\nbreak the last remnant of Philemon's bazaar, and he would give me his\nmalediction.\"\n\n\"There is no danger that you will meet any one. The first-floor is gone\nout, and the second gets up very late.\"\n\n\"Talking of lodgers,\" said Rose-Pompon, \"is there not a room to let\non the second-floor in the rear house? It might do for Cephyse, when\nPhilemon comes back.\"\n\n\"Yes, there is a little closet in the roof--just over the two rooms of\nthe mysterious old fellow,\" said Mother Arsene.\n\n\"Oh, yes! Father Charlemagne. Have you found out anything more about\nhim?\"\n\n\"Dear me, no, my girl! only that he came this morning at break of day,\nand knocked at my shutters. 'Have you received a letter for me, my good\nlady?' said he--for he is always so polite, the dear man!--'No, sir,'\nsaid I.'--'Well, then, pray don't disturb yourself, my good lady!' said\nhe; 'I will call again.' And so he went away.\"\n\n\"Does he never sleep in the house?\"\n\n\"Never. No doubt, he lodges somewhere else--but he passes some hours\nhere, once every four or five days.\"\n\n\"And always comes alone?\"\n\n\"Always.\"\n\n\"Are you quite sure? Does he never manage to slip in some little puss\nof a woman? Take care, or Philemon will give you notice to quit,\" said\nRose-Pompon, with an air of mock-modesty.\n\n\"M. Charlemagne with a woman! Oh, poor dear man!\" said the greengrocer,\nraising her hands to heaven; \"if you saw him, with his greasy hat, his\nold gray coat, his patched umbrella, and his simple face, he looks more\nlike a saint than anything else.\"\n\n\"But then, Mother Arsene, what does the saint do here, all alone for\nhours, in that hole at the bottom of the court, where one can hardly see\nat noon-day?\"\n\n\"That's what I ask myself, my dovey, what can he be doing? It can't be\nthat he comes to look at his furniture, for he has nothing but a flock\nbed, a table, a stove, a chair, and an old trunk.\"\n\n\"Somewhat in the style of Philemon's establishment,\" said Rose-Pompon.\n\n\"Well, notwithstanding that, Rosey, he is as much afraid that any one\nshould come into his room, as if we were all thieves, and his furniture\nwas made of massy gold. He has had a patent lock put on the door, at his\nown expense; he never leaves me his key; and he lights his fire himself,\nrather than let anybody into his room.\"\n\n\"And you say he is old?\"\n\n\"Yes, fifty or sixty.\"\n\n\"And ugly?\"\n\n\"Just fancy, little viper's eyes, looking as if they had been bored with\na gimlet, in a face as pale as death--so pale, that the lips are white.\nThat's for his appearance. As for his character, the good old man's so\npolite!--he pulls off his hat so often, and makes you such low bows,\nthat it is quite embarrassing.\"\n\n\"But, to come back to the point,\" resumed Rose-Pompon, \"what can he\ndo all alone in those two rooms? If Cephyse should take the closet, on\nPhilemon's return, we may amuse ourselves by finding out something about\nit. How much do they want for the little room?\"\n\n\"Why, it is in such bad condition, that I think the landlord would let\nit go for fifty or fifty-five francs a-year, for there is no room for a\nstove, and the only light comes through a small pane in the roof.\"\n\n\"Poor Cephyse!\" said Rose, sighing, and shaking her head sorrowfully.\n\"After having amused herself so well, and flung away so much money with\nJacques Rennepont, to live in such a place, and support herself by hard\nwork! She must have courage!\"\n\n\"Why, indeed, there is a great difference between that closet and the\ncoach-and-four in which Cephyse came to fetch you the other day, with\nall the fine masks, that looked so gay--particularly the fat man in\nthe silver paper helmet, with the plume and the top boots. What a jolly\nfellow!\"\n\n\"Yes, Ninny Moulin. There is no one like him to dance the forbidden\nfruit. You should see him with Cephyse, the Bacchanal Queen. Poor\nlaughing, noisy thing!--the only noise she makes now is crying.\"\n\n\"Oh! these young people--these young people!\" said the greengrocer.\n\n\"Easy, Mother Arsene; you were young once.\"\n\n\"I hardly know. I have always thought myself much the same as I am now.\"\n\n\"And your lovers, Mother Arsene?\"\n\n\"Lovers! Oh, yes! I was too ugly for that--and too well taken care of.\"\n\n\"Your mother looked after you, then?\"\n\n\"No, my girl; but I was harnessed.\"\n\n\"Harnessed!\" cried Rose-Pompon, in amazement, interrupting the dealer.\n\n\"Yes,--harnessed to a water-cart, along with my brother. So, you see,\nwhen we had drawn like a pair of horses for eight or ten hours a day, I\nhad no heart to think of nonsense.\"\n\n\"Poor Mother Arsene, what a hard life,\" said Rose-Pompon with interest.\n\n\"In the winter, when it froze, it was hard enough. I and my brother were\nobliged to be rough-shod, for fear of slipping.\"\n\n\"What a trade for a woman! It breaks one's heart. And they forbid people\nto harness dogs!\" added Rose-Pompon, sententiously.(21)\n\n\"Why, 'tis true,\" resumed Mother Arsene. \"Animals are sometimes better\noff than people. But what would you have? One must live, you know. As\nyou make your bed, you must lie. It was hard enough, and I got a disease\nof the lungs by it--which was not my fault. The strap, with which I\nwas harnessed, pressed so hard against my chest, that I could scarcely\nbreathe: so I left the trade, and took to a shop, which is just to tell\nyou, that if I had had a pretty face and opportunity, I might have done\nlike so many other young people, who begin with laughter and finish--\"\n\n\"With a laugh t'other side of the mouth--you would say; it is true,\nMother Arsene. But, you see, every one has not the courage to go into\nharness, in order to remain virtuous. A body says to herself, you must\nhave some amusement while you are young and pretty--you will not always\nbe seventeen years old--and then--and then--the world will end, or you\nwill get married.\"\n\n\"But, perhaps, it would have been better to begin by that.\"\n\n\"Yes, but one is too stupid; one does not know how to catch the men, or\nto frighten them. One is simple, confiding, and they only laugh at us.\nWhy, Mother Arsene, I am myself an example that would make you shudder;\nbut 'tis quite enough to have had one's sorrows, without fretting one's\nself at the remembrance.\"\n\n\"What, my beauty! you, so young and gay, have had sorrows?\"\n\n\"Ah, Mother Arsene! I believe you. At fifteen and a half I began to cry,\nand never left off till I was sixteen. That was enough, I think.\"\n\n\"They deceived you, mademoiselle?\"\n\n\"They did worse. They treated me as they have treated many a poor girl,\nwho had no more wish to go wrong than I had. My story is not a three\nvolume one. My father and mother are peasants near Saint-Valery, but\nso poor--so poor, that having five children to provide for, they were\nobliged to send me, at eight years old, to my aunt, who was a charwoman\nhere in Paris. The good woman took me out of charity, and very kind it\nwas of her, for I earned but little. At eleven years of age she sent me\nto work in one of the factories of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. I don't\nwish to speak, ill of the masters of these factories; but what do they\ncare, if little boys and girls are mixed up pell-mell with young men and\nwomen of eighteen to twenty? Now you see, there, as everywhere, some are\nno better than they should be; they are not particular in word or deed,\nand I ask you, what art example for the children, who hear and see more\nthan you think for. Then, what happens? They get accustomed as they grow\nolder, to hear and see things, that afterwards will not shock them at\nall.\"\n\n\"What you say there is true, Rose-Pompon. Poor children! who takes any\ntrouble about them?--not their father or mother, for they are at their\ndaily work.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, Mother Arsene, it is all very well; it is easy to cry down a\nyoung girl that has gone wrong; but if they knew all the ins and\nouts, they would perhaps pity rather than blame her. To come back to\nmyself--at fifteen years old I was tolerably pretty. One day I had\nsomething to ask of the head clerk. I went to him in his private room.\nHe told me he would grant what I wanted, and even take me under his\npatronage, if I would listen to him; and he began by trying to kiss me.\nI resisted. Then he said to me:--'You refuse my offer? You shall have no\nmore work; I discharge you from the factory.'\"\n\n\"Oh, the wicked man!\" said Mother Arsene.\n\n\"I went home all in tears, and my poor aunt encouraged me not to yield,\nand she would try to place me elsewhere. Yes--but it was impossible;\nthe factories were all full. Misfortunes never come single; my aunt fell\nill, and there was not a sou in the house; I plucked up my courage, and\nreturned to entreat the mercy of the clerk at the factory. Nothing would\ndo. 'So much the worse,' said he; 'you are throwing away your luck. If\nyou had been more complying, I should perhaps have married you.' What\ncould I do, Mother Arsene?--misery was staring me in the face; I had no\nwork; my aunt was ill; the clerk said he would marry me--I did like so\nmany others.\"\n\n\"And when, afterwards, you spoke to him about marriage?\"\n\n\"Of course he laughed at me, and in six months left me. Then I wept\nall the tears in my body, till none remained--then I was very ill--and\nthen--I console myself, as one may console one's self for anything.\nAfter some changes, I met with Philemon. It is upon him that I revenge\nmyself for what others have done to me. I am his tyrant,\" added\nRose-Pompon, with a tragic air, as the cloud passed away which had\ndarkened her pretty face during her recital to Mother Arsene.\n\n\"It is true,\" said the latter thoughtfully. \"They deceive a poor\ngirl--who is there to protect or defend her? Oh! the evil we do does not\nalways come from ourselves, and then--\"\n\n\"I spy Ninny Moulin!\" cried Rose-Pompon, interrupting the greengrocer,\nand pointing to the other side of the street. \"How early abroad! What\ncan he want with me?\" and Rose wrapped herself still more closely and\nmodestly in her cloak.\n\nIt was indeed Jacques Dumoulin, who advanced with his hat stuck on one\nside, with rubicund nose and sparkling eye, dressed in a loose coat,\nwhich displayed the rotundity of his abdomen. His hands, one of which\nheld a huge cane shouldered like a musket, were plunged into the vast\npockets of his outer garment.\n\nJust as he reached the threshold of the door, no doubt with the\nintention of speaking to the portress, he perceived Rose-Pompon. \"What!\"\nhe exclaimed, \"my pupil already stirring? That is fortunate. I came on\npurpose to bless her at the rise of morn!\"\n\nSo saying, Ninny Moulin advanced with open arms towards Rose-Pompon who\ndrew back a step.\n\n\"What, ungrateful child!\" resumed the writer on divinity. \"Will you\nrefuse me the morning's paternal kiss?\"\n\n\"I accept paternal kisses from none but Philemon. I had a letter from\nhim yesterday, with a jar of preserves, two geese, a bottle of home-made\nbrandy, and an eel. What ridiculous presents! I kept the drink, and\nchanged the rest for two darling live pigeons, which I have installed\nin Philemon's cabinet, and a very pretty dove-cote it makes me. For the\nrest, my husband is coming back with seven hundred francs, which he got\nfrom his respectable family, under pretence of learning the bass viol,\nthe cornet-a-piston, and the speaking trumpet, so as to make his way in\nsociety, and a slap-up marriage--to use your expression--my good child.\"\n\n\"Well, my dear pupil, we will taste the family brandy, and enjoy\nourselves in expectation of Philemon and his seven hundred francs.\"\n\nSo saying, Ninny Moulin slapped the pockets of his waistcoat, which\ngave forth a metallic sound, and added: \"I come to propose to you to\nembellish my life, to-day and to-morrow, and even the day after, if your\nheart is willing.\"\n\n\"If the announcements are decent and fraternal, my heart does not say\nno.\"\n\n\"Be satisfied; I will act by you as your grandfather, your great\ngrandfather, your family portrait. We will have a ride, a dinner, the\nplay, a fancy dress ball, and a supper afterwards. Will that suit you?\"\n\n\"On condition that poor Cephyse is to go with us. It will raise her\nspirits.\"\n\n\"Well, Cephyse shall be of the party.\"\n\n\"Have you come into a fortune, great apostle?\"\n\n\"Better than that, most rosy and pompous of all Rose-Pom, pons! I am\nhead editor of a religious journal; and as I must make some appearance\nin so respectable a concern, I ask every month for four weeks in\nadvance, and three days of liberty. On this condition, I consent to play\nthe saint for twenty-seven days out of thirty, and to be always as grave\nand heavy as the paper itself.\"\n\n\"A journal! that will be something droll, and dance forbidden steps all\nalone on the tables of the cafes.\"\n\n\"Yes, it will be droll enough; but not for everybody. They are rich\nsacristans, who pay the expenses. They don't look to money, provided the\njournal bites, tears, burns, pounds, exterminates and destroys. On my\nword of honor, I shall never have been in such a fury!\" added Ninny\nMoulin, with a loud, hoarse laugh. \"I shall wash the wounds of my\nadversaries with venom of the finest vintage, and gall of the first\nquality.\"\n\nFor his peroration, Ninny Moulin imitated the pop of uncorking a bottle\nof champagne--which made Rose-Pompon laugh heartily.\n\n\"And what,\" resumed she, \"will be the name of your journal of\nsacristans?\"\n\n\"It will be called 'Neighborly Love.'\"\n\n\"Come! that is a very pretty name.\"\n\n\"Wait a little! there is a second title.\"\n\n\"Let us hear it.\"\n\n\"'Neighborly Love; or, the Exterminator of the Incredulous, the\nIndifferent, the Lukewarm, and Others,' with this motto from the great\nBossuet: 'Those who are not for us are against us.'\"\n\n\"That is what Philemon says in the battles at the Chaumiere, when he\nshakes his cane.\"\n\n\"Which proves, that the genius of the Eagle of Meaux is universal. I\nonly reproach him for having been jealous of Moliere.\"\n\n\"Bah! actor's jealousy,\" said Rose-Pompon.\n\n\"Naughty girl!\" cried Ninny Moulin, threatening her with his finger.\n\n\"But if you are going to exterminate Madame de la Sainte-Colombo, who is\nsomewhat lukewarm--how about your marriage?\"\n\n\"My journal will advance it, on the contrary. Only think! editor-In\nchief is a superb position; the sacristans will praise, and push, and\nsupport, and bless me; I shall get La-Sainte-Colombe--and then, what a\nlife I'll lead!\"\n\nAt this moment, a postman entered the shop, and delivered a letter to\nthe greengrocer, saying: \"For M. Charlemagne, post-paid!\"\n\n\"My!\" said Rose-Pompon; \"it is for the little mysterious old man, who\nhas such extraordinary ways. Does it come from far?\"\n\n\"I believe you; it comes from Italy, from Rome,\" said Ninny Moulin,\nlooking in his turn at the letter, which the greengrocer held in her\nhand. \"Who is the astonishing little old man of whom you speak?\"\n\n\"Just imagine to yourself, my great apostle,\" said Rose-Pompon, \"a\nlittle old man, who has two rooms at the bottom of that court. He never\nsleeps there, but comes from time to time, and shuts himself up for\nhours, without ever allowing any one to enter his lodging, and without\nany one knowing what he does there.\"\n\n\"He is a conspirator,\" said Ninny Moulin, laughing, \"or else a comer.\"\n\n\"Poor dear man,\" said Mother Arsene, \"what has he done with his false\nmoney? He pays me always in sous for the bit of bread and the radish I\nfurnish him for his breakfast.\"\n\n\"And what is the name of this mysterious chap?\" asked Dumoulin.\n\n\"M. Charlemagne,\" said the greengrocer. \"But look, surely one speaks of\nthe devil, one is sure to see his horns.\"\n\n\"Where's the horns?\"\n\n\"There, by the side of the house--that little old man, who walks with\nhis neck awry, and his umbrella under his arm.\"\n\n\"M. Rodin!\" ejaculated Ninny Moulin, retreating hastily, and descending\nthree steps into the shop, in order not to be seen. Then he added. \"You\nsay, that this gentleman calls himself--\"\n\n\"M. Charlemagne--do you know him?\" asked the greengrocer.\n\n\"What the devil does he do here, under a false name?\" said Jacques\nDumoulin to himself.\n\n\"You know him?\" said Rose-Pompon, with impatience. \"You are quite\nconfused.\"\n\n\"And this gentleman has two rooms in this house, and comes here\nmysteriously,\" said Jacques Dumoulin, more and more surprised.\n\n\"Yes,\" resumed Rose-Pompon; \"you can see his windows from Philemon's\ndove-cote.\"\n\n\"Quick! quick! let me go into the passage, that I may not meet him,\"\nsaid Dumoulin.\n\nAnd, without having been perceived by Rodin, he glided from the shop\ninto the passage, and thence mounted to the stairs, which led to the\napartment occupied by Rose-Pompon.\n\n\"Good-morning, M. Charlemagne,\" said Mother Arsene to Rodin, who made\nhis appearance on the threshold. \"You come twice in a day; that is\nright, for your visits are extremely rare.\"\n\n\"You are too polite, my good lady,\" said Rodin, with a very courteous\nbow; and he entered the shop of the greengrocer.\n\n(21) There are, really, ordinances, full of a touching interest for the\ncanine race, which forbid the harnessing of dogs.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX. THE DEN.\n\nRodin's countenance, when he entered Mother Arsene's shop, was\nexpressive of the most simple candor. He leaned his hands on the knob of\nhis umbrella, and said: \"I much regret, my good lady, that I roused you\nso early this morning.\"\n\n\"You do not come often enough, my dear sir, for me to find fault with\nyou.\"\n\n\"How can I help it, my good lady? I live in the country, and only come\nhither from time to time to settle my little affairs.\"\n\n\"Talking of that sir, the letter you expected yesterday has arrived\nthis morning. It is large, and comes from far. Here it is,\" said the\ngreengrocer, drawing it from her pocket; \"it cost nothing for postage.\"\n\n\"Thank you, my dear lady,\" said Rodin, taking the letter with apparent\nindifference, and putting it into the side-pocket of his great-coat,\nwhich he carefully buttoned over.\n\n\"Are you going up to your rooms, sir?\"\n\n\"Yes, my good, lady.\"\n\n\"Then I will get ready your little provisions,\" said Mother Arsene; \"as\nusual, I suppose, my dear sir?\"\n\n\"Just as usual.\"\n\n\"It shall be ready in the twinkling of an eye, sir.\"\n\nSo saying, the greengrocer took down an old basket; after throwing\ninto it three or four pieces of turf, a little bundle of wood, and some\ncharcoal, she covered all this fuel with a cabbage leaf; then, going to\nthe further end of the shop, she took from a chest a large round loaf,\ncut off a slice, and selecting a magnificent radish with the eye of a\nconnoisseur, divided it in two, made a hole in it, which she filled with\ngray salt joined the two pieces together again, and placed it carefully\nby the side of the bread, on the cabbage leaf which separated the\neatables from the combustibles. Finally, taking some embers from the\nstove, she put them into a little earthen pot, containing ashes, which\nshe placed also in the basket.\n\nThen, reascending to her top step, Mother Arsene said to Rodin: \"Here is\nyour basket, sir.\"\n\n\"A thousand thanks, my good lady,\" answered Rodin, and plunging his\nhand into the pocket of his trousers, he drew forth eight sous, which he\ncounted out only one by one to the greengrocer, and said to her, as he\ncarried off his store: \"Presently, when I come down again, I will return\nyour basket as usual.\"\n\n\"Quite at your service, my dear sir, quite at your service,\" said Mother\nArsene.\n\nRodin tucked his umbrella under his left arm, took up the greengrocer's\nbasket with his right hand, entered the dark passage, crossed the little\ncourt and mounted with light step to the second story of a dilapidated\nbuilding; there, drawing a key from his pocket, he opened a door, which\nhe locked carefully after him. The first of the two rooms which he\noccupied was completely unfurnished, as for the second, it is impossible\nto imagine a more gloomy and miserable den. Papering so much worn, torn\nand faded, that no one could recognize its primitive color, bedecked\nthe walls. A wretched flock-bed, covered with a moth-fretted blanket; a\nstool, and a little table of worm-eaten wood; an earthenware stove, as\ncracked as old china; a trunk with a padlock, placed under the bed--such\nwas the furniture of this desolate hole. A narrow window, with dirty\npanes, hardly gave any light to this room, which was almost deprived\nof air by the height of the building in front; two old cotton pocket\nhandkerchiefs, fastened together with pins, and made to slide upon a\nstring stretched across the window, served for curtains. The plaster\nof the roof, coming through the broken and disjointed tiles, showed the\nextreme neglect of the inhabitant of this abode. After locking his door,\nRodin threw his hat and umbrella on the bed, placed his basket on the\nground, set the radish and bread on the table, and kneeling down before\nhis stove, stuffed it with fuel, and lighted it by blowing with vigorous\nlungs on the embers contained in his earthen pot.\n\nWhen, to use the consecrated expression, the stove began to draw, Rodin\nspread out the handkerchiefs, which served him for curtains; then,\nthinking himself quite safe from every eye, he took from the side-pocket\nof his great-coat the letter that Mother Arsene had given him. In doing\nso, he brought out several papers and different articles; one of these\npapers, folded into a thick and rumpled packet, fell upon the table,\nand flew open. It contained a silver cross of the Legion of Honor, black\nwith time. The red ribbon of this cross had almost entirely lost its\noriginal color. At sight of this cross, which he replaced in his pocket\nwith the medal of which Faringhea had despoiled Djalma, Rodin shrugged\nhis shoulders with a contemptuous and sardonic air; then, producing his\nlarge silver watch, he laid it on the table by the side of the letter\nfrom Rome. He looked at this letter with a singular mixture of suspicion\nand hope, of fear, and impatient curiosity. After a moment's reflection,\nhe prepared to unseal the envelope; but suddenly he threw it down again\nupon the table, as if, by a strange caprice, he had wished to prolong\nfor a few minutes that agony of uncertainty, as poignant and irritating\nas the emotion of the gambler.\n\nLooking at his watch, Rodin resolved not to open the letter, until the\nhand should mark half-past nine, of which it still wanted seven minutes.\nIn one of those whims of puerile fatalism, from which great minds have\nnot been exempt, Rodin said to himself: \"I burn with impatience to open\nthis letter. If I do not open it till half-past nine, the news will be\nfavorable.\" To employ these minutes, Rodin took several turns up and\ndown the room, and stood in admiring contemplation before two old\nprints, stained with damp and age, and fastened to the wall by rusty\nnails. The first of these works of art--the only ornaments with which\nRodin had decorated this hole--was one of those coarse pictures,\nilluminated with red, yellow, green, and blue, such as are sold at\nfairs; an Italian inscription announced that this print had been\nmanufactured at Rome. It represented a woman covered with rags, bearing\na wallet, and having a little child upon her knees; a horrible hag of\na fortune-teller held in her hands the hand of the little child, and\nseemed to read there his future fate, for these words in large blue\nletters issued from her mouth: \"Sara Papa\" (he shall be Pope).\n\nThe second of these works of art, which appeared to inspire Rodin with\ndeep meditations, was an excellent etching, whose careful finish and\nbold, correct drawing, contrasted singularly with the coarse coloring\nof the other picture. This rare and splendid engraving, which had cost\nRodin six louis (an enormous expense for him), represented a young boy\ndressed in rags. The ugliness of his features was compensated by the\nintellectual expression of his strongly marked countenance. Seated on\na stone, surrounded by a herd of swine, that he seemed employed in\nkeeping, he was seen in front, with his elbow resting on his knee, and\nhis chin in the palm of his hand. The pensive and reflective attitude\nof this young man, dressed as a beggar, the power expressed in his large\nforehead, the acuteness of his penetrating glance, and the firm lines\nof the mouth, seemed to reveal indomitable resolution, combined with\nsuperior intelligence and ready craft. Beneath this figure, the emblems\nof the papacy encircled a medallion, in the centre of which was the\nhead of an old man, the lines of which, strongly marked, recalled in\na striking manner, notwithstanding their look of advanced age, the\nfeatures of the young swineherd. This engraving was entitled THE YOUTH\nof SIXTUS V.; the color print was entitled The Prediction.(22)\n\nIn contemplating these prints more and more nearly, with ardent and\ninquiring eye, as though he had asked for hopes or inspirations from\nthem, Rodin had come so close that, still standing, with his right arm\nbent behind his head, he rested, as it were, against the wall, whilst,\nhiding his left hand in the pocket of his black trousers, he thus held\nback one of the flaps of his olive great-coat. For some minutes, he\nremained in this meditative attitude.\n\nRodin, as we have said, came seldom to this lodging; according to the\nrules of his Order, he had till now lived with Father d'Aigrigny,\nwhom he was specially charged to watch. No member of the Society,\nparticularly in the subaltern position which Rodin had hitherto held,\ncould either shut himself in, or possess an article of furniture made\nto lock. By this means nothing interferes with the mutual spy-system,\nincessantly carried on, which forms one of the most powerful resources\nof the Company of Jesus. It was on account of certain combinations,\npurely personal to himself, though connected on some points with the\ninterests of the Order, that Rodin, unknown to all, had taken these\nrooms in the Rue Clovis. And it was from the depths of this obscure\nden that the socius corresponded directly with the most eminent and\ninfluential personages of the sacred college. On one occasion, when\nRodin wrote to Rome, that Father d'Aigrigny, having received orders to\nquit France without seeing his dying mother, had hesitated to set out,\nthe socius had added, in form of postscriptum, at the bottom of the\nletter denouncing to the General of the Order the hesitation of Father\nd'Aigrigny:\n\n\"Tell the Prince Cardinal that he may rely upon me, but I hope for his\nactive aid in return.\"\n\nThis familiar manner of corresponding with the most powerful dignitary\nof the Order, the almost patronizing tone of the recommendation\nthat Rodin addressed to the Prince Cardinal, proved that the socius,\nnotwithstanding his apparently subaltern position, was looked upon, at\nthat epoch, as a very important personage, by many of the Princes of the\nChurch, who wrote to him at Paris under a false name, making use of a\ncipher and other customary precautions. After some moments passed in\ncontemplation, before the portrait of Sixtus V., Rodin returned slowly\nto the table, on which lay the letter, which, by a sort of superstitious\ndelay, he had deferred opening, notwithstanding his extreme curiosity.\nAs it still wanted some minutes of half-past nine, Rodin, in order not\nto lose time, set about making preparations for his frugal breakfast.\nHe placed on the table, by the side of an inkstand, furnished with pens,\nthe slice of bread and the radish; then seating himself on his stool,\nwith the stove, as it were, between his legs, he drew a horn-handled\nknife from his pocket, and cutting alternately a morsel of bread and a\nmorsel of radish, with a sharp, well-worn blade, he began his temperate\nrepast with a vigorous appetite, keeping his eye fixed on the hand of\nhis watch. When it reached the momentous hour, he unsealed the envelope\nwith a trembling hand.\n\nIt contained two letters. The first appeared to give him little\nsatisfaction; for, after some minutes, he shrugged his shoulders, struck\nthe table impatiently with the handle of his knife, disdainfully pushed\naside the letter with the back of his dirty hand, and perused the second\nepistle, holding his bread in one hand, and with the other mechanically\ndipping a slice of radish into the gray salt spilt on a corner of the\ntable. Suddenly, Rodin's hand remained motionless. As he progressed\nin his reading, he appeared more and more interested, surprised, and\nstruck. Rising abruptly, he ran to the window, as if to assure himself,\nby a second examination of the cipher, that he was not deceived. The\nnews announced to him in the letter seemed to be unexpected. No doubt,\nRodin found that he had deciphered correctly, for, letting fall his\narms, not in dejection, but with the stupor of a satisfaction as\nunforeseen as extraordinary, he remained for some time with his head\ndown, and his eyes fixed--the only mark of joy that he gave being\nmanifested by a loud, frequent, and prolonged respiration. Men who are\nas audacious in their ambition, as they are patient and obstinate in\ntheir mining and countermining, are surprised at their own success, when\nthis latter precedes and surpasses their wise and prudent expectations.\nRodin was now in this case. Thanks to prodigies of craft, address, and\ndissimulation, thanks to mighty promises of corruption, thanks to the\nsingular mixture of admiration, fear, and confidence, with which his\ngenius inspired many influential persons, Rodin now learned from members\nof the pontifical government, that, in case of a possible and probable\noccurrence, he might, within a given time, aspire, with a good chance of\nsuccess, to a position which has too often excited the fear, the hate,\nor the envy of many sovereigns, and which has in turn, been occupied by\ngreat, good men, by abominable scoundrels, and by persons risen from\nthe lowest grades of society. But for Rodin to attain this end with\ncertainty, it was absolutely necessary for him to succeed in that\nproject, which he had undertaken to accomplish without violence, and\nonly by the play and the rebound of passions skillfully managed. The\nproject was: To secure for the Society of Jesus the fortune of the\nRennepont family.\n\nThis possession would thus have a double and immense result; for Rodin,\nacting in accordance with his personal views, intended to make of his\nOrder (whose chief was at his discretion) a stepping-stone and a means\nof intimidation. When his first impression of surprise had passed\naway--an impression that was only a sort of modesty of ambition and\nself diffidence, not uncommon with men of really superior powers--Rodin\nlooked more coldly and logically on the matter, and almost reproached\nhimself for his surprise. But soon after, by a singular contradiction,\nyielding to one of those puerile and absurd ideas, by which men are\noften carried away when they think themselves alone and unobserved,\nRodin rose abruptly, took the letter which had caused him such glad\nsurprise, and went to display it, as it were, before the eyes of the\nyoung swineherd in the picture: then, shaking his head proudly and\ntriumphantly, casting his reptile-glance on the portrait, he muttered\nbetween his teeth, as he placed his dirty finger on the pontifical\nemblem: \"Eh, brother? and I also--perhaps!\"\n\nAfter this ridiculous interpolation, Rodin returned to his seat, and,\nas if the happy news he had just received had increased his appetite, he\nplaced the letter before him, to read it once more, whilst he exercised\nhis teeth, with a sort of joyous fury, on his hard bread and radish,\nchanting an old Litany.\n\nThere was something strange, great, and, above all, frightful, in the\ncontrast afforded by this immense ambition, already almost justified\nby events, and contained, as it were, in so miserable an abode. Father\nd'Aigrigny (who, if not a very superior man, had at least some real\nvalue, was a person of high birth, very haughty, and placed in the best\nsociety) would never have ventured to aspire to what Rodin thus looked\nto from the first. The only aim of Father d'Aigrigny, and even this\nhe thought presumptuous, was to be one day elected General of his\nOrder--that Order which embraced the world. The difference of the\nambitious aptitudes of these two personages is conceivable. When a man\nof eminent abilities, of a healthy and vivacious nature, concentrates\nall the strength of his mind and body upon a single point, remaining,\nlike Rodin, obstinately chaste and frugal, and renouncing every\ngratification of the heart and the senses--the man, who revolts against\nthe sacred designs of his Creator, does so almost always in favor of\nsome monstrous and devouring passion--some infernal divinity, which,\nby a sacrilegious pact, asks of him, in return for the bestowal of\nformidable power, the destruction of every noble sentiment, and of all\nthose ineffable attractions and tender instincts with which the Maker,\nin His eternal wisdom and inexhaustible munificence, has so paternally\nendowed His creatures.\n\nDuring the scene that we have just described, Rodin had not perceived\nthat the curtain of a window on the third story of the building opposite\nhad been partially drawn aside, and had half-revealed the sprightly face\nof Rose-Pompon, and the Silenus-like countenance of Ninny Moulin.\nIt ensued that Rodin, notwithstanding his barricade of cotton\nhandkerchiefs, had not been completely sheltered from the indiscreet and\ncurious examination of the two dancers of the Storm-blown Tulip.\n\n(22) According to the tradition, it was predicted to the mother of\nSixtus V., that he would be pope; and, in his youth, he is said to have\nkept swine.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX. AN UNEXPECTED VISIT.\n\nThough Rodin had experienced much surprise on reading the second letter\nfrom Rome, he did not choose that his answer should betray any such\namazement. Having finished his frugal breakfast, he took a sheet of\npaper, and rapidly wrote in cipher the following note, in the short,\nabrupt style that was natural to him when not obliged to restrain\nhimself:\n\n\"The information does not surprise me. I had foreseen it all. Indecision\nand cowardice always bear such fruit. This is not enough. Heretical\nRussia murders Catholic Poland. Rome blesses the murderers, and curses\nthe victims.(23)\n\n\"Let it pass.\n\n\"In return, Russia guarantees to Rome, by Austria, the bloody\nsuppression of the patriots of Romagna.\n\n\"That, too, is well.\n\n\"The cut-throat band of good Cardinal Albani is not sufficient for the\nmassacre of the impious liberals. They are weary of the task.\n\n\"Not so well. They must go on.\"\n\nWhen Rodin had written these last words, his attention was suddenly\nattracted by the clear and sonorous voice of Rose-Pompon, who, knowing\nher Beranger by heart, had opened Philemon's window, and, seated on the\nsill, sang with much grace and prettiness this verse of the immortal\nsong-writer:\n\n   \"How wrong you are! Is't you dare say\n   That heaven ever scowls on earth?\n   The earth that laughs up to its blue,\n   The earth that owes it joy and birth?\n   Oh, may the wine from vines it warms,\n   May holy love thence fluttering down,\n   Lend my philosophy their charms,\n   To drive away care's direful frown!\n   So, firm let's stand,\n   Full glass in hand,\n   And all evoke\n   The God of honest folk!\"\n\nThis song, in its divine gentleness, contrasted so strangely with the\ncold cruelty of the few lines written by Rodin, that he started and bit\nhis lips with rage, as he recognized the words of the great poet, truly\nChristian, who had dealt such rude blows to the false Church. Rodin\nwaited for some moments with angry impatience, thinking the voice would\ncontinue; but Rose-Pompon was silent, or only continued to hum, and soon\nchanged to another air, that of the Good Pope, which she entoned, but\nwithout words. Rodin, not venturing to look out of his window to see who\nwas this troublesome warbler, shrugged his shoulders, resumed his pen,\nand continued:\n\n\"To it again. We must exasperate the independent spirits in all\ncountries--excite philosophic rage all over Europe make liberalism foam\nat the mouth--raise all that is wild and noisy against Rome. To\neffect this, we must proclaim in the face of the world these three\npropositions. 1. It is abominable to assert that a man may be saved in\nany faith whatever, provided his morals be pure. 2. It is odious and\nabsurd to grant liberty of conscience to the people. 3. The liberty of\nthe press cannot be held in too much horror.24\n\n\"We must bring the Pap-fed man to declare these propositions in\nevery respect orthodox--show him their good effect upon despotic\ngovernments--upon true Catholics, the muzzlers of the people. He will\nfall into the snare. The propositions once published, the storm will\nburst forth. A general rising against Rome--a wide schism--the sacred\ncollege divided into three parties. One approves--the other blames--the\nthird trembles. The Sick Man, still more frightened than he is now at\nhaving allowed the destruction of Poland, will shrink from the clamors,\nreproaches, threats, and violent ruptures that he has occasioned.\n\n\"That is well--and goes far.\n\n\"Then, set the Pope to shaking the conscience of the Sick Man, to\ndisturb his mind, and terrify his soul.\n\n\"To sum up. Make everything bitter to him--divide his council--isolate\nhim--frighten him--redouble the ferocious ardor of good Albini--revive\nthe appetite of the Sanfedists(25)--give them a gulf of liberals--let\nthere be pillage, rape, massacre, as at Cesena--a downright river\nof Carbonaro blood--the Sick Man will have a surfeit of it. So many\nbutcheries in his name--he will shrink, be sure he will shrink--every\nday will have its remorse, every night its terror, every minute\nits anguish; and the abdication he already threatens will come at\nlast--perhaps too soon. That is now the only danger; you must provide\nagainst it.\n\n\"In case of an abdication, the grand penitentiary has understood me.\nInstead of confiding to a general the direction of our Order, the best\nmilitia of the Holy See, I should command it myself. Thenceforward this\nmilitia would give me no uneasiness. For instance: the Janissaries and\nthe Praetorian Guards were always fatal to authority--why?--because\nthey were able to organize themselves as defenders of the government,\nindependently of the government; hence their power of intimidation.\n\n\"Clement XIV. was a fool. To brand and abolish our Company was an absurd\nfault. To protect and make it harmless, by declaring himself the General\nof the Order, is what he should have done. The Company, then at his\nmercy, would have consented to anything. He would have absorbed us, made\nus vassals of the Holy See, and would no longer have had to fear our\nservices. Clement XIV. died of the cholic. Let him heed who hears. In a\nsimilar case, I should not die the same death.\"\n\nJust then, the clear and liquid voice of Rose-Pompon was again heard.\nRodin bounded with rage upon his seat; but soon, as he listened to the\nfollowing verse, new to him (for, unlike Philemon's widow, he had not\nhis Beranger at his fingers' ends), the Jesuit, accessible to certain\nodd, superstitious notions, was confused and almost frightened at so\nsingular a coincidence. It is Beranger's Good Pope who speaks--\n\n   \"What are monarchs? sheepish sots!\n   Or they're robbers, puffed with pride,\n   Wearing badges of crime blots,\n   Till their certain graves gape wide.\n   If they'll pour out coin for me,\n   I'll absolve them--skin and bone!\n   If they haggle--they shall see,\n   My nieces dancing on their throne!\n   So laugh away!\n   Leap, my fay!\n   Only watch one hurt the thunder\n   First of all by Zeus under,\n   I'm the Pope, the whole world's wonder!\"\n\nRodin, half-risen from his chair, with outstretched neck and attentive\neye, was still listening, when Rose-Pompon, flitting like a bee from\nflower to flower of her repertoire, had already begun the delightful air\nof Colibri. Hearing no more, the Jesuit reseated himself, in a sort\nof stupor; but, after some minutes' reflection, his countenance again\nbrightened up, and he seemed to see a lucky omen in this singular\nincident. He resumed his pen, and the first words he wrote partook, as\nit were, of this strange confidence in fate.\n\n\"I have never had more hope of success than at this moment. Another\nreason to neglect nothing. Every presentiment demands redoubled zeal. A\nnew thought occurred to me yesterday.\n\n\"We shall act here in concert. I have founded an ultra-Catholic paper\ncalled Neighborly Love. From its ultramontane, tyrannical, liberticidal\nfury, it will be thought the organ of Rome. I will confirm these\nreports. They will cause new terrors.\n\n\"That will be well.\n\n\"I shall raise the question of the liberty of instruction. The raw\nliberals will support us. Like fools, they admit us to equal rights;\nwhen our privileges, our influence of the confessional, our obedience to\nRome, all place us beyond the circle of equal rights, by the advantages\nwhich we enjoy. Double fools! they think us disarmed, because they have\ndisarmed themselves towards us.\n\n\"A burning question--irritating clamors--new cause of disgust for the\nWeak Man. Every little makes a mickle.\n\n\"That also is very well.\n\n\"To sum up all in two words. The end is abdication--the means, vexation,\nincessant torture. The Rennepont inheritance wilt pay for the election.\nThe price agreed, the merchandise will be sold.\"\n\nRodin here paused abruptly, thinking he had heard some noise at that\ndoor of his, which opened on the staircase; therefore he listened with\nsuspended breath; but all remaining silent, he thought he must have been\ndeceived, and took up his pen:\n\n\"I will take care of the Rennepont business--the hinge on which\nwill turn our temporal operations. We must begin from the\nfoundation--substitute the play of interests, and the springs of\npassion, for the stupid club law of Father d'Aigrigny. He nearly\ncompromised everything--and yet he has good parts, knows the world, has\npowers of seduction, quick insight--but plays ever in a single key, and\nis not great enough to make himself little. In his stead, I shall know\nhow to make use of him. There is good stuff in the man. I availed myself\nin time of the full powers given by the R. F. G.; I may inform Father\nd'Aigrigny, in case of need, of the secret engagements taken by the\nGeneral towards myself. Until now, I have let him invent for this\ninheritance the destination that you know of. A good thought, but\nunseasonable. The same end, by other means.\n\n\"The information was false. There are over two hundred millions. Should\nthe eventuality occur, what was doubtful must become certain. An immense\nlatitude is left us. The Rennepont business is now doubly mine, and\nwithin three months, the two hundred millions will be ours, by the\nfree will of the heirs themselves. It must be so; for this failing, the\ntemporal part would escape me, and my chances be diminished by one half.\nI have asked for full powers; time presses, and I act as if I had\nthem. One piece of information is indispensable for the success of my\nprojects. I expect it from you, and I must have it; do you understand\nme? The powerful influence of your brother at the Court of Vienna will\nserve you in this. I wish to have the most precise details as to the\npresent position of the Duke de Reichstadt--the Napoleon II. of the\nImperialists. Is it possible, by means of your brother, to open a secret\ncorrespondence with the prince, unknown to his attendants?\n\n\"Look to this promptly. It is urgent. This note will be sent off to day.\nI shall complete it to-morrow. It will reach you, as usual, by the hands\nof the petty shopkeeper.\"\n\nAt the moment when Rodin was sealing this letter within a double\nenvelope, he thought that he again heard a noise at the door. He\nlistened. After some silence, several knocks were distinctly audible.\nRodin started. It was the first time any one had knocked at his door,\nsince nearly a twelve-month that he occupied this room. Hastily placing\nthe letter in his great-coat pocket, the Jesuit opened the old trunk\nunder his bed, took from it a packet of papers wrapped in a tattered\ncotton handkerchief, added to them the two letters in cipher he had\njust received, and carefully relocked the trunk. The knocking continued\nwithout, and seemed to show more and more impatience. Rodin took the\ngreengrocer's basket in his hand, tucked his umbrella under his arm, and\nwent with some uneasiness to ascertain who was this unexpected visitor.\nHe opened the door, and found himself face to face with Rose-Pompon, the\ntroublesome singer, and who now, with a light and pretty courtesy, said\nto him in the most guileless manner in the world, \"M. Rodin, if you\nplease?\"\n\n(23) On page 110 of Lamennais' Affaires de Rome, will be seen the\nfollowing admirable scathing of Rome by the most truly evangelical\nspirit of our age: \"So long as the issue of the conflict between Poland\nand her oppressors remained in the balances, the papal official organ\ncontained not one word to offend the so long victorious nation; but\nhardly had she gone down under the Czar's atrocious vengeance, and the\nlong torture of a whole land doomed to rack, and exile, and servitude\nbegan, than this same journal found no language black enough to stain\nthose whom fortune had fled. Yet it is wrong to charge this unworthy\ninsult to papal power; it only cringes to the law which Russia lays down\nto it, when it says:\n\n\"'If you want to keep your own bones unbroken, bide where you are,\nbeside the scaffold, and, as the victims pass, hoot at them!'\"\n\n(24) See Pope Gregory XVI.'s Encyclical Letter to the Bishops in France,\n1832.\n\n(25) Hardly had the Sixteenth Gregory ascended the pontifical throne,\nthan news came of the rising in Bologna. His first idea was to call\nthe Austrians, and incite the Sanfedist volunteer bands of fanatics.\nCardinal Albini defeated the liberals at Cesena, where his followers\npillaged churches, sacked the town, and ill-treated women. At Forli,\ncold-blooded murders were committed. In 1832 the Sanfedists (Holy\nFaithites) openly paraded their medals, bearing the heads of the Duke\nof Modena and the Pope; letters issued by the apostolic confederation;\nprivileges and indulgences. They took the following oath: \"I. A. B.,\nvow to rear the throne and altar over the bones of infamous freedom\nshriekers, and exterminate these latter without pity for children's\ncries and women's tears.\" The disorders perpetrated by these marauders\nwent beyond all bounds; the Romish Court regularized anarchy and\norganized the Sanfedists into volunteer corps, to which fresh privileges\nwere granted. (Revue deux Mondes, Nov. 15th, 1844.--\"La Revolution en\nItalie.\")\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI. FRIENDLY SERVICES.\n\nNotwithstanding his surprise and uneasiness, Rodin did not frown. He\nbegan by locking his door after him, as he noticed the young girl's\ninquisitive glance. Then he said to her good-naturedly, \"Who do you\nwant, my dear?\"\n\n\"M. Rodin,\" repeated Rose-Pompon, stoutly, opening her bright blue eyes\nto their full extent, and looking Rodin full in the face.\n\n\"It's not here,\" said he, moving towards the stairs. \"I do not know him.\nInquire above or below.\"\n\n\"No, you don't! giving yourself airs at your age!\" said Rose-Pompon,\nshrugging her shoulders. \"As if we did not know that you are M. Rodin.\"\n\n\"Charlemagne,\" said the socius, bowing; \"Charlemagne, to serve you--if I\nam able.\"\n\n\"You are not able,\" answered Rose-Pompon, majestically; then she added\nwith a mocking air, \"So, we have our little pussy-cat hiding-places; we\nchange our name; we are afraid Mamma Rodin will find us out.\"\n\n\"Come, my dear child,\" said the socius, with a paternal smile; \"you have\ncome to the right quarter. I am an old man, but I love youth--happy,\njoyous youth! Amuse yourself, pray, at my expense. Only let me pass, for\nI am in a hurry.\" And Rodin again advanced towards the stairs.\n\n\"M. Rodin,\" said Rose-Pompon, in a solemn voice, \"I have very important\nthings to say to you, and advice to ask about a love affair.\"\n\n\"Why, little madcap that you are! have you nobody to tease in your own\nhouse, that you must come here?\"\n\n\"I lodge in this house, M. Rodin,\" answered Rose-Pompon, laying a\nmalicious stress on the name of her victim.\n\n\"You? Oh, dear, only to think I did not know I had such a pretty\nneighbor.\"\n\n\"Yes, I have lodged here six months, M. Rodin.\"\n\n\"Really! where?\"\n\n\"On the third story, front, M. Rodin.\"\n\n\"It was you, then, that sang so well just now?\"\n\n\"Rather.\"\n\n\"You gave me great pleasure, I must say.\"\n\n\"You are very polite, M. Rodin.\"\n\n\"You lodge, I suppose, with your respectable family?\"\n\n\"I believe you, M. Rodin,\" said Rose-Pompon, casting down her eyes\nwith a timid air. \"I lodge with Grandpapa Philemon, and Grandmamma\nBacchanal--who is a queen and no mistake.\"\n\nRodin had hitherto been seriously uneasy, not knowing in what manner\nRose had discovered his real name. But on hearing her mention the\nBacchanal queen, with the information that she lodged in the house,\nhe found something to compensate for the disagreeable incident of\nRose-Pompon's appearance. It was, indeed, important to Rodin to find\nout the Bacchanal Queen, the mistress of Sleepinbuff, and the sister of\nMother Bunch, who had been noted as dangerous since her interview with\nthe superior of the convent, and the part she had taken in the projected\nescape of Mdlle. de Cardoville. Moreover, Rodin hoped--thanks to what he\nhad just heard--to bring Rose-Pompon to confess to him the name of the\nperson from whom she had learned that \"Charlemagne\" masked \"Rodin.\"\n\nHardly had the young girl pronounced the name of the Bacchanal queen,\nthan Rodin clasped his hands, and appeared as much surprised as\ninterested.\n\n\"Oh, my dear child,\" he exclaimed, \"I conjure you not to jest on this\nsubject. Are you speaking of a young girl who bears that nickname, the\nsister of a deformed needlewoman.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, the Bacchanal Queen is her nickname,\" said Rose-Pompon,\nastonished in her turn; \"she is really Cephyse Soliveau, and she is my\nfriend.\"\n\n\"Oh! she is your friend?\" said Rodin, reflecting.\n\n\"Yes, sir, my bosom friend.\"\n\n\"So you love her?\"\n\n\"Like a sister. Poor girl! I do what I can for her, and that's not much.\nBut how comes it that a respectable man of your age should know the\nBacchanal Queen?--Ah! that shows you have a false name!\"\n\n\"My dear child, I am no longer inclined to laugh,\" said Rodin, with\nso sorrowful an air, that Rose-Pompon, reproaching herself with her\npleasantry, said to him: \"But how comes it that you know Cephyse?\"\n\n\"Alas! I do not know her--but a young fellow, that I like excessively--\"\n\n\"Jacques Rennepont?\"\n\n\"Otherwise called Sleepinbuff. He is now in prison for debt,\" sighed\nRodin. \"I saw him yesterday.\"\n\n\"You saw him yesterday?--how strange!\" said Rose-Pompon, clapping her\nhands. \"Quick! quick!--come over to Philemon's, to give Cephyse news of\nher lover. She is so uneasy about him.\"\n\n\"My dear child, I should like to give her good news of that worthy\nfellow, whom I like in spite of his follies, for who has not been guilty\nof follies?\" added Rodin, with indulgent good-nature.\n\n\"To be sure,\" said Rose-Pompon, twisting about as if she still wore the\ncostume of a debardeur.\n\n\"I will say more,\" added Rodin: \"I love him because of his follies; for,\ntalk as we may, my dear child, there is always something good at bottom,\na good heart, or something, in those who spend generously their money\nfor other people.\"\n\n\"Well, come! you are a very good sort of a man,\" said Rose-Pompon,\nenchanted with Rodin's philosophy. \"But why will you not come and see\nCephyse, and talk to her of Jacques?\"\n\n\"Of what use would it be to tell her what she knows already--that\nJacques is in prison? What I should like, would be to get the worthy\nfellow out of his scrape.\"\n\n\"Oh, sir! only do that, only get Jacques out of prison,\" cried Rose\nPompon, warmly, \"and we will both give you a kiss--me and Cephyse!\"\n\n\"It would be throwing kisses away, dear little madcap!\" said Rodin,\nsmiling. \"But be satisfied, I want no reward to induce me to do good\nwhen I can.\"\n\n\"Then you hope to get Jacques out of prison?\"\n\nRodin shook his head, and answered with a grieved and disappointed air.\n\"I did hope it. Certainly, I did hope it; but now all is changed.\"\n\n\"How's that?\" asked Rose-Pompon, with surprise.\n\n\"That foolish joke of calling me M. Rodin may appear very amusing to\nyou, my dear child. I understand it, you being only an echo. Some one\nhas said to you: 'Go and tell M. Charlemagne that he is one M. Rodin.\nThat will be very funny.'\"\n\n\"Certainly, I should never myself have thought of calling you M. Rodin.\nOne does not invent such names,\" answered Rose-Pompon.\n\n\"Well! that person with his foolish jokes, has done, without knowing it,\na great injury to Jacques Rennepont.\"\n\n\"What! because I called you Rodin instead of Charlemagne?\" cried Rose\nPompon, much regretting the pleasantry which she had carried on at the\ninstigation of Ninny Moulin. \"But really, sir,\" she added, \"what can\nthis joke have to do with the service that you were, about to render\nJacques?\"\n\n\"I am not at liberty to tell you, my child. In truth, I am very sorry\nfor poor Jacques. Believe me, I am; but do let me pass.\n\n\"Listen to me, sir, I beg,\" said Rose-Pompon; \"if I told you the name\nof the person who told me to call you Rodin, would you interest yourself\nagain for Jacques?\"\n\n\"I do not wish to know any one's secrets, my dear child. In all this,\nyou have been the echo of persons who are, perhaps, very dangerous;\nand, notwithstanding the interest I feel for Jacques Rennepont, I do not\nwish, you understand, to make myself enemies. Heaven forbid!\"\n\nRose-Pompon did not at all comprehend Rodin's fears, and upon this he\nhad counted; for after a second's reflection, the young girl resumed:\n\"Well, sir--this is too deep for me; I do not understand it. All I know\nis, that I am truly sorry if I have injured a good young man by a mere\njoke. I will tell you exactly how it happened. My frankness may be of\nsome use.\"\n\n\"Frankness will often clear up the most obscure matters,\" said Rodin,\nsententiously.\n\n\"After all,\" said Rose-Pompon, \"it's Ninny's fault. Why does he tell\nme nonsense, that might injure poor Cephyse's lover? You see, sir, it\nhappened in this way. Ninny Moulin who is fond of a joke, saw you just\nnow in the street. The portress told him that your name was Charlemagne.\nHe said to me: 'No; his name is Rodin. We must play him a trick. Go to\nhis room, Rose-Pompon, knock at the door, and call him M. Rodin. You\nwill see what a rum face he will make.' I promised Ninny Moulin not to\nname him; but I do it, rather than run the risk of injuring Jacques.\"\n\nAt Ninny Moulin's name Rodin had not been able to repress a movement of\nsurprise. This pamphleteer, whom he had employed to edit the \"Neighborly\nLove,\" was not personally formidable; but, being fond of talking in\nhis drink, he might become troublesome, particularly if Rodin, as was\nprobable, had often to visit this house, to execute his project upon\nSleepinbuff, through the medium of the Bacchanal Queen. The socius\nresolved, therefore, to provide against this inconvenience.\n\n\"So, my dear child,\" said he to Rose-Pompon, \"it is a M. Desmoulins that\npersuaded you to play off this silly joke?\"\n\n\"Not Desmoulins, but Dumoulin,\" corrected Rose. \"He writes in the\npewholders' papers, and defends the saints for money; for, if Ninny\nMoulin is a saint, his patrons are Saint Drinkard and Saint Flashette,\nas he himself declares.\"\n\n\"This gentleman appears to be very gay.\"\n\n\"Oh! a very good fellow.\"\n\n\"But stop,\" resumed Rodin, appearing to recollect himself; \"ain't he a\nman about thirty-six or forty, fat, with a ruddy complexion?\"\n\n\"Ruddy as a glass of red wine,\" said Rose-Pompon, \"and with a pimpled\nnose like a mulberry.\"\n\n\"That's the man--M. Dumoulin. Oh! in that case, I am quite satisfied,\nmy dear child. The jest no longer makes me uneasy; for M. Dumoulin is a\nvery worthy man--only perhaps a little too fond of his joke.\"\n\n\"Then, sir, you will try to be useful to Jacques? The stupid pleasantry\nof Ninny Moulin will not prevent you?\"\n\n\"I hope not.\"\n\n\"But I must not tell Ninny Moulin that you know it was he who sent me to\ncall you M. Rodin--eh, sir?\"\n\n\"Why not? In every case, my dear child, it is always better to speak\nfrankly the truth.\"\n\n\"But, sir, Ninny Moulin so strongly recommended me not to name him to\nyou--\"\n\n\"If you have named him, it is from a very good motive; why not avow\nit? However, my dear child, this concerns you, not me. Do as you think\nbest.\"\n\n\"And may I tell Cephyse of your good intentions towards Jacques?\"\n\n\"The truth, my dear child, always the truth. One need never hesitate to\nsay what is.\"\n\n\"Poor Cephyse! how happy she will be!\" cried Rose-Pompon, cheerfully;\n\"and the news will come just in time.\"\n\n\"Only you must not exaggerate; I do not promise positively to get this\ngood fellow out of prison; I say, that I will do what I can. But what I\npromise positively is--for, since the imprisonment of poor Jacques, your\nfriend must be very much straitened--\"\n\n\"Alas, sir!\"\n\n\"What I promise positively is some little assistance which your friend\nwill receive to-day, to enable her to live honestly; and if she behaves\nwell--hereafter--why, hereafter, we shall see.\"\n\n\"Oh, sir! you do not know how welcome will be your assistance to poor\nCephyse! One might fancy you were her actual good angel. Faith! you may\ncall yourself Rodin, or Charlemagne; all I know is, that you are a nice,\nsweet--\"\n\n\"Come, come, do not exaggerate,\" said Rodin; \"say a good sort of old\nfellow; nothing more, my dear child. But see how things fall out,\nsometimes! Who could have told me, when I heard you knock at my\ndoor--which, I must say, vexed me a great deal--that it was a pretty\nlittle neighbor of mine, who under the pretext of playing off a joke,\nwas to put me in the way of doing a good action? Go and comfort your\nfriend; this evening she will receive some assistance; and let us have\nhope and confidence. Thanks be, there are still some good people in the\nworld!\"\n\n\"Oh, sir! you prove it yourself.\"\n\n\"Not at all! The happiness of the old is to see the young happy.\"\n\nThis was said by Rodin with so much apparent kindness, that Rose-Pompon\nfelt the tears well up to her eyes, and answered with much emotion:\n\"Sir, Cephyse and me are only poor girls; there are many more virtuous\nin the world; but I venture to say, we have good hearts. Now, if ever\nyou should be ill, only send for us; there are no Sisters of Charity\nthat will take better care of you. It is all that we can offer you,\nwithout reckoning Philemon, who shall go through fire and water for\nyou, I give you my word for it--and Cephyse, I am sure, will answer for\nJacques also, that he will be yours in life and death.\"\n\n\"You see, my dear child, that I was right in saying--a fitful head and a\ngood heart. Adieu, till we meet again.\"\n\nThereupon Rodin, taking up the basket, which he had placed on the ground\nby the side of his umbrella, prepared to descend the stairs.\n\n\"First of all, you must give me this basket; it will be in your way\ngoing down,\" said Rose-Pompon, taking the basket from the hands of\nRodin, notwithstanding his resistance. Then she added: \"Lean upon my\narm. The stairs are so dark. You might slip.\"\n\n\"I will accept your offer, my dear child, for I am not very courageous.\"\nLeaning paternally on the right arm of Rose-Pompon, who held the\nbasket in her left hand, Rodin descended the stairs, and crossed the\ncourt-yard.\n\n\"Up there, on the third story, do you see that big face close to the\nwindow-frame?\" said Rose-Pompon suddenly to Rodin, stopping in the\ncentre of the little court. \"That is my Ninny Moulin. Do you know him?\nIs he the same as yours?\"\n\n\"The same as mine,\" said Rodin, raising his head, and waving his hand\nvery affectionately to Jacques Dumoulin, who, stupefied thereat, retired\nabruptly from the window.\n\n\"The poor fellow! I am sure he is afraid of me since his foolish joke,\"\nsaid Rodin, smiling. \"He is very wrong.\"\n\nAnd he accompanied these last words with a sinister nipping of the lips,\nnot perceived by Rose-Pompon.\n\n\"And now, my dear child,\" said he, as they both entered the passage, \"I\nno longer need you assistance; return to your friend, and tell her the\ngood news you have heard.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, you are right. I burn with impatience to tell her what a good\nman you are.\" And Rose-Pompon sprung towards the stairs.\n\n\"Stop, stop! how about my basket that the little madcap carries off with\nher?\" said Rodin.\n\n\"Oh true! I beg your pardon, sir. Poor Cephyse! how pleased she will be.\nAdieu, sir!\" And Rose-Pompon's pretty figure disappeared in the darkness\nof the staircase, which she mounted with an alert and impatient step.\n\nRodin issued from the entry. \"Here is your basket, my good lady,\" said\nhe, stopping at the threshold of Mother Arsene's shop. \"I give you my\nhumble thanks for your kindness.\"\n\n\"For nothing, my dear sir, for nothing. It is all at your service. Well,\nwas the radish good?\"\n\n\"Succulent, my dear madame, and excellent.\"\n\n\"Oh! I am glad of it. Shall we soon see you again?\"\n\n\"I hope so. But could you tell me where is the nearest post-office?\"\n\n\"Turn to the left, the third house, at the grocer's.\"\n\n\"A thousand thanks.\"\n\n\"I wager it's a love letter for your sweetheart,\" said Mother Arsene,\nenlivened probably by Rose Pompon's and Ninny Moulin's proximity.\n\n\"Ha! ha! ha! the good lady!\" said Rodin, with a titter. Then, suddenly\nresuming his serious aspect, he made a low bow to the greengrocer,\nadding: \"Your most obedient humble servant!\" and walked out into the\nstreet.\n\nWe now usher the reader into Dr. Baleinier's asylum, in which Mdlle. de\nCardoville was confined.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII. THE ADVICE.\n\nAdrienne de Cardoville had been still more strictly confined in Dr.\nBaleinier's house, since the double nocturnal attempt of Agricola and\nDagobert, in which the soldier, though severely wounded, had succeeded,\nthanks to the intrepid devotion of his son, seconded by the heroic Spoil\nsport, in gaining the little garden gate of the convent, and escaping by\nway of the boulevard, along with the young smith. Four o'clock had just\nstruck. Adrienne, since the previous day, had been removed to a chamber\non the second story of the asylum. The grated window, with closed\nshutters, only admitted a faint light to this apartment. The young lady,\nsince her interview with Mother Bunch, expected to be delivered any day\nby the intervention of her friends. But she felt painful uneasiness on\nthe subject of Agricola and Dagobert, being absolutely ignorant of the\nissue of the struggle in which her intended liberators had been engaged\nwith the people of the asylum and convent. She had in vain questioned\nher keepers on the subject; they had remained perfectly mute. These new\nincidents had augmented the bitter resentment of Adrienne against the\nPrincess de Saint Dizier, Father d'Aigrigny, and their creatures. The\nslight paleness of Mdlle. de Cardoville's charming face, and her fine\neyes a little drooping, betrayed her recent sufferings; seated before\na little table, with her forehead resting upon one of her hands, half\nveiled by the long curls of her golden hair, she was turning over the\nleaves of a book. Suddenly, the door opened, and M. Baleinier entered.\nThe doctor, a Jesuit, in lay attire, a docile and passive instrument\nof the will of his Order, was only half in the confidence of Father\nd'Aigrigny and the Princess de Saint-Dizier. He was ignorant of the\nobject of the imprisonment of Mdlle. de Cardoville; he was ignorant also\nof the sudden change which had taken place in the relative position\nof Father d'Aigrigny and Rodin, after the reading of the testament\nof Marius de Rennepont. The doctor had, only the day before, received\norders from Father d'Aigrigny (now acting under the directions of Rodin)\nto confine Mdlle. de Cardoville still more strictly, to act towards her\nwith redoubled severity, and to endeavor to force her, it will be seen\nby what expedients, to renounce the judicial proceedings, which she\npromised herself to take hereafter against her persecutors. At sight of\nthe doctor, Mdlle. de Cardoville could not hide the aversion and disdain\nwith which this man inspired her. M. Baleinier, on the contrary, always\nsmiling, always courteous, approached Adrienne with perfect ease and\nconfidence, stopped a few steps from her, as if to study her features\nmore attentively, and then added like a man who is satisfied with the\nobservations he had made: \"Come! the unfortunate events of the night\nbefore last have had a less injurious influence than I feared. There is\nsome improvement; the complexion is less flushed, the look calmer,\nthe eyes still somewhat too bright, but no longer shining with such\nunnatural fire. You are getting on so well! Now the cure must be\nprolonged--for this unfortunate night affair threw you into a state\nof excitement, that was only the more dangerous from your not being\nconscious of it. Happily, with care, your recovery will not, I hope, be\nvery much delayed.\" Accustomed though she was to the audacity of this\ntool of the Congregation, Mdlle. de Cardoville could not forbear saying\nto him, with a smile of bitter disdain: \"What impudence, sir, there is\nin your probity! What effrontery in your zeal to earn your hire! Never\nfor a moment do you lay aside your mask; craft and falsehood are ever on\nyour lips. Really, if this shameful comedy causes you as much fatigue as\nit does me disgust and contempt, they can never pay you enough.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said the doctor, in a sorrowful tone; \"always this unfortunate\ndelusion, that you are not in want of our care!--that I am playing a\npart, when I talk to you of the sad state in which you were when we were\nobliged to bring you hither by stratagem. Still, with the exception of\nthis little sign of rebellious insanity, your condition has marvellously\nimproved. You are on the high-road to a complete cure. By-and-by, your\nexcellent heart will render me the justice that is due to me; and, one\nday, I shall be judged as I deserve.\"\n\n\"I, believe it, sir; the day approaches, in which you will be judged as\nyou deserve,\" said Adrienne, laying great stress upon the two words.\n\n\"Always that other fixed idea,\" said the doctor with a sort of\ncommiseration. \"Come, be reasonable. Do not think of this childishness.\"\n\n\"What! renounce my intention to demand at the hands of justice\nreparation for myself, and disgrace for you and your accomplices? Never,\nsir--never!\"\n\n\"Well!\" said the doctor, shrugging his shoulders; \"once at liberty,\nthank heaven, you will have many other things to think of, my fair\nenemy.\"\n\n\"You forget piously the evil that you do; but I, sir, have a better\nmemory.\"\n\n\"Let us talk seriously. Have you really the intention of applying to the\ncourts?\" inquired Dr. Baleinier, in a grave tone.\n\n\"Yes, sir, and you know that what I intend, I firmly carry out.\"\n\n\"Well! I can only conjure you not to follow out this idea,\" replied the\ndoctor, in a still more solemn tone; \"I ask it as a favor, in the name\nof your own interest.\"\n\n\"I think, sir, that you are a little too ready to confound your interest\nwith mine.\"\n\n\"Now come,\" said Dr. Baleinier, with a feigned impatience, as if quite\ncertain of convincing Mdlle. de Cardoville on the instant; \"would you\nhave the melancholy courage to plunge into despair two persons full of\ngoodness and generosity?\"\n\n\"Only two? The jest would be complete, if you were to reckon three:\nyou, sir, and my aunt, and Abbe d'Aigrigny; for these are no doubt the\ngenerous persons in whose name you implore my pity.\"\n\n\"No, madame; I speak neither of myself, nor of your aunt, nor of Abbe\nd'Aigrigny.\"\n\n\"Of whom, then, sir?\" asked Mdlle. de Cardoville with surprise.\n\n\"Of two poor fellows, who, no doubt sent by those whom you call your\nfriends, got into the neighboring convent the other night, and thence\ninto this garden. The guns which you heard go off were fired at them.\"\n\n\"Alas! I thought so. They refused to tell me if either of them was\nwounded,\" said Adrienne, with painful emotion.\n\n\"One of them received a wound, but not very serious, since he was able\nto fly and escape pursuit.\"\n\n\"Thank God!\" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville, clasping her hands with fervor.\n\n\"It is quite natural that you should rejoice at their escape, but\nby what strange contradiction do you now wish to put the officers of\njustice on their track? A singular manner, truly, of rewarding their\ndevotion!\"\n\n\"What do you say, sir?\" asked Mdlle. de Cardoville.\n\n\"For if they should be arrested,\" resumed Dr. Baleinier, without\nanswering her, \"as they have been guilty of housebreaking and attempted\nburglary, they would be sent to the galleys.\"\n\n\"Heavens! and for my sake!\"\n\n\"Yes; it would be for you, and what is worse, by you, that they would be\ncondemned.\"\n\n\"By me, sir?\"\n\n\"Certainly; that is, if you follow up your vengeance against your aunt\nand Abbe d'Aigrigny--I do not speak of myself, for I am quite safe; in\na word, if you persist in laying your complaint before the magistrates,\nthat you have been unjustly confined in this house.\"\n\n\"I do not understand you, sir. Explain yourself,\" said Adrienne, with\ngrowing uneasiness.\n\n\"Child that you are!\" cried the Jesuit of the short robe, with an air of\nconviction; \"do you think that if the law once takes cognizance of this\naffair, you can stop short its action where and when you please? When\nyou leave this house, you lodge a complaint against me and against\nyour family; well, what happens? The law interferes, inquires, calls\nwitnesses, enters into the most minute investigations. Then, what\nfollows? Why, that this nocturnal escalade, which the superior of the\nconvent has some interest in hushing up, for fear of scandal--that this\nnocturnal attempt, I say, which I also would keep quiet, is necessarily\ndivulged, and as it involves a serious crime, to which a heavy penalty\nis attached, the law will ferret into it, and find out these unfortunate\nmen, and if, as is probable, they are detained in Paris by their duties\nor occupations, or even by a false security, arising from the honorable\nmotives which they know to have actuated them, they will be arrested.\nAnd who will be the cause of this arrest? You, by your deposition\nagainst us.\"\n\n\"Oh, sir! that would be horrible; but it is impossible.\"\n\n\"It is very possible, on the contrary,\" returned M. Baleinier: \"so that,\nwhile I and the superior of the convent, who alone are really entitled\nto complain, only wish to keep quiet this unpleasant affair, it is\nyou--you, for whom these unfortunate men have risked the galleys--that\nwill deliver them up to justice.\"\n\nThough Mdlle. de Cardoville was not completely duped by the lay Jesuit,\nshe guessed that the merciful intentions which he expressed with regard\nto Dagobert and his son, would be absolutely subordinate to the course\nshe might take in pressing or abandoning the legitimate vengeance which\nshe meant to claim of authority. Indeed, Rodin, whose instructions the\ndoctor was following without knowing it, was too cunning to have it said\nto Mdlle. de Cardoville: \"If you attempt any proceedings, we denounce\nDagobert and his son;\" but he attained the same end, by inspiring\nAdrienne with fears on the subject of her two liberators, so as to\nprevent her taking any hostile measures. Without knowing the exact law\non the subject, Mdlle. de Cardoville had too much good sense not to\nunderstand that Dagobert and Agricola might be very seriously involved\nin consequence of their nocturnal adventure, and might even find\nthemselves in a terrible position. And yet, when she thought of all\nshe had suffered in that house, and of all the just resentment she\nentertained in the bottom of her heart, Adrienne felt unwilling to\nrenounce the stern pleasure of exposing such odious machinations to the\nlight of day. Dr. Baleinier watched with sullen attention her whom he\nconsidered his dupe, for he thought he could divine the cause of the\nsilence and hesitation of Mdlle. de Cardoville.\n\n\"But, sir,\" resumed the latter, unable to conceal her anxiety, \"if I\nwere disposed, for whatever reason, to make no complaint, and to forget\nthe wrongs I have suffered, when should I leave this place?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell; for I do not know when you will be radically cured,\"\nsaid the doctor, benignantly. \"You are in a very good way, but--\"\n\n\"Still this insolent and stupid acting!\" broke forth Mdlle. de\nCardoville, interrupting the doctor with indignation. \"I ask, and if it\nmust be, I entreat you to tell me how long I am to be shut up in this\ndreadful house, for I shall leave it some day, I suppose?\"\n\n\"I hope so, certainly,\" said the Jesuit of the short robe, with unction;\n\"but when, I am unable to say. Moreover, I must tell you frankly, that\nevery precaution is taken against such attempts as those of the other\nnight; and the most vigorous watch will be maintained, to prevent your\ncommunicating with any one. And all this in your own interest, that your\npoor head may not again be dangerously excited.\"\n\n\"So, sir,\" said Adrienne, almost terrified, \"compared with what awaits\nme, the last few days have been days of liberty.\"\n\n\"Your interest before everything,\" answered the doctor, in a fervent\ntone.\n\nMdlle. de Cardoville, feeling the impotence of her indignation and\ndespair, heaved a deep sigh, and hid her face in her hands.\n\nAt this moment, quick footsteps were heard in the passage, and one of\nthe nurses entered, after having knocked at the door.\n\n\"Sir,\" said she to the doctor, with a frightened air, \"there are two\ngentlemen below, who wish to see you instantly, and the lady also.\"\n\nAdrienne raised her head hastily; her eyes were bathed in tears.\n\n\"What are the names of these persons?\" said M. Baleinier, much\nastonished.\n\n\"One of them said to me,\" answered the nurse: \"'Go and inform Dr.\nBaleinier that I am a magistrate, and that I come on a duty regarding\nMdlle. de Cardoville.'\"\n\n\"A magistrate!\" exclaimed the Jesuit of the short robe, growing purple\nin the face, and unable to hide his surprise and uneasiness.\n\n\"Heaven be praised!\" cried Adrienne, rising with vivacity, her\ncountenance beaming through her tears with hope and joy; \"my friends\nhave been informed in time, and the hour of justice is arrived!\"\n\n\"Ask these persons to walk up,\" said Dr. Baleinier, after a moment's\nreflection. Then, with a still more agitated expression of countenance,\nhe approached Adrienne with a harsh, and almost menacing air, which\ncontrasted with the habitual placidity of his hypocritical smile, and\nsaid to her in a low voice: \"Take care, madame! do not rejoice too\nsoon.\"\n\n\"I no longer fear you,\" answered Mdlle. de Cardoville, with a bright,\nflashing eye. \"M. de Montbron is no doubt returned to Paris, and has\nbeen informed in time. He accompanies the magistrate, and comes to\ndeliver me. I pity you, sir--both you and yours,\" added Adrienne, with\nan accent of bitter irony.\n\n\"Madame,\" cried M. Baleinier, no longer able to dissemble his growing\nalarm, \"I repeat to you, take care! Remember what I have told you. Your\naccusations would necessarily involve the discovery of what took place\nthe other night. Beware! the fate of the soldier and his son is in your\nhands. Recollect they are in danger of the convict's chains.\"\n\n\"Oh! I am not your dupe, sir. You are holding out a covert menace.\nHave at least the courage to say to me, that, if I complain to the\nmagistrates, you will denounce the soldier and his son.\"\n\n\"I repeat, that, if you make any complaint, those two people are lost,\"\nanswered the doctor, ambiguously.\n\nStartled by what was really dangerous in the doctor's threats, Adrienne\nasked: \"Sir, if this magistrate questions me, do you think I will tell\nhim a falsehood?\"\n\n\"You will answer what is true,\" said M. Baleinier, hastily, in the hope\nof still attaining his end. \"You will answer that you were in so excited\na state of mind a few days ago, that it was thought advisable, for your\nown sake, to bring you hither, without your knowing it. But you are now\nso much better, that you acknowledge the utility of the measures taken\nwith regard to you. I will confirm these words for, after all, it is the\ntruth.\"\n\n\"Never!\" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville, with indignation, \"never will I be\nthe accomplice of so infamous a falsehood; never will I be base enough\nto justify the indignities that I have suffered!\"\n\n\"Here is the magistrate,\" said M. Baleinier, as he caught the sound of\napproaching footsteps. \"Beware!\"\n\nThe door opened, and, to the indescribable amazement of the doctor,\nRodin appeared on the threshold, accompanied by a man dressed in\nblack, with a dignified and severe countenance. In the interest of his\nprojects, and from motives of craft and prudence that will hereafter be\nknown, Rodin had not informed Father d'Aigrigny, and consequently\nthe doctor, of the unexpected visit he intended to pay to the asylum,\naccompanied by a magistrate. On the contrary, he had only the day before\ngiven orders to M. Baleinier to confine Mdlle. de Cardoville still more\nstrictly. Therefore, imagine the stupor of the doctor when he saw the\njudicial officer, whose unexpected presence and imposing aspect were\notherwise sufficiently alarming, enter the room, accompanied by Rodin,\nAbbe d'Aigrigny's humble and obscure secretary. From the door,\nRodin, who was very shabbily dressed, as usual, pointed out Mdlle.\nde Cardoville to the magistrate, by a gesture at once respectful and\ncompassionate. Then, while the latter, who had not been able to repress\na movement of admiration at sight of the rare beauty of Adrienne, seemed\nto examine her with as much surprise as interest, the Jesuit modestly\nreceded several steps.\n\nDr. Baleinier in his extreme astonishment, hoping to be understood by\nRodin, made suddenly several private signals, as if to interrogate him\non the cause of the magistrate's visit. But this was only productive of\nfresh amazement to M. Baleinier; for Rodin did not appear to recognize\nhim, or to understand his expressive pantomime, and looked at him with\naffected bewilderment. At length, as the doctor, growing impatient,\nredoubled his mute questionings, Rodin advanced with a stride, stretched\nforward his crooked neck, and said, in a loud voice: \"What is your\npleasure, doctor?\"\n\nThese words, which completely disconcerted Baleinier, broke the silence\nwhich had reigned for some seconds, and the magistrate turned round.\nRodin added, with imperturbable coolness: \"Since our arrival, the doctor\nhas been making all sorts of mysterious signs to me. I suppose he has\nsomething private to communicate, but, as I have no secrets, I must beg\nhim to speak out loud.\"\n\nThis reply, so embarrassing for M. Baleinier, uttered in a tone of\naggression, and with an air of icy coldness, plunged the doctor into\nsuch new and deep amazement, that he remained for some moments without\nanswering. No doubt the magistrate was struck with this incident, and\nwith the silence which followed it, for he cast a look of great severity\non the doctor. Mdlle. de Cardoville, who had expected to have seen M. de\nMontbron, was also singularly surprised.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII. THE ACCUSER.\n\nBaleinier, disconcerted for a moment by the unexpected presence of a\nmagistrate, and by Rodin's inexplicable attitude, soon recovered his\npresence of mind, and addressing his colleague of the longer robe, said\nto him: \"If I make signs to you, sir, it was that, while I wished\nto respect the silence which this gentleman\"--glancing at the\nmagistrate--\"has preserved since his entrance, I desired to express my\nsurprise at the unexpected honor of this visit.\"\n\n\"It is to the lady that I will explain the reason for my silence, and\nbeg her to excuse it,\" replied the magistrate, as he made a half-bow to\nAdrienne, whom he thus continued to address: \"I have just received\nso serious a declaration with regard to you, madame, that I could not\nforbear looking at you for a moment in silence, to see if I could read\nin your countenance or in your attitude, the truth or falsehood of the\naccusation that has been placed in my hands; and I have every reason to\nbelieve that it is but too well founded.\"\n\n\"May I at length be informed, sir,\" said Dr. Baleinier, in a polite but\nfirm tone, \"to whom I have the honor of speaking?\"\n\n\"Sir, I am juge d'instruction, and I have come to inform myself as to a\nfact which has been pointed out to me--\"\n\n\"Will you do me the honor to explain yourself, sir?\" said the doctor,\nbowing.\n\n\"Sir,\" resumed the magistrate, M. de Gernande, a man of about fifty\nyears of age, full of firmness and straightforwardness, and knowing how\nto unite the austere duties of his position with benevolent politeness,\n\"you are accused of having committed--a very great error, not to use a\nharsher expression. As for the nature of that error, I prefer believing,\nsir, that you (a first rate man of science) may have been deceived in\nthe calculation of a medical case, rather than suspect you of having\nforgotten all that is sacred in the exercise of a profession that is\nalmost a priesthood.\"\n\n\"When you specify the facts, sir,\" answered the Jesuit of the short\nrobe, with a degree of haughtiness, \"it will be easy for me to prove\nthat my reputation as a man of science is no less free from reproach,\nthan my conscience as a man of honor.\"\n\n\"Madame,\" said M. de Gernande, addressing Adrienne, \"is it true that you\nwere conveyed to this house by stratagem?\"\n\n\"Sir,\" cried M. Baleinier, \"permit me to observe, that the manner in\nwhich you open this question is an insult to me.\"\n\n\"Sir, it is to the lady that I have the honor of addressing myself,\"\nreplied M. de Gernande, sternly; \"and I am the sole judge of the\npropriety of my questions.\"\n\nAdrienne was about to answer affirmatively to the magistrate, when an\nexpressive took from Dr. Baleinier reminded her that she would perhaps\nexpose Dagobert and his son to cruel dangers. It was no base and vulgar\nfeeling of vengeance by which Adrienne was animated, but a legitimate\nindignation, inspired by odious hypocrisy. She would have thought it\ncowardly not to unmask the criminals; but wishing to avoid compromising\nothers, she said to the magistrate, with an accent full of mildness and\ndignity: \"Permit me, sir, in my turn, rather to ask you a question.\"\n\n\"Speak, madame.\"\n\n\"Will the answer I make be considered a formal accusation?\"\n\n\"I have come hither, madame, to ascertain the truth, and no\nconsideration should induce you to dissemble it.\"\n\n\"So be it, sir,\" resumed Adrienne; \"but suppose, having just causes of\ncomplaint, I lay them before you, in order to be allowed to leave this\nhouse, shall I afterwards be at liberty not to press the accusations I\nhave made?\"\n\n\"You may abandon proceedings, madame, but the law will take up your case\nin the name of society, if its rights have been inured in your person.\"\n\n\"Shall I then not be allowed to pardon? Should I not be sufficiently\navenged by a contemptuous forgetfulness of the wrongs I have suffered?\"\n\n\"Personally, madame, you may forgive and forget; but I have the honor\nto repeat to you, that society cannot show the same indulgence, if\nit should turn out that you have been the victim of a criminal\nmachination--and I have every reason to fear it is so. The manner in\nwhich you express yourself, the generosity of your sentiments, the\ncalmness and dignity of your attitude, convince me that I have been well\ninformed.\"\n\n\"I hope, sir,\" said Dr. Baleinier, recovering his coolness, \"that you\nwill at least communicate the declaration that has been made to you.\"\n\n\"It has been declared to me, sir,\" said the magistrate, in a stern\nvoice, \"that Mdlle. de Cardoville was brought here by stratagem.\"\n\n\"By stratagem?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"It is true. The lady was brought here by stratagem,\" answered the\nJesuit of the short robe, after a moment's silence.\n\n\"You confess it, then?\" said M. de Gernande.\n\n\"Certainly I do, sir. I admit that I had recourse to means which we are\nunfortunately too often obliged to employ, when persons who most need\nour assistance are unconscious of their own sad state.\"\n\n\"But, sir,\" replied the magistrate, \"it has also been declared to me,\nthat Mdlle. de Cardoville never required such aid.\"\n\n\"That, sir, is a question of medical jurisprudence, which has to be\nexamined and discussed,\" said M. Baleinier, recovering his assurance.\n\n\"It will, indeed, sir, be seriously discussed; for you are accused of\nconfining Mdlle. De Cardoville, while in the full possession of all her\nfaculties.\"\n\n\"And may I ask you for what purpose?\" said M. de Baleinier, with a\nslight shrug of the shoulders, and in a tone of irony. \"What interest\nhad I to commit such a crime, even admitting that my reputation did not\nplace me above so odious and absurd a charge?\"\n\n\"You are said to have acted, sir, in furtherance of a family plot,\ndevised against Mdlle. de Cardoville for a pecuniary motive.\"\n\n\"And who has dared, sir, to make so calumnious a charge?\" cried Dr.\nBaleinier, with indignant warmth. \"Who has had the audacity to accuse\na respectable, and I dare to say, respected man, of having been the\naccomplice in such infamy?\"\n\n\"I,\" said Rodin, coldly.\n\n\"You!\" cried Dr. Baleinier, falling back two steps, as if thunderstruck.\n\n\"Yes, I accuse you,\" repeated Rodin, in a clear sharp voice.\n\n\"Yes, it was this gentleman who came to me this morning, with ample\nproofs, to demand my interference in favor of Mdlle. de Cardoville,\"\nsaid the magistrate, drawing back a little, to give Adrienne the\nopportunity of seeing her defender.\n\nThroughout this scene, Rodin's name had not hitherto been mentioned.\nMdlle. de Cardoville had often heard speak of the Abbe d'Aigrigny's\nsecretary in no very favorable terms; but, never having seen him, she\ndid not know that her liberator was this very Jesuit. She therefore\nlooked towards him, with a glance in which were mingled curiosity,\ninterest, surprise and gratitude. Rodin's cadaverous countenance, his\nrepulsive ugliness, his sordid dress, would a few days before have\noccasioned Adrienne a perhaps invincible feeling of disgust. But the\nyoung lady, remembering how the sempstress, poor, feeble, deformed,\nand dressed almost in rags was endowed notwithstanding her wretched\nexterior, with one of the noblest and most admirable hearts, recalled\nthis recollection in favor of the Jesuit. She forgot that he was ugly\nand sordid, only to remember that he was old, that he seemed poor, and\nthat he had come to her assistance. Dr. Baleinier, notwithstanding his\ncraft, notwithstanding his audacious hypocrisy, in spite even of his\npresence of mind, could not conceal how much he was disturbed by Rodin's\ndenunciation. His head became troubled as he remembered how, on the\nfirst day of Adrienne's confinement in this house, the implacable appeal\nof Rodin, through the hole in the door, had prevented him (Baleinier)\nfrom yielding to emotions of pity, inspired by the despair of this\nunfortunate young girl, driven almost to doubt of her own reason. And\nyet it was this very Rodin, so cruel, so inexorable, the devoted agent\nof Father d'Aigrigny, who denounced him (Baleinier), and brought a\nmagistrate to set Adrienne at liberty--when, only the day before, Father\nd'Aigrigny had ordered an increase of severity towards her!\n\nThe lay Jesuit felt persuaded that Rodin was betraying Father d'Aigrigny\nin the most shameful manner, and that Mdlle. de Cardoville's friends had\nbribed and bought over this scoundrelly secretary. Exasperated by what\nhe considered a monstrous piece of treachery, the doctor exclaimed, in a\nvoice broken with rage: \"And it is you, sir, that have the impudence to\naccuse me--you, who only a few days ago--\"\n\nThen, reflecting that the retort upon Rodin would be self-accusation,\nhe appeared to give way to an excess of emotion, and resumed with\nbitterness: \"Ah, sir, you are the last person that I should have thought\ncapable of this odious denunciation. It is shameful!\"\n\n\"And who had a better right than I to denounce this infamy?\" answered\nRodin, in a rude, overbearing tone. \"Was I not in a position to\nlearn--unfortunately, too late--the nature of the conspiracy of which\nMdlle. de Cardoville and others have been the victims? Then, what was\nmy duty as an honest man? Why, to inform the magistrate, to prove what I\nset forth, and to accompany him hither. That is what I have done.\"\n\n\"So, sir,\" said the doctor, addressing the magistrate, \"it is not only\nmyself that this man accuses, but he dares also--\"\n\n\"I accuse the Abbe d'Aigrigny,\" resumed Rodin, in a still louder and\nmore imperative tone, interrupting the doctor, \"I accuse the Princess de\nSaint-Dizier, I accuse you, sir--of having, from a vile motive of self\ninterest, confined Mdlle. de Cardoville in this house, and the two\ndaughters of Marshal Simon in the neighboring convent. Is that clear?\"\n\n\"Alas! it is only too true,\" said Adrienne, hastily. \"I have seen those\npoor children all in tears, making signs of distress to me.\"\n\nThe accusation of Rodin, with regard to the orphans, was a new and\nfearful blow for Dr. Baleinier. He felt perfectly convinced that the\ntraitor had passed clear over to the enemy's camp. Wishing therefore to\nput an end to this embarrassing scene, he tried to put a good face on\nthe matter, in spite of his emotion, and said to the magistrate:\n\n\"I might confine myself, sir, to silence--disdaining to answer such\naccusations, till a judicial decision had given them some kind of\nauthority. But, strong in a good conscience I address myself to Mdlle.\nde Cardoville, and I beg her to say if this very morning I did not\ninform her, that her health would soon be sufficiently restored to allow\nher to leave this house. I conjure her, in the name of her well-known\nlove of truth to state if such was not my language, when I was alone\nwith her--\"\n\n\"Come, sir!\" said Rodin, interrupting Baleinier with an insolent air;\n\"suppose that, from pure generosity, this dear young lady were to admit\nas much--what will it prove in your favor?--why, nothing at all.\"\n\n\"What, sir,\" cried the doctor, \"do you presume--\"\n\n\"I presume to unmask you, without asking your leave. What have you just\ntold us? Why, that being alone with Mdlle. de Cardoville, you talked to\nher as if she were really mad. How very conclusive!\"\n\n\"But, sir--\" cried the doctor.\n\n\"But, sir,\" resumed Rodin, without allowing him to continue, \"it is\nevident that, foreseeing the possibility of what has occurred to-day,\nand, to provide yourself with a hole to creep out at, you have pretended\nto believe your own execrable falsehood, in presence of this poor young\nlady, that you might afterwards call in aid the evidence of your own\nassumed conviction. Come, sir! such stories will not go down with people\nof common sense or common humanity.\"\n\n\"Come now, sir!\" exclaimed Baleinier, angrily.\n\n\"Well, sir,\" resumed Rodin, in a still louder voice, which completely\ndrowned that of the doctor; \"is it true, or is it not, that you have\nrecourse to the mean evasion of ascribing this odious imprisonment to a\nscientific error? I affirm that you do so, and that you think yourself\nsafe, because you can now say: 'Thanks to my care, the young lady has\nrecovered her reason. What more would you have?'\"\n\n\"Yes, I do say that, sir, and I maintain it.\"\n\n\"You maintain a falsehood; for it is proven that the lady never lost her\nreason for a moment.\"\n\n\"But I, sir, maintain that she did lose it.\"\n\n\"And I, sir, will prove the contrary,\" said Rodin.\n\n\"You? How will you do that?\" cried the doctor.\n\n\"That I shall take care not to tell you at present, as you may\nwell suppose,\" answered Rodin, with an ironical smile, adding with\nindignation: \"But, really, sir, you ought to die for shame, to dare to\nraise such a question in presence of the lady. You should at least have\nspared her this discussion.\"\n\n\"Sir!\"\n\n\"Oh, fie, sir! I say, fie! It is odious to maintain this argument before\nher--odious if you speak truth, doubly odious if you lie,\" said Rodin,\nwith disgust.\n\n\"This violence is inconceivable!\" cried the Jesuit of the short robe,\nexasperated; \"and I think the magistrate shows great partiality in\nallowing such gross calumnies to be heaped upon me!\"\n\n\"Sir,\" answered M. de Gernande, severely, \"I am entitled not only to\nhear, but to provoke any contradictory discussion that may enlighten\nme in the execution of my duty; it results from all this, that, even in\nyour opinion, sir, Mdlle. de Cardoville's health is sufficiently good to\nallow her to return home immediately.\"\n\n\"At least, I do not see any very serious inconvenience likely to arise\nfrom it, sir,\" said the doctor: \"only I maintain that the cure is not\nso complete as it might have been, and, on this subject, I decline all\nresponsibility for the future.\"\n\n\"You can do so, safely,\" said Rodin; \"it is not likely that the young\nlady will ever again have recourse to your honest assistance.\"\n\n\"It is useless, therefore, to employ my official authority, to demand\nthe immediate liberation of Mdlle. de Cardoville,\" said the magistrate.\n\n\"She is free,\" said Baleinier, \"perfectly free.\"\n\n\"As for the question whether you have imprisoned her on the plea of a\nsuppositious madness, the law will inquire into it, sir, and you will be\nheard.\"\n\n\"I am quite easy, sir,\" answered M. Baleinier, trying to look so; \"my\nconscience reproaches me with nothing.\"\n\n\"I hope it may turn out well, sir,\" said M. de Gernande. \"However bad\nappearances may be, more especially when persons of your station in\nsociety are concerned, we should always wish to be convinced of their\ninnocence.\" Then, turning to Adrienne, he added: \"I understand, madame,\nhow painful this scene must be to all your feelings of delicacy and\ngenerosity; hereafter, it will depend upon yourself, either to proceed\nfor damages against M. Baleinier, or to let the law take its course.\nOne word more. The bold and upright man\"--here the magistrate pointed\nto Rodin--\"who has taken up your cause in so frank and disinterested a\nmanner, expressed a belief that you would, perhaps, take charge for the\npresent of Marshal Simon's daughters, whose liberation I am about to\ndemand from the convent where they also are confined by stratagem.\"\n\n\"The fact is, sir,\" replied Adrienne, \"that, as soon as I learned the\narrival of Marshal Simon's daughters in Paris, my intention was to offer\nthem apartments in my house. These young ladies are my near relations.\nIt is at once a duty and a pleasure for me to treat them as sisters. I\nshall, therefore, be doubly grateful to you, sir, if you will trust them\nto my care.\"\n\n\"I think that I cannot serve them better,\" answered M. de Gernande.\nThen, addressing Baleinier, he added, \"Will you consent, sir, to my\nbringing these two ladies hither? I will go and fetch them, while Mdlle.\nde Cardoville prepares for her departure. They will then be able to\nleave this house with their relation.\"\n\n\"I entreat the lady to make use of this house as her own, until she\nleaves it,\" replied M. Baleinier. \"My carriage shall be at her orders to\ntake her home.\"\n\n\"Madame,\" said the magistrate, approaching Adrienne, \"without prejudging\nthe question, which must soon be decided by, a court of law, I may at\nleast regret that I was not called in sooner. Your situation must have\nbeen a very cruel one.\"\n\n\"There will at least remain to me, sir, from this mournful time,\"\nsaid Adrienne, with graceful dignity, \"one precious and touching\nremembrance--that of the interest which you have shown me. I hope that\nyou will one day permit me to thank you, at my own home, not for the\njustice you have done me, but for the benevolent and paternal manner in\nwhich you have done it. And moreover, sir,\" added Mdlle. de Cardoville,\nwith a sweet smile, \"I should like to prove to you, that what they call\nmy cure is complete.\"\n\nM. de Gernande bowed respectfully in reply. During the abort dialogue of\nthe magistrate with Adrienne, their backs were both turned to Baleinier\nand Rodin. The latter, profiting by this moment's opportunity, hastily\nslipped into the doctor's hand a note just written with a pencil in the\nbottom of his hat. Baleinier looked at Rodin in stupefied amazement. But\nthe latter made a peculiar sign, by raising his thumb to his forehead,\nand drawing it twice across his brow. Then he remained impassible. This\nhad passed so rapidly, that when M. de Gernande turned round, Rodin was\nat a distance of several steps from Dr. Baleinier, and looking at Mdlle.\nde Cardoville with respectful interest.\n\n\"Permit me to accompany you, sir,\" said the doctor, preceding the\nmagistrate, whom Mdlle. de Cardoville saluted with much affability. Then\nboth went out, and Rodin remained alone with the young lady.\n\nAfter conducting M. de Gernande to the outer door of the house, M.\nBaleinier made haste to read the pencil-note written by Rodin; it ran as\nfollows: \"The magistrate is going to the convent, by way of the street.\nRun round by the garden, and tell the Superior to obey the order I\nhave given with regard to the two young girls. It is of the utmost\nimportance.\"\n\nThe peculiar sign which Rodin had made, and the tenor of this note,\nproved to Dr. Baleinier, who was passing from surprise to amazement,\nthat the secretary, far from betraying the reverend father, was still\nacting for the Greater Glory of the Lord. However, whilst he obeyed the\norders, M. Baleinier sought in vain to penetrate the motives of Rodin's\ninexplicable conduct, who had himself informed the authorities of an\naffair that was to have been hushed up, and that might have the most\ndisastrous consequences for Father d'Aigrigny, Madame de Saint-Dizier,\nand Baleinier himself. But let us return to Rodin, left alone with\nMdlle, de Cardoville.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV. FATHER D'AIGRIGNY'S SECRETARY.\n\nHardly had the magistrate and Dr. Baleinier disappeared, than Mdlle. de\nCardoville, whose countenance was beaming with joy, exclaimed, as she\nlooked at Rodin with a mixture of respect and gratitude, \"At length,\nthanks to you, sir, I am free--free! Oh, I had never before felt\nhow much happiness, expansion, delight, there is in that adorable\nword--liberty!\"\n\nHer bosom rose and fell, her rosy nostrils dilated, her vermilion lips\nwere half open, as if she again inhaled with rapture pure and vivifying\nair.\n\n\"I have been only a few days in this horrible place,\" she resumed, \"but\nI have suffered enough from my captivity to make me resolve never to let\na year pass without restoring to liberty some poor prisoners for debt.\nThis vow no doubt appears to belong a little to the Middle Ages,\"\nadded she, with a smile; \"but I would fain borrow from that noble epoch\nsomething more than its old windows and furniture. So, doubly thanks,\nsir!--for I take you as a partner in that project of deliverance, which\nhas just (you see) unfolded itself in the midst of the happiness I owe\nto you, and by which you seem so much affected. Oh! let my joy speak my\ngratitude, and pay you for your generous aid!\" exclaimed the young girl\nwith enthusiasm.\n\nMdlle. de Cardoville had truly remarked a complete transfiguration in\nthe countenance of Rodin. This man, lately so harsh, severe, inflexible,\nwith regard to Dr. Baleinier, appeared now under the influence of the\nmildest and most tender sentiments. His little, half-veiled eyes were\nfixed upon Adrienne with an expression of ineffable interest. Then, as\nif he wished to tear himself from these impressions, he said, speaking\nto himself, \"Come, come, no weakness. Time is too precious; my mission\nis not fulfilled. My dear young lady,\" added he, addressing himself to\nAdrienne, \"believe what I say--we will talk hereafter of gratitude--but\nwe have now to talk of the present so important for you and your family.\nDo you know what is taking place?\"\n\nAdrienne looked at the Jesuit with surprise, and said, \"What is taking\nplace, sir?\"\n\n\"Do you know the real motive of your imprisonment in this house? Do you\nknow what influenced the Princess de Saint-Dizier and Abbe d'Aigrigny?\"\n\nAt the sound of those detested names, Mdlle. de Cardoville's face,\nnow so full of happiness, became suddenly sad, and she answered with\nbitterness, \"It is hatred, sir, that no doubt animated Madame de\nSaint-Dizier against me.\"\n\n\"Yes, hatred; and, moreover, the desire to rob you with impunity of an\nimmense fortune.\"\n\n\"Me, sir! how?\"\n\n\"You must be ignorant, my dear young lady, of the interest you had to be\nin the Rue Saint-Francois on the 13th February, for an inheritance?\"\n\n\"I was ignorant, sir, of the date and details: but I knew by some family\npapers, and thanks to an extraordinary circumstance, that one of our\nancestors--\"\n\n\"Had left an enormous sum to be divided between his descendants; is it\nnot so?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"But what unfortunately you did not know, my dear young lady, was that\nthe heirs were all bound to be present at a certain hour on the 13th\nFebruary. This day and hour once past, the absent would forfeit their\nclaim. Do you now understand why you have been imprisoned here, my dear\nyoung lady?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes; I understand it,\" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville; \"cupidity was\nadded to the hatred which my aunt felt for me. All is explained. Marshal\nSimon's daughters, having the same right as I had have, like me, been\nimprisoned.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" cried Rodin, \"you and they were not the only victims.\"\n\n\"Who, then, are the others, sir?\"\n\n\"A young East Indian.\"\n\n\"Prince Djalma?\" said Adrienne, hastily.\n\n\"For the same reason he has been nearly poisoned with a narcotic.\"\n\n\"Great God!\" cried the young girl, clasping her hands in horror. \"It is\nfearful. That young prince, who was said to have so noble and generous a\ncharacter! But I had sent to Cardoville Castle--\"\n\n\"A confidential person, to fetch the prince to Paris--I know it, my dear\nyoung lady; but, by means of a trick, your friend was got out of the\nway, and the young Oriental delivered to his enemies.\"\n\n\"And where is he now?\"\n\n\"I have only vague information on the subject. I know that he is in\nParis, and do not despair of finding him. I shall pursue my researches\nwith an almost paternal ardor, for we cannot too much love the rare\nqualities of that poor king's son. What a heart, my dear young lady!\nwhat a heart! Oh, it is a heart of gold, pure and bright as the gold of\nhis country!\"\n\n\"We must find the prince, sir,\" said Adrienne with emotion; \"let me\nentreat you to neglect nothing for that end. He is my relation--alone\nhere--without support--without assistance.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" replied Rodin, with commiseration. \"Poor boy!--for he is\nalmost a boy--eighteen or nineteen years of age--thrown into the\nheart of Paris, of this hell--with his fresh, ardent, half-savage\npassions--with his simplicity and confidence--to what perils may he not\nbe exposed?\"\n\n\"Well, we must first find him, sir,\" said Adrienne, hastily; \"and then\nwe will save him from these dangers. Before I was confined here, I\nlearned his arrival in France, and sent a confidential person to offer\nhim the services of an unknown friend. I now see that this mad idea,\nwith which I have been so much reproached, was a very sensible one. I am\nmore convinced of it than ever. The prince belongs to my family, and\nI owe him a generous hospitality. I had destined for him the lodge I\noccupied at my aunt's.\"\n\n\"And you, my dear young lady?\"\n\n\"To-day, I shall remove to a house, which I had prepared some time ago,\nwith the determination of quitting Madame de Saint-Dizier, and living\nalone as I pleased. Then, sir, as you seem bent upon being the good\ngenius of our family, be as generous with regard to Prince Djalma, as\nyou have been to me and Marshal Simon's daughters. I entreat you to\ndiscover the hiding-place of this poor king's son, as you call him; keep\nmy secret for me, and conduct him to the house offered by the unknown\nfriend. Let him not disquiet himself about anything; all his wants shall\nbe provided for; he shall live--like a prince.\"\n\n\"Yes; he will indeed live like a prince, thanks to your royal\nmunificence. But never was such kind interest better deserved. It is\nenough to see (as I have seen) his fine, melancholy countenance--\"\n\n\"You have seen him, then, sir?\" said Adrienne, interrupting Rodin.\n\n\"Yes, my dear young lady; I was with him for about two hours. It was\nquite enough to judge of him. His charming features are the mirror of\nhis soul.\"\n\n\"And where did you see him, sir?\"\n\n\"At your old Chateau de Cardoville, my dear young lady, near which he\nhad been shipwrecked in a storm, and whither I had gone to--\" Rodin\nhesitated for a moment, and then, as if yielding to the frankness of\nhis disposition, added: \"Whither I had gone to commit a bad action--a\nshameful, miserable action, I must confess!\"\n\n\"You, sir?--at Cardoville House--to commit a bad action?\" cried\nAdrienne, much surprised.\n\n\"Alas! yes, my dear young lady,\" answered Rodin with simplicity. \"In one\nword, I had orders from Abbe d'Aigrigny, to place your former bailiff in\nthe alternative either of losing his situation or lending himself to a\nmean action--something, in fact, that resembled spying and calumny; but\nthe honest, worthy man refused.\"\n\n\"Why, who are you, sir?\" said Mdlle. de Cardoville, more and more\nastonished.\n\n\"I am Rodin, lately secretary of the Abbe d'Aigrigny--a person of very\nlittle importance, as you see.\"\n\nIt is impossible to describe the accent, at once humble and ingenuous,\nof the Jesuit, as he pronounced these words, which he accompanied with\na respectful bow. On this revelation, Mdlle. de Cardoville drew back\nabruptly. We have said that Adrienne had sometimes heard talk of Rodin,\nthe humble secretary of the Abbe d'Aigrigny, as a sort of obedient and\npassive machine. That was not all; the bailiff of Cardoville Manor,\nwriting to Adrienne on the subject of Prince Djalma, had complained of\nthe perfidious and dishonest propositions of Rodin. She felt, therefore,\na vague suspicion, when she heard that her liberator was the man who had\nplayed so odious a part. Yet this unfavorable feeling was balanced by\nthe sense of what she owed to Rodin, and by his frank denunciation of\nAbbe d'Aigrigny before the magistrate. And then the Jesuit, by his own\nconfession, had anticipated, as it were, the reproaches that might have\nbeen addressed to him. Still, it was with a kind of cold reserve that\nMdlle. de Cardoville resumed this dialogue, which she had commenced with\nas much frankness as warmth and sympathy.\n\nRodin perceived the impression he had made. He expected it. He was not\nthe least disconcerted when Mdlle. de Cardoville said to him, as she\nfixed upon him a piercing glance, \"Ah! you are M. Rodin--secretary to\nthe Abbe d'Aigrigny?\"\n\n\"Say ex-secretary, if you please, my dear young lady,\" answered the\nJesuit; \"for you see clearly that I can never again enter the house of\nthe Abbe d'Aigrigny. I have made of him an implacable enemy, and I am\nnow without employment--but no matter--nay, so much the better--since,\nat this price, the wicked are unmasked, and honest people rescued.\"\n\nThese words, spoken with much simplicity, and dignity, revived a feeling\nof pity in Adrienne's heart. She thought within herself that, after all,\nthe poor old man spoke the truth. Abbe d'Aigrigny's hate, after this\nexposure, would be inexorable, and Rodin had braved it for the sake of a\ngenerous action.\n\nStill Mdlle. de Cardoville answered coldly, \"Since you knew, sir, that\nthe propositions you were charged to make to the bailiff of Cardoville\nwere shameful and perfidious, how could you undertake the mission?\"\n\n\"How?\" replied Rodin, with a sort of painful impatience; \"why, because\nI was completely under Abbe d'Aigrigny's charm, one of the most\nprodigiously clever men I have ever known, and, as I only discovered the\nday before yesterday, one of the most prodigiously dangerous men there\nis in the world. He had conquered my scruples, by persuading me that\nthe End justifies the Means. I must confess that the end he seemed to\npropose to himself was great and beautiful; but the day before yesterday\nI was cruelly undeceived. I was awakened, as it were, by a thunder-peal.\nOh, my dear young lady!\" added Rodin, with a sort of embarrassment\nand confusion, \"let us talk no more of my fatal journey to Cardoville.\nThough I was only an ignorant and blind instrument, I feel as ashamed\nand grieved at it as if I had acted for myself. It weighs upon me, it\noppresses me. I entreat you, let us speak rather of yourself, and of\nwhat interests you--for the soul expands with generous thoughts, even as\nthe breast is dilated in pure and healthful air.\"\n\nRodin had confessed his fault so spontaneously, he explained it so\nnaturally, he appeared to regret it so sincerely, that Adrienne,\nwhose suspicions had no other grounds, felt her distrust a good deal\ndiminished.\n\n\"So,\" she resumed, still looking attentively at Rodin, \"it was at\nCardoville that you saw Prince Djalma?\"\n\n\"Yes, madame; and my affection for him dates from that interview.\nTherefore I will accomplish my task. Be satisfied, my dear young lady;\nlike you, like Marshal Simon's daughters, the prince shall avoid being\nthe victim of this detestable plot, which unhappily does not stop\nthere.\"\n\n\"And who besides, then, is threatened?\"\n\n\"M. Hardy, a man full of honor and probity, who is also your relation,\nand interested in this inheritance, but kept away from Paris by infamous\ntreachery. And another heir, an unfortunate artisan, who falling into a\ntrap cleverly baited, has been thrown into a prison for debt.\"\n\n\"But, sir,\" said Adrienne, suddenly, \"for whose advantage was this\nabominable plot, which really alarms me, first devised?\"\n\n\"For the advantage of Abbe d'Aigrigny,\" answered Rodin.\n\n\"How, and by what right! Was he also an heir?\"\n\n\"It would take too long to explain it to you, my dear young lady. You\nwill know all one day. Only be convinced that your family has no more\nbitter enemy that Abbe d'Aigrigny.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Adrienne, giving way to one last suspicion, \"I will speak\nfrankly to you. How can I have deserved the interest that you seem to\ntake in me, and that you even extend to all the members of my family?\"\n\n\"My dear young lady,\" answered Rodin, with a smile, \"were I to tell you\nthe cause, you would only laugh at, or misapprehend me.\"\n\n\"Speak, I beg of you, sir. Do not mistrust me or yourself.\"\n\n\"Well, then, I became interested in you--devoted to you--because your\nheart is generous, your mind lofty, your character independent and\nproud. Once attached to you, those of your race, who are indeed\nthemselves worthy of interest, were no longer indifferent to me. To\nserve them was to serve you also.\"\n\n\"But, sir--admitting that you suppose me worthy of the too flattering\npraises you bestow upon me--how could you judge of my heart, my mind, my\ncharacter?\"\n\n\"I will tell you, my dear young lady; but first I must make another\nconfession, that fills me with shame. If you were not even so\nwonderfully endowed, what you have suffered in this house should suffice\nto command the interest of every honest man--don't you think so?\"\n\n\"I do think it should, sir.\"\n\n\"I might thus explain the interest I feel in you. But no--I confess\nit--that would not have sufficed with me. Had you been only Mdlle. de\nCardoville--a rich, noble, beautiful young lady--I should doubtless have\npitied your misfortune; but I should have said to myself, 'This poor\nyoung lady is certainly much to be pitied; but what can I, poor man, do\nin it? My only resource is my post of secretary to the Abbe d'Aigrigny,\nand he would be the first that must be attacked. He is all-powerful, and\nI am nothing. To engage in a struggle with him would be to ruin myself,\nwithout the hope of saving this unfortunate person.' But when I\nlearnt what you were, my dear young lady, I revolted, in spite of my\ninferiority. 'No,' I said, 'a thousand times, no! So fine an intellect,\nso great a heart, shall not be the victims of an abominable plot. I may\nperish in the struggle, but I will at least make the attempt.'\"\n\nNo words can paint the mixture of delicacy, energy, and sensibility with\nwhich Rodin uttered these sentiments. As it often happens with people\nsingularly repulsive and ill-favored, if they can once bring you to\nforget their ugliness, their very deformity becomes a source of interest\nand commiseration, and you say to yourself, \"What a pity that such a\nmind, such a soul, should inhabit so poor a body!\"--and you are touched\nand softened by the contrast.\n\nIt was thus that Mdlle. de Cardoville began to look upon Rodin. He had\nshown himself as simple and affectionate towards her as he had been\nbrutal and insolent to Dr. Baleinier. One thing only excited the lively\ncuriosity of Mdlle. de Cardoville--she wished to know how Rodin had\nconceived the devotion and admiration which she seemed to inspire.\n\n\"Forgive my indiscreet and obstinate curiosity, sir, but I wish to\nknow--\"\n\n\"How you were morally revealed to me--is it not so? Oh, my dear young\nlady! nothing is more simple. I will explain it to you in two words.\nThe Abbe d'Aigrigny saw in me nothing but a writing-machine, an obtuse,\nmute, blind instrument--\"\n\n\"I thought M. d'Aigrigny had more penetration.\"\n\n\"And you are right, my dear young lady; he is a man of unparalleled\nsagacity; but I deceived him by affecting more than simplicity. Do not,\ntherefore, think me false. No; I am proud in my manner--and my pride\nconsists in never appearing above my position, however subaltern it may\nbe! Do you know why? It is that, however haughty may be my superiors, I\ncan say to myself, 'They do not know my value. It is the inferiority of\nmy condition, not me, that they humiliate.' By this I gain doubly--my\nself-love is spared, and I hate no one.\"\n\n\"Yes, I understand that sort of pride,\" said Adrienne, more and more\nstruck with Rodin's original turn of mind.\n\n\"But let us return to what concerns you, my dear young lady. On the eve\nof the 13th of February, the Abbe d'Aigrigny delivered to me a paper\nin shorthand, and said to me, 'Transcribe this examination; you may\nadd that it is to support the decision of a family council, which has\ndeclared, in accordance with the report of Dr. Baleinier, the state of\nmind of Mdlle. de Cardoville to be sufficiently alarming to render it\nnecessary to confine her in a lunatic asylum.'\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Adrienne, with bitterness; \"it related to a long interview,\nwhich I had with the Princess de Saint-Dizier, my aunt, and which was\ntaken down without my knowledge.\"\n\n\"Behold me, then, poring over my shorthand report, and beginning to\ntranscribe it. At the end of the first ten lines, I was struck with\nstupor. I knew not if I were awake or dreaming. 'What! mad?' They must\nbe themselves insane who dare assert so monstrous a proposition!--More\nand more interested, I continued my reading--I finished it--Oh! then,\nwhat shall I say? What I felt, my dear young lady, it is impossible to\nexpress. It was sympathy, delight, enthusiasm!\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Adrienne.\n\n\"Yes, my dear young lady, enthusiasm! Let not the words shock your\nmodesty. Know that these ideas, so new, so independent, so courageous\nwhich you expressed to your aunt with so much brilliancy, are, without\nyour being aware of it, common to you and another person, for whom you\nwill one day feel the most tender and religious respect.\"\n\n\"Of whom do you speak, sir?\" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville, more and more\ninterested.\n\nAfter a moment's apparent hesitation, Rodin resumed, \"No, no--it is\nuseless now to inform you of it. All I can tell you, my dear young lady,\nis that, when I had finished my reading, I ran to Abbe d'Aigrigny's, to\nconvince him of the error into which he had fallen with regard to you.\nIt was impossible then to find him; but yesterday morning I told him\nplainly what I thought. He only appeared surprised to find that I could\nthink at all. He received my communications with contemptuous silence.\nI thought him deceived; I continued my remonstrances, but quite in vain.\nHe ordered me to follow him to the house, where the testament of your\nancestor was to be opened. I was so blind with regard to the Abbe\nd'Aigrigny, that it required the successive arrivals of the soldier,\nof his son, and of Marshal Simon's father, to open my eyes thoroughly.\nTheir indignation unveiled to me the extent of a conspiracy, plotted\nlong ago, and carried on with terrible ability. Then, I understood why\nyou were confined here as a lunatic; why the daughters of Marshal Simon\nwere imprisoned in a convent. Then a thousand recollections returned to\nmy mind; fragments of letters and statements, which had been given me\nto copy or decipher, and of which I had never been able to find the\nexplanation, put me on the track of this odious machination. To express\nthen and there the sudden horror I felt at these crimes, would have been\nto ruin all. I did not make this mistake. I opposed cunning to cunning;\nI appeared even more eager than Abbe d'Aigrigny. Had this immense\ninheritance been destined for me alone, I could not have shown myself\nmore grasping and merciless. Thanks to this stratagem, Abbe d'Aigrigny\nhad no suspicion. A providential accident having rescued the inheritance\nfrom his hands, he left the house in a state of profound consternation.\nFor my part, I felt indescribable joy; for I had now the means of saving\nand avenging you, my dear young lady. As usual, I went yesterday evening\nto my place of business. During the absence of the abbe, it was easy for\nme to peruse the correspondence relative to the inheritance. In this way\nI was able to unite all the threads of this immense plot. Oh! then,\nmy dear young lady, I remained, struck with horror, in presence of the\ndiscoveries that I made, and that I never should have made under any\nother circumstances.\"\n\n\"What discoveries, sir?\"\n\n\"There are some secrets which are terrible to those who possess them. Do\nnot ask me to explain, my dear young lady; but, in this examination, the\nleague formed against you and your relations, from motives of insatiable\ncupidity, appeared to me in all its dark audacity. Thereupon, the lively\nand deep interest which I already felt for you, my dear young lady, was\naugmented greatly, and extended itself to the other innocent victims of\nthis infernal conspiracy. In spite of my weakness, I determined to risk\nall, to unmask the Abbe d'Aigrigny. I collected the necessary proofs,\nto give my declaration before the magistrate the needful authority;\nand, this morning, I left the abbe's house without revealing to him my\nprojects. He might have employed some violent method to detain me; yet\nit would have been cowardly to attack him without warning. Once out of\nhis house, I wrote to him, that I had in my hands proof enough of his\ncrimes, to attack him openly in the face of day. I would accuse, and he\nmust defend himself. I went directly to a magistrate, and you know the\nrest.\"\n\nAt this juncture, the door opened, and one of the nurses appeared, and\nsaid to Rodin: \"Sir, the messenger that you and the magistrate sent to\nthe Rue Brise-Miche has just come back.\"\n\n\"Has he left the letter?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; and it was taken upstairs directly.\"\n\n\"Very well. Leave us!\" The nurse went out.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV. SYMPATHY.\n\nIf it had been possible for Mdlle. de Cardoville to harbor any suspicion\nof the sincerity of Rodin's devotion, it must have given way before this\nreasoning, unfortunately so simple and undeniable. How could she suppose\nthe faintest complicity between the Abbe d'Aigrigny and his secretary,\nwhen it was the latter who completely unveiled the machinations of his\nmaster, and exposed them to the tribunals? when in this, Rodin went\neven further than Mdlle. de Cardoville would herself have gone? Of what\nsecret design could she suspect the Jesuit? At worst, of a desire to\nearn by his services the profitable patronage of the young lady.\n\nAnd then, had he not just now protested against this supposition, by\ndeclaring his devotion, not to Mdlle. de Cardoville--not to the fair,\nrich, noble lady--but to the high-souled and generous girl? Finally,\nas Rodin had said himself, could any but a miserable wretch fail to be\ninterested in Adrienne's fate? A strange mixture of curiosity, surprise,\nand interest, was joined with Mdlle. de Cardoville's feelings of\ngratitude towards Rodin. Yet, as she recognized the superior mind under\nthat humble exterior, she was suddenly struck with a grave suspicion.\n\"Sir,\" said she to Rodin, \"I always confess to the persons I esteem the\ndoubts they may have inspired, so that they may justify themselves, and\nexcuse me, if I am wrong.\"\n\nRodin looked at Mdlle. de Cardoville with surprise, as if mentally\ncalculating the suspicions than she might entertain, and replied,\nafter a moment's silence: \"You are perhaps thinking of my journey to\nCardoville, of my base proposals to your good and worthy bailiff? Oh! if\nyou--\"\n\n\"No, no, sir,\" said Adrienne, interrupting him; \"you made that\nconfession spontaneously, and I quite understand, that, blinded with\nregard to M. d'Aigrigny, you passively executed instructions repugnant\nto your delicacy. But how comes it, that, with your incontestable\nmerits, you have so long; occupied so mean a position in his service?\"\n\n\"It is true,\" said Rodin, with a smile; \"that must impress you\nunfavorably, my dear young lady; for a man of any capacity, who remains\nlong in an inferior condition, has evidently some radical vice, some bad\nor base passion--\"\n\n\"It is generally true, sir.\"\n\n\"And personally true--with regard to myself.\"\n\n\"What, sir! do you make this avowal?\"\n\n\"Alas! I confess that I have a bad passion, to which, for forty years, I\nhave sacrificed all chances of attaining to a better position.\"\n\n\"And this passion, sir?\"\n\n\"Since I must make the unpleasant avowal, this passion is\nindolence--yes, indolence--the horror of all activity of mind, of all\nmoral responsibility, of taking the lead in anything. With the twelve\nhundred francs that Abbe d'Aigrigny gave me, I was the happiest man in\nthe world; I trusted to the nobleness of his views; his thoughts became\nmine, his wishes mine. My work once finished, I returned to my poor\nlittle chamber, I lighted my fire, I dined on vegetables--then, taking\nup some book of philosophy, little known, and dreaming over it, I gave\nfree course to my imagination, which, restrained all the day long,\ncarried me through numberless theories to a delicious Utopia. Then, from\nthe eminences of my intelligence, lifted up Lord knows whither, by the\naudacity of my thoughts, I seemed to look down upon my master, and upon\nthe great men of the earth. This fever lasted for three or four hours,\nafter which I had a good sleep; and, the next morning, I went lightly to\nmy work, secure of my daily bread, without cares for the future, living\ncontent with little, waiting with impatience for the delights of my\nsolitary evening, and saying to myself as I went on writing like a\nstupid machine: 'And yet--and yet--if I chose!'--\"\n\n\"Doubtless, you could, like others, surer than others, have reached a\nhigher position,\" said Adrienne, greatly struck with Rodin's practical\nphilosophy.\n\n\"Yes, I think I could have done so; but for what purpose?--You see, my\ndear young lady, what often renders people of some merit puzzles to the\nvulgar, is that they are frequently content to say: 'If I chose!'\"\n\n\"But, sir, without attaching much importance to the luxuries of\nlife, there is a certain degree of comfort, which age renders almost\nindispensable, and which you seem to have utterly renounced.\"\n\n\"Undeceive yourself, if you please, my dear young lady,\" said Rodin,\nwith a playful smile. \"I am a true Sybarite; I require absolutely warm\nclothes, a good stove, a soft mattress, a good piece of bread, a fresh\nradish, flavored with good cheap salt, and some good, clear water; and,\nnotwithstanding this complication of wants, my twelve hundred francs\nhave always more than sufficed, for I have been able to make some little\nsavings.\"\n\n\"But now that you are without employment, how will you manage to live,\nsir?\" said Adrienne, more and more interested by the singularities of\nthis man, and wishing to put his disinterestedness to the proof.\n\n\"I have laid by a little, which will serve me till I have unravelled\nthe last thread of Father d'Aigrigny's dark designs. I owe myself this\nreparation, for having been his dupe; three or four days, I hope, will\ncomplete the work. After that, I have the certainty of meeting with a\nsituation, in my native province, under a collector of taxes: some\ntime ago, the offer was made me by a friend; but then I would not leave\nFather d'Aigrigny, notwithstanding the advantages proposed. Fancy, my\ndear young lady--eight hundred francs, with board and lodging! As I am\na little of the roughest, I should have preferred lodging apart; but, as\nthey give me so much, I must submit to this little inconvenience.\"\n\nNothing could exceed Rodin's ingenuity, in making these little household\nconfidences (so abominably false) to Mdlle. de Cardoville, who felt her\nlast suspicions give way.\n\n\"What, sir?\" said she to the Jesuit, with interest; \"in three or four\ndays, you mean to quit Paris?\"\n\n\"I hope to do so, my dear young lady; and that,\" added he, in a\nmysterious tone, \"and that for many reasons. But what would be very\nprecious to me,\" he resumed, in a serious voice, as he looked at\nAdrienne with emotion, \"would be to carry with me the conviction,\nthat you did me the justice to believe, that, on merely reading your\ninterview with the Princess de Saint-Dizier, I recognized at once\nqualities quite unexampled in our day, in a young person of your age and\ncondition.\"\n\n\"Ah, sir!\" said Adrienne, with a smile, \"do not think yourself\nobliged to return so soon the sincere praises that I bestowed on your\nsuperiority of mind. I should be better pleased with ingratitude.\"\n\n\"Oh, no! I do not flatter you, my dear young lady. Why should I? We\nmay probably never meet again. I do not flatter you; I understand\nyou--that's all--and what will seem strange to you, is, that your\nappearance complete, the idea which I had already formed of you, my dear\nyoung lady, in reading your interview with your aunt: and some parts of\nyour character, hitherto obscure to me, are now fully displayed.\"\n\n\"Really, sir, you astonish me more and more.\"\n\n\"I can't help it! I merely describe my impressions. I can now explain\nperfectly, for example, your passionate love of the beautiful, your\neager worship of the refinements of the senses, your ardent aspirations\nfor a better state of things, your courageous contempt of many degrading\nand servile customs, to which woman is condemned; yes, now I\nunderstand the noble pride with which you contemplate the mob of vain,\nself-sufficient, ridiculous men, who look upon woman as a creature\ndestined for their service, according to the laws made after their own\nnot very handsome image. In the eyes of these hedge-tyrants, woman, a\nkind of inferior being to whom a council of cardinals deigned to grant a\nsoul by a majority of two voices, ought to think herself supremely happy\nin being the servant of these petty pachas, old at thirty, worn-out,\nused up, weary with excesses, wishing only for repose, and seeking, as\nthey say, to make an end of it, which they set about by marrying some\npoor girl, who is on her side desirous to make a beginning.\"\n\nMdlle. de Cardoville would certainly have smiled at these satirical\nremarks, if she had not been greatly struck by hearing Rodin express in\nsuch appropriate terms her own ideas, though it was the first time in\nher life that she saw this dangerous man. Adrienne forgot, or\nrather, she was not aware, that she had to deal with a Jesuit of rare\nintelligence, uniting the information and the mysterious resources of\nthe police-spy with the profound sagacity of the confessor; one of those\ndiabolic priests, who, by the help of a few hints, avowals, letters,\nreconstruct a character, as Cuvier could reconstruct a body from\nzoological fragments. Far from interrupting Rodin, Adrienne listened\nto him with growing curiosity. Sure of the effect he produced, he\ncontinued, in a tone of indignation: \"And your aunt and the Abbe\nd'Aigrigny treated you as mad, because you revolted against the yoke of\nsuch tyrants! because, hating the shameful vices of slavery, you chose\nto be independent with the suitable qualities of independence, free with\nthe proud virtues of liberty!\"\n\n\"But, sir,\" said Adrienne, more and more surprised, \"how can my thoughts\nbe so familiar to you?\"\n\n\"First, I know you perfectly, thanks to your interview with the Princess\nde Saint-Dizier: and next, if it should happen that we both pursue the\nsame end, though by different means,\" resumed Rodin, artfully, as he\nlooked at Mdlle. de Cardoville with an air of intelligence, \"why should\nnot our convictions be the same?\"\n\n\"I do not understand you, sir. Of what end do you speak?\"\n\n\"The end pursued incessantly by all lofty, generous, independent\nspirits--some acting, like you, my dear young lady, from passion, from\ninstinct, without perhaps explaining to themselves the high mission they\nare called on to ful, fil. Thus, for example, when you take pleasure\nin the most refined delights, when you surround yourself with all that\ncharms the senses, do you think that you only yield to the attractions\nof the beautiful, to the desire of exquisite enjoyments? No! ah, no! for\nthen you would be incomplete, odiously selfish, a dry egotist, with a\nfine taste--nothing more--and at your age, it would be hideous, my dear\nyoung lady, it would be hideous!\"\n\n\"And do you really think thus severely of me?\" said Adrienne, with\nuneasiness, so much influence had this man irresistibly attained over\nher.\n\n\"Certainly, I should think thus of you, if you loved luxury for luxury's\nsake; but, no--quite another sentiment animates you,\" resumed the\nJesuit. \"Let us reason a little. Feeling a passionate desire for all\nthese enjoyments, you know their value and their need more than any\none--is it not so?\"\n\n\"It is so,\" replied Adrienne, deeply interested.\n\n\"Your gratitude and favor are then necessarily acquired by those who,\npoor, laborious, and unknown, have procured for you these marvels of\nluxury, which you could not do without?\"\n\n\"This feeling of gratitude is so strong in me, sir,\" replied Adrienne,\nmore and more pleased to find herself so well understood, \"that I once\nhad inscribed on a masterpiece of goldsmith's work, instead of the name\nof the seller, that of the poor unknown artist who designed it, and who\nhas since risen to his true place.\"\n\n\"There you see, I was not deceived,\" went on Rodin; \"the taste for\nenjoyment renders you grateful to those who procure it for you; and\nthat is not all; here am I, an example, neither better nor worse than my\nneighbors, but accustomed to privations, which cause me no suffering--so\nthat the privations of others necessarily touch me less nearly than they\ndo you, my dear young lady; for your habits of comfort must needs render\nyou more compassionate towards misfortune. You would yourself suffer too\nmuch from poverty, not to pity and succor those who are its victims.\"\n\n\"Really, sir,\" said Adrienne, who began to feel herself under the fatal\ncharm of Rodin, \"the more I listen to you, the more I am convinced that\nyou would defend a thousand times better than I could those ideas for\nwhich I was so harshly reproached by Madame de Saint-Dizier and\nAbbe d'Aigrigny. Oh! speak, speak, sir! I cannot tell you with what\nhappiness, with what pride I listen.\"\n\nAttentive and moved, her eyes fixed on the Jesuit with as much interest\nas sympathy and curiosity, Adrienne, by a graceful toss of the head that\nwas habitual to her, threw hack her long, golden curls, the better to\ncontemplate Rodin, who thus resumed: \"You are astonished, my dear young\nlady, that you were not understood by your aunt or by Abbe d'Aigrigny!\nWhat point of contact had you with these hypocritical, jealous, crafty\nminds, such as I can judge them to be now? Do you wish a new proof of\ntheir hateful blindness? Among what they called your monstrous follies,\nwhich was the worst, the most damnable? Why, your resolution to live\nalone and in your own way, to dispose freely of the present and the\nfuture. They declared this to be odious, detestable, immoral. And\nyet--was this resolution dictated by a mad love of liberty? no!--by\na disordered aversion to all restraint? no!--by the desire of\nsingularity?--no!--for then I, too, should have blamed you severely.\"\n\n\"Other reasons have indeed guided me, sir, I assure you,\" said Adrienne\neagerly, for she had become very eager for the esteem with which her\ncharacter might inspire Rodin.\n\n\"Oh! I know it well; your motives could only be excellent ones,\" replied\nthe Jesuit. \"Why then did you take this resolution, so much called in\nquestion? Was it to brave established etiquette? no! for you respected\nthem until the hate of Mme. de Saint-Dizier forced you to withdraw\nyourself from her unbearable guardianship. Was it to live alone, to\nescape the eyes of the world? no! you would be a hundred times more open\nto observation in this than any other condition. Was it to make a bad\nuse of your liberty? no, ah, no! those who design evil seek for darkness\nand solitude; while you place yourself right before the jealous\nanal envious eyes of the vulgar crowd. Why then do you take this\ndetermination, so courageous and rare, unexampled in a young person of\nyour age? Shall I tell you, my dear young lady? It is, that you wish to\nprove, by your example, that a woman of pure heart and honest mind, with\na firm character and independence of soul, may nobly and proudly throw\noff the humiliating guardianship that custom has imposed upon her. Yes,\ninstead of accepting the fate of a revolted slave, a life only destined\nto hypocrisy or vice, you wish to live freely in presence of all the\nworld, independent, honorable, and respected. You wish to have, like\nman, the exercise of your own free will, the entire responsibility\nof all your actions, so as to establish the fact, that a woman left\ncompletely to herself, may equal man in reason, wisdom, uprightness, and\nsurpass him indelicacy and dignity. That is your design, my dear young\nlady. It is noble and great. Will your example be imitated? I hope it\nmay; but whether it be so or not, your generous attempt, believe me,\nwill place you in a high and worthy position.\"\n\nMdlle. de Cardoville's eyes shone with a proud and gentle brightness,\nher cheeks were slightly colored, her bosom heaved, she raised her\ncharming head with a movement of involuntary pride; at length completely\nunder the charm of that diabolical man she exclaimed: \"But, sir, who are\nyou that can thus know and analyze my most secret thoughts, and read\nmy soul more clearly than myself, so as to give new life and action to\nthose ideas of independence which have long stirred within me? Who are\nyou, that can thus elevate me in my own eyes, for now I am conscious of\naccomplishing a mission, honorable to myself, and perhaps useful to my\nsisters immersed in slavery? Once again, sir, who are you?\"\n\n\"Who am I, madame?\" answered Rodin, with a smile of the greatest good\nnature; \"I have already told you that I am a poor old man, who for the\nlast forty years, having served in the day time as a writing machine to\nrecord the ideas of others, went home every evening to work out ideas of\nhis own--a good kind of man who, from his garret, watches and even takes\nsome little share in the movement of generous spirits, advancing towards\nan end that is nearer than is commonly thought. And thus, my dear young\nlady, as I told you just now, you and I are both tending towards the\nsame objects, though you may do the same without reflection, and merely\nin obedience to your rare and divine instincts. So continue so to live,\nfair, free, and happy!--it is your mission--more providential than you\nmay think it. Yes; continue to surround yourself with all the marvels of\nluxury and art; refine your senses, purify your tastes, by the exquisite\nchoice of your enjoyments; by genius, grace, and purity raise yourself\nabove the stupid and ill-favored mob of men, that will instantly\nsurround you, when they behold you alone and free; they will consider\nyou an easy prey, destined to please their cupidity, their egotism,\ntheir folly.\n\n\"Laugh at them, and mock these idiotic and sordid pretensions. Be\nthe queen of your own world, and make yourself respected as a queen.\nLove--shine--enjoy--it is your part upon earth. All the flowers, with\nwhich you are whelmed in profusion, will one day bear fruit. You think\nthat you have lived only for pleasure; in reality, you will have lived\nfor the noblest aims that could tempt a great and lofty soul. And\nso--some years hence--we may meet again, perhaps; you, fairer and more\nfollowed than ever; I, older and more obscure. But, no matter--a secret\nvoice, I am sure, says to you at this moment, that between us two,\nhowever different, there exists an invisible bond, a mysterious\ncommunion, which nothing hereafter will ever be able to destroy!\"\n\nHe uttered these final words in a tone of such profound emotion, that\nAdrienne started. Rodin had approached without her perceiving it, and\nwithout, as it were, walking at all, for he dragged his steps along the\nfloor, with a sort of serpent motion; and he had spoken with so much\nwarmth and enthusiasm, that his pale face had become slightly tinged,\nand his repulsive ugliness had almost disappeared before the brilliancy\nof his small sharp eyes, now wide open, and fixed full upon Adrienne.\nThe latter leaned forward, with half-open lips and deep-drawn breath,\nnor could she take her eyes from the Jesuit's; he had ceased to speak,\nand yet she was still listening. The feelings of the fair young lady,\nin presence of this little old man, dirty, ugly, and poor, were\ninexplicable. That comparison so common, and yet so true, of the\nfrightful fascination of the bird by the serpent, might give some idea\nof the singular impression made upon her. Rodin's tactics were skillful\nand sure. Until now, Mdlle. de Cardoville had never analyzed her tastes\nor instincts. She had followed them, because they were inoffensive and\ncharming. How happy and proud she then was sure to be to hear a man of\nsuperior mind not only praise these tendencies, for which she had been\nheretofore so severely blamed, but congratulate her upon them, as upon\nsomething great, noble, and divine! If Rodin had only addressed himself\nto Adrienne's self-conceit, he would have failed in his perfidious\ndesigns, for she had not the least spark of vanity. But he addressed\nhimself to all that was enthusiastic and generous in her heart; that\nwhich he appeared to encourage and admire in her was really worthy of\nencouragement and admiration. How could she fail to be the dupe of such\nlanguage, concealing though it did such dark and fatal projects?\n\nStruck with the Jesuit's rare intelligence, feeling her curiosity\ngreatly excited by some mysterious words that he had purposely uttered,\nhardly explaining to herself the strange influence which this pernicious\ncounsellor already exercised over her, and animated by respectful\ncompassion for a man of his age and talents placed in so precarious a\nposition, Adrienne said to him, with all her natural cordiality, \"A man\nof your merit and character, sir, ought not to be at the mercy of the\ncaprice of circumstances. Some of your words have opened a new horizon\nbefore me; I feel that, on many points, your counsels may be of the\ngreatest use to me. Moreover, in coming to fetch me from this house, and\nin devoting yourself to the service of other persons of my family,\nyou have shown me marks of interest which I cannot forget without\ningratitude. You have lost a humble but secure situation. Permit me--\"\n\n\"Not a word more, my dear young lady,\" said Rodin, interrupting Mdlle.\nde Cardoville, with an air of chagrin. \"I feel for you the deepest\nsympathy; I am honored by having ideas in common with you; I believe\nfirmly that some day you will have to ask advice of the poor old\nphilosopher; and, precisely because of all that, I must and ought to\nmaintain towards you the most complete independence.\"\n\n\"But, sir, it is I that would be the obliged party, if you deigned to\naccept what I offer.\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear young lady,\" said Rodin, with a smile: \"I know that your\ngenerosity would always know how to make gratitude light and easy; but,\nonce more, I cannot accept anything from you. One day, perhaps, you will\nknow why.\"\n\n\"One day?\"\n\n\"It is impossible for me to tell you more. And then, supposing I were\nunder an obligation to you, how could I tell you all that was good and\nbeautiful in your actions? Hereafter, if you are somewhat indebted to\nme for my advice, so much the better; I shall be the more ready to blame\nyou, if I find anything to blame.\"\n\n\"In this way, sir, you would forbid me to be grateful to you.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said Rodin, with apparent emotion. \"Oh, believe me! there will\ncome a solemn moment, in which you may repay all, in a manner worthy of\nyourself and me.\"\n\nThis conversation was here interrupted by the nurse, who said to\nAdrienne as she entered: \"Madame, there is a little humpback workwoman\ndownstairs, who wishes to speak to you. As, according to the doctor's\nnew orders, you are to do as you like, I have come to ask, if I am to\nbring her up to you. She is so badly dressed, that I did not venture.\"\n\n\"Bring her up, by all means,\" said Adrienne, hastily, for she had\nrecognized Mother Bunch by the nurse's description. \"Bring her up\ndirectly.\"\n\n\"The doctor has also left word, that his carriage is to be at your\norders, madame; are the horses to be put to?\"\n\n\"Yes, in a quarter of an hour,\" answered Adrienne to the nurse, who\nwent out; then, addressing Rodin, she continued: \"I do not think the\nmagistrate can now be long, before he returns with Marshal Simon's\ndaughters?\"\n\n\"I think not, my dear young lady; but who is this deformed workwoman?\"\nasked Rodin, with an air of indifference.\n\n\"The adopted sister of a gallant fellow, who risked all in endeavoring\nto rescue me from this house. And, sir,\" said Adrienne, with emotion,\n\"this young workwoman is a rare and excellent creature. Never was\na nobler mind, a more generous heart, concealed beneath an exterior\nless--\"\n\nBut reflecting, that Rodin seemed to unite in his own person the same\nmoral and physical contrasts as the sewing-girl, Adrienne stopped short,\nand then added, with inimitable grace, as she looked at the Jesuit, who\nwas somewhat astonished at the sudden pause: \"No; this noble girl is\nnot the only person who proves how loftiness of soul, and superiority of\nmind, can make us indifferent to the vain advantages which belong\nonly to the accidents of birth or fortune.\" At the moment of Adrienne\nspeaking these last words, Mother Bunch entered the room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVI. SUSPICIONS.\n\nMdlle. de Cardoville sprang hastily to meet the visitor, and said\nto her, in a voice of emotion, as she extended her arms towards her:\n\"Come--come--there is no grating to separate us now!\"\n\nOn this allusion, which reminded her how her poor, laborious hand had\nbeen respectfully kissed by the fair and rich patrician, the young\nworkwoman felt a sentiment of gratitude, which was at once ineffable\nand proud. But, as she hesitated to respond to the cordial reception,\nAdrienne embraced her with touching affection. When Mother Bunch found\nherself clasped in the fair arms of Mdlle. de Cardoville, when she felt\nthe fresh and rosy lips of the young lady fraternally pressed to her own\npale and sickly cheek, she burst into tears without being able to utter\na word. Rodin, retired in a corner of the chamber, locked on this scene\nwith secret uneasiness. Informed of the refusal, so full of dignity,\nwhich Mother Bunch had opposed to the perfidious temptations of the\nsuperior of St. Mary's Convent, and knowing the deep devotion of this\ngenerous creature for Agricola--a devotion which for some days she had\nso bravely extended to Mdlle. de Cardoville--the Jesuit did not like\nto see the latter thus laboring to increase that affection. He thought,\nwisely, that one should never despise friend or enemy, however small\nthey may appear. Now, devotion to Mdlle. de Cardoville constituted an\nenemy in his eyes; and we know, moreover, that Rodin combined in\nhis character rare firmness, with a certain degree of superstitious\nweakness, and he now felt uneasy at the singular impression of fear\nwhich Mother Bunch inspired in him. He determined to recollect this\npresentiment.\n\nDelicate natures sometimes display in the smallest things the most\ncharming instincts of grace and goodness. Thus, when the sewing-girl was\nshedding abundant and sweet tears of gratitude, Adrienne took a richly\nembroidered handkerchief, and dried the pale and melancholy face. This\naction, so simple and spontaneous, spared the work-girl one humiliation;\nfor, alas! humiliation and suffering are the two gulfs, along the edge\nof which misfortune continually passes. Therefore, the least kindness is\nin general a double benefit to the unfortunate. Perhaps the reader may\nsmile in disdain at the puerile circumstance we mention. But poor\nMother Bunch, not venturing to take from her pocket her old ragged\nhandkerchief, would long have remained blinded by her tears, if Mdlle.\nde Cardoville had not come to her aid.\n\n\"Oh! you are so good--so nobly charitable, lady!\" was all that the\nsempstress could say, in a tone of deep emotion; for she was still more\ntouched by the attention of the young lady, than she would perhaps have\nbeen by a service rendered.\n\n\"Look there, sir,\" said Adrienne to Rodin, who drew near hastily.\n\"Yes,\" added the young patrician, proudly, \"I have indeed discovered\na treasure. Look at her, sir; and love her as I love her, honor as I\nhonor. She has one of those hearts for which we are seeking.\"\n\n\"And which, thank heaven, we are still able to find, my dear young\nlady!\" said Rodin, as he bowed to the needle-woman.\n\nThe latter raised her eyes slowly, and locked at the Jesuit. At sight of\nthat cadaverous countenance, which was smiling benignantly upon her, the\nyoung girl started. It was strange! she had never seen this man, and\nyet she felt instantly the same fear and repulsion that he had felt with\nregard to her. Generally timid and confused, the work-girl could not\nwithdraw her eyes from Rodin's; her heart beat violently, as at the\ncoming of some great danger, and, as the excellent creature feared only\nfor those she loved, she approached Adrienne involuntarily, keeping\nher eyes fixed on Rodin. The Jesuit was too good a physiognomist not to\nperceive the formidable impression he had made, and he felt an increase\nof his instinctive aversion for the sempstress. Instead of casting down\nhis eyes, he appeared to examine her with such sustained attention, that\nMdlle. de Cardoville was astonished at it.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, my dear girl,\" said Rodin, as if recalling his\nrecollections, and addressing himself to Mother Bunch, \"I beg your\npardon--but I think--if I am not deceived--did you not go a few days\nsince to St. Mary's Convent, hard by?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"No doubt, it was you. Where then was my head?\" cried Rodin. \"It was\nyou--I should have guessed it sooner.\"\n\n\"Of what do you speak, sir?\" asked Adrienne.\n\n\"Oh! you are right, my dear young lady,\" said Rodin, pointing to the\nhunchback. \"She has indeed a noble heart, such as we seek. If you knew\nwith what dignity, with what courage this poor girl, who was out of work\nand, for her, to want work is to want everything--if you knew, I say,\nwith what dignity she rejected the shameful wages that the superior of\nthe convent was unprincipled enough to offer, on condition of her acting\nas a spy in a family where it was proposed to place her.\"\n\n\"Oh, that is infamous!\" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville, with disgust. \"Such\na proposal to this poor girl--to her!\"\n\n\"Madame,\" said Mother Bunch, bitterly, \"I had no work, I was poor, they\ndid not know me--and they thought they might propose anything to the\nlikes of me.\"\n\n\"And I tell you,\" said Rodin, \"that it was a double baseness on the part\nof the superior, to offer such temptation to misery, and it was doubly\nnoble in you to refuse.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the sewing-girl, with modest embarrassment.\n\n\"Oh! I am not to be intimidated,\" resumed Rod in. \"Praise or blame, I\nspeak out roughly what I think. Ask this dear young lady,\" he added,\nwith a glance at Adrienne. \"I tell you plainly, that I think as well of\nyou as she does herself.\"\n\n\"Believe me, dear,\" said Adrienne, \"there are some sorts of praise which\nhonor, recompense, and encourage; and M. Rodin's is of the number. I\nknow it,--yes, I know it.\"\n\n\"Nay, my dear young lady, you must not ascribe to me all the honor of\nthis judgment.\"\n\n\"How so, sir?\"\n\n\"Is not this dear girl the adopted sister of Agricola Baudoin, the\ngallant workman, the energetic and popular poet? Is not the affection of\nsuch a man the best of guarantees, and does it not enable us to judge,\nas it were, by the label?\" added Rodin, with a smile.\n\n\"You are right, sir,\" said Adrienne; \"for, before knowing this dear\ngirl, I began to feel deeply interested in her, from the day that her\nadopted brother spoke to me about her. He expressed himself with so much\nwarmth, so much enthusiasm, that I at once conceived an esteem for the\nperson capable of inspiring so noble an attachment.\"\n\nThese words of Adrienne, joined to another circumstance, had such\nan effect upon their hearer, that her pale face became crimson. The\nunfortunate hunchback loved Agricola, with love as passionate as it was\nsecret and painful: the most indirect allusion to this fatal sentiment\noccasioned her the most cruel embarrassment. Now, the moment Mdlle. de\nCardoville spoke of Agricola's attachment for Mother Bunch, the latter\nhad encountered Rodin's observing and penetrating look fixed upon her.\nAlone with Adrienne, the sempstress would have felt only a momentary\nconfusion on hearing the name of the smith; but unfortunately she\nfancied that the Jesuit, who already filled her with involuntary fear,\nhad seen into her heart, and read the secrets of that fatal love, of\nwhich she was the victim. Thence the deep blushes of the poor girl, and\nthe embarrassment so painfully visible, that Adrienne was struck with\nit.\n\nA subtle and prompt mind, like Rodin's on perceiving the smallest\neffect, immediately seeks the cause. Proceeding by comparison, the\nJesuit saw on one side a deformed, but intelligent young girl, capable\nof passionate devotion; on the other, a young workman, handsome, bold,\nfrank, and full of talent. \"Brought up together, sympathizing with each\nother on many points, there must be some fraternal affection between\nthem,\" said he to himself; \"but fraternal affection does not blush, and\nthe hunchback blushed and grew troubled beneath my look; does she, then,\nLove Agricola?\"\n\nOnce on the scent of this discovery, Rodin wished to pursue the\ninvestigation. Remarking the surprise and visible uneasiness that Mother\nBunch had caused in Adrienne, he said to the latter, with a smile,\nlooking significantly at the needlewoman: \"You see, my dear young\nlady, how she blushes. The good girl is troubled by what we said of the\nattachment of this gallant workman.\"\n\nThe needlewoman hung down her head, overcome with confusion. After the\npause of a second, during which Rodin preserved silence, so as to give\ntime for his cruel remark to pierce the heart of the victim, the savage\nresumed: \"Look at the dear girl! how embarrassed she appears!\"\n\nAgain, after another silence, perceiving that Mother Bunch from crimson\nhad become deadly pale, and was trembling in all her limbs, the Jesuit\nfeared he had gone too far, whilst Adrienne said to her friend, with\nanxiety: \"Why, dear child, are you so agitated?\"\n\n\"Oh! it is clear enough,\" resumed Rodin, with an air of perfect\nsimplicity; for having discovered what he wished to know, he now chose\nto appear unconscious. \"It is quite clear and plain. This good girl has\nthe modesty of a kind and tender sister for a brother. When you praise\nhim, she fancies that she is herself praised.\"\n\n\"And she is as modest as she is excellent,\" added Adrienne, taking bath\nof the girl's hands, \"the least praise, either of her adopted brother or\nof herself, troubles her in this way. But it is mere childishness, and I\nmust scold her for it.\"\n\nMdlle. de Cardoville spoke sincerely, for the explanation given by Rodin\nappeared to her very plausible. Like all other persons who, dreading\nevery moment the discovery of some painful secret have their courage\nas easily restored as shaken, Mother Bunch persuaded herself (and she\nneeded to do so, to escape dying of shame), that the last words of Rodin\nwere sincere, and that he had no idea of the love she felt for Agricola.\nSo her agony diminished, and she found words to reply to Mdlle. de\nCardoville.\n\n\"Excuse me, madame,\" she said timidly, \"I am so little accustomed to\nsuch kindness as that with which you overwhelm me, that I make a sorry\nreturn for all your goodness.\"\n\n\"Kindness, my poor girl?\" said Adrienne. \"I have done nothing for\nyou yet. But, thank heaven! from this day I shall be able to keep my\npromise, and reward your devotion to me, your courageous resignation,\nyour sacred love of labor, and the dignity of which you have given so\nmany proofs, under the most cruel privations. In a word, from this day,\nif you do not object to it, we will part no more.\"\n\n\"Madame, you are too kind,\" said Mother Bunch, in a trembling voice;\n\"but I--\"\n\n\"Oh! be satisfied,\" said Adrienne, anticipating her meaning. \"If you\naccept my offer, I shall know how to reconcile with my desire (not\na little selfish) of having you near me, the independence of your\ncharacter, your habits of labor, your taste for retirement, and your\nanxiety to devote yourself to those who deserve commiseration; it is,\nI confess, by affording you the means of satisfying these generous\ntendencies, that I hope to seduce and keep you by me.\"\n\n\"But what have I done?\" asked the other, simply, \"to merit any gratitude\nfrom you? Did you not begin, on the contrary, by acting so generously to\nmy adopted brother?\"\n\n\"Oh! I do not speak of gratitude,\" said Adrienne; \"we are quits. I speak\nof friendship and sincere affection, which I now offer you.\"\n\n\"Friendship to me, madame?\"\n\n\"Come, come,\" said Adrienne, with a charming smile, \"do not be proud\nbecause your position gives you the advantage. I have set my heart on\nhaving you for a friend, and you will see that it shall be so. But now\nthat I think of it (a little late, you will say), what good wind brings\nyou hither?\"\n\n\"This morning M. Dagobert received a letter, in which he was requested\nto come to this place, to learn some news that would be of the greatest\ninterest to him. Thinking it concerned Marshal Simon's daughters, he\nsaid to me: 'Mother Bunch, you have taken so much interest in those\ndear children, that you must come with me: you shall witness my joy on\nfinding them, and that will be your reward.'\"\n\nAdrienne glanced at Rodin. The latter made an affirmative movement of\nthe head, and answered: \"Yes, yes, my dear young lady: it was I who\nwrote to the brave soldier, but without signing the letter, or giving\nany explanation. You shall know why.\"\n\n\"Then, my dear girl, why did you come alone?\" said Adrienne.\n\n\"Alas, madame! on arriving here, it was your kind reception that made me\nforget my fears.\"\n\n\"What fears?\" asked Rodin.\n\n\"Knowing that you lived here, madame, I supposed the letter was from\nyou; I told M. Dagobert so, and he thought the same. When we arrived,\nhis impatience was so great, that he asked at the door if the orphans\nwere in this house, and he gave their description. They told him no.\nThen, in spite of my supplications, he insisted on going to the convent\nto inquire about them.\"\n\n\"What imprudence!\" cried Adrienne.\n\n\"After what took place the other night, when he broke in,\" added Rodin,\nshrugging his shoulders.\n\n\"It was in vain to tell him,\" returned Mother Bunch, \"that the letter\ndid not announce positively, that the orphans would be delivered up to\nhim; but that, no doubt, he would gain some information about them. He\nrefused to hear anything, but said to me: 'If I cannot find them, I will\nrejoin you. But they were at the convent the day before yesterday, and\nnow that all is discovered, they cannot refuse to give them up--\"\n\n\"And with such a man there is no disputing!\" said Rodin, with a smile.\n\n\"I hope they will not recognize him!\" said Adrienne, remembering\nBaleinier's threats.\n\n\"It is not likely,\" replied Rodin; \"they will only refuse him\nadmittance. That will be, I hope, the worst misfortune that will happen.\nBesides, the magistrate will soon be here with the girls. I am no longer\nwanted: other cares require my attention. I must seek out Prince Djalma.\nOnly tell me, my dear young lady, where I shall find you, to keep you\ninformed of my discoveries, and to take measures with regard to the\nyoung prince, if my inquiries, as I hope, shall be attended with\nsuccess.\"\n\n\"You will find me in my new house, Rue d'Anjou, formerly Beaulieu House.\nBut now I think of it,\" said Adrienne, suddenly, after some moments of\nreflection, \"it would not be prudent or proper, on many accounts, to\nlodge the Prince Djalma in the pavilion I occupied at Saint-Dizier\nHouse. I saw, some time ago, a charming little house, all furnished and\nready; it only requires some embellishments, that could be completed in\ntwenty four hours, to make it a delightful residence. Yes, that will be\na thousand times preferable,\" added Mdlle. de Cardoville, after a new\ninterval of silence; \"and I shall thus be able to preserve the strictest\nincognito.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried Rodin, whose projects would be much impeded by this new\nresolution of the young lady; \"you do not wish him to know who you are?\"\n\n\"I wish Prince Djalma to know absolutely nothing of the anonymous friend\nwho comes to his aid; I desire that my name should not be pronounced\nbefore him, and that he should not even know of my existence--at\nleast, for the present. Hereafter--in a month, perhaps--I will see;\ncircumstances will guide me.\"\n\n\"But this incognito,\" said Rodin, hiding his disappointment, \"will be\ndifficult to preserve.\"\n\n\"If the prince had inhabited the lodge, I agree with you; the\nneighborhood of my aunt would have enlightened him, and this fear is one\nof the reasons that have induced me to renounce my first project. But\nthe prince will inhabit a distant quarter--the Rue Blanche. Who will\ninform him of my secret? One of my old friends, M. Norval--you, sir--and\nthis dear girl,\" pointing to Mother Bunch, \"on whose discretion I can\ndepend as on your own, will be my only confidants. My secret will then\nbe quite safe. Besides, we will talk further on this subject to-morrow.\nYou must begin by discovering the retreat of this unfortunate young\nprince.\"\n\nRodin, though much vexed at Adrienne's subtle determination with\nregard to Djalma, put the best face on the matter, and replied: \"Your\nintentions shall be scrupulously fulfilled, my dear young lady; and\nto-morrow, with your leave, I hope to give you a good account of what\nyou are pleased to call my providential mission.\"\n\n\"To-morrow, then, I shall expect you with impatience,\" said Adrienne, to\nRodin, affectionately. \"Permit me always to rely upon you, as from this\nday you may count upon me. You must be indulgent with me, sir; for I see\nthat I shall yet have many counsels, many services to ask of you--though\nI already owe you so much.\"\n\n\"You will never owe me enough, my dear young lady, never enough,\"\nsaid Rodin, as he moved discreetly towards the door, after bowing to\nAdrienne. At the very moment he was going out, he found himself face to\nface with Dagobert.\n\n\"Holloa! at last I have caught one!\" shouted the soldier, as he seized\nthe Jesuit by the collar with a vigorous hand.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVII. EXCUSES.\n\nOn seeing Dagobert grasp Rodin so roughly by the collar, Mdlle. de\nCardoville exclaimed in terror, as she advanced several steps towards\nthe soldier: \"In the name of Heaven, sir! what are you doing?\"\n\n\"What am I doing?\" echoed the soldier, harshly, without relaxing his\nhold on Rodin, and turning his head towards Adrienne, whom he did not\nknow; \"I take this opportunity to squeeze the throat of one of the\nwretches in the band of that renegade, until he tells me where my poor\nchildren are.\"\n\n\"You strangle me,\" said the Jesuit, in a stifled voice, as he tried to\nescape from the soldier.\n\n\"Where are the orphans, since they are not here, and the convent door\nhas been closed against me?\" cried Dagobert, in a voice of thunder.\n\n\"Help! help!\" gasped Rodin.\n\n\"Oh! it is dreadful!\" said Adrienne, as, pale and trembling, she held up\nher clasped hands to Dagobert. \"Have mercy, sir! listen to me! listen to\nhim!\"\n\n\"M. Dagobert!\" cried Mother Bunch, seizing with her weak hands the\nsoldier's arm, and showing him Adrienne, \"this is Mdlle. de Cardoville.\nWhat violence in her presence! and then, you are deceived doubtless!\"\n\nAt the name of Mdlle. de Cardoville, the benefactress of his son, the\nsoldier turned round suddenly, and loosened his hold on Rodin. The\nlatter, crimson with rage and suffocation, set about adjusting his\ncollar and his cravat.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, madame,\" said Dagobert, going towards Adrienne, who\nwas still pale with fright; \"I did not known who you were, and the first\nimpulse of anger quite carried me away.\"\n\n\"But what has this gentleman done to you?\" said Adrienne. \"If you had\nlistened to me, you would have learned--\"\n\n\"Excuse me if I interrupt you, madame,\" said the soldier to Adrienne, in\na hollow voice. Then addressing himself to Rodin, who had recovered his\ncoolness, he added: \"Thank the lady, and begone!--If you remain here, I\nwill not answer for myself.\"\n\n\"One word only, my dear sir,\" said Rodin.\n\n\"I tell you that if you remain, I will not answer for myself!\" cried\nDagobert, stamping his foot.\n\n\"But, for heaven's sake, tell me the cause of this anger,\" resumed\nAdrienne; \"above all, do not trust to appearances. Calm yourself, and\nlisten.\"\n\n\"Calm myself, madame!\" cried Dagobert, in despair; \"I can think only of\none thing, ma dame--of the arrival of Marshal Simon--he will be in Paris\nto-day or to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Is it possible?\" said Adrienne. Rodin started with surprise and joy.\n\n\"Yesterday evening,\" proceeded Dagobert, \"I received a letter from the\nmarshal: he has landed at Havre. For three days I have taken step\nafter step, hoping that the orphans would be restored to me, as the\nmachinations of those wretches have failed.\" He pointed to Rodin with a\nnew gesture of impatience. \"Well! it is not so. They are conspiring some\nnew infamy. I am prepared for anything.\"\n\n\"But, sir,\" said Rodin advancing, \"permit me--\"\n\n\"Begone!\" cried Dagobert, whose irritation and anxiety redoubled, as he\nthought how at any moment Marshal Simon might arrive in Paris. \"Begone!\nWere it not for this lady, I would at least be revenged on some one.\"\n\nRodin made a nod of intelligence to Adrienne, whom he approached\nprudently, and, pointing to Dagobert with a gesture of affectionate\ncommiseration, he said to the latter: \"I will leave you, sir, and the\nmore willingly, as I was about to withdraw when you entered.\" Then,\ncoming still closer to Mdlle. de Cardoville, the Jesuit whispered\nto her, \"Poor soldier! he is beside himself with grief, and would be\nincapable of hearing me. Explain it all to him, my dear young lady;\nhe will be nicely caught,\" added he, with a cunning air. \"But in the\nmeantime,\" resumed Rodin, feeling in the side-pocket of his great-coat\nand taking out a small parcel, \"let me beg you to give him this, my dear\nyoung lady. It is my revenge, and a very good one.\"\n\nAnd while Adrienne, holding the little parcel in her hand looked at the\nJesuit with astonishment, the latter laying his forefinger upon his lip,\nas if recommending silence, drew backward on tiptoe to the door, and\nwent out after again pointing to Dagobert with a gesture of pity; while\nthe soldier, in sullen dejection, with his head drooping, and his arms\ncrossed upon his bosom, remained deaf to the sewing-girl's earnest\nconsolations. When Rodin had left the room, Adrienne, approaching the\nsoldier, said to him, in her mild voice, with an expression of deep\ninterest, \"Your sudden entry prevented my asking you a question that\ngreatly concerns me. How is your wound?\"\n\n\"Thank you, madame,\" said Dagobert, starting from his painful lethargy,\n\"it is of no consequence, but I have not time to think of it. I am sorry\nto have been so rough in your presence, and to have driven away that\nwretch; but 'tis more than I could master. At sight of those people, my\nblood is all up.\"\n\n\"And yet, believe me, you have been too hasty in your judgment. The\nperson who was just now here--\"\n\n\"Too hasty, madame! I do not see him to-day for the first time. He was\nwith that renegade the Abbe d'Aigrigny--\"\n\n\"No doubt!--and yet he is an honest and excellent man.\"\n\n\"He!\" cried Dagobert.\n\n\"Yes; for at this moment he is busy about only one thing restoring to\nyou those dear children!\"\n\n\"He!\" repeated Dagobert, as if he could not believe what he heard. \"He\nrestore me my children?\"\n\n\"Yes; and sooner, perhaps, than you think for.\"\n\n\"Madame,\" said Dagobert, abruptly, \"he deceives you. You are the dupe of\nthat old rascal.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Adrienne, shaking her head, with a smile. \"I have proofs of\nhis good faith. First of all, it is he who delivers me from this house.\"\n\n\"Is it true?\" said Dagobert, quite confounded.\n\n\"Very true; and here is, perhaps, something that will reconcile you to\nhim,\" said Adrienne, as she delivered the small parcel which Rodin\nhad given her as he went out. \"Not wishing to exasperate you by his\npresence, he said to me: 'Give this to that brave soldier; it is my\nrevenge.'\"\n\nDagobert looked at Mdlle. de Cardoville with surprise, as he\nmechanically opened the little parcel. When he had unfolded it, and\ndiscovered his own silver cross, black with age, and the old red, faded\nribbon, treasures taken from him at the White Falcon Inn, at the same\ntime as his papers, he exclaimed in a broken voice: \"My cross! my cross!\nIt is my cross!\" In the excitement of his joy, he pressed the silver\nstar to his gray moustache.\n\nAdrienne and the other were deeply affected by the emotion of the old\nsoldier, who continued, as he ran towards the door by which Rodin had\ngone out: \"Next to a service rendered to Marshal Simon, my wife, or son,\nnothing could be more precious to me. And you answer for this worthy\nman, madame, and I have ill used him in your presence! Oh! he is\nentitled to reparation, and he shall have it.\"\n\nSo saying, Dagobert left the room precipitately, hastened through two\nother apartments, gained the staircase, and descending it rapidly,\novertook Rodin on the lowest step.\n\n\"Sir,\" said the soldier to him, in an agitated voice, as he seized him\nby the arm, \"you must come upstairs directly.\"\n\n\"You should make up your mind to one thing or the other, my dear sir,\"\nsaid Rodin, stopping good-naturedly; \"one moment you tell me to begone,\nand the next to return. How are we to decide?\"\n\n\"Just now, sir, I was wrong; and when I am wrong, I acknowledge it.\nI abused and ill-treated you before witnesses; I will make you my\napologies before witnesses.\"\n\n\"But, my dear sir--I am much obliged to you--I am in a hurry.\"\n\n\"I cannot help your being in a hurry. I tell you, I must have you come\nupstairs, directly--or else--or else,\" resumed Dagobert, taking the hand\nof the Jesuit, and pressing it with as much cordiality as emotion, \"or\nelse the happiness you have caused the in returning my cross will not be\ncomplete.\"\n\n\"Well, then, my good friend, let us go up.\"\n\n\"And not only have you restored me my cross, for which I have wept many\ntears, believe me, unknown to any one,\" cried Dagobert, much affected;\n\"but the young lady told me, that, thanks to you, those poor children\nbut tell me--no false joy-is it really true?--My God! is it really\ntrue?\"\n\n\"Ah! ah! Mr. Inquisitive,\" said Rodin, with a cunning smile. Then he\nadded: \"Be perfectly tranquil, my growler; you shall have your two\nangels back again.\" And the Jesuit began to ascend the stairs.\n\n\"Will they be restored to me to-day?\" cried Dagobert, stopping Rodin\nabruptly, by catching hold of his sleeve.\n\n\"Now, really, my good friend,\" said the Jesuit, \"let us come to the\npoint. Are we to go up or down? I do not find fault, but you turn me\nabout like a teetotum.\"\n\n\"You are right. We shall be better able to explain things upstairs. Come\nwith me--quick! quick!\" said Dagobert, as, taking the Jesuit by the arm,\nhe hurried him along, and brought him triumphantly into the room, where\nAdrienne and Mother Bunch had remained in much surprise at the soldier's\nsudden disappearance.\n\n\"Here he is! here he is!\" cried Dagobert, as he entered. \"Luckily, I\ncaught him at the bottom of the stairs.\"\n\n\"And you have made me come up at a fine pace!\" added Rodin, pretty well\nout of breath.\n\n\"Now, sir,\" said Dagobert, in a grave voice, \"I declare, in presence of\nall, that I was wrong to abuse and ill-treat you. I make you my apology\nfor it, sir; and I acknowledge, with joy, that I owe you--much--oh! very\nmuch and when I owe, I pay.\"\n\nSo saying, Dagobert held out his honest hand to Rodin, who pressed it\nin a very affable manner, and replied: \"Now, really--what is all this\nabout? What great service do you speak of?\"\n\n\"This!\" said Dagobert, holding up the cross before Rodin's eyes. \"You do\nnot know, then, what this cross is to me?\"\n\n\"On the contrary, supposing you would set great store by it, I intended\nto have the pleasure of delivering it myself. I had brought it for that\npurpose; but, between ourselves, you gave me so warm a reception, that I\nhad not the time--\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Dagobert, in confusion, \"I assure you that I sincerely\nrepent of what I have done.\"\n\n\"I know it, my good friend; do not say another word about it. You were\nthen much attached to this cross?\"\n\n\"Attached to it, sir!\" cried Dagobert. \"Why, this cross,\" and he kissed\nit as he spoke, \"is my relic. He from whom it came was my saint--my\nhero--and he had touched it with his hand!\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Rodin, feigning to regard the cross with as much curiosity as\nrespectful admiration; \"did Napoleon--the Great Napoleon--indeed touch\nwith his own hand--that victorious hand!--this noble star of honor?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, with his own hand. He placed it there upon my bleeding\nbreast, as a cure for my fifth wound. So that, you see, were I dying of\nhunger, I think I should not hesitate betwixt bread and my cross--that\nI might, in any case, have it on my heart in death. But, enough--enough!\nlet us talk of something else. It is foolish in an old soldier, is it\nnot?\" added Dagobert, drawing his hand across his eyes, and then, as\nif ashamed to deny what he really felt: \"Well, then! yes,\" he resumed,\nraising his head proudly, and no longer seeking to conceal the tears\nthat rolled down his cheek; \"yes, I weep for joy, to have found my\ncross--my cross, that the Emperor gave me with his victorious hand, as\nthis worthy man has called it.\"\n\n\"Then blessed be my poor old hand for having restored you the glorious\ntreasure!\" said Rodin, with emotion. \"In truth,\" he added, \"the day will\nbe a good one for everybody--as I announced to you this morning in my\nletter.\"\n\n\"That letter without a signature?\" asked the soldier, more and more\nastonished. \"Was it from you?\"\n\n\"It was I who wrote it. Only, fearing some new snare of the Abbe\nd'Aigrigny, I did not choose, you understand, to explain myself more\nclearly.\"\n\n\"Then--I shall see--my orphans?\"\n\nRodin nodded affirmatively, with an expression of great good-nature.\n\n\"Presently--perhaps immediately,\" said Adrienne, with smile. \"Well! was\nI right in telling you that you had not judged this gentleman fairly?\"\n\n\"Why did he not tell me this when I came in?\" cried Dagobert, almost\nbeside himself with joy.\n\n\"There was one difficulty in the way, my good friend,\" said Rodin; \"it\nwas, that when you came in, you nearly throttled me.\"\n\n\"True; I was too hasty. Once more, I ask your pardon. But was I to\nblame? I had only seen you with that Abbe d'Aigrigny, and in the first\nmoment--\"\n\n\"This dear young lady,\" said Rodin, bowing to Adrienne, \"will tell you\nthat I have been, without knowing it, the accomplice IN many perfidious\nactions; but as soon as I began to see my way through the darkness, I\nquitted the evil course on which I had entered, and returned to that\nwhich is honest, just and true.\"\n\nAdrienne nodded affirmatively to Dagobert, who appeared to consult her\nlook.\n\n\"If I did not sign the letter that I wrote to you, my good friend, it\nwas partly from fear that my name might inspire suspicion; and if I\nasked you to come hither, instead of to the convent, it was that I had\nsome dread--like this dear young lady--lest you might be recognized by\nthe porter or by the gardener, your affair of the other night rendering\nsuch a recognition somewhat dangerous.\"\n\n\"But M. Baleinier knows all; I forgot that,\" said Adrienne, with\nuneasiness. \"He threatened to denounce M. Dagobert and his son, if I\nmade any complaint.\"\n\n\"Do not be alarmed, my dear young lady; it will soon be for you to\ndictate conditions,\" replied Rodin. \"Leave that to me; and as for you,\nmy good friend, your torments are now finished.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Adrienne, \"an upright and worthy magistrate has gone to the\nconvent, to fetch Marshal Simon's daughters. He will bring them hither;\nbut he thought with me, that it would be most proper for them to take\nup their abode in my house. I cannot, however, come to this decision\nwithout your consent, for it is to you that these orphans were entrusted\nby their mother.\"\n\n\"You wish to take her place with regard to them, madame?\" replied\nDagobert. \"I can only thank you with all my heart, for myself and for\nthe children. But, as the lesson has been a sharp one, I must beg to\nremain at the door of their chamber, night and day. If they go out with\nyou, I must be allowed to follow them at a little distance, so as to\nkeep them in view, just like Spoil-sport, who has proved himself a\nbetter guardian than myself. When the marshal is once here--it will be\nin a day or two--my post will be relieved. Heaven grant it may be soon!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Rodin, in a firm voice, \"heaven grant he may arrive soon,\nfor he will have to demand a terrible reckoning of the Abbe d'Aigrigny,\nfor the persecution of his daughters; and yet the marshal does not know\nall.\"\n\n\"And don't you tremble for the renegade?\" asked Dagobert, as he thought\nhow the marquis would soon find himself face to face with the marshal.\n\n\"I never care for cowards and traitors,\" answered Rodin; \"and when\nMarshal Simon returns--\" Then, after a pause of some seconds, he\ncontinued: \"If he will do me the honor to hear me, he shall be edified\nas to the conduct of the Abbe d'Aigrigny. The marshal knows that his\ndearest friends, as well as himself, have been victims of the hatred of\nthat dangerous man.\"\n\n\"How so?\" said Dagobert.\n\n\"Why, yourself, for instance,\" replied Rodin; \"you are an example of\nwhat I advance.\"\n\n\"Do you think it was mere chance, that brought about the scene at the\nWhite Falcon Inn, near Leipsic?\"\n\n\"Who told you of that scene?\" said Dagobert in astonishment.\n\n\"Where you accepted the challenge of Morok,\" continued the Jesuit,\nwithout answering Dagobert's question, \"and so fell into a trap, or else\nrefused it, and were then arrested for want of papers, and thrown into\nprison as a vagabond, with these poor children. Now, do you know the\nobject of this violence? It was to prevent your being here on the 13th\nof February.\"\n\n\"But the more I hear, sir,\" said Adrienne, \"the more I am alarmed at the\naudacity of the Abbe d'Aigrigny, and the extent of the means he has at\nhis command. Really,\" she resumed, with increasing surprise, \"if your\nwords were not entitled to absolute belief--\"\n\n\"You would doubt their truth, madame?\" said Dagobert. \"It is like me.\nBad as he is. I cannot think that this renegade had relations with a\nwild-beast showman as far off as Saxony; and then, how could he know\nthat I and the children were to pass through Leipsic? It is impossible,\nmy good man.\"\n\n\"In fact, sir,\" resumed Adrienne, \"I fear that you are deceived by your\ndislike (a very legitimate one) of Abbe d'Aigrigny, and that you ascribe\nto him an almost fabulous degree of power and extent of influence.\"\n\nAfter a moment's silence, during which Rodin looked first at Adrienne\nand then at Dagobert, with a kind of pity, he resumed. \"How could\nthe Abbe d'Aigrigny have your cross in his possession, if he had no\nconnection with Morok?\"\n\n\"That is true, sir,\" said Dagobert; \"joy prevented me from reflecting.\nBut how indeed, did my cross come into your hands?\"\n\n\"By means of the Abbe d'Aigrigny's having precisely those relations with\nLeipsic, of which you and the young lady seem to doubt.\"\n\n\"But how did my cross get to Paris?\"\n\n\"Tell me; you were arrested at Leipsic for want of papers--is it not\nso?\"\n\n\"Yes; but I could never understand how my passports and money\ndisappeared from my knapsack. I thought I must have had the misfortune\nto lose them.\"\n\nRodin shrugged his shoulders, and replied: \"You were robbed of them\nat the White Falcon Inn, by Goliath, one of Morok's servants, and the\nlatter sent the papers and the cross to the Abbe d'Aigrigny, to prove\nthat he had succeeded in executing his orders with respect to the\norphans and yourself. It was the day before yesterday, that I obtained\nthe key of that dark machination. Cross and papers were amongst the\nstores of Abbe d'Aigrigny; the papers formed a considerable bundle,\nand he might have missed them; but, hoping to see you this morning, and\nknowing how a soldier of the Empire values his cross, his sacred relic,\nas you call it, my good friend--I did not hesitate. I put the relic into\nmy pocket. 'After all,' said I, 'it is only restitution, and my delicacy\nperhaps exaggerates this breach of trust.'\"\n\n\"You could not have done a better action,\" said Adrienne; \"and, for my\npart, because of the interest I feel for M. Dagobert--I take it as a\npersonal favor. But, sir,\" after a moment's silence, she resumed with\nanxiety: \"What terrible power must be at the command of M. d'Aigrigny,\nfor him to have such extensive and formidable relations in a foreign\ncountry!\"\n\n\"Silence!\" said Rodin, in a low voice, and looking round him with an air\nof alarm. \"Silence! In heaven's name do not ask me about it!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVIII. REVELATIONS.\n\nMdlle. de Cardoville, much astonished at the alarm displayed by Rodin,\nwhen she had asked him for some explanation of the formidable and far\nreaching power of the Abby d'Aigrigny, said to him: \"Why, sir, what is\nthere so strange in the question that I have just asked you?\"\n\nAfter a moment's silence, Rodin cast his looks all around, with well\nfeigned uneasiness, and replied in a whisper: \"Once more, madame, do not\nquestion me on so fearful a subject. The walls of this house may have\nears.\"\n\nAdrienne and Dagobert looked at each other with growing surprise. Mother\nBunch, by an instinct of incredible force, continued to regard Rodin\nwith invincible suspicion. Sometimes she stole a glance at him, as if\ntrying to penetrate the mask of this man, who filled her with fear. At\none moment, the Jesuit encountered her anxious gaze, obstinately fixed\nupon him; immediately he nodded to her with the greatest amenity. The\nyoung girl, alarmed at finding herself observed, turned away with a\nshudder.\n\n\"No, no, my dear young lady,\" resumed Rodin, with a sigh, as he saw\nMdlle. de Cardoville astonished at his silence; \"do not question me on\nthe subject of the Abbe d'Aigrigny's power!\"\n\n\"But, to persist, sir,\" said Adrienne; \"why this hesitation to answer?\nWhat do you fear?\"\n\n\"Ah, my dear young lady,\" said Rodin, shuddering, \"those people are so\npowerful! their animosity is so terrible!\"\n\n\"Be satisfied, sir; I owe you too much, for my support ever to fail\nyou.\"\n\n\"Ah, my dear young lady,\" cried Rodin, as if hurt by the supposition;\n\"think better of me, I entreat you. Is it for myself that I fear?--No,\nno; I am too obscure, too inoffensive; but it is for you, for Marshal\nSimon, for the other members of your family, that all is to be feared.\nOh, my dear young lady! let me beg you to ask no questions. There are\nsecrets which are fatal to those who possess them.\"\n\n\"But, sir, is it not better to know the perils with which one is\nthreatened?\"\n\n\"When you know the manoeuvres of your enemy, you may at least defend\nyourself,\" said Dagobert. \"I prefer an attack in broad daylight to an\nambuscade.\"\n\n\"And I assure you,\" resumed Adrienne, \"the few words you have spoken\ncause me a vague uneasiness.\"\n\n\"Well, if I must, my dear young lady,\" replied the Jesuit, appearing to\nmake a great effort, \"since you do not understand my hints, I will be\nmore explicit; but remember,\" added he, in a deeply serious tone, \"that\nyou have persevered in forcing me to tell you what you had perhaps\nbetter not have known.\"\n\n\"Speak, Sir, I pray you speak,\" said Adrienne.\n\nDrawing about him Adrienne, Dagobert, and Mother Bunch, Rodin said to\nthem in a low voce, and with a mysterious air: \"Have you never heard of\na powerful association, which extends its net over all the earth, and\ncounts its disciples, agents, and fanatics in every class of society\nwhich has had, and often has still, the ear of kings and nobles--which,\nin a word, can raise its creatures to the highest positions, and with a\nword can reduce them again to the nothingness from which it alone could\nuplift them?\"\n\n\"Good heaven, sir!\" said Adrienne, \"what formidable association? Until\nnow I never heard of it.\"\n\n\"I believe you; and yet your ignorance on this subject greatly\nastonishes me, my dear young lady.\"\n\n\"And why should it astonish you?\"\n\n\"Because you lived some time with your aunt, and must have often seen\nthe Abbe d'Aigrigny.\"\n\n\"I lived at the princess's, but not with her; for a thousand reasons she\nhad inspired me with warrantable aversion.\"\n\n\"In truth, my dear young lady, my remark was ill-judged. It was there,\nabove all, and particularly in your presence, that they would keep\nsilence with regard to this association--and yet to it alone did the\nPrincess de Saint-Dizier owe her formidable influence in the world,\nduring the last reign. Well, then; know this--it is the aid of that\nassociation which renders the Abbe d'Aigrigny so dangerous a man.\n\n\"By it he was enabled to follow and to reach divers members of your\nfamily, some in Siberia, some in India, others on the heights of the\nAmerican mountains; but, as I have told you, it was only the day before\nyesterday, and by chance, that, examining the papers of Abbe d'Aigrigny,\nI found the trace of his connection with this Company, of which he is\nthe most active and able chief.\"\n\n\"But the name, sir, the name of this Company?\" said Adrienne.\n\n\"Well! it is--\" but Rodin stopped short.\n\n\"It is,\" repeated Adrienne, who was now as much interested as Dagobert\nand the sempstress; \"it is--\"\n\nRodin looked round him, beckoned all the actors in this scene to draw\nnearer, and said in a whisper, laying great stress upon the words: \"It\nis--the Society of Jesus!\" and he again shuddered.\n\n\"The Jesuits!\" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville, unable to restrain a burst\nof laughter, which was the more buoyant, as, from the mysterious\nprecautions of Rodin, she had expected some very different revelation.\n\"The Jesuits!\" she resumed, still laughing. \"They have no existence,\nexcept in books; they are frightful historical personages, certainly;\nbut why should you put forward Madame de Saint-Dizier and M. d'Aigrigny\nin that character? Such as they are, they have done quite enough to\njustify my aversion and disdain.\"\n\nAfter listening in silence to Mdlle. de Cardoville Rodin continued, with\na grave and agitated air: \"Your blindness frightens me, my dear, young\nlady; the past should have given you some anxiety for the future, since,\nmore than any one, you have already suffered from the fatal influence of\nthis Company, whose existence you regard as a dream!\"\n\n\"I, sir?\" said Adrienne, with a smile, although a little surprised.\n\n\"You.\"\n\n\"Under what circumstances?\"\n\n\"You ask me this question! my dear young lady! you ask me this\nquestion!--and yet you have been confined here as a mad person! Is it\nnot enough to tell you that the master of this house is one of the most\ndevoted lay members of the Company, and therefore the blind instrument\nof the Abbe d'Aigrigny?\"\n\n\"So,\" said Adrienne, this time without smiling, \"Dr. Baleinier\"\n\n\"Obeyed the Abbe d'Aigrigny, the most formidable chief of that\nformidable society. He employs his genius for evil; but I must confess\nhe is a man of genius. Therefore, it is upon him that you and yours must\nfix all your doubts and suspicions; it is against him that you must be\nupon your guard. For, believe me, I know him, and he does not look upon\nthe game as lost. You must be prepared for new attacks, doubtless of\nanother kind, but only the more dangerous on that account--\"\n\n\"Luckily, you give us notice,\" said Dagobert, \"and you will be on our\nside.\"\n\n\"I can do very little, my good friends; but that little is at the\nservice of honest people,\" said Rodin.\n\n\"Now,\" said Adrienne, with a thoughtful air, completely persuaded by\nRodin's air of conviction, \"I can explain the inconceivable influence\nthat my aunt exercised in the world. I ascribed it chiefly to her\nrelations with persons in power; I thought that she, like the Abbe\nd'Aigrigny, was concerned in dark intrigues, for which religion served\nas a veil--but I was far from believing what you tell me.\"\n\n\"How many things you have got to learn!\" resumed Rodin. \"If you knew, my\ndear young lady, with what art these people surround you, without your\nbeing aware of it, by agents devoted to themselves! Every one of your\nsteps is known to them, when they have any interest in such knowledge.\nThus, little by little, they act upon you--slowly, cautiously,\ndarkly. They circumvent you by every possible means, from flattery to\nterror--seduce or frighten, in order at last to rule you, without your\nbeing conscious of their authority. Such is their object, and I must\nconfess they pursue it with detestable ability.\"\n\nRodin had spoken with so much sincerity, that Adrienne trembled; then,\nreproaching herself with these fears, she resumed: \"And yet, no--I can\nnever believe in so infernal a power; the might of priestly ambition\nbelongs to another age. Heaven be praised, it has disappeared forever!\"\n\n\"Yes, certainly, it is out of sight; for they now know how to disperse\nand disappear, when circumstances require it. But then are they the\nmost dangerous; for suspicion is laid asleep, and they keep watch in the\ndark. Oh! my dear young lady, if you knew their frightful ability! In\nmy hatred of all that is oppressive, cowardly, and hypocritical, I had\nstudied the history of that terrible society, before I knew that the\nAbbe d'Aigrigny belonged to it. Oh! it is dreadful. If you knew what\nmeans they employ! When I tell you that, thanks to their diabolical\ndevices, the most pure and devoted appearances often conceal the most\nhorrible snares.\" Rodin's eye rested, as if by chance, on the hunchback;\nbut, seeing that Adrienne did not take the hint, the Jesuit continued:\n\"In a word--are you not exposed to their pursuits?--have they any\ninterest in gaining you over?--oh! from that moment, suspect all that\nsurround you, suspect the most noble attachments, the most tender\naffections, for these monsters sometimes succeed in corrupting your\nbest friends, and making a terrible use of them, in proportion to the\nblindness of your confidence.\"\n\n\"Oh! it is impossible,\" cried Adrienne, in horror. \"You must exaggerate.\nNo! hell itself never dreamed of more frightful treachery!\"\n\n\"Alas, my dear young lady! one of your relations, M. Hardy--the most\nloyal and generous-hearted man that could be--has been the victim of\nsome such infamous treachery. Do you know what we learned from the\nreading of your ancestor's will? Why, that he died the victim of the\nmalevolence of these people; and now, at the lapse of a hundred and\nfifty years, his descendants are still exposed to the hate of that\nindestructible society.\"\n\n\"Oh, sir! it terrifies me,\" said Adrienne, feeling her heart sink within\nher. \"But are there no weapons against such attacks?\"\n\n\"Prudence, my dear young lady--the most watchful caution--the most\nincessant study and suspicion of all that approach you.\"\n\n\"But such a life would be frightful! It is a torture to be the victim of\ncontinual suspicions, doubts, and fears.\"\n\n\"Without doubt! They know it well, the wretches! That constitutes their\nstrength. They often triumph by the very excess of the precautions\ntaken against them. Thus, my dear young lady, and you, brave and worthy\nsoldier, in the name of all that is dear to you, be on your guard, and\ndo not lightly impart your confidence. Be on your guard, for you have\nnearly fallen the victims of those people. They will always be your\nimplacable enemies. And you, also, poor, interesting girl!\" added the\nJesuit, speaking to Mother Bunch, \"follow my advice--fear these people.\nSleep, as the proverb says, with one eye open.\"\n\n\"I, sir!\" said the work-girl. \"What have I done? what have I to fear?\"\n\n\"What have you done? Dear me! Do not you tenderly love this young lady,\nyour protectress? have you not attempted to assist her? Are you not the\nadopted sister of the son of this intrepid soldier, the brave Agricola!\nAlas, poor, girl! are not these sufficient claims to their hatred, in\nspite of your obscurity? Nay, my dear young lady! do not think that I\nexaggerate. Reflect! only reflect! Think what I have just said to\nthe faithful companion-in-arms of Marshal Simon, with regard to his\nimprisonment at Leipsic. Think what happened to yourself, when, against\nall law and reason, you were brought hither. Then you will see, that\nthere is nothing exaggerated in the picture I have drawn of the secret\npower of this Company. Be always on your guard, and, in doubtful cases,\ndo not fear to apply to me. In three days, I have learned enough by my\nown experience, with regard to their manner of acting, to be able to\npoint out to you many a snare, device, and danger, and to protect you\nfrom them.\"\n\n\"In any such case, sir,\" replied Mdlle. de Cardoville, \"my interests, as\nwell as gratitude, would point to you as my best counsellor.\"\n\nAccording to the skillful tactics of the sons of Loyola, who sometimes\ndeny their own existence, in order to escape from an adversary--and\nsometimes proclaim with audacity the living power of their organization,\nin order to intimidate the feeble-R-odin had laughed in the face of the\nbailiff of Cardoville, when the latter had spoken of the existence of\nthe Jesuits; while now, at this moment, picturing their means of action,\nhe endeavored, and he succeeded in the endeavor, to impregnate the mind\nof Mdlle. de Cardoville with some germs of doubt, which were gradually\nto develop themselves by reflection, and serve hereafter the dark\nprojects that he meditated. Mother Bunch still felt considerable alarm\nwith regard to Rodin. Yet, since she had heard the fatal powers of the\nformidable Order revealed to Adrienne, the young sempstress, far from\nsuspecting the Jesuit of having the audacity to speak thus of a society\nof which he was himself a member, felt grateful to him, in spite of\nherself, for the important advice that he had just given her patroness.\nThe side-glance which she now cast upon him (which Rodin also detected,\nfor he watched the young girl with sustained attention), was full\nof gratitude, mingled with surprise. Guessing the nature of this\nimpression, and wishing entirely to remove her unfavorable opinion, and\nalso to anticipate a revelation which would be made sooner or later,\nthe Jesuit appeared to have forgotten something of great importance,\nand exclaimed, striking his forehead: \"What was I thinking of?\" Then,\nspeaking to Mother Bunch, he added: \"Do you know where your sister is,\nmy dear girl?\" Disconcerted and saddened by this unexpected question,\nthe workwoman answered with a blush, for she remembered her last\ninterview with the brilliant Bacchanal Queen: \"I have not seen my sister\nfor some days, sir.\"\n\n\"Well, my dear girl, she is not very comfortable,\" said Rodin; \"I\npromised one of her friends to send her some little assistance. I have\napplied to a charitable person, and that is what I received for her.\"\nSo saying, he drew from his pocket a sealed roll of coin, which he\ndelivered to Mother Bunch, who was now both surprised and affected.\n\n\"You have a sister in trouble, and I know nothing of it?\" said Adrienne,\nhastily. \"This is not right of you, my child!\"\n\n\"Do not blame her,\" said Rodin. \"First of all, she did not know that her\nsister was in distress, and, secondly, she could not ask you, my dear\nyoung lady, to interest yourself about her.\"\n\nAs Mdlle. de Cardoville looked at Rodin with astonishment, he added,\nagain speaking to the hunchback: \"Is not that true, my dear girl!\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" said the sempstress, casting down her eyes and blushing.\nThen she added, hastily and anxiously: \"But when did you see my sister,\nsir? where is she? how did she fall into distress?\"\n\n\"All that would take too long to tell you, my dear girl; but go as soon\nas possible to the greengrocer's in the Rue Clovis, and ask to speak to\nyour sister as from M. Charlemagne or M. Rodin, which you please, for\nI am equally well known in that house by my Christian name as by my\nsurname, and then you will learn all about it. Only tell your sister,\nthat, if she behaves well, and keeps to her good resolutions, there are\nsome who will continue to look after her.\"\n\nMore and more surprised, Mother Bunch was about to answer Rodin, when\nthe door opened, and M. de Gernande entered. The countenance of the\nmagistrate was grave and sad.\n\n\"Marshal Simon's daughters!\" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville.\n\n\"Unfortunately, they are not with me,\" answered the judge.\n\n\"Then, where are they, sir? What have they done with them? The day\nbefore yesterday, they were in the convent!\" cried Dagobert, overwhelmed\nby this complete destruction of his hopes.\n\nHardly had the soldier pronounced these words, when, profiting by\nthe impulse which gathered all the actors in this scene about the\nmagistrate, Rodin withdrew discreetly towards the door, and disappeared\nwithout any one perceiving his absence. Whilst the soldier, thus\nsuddenly thrown back to the depths of his despair, looked at M. de\nGernande, waiting with anxiety for the answer, Adrienne said to the\nmagistrate: \"But, sir, when you applied at the convent, what explanation\ndid the superior give on the subject of these young girls?\"\n\n\"The lady superior refused to give any explanation, madame. 'You\npretend,' said she, 'that the young persons of whom you speak are\ndetained here against their will. Since the law gives you the right of\nentering this house, make your search.' 'But, madame, please to answer\nme positively,' said I to the superior; 'do you declare, that you know\nnothing of the young girls, whom I have come to claim?' 'I have nothing\nto say on this subject, sir. You assert, that you are authorized to\nmake a search: make it.' Not being able to get any other explanation,\"\ncontinued the magistrate, \"I searched all parts of the convent, and had\nevery door opened--but, unfortunately, I could find no trace of these\nyoung ladies.\"\n\n\"They must have sent them elsewhere,\" cried Dagobert; \"who\nknows?--perhaps, ill. They will kill them--O God! they will kill them!\"\ncried he, in a heart-rending tone.\n\n\"After such a refusal, what is to be done? Pray, sir, give us your\nadvice; you are our providence,\" said Adrienne, turning to speak to\nRodin, who she fancied was behind her. \"What is your--\"\n\nThen, perceiving that the Jesuit had suddenly disappeared, she said to\nMother Bunch, with uneasiness: \"Where is M. Rodin?\"\n\n\"I do not know, madame,\" answered the girl, looking round her; \"he is no\nlonger here.\"\n\n\"It is strange,\" said Adrienne, \"to disappear so abruptly!\"\n\n\"I told you he was a traitor!\" cried Dagobert, stamping with rage; \"they\nare all in a plot together.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said Mdlle. de Cardoville; \"do not think that. But the\nabsence is not the less to be regretted, for, under these difficult\ncircumstances, he might have given us very useful information, thanks to\nthe position he occupied at M. d'Aigrigny's.\"\n\n\"I confess, madame, that I rather reckoned upon it,\" said M. de\nGernande; \"and I returned hither, not only to inform you of the\nfruitless result of my search, but also to seek from the upright and\nhonorable roan, who so courageously unveiled these odious machinations,\nthe aid of his counsels in this contingency.\"\n\nStrangely enough, for the last few moments Dagobert was so completely\nabsorbed in thought, that he paid no attention to the words of the\nmagistrate, however important to him. He did not even perceive the\ndeparture of M. de Gernande, who retired after promising Adrienne that\nhe would neglect no means to arrive at the truth, in regard to the\ndisappearance of the orphans. Uneasy at this silence, wishing to quit\nthe house immediately, and induce Dagobert to accompany her, Adrienne,\nafter exchanging a rapid glance with Mother Bunch, was advancing towards\nthe soldier, when hasty steps were heard from without the chamber, and a\nmanly sonorous voice, exclaiming with impatience, \"Where is he--where is\nhe?\"\n\nAt the sound of this voice, Dagobert seemed to rouse himself with a\nstart, made a sudden bound, and with a loud cry, rushed towards the\ndoor. It opened. Marshal Simon appeared on the threshold!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIX. PIERRE SIMON.\n\nMarshal Pierre Simon, Duke de Ligny, was a man of tall stature, plainly\ndressed in a blue frock-coat, buttoned up to the throat, with a red\nribbon tied to the top buttonhole. You could not have wished to see\na more frank, honest, and chivalrous cast of countenance than the\nmarshal's. He had a broad forehead, an aquiline nose, a well formed\nchin, and a complexion bronzed by exposure to the Indian sun. His hair,\ncut very short, was inclined to gray about the temples; but his eyebrows\nwere still as black as his large, hanging moustache. His walk was free\nand bold, and his decided movements showed his military impetuosity. A\nman of the people, a man of war and action, the frank cordiality of\nhis address invited friendliness and sympathy. As enlightened as he was\nintrepid as generous as he was sincere, his manly, plebeian pride was\nthe most remarkable part of his character. As others are proud of their\nhigh birth, so was he of his obscure origin, because it was ennobled by\nthe fine qualities of his father, the rigid republican, the intelligent\nand laborious artisan, who, for the space of forty years, had been the\nexample and the glory of his fellow-workmen. In accepting with gratitude\nthe aristocratic title which the Emperor had bestowed upon him, Pierre\nSimon acted with that delicacy which receives from a friendly hand a\nperfectly useless gift, and estimates it according to the intention of\nthe giver. The religious veneration of Pierre Simon for the Emperor had\nnever been blind; in proportion as his devotion and love for his idol\nwere instructive and necessary, his admiration was serious, and founded\nupon reason. Far from resembling those swashbucklers who love fighting\nfor its own sake, Marshal Simon not only admired his hero as the\ngreatest captain in the world, but he admired him, above all, because he\nknew that the Emperor had only accepted war in the hope of one day being\nable to dictate universal peace; for if peace obtained by glory and\nstrength is great, fruitful, and magnificent, peace yielded by weakness\nand cowardice is sterile, disastrous, and dishonoring. The son of a\nworkman, Pierre Simon still further admired the Emperor, because that\nimperial parvenu had always known how to make that popular heart beat\nnobly, and, remembering the people, from the masses of whom he first\narose, had invited them fraternally to share in regal and aristocratic\npomp.\n\nWhen Marshal Simon entered the room, his countenance was much agitated.\nAt sight of Dagobert, a flash of joy illumined his features; he rushed\ntowards the soldier, extending his arms, and exclaimed, \"My friend! my\nold friend!\"\n\nDagobert answered this affectionate salute with silent emotion. Then the\nmarshal, disengaging himself from his arms, and fixing his moist eyes\nupon him, said to him in so agitated a voice that his lips trembled,\n\"Well, didst arrive in time for the 13th of February?\"\n\n\"Yes, general; but everything is postponed for four months.\"\n\n\"And--my wife?--my child?\" At this question Dagobert shuddered, hung\ndown his head, and was silent.\n\n\"They are not, then, here?\" asked Simon, with more surprise than\nuneasiness. \"They told me they were not at your house, but that I should\nfind you here--and I came immediately. Are they not with you?\"\n\n\"General,\" said Dagobert, becoming deadly pale; \"general--\" Drying\nthe drops of cold sweat that stood upon his forehead, he was unable to\narticulate a word, for his voice was checked in his parched throat.\n\n\"You frighten me!\" exclaimed Pierre Simon, becoming pale as the soldier,\nand seizing him by the arm.\n\nAt this, Adrienne advanced, with a countenance full of grief and\nsympathy; seeing the cruel embarrassment of Dagobert, she wished to come\nto his assistance, and she said to Pierre Simon, in a mild but agitated\nvoice, \"Marshal, I am Mdlle. de Cardoville--a relation of your dear\nchildren.\"\n\nPierre Simon turned around suddenly, as much struck with the dazzling\nbeauty of Adrienne as with the words she had just pronounced. He\nstammered out in his surprise, \"You, madame--a relation--of my\nchildren!\"\n\nHe laid a stress on the last words, and looked at Dagobert in a kind of\nstupor.\n\n\"Yes, marshal your children,\" hastily replied Adrienne; \"and the love of\nthose charming twin sisters--\"\n\n\"Twin sisters!\" cried Pierre Simon, interrupting Mdlle. de Cardoville,\nwith an outburst of joy impossible to describe. \"Two daughters instead\nof one! Oh! what happiness for their mother! Pardon me, madame, for\nbeing so impolite,\" he continued; \"and so little grateful for what you\ntell me. But you will understand it; I have been seventeen years without\nseeing my wife; I come, and I find three loved beings, instead of two.\nThanks, madame: would I could express all the gratitude I owe you! You\nare our relation; this is no doubt your house; my wife and children\nare with you. Is it so? You think that my sudden appearance might be\nprejudicial to them? I will wait--but madame, you, that I am certain\nare good as fair--pity my impatience--will make haste to prepare them to\nreceive me--\"\n\nMore and more agitated, Dagobert avoided the marshal's gaze, and\ntrembled like a leaf. Adrienne cast down her eyes without answering.\nHer heart sunk within her, at thought of dealing the terrible blow to\nMarshal Simon.\n\nThe latter, astonished at this silence, looking at Adrienne, then at\nthe soldier, became first uneasy, and at last alarmed. \"Dagobert!\" he\nexclaimed, \"something is concealed from me!\"\n\n\"General!\" stammered the soldier, \"I assure you--I--I--.\"\n\n\"Madame!\" cried Pierre Simon, \"I conjure you, in pity, speak to me\nfrankly!--my anxiety is horrible. My first fears return upon me. What\nis it? Are my wife and daughters ill? Are they in danger? Oh! speak!\nspeak!\"\n\n\"Your daughters, marshal,\" said Adrienne \"have been rather unwell, since\ntheir long journey--but they are in no danger.\"\n\n\"Oh, heaven! it is my wife!\"\n\n\"Have courage, sir!\" said Mdlle. de Cardoville, sadly. \"Alas! you must\nseek consolation in the affection of the two angels that remain to you.\"\n\n\"General!\" said Dagobert, in a firm grave tone, \"I returned from\nSiberia--alone with your two daughters.\"\n\n\"And their mother! their mother!\" cried Simon, in a voice of despair.\n\n\"I set out with the two orphans the day after her death,\" said the\nsoldier.\n\n\"Dead?\" exclaimed Pierre Simon, overwhelmed by the stroke; \"dead?\" A\nmournful silence was the only answer. The marshal staggered beneath this\nunexpected shock, leaned on the back of a chair for support, and then,\nsinking into the seat, concealed his face with his hands. For same\nminutes nothing was heard but stifled sobs, for not only had Pierre\nSimon idolized his wife, but by one of those singular compromises, that\na man long cruelly tried sometimes makes with destiny, Pierre Simon,\nwith the fatalism of loving souls, thought he had a right to reckon upon\nhappiness after so many years of suffering, and had not for a moment\ndoubted that he should find his wife and child--a double consolation\nreserved to him after going through so much. Very different from certain\npeople, whom the habit of misfortune renders less exacting, Simon had\nreckoned upon happiness as complete as had been his misery. His wife and\nchild were the sole, indispensable conditions of this felicity, and, had\nthe mother survived her daughters, she would have no more replaced them\nin his eyes than they did her. Weakness or avarice of the heart, so it\nwas; we insist upon this singularity, because the consequences of these\nincessant and painful regrets exercised a great influence on the\nfuture life of Marshal Simon. Adrienne and Dagobert had respected the\noverwhelming grief of this unfortunate man. When he had given a free\ncourse to his tears, he raised his manly countenance, now of marble\npaleness, drew his hand across his blood-shot eyes, rose, and said to\nAdrienne, \"Pardon me, madame; I could not conquer my first emotion.\nPermit me to retire. I have cruel details to ask of the worthy friend\nwho only quitted my wife at the last moment. Have the kindness to let\nme see my children--my poor orphans!--\" And the marshal's voice again\nbroke.\n\n\"Marshal,\" said Mdlle. de Cardoville, \"just now we were expecting your\ndear children: unfortunately, we have been deceived in our hopes.\"\nPierre Simon first looked at Adrienne without answering, as if he had\nnot heard or understood.--\"But console yourself,\" resumed the young\ngirl; \"we have yet no reason to despair.\"\n\n\"To despair?\" repeated the marshaling by turns at Mdlle. de Cardoville\ndespair?--\"of what, in heaven's name?\"\n\n\"Of seeing your children, marshal,\" said Adrienne; \"the presence of\ntheir father will facilitate the search.\"\n\n\"The search!\" cried Pierre Simon. \"Then, my daughters are not here?\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" said Adrienne, at length; \"they have been taken from the\naffectionate care of the excellent man who brought them from Russia, to\nbe removed to a convent.\"\n\n\"Wretch!\" cried Pierre Simon, advancing towards Dagobert, with a\nmenacing and terrible aspect; \"you shall answer to me for all!\"\n\n\"Oh, sir, do not blame him!\" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville.\n\n\"General,\" said Dagobert, in a tone of mournful resignation, \"I merit\nyour anger. It is my fault. Forced to absent myself from Paris, I\nentrusted the children to my wife; her confessor turned her head, and\npersuaded her that your daughters would be better in a convent than at\nour house. She believed him, and let them be conveyed there. Now they\nsay at the convent, that they do not know where they are. This is the\ntruth: do what you will with me; I have only to silently endure.\"\n\n\"This is infamous!\" cried Pierre Simon, pointing to Dagobert, with a\ngesture of despairing indignation. \"In whom can a man confide, if he has\ndeceived me? Oh, my God!\"\n\n\"Stay, marshal! do not blame him,\" repeated Mdlle. de Cardoville; \"do\nnot think so! He has risked life and honor to rescue your children from\nthe convent. He is not the only one who has failed in this attempt. Just\nnow, a magistrate--despite his character and authority--was not more\nsuccessful. His firmness towards the superior, his minute search of the\nconvent, were all in vain. Up to this time it has been impossible to\nfind these unfortunate children.\"\n\n\"But where's this convent!\" cried Marshal Simon, raising his head, his\nface all pale and agitated with grief and rage. \"Where is it? Do these\nvermin know what a father is, deprived of his children?\" At the moment\nwhen Marshal Simon, turning towards Dagobert, pronounced these words,\nRodin, holding Rose and Blanche by the hand, appeared at the open door\nof the chamber. On hearing the marshal's exclamation, he started with\nsurprise, and a flash of diabolical joy lit up his grim countenance--for\nhe had not expected to meet Pierre Simon so opportunely.\n\nMdlle. de Cardoville was the first to perceive the presence of Rodin.\nShe exclaimed, as she hastened towards him: \"Oh! I was not deceived. He\nis still our providence.\"\n\n\"My poor children!\" said Rodin, in a low voice, to the young girls, as\nhe pointed to Pierre Simon, \"this is your father!\"\n\n\"Sir!\" cried Adrienne, following close upon Rose and Blanche. \"Your\nchildren are here!\"\n\nAs Simon turned round abruptly, his two daughters threw themselves into\nhis arms. Here was a long silence, broken only by sobs, and kisses, and\nexclamations of joy.\n\n\"Come forward, at least, and enjoy the good you have done!\" said Mdlle.\nde Cardoville, drying her eyes, and turning towards Rodin, who, leaning\nagainst the door, seemed to contemplate this scene with deep emotion.\n\nDagobert, at sight of Rodin bringing back the children, was at first\nstruck with stupor, and unable to move a step; but hearing the words of\nAdrienne, and yielding to a burst of almost insane gratitude, he threw\nhimself on his knees before the Jesuit, joined his hands together, and\nexclaimed in a broken voice: \"You have saved me, by bringing back these\nchildren.\"\n\n\"Oh, bless you, sir!\" said Mother Bunch, yielding to the general\ncurrent.\n\n\"My good friends, this is too much,\" said Rodin, as if his emotions were\nbeyond his strength; \"this is really too much for me. Excuse me to the\nmarshal, and tell him that I am repaid by the sight of his happiness.\"\n\n\"Pray, sir,\" said Adrienne, \"let the marshal at least have the\nopportunity to see and know you.\"\n\n\"Oh, remain! you that have saved us all!\" cried Dagobert, trying to stop\nRodin.\n\n\"Providence, you know, my dear young lady, does not trouble itself about\nthe good that is done, but the good that remains to do,\" said Rodin,\nwith an accent of playful kindness. \"Must I not think of Prince Djalma?\nMy task is not finished, and moments are precious. Come,\" he added,\ndisengaging himself gently from Dagobert's hold, \"come the day has been\nas good a one as I had hoped.. The Abbe d'Aigrigny is unmasked; you\nare free, my dear young lady; you have recovered your cross, my brave\nsoldier; Mother Bunch is sure of a protectress; the marshal has found\nhis children. I have my share in all these joys, it is a full share--my\nheart is satisfied. Adieu, my friends, till we meet again.\" So saying,\nRodin waved his hand affectionately to Adrienne, Dagobert, and the\nhunchback, and withdrew, waving his hand with a look of delight on\nMarshal Simon, who, seated between his daughters, held them in his arms,\nand covered them with tears and kisses, remaining quite indifferent to\nall that was passing around him.\n\nAn hour after this scene, Mdlle. de Cardoville and the sempstress,\nMarshal Simon, his two daughters and Dagobert quitted Dr. Beleinier's\nasylum.\n\nIn terminating this episode, a few words by way of moral, with regard to\nlunatic asylums and convents may not be out of place. We have said, and\nwe repeat, that the laws which apply to the superintendence of lunatic\nasylums appear to us insufficient. Facts that have recently transpired\nbefore the courts, and other facts that have been privately communicated\nto us, evidently prove this insufficiency. Doubtless, magistrates have\nfull power to visit lunatic asylums. They are even required to make\nsuch visits. But we know, from the best authority, that the numerous\nand pressing occupations of magistrates, whose number is often out of\nproportion with the labor imposed upon them, render these inspections so\nrare, that they are, so to speak, illusory. It appears, therefore, to us\nadvisable to institute a system of inspections, at least twice a month,\nespecially designed for lunatic asylums, and entrusted to a physician\nand a magistrate, so that every complaint may be submitted to a double\nexamination. Doubtless, the law is sufficient when its ministers are\nfully informed; but how many formalities, how many difficulties must be\ngone through, before they can be so, particularly when the unfortunate\ncreature who needs their assistance, already suspected, isolated, and\nimprisoned, has no friend to come forward in defence, and demand, in his\nor her name, the protection of the authorities! Is it not imperative,\ntherefore, on the civil power, to meet these necessities by a periodical\nand well-organized system of inspection?\n\nWhat we here say of lunatic asylums will apply with still greater force\nto convents for women, seminaries, and houses inhabited by religious\nbodies. Recent and notorious facts, with which all France has rung,\nhave, unfortunately, proved that violence, forcible detention, barbarous\nusage, abduction of minors, and illegal imprisonment, accompanied by\ntorture, are occurrences which, if not frequent, are at least possible\nin religious houses. It required singular accidents, audacious and\ncynical brutalities; to bring these detestable actions to public\nknowledge. How many other victims have been, and, perhaps still are,\nentombed in those large silent mansions, where no profane look may\npenetrate, and which, through the privileges of the clergy, escape the\nsuperintendence of the civil power. Is it not deplorable that these\ndwellings should not also be subject to periodical inspection, by\nvisitors consisting, if it be desired, of a priest, a magistrate, and\nsome delegate of the municipal authorities? If nothing takes place, but\nwhat is legal, human, and charitable, in these establishments, which\nhave all the character, and incur all the responsibility, of public\ninstitutions, why this resistance, this furious indignation of the\nchurch party, when any mention is made of touching what they call their\nprivileges? There is something higher than the constitutions devised\nat Rome. We mean the Law of France--the common law--which grants to all\nprotection, but which, in return, exacts from all respect and obedience.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VII.\n\n     XL. The East Indian in Paris XLI. Rising XLII. Doubts XLIII.\n     The Letter XLIV. Adrienne and Djalma XLV. The Consultation\n     XLVI. Mother Bunch's Diary XLVII. The Diary Continued\n     XLVIII. The Discovery XLIX. The Trysting-Place of the Wolves\n     L. The Common Dwelling-House LI. The Secret LII. Revelations\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XL. THE EAST INDIAN IN PARIS.\n\nSince three days, Mdlle. de Cardoville had left Dr. Baleinier's. The\nfollowing scene took place in a little dwelling in the Rue Blanche, to\nwhich Djalma had been conducted in the name of his unknown protector.\nFancy to yourself a pretty, circular apartment, hung with Indian\ndrapery, with purple figures on a gray ground, just relieved by a\nfew threads of gold. The ceiling, towards the centre, is concealed by\nsimilar hangings, tied together by a thick, silken cord; the two ends\nof this cord, unequal in length, terminated, instead of tassels, in two\ntiny Indian lamps of gold filigreed-work, marvellously finished. By one\nof those ingenious combinations, so common in barbarous countries,\nthese lamps served also to burn perfumes. Plates of blue crystal, let\nin between the openings of the arabesque, and illumined by the interior\nlight, shone with so limpid an azure, that the golden lamps seemed\nstarred with transparent sapphires. Light clouds, of whitish vapor rose\nincessantly from these lamps, and spread all around their balmy odor.\n\nDaylight was only admitted to this room (it was about two o'clock in the\nafternoon) through a little greenhouse, on the other side of a door of\nplate-glass, made to slide into the thickness of the wall, by means of a\ngroove. A Chinese shade was arranged so as to hide or replace this\nglass at pleasure. Some dwarf palm tress, plantains, and other Indian\nproductions, with thick leaves of a metallic green, arranged in clusters\nin this conservatory, formed, as it were, the background to two large\nvariegated bushes of exotic flowers, which were separated by a narrow\npath, paved with yellow and blue Japanese tiles, running to the foot of\nthe glass. The daylight, already much dimmed by the leaves through which\nit passed, took a hue of singular mildness as it mingled with the azure\nlustre of the perfumed lamps, and the crimson brightness of the fire\nin the tall chimney of oriental porphyry. In the obscurity of this\napartment, impregnated with sweet odors and the aromatic vapor of\nPersian tobacco, a man with brown, hanging locks, dressed in a long robe\nof dark green, fastened round the waist by a parti-colored sash, was\nkneeling upon a magnificent Turkey carpet, filling the golden bowl of\na hookah; the long, flexible tube of this pipe, after rolling its folds\nupon the carpet, like a scarlet serpent with silver scales, rested\nbetween the slender fingers of Djalma, who was reclining negligently on\na divan. The young prince was bareheaded; his jet-black hair, parted on\nthe middle of his forehead, streamed waving about his face and neck of\nantique beauty--their warm transparent colors resembling amber or topaz.\nLeaning his elbow on a cushion, he supported his chin with the palm of\nhis right hand. The flowing sleeve of his robe, falling back from his\narm, which was round as that of a woman, revealed mysterious signs\nformerly tattooed there in India by a Thug's needle. The son of\nRadja-sing held in his left hand the amber mouthpiece of his pipe. His\nrobe of magnificent cashmere, with a border of a thousand hues, reaching\nto his knee, was fastened about his slim and well-formed figure by the\nlarge folds of an orange-colored shawl. This robe was half withdrawn\nfrom one of the elegant legs of this Asiatic Antinous, clad in a kind\nof very close fitting gaiter of crimson velvet, embroidered with silver,\nand terminating in a small white morocco slipper, with a scarlet heel.\nAt once mild and manly, the countenance of Djalma was expressive of that\nmelancholy and contemplative calmness habitual to the Indian and the\nArab, who possess the happy privilege of uniting, by a rare combination,\nthe meditative indolence of the dreamer with the fiery energy of the\nman of action--now delicate, nervous, impressionable as women--now\ndetermined, ferocious, and sanguinary as bandits.\n\nAnd this semi-feminine comparison, applicable to the moral nature of the\nArab and the Indian, so long as they are not carried away by the ardor\nof battle and the excitement of carnage, is almost equally applicable to\ntheir physical constitution; for if, like women of good blood, they have\nsmall extremities, slender limbs, fine and supple forms, this delicate\nand often charming exterior always covers muscles of steel, full of an\nelasticity, and vigor truly masculine. Djalma's oblong eyes, like black\ndiamonds set in bluish mother-of-pearl, wandered mechanically from the\nexotic flowers to the ceiling; from time to time he raised the amber\nmouthpiece of the hookah to his lips; then, after a slow aspiration,\nhalf opening his rosy lips, strongly contrasted with the shining enamel\nof his teeth, he sent forth a little spiral line of smoke, freshly\nscented by the rose-water through which it had passed.\n\n\"Shall I put more tobacco in the hookah?\" said the kneeling figure,\nturning towards Djalma, and revealing the marked and sinister features\nof Faringhea the Strangler.\n\nThe young prince remained dumb, either that, from an oriental contempt\nfor certain races, he disdained to answer the half-caste, or that,\nabsorbed in his reverie, he did not even hear him. The Strangler became\nagain silent; crouching cross-legged upon the carpet, with his elbows\nresting on his knees, and his chin upon his hands, he kept his eyes\nfixed on Djalma, and seemed to await the reply or the orders of him\nwhose sire had been surnamed the Father of the Generous. How had\nFaringhea, the sanguinary worshipper of Bowanee, the Divinity of Murder,\nbeen brought to seek or to accept such humble functions? How came this\nman, possessed of no vulgar talents, whose passionate eloquence and\nferocious energy had recruited many assassins for the service of the\nGood Work, to resign himself to so base a condition? Why, too, had\nthis man, who, profiting by the young prince's blindness with regard\nto himself, might have so easily sacrificed him as an offering to\nBowanee--why had he spared the life of Radja-sings son? Why, in fine,\ndid he expose himself to such frequent encounters with Rodin, whom he\nhad only known under the most unfavorable auspices? The sequel of this\nstory will answer all these questions. We can only say at present,\nthat, after a long interview with Rodin, two nights before, the Thug had\nquitted him with downcast eyes and cautious bearing.\n\nAfter having remained silent for some time, Djalma, following with his\neye the cloud of whitish smoke that he had just sent forth into space,\naddressed Faringhea, without looking at him, and said to him in the\nlanguage, as hyperbolical as concise, of Orientals: \"Time passes. The\nold man with the good heart does not come. But he will come. His word is\nhis word.\"\n\n\"His word is his word, my lord,\" repeated Faringhea, in an affirmative\ntone. \"When he came to fetch you, three days ago, from the house whither\nthose wretches, in furtherance of their wicked designs, had conveyed you\nin a deep sleep--after throwing me, your watchful and devoted servant,\ninto a similar state--he said to you: 'The unknown friend, who sent for\nyou to Cardoville Castle, bids me come to you, prince. Have confidence,\nand follow me. A worthy abode is prepared for you.'--And again, he said\nto you, my lord: 'Consent not to leave the house, until my return. Your\ninterest requires it. In three days you will see me again, and then be\nrestored to perfect freedom.' You consented to those terms, my lord, and\nfor three days you have not left the house.\"\n\n\"And I wait for the old man with impatience,\" said Djalma, \"for this\nsolitude is heavy with me. There must be so many things to admire in\nParis. Above all.\"\n\nDjalma did not finish the sentence, but relapsed into a reverie. After\nsome moments' silence, the son of Radja-sing said suddenly to Faringhea,\nin the tone of an impatient yet indolent sultan: \"Speak to me!\"\n\n\"Of what shall I speak, my lord?\"\n\n\"Of what you will,\" said Djalma, with careless contempt, as he fixed\non the ceiling his eyes, half-veiled with languor. \"One thought pursues\nme--I wish to be diverted from it. Speak to me.\"\n\nFaringhea threw a piercing glance on the countenance of the young\nIndian, and saw that his cheeks were colored with a slight blush. \"My\nlord,\" said the half-caste, \"I can guess your thought.\"\n\nDjalma shook his head, without looking at the Strangler. The latter\nresumed: \"You are thinking of the women of Paris, my lord.\"\n\n\"Be silent, slave!\" said Djalma, turning abruptly on the sofa, as if\nsome painful wound had been touched to the quick. Faringhea obeyed.\n\nAfter the lapse of some moments. Djalma broke forth again with\nimpatience, throwing aside the tube of the hookah, and veiling both\neyes with his hands: \"Your words are better than silence. Cursed be my\nthoughts, and the spirit which calls up these phantoms!\"\n\n\"Why should you fly these thoughts, my lord? You are nineteen years of\nage, and hitherto all your youth has been spent in war and captivity.\nUp to this time, you have remained as chaste as Gabriel, that young\nChristian priest, who accompanied us on our voyage.\"\n\nThough Faringhea did not at all depart from his respectful deference\nfor the prince, the latter felt that there was something of irony in the\ntone of the half-caste, as he pronounced the word \"chaste.\"\n\nDjalma said to him with a mixture of pride and severity: \"I do not wish\nto pass for a barbarian, as they call us, with these civilized people;\ntherefore I glory in my chastity.\"\n\n\"I do not understand, my lord.\"\n\n\"I may perhaps love some woman, pure as was my mother when she married\nmy father; and to ask for purity from a woman, a man must be chaste as\nshe.\"\n\nAt this, Faringhea could not refrain from a sardonic smile.\n\n\"Why do you laugh, slave?\" said the young prince, imperiously.\n\n\"Among civilized people, as you call them, my lord, the man who married\nin the flower of his innocence would be mortally wounded with ridicule.\"\n\n\"It is false, slave! He would only be ridiculous if he married one that\nwas not pure as himself.\"\n\n\"Then, my lord, he would not only be wounded--he would be killed\noutright, for he would be doubly and unmercifully laughed at.\"\n\n\"It is false! it is false. Where did you learn all this?\"\n\n\"I have seen Parisian women at the Isle of France, and at Pondicherry,\nmy lord. Moreover, I learned a good deal during our voyage; I talked\nwith a young officer, while you conversed with the young priest.\"\n\n\"So, like the sultans of our harems, civilized men require of women the\ninnocence they have themselves lost.\"\n\n\"They require it the more, the less they have of it, my lord.\"\n\n\"To require without any return, is to act as a master to his slave; by\nwhat right?\"\n\n\"By the right of the strongest--as it is among us, my lord.\"\n\n\"And what do the women do?\"\n\n\"They prevent the men from being too ridiculous, when they marry, in the\neyes of the world.\"\n\n\"But they kill a woman that is false?\" said Djalma, raising himself\nabruptly, and fixing upon Faringhea a savage look, that sparkled with\nlurid fire.\n\n\"They kill her, my lord, as with us--when they find her out.\"\n\n\"Despots like ourselves! Why then do these civilized men not shut up\ntheir women, to force them to a fidelity which they do not practise?\"\n\n\"Because their civilization is barbarous, and their barbarism civilized,\nmy lord.\"\n\n\"All this is sad enough, if true,\" observed Djalma, with a pensive air,\nadding, with a species of enthusiasm, employing, as usual, the mystic\nand figurative language familiar to the people of his country; \"yes,\nyour talk afflicts me, slave--for two drops of dew blending in the cup\nof a flower are as hearts that mingle in a pure and virgin love; and two\nrays of light united in one inextinguishable flame, are as the burning\nand eternal joys of lovers joined in wedlock.\"\n\nDjalma spoke of the pure enjoyments of the soul with inexpressible\ngrace, yet it was when he painted less ideal happiness, that his eyes\nshone like stars; he shuddered slightly, his nostrils swelled, the pale\ngold of his complexion became vermilion, and the young prince sank into\na deep reverie.\n\nFaringhea, having remarked this emotion, thus spoke: \"If, like the proud\nand brilliant king-bird of our woods, you prefer numerous and varied\npleasures to solitary and monotonous amours--handsome, young, rich\nas you are, my lord, were you to seek out the seductive\nParisians--voluptuous phantoms of your nights--charming tormentors\nof your dreams--were you to cast upon them looks bold as a challenge,\nsupplicating as prayers, ardent as desires--do you not think that many\na half-veiled eye would borrow fire from your glance? Then it would no\nlonger be the monotonous delights of a single love, the heavy chain of\nour life--no, it would be the thousand pleasures of the harem--a harem\npeopled with free and proud beauties, whom happy love would make your\nslaves. So long constrained, there is no such thing as excess to you.\nBelieve me, it would then be you, the ardent, the magnificent son of our\ncountry, that would become the love and pride of these women--the most\nseductive in the world, who would soon have for you no looks but those\nof languor and passion.\"\n\nDjalma had listened to Faringhea with silent eagerness. The expression\nof his features had completely changed; it was no longer the melancholy\nand dreaming youth, invoking the sacred remembrance of his mother,\nand finding only in the dew of heaven, in the calyx of flowers, images\nsufficiently pure to paint the chastity of the love he dreamed of; it\nwas no longer even the young man, blushing with a modest ardor at the\nthought of the permitted joys of a legitimate union. No! the incitements\nof Faringhea had kindled a subterraneous fire; the inflamed countenance\nof Djalma, his eyes now sparkling and now veiled, his manly and sonorous\nrespiration, announced the heat of his blood, the boiling up of\nthe passions, only the more energetic, that they had been hitherto\nrestrained.\n\nSo, springing suddenly from the divan, supple, vigorous, and light as\na young tiger, Djalma clutched Faringhea by the throat exclaiming: \"Thy\nwords are burning poison!\"\n\n\"My lord,\" said Faringhea, without opposing the least resistance, \"your\nslave is your slave.\" This submission disarmed the prince.\n\n\"My life belongs to you,\" repeated the half-caste.\n\n\"I belong to you, slave!\" cried Djalma, repulsing him. \"Just now, I hung\nupon your lips, devouring your dangerous lies.\"\n\n\"Lies, my lord? Only appear before these women, and their looks will\nconfirm my words.\"\n\n\"These women love me!--me, who have only lived in war and in the woods?\"\n\n\"The thought that you, so young, have already waged bloody war on men\nand tigers, will make them adore, my lord.\"\n\n\"You lie!\"\n\n\"I tell you, my lord, on seeing your hand, as delicate as theirs, but\nwhich has been so often bathed in hostile blood, they will wish to\ncaress it; and they will kiss it again, when they think that, in our\nforests, with loaded rifle, and a poniard between your teeth, you smiled\nat the roaring of a lion or panther for whom you lay in wait.\"\n\n\"But I am a savage--a barbarian.\"\n\n\"And for that very reason you will have them at your feet. They will\nfeel themselves both terrified and charmed by all the violence and fury,\nthe rage of jealousy, the passion and the love, to which a man of your\nblood, your youth, your ardor must be subject. To-day mild and tender,\nto-morrow fierce and suspicious, another time ardent and passionate,\nsuch you will be--and such you ought to be, if you wish to win them.\nYes; let a kiss of rage be heard between two kisses: let a dagger\nglitter in the midst of caresses, and they will fall before you,\npalpitating with pleasure, love, and fear--and you will be to them, not\na man, but a god.\"\n\n\"Dost think so?\" cried Djalma, carried away in spite of himself by the\nThug's wild eloquence.\n\n\"You know, you feel, that I speak the truth,\" cried the latter,\nextending his arm towards the young Indian.\n\n\"Why, yes!\" exclaimed Djalma, his eyes sparkling, his nostrils swelling,\nas he moved about the apartment with savage bounds. \"I know not if I\npossess my reason, or if I am intoxicated, but it seems to me that you\nspeak truth. Yes, I feel that they will love me with madness and fury,\nbecause my love will be mad and furious they will tremble with pleasure\nand fear, because the very thought of it makes me tremble with delight\nand terror. Slave, it is true; there is something exciting and fearful\nin such a love!\" As he spoke forth these words, Djalma was superb in his\nimpetuous sensuality. It is a rare thing to see a young man arrive\nin his native purity, at the age in which are developed, in all their\npowerful energy, those admirable instincts of love, which God has\nimplanted in the heart of his creatures, and which, repressed,\ndisguised, or perverted, may unseat the reason, or generate mad excesses\nand frightful crimes--but which, directed towards a great and noble\npassion, may and must, by their very violence, elevate man, through\ndevotion and tenderness, to the limits of the ideal.\n\n\"Oh! this woman--this woman, before whom I am to tremble--and who,\nin turn, must tremble before me--where is she?\" cried Djalma, with\nredoubled excitement. \"Shall I ever find her?\"\n\n\"One is a good deal, my lord,\" replied Faringhea, with his sardonic\ncoolness; \"he who looks for one woman, will rarely succeed in this\ncountry; he who seeks women, is only at a loss to choose.\"\n\nAs the half-caste made this impertinent answer to Djalma, a very elegant\nblue-and-white carriage stopped before the garden-gate of the house,\nwhich opened upon a deserted street. It was drawn by a pair of beautiful\nblood-horses, of a cream color, with black manes and tails. The\nscutcheons on the harness were of silver, as were also the buttons of\nthe servants' livery, which was blue with white collars. On the blue\nhammercloth, also laced with white, as well as on the panels of the\ndoors, were lozenge-shaped coats of arms, without crest or coronet, as\nusually borne by unmarried daughters of noble families. Two women were\nin this carriage--Mdlle. de Cardoville and Florine.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLI. RISING.\n\nTo explain the arrival of Mdlle. de Cardoville at the garden-door of\nthe house occupied by Djalma, we must cast a retrospective glance at\nprevious events. On leaving Doctor Baleinier's, Mdlle. de Cardoville had\ngone to take up her residence in the Rue d'Anjou. During the last few\nmonths of her stay with her aunt, Adrienne had secretly caused this\nhandsome dwelling to be repaired and furnished, and its luxury\nand elegance were now increased by all the wonders of the lodge of\nSaint-Dizier House. The world found it very strange, that a lady of the\nage and condition of Mdlle. de Cardoville should take the resolution of\nliving completely alone and free, and, in fact, of keeping house exactly\nlike a bachelor, a young widow, or an emancipated minor. The world\npretended not to know that Mdlle. de Cardoville possessed what is often\nwanting in men, whether of age or twice of age--a firm character, a\nlofty mind, a generous heart, strong and vigorous good sense.\n\nJudging that she would require faithful assistance in the internal\nmanagement of her house, Adrienne had written to the bailiff of\nCardoville, and his wife, old family servants, to come immediately to\nParis: M. Dupont thus filled the office of steward, and Mme. Dupont\nthat of housekeeper. An old friend of Adrienne's father, the Count de\nMontbron, an accomplished old man, once very much in fashion, and still\na connoisseur in all sorts of elegances, had advised Adrienne to act\nlike a princess, and take an equerry; recommended for this office a man\nof good rearing and ripe age, who, himself an amateur in horses, had\nbeen ruined in England, at Newmarket, the Derby, and Tattersall's, and\nreduced, as sometimes happened to gentlemen in that country, to drive\nthe stage coaches, thus finding an honest method of earning his bread,\nand at the same time gratifying his taste for horses. Such was M. de\nBonneville, M. de Montbron's choice. Both from age and habits, this\nequerry could accompany Mdlle. de Cardoville on horseback, and better\nthan any one else, superintend the stable. He accepted, therefore, the\nemployment with gratitude, and, thanks to his skill and attention, the\nequipages of Mdlle. de Cardoville were not eclipsed in style by anything\nof the kind in Paris. Mdlle. de Cardoville had taken back her women,\nHebe, Georgette, and Florine. The latter was at first to have re-entered\nthe service of the Princess de Saint-Dizier, to continue her part of spy\nfor the superior of St. Mary's Convent; but, in consequence of the new\ndirection given by Rodin to the Rennepont affair, it was decided\nthat Florine, if possible, should return to the service of Mdlle. de\nCardoville. This confidential place, enabling this unfortunate creature\nto render important and mysterious services to the people who held her\nfate in their hands, forced her to infamous treachery. Unfortunately,\nall things favored this machination. We know that Florine, in her\ninterview with Mother Bunch, a few days after Mdlle. de Cardoville was\nimprisoned at Dr. Baleinier's, had yielded to a twinge of remorse,\nand given to the sempstress advice likely to be of use to Adrienne's\ninterests--sending word to Agricola not to deliver to Madame de Saint\nDizier the papers found in the hiding-place of the pavilion, but only\nto entrust them to Mdlle. de Cardoville herself. The latter, afterwards\ninformed of these details by Mother Bunch, felt a double degree of\nconfidence and interest in Florine, took her back into her service\nwith gratitude, and almost immediately charged her with a confidential\nmission--that of superintending the arrangements of the house hired for\nDjalma's habitation. As for Mother Bunch (yielding to the solicitations\nof Mdlle. de Cardoville, and finding she was no longer of use to\nDagobert's wife, of whom we shall speak hereafter), she had consented to\ntake up her abode in the hotel on the Rue d'Anjou, along with Adrienne,\nwho with that rare sagacity of the heart peculiar to her, entrusted\nthe young sempstress, who served her also as a secretary, with the\ndepartment of alms-giving.\n\nMdlle. de Cardoville had at first thought of entertaining her merely\nas a friend, wishing to pay homage in her person to probity with labor,\nresignation in sorrow, and intelligence in poverty; but knowing\nthe workgirl's natural dignity, she feared, with reason that,\nnotwithstanding the delicate circumspection with which the hospitality\nwould be offered, Mother Bunch might perceive in it alms in disguise.\nAdrienne preferred, therefore, whilst she treated her as a friend, to\ngive her a confidential employment. In this manner the great delicacy of\nthe needlewoman would be spared, since she could earn her livelihood by\nperforming duties which would at the same time satisfy her praiseworthy\ninstincts of charity. In fact, she could fulfil, better than any one,\nthe sacred mission confided to her by Adrienne. Her cruel experience in\nmisfortune, the goodness of her angelic soul, the elevation of her mind,\nher rare activity, her penetration with regard to the painful secrets\nof poverty, her perfect knowledge of the industrial classes, were\nsufficient security for the tact and intelligence with which the\nexcellent creature would second the generous intentions of Mdlle. de\nCardoville.\n\nLet us now speak of the divers events which, on that day, preceded the\ncoming of Mdlle. de Cardoville to the garden-gate of the house in the\nRue Blanche. About ten o'clock in the morning, the blinds of Adrienne's\nbedchamber, closely shut, admitted no ray of daylight to this apartment,\nwhich was only lighted by a spherical lamp of oriental alabaster,\nsuspended from the ceiling by three long silver chains. This apartment,\nterminating in a dome, was in the form of a tent with eight sides. From\nthe ceiling to the floor, it was hung with white silk, covered with\nlong draperies of muslin, fastened in large puffs to the wall, by bands\ncaught in at regular distances by plates of ivory. Two doors, also\nof ivory, admirably encrusted with mother-of-pearl, led, one to the\nbath-room, the other to the toilet-chamber, a sort of little temple\ndedicated to the worship of beauty, and furnished as it had been at the\npavilion of Saint Dizier House. Two other compartments of the wall were\noccupied by windows, completely veiled with drapery. Opposite the bed,\nenclosing splendid fire-dogs of chased silver, was a chimney-piece\nof white marble, like crystallized snow, on which were sculptured two\nmagnificent caryatides, and a frieze representing birds and flowers.\nAbove this frieze, carved in openwork with extreme delicacy, was a\nmarble basket, filled with red camellias. Their leaves of shining\ngreen their flowers of a delicate rosy hue, were the only colors that\ndisturbed the harmonious whiteness of this virgin retreat. Finally, half\nsurrounded by waves of white muslin, which poured down from the dome\nlike a mass of light clouds, the bed was visible--very low, and resting\non feet of carved ivory, which stood upon the ermine carpet that covered\nthe floor. With the exception of a plinth, also in ivory, admirably\ninlaid with mother-of-pearl, the bed was entirely covered with white\nsatin, wadded and quilted like an immense scent-bag. The cambric sheets,\ntrimmed with lace, being a little disturbed on one side, discovered the\ncorner of a white taffety mattress, and a light counterpane of watered\nstuff--for an equal temperature always reigned in this apartment, warm\nas a fine spring day.\n\nFrom a singular scruple, arising from the same sentiment which had\ncaused Adrienne to have inscribed on a masterpiece of goldsmith's work\nthe name of the maker instead of that of the seller, she had wished all\nthese articles, so costly and sumptuous, to be manufactured by workmen\nchosen amongst the most intelligent, honest, and industrious of their\nclass, whom she had supplied with the necessary materials. In this\nmanner she had been able to add to the price of the work the profit\nusually gained by the middle man, who speculates in such labor; this\nnotable augmentation of wages had spread happiness and comfort through a\nhundred necessitous families, who, blessing the munificence of Adrienne,\ngave her, as she said, the right to enjoy her luxury as a good action.\nNothing could be fresher or more charming than the interior of this\nbedchamber. Mdlle. de Cardoville had just awoke; she reposed in the\nmiddle of this flood of muslin, lace, cambric, and white silk, in a\nposition full of sweet grace. Never during the night did she cover that\nbeautiful golden hair (a certain recipe, said the Greeks, for preserving\nit for a long while in magnificence). Every evening, her women arranged\nher long silky curls in flat tresses, forming two broad bands, which,\ndescending sufficiently low almost entirely to conceal the small ear,\nthe rosy lobe of which was alone visible, were joined to the large plait\nbehind the head.\n\nThis head-dress, borrowed from Greek antiquity, set off to admiration\nthe pure, fine features of Mdlle. de Cardoville, and made her look so\nmuch younger, that, instead of eighteen, one would hardly have given her\nfifteen years of age. Gathered thus closely about the temples, the hair\nlost its transparent and brilliant hues, and would have appeared almost\nbrown, but for the golden tints which played here and there, amid the\nundulations of the tresses. Lulled in that morning torpor, the warm\nlanguor of which is so favorable to soft reveries, Adrienne leaned\nwith her elbow on the pillow, and her head a little on one side,\nwhich displayed to advantage the ideal contour of her bared neck and\nshoulders; her smiling lips, moist and rosy, were, like her cheeks, cold\nas if they had just been bathed in ice-water; her snow-white lids\nhalf veiled the large, dark, soft eyes, which now gazed languidly upon\nvacancy, and now fixed themselves with pleasure upon the rosy flowers\nand green leaves in the basket of camellias. Who can paint the matchless\nserenity of Adrienne's awaking--when the fair and chaste soul roused\nitself in the fair and chaste body? It was the awakening of a heart as\npure as the fresh and balmy breath of youth, that made her bosom rise\nand fall in its white, immaculate purity. What creed, what dogma, what\nformula, what religious symbol, oh! paternal and divine Creator! can\never give a more complete idea of Thy harmonious and ineffable power,\nthan the image of a young maiden awaking in the bloom of her beauty,\nand in all the grace of that modesty with which Thou hast endowed her,\nseeking, in her dreamy innocence, for the secret of that celestial\ninstinct of love, which Thou hast placed in the bosom of all Thy\ncreatures--oh! Thou whose love is eternal, and goodness infinite!\n\nThe confused thoughts which, since her sleep, had appeared gently to\nagitate Adrienne, absorbed her more and more; her head resting on her\nbosom, her beautiful arm upon the couch, her features without becoming\nprecisely sad, assumed an expression of touching melancholy. Her dearest\ndesire was accomplished; she was about to live independent and alone.\nBut this affectionate, delicate, expansive, and marvellously complete\nnature, felt that God had not given her such rare treasures, to bury\nthem in a cold and selfish solitude. She felt how much that was great\nand beautiful might be inspired by love, both in herself, and in\nhim that should be worthy of her. Confiding in her courage, and the\nnobleness of her character, proud of the example that she wished to give\nto other women, knowing that all eyes would be fixed enviously upon her,\nshe felt, as it were, only too sure of herself; far from fearing that\nshe should make a bad choice, she rather feared, that she should not\nfind any from whom to choose, so pure and perfect was her taste. And,\neven had she met with her own ideal, she had views so singular and\nso just, so extraordinary and yet so sensible, with regard to the\nindependence and dignity of woman, that, inexorably determined to make\nno concession upon this head, she asked herself if the man of her choice\nwould ever accept the hitherto unheard-of conditions that she meant to\nimpose. In recalling to her remembrance the possible suitors that she\nhad met in the world, she remembered also the dark, but true picture,\nwhich Rodin had drawn with so much caustic bitterness. She remembered,\ntoo, not without a certain pride, the encouragement this man had given\nher, not by flattery, but by advising her to follow out and accomplish\na great, generous, and beautiful design. The current or the caprice of\nfancy soon brought Adrienne to think of Djalma. Whilst she congratulated\nherself on having paid to her royal kinsman the duties of a kingly\nhospitality, the young lady was far from regarding the prince as the\nhero of her future.\n\nAnd first she said to herself, not unreasonably, that this half-savage\nboy, with passions, if not untamable, yet untamed, transported on a\nsudden into the midst of a refined civilization, would be inevitably\ndestined to fiery trials and violent transformations. Now Mdlle. de\nCardoville, having nothing masculine or despotic in her character, had\nno wish to civilize the young savage. Therefore, notwithstanding the\ninterest, or rather because of the interest, which she felt for the\nyoung Indian, she was firmly resolved, not to make herself known to him,\ntill after the lapse of two or three months; and she determined also,\nthat, even if Djalma should learn by chance that she was his relation,\nshe would not receive his visit. She desired, if not to try him, at\nleast to leave him free in all his acts, so that he might expend the\nfirst fire of his passions, good or bad. But not wishing to abandon him\nquite without defence to the perils of Parisian life, she requested the\nCount de Montbron, in confidence, to introduce Prince Djalma to the\nbest company in Paris, and to enlighten him by the counsels of his\nlong experience. M. de Montbron had received the request of Mdlle.\nde Cardoville with the greatest pleasure, taking delight, he said, in\nstarting his royal tiger in drawing-rooms, and bringing him into contact\nwith the flower of the fine ladies and gentlemen of Paris, offering at\nthe same time to wager any amount in favor of his half-savage pupil.\n\n\"As for myself, my dear Count,\" said Adrienne to M. de Montbron, with\nher usual frankness, \"my resolution is not to be shaken. You have told\nme the effect that will be produced in the fashionable world, by the\nfirst appearance of Prince Djalma, an Indian nineteen years of age,\nof surprising beauty, proud and wild as a young lion arriving from his\nforest; it is new, it is extraordinary, you added; and, therefore, all\nthe coquetries of civilized life will pursue him with an eagerness which\nmakes me tremble for him. Now, seriously, my dear count it will not\nsuit me to appear as the rival of so many fine ladies, who are about\nto expose themselves intrepidly to the claws of the young tiger. I take\ngreat interest in him, because he is my cousin, because he is handsome,\nbecause he is brave, and above all because he does not wear that\nhorrible European dress. No doubt these are rare qualities--but not\nsufficient to make me change my mind. Besides, the good old philosopher,\nmy new friend, has given me advice about this Indian, which you, my\ndear Count, who are not a philosopher, will yet approve. It is, for some\ntime, to receive visits at home, but not to visit other people--which\nwill spare me the awkwardness of meeting my royal cousin, and allow me\nto make a careful choice, even amongst my usual society. As my house\nwill be an excellent one, my position most unusual, and as I shall be\nsuspected of all sorts of naughty secrets, I shall be in no want of\ninquisitive visitors, who will amuse me a good deal, I assure you.\"\n\nAnd as M. de Montbron asked, if the exile of the poor young Indian\ntiger was to last long, Adrienne answered: \"As I shall see most of the\npersons, to whom you will introduce him, I shall be pleased to hear\ndifferent opinions about him. If certain men speak well of him, and\ncertain women ill, I shall have good hope of him. In a word, the opinion\nthat I come to, in sifting the true from the false (you may leave that\nto my sagacity), will shorten or prolong the exile of my royal cousin.\"\n\nSuch were the formal intentions of Mdlle. de Cardoville with regard to\nDjalma, even on the day she went with Florine to the house he occupied.\nIn a word, she had positively resolved not to be known to him for some\nmonths to come.\n\nAfter long reflecting that morning, on the chances that might yet offer\nthemselves to satisfy the wants of her heart, Adrienne fell into a new,\ndeep reverie. This charming creature, so full of life and youth, heaved\na low sigh, raised her arms above her head, turned her profile\ntowards the pillow, and remained for some moments as if powerless and\nvanquished. Motionless beneath the white tissues that wrapped her round,\nshe looked like a fair, marble statue, visible beneath a light layer\nof snow. Suddenly, Adrienne raised herself up, drew her hand across her\nbrow, and rang for her women. At the first silver tone of the bell,\nthe two ivory doors opened. Georgette appeared on the threshold of the\ndressing-room, from which Frisky, a little black and-tan dog, with his\ngolden collar, escaped with a joyful barking. Hebe appeared at the\nsame time on the threshold of the bath-room. At the further end of this\napartment, lighted from above, might be seen upon a green mat of Spanish\nleather, with golden ornaments, a crystal bath in the form of a long\nshell. The three only divisions in this masterpiece of glass work, were\nconcealed by the elegant device of several large reeds in silver,\nwhich rose from the wide base of the bath, also of wrought silver,\nrepresenting children and dolphins playing, among branches of natural\ncoral, and azure shells. Nothing could be more pleasing than the effect\nof these purple reeds and ultramarine shells, upon a dull ground of\nsilver; the balsamic vapor, which rose from the warm, limpid, and\nperfumed water, that filled the crystal shell, spread through the\nbath-room, and floated like a light cloud into the sleeping-chamber.\n\nSeeing Hebe in her fresh and pretty costume, bringing her a long bathing\ngown, hanging upon a bare and dimpled arm, Adrienne said to her: \"Where\nis Florine, my child?\"\n\n\"Madame, she went downstairs two hours ago; she was wanted for something\nvery pressing.\"\n\n\"Who wanted her?\"\n\n\"The young person who serves Madame as secretary. She went out this\nmorning very early; and, as soon as she returned, she sent for Florine,\nwho has not come back since.\"\n\n\"This absence no doubt relates to some important affair of my angelic\nminister of succor,\" said Adrienne, smiling, and thinking of the\nhunchback. Then she made a sign to Hebe to approach her bed.\n\nAbout two hours after rising, Adrienne, having had herself dressed,\nas usual, with rare elegance, dismissed her women, and sent for Mother\nBunch, whom she treated with marked deference, always receiving her\nalone. The young sempstress entered hastily, with a pale, agitated\ncountenance, and said, in a trembling voice: \"Oh, madame! my\npresentiments were justified. You are betrayed.\"\n\n\"Of what presentiments do you speak, my dear child!\" said Adrienne, with\nsurprise. \"Who betrays me?\"\n\n\"M. Rodin!\" answered the workgirl.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLII. DOUBTS.\n\nOn hearing the accusation brought against Rodin, Mdlle. de Cardoville\nlooked at the denunciator with new astonishment. Before continuing this\nscene, we may say that Mother Bunch was no longer clad in her poor, old\nclothes, but was dressed in black, with as much simplicity as taste. The\nsad color seemed to indicate her renunciation of all human vanity, the\neternal mourning of her heart, and the austere duties imposed upon her\nby her devotion to misfortune. With her black gown, she wore a large\nfalling collar, white and neat as her little gauze cap, with its gray\nribbons, which, revealing her bands of fine brown hair, set off to\nadvantage her pale and melancholy countenance, with its soft blue eyes.\nHer long, delicate hands, preserved from the cold by gloves, were no\nlonger, as formerly, of a violet hue, but of an almost transparent\nwhiteness.\n\nHer agitated features expressed a lively uneasiness. Extremely\nsurprised, Mdlle. de Cardoville exclaimed: \"What do you say?\"\n\n\"M. Rodin betrays you, madame.\"\n\n\"M. Rodin? Impossible!\"\n\n\"Oh, madame! my presentiments did not deceive me.\"\n\n\"Your presentiments?\"\n\n\"The first time I saw M. Rodin, I was frightened in spite of myself. My\nheart sank within me, and I trembled--for you, madame.\"\n\n\"For me?\" said Adrienne. \"Why did you not tremble for yourself, my poor\nfriend?\"\n\n\"I do not know, madame; but such was my first impression. And this fear\nwas so invincible, that, notwithstanding the kindness that M. Rodin\nshowed my sister, he frightened me, none the less.\"\n\n\"That is strange. I can understand as well as any one the almost\nirresistible influence of sympathies or aversions; but, in this\ninstance--However,\" resumed Adrienne, after a moment's reflection, \"no\nmatter for that; how have these suspicions been changed to certainty?\"\n\n\"Yesterday, I went to take to my sister Cephyse, the assistance that M.\nRodin had given me, in the name of a charitable person. I did not find\nCephyse at the friend's who had taken care of her; I therefore begged\nthe portress, to inform my sister that I would call again this morning.\nThat is what I did; but you must excuse me, madame, some necessary\ndetails.\"\n\n\"Speak, speak, my dear.\"\n\n\"The young girl who had received my sister,\" said Mother Bunch, with\nembarrassment, casting down her eyes and blushing, \"does not lead a very\nregular life. A person, with whom she has gone on several parties of\npleasure, one M. Dumoulin, had informed her of the real name of M.\nRodin, who has a kind of lodging in that house, and there goes by the\nname of Charlemagne.\"\n\n\"That is just what he told us at Dr. Baleinier's; and, the day before\nyesterday, when I again alluded to the circumstance, he explained to\nme the necessity in which he was, for certain reasons, to have a humble\nretreat in that remote quarter--and I could not but approve of his\nmotives.\"\n\n\"Well, then! yesterday, M. Rodin received a visit from the Abbe\nd'Aigrigny.\"\n\n\"The Abbe d'Aigrigny!\" exclaimed Mdlle. de Cardoville.\n\n\"Yes, madame; he remained for two hours shut up with M. Rodin.\"\n\n\"My child, you must have been deceived.\"\n\n\"I was told, madame, that the Abbe d'Aigrigny had called in the morning\nto see M. Rodin; not finding him at home, he had left with the portress\nhis name written on a slip of paper, with the words, 'I shall return\nin two hours.' The girl of whom I spoke, madame, had seen this slip of\npaper. As all that concerns M. Rodin appears mysterious enough, she\nhad the curiosity to wait for M. d'Aigrigny in the porter's lodge, and,\nabout two hours afterwards, he indeed returned, and saw M. Rodin.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said Adrienne, shuddering; \"it is impossible. There must be\nsome mistake.\"\n\n\"I think not, madame; for, knowing how serious such a discovery would\nbe, I begged the young girl to describe to me the appearance of M.\nd'Aigrigny.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"The Abbe d'Aigrigny, she told me, is about forty years of age. He is\ntall and upright, dresses plainly, but with care; has gray eyes, very\nlarge and piercing, thick eyebrows, chestnut-colored hair, a face\nclosely shaved, and a very decided aspect.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" said Adrienne, hardly able to believe what she heard. \"The\ndescription is exact.\"\n\n\"Wishing to have all possible details,\" resumed Mother Bunch, \"I asked\nthe portress if M. Rodin and the Abbe d'Aigrigny appeared to be at\nvariance when they quitted the house? She replied no, but that the\nAbbe said to M. Rodin, as they parted at the door: 'I will write to you\ntomorrow, as agreed.'\"\n\n\"Is it a dream? Good heaven!\" said Adrienne, drawing her hands across\nher forehead in a sort of stupor. \"I cannot doubt your word, my poor\nfriend; and yet it is M. Rodin who himself sent you to that house, to\ngive assistance to your sister: would he have wilfully laid open to you\nhis secret interviews with the Abbe d'Aigrigny? It would have been bad\npolicy in a traitor.\"\n\n\"That is true, and the same reflection occurred to me. And yet the\nmeeting of these two men appeared so dangerous to you, madame, that I\nreturned home full of terror.\"\n\nCharacters of extreme honesty are very hard to convince of the treachery\nof others: the more infamous the deception, the more they are inclined\nto doubt it. Adrienne was one of these characters, rectitude being a\nprime quality of her mind. Though deeply impressed by the communication,\nshe remarked: \"Come, my dear, do not let us frighten ourselves too soon,\nor be over-hasty in believing evil. Let us try to enlighten ourselves by\nreasoning, and first of all remember facts. M. Rodin opened for me the\ndoors of Dr. Baleinier's asylum; in my presence, he brought, his charge\nagainst the Abbe d'Aigrigny; he forced the superior of the convent\nto restore Marshal Simon's daughters, he succeeded in discovering the\nretreat of Prince Djalma--he faithfully executed my intentions with\nregard to my young cousin; only yesterday, he gave me the most useful\nadvice. All this is true--is it not?\"\n\n\"Certainly, madame.\"\n\n\"Now suppose that M. Rodin, putting things in their worst light,\nhad some after-thought--that he hopes to be liberally rewarded, for\ninstance; hitherto, at least, he has shown complete disinterestedness.\"\n\n\"That also is true, madame,\" said poor Mother Bunch, obliged, like\nAdrienne, to admit the evidence of fixed facts.\n\n\"Now let us look to the possibility of treachery. Unite with the Abbe\nd'Aigrigny to betray me! Betray me?--how? and for what purpose? What\nhave I to fear? Is it not the Abbe d'Aigrigny, on the contrary, is\nit not Madame de Saint-Dizier, who have to render an account for the\ninjuries they have done me?\"\n\n\"But, then, madame, how do you explain the meeting of these two men,\nwho have so many motives for mutual aversion? May there not be some dark\nproject still behind? Besides, madame, I am not the only one to think\nso.\"\n\n\"How is that?\"\n\n\"This morning, on my return, I was so much agitated, that Mdlle. Florine\nasked me the cause of my trouble. I know, madame, how much she is\ndevoted to you.\"\n\n\"Nobody could be more so; only recently, you yourself informed me of the\nsignal service she rendered, during my confinement at Dr. Baleinier's.\"\n\n\"Well, madame, this morning, on my return, thinking it necessary to have\nyou informed as soon as possible, I told all to Mdlle. Florine. Like\nme--even more, perhaps--she was terrified at the meeting of Rodin and M.\nd'Aigrigny.\n\n\"After a moment's reflection, she said to me: 'It is, I think, useless\nto disturb my mistress at present; it can be of no importance whether\nshe is informed of this treachery two or three hours sooner or later;\nduring that time I may be able to discover something more. I have an\nidea, which I think a good one. Make my excuses to my mistress; I shall\nsoon be back.' Then Florine sent for a hackney-coach, and went out.\"\n\n\"Florine is an excellent girl,\" said Mdlle. de Cardoville, with a smile,\nfor further reflection had quite reassured her: \"but, on this occasion,\nI think that her zeal and good heart have deceived her, as they have\nyou, my poor friend. Do you know, that we are two madcaps, you and I,\nnot to have thought of one thing, which would have put us quite at our\nease?\"\n\n\"How so, madame?\"\n\n\"The Abbe d'Aigrigny fears M. Rodin; he may have sought him out,\nto entreat his forbearance. Do you not find this explanation both\nsatisfactory and reasonable?\"\n\n\"Perhaps so, madame,\" said Mother Bunch, after a moment's reflection;\n\"yes, it is probable.\" But after another silence, and as if yielding to\na conviction superior to every possible argument, she exclaimed:\n\"And yet, no; believe me, madame, you are deceived. I feel it. All\nappearances may be against what I affirm; yet, believe me, these\npresentiments are too strong not to be true. And have you not guessed\nthe most secret instincts of my heart? Why should I not be able to guess\nthe dangers with which you are menaced?\"\n\n\"What do you say? what have I guessed?\" replied Mdlle. de Cardoville,\ninvoluntarily impressed by the other's tone of conviction and alarm.\n\n\"What have you guessed?\" resumed the latter. \"All the troublesome\nsusceptibility of an unfortunate creature, to whom destiny has decreed a\nlife apart. If I have hitherto been silent, it is not from ignorance\nof what I owe you. Who told you, madame, that the only way to make me\naccept your favors without blushing, was to give me some employment,\nthat would enable me to soothe the misfortunes I had so long shared? Who\ntold you, when you wished me to have a seat at your table, and to treat\nas your friend the poor needlewoman, in whose person you sought to\nhonor, resignation and honest industry--who told you, when I answered\nwith tears of gratitude and regret, that it was not false modesty, but\na consciousness of my own ridiculous deformity, that made me refuse\nyour offer? Who told you that, but for this, I should have accepted it\nproudly, in the name of all my low-born sisters? But you replied to me\nwith the touching words: 'I understand your refusal, my friend; it is\nnot occasioned by false modesty, but by a sentiment of dignity that\nI love and respect.' Who told you,\" continued the workgirl, with\nincreasing animation, \"that I should be so happy to find a little\nsolitary retreat in this magnificent house, which dazzles me with its\nsplendor? Who guided you in the choice of the apartment (still far\ntoo good) that you have provided for me? Who taught you, that, without\nenvying the beauty of the charming creatures that surround you, and whom\nI love because they love you, I should always feel, by an involuntary\ncomparison, embarrassed and ashamed before them? Who told you therefore\nto send them away, whenever you wished to speak with me? Yes! who\nhas revealed to you all the painful and secret susceptibilities of a\nposition like mine! Who has revealed them to you? God, no doubt! who in\nHis infinite majesty creates worlds, and yet cares for the poor little\ninsect hidden beneath the grass. And you think, that the gratitude of\na heart you have understood so well, cannot rise in its turn to the\nknowledge of what may be hurtful to you? No, no, lady; some people have\nthe instinct of self preservation; others have the still more precious\ninstinct that enables them to preserve those they love. God has given\nme this instinct. I tell you that you are betrayed!\" And with animated\nlook, and cheeks slightly colored with emotion, the speaker laid such\nstress upon the last words, and accompanied them with such energetic\ngesture, that Mdlle. de Cardoville already shaken by the girl's warmth,\nbegan almost to share in her apprehensions. Then, although she had\nbefore learned to appreciate the superior intelligence of this poor\nchild of the people, Mdlle. de Cardoville had never till now heard her\nfriend express herself with so much eloquence--an eloquence, too, that\nwas inspired by the noblest sentiments. This circumstance added to\nthe impression made upon Adrienne. But at the moment she was about to\nanswer, a knock was heard at the door of the room, and Florine entered.\n\nOn seeing the alarmed countenance of her waiting-maid, Mdlle. de\nCardoville said hastily: \"Well, Florine! what news? Whence come you, my\nchild?\"\n\n\"From Saint-Dizier House, madame.\"\n\n\"And why did you go there?\" asked Mdlle. de Cardoville, with surprise.\n\n\"This morning,\" said Florine, glancing at the workgirl, \"madame, there,\nconfided to me her suspicions and uneasiness. I shared in them. The\nvisit of the Abbe d'Aigrigny to M. Rodin appeared to me very serious.\nI thought, if it should turn out that M. Rodin had been during the last\nfew days to Saint-Dizier House, there would be no longer any doubt of\nhis treachery.\"\n\n\"True,\" said Adrienne, more and more uneasy. \"Well?\"\n\n\"As I had been charged to superintend the removal from the lodge, I knew\nthat several things had remained there. To obtain admittance, I had to\napply to Mrs. Grivois. I had thus a pretext for returning to the hotel.\"\n\n\"What next, Florine, what next?\"\n\n\"I endeavored to get Mrs. Grivois to talk of M. Rodin; but it was in\nvain.\"\n\n\"She suspected you,\" said the workgirl. \"It was to be anticipated.\"\n\n\"I asked her,\" continued Florine, \"if they had seen M. Rodin at the\nhotel lately. She answered evasively. Then despairing of getting\nanything out of her,\" continued Florine, \"I left Mrs. Grivois, and that\nmy visit might excite no suspicion, I went to the pavilion--when, as I\nturn down the avenue--whom do I see? why, M. Rodin himself, hastening\ntowards the little garden-door, wishing no doubt to depart unnoticed by\nthat way.\"\n\n\"Madame, you hear,\" cried Mother Bunch, clasping her hands with a\nsupplicating air; \"such evidence should convince you.\"\n\n\"M. Rodin at the Princess de Saint-Dizier's!\" cried Mdlle. de\nCardoville, whose glance, generally so mild, now suddenly flashed with\nvehement indignation. Then she added, in a tone of considerable emotion,\n\"Continue, Florine.\"\n\n\"At sight of M. Rodin, I stopped,\" proceeded Florine, \"and keeping a\nlittle on one side, I gained the pavilion without being seen. I looked\nout into the street, through the closed blinds, and perceived a hackney\ncoach. It was waiting for M. Rodin, for, a minute after, he got into it,\nsaying to the coachman, 'No. 39, Rue Blanche.'\n\n\"The prince's!\" exclaimed Mdlle. de Cardoville.\n\n\"Yes, madame.\"\n\n\"Yes, M. Rodin was to see him to-day,\" said Adrienne, reflecting.\n\n\"No doubt he betrays you, madame, and the prince also; the latter will\nbe made his victim more easily than you.\"\n\n\"Shame! shame!\" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville, on a sudden, as she rose,\nall her features contracted with painful anger. \"After such a piece\nof treachery, it is enough to make us doubt of everything--even of\nourselves.\"\n\n\"Oh, madame! is it not dreadful?\" said Mother Bunch, shuddering.\n\n\"But, then, why did he rescue me and mine, and accuse the Abbe\nd'Aigrigny?\" wondered Mdlle. de Cardoville. \"Of a truth, it is enough\nto make one lose one's reason. It is an abyss--but, oh! how frightful is\ndoubt!\"\n\n\"As I returned,\" said Florine, casting a look of affectionate devotion\non her mistress, \"I thought of a way to make all clear; but there is not\na minute to lose.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" said Adrienne, looking at Florine with surprise.\n\n\"M. Rodin will soon be alone with the prince,\" said Florine.\n\n\"No doubt,\" replied Adrienne.\n\n\"The prince always sits in a little room that opens upon a greenhouse.\nIt is there that he will receive M. Rodin.\"\n\n\"What then?\" resumed Adrienne.\n\n\"This greenhouse, which I had arranged according to your orders, has\nonly one issue--by a door leading into a little lane. The gardener\ngets in that way every morning, so as not to have to pass through the\napartments. Having finished his work, he does not return thither during\nthe day.\"\n\n\"What do you mean? what is your project?\" said Adrienne, looking at\nFlorine with growing surprise.\n\n\"The plants are so disposed, that, I think, if even the shade were\nnot there, which screens the glass that separates the saloon from the\ngreenhouse, one might get near enough to hear what was passing in the\nroom, without being seen. When I was superintending the arrangements, I\nalways entered by this greenhouse door. The gardener had one key, and I\nanother. Luckily, I have not yet parted with mine. Within an hour, you\nmay know how far to trust M. Rodin. If he betrays the prince, he betrays\nyou also.\"\n\n\"What say you?\" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville.\n\n\"Set out instantly with me; we reach the side door; I enter alone, for\nprecaution sake--if all is right, I return--\"\n\n\"You would have me turn spy?\" said Mdlle. de Cardoville, haughtily,\ninterrupting Florine. \"You cannot think it.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, madame,\" said the girl, casting down her eyes, with\nconfused and sorrowful air; \"you had suspicions, and me seems 'tis the\nonly way to confirm or destroy them.\"\n\n\"Stoop to listen to a conversation--never!\" replied Adrienne.\n\n\"Madame,\" said Mother Bunch, suddenly, after same moments' thought,\n\"permit me to tell you that Mdlle. Florine is right. The plan proposed\nis a painful one, but it is the only way in which you can clear up,\nperhaps, for ever, your doubts as to M. Rodin. Notwithstanding the\nevidence of facts, in spite of the almost certainty of my presentiments,\nappearances may deceive us. I was the first who accused M. Rodin to you.\nI should not forgive myself all the rest of my life, did I accuse him\nwrongfully. Beyond doubt, it is painful, as you say, madame, to listen\nto a conversation--\" Then, with a violent effort to console herself, she\nadded, as she strove to repress her tears, \"Yet, as your safety is\nat stake, madame--for, if this be treachery, the future prospect is\ndreadful--I will go in your place--to--\"\n\n\"Not a word more, I entreat you,\" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville,\ninterrupting. \"Let you, my poor friend, do for me what I thought\ndegrading to do myself? Never!\"\n\nThen, turning to Florine, she added, \"Tell M. de Bonneville to have the\ncarriage got ready on the instant.\"\n\n\"You consent, then!\" cried Florine, clasping her hands, and not seeking\nto conceal her joy; and her eyes also became full of tears.\n\n\"Yes, I consent,\" answered Adrienne, with emotion. \"If it is to be\nwar--war to the knife, that they would wage with me--I must be prepared\nfor it; and, come to think of it, it would only be weakness and folly\nnot to put myself on my guard. No doubt this step costs me much, and is\nvery repugnant to me, but it is the only way to put an end to suspicions\nthat would be a continual torment to me, and perhaps to prevent still\ngreater evils. Yes! for many important reasons, this interview of\nM. Rodin with Prince Djalma may be doubly decisive to me--as to the\nconfidence, or the inexorable hate, that I must henceforth feel for M.\nRodin. So, Florine, quick!--my cloak and bonnet, and the carriage. You\nwill go with me. As for you, my dear, pray wait for me here,\" she added,\nturning to the work girl.\n\nHalf an hour after this conversation, Adrienne's carriage stopped, as\nwe have before seen, at the little garden-gate of the house in the\nRue Blanche. Florine entered the greenhouse and soon returned to her\nmistress. \"The shade is down, madame. M. Rodin has just entered the\nprince's room.\" Mdlle. de Cardoville was, therefore, present, though\ninvisible, at the following scene, which took place between Rodin and\nDjalma.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIII. THE LETTER.\n\nSome minutes before the entrance of Mdlle. de Cardoville into the\ngreenhouse, Rodin had been introduced by Faringhea into the presence\nof the prince, who, still under the influence of the burning excitement\ninto which he had been plunged by the words of the half-caste, did not\nappear to perceive the Jesuit. The latter, surprised at the animated\nexpression of Djalma's countenance, and his almost frantic air, made a\nsign of interrogation to Faringhea, who answered him privately in the\nfollowing symbolical manner:--After laying his forefinger on his head\nand heart, he pointed to the fire burning in the chimney, signifying\nby his pantomimic action that the head and heart of Djalma were both\nin flames. No doubt Rodin understood him, for an imperceptible smile of\nsatisfaction played upon his wan lips; then he said aloud to Faringhea,\n\"I wish to be alone with the prince. Let down the shade and see that we\nare not interrupted.\" The half-caste bowed, and touched a spring\nnear the sheet of plate-glass, which slid into the wall as the blind\ndescended; then, again bowing, Faringhea left the room. It was shortly\nafter that Mdlle. de Cardoville and Florine entered the greenhouse,\nwhich was now only separated from the room in which was Djalma, by the\ntransparent thickness of a shade of white silk, embroidered with large\ncolored birds. The noise of the door, which Faringhea closed as he went\nout, seemed to recall the young Indian to himself; his features, though\nstill animated, recovered their habitual expression of mildness and\ngentleness; he started, drew his hand across his brow, looked around\nhim, as if waking up from a deep reverie, and then, advancing towards\nRodin, with an air as respectful as confused, he said to him, using\nthe expression commonly applied to old men in his country, \"Pardon me,\nfather.\" Still following the customs of his nation, so full of deference\ntowards age, he took Rodin's hand to raise it to his lips, but the\nJesuit drew back a step, and refused his homage.\n\n\"For what do you ask pardon, my dear prince?\" said he to Djalma.\n\n\"When you entered, I was in a dream; I did not come to meet you. Once\nmore, pardon me, father!\"\n\n\"Once more, I forgive you with all my heart, my dear prince. But let us\nhave some talk. Pray resume your place on the couch, and your pipe, too,\nif you like it.\"\n\nBut Djalma, instead of adopting the suggestion, and throwing himself\non the divan, according to his custom, insisted on seating himself in a\nchair, notwithstanding all the persuasions of \"the Old Man with the Good\nHeart,\" as he always called the Jesuit.\n\n\"Really, your politeness troubles me, my dear prince,\" said Rodin; \"you\nare here at home in India; at least, we wish you to think so.\"\n\n\"Many things remind me of my country,\" said Djalma, in a mild grave\ntone. \"Your goodness reminds me of my father, and of him who was a\nfather to me,\" added the Indian, as he thought of Marshal Simon, whose\narrival in Paris had been purposely concealed from him.\n\nAfter a moment's silence, he resumed in a tone full of affectionate\nwarmth, as he stretched out his hand to Rodin, \"You are come, and I am\nhappy!\"\n\n\"I understand your joy, my dear prince, for I come to take you out of\nprison--to open your cage for you. I had begged you to submit to a brief\nseclusion, entirely for your own interest.\"\n\n\"Can I go out to-morrow?\"\n\n\"To-day, my dear prince, if you please.\"\n\nThe young Indian reflected for a moment, and then resumed, \"I must have\nfriends, since I am here in a palace that does not belong to me.\"\n\n\"Certainly you have friends--excellent friends,\" answered Rodin. At\nthese words, Djalma's countenance seemed to acquire fresh beauty. The\nmost noble sentiments were expressed in his fine features; his large\nblack eyes became slightly humid, and, after another interval of\nsilence, he rose and said to Rodin with emotion: \"Come!\"\n\n\"Whither, dear prince?\" said the other, much surprised.\n\n\"To thank my friends. I have waited three days. It is long.\"\n\n\"Permit me dear prince--I have much to tell you on this subject--please\nto be seated.\"\n\nDjalma resumed his seat with docility. Rodin continued: \"It is true that\nyou have friends; or rather, you have a friend. Friends are rare.\"\n\n\"What are you?\"\n\n\"Well, then, you have two friends, my dear prince--myself, whom you\nknow, and one other, whom you do not know, and who desires to remain\nunknown to you.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Why?\" answered Rodin, after a moment's embarrassment. \"Because the\nhappiness he feels in giving you these proofs of his friendship and even\nhis own tranquillity, depend upon preserving this mystery.\"\n\n\"Why should there be concealment when we do good?\"\n\n\"Sometimes, to conceal the good we do, my dear prince.\"\n\n\"I profit by this friendship; why should he conceal himself from one?\"\nThese repeated questions of the young Indian appeared to puzzle Rodin,\nwho, however, replied: \"I have told you, my dear prince, that your\nsecret friend would perhaps have his tranquillity compromised, if he\nwere known.\"\n\n\"If he were known--as my friend?\"\n\n\"Exactly so, dear prince.\"\n\nThe countenance of Djalma immediately assumed an appearance of sorrowful\ndignity; he raised his head proudly, and said in a stern and haughty\nvoice: \"Since this friend hides himself from me, he must either be\nashamed of me, or there is reason for me to be ashamed of him. I only\naccept hospitality from those who are worthy of me, and who think me\nworthy of them. I leave this house.\" So saying, Djalma rose with such\nan air of determination, that Rodin exclaimed: \"Listen to me, my dear\nprince. Allow me to tell you, that your petulance and touchiness are\nalmost incredible. Though we have endeavored to remind you of your\nbeautiful country, we are here in Europe, in France, in the centre of\nParis. This consideration may perhaps a little modify your views. Listen\nto me, I conjure you.\"\n\nNotwithstanding his complete ignorance of certain social\nconventionalisms, Djalma had too much good sense and uprightness, not\nto appreciate reason, when it appeared reasonable. The words of Rodin\ncalmed him. With that ingenuous modesty, with which natures full of\nstrength and generosity are almost always endowed, he answered mildly:\n\"You are right, father. I am no longer in my own country. Here the\ncustoms are different. I will reflect upon it.\"\n\nNotwithstanding his craft and suppleness, Rodin sometimes found himself\nperplexed by the wild and unforseen ideas of the young Indian. Thus he\nsaw, to his great surprise, that Djalma now remained pensive for some\nminutes, after which he resumed in a calm but firm tone: \"I have obeyed\nyou, father: I have reflected.\"\n\n\"Well, my dear prince?\"\n\n\"In no country in the world, under no pretext, should a man of honor\nconceal his friendship for another man of honor.\"\n\n\"But suppose there should be danger in avowing this friendship?\" said\nRodin, very uneasy at the turn the conversation was taking. Djalma eyed\nthe Jesuit with contemptuous astonishment, and made no reply.\n\n\"I understand your silence, my dear prince: a brave man ought to defy\ndanger. True; but if it should be you that the danger threatens, in\ncase this friendship were discovered, would not your man of honor be\nexcusable, even praiseworthy, to persist in remaining unknown?\"\n\n\"I accept nothing from a friend, who thinks me capable of denying him\nfrom cowardice.\"\n\n\"Dear prince--listen to me.\"\n\n\"Adieu, father.\"\n\n\"Yet reflect!\"\n\n\"I have said it,\" replied Djalma, in an abrupt and almost sovereign\ntone, as he walked towards the door.\n\n\"But suppose a woman were concerned,\" cried Rodin, driven to extremity,\nand hastening after the young Indian, for he really feared that Djalma\nmight rush from the house, and thus overthrow all his projects.\n\nAt the last words of Rodin the Indian stopped abruptly. \"A woman!\" said\nhe, with a start, and turning red. \"A woman is concerned?\"\n\n\"Why, yes! suppose it were a woman,\" resumed Rodin, \"would you not then\nunderstand her reserve, and the secrecy with which she is obliged to\nsurround the marks of affection she wishes to give you?\"\n\n\"A woman!\" repeated Djalma, in a trembling voice, clasping his hands in\nadoration; and his beautiful countenance was expressive of the deepest\nemotion. \"A woman!\" said he again. \"A Parisian?\"\n\n\"Yes, my dear prince, as you force me to this indiscretion, I will\nconfess to you that your friend is a real Parisian--a noble matron,\nendowed with the highest virtues--whose age alone merits all your\nrespect.\"\n\n\"She is very old, then?\" cried poor Djalma, whose charming dream was\nthus abruptly dispelled.\n\n\"She may be a few years older than I am,\" answered Rodin, with an\nironical smile, expecting to see the young man express a sort of comical\ndisappointment or angry regret.\n\nBut it was not so. To the passionate enthusiasm of love, which had for\na moment lighted up the prince's features, there now succeeded a\nrespectful and touching expression. He looked at Rodin with emotion, and\nsaid to him in a broken voice: \"This woman, is then, a mother to me?\"\n\nIt is impossible to describe with what a pious, melancholy, and tender\ncharm the Indian uttered the word mother.\n\n\"You have it, my dear prince; this respectable lady wishes to be a\nmother to you. But I may not reveal to you the cause of the affection\nshe feels for you. Only, believe me--this affection is sincere, and the\ncause honorable. If I do not tell you her secret, it is that, with us,\nthe secrets of women, young or old, are equally sacred.\"\n\n\"That is right, and I will respect it. Without seeing her, I will love\nher--as I love God, without seeing Him.\"\n\n\"And now, my dear prince, let me tell you what are the intentions of\nyour maternal friend. This house will remain at your disposal, as long\nas you like it; French servants, a carriage, and horses, will be at your\norders; the charges of your housekeeping will be paid for you. Then, as\nthe son of a king should live royalty, I have left in the next room a\ncasket containing five hundred Louis; every month a similar sum will\nbe provided: if it should not be found sufficient for your little\namusements, you will tell me, and it shall be augmented.\"\n\nAt a movement of Djalma, Rodin hastened to add: \"I must tell you at\nonce, my dear prince, that your delicacy may be quite at ease. First\nof all, you may accept anything from a mother; next, as in about three\nmonths you will come into possession of an immense inheritance, it will\nbe easy for you, if you feel the obligation a burden--and the sum\ncannot exceed, at the most, four or five thousand Louis--to repay these\nadvances. Spare nothing, then, but satisfy all your fancies. You are\nexpected to appear in the great world of Paris, in a style becoming the\nson of a king who was called the Father of the Generous. So once again I\nconjure you not to be restrained by a false delicacy; if this sum should\nnot be sufficient--\"\n\n\"I will ask for more. My mother is right; the son of a monarch ought to\nlive royally.\"\n\nSuch was the answer of the Indian, made with perfect simplicity, and\nwithout any appearance of astonishment at these magnificent offers. This\nwas natural. Djalma would have done for others what they were doing\nfor him, for the traditions of the prodigal magnificence and splendid\nhospitality of Indian princes are well known. Djalma had been as moved\nas grateful, on hearing that a woman loved him with maternal affection.\nAs for the luxury with which she nought to surround him, he accepted\nit without astonishment and without scruple. This resignation, again,\nsomewhat disconcerted Rodin, who had prepared many excellent arguments\nto persuade the Indian to accept his offers.\n\n\"Well, then, it's all agreed, my dear prince,\" resumed the Jesuit. \"Now,\nas you must see the world, it's just as well to enter by the best door,\nas we say. One of the friends of your maternal protectress, the Count de\nMontbron, an old nobleman of the greatest experience, and belonging\nto the first society, will introduce you in some of the best houses in\nParis.\"\n\n\"Will you not introduce me, father?\"\n\n\"Alas! my dear prince, look at me. Tell me, if you think I am fitted\nfor such an office. No! no; I live alone and retired from the world.\nAnd then,\" added Rodin, after a short silence, fixing a penetrating,\nattentive, and curious look upon the prince, as if he would have\nsubjected him to a sort of experiment by what follows; \"and then, you\nsee, M. de Montbron will be better able than I should, in the world you\nare about to enter, to enlighten you as to the snares that will be\nlaid for you. For if you have friends, you have also enemies--cowardly\nenemies, as you know, who have abused your confidence in an infamous\nmanner, and have made sport of you. And as, unfortunately, their power\nis equal to their wickedness, it would perhaps be more prudent in you to\ntry to avoid them--to fly, instead of resisting them openly.\"\n\nAt the remembrance of his enemies, at the thought of flying from them,\nDjalma trembled in every limb; his features became of a lurid paleness;\nhis eyes wide open, so that the pupil was encircled with white, sparkled\nwith lurid fire; never had scorn, hatred, and the desire of vengeance,\nexpressed themselves so terribly on a human face. His upper lip, blood\nred, was curled convulsively, exposing a row of small, white, and close\nset teeth, and giving to his countenance lately so charming, an air of\nsuch animal ferocity, that Rodin started from his seat, and exclaimed:\n\"What is the matter, prince? You frighten me.\"\n\nDjalma did not answer. Half leaning forward, with his hands clinched in\nrage, he seemed to cling to one of the arms of the chair, for fear\nof yielding to a burst of terrific fury. At this moment, the amber\nmouthpiece of his pipe rolled, by chance, under one of his feet; the\nviolent tension, which contracted all the muscles of the young Indian,\nwas so powerful, and notwithstanding his youth and his light figure, he\nwas endowed with such vigor, that with one abrupt stamp he powdered to\ndust the piece of amber, in spite of its extreme hardness.\n\n\"In the name of heaven, what is the matter, prince?\" cried Rodin.\n\n\"Thus would I crush my cowardly enemies!\" exclaimed Djalma, with\nmenacing and excited look. Then, as if these words had brought his rage\nto a climax, he bounded from his seat, and, with haggard eyes, strode\nabout the room for some seconds in all directions, as if he sought\nfor some weapon, and uttered from time to time a hoarse cry, which he\nendeavored to stifle by thrusting his clinched fist against his mouth,\nwhilst his jaws moved convulsively. It was the impotent rage of a wild\nbeast, thirsting for blood. Yet, in all this, the young Indian preserved\na great and savage beauty; it was evident that these instincts of\nsanguinary ardor and blind intrepidity, now excited to this pitch by\nhorror of treachery and cowardice, when applied to war, or to those\ngigantic Indian hunts, which are even more bloody than a battle, must\nmake of Djalma what he really was a hero.\n\nRodin admired, with deep and ominous joy, the fiery impetuosity\nof passion in the young Indian, for, under various conceivable\ncircumstances, the effect must be terrible. Suddenly, to the Jesuit's\ngreat surprise, the tempest was appeased. Djalma's fury was calmed thus\ninstantaneously, because refection showed him how vain it was: ashamed\nof his childish violence, he cast down his eyes. His countenance\nremained pale and gloomy; and, with a cold tranquillity, far more\nformidable than the violence to which he had yielded, he said to Rodin:\n\"Father, you will this day lead me to meet my enemies.\"\n\n\"In what end, my dear prince? What would you do?\"\n\n\"Kill the cowards!\"\n\n\"Kill them! you must not think of it.\"\n\n\"Faringhea will aid me.\"\n\n\"Remember, you are not on the banks of the Ganges, and here one does not\nkill an enemy like a hunted tiger.\"\n\n\"One fights with a loyal enemy, but one kills a traitor like an accursed\ndog,\" replied Djalma, with as much conviction as tranquillity.\n\n\"Ah, prince, whose father was the Father of the Generous,\" said Rodin,\nin a grave voice; \"what pleasure can you find in striking down creatures\nas cowardly as they are wicked?\"\n\n\"To destroy what is dangerous, is a duty.\"\n\n\"So prince, you seek for revenge.\"\n\n\"I do not revenge myself on a serpent,\" said the Indian, with haughty\nbitterness; \"I crush it.\"\n\n\"But, my dear prince, here we cannot get rid of our enemies in that\nmanner. If we have cause of complaint--\"\n\n\"Women and children complain,\" said Djalma, interrupting Rodin: \"men\nstrike.\"\n\n\"Still on the banks of the Ganges, my dear prince. Here society takes\nyour cause into its own hands, examines, judges, and if there be good\nreason, punishes.\"\n\n\"In my own quarrel, I am both judge and executioner.\"\n\n\"Pray listen to me; you have escaped the odious snares of your enemies,\nhave you not?--Well! suppose it were thanks to the devotion of the\nvenerable woman who has for you the tenderness of a mother, and that\nshe were to ask you to forgive them--she, who saved you from their\nhands--what would you do then?\"\n\nThe Indian hung his head, and was silent. Profiting by his hesitation,\nRodin continued: \"I might say to you that I know your enemies, but that\nin the dread of seeing you commit some terrible imprudence, I would\nconceal their names from you forever. But no! I swear to you, that if\nthe respectable person, who loves you as her son, should find it either\nright or useful that I should tell you their names, I will do so--until\nshe has pronounced, I must be silent.\"\n\nDjalma looked at Rodin with a dark and wrathful air. At this moment,\nFaringhea entered, and said to Rodin: \"A man with a letter, not finding\nyou at home, has been sent on here. Am I to receive it? He says it comes\nfrom the Abbe d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"Certainly,\" answered Rodin. \"That is,\" he added, \"with the prince's\npermission.\"\n\nDjalma nodded in reply; Faringhea went out.\n\n\"You will excuse what I have done, dear prince. I expected this morning\na very important letter. As it was late in coming to hand, I ordered it\nto be sent on.\"\n\nA few minutes after, Faringhea returned with the letter, which he\ndelivered to Rodin--and the half-caste again withdrew.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIV. ADRIENNE AND DJALMA.\n\nWhen Faringhea had quitted the room, Rodin took the letter from Abbe\nd'Aigrigny with one hand, and with the other appeared to be looking\nfor something, first in the side pocket of his great-coat, then in the\npocket behind, then in that of his trousers; and, not finding what he\nsought, he laid the letter on his knee, and felt himself all over with\nboth hands, with an air of regret and uneasiness. The divers movements\nof this pantomime, performed in the most natural manner, were crowned by\nthe exclamations.\n\n\"Oh! dear me! how vexatious!\"\n\n\"What is the matter?\" asked Djalma, starting from the gloomy silence in\nwhich he had been plunged for some minutes.\n\n\"Alas! my dear prince!\" replied Rodin, \"the most vulgar and puerile\naccident may sometimes cause the greatest inconvenience. I have\nforgotten or lost my spectacles. Now, in this twilight, with the very\npoor eyesight that years of labor have left me, it will be absolutely\nimpossible for me to read this most important letter--and an immediate\nanswer is expected--most simple and categorical--a yes or a no. Times\npresses; it is really most annoying. If,\" added Rodin, laying great\nstress on his words, without looking at Djalma, but so as the prince\nmight remark it; \"if only some one would render me the service to read\nit for me; but there is no one--no--one!\"\n\n\"Father,\" said Djalma, obligingly, \"shall I read it for you. When I have\nfinished it, I shall forget what I have read.\"\n\n\"You?\" cried Rodin, as if the proposition of the Indian had appeared\nto him extravagant and dangerous; \"it is impossible, prince, for you to\nread this letter.\"\n\n\"Then excuse my having offered,\" said Djalma mildly.\n\n\"And yet,\" resumed Rodin, after a moment's reflection, and as if\nspeaking to himself, \"why not?\"\n\nAnd he added, addressing Djalma: \"Would you really be so obliging, my\ndear prince? I should not have ventured to ask you this service.\"\n\nSo saying, Rodin delivered the letter to Djalma, who read aloud as\nfollows: \"'Your visit this morning to Saint-Dizier House can only be\nconsidered, from what I hear, as a new act of aggression on your part.\n\n\"'Here is the last proposition I have to make. It may be as fruitless as\nthe step I took yesterday, when I called upon you in the Rue Clovis.\n\n\"'After that long and painful explanation, I told you that I would write\nto you. I keep my promise, and here is my ultimatum.\n\n\"'First of all, a piece of advice. Beware! If you are determined to\nmaintain so unequal a struggle, you will be exposed even to the hatred\nof those whom you so foolishly seek to protect. There are a thousand\nways to ruin you with them, by enlightening them as to your protects. It\nwill be proved to them, that you have shared in the plat, which you\nnow pretend to reveal, not from generosity, but from cupidity.'\" Though\nDjalma had the delicacy to feel that the least question on the subject\nof this letter would be a serious indiscretion, he could not forbear\nturning his head suddenly towards the Jesuit, as he read the last\npassage.\n\n\"Oh, yes! it relates to me. Such as you see me, my dear prince,\" added\nhe, glancing at his shabby clothes, \"I am accused of cupidity.\"\n\n\"And who are these people that you protect?\"\n\n\"Those I protect?\" said Rodin feigning some hesitation, as if he\nhad been embarrassed to find an answer; \"who are those I protect?\nHem--hem--I will tell you. They are poor devils without resources; good\npeople without a penny, having only a just cause on their side, in a\nlawsuit in which they are engaged. They are threatened with destruction\nby powerful parties--very powerful parties; but, happily, these latter\nare known to me, and I am able to unmask them. What else could have\nbeen? Being myself poor and weak, I range myself naturally on the side\nof the poor and weak. But continue, I beg of you.\"\n\nDjalma resumed: \"'You have therefore every-thing to fear if you persist\nin your hostility, and nothing to gain by taking the side of those whom\nyou call your friends. They might more justly be termed your dupes, for\nyour disinterestedness would be inexplicable, were it sincere. It must\ntherefore conceal some after-thought of cupidity.\n\n\"'Well! in that view of the case, we can offer you ample\ncompensation--with this difference, that your hopes are now entirely\nfounded on the probable gratitude of your friends, a very doubtful\nchance at the best, whereas our offers will be realized on the instant.\nTo speak clearly, this is what we ask, what we exact of you. This very\nnight, before twelve, you must have left Paris, and engage not to return\nfor six months.'\" Djalma could not repress a movement of surprise, and\nlooked at Rodin.\n\n\"Quite natural,\" said the latter; \"the cause of my poor friends would be\njudged by that time, and I should be unable to watch over them. You see\nhow it is, my dear prince,\" added Rodin, with bitter indignation. \"But\nplease continue, and excuse me for having interrupted you; though,\nindeed, such impudence disgusts me.\"\n\nDjalma continued: \"'That we may be certain of your removal from Paris\nfor six months, you will go to the house of one of our friends in\nGermany. You will there be received with generous hospitality, but\nforcibly detained until the expiration of the term.'\"\n\n\"Yes, yes! a voluntary prison,\" said Rodin.\n\n\"'On these conditions, you will receive a pension of one thousand francs\na month, to begin from your departure from Paris, ten thousand francs\ndown, and twenty thousand at the end of the six months--the whole to\nbe completely secured to you. Finally, at the end of the six months, we\nwill place you in a position both honorable and independent.'\"\n\nDjalma having stopped short, with involuntary indignation, Rodin said to\nhim: \"Let me beg you to continue, my dear prince. Read to the end,\nand it will give you some idea of what passes in the midst of our\ncivilization.\"\n\nDjalma resumed: \"'You know well enough the course of affairs, and what\nwe are, to feel that in providing for your absence, we only wish to get\nrid of an enemy, not very dangerous, but rather troublesome. Do not be\nblinded by your first success. The results of your denunciation will\nbe stifled, because they are calumnious. The judge who received your\nevidence will soon repent his odious partiality. You may make what use\nyou please of this letter. We know what we write, to whom we write, and\nhow we write. You will receive this letter at three o'clock; if by four\no'clock we have not your full and complete acceptance, written with your\nown hand at the bottom of this letter, war must commence between us--and\nnot from to-morrow, but on the instant.'\"\n\nHaving finished reading the letter, Djalma looked at Rodin, who said to\nhim: \"Permit me to summon Faringhea.\"\n\nHe rang the bell, and the half-caste appeared. Rodin took the letter\nfrom the hands of Djalma, tore it into halves, rubbed it between his\npalms, so as to make a sort of a ball, and said to the half-caste, as\nhe returned it to him: \"Give this palter to the person who waits for\nit, and tell him that is my only answer to his shameless and insolent\nletter; you understand me--this shameless and insolent letter.\"\n\n\"I understand.\" said the half-caste; and he went out.\n\n\"This will perhaps be a dangerous war for you, father, said the Indian,\nwith interest.\n\n\"Yes, dear prince, it may be dangerous, but I am not like you; I have no\nwish to kill my enemies, because they are cowardly and wicked. I fight\nthem under the shield of the law. Imitate me in this.\" Then, seeing that\nthe countenance of Djalma darkened, he added: \"I am wrong. I will advise\nyou no more on this subject. Only, let us defer the decision to the\njudgment of your noble and motherly protectress. I shall see her to\nmorrow; if she consents, I will tell you the names of your enemies. If\nnot--not.\"\n\n\"And this woman, this second mother,\" said Djalma, \"is her character\nsuch, that I can rely on her judgment?\"\n\n\"She!\" cried Rodin, clasping his hands, and speaking with increased\nexcitement. \"Why, she is the most noble, the most generous, the most\nvaliant being upon earth!--why, if you were really her son, and she\nloved you with all the strength of maternal affection, and a case arose\nin which you had to choose between an act of baseness and death, she\nwould say to you: 'Die!' though she might herself die with you.\"\n\n\"Oh, noble woman! so was my mother!\" cried Djalma, with enthusiasm.\n\n\"Yes,\" resumed Rodin, with growing energy, as he approached the window\nconcealed by the shade, towards which he threw an oblique and anxious\nglance, \"if you would imagine your protectress, think only of courage,\nuprightness, and loyalty personified. Oh! she has the chivalrous\nfrankness of the brave man, joined with the high-souled dignity of the\nwoman, who not only never in her life told a falsehood, never concealed\na single thought, but who would rather die than give way to the least\nof those sentiments of craft and dissimulation, which are almost forced\nupon ordinary women by the situation in which they are placed.\"\n\nIt is difficult to express the admiration which shone upon the\ncountenance of Djalma, as he listened to this description. His eyes\nsparkled, his cheeks glowed, his heart palpitated with enthusiasm.\n\n\"That is well, noble heart!\" said Rodin to him, drawing still nearer\nto the blind; \"I love to see your soul sparkle through your eyes, on\nhearing me speak thus of your unknown protectress. Oh! but she is worthy\nof the pious adoration which noble hearts and great characters inspire!\"\n\n\"Oh! I believe you,\" cried Djalma, with enthusiasm; \"my heart is full of\nadmiration and also of astonishment, for my mother is no more, and yet\nsuch a woman exists!\"\n\n\"Yes, she exists. For the consolation of the afflicted, for the glory of\nher sex, she exists. For the honor of truth, and the shame of falsehood,\nshe exists. No lie, no disguise, has ever tainted her loyalty, brilliant\nand heroic as the sword of a knight. It is but a few days ago that this\nnoble woman spoke to me these admirable words, which, in all my life,\nI shall not forget: 'Sir,' she said, 'if ever I suspect any one that I\nlove or esteem--'\"\n\nRodin did not finish. The shade, so violently shaken that the spring\nbroke, was drawn up abruptly, and, to the great astonishment of Djalma,\nMdlle. de Cardoville appeared before him. Adrienne's cloak had fallen\nfrom her shoulders, and in the violence of the movement with which she\nhad approached the blind, her bonnet, the strings of which were untied,\nhad also fallen. Having left home suddenly, with only just time to throw\na mantle over the picturesque and charming costume which she often chose\nto wear when alone, she appeared so radiant with beauty to Djalma's\ndazzled eyes, in the centre of those leaves and flowers, that the Indian\nbelieved himself under the influence of a dream.\n\nWith clasped hands, eyes wide open, the body slightly bent forward, as\nif in the act of prayer, he stood petrified with admiration, Mdlle. de\nCardoville, much agitated, and her countenance glowing with emotion,\nremained on the threshold of the greenhouse, without entering the room.\nAll this had passed in less time than it takes to describe it. Hardly\nhad the blind been raised, than Rodin, feigning surprise, exclaimed:\n\"You here, madame?\"\n\n\"Oh, sir!\" said Adrienne, in an agitated voice, \"I come to terminate\nthe phrase which you have commenced. I told you, that when a suspicion\ncrossed my mind, I uttered it aloud to the person by whom it was\ninspired. Well! I confess it: I have failed in this honesty. I came here\nas a spy upon you, when your answer to the Abbe d'Aigrigny was giving me\na new pledge of your devotion and sincerity. I doubted your uprightness\nat the moment when you were bearing testimony to my frankness. For\nthe first time in my life, I stooped to deceit; this weakness merits\npunishment, and I submit to it--demands reparation, and I make it--calls\nfor apologies, and I tender them to you.\" Then turning towards Djalma,\nshe added: \"Now, prince, I am no longer mistress of my secret. I am your\nrelation, Mdlle. de Cardoville; and I hope you will accept from a sister\nthe hospitality that you did not refuse from a mother.\"\n\nDjalma made no reply. Plunged in ecstatic contemplation of this sudden\napparition, which surpassed his wildest and most dazzling visions, he\nfelt a sort of intoxication, which, paralyzing the power of thought,\nconcentrated all his faculties in the one sense of sight; and just as we\nsometimes seek in vain to satisfy unquenchable thirst, the burning look\nof the Indian sought, as it were, with devouring avidity, to take in\nall the rare perfections of the young lady. Verily, never had two more\ndivine types of beauty met face to face. Adrienne and Djalma were the\nvery ideal of a handsome youth and maiden. There seemed to be something\nprovidential in the meeting of these two natures, so young and so\nvivacious, so generous and so full of passion, so heroic and so proud,\nwho, before coming into contact, had, singularly enough, each learned\nthe moral worth of the other; for if, at the words of Rodin, Djalma had\nfelt arise in his heart an admiration, as lively as it was sudden, for\nthe valiant and generous qualities of that unknown benefactress, whom\nhe now discovered in Mdlle. de Cardoville, the latter had, in her turn,\nbeen moved, affected, almost terrified, by the interview she had just\noverheard, in which Djalma had displayed the nobleness of his soul,\nthe delicate goodness of his heart, and the terrible transports of\nhis temper. Then she had not been able to repress a movement of\nastonishment, almost admiration, at sight of the surprising beauty of\nthe prince; and soon after, a strange, painful sentiment, a sort\nof electric shock, seemed to penetrate all her being, as her eyes\nencountered Djalma's.\n\nCruelly agitated, and suffering deeply from this agitation, she tried\nto dissemble the impression she had received, by addressing Rodin, to\napologize for having suspected him. But the obstinate silence of the\nIndian redoubled the lady's painful embarrassment. Again raising her\neyes towards the prince, to invite him to respond to her fraternal\noffer, she met his ardent gaze wildly fixed upon her, and she looked\nonce more with a mixture of fear, sadness, and wounded pride; then she\ncongratulated herself on having foreseen the inexorable necessity of\nkeeping Djalma at a distance from her, such apprehension did this ardent\nand impetuous nature already inspire. Wishing to put an end to her\npresent painful situation, she said to Rodin, in a low and trembling\nvoice, \"Pray, sir, speak to the prince; repeat to him my offers. I\ncannot remain longer.\" So saying, Adrienne turned, as if to rejoin\nFlorine. But, at the first step, Djalma sprang towards her with the\nbound of a tiger, about to be deprived of his prey. Terrified by the\nexpression of wild excitement which inflamed the Indian's countenance,\nthe young lady drew back with a loud scream.\n\nAt this, Djalma remembered himself, and all that had passed. Pale with\nregret and shame, trembling, dismayed, his eyes streaming with tears,\nand all his features marked with an expression of the most touching\ndespair, he fell at Adrienne's feet, and lifting his clasped hands\ntowards her, said in a soft, supplicating, timid voice: \"Oh, remain!\nremain! do not leave me. I have waited for you so long!\" To this prayer,\nuttered with the timid simplicity of a child, and a resignation which\ncontrasted strangely with the savage violence that had so frightened\nAdrienne, she replied, as she made a sign to Florine to prepare for\ntheir departure: \"Prince, it is impossible for me to remain longer\nhere.\"\n\n\"But you will return?\" said Djalma, striving to restrain his tears. \"I\nshall see you again?\"\n\n\"Oh, no! never--never!\" said Mdlle. de Cardoville, in a failing voice.\nThen, profiting by the stupor into which her answer had thrown Djalma,\nAdrienne disappeared rapidly behind the plants in the greenhouse.\n\nFlorine was hastening to rejoin her mistress, when, just at the\nmoment she passed before Rodin, he said to her in a low, quick voice:\n\"To-morrow we must finish with the hunchback.\" Florine trembled in every\nlimb, and, without answering Rodin, disappeared, like her mistress,\nbehind the plants. Broken, overpowered, Djalma remained upon his knees,\nwith his head resting on his breast. His countenance expressed neither\nrage nor excitement, but a painful stupor; he wept silently. Seeing\nRodin approach him, he rose, but with so tremulous a step, that he could\nhardly reach the divan, on which he sank down, hiding his face in his\nhands.\n\nThen Rodin, advancing, said to him in a mild and insinuating tone:\n\"Alas! I feared what has happened. I did not wish you to see your\nbenefactress; and if I told you she was old, do you know why, dear\nprince?\"\n\nDjalma, without answering, let his hands fall upon his knees, and turned\ntowards Rodin a countenance still bathed in tears.\n\n\"I knew that Mdlle. de Cardoville was charming, and at your age it is\nso easy to fall in love,\" continued Rodin; \"I wished to spare you that\nmisfortune, my dear prince, for your beautiful protectress passionately\nloves a handsome young man of this town.\"\n\nUpon these words, Djalma suddenly pressed both hands to his heart, as if\nhe felt a piercing stab, uttered a cry of savage grief, threw back his\nhead, and fell fainting upon the divan.\n\nRodin looked at him coldly for some seconds, and then said as he went\naway, brushing his old hat with his elbow,\n\n\"Come! it works--it works!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLV. THE CONSULTATION.\n\nIt is night. It has just struck nine. It is the evening of that day\non which Mdlle. de Cardoville first found herself in the presence of\nDjalma. Florine, pale, agitated, trembling, with a candle in her hand,\nhad just entered a bedroom, plainly but comfortably furnished. This room\nwas one of the apartments occupied by Mother Bunch, in Adrienne's house.\nThey were situated on the ground-floor, and had two entrances. One\nopened on the garden, and the other on the court-yard. From this side\ncame the persons who applied to the workgirl for succor; an ante-chamber\nin which they waited, a parlor in which they were received, constituted\nMother Bunch's apartments, along with the bedroom, which Florine\nhad just entered, looking about her with an anxious and alarmed air,\nscarcely touching the carpet with the tips of her satin shoes, holding\nher breath, and listening at the least noise.\n\nPlacing the candle upon the chimney-piece, she took a rapid survey\nof the chamber, and approached the mahogany desk, surmounted by a\nwell-filled bookcase. The key had been left in the drawers of this\npiece of furniture, and they were all three examined by Florine. They\ncontained different petitions from persons in distress, and various,\nnotes in the girl's handwriting. This was not what Florine wanted. Three\ncardboard boxes were placed in pigeon-holes beneath the bookcase. These\nalso were vainly explored, and Florine, with a gesture of vexation,\nlooked and listened anxiously; then, seeing a chest of drawers, she\nmade therein a fresh and useless search. Near the foot of the bed was\na little door, leading to a dressing-room. Florine entered it, and\nlooked--at first without success--into a large wardrobe, in which were\nsuspended several black dresses, recently made for Mother Bunch,\nby order of Mdlle. de Cardoville. Perceiving, at the bottom of this\nwardrobe, half hidden beneath a cloak, a very shabby little trunk,\nFlorine opened it hastily, and found there, carefully folded up, the\npoor old garments in which the work-girl had been clad when she first\nentered this opulent mansion.\n\nFlorine started--an involuntary emotion contracted her features; but\nconsidering that she had not liberty to indulge her feelings, but only\nto obey Rodin's implacable orders, she hastily closed both trunk and\nwardrobe, and leaving the dressing-room, returned into the bed-chamber.\nAfter having again examined the writing-stand, a sudden idea occurred to\nher. Not content with once more searching the cardboard boxes, she drew\nout one of them from the pigeon-hole, hoping to find what she sought\nbehind the box: her first attempt failed, but the second was more\nsuccessful. She found behind the middle box a copy-book of considerable\nthickness. She started in surprise, for she had expected something else;\nyet she took the manuscript, opened it, and rapidly turned over\nthe leaves. After having perused several pages, she manifested her\nsatisfaction, and seemed as if about to put the book in her pocket; but\nafter a moment's reflection, she replaced it where she had found it,\narranged everything in order, took her candle, and quitted the apartment\nwithout being discovered--of which, indeed, she had felt pretty sure,\nknowing that Mother Bunch would be occupied with Mdlle. de Cardoville\nfor some hours.\n\nThe day after Florine's researches, Mother Bunch, alone in her bed\nchamber, was seated in an arm-chair, close to a good fire. A thick\ncarpet covered the floor; through the window-curtains could be seen the\nlawn of a large garden; the deep silence was only interrupted by the\nregular ticking of a clock, and the crackling of the wood. Her\nhands resting on the arms of the chair, she gave way to a feeling of\nhappiness, such as she had never so completely enjoyed since she took\nup her residence at the hotel. For her, accustomed so long to cruel\nprivations, there was a kind of inexpressible charm in the calm silence\nof this retreat--in the cheerful aspect of the garden, and above all, in\nthe consciousness that she was indebted for this comfortable position,\nto the resignation and energy she had displayed, in the thick of the\nmany severe trials which now ended so happily. An old woman, with a mild\nand friendly countenance, who had been, by express desire of Adrienne,\nattached to the hunchback's service, entered the room and said to her:\n\"Mademoiselle, a young man wishes to speak to you on pressing business.\nHe gives his name as Agricola Baudoin.\"\n\nAt this name, Mother Bunch uttered an exclamation of surprise and joy,\nblushed slightly, rose and ran to the door which led to the parlor in\nwhich was Agricola.\n\n\"Good-morning, dear sister,\" said the smith, cordially embracing the\nyoung girl, whose cheeks burned crimson beneath those fraternal kisses.\n\n\"Ah, me!\" cried the sempstress on a sudden, as she looked anxiously\nat Agricola; \"what is that black band on your forehead? You have been\nwounded!\"\n\n\"A mere nothing,\" said the smith, \"really nothing. Do not think of it.\nI will tell you all about that presently. But first, I have things of\nimportance to communicate.\"\n\n\"Come into my room, then; we shall be alone,\" Mother Bunch, as she went\nbefore Agricola.\n\nNotwithstanding the expression of uneasiness which was visible on the\ncountenance of Agricola, he could not forbear smiling with pleasure as\nhe entered the room and looked around him.\n\n\"Excellent, my poor sister! this is how I would always have you lodged.\nI recognize here the hand of Mdlle. de Cardoville. What a heart! what\na noble mind!--Dost know, she wrote to me the day before yesterday,\nto thank me for what I had done for her, and sent me a gold pin (very\nplain), which she said I need not hesitate to accept, as it had no other\nvalue but that of having been worn by her mother! You can't tell how\nmuch I was affected by the delicacy of this gift!\"\n\n\"Nothing must astonish you from a heart like hers,\" answered the\nhunchback. \"But the wound--the wound?\"\n\n\"Presently, my good sister; I have so many things to tell you. Let us\nbegin by what is most pressing, for I want you to give me some good\nadvice in a very serious case. You know how much confidence I have in\nyour excellent heart and judgment. And then, I have to ask of you a\nservice--oh! a great service,\" added the smith, in an earnest, and\nalmost solemn tone, which astonished his hearer. \"Let us begin with what\nis not personal to myself.\"\n\n\"Speak quickly.\"\n\n\"Since my mother went with Gabriel to the little country curacy he has\nobtained, and since my father lodges with Marshal Simon and the young\nladies, I have resided, you know, with my mates, at M. Hardy's factory,\nin the common dwelling-house. Now, this morning but first, I must tell\nyou that M. Hardy, who has lately returned from a journey, is again\nabsent for a few days on business. This morning, then, at the hour of\nbreakfast, I remained at work a little after the last stroke of the\nbell; I was leaving the workshop to go to our eating-room, when I saw\nentering the courtyard, a lady who had just got out of a hackney-coach.\nI remarked that she was fair, though her veil was half down; she had\na mild and pretty countenance, and her dress was that of a fashionable\nlady. Struck with her paleness, and her anxious, frightened air, I asked\nher if she wanted anything. 'Sir,' said she to me, in a trembling voice,\nand as if with a great effort, 'do you belong to this factory?'--'Yes,\nmadame.'--'M. Hardy is then in clanger?' she exclaimed.--'M. Hardy,\nmadame? He has not yet returned home.'--'What!' she went on, 'M. Hardy\ndid not come hither yesterday evening? Was he not dangerously wounded by\nsome of the machinery?' As she said these words, the poor young lady's\nlips trembled, and I saw large tears standing in her eyes. 'Thank God,\nmadame! all this is entirely false,' said I, 'for M. Hardy has\nnot returned, and indeed is only expected by to-morrow or the day\nafter.'--'You are quite sure that he has not returned! quite sure that\nhe is not hurt?' resumed the pretty young lady, drying her eyes.--'Quite\nsure, madame; if M. Hardy were in danger, I should not be so quiet in\ntalking to you about him.'--'Oh! thank God! thank God!' cried the young\nlady. Then she expressed to me her gratitude, with so happy, so feeling\nan air, that I was quite touched by it. But suddenly, as if then only\nshe felt ashamed of the step she had taken, she let down her veil, left\nme precipitately, went out of the court-yard, and got once more into the\nhackney-coach that had brought her. I said to myself: 'This is a lady\nwho takes great interest in M. Hardy, and has been alarmed by a false\nreport.\"'\n\n\"She loves him, doubtless,\" said Mother Bunch, much moved, \"and, in\nher anxiety, she perhaps committed an act of imprudence, in coming to\ninquire after him.\"\n\n\"It is only too true. I saw her get into the coach with interests, for\nher emotion had infected me. The coach started--and what did I see a few\nseconds after? A cab, which the young lady could not have perceived, for\nit had been hidden by an angle of the wall; and, as it turned round the\ncorner, I distinguished perfectly a man seated by the driver's side, and\nmaking signs to him to take the same road as the hackney-coach.\"\n\n\"The poor young lady was followed,\" said Mother Bunch, anxiously.\n\n\"No doubt of it; so I instantly hastened after the coach, reached it,\nand through the blinds that were let down, I said to the young lady,\nwhilst I kept running by the side of the coach door: 'Take care, madame;\nyou are followed by a cab.\n\n\"Well, Agricola! and what did she answer?\"\n\n\"I heard her exclaim, 'Great Heaven!' with an accent of despair. The\ncoach continued its course. The cab soon came up with me; I saw, by\nthe side of the driver, a great, fat, ruddy man, who, having watched me\nrunning after the coach, no doubt suspected something, for he looked at\nme somewhat uneasily.\"\n\n\"And when does M. Hardy return?\" asked the hunchback.\n\n\"To-morrow, or the day after. Now, my good sister, advise me. It is\nevident that this young lady loves M. Hardy. She is probably married,\nfor she looked so embarrassed when she spoke to me, and she uttered\na cry of terror on learning that she was followed. What shall I do? I\nwished to ask advice of Father Simon, but he is so very strict in such\nmatters--and then a love affair, at his age!--while you are so delicate\nand sensible, my good sister, that you will understand it all.\"\n\nThe girl started, and smiled bitterly; Agricola did not perceive it, and\nthus continued: \"So I said to myself, 'There is only Mother Bunch, who\ncan give me good advice.' Suppose M. Hardy returns to-morrow, shall I\ntell him what has passed or not?\"\n\n\"Wait a moment,\" cried the other, suddenly interrupting Agricola, and\nappearing to recollect something; \"when I went to St. Mary's Convent, to\nask for work of the superior, she proposed that I should be employed by\nthe day, in a house in which I was to watch or, in other words, to act\nas a spy--\"\n\n\"What a wretch!\"\n\n\"And do you know,\" said the girl, \"with whom I was to begin this odious\ntrade? Why, with a Madame de-Fremont, or de Bremont, I do not remember\nwhich, a very religious woman, whose daughter, a young married lady,\nreceived visits a great deal too frequent (according to the superior)\nfrom a certain manufacturer.\"\n\n\"What do you say?\" cried Agricola. \"This manufacturer must be--\"\n\n\"M. Hardy. I had too many reasons to remember that name, when it was\npronounced by the superior. Since that day, so many other events have\ntaken place, that I had almost forgotten the circumstance. But it is\nprobable that this young lady is the one of whom I heard speak at the\nconvent.\"\n\n\"And what interest had the superior of the convent to set a spy upon\nher?\" asked the smith.\n\n\"I do not know; but it is clear that the same interest still exists,\nsince the young lady was followed, and perhaps, at this hour, is\ndiscovered and dishonored. Oh! it is dreadful!\" Then, seeing Agricola\nstart suddenly, Mother Bunch added: \"What, then, is the matter?\"\n\n\"Yes--why not?\" said the smith, speaking to himself; \"why may not all\nthis be the work of the same hand? The superior of a convent may have a\nprivate understanding with an abbe--but, then, for what end?\"\n\n\"Explain yourself, Agricola,\" said the girl. \"And then,--where did you\nget your wound? Tell me that, I conjure you.\"\n\n\"It is of my wound that I am just going to speak; for in truth, the\nmore I think of it, the more this adventure of the young lady seems to\nconnect itself with other facts.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"You must know that, for the last few days, singular things are passing\nin the neighborhood of our factory. First, as we are in Lent, an abbe\nfrom Paris (a tall, fine-looking man, they say) has come to preach in\nthe little village of Villiers, which is only a quarter of a league from\nour works. The abbe has found occasion to slander and attack M. Hardy in\nhis sermons.\"\n\n\"How is that?\"\n\n\"M. Hardy has printed certain rules with regard to our work, and the\nrights and benefits he grants us. These rules are followed by various\nmaxims as noble as they are simple; with precepts of brotherly love such\nas all the world can understand, extracted from different philosophies\nand different religions. But because M. Hardy has chosen what is best in\nall religions, the abbe concludes that M. Hardy has no religion at all,\nand he has therefore not only attacked him for this in the pulpit,\nbut has denounced our factory as a centre of perdition and damnable\ncorruption, because, on Sundays, instead of going to listen to his\nsermons, or to drink at a tavern, our comrades, with their wives and\nchildren, pass their time in cultivating their little gardens, in\nreading, singing in chorus, or dancing together in the common dwelling\nhouse. The abbe has even gone so far as to say, that the neighborhood\nof such an assemblage of atheists, as he calls us, might draw down the\nanger of Heaven upon the country--that the hovering of Cholera was much\ntalked of, and that very possibly, thanks to our impious presence, the\nplague might fall upon all our neighborhood.\"\n\n\"But to tell such things to ignorant people,\" exclaimed Mother Bunch,\n\"is likely to excite them to fatal actions.\"\n\n\"That is just what the abbe wants.\"\n\n\"What do you tell me?\"\n\n\"The people of the environs, still more excited, no doubt by other\nagitators, show themselves hostile to the workmen of our factory. Their\nhatred, or at least their envy, has been turned to account. Seeing\nus live all together, well lodged, well warmed, and comfortably clad,\nactive, gay, and laborious, their jealousy has been embittered by the\nsermons, and by the secret manoeuvres of some depraved characters,\nwho are known to be bad workmen, in the employment of M. Tripeaud, our\nopposition. All this excitement is beginning to bear fruit; there have\nbeen already two or three fights between us and our neighbors. It was in\none of these skirmishes that I received a blow with a stone on my head.\"\n\n\"Is it not serious, Agricola?--are you quite sure?\" said Mother Bunch,\nanxiously.\n\n\"It is nothing at all, I tell you. But the enemies of M. Hardy have not\nconfined themselves to preaching. They have brought into play something\nfar more dangerous.\"\n\n\"What is that?\"\n\n\"I, and nearly all my comrades, did our part in the three Revolutionary\ndays of July; but we are not eager at present, for good reasons, to take\nup arms again. That is not everybody's opinion; well, we do not blame\nothers, but we have our own ideas; and Father Simon, who is as brave as\nhis son, and as good a patriot as any one, approves and directs us. Now,\nfor some days past, we find all about the factory, in the garden, in the\ncourts, printed papers to this effect: 'You are selfish cowards; because\nchance has given you a good master, you remain indifferent to the\nmisfortunes of your brothers, and to the means of freeing them; material\ncomforts have enervated your hearts.'\"\n\n\"Dear me, Agricola! what frightful perseverance in wickedness!\"\n\n\"Yes! and unfortunately these devices have their effect on some of\nour younger mates. As the appeal was, after all, to proud and generous\nsentiments, it has had some influence. Already, seeds of division have\nshown themselves in our workshops, where, before, all were united as\nbrothers. A secret agitation now reigns there. Cold suspicion takes the\nplace, with some, of our accustomed cordiality. Now, if I tell you that\nI am nearly sure these printed papers, thrown over the walls of our\nfactory, to raise these little sparks of discord amongst us, have been\nscattered about by the emissaries of this same preaching abbe--would\nit not seem from all this, taken in conjunction with what happened this\nmorning to the young lady, that M. Hardy has of late numerous enemies?\"\n\n\"Like you, I think it very fearful, Agricola,\" said the girl; \"and it\nis so serious, that M. Hardy alone can take a proper decision on the\nsubject. As for what happened this morning to the young lady, it appears\nto me, that, immediately on M. Hardy's return, you should ask for an\ninterview with him, and, however delicate such a communication may be,\ntell him all that passed.\"\n\n\"There is the difficulty. Shall I not seem as if wishing to pry into his\nsecrets?\"\n\n\"If the young lady had not been followed, I should have shared your\nscruples. But she was watched, and is evidently in danger. It is\ntherefore, in my opinion, your duty to warn M. Hardy. Suppose (which is\nnot improbable) that the lady is married; would it not be better, for a\nthousand reasons, that M. Hardy should know all?\"\n\n\"You are right, my good sister; I will follow your advice. M. Hardy\nshall know everything. But now that we have spoken of others, I have to\nspeak of myself--yes, of myself--for it concerns a matter, on which may\ndepend the happiness of my whole life,\" added the smith, in a tone of\nseriousness, which struck his hearer. \"You know,\" proceeded Agricola,\nafter a moment's silence, \"that, from my childhood, I have never\nconcealed anything from you--that I have told you everything--absolutely\neverything?\"\n\n\"I know it, Agricola, I know it,\" said the hunchback, stretching out her\nwhite and slender hand to the smith, who grasped it cordially, and thus\ncontinued: \"When I say everything, I am not quite exact--for I have\nalways concealed from you my little love-affairs--because, though we may\ntell almost anything to a sister, there are subjects of which we ought\nnot to speak to a good and virtuous girl, such as you are.\"\n\n\"I thank you, Agricola. I had remarked this reserve on your part,\"\nobserved the other, casting down her eyes, and heroically repressing the\ngrief she felt; \"I thank you.\"\n\n\"But for the very reason, that I made it a duty never to speak to you\nof such love affairs, I said to myself, if ever it should happen that I\nhave a serious passion--such a love as makes one think of marriage--oh!\nthen, just as we tell our sister even before our father and mother, my\ngood sister shall be the first to be informed of it.\"\n\n\"You are very kind, Agricola.\"\n\n\"Well then! the serious passion has come at last. I am over head and\nears in love, and I think of marriage.\"\n\nAt these words of Agricola, poor Mother Bunch felt herself for an\ninstant paralyzed. It seemed as if all her blood was suddenly frozen in\nher veins. For some seconds, she thought she was going to die. Her heart\nceased to beat; she felt it, not breaking, but melting away to nothing.\nThen, the first blasting emotion over, like those martyrs who found, in\nthe very excitement of pain, the terrible power to smile in the midst\nof tortures, the unfortunate girl found, in the fear of betraying the\nsecret of her fatal and ridiculous love, almost incredible energy. She\nraised her head, looked at the smith calmly, almost serenely, and said\nto him in a firm voice: \"Ah! so, you truly love?\"\n\n\"That is to say, my good sister, that, for the last four days, I\nscarcely live at all--or live only upon this passion.\"\n\n\"It is only since four days that you have been in love?\"\n\n\"Not more--but time has nothing to do with it.\"\n\n\"And is she very pretty?\"\n\n\"Dark hair--the figure of a nymph--fair as a lily--blue eyes, as large\nas that--and as mild, as good as your own.\"\n\n\"You flatter me, Agricola.\"\n\n\"No, no, it is Angela that I flatter--for that's her name. What a pretty\none! Is it not, my good Mother Bunch?\"\n\n\"A charming name,\" said the poor girl, contrasting bitterly that\ngraceful appellation with her own nickname, which the thoughtless\nAgricola applied to her without thinking of it. Then she resumed, with\nfearful calmness: \"Angela? yes, it is a charming name!\"\n\n\"Well, then! imagine to yourself, that this name is not only suited to\nher face, but to her heart. In a word, I believe her heart to be almost\nequal to yours.\"\n\n\"She has my eyes--she has my heart,\" said Mother Bunch, smiling. \"It is\nsingular, how like we are.\"\n\nAgricola did not perceive the irony of despair contained in these words.\nHe resumed, with a tenderness as sincere as it was inexorable: \"Do you\nthink, my good girl, that I could ever have fallen seriously in love\nwith any one, who had not in character, heart, and mind, much of you?\"\n\n\"Come, brother,\" said the girl, smiling--yes, the unfortunate creature\nhad the strength to smile; \"come, brother, you are in a gallant vein\nto day. Where did you make the acquaintance of this beautiful young\nperson?\"\n\n\"She is only the sister of one of my mates. Her mother is the head\nlaundress in our common dwelling, and as she was in want of assistance,\nand we always take in preference the relations of members of the\nassociation, Mrs. Bertin (that's the mother's name) sent for her\ndaughter from Lille, where she had been stopping with one of her aunts,\nand, for the last five days, she has been in the laundry. The first\nevening I saw her, I passed three hours, after work was over, in talking\nwith her, and her mother and brother; and the next day, I felt that my\nheart was gone; the day after that, the feeling was only stronger--and\nnow I am quite mad about her, and resolved on marriage--according as you\nshall decide. Do not be surprised at this; everything depends upon you.\nI shall only ask my father and mother's leave, after I have yours.\"\n\n\"I do not understand you, Agricola.\"\n\n\"You know the utter confidence I have in the incredible instinct of your\nheart. Many times, you have said to me: 'Agricola, love this person,\nlove that person, have confidence in that other'--and never yet were you\ndeceived. Well! you must now render me the same service. You will ask\npermission of Mdlle. de Cardoville to absent yourself; I will take you\nto the factory: I have spoken of you to Mrs. Benin and her daughter,\nas of a beloved sister; and, according to your impression at sight\nof Angela, I will declare myself or not. This may be childishness, or\nsuperstition, on my part; but I am so made.\"\n\n\"Be it so,\" answered Mother Bunch, with heroic courage; \"I will see\nMdlle. Angela; I will tell you what I think of her--and that, mind you,\nsincerely.\"\n\n\"I know it. When will you come?\"\n\n\"I must ask Mdlle. de Cardoville what day she can spare sue. I will let\nyou know.\"\n\n\"Thanks, my good sister!\" said Agricola warmly; then he added, with a\nsmile: \"Bring your best judgment with you--your full dress judgment.\"\n\n\"Do not make a jest of it, brother,\" said Mother Bunch, in a mild, sad\nvoice; \"it is a serious matter, for it concerns the happiness of your\nwhole life.\"\n\nAt this moment, a modest knock was heard at the door. \"Come in,\" said\nMother Bunch. Florine appeared.\n\n\"My mistress begs that you will come to her, if you are not engaged,\"\nsaid Florine to Mother Bunch.\n\nThe latter rose, and, addressing the smith, said to him: \"Please wait a\nmoment, Agricola. I will ask Mdlle. de Cardoville what day I can dispose\nof, and I will come and tell you.\" So saying, the girl went out, leaving\nAgricola with Florine.\n\n\"I should have much wished to pay my respects to Mdlle. de Cardoville,\"\nsaid Agricola; \"but I feared to intrude.\"\n\n\"My lady is not quite well, sir,\" said Florine, \"and receives no one to\nday. I am sure, that as soon as she is better, she will be quite pleased\nto see you.\"\n\nHere Mother Bunch returned, and said to Agricola: \"If you can come for\nme to-morrow, about three o'clock, so as not to lose the whole day, we\nwill go to the factory, and you can bring me back in the evening.\"\n\n\"Then, at three o'clock to-morrow, my good sister.\"\n\n\"At three to-morrow, Agricola.\"\n\nThe evening of that same day, when all was quiet in the hotel, Mother\nBunch, who had remained till ten o'clock with Mdlle. de Cardoville, re\nentered her bedchamber, locked the door after her, and finding herself\nat length free and unrestrained, threw herself on her knees before a\nchair, and burst into tears. She wept long--very long. When her tears at\nlength ceased to flow, she dried her eyes, approached the writing-desk,\ndrew out one of the boxes from the pigeonhole, and, taking from this\nhiding-place the manuscript which Florine had so rapidly glanced over\nthe evening before, she wrote in it during a portion of the night.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVI. MOTHER BUNCH'S DIARY.\n\nWe have said that the hunchback wrote during a portion of the night,\nin the book discovered the previous evening by Florine, who had not\nventured to take it away, until she had informed the persons who\nemployed her of its contents, and until she had received their final\norders on the subject. Let us explain the existence of this manuscript,\nbefore opening it to the reader. The day on which Mother Bunch first\nbecame aware of her love for Agricola, the first word of this manuscript\nhad been written. Endowed with an essentially trusting character, yet\nalways feeling herself restrained by the dread of ridicule--a dread\nwhich, in its painful exaggeration, was the workgirl's only weakness--to\nwhom could the unfortunate creature have confided the secret of that\nfatal passion, if not to paper--that mute confidant of timid and\nsuffering souls, that patient friend, silent and cold, who, if it makes\nno reply to heart rending complaints, at least always listens, and never\nforgets?\n\nWhen her heart was overflowing with emotion, sometimes mild and sad,\nsometimes harsh and bitter, the poor workgirl, finding a melancholy\ncharm in these dumb and solitary outpourings of the soul, now clothed in\nthe form of simple and touching poetry, and now in unaffected prose,\nhad accustomed herself by degrees not to confine her confidences to what\nimmediately related to Agricola, for though he might be mixed up with\nall her thoughts, for reflections, which the sight of beauty, of happy\nlove, of maternity, of wealth, of misfortune, called up within her, were\nso impressed with the influence of her unfortunate personal position,\nthat she would not even have dared to communicate them to him. Such,\nthen, was this journal of a poor daughter of the people, weak, deformed,\nand miserable, but endowed with an angelic soul, and a fine intellect,\nimproved by reading, meditation, and solitude; pages quite unknown,\nwhich yet contained many deep and striking views, both as regard men and\nthings, taken from the peculiar standpoint in which fate had placed\nthis unfortunate creature. The following lines, here and there abruptly\ninterrupted or stained with tears, according to the current of her\nvarious emotions, on hearing of Agricola's deep love for Angela, formed\nthe last pages of this journal:\n\n\"Friday, March 3d, 1832.\n\n\"I spent the night without any painful dreams. This morning, I rose with\nno sorrowful presentiment. I was calm and tranquil when Agricola came.\nHe did not appear to me agitated. He was simple and affectionate as\nhe always is. He spoke to me of events relating to M. Hardy, and then,\nwithout transition, without hesitation, he said to me: 'The last four\ndays I have been desperately in love. The sentiment is so serious, that\nI think of marriage. I have come to consult you about it.' That was how\nthis overwhelming revelation was made to me--naturally and cordially--I\non one side of the hearth, and Agricola an the other, as if we had\ntalked of indifferent things. And yet no more is needed to break\none's heart. Some one enters, embraces you like a brother, sits down,\ntalks--and then--Oh! Merciful heaven! my head wanders.\n\n\"I feel calmer now. Courage, my poor heart, courage!--Should a day of\nmisfortune again overwhelm me, I will read these lines written under the\nimpression of the most cruel grief I can ever feel, and I will say to\nmyself: 'What is the present woe compared to that past?' My grief is\nindeed cruel! it is illegitimate, ridiculous, shameful: I should not\ndare to confess it, even to the most indulgent of mothers. Alas!\nthere are some fearful sorrows, which yet rightly make men shrug their\nshoulders in pity or contempt. Alas! these are forbidden misfortunes.\nAgricola has asked me to go to-morrow, to see this young girl to whom he\nis so passionately attached, and whom he will marry, if the instinct of\nmy heart should approve the marriage. This thought is the most painful\nof all those which have tortured me since he so pitilessly announced\nthis love. Pitilessly? No, Agricola--no, my brother--forgive me this\nunjust cry of pain! Is it that you know, can even suspect, that I love\nyou better than you love, better than you can ever love, this charming\ncreature?\n\n\"'Dark-haired--the figure of a nymph--fair as a lily--with blue eyes--as\nlarge as that--and almost as mild as your own.'\n\n\"That is the portrait he drew of her. Poor Agricola! how would he have\nsuffered, had he known that every one of his words was tearing my heart.\nNever did I so strongly feel the deep commiseration and tender pity,\ninspired by a good, affectionate being, who, in the sincerity of his\nignorance, gives you your death-wound with a smile. We do not blame\nhim--no--we pity him to the full extent of the grief that he would feel\non learning the pain he had caused me. It is strange! but never did\nAgricola appear to me more handsome than this morning. His manly\ncountenance was slightly agitated, as he spoke of the uneasiness of that\npretty young lady. As I listened to him describing the agony of a woman\nwho runs the risk of ruin for the man she loves, I felt my heart\nbeat violently, my hands were burning, a soft languor floated over\nme--Ridiculous folly! As if I had any right to feel thus!\n\n\"I remember that, while he spoke, I cast a rapid glance at the glass. I\nfelt proud that I was so well dressed; he had not even remarked it; but\nno matter--it seemed to me that my cap became me, that my hair shone\nfinely, my gaze beamed mild--I found Agricola so handsome, that I almost\nbegan to think myself less ugly--no doubt, to excuse myself in my own\neyes for daring to love him. After all, what happened to-day would have\nhappened one day or another! Yes, that is consoling--like the thoughts\nthat death is nothing, because it must come at last--to those who are\nin love with life! I have been always preserved from suicide--the last\nresource of the unfortunate, who prefer trusting in God to remaining\namongst his creatures--by the sense of duty. One must not only think\nof self. And I reflected also'God is good--always good--since the most\nwretched beings find opportunities for love and devotion.' How is it\nthat I, so weak and poor, have always found means to be helpful and\nuseful to some one?\n\n\"This very day I felt tempted to make an end with life--Agricola and\nhis mother had no longer need of me.--Yes, but the unfortunate creatures\nwhom Mdlle. de Cardoville has commissioned me to watch over?--but my\nbenefactress herself, though she has affectionately reproached me with\nthe tenacity of my suspicions in regard to that man? I am more than ever\nalarmed for her--I feel that she is more than ever in danger--more than\never--I have faith in the value of my presence near her. Hence, I must\nlive. Live--to go to-morrow to see this girl, whom Agricola passionately\nloves? Good heaven! why have I always known grief, and never hate? There\nmust be a bitter pleasure in hating. So many people hate!--Perhaps I\nmay hate this girl--Angela, as he called her, when he said, with so much\nsimplicity: 'A charming name, is it not, Mother Bunch?' Compare this\nname, which recalls an idea so full of grace, with the ironical symbol\nof my witch's deformity! Poor Agricola! poor brother! goodness\nis sometimes as blind as malice, I see. Should I hate this young\ngirl?--Why? Did she deprive me of the beauty which charms Agricola? Can\nI find fault with her for being beautiful? When I was not yet accustomed\nto the consequences of my ugliness, I asked myself, with bitter\ncuriosity, why the Creator had endowed his creatures so unequally. The\nhabit of pain has allowed me to reflect calmly, and I have finished by\npersuading myself, that to beauty and ugliness are attached the two most\nnoble emotions of the soul--admiration and compassion. Those who are\nlike me admire beautiful persons--such as Angela, such as Agricola--and\nthese in their turn feel a couching pity for such as I am. Sometimes, in\nspite of one's self, one has very foolish hopes. Because Agricola, from\na feeling of propriety had never spoken to me of his love affairs, I\nsometimes persuaded myself that he had none--that he loved me, and that\nthe fear of ridicule alone was with him, as with me, an obstacle in the\nway of confessing it. Yes, I have even made verses on that subject--and\nthose, I think, not the worst I have written.\n\n\"Mine is a singular position! If I love, I am ridiculous; if any love\nme, he is still more ridiculous. How did I come so to forget that, as to\nhave suffered and to suffer what I do?--But blessed be that suffering,\nsince it has not engendered hate--no; for I will not hate this girl--I\nwill Perform a sister's part to the last; I will follow the guidance of\nmy heart; I have the instinct of preserving others--my heart will lead\nand enlighten me. My only fear is, that I shall burst into tears when\nI see her, and not be able to conquer my emotion. Oh, then! what\na revelation to Agricola--a discovery of the mad love he has\ninspired!--Oh, never! the day in which he knew that would be the last of\nmy life. There would then be within me something stronger than duty--the\nlonging to escape from shame--that incurable shame, that burns me like a\nhot iron. No, no; I will be calm. Besides, did I not just now, when\nwith him bear courageously a terrible trial? I will be calm. My personal\nfeelings must not darken the second sight, so clear for those I love.\nOh! painful--painful task! for the fear of yielding involuntarily to\nevil sentiments must not render me too indulgent toward this girl. I\nmight compromise Agricola's happiness, since my decision is to guide his\nchoice. Poor creature that I am. How I deceive myself! Agricola asks my\nadvice, because he thinks that I shall have not the melancholy courage\nto oppose his passion; or else he would say to me: 'No matter--I love;\nand I brave the future!'\n\n\"But then, if my advice, if the instincts of my heart, are not to guide\nhim--if his resolution is taken beforehand--of what use will be\nto morrow's painful mission? Of what use? To obey him. Did he not\nsay--'Come!' In thinking of my devotion for him, how many times, in the\nsecret depths of my heart, I have asked myself if the thought had ever\noccurred to him to love me otherwise than as a sister; if it had ever\nstruck him, what a devoted wife he would have in me! And why should\nit have occurred to him? As long as he wished, as long as he may still\nwish, I have been, and I shall be, as devoted to him, as if I were his\nwife, sister, or mother. Why should he desire what he already possesses?\n\n\"Married to him--oh, God!--the dream is mad as ineffable. Are not such\nthoughts of celestial sweetness--which include all sentiments from\nsisterly to maternal love--forbidden to me, on pain of ridicule as\ndistressing as if I wore dresses and ornaments, that my ugliness and\ndeformity would render absurd? I wonder, if I were now plunged into the\nmost cruel distress, whether I should suffer as much as I do, on hearing\nof Agricola's intended marriage? Would hunger, cold, or misery diminish\nthis dreadful dolor?--or is it the dread pain that would make me forget\nhunger, cold, and misery?\n\n\"No, no; this irony is bitter. It is not well in me to speak thus. Why\nsuch deep grief? In what way have the affection, the esteem, the respect\nof Agricola, changed towards me? I complain--but how would it be, kind\nheaven! if, as, alas! too often happens, I were beautiful, loving,\ndevoted, and he had chosen another, less beautiful, less loving, less\ndevoted?--Should I not be a thousand times more unhappy? for then I\nmight, I would have to blame him--whilst now I can find no fault with\nhim, for never having thought of a union which was impossible, because\nridiculous. And had he wished it, could I ever have had the selfishness\nto consent to it? I began to write the first pages of this diary as I\nbegan these last, with my heart steeped in bitterness--and as I went on,\ncommitting to paper what I could have intrusted to no one, my soul grew\ncalm, till resignation came--Resignation, my chosen saint, who, smiling\nthrough her tears, suffers and loves, but hopes--never!\"\n\nThese word's were the last in the journal. It was clear, from the blots\nof abundant tears, that the unfortunate creature had often paused to\nweep.\n\nIn truth, worn out by so many emotions, Mother Bunch late in the night,\nhad replaced the book behind the cardboard box, not that she thought it\nsafer there than elsewhere (she had no suspicion of the slightest need\nfor such precaution), but because it was more out of the way there than\nin any of the drawers, which she frequently opened in presence of other\npeople. Determined to perform her courageous promise, and worthily\naccomplish her task to the end, she waited the next day for Agricola,\nand firm in her heroic resolution, went with the smith to M. Hardy's\nfactory. Florine, informed of her departure, but detained a portion\nof the day in attendance on Mdlle. de Cardoville preferred waiting for\nnight to perform the new orders she had asked and received, since she\nhad communicated by letter the contents of Mother Bunch's journal.\nCertain not to be surprised, she entered the workgirls' chamber, as soon\nas the night was come.\n\nKnowing the place where she should find the manuscript, she went\nstraight to the desk, took out the box, and then, drawing from her\npocket a sealed letter, prepared to leave it in the place of the\nmanuscript, which she was to carry away with her. So doing, she trembled\nso much, that she was obliged to support herself an instant by the\ntable. Every good sentiment was not extinct in Florine's heart; she\nobeyed passively the orders she received, but she felt painfully\nhow horrible and infamous was her conduct. If only herself had been\nconcerned, she would no doubt have had the courage to risk all, rather\nthan submit to this odious despotism; but unfortunately, it was not so,\nand her ruin would have caused the mortal despair of another person whom\nshe loved better than life itself. She resigned herself, therefore, not\nwithout cruel anguish, to abominable treachery.\n\nThough she hardly ever knew for what end she acted, and this was\nparticularly the case with regard to the abstraction of the journal,\nshe foresaw vaguely, that the substitution of this sealed letter for\nthe manuscript would have fatal consequences for Mother Bunch, for she\nremembered Rodin's declaration, that \"it was time to finish with the\nyoung sempstress.\"\n\nWhat did he mean by those words? How would the letter that she was\ncharged to put in the place of the diary, contribute to bring about\nthis result? she did not know--but she understood that the clear-sighted\ndevotion of the hunchback justly alarmed the enemies of Mdlle. de\nCardoville, and that she (Florine) herself daily risked having her\nperfidy detected by the young needlewoman. This last fear put an end to\nthe hesitations of Florine; she placed the letter behind the box, and,\nhiding the manuscript under her apron, cautiously withdrew from the\nchamber.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVII. THE DIARY CONTINUED.\n\nReturned into her own room, some hours after she had concealed there the\nmanuscript abstracted from Mother Bunch's apartment, Florine yielded\nto her curiosity, and determined to look through it. She soon felt a\ngrowing interest, an involuntary emotion, as she read more of these\nprivate thoughts of the young sempstress. Among many pieces of verse,\nwhich all breathed a passionate love for Agricola--a love so deep,\nsimple, and sincere, that Florine was touched by it, and forgot the\nauthor's deformity--among many pieces of verse, we say, were divers\nother fragments, thoughts, and narratives, relating to a variety of\nfacts. We shall quote some of them, in order to explain the profound\nimpression that their perusal made upon Florine.\n\nFragments from the Diary.\n\n\"This is my birthday. Until this evening, I had cherished a foolish\nhope. Yesterday, I went down to Mrs. Baudoin's, to dress a little wound\nshe had on her leg. When I entered the room, Agricola was there. No\ndoubt he was talking of me to his mother, for they stopped when I came\nin, and exchanged a meaning smile. In passing by the drawers, I saw a\npasteboard box, with a pincushion-lid, and I felt myself blushing\nwith joy, as I thought this little present was destined for me, but\nI pretended not to see it. While I was on my knees before his mother,\nAgricola went out. I remarked that he took the little box with him.\nNever has Mrs. Baudoin been more tender and motherly than she was that\nmorning. It appeared to me that she went to bed earlier than usual.\n'It is to send me away sooner,' said I to myself, 'that I may enjoy\nthe surprise Agricola has prepared for me.' How my heart beat, as I ran\nfast, very fast, up to my closet! I stopped a moment before opening the\ndoor, that my happiness might last the longer. At last I entered the\nroom, my eyes swimming with tears of joy. I looked upon my table, my\nchair, my bed--there was nothing. The little box was not to be found. My\nheart sank within me. Then I said to myself: 'It will be to-morrow--this\nis only the eve of my birthday.' The day is gone. Evening is come.\nNothing. The pretty box was not for me. It had a pincushion-cover. It\nwas only suited for a woman. To whom has Agricola given it?\n\n\"I suffer a good deal just now. It was a childish idea that I connected\nwith Agricola's wishing me many happy returns of the day. I am ashamed\nto confess it; but it might have proved to me, that he has not forgotten\nI have another name besides that of Mother Bunch, which they always\napply to me. My susceptibility on this head is unfortunately so\nstubborn, that I cannot help feeling a momentary pang of mingled shame\nand sorrow, every time that I am called by that fairy-tale name, and\nyet I have had no other from infancy. It is for that very reason that I\nshould have been so happy if Agricola had taken this opportunity to call\nme for once by my own humble name--Magdalen. Happily, he will never know\nthese wishes and regrets!\"\n\nDeeper and deeper touched by this page of simple grief, Florine turned\nover several leaves, and continued:\n\n\"I have just been to the funeral of poor little Victorine Herbin, our\nneighbor. Her father, a journeyman upholsterer, is gone to work by the\nmonth, far from Paris. She died at nineteen, without a relation near\nher. Her agony was not long. The good woman who attended her to the\nlast, told us that she only pronounced these words: 'At last, oh at\nlast!' and that with an air of satisfaction, added the nurse. Dear\nchild! she had become so pitiful. At fifteen, she was a rosebud--so\npretty, so fresh-looking, with her light hair as soft as silk; but she\nwasted away by degrees--her trade of renovating mattresses killed her.\nShe was slowly poisoned by the emanations from the wool.(26) They were\nall the worse, that she worked almost entirely for the poor, who have\ncheap stuff to lie upon.\n\n\"She had the courage of a lion, and an angel's resignation, She always\nsaid to me, in her low, faint voice, broken by a dry and frequent cough:\n'I have not long to live, breathing, as I do, lime and vitriol all day\nlong. I spit blood, and have spasms that make me faint.'\n\n\"'Why not change your trade?' have I said to her.\n\n\"'Where will I find the time to make another apprenticeship?' she would\nanswer; 'and it is now too late. I feel that I am done for. It is not my\nfault,' added the good creature, 'for I did not choose my employment.\nMy father would have it so; luckily he can do without me. And then, you\nsee, when one is dead, one cares for nothing, and has no fear of \"slop\nwages.\"'\n\n\"Victorine uttered that sad, common phrase very sincerely, and with a\nsort of satisfaction. Therefore she died repeating: 'At last!'\n\n\"It is painful to think that the labor by which the poor man earns his\ndaily bread, often becomes a long suicide! I said this the other day to\nAgricola; he answered me that there were many other fatal employments;\nthose who prepare aquafortis, white lead, or minium, for instance, are\nsure to take incurable maladies of which they die.\n\n\"'Do you know,' added Agricola, 'what they say when they start for those\nfatal works?'--Why, 'We are going to the slaughter-house.'\n\n\"That made me tremble with its terrible truth.\n\n\"'And all this takes place in our day,' said I to him, with an aching\nheart; 'and it is well-known. And, out of so many of the rich and\npowerful, no one thinks of the mortality which decimates his brothers,\nthus forced to eat homicidal bread!'\n\n\"'What can you expect, my poor sister,' answered Agricola. 'When men are\nto be incorporated, that they may get killed in war, all pains are taken\nwith them. But when they are to be organized, so as to live in peace,\nno one cares about it, except M. Hardy, my master. People say, 'Pooh!\nhunger, misery, and suffering of the laboring classes--what is that to\nus? that is not politics.' 'They are wrong,' added Agricola; 'IT IS MORE\nTHAN POLITICS.'\n\n\"As Victorine had not left anything to pay for the church service, there\nwas only the presentation of the body under the porch; for there is not\neven a plain mass for the poor. Besides, as they could not give eighteen\nfrancs to the curate, no priest accompanied the pauper's coffin to the\ncommon grave. If funerals, thus abridged and cut short, are sufficient\nin a religious point of view, why invent other and longer forms? Is it\nfrom cupidity?--If, on the other hand, they are not sufficient, why\nmake the poor man the only victim of this insufficiency? But why trouble\nourselves about the pomp, the incense, the chants, of which they are\neither too sparing or too liberal? Of what use? and for what purpose?\nThey are vain, terrestrial things, for which the soul recks nothing,\nwhen, radiant, it ascends towards its Creator. Yesterday, Agricola made\nme read an article in a newspaper, in which violent blame and bitter\nirony are by turns employed, to attack what they call the baneful\ntendencies of some of the lower orders, to improve themselves, to write,\nto read the poets, and sometimes to make verses. Material enjoyments\nare forbidden us by poverty. Is it humane to reproach us for seeking the\nenjoyments of the mind? What harm can it do any one if every evening,\nafter a day's toil, remote from all pleasure, I amuse myself, unknown to\nall, in making a few verses, or in writing in this journal the good or\nbad impressions I have received? Is Agricola the worse workman, because,\non returning home to his mother, he employs Sunday in composing some of\nthose popular songs, which glorify the fruitful labors of the artisan,\nand say to all, Hope and brotherhood! Does he not make a more worthy use\nof his time than if he spent it in a tavern? Ah! those who blame us for\nthese innocent and noble diversions, which relieve our painful toils and\nsufferings, deceive themselves when they think, that, in proportion as\nthe intellect is raised and refined, it is more difficult to bear with\nprivations and misery, and that so the irritation increases against the\nluckier few.\n\n\"Admitting even this to be the case--and it is not so--is it not better\nto have an intelligent, enlightened enemy, to whose heart and reason you\nmay address yourself, than a stupid, ferocious, implacable foe? But no;\nenmities disappear as the mind becomes enlightened, and the horizon\nof compassion extends itself. We thus learn to understand moral\nafflictions. We discover that the rich also have to suffer intense\npains, and that brotherhood in misfortune is already a link of sympathy.\nAlas! they also have to mourn bitterly for idolized children, beloved\nmistresses, reverend mothers; with them, also, especially amongst the\nwomen, there are, in the height of luxury and grandeur, many broken\nhearts, many suffering souls, many tears shed in secret. Let them not be\nalarmed. By becoming their equals in intelligence, the people will learn\nto pity the rich, if good and unhappy--and to pity them still more if\nrejoicing in wickedness.\n\n\"What happiness! what a joyful day! I am giddy with delight. Oh, truly,\nman is good, humane, charitable. Oh, yes! the Creator has implanted\nwithin him every generous instinct--and, unless he be a monstrous\nexception, he never does evil willingly. Here is what I saw just now. I\nwill not wait for the evening to write it down, for my heart would, as\nit were, have time to cool. I had gone to carry home some work that was\nwanted in a hurry. I was passing the Place du Temple. A few steps from\nme I saw a child, about twelve years old at most, with bare head, and\nfeet, in spite of the severe weather, dressed in a shabby, ragged smock\nfrock and trousers, leading by the bridle a large cart-horse, with his\nharness still on. From time to time the horse stopped short, and refused\nto advance. The child, who had no whip, tugged in vain at the bridle.\nThe horse remained motionless. Then the poor little fellow cried out:\n'O dear, O dear!' and began to weep bitterly, looking round him as if\nto implore the assistance of the passers-by. His dear little face was\nimpressed with so heart piercing a sorrow, that, without reflecting, I\nmade an attempt at which I can now only smile, I must have presented so\ngrotesque a figure. I am horribly afraid of horses, and I am still more\nafraid of exposing myself to public gaze. Nevertheless, I took courage,\nand, having an umbrella in my hand, I approached the horse, and with the\nimpetuosity of an ant that strives to move a large stone with a little\npiece of straw, I struck with all my strength on the croup of the\nrebellious animal. 'Oh, thanks, my good lady!' exclaimed the child,\ndrying his eyes: 'hit him again, if you please. Perhaps he will get up.'\n\n\"I began again, heroically; but, alas! either from obstinacy or\nlaziness, the horse bent his knees, and stretched himself out upon the\nground; then, getting entangled with his harness, he tore it, and broke\nhis great wooden collar. I had drawn back quickly, for fear of receiving\na kick. Upon this new disaster, the child could only throw himself on\nhis knees in the middle of the street, clasping his hands and sobbing,\nand exclaiming in a voice of despair: 'Help! help!'\n\n\"The call was heard; several of the passers-by gathered round, and a\nmore efficacious correction than mine was administered to the restive\nhorse, who rose in a vile state, and without harness.\n\n\"'My master will beat me,' cried the poor child, as his tears redoubled;\n'I am already two hours after time, for the horse would not go, and now\nhe has broken his harness. My master will beat me, and turn me away. Oh\ndear! what will become of me! I have no father nor mother.'\n\n\"At these words, uttered with a heart-rending accent, a worthy old\nclothes-dealer of the Temple, who was amongst the spectators, exclaimed,\nwith a kindly air: 'No father nor mother! Do not grieve so, my poor\nlittle fellow; the Temple can supply everything. We will mend the\nharness, and, if my gossips are like me, you shall not go away\nbareheaded or barefooted in such weather as this.'\n\n\"This proposition was greeted with acclamation; they led away both horse\nand child; some were occupied in mending the harness, then one supplied\na cap, another a pair of stockings, another some shoes, and another\na good jacket; in a quarter of an hour the child was warmly clad, the\nharness repaired, and a tall lad of eighteen, brandishing a whip, which\nhe cracked close to the horse's ears, by way of warning, said to the\nlittle boy, who, gazing first at his new clothes, and then at the good\nwoman, believed himself the hero of a fairy-tale. 'Where does your\ngovernor live, little 'un?'\n\n\"'On the Quai du Canal-Saint-Martin, sir,' answered he, in a voice\ntrembling with joy.\n\n\"'Very good,' said the young man, 'I will help you take home the horse,\nwho will go well enough with me, and I will tell the master that the\ndelay was no fault of your'n. A balky horse ought not to be trusted to a\nchild of your age.'\n\n\"At the moment of setting out, the poor little fellow said timidly to\nthe good dame, as he took off his cap to her: 'Will you let me kiss you,\nma'am?'\n\n\"His eyes were full of tears of gratitude. There was heart in that\nchild. This scene of popular charity gave me delightful emotions. As\nlong as I could, I followed with my eyes the tall young man and the\nchild, who now could hardly keep up with the pace of the horse, rendered\nsuddenly docile by fear of the whip.\n\n\"Yes! I repeat it with pride; man is naturally good and helpful.\nNothing could have been more spontaneous than this movement of pity and\ntenderness in the crowd, when the poor little fellow exclaimed: 'What\nwill become of me? I have no father or mother!'\n\n\"'Unfortunate child!' said I to myself. 'No father nor mother. In the\nhands of a brutal master, who hardly covers him with a few rags, and\nill treats him into the bargain. Sleeping, no doubt in the corner of\na stable. Poor little, fellow! and yet so mild and good, in spite of\nmisery and misfortune. I saw it--he was even more grateful than pleased\nat the service done him. But perhaps this good natural disposition,\nabandoned without support or counsel, or help, and exasperated by bad\ntreatment, may become changed and embittered--and then will come the age\nof the passions--the bad temptations--'\n\n\"Oh! in the deserted poor, virtue is doubly saintly and respectable!\n\n\"This morning, after having (as usual) gently reproached me for not\ngoing to mass, Agricola's mother said to me these words, so touching in\nher simple and believing mouth, 'Luckily, I pray for you and myself too,\nmy poor girl; the good God will hear me, and you will only go, I hope,\nto Purgatory.'\n\n\"Good mother; angelic soul! she spoke those words in so grave and mild\na tone, with so strong a faith in the happy result of her pious\nintercession, that I felt my eyes become moist, and I threw myself on\nher neck, as sincerely grateful as if I had believed in Purgatory. This\nday has been a lucky one for me. I hope I have found work, which luck I\nshall owe to a young person full of heart and goodness, she is to take\nme to-morrow to St. Mary's Convent, where she thinks she can find me\nemployment.\"\n\nFlorine, already much moved by the reading, started at this passage in\nwhich Mother Bunch alluded to her, ere she continued as follows:\n\n\"Never shall I forget with what touching interest, what delicate\nbenevolence, this handsome young girl received me, so poor, and so\nunfortunate. It does not astonish me, for she is attached to the person\nof Mdlle. de Cardoville. She must be worthy to reside with Agricola's\nbenefactress. It will always be dear and pleasant to me to remember\nher name. It is graceful and pretty as her face; it is Florine. I am\nnothing, I have nothing--but if the fervent prayers of a grateful heart\nmight be heard, Mdlle. Florine would be happy, very happy. Alas! I am\nreduced to say prayers for her--only prayers--for I can do nothing but\nremember and love her!\"\n\nThese lines, expressing so simply the sincere gratitude of the\nhunchback, gave the last blow to Florine's hesitations. She could no\nlonger resist the generous temptation she felt. As she read these last\nfragments of the journal, her affection and respect for Mother Bunch\nmade new progress. More than ever she felt how infamous it was in her\nto expose to sarcasms and contempt the most secret thoughts of this\nunfortunate creature. Happily, good is often as contagious as evil.\nElectrified by all that was warm, noble, and magnanimous in the pages\nshe had just read, Florine bathed her failing virtue in that pure and\nvivifying source, and, yielding, at last to one of those good impulses\nwhich sometimes carried her away, she left the room with the manuscript\nin her hand, determined, if Mother Bunch had not yet returned, to\nreplace it--resolved to tell Rodin that, this second time, her search\nfor the journal had been vain, the sempstress having no doubt discovered\nthe first attempt.\n\n(26) In the Ruche Populaire, a working man's organ, are the following\nparticulars:\n\n\"Carding Mattresses.--The dust which flies out of the wool makes carding\ndestructive to health in any case, but trade adulterations enhance the\ndanger. In sticking sheep, the skin gets blood-spotted; it has to be\nbleached to make it salable. Lime is the main whitener, and some of it\nclings to the wool after the process. The dresser (female, most often)\nbreathes in the fine dust, and, by lung and other complaints, is far\nfrom seldom deplorably situated; the majority sicken of it and give up\nthe trade, while those who keep to it, at the very least, suffer with a\ncatarrh or asthma that torments them until death.\n\n\"As for horsehair, the very best is not pure. You can judge what the\ninferior quality is, from the workgirls calling it vitriol hair, because\nit is the refuse or clippings from goats and swine, washed in vitriol,\nboiled in dyes, etc., to burn and disguise such foreign bodies as straw.\nthorns, splinters, and even bits of skin, not worth picking out. The\ndust rising when a mass of this is beaten, makes as many ravages as the\nlime-wool.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVIII. THE DISCOVERY.\n\nA little while before Florine made up her mind to atone for her shameful\nbreach of confidence, Mother Bunch had returned from the factory, after\naccomplishing to the end her painful task. After a long interview with\nAngela, struck, like Agricola, with the ingenuous grace, sense, and\ngoodness, with which the young girl was endowed, Mother Bunch had the\ncourageous frankness to advise the smith to enter into this marriage.\nThe following scene took place whilst Florine, still occupied in reading\nthe journal, had not yet taken the praiseworthy resolution of replacing\nit. It was ten o'clock at night. The workgirl, returned to Cardoville\nHouse, had just entered her chamber. Worn out by so many emotions, she\nhad thrown herself into a chair. The deepest silence reigned in the\nhouse. It was now and then interrupted by the soughing of a high wind,\nwhich raged without and shook the trees in the garden. A single candle\nlighted the room, which was papered with dark green. That peculiar tint,\nand the hunchback's black dress, increased her apparent paleness. Seated\nin an arm-chair by the side of the fire, with her head resting upon her\nbosom, her hands crossed upon her knees, the work-girl's countenance\nwas melancholy and resigned; on it was visible the austere satisfaction\nwhich is felt by the consciousness of a duty well performed.\n\nLike all those who, brought up in the merciless school of misfortune, no\nlonger exaggerate the sentiment of sorrow, too familiar and assiduous\na guest to be treated as a stranger, Mother Bunch was incapable of\nlong yielding to idle regrets and vain despair, with regard to what\nwas already past. Beyond doubt, the blow had been sudden, dreadful;\ndoubtless it must leave a long and painful remembrance in the sufferer's\nsoul; but it was soon to pass, as it were, into that chronic state of\npain-durance, which had become almost an integral part of her life.\nAnd then this noble creature, so indulgent to fate, found still some\nconsolations in the intensity of her bitter pain. She had been deeply\ntouched by the marks of affection shown her by Angela, Agricola's\nintended: and she had felt a species of pride of the heart, in\nperceiving with what blind confidence, with what ineffable joy, the\nsmith accepted the favorable presentiments which seemed to consecrate\nhis happiness. Mother Bunch also said to herself: \"At least, henceforth\nI shall not be agitated by hopes, or rather by suppositions as\nridiculous as they were senseless. Agricola's marriage puts a term to\nall the miserable reveries of my poor head.\"\n\nFinally, she found a real and deep consolation in the certainty that\nshe had been able to go through this terrible trial, and conceal from\nAgricola the love she felt for him. We know how formidable to this\nunfortunate being were those ideas of ridicule and shame, which she\nbelieved would attach to the discovery of her mad passion. After having\nremained for some time absorbed in thought, Mother Bunch rose, and\nadvanced slowly towards the desk.\n\n\"My only recompense,\" said she, as she prepared the materials for\nwriting, \"will be to entrust the mute witness of my pains with this new\ngrief. I shall at least have kept the promise that I made to myself.\nBelieving, from the bottom of my soul, that this girl is able to make\nAgricola happy, I told him so with the utmost sincerity. One day, a long\ntime hence, when I shall read over these pages, I shall perhaps find in\nthat a compensation for all that I now suffer.\"\n\nSo saying, she drew the box from the pigeon-hole. Not finding her\nmanuscript, she uttered a cry of surprise; but, what was her alarm, when\nshe perceived a letter to her address in the place of the journal! She\nbecame deadly pale; her knees trembled; she almost fainted away. But her\nincreasing terror gave her a fictitious energy, and she had the strength\nto break the seal. A bank-note for five hundred francs fell from the\nletter on the table, and Mother Bunch read as follows:\n\n\"Mademoiselle,--There is something so original and amusing in reading in\nyour memoirs the story of your love for Agricola, that it is impossible\nto resist the pleasure of acquainting him with the extent of it, of\nwhich he is doubtless ignorant, but to which he cannot fail to show\nhimself sensible. Advantage will be taken to forward it to a multitude\nof other persons, who might, perhaps, otherwise be unfortunately\ndeprived of the amusing contents of your diary. Should copies and\nextracts not be sufficient, we will have it printed, as one cannot\ntoo much diffuse such things. Some will weep--others will laugh--what\nappears superb to one set of people, will seem ridiculous to another,\nsuch is life--but your journal will surely make a great sensation. As\nyou are capable of wishing to avoid your triumph, and as you were only\ncovered with rags when you were received, out of charity into this\nhouse, where you wish to figure as the great lady, which does not suit\nyour shape for more reasons than one, we enclose in the present five\nhundred francs to pay for your day-book, and prevent your being without\nresources, in case you should be modest enough to shrink from the\ncongratulations which await you, certain to overwhelm you by to-morrow,\nfor, at this hour, your journal is already in circulation.\n\n\"One of your brethren,\n\n\"A REAL MOTHER BUNCH.\"\n\nThe vulgar, mocking, and insolent tone of this letter, which was\npurposely written in the character of a jealous lackey, dissatisfied\nwith the admission of the unfortunate creature into the house, had\nbeen calculated with infernal skill and was sure to produce the effect\nintended.\n\n\"Oh, good heaven!\" were the only words the unfortunate girl could\npronounce, in her stupor and alarm.\n\nNow, if we remember in what passionate terms she had expressed her love\nfor her adopted brother, if we recall many passages of this manuscript,\nin which she revealed the painful wounds often inflicted on her by\nAgricola without knowing it, and if we consider how great was her\nterror of ridicule, we shall understand her mad despair on reading this\ninfamous letter. Mother Bunch did not think for a moment of all the\nnoble words and touching narratives contained in her journal. The one\nhorrible idea which weighed down the troubled spirit of the unfortunate\ncreature, was, that on the morrow Agricola, Mdlle. de Cardoville, and an\ninsolent and mocking crowd, would be informed of this ridiculous love,\nwhich would, she imagined, crush her with shame and confusion. This new\nblow was so stunning, that the recipient staggered a moment beneath the\nunexpected shock. For some minutes, she remained completely inert\nand helpless; then, upon reflection, she suddenly felt conscious of a\nterrible necessity.\n\nThis hospitable mansion, where she had found a sure refuge after so many\nmisfortunes, must be left for ever. The trembling timidity and sensitive\ndelicacy of the poor creature did not permit her to remain a minute more\nin this dwelling, where the most secret recesses of her soul had been\nlaid open, profaned, and exposed no doubt to sarcasm and contempt.\nShe did not think of demanding justice and revenge from Mdlle. de\nCardoville. To cause a ferment of trouble and irritation in this house,\nat the moment of quitting it, would have appeared to her ingratitude\ntowards her benefactress. She did not seek to discover the author or\nthe motive of this odious robbery and insulting letter. Why should she,\nresolved, as she was, to fly from the humiliations with which she was\nthreatened? She had a vague notion (as indeed was intended), that\nthis infamy might be the work of some of the servants, jealous of the\naffectionate deference shown her by Mdlle. de Cardoville--and this\nthought filled her with despair. Those pages--so painfully confidential,\nwhich she would not have ventured to impart to the most tender and\nindulgent mother, because, written as it were with her heart's blood,\nthey painted with too cruel a fidelity the thousand secret wounds of her\nsoul--those pages were to serve, perhaps served even now, for the jest\nand laughing-stock of the lackeys of the mansion.\n\nThe money which accompanied this letter, and the insulting way in which\nit was offered, rather tended to confirm her suspicions. It was intended\nthat the fear of misery should not be the obstacle of her leaving the\nhouse. The workgirl's resolution was soon taken, with that calm and firm\nresignation which was familiar to her. She rose, with somewhat bright\nand haggard eyes, but without a tear in them. Since the day before, she\nhad wept too much. With a trembling, icy hand, she wrote these words\non a paper, which she left by the side of the bank-note: \"May Mdlle. de\nCardoville be blessed for all that she has done for me, and forgive me\nfor having left her house, where I can remain no longer.\"\n\nHaving written this, Mother Bunch threw into the fire the infamous\nletter, which seemed to burn her hands. Then, taking a last look at her\nchamber, furnished so comfortably, she shuddered involuntarily as she\nthought of the misery that awaited her--a misery more frightful than\nthat of which she had already been the victim, for Agricola's mother\nhad departed with Gabriel, and the unfortunate girl could no longer, as\nformerly, be consoled in her distress by the almost maternal affection\nof Dagobert's wife. To live alone--quite alone--with the thought that\nher fatal passion for Agricola was laughed at by everybody, perhaps even\nby himself--such were the future prospects of the hunchback. This future\nterrified her--a dark desire crossed her mind--she shuddered, and an\nexpression of bitter joy contracted her features. Resolved to go, she\nmade some steps towards the door, when, in passing before the fireplace,\nshe saw her own image in the glass, pale as death, and clothed in black;\nthen it struck her that she wore a dress which did not belong to her,\nand she remembered a passage in the letter, which alluded to the rags\nshe had on before she entered that house. \"True!\" said she, with a heart\nbreaking smile, as she looked at her black garments; \"they would call me\na thief.\"\n\nAnd, taking her candle, she entered the little dressing room, and put on\nagain the poor, old clothes, which she had preserved as a sort of pious\nremembrance of her misfortunes. Only at this instant did her tears flow\nabundantly. She wept--not in sorrow at resuming the garb of misery, but\nin gratitude; for all the comforts around her, to which she was about\nto bid an eternal adieu, recalled to her mind at every step the delicacy\nand goodness of Mdlle. de Cardoville: therefore, yielding to an almost\ninvoluntary impulse, after she had put on her poor, old clothes, she\nfell on her knees in the middle of the room, and, addressing herself\nin thought to Mdlle. de Cardoville, she exclaimed, in a voice broken by\nconvulsive sobs: \"Adieu! oh, for ever, adieu!--You, that deigned to call\nme friend--and sister!\"\n\nSuddenly, she rose in alarm; she heard steps in the corridor, which led\nfrom the garden to one of the doors of her apartment, the other door\nopening into the parlor. It was Florine, who (alas! too late) was\nbringing back the manuscript. Alarmed at this noise of footsteps, and\nbelieving herself already the laughing-stock of the house. Mother Bunch\nrushed from the room, hastened across the parlor, gained the court-yard,\nand knocked at the window of the porter's lodge. The house-door opened,\nand immediately closed upon her. And so the workgirl left Cardoville\nHouse.\n\nAdrienne was thus deprived of a devoted, faithful, and vigilant\nguardian. Rodin was delivered from an active and sagacious antagonist,\nwhom he had always, with good reason, feared. Having, as we have seen,\nguessed Mother Bunch's love for Agricola, and knowing her to be a\npoet, the Jesuit supposed, logically enough that she must have written\nsecretly some verses inspired by this fatal and concealed passion. Hence\nthe order given to Florine, to try and discover some written evidence\nof this love; hence this letter, so horribly effective in its coarse\nribaldry, of which, it must be observed, Florine did not know the\ncontents, having received it after communicating a summary of the\ncontents of the manuscript, which, the first time, she had only glanced\nthrough without taking it away. We have said, that Florine, yielding\ntoo late to a generous repentance, had reached Mother Bunch's apartment,\njust as the latter quitted the house in consternation.\n\nPerceiving a light in the dressing-room, the waiting-maid hastened\nthither. She saw upon a chair the black dress that Mother Bunch had just\ntaken off, and, a few steps further, the shabby little trunk, open and\nempty, in which she had hitherto preserved her poor garments. Florine's\nheart sank within her; she ran to the secretary; the disorder of the\ncard-board boxes, the note for five hundred francs left by the side\nof the two lines written to Mdlle. de Cardoville, all proved that her\nobedience to Rodin's orders had borne fatal fruit, and that Mother Bunch\nhad quitted the house for ever. Finding the uselessness of her tardy\nresolution, Florine resigned herself with a sigh to the necessity of\ndelivering the manuscript to Rodin. Then, forced by the fatality of her\nmiserable position to console herself for evil by evil, she considered\nthat the hunchback's departure would at least make her treachery less\ndangerous.\n\nTwo days after these events, Adrienne received the following note from\nRodin, in answer to a letter she had written him, to inform him of the\nwork-girl's inexplicable departure:\n\n\"MY DEAR YOUNG LADY;--Obliged to set out this morning for the factory of\nthe excellent M. Hardy, whither I am called by an affair of importance,\nit is impossible for me to pay you my humble respects. You ask me what I\nthink of the disappearance of this poor girl? I really do not know. The\nfuture will, I doubt not, explain all to her advantage. Only, remember\nwhat I told you at Dr. Baleinier's, with regard to a certain society and\nits secret emissaries, with whom it has the art of surrounding those\nit wishes to keep a watch on. I accuse no one; but let us only recall\nfacts. This poor girl accused me; and I am, as you know, the most\nfaithful of your servants. She possessed nothing; and yet five hundred\nfrancs were found in her secretary. You loaded her with favors; and\nshe leaves your house without even explaining the cause of this\nextraordinary flight. I draw no conclusion, my dear young lady; I am\nalways unwilling to condemn without evidence; but reflect upon all this,\nand be on your guard, for you have perhaps escaped a great danger.\nBe more circumspect and suspicious than ever; such at least is the\nrespectful advice of your most obedient, humble servant,\n\n\"Rodin.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIX. THE TRYSTING-PLACE OF THE WOLVES.\n\nIt was a Sunday morning the very day on which Mdlle. de Cardoville had\nreceived Rodin's letter with regard to Mother Bunch's disappearance.\nTwo men were talking to together, seated at a table in one of the public\nhouses in the little village of Villiers, situated at no great distance\nfrom Hardy's factory. The village was for the most part inhabited\nby quarrymen and stonecutters, employed in working the neighboring\nquarries. Nothing can be ruder and more laborious, and at the same time\nless adequately paid, than the work of this class of people. Therefore,\nas Agricola had told Mother Bunch, they drew painful comparisons\nbetween their condition, almost always miserable, and the comfort and\ncomparative ease enjoyed by M. Hardy's workmen, thanks to his generous\nand intelligent management, and to the principles of association\nand community which he had put in practice amongst them. Misery and\nignorance are always the cause of great evils. Misery is easily excited\nto anger, and ignorance soon yields to perfidious counsels. For a long\ntime, the happiness of M. Hardy's workmen had been naturally envied, but\nnot with a jealousy amounting to hatred. As soon, however, as the secret\nenemies of the manufacturer, uniting with his rival Baron Tripeaud,\nhad an interest in changing this peaceful state of things--it changed\naccordingly.\n\nWith diabolical skill and perseverance they succeeded in kindling the\nmost evil passions. By means of chosen emissaries, they applied to those\nquarrymen and stonecutters of the neighborhood, whose bad conduct had\naggravated their misery. Notorious for their turbulence, audacity, and\nenergy, these men might exercise a dangerous influence on the majority\nof their companions, who were peaceful, laborious, and honest, but\neasily intimidated by violence. These turbulent leaders, previously\nembittered by misfortune, were soon impressed with an exaggerated idea\nof the happiness of M. Hardy's workmen, and excited to a jealous hatred\nof them. They went still further; the incendiary sermons of an abbe,\na member of the Jesuits, who had come expressly from Paris to preach\nduring Lent against M. Hardy, acted powerfully on the minds of the\nwomen, who filled the church, whilst their husbands were haunting\nthe taverns. Profiting by the growing fear, which the approach of the\nCholera then inspired, the preacher struck with terror these weak and\ncredulous imaginations by pointing to M. Hardy's factory as a centre\nof corruption and damnation, capable of drawing down the vengeance of\nHeaven, and bringing the fatal scourge upon the country. Thus the men,\nalready inflamed with envy, were still more excited by the incessant\nurgency of their wives, who, maddened by the abbe's sermons, poured\ntheir curses on that band of atheists, who might bring down so many\nmisfortunes upon them and their children. Some bad characters, belonging\nto the factory of Baron Tripeaud, and paid by him (for it was a great\ninterest the honorable manufacturer had in the ruin of M. Hardy), came\nto augment the general irritation, and to complete it by raising one\nof those alarming union-questions, which in our day have unfortunately\ncaused so much bloodshed. Many of M. Hardy's workmen, before they\nentered his employ, had belonged to a society or union, called the\nDevourers; while many of the stonecutters in the neighboring quarries\nbelonged to a society called the Wolves. Now, for a long time, an\nimplacable rivalry had existed between the Wolves and Devourers, and\nbrought about many sanguinary struggles, which are the more to be\ndeplored, as, in some respects, the idea of these unions is excellent,\nbeing founded on the fruitful and mighty principle of association.\nBut unfortunately, instead of embracing all trades in one fraternal\ncommunion, these unions break up the working-class into distinct and\nhostile societies, whose rivalry often leads to bloody collisions.(27)\nFor the last week, the Wolves, excited by so many different\nimportunities, burned to discover an occasion or a pretext to come\nto blows with the Devourers; but the latter, not frequenting the\npublic-houses, and hardly leaving the factory during the week, had\nhitherto rendered such a meeting impossible, and the Wolves had been\nforced to wait for the Sunday with ferocious impatience.\n\nMoreover, a great number of the quarrymen and stonecutters, being\npeaceable and hard-working people, had refused, though Wolves themselves\nto join this hostile manifestation against the Devourers of M. Hardy's\nfactory; the leaders had been obliged to recruit their forces from the\nvagabonds and idlers of the barriers, whom the attraction of tumult and\ndisorder had easily enlisted under the flag of the warlike Wolves. Such\nthen was the dull fermentation, which agitated the little village of\nVilliers, whilst the two men of whom we have spoken were at table in the\npublic-house.\n\nThese men had asked for a private room, that they might be alone. One of\nthem was still young, and pretty well dressed. But the disorder in his\nclothes, his loose cravat, his shirt spotted with wine, his dishevelled\nhair, his look of fatigue, his marble complexion, his bloodshot eyes,\nannounced that a night of debauch had preceded this morning; whilst\nhis abrupt and heavy gesture, his hoarse voice, his look, sometimes\nbrilliant, and sometimes stupid, proved that to the last fumes of the\nintoxication of the night before, were joined the first attacks of a\nnew state of drunkenness. The companion of this man said to him, as he\ntouched his glass with his own: \"Your health, my boy!\"\n\n\"Yours!\" answered the young man; \"though you look to me like the devil.\"\n\n\"I!--the devil?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"How did you come to know me?\"\n\n\"Do you repent that you ever knew me?\"\n\n\"Who told you that I was a prisoner at Sainte-Pelagie?\"\n\n\"Didn't I take you out of prison?\"\n\n\"Why did you take me out?\"\n\n\"Because I have a good heart.\"\n\n\"You are very fond of me, perhaps--just as the butcher likes the ox that\nhe drives to the slaughter-house.\"\n\n\"Are you mad?\"\n\n\"A man does not pay a hundred thousand francs for another without a\nmotive.\"\n\n\"I have a motive.\"\n\n\"What is it? what do you want to do with me?\"\n\n\"A jolly companion that will spend his money like a man, and pass every\nnight like the last. Good wine, good cheer, pretty girls, and gay songs.\nIs that such a bad trade?\"\n\nAfter he had remained a moment without answering, the young man replied\nwith a gloomy air: \"Why, on the eve of my leaving prison, did you attach\nthis condition to my freedom, that I should write to my mistress to tell\nher that I would never see her again! Why did you exact this letter from\nme?\"\n\n\"A sigh! what, are you still thinking of her?\"\n\n\"Always.\"\n\n\"You are wrong. Your mistress is far from Paris by this time. I saw\nher get into the stage-coach, before I came to take you out of Sainte\nPelagie.\"\n\n\"Yes, I was stifled in that prison. To get out, I would have given my\nsoul to the devil. You thought so, and therefore you came to me; only,\ninstead of my soul, you took Cephyse from me. Poor Bacchanal-Queen! And\nwhy did you do it? Thousand thunders! Will you tell me!\"\n\n\"A man as much attached to his mistress as you are is no longer a man.\nHe wants energy, when the occasion requires.\"\n\n\"What occasion?\"\n\n\"Let us drink!\"\n\n\"You make me drink too much brandy.\"\n\n\"Bah! look at me!\"\n\n\"That's what frightens me. It seems something devilish. A bottle of\nbrandy does not even make you wink. You must have a stomach of iron and\na head of marble.\"\n\n\"I have long travelled in Russia. There we drink to roast ourselves.\"\n\n\"And here to only warm. So--let's drink--but wine.\"\n\n\"Nonsense! wine is fit for children. Brandy for men like us!\"\n\n\"Well, then, brandy; but it burns, and sets the head on fire, and then\nwe see all the flames of hell!\"\n\n\"That's how I like to see you, hang it!\"\n\n\"But when you told me that I was too much attached to my mistress, and\nthat I should want energy when the occasion required, of what occasion\ndid you speak?\"\n\n\"Let us drink!\"\n\n\"Stop a moment, comrade. I am no more of a fool than others. Your half\nwords have taught me something.\n\n\"Well, what?\"\n\n\"You know that I have been a workman, that I have many companions, and\nthat, being a good fellow, I am much liked amongst them. You want me for\na catspaw, to catch other chestnuts?\"\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"You must be some getter-up of riots--some speculator in revolts.\"\n\n\"What next?\"\n\n\"You are travelling for some anonymous society, that trades in musket\nshots.\"\n\n\"Are you a coward?\"\n\n\"I burned powder in July, I can tell you--make no mistakes!\"\n\n\"You would not mind burning some again?\"\n\n\"Just as well that sort of fireworks as any other. Only I find\nrevolutions more agreeable than useful; all that I got from the\nbarricades of the three days was burnt breeches and a lost jacket. All\nthe cause won by me, with its 'Forward! March!' says.\"\n\n\"You know many of Hardy's workmen?\"\n\n\"Oh! that's why you have brought me down here?\"\n\n\"Yes--you will meet with many of the workmen from the factory.\"\n\n\"Men from Hardy's take part in a row? No, no; they are too well off for\nthat. You have been sold.\"\n\n\"You will see presently.\"\n\n\"I tell you they are well off. What have they to complain of?\"\n\n\"What of their brethren--those who have not so good a master, and die\nof hunger and misery, and call on them for assistance? Do you think they\nwill remain deaf to such a summons? Hardy is only an exception. Let the\npeople but give a good pull all together, and the exception will become\nthe rule, and all the world be happy.\"\n\n\"What you say there is true, but it would be a devil of a pull that\nwould make an honest man out of my old master, Baron Tripeaud, who made\nme what I am--an out-and-out rip.\"\n\n\"Hardy's workmen are coming; you are their comrade, and have no interest\nin deceiving them. They will believe you. Join with me in persuading\nthem--\"\n\n\"To what?\"\n\n\"To leave this factory, in which they grow effeminate and selfish, and\nforget their brothers.\"\n\n\"But if they leave the factory, how are they to live?\"\n\n\"We will provide for that--on the great day.\"\n\n\"And what's to be done till then?\"\n\n\"What you have done last night--drink, laugh, sing, and, by way of work,\nexercise themselves privately in the use of arms.'\n\n\"Who will bring these workmen here?\"\n\n\"Some one has already spoken to them. They have had printed papers,\nreproaching them with indifference to their brothers. Come, will you\nsupport me?\"\n\n\"I'll support you--the more readily as I cannot very well support\nmyself. I only cared for Cephyse in the world; I know that I am on a bad\nroad; you are pushing me on further; let the ball roll!--Whether we\ngo to the devil one way or the other is not of much consequence. Let's\ndrink.\"\n\n\"Drink to our next night's fun; the last was only apprenticeship.\"\n\n\"Of what then are you made? I looked at you, and never saw you either\nblush or smile, or change countenance. You are like a man of iron.\"\n\n\"I am not a lad of fifteen. It would take something more to make me\nlaugh. I shall laugh to-night.\"\n\n\"I don't know if it's the brandy; but, devil take me, if you don't\nfrighten me when you say you shall laugh tonight!\"\n\nSo saying, the young man rose, staggering; he began to be once more\nintoxicated.\n\nThere was a knock at the door. \"Come in!\" The host made his appearance.\n\n\"What's the matter?\"\n\n\"There's a young man below, who calls himself Olivier. He asks for M.\nMorok.\"\n\n\"That's right. Let him came up.\" The host went out.\n\n\"It is one of our men, but he is alone,\" said Morok, whose savage\ncountenance expressed disappointment. \"It astonishes me, for I expected\na good number. Do you know him?\"\n\n\"Olivier? Yes--a fair chap, I think.\"\n\n\"We shall see him directly. Here he is.\" A young man, with an open,\nbold, intelligent countenance, at this moment entered the room.\n\n\"What! old Sleepinbuff!\" he exclaimed, at sight of Morok's companion.\n\n\"Myself. I have not seen you for an age, Olivier.\"\n\n\"Simple enough, my boy. We do not work at the same place.\"\n\n\"But you are alone!\" cried Morok; and pointing to Sleepinbuff, he added:\n\"You may speak before him--he is one of us. But why are you alone?\"\n\n\"I come alone, but in the name of my comrades.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Morok, with a sigh of satisfaction, \"they consent.\"\n\n\"They refuse--just as I do!\"\n\n\"What, the devil! they refuse? Have they no more courage than women?\"\ncried Morok, grinding his teeth with rage.\n\n\"Hark ye,\" answered Olivier, coolly. \"We have received your letters,\nand seen your agent. We have had proof that he is really connected with\ngreat societies, many members of which are known to us.\"\n\n\"Well! why do you hesitate?\"\n\n\"First of all, nothing proves that these societies are ready to make a\nmovement.\"\n\n\"I tell you they are.\"\n\n\"He--tells you--they are,\" said Sleepinbuff, stammering \"and I (hic!)\naffirm it. Forward! March!\"\n\n\"That's not enough,\" replied Olivier. \"Besides, we have reflected upon\nit. For a week the factory was divided. Even yesterday the discussion\nwas too warm to be pleasant. But this morning Father Simon called to\nhim; we explained ourselves fully before him, and he brought us all to\none mind. We mean to wait, and if any disturbance breaks out, we shall\nsee.\"\n\n\"Is that your final word?\"\n\n\"It is our last word.\"\n\n\"Silence!\" cried Sleepinbuff, suddenly, as he listened, balancing\nhimself on his tottering legs. \"It is like the noise of a crowd not far\noff.\" A dull sound was indeed audible, which became every moment more\nand more distinct, and at length grew formidable.\n\n\"What is that?\" said Olivier, in surprise.\n\n\"Now,\" replied Morok, smiling with a sinister air, \"I remember the host\ntold me there was a great ferment in the village against the factory. If\nyou and your other comrades had separated from Hardy's other workmen, as\nI hoped, these people who are beginning to howl would have been for you,\ninstead of against you.\"\n\n\"This was a trap, then, to set one half of M. Hardy's workmen against\nthe other!\" cried Olivier; \"you hoped that we should make common cause\nwith these people against the factory, and that--\"\n\nThe young man had not time to finish. A terrible outburst of shouts,\nhowls, and hisses shook the tavern. At the same instant the door was\nabruptly opened, and the host, pale and trembling, hurried into the\nchamber, exclaiming: \"Gentlemen! do any of you work at M. Hardy's\nfactory?\"\n\n\"I do,\" said Olivier.\n\n\"Then you are lost. Here are the Wolves in a body, saying there are\nDevourers here from M. Hardy's, and offering them battle--unless the\nDevourers will give up the factory, and range themselves on their side.\"\n\n\"It was a trap, there can be no doubt of it!\" cried Olivier, looking at\nMorok and Sleepinbuff, with a threatening air; \"if my mates had come, we\nwere all to be let in.\"\n\n\"I lay a trap, Olivier?\" stammered Jacques Rennepont. \"Never!\"\n\n\"Battle to the Devourers! or let them join the Wolves!\" cried the angry\ncrowd with one voice, as they appeared to invade the house.\n\n\"Come!\" exclaimed the host. Without giving Olivier time to answer, he\nseized him by the arm, and opening a window which led to a roof at no\nvery great height from the ground, he said to him: \"Make your escape by\nthis window, let yourself slide down, and gain the fields; it is time.\"\n\nAs the young workman hesitated, the host added, with a look of terror:\n\n\"Alone, against a couple of hundred, what can you do? A minute more, and\nyou are lost. Do you not hear them? They have entered the yard; they are\ncoming up.\"\n\nIndeed, at this moment, the groans, the hisses, and cheers redoubled\nin violence; the wooden staircase which led to the first story shook\nbeneath the quick steps of many persons, and the shout arose, loud and\npiercing: \"Battle to the Devourers!\"\n\n\"Fly, Olivier!\" cried Sleepinbuff, almost sobered by the danger.\n\nHardly had he pronounced the words when the door of the large room,\nwhich communicated with the small one in which they were, was burst open\nwith a frightful crash.\n\n\"Here they are!\" cried the host, clasping his hands in alarm. Then,\nrunning to Olivier, he pushed him, as it were, out of the window; for,\nwith one foot on the sill, the workman still hesitated.\n\nThe window once closed, the publican returned towards Morok the instant\nthe latter entered the large room, into which the leaders of the Wolves\nhad just forced an entry, whilst their companions were vociferating in\nthe yard and on the staircase. Eight or ten of these madmen, urged by\nothers to take part in these scenes of disorder, had rushed first into\nthe room, with countenances inflamed by wine and anger; most of them\nwere armed with long sticks. A blaster, of Herculean strength and\nstature, with an old red handkerchief about his head, its ragged\nends streaming over his shoulders, miserably dressed in a half-worn\ngoat-skin, brandished an iron drilling-rod, and appeared to direct the\nmovements. With bloodshot eyes, threatening and ferocious countenance,\nhe advanced towards the small room, as if to drive back Morok, and\nexclaimed, in a voice of thunder:\n\n\"Where are the Devourers?--the Wolves will eat 'em up!\"\n\nThe host hastened to open the door of the small room, saying: \"There is\nno one here, my friends--no one. Look for yourselves.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" said the quarryman, surprised, after peeping into the\nroom; \"where are they, then? We were told there were a dozen of them\nhere. They should have marched with us against the factory, or there'd\n'a been a battle, and the Wolves would have tried their teeth!\"\n\n\"If they have not come,\" said another, \"they will come. Let's wait.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes; we will wait for them.\"\n\n\"We will look close at each other.\"\n\n\"If the Wolves want to see the Devourers,\" said Morok, \"why not go and\nhowl round the factory of the miscreant atheists? At the first howl of\nthe Wolves they will come out, and give you battle.\"\n\n\"They will give you--battle,\" repeated Sleepinbuff, mechanically.\n\n\"Unless the Wolves are afraid of the Devourers,\" added Morok.\n\n\"Since you talk of fear, you shall go with us, and see who's afraid!\"\ncried the formidable blaster, and in a thundering voice, he advanced\ntowards Morok.\n\nA number of voices joined in with, \"Who says the Wolves are afraid of\nthe Devourers?\"\n\n\"It would be the first time!\"\n\n\"Battle! battle! and make an end of it!\"\n\n\"We are tired of all this. Why should we be so miserable, and they so\nwell off?\"\n\n\"They have said that quarrymen are brutes, only fit to torn wheels in a\nshaft, like dogs to turn spits,\" cried an emissary of Baron Tripeaud's.\n\n\"And that the Devourers would make themselves caps with wolf-skin,\"\nadded another.\n\n\"Neither they nor their wives ever go to mass. They are pagans and\ndogs!\" cried an emissary of the preaching abbe.\n\n\"The men might keep their Sunday as they pleased; but their wives not to\ngo to mass!--it is abominable.\n\n\"And, therefore, the curate has said that their factory, because of its\nabominations, might bring down the cholera to the country.\"\n\n\"True? he said that in his sermon.\"\n\n\"Our wives heard it.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes; down with the Devourers, who want to bring the cholera on the\ncountry!\"\n\n\"Hooray, for a fight!\" cried the crowd in chorus.\n\n\"To the factory, my brave Wolves!\" cried Morok, with the voice of a\nStentor; \"on to the factory!\"\n\n\"Yes! to the factory! to the factory!\" repeated the crowd, with furious\nstamping; for, little by little, all who could force their way into the\nroom, or up the stairs, had there collected together.\n\nThese furious cries recalling Jacques for a moment to his senses, he\nwhispered to Morok: \"It is slaughter you would provoke? I wash my hands\nof it.\"\n\n\"We shall have time to let them know at the factory. We can give these\nfellows the slip on the road,\" answered Morok. Then he cried aloud,\naddressing the host, who was terrified at this disorder: \"Brandy!--let\nus drink to the health of the brave Wolves! I will stand treat.\" He\nthrew some money to the host, who disappeared, and soon returned with\nseveral bottles of brandy, and some glasses.\n\n\"What! glasses?\" cried Morok. \"Do jolly companions, like we are, drink\nout of glasses?\" So saying, he forced out one of the corks, raised the\nneck of the bottle to his lips, and, having drunk a deep draught, passed\nit to the gigantic quarryman.\n\n\"That's the thing!\" said the latter. \"Here's in honor of the\ntreat!--None but a sneak will refuse, for this stuff will sharpen the\nWolves' teeth!\"\n\n\"Here's to your health, mates!\" said Morok, distributing the bottles.\n\n\"There will be blood at the end of all this,\" muttered Sleepinbuff, who,\nin spite of his intoxication, perceived all the danger of these fatal\nincitements. Indeed, a large portion of the crowd was already quitting\nthe yard of the public-house, and advancing rapidly towards M. Hardy's\nfactory.\n\nThose of the workmen and inhabitants of the village, who had not chosen\nto take any part in this movement of hostility (they were the majority),\ndid not make their appearance, as this threatening troop passed along\nthe principal street; but a good number of women, excited to fanaticism\nby the sermons of the abbe, encouraged the warlike assemblage with\ntheir cries. At the head of the troop advanced the gigantic blaster,\nbrandishing his formidable bar, followed by a motley mass, armed with\nsticks and stones. Their heads still warmed by their recent libations\nof brandy, they had now attained a frightful state of frenzy. Their\ncountenances were ferocious, inflamed, terrible. This unchaining of\nthe worst passions seemed to forbode the most deplorable consequences.\nHolding each other arm-in-arm, and walking four or five together, the\nWolves gave vent to their excitement in war-songs, which closed with the\nfollowing verse:\n\n\"Forward! full of assurance! Let us try our vigorous arms! They have\nwearied out our prudence; Let us show we've no alarms. Sprung from a\nmonarch glorious,(28) To-day we'll not grow pale, Whether we win the\nfight, or fail, Whether we die, or are victorious! Children of Solomon,\nmighty king, All your efforts together bring, Till in triumph we shall\nsing!\"\n\nMorok and Jacques had disappeared whilst the tumultuous troop were\nleaving the tavern to hasten to the factory.\n\n(27) Let it be noted, to the working-man's credit, that such outrageous\nscenes become more and more rare as he is enlightened to the full\nconsciousness of his worth. Such better tendencies are to be attributed\nto the just influence of an excellent tract on trades' union written\nby M. Agricole Perdignier, and published in 1841, Paris. This author, a\njoiner, founded at his own expense an establishment in the Faubourg St.\nAntoine, where some forty or fifty of his trade lodged, and were given,\nafter the day's work, a course of geometry, etc., applied to wood\ncarving. We went to one of the lectures, and found as much clearness\nin the professor as attention and intelligence in the audience. At ten,\nafter reading selections, all the lodgers retire, forced by their scanty\nwages to sleep, perhaps, four in a room. M. Perdignier informed us that\nstudy and instruction were such powerful ameliorators, that, during\nsix years, he had only one of his lodgers to expel. \"In a few days,\"\nhe remarked, \"the bad eggs find out, this is no place for them to addle\nsound ones!\" We are happy to hear, reader, public homage to a learned\nand upright man, devoted to his fellow-workmen.\n\n(28) The Wolves (among others) ascribe the institution of their company\nto King Solomon. See the curious work by M. Agricole Perdignier, from\nwhich the war-song is extracted.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER L. THE COMMON DWELLING-HOUSE\n\nWhilst the Wolves, as we have just seen, prepared a savage attack on\nthe Devourers, the factory of M. Hardy had that morning a festal air,\nperfectly in accordance with the serenity of the sky; for the wind was\nfrom the north, and pretty sharp for a fine day in March. The clock had\njust struck nine in the Common Dwelling-house of the workmen, separated\nfrom the workshops by a broad path planted with trees. The rising sun\nbathed in light this imposing mass of buildings, situated a league from\nParis, in a gay and salubrious locality, from which were visible the\nwoody and picturesque hills, that on this side overlook the great city.\nNothing could be plainer, and yet more cheerful than the aspect of the\nCommon Dwelling-house of the workmen. Its slanting roof of red tiles\nprojected over white walls, divided here and there by broad rows of\nbricks, which contrasted agreeably with the green color of the blinds on\nthe first and second stories.\n\nThese buildings, open to the south and east, were surrounded by a large\ngarden of about ten acres, partly planted with trees, and partly laid\nout in fruit and kitchen-garden. Before continuing this description,\nwhich perhaps will appear a little like a fairy-tale, let us begin by\nsaying, that the wonders, of which we are about to present the sketch,\nmust not to be considered Utopian dreams; nothing, on the contrary,\ncould be of a more positive character, and we are able to assert, and\neven to prove (what in our time is of great weight and interest),\nthat these wonders were the result of an excellent speculation, and\nrepresented an investment as lucrative as it was secure. To undertake\na vast, noble, and most useful enterprise; to bestow on a considerable\nnumber of human creatures an ideal prosperity, compared with the\nfrightful, almost homicidal doom, to which they are generally condemned;\nto instruct them, and elevate them in their own esteem; to make them\nprefer to the coarse pleasures of the tavern, or rather to the fatal\noblivion which they find there, as an escape from the consciousness\nof their deplorable destiny, the pleasures, of the intellect and the\nenjoyments of art; in a word, to make men moral by making them happy,\nand finally, thanks to this generous example, so easy of imitation, to\ntake a place amongst the benefactors of humanity--and yet, at the same\ntime to do, as it were, without knowing it, an excellent stroke of\nbusiness--may appear fabulous. And yet this was the secret of the\nwonders of which we speak.\n\nLet us enter the interior of the factory. Ignorant of Mother Bunch's\ncruel disappearance, Agricola gave himself up to the most happy,\nthoughts as he recalled Angela's image, and, having finished dressing\nwith unusual care, went in search of his betrothed.\n\nLet us say two words on the subject of the lodging, which the smith\noccupied in the Common Dwelling-house, at the incredibly low rate\nof seventy-five francs per annum like the other bachelors on the\nestablishment. This lodging, situated on the second story, was comprised\nof a capital chamber and bedroom, with a southern aspect, and looking\non the garden; the pine floor was perfectly white and clean; the iron\nbedstead was supplied with a good mattress and warm coverings; a gas\nburner and a warm-air pipe were also introduced into the rooms, to\nfurnish light and heat as required; the walls were hung with pretty\nfancy papering, and had curtains to match; a chest of drawers, a walnut\ntable, a few chairs, a small library, comprised Agricola's furniture.\nFinally, in the large and light closet, was a place for his clothes, a\ndressing table, and large zinc basin, with an ample supply of water.\nIf we compare this agreeable, salubrious, comfortable lodging, with the\ndark, icy, dilapidated garret, for which the worthy fellow paid ninety\nfrancs at his mother's, and to get to which he had more than a league\nand a half to go every evening, we shall understand the sacrifice he\nmade to his affection for that excellent woman.\n\nAgricola, after casting a last glance of tolerable satisfaction at his\nlooking-glass, while he combed his moustache and imperial, quitted his\nchamber, to go and join Angela in the women's workroom. The corridor,\nalong which he had to pass, was broad, well-lighted from above, floored\nwith pine, and extremely clean. Notwithstanding some seeds of discord\nwhich had been lately sown by M. Hardy's enemies amongst his workmen,\nuntil now so fraternally united, joyous songs were heard in almost\nall the apartments which skirted the corridor, and, as Agricola passed\nbefore several open doors, he exchanged a cordial good-morrow with many\nof his comrades. The smith hastily descended the stairs, crossed\nthe court yard, in which was a grass-plot planted with trees, with a\nfountain in the centre, and gained the other wing of the building. There\nwas the workroom, in which a portion of the wives and daughters of the\nassociated artisans, who happened not to be employed in the factory,\noccupied themselves in making up the linen. This labor, joined to the\nenormous saving effected by the purchase of the materials wholesale,\nreduced to an incredible extent the price of each article. After\npassing through this workroom, a vast apartment looking on the garden,\nwell-aired in summer,(29) and well-warmed in winter, Agricola knocked at\nthe door of the rooms occupied by Angela's mother.\n\nIf we say a few words with regard to this lodging, situated on the first\nstory, with an eastern aspect, and also looking on the garden, it is\nthat we may tape it as a specimen of the habitation of a family in this\nassociation, supplied at the incredibly small price of one hundred and\ntwenty-five francs per annum.\n\nA small entrance, opening on the corridor, led to a large room, on each\nside of which was a smaller chamber, destined for the family, when the\nboys and girls were too big to continue to sleep in the two dormitories,\narranged after the fashion of a large school, and reserved for the\nchildren of both sexes. Every night the superintendence of these\ndormitories was entrusted to a father and mother of a family, belonging\nto the association. The lodging of which we speak, being, like all the\nothers, disencumbered of the paraphernalia of a kitchen--for the\ncooking was done in common, and on a large scale, in another part of the\nbuilding--was kept extremely clean. A pretty large piece of carpet,\na comfortable arm-chair, some pretty-looking china on a stand of well\npolished wood, some prints hung against the walls, a clock of gilt\nbronze, a bed, a chest of drawers, and a mahogany secretary, announced\nthat the inhabitants of this apartment enjoyed not only the necessaries,\nbut some of the luxuries of life. Angela, who, from this time, might\nbe called Agricola's betrothed, justified in every point the flattering\nportrait which the smith had drawn of her in his interview with poor\nMother Bunch. The charming girl, seventeen years of age at most, dressed\nwith as much simplicity as neatness, was seated by the side of her\nmother. When Agricola entered, she blushed slightly at seeing him.\n\n\"Mademoiselle,\" said Agricola, \"I have come to keep my promise, if your\nmother has no objection.\"\n\n\"Certainly, M. Agricola,\" answered the mother of the young girl\ncordially. \"She would not go over the Common Dwelling-house with her\nfather, her brother, or me, because she wished to have that pleasure\nwith you today. It is quite right that you, who can talk so well, should\ndo the honors of the house to the new-comer. She has been waiting for\nyou an hour, and with such impatience!\"\n\n\"Pray excuse me, mademoiselle,\" said Agricola, gayly; \"in thinking of\nthe pleasure of seeing you, I forgot the hour. That is my only excuse.\"\n\n\"Oh, mother!\" said the young girl, in a tone of mild reproach, and\nbecoming red as a cherry, \"why did you say that?\"\n\n\"Is it true, yes or no? I do not blame you for it; on the contrary. Go\nwith M. Agricola, child, and he will tell you, better than I can, what\nall the workmen of the factory owe to M, Hardy.\"\n\n\"M. Agricola,\" said Angela, tying the ribbons of her pretty cap, \"what a\npity that your good little adopted sister is not with us.\"\n\n\"Mother Bunch?--yes, you are right, mademoiselle; but that is only a\npleasure put off, and the visit she paid us yesterday will not be the\nlast.\"\n\nHaving embraced her mother, the girl took Agricola's arm, and they went\nout together.\n\n\"Dear me, M. Agricola,\" said Angela; \"if you knew how much I was\nsurprised on entering this fine house, after being accustomed to see so\nmuch misery amongst the poor workmen in our country, and in which I too\nhave had my share, whilst here everybody seems happy and contented. It\nis really like fairy-land; I think I am in a dream, and when I ask my\nmother the explanation of these wonders, she tells me, 'M. Agricola will\nexplain it all to you.'\"\n\n\"Do you know why I am so happy to undertake that delightful task,\nmademoiselle?\" said Agricola, with an accent at once grave and tender.\n\"Nothing could be more in season.\"\n\n\"Why so, M. Agricola?\"\n\n\"Because, to show you this house, to make you acquainted with all the\nresources of our association, is to be able to say to you: 'Here, the\nworkman, sure of the present, sure of the future, is not, like so many\nof his poor brothers, obliged to renounce the sweetest want of the\nheart--the desire of choosing a companion for life--in the fear of\nuniting misery to misery.\"'\n\nAngela cast down her eyes, and blushed.\n\n\"Here the workman may safely yield to the hope of knowing the sweet joys\nof a family, sure of not having his heart torn hereafter by the sight\nof the horrible privations of those who are dear to him; here, thanks to\norder and industry, and the wise employment of the strength of all, men,\nwomen, and children live happy and contented. In a ward, to explain all\nthis to you, mademoiselle,\" added Agricola, smiling with a still more\ntender air, \"is to prove, that here we can do nothing more reasonable\nthan love, nothing wiser than marry.\"\n\n\"M. Agricola,\" answered Angela, in a slightly agitated voice, and\nblushing still more as she spoke, \"suppose we were to begin our walk.\"\n\n\"Directly, mademoiselle,\" replied the smith, pleased at the trouble\nhe had excited in that ingenuous soul. \"But, come; we are near the\ndormitory of the little girls. The chirping birds have long left their\nnests. Let us go there.\"\n\n\"Willingly, M. Agricola.\"\n\nThe young smith and Angela soon entered a spacious dormitory, resembling\nthat of a first-rate boarding school. The little iron bedsteads were\narranged in symmetrical order; at each end were the beds of the two\nmothers of families, who took the superintendence by turns.\n\n\"Dear me! how well it is arranged, M. Agricola, and how neat and clean!\nWho is it that takes such good care of it?\"\n\n\"The children themselves; we have no servants here. There is an\nextraordinary emulation between these urchins--as to who shall make her\nbed most neatly, and it amuses them quite as much as making a bed for\ntheir dolls. Little girls, you know, delight in playing at keeping\nhouse. Well, here they play at it in good earnest, and the house is\nadmirably kept in consequence.\"\n\n\"Oh! I understand. They turn to account their natural taste for all such\nkinds of amusement.\"\n\n\"That is the whole secret. You will see them everywhere usefully\noccupied, and delighted at the importance of the employments given\nthem.\"\n\n\"Oh, M. Agricola!\" said Angela, timidly, \"only compare these fine\ndormitories, so warm and healthy, with the horrible icy garrets, where\nchildren are heaped pell-mell on a wretched straw-mattress, shivering\nwith cold, as in the case with almost all the workmen's families in our\ncountry!\"\n\n\"And in Paris, mademoiselle, it is even worse.\"\n\n\"Oh! how kind, generous, and rich must M. Hardy be, to spend so much\nmoney in doing good!\"\n\n\"I am going to astonish you, mademoiselle!\" said Agricola, with a smile;\n\"to astonish you so much, that perhaps you will not believe me.\"\n\n\"Why so, M. Agricola?\"\n\n\"There is not certainly in the world a man with a better and more\ngenerous heart than M. Hardy; he does good for its own sake and without\nthinking of his personal interest. And yet, Mdlle. Angela, were he the\nmost selfish and avaricious of men, he would still find it greatly to\nhis advantage to put us in a position to be as comfortable as we are.\"\n\n\"Is it possible, M. Agricola? You tell me so, and I believe it; but if\ngood can so easily be done, if there is even an advantage in doing it,\nwhy is it not more commonly attempted?\"\n\n\"Ah! mademoiselle, it requires three gifts very rarely met with in the\nsame person--knowledge, power and will.\"\n\n\"Alas! yes. Those who have the knowledge, have not the power.\"\n\n\"And those who have the power, have neither the knowledge nor the will.\"\n\n\"But how does M. Hardy find any advantage in the good he does for you?\"\n\n\"I will explain that presently, mademoiselle.\"\n\n\"Oh, what a nice, sweet smell of fruit!\" said Angela, suddenly.\n\n\"Our common fruit-store is close at hand. I wager we shall find there\nsome of the little birds from the dormitory--not occupied in picking and\nstealing, but hard at work.\"\n\nOpening a door, Agricola led Angela into a large room, furnished with\nshelves, on which the winter fruits were arranged in order. A number\nof children, from seven to eight years old, neatly and warmly clad,\nand glowing with health, exerted themselves cheerfully, under the\nsuperintendence of a woman, in separating and sorting the spoiled fruit.\n\n\"You see,\" said Agricola, \"wherever it is possible, we make use of the\nchildren. These occupations are amusements for them, answering to the\nneed of movement and activity natural to their age; and, in this way, we\ncan employ the grown girls and the women to much better advantage.\"\n\n\"True, M. Agricola; how well it is all arranged.\"\n\n\"And if you saw what services the urchins in the kitchen render!\nDirected by one or two women, they do the work of eight or ten\nservants.\"\n\n\"In fact,\" said Angela, smiling, \"at their age, we like so much to play\nat cooking dinner. They must be delighted.\"\n\n\"And, in the same way, under pretext of playing at gardening, they weed\nthe ground, gather the fruit and vegetables, water the flowers, roll the\npaths, and so on. In a word, this army of infant-workers, who generally\nremain till ten or twelve years of age without being of any service,\nare here very useful. Except three hours of school, which is quite\nsufficient for them, from the age of six or seven their recreations are\nturned to good account, and the dear little creatures, by the saving of\nfull-grown arms which they effect, actually gain more than they cost;\nand then, mademoiselle, do you not think there is something in the\npresence of childhood thus mixed up with every labor--something mild,\npure, almost sacred, which has its influence on our words and actions,\nand imposes a salutary reserve? The coarsest man will respect the\npresence of children.\"\n\n\"The more one reflects, the more one sees that everything here is really\ndesigned for the happiness of all!\" said Angela, in admiration.\n\n\"It has not been done without trouble. It was necessary to conquer\nprejudices, and break through customs. But see, Mdlle. Angela! here we\nare at the kitchen,\" added the smith, smiling; \"is it not as imposing as\nthat of a barrack or a public school?\"\n\nIndeed, the culinary department of the Common Dwelling-house was\nimmense. All its utensils were bright and clean; and thanks to the\nmarvellous and economical inventions of modern science (which are always\nbeyond the reach of the poorer classes, to whom they are most necessary,\nbecause they can only be practised on a large scale), not only the fire\non the hearth, and in the stoves, was fed with half the quantity of\nfuel that would have been consumed by each family individually, but the\nexcess of the caloric sufficed, with the aid of well-constructed tubes,\nto spread a mild and equal warmth through all parts of the house. And\nhere also children, under the direction of two women, rendered numerous\nservices. Nothing could be more comic than the serious manner in which\nthey performed their culinary functions; it was the same with the\nassistance they gave in the bakehouse, where, at an extraordinary saving\nin the price (for they bought flour wholesale), they made an excellent\nhousehold bread, composed of pure wheat and rye, so preferable to\nthat whiter bread, which too often owes its apparent qualities to some\ndeleterious substance.\n\n\"Good-day, Dame Bertrand,\" said Agricola, gayly, to a worthy matron, who\nwas gravely contemplating the slow evolution of several spits, worthy\nof Gamache's Wedding so heavily were they laden with pieces of beef,\nmutton, and veal, which began to assume a fine golden brown color of the\nmost attractive kind; \"good-day, Dame Bertrand. According to the rule,\nI do not pass the threshold of the kitchen. I only wish it to be admired\nby this young lady, who is a new-comer amongst us.\"\n\n\"Admire, my lad, pray admire--and above all take notice, how good these\nbrats are, and how well they work!\" So saying, the matron pointed with\nthe long ladle, which served her as a sceptre, to some fifteen children\nof both sexes, seated round a table, and deeply absorbed in the exercise\nof their functions, which consisted in peeling potatoes and picking\nherbs.\n\n\"We are, I see, to have a downright Belshazzar's feast, Dame Bertrand?\"\nsaid Agricola, laughing.\n\n\"Faith, a feast like we have always, my lad. Here is our bill of fare\nfor to-day. A good vegetable soup, roast beef with potatoes, salad,\nfruit, cheese; and for extras, it being Sunday, some currant tarts made\nby Mother Denis at the bakehouse, where the oven is heating now.\"\n\n\"What you tell me, Dame Bertrand, gives me a furious appetite,\" said\nAgricola, gayly. \"One soon knows when it is your turn in the kitchen,\"\nadded he, with a flattering air.\n\n\"Get along, do!\" said the female Soyer on service, merrily.\n\n\"What astonishes me, so much, M. Agricola,\" said Angela, as they\ncontinued their walk, \"is the comparison of the insufficient,\nunwholesome food of the workmen in our country, with that which is\nprovided here.\"\n\n\"And yet we do not spend more than twenty-five sous a day, for much\nbetter food than we should get for three francs in Paris.\"\n\n\"But really it is hard to believe, M. Agricola. How is it possible?\"\n\n\"It is thanks to the magic wand of M. Hardy. I will explain it all\npresently.\"\n\n\"Oh! how impatient I am to see M. Hardy!\"\n\n\"You will soon see him--perhaps to-day; for he is expected every moment.\nBut here is the refectory, which you do not yet know, as your family,\nlike many others, prefer dining at home. See what a fine room, looking\nout on the garden, just opposite the fountain!\"\n\nIt was indeed a vast hall, built in the form of a gallery, with ten\nwindows opening on the garden. Tables, covered with shining oil-cloth,\nwere ranged along the walls, so that, in winter, this apartment\nserved in the evening, after work, as a place of meeting for those who\npreferred to pass an hour together, instead of remaining alone or with\ntheir families. Then, in this large hall, well warmed and brilliantly\nlighted with gas, some read, some played cards, some talked, and some\noccupied themselves with easy work.\n\n\"That is not all,\" said Agricola to the young girl; \"I am sure you will\nlike this apartment still better when I tell you, that on Thursdays\nand Sundays we make a ball-room of it, and on Tuesdays and Saturdays a\nconcert-room.\"\n\n\"Really!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" continued the smith, proudly, \"we have amongst us musicians,\nquite capable of tempting us to dance. Moreover, twice a week, nearly\nall of us sing in chorus--men, women, and children. Unfortunately, this\nweek, some disputes that have arisen in the factory have prevented our\nconcerts.\"\n\n\"So many voices! that must be superb.\"\n\n\"It is very fine, I assure you. M. Hardy has always encouraged this\namusement amongst us, which has, he says--and he is right--so powerful\nan effect on the mind and the manners. One winter, he sent for two\npupils of the celebrated Wilhelm, and, since then, our school has made\ngreat progress. I assure you, Mdlle. Angela, that, without flattering\nourselves, there is something truly exciting in the sound of two hundred\nvoices, singing in chorus some hymn to Labor or Freedom. You shall hear\nit, and you will, I think, acknowledge that there is something great\nand elevating in the heart of man, in this fraternal harmony of voices,\nblending in one grave, sonorous, imposing sound.\"\n\n\"Oh! I believe it. But what happiness to inhabit here. It is a life of\njoy; for labor, mixed with recreation, becomes itself a pleasure.\"\n\n\"Alas! here, as everywhere, there are tears and sorrows,\" replied\nAgricola, sadly. \"Do you see that isolated building, in a very exposed\nsituation?\"\n\n\"Yes; what is it?\"\n\n\"That is our hospital for the sick. Happily, thanks to our healthy mode\nof life, it is not often full; an annual subscription enables us to have\na good doctor. Moreover, a mutual benefit society is arranged in such a\nmanner amongst us, that any one of us, in case of illness, receives two\nthirds of what he would have gained in health.\"\n\n\"How well it is all managed! And there, M. Agricola, on the other side\nof the grass-plot?\"\n\n\"That is the wash-house, with water laid on, cold and hot; and under\nyonder shed is the drying-place: further on, you see the stables, and\nthe lofts and granaries for the provender of the factory horses.\"\n\n\"But M. Agricola, will you tell me the secret of all these wonders?\"\n\n\"In ten minutes you shall understand it all, mademoiselle.\"\n\nUnfortunately, Angela's curiosity was for a while disappointed. The girl\nwas now standing with Agricola close to the iron gate, which shut in the\ngarden from the broad avenue that separated the factory from the Common\nDwelling-house. Suddenly, the wind brought from the distance the sound\nof trumpets and military music; then was heard the gallop of two\nhorses, approaching rapidly, and soon after a general officer made his\nappearance, mounted on a fine black charger, with a long flowing tail\nand crimson housings; he wore cavalry boots and white breeches, after\nthe fashion of the empire; his uniform glittered with gold embroidery,\nthe red ribbon of the Legion of Honor was passed over his right epaulet,\nwith its four silver stars, and his hat had a broad gold border, and\nwas crowned with a white plume, the distinctive sign reserved for\nthe marshals of France. No warrior could have had a more martial and\nchivalrous air, or have sat more proudly on his war-horse. At the moment\nMarshal Simon (for it was he) arrived opposite the place where Angela\nand Agricola were standing, he drew up his horse suddenly, sprang\nlightly to the ground, and threw the golden reins to a servant in\nlivery, who followed also on horseback.\n\n\"Where shall I wait for your grace?\" asked the groom.\n\n\"At the end of the avenue,\" said the marshal.\n\nAnd, uncovering his head respectfully, he advanced hastily with his\nhat in his hand, to meet a person whom Angela and Agricola had not\npreviously perceived. This person soon appeared at a turn of the avenue;\nhe was an old man, with an energetic, intelligent countenance. He wore\na very neat blouse, and a cloth cap over his long, white hair. With his\nhands in his pocket, he was quietly smoking an old meerschaum pipe.\n\n\"Good-morning, father,\" said the marshal, respectfully, as he\naffectionately embraced the old workman, who, having tenderly returned\nthe pressure, said to him: \"Put on your hat, my boy. But how gay we\nare!\" added he, with a smile.\n\n\"I have just been to a review, father, close by; and I took the\nopportunity to call on you as soon as possible.\"\n\n\"But shall I then not see my granddaughters to-day, as I do every\nSunday?\"\n\n\"They are coming in a carriage, father, and Dagobert accompanies them.\"\n\n\"But what is the matter? you appear full of thought.\"\n\n\"Indeed, father,\" said the marshal, with a somewhat agitated air, \"I\nhave serious things to talk about.\"\n\n\"Come in, then,\" said the old man, with some anxiety. The marshal and\nhis father disappeared at the turn of the avenue.\n\nAngela had been struck with amazement at seeing this brilliant General,\nwho was entitled \"your grace,\" salute an old workman in a blouse as his\nfather; and, looking at Agricola with a confused air she said to him:\n\"What, M. Agricola! this old workman--\"\n\n\"Is the father of Marshal Duke de Ligny--the friend--yes, I may say the\nfriend,\" added Agricola, with emotion, \"of my father, who for twenty\nyears served under him in war.'\n\n\"To be placed so high, and yet to be so respectful and tender to his\nfather!\" said Angela. \"The marshal must have a very noble heart; but why\ndoes he let his father remain a workman?\"\n\n\"Because Father Simon will not quit his trade and the factory for\nanything in the world. He was born a workman, and he will die a workman,\nthough he is the father of a duke and marshal of France.\"\n\n(29) See Adolphe Bobierre \"On Air and Health,\" Paris, 1844.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LI. THE SECRET.\n\nWhen the very natural astonishment which the arrival of Marshal Simon\nhad caused in Angela had passed away, Agricola said to her with a smile:\n\"I do not wish to take advantage of this circumstance, Mdlle. Angela,\nto spare you the account of the secret, by which all the wonders of our\nCommon Dwelling-house are brought to pass.\"\n\n\"Oh! I should not have let you forget your promise, M. Agricola,\"\nanswered Angela, \"what you have already told me interests me too much\nfor that.\"\n\n\"Listen, then. M. Hardy, like a true magician, has pronounced three\ncabalistic words: ASSOCIATION--COMMUNITY--FRATERNITY. We have understood\nthe sense of these words, and the wonders you have seen have sprung from\nthem, to our great advantage; and also, I repeat, to the great advantage\nof M. Hardy.\"\n\n\"It is that which appears so extraordinary, M. Agricola.\"\n\n\"Suppose, mademoiselle, that M. Hardy, instead of being what he is, had\nonly been a cold-hearted speculator, looking merely to the profit, and\nsaying to himself: 'To make the most of my factory, what is needed?\nGood work--great economy in the raw material--full employment of the\nworkman's time; in a word, cheapness of manufacture, in order to produce\ncheaply--excellence of the thing produced, in order to sell dear.'\"\n\n\"Truly, M. Agricola, no manufacturer could desire more.\"\n\n\"Well, mademoiselle, these conditions might have been fulfilled, as they\nhave been, but how? Had M. Hardy only been a speculator, he might have\nsaid: 'At a distance from my factory, my workmen might have trouble to\nget there: rising earlier, they will sleep less; it is a bad economy\nto take from the sleep so necessary to those who toil. When they get\nfeeble, the work suffers for it; then the inclemency of the seasons\nmakes it worse; the workman arrives wet, trembling with cold, enervated\nbefore he begins to work--and then, what work!'\"\n\n\"It is unfortunately but too true, M. Agricola. At Lille, when I reached\nthe factory, wet through with a cold rain, I used sometimes to shiver\nall day long at my work.\"\n\n\"Therefore, Mdlle. Angela, the speculator might say: 'To lodge\nmy workmen close to the door of my factory would obviate this\ninconvenience. Let us make the calculation. In Paris the married workman\npays about two hundred and fifty francs a-year,(30) for one or two\nwretched rooms and a closet, dark, small, unhealthy, in a narrow,\nmiserable street; there he lives pell-mell with his family. What ruined\nconstitutions are the consequence! and what sort of work can you expect\nfrom a feverish and diseased creature? As for the single men, they pay\nfor a smaller, and quite as unwholesome lodging, about one hundred and\nfifty francs a-year. Now, let us make the addition. I employ one hundred\nand forty-six married workmen, who pay together, for their wretched\nholes, thirty-six thousand five hundred francs; I employ also one\nhundred and fifteen bachelors, who pay at the rate of seventeen thousand\ntwo hundred and eighty francs; the total will amount to about fifty\nthousand francs per annum, the interest on a million.\"'\n\n\"Dear me, M. Agricola! what a sum to be produced by uniting all these\nlittle rents together!\"\n\n\"You see, mademoiselle, that fifty thousand francs a-year is a\nmillionaire's rent. Now, what says our speculator: To induce our workmen\nto leave Paris, I will offer them, enormous advantages. I will reduce\ntheir rent one-half, and, instead of small, unwholesome rooms, they\nshall have large, airy apartments, well-warmed and lighted, at a\ntrifling charge. Thus, one hundred and forty-six families, paying me\nonly one hundred and twenty-five francs a-year, and one hundred\nand fifteen bachelors, seventy-five francs, I shall have a total of\ntwenty-six to twenty-seven thousand francs. Now, a building large enough\nto hold all these people would cost me at most five hundred thousand\nfrancs.(31) I shall then have invested my money at five per cent at the\nleast, and with perfect security, since the wages is a guarantee for the\npayment of the rent.'\"\n\n\"Ah, M. Agricola! I begin to understand how it may sometimes be\nadvantageous to do good, even in a pecuniary sense.\"\n\n\"And I am almost certain, mademoiselle, that, in the long run, affairs\nconducted with uprightness and honesty turn out well. But to return to\nour speculator. 'Here,' will he say, 'are my workmen, living close to\nmy factory, well lodged, well warmed, and arriving always fresh at\ntheir work. That is not all; the English workman who eats good beef, and\ndrinks good beer, does twice as much, in the same time, as the French\nworkman,(32) reduced to a detestable kind of food, rather weakening than\nthe reverse, thanks to the poisonous adulteration of the articles he\nconsumes. My workmen will then labor much better, if they eat much\nbetter. How shall I manage it without loss? Now I think of it, what\nis the food in barracks, schools, even prisons? Is it not the union of\nindividual resources which procures an amount of comfort impossible to\nrealize without such an association? Now, if my two hundred and sixty\nworkmen, instead of cooking two hundred and sixty detestable dinners,\nwere to unite to prepare one good dinner for all of them, which might\nbe done, thanks to the savings of all sorts that would ensue, what an\nadvantage for me and them! Two or three women, aided by children, would\nsuffice to make ready the daily repasts; instead of buying wood and\ncharcoal in fractions,(33) and so paying for it double its value, the\nassociation of my workmen would, upon my security (their wages would be\nan efficient security for me in return), lay in their own stock of wood,\nflour, butter, oil, wine, etc., all which they would procure directly\nfrom the producers. Thus, they would pay three or four sous for a bottle\nof pure wholesome wine, instead of paying twelve or fifteen sous for\npoison. Every week the association would buy a whole ox, and some sheep,\nand the women would make bread, as in the country. Finally, with these\nresources, and order, and economy, my workmen may have wholesome,\nagreeable, and sufficient food, for from twenty to twenty-five sous a\nday.'\"\n\n\"Ah! this explains it, M. Agricola.\"\n\n\"It is not all, mademoiselle. Our cool-headed speculator would continue:\n'Here are my workmen well lodged, well warmed, well fed, with a saving\nof at least half; why should they not also be warmly clad? Their health\nwill then have every chance of being good, and health is labor. The\nassociation will buy wholesale, and at the manufacturing price (still\nupon my security, secured to me by their wages), warm, good, strong\nmaterials, which a portion of the workmen's wives will be able to make\ninto clothes as well as any tailor. Finally, the consumption of caps and\nshoes being considerable, the association will obtain them at a great\nreduction in price.' Well, Mdlle. Angela! what do you say to our\nspeculator?\"\n\n\"I say, M. Agricola,\" answered the young girl; with ingenuous\nadmiration, \"that it is almost incredible, and yet so simple!\"\n\n\"No doubt, nothing is more simple than the good and beautiful, and yet\nwe think of it so seldom. Observe, that our man has only been speaking\nwith a view to his own interest--only considering the material side of\nthe question--reckoning for nothing the habit of fraternity and mutual\naid, which inevitably springs from living together in common--not\nreflecting that a better mode of life improves and softens the character\nof man--not thinking of the support and instruction which the strong owe\nto the weak--not acknowledging, in fine, that the honest, active, and\nindustrious man has a positive right to demand employment from\nsociety, and wages proportionate to the wants of his condition. No,\nour speculator only thinks of the gross profits; and yet, you see, he\ninvests his money in buildings at five per cent., and finds the greatest\nadvantages in the material comfort of his workmen.\"\n\n\"It is true, M. Agricola.\"\n\n\"And what will you say, mademoiselle, when I prove to you that our\nspeculator finds also a great advantage in giving to his workmen, in\naddition to their regular wages, a proportionate share of his profits?\"\n\n\"That appears to me more difficult to prove, M. Agricola.\"\n\n\"Yet I will convince you of it in a few minutes.\"\n\nThus conversing, Angela and Agricola had reached the garden-gate of the\nCommon Dwelling-house. An elderly woman, dressed plainly, but with care\nand neatness, approached Agricola, and asked him: \"Has M. Hardy returned\nto the factory, sir?\"\n\n\"No, madame; but we expect him hourly.\"\n\n\"To-day, perhaps?\"\n\n\"To-day or to-morrow, madame.\"\n\n\"You cannot tell me at what hour he will be here?\"\n\n\"I do not think it is known, madame, but the porter of the factory,\nwho also belongs to M. Hardy's private house, may, perhaps, be able to\ninform you.\"\n\n\"I thank you, sir.\"\n\n\"Quite welcome, madame.\"\n\n\"M. Agricola,\" said Angela, when the woman who had just questioned him\nwas gone, \"did you remark that this lady was very pale and agitated?\"\n\n\"I noticed it as you did, mademoiselle; I thought I saw tears standing\nin her eyes.\"\n\n\"Yes, she seemed to have been crying. Poor woman! perhaps she came to\nask assistance of M. Hardy. But what ails you, M. Agricola? You appear\nquite pensive.\"\n\nAgricola had a vague presentiment that the visit of this elderly woman\nwith so sad a countenance, had some connection with the adventure of the\nyoung and pretty lady, who, three days before had come all agitated and\nin tears to inquire after M. Hardy, and who had learned--perhaps too\nlate--that she was watched and followed.\n\n\"Forgive me, mademoiselle,\" said Agricola to Angela; \"but the presence\nof this old lady reminded me of a circumstance, which, unfortunately, I\ncannot tell you, for it is a secret that does not belong to me alone.\"\n\n\"Oh! do not trouble yourself, M. Agricola,\" answered the young girl,\nwith a smile; \"I am not inquisitive, and what we were talking of before\ninterests me so much, that I do not wish to hear you speak of anything\nelse.\"\n\n\"Well, then mademoiselle, I will say a few words more, and you will be\nas well informed as I am of the secrets of our association.\"\n\n\"I am listening, M. Agricola.\"\n\n\"Let us still keep in view the speculator from mere interest. 'Here are\nmy workmen, says he, 'in the best possible condition to do a great\ndeal of work. Now what is to be done to obtain large profits? Produce\ncheaply, and sell dear. But there will be no cheapness, without economy\nin the use of the raw material, perfection of the manufacturing process,\nand celerity of labor. Now, in spite of all my vigilance, how am I to\nprevent my workmen from wasting the materials? How am I to induce them,\neach in his own province, to seek for the most simple and least irksome\nprocesses?\"\n\n\"True, M. Agricola; how is that to be done?\"\n\n\"'And that is not all,' says our man; 'to sell my produce at high\nprices, it should be irreproachable, excellent. My workmen do pretty\nwell; but that is not enough. I want them to produce masterpieces.'\"\n\n\"But, M. Agricola, when they have once performed the task set them what\ninterest have workmen to give themselves a great deal of trouble to\nproduce masterpieces?\"\n\n\"There it is, Mdlle. Angela; what interest have they? Therefore, our\nspeculator soon says to himself: 'That my workmen may have an interest\nto be economical in the use of the materials, an interest to employ\ntheir time well, an interest to invent new and better manufacturing\nprocesses, an interest to send out of their hands nothing but\nmasterpieces--I must give them an interest in the profits earned by\ntheir economy, activity, zeal and skill. The better they manufacture,\nthe better I shall sell, and the larger will be their gain and mine\nalso.'\"\n\n\"Oh! now I understand, M. Agricola.\"\n\n\"And our speculator would make a good speculation. Before he was\ninterested, the workman said: 'What does it matter to me, that I do more\nor do better in the course of the day? What shall I gain by it? Nothing.\nWell, then, little work for little wages. But now, on the contrary\n(he says), I have an interest in displaying zeal and economy. All is\nchanged. I redouble my activity, and strive to excel the others. If a\ncomrade is lazy, and likely to do harm to the factory, I have the right\nto say to him: 'Mate, we all suffer more or less from your laziness, and\nfrom the injury you are doing the common weal.'\"\n\n\"And then, M. Agricola, with what ardor, courage, and hope, you must set\nto work!\"\n\n\"That is what our speculator counts on; and he may say to himself,\nfurther: 'Treasures of experience and practical wisdom are often buried\nin workshops, for want of goodwill, opportunity, or encouragement.\nExcellent workmen, instead of making all the improvements in their\npower, follow with indifference the old jog-trot. What a pity! for an\nintelligent man, occupied all his life with some special employment,\nmust discover, in the long run, a thousand ways of doing his work better\nand quicker. I will form, therefore, a sort of consulting committee; I\nwill summon to it my foremen and my most skillful workmen. Our interest\nis now the same. Light will necessarily spring from this centre of\npractical intelligence.' Now, the speculator is not deceived in this,\nand soon struck with the incredible resources, the thousand new,\ningenious, perfect inventions suddenly revealed by his workmen, 'Why'\nhe exclaims, 'if you knew this, did you not tell it before? What for the\nlast ten years has cost me a hundred francs to make, would have cost\nme only fifty, without reckoning an enormous saving of time.' 'Sir,'\nanswers the workman, who is not more stupid than others, 'what interest\nhad I, that you should effect a saving of fifty per cent? None. But now\nit is different. You give me, besides my wages, a share in your\nprofits; you raise me in my own esteem, by consulting my experience and\nknowledge. Instead of treating me as an inferior being, you enter into\ncommunion with me. It is my interest, it is my duty, to tell you all I\nknow, and to try to acquire more.' And thus it is, Mdlle. Angela,\nthat the speculator can organize his establishment, so as to shame\nhis oppositionists, and provoke their envy. Now if, instead of a cold\nhearted calculator, we tape a man who unites with the knowledge of these\nfacts the tender and generous sympathies of an evangelical heart, and\nthe elevation of a superior mind, he will extend his ardent solicitude;\nnot only to the material comfort, but to the moral emancipation, of\nhis workmen. Seeking everywhere every possible means to develop their\nintelligence, to improve their hearts, and strong in the authority\nacquired by his beneficence, feeling that he on whom depends the\nhappiness or the misery of three hundred human creatures has also the\ncare of souls, he will be the guide of those whom he no longer calls his\nworkmen, but his brothers, in a straightforward and noble path, and will\ntry to create in them the taste for knowledge and art, which will render\nthem happy and proud of a condition of life that is often accepted by\nothers with tears and curses of despair. Well, Mdlle. Angela, such a man\nis--but, see! he could not arrive amongst us except in the middle of a\nblessing. There he is--there is M. Hardy!\"\n\n\"Oh, M. Agricola!\" said Angela, deeply moved, and drying her tears; \"we\nshould receive him with our hands clasped in gratitude.\"\n\n\"Look if that mild and noble countenance is not the image of his\nadmirable soul!\"\n\nA carriage with post horses, in which was M. Hardy, with M. de Blessac,\nthe unworthy friend who was betraying him in so infamous a manner,\nentered at this moment the courtyard of the factory.\n\nA little while after, a humble hackney-coach was seen advancing also\ntowards the factory, from the direction of Paris. In this coach was\nRodin.\n\n(30) The average price of a workman's lodging, composed of two small\nrooms and a closet at most, on the third or fourth story.\n\n(31) This calculation is amply sufficient, if not excessive. A similar\nbuilding, at one league from Paris, on the side of Montrouge, with all\nthe necessary offices, kitchen, wash-houses, etc., with gas and water\nlaid on, apparatus for warming, etc., and a garden of ten acres, cost,\nat the period of this narrative, hardly five hundred thousand francs.\nAn experienced builder less obliged us with an estimate, which confirms\nwhat we advance. It is, therefore, evident, that, even at the same\nprice which workmen are in the habit of paying, it would be possible to\nprovide them with perfectly healthy lodgings, and yet invest one's money\nat ten per cent.\n\n(32) The fact was proved in the works connected with the Rouen Railway.\nThose French workmen who, having no families, were able to live like the\nEnglish, did at least as much work as the latter, being strengthened by\nwholesome and sufficient nourishment.\n\n(33) Buying penny-worths, like all other purchases at minute retail, are\ngreatly to the poor man's disadvantage.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LII. REVELATIONS.\n\nDuring the visit of Angela and Agricola to the Common Dwelling-house,\nthe band of Wolves, joined upon the road by many of the haunters\nof taverns, continued to march towards the factory, which the\nhackney-coach, that brought Rodin from Paris, was also fast approaching.\nM. Hardy, on getting out of the carriage with his friend, M. de Blessac,\nhad entered the parlor of the house that he occupied next the factory.\nM. Hardy was of middle size, with an elegant and slight figure, which\nannounced a nature essentially nervous and impressionable. His forehead\nwas broad and open, his complexion pale, his eyes black, full at once\nof mildness and penetration, his countenance honest, intelligent, and\nattractive.\n\nOne word will paint the character of M. Hardy. His mother had called him\nher Sensitive Plant. His was indeed one of those fine and exquisitely\ndelicate organizations, which are trusting, loving, noble, generous, but\nso susceptible, that the least touch makes them shrink into themselves.\nIf we join to this excessive sensibility a passionate love for art, a\nfirst-rate intellect, tastes essentially refined, and then think of the\nthousand deceptions, and numberless infamies of which M. Hardy must have\nbeen the victim in his career as a manufacturer, we shall wonder how\nthis heart, so delicate and tender, had not been broken a thousand\ntimes, in its incessant struggle with merciless self-interest. M. Hardy\nhad indeed suffered much. Forced to follow the career of productive\nindustry, to honor the engagements of his father, a model of uprightness\nand probity, who had yet left his affairs somewhat embarrassed, in\nconsequence of the events of 1815, he had succeeded, by perseverance\nand capacity, in attaining one of the most honorable positions in the\ncommercial world. But, to arrive at this point, what ignoble annoyances\nhad he to bear with, what perfidious opposition to combat, what hateful\nrivalries to tire out!\n\nSensitive as he was, M. Hardy would a thousand times have fallen a\nvictim to his emotions of painful indignation against baseness, of\nbitter disgust at dishonesty, but for the wise and firm support of his\nmother. When he returned to her, after a day of painful struggles\nwith odious deceptions, he found himself suddenly transported into an\natmosphere of such beneficent purity, of such radiant serenity, that he\nlost almost on the instant the remembrance of the base things by which\nhe had been so cruelly tortured during the day; the pangs of his heart\nwere appeased at the mere contact of her great and lofty soul; and\ntherefore his love for her resembled idolatry. When he lost her, he\nexperienced one of those calm, deep sorrows which have no end--which\nbecome, as it were, part of life, and have even sometimes their days\nof melancholy sweetness. A little while after this great misfortune, M.\nHardy became more closely connected with his workmen. He had always been\na just and good master; but, although the place that his mother left\nin his heart would ever remain void, he felt as it were a redoubled\noverflowing of the affections, and the more he suffered, the more he\ncraved to see happy faces around him. The wonderful ameliorations, which\nhe now produced in the physical and moral condition of all about him,\nserved, not to divert, but to occupy his grief. Little by little, he\nwithdrew from the world, and concentrated his life in three affections:\na tender and devoted friendship, which seemed to include all past\nfriendships--a love ardent and sincere, like a last passion--and a\npaternal attachment to his workmen. His days therefore passed in the\nheart of that little world, so full of respect and gratitude towards\nhim--a world, which he had, as it were, created after the image of his\nmind, that he might find there a refuge from the painful realities he\ndreaded, surrounded with good, intelligent, happy beings, capable\nof responding to the noble thoughts which had become more and more\nnecessary to his existence. Thus, after many sorrows, M. Hardy, arrived\nat the maturity of age, possessing a sincere friend, a mistress worthy\nof his love, and knowing himself certain of the passionate devotion\nof his workmen, had attained, at the period of this history, all the\nhappiness he could hope for since his mother's death.\n\nM. de Blessac, his bosom friend, had long been worthy of his touching\nand fraternal affection; but we have seen by what diabolical means\nFather d'Aigrigny and Rodin had succeeded in making M. de Blessac, until\nthen upright and sincere, the instrument of their machinations. The two\nfriends, who had felt on their journey a little of the sharp influence\nof the north wind, were warming themselves at a good fire lighted in M.\nHardy's parlor.\n\n\"Oh! my dear Marcel, I begin really to get old,\" said M. Hardy, with a\nsmile, addressing M. de Blessac; \"I feel more and more the want of being\nat home. To depart from my usual habits has become painful to me, and I\nexecrate whatever obliges me to leave this happy little spot of ground.\"\n\n\"And when I think,\" answered M. de Blessac, unable to forbear blushing,\n\"when I think, my friend, that you undertook this long journey only for\nmy sake!--\"\n\n\"Well, my dear Marcel! have you not just accompanied me in your turn, in\nan excursion which, without you, would have been as tiresome as it has\nbeen charming?\"\n\n\"What a difference, my friend! I have contracted towards you a debt that\nI can never repay.\"\n\n\"Nonsense, my dear Marcel! Between us, there are no distinctions of meum\nand tuum. Besides, in matters of friendship, it is as sweet to give as\nto receive.\"\n\n\"Noble heart! noble heart!\"\n\n\"Say, happy heart!--most happy, in the last affections for which it\nbeats.\"\n\n\"And who, gracious heaven! could deserve happiness on earth, if it be\nnot you, my friend?\"\n\n\"And to what do I owe that happiness? To the affections which I found\nhere, ready to sustain me, when deprived of the support of my mother,\nwho was all my strength, I felt myself (I confess my weakness) almost\nincapable of standing up against adversity.\"\n\n\"You, my friend--with so firm and resolute a character in doing\ngood--you, that I have seen struggle with so much energy and courage, to\nsecure the triumph of some great and noble idea?\"\n\n\"Yes; but the farther I advance in my career, the more am I disgusted\nwith all base and shameful actions, and the less strength I feel to\nencounter them--\"\n\n\"Were it necessary, you would have the courage, my friend.\"\n\n\"My dear Marcel,\" replied M. Hardy, with mild and restrained emotion,\n\"I have often said to you: My courage was my mother. You see, my friend,\nwhen I went to her, with my heart torn by some horrible ingratitude,\nor disgusted by some base deceit, she, taking my hands between her own\nvenerable palms, would say to me in her grave and tender voice: 'My dear\nchild, it is for the ungrateful and dishonest to suffer; let us pity the\nwicked, let us forget evil, and only think of good.'--Then, my friend,\nthis heart, painfully contracted, expanded beneath the sacred influence\nof the maternal words, and every day I gathered strength from her, to\nrecommence on the morrow a cruel struggle with the sad necessities of my\ncondition. Happily, it has pleased God, that, after losing that beloved\nmother, I have been able to bind up my life with affections, deprived\nof which, I confess, I should find myself feeble and disarmed for you\ncannot tell, Marcel, the support, the strength that I have found in your\nfriendship.\"\n\n\"Do not speak of me, my dear friend,\" replied M. de Blessac, dissembling\nhis embarrassment. \"Let us talk of another affection, almost as sweet\nand tender as that of a mother.\"\n\n\"I understand you, my good Marcel,\" replied M. Hardy: \"I have concealed\nnothing from you since, under such serious circumstances, I had recourse\nto the counsels of your friendship. Well! yes; I think that every day I\nlive augment my adoration for this woman, the only one that I have ever\npassionately loved, the only one that I shall now ever love. And then I\nmust tell you, that my mother, not knowing what Margaret was to me, as\noften loud in her praise, and that circumstance renders this love almost\nsacred in my eyes.\"\n\n\"And then there are such strange resemblances between Mme. de Noisy's\ncharacter and yours, my friend; above all, in her worship of her\nmother.\"\n\n\"It is true, Marcel; that affection has often caused me both admiration\nand torment. How often she has said to me, with her habitual frankness:\n'I have sacrificed all for you, but I would sacrifice you for my\nmother.'\"\n\n\"Thank heaven, my friend, you will never see Mme. de Noisy exposed to\nthat cruel choice. Her mother, you say, has long renounced her intention\nof returning to America, where M. de Noisy, perfectly careless of\nhis wife, appears to have settled himself permanently. Thanks to the\ndiscreet devotion of the excellent woman by whom Margaret was brought\nup, your love is concealed in the deepest mystery. What could disturb it\nnow?\"\n\n\"Nothing--oh! nothing,\" cried M. Hardy. \"I have almost security for its\nduration.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, my friend?\"\n\n\"I do not know if I ought to tell you.\"\n\n\"Have you ever found me indiscreet, my friend?\"\n\n\"You, good Marcel! how can you suppose such a thing?\" said M. Hardy, in\na tone of friendly reproach; \"no! but I do not like to tell you of my\nhappiness, till it is complete; and I am not yet quite certain--\"\n\nA servant entered at this moment and said to M. Hardy: \"Sir, there is an\nold gentleman who wishes to speak to you on very pressing business.\"\n\n\"So soon!\" said M. Hardy, with a slight movement of impatience. \"With\nyour permission, my friend.\" Then, as M. de Blessac seemed about to\nwithdraw into the next room, M. Hardy added with a smile: \"No, no; do\nnot stir. Your presence will shorten the interview.\"\n\n\"But if it be a matter of business, my friend?\"\n\n\"I do everything openly, as you know.\" Then, addressing the servant, M.\nHardy bade him: \"Ask the gentleman to walk in.\"\n\n\"The postilion wishes to know if he is to wait?\"\n\n\"Certainly: he will take M. de Blessac back to Paris.\"\n\nThe servant withdrew, and presently returned, introducing Rodin, with\nwhom M. de Blessac was not acquainted, his treacherous bargain having\nbeen negotiated through another agent.\n\n\"M. Hardy?\" said Rodin, bowing respectfully to the two friends, and\nlooking from one to the other with an air of inquiry.\n\n\"That is my name, sir; what can I do to serve you?\" answered the\nmanufacturer, kindly; for, at first sight of the humble and ill-dressed\nold man, he expected an application for assistance.\n\n\"M. Francois Hardy,\" repeated Rodin, as if he wished to make sure of the\nidentity of the person.\n\n\"I have had the honor to tell you that I am he.\"\n\n\"I have a private communication to make to you, sir,\" said Rodin.\n\n\"You may speak, sir. This gentleman is my friend,\" said M. Hardy,\npointing to M. de Blessac.\n\n\"But I wish to speak to you alone, sir,\" resumed Rodin.\n\nM. de Blessac was again about to withdraw, when M. Hardy retained him\nwith a glance, and said to Rodin kindly, for he thought his feelings\nmight be hurt by asking a favor in presence of a third party: \"Permit\nme to inquire if it is on your account or on mine, that you wish this\ninterview to be secret?\"\n\n\"On your account entirely, sir,\" answered Rodin.\n\n\"Then, sir,\" said M. Hardy, with some surprise, \"you may speak out. I\nhave no secrets from this gentleman.\"\n\nAfter a moment's silence, Rodin resumed, addressing himself to M. Hardy:\n\"Sir, you deserve, I know, all the good that is said of you; and you\ntherefore command the sympathy of every honest man.\"\n\n\"I hope so, sir.\"\n\n\"Now, as an honest man, I come to render you a service.\"\n\n\"And this service, sir--\"\n\n\"To reveal to you an infamous piece of treachery, of which you have been\nthe victim.\"\n\n\"I think, sir, you must be deceived.\"\n\n\"I have the proofs of what I assert.\"\n\n\"Proofs?\"\n\n\"The written proofs of the treachery that I come to reveal: I have them\nhere,\" answered Rodin \"In a word, a man whom you believed your friend,\nhas shamefully deceived you, sir.\"\n\n\"And the name of this man?\"\n\n\"M. Marcel de Blessac,\" replied Rodin.\n\nOn these words, M. de Blessac started, and became pale as death. He\ncould hardly murmur: \"Sir--\"\n\nBut, without looking at his friend, or perceiving his agitation, M.\nHardy seized his hand, and exclaimed hastily: \"Silence, my friend!\"\nThen, whilst his eye flashed with indignation, he turned towards Rodin,\nwho had not ceased to look him full in the face, and said to him, with\nan air of lofty disdain: \"What! do you accuse M. de Blessac?\"\n\n\"Yes, I accuse him,\" replied Rodin, briefly.\n\n\"Do you know him?\"\n\n\"I have never seen him.\"\n\n\"Of what do you accuse him? And how dare you say that he has betrayed\nme?\"\n\n\"Two words, if you please,\" said Rodin, with an emotion which he\nappeared hardly able to restrain. \"If one man of honor sees another\nabout to be slain by an assassin, ought he not give the alarm of\nmurder?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; but what has that to do--\"\n\n\"In my eyes, sir, certain treasons are as criminal as murders: I have\ncome to place myself between the assassin and his victim.\"\n\n\"The assassin? the victim?\" said M. Hardy more and more astonished.\n\n\"You doubtless know M. de Blessac's writing?\" said Rodin.\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Then read this,\" said Rodin, drawing from his pocket a letter, which he\nhanded to M. Hardy.\n\nCasting now for the first time a glance at M. de Blessac, the\nmanufacturer drew back a step, terrified at the death-like paleness of\nthis man, who, struck dumb with shame, could not find a word to justify\nhimself; for he was far from possessing the audacious effrontery\nnecessary to carry him through his treachery.\n\n\"Marcel!\" cried M. Hardy, in alarm, and deeply agitated by this\nunexpected blow. \"Marcel! how pale you are! you do not answer!\"\n\n\"Marcel! this, then, is M. de Blessac?\" cried Rodin, feigning the most\npainful surprise. \"Oh, sir, if I had known--\"\n\n\"But don't you hear this man, Marcel?\" cried M. Hardy. \"He says that you\nhave betrayed me infamously.\" He seized the hand of M. de Blessac. That\nhand was cold as ice. \"Oh, God! Oh God!\" said M. Hardy, drawing back in\nhorror: \"he makes no answer!\"\n\n\"Since I am in presence of M. de Blessac,\" resumed Rodin, \"I am forced\nto ask him, if he can deny having addressed many letters to the Rue du\nMilieu des Ursins, at Paris under cover of M. Rodin.\"\n\nM. de Blessac remained dumb. M. Hardy, still unwilling to believe what\nhe saw and heard, convulsively tore open the letter, which Rodin had\njust delivered to him, and read the first few lines--interrupting the\nperusal with exclamations of grief and amazement. He did not require to\nfinish the letter, to convince himself of the black treachery of M. de\nBlessac. He staggered; for a moment his senses seemed to abandon him.\nThe horrible discovery made him giddy, and his head swam on his first\nlook down into that abyss of infamy. The loathsome letter dropped from\nhis trembling hands. But soon indignation, rage, and scorn succeeded\nthis moment of despair, and rushing, pale and terrible, upon M. de\nBlessac: \"Wretch!\" he exclaimed, with a threatening gesture. But,\npausing as in the act to strike: \"No!\" he added, with fearful calmness.\n\"It would be to soil my hands.\"\n\nHe turned towards Rodin, who had approached hastily, as if to interpose.\n\"It is not worth while chastising a wretch,\" said M. Hardy; \"But I will\npress your honest hand, sir--for you have had the courage to unmask a\ntraitor and a coward.\"\n\n\"Sir!\" cried M. de Blessac, overcome with shame; \"I am at your\norders--and--\"\n\nHe could not finish. The sound of voices was heard behind the door,\nwhich opened violently, and an aged woman entered, in spite of the\nefforts of the servant, exclaiming in an agitated voice: \"I tell you, I\nmust speak instantly to your master.\"\n\nOn hearing this voice, and at sight of the pale, weeping woman, M.\nHardy, forgetting M. de Blessac, Rodin, the infamous treachery, and all,\nfell back a step, and exclaimed: \"Madame Duparc! you here! What is the\nmatter?\"\n\n\"Oh, sir! a great misfortune--\"\n\n\"Margaret!\" cried M. Hardy, in a tone of despair.\n\n\"She is gone, sir!\"\n\n\"Gone!\" repeated M. Hardy, as horror-struck as if a thunderbolt had\nfallen at his feet. \"Margaret gone!\"\n\n\"All is discovered. Her mother took her away--three days ago!\" said the\nunhappy woman, in a failing voice.\n\n\"Gone! Margaret! It is not true. You deceive me,\" cried M. Hardy.\nRefusing to hear more, wild, despairing, he rushed out of the house,\nthrew himself into his carriage, to which the post-horses were still\nharnessed, waiting for M. de Blessac, and said to the postilion: \"To\nParis! as fast as you can go!\"\n\nAs the carriage, rapid as lightning, started upon the road to Paris, the\nwind brought nearer the distant sound of the war-song of the Wolves,\nwho were rushing towards the factory. In this impending destruction, see\nRodin's subtle hand, administering his fatal blows to clear his way up\nto the chair of St. Peter to which he aspired. His tireless, wily course\ncan hardly be darker shadowed by aught save that dread coming horror\nthe Cholera, whose aid he evoked, and whose health the Bacchanal Queen\nwildly drank.\n\nThat once gay girl, and her poor famished sister; the fair patrician and\nher Oriental lover; Agricola, the workman, and his veteran father; the\nsmiling Rose-Pompon, and the prematurely withered Jacques Rennepont;\nFather d'Aigrigny, the mock priest; and Gabriel, the true disciple;\nwith the rest that have been named and others yet to be pictured, in the\nblaze of the bolts of their life's paths, will be seen in the third and\nconcluding part of this romance entitled,\n\n\"THE WANDERING JEW: REDEMPTION.\"\n\n\n\n\nBOOK VIII.\n\n\n\n\nPART THIRD.--THE REDEMPTION.\n\n\n     I. The Wandering Jew's Chastisement II. The Descendants of\n     the Wandering Jew III. The Attack IV. The Wolves and the\n     Devourers V. The Return VI. The Go-Between VII. Another\n     Secret VIII. The Confession IX. Love X. The Execution XI.\n     The Champs-Elysees XII. Behind the Scenes XIII. Up with the\n     Curtain XIV. Death\n\n\n\n\nPART THIRD.--THE REDEMPTION.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I. THE WANDERING JEW'S CHASTISEMENT.\n\n'Tis night--the moon is brightly shining, the brilliant stars are\nsparkling in a sky of melancholy calmness, the shrill whistlings of a\nnortherly wind--cold, bleak, and evil-bearing--are increasing: winding\nabout, and bursting into violent blasts, with their harsh and hissing\ngusts, they are sweeping the heights of Montmartre. A man is standing\non the very summit of the hill; his lengthened shadow, thrown out by\nthe moon's pale beams, darkens the rocky ground in the distance. The\ntraveller is surveying the huge city lying at his feet--the City of\nParis--from whose profundities are cast up its towers, cupolas, domes,\nand steeples, in the bluish moisture of the horizon; while from the very\ncentre of this sea of stones is rising a luminous vapor, reddening the\nstarry azure of the sky above. It is the distant light of a myriad\nlamps which at night, the season for pleasure, is illuminating the noisy\ncapital.\n\n\"No!\" said the traveller, \"it will not be. The Lord surely will not\nsuffer it. Twice is quite enough. Five centuries ago, the avenging hand\nof the Almighty drove me hither from the depths of Asia. A solitary\nwanderer, I left in my track more mourning, despair, disaster, and\ndeath, than the innumerable armies of a hundred devastating conquerors\ncould have produced. I then entered this city, and it was decimated. Two\ncenturies ago that inexorable hand which led me through the world again\nconducted me here; and on that occasion, as on the previous one, that\nscourge, which at intervals the Almighty binds to my footsteps, ravaged\nthis city, attacking first my brethren, already wearied by wretchedness\nand toil. My brethren! through me--the laborer of Jerusalem, cursed by\nthe Lord, who in my person cursed the race of laborers--a race always\nsuffering, always disinherited, always slaves, who like me, go on, on,\non, without rest or intermission, without recompense, or hope; until at\nlength, women, men, children, and old men, die under their iron yoke of\nself-murder, that others in their turn then take up, borne from age to\nage on their willing but aching shoulders. And here again, for the third\ntime, in the course of five centuries, I have arrived at the summit of\none of the hills which overlooks the city; and perhaps I bring\nagain with me terror, desolation, and death. And this unhappy city,\nintoxicated in a whirl of joys, and nocturnal revelries, knows nothing\nabout it--oh! it knows not that I am at its very gate. But no! no! my\npresence will not be a source of fresh calamity to it. The Lord, in\nHis unsearchable wisdom, has brought me hither across France, making me\navoid on my route all but the humblest villages, so that no increase\nof the funeral knell has, marked my journey. And then, moreover, the\nspectre has left me--that spectre, livid and green, with its deep\nbloodshot eyes. When I touched the soil of France, its moist and icy\nhand abandoned mine--it disappeared. And yet I feel the atmosphere of\ndeath surrounding me still. There is no cessation; the biting gusts\nof this sinister wind, which envelop me in their breath, seem by their\nenvenomed breath to propagate the scourge. Doubtless the anger of the\nLord is appeased. Maybe, my presence here is meant only as a threat,\nintending to bring those to their senses whom it ought to intimidate. It\nmust be so; for were it otherwise, it would, on the contrary, strike a\nloud-sounding blow of greater terror, casting at once dread and death\ninto the very heart of the country, into the bosom of this immense city.\nOh, no! no! the Lord will have mercy; He will not condemn me to this new\naffliction. Alas! in this city my brethren are more numerous and more\nwretched than in any other. And must I bring death to them? No! the Lord\nwill have mercy; for, alas! the seven descendants of my sister are at\nlast all united in this city. And must I bring death to them? Death!\ninstead of that immediate assistance they stand so much in need of? For\nthat woman who, like myself, wanders from one end of the world into the\nother, has gone now on her everlasting journey, after having confounded\ntheir enemies' plots. In vain did she foretell that great evils still\nthreatened those who are akin to me through my sister's blood. The\nunseen hand by which I am led, drives that woman away from me, even as\nthough it were a whirlwind that swept her on. In vain she entreated and\nimplored at the moment she was leaving those who are so dear to me.--At\nleast, 0 Lord, permit me to stay until I shall have finished my task!\nOnward! A few days, for mercy's sake, only a few days! Onward! I leave\nthese whom I am protecting on the very brink of an abyss! Onward!\nOnward!! And the wandering star is launched afresh on its perpetual\ncourse. But her voice traversed through space, calling me to the\nassistance of my own! When her voice reached me I felt that the\noffspring of my sister were still exposed to fearful dangers: those\ndangers are still increasing. Oh, say, say, Lord! shall the descendants\nof my sister escape those woes which for so many centuries have\noppressed my race? Wilt Thou pardon me in them? Wilt Thou punish me\nin them? Oh! lead them, that they may obey the last wishes of their\nancestor. Guide them, that they may join their charitable hearts, their\npowerful strength, their best wisdom, and their immense wealth, and work\ntogether for the future happiness of mankind, thereby, perhaps, enabled\nto ransom me from my eternal penalties. Let those divine words of\nthe Son of Man, 'Love ye one another!' be their only aim; and by the\nassistance of their all-powerful words, let them contend against and\nvanquish those false priests who have trampled on the precepts of love,\nof peace, and hope commanded by the Saviour, setting up in their stead\nthe precepts of hatred, violence, and despair. Those false shepherds,\nsupported ay the powerful and wealthy of the world, who in all times\nhave been their accomplices, instead of asking here below a little\nhappiness for my brethren, who have been suffering and groaning for\ncenturies, dare to utter, in Thy name, O Lord! that the poor must always\nbe doomed to the tortures of this world, and that it is criminal in\nThine eyes that they should either wish for or hope a mitigation of\ntheir sufferings on earth, because the happiness of the few and the\nwretchedness of nearly all mankind is Thine almighty will. Blasphemies!\nis it not the contrary of these homicidal words that is more worthy of\nthe name of Divine will? Hear, me, O Lord! for mercy's sake. Snatch from\ntheir enemies the descendants of my sister, from the artisan up to\nthe king's son. Do not permit them to crush the germ of a mighty and\nfruitful association, which, perhaps, under Thy protection, may take its\nplace among the records of the happiness of mankind. Suffer me, O Lord!\nto unite those whom they are endeavoring to divide--to defend those whom\nthey are attacking. Suffer me to bring hope to those from whom hope has\nfled, to give courage to those who are weak, to uphold those whom evil\nthreatens, and to sustain those who would persevere in well-doing. And\nthen, perhaps, their struggles, their devotedness, their virtues, this\nmiseries might expiate my sin. Yes, mine--misfortune, misfortune alone,\nmade me unjust and wicked. O Lord! since Thine almighty hand hath\nbrought me hither, for some end unknown to me, disarm Thyself, I implore\nThee, of Thine anger, and let not me be the instrument of Thy vengeance!\nThere is enough of mourning in the earth these two years past--Thy\ncreatures have fallen by millions in my footsteps. The world is\ndecimated. A veil of mourning extends from one end of the globe to the\nother. I have traveled from Asia even to the Frozen Pole, and death has\nfollowed in my wake. Dost Thou not hear, O Lord! the universal wailings\nthat mount up to Thee? Have mercy upon all, and upon me. One day, grant\nme but a single day, that I may collect the descendants of my sister\ntogether, and save them!\" And uttering these words, the wanderer fell\nupon his knees, and raised his hands to heaven in a suppliant attitude.\n\nSuddenly, the wind howled with redoubled violence; its sharp whistlings\nchanged to a tempest. The Wanderer trembled, and exclaimed in a voice of\nterror, \"O Lord! the blast of death is howling in its rage. It appears\nas though a whirlwind were lifting me up. Lord, wilt Thou not, then,\nhear my prayer? The spectre! O! do I behold the spectre? Yes, there it\nis; its cadaverous countenance is agitated by convulsive throes, its red\neyes are rolling in their orbits. Begone! begone! Oh! its hand--its icy\nhand has seized on mine! Mercy, Lord, have mercy! 'Onward!' Oh, Lord!\nthis scourge, this terrible avenging scourge! Must I, then, again carry\nit into this city, must my poor wretched brethren be the first to fall\nunder it--though already so miserable? Mercy, mercy! 'Onward!' And the\ndescendants of my sister--oh, pray, have mercy, mercy! 'Onward!' O Lord,\nhave pity on me! I can no longer keep my footing on the ground, the\nspectre is dragging me over the brow of the hill; my course is as rapid\nas the death-bearing wind that whistles in my track; I already approach\nthe walls of the city. Oh, mercy, Lord, mercy on the descendants of my\nsister--spare them! do not compel me to be their executioner, and let\nthem triumph over their enemies. Onward, onward! The ground is fleeing\nfrom under me; I am already at the city gate; oh, yet, Lord, yet there\nis time; oh, have mercy on this slumbering city, that it may not even\nnow awaken with the lamentations of terror, of despair and death! O\nLord, I touch the threshold of the gate; verily Thou willest it so\nthen. 'Tis done--Paris! the scourge is in thy bosom! oh, cursed, cursed\nevermore am I. Onward! on! on!\"(34)\n\n(34) In 1346, the celebrated Black Death ravaged the earth, presenting\nthe same symptoms as the cholera, and the same inexplicable phenomena as\nto its progress and the results in its route. In 1660 a similar epidemic\ndecimated the world. It is well known that when the cholera first broke\nout in Paris, it had taken a wide and unaccountable leap; and, also\nmemorable, a north-east wind prevailed during its utmost fierceness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II. THE DESCENDANTS OF THE WANDERING JEW.\n\nThat lonely wayfarer whom we have heard so plaintively urging to be\nrelieved of his gigantic burden of misery, spoke of \"his sister's\ndescendants\" being of all ranks, from the working man to the king's son.\nThey were seven in number, who had, in the year 1832, been led to Paris,\ndirectly or indirectly, by a bronze medal which distinguished them from\nothers, bearing these words:-VICTIM of L. C. D. J. Pray for me!\n\n-----PARIS, February the 13th, 1682.\n\nIN PARIS, Rue St. Francois, No. 3, In a century and a half you will be.\nFebruary the 13th, 1832.\n\n -----PRAY FOR ME!\n\nThe son of the King of Mundi had lost his father and his domains in\nIndia by the irresistible march of the English, and was but in title\nPrince Djalma. Spite of attempts to make his departure from the East\ndelayed until after the period when he could have obeyed his\nmedal's command, he had reached France by the second month of 1832.\nNevertheless, the results of shipwreck had detained him from Paris till\nafter that date. A second possessor of this token had remained unaware\nof its existence, only discovered by accident. But an enemy who sought\nto thwart the union of these seven members, had shut her up in a\nmad-house, from which she was released only after that day. Not alone\nwas she in imprisonment. An old Bonapartist, General Simon, Marshal of\nFrance, and Duke de Ligny, had left a wife in Russian exile, while he\n(unable to follow Napoleon to St. Helena) continued to fight the English\nin India by means of Prince Djalma's Sepoys, whom he drilled. On the\nlatter's defeat, he had meant to accompany his young friend to Europe,\ninduced the more by finding that the latter's mother, a Frenchwoman, had\nleft him such another bronze medal as he knew his wife to have had.\n\nUnhappily, his wife had perished in Siberia, without his knowing it, any\nmore than he did, that she had left twin daughters, Rose and Blanche.\nFortunately for them, one who had served their father in the Grenadiers\nof the Guard. Francis Baudoin, nicknamed Dagobert, undertook to fulfil\nthe dying mother's wishes, inspired by the medal. Saving a check at\nLeipsic, where one Morok the lion-tamer's panther had escaped from its\ncage and killed Dagobert's horse, and a subsequent imprisonment (which\nthe Wandering Jew's succoring hand had terminated) the soldier and his\norphan charges had reached Paris in safety and in time. But there, a\nrenewal of the foe's attempt had gained its end. By skillful devices,\nDagobert and his son Agricola were drawn out of the way while Rose and\nBlanche Simon were decoyed into a nunnery, under the eyes of Dagobert's\nwife. But she had been bound against interfering by the influence of the\nJesuit confessional. The fourth was M. Hardy, a manufacturer, and the\nfifth, Jacques Rennepont, a drunken scamp of a workman, who were more\neasily fended off, the latter in a sponging house, the former by\na friend's lure. Adrienne de Cardoville, daughter of the Count of\nRennepont, who had also been Duke of Cardoville, was the lady who had\nbeen unwarrantably placed in the lunatic asylum. The fifth, unaware\nof the medal, was Gabriel, a youth, who had been brought up, though\na foundling, in Dagobert's family, as a brother to Agricola. He had\nentered holy orders, and more, was a Jesuit, in name though not in\nheart. Unlike the others, his return from abroad had been smoothed. He\nhad signed away all his future prospects, for the benefit of the order\nof Loyola, and, moreover, executed a more complete deed of transfer on\nthe day, the 13th of February, 1832, when he, alone of the heirs, stood\nin the room of the house, No. 3, Rue St. Francois, claiming what was a\nvast surprise for the Jesuits, who, a hundred and fifty years\nbefore, had discovered that Count Marius de Rennepont had secreted a\nconsiderable amount of his wealth, all of which had been confiscated to\nthem, in those painful days of dragoonings, and the revocation of the\nEdict of Nantes. They had bargained for some thirty or forty millions of\nfrancs to be theirs, by educating Gabriel into resigning his inheritance\nto them, but it was two hundred and twelve millions which the Jesuit\nrepresentatives (Father d'Aigrigny and his secretary, Rodin) were amazed\nto hear their nursling placed in possession of. They had the treasure\nin their hands, in fact, when a woman of strangely sad beauty had\nmysteriously entered the room where the will had been read, and laid\na paper before the notary. It was a codicil, duly drawn up and signed,\ndeferring the carrying out of the testament until the first day of June\nthe same year. The Jesuits fled from the house, in rage and intense\ndisappointment. Father d'Aigrigny was so stupor-stricken at the defeat,\nthat he bade his secretary at once write off to Rome that the Rennepont\ninheritance had escaped them, and hopes to seize it again were utterly\nat an end. Upon this, Rodin had revolted, and shown that he had\nauthority to command where he had, so far, most humbly obeyed. Many such\nspies hang about their superior's heels, with full powers to become the\ngovernor in turn, at a moment's notice. Thenceforward, he, Rodin, had\ntaken the business into his own hands. He had let Rose and Blanche Simon\nout of the convent into their father's arms. He had gone in person to\nrelease Adrienne de Cardoville from the asylum. More, having led her to\nsigh for Prince Djalma, he prompted the latter to burn for her.\n\nHe let not M. Hardy escape. A friend whom the latter treated as a\nbrother, had been shown up to him as a mere spy of the Jesuits; the\nwoman whom he adored, a wedded woman, alas! who had loved him in spite\nof her vows, had been betrayed. Her mother had compelled her to hide her\nshame in America, and, as she had often said--\"Much as you are endeared\nto me, I cannot waver between you and my mother!\" so she had obeyed,\nwithout one farewell word to him. Confess, Rodin was a more dextrous\nman than his late master! In the pages that ensue farther proofs of his\nsuperiority in baseness and satanic heartlessness will not be wanting.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III. THE ATTACK.\n\nOn M. Hardy's learning from the confidential go-between of the lovers,\nthat his mistress had been taken away by her mother, he turned from\nRodin and dashed away in a post carriage. At the same moment, as loud\nas the rattle of the wheels, there arose the shouts of a band of workmen\nand rioters, hired by the Jesuit's emissaries, coming to attack Hardy's\noperatives. An old grudge long existing between them and a rival\nmanufacturer's--Baron Tripeaud--laborers, fanned the flames. When M.\nHardy had left the factory, Rodin, who was not prepared for this\nsudden departure, returned slowly to his hackney-coach; but he stopped\nsuddenly, and started with pleasure and surprise, when he saw, at some\ndistance, Marshall Simon and his father advancing towards one of the\nwings of the Common Dwelling-house; for an accidental circumstance had\nso far delayed the interview of the father and son.\n\n\"Very well!\" said Rodin. \"Better and better! Now, only let my man have\nfound out and persuaded little Rose-Pompon!\"\n\nAnd Rodin hastened towards his hackney-coach. At this moment, the wind,\nwhich continued to rise, brought to the ear of the Jesuit the war song\nof the approaching Wolves.\n\nThe workman was in the garden. The marshal said to him, in a voice of\nsuch deep emotion that the old man started; \"Father, I am very unhappy.\"\n\nA painful expression, until then concealed, suddenly darkened the\ncountenance of the marshal.\n\n\"You unhappy?\" cried father Simon, anxiously, as he pressed nearer to\nthe marshal.\n\n\"For some days, my daughters have appeared constrained in manner, and\nlost in thought. During the first moments of our re-union, they were\nmad with joy and happiness. Suddenly, all has changed; they are becoming\nmore and more sad. Yesterday, I detected tears in their eyes; then\ndeeply moved, I clasped them in my arms, and implored them to tell me\nthe cause of their sorrow. Without answering, they threw themselves on\nmy neck, and covered my face with their tears.\"\n\n\"It is strange. To what do you attribute this alteration?\"\n\n\"Sometimes, I think I have not sufficiently concealed from them the\ngrief occasioned me by the loss of their mother, and they are\nperhaps miserable that they do not suffice for my happiness. And yet\n(inexplicable as it is) they seem not only to understand, but to share\nmy sorrow. Yesterday, Blanche said to me: 'How much happier still should\nwe be, if our mother were with us!--'\"\n\n\"Sharing your sorrow, they cannot reproach you with it. There must be\nsome other cause for their grief.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the marshal, looking fixedly at his father; \"yes--but to\npenetrate this secret--it would be necessary not to leave them.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"First learn, father, what are the duties which would keep me here; then\nyou shall know those which may take me away from you, from my daughters,\nand from my other child.\"\n\n\"What other child?\"\n\n\"The son of my old friend, the Indian Prince.\"\n\n\"Djalma? Is there anything the matter with him?\"\n\n\"Father, he frightens me. I told you, father, of his mad and unhappy\npassion for Mdlle. de Cardoville.\"\n\n\"Does that frighten you, my son?\" said the old man, looking at the\nmarshal with surprise. \"Djalma is only eighteen, and, at that age, one\nlove drives away another.\"\n\n\"You have no idea of the ravages which the passion has already made in\nthe ardent, indomitable boy; sometimes, fits of savage ferocity follow\nthe most painful dejection. Yesterday, I came suddenly upon him; his\neyes were bloodshot, his features contracted with rage; yielding to an\nimpulse of mad furry, he was piercing with his poinard a cushion of red\ncloth, whilst he exclaimed, panting for breath, 'Ha blood!--I will have\nblood!' 'Unhappy boy!' I said to him, 'what means this insane passion?'\n'I'm killing the man!' replied he, in a hollow and savage voice: it is\nthus he designates his supposed rival.\"\n\n\"There is indeed something terrible,\" said the old man, \"in such a\npassion, in such a heart.\"\n\n\"At other times,\" resumed the marshal, \"it is against Mdlle. de\nCardoville that his rage bursts forth; and at others, against himself.\nI have been obliged to remove his weapons, for a man who came with him\nfrom Java, and who appears much attached to him, has informed me that he\nsuspected him of entertaining some thoughts of suicide.\"\n\n\"Unfortunate boy!\"\n\n\"Well, father,\" said Marshal Simon, with profound bitterness; \"it is\nat the moment when my daughters and my adopted son require all my\nsolicitude, that I am perhaps on the eve of quitting them.\"\n\n\"Of quitting them?\"\n\n\"Yes, to fulfil a still more sacred duty than that imposed by friendship\nor family,\" said the marshal, in so grave and solemn a tone, that his\nfather exclaimed, with deep emotion: \"What can this duty be?\"\n\n\"Father,\" said the marshal, after remaining a moment in thoughtful\nsilence, \"who made me what I am? Who gave me the ducal title, and the\nmarshal's baton?\"\n\n\"Napoleon.\"\n\n\"For you, the stern republican, I know that he lost all his value, when\nfrom the first citizen of a Republic he became an emperor.\n\n\"I cursed his weakness,\" said Father Simon, sadly; \"the demi-god sank\ninto a man.\"\n\n\"But for me, father--for me, the soldier, who have always fought beside\nhim, or under his eye--for me, whom he raised from the lowest rank in\nthe army to the highest--for me, whom he loaded with benefits and marks\nof affection--for me, he was more than a hero, he was a friend--and\nthere was as much gratitude as admiration in my idolatry for him. When\nhe was exiled, I would fain have shared his exile; they refused me that\nfavor; then I conspired, then I drew my sword against those who had\nrobbed his son of the crown which France had given him.\"\n\n\"And, in your position, you did well, Pierre; without sharing your\nadmiration, I understood your gratitude. The projects of exile, the\nconspiracies--I approved them all--you know it.\"\n\n\"Well, then, that disinherited child, in whose name I conspired\nseventeen years ago, is now of an age to wield his father's sword.\"\n\n\"Napoleon II!\" exclaimed the old man, looking at his son with surprise\nand extreme anxiety; \"the king of Rome!\"\n\n\"King? no; he is no longer king. Napoleon? no; he is no longer Napoleon.\nThey have given him some Austrian name, because the other frightened\nthem. Everything frightens them. Do you know what they are doing with\nthe son of the Emperor?\" resumed the marshal, with painful excitement.\n\"They are torturing him--killing him by inches!\"\n\n\"Who told you this?\"\n\n\"Somebody who knows, whose words are but too true. Yes; the son of the\nEmperor struggles with all his strength against a premature death. With\nhis eyes turned towards France, he waits--he waits--and no one comes--no\none--out of all the men that his father made as great as they once were\nlittle, not one thinks of that crowned child, whom they are stifling,\ntill he dies.\"\n\n\"But you think of him?\"\n\n\"Yes; but I had first to learn--oh! there is no doubt of it, for I have\nnot derived all my information from the same source--I had first to\nlearn the cruel fate of this youth, to whom I also swore allegiance; for\none day, as I have told you, the Emperor, proud and loving father as he\nwas, showed him to me in his cradle, and said: 'My old friend, you will\nbe to the son what you have been to the father; who loves us, loves our\nFrance.'\"\n\n\"Yes, I know it. Many times you have repeated those words to me, and,\nlike yourself, I have been moved by them.\"\n\n\"Well, father! suppose, informed of the sufferings of the son of\nthe Emperor, I had seen--with the positive certainty that I was not\ndeceived--a letter from a person of high rank in the court of Vienna,\noffering to a man that was still faithful to the Emperor's memory, the\nmeans of communicating with the king of Rome, and perhaps of saving him\nfrom his tormentors--\"\n\n\"What next?\" said the workman, looking fixedly at his son. \"Suppose\nNapoleon II. once at liberty--\"\n\n\"What next?\" exclaimed the marshal. Then he added, in a suppressed\nvoice: \"Do you think, father, that France is insensible to the\nhumiliations she endures? Do you think that the memory of the Emperor\nis extinct? No, no; it is, above all, in the days of our country's\ndegredation, that she whispers that sacred name. How would it be, then,\nwere that name to rise glorious on the frontier, reviving in his son? Do\nyou not think that the heart of all France would beat for him?\"\n\n\"This implies a conspiracy--against the present government--with\nNapoleon II. for a watchword,\" said the workman. \"This is very serious.\"\n\n\"I told you, father, that I was very unhappy; judge if it be not so,\"\ncried the marshal. \"Not only I ask myself, if I ought to abandon my\nchildren and you, to run the risk of so daring an enterprise, but I\nask myself if I am not bound to the present government, which, in\nacknowledging my rank and title, if it bestowed no favor, at least did\nme an act of justice. How shall I decide?--abandon all that I love, or\nremain insensible to the tortures of Emperor--of that Emperor to the\nson of the whom I owe everything--to whom I have sworn fidelity, both\nto himself and child? Shall I lose this only opportunity, perhaps, of\nsaving him, or shall I conspire in his favor? Tell me, if I exaggerate\nwhat I owe to the memory of the Emperor? Decide for me, father! During a\nwhole sleepless night, I strove to discover, in the midst of this chaos,\nthe line prescribed by honor; but I only wandered from indecision to\nindecision. You alone, father--you alone, I repeat, can direct me.\"\n\nAfter remaining for some moments in deep thought, the old man was about\nto answer, when some person, running across the little garden, opened\nthe door hastily, and entered the room in which were the marshal and his\nfather. It was Olivier, the young workman, who had been able to effect\nhis escape from the village in which the Wolves had assembled.\n\n\"M. Simon! M. Simon!\" cried he, pale, and panting for breath. \"They are\nhere--close at hand. They have come to attack the factory.\"\n\n\"Who?\" cried the old man, rising hastily.\n\n\"The Wolves, quarrymen, and stone-cutters, joined on the road by a crowd\nof people from the neighborhood, and vagabonds from town. Do you not\nhear them? They are shouting, 'Death to the Devourers!'\"\n\nThe clamor was indeed approaching, and grew more and more distinct.\n\n\"It is the same noise that I heard just now,\" said the marshal, rising\nin his turn.\n\n\"There are more than two hundred of them, M. Simon,\" said Olivier; \"they\nare armed with clubs and stones, and unfortunately the greater part of\nour workmen are in Paris. We are not above forty here in all; the women\nand children are already flying to their chambers, screaming for terror.\nDo you not hear them?\"\n\nThe ceiling shook beneath the tread of many hasty feet.\n\n\"Will this attack be a serious one?\" said the marshal to his father, who\nappeared more and more dejected.\n\n\"Very serious,\" said the old man; \"there is nothing more fierce than\nthese combats between different unions; and everything has been done\nlately to excite the people of the neighborhood against the factory.\"\n\n\"If you are so inferior in number,\" said the marshal, \"you must begin by\nbarricading all the doors--and then--\"\n\nHe was unable to conclude. A burst of ferocious cries shook the windows\nof the room, and seemed so near and loud, that the marshal, his father,\nand the young workman, rushed out into the little garden, which was\nbounded on one side by a wall that separated it from the fields.\nSuddenly whilst the shouts redoubled in violence, a shower of large\nstones, intended to break the windows of the house, smashed some of the\npanes on the first story, struck against the wall, and fell into the\ngarden, all around the marshal and his father. By a fatal chance, one\nof these large stones struck the old man on the head. He staggered, bent\nforward, and fell bleeding into the arms of Marshal Simon, just as arose\nfrom without, with increased fury, the savage cries of, \"Death to the\nDevourers!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV. THE WOLVES AND THE DEVOURERS.\n\nIt was a frightful thing to view the approach of the lawless crowd,\nwhose first act of hostility had been so fatal to Marshal Simon's\nfather. One wing of the Common Dwelling-house, which joined the\ngarden-wall on that side, was next to the fields. It was there that the\nWolves began their attack. The precipitation of their march, the halt\nthey had made at two public-houses on the road, their ardent impatience\nfor the approaching struggle, had inflamed these men to a high pitch of\nsavage excitement. Having discharged their first shower of stones, most\nof the assailants stooped down to look for more ammunition. Some of\nthem, to do so with greater ease, held their bludgeons between their\nteeth; others had placed them against the wall; here and there, groups\nhad formed tumultuously round the principal leaders of the band; the\nmost neatly dressed of these men wore frocks, with caps, whilst\nothers were almost in rags, for, as we have already said, many of the\nhangers-on at the barriers, and people without any profession, had\njoined the troop of the Wolves, whether welcome or not. Some hideous\nwomen, with tattered garments, who always seem to follow in the track of\nsuch people, accompanied them on this occasion, and, by their cries and\nfury, inflamed still more the general excitement. One of them, tall,\nrobust, with purple complexion, blood shot eyes, and toothless jaws,\nhad a handkerchief over her head, from beneath which escaped her yellow,\nfrowsy hair. Over her ragged gown, she wore an old plaid shawl, crossed\nover her bosom, and tied behind her back. This hag seemed possessed\nwith a demon. She had tucked up her half-torn sleeves; in one hand\nshe brandished a stick, in the other she grasped a huge stone; her\ncompanions called her Ciboule (scullion).\n\nThis horrible hag exclaimed, in a hoarse voice: \"I'll bite the women of\nthe factory; I'll make them bleed.\"\n\nThe ferocious words were received with applause by her companions, and\nwith savage cries of \"Ciboule forever!\" which excited her to frenzy.\n\nAmongst the other leaders, was a small, dry pale man, with the face of\na ferret, and a black beard all round the chin; he wore a scarlet Greek\ncap, and beneath his long blouse, perfectly new, appeared a pair of neat\ncloth trousers, strapped over thin boots. This man was evidently of a\ndifferent condition of life from that of the other persons in the troop;\nit was he, in particular, who ascribed the most irritating and insulting\nlanguage to the workmen of the factory, with regard to the inhabitants\nof the neighborhood. He howled a great deal, but he carried neither\nstick nor stone. A full-faced, fresh-colored man, with a formidable bass\nvoice, like a chorister's, asked him: \"Will you not have a shot at those\nimpious dogs, who might bring down the Cholera on the country, as the\ncurate told us?\"\n\n\"I will have a better shot than you,\" said the little man, with a\nsingular, sinister smile.\n\n\"And with what, I'd like to see?\"\n\n\"Probably, with this,\" said the little man, stooping to pick up a\nlarge stone; but, as he bent, a well-filled though light bag, which he\nappeared to carry under his blouse, fell to the ground.\n\n\"Look, you are losing both bag and baggage,\" said the other; \"it does\nnot seem very heavy.\"\n\n\"They are samples of wool,\" answered the man with the ferret's face, as\nhe hastily picked up the bag, and replaced it under his blouse; then he\nadded: \"Attention! the big blaster is going to speak.\"\n\nAnd, in fact, he who exercised the most complete ascendency over this\nirritated crowd was the terrible quarryman. His gigantic form towered\nso much above the multitude, that his great head, bound in its ragged\nhandkerchief, and his Herculean shoulders, covered with a fallow goat\nskin, were always visible above the level of that dark and swarming\ncrowd, only relieved here and there by a few women's caps, like so many\nwhite points. Seeing to what a degree of exasperation the minds of the\ncrowd had reached, the small number of honest, but misguided workmen,\nwho had allowed themselves to be drawn into this dangerous enterprise,\nunder the pretext of a quarrel between rival unions, now fearing for the\nconsequences of the struggle, tried, but too late, to abandon the main\nbody. Pressed close, and as it were, girt in with the more hostile\ngroups, dreading to pass for cowards, or to expose themselves to the bad\ntreatment of the majority, they were forced to wait for a more\nfavorable moment to effect their escape. To the savage cheers, which\nhad accompanied the first discharge of stones, succeeded a deep silence\ncommanded by the stentorian voice of the quarryman.\n\n\"The Wolves have howled,\" he exclaimed; \"let us wait and see how the\nDevourers will answer, and when they will begin the fight.\"\n\n\"We must draw them out of their factory, and fight them on neutral\nground,\" said the little man with the ferret's face, who appeared to be\nthe thieves' advocate; \"otherwise there would be trespass.\"\n\n\"What do we care about trespass?\" cried the horrible hag, Ciboule; \"in\nor out, I will tear the chits of the factory.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" cried other hideous creatures, as ragged as Ciboule herself;\n\"we must not leave all to the men.\"\n\n\"We must have our fun, too!\"\n\n\"The women of the factory say that all the women of the neighborhood are\ndrunken drabs,\" cried the little man with the ferret's face.\n\n\"Good! we'll pay them for it.\"\n\n\"The women shall have their share.\"\n\n\"That's our business.\"\n\n\"They like to sing in their Common House,\" cried Ciboule; \"we will make\nthem sing the wrong side of their mouths, in the key of 'Oh, dear me!'\"\n\nThis pleasantry was received with shouts, hootings, and furious stamping\nof feet, to which the stentorian voice of the quarryman put a term by\nroaring: \"Silence!\"\n\n\"Silence! silence!\" repeated the crowd. \"Hear the blaster!\"\n\n\"If the Devourers are cowards enough not to dare to show themselves,\nafter a second volley of stones, there is a door down there which we can\nbreak open, and we will soon hunt them from their holes.\"\n\n\"It would be better to draw them out, so that none might remain in the\nfactory,\" said the little old man with the ferret's face, who appeared\nto have some secret motive.\n\n\"A man fights where he can,\" cried the quarryman, in a voice of thunder;\n\"all, right, if we can but once catch hold. We could fight on a sloping\nroof, or on the top of a wall--couldn't we, my Wolves?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes!\" cried the crowd, still more excited by those savage words;\n\"if they don't come out, we will break in.\"\n\n\"We will see their fine palace!\"\n\n\"The pagans haven't even a chapel,\" said the bass voice. \"The curate has\ndamned them all!\"\n\n\"Why should they have a palace, and we nothing but dog-kennels?\"\n\n\"Hardy's workmen say that kennels are good enough for such as you.\" said\nthe little man with the ferret's face.\n\n\"Yes, yes! they said so.\"\n\n\"We'll break all their traps.\"\n\n\"We'll pull down their bazaar.\"\n\n\"We'll throw the house out of the windows.\"\n\n\"When we have made the mealy-mouthed chits sing,\" cried Ciboule, \"we\nwill make them dance to the clatter of stones on their heads.\"\n\n\"Come, my Wolves! attention!\" cried the quarryman, still in the same\nstentorian voice; \"one more volley, and if the Devourers do not come\nout, down with the door!\"\n\nThis proposition was received with cheers of savage ardor, and the\nquarryman, whose voice rose above the tumult, cried with all the\nstrength of his herculean lungs: \"Attention, my Wolves. Make ready! all\ntogether. Now, are you ready?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes--all ready!\"\n\n\"Then, present!--fire!\" And, for the second time, a shower of enormous\nstones poured upon that side of the Common Dwelling-house which was\nturned towards the fields. A part of these projectiles broke such of the\nwindows as had been spared by the first volley. To the sharp smashing\nand cracking of glass were joined the ferocious cries uttered in chorus\nby this formidable mob, drunk with its own excesses: \"Death to the\nDevourers!\"\n\nSoon these outcries became perfectly frantic, when, through the broken\nwindows, the assailants perceived women running in terror, some with\nchildren in their arms, and others raising their hands to heaven,\ncalling aloud for help; whilst a few, bolder than the rest, leaned out\nof the windows, and tried to fasten the outside blinds.\n\n\"There come the ants out of their holes!\" cried Ciboule, stooping to\npick up a stone. \"We must have a fling at them for luck!\" The stone,\nhurled by the steady, masculine hand of the virago, went straight to its\nmark, and struck an unfortunate woman who was trying to close one of the\nshutters.\n\n\"Hit in the white!\" cried the hideous creature.\n\n\"Well done, Ciboule!--you've rapped her coker-nut!\" cried a voice.\n\n\"Ciboule forever!\"\n\n\"Come out, you Devourers, if you dare!\"\n\n\"They have said a hundred times, that the neighbors were too cowardly\neven to come and look at their house,\" squealed the little man with the\nferret's face.\n\n\"And now they show the white feather!\"\n\n\"If they will not come out,\" cried the quarryman, in voice of thunder,\n\"let us smoke them out!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes!\"\n\n\"Let's break open the door!\"\n\n\"We are sure to find them!\"\n\n\"Come on! come on!\"\n\nThe crowd, with the quarryman at their head, and Ciboule not far from\nhim, brandishing a stick, advanced tumultously towards one of the great\ndoors. The ground shook beneath the rapid tread of the mob, which had\nnow ceased shouting; but the confused, and, as it were, subterraneous\nnoise, sounded even more ominous than those savage outcries. The Wolves\nsoon arrived opposite the massive oaken door. At the moment the blaster\nraised a sledgehammer, the door opened suddenly. Some of the most\ndetermined of the assailants were about to rush in at this entrance; but\nthe quarryman stepped back, extending his arm as if to moderate their\nardor and impose silence. Then his followers gathered round him.\n\nThe half-open door discovered a party of workmen, unfortunately by no\nmeans numerous, but with countenances full of resolution. They had armed\nthemselves hastily with forks, iron bars, and clubs. Agricola, who was\ntheir leader, held in his hand a heavy sledge-hammer. The young workman\nwas very pale; but the fire of his eye, his menacing look, and the\nintrepid assurance of his bearing, showed that his father's blood\nboiled in his veins, and that in such a struggle he might become\nfear-inspiring. Yet he succeeded in restraining himself, and challenged\nthe quarryman, in a firm voice: \"What do you want?\"\n\n\"A fight!\" thundered the blaster.\n\n\"Yes, yes! a fight!\" repeated the crowd.\n\n\"Silence, my Wolves!\" cried the quarryman, as he turned round, and\nstretched forth his large hand towards the multitude. Then addressing\nAgricola, he said: \"The Wolves have come to ask for a fight.\"\n\n\"With whom?\"\n\n\"With the Devourers.\"\n\n\"There are no Devourers here,\" replied Agricola; \"we are only peaceable\nworkmen. So begone.\"\n\n\"Well! here are the Wolves, that will eat your quiet workmen.\"\n\n\"The Wolves will eat no one here,\" said Agricola, looking full at the\nquarryman, who approached him with a threatening air; \"they can only\nfrighten little children.\"\n\n\"Oh! you think so,\" said the quarryman, with a savage sneer. Then\nraising his weapon, he shook it in Agricola's face, exclaiming: \"Is that\nany laughing matter?\n\n\"Is that?\" answered Agricola, with a rapid movement, parrying the stone\nsledge with his own hammer.\n\n\"Iron against iron--hammer against hammer--that suits me,\" said the\nquarryman.\n\n\"It does not matter what suits you,\" answered Agricola, hardly able to\nrestrain himself. \"You have broken our windows, frightened our women,\nand wounded--perhaps killed--the oldest workman in the factory, who at\nthis moment lies bleeding in the arms of his son.\" Here Agricola's voice\ntrembled in spite of himself. \"It is, I think, enough.\"\n\n\"No; the Wolves are hungry for more,\" answered the blaster; \"you must\ncome out (cowards that you are!), and fight us on the plain.\"\n\n\"Yes! yes! battle!--let them come out!\" cried the crowd, howling,\nhissing, waving their sticks and pushing further into the small space\nwhich separated them from the door.\n\n\"We will have no battle,\" answered Agricola: \"we will not leave our\nhome; but if you have the misfortune to pass this,\" said Agricola,\nthrowing his cap upon the threshold, and setting his foot on it with an\nintrepid air, \"if you pass this, you attack us in our own house, and you\nwill be answerable for all that may happen.\"\n\n\"There or elsewhere we will have the fight! the Wolves must eat the\nDevourers. Now for the attack!\" cried the fierce quarryman, raising his\nhammer to strike Agricola.\n\nBut the latter, throwing himself on one side by a sudden leap, avoided\nthe blow, and struck with his hammer full at the chest of the quarryman,\nwho staggered for a moment, but instantly recovering his legs, rushed\nfuriously on Agricola, crying: \"Follow me, Wolves!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V. THE RETURN.\n\nAs soon as the combat had begun between Agricola and the blaster,\nthe general fight became terrible, ardent, implacable. A flood of\nassailants, following the quarryman's steps, rushed into the house\nwith irresistible fury; others, unable to force their way through this\ndreadful crowd, where the more impetuous squeezed, stifled, and crushed\nthese who were less so, went round in another direction, broke through\nsome lattice work, and thus placed the people of the factory, as it\nwere, between two fires. Some resisted courageously; others, seeing\nCiboule, followed by some of her horrible companions, and by several\nof the most ill-looking ruffians, hastily enter that part of the\nCommon-Dwelling house in which the women had taken refuge, hurried in\npursuit of this band; but some of the hag's companions, having faced\nabout, and vigorously defended the entrance of the staircase against the\nworkmen, Ciboule, with three or four like herself, and about the same\nnumber of no less ignoble men, rushed through the rooms, with the\nintention of robbing or destroying all that came in their way. A door,\nwhich at first resisted their efforts, was soon broken through;\nCiboule rushed into the apartment with a stick in her hand, her hair\ndishevelled, furious, and, as it were, maddened with the noise and\ntumult. A beautiful young girl (it was Angela), who appeared anxious\nto defend the entrance to a second chamber, threw herself on her knees,\npale and supplicating, and raising her clasped hands, exclaimed: \"Do not\nhurt my mother!\"\n\n\"I'll serve you out first, and your mother afterwards,\" replied the\nhorrible woman, throwing herself on the poor girl, and endeavoring to\ntear her face with her nails, whilst the rest of the ruffianly\nband broke the glass and the clock with their sticks, and possessed\nthemselves of some articles of wearing apparel.\n\nAngela, struggling with Ciboule, uttered loud cries of distress, and\nstill attempted to guard the room in which her mother had taken refuge;\nwhilst the latter, leaning from the window, called Agricola to their\nassistance. The smith was now engaged with the huge blaster. In a close\nstruggle, their hammers had become useless, and with bloodshot eyes\nand clinched teeth, chest to chest, and limbs twined together like two\nserpents, they made the most violent efforts to overthrow each other.\nAgricola, bent forward, held under his right arm the left leg of the\nquarryman, which he had seized in parrying a violent kick; but such was\nthe Herculean strength of the leader of the Wolves, that he remained\nfirm as a tower, though resting only on one leg. With the hand that\nwas still free (for the other was gripped by Agricola as in a vise),\nhe endeavored with violent blows to break the jaws of the smith, who,\nleaning his head forward, pressed his forehead hard against the breast\nof his adversary.\n\n\"The Wolf will break the Devourer's teeth, and he shall devour no more,\"\nsaid the quarryman.\n\n\"You are no true Wolf,\" answered the smith, redoubling his efforts; \"the\ntrue Wolves are honest fellows, and do not come ten against one.\"\n\n\"True or false, I will break your teeth.\"\n\n\"And I your paw,\" said the smith, giving so violent a wrench to the leg\nof the quarryman, that the latter uttered a cry of acute pain, and,\nwith the rage of a wild beast, butting suddenly forward with his head,\nsucceeded in biting Agricola in the side of the neck.\n\nThe pang of this bite forced Agricola to make a movement, which enabled\nthe quarryman to disengage his leg. Then, with a superhuman effort, he\nthrew himself with his whole weight on Agricola, and brought him to the\nground, falling himself upon him.\n\nAt this juncture, Angela's mother, leaning from one of the windows of\nthe Common Dwelling-house, exclaimed in a heart-rending voice: \"Help,\nAgricola!--they are killing my child!\"\n\n\"Let me go--and on, my honor--I will fight you tomorrow, or when you\nwill,\" said Agricola, panting for breath.\n\n\"No warmed-up food for me; I eat all hot,\" answered the quarryman,\nseizing the smith by the throat, whilst he tried to place one of his\nknees upon his chest.\n\n\"Help!--they are killing my child!\" cried Angela's mother, in a voice of\ndespair.\n\n\"Mercy! I ask mercy! Let me go!\"' said Agricola, making the most violent\nefforts to escape.\n\n\"I am too hungry,\" answered the quarryman.\n\nExasperated by the terror which Angela's danger occasioned him, Agricola\nredoubled his efforts, when the quarryman suddenly felt his thigh seized\nby the sharp teeth of a dog, and at the same instant received from a\nvigorous hand three or four heavy blows with a stick upon his head. He\nrelaxed his grasp, and fell stunned upon his hand and knee, whilst he\nmechanically raised his other arm to parry the blows, which ceased as\nsoon as Agricola was delivered.\n\n\"Father, you have saved me!\" cried the smith, springing up. \"If only I\nam in time to rescue Angela!\"\n\n\"Run!--never mind me!\" answered Dagobert; and Agricola rushed into the\nhouse.\n\nDogabert, accompanied by Spoil-sport, had come, as we have already said,\nto bring Marshal Simon's daughters to their grandfather. Arriving in the\nmidst of the tumult, the soldier had collected a few workmen to defend\nthe entrance of the chamber, to which the marshal's father had been\ncarried in a dying state. It was from this post that the soldier had\nseen Agricola's danger. Soon after, the rush of the conflict separated\nDagobert from the quarryman, who remained for some moments insensible.\nArrived in two bounds at the Common Dwelling-house, Agricola succeeded\nin forcing his way through the men who defended the staircase, and\nrushed into the corridor that led to Angela's chamber. At the moment he\nreached it, the unfortunate girl was mechanically guarding her face with\nboth hands against Ciboule, who, furious as the hyena over its prey, was\ntrying to scratch and disfigure her.\n\nTo spring upon the horrible hag, seize her by her yellow hair with\nirresistible hand, drag her backwards, and then with one cuff, stretch\nher full length upon the ground, was for Agricola an achievement\nas rapid as thought. Furious with rage, Ciboule rose again almost\ninstantly; but at this moment, several workmen, who had followed close\nupon Agricola, were able to attack with advantage, and whilst the smith\nlifted the fainting form of Angela, and carried her into the next room,\nCiboule and her band were driven from that part of the house.\n\nAfter the first fire of the assault, the small number of real Wolves,\nwho, as Agricola said, were in the main honest fellows, but had the\nweakness to let themselves be drawn into this enterprise, under the\npretext of a quarrel between rival unions, seeing the excesses committed\nby the rabble who accompanied them, turned suddenly round, and ranged\nthemselves on the side of the Devourers.\n\n\"There are no longer here either Wolves or Devourers,\" said one of\nthe most determined Wolves to Olivier, with whom he had been fighting\nroughly and fairly; \"there are none here but honest workmen, who must\nunite to drive out a set of scoundrels, that have come only to break and\npillage.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" added another; \"it was against our will that they began by\nbreaking your windows.\"\n\n\"The big blaster did it all,\" said another; \"the true Wolves wash their\nhands of him. We shall soon settle his account.\"\n\n\"We may fight every day--but we ought to esteem each other.\"(35)\n\nThis defection of a portion of the assailants (unfortunately but a\nsmall portion) gave new spirit to the workmen of the factory, and all\ntogether, Wolves and Devourers, though very inferior in number,\nopposed themselves to the band of vagabonds, who were proceeding to new\nexcesses. Some of these wretches, still further excited by the little\nman with the ferret's face, a secret emissary of Baron Tripeaud,\nnow rushed in a mass towards the workshops of M. Hardy. Then began\na lamentable devastation. These people, seized with the mania of\ndestruction, broke without remorse machines of the greatest value, and\nmost delicate construction; half manufactured articles were pitilessly\ndestroyed; a savage emulation seemed to inspire these barbarians,\nand those workshops, so lately the model of order and well-regulated\neconomy, were soon nothing but a wreck; the courts were strewed with\nfragments of all kinds of wares, which were thrown from the windows with\nferocious outcries, or savage bursts of laughter. Then, still thanks to\nthe incitements of the little man with the ferret's face, the books\nof M. Hardy, archives of commercial industry, so indispensable to the\ntrader, were scattered to the wind, torn, trampled under foot, in a sort\nof infernal dance, composed of all that was most impure in this assembly\nof low, filthy, and ragged men and women, who held each other by the\nhand, and whirled round and round with horrible clamor. Strange and\npainful contrasts! At the height of the stunning noise of these horrid\ndeeds of tumult and devastation, a scene of imposing and mournful calm\nwas taking place in the chamber of Marshal Simon's father, the door of\nwhich was guarded by a few devoted men. The old workman was stretched\non his bed, with a bandage across his blood stained white hair. His\ncountenance was livid, his breathing oppressed, his look fixed and\nglazed.\n\nMarshal Simon, standing at the head of the bed, bending over his father,\nwatched in despairing anguish the least sign of consciousness on the\npart of the dying man, near whom was a physician, with his finger on\nthe failing pulse. Rose and Blanche, brought hither by Dagobert, were\nkneeling beside the bed, their hands clasped, and their eyes bathed in\ntears; a little further, half hidden in the shadows of the room, for\nthe hours had passed quickly, and the night was at hand, stood Dagobert\nhimself, with his arms crossed upon his breast, and his features\npainfully contracted. A profound and solemn silence reigned in this\nchamber, only interrupted by the broken sobs of Rose and Blanche, or by\nFather Simon's hard breathing. The eyes of the marshal were dry, gloomy,\nand full of fire. He only withdrew them from his father's face, to\ninterrogate the physician by a look. There are strange coincidences in\nlife. That physician was Dr. Baleinier. The asylum of the doctor being\nclose to the barrier that was nearest to the factory, and his fame being\nwidely spread in the neighborhood, they had run to fetch him on the\nfirst call for medical assistance.\n\nSuddenly, Dr. Baleinier made a movement; the marshal, who had not taken\nhis eyes off him, exclaimed: \"Is there any hope?\"\n\n\"At least, my lord duke, the pulse revives a little.\"\n\n\"He is saved!\" said the marshal.\n\n\"Do not cherish false hopes, my lord duke,\" answered the doctor,\ngravely: \"the pulse revives, owing to the powerful applications to the\nfeet, but I know not what will be the issue of the crisis.\"\n\n\"Father! father! do you hear me?\" cried the marshal, seeing the old man\nslightly move his head, and feebly raise his eyelids. He soon opened his\neyes, and this time their intelligence had returned.\n\n\"Father! you live--you know me!\" cried the marshal, giddy with joy and\nhope.\n\n\"Pierre! are you there?\" said the old man, in a weak voice. \"Your\nhand--give--it--\" and he made a feeble movement.\n\n\"Here, father!\" cried the marshal, as he pressed the hands of the old\nman in his own.\n\nThen, yielding to an impulse of delight, he bent over his father,\ncovered his hands, face, and hair with kisses, and repeated: \"He lives!\nkind heaven, he lives! he is saved!\"\n\nAt this instant, the noise of the struggle which had recommenced between\nthe rabble, the Wolves, and the Devourers, reached the ears of the dying\nman.\n\n\"That noise! that noise!\" said he: \"they are fighting.\"\n\n\"It is growing less, I think,\" said the marshal, in order not to agitate\nhis father.\n\n\"Pierre,\" said the old man, in a weak and broken voice, \"I have not long\nto live.\"\n\n\"Father--\"\n\n\"Let me speak, child; if I can but tell you all.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Baleinier piously to the old workman, \"heaven may perhaps\nwork a miracle in your favor; show yourself grateful, and allow a\npriest--\"\n\n\"A priest! Thank you, sir--I have my son,\" said the old man; \"in his\narms, I will render up my soul--which has always been true and honest.\"\n\n\"You die?\" exclaimed the marshal; \"no! no!\"\n\n\"Pierre,\" said the old man, in a voice which, firm at first, gradually\ngrew fainter, \"just now--you ask my advice in a very serious matter. I\nthink, that the wish to tell you of your duty--has recalled me--for a\nmoment--to life--for I should die miserable--if I thought you in a road\nunworthy of yourself and me. Listen to me, my son--my noble son--at this\nlast hour, a father cannot deceive himself. You have a great duty to\nperform---under pain--of not acting like a man of honor--under pain of\nneglecting my last will. You ought, without hesitation--\"\n\nHere the voice failed the old man. When he had pronounced the last\nsentence, he became quite unintelligible. The only words that Marshal\nSimon could distinguish, were these: \"Napoleon II.--oath--dishonor--my\nson!\"\n\nThen the old workman again moved his lips mechanically--and all was\nover. At the moment he expired, the night was quite come, and terrible\nshouts were heard from without, of \"Fire! Fire!\" The conflagration had\nbroken out in one of the workshops, filled with inflammable stuff, into\nwhich had glided the little man with the ferret's face. At the same\ntime, the roll of drums was heard in the distance, announcing the\narrival of a detachment of troops from town.\n\nDuring an hour, in spite of every effort, the fire had been spreading\nthrough the factory. The night is clear, cold, starlight; the wind blows\nkeenly from the north, with a moaning sound. A man, walking across the\nfields, where the rising ground conceals the fire from him, advances\nwith slow and unsteady steps. It is M. Hardy. He had chosen to return\nhome on foot, across the country, hoping that a walk would calm the\nfever in his blood--an icy fever, more like the chill of death. He had\nnot been deceived. His adored mistress--the noble woman, with whom he\nmight have found refuge from the consequences of the fearful deception\nwhich had just been revealed to him--had quitted France. He could have\nno doubt of it. Margaret was gone to America. Her mother had exacted\nfrom her, in expiation of her fault, that she should not even write to\nhim one word of farewell--to him, for whom she had sacrificed her duty\nas a wife. Margaret had obeyed.\n\nBesides, she had often said to him: \"Between my mother and you, I should\nnot hesitate.\"\n\nShe had not hesitated. There was therefore no hope, not the slightest;\neven if an ocean had not separated him from Margaret, he knew enough\nof her blind submission to her mother, to be certain that all relations\nbetween them were broken off forever. It is well. He will no longer\nreckon upon this heart--his last refuge. The two roots of his life have\nbeen torn up and broken, with the same blow, the same day, almost at the\nsame moment. What then remains for thee, poor sensitive plant, as thy\ntender mother used to call thee? What remains to console thee for the\nloss of this last love--this last friendship, so infamously crushed? Oh!\nthere remains for thee that one corner of the earth, created after\nthe image of thy mind that little colony, so peaceful and flourishing,\nwhere, thanks to thee, labor brings with it joy and recompense. These\nworthy artisans, whom thou hast made happy, good, and grateful, will\nnot fail thee. That also is a great and holy affection; let it be thy\nshelter in the midst of this frightful wreck of all thy most sacred\nconvictions! The calm of that cheerful and pleasant retreat, the sight\nof the unequalled happiness of thy dependents, will soothe thy poor,\nsuffering soul, which now seems to live only for suffering. Come! you\nwill soon reach the top of the hill, from which you can see afar, in the\nplain below, that paradise of workmen, of which you are the presiding\ndivinity.\n\nM. Hardy had reached the summit of the hill. At that moment the\nconflagration, repressed for a short time, burst forth with redoubled\nfury from the Common Dwelling-house, which it had now reached. A bright\nstreak, at first white, then red, then copper-colored, illuminated\nthe distant horizon. M. Hardy looked at it with a sort of incredulous,\nalmost idiotic stupor. Suddenly, an immense column of flame shot up in\nthe thick of a cloud of smoke, accompanied by a shower of sparks, and\nstreamed towards the sky, casting a bright reflection over all the\ncountry, even to M. Hardy's feet. The violence of the north wind,\ndriving the flames in waves before it, soon brought to the ears of M.\nHardy the hurried clanging of the alarm-bell of the burning factory.\n\n(35) We wish it to be understood, that the necessities of our story\nalone have made the Wolves the assailants. While endeavoring to paint\nthe evils arising the abuse of the spirit of association, we do not wish\nto ascribe a character of savage hostility to one sect rather than to\nthe other to the Wolves more than to the Devourers. The Wolves, a club\nof united stone-cutters, are generally industrious, intelligent workmen,\nwhose situation is the more worthy of interest, as not only their\nlabors, conducted with mathematical precision, are of the rudest and\nmost wearisome kind, but they are likewise out of work during three or\nfour months of the year, their profession being, unfortunately, one of\nthose which winter condemns to a forced cessation. A number of Wolves,\nin order to perfect themselves in their trade, attend every evening a\ncourse of linear geometry, applied to the cutting of stone, analogous\nto that given by M. Agricole Perdignier, for the benefit of carpenters.\nSeveral working stone-cutters sent an architectural model in plaster to\nthe last exhibition.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI. THE GO-BETWEEN.\n\nA few days have elapsed since the conflagration of M. Hardy's factory.\nThe following scene takes place in the Rue Clovis, in the house where\nRodin had lodged, and which was still inhabited by Rose-Pompon, who,\nwithout the least scruple, availed herself of the household arrangements\nof her friend Philemon. It was about noon, and Rose-Pompon, alone in\nthe chamber of the student, who was still absent, was breakfasting very\ngayly by the fireside; but how singular a breakfast! what a queer fire!\nhow strange an apartment!\n\nImagine a large room, lighted by two windows without curtains--for as\nthey looked on empty space, the lodger had fear of being overlooked.\nOne side of this apartment served as a wardrobe, for there was suspended\nRose-Pompon's flashy costume of debardeur, not far from the boat-man's\njacket of Philemon, with his large trousers of coarse, gray stuff,\ncovered with pitch (shiver my timbers!), just as if this intrepid\nmariner had bunked in the forecastle of a frigate, during a voyage\nround the globe. A gown of Rose Pompon's hung gracefully over a pair of\npantaloons, the legs of which seemed to come from beneath the petticoat.\nOn the lowest of several book-shelves, very dusty and neglected, by the\nside of three old boots (wherefore three boots?) and a number of empty\nbottles, stood a skull, a scientific and friendly souvenir, left to\nPhilemon by one of his comrades, a medical student. With a species of\npleasantry, very much to the taste of the student-world, a clay pipe\nwith a very black bowl was placed between the magnificently white teeth\nof this skull; moreover, its shining top was half hidden beneath an\nold hat, set knowingly on one side, and adorned with faded flowers\nand ribbons. When Philemon was drunk, he used to contemplate this bony\nemblem of mortality, and break out into the most poetical monologues,\nwith regard to this philosophical contrast between death and the mad\npleasures of life. Two or three plaster casts, with their noses and\nchins more or less injured, were fastened to the wall, and bore witness\nto the temporary curiosity which Philemon had felt with regard to\nphrenological science, from the patient and serious study of which he\nhad drawn the following logical conclusion:--That, having to an alarming\nextent the bump of getting into debt, he ought to resign himself to the\nfatality of this organization, and accept the inconvenience of creditors\nas a vital necessity. On the chimney-piece, stood uninjured, in all\nits majesty, the magnificent rowing-club drinking-glass, a china teapot\nwithout a spout, and an inkstand of black wood, the glass mouth of which\nwas covered by a coat of greenish and mossy mould. From time to time,\nthe silence of this retreat was interrupted by the cooing of pigeons,\nwhich Rose-Pompon had established with cordial hospitality in the little\nstudy. Chilly as a quail, Rose-Pompon crept close to the fire, and at\nthe same time seemed to enjoy the warmth of a bright ray of sunshine,\nwhich enveloped her in its golden light. This droll little creature was\ndressed in the oddest costume, which, however, displayed to advantage\nthe freshness of her piquant and pretty countenance, crowned with its\nfine, fair hair, always neatly combed and arranged the first thing in\nthe morning. By way of dressing-gown, Rose-Pompon had ingeniously\ndrawn over her linen, the ample scarlet flannel shirt which belonged to\nPhilemon's official garb in the rowing-club; the collar, open and turned\ndown, displayed the whiteness of the young girl's under garment, as\nalso of her neck and shoulders, on whose firm and polished surface the\nscarlet shirt seemed to cast a rosy light. The grisette's fresh and\ndimpled arms half protruded from the large, turned-up sleeves; and her\ncharming legs were also half visible, crossed one over the other, and\nclothed in neat white stockings, and boots. A black silk cravat formed\nthe girdle which fastened the shirt round the wasp-like waist of\nRose-Pompon, just above those hips, worthy of the enthusiasm of a modern\nPhidias, and which gave to this style of dress a grace very original.\n\nWe have said, that the breakfast of Rose-Pompon was singular. You shall\njudge. On a little table placed before her, was a wash-hand-basin, into\nwhich she had recently plunged her fresh face, bathing it in pure water.\nFrom the bottom of this basin, now transformed into a salad-bowl, Rose\nPompon took with the tips of her fingers large green leaves, dripping\nwith vinegar, and crunched them between her tiny white teeth, whose\nenamel was too hard to allow them to be set on edge. Her drink was\na glass of water and syrup of gooseberries, which she stirred with a\nwooden mustard-spoon. Finally, as an extra dish, she had a dozen olives\nin one of those blue glass trinket-dishes sold for twenty-five sous. Her\ndessert was composed of nuts, which she prepared to roast on a red-hot\nshovel. That Rose-Pompon, with such an unaccountable savage choice of\nfood, should retain a freshness of complexion worthy of her name, is one\nof those miracles, which reveal the mighty power of youth and health.\nWhen she had eaten her salad, Rose-Pompon was about to begin upon her\nolives, when a low knock was heard at the door, which was modestly\nbolted on the inside.\n\n\"Who is there?\" said Rose-Pompon.\n\n\"A friend--the oldest of the old,\" replied a sonorous, jovial voice.\n\"Why do you lock yourself in?\"\n\n\"What! is it you, Ninny Moulin?\"\n\n\"Yes, my beloved pupil. Open quickly. Time presses.\"\n\n\"Open to you? Oh, I dare say!--that would be pretty, the figure I am!\"\n\n\"I believe you! what does it matter what figure you are? It would be\nvery pretty, thou rosiest of all the roses with which Cupid ever adorned\nhis quiver!\"\n\n\"Go and preach fasting and morality in your journal, fat apostle!\"\nsaid Rose--Pompon, as she restored the scarlet shirt to its place, with\nPhilemon's other garments.\n\n\"I say! are we to talk much longer through the door, for the greater\nedification of our neighbors?\" cried Ninny Moulin. \"I have something of\nimportance to tell you--something that will astonish you--\"\n\n\"Give me time to put on my gown, great plague that you are!\"\n\n\"If it is because of my modesty, do not think of it. I am not over nice.\nI should like you very well as you are!\"\n\n\"Only to think that such a monster is the favorite of all the\nchurchgoers!\" said Rose-Pompon, opening the door as she finished\nfastening her dress.\n\n\"So! you have at last returned to the dovecot, you stray girl!\" said\nNinny Moulin, folding his arms, and looking at Rose-Pompon with comic\nseriousness. \"And where may you have been, I pray? For three days the\nnaughty little bird has left its nest.\"\n\n\"True; I only returned home last night. You must have called during my\nabsence?\"\n\n\"I came, every day, and even twice a day, young lady, for I have very\nserious matters to communicate.\"\n\n\"Very serious matters? Then we shall have a good laugh at them.\"\n\n\"Not at all--they are really serious,\" said Ninny Moulin, seating\nhimself. \"But, first of all, what did you do during the three days that\nyou left your conjugal and Philemonic home? I must know all about it,\nbefore I tell you more.\"\n\n\"Will you have some olives?\" said Rose-Pompon, as she nibbled one of\nthem herself.\n\n\"Is that your answer?--I understand!--Unfortunate Philemon!\"\n\n\"There is no unfortunate Philemon in the case, slanderer. Clara had a\ndeath in her house, and, for the first few days after the funeral she\nwas afraid to sleep alone.\"\n\n\"I thought Clara sufficiently provided against such fears.\"\n\n\"There you are deceived, you great viper! I was obliged to go and keep\nthe poor girl company.\"\n\nAt this assertion, the religious pamphleteer hummed a tune, with an\nincredulous and mocking air.\n\n\"You think I have played Philemon tricks?\" cried Rose-Pompon, cracking a\nnut with the indignation of injured innocence.\n\n\"I do not say tricks; but one little rose-colored trick.\"\n\n\"I tell you, that it was not for my pleasure I went out. On the\ncontrary--for, during my absence, poor Cephyse disappeared.\"\n\n\"Yes, Mother Arsene told me that the Bacchanal-Queen was gone on a\njourney. But when I talk of Philemon, you talk of Cephyse; we don't\nprogress.\"\n\n\"May I be eaten by the black panther that they are showing at the Porte\nSaint-Martin if I do not tell you the truth. And, talking of that,\nyou must get tickets to take me to see those animals, my little Ninny\nMoulin! They tell me there never were such darling wild beasts.\"\n\n\"Now really, are you mad?\"\n\n\"Why so?\"\n\n\"That I should guide your youth, like a venerable patriarch, through the\ndangers of the Storm-blown Tulip, all well and good--I ran no risk\nof meeting my pastors and masters; but were I to take you to a Lent\nSpectacle (since there are only beasts to be seen), I might just run\nagainst my sacristans--and how pretty I should look with you on my arm!\"\n\n\"You can put on a false nose, and straps to your trousers, my big Ninny;\nthey will never know you.\"\n\n\"We must not think of false noses, but of what I have to tell you, since\nyou assure me that you have no intrigue in hand.\"\n\n\"I swear it!\" said Rose-Pompon, solemnly, extending her left hand\nhorizontally, whilst with her right she put a nut into her mouth. Then\nshe added, with surprise, as she looked at the outside coat of Ninny\nMoulin, \"Goodness gracious! what full pockets you have got! What is\nthere in them?\"\n\n\"Something that concerns you, Rose-Pompon,\" said Dumoulin, gravely.\n\n\"Me?\"\n\n\"Rose-Pompon!\" said Ninny Moulin, suddenly, with a majestic air; \"will\nyou have a carriage? Will you inhabit a charming apartment, instead of\nliving in this dreadful hole? Will you be dressed like a duchess?\"\n\n\"Now for some more nonsense! Come, will you eat the olives? If not, I\nshall eat them all up. There is only one left.\"\n\nWithout answering this gastronomic offer, Ninny Moulin felt in one of\nhis pockets, and drew from it a case containing a very pretty bracelet,\nwhich he held up sparkling before the eyes of the young girl.\n\n\"Oh! what a sumptuous bracelet!\" cried she, clapping her hands. \"A\ngreen-eyed serpent biting his tail--the emblem of my love for Philemon.\"\n\n\"Do not talk of Philemon; it annoys me,\" said Ninny Moulin, as he\nclasped the bracelet round the wrist of Rose-Pompon, who allowed him to\ndo it, laughing all the while like mad, and saying to him, \"So you've\nbeen employed to make a purchase, big apostle, and wish to see the\neffect of it. Well! it is charming!\"\n\n\"Rose-Pompon,\" resumed Ninny Moulin, \"would you like to have a servant,\na box at the Opera, and a thousand francs a month for your pin-money?\"\n\n\"Always the same nonsense. Get along!\" said the young girl, as she held\nup the bracelet to the light, still continuing to eat her nuts. \"Why\nalways the same farce, and no change of bills?\"\n\nNinny Moulin again plunged his hand into his pocket, and this time drew\nforth an elegant chain, which he hung round Rose-Pompon's neck.\n\n\"Oh! what a beautiful chain!\" cried the young girl, as she looked by\nturns at the sparkling ornament and the religious writer. \"If you chose\nthat also, you have a very good taste. But am I not a good natured girl\nto be your dummy, just to show off your jewels?\"\n\n\"Rose-Pompon,\" returned Ninny Moulin, with a still more majestic air,\n\"these trifles are nothing to what you may obtain, if you will but\nfollow the advice of your old friend.\"\n\nRose began to look at Dumoulin with surprise, and said to him, \"What\ndoes all this mean, Ninny Moulin? Explain yourself; what advice have you\nto give?\"\n\nDumoulin did not answer, but replunging his hand into his inexhaustible\npocket, he fished up a parcel, which he carefully unfolded, and in which\nwas a magnificent mantilla of black lace. Rose-Pompon started up, full\nof new admiration, and Dumoulin threw the rich mantilla over the young\ngirl's shoulders.\n\n\"It is superb! I have never seen anything like it! What patterns! what\nwork!\" said Rose-Pompon, as she examined all with simple and perfectly\ndisinterested curiosity. Then she added, \"Your pocket is like a shop;\nwhere did you get all these pretty things?\" Then, bursting into a fit of\nlaughter, which brought the blood to her cheeks, she exclaimed, \"Oh, I\nhave it! These are the wedding-presents for Madame de la Sainte-Colombe.\nI congratulate you; they are very choice.\"\n\n\"And where do you suppose I should find money to buy these wonders?\"\nsaid Ninny Moulin. \"I repeat to you, all this is yours if you will but\nlisten to me!\"\n\n\"How is this?\" said Rose-Pompon, with the utmost amazement; \"is what you\ntell me in downright earnest?\"\n\n\"In downright earnest.\"\n\n\"This offer to make me a great lady?\"\n\n\"The jewels might convince you of the reality of my offers.\"\n\n\"And you propose all this to me for some one else, my poor Ninny\nMoulin?\"\n\n\"One moment,\" said the religious writer, with a comical air of modesty,\n\"you must know me well enough, my beloved pupil, to feel certain that\nI should be incapable of inducing you to commit an improper action. I\nrespect myself too much for that--leaving out the consideration that it\nwould be unfair to Philemon, who confided to me the guardianship of your\nvirtue.\"\n\n\"Then, Ninny Moulin,\" said Rose-Pompon, more and more astonished, \"on my\nword of honor, I can make nothing of it.\n\n\"Yet, 'tis all very simple, and I--\"\n\n\"Oh! I've found it,\" cried Rose-Pompon, interrupting Ninny Moulin; \"it\nis some gentleman who offers me his hand, his heart, and all the rest of\nit. Could you not tell me that directly?\"\n\n\"A marriage? oh, laws, yes!\" said Dumoulin, shrugging his shoulders.\n\n\"What! is it not a marriage?\" said Rose-Pompon, again much surprised.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"And the offers you make me are honest ones, my big apostle?\"\n\n\"They could not be more so.\" Here Dumoulin spoke the truth.\n\n\"I shall not have to be unfaithful to Philemon?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Or faithful to any one else?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nRose-Pompon looked confounded. Then she rattled on: \"Come, do not let\nus have any joking! I am not foolish enough to imagine that I am to live\njust like a duchess, just for nothing. What, therefore, must I give in\nreturn?\"\n\n\"Nothing at all.\"\n\n\"Nothing?\"\n\n\"Not even that,\" said Ninny Moulin, biting his nail-tip.\n\n\"But what am I to do, then?\"\n\n\"Dress yourself as handsomely as possible, take your ease, amuse\nyourself, ride about in a carriage. You see, it is not very\nfatiguing--and you will, moreover, help to do a good action.\"\n\n\"What! by living like a duchess?\"\n\n\"Yes! so make up your mind. Do not ask me for any more details, for I\ncannot give them to you. For the rest, you will not be detained against\nyour will. Just try the life I propose to you. If it suits you, go on\nwith it; if not, return to your Philemonic household.\"\n\n\"In fact--\"\n\n\"Only try it. What can you risk?\"\n\n\"Nothing; but I can hardly believe that all you say is true. And then,\"\nadded she, with hesitation, \"I do not know if I ought--\"\n\nNinny Moulin went to the window, opened it, and said to Rose-Pompon, who\nran up to it, \"Look there! before the door of the house.\"\n\n\"What a pretty carriage! How comfortable a body'd be inside of it!\"\n\n\"That carriage is yours. It is waiting for you.\"\n\n\"Waiting for me!\" exclaimed Rose-Pompon; \"am I to decide as short as\nthat?\"\n\n\"Or not at all.\"\n\n\"To-day?\"\n\n\"On the instant.\"\n\n\"But where will they take me?\"\n\n\"How should I know?\"\n\n\"You do not know where they will take me?\"\n\n\"Not I,\"--and Dumoulin still spoke the truth--\"the coachman has his\norders.\"\n\n\"Do you know all this is very funny, Ninny Moulin?\"\n\n\"I believe you. If it were not funny, where would be the pleasure?\"\n\n\"You are right.\"\n\n\"Then you accept the offer? That is well. I am delighted both for you\nand myself.\"\n\n\"For yourself?\"\n\n\"Yes; because, in accepting, you render me a great service.\"\n\n\"You? How so?\"\n\n\"It matters little, as long as I feel obliged to you.\"\n\n\"True.\"\n\n\"Come, then; let us set out!\"\n\n\"Bah! after all, they cannot eat me,\" said Rose-Pompon, resolutely.\n\nWith a skip and a jump, she went to fetch a rose-colored cap, and, going\nup to a broken looking-glass, placed the cap very much cocked on one\nside on her bands of light hair. This left uncovered her snowy neck,\nwith the silky roots of the hair behind, and gave to her pretty face a\nvery mischievous, not to say licentious expression.\n\n\"My cloak!\" said she to Ninny Moulin, who seemed to be relieved from a\nconsiderable amount of uneasiness, since she had accepted his offer.\n\n\"Fie! a cloak will not do,\" answered her companion, feeling once more\nin his pocket and drawing out a fine Cashmere shawl, which he threw over\nRose-Pompon's shoulders.\n\n\"A Cashmere!\" cried the young girl, trembling with pleasure and joyous\nsurprise. Then she added, with an air of heroism: \"It is settled! I\nwill run the gauntlet.\" And with a light step she descended the stairs,\nfollowed by Ninny Moulin.\n\nThe worthy greengrocer was at her post. \"Good-morning, mademoiselle; you\nare early to-day,\" said she to the young girl.\n\n\"Yes, Mother Arsene; there is my key.\"\n\n\"Thank you, mademoiselle.\"\n\n\"Oh! now I think of it,\" said Rose Pompon, suddenly, in a whisper, as\nshe turned towards Ninny Moulin, and withdrew further from the portress,\n\"what is to became of Philemon?\"\n\n\"Philemon?\"\n\n\"If he should arrive--\"\n\n\"Oh! the devil!\" said Ninny Moulin, scratching his ear.\n\n\"Yes; if Philemon should arrive, what will they say to him? for I may be\na long time absent.\"\n\n\"Three or four months, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Not more?\"\n\n\"I should think not.\"\n\n\"Oh! very good!\" said Rose-Pompon. Then, turning towards the\ngreengrocer, she said to her, after a moment's reflection: \"Mother\nArsene, if Philemon should come home, you will tell him I have gone\nout--on business.\"\n\n\"Yes, mademoiselle.\"\n\n\"And that he must not forget to feed my pigeons, which are in his\nstudy.\"\n\n\"Yes, mademoiselle.\"\n\n\"Good-bye, Mother Arsene.\"\n\n\"Good-bye, mademoiselle.\" And Rose-Pompon entered the carriage in\ntriumph, along with Ninny Moulin.\n\n\"The devil take me if I know what is to come of all this,\" said Jacques\nDumoulin to himself, as the carriage drove rapidly down the Rue Clovis.\n\"I have repaired my error--and now I laugh at the rest.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII. ANOTHER SECRET.\n\nThe following scene took place a few days after the abduction of Rose\nPompon by Ninny Moulin. Mdlle. de Cardoville was seated in a dreamy\nmood, in her cabinet, which was hung with green silk, and furnished\nwith an ebony library, ornamented with large bronze caryatides. By some\nsignificant signs, one could perceive that Mdlle. de Cardoville had\nsought in the fine airs some relief from sad and serious thoughts.\nNear an open piano, was a harp, placed before a music-stand. A little\nfurther, on a table covered with boxes of oil and water-color, were\nseveral brilliant sketches. Most of them represented Asiatic scenes,\nlighted by the fires of an oriental sun. Faithful to her fancy of\ndressing herself at home in a picturesque style, Mademoiselle de\nCardoville resembled that day one of those proud portraits of Velasquez,\nwith stern and noble aspect. Her gown was of black moire, with wide\nswelling petticoat, long waist, and sleeve slashed with rose-colored\nsatin, fastened together with jet bugles. A very stiff, Spanish ruff\nreached almost to her chin, and was secured round her neck by a broad\nrose-colored ribbon. This frill, slightly heaving, sloped down as far as\nthe graceful swell of the rose-colored stomacher, laced with strings of\njet beads, and terminating in a point at the waist. It is impossible to\nexpress how well this black garment, with its ample and shining folds,\nrelieved with rose-color and brilliant jet, skin, harmonized with the\nshining whiteness of Adrienne's and the golden flood of her beautiful\nhair, whose long, silky ringlets descended to her bosom.\n\nThe young lady was in a half-recumbent posture, with her elbow resting\non a couch covered with green silk. The back of this piece of furniture,\nwhich was pretty high towards the fireplace, sloped down insensibly\ntowards the foot. A sort of light, semicircular trellis-work, in gilded\nbronze, raised about five feet from the ground, covered with flowering\nplants (the admirable passiflores quadrangulatoe, planted in a deep\nebony box, from the centre of which rose the trellis-work), surrounded\nthis couch with a sort of screen of foliage enamelled with large\nflowers, green without, purple within, and as brilliant as those flowers\nof porcelain, which we receive from Saxony. A sweet, faint perfume,\nlike a faint mixture of jasmine with violet, rose from the cup of these\nadmirable passiflores. Strange enough, a large quantity of new books\n(Adrienne having bought them since the last two or three days) and\nquite fresh-cut, were scattered around her on the couch, and on a little\ntable; whilst other larger volumes, amongst which were several atlases\nfull of engravings, were piled on the sumptuous fur, which formed\nthe carpet beneath the divan. Stranger still, these books, though of\ndifferent forms, and by different authors, alt treated of the same\nsubject. The posture of Adrienne revealed a sort of melancholy\ndejection. Her cheeks were pale; a light blue circle surrounded her\nlarge, black eyes, now half-closed, and gave to them an expression of\nprofound grief. Many causes contributed to this sorrow--amongst others,\nthe disappearance of Mother Bunch. Without absolutely believing the\nperfidious insinuations of Rodin, who gave her to understand that, in\nthe fear of being unmasked by him, the hunchback had not dared to remain\nin the house, Adrienne felt a cruel sinking of the heart, when she\nthought how this young girl, in whom she had had so much confidence, had\nfled from her almost sisterly hospitality, without even uttering a word\nof gratitude; for care had been taken not to show her the few lines\nwritten by the poor needlewoman to her benefactress, just before her\ndeparture.\n\nShe had only been told of the note of five hundred francs found on her\ndesk; and this last inexplicable circumstance had contributed to awaken\ncruel suspicions in the breast of Mdlle. de Cardoville. She already felt\nthe fatal effects of that mistrust of everything and everybody, which\nRodin had recommended to her; and this sentiment of suspicion and\nreserve had the more tendency to become powerful, that, for the first\ntime in her life, Mdlle. de Cardoville, until then a stranger to all\ndeception, had a secret to conceal--a secret, which was equally her\nhappiness, her shame, and her torment. Half-recumbent on her divan,\npensive and depressed, Adrienne pursued, with a mind often absent, one\nof her newly purchased books. Suddenly, she uttered an exclamation of\nsurprise; the hand which held the book trembled like a leaf, and from\nthat moment she appeared to read with passionate attention and devouring\ncuriosity. Soon, her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, her smile\nassumed ineffable sweetness, and she seemed at once proud, happy,\ndelighted--but, as she turned over the last page, her countenance\nexpressed disappointment and chagrin. Then she recommenced this reading,\nwhich had occasioned her such sweet emotion, and this time she read with\nthe most deliberate slowness, going over each page twice, and spelling,\nas it were, every line, every word. From time to time, she paused,\nand in a pensive mood, with her forehead leaning on her fair hand, she\nseemed to reflect, in a deep reverie, on the passages she had read with\nsuch tender and religious love. Arriving at a passage which so affected\nher, that a tear started in her eye, she suddenly turned the volume,\nto see on the cover the name of the author. For a few seconds, she\ncontemplated this name with a singular expression of gratitude, and\ncould not forbear raising to her rosy lips the page on which it was\nprinted. After reading many times over the lines with which she had\nbeen so much struck, forgetting, no doubt, the letter in the spirit, she\nbegan to reflect so deeply, that the book glided from her hand, and\nfell upon the carpet. During the course of this reverie, the eyes of the\nyoung girl rested, at first mechanically, upon an admirable bas-relief,\nplaced on an ebony stand, near one of the windows. This magnificent\nbronze, recently cast after a plaster copy from the antique, represented\nthe triumph of the Indian Bacchus. Never, perhaps, had Grecian art\nattained such rare perfection. The youthful conqueror, half clad in a\nlion's skin, which displayed his juvenile grace and charming purity\nof form shone with divine beauty. Standing up in a car, drawn by two\ntigers, with an air at once gentle and proud, he leaned with one hand\nupon a thyrsus, and with the other guided his savage steeds in tranquil\nmajesty. By this rare mixture of grace, vigor, and serenity, it was easy\nto recognize the hero who had waged such desperate combats with men and\nwith monsters of the forest. Thanks to the brownish tone of the figure,\nthe light, falling from one side of the sculpture, admirably displayed\nthe form of the youthful god, which, carved in relievo, and thus\nillumined, shone like a magnificent statue of pale gold upon the dark\nfretted background of the bronze.\n\nWhen Adrienne's look first rested on this rare assemblage of divine\nperfections, her countenance was calm and thoughtful. But this\ncontemplation, at first mechanical, became gradually more and more\nattentive and conscious, and the young lady, rising suddenly from her\nseat, slowly approached the bas-relief, as if yielding to the invincible\nattraction of an extraordinary resemblance. Then a slight blush appeared\non the cheeks of Mdlle. de Cardoville, stole across her face, and spread\nrapidly to her neck and forehead. She approached still closer, threw\nround a hasty glance, as if half-ashamed, or as if she had feared to\nbe surprised in a blamable action, and twice stretched forth her hand,\ntrembling with emotion, to touch with the tips of her charming fingers\nthe bronze forehead of the Indian Bacchus. And twice she stopped short,\nwith a kind of modest hesitation. At last, the temptation became too\nstrong for her. She yielded to it; and her alabaster finger, after\ndelicately caressing the features of pale gold, was pressed more boldly\nfor an instant on the pure and noble brow of the youthful god. At this\npressure, though so slight, Adrienne seemed to feel a sort of electric\nshock; she trembled in every limb, her eyes languished, and, after\nswimming for an instant in their humid and brilliant crystal, were\nraised, half-closed, to heaven. Then her head was thrown a little way\nback, her knees bent insensibly, her rosy lips were half opened, as if\nto give a passage to her heated breath, for her bosom heaved violently,\nas thought youth and life had accelerated the pulsations of her heart,\nand made her blood boil in her veins. Finally, the burning cheeks of\nAdrienne betrayed a species of ecstasy, timid and passionate, chaste and\nsensual, the expression of which was ineffably touching.\n\nAn affecting spectacle indeed is that of a young maiden, whose modest\nbrow flushes with the first fires of a secret passion. Does not the\nCreator of all things animate the body as well as the soul, with a\nspark of divine energy? Should He not be religiously glorified in the\nintellect as in the senses, with which He has so paternally endowed His\ncreatures? They are impious blasphemers who seek to stifle the celestial\nsenses, instead of guiding and harmonizing them in their divine flight.\nSuddenly, Mdlle. de Cardoville started, raised her head, opened her eyes\nas if awakening from a dream, withdrew abruptly from the sculptures,\nand walked several times up and down the room in an agitated manner,\npressing her burning hands to her forehead. Then, falling, as it were,\nexhausted on her seat, her tears flowed in abundance. The most bitter\ngrief was visible in her features, which revealed the fatal struggle\nthat was passing within her. By degrees, her tears ceased. To this\ncrisis of painful dejection succeeded a species of violent scorn and\nindignation against herself, which were expressed by these words that\nescaped her: \"For the first time in my life, I feel weak and cowardly.\nOh yes! cowardly--very cowardly!\"\n\nThe sound of a door opening and closing, roused Mdlle. de Cardoville\nfrom her bitter reflections. Georgette entered the room, and said to her\nmistress: \"Madame, can you receive the Count de Montbron?\"\n\nAdrienne, too well-bred to exhibit before her women the sort of\nimpatience occasioned by this unseasonable visit, said to Georgette:\n\"You told M. de Montbron that I was at home?\"\n\n\"Yes, Madame.\"\n\n\"Then beg him to walk in.\" Though Mdlle. de Cardoville felt at that\nmoment much vexed at the arrival of Montbron, let us hasten to say,\nthat she entertained for him an almost filial affection, and a profound\nesteem, though, by a not unfrequent contrast, she almost always differed\nfrom him in opinion. Hence arose, when Mdlle. de Cardoville had nothing\nto disturb her mind, the most gay and animated discussions, in which M.\nde Montbron, notwithstanding his mocking and sceptical humor, his\nlong experience, his rare knowledge of men and things, his fashionable\ntraining, in a word, had not always the advantage, and even acknowledged\nhis defeat gayly enough. Thus, to give an idea of the differences of\nthe count and Adrienne, before, as he would say laughingly, he had made\nhimself her accomplice, he had always opposed (from other motives than\nthose alleged by Madame de Saint-Dizier) Adrienne's wish to live alone\nand in her own way; whilst Rodin, on the contrary, by investing\nthe young girl's resolve on this subject with an ideal grandeur of\nintention, had acquired a species of influence over her. M. de Montbron,\nnow upwards of sixty years of age, had been a most prominent character\nduring the Directory, Consulate, and the Empire. His prodigal style of\nliving, his wit, his gayety, his duels, his amours, and his losses at\nplay, had given him a leading influence in the best society of his day;\nwhile his character, his kind-heartedness, and liberality, secured him\nthe lasting friendship of nearly all his female friends. At the time\nwe now present him to the reader, he was still a great gambler; and,\nmoreover, a very lucky gambler. He had, as we have stated, a very lordly\nstyle; his manners were decided, but polished and lively; his habits\nwere such as belong to the higher classes of society, though he could be\nexcessively sharp towards people whom he did not like. He was tall and\nthin, and his slim figure gave him an almost youthful appearance; his\nforehead was high, and a little bald; his hair was gray and short, his\ncountenance long, his nose aquiline, his eyes blue and piercing, and his\nteeth white, and still very good.\n\n\"The Count de Montbron,\" said Georgette, opening the door. The count\nentered, and hastened to kiss Adrienne's hand, with a sort of paternal\nfamiliarity.\n\n\"Come!\" said M. de Montbron to himself; \"let us try to discover the\ntruth I am in search of, that we may escape a great misfortune.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII. THE CONFESSION.\n\nMdlle. de Cardoville, not wishing to betray the cause of the violent\nfeelings which agitated her, received M. de Montbron with a feigned and\nforced gayety. On the other hand, notwithstanding his tact and knowledge\nof the world, the count was much embarrassed how to enter upon the\nsubject on which he wished to confer with Adrienne, and he resolved\nto feel his way, before seriously commencing the conversation. After\nlooking at the young lady for some seconds, M. de Montbron shook\nhis head, and said, with a sigh of regret: \"My dear child, I am not\npleased.\"\n\n\"Some affair of the heart, or of hearts, my dear count?\" returned\nAdrienne, smiling.\n\n\"Of the heart,\" said M. de Montbron.\n\n\"What! you, so great a player, think more of a woman's whim than a throw\nof the dice?\"\n\n\"I have a heavy heart, and you are the cause of it, my dear child.\"\n\n\"M. de Montbron, you will make me very proud,\" said Adrienne, with a\nsmile.\n\n\"You would be wrong, for I tell you plainly, my trouble is caused by\nyour neglect of your beauty. Yes, your countenance is pale, dejected,\nsorrowful; you have been low-spirited for the last few days; you have\nsomething on your mind, I am sure of it.\"\n\n\"My dear M. de Montbron, you have so much penetration, that you may be\nallowed to fall for once, as now. I am not sad, I have nothing on my\nmind, and--I am about to utter a very silly piece of impertinence--I\nhave never thought myself so pretty.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, nothing could be more modest than such an assertion.\nWho told you that falsehood? a woman?\"\n\n\"No; it was my heart, and it spoke the truth,\" answered Adrienne, with a\nslight degree of emotion. \"Understand it, if you can,\" she added.\n\n\"Do you mean that you are proud of the alteration in your features,\nbecause you are proud of the sufferings of your heart?\" said M. de\nMontbron, looking at Adrienne with attention. \"Be it so; I am then\nright. You have some sorrow. I persist in it,\" added the count, speaking\nwith a tone of real feeling, \"because it is painful to me.\"\n\n\"Be satisfied; I am as happy as possible--for every instant I take\ndelight in repeating, how, at my age, I am free--absolutely free!\"\n\n\"Yes; free to torment yourself, free to be miserable.\"\n\n\"Come, come, my dear count!\" said Adrienne, \"you are recommencing\nour old quarrel. I still find in you the ally of my aunt and the Abbe\nd'Aigrigny.\"\n\n\"Yes; as the republicans are the allies of the legitimists--to destroy\neach other in their turn. Talking of your abominable aunt, they say that\nshe holds a sort of council at her house these last few days, a regular\nmitred conspiracy. She is certainly in a good way.\"\n\n\"Why not? Formerly, she would have wished to be Goddess of Reason, now,\nwe shall perhaps see her canonized. She has already performed the first\npart of the life of Mary Magdalen.\"\n\n\"You can never speak worse of her than she deserves, my dear child.\nStill, though for quite opposite reasons, I agreed with her on the\nsubject of your wish to reside alone.\"\n\n\"I know it.\"\n\n\"Yes; and because I wished to see you a thousand times freer than you\nreally are, I advised you--\"\n\n\"To marry.\"\n\n\"No doubt; you would have had your dear liberty, with its consequences,\nonly, instead of Mdlle. de Cardoville, we should have called you Madame\nSomebody, having found an excellent husband to be responsible for your\nindependence.\"\n\n\"And who would have been responsible for this ridiculous husband? And\nwho would bear a mocked and degraded name? I, perhaps?\" said Adrienne,\nwith animation. \"No, no, my dear count, good or ill, I will answer for\nmy own actions; to my name shall attach the reputation, which I alone\nhave formed. I am as incapable of basely dishonoring a name which is\nnot mine, as of continually bearing it myself, if it were not held in,\nesteem. And, as one can only answer for one's own actions, I prefer to\nkeep my name.\"\n\n\"You are the only person in the world that has such ideas.\"\n\n\"Why?\" said Adrienne, laughing. \"Because it appears to me horrible,\nto see a poor girl lost and buried in some ugly and selfish man, and\nbecome, as they say seriously, the better half of the monster--yes! a\nfresh and blooming rose to become part of a frightful thistle!--Come,\nmy dear count; confess there is something odious in this conjugal\nmetempsychosis,\" added Adrienne, with a burst of laughter.\n\nThe forced and somewhat feverish gayety of Adrienne contrasted painfully\nwith her pale and suffering countenance; it was so easy to see that she\nstrove to stifle with laughter some deep sorrow, that M. de Montbron\nwas much affected by it; but, dissembling his emotion, he appeared to\nreflect a moment, and took up mechanically one of the new, fresh-cut\nbooks, by which Adrienne was surrounded. After casting a careless glance\nat this volume, he continued, still dissembling his feelings: \"Come, my\ndear madcap: this is another folly. Suppose I were twenty years old,\nand that you did me the honor to marry me--you would be called Lady de\nMontbron, I imagine?\"\n\n\"Perhaps.\"\n\n\"How perhaps? Would you not bear my name, if you married me?\"\n\n\"My dear count,\" said Adrienne, with a smile, \"do not let us pursue this\nhypothesis, which can only leave us--regrets.\"\n\nSuddenly, M. de Montbron started, and looked at Mdlle, de Cardoville\nwith an expression of surprise. For some moments, whilst talking to\nAdrienne, he had mechanically--taken up two or three of the volumes\nscattered over the couch, and had glanced at their titles in the same\ncareless manner. The first was the \"Modern History of India.\" The\nsecond, \"Travels in India.\" The third, \"Letters on India.\" Much\nsurprised, M. de Montbron had continued his investigation, and found\nthat the fourth volume continued this Indian nomenclature, being\n\"Rambles in India.\" The fifth was, \"Recollections of Hindostan.\" The\nsixth, \"Notes of a Traveller in the East Indies.\"\n\nHence the astonishment, which, for many serious reasons, M. de Montbron\nhad no longer been able to conceal, and which his looks betrayed to\nAdrienne. The latter, having completely forgotten the presence of the\naccusing volumes by which she was surrounded, yielded to a movement of\ninvoluntary confusion, and blushed slightly; but, her firm and resolute\ncharacter again coming to her aid, she looked full at M. de Montbron,\nand said to him: \"Well, my dear count! what surprises you?\"\n\nInstead of answering, M. de Montbron appeared still more absorbed in\nthought, and contemplating the young girl, he could not forbear saying\nto himself: \"No, no--it is impossible--and yet--\"\n\n\"It would, perhaps, be indiscreet in me to listen to your soliloquy, my\ndear count,\" said Adrienne.\n\n\"Excuse me, my dear child; but what I see surprises me so much--\"\n\n\"And pray what do you see?\"\n\n\"The traces of so great and novel an interest in all that relates to\nIndia,\" said M. de Montbron, laying a slight stress on his words, and\nfixing a piercing look upon the young girl.\n\n\"Well!\" said Adrienne, stoutly.\n\n\"Well! I seek the cause of this sudden passion--\"\n\n\"Geographical?\" said Mdlle. de Cardoville, interrupting M. de Montbron:\n\"you may find this taste somewhat serious for my age my dear count--but\none must find occupation for leisure hours--and then, having a cousin,\nwho is both an Indian and a prince, I should like to know something of\nthe fortunate country from which I derive this savage relationship.\"\n\nThese last words were pronounced with a bitterness that was not lost on\nM. de Montbron: watching Adrienne attentively, he observed: \"Meseems,\nyou speak of the prince with some harshness.\"\n\n\"No; I speak of him with indifference.\"\n\n\"Yet he deserves a very different feeling.\"\n\n\"On the part of some other person, perhaps,\" replied Adrienne, dryly.\n\n\"He is so unhappy!\" said M, de Montbron, in a tone of sincere pity.\n\"When I saw him the other day, he made my heart ache.\"\n\n\"What have I to do with it?\" exclaimed Adrienne, with an accent of\npainful and almost angry impatience.\n\n\"I should have thought that his cruel torments at least deserved your\npity,\" answered the count gravely.\n\n\"Pity--from me!\" cried Adrienne, with an air of offended pride. Then\nrestraining herself, she added coldly: \"You are jesting, M. de Montbron.\nIt is not in sober seriousness that you ask me to take interest in the\namorous torments of your prince.\"\n\nThere was so much cold disdain in these last words of Adrienne, her pale\nand agitated countenance betrayed such haughty bitterness, that M. de\nMontbron said, sorrowfully: \"It is then true; I have not been deceived.\nI, who thought, from our old and constant friendship, that I had some\nclaim to your confidence have known nothing of it--while you told all to\nanother. It is painful, very painful to me.\"\n\n\"I do not understand you, M. de Montbron.\"\n\n\"Well then, since I must speak plainly,\" cried the count, \"there is, I\nsee, no hope for this unhappy boy--you love another.\"\n\nAs Adrienne started--\"Oh! you cannot deny it,\" resumed the count;\n\"your paleness and melancholy for the last few days, your implacable\nindifference to the prince--all prove to me that you are in love.\"\n\nHurt by the manner in which the count spoke of the sentiment he\nattributed to her, Mdlle. de Cardoville answered with dignified\nstateliness: \"You must know, M. de Montbron, that a secret discovered is\nnot a confidence. Your language surprises me.\n\n\"Oh, my dear friend, if I use the poor privilege of experience--if I\nguess that you are in love--if I tell you so, and even go so far as\nto reproach you with it--it is because the life or death of this poor\nprince is concerned; and I feel for him as if he were my son, for it is\nimpossible to know him without taking the warmest interest in him.\"\n\n\"It would be singular,\" returned Adrienne, with redoubled coldness, and\nstill more bitter irony, \"if my love--admitting I were in love--could\nhave any such strange influence on Prince Djalma. What can it matter to\nhim?\" added she, with almost agonizing disdain.\n\n\"What can it matter to him? Now really, my dear friend, permit me to\ntell you, that it is you who are jesting cruelly. What! this unfortunate\nyouth loves you with all the blind ardor of a first love--twice\nhas attempted to terminate by suicide the horrible tortures of his\npassion--and you think it strange that your love for another should be\nwith him a question of life or death!\"\n\n\"He loves me then?\" cried the young girl, with an accent impossible to\ndescribe.\n\n\"He loves you to madness, I tell you; I have seen it.\"\n\nAdrienne seemed overcome with amazement. From pale, she became crimson;\nas the redness disappeared, her lips grew white, and trembled. Her\nemotion was so strong, that she remained for some moments unable\nto speak, and pressed her hand to her heart, as if to moderate its\npulsations.\n\nM. de Montbron, almost frightened at the sudden change in Adrienne's\ncountenance, hastily approached her, exclaiming: \"Good heaven, my poor\nchild! what is the matter?\"\n\nInstead of answering, Adrienne waved her hand to him, in sign that\nhe should not be alarmed; and, in fact, the count was speedily\ntranquillized, for the beautiful face, which had so lately been\ncontracted with pain, irony, and scorn, seemed now expressive of the\nsweetest and most ineffable emotions; Adrienne appeared to luxuriate\nin delight, and to fear losing the least particle of it; then, as\nreflection told her, that she was, perhaps, the dupe of illusion or\nfalsehood, she exclaimed suddenly, with anguish, addressing herself to\nM. de Montbron: \"But is what you tell me true?\"\n\n\"What I tell you!\"\n\n\"Yes--that Prince Djalma--\"\n\n\"Loves you to madness?--Alas! it is only too true.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" cried Adrienne, with a charming expression of simplicity;\n\"that could never be too true.\"\n\n\"What do you say?\" cried the count.\n\n\"But that woman?\" asked Adrienne, as if the word scorched her lips.\n\n\"What woman?\"\n\n\"She who has been the cause of all these painful struggles.\"\n\n\"That woman--why, who should it be but you?\"\n\n\"What, I? Oh! tell me, was it I?\"\n\n\"On my word of honor. I trust my experience. I have never seen so ardent\nand sincere a passion.\"\n\n\"Oh! is it really so? Has he never had any other love?\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"Yet I was told so.\"\n\n\"By whom?\"\n\n\"M. Rodin.\"\n\n\"That Djalma--\"\n\n\"Had fallen violently in love, two days after I saw him.\"\n\n\"M. Rodin told you that!\" cried M. de Montbron, as if struck with a\nsudden idea. \"Why, it is he who told Djalma that you were in love with\nsome one else.\"\n\n\"I!\"\n\n\"And this it was which occasioned the poor youth's dreadful despair.\"\n\n\"It was this which occasioned my despair.\"\n\n\"You love him, then, just as he loves you!\" exclaimed M. de Montbron,\ntransported with joy.\n\n\"Love him!\" said Mdlle. de Cardoville. A discreet knock at the door\ninterrupted Adrienne.\n\n\"One of your servants, no doubt. Be calm,\" said the count.\n\n\"Come in,\" said Adrienne, in an agitated voice.\n\n\"What is it?\" said Mdlle. de Cardoville. Florine entered the room.\n\n\"M. Rodin has just been here. Fearing to disturb mademoiselle, he would\nnot come in; but he will return in half an hour. Will mademoiselle\nreceive him?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said the count to Florine; \"even if I am still here, show\nhim in by all means. Is not that your opinion?\" asked M. de Montbron of\nAdrienne.\n\n\"Quite so,\" answered the young girl; and a flash of indignation darted\nfrom her eyes, as she thought of Rodin's perfidy.\n\n\"Oho! the old knave!\" said M. de Montbron, \"I always had my doubts\nof that crooked neck!\" Florine withdrew, leaving the count with her\nmistress.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX. LOVE.\n\nMdlle. de Cardoville was transfigured. For the first time her beauty\nshone forth in all its lustre. Until now overshadowed by indifference,\nor darkened by grief, she appeared suddenly illumined by a brilliant ray\nof sunshine. The slight irritation caused by Rodin's perfidy passed like\nan imperceptible shade from her brow. What cared she now for falsehood\nand perfidy? Had they not failed? And, for the future, what human power\ncould interpose between her and Djalma, so sure of each other? Who would\ndare to cross the path of those two things, resolute and strong with the\nirresistible power of youth, love, and liberty? Who would dare to follow\nthem into that blazing sphere, whither they went, so beautiful and\nhappy, to blend together in their inextinguishable love, protected by\nthe proof armor of their own happiness? Hardly had Florine left the\nroom, when Adrienne approached M. de Montbron with a rapid step.\nShe seemed to have become taller; and to watch her advancing, light,\nradiant, and triumphant, one might have fancied her a goddess walking\nupon clouds.\n\n\"When shall I see him?\" was her first word to M. de Montbron.\n\n\"Well--say to-morrow; he must be prepared for so much happiness; in so\nardent a nature, such sudden, unexpected joy might be terrible.\"\n\nAdrienne remained pensive for a moment, and then said rapidly: \"To\nmorrow--yes--not before to-morrow. I have a superstition of the heart.\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"You shall know. HE LOVES ME--that word says all, contains all,\ncomprehends all, is all--and yet I have a thousand questions to ask\nwith regard to him--but I will ask none before to-morrow, because, by a\nmysterious fatality, to-morrow is with me a sacred anniversary. It will\nbe an age till then; but happily, I can wait. Look here!\"\n\nBeckoning M. de Montbron, she led him to the Indian Bacchus. \"How much\nit is like him!\" said she to the count.\n\n\"Indeed,\" exclaimed the latter, \"it is strange!\"\n\n\"Strange?\" returned Adrienne, with a smile of gentle pride; \"strange,\nthat a hero, a demi-god, an ideal of beauty, should resemble Djalma?\"\n\n\"How you love him!\" said M. de Montbron, deeply touched, and almost\ndazzled by the felicity which beamed from the countenance of Adrienne.\n\n\"I must have suffered a good deal, do you not think so?\" said she, after\na moment's silence.\n\n\"If I had not made up my mind to come here to-day, almost in despair,\nwhat would have happened?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell; I should perhaps have died, for I am wounded mortally\nhere\"--she pressed her hand to her heart. \"But what might have been\ndeath to me, will now be life.\"\n\n\"It was horrible,\" said the count, shuddering. \"Such a passion, buried\nin your own breast, proud as you are--\"\n\n\"Yes, proud--but not self-conceited. When I learned his love for\nanother, and that the impression which I fancied I had made on him at\nour first interview had been immediately effaced, I renounced all hope,\nwithout being able to renounce my love. Instead of shunning his image,\nI surrounded myself with all that could remind me of him. In default\nof happiness, there is a bitter pleasure in suffering through what we\nlove.\"\n\n\"I can now understand your Indian library.\"\n\nInstead of answering the count, Adrienne took from the stand one of the\nfreshly-cut volumes, and, bringing it to M. de Montbron, said to him,\nwith a smile and a celestial expression of joy and happiness: \"I was\nwrong--I am vain. Just read this--aloud, if you please. I tell you that\nI can wait for to-morrow.\" Presenting the book to the count, she pointed\nout one passage with the tip of her charming finger. Then she sank down\nupon the couch, and, in an attitude of deep attention, with her body\nbent forward, her hands crossed upon the cushion, her chin resting upon\nher hands, her large eyes fixed with a sort of adoration on the Indian\nBacchus, that was just opposite to her, she appeared by this impassioned\ncontemplation to prepare herself to listen to M. de Montbron.\n\nThe latter, much astonished, began to read, after again looking at\nAdrienne, who said to him, in her most coaxing voice, \"Very slowly, I\nbeg of you.\"\n\nM. de Montbron then read the following passage from the journal of a\ntraveller in India: \"'When I was at Bombay, in 1829, I constantly heard\namongst the English there, of a young hero, the son of--'\"\n\nThe count having paused a second, by reason of the barbarous spelling\nof the name of Djalma's father, Adrienne immediately said to him, in her\nsoft voice: \"The son of Kadja-sing.\"\n\n\"What a memory!\" said the count, with a smile. And he resumed: \"'A young\nhero, the son of Kadja-sing, king of Mundi. On his return from a distant\nand sanguinary expedition amongst the mountains against this Indian\nking, Colonel Drake was filled with enthusiasm for this son of\nKadja-sing, known as Djalma. Hardly beyond the age of childhood, this\nyoung prince has in the course of this implacable war given proofs\nof such chivalrous intrepidity, and of so noble a character, that his\nfather has been surnamed the Father of the Generous.'\"\n\n\"That is a touching custom,\" said the count. \"To recompense the father,\nas it were, by giving him a surname in honor of his son, is a great\nidea. But how strange you should have met with this book!\" added the\ncount, in surprise. \"I can understand; there is matter here to inflame\nthe coolest head.\"\n\n\"Oh! you will see, you will see,\" said Adrienne.\n\nThe count continued to read: \"'Colonel Drake, one of the bravest and\nbest officers of the English army, said yesterday, in my presence, that\nhaving been dangerously wounded, and taken prisoner by Prince Djalma,\nafter an energetic resistance, he had been conveyed to the camp\nestablished in the village of--\"\n\nHere there was the same hesitation on the part of the count, on seeing\na still more barbarous name than the first; so, not wishing to try the\nadventure, he paused, and said to Adrienne, \"Now really, I give this\nup.\"\n\n\"And yet it is so easy!\" replied Adrienne; and she pronounced with\ninexpressible softness, a name in itself soft, \"The village of\nShumshabad.\"\n\n\"You appear to have an infallible process for remembering geographical\nnames,\" said the count, continuing: \"'Once arrived at the camp, Colonel\nDrake received the kindest hospitality, and Prince Djalma treated\nhim with the respect of a son. It was there that the colonel became\nacquainted with some facts, which carried to the highest pitch his\nenthusiasm for prince Djalma. I heard him relate the two following.\n\n\"'In one of the battles, the prince was accompanied by a young Indian of\nabout twelve years of age, whom he loved tenderly, and who served him\nas a page, following him on horseback to carry his spare weapons.\nThis child was idolized by its mother; just as they set out on the\nexpedition, she had entrusted her son to Prince Djalma's care, saying,\nwith a stoicism worthy of antiquity, \"Let him be your brother.\" \"He\nshall be my brother,\" had replied the prince. In the height of a\ndisastrous defeat, the child is severely wounded, and his horse killed;\nthe prince, at peril of his life, notwithstanding the perception of a\nforced retreat, disengages him, and places him on the croup of his own\nhorse; they are pursued; a musket-ball strikes their steed, who is just\nable to reach a jungle, in the midst of which, after some vain efforts,\nhe falls exhausted. The child is unable to walk, but the prince carries\nhim in his arms, and hides with him in the thickest part of the jungle.\nThe English arrive, and begin their search; but the two victims escape.\nAfter a night and a day of marches, counter-marches, stratagems,\nfatigues, unheard-of perils, the prince, still, carrying the child, one\nof whose legs is broken, arrives at his father's camp, and says, with\nthe utmost simplicity, \"I had promised his mother that I would act a\nbrother's part by him--and I have done so.\"'\n\n\"That is admirable!\" cried the count.\n\n\"Go on--pray go on!\" said Adrienne, drying a tear, without removing\nher eyes from the bas-relief, which she continued to contemplate with\ngrowing adoration.\n\nThe count continued: \"'Another time, Prince Djalma, followed by two\nblack slaves, went, before sunrise, to a very wild spot, to seize a\ncouple of tiger cubs only a few days old. The den had been previously\ndiscovered. The two old tigers were still abroad. One of the blacks\nentered the den by a narrow aperture; the other, aided by Djalma,\ncut down a tolerably large tree, to prepare a trap for one of the old\ntigers. On the side of the aperture, the cavern was exceedingly steep.\nThe prince mounted to the top of it with agility, to set his trap, with\nthe aid of the other black. Suddenly, a dreadful roar was heard; and, in\na few bounds, the tigress, returning from the chase, reached the opening\nof the den. The black who was laying the trap with the prince had his\nskull fractured by her bite; the tree, falling across the entrance,\nprevented the female from penetrating the cavern, and at the same time\nstopped the exit of the black who had seized the cubs.\n\n\"'About twenty feet higher, upon a ledge of rock, the prince lay flat\non the ground, looking down upon this frightful spectacle. The tigress,\nrendered furious by the cries of her little ones, gnawed the hands of\nthe black, who, from the interior of the den, strove to support\nthe trunk of the tree, his only rampart, whilst he uttered the most\nlamentable outcries.'\n\n\"It is horrible!\" said the count.\n\n\"Oh! go on! pray go on!\" exclaimed Adrienne, with excitement; \"you will\nsee what can be achieved by the heroism of goodness.\"\n\nThe count pursued: \"'Suddenly the prince seized his dagger between his\nteeth, fastened his sash to a block of stone, took his axe in one hand,\nand with the other slid down this substitute for a rope; falling a few\nsteps from the wild beast, he sprang upon her, and, swift as lightning,\ndealt her two mortal strokes, just as the black, losing his strength,\nwas about to drop the trunk of the tree, sure to have been torn to\npieces.'\"\n\n\"And you are astonished at his resemblance with the demi-god, to whom\nfable itself ascribes no more generous devotion!\" cried the young lady,\nwith still increasing excitement.\n\n\"I am astonished no longer, I only admire,\" said the count, in a voice\nof emotion; \"and, at these two noble instances of heroism, my heart\nbeats with enthusiasm, as if I were still twenty.\"\n\n\"And the noble heart of this traveller beat like yours at the recital,\"\nsaid Adrienne; \"you will see.\"\n\n\"'What renders so admirable the intrepidity of the prince, is, that,\naccording to the principle of Indian castes, the life of a slave is of\nno importance; thus a king's son, risking his life for the safety of\na poor creature, so generally despised, obeyed an heroic and truly\nChristian instinct of charity, until then unheard of in this country.\"\n\n\"'Two such actions,' said Colonel Drake, with good reason, 'are\nsufficient to paint the man; it is with a feeling of profound respect\nand admiration, therefore, that I, an obscure traveller, have written\nthe name of Prince Djalma in my book; and at the same time, I have\nexperienced a kind of sorrow, when I have asked myself what would be the\nfuture fate of this prince, buried in the depths of a savage country,\nalways devastated by war. However humble may be the homage that I pay\nto this character, worthy of the heroic age, his name will at least be\nrepeated with generous enthusiasm by all those who have hearts that beat\nin sympathy with what is great and noble.'\"\n\n\"And just now, when I read those simple and touching lines,\" resumed\nAdrienne, \"I could not forbear pressing my lips to the name of the\ntraveller.\"\n\n\"Yes; he is such as I thought him,\" cried the count, with still more\nemotion, as he returned the book to Adrienne, who rose, with a grave and\ntouching air, and said to him: \"It was thus I wished you to know him,\nthat you might understand my adoration; for this courage, this heroic\ngoodness, I had guessed beforehand, when I was an involuntary listener\nto his conversation. From that moment, I knew him to be generous as\nintrepid, tender and sensitive as energetic and resolute; and when I saw\nhim so marvellously beautiful--so different, in the noble character of\nhis countenance, and even in the style of his garments, from all I had\nhitherto met with--when I saw the impression that I made upon him, and\nwhich I perhaps felt still more violently--I knew that my whole life was\nbound up with his love.\"\n\n\"And now, what are your plans?\"\n\n\"Divine, radiant as my heart. When he learns his happiness, I wish that\nDjalma should feel dazzled as I do, so as to prevent my gazing on my\nsun; for I repeat, that until tomorrow will be a century to me. Yes, it\nis strange! I should have thought that after such a discovery, I should\nfeel the want of being left alone, plunged in an ocean of delicious\ndreams. But no! from this time till to-morrow--I dread solitude--I\nfeel a kind of feverish impatience--uneasy--ardent--Oh! where is the\nbeneficent fairy, that, touching me with her wand, will lull me into\nslumber till to-morrow!\"\n\n\"I will be that beneficent fairy,\" said the count, smiling.\n\n\"You?\"\n\n\"Yes, I.\"\n\n\"And how so?\"\n\n\"The power of my wand is this: I will relieve you from a portion of your\nthoughts by making them materially visible.\"\n\n\"Pray explain yourself.\"\n\n\"And my plan will have another advantage for you. Listen to me; you\nare so happy now that you can hear anything. Your odious aunt, and her\nequally odious friends, are spreading the report that your residence\nwith Dr. Baleinier--\"\n\n\"Was rendered necessary by the derangement of my mind,\" said Adrienne,\nwith a smile; \"I expected that.\"\n\n\"It is stupid enough; but, as your resolution to live alone makes many\nenvious of you, and many hostile, you must feel that there will be no\nwant of persons ready to believe the most absurd calumny possible.\"\n\n\"I hope as much. To pass for mad in the eyes of fools is very\nflattering.\"\n\n\"Yes; but to prove to fools that they are fools, and that in the face\nof all Paris, is much more amusing. Now, people begin to talk of your\nabsence; you have given up your daily rides; for some time my niece has\nappeared alone in our box at the Opera; you wish to kill the time till\nto-morrow--well! here is an excellent opportunity. It is two o'clock;\nat halfpast three, my niece will come in the carriage; the weather is\nsplendid; there is sure to be a crowd in the Bois de Boulogne. You can\ntake a delightful ride, and be seen by everybody. Then, as the air and\nmovement will have calmed your fever of happiness, I will commence my\nmagic this evening, and take you to India.\"\n\n\"To India?\"\n\n\"Into the midst of one of those wild forests, in which roar the lion,\nthe panther, and the tiger. We will have this heroic combat, which so\nmoved you just now, under our own eyes, in all its terrible reality.\"\n\n\"Really, my dear count, you must be joking.\"\n\n\"Not at all; I promise to show you real wild beasts, formidable tenants\nof the country of our demigod--growling tigers--roaring lions--do you\nnot think that will be better than books?\"\n\n\"But how?\"\n\n\"Come! I must give you the secret of my supernatural power. On returning\nfrom your ride, you shall dine with my niece, and we will go together\nto a very curious spectacle now exhibiting at the Porte-Saint-Martin\nTheatre. A most extraordinary lion-tamer there shows you a number of\nwild beasts, in a state of nature, in the midst of a forest (here only\ncommences the illusion), and has fierce combats with them all--tigers,\nlions, and panthers. All Paris is crowding to these representations, and\nall Paris will see you there, more charming than ever.\"\n\n\"I accept your offer,\" said Adrienne, with childish delight. \"Yes,\nyou are right. I feel a strange pleasure in beholding these ferocious\nmonsters, who will remind me of those that my demi-god so heroically\novercame. I accept also, because, for the first time in my life, I am\nanxious to be admired--even by everybody. I accept finally because--\"\nHere Mdlle. de Cardoville was interrupted by a low knock at the door,\nand by the entrance of Florine, who announced M. Rodin.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X. THE EXECUTION.\n\nRodin entered. A rapid glance at Mdlle. de Cardoville and M. de Montbron\ntold him at once that he was in a dilemma. In fact, nothing could be\nless encouraging than the faces of Adrienne and the count. The latter,\nwhen he disliked people, exhibited his antipathy, as we have already\nsaid, by an impertinently aggressive manner, which had before now\noccasioned a good number of duels. At sight of Rodin, his countenance at\nonce assumed a harsh and insolent expression; resting his elbow on the\nchimney-piece, and conversing with Adrienne, he looked disdainfully over\nhis shoulder, without taking the least notice of the Jesuit's low bow.\nOn the other hand, at sight of this man, Mdlle. de Cardoville almost\nfelt surprise, that she should experience no movement of anger or\nhatred. The brilliant flame which burned in her heart, purified it from\nevery vindictive sentiment. She smiled, on the contrary; for, glancing\nwith gentle pride at the Indian Bacchus, and then at herself, she asked\nherself what two beings, so young, and fair, and free, and loving,\ncould have to fear from this old, sordid man, with his ignoble and base\ncountenance, now advancing towards her with the writhing of a reptile.\nIn a word, far from feeling anger or aversion with regard to Rodin, the\nyoung lady seemed full of the spirit of mocking gayety, and her large\neyes, already lighted up with happiness, now sparkled with irony and\nmischief. Rodin felt himself ill at ease. People of his stamp greatly\nprefer violent to mocking enemies. They can encounter bursts of\nrage--sometimes by falling on their knees, weeping, groaning, and\nbeating their breasts--sometimes by turning on their adversary, armed\nand implacable. But they are easily disconcerted by biting raillery; and\nthus it was with Rodin. He saw that between Adrienne de Cardoville and\nM. de Montbron, he was about to be placed in what is vulgarly termed a\n\"regular fix.\"\n\nThe count opened the fire; still glancing over his shoulder, he said to\nRodin: \"Ah! you are here, my benevolent gentleman!\"\n\n\"Pray, sir, draw a little nearer,\" said Adrienne, with a mocking smile.\n\"Best of friends and model of philosophers--as well as declared enemy of\nall fraud and falsehood--I have to pay you a thousand compliments.\"\n\n\"I accent anything from you, my dear young lady, even though\nundeserved,\" said the Jesuit, trying to smile, and thus exposing his\nvile yellow teeth; \"but may I be informed how I have earned these\ncompliments?\"\n\n\"Your penetration, sir, which is rare--\" replied Adrienne.\n\n\"And your veracity, sir,\" said the count, \"which is perhaps no less\nrare--\"\n\n\"In what have I exhibited my penetration, my dear young lady?\" said\nRodin, coldly. \"In what my veracity?\" added he, turning towards M. de\nMontbron.\n\n\"In what, sir?\" said Adrienne. \"Why, you have guessed a secret\nsurrounded by difficulties and mystery. In a word, you have known how to\nread the depths of a woman's heart.\"\n\n\"I, my dear young lady?\"\n\n\"You, sir! rejoice at it, for your penetration has had the most\nfortunate results.\"\n\n\"And your veracity has worked wonders,\" added the count.\n\n\"It is pleasant to do good, even without knowing it,\" said Rodin, still\nacting on the defensive, and throwing side glances by turns on the count\nand Adrienne; \"but will you inform me what it is that deserves this\npraise--\"\n\n\"Gratitude obliges me to inform you of it,\" said Adrienne, maliciously;\n\"you have discovered, and told Prince Djalma, that I was passionately in\nlove. Well! I admire your penetration; it was true.\"\n\n\"You have also discovered, and told this lady, that Prince Djalma\nwas passionately in love,\" resumed the count. \"Well! I admire your\npenetration, my dear sir; it was true.\"\n\nRodin looked confused, and at a loss for a reply.\n\n\"The person that I loved so passionately,\" said Adrienne, \"was the\nprince.\"\n\n\"The person that the prince loved so passionately,\" resumed the count,\n\"was this lady.\"\n\nThese revelations, so sudden and alarming, almost stunned Rodin; he\nremained mute and terrified, thinking of the future.\n\n\"Do you understand now, sir, the extent of our gratitude towards\nyou?\" resumed Adrienne, in a still more mocking tone. \"Thanks to your\nsagacity, thanks to the touching interest you take in us, the prince and\nI are indebted to you for the knowledge of our mutual sentiments.\"\n\nThe Jesuit had now gradually recovered his presence of mind, and\nhis apparent calmness greatly irritated M. de Montbron, who, but for\nAdrienne's presence, would have assumed another tone than jests.\n\n\"There is some mistake,\" said Rodin, \"in what you have done me the honor\nto tell me, my dear young lady. I have never in my life spoken of the\nsentiments, however worthy and respectable, that you may entertain for\nPrince Djalma--\"\n\n\"That is true,\" replied Adrienne; \"with scrupulous and exquisite\ndiscretion, whenever you spoke to me of the deep love felt by Prince\nDjalma, you carried your reserve and delicacy so far as to inform me\nthat it was not I whom he loved.\"\n\n\"And the same scruple induced you to tell the prince that Mdlle. de\nCardoville loved some one passionately--but that he was not the person,\"\nadded the count.\n\n\"Sir,\" answered Rodin, dryly, \"I need hardly tell you that I have no\ndesire to mix myself up with amorous intrigues.\"\n\n\"Come! this is either pride or modesty,\" said the count, insolently.\n\"For your own interest, pray do not advance such things; for, if we took\nyou at your word, and it became known, it might injure some of the nice\nlittle trades that you carry on.\"\n\n\"There is one at least,\" said Rodin, drawing himself up as proudly as\nM. de Montbron, \"whose rude apprenticeship I shall owe to you. It is the\nwearisome one of listening to your discourse.\"\n\n\"I tell you what, my good sir!\" replied the count, disdainfully: \"you\nforce me to remind you that there are more ways than one of chastising\nimpudent rogues.\"\n\n\"My dear count!\" said Adrienne to M. de Montbron, with an air of\nreproach.\n\nWith perfect coolness, Rodin replied: \"I do not exactly see, sir, first,\nwhat courage is shown by threatening a poor old man like myself, and,\nsecondly--\"\n\n\"M. Rodin,\" said the count, interrupting the Jesuit, \"first, a poor old\nman like you, who does evil under the shelter of the age he dishonors,\nis both cowardly and wicked, and deserves a double chastisement;\nsecondly, with regard to this question of age, I am not aware that\ngamekeepers and policemen bow down respectfully to the gray coats of old\nwolves, and the gray hairs of old thieves. What do you think, my good\nsir?\"\n\nStill impassible, Rodin raised his flabby eyelids, fixed for hardly a\nsecond his little reptile eye upon the count, and darted at him one of\nhis rapid, cold, and piercing glances--and then the livid eyelid again\ncovered the dull eye of that corpse-like face.\n\n\"Not having the disadvantage of being an old wolf, and still less an\nold thief,\" said Rodin, quietly, \"you will permit me, sir, to take no\naccount of the pursuit of hunters and police. As for the reproaches made\nme, I have a very simple method of answering--I do not say of justifying\nmyself--I never justify myself--\"\n\n\"You don't say!\" said the count.\n\n\"Never,\" resumed Rodin coolly; \"my acts are sufficient for that. I\nwill then simply answer that seeing the deep, violent, almost fearful\nimpression made by this lady on the prince--\"\n\n\"Let this assurance which you give me of the prince's love,\" said\nAdrienne interrupting Rodin with an enchanting smile, \"absolve you of\nall the evil you wished to do me. The sight of our happiness be your\nonly punishment!\"\n\n\"It may be that I need neither absolution nor punishment, for, as I have\nalready had the honor to observe to the count, my dear young lady, the\nfuture will justify my acts. Yes; it was my duty to tell the prince that\nyou loved another than himself, and to tell you that he loved another\nthan yourself--all in your mutual interest. That my attachment for you\nmay have misled me, is possible--I am not infallible; but, after my past\nconduct towards you, my dear young lady, I have, perhaps, some right to\nbe astonished at seeing myself thus treated. This is not a complaint. If\nI never justify myself, I never complain either.\"\n\n\"Now really, there is something heroic in all this, my good sir,\" said\nthe count. \"You do not condescend to complain or justify yourself, with\nregard to the evil you have done.\"\n\n\"The evil I have done?\" said Rodin, looking fixedly at the count. \"Are\nwe playing at enigmas?\"\n\n\"What, sir!\" cried the count, with indignation: \"is it nothing, by your\nfalsehoods, to have plunged the prince into so frightful a state of\ndespair, that he has twice attempted his life? Is it nothing, by similar\nfalsehoods, to have induced this lady to believe so cruel and complete\nan error, that but for the resolution I have to-day taken, it might have\nled to the most fatal consequences?\"\n\n\"And will you do me the honor to tell me, sir, what interest I could\nhave in all this despair and error, admitting even that I had wished to\nproduce them?\"\n\n\"Some great interest no doubt,\" said the count, bluntly; \"the more\ndangerous that it is concealed. You are one of those, I see, to whom the\nwoes of others are pleasure and profit.\"\n\n\"That is really too much, sir,\" said Rodin, bowing; \"I should be quite\ncontented with the profit.\"\n\n\"Your impudent coolness will not deceive me; this is a serious matter,\"\nsaid the count. \"It is impossible that so perfidious a piece of roguery\ncan be an isolated act. Who knows but this may still be one of the\nfruits of Madame de Saint-Dizier's hatred for Mdlle. de Cardoville?\"\n\nAdrienne had listened to the preceding discussion with deep attention.\nSuddenly she started, as if struck by a sudden revelation.\n\nAfter a moment's silence, she said to Rodin, without anger, without\nbitterness, but with an expression of gentle and serene calmness: \"We\nare told, sir, that happy love works miracles. I should be tempted\nto believe it; for, after some minutes' reflection, and when I recall\ncertain circumstances, your conduct appears to me in quite a new light.\"\n\n\"And what may this new perspective be, my dear young lady?\"\n\n\"That you may see it from my point of view, sir, allow me to remind you\nof a few facts. That sewing-girl was generously devoted to me; she had\ngiven me unquestionable proofs of her attachment. Her mind was equal\nto her noble heart; but she had an invincible dislike to you. All on a\nsudden she disappears mysteriously from my house, and you do your\nbest to cast upon her odious suspicions. M. de Montbron has a paternal\naffection for me; but, as I must confess, little sympathy for you; and\nyou have always tried to produce a coldness between us. Finally, Prince\nDjalma has a deep affection for me, and you employ the most perfidious\ntreachery to kill that sentiment within him. For what end do you act\nthus? I do not know; but certainly with some hostile design.\"\n\n\"It appears to me, madame,\" said Rodin, severely, \"that you have\nforgotten services performed.\"\n\n\"I do not deny, sir, that you took me from the house of Dr. Baleinier;\nbut, a few days sooner or later, I must infallibly have been released by\nM. de Montbron.\"\n\n\"You are right, my dear child,\" said the count; \"it may be that your\nenemies wished to claim the merit of what must necessarily have happened\nthrough the exertions of your friends.\"\n\n\"You are drowning, and I save you--it is all a mistake to feel\ngrateful,\" said Rodin, bitterly; \"some one else would no doubt have\nsaved you a little later.\"\n\n\"The comparison is wanting in exactness,\" said Adrienne, with a smile;\n\"a lunatic asylum is not a river, and though, from what I see, I think\nyou quite capable of diving, you have had no occasion to swim on this\noccasion. You merely opened a door for me, which would have opened of\nitself a little later.\"\n\n\"Very good, my dear child!\" said the count, laughing heartily at\nAdrienne's reply.\n\n\"I know, sir, that your care did not extend to me only. The daughters\nof Marshal Simon were brought back by you; but we may imagine that the\nclaim of the Duke de Ligny to the possession of his daughters would not\nhave been in vain. You returned to an old soldier his imperial cross,\nwhich he held to be a sacred relic; it is a very touching incident.\nFinally, you unmasked the Abbe d'Aigrigny and Dr. Baleinier: but I had\nalready made up my mind to unmask then. However, all this proves that\nyou are a very clever man--\"\n\n\"Oh, madame!\" said Rodin, humbly.\n\n\"Full of resources and invention--\"\n\n\"Oh, madame!\"\n\n\"It is not my fault if, in our long interview at Dr. Baleinier's, you\nbetrayed that superiority of mind which struck me so forcibly, and\nwhich seems to embarrass you so much at present. What would you have,\nsir?--great minds like yours find it difficult to maintain their\nincognito. Yet, as by different ways--oh! very different,\" added the\nyoung lady, maliciously, \"we are tending to the same end (still keeping\nin view our conversation at Dr. Baleinier's), I wish, for the sake of\nour future communion, as you call it, to give you a piece of advice, and\nspeak frankly to you.\"\n\nRodin had listened to Mdlle. de Cardoville with apparent impassibility,\nholding his hat under his arm, and twirling his thumbs, whilst his hands\nwere crossed upon his waistcoat. The only external mark of the intense\nagitation into which he was thrown by the calm words of Adrienne, was\nthat the livid eyelids of the Jesuit, which had been hypocritically\nclosed, became gradually red, as the blood flowed into them.\nNevertheless, he answered Mdlle. de Cardoville in a firm voice, and with\na low bow: \"Good advice and frankness are always excellent things.\"\n\n\"You see, sir,\" resumed Adrienne, with some excitement, \"happy love\nbestows such penetration, such energy, such courage, as enables one to\nlaugh at perils, to detect stratagems, and to defy hatred. Believe me,\nthe divine light which surrounds two loving hearts will be sufficient to\ndisperse all darkness, and reveal every snare. You see, in India--excuse\nmy weakness, but I like to talk of India,\" added the young girl, with\na smile of indescribable grace and meaning--\"in India, when travellers\nsleep at night, they kindle great fires round their ajoupa (excuse this\ntouch of local coloring), and far as extends the luminous circle, it\nputs to flight by its mere brilliancy, all the impure and venomous\nreptiles that shun the day and live only in darkness.\"\n\n\"The meaning of this comparison has quite escaped me,\" said Rodin,\ncontinuing to twirl his thumbs, and half raising his eyelids, which were\ngetting redder and redder.\n\n\"I will speak more plainly,\" said Adrienne, with a smile. \"Suppose,\nsir, that the last is a service which you have rendered me and the\nprince--for you only proceed by way of services--that, I acknowledge, is\nnovel and ingenious.\"\n\n\"Bravo, my dear child!\" said the count, joyfully. \"The execution will be\ncomplete.\"\n\n\"Oh! this is meant for an execution?\" said Rodin, still impassible.\n\n\"No, sir,\" answered Adrienne, with a smile; \"it is a simple conversation\nbetween a poor young girl and an old philosopher, the friend of\nhumanity. Suppose, then, that these frequent services that you have\nrendered to me and mine have suddenly opened my eyes; or, rather,\" added\nthe young girl, in a serious tone, \"suppose that heaven, who gives to\nthe mother the instinct to defend her child, has given me, along with\nhappiness, the instinct to preserve my happiness, and that a vague\npresentiment, by throwing light on a thousand circumstances until now\nobscure, has suddenly revealed to me that, instead of being the friend,\nyou are perhaps, the most dangerous enemy of myself and family.\"\n\n\"So we pass from the execution to suppositions,\" said Rodin, still\nimmovable.\n\n\"And from suppositions, sir, if you must have it, to certainty,\" resumed\nAdrienne, with dignified firmness; \"yes, now I believe that I was for\nawhile your dupe, and I tell you, without hate, without anger, but with\nregret--that it is painful to see a man of your sense and intelligence\nstoop to such machinations, and, after having recourse to so many\ndiabolical manoeuvres, finish at last by being ridiculous; for, believe\nme, there is nothing more ridiculous for a man like you, than to\nbe vanquished by a young girl, who has no weapon, no defence, no\ninstructor, but her love. In a word, sir, I look upon you from to-day as\nan implacable and dangerous enemy; for I half perceive your aim, without\nguessing by what means you will seek to accomplish it, No doubt your\nfuture means will be worthy of the past. Well! in spite of all this,\nI do not fear you. From tomorrow, my family will be informed of\neverything, and an active, intelligent, resolute union will keep us all\nupon our guard, for it doubtless concerns this enormous inheritance, of\nwhich they wish to deprive us. Now, what connection can there be between\nthe wrongs I reproach you with and the pecuniary end proposed? I do\nnot at all know--but you have told me yourself that our enemies are\nso dangerously skillful, and their craft so far-reaching, that we must\nexpect all, be prepared for all. I will remember the lesson. I have\npromised you frankness, sir, and now I suppose you have it.\"\n\n\"It would be an imprudent frankness if I were your enemy,\" said Rodin,\nstill impassible; \"but you also promised me some advice, my dear young\nlady.\"\n\n\"My advice will be short; do not attempt to continue the struggle,\nbecause, you see, there is something stronger than you and yours--it is\na woman's resolve, defending her happiness.\"\n\nAdrienne pronounced these last words with so sovereign a confidence; her\nbeautiful countenance shone, as is it were, with such intrepid joy,\nthat Rodin, notwithstanding his phlegmatic audacity, was for a moment\nfrightened. Yet he did not appear in the least disconcerted; and, after\na moment's silence, he resumed, with an air of almost contemptuous\ncompassion: \"My dear young lady, we may perhaps never meet again; it is\nprobable. Only remember one thing, which I now repeat to you: I never\njustify myself. The future will provide for that. Notwithstanding which,\nmy dear young lady, I am your humble servant;\" and he made her a low\nbow.\n\n\"Count, I beg to salute you most respectfully,\" he added, bowing still\nmore humbly to M. de Montbron; and he went out.\n\nHardly had Rodin left the room than Adrienne ran to her desk, and\nwriting a few hasty lines, sealed the note, and said to M. de Montbron:\n\"I shall not see the prince before to-morrow--as much from superstition\nof the heart as because it is necessary for my plans that this interview\nshould be attended with some little solemnity. You shall know all; but I\nwrite to him on the instant, for, with an enemy like M. Rodin, one must\nbe prepared for all.\"\n\n\"You are right, my dear child; quick! the letter.\" Adrienne gave it to\nhim.\n\n\"I tell him enough,\" said she, \"to calm his grief; and not enough to\ndeprive me of the delicious happiness of the surprise I reserve for to\nmorrow.\"\n\n\"All this has as much sense as heart in it: I will hasten to the\nprince's abode, to deliver your letter. I shall not see him, for I\ncould not answer for myself. But come! our proposed drive, our evening's\namusement, are still to hold good.\"\n\n\"Certainly. I have more need than ever to divert my thoughts till\nto morrow. I feel, too, that the fresh air will do me good, for this\ninterview with M. Rodin has warmed me a little.\"\n\n\"The old wretch! but we will talk further of him. I will hasten to the\nprince's and return with Madame de Morinval, to fetch you to the Champs\nElysees.\"\n\nThe Count de Montbron withdrew precipitately, as joyful at his departure\nas he had been sad on his arrival.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI. THE CHAMPS-ELYSEES\n\nIt was about two hours after the interview of Rodin with Mdlle. de\nCardoville. Numerous loungers, attracted to the Champs-Elysees by the\nserenity of a fine spring day (it was towards the end of the month of\nMarch) stopped to admire a very handsome equipage. A bright-blue open\ncarriage, with white-and-blue wheels, drawn by four superb horses,\nof cream color, with black manes, and harness glittering with silver\nornaments, mounted by two boy postilions of equal size, with black\nvelvet caps, light-blue cassimere jackets with white collars, buckskin\nbreeches, and top-boots; two tall, powdered footmen, also in light-blue\nlivery, with white collars and facings, being seated in the rumble\nbehind.\n\nNo equipage could have been turned out in better style. The horses, full\nof blood, spirit, and vigor, were skillfully managed by the postilions,\nand stepped with singular regularity, gracefully keeping time in their\nmovements, champing their bits covered with foam, and ever and anon\nshaking their cockades of blue and white silk, with long floating ends,\nand a bright rose blooming in the midst.\n\nA man on horseback, dressed with elegant simplicity, keeping at the\nother side of the avenue, contemplated with proud satisfaction\nthis equipage which he had, as it were, created. It was M. de\nBonneville--Adrienne's equerry, as M. de Montbron called him--for the\ncarriage belonged to that young lady. A change had taken place in the\nplan for this magic day's amusement. M. de Montbron had not been able to\ndeliver Mdlle. de Cardoville's note to Prince Djalma. Faringhea had told\nhim that the prince had gone that morning into the country with Marshal\nSimon, and would not be back before evening. The letter should be given\nhim on his arrival. Completely satisfied as to Djalma, knowing that\nhe could find these few lines, which, without informing him of the\nhappiness that awaited him, would at least give him some idea of it,\nAdrienne had followed the advice of M. de Montbron, and gone to the\ndrive in her own carriage, to show all the world that she had quite\nmade up her mind, in spite of the perfidious reports circulated by the\nPrincess de Saint Dizier, to keep to her resolution of living by herself\nin her own way. Adrienne wore a small white bonnet, with a fall of\nblonde, which well became her rosy face and golden hair; her high\ndress of garnet-colored velvet was almost hidden beneath a large green\ncashmere shawl. The young Marchioness de Morinval, who was also very\npretty and elegant, was seated at her right. M. de Montbron occupied the\nfront seat of the carriage.\n\nThose who know the Parisian world, or rather, that imperceptible\nfraction of the world of Paris which goes every fine, sunny day to the\nChamps Elysees, to see and be seen, will understand that the presence\nof Mdlle. de Cardoville on that brilliant promenade was an extraordinary\nand interesting event.\n\nThe world (as it is called) could hardly believe its eyes, on seeing\nthis lady of eighteen, possessed of princely wealth, and belonging to\nthe highest nobility, thus prove to every one, by this appearance in\npublic, that she was living completely free and independent, contrary to\nall custom and received notions of propriety. This kind of emancipation\nappeared something monstrous, and people were almost astonished that\nthe graceful and dignified bearing of the young lady should belie so\ncompletely the calumnies circulated by Madame de Saint-Dizier and her\nfriends, with regard to the pretended madness of her niece. Many beaux,\nprofiting by their acquaintance with the Marchioness de Morinval or M.\nde Montbron, came by turns to pay their respects, and rode for a few\nminutes by the side of the carriage, so as to have an opportunity\nof seeing, admiring, and perhaps hearing, Mdlle. de Cardoville; she\nsurpassed their expectations, by talking with her usual grace and\nspirit. Then surprise and enthusiasm knew no bounds. What had at first\nbeen blamed as an almost insane caprice, was now voted a charming\noriginality, and it only depended on Mdlle. de Cardoville herself, to be\ndeclared from that day the queen of elegance and fashion. The young lady\nunderstood very well the impression she had made; she felt proud and\nhappy, for she thought of Djalma; when she compared him to all these\nmen of fashion, her happiness was the more increased. And, verily, these\nyoung men, most of whom had never quitted Paris, or had ventured at most\nas far as Naples or Baden, looked insignificant enough by the side of\nDjalma, who, at his age, had so many times commanded and combated in\nbloody wars, and whose reputation far courage and generosity, mentioned\nby travellers with admiration, had already reached from India to Paris.\nAnd then, how could these charming exquisites, with their small hats,\ntheir scanty frock-coats, and their huge cravats, compare with the\nIndian prince, whose graceful and manly beauty was still heightened by\nthe splendor of a costume, at once so rich and so picturesque?\n\nOn this happy day, all was joy and love for Adrienne. The sun, setting\nin a splendidly serene sky, flooded the promenade with its golden light.\nThe air was warm. Carriages and horsemen passed and repassed in rapid\nsuccession; a light breeze played with the scarfs of the women, and\nthe plumes in their bonnets; all around was noise, movement, sunshine.\nAdrienne, leaning back in her carriage, amused herself with watching\nthis busy scene, sparkling with Parisian luxury; but, in the vortex\nof this brilliant chaos, she saw in thought the mild, melancholy\ncountenance of Djalma--when suddenly something fell into her lap, and\nshe started. It was a bunch of half-faded violets. At the same instant\nshe heard a child's voice following the carriage, and saying: \"For the\nlove of heaven, my good lady, one little sou!\" Adrienne turned her head,\nand saw a poor little girl, pale and wan, with mild, sorrowful features,\nscarcely covered with rags, holding out her hand, and raising her eyes\nin supplication. Though the striking contrast of extreme misery, side\nby side with extreme luxury, is so common, that it no longer excites\nattention, Adrienne was deeply affected by it. She thought of Mother\nBunch, now, perhaps, the victim of frightful destitution.\n\n\"Ah! at least,\" thought the young lady, \"let not this day be one of\nhappiness for me alone!\"\n\nShe leaned from the carriage-window, and said to the poor child: \"Have\nyou a mother, my dear?\"\n\n\"No, my lady, I have neither father nor mother.\"\n\n\"Who takes care of you?\"\n\n\"No one, my lady. They give me nosegays to sell, and I must bring home\nmoney--or they beat me.\"\n\n\"Poor little thing!\"\n\n\"A sou, my good lady--a sou, for the love of heaven!\" said the child,\ncontinuing to follow the carriage, which was then moving slowly.\n\n\"My dear count,\" said Adrienne, smiling, and addressing M. de Montbron,\n\"you are, unfortunately, no novice at an elopement. Please to stretch\nforth your arms, take up that child with both hands, and lift her into\nthe carriage. We can hide her between Lady de Morinval and myself; and\nwe can drive away before any one perceives this audacious abduction.\"\n\n\"What!\" said the count, in surprise. \"You wish--\"\n\n\"Yes; I beg you to do it.\"\n\n\"What a folly!\"\n\n\"Yesterday, you might, perhaps, have treated this caprice as a folly;\nbut to-day,\" said Adrienne, laying great stress upon the word, and\nglancing at M. de Montbron with a significant air, \"to-day, you should\nunderstand that it is almost a duty.\"\n\n\"Yes, I understand you, good and noble heart!\" said the count,\nwith emotion; while Lady de Morinval, who knew nothing of Mdlle. de\nCardoville's love for Djalma, looked with as much surprise as curiosity\nat the count and the young lady.\n\nM. de Montbron, leaning from the carriage, stretched out his arms\ntowards the child, and said to her: \"Give me your hands, little girl.\"\n\nThough much astonished, the child obeyed mechanically, and held out both\nher little arms; then the count took her by the wrists, and lifted her\nlightly from the ground, which he did the more easily, as the carnage\nwas very low, and its progress by no means rapid. More stupefied than\nfrightened, the child said not a word. Adrienne and Lady de Morinval\nmade room for her to crouch down between them, and the little girl was\nsoon hidden beneath the shawls of the two young women. All this was\nexecuted so quickly, that it was hardly perceived by a few persons\npassing in the side-avenues.\n\n\"Now, my dear count,\" said Adrienne, radiant with pleasure, \"let us make\noff at once with our prey.\"\n\nM. de Montbron half rose, and called to the postilions. \"Home!\" and the\nfour horses started at once into a rapid and regular trot.\n\n\"This day of happiness now seems consecrated, and my luxury is excused,\"\nthought Adrienne; \"till I can again meet with that poor Mother Bunch,\nand from this day I will make every exertion to find her out, her place\nwill at least not be quite empty.\"\n\nThere are often strange coincidences in life. At the moment when this\nthought of the hunchback crossed the mind of Adrienne, a crowd had\ncollected in one of the side-avenues, and other persons soon ran to join\nthe group.\n\n\"Look, uncle!\" said Lady de Morinval; \"how many people are assembled\nyonder. What can it be? Shall we stop, and send to inquire?\"\n\n\"I am sorry, my dear, but your curiosity cannot be satisfied,\" said\nthe count, drawing out his watch; \"it will soon be six o'clock, and the\nexhibition of the wild beasts begin at eight. We shall only just have\ntime to go home and dine. Is not that your opinion, my dear child?\" said\nhe to Adrienne.\n\n\"And yours, Julia?\" said Mdlle. de Cardoville to the marchioness.\n\n\"Oh, certainly!\" answered her friend.\n\n\"I am the less inclined to delay,\" resumed the count, \"as when I have\ntaken you to the Porte-Saint-Martin, I shall be obliged to go for half\nan-hour to my club, to ballot for Lord Campbell, whom I propose.\"\n\n\"Then, Adrienne and I will be left alone at the play, uncle?\"\n\n\"Your husband will go with you, I suppose.\"\n\n\"True, dear uncle; but do not quite leave us, because of that.\"\n\n\"Be sure I shall not: for I am curious as you are to see these terrible\nanimals, and the famous Morok, the incomparable lion-tamer.\"\n\nA few minutes after, Mdlle. de Cardoville's carriage had left the Champs\nElysees, carrying with it the little girl, and directing its course\ntowards the Rue d'Anjou. As the brilliant equipage disappeared from\nthe scene, the crowd, of which we before have spoken, greatly increased\nabout one of the large trees in the Champs-Elysees, and expressions of\npity were heard here and there amongst the groups. A lounger approached\na young man on the skirts of the crowd, and said to him: \"What is the\nmatter, sir?\"\n\n\"I hear it is a poor young girl, a hunchback, that has fallen from\nexhaustion.\"\n\n\"A hunchback! is that all? There will always be enough hunchbacks,\" said\nthe lounger, brutally, with a coarse laugh.\n\n\"Hunchback or not, if she dies of hunger,\" answered the young man,\nscarcely able to restrain his indignation, \"it will be no less sad--and\nthere is really nothing to laugh at, sir.\"\n\n\"Die of hunger! pooh!\" said the lounger, shrugging his shoulders. \"It\nis only lazy scoundrels, that will not work, who die of hunger. And it\nserves them right.\"\n\n\"I wager, sir, there is one death you will never die of,\" cried the\nyoung man, incensed at the cruel insolence of the lounger.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" answered the other, haughtily.\n\n\"I mean, sir, that your heart is not likely to kill you.\"\n\n\"Sir!\" cried the lounger in an angry tone.\n\n\"Well! what, sir?\" replied the young man, looking full in his face.\n\n\"Nothing,\" said the lounger, turning abruptly on his heel, and grumbling\nas he sauntered towards an orange-colored cabriolet, on which was\nemblazoned an enormous coat-of-arms, surmounted by a baron's crest.\nA servant in green livery, ridiculously laced with gold, was standing\nbeside the horse, and did not perceive his master.\n\n\"Are you catching flies, fool?\" said the latter, pushing him with his\ncane. The servant turned round in confusion. \"Sir,\" said he.\n\n\"Will you never learn to call me Monsieur le Baron, rascal?\" cried his\nmaster, in a rage--\"Open the door directly!\"\n\nThe lounger was Baron Tripeaud, the manufacturing baron the\nstock-jobber. The poor hunchback was Mother Bunch, who had, indeed\nfallen with hunger and fatigue, whilst on her way to Mdlle. de\nCardoville's. The unfortunate creature had found courage to brave the\nshame of the ridicule she so much feared, by returning to that house\nfrom which she was a voluntary exile; but this time, it was not for\nherself, but for her sister Cephyse--the Bacchanal Queen, who had\nreturned to Paris the previous day, and whom Mother Bunch now sought,\nthrough the means of Adrienne, to rescue from a most dreadful fate.\n\nTwo hours after these different scenes, an enormous crowd pressed round\nthe doors of the Porte-Saint-Martin, to witness the exercises of Morok,\nwho was about to perform a mock combat with the famous black panther of\nJava, named Death. Adrienne, accompanied by Lord and Lady de Morinval,\nnow stepped from a carriage at the entrance of the theatre. They were to\nbe joined in the course of the evening by M. de Montbron, whom they had\ndropped, in passing, at his club.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII. BEHIND THE SCENES.\n\nThe large theatre of the Porte-Saint-Martin was crowded by an impatient\nmultitude. All Paris had hurried with eager and burning curiosity to\nMorok's exhibition. It is quite unnecessary to say that the lion-tamer\nhad completely abandoned his small taste in religious baubles, which he\nhad so successfully carried on at the White Falcon Inn at Leipsic.\nThere were, moreover, numerous tokens by which the surprising effects\nof Morok's sudden conversion had been blazoned in the most extraordinary\npictures: the antiquated baubles in which he had formerly dealt would\nhave found no sale in Paris. Morok had nearly finished dressing himself,\nin one of the actor's rooms, which had been lent to him. Over a coat of\nmail, with cuishes and brassarts, he wore an ample pair of red trousers,\nfastened round his ankles by broad rings of gilt brass. His long caftan\nof black cloth, embroidered with scarlet and gold, was bound round his\nwaist and wrist by other large rings of gilt metal. This sombre costume\nimparted to him an aspect still more ferocious. His thick and red-haired\nbeard fell in large quantities down to his chest, and a long piece\nof white muslin was folded round his red head. A devout missionary in\nGermany and an actor in Paris, Morok knew as well as his employers, the\nJesuits, how to accommodate himself to circumstances.\n\nSeated in one corner of the room, and contemplating with a sort of\nstupid admiration, was Jacques Rennepont, better known as \"Sleepinbuff\"\n(from the likelihood that he would end his days in rags, or his present\nantipathy to great care in dress). Since the day Hardy's factory had\nbeen destroyed by fire, Jacques had not quitted Morok, passing\nthe nights in excesses, which had no baneful effects on the iron\nconstitution of the lion-tamer. On the other's features, on the\ncontrary, a great alteration was perceptible; his hollow cheeks, marble\npallor, his eyes, by turns dull and heavy, or gleaming with lurid\nfire, betrayed the ravages of debauchery, his parched lips were almost\nconstantly curled by a bitter and sardonic smile. His spirit, once\ngay and sanguine, still struggled against the besotting influence of\nhabitual intoxication. Unfitted for labor, no longer able to forego\ngross pleasures, Jacques sought to drown in wine a few virtuous impulses\nwhich he still possessed, and had sunk so low as to accept without shame\nthe large dole of sensual gratification proffered him by Morok, who paid\nall the expenses of their orgies, but never gave him money, in order\nthat he might be completely dependent on him. After gazing at Morok for\nsome time in amazement, Jacques said to him, in a familiar tone: \"Well,\nyours is a famous trade; you may boast that, at this moment, there are\nnot two men like you in the whole world That's flattering. It's a pity\nyou don't stick to this fine trade.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Why, how is the conspiracy going on, in whose honor you make me keep it\nup all day and all night?\"\n\n\"It is working, but the time is not yet come; that is why I wish to have\nyou always at hand, till the great day. Do you complain?\"\n\n\"Hang it, no!\" said Jacques. \"What could I do? Burnt up with brandy as\nI am, if I wanted to work, I've no longer the strength to do so. I have\nnot, like you, a head of marble, and a body of iron; but as for fuddling\nmyself with gunpowder, instead of anything else, that'll do for me; I'm\nonly fit for that work now--and then, it will drive away thought.\"\n\n\"Oh what kind?\"\n\n\"You know that when I do think, I think only of one thing,\" said\nJacques, gloomily.\n\n\"The Bacchanal queen?--still?\" said Morok, in a disdainful tone.\n\n\"Still! rather: when I shall think of her no longer, I shall be dead--or\nstupefied. Fiend!\"\n\n\"You were never better or more intelligent, you fool!\" replied Morok,\nfastening his turban. The conversation was here interrupted. Morok's\naider entered hastily.\n\nThe gigantic form of this Hercules had increased in width. He was\nhabited like Alcides; his enormous limbs, furrowed with veins as thick\nas whipcord, were covered with a close-fitting flesh-colored garment, to\nwhich a pair of red drawers formed a strong contrast.\n\n\"Why do you rush in like a storm, Goliath?\" said Morok.\n\n\"There's a pretty storm in the house; they are beginning to get\nimpatient, and are calling out like madmen. But if that were all!\"\n\n\"Well, what else?\"\n\n\"Death will not be able to play this evening.\"\n\nMorok turned quickly around. He seemed uneasy. \"Why so?\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"I have just seen her! she's crouching at the bottom of her cage; her\nears lie so close to her head, she looks as if they had been cut off.\nYou know what that means.\"\n\n\"Is that all?\" said Morok, turning to the glass to complete his head\ndress.\n\n\"It's quite enough; she's in one of her tearing fits. Since that night\nin Germany, when she ripped up that old hack of a white horse, I've not\nseen her look so savage! her eyes shine like burning candles.\"\n\n\"Then she must have her fine collar on,\" said Morok, quietly.\n\n\"Her fine collar?\"\n\n\"Yes; her spring-collar.\"\n\n\"And I must be lady's-maid,\" said the giant. \"A nice toilet to attend\nto!\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue!\"\n\n\"That's not all--\" continued Goliath, hesitating.\n\n\"What more?\"\n\n\"I might as well tell you at once.\"\n\n\"Will you speak?\"\n\n\"Well! he is here.\"\n\n\"Who, you stupid brute?\"\n\n\"The Englishman!\"\n\nMorok started; his arms fell powerless by his side. Jacques was struck\nwith the lion-tamer's paleness and troubled countenance.\n\n\"The Englishman!--you have seen him?\" cried Morok, addressing Goliath.\n\"You are quite sure?\"\n\n\"Quite sure. I was looking through the peep-hole in the curtain; I saw\nhim in one of the stage-boxes--he wishes to see things close; he's easy\nto recognize, with his pointed forehead, big nose, and goggle eyes.\"\n\nMorok shuddered again; usually fierce and unmoved, he appeared to be\nmore and more agitated, and so alarmed, that Jacques said to him: \"Who\nis this Englishman?\"\n\n\"He has followed me from Strasburg, where he fell in with me,\" said\nMorok, with visible dejection. \"He travelled with his own horses, by\nshort stages, as I did; stopping where I stopped, so as never to miss\none of my exhibitions. But two days before I arrived at Paris, he left\nme--I thought I was rid of him,\" said Morok, with a sigh.\n\n\"Rid of him!--how you talk!\" replied Jacques, surprised; \"such a good\ncustomer, such an admirer!\"\n\n\"Aye!\" said Morok, becoming more and more agitated; \"this wretch has\nwagered an enormous sum, that I will be devoured in his presence,\nduring one of my performances: he hopes to win his wager--that is why he\nfollows me about.\"\n\nSleepinbuff found the John Bull's idea so amusingly eccentric, that, for\nthe first time since a very long period, he burst into a peal of hearty\nlaughter. Morok, pale with rage, rushed towards him with so menacing an\nair, that Goliath was obliged to interpose.\n\n\"Come, come,\" said Jacques, \"don't be angry; if it is serious, I will\nnot laugh any more.\"\n\nMorok was appeased, and said to Sleepinbuff in a hoarse voice: \"Do you\nthink me a coward?\"\n\n\"No, by heaven!\"\n\n\"Well! And yet this Englishman, with his grotesque face, frightens me\nmore than any tiger or my panther!\"\n\n\"You say so, and I believe it,\" replied Jacques; \"but I cannot\nunderstand why the presence of this man should alarm you.\"\n\n\"But consider, you dull knave!\" cried Morok, \"that, obliged to watch\nincessantly the least movement of the ferocious beast, whom I keep in\nsubjection by my action and my looks, there is something terrible in\nknowing that two eyes are there--always there--fixed--waiting till\nthe least absence of mind shall expose me to be torn in pieces by the\nanimals.\"\n\n\"Now, I understand,\" said Jacques, shuddering in his turn. \"It is\nterrible.\"\n\n\"Yes; for once there, though I may not see this cursed Englishman, I\nfancy I have his two round eyes, fixed and wide open, always before me.\nMy tiger Cain once nearly mutilated my arm, when my attention was drawn\naway by this Englishman, whom the devil take! Blood and thunder!\" cried\nMorok: \"this man will be fatal to me.\" And Morok paced the room in great\nagitation.\n\n\"Besides, Death lays her ears close to her skull,\" said Goliath,\nbrutally. \"If you persist--mind, I tell you--the Englishman will win his\nwager this evening.\"\n\n\"Go away, you brute!--don't vex my head with your confounded\npredictions,\" cried Morok: \"go and prepare Death's collar.\"\n\n\"Well, every one to his taste; you wish the panther to taste you,\" said\nthe giant, stalking heavily away, after this joke.\n\n\"But if you feel these fears,\" said Jacques, \"why do you not say that\nthe panther is ill?\"\n\nMorok shrugged his shoulders, and replied with a sort of feverish\nferocity, \"Have you ever heard of the fierce pleasure of the gamester,\nwho stakes his honor, his life, upon a card? Well! I too--in these daily\nexhibitions where my life is at stake--find a wild, fierce pleasure in\nbraving death, before a crowded assembly, shuddering and terrified at my\naudacity. Yes, even in the fear with which this Englishman inspires me,\nI find, in spite of myself, a terrible excitement, which I abhor, and\nwhich yet subjugates me.\"\n\nAt this moment, the stage-manager entered the room, and interrupted the\nbeast-tamer. \"May we give the signal, M. Morok?\" said the stage-manager.\n\"The overture will not last above ten minutes.\"\n\n\"I am ready,\" said Morok.\n\n\"The police-inspector has just now given orders, that the double chain\nof the panther, and the iron ring riveted to the floor of the stage, at\nthe end of the cavern in the foreground, shall be again examined; and\neverything has been reported quite secure.\"\n\n\"Yes--secure--except for me,\" murmured the beast-tamer.\n\n\"So, M. Morok, the signal may be given?\"\n\n\"The signal may--be given,\" replied Morok. And the manager went out.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII. UP WITH THE CURTAIN.\n\nThe usual bell sounded with solemnity behind the scenes the overture\nbegan, and, to say the truth, but little attention was paid to it. The\ninterior of the theatre offered a very animated view. With the exception\nof two stage-boxes even with the dress circle, one to the left, the\nother to the right of the audience, every seat was occupied. A great\nnumber of very fashionable ladies, attracted, as is always the case, by\nthe strange wildness of the spectacle, filled the boxes. The stalls were\ncrowded by most of the young men who; in the morning, had walked their\nhorses on the Champs-Elysees. The observations which passed from one\nstall to another, will give some idea of their conversation.\n\n\"Do you know, my dear boy, there would not be so crowded or fashionable\nan audience to witness Racine's Athalia?\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly. What is the beggarly howling of an actor, compared to the\nroaring of the lion?\"\n\n\"I cannot understand how the authorities permit this Morok to fasten his\npanther with a chain to an iron ring in the corner of the stage. If the\nchain were to break?\"\n\n\"Talking of broken chains--there's little Mme. de Blinville, who is no\ntigress. Do you see her in the second tier, opposite?\"\n\n\"It becomes her very well to have broken, as you say, the marriage\nchain; she looks very well this season.\"\n\n\"Oh! there is the beautiful Duchess de Saint-Prix; all the world is here\nto-night--I don't speak of ourselves.\"\n\n\"It is a regular opera night--what a festive scene!\"\n\n\"Well, after all, people do well to amuse themselves, perhaps it will\nnot be for long.\"\n\n\"Why so?\"\n\n\"Suppose the cholera were to come to Paris?\"\n\n\"Oh! nonsense!\"\n\n\"Do you believe in the cholera?\"\n\n\"To be sure I do! He's coming from the North, with his walking-stick\nunder his arm.\"\n\n\"The devil take him on the road! don't let us see his green visage\nhere.\"\n\n\"They say he's at London.\"\n\n\"A pleasant journey to him.\"\n\n\"Come, let us talk of something else; it may be a weakness, if you\nplease, but I call this a dull subject.\"\n\n\"I believe you.\"\n\n\"Oh! gentlemen--I am not mistaken--no--it is she!\"\n\n\"Who, then?\"\n\n\"Mdlle. de Cardoville! She is coming into the stage-box with Morinval\nand his wife. It is a complete resuscitation: this morning on the\nChamps-Elysees; in the evening here.\"\n\n\"Faith, you are right! It is Mdlle. de Cardoville.\"\n\n\"Good heaven! how lovely she is!\"\n\n\"Lend me your eyeglass.\"\n\n\"Well, what do you think of her?\"\n\n\"Exquisite--dazzling.\"\n\n\"And in addition to her beauty, an inexhaustible flow of wit, three\nhundred thousand francs a year, high birth, eighteen years of age,\nand--free as air.\"\n\n\"Yes, that is to say, that, provided it pleased her, I might be to\nmorrow--or even to-day--the happiest of men.\"\n\n\"It is enough to turn one's brain.\"\n\n\"I am told that her mansion, Rue d'Anjou, is like an enchanted palace; a\ngreat deal is said about a bath-room and bedroom, worthy of the Arabian\nNights.\"\n\n\"And free as air--I come back to that.\"\n\n\"Ah! if I were in her place!\"\n\n\"My levity would be quite shocking.\"\n\n\"Oh! gentlemen, what a happy man will he be who is loved first!\"\n\n\"You think, then, that she will have many lovers?\"\n\n\"Being as free as air--\"\n\n\"All the boxes are full, except the stage-box opposite to that in which\nMdlle. de Cardoville is seated. Happy the occupiers of that box!\"\n\n\"Did you see the English ambassador's lady in the dress circle?\"\n\n\"And the Princess d'Alvimar--what an enormous bouquet!\"\n\n\"I should like to know the name--of that nosegay.\"\n\n\"Oh!--it's Germigny.\"\n\n\"How flattering for the lions and tigers, to attract so fashionable an\naudience.\"\n\n\"Do you notice, gentlemen, how all the women are eye-glassing Mdlle. de\nCardoville?\"\n\n\"She makes a sensation.\"\n\n\"She is right to show herself; they gave her out as mad.\"\n\n\"Oh! gentlemen, what a capital phiz!\"\n\n\"Where--where?\"\n\n\"There--in the omnibus-box beneath Mdlle. de Cardoville's.\"\n\n\"It's a Nuremburg nutcracker.\"\n\n\"An ourang-outang!\"\n\n\"Did you ever see such round, staring eyes?\"\n\n\"And the nose!\"\n\n\"And the forehead!\"\n\n\"It's a caricature.\"\n\n\"Order, order! the curtain rises.\"\n\nAnd, in fact, the curtain rose. Some explanation is necessary for the\nclear understanding of what follows. In the lower stage-box, to the left\nof the audience, were several persons, who had been referred to by the\nyoung men in the stalls. The omnibus-box was occupied by the Englishman,\nthe eccentric and portentous bettor, whose presence inspired Morok with\nso much dread.\n\nIt would require Hoffman's rare and fantastic genius to describe\nworthily that countenance, at once grotesque and frightful, as it stood\nout from the dark background of the box. This Englishman was about fifty\nyears old; his forehead was quite bald, and of a conical shape; beneath\nthis forehead, surmounted by eyebrows like parenthesis marks, glittered\nlarge, green eyes, remarkably round and staring, and set very close to a\nhooked nose, extremely sharp and prominent; a chin like that on the old\nfashioned nutcrackers was half-hidden in a broad and ample white cravat,\nas stiffly-starched as the round-cornered shirt-collar, which nearly\ntouched his ears. The face was exceedingly thin and bony, and yet the\ncomplexion was high-colored, approaching to purple, which made the\nbright green of the pupils, and the white of the other part of the\neyes, still more conspicuous. The mouth, which was very wide, sometimes\nwhistled inaudibly the tune of a Scotch jig (always the same tune),\nsometimes was slightly curled with a sardonic smite. The Englishman was\ndressed with extreme care; his blue coat, with brass buttons, displayed\nhis spotless waistcoat, snowy, white as his ample cravat; his shirt was\nfastened with two magnificent ruby studs, and his patrician hands were\ncarefully kid gloved.\n\nTo any one who knew the eccentric and cruel desire which attracted this\nman to every representation, his grotesque face became almost terrific,\ninstead of exciting ridicule; and it was easy to understand the dread\nexperience by Morok at sight of those great, staring round eyes, which\nappeared to watch for the death of the lion-tamer (what a horrible\ndeath!) with unshaken confidence. Above the dark box of the Englishman,\naffording a graceful contrast, were seated the Morinvals and Mdlle.\nde Cardoville. The latter was placed nearest the stage. Her head was\nuncovered, and she wore a dress of sky-blue China crepe, ornamented at\nthe bosom with a brooch of the finest Oriental pearls--nothing more; yet\nAdrienne, thus attired, was charming. She held in her hand an enormous\nbouquet, composed of the rarest flowers of India: the stephanotis and\nthe gardenia mingled the dead white of their blossoms with the purple\nhibiscus and Java amaryllis.\n\nMadame de Morinval, seated on the opposite side of the box, was dressed\nwith equal taste and simplicity; Morinval, a fair and very handsome\nyoung man, of elegant appearance, was behind the two ladies. M. de\nMontbron was expected to arrive every moment. The reader will please\nto recollect that the stage-box to the right of the audience, opposite\nAdrienne's, had remained till then quite empty. The stage represented\none of the gigantic forests of India. In the background, tall exotic\ntrees rose in spiral or spreading forms, among rugged masses of\nperpendicular rocks, with here and there glimpses of a tropical sky. The\nside-scenes formed tufts of trees, interspersed with rocks; and at the\nside which was immediately beneath Adrienne's box appeared the irregular\nopening of a deep and gloomy cavern, round which were heaped huge blocks\nof granite, as if thrown together by some convulsion of nature. This\nscenery, full of a wild and savage grandeur, was wonderfully \"built up,\"\nso as to make the illusion as complete as possible; the footlights\nwere lowered, and being covered with a purple shade, threw over this\nlandscape a subdued reddish light, which increased the gloomy and\nstartling effect of the whole. Adrienne, leaning forward from the box,\nwith cheeks slightly flushed, sparkling eyes, and throbbing heart,\nsought to trace in this scene the solitary forest described by the\ntraveller who had eulogized Djalma's generosity and courage, when he\nthrew himself upon a ferocious tigress to save the life of a poor black\nslave. Chance coincided wonderfully indeed with her recollections.\nAbsorbed in the contemplation of the scenery and the thoughts it\nawakened in her heart, she paid no attention to what was passing in the\nhouse. And yet something calculated to excite curiosity was taking place\nin the opposite stage-box.\n\nThe door of this box opened. A man about forty years of age, of a yellow\ncomplexion, entered; he was clothed after the East Indian fashion, in a\nlong robe of orange silk, bound round the waist with a green sash, and\nhe wore a small white turban. He placed two chairs at the front of the\nbox; and, having glanced round the house for a moment, he started, his\nblack eyes sparkled, and he went out quickly. That man was Faringhea.\nHis apparition caused surprise and curiosity in the theatre; the\nmajority of the spectators not having, like Adrienne, a thousand reasons\nfor being absorbed in the contemplation of a picturesque set scene.\nThe public attention was still more excited when they saw the box which\nFaringhea had just left, entered by a youth of rare beauty, also dressed\nOriental fashion, in a long robe of white Cashmere with flowing sleeves,\nwith a scarlet turban striped with gold on his head, and a sash to\ncorrespond, in which was stuck a long dagger, glittering with precious\nstones. This young man was Prince Djalma. For an instant he remained\nstanding at the door, and cast a look of indifference upon the immense\ntheatre, crowded with people; then, stepping forward with a majestic\nand tranquil air, the prince seated himself negligently on one of the\nchairs, and, turning his head in a few moments towards the entrance,\nappeared surprised at not seeing some person whom he doubtless expected.\nThis person appeared at length; the boxkeeper had been assisting her to\ntake off her cloak. She was a charming, fair-haired girl, attired\nwith more show than taste, in a dress of white silk, with broad\ncherry-colored stripes, made ultra fashionably low, and with short\nsleeves; a large bow of cherry-colored ribbon was placed on each side\nof her light hair, and set off the prettiest, sprightliest, most wilful\nlittle face in the world.\n\nIt was Rose-Pompon. Her pretty arms were partly covered by long white\ngloves, and ridiculously loaded with bracelets: in her hand she carried\nan enormous bouquet of roses.\n\nFar from imitating the calm demeanor of Djalma, Rose-Pompon skipped into\nthe box, moved the chairs about noisily, and fidgeted on her seat for\nsome time, to display her fine dress; then, without being in the least\nintimidated by the presence of the brilliant assembly, she, with a\nlittle coquettish air, held her bouquet towards Djalma, that he might\nsmell it, and appeared finally to establish herself on her seat.\nFaringhea came in, shut the door of the box, and seated himself behind\nthe prince. Adrienne, still completely absorbed in the contemplation of\nthe Indian forest, and in her own sweet thoughts, had not observed the\nnewcomers. As she was turning her head completely towards the stage, and\nDjalma could not, for the moment, see even her profile, he, on his side,\nhad not recognized Mdlle. de Cardoville.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV. DEATH.\n\nThe pantomime opening, by which was introduced the combat of Morok with\nthe black panther, was so unmeaning, that the majority of the audience\npaid no attention to it, reserving all their interest for the scene in\nwhich the lion-tamer was to make his appearance.\n\nThis indifference of the public explains the curiosity excited in\nthe theatre by the arrival of Faringhea and Djalma--a curiosity which\nexpressed itself (as at this day, when uncommon foreigners appear in\npublic) by a slight murmur and general movement amongst the crowd. The\nsprightly, pretty face of Rose-Pompon, always charming, in spite of her\nsingularly staring dress, in style so ridiculous for such a theatre,\nand her light and familiar manner towards the handsome Indian who\naccompanied her, increased and animated the general surprise; for, at\nthis moment, Rose-Pompon, yielding without reserve to a movement of\nteasing coquetry, had held up, as we have already stated, her large\nbunch of roses to Djalma. But the prince, at sight of the landscape\nwhich reminded him of his country, instead of appearing sensible to this\npretty, provocation, remained for some minutes as in a dream, with his\neyes fixed upon the stage. Then Rose-Pompon began to beat time on the\nfront of the box with her bouquet, whilst the somewhat too visible\nmovement of her pretty shoulders showed that this devoted dancer was\nthinking of fast-life dances, as the orchestra struck up a more lively\nstrain.\n\nPlaced directly opposite the box in which Faringhea, Djalma, and Rose\nPompon had just taken their seats, Lady Morinval soon perceived\nthe arrival of these two personages, and particularly the eccentric\ncoquetries of Rose-Pompon. Immediately, the young marchioness, leaning\nover towards Mdlle. de Cardoville, who was still absorbed in memories\nineffable, said to her, laughing: \"My dear, the most amusing part of the\nperformance is not upon the stage. Look just opposite.\"\n\n\"Just opposite?\" repeated Adrienne, mechanically: and, turning towards\nLady Morinval with an air of surprise, she glanced in the direction\npointed out.\n\nShe looked--what did she see?--Djalma seated by the side of a young\nwoman, who was familiarly offering to his sense of smell the perfume\nof her bouquet. Amazed, struck almost literally to the heart, as by an\nelectric shock, swift, sharp, and painful, Adrienne became deadly pale.\nFrom instinct, she shut her eyes for a second, in order not to see--as\nmen try to ward off the dagger, which, having once dealt the blow,\nthreatens to strike again. Then suddenly, to this feeling of grief\nsucceeded a reflection, terrible both to her love and to her wounded\npride.\n\n\"Djalma is present with this woman, though he must have received my\nletter,\" she said to herself,--\"wherein he was informed of the happiness\nthat awaited him.\"\n\nAt the idea of so cruel an insult, a blush of shame and indignation\ndisplaced Adrienne's paleness, who overwhelmed by this sad reality, said\nto herself: \"Rodin did not deceive me.\"\n\nWe abandon all idea of picturing the lightning-like rapidity of certain\nemotions which in a moment may torture--may kill you in the space of a\nminute. Thus Adrienne was precipitated from the most radiant happiness\nto the lowest depths of an abyss of the most heart-rending grief, in\nless than a second; for a second had hardly elapsed before she replied\nto Lady Morinval: \"What is there, then, so curious, opposite to us, my\ndear Julia?\"\n\nThis evasive question gave Adrienne time to recover her self-possession.\nFortunately, thanks to the thick folds of hair which almost entirely\nconcealed her cheeks, the rapid and sudden changes from pallor to blush\nescaped the notice of Lady Morinval, who gayly replied: \"What, my dear,\ndo you not perceive those East Indians, who have just entered the box\nimmediately opposite to ours? There, just before us!\"\n\n\"Yes, I see them; but what then?\" replied Adrienne, in a firm tone.\n\n\"And don't you observe anything remarkable?\" said the marchioness.\n\n\"Don't be too hard, ladies,\" laughingly interposed the marquis; \"we\nought to allow the poor foreigners some little indulgence. They are\nignorant of our manners and customs; were it not for that, they would\nnever appear in the face of all Paris in such dubious company.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" said Adrienne, with a bitter smile, \"their simplicity is\ntouching; we must pity them.\"\n\n\"And, unfortunately, the girl is charming, spite of her low dress and\nbare arms,\" said the marchioness; \"she cannot be more than sixteen or\nseventeen at most. Look at her, my dear Adrienne; what a pity!\"\n\n\"It is one of your charitable days, my dear Julia,\" answered Adrienne;\n\"we are to pity the Indians, to pity this creature, and--pray, whom else\nare we to pity?\"\n\n\"We will not pity that handsome Indian, in his red-and-gold turban,\"\nsaid the marquis, laughing, \"for, if this goes on, the girl with the\ncherry colored ribbons will be giving him a kiss. See how she leans\ntowards her sultan.\"\n\n\"They are very amusing,\" said the marchioness, sharing the hilarity\nof her husband, and looking at Rose-Pompom through her glass; then she\nresumed, in about a minute, addressing herself to Adrienne: \"I am quite\ncertain of one thing. Notwithstanding her giddy airs, that girl is very\nfond of her Indian. I just saw a look that expresses a great deal.\"\n\n\"Why so much penetration, my dear Julia?\" said Adrienne, mildly; \"what\ninterest have we to read the heart of that girl?\"\n\n\"Why, if she loves her sultan, she is quite in the right,\" said the\nmarquis, looking through his opera-glass in turn; \"for, in my whole\nlife, I never saw a more handsome fellow than that Indian. I can only\ncatch his side-face, but the profile is pure and fine as an antique\ncameo. Do you not think so?\" added the marquis, leaning towards\nAdrienne. \"Of course, it is only as a matter of art, that I permit\nmyself to ask you the question.\"\n\n\"As a work of art,\" answered Adrienne, \"it is certainly very fine.\"\n\n\"But see!\" said the marchioness; \"how impertinent the little creature\nis!--She is actually staring at us.\"\n\n\"Well!\" said the marquis; \"and she is actually laying her hand quite\nunceremoniously on her sultan's shoulder, to make him share, no doubt,\nin her admiration of you ladies.\"\n\nIn fact, Djalma, until now occupied with the contemplation of the\nscene which reminded him of his country, had remained insensible to the\nenticements of Rose-Pompon, and had not yet perceived Adrienne.\n\n\"Well, now!\" said Rose-Pompon, bustling herself about in front of the\nbox, and continuing to stare at Mdlle. de Cardoville, for it was she,\nand not the marchioness, who now drew her attention; \"that is something\nquite out of the common way--a pretty woman, with red hair; but such\nsweet red, it must be owned. Look, Prince Charming!\"\n\nAnd so saying, she tapped Djalma lightly on the shoulder; he started at\nthese words, turned round, and for the first time perceived Mdlle. de\nCardoville.\n\nThough he had been almost prepared for this meeting, the prince was so\nviolently affected by it, that he was about involuntarily to rise, in\na state of the utmost confusion; but he felt the iron hand of Faringhea\nlaid heavily on his shoulder, and heard him whisper in Hindostanee:\n\"Courage! and by to-morrow she will be at your feet.\"\n\nAs Djalma still struggled to rise, the half-caste added to restrain him:\n\"Just now, she grew pale and red with jealousy. No weakness, or all is\nlost!\"\n\n\"So! there you are again, talking your dreadful gibberish,\" said Rose\nPompon, turning round towards Faringhea. \"First of all, it is not\npolite; and then the language is so odd, that one might suppose you were\ncracking nuts.\"\n\n\"I spoke of you to my master,\" said the half-caste; \"he is preparing a\nsurprise for you.\"\n\n\"A surprise? oh! that is different. Only make haste--do you hear, Prince\nCharming!\" added she, looking tenderly at Djalma.\n\n\"My heart is breaking,\" said Djalma, in a hollow voice to Faringhea,\nstill using the language of India.\n\n\"But to-morrow it will bound with joy and love,\" answered the\nhalf-caste. \"It is only by disdain that you can conquer a proud woman.\nTo-morrow, I tell you, she will be trembling, confused, supplicating, at\nyour feet!\"\n\n\"To-morrow, she will hate me like death!\" replied the prince,\nmournfully.\n\n\"Yes, were she now to see you weak and cowardly. It is now too late to\ndraw back; look full at her, take the nosegay from this girl, and raise\nit to your lips. Instantly, you will see yonder woman, proud as she is,\ngrow pale and red, as just now. Then will you believe me?\"\n\nReduced by despair to make almost any attempt, and fascinated, in spite\nof himself, by the diabolical hints of Faringhea, Djalma looked for a\nsecond full at Mdlle. de Cardoville; then, with a trembling hand he took\nthe bouquet from Rose-Pompon, and, again looking at Adrienne, pressed it\nto his lips.\n\nUpon this insolent bravado, Mdlle. de Cardoville could not restrain so\nsudden and visible a pang, that the prince was struck by it.\n\n\"She is yours,\" said the half-caste, to him. \"Did you see, my lord, how\nshe trembled with jealousy?--Only have courage! and she is yours. She\nwill soon prefer you to that handsome young man behind her--for it is he\nwhom she has hitherto fancied herself in love with.\"\n\nAs if the half-caste had guessed the movement of rage and hatred, which\nthis revelation would excite in the heart of the prince, he hastily\nadded: \"Calmness and disdain! Is it not his turn now to hate you?\"\n\nThe prince restrained himself, and drew his hand across his forehead\nwhich glowed with anger.\n\n\"There now! what are you telling him, that vexes him so?\" said Rose\nPompon to Faringhea, with pouting lip. Then, addressing Djalma, she\ncontinued: \"Come, Prince Charming, as they say in the fairy-tale, give\nme back my flowers.\"\n\nAs she took it again, she added: \"You have kissed it, and I could almost\neat it.\" Then, with a sigh, and a passionate glance at Djalma, she said\nsoftly to herself: \"That monster Ninny Moulin did not deceive me. All\nthis is quite proper; I have not even that to reproach myself with.\" And\nwith her little white teeth, she bit at a rosy nail of her right hand,\nfrom which she had just drawn the glove.\n\nIt is hardly necessary to say, that Adrienne's letter had not been\ndelivered to the prince, and that he had not gone to pass the day in the\ncountry with Marshal Simon. During the three days in which Montbron had\nnot seen Djalma, Faringhea had persuaded him, that, by affecting another\npassion, he would bring Mdlle. de Cardoville to terms. With regard\nto Djalma's presence at the theatre, Rodin had learned from her maid,\nFlorine, that her mistress was to go in the evening to the Porte-Saint\nMartin. Before Djalma had recognized her, Adrienne, who felt her\nstrength failing her, was on the point of quitting the theatre; the man,\nwhom she had hitherto placed so high, whom she had regarded as a hero\nand a demi-god and whom she had imagined plunged in such dreadful\ndespair, that, led by the most tender pity, she had written to him with\nsimple frankness, that a sweet hope might calm his grief--replied to\na generous mark of sincerity and love, by making himself a ridiculous\nspectacle with a creature unworthy of him. What incurable wounds for\nAdrienne's pride! It mattered little, whether Djalma knew or not, that\nshe would be a spectator of the indignity. But when she saw herself\nrecognized by the prince, when he carried the insult so far as to look\nfull at her, and, at the same time, raise to his lips the creature's\nbouquet who accompanied him, Adrienne was seized with noble indignation,\nand felt sufficient courage to remain: instead of closing her eyes to\nevidence, she found a sort of barbarous pleasure in assisting at the\nagony and death of her pure and divine love. With head erect, proud and\nflashing eye, flushed cheek, and curling lip, she looked in her turn at\nthe prince with disdainful steadiness. It was with a sardonic smile that\nshe said to the marchioness, who, like many others of the spectators\nwas occupied with what was passing in the stage-box: \"This revolting\nexhibition of savage manners is at least in accordance with the rest of\nthe performance.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said the marchioness; \"and my dear uncle will have lost,\nperhaps, the most amusing part.\"\n\n\"Montbron?\" said Adrienne, hastily, with hardly repressed bitterness;\n\"yes, he will regret not having seen all. I am impatient for his\narrival. Is it not to him that I am indebted for his charming evening?\"\n\nPerhaps Madame de Morinval would have remarked the expression of bitter\nirony, that Adrienne could not altogether dissemble, if suddenly a\nhoarse and prolonged roar had net attracted her attention, as well\nas that of the rest of the audience, who had hitherto been quite\nindifferent to the scenes intended for an introduction to the appearance\nof Morok. Every eye was now turned instinctively towards the cavern\nsituated to the left of the stage, just below Mdlle. de Cardoville's\nbox; a thrill of curiosity ran through the house. A second roar, deeper\nand more sonorous, and apparently expressive of more irritation than\nthe first, now rose from the cave, the mouth of which was half-hidden\nby artificial brambles, made so as to be easily put on one side. At this\nsound, the Englishman stood up in his little box, leaned half over the\nfront, and began to rub his hands with great energy; then, remaining\nperfectly motionless, he fixed his large, green, glittering eyes on the\nmouth of the cavern.\n\nAt these ferocious howlings, Djalma also had started, notwithstanding\nthe frenzy of love, hate, and jealousy, to which he was a prey. The\nsight of this forest, and the roarings of the panther, filled him with\ndeep emotion, for they recalled the remembrance of his country, and of\nthose great hunts which, like war, have their own terrible excitement.\nHad he suddenly heard the horns and gongs of his father's army sounding\nto the charge, he could not have been transported with more savage\nardor. And now deep growls, like distant thunder, almost drowned the\nroar of the panther. The lion and tiger, Judas and Cain answered her\nfrom their dens at the back of the stage. On this frightful concert,\nwith which his ears had been familiar in the midst of the solitudes of\nIndia, when he lay encamped, for the purposes of the chase or of war,\nDjalma's blood boiled in his veins. His eyes sparkled with a wild ardor.\nLeaning a little forward, with both hands pressed on the front of the\nbox, his whole body trembled with a convulsive shudder. The audience,\nthe theatre, Adrienne herself no longer existed for him; he was in a\nforest of his own lands, tracking the tiger.\n\nThen there mingled with his beauty so intrepid and ferocious an\nexpression, that Rose-Pompon looked at him with a sort of terror and\npassionate admiration. For the first time in her life, perhaps, her\npretty blue eyes, generally so gay and mischievous; expressed a serious\nemotion. She could not explain what she felt; but her heart seemed\nfrightened, and beat violently, as though some calamity were at hand.\n\nYielding to a movement of involuntary fear, she seized Djalma by the\narm, and said to him: \"Do not stare so into that cavern; you frighten\nme.\"\n\nDjalma did not hear what she said.\n\n\"Here he is! here he is!\" murmured the crowd, almost with one voice, as\nMorok appeared at the back of the stage.\n\nDressed as we have described, Morok now carried in addition a bow and\na long quiver full of arrows. He slowly descended the line of painted\nrocks, which came sloping down towards the centre of the stage. From\ntime to time, he stopped as if to listen, and appeared to advance with\ncaution. Looking from one side to the other, his eyes involuntarily\nencountered the large, green eyes of the Englishman, whose box was close\nto the cavern. Instantly the lion-tamer's countenance was contracted in\nso frightful a manner, that Lady Morinval, who was examining him closely\nwith the aid of an excellent glass, said hastily to Adrienne: \"My dear,\nthe man is afraid. Some misfortune will happen.\"\n\n\"How can accidents happen,\" said Adrienne, with a sardonic smile,\n\"in the midst of this brilliant crowd, so well dressed and full of\nanimation! Misfortunes here, this evening! why, dear Julia, you do not\nthink it. It is in darkness and solitude that misfortunes come--never in\nthe midst of a joyous crowd, and in all this blaze of light.\"\n\n\"Good gracious, Adrienne! take care!\" cried the marchioness, unable to\nrepress an exclamation of alarm, and seizing her arm, as if to draw her\ncloser; \"do you not see it?\" And with a trembling hand, she pointed to\nthe cavern's mouth. Adrienne hastily bent forward, and looked in that\ndirection. \"Take care, do not lean so forward!\" exclaimed Lady Morinval.\n\n\"Your terrors are nonsensical, my dear,\" said the marquis to his wife.\n\"The panther is securely chained; and even were it to break its chains\n(which is impossible), we are here beyond its reach.\"\n\nA long murmur of trembling curiosity here ran through the house, and\nevery eye was intently fixed on the cavern. From amongst the artificial\nbrambles, which she abruptly pushed aside with her broad chest, the\nblack panther suddenly appeared. Twice she stretched forth her flat\nhead, illumined by yellow, flaming eyes; then, half-opening her\nblood-red jaws, she uttered another roar, and exhibited two rows of\nformidable fangs. A double iron chain, and a collar also of iron,\npainted black, blended with the ebon shades of her hide, and with the\ndarkness of the cavern. The illusion was complete, and the terrible\nanimal seemed to be at liberty in her den.\n\n\"Ladies,\" said the marquis, suddenly, \"look at those Indians. Their\nemotion makes them superb!\"\n\nIn fact, the sight of the panther had raised the wild ardor of Djalma\nto its utmost pitch. His eyes sparkled in their pearly orbits like two\nblack diamonds; his upper lip was curled convulsively with an expression\nof animal ferocity, as if he were in a violent paroxysm of rage.\n\nFaringhea, now leaning on the front of the box, was also greatly\nexcited, by reason of a strange coincidence. \"That black panther of so\nrare a breed,\" thought he, \"which I see here at Paris, upon the stage,\nmust be the very one that the Malay\"--the Thug who had tatooed Djalma\nat Java during his sleep--\"took quite young from his den, and sold to a\nEuropean captain. Bowanee's power is everywhere!\" added the Thug, in his\nsanguinary superstition.\n\n\"Do you not think,\" resumed the marquis, addressing Adrienne, \"that\nthose Indians are really splendid in their present attitude?\"\n\n\"Perhaps they may have seen such a hunt in their own country,\" said\nAdrienne, as if she would recall and brave the most cruel remembrances.\n\n\"Adrienne,\" said the marchioness, suddenly, in an agitated voice, \"the\nlion-tamer has now come nearer--is not his countenance fearful to look\nat?--I tell you he is afraid.\"\n\n\"In truth,\" observed the marquis, this time very seriously, \"he is\ndreadfully pale, and seems to grow worse every minute, the nearer he\napproaches this side. It is said that, were he to lose his presence of\nmind for a single moment, he would run the greatest danger.\"\n\n\"O! it would be horrible!\" cried the marchioness, addressing Adrienne,\n\"if he were wounded--there--under our eyes!\"\n\n\"Every wound does not kill,\" replied her friend, with an accent of such\ncold indifference, that the marchioness looked at her with surprise, and\nsaid to her: \"My dear girl, what you say there is cruel!\"\n\n\"It is the air of the place that acts on me,\" answered Adrienne, with an\nicy smile.\n\n\"Look! look! the lion-tamer is about to shoot his arrow at the panther,\"\nsaid the marquis, suddenly. \"No doubt, he will next perform the hand to\nhand grapple.\"\n\nMorok was at this moment in front of the stage, but he had yet to\ntraverse its entire breadth to reach the cavern's mouth. He stopped an\ninstant, adjusted an arrow to the string, knelt down behind a mass of\nrock, took deliberate aim--and then the arrow hissed across the stage,\nand was lost in the depths of the cavern, into which the panther\nhad retired, after showing for a moment her threatening head to the\naudience. Hardly had the arrow disappeared, than Death, purposely\nirritated by Goliath (who was invisible) sent forth a howl of rage, as\nif she had been really wounded. Morok's actions became so expressive,\nhe evinced so naturally his joy at having hit the wild beast, that\na tempest of applause burst from every quarter of the house. Then,\nthrowing away his bow, he drew a dagger from his girdle, took it between\nhis teeth, and began to crawl forward on hands and knees, as though he\nmeant to surprise the wounded panther in his den. To render the illusion\nperfect, Death, again excited by Goliath, who struck him with an iron\nbar, sent forth frightful howlings from the depths of the cavern.\n\nThe gloomy aspect of the forest, only half-lighted with a reddish glare,\nwas so effective--the howlings of the panther were so furious--the\ngestures, attitude, and countenance of Morok were so expressive of\nterror, that the audience, attentive and trembling, now maintained a\nprofound silence. Every one held his breath, and a kind of shudder came\nover the spectators, as though they expected some horrible event. What\ngave such a fearful air of truth to the pantomime of Morok, was that,\nas he approached the cavern step by step, he approached also the\nEnglishman's box. In spite of himself, the lion-tamer, fascinated by\nterror, could not take his eyes from the large green eyes of this man,\nand it seemed as if every one of the abrupt movements which he made in\ncrawling along, was produced by a species of magnetic attraction, caused\nby the fixed gaze of the fatal wagerer. Therefore, the nearer Morok\napproached, the more ghastly and livid he became. At sight of this\npantomime, which was no longer acting, but the real expression of\nintense fear, the deep and trembling silence which had reigned in the\ntheatre was once more interrupted by acclamations, with which were\nmingled the roarings of the panther, and the distant growls of the lion\nand tiger.\n\nThe Englishman leaned almost out of his box, with a frightful sardonic\nsmile on his lip, and with his large eyes still fixed, panted for\nbreath. The perspiration ran down his bald red forehead, as if he had\nreally expended an incredible amount of magnetic power in attracting\nMorok, whom he now saw close to the cavern entrance. The moment was\ndecisive. Crouching down with his dagger in his hand, following with eye\nand gesture Death's every movement, who, roaring furiously, and opening\nwide her enormous jaws, seemed determined to guard the entrance of\nher den, Morok waited for the moment to rush upon her. There is such\nfascination in danger, that Adrienne shared, in spite of herself, the\nfeeling of painful curiosity, mixed with terror, that thrilled through\nall the spectators. Leaning forward like the marchioness, and gazing\nupon this scene of fearful interest, the lady still held mechanically in\nher hand the Indian bouquet preserved since the morning. Suddenly,\nMorok raised a wild shout, as he rushed towards Death, who answered this\nexclamation by a dreadful roar, and threw herself upon her master with\nso much fury, that Adrienne, in alarm, believing the man lost, drew\nherself back, and covered her fact with her hands. Her flowers slipped\nfrom her grasp, and, falling upon the stage, rolled into the cavern in\nwhich Morok was struggling with the panther.\n\nQuick as lightning, supple and agile as a tiger, yielding to the\nintoxication of his love, and to the wild ardor excited in him by the\nroaring of the panther, Djalma sprang at one bound upon the stage, drew\nhis dagger, and rushed into the cavern to recover Adrienne's nosegay. At\nthat instant, Morok, being wounded, uttered a dreadful cry for help; the\npanther, rendered still more furious at sight of Djalma, make the most\ndesperate efforts to break her chain. Unable to succeed in doing so, she\nrose upon her hind legs, in order to seize Djalma, then within reach of\nher sharp claws. It was only by bending down his head, throwing himself\non his knees, and twice plunging his dagger into her belly with the\nrapidity of lightning, that Djalma escaped certain death. The panther\ngave a howl, and fell with her whole weight upon the prince. For a\nsecond, during which lasted her terrible agony, nothing was seen but a\nconfused and convulsive mass of black limbs, and white garments\nstained with blood--and then Djalma rose, pale, bleeding, for he was\nwounded--and standing erect, his eye flashing with savage pride, his\nfoot on the body of the panther, he held in his hand Adrienne's bouquet,\nand cast towards her a glance which told the intensity of his love.\nThen only did Adrienne feel her strength fail her--for only superhuman\ncourage had enabled her to watch all the terrible incidents of the\nstruggle.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK IX. \n\n     XV. The Constant Wanderer XVI. The Luncheon XVII. Rendering\n     the Account XVIII. The Square of Notre Dame XIX. The Cholera\n     Masquerade XX. The Defiance XXI. Brandy to the Rescue XXII.\n     Memories XXIII. The Poisoner XXIV. In the Cathedral XXV. The\n     Murderers XXVI. The Patient XXVII. The Lure XXVIII. Good\n     News XXIX. The Operation XXX. The Torture XXXI. Vice and\n     Virtue XXXII. Suicide\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV. THE CONSTANT WANDERER.\n\nIt is night. The moon shines and the stars glimmer in the midst of a\nserene but cheerless sky; the sharp whistlings of the north wind, that\nfatal, dry, and icy breeze, ever and anon burst forth in violent gusts.\nWith its harsh and cutting breath, it sweeps Montmartre's Heights. On\nthe highest point of the hills, a man is standing. His long shadow is\ncast upon the stony, moon-lit ground. He gazes on the immense city,\nwhich lies outspread beneath his feet. PARIS--with the dark outline of\nits towers, cupolas, domes, and steeples, standing out from the limpid\nblue of the horizon, while from the midst of the ocean of masonry, rises\na luminous vapor, that reddens the starry azure of the sky. It is the\ndistant reflection of the thousand fires, which at night, the hour of\npleasures, light up so joyously the noisy capital.\n\n\"No,\" said the wayfarer; \"it is not to be. The Lord will not exact it.\nIs not twice enough?\n\n\"Five centuries ago, the avenging hand of the Almighty drove me hither\nfrom the uttermost confines of Asia. A solitary traveller, I had left\nbehind me more grief, despair, disaster, and death, than the innumerable\narmies of a hundred devastating conquerors. I entered this town, and it\ntoo was decimated.\n\n\"Again, two centuries ago, the inexorable hand, which leads me through\nthe world, brought me once more hither; and then, as the time before,\nthe plague, which the Almighty attaches to my steps, again ravaged this\ncity, and fell first on my brethren, already worn out with labor and\nmisery.\n\n\"My brethren--mine?--the cobbler of Jerusalem, the artisan accursed by\nthe Lord, who, in my person, condemned the whole race of workmen,\never suffering, ever disinherited, ever in slavery, toiling on like me\nwithout rest or pause, without recompense or hope, till men, women,\nand children, young and old, all die beneath the same iron yoke--that\nmurderous yoke, which others take in their turn, thus to be borne from\nage to age on the submissive and bruised shoulders of the masses.\n\n\"And now, for the third time in five centuries, I reach the summit of\none of the hills that overlook the city. And perhaps I again bring with\nme fear, desolation, and death.\n\n\"Yet this city, intoxicated with the sounds of its joys and its\nnocturnal revelries, does not know--oh! does not know that I am at its\ngates.\n\n\"But no, no! my presence will not be a new calamity. The Lord, in his\nimpenetrable views, has hitherto led me through France, so as to\navoid the humblest hamlet; and the sound of the funeral knell has not\naccompanied my passage.\n\n\"And, moreover, the spectre has left me--the green, livid spectre, with\nits hollow, bloodshot eyes. When I touched the soil of France, its damp\nand icy hands was no longer clasped in mine--and it disappeared.\n\n\"And yet--I feel that the atmosphere of death is around me.\n\n\"The sharp whistlings of that fatal wind cease not, which, catching me\nin their whirl, seem to propagate blasting and mildew as they blow.\n\n\"But perhaps the wrath of the Lord is appeased, and my presence here is\nonly a threat--to be communicated in some way to those whom it should\nintimidate.\n\n\"Yes; for otherwise he would smite with a fearful blow, by first\nscattering terror and death here in the heart of the country, in the\nbosom of this immense city!\n\n\"Oh! no, no! the Lord will be merciful. No! he will not condemn me to\nthis new torture.\n\n\"Alas! in this city, my brethren are more numerous and miserable than\nelsewhere. And should I be their messenger of death?\"\n\n\"No! the Lord will have pity. For, alas! the seven descendants of my\nsister have at length met in this town. And to them likewise should I be\nthe messenger of death, instead of the help they so much need?\n\n\"For that woman, who like me wanders from one border of the earth to the\nother, after having once more rent asunder the nets of their enemies,\nhas gone forth upon her endless journey.\n\n\"In vain she foresaw that new misfortunes threatened my sister's family.\nThe invisible hand, that drives me on, drives her on also.\n\n\"Carried away, as of old, by the irresistible whirlwind, at the moment\nof leaving my kindred to their fate, she in vain cried with supplicating\ntone: 'Let me at least, O Lord, complete my task!'--'GO ON!--'A few\ndays, in mercy, only a few poor days!'--'GO ON'--'I leave those I love\non the brink of the abyss!'--'GO ON! GO ON!'\n\n\"And the wandering star--again started on its eternal round. And her\nvoice, passing through space, called me to the assistance of mine own.\n\n\"When that voice readied me, I knew that the descendants of my sister\nwere still exposed to frightful perils. Those perils are even now on the\nincrease.\n\n\"Tell me, O Lord! will they escape the scourge, which for so many\ncenturies has weighed down our race?\n\n\"Wilt thou pardon me in them? wilt thou punish me in them? Oh, that they\nmight obey the last will of their ancestor!\n\n\"Oh, that they might join together their charitable hearts, their valor\nand their strength, their noble intelligence, and their great riches!\n\n\"They would then labor for the future happiness of humanity--they would\nthus, perhaps, redeem me from my eternal punishment!\n\n\"The words of the Son of Man, LOVE YE ONE ANOTHER, will be their only\nend, their only means.\n\n\"By the help of those all-powerful words, they will fight and conquer\nthe false priests, who have renounced the precepts of love, peace, and\nhope, for lessons of hatred, violence, and despair.\n\n\"Those false priests, who, kept in pay by the powerful and happy of this\nworld, their accomplices in every age, instead of asking here below for\nsome slight share of well-being for my unfortunate brethren, dare in\nthy name, O Lord God, to assert that the poor are condemned to endless\nsuffering in this world--and that the desire or the hope to suffer less\nis a crime in thine eyes--because the happiness of the few, and the\nmisery of nearly the whole human race, is (O blasphemy!) according to\nthy will. Is not the very contrary of those murderous words alone worthy\nof divinity!\n\n\"In mercy, hear me, Lord! Rescue from their enemies the descendants of\nmy sister--the artisan as the king's son. Do not let them destroy the\ngerm of so mighty and fruitful an association, which, with thy blessing,\nwould make an epoch in the annals of human happiness!\n\n\"Let me unite them, O Lord, since others would divide them--defend them,\nsince others attack; let me give hope to those who have ceased to hope,\ncourage to those who are brought low with fear--let me raise up the\nfalling, and sustain those who persevere in the way of the righteous!\n\n\"And, peradventure, their struggles, devotion, virtue, and grief, may\nexpiate my fault--that of a man, whom misfortune alone rendered unjust\nand wicked.\n\n\"Oh! since Thy Almighty hand hath led me hither--to what end I know\nnot--lay aside Thy wrath, I beseech Thee--let me be no longer the\ninstrument of Thy vengeance!\n\n\"Enough of woe upon the earth! for the last two years, Thy creatures\nhave fallen by thousands upon my track. The world is decimated. A veil\nof mourning extends over all the globe.\n\n\"From Asia to the icy Pole, they died upon the path of the wanderer.\nDost Thou not hear the long-drawn sigh that rises from the earth unto\nThee, O Lord?\n\n\"Mercy for all! mercy for me!--Let me but unite the descendants of my\nsister for a single day, and they will be saved!\"\n\nAs he pronounced these words, the wayfarer sank upon his knees, and\nraised to heaven, his supplicating hands. Suddenly, the wind blew with\nredoubled violence; its sharp whistlings were changed into the roar of a\ntempest.\n\nThe traveller shuddered; in a voice of terror he exclaimed: \"The blast\nof death rises in its fury--the whirlwind carries me on--Lord! Thou art\nthen deaf to my prayer?\"\n\n\"The spectre! oh, the spectre! it is again here! its green face\ntwitching with convulsive spasms--its red eyes rolling in their orbits.\nBegone! begone!--its hand, oh! its icy hand has again laid hold of mine.\nHave mercy, heaven!\"\n\n\"GO ON!\"\n\n\"Oh, Lord! the pestilence--the terrible plague--must I carry it into\nthis city?--And my brethren will perish the first--they, who are so\nsorely smitten even now! Mercy!\"\n\n\"GO ON!\"\n\n\"And the descendants of my sister. Mercy! Mercy!\"\n\n\"GO ON!\"\n\n\"Oh, Lord, have pity!--I can no longer keep my ground; the spectre drags\nme to the slope of the hill; my walk is rapid as the deadly blast that\nrages behind me; already do I behold the city gates. Have mercy, Lord,\non the descendants of my sister! Spare them; do not make me their\nexecutioner; let them triumph over their enemies!\"\n\n\"GO ON! GO ON!\"\n\n\"The ground flies beneath my feet; there is the city gate. Lord, it is\nyet time! Oh, mercy for that sleeping town! Let it not waken to cries\nof terror, despair, and death! Lord, I am on the threshold. Must it\nbe?--Yes, it is done. Paris, the plague is in thy bosom. The curse--oh,\nthe eternal curse!\"\n\n\"GO ON! GO ON! GO ON!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI. THE LUNCHEON.\n\nThe morning after the doomed traveller, descending the heights of\nMontmartre, had entered the walls of Paris, great activity reigned in\nSt. Dizier House. Though it was hardly noon, the Princess de St. Dizier,\nwithout being exactly in full dress (she had too much taste for that),\nwas yet arrayed with more care than usual. Her light hair, instead of\nbeing merely banded, was arranged in two bunches of curls, which suited\nvery well with her full and florid cheeks. Her cap was trimmed with\nbright rose-colored ribbon, and whoever had seen the lady in her tight\nfitting dress of gray-watered silk would have easily guessed that\nMrs. Grivois, her tirewoman, must have required the assistance and the\nefforts of another of the princess's women to achieve so remarkable a\nreduction in the ample figure of their mistress.\n\nWe shall explain the edifying cause of this partial return to the\nvanities of the world. The princess, attended by Mrs. Grivois, who\nacted as housekeeper, was giving her final orders with regard to some\npreparations that were going on in a vast parlor. In the midst of this\nroom was a large round table, covered with crimson velvet, and near it\nstood several chairs, amongst which, in the place of honor, was an arm\nchair of gilded wood. In one corner, not far from the chimney, in which\nburned an excellent fire, was a buffet. On it were the divers materials\nfor a most dainty and exquisite collation. Upon silver dishes were piled\npyramids of sandwiches composed of the roes of carp and anchovy paste,\nwith slices of pickled tunny-fish and Lenigord truffles (it was in\nLent); on silver dishes, placed over burning spirits of wine, so as to\nkeep them very hot, tails of Meuse crawfish boiled in cream, smoked in\ngolden colored pastry, and seemed to challenge comparison with delicious\nlittle Marennes oyster-patties, stewed in Madeira, and flavored with a\nseasoning of spiced sturgeon. By the side of these substantial\ndishes were some of a lighter character, such as pineapple tarts,\nstrawberry-creams (it was early for such fruit), and orange-jelly served\nin the peel, which had been artistically emptied for that purpose.\nBordeaux, Madeira, and Alicant sparkled like rubies and topazes in large\nglass decanters, while two Sevres ewers were filled, one with coffee\na la creme, the other with vanilla chocolate, almost in the state of\nsherbet, from being plunged in a large cooler of chiselled silver,\ncontaining ice.\n\nBut what gave to this dainty collation a singularly apostolic and\npapal character were sundry symbols of religious worship carefully\nrepresented. Thus there were charming little Calvaries in apricot paste,\nsacerdotal mitres in burnt almonds, episcopal croziers in sweet cake,\nto which the princess added, as a mark of delicate attention, a little\ncardinal's hat in cherry sweetmeat, ornamented with bands in burnt\nsugar. The most important, however, of these Catholic delicacies, the\nmasterpiece of the cook, was a superb crucifix in angelica, with a crown\nof candied berries. These are strange profanations, which scandalize\neven the least devout. But, from the impudent juggle of the coat of\nTriers, down to the shameless jest of the shrine at Argenteuil, people,\nwho are pious after the fashion of the princess, seem to take delight in\nbringing ridicule upon the most respectable traditions.\n\nAfter glancing with an air of satisfaction at these preparations for the\ncollation, the lady said to Mrs. Grivois, as she pointed to the gilded\narm-chair, which seemed destined for the president of the meeting: \"Is\nthere a cushion under the table, for his Eminence to rest his feet on?\nHe always complains of cold.\"\n\n\"Yes, your highness,\" said Mrs. Grivois, when she had looked under the\ntable; \"the cushion is there.\"\n\n\"Let also a pewter bottle be filled with boiling water, in case his\nEminence should not find the cushion enough to keep his feet warm.\"\n\n\"Yes, my lady.\"\n\n\"And put some more wood on the fire.\"\n\n\"But, my lady, it is already a very furnace. And if his Eminence is\nalways too cold, my lord the Bishop of Halfagen is always too hot. He\nperspires dreadfully.\"\n\nThe princess shrugged her shoulders, and said to Mrs. Grivois: \"Is not\nhis Eminence Cardinal Malipieri the superior of his Lordship the Bishop\nof Halfagen?\"\n\n\"Yes, your highness.\"\n\n\"Then, according to the rules of the hierarchy, it is for his Lordship\nto suffer from the heat, rather than his Eminence from the cold.\nTherefore, do as I tell you, and put more wood on the fire. Nothing is\nmore natural; his Eminence being an Italian, and his Lordship\ncoming from the north of Belgium, they are accustomed to different\ntemperatures.\"\n\n\"Just as your highness pleases,\" said Mrs. Grivois, as she placed two\nenormous logs on the fire; \"but in such a heat as there is here his\nLordship might really be suffocated.\"\n\n\"I also find it too warm; but does not our holy religion teach us\nlessons of self-sacrifice and mortification?\" said the princess, with a\ntouching expression of devotion.\n\nWe have now explained the cause of the rather gay attire of the\nprincess. She was preparing for a reception of prelates, who, along with\nFather d'Aigrigny and other dignitaries of the Church, had already held\nat the princely house a sort of council on a small scale. A young bride\nwho gives her first ball, an emancipated minor who gives his first\nbachelor's dinner, a woman of talent who reads aloud for the first time\nher first unpublished work, are not more joyous and proud, and, at the\nsame time, more attentive to their guests, than was this lady with her\nprelates. To behold great interests discussed in her house, and in\nher presence, to hear men of acknowledged ability ask her advice\nupon certain practical matters relating to the influence of female\ncongregations, filled the princess with pride, as her claims to\nconsideration were thus sanctioned by Lordships and Eminences, and she\ntook the position, as it were, of a mother of the Church. Therefore, to\nwin these prelates, whether native or foreign, she had recourse to no\nend of saintly flatteries and sanctified coaxing. Nor could anything be\nmore logical than these successive transfigurations of this heartless\nwoman, who only loved sincerely and passionately the pursuit of intrigue\nand domination. With the progress of age, she passed naturally from the\nintrigues of love to those of politics, and from the latter to those of\nreligion.\n\nAt the moment she finished inspecting her preparations, the sound of\ncoaches was heard in the courtyard, apprising her of the arrival of the\npersons she had been expecting. Doubtless, these persons were of the\nhighest rank, for contrary to all custom, she went to receive them at\nthe door of her outer saloon. It was, indeed, Cardinal Malipieri, who\nwas always cold, with the Belgian Bishop of Halfagen, who was always\nhot. They were accompanied by Father d'Aigrigny. The Roman cardinal was\na tall man, rather bony than thin, with a yellowish puffy countenance,\nhaughty and full of craft; he squinted a good deal, and his black eyes\nwere surrounded by a deep brown circle. The Belgian Bishop was short,\nthick, and fat, with a prominent abdomen, an apoplectic complexion, a\nslow, deliberate look, and a soft, dimpled, delicate hand.\n\nThe company soon assembled in the great saloon. The cardinal instantly\ncrept close to the fire, whilst the bishop, beginning to sweat and blow,\ncast longing glances at the iced chocolate and coffee, which were to aid\nhim in sustaining the oppressive heat of the artificial dog-day. Father\nd'Aigrigny, approaching the princess, said to her in a low voice: \"Will\nyou give orders for the admittance of Abbe Gabriel de Rennepont, when he\narrives?\"\n\n\"Is that young priest then here?\" asked the princess, with extreme\nsurprise.\n\n\"Since the day before yesterday. We had him sent for to Paris, by his\nsuperiors. You shall know all. As for Father Rodin, let Mrs. Grivois\nadmit him, as the other day, by the little door of the back stairs.\"\n\n\"He will come to-day?\"\n\n\"He has very important matters to communicate. He desires that both the\ncardinal and the bishop should be present for they have been informed\nof everything at Rome by the Superior General, in their quality of\nassociates.\"\n\nThe princess rang the bell, gave the necessary orders, and, returning\ntowards the cardinal, said to him, in a tone of the most earnest\nsolicitude: \"Does your Eminence begin to feel a little warmer? Would\nyour Eminence like a bottle of hot water to your feet? Shall we make a\nlarger fire for your Eminence?\"\n\nAt this proposition, the Belgian bishop, who was wiping the perspiration\nfrom his forehead, heaved a despairing sigh.\n\n\"A thousand thanks, princess,\" answered the cardinal to her, in very\ngood French, but with an intolerable Italian accent; \"I am really\novercome with so much kindness.\"\n\n\"Will not your Lordship take some refreshment?\" said the princess to the\nbishop, as she turned towards the sideboard.\n\n\"With your permission, madame, I will take a little iced coffee,\" said\nthe prelate, making a prudent circuit to approach the dishes without\npassing before the fire.\n\n\"And will not your Eminence try one of these little oyster-patties? They\nare quite hot,\" said the princess.\n\n\"I know them already, princess,\" said the cardinal, with the air\nand look of an epicure; \"they are delicious, and I cannot resist the\ntemptation.\"\n\n\"What wine shall I have the honor to offer your Eminence?\" resumed the\nprincess, graciously.\n\n\"A little claret, if you please, madame;\" and as Father d'Aigrigny\nprepared to fill the cardinal's glass, the princess disputed with him\nthat pleasure.\n\n\"Your Eminence will doubtless approve what I have done,\" said Father\nd'Aigrigny to the cardinal, whilst the latter was gravely despatching\nthe oyster-patties, \"in not summoning for to-day the Bishop of\nMogador, the Archbishop of Nanterre, and our holy Mother Perpetue, the\nlady-superior of St. Mary Convent, the interview we are about to have\nwith his Reverence Father Rodin and Abbe Gabriel being altogether\nprivate and confidential.\"\n\n\"Our good father was perfectly right,\" said the cardinal; \"for, though\nthe possible consequences of this Rennepont affair may interest the\nwhole Church, there are some things that are as well kept secret.\"\n\n\"Then I must seize this opportunity to thank your Eminence for having\ndeigned to make an exception in favor of a very obscure and humble\nservant of the Church,\" said the princess to the cardinal, with a very\ndeep and respectful curtsey.\n\n\"It is only just and right, madame,\" replied the cardinal, bowing as he\nreplaced his empty glass upon the table; \"we know how much the Church\nis indebted to you for the salutary direction you give to the religious\ninstitutions of which you are the patroness.\"\n\n\"With regard to that, your Eminence may be assured that I always refuse\nassistance to any poor person who cannot produce a certificate from the\nconfessional.\"\n\n\"And it is only thus, madame,\" resumed the cardinal, this time allowing\nhimself to be tempted by the attractions of the crawfish's tails, \"it\nis only thus that charity has any meaning. I care little that the\nirreligious should feel hunger, but with the pious it is different;\" and\nthe prelate gayly swallowed a mouthful. \"Moreover,\" resumed he, \"it is\nwell known with what ardent zeal you pursue the impious, and those who\nare rebels against the authority of our Holy Father.\"\n\n\"Your Eminence may feel convinced that I am Roman in heart and soul;\nI see no difference between a Gallican and a Turk,\" said the princess,\nbravely.\n\n\"The princess is right,\" said the Belgian bishop: \"I will go further,\nand assert that a Gallican should be more odious to the church than a\npagan. In this respect I am of the opinion of Louis XIV. They asked him\na favor for a man about the court. 'Never,' said the great king; 'this\nperson is a Jansenist.'--'No, sire; he is an atheist.'--'Oh! that is\ndifferent; I will grant what he asks,' said the King.\"\n\nThis little episcopal jest made them all laugh. After which Father\nd'Aigrigny resumed seriously, addressing the cardinal: \"Unfortunately,\nas I was about to observe to your Eminence with regard to the Abbe\nGabriel, unless they are very narrowly watched, the lower clergy have\na tendency to become infected with dissenting views, and with ideas of\nrebellion against what they call the despotism of the bishops.\"\n\n\"This young man must be a Catholic Luther!\" said the bishop. And,\nwalking on tip-toe, he went to pour himself out a glorious glass of\nMadeira, in which he soaked some sweet cake, made in the form of a\ncrozier.\n\nLed by his example, the Cardinal, under pretence of warming his feet by\ndrawing still closer to the fire, helped himself to an excellent glass\nof old Malaga, which he swallowed by mouthfuls, with an air of profound\nmeditation; after which he resumed: \"So this Abbe Gabriel starts as a\nreformer. He must be an ambitious man. Is he dangerous?\"\n\n\"By our advice his superiors have judged him to be so. They have ordered\nhim to come hither. He will soon be here, and I will tell your Eminence\nwhy I have sent for him. But first, I have a note on the dangerous\ntendencies of the Abbe Gabriel. Certain questions were addressed to\nhim, with regard to some of his acts, and it was in consequence of his\nanswers that his superiors recalled him.\"\n\nSo saying, Father d'Aigrigny, took from his pocket-book a paper, which\nhe read as follows:\n\n\"'Question.--Is it true that you performed religious rites for an\ninhabitant of your parish who died in final impenitence of the most\ndetestable kind, since he had committed suicide?\n\n\"'Answer of Abbe Gabriel.--I paid him the last duties, because, more\nthan any one else, because of his guilty end, he required the prayers of\nthe church. During the night which followed his interment I continually\nimplored for him the divine mercy.\n\n\"'Q.--Is it true that you refused a set of silver-gilt sacramental\nvessels, and other ornaments, with which one of the faithful, in pious\nzeal, wished to endow your parish?\n\n\"'A.--I refused the vessels and embellishments, because the house of the\nLord should be plain and without ornament, so as to remind the faithful\nthat the divine Saviour was born in a stable. I advised the person who\nwished to make these useless presents to my parish to employ the money\nin judicious almsgiving, assuring him it would be more agreeable to the\nLord.'\"\n\n\"What a bitter and violent declamation against the adorning of our\ntemples!\" cried the cardinal. \"This young priest is most dangerous.\nContinue, my good father.\"\n\nAnd, in his indignation, his Eminence swallowed several mouthfuls of\nstrawberry-cream. Father d'Aigrigny continued.\n\n\"'Q.--Is it true that you received in your parsonage, and kept there for\nsome days, an inhabitant of the village, by birth a Swiss, belonging to\nthe Protestant communion? Is it true that not only you did not attempt\nto convert him to the one Catholic and Apostolic faith, but that you\ncarried so far the neglect of your sacred duties as to inter this\nheretic in the ground consecrated for the repose of true believers?\n\n\"'A.--One of my brethren was houseless. His life had been honest and\nlaborious. In his old age his strength had failed him, and sickness had\ncome at the back of it; almost in a dying state, he had been driven from\nhis humble dwelling by a pitiless landlord, to whom he owed a year's\nrent. I received the old man in my house, and soothed his last days. The\npoor creature had toiled and suffered all his life; dying, he uttered no\nword of bitterness at his hard fate; he recommended his soul to God and\npiously kissed the crucifix. His pure and simple spirit returned to the\nbosom of its Creator. I closed his eyes with respect, I buried him, I\nprayed for him; and, though he died in the Protestant faith, I thought\nhim worthy of a place in consecrated ground.'\"\n\n\"Worse and worse!\" said the cardinal. \"This tolerance is monstrous. It\nis a horrible attack on that maxim of Catholicism: 'Out of the pale of\nthe Church there is no salvation.'\"\n\n\"And all this is the more serious, my lord,\" resumed Father d'Aigrigny,\n\"because the mildness, charity, and Christian devotion of Abbe Gabriel\nhave excited, not only in his parish, but in all the surrounding\ndistricts, the greatest enthusiasm. The priests of the neighboring\nparishes have yielded to the general impulse, and it must be confessed\nthat but for his moderation a wide-spread schism would have commenced.\"\n\n\"But what do you hope will result from bringing him here?\" said the\nprelate.\n\n\"The position of Abbe Gabriel is complicated; first of all, he is the\nheir of the Rennepont family.\"\n\n\"But has he not ceded his rights?\" asked the cardinal.\n\n\"Yes, my lord; and this cession, which was at first informal, has\nlately, with his free consent, been made perfectly regular in law; for\nhe had sworn, happen what might, to renounce his part of the inheritance\nin favor of the Society of Jesus. Nevertheless, his Reverence Father\nRodin thinks, that if your Eminence, after explaining to Abbe Gabriel\nthat he was about to be recalled by his superiors, were to propose to\nhim some eminent position at Rome, he might be induced to leave France,\nand we might succeed in arousing within him those sentiments of ambition\nwhich are doubtless only sleeping for the present; your Eminence, having\nobserved, very judiciously, that every reformer must be ambitious.\"\n\n\"I approve of this idea,\" said the cardinal, after a moment's\nreflection; \"with his merit and power of acting on other men, Abbe\nGabriel may rise very high, if he is docile; and if he should not be so,\nit is better for the safety of the Church that he should be at Rome\nthan here--for you know, my good father, we have securities that are\nunfortunately wanting in France.\"(36)\n\nAfter some moments of silence, the cardinal said suddenly to Father\nd'Aigrigny: \"As we were talking of Father Rodin, tell me frankly what\nyou think of him.\"\n\n\"Your Eminence knows his capacity,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, with a\nconstrained and suspicious air; \"our reverend Father-General--\"\n\n\"Commissioned him to take your place,\" said the cardinal; \"I know that.\nHe told me so at Rome. But what do you think of the character of Father\nRodin? Can one have full confidence in him?\"\n\n\"He has so complete, so original, so secret, and so impenetrable a\nmind,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, with hesitation, \"that it is difficult to\nform any certain judgment with respect to him.\"\n\n\"Do you think him ambitious?\" said the cardinal, after another moment's\npause. \"Do you not suppose him capable of having other views than those\nof the greater glory of his Order?--Come, I have reasons for speaking\nthus,\" added the prelate, with emphasis.\n\n\"Why,\" resumed Father d'Aigrigny, not without suspicion, for the game\nis played cautiously between people of the same craft, \"what should your\nEminence think of him, either from your own observation, or from the\nreport of the Father-General?\"\n\n\"I think--that if his apparent devotion to his Order really concealed\nsome after-thought--it would be well to discover it--for, with the\ninfluence that he has obtained at Rome (as I have found out), he might\none day, and that shortly, become very formidable.\"\n\n\"Well!\" cried Father d'Aigrigny, impelled by his jealousy of Rodin; \"I\nam, in this respect, of the same opinion as your Eminence; for I have\nsometimes perceived in him flashes of ambition, that were as alarming as\nthey were extraordinary--and since I must tell all to your Eminence--\"\n\nFather d'Aigrigny was unable to continue; at this moment Mrs. Grivois,\nwho had been knocking at the door, half-opened it, and made a sign to\nher mistress. The princess answered by bowing her head, and Mrs. Grivois\nagain withdrew. A second afterwards Rodin entered the room.\n\n(36) It is known that, in 1845, the Inquisition, solitary confinement,\netc., still existed at Rome.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII. RENDERING THE ACCOUNT.\n\nAt sight of Rodin, the two prelates and Father d'Aigrigny rose\nspontaneously, so much were they overawed by the real superiority\nof this man; their faces, just before contracted with suspicion and\njealousy, suddenly brightened up, and seemed to smile on the reverend\nfather with affectionate deference. The princess advanced some steps to\nmeet him.\n\nRodin, badly dressed as ever, leaving on the soft carpet the muddy track\nof his clumsy shoes, put his umbrella into one corner, and advanced\ntowards the table--not with his accustomed humility, but with slow step,\nuplifted head, and steady glance; not only did he feel himself in the\nmidst of his partisans, but he knew that he could rule them all by the\npower of his intellect.\n\n\"We were speaking of your reverence, my dear, good father,\" said the\ncardinal, with charming affability.\n\n\"Ah!\" said Rodin, looking fixedly at the prelate; \"and what were you\nsaying?\"\n\n\"Why,\" replied the Belgian bishop, wiping his forehead, \"all the good\nthat can be said of your reverence.\"\n\n\"Will you not take something, my good father?\" said the princess to\nRodin, as she pointed to the splendid sideboard.\n\n\"Thank you, madame, I have eaten my radish already this morning.\"\n\n\"My secretary, Abbe Berlini, who was present at your repast, was,\nindeed, much astonished at your reverence's frugality,\" said the\nprelate: \"it is worthy of an anchorite.\"\n\n\"Suppose we talk of business,\" said Rodin, abruptly, like a man\naccustomed to lead and control the discussion.\n\n\"We shall always be most happy to hear you,\" said the prelate. \"Your\nreverence yourself fixed to-day to talk over this great Rennepont\naffair. It is of such importance, that it was partly the cause of my\njourney to France; for to support the interests of the glorious Company\nof Jesus, with which I have the honor of being associated, is to support\nthe interests of Rome itself, and I promised the reverend Father-General\nthat I would place myself entirely at your orders.\"\n\n\"I can only repeat what his Eminence has just said,\" added the bishop.\n\"We set out from Rome together, and our ideas are just the same.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Rodin, addressing the cardinal, \"your Eminence may\nserve our cause, and that materially. I will tell you how presently.\"\n\nThen, addressing the princess, he continued: \"I have desired Dr.\nBaleinier to come here, madame, for it will be well to inform him of\ncertain things.\"\n\n\"He will be admitted as usual,\" said the princess.\n\nSince Rodin's arrival Father d'Aigrigny had remained silent; he seemed\noccupied with bitter thoughts, and with some violent internal struggle.\nAt last, half rising, he said to the prelate, in a forced tone of voice:\n\"I will not ask your Eminence to judge between the reverend Father Rodin\nand myself. Our General has pronounced, and I have obeyed. But, as your\nEminence will soon see our superior, I should wish that you would grant\nme the favor to report faithfully the answers of Father Rodin to one or\ntwo questions I am about to put to him.\"\n\nThe prelate bowed. Rodin looked at Father d'Aigrigny with an air of\nsurprise, and said to him, dryly: \"The thing is decided. What is the use\nof questions?\"\n\n\"Not to justify myself,\" answered Father d'Aigrigny, \"but to place\nmatters in their true light before his Eminence.\"\n\n\"Speak, then; but let us have no useless speeches,\" said Rodin, drawing\nout his large silver watch, and looking at it. \"By two o'clock I must be\nat Saint-Sulpice.\"\n\n\"I will be as brief as possible,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, with repressed\nresentment. Then, addressing Rodin, he resumed: \"When your reverence\nthought fit to take my place, and to blame, very severely perhaps,\nthe manner in which I had managed the interests confided to my care, I\nconfess honestly that these interests were gravely compromised.\"\n\n\"Compromised?\" said Rodin, ironically; \"you mean lost. Did you not order\nme to write to Rome, to bid them renounce all hope?\"\n\n\"That is true,\" said Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"It was then a desperate case, given up by the best doctors,\" continued\nRodin, with irony, \"and yet I have undertaken to restore it to life. Go\non.\"\n\nAnd, plunging both hands into the pockets of his trousers, he looked\nFather d'Aigrigny full in the face.\n\n\"Your reverence blamed me harshly,\" resumed Father d'Aigrigny, \"not for\nhaving sought, by every possible means, to recover the property odiously\ndiverted from our society--\"\n\n\"All your casuists authorize you to do so,\" said the cardinal; \"the\ntexts are clear and positive; you have a right to recover; per fas aut\nnefas what has been treacherously taken from you.\"\n\n\"And therefore,\" resumed Father d'Aigrigny, \"Father Rodin only\nreproached me with the military roughness of my means. 'Their violence,'\nhe said, 'was in dangerous opposition to the manners of the age.' Be it\nso; but first of all, I could not be exposed to any legal proceedings,\nand, but for one fatal circumstance, success would have crowned the\ncourse I had taken, however rough and brutal it may appear. Now, may I\nask your reverence what--\"\n\n\"What I have done more than you?\" said Rodin to Father d'Aigrigny,\ngiving way to his impertinent habit of interrupting people; \"what I have\ndone better than you?--what step I have taken in the Rennepont affair,\nsince I received it from you in a desperate condition? Is that what you\nwish to know?\"\n\n\"Precisely,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, dryly.\n\n\"Well, I confess,\" resumed Rodin, in a sardonic tone, \"just as you did\ngreat things, coarse things, turbulent things, I have been doing little,\npuerile, secret things. Oh, heaven! you cannot imagine what a foolish\npart I, who passed for a man of enlarged views, have been acting for the\nlast six weeks.\"\n\n\"I should never have allowed myself to address such a reproach to your\nreverence, however deserved it may appear,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, with\na bitter smile.\n\n\"A reproach?\" said Rodin, shrugging his shoulders; \"a reproach? You\nshall be the judge. Do you know what I wrote about you, some six weeks\nago? Here it is: 'Father d'Aigrigny has excellent qualities. He will\nbe of much service to me'--and from to-morrow I shall employ you very\nactively, added Rodin, by way of parenthesis--'but he is not great\nenough to know how to make himself little on occasion.' Do you\nunderstand?\"\n\n\"Not very well,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, blushing.\n\n\"So much the worse for you,\" answered Rodin; \"it only proves that I was\nright. Well, since I must tell you, I have been wise enough to play the\nmost foolish part for six whole weeks. Yes, I have chatted nonsense with\na grisette--have talked of liberty, progress, humanity, emancipation of\nwomen, with a young, excited girl; of Napoleon the Great, and all sorts\nof Bonapartist idolatry, with an old, imbecile soldier; of imperial\nglory, humiliation of France, hopes in the King of Rome, with a certain\nmarshal of France, who, with a heart full of adoration for the robber of\nthrones, that was transported to Saint-Helena, has a head as hollow and\nsonorous as a trumpet, into which you have only to blow some warlike or\npatriotic notes, and it will flourish away of itself, without knowing\nwhy or how. More than all this, I have talked of love affairs with\na young tiger. When I told you it was lamentable to see a man of\nany intelligence descend, as I have done, to all such petty ways of\nconnecting the thousand threads of this dark web, was I not right? Is it\nnot a fine spectacle to see the spider obstinately weaving its net?--to\nsee the ugly little black animal crossing thread upon thread, fastening\nit here, strengthening it there, and again lengthening it in some\nother place? You shrug your shoulders in pity; but return two hours\nafter--what will you find? The little black animal eating its fill, and\nin its web a dozen of the foolish flies, bound so securely, that the\nlittle black animal has only to choose the moment of its repast.\"\n\nAs he uttered those words, Rodin smiled strangely; his eyes, gradually\nhalf closed, opened to their full width, and seemed to shine more\nthan usual. The Jesuit felt a sort of feverish excitement, which he\nattributed to the contest in which he had engaged before these eminent\npersonages, who already felt the influence of his original and cutting\nspeech.\n\nFather d'Aigrigny began to regret having entered on the contest. He\nresumed, however, with ill-repressed irony: \"I do not dispute the\nsmallness of your means. I agree with you, they are very puerile--they\nare even very vulgar. But that is not quite sufficient to give an\nexalted notion of your merit. May I be allowed to ask--\"\n\n\"What these means have produced?\" resumed Rodin, with an excitement that\nwas not usual with him. \"Look into my spider's web, and you will see\nthere the beautiful and insolent young girl, so proud, six weeks ago, of\nher grace, mind, and audacity--now pale, trembling, mortally wounded at\nthe heart.\"\n\n\"But the act of chivalrous intrepidity of the Indian prince, with which\nall Paris is ringing,\" said the princess, \"must surely have touched\nMdlle. de Cardoville.\"\n\n\"Yes; but I have paralyzed the effect of that stupid and savage\ndevotion, by demonstrating to the young lady that it is not sufficient\nto kill black panthers to prove one's self a susceptible, delicate, and\nfaithful lover.\"\n\n\"Be it so,\" said Father d'Aigrigny; \"we will admit the fact that Mdlle.\nde Cardoville is wounded to the heart.\"\n\n\"But what does this prove with regard to the Rennepont affair?\" asked\nthe cardinal, with curiosity, as he leaned his elbows on the table.\n\n\"There results from it,\" said Rodin, \"that when our most dangerous enemy\nis mortally wounded, she abandons the battlefield. That is something, I\nshould imagine.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" said the princess, \"the talents and audacity of Mdlle. de\nCardoville would make her the soul of the coalition formed against us.\"\n\n\"Be it so,\" replied Father d'Aigrigny, obstinately; \"she may be no\nlonger formidable in that respect. But the wound in her heart will not\nprevent her from inheriting.\"\n\n\"Who tells you so?\" asked Rodin, coldly, and with assurance. \"Do you\nknow why I have taken such pains, first to bring her in contact with\nDjalma, and then to separate her from him?\"\n\n\"That is what I ask you,\" said Father D'Aigrigny; \"how can this storm of\npassion prevent Mdlle. de Cardoville and the prince from inheriting?\"\n\n\"Is it from the serene, or from the stormy sky, that darts the\ndestroying thunderbolt?\" said Rodin, disdainfully. \"Be satisfied; I\nshall know where to place the conductor. As for M. Hardy, the man lived\nfor three things: his workmen, his friend, his mistress. He has been\nthrice wounded in the heart. I always take aim at the heart; it is legal\nand sure.\"\n\n\"It is legal, and sure, and praiseworthy,\" said the bishop; \"for, if\nI understand you rightly, this manufacturer had a concubine; now it is\nwell to make use of an evil passion for the punishment of the wicked.\"\n\n\"True, quite true,\" added the cardinal; \"if they have evil passion for\nus to make use of it, it is their own fault.\"\n\n\"Our holy Mother Perpetue,\" said the princess, \"took every means to\ndiscover this abominable adultery.\"\n\n\"Well, then, M. Hardy is wounded in his dearest affections, I admit,\"\nsaid Father d'Aigrigny, still disputing every inch of ground; \"ruined\ntoo in his fortune, which will only make him the more eager after this\ninheritance.\"\n\nThe argument appeared of weight to the two prelates and the princess;\nall looked at Rodin with anxious curiosity. Instead of answering he\nwalked up to the sideboard, and, contrary to his habits of stoical\nsobriety, and in spite of his repugnance for wine, he examined the\ndecanters, and said: \"What is there in them?\"\n\n\"Claret and sherry,\" said the hostess, much astonished at the sudden\ntaste of Rodin, \"and--\"\n\nThe latter took a decanter at hazard, and poured out a glass of Madeira,\nwhich he drank off at a draught. Just be fore he had felt a strange kind\nof shivering; to this had succeeded a sort of weakness. He hoped the\nwine would revive him.\n\nAfter wiping his mouth with the back of his dirty hand, he returned to\nthe table, and said to Father d'Aigrigny: \"What did you tell me about M.\nHardy?\"\n\n\"That being ruined in fortune, he would be the more eager to obtain this\nimmense inheritance,\" answered Father d'Aigrigny, inwardly much offended\nat the imperious tone.\n\n\"M. Hardy think of money?\" said Rodin, shrugging his shoulders. \"He is\nindifferent to life, plunged in a stupor from which he only starts to\nburst into tears. Then he speaks with mechanical kindness to those about\nhim. I have placed him in good hands. He begins, however, to be sensible\nto the attentions shown him, for he is good, excellent, weak; and ii is\nto this excellence, Father d'Aigrigny, that you must appeal to finish\nthe work in hand.\"\n\n\"I?\" said Father d'Aigrigny, much surprised.\n\n\"Yes; and then you will find that the result I have obtained is\nconsiderable, and--\"\n\nRodin paused, and, pressing his hand to his forehead, said to himself:\n\"It is strange!\"\n\n\"What is the matter?\" said the princess, with interest.\n\n\"Nothing, madame,\" answered Rodin, with a shiver; \"it is doubtless the\nwine I drank; I am not accustomed to it. I feel a slight headache; but\nit will pass.\"\n\n\"Your eyes are very bloodshot, my good father, said the princess.\n\n\"I have looked too closely into my web,\" answered the Jesuit, with a\nsinister smile; \"and I must look again, to make Father d'Aigrigny,\nwho pretends to be blind, catch a glimpse of my other flies. The two\ndaughters of Marshal Simon, for instance, growing sadder and more\ndejected every day, at the icy barrier raised between them and their\nfather; and the latter thinking himself one day dishonored if he does\nthis, another if he does that; so that the hero of the Empire has become\nweaker and more irresolute than a child. What more remains of this\nimpious family? Jacques Rennepont? Ask Morok, to what a state of\ndebasement intemperance has reduced him, and towards what an abyss he is\nrushing!--There is my occurrence-sheet; you see to what are reduced all\nthe members of this family, who, six weeks ago, had each elements of\nstrength and union! Behold these Renneponts, who, by the will of their\nheretical ancestor, were to unite their forces to combat and crush our\nSociety!--There was good reason to fear them; but what did I say? That I\nwould act upon their passions. What have I done? I have acted upon their\npassions. At this hour they are vainly struggling in my web--they are\nmine--they are mine--\"\n\nAs he was speaking, Rodin's countenance and voice had undergone a\nsingular alteration; his complexion, generally so cadaverous, had become\nflushed, but unequally, and in patches; then, strange phenomenon! his\neyes grew both more brilliant and more sunken, and his voice sharper\nand louder. The change in the countenance of Rodin, of which he did not\nappear to be conscious, was so remarkable, that the other actors in this\nscene looked at him with a sort of terror.\n\nDeceived as to the cause of this impression, Rodin exclaimed with\nindignation, in a voice interrupted by deep gaspings for breath: \"It is\npity for this impious race, that I read upon your faces? Pity for the\nyoung girl, who never enters a church, and erects pagan altars in\nher habitation? Pity for Hardy, the sentimental blasphemer, the\nphilanthropic atheist, who had no chapel in his factory, and dared\nto blend the names of Socrates, Marcus, Aurelius, and Plato, with our\nSavior's? Pity for the Indian worshipper of Brahma? Pity for the two\nsisters, who have never even been baptized? Pity for that brute, Jacques\nRennepont? Pity for the stupid imperial soldier, who has Napoleon for\nhis god, and the bulletins of the Grand Army for his gospel? Pity\nfor this family of renegades, whose ancestor, a relapsed heretic, not\ncontent with robbing us of our property, excites from his tomb, at the\nend of a century and a half, his cursed race to lift their heads against\nus? What! to defend ourselves from these vipers, we shall not have the\nright to crush them in their own venom?--I tell you, that it is to\nserve heaven, and to give a salutary example to the world, to devote, by\nunchaining their own passions, this impious family to grief and despair\nand death!\"\n\nAs he spoke thus, Rodin was dreadful in his ferocity; the fire of his\neyes became still more brilliant; his lips were dry and burning, a cold\nsweat bathed his temples, which could be seen throbbing; an icy shudder\nran through his frame. Attributing these symptoms to fatigue from\nwriting through a portion of the night, and wishing to avoid fainting,\nhe went to the sideboard, filled another glass with wine, which he drank\noff at a draught, and returned as the cardinal said to him: \"If your\ncourse with regard to this family needed justification, my good father,\nyour last word would have victoriously justified it. Not only are you\nright, according to your own casuists, but there is nothing in your\nproceedings contrary to human laws. As for the divine law, it is\npleasing to the Lord to destroy impiety with its own weapons.\"\n\nConquered, as well as the others, by Rodin's diabolical assurance, and\nbrought back to a kind of fearful admiration, Father d'Aigrigny said to\nhim: \"I confess I was wrong in doubting the judgment of your reverence.\nDeceived by the appearance of the means employed, I could not judge\nof their connection, and above all, of their results. I now see, that,\nthanks to you, success is no longer doubtful.\"\n\n\"This is an exaggeration,\" replied Rodin, with feverish impatience; \"all\nthese passions are at work, but the moment is critical. As the alchemist\nbends over the crucible, which may give him either treasures or sudden\ndeath--I alone at this moment--\"\n\nRodin did not finish the sentence. He pressed both his hands to his\nforehead, with a stifled cry of pain.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" said Father d'Aigrigny. \"For some moments you have\nbeen growing fearfully pale.\"\n\n\"I do not know 'what is the matter,\" said Rodin, in an altered voice;\n\"my headache increases--I am seized with a sort of giddiness.\"\n\n\"Sit down,\" said the princess, with interest.\n\n\"Take something,\" said the bishop.\n\n\"It will be nothing,\" said Rodin, with an effort; \"I am no milksop,\nthank heaven!--I had little sleep last night; it is fatigue--nothing\nmore. I was saying, that I alone could now direct this affair: but I\ncannot execute the plan myself. I must keep out of the way, and watch\nin the shade: I must hold the threads, which I alone can manage,\" added\nRodin, in a faint voice.\n\n\"My good father,\" said the cardinal uneasily, \"I assure you that you are\nvery unwell. Your paleness is becoming livid.\"\n\n\"It is possible,\" answered Rodin, courageously; \"but I am not to be so\nsoon conquered. To return to our affair--this is the time, in which your\nqualities, Father d'Aigrigny, will turn to good account. I have never\ndenied them, and they may now be of the greatest use. You have the power\nof charming--grace--eloquence--you must--\"\n\nRodin paused again. A cold sweat poured from his forehead. He felt his\nlegs give way under him, notwithstanding his obstinate energy.\n\n\"I confess, I am not well,\" he said; \"yet, this morning, I was as well\nas ever. I shiver. I am icy cold.\"\n\n\"Draw near the fire--it is a sudden indisposition,\" said the bishop,\noffering his arm with heroic devotion; \"it will not be anything of\nconsequence.\"\n\n\"If you were to take something warm, a cup of tea,\" said the princess;\n\"Dr. Baleinier will be here directly--he will reassure us as to\nthis--indisposition.\"\n\n\"It is really inexplicable,\" said the prelate.\n\nAt these words of the cardinal, Rodin, who had advanced with difficulty\ntowards the fire, turned his eyes upon the prelate, and looked at him\nfixedly in a strange manner, for about a second; then, strong in his\nunconquerable energy, notwithstanding the change in his features, which\nwere now visibly disfigured, Rodin said, in a broken voice, which he\ntried to make firm: \"The fire has warmed me; it will be nothing. I have\nno time to coddle myself. It would be a pretty thing to fall ill just as\nthe Rennepont affair can only succeed by my exertions! Let us return to\nbusiness. I told you, Father d'Aigrigny, that you might serve us a good\ndeal; and you also, princess, who have espoused this cause as if it were\nyour own--\"\n\nRodin again paused. This time he uttered a piercing cry, sank upon\na chair placed near him, and throwing himself back convulsively, he\npressed his hands to his chest, and exclaimed: \"Oh! what pain!\"\n\nThen (dreadful sight!) a cadaverous decomposition, rapid as thought,\ntook place in Rodin's features. His hollow eyes were filled with blood,\nand seemed to shrink back in their orbits, which formed, as it were,\ntwo dark holes, in the centre of which blazed points of fire; nervous\nconvulsions drew the flabby, damp, and icy skin tight over the bony\nprominences of the face, which was becoming rapidly green. From the\nlips, writhing with pain, issued the struggling breath, mingled with the\nwords: \"Oh! I suffer! I burn!\"\n\nThen, yielding to a transport of fury. Rodin tore with his nails his\nnaked chest, for he had twisted off the buttons of his waistcoat, and\nrent his black and filthy shirt-front, as if the pressure of those\ngarments augmented the violence of the pain under which he was writhing.\nThe bishop, the cardinal, and Father d'Aigrigny, hastily approached\nRodin, to try and hold him; he was seized with horrible convulsions;\nbut, suddenly, collecting all his strength, he rose upon his feet stiff\nas a corpse. Then, with his garments in disorder, his thin, gray hair\nstanding up all around his greenish face, fixing his red and flaming\neyes upon the cardinal, he seized him with convulsive grasp, and\nexclaimed in a terrible voice, half stifled in his throat: \"Cardinal\nMalipieri--this illness is too sudden--they suspect me at Rome--you\nare of the race of the Borgias--and your secretary was with me this\nmorning!\"\n\n\"Unhappy man! what does he dare insinuate?\" cried the prelate, as amazed\nas he was indignant at the accusation. So saying, the cardinal strove to\nfree himself from the grasp of Rodin, whose fingers were now as stiff as\niron.\n\n\"I am poisoned!\" muttered Rodin, and sinking back, he fell into the arms\nof Father d'Aigrigny.\n\nNotwithstanding his alarm, the cardinal had time to whisper to the\nlatter: \"He thinks himself poisoned. He must therefore be plotting\nsomething very dangerous.\"\n\nThe door of the room opened. It was Dr. Baleinier.\n\n\"Oh, doctor!\" cried the princess, as she ran pale and frightened towards\nhim; \"Father Rodin has been suddenly attacked with terrible convulsions.\nQuick! quick!\"\n\n\"Convulsions? oh! it will be nothing, madame,\" said the doctor, throwing\ndown his hat upon a chair, and hastily approaching the group which\nsurrounded the sick man.\n\n\"Here is the doctor!\" cried the princess. All stepped aside, except\nFather d'Aigrigny, who continued to support Rodin, leaning against a\nchair.\n\n\"Heavens! what symptoms!\" cried Dr. Baleinier, examining with growing\nterror the countenance of Rodin, which from green was turning blue.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked all the spectators, with one voice.\n\n\"What is it?\" repeated the doctor, drawing back as if he had trodden\nupon a serpent. \"It is the cholera! and contagious!\"\n\nOn this frightful, magic word, Father d'Aigrigny abandoned his hold of\nRodin, who rolled upon the floor.\n\n\"He is lost!\" cried Dr. Baleinier. \"But I will run to fetch the means\nfor a last effort.\" And he rushed towards the door.\n\nThe Princess de Saint-Dizier, Father d'Aigrigny, the bishop, and the\ncardinal followed in terror the flight of Dr. Baleinier. They all\npressed to the door, which, in their consternation, they could not\nopen. It opened at last but from without--and Gabriel appeared upon\nthe threshold. Gabriel, the type of the true priest, the holy, the\nevangelical minister, to whom we can never pay enough of respect and\nardent sympathy, and tender admiration. His angelic countenance, in its\nmild serenity, offered a striking contrast of these faces, all disturbed\nand contracted with terror.\n\nThe young priest was nearly thrown down by the fugitives, who rushed\nthrough the now open doorway, exclaiming: \"Do not go in! he is dying of\nthe cholera. Fly!\"\n\nOn these words, pushing back the bishop, who, being the last, was\ntrying to force a passage, Gabriel ran towards Rodin, while the prelate\nsucceeded in making his escape. Rodin, stretched upon the carpet, his\nlimbs twisted with fearful cramps, was writhing in the extremity\nof pain. The violence of his fall had, no doubt, roused him to\nconsciousness, for he moaned, in a sepulchral voice: \"They leave me to\ndie--like a dog--the cowards!--Help!--no one--\"\n\nAnd the dying man, rolling on his back with a convulsive movement,\nturned towards the ceiling a face on which was branded the infernal\ndespair of the damned, as he once more repeated: \"No one!--not one!\"\n\nHis eyes, which suddenly flamed with fury, just then met the large blue\neyes of the angelic and mild countenance of Gabriel who, kneeling beside\nhim, said to him, in his soft, grave tones: \"I am here, father--to help\nyou, if help be possible--to pray for you, if God calls you to him.\"\n\n\"Gabriel!\" murmured Rodin, with failing voice; \"forgive me for the evil\nI have done you--do not leave me--do not--\"\n\nRodin could not finish; he had succeeded in raising himself into a\nsitting posture; he now uttered a loud cry, and fell back without sense\nor motion.\n\nThe same day it was announced in the evening papers: \"The cholera has\nbroken out in Paris. The first case declared itself this day, at half\npast three, P.M. in the Rue de Babylone, at Saint-Dizier House.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII. THE SQUARE OF NOTRE DAME.\n\nA week had passed since Rodin was seized with the cholera, and its\nravages had continually increased. That was an awful time! A funeral\npall was spread over Paris, once so gay. And yet, never had the sky been\nof a more settled, purer blue; never had the sun shone more brilliantly.\nThe inexorable serenity of nature, during the ravages of the deadly\nscourge, offered a strange and mysterious contrast. The flaunting light\nof the dazzling sunshine fell full upon the features, contracted by a\nthousand agonizing fears. Each trembled for himself, or for those dear\nto him; every countenance was stamped with an expression of feverish\nastonishment and dread. People walked with rapid steps, as if they would\nescape from the fate which threatened them; besides, they were in haste\nto return to their homes, for often they left life, health, happiness,\nand, two hours later, they found agony, death, and despair.\n\nAt every moment, new dismal objects met the view. Sometimes carts passed\nalong, filled with coffins, symmetrically piled; they stopped before\nevery house. Men in black and gray garments were in waiting before the\ndoor; they held out their hands, and to some, one coffin was thrown, to\nsome two, frequently three or four, from the same house. It sometimes\nhappened that the store was quickly exhausted, and the cart, which had\narrived full, went away empty, whilst many of the dead in the street\nwere still unserved. In nearly every dwelling, upstairs and down, from\nthe roof to the cellar, there was a stunning tapping of hammers: coffins\nwere being nailed down, and so many, so very many were nailed, that\nsometimes those who worked stopped from sheer fatigue. Then broke forth\nlaments, heart-rending moans, despairing imprecations. They were uttered\nby those from whom the men in black and gray had taken some one to fill\nthe coffins.\n\nUnceasingly were the coffins filled, and day and night did those men\nwork, but by day more than by night, for, as soon as it was dusk, came\na gloomy file of vehicles of all kinds--the usual hearses were not\nsufficient; but cars, carts, drays, hackney-coaches, and such like,\nswelled the funeral procession; different to the other conveyances,\nwhich entered the streets full and went away empty--these came empty but\nsoon returned full. During that period, the windows of many houses were\nilluminated, and often the lights remained burning till the morning. It\nwas \"the season.\" These illuminations resembled the gleaming rays which\nshine in the gay haunts of pleasure; but there were tapers instead\nof wax candles, and the chanting of prayers for the dead replaced\nthe murmur of the ball-room. In the streets, instead of the facetious\ntransparencies which indicate the costumers, there swung at intervals\nhuge lanterns of a blood-red color, with these words in black letters:\n\"Assistance for those attacked with the cholera.\" The true places for\nrevelry, during the night, were the churchyards; they ran riot--they,\nusually so desolate and silent, during the dark, quiet hours, when the\ncypress trees rustle in the breeze, so lonely, that no human step dared\nto disturb the solemn silence which reigned there at night, became on\na sudden, animated, noisy, riotous, and resplendent with light. By\nthe smoky flames of torches, which threw a red glare upon the dark\nfir-trees, and the white tombstones, many grave-diggers worked merrily,\nhumming snatches of some favorite tune. Their laborious and hazardous\nindustry then commanded a very high price; they were in such request\nthat it was necessary to humor them. They drank often and much; they\nsang long and loud; and this to keep up their strength and spirits good,\nabsolute requisites in such an employment. If, by chance, any did not\nfinish the grave they had begun, some obliging comrade finished it for\nthem (fitting expression!), and placed them in it with friendly care.\n\nOther distant sounds responded to the joyous strains of the grave\ndiggers; public-houses had sprung up in the neighborhood of the\nchurchyards, and the drivers of the dead, when they had \"set down their\ncustomers,\" as they jocosely expressed themselves, enriched with their\nunusual gratuities, feasted and made merry like lords; dawn often found\nthem with a glass in their hands, and a jest on their lips; and, strange\nto say, among these funeral satellites, who breathed the very atmosphere\nof the disease, the mortality was scarcely perceptible. In the\ndark, squalid quarters of the town, where, surrounded by infectious\nexhalations, the indigent population was crowded together, and miserable\nbeings, exhausted by severe privation, were \"bespoke\" by the cholera, as\nit was energetically said at the time, not only individuals, but whole\nfamilies, were carried off in a few hours; and yet, sometimes, oh,\nmerciful Providence! one or two little children were left in the cold\nand empty room, after the father and mother, brother and sister, had\nbeen taken away in their shells.\n\nFrequently, houses which had swarmed with hard working laborers, were\nobliged to be shut up for want of tenants; in one day, they had been\ncompletely cleared by this terrible visitation, from the cellars, where\nlittle chimney-sweepers slept upon straw, to the garret, on whose cold\nbrick floor lay stretched some wan and half-naked being, without work\nand without bread. But, of all the wards of Paris, that which perhaps\npresented the most frightful spectacle during the progress of the\ncholera, was the City; and in the City, the square before the cathedral\nof Notre-Dame was almost every day the theatre of dreadful scenes: for\nthis locality was frequently thronged with those who conveyed the sick\nfrom the neighboring streets to the Great Hospital. The cholera had\nnot one aspect, but a thousand. So that one week after Rodin had\nbeen suddenly attacked, several events combining the horrible and the\ngrotesque occurred in the square of Notre Dame.\n\nInstead of the Rue d'Arcole, which now leads directly to the square, it\nwas then approached on one side, by a mean, narrow lane, like all the\nother streets of the City, and terminating in a dark, low archway. Upon\nentering the square the principal door of the huge Cathedral was to the\nleft of the spectator, and facing him were the Hospital buildings.\nA little beyond, was an opening which gave to view a portion of the\nparapet of the Quay Notre-Dame. A placard had been recently stuck on\nthe discolored and sunken wail of the archway; it contained these words,\ntraced in large characters.(37)\n\n\"VENGEANCE! VENGEANCE!\n\n\"The Working-men carried to the hospitals are poisoned, because the\nnumber of patients is too great; every night, Boats filled with corpses,\ndrop down the Seine.\n\n\"Vengeance and Death to the murderers of the People!\"\n\nTwo men, enveloped in cloaks, and half-hidden in the deep shadow of the\nvault, were listening with anxious curiosity to the threatening murmur,\nwhich rose with increasing force from among a tumultuous assembly,\ngrouped around the Hospital. Soon, cries of \"Death to the\ndoctors!--Vengeance!\" reached the ears of the persons who were in ambush\nunder the arch.\n\n\"The posters are working,\" said one; \"the train is on fire. When once\nthe populace is roused, we can set them on whom we please.\"\n\n\"I say,\" replied the other man, \"look over there. That Hercules, whose\nathletic form towers above the mob, was cue of the most frantic leaders\nwhen M. Hardy's factory was destroyed.\"\n\n\"To be sure he was; I know him again. Wherever mischief is to be done,\nyou are sure to find those vagabonds.\n\n\"Now, take my advice, do not let us remain under this archway,\" said\nthe other man; \"the wind is as cold as ice, and though I am cased in\nflannel--\"\n\n\"You are right, the cholera is confoundedly impolite. Besides,\neverything is going on well here; I am likewise assured that the whole\nof the Faubourg Saint-Antoine is ready to rise in the republican cause;\nthat will serve our ends, and our holy religion will triumph over\nrevolutionary impiety. Let us rejoin Father d'Aigrigny.\"\n\n\"Where shall we find him?\"\n\n\"Near here, come--come.\"\n\nThe two hastily disappeared.\n\nThe sun, beginning to decline, shed its golden rays upon the blackened\nsculptures of the porch of Notre-Dame, and upon its two massy towers,\nrising in imposing majesty against a perfectly blue sky, for during\nthe fast few days, a north-east wind, dry and cold, had driven away\nthe lightest cloud. A considerable number of people, as we have already\nstated, obstructed the approach to the Hospital; they crowded round the\niron railings that protect the front of the building, behind which was\nstationed a detachment of infantry, the cries of \"Death to the doctors!\"\nbecoming every moment more threatening. The people who thus vociferated.\nbelonged to an idle, vagabond, and depraved populace--the dregs of the\nParis mob; and (terrible spectacle!) the unfortunate beings who were\nforcibly carried through the midst of these hideous groups entered the\nHospital, whilst the air resounded with hoarse clamors, and cries of\n\"Death.\" Every moment, fresh victims were brought along in litters,\nand on stretchers; the litters were frequently furnished with coarse\ncurtains, and thus the sick occupants were concealed from the public\ngaze; but the stretchers, having no covering, the convulsive movements\nof the dying patients often thrust aside the sheet, and exposed to\nview their faces, livid as corpses. Far from inspiring with terror the\nwretches assembled round the Hospital, such spectacles became to them\nthe signal for savage jests, and atrocious predictions upon the fate of\nthese poor creatures, when once in the power of the doctors.\n\nThe big blaster and Ciboule, with a good many of their adherents, were\namong the mob. After the destruction of Hardy's factory, the quarryman\nwas formally expelled from the union of the Wolves, who would have\nnothing more to do with this wretch; since then, he had plunged into\nthe grossest debauchery, and speculating on his herculean strength, had\nhired himself as the officious champion of Ciboule and her compeers.\nWith the exception therefore of some chance passengers, the square of\nNotre-Dame was filled with a ragged crowd, composed of the refuse of\nthe Parisian populace--wretches who call for pity as well as blame;\nfor misery, ignorance, and destitution, beget but too fatally vice and\ncrime. These savages of civilization felt neither pity, improvement, nor\nterror, at the shocking sights with which they were surrounded; careless\nof a life which was a daily struggle against hunger, or the allurements\nof guilt, they braved the pestilence with infernal audacity, or sank\nunder it with blasphemy on their lips.\n\nThe tall form of the quarryman was conspicuous amongst the rest; with\ninflamed eyes and swollen features, he yelled at the top of his voice:\n\"Death to the body-snatchers! they poison the people.\"\n\n\"That is easier than to feed them,\" added Ciboule. Then, addressing\nherself to an old man, who was being carried with great difficulty\nthrough the dense crowd, upon a chair, by two men, the hag continued:\n\"Hey? don't go in there, old croaker; die here in the open air instead\nof dying in that den, where you'll be doctored like an old rat.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" added the quarryman; \"and then they'll throw you into the water\nto feast the fishes, which you won't swallow any more.\"\n\nAt these atrocious cries, the old man looked wildly around, and uttered\nfaint groans. Ciboule wished to stop the persons who were carrying him,\nand they had much difficulty in getting rid of the hag. The number\nof cholera-patients arriving increased every moment, and soon neither\nlitters nor stretchers could be obtained, so that they were borne along\nin the arms of the attendants. Several awful episodes bore witness\nto the startling rapidity of the infection. Two men were carrying a\nstretcher covered with a blood-stained sheet; one of them suddenly felt\nhimself attacked with the complaint; he stopped short, his powerless\narms let go the stretcher; he turned pale, staggered, fell upon the\npatient, becoming as livid as him; the other man, struck with terror,\nfled precipitately, leaving his companion and the dying man in the\nmidst of the crowd. Some drew back in horror, others burst into a savage\nlaugh.\n\n\"The horses have taken fright,\" said the quarryman, \"and have left the\nturn-out in the lurch.\"\n\n\"Help!\" cried the dying man, with a despairing accent; \"for pity's sake\ntake me in.\"\n\n\"There's no more room in the pit,\" said one, in a jeering tone.\n\n\"And you've no legs left to reach the gallery,\" added another.\n\nThe sick man made an effort to rise; but his strength failed him; he\nfell back exhausted on the mattress. A sudden movement took place among\nthe crowd, the stretcher was overturned, the old man and his companion\nwere trodden underfoot, and their groans were drowned in the cries of\n\"Death to the body-snatchers!\" The yells were renewed with fresh fury,\nbut the ferocious band, who respected nothing in their savage fury,\nwere soon after obliged to open their ranks to several workmen, who\nvigorously cleared the way for two of their friends carrying in their\narms a poor artisan. He was still young, but his heavy and already\nlivid head hung down upon the shoulder of one of them. A little child\nfollowed, sobbing, and holding by one of the workmen's coats. The\nmeasured and sonorous sound of several drums was now heard at a distance\nin the winding streets of the city: they were beating the call to\narms, for sedition was rife in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. The drummers\nemerged from under the archway, and were traversing the square, when one\nof them, a gray-haired veteran, suddenly slackened the rolling of his\ndrum, and stood still: his companions turned round in surprise--he had\nturned green; his legs gave way, he stammered some unintelligible words,\nand had fallen upon the pavement before those in the front rank had time\nto pause. The overwhelming rapidity of this attack startled for a moment\nthe most hardened among the surrounding spectators; for, wondering at\nthe interruption, a part of the crowd had rushed towards the soldiers.\n\nAt sight of the dying man, supported in the arms of two of his comrades,\none of the individuals, who, concealed under the arch, had watched the\nbeginning of the popular excitement, said to the drummers: \"Your comrade\ndrank, perhaps, at some fountain on the road?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" replied one; \"he was very thirsty; he drank two mouthfuls of\nwater on the Place du Chatelet.\"\n\n\"Then he is poisoned,\" said the man.\n\n\"Poisoned?\" cried several voices.\n\n\"It is not surprising,\" replied the man, in a mysterious tone; \"poison\nis thrown into the public fountains; and this very morning a man was\nmassacred in the Rue Beaubourg who was discovered emptying a paper of\narsenic into a pot of wine at a public-house.\"(38)\n\nHaving said these words, the man disappeared in the crowd. This report,\nno less absurd than the tales about the poisoning of the Hospital\npatients, was received with a general burst of indignation. Five or\nsix ragged beings, regular ruffians, seized the body of the expiring\ndrummer, hoisted it upon their shoulders, in spite of all the efforts\nof his comrades to prevent them, and paraded the square exhibiting the\ndismal trophy. Ciboule and the quarryman went before, crying: \"Wake way\nfor the corpse! This is how they poison the people!\"\n\nA fresh incident now attracted the attention of the crowd. A travelling\ncarriage, which had not been able to pass along the Quai-Napoleon, the\npavement of which was up, had ventured among the intricate streets of\nthe city, and now arrived in the square of Notre-Dame on its way to the\nother side of the Seine. Like many others, its owners were flying from\nParis, to escape the pestilence which decimated it. A man-servant and a\nlady's maid were in the rumble, and they exchanged a glance of alarm as\nthey passed the Hospital, whilst a young man seated in the front part\nof the carriage let down the glass, and called to the postilions to go\nslowly, for fear of accident, as the crowd was very dense at that part\nof the square. This young man was Lord Morinval, and on the back seat\nwere Lord Montbron and his niece, Lady Morinval. The pale and anxious\ncountenance of the young lady showed the alarm which she felt; and\nMontbron, notwithstanding his firmness of mind, appeared to be\nvery uneasy; he, as well as his niece, frequently had recourse to a\nsmelling-bottle filled with camphor.\n\nDuring the last few minutes, the carriage had advanced very slowly,\nthe postilions managing their horses with great caution, when a sudden\nhubbub, at first distant and undefined, but soon more distinct, arose\namong the throng, as it drew near, the ringing sound of chains and\nmetal, peculiar to the artillery-wagons, was plainly audible, and\npresently one of these vehicles came towards the travelling-carriage,\nfrom the direction of the Quai Notre-Dame. It seemed strange, that\nthough the crowd was so compact, yet at the rapid approach of this\nwagon, the close ranks of human beings opened as if by enchantment, but\nthe following words which were passed from mouth to mouth soon accounted\nfor the prodigy: \"A wagon full of dead! the wagon of the dead!\" As\nwe have already stated, the usual funeral conveyances were no longer\nsufficient for the removal of the corpses; a number of artillery wagons\nhad been put into requisition, and the coffins were hastily piled in\nthese novel hearses.\n\nMany of the spectators regarded this gloomy vehicle with dismay, but the\nquarryman and his band redoubled their horrible jokes.\n\n\"Make way for the omnibus of the departed!\" cried Ciboule.\n\n\"No danger of having one's toes crushed in that omnibus,\" said the\nquarryman.\n\n\"Doubtless they're easy to please, the stiff-uns in there.\"\n\n\"They never want to be set down, at all events.\"\n\n\"I say, there's only one reg'lar on duty as postilion!\"\n\n\"That's true, the leaders are driven by a man in a smock-frock.\"\n\n\"Oh! I daresay the other soldier was tired, lazy fellow! and got into\nthe omnibus with the others--they'll all get out at the same big hole.\"\n\n\"Head foremost, you know.\"\n\n\"Yes, they pitch them head first into a bed of lime.\"\n\n\"Why, one might follow the dead-cart blind-fold, and no mistake. It's\nworse than Montfaucon knacker-yards!\"\n\n\"Ha! ha! ha!--it's rather gamey!\" said the quarryman, alluding to the\ninfectious and cadaverous odor which this funeral conveyance left behind\nit.\n\n\"Here's sport!\" exclaimed Ciboule: \"the omnibus of the dead will run\nagainst the fine coach. Hurrah! the rich folks will smell death.\"\n\nIndeed, the wagon was now directly in front of the carriage, and at a\nvery little distance from it. A man in a smock-frock and wooden shoes\ndrove the two leaders, and an artilleryman the other horses. The coffins\nwere so piled up within this wagon, that its semicircular top did\nnot shut down closely, so that, as it jolted heavily over the uneven\npavement, the biers could be seen chafing against each other. The fiery\neyes and inflamed countenance of the man in the smock-frock showed that\nhe was half intoxicated; urging on the horses with his voice, his heels,\nand his whip, he paid no attention to the remonstrances of the soldier,\nwho had great difficulty in restraining his own animals, and was obliged\nto follow the irregular movements of the carman. Advancing in this\ndisorderly manner, the wagon deviated from its course just as it should\nhave passed the travelling-carriage, and ran against it. The shock\nforced open the top, one of the coffins was thrown out, and, after\ndamaging the panels of the carriage, fell upon the pavement with a dull\nand heavy sound. The deal planks had been hastily nailed together, and\nwere shivered in the fall, and from the wreck of the coffin rolled a\nlivid corpse, half enveloped in a shroud.\n\nAt this horrible spectacle, Lady Morinval, who had mechanically leaned\nforward, gave a loud scream, and fainted. The crowd fell back in dismay;\nthe postilions, no less alarmed, took advantage of the space left open\nto them by the retreat of the multitude; they whipped their horses, and\nthe carriage dashed on towards the quay. As it disappeared behind\nthe furthermost buildings of the Hospital, the shrill joyous notes\nof distant trumpets were heard, and repeated shouts proclaimed: \"The\nCholera Masquerade!\" The words announced one of those episodes combining\nbuffoonery with terror, which marked the period when the pestilence was\non the increase, though now they can with difficulty be credited. If\nthe evidence of eyewitnesses did not agree in every particular with the\naccounts given in the public papers of this masquerade, they might be\nregarded as the ravings of some diseased brain, and not as the notice of\na fact which really occurred.\n\n\"The Masquerade of the Cholera\" appeared, we say, in the square of Notre\nDame, just as Morinval's carriage gained the quay, after disengaging\nitself from the death-wagon.\n\n(37) It is well-known that at the time of the cholera, such placards\nwere numerous in Paris, and were alternately attributed to opposite\nparties. Among others, to the priests, many of the bishops having\npublished mandatory letters, or stated openly in the churches of their\ndiocese, that the Almighty had sent the cholera as a punishment to\nFrance for having driven away its lawful sovereign, and assimilated the\nCatholic to other forms of worship.\n\n(38) It is notorious, that at this unhappy period several persons were\nmassacred, under a false accusation of poisoning the fountains, etc.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX. THE CHOLERA MASQUERADE.(39)\n\nA stream of people, who preceded the masquerade, made a sudden irruption\nthrough the arch into the square, uttering loud cheers as they advanced.\nChildren were also there, blowing horns, whilst some hooted and others\nhissed.\n\nThe quarryman, Ciboule, and their band, attracted by this new spectacle,\nrushed tumultuously towards the arch. Instead of the two eating-houses,\nwhich now (1845) stand on either side of the Rue d'Arcole, there was\nthen only one, situated to the left of the vaulted passage, and much\ncelebrated amongst the joyous community of students, for the excellence\nboth of its cookery and its wines. At the first blare of the trumpets,\nsounded by the outriders in livery who preceded the masquerade, the\nwindows of the great room of the eating-house were thrown open, and\nseveral waiters, with their napkins under their arms, leaned forward,\nimpatient to witness the arrival of the singular guests they were\nexpecting.\n\nAt length, the grotesque procession made its appearance in the thick of\nan immense uproar. The train comprised a chariot, escorted by men and\nwomen on horseback, clad in rich and elegant fancy dresses. Most of\nthese maskers belonged to the middle and easy classes of society. The\nreport had spread that masquerade was in preparation, for the purpose\nof daring the cholera, and, by this joyous demonstration, to revive\nthe courage of the affrighted populace. Immediately, artists, young men\nabout town, students, and so on, responded to the appeal, and though\ntill now unknown one to the other, they easily fraternized together.\nMany brought their mistresses, to complete the show. A subscription had\nbeen opened to defray the expenses, and, that morning, after a splendid\nbreakfast at the other end of Paris, the joyous troop had started\nbravely on their march, to finish the day by a dinner in the square of\nNotre Dame.\n\nWe say bravely, for it required a singular turn of mind, a rare firmness\nof character, in young women, to traverse, in this fashion, a great\ncity plunged in consternation and terror--to fall in at every step with\nlitters loaded with the dying, and carriages filled with the dead--to\ndefy, as it were, in a spirit of strange pleasantry, the plague that was\ndetonating the Parisians. It is certain that, in Paris alone, and\nthere only amongst a peculiar class, could such an idea have ever been\nconceived or realized. Two men, grotesquely disguised as postilions at\na funeral, with formidable false noses, rose-colored crape hat-bands and\nlarge favors of roses and crape bows at their buttonholes, rode before\nthe vehicle. Upon the platform of the car were groups of allegorical\npersonages, representing WINE, PLEASURE, LOVE, PLAY. The mission of\nthese symbolical beings was, by means of jokes, sarcasms, and mockeries,\nto plague the life out of Goodman Cholera, a sort of funeral and\nburlesque Cassander, whom they ridiculed and made game of in a hundred\nways. The moral of the play was this: \"To brave Cholera in security, let\nus drink, laugh, game, and make love!\"\n\nWINE was represented by a huge, lusty Silenus, thick-set, and with\nswollen paunch, a crown of ivy on his brow, a panther's skin across his\nshoulder, and in his hand a large gilt goblet, wreathed with flowers.\nNone other than Ninny Moulin, the famous moral and religious writer,\ncould have exhibited to the astonished and delighted spectators an\near of so deep a scarlet, so majestic an abdomen, and a face of such\ntriumphant and majestic fulness. Every moment, Ninny Moulin appeared to\nempty his cup--after which he burst out laughing in the face of Goodman\nCholera. Goodman Cholera, a cadaverous pantaloon, was half-enveloped in\na shroud; his mask of greenish cardboard, with red, hollow eyes, seemed\nevery moment to grin as in mockery of death; from beneath his powdered\nperuke, surmounted by a pyramidical cotton night-cap, appeared his neck\nand arm, dyed of a bright green color; his lean hand, which shook almost\nalways with a feverish trembling (not feigned, but natural), rested upon\na crutch-handled cane; finally, as was becoming in a pantaloon, he wore\nred stockings, with buckles at the knees, and high slippers of black\nbeaver. This grotesque representative of the cholera was Sleepinbuff.\n\nNotwithstanding a slow and dangerous fever, caused by the excessive use\nof brandy, and by constant debauchery, that was silently undermining his\nconstitution, Jacques Rennepont had been induced by Morok to join the\nmasquerade. The brute-tamer himself, dressed as the King of Diamonds,\nrepresented PLAY. His forehead was adorned with a diadem of gilded\npaper, his face was pale and impassible, and as his long, yellow beard\nfell down the front of his parti-colored robe, Morok looked exactly\nthe character he personated. From time to time, with an air of grave\nmockery, he shook close to the eyes of Goodman Cholera a large bag full\nof sounding counters, and on this bag were painted all sorts of playing\ncards. A certain stiffness in the right arm showed that the lion-tamer\nhad not yet quite recovered from the effects of the wound which the\npanther had inflicted before being stabbed by Djalma.\n\nPLEASURE, who also represented Laughter, classically shook her rattle,\nwith its sonorous gilded bells, close to the ears of Goodman Cholera.\nShe was a quick, lively young girl, and her fine black hair was crowned\nwith a scarlet cap of liberty. For Sleepinbuff's sake, she had taken the\nplace of the poor Bacchanal queen, who would not have failed to attend\non such an occasion--she, who had been so valiant and gay, when she\nbore her part in a less philosophical, but not less amusing masquerade.\nAnother pretty creature, Modeste Bornichoux, who served as a model to\na painter of renown (one of the cavaliers of the procession), was\neminently successful in her representation of LOVE. He could not have\nhad a more charming face, and more graceful form. Clad in a light blue\nspangled tunic, with a blue and silver band across her chestnut hair,\nand little transparent wings affixed to her white shoulders, she\nplaced one forefinger upon the other, and pointed with the prettiest\nimpertinence at Goodman Cholera. Around the principal group, other\nmaskers, more or less grotesque in appearance, waved each a banner, an\nwhich were inscriptions of a very anacreontic character, considering the\ncircumstances:\n\n\"Down with the Cholera!\" \"Short and sweet!\" \"Laugh away, laugh always!\"\n\"We'll collar the Cholera!\" \"Love forever!\" \"Wine forever!\" \"Come if you\ndare, old terror!\"\n\nThere was really such audacious gayety in this masquerade, that the\ngreater number of the spectators, at the moment when it crossed the\nsquare, in the direction of the eating-house, where dinner was waiting,\napplauded it loudly and repeatedly. This sort of admiration, which\ncourage, however mad and blind, almost always inspires, appeared to\nothers (a small number, it must be confessed) a kind of defiance to the\nwrath of heaven; and these received the procession with angry murmurs.\nThis extraordinary spectacle, and the different impressions it\nproduced, were too remote from all customary facts to admit of a just\nappreciation. We hardly know if this daring bravado was deserving of\npraise or blame.\n\nBesides, the appearance of those plagues, which from age to age decimate\nthe population of whole countries, has almost always been accompanied by\na sort of mental excitement, which none of those who have been spared\nby the contagion can hope to escape. It is a strange fever of the mind,\nwhich sometimes rouses the most stupid prejudices and the most ferocious\npassions, and sometimes inspires, on the contrary, the most magnificent\ndevotion, the most courageous actions--with some, driving the fear\nof death to a point of the wildest terror--with others, exciting the\ncontempt of life to express itself in the most audacious bravadoes.\nCaring little for the praise or blame it might deserve, the masquerade\narrived before the eating-house, and made its entry in the midst of\nuniversal acclamations. Everything seemed to combine to give full effect\nto this strange scene, by the opposition of the most singular contrasts.\nThus the tavern, in which was to be held this extraordinary feast, being\nsituated at no great distance from the antique cathedral, and the gloomy\nhospital, the religious anthems of the ancient temple, the cries of the\ndying, and the bacchanalian songs of the banqueteers, must needs mingle,\nand by turns drown one another. The maskers now got down from their\nchariot, and from their horses, and went to take their places at the\nrepast, which was waiting for them. The actors in the masquerade are\nat table in the great room of the tavern. They are joyous, noisy, even\nriotous. Yet their gayety has a strange tone, peculiar to itself.\n\nSometimes, the most resolute involuntarily remember that their life is\nat stake in this mad and audacious game with destiny. That fatal thought\nis rapid as the icy fever-shudder, which chills you in an instant;\ntherefore, from time to time, an abrupt silence, lasting indeed only for\na second, betrays these passing emotions which are almost immediately\neffaced by new bursts of joyful acclamation, for each one says to\nhimself: \"No weakness! my chum and my girl are looking at me!\"\n\nAnd all laugh, and knock glasses together, and challenge the next man,\nand drink out of the glass of the nearest woman. Jacques had taken off\nthe mask and peruke of Goodman Cholera. His thin, leaden features, his\ndeadly paleness, the lurid brilliancy of his hollow eyes, showed\nthe incessant progress of the slow malady which was consuming this\nunfortunate man, brought by excesses to the last extremity of weakness.\nThough he felt the slow fire devouring his entrails, he concealed his\npain beneath a forced and nervous smile.\n\nTo the left of Jacques was Morok, whose fatal influence was ever on the\nincrease, and to his right the girl disguised as PLEASURE. She was named\nMariette. By her side sat Ninny Moulin, in all his majestic bulk, who\noften pretended to be looking for his napkin under the table, in order\nto have the opportunity of pressing the knees of his other neighbor,\nModeste, the representative of LOVE. Most of the guests were grouped\naccording to their several tastes, each tender pair together, and the\nbachelors where they could. They had reached the second course, and the\nexcellence of the wine, the good cheer, the gay speeches, and even the\nsingularity of the occasion, had raised their spirits to a high degree\nof excitement, as may be gathered from the extraordinary incidents of\nthe following scene.\n\n(39) We read in the Constitutionnel, Saturday March 31st, 1832: \"The\nParisians readily conform to that part of the official instructions\nwith regard to the cholera, which prescribes, as a preservation from the\ndisease, not to be afraid, to amuse one's self, etc. The pleasures of\nMid-Lent have been as brilliant and as mad as those of the carnival\nitself. For a long time past there had not been so many balls at this\nperiod of the year. Even the cholera has been made the subject of an\nitinerant caricature.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX. THE DEFIANCE.\n\nTwo or three times, without being remarked by the guests, one of the\nwaiters had come to whisper to his fellows, and point with expressive\ngesture to the ceiling. But his comrades had taken small account of his\nobservations or fears, not wishing, doubtless, to disturb the guests,\nwhose mad gayety seemed ever on the increase.\n\n\"Who can doubt now of the superiority of our manner of treating this\nimpertinent Cholera? Has he dared even to touch our sacred battalion?\"\nsaid a magnificent mountebank-Turk, one of the standard-bearers of the\nmasquerade.\n\n\"Here is all the mystery,\" answered another. \"It is very simple. Only\nlaugh in the face of the plague, and it will run away from you.\"\n\n\"And right enough too, for very stupid work it does,\" added a pretty\nlittle Columbine, emptying her glass.\n\n\"You are right, my darling; it is intolerably stupid work,\" answered\nthe Clown belonging to the Columbine; \"here you are very quiet, enjoying\nlife, and all on a sudden you die with an atrocious grimace. Well! what\nthen? Clever, isn't it? I ask you, what does it prove?\"\n\n\"It proves,\" replied an illustrious painter of the romantic school,\ndisguised like a Roman out of one of David's pictures, \"it proves that\nthe Cholera is a wretched colorist, for he has nothing but a dirty\ngreen on his pallet. Evidently he is a pupil of Jacobus, that king of\nclassical painters, who are another species of plagues.\"\n\n\"And yet, master,\" added respectfully a pupil of the great painter, \"I\nhave seen some cholera patients whose convulsions were rather fine, and\ntheir dying looks first-rate!\"\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" cried a sculptor of no less celebrity, \"the question\nlies in a nutshell. The Cholera is a detestable colorist, but a good\ndraughtsman. He shows you the skeleton in no time. By heaven! how he\nstrips off the flesh!--Michael Angelo would be nothing to him.\"\n\n\"True,\" cried they all, with one voice; \"the Cholera is a bad colorist,\nbut a good draughtsman.\"\n\n\"Moreover, gentlemen,\" added Ninny Moulin, with comic gravity, \"this\nplague brings with it a providential lesson, as the great Bossuet would\nhave said.\"\n\n\"The lesson! the lesson!\"\n\n\"Yes, gentlemen; I seem to hear a voice from above, proclaiming: 'Drink\nof the best, empty your purse, and kiss your neighbor's wife; for your\nhours are perhaps numbered, unhappy wretch!'\"\n\nSo saying, the orthodox Silenus took advantage of a momentary absence\nof mind on the part of Modeste, his neighbor, to imprint on the blooming\ncheek of LOVE a long, loud kiss. The example was contagious, and a storm\nof kisses was mingled with bursts of laughter.\n\n\"Ha! blood and thunder!\" cried the great painter as he gayly threatened\nNinny Moulin; \"you are very lucky that to-morrow will perhaps be the end\nof the world, or else I should pick a quarrel with you for having kissed\nmy lovely LOVE.\"\n\n\"Which proves to you, O Rubens! O Raphael! the thousand advantages of\nthe Cholera, whom I declare to be essentially sociable and caressing.\"\n\n\"And philanthropic,\" said one of the guests; \"thanks to him, creditors\ntake care of the health of their debtors. This morning a usurer, who\nfeels a particular interest in my existence, brought me all sorts of\nanti-choleraic drugs, and begged me to make use of them.\"\n\n\"And I!\" said the pupil of the great painter. \"My tailor wished to force\nme to wear a flannel band next to the skin, because I owe him a thousand\ncrowns. But I answered 'Oh, tailor, give me a receipt in full, and I\nwill wrap myself up in flannel, to preserve you my custom!'\"\n\n\"O Cholera, I drink to thee!\" said Ninny Moulin, by way of grotesque\ninvocation. \"You are not Despair; on the contrary, you are the emblem\nof Hope--yes, of hope. How many husbands, how many wives, longed for\na number (alas! too uncertain chance) in the lottery of widowhood! You\nappear, and their hearts are gladdened. Thanks to you, benevolent pest!\ntheir chances of liberty are increased a hundredfold.\"\n\n\"And how grateful heirs ought to be! A cold--a heat--a trifle--and\nthere, in an hour, some old uncle becomes a revered benefactor!\"\n\n\"And those who are always looking out for other people's places--what an\nally they must find in the Cholera!\"\n\n\"And how true it will make many vows of constancy!\" said Modeste,\nsentimentally. \"How many villains have sworn to a poor, weak woman, to\nlove her all their lives, who never meant (the wretches!) to keep their\nword so well!\"\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" cried Ninny Moulin, \"since we are now, perhaps, at the eve\nof the end of the world, as yonder celebrated painter has expressed\nit, I propose to play the world topsy-turvy: I beg these ladies to make\nadvances to us, to tease us, to excite us, to steal kisses from us, to\ntake all sorts of liberties with us, and (we shall not die of it) even\nto insult us. Yes, I declare that I will allow myself to be insulted.\nSo, LOVE, you may offer me the greatest insult that can be offered to a\nvirtuous and modest bachelor,\" added the religious writer, leaning over\ntowards his neighbor, who repulsed him with peals of laughter; and the\nproposal of Ninny Moulin being received with general hilarity, a new\nimpulse was given to the mirth and riot.\n\nIn the midst of the uproar, the waiter, who had before entered the room\nseveral times, to whisper uneasily to his comrades, whilst he pointed\nto the ceiling, again appeared with a pale and agitated countenance;\napproaching the man who performed the office of butler, he said to him,\nin a low voice, tremulous with emotion: \"They are come!\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"You know--up there\"; and he pointed to the ceiling.\n\n\"Oh!\" said the butler, becoming thoughtful; \"where are they?\"\n\n\"They have just gone upstairs; they are there now,\" answered the waiter,\nshaking his head with an air of alarm; \"yes, they are there!\"\n\n\"What does master say?\"\n\n\"He is very vexed, because--\" and the waiter glanced round at the\nguests. \"He does not know what to do; he has sent me to you.\"\n\n\"What the devil have I to do with it?\" said the other; wiping his\nforehead. \"It was to be expected, and cannot be helped.\"\n\n\"I will not remain here till they begin.\"\n\n\"You may as well go, for your long face already attracts attention. Tell\nmaster we must wait for the upshot.\"\n\nThe above incident was scarcely perceived in the midst of the growing\ntumult of the joyous feast. But, among the guests, one alone laughed\nnot, drank not. This was Jacques. With fixed and lurid eye, he gazed\nupon vacancy. A stranger to what was passing around him, the unhappy man\nthought of the Bacchanal Queen, who had been so gay and brilliant in the\nmidst of similar saturnalia. The remembrance of that one being, whom\nhe still loved with an extravagant love, was the only thought that from\ntime to time roused him from his besotted state.\n\nIt is strange, but Jacques had only consented to join this masquerade\nbecause the mad scene reminded him of the merry day he had spent with\nCephyse--that famous breakfast, after a night of dancing, in which the\nBacchanal Queen, from some extraordinary presentiment, had proposed a\nlugubrious toast with regard to this very pestilence, which was then\nreported to be approaching France. \"To the Cholera!\" had she said. \"Let\nhim spare those who wish to live, and kill at the same moment those who\ndread to part!\"\n\nAnd now, at this time, remembering those mournful words, Jacques was\nabsorbed in painful thought. Morok perceived his absence of mind, and\nsaid aloud to him, \"You have given over drinking, Jacques. Have you had\nenough wine? Then you will want brandy. I will send for some.\"\n\n\"I want neither wine nor brandy,\" answered Jacques, abruptly, and he\nfell back into a sombre reverie.\n\n\"Well, you may be right,\" resumed Morok, in a sardonic tone, and raising\nhis voice still higher. \"You do well to take care of yourself. I was\nwrong to name brandy in these times. There would be as much temerity in\nfacing a bottle of brandy as the barrel of a loaded pistol.\"\n\nOn hearing his courage as a toper called in question, Sleepinbuff looked\nangrily at Morok. \"You think it is from cowardice that I will not drink\nbrandy!\" cried the unfortunate man, whose half-extinguished intellect\nwas roused to defend what he called his dignity. \"Is it from cowardice\nthat I refuse, d'ye think, Morok? Answer me!\"\n\n\"Come, my good fellow, we have all shown our pluck today,\" said one of\nthe guests to Jacques; \"you, above all, who, being rather indisposed,\nyet had the courage to take the part of Goodman Cholera.\"\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" resumed Morok, seeing the general attention fixed upon\nhimself and Sleepinbuff, \"I was only joking; for if my comrade (pointing\nto Jacques) had the imprudence to accept my offer, it would be an act,\nnot of courage, but of foolhardiness. Luckily, he has sense enough to\nrenounce a piece of boasting so dangerous at this time, and I--\"\n\n\"Waiter!\" cried Jacques, interrupting Morok with angry impatience, \"two\nbottles of brandy, and two glasses!\"\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" said Morok, with pretended uneasiness. \"Why\ndo you order two bottles of brandy?\"\n\n\"For a duel,\" said Jacques, in a cool, resolute tone.\n\n\"A duel!\" cried the spectators, in surprise.\n\n\"Yes,\" resumed Jacques, \"a duel with brandy. You pretend there is as\nmuch danger in facing a bottle of brandy as a loaded pistol; let us each\ntake a full bottle, and see who will be the first to cry quarter.\"\n\nThis strange proposition was received by some with shouts of joy, and by\nothers with genuine uneasiness.\n\n\"Bravo! the champions of the bottle!\" cried the first.\n\n\"No, no; there would be too much danger in such a contest,\" said the\nothers.\n\n\"Just now,\" added one of the guests; \"this challenge is as serious as an\ninvitation to fight to the death.\"\n\n\"You hear,\" said Morok, with a diabolical smile, \"you hear, Jacques?\nWill you now retreat before the danger?\"\n\nAt these words, which reminded him of the peril to which he was about\nto expose himself, Jacques started, as if a sudden idea had occurred to\nhim. He raised his head proudly, his cheeks were slightly flushed, his\neye shone with a kind of gloomy satisfaction, and he exclaimed in a firm\nvoice: \"Hang it, waiter! are you deaf? I asked you for two bottles of\nbrandy.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" said the waiter, going to fetch them, although himself\nfrightened at what might be the result of this bacchanalian struggle.\nBut the mad and perilous resolution of Jacques was applauded by the\nmajority.\n\nNinny Moulin moved about on his chair, stamped his feet, and shouted\nwith all his might: \"Bacchus and drink! bottles and glasses! the throats\nare dry! brandy to the rescue! Largess! largess!\"\n\nAnd, like a true champion of the tournament, he embraced Modeste,\nadding, to excuse the liberty: \"Love, you shall be the Queen of Beauty,\nand I am only anticipating the victor's happiness!\"\n\n\"Brandy to the rescue!\" repeated they all, in chorus. \"Largess!\"\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" added Ninny Moulin, with enthusiasm, \"shall we remain\nindifferent to the noble example set us by Goodman Cholera? He said in\nhis pride, 'brandy!' Let us gloriously answer, 'punch!'\"\n\n\"Yes, yes! punch!\"\n\n\"Punch to the rescue!\"\n\n\"Waiter!\" shouted the religious writer, with the voice of a Stentor,\n\"waiter! have you a pan, a caldron, a hogshead, or any other immensity,\nin which we can brew a monster punch?\"\n\n\"A Babylonian punch!\"\n\n\"A lake of punch!\"\n\n\"An ocean of punch!\"\n\nSuch was the ambitious crescendo that followed the proposition of Ninny\nMoulin.\n\n\"Sir,\" answered the waiter, with an air of triumph, \"we just happen to\nhave a large copper caldron, quite new. It has been used, and would hold\nat least thirty bottles.\"\n\n\"Bring the caldron!\" said Ninny Moulin, majestically.\n\n\"The caldron forever!\" shouted the chorus.\n\n\"Put in twenty bottles of brandy, six loaves of sugar, a dozen lemons, a\npound of cinnamon, and then--fire! fire!\" shouted the religious writer,\nwith the most vociferous exclamations.\n\n\"Yes, yes! fire!\" repeated the chorus!\n\nThe proposition of Ninny Moulin gave a new impetus to the general\ngayety; the most extravagant remarks were mingled with the sound of\nkisses, taken or given under the pretext that perhaps there would be\nno to-morrow, that one must make the most of the present, etc., etc.\nSuddenly, in one of the moments of silence which sometimes occur in the\nmidst of the greatest tumult, a succession of slow and measured taps\nsounded above the ceiling of the banqueting-room. All remained silent,\nand listened.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI. BRANDY TO THE RESCUE.\n\nAfter the lapse of some seconds, the singular rapping which had so much\nsurprised the guests, was again heard, but this time louder and longer.\n\n\"Waiter!\" cried one of the party, \"what in the devil's name is\nknocking?\"\n\nThe waiter, exchanging with his comrades a look of uneasiness and alarm,\nstammered Out in reply: \"Sir--it is--it is--\"\n\n\"Well! I suppose it is some crabbed, cross-grained lodger, some animal,\nthe enemy of joy, who is pounding on the floor of his room to warn us to\nsing less loud,\" said Ninny Moulin.\n\n\"Then, by a general rule,\" answered sententiously the pupil of the great\npainter, \"if lodger or landlord ask for silence, tradition bids us reply\nby an infernal uproar, destined to drown all his remonstrances. Such, at\nleast,\" added the scapegrace, modestly, \"are the foreign relations that\nI have always seen observed between neighboring powers.\"\n\nThis remark was received with general laughter and applause. During the\ntumult, Morok questioned one of the waiters, and then exclaimed in a\nshrill tone, which rose above the clamor: \"I demand a hearing!\"\n\n\"Granted!\" cried the others, gayly. During the silence which followed\nthe exclamation of Morok, the noise was again heard; it was this time\nquicker than before.\n\n\"The lodger is innocent,\" said Morok, with a strange smile, \"and would\nbe quite incapable of interfering with your enjoyment.\"\n\n\"Then why does he keep up that knocking?\" said Ninny Moulin, emptying\nhis glass.\n\n\"Like a deaf man who has lost his ear-horn?\" added the young artist.\n\n\"It is not the lodger who is knocking\" said Morok, in a sharp, quick\ntone; \"for they are nailing him down in his coffin.\" A sudden and\nmournful silence followed these words.\n\n\"His coffin no, I am wrong,\" resumed Morok; \"her coffin, I should say,\nor more properly their coffin; for, in these pressing times, they put\nmother and child together.\"\n\n\"A woman!\" cried PLEASURE, addressing the writer; \"is it a woman that is\ndead?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am; a poor young woman about twenty years of age,\" answered the\nwaiter in a sorrowful tone. \"Her little girl, that she was nursing, died\nsoon after--all in less than two hours. My master is very sorry that\nyou ladies and gents should be disturbed in this way; but he could not\nforesee this misfortune, as yesterday morning the young woman was quite\nwell, and singing with all her might--no one could have been gayer than\nshe was.\"\n\nUpon these words, it was as if a funeral pall had been suddenly thrown\nover a scene lately so full of joy; all the rubicund and jovial faces\ntook an expression of sadness; no one had the hardihood to make a\njest of mother and child, nailed down together in the same coffin. The\nsilence became so profound, that one could hear each breath oppressed by\nterror: the last blows of the hammer seemed to strike painfully on every\nheart; it appeared as if each sad feeling, until now repressed,\nwas about to replace that animation and gayety, which had been more\nfactitious than sincere. The moment was decisive. It was necessary to\nstrike an immediate blow, and to raise the spirits of the guests, for\nmany pretty rosy faces began to grow pale, many scarlet ears became\nsuddenly white; Ninny Moulin's were of the number.\n\nOn the contrary, Sleepinbuff exhibited an increase of audacity; he drew\nup his figure, bent down from the effects of exhaustion, and, with a\ncheek slightly flushed, he exclaimed: \"Well, waiter? are those bottles\nof brandy coming? And the punch? Devil and all! are the dead to frighten\nthe living?\"\n\n\"He's right! Down with sorrow, and let's have the punch!\" cried several\nof the guests, who felt the necessity of reviving their courage.\n\n\"Forward, punch!\"\n\n\"Begone, dull care!\"\n\n\"Jollity forever!\"\n\n\"Gentlemen, here is the punch,\" said a waiter, opening the door. At\nsight of the flaming beverage, which was to reanimate their enfeebled\nspirits, the room rang with the loudest applause.\n\nThe sun had just set. The room was large, being capable of dining a\nhundred guests; and the windows were few, narrow, and half veiled by red\ncotton curtains. Though it was not yet night, some portions of this vast\nsaloon were almost entirely dark. Two waiters brought the monster-punch,\nin an immense brass kettle, brilliant as gold, suspended from an iron\nbar, and crowned with flames of changing color. The burning beverage was\nthen placed upon the table, to the great joy of the guests, who began to\nforget their past alarms.\n\n\"Now,\" said Jacques to Morok, in a taunting tone, \"while the punch is\nburning, we will have our duel. The company shall judge.\" Then, pointing\nto the two bottles of brandy, which the waiter had brought, Jacques\nadded: \"Choose your weapon!\"\n\n\"Do you choose,\" answered Morok.\n\n\"Well! here's your bottle--and here's your glass. Ninny Moulin shall be\numpire.\"\n\n\"I do not refuse to be judge of the field,\" answered the religious\nwriter, \"only I must warn you, comrade, that you are playing a desperate\ngame, and that just now, as one of these gentlemen has said, the neck\nof a bottle of brandy in one's mouth, is perhaps more dangerous than the\nbarrel of a loaded pistol.\"\n\n\"Give the word, old fellow!\" said Jacques, interrupting Ninny Moulin,\n\"or I will give it myself.\"\n\n\"Since you will have it so--so be it!\"\n\n\"The first who gives in is conquered,\" said Jacques.\n\n\"Agreed!\" answered Morok.\n\n\"Come, gentlemen, attention! we must follow every movement,\" resumed\nNinny Moulin. \"Let us first see if the bottles are of the same\nsize--equality of weapons being the foremost condition.\"\n\nDuring these preparations, profound silence reigned in the room. The\ncourage of the majority of those present, animated for a moment by the\narrival of the punch, was soon again depressed by gloomy thoughts,\nas they vaguely foresaw the danger of the contest between Morok and\nJacques. This impression joined to the sad thoughts occasioned by the\nincident of the coffin, darkened by degrees many a countenance. Some\nof the guests, indeed, continued to make a show of rejoicing, but their\ngayety appeared forced. Under certain circumstances, the smallest things\nwill have the most powerful effect. We have said that, after sunset,\na portion of this large room was plunged in obscurity; therefore, the\nguests who sat in the remote corners of the apartment, had no other\nlight than the reflection of the flaming punch. Now it is well known,\nthat the flame of burning spirit throws a livid, bluish tint over the\ncountenance; it was therefore a strange, almost frightful spectacle, to\nsee a number of the guests, who happened to be at a distance from the\nwindows, in this ghastly and fantastic light.\n\nThe painter, more struck than all the rest by this effect of color,\nexclaimed: \"Look! at this end of the table, we might fancy ourselves\nfeasting with cholera-patients, we are such fine blues and greens.\"\n\nThis jest was not much relished. Fortunately, the loud voice of Ninny\nMoulin demanded attention, and for a moment turned the thoughts of the\ncompany.\n\n\"The lists are open,\" cried the religious writer, really more frightened\nthan he chose to appear. \"Are you ready, brave champions?\" he added.\n\n\"We are ready,\" said Morok and Jacques.\n\n\"Present! fire!\" cried Ninny Moulin, clapping his hands. And the two\ndrinkers each emptied a tumbler full of brandy at a draught.\n\nMorok did not even knit his brow; his marble face remained impassible;\nwith a steady hand he replaced his glass upon the table. But Jacques, as\nhe put down his glass, could not conceal a slight convulsive trembling,\ncaused by internal suffering.\n\n\"Bravely done!\" cried Ninny Moulin. \"The quarter of a bottle of brandy\nat a draught--it is glorious! No one else here would be capable of such\nprowess. And now, worthy champions, if you believe me, you will stop\nwhere you are.\"\n\n\"Give the word!\" answered Jacques, intrepidly. And, with feverish and\nshaking hand, he seized the bottle; then suddenly, instead of filling\nhis glass, he said to Morok: \"Bah! we want no glasses. It is braver to\ndrink from the bottle. I dare you to it!\"\n\nMorok's only answer was to shrug his shoulders, and raise the neck\nof the bottle to his lips. Jacques hastened to imitate him. The thin,\nyellowish, transparent glass gave a perfect view of the progressive\ndiminution of the liquor. The stony countenance of Morok, and the pale\nthin face of Jacques, on which already stood large drops of cold sweat,\nwere now, as well as the features of the other guests, illuminated\nby the bluish light of the punch; every eye was fixed upon Morok and\nJacques, with that barbarous curiosity which cruel spectacles seem\ninvoluntarily to inspire.\n\nJacques continued to drink, holding the bottle in his left hand;\nsuddenly, he closed and tightened the fingers of his right hand with\na convulsive movement; his hair clung to his icy forehead, and his\ncountenance revealed an agony of pain. Yet he continued to drink; only,\nwithout removing his lips from the neck of the bottle, he lowered it for\nan instant, as if to recover breath. Just then, Jacques met the sardonic\nlook of Morok, who continued to drink with his accustomed impassibility.\nThinking that he saw the expression of insulting triumph in Morok's\nglance, Jacques raised his elbow abruptly, and drank with avidity a few\ndrops more. But his strength was exhausted. A quenchless fire devoured\nhis vitals. His sufferings were too intense, and he could no longer bear\nup against them. His head fell backwards, his jaws closed convulsively,\nhe crushed the neck of the bottle between his teeth, his neck grew\nrigid, his limbs writhed with spasmodic action, and he became almost\nsenseless.\n\n\"Jacques, my good fellow! it is nothing,\" cried Morok, whose ferocious\nglance now sparkled with diabolical joy. Then, replacing his bottle\non the table, he rose to go to the aid of Ninny Moulin, who was vainly\nendeavoring to hold Sleepinbuff.\n\nThis sudden attack had none of the symptoms of cholera. Yet terror\nseized upon all present; one of the women was taken with hysterics, and\nanother uttered piercing cries and fainted away. Ninny Moulin, leaving\nJacques in the hands of Morok, ran towards the door to seek for\nhelp,--when that door was suddenly opened, and the religious writer drew\nback in alarm, at the sight of the unexpected personage who appeared on\nthe threshold.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII. MEMORIES.\n\nThe person before whom Ninny Moulin stopped in such extreme astonishment\nwas the Bacchanal Queen.\n\nPale and wan, with, hair in disorder, hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, and\nclothed almost in rags, this brilliant and joyous heroine of so many mad\norgies was now only the shadow of her former self. Misery and grief were\nimpressed on that countenance, once so charming. Hardly had she entered\nthe room, when Cephyse paused; her mournful and unquiet gaze strove\nto penetrate the half-obscurity of the apartment, in search of him she\nlonged to see. Suddenly the girl started, and uttered a loud scream.\nShe had just perceived, at the other side of a long table, by the bluish\nlight of the punch, Jacques struggling with Morok and one of the guests,\nwho were hardly able to restrain his convulsive movements.\n\nAt this sight Cephyse, in her first alarm, carried away by her\naffection, did what she had so often done in the intoxication of joy and\npleasure. Light and agile, instead of losing precious time in making a\nlong circuit, she sprang at once upon the table, passed nimbly through\nthe array of plates and bottles, and with one spring was by the side of\nthe sufferer.\n\n\"Jacques!\" she exclaimed, without yet remarking the lion-tamer, and\nthrowing herself on the neck of her lover. \"Jacques! it is I--Cephyse!\"\n\nThat well-known voice, that heart-piercing cry, which came from the\nbottom of the soul, seemed not unheard by Sleepinbuff. He turned his\nhead mechanically towards the Bacchanal Queen, without opening his eyes,\nand heaved a deep sigh; his stiffened limbs relaxed, a slight trembling\nsucceeded to the convulsions, and in a few seconds his heavy eyelids\nwere raised with an effort, so as to uncover his dull and wandering\ngaze. Mute with astonishment, the spectators of this scene felt an\nuneasy curiosity. Cephyse, kneeling beside her lover, bathed his hands\nin her tears, covered them with kisses, and exclaimed, in a voice broken\nby sobs, \"It is I--Cephyse--I have found you again--it was not my fault\nthat I abandoned you! Forgive me, forgive--\"\n\n\"Wretched woman!\" cried Morok, irritated at this meeting, which might,\nperhaps, be fatal to his projects; \"do you wish to kill him? In his\npresent state, this agitation is death. Begone!\" So saying, he seized\nCephyse suddenly by the arm, just as Jacques, waking, as it were, from a\npainful dream, began to distinguish what was passing around him.\n\n\"You! It is you!\" cried the Bacchanal Queen, in amazement, as she\nrecognized Morok, \"who separated me from Jacques!\"\n\nShe paused; for the dim eye of the victim, as it rested upon her, grew\nsuddenly bright.\n\n\"Cephyse!\" murmured Jacques; \"is it you?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is I,\" answered she, in a voice of deep emotion; \"who have\ncome--I will tell you--\"\n\nShe was unable to continue, and, as she clasped her hands together,\nher pale, agitated, tearful countenance expressed her astonishment and\ndespair at the mortal change which had taken place in the features\nof Jacques. He understood the cause of her surprise, and as he\ncontemplated, in his turn, the suffering and emaciated countenance of\nCephyse, he said to her, \"Poor girl! you also have had to bear much\ngrief, much misery--I should hardly have known you.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Cephyse, \"much grief--much misery--and worse than\nmisery,\" she added, trembling, whilst a deep blush overspread her pale\nfeatures.\n\n\"Worse than misery?\" said Jacques, astonished.\n\n\"But it is you who have suffered,\" hastily resumed Cephyse, without\nanswering her lover.\n\n\"Just now, I was going to make an end of it--your voice has recalled me\nfor an instant--but I feel something here,\" and he laid his hand upon\nhis breast, \"which never gives quarter. It is all the same now--I have\nseen you--I shall die happy.\"\n\n\"You shall not die, Jacques; I am here--\"\n\n\"Listen to one, my girl. If I had a bushel of live coal in my stomach,\nit could hardly burn me more. For more than a month, I have been\nconsuming my body by a slow fire. This gentleman,\" he added, glancing at\nMorok, \"this dear friend, always undertook to feed the flame. I do not\nregret life; I have lost the habit of work, and taken to drink and riot;\nI should have finished by becoming a thorough blackguard: I preferred\nthat my friend here should amuse himself with lighting a furnace in my\ninside. Since what I drank just now, I am certain that it fumes like\nyonder punch.\"\n\n\"You are both foolish and ungrateful,\" said Morok, shrugging his\nshoulders; \"you held out your glass, and I filled it--and, faith, we\nshall drink long and often together yet.\"\n\nFor some moments, Cephyse had not withdrawn her eyes from Morok. \"I tell\nyou, that you have long blown the fire, in which I have burnt my skin,\"\nresumed Jacques, addressing Morok in a feeble voice, \"so that they may\nnot think I die of cholera. It would look as if I had been frightened\nby the part I played. I do not therefore reproach you, my affectionate\nfriend,\" added he, with a sardonic smile; \"you dug my grave gayly--and\nsometimes, when, seeing the great dark hole, into which I was about to\nfall, I drew back a step--but you, my excellent friend, still pushed\nme forward, saying, 'Go on, my boy, go on!'--and I went on--and here I\nam--\"\n\nSo saying, Sleepinbuff burst into a bitter laugh, which sent an icy\nshudder through the spectators of this scene.\n\n\"My good fellow,\" said Morok, coolly, \"listen to me, and follow my\nadvice.\"\n\n\"Thank you! I know your advice--and, instead of listening to you, I\nprefer speaking to my poor Cephyse. Before I go down to the moles, I\nshould like to tell her what weighs on my heart.\"\n\n\"Jacques,\" replied Cephyse, \"do not talk so. I tell you, you shall not\ndie.\"\n\n\"Why, then, my brave Cephyse, I shall owe my life to you,\" returned\nJacques, in a tone of serious feeling, which surprised the spectators.\n\"Yes,\" resumed he, \"when I came to myself, and saw you so poorly clad,\nI felt something good about my heart--do you know why?--it was because\nI said to myself, 'Poor girl! she has kept her word bravely; she has\nchosen to toil, and want, and suffer--rather than take another love--who\nwould have given her what I gave her as long as I could'--and that\nthought, Cephyse, refreshed my soul. I needed it, for I was burning--and\nI burn still,\" added he, clinching his fists with pain; \"but that made\nme happy--it did me good--thanks, my good, brave Cephyse--yes, you are\ngood and brave--and you were right; for I never loved any but you in the\nwide world; and if, in my degradation, I had one thought that raised me\na little above the filth, and made me regret that I was not better--the\nthought was of you! Thanks then, my poor, dear love,\" said Jacques,\nwhose hot and shining eyes were becoming moist; \"thanks once again,\" and\nhe reached his cold hand to Cephyse; \"if I die, I shall die happy--if I\nlive, I shall live happy also. Give me your hand, my brave Cephyse!--you\nhave acted like a good and honest creature.\"\n\nInstead of taking the hand which Jacques offered her, Cephyse, still\nkneeling, bowed her head, and dared not raise her eyes to her lover.\n\n\"You don't answer,\" said he, leaning over towards the young girl; \"you\ndon't take my hand--why is this?\"\n\nThe unfortunate creature only answered by stifled sobs. Borne down with\nshame, she held herself in so humble, so supplicating an attitude, that\nher forehead almost touched the feet of her lover.\n\nAmazed at the silence and conduct of the Bacchanal Queen, Jacques\nlooked at her with increasing agitation; suddenly he stammered out with\ntrembling lips, \"Cephyse, I know you. If you do not take my hand, it is\nbecause--\"\n\nThen, his voice failing, he added, in a dull tone, after a moment's\nsilence, \"When, six weeks ago, I was taken to prison, did you not say to\nme, 'Jacques, I swear that I will work--and if need be, live in horrible\nmisery--but I will live true!' That was your promise. Now, I know you\nnever speak false; tell me you have kept your word, and I shall believe\nyou.\"\n\nCephyse only answered by a heart-rending sob, as she pressed the knees\nof Jacques against her heaving bosom. By a strange contradiction, more\ncommon than is generally thought--this man, degraded by intoxication\nand debauchery, who, since he came out of prison, had plunged in every\nexcess, and tamely yielded to all the fatal incitements of Morok, yet\nreceived a fearful blow, when he learned, by the mute avowal of\nCephyse, the infidelity, of this creature, whom he had loved in spite of\ndegradation. The first impulse of Jacques was terrible. Notwithstanding\nhis weakness and exhaustion, he succeeded in rising from his seat, and,\nwith a countenance contracted by rage and despair, he seized a knife,\nbefore they had time to prevent him, and turned it upon Cephyse. But at\nthe moment he was about to strike, shrinking from an act of murder, he\nhurled the knife far away from him, and falling back into the chair,\ncovered his face with his hands.\n\nAt the cry of Ninny Moulin, who had, though late, thrown himself upon\nJacques to take away the knife, Cephyse raised her head: Jacques's\nwoeful dejection wrung her heart; she rose, and fell upon his neck,\nnotwithstanding his resistance, exclaiming in a voice broken by sobs,\n\"Jacques, if you knew! if you only knew--listen--do not condemn me\nwithout hearing me--I will tell you all, I swear to you--without\nfalsehood--this man,\" and she pointed to Morok, \"will not dare deny what\nI say; he came, and told me to have the courage to--\"\n\n\"I do not reproach you. I have no right to reproach you. Let me die\nin peace. I ask nothing but that now,\" said Jacques, in a still weaker\nvoice, as he repulsed Cephyse. Then he added, with a grievous and\nbitter smile, \"Luckily, I have my dose. I knew--what I was doing--when I\naccepted the duel with brandy.\"\n\n\"No, you shall not die, and you shall hear me,\" cried Cephyse, with a\nbewildered air; \"you shall hear me, and everybody else shall hear me.\nThey shall see that it is not my fault. Is it not so, gentlemen? Do I\nnot deserve pity? You will entreat Jacques to forgive me; for if driven\nby misery--finding no work--I was forced to this--not for the sake of\nany luxury--you see the rags I wear--but to get bread and shelter for my\npoor, sick sister--dying, and even more miserable than myself--would you\nnot have pity upon me? Do you think one finds pleasure in one's infamy?\"\ncried the unfortunate, with a burst of frightful laughter; then she\nadded, in a low voice, and with a shudder, \"Oh, if you knew, Jacques! it\nis so infamous, so horrible, that I preferred death to falling so low\na second time. I should have killed myself, had I not heard you were\nhere.\" Then, seeing that Jacques did not answer her, but shook his\nhead mournfully as he sank down though still supported by Ninny\nMoulin, Cephyse exclaimed, as she lifted her clasped hands towards him,\n\"Jacques! one word--for pity's sake--forgive me!\"\n\n\"Gentlemen, pray remove this woman,\" cried Morok; \"the sight of her\ncauses my friend too painful emotions.\"\n\n\"Come, my dear child, be reasonable,\" said several of the guests, who,\ndeeply moved by this scene, were endeavoring to withdraw Cephyse from\nit; \"leave him, and come with us; he is not in any danger.\"\n\n\"Gentlemen! oh, gentlemen!\" cried the unfortunate creature, bursting\ninto tears, and raising her hands in supplication; \"listen to me--I\nwill do all that you wish me--I will go--but, in heaven's name, send\nfor help, and do not let him die thus. Look, what pain he suffers! what\nhorrible convulsions!\"\n\n\"She is right,\" said one of the guests, hastening towards the door; \"we\nmust send for a doctor.\"\n\n\"There is no doctor to be found,\" said another; \"they are all too busy.\"\n\n\"We will do better than that,\" cried a third; \"the Hospital is just\nopposite, and we can carry the poor fellow thither. They will give him\ninstant help. A leaf of the table will make a litter, and the table\ncloth a covering.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, that is it,\" said several voices; \"let us carry him over at\nonce.\"\n\nJacques, burnt up with brandy, and overcome by his interview with\nCephyse, had again fallen into violent convulsions. It was the dying\nparoxysm of the unfortunate man. They were obliged to tie him with the\nends of the cloth, so as to secure him to the leaf which was to serve\nfor a litter, which two of the guests hastened to carry away. They\nyielded to the supplication of Cephyse, who asked, as a last favor, to\naccompany Jacques to the Hospital. When the mournful procession quitted\nthe great room of the eating-house, there was a general flight among the\nguests. Men and women made haste to wrap themselves in their cloaks, in\norder to conceal their costumes. The coaches, which had been ordered in\ntolerable number for the return of the masquerade, had luckily\narrived. The defiance had been fully carried out, the audacious bravado\naccomplished, and they could now retire with the honors of war. Whilst a\npart of the guests were still in the room, an uproar, at first distant,\nbut which soon drew nearer, broke out with incredible fury in the square\nof Notre Dame.\n\nJacques had been carried to the outer door of the tavern. Morok and\nNinny Moulin, striving to open a passage through the crowd in the\ndirection of the Hospital, preceded the litter. A violent reflux of\nthe multitude soon forced them to stop, whilst a new storm of savage\noutcries burst from the other extremity of the square, near the angle of\nthe church.\n\n\"What is it then?\" asked Ninny Moulin of one of those ignoble figures\nthat was leaping up before him. \"What are those cries?\"\n\n\"They are making mince-meat of a poisoner, like him they have thrown\ninto the river,\" replied the man. \"If you want to see the fun, follow me\nclose,\" added he, \"and peg away with your elbows, for fear you should be\ntoo late.\"\n\nHardly had the wretch pronounced these words than a dreadful shriek\nsounded above the roar of the crowd, through which the bearers of the\nlitter, preceded by Morok, were with difficulty making their way. It\nwas Cephyse who uttered that cry. Jacques (one of the seven heirs of the\nRennepont family) had just expired in her arms! By a strange fatality,\nat the very moment that the despairing exclamation of Cephyse announced\nthat death, another cry rose from that part of the square where they\nwere attacking the poisoner. That distant, supplicating cry, tremulous\nwith horrible alarm, like the last appeal of a man staggering beneath\nthe blows of his murderers, chilled the soul of Morok in the midst of\nhis execrable triumph.\n\n\"Damnation!\" cried the skillful assassin, who had selected drunkenness\nand debauchery for his murderous but legal weapons; \"it is the voice of\nthe Abbe d'Aigrigny, whom they have in their clutches!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII. THE POISONER.\n\nIt is necessary to go back a little before relating the adventure of\nFather d'Aigrigny, whose cry of distress made so deep an impression upon\nMorok just at the moment of Jacques Rennepont's death. We have said that\nthe most absurd and alarming reports were circulating in Paris; not only\ndid people talk of poison given to the sick or thrown into the public\nfountains, but it was also said that wretches had been surprised in the\nact of putting arsenic into the pots which are usually kept all ready\non the counters of wine-shops. Goliath was on his way to rejoin Morok,\nafter delivering a message to Father d'Aigrigny, who was waiting in a\nhouse on the Place de l'Archeveche. He entered a wine-shop in the Rue\nde la Calandre, to get some refreshment, and having drunk two glasses\nof wine, he proceeded to pay for them. Whilst the woman of the house was\nlooking for change, Goliath, mechanically and very innocently, rested\nhis hand on the mouth of one of the pots that happened to be within his\nreach.\n\nThe tall stature of this man and his repulsive and savage countenance\nhad already alarmed the good woman, whose fears and prejudices had\npreviously been roused by the public rumors on the subject of poisoning;\nbut when she saw Goliath place his hand over the mouth of one of her\npots, she cried out in dismay: \"Oh! my gracious! what are you throwing\ninto that pot?\" At these words, spoken in a loud voice, and with the\naccent of terror, two or three of the drinkers at one of the tables\nrose precipitately, and ran to the counter, while one of them rashly\nexclaimed: \"It is a poisoner!\"\n\nGoliath, not aware of the reports circulated in the neighborhood, did\nnot at first understand of what he was accused. The men raised their\nvoices as they called on him to answer the charge; but he, trusting to\nhis strength, shrugged his shoulders in disdain, and roughly demanded\nthe change, which the pale and frightened hostess no longer thought of\ngiving him.\n\n\"Rascal!\" cried one of the men, with so much violence that several of\nthe passers-by stopped to listen; \"you shall have your change when you\ntell us what you threw in the pot!\"\n\n\"Ha! did he throw anything into the wine-pot?\" said one of the passers\nby.\n\n\"It is, perhaps, a poisoner,\" said another.\n\n\"He ought to be taken up,\" added a third.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" cried those in the house--honest people perhaps, but under\nthe influence of the general panic; \"he must be taken up, for he has\nbeen throwing poison into the wine-pots.\"\n\nThe words \"He is a poisoner\" soon spread through the group, which, at\nfirst composed of three or four persons, increased every instant around\nthe door of the wine-shop. A dull, menacing clamor began to rise from\nthe crowd; the first accuser, seeing his fears thus shared and almost\njustified, thought he was acting like a good and courageous citizen\nin taking Goliath by the collar, and saying to him: \"Come and explain\nyourself at the guard-house, villain!\"\n\nThe giant, already provoked at insults of which he did not perceive the\nreal meaning, was exasperated at this sudden attack; yielding to his\nnatural brutality, he knocked his adversary down upon the counter,\nand began to hammer him with his fists. During this collision, several\nbottles and two or three panes of glass were broken with much noise,\nwhilst the woman of the house, more and more frightened, cried out with\nall her might; \"Help! a poisoner! Help! murder!\"\n\nAt the sound of the breaking windows and these cries of distress, the\npassers-by, of whom the greater number believed in the stories about\nthe poisoners, rushed into the shop to aid in securing Goliath. But\nthe latter, thanks to his herculean strength, after struggling for\nsome moments with seven or eight persons, knocked down two of his most\nfurious assailants, disengaged himself from the others, drew near the\ncounter, and, taking a vigorous spring, rushed head-foremost, like\na bull about to butt, upon the crowd that blocked up the door; then,\nforcing a passage, by the help of his enormous shoulders and athletic\narms, he made his way into the street, and ran with all speed in the\ndirection of the square of Notre-Dame, his garments torn, his head bare,\nand his countenance pale and full of rage. Immediately, a number of\npersons from amongst the crowd started in pursuit of Goliath, and a\nhundred voices exclaimed: \"Stop--stop the poisoner!\"\n\nHearing these cries, and seeing a man draw near with a wild and troubled\nlook, a butcher, who happened to be passing with his large, empty tray\non his head, threw it against Goliath's shins, and taken by surprise, he\nstumbled and fell. The butcher, thinking he had performed as heroic an\naction as if he had encountered a mad dog, flung himself on Goliath,\nand rolled over with him on the pavement, exclaiming: \"Help! it is a\npoisoner! Help! help!\" This scene took place not far from the Cathedral,\nbut at some distance from the crowd which was pressing round the\nhospital gate, as well as from the eating-house in which the masquerade\nof the cholera then was. The day was now drawing to a close. On the\npiercing call of the butcher, several groups, at the head of which were\nCiboule and the quarryman, flew towards the scene of the struggle,\nwhile those who had pursued the pretended poisoner from the Rue de la\nCalandre, reached the square on their side.\n\nAt sight of this threatening crowd advancing towards him, Goliath,\nwhilst he continued to defend himself against the butcher, who held him\nwith the tenacity of a bull-dog, felt that he was lost unless he could\nrid himself of this adversary before the arrival of the rest; with a\nfurious blow of the fist, therefore, he broke the jaw of the butcher,\nwho just then was above him, and disengaging himself from his hold, he\nrose, and staggered a few steps forward. Suddenly he stopped. He saw\nthat he was surrounded. Behind him rose the walls of the cathedral; to\nthe right and left, and in front of him, advanced a hostile multitude.\nThe groans uttered by the butcher, who had just been lifted from the\nground covered with blood, augmented the fury of the populace.\n\nThis was a terrible moment for Goliath: still standing alone in the\ncentre of a ring that grew smaller every second, he saw on all sides\nangry enemies rushing towards him, and uttering cries of death. As the\nwild boar turns round once or twice, before resolving to stand at bay\nand face the devouring pack, Goliath, struck with terror, made one or\ntwo abrupt and wavering movements. Then, as he abandoned the possibility\nof flight, instinct told him that he had no mercy to expect from a crowd\ngiven up to blind and savage fury--a fury the more pitiless as it was\nbelieved to be legitimate. Goliath determined, therefore, at least to\nsell his life dearly; he sought for a knife in his pocket, but, not\nfinding it, he threw out his left leg in an athletic posture, and\nholding up his muscular arms, hard and stiff as bars of iron, waited\nwith intrepidity for the shock.\n\nThe first who approached Goliath was Ciboule. The hag, heated and out\nof breath, instead of rushing upon him, paused, stooped down, and\ntaking off one of the large wooden shoes that she wore, hurled it at the\ngiant's head with so much force and with so true an aim that it struck\nhim right in the eye, which hung half out of its socket. Goliath pressed\nhis hands to his face, and uttered a cry of excruciating pain.\n\n\"I've made him squint!\" said Ciboule, with a burst of laughter.\n\nGoliath, maddened by the pain, instead of waiting for the attack, which\nthe mob still hesitated to begin, so greatly were they awed by his\nappearance of herculean strength--the only adversary worthy to cope with\nhim being the quarryman, who had been borne to a distance by the surging\nof the crowd--Goliath, in his rage, rushed headlong upon the nearest.\nSuch a struggle was too unequal to last long; but despair redoubled\nthe Colossus's strength, and the combat was for a moment terrible. The\nunfortunate man did not fall at once. For some seconds, almost buried\namid a swarm of furious assailants, one saw now his mighty arm rise and\nfall like a sledge hammer, beating upon skulls and faces, and now his\nenormous head, livid and bloody, drawn back by some of the combatants\nhanging to his tangled hair. Here and there sudden openings and violent\noscillations of the crowd bore witness to the incredible energy of\nGoliath's defence. But when the quarryman succeeded in reaching him,\nGoliath was overpowered and thrown down. A long, savage cheer in triumph\nannounced this fall; for, under such circumstances, to \"go under\" is \"to\ndie.\" Instantly a thousand breathless and angry voices repeated the cry\nof \"Death to the poisoner!\"\n\nThen began one of those scenes of massacre and torture, worthy of\ncannibals, horrible to relate, and the more incredible, that they happen\nalmost always in the presence, and often with the aid, of honest and\nhumane people, who, blinded by false notions and stupid prejudices,\nallow themselves to be led into all sorts of barbarity, under the idea\nof performing an act of inexorable justice. As it frequently happens,\nthe sight of the blood which flowed in torrents from Goliath's wounds\ninflamed to madness the rage of his assailants. A hundred fists struck\nat the unhappy man; he was stamped under foot, his face and chest were\nbeaten in. Ever and anon, in the midst of furious cries of \"Death to the\npoisoner!\" heavy blows were audible, followed by stifled groans. It was\na frightful butchery. Each individual, yielding to a sanguinary frenzy,\ncame in turn to strike his blow; or to tear off his morsel of flesh.\nWomen--yes, women--mothers!--came to spend their rage on this mutilated\nform.\n\nThere was one moment of frightful terror. With his face all bruised and\ncovered with mud, his garments in rags, his chest bare, red, gaping with\nwounds--Goliath, availing himself of a moment's weariness on the part of\nhis assassins, who believed him already, finished, succeeded, by one of\nthose convulsive starts frequent in the last agony, in raising himself\nto his feet for a few seconds; then, blind with wounds and loss of\nblood, striking about his arms in the air as if to parry blows that were\nno longer struck, he muttered these words, which came from his mouth,\naccompanied by a crimson torrent: \"Mercy! I am no poisoner. Mercy!\" This\nsort of resurrection produced so great an effect on the crowd, that for\nan instant they fell hack affrighted. The clamor ceased, and a small\nspace was left around the victim. Some hearts began even to feel pity;\nwhen the quarryman, seeing Goliath blinded with blood, groping before\nhim with his hands, exclaimed in ferocious allusion to a well-known\ngame: \"Now for blind-man's-bluff.\"\n\nThen, with a violent kick, he again threw down the victim, whose head\nstruck twice heavily on the pavement.\n\nJust as the giant fell a voice from amongst the crowd exclaimed: \"It is\nGoliath! stop! he is innocent.\"\n\nIt was Father d'Aigrigny, who, yielding to a generous impulse, was\nmaking violent efforts to reach the foremost rank of the actors in this\nscene, and who cried out, as he came nearer, pale, indignant, menacing:\n\"You are cowards and murderers! This man is innocent. I know him. You\nshall answer for his life.\"\n\nThese vehement words were received with loud murmurs.\n\n\"You know that poisoner,\" cried the quarryman, seizing the Jesuit by the\ncollar; \"then perhaps you are a poisoner too.\n\n\"Wretch,\" exclaimed Father d'Aigrigny, endeavoring to shake himself\nloose from the grasp, \"do you dare to lay hand upon me?\"\n\n\"Yes, I dare do anything,\" answered the quarryman.\n\n\"He knows him: he's a poisoner like the other,\" cried the crowd,\npressing round the two adversaries; whilst Goliath, who had fractured\nhis skull in the fall, uttered a long death-rattle.\n\nAt a sudden movement of Father d'Aigrigny, who disengaged himself from\nthe quarryman, a large glass phial of peculiar form, very thick, and\nfilled with a greenish liquor, fell from his pocket, and rolled close\nto the dying Goliath. At sight of this phial, many voices exclaimed\ntogether: \"It is poison! Only see! He had poison upon him.\"\n\nThe clamor redoubled at this accusation, and they pressed so close to\nAbbe d'Aigrigny, that he exclaimed: \"Do not touch me! do not approach\nme!\"\n\n\"If he is a poisoner,\" said a voice, \"no more mercy for him than for the\nother.\"\n\n\"I a poisoner?\" said the abbe, struck with horror.\n\nCiboule had darted upon the phial; the quarryman seized it from her,\nuncorked it and presenting it to Father d'Aigrigny, said to him: \"Now\ntell us what is that?\"\n\n\"It is not poison,\" cried Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"Then drink it!\" returned the quarryman.\n\n\"Yes, yes! let him drink it!\" cried the mob.\n\n\"Never,\" answered Father d'Aigrigny, in extreme alarm. And he drew back\nas he spoke, pushing away the phial with his hand.\n\n\"Do you see? It is poison. He dares not drink it,\" they exclaimed.\nHemmed in on every side, Father d'Aigrigny stumbled against the body of\nGoliath.\n\n\"My friends,\" cried the Jesuit, who, without being a poisoner, found\nhimself exposed to a terrible alternative, for his phial contained\naromatic salts of extraordinary strength, designed for a preservative\nagainst the cholera, and as dangerous to swallow as any poison, \"my good\nfriends, you are in error. I conjure you, in the name of heaven--\"\n\n\"If that is not poison, drink it!\" interrupted the quarryman, as he\nagain offered the bottle to the Jesuit.\n\n\"If he does not drink it, death to the poisoner of the poor!\"\n\n\"Yes!--death to him! death to him!\"\n\n\"Unhappy men!\" cried Father d'Aigrigny, whilst his hair stood on end\nwith terror; \"do you mean to murder me?\"\n\n\"What about all those, that you and your mate have killed, you wretch?\"\n\n\"But it is not true--and--\"\n\n\"Drink, then!\" repeated the inflexible quarryman; \"I ask you for the\nlast time.\"\n\n\"To drink that would be death,\" cried Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"Oh! only hear the wretch!\" cried the mob, pressing closer to him; \"he\nhas confessed--he has confessed!\"\n\n\"He has betrayed himself!\"(40)\n\n\"He said, 'to drink that would be death!'\"\n\n\"But listen to me,\" cried the abbe, clasping his hands together; \"this\nphial is--\"\n\nFurious cries interrupted Father d'Aigrigny. \"Ciboule, make an end of\nthat one!\" cried the quarryman, spurning Goliath with his foot. \"I will\nbegin this one!\" And he seized Father d'Aigrigny by the throat.\n\nAt these words, two different groups formed themselves. One, led by\nCiboule, \"made an end\" of Goliath, with kicks and blows, stones and\nwooden shoes; his body was soon reduced to a horrible thing, mutilated,\nnameless, formless--a mere inert mass of filth and mangled flesh.\nCiboule gave her cloak, which they tied to one of the dislocated ankles\nof the body, and thus dragged it to the parapet of the quay. There, with\nshouts of ferocious joy, they precipitated the bloody remains into\nthe river. Now who does not shudder at the thought that, in a time of\npopular commotion, a word, a single word, spoken imprudently, even by\nan honest man, and without hatred, will suffice to provoke so horrible a\nmurder.\n\n\"Perhaps it is a poisoner!\" said one of the drinkers in the tavern of\nthe Rue de la Calandre--nothing more--and Goliath had been pitilessly\nmurdered.\n\nWhat imperious reasons for penetrating the lowest depths of the masses\nwith instruction and with light--to enable unfortunate creatures\nto defend themselves from so many stupid prejudices, so many fatal\nsuperstitions, so much implacable fanaticism!--How can we ask for\ncalmness, reflection, self-control, or the sentiment of justice from\nabandoned beings, whom ignorance has brutalized, and misery depraved,\nand suffering made ferocious, and of whom society takes no thought,\nexcept when it chains them to the galleys, or binds them ready for the\nexecutioner! The terrible cry which had so startled Morok was uttered\nby Father d'Aigrigny as the quarryman laid his formidable hand upon him,\nsaying to Ciboule: \"Make an end of that one--I will begin this one!\"\n\n(40) This fact is historical. A man was murdered because a phial full\nof ammonia was found upon him. On his refusal to drink it, the populace,\npersuaded that the bottle contained poison, tore him to pieces.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV. IN THE CATHEDRAL.\n\nNight was almost come, as the mutilated body of Goliath was thrown into\nthe river. The oscillations of the mob had carried into the street,\nwhich runs along the left side of the cathedral, the group into whose\npower Father d'Aigrigny had fallen. Having succeeded in freeing himself\nfrom the grasp of the quarryman, but still closely pressed by the\nmultitude that surrounded him, crying, \"Death to the poisoner!\" he\nretreated step by step, trying to parry the blows that were dealt him.\nBy presence of mind, address, and courage, recovering at that critical\nmoment his old military energy, he had hitherto been able to resist and\nto remain firm on his feet--knowing, by the example of Goliath, that\nto fall was to die. Though he had little hope of being heard to any\npurpose, the abbe continued to call for help with all his might.\nDisputing the ground inch by inch, he manoeuvred so as to draw near\none of the lateral walls of the church, and at length succeeded in\nensconcing himself in a corner formed by the projection of a buttress,\nand close by a little door.\n\nThis position was rather favorable. Leaning with his back against the\nwall, Father d'Aigrigny was sheltered from the attacks of a portion of\nhis assailants. But the quarryman, wishing to deprive him of this last\nchance of safety, rushed upon him, with the intention of dragging him\nout into the circle where he would have been trampled under foot. The\nfear of death gave Father d'Aigrigny extraordinary strength, and he was\nable once more to repulse the quarryman, and remain entrenched in the\ncorner where he had taken refuge. The resistance of the victim redoubled\nthe rage of the assailants. Cries of murderous import resounded with\nnew violence. The quarryman again rushed upon Father d'Aigrigny, saying,\n\"Follow me, friends! this lasts too long. Let us make an end of it.\"\n\nFather d'Aigrigny saw that he was lost. His strength was exhausted,\nand he felt himself sinking; his legs trembled under him, and a cloud\nobscured his sight; the howling of the furious mob began to sound dull\nupon his ear. The effects of violent contusions, received during the\nstruggle, both on the head and chest, were now very perceptible. Two or\nthree times, a mixture of blood and foam rose to the lips of the abbe;\nhis position was a desperate one.\n\n\"To be slaughtered by these brutes, after escaping death so often in\nwar!\" Such was the thought of Father d'Aigrigny, as the quarryman rushed\nupon him.\n\nSuddenly, at the very moment when the abbe, yielding to the instinct of\nself-preservation, uttered one last call for help, in a heart-piercing\nvoice, the door against which he leaned opened behind him, and a firm\nhand caught hold of him, and pulled him into the church. Thanks to\nthis movement, performed with the rapidity of lightning, the quarryman,\nthrown forward in his attempt to seize Father d'Aigrigny, could not\ncheck his progress, and found himself just opposite to the person who\nhad come, as it were, to take the place of the victim.\n\nThe quarryman stopped short, and then fell back a couple of paces, so\nmuch was he amazed at this sudden apparition, and impressed, like the\nrest of the crowd, with a vague feeling of admiration and respect\nat sight of him who had come so miraculously to the aid of Father\nd'Aigrigny. It was Gabriel. The young missionary remained standing on\nthe threshold of the door. His long black cassock was half lost in\nthe shadows of the cathedral; whilst his angelic countenance, with its\nborder of long light hair, now pale and agitated by pity and grief, was\nillumined by the last faint rays of twilight. This countenance shone\nwith so divine a beauty, and expressed such touching and tender\ncompassion, that the crowd felt awed as, with his large blue eyes full\nof tears, and his hands clasped together, he exclaimed, in a sonorous\nvoice: \"Have mercy, my brethren! Be humane--be just!\"\n\nRecovering from his first feeling of surprise and involuntary emotion,\nthe quarryman advanced a step towards Gabriel, and said to him: \"No\nmercy for the poisoner! we must have him! Give him up to us, or we go\nand take him!\"\n\n\"You cannot think of it, my brethren,\" answered Gabriel; \"the church is\na sacred place--a place of refuge for the persecuted.\"\n\n\"We would drag our prisoner from the altar!\" answered the quarryman,\nroughly; \"so give him up to us.\"\n\n\"Listen to me, my brethren,\" said Gabriel, extending his arms towards\nthem.\n\n\"Down with the shaveling!\" cried the quarryman; \"let us go in and hunt\nhim up in the church!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes!\" cried the mob, again led away by the violence of this\nwretch, \"down with the black gown!\"\n\n\"They are all of a piece!\"\n\n\"Down with them!\"\n\n\"Let us do as we did at the archbishop's!\"\n\n\"Or at Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois!\"\n\n\"What do our likes care for a church?\"\n\n\"If the priests defend the poisoners, we'll pitch them into the water\ntoo!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes!\"\n\n\"I'll show you the lead!\" cried the quarryman; and followed by Ciboule,\nand a good number of determined men, he rushed towards Gabriel.\n\nThe missionary, who for some moments had watched the increasing fury\nof the crowd, had foreseen this movement; hastily retreating into the\nchurch, he succeeded, in spite of the efforts of the assailants, in\nnearly closing the door, and in barricading it by the help of a wooden\nbar, which he held in such a manner as would enable the door to resist\nfor a few minutes.\n\nWhilst he thus defended the entrance, Gabriel shouted to Father\nd'Aigrigny: \"Fly, father! fly through the vestry! the other doors are\nfastened.\"\n\nThe Jesuit, overpowered by fatigue, covered with contusions, bathed in\ncold sweat, feeling his strength altogether fail, and too soon fancying\nhimself in safety, had sunk, half fainting, into a chair. At the\nvoice of Gabriel, he rose with difficulty, and, with a trembling step,\nendeavored to reach the choir, separated from the rest of the church by\nan iron railing.\n\n\"Quick, father!\" added Gabriel, in alarm, using every effort to maintain\nthe door, which was now vigorously assailed. \"Make haste! In a few\nminutes it will be too late. All alone!\" continued the missionary, in\ndespair, \"alone, to arrest the progress of these madmen!\"\n\nHe was indeed alone. At the first outbreak of the attack, three or four\nsacristans and other members of the establishment were in the church;\nbut, struck with terror, and remembering the sack of the archbishop's\npalace, and of Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois, they had immediately taken\nflight. Some of them had concealed themselves in the organ-loft and\nothers fled into the vestry, the doors of which they locked after them,\nthus cutting off the retreat of Gabriel and Father d'Aigrigny. The\nlatter, bent double by pain, yet roused by the missionary's portentive\nwarning, helping himself on by means of the chairs he met with on his\npassage, made vain efforts to reach the choir railing. After advancing\na few steps, vanquished by his suffering, he staggered and fell upon the\npavement, deprived of sense and motion. At the same moment, Gabriel,\nin spite of the incredible energy with which the desire to save Father\nd'Aigrigny had inspired him, felt the door giving way beneath the\nformidable pressure from without.\n\nTurning his head, to see if the Jesuit had at least quitted the church,\nGabriel, to his great alarm, perceived that he was lying motionless at\na few steps from the choir. To abandon the half-broken door, to run\nto Father d'Aigrigny, to lift him in his arms, and drag him within\nthe railing of the choir, was for the young priest an action rapid as\nthought; for he closed the gate of the choir just at the instant that\nthe quarryman and his band, having finished breaking down the door,\nrushed in a body into the church.\n\nStanding in front of the choir, with his arms crossed upon his\nbreast, Gabriel waited calmly and intrepidly for this mob, still more\nexasperated by such unexpected resistance.\n\nThe door once forced, the assailants rushed in with great violence. But\nhardly had they entered the church, than a strange scene took place. It\nwas nearly dark; only a few silver lamps shed their pale light round\nthe sanctuary, whose far outlines disappeared in the shadow. On suddenly\nentering the immense cathedral, dark, silent, and deserted, the most\naudacious were struck with awe, almost with fear in presence of the\nimposing grandeur of that stony solitude. Outcries and threats died away\non the lips of the most furious. They seemed to dread awaking the\nechoes of those enormous arches, those black vaults, from which oozed a\nsepulchral dampness, which chilled their brows, inflamed with anger, and\nfell upon their shoulders like a mantle of ice.\n\nReligious tradition, routine, habit, the memories of childhood, have so\nmuch influence upon men, that hardly had they entered the church, than\nseveral of the quarryman's followers respectfully took off their hats,\nbowed their bare heads, and walked along cautiously, as if to check the\nnoise of their footsteps on the sounding stones. Then they exchanged a\nfew words in a low and fearful whisper. Others timidly raised their eyes\nto the far heights of the topmost arches of that gigantic building,\nnow lost in obscurity, and felt almost frightened to see themselves so\nlittle in the midst of that immensity of darkness. But at the first joke\nof the quarryman, who broke this respectful silence, the emotion soon\npassed away.\n\n\"Blood and thunder!\" cried he; \"are you fetching breath to sing vespers?\nIf they had wine in the font, well and good!\"\n\nThese words were received with a burst of savage laughter. \"All this\ntime the villain will escape!\" said one.\n\n\"And we shall be done,\" added Ciboule.\n\n\"One would think we had cowards here, who are afraid of the sacristans!\"\ncried the quarryman.\n\n\"Never!\" replied the others in chorus; \"we fear nobody.\"\n\n\"Forward!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes--forward!\" was repeated on all sides. And the animation, which\nhad been calmed down for a moment, was redoubled in the midst of\nrenewed tumult. Some moments after, the eyes of the assailants, becoming\naccustomed to the twilight, were able to distinguish in the midst of\nthe faint halo shed around by a silver lamp, the imposing countenance of\nGabriel, as he stood before the iron railing of the choir.\n\n\"The poisoner is here, hid in some corner,\" cried the quarryman. \"We\nmust force this parson to give us back the villain.\"\n\n\"He shall answer for him!\"\n\n\"He took him into the church.\"\n\n\"He shall pay for both, if we do not find the other!\"\n\nAs the first impression of involuntary respect was effaced from the\nminds of the crowd, their voices rose the louder, and their faces became\nthe more savage and threatening, because they all felt ashamed of their\nmomentary hesitation and weakness.\n\n\"Yes, yes!\" cried many voices, trembling with rage, \"we must have the\nlife of one or the other!\"\n\n\"Or of both!\"\n\n\"So much the worse for this priest, if he wants to prevent us from\nserving out our poisoner!\"\n\n\"Death to him! death to him!\"\n\nWith this burst of ferocious yells, which were fearfully re-echoed from\nthe groined arches of the cathedral, the mob, maddened by rage, rushed\ntowards the choir, at the door of which Gabriel was standing. The young\nmissionary, who, when placed on the cross by the savages of the Rocky\nMountains, yet entreated heaven to spare his executioners, had too much\ncourage in his heart, too much charity in his soul, not to risk his life\na thousand times over to save Father d'Aigrigny's--the very man who had\nbetrayed hire by such cowardly and cruel hypocrisy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV. THE MURDERERS.\n\nThe quarryman, followed by his gang, ran towards Gabriel, who had\nadvanced a few paces from the choir-railing, and exclaimed, his eyes\nsparkling with rage: \"Where is the poisoner? We will have him!\"\n\n\"Who has told you, my brethren, that he is a poisoner?\" replied\nGabriel, with his deep, sonorous voice. \"A poisoner! Where are the\nproofs--witnesses or victims?\"\n\n\"Enough of that stuff! we are not here for confession,\" brutally\nanswered the quarryman, advancing towards him in a threatening manner.\n\"Give up the man to us; he shall be forthcoming, unless you choose to\nstand in his shoes?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes!\" exclaimed several voices; \"they are 'in' with one another!\nOne or the other we will have!\"\n\n\"Very well, then; since it is so,\" said Gabriel, raising his head, and\nadvancing with calmness, resignation; and fearlessness; \"he or me,\"\nadded he;--\"it seems to make no difference to you--you are determined\nto have blood--take mine, and I will pardon you, my friends; for a fatal\ndelusion has unsettled your reason.\"\n\nThese words of Gabriel, his courage, the nobleness of his attitude,\nthe beauty of his countenance, had made an impression on some of\nthe assailants, when suddenly a voice exclaimed: \"Look! there is the\npoisoner, behind the railing!\"\n\n\"Where--where?\" cried they.\n\n\"There--don't you see?--stretched on the floor.\"\n\nOn hearing this, the mob, which had hitherto formed a compact mass, in\nthe sort of passage separating the two sides of the nave, between the\nrows of chairs, dispersed in every direction, to reach the railing\nof the choir, the last and only barrier that now sheltered Father\nd'Aigrigny. During this manoeuvre the quarryman, Ciboule, and others,\nadvanced towards Gabriel, exclaiming, with ferocious joy: \"This time we\nhave him. Death to the poisoner!\"\n\nTo save Father d'Aigrigny, Gabriel would have allowed himself to be\nmassacred at the entrance of the choir; but, a little further on, the\nrailing, not above four feet in height, would in another instant be\nscaled or broken through. The Missionary lost all hope of saving the\nJesuit from a frightful death. Yet he exclaimed: \"Stop, poor deluded\npeople!\"--and, extending his arms, he threw himself in front of the\ncrowd.\n\nHis words, gesture, and countenance, were expressive of an authority\nat once so affectionate and so fraternal, that there was a momentary\nhesitation amongst the mob. But to this hesitation soon succeeded the\nmost furious cries of \"Death; death!\"\n\n\"You cry for his death?\" cried Gabriel, growing still paler.\n\n\"Yes! yes!\"\n\n\"Well, let him die,\" cried the missionary, inspired with a sudden\nthought; \"let him die on the instant!\"\n\nThese words of the young priest struck the crowd with amazement. For a\nfew moments, they all stood mute, motionless, and as it were, paralyzed,\nlooking at Gabriel in stupid astonishment.\n\n\"This man is guilty, you say,\" resumed the young missionary, in a voice\ntrembling with emotion. \"You have condemned him without proof, without\nwitnesses--no matter, he must die. You reproach him with being a\npoisoner; where are his victims? You cannot tell--but no matter; he is\ncondemned. You refuse to hear his defense, the sacred right of every\naccused person--no matter; the sentence is pronounced. You are at once\nhis accusers, judges, and executioners. Be it so!--You have never seen\ntill now this unfortunate man, he has done you no harm, he has perhaps\nnot done harm to any one--yet you take upon yourselves the terrible\nresponsibility of his death--understand me well--of his death. Be it so\nthen! your conscience will absolve you--I will believe it. He must die;\nthe sacredness of God's house will not save him--\"\n\n\"No, no!\" cried many furious voices.\n\n\"No,\" resumed Gabriel, with increasing warmth; \"no you have determined\nto shed his blood, and you will shed it, even in the Lord's temple. It\nis, you say, your right. You are doing an act of terrible justice. But\nwhy then, so many vigorous arms to make an end of one dying man? Why\nthese outcries? this fury? this violence? Is it thus that the people,\nthe strong and equitable people, are wont to execute their judgments?\nNo, no; when sure of their right, they strike their enemies, it is\nwith the calmness of the judge, who, in freedom of soul and conscience,\npasses sentence. No, the strong and equitable people do not deal their\nblows like men blind or mad, uttering cries of rage, as if to drown the\nsense of some cowardly and horrible murder. No, it is not thus that they\nexercise the formidable right, to which you now lay claim--for you will\nhave it--\"\n\n\"Yes, we will have it!\" shouted the quarryman, Ciboule, and others of\nthe more pitiless portion of the mob; whilst a great number remained\nsilent, struck with the words of Gabriel, who had just painted to them,\nin such lively colors, the frightful act they were about to commit.\n\n\"Yes,\" resumed the quarryman, \"it is our right; we have determined to\nkill the poisoner!\"\n\nSo saying, and with bloodshot eyes, and flushed cheek, the wretch\nadvanced at the head of a resolute group, making a gesture as though he\nwould have pushed aside Gabriel, who was still standing in front of the\nrailing. But instead of resisting the bandit, the missionary advanced\na couple of steps to meet him, took him by the arm, and said in a firm\nvoice: \"Come!\"\n\nAnd dragging, as it were, with him the stupefied quarryman, whose\ncompanions did not venture to follow at the moment, struck dumb as they\nwere by this new incident, Gabriel rapidly traversed the space which\nseparated him from the choir, opened the iron gate, and, still holding\nthe quarryman by the arm, led him up to the prostrate form of Father\nd'Aigrigny, and said to him: \"There is the victim. He is condemned.\nStrike!\"\n\n\"I\" cried the quarryman, hesitating; \"I--all alone!\"\n\n\"Oh!\" replied Gabriel, with bitterness, \"there is no danger. You can\neasily finish him. Look! he is broken down with suffering; he has hardly\na breath of life left; he will make no resistance. Do not be afraid!\"\n\nThe quarryman remained motionless, whilst the crowd, strangely impressed\nwith this incident, approached a little nearer the railing, without\ndaring to come within the gate.\n\n\"Strike then!\" resumed Gabriel, addressing the quarryman, whilst he\npointed to the crowd with a solemn gesture; \"there are the judges; you\nare the executioner.\"\n\n\"No!\" cried the quarryman, drawing back, and turning away his eyes; \"I'm\nnot the executioner--not I!\"\n\nThe crowd remained silent. For a few moments, not a word, not a cry,\ndisturbed the stillness of the solemn cathedral. In a desperate case,\nGabriel had acted with a profound knowledge of the human heart. When the\nmultitude, inflamed with blind rage, rushes with ferocious clamor upon\na single victim, and each man strikes his blow, this dreadful species of\ncombined murder appears less horrible to each, because they all share in\nthe common crime; and then the shouts, the sight of blood, the desperate\ndefence of the man they massacre, finish by producing a sort of\nferocious intoxication; but, amongst all those furious madmen, who take\npart in the homicide, select one, and place him face to face with the\nvictim, no longer capable of resistance, and say to him, \"Strike!\"--he\nwill hardly ever dare to do so.\n\nIt was thus with the quarryman; the wretch trembled at the idea of\ncommitting a murder in cold blood, \"all alone.\" The preceding scene had\npassed very rapidly; amongst the companions of the quarryman, nearest\nto the railing, some did not understand an impression, which they would\nthemselves have felt as strongly as this bold man, if it had been said\nto them: \"Do the office of executioner!\" These, therefore, began to\nmurmur aloud at his weakness. \"He dares not finish the poisoner,\" said\none.\n\n\"The coward!\"\n\n\"He is afraid.\"\n\n\"He draws back.\" Hearing these words, the quarryman ran to the gate,\nthrew it wide open, and, pointing to Father d'Aigrigny, exclaimed: \"If\nthere is one here braver than I am, let him go and finish the job--let\nhim be, the executioner--come!\"\n\nOn this proposal the murmurs ceased. A deep silence reigned once more in\nthe cathedral. All those countenances, but now so furious, became sad,\nconfused, almost frightened.\n\nThe deluded mob began to appreciate the ferocious cowardice of the\naction it had been about to commit. Not one durst go alone to strike the\nhalf expiring man. Suddenly, Father d'Aigrigny uttered a dying rattle,\nhis head and one of his arms stirred with a convulsive movement, and\nthen fell back upon the stones as if he had just expired.\n\nGabriel uttered a cry of anguish, and threw himself on his knees close\nto Father d'Aigrigny, exclaiming: \"Great Heaven! he is dead!\"\n\nThere is a singular variableness in the mind of a crowd, susceptible\nalike to good or evil impressions. At the heart-piercing cry of Gabriel,\nall these people, who, a moment before, had demanded, with loud uproar,\nthe massacre of this man, felt touched with a sudden pity. The words:\n\"He is dead!\" circulated in low whispers through the crowd accompanied\nby a slight shudder, whilst Gabriel raised with one hand the victim's\nheavy head, and with the other sought to feel if the pulse still beat\nbeneath the ice-cold skin.\n\n\"Mr. Curate,\" said the quarryman, bending towards Gabriel, \"is there\nreally no hope?\"\n\nThe answer was waited for with anxiety, in the midst of deep silence.\nThe people hardly ventured to exchange a few words in whispers.\n\n\"Blessed be God!\" exclaimed Gabriel, suddenly. \"His heart beats.\"\n\n\"His heart beats,\" repeated the quarryman, turning his head towards the\ncrowd, to inform them of the good news.\n\n\"Oh! his heart beats!\" repeated the others, in whispers.\n\n\"There is hope. We may yet save him,\" added Gabriel with an expression\nof indescribable happiness.\n\n\"We may yet save him,\" repeated the quarryman, mechanically.\n\n\"We may yet save him,\" muttered the crowd.\n\n\"Quick, quick,\" resumed Gabriel, addressing the quarryman; \"help me,\nbrother. Let us carry him to a neighboring house, where he can have\nimmediate aid.\"\n\nThe quarryman obeyed with readiness. Whilst the missionary lifted Father\nd'Aigrigny by holding him under the arms, the quarryman took the legs\nof the almost inanimate body. Together, they carried him outside of the\nchoir. At sight of the formidable quarryman, aiding the young priest\nto render assistance to the man whom he had just before pursued with\nmenaces of death, the multitude felt a sudden thrill of compassion.\nYielding to the powerful influence of the words and example of Gabriel,\nthey felt themselves deeply moved, and each became anxious to offer\nservices.\n\n\"Mr. Curate, he would perhaps be better on a chair, that one could carry\nupright,\" said Ciboule.\n\n\"Shall I go and fetch a stretcher from the hospital?\" asked another.\n\n\"Mr. Curate, let me take your place; the body is too heavy for you.\"\n\n\"Don't trouble yourself,\" said a powerful man, approaching the\nmissionary respectfully; \"I can carry him alone.\"\n\n\"Shall I run and fetch a coach, Mr. Curate?\" said a young vagabond,\ntaking off his red cap.\n\n\"Right,\" said the quarryman; \"run away, my buck!\"\n\n\"But first, ask Mr. Curate if you are to go for a coach,\" said Ciboule,\nstopping the impatient messenger.\n\n\"True,\" added one of the bystanders; \"we are here in a church, and Mr.\nCurate has the command. He is at home.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes; go at once, my child,\" said Gabriel to the obliging young\nvagabond.\n\nWhilst the latter was making his way through the crowd, a voice said:\n\"I've a little wicker-bottle of brandy; will that be of any use?\"\n\n\"No doubt,\" answered Gabriel, hastily; \"pray give it here. We can rub\nhis temples with the spirit, and make him inhale a little.\"\n\n\"Pass the bottle,\" cried Ciboule; \"but don't put your noses in it!\"\nAnd, passed with caution from hand to hand, the flask reached Gabriel in\nsafety.\n\nWhilst waiting for the coming of the coach, Father d'Aigrigny had\nbeen seated on a chair. Whilst several good-natured people carefully\nsupported the abbe, the missionary made him inhale a little brandy. In a\nfew minutes, the spirit had a powerful influence on the Jesuit; he made\nsome slight movements, and his oppressed bosom heaved with a deep sigh.\n\n\"He is saved--he will live,\" cried Gabriel, in a triumphant voice; \"he\nwill live, my brothers!\"\n\n\"Oh! glad to hear it!\" exclaimed many voices.\n\n\"Oh, yes! be glad, my brothers!\" repeated Gabriel; \"for, instead of\nbeing weighed down with the remorse of crime, you will have a just and\ncharitable action to remember. Let us thank God, that he has changed\nyour blind fury into a sentiment of compassion! Let us pray to Him, that\nneither you, nor those you love, may ever be exposed to such frightful\ndanger as this unfortunate man has just escaped. Oh, my brothers!\" added\nGabriel, as he pointed to the image of Christ with touching emotion,\nwhich communicated itself the more easily to others from the expression\nof his angelic countenance; \"oh, my brothers! let us never forget, that\nHE, who died upon that cross for the defence of the oppressed, for\nthe obscure children of the people like to ourselves, pronounced those\naffectionate words so sweet to the heart; 'Love ye one another!'--Let\nus never forget it; let us love and help one another, and we poor\npeople shall then become better, happier, just. Love--yes, love ye one\nanother--and fall prostrate before that Saviour, who is the God of all\nthat are weak, oppressed, and suffering in this world!\"\n\nSo saying, Gabriel knelt down. All present respectfully followed his\nexample, such power was there in his simple and persuasive words. At\nthis moment, a singular incident added to the grandeur of the scene. We\nhave said that a few seconds before the quarryman and his band entered\nthe body of the church, several persons had fled from it. Two of these\nhad taken refuge in the organ-loft, from which retreat they had viewed\nthe preceding scene, themselves remaining invisible. One of these\npersons was a young man charged with the care of the organ, and quite\nmusician enough to play on it. Deeply moved by the unexpected turn of an\nevent which at first appeared so tragical, and yielding to an artistical\ninspiration, this young man, at the moment when he saw the people\nkneeling with Gabriel, could not forbear striking the notes. Then a sort\nof harmonious sigh, at first almost insensible, seemed to rise from the\nmidst of this immense cathedral, like a divine aspiration. As soft and\naerial as the balmy vapor of incense, it mounted and spread through the\nlofty arches. Little by little the faint, sweet sounds, though still as\nit were covered, changed to an exquisite melody, religious, melancholy,\nand affectionate, which rose to heaven like a song of ineffable\ngratitude and love. And the notes were at first so faint, so covered,\nthat the kneeling multitude had scarcely felt surprise, and had yielded\ninsensibly to the irresistible influence of that enchanting harmony.\n\nThen many an eye, until now dry and ferocious, became wet with\ntears--many hard hearts beat gently, as they remembered the words\npronounced by Gabriel with so tender an accent: \"Love ye one another!\"\nIt was at this moment that Father d'Aigrigny came to himself--and opened\nhis eyes. He thought himself under the influence of a dream. He had\nlost his senses in sight of a furious populace, who, with insult and\nblasphemy on their lips, pursued him with cries of death even to the\nsanctuary of the temple. He opened his eyes--and, by the pale light of\nthe sacred lamps, to the solemn music of the organ, he saw that crowd,\njust now so menacing and implacable, kneeling in mute and reverential\nemotion, and humbly bowing their heads before the majesty of the shrine.\n\nSome minutes after, Gabriel, carried almost in triumph on the shoulders\nof the crowd, entered the coach, in which Father d'Aigrigny, who by\ndegrees had completely recovered his senses, was already reclining. By\nthe order of the Jesuit, the coach stopped before the door of a house\nin the Rue de Vaugirard; he had the strength and courage to enter this\ndwelling alone; Gabriel was not admitted, but we shall conduct the\nreader thither.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI. THE PATIENT.\n\nAt the end of the Rue de Vaugirard, there was then a very high wall,\nwith only one small doorway in all its length. On opening this door,\nyou entered a yard surrounded by a railing, with screens like Venetian\nblinds, to prevent your seeing between the rails. Crossing this\ncourtyard, you come to a fine large garden, symmetrically planted, at\nthe end of which stood a building two stories high, looking perfectly\ncomfortable, without luxury, but with all that cozy simplicity which\nbetokens discreet opulence. A few days had elapsed since Father\nd'Aigrigny had been so courageously rescued by Gabriel from the popular\nfury. Three ecclesiastics, wearing black gowns, white bands, and square\ncaps, were walking in the garden with a slow and measured step. The\nyoungest seemed to be about thirty years of age; his countenance was\npale, hollow, and impressed with a certain ascetic austerity. His two\ncompanions, aged between fifty or sixty, had, on the contrary, faces at\nonce hypocritical and cunning; their round, rosy cheeks shone brightly\nin the sunshine, whilst their triple chins, buried in fat, descended in\nsoft folds over the fine cambric of their bands. According to the rules\nof their order (they belonged to the Society of Jesus), which forbade\ntheir walking only two together, these three members of the brotherhood\nnever quitted each other a moment.\n\n\"I fear,\" said one of the two, continuing a conversation already begun,\nand speaking of an absent person, \"I fear, that the continual agitation\nto which the reverend father has been a prey, ever since he was attacked\nwith the cholera, has exhausted his strength, and caused the dangerous\nrelapse which now makes us fear for his life.\"\n\n\"They say,\" resumed the other, \"that never was there seen anxiety like\nto his.\"\n\n\"And moreover,\" remarked the young priest, bitterly, \"it is painful to\nthink, that his reverence Father Rodin has given cause for scandal,\nby obstinately refusing to make a public confession, the day before\nyesterday when his situation appeared so desperate, that, between two\nfits of a delirium, it was thought right to propose to him to receive\nthe last sacraments.\"\n\n\"His reverence declared that he was not so ill as they supposed,\"\nanswered one of the fathers, \"and that he would have the last duties\nperformed when he thought necessary.\"\n\n\"The fact is, that for the last ten days, ever since he was brought here\ndying, his life has been, as it were, only a long and painful agony; and\nyet he continues to live.\"\n\n\"I watched by him during the first three days of his malady, with M.\nRousselet, the pupil of Dr. Baleinier,\" resumed the youngest father; \"he\nhad hardly a moment's consciousness, and when the Lord did grant him\na lucid interval, he employed it in detestable execrations against the\nfate which had confined him to his bed.\"\n\n\"It is said,\" resumed the other, \"that Father Rodin made answer to\nhis Eminence Cardinal Malipieri, who came to persuade him to die in an\nexemplary manner, worthy of a son of Loyola, our blessed founder\"--at\nthese words, the three Jesuits bowed their heads together, as if they\nhad been all moved by the same spring--\"it is said, that Father Rodin\nmade answer to his eminence: 'I do not need to confess publicly; I WANT\nTO LIVE, AND I WILL LIVE.'\"\n\n\"I did not hear that,\" said the young priest, with an indignant air;\n\"but if Father Rodin really made use of such expressions, it is--\"\n\nHere, no doubt, reflection came to him just in time, for he stole a\nsidelong glance at his two silent, impassible companions, and added: \"It\nis a great misfortune for his soul; but I am certain, his reverence has\nbeen slandered.\"\n\n\"It was only as a calumnious report, that I mentioned those words,\" said\nthe other priest, exchanging a glance with his companion.\n\nOne of the garden gates opened, and one of the three reverend fathers\nexclaimed, at the sight of the personage who now entered: \"Oh! here is\nhis Eminence Cardinal Malipieri, coming to pay a visit to Father Rodin.\"\n\n\"May this visit of his eminence,\" said the young priest, calmly, \"be\nmore profitable to Father Rodin than the last!\"\n\nCardinal Malipieri was crossing the garden, on his way to the apartment\noccupied by Rodin.\n\nCardinal Malipieri, whom we saw assisting at the sort of council held at\nthe Princess de Saint-Dizier's, now on his way to Rodin's apartment, was\ndressed as a layman, but enveloped in an ample pelisse of puce-colored\nsatin, which exhaled a strong odor of camphor, for the prelate had\ntaken care to surround himself with all sorts of anti-cholera specifics.\nHaving reached the second story of the house, the cardinal knocked at\na little gray door. Nobody answering, he opened it, and, like a man to\nwhom the locality was well known, passed through a sort of antechamber,\nand entered a room in which was a turn-up bed. On a black wood table\nwere many phials, which had contained different medicines. The prelate's\ncountenance seemed uneasy and morose; his complexion was still yellow\nand bilious; the brown circle which surrounded his black, squinting eyes\nappeared still darker than usual.\n\nPausing a moment, he looked round him almost in fear, and several times\nstopped to smell at his anti-cholera bottle. Then, seeing he was alone,\nhe approached a glass over the chimney-piece, and examined with much\nattention the color of his tongue; after some minutes spent in this\ncareful investigation, with the result of which he appeared tolerably\nsatisfied, he took some preservative lozenges out of a golden box, and\nallowed them to melt in his mouth, whilst he closed his eyes with a\nsanctified air. Having taken these sanitary precautions, and again\npressed his bottle to his nose, the prelate prepared to enter the third\nroom, when he heard a tolerably loud noise through the thin partition\nwhich separated him from it, and, stopping to listen, all that was said\nin the next apartment easily reached his ear.\n\n\"Now that my wounds are dressed, I will get up,\" said weak, but sharp\nand imperious voice.\n\n\"Do not think of it, reverend father,\" was answered in a stronger tone;\n\"it is impossible.\"\n\n\"You shall see if it is impossible,\" replied the other voice.\n\n\"But, reverend father, you will kill yourself. You are not in a state to\nget up. You will expose yourself to a mortal relapse. I cannot consent\nto it.\"\n\nTo these words succeeded the noise of a faint struggle, mingled with\ngroans more angry than plaintive, and the voice resumed: \"No, no,\nfather; for your own safety, I will not leave your clothes within your\nreach. It is almost time for your medicine; I will go and prepare it for\nyou.\"\n\nAlmost immediately after, the door opened, and the prelate saw enter a\nman of about twenty-five years of age, carrying on his arm an old olive\ngreat-coat and threadbare black trousers, which he threw down upon a\nchair.\n\nThis personage was Ange Modeste Rousselet, chief pupil of Dr. Baleinier;\nthe countenance of the young practitioner was mild, humble, and\nreserved; his hair, very short in front, flowed down upon his neck\nbehind. He made a slight start in surprise on perceiving the cardinal,\nand bowed twice very low, without raising his eyes.\n\n\"Before anything else,\" said the prelate, with his marked Italian\naccent, still holding to his nose his bottle of camphor, \"have any\ncholeraic symptoms returned?\"\n\n\"No, my lord; the pernicious fever, which succeeded the attack of\ncholera, still continues.\"\n\n\"Very good. But will not the reverend father be reasonable? What was the\nnoise that I just heard?\"\n\n\"His reverence wished absolutely to get up and dress himself; but his\nweakness is so great, that he could not have taken two steps from the\nbed. He is devoured by impatience, and we fear that this agitation will\ncause a mortal relapse.\"\n\n\"Has Dr. Baleinier been here this morning?\"\n\n\"He has just left, my lord.\"\n\n\"What does he think of the patient?\"\n\n\"He finds him in the most alarming state, my lord. The night was so bad,\nthat he was extremely uneasy this morning. Father Rodin is at one of\nthose critical junctures, when a few hours may decide the life or death\nof the patient. Dr. Baleinier is now gone to fetch what is necessary for\na very painful operation, which he is about to perform on the reverend\nfather.\"\n\n\"Has Father d'Aigrigny been told of this?\"\n\n\"Father d'Aigrigny is himself very unwell, as your eminence knows; he\nhas not been able to leave his bed for the last three days.\"\n\n\"I inquired about him as I came up,\" answered the prelate, \"and I shall\nsee him directly. But, to return to Father Rodin, have you sent for\nhis confessor, since he is in a desperate state, and about to undergo a\nserious operation?\"\n\n\"Dr. Baleinier spoke a word to him about it, as well as about the last\nsacraments; but Father Rodin exclaimed, with great irritation, that they\ndid not leave him a moment's peace, that he had as much care as any one\nfor his salvation, and that--\"\n\n\"Per Bacco! I am not thinking of him,\" cried the cardinal, interrupting\nAnge Modeste Rousselet with his pagan oath, and raising his sharp voice\nto a still higher key; \"I am not thinking of him, but of the interests\nof the Company. It is indispensable that the reverend father should\nreceive the sacraments with the most splendid solemnity, and that his\nend should not only be Christian, but exemplary. All the people in the\nhouse, and even strangers, should be invited to the spectacle, so that\nhis edifying death may produce an excellent sensation.\"\n\n\"That is what Fathers Grison and Brunet have already endeavored to\npersuade his reverence, my lord; but your Eminence knows with what\nimpatience Father Rodin received this advice, and Dr. Baleinier did not\nventure to persist, for fear of advancing a fatal crisis.\"\n\n\"Well, I will venture to do it; for in these times of revolutionary\nimpiety, a solemnly Christian death would produce a very salutary\neffect on the public. It would indeed be proper to make the necessary\npreparations to embalm the reverend father: he might then lie in state\nfor some days, with lighted tapers, according to Romish custom. My\nsecretary would furnish the design for the bier; it would be very\nsplendid and imposing; from his position in the Order, Father Rodin is\nentitled to have everything in the most sumptuous style. He must have at\nleast six hundred tapers, and a dozen funeral lamps, burning spirits of\nwine, to hang just over the body, and light it from above: the effect\nwould be excellent. We must also distribute little tracts to the people,\nconcerning the pious and ascetic life of his reverence--\"\n\nHere a sudden noise, like that of some piece of metal thrown angrily on\nthe floor, was heard from the next room, in which was the sick man, and\ninterrupted the prelate in his description.\n\n\"I hope Father Rodin has not heard you talk of embalming him, my lord,\"\nsaid Rousselet, in a whisper: \"his bed touches the partition, and almost\neverything is audible through it.\"\n\n\"If Father Rodin has heard me,\" answered the cardinal, sinking his\nvoice, and retiring to the other end of the room, \"this circumstance\nwill enable me to enter at once on the business; but, in any case,\nI persist in believing that the embalming and the lying in state are\nrequired to make a good effect upon the public. The people are already\nfrightened at the cholera, and such funeral pomp would have no small\ninfluence on the imagination.\"\n\n\"I would venture to observe to your Eminence, that here the laws are\nopposed to such exhibitions.\"\n\n\"The laws--already the laws!\" said the cardinal, angrily; \"has not Rome\nalso her laws? And is not every priest a subject of Rome? Is it not\ntime--\"\n\nBut, not choosing, doubtless, to begin a more explicit conversation with\nthe young doctor, the prelate resumed, \"We will talk of this hereafter.\nBut, tell me, since my last visit, has the reverend father had any fresh\nattacks of delirium?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord; here is the note, as your Eminence commanded.\" So saying\nRousselet delivered a paper to the prelate. We will inform the reader\nthat this part of the conversation between Rousselet and the cardinal\nwas carried on at a distance from the partition, so that Rodin could\nhear nothing of it, whilst that which related to the embalming had been\nperfectly audible to him.\n\nThe cardinal, having received the note from Rousselet, perused it with\nan expression of lively curiosity. When he had finished, he crumpled\nit in his hand, and said, without attempting to dissemble his vexation,\n\"Always nothing but incoherent expression. Not two words together, from\nwhich you can draw any reasonable conclusion. One would really think\nthis man had the power to control himself even in his delirium, and to\nrave about insignificant matters only.\"\n\nThen, addressing Rousselet, \"You are sure that you have reported\neverything that escaped from him during his delirium?\"\n\n\"With the exception of the same phrases, that he repeated over and over\nagain, your Eminence may be assured that I have not omitted a single\nword, however unmeaning.\"\n\n\"Show me into Father Rodin's room,\" said the prelate, after a moment's\nsilence.\n\n\"But, my lord,\" answered the young doctor, with some hesitation, \"the\nfit has only left him about an hour, and the reverend father is still\nvery weak.\"\n\n\"The more the reason,\" replied the prelate, somewhat indiscreetly.\nThen, recollecting himself, he added, \"He will the better appreciate\nthe consolations I have to offer. Should he be asleep, awake him, and\nannounce my visit.\"\n\n\"I have only orders to receive from your Eminence,\" said Rousselet,\nbowing, and entering the next room.\n\nLeft alone, the cardinal said to himself, with a pensive air, \"I always\ncome back to that. When he was suddenly attacked by the cholera, Father\nRodin believed himself poisoned by order of the Holy See. He must then\nhave been plotting something very formidable against Rome, to entertain\nso abominable a fear. Can our suspicions be well founded? Is he acting\nsecretly and powerfully on the Sacred College? But then for what end?\nThis it has been impossible to penetrate, so faithfully has the secret\nbeen kept by his accomplices. I had hoped that, during his delirium, he\nwould let slip some word that would put us on the trace of what we are\nso much interested to discover. With so restless and active a mind,\ndelirium is often the exaggeration of some dominant idea; yet here I\nhave the report of five different fits--and nothing--no, nothing but\nvague, unconnected phrases.\"\n\nThe return of Rousselet put an end to these reflections. \"I am sorry to\ninform my lord that the reverend father obstinately refuses to see any\none. He says that he requires absolute repose. Though very weak, he has\na savage and angry look, and I should not be surprised if he overheard\nyour Eminence talk about embalming him.\"\n\nThe cardinal, interrupting Rousselet, said to him, \"Did Father Rodin\nhave his last fit of delirium in the night?\"\n\n\"Between three and half-past five this morning, my lord.\"\n\n\"Between three and half-past five,\" repeated the prelate, as if he\nwished to impress this circumstance on his memory, \"the attack presented\nno particular symptoms?\"\n\n\"No, my lord; it consisted of rambling, incoherent talk, as your\nEminence may see by this note.\"\n\nThen, as he perceived the prelate approaching Father Rodin's door,\nRousselet added, \"The reverend father will positively see no one,\nmy lord; he requires rest, to prepare for the operation; it might be\ndangerous--\"\n\nWithout attending to these observations, the cardinal entered Rodin's\nchamber. It was a tolerably large room, lighted by two windows, and\nsimply but commodiously furnished. Two logs were burning slowly in the\nfireplace, in which stood a coffee-pot, a vessel containing mustard\npoultice, etc. On the chimney-piece were several pieces of rag, and some\nlinen bandages. The room was full of that faint chemical odor peculiar\nto the chambers of the sick, mingled with so putrid a stench, that the\ncardinal stopped at the door a moment, before he ventured to advance\nfurther. As the three reverend fathers had mentioned in their walk,\nRodin lived because he had said to himself, \"I want to live, and I will\nlive.\"\n\nFor, as men of timid imaginations and cowardly minds often die from the\nmere dread of dying, so a thousand facts prove that vigor of character\nand moral energy may often struggle successfully against disease, and\ntriumph over the most desperate symptoms.\n\nIt was thus with the Jesuit. The unshaken firmness of his character, the\nformidable tenacity of his will (for the will has sometimes a mysterious\nand almost terrific power), aiding the skillful treatment of Dr.\nBaleinier, had saved him from the pestilence with which he had been so\nsuddenly attacked. But the shock had been succeeded by a violent fever,\nwhich placed Rodin's life in the utmost peril. This increased danger had\ncaused the greatest alarm to Father d'Aigrigny, who felt, in spite of\nhis rivalry and jealousy, that Rodin was the master-spirit of the plot\nin which they were engaged, and could alone conduct it to a successful\nissue.\n\nThe curtains of the room was half closed, and admitted only a doubtful\nlight to the bed on which Rodin was lying. The Jesuit's features\nhad lost the greenish hue peculiar to cholera patients, but remained\nperfectly livid and cadaverous, and so thin, that the dry, rugged skin\nappeared to cling to the smallest prominence of bone. The muscles and\nveins of the long, lean, vulture-like neck resembled a bundle of cords.\nThe head, covered with an old, black, filthy nightcap, from beneath\nwhich strayed a few thin, gray hairs, rested upon a dirty pillow; for\nRodin would not allow them to change his linen. His iron-gray beard had\nnot been shaved for some time, and stood out like the hairs of a brush.\nUnder his shirt he wore an old flannel waistcoat full of holes. He had\none of his arms out of bed, and his bony hairy hand, with its bluish\nnails, held fast a cotton handkerchief of indescribable color.\n\nYou might have taken him for a corpse, had it not been for the two\nbrilliant sparks which still burned in the depths of his eyes. In that\nlook, in which seemed concentrated all the remaining life and energy\nof the man, you might read the most restless anxiety. Sometimes his\nfeatures revealed the sharpest pangs; sometimes the twisting of his\nhands, and his sudden starts, proclaimed his despair at being thus\nfettered to a bed of pain, whilst the serious interests which he had\nin charge required all the activity of his mind. Thus, with thoughts\ncontinually on the stretch, his mind often wandered, and he had fits\nof delirium, from which he woke as from a painful dream. By the prudent\nadvice of Dr. Baleinier, who considered him not in a state to attend to\nmatters of--importance, Father d'Aigrigny had hitherto evaded Rodin's\nquestions with regard to the Rennepont affair, which he dreaded to see\nlost and ruined in consequence of his forced inaction. The silence of\nFather d'Aigrigny on this head, and the ignorance in which they kept\nhim, only augmented the sick man's exasperation. Such was the moral and\nphysical state of Rodin, when Cardinal Malipieri entered his chamber\nagainst his will.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII. THE LURE.\n\nTo understand fully the tortures of Rodin, reduced to inactivity by\nsickness, and to explain the importance of Cardinal Malipieri's visit,\nwe must remember the audacious views of the ambitious Jesuit, who\nbelieved himself following in the steps of Sixtus V., and expected to\nbecome his equal. By the success of the Rennepont affair, to attain to\nthe generalship of his Order, by the corruption of the Sacred College\nto ascend the pontifical throne, and then, by means of a change in the\nstatutes of the Company, to incorporate the Society of Jesus with the\nHoly See, instead of leaving it independent, to equal and almost always\nrule the Papacy--such were the secret projects of Rodin.\n\nTheir possibility was sanctioned by numerous precedents, for many mere\nmonks and priests had been suddenly raised to the pontifical dignity.\nAnd as for their morality, the accession of the Borgias, of Julius\nII., and other dubious Vicars of Christ, might excuse and authorize the\npretensions of the Jesuits.\n\nThough the object of his secret intrigues at Rome had hitherto been\nenveloped in the greatest mystery, suspicions had been excited in regard\nto his private communications with many members of the Sacred College.\nA portion of that college, Cardinal Malipieri at the head of them, had\nbecome very uneasy on the subject, and, profiting by his journey\nto France, the cardinal had resolved to penetrate the Jesuit's dark\ndesigns. If, in the scene we have just painted, the cardinal showed\nhimself so obstinately bent on having a conference with Rodin, in spite\nof the refusal of the latter, it was because the prelate hoped, as we\nshall soon see, to get by cunning at the secret, which had hitherto\nbeen so well concealed. It was, therefore, in the midst of all these\nextraordinary circumstances, that Rodin saw himself the victim of a\nmalady, which paralyzed his strength, at the moment when he had need of\nall his activity, and of all the resources of his mind. After remaining\nfor some seconds motionless near the door, the cardinal, still holding\nhis bottle under his nose, slowly approached the bed where Rodin lay.\n\nThe latter, enraged at this perseverance, and wishing to avoid an\ninterview which for many reasons was singularly odious to him, turned\nhis face towards the wall, and pretended to be asleep. Caring little for\nthis feint, and determined to profit by Rodin's state of weakness, the\nprelate took a chair, and, conquering his repugnance, sat down close to\nthe Jesuit's bed.\n\n\"My reverend and very dear father, how do you find yourself?\" said he to\nhim, in a honeyed tone, which his Italian accent seemed to render still\nmore hypocritical. Rodin pretended not to hear, breathed hard, and made\nno answer. But the cardinal, not without disgust, shook with his gloved\nhand the arm of the Jesuit, and repeated in a louder voice: \"My reverend\nand very dear father, answer me, I conjure you!\"\n\nRodin could not restrain a movement of angry impatience, but he\ncontinued silent. The cardinal was not a man to be discouraged by so\nlittle; he again shook the arm of the Jesuit, somewhat more roughly,\nrepeating, with a passionless tenacity that would have incensed the most\npatient person in the world: \"My reverend and very dear father, since\nyou are not asleep, listen to me, I entreat of you.\"\n\nIrritable with pain, exasperated by the obstinacy of the prelate, Rodin\nabruptly turned his head, fixed on the Roman his hollow eyes, shining\nwith lurid fire, and, with lips contracted by a sardonic smile, said to\nhim, bitterly: \"You must be very anxious, my lord, to see me embalmed,\nand lie in state with tapers, as you were saying just now, for you thus\nto come to torment me in my last moments, and hasten my end!\"\n\n\"Oh, my good father! how can you talk so?\" cried the cardinal, raising\nhis hands as if to call heaven to witness to the sincerity of the tender\ninterest he felt for the Jesuit.\n\n\"I tell you that I heard all just now, my lord; for the partition is\nthin,\" added Rodin, with redoubled bitterness.\n\n\"If you mean that, from the bottom of my soul, I desired that you should\nmake an exemplary and Christian end, you are perfectly right, my dear\nfather. I did say so; for, after a life so well employed, it would be\nsweet to see you an object of adoration for the faithful!\"\n\n\"I tell you, my lord,\" cried Rodin, in a weak and broken voice, \"that\nit is ferocious to express such wishes in the presence of a dying man.\nYes,\" he added, with growing animation, that contrasted strongly with\nhis weakness, \"take care what you do; for if I am too much plagued and\npestered--if I am not allowed to breathe my last breath quietly--I give\nyou notice that you will force me to die in anything but a Christian\nmanner, and if you mean to profit by an edifying spectacle, you will be\ndeceived.\"\n\nThis burst of anger having greatly fatigued Rodin, his head fell back\nupon the pillow, and he wiped his cracked and bleeding lips with his old\ncotton handkerchief.\n\n\"Come, come, be calm, my very dear father,\" resumed the cardinal, with\na patronizing air; \"do not give way to such gloomy ideas. Doubtless,\nProvidence reserves you for great designs, since you have been already\ndelivered from so much peril. Let us hope that you will be likewise\nsaved from your present danger.\"\n\nRodin answered by a hoarse growl, and turned his face towards the wall.\n\nThe imperturbable prelate continued: \"The views of Providence are not\nconfined to your salvation, my very dear father. Its power has been\nmanifested in another way. What I am about to tell you is of the highest\nimportance. Listen attentively.\"\n\nWithout turning his head, Rodin muttered in a tone of angry bitterness,\nwhich betrayed his intense sufferings: \"They desire my death. My chest\nis on fire, my head racked with pain, and they have no pity. Oh, I\nsuffer the tortures of the damned!\"\n\n\"What! already\" thought the Roman, with a smile of sarcastic malice;\nthen he said aloud: \"Let me persuade you, my very dear father--make an\neffort to listen to me; you will not regret it.\"\n\nStill stretched upon the bed, Rodin lifted his hands clasped upon his\ncotton handkerchief with a gesture of despair, and then let them fall\nagain by his side.\n\nThe cardinal slightly shrugged his shoulders, and laid great stress\non what follows, so that Rodin might not lose a word of it: \"My dear\nfather, it has pleased Providence that, during your fit of raving, you\nhave made, without knowing it, the most important revelations.\"\n\nThe prelate waited with anxious curiosity for the effect of the pious\ntrap he had laid for the Jesuit's weakened faculties. But the latter,\nstill turned towards the wall, did not appear to have heard him and\nremained silent.\n\n\"You are, no doubt, reflecting on my words, my dear father,\" resumed\nthe cardinal; \"you are right, for it concerns a very serious affair. I\nrepeat to you that Providence has allowed you, during your delirium, to\nbetray your most secret thoughts--happily, to me alone. They are such\nas would compromise you in the highest degree. In short, during your\ndelirium of last night, which lasted nearly two hours, you unveiled the\nsecret objects of your intrigues at Rome with many of the members of the\nSacred College.\"\n\nThe cardinal, rising softly, stooped over the bed to watch the\nexpression of Rodin's countenance. But the latter did not give him time.\nAs a galvanized corpse starts into strange and sudden motion, Rodin\nsprang into a sitting posture at the last words of the prelate.\n\n\"He has betrayed himself,\" said the cardinal, in a low voice, in\nItalian. Then, resuming his seat, he fixed on the Jesuit his eyes, that\nsparkled with triumphant joy.\n\nThough he did not hear the exclamation of Malipieri, nor remark the\nexpression of his countenance, Rodin, notwithstanding his state of\nweakness, instantly felt the imprudence of his start. He pressed his\nhand to his forehead, as though he had been seized with a giddiness;\nthen, looking wildly round him, he pressed to his trembling lips his old\ncotton handkerchief, and gnawed it mechanically for some seconds.\n\n\"Your emotion and alarm confirm the sad discoveries I have made,\"\nresumed the cardinal, still more rejoicing at the success of his trick;\n\"and now, my dear father,\" added he, \"you will understand that it is\nfor your best interest to enter into the most minute detail as to your\nprojects and accomplices at Rome. You may then hope, my dear father,\nfor the indulgence of the Holy See--that is, if your avowals are\nsufficiently explicit to fill up the chasms necessarily left in a\nconfession made during delirium.\"\n\nRodin, recovered from his first surprise, perceived, but too late, that\nhe had fallen into a snare, not by any words he had spoken, but by his\ntoo significant movements. In fact, the Jesuit had feared for a moment\nthat he might have betrayed himself during his delirium, when he heard\nhimself accused of dark intrigues with Rome; but, after some minutes of\nreflection, his common sense suggested: \"If this crafty Roman knew my\nsecret, he would take care not to tell me so. He has only suspicions,\nconfirmed by my involuntary start just now.\"\n\nRodin wiped the cold sweat from his burning forehead. The emotion of\nthis scene augmented his sufferings, and aggravated the danger of his\ncondition. Worn out with fatigue, he could not remain long in a sitting\nposture, and soon fell back upon the bed.\n\n\"Per Bacco!\" said the cardinal to himself, alarmed at the expression\nof the Jesuit's face; \"if he were to die before he had spoken, and so\nescape the snare!\"\n\nThen, leaning over the bed, the prelate asked: \"What is the matter, my\nvery dear father?\"\n\n\"I am weak, my lord--I am in pain--I cannot express what I suffer.\"\n\n\"Let us hope, my very dear father, that this crisis will have no fatal\nresults; but the contrary may happen, and it behooves the salvation\nof your soul to make instantly the fullest confession. Were it even to\nexhaust your strength, what is this perishable body compared to eternal\nlife?\"\n\n\"Of what confession do you speak, my lord?\" said Rodin, in a feeble and\nyet sarcastic tone.\n\n\"What confession!\" cried the amazed cardinal; \"why, with regard to your\ndangerous intrigues at Rome.\"\n\n\"What intrigues?\" asked Rodin.\n\n\"The intrigues you revealed during your delirium,\" replied the prelate,\nwith still more angry impatience. \"Were not your avowals sufficiently\nexplicit? Why, then, this culpable hesitation to complete them?\"\n\n\"My avowals--were explicit--you assure me?\" said Rodin, pausing after\neach word for want of breath, but without losing his energy and presence\nof mind.\n\n\"Yes, I repeat it,\" resumed the cardinal; \"with the exception of a few\nchasms, they were most explicit.\"\n\n\"Then why repeat them?\" said Rodin, with the same sardonic smile on his\nviolet lips.\n\n\"Why repeat them?\" cried the angry prelate. \"In order to gain pardon;\nfor if there is indulgence and mercy for the repentant sinner, there\nmust be condemnation and curses for the hardened criminal!\"\n\n\"Oh, what torture! I am dying by slow fire!\" murmured Rodin. \"Since I\nhave told all,\" he resumed, \"I have nothing more to tell. You know it\nalready.\"\n\n\"I know all--doubtless, I know all,\" replied the prelate, in a voice of\nthunder; \"but how have I learned it? By confessions made in a state\nof unconsciousness. Do you think they will avail you anything? No; the\nmoment is solemn--death is at hand, tremble to die with a sacrilegious\nfalsehood on your lips,\" cried the prelate, shaking Rodin violently by\nthe arm; \"dread the eternal flames, if you dare deny what you know to be\nthe truth. Do you deny it?\"\n\n\"I deny nothing,\" murmured Rodin, with difficulty. \"Only leave me\nalone!\"\n\n\"Then heaven inspires you,\" said the cardinal, with a sigh of\nsatisfaction; and, thinking he had nearly attained his object, he\nresumed, \"Listen to the divine word, that will guide you, father. You\ndeny nothing?\"\n\n\"I was--delirious--and cannot--(oh! how I suffer!)\" added Rodin, by way\nof parenthesis; \"and cannot therefore--deny--the nonsense--I may have\nuttered!\"\n\n\"But when this nonsense agrees with the truth,\" cried the prelate,\nfurious at being again deceived in his expectation; \"but when raving is\nan involuntary, providential revelation--\"\n\n\"Cardinal Malipieri--your craft is no match--for my agony,\" answered\nRodin, in a failing voice. \"The proof--that I have not told my\nsecret--if I have a secret--is--that you want to make me tell it!\" In\nspite of his pain and weakness, the Jesuit had courage to raise himself\nin the bed, and look the cardinal full in the face, with a smile of\nbitter irony. After which he fell back on the pillow, and pressed his\nhands to his chest, with a long sigh of anguish.\n\n\"Damnation! the infernal Jesuit has found me out!\" said the cardinal\nto himself, as he stamped his foot with rage. \"He sees that he was\ncompromised by his first movement; he is now upon his guard; I shall get\nnothing more from him--unless indeed, profiting by the state of weakness\nin which he is, I can, by entreaties, by threats, by terror--\"\n\nThe prelate was unable to finish. The door opened abruptly, and Father\nd'Aigrigny entered the room, exclaiming with an explosion of joy:\n\"Excellent news!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII. GOOD NEWS.\n\nBy the alteration in the countenance of Father d'Aigrigny, his pale\ncheek, and the feebleness of his walk, one might see that the terrible\nscene in the square of Notre-Dame, had violently reacted upon his\nhealth. Yet his face was radiant and triumphant, as he entered Rodin's\nchamber, exclaiming: \"Excellent news!\"\n\nOn these words, Rodin started. In spite of his weakness, he raised his\nhead, and his eyes shone with a curious, uneasy, piercing expression.\nWith his lean hand, he beckoned Father d'Aigrigny to approach the\nbed, and said to him, in a broken voice, so weak that it was scarcely\naudible: \"I am very ill--the cardinal has nearly finished me--but if\nthis excellent news--relates to the Rennepont affair--of which I hear\nnothing--it might save me yet!\"\n\n\"Be saved then!\" cried Father d'Aigrigny, forgetting the recommendations\nof Dr. Baleinier; \"read, rejoice! What you foretold is beginning to be\nrealized!\"\n\nSo saying, he drew a paper from his pocket, and delivered it to Rodin,\nwho seized it with an eager and trembling hand. Some minutes before,\nRodin would have been really incapable of continuing his conversation\nwith the cardinal, even if prudence had allowed him to do so; nor could\nhe have read a single line, so dim had his sight become. But, at the\nwords of Father d'Aigrigny, he felt such a renewal of hope and vigor,\nthat, by a mighty effort of energy and will, he rose to a sitting\nposture, and, with clear head, and look of intelligent animation, he\nread rapidly the paper that Father d'Aigrigny had just delivered to him.\n\nThe cardinal, amazed at this sudden transfiguration, asked himself if he\nbeheld the same man, who, a few minutes before, had fallen back on\nhis bed, almost insensible. Hardly had Rodin finished reading, than\nhe uttered a cry of stifled joy, saying, with an accent impossible to\ndescribe: \"ONE gone! it works--'tis well!\" And, closing his eyes in\na kind of ecstatic transport, a smile of proud triumph overspread his\nface, and rendered him still more hideous, by discovering his yellow and\ngumless teeth. His emotion was so violent, that the paper fell from his\ntrembling hand.\n\n\"He has fainted,\" cried Father d'Aigrigny, with uneasiness, as he leaned\nover Rodin. \"It is my fault, I forgot that the doctor cautioned me not\nto talk to him of serious matters.\"\n\n\"No; do not reproach yourself,\" said Rodin, in a low voice, half-raising\nhimself in the bed. \"This unexpected joy may perhaps cure me. Yes--I\nscarce know what I feel--but look at my cheeks--it seems to me, that,\nfor the first time since I have been stretched on this bed of pain, they\nare a little warm.\"\n\nRodin spoke the truth. A slight color appeared suddenly on his livid and\nicy cheeks; his voice though still very weak, became less tremulous, and\nhe exclaimed, in a tone of conviction that startled Father d'Aigrigny\nand the prelate, \"This first success answers for the others. I read the\nfuture. Yes, yes; our cause will triumph. Every member of the execrable\nRennepont family will be crushed--and that soon you will see--\"\n\nThen, pausing, Rodin threw himself back on the pillow, exclaiming: \"Oh!\nI am choked with joy. My voice fails me.\"\n\n\"But what is it?\" asked the cardinal of Father d'Aigrigny.\n\nThe latter replied, in a tone of hypocritical sanctity: \"One of the\nheirs of the Rennepont family, a poor fellow, worn out with excesses and\ndebauchery, died three days ago, at the close of some abominable\norgies, in which he had braved the cholera with sacrilegious impiety.\nIn consequence of the indisposition that kept me at home, and of another\ncircumstance, I only received to-day the certificate of the death of\nthis victim of intemperance and irreligion. I must proclaim it to the\npraise of his reverence\"--pointing to Rodin--\"that he told me, the worst\nenemies of the descendants of that infamous renegade would be their own\nbad passions, and that the might look to them as our allies against the\nwhole impious race. And so it has happened with Jacques Rennepont.\"\n\n\"You see,\" said Rodin, in so faint a voice that it was almost\nunintelligible, \"the punishment begins already. One of the Renneponts\nis dead--and believe me--this certificate,\" and he pointed to the paper\nthat Father d'Aigrigny held in his hand, \"will one day be worth forty\nmillions to the Society of Jesus--and that--because--\"\n\nThe lips alone finished the sentence. During some seconds, Rodin's\nvoice had become so faint, that it was at last quite imperceptible. His\nlarynx, contracted by violent emotion, no longer emitted any sound.\nThe Jesuit, far from being disconcerted by this incident, finished his\nphrase, as it were, by expressive pantomime. Raising his head proudly he\ntapped his forehead with his forefinger, as if to express that it was to\nhis ability this first success was owing. But he soon fell back again\non the bed, exhausted, breathless, sinking, with his cotton handkerchief\npressed once more to his parched lips. The good news, as Father\nd'Aigrigny called it, had not cured Rodin. For a moment only, he had had\nthe courage to forget his pain. But the slight color on his cheek soon\ndisappeared; his face became once more livid. His sufferings, suspended\nfor a moment, were so much increased in violence, that he writhed\nbeneath the coverlet, and buried his face in the pillow, extending his\narms above his head, and holding them stiff as bars of iron. After this\ncrisis, intense as it was rapid: during which Father d'Aigrigny and the\nprelate bent anxiously over him, Rodin, whose face was bathed in cold\nsweat, made a sign that he suffered less, and that he wished to drink of\na potion to which he pointed. Father d'Aigrigny fetched it for him,\nand while the cardinal held him up with marked disgust, the abbe\nadministered a few spoonfuls of the potion, which almost immediately\nproduced a soothing effect.\n\n\"Shall I call M. Rousselet?\" said Father d'Aigrigny, when Rodin was once\nmore laid down in bed.\n\nRodin shook his head; then, with a fresh effort, he raised his right\nhand, opened it, and pointed with his forefinger to a desk in a corner\nof the room, to signify that, being no longer able to speak, he wished\nto write.\n\n\"I understand your reverence,\" said Father d'Aigrigny; \"but first\ncalm yourself. Presently, if you require it. I will give you writing\nmaterials.\"\n\nTwo knocks at the outer door of the next room interrupted this scene.\nFrom motives of prudence, Father d'Aigrigny had begged Rousselet to\nremain in the first of the three rooms. He now went to open the door,\nand Rousselet handed him a voluminous packet, saying: \"I beg pardon\nfor disturbing you, father, but I was told to let you have these papers\ninstantly.\"\n\n\"Thank you, M. Rousselet,\" said Father d'Aigrigny; \"do you know at what\nhour Dr. Baleinier will return?\"\n\n\"He will not be long, father, for he wishes to perform before night the\npainful operation, that will have a decisive effect on the condition of\nFather Rodin. I am preparing what is necessary for it,\" added Rousselet,\nas he pointed to a singular and formidable apparatus, which Father\nd'Aigrigny examined with a kind of terror.\n\n\"I do not know if the symptom is a serious one,\" said the Jesuit; \"but\nthe reverend father has suddenly lost his voice.\"\n\n\"It is the third time this has happened within the last week,\" said\nRousselet; \"the operation of Dr. Baleiner will act both on the larynx\nand on the lungs.\"\n\n\"Is the operation a very painful one?\" asked Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"There is, perhaps, none more cruel in surgery,\" answered the young\ndoctor; \"and Dr. Baleinier has partly concealed its nature from Father\nRodin.\"\n\n\"Please to wait here for Dr. Baleinier, and send him to us as soon as he\narrives,\" resumed Father d'Aigrigny: and, returning to the sick chamber,\nhe sat down by the bedside, and said to Rodin, as he showed him the\nletter: \"Here are different reports with regard to different members\nof the Rennepont family, whom I have had looked after by others, my\nindisposition having kept me at home for the last few days. I do not\nknow, father, if the state of your health will permit you to hear--\"\n\nRodin made a gesture, at once so supplicating and peremptory, that\nFather d'Aigrigny felt there would be at least as much danger in\nrefusing as in granting his request; so, turning towards the cardinal,\nstill inconsolable at not having discovered the Jesuit's secret, he\nsaid to him with respectful deference, pointing at the same time to the\nletter: \"Have I the permission of your Eminence?\"\n\nThe prelate bowed, and replied: \"Your affairs are ours, my dear father.\nThe Church must always rejoice in what rejoices your glorious Company.\"\n\nFather d'Aigrigny unsealed the packet, and found in it different notes\nin different handwritings. When he had read the first, his countenance\ndarkened, and he said, in a grave tone: \"A misfortune--a great\nmisfortune.\"\n\nRodin turned his head abruptly, and looked at him with an air of uneasy\nquestioning.\n\n\"Florine is dead of the cholera,\" answered Father d'Aigrigny; \"and what\nis the worst,\" added he, crumpling the note between his hands, \"before\ndying, the miserable creature confessed to Mdlle. de Cardoville that she\nlong acted as a spy under the orders of your reverence.\"\n\nNo doubt the death of Florine, and the confession she had made, crossed\nsome of the plans of Rodin, for he uttered an inarticulate murmur, and\nhis countenance expressed great vexation.\n\nPassing to another note, Father d'Aigrigny continued: \"This relates\nto Marshal Simon, and is not absolutely bad, but still far from\nsatisfactory, as it announces some amelioration in his position. We\nshall see if it merits belief, by information from another source.\"\n\nRodin made a sign of impatience, to hasten Father d'Aigrigny to read the\nnote, which he did as follows. \"'For some days, the mind of the marshal\nhas appeared to be less sorrowful, anxious and agitated. He lately\npassed two hours with his daughters, which had not been the case for\nsome time before. The harsh countenance of the soldier Dagobert is\nbecoming smoother--a sure sign of some amelioration in the condition of\nthe marshal. Detected by their handwriting, the last anonymous letters\nwere returned by Dagobert to the postman, without having been opened by\nthe marshal. Some other method must be found to get them delivered.'\"\n\nLooking at Rodin, Father d'Aigrigny said to him: \"Your reverence thinks\nwith me that this note is not very satisfactory?\"\n\nRodin held down his head. One saw by the expression of his countenance\nhow much he suffered by not being able to speak. Twice he put his hand\nto his throat, and looked at Father d'Aigrigny with anguish.\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Father d'Aigrigny, angrily, when he had perused another\nnote, \"for one lucky chance, to-day brings some very black ones.\"\n\nAt these words turning hastily to Father d'Aigrigny, and extending\nhis trembling hands, Rodin questioned him with look and gesture. The\ncardinal, sharing his uneasiness, exclaimed: \"What do you learn by this\nnote, my dear father?\"\n\n\"We thought the residence of M. Hardy in our house completely unknown,\"\nreplied Father d'Aigrigny, \"but we now fear that Agricola Baudoin\nhas discovered the retreat of his old master, and that he has even\ncommunicated with him by letter, through a servant of the house. So,\"\nadded the reverend father, angrily, \"during the three days that I have\nnot been able to visit the pavilion, one of my servants must have been\nbought over. There is one of them, a man blind of one eye, whom I\nhave always suspected--the wretch! But no: I will not yet believe this\ntreachery. The consequences would be too deplorable; for I know how\nmatters stand, and that such a correspondence might ruin everything.\nBy awaking in M. Hardy memories with difficulty laid asleep, they might\ndestroy in a single day all that has been done since he inhabits our\nhouse. Luckily, this note contains only doubts and fears; my other\ninformation will be more positive, and will not, I hope, confirm them.\"\n\n\"My dear father,\" said the cardinal, \"do not despair. The Lord will not\nabandon the good cause!\"\n\nFather d'Aigrigny seemed very little consoled by this assurance. He\nremained still and thoughtful, whilst Rodin writhed his head in a\nparoxysm of mute rage, as he reflected on this new check.\n\n\"Let us turn to the last note,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, after a moment\nof thoughtful silence. \"I have so much confidence in the person who\nsends it, that I cannot doubt the correctness of the information it\ncontains. May it contradict the others!\"\n\nIn order not to break the chain of facts contained in this last note,\nwhich was to have so startling an effect on the actors in this scene, we\nshall leave it to the reader's imagination to supply the exclamations\nof surprise, hate, rage and fear of Father d'Aigrigny, and the terrific\npantomime of Rodin, during the perusal of this formidable document,\nthe result of the observations of a faithful and secret agent of\nthe reverend fathers. Comparing this note with the other information\nreceived, the results appeared more distressing to the reverend fathers.\nThus Gabriel had long and frequent conferences with Adrienne, who before\nwas unknown to him. Agricola Baudoin had opened a communication with\nFrancis Hardy, and the officers of justice were on the track of the\nauthors and instigators of the riot which had led to the burning of the\nfactory of Baron Tripeaud's rival. It seemed almost certain that Mdlle.\nde Cardoville had had an interview with Prince Djalma.\n\nThis combination of facts showed that, faithful to the threats she\nhad uttered to Rodin, when she had unmasked the double perfidy of the\nreverend father, Mdlle. de Cardoville was actively engaged in uniting\nthe scattered members of her family, to form a league against those\ndangerous enemies, whose detestable projects, once unveiled and boldly\nencountered, could hardly have a chance of success. The reader will now\nunderstand the tremendous effect of this note on Father d'Aigrigny and\nRodin--on Rodin, stretched powerless on a bed of pain at the moment when\nthe scaffolding, raised with so much labor, seemed to be tumbling around\nhim.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX. THE OPERATION.\n\nWe have given up the attempt to paint the countenance, attitude, and\ngesticulation of Rodin during the reading of this note, which seemed to\nruin all his most cherished hopes. Everything was failing at once, at\nthe moment when only superhuman trust in the success of his plans could\ngive him sufficient energy to strive against mortal sickness. A single,\nabsorbing thought had agitated him even to delirium: What progress,\nduring his illness, had been made in this immense affair? He had first\nheard a good piece of news, the death of Jacques Rennepont; but now the\nadvantages of this decease, which reduced the number of the heirs from\nseven to six, were entirely lost. To what purpose would be this death,\nif the other members of the family, dispersed and persecuted with such\ninfernal perseverance, were to unite and discover the enemies who had\nso long aimed at them in darkness? If all those wounded hearts were to\nconsole, enlighten, support each other, their cause would be gained, and\nthe inheritance rescued from the reverend fathers. What was to be done?\n\nStrange power of the human will!--Rodin had one foot in the grave, he\nwas almost at the last gasp; his voice had failed him. And yet that\nobstinate nature, so full of energy and resources, did not despair.\nLet but a miracle restore his health, and that firm confidence in the\nsuccess of his projects which has given him power to struggle against\ndisease, tells him that he could yet save all--but then he must have\nhealth and life! Health! life! His physician does not know if he will\nsurvive the shock--if he can bear the pain--of a terrible operation.\nHealth! life! and just now Rodin heard talk of the solemn funeral they\nhad prepared for him. And yet--health, life, he will have them. Yes; he\nhas willed to live--and he has lived--why should he not live longer? He\nwill live--because he has willed it.\n\nAll that we have just written passed though Rodin's mind in a second.\nHis features, convulsed by the mental torment he endured, must have\nassumed a very strange expression, for Father d'Aigrigny and the\ncardinal looked at him in silent consternation. Once resolved to live,\nand to sustain a desperate struggle with the Rennepont family, Rodin\nacted in consequence. For a few moments Father d'Aigrigny and the\nprelate believed themselves under the influence of a dream. By an effort\nof unparalleled energy, and as if moved by hidden mechanism, Rodin\nsprang from the bed, dragging the sheet with him, and trailing it, like\na shroud, behind his livid and fleshless body. The room was cold; the\nface of the Jesuit was bathed in sweat; his naked and bony feet left\ntheir moist print upon the stones.\n\n\"What are you doing? It is death!\" cried Father d'Aigrigny, rushing\ntowards Rodin, to force him to lie down again.\n\nBut the latter, extending one of his skeleton arms, as hard as iron,\npushed aside Father d'Aigrigny with inconceivable vigor, considering the\nstate of exhaustion in which he had so long been.\n\n\"He has the strength of a man in a fit of epilepsy,\" said Father\nd'Aigrigny, recovering his balance.\n\nWith a steady step Rodin advanced to the desk on which Dr. Baleinier\ndaily wrote his prescriptions. Seating himself before it, the Jesuit\ntook pen and paper, and began to write in a firm hand. His calm, slow,\nand sure movements had in them something of the deliberateness remarked\nin somnambulists. Mute and motionless, hardly knowing whether they\ndreamed or not, the cardinal and Father d'Aigrigny remained staring at\nthe incredible coolness of Rodin, who, half-naked, continued to write\nwith perfect tranquillity.\n\n\"But, father,\" said the Abbe d'Aigrigny, advancing towards him, \"this is\nmadness!\"\n\nRodin shrugged his shoulders, stopped him with a gesture and made him a\nsign to read what he had just written.\n\nThe reverend father expected to see the ravings of a diseased brain; but\nhe took the note, whilst Rodin commenced another.\n\n\"My lord,\" exclaimed Father d'Aigrigny, \"read this!\"\n\nThe cardinal read the paper, and returning it to the reverend father\nwith equal amazement, added: \"It is full of reason, ability, and\nresources. We shall thus be able to neutralize the dangerous combination\nof Abbe Gabriel and Mdlle. de Cardoville, who appear to be the most\nformidable leaders of the coalition.\"\n\n\"It is really miraculous,\" said Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"Oh, my dear father!\" whispered the cardinal, shaking his head; \"what\na pity that we are the only witnesses of this scene! What an excellent\nMIRACLE we could have made of it! In one sense, it is another Raising of\nLazarus!\"\n\n\"What an idea, my lord!\" answered Father d'Aigrigny, in a low voice. \"It\nis perfect--and we must not give it up--\"\n\nThis innocent little plot was interrupted by Rodin, who, turning his\nhead, made a sign to Father d'Aigrigny to approach, and delivered to him\nanother sheet, with this note attached: \"To be executed within an hour.\"\n\nHaving rapidly perused the paper, Father d'Aigrigny exclaimed: \"Right!\nI had not thought of that. Instead of being fatal, the correspondence\nbetween Agricola and M. Hardy may thus have the best results. Really,\"\nadded the reverend father in a low voice to the prelate, while Rodin\ncontinued to write, \"I am quite confounded. I read--I see--and yet I can\nhardly believe my eyes. Just before, exhausted and dying--and now\nwith his mind as clear and penetrating as ever. Can this be one of the\nphenomena of somnambulism, in which the mind alone governs and sustains\nthe body?\"\n\nSuddenly the door opened, and Dr. Baleinier entered the room. At sight\nof Rodin, seated half-naked at the desk, with his feet upon the cold\nstones, the doctor exclaimed, in a tone of reproach and alarm: \"But, my\nlord--but, father--it is murder to let the unhappy man do this!--If he\nis delirious from fever, he must have the strait-waistcoat, and be tied\ndown in bed.\"\n\nSo saying. Dr. Baleinier hastily approached Rodin, and took him by the\narm. Instead of finding the skin dry and chilly, as he expected, he\nfound it flexible, almost damp. Struck with surprise, the doctor sought\nto feel the pulse of the left hand, which Rodin resigned, to him, whilst\nhe continued working with the right.\n\n\"What a prodigy!\" cried the doctor, as he counted Rodin's pulse; \"for\na week past, and even this morning, the pulse has been abrupt,\nintermittent, almost insensible, and now it is firm, regular--I am\nreally puzzled--what then has happened? I can hardly believe what\nI see,\" added the doctor, turning towards Father d'Aigrigny and the\ncardinal.\n\n\"The reverend father, who had first lost his voice, was next seized with\nsuch furious and violent despair caused by the receipt of bad news,\"\nanswered Father d'Aigrigny, \"that we feared a moment for his life; while\nnow, on the contrary, the reverend father has gained sufficient strength\nto go to his desk, and write for some minutes, with a clearness of\nargument and expression, which has confounded both the cardinal and\nmyself.\"\n\n\"There is no longer any doubt of it,\" cried the doctor. \"The violent\ndespair has caused a degree of emotion, which will admirably prepare\nthe reactive crisis, that I am now almost certain of producing by the\noperation.\"\n\n\"You persist in the operation?\" whispered Father d'Aigrigny, whilst\nRodin continued to write.\n\n\"I might have hesitated this morning; but, disposed as he now is for\nit, I must profit by the moment of excitement, which will be followed by\ngreater depression.\"\n\n\"Then, without the operation--\" said the cardinal.\n\n\"This fortunate and unexpected crisis will soon be over, and the\nreaction may kill him, my lord.\"\n\n\"Have you informed him of the serious nature of the operation?\"\n\n\"Pretty nearly, my lord.\"\n\n\"But it is time to bring him to the point.\"\n\n\"That is what I will do, my lord,\" said Dr. Baleinier; and approaching\nRodin, who continued to write, he thus addressed him, in a firm voice:\n\"My reverend father, do you wish to be up and well in a week?\"\n\nRodin nodded, full of confidence, as much as to say: \"I am up already.\"\n\n\"Do not deceive yourself,\" replied the doctor. \"This crisis is\nexcellent, but it will not last, and if we would profit by it, we must\nproceed with the operation of which I have spoken to you--or, I tell you\nplainly, I answer for nothing after such a shock.\"\n\nRodin was the more struck with these words, as, half an hour ago, he had\nexperienced the short duration of the improvement occasioned by Father\nd'Aigrigny's good news, and as already he felt increased oppression on\nthe chest.\n\nDr. Baleinier, wishing to decide him, added: \"In a word, father, will\nyou live or die?\"\n\nRodin wrote rapidly this answer, which he gave to the doctor: \"To live,\nI would let you cut me limb from limb. I am ready for anything.\" And he\nmade a movement to rise.\n\n\"I must tell you, reverend father, so as not to take you by surprise,\"\nadded Dr. Baleinier, \"that this operation is cruelly painful.\"\n\nRodin shrugged his shoulders and wrote with a firm hand: \"Leave me my\nhead; you may take all the rest.\"\n\nThe doctor read these words aloud, and the cardinal and Father\nd'Aigrigny looked at each other in admiration of this dauntless courage.\n\n\"Reverend father,\" said Dr. Baleinier, \"you must lie down.\"\n\nRodin wrote: \"Get everything ready. I have still some orders to write.\nLet me know when it is time.\"\n\nThen folding up a paper, which he had sealed with a wafer, Rodin gave\nthese words to Father d'Aigrigny: \"Send this note instantly to the agent\nwho addressed the anonymous letters to Marshal Simon.\"\n\n\"Instantly, reverend father,\" replied the abbe; \"I will employ a sure\nmessenger.\"\n\n\"Reverend father,\" said Baleinier to Rodin, \"since you must write, lie\ndown in bed, and write there, during our little preparations.\"\n\nRodin made an affirmative gesture, and rose. But already the prognostics\nof the doctor were realized. The Jesuit could hardly remain standing for\na second; he fell back into a chair, and looked at Dr. Baleinier with\nanguish, whilst his breathing became more and more difficult.\n\nThe doctor said to him: \"Do not be uneasy. But we must make haste. Lean\nupon me and Father d'Aigrigny.\"\n\nAided by these two supporters, Rodin was able to regain the bed. Once\nthere, he made signs that they should bring him pen, ink, and paper.\nThen he continued to write upon his knees, pausing from time to time, to\nbreathe with great difficulty.\n\n\"Reverend father,\" said Baleinier to d'Aigrigny, \"are you capable of\nacting as one of my assistants in the operation? Have you that sort of\ncourage?\"\n\n\"No,\" said the reverend father; \"in the army I could never assist at an\namputation. The sight of blood is too much for me.\"\n\n\"There will be no blood,\" said the doctor, \"but it will be worse. Please\nsend me three of our reverend fathers to assist me, and ask M. Rousselet\nto bring in the apparatus.\"\n\nFather d'Aigrigny went out. The prelate approached the doctor, and\nwhispered, pointing to Rodin: \"Is he out of danger?\"\n\n\"If he stands the operation--yes, my lord.\"\n\n\"Are you sure that he can stand it?\"\n\n\"To him I should say 'yes,' to you 'I hope so.'\"\n\n\"And were he to die, would there be time to administer the sacraments in\npublic, with a certain pomp, which always causes some little delay?\"\n\n\"His dying may continue, my lord--a quarter of an hour.\"\n\n\"It is short, but we must be satisfied with that,\" said the prelate.\n\nAnd, going to one of the windows, he began to tap with his fingers on\nthe glass, while he thought of the illumination effects, in the event of\nRodin's lying in state. At this moment, Rousselet entered, with a large\nsquare box under his arm. He placed it on the drawers, and began to\narrange his apparatus.\n\n\"How many have you prepared?\" said the doctor.\n\n\"Six, sir.\"\n\n\"Four will do, but it is well to be fully provided. The cotton is not\ntoo thick?\"\n\n\"Look, sir.\"\n\n\"Very good.\"\n\n\"And how is the reverend father?\" asked the pupil.\n\n\"Humph!\" answered the doctor, in a whisper. \"The chest is terribly\nclogged, the respiration hissing, the voice gone--still there is a\nchange.\"\n\n\"All my fear is, sir, that the reverend father will not be able to stand\nthe dreadful pain.\"\n\n\"It is another chance; but, under the circumstances, we must risk all.\nCome, my dear boy, light the--taper; I hear our assistants.\"\n\nJust then Father d'Aigrigny entered the room, accompanied by the three\nJesuits, who, in the morning, had walked in the garden. The two old men,\nwith their rosy cheeks, and the young one, with the ascetic countenance,\nall three dressed in black, with their square caps and white bands,\nappeared perfectly ready to assist Dr. Baleinier in his formidable\noperation.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX. THE TORTURE.\n\n\"Reverend fathers,\" said Dr. Baleinier, graciously, to the three, \"I\nthank you for your kind aid. What you have to do is very simple, and,\nby the blessing of heaven, this operation will save the life of our dear\nFather Rodin.\"\n\nThe three black-gowns cast up their eyes piously, and then bowed\naltogether, like one man. Rodin, indifferent to what was passing around\nhim, never ceased an instant to write or reflect. Nevertheless, in spite\nof his apparent calmness, he felt such difficulty in breathing, that\nmore than once Dr. Baleinier had turned round uneasily, as he heard the\nstifled rattling in the throat of the sick man. Making a sign to his\npupil, the doctor approached Rodin and said to him: \"Come, reverend\nfather; this is the important moment. Courage!\"\n\nNo sign of alarm was expressed in the Jesuit's countenance. His features\nremained impassible as those of a corpse. Only, his little reptile eyes\nsparkled still more brightly in their dark cavities. For a moment,\nhe looked round at the spectators of this scene; then, taking his pen\nbetween his teeth, he folded and wafered another letter, placed it on\nthe table beside the bed, and nodded to Dr. Baleinier, as if to say: \"I\nam ready.\"\n\n\"You must take off your flannel waistcoat, and your shirt, father.\"\nRodin hesitated an instant, and the doctor resumed: \"It is absolutely\nnecessary, father.\"\n\nAided by Baleinier, Rodin obeyed, whilst the doctor added, no doubt to\nspare his modesty: \"We shall only require the chest, right and left, my\ndear father.\"\n\nAnd now, Rodin, stretched upon his back, with his dirty night-cap still\non his head, exposed the upper part of a livid trunk, or rather, the\nbony cage of a skeleton, for the shadows of the ribs and cartilages\nencircled the skin with deep, black lines. As for the arms, they\nresembled bones twisted with cord and covered with tanned parchment.\n\n\"Come, M. Rousselet, the apparatus!\" said Baleinier.\n\nThen addressing the three Jesuits, he added: \"Please draw near,\ngentlemen; what you have to do is very simple, as you will see.\"\n\nIt was indeed very simple. The doctor gave to each of his four\nassistants a sort of little steel tripod about two inches in diameter\nand three in height; the circular centre of this tripod was filled with\ncotton; the instrument was held in the left hand by means of a wooden\nhandle. In the right hand each assistant held a small tin tube about\neighteen inches long; at one end was a mouthpiece to receive the lips\nof the operator, and the other spread out so as to form a cover to the\nlittle tripod. These preparations had nothing alarming in them. Father\nd'Aigrigny and the prelate, who looked on from a little distance,\ncould not understand how this operation should be so painful. They soon\nunderstood it.\n\nDr. Baleinier, having thus provided his four assistants, made them\napproach Rodin, whose bed had been rolled into the middle of the room.\nTwo of them were placed on one side, two on the other.\n\n\"Now, gentlemen,\" said Dr. Baleinier, \"set light to the cotton; place\nthe lighted part on the skin of his reverence, by means of the tripod\nwhich contains the wick; cover the tripod with the broad part of the\ntube, and then blow through the other end to keep up the fire. It is\nvery simple, as you see.\"\n\nIt was, in fact, full of the most patriarchal and primitive ingenuity.\nFour lighted cotton rocks, so disposed as to burn very slowly, were\napplied to the two sides of Rodin's chest. This is vulgarly called the\nmoxa. The trick is done, when the whole thickness of the skin has been\nburnt slowly through. It lasts seven or eight minutes. They say that\nan amputation is nothing to it. Rodin had watched the preparations\nwith intrepid curiosity. But, at the first touch of the four fires,\nhe writhed like a serpent, without being able to utter a cry. Even the\nexpression of pain was denied him. The four assistants being disturbed\nby, the sudden start of Rodin, it was necessary to begin again.\n\n\"Courage, my dear father! offer these sufferings to the Lord!\" said Dr.\nBaleinier, in a sanctified tone. \"I told you the operation would be\nvery painful; but then it is salutary in proportion. Come; you that have\nshown such decisive resolution, do not fail at the last movement!\"\n\nRodin had closed his eyes, conquered by the first agony of pain. He now\nopened them, and looked at the doctor as if ashamed of such weakness.\nAnd yet on the sides of his chest were four large, bleeding wounds--so\nviolent had been the first singe. As he again extended himself on the\nbed of torture, Rodin made a sign that he wished to write. The doctor\ngave him the pen, and he wrote as follows, by way of memorandum; \"It is\nbetter not to lose any time. Inform Baron Tripeaud of the warrant issued\nagainst Leonard, so that he may be on his guard.\"\n\nHaving written this note, the Jesuit gave it to Dr. Baleinier, to hand\nit to Father d'Aigrigny, who was as much amazed as the doctor and the\ncardinal, at such extraordinary presence of mind in the midst of such\nhorrible pain. Rodin, with his eyes fixed on the reverend father, seemed\nto wait with impatience for him to leave the room to execute his orders.\nGuessing the thought of Rodin, the doctor whispered Father d'Aigrigny,\nwho went out.\n\n\"Come, reverend father,\" said the doctor, \"we must begin again. This\ntime do not move.\"\n\nRodin did not answer, but clasped his hands over his head, closed his\neyes, and presented his chest. It was a strange, lugubrious, almost\nfantastic spectacle. The three priests, in their long black gowns,\nleaned over this body, which almost resembled a corpse, and blowing\nthrough their tubes into the chest of the patient, seemed as if pumping\nup his blood by some magic charm. A sickening odor of burnt flesh began\nto spread through the silent chamber, and each assistant heard a slight\ncrackling beneath the smoking trivet; it was the skin of Rodin giving\nway to the action of fire, and splitting open in four different parts of\nhis chest. The sweat poured from his livid face, which it made to shine;\na few locks of his gray hair stood up stiff and moist from his temples.\nSometimes the spasms were so violent, that the veins swelled on his\nstiffened arms, and were stretched like cords ready to break.\n\nEnduring this frightful torture with as much intrepid resignation as\nthe savage whose glory consists in despising pain, Rodin gathered his\nstrength and courage from the hope--we had almost said the certainty--of\nlife. Such was the make of this dauntless character, such the energy of\nthis powerful mind, that, in the midst of indescribable torments,\nhis one fixed idea never left him. During the rare intervals of\nsuffering--for pain is equal even at this degree of intensity--Rodin\nstill thought of the Rennepont inheritance, and calculated his chances,\nand combined his measures, feeling that he had not a minute to lose. Dr.\nBaleinier watched him with extreme attention, waiting for the effects\nof the reaction of pain upon the patient, who seemed already to breathe\nwith less difficulty.\n\nSuddenly Rodin placed his hand on his forehead, as if struck with some\nnew idea, and turning his head towards Dr. Baleinier, made a sign to him\nto suspend the operation.\n\n\"I must tell you, reverend father,\" answered the doctor, \"that it is not\nhalf finished, and, if we leave off, the renewal will be more painful--\"\n\nRodin made a sign that he did not care, and that he wanted to write.\n\n\"Gentlemen, stop a moment,\" said Dr. Baleinier; \"keep down your moxas,\nbut do not blow the fire.\"\n\nSo the fire was to burn slowly, instead of fiercely, but still upon\nthe skin of the patient. In spite of this pain, less intense, but still\nsharp and keen, Rodin, stretched upon his back, began to write, holding\nthe paper above his head. On the first sheet he traced some alphabetic\nsigns, part of a cipher known to himself alone. In the midst of the\ntorture, a luminous idea had crossed his mind; fearful of forgetting it\namidst his sufferings, he now took note of it. On another paper he wrote\nthe following, which was instantly delivered to Father d'Aigrigny: \"Send\nB. immediately to Faringhea, for the report of the last few days with\nregard to Djalma, and let B. bring it hither on the instant.\" Father\nd'Aigrigny went out to execute this new order. The cardinal approached\na little nearer to the scene of the operation, for, in spite of the bad\nodor of the room, he took delight in seeing the Jesuit half roasted,\nhaving long cherished against him the rancor of an Italian and a priest.\n\n\"Come, reverend father,\" said the doctor to Rodin, \"continue to be\nadmirably courageous, and your chest will free itself. You have still a\nbitter moment to go through--and then I have good hope.\"\n\nThe patient resumed his former position. The moment Father d'Aigrigny\nreturned, Rodin questioned him with a look, to which the reverend father\nreplied by a nod. At a sign from the doctor, the four assistants began\nto blow through the tubes with all their might. This increase of torture\nwas so horrible, that, in spite of his self-control, Rodin gnashed his\nteeth, started convulsively, and so expanded his palpitating chest,\nthat, after a violent spasm, there rose from his throat and lungs a\nscream of terrific pain--but it was free, loud, sonorous.\n\n\"The chest is free!\" cried the doctor, in triumph. \"The lungs have\nplay--the voice returns--he is saved!--Blow, gentlemen, blow; and,\nreverend father, cry out as much as you please: I shall be delighted to\nhear you, for it will give you relief. Courage! I answer for the result.\nIt is a wonderful cure. I will publish it by sound of trumpet.\"\n\n\"Allow me, doctor,\" whispered Father d'Aigrigny, as he approached Dr.\nBaleinier; \"the cardinal can witness, that I claimed beforehand the\npublication of this affair--as a miraculous fact.\"\n\n\"Let it be miraculous then,\" answered Dr. Baleinier, disappointed--for\nhe set some value on his own work.\n\nOn hearing he was saved, Rodin though his sufferings were perhaps worse\nthan ever, for the fire had now pierced the scarf-skin, assumed almost\nan infernal beauty. Through the painful contraction of his features\nshone the pride of savage triumph; the monster felt that he was becoming\nonce more strong and powerful, and he seemed conscious the evils that\nhis fatal resurrection was to cause. And so, of still writhing beneath\nthe flames, he pronounced these words, the first that struggled from his\nchest: \"I told you I should live!\"\n\n\"You told us true,\" cried the doctor, feeling his pulse; \"the\ncirculation is now full and regular, the lungs are free. The reaction is\ncomplete. You are saved.\"\n\nAt this moment, the last shreds of cotton had burnt out. The trivets\nwere withdrawn, and on the skeleton trunk of Rodin were seen four large\nround blisters. The skin still smoked, and the raw flesh was visible\nbeneath. In one of his sudden movements, a lamp had been misplaced, and\none of these burns was larger than the other, presenting as it were to\nthe eye a double circle. Rodin looked down upon his wounds. After\nsome seconds of silent contemplation, a strange smile curled his lips.\nWithout changing his position, he glanced at Father d'Aigrigny with an\nexpression impossible to describe, and said to him, as he slowly\ncounted the wounds touching them with his flat and dirty nail:\n\"Father d'Aigrigny, what an omen!--Look here! one Rennepont--two\nRenneponts--three Renneponts--four Renneponts--where is then the\nfifth!--Ah! here--this wound will count for two. They are twins.\"(41)\nAnd he emitted a little dry, bitter laugh. Father d'Aigrigny, the\ncardinal, and Dr. Baleinier, alone understood the sense of these\nmysterious and fatal words, which Rodin soon completed by a terrible\nallusion, as he exclaimed, with prophetic voice, and almost inspired\nair: \"Yes, I say it. The impious race will be reduced to ashes, like\nthe fragments of this poor flesh. I say it, and it will be so. I said I\nwould live--and I do live!\"\n\n(41) Jacques Rennepont being dead, and Gabriel out of the field, in\nconsequence of his donation, there remained only five persons of the\nfamily--Rose and Blanche, Djalma, Adrienne, and Hardy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI. VICE AND VIRTUE.\n\nTwo days have elapsed since Rodin was miraculously restored to life. The\nreader will not have forgotten the house in the Rue Clovis, where the\nreverend father had an apartment, and where also was the lodging of\nPhilemon, inhabited by Rose-Pompon. It is about three o'clock in the\nafternoon. A bright ray of light, penetrating through a round hole in\nthe door Mother Arsene's subterraneous shop, forms a striking contrast\nwith the darkness of this cavern. The ray streams full upon a melancholy\nobject. In the midst of fagots and faded vegetables, and close to a\ngreat heap of charcoal, stands a wretched bed; beneath the sheet, which\ncovers it, can be traced the stiff and angular proportions of a corpse.\nIt is the body of Mother Arsene herself, who died two days before, of\nthe cholera. The burials have been so numerous, that there has been\nno time to remove her remains. The Rue Clovis is almost deserted. A\nmournful silence reigns without, often broken by the sharp whistling of\nthe north wind. Between the squalls, one hears a sort of pattering. It\nis the noise of the large rats, running to and fro across the heap of\ncharcoal.\n\nSuddenly, another sound is heard, and these unclean animals fly to hide\nthemselves in their holes. Some one is trying to force open the door,\nwhich communicates between the shop and the passage. It offers but\nlittle resistance, and, in a few seconds, the worn-out lock gives\nway, and a woman enters. For a short time she stands motionless in the\nobscurity of the damp and icy cave. After a minute's hesitation, the\nwoman advances and the ray of light illumines the features of the\nBacchanal Queen. Slowly, she approached the funeral couch. Since the\ndeath of Jacques, the alteration in the countenance of Cephyse had gone\non increasing. Fearfully pale, with her fine black hair in disorder,\nher legs and feet naked, she was barely covered with an old patched\npetticoat and a very ragged handkerchief.\n\nWhen she came near the bed, she cast a glance of almost savage assurance\nat the shroud. Suddenly she drew back, with a low cry of involuntary\nterror. The sheet moved with a rapid undulation, extending from the feet\nto the head of the corpse. But soon the sight of a rat, flying along the\nside of the worm-eaten bedstead, explained the movement of the shroud.\nRecovering from her fright, Cephyse began to look for several things,\nand collected them in haste, as though she dreaded being surprised\nin the miserable shop. First, she seized a basket, and filled it with\ncharcoal; then, looking from side to side, she discovered in a corner an\nearthen pot, which she took with a burst of ominous joy.\n\n\"It is not all, it is not all,\" said Cephyse, as she continued to search\nwith an unquiet air.\n\nAt last she perceived near the stove a little tin box, containing flint,\nsteel and matches. She placed these articles on the top of the basket,\nand took it in one hand, and the earthen pot in the other. As she\npassed near the corpse of the poor charcoal-dealer, Cephyse said, with a\nstrange smile: \"I rob you, poor Mother Arsene, but my theft will not do\nme much good.\"\n\nCephyse left the shop, reclosed the door as well as she could, went up\nthe passage, and crossed the little court-yard which separated the\nfront of the building from that part in which Rodin had lodged. With the\nexception of the windows of Philemon's apartment, where Rose-Pompon had\nso often sat perched like a bird, warbling Beranger, the other windows\nof the house were open. There had been deaths on the first and second\nfloors, and, like many others, they were waiting for the cart piled up\nwith coffins.\n\nThe Bacchanal Queen gained the stairs, which led to the chambers\nformerly occupied by Rodin. Arrived at the landing-place she ascended\nanother ruinous staircase, steep as a ladder, and with nothing but an\nold rope for a rail. She at length reached the half-rotten door of\na garret, situated in the roof. The house was in such a state of\ndilapidation, that, in many places the roof gave admission to the rain,\nand allowed it to penetrate into this cell, which was not above ten feet\nsquare, and lighted by an attic window. All the furniture consisted of\nan old straw mattress, laid upon the ground, with the straw peeping out\nfrom a rent in its ticking; a small earthenware pitcher, with the spout\nbroken, and containing a little water, stood by the side of this couch.\nDressed in rags, Mother Bunch was seated on the side of the mattress,\nwith her elbows on her knees, and her face concealed in her thin, white\nhands. When Cephyse entered the room, the adopted sister of Agricola\nraised her head; her pale, mild face seemed thinner than ever, hollow\nwith suffering, grief, misery; her eyes, red with weeping, were fixed on\nher sister with an expression of mournful tenderness.\n\n\"I have what we want, sister,\" said Cephyse, in a low, deep voice; \"in\nthis basket there is wherewith to finish our misery.\"\n\nThen, showing to Mother Bunch the articles she had just placed on the\nfloor, she added: \"For the first time in my life, I have been a thief.\nIt made me ashamed and frightened; I was never intended for that or\nworse. It is a pity.\" added she, with a sardonic smile.\n\nAfter a moment's silence, the hunchback said to her sister, in a heart\nrending tone: \"Cephyse--my dear Cephyse--are you quite determined to\ndie?\"\n\n\"How should I hesitate?\" answered Cephyse, in a firm voice. \"Come,\nsister, let us once more make our reckoning. If even I could forget my\nshame, and Jacques' contempt in his last moments, what would remain to\nme? Two courses only: first, to be honest, and work for my living. But\nyou know that, in spite of the best will in the world, work will often\nfail, as it has failed for the last few days, and, even when I got it, I\nwould have to live on four to five francs a week. Live? that is to say,\ndie by inches. I know that already, and I prefer dying at once. The\nother course would be to live a life of infamy--and that I will not do.\nFrankly, sister, between frightful misery, infamy, or death, can the\nchoice be doubtful? Answer me!\"\n\nThen, without giving Mother Bunch time to speak, Cephyse added, in an\nabrupt tone: \"Besides, what is the good of discussing it? I have made up\nmy mind, and nothing shall prevent my purpose, since all that you, dear\nsister, could obtain from me, was a delay of a few days, to see if the\ncholera would not save us the trouble. To please you I consented; the\ncholera has come, killed every one else in the house, but left us. You\nsee, it is better to do one's own business,\" added she, again smiling\nbitterly. Then she resumed: \"Besides, dear sister, you also wish to\nfinish with life.\"\n\n\"It is true, Cephyse,\" answered the sempstress, who seemed very much\ndepressed; \"but alone--one has only to answer for one's self--and to die\nwith you,\" added she, shuddering, \"appears like being an accomplice in\nyour death.\"\n\n\"Do you wish, then, to make an end of it, I in one place, you in\nanother?--that would be agreeable!\" said Cephyse, displaying in that\nterrible moment the sort of bitter and despairing irony which is more\nfrequent than may be imagined in the midst of mortal anguish.\n\n\"Oh, no, no!\" said the other in alarm, \"not alone--I will not die\nalone!\"\n\n\"Do you not see, dear sister, we are right not to part? And yet,\" added\nCephyse, in a voice of emotion, \"my heart almost breaks sometimes, to\nthink that you will die like me.\"\n\n\"How selfish!\" said the hunchback, with a faint smile. \"What reasons\nhave I to love life? What void shall I leave behind me?\"\n\n\"But you are a martyr, sister,\" resumed Cephyse. \"The priests talk of\nsaints! Is there one of them so good as you? And yet you are about to\ndie like me, who have always been idle, careless, sinful--while you were\nso hardworking, so devoted to all who suffered. What should I say?\nYou were an angel on the earth; and yet you will die like me, who have\nfallen as low as a woman can fall,\" added the unfortunate, casting down\nher eyes.\n\n\"It is strange,\" answered Mother Bunch, thoughtfully. \"Starting from the\nsame point, we have followed different roads, and yet we have reached\nthe same goal--disgust of life. For you, my poor sister, but a few days\nago, life was so fair, so full of pleasure and of youth; and now it is\nequally heavy with us both. After all, I have followed to the end what\nwas my duty,\" added she, mildly. \"Agricola no longer needs me. He is\nmarried; he loves, and is beloved; his happiness is secured. Mdlle. de\nCardoville wants for nothing. Fair, rich, prosperous--what could a poor\ncreature like myself do for her? Those who have been kind to me are\nhappy. What prevents my going now to my rest? I am so weary!\"\n\n\"Poor sister!\" said Cephyse, with touching emotion, which seemed to\nexpand her contracted features; \"when I think that, without informing\nme, and in spite of your resolution never to see that generous young\nlady, who protected you, you yet had the courage to drag yourself to\nher house, dying with fatigue and want, to try to interest her in my\nfate--yes, dying, for your strength failed on the Champs-Elysees.\"\n\n\"And when I was able to reach the mansion, Mdlle. de Cardoville was\nunfortunately absent--very unfortunately!\" repeated the hunchback, as\nshe looked at Cephyse with anguish; \"for the next day, seeing that our\nlast resource had failed us, thinking more of me than of yourself, and\ndetermined at any price to procure us bread--\"\n\nShe could not finish. She buried her face in her hands, and shuddered.\n\n\"Well, I did as so many other hapless women have done when work fails or\nwages do not suffice, and hunger becomes too pressing,\" replied Cephyse,\nin a broken voice; \"only that, unlike so many others, instead of living\non my shame, I shall die of it.\"\n\n\"Alas! this terrible shame which kills you, my poor Cephyse, because you\nhave a heart, would have been averted, had I seen Mdlle. de Cardoville,\nor had she but answered the letter which I asked leave to write to her\nat the porter's lodge. But her silence proves to me that she is justly\nhurt at my abrupt departure from her house. I can understand it; she\nbelieves me guilty of the blackest ingratitude--for she must have been\ngreatly offended not to have deigned to answer me--and therefore I had\nnot the courage to write a second time. It would have been useless, I am\nsure; for, good and just as she is, her refusals are inexorable when she\nbelieves them deserved. And besides, for what good? It was too late; you\nhad resolved to die!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, quite resolved: for my infamy was gnawing at my heart. Jacques\nhad died in my arms despising me; and I loved him--mark me, sister,\"\nadded Cephyse, with passionate enthusiasm, \"I loved him as we love only\nonce in life!\"\n\n\"Let our fate be accomplished, then!\" said Mother Bunch with a pensive\nair.\n\n\"But you have never told me, sister, the cause of your departure from\nMdlle. de Cardoville's,\" resumed Cephyse, after a moment's silence.\n\n\"It will be the only secret that I shall take with me, dear Cephyse,\"\nsaid the other, casting down her eyes. And she thought, with bitter joy,\nthat she would soon be delivered from the fear which had poisoned the\nlast days of her sad life--the fear of meeting Agricola, informed of the\nfatal and ridiculous love she felt for him.\n\nFor, it must be said, this fatal and despairing love was one of\nthe causes of the suicide of the unfortunate creature. Since the\ndisappearance of her journal, she believed that the blacksmith knew\nthe melancholy secret contained in its sad pages. She doubted not\nthe generosity and good heart of Agricola; but she had such doubts of\nherself, she was so ashamed of this passion, however pure and\nnoble, that, even in the extremity to which Cephyse and herself were\nreduced--wanting work, wanting bread--no power on earth could have\ninduced her to meet Agricola, in an attempt to ask him for assistance.\nDoubtless, she would have taken another view of the subject if her mind\nhad not been obscured by that sort of dizziness to which the firmest\ncharacters are exposed when their misfortunes surpass all bounds.\nMisery, hunger, the influence, almost contagious in such a moment, of\nthe suicidal ideas of Cephyse, and weariness of a life so long devoted\nto pain and mortification, gave the last blow to the sewing-girl's\nreason. After long struggling against the fatal design of her sister,\nthe poor, dejected, broken-hearted creature finished by determining to\nshare Cephyse's fate, and seek in death the end of so many evils.\n\n\"Of what are you thinking, sister?\" said Cephyse, astonished at the long\nsilence. The other replied, trembling: \"I think of that which made me\nleave Mdlle. de Cardoville so abruptly, and appear so ungrateful in her\neyes. May the fatality which drove me from her house have made no other\nvictims! may my devoted service, however obscure and powerless, never be\nmissed by her, who extended her noble hand to the poor sempstress,\nand deigned to call me sister! May she be happy--oh, ever happy!\" said\nMother Bunch, clasping her hands with the ardor of a sincere invocation.\n\n\"That is noble, sister--such a wish in such a moment!\" said Cephyse.\n\n\"Oh,\" said her sister, with energy, \"I loved, I admired that marvel\nof genius, and heart, and ideal beauty--I viewed her with pious\nrespect--for never was the power of the Divinity revealed in a more\nadorable and purer creation. At least one of my last thoughts will have\nbeen of her.\"\n\n\"Yes, you will have loved and respected your generous patroness to the\nlast.\"\n\n\"To the last!\" said the poor girl, after a moment's silence. \"It is\ntrue--you are right--it will soon be the last!--in a few moments, all\nwill be finished. See how calmly we can talk of that which frightens so\nmany others!\"\n\n\"Sister, we are calm because we are resolved.\"\n\n\"Quite resolved, Cephyse,\" said the hunchback, casting once more a deep\nand penetrating glance upon her sister.\n\n\"Oh, yes, if you are only as determined as I am.\"\n\n\"Be satisfied; if I put off from day to day the final moment,\" answered\nthe sempstress, \"it was because I wished to give you time to reflect. As\nfor me--\"\n\nShe did not finish, but she shook her head with an air of the utmost\ndespondency.\n\n\"Well, sister, let us kiss each other,\" said Cephyse; \"and, courage!\"\n\nThe hunchback rose, and threw herself into her sister's arms. They held\none another fast in a long embrace. There followed a few seconds of deep\nand solemn silence, only interrupted by the sobs of the sisters, for now\nthey had begun to weep.\n\n\"Oh, heaven! to love each other so, and to part forever!\" said Cephyse.\n\"It is a cruel fate.\"\n\n\"To part?\" cried Mother Bunch, and her pale, mild countenance, bathed\nin tears, was suddenly illumined with a ray of divine hope; \"to\npart, sister? oh, no! What makes me so calm is the deep and certain\nexpectation, which I feel here at my heart, of that better world where a\nbetter life awaits us. God, so great, so merciful, so prodigal of good,\ncannot destine His creatures to be forever miserable. Selfish men may\npervert His benevolent designs, and reduce their brethren to a state of\nsuffering and despair. Let us pity the wicked and leave them! Come up on\nhigh, sister; men are nothing there, where God is all. We shall do well\nthere. Let us depart, for it is late.\"\n\nSo saying, she pointed to the ruddy beams of the setting sun, which\nbegan to shine upon the window.\n\nCarried away by the religious enthusiasm of her sister, whose\ncountenance, transfigured, as it were, by the hope of an approaching\ndeliverance, gleamed brightly in the reflected sunset, Cephyse took her\nhands, and, looking at her with deep emotion, exclaimed, \"Oh, sister!\nhow beautiful you look now!\"\n\n\"Then my beauty comes rather late in the day,\" said Mother Bunch, with a\nsad smile.\n\n\"No, sister; for you appear so happy, that the last scruples I had upon\nyour account are quite gone.\"\n\n\"Then let us make haste,\" said the hunchback, as she pointed to the\nchafing-dish.\n\n\"Be satisfied, sister--it will not be long,\" said Cephyse. And she took\nthe chafing-dish full of charcoal, which she had placed in a corner of\nthe garret, and brought it out into the middle of the room.\n\n\"Do you know how to manage it?\" asked the sewing-girl approaching.\n\n\"Oh! it is very simple,\" answered Cephyse; \"we have only to close the\ndoor and window, and light the charcoal.\"\n\n\"Yes, sister; but I think I have heard that every opening must be well\nstopped, so as to admit no current of air.\"\n\n\"You are right, and the door shuts so badly.\"\n\n\"And look at the holes in the roof.\"\n\n\"What is to be done, sister?\"\n\n\"I will tell you,\" said Mother Bunch. \"The straw of our mattress, well\ntwisted, will answer every purpose.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" replied Cephyse. \"We will keep a little to light our fire,\nand with the rest we will stop up all the crevices in the roof, and make\nfilling for our doors and windows.\"\n\nThen, smiling with that bitter irony, so frequent, we repeat, in the\nmost gloomy moments, Cephyse added, \"I say, sister, weather-boards\nat our doors and windows, to prevent the air from getting in--what a\nluxury! we are as delicate as rich people.\"\n\n\"At such a time, we may as well try to make ourselves a little\ncomfortable,\" said Mother Bunch, trying to jest like the Bacchanal\nQueen.\n\nAnd with incredible coolness, the two began to twist the straw into\nlengths of braid, small enough to be stuffed into the cracks of the\ndoor, and also constructed large plugs, destined to stop up the crevices\nin the roof. While this mournful occupation lasted, there was no\ndeparture from the calm and sad resignation of the two unfortunate\ncreatures.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII. SUICIDE.\n\nCephyse and her sister continued with calmness the preparations for\ntheir death.\n\nAlas! how many poor young girls, like these sisters, have been, and\nstill will be, fatally driven to seek in suicide a refuge from despair,\nfrom infamy, or from a too miserable existence! And upon society\nwill rest the terrible responsibility of these sad deaths, so long as\nthousands of human creatures, unable to live upon the mockery of wages\ngranted to their labor, have to choose between these three gulfs of\nshame and woe; a life of enervating toil and mortal privations, causes\nof premature death; prostitution, which kills also, but slowly--by\ncontempt, brutality, and uncleanness; suicide--which kills at once.\n\nIn a few minutes, the two sisters had constructed, with the straw of\ntheir couch, the calkings necessary to intercept the air, and to render\nsuffocation more expeditious and certain.\n\nThe hunchback said to her sister, \"You are the taller, Cephyse, and must\nlook to the ceiling; I will take care of the window and door.\"\n\n\"Be satisfied, sister; I shall have finished before you,\" answered\nCephyse.\n\nAnd the two began carefully to stop up every crevice through which a\ncurrent of air could penetrate into the ruined garret. Thanks to her\ntall stature, Cephyse was able to reach the holes in the roof, and\nto close them up entirely. When they had finished this sad work, the\nsisters again approached, and looked at each other in silence.\n\nThe fatal moment drew near; their faces, though still calm, seemed\nslightly agitated by that strange excitement which always accompanies a\ndouble suicide.\n\n\"Now,\" said Mother Bunch, \"now for the fire!\"\n\nShe knelt down before the little chafing-dish, filled with charcoal. But\nCephyse took hold of her under the arm, and obliged her to rise again,\nsaying to her, \"Let me light the fire--that is my business.\"\n\n\"But, Cephyse--\"\n\n\"You know, poor sister, that the smell of charcoal gives you the\nheadache!\"\n\nAt the simplicity of this speech, for the Bacchanal Queen had spoken\nseriously, the sisters could not forbear smiling sadly.\n\n\"Never mind,\" resumed Cephyse; \"why suffer more and sooner than is\nnecessary?\"\n\nThen, pointing to the mattress, which still contained a little straw,\nCephyse added, \"Lie down there, good little sister; when our fire is\nalight, I will come and sit down by you.\"\n\n\"Do not be long, Cephyse.\"\n\n\"In five minutes it will be done.\"\n\nThe tall building, which faced the street, was separated by a narrow\ncourt from that which contained the retreat of the two sisters, and was\nso much higher, that when the sun had once disappeared behind its lofty\nroof, the garret soon became dark. The light, passing through the dirty\npanes of the small window, fell faintly on the blue and white patchwork\nof the old mattress, on which Mother Bunch was now stretched, covered\nwith rags. Leaning on her left arm, with her chin resting in the palm\nof her hand, she looked after her sister with an expression of\nheart-rending grief. Cephyse, kneeling over the chafing-dish, with her\nface close to the black charcoal, above which already played a little\nbluish flame, exerted herself to blow the newly-kindled fire, which was\nreflected on the pale countenance of the unhappy girl.\n\nThe silence was deep. No sound was heard but the panting breath of\nCephyse, and, at intervals, the slight crackling of the charcoal, which\nbegan to burn, and already sent forth a faint sickening vapor. Cephyse,\nseeing the fire completely lighted, and feeling already a little dizzy,\nrose from the ground, and said to her sister, as she approached her, \"It\nis done!\"\n\n\"Sister,\" answered Mother Bunch, kneeling on the mattress, whilst\nCephyse remained standing, \"how shall we place ourselves? I should like\nto be near you to the last.\"\n\n\"Stop!\" said Cephyse, half executing the measures of which she spoke,\n\"I will sit on the mattress with my back against the wall. Now, little\nsister, you lie there. Lean your head upon my knees, and give me your\nhand. Are you comfortable so?\"\n\n\"Yes--but I cannot see you.\"\n\n\"That is better. It seems there is a moment--very short, it is true--in\nwhich one suffers a good deal. And,\" added Cephyse, in a voice of\nemotion, \"it will be as well not to see each other suffer.\"\n\n\"You are right, Cephyse.\"\n\n\"Let me kiss that beautiful hair for the last time,\" said Cephyse, as\nshe pressed her lips to the silky locks which crowned the hunchback's\npale and melancholy countenance, \"and then--we will remain very quiet.\"\n\n\"Sister, your hand,\" said the sewing-girl; \"for the last time, your\nhand--and then, as you say, we will move no more. We shall not have to\nwait long, I think, for I begin to feel dizzy. And you, sister?\"\n\n\"Not yet,\" replied Cephyse; \"I only perceive the smell of the charcoal.\"\n\n\"Do you know where they will bury us?\" said Mother Bunch, after a\nmoment's silence.\n\n\"No. Why do you ask?\"\n\n\"Because I should like it to be in Pere-la-Chaise. I went there once\nwith Agricola and his mother. What a fine view there is!--and then\nthe trees, the flowers, the marble--do you know the dead are better\nlodged--than the living--and--\"\n\n\"What is the matter, sister?\" said Cephyse to her companion, who had\nstopped short, after speaking in a slow voice.\n\n\"I am giddy--my temples throb,\" was the answer. \"How do you feel?\"\n\n\"I only begin to be a little faint; it is strange--the effect is slower\nwith me than you.\"\n\n\"Oh! you see,\" said Mother Bunch, trying to smile, \"I was always so\nforward. At school, do you remember, they said I was before the others.\nAnd, now it happens again.\"\n\n\"I hope soon to overtake you this time,\" said Cephyse.\n\nWhat astonished the sisters was quite natural. Though weakened by sorrow\nand misery, the Bacchanal Queen, with a constitution as robust as the\nother was frail and delicate, was necessarily longer than her sister in\nfeeling the effects of the deleterious vapor. After a moment's silence,\nCephyse resumed, as she laid her hand on the head she still held upon\nher knees, \"You say nothing, sister! You suffer, is it not so?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mother Bunch, in a weak voice; \"my eyelids are heavy as\nlead--I am getting benumbed--I feel that I speak more slowly--but I have\nno acute pain. And you, sister?\"\n\n\"Whilst you were speaking, I felt giddy--and now my temples throb\nviolently.\"\n\n\"As it was with me just now. One would think it was more painful and\ndifficult to die.\"\n\nThen after a moment's silence, the hunchback said suddenly to her\nsister, \"Do you think that Agricola will much regret me, and think of me\nfor some time?\"\n\n\"How can you ask?\" said Cephyse, in a tone of reproach.\n\n\"You are right,\" answered Mother Bunch, mildly; \"there is a bad feeling\nin such a doubt--but if you knew--\"\n\n\"What, sister?\"\n\nThe other hesitated for an instant, and then said, dejectedly,\n\"Nothing.\" Afterwards, she added, \"Fortunately, I die convinced that\nhe will never miss me. He married a charming girl, who loves him, I am\nsure, and will make him perfectly happy.\"\n\nAs she pronounced these last words, the speaker's voice grew fainter\nand fainter. Suddenly she started and said to Cephyse, in a\ntrembling, almost frightened tone, \"Sister! Hold me in your arms--I am\nafraid--everything looks dark--everything is turning round.\" And the\nunfortunate girl, raising herself a little, hid her face in her sister's\nbosom, and threw his weak arms around her.\n\n\"Courage, sister!\" said Cephyse, in a voice which was also growing\nfaint, as she pressed her closer to her bosom; \"it will soon be over.\"\n\nAnd Cephyse added, with a kind of envy, \"Oh! why does my sister's\nstrength fail so much sooner than mine? I have still my perfect\nsenses and I suffer less than she does. Oh! if I thought she would\ndie first!--But, no--I will go and hold my face over the chafing-dish\nrather.\"\n\nAt the movement Cephyse made to rise, a feeble pressure from her sister\nheld her back. \"You suffer, my poor child!\" said Cephyse, trembling.\n\n\"Oh yes! a good deal now--do not leave me!\"\n\n\"And I scarcely at all,\" said Cephyse, gazing wildly at the\nchafing-dish. \"Ah!\" added she, with a kind of fatal! joy; \"now I begin\nto feel it--I choke--my head is ready to split.\"\n\nAnd indeed the destructive gas now filled the little chamber, from which\nit had, by degrees, driven all the air fit for respiration. The day was\nclosing in, and the gloomy garret was only lighted by the reflection of\nthe burning charcoal, which threw a red glare on the sisters, locked\nin each other's arms. Suddenly Mother Bunch made some slight\nconvulsive movements, and pronounced these words in a failing voice:\n\"Agricola--Mademoiselle de Cardoville--Oh! farewell!--Agricola--I--\"\n\nThen she murmured some unintelligible words; the convulsive moments\nceased, and her arms, which had been clasped round Cephyse, fell inert\nupon the mattress.\n\n\"Sister!\" cried Cephyse, in alarm, as she raised Mother Bunch's head, to\nlook at her face. \"Not already, sister!--And I?--and I?\"\n\nThe sewing-girl's mild countenance was not paler than usual. Only her\neyes, half-closed, seemed no longer to see anything, and a half-smile\nof mingled grief and goodness lingered an instant about her violet lips,\nfrom which stole the almost imperceptible breath--and then the mouth\nbecame motionless, and the face assumed a great serenity of expression.\n\n\"But you must not die before me!\" cried Cephyse, in a heart-rending\ntone, as she covered with kisses the cold cheek. \"Wait for me, sister!\nwait for me!\"\n\nMother Bunch did not answer. The head, which Cephyse let slip from her\nhands, fell back gently on the mattress.\n\n\"My God. It is not my fault, if we do not die together!\" cried Cephyse\nin despair, as she knelt beside the couch, on which the other lay\nmotionless.\n\n\"Dead!\" she murmured in terror. \"Dead before me!--Perhaps it is that I\nam the strongest. Ah! it begins--fortunately--like her, I see everything\ndark-blue--I suffer--what happiness!--I can scarcely breathe. Sister!\"\nshe added, as she threw her arms round her loved one's neck; \"I am\ncoming--I am here!\"\n\nAt the same instant the sound of footsteps and voices was heard from the\nstaircase. Cephyse had still presence of mind enough to distinguish\nthe sound. Stretched beside the body of her sister, she raised her head\nhastily.\n\nThe noise approached, and a voice was heard exclaiming, not far from the\ndoer: \"Good heavens! what a smell of fire!\"\n\nAnd, at the same instant, the door was violently shaken, and another\nvoice exclaimed: \"Open! open!\"\n\n\"They will come in--they will save me--and my sister is dead--Oh, no! I\nwill not have the baseness to survive her!\"\n\nSuch was the last thought of Cephyse. Using what little strength she had\nleft, she ran to the window and opened it--and, at the same instant\nthat the half-broken door yielded to a vigorous effort from without, the\nunfortunate creature precipitated herself from that third story into the\ncourt below. Just then, Adrienne and Agricola appeared on the threshold\nof the chamber. In spite of the stifling odor of the charcoal, Mdlle. de\nCardoville rushed into the garret, and, seeing the stove, she exclaimed,\n\"The unhappy girl has killed herself!\"\n\n\"No, she has thrown herself from the window,\" cried Agricola: for, at\nthe moment of breaking open the door, he had seen a human form disappear\nin that direction, and he now ran to the window.\n\n\"Oh! this is frightful!\" he exclaimed, with a cry of horror, as he put\nhis hand before his eyes, and returned pale and terrified to Mdlle. de\nCardoville.\n\nBut, misunderstanding the cause of his terror, Adrienne, who had just\nperceived Mother Bunch through the darkness, hastened to answer: \"No!\nshe is here.\"\n\nAnd she pointed to the pale form stretched on the mattress, beside which\nAdrienne now threw herself on her knees. Grasping the hands of the poor\nsempstress, she found them as cold as ice. Laying her hand on her heart,\nshe could not feel it beat. Yet, in a few seconds, as the fresh air\nrushed into the room from the door and window, Adrienne thought she\nremarked an almost imperceptible pulsation, and she exclaimed: \"Her\nheart beats! Run quickly for help! Luckily, I have my smelling bottle.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes! help for her--and for the other too, if it is yet time!\"\ncried the smith in despair, as he rushed down the stairs, leaving Mdlle.\nde Cardoville still kneeling by the side of the mattress.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK X.\n\n     XXXIII. Confessions XXXIV. More Confessions XXXV. The Rivals\n     XXXVI. The Interview XXXVII. Soothing Words XXXVIII. The Two\n     Carriages XXXIX. The Appointment XL. Anxiety XLI. Adrienne\n     and Djalma XLII. \"The Imitation\" XLIII. Prayer XLIV.\n     Remembrances XLV. The Blockhead XLVI. The Anonymous Letters\n     XLVII. The Golden City XLVIII. The Stung Lion XLIX. The Test\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII. CONFESSIONS.\n\nDuring the painful scene that we have just described, a lively emotion\nglowed in the countenance of Mdlle. de Cardoville, grown pale and thin\nwith sorrow. Her cheeks, once so full, were now slightly hollowed,\nwhilst a faint line of transparent azure encircled those large black\neyes, no longer so bright as formerly. But the charming lips, though\ncontracted by painful anxiety, had retained their rich and velvet\nmoisture. To attend more easily to Mother Bunch, Adrienne had thrown\naside her bonnet, and the silky waves of her beautiful golden hair\nalmost concealed her face as she bent over the mattress, rubbing the\nthin, ivory hands of the poor sempstress, completely called to life by\nthe salubrious freshness of the air, and by the strong action of the\nsalts which Adrienne carried in her smelling-bottle. Luckily, Mother\nBunch had fainted, rather from emotion and weakness than from the\neffects of suffocation, the senses of the unfortunate girl having\nfailed her before the deleterious gas had attained its highest degree of\nintensity.\n\nBefore continuing the recital of the scene between the sempstress and\nthe patrician, a few retrospective words will be necessary. Since\nthe strange adventure at the theatre of the Porte-Saint-Martin, where\nDjalma, at peril of his life, rushed upon the black panther in sight of\nMdlle. de Cardoville, the young lady had been deeply affected in various\nways. Forgetting her jealousy, and the humiliation she had suffered in\npresence of Djalma--of Djalma exhibiting himself before every one with a\nwoman so little worthy of him--Adrienne was for a moment dazzled by the\nchivalrous and heroic action of the prince, and said to herself: \"In\nspite of odious appearances, Djalma loves me enough to brave death in\norder to pick up my nosegay.\"\n\nBut with a soul so delicate as that of this young lady, a character so\ngenerous, and a mind so true, reflection was certain soon to demonstrate\nthe vanity of such consolations, powerless to cure the cruel wounds of\noffended dignity an love.\n\n\"How many times,\" said Adrienne to herself, and with reason, \"has the\nprince encountered, in hunting, from pure caprice and with no gain, such\ndanger as he braved in picking up my bouquet! and then, who tells me he\ndid not mean to offer it to the woman who accompanied him?\"\n\nSingular (it may be) in the eyes of the world, but just and great in\nthose of heaven, the ideas which Adrienne cherished with regard to love,\njoined to her natural pride, presented an invincible obstacle to the\nthought of her succeeding this woman (whoever she might be), thus\npublicly displayed by the prince as his mistress. And yet Adrienne\nhardly dared avow to herself, that she experienced a feeling of\njealousy, only the more painful and humiliating, the less her rival\nappeared worthy to be compared to her.\n\nAt other times, on the contrary, in spite of a conscious sense of her\nown value, Mdlle. de Cardoville, remembering the charming countenance of\nRose-Pompon, asked herself if the bad taste and improper manners of this\npretty creature resulted from precocious and depraved effrontery, or\nfrom a complete ignorance of the usages of society. In the latter case,\nsuch ignorance, arising from a simple and ingenuous nature, might in\nitself have a great charm; and if to this attraction, combined with that\nof incontestable beauty, were added sincere love and a pure soul, the\nobscure birth, or neglected education of the girl might be of little\nconsequence, and she might be capable of inspiring Djalma with a\nprofound passion. If Adrienne hesitated to see a lost creature in\nRose-Pompon, notwithstanding unfavorable appearances, it was because,\nremembering what so many travellers had related of Djalma's greatness of\nsoul, and recalling the conversation she had overheard between him\nand Rodin, she could not bring herself to believe that a man of\nsuch remarkable intelligence, with so tender a heart, so poetical,\nimaginative and enthusiastic a mind could be capable of loving a\ndepraved and vulgar creature, and of openly exhibiting himself in public\nalong with her. There was a mystery in the transaction, which Adrienne\nsought in vain to penetrate. These trying doubts, this cruel curiosity,\nonly served to nourish Adrienne's fatal love; and we may imagine her\nincurable despair, when she found that the indifference, or even disdain\nof Djalma, was unable to stifle a passion that now burned more fiercely\nthan ever. Sometimes, having recourse to notions of fatality, she\nfancied that she was destined to feel this love; that Djalma must\ntherefore deserve it, and that one day whatever was incomprehensible in\nthe conduct of the prince would be explained to his advantage. At other\ntimes, on the contrary, she felt ashamed of excusing Djalma, and the\nconsciousness of this weakness was for Adrienne a constant occasion\nfor remorse and torture. The victim of all these agonies, she lived in\nperfect solitude.\n\nThe cholera soon broke out, startling as a clap of thunder. Too unhappy\nto fear the pestilence on her own account, Adrienne was only moved by\nthe sorrows of others. She was amongst the first to contribute to those\ncharitable donations, which were now flowing in from all sides in the\nadmirable spirit of benevolence. Florine was suddenly attacked by the\nepidemic. In spite of the danger, her mistress insisted on seeing her,\nand endeavored to revive her failing courage. Conquered by this new mark\nof kindness, Florine could no longer conceal the treachery in which she\nhad borne a part. Death was about to deliver her from the odious tyranny\nof the people whose yoke weighed upon her, and she was at length in a\nposition to reveal everything to Adrienne. The latter thus learned how\nshe had been continually betrayed by Florine, and also the cause of the\nsewing-girl's abrupt departure. At these revelations, Adrienne felt her\naffection and tender pity for the poor sempstress greatly increase. By\nher command, the most active steps were taken to discover traces of the\nhunchback; but Florine's confession had a still more important result.\nJustly alarmed at this new evidence of Rodin's machinations, Adrienne\nremembered the projects formed, when, believing herself beloved, the\ninstinct of affection had revealed to her the perils to which Djalma and\nother members of the Rennepont family were exposed. To assemble the\nrace around her, and bid them rally against the common enemy, such was\nAdrienne's first thought, when she heard the confession of Florine. She\nregarded it as a duty to accomplish this project. In a struggle with\nsuch dangerous and powerful adversaries as Rodin, Father d'Aigrigny, and\nthe Princess de Saint-Dizier, and their allies, Adrienne saw not only\nthe praiseworthy and perilous task of unmasking hypocrisy and cupidity,\nbut also, if not a consolation, at least a generous diversion in the\nmidst of terrible sorrows.\n\nFrom this moment, a restless, feverish activity took the place of the\nmournful apathy in which the young lady had languished. She called round\nher all the members of her family capable of answering the appeal, and,\nas had been mentioned in the secret note delivered to Father d'Aigrigny,\nCardoville House soon became the centre of the most active and unceasing\noperations, and also a place of meeting, in which the modes of attack\nand defence were fully discussed. Perfectly correct in all points, the\nsecret note of which we have spoken stated, as a mere conjecture, that\nMdlle. de Cardoville had granted an interview to Djalma. This fact was\nuntrue, but the cause which led to the supposition will be explained\nhereafter. Far from such being the case, Mdlle. de Cardoville scarcely\nfound, in attending to the great family interests now at stake, a\nmomentary diversion from the fatal love, which was slowly undermining\nher health, and with which she so bitterly reproached herself.\n\nThe morning of the day on which Adrienne, at length discovering Mother\nBunch's residence, came so miraculously to rescue her from death,\nAgricola Baudoin had been to Cardoville House to confer on the subject\nof Francis Hardy, and had begged Adrienne to permit him to accompany her\nto the Rue Clovis, whither they repaired in haste.\n\nThus, once again, there was a noble spectacle, a touching symbol! Mdlle.\nde Cardoville and Mother Bunch, the two extremities of the social chain,\nwere united on equal terms--for the sempstress and the fair patrician\nwere equal in intelligence and heart--and equal also, because the one\nwas the ideal of riches, grace, and beauty, and the other the ideal\nof resignation and unmerited misfortune--and does not a halo rest on\nmisfortune borne with courage and dignity? Stretched on her mattress,\nthe hunchback appeared so weak, that even if Agricola had not been\ndetained on the ground floor with Cephyse, now dying a dreadful death,\nMdlle. de Cardoville would have waited some time, before inducing Mother\nBunch to rise and accompany her to her carriage. Thanks to the presence\nof mind and pious fraud of Adrienne, the sewing-girl was persuaded\nthat Cephyse had been carried to a neighboring hospital, to receive\nthe necessary succors, which promised to be crowned with success. The\nhunchback's faculties recovering slowly from their stupor, she at first\nreceived this fable without the least suspicion--for she did not even\nknow that Agricola had accompanied Mdlle. de Cardoville.\n\n\"And it is to you, lady, that Cephyse and I owe our lives,\" said she,\nturning her mild and melancholy face towards Adrienne, \"you, kneeling in\nthis garret, near this couch of misery, where I and my sister meant to\ndie--for you assure me, lady, that Cephyse was succored in time.\"\n\n\"Be satisfied! I was told just now that she was recovering her senses.\"\n\n\"And they told her I was living, did they not, lady? Otherwise, she\nwould perhaps regret having survived me.\"\n\n\"Be quite easy, my dear girl!\" said Adrienne, pressing the poor hands in\nher own, and gazing on her with eyes full of tears; \"they have told her\nall that was proper. Do not trouble yourself about anything; only think\nof recovering--and I hope you will yet enjoy that happiness of which you\nhave known so little, my poor child.\"\n\n\"How kind you are, lady! After flying from your house--and when you must\nthink me so ungrateful!\"\n\n\"Presently, when you are not so weak, I have a great deal to tell you.\nJust now, it would fatigue you too much. But how do you feel?\"\n\n\"Better, lady. This fresh air--and then the thought, that, since you are\ncome--my poor sister will no more be reduced to despair; for I will\ntell you all, and I am sure you will have pity on Cephyse--will you not,\nlady?\"\n\n\"Rely upon me, my child,\" answered Adrienne, forced to dissemble her\npainful embarrassment; \"you know I am interested in all that interests\nyou. But tell me,\" added Mdlle. de Cardoville, in a voice of emotion,\n\"before taking this desperate resolution, did you not write to me?\"\n\n\"Yes, lady.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" resumed Adrienne, sorrowfully; \"and when you received no\nanswer--how cruel, how ungrateful you must have thought me!\"\n\n\"Oh! never, lady, did I accuse you of such feelings; my poor sister will\ntell you so. You had my gratitude to the last.\"\n\n\"I believe you--for I knew your heart. But how then did you explain my\nsilence?\"\n\n\"I had justly offended you by my sudden departure, lady.\"\n\n\"Offended!--Alas! I never received your letter.\"\n\n\"And yet you know that I wrote to you, lady.\"\n\n\"Yes, my poor girl; I know, also, that you wrote to me at my porter's\nlodge. Unfortunately, he delivered your letter to one of my women, named\nFlorine, telling her it came from you.\"\n\n\"Florine! the young woman that was so kind to me!\"\n\n\"Florine deceived me shamefully; she was sold to my enemies, and acted\nas a spy on my actions.\"\n\n\"She!--Good Heavens!\" cried Mother Bunch. \"Is it possible?\"\n\n\"She herself,\" answered Adrienne, bitterly; \"but, after all, we\nmust pity as well as blame her. She was forced to obey by a terrible\nnecessity, and her confession and repentance secured my pardon before\nher death.\"\n\n\"Then she is dead--so young! so fair!\"\n\n\"In spite of her faults, I was greatly moved by her end. She confessed\nwhat she had done, with such heart-rending regrets. Amongst her avowals,\nshe told me she had intercepted a letter, in which you asked for an\ninterview that might save your sister's life.\"\n\n\"It is true, lady; such were the terms of my letter. What interest had\nthey to keep it from you?\"\n\n\"They feared to see you return to me, my good guardian angel. You loved\nme so tenderly, and my enemies dreaded your faithful affection, so\nwonderfully aided by the admirable instinct of your heart. Ah! I shall\nnever forget how well-deserved was the horror with which you were\ninspired by a wretch whom I defended against your suspicions.\"\n\n\"M. Rodin?\" said Mother Bunch, with a shudder.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Adrienne; \"but we will not talk of these people now.\nTheir odious remembrance would spoil the joy I feel in seeing you\nrestored to life--for your voice is less feeble, your cheeks are\nbeginning to regain a little color. Thank God! I am so happy to have\nfound you once more;--if you knew all that I hope, all that I expect\nfrom our reunion--for we will not part again--promise me that, in the\nname of our friendship.\"\n\n\"I--your friend!\" said Mother Bunch, timidly casting down her eyes.\n\n\"A few days before your departure from my house, did I not call you\nmy friend, my sister? What is there changed? Nothing, nothing,\"\nadded Mdlle. de Cardoville, with deep emotion. \"One might say, on\nthe contrary, that a fatal resemblance in our positions renders your\nfriendship even dearer to me. And I shall have it, shall I not. Oh, do\nnot refuse it me--I am so much in want of a friend!\"\n\n\"You, lady? you in want of the friendship of a poor creature like me?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Adrienne, as she gazed on the other with an expression\nof intense grief; \"nay, more, you are perhaps the only person, to whom\nI could venture to confide my bitter sorrows.\" So saying, Mdlle. de\nCardoville colored deeply.\n\n\"And how do I deserve such marks of confidence?\" asked Mother Bunch,\nmore and more surprised.\n\n\"You deserve it by the delicacy of your heart, by the steadiness of your\ncharacter,\" answered Adrienne, with some hesitation; \"then--you are a\nwoman--and I am certain you will understand what I suffer, and pity me.\"\n\n\"Pity you, lady?\" said the other, whose astonishment continued to\nincrease. \"You, a great lady, and so much envied--I, so humble and\ndespised, pity you?\"\n\n\"Tell me, my poor friend,\" resumed Adrienne, after some moments of\nsilence, \"are not the worst griefs those which we dare not avow to\nany one, for fear of raillery and contempt? How can we venture to ask\ninterest or pity, for sufferings that we hardly dare avow to ourselves,\nbecause they make us blush?\"\n\nThe sewing-girl could hardly believe what she heard. Had her\nbenefactress felt, like her, the effects of an unfortunate passion, she\ncould not have held any other language. But the sempstress could not\nadmit such a supposition; so, attributing to some other cause the\nsorrows of Adrienne, she answered mournfully, whilst she thought of her\nown fatal love for Agricola, \"Oh! yes, lady. A secret grief, of which we\nare ashamed, must be frightful--very frightful!\"\n\n\"But then what happiness to meet, not only a heart noble enough to\ninspire complete confidence, but one which has itself been tried by\na thousand sorrows, and is capable of affording you pity, support and\ncounsel!--Tell me, my dear child,\" added Mdlle. de Cardoville, as she\nlooked attentively at Mother Bunch, \"if you were weighed down by one of\nthose sorrows, at which one blushes, would you not be happy, very happy,\nto find a kindred soul, to whom you might entrust your griefs, and half\nrelieve them by entire and merited confidence?\"\n\nFor the first time in her life, Mother Bunch regarded Mdlle. de\nCardoville with a feeling of suspicion and sadness.\n\nThe last words of the young lady seemed to her full of meaning\n\"Doubtless, she knows my secret,\" said Mother Bunch to herself;\n\"doubtless, my journal has fallen into her hands.--She knows my love\nfor Agricola, or at least suspects it. What she has been saying to me is\nintended to provoke my confidence, and to assure herself if she has been\nrightly informed.\"\n\nThese thoughts excited in the workgirl's mind no bitter or ungrateful\nfeeling towards her benefactress; but the heart of the unfortunate girl\nwas so delicately susceptible on the subject of her fatal passion, that,\nin spite of her deep and tender affection for Mdlle. de Cardoville,\nshe suffered cruelly at the thought of Adrienne's being mistress of her\nsecret.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV. MORE CONFESSIONS.\n\nThe fancy, at first so painful, that Mdlle. de Cardoville was informed\nof her love for Agricola was soon exchanged in the hunchbacks heart,\nthanks to the generous instincts of that rare and excellent creature,\nfor a touching regret, which showed all her attachment and veneration\nfor Adrienne.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Mother Bunch to herself, \"conquered by the influence\nof the adorable kindness of my protectress, I might have made to her a\nconfession which I could make to none other, and revealed a secret which\nI thought to carry with me to my grave. It would, at least, have been a\nmark of gratitude to Mdlle. de Cardoville; but, unfortunately, I am\nnow deprived of the sad comfort of confiding my only secret to my\nbenefactress. And then--however generous may be her pity for me, however\nintelligent her affection, she cannot--she, that is so fair and so\nmuch admired--she cannot understand how frightful is the position of a\ncreature like myself, hiding in the depth of a wounded heart, a love at\nonce hopeless and ridiculous. No, no--in spite of the delicacy of her\nattachment, my benefactress must unconsciously hurt my feelings, even\nwhilst she pities me--for only sympathetic sorrows can console each\nother. Alas! why did she not leave me to die?\"\n\nThese reflections presented themselves to the thinker's mind as rapidly\nas thought could travel. Adrienne observed her attentively; she remarked\nthat the sewing-girl's countenance, which had lately brightened up, was\nagain clouded, and expressed a feeling of painful humiliation. Terrified\nat this relapse into gloomy dejection, the consequences of which might\nbe serious, for Mother Bunch was still very weak, and, as it were,\nhovering on the brink of the grave, Mdlle. de Cardoville resumed\nhastily: \"My friend, do not you think with me, that the most cruel and\nhumiliating grief admits of consolation, when it can be entrusted to a\nfaithful and devoted heart?\"\n\n\"Yes, lady,\" said the young sempstress, bitterly; \"but the heart which\nsuffers in silence, should be the only judge of the moment for making\nso painful a confession. Until then, it would perhaps be more humane to\nrespect its fatal secret, even if one had by chance discovered it.\"\n\n\"You are right, my child,\" said Adrienne, sorrowfully, \"if I choose this\nsolemn moment to entrust you with a very painful secret, it is that,\nwhen you have heard me, I am sure you will set more value on your life,\nas knowing how much I need your tenderness, consolation, and pity.\"\n\nAt these words, the other half raised herself on the mattress, and\nlooked at Mdlle. de Cardoville in amazement. She could scarcely believe\nwhat she heard; far from designing to intrude upon her confidence, it\nwas her protectress who was to make the painful confession, and who came\nto implore pity and consolation from her!\n\n\"What!\" stammered she; \"you, lady!\"\n\n\"I come to tell you that I suffer, and am ashamed of my sufferings.\nYes,\" added the young lady, with a touching expression, \"yes--of all\nconfessions, I am about to make the most painful--I love--and I blush\nfor my love.\"\n\n\"Like myself!\" cried Mother Bunch, involuntarily, clasping her hands\ntogether.\n\n\"I love,\" resumed Adrienne, with a long-pent-up grief; \"I love, and am\nnot beloved--and my love is miserable, is impossible--it consumes me--it\nkills me--and I dare not confide to any one the fatal secret!\"\n\n\"Like me,\" repeated the other, with a fixed look. \"She--a queen in\nbeauty, rank, wealth, intelligence--suffers like me. Like me, poor\nunfortunate creature! she loves, and is not loved again.\"\n\n\"Well, yes! like you, I love and am not loved again,\" cried Mdlle. de\nCardoville; \"was I wrong in saying, that to you alone I could confide\nmy secret--because, having suffered the same pangs, you alone can pity\nthem?\"\n\n\"Then, lady,\" said Mother Bunch, casting down her eyes, and recovering\nfrom her first amazement, \"you knew--\"\n\n\"I knew all, my poor child--but never should I have mentioned your\nsecret, had I not had one to entrust you with, of a still more painful\nnature. Yours is cruel, but mine is humiliating. Oh, my sister!\" added\nMdlle. de Cardoville, in a tone impossible to describe, \"misfortune,\nyou, see, blends and confounds together what are called distinctions of\nrank and fortune--and often those whom the world envies are reduced by\nsuffering far below the poorest and most humble, and have to seek from\nthe latter pity and consolation.\"\n\nThen, drying her tears, which nosy flowed abundantly, Mdlle. de\nCardoville resumed, in a voice of emotion: \"Come, sister! courage,\ncourage! let us love and sustain each other. Let this sad and mysterious\nbond unite us forever.\"\n\n\"Oh, lady! forgive me. But now that you know the secret of my life,\"\nsaid the workgirl, casting down her eyes, and unable to vanquish\nher confusion, \"it seems to me, that I can never look at you without\nblushing.\"\n\n\"And why? because you love Agricola?\" said Adrienne. \"Then I must die\nof shame before you, since, less courageous than you, I had not the\nstrength to suffer and be resigned, and so conceal my love in the depths\nof my heart. He that I love, with a love henceforth deprived of hope,\nknew of that love and despised it--preferring to me a woman, the very\nchoice of whom was a new and grievous insult, if I am not much deceived\nby appearances. I sometimes hope that I am deceived on this point. Now\ntell me--is it for you to blush?\"\n\n\"Alas, lady! who could tell you all this?\"\n\n\"Which you only entrusted to your journal? Well, then--it was the dying\nFlorine who confessed her misdeeds. She had been base enough to steal\nyour papers, forced to this odious act, by the people who had dominion\nover her. But she had read your journal--and as every good feeling was\nnot dead within her, your admirable resignation, your melancholy and\npious love, had left such an impression on her mind, that she was able\nto repeat whole passages to me on her death bed, and thus to explain the\ncause of your sudden disappearance--for she had no doubt that the fear\nof seeing your love for Agricola divulged had been the cause of your\nflight.\"\n\n\"Alas! it is but too true, lady.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes!\" answered Adrienne, bitterly; \"those who employed the wretched\ngirl to act as she did, well knew the effect of the blow. It was not\ntheir first attempt. They reduced you to despair, they would have killed\nyou, because you were devoted to me, and because you had guessed their\nintentions. Oh! these black-gowns are implacable, and their power is\ngreat!\" said Adrienne, shuddering.\n\n\"It is fearful, lady.\"\n\n\"But do not be alarmed, dear child; you see, that the arms of the wicked\nhave turned against themselves; for the moment I knew the cause of your\nflight, you became dearer to me than ever. From that time I made every\nexertion to find out where you were; after long efforts, it was only\nthis morning that the person I had employed succeeded in discovering\nthat you inhabited this house. Agricola was with me when I heard it, and\ninstantly asked to accompany me.\"\n\n\"Agricola!\" said Mother Bunch, clasping her hands; \"he came--\"\n\n\"Yes, my child--be calm. Whilst I attended to you, he was busy with your\npoor sister. You will soon see him.\"\n\n\"Alas, lady!\" resumed the hunchback, in alarm. \"He doubtless knows--\"\n\n\"Your love! No, no; be satisfied. Only think of the happiness of again\nseeing your good and worthy brother.\"\n\n\"Ah, lady! may he never know what caused me so much shame, that I was\nlike to die of it. Thank God, he is not aware of it!\"\n\n\"Then let us have no more sad thoughts, my child. Only remember, that\nthis worthy brother came here in time to save us from everlasting\nregrets--and you from a great fault. Oh! I do not speak of the\nprejudices of the world, with regard to the right of every creature to\nreturn to heaven a life that has become too burdensome!--I only say that\nyou ought not to have died, because those who love you, and whom you\nlove, were still in need of your assistance.\"\n\n\"I thought you happy; Agricola was married to the girl of his choice,\nwho will, I am sure, make him happy. To whom could I be useful?\"\n\n\"First, to myself, as you see--and then, who tells you that Agricola\nwill never have need of you? Who tells you, that his happiness, or that\nof his family, will last forever, and will not be tried by cruel shocks?\nAnd even if those you love had been destined to be always happy, could\ntheir happiness be complete without you? And would not your death, with\nwhich they would perhaps have reproached themselves, have left behind it\nendless regrets?\"\n\n\"It is true, lady,\" answered the other, \"I was wrong--the dizziness of\ndespair had seized me--frightful misery weighed upon us--we had not\nbeen able to find work for some days--we lived on the charity of a poor\nwoman, and her the cholera carried off. To-morrow or next day, we must\nhave died of hunger.\"\n\n\"Die of hunger!--and you knew where I lived!\"\n\n\"I had written to you, lady, and receiving no answer, I thought you\noffended at my abrupt departure.\"\n\n\"Poor, dear child! you must have been, as you say, seized with dizziness\nin that terrible moment; so that I have not the courage to reproach you\nfor doubting me a single instant. How can I blame you? Did I not myself\nthink of terminating my life?\"\n\n\"You, lady!\" cried the hunchback.\n\n\"Yes, I thought of it--when they came to tell me, that Florine, dying,\nwished to speak to me. I heard what she had to say; her revelations\nchanged my projects. This dark and mournful life which had become\ninsupportable to me, was suddenly lighted up. The sense of duty woke\nwithin me. You were no doubt a prey to horrible misery; it was my duty\nto seek and save you. Florine's confessions unveiled to me the new plots\nof the enemies of my scattered family, dispersed by sorrows and cruel\nlosses; it was my duty to warn them of their danger, and to unite them\nagainst the common enemy. I had been the victim of odious manoeuvres:\nit was my duty to punish their authors, for fear that, encouraged by\nimpunity, these black-gowns should make other victims. Then the sense of\nduty gave me strength, and I was able to rouse myself from my lethargy.\nWith the help of Abbe Gabriel, a sublime, oh! a sublime priest--the\nideal of a true Christian--the worthy brother of Agricola--I\ncourageously entered on the struggle. What shall I say to you, my child?\nThe performance of these duties, the hope of finding you again, have\nbeen some relief to me in my trouble. If I was not consoled, I was at\nleast occupied. Your tender friendship, the example of your resignation,\nwill do the rest--I think so--I am sure so--and I shall forget this\nfatal love.\"\n\nAt the moment Adrienne pronounced these words, rapid footsteps were\nheard upon the stairs, and a young, clear voice exclaimed: \"Oh! dear me,\npoor Mother Bunch! How lucky I have come just now! If only I could be of\nsome use to her!\"\n\nAlmost immediately, Rose-Pompon entered the garret with precipitation.\nAgricola soon followed the grisette, and pointing to the open window,\ntried to make Adrienne understand by signs, that she was not to mention\nto the girl the deplorable end of the Bacchanal Queen. This pantomime\nwas lost on Mdlle. de Cardoville. Adrienne's heart swelled with grief,\nindignation, pride, as she recognized the girl she had seen at the Porte\nSaint-Martin in company with Djalma, and who alone was the cause of the\ndreadful sufferings she endured since that fatal evening. And, strange\nirony of fate! it was at the very moment when Adrienne had just made the\nhumiliating and cruel confession of her despised love, that the woman,\nto whom she believed herself sacrificed, appeared before her.\n\nIf the surprise of Mdlle. de Cardoville was great, Rose-Pompon's was not\nless so. Not only did she recognize in Adrienne the fair young lady with\nthe golden locks, who had sat opposite to her at the theatre, on the\nnight of the adventure of the black panther, but she had serious reasons\nfor desiring most ardently this unexpected interview. It is impossible\nto paint the look of malignant joy and triumph, that she affected to\ncast upon Adrienne. The first impulse of Mdlle. de Cardoville was to\nquit the room. But she could not bear to leave Mother Bunch at this\nmoment, or to give, in the presence of Agricola, her reasons for such an\nabrupt departure, and moreover, an inexplicable and fatal curiosity held\nher back, in spite of her offended pride. She remained, therefore, and\nwas about to examine closely, to hear and to judge, this rival, who\nhad nearly occasioned her death, to whom, in her jealous agony, she had\nascribed so many different aspects, in order to explain Djalma's love\nfor such a creature.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV. THE RIVALS.\n\nRose-Pompon, whose presence caused such deep emotion in Mdlle. de\nCardoville, was dressed in the most showy and extravagant bad taste. Her\nvery small, narrow, rose-colored satin bonnet, placed so forward over\nher face as almost to touch the tip of her little nose, left uncovered\nbehind half of her light, silky hair; her plaid dress, of an excessively\nbroad pattern, was open in front, and the almost transparent gauze,\nrather too honest in its revelations, hardly covered the charms of the\nform beneath.\n\nThe grisette having run all the way upstairs, held in her hands the ends\nof her large blue shawl, which, falling from her shoulders, had slid\ndown to her wasp-like waist, and there been stopped by the swell of the\nfigure. If we enter into these details, it is to explain how, at the\nsight of this pretty creature, dressed in so impertinent and almost\nindecent, a fashion, Mdlle. de Cardoville, who thought she saw in her a\nsuccessful rival, felt her indignation, grief, and shame redoubled.\n\nBut judge of the surprise and confusion of Adrienne, when Mdlle.\nRose Pompon said to her, with the utmost freedom and pertness, \"I am\ndelighted to see you, madame. You and I must have a long talk together.\nOnly I must begin by kissing poor Mother Bunch--with your permission,\nmadame!\"\n\nTo understand the tone and manner with which this word, \"madame\" was\npronounced, you must have been present at some stormy discussion between\ntwo Rose-Pompons, jealous of each other; then you would be able to judge\nhow much provoking hostility may be compressed into the word \"madame,\"\nunder certain circumstances. Amazed at the impudence of Rose-Pompon,\nMdlle. de Cardoville remained mute; whilst Agricola, entirely occupied\nwith the interest he took in the workgirl, who had never withdrawn her\neyes from him since he entered the room, and with the remembrance of\nthe painful scene he had just quitted, whispered to Adrienne, without\nremarking the grisette's effrontery, \"Alas, lady! it is all over.\nCephyse has just breathed her last sigh, without recovering her senses.\"\n\n\"Unfortunate girl!\" said Adrienne, with emotion; and for the moment she\nforgot Rose-Pompon.\n\n\"We must keep this sad news from Mother Bunch, and only let her know it\nhereafter, with great caution,\" resumed Agricola. \"Luckily, little Rose\nPompon knows nothing about it.\"\n\nAnd he pointed to the grisette, who was now stooping down by the side\nof the workgirl. On hearing Agricola speak so familiarly of Rose-Pompon,\nAdrienne's amazement increased. It is impossible to describe what she\nfelt; yet, strangely enough, her sufferings grew less and less, and her\nanxiety diminished, as she listened to the chatter of the grisette.\n\n\"Oh, my good dear!\" said the latter, with as much volubility as emotion,\nwhile her pretty blue eyes were filled with tears; \"is it possible that\nyou did so stupid a thing? Do not poor people help one another? Could\nyou not apply to me? You knew that others are welcome to whatever is\nmine, and I would have made a raffle of Philemon's bazaar,\" added this\nsingular girl, with a burst of feeling, at once sincere, touching, and\ngrotesque; \"I would have sold his three boots, pipes, boating-costume,\nbed, and even his great drinking-glass, and at all events you should not\nhave been brought to such an ugly pass. Philemon would not have minded,\nfor he is a good fellow; and if he had minded, it would have been all\nthe same. Thank heaven! we are not married. I am only wishing to remind\nyou that you should have thought of little Rose-Pompon.\"\n\n\"I know you are obliging and kind, miss,\" said Mother Bunch: for she had\nheard from her sister that Rose-Pompon, like so many of her class, had a\nwarm and generous heart.\n\n\"After all,\" resumed the grisette, wiping with the back of her hand the\ntip of her little nose, down which a tear was trickling, \"you may tell\nme that you did not know where I had taken up my quarters. It's a queer\nstory, I can tell you. When I say queer,\" added Rose-Pompon, with a deep\nsigh, \"it is quite the contrary--but no matter: I need not trouble you\nwith that. One thing is certain; you are getting better--and you and\nCephyse will not do such a thing again. She is said to be very weak. Can\nI not see her yet, M. Agricola?\n\n\"No,\" said the smith, with embarrassment, for Mother Bunch kept her eyes\nfixed upon him; \"you must have patience.\"\n\n\"But I may see her to-day, Agricola?\" exclaimed the hunchback.\n\n\"We will talk about that. Only be calm, I entreat.\"\n\n\"Agricola is right; you must be reasonable, my good dear,\" resumed Rose\nPompon; \"we will wait patiently. I can wait too, for I have to talk\npresently to this lady;\" and Rose-Pompon glanced at Adrienne with the\nexpression of an angry cat. \"Yes, yes; I can wait; for I long to tell\nCephyse also that she may reckon upon me.\" Here Rose-Pompon bridled up\nvery prettily, and thus continued, \"Do not be uneasy! It is the least\none can do, when one is in a good position, to share the advantages with\none's friends, who are not so well off. It would be a fine thing to keep\none's happiness to one's self! to stuff it with straw, and put it under\na glass, and let no one touch it! When I talk of happiness, it's only\nto make talk; it is true in one sense; but to another, you see, my good\ndear--Bah! I am only seventeen--but no matter--I might go on talking\ntill tomorrow, and you would not be any the wiser. So let me kiss you\nonce more, and don't be down-hearted--nor Cephyse either, do you hear?\nfor I shall be close at hand.\"\n\nAnd, stooping still lower, Rose-Pompon cordially embraced Mother Bunch.\nIt is impossible to express what Mdlle. de Cardoville felt during this\nconversation, or rather during this monologue of the grisette on the\nsubject of the attempted suicide. The eccentric jargon of Mdlle. Rose\nPompon, her liberal facility in disposing of Philemon's bazaar, to the\nowner of which (as she said) she was luckily not married--the goodness\nof her heart, which revealed itself in her offers of service--her\ncontrasts, her impertinence, her drollery--all this was so new and\ninexplicable to Mdlle. de Cardoville, that she remained for some time\nmute and motionless with surprise. Such, then, was the creature to whom\nDjalma had sacrificed her!\n\nIf Adrienne's first impression at sight of Rose-Pompon had been horribly\npainful, reflection soon awakened doubts, which were to become shortly\nineffable hopes. Remembering the interview she had overheard between\nRodin and Djalma, when, concealed in the conservatory, she had wished\nto prove the Jesuit's fidelity, Adrienne, asked herself if it was\nreasonable, if it was possible to believe, that the prince, whose ideas\nof love seemed to be so poetical, so elevated, so pure, could find any\ncharm in the disjointed and silly chat of this young girl? Adrienne\ncould not hesitate; she pronounced the thing impossible, from the moment\nshe had seen her rival near, and witnessed her style both of manners\nand conversation, which, without detracting from the prettiness of\nher features, gave them a trivial and not very attractive character.\nAdrienne's doubts with regard to the deep love of the prince for Rose\nPompon were hence soon changed to complete incredulity. Endowed with\ntoo much sense and penetration, not to perceive that this apparent\nconnection, so inconceivable on the part of Djalma, must conceal some\nmystery, Mdlle. de Cardoville felt her hopes revive. As this consoling\nthought arose in her mind, her heart, until now so painfully oppressed,\nbegan once more to dilate; she felt vague aspirations towards a better\nfuture; and yet, cruelly warned by the past, she feared to yield too\nreadily to a mere illusion, for she remembered the notorious fact that\nthe prince had really appeared in public with this girl. But now that\nMdlle. de Cardoville could fully appreciate what she was, she found the\nconduct of the prince only the more incomprehensible. And how can we\njudge soundly and surely of that which is enveloped in mystery? And then\na secret presentiment told her, that it would, perhaps, be beside the\ncouch of the poor sempstress, whom she had just saved from death, that,\nby a providential coincidence, she would learn the secret on which\ndepended the happiness of her life.\n\nThe emotions which agitated she heart of Adrienne, became so violent,\nthat her fine face was flushed with a bright red, her bosom heaved, and\nher large, black eyes, lately dimmed by sadness, once more shone with a\nmild radiance. She waited with inexpressible impatience for what was to\nfollow. In the interview, with which Rose-Pompon had threatened her,\nand which a few minutes before Adrienne would have declined with all the\ndignity of legitimate indignation, she now hoped to find the explanation\nof a mystery, which it was of such importance for her to clear up. After\nonce more tenderly embracing Mother Bunch, Rose-Pompon got up from the\nground, and, turning towards Adrienne, eyed her from head to foot, with\nthe utmost coolness, and said to her, in a somewhat impertinent tone:\n\"It is now our turn, madame\"--the word \"madame\" still pronounced\nwith the accent before described--\"we have a little matter to settle\ntogether.\"\n\n\"I am at your order,\" answered Adrienne, with much mildness and\nsimplicity.\n\nAt sight of the triumphant and decisive air of Rose-Pompon, and on\nhearing her challenge to Mdlle. de Cardoville, the worthy Agricola,\nafter exchanging a few words with Mother Bunch, opened his eyes and ears\nvery wide, and remained staring in amazement at the effrontery of the\ngrisette; then, advancing towards her, he whispered, as he plucked her\nby the sleeve: \"I say, are you mad? Do you know to whom you speak?\"\n\n\"Well! what then? Is not one pretty woman worth another! I say that for\nthe lady. She will not eat me, I suppose,\" replied Rose-Pompon, aloud,\nand with an air of defiance. \"I have to talk with madame, here. I am\nsure, she knows why and wherefore. If not, I will tell her; it will not\ntake me long.\"\n\nAdrienne, who feared some ridiculous exposure on the subject of Djalma,\nin the presence of Agricola, made a sign to the latter, and thus\nanswered the grisette: \"I am ready to hear you, miss, but not in this\nplace. You will understand why.\"\n\n\"Very well, madame, I have my key. You can come to any apartments\"--the\nlast word pronounced with an air of ostentatious importance.\n\n\"Let us go then to your apartments, miss since you to me the honor to\nreceive me there,\" answered Mdlle. de Cardoville, in her mild, sweet\nvoice, and with a slight inclination of the head, so full of exquisite\npoliteness, that Rose-Pompon was daunted, notwithstanding all her\neffrontery.\n\n\"What, lady!\" said Agricola to Adrienne; \"you are good enough--\"\n\n\"M. Agricola,\" said Mdlle. de Cardoville, interrupting him, \"please to\nremain with our poor friend: I shall soon be back.\"\n\nThen, approaching Mother Bunch, who shared in Agricola's astonishment\nshe said to her: \"Excuse me for leaving you a few seconds. Only regain a\nlittle strength, and, when I return, I will take you home with me, dear\nsister.\"\n\nThen, turning towards Rose-Pompon, who was more and more surprised at\nhearing so fine a lady call the workgirl her sister, she added: \"I am\nready whenever you please, mademoiselle.\"\n\n\"Beg pardon, madame, if I go first to show you the way, but it's a\nregular break-neck sort of a place,\" answered Rose-Pompon, pressing her\nelbows to her sides, and screwing up her lips to prove that she was no\nstranger to polite manners and fine language. And the two rivals quitted\nthe garret together, leaving Agricola alone with Mother Bunch.\n\nLuckily, the disfigured remains of the Bacchanal Queen had been\ncarried into Mother Arsene's subterraneous shop, so that the crowd of\nspectators, always attracted by any fatal event, had assembled in front\nof the house; and Rose-Pompon, meeting no one in the little court she\nhad to traverse with Adrienne, continued in ignorance of the tragical\ndeath of her old friend Cephyse. In a few moments the grisette and\nMdlle. de Cardoville had reached Philemon's apartment. This singular\nabode remained in the same state of picturesque disorder in which\nRose-Pompon had left it, when Ninny Moulin came to fetch her to act the\nheroine of a mysterious adventure.\n\nAdrienne, completely ignorant of the eccentric modes of life of students\nand their companions, could not, in spite of the thoughts which occupied\nher mind, forebear examining, with a mixture of surprise and curiosity,\nthis strange and grotesque chaos, composed of the most dissimilar\nobjects--disguises for masked balls, skulls with pipes in their mouths,\nodd boots standing on book shelves, monstrous bottles, women's clothes,\nends of tobacco pipes, etc., etc. To the first astonishment of Adrienne\nsucceeded an impression of painful repugnance. The young lady felt\nherself uneasy and out of place in this abode, not of poverty, but\ndisorder; whilst, on the contrary, the sewing-girl's miserable garret\nhad caused her no such feeling.\n\nRose-Pompon, notwithstanding all her airs, was considerably troubled\nwhen she found herself alone with Mdlle, de Cardoville; the rare beauty\nof the young patrician, her fashionable look, the elegance of her\nmanners, the style, both dignified and affable, with which she had\nanswered the impertinent address of the grisette, began to have their\neffect upon the latter, who, being moreover a good-natured girl, had\nbeen touched at hearing Mdlle. de Cardoville call the hunchback \"friend\nand sister.\" Without knowing exactly who Adrienne was, Rose-Pompon\nwas not ignorant that she belonged to the richest and highest class\nof society; she felt already some remorse at having attacked her so\ncavalierly; and her intentions, at first very hostile with regard to\nMdlle. de Cardoville, were gradually much modified. Yet, being very\nobstinate, and not wishing to appear to submit to an influence that\noffended her pride, Rose-Pompon endeavored to recover her assurance;\nand, having bolted the door, she said to Adrienne: \"Pray do me the favor\nto sit down, madame\"--still with the intention of showing that she was\nno stranger to refined manners and conversation.\n\nMdlle. de Cardoville was about mechanically to take a chair, when Rose\nPompon, worthy to practise those ancient virtues of hospitality, which\nregarded even an enemy as sacred in the person of a guest, cried out\nhastily: \"Don't take that chair, madame; it wants a leg.\"\n\nAdrienne laid her hand on another chair.\n\n\"Nor that either; the back is quite loose,\" again exclaimed Rose-Pompon.\nAnd she spoke the truth; for the chair-back, which was made in the form\nof a lyre, remained in the hands of Mdlle. de Cardoville, who said, as\nshe replaced it discreetly in its former position: \"I think, miss, that\nwe can very well talk standing.\"\n\n\"As you please, madame,\" replied Rose-Pompon, steadying herself the more\nbravely the more uneasy she felt. And the interview of the lady and the\ngrisette began in this fashion.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVI. THE INTERVIEW.\n\nAfter a minute's hesitation, Rose-Pompon said to Adrienne, whose heart\nwas beating violently: \"I will tell you directly, madame, what I have\non my mind. I should not have gone out of my way to seek you, but, as I\nhappen to fall in with you, it is very natural I should take advantage\nof it.\"\n\n\"But, miss,\" said Adrienne, mildly, \"may I at least know the subject of\nthe conversation we are to have together?\"\n\n\"Yes, madame,\" replied Rose-Pompon, affecting an air of still more\ndecided confidence; \"first of all, you must not suppose I am unhappy, or\ngoing to make a scene of jealousy, or cry like a forsaken damsel. Do not\nflatter yourself! Thank heaven, I have no reason to complain of Prince\nCharming--that is the pet name I gave him--on the contrary, he has made\nme very happy. If I left him, it was against his will, and because I\nchose.\"\n\nSo saying, Rose-Pompon, whose heart was swelling in spite of her fine\nairs, could not repress a sigh.\n\n\"Yes, madame,\" she resumed, \"I left him because I chose--for he quite\ndoted on me. If I had liked, he would have married me--yes, madame,\nmarried me--so much the worse, if that gives you pain. Though, when I\nsay 'so much the worse,' it is true that I meant to pain you. To be sure\nI did--but then, just now when I saw you so kind to poor Mother Bunch,\nthough I was certainly in the right, still I felt something. However, to\ncut matters short, it is clear that I detest you, and that you deserve\nit,\" added Rose-Pompon, stamping her foot.\n\nFrom all this it resulted, even for a person much less sagacious than\nAdrienne, and much less interested in discovering the truth, that Rose\nPompon, notwithstanding her triumphant airs in speaking of him whom she\nrepresented as so much attached to her, and even anxious to wed her,\nwas in reality completely disappointed, and was now taking refuge in a\ndeliberate falsehood. It was evident that she was not loved, and that\nnothing but violent jealousy had induced her to desire this interview\nwith Mdlle. de Cardoville, in order to make what is vulgarly called a\nscene, considering Adrienne (the reason will be explained presently) as\nher successful rival. But Rose-Pompon, having recovered her good-nature,\nfound it very difficult to continue the scene in question, particularly\nas, for many reasons, she felt overawed by Adrienne.\n\nThough she had expected, if not the singular speech of the grisette, at\nleast something of the same result--for she felt it was impossible that\nthe prince could entertain a serious attachment for this girl--Mdlle. de\nCardoville was at first delighted to hear the confirmation of her hopes\nfrom the lips of her rival; but suddenly these hopes were succeeded by a\ncruel apprehension, which we will endeavor to explain. What Adrienne had\njust heard ought to have satisfied her completely. Sure that the heart\nof Djalma had never ceased to belong to her, she ought, according to\nthe customs and opinions of the world, to have cared little if, in\nthe effervescence of an ardent youth, he had chanced to yield to some\nephemeral caprice for this creature, who was, after all, very pretty\nand desirable--the more especially as he had now repaired his error by\nseparating from her.\n\nNotwithstanding these good reasons, such an error of the senses would\nnot have been pardoned by Adrienne. She did not understand that complete\nseparation of the body and soul that would make the one exempt from the\nstains of the other. She did not think it a matter of indifference\nto toy with one woman whilst you were thinking of another. Her young,\nchaste, passionate love demanded an absolute fealty--a fealty as just in\nthe eyes of heaven and nature as it may be ridiculous and foolish in the\neyes of man. For the very reason that she cherished a refined religion\nof the senses, and revered them as an adorable and divine manifestation,\nAdrienne had all sorts of delicate scruples and nice repugnances,\nunknown to the austere spirituality of those ascetic prudes who despise\nvile matter too much to take notice of its errors, and allow it to\ngrovel in filth, to show the contempt in which they hold it. Mdlle. de\nCardoville was not one of those wonderfully modest creatures who would\ndie of confusion rather than say plainly that they wished for a young\nand handsome husband, at once ardent and pure. It is true that they\ngenerally marry old, ugly, and corrupted men, and make up for it\nby taking two or three lovers six months after. But Adrienne felt\ninstinctively how much of virginal and celestial freshness there is in\nthe equal innocence of two loving and passionate beings--what guarantees\nfor the future in the remembrance which a man preserves of his first\nlove!\n\nWe say, then, that Adrienne was only half-satisfied, though convinced by\nthe vexation of Rose-Pompon that Djalma had never entertained a serious\nattachment for the grisette.\n\n\"And why do you detest me, miss?\" said Adrienne mildly, when Rose-Pompon\nhad finished her speech.\n\n\"Oh! bless me, madame!\" replied the latter, forgetting altogether her\nassumption of triumph, and yielding to the natural sincerity of her\ncharacter; \"pretend that you don't know why I detest you!--Oh, yes!\npeople go and pick bouquets from the jaws of a panther for people that\nthey care nothing about, don't they? And if it was only that!\" added\nRose-Pompon, who was gradually getting animated, and whose pretty face,\nat first contracted into a sullen pout, now assumed an expression of\nreal and yet half-comic sorrow.\n\n\"And if it was only the nosegay!\" resumed she. \"Though it gave me a\ndreadful turn to see Prince Charming leap like a kid upon the stage, I\nmight have said to myself: 'Pooh! these Indians have their own way of\nshowing politeness. Here, a lady drops her nosegay, and a gentleman\npicks it up and gives it to her; but in India it is quite another thing;\nthe man picks up the nosegay, and does not return it to the woman--he\nonly kills a panther before her eyes.' Those are good manners in that\ncountry, I suppose; but what cannot be good manners anywhere is to treat\na woman as I have been treated. And all thanks to you, madame!\"\n\nThese complaints of Rose-Pompon, at once bitter and laughable, did\nnot at all agree with what she had previously stated as to Djalma's\npassionate love for her; but Adrienne took care not to point out this\ncontradiction, and said to her, mildly: \"You must be mistaken, miss,\nwhen you suppose that I had anything to do with your troubles. But, in\nany case, I regret sincerely that you should have been ill-treated by\nany one.\"\n\n\"If you think I have been beaten, you are quite wrong,\" exclaimed Rose\nPompon. \"Ah! well, I am sure! No, it is not that. But I am certain that,\nhad it not been for you, Prince Charming would have got to love me\na little. I am worthy of the trouble, after all--and then there are\ndifferent sorts of love--I am not so very particular--not even so much\nas that,\" added Rose-Pompon, snapping her fingers.\n\n\"Ah!\" she continued, \"when Ninny Moulin came to fetch me, and brought\nme jewels and laces to persuade me to go with him, he was quite right in\nsaying there was no harm in his offers.\"\n\n\"Ninny Moulin?\" asked Mdlle. de Cardoville, becoming more and more\ninterested; \"who is this Ninny Moulin, miss?\"\n\n\"A religious writer,\" answered Rose-Pompon, pouting; \"the right-hand man\nof a lot of old sacristans, whose money he takes on pretense of writing\nabout morality and religion. A fine morality it is!\"\n\nAt these words--\"a religious writer\"--\"sacristans\" Adrienne instantly\ndivined some new plot of Rodin or Father d'Aigrigny, of which she and\nDjalma were to have been the victims. She began vaguely to perceive the\nreal state of the case, as she resumed: \"But, miss, under what pretence\ncould this man take you away with him?\"\n\n\"He came to fetch me, and said I need not fear for my virtue, and was\nonly to make myself look pretty. So I said to myself: 'Philemon's out of\ntown, and it's very dull here all alone: This seems a droll affair;\nwhat can I risk by it?'--Alas! I didn't know what I risked,\" added\nRose Pompon, with a sigh. \"Well! Ninny Moulin takes me away in a fine\ncarriage. We stop in the Place du Palais-Royal. A sullen-looking man,\nwith a yellow face, gets up in the room of Ninny Moulin, and takes me to\nthe house of Prince Charming. When I saw him--la! he was so handsome,\nso very handsome, that I was quite dizzy-like; and he had such a kind,\nnoble air, that I said to myself, 'Well! there will be some credit if\nI remain a good girl now!'--I did not know what a true word I was\nspeaking. I have been good--oh! worse than good.\"\n\n\"What, miss! do you regret having been so virtuous?\"\n\n\"Why, you see, I regret, at least, that I have not had the pleasure of\nrefusing. But how can you refuse, when nothing is asked--when you are\nnot even thought worth one little loving word?\"\n\n\"But, miss, allow me to observe to you that the indifference of which\nyou complain does not see to have prevented your making a long stay in\nthe house in question.\"\n\n\"How should I know why the prince kept me there, or took me out riding\nwith him, or to the play? Perhaps it is the fashion in his savage\ncountry to have a pretty girl by your side, and to pay no attention to\nher at all!\"\n\n\"But why, then, did you remain, miss?\"\n\n\"Why did I remain?\" said Rose-Pompon, stamping her loot with vexation.\n\"I remained because, without knowing how it happened, I began to get\nvery fond of Prince Charming; and what is queer enough, I, who am as gay\nas a lark, loved him because he was so sorrowful, which shows that it\nwas a serious matter. At last, one day, I could hold out no longer. I\nsaid: 'Never mind; I don't care for the consequences. Philemon, I am\nsure, is having his fun in the country.' That set my mind at ease. So\none morning, I dress myself in my best, all very pretty, look in my\nglass, and say: 'Well, that will do--he can't stand that! and, going to\nhis room, I tell him all that passes through my head; I laugh, I cry--at\nlast I tell him that I adore him. What do you think he answers, in his\nmild voice, and as cold as a piece of marble? Why, 'Poor child--poor\nchild--poor child!'\" added Rose-Pompon, with indignation; \"neither more\nnor less than if I had come to complain to him of the toothache. But\nthe worst of it is that I am sure, if he were not in love elsewhere, he\nwould be all fire and gunpowder. Only now he is so sad, so dejected!\"\n\nThen, pausing a moment, Rose-Pompon added: \"No, I will not tell\nyou that; you would be too pleased.\" But, after another pause, she\ncontinued: \"Well, never mind; I will tell you, though\"; and this\nsingular girl looked at Mdlle. de Cardoville with a mixture of sympathy\nand deference. \"Why should I keep it from you? I began by riding\nthe high horse, and saying that the prince wished to marry me; and I\nfinished by confessing that he almost turned me out. Well, it's not my\nfault; when I try to fib, I am sure to get confused. So, madame, this is\nthe plain truth:--When I met you at poor Mother Bunch's, I was at first\nas angry as a little turkey-cock; but when I heard you, that are such a\nfine great lady, speak so kindly to the poor girl, and treat her as your\nsister, do what I would, my anger began to go away. Since we have\nbeen here, I have done my utmost to get it up again; but I find it\nimpossible, and the more I see the difference between us, the more I\nperceive that Prince Charming was right in thinking so much of you. For\nyou must know, madame, that he is over head and ears in love with you.\nI don't say so merely because he killed the panther for you at the\nPorte-Saint-Martin; but if you knew all the tricks he played with your\nbouquet, and how he will sit up all night weeping in that room where he\nsaw you for the first time--and then your portrait, that he has\ndrawn upon glass, after the fashion of his country, and so many other\nthings--the fact is, that I, who was fond of him, and saw all this was\nat first in a great rage; but afterwards it was so touching that it\nbrought the tears into my eyes. Yes, madame, just as it does now, when\nI merely think of the poor prince. Oh, madame!\" added Rose-Pompon, her\neyes swimming in tears, and with such an expression of sincere interest,\nthat Adrienne was much moved by it; \"oh, madame, you look so mild and\ngood, that you will not make this poor prince miserable. Pray love him a\nlittle bit; what can it matter to you?\"\n\nSo saying, Rose-Pompon, with a perfectly simple, though too familiar,\ngesture, took hold of Adrienne's hand, as if to enforce her request. It\nhad required great self-command in Mdlle. de Cardoville to repress the\nrush of joy that was mounting from her heart to her lips, to check the\ntorrent of questions which she burned to address to Rose-Pompon, and to\nrestrain the sweet tears of happiness that for some seconds had trembled\nin her eyes; and, strangely enough, when Rose-Pompon took her hand,\nAdrienne, instead of withdrawing it, pressed the offered hand almost\naffectionately, and led her towards the window, as if to examine her\nsweet face more attentively.\n\nOn entering the room, the grisette had thrown her bonnet and shawl down\nupon the bed, so that Adrienne could admire the thick and silky masses\nof light hair that crowned the fresh face of the charming girl, with\nits firm, rosy cheeks, its mouth as red as a cherry, and its large blue\nlaughing eyes; and, thanks to the somewhat scanty dress of Rose-Pompon,\nAdrienne could fully appreciate the various graces of her nymph-like\nfigure. Strange as it may appear, Adrienne was delighted at finding\nthe girl still prettier than she had at first imagined. The stoical\nindifference of Djalma to so attractive a creature was the best proof of\nthe sincerity of the passion by which he was actuated.\n\nHaving taken the hand of Adrienne, Rose-Pompon was herself confused and\nsurprised at the kindness with which Mdlle. de Cardoville permitted\nthis familiarity. Emboldened by this indulgence, and by the silence of\nAdrienne, who for some moments had been contemplating her with almost\ngrateful benevolence, the grisette resumed: \"Oh, you will not refuse,\nmadame? You will take pity on this poor prince?\"\n\nWe cannot tell how Adrienne would have answered this indiscreet question\nof Rose-Pompon, for suddenly a loud, wild, shrill, piercing sound,\nevidently intended to imitate the crowing of a cock, was heard close to\nthe door of the room.\n\nAdrienne started in alarm; but the countenance of Rose Pompon, just now\nso sad, brightened up joyously at this signal, and, clapping her hands\nshe exclaimed, \"It is Philemon!\"\n\n\"What--who?\" said Adrienne, hastily.\n\n\"My lover; oh, the monster! he must have come upstairs on tiptoe, to\ntake me by surprise with his crowing. Just like him!\"\n\nA second cock-a-doodle-doo, still louder than the first, was heard close\nto the door. \"What a stupid, droll creature it is! Always the same joke,\nand yet it always amuses me,\" said Rose-Pompon.\n\nAnd drying her tears with the back of her hand, she began to laugh\nlike one bewitched at Philemon's jest, which, though well known to her,\nalways seemed new and agreeable.\n\n\"Do not open the door,\" whispered Adrienne, much embarrassed; \"do not\nanswer, I beg of you.\"\n\n\"Though the door is bolted, the key is on the outside; Philemon can see\nthat there is some one at home.\"\n\n\"No matter--do not let him in.\"\n\n\"But, madame, he lives here; the room belongs to him.\"\n\nIn fact, Philemon, probably growing tired of the little effect produced\nby his two ornithological imitations, turned the key in the lock, and\nfinding himself unable to open the door, said in a deep bass voice:\n\"What, dearest puss, have you shut yourself in? Are you praying Saint\nFlambard for the return of Philly?\" (short for Philemon.)\n\nAdrienne, not coshing to increase, by prolonging it, the awkwardness of\nthis ridiculous situation, went straight to the door and opened it,\nto the great surprise of Philemon, who recoiled two or three steps.\nNotwithstanding the annoyance of this incident, Mdlle. de Cardoville\ncould not help smiling at sight of Rose-Pompon's lover, and of the\narticles he carried in his hand or under his arm.\n\nPhilemon was a tall fellow, with dark hair and a very fresh color, and,\nbeing just arrived from a journey, he wore a white cap; his thick, black\nbeard flowed down on his sky-blue waistcoat; and a short olive-colored\nvelvet shooting-coat, with extravagantly large plaid trousers, completed\nhis costume. As for the accessories which had provoked a smile from\nAdrienne, they consisted: first, of a portmanteau tucked under his arm,\nwith the head and neck of a goose protruding from it; secondly, of a\ncage held in his hand, with an enormous white rabbit all alive within\nit.\n\n\"Oh! the darling white rabbit! what pretty red eyes!\" Such, it must be\nconfessed, was the first exclamation of Rose-Pompon, though Philemon,\nto whom it was not addressed, had returned after a long absence; but the\nstudent far from being shocked at seeing himself thus sacrificed to his\nlong-earned companion, smiled complacently, rejoicing at the success of\nhis attempt to please his mistress.\n\nAll this passed very rapidly. While Rose-Pompon, kneeling before the\ncage, was still occupied with her admiration of the rabbit, Philemon,\nstruck with the lofty air of Mdlle. de Cardoville, raised his hand to\nhis cap, and bowed respectfully as he made way for her to pass. Adrienne\nreturned his salutation with politeness, full of grace and dignity, and,\nlightly descending the stairs, soon disappeared. Dazzled by her beauty,\nas well as impressed with her noble and lofty bearing, and curious\nto know how in the world Rose-Pompon had fallen in with such an\nacquaintance, Philemon said to her, in his amorous jargon: \"Dearest\npuss! tell her Philly who is that fine lady?\"\n\n\"One of my school-fellows, you great satyr!\" said Rose-Pompon, still\nplaying with the rabbit.\n\nThen, glancing at a box, which Philemon deposited close to the cage and\nthe portmanteau, she added: \"I'll wager anything you have brought me\nsome more preserves!\"\n\n\"Philly has brought something better to his dear puss,\" said the\nstudent, imprinting two vigorous kisses on the rosy cheeks of\nRose-Pompon, who had at length, consented to stand up; \"Philly has\nbrought her his heart.\"\n\n\"Fudge!\" said the grisette, delicately placing the thumb of her left\nhand on the tip of her nose, and opening the fingers, which she slightly\nmoved to and fro. Philemon answered this provocation by putting his arm\naround her waist; and then the happy pair shut their door.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVII. SOOTHING WORDS.\n\nDuring the interview of Adrienne with Rose-Pompon a touching scene took\nplace between Agricola and Mother Bunch, who had been much surprised\nat Mdlle. de Cardoville's condescension with regard to the grisette.\nImmediately after the departure of Adrienne, Agricola had knelt down\nbeside Mother Bunch, and said to her, with profound emotion: \"We are\nalone, and I can at length tell you what weighs upon my heart. This act\nis too cruel--to die of misery and despair, and not to send to me for\nassistance.\"\n\n\"Listen to me, Agricola--\"\n\n\"No, there is no excuse for this. What! we called each other by the\nnames of brother and sister, and for fifteen years gave every proof of\nsincere affection--and, when the day of misfortune comes, you quit life\nwithout caring for those you must leave behind--without considering that\nto kill yourself is to tell them they are indifferent to you!\"\n\n\"Forgive me, Agricola! it is true. I had never thought of that,\" said\nthe workgirl, casting down her eyes; \"but poverty--want of work--\"\n\n\"Misery! want of work! and was I not here?\"\n\n\"And despair!\"\n\n\"But why despair? This generous young lady had received you in her\nhouse; she knew your worth, and treated you as her friend--and just at\nthe moment when you had every chance of happiness, you leave the house\nabruptly, and we remain in the most horrible anxiety on your account.\"\n\n\"I feared--to be--to be a burden to my benefactress,\" stammered she.\n\n\"You a burden to Mdlle. de Cardoville, that is so rich and good!\"\n\n\"I feared to be indiscreet,\" said the sewing-girl, more and more\nembarrassed.\n\nInstead of answering his adopted sister, Agricola remained silent, and\ncontemplated her for some moments with an undefinable expression; then\nhe exclaimed suddenly, as if replying to a question put by himself: \"She\nwill forgive me for disobeying her.--I am sure of it.\"\n\nHe next turned towards Mother Bunch, who was looking at him in\nastonishment, and said to her in a voice of emotion: \"I am too frank\nto keep up this deception. I am reproaching you--blaming you--and my\nthoughts are quite different.\"\n\n\"How so, Agricola?\"\n\n\"My heart aches, when I think of the evil I have done you.\"\n\n\"I do not understand you, my friend; you have never done me any evil.\"\n\n\"What! never? even in little things? when, for instance, yielding to a\ndetestable habit, I, who loved and respected you as my sister, insulted\nyou a hundred times a day?\"\n\n\"Insulted me!\"\n\n\"Yes--when I gave you an odious and ridiculous nickname, instead of\ncalling you properly.\"\n\nAt these words, Mother Bunch looked at the smith in the utmost alarm,\ntrembling lest he had discovered her painful secret, notwithstanding\nthe assurance she had received from Mdlle. de Cardoville. Yet she calmed\nherself a little when she reflected, that Agricola might of himself have\nthought of the humiliation inflicted on her by calling her Mother Bunch,\nand she answered him with a forced smile. \"Can you be grieved at so\nsmall a thing? It was a habit, Agricola, from childhood. When did your\ngood and affectionate mother, who nevertheless loved me as her daughter,\never call me anything else?\"\n\n\"And did my mother consult you about my marriage, speak to you of the\nrare beauty of my bride, beg you to come and see her, and study her\ncharacter, in the hope that the instinct of your affection for me would\nwarn you--if I made a bad choice? Did my mother have this cruelty?--No;\nit was I, who thus pierced your heart!\"\n\nThe fears of the hearer were again aroused; there could be but little\ndoubt that Agricola knew her secret. She felt herself sinking with\nconfusion; yet, making a last effort not to believe the discovery, she\nmurmured in a feeble voice: \"True, Agricola! It was not your mother, but\nyourself, who made me that request--and I was grateful to you for such a\nmark of confidence.\"\n\n\"Grateful, my poor girl!\" cried the smith, whilst his eyes filled\nwith tears; \"no, it is not true. I pained you fearfully--I was\nmerciless--heaven knows, without being aware of it!\"\n\n\"But,\" said the other, in a voice now almost unintelligible, \"what makes\nyou think so?\"\n\n\"Your love for me!\" cried the smith, trembling with emotion, as he\nclasped Mother Bunch in a brotherly embrace.\n\n\"Oh heaven!\" murmured the unfortunate creature, as she covered her face\nwith her hands, \"he knows all.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know all,\" resumed Agricola, with an expression of ineffable\ntenderness and respect: \"yes, I know all, and I will not have you blush\nfor a sentiment, which honors me, and of which I feel so justly proud.\nYes, I know all; and I say to myself with joy and pride, that the best,\nthe most noble heart in the world is mine--will be mine always. Come,\nMagdalen; let us leave shame to evil passions. Raise your eyes, and look\nat me! You know, if my countenance was ever false--if it ever reflected\na feigned emotion. Then look and tell me, if you cannot read in my\nfeatures, how proud I am, Magdalen, how justly proud of your love!\"\n\nOverwhelmed with grief and confusion, Mother Bunch had not dared to look\non Agricola; but his words expressed so deep a conviction, the tones of\nhis voice revealed so tender an emotion, that the poor creature felt her\nshame gradually diminish, particularly when Agricola added, with rising\nanimation: \"Be satisfied, my sweet, my noble Magdalen; I will be worthy\nof this love. Believe me, it shall yet cause you as much happiness as it\nhas occasioned tears. Why should this love be a motive for estrangement,\nconfusion, fear? For what is love, in the sense in which it is held\nby your generous heart? Is it not a continual exchange of devotion,\ntenderness, esteem, of mutual and blind confidence?--Why, Magdalen!\nwe may have all this for one another--devotion, tenderness,\nconfidence--even more than in times past; for, on a thousand occasions,\nyour secret inspired you with fear and suspicion--while, for the future,\non the contrary, you will see me take such delight in the place I fill\nin your good and valiant heart, that you will be happy in the happiness\nyou bestow. What I have just said may seem very selfish and conceited;\nso much the worse! I do not know how to lie.\"\n\nThe longer the smith spoke, the less troubled became Mother Bunch. What\nshe had above all feared in the discovery of her secret was to see it\nreceived with raillery, contempt, or humiliating compassion; far from\nthis, joy and happiness were distinctly visible on the manly and\nhonest face of Agricola. The hunchback knew him incapable of deception;\ntherefore she exclaimed, this time without shame or confusion, but\nrather with a sort of pride.\n\n\"Every sincere and pure passion is so far good and con soling as to end\nby deserving interest and sympathy, when it has triumphed over its first\nexcess! It is alike honorable to the heart which feels and that which\ninspires it!--Thanks to you, Agricola--thanks to the kind words, which\nhave raised me in my own esteem--I feel that, instead of blushing, I\nought to be proud of this love. My benefactress is right--you are right:\nwhy should I be ashamed of it? Is it not a true and sacred love? To be\nnear you, to love you, to tell you so, to prove it by constant devotion,\nwhat did I ever desire more? And yet shame and fear, joined with that\ndizziness of the brain which extreme misery produces, drove me to\nsuicide!--But then some allowance must be made for the suspicions of a\npoor creature, who has been the subject of ridicule from her cradle.\nSo my secret was to die with me, unless some unforeseen accident should\nreveal it to you; and, in that case, you are right--sure of myself, sure\nof you, I ought to have feared nothing. But I may claim some indulgence;\nmistrust, cruel mistrust of one's self makes one doubt others also. Let\nus forget all that. Agricola, my generous brother, I will say to you,\nas you said to me just now, 'Look at me; you know my countenance cannot\nlie. Look at me: see if I shun your gaze; see if, ever in my life, I\nlooked so happy'--and yet, even now, I was about to die!\"\n\nShe spoke the truth. Agricola himself could not have hoped so prompt an\neffect from his words. In spite of the deep traces which misery, grief,\nand sickness had imprinted on the girl's features, they now shone with\nradiant happiness and serenity, whilst her blue eyes, gentle and pure as\nher soul, were fixed, without embarrassment, on those of Agricola.\n\n\"Oh! thanks, thanks!\" cried the smith, in a rapture of delight: \"when I\nsee you so calm, and so happy, Magdalen, I am indeed grateful.\"\n\n\"Yes, I am calm, I am happy,\" replied she; \"and happy I shall be, for\nI can now tell you my most secret thoughts. Yes, happy; for this day,\nwhich began so fatally, ends like a divine dream. Far from being afraid,\nI now look at you with hope and joy. I have again found my generous\nbenefactress, and I am tranquil as to the fate of my poor sister.\nOh! shall we not soon see her? I should like her to take part in this\nhappiness.\"\n\nShe seemed so happy, that the smith did not dare to inform her of the\ndeath of Cephyse, and reserved himself to communicate the same at a\nmore fitting opportunity. Therefore he answered: \"Cephyse, being the\nstronger, has been the more shaken; it will not be prudent, I am told,\nto see her to-day.\"\n\n\"I will wait then. I can repress my impatience, I have so much to say to\nyou.\"\n\n\"Dear, gentle Magdalen!\"\n\n\"Oh, my friend!\" cried the girl, interrupting Agricola, with tears of\njoy: \"I cannot tell you what I feel, when I hear you call me Magdalen.\nIt is so sweet, so soothing, that my heart expands with delight.\"\n\n\"Poor girl! how dreadfully she must have suffered!\" cried the smith,\nwith inexpressible emotion, \"when she displays so much happiness, so\nmuch gratitude, at being called by her own poor name!\"\n\n\"But consider, my friend; that word in your mouth contains a new life\nfor me. If you only knew what hopes, what pleasures I can now see\ngleaming in the future! If you knew all the cherished longings of my\ntenderness! Your wife, the charming Angela, with her angel face and\nangel-soul--oh! in my turn, I can say to, you, 'Look at me, and see how\nsweet that name is to my lips and heart!' Yes, your charming, your\ngood Angela will call me Magdalen--and your children, Agricola,\nyour children!--dear little creatures!--to them also I shall be\nMagdalen--their good Magdalen--and the love I shall bear them will make\nthem mine, as well as their mother's--and I shall have my part in\nevery maternal care--and they will belong to us three; will they not,\nAgricola?--Oh! let me, let me weep! These tears without bitterness do me\nso much good; they are tears that need not be concealed. Thank heaven!\nthank you, my friend! those other tears are I trust dried forever.\"\n\nFor some seconds, this affecting scene had been overlooked by an\ninvisible witness. The smith and Mother Bunch had not perceived Mdlle.\nde Cardoville standing on the threshold of the door. As Mother Bunch\nhad said, this day, which dawned with all under such fatal auspices, had\nbecome for all a day of ineffable felicity. Adrienne, too, was full of\njoy, for Djalma had been faithful to her, Djalma loved her with passion.\nThe odious appearances, of which she had been the dupe and victim,\nevidently formed part of a new plot of Rodin, and it only remained for\nMdlle. de Cardoville to discover the end of these machinations.\n\nAnother joy was reserved for her. The happy are quick in detecting\nhappiness in others, and Adrienne guessed, by the hunchback's last\nwords, that there was no longer any secret between the smith and the\nsempstress. She could not therefore help exclaiming, as she entered:\n\"Oh! this will be the brightest day of my life, for I shall not be happy\nalone!\"\n\nAgricola and Mother Bunch turned round hastily. \"Lady,\" said the smith,\n\"in spite of the promise I made you, I could not conceal from Magdalen\nthat I knew she loved me!\"\n\n\"Now that I no longer blush for this love before Agricola, why should I\nblush for it before you, lady, that told me to be proud of it, because\nit is noble and pure?\" said Mother Bunch, to whom her happiness gave\nstrength enough to rise, and to lean upon Agricola's arm.\n\n\"It is well, my friend,\" said Adrienne, as she threw her arms round her\nto support her; \"only one word, to excuse the indiscretion with which\nyou will perhaps reproach me. If I told your secret to M. Agricola--\"\n\n\"Do you know why it was, Magdalen?\" cried the smith, interrupting\nAdrienne. \"It was only another proof of the lady's delicate generosity.\n'I long hesitate to confide to you this secret,' said she to me this\nmorning, 'but I have at length made up my mind to it. We shall probably\nfind your adopted sister; you have been to her the best of brothers:\nbut many times, without knowing it, you have wounded her feelings\ncruelly--and now that you know her secret, I trust in your kind heart to\nkeep it faithfully, and so spare the poor child a thousand pangs--pangs\nthe more bitter, because they come from you, and are suffered in\nsilence. Hence, when you speak to her of your wife, your domestic\nhappiness, take care not to gall that noble and tender heart.'--Yes,\nMagdalen, these were the reasons that led the lady to commit what she\ncalled an indiscretion.\"\n\n\"I want words to thank you now and ever,\" said Mother Bunch.\n\n\"See, my friend,\" replied Adrienne, \"how often the designs of the wicked\nturn against themselves. They feared your devotion to me, and therefore\nemployed that unhappy Florine to steal your journal--\"\n\n\"So as to drive me from your house with shame, lady, When I supposed my\nmost secret thoughts an object of ridicule to all. There can be no doubt\nsuch was their plan,\" said Mother Bunch.\n\n\"None, my child. Well! this horrible wickedness, which nearly caused\nyour death, now turns to the confusion of the criminals. Their plot is\ndiscovered--and, luckily, many other of their designs,\" said Adrienne,\nas she thought of Rose-Pompon.\n\nThen she resumed, with heartfelt joy: \"At last, we are again united,\nhappier than ever, and in our very happiness we shall find new resources\nto combat our enemies. I say our enemies--for all that love me are\nodious to these wretches. But courage, the hour is come, and the good\npeople will have their turn.\"\n\n\"Thank heaven, lady,\" said the smith; \"or my part, I shall not be\nwanting in zeal. What delight to strip them of their mask!\"\n\n\"Let me remind you, M. Baudoin, that you have an appointment for to\nmorrow with M. Hardy.\"\n\n\"I have not forgotten it, lady, any more than the generous offers I am\nto convey to him.\"\n\n\"That is nothing. He belongs to my family. Tell him (what indeed I\nshall write to him this evening), that the funds necessary to reopen his\nfactory are at his disposal; I do not say so for his sake only, but for\nthat of a hundred families reduced to want. Beg him to quit immediately\nthe fatal abode to which they have taken him: for a thousand reasons he\nshould be on his guard against all that surround him.\"\n\n\"Be satisfied, lady. The letter he wrote to me in reply to the one I got\nsecretly delivered to him, was short, affectionate, sad--but he grants\nme the interview I had asked for, and I am sure I shall be able to\npersuade him to leave that melancholy dwelling, and perhaps to depart\nwith me, he has always had so much confidence in my attachment.\"\n\n\"Well, M. Baudoin, courage!\" said Adrienne, as she threw her cloak over\nthe workgirl's shoulders, and wrapped her round with care. \"Let us be\ngone, for it is late. As soon as we get home, I will give you a letter\nfor M. Hardy, and to-morrow you will come and tell me the result of your\nvisit. No, not to-morrow,\" she added, blushing slightly. \"Write to me\nto-morrow, and the day after, about twelve, come to me.\"\n\nSome minutes later, the young sempstress, supported by Agricola and\nAdrienne, had descended the stairs of that gloomy house, and, being\nplaced in the carriage by the side of Mdlle. de Cardoville, she\nearnestly entreated to be allowed to see Cephyse; it was in vain that\nAgricola assured her it was impossible, and that she should see her the\nnext day. Thanks to the information derived from Rose-Pompon, Mdlle. de\nCardoville was reasonably suspicious of all those who surrounded Djalma,\nand she therefore took measures, that, very evening, to have a letter\ndelivered to the prince by what she considered a sure hand.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVIII. THE TWO CARRIAGES.\n\nIt is the evening of the day on which Mdlle. de Cardoville prevented the\nsewing-girl's suicide. It strikes eleven; the night is dark; the\nwind blows with violence, and drives along great black clouds, which\ncompletely hide the pale lustre of the moon. A hackney-coach, drawn by\ntwo broken-winded horses, ascends slowly and with difficulty the slope\nof the Rue Blanche, which is pretty steep near the barrier, in the part\nwhere is situated the house occupied by Djalma.\n\nThe coach stops. The coachman, cursing the length of an interminable\ndrive \"within the circuit,\" leading at last to this difficult ascent,\nturns round on his box, leans over towards the front window of the\nvehicle, and says in a gruff tone to the person he is driving: \"Come!\nare we almost there? From the Rue de Vaugirard to the Barriere Blanche,\nis a pretty good stretch, I think, without reckoning that the night\nis so dark, that one can hardly see two steps before one--and the\nstreet-lamps not lighted because of the moon, which doesn't shine, after\nall!\"\n\n\"Look out for a little door with a portico-drive on about twenty yards\nbeyond--and then stop close to the wall,\" answered a squeaking voice,\nimpatiently, and with an Italian accent.\n\n\"Here is a beggarly Dutchman, that will make me as savage as a bear?\"\nmuttered the angry Jehu to himself. Then he added: \"Thousand thunders!\nI tell you that I can't see. How the devil can I find out your little\ndoor?\"\n\n\"Have you no sense? Follow the wall to the right, brush against it, and\nyou will easily find the little door. It is next to No. 50. If you do\nnot find it, you must be drunk,\" answered the Italian, with increased\nbitterness.\n\nThe coachman only replied by swearing like a trooper, and whipping up\nhis jaded horses. Then, keeping close to the wall, he strained his eyes\nin trying to read the numbers of the houses, by the aid of his carriage\nlamps.\n\nAfter some moments, the coach again stopped. \"I have passed No. 50, and\nhere is a little door with a portico,\" said the coachman. \"Is that the\none?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the voice. \"Now go forward some twenty yards, and then\nstop.\"\n\n\"Well! I never--\"\n\n\"Then get down from your box, and give twice three knocks at the little\ndoor we have just passed--you understand me?--twice three knocks.\"\n\n\"Is that all you give me to drink?\" cried the exasperated coachman.\n\n\"When you have taken me back to the Faubourg Saint-Germain, where I\nlive, you shall have something handsome, if you do but manage matters\nwell.\"\n\n\"Ha! now the Faubourg Saint-Germain! Only that little bit of distance!\"\nsaid the driver, with repressed rage. \"And I who have winded my horses,\nwanted to be on the boulevard by the time the play was out. Well,\nI'm blowed!\" Then, putting a good face on his bad luck, and consoling\nhimself with the thought of the promised drink-money, he resumed: \"I am\nto give twice three knocks at the little door?\"\n\n\"Yes; three knocks first--then pause--then three other knocks. Do you\nunderstand?\"\n\n\"What next?\"\n\n\"Tell the person who comes, that he is waited for, and bring him here to\nthe coach.\"\n\n\"The devil burn you!\" said the coachman to himself, as he turned round\non the box, and whipped up his horses, adding: \"this crusty old Dutchman\nhas something to do with Free-masons, or, perhaps, smugglers, seeing we\nare so near the gates. He deserves my giving him in charge, for bringing\nme all the way from the Rue de Vaugirard.\"\n\nAt twenty steps beyond the little door, the coach again stopped, and the\ncoachman descended from the box to execute the orders he had received.\nGoing to the little door, he knocked three times; then paused, as he had\nbeen desired, and then knocked three times more. The clouds, which had\nhitherto been so thick as entirely to conceal the disk of the moon, just\nthen withdrew sufficiently to afford a glimmering light, so that when\nthe door opened at the signal, the coachman saw a middle-sized person\nissue from it, wrapped in a cloak, and wearing a colored cap.\n\nThis man carefully locked the door, and then advanced two steps into the\nstreet. \"They are waiting for you,\" said the coachman; \"I am to take you\nalong with me to the coach.\"\n\nPreceding the man with the cloak, who only answered him by a nod, he led\nhim to the coach-door, which he was about to open, and to let down the\nstep, when the voice exclaimed from the inside: \"It is not necessary.\nThe gentleman may talk to me through the window. I will call you when it\nis time to start.\"\n\n\"Which means that I shall be kept here long enough to send you to all\nthe devils!\" murmured the driver. \"However, I may as well walk about,\njust to stretch my legs.\"\n\nSo saying, he began to walk up and down, by the side of the wall in\nwhich was the little door. Presently he heard the distant sound of\nwheels, which soon came nearer and nearer, and a carriage, rapidly\nascending the slope, stopped on the other side of the little\ngarden-door.\n\n\"Come, I say! a private carriage!\" said the coachman. \"Good horses\nthose, to come up the Rue Blanche at a trot.\"\n\nThe coachman was just making this observation, when, by favor of a\nmomentary gleam of light, he saw a man step from the carriage, advance\nrapidly to the little door, open it, and go in, closing it after him.\n\n\"It gets thicker and thicker!\" said the coachman. \"One comes out, and\nthe other goes in.\"\n\nSo saying, he walked up to the carriage. It was splendidly harnessed,\nand drawn by two handsome and vigorous horses. The driver sat\nmotionless, in his great box-coat, with the handle of his whip resting\non his right knee.\n\n\"Here's weather to drive about in, with such tidy dukes as yours,\ncomrade!\" said the humble hackney-coachman to this automaton, who\nremained mute and impassible, without even appearing to know that he was\nspoken to.\n\n\"He doesn't understand French--he's an Englishman. One could tell that\nby his horses,\" said the coachman, putting this interpretation on the\nsilence of his brother whip. Then, perceiving a tall footman at a little\ndistance, dressed in a long gray livery coat, with blue collar and\nsilver buttons, the coachman addressed himself to him, by way of\ncompensation, but without much varying his phrase: \"Here's nice weather\nto stand about in, comrade!\" On the part of the footman, he was met with\nthe same imperturbable silence.\n\n\"They're both Englishmen,\" resumed the coachman, philosophically;\nand, though somewhat astonished at the incident of the little door, he\nrecommenced his walk in the direction of his own vehicle.\n\nWhile these facts were passing, the man in the cloak, and the man with\nthe Italian accent continued their conversation, the one still in the\ncoach, and the other leaning with his hand on the door. It had already\nlasted for some time, and was carried on in Italian. They were evidently\ntalking of some absent person, as will appear from the following.\n\n\"So,\" said the voice from the coach, \"that is agreed to?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord,\" answered the man in the cloak; \"but only in case the\neagle should become a serpent.\"\n\n\"And, in the contrary event, you will receive the other half of the\nivory crucifix I gave you.\"\n\n\"I shall know what it means, my lord.\"\n\n\"Continue to merit and preserve his confidence.\"\n\n\"I will merit and preserve it, my lord, because I admire and respect\nthis man, who is stronger than the strongest, by craft, and courage, and\nwill. I have knelt before him with humility, as I would kneel before one\nof the three black idols that stand between Bowanee and her worshippers;\nfor his religion, like mine, teaches to change life into nothingness.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" said the voice, in a tone of some embarrassment; \"these\ncomparisons are useless and inaccurate. Only think of obeying him,\nwithout explaining your obedience.\"\n\n\"Let him speak, and I perform his will! I am in his hands like a corpse,\nas he himself expresses it. He has seen, he sees every day, my devotion\nto his interests with regard to Prince Djalma. He has only to say: 'Kill\nhim!'and this son of a king--\"\n\n\"For heaven's salve, do not have such ideas!\" cried the voice,\ninterrupting the man in the cloak. \"Thank heaven, you will never be\nasked for such proofs of your submission.\"\n\n\"What I am ordered I do. Bowanee sees me.\"\n\n\"I do not doubt your zeal. I know that you are a loving and intelligent\nbarrier, placed between the prince and many guilty interests; and it is\nbecause I have heard of that zeal, of your skill in circumventing this\nyoung Indian, and, above all, of the motives of your blind devotion,\nthat I have wished to inform you of everything. You are the fanatical\nworshipper of him you serve. That is well; man should be the obedient\nslave of the god he chooses for himself.\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord; so long as the god remains a god.\"\n\n\"We understand each other perfectly. As for your recompense, you know\nwhat I have promised.\"\n\n\"My lord, I have my reward already.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"I know what I know.\"\n\n\"Very well. Then as for secrecy--\"\n\n\"You have securities, my lord.\"\n\n\"Yes--and sufficient ones.\"\n\n\"The interest of the cause I serve, my lord, would alone be enough to\nsecure my zeal and discretion.\"\n\n\"True; you are a man of firm and ardent convictions.\"\n\n\"I strive to be so, my lord.\"\n\n\"And, after all, a very religious man in your way. It is very\npraiseworthy, in these irreligious times, to have any views at all on\nsuch matters--particularly when those views will just enable me to count\nupon your aid.\"\n\n\"You may count upon it, my lord, for the same reason that the intrepid\nhunter prefers a jackal to ten foxes, a tiger to ten jackals, a lion to\nten tigers, and the welmiss to ten lions.\"\n\n\"What is the welmiss?\"\n\n\"It is what spirit is to matter, the blade to the scabbard, the perfume\nto the flower, the head to the body.\"\n\n\"I understand. There never was a more just comparison. You are a man of\nsound judgment. Always recollect what you have just told me, and make\nyourself more and more worthy of the confidence of--your idol.\"\n\n\"Will he soon be in a state to hear me, my lord?\"\n\n\"In two or three days, at most. Yesterday a providential crisis saved\nhis life; and he is endowed with so energetic a will, that his cure will\nbe very rapid.\"\n\n\"Shall you see him again to-morrow, my lord?\"\n\n\"Yes, before my departure, to bid him farewell.\"\n\n\"Then tell him a strange circumstance, of which I have not been able to\ninform him, but which happened yesterday.\"\n\n\"What was it?\"\n\n\"I had gone to the garden of the dead. I saw funerals everywhere, and\nlighted torches, in the midst of the black night, shining upon tombs.\nBowanee smiled in her ebon sky. As I thought of that divinity of\ndestruction, I beheld with joy the dead-cart emptied of its coffins.\nThe immense pit yawned like the mouth of hell; corpses were heaped\nupon corpses, and still it yawned the same. Suddenly, by the light of a\ntorch, I saw an old man beside me. He wept. I had seen him before. He is\na Jew--the keeper of the house in the Rue Saint-Francois--you know what\nI mean.\" Here the man in the cloak started.\n\n\"Yes, I know; but what is the matter? why do you stop short?\"\n\n\"Because in that house there has been for a hundred and fifty years the\nportrait of a man whom I once met in the centre of India, on the banks\nof the Ganges.\" And the man in the cloak again paused and shuddered.\n\n\"A singular resemblance, no doubt.\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord, a singular resemblance--nothing more.\"\n\n\"But the Jew--the old Jew?\"\n\n\"I am coming to that, my lord. Still weeping, he said to a gravedigger,\n'Well! and the coffin?' 'You were right,' answered the man; 'I found it\nin the second row of the other grave. It had the figure of a cross on\nit, formed by seven black nails. But how could you know the place and\nthe mark?' 'Alas! it is no matter,' replied the old Jew, with bitter\nmelancholy. 'You see that I was but too well informed on the subject.\nBut where is the coffin?' 'Behind the great tomb of black marble; I have\nhidden it there. So make haste; for, in the confusion, nothing will be\nnoticed. You have paid me well, and I wish you to succeed in what you\nrequire.'\"\n\n\"And what did the old Jew do with the coffin marked with the seven black\nnails?\"\n\n\"Two men accompanied him, my lord, bearing a covered litter, with\ncurtains drawn round it. He lighted a lantern, and, followed by these\ntwo men, went towards the place pointed out by the gravedigger. A\nstoppage, occasioned by the dead-carts, made me lose sight of the old\nJew, whom I was following amongst the tombs. Afterwards I was unable to\nfind him.\"\n\n\"It is indeed a strange affair. What could this old Jew want with the\ncoffin?\"\n\n\"It is said, my lord, that they use dead bodies in preparing their magic\ncharms.\"\n\n\"Those unbelievers are capable of anything--even of holding\ncommunication with the Enemy of mankind. However, we will look after\nthis: the discovery may be of importance.\"\n\nAt this instant a clock struck twelve in the distance.\n\n\"Midnight! already?\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord.\"\n\n\"I must be gone. Good-bye--but for the last time swear to me that,\nshould matters so turn out, as soon as you receive the other half of the\nivory crucifix I have just given you, you will keep your promise.\"\n\n\"I have sworn it by Bowanee, my lord.\"\n\n\"Don't forget that, to make all sure, the person who will deliver to you\nthe other half of the crucifix is to say--come, what is he to say?\"\n\n\"He is to say, my lord: 'There is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the\nlip.'\"\n\n\"Very well. Adieu! secrecy and fidelity!\"\n\n\"Secrecy and fidelity, my lord,\" answered the man in the cloak.\n\nSome seconds after the hackney-coach started, carrying with it Cardinal\nMalipieri, one of the speakers in the above dialogue. The other, whom\nthe reader has no doubt recognized as Faringhea, returned to the little\ngarden-door of the house occupied by Djalma. At the moment he\nwas putting the key into the lock, the door opened, to his great\nastonishment, and a man came forth. Faringhea rushed upon the unknown,\nseized him violently by the collar, and exclaimed: \"Who are you? whence\ncame you?\"\n\nThe stranger evidently found the tone of this question anything but\nsatisfactory; for, instead of answering, he struggled to disengage\nhimself from Faringhea's hold, and cried out, in a loud voice: \"Help!\nPeter!\"\n\nInstantly the carriage, which had been standing a few yards off, dashed\nup at full speed, and Peter, the tall footman, seizing the half-breed by\nthe shoulders, flung him back several paces, and thus made a seasonable\ndiversion in favor of the unknown.\n\n\"Now, sir,\" said the latter to Faringhea, shaking himself, and still\nprotected by the gigantic footman, \"I am in a state to answer your\nquestions, though you certainly have a very rough way of receiving an\nold acquaintance. I am Dupont, ex-bailiff of the estate of Cardoville,\nand it was I who helped to fish you out of the water, when the ship was\nwrecked in which you had embarked.\"\n\nBy the light of the carriage-lamps, indeed, the half-caste\nrecognized the good, honest face of Dupont, formerly bailiff, and now\nhouse-steward, to Mdlle. de Cardoville. It must not be forgotten that\nDupont had been the first to write to Mdlle. de Cardoville, to ask her\nto interest herself for Djalma, who was then detained at Cardoville\nCastle by the injuries he had received during the shipwreck.\n\n\"But, sir, what is your business here? Why do you introduce yourself\nclandestinely into this house?\" said Faringhea, in an abrupt and\nsuspicious tone.\n\n\"I will--just observe to you that there is nothing clandestine in the\nmatter. I came here in a carriage, with servants in the livery of my\nexcellent mistress, Mdlle. de Cardoville, charged by her, without any\ndisguise or mystery, to deliver a letter to Prince Djalma, her cousin,\"\nreplied Dupont, with dignity.\n\nOn these words, Faringhea trembled with mute rage, as he answered: \"And\nwhy, sir, come at this late hour, and introduce yourself by this little\ndoor?\"\n\n\"I came at this hour, my dear sir, because such was Mdlle. de\nCardoville's command, and I entered by this little gate because there is\nevery reason to believe that if I had gone around to the other I should\nnot have been permitted to see the prince.\"\n\n\"You are mistaken, sir,\" replied the half-caste.\n\n\"It is possible: but as we knew that the prince usually passed a good\nportion of the night in the little saloon, which communicates with the\ngreenhouse, and as Mdlle. de Cardoville had kept a duplicate key of this\ndoor, I was pretty certain, by taking this course, to be able to deliver\ninto the prince's own hands the letter from Mdlle. de Cardoville, his\ncousin, which I have now had the honor of doing, my dear sir; and I have\nbeen deeply touched by the kindness with which the prince deigned to\nreceive me and to remember our last interview.\"\n\n\"And who kept you so well informed, sir, of the prince's habits?\" said\nFaringhea, unable to control his vexation.\n\n\"If I have been well informed as to his habits, my dear sir, I have had\nno such correct knowledge of yours,\" answered Dupont, with a mocking\nair; \"for I assure you that I had no more notion of seeing you than you\nhad of seeing me.\"\n\nSo saying, M. Dupont bowed with something like mock politeness to the\nhalf-caste, and got into the carriage, which drove off rapidly, leaving\nFaringhea in a state of the utmost surprise and anger.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIX. THE APPOINTMENT.\n\nThe morning after--Dupont's mission to Prince Djalma, the latter was\nwalking with hasty and impatient step up and down the little saloon,\nwhich communicated, as we already know, with the greenhouse from which\nAdrienne had entered when she first appeared to him. In remembrance of\nthat day, he had chosen to dress himself as on the occasion in question;\nhe wore the same tunic of white cashmere, with a cherry-colored turban,\nto match with his girdle; his gaiters, of scarlet velvet, embroidered\nwith silver, displayed the fine form of his leg, and terminated in small\nwhite morocco slippers, with red heels. Happiness has so instantaneous,\nand, as it were, material an influence upon young, lively, and ardent\nnatures, that Djalma, dejected and despairing only the day before,\nwas no longer like the same person. The pale, transparent gold of his\ncomplexion was no longer tarnished by a livid hue. His large eyes, of\nlate obscured like black diamonds by a humid vapor, now shone with mild\nradiance in the centre of their pearly setting; his lips, long pale,\nhad recovered their natural color, which was rich and soft as the fine\npurple flowers of his country.\n\nEver and anon, pausing in his hasty walk, he stopped suddenly, and\ndrew from his bosom a little piece of paper, carefully folded, which he\npressed to his lips with enthusiastic ardor. Then, unable to restrain\nthe expression of his full happiness, he uttered a full and sonorous\ncry of joy, and with a bound he was in front of the plate-glass which\nseparated the saloon from the conservatory, in which he had first seen\nMdlle. de Cardoville. By a singular power of remembrance, or marvellous\nhallucination of a mind possessed by a fixed idea, Djalma had often\nseen, or fancied he saw, the adored semblance of Adrienne appear to him\nthrough this sheet of crystal. The illusion had been so complete, that,\nwith his eyes ardently fixed on the vision he invoked, he had been able,\nwith the aid of a pencil dipped in carmine, to trace with astonishing\nexactness, the profile of the ideal countenance which the delirium\nof his imagination had presented to his view.(42) It was before\nthese delicate lines of bright carmine that Djalma now stood in deep\ncontemplation, after perusing and reperusing, and raising twenty times\nto his lips, the letter he had received the night before from the hands\nof Dupont. Djalma was not alone. Faringhea watched all the movements\nof the prince, with a subtle, attentive, and gloomy aspect. Standing\nrespectfully in a corner of the saloon, the half-caste appeared to be\noccupied in unfolding and spreading out Djalma's sash, light, silky\nIndian web, the brown ground of which was almost entirely concealed by\nthe exquisite gold and silver embroidery with which it was overlaid.\n\nThe countenance of the half-caste wore a dark and gloomy expression.\nHe could not deceive himself. The letter from Mdlle. de Cardoville,\ndelivered by Dupont to Djalma, must have been the cause of the delight\nhe now experienced, for, without doubt, he knew himself beloved. In that\nevent, his obstinate silence towards Faringhea, ever since the latter\nhad entered the saloon, greatly alarmed the half-caste, who could not\ntell what interpretation to put upon it. The night before, after parting\nwith Dupont, he had hastened, in a state of anxiety easily understood,\nto look for the prince, in the hope of ascertaining the effect produced\nby Mdlle. de Cardoville's letter. But he found the parlor door closed,\nand when he knocked, he received no answer from within. Then, though the\nnight was far advanced, he had dispatched a note to Rodin, in which he\ninformed him of Dupont's visit and its probable intention. Djalma had\nindeed passed the night in a tumult of happiness and hope, and a fever\nof impatience quite impossible to describe. Repairing to his bed-chamber\nonly towards the morning, he had taken a few moments of repose, and had\nthen dressed himself without assistance.\n\nMany times, but in vain, the half-caste had discreetly knocked at\nthe door of Djalma's apartment. It was only in the early part of the\nafternoon that the prince had rung the bell to order his carriage to be\nready by half-past two. Faringhea having presented himself, the prince\nhad given him the order without looking at him, as he might have done to\nany other of his servants. Was this suspicion, aversion, or mere absence\nof mind on the part of Djalma? Such were the questions which the half\ncaste put to himself with growing anguish; for the designs of which he\nwas the most active and immediate instrument might all be ruined by the\nleast suspicion in the prince.\n\n\"Oh! the hours--the hours--how slow they are!\" cried the young Indian,\nsuddenly, in a low and trembling voice.\n\n\"The day before yesterday, my lord, you said the hours were very long,\"\nobserved Faringhea, as he drew near Djalma in order to attract his\nattention. Seeing that he did not succeed in this he advanced a few\nsteps nearer, and resumed: \"Your joy seems very great, my lord; tell the\ncause of it to your poor and faithful servant, that he also may rejoice\nwith you.\"\n\nIf he heard the words, Djalma did not pay any attention to them. He made\nno answer, and his large black eyes gazed upon vacancy. He seemed to\nsmile admiringly upon some enchanting vision, and he folded his two\nhands upon his bosom, in the attitude which his countrymen assume at\nthe hour of prayer. After some instants of contemplation, he said: \"What\no'clock is it?\"--but he asked this question of himself, rather than of\nany third person.\n\n\"It will soon be two o'clock, my lord,\" said Faringhea.\n\nHaving heard this answer, Djalma seated himself, and hid his face in his\nhands, as if completely absorbed in some ineffable meditation. Urged on\nby his growing anxiety, and wishing at any cost to attract the attention\nof Djalma, Faringhea approached still nearer to him, and, almost certain\nof the effect of the words he was about to utter, said to him in a slow\nand emphatic voice: \"My lord, I am sure that you owe the happiness which\nnow transports you to Mdlle. de Cardoville.\"\n\nHardly had this name been pronounced, than Djalma started from his\nchair, looked the half-breed full in the face, and exclaimed, as if only\njust aware of his presence, \"Faringhea! you here!--what is the matter?\"\n\n\"Your faithful servant shares in your joy, my lord.\"\n\n\"What joy?\"\n\n\"That which the letter of Mdlle. de Cardoville has occasioned, my lord.\"\n\nDjalma returned no answer, but his eye shone with so much serene\nhappiness, that the half-caste recovered from his apprehensions. No\ncloud of doubt or suspicion obscured the radiant features of the prince.\nAfter a few moments of silence, Djalma fixed upon the half-caste a look\nhalf-veiled with a tear of joy, and said to him, with the expression of\none whose heart overflows with love and happiness: \"Oh! such delight is\ngood--great--like heaven!--for it is heaven which--\"\n\n\"You deserve this happiness, my lord, after so many sufferings.\"\n\n\"What sufferings?--Oh! yes. I formerly suffered at Java; but that was\nyears ago.\"\n\n\"My lord, this great good fortune does not astonish me. What have I\nalways told you? Do not despair; feign a violent passion for some other\nwoman, and then this proud young lady--\"\n\nAt these words Djalma looked at the half-caste with so piercing a\nglance, that the latter stopped short; but the prince said to him with\naffectionate goodness, \"Go on! I listen.\"\n\nThen, leaning his chin upon his hand, and his elbow on his knee, he\ngazed so intently on Faringhea, and yet with such unutterable mildness,\nthat even that iron soul was touched for a moment with a slight feeling\nof remorse.\n\n\"I was saying, my lord,\" he resumed, \"that by following the counsels of\nyour faithful slave, who persuaded you to feign a passionate love for\nanother woman, you have brought the proud Mdlle. de Cardoville to come\nto you. Did I not tell you it would be so?\"\n\n\"Yes, you did tell me so,\" answered Djalma, still maintaining the same\nposition, and examining the half-caste with the same fixed and mild\nattention.\n\nThe surprise of Faringhea increased; generally, the prince, without\ntreating him with the least harshness, preserved the somewhat distant\nand imperious manners of their common country, and he had never before\nspoken to him with such extreme mildness. Knowing all the evil he\nhad done the prince, and suspicious as the wicked must ever be, the\nhalf-caste thought for a moment, that his master's apparent kindness\nmight conceal a snare. He continued, therefore, with less assurance,\n\"Believe me, my lord, this day, if you do but know how to profit by your\nadvantages, will console you for all your troubles, which have indeed\nbeen great--for only yesterday, though you were generous enough to\nforget it, only yesterday you suffered cruelly--but you were not alone\nin your sufferings. This proud young lady suffered also!\"\n\n\"Do you think so?\" said Djalma.\n\n\"Oh! it is quite sure, my lord. What must she not have felt, when she\nsaw you at the theatre with another woman!--If she loved you only a\nlittle, she must have been deeply wounded in her self-esteem; if she\nloved you with passion, she must have been struck to the heart. At\nlength, you see, wearied out with suffering, she has come to you.\"\n\n\"So that, any way, she must have suffered--and that does not move your\npity?\" said Djalma, in a constrained, but still very mild voice.\n\n\"Before thinking of others, my lord, I think of your distresses; and\nthey touch me too nearly to leave me any pity for other woes,\" added\nFaringhea hypocritically, so greatly had the influence of Rodin already\nmodified the character of the Phansegar.\n\n\"It is strange!\" said Djalma, speaking to himself, as he viewed the half\ncaste with a glance still kind but piercing.\n\n\"What is strange, my lord?\"\n\n\"Nothing. But tell me, since your advice has hitherto prospered so well,\nwhat think you of the future?\"\n\n\"Of the future, my lord?\"\n\n\"Yes; in an hour I shall be with Mdlle. de Cardoville.\"\n\n\"That is a serious matter, my lord. The whole future will depend upon\nthis interview.\"\n\n\"That is what I was just thinking.\"\n\n\"Believe me, my lord, women never love any so well, as the bold man who\nspares them the embarrassment of a refusal.\"\n\n\"Explain more fully.\"\n\n\"Well, my lord, they despise the timid and languishing lover, who asks\nhumbly for what he might take by force.\"\n\n\"But to-day I shall meet Mdlle. de Cardoville for the first time.\"\n\n\"You have met her a thousand times in your dreams, my lord; and depend\nupon it, she has seen you also in her dreams, since she loves you. Every\none of your amorous thoughts has found an echo in her heart. All your\nardent adorations have been responded to by her. Love has not two\nlanguages, and, without meeting, you have said all that you had to say\nto each other. Now, it is for you to act as her master, and she will be\nyours entirely.\"\n\n\"It is strange--very strange!\" said Djalma, a second time, without\nremoving his eyes from Faringhea's face.\n\nMistaking the sense which the prince attached to these words, the half\ncaste resumed: \"Believe me, my lord, however strange it may appear, this\nis the wisest course. Remember the past. Was it by playing the part of a\ntimid lover that you have brought to your feet this proud young lady,\nmy lord? No, it was by pretending to despise her, in favor of another\nwoman. Therefore, let us have no weakness. The lion does not woo like\nthe poor turtle-dove. What cares the sultan of the desert for a few\nplaintive howls from the lioness, who is more pleased than angry at his\nrude and wild caresses? Soon submissive, fearful and happy, she follows\nin the track of her master. Believe me, my lord--try everything--dare\neverything--and to-day you will become the adored sultan of this young\nlady, whose beauty all Paris admires.\"\n\nAfter some minutes' silence, Djalma, shaking his head with an expression\nof tender pity, said to the half-caste, in his mild, sonorous voice:\n\"Why betray me thus? Why advise me thus wickedly to use violence,\nterror, and surprise, towards an angel of purity, whom I respect as\nmy mother? Is it not enough for you to have been so long devoted to my\nenemies, whose hatred has followed me from Java?\"\n\nHad Djalma sprung upon the half-caste with bloodshot eye, menacing\nbrow, and lifted poniard, the latter would have been less surprised,\nand perhaps less frightened, than when he heard the prince speak of his\ntreachery in this tone of mild reproach.\n\nHe drew back hastily, as if about to stand on his guard. But Djalma\nresumed, with the same gentleness, \"Fear nothing. Yesterday I should\nhave killed you! But to-day happy love renders me too just, too merciful\nfor that. I pity you, without any feeling of bitterness--for you must\nhave been very unhappy, or you could not have become so wicked.\"\n\n\"My lord!\" said the half-caste, with growing amazement.\n\n\"Yes, you must have suffered much, and met with little mercy, poor\ncreature, to have become so merciless, in your hate, and proof against\nthe sight of a happiness like mine. When I listened to you just now,\nand saw the sad perseverance of your hatred, I felt the deepest\ncommiseration for you.\"\n\n\"I do not know, my lord--but--\" stammered the half-caste, and was unable\nto find words to proceed.\n\n\"Come, now--what harm have I ever done you?\"\n\n\"None, my lord,\" answered Faringhea.\n\n\"Then why do you hate me thus? why pursue me with so much animosity? Was\nit not enough to give me the perfidious counsel to feign a shameful love\nfor the young girl that was brought hither, and who quitted the house\ndisgusted at the miserable part she was to play?\"\n\n\"Your feigned love for that young girl, my lord,\" replied Faringhea,\ngradually recovering his presence of mind, \"conquered the coldness of--\"\n\n\"Do not say that,\" resumed the prince, interrupting him with the same\nmildness. \"If I enjoy this happiness, which makes me compassionate\ntowards you, and raises me above myself, it is because Mdlle de\nCardoville now knows that I have never for a moment ceased to love her\nas she ought to be loved, with adoration and reverence. It was your\nintention to have parted us forever, and you had nearly succeeded.\"\n\n\"If you think this of me, my lord, you must look upon me as your most\nmortal enemy.\"\n\n\"Fear nothing, I tell you. I have no right to blame you. In the madness\nof my grief, I listened to you and followed your advice. I was not only\nyour dupe, but your accomplice. Only confess that, when you saw me at\nyour mercy, dejected, crushed, despairing, it was cruel in you to advise\nthe course that might have been most fatal to me.\"\n\n\"The ardor of my zeal may have deceived me, my lord.\"\n\n\"I am willing to believe it. And yet again to-day there were the same\nevil counsels. You had no more pity for my happiness than for my sorrow.\nThe rapture of my heart inspires you with only one desire--that of\nchanging this rapture into despair.\"\n\n\"I, my lord!\"\n\n\"Yes, you. It was your intention to ruin me--to dishonor me forever in\nthe eyes of Mdlle. de Cardoville. Now, tell me--why this furious hate?\nwhat have I done to you?\"\n\n\"You misjudge me, my lord--and--\"\n\n\"Listen to me. I do not wish you to be any longer wicked and\ntreacherous. I wish to make you good. In our country, they charm\nserpents, and tame the wildest tigers. You are a man, with a mind to\nreason, a heart to love, and I will tame you too by gentleness. This day\nhas bestowed on me divine happiness; you shall have good cause to bless\nthis day. What can I do for you? what would you have--gold? You shall\nhave it. Do you desire more than gold? Do you desire a friend, to\nconsole you for the sorrows that made you wicked, and to teach you to\nbe good? Though a king's son, I will be that friend--in spite of the\nevil--ay, because of the evil you have done me. Yes; I will be your\nsincere friend, and it shall be my delight to say to myself: 'The day\non which I learned that my angel loved me, my happiness was great\nindeed--for, in the morning, I had an implacable enemy, and, ere night,\nhis hatred was changed to friendship.' Believe me, Faringhea, misery\nmakes crime, but happiness produces virtue. Be happy!\"\n\nAt this moment the clock struck two. The prince started. It was time to\ngo on his visit to Adrienne. The handsome countenance of Djalma, doubly\nembellished by the mild, ineffable expression with which it had been\nanimated whilst he was talking to the half-caste, now seemed illumined\nwith almost divine radiance.\n\nApproaching Faringhea, he extended his hand with the utmost, grace and\ncourtesy, saying to him, \"Your hand!\"\n\nThe half-caste, whose brow was bathed with a cold sweat, whose\ncountenance was pale and agitated, seemed to hesitate for an instant;\nthen, overawed, conquered, fascinated, he offered his trembling hand to\nthe prince, who pressed it, and said to him, in their country's fashion,\n\"You have laid your hand honestly in a friend's; this hand shall never\nbe closed against you. Faringhea, farewell! I now feel myself more\nworthy to kneel before my angel.\"\n\nAnd Djalma went out, on his way to the appointment with Adrienne. In\nspite of his ferocity, in spite of the pitiless hate he bore to the\nwhole human race, the dark sectary of Bowanee was staggered by the noble\nand clement words of Djalma, and said to himself, with terror, \"I have\ntaken his hand. He is now sacred for me.\"\n\nThen, after a moment's silence, a thought occurred to him, and he\nexclaimed, \"Yes--but he will not be sacred for him who, according to the\nanswer of last night, waits for him at the door of the house.\"\n\nSo saying, the half-caste hastened into the next room, which looked upon\nthe street, and, raising a corner of the curtain, muttered anxiously to\nhimself, \"The carriage moves off--the man approaches. Perdition! it is\ngone and I see no more.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XL. ANXIETY.\n\nBy a singular coincidence of ideas, Adrienne, like Djalma, had wished\nto be dressed exactly in the same costume as at their interview in\nthe house in the Rue Blanche. For the site of this solemn meeting, so\nimportant to her future happiness, Adrienne had chosen, with habitual\ntact, the grand drawing-room of Cardoville House, in which hung many\nfamily portraits. The most apparent were those of her father and mother.\nThe room was large and lofty, and furnished, like those which preceded\nit, with all the imposing splendor of the age of Louis XIV. The ceiling,\npainted by Lebrun, to represent the Triumph of Apollo, displayed his\nbold designing and vigorous coloring, in the centre of a wide cornice,\nmagnificently carved and gilt, and supported at its angles by four\nlarge gilt figures, representing the Seasons. Huge panels, covered\nwith crimson damask, and set in frames, served as the background to the\nfamily portraits which adorned this apartment. It is easier to conceive\nthan describe the thousand conflicting emotions which agitated the bosom\nof Mdlle. de Cardoville as the moment approached for her interview with\nDjalma. Their meeting had been hitherto prevented by so many painful\nobstacles, and Adrienne was so well aware of the vigilant and active\nperfidy of her enemies, that even now she doubted of her happiness.\nEvery instant, in spite of herself, her eyes wandered to the clock.\nA few minutes more, and the hour of the appointment would strike.\nIt struck at last. Every reverberation was echoed from the depth of\nAdrienne's heart. She considered that Djalma's modest reserve had,\ndoubtless, prevented his coming before the moment fixed by herself. Far\nfrom blaming this discretion, she fully appreciated it. But, from that\nmoment, at the least noise in the adjoining apartments, she held her\nbreath and listened with the anxiety of expectation.\n\nFor the first few minutes which followed the hour at which she expected\nDjalma, Mdlle. de Cardoville felt no serious apprehension, and calmed\nher impatience by the notion (which appears childish enough to those who\nhave never known the feverish agitation of waiting for a happy meeting),\nthat perhaps the clocks in the Rue Blanche might vary a little from\nthose in the Rue d'Anjou. But when this supposed variation, conceivable\nenough in itself, could no longer explain a delay of a quarter of an\nhour, of twenty minutes, of more, Adrienne felt her anxiety gradually\nincrease. Two or three times the young girl rose, with palpitating\nheart, and went on tip-toe to listen at the door of the saloon. She\nheard nothing. The clock struck half-past three.\n\nUnable to suppress her growing terror, and clinging to a last hope,\nAdrienne returned towards the fireplace and rang the bell. After which\nshe endeavored to compose her features, so as to betray no outward sign\nof emotion. In a few seconds, a gray-haired footman, dressed in black,\nopened the door, and waited in respectful silence for the orders of his\nmistress. The latter said to him, in a calm voice, \"Andrew, request Hebe\nto give you the smelling bottle that I left on the chimney-piece in my\nroom, and bring it me here.\" Andrew bowed; but just as he was about\nto withdraw to execute Adrienne's orders, which was only a pretext to\nenable her to ask a question without appearing to attach much importance\nto it in her servant's eyes, already informed of the expected visit of\nthe prince, Mdlle. de Cardoville added, with an air of indifference.\n\"Pray, is that clock right?\"\n\nAndrew drew out his watch, and replied as he cast his eyes upon it,\n\"Yes, mademoiselle. I set my watch by the Tuileries. It is more than\nhalf past three.\"\n\n\"Very well--thank you!\" said Adrienne kindly.\n\nAndrew again bowed; but, before going out, he said to Adrienne, \"I\nforgot to tell you, lady, that Marshal Simon called about an hour ago;\nbut, as you were only to be at home to Prince Djalma, we told him that\nyou received no company.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Adrienne. With another low bow, Andrew quitted the\nroom, and all returned to silence.\n\nFor the precise reason that, up to the last minute of the hour previous\nto the time fixed for her interview with Djalma, the hopes of\nAdrienne had not been disturbed by the slightest shadow of doubt, the\ndisappointment she now felt was the more dreadful. Casting a desponding\nlook at one of the portraits placed above her, she murmured, with a\nplaintive and despairing accent, \"Oh, mother!\"\n\nHardly had Mdlle. de Cardoville uttered the words than the windows were\nslightly shaken by a carriage rolling into the courtyard. The young lady\nstarted, and was unable to repress a low cry of joy. Her heart bounded\nat the thought of meeting Djalma, for this time she felt that he was\nreally come. She was quite as certain of it as if she had seen him.\nShe resumed her seat and brushed away a tear suspended from her long\neyelashes. Her hand trembled like a leaf. The sound of several doors\nopening and shutting proved that the young lady was right in her\nconjecture. The gilded panels of the drawing-room door soon turned upon\ntheir hinges, and the prince appeared.\n\nWhile a second footman ushered in Djalma, Andrew placed on a gilded\ntable, within reach of his mistress, a little silver salver, on which\nstood the crystal smelling-bottle. Then he withdrew, and the door of\nthe room was closed. The prince and Mdlle. de Cardoville were left alone\ntogether.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLI. ADRIENNE AND DJALMA.\n\nThe prince had slowly approached Mdlle. de Cardoville. Notwithstanding\nthe impetuosity of the Oriental's passions, his uncertain and timid\nstep--timid, yet graceful--betrayed his profound emotion. He did not\nventure to lift his eyes to Adrienne's face; he had suddenly become very\npale, and his finely formed hands, folded over his bosom in the attitude\nof adoration, trembled violently. With head bent down, he remained\nstanding at a little distance from Adrienne. This embarrassment,\nridiculous in any other person, appeared touching in this prince of\ntwenty years of age, endowed with an almost fabulous intrepidity, and of\nso heroic and generous a character, that no traveller could speak of\nthe son of Kadja sing without a tribute of admiration and respect. Sweet\nemotion! chaste reserve! doubly interesting if we consider that the\nburning passions of this youth were all the more inflammable, because\nthey had hitherto been held in check.\n\nNo less embarrassed than her cousin, Adrienne de Cardoville remained\nseated. Like Djalma, she cast down her eyes; but the burning blush on\nher cheeks, the quick heaving of her virgin bosom, revealed an emotion\nthat she did not even attempt to hide. Notwithstanding the powers of her\nmind, by turns gay, graceful, and witty--notwithstanding the decision of\nher proud and independent character, and her complete acquaintance with\nthe manners of the world--Adrienne shared Djalma's simple and enchanting\nawkwardness, and partook of that kind of temporary weakness, beneath\nwhich these two pure, ardent, and loving beings appeared sinking--as if\nunable to support the boiling agitation of the senses, combined with the\nintoxicating excitement of the heart. And yet their eyes had not met.\nEach seemed to fear the first electric shock of the other's glance--that\ninvincible attraction of two impassioned beings--that sacred fire, which\nsuddenly kindles the blood, and lifts two mortals from earth to heaven;\nfor it is to approach the Divinity to give one's self up with religious\nfervor to the most noble and irresistible sentiment that He has\nimplanted within us--the only sentiment that, in His adorable wisdom,\nthe Dispenser of all good has vouchsafed to sanctify, by endowing it\nwith a spark of His own creative energy.\n\nDjalma was the first to raise his eyes. They were moist and sparkling.\nThe excitement of passionate love, the burning ardor of his age, so long\nrepressed, the intense admiration in which he held ideal beauty, were\nall expressed in his look, mingled with respectful timidity, and gave\nto the countenance of this youth an undefinable, irresistible character.\nYes, irresistible!--for, when Adrienne encountered his glance, she\ntrembled in every limb, and felt herself attracted by a magnetic power.\nAlready, her eyes were heavy with a kind of intoxicating languor, when,\nby a great effort of will and dignity, she succeeded in overcoming\nthis delicious confusion, rose from her chair, and said to Djalma in\na trembling voice: \"Prince, I am happy to receive you here.\" Then,\npointing to one of the portraits suspended above her, she added, as if\nintroducing him to a living person: \"Prince--my mother!\"\n\nWith an instinct of rare delicacy, Adrienne had thus summoned her mother\nto be present at her interview with Djalma. It seemed a security\nfor herself and the prince, against the seductions of a first\ninterview--which was likely to be all the more perilous, that they both\nknew themselves madly loved that they both were free, and had only to\nanswer to Providence for the treasures of happiness and enjoyment\nwith which He had so magnificently endowed them. The prince understood\nAdrienne's thoughts; so that, when the young lady pointed to the\nportrait, Djalma, by a spontaneous movement full of grace and\nsimplicity, knelt down before the picture, and said to it in a gentle,\nbut manly voice: \"I will love and revere you as my mother. And, in\nthought, my mother too shall be present, and stand like you, beside your\nchild!\"\n\nNo better answer could have been given to the feeling which induced\nMdlle. de Cardoville to place herself, as it were, under the protection\nof her mother. From that moment, confident in Djalma, confident in\nherself, the young lady felt more at her ease, and the delicious sense\nof happiness replaced those exciting emotions, which had at first so\nviolently agitated her.\n\nThen, seating herself once more, she said to Djalma, as she pointed to\nthe opposite chair: \"Pray take a seat, my dear cousin; and allow me to\ncall you so, for there is too much ceremony in the word prince; and\ndo you call me cousin also, for I find other names too grave. Having\nsettled this point, we can talk together like old friends.\"\n\n\"Yes cousin,\" answered Djalma, blushing.\n\n\"And, as frankness is proper between friends,\" resumed Adrienne, \"I have\nfirst to make you a reproach,\" she added, with a half-smile.\n\nThe prince had remained standing, with his arm resting on the chimney\npiece, in an attitude full of grace and respect.\n\n\"Yes, cousin,\" continued Adrienne, \"a reproach, that you will perhaps\nforgive me for making. I had expected you a little sooner.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, cousin, you may blame me for having come so soon.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"At the moment when I left home, a man, whom I did not know, approached\nmy carriage, and said to me, with such an air of sincerity that I\nbelieved him: 'You are able to save the life of a person who has been a\nsecond father to you. Marshal Simon is in great danger, and, to rescue\nhim, you must follow me on the instant--'\"\n\n\"It was a snare,\" cried Adrienne, hastily. \"Marshal Simon was here,\nscarcely an hour ago.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" exclaimed Djalma, joyfully, and as if he had been relieved\nfrom a great weight. \"Then there will be nothing to sadden this happy\nday!\"\n\n\"But, cousin,\" resumed Adrienne, \"how came you not to suspect this\nemissary?\"\n\n\"Some words, which afterwards escaped from him, inspired me with\ndoubts,\" answered Djalma: \"but at first I followed him, fearing the\nmarshal might be in danger--for I know that he also has enemies.\"\n\n\"Now that I reflect on it, you were quite right, cousin, for some new\nplot against the marshal was probable enough; and the least doubt was\nenough to induce you to go to him.\"\n\n\"I did so--even though you were waiting for me.\"\n\n\"It was a generous sacrifice; and my esteem for you is increased by it,\nif it could be increased,\" said Adrienne, with emotion. \"But what became\nof this man?\"\n\n\"At my desire, he got into the carriage with me. Anxious about the\nmarshal, and in despair at seeing the time wasted, that I was to have\npassed with you, cousin, I pressed him with all sorts of questions.\nSeveral times, he replied to me with embarrassment, and then the idea\nstruck me that the whole might be a snare. Remembering all that they had\nalready attempted, to ruin me in your opinion, I immediately changed\nmy course. The vexation of the man who accompanied me then because so\nvisible, that I ought to have had no doubt upon the subject. Still, when\nI thought of Marshal Simon, I felt a kind of vague remorse, which you,\ncousin, have now happily set at rest.\"\n\n\"Those people are implacable!\" said Adrienne; \"but our happiness will be\nstronger than their hate.\"\n\nAfter a moment's silence, she resumed, with her habitual frankness: \"My\ndear cousin, it is impossible for me to conceal what I have at heart.\nLet us talk for a few seconds of the past, which was made so painful to\nus, and then we will forget it forever, like an evil dream.\"\n\n\"I will answer you sincerely, at the risk of injuring myself,\" said the\nprince.\n\n\"How could you make up your mind to exhibit yourself in public with--?\"\n\n\"With that young girl?\" interrupted Djalma.\n\n\"Yes, cousin,\" replied Mdlle. de Cardoville, and she waited for Djalma's\nanswer with anxious curiosity.\n\n\"A stranger to the customs of this country,\" said Djalma, without\nany embarrassment, for he spoke the truth, \"with a mind weakened\nwith despair, and misled by the fatal counsels of a man devoted to my\nenemies, I believed, even as I was told, that, by displaying before\nyou the semblance of another love, I should excite your jealousy, and\nthus--\"\n\n\"Enough, cousin; I understand it all,\" said Adrienne hastily,\ninterrupting Djalma in her turn, that she might spare him a painful\nconfession. \"I too must have been blinded by despair, not to have\nseen through this wicked plot, especially after your rash and intrepid\naction. To risk death for the sake of my bouquet!\" added Adrienne,\nshuddering at the mere remembrance. \"But one last question,\" she\nresumed, \"though I am already sure of your answer. Did you receive a\nletter that I wrote to you, on the morning of the day in which I saw you\nat the theatre?\"\n\nDjalma made no reply. A dark cloud passed over his fine countenance,\nand, for a second, his features assumed so menacing an expression, that\nAdrienne was terrified at the effect produced by her words. But this\nviolent agitation soon passed away, and Djalma's brow became once more\ncalm and serene.\n\n\"I have been more merciful that I thought,\" said the prince to Adrienne,\nwho looked at him with astonishment. \"I wished to come hither worthy of\nyou, my cousin. I pardoned the man who, to serve my enemies, had given\nme all those fatal counsels. The same person, I am sure, must have\nintercepted your letter. Just now, at the memory of the evils he thus\ncaused me, I, for a moment, regretted my clemency. But then, again, I\nthought of your letter of yesterday--and my anger is all gone.\"\n\n\"Then the sad time of fear and suspicion is over--suspicion, that made\nme doubt of your sentiments, and you of mine. Oh, yes! far removed from\nus be that fatal past!\" cried Adrienne de Cardoville, with deep joy..\n\nThen, as if she had relieved her heart from the last thought of sadness,\nshe continued: \"The future is all your own--the radiant future, without\ncloud or obstacle, pure in the immensity of its horizon, and extending\nbeyond the reach of sight!\"\n\nIt is impossible to describe the tone of enthusiastic hope which\naccompanied these words. But suddenly Adrienne's features assumed an\nexpression of touching melancholy, and she added, in a voice of profound\nemotion: \"And yet--at this hour--so many unfortunate creatures suffer\npain!\"\n\nThis simple touch of pity for the misfortunes of others, at the\nmoment when the noble maiden herself attained to the highest point of\nhappiness, had such an effect on Djalma, that involuntarily he fell\non his knees before Adrienne, clasped his hands together, and turned\ntowards her his fine countenance, with an almost daring expression.\nThen, hiding his face in his hands, he bowed his head without speaking a\nsingle word. There was a moment of deep silence. Adrienne was the first\nto break it, as she saw a tear steal through the slender fingers of the\nprince.\n\n\"My friend! what is the matter?\" she exclaimed, as with a movement rapid\nas thought, she stooped forward, and taking hold of Djalma's hands, drew\nthem from before his face. That face was bathed in tears.\n\n\"You weep!\" cried Mdlle. de Cardoville, so much agitated that she kept\nthe hands of Djalma in her own; and, unable to dry his tears, the young\nHindoo allowed them to flow like so many drops of crystal over the pale\ngold of his cheeks.\n\n\"There is not in this wide world a happiness like to mine!\" said the\nprince, in his soft, melodious voice, and with a kind of exhaustion:\n\"therefore do I feel great sadness, and so it should be. You give me\nheaven--and were I to give you the whole earth, it would be but a poor\nreturn. Alas! what can man do for a divinity, but humbly bless and\nadore? He can never hope to return the gifts bestowed: and this makes\nhim suffer--not in his pride--but in his heart!\"\n\nDjalma did not exaggerate. He said what he really felt: and the rather\nhyperbolical form, familiar to Oriental nations, could alone express his\nthought. The tone of his regret was so sincere, his humility so gentle\nand full of simplicity, that Adrienne, also moved to tears, answered him\nwith an effusion of serious tenderness, \"My friend, we are both at\nthe supreme point of happiness. Our future felicity appears to have no\nlimits, and yet, though derived from different sources, sad reflections\nhave come to both of us. It is, you see, that there are some sorts of\nhappiness, which make you dizzy with their own immensity. For a moment,\nthe heart, the mind, the soul, are incapable of containing so much\nbliss; it overflows and drowns us. Thus the flowers sometimes hang their\nheads, oppressed by the too ardent rays of the sun, which is yet their\nlove and life. Oh, my friend! this sadness may be great, but it also\nsweet!\"\n\nAs she uttered these words, the voice of Adrienne grew fainter and\nfainter, and her head bowed lower, as if she were indeed sinking beneath\nthe weight of her happiness. Djalma had remained kneeling before her,\nhis hands in hers--so that as she thus bent forward, her ivory forehead\nand golden hair touched the amber-colored brow and ebon curls of Djalma.\nAnd the sweet, silent tears of the two young lovers flowed together, and\nmingled as they fell on their clasped hands.\n\nWhilst this scene was passing in Cardoville House, Agricola had gone to\nthe Rue de Vaugirard, to deliver a letter from Adrienne to M. Hardy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLII. \"THE IMITATION.\"\n\nAs we have already said, M. Hardy occupied a pavilion in the \"Retreat\"\nannexed to the house in the Rue de Vaugirard, inhabited by a goodly\nnumber of the reverend fathers of the Company of Jesus. Nothing could be\ncalmer and more silent than this dwelling. Every one spoke in whispers,\nand the servants themselves had something oily in their words, something\nsanctified in their very walk.\n\nLike all that is subject to the chilling and destructive influences of\nthese men, this mournfully quiet house was entirely wanting in life\nand animation. The boarders passed an existence of wearisome and icy\nmonotony, only broken by the use of certain devotional exercises;\nand thus, in accordance with the selfish calculation of the reverend\nfathers, the mind, deprived of all nourishment and all external support,\nsoon began to droop and pine away in solitude. The heart seemed to beat\nmore slowly, the soul was benumbed, the character weakened; at last,\nall freewill, all power of discrimination, was extinguished, and the\nboarders, submitting to the same process of self-annihilation as the\nnovices of the Company, became, like them, mere \"corpses\" in the hands\nof the brotherhood.\n\nThe object of these manoeuvres was clear and simple. They secured the\nmeans of obtaining all kinds of donations, the constant aim of the\nskillful policy and merciless cupidity of these priests. By the aid of\nenormous sums, of which they thus become the possessors or the trustees,\nthey follow out and obtain the success of their projects, even though\nmurder, incendiarism, revolt, and all the horrors of civil war, excited\nby and through them, should drench in blood the lands over which they\nseek to extend their dark dominion.\n\nSuch, then, was the asylum of peace and innocence in which Francois\nHardy had taken refuge. He occupied the ground-floor of a summer-house,\nwhich opened upon a portion of the garden. His apartments had been\njudiciously chosen, for we know with what profound and diabolical craft\nthe reverend fathers avail themselves of material influences, to make\na deep impression upon the minds they are moulding to their purpose.\nImagine a prospect bounded by a high wall, of a blackish gray,\nhalf-covered with ivy, the plant peculiar to ruins. A dark avenue of\nold yew-trees, so fit to shade the grave with their sepulchral verdure,\nextended from this wall to a little semicircle, in front of the\napartment generally occupied by M. Hardy. Two or three mounds of earth,\nbordered with box, symmetrically cut, completed the charms of this\ngarden, which in every respect resembled a cemetery.\n\nIt was about two o'clock in the afternoon. Though the April sun shone\nbrightly, its rays, intercepted by the high wall of which we have\nspoken, could not penetrate into that portion of the garden, obscure,\ndamp, and cold as a cavern, which communicated with M. Hardy's\napartment. The room was furnished with a perfect sense of the\ncomfortable. A soft carpet covered the floor; thick curtains of dark\ngreen baize, the same color as the walls, sheltered an excellent bed,\nand hung in folds about the glass door, which opened on the garden. Some\npieces of mahogany furniture, plain, but very clean and bright, stood\nround the room. Above the secretary, placed just in front of the\nbed, was a large ivory crucifix, upon a black velvet ground. The\nchimney-piece was adorned with a clock, in an ebony case, with\nivory ornaments representing all sorts of gloomy emblems, such as\nhour-glasses, scythes, death's-heads, etc. Now imagine this scene in\ntwilight, with its solitary and mournful silence, only broken at the\nhour of prayer by the lugubrious sound of the bells of the neighboring\nchapel, and you will recognize the infernal skill, with which these\ndangerous priests know how to turn to account every external object,\nwhen they wish to influence the mind of those they are anxious to gain\nover.\n\nAnd this was not all. After appealing to the senses, it was necessary to\naddress themselves to the intellect--and this was the method adopted by\nthe reverend fathers. A single book--but one--was left, as if by chance,\nwithin reach. This book was Thomas a Kempis' \"Imitation.\" But as it\nmight happen that M. Hardy would not have the courage or the desire to\nread this book, thoughts and reflections borrowed from its merciless\npages, and written in very large characters, were suspended in black\nframes close to the bed, or at other parts within sight, so that,\ninvoluntarily, in the sad leisure of his inactive dejection, the\ndweller's eyes were almost necessarily attracted by them. To that fatal\ncircle of despairing thoughts they confined the already weakened mind of\nthis unfortunate man, so long a prey to the most acute sorrow. What\nhe read mechanically, every instant of the day and night, whenever the\nblessed sleep fled from his eyes inflamed with tears, was not enough\nmerely to plunge the soul of the victim into incurable despair, but also\nto reduce him to the corpse-like obedience required by the Society of\nJesus. In that awful book may be found a thousand terrors to operate\non weak minds, a thousand slavish maxims to chain and degrade the\npusillanimous soul.\n\nAnd now imagine M. Hardy carried wounded into this house; while his\nheart, torn by bitter grief and the sense of horrible treachery, bled\neven faster than his external injuries. Attended with the utmost care,\nand thanks to the acknowledged skill of Dr. Baleinier, M. Hardy soon\nrecovered from the hurts he had received when he threw himself into the\nembers of his burning factory. Yet, in order to favor the projects\nof the reverend fathers, a drug, harmless enough in its effects, but\ndestined to act for a time upon the mind of the patient, and often\nemployed for that purpose in similar important cases by the pious\ndoctor, was administered to Hardy, and had kept him pretty long in\na state of mental torpor. To a soul agonized by cruel deceptions, it\nappears an inestimable benefit to be plunged into that kind of torpor,\nwhich at least prevents one from dwelling upon the past.\n\nHardy resigned himself entirely to this profound apathy, and at length\ncame to regard it as the supreme good. Thus do unfortunate wretches,\ntortured by cruel diseases, accept with gratitude the opiate which kills\nthem slowly, but which at least deadens the sense of pain.\n\nIn sketching the portrait of M. Hardy, we tried to give some idea of\nthe exquisite delicacy of his tender soul, of his painful susceptibility\nwith regard to anything base or wicked, and of his extreme goodness,\nuprightness, and generosity. We now allude to these admirable qualities,\nbecause we must observe, that with him, as with almost all who possess\nthem, they were not, and could not be, united with an energetic and\nresolute character. Admirably persevering in good deeds, the influence\nof this excellent man, was insinuating rather than commanding; it was\nnot by the bold energy and somewhat overbearing will, peculiar to other\nmen of great and noble heart, that Hardy had realized the prodigy of his\nCommon Dwelling-house; it was by affectionate persuasion, for with him\nmildness took the place of force. At sight of any baseness or injustice,\nhe did not rouse himself, furious and threatening; but he suffered\nintense pain. He did not boldly attack the criminal, but he turned\naway from him in pity and sorrow. And then his loving heart, so full of\nfeminine delicacy, had an irresistible longing for the blessed contact\nof dear affections; they alone could keep it alive. Even as a poor,\nfrail bird dies with the cold, when it can no longer lie close to its\nbrethren, and receive and communicate the sweet warmth of the maternal\nnest. And now this sensitive organization, this extremely susceptible\nnature, receives blow after blow from sorrows and deceptions, one of\nwhich would suffice to shake, if it did not conquer, the firmest and\nmost resolute character. Hardy's best friend has infamously betrayed\nhim. His adored mistress has abandoned him.\n\nThe house which he had founded for the benefit of his workmen, whom he\nloved as brethren, is reduced to a heap of ashes. What then happens? All\nthe springs of his soul are at once broken. Too feeble to resist\nsuch frightful attacks, too fatally deceived to seek refuge in other\naffections, too much discouraged to think of laying the first stone\nof any new edifice--this poor heart, isolated from every salutary\ninfluence, finds oblivion of the world and of itself in a kind of gloomy\ntorpor. And if some remaining instincts of life and affection, at\nlong intervals, endeavored to rouse themselves within him, and if,\nhalf-opening his mind's eye, which he had kept closed against the\npresent, the past, and the future, Hardy looks around him--what does he\nsee? Only these sentences, so full of terrible despair:\n\n\"Thou art nothing but dust and ashes. Grief and tears art thy portion.\nBelieve not in any son of man. There are no such things as friendship or\nties of kindred. All human affections are false. Die in the morning, and\nthou wilt be forgotten before night. Be humble--despise thyself--and\nlet others despise thee. Think not, reason not, live not--but commit\nthy fate to the hands of a superior, who will think and reason for thee.\nWeep, suffer, think upon death. Yes, death! always death--that should\nbe thy thought when thou thinkest--but it is better not to think at all.\nLet a feeling of ceaseless woe prepare thy way to heaven. It is only by\nsorrow that we are welcome to the terrible God whom we adore!\"\n\nSuch were the consolations offered to this unfortunate man. Affrighted,\nhe again closed his eyes, and fell back into his lethargy. As for\nleaving this gloomy retreat, he could not, or rather he did not desire\nto do so. He had lost the power of will; and then, it must be confessed,\nhe had finished by getting accustomed to this house, and liked it\nwell--they paid him such discreet attentions, and yet left him so\nmuch alone with his grief--there reigned all around such a death-like\nsilence, which harmonized closely with the silence of his heart; and\nthat was now the tomb of his last love, last friendship, last hope.\nAll energy was dead within him! Then began that slow, but inevitable\ntransformation, so judiciously foreseen by Rodin, who directed the whole\nof this machination, even in its smallest details. At first alarmed\nby the dreadful maxims which surrounded him, M. Hardy had at length\naccustomed himself to read them over almost mechanically, just as the\ncaptive, in his mournful hours of leisure, counts the nails in the door\nof his prison, or the bars of the grated window. This was already a\ngreat point gained by the reverend fathers.\n\nAnd soon his weakened mind was struck with the apparent correctness of\nthese false and melancholy aphorisms.\n\nThus he read: \"Do not count upon the affection of any human\ncreature\"--and he had himself been shamefully betrayed.\n\n\"Man is born to sorrow and despair\"--and he was himself despairing.\n\n\"There is no rest save in the cessation of thought\"--and the slumber of\nhis mind had brought some relief to his pain.\n\nPeepholes, skillfully concealed by the hangings and in the wainscoting\nof these apartments, enabled the reverend fathers at all times to see\nand hear the boarders, and above all to observe their countenance and\nmanner, when they believed themselves to be alone. Every exclamation of\ngrief which escaped Hardy in his gloomy solitude, was repeated to Father\nd'Aigrigny by a mysterious listener. The reverend father, following\nscrupulously Rodin's instructions, had at first visited his boarder very\nrarely. We have said, that when Father d'Aigrigny wished it, he could\ndisplay an almost irresistible power of charming, and accordingly he\nthrew all his tact and skill into the interviews he had with Hardy,\nwhen he came from time to time to inquire after his health. Informed of\neverything by his spies, and aided by his natural sagacity, he soon saw\nall the use that might be made of the physical and moral prostration of\nthe boarder. Certain beforehand that Hardy would not take the hint,\nhe spoke to him frequently of the gloom of the house, advising him\naffectionately to leave it, if he felt oppressed by its monotony, or at\nall events to seek beyond its walls for some pleasure and amusement.\nTo speak of pleasure and amusement to this unfortunate man, was in his\npresent state to insure a refusal, and so it of course happened. Father\nd'Aigrigny did not at first try to gain the recluse's confidence, nor\ndid he speak to him of sorrow; but every time he came, he appeared to\ntake such a tender interest in him, and showed it by a few simple and\nwell timed words. By degrees, these interviews, at first so rare, became\nmore frequent and longer. Endowed with a flow of honeyed, insinuating,\nand persuasive eloquence, Father d'Aigrigny naturally took for his\ntheme those gloomy maxims, to which Hardy's attention was now so often\ndirected.\n\nSupple, prudent, skillful, knowing that the hermit had hitherto\nprofessed that generous natural religion which teaches the grateful\nadoration of God, the love of humanity, the worship of what is just and\ngood, and which, disdaining dogmas, professes the same veneration for\nMarcus Aurelius as for Confucius, for Plato as for Christ, for Moses as\nfor Lycurgus--Father d'Aigrigny did not at first attempt to convert\nhim, but began by incessantly reminding him of the abominable deceptions\npractised upon him; and, instead of describing such treachery as an\nexception in life--instead of trying to calm, encourage, and revive\nhis drooping soul--instead of exhorting Hardy to seek oblivion and\nconsolation in the discharge of his duties toward humanity, towards his\nbrethren, whom he had previously loved and succored--Father d'Aigrigny\nstrove to inflame the bleeding wounds of the unfortunate man, painted\nthe human race in the most atrocious blackness, and, by declaring all\nmen treacherous, ungrateful, wicked, succeeded in rendering his despair\nincurable. Having attained this object, the Jesuit took another step.\nKnowing Hardy's admirable goodness of heart, and profiting by the\nweakened state of his mind, he spoke to him of the consolation to be\nderived by a man overwhelmed with sorrow, from the belief that every one\nof his tears, instead of being unfruitful, was in fact agreeable to God,\nand might aid in the salvation of souls--the belief, as the reverend\nfather adroitly added, that by faith alone can sorrow be made useful to\nhumanity, and acceptable to Divinity.\n\nWhatever impiety, whatever atrocious Machiavelism there was in these\ndetestable maxims, which make of a loving-kind Deity a being delighted\nwith the tears of his creatures, was thus skillfully concealed from\nHardy's eyes, whose generous instincts were still alive. Soon did this\nloving and tender soul, whom unworthy priests were driving to a sort of\nmoral suicide, find a mournful charm in the fiction, that his sorrows\nwould at least be profitable to other men. It was at first only a\nfiction; but the enfeebled mind which takes pleasure in such a fable,\nfinishes by receiving it as a reality, and by degrees will submit to the\nconsequences. Such was Hardy's moral and physical state, when, by means\nof a servant who had been bought over, he received from Agricola Baudoin\na letter requesting an interview. Alone, the workman could not have\nbroken the band of the Jesuit's pleadings, but he was accompanied by\nGabriel, whose eloquence and reasonings were of a most convincing nature\nto a spirit like Hardy's.\n\nIt is unnecessary to point out to the reader, with what dignified\nreserve Gabriel had confined himself to the most generous means of\nrescuing Hardy from the deadly influence of the reverend fathers. It\nwas repugnant to the great soul of the young missionary, to stoop to\na revelation of the odious plots of these priests. He would only have\ntaken this extreme course, had his powerful and sympathetic words have\nfailed to have any effect on Hardy's blindness. About a quarter of an\nhour had elapsed since Gabriel's departure, when the servant appointed\nto wait on this boarder of the reverend fathers entered and delivered to\nhim a letter.\n\n\"From whom is this?\" asked Hardy.\n\n\"From a boarder in the house, sir,\" answered the servant bowing.\n\nThis man had a crafty hypocritical face; he wore his hair combed over\nhis forehead, spoke in a low voice, and always cast clown his eyes.\nWaiting the answer, he joined his hands, and began to twiddle his\nthumbs. Hardy opened the letter, and read as follows:\n\n\"SIR,--I have only just heard, by mere chance, that you also inhabit\nthis respectable house: a long illness, and the retirement in which I\nlive, will explain my ignorance of your being so near. Though we have\nonly met once, sir, the circumstance which led to that meeting was of so\nserious a nature, that I cannot think you have forgotten it.\"\n\nHardy stopped, and tasked his memory for an explanation, and not finding\nanything to put him on the right track, he continued to read:\n\n\"This circumstance excited in me a feeling of such deep and respectful\nsympathy for you, sir, that I cannot resist my anxious desire to wait\nupon you, particularly as I learn, that you intend leaving this house to\nday--a piece of information I have just derived from the excellent and\nworthy Abbe Gabriel, one of the men I most love, esteem, and reverence.\nMay I venture to hope, sir, that just at the moment of quitting our\ncommon retreat to return to the world, you will deign to receive\nfavorably the request, however intrusive, of a poor old man, whose life\nwill henceforth be passed in solitude, and who cannot therefore have\nany prospect of meeting you, in that vortex of society which he has\nabandoned forever. Waiting the honor of your answer, I beg you to\naccept, sir, the assurance of the sentiments of high esteem with which I\nremain, sir, with the deepest respect,\n\n\"Your very humble and most obedient servant,\n\n\"RODIN.\"\n\nAfter reading this letter and the signature of the writer, Hardy\nremained for some time in deep thought, without being able to recollect\nthe name of Rodin, or to what serious circumstances he alluded.\n\nAfter a silence of some duration, he said to the servant \"M. Rodin gave\nyou this letter?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"And who is M. Rodin?\"\n\n\"A good old gentleman, who is just recovering from a long illness, that\nalmost carried him off. Lately, he has been getting better, but he is\nstill so weak and melancholy, that it makes one sad to see him. It is a\ngreat pity, for there is not a better and more worthy gentleman in the\nhouse--unless it be you, sir,\" added the servant, bowing with an air of\nflattering respect.\n\n\"M. Rodin;\" said Hardy, thoughtfully. \"It is singular, that I should not\nremember the name nor any circumstance connected with it.\"\n\n\"If you will give me your answer, sir,\" resumed the servant, \"I will\ntake it to M. Rodin. He is now with Father d'Aigrigny, to whom he is\nbidding farewell.\"\n\n\"Farewell?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, the post-horses have just come.\"\n\n\"Post-horses for whom?\" asked Hardy.\n\n\"For Father d'Aigrigny, sir.\"\n\n\"He is going on a journey then!\" said Hardy, with some surprise.\n\n\"Oh! he will not, I think be long absent,\" said the servant, with a\nconfidential air, \"for the reverend father takes no one with him, and\nbut very light luggage. No doubt, the reverend father will come to say\nfarewell to you, sir, before he starts. But what answer shall I give M.\nRodin?\"\n\nThe letter, just received, was couched in such polite terms--it spoke\nof Gabriel with so much respect--that Hardy, urged moreover by a natural\ncuriosity, and seeing no motive to refuse this interview before quitting\nthe house, said to the servant: \"Please tell M. Rodin, that if he will\ngive himself the trouble to come to me, I shall be glad to see him.\"\n\n\"I will let him know immediately, sir,\" answered the servant, bowing as\nhe left the room.\n\nWhen alone, Hardy, while wondering who this M. Rodin could be, began\nto make some slight preparations for his departure. For nothing in the\nworld would he have passed another night in this house; and, in order\nto keep up his courage, he recalled every instant the mild, evangelical\nlanguage of Gabriel, just as the superstitious recite certain litanies,\nwith a view of escaping from temptation.\n\nThe servant soon returned, and said: \"M. Rodin is here, sir.\"\n\n\"Beg him to walk in.\"\n\nRodin entered, clad in his long black dressing-gown, and with his\nold silk cap in his hand. The servant then withdrew. The day was just\nclosing. Hardy rose to meet Rodin, whose features he did not at first\ndistinguish. But as the reverend father approached the window, Hardy\nlooked narrowly at him for an instant, and then uttered an exclamation,\nwrung from him by surprise and painful remembrance. But, recovering\nhimself from this first movement, Hardy said to the Jesuit, in an\nagitated voice: \"You here, sir? Oh, you are right! It was indeed a very\nserious circumstance that first brought us together.\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear sir!\" said Rodin, in a kindly and unctuous tone; \"I was\nsure you would not have forgotten me.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIII. PRAYER.\n\nIt will doubtless be remembered that Rodin had gone (although a stranger\nto Hardy) to visit him at his factory, and inform him of De Blessac's\nshameful treachery--a dreadful blow, which had only preceded by a few\nmoments a second no less horrible misfortune; for it was in the presence\nof Rodin that Hardy had learned the unexpected departure of the woman\nhe adored. Painful to him must have been the sudden appearance of\nRodin. Yes, thanks to the salutary influence of Gabriel's counsels, he\nrecovered himself by degrees, and the contraction of his features being\nsucceeded by a melancholy calm, he said to Rodin: \"I did not indeed\nexpect to meet you, sir, in this house.\"\n\n\"Alas, sir!\" answered Rodin, with a sigh, \"I did not expect to come\nhither, probably to end my days beneath this roof, when I went, without\nbeing acquainted with you, but only as one honest man should serve\nanother, to unveil to you a great infamy.\"\n\n\"Indeed, sir, you then rendered me a true service; perhaps, in that\npainful moment, I did not fully express my gratitude; for, at the same\nmoment in which you revealed to me the treachery of M. de Blessac--\"\n\n\"You were overwhelmed by another piece of painful intelligence,\" said\nRodin, interrupting M. Hardy; \"I shall never forget the sudden arrival\nof that poor woman, who, pale and affrighted, and without considering my\npresence, came to inform you that a person who was exceedingly dear to\nyou had quitted Paris abruptly.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; and, without stopping to thank you, I set out immediately,\"\nanswered Hardy, with a mournful air.\n\n\"Do you know, sir,\" said Rodin, after a moment's silence, \"that there\nare sometimes very strange coincidences?\"\n\n\"To what do you allude, sir?\"\n\n\"While I went to inform you that you were betrayed in so infamous a\nmanner--I was myself--\"\n\nRodin paused, as if unable to control his deep emotion, and his\ncountenance wore the expression of such overpowering grief that Hardy\nsaid to him, with interest: \"What ails you, sir?\"\n\n\"Forgive me,\" replied Rodin, with a bitter smile. \"Thanks to the\nghostly counsels of the angelic Abbe Gabriel, I have reached a sort of\nresignation. Still, there are certain memories which affect me with the\nmost acute pain. I told you,\" resumed Rodin, in a firmer voice, \"or was\ngoing to tell you, that the very day after that on which I informed you\nof the treachery practised against you, I was myself the victim of a\nfrightful deception. An adopted son--a poor unfortunate child, whom\nI had brought up--\" He paused again, drew his trembling hand over his\neyes, and added: \"Pardon me, sir, for speaking of matters which must\nbe indifferent to you. Excuse the intrusive sorrow of a poor, broken\nhearted old man!\"\n\n\"I have suffered too much myself, sir, to be indifferent to any kind of\nsorrow,\" replied Hardy. \"Besides, you are no stranger to me--for you\ndid me a real service--and we both agree in our veneration for the same\nyoung priest.\"\n\n\"The Abbe Gabriel!\" cried Rodin, interrupting Hardy; \"ah, sir! he is my\ndeliverer, my benefactor. If you knew all his care and devotion, during\nmy long illness, caused by intense grief--if you knew the ineffable\nsweetness of his counsels--\"\n\n\"I know them, sir,\" cried Hardy; \"oh, yes! I know how salutary is the\ninfluence.\"\n\n\"In his mouth, sir, the precepts of religion are full of mildness,\"\nresumed Rodin, with excitement. \"Do they not heal and console? do they\nnot make us love and hope, instead of fear and tremble?\"\n\n\"Alas, sir! in this very house,\" said Hardy, \"I have been able to make\nthe comparison.\"\n\n\"I was happy enough,\" said Rodin, \"to have the angelic Abbe Gabriel for\nmy confessor, or, rather, my confidant.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Hardy, \"for he prefers confidence to confession.\"\n\n\"How well you know him!\" said Rodin, in a tone of the utmost simplicity.\nThen he resumed: \"He is not a man but an angel. His words would convert\nthe most hardened sinner. Without being exactly impious, I had myself\nlived in the profession of what is called Natural Religion; but the\nangelic Abbe Gabriel has, by degrees, fixed my wavering belief, given it\nbody and soul, and, in fact, endowed me with faith.\"\n\n\"Yes! he is a truly Christian priest--a priest of love and pardon!\"\ncried Hardy.\n\n\"What you say is perfectly true,\" replied Rodin; \"for I came here almost\nmad with grief, thinking only of the unhappy boy who had repaid my\npaternal goodness with the most monstrous ingratitude, and sometimes I\nyielded to violent bursts of despair, and sometimes sank into a state\nof mournful dejection, cold as the grave itself. But, suddenly, the\nAbbe Gabriel appeared--and the darkness fled before the dawning of a new\nday.\"\n\n\"You were right, sir; there are strange coincidences,\" said Hardy,\nyielding more and more to the feeling of confidence and sympathy,\nproduced by the resemblance of his real position to Rodin's pretended\none. \"And to speak frankly,\" he added, \"I am very glad I have seen you\nbefore quitting this house. Were I capable of falling back into fits of\ncowardly weakness, your example alone would prevent me. Since I listen\nto you, I feel myself stronger in the noble path which the angelic Abbe\nGabriel has opened before me, as you so well express it.\"\n\n\"The poor old man will not then regret having listened to the first\nimpulse of his heart, which urged him to come to you,\" said Robin, with\na touching expression. \"You will sometimes remember me in that world to\nwhich you are returning?\"\n\n\"Be sure of it, sir; but allow me to ask one question: You remain, you\nsay, in this house?\"\n\n\"What would you have me do? There reigns here a calm repose, and one is\nnot disturbed in one's prayers,\" said Rodin, in a very gentle tone. \"You\nsee, I have suffered so much--the conduct of that unhappy youth was\nso horrible--he plunged into such shocking excesses--that the wrath of\nheaven must be kindled against him. Now I am very old, and it is only by\npassing the few days that are left me in fervent prayer that I can hope\nto disarm the just anger of the Lord. Oh! prayer--prayer! It was\nthe Abbe Gabriel who revealed to me all its power and sweetness--and\ntherewith the formidable duties it imposes.\"\n\n\"Its duties are indeed great and sacred,\" answered Hardy, with a pensive\nair.\n\n\"Do you remember the life of Rancey?\" said Rodin, abruptly, as he darted\na peculiar glance at Hardy.\n\n\"The founder of La Trappe?\" said Hardy, surprised at Rodin's question.\n\"I remember hearing a very vague account, some time ago, of the motives\nof his conversion.\"\n\n\"There is, mark you, no more striking an example of the power of prayer,\nand of the state of almost divine ecstasy, to which it may lead a\nreligious soul. In a few words, I will relate to you this instructive\nand tragic history. Rancey--but I beg your pardon; I fear I am\ntrespassing on your time.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" answered Hardy, hastily; \"You cannot think how interested I\nam in what you tell me. My interview with the Abbe Gabriel was abruptly\nbroken off, and in listening to you I fancy that I hear the further\ndevelopment of his views. Go on, I conjure you.\n\n\"With all my heart. I only wish that the instruction which, thanks\nto our angelic priest, I derived from the story of Rancey might be as\nprofitable to you as it was to me.\"\n\n\"This, then, also came from the Abbe Gabriel?\"\n\n\"He related to me this kind of parable in support of his exhortations,\"\nreplied Rodin. \"Oh, sir! do I not owe to the consoling words of that\nyoung priest all that has strengthened and revived my poor old broken\nheart?\"\n\n\"Then I shall listen to you with a double interest.\"\n\n\"Rancey was a man of the world,\" resumed Rodin, as he looked attentively\nat Hardy; \"a gentleman--young, ardent, handsome. He loved a young lady\nof high rank. I cannot tell what impediments stood in the way of their\nunion. But this love, though successful, was kept secret, and every\nevening Rancey visited his mistress by means of a private staircase. It\nwas, they say, one of those passionate loves which men feel but once\nin their lives. The mystery, even the sacrifice made by the unfortunate\ngirl, who forgot every duty, seemed to give new charms to this guilty\npassion. In the silence and darkness of secrecy, these two lovers passed\ntwo years of voluptuous delirium, which amounted almost to ecstasy.\"\n\nAt these words Hardy started. For the first time of late his brow was\nsuffused with a deep blush; his heart throbbed violently; he remembered\nthat he too had once known the ardent intoxication of a guilty and\nhidden love. Though the day was closing rapidly, Rodin cast a sidelong\nglance at Hardy, and perceived the impression he had made. \"Some\ntimes,\" he continued, \"thinking of the dangers to which his mistress\nwas exposed, if their connection should be discovered, Rancey wished to\nsever these delicious ties; but the girl, beside herself with passion,\nthrew herself on the neck of her lover, and threatened him, in the\nlanguage of intense excitement, to reveal and to brave all, if he\nthought of leaving her. Too weak and loving to resist the prayers of his\nmistress, Rancey again and again yielded, and they both gave themselves\nup to a torrent of delight, which carried them along, forgetful of earth\nand heaven!\"\n\nM. Hardy listened to Rodin with feverish and devouring avidity. The\nJesuit, in painting, with these almost sensual colors, an ardent and\nsecret love, revived in Hardy burning memories, which till now had been\ndrowned in tears. To the beneficent calm produced by the mild language\nof Gabriel had succeeded a painful agitation, which, mingled with the\nreaction of the shocks received that day, began to throw his mind into a\nstrange state of confusion.\n\nRodin, having so far succeeded in his object, continued as follows: \"A\nfatal day came at last. Rancey, obliged to go to the wars, quitted the\ngirl; but, after a short campaign, he returned, more in love than ever.\nHe had written privately, to say he would arrive almost immediately\nafter his letter. He came accordingly. It was night. He ascended, as\nusual, the private staircase which led to the chamber of his mistress;\nhe entered the room, his heart beating with love and hope. His mistress\nhad died that morning!\"\n\n\"Ah!\" cried Hardy, covering his face with his hands, in terror.\n\n\"She was dead,\" resumed Rodin. \"Two wax-candles were burning beside the\nfuneral couch. Rancey could not, would not believe that she was dead.\nHe threw himself on his knees by the corpse. In his delirium, he seized\nthat fair, beloved head, to cover it with kisses. The head parted from\nthe body, and remained in his hands! Yes,\" resumed Rodin as Hardy drew\nback, pale and mute with terror, \"yes, the girl had fallen a victim\nto so swift and extraordinary a disease, that she had not been able to\nreceive the last sacraments. After her death, the doctors, in the hope\nof discovering the cause of this unknown malady, had begun to dissect\nthat fair form--\"\n\nAs Rodin reached this part of his narrative, night was almost come.\nA sort of hazy twilight alone reigned in this silent chamber, in the\ncentre of which appeared the pale and ghastly form of Rodin, clad in his\nlong black gown, whilst his eyes seemed to sparkle with diabolic fire.\nOvercome by the violent emotions occasioned by this story, in which\nthoughts of death and voluptuousness, love and horror, were so strangely\nmingled, Hardy remained fixed and motionless, waiting for the words of\nRodin, with a combination of curiosity, anguish and alarm.\n\n\"And Rancey?\" said he, at last, in an agitated voice, whilst he wiped\nthe cold sweat from his brow.\n\n\"After two days of furious delirium,\" resumed Rodin, \"he renounced the\nworld, and shut himself up in impenetrable solitude. The first period\nof his retreat was frightful; in his despair, he uttered loud yells of\ngrief and rage, that were audible at some distance. Twice he attempted\nsuicide, to escape from the terrible visions.\"\n\n\"He had visions, then?\" said Hardy, with an increased agony of\ncuriosity.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Rodin, in a solemn tone, \"he had fearful visions. He saw\nthe girl, who, for his sake, had died in mortal sin, plunged in the\nheat of the everlasting flames of hell! On that fair face, disfigured by\ninfernal tortures, was stamped the despairing laugh of the damned! Her\nteeth gnashed with pain; her arms writhed in anguish! She wept tears\nof blood, and, with an agonized and avenging voice, she cried to her\nseducer: 'Thou art the cause of my perdition--my curse, my curse be upon\nthee!'\"\n\nAs he pronounced these last words, Rodin advanced three steps nearer to\nHardy, accompanying each step with a menacing gesture. If we remember\nthe state of weakness, trouble, and fear, in which M. Hardy was--if we\nremember that the Jesuit had just roused in the soul of this unfortunate\nman all the sensual and spiritual memories of a love, cooled, but not\nextinguished, in tears--if we remember, too, that Hardy reproached\nhimself with the seduction of a beloved object, whom her departure from\nher duties might (according to the Catholic faith) doom to\neverlasting flames--we shall not wonder at the terrible effect of this\nphantasmagoria, conjured up in silence and solitude, in the evening\ndusk, by this fearful priest.\n\nThe effect on Hardy was indeed striking, and the more dangerous, that\nthe Jesuit, with diabolical craft, seemed only to be carrying out, from\nanother point of view, the ideas of Gabriel. Had not the young\npriest convinced Hardy that nothing is sweeter, than to ask of heaven\nforgiveness for those who have sinned, or whom we have led astray? But\nforgiveness implies punishment; and it was to the punishment alone that\nRodin drew the attention of his victim, by painting it in these terrible\nhues. With hands clasped together, and eye fixed and dilated, Hardy\ntrembled in all his limbs, and seemed still listening to Rodin, though\nthe latter had ceased to speak. Mechanically, he repeated: \"My curse, my\ncurse be upon thee?\"\n\nThen suddenly he exclaimed, in a kind of frenzy: \"The curse is on me\nalso! The woman, whom I taught to forget her sacred duties, and to\ncommit mortal sin--one day plunged in the everlasting flames--her arms\nwrithing in agony--weeping tears of blood--will cry to me from the\nbottomless pit: 'My curse, my curse be upon thee!'--One day,\" he\nadded, with redoubled terror, \"one day?--who knows? perhaps at\nthis moment!--for if the sea voyage had been fatal to her--if a\nshipwreck--oh, God! she too would have died in mortal sin--lost, lost,\nforever!--Oh, have mercy on her, my God! Crush me in Thy wrath--but have\nmercy on her--for I alone am guilty!\"\n\nAnd the unfortunate man, almost delirious, sank with clasped hands upon\nthe ground.\n\n\"Sir,\" cried Rodin, in an affectionate voice, as he hastened to lift him\nup, \"my dear sir--my dear friend--be calm! Comfort yourself. I cannot\nbear to see you despond. Alas! my intention was quite the contrary to\nthat.\"\n\n\"The curse! the curse! yes, she will curse me also--she, that I loved\nso much--in the everlasting flames!\" murmured Hardy, shuddering, and\napparently insensible to the other's words.\n\n\"But, my dear sir, listen to me, I entreat you,\" resumed the latter;\n\"let me finish my story, and then you will find it as consoling as it\nnow seems terrible. For heaven's sake, remember the adorable words of\nour angelic Abbe Gabriel, with regard to the sweetness of prayer.\"\n\nAt the name of Gabriel, Hardy recovered himself a little, and exclaimed,\nin a heart-rending tone: \"Ay! his words were sweet and beneficent. Where\nare they now? For mercy's sake, repeat to me those consoling words.\"\n\n\"Our angelic Abbe Gabriel,\" resumed Rodin, \"spoke to you of the\nsweetness of prayer--\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! prayer!\"\n\n\"Well, my dear sir, listen to me, and you shall see how prayer saved\nRancey, and made a saint of him. Yes, these frightful torments, that I\nhave just described, these threatening visions, were all conquered by\nprayer, and changed into celestial delights.\"\n\n\"I beg of you,\" said Hardy, in a faint voice, \"speak to me of Gabriel,\nspeak to me of heaven--but no more flames--no more hell--where sinful\nwomen weep tears of blood--\"\n\n\"No, no,\" replied Rodin; and even as, in describing hell, his tone had\nbeen harsh and threatening, it now became warm and tender, as he uttered\nthe following words: \"No; we will have no more images of despair--for,\nas I have told you, after suffering infernal tortures, Rancey, thanks to\nthe power of prayer, enjoyed the delights of paradise.\"\n\n\"The delights of paradise?\" repeated Hardy, listening with anxious\nattention.\n\n\"One day, at the height of his grief, a priest, a good priest--another\nAbbe Gabriel--came to Rancey. Oh, happiness! oh, providential change! In\na few days, he taught the sufferer the sacred mysteries of prayer--that\npious intercession of the creature, addressed to the Creator, in\nfavor of a soul exposed to the wrath of heaven. Then Rancey seemed\ntransformed. His grief was at once appeased. He prayed; and the more\nhe prayed, the greater was his hope. He felt that God listened to his\nprayer. Instead of trying to forget his beloved, he now thought of her\nconstantly, and prayed for her salvation. Happy in his obscure cell,\nalone with that adored remembrance, he passed days and nights in praying\nfor her--plunged in an ineffable, burning, I had almost said amorous\necstasy.\"\n\nIt is impossible to give an idea of the tone of almost sensual energy\nwith which Rodin pronounced the word \"amorous.\" Hardy started, changing\nfrom hot to cold. For the first time, his weakened mind caught a glimpse\nof the fatal pleasures of asceticism, and of that deplorable catalepsy,\ndescribed in the lives of St. Theresa, St. Aubierge and others.\n\nRodin perceived the other's thoughts, and continued \"Oh, Rancey was not\nnow the man to content himself with a vague, passing prayer, uttered in\nthe whirl of the world's business, which swallows it up, and prevents\nit from reaching the ear of heaven. No, no; in the depth of solitude, he\nendeavored to make his prayers even more efficacious, so ardently did he\ndesire the eternal salvation of his mistress.\"\n\n\"What did he do then--oh! what did he do in his solitude?\" cried Hardy,\nwho was now powerless in the hands of the Jesuit.\n\n\"First of all,\" said Rodin, with a slight emphasis, \"he became a monk.\"\n\n\"A monk!\" repeated Hardy, with a pensive air.\n\n\"Yes,\" resumed Rodin, \"he became a monk, because his prayers were thus\nmore likely to be favorably accepted. And then, as in solitude our\nthoughts are apt to wander, he fasted, and mortified his flesh, and\nbrought into subjection all that was carnal within him, so that,\nbecoming all spirit, his prayers might issue like a pure flame from his\nbosom, and ascend like the perfume of incense to the throne of the Most\nHigh!\"\n\n\"Oh! what a delicious dream!\" cried Hardy, more and more under the\ninfluence of the spell; \"to pray for the woman we have adored, and to\nbecome spirit--perfume--light!\"\n\n\"Yes; spirit, perfume, light!\" said Rodin, with emphasis. \"But it is no\ndream. How many monks, how many hermits, like Rancey, have, by prayers,\nand austerity, and macerations, attained a divine ecstasy! and if you\nonly knew the celestial pleasures of such ecstasies!--Thus, after he\nbecame a monk, the terrible dreams were succeeded by enchanting visions.\nMany times, after a day of fasting, and a night passed in prayers and\nmacerations, Rancey sank down exhausted on the floor of his cell! Then\nthe spirit freed itself from the vile clogs of matter. His senses were\nabsorbed in pleasure; the sound of heavenly harmony struck upon his\nravished car; a bright, mild light, which was not of this world,\ndawned upon his half-closed eyes; and, at the height of the melodious\nvibrations of the golden harps of the Seraphim, in the centre of a\nglory, compared to which the sun is pale, the monk beheld the image of\nthat beloved woman--\"\n\n\"Whom by his prayers he had at length rescued from the eternal flames?\"\nsaid Hardy, in a trembling voice.\n\n\"Yes, herself,\" replied Rodin, with eloquent enthusiasm, for this\nmonster was skilled in every style of speech. \"Thanks to the prayers of\nher lover, which the Lord had granted, this woman no longer shed tears\nof blood--no longer writhed her beautiful arms in the convulsions of\ninfernal anguish. No, no; still fair--oh! a thousand times fairer than\nwhen she dwelt on earth--fair with the everlasting beauty of angels--she\nsmiled on her lover with ineffable ardor, and, her eyes beaming with a\nmild radiance, she said to him in a tender and passionate voice: 'Glory\nto the Lord! glory to thee, O my beloved! Thy prayers and austerities\nhave saved me. I am numbered amongst the chosen. Thanks, my beloved, and\nglory!'--And therewith, radiant in her felicity, she stooped to\nkiss, with lips fragrant with immortality, the lips of the enraptured\nmonk--and their souls mingled in that kiss, burning as love, chaste as\ndivine grace immense as eternity!\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Hardy, completely beside himself; \"a whole life of prayer,\nfasting, torture, for such a moment--with her, whom I mourn--with her,\nwhom I have perhaps led to perdition!\"\n\n\"What do you say? such a moment!\" cried Rodin, whose yellow forehead was\nbathed in sweat like that of a magnetizer, and who now took Hardy by\nthe hand, and drew still closer, as if to breathe into him the burning\ndelirium; \"it was not once in his religious life--it was almost every\nday, that Rancey, plunged in divine ecstasy, enjoyed these delicious,\nineffable, superhuman pleasures, which are to the pleasures of earth\nwhat eternity is to man's existence!\"\n\nSeeing, no doubt, that Hardy was now at the point to which he wished to\nbring him, and the night being almost entirely come, the reverend father\ncoughed two or three times in a significant manner, and looked towards\nthe door. At this moment, Hardy, in the height of his frenzy, exclaimed,\nwith a supplicating voice: \"A cell--a tomb--and the Ecstatic Vision!\"\n\nThe door of the room opened, and Father d'Aigrigny entered, with a cloak\nunder his arm. A servant followed him, bearing a light.\n\nAbout ten minutes after this scene, a dozen robust men with frank,\nopen countenances, led by Agricola, entered the Rue de Vaugirard, and\nadvanced joyously towards the house of the reverend fathers. It was a\ndeputation from the former workmen of M. Hardy. They came to escort him,\nand to congratulate him on his return amongst them. Agricola walked at\ntheir head. Suddenly he saw a carriage with post-horses issuing from\nthe gateway of the house. The postilion whipped up the horses, and\nthey started at full gallop. Was it chance or instinct? The nearer the\ncarriage approached the group of which he formed a part, the more did\nAgricola's heart sink within him.\n\nThe impression became so vivid that it was soon changed into a terrible\napprehension; and at the moment when the vehicle, which had its blinds\ndown, was about to pass close by him, the smith, in obedience to a\nresistless impulse, exclaimed, as he rushed to the horses' heads: \"Help,\nfriends! stop them!\"\n\n\"Postilion! ten louis if you ride over him!\" cried from the carriage the\nmilitary voice of Father d'Aigrigny.\n\nThe cholera was still raging. The postilion had heard of the murder of\nthe poisoners. Already frightened at the sudden attack of Agricola,\nhe struck him a heavy blow on the head with the butt of his whip which\nstretched him senseless on the ground. Then, spurring with all his\nmight, he urged his three horses into a triple gallop, and the carriage\nrapidly disappeared, whilst Agricola's companions, who had neither\nunderstood his actions nor the sense of his words, crowded around the\nsmith, and did their best to revive him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIV. REMEMBRANCES.\n\nOther events took place a few days after the fatal evening in which M.\nHardy, fascinated and misled by the deplorable, mystic jargon of Rodin,\nhad implored Father d'Aigrigny on his knees to remove him far from\nParis, into some deep solitude where he might devote himself to a life\nof prayer and ascetic austerities. Marshal Simon, since his arrival\nin Paris, had occupied, with his two daughters, a house in the Rue des\nTrois-Freres. Before introducing the reader into this modest dwelling,\nwe are obliged to recall to his memory some preceding facts. The day of\nthe burning of Hardy 's factory, Marshal Simon had come to consult with\nhis father on a question of the highest importance, and to communicate\nto him his painful apprehensions on the subject of the growing sadness\nof his twin daughters, which he was unable to explain.\n\nMarshal Simon held in religious reverence the memory of the Great\nEmperor. His gratitude to the hero was boundless, his devotion blind,\nhis enthusiasm founded upon reason, his affection warm as the most\nsincere and passionate friendship. But this was not all.\n\nOne day the emperor, in a burst of joy and paternal tenderness, had led\nthe marshal to the cradle of the sleeping King of Rome, and said to him,\nas he proudly pointed to the beautiful child: \"My old friend, swear to\nme that you will serve the son as you have served the father!\"\n\nMarshal Simon took and kept that vow. During the Restoration, the chief\nof a military conspiracy in favor of Napoleon II., he had attempted\nin vain to secure a regiment of cavalry, at that time commanded by\nthe Marquis d'Aigrigny. Betrayed and denounced, the marshal, after a\ndesperate duel with the future Jesuit, had succeeded in reaching Poland,\nand thus escaping a sentence of death. It is useless to repeat the\nseries of events which led the marshal from Poland to India, and then\nbrought him back to Paris after the Revolution of July--an epoch at\nwhich a number of his old comrades in arms had solicited and obtained\nfrom the government, without his knowledge, the confirmation of the rank\nand title which the emperor had bestowed upon him just before Waterloo.\n\nOn his return to Paris, after his long exile, in spite of all the\nhappiness he felt in at length embracing his children, Marshal Simon was\ndeeply affected on learning the death of their mother, whom he\nadored. Till the last moment, he had hoped to find her in Paris. The\ndisappointment was dreadful, and he felt it cruelly, though he sought\nconsolation in his children's affection.\n\nBut soon new causes of trouble and anxiety were interwoven with his\nlife by the machinations of Rodin. Thanks to the secret intrigues of the\nreverend father at the Courts of Rome and Vienna, one of his emissaries,\nin a condition to inspire full confidence, and provided with undeniable\nevidence to support his words, went to Marshal Simon, and said to him:\n\"The son of the emperor is dying, the victim of the fears with which the\nname of Napoleon still inspires Europe.\n\n\"From this slow expiring, you, Marshal Simon, one of the emperor's most\nfaithful friends, are able to rescue this unfortunate prince.\n\n\"The correspondence in my hand proves that it would be easy to open\nrelations, of the surest and most secret nature, with one of the most\ninfluential persons about the King of Rome, and this person would be\ndisposed to favor the prince's escape.\n\n\"It is possible, by a bold, unexpected stroke, to deliver Napoleon II.\nfrom the custody of Austria, which would leave him to perish by inches\nin an atmosphere that is fatal to him.\n\n\"The enterprise may be a rash one, but it has chances of success that\nyou Marshal Simon, more than any other, could change into certainties;\nfor your devotion to the emperor is well known, and we remember with\nwhat adventurous audacity you conspired, in 1815, in favor of Napoleon\nII.\"\n\nThe state of languor and decline of the King of Rome was then in France\na matter of public notoriety. People even went so far as to affirm that\nthe son of the hero was carefully trained by priests, who kept him in\ncomplete ignorance of the glory of his paternal name; and that, by the\nmost execrable machinations, they strove day by day to extinguish every\nnoble and generous instinct that displayed itself in the unfortunate\nyouth. The coldest hearts were touched and softened at the story of\nso sad and fatal a destiny. When we remember the heroic character and\nchivalrous loyalty of Marshal Simon, and his passionate devotion to the\nemperor, we can understand how the father of Rose and Blanche was more\ninterested than any one else in the fate of the young prince, and how,\nif occasion offered, he would feel himself obliged not to confine\nhis efforts to mere regrets. With regard to the reality of the\ncorrespondence produced by Rodin's emissary, it had been submitted by\nthe marshal to a searching test, by means of his intimacy with one of\nhis old companions in arms, who had been for a long period on a mission\nto Vienna, in the time of the empire. The result of this investigation,\nconducted with as much prudence as address, so that nothing should\ntranspire, showed that the marshal might give his serious attention to\nthe advances made him.\n\nHence, this proposition threw the father of Rose and Blanche into a\ncruel perplexity; for, to attempt so bold and dangerous an enterprise,\nhe must once more abandon his children; whilst, on the contrary, if,\nalarmed at this separation, he renounced the endeavor to save the\nKing of Rome, whose lingering death was perfectly true and well\nauthenticated, the marshal would consider himself as false to the vow\nhe had sworn to the emperor. To end these painful hesitations, full of\nconfidence in the inflexible uprightness of his father's character, the\nmarshal had gone to ask his advice; unfortunately the old republican\nworkman, mortally wounded during the attack on M. Hardy's factory, but\nstill pondering over the serious communication of his son, died with\nthese words upon his Lips: \"My son, you have a great duty to perform,\nunder pain of not acting like a man of honor, and of disobeying my last\nwill. You must, without hesitation--\"\n\nBut, by a deplorable fatality, the last words, which would have\ncompleted the sense of the old workman's thought, were spoken in so\nfeeble a voice as to be quite unintelligible. He died, leaving Marshal\nSimon in a worse state of anxiety, as one of the two courses open to him\nhad now been formally condemned by his father, in whose judgment he had\nthe most implicit and merited confidence. In a word, his mind was now\ntortured by the doubt whether his father had intended, in the name of\nhonor and duty, to advise him not to abandon his children, to engage in\nso hazardous an enterprise, or whether, on the contrary, he had wished\nhim to leave them for a time, to perform the vow made to the emperor,\nand endeavor at least to rescue Napoleon II. from a captivity that might\nsoon be mortal.\n\nThis perplexity, rendered more cruel by certain circumstances, to be\nrelated hereafter, the tragical death of his father, who had expired\nin his arms; the incessant and painful remembrance of his wife, who\nhad perished in a land of exile; and finally, the grief he felt at\nperceiving the overgrowing sadness of Rose and Blanche, occasioned\nsevere shocks to Marshal Simon. Let us add that, in spite of his natural\nintrepidity, so nobly proved by twenty years of war, the ravages of the\ncholera, the same terrible malady to which his wife had fallen a victim\nin Siberia, filled the marshal with involuntary dread. Yes, this man of\niron nerves, who had coolly braved death in so many battles, felt the\nhabitual firmness of his character give way at sight of the scenes of\ndesolation and mourning which Paris offered at every step. Yet, when\nMdlle. de Cardoville gathered round her the members of her family, to\nwarn them against the plot of their enemies, the affectionate tenderness\nof Adrienne for Rose and Blanche appeared to exercise so happy an\ninfluence on their mysterious sorrow, that the marshal, forgetting for a\nmoment his fatal regrets, thought only of enjoying this blessed change,\nwhich, alas! was but of short duration. Having now recalled these facts\nto the mind of the reader, we shall continue our story.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLV. THE BLOCKHEAD\n\nWe have stated that Marshal Simon occupied a small house in the Rue\ndes Trois-Freres. Two o'clock in the afternoon had just struck in the\nmarshal's sleeping-chamber, a room furnished with military simplicity.\nIn the recess, in which stood the bed, hung a trophy composed of the\narms used by the marshal during his campaigns. On the secretary opposite\nwas a small bronze bust of the emperor, the only ornament of the\napartment. Out of doors the temperature was far from warm, and the\nmarshal had become susceptible to cold during his long residence in\nIndia. A good fire therefore blazed upon the hearth. A door, concealed\nby the hangings, and leading to a back staircase, opened slowly, and\na man entered the chamber. He carried a basket of wood, and advanced\nleisurely to the fireplace, before which he knelt clown, and began to\narrange the logs symmetrically in a box that stood besides the hearth.\nAfter some minutes occupied in this manner, still kneeling, he gradually\napproached another door, at a little distance from the chimney, and\nappeared to listen with deep attention, as if he wished to hear what was\npassing in the next room.\n\nThis man, employed as an inferior servant in the house, had the most\nridiculously stupid look that can be imagined. His functions consisted\nin carrying wood, running errands, etc. In other respects he was a kind\nof laughing-stock to the other servants. In a moment of good humor,\nDagobert, who filled the post of major-domo, had given this idiot the\nname of \"Loony\" (lunatic), which he had retained ever since, and which\nhe deserved in every respect, as well for his awkwardness and folly as\nfor his unmeaning face, with its grotesquely flat nose, sloping chin,\nand wide, staring eyes. Add to this description a jacket of red stuff,\nand a triangular white apron, and we must acknowledge that the simpleton\nwas quite worthy of his name.\n\nYet, at the moment when Loony listened so attentively at the door of the\nadjoining room, a ray of quick intelligence animated for an instant his\ndull and stupid countenance.\n\nWhen he had thus listened for a short time, Loony returned to the\nfireplace, still crawling on his knees; then rising, he again took his\nbasket half full of wood, and once more approaching the door at which\nhe had listened knocked discreetly. No one answered. He knocked a second\ntime, and more loudly. Still there was the same silence.\n\nThen he said, in a harsh, squeaking, laughable voice: \"Ladies, do you\nwant any wood, if you please, for your fire?\"\n\nReceiving no answer, Loony placed his basket on the ground, opened the\ndoor gently, and entered the next room, after casting a rapid glance\naround. He came out again in a few seconds, looking from side to side\nwith an anxious air, like a man who had just accomplished some important\nand mysterious task.\n\nTaking up his basket, he was about to leave Marshal Simon's room, when\nthe door of the private staircase was opened slowly and with precaution,\nand Dagobert appeared.\n\nThe soldier, evidently surprised at the servant's presence, knitted his\nbrows, and exclaimed abruptly, \"What are you doing here?\"\n\nAt this sudden interrogation, accompanied by a growl expressive of the\nill-humor of Spoil-sport, who followed close on his master's heels,\nLoony uttered a cry of real or pretended terror. To give, perhaps, an\nappearance of greater reality to his dread, the supposed simpleton let\nhis basket fall on the ground, as if astonishment and fear had loosened\nhis hold of it.\n\n\"What are you doing, numbskull?\" resumed Dagobert, whose countenance was\nimpressed with deep sadness, and who seemed little disposed to laugh at\nthe fellow's stupidity.\n\n\"Oh, M. Dagobert! how you frighten me! Dear me! what a pity I had not an\narmful of plates, to prove it was not my fault if I broke them all.\"\n\n\"I ask what you are doing,\" resumed the soldier.\n\n\"You see, M. Dagobert,\" replied Loony, pointing to his basket, \"that I\ncame with some wood to master's room, so that he might burn it, if it\nwas cold--which it is.\"\n\n\"Very well. Pick up your wood, and begone!\"\n\n\"Oh, M. Dagobert! my legs tremble under me. How you did scare me, to be\nsure!\"\n\n\"Will you begone, brute?\" resumed the veteran; and seizing Loony by the\narm, he pushed him towards the door, while Spoil-sport, with recumbent\nears, and hair standing up like the quills of a porcupine, seemed\ninclined to accelerate his retreat.\n\n\"I am going, M. Dagobert, I am going,\" replied the simpleton, as he\nhastily gathered up his basket; \"only please to tell the dog--\"\n\n\"Go to the devil, you stupid chatterbox!\" cried Dagobert, as he pushed\nLoony through the doorway.\n\nThen the soldier bolted the door which led to the private staircase, and\ngoing to that which communicated with the apartments of the two sisters,\nhe double-locked it. Having done this, he hastened to the alcove\nin which stood the bed and taking down a pair of loaded pistols, he\ncarefully removed the percussion caps, and, unable to repress a deep\nsigh, restored the weapons to the place in which he had found them.\nThen, as if on second thoughts, he took down an Indian dagger with a\nvery sharp blade, and drawing it from its silver-gilt sheath, proceeded\nto break the point of this murderous instrument, by twisting it beneath\none of the iron castors of the bed.\n\nDagobert then proceeded to unfasten the two doors, and, returning slowly\nto the marble chimney-piece, he leaned against it with a gloomy and\npensive air. Crouching before the fire, Spoil-sport followed with an\nattentive eye the least movement of his master. The good dog displayed\na rare and intelligent sagacity. The soldier, having drawn out his\nhandkerchief, let fall, without perceiving it, a paper containing a roll\nof tobacco. Spoil-sport, who had all the qualities of a retriever of\nthe Rutland race, took the paper between his teeth, and, rising upon\nhis hind-legs, presented it respectfully to Dagobert. But the latter\nreceived it mechanically, and appeared indifferent to the dexterity of\nhis dog. The grenadier's countenance revealed as much sorrow as\nanxiety. After remaining for some minutes near the fire, with fixed and\nmeditative look, he began to walk about the room in great agitation, one\nof his hands thrust into the bosom of his long blue frock-coat, which\nwas buttoned up to the chin, and the other into one of his hind-pockets.\n\nFrom time to time he stopped abruptly, and seemed to make reply to his\nown thoughts, or uttered an exclamation of doubt and uneasiness; then,\nturning towards the trophy of arms, he shook his head mournfully,\nand murmured, \"No matter--this fear may be idle; but he has acted so\nextraordinarily these two days, that it is at all events more prudent--\"\n\nHe continued his walk, and said, after a new and prolonged silence: \"Yes\nhe must tell me. It makes me too uneasy. And then the poor children--it\nis enough to break one's heart.\"\n\nAnd Dagobert hastily drew his moustache between his thumb and\nforefinger, a nervous movement, which with him was an evident symptom\nof extreme agitation. Some minutes after, the soldier resumed, still\nanswering his inward thoughts: \"What can it be? It is hardly possible to\nbe the letters, they are too infamous; he despises them. And yet But no,\nno--he is above that!\"\n\nAnd Dagobert again began to walk with hasty steps. Suddenly, Spoil-sport\npricked up his ears, turned his head in the direction of the staircase\ndoor, and growled hoarsely. A few seconds after, some one knocked at the\ndoor.\n\n\"Who is there?\" said Dagobert. There was no answer, but the person\nknocked again. Losing patience, the soldier went hastily to open it, and\nsaw the servant's stupid face.\n\n\"Why don't you answer, when I ask who knocks!\" said the soldier,\nangrily.\n\n\"M. Dagobert, you sent me away just now, and I was afraid of making you\ncross, if I said I had come again.\"\n\n\"What do you want? Speak then--come in, stupid!\" cried the exasperated.\nDagobert, as he pulled him into the room.\n\n\"M. Dagobert, don't be angry--I'll tell you all about it--it is a young\nman.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"He wants to speak to you directly, Mr. Dagobert.\"\n\n\"His name?\"\n\n\"His name, M. Dagobert?\" replied Loony, rolling about and laughing with\nan idiotic air.\n\n\"Yes, his name. Speak, idiot!\"\n\n\"Oh, M. Dagobert! it's all in joke that you ask me his name!\"\n\n\"You are determined, fool that you are, to drive me out of my senses!\"\ncried the soldier, seizing Loony by the collar. \"The name of this young\nman!\"\n\n\"Don't be angry, M. Dagobert. I didn't tell you the name because you\nknow it.\"\n\n\"Beast!\" said Dagobert, shaking his fist at him.\n\n\"Yes, you do know it, M. Dagobert, for the young man is your own son. He\nis downstairs, and wants to speak to you directly--yes, directly.\"\n\nThe stupidity was so well assumed, that Dagobert was the dupe of it.\nMoved to compassion rather than anger by such imbecility, he looked\nfixedly at the servant, shrugged his shoulders, and said, as he advanced\ntowards the staircase, \"Follow me!\"\n\nLoony obeyed; but, before closing the door, he drew a letter secretly\nfrom his pocket, and dropped it behind him without turning his head,\nsaying all the while to Dagobert, for the purpose of occupying his\nattention: \"Your son is in the court, M. Dagobert. He would not come\nup--that's why he is still downstairs!\"\n\nThus talking, he closed the door, believing he had left the letter\non the floor of Marshal Simon's room. But he had reckoned without\nSpoil-sport. Whether he thought it more prudent to bring up the rear,\nor, from respectful deference for a biped, the worthy dog had been the\nlast to leave the room, and, being a famous carrier, as soon as he saw\nthe letter dropped by Loony, he took it delicately between his teeth,\nand followed close on the heels of the servant, without the latter\nperceiving this new proof of the intelligence and sagacity of\nSpoil-sport.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVI. THE ANONYMOUS LETTERS.\n\nWe will explain presently what became of the letter, which Spoil-sport\nheld between his teeth, and why he left his master, when the latter ran\nto meet Agricola. Dagobert had not seen his son for some days. Embracing\nhim cordially, he led him into one of the rooms on the ground floor,\nwhich he usually occupied. \"And how is your wife?\" said the soldier to\nhis son.\n\n\"She is well, father, thank you.\"\n\nPerceiving a great change in Agricola's countenance, Dagobert resumed:\n\"You look sad. Has anything gone wrong since I saw you last?\"\n\n\"All is over, father. We have lost him,\" said the smith, in a tone of\ndespair.\n\n\"Lost whom?\"\n\n\"M. Hardy.\"\n\n\"M. Hardy!--why, three days ago, you told me you were going to see him.\"\n\n\"Yes, father, I have seen him--and my dear brother Gabriel saw him\nand spoke to him--how he speaks! with a voice that comes from the\nheart!--and he had so revived and encouraged him, that M. Hardy\nconsented to return amongst us. Then I, wild with joy, ran to tell the\ngood news to some of my mates, who were waiting to hear the result of\nnay interview with M. Hardy. I brought them all with me to thank and\nbless him. We were within a hundred yards of the house belonging to the\nblack-gowns--\"\n\n\"Ali, the black-gowns!\" said Dagobert, with a gloomy air. \"Then some\nmischief will happen. I know them.\"\n\n\"You are not mistaken, father,\" answered Agricola, with a sigh. \"I was\nrunning on with my comrades, when I saw a carriage coming towards us.\nSome presentiment told me that they were taking away M. Hardy.\"\n\n\"By force!\" said Dagobert, hastily.\n\n\"No,\" answered Agricola, bitterly; \"no--the priests are too cunning for\nthat. They know how to make you an accomplice in the evil they do you.\nShall I not always remember how they managed with my good mother?\"\n\n\"Yes, the worthy woman! there was a poor fly caught in the spider's web.\nBut this carriage, of which you speak?\"\n\n\"On seeing it start from the house of the black-gowns,\" replied\nAgricola, \"my heart sank within me; and, by an impulse stronger than\nmyself, I rushed to the horses' heads, calling on my comrades to help\nme. But the postilion knocked me down and stunned me with a blow from\nhis whip. When I recovered my senses, the carriage was already far\naway.\"\n\n\"You were not hurt?\" cried Dagobert, anxiously, as he examined his son\nfrom top to toe.\n\n\"No, father; a mere scratch.\"\n\n\"What did you next, my boy?\"\n\n\"I hastened to our good angel, Mdlle. de Cardoville, and told her all.\n'You must follow M. Hardy on the instant,' said she to me. 'Take my\ncarriage and post-horses. Dupont will accompany you; follow M. Hardy\nfrom stage to stage; should you succeed in overtaking him your presence\nand your prayers may perhaps conquer the fatal influence that these\npriests have acquired over him.'\"\n\n\"It was the best advice she could give you. That excellent young lady is\nalways right.\"\n\n\"An hour after, we were upon our way, for we learned by the returned\npostilions, that M. Hardy had taken the Orleans road. We followed him as\nfar as Etampes. There we heard that he had taken a cross-road, to reach\na solitary house in a valley about four leagues from the highway. They\ntold us that this house called the Val-de-St. Herem, belonged to certain\npriests, and that, as the night was so dark, and the road so bad, we\nhad better sleep at the inn, and start early in the morning. We followed\nthis advice, and set out at dawn. In a quarter of an hour, we quitted\nthe high-road for a mountainous and desert track. We saw nothing but\nbrown rocks, and a few birch trees. As we advanced, the scene became\nwilder and wilder. We might have fancied ourselves a hundred leagues\nfrom Paris. At last we stopped in front of a large, old, black-looking\nhouse with only a few small windows in it, and built at the foot of a\nhigh, rocky mountain. In my whole life I have never seen anything so\ndeserted and sad. We got out of the carriage, and I rang the bell. A\nman opened the door. 'Did not the Abbe d'Aigrigny arrive here last night\nwith a gentleman?' said I to this man, with a confidential air. 'Inform\nthe gentleman directly, that I come on business of importance, and that\nI must see him forthwith.'--The man, believing me an accomplice, showed\nus in immediately; a moment after, the Abbe d'Aigrigny opened the door,\nsaw me, and drew back; yet, in five minutes more, I was in presence of\nM. Hardy.\"\n\n\"Well!\" said Dagobert, with interest.\n\nAgricola shook his head sorrowfully, and replied: \"I knew by the very\ncountenance of M. Hardy, that all was over. Addressing me in a mild but\nfirm voice, he said to me: 'I understand, I can even excuse, the motives\nthat bring you hither. But I am quite determined to live henceforth\nin solitude and prayer. I take this resolution freely and voluntarily,\nbecause I would fain provide for the salvation of my soul. Tell your\nfellows that my arrangements will be such as to leave them a good\nremembrance of me.'--And as I was about to speak, M. Hardy interrupted\nme, saying: 'It is useless, my friend. My determination is unalterable.\nDo not write to me, for your letters would remain unanswered. Prayer\nwill henceforth be my only occupation. Excuse me for leaving you, but I\nam fatigued from my journey!'--He spoke the truth for he was as pale as\na spectre, with a kind of wildness about the eyes, and so changed since\nthe day before, as to be hardly the same man. His hand, when he offered\nit on parting from me, was dry and burning. The Abbe d'Aigrigny soon\ncame in. 'Father,' said M. Hardy to him, 'have the goodness to see M.\nBaudoin to the door.'--So saying, he waved his hand to me in token of\nfarewell, and retired to the next chamber. All was over; he is lost to\nus forever.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Dagobert, \"those black-gowns have enchanted him, like so\nmany others.\"\n\n\"In despair,\" resumed Agricola, \"I returned hither with M. Dupont. This,\nthen, is what the priests have made of M. Hardy--of that generous man,\nwho supported nearly three hundred industrious workmen in order and\nhappiness, increasing their knowledge, improving their hearts, and\nearning the benediction of that little people, of which he was the\nprovidence. Instead of all this, M. Hardy is now forever reduced to a\ngloomy and unavailing life of contemplation.\"\n\n\"Oh, the black-gowns!\" said Dagobert, shuddering, and unable to conceal\na vague sense of fear. \"The longer I live, the more I am afraid of them.\nYou have seen what those people did to your poor mother; you see what\nthey have just done to M. Hardy; you know their plots against my two\npoor orphans, and against that generous young lady. Oh, these people are\nvery powerful! I would rather face a battalion of Russian grenadiers,\nthan a dozen of these cassocks. But don't let's talk of it. I have\ncauses enough beside for grief and fear.\"\n\nThen seeing the astonished look of Agricola, the soldier, unable to\nrestrain his emotion, threw himself into the arms of his son, exclaiming\nwith a choking voice: \"I can hold out no longer. My heart is too full. I\nmust speak; and whom shall I trust if not you?\"\n\n\"Father, you frighten me!\" said Agricola, \"What is the matter?\"\n\n\"Why, you see, had it not been for you and the two poor girls, I should\nhave blown out my brains twenty times over rather than see what I\nsee--and dread what I do.\"\n\n\"What do you dread, father?\"\n\n\"Since the last few days, I do not know what has come over the\nmarshal--but he frightens me.\"\n\n\"Yet in his last interviews with Mdlle. de Cardoville--\"\n\n\"Yes, he was a little better. By her kind words, this generous young\nlady poured balm into his wounds; the presence of the young Indian\ncheered him; he appeared to shake off his cares, and his poor little\ngirls felt the benefit of the change. But for some days, I know not what\ndemon has been loosed against his family. It is enough to turn one's\nhead. First of all, I am sure that the anonymous letters have begun\nagain.\"\n\n\"What letters, father?\"\n\n\"The anonymous letters.\"\n\n\"But what are they about?\"\n\n\"You know how the marshal hated that renegade, the Abbe d'Aigrigny. When\nhe found that the traitor was here, and that he had persecuted the two\norphans, even as he persecuted their mother to the death--but that now\nhe had become a priest--I thought the marshal would have gone mad with\nindignation and fury. He wishes to go in search of the renegade. With\none word I calmed him. 'He is a priest,' I said; 'you may do what you\nwill, insult or strike him--he will not fight. He began by serving\nagainst his country, he ends by becoming a bad priest. It is all in\ncharacter. He is not worth spitting upon.'--'But surely I may punish the\nwrong done to my children, and avenge the death of my wife,' cried the\nmarshal, much exasperated.--'They say, as you well know, that there are\ncourts of law to avenge your wrongs,' answered I; 'Mdlle. de Cardoville\nhas lodged a charge against the renegade, for having attempted to\nconfine your daughters in a convent. We must champ the bit and wait.\"'\n\n\"Yes,\" said Agricola, mournfully, \"and unfortunately there lacks proof\nto bring it home to the Abbe d'Aigrigny. The other day, when I was\nexamined by Mdlle. de Cardoville's lawyer, with regard to our attempt\non the convent, he told me that we should meet with obstacles at every\nstep, for want of legal evidence, and that the priests had taken their\nprecautions with so much skill that the indictment would be quashed.\"\n\n\"That is just what the marshal thinks, my boy, and this increases his\nirritation at such injustice.\"\n\n\"He should despise the wretches.\"\n\n\"But the anonymous letters!\"\n\n\"Well, what of them, father?\"\n\n\"You shall know all. A brave and honorable man like the marshal, when\nhis first movement of indignation was over, felt that to insult the\nrenegade disguised in the garb of a priest, would be like insulting\nan old man or a woman. He determined therefore to despise him, and to\nforget him as soon as possible. But then, almost every day, there\ncame by the post anonymous letters, in which all sorts of devices were\nemployed, to revive and excite the anger of the marshal against\nthe renegade by reminding him of all the evil contrived by the Abbe\nd'Aigrigny against him and his family. The marshal was reproached with\ncowardice for not taking vengeance on this priest, the persecutor of his\nwife and children, the insolent mocker at his misfortunes.\"\n\n\"And from whom do you suspect these letters to come, father?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell--it is that which turns one's brain. They must come from\nthe enemies of the marshal, and he has no enemies but the black-gowns.\"\n\n\"But, father, since these letters are to excite his anger against the\nAbbe d'Aigrigny, they can hardly have been written by priests.\"\n\n\"That is what I have said to myself.\"\n\n\"But what, then, can be their object?\"\n\n\"Their object? oh, it is too plain!\" cried Dagobert. \"The marshal is\nhasty, ardent; he has a thousand reasons to desire vengeance on the\nrenegade. But he cannot do himself justice, and the other sort of\njustice fails him. Then what does he do? He endeavors to forget, he\nforgets. But every day there comes to him an insolent letter, to provoke\nand exasperate his legitimate hatred, by mockeries and insults. Devil\ntake me! my head is not the weakest--but, at such a game, I should go\nmad.\"\n\n\"Father, such a plot would be horrible, and only worthy of hell!\"\n\n\"And that is not all.\"\n\n\"What more?\"\n\n\"The marshal has received other letters; those he has not shown me--but,\nafter he had read the first, he remained like a man struck motionless,\nand murmured to himself: 'They do not even respect that--oh! it is too\nmuch--too much!'--And, hiding his face in his hands he wept.\"\n\n\"The marshal wept!\" cried the blacksmith, hardly able to believe what he\nheard.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Dagobert, \"he wept like a child.\"\n\n\"And what could these letters contain, father?\"\n\n\"I did not venture to ask him, he appeared so miserable and dejected.\"\n\n\"But thus harassed and tormented incessantly, the marshal must lead a\nwretched life.\"\n\n\"And his poor little girls too! he sees them grow sadder and sadder,\nwithout being able to guess the cause. And the death of his father,\nkilled almost in his arms! Perhaps, you will think all this enough; but,\nno! I am sure there is something still more painful behind. Lately, you\nwould hardly know the marshal. He is irritable about nothing, and falls\ninto such fits of passion, that--\" After a moment's hesitation, the\nsoldier resumed: \"I way tell this to you, my poor boy. I have just been\nupstairs, to take the caps from his pistols.\"\n\n\"What, father!\" cried Agricola; \"you fear--\"\n\n\"In the state of exasperation in which I saw him yesterday, there is\neverything to fear.\"\n\n\"What then happened?\"\n\n\"Since some time, he has often long secret interviews with a gentleman,\nwho looks like an old soldier and a worthy man. I have remarked that\nthe gloom and agitation of the marshal are always redoubled after one of\nthese visits. Two or three times, I have spoken to him about it; but I\nsaw by his look, that I displeased him, and therefore I desisted.\n\n\"Well! yesterday, this gentleman came in the evening. He remained here\nuntil eleven o'clock, and his wife came to fetch him, and waited for him\nin a coach. After his departure, I went up to see if the marshal wanted\nanything. He was very pale, but calm; he thanked me, and I came down\nagain. You know that my room is just under his. I could hear the marshal\nwalking about as if much agitated, and soon after he seemed to be\nknocking down the furniture. In alarm, I once more went upstairs. He\nasked me, with an irritated air, what I wanted, and ordered me to leave\nthe room. Seeing him in that way, I remained; he grew more angry, still\nI remained; perceiving a chair and table thrown down, I pointed to them\nwith so sad an air that he understood me. You know that he has the best\nheart in the world, so, taking me by the hand, he said to me: 'Forgive\nme for causing you this uneasiness, my good Dagobert; but just now, I\nlost my senses, and gave way to a burst of absurd fury; I think I should\nhave thrown myself out of the window, had it been open. I only hope,\nthat my poor dear girls have not heard me,' added he, as he went on\ntip-toe to open the door which communicates with his daughters' bedroom.\nWhen he had listened anxiously for a moment, he returned to me, and\nsaid: 'Luckily, they are asleep.'--Then I asked him what was the cause\nof his agitation, and if, in spite of my precautions, he had received\nany more anonymous letters. 'No,' replied he, with a gloomy air; 'but\nleave me, my friend. I am now better. It has done me good to see you.\nGood--night, old comrade! go downstairs to bed.'--I took care not to\ncontradict him; but, pretending to go down, I came up again, and seated\nmyself on the top stair, listening. No doubt, to calm himself entirely,\nthe marshal went to embrace his children, for I heard him open and shut\ntheir door. Then he returned to his room, and walked about for a long\ntime, but with a more quiet step. At last, I heard him throw himself on\nhis bed, and I came down about break of day. After that, all remained\ntranquil.\"\n\n\"But whatever can be the matter with him, father?\"\n\n\"I do not know. When I went up to him, I was astonished at the agitation\nof his countenance, and the brilliancy of his eyes. He would have looked\nmuch the same, had he been delirious, or in a burning fever--so that,\nwhen I heard him say, he could have thrown himself out of the window,\nhad it been open, I thought it more prudent to remove the caps from his\npistols.\"\n\n\"I cannot understand it!\" said Agricola. \"So firm, intrepid, and cool a\nman as the marshal, a prey to such violence!\"\n\n\"I tell you that something very extraordinary is passing within him.\nFor two days, he has not been to see his children, which is always a bad\nsign with him--to say nothing of the poor little angels themselves, who\nare miserable at the notion that they have displeased their father. They\ndisplease him! If you only knew the life they lead, dear creatures! a\nwalk or ride with me and their companion, for I never let them go\nout alone, and, the rest of their time, at their studies, reading, or\nneedlework--always together--and then to bed. Yet their duenna, who is,\nI think, a worthy woman, tells me that sometimes at night, she has seen\nthem shed tears in their sleep. Poor children! they have hitherto known\nbut little happiness,\" added the soldier, with a sigh.\n\nAt this moment, hearing some one walk hastily across the courtyard,\nDagobert raised his eyes, and saw Marshal Simon, with pale face and\nbewildered air, holding in his two hands a letter, which he seemed to\nread with devouring anxiety.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVII. THE GOLDEN CITY.\n\nWhile Marshal Simon was crossing the little court with so agitated\nan air, reading the anonymous letter, which he had received by\nSpoil-sport's unexpected medium, Rose and Blanche were alone together,\nin the sitting room they usually occupied, which had been entered for a\nmoment by Loony during their absence. The poor children seemed destined\nto a succession of sorrows. At the moment their mourning for their\nmother drew near its close, the tragical death of their grandfather had\nagain dressed them in funereal weeds. They were seated together upon a\ncouch, in front of their work-table. Grief often produces the effect of\nyears. Hence, in a few months, Rose and Blanche had become quite young\nwomen. To the infantine grace of their charming faces, formerly so plump\nand rosy, but now pale and thin, had succeeded an expression of grave\nand touching sadness. Their large, mild eyes of limpid azure, which\nalways had a dreamy character, were now never bathed in those joyous\ntears, with which a burst of frank and hearty laughter used of old to\nadorn their silky lashes, when the comic coolness of Dagobert, or some\nfunny trick of Spoil-sport, cheered them in the course of their long and\nweary pilgrimage.\n\nIn a word, those delightful faces, which the flowery pencil of Greuze\ncould alone have painted in all their velvet freshness, were now worthy\nof inspiring the melancholy ideal of the immortal Ary Scheffer, who gave\nus Mignon aspiring to Paradise, and Margaret dreaming of Faust. Rose,\nleaning back on the couch, held her head somewhat bowed upon her\nbosom, over which was crossed a handkerchief of black crape. The light\nstreaming from a window opposite, shone softly on her pure, white\nforehead, crowned by two thick bands of chestnut hair. Her look was\nfixed, and the open arch of her eyebrows, now somewhat contracted,\nannounced a mind occupied with painful thoughts. Her thin, white little\nhands had fallen upon her knees, but still held the embroidery, on which\nshe had been engaged. The profile of Blanche was visible, leaning a\nlittle towards her sister, with an expression of tender and anxious\nsolicitude, whilst her needle remained in the canvas, as if she had just\nceased to work.\n\n\"Sister,\" said Blanche, in a low voice, after some moments of silence,\nduring which the tears seemed to mount to her eyes, \"tell me what you\nare thinking of. You look so sad.\"\n\n\"I think of the Golden City of our dreams,\" replied Rose, almost in a\nwhisper, after another short silence.\n\nBlanche understood the bitterness of these words. Without speaking, she\nthrew herself on her sister's neck, and wept. Poor girls! the Golden\nCity of their dreams was Paris, with their father in it--Paris, the\nmarvellous city of joys and festivals, through all of which the orphans\nhad beheld the radiant and smiling countenance of their sire! But, alas!\nthe Beautiful City had been changed into a place of tears, and death,\nand mourning. The same terrible pestilence which had struck down their\nmother in the heart of Siberia, seemed to have followed them like a dark\nand fatal cloud, which, always hovering above them, hid the mild blue of\nthe sky, and the joyous light of the sun.\n\nThe Golden City of their dreams! It was the place, where perhaps one day\ntheir father would present to them two young lovers, good and fair as\nthemselves. \"They love you,\" he was to say; \"they are worthy of you.\nLet each of you have a brother, and me two sons.\" Then what chaste,\nenchanting confusion for those two orphans, whose hearts, pure as\ncrystal, had never reflected any image but that of Gabriel, the\ncelestial messenger sent by their mother to protect them!\n\nWe can therefore understand the painful emotion of Blanche, when she\nheard her sister repeat, with bitter melancholy, those words which\ndescribed their whole situation: \"I think of the Golden City of our\ndreams!\"\n\n\"Who knows?\" proceeded Blanche, drying her sister's tears; \"perhaps,\nhappiness may yet be in store for us.\"\n\n\"Alas! if we are not happy with our father by us--shall we ever be so?\"\n\n\"Yes, when we rejoin our mother,\" said Blanche, lifting her eyes to\nheaven.\n\n\"Then, sister, this dream may be a warning--it is so like that we had in\nGermany.\"\n\n\"The difference being that then the Angel Gabriel came down from heaven\nto us, and that this time he takes us from earth, to our mother.\"\n\n\"And this dream will perhaps come true, like the other, my sister. We\ndreamt that the Angel Gabriel would protect us, and he came to save us\nfrom the shipwreck.\"\n\n\"And, this time, we dream that he will lead us to heaven. Why should not\nthat happen also?\"\n\n\"But to bring that about, sister, our Gabriel, who saved us from the\nshipwreck, must die also. No, no; that must not happen. Let us pray that\nit may not happen.\"\n\n\"No, it will not happen--for it is only Gabriel's good angel, who is so\nlike him, that we saw in our dreams.\"\n\n\"Sister, dear, how singular is this dream!--Here, as in Germany, we have\nboth dreamt the same--three times, the very same!\"\n\n\"It is true. The Angel Gabriel bent over us, and looked at us with so\nmild and sad an air, saying: 'Come, my children! come, my sisters! Your\nmother waits for you. Poor children, arrived from so far!' added he in\nhis tender voice: 'You have passed over the earth, gentle and innocent\nas two doves, to repose forever in the maternal nest.'\"\n\n\"Yes, those were the words of the archangel,\" said the other orphan,\nwith a pensive air; \"we have done no harm to any one, and we have loved\nthose who loved us--why should we fear to die?\"\n\n\"Therefore, dear sister, we rather smiled than wept, when he took us\nby the hand, and, spreading wide his beautiful white wings, carried us\nalong with him to the blue depths of the sky.\"\n\n\"To heaven, where our dear mother waited for us with open arms, her face\nall bathed in tears.\"\n\n\"Oh, sweet sister! one has not dreams like ours for nothing. And then,\"\nadded she, looking at Rose, with a sad smile that went to the heart,\n\"our death might perhaps end the sorrow, of which we have been the\ncause.\"\n\n\"Alas! it is not our fault. We love him so much. But we are so timid and\nsorrowful before him, that he may perhaps think we love him not.\"\n\nSo saying, Rose took her handkerchief from her workbasket, to dry her\nfears; a paper, folded in the form of a letter, fell out.\n\nAt this sight, the two shuddered, and pressed close to one mother,\nand Rose said to Blanche, in a trembling voice: \"Another of these\nletters!--Oh, I am afraid! It will doubtless be like the last.\"\n\n\"We must pick it up quickly, that it may not be seen,\" said Blanche,\nhastily stooping to seize the letter; \"the people who take interest in\nus might otherwise be exposed to great danger.\"\n\n\"But how could this letter come to us?\"\n\n\"How did the others come to be placed right under our hand, and always\nin the absence of our duenna?\"\n\n\"It is true. Why seek to explain the mystery? We should never be able to\ndo so. Let us read the letter. It will perhaps be more favorable to us\nthan the last.\" And the two sisters read as follows:-\"Continue to love\nyour father, dear children, for he is very miserable, and you are the\ninvoluntary cause of his distress. You will never know the terrible\nsacrifices that your presence imposes on him; but, alas! he is the\nvictim of his paternal duties. His sufferings are more cruel than ever;\nspare him at least those marks of tenderness, which occasion him so much\nmore pain than pleasure. Each caress is a dagger-stroke, for he sees in\nyou the innocent cause of his misfortunes. Dear children, you must not\ntherefore despair. If you have enough command over yourselves, not to\ntorture him by the display of too warm a tenderness, if you can mingle\nsome reserve with your affection, you will greatly alleviate his sorrow.\nKeep these letters a secret from every one, even from good Dagobert,\nwho loves you so much; otherwise, both he and you, your father, and\nthe unknown friend who is writing to you, will be exposed to the utmost\nperil, for your enemies are indeed formidable. Courage and hope! May\nyour father's tenderness be once more free from sorrow and regret!--That\nhappy day is perhaps not so far distant. Burn this letter like all the\nothers!\"\n\nThe above note was written with so much cunning that, even supposing the\norphans had communicated it to their father or Dagobert, it would at the\nworst have been considered a strange, intrusive proceeding, but almost\nexcusable from the spirit in which it was conceived. Nothing could\nhave been contrived with more perfidious art, if we consider the cruel\nperplexity in which Marshal Simon was struggling between the fear\nof again leaving his children and the shame of neglecting what he\nconsidered a sacred duty. All the tenderness, all the susceptibility\nof heart which distinguished the orphans, had been called into play by\nthese diabolical counsels, and the sisters soon perceived that their\npresence was in fact both sweet and painful to their father; for\nsometimes he felt himself incapable of leaving them, and sometimes the\nthought of a neglected duty spread a cloud of sadness over his brow.\nHence the poor twins could not fail to value the fatal meaning of the\nanonymous letters they received. They were persuaded that, from some\nmysterious motive, which they were unable to penetrate, their presence\nwas often importunate and even painful to their father. Hence the\ngrowing sadness of Rose and Blanche--hence the sort of fear and reserve\nwhich restrained the expression of their filial tenderness. A most\npainful situation for the marshal, who deceived by inexplicable\nappearances, mistook, in his turn, their manner of indifference to\nhim--and so, with breaking heart, and bitter grief upon his face, often\nabruptly quitted his children to conceal his tears!\n\nAnd the desponding orphans said to each other: \"We are the cause of our\nfather's grief. It is our presence which makes him so unhappy.\"\n\nThe reader may new judge what ravages such a thought, when fixed and\nincessant, must have made on these young, loving, timid, and simple\nhearts. Haw could the orphans be on their guard against such anonymous\ncommunications, which spoke with reverence of all they loved, and seemed\nevery day justified by the conduct of their father? Already victims of\nnumerous plots, and hearing that they were surrounded by enemies, we\ncan understand, how faithful to the advice of their unknown friend, they\nforbore to confide to Dagobert these letters, in which he was so justly\nappreciated. The object of the proceeding was very plain. By continually\nharassing the marshal on all sides, and persuading him of the coldness\nof his children, the conspirators might naturally hope to conquer the\nhesitation which had hitherto prevented his again quitting his daughters\nto embark in a dangerous enterprise. To render the marshal's life so\nburdensome that he would desire to seek relief from his torments in airy\nproject of daring and generous chivalry, was one of the ends proposed by\nRodin--and, as we have seen, it wanted neither logic nor possibility.\n\nAfter having read the letter, the two remained for a moment silent\nand dejected. Then Rose, who held the paper in her hand, started up\nsuddenly, approached the chimneypiece, and threw the letter into the\nfire, saying, with a timid air: \"We must burn it quickly, or perhaps\nsome great danger will ensue.\"\n\n\"What greater misfortune can happen to us,\" said Blanche, despondingly,\n\"than to cause such sorrow to our father? What can be the reason of it?\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Rose, whose tears were slowly trickling down her cheek,\n\"he does not find us what he could have desired. He may love us well\nas the children of our poor mother, but we are not the daughters he had\ndreamed of. Do you understand me, sister?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes--that is perhaps what occasioned all his sorrow. We are so\nbadly informed, so wild, so awkward, that he is no doubt ashamed of us;\nand, as he loves us in spite of all, it makes him suffer.\"\n\n\"Alas! it is not our fault. Our dear mother brought us up in the deserts\nof Siberia as well as she could.\"\n\n\"Oh! father himself does not reproach us with it; only it gives him\npain.\"\n\n\"Particularly if he has friends whose daughters are very beautiful, and\npossessed of all sorts of talents. Then he must bitterly regret that we\nare not the same.\"\n\n\"Dost remember when he took us to see our cousin, Mdlle. Adrienne, who\nwas so affectionate and kind to us, that he said to us, with admiration:\n'Did you notice her, my children? How beautiful she is, and what talent,\nwhat a noble heart, and therewith such grace and elegance!'\"\n\n\"Oh, it is very true! Mdlle. de Cardoville is so beautiful, her voice\nis so sweet and gentle, that, when we saw and heard her, we fancied that\nall our troubles were at an end.\"\n\n\"And it is because of such beauty, no doubt, that our father, comparing\nus with our cousin and so many other handsome young ladies, cannot be\nvery proud of us. And he, who is so loved and honored, would have liked\nto have been proud of his daughters.\"\n\nSuddenly Rose laid her hand on her sister's arm, and said to her,\nwith anxiety: \"Listen! listen! they are talking very loud in father's\nbedroom.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Blanche, listening in her turn; \"and I can hear him walking.\nThat is his step.\"\n\n\"Good heaven! how he raises his voice; he seems to be in a great\npassion; he will perhaps come this way.\"\n\nAnd at the thought of their father's coming--that father who really\nadored them--the unhappy children looked in terror at each other. The\nsound of a loud and angry voice became more and more distinct; and Rose,\ntrembling through all her frame, said to her sister: \"Do not let us\nremain here! Come into our room.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"We should hear, without designing it, the words of our father--and he\ndoes not perhaps know that we are so near.\"\n\n\"You are right. Come, come!\" answered Blanche, as she rose hastily from\nher seat.\n\n\"Oh! I am afraid. I have never heard him speak in so angry a tone.\"\n\n\"Oh! kind heaven!\" said Blanche, growing pale, as she stopped\ninvoluntarily. \"It is to Dagobert that he is talking so loud.\"\n\n\"What can be the matter--to make our father speak to him in that way?\"\n\n\"Alas! some great misfortune must have happened.\"\n\n\"Oh, sister! do not let us remain here! It pains me too much to hear\nDagobert thus spoken to.\"\n\nThe crash of some article, hurled with violence and broken to pieces in\nthe next room, so frightened the orphans, that, pale and trembling with\nemotion, they rushed into their own apartment, and fastened the door. We\nmust now explain the cause of Marshal Simon's violent anger.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVIII. THE STUNG LION.\n\nThis was the scene, the sound of which had so terrified Rose and\nBlanche. At first alone in his chamber, in a state of exasperation\ndifficult to describe, Marshal Simon had begun to walk hastily up and\ndown, his handsome, manly face inflamed with rage, his eyes sparkling\nwith indignation, while on his broad forehead, crowned with short-cut\nhair that was now turning gray, large veins, of which you might count\nthe pulsations, were swollen almost to bursting; and sometimes his\nthick, black moustache was curled with a convulsive motion, not unlike\nthat which is seen in the visage of a raging lion. And even as the\nwounded lion, in its fury, harassed and tortured by a thousand invisible\ndarts, walks up and down its den with savage wrath, so Marshal Simon\npaced the floor of his room, as if bounding from side to side;\nsometimes he stooped, as though bending beneath the weight of his anger;\nsometimes, on the contrary, he paused abruptly, drew himself up to his\nfull height, crossed his arms upon his vigorous chest, and with raised\nbrow, threatening and terrible look, seemed to defy some invisible\nenemy, and murmur confused exclamations. Then he stood like a man of war\nand battle in all his intrepid fire.\n\nAnd now he stamped angrily with his foot, approached the chimney-piece,\nand pulled the bell so violently that the bell-rope remained in his\nhand. A servant hastened to attend to this precipitate summons. \"Did you\nnot tell Dagobert that I wished to speak to him?\" cried the marshal.\n\n\"I executed your grace's orders, but M. Dagobert was accompanying his\nson to the door, and--\"\n\n\"Very well!\" interrupted Marshal Simon, with an abrupt and imperious\ngesture.\n\nThe servant went out, and his master continued to walk up and down with\nimpatient steps, crumpling, in his rage, a letter that he held in his\nleft hand. This letter had been innocently delivered by Spoil-sport,\nwho, seeing him come in, had run joyously to meet him. At length the\ndoor opened, and Dagobert appeared. \"I have been waiting for you a long\ntime, sirrah!\" cried the marshal, in an irritated tone.\n\nDagobert, more pained than surprised at this burst of anger, which he\nrightly attributed to the constant state of excitement in which the\nmarshal had now been for some time past, answered mildly: \"I beg your\npardon, general, but I was letting out my son--\"\n\n\"Read that, sir!\" said the marshal abruptly, giving him the letter.\n\nWhile Dagobert was reading it, the marshal resumed, with growing anger,\nas he kicked over a chair that stood in his way: \"Thus, even in my\nown house, there are wretches bribed to harass me with incredible\nperseverance. Well! have you read it, sir?\"\n\n\"It is a fresh insult to add to the others,\" said Dagobert, coolly, as\nhe threw the letter into the fire.\n\n\"The letter is infamous--but it speaks the truth,\" replied the marshal.\nDagobert looked at him in amazement.\n\n\"And can you tell who brought me this infamous letter\" continued the\nmarshal. \"One would think the devil had a hand in it--for it was your\ndog!\"\n\n\"Spoil-sport?\" said Dagobert, in the utmost surprise.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the marshal, bitterly; \"it is no doubt a joke of your\ninvention.\"\n\n\"I have no heart for joking, general,\" answered Dagobert, more and more\nsaddened by the irritable state of the marshal; \"I cannot explain how it\nhappened. Spoil-sport is a good carrier, and no doubt found the letter\nin the house--\"\n\n\"And who can have left it there? Am I surrounded by traitors? Do you\nkeep no watch? You, in whom I have every confidence?\"\n\n\"Listen to me, general--\"\n\nBut the marshal proceeded, without waiting to hear him. \"What! I have\nmade war for five-and-twenty years, I have battled with armies, I have\nstruggled victoriously through the evil times of exile and proscription,\nI have withstood blows from maces of iron--and now I am to be killed\nwith pins! Pursued into my own house, harassed with impunity, worn out,\ntortured every minute, to gratify some unknown, miserable hate!--When I\nsay unknown, I am wrong--it is d'Aigrigny, the renegade, who is at the\nbottom of all this, I am sure. I have in the world but one enemy, and\nhe is the man. I must finish with him, for I am weary of this--it is too\nmuch.\"\n\n\"But, general, remember he is a priest--\"\n\n\"What do I care for that? Have I not seen him handle the sword? I will\nyet make a soldier's blood rise to the forehead of the traitor!\"\n\n\"But, general--\"\n\n\"I tell you, that I must be avenged on some one,\" cried the marshal,\nwith an accent of the most violent exasperation; \"I tell you, that I\nmast find a living representative of these cowardly plots, that I may at\nonce make an end of him!--They press upon me from all sides; they make\nmy life a hell--you know it--and you do nothing to save me from these\ntortures, which are killing me as by a slow fire. Can I have no one in\nwhom to trust?\"\n\n\"General, I can't let you say that,\" replied Dagobert, in a calm, but\nfirm voice.\n\n\"And why not?\"\n\n\"General, I can't let you say that you have no one to trust to. You\nmight end perhaps in believing it, and then it would be even worse for\nyourself, than for those who well know their devotion for you, and would\ngo through fire and water to serve you. I am one of them--and you know\nit.\"\n\nThese simple words, pronounced by Dagobert with a tone of deep\nconviction, recalled the marshal to himself; for although his honorable\nand generous character might from time to time be embittered by\nirritation and grief, he soon recovered his natural equanimity. So,\naddressing Dagobert in a less abrupt tone, he said to him, though still\nmuch agitated: \"You are right. I could never doubt your fidelity. But\nanger deprives me of my senses. This infamous letter is enough to drive\none mad. I am unjust, ungrateful--yes, ungrateful--and to you!\"\n\n\"Do not think of me, general. With a kind word at the end, you might\nblow me up all the year round. But what has happened?\"\n\nThe general's countenance again darkened, as he answered rapidly: \"I am\nlooked down upon, and despised!\"\n\n\"You?\"\n\n\"Yes I. After all,\" resumed the marshal bitterly, \"why should I conceal\nfrom you this new wound? If I doubted you a moment, I owe you some\ncompensation, and you shall know all. For some time past, I perceived\nthat, when I meet any of my old companions in arms, they try to avoid\nme--\"\n\n\"What! was it to this that the anonymous letter alluded?\"\n\n\"Yes; and it spoke the truth,\" replied the marshal, with a sigh of grief\nand indignation.\n\n\"But it is impossible, general--you are so loved and respected--\"\n\n\"Those are mere words; I speak of positive facts. When I appear, the\nconversation is often interrupted. Instead of treating me as an old\ncomrade, they affect towards me a rigorously cold politeness. There are\na thousand little shades, a thousand trifles, which wound the heart, but\nwhich it is impossible to notice--\"\n\n\"What you are now saying, general, quite confounds me,\" replied\nDagobert. \"You assure me of it, and I am forced to believe you.\"\n\n\"Oh, it is intolerable! I was resolved to ease my heart of it; so, this\nmorning, I went to General d'Havrincourt, who was colonel with me in the\nImperial Guard; he is honor and honesty itself. I went to him with\nopen heart. 'I perceive,' said I, 'the coldness that is shown me. Some\ncalumny must be circulating to my disadvantage. Tell me all about it.\nKnowing the attack, I shall be able to defend myself--'\n\n\"Well, general?\"\n\n\"D'Havrincourt remained impassible ceremoniously polite. To all my\nquestions he answered coldly: 'I am not aware, my lord duke, that any\ncalumny has been circulated with regard to you.'--'Do not call me\n\"my lord duke,\" my dear D'Havrincourt; we are old fellow-soldiers and\nfriends, my honor is somewhat touchy, I confess, and I find that you and\nour comrades do not receive me so cordially, as in times past. You\ndo not deny it; I see, I know, I feel it.' To all this D'Havrincourt\nanswered, with the same coldness: 'I have never seen any one wanting in\nrespect towards you.'--'I am not talking of respect,' exclaimed I, as\nI clasped his hand affectionately, though I observed that he but feebly\nreturned the pressure; 'I speak of cordiality, confidence, which I once\nenjoyed, while now I am treated like a stranger. Why is it? What has\noccasioned this change?'--Still cold and reserved, he answered: 'These\ndistinctions are so nice, marshal, that it is impossible for me to give\nyou any opinion on the subject.'--My heart swelled with grief and anger.\nWhat was I to do? To quarrel with D'Havrincourt would have been absurd.\nA sense of dignity forced me to break off the interview, but it has\nonly confirmed my fears. Thus,\" added the marshal, getting more and more\nanimated, \"thus am I fallen from the esteem to which I am entitled, thus\nam I despised, without even knowing the cause! Is it not odious? If\nthey would only utter a charge against me--I should at least be able to\ndefend myself, and to find an answer. But no, no! not even a word--only\nthe cold politeness that is worse than any insult. Oh! it is too much,\ntoo much! for all this comes but in addition to other cares. What a\nlife is mine since the death of my father! If I did but find rest and\nhappiness at home--but no! I come in, but to read shameful letters; and\nstill worse,\" added the marshal, in a heartrending tone, and after a\nmoment's hesitation, \"to find my children grow more and more indifferent\ntowards me--\"Yes,\" continued he, perceiving the amazement of Dagobert,\n\"and yet they know how much I love them!\"\n\n\"Your daughters indifferent!\" exclaimed Dagobert, in astonishment. \"You\nmake them such a reproach?\"\n\n\"Oh! I do not blame them. They have hardly had time to know me.\"\n\n\"Not had time to know you?\" returned the soldier, in a tone of\nremonstrance, and warming up in his turn. \"Ah! of what did their mother\ntalk to them, except you? and I too! what could I teach your children\nexcept to know and love you?\"\n\n\"You take their part--that is natural--they love you better than they do\nme,\" said the marshal, with growing bitterness. Dagobert felt himself so\npainfully affected, that he looked at the marshal without answering.\n\n\"Yes!\" continued the other; \"yes! it may be base and ungrateful--but no\nmatter!--Twenty times I have felt jealous of the affectionate confidence\nwhich my children display towards you, while with me they seem always to\nbe in fear. If their melancholy faces ever grow animated for a moment,\nit is in talking to you, in seeing you; while for me they have nothing\nbut cold respect--and that kills me. Sure of the affection of my\nchildren, I would have braved and surmounted every difficulty--\" Then,\nseeing that Dagobert rushed towards the door which led to the chamber of\nRose and Blanche, the marshal asked: \"Where are you going?\"\n\n\"For your daughters, general.\"\n\n\"What for?\"\n\n\"To bring them face to face with you--to tell them: 'My children, your\nfather thinks that you do not love him.'--I will only say that--and then\nyou will see.\"\n\n\"Dagobert! I forbid you to do it,\" cried the marshal, hastily.\n\n\"I don't care for that--you have no right to be unjust to the poor\nchildren,\" said the soldier, as he again advanced towards the door.\n\n\"Dagobert, I command you to remain here,\" cried the marshal.\n\n\"Listen to me, general. I am your soldier, your inferior, your servant,\nif you will,\" said the old grenadier, roughly; \"but neither rank nor\nstation shall keep me silent, when I have to defend your daughters.\nAll must be explained--I know but one way--and that is to bring honest\npeople face to face.\"\n\nIf the marshal had not seized him by the arm, Dagobert would have\nentered the apartment of the young girls.\n\n\"Remain!\" said the marshal, so imperiously that the soldier, accustomed\nto obedience, hung his head, and stood still.\n\n\"What would you do?\" resumed the marshal. \"Tell my children, that I\nthink they do not love me? induce them to affect a tenderness they do\nnot feel--when it is not their fault, but mine?\"\n\n\"Oh, general!\" said Dagobert, in a tone of despair, \"I no longer feel\nanger, in hearing you speak thus of your children. It is such grief,\nthat it breaks my heart!\"\n\nTouched by the expression of the soldier's countenance, the marshal\ncontinued, less abruptly: \"Come, I may be wrong; and yet I ask you,\nwithout bitterness or jealousy, are not my children more confiding, more\nfamiliar, with you than with me?\"\n\n\"God bless me, general!\" cried Dagobert; \"if you come to that, they are\nmore familiar with Spoil-sport than with either of us. You are their\nfather; and, however kind a father may be, he must always command some\nrespect. Familiar with me! I should think so. A fine story! What the\ndevil should they respect in me, who, except that I am six feet\nhigh, and wear a moustache, might pass for the old woman that nursed\nthem?--and then I must say, that, even before the death of your worthy\nfather, you were sad and full of thought; the children have remarked\nthat; and what you take for coldness on their part, is, I am sure,\nanxiety for you. Come, general; you are not just. You complain, because\nthey love you too much.\"\n\n\"I complain, because I suffer,\" said the marshal, in an agony of\nexcitement. \"I alone know my sufferings.\"\n\n\"They must indeed be grievous, general,\" said Dagobert, carried further\nthan he would otherwise have gone by his attachment for the orphans,\n\"since those who love you feel them so cruelly.\"\n\n\"What, sir! more reproaches?\"\n\n\"Yes, general, reproaches,\" cried Dagobert. \"Your children have the\nright to complain of you, since you accuse them so unjustly.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the marshal, scarcely able to contain himself, \"this is\nenough--this is too much!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! it is enough,\" replied Dagobert, with rising emotion. \"Why\ndefend unfortunate children, who can only love and submit? Why defend\nthem against your unhappy blindness?\"\n\nThe marshal started with anger and impatience, but then replied, with a\nforced calmness: \"I needs must remember all that I owe you--and I will\nnot forget it, say what you will.\"\n\n\"But, general,\" cried Dagobert, \"why will you not let me fetch your\nchildren?\"\n\n\"Do you not see that this scene is killing me?\" cried the exasperated\nmarshal. \"Do you not understand, that I will not have my children\nwitness what I suffer? A father's grief has its dignity, sir; and you\nought to feel for and respect it.\"\n\n\"Respect it? no--not when it is founded on injustice!\"\n\n\"Enough, sir--enough!\"\n\n\"And not content with tormenting yourself,\" cried Dagobert, unable any\nlonger to control his feelings, \"do you know what you will do? You will\nmake your children die of sorrow. Was it for this, that I brought them\nto you from the depths of Siberia?\"\n\n\"More reproaches!\"\n\n\"Yes; for the worst ingratitude towards me, is to make your children\nunhappy.\"\n\n\"Leave the room, sir!\" cried the marshal, quite beside himself, and so\nterrible with rage and grief, that Dagobert, regretting that he had gone\nso far, resumed: \"I was wrong, general. I have perhaps been wanting in\nrespect to you--forgive me--but--\"\n\n\"I forgive you--only leave me!\" said the marshal, hardly restraining\nhimself.\n\n\"One word, general--\"\n\n\"I entreat you to leave me--I ask it as a service--is that enough?\"\nsaid the marshal, with renewed efforts to control the violence of his\nemotions.\n\nA deadly paleness succeeded to the high color which during this painful\nscene had inflamed the cheeks of the marshal. Alarmed at this symptom,\nDagobert redoubled his entreaties. \"I implore you, general,\" said he, in\nan agitated mice, \"to permit me for one moment--\"\n\n\"Since you will have it so, sir, I must be the one to leave,\" said the\nmarshal, making a step towards the door.\n\nThese words were said in such a manner, that Dagobert could no longer\nresist. He hung his head in despair, looked for a moment in silent\nsupplication at the marshal, and then, as the latter seemed yielding to\na new movement of rage, the soldier slowly quitted the room.\n\nA few minutes had scarcely elapsed since the departure of Dagobert, when\nthe marshal, who, after a long and gloomy silence, had repeatedly drawn\nnear the door of his daughters' apartment with a mixture of hesitation\nand anguish, suddenly made a violent effort, wiped the cold sweat from\nhis brow, and entered the chamber in which Rose and Blanche had taken\nrefuge.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIX. THE TEST.\n\nDagobert was right in defending his children, as he paternally called\nRose and Blanche, and yet the apprehensions of the marshal with regard\nto the coldness of his daughters, were unfortunately justified by\nappearances. As he had told his father, unable to explain the sad,\nand almost trembling embarrassment, which his daughters felt in his\npresence, he sought in vain for the cause of what he termed their\nindifference. Now reproaching himself bitterly for not concealing from\nthem his grief at the death of their mother, he feared he might have\ngiven them to understand that they would be unable to console him; now\nsupposing that he had not shown himself sufficiently tender, and that\nhad chilled them with his military sternness; and now repeating with\nbitter regret, that, having always lived away from them, he must be\nalways a stranger to them. In a word, the most unlikely suppositions\npresented themselves by turns to his mind, and whenever such seeds of\ndoubt, suspicion, or fear, are blended with a warm affection, they\nwill sooner or later develop themselves with fatal effect. Yet,\nnotwithstanding this fancied coldness, from which he suffered so much,\nthe affection of the marshal for his daughters was so true and deep,\nthat the thought of again quitting them caused the hesitations which\nwere the torment of his life, and provoked an incessant struggle between\nhis paternal love and the duty he held most sacred.\n\nThe injurious calumnies, which had been so skillfully propagated, that\nmen of honor, like his old brothers in arms, were found to attach\nsome credit to them, had been spread with frightful pertinacity by the\nfriends of the Princess de Saint-Dizier. We shall describe hereafter the\nmeaning and object of these odious reports, which, joined with so\nmany other fatal injuries, had filled up the measure of the marshal's\nindignation. Inflamed with anger, excited almost to madness by this\nincessant \"stabbing with pins\" (as he had himself called it), and\noffended at some of Dagobert's words, he had spoken harshly to him.\nBut, after the soldier's departure, when left to reflect in silence, the\nmarshal remembered the warm and earnest expressions of the defender\nof his children, and doubt crossed his mind, as to the reality of the\ncoldness of which he accused them. Therefore, having taken a terrible\nresolution in case a new trial should confirm his desponding doubts, he\nentered, as we before said, his, daughters' chamber. The discussion with\nDagobert had been so loud, that the sound of the voices had confusedly\nreached the ears of the two sisters, even after they had taken refuge in\ntheir bedroom. So that, on the arrival of their father, their pale\nfaces betrayed their fear and anxiety. At sight of the marshal, whose\ncountenance was also much agitated, the girls rose respectfully, but\nremained close together, trembling in each other's arms. And yet there\nwas neither anger nor severity on their father's face--only a deep,\nalmost supplicating grief, which seemed to say: \"My children, I\nsuffer--I have come to you--console me, love me! or I shall die!\"\n\nThe marshal's countenance was at this moment so expressive, that, the\nfirst impulse of fear once surmounted, the sisters were about to throw\nthemselves into his arms; but remembering the recommendations of the\nanonymous letter, which told them how painful any effusion of their\ntenderness was to their father, they exchanged a rapid glance, and\nremained motionless. By a cruel fatality, the marshal at this moment\nburned to open his arms to his children. He looked at them with love, he\neven made a slight movement as if to call them to him; but he would\nnot attempt more, for fear of meeting with no response. Still the poor\nchildren, paralyzed by perfidious counsels, remained mute, motionless,\ntrembling!\n\n\"It is all over,\" thought he, as he gazed upon them. \"No chord of\nsympathy stirs in their bosom. Whether I go---whether I remain--matters\nnot to them. No, I am nothing to these children--since, at this awful\nmoment, when they see me perhaps for the last time, no filial instinct\ntells them that their affection might save me still!\"\n\nDuring these terrible reflections, the marshal had not taken his eyes\noff his children, and his manly countenance assumed an expression\nat once so touching and mournful--his look revealed so painfully the\ntortures of his despairing soul--that Rose and Blanche, confused,\nalarmed, but yielding together to a spontaneous movement, threw\nthemselves on their father's neck, and covered him with tears and\ncaresses. Marshal Simon had not spoken a word; his daughters had not\nuttered a sound; and yet all three had at length understood one another.\nA sympathetic shock had electrified and mingled those three hearts. Vain\nfears, false doubts, lying counsel, all had yielded to the irresistible\nemotion which had brought the daughters to their father's arms. A sudden\nrevelation gave them faith, at the fatal moment when incurable suspicion\nwas about to separate them forever.\n\nIn a second, the marshal felt all this, but words failed him. Pale,\nbewildered, kissing the brows, the hair, the hands of his daughters,\nweeping, sighing, smiling all in turn, he was wild, delirious, drunk\nwith happiness. At length, he exclaimed: \"I have found them--or rather,\nI have never lost them. They loved me, and did not dare to tell me so.\nI overawed them. And I thought it was my fault. Heavens! what good that\ndoes! what strength, what heart, what hope!--Ha! ha!\" cried he, laughing\nand weeping at the same time, whilst he covered his children with\ncaresses; \"they may despise me now, they may harass me now--I defy them\nall. My own blue eyes! my sweet blue eyes! look at me well, and inspire\nme with new life.\"\n\n\"Oh, father! you love us then as much as we love you?\" cried Rose, with\nenchanting simplicity.\n\n\"And we may often, very often, perhaps every day, throw ourselves on\nyour neck, embrace you, and prove how glad we are to be with you?\"\n\n\"Show you, dear father, all the store of love we were heaping up in our\nhearts--so sad, alas! that we could not spend it upon you?\"\n\n\"Tell you aloud all that we think in secret?\"\n\n\"Yes--you may do so--you may do so,\" said Marshal Simon, faltering with\njoy; \"what prevented you, my children? But no; do not answer; enough of\nthe past!--I know all, I understand all. You misinterpreted my gloom,\nand it made you sad; I, in my turn, misinterpreted your sadness. But\nnever mind; I scarcely know what I am saying to you. I only think of\nlooking at you--and it dazzles me--it confuses me--it is the dizziness\nof joy!\"\n\n\"Oh, look at us, father! look into our eyes, into our hearts,\" cried\nRose, with rapture.\n\n\"And you will read there, happiness for us, and love for you, sir!\"\nadded Blanche.\n\n\"Sir, sir!\" said the marshal, in a tone of affectionate reproach; \"what\ndoes that mean? Will you call me father, if you please?\"\n\n\"Dear father, your hand!\" said Blanche, as she took it, and placed it on\nher heart.\n\n\"Dear father, your hand!\" said Rose, as she took the other hand of the\nmarshal. \"Do you believe now in our love and happiness?\" she continued.\n\nIt is impossible to describe the charming expression of filial pride in\nthe divine faces of the girls, as their father, slightly pressing their\nvirgin bosoms, seemed to count with delight the joyous pulsations of\ntheir hearts.\n\n\"Oh, yes! happiness and affection can alone make the heart beat thus!\"\ncried the marshal.\n\nA hoarse sob, heard in the direction of the open door, made the three\nturn round, and there they saw the tall figure of Dagobert, with the\nblack nose of Spoil-sport reaching to his master's knee. The soldier,\ndrying his eyes and moustache with his little blue cotton handkerchief,\nremained motionless as the god Terminus. When he could speak, he\naddressed himself to the marshal, and, shaking his head, muttered, in a\nhoarse voice, for the good man was swallowing his tears: \"Did I not tell\nyou so?\"\n\n\"Silence!\" said the marshal, with a sign of intelligence. \"You were a\nbetter father than myself, my old friend. Come and kiss them! I shall\nnot be jealous.\"\n\nThe marshal stretched out his hand to the soldier, who pressed it\ncordially, whilst the two sisters threw themselves on his neck, and\nSpoil-sport, according to custom wishing to have his share in the\ngeneral joy, raised himself on his hind legs, and rested his fore-paws\nagainst his master's back. There was a moment of profound silence.\nThe celestial felicity enjoyed during that moment, by the marshal,\nhis daughters, and the soldier, was interrupted by the barking of\nSpoil-sort, who suddenly quitted the attitude of a biped. The happy\ngroup separated, looked round, and saw Loony's stupid face. He looked\neven duller than usual, as he stood quite still in the doorway, staring\nwith wide stretched eyes, and holding a feather-broom under his arm, and\nin his hand the ever-present basket of wood.\n\nNothing makes one so gay as happiness; and, though this grotesque figure\nappeared at a very unseasonable moment, it was received with frank\nlaughter from the blooming lips of Rose and Blanche. Having made the\nmarshal's daughters laugh, after their long sadness, Loony at once\nacquired a claim to the indulgence of the marshal, who said to him, good\nhumoredly: \"What do you want, my lad?\"\n\n\"It's not me, my lord duke!\" answered Loony, laying his hand on his\nbreast, as if it were taking a vow, so that his feather-brush fell down\nfrom under his arm. The laughter of the girls redoubled.\n\n\"It is not you?\" said the marshal.\n\n\"Here! Spoil-sport!\" Dagobert called, for the honest dog seemed to have\na secret dislike for the pretended idiot, and approached him with an\nangry air.\n\n\"No, my lord duke, it is not me!\" resumed Loony. \"It is the footman who\ntold me to tell M. Dagobert, when I brought up the wood to tell my lord\nduke, as I was coming up with the basket, that M. Robert wants to see\nhim.\"\n\nThe girls laughed still more at this new stupidity. But, at the name of\nRobert, Marshal Simon started.\n\nM. Robert was the secret emissary of Rodin, with regard to the possible,\nbut adventurous, enterprise of attempting the liberation of Napoleon II.\nAfter a moment's silence, the marshal, whose face was still radiant with\njoy and happiness, said to Loony: \"Beg M. Robert to wait for me a moment\nin my study.\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord duke,\" answered Loony, bowing almost to the ground.\n\nThe simpleton withdrew, and the marshal said to his daughters, in a\njoyous tone, \"You see, that, in a moment like this, one does not leave\none's children, even for M. Robert.\"\n\n\"Oh! that's right, father!\" cried Blanche, gayly; \"for I was already\nvery angry with this M. Robert.\"\n\n\"Have you pen and paper at hand?\" asked the marshal.\n\n\"Yes, father; there on the table,\" said Rose, hastily, as she pointed\nto a little desk near one of the windows, towards which the marshal now\nadvanced rapidly.\n\nFrom motives of delicacy, the girls remained where they were, close to\nthe fireplace, and caressed each other tenderly, as if to congratulate\nthemselves in private on the unexpected happiness of this day.\n\nThe marshal seated himself at the desk, and made a sign to Dagobert to\ndraw near.\n\nWhile he wrote rapidly a few words in a firm hand, he said to the\nsoldier with a smile, in so low a tone that it was impossible for his\ndaughters to hear: \"Do you know what I had almost resolved upon, before\nentering this room?\"\n\n\"What, general?\"\n\n\"To blow my brains out. It is to my children that I owe my life.\" And\nthe marshal continued writing.\n\nDagobert started at this communication, and then replied, also in a\nwhisper: \"It would not have been with your pistols. I took off the\ncaps.\"\n\nThe marshal turned round hastily, and looked at him with an air of\nsurprise. But the soldier only nodded his head affirmatively, and added:\n\"Thank heaven, we have now done with all those ideas!\"\n\nThe marshal's only answer was to glance at his children, his eyes\nswimming with tenderness, and sparkling with delight; then, sealing the\nnote he had written, he gave it to the soldier, and said to him, \"Give\nthat to M. Robert. I will see him to-morrow.\"\n\nDagobert took the letter, and went out. Returning towards his daughters,\nthe marshal joyfully extended his arms to them, and said, \"Now, young\nladies, two nice kisses for having sacrificed M. Robert to you. Have\nI not earned them?\" And Rose and Blanche threw themselves on their\nfather's neck.\n\nAbout the time that these events were taking place at Paris, two\ntravellers, wide apart from each other, exchanged mysterious thoughts\nthrough the breadth of space.\n\n\n\n\nBOOK XI.\n\n     L. The Ruins of the Abbey of St. John the Baptist LI. The\n     Calvary LII. The Council LIII. Happiness LIV. Duty LV. The\n     Improvised Hospital LVI. Hydrophobia LVII. The Guardian\n     Angel LVIII. Ruin LIX. Memories LX. The Ordeal LXI. Ambition\n     LXII. To a Socius, a Socius and a Half LXIII. Faringhea's\n     Affection LXIV. An Evening at St. Colombe's LXV. The Nuptial\n     Bed LXVI. A Duel to the Death LXVII. A Message LXVIII. The\n     First of June\n\n\n\n\nEPILOGUE.\n\n     I. Four Years After II. The Redemption\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER L. THE RUINS OF THE ABBEY OF ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST.\n\nThe sun is fast sinking. In the depths of an immense piny wood, in the\nmidst of profound solitude, rise the ruins of an abbey, once sacred to\nSt. John the Baptist. Ivy, moss, and creeping plants, almost entirely\nconceal the stones, now black with age. Some broken arches, some\nwalls pierced with ovals, still remain standing, visible on the dark\nbackground of the thick wood. Looking down upon this mass of ruins from\na broken pedestal, half-covered with ivy, a mutilated, but colossal\nstatue of stone still keeps its place. This statue is strange and awful.\nIt represents a headless human figure. Clad in the antique toga, it\nholds in its hand a dish and on that dish is a head. This head is its\nown. It is the statue of St. John the Baptist and Martyr, put to death\nby wish of Herodias.\n\nThe silence around is solemn. From time to time, however, is heard the\ndull rustling of the enormous branches of the pine-trees, shaken by the\nwind. Copper-colored clouds, reddened by the setting sun, pass slowly\nover the forest, and are reflected in the current of a brook, which,\nderiving its source from a neighboring mass of rocks, flows through the\nruins. The water flows, the clouds pass on, the ancient trees tremble,\nthe breeze murmurs.\n\nSuddenly, through the shadow thrown by the overhanging wood, which\nstretches far into endless depths, a human form appears. It is a woman.\nShe advances slowly towards the ruins. She has reached them. She treads\nthe once sacred ground. This woman is pale, her look sad, her long\nrobe floats on the wind, her feet covered with dust. She walks with\ndifficulty and pain. A block of stone is placed near the stream, almost\nat the foot of the statue of John the Baptist. Upon this stone she sinks\nbreathless and exhausted, worn out with fatigue. And yet, for many days,\nmany years, many centuries, she has walked on unwearied.\n\nFor the first time, she feels an unconquerable sense of lassitude. For\nthe first time, her feet begin to fail her. For the first time, she,\nwho traversed, with firm and equal footsteps, the moving lava of torrid\ndeserts, while whole caravans were buried in drifts of fiery sand--who\npassed, with steady and disdainful tread, over the eternal snows of\nArctic regions, over icy solitudes, in which no other human being could\nlive--who had been spared by the devouring flames of conflagrations, and\nby the impetuous waters of torrents--she, in brief, who for centuries\nhad had nothing in common with humanity--for the first time suffers\nmortal pain.\n\nHer feet bleed, her limbs ache with fatigue, she is devoured by burning\nthirst. She feels these infirmities, yet scarcely dares to believe them\nreal. Her joy would be too immense! But now, her throat becomes dry,\ncontracted, all on fire. She sees the stream, and throws herself on her\nknees, to quench her thirst in that crystal current, transparent as\na mirror. What happens then? Hardly have her fevered lips touched the\nfresh, pure water, than, still kneeling, supported on her hands, she\nsuddenly ceases to drink, and gazes eagerly on the limpid stream.\nForgetting the thirst which devours her, she utters a loud cry--a cry\nof deep, earnest, religious joy, like a note of praise and infinite\ngratitude to heaven. In that deep mirror, she perceives that she has\ngrown older.\n\nIn a few days, a few hours, a few minutes, perhaps in a single second,\nshe has attained the maturity of age. She, who for more than eighteen\ncenturies has been as a woman of twenty, carrying through successive\ngenerations the load of her imperishable youth--she has grown old, and\nmay, perhaps, at length, hope to die. Every minute of her life may now\nbring her nearer to the last home! Transported by that ineffable hope,\nshe rises, and lifts her eyes to heaven, clasping her hands in an\nattitude of fervent prayer. Then her eyes rest on the tall statue of\nstone, representing St. John. The head, which the martyr carries in his\nhand, seems, from beneath its half-closed granite eyelid, to cast upon\nthe Wandering Jewess a glance of commiseration and pity. And it was she,\nHerodias who, in the cruel intoxication of a pagan festival, demanded\nthe murder of the saint! And it is at the foot of the martyr's image,\nthat, for the first time, the immortality, which weighed on her for so\nmany centuries, seems likely to find a term!\n\n\"Oh, impenetrable mystery! oh, divine hope!\" she cries. \"The wrath of\nheaven is at length appeased. The hand of the Lord brings me to the\nfeet of the blessed martyr, and I begin once more to feel myself a\nhuman creature. And yet it was to avenge his death, that the same heaven\ncondemned me to eternal wanderings!\n\n\"Oh, Lord! grant that I may not be the only one forgiven. May\nhe--the artisan, who like me, daughter of a king, wanders on for\ncenturies--likewise hope to reach the end of that immense journey!\n\n\"Where is he, Lord? where is he? Hast thou deprived me of the power once\nbestowed, to see and hear him through the vastness of intervening space?\nOh, in this mighty moment, restore me that divine gift--for the more I\nfeel these human infirmities, which I hail and bless as the end of\nmy eternity of ills, the more my sight loses the power to traverse\nimmensity, and my ear to catch the sound of that wanderer's accent, from\nthe other extremity of the globe?\"\n\nNight had fallen, dark and stormy. The wind rose in the midst of the\ngreat pine-trees. Behind their black summits, through masses of dark\ncloud, slowly sailed the silver disk of the moon. The invocation of the\nWandering Jewess had perhaps been heard. Suddenly, her eyes closed--with\nhands clasped together, she remained kneeling in the heart of the\nruins--motionless as a statue upon a tomb. And then she had a wondrous\ndream!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LI. THE CALVARY.\n\nThis was the vision of Herodias: On the summit of a high, steep, rocky\nmountain, there stands a cross. The sun is sinking, even as when the\nJewess herself, worn out with fatigue, entered the ruins of St. John's\nAbbey. The great figure on the cross--which looks down from this\nCalvary, on the mountain, and on the vast, dreary plain beyond--stands\nout white and pale against the dark, blue clouds, which stretch across\nthe heavens, and assume a violent tint towards the horizon. There, where\nthe setting sun has left a long track of lurid light, almost of the\nhue of blood--as far as the eye can reach, no vegetation appears on the\nsurface of the gloomy desert, covered with sand and stones, like the\nancient bed of some dried-up ocean. A silence as of death broods over\nthis desolate tract. Sometimes, gigantic black vultures, with red\nunfeathered necks, luminous yellow eyes, stooping from their lofty\nflight in the midst of these solitudes, come to make their bloody feast\non the prey they have carried off from less uncultivated regions.\n\nHow, then, did this Calvary, this place of prayer, come to be erected so\nfar from the abodes of men? This Calvary was prepared at a great cost by\na repentant sinner. He had done much harm to his fellow-creatures, and,\nin the hope of obtaining pardon for his crimes, he had climbed this\nmountain on his knees, and become a hermit, and lived there till his\ndeath, at the foot of this cross, only sheltered by a roof of thatch,\nnow long since swept away by the wind. The sun is still sinking. The\nsky becomes darker. The luminous lines on the horizon grow fainter and\nfainter, like heated bars of iron that gradually grow cool. Suddenly,\non the eastern side of the Calvary, is heard the noise of some falling\nstones, which, loosened from the side of the mountain, roll down\nrebounding to its base. These stones have been loosened by the foot of\na traveller, who, after traversing the plain below, has, during the last\nhour, been climbing the steep ascent. He is not yet visible--but one\nhears the echo of his tread--slow, steady, and firm. At length, he\nreaches the top of the mountain, and his tall figure stands out against\nthe stormy sky.\n\nThe traveller is pale as the great figure on the cross. On his broad\nforehead a black line extends from one temple to the other. It is\nthe cobbler of Jerusalem. The poor artisan, who hardened by misery,\ninjustice and oppression, without pity for the suffering of the Divine\nBeing who bore the cross, repulsed him from his dwelling, and bade him:\n\"Go ON! GO ON! GO ON!\" And, from that day, the avenging Deity has in his\nturn said to the artisan of Jerusalem: \"GO ON! GO ON! GO ON!\"\n\nAnd he has gone on, without end or rest. Nor did the divine vengeance\nstop there. From time to time death has followed the steps of the\nwanderer, and innumerable graves have been even as mile-stones on his\nfatal path. And if ever he found periods of repose in the midst of\nhis infinite grief, it was when the hand of the Lord led him into deep\nsolitudes, like that where he now dragged his steps along. In passing\nover that dreary plain, or climbing to that rude Calvary, he at least\nheard no more the funeral knell, which always, always sounded behind him\nin every inhabited region.\n\nAll day long, even at this hour, plunged in the black abyss of his\nthoughts, following the fatal track--going whither he was guided by the\ninvisible hand, with head bowed on his breast, and eyes fixed upon\nthe ground, the wanderer had passed over the plain, and ascended the\nmountain, without once looking at the sky--without even perceiving the\nCalvary--without seeing the image upon the cross. He thought of the\nlast descendants of his race. He felt, by the sinking of his heart,\nthat great perils continued to threaten him. And in the bitterness of\na despair, wild and deep as the ocean, the cobbler of Jerusalem seated\nhimself at the foot of the cross. At this moment a farewell ray of the\nsetting sun, piercing the dark mass of clouds, threw a refection upon\nthe Calvary, vivid as a conflagration's glare. The Jew rested his\nforehead upon his hand. His long hair, shaken by the evening breeze,\nfell over his pale face--when sweeping it back from his brow, he started\nwith surprise--he, who had long ceased to wonder at anything. With eager\nglance he contemplated the long lock of hair that he held between his\nfingers. That hair, until now black as night, had become gray. He also,\nlike unto Herodias, was growing older.\n\nHis progress towards old age, stopped for eighteen hundred years, had\nresumed its course. Like the Wandering Jewess, he might henceforth hope\nfor the rest of the grave. Throwing himself on his knees, he stretched\nhis hands towards heaven, to ask for the explanation of the mystery\nwhich filled him with hope. Then, for the first time, his eyes rested on\nthe Crucified One, looking down upon the Calvary, even as the Wandering\nJewess had fixed her gaze on the granite eyelids of the Blessed Martyr.\n\nThe Saviour, his head bowed under the weight of his crown of thorns,\nseemed from the cross to view with pity, and pardon the artisan, who for\nso many centuries had felt his curse--and who, kneeling, with his body\nthrown backward in an attitude of fear and supplication, now lifted\ntowards the crucifix his imploring hands.\n\n\"Oh, Messiah!\" cried the Jew, \"the avenging arm of heaven brings me back\nto the foot of this heavy cross, which thou didst bear, when, stopping\nat the door of my poor dwelling, thou wert repulsed with merciless\nharshness, and I said unto thee: 'Go on! go on!'--After my long life of\nwanderings, I am again before this cross, and my hair begins to whiten.\nOh Lord! in thy divine mercy, hast thou at length pardoned me? Have I\nreached the term of my endless march? Will thy celestial clemency grant\nme at length the repose of the sepulchre, which, until now, alas! has\never fled before me?--Oh! if thy mercy should descend upon me, let it\nfall likewise upon that woman, whose woes are equal to mine own! Protect\nalso the last descendants of my race! What will be their fate? Already,\nLord, one of them--the only one that misfortune had perverted--has\nperished from the face of the earth. Is it for this that my hair grows\ngray? Will my crime only be expiated when there no longer remains in\nthis world one member of our accursed race? Or does this proof of thy\npowerful goodness, Lord, which restores me to the condition of humanity,\nserve also as a sign of the pardon and happiness of my family? Will\nthey at length triumph over the perils which beset them? Will they,\naccomplishing the good which their ancestor designed for his fellow\ncreatures, merit forgiveness both for themselves and me? Or will they,\ninexorably condemned as the accursed scions of an accursed stock,\nexpiate the original stain of my detested crime?\n\n\"Oh, tell me--tell me, gracious Lord! shall I be forgiven with them, or\nwill they be punished with me?\"\n\nThe twilight gave place to a dark and stormy night, yet the Jew\ncontinued to pray, kneeling at the foot of the cross.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LII. THE COUNCIL.\n\nThe following scene took place at Saint-Dizier House, two days after\nthe reconciliation of Marshal Simon with his daughters. The princess is\nlistening with the most profound attention to the words of Rodin. The\nreverend father, according to his habit, stands leaning against the\nmantelpiece, with his hands thrust into the pockets of his old brown\ngreat-coat. His thick, dirty shoes have left their mark on the ermine\nhearth-rug. A deep sense of satisfaction is impressed on the Jesuit's\ncadaverous countenance. Princess de Saint-Dizier, dressed with that sort\nof modest elegance which becomes a mother of the church, keeps her\neyes fixed on Rodin--for the latter has completely supplanted Father\nd'Aigrigny in the good graces of this pious lady. The coolness, audacity\nlofty intelligence, and rough and imperious character of the ex-socius\nhave overawed this proud woman, and inspired her with a sincere\nadmiration. Even his filthy habits and often brutal repartees have their\ncharm for her, and she now prefers them to the exquisite politeness and\nperfumed elegance of the accomplished Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"Yes, madame,\" said Rodin, in a sanctified tone, for these people do not\ntake off their masks even with their accomplices, \"yes, madame, we have\nexcellent news from our house at St. Herem. M. Hardy, the infidel, the\nfreethinker, has at length entered the pale of the holy Roman Catholic\nand Apostolic Church.\" Rodin pronounced these last word with a nasal\ntwang, and the devout lady bowed her head respectfully.\n\n\"Grace has at length touched the heart of this impious man,\" continued\nRodin, \"and so effectually that, in his ascetic enthusiasm, he has\nalready wished to take the vows which will bind him forever to our\ndivine Order.\"\n\n\"So soon, father?\" said the princess, in astonishment.\n\n\"Our statutes are opposed to this precipitation, unless in the case of\na penitent in articulo mortis--on the very gasp of death--should such\na person consider it necessary for his salvation to die in the habit\nof our Order, and leave us all his wealth for the greater glory of the\nLord.\"\n\n\"And is M. Hardy in so dangerous a condition, father?\"\n\n\"He has a violent fever. After so many successive calamities, which\nhave miraculously brought him into the path of salvation,\" said Rodin,\npiously, \"his frail and delicate constitution is almost broken up,\nmorally and physically. Austerities, macerations, and the divine joys of\necstasy, will probably hasten his passage to eternal life, and in a few\nclays,\" said the priest, shaking his head with a solemn air, \"perhaps--\"\n\n\"So soon as that, father?\"\n\n\"It is almost certain. I have therefore made use of my dispensations, to\nreceive the dear penitent, as in articulo mortis, a member of our\ndivine Company, to which, in the usual course, he has made over all\nhis possessions, present and to come--so that now he can devote himself\nentirely to the care of his soul, which will be one victim more rescued\nfrom the claws of Satan.\"\n\n\"Oh, father!\" cried the lady, in admiration; \"it is a miraculous\nconversion. Father d'Aigrigny told me how you had to contend against the\ninfluence of Abbe Gabriel.\"\n\n\"The Abbe Gabriel,\" replied Rodin, \"has been punished for meddling with\nwhat did not concern him. I have procured his suspension, and he has\nbeen deprived of his curacy. I hear that he now goes about the cholera\nhospitals to administer Christian consolation; we cannot oppose\nthat--but this universal comforter is of the true heretical stamp.\"\n\n\"He is a dangerous character, no doubt,\" answered the princess, \"for he\nhas considerable influence over other men. It must have needed all your\nadmirable and irresistible eloquence to combat the detestable counsels\nof this Abbe Gabriel, who had taken it into his head to persuade M.\nHardy to return to the life of the world. Really, father, you are a\nsecond St. Chrysostom.\"\n\n\"Tut, tut, madame!\" said Rodin, abruptly, for he was very little\nsensible to flattery; \"keep that for others.\"\n\n\"I tell you that you're a second St. Chrysostom father,\" repeated the\nprincess with enthusiasm; \"like him, you deserve the name of Golden\nMouth.\"\n\n\"Stuff, madame!\" said Rodin, brutally, shrugging his shoulders; \"my lips\nare too pale, my teeth too black, for a mouth of gold. You must be only\njoking.\"\n\n\"But, father--\"\n\n\"No, madame, you will not catch old birds with chaff,\" replied Rodin,\nharshly. \"I hate compliments, and I never pay them.\"\n\n\"Your modesty must pardon me, father,\" said the princess, humbly; \"I\ncould not resist the desire to express to you my admiration, for, as\nyou almost predicted, or at least foresaw, two members of the Rennepont\nfamily, have, within the last few months, resigned all claim to the\ninheritance.\"\n\nRodin looked at Madame de Saint-Dizier with a softened and approving\nair, as he heard her thus describe the position of the two defunct\nclaimants. For, in Rodin's view of the case, M. Hardy, in consequence\nof his donation and his suicidal asceticism, belonged no longer to this\nworld.\n\nThe lady continued: \"One of these men, a wretched artisan, has been led\nto his ruin by the exaggeration of his vices. You have brought the\nother into the path of salvation, by carrying out his loving and tender\nqualities. Honor, then to your foresight, father! for you said that you\nwould make use of the passions to attain your end.\"\n\n\"Do not boast too soon,\" said Rodin, impatiently. \"Have you forgotten\nyour niece, and the Hindoo, and the daughters of Marshal Simon? Have\nthey also made a Christian end, or resigned their claim to share in this\ninheritance?\"\n\n\"No, doubtless.\"\n\n\"Hence, you see, madame, we should not lose time in congratulating\nourselves on the past, but make ready for the future. The great day\napproaches. The first of June is not far off. Heaven grant we may not\nsee the four surviving members of the family continue to live impenitent\nup to that period, and so take possession of this enormous property--the\nsource of perdition in their hands--but productive of the glory of the\nChurch in the hands of our Company!\"\n\n\"True, father!\"\n\n\"By the way, you were to see your lawyers on the subject of your niece?\"\n\n\"I have seen them, father. However uncertain may be the chance of which\nI spoke, it is worth trying. I shall know to-day, I hope, if it is\nlegally possible.\"\n\n\"Perhaps then,--in the new condition of life to which she would be\nreduced, we might find means to effect her conversion,\" said Rodin, with\na strange and hideous smile; \"until now, since she has been so fatally\nbrought in contact with the Oriental, the happiness of these two pagans\nappears bright and changeless as the diamond. Nothing bites into it, not\neven Faringhea's tooth. Let us hope that the Lord will wreak justice on\ntheir vain and guilty felicity!\"\n\nThis conversation was here interrupted by Father d'Aigrigny, who entered\nthe room with an air of triumph, and exclaimed, \"Victory!\"\n\n\"What do you say\"' asked the princess.\n\n\"He is gone--last night,\" said Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"Who?\" said Rodin.\n\n\"Marshal Simon,\" replied the abbe.\n\n\"At last!\" said Rodin, unable to hide his joy.\n\n\"It was no doubt his interview with General d'Havrincourt which\nfilled up the measure,\" cried the princess, \"for I know he had a long\nconversation with the general, who like so many others, believed the\nreports in circulation. All means are good against the impious!\" added\nthe princess, by way of moral.\n\n\"Have you any details?\" asked Rodin.\n\n\"I have just left Robert,\" said Father d'Aigrigny. \"His age and\ndescription agree with the marshal's, and the latter travels with his\npapers. Only one thing has greatly surprised your emissary.\"\n\n\"What is that?\" said Rodin.\n\n\"Until now, he had always to contend with the hesitations of the\nmarshal, and had moreover noticed his gloomy and desponding air.\nYesterday, on the contrary, he found him so bright with happiness, that\nhe could not help asking him the cause of the alteration.\"\n\n\"Well?\" said Rodin and the princess together, both extremely surprised.\n\n\"The marshal answered: 'I am indeed the happiest man in the world; for I\nam going joyfully to accomplish a sacred duty!\"\n\nThe three actors in this scene looked at each other in silence.\n\n\"And what can have produced this sudden change in the mind of the\nmarshal?\" said the princess, with a pensive air. \"We rather reckon\non sorrow and every kind of irritation to urge him to engage in this\nadventurous enterprise.\"\n\n\"I cannot make it out,\" said Rodin, reflecting; \"but no matter--he\nis gone. We must not lose a moment, to commence operations on his\ndaughters. Has he taken that infernal soldier with him?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Father d'Aigrigny; \"unfortunately, he has not done so. Warned\nby the past, he will redouble his precautions; and a man, whom we\nmight have used against him at a pinch, has just been taken with the\ncontagion.\"\n\n\"Who is that?\" asked the princess.\n\n\"Morok. I could count upon him anywhere and for anything. He is lost\nto us; for, should he recover from the cholera, I fear he will fall a\nvictim to a horrible and incurable disease.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"A few days ago, he was bitten by one of the mastiffs of his menagerie,\nand, the next day, the dog showed symptoms of hydrophobia.\"\n\n\"Ah! it is dreadful,\" cried the princess; \"and where is this unfortunate\nman?\"\n\n\"He has been taken to one of the temporary hospitals established in\nParis, for at present he has only been attacked with cholera. It is\ndoubly unfortunate, I repeat, for he was a devoted, determined fellow,\nready for anything. Now this soldier, who has the care of the orphans,\nwill be very difficult to get at, and yet only through him can we hope\nto reach Marshal Simon's daughters.\"\n\n\"That is clear,\" said Rodin, thoughtfully.\n\n\"Particularly since the anonymous letters have again awakened his\nsuspicions,\" added Father d'Aigrigny \"and--\"\n\n\"Talking of the anonymous letters,\" said Rodin suddenly, interrupting\nFather d'Aigrigny, \"there is a fact that you ought to know; I will tell\nyou why.\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"Besides the letters that you know of, Marshal Simon has received a\nnumber of others unknown to you, in which, by every possible means, it\nis tried to exasperate his irritation against yourself--for they remind\nhim of all the reasons he has to hate you, and mock at him, because your\nsacred character shelters you from his vengeance.\"\n\nFather d'Aigrigny looked at Rodin with amazement, colored in spite of\nhimself, and said to him: \"But for what purpose has your reverence acted\nin this manner?\"\n\n\"First of all, to clear myself of suspicion with regard to the letters;\nthen, to excite the rage of the marshal to madness, by incessantly\nreminding him of the just grounds he has to hate you, and of the\nimpossibility of being avenged upon you. This, joined to the other\nemotions of sorrow and anger, which ferment in the savage bosom of this\nman of bloodshed, tended to urge him on to the rash enterprise, which\nis the consequence and the punishment of his idolatry for a miserable\nusurper.\"\n\n\"That may be,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, with an air of constraint: \"but\nI will observe to your reverence, that it was, perhaps, rather dangerous\nthus to excite Marshal Simon against me.\"\n\n\"Why?\" asked Rodin, as he fixed a piercing look upon Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"Because the marshal, excited beyond all bounds, and remembering only\nour mutual hate, might seek me out--\"\n\n\"Well! and what then?\"\n\n\"Well! he might forget that I am a priest--\"\n\n\"Oh, you are afraid are you?\" said Rodin, disdainfully, interrupting\nFather d'Aigrigny.\n\nAt the words: \"You are afraid,\" the reverend father almost started from\nhis chair; but recovering his coolness, he answered: \"Your reverence\nis right; yes, I should be afraid under such circumstances; I should\nbe afraid of forgetting that I am a priest, and of remembering too well\nthat I have been a soldier.\"\n\n\"Really?\" said Rodin, with sovereign contempt. \"You are still no further\nthan that stupid and savage point of honor? Your cassock has not yet\nextinguished the warlike fire? So that if this brawling swordsman, whose\npoor, weak head, empty and sonorous as a drum, is so easily turned with\nthe stupid jargon of 'Military honor, oaths, Napoleon II.'--if this\nbrawling bravo, I say, were to commit some violence against you, it\nwould require a great effort, I suppose, for you to remain calm?\"\n\n\"It is useless, I think,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, quite unable\nto control his agitation, \"for your reverence to enter upon such\nquestions.\"\n\n\"As your superior,\" answered Rodin, severely, \"I have the right to ask.\nIf Marshal Simon had lifted his hand against you--\"\n\n\"Sir,\" cried the reverend father.\n\n\"There are no sirs here--we are only priests,\" said Rodin, harshly.\nFather d'Aigrigny held down his head, scarcely able to repress his rage.\n\n\"I ask you,\" continued Rodin, obstinately, \"if Marshal Simon had struck\nyou? Is that clear?\"\n\n\"Enough! in mercy,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, \"enough!\"\n\n\"Or, if you like it better, had Marshal Simon left the marks of his\nfingers on your cheek?\" resumed Rodin, with the utmost pertinacity.\n\nFather d'Aigrigny, pale as death, ground his teeth in a kind of fury\nat the very idea of such an insult, while Rodin, who had no doubt his\nobject in asking the question, raised his flabby eyelids, and seemed\nto watch attentively the significant symptoms revealed in the agitated\ncountenance of the ex-colonel.\n\nAt length, recovering partly his presence of mind, Father d'Aigrigny\nreplied, in a forcedly calm tone: \"If I were to be exposed to such an\ninsult, I would pray heaven to give me resignation and humility.\"\n\n\"And no doubt heaven would hear your prayers,\" said Rodin, coldly,\nsatisfied with the trial to which he had just put him. \"Besides, you are\nnow warned, and it is not very probable,\" added he, with a grim smile,\n\"that Marshal Simon will ever return to test your humility. But if he\nwere to return,\" said Rodin, fixing on the reverend father a long and\npiercing look, \"you would know how to show this brutal swordsman, in\nspite of all his violence, what resignation and humility there is in a\nChristian soul!\"\n\nTwo humble knocks at the door here interrupted the conversation for a\nmoment. A footman entered, bearing a large sealed packet on a salver,\nwhich he presented to the princess. After this, he withdrew. Princess\nde Saint-Dizier, having by a look asked Rodin's permission to open the\nletter, began to read it--and a cruel satisfaction was soon visible on\nher face.\n\n\"There is hope,\" cried she addressing herself to Rodin: \"the demand is\nrigorously legal, and the consequence may be such as we desire. In a\nword, my niece may, any day, be exposed to complete destitution. She,\nwho is so extravagant! what a change in her life!\"\n\n\"We shall then no doubt have some hold on that untamable character,\"\nsaid Rodin with a meditative air; \"for, till now, all has failed in\nthat direction, and one would suppose some kinds of happiness are\ninvulnerable,\" added the Jesuit, gnawing his flat and dirty nails.\n\n\"But, to obtain the result we desire, we must exasperate my niece's\npride. It is, therefore, absolutely necessary, that I should see and\ntalk to her,\" said the Princess de Saint-Dizier, reflecting.\n\n\"Mdlle. de Cardoville will refuse this interview,\" said Father\nd'Aigrigny.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" replied the princess. \"But she is so happy that her audacity\nmust be at its height. Yes, yes--I know her--and I will write in such a\nmanner, that she will come.\"\n\n\"You think so?\" asked Rodin, with a doubtful air.\n\n\"Do not fear it, father,\" answered the lady, \"she will come. And her\npride once brought into play, we may hope a good deal from it.\"\n\n\"We must then act, lady,\" resumed Rodin; \"yes, act promptly. The moment\napproaches. Hate and suspicion are awake. There is not a moment to\nlose.\"\n\n\"As for hate,\" replied the princess, \"Mdlle. de Cardoville must have\nseen to what her lawsuit would lead, about what she called her illegal\ndetention in a lunatic asylum, and that of the two young ladies in St.\nMary's Convent. Thank heaven, we have friends everywhere! I know from\ngood authority, that the case will break down from want of evidence, in\nspite of the animosity of certain parliamentary magistrates, who shall\nbe well remembered.\"\n\n\"Under these circumstances,\" replied Rodin, \"the departure of the\nmarshal gives us every latitude. We must act immediately on his\ndaughters.\"\n\n\"But how?\" said the princess.\n\n\"We must see them,\" resumed Rodin, \"talk with them, study them. Then we\nshall act in consequence.\"\n\n\"But the soldier will not leave them a second,\" said Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"Then,\" replied Rodin, \"we must talk to them in presence of the soldier,\nand get him on our side.\"\n\n\"That hope is idle,\" cried Father d'Aigrigny. \"You do not know the\nmilitary honor of his character. You do not know this man.\"\n\n\"Don't I know him?\" said Rodin, shrugging his shoulders. \"Did not Mdlle.\nde Cardoville present me to him as her liberator, when I denounced you\nas the soul of the conspiracy? Did I not restore to him his ridiculous\nimperial relic--his cross of honor--when we met at Dr. Baleinier's? Did\nI not bring him back the girls from the convent, and place them in the\narms of their father?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the princess; \"but, since that time, my abominable niece\nhas either guessed or discovered all. She told you so herself, father.\"\n\n\"She told me, that she considered me her most mortal enemy,\" said\nRodin. \"Be it so. But did she tell the same to the marshal? Has she\never mentioned me to him? and if she have done so, has the marshal\ncommunicated this circumstance to his soldier? It may be so; but it is\nby no means sure; in any case. I must ascertain the fact; if the soldier\ntreats me as an enemy, we shall see what is next to be done--but I will\nfirst try to be received as a friend.\"\n\n\"When?\" asked the princess.\n\n\"To-morrow morning,\" replied Rodin.\n\n\"Good heaven, my clear father!\" cried the Princess de Saint-Dizier, in\nalarm; \"if this soldier were to treat you as an enemy--beware--\"\n\n\"I always beware, madame. I have had to face worse enemies than he is,\"\nsaid the Jesuit showing his black teeth; \"the cholera to begin with.\"\n\n\"But he may refuse to see you, and in what way will you then get at\nMarshal Simon's daughters?\" said Father d'Aigrigny.\n\n\"I do not yet know.\" answered Rodin. \"But as I intend to do it, I shall\nfind the means.\"\n\n\"Father,\" said the princess, suddenly, on reflection, \"these girls have\nnever seen me, and I might obtain admittance to them, without sending in\nmy name.\"\n\n\"That would be perfectly useless at present, madame, for I must first\nknow what course to take with respect to them. I must see and converse\nwith them, at any cost, and then, after I have fixed my plan, your\nassistance may be very useful. In any case, please to be ready to\nmorrow, madame, to accompany me.\"\n\n\"To what place, father?\"\n\n\"To Marshal Simon's.\"\n\n\"To the marshal's?\"\n\n\"Not exactly. You will get into your carriage, and I will take a\nhackney-coach. I will then try to obtain an interview with the girls,\nand, during that time, you will wait for me at a few yards from the\nhouse. If I succeed, and require your aid, I will come and fetch you; I\ncan give you my instructions without any appearance of concert between\nus.\"\n\n\"I am content, reverend father; but, in truth, I tremble at the thought\nof your interview with that rough trooper.\"\n\n\"The Lord will watch over his servant, madame!\" replied Rodin. \"As\nfor you, father,\" added he, addressing the Abbe d'Aigrigny, \"despatch\ninstantly to Vienna the note which is all prepared to announce the\ndeparture and speedy arrival of the marshal. Every precaution has been\ntaken. I shall write more fully this evening.\"\n\nThe next morning, about eight o'clock, the Princess de Saint-Dizier,\nin her carriage, and Rodin, in his hackney-coach, took the direction of\nMarshal Simon's house.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LIII. HAPPINESS.\n\nMarshal Simon has been absent two days. It is eight o'clock in the\nmorning. Dagobert, walking on tip-toe with the greatest caution, so as\nnot to make the floor creak beneath his tread, crosses the room which\nleads to the bedchamber of Rose and Blanche and applies his ear to the\ndoor of the apartment. With equal caution, Spoil-sport follows exactly\nthe movements of his master. The countenance of the soldier is uneasy\nand full of thought. As he approaches the door, he says to himself: \"I\nhope the dear children heard nothing of what happened in the night! It\nwould alarm them, and it is much better that they should not know it at\npresent. It might afflict them sadly, poor dears! and they are so gay,\nso happy, since they feel sure of their father's love for them. They\nbore his departure so bravely! I would not for the world that they\nshould know of this unfortunate event.\"\n\nThen as he listened, the soldier resumed: \"I hear nothing--and yet they\nare always awake so early. Can it be sorrow?\"\n\nDagobert's reflections were here interrupted by two frank, hearty bursts\nof laughter, from the interior of the bedroom.\n\n\"Come! they are not so sad as I thought,\" said the soldier, breathing\nmore freely. \"Probably they know nothing about it.\"\n\nSoon, the laughter was again heard with redoubled force, and the\nsoldier, delighted at this gayety, so rare on the part of \"his\nchildren,\" was much affected by it: the tears started to his eyes at the\nthought that the orphans had at length recovered the serenity natural to\ntheir age; then, passing from one emotion to the other, still listening\nat the door, with his body leaning forward, and his hands resting on\nhis knees, Dagobert's lip quivered with an expression of mute joy, and,\nshaking his head a little, he accompanied with his silent laughter,\nthe increasing hilarity of the young girls. At last, as nothing is so\ncontagious as gayety, and as the worthy soldier was in an ecstasy of\njoy, he finished by laughing aloud with all his might, without knowing\nwhy, and only because Rose and Blanche were laughing. Spoil-sport had\nnever seen his master in such a transport of delight; he looked at him\nfor a while in deep and silent astonishment, and then began to bark in a\nquestioning way.\n\nAt this well-known sound, the laughter within suddenly ceased, and a\nsweet voice, still trembling with joyous emotion, exclaimed: \"Is it you,\nSpoil-sport, that have come to wake us?\" The dog understood what was\nsaid, wagged his tail, held down his ears, and, approaching close to the\ndoor, answered the appeal of his young mistress by a kind of friendly\ngrowl.\n\n\"Spoil-sport,\" said Rose, hardly able to restrain her laughter, \"you are\nvery early this morning.\"\n\n\"Tell us what o'clock it is, if you please, old fellow?\" added Blanche.\n\n\"Young ladies, it is past eight,\" said suddenly the gruff voice of\nDagobert, accompanying this piece of humor with a loud laugh.\n\nA cry of gay surprise was heard, and then Rose resumed: \"Good-morning,\nDagobert.\"\n\n\"Good-morning, my children. You are very lazy to-day, I must tell you.\"\n\n\"It is not our fault. Our dear Augustine has not yet been to call us. We\nare waiting for her.\"\n\n\"Oh! there it is,\" said Dagobert to himself, his features once more\nassuming an expression of anxiety. Then he returned aloud, in a tone of\nsome embarrassment, for the worthy man was no hand at a falsehood: \"My\nchildren, our companion went out this morning--very early. She is gone\nto the country--on business--she will not return for some days--so you\nhad better get up by yourselves for today.\"\n\n\"Our good Madame Augustine!\" exclaimed Blanche, with interest. \"I hope\nit is nothing bad that has made her leave suddenly--eh, Dagobert?\"\n\n\"No, no--not at all--only business,\" answered the soldier. \"To see one\nof her relations.\"\n\n\"Oh, so much the better!\" said Rose. \"Well, Dagobert, when we call you\ncan come in.\"\n\n\"I will come back in a quarter of an hour,\" said the soldier as\nhe withdrew; and he thought to himself: \"I must lecture that fool\nLoony--for he is so stupid, and so fond of talking, that he will let it\nall out.\"\n\nThe name of the pretended simpleton will serve as a natural transition,\nto inform the reader of the cause of the hilarity of the sisters. They\nwere laughing at the numberless absurdities of the idiot. The girls rose\nand dressed themselves, each serving as lady's-maid to the other. Rose\nhad combed and arranged Blanche's hair; it was now Blanche's turn to do\nthe same for her sister. Thus occupied, they formed a charming picture.\nRose was seated before the dressing-table; her sister, standing behind\nher, was smoothing her beautiful brown hair. Happy age! so little\nremoved from childhood, that present joy instantly obliterates the\ntraces of past sorrow! But the sisters felt more than joy; it was\nhappiness, deep and unalterable, for their father loved them, and their\nhappiness was a delight, and not a pain to him. Assured of the affection\nof his children, he, also, thanks to them, no longer feared any grief.\nTo those three beings, thus certain of their mutual love, what was a\nmomentary separation? Having explained this, we shall understand\nthe innocent gayety of the sisters, notwithstanding their father's\ndeparture, and the happy, joyous expression, which now filled with\nanimation their charming faces, on which the late fading rose had begun\nonce more to bloom. Their faith in the future gave to their countenances\nsomething resolute and decisive, which added a degree of piquancy to the\nbeauty of their enchanting features.\n\nBlanche, in smoothing her sister's hair, let fall the comb, and, as she\nwas stooping to pick it up, Rose anticipated her, saying: \"If it had\nbeen broken, we would have put it into the handle-basket.\"\n\nThen the two laughed merrily at this expression, which reminded them of\nan admirable piece of folly on the part of Loony.\n\nThe supposed simpleton had broken the handle of a cup, and when the\ngoverness of the young ladies had reprimanded him for his carelessness,\nhe had answered: \"Never mind, madame; I have put it into the handle\nbasket.\"\n\n\"The handle-basket, what is that?\"\n\n\"Yes, Madame; it is where I keep all the handles I break off the\nthings!\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" said Rose, drying her eyes; \"how silly it is to laugh at such\nfoolishness.\"\n\n\"It is droll,\" replied Blanche; \"how can we help it?\"\n\n\"All I regret is, that father cannot hear us laugh.\"\n\n\"He was so happy to see us gay!\"\n\n\"We must write to him to-day, the story of the handle-basket.\"\n\n\"And that of the feather-brush, to show that, according to promise, we\nkept up our spirits during his absence.\"\n\n\"Write to him, sister? no, he is to write to us, and we are not to\nanswer his letters.\"\n\n\"True! well then, I have an idea. Let us address letters to him here,\nDagobert can put them into the post, and, on his return, our father will\nread our correspondence.\"\n\n\"That will be charming! What nonsense we will write to him, since he\ntakes pleasure in it!\"\n\n\"And we, too, like to amuse ourselves.\"\n\n\"Oh, certainly! father's last words have given us so much courage.\"\n\n\"As I listened to them, I felt quite reconciled to his going.\"\n\n\"When he said to us: 'My children, I will confide in you all I can. I\ngo to fulfill a sacred duty, and I must be absent for some time; for\nthough, when I was blind enough to doubt your affection, I could not\nmake up my mind to leave you, my conscience was by no means tranquil.\nGrief takes such an effect on us, that I had not the strength to come to\na decision, and my days were passed in painful hesitation. But now that\nI am certain of your tenderness, all this irresolution has ceased, and\nI understand how one duty is not to be sacrificed to another, and that I\nhave to perform two duties at once, both equally sacred; and this I now\ndo with joy, and delight, and courage!'\"\n\n\"Go on, sister!\" cried Blanche, rising to draw nearer to Rose. \"I think\nI hear our father when I remember those words, which must console and\nsupport us during his absence.\"\n\n\"And then our father continued: 'Instead of grieving at my departure,\nyou would rejoice in it, you should be proud and happy. I go to perform\na good and generous act. Fancy to yourselves, that there is somewhere a\npoor orphan, oppressed and abandoned by all--and that the father of that\norphan was once my benefactor, and that I had promised him to protect\nhis son--and that the life of that son is now in peril--tell me, my\nchildren; would you regret that I should leave you to fly to the aid of\nsuch an orphan?'--\"\n\n\"'No, no, brave father!' we answered: 'we should not then be your\ndaughters!'\" continued Rose, with enthusiasm. \"Count upon us! We should\nbe indeed unhappy if we thought that our sorrow could deprive thee of\nthy courage. Go! and every day we will say to ourselves proudly, 'It was\nto perform a great and noble duty that our father left us--we can wait\ncalmly for his return.'\"\n\n\"How that idea of duty sustains one, sister!\" resumed Rose, with growing\nenthusiasm. \"It gave our father the courage to leave us without regret,\nand to us the courage to bear his absence gayly!\"\n\n\"And then, how calm we are now! Those mournful dreams, which seemed to\nportend such sad events, no longer afflict us.\"\n\n\"I tell you, sister, this time we are really happy once for all.\"\n\n\"And then, do you feel like me? I fancy, that I am stronger and more\ncourageous and that I could brave every danger.\"\n\n\"I should think so! We are strong enough now. Our father in the midst,\nyou on one side, I on the other--\"\n\n\"Dagobert in the vanguard, and Spoil-sport in the rear! Then the army\nwill be complete, and let 'em come on by thousands!\" added a gruff, but\njovial voice, interrupting the girl, as Dagobert appeared at the half\nopen door of the room. It was worth looking at his face, radiant with\njoy; for the old fellow had somewhat indiscreetly been listening to the\nconversation.\n\n\"Oh! you were listening, Paul Pry!\" said Rose gayly, as she entered the\nadjoining room with her sister, and both affectionately embraced the\nsoldier.\n\n\"To be sure, I was listening; and I only regretted not to have ears\nas large as Spoil-sport's! Brave, good girls! that's how I like to see\nyou--bold as brass, and saying to care and sorrow: 'Right about face!\nmarch! go to the devil!'\"\n\n\"He will want to make us swear, now,\" said Rose to her sister, laughing\nwith all her might.\n\n\"Well! now and then, it does no harm,\" said the soldier; \"it relieves\nand calms one, when if one could not swear by five hundred thousand\nde--\"\n\n\"That's enough!\" said Rose, covering with her pretty hand the gray\nmoustache, so as to stop Dagobert in his speech. \"If Madame Augustine\nheard you--\"\n\n\"Our poor governess! so mild and timid,\" resumed Blanche. \"How you would\nfrighten her!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Dagobert, as he tried to conceal his rising embarrassment;\n\"but she does not hear us. She is gone into the country.\"\n\n\"Good, worthy woman!\" replied Blanche, with interest. \"She said\nsomething of you, which shows her excellent heart.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" resumed Rose; \"for she said to us, in speaking of you, 'Ah,\nyoung ladies! my affection must appear very little, compared with M.\nDagobert's. But I feel that I also have the right to devote myself to\nyou.'\"\n\n\"No doubt, no doubt! she has a heart of gold,\" answered Dagobert. Then\nhe added to himself, \"It's as if they did it on purpose, to bring the\nconversation back to this poor woman.\"\n\n\"Father made a good choice,\" continued Rose. \"She is the widow of an old\nofficer, who was with him in the wars.\"\n\n\"When we were out of spirits,\" said Blanche, \"you should have seen her\nuneasiness and grief, and how earnestly she set about consoling us.\"\n\n\"I have seen the tears in her eyes when she looked at us,\" resumed Rose.\n\"Oh! she loves us tenderly, and we return her affection. With regard to\nthat, Dagobert, we have a plan as soon as our father comes back.\"\n\n\"Be quiet, sister!\" said Blanche, laughing. \"Dagobert will not keep our\nsecret.\"\n\n\"He!\"\n\n\"Will you keep it for us, Dagobert?\"\n\n\"I tell you what,\" said the soldier, more and more embarrassed; \"you had\nbetter not tell it to me.\"\n\n\"What! can you keep nothing from Madame Augustine?\"\n\n\"Ah, Dagobert! Dagobert!\" said Blanche, gayly holding up her finger at\nthe soldier; \"I suspect you very much of paying court to our governess.\"\n\n\"I pay court?\" said the soldier--and the expression of his face was so\nrueful, as he pronounced these words, that the two sisters burst out\nlaughing.\n\nTheir hilarity was at its height when the door opened and Loony advanced\ninto room announcing, with a loud voice, \"M. Rodin!\" In fact, the Jesuit\nglided almost imperceptibly into the apartment, as if to take possession\nof the ground. Once there, he thought the game his own, and his reptile\neyes sparkled with joy. It would be difficult to paint the surprise of\nthe two sisters, and the anger of the soldier, at this unexpected visit.\n\nRushing upon Loony, Dagobert seized him by the collar, and exclaimed:\n\"Who gave you leave to introduce any one here without my permission?\"\n\n\"Pardon, M. Dagobert!\" said Loony, throwing himself on his knees, and\nclasping his hands with an air of idiotic entreaty.\n\n\"Leave the room!--and you too!\" added the soldier, with a menacing\ngesture, as he turned towards Rodin, who had already approached the\ngirls, with a paternal smile on his countenance.\n\n\"I am at your orders, my dear sir,\" said the priest, humbly; and he made\na low bow, but without stirring from the spot.\n\n\"Will you go?\" cried the soldier to Loony, who was still kneeling, and\nwho, thanks to the advantages of this position, was able to utter a\ncertain number of words before Dagobert could remove him.\n\n\"M. Dagobert,\" said Loony in a doleful voice, \"I beg pardon for bringing\nup the gentleman without leave; but, alas, my head is turned, because of\nthe misfortune that happened to Madame Augustine.\"\n\n\"What misfortune?\" cried Rose and Blanche together, as they advanced\nanxiously towards Loony.\n\n\"Will you go?\" thundered Dagobert, shaking the servant by the collar, to\nforce him to rise.\n\n\"Speak--speak!\" said Blanche, interposing between the soldier and his\nprey. \"What has happened to Madame Augustine?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" shouted Loony, in spite of the cuffs of the soldier. \"Madame\nAugustine was attacked in the night with cholera, and taken--\"\n\nHe was unable to finish. Dagobert struck him a tremendous blow with\nhis fist, right on the jaw, and, putting forth his still formidable\nstrength, the old horse-grenadier lifted him to his legs, and with one\nviolent kick bestowed on the lower part of his back, sent him rolling\ninto the ante chamber.\n\nThen turning to Rodin, with flushed cheek and sparkling eye, Dagobert\npointed to the door with an expressive gesture, and said in an angry\nvoice: \"Now, be off with you and that quickly!\"\n\n\"I must pay my respects another time, my dear sir,\" said Rodin, as he\nretired towards the door, bowing to the young girls.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LIV. DUTY.\n\nRodin, retreating slowly before the fire of Dagobert's angry looks,\nwalked backwards to the door, casting oblique but piercing glances at\nthe orphans, who were visibly affected by the servant's intentional\nindiscretion. (Dagobert had ordered him not to speak before the girls of\nthe illness of their governess, and that was quite enough to induce the\nsimpleton to take the first opportunity of doing so.)\n\nRose hastily approached the soldier, and said to him: \"Is it true--is\nit really true that poor Madame Augustine has been attacked with the\ncholera?\"\n\n\"No--I do not know--I cannot tell,\" replied the soldier, hesitating;\n\"besides, what is it to you?\"\n\n\"Dagobert, you would conceal from us a calamity,\" said Blanche. \"I\nremember now your embarrassment, when we spoke to you of our governess.\"\n\n\"If she is ill, we ought not to abandon her. She had pity on our\nsorrows; we ought to pity her sufferings.\"\n\n\"Come, sister; come to her room,\" said Blanche, advancing towards the\ndoor, where Rodin had stopped short, and stood listening with growing\nattention to this unexpected scene, which seemed to give him ample food\nfor thought.\n\n\"You will not leave this room,\" said the soldier, sternly, addressing\nthe two sisters.\n\n\"Dagobert,\" replied Rose, firmly, \"it is a sacred duty, and it would be\ncowardice not to fulfil it.\"\n\n\"I tell you that you shall not leave the room,\" said the soldier,\nstamping his foot with impatience.\n\n\"Dagobert,\" replied Blanche, with as resolute an air as her sister's,\nand with a kind of enthusiasm which brought the blood to her fair cheek,\n\"our father, when he left us, give us an admirable example of devotion\nand duty. He would not forgive us were we to forget the lesson.\"\n\n\"What,\" cried Dagobert, in a rage, and advancing towards the sisters to\nprevent their quitting the apartment; \"you think that if your governess\nhad the cholera, I would let you go to her under the pretext of\nduty?--Your duty is to live, to live happy, for your father's sake--and\nfor mine into the bargain--so not a word more of such folly!\"\n\n\"We can run no danger by going to our governess in her room,\" said Rose.\n\n\"And if there were danger,\" added Blanche, \"we ought not to hesitate.\nSo, Dagobert, be good! and let us pass.\"\n\nRodin, who had listened to what precedes, with sustained attention,\nsuddenly started, as if a thought had struck him; his eye shone\nbrightly, and an expression of fatal joy illumined his countenance.\n\n\"Dagobert, do not refuse!\" said Blanche. \"You would do for us what you\nreproach us with wishing to do for another.\"\n\nDagobert had as it were, till now stood in the path of the Jesuit and\nthe twins by keeping close to the door; but, after a moments reflection,\nhe shrugged his shoulders, stepped to one side, and said calmly: \"I was\nan old fool. Come, young ladies; if you find Madame Augustine in the\nhouse, I will allow you to remain with her.\"\n\nSurprised at these words, the girls stood motionless and irresolute.\n\n\"If our governess is not here, where is she, then?\" said Rose.\n\n\"You think, perhaps, that I am going to tell you in the excitement in\nwhich you are!\"\n\n\"She is dead!\" cried Rose growing pale.\n\n\"No, no--be calm,\" said the soldier, hastily; \"I swear to you, by your\nfather's honor, that she is not dead. At the first appearance of the\ndisorder, she begged to be removed from the house, fearing the contagion\nfor those in it.\"\n\n\"Good and courageous woman!\" said Rose tenderly, \"And you will not allow\nus--\"\n\n\"I will not allow you to go out, even if I have to lock you up in your\nroom,\" cried the soldier, again stamping with rage; then, remembering\nthat the blunderhead's indiscretion was the sole cause of this\nunfortunate incident, he added, with concentrated fury: \"Oh! I will\nbreak my stick upon that rascal's back.\"\n\nSo saying, he turned towards the door, where Rodin still stood, silent\nand attentive, dissembling with habitual impassibility the fatal hopes\nhe had just conceived in his brain. The girls, no longer doubting the\nremoval of their governess, and convinced that Dagobert would not tell\nthem whither they had conveyed her, remained pensive and sad.\n\nAt sight of the priest, whom he had forgotten for the moment, the\nsoldier's rage increased, and he said to him abruptly: \"Are you still\nthere?\"\n\n\"I would merely observe to you, my dear sir,\" said Rodin, with that air\nof perfect good nature which he knew so well how to assume, \"that you\nwere standing before the door, which naturally prevented me from going\nout.\"\n\n\"Well, now nothing prevents you--so file off!\"\n\n\"Certainly, I will file off, if you wish it, my dear sir though I think\nI have some reason to be surprised at such a reception.\"\n\n\"It is no reception at all--so begone!\"\n\n\"I had come, my dear sir to speak to you--\"\n\n\"I have no time for talking.\"\n\n\"Upon business of great importance.\"\n\n\"I have no other business of importance than to remain with these\nchildren.\"\n\n\"Very good, my dear sir,\" said Rodin, pausing on the threshold. \"I\nwill not disturb you any longer; excuse my indiscretion. The bearer of\nexcellent news from Marshal Simon, I came--\"\n\n\"News from our father!\" cried Rose, drawing nearer to Rodin.\n\n\"Oh, speak, speak, sir!\" added Blanche.\n\n\"You have news of the marshal!\" said Dagobert, glancing suspiciously at\nRodin. \"Pray, what is this news?\"\n\nBut Rodin, without immediately answering the question, returned from the\nthreshold into the room, and, contemplating Rose and Blanche by turns\nwith admiration, he resumed: \"What happiness for me, to be able to bring\nsome pleasure to these dear young ladies. They are even as I left them\ngraceful, and fair, and charming--only less sad than on the day when I\nfetched them from the gloomy convent in which they were kept prisoners,\nto restore them to the arms of their glorious father!\"\n\n\"That was their place, and this is not yours,\" said Dagobert, harshly,\nstill holding the door open behind Rodin.\n\n\"Confess, at least that I was not so much out of place at Dr.\nBaleinier's,\" said the Jesuit, with a cunning air. \"You know, for it\nwas there that I restored to you the noble imperial cross you so much\nregretted--the day when that good Mdlle. de Cardoville only prevented\nyou from strangling me by telling you that I was her liberator. Aye!\nit was just as I have the honor of stating, young ladies,\" added Rodin,\nwith a smile; \"this brave soldier was very near strangling me, for, be\nit said without offense, he has, in spite of his age, a grasp of iron.\nHa, ha! the Prussians and Cossacks must know that better than I!\"\n\nThese few words reminded Dagobert and the twins of the services which\nRodin had really rendered them; and though the marshal had heard\nMdlle. de Cardoville speak of Rodin as of a very dangerous man, he\nhad forgotten, in the midst of so many anxieties, to communicate this\ncircumstance to Dagobert. But this latter, warned by experience, felt,\nin spite of favorable appearances, a secret aversion for the Jesuit; so\nhe replied abruptly: \"The strength of my grasp has nothing to do with\nthe matter.\"\n\n\"If I allude to that little innocent playfulness on your part, my dear\nsir,\" said Rodin, in his softest tone, approaching the two sisters with\na wriggle which was peculiar to him; \"if I allude to it, you see, it was\nsuggested by the involuntary recollection of the little services I\nwas happy enough to render you.\" Dagobert looked fixedly at Rodin, who\ninstantly veiled his glance beneath his flabby eyelids.\n\n\"First of all,\" said the soldier, after a moment's silence, \"a true man\nnever speaks of the services he has rendered, and you come back three\ntimes to the subject.\"\n\n\"But Dagobert,\" whispered Rose, \"if he brings news of our father?\"\n\nThe soldier made a sign, as if to beg the girl to let him speak,\nand resumed, looking full at Rodin: \"You are cunning, but I'm no raw\nrecruit.\"\n\n\"I cunning?\" said Rodin, with a sanctified air.\n\n\"Yes, very. You think to puzzle me with your fine phrases; but I'm\nnot to be caught in that way. Just listen to me. Some of your band of\nblack-gowns stole my cross; you returned it to me. Some of the same band\ncarried off these children; you brought them back. It is also true that\nyou denounced the renegade D'Aigrigny. But all this only proves two\nthings: first, that you were vile enough to be the accomplice of these\nscoundrels; and secondly, that, having been their accomplice, you were\nbase enough to betray them. Now, those two facts are equally bad, and I\nsuspect you most furiously. So march off at once; your presence is not\ngood for these children.\"\n\n\"But, my dear sir--\"\n\n\"I will have no buts,\" answered Dagobert, in an angry voice. \"When a man\nof your look does good, it is only to hide some evil; and one must be on\nguard.\"\n\n\"I understand your suspicions,\" said Rodin coolly, hiding his growing\ndisappointment, for he had hoped it would have been easy to coax the\nsoldier; \"but, if you reflect, what interest have I in deceiving you?\nAnd in what should the deception consist?\"\n\n\"You have some interest or other in persisting to remain here, when I\ntell you to go away.\"\n\n\"I have already had the honor of informing you of the object of my\nvisit, my dear sir.\"\n\n\"To bring news of Marshal Simon?\"\n\n\"That is exactly the case. I am happy enough to have news of the\nmarshal. Yes, my dear young ladies,\" added Rodin, as he again approached\nthe two sisters, to recover, as it were, the ground he had lost, \"I have\nnews of your glorious father!\"\n\n\"Then come to my room directly, and you can tell it to me,\" replied\nDagobert.\n\n\"What! you would be cruel enough to deprive these dear ladies of the\npleasure--\"\n\n\"By heaven, sir!\" cried Dagobert, in a voice of thunder, \"you will make\nme forget myself. I should be sorry to fling a man of your age down the\nstairs. Will you be gone?\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" said Rodin mildly, \"do not be angry with a poor old man.\nI am really not worth the trouble. I will go with you to your room, and\ntell you what I have to communicate. You will repent not having let me\nspeak before these dear young ladies; but that will be your punishment,\nnaughty man!\"\n\nSo saying, Rodin again bowed very low, and, concealing his rage and\nvexation, left the room before Dagobert, who made a sign to the two\nsisters, and then followed, closing the door after him.\n\n\"What news of our father, Dagobert?\" said Rose anxiously, when the\nsoldier returned, after a quarter of an hours absence.\n\n\"Well, that old conjurer knows that the marshal set out in good spirits,\nand he seems acquainted with M. Robert. How could he be informed of all\nthis? I cannot tell,\" added the soldier, with a thoughtful air; \"but it\nis only another reason to be on one's guard against him.\"\n\n\"But what news of our father?\" asked Rose.\n\n\"One of that old rascal's friends (I think him a rascal still) knows\nyour father, he tells me, and met him five-and-twenty leagues from here.\nKnowing that this man was coming to Paris, the marshal charged him to\nlet you know that he was in perfect health, and hoped soon to see you\nagain.\"\n\n\"Oh, what happiness!\" cried Rose.\n\n\"You see, you were wrong to suspect the poor old man, Dagobert,\" added\nBlanche. \"You treated him so harshly!\"\n\n\"Possibly so; but I am not sorry for it.\"\n\n\"And why?\"\n\n\"I have my reasons; and one of the best is that, when I saw him came in,\nand go sidling and creeping round about us, I felt chilled to the marrow\nof my bones, without knowing why. Had I seen a serpent crawling towards\nyou, I should not have been more frightened. I knew, of course, that he\ncould not hurt you in my presence; but I tell you, my children, in spite\nof the services he has no doubt rendered us, it was all I could do to\nrefrain from throwing him out of the window. Now, this manner of proving\nmy gratitude is not natural, and one must be on one's guard against\npeople who inspire us with such ideas.\"\n\n\"Good Dagobert, it is your affection for us that makes you so\nsuspicious,\" said Rose, in a coaxing tone; \"it proves how much you love\nus.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LV. THE IMPROVISED HOSPITAL\n\nAmong a great number of temporary hospitals opened at the time of the\ncholera in every quarter of Paris, one had been established on the\nground-floor of a large house in the Rue du Mont-Blanc. The vacant\napartments had been generously placed by their proprietor at the\ndisposal of the authorities; and to this place were carried a number\nof persons, who, being suddenly attacked with the contagion, were\nconsidered in too dangerous a state to be removed to the principal\nhospitals.\n\nTwo days had elapsed since Rodin's visit to Marshal Simon's daughters.\nShortly after he had been expelled, the Princess de Saint-Dizier had\nentered to see them, under the cloak of being a house-to-house visitor\nto collect funds for the cholera sufferers.\n\nChoosing the moment when Dagobert, deceived by her lady-like demeanor,\nhad withdrawn, she counselled the twins that it was their duty to go\nand see their governess, whom she stated to be in the hospital we now\ndescribe.\n\nIt was about ten o'clock in the morning. The persons who had watched\nduring the night by the sick people, in the hospital established in\nthe Rue du Mont-Blanc, were about to be relieved by other voluntary\nassistants.\n\n\"Well, gentlemen,\" said one of those newly arrived, \"how are we getting\non? Has there been any decrease last night in the number of the sick?\"\n\n\"Unfortunately, no; but the doctors think the contagion has reached its\nheight.\"\n\n\"Then there is some hope of seeing it decrease.\"\n\n\"And have any of the gentlemen, whose places we come to take, been\nattacked by the disease?\"\n\n\"We came eleven strong last night; we are only nine now.\"\n\n\"That is bad. Were these two persons taken off rapidly?\"\n\n\"One of the victims, a young man of twenty-five years of age, a cavalry\nofficer on furlough, was struck as it were by lightning. In less than a\nquarter of an hour he was dead. Though such facts are frequent, we were\nspeechless with horror.\"\n\n\"Poor young man!\"\n\n\"He had a word of cordial encouragement and hope for every one. He had\nso far succeeded in raising the spirits of the patients, that some of\nthem who were less affected by the cholera than by the fear of it, were\nable to quit the hospital nearly well.\"\n\n\"What a pity! So good a young man! Well, he died gloriously; it requires\nas much courage as on the field of battle.\"\n\n\"He had only one rival in zeal and courage, and that is a Young priest,\nwith an angelic countenance, whom they call the Abbe Gabriel. He is\nindefatigable; he hardly takes an hour's rest, but runs from one to\nthe other, and offers himself to everybody. He forgets nothing. The\nconsolation; which he offers come from the depths of his soul, and are\nnot mere formalities in the way of his profession. No, no, I saw him\nweep over a poor woman, whose eyes he had closed after a dreadful agony.\nOh, if all priests were like him!\"\n\n\"No doubt, a good priest is most worthy of respect. But! who is the\nother victim of last night?\"\n\n\"Oh! his death was frightful. Do not speak of it. I have still the\nhorrible scene before my eyes.\"\n\n\"A sudden attack of cholera?\"\n\n\"If it had only been the contagion, I should not so shudder at the\nremembrance.\"\n\n\"What then did he die of?\"\n\n\"It is a string of horrors. Three days ago, they brought here a man, who\nwas supposed to be only attacked with cholera. You have no doubt heard\nspeak of this personage. He is the lion-tamer, that drew all Paris to\nthe Porte-Saint-Martin.\"\n\n\"I know the man you mean. Called Morok. He performed a kind of play with\na tame panther.\"\n\n\"Exactly so; I was myself present at a similar scene, which a stranger,\nan Indian, in consequence of a wager, was said at the time, jumped upon\nthe stage and killed the panther.\"\n\n\"Well, this Morok, brought here as a cholera-patient, and indeed with\nall the symptoms of the contagion, soon showed signs of a still more\nfrightful malady.\"\n\n\"And this was--\"\n\n\"Hydrophobia.\"\n\n\"Did he become mad?\"\n\n\"Yes; he confessed, that he had been bitten a few days before by one\nof the mastiffs in his menagerie; unfortunately, we only learnt this\ncircumstance after the terrible attack, which cost the life of the poor\nfellow we deplore.\"\n\n\"How did it happen, then?\"\n\n\"Morok was in a room with three other patients. Suddenly seized with a\nsort of furious delirium, he rose, uttering ferocious cries, and rushed\nraving mad into the passage. Our poor friend made an attempt to stop\nhim. This kind of resistance increased the frenzy of Morok, who threw\nhimself on the man that crossed his path, and, tearing him with his\nteeth, fell down in horrible convulsions.\"\n\n\"Oh! you are right. 'Twas indeed frightful. And, not withstanding every\nassistance this victim of Morok's--\"\n\n\"Died during the night, in dreadful agony; for the shock had been so\nviolent, that brain-fever almost instantly declared itself.\"\n\n\"And is Morok dead?\"\n\n\"I do not know. He was to be taken to another hospital, after being fast\nbound in the state of weakness which generally succeeds the fit. But,\ntill he can be removed he has been confined in a room upstairs.\"\n\n\"But he cannot recover.\"\n\n\"I should think he must be dead by this time. The doctors did not give\nhim twenty-four hours to live.\"\n\nThe persons engaged in this conversation were standing in an\nante-chamber on the ground-floor, in which usually assembled those who\ncame to offer their voluntary aid to the sick. One door of this room\ncommunicated with the rest of the hospital, and the other with the\npassage that opened upon the courtyard.\n\n\"Dear me!\" said one of the two speakers, looking through the window.\n\"See what two charming girls have just got out of that elegant carriage.\nHow much alike they are! Such a resemblance is indeed extraordinary.\"\n\n\"No doubt they are twins. Poor young girls! dressed in Mourning. They\nhave perhaps lost father or mother.\"\n\n\"One would imagine they are coming this way.\"\n\n\"Yes, they are coming up the steps.\"\n\nAnd indeed Rose and Blanche soon entered the antechamber, with a timid,\nanxious air, though a sort of feverish excitement was visible in their\nlooks. One of the two men that were talking together, moved by the\nembarrassment of the girls, advanced toward them, and said, in a tone of\nattentive politeness: \"Is there anything I can do for you, ladies?\"\n\n\"Is not this, sir,\" replied Rose, \"the infirmary of the Rue du Mont\nBlanc?\"\n\n\"Yes, miss.\"\n\n\"A lady, called Madame Augustine du Tremblay, was brought here, we are\ntold, about two days ago. Could we see her?\"\n\n\"I would observe to you, miss, that there is some danger in entering the\nsick-wards.\"\n\n\"It is a dear friend that we wish to see,\" answered Rose, in a mild and\nfirm tone, which sufficiently expressed that she was determined to brave\nthe danger.\n\n\"I cannot be sure, miss,\" resumed the other, \"that the person you seek\nis here; but, if you will take the trouble to walk into this room on the\nleft, you will find there the good Sister Martha; she has the care\nof the women's wards, and will give you all the information you can\ndesire.\"\n\n\"Thank you, sir,\" said Blanche, with a graceful bow; and she and her\nsister entered together the apartment which had been pointed out to\nthem.\n\n\"They are really charming,\" said the man, looking after the two sisters,\nwho soon disappeared from his view. \"It would be a great pity if--\"\n\nHe was unable to finish. A frightful tumult, mingled with cries of alarm\nand horror, rose suddenly from the adjoining rooms. Almost instantly,\ntwo doors were thrown open, and a number of the sick, half-naked, pale,\nfleshless, and their features convulsed with terror, rushed into the\nantechamber, exclaiming: \"Help! help! the madman!\" It is impossible to\npaint the scene of despairing and furious confusion which followed this\npanic of so many affrighted wretches, flying to the only other door, to\nescape from the perils they dreaded, and there, struggling and trampling\non each other to pass through the narrow entrance.\n\nAt the moment when the last of these unhappy creatures succeeded in\nreaching the door, dragging himself along upon his bleeding hands, for\nhe had been thrown down and almost crushed in the confusion--Morok,\nthe object of so much terror--Morok himself appeared. He was a horrible\nsight. With the exception of a rag bound about his middle, his wan form\nwas entirely naked, and from his bare legs still hung the remnants of\nthe cords he had just broken. His thick, yellow hair stood almost on\nend, his beard bristled, his savage eyes rolled full of blood in their\norbits, and shone with a glassy brightness; his lips were covered with\nfoam; from time to time, he uttered hoarse, guttural cries. The veins,\nvisible on his iron limbs were swollen almost to bursting. He bounded\nlike a wild beast, and stretched out before him his bony and quivering\nhands. At the moment Morok reached the doorway, by which those he\npursued made their escape, some persons, attracted by the noise, managed\nto close this door from without, whilst others secured that which\ncommunicated with the sick-ward.\n\nMorok thus found himself a prisoner. He ran to the window to force it\nopen, and threw himself into the courtyard. But, stopping suddenly, he\ndrew back from the glittering panes, seized with that invincible horror\nwhich all the victims of hydrophobia feel at the sight of any shining\nobject, particularly glass. The unfortunate creatures whom he had\npursued, saw him from the courtyard exhausting himself in furious\nefforts to open the doors that just had been closed upon him. Then,\nperceiving the inutility of his attempts, he uttered savage cries, and\nrushed furiously round the room, like a wild beast that seeks in vain to\nescape from its cage.\n\nBut, suddenly, those spectators of this scene, who had approached\nnearest to the window, uttered a loud exclamation of fear and anguish.\nMorok had perceived the little door which led to the closet occupied by\nSister Martha, where Rose and Blanche had entered a few minutes before.\nHoping to get out by this way, Morok drew the door violently towards\nhim, and succeeded in half opening it, notwithstanding the resistance he\nexperienced from the inside. For an instant the affrighted crowd saw the\nstiffened arms Of Sister Martha and the orphans, clinging to the door,\nand holding it back with all their might.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LVI. HYDROPHOBIA.\n\nWhen the sick people, assembled in the courtyard, saw the desperate\nefforts of Morok to force the door of the room which contained Sister\nMartha and the orphans, their fright redoubled. \"It is all over, Sister\nMartha!\" cried they.\n\n\"The door will give way.\"\n\n\"And the closet has no other entrance.\"\n\n\"There are two young girls in mourning with her.\"\n\n\"Come! we must not leave these poor women to encounter the madman.\nFollow me, friends!\" cried generously one of the spectators, who was\nstill blessed with health, and he rushed towards the steps to return to\nthe ante-chamber.\n\n\"It's too late! it's only exposing yourself in vain,\" cried many\npersons, holding him back by force.\n\nAt this moment, voices were heard, exclaiming: \"Here is the Abbe\nGabriel.\"\n\n\"He is coming downstairs. He has heard the noise.\"\n\n\"He is asking what is the matter.\"\n\n\"What will he do?\"\n\nGabriel, occupied with a dying person in a neighboring room, had,\nindeed, just learned that Morok, having broken his bonds, had succeeded\nin escaping from the chamber in which he had been temporarily confined.\nForeseeing the terrible dangers which might result from the escape of\nthe lion-tamer, the missionary consulted only his courage, and hastened\ndown, in the hope of preventing greater misfortunes. In obedience to\nhis orders, an attendant followed him, bearing a brazier full of hot\ncinders, on which lay several irons, at a white heat, used by the\ndoctors for cauterizing, in desperate cases of cholera.\n\nThe angelic countenance of Gabriel was very pale; but calm intrepidity\nshone upon his noble brow. Hastily crossing the passage, and making his\nway through the crowd, he went straight to the ante-chamber door. As\nhe approached it, one of the sick people said to him, in a lamentable\nvoice; \"Ah, sir! it is all over. Those who can see through the window\nsay that Sister Martha is lost.\"\n\nGabriel made no answer, but grasped the key of the door. Before entering\nthe room, however, he turned to the attendant, and said to him in a firm\nvoice: \"Are the irons of a white heat?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Then wait here, and be ready. As for you, my friends,\" he added,\nturning to some of the sick, who shuddered with terror, \"as soon as\nI enter shut the door after me. I will answer for the rest. And you;\nfriend, only bring your irons when I call.\"\n\nAnd the young missionary turned the key in the lock. At this juncture,\na cry of alarm, pity, and admiration rose from every lip, and the\nspectators drew back from the door, with an involuntary feeling of\nfear. Raising his eyes to heaven, as if to invoke its assistance at this\nterrible moment, Gabriel pushed open the door, and immediately closed it\nbehind him. He was alone with Morok.\n\nThe lion-tamer, by a last furious effort, had almost succeeded in\nopening the door, to which Sister Martha and the orphans were clinging,\nin a fit of terror, uttering piercing cries. At the sound of Gabriel's\nfootsteps, Morok turned round suddenly. Then, instead of continuing\nhis attack on the closet, he sprang, with a roar and a bound, upon the\nnew-comer.\n\nDuring this time, Sister Martha and the orphans, not knowing the\ncause of the sudden retreat of their assailant, took advantage of the\nopportunity to close and bolt the door, and thus placed themselves\nin security from a new attack. Morok, with haggard eye, and teeth\nconvulsively clinched, had rushed upon Gabriel, his hands extended\nto seize him by the throat. The missionary stood the shock valiantly.\nGuessing, at a glance, the intention of his adversary, he seized him\nby the wrists as he advanced, and, holding him back, bent him down\nviolently with a vigorous hand. For a second, Morok and Gabriel remained\nmute, breathless, motionless, gazing on each other; then the missionary\nstrove to conquer the efforts of the madman, who, with violent jerks,\nattempted to throw himself upon him, and to seize and tear him with his\nteeth.\n\nSuddenly the lion-tamer's strength seemed to fail, his knees quivered,\nhis livid head sank upon his shoulder, his eyes closed. The missionary,\nsupposing that a momentary weakness had succeeded to the fit of rage,\nand that the wretch was about to fall, relaxed his hold in order to lend\nhim assistance. But no sooner did he feel himself at liberty, thanks\nto his crafty device, than Morok flung himself furiously upon Gabriel.\nSurprised by this sudden attack, the latter stumbled, and at once felt\nhimself clasped into the iron arms of the madman. Yet, with redoubled\nstrength and energy, struggling breast to breast, foot to foot, the\nmissionary in his turn succeeded in tripping up his adversary, and,\nthrowing him with a vigorous effort, again seized his hands, and now\nheld him down beneath his knee. Having thus completely mastered him,\nGabriel turned his head to call for assistance, when Morok, by a\ndesperate strain, succeeded in raising himself a little, and seized with\nhis teeth the left arm of the missionary. At this sharp, deep, horrible\nbite, which penetrated to the very bone, Gabriel could not restrain a\nscream of anguish and horror. He strove in vain to disengage himself,\nfor his arm was held fast, as in a vice, between the firm-set jaws of\nMorok.\n\nThis frightful scene had lasted less time than it has taken in the\ndescription, when suddenly the door leading to the passage was violently\nopened, and several courageous men, who had learned from the patients\nto what danger the young priest was exposed, came rushing to his\nassistance, in spite of his recommendation not to enter till he should\ncall. The attendant was amongst the number, with the brazier and the hot\nirons. Gabriel, as soon as he perceived him, said to him in an agitated\nvoice: \"Quick, friend! your iron. Thank God I had thought of that.\"\n\nOne of the men who had entered the room was luckily provided with a\nblanket; and the moment the missionary succeeded in wresting his arm\nfrom the clinched teeth of Morok, whom he still held down with his knee,\nthis blanket was thrown over the madman's head, so that he could now be\nheld and bound without danger, notwithstanding his desperate resistance.\nThen Gabriel rose, tore open the sleeve of his cassock, and laying bare\nhis left arm, on which a deep bite was visible, bleeding, of a bluish\ncolor, he beckoned the attendant to draw near, seized one of the hot\nirons, and, with a firm and sure hand, twice applied the burning metal\nto the wound, with a calm heroism which struck all the spectators, with\nadmiration. But soon so many various emotions, intrepidly sustained,\nwere followed by a natural reaction. Large drops of sweat stood upon\nGabriel's brow; his long light hair clung to his temples; he grew deadly\npale, reeled, lost his senses, and was carried into the next room to\nreceive immediate attention.\n\nAn accidental circumstance, likely enough to occur, had converted one\nof the Princess de Saint-Dizier's falsehoods into a truth. To induce\nthe orphans to go to the hospital, she had told them Gabriel was there,\nwhich at the time she was far from believing. On the contrary, she would\nhave wished to prevent a meeting, which, from the attachment of the\nmissionary to the girls, might interfere with her projects. A little\nwhile after the terrible scene we have just related, Rose and Blanche,\naccompanied by Sister Martha, entered a vast room, of a strange and\nfatal aspect, containing a number of women who had suddenly been seized\nwith cholera.\n\nThese immense apartments, generously supplied for the purpose of a\ntemporary hospital, had been furnished with excessive luxury. The room\nnow occupied by the sick women, of whom we speak, had been used for\na ball-room. The white panels glittered with sumptuous gilding, and\nmagnificent pier-glasses occupied the spaces between the windows,\nthrough which could be seen the fresh verdure of a pleasant garden,\nsmiling beneath the influence of budding May. In the midst of all\nthis gilded luxury, on a rich, inlaid floor of costly woods, were seen\narranged in regular order four rows of beds, of every shape and kind,\nfrom the humble truckle-bed to the handsome couch in carved mahogany.\n\nThis long room was divided into two compartments by a temporary\npartition, four or five feet in height. They had thus been able to\nmanage the four rows of beds. This partition finished at some little\ndistance from either end of the room, so as to leave an open space\nwithout beds, for the volunteer attendants, when the sick did not\nrequire their aid. At one of these extremities of the room was a lofty\nand magnificent marble chimney piece, ornamented with gilt bronze.\nOn the fire beneath, various drinks were brewing for the patients. To\ncomplete the singular picture, women of every class took their turns in\nattending upon the sick, to whose sighs and groans they always responded\nwith consoling words of hope and pity. Such was the place, strange and\nmournful, that Rose and Blanche entered together, hand in hand, a short\ntime after Gabriel had displayed such heroic courage in the struggle\nagainst Morok. Sister Martha accompanied Marshal Simon's daughters.\nAfter speaking a few words to them in a whisper, she pointed out to them\nthe two divisions in which the beds were arranged, and herself went to\nthe other end of the room to give some orders.\n\nThe orphans, still under the impression of the terrible danger from\nwhich Gabriel had rescued them without their knowing it, were both\nexcessively pale; yet their eyes were expressive of firm resolution.\nThey had determined not only to perform what they considered an\nimperative duty, but to prove themselves worthy of their valiant father;\nthey were acting too for their mother's sake, since they had been told\nthat, dying in Siberia without receiving the sacrament, her eternal\nfelicity might depend on the proofs they gave of Christian devotion.\nNeed we add that the Princess de Saint-Dizier, following the advice of\nRodin, had, in a second interview, skillfully brought about without the\nknowledge of Dagobert, taken advantage of the excitable qualities\nof these poor, confiding, simple, and generous souls, by a fatal\nexaggeration of the most noble and courageous sentiments. The orphans\nhaving asked Sister Martha if Madame Augustine du Tremblay had been\nbrought to this asylum within the last three days, that person had\nanswered, that she really did not know, but, if they would go through\nthe women's wards, it would be easy for them to ascertain. For the\nabominable hypocrite, who, in conjunction with Rodin, had sent these\ntwo children to encounter a mortal peril, had told an impudent falsehood\nwhen she affirmed that their governess had been removed to this\nhospital. During their exile, and their toilsome journey with Dagobert,\nthe sisters had been exposed to many hard trials. But never had they\nwitnessed so sad a spectacle as that which now offered itself to their\nview.\n\nThe long row of beds, on which so many poor creatures writhed in agony,\nsome uttering deep groans, some only a dull rattle in the throat, some\nraving in the delirium of fever, or calling on those from whom they were\nabout to part forever--these frightful sights and sounds, which are\ntoo much even for brave men, would inevitably, (such was the execrable\ndesign of Rodin and his accomplices) make a fatal impression on these\nyoung girls, urged by the most generous motives to undertake this\nperilous visit. And then--sad memory! which awoke, in all its deep and\npoignant bitterness, by the side of the first beds they came to--it was\nof this very malady, the Cholera, that their mother had died a painful\ndeath. Fancy the twins entering this vast room, of so fearful an\naspect, and, already much shaken by the terror which Morok had inspired,\npursuing their search in the midst of these unfortunate creatures, whose\ndying pangs reminded them every instant of the dying agony of their\nmother! For a moment, at sight of the funeral hall, Rose and Blanche had\nfelt their resolution fail them. A black presentiment made them regret\ntheir heroic imprudence; and, moreover, since several minutes they had\nbegun to feel an icy shudder, and painful shootings across the temples;\nbut, attributing these symptoms to the fright occasioned by Morok, their\ngood and valiant natures soon stifled all these fears. They exchanged\nglances of affection, their courage revived, and both of them--Rose\non one side of the partition, and Blanche on the other--proceeded with\ntheir painful task. Gabriel, carried to the doctors' private room, had\nsoon recovered his senses. Thanks to his courage and presence of mind,\nhis wound, cauterized in time, could have no dangerous consequences.\nAs soon as it was dressed he insisted on returning to the women's ward,\nwhere he had be offering pious consolations to a dying person at the\nmoment they had come to inform him of the frightful danger caused by the\nescape of Morok.\n\nA few minutes before the missionary entered the room, Rose and Blanche\narrived almost together at the term of their mournful search, one from\nthe left, the other from the right-hand row of beds, separated by the\npartition which divided the hall into compartments. The sisters had not\nyet seen each other. Their steps tottered as they advanced, and they\nwere forced, from time to time, to lean against the beds as they passed\nalong. Their strength was--rapidly failing them. Giddy with fear and\npain, they appeared to act almost mechanically. Alas! the orphans had\nbeen seized almost at the same moment with the terrible symptoms of\ncholera. In consequence of that species of physiological phenomenon, of\nwhich we have already spoken--a phenomenon by no means rare in twins,\nwhich had already been displayed on one or two occasions of their\nsickness--their organizations seemed liable to the same sensations, the\nsame simultaneous accidents, like two flowers on one stem, which bloom\nand fade together. The sight of so much suffering, and so many deaths,\nhad accelerated the development of this dreadful disease. Already, on\ntheir agitated and altered countenances, they bore the mortal tokens of\nthe contagion, as they came forth, each on her own side, from the\ntwo subdivisions of the room in which they had vainly sought their\ngoverness. Until now separated by the partition, Rose and Blanche had\nnot yet seen each other; but, when at length their eyes met, there\nensued a heart rending scene.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LVII. THE GUARDIAN ANGEL.\n\nTo the charming freshness of the sisters' faces had succeeded a livid\npallor. Their large blue eyes, now hollow and sunk in, appeared of\nenormous dimensions. Their lips, once so rosy, were now suffused with a\nviolet hue, and a similar color was gradually displacing the transparent\ncarmine of their cheeks and fingers. It was as if all the roses in their\ncharming countenances were fading and turning blue before the icy blast\nof death.\n\nWhen the orphans met, tottering and hardly able to sustain themselves,\na cry of mutual horror burst from their lips. Each of them exclaimed, at\nsight of the fearful change in her sister's features. \"Are you also ill,\nsister?\" And then, bursting into tears, they threw themselves into each\nother's arms, and looked anxiously at one another.\n\n\"Good heaven, Rose! how pale you are!\"\n\n\"Like you, sister.\"\n\n\"And do you feel a cold shudder?\"\n\n\"Yes, and my sight fails me.\"\n\n\"My bosom is all on fire.\"\n\n\"Sister, we are perhaps going to die.\"\n\n\"Let it only be together!\"\n\n\"And our poor father?\"\n\n\"And Dagobert?\"\n\n\"Sister, our dream has come true!\" cried Rose, almost deliriously, as\nshe threw her arms round Blanche's neck. \"Look! look! the Angel Gabriel\nis here to fetch us.\"\n\nIndeed, at this moment, Gabriel entered the open space at the end of the\nroom. \"Heaven! what do I see?\" cried the young priest. \"The daughters of\nMarshal Simon!\"\n\nAnd, rushing forward, he received the sisters in his arms, for they were\nno longer able to stand. Already their drooping heads, their half-closed\neyes, their painful and difficult breathing, announced the approach of\ndeath. Sister Martha was close at hand. She hastened to respond to the\ncall of Gabriel. Aided by this pious woman, he was able to lift the\norphans upon a bed reserved for the doctor in attendance. For fear that\nthe sight of this mournful agony should make too deep an impression on\nthe other patients, Sister Martha drew a large curtain, and the sisters\nwere thus in some sort walled off from the rest of the room. Their hands\nhad been so tightly clasped together, during a nervous paroxysm, that it\nwas impossible to separate them. It was in this position that the first\nremedies were applied--remedies incapable of conquering the violence\nof the disease, but which at least mitigated for a few moments the\nexcessive pains they suffered, and restored some faint glimmer of\nperception to their obscured and troubled senses. At this moment,\nGabriel was leaning over the bed with a look of inexpressible grief.\nWith breaking heart, and face bathed in tears, he thought of the strange\ndestiny, which thus made him a witness of the death of these girls, his\nrelations, whom but a few months before he had rescued from the horrors\nof the tempest. In spite of his firmness of soul, the missionary could\nnot help shuddering as he reflected on the fate of the orphans, the\ndeath of Jacques Rennepont, and the fearful devices by which M. Hardy,\nretired to the cloistered solitude of St. Herein, had become a member\nof the Society of Jesus almost in dying. The missionary said to himself,\nthat already four members of the Rennepont family--his family--had been\nsuccessively struck down by some dreadful fate; and he asked himself\nwith alarm, how it was that the detestable interests of the Society of\nLoyola should be served by a providential fatality? The astonishment of\nthe young missionary would have given place to the deepest horror, could\nhe have known the part that Rodin and his accomplices had taken, both\nin the death of Jacques Rennepont, by exciting, through Morok, the evil\npropensities of the artisan, and in the approaching end of Rose and\nBlanche, by converting, through the Princess de Saint-Dizier, the\ngenerous inspirations of the orphans into suicidal heroism.\n\nRoused for a moment from the painful stupor in which they had been\nplunged, Rose and Blanche half-opened their large eyes, already dull\nand faded. Then, more and more bewildered they both gazed fixedly at the\nangelic countenance of Gabriel.\n\n\"Sister,\" said Rose, in a faint voice, \"do you see the archangel--as in\nour dreams, in Germany?\"\n\n\"Yes--three days ago--he appeared to us.\"\n\n\"He is come to fetch us.\"\n\n\"Alas! will our death save our poor mother from purgatory?\"\n\n\"Angel! blessed angel! pray God for our mother--and for us!\" Until\nnow, stupefied with amazement and sorrow, almost suffocated with sobs,\nGabriel had not been able to utter a word. But at these words of the\norphans, he exclaimed: \"Dear children, why doubt of your mother's\nsalvation? Oh! never did a purer soul ascend to its Creator. Your\nmother? I know from my adopted father, that her virtues and courage\nwere the admiration of all who knew her. Oh! believe me; God has blessed\nher.\"\n\n\"Do you hear, sister?\" cried Rose, as a ray of celestial joy illumined\nfor an instant the livid faces of the orphans. \"God has blessed our\nmother.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" resumed Gabriel; \"banish these gloomy ideas. Take courage,\npoor children! You must not die. Think of your father.\"\n\n\"Our father?\" said Blanche, shuddering; and she continued, with a\nmixture of reason and wild excitement, which would have touched the\nsoul of the most indifferent: \"Alas! he will not find us on his return.\nForgive us, father! we did not think to do any harm. We wished, like\nyou, to do something generous--to help our governess.\"\n\n\"And we did not think to die so quickly, and so soon. Yesterday, we were\ngay and happy.\"\n\n\"Oh, good angel! you will appear to our father, even as you have\nappeared to us. You will tell him that, in dying--the last thought of\nhis children--was of him.\"\n\n\"We came here without Dagobert's knowing it--do not let our father scold\nhim.\"\n\n\"Blessed angel!\" resumed the other sister in a still more feeble voice;\n\"appear to Dagobert, also. Tell him, that we ask his forgiveness, for\nthe grief our death will occasion him.\"\n\n\"And let our old friend caress our poor Spoil-sport for us--our faithful\nguardian,\" added Blanche, trying to smile.\n\n\"And then,\" resumed Rose, in a voice that was growing still fainter,\n\"promise to appear to two other persons, that have been so kind to\nus--good Mother Bunch--and the beautiful Lady Adrienne.\"\n\n\"We forget none whom we have loved,\" said Blanche, with a last effort.\n\"Now, God grant we may go to our mother, never to leave her more!\"\n\n\"You promised it good angel--you know you did--in the dream. You said\nto us: 'Poor children--come from so far--you will have traversed the\nearth--to rest on the maternal bosom!'\"\n\n\"Oh! it is dreadful--dreadful! So young--and no hope!\" murmured Gabriel,\nas he buried his face in his hands. \"Almighty Father! Thy views are\nimpenetrable. Alas! yet why should these children die this cruel death?\"\n\nRose heaved a deep sigh and said in an expiring tone: \"Let us be buried\ntogether!--united in life, in death not divided--\"\n\nAnd the two turned their dying looks upon Gabriel, and stretched out\ntowards him their supplicating hands.\n\n\"Oh, blessed martyrs to a generous devotion!\" cried the missionary,\nraising to heaven his eyes streaming with tears. \"Angelic souls!\ntreasures of innocence and truth! ascend, ascend to heaven--since God\ncalls you to him, and the earth is not worthy to possess you!\"\n\n\"Sister! father!\" were the last words that the orphans pronounced with\ntheir dying voices.\n\nAnd then the twins, by a last instinctive impulse, endeavored to clasp\neach other, and their eyes half-opened to exchange yet another glance.\nThey shuddered twice or thrice, their limbs stiffened, a deep sigh\nstruggled from their violet-colored lips. Rose and Blanche were both\ndead! Gabriel and Sister Martha, after closing the eyes of the orphans,\nknelt down to pray by the side of that funeral couch. Suddenly a\ngreat tumult was heard in the room. Rapid footsteps, mingled with\nimprecations, sounded close at hand, the curtain was drawn aside from\nthis mournful scene, and Dagobert entered precipitately, pale, haggard,\nhis dress in disorder. At sight of Gabriel and the Sister of Charity\nkneeling beside the corpses of his children, the soldier uttered a\nterrible roar, and tried to advance--but in vain--for, before Gabriel\ncould reach him, Dagobert fell flat on the ground, and his gray head\nstruck violently on the floor.\n\nIt is night--a dark and stormy night. One o'clock in the morning has\njust sounded from the church of Montmartre. It is to the cemetery of\nMontmartre that is carried the coffin which, according to the last\nwishes of Rose and Blanche contains them both. Through the thick shadow,\nwhich rests upon that field of death, may be seen moving a pale light.\nIt is the gravedigger. He advances with caution; a dark lantern is in\nhis hand. A man wrapped in a cloak accompanies him. He holds down his\nhead and weeps. It is Samuel. The old Jew--the keeper of the house\nin the Rue Saint-Francois. On the night of the funeral of Jacques\nRennepont, the first who died of the seven heirs, and who was buried\nin another cemetery, Samuel had a similar mysterious interview with the\ngravedigger, to obtain a favor at the price of gold. A strange and awful\nfavor! After passing down several paths, bordered with cypress trees, by\nthe side of many tombs, the Jew and the gravedigger arrived, at a little\nglade, situated near the western wall of the cemetery. The night was so\ndark, that scarcely anything could be seen. After moving his lantern up\nand down, and all about, the gravedigger showed Samuel, at the foot of a\ntall yew-tree, with long black branches, a little mound of newly-raised\nearth, and said: \"It is here.\"\n\n\"You are sure of it?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes--two bodies in one coffin! it is not such a common thing.\"\n\n\"Alas! two in the same coffin!\" said the Jew, with a deep sigh.\n\n\"Now that you know the place, what do you want more?\" asked the\ngravedigger.\n\nSamuel did not answer. He fell on his knees, and piously kissed\nthe little mound. Then rising, with his cheeks bathed in tears, he\napproached the gravedigger, and spoke to him for some moments in a\nwhisper--though they were alone, and in the centre of that deserted\nplace. Then began between those two men a mysterious dialogue, which the\nnight enveloped in shade and silence. The gravedigger, alarmed at what\nSamuel asked him, at first refused his request.\n\nBut the Jew, employing persuasions, entreaties, tears, and at last the\nseduction of the jingling gold, succeeded in conquering the scruples of\nthe gravedigger. Though the latter trembled at the thought of what he\npromised, he said to Samuel in an agitated tone: \"To-morrow night, then,\nat two o'clock.\"\n\n\"I shall be behind the wall,\" answered Samuel, pointing out the place\nwith the aid of a lantern. \"I will throw three stones into the cemetery,\nfor a signal.\"\n\n\"Yes, three stones--as a signal,\" replied the gravedigger shuddering,\nand wiping the cold sweat from his forehead.\n\nWith considerable remains of vigor, notwithstanding his great age,\nSamuel availed himself of the broken surface of the low wall, and\nclimbing over it, soon disappeared. The gravedigger returned home with\nhasty strides. From time to time, he looked fearfully behind him, as\nthough he had been pursued by some fatal vision.\n\nOn the evening after the funeral of Rose and Blanche, Rodin wrote two\nletters. The first, addressed to his mysterious correspondent at Rome,\nalluded to the deaths of Jacques Rennepont, and Rose and Blanche Simon,\nas well as to the cession of M. Hardy's property, and the donation\nof Gabriel--events which reduced the claimants of the inheritance to\ntwo--Mdlle. de Cardoville and Djalma. This first note written by Rodin\nfor Rome, contained only the following words: \"Five from seven leaves\ntwo. Announce this result to the Cardinal-Prince. Let him go on. I\nadvance advance-advance!\" The second note, in a feigned hand, was\naddressed to Marshal Simon, to be delivered by a sure messenger,\ncontained these few lines: \"If there is yet time, make haste to return.\nYour daughters are both dead. You shall learn who killed them.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LVIII. RUIN.\n\nIt is the day after the death of Marshal Simon's daughters. Mdlle. de\nCardoville is yet ignorant of the sad end of her young relatives. Her\ncountenance is radiant with happiness, and never has she looked more\nbeautiful; her eye has never been more brilliant, her complexion more\ndazzling white, her lip of a richer coral. According to her somewhat\neccentric custom of dressing herself in her own house in a picturesque\nstyle, Adrienne wears to-day, though it is about three o'clock in the\nafternoon, a pale green watered-silk dress, with a very full skirt, the\nsleeves and bodice slashed with rose-colored ribbon, and adorned with\nwhite bugle-beads, of exquisite workmanship; while a slender network,\nalso of white bugle-beads, concealing the thick plait of Adrienne's\nback hair, forms an oriental head-dress of charming originality, and\ncontrasts agreeably with the long curls which fall in front almost to\nthe swell of the bosom. To the expression of indescribable happiness\nwhich marks the features of Mdlle. de Cardoville, is added a certain\nresolute, cutting, satirical air, which is not habitual to her. Her\ncharming head, and graceful, swan-like neck, are raised in an attitude\nof defiance; her small, rose-colored nostrils seem to dilate with\nill-repressed ardor, and she waits with haughty impatience for the\nmoment of an aggressive and ironical interview. Not far from Adrienne is\nMother Bunch. She has resumed in the house the place which she at first\noccupied. The young sempstress is in mourning for her sister, but her\ncountenance is expressive of a mild, calm sorrow. She looks at Mdlle. de\nCardoville with surprise; for never, till now, has she seen the features\nof the fair patrician impressed with such a character of ironical\naudacity. Mdlle. de Cardoville was exempt from the slightest coquetry,\nin the narrow and ordinary sense of the word. Yet she now cast an\ninquiring look at the glass before which she was standing, and, having\nrestored the elastic smoothness to one of her long, golden curls, by\nrolling it for a moment round her ivory finger, she carefully effaced\nwith her hands some almost imperceptible folds, which had formed\nthemselves in the thick material of her elegant corsage. This movement,\nand that of turning her back to the glass, to see if her dress sat\nperfectly on all points, revealed, in serpentine undulations, all the\ncharms and graces of her light and elegant figure; for, in spite of the\nrich fulness of her shoulders, white and firm as sculptured alabaster,\nAdrienne belonged to that class of privileged persons, who are able at\nneed to make a girdle out of a garter.\n\nHaving performed, with indescribable grace, these charming evolutions of\nfeminine coquetry, Adrienne turned towards Mother Bunch, whose surprise\nwas still on the increase, and said to her, smiling: \"My dear Magdalen,\ndo not laugh at my question--but what would you say to a picture, that\nshould represent me as I am now?\"\n\n\"Why, lady--\"\n\n\"There you are again, with your lady-ing,\" said Adrienne, in a tone of\ngentle reproach.\n\n\"Well, then, Adrienne,\" resumed Mother Bunch, \"I think it would be a\ncharming picture, for you are dressed, as usual with perfect taste.\"\n\n\"But am I not better dressed than on other days, my dear poetess? I\nbegan by telling you that I do not ask the question for my own sake,\"\nsaid Adrienne, gayly.\n\n\"Well, I suppose so,\" replied Mother Bunch, with a faint smile. \"It is\ncertainly impossible to imagine anything that would suit you better. The\nlight green and the pale rose-color, with the soft lustre of the white\nornaments, harmonize so well with your golden hair, that I cannot\nconceive, I tell you, a more graceful picture.\"\n\nThe speaker felt what she said, and she was happy to be able to express\nit, for we know the intense admiration of that poetic soul for all that\nwas beautiful.\n\n\"Well!\" went on Adrienne, gayly, \"I am glad, my dear, that you find me\nbetter dressed than usual.\"\n\n\"Only,\" said the hunchback, hesitating.\n\n\"Only?\" repeated Adrienne, looking at her with an air of interrogation.\n\n\"Why, only,\" continued the other, \"if I have never seen you look more\npretty, I have also never observed in your features the resolute and\nironical expression which they had just now. It was like an air of\nimpatient defiance.\"\n\n\"And so it was, my dear little Magdalen,\" said Adrienne, throwing her\narms round the girl's neck with joyous tenderness. \"I must kiss you, for\nhaving guessed it. You see, I expect a visit from my dear aunt.\"\n\n\"The Princess de Saint-Dizier?\" cried Mother Bunch, in alarm. \"That\nwicked lady, who did you so much evil?\"\n\n\"The very same. She has asked for an interview, and I shall be delighted\nto receive her.\"\n\n\"Delighted?\"\n\n\"Yes--a somewhat ironical and malicious delight, it is true,\" answered\nAdrienne, still more gayly. \"You shall judge for yourself. She regrets\nher gallantries, her beauty, her youth--even her size afflicts the\nholy woman!--and she will see me young, fair, beloved--and above all\nthin--yes, thin,\" added Mdlle. de Cardoville, laughing merrily. \"And you\nmay imagine, my dear, how much envy and despair, the sight of a young,\nthin woman excites in a stout one of a certain age!\"\n\n\"My friend,\" said Mother Bunch, gravely, \"you speak in jest. And yet, I\nknow not why, the coming of this princess alarms me.\"\n\n\"Dear, gentle soul, be satisfied!\" answered Adrienne, affectionately. \"I\ndo not fear this woman--I no longer have any fear of her--and to prove\nit to her confusion, I will treat her--a monster of hypocrisy and\nwickedness, who comes here, no doubt, on some abominable design--I will\ntreat her as an inoffensive, ridiculous fat woman!\" And Adrienne again\nlaughed.\n\nA servant here entered the room, and interrupted the mirth of Adrienne,\nby saying: \"The Princess de Saint-Dizier wishes to know if you can\nreceive her?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Mdlle. de Cardoville; and the servant retired. Mother\nBunch was about to rise and quit the room; but Adrienne held her back,\nand said to her, taking her hand with an air of serious tenderness:\n\"Stay, my dear friend, I entreat you.\"\n\n\"Do you wish it?\"\n\n\"Yes; I wish--still in revenge, you know,\" said Adrienne, with a smile,\n\"to prove to her highness of Saint-Dizier, that I have an affectionate\nfriend--that I have, in fact, every happiness.\"\n\n\"But, Adrienne,\" replied the other, timidly, \"consider--\"\n\n\"Silence! here is the princess. Remain! I ask it as a favor. The\ninstinct of your heart will discover any snare she may have laid. Did\nnot your affection warn me of the plots of Rodin?\"\n\nMother Bunch could not refuse such a request. She remained, but was\nabout to draw back from the fireplace. Adrienne, however, took her by\nthe hand, and made her resume her seat in the arm-chair, saying: \"My\ndear Magdalen, keep your place. You owe nothing to the lady. With me it\nis different; she comes to my house.\"\n\nHardly had Adrienne uttered these words, than the princess entered with\nhead erect, and haughty air (we have said, she could carry herself most\nloftily), and advanced with a firm step. The strongest minds have their\nside of puerile weakness; a savage envy, excited by the elegance, wit,\nand beauty of Adrienne, bore a large part in the hatred of the princess\nfor her niece; and though it was idle to think of eclipsing Adrienne,\nand the Princess de Saint-Dizier did not seriously mean to attempt it,\nshe could not forbear, in preparing for the interview she had demanded,\ntaking more pains even than usual in the arrangement of her dress.\nBeneath her robe of shot silk, she was laced in and tightened to\nexcess--a pressure which considerably increased the color in her cheeks.\nThe throng of jealous and hateful sentiments, which inspired her with\nregard to Adrienne, had so troubled the clearness of her ordinarily calm\njudgment, that, instead of the plain and quiet style, in which, as a\nwoman of tact and taste, she was generally attired, she now committed\nthe folly of wearing a dress of changing hues, and a crimson hat,\nadorned with a magnificent bird of paradise. Hate, envy, the pride of\ntriumph--for she thought of the skillful perfidy with which she had\nsent to almost certain death the daughters of Marshal Simon--and the\nexecrable hope of succeeding in new plots, were all expressed in the\ncountenance of the Princess de Saint-Dizier, as she entered her niece's\napartment.\n\nWithout advancing to meet her aunt, Adrienne rose politely from the sofa\non which she was seated, made a half-curtsey, full of grace and dignity,\nand immediately resumed her former posture. Then, pointing to an arm\nchair near the fireplace, at one corner of which sat Mother Bunch, and\nshe herself at the other, she said: \"Pray sit down, your highness.\"\nThe princess turned very red, remained standing, and cast a disdainful\nglance of insolent surprise at the sempstress, who, in compliance with\nAdrienne's wish, only bowed slightly at the entrance of the Princess de\nSaint-Dizier, without offering to give up her place. In acting thus, the\nyoung sempstress followed the dictates of her conscience, which told her\nthat the real superiority did not belong to this base, hypocritical, and\nwicked princess, but rather to such a person as herself, the admirable\nand devoted friend.\n\n\"Let me beg your highness to sit down,\" resumed Adrienne, in a mild\ntone, as she pointed to the vacant chair.\n\n\"The interview I have demanded, niece,\" said the princess \"must be a\nprivate one.\"\n\n\"I have no secrets, madame, from my best friend; you may speak in the\npresence of this young lady.\"\n\n\"I have long known,\" replied Madame de Saint-Dizier, with bitter irony,\n\"that in all things you care little for secrecy, and that you are easy\nin the choice of what you call your friends. But you will permit me to\nact differently from you. If you have no secrets, madame, I have--and I\ndo not choose to confide them to the first comer.\"\n\nSo saying, the pious lady glanced contemptuously at the sempstress. The\nlatter, hurt at the insolent tone of the princess, answered mildly and\nsimply:\n\n\"I do not see what can be the great difference between the first and the\nlast comer to Mdlle. de Cardoville's.\"\n\n\"What! can it speak!\" cried the princess, insolently.\n\n\"It can at least answer, madame,\" replied Mother Bunch, in her calm\nvoice.\n\n\"I wish to see you alone, niece--is that clear?\" said the princess,\nimpatiently, to her niece.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, but I do not quite understand your highness,\" said\nAdrienne, with an air of surprise. \"This young lady, who honors me with\nher friendship, is willing to be present at this interview, which you\nhave asked for--I say she has consented to be present, for it needs,\nI confess, the kindest condescension in her to resign herself, from\naffection for me, to hear all the graceful, obliging, and charming\nthings which you have no doubt come hither to communicate.\"\n\n\"Madame--\" began the princess, angrily.\n\n\"Permit me to interrupt your highness,\" returned Adrienne, in a tone\nof perfect amenity, as if she were addressing the most flattering\ncompliments to her visitor. \"To put you quite at your ease with the lady\nhere, I will begin by informing you that she is quite aware of all the\nholy perfidies, pious wrongs, and devout infamies, of which you nearly\nmade me the victim. She knows that you are a mother of the Church, such\nas one sees but few of in these days. May I hope, therefore, that your\nhighness will dispense with this delicate and interesting reserve?\"\n\n\"Really,\" said the princess, with a sort of incensed amazement, \"I\nscarcely know if I wake or sleep.\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" said Adrienne, in apparent alarm; \"this doubt as to the state\nof your faculties is very shocking, madame. I see that the blood flies\nto your head, for your face sufficiently shows it; you seem oppressed,\nconfined, uncomfortable--perhaps (we women may say so between\nourselves), perhaps you are laced a little too tightly, madame?\"\n\nThese words, pronounced by Adrienne with an air of warm interest and\nperfect simplicity, almost choked the princess with rage. She became\ncrimson, seated herself abruptly, and exclaimed: \"Be it so, madame! I\nprefer this reception to any other. It puts me at my ease, as you say.\"\n\n\"Does it indeed, madame?\" said Adrienne, with a smile. \"You may now at\nleast speak frankly all that you feel, which must for you have the charm\nof novelty! Confess that you are obliged to me for enabling you, even\nfor a moment, to lay aside that mask of piety, amiability, and goodness,\nwhich must be so troublesome to you.\"\n\nAs she listened to the sarcasms of Adrienne (an innocent and excusable\nrevenge, if we consider all the wrongs she had suffered), Mother Bunch\nfelt her heart sink within her; for she dreaded the malignity of the\nprincess, who replied, with the utmost calmness: \"A thousand thanks,\nmadame, for your excellent intentions and sentiments. I appreciate them\nas I ought, and I hope in a short time to prove it to you.\"\n\n\"Well, madame,\" said Adrienne, playfully, \"let us have it all at once. I\nam full of impatient curiosity.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" said the princess, feigning in her turn a bitter and ironical\ndelight, \"you are far from having the least notion of what I am about to\nannounce to you.\"\n\n\"Indeed! I fear that your highness's candor and modesty deceive you,\"\nreplied Adrienne, with the same mocking affability; \"for there are very\nfew things on your part that can surprise me, madame. You must be aware\nthat from your highness, I am prepared for anything.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, madame,\" said the princess, laying great stress on her\nwords, \"if, for instance, I were to tell you that within twenty-four\nhours--suppose between this and to-morrow-thou will be reduced to\npoverty--\"\n\nThis was so unexpected, that Mdlle. de Cardoville started in spite of\nherself, and Mother Bunch shuddered.\n\n\"Ah, madame!\" said the princess, with triumphant joy and cruel mildness,\nas she watched the growing surprise of her niece, \"confess that I have\nastonished you a little. You were right in giving to our interview the\nturn it has taken. I should have needed all sorts of circumlocution to\nsay to you, 'Niece, to-morrow you will be as poor as you are rich to\nday.' But now I can tell you the fact quite plainly and simply.\"\n\nRecovering from her first amazement, Adrienne replied, with a calm\nsmile, which checked the joy of the princess: \"Well, I confess frankly,\nmadame, that you have surprised me; I expected from you one of those\nblack pieces of malignity, one of those well-laid plots, in which you\nare known to excel, and I did not think you would make all this fuss\nabout such a trifle.\"\n\n\"To be ruined--completely ruined,\" cried the princess, \"and that by to\nmorrow--you that have been so prodigal, will see your house, furniture,\nhorses, jewels, even the ridiculous dresses of which you are so vain,\nall taken from you--do you call that a trifle? You, that spend with\nindifference thousands of louis, will be reduced to a pension inferior\nto the wages you gave your foot-boy--do you call that a trifle?\"\n\nTo her aunt's cruel disappointment, Adrienne, who appeared quite to have\nrecovered her serenity was about to answer accordingly, when the door\nsuddenly opened, and, without being announced, Prince Djalma entered the\nroom. A proud and tender expression of delight beamed from the radiant\nbrow of Adrienne at sight of the prince, and it is impossible to\ndescribe the look of triumphant happiness and high disdain that she cast\nupon the Princess de Saint-Dizier. Djalma himself had never looked more\nhandsome, and never had more intense happiness been impressed on a human\ncountenance. The Hindoo wore a long robe of white Cashmere, adorned with\ninnumerable stripes of gold and purple; his turban was of the same color\nand material; a magnificent figured shawl was twisted about his waist.\nOn seeing the Indian, whom she had not hoped to meet at Mdlle. de\nCardoville's, the Princess de Saint-Dizier could not at first conceal\nher extreme surprise. It was between these four, then, that the\nfollowing scene took place.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LIX. MEMORIES.\n\nDjalma, having never before met the Princess de Saint-Dizier at\nAdrienne's, at first appeared rather astonished at her presence. The\nprincess, keeping silence for a moment, contemplated with implacable\nhatred and envy those two beings, both so fair and young, so loving and\nhappy. Suddenly she started, as if she had just remembered something of\ngreat importance, and for some seconds she remained absorbed in thought.\n\nAdrienne and Djalma availed themselves of this interval to gaze fondly\non each other, with a sort of ardent idolatry, which filled their eyes\nwith sweet tears. Then, at a movement of the Princess de Saint-Dizier,\nwho seemed to rouse herself from her momentary trance, Mdlle. de\nCardoville said to the young prince, with a smile: \"My dear cousin, I\nhave to repair an omission (voluntary, I confess, and for good reasons),\nin never having before mentioned to you one of my relations, whom I have\nnow the honor to present to you. The Princess de Saint-Dizier!\"\n\nDjalma bowed; but Mdlle. de Cardoville resumed, just as her aunt was\nabout to make some reply: \"Her Highness of Saint-Dizier came very kindly\nto inform me of an event which is a most fortunate one for me, and of\nwhich I will speak to you hereafter, cousin--unless this amiable\nlady should wish to deprive me of the pleasure of making such a\ncommunication.\"\n\nThe unexpected arrival of the prince, and the recollections which had\nsuddenly occurred to the princess, had no doubt greatly modified her\nfirst plans: for, instead of continuing the conversation with regard\nto Adrienne's threatened loss of fortune, the princess answered, with a\nbland smile, that covered an odious meaning: \"I should be sorry, prince,\nto deprive my dear and amiable niece of the pleasure of announcing to\nyou the happy news to which she alludes, and which, as a near relative,\nI lost no time in communicating to her. I have here some notes on this\nsubject,\" added the princess, delivering a paper to Adrienne, \"which I\nhope will prove, to her entire satisfaction, the reality of what I have\nannounced to her.\"\n\n\"A thousand thanks, my dear aunt,\" said Adrienne, receiving the paper\nwith perfect indifference; \"these precautions and proofs are quite\nsuperfluous. You know that I always believe you on your word, when it\nconcerns your good feeling towards myself.\"\n\nNotwithstanding his ignorance of the refined perfidy and cruel\npoliteness of civilized life, Djalma, endowed with a tact and fineness\nof perception common to most natures of extreme susceptibility, felt\nsome degree of mental discomfort as he listened to this exchange of\nfalse compliments. He could not guess their full meaning, but they\nsounded hollow to his ear; and moreover, whether from instinct or\npresentiment, he had conceived a vague dislike for the Princess de\nSaint-Dizier. That pious lady, full of the great affair in hand, was a\nprey to the most violent agitation, which betrayed itself in the growing\ncolor of her cheeks, her bitter smile, and the malicious brightness of\nher glance. As he gazed on this woman, Djalma was unable to conquer\nhis rising antipathy, and he remained silent and attentive, whilst his\nhandsome countenance lost something of its former serenity. Mother Bunch\nalso felt the influence of a painful impression. She glanced in terror\nat the princess, and then imploringly at Adrienne, as though she\nentreated the latter to but an end to an interview of which the young\nsempstress foresaw the fatal consequences. But, unfortunately, the\nPrincess de Saint-Dizier was too much interested in prolonging this\nconversation; and Mdlle. de Cardoville, gathering new courage and\nconfidence from the presence of the man she adored, took delight in\nvexing the princess with the exhibition of their happy love.\n\nAfter a short silence, the Princess de Saint-Dizier observed, in a soft\nand insinuating tone: \"Really, prince, you cannot think how pleased I\nwas to learn by public report (for people talk of nothing else, and\nwith good reason) of your chivalrous attachment to my dear niece; for,\nwithout knowing it, you will extricate me from a difficult position.\"\n\nDjalma made no answer, but he looked at Mdlle. de Cardoville with a\nsurprised and almost sorrowful air, as if to ask what her aunt meant to\ninsinuate.\n\nThe latter, not perceiving this mute interrogation, resumed as follows:\n\"I will express myself more clearly, prince. You can understand that,\nbeing the nearest relative of this dear, obstinate girl, I am more or\nless responsible for her conduct in the eyes of the world; and you,\nprince, seem just to have arrived on purpose, from the end of the\nearth, to take charge of a destiny which had caused me considerable\napprehension. It is charming, it is excellent; and I know not which\nmost to admire, your courage or your good fortune.\" The princess threw a\nglance of diabolical malice at Adrienne, and awaited her answer with an\nair of defiance.\n\n\"Listen to our good aunt, my dear cousin,\" said the young lady, smiling\ncalmly. \"Since our affectionate kinswoman sees you and me united and\nhappy, her heart is swelling with such a flood of joy, that it must run\nover, and the effects will be delightful. Only have a little patience,\nand you will behold them in their full beauty. I do not know,\"\nadded Adrienne, in the most natural tone, \"why, in thinking of these\noutpourings of our dear aunt's affection, I should remember what you\ntold me, cousin, of a certain viper in your country which sometimes,\nin a powerless bite, breaks its fangs, and, absorbing its own venom,\nbecomes the victim of the poison it distills. Come, my dear aunt, you\nthat had so good and noble a heart, I am sure you must feel interested\nin the fate of those poor vipers.\"\n\nThe princess darted an implacable look at her niece, and replied, in an\nagitated voice, \"I do not see the object of this selection of natural\nhistory. Do you, prince?\"\n\nDjalma made no answer; leaning with his arm on the mantelpiece, he threw\ndark and piercing glances upon the princess. His involuntary hatred of\nthis woman filled his heart.\n\n\"Ah, my dear aunt!\" resumed Adrienne, in a tone of self-reproach; \"have\nI presumed too much on the goodness of your heart? Have you not even\nsympathy for vipers? For whom, then, have you any? After all, I can very\nwell understand it,\" added Adrienne, as if to herself; \"vipers are so\nthin. But, to lay aside these follies,\" she continued, gayly, as she\nsaw the ill-repressed rage of the pious woman, \"tell us at once, my dear\naunt, all the tender things which the sight of our happiness inspires.\"\n\n\"I hope to do so, my amiable niece. First, I must congratulate this dear\nprince, on having come so far to take charge, in all confidence, and\nwith his eyes shut, of you, my poor child, whom we were obliged to\nconfine as mad, in order to give a decent color to your excesses. You\nremember the handsome lad, that we found in your apartment. You cannot\nbe so faithless, as already to have forgotten his name? He was a fine,\nyouth, and a poet--one Agricola Baudoin--and was discovered in a secret\nplace, attached to your bed-chamber. All Paris was amused with the\nscandal--for you are not about to marry an unknown person, dear prince;\nher name has been in every mouth.\"\n\nAt these unexpected and dreadful words, Adrienne, Djalma, and Mother\nBunch, though under the influence of different kinds of resentment,\nremained for a moment mute with surprise; and the princess, judging it\nno longer necessary to repress her infernal joy and triumphant hatred,\nexclaimed, as she rose from her seat, with flushed cheek, and flashing\neyes, \"Yes, I defy you to contradict me. Were we not forced to confine\nyou, on the plea of madness? And did we not find a workman (your lover)\nconcealed in your bedroom?\"\n\nOn this horrible accusation, Djalma's golden complexion, transparent as\namber, became suddenly the color of lead; his eyes, fixed and staring\nshowed the white round the pupil--his upper lip, red as blood,\nwas curled in a kind of wild convulsion, which exposed to view the\nfirmly-set teeth--and his whole countenance became so frightfully\nthreatening and ferocious, that Mother Bunch shuddered with terror.\nCarried away by the ardor of his blood, the young Oriental felt a sort\nof dizzy, unreflecting, involuntary rage--a fiery commotion, like that\nwhich makes the blood leap to the brave man's eyes and brain, when he\nfeels a blow upon his face. If, during that moment, rapid as the passage\nof the lightning through the cloud, action could have taken the place of\nthought, the princess and Adrienne, Mother Bunch and himself, would all\nhave been annihilated by an explosion as sudden and fatal as that of\nthe bursting of a mine. He would have killed the princess, because she\naccused Adrienne of infamous deception he would have killed Adrienne,\nbecause she could even be suspected of such infamy--and Mother Bunch,\nfor being a witness of the accusation--and himself, in order not to\nsurvive such horrid treachery. But, oh wonder! his furious and bloodshot\ngaze met the calm look of Adrienne--a look so full of dignity and serene\nconfidence--and the expression of ferocious rage passed away like a\nflash of lightning.\n\nMuch more: to the great surprise of the princess and the young workgirl,\nas the glances which Djalma cast upon Adrienne went (as it were) deeper\ninto that pure soul, not only did the Indian grow calm, but, by a\nkind of transfiguration, his countenance seemed to borrow her serene\nexpression, and reflect, as in a mirror, the noble serenity impressed\non the young lady's features. Let us explain physically this moral\nrevolution, as consoling to the terrified workgirl, as provoking to the\nprincess. Hardly had the princess distilled the atrocious calumny from\nher venomous lips, than Djalma, then standing before the fireplace, had,\nin the first paroxysm of his fury, advanced a step towards her;\nbut, wishing as it were to moderate his rage, he held by the marble\nchimney-piece, which he grasped with iron strength. A convulsive\ntrembling shook his whole body, and his features, altered and\ncontracted, became almost frightful. Adrienne, on her part, when she\nheard the accusation, yielding to a first impulse of just indignation,\neven as Djalma had yielded to one of blind fury, rose abruptly, with\noffended pride flashing from her eyes; but, almost immediately appeased\nby the consciousness of her own purity, her charming face resumed its\nexpression of adorable serenity. It was then that her eyes met Djalma's.\nFor a second, the young lady was even more afflicted than terrified\nat the threatening and formidable expression of the young Indian's\ncountenance. \"Can stupid indignity exasperate him to this degree?\" said\nAdrienne to herself. \"Does he suspect me; then?\"\n\nBut to this reflection, as rapid as it was painful, succeeded the most\nlively joy, when the eyes of Adrienne rested for a short time on those\nof the Indian, and she saw his agitated countenance grow calm as if\nby magic, and become radiant and beautiful as before. Thus was the\nabominable plot of the princess de Saint-Dizier utterly confounded by\nthe sincere and confiding expression of Adrienne's face. That was not\nall. At the moment, when, as a spectator of this mute and expressive\nscene (which proved so well the wondrous sympathy of those two beings,\nwho, without speaking a word, had understood and satisfied each other),\nthe princess was choking with rage and vexation--Adrienne, with a\ncharming smile and gesture, extended her fair hand to Djalma, who,\nkneeling, imprinted on it a kiss of fire, which sent a light blush to\nthe forehead of the young lady.\n\nThen the Hindoo, placing himself on the ermine carpet at the feet of\nMdlle. de Cardoville, in an attitude full of grace: and respect, rested\nhis chin on the palm of one of his hands, and gazed on her silently, in\na sort of mute adoration--while Adrienne, bending over him with a happy\nsmile \"looked at the babies in his eyes,\" as the song says, with as much\namorous complacency, as if the hateful princess had not been present.\nBut soon, as if something were wanting to complete her happiness,\nAdrienne beckoned to Mother Bunch, and made her sit down by her side.\nThen, with her hand clasped in that of this excellent friend, Mdlle. de\nCardoville smiled on Djalma, stretched adoringly at her feet, and cast\non the dismayed princess a look of such calm and firm serenity, so\nnobly expressive of the invincible quiet of her happiness, and her lofty\ndisdain of all calumnious attacks, that the Princess de Saint-Dizier,\nconfused and stupefied, murmured some hardly intelligible words, in a\nvoice trembling with passion, and, completely losing her presence of\nmind, rushed towards the door. But, at this moment, the hunchback, who\nfeared some ambush, some perfidious plot in the background, resolved,\nafter exchanging a glance with Adrienne, to accompany the princess to\nher carriage.\n\nThe angry disappointment of the Princess de Saint-Dizier, when she saw\nherself thus followed and watched, appeared so comical to Mdlle. de\nCardoville that she could not help laughing aloud; and it was to the\nsound of contemptuous hilarity that the hypocritical princess, with rage\nand despair in her heart, quitted the house to which she had hoped to\nbring trouble end misery. Adrienne and Djalma were left alone. Before\nrelating the scene which took place between them, a few retrospective\nwords are indispensable. It will easily be imagined, that since Mdlle.\nde Cardoville and the Oriental had been brought into such close contact,\nafter so many disappointments, their days had passed away like a dream\nof happiness. Adrienne had especially taken pains to bring to light, one\nby one, all the generous qualities of Djalma, of which she had read so\nmuch in her books of travels. The young lady had imposed on herself this\ntender and patient study of Djalma's character, not only to justify\nto her own mind the intensity of her love, but because this period\nof trial, to which she had assigned a term, enabled her to temper and\ndivert the violence of Djalma's passion--a task the more meritorious,\nas she herself was of the same ardent temperament. For, in those two\nlovers, the finest qualities of sense and soul seemed exactly to balance\neach other, and heaven had bestowed on them the rarest beauty of form,\nand the most adorable excellence of heart, as if to legitimatize the\nirresistible attraction which drew and bound them together. What, then,\nwas to be the term of this painful trial, which Adrienne had imposed\non Djalma and on herself? This is what Mdlle. de Cardoville intended\nto tell the prince, in the interview she had with him, after the abrupt\ndeparture of the Princess de Saint-Dizier.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LX. THE ORDEAL.\n\nAdrienne de Cardoville and Djalma had remained alone. Such was the\nnoble confidence which had succeeded in the Hindoo's mind to his first\nmovement of unreflecting fury, caused by the infamous calumny, that,\nonce alone with Adrienne, he did not even allude to that shameful\naccusation.\n\nOn her side (touching and admirable sympathy of those two hearts!),\nthe young lady was too proud, conscious of the purity of her love, to\ndescend to any justification of herself.\n\nShe would have considered it an insult both to herself and him.\nTherefore, the lovers began their interview, as if the princess had\nnever made any such remark. The same contempt was extended to the\npapers, which the princess had brought with her to prove the imminent\nruin to which Adrienne was exposed. The young lady had laid them down,\nwithout reading them, on a stand within her reach. She made a graceful\nsign to Djalma to seat himself by her side, and accordingly he quitted,\nnot without regret, the place he had occupied at her feet.\n\n\"My love,\" said Adrienne, in a grave and tender voice, \"you have often\nimpatiently asked me, when would come the term of the trial we have laid\nupon ourselves. That moment is at hand.\"\n\nDjalma started, and could not restrain a cry of surprise and joy; but\nthis almost trembling exclamation was so soft and sweet, that it seemed\nrather the expression of ineffable gratitude, than of exulting passion.\n\nAdrienne continued: \"Separated--surrounded by treachery and\nfraud--mutually deceived as to each other's sentiments--we yet loved\non, and in that followed an irresistible attraction, stronger than every\nopposing influence. But since then, in these days of happy retirement\nfrom the world, we have learned to value and esteem each other more.\nLeft to ourselves in perfect freedom, we have had the courage to resist\nevery temptation, that hereafter we might be happy without remorse.\nDuring these days, in which our hearts had been laid open to each other,\nwe have read them thoroughly. Yes, Djalma! I believe in you, and you in\nme--I find in you all that you find in me--every possible human security\nfor our future happiness. But this love must yet be consecrated; and in\nthe eyes of the world, in which we are called upon to live, marriage is\nthe only consecration, and marriage enchains one's whole life.\"\n\nDjalma looked at the young lady with surprise.\n\n\"Yes, one's whole life! and yet who can answer for the sentiments of a\nwhole life?\" resumed Adrienne. \"A God, that could see into the future,\ncould alone bind irrevocably certain hearts for their own happiness;\nbut, alas! to human eyes the future is impenetrable. Therefore, to\naccept indissoluble ties, for any longer than one can answer for a\npresent sentiment, is to commit an act of selfish and impious folly.\"\n\nDjalma made no reply, but, with an almost respectful gesture, he urged\nthe speaker to continue.\n\n\"And then,\" proceeded she, with a mixture of tenderness and pride, \"from\nrespect for your dignity and mine, I would never promise to keep a law\nmade by man against woman, with contemptuous and brutal egotism--a\nlaw, which denies to woman soul, mind, and heart--a law, which none can\naccept, without being either a slave or perjured--a law, which takes\nfrom the girl her name, reduces the wife to a state of degrading\ninferiority, denies to the mother all rights over her own children,\nand enslaves one human creature to the will of another, who is in all\nrespects her equal in the sight of God!--You know, my love,\" added the\nyoung lady, with passionate enthusiasm, \"how much I honor you, whose\nfather was called the Father of the Generous. I do not then fear, noble\nand valiant heart, to see you use against me these tyrannical powers;\nbut, throughout my life, I never uttered a falsehood, and our love is\ntoo sacred and celestial to be purchased by a double perjury. No, never\nwill I swear to observe a law, that my dignity, and my reason refuse to\nsanction. If, to-morrow, the freedom of divorce were established, and\nthe rights of women recognized, I should be willing to observe usages,\nwhich would then be in accordance with my conscience, and with what is\njust, possible, and humane.\" Then, after a pause, Adrienne continued,\nwith such deep and sweet emotion, that a tear of tenderness veiled her\nbeauteous eyes: \"Oh! if you knew, my love, what your love is to me: if\nyou knew how dear and sacred I hold your happiness--you would excuse,\nyou would understand, these generous superstitions of a loving and\nhonest heart, which could only see a fatal omen in forms degraded by\nfalsehood and perjury. What I wish, is, to attach you by love, to bind\nyou in chains of happiness--and to leave you free, that I may owe your\nconstancy only to your affection.\"\n\nDjalma had listened to the young girl with passionate attention. Proud\nand generous himself, he admired this proud and generous character.\nAfter a moment's meditative silence, he answered, in his sweet, sonorous\nvoice, in an almost solemn tone: \"Like you, I hold in detestation,\nfalsehood and perjury. Like you, I think that man degrades himself, by\naccepting the right of being a cowardly tyrant, even though resolved\nnever to use the power. Like you, I could not bear the thought, that\nI owed all I most valued, not to your love alone, but to the eternal\nconstraint of an indissoluble bond. Like you, I believe there is no\ndignity but in freedom. But you have said, that, for this great and holy\nlove, you demand a religious consecration; and if you reject vows, that\nyou cannot make without folly and perjury, are there then others, which\nyour reason and your heart approve?--Who will pronounce the required\nblessing? To whom must these vows be spoken?\"\n\n\"In a few days, my love, I believe I shall be able to tell you all.\nEvery evening, after your departure, I have no other thought. I wish to\nfind the means of uniting yourself and me--in the eyes of God, not of\nthe law--without offending the habits and prejudices of a world, in\nwhich it may suit us hereafter to live. Yes, my friend! when you know\nwhose are the noble hands, that are to join ours together, who is to\nbless and glorify God in our union--a sacred union, that will leave us\nworthy and free--you will say, I am sure, that never purer hands could\nhave been laid upon us. Forgive me, friend! all this is in earnest--yes,\nearnest as our love, earnest as our happiness. If my words seem to you\nstrange, my thoughts unreasonable, tell it me, love! We will seek and\nfind some better means, to reconcile that we owe to heaven, with what\nwe owe to the world and to ourselves. It is said, that lovers are beside\nthemselves,\" added the young lady, with a smile, \"but I think that no\ncreatures are more reasonable.\"\n\n\"When I hear you speak thus of our happiness,\" said Djalma, deeply\nmoved, \"with so much calm and earnest tenderness, I think I see a mother\noccupied with the future prospects of her darling child--trying\nto surround him with all that can make him strong, valiant, and\ngenerous--trying to remove far from him all that is ignoble and\nunworthy. You ask me to tell you if your thoughts seem strange to\nme, Adrienne. You forget, that what makes my faith in our love, is\nmy feeling exactly as you do. What offends you, offends me also; what\ndisgusts you, disgusts me. Just now, when you cited to me the laws of\nthis country, which respect in a woman not even a mother's right--I\nthought with pride of our barbarous countries, where woman, though a\nslave, is made free when she becomes a mother. No, no; such laws are not\nmade either for you or me. Is it not to prove your sacred respect for\nour love, to wish to raise it above the shameful servitude that would\ndegrade it? You see, Adrienne, I have often heard said by the priests of\nmy country, that there were beings inferior to the gods, but superior\nto every other creature. I did not believe those priests; but now I do.\"\nThese last words were uttered, not in the tone of flattery, but with\nan accent of sincere conviction, and with that sort of passionate\nveneration and almost timid fervor, which mark the believer talking of\nhis faith; but what is impossible to describe, is the ineffable harmony\nof these almost religious words, with the mild, deep tone of the\nyoung Oriental's voice--as well as the ardent expression of amorous\nmelancholy, which gave an irresistible charm to his enchanting features.\n\nAdrienne had listened to Djalma with an indescribable mixture of joy,\ngratitude, and pride. Laying her hand on her bosom, as if to keep down\nits violent pulsations, she resumed, as she looked at the prince with\ndelight: \"Behold him, ever the same!--just, good, great!--Oh, my heart!\nmy heart! how proudly it beats. Blessed be God, who created me for this\nadored lover! He must mean to astonish the world, by the prodigies of\ntenderness and charity, that such a love may produce. They do not yet\nknow the sovereign might of free, happy, ardent love. Yes, Djalma! on\nthe day when our hands are joined together, what hymns of gratitude\nwill ascend to heaven!--Ah! they do not know the immense, the insatiable\nlonging for joy aria delight, which possesses two hearts like ours; they\ndo not know what rays of happiness stream from the celestial halo of\nsuch a flame!--Oh, yes! I feel it. Many tears will be dried, many cold\nhearts warmed, at the divine fire of our love. And it will be by the\nbenedictions of those we serve, that they will learn the intoxication of\nour rapture!\"\n\nTo the dazzled eyes of Djalma, Adrienne appeared more and more an ideal\nbeing--partaking of the Divinity by her goodness, of the animal nature\nby passion--for, yielding to the intensity of excitement, Adrienne fixed\nupon Djalma looks that sparkled with love.\n\n'Then, almost beside himself, the Asiatic fell prostrate at the feet of\nthe maiden, and exclaimed, in a supplicating voice: \"Mercy! my courage\nfails me. Have pity on me! do not talk thus. Oh, that day! what years of\nmy life would I not give to hasten it!\"\n\n\"Silence! no blasphemy. Do not your years belong to me?\"\n\n\"Adrienne! you love me!\"\n\nThe young lady did not answer; but her half-veiled, burning glance,\ndealt the last blow to reason. Seizing her hands in his own, he\nexclaimed, with a tremulous voice: \"That day, in which we shall mount\nto heaven, in which we shall be gods in happiness--why postpone it any\nlonger?\"\n\n\"Because our love must be consecrated by the benediction of heaven.\"\n\n\"Are we not free?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, my love; we are free. Let us be worthy of our liberty!\"\n\n\"Adrienne! mercy!\"\n\n\"I ask you also to have mercy--to have mercy on the sacredness of our\nlove. Do not profane it in its very flower. Believe my heart! believe my\npresentiments! to profane it would be to kill. Courage, my adored lover!\na few days longer--and then happiness--without regret, and without\nremorse!\"\n\n\"And, until then, hell! tortures without a name! You do not, cannot know\nwhat I suffer when I leave your presence. Your image follows me, your\nbreath burns me up; I cannot sleep, but call on you every night with\nsighs and tears--just as I called on, you, when I thought you did not\nlove me--and yet I know you love me, I know you are mine. But to see you\nevery day more beautiful, more adored--and every day to quit you more\nimpassioned--oh! you cannot tell--\"\n\nDjalma was unable to proceed. What he said of his devouring tortures,\nAdrienne had felt, perhaps even more intensely. Electrified by the\npassionate words of Djalma, so beautiful in his excitement, her courage\nfailed, and she perceived that an irresistible languor was creeping\nover her. By a last chaste effort of the will, she rose abruptly, and\nhastening to the door, which communicated with Mother Bunch's chamber,\nshe exclaimed: \"My sister! help me!\"\n\nIn another moment, Mdlle. de Cardoville, her face bathed in tears,\nclasped the young sempstress in her arms; while Djalma knelt\nrespectfully on the threshold he did not dare to pass.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LXI. AMBITION.\n\nA few days after the interview of Djalma and Adrienne, just described,\nRodin was alone in his bed-chamber, in the house in the Rue de\nVaugirard, walking up and down the room where he had so valiantly\nundergone the moxas of Dr. Baleinier. With his hands thrust into the\nhind-pockets of his greatcoat, and his head bowed upon his breast, the\nJesuit seemed to be reflecting profoundly, and his varying walk, now\nslow, now quick, betrayed the agitation of his mind.\n\n\"On the side of Rome,\" said Rodin to himself, \"I am tranquil. All is\ngoing well. The abdication is as good as settled, and if I can pay them\nthe price agreed, the Prince Cardinal can secure me a majority of nine\nvoices in the conclave. Our General is with me; the doubts of Cardinal\nMalipieri are at an end, or have found no echo. Yet I am not quite easy,\nwith regard to the reported correspondence between Father d'Aigrigny and\nMalipieri. I have not been able to intercept any of it. No matter; that\nsoldier's business is settled. A little patience and he will be wiped\nout.\"\n\nHere the pale lips were contracted by one of those frightful smiles,\nwhich gave to Rodin's countenance so diabolical an expression.\n\nAfter a pause, he resumed: \"The funeral of the freethinker, the\nphilanthropist, the workman's friend, took place yesterday at St.\nHerem. Francis Hardy went off in a fit of ecstatic delirium. I had\nhis donation, it is true; but this is more certain. Everything may be\ndisputed in this world; the dead dispute nothing.\"\n\nRodin remained in thought for some moments; then he added, in a grave\ntone: \"There remain this red-haired wench and her mulatto. This is the\ntwenty-seventh of May; the first of June approaches, and these turtle\ndoves still seem invulnerable. The princess thought she had hit upon\na good plan, and I should have thought so too. It was a good idea to\nmention the discovery of Agricola Baudoin in the madcap's room, for it\nmade the Indian tiger roar with savage jealousy. Yes: but then the\ndove began to coo, and hold out her pretty beak, and the foolish tiger\nsheathed his claws, and rolled on the ground before her. It's a pity,\nfor there was some sense in the scheme.\"\n\nThe walk of Rodin became more and more agitated. \"Nothing is more\nextraordinary,\" continued he, \"than the generative succession of ideas.\nIn comparing this red-haired jade to a dove (colombe), I could not\nhelp thinking of that infamous old woman, Sainte-Colombe, whom that big\nrascal Jacques Dumoulin pays his court to, and whom the Abbe Corbinet\nwill finish, I hope, by turning to good account. I have often remarked,\nthat, as a poet may find an excellent rhyme by mere chance, so the\ngerm of the best ideas is sometimes found in a word, or in some absurd\nresemblance like the present. That abominable hag, Sainte-Colombo, and\nthe pretty Adrienne de Cardoville, go as well together, as a ring would\nsuit a cat, or a necklace a fish. Well, there is nothing in it.\"\n\nHardly had Rodin pronounced these words, than he started suddenly,\nand his face shone with a fatal joy. Then it assumed an expression of\nmeditative astonishment, as happens when chance reveals some unexpected\ndiscovery to the surprised and charmed inquirer after knowledge.\n\nSoon, with raised head and sparkling eye, his hollow cheeks swelling\nwith joy and pride, Rodin folded his arms in triumph on his breast,\nand exclaimed: \"Oh! how admirable and marvellous are these mysterious\nevolutions of the mind; how incomprehensible is the chain of human\nthought, which, starting from an absurd jingle of words, arrives at\na splendid or luminous idea! Is it weakness? or is it strength?\nStrange--very strange! I compare the red-haired girl to a dove--a\ncolombe. That makes me think of the hag, who traded in the bodies and\nsouls of so many creatures. Vulgar proverbs occur to me, about a ring\nand a cat, a fish and a necklace--and suddenly, at the word NECKLACE,\na new light dawns upon me. Yes: that one word NECKLACE shall be to me a\ngolden key, to open the portals of my brain, so long foolishly closed.\"\n\nAnd, after again walking hastily up and down, Rodin continued: \"Yes, it\nis worth attempting. The more I reflect upon it, the more feasible it\nappears. Only how to get at that wretch, Saint-Colombe? Well, there\nis Jacques Dumoulin, and the other--where to find her? That is the\nstumbling-block. I must not shout before I am out of the wood.\"\n\nRodin began again to walk, biting his nails with an air of deep thought.\nFor some moments, such was the tension of his mind, large drops of sweat\nstood on his yellow brow. He walked up and down, stopped, stamped with\nhis foot, now raised his eyes as if in search of an inspiration, and now\nscratched his head violently with his left hand, whilst he continued\nto gnaw the nails of the right. Finally, from time to time, he uttered\nexclamations of rage, despondency, or hope, as by turns they took\npossession of his mind. If the cause of this monster's agitation had not\nbeen horrible, it would have been a curious and interesting spectacle to\nwatch the labors of that powerful brain--to follow, as it were, on that\nshifting countenance, the progress and development of the project,\non which he was now concentrating all the resources of his strong\nintellect. At length, the work appeared to be near completion, for Rodin\nresumed: \"Yes, yes! it is bold, hazardous--but then it is prompt, and\nthe consequences may be incalculable. Who can foresee the effects of the\nexplosion of a mine?\"\n\nThen, yielding to a movement of enthusiasm, which was hardly natural\nto him, the Jesuit exclaimed, with rapture: \"Oh, the passions! the\npassions! what a magical instrument do they form, if you do but touch\nthe keys with a light, skillful, and vigorous hand! How beautiful too\nis the power of thought! Talk of the acorn that becomes an oak, the seed\nthat grows up to the corn--the seed takes months, the acorn centuries,\nto unfold its splendors--but here is a little word in eight letters,\nnecklace and this word, falling into my brain but a few minutes ago, has\ngrown and grown till it has become larger than any oak. Yes, that word\nis the germ of an idea, that, like the oak, lifts itself up towards\nheaven, for the greater glory of the Lord--such as they call Him,\nand such as I would assert Him to be, should I attain--and I shall\nattain--for these miserable Renneponts will pass away like a shadow. And\nwhat matters it, after all, to the moral order I am reserved to guide,\nwhether these people live or die? What do such lives weigh in the\nbalance of the great destinies of the world? while this inheritance\nwhich I shall boldly fling into the scale, will lift me to a sphere,\nfrom which one commands many kings, many nations--let them say and make\nwhat noise they will. The idiots--the stupid idiots! or rather, the\nkind, blessed, adorable idiots! They think they have crushed us, when\nthey say to us men of the church: 'You take the spiritual, but we will\nkeep the temporal!'--Oh, their conscience or their modesty inspires them\nwell, when it bids them not meddle with spiritual things! They abandon\nthe spiritual! they despise it, they will have nothing to do with\nit--oh, the venerable asses! they do not see, that, even as they go\nstraight to the mill, it is by the spiritual that we go straight to\nthe temporal. As if the mind did not govern the body! They leave us\nthe spiritual--that is, command of the conscience, soul, heart, and\njudgment--the spiritual--that is, the distribution of heaven's rewards,\nand punishments, and pardons--without check, without control, in the\nsecrecy of the confessional--and that dolt, the temporal, has nothing\nbut brute matter for his portion, and yet rubs his paunch for joy. Only,\nfrom time to time, he perceives, too late, that, if he has the body, we\nhave the soul, and that the soul governs the body, and so the body ends\nby coming with us also--to the great surprise of Master Temporal, who\nstands staring with his hands on his paunch, and says: 'Dear me! is it\npossible?'\"\n\nThen, with a laugh of savage contempt, Rodin began to walk with great\nstrides, and thus continued: \"Oh! let me reach it--let me but reach the\nplace of SIXTUS V.--and the world shall see (one day, when it awakes)\nwhat it is to have the spiritual power in hands like mine--in the hands\nof a priest, who, for fifty years, has lived hardly, frugally, chastely,\nand who, were he pope, would continue to live hardly, frugally,\nchastely!\"\n\nRodin became terrible, as he spoke thus. All the sanguinary,\nsacrilegious, execrable ambition of the worst popes seemed written in\nfiery characters on the brow of this son of Ignatius. A morbid desire\nof rule seemed to stir up the Jesuit's impure blood; he was bathed in\na burning sweat, and a kind of nauseous vapor spread itself round about\nhim. Suddenly, the noise of a travelling-carriage, which entered\nthe courtyard of the house, attracted his attention. Regretting his\nmomentary excitement, he drew from his pocket his dirty white and red\ncotton handkerchief, and dipping it in a glass of water, he applied\nit to his cheeks and temples, while he approached the window, to look\nthrough the half-open blinds at the traveller who had just arrived.\nThe projection of a portico, over the door at which the carriage had\nstopped, intercepted Rodin's view.\n\n\"No matter,\" said he, recovering his coolness: \"I shall know presently\nwho is there. I must write at once to Jacques Dumoulin, to come hither\nimmediately. He served me well, with regard to that little slut in the\nRue Clovis, who made my hair stand on end with her infernal Beranger.\nThis time, Dumoulin may serve me again. I have him in my clutches, and\nhe will obey me.\"\n\nRodin sat down to his desk and wrote. A few seconds later, some one\nknocked at the door, which was double-locked, quite contrary to the\nrules of the order. But, sure of his own influence and importance,\nRodin, who had obtained from the general permission to be rid for a\ntime of the inconvenient company of a socius, often took upon himself to\nbreak through a number of the rules. A servant entered and delivered\na letter to Rodin. Before opening it the latter said to the man: \"What\ncarriage is that which just arrived?\"\n\n\"It comes from Rome, father,\" answered the servant, bowing.\n\n\"From Rome!\" said Rodin, hastily; and in spite of himself, a vague\nuneasiness was expressed in his countenance. But, still holding the\nletter in his hands, he added: \"Who comes in the carriage.\"\n\n\"A reverend father of our blessed Company.\"\n\nNotwithstanding his ardent curiosity, for he knew that a reverend\nfather, travelling post, is always charged with some important mission,\nRodin asked no more questions on the subject, but said, as he pointed to\nthe paper in his hand: \"Whence comes this letter?\"\n\n\"From our house at St. Herem, father.\"\n\nRodin looked more attentively at the writing, and recognized the hand of\nFather d'Aigrigny, who had been commissioned to attend M. Hardy in his\nlast moments. The letter ran as follows:\n\n\"I send a despatch to inform your reverence of a fact which is, perhaps,\nmore singular than important. After the funeral of M. Francis Hardy, the\ncoffin, which contained his remains, had been provisionally deposited in\na vault beneath our chapel, until it could be removed to the cemetery of\nthe neighboring town. This morning, when our people went down into\nthe vault, to make the necessary preparations for the removal of the\nbody--the coffin had disappeared.\n\n\"That is strange indeed,\" said Rodin with a start. Then, he continued to\nread:\n\n\"All search has hitherto been vain, to discover the authors of the\nsacrilegious deed. The chapel being, as you know, at a distance from the\nhouse, they were able to effect an entry without disturbing us. We\nhave found traces of a four-wheeled carriage on the damp ground in the\nneighborhood; but, at some little distance from the chapel, these marks\nare lost in the sand, and it has been impossible to follow them any\nfarther.\"\n\n\"Who can have carried away this body?\" said Rodin, with a thoughtful\nair. \"Who could have any interest in doing so?\"\n\nHe continued to read:\n\n\"Luckily, the certificate of death is quite correct. I sent for a doctor\nfrom Etampes, to prove the disease, and no question can be raised on\nthat point. The donation is therefore good and valid in every respect,\nbut I think it best to inform your reverence of what has happened, that\nyou may take measures accordingly, etc., etc.\"\n\nAfter a moment's reflection, Rodin said to himself: \"D'Aigrigny is right\nin his remark; it is more singular than important. Still, it makes one\nthink. We must have an eye to this affair.\"\n\nTurning towards the servant, who had brought him the letter, Rodin gave\nhim the note he had just written to Ninny Moulin, and said to him: \"Let\nthis letter be taken instantly to its address, and let the bearer wait\nfor an answer.\"\n\n\"Yes, father.\"\n\nAt the moment the servant left the room, a reverend father entered,\nand said to Rodin, \"Father Caboccini of Rome has just arrived, with a\nmission from our general to your reverence.\"\n\nAt these words, Rodin's blood ran cold, but he maintained his immovable\ncalmness, and said simply: \"Where is Father Caboccini?\"\n\n\"In the next room, father.\"\n\n\"Beg him to walk in, and leave us,\" said the other.\n\nA second after, Father Caboccini of Rome entered the room and was left\nalone with Rodin.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LXII. TO A SOCIUS, A SOCIUS AND A HALF.\n\nThe Reverend Father Caboccini, the Roman Jesuit who now came to visit\nRodin, was a short man of about thirty years of age, plump, in good\ncondition, and with an abdomen that swelled out his black cassock. The\ngood little father was blind with one eye, but his remaining organ of\nvision sparkled with vivacity. His rosy countenance was gay, smiling,\njoyous, splendidly crowned with thick chestnut hair, which curled like\na wax doll's. His address was cordial to familiarity, and his expansive\nand petulant manners harmonized well with his general appearance. In a\nsecond, Rodin had taken his measure of the Italian emissary; and as he\nknew the practice of his Company, and the ways of Rome, he felt by\nno means comfortable at sight of this jolly little father, with such\naffable manners. He would have less feared some tall, bony priest, with\naustere and sepulchral countenance, for he knew that the Company loves\nto deceive by the outward appearance of its agents; and if Rodin guessed\nrightly, the cordial address of this personage would rather tend to show\nthat he was charged with some fatal mission.\n\nSuspicious, attentive, with eye and mind on the watch, like an old wolf,\nexpecting an attack, Rodin advanced as usual, slowly and tortuously\ntowards the little man, so as to have time to examine him thoroughly,\nand penetrate beneath his jovial outside. But the Roman left him no\nspace for that purpose. In his impetuous affection he threw himself\nright on the neck of Rodin, pressed him in his arms with an effusion\nof tenderness, and kissed him over and over again upon both cheeks, so\nloudly and plentifully that the echo resounded through the apartment.\nIn his life Rodin had never been so treated. More and more uneasy at the\ntreachery which must needs lurk under such warm embraces, and irritated\nby his own evil presentiments, the French Jesuit did, all he could to\nextricate himself from the Roman's exaggerated tokens of tenderness.\nBut the latter kept his hold; his arms, though short, were vigorous, and\nRodin was kissed over and over again, till the little one-eyed man was\nquite out of breath. It is hardly necessary to state that these embraces\nwere accompanied by the most friendly, affectionate, and fraternal\nexclamations--all in tolerably good French, but with a strong Italian\naccent, which we muss beg the reader to supply for himself, after we\nhave given a single specimen. It will perhaps be remembered that,\nfully aware of the danger he might possibly incur by his ambitious\nmachinations, and knowing from history that the use of poison had often\nbeen considered at Rome as a state necessity, Rodin, on being suddenly\nattacked with the cholera, had exclaimed, with a furious glance at\nCardinal Malipieri, \"I am poisoned!\"\n\nThe same apprehensions occurred involuntarily to the Jesuit's mind as\nhe tried, by useless efforts, to escape from the embraces of the Italian\nemissary; and he could not help muttering to himself, \"This one-eyed\nfellow is a great deal too fond. I hope there is no poison under his\nJudas-kisses.\" At last, little Father Caboccini, being quite out\nof breath, was obliged to relinquish his hold on Rodin's neck, who,\nreadjusting his dirty collar, and his old cravat and waistcoat, somewhat\nin disorder in consequence of this hurricane of caresses, said in a\ngruff tone, \"Your humble servant, father, but you need not kiss quite so\nhard.\"\n\nWithout making any answer to this reproach, the little father riveted\nhis one eye upon Rodin with an expression of enthusiasm, and exclaimed,\nwhilst he accompanied his words with petulant gestures, \"At lazt I\nzee te zuperb light of our zacred Company, and can zalute him from my\nheart--vonse more, vonse more.\"\n\nAs the little father had already recovered his breath, and was about to\nrush once again into Rodin's arms, the latter stepped back hastily, and\nheld out his arm to keep him off, saying, in allusion to the illogical\nmetaphor employed by Father Caboccini, \"First of all, father, one\ndoes not embrace a light--and then I am not a light--I am a humble and\nobscure laborer in the Lord's vineyard.\"\n\nThe Roman replied with enthusiasm (we shall henceforth translate his\ngibberish), \"You are right, father, we cannot embrace a light, but we\ncan prostrate ourselves before it, and admire its dazzling brightness.\"\n\nSo saying, Caboccini was about to suit the action to the word, and to\nprostrate himself before Rodin, had not the latter prevented this mode\nof adulation by seizing the Roman by the arm and exclaiming, \"This is\nmere idolatry, father. Pass over my qualities, and tell me what is the\nobject of your journey.\"\n\n\"The object, my dear father, fills me with joy and happiness. I have\nendeavored to show you my affection by my caresses, for my heart is\noverflowing. I have hardly been able to restrain myself during my\njourney hither, for my heart rushed to meet you. The object transports,\ndelights, enchants me--\"\n\n\"But what enchants you?\" cried Rodin, exasperated by these Italian\nexaggerations. \"What is the object?\"\n\n\"This rescript of our very reverend and excellent General will inform\nyou, my clear father.\"\n\nCaboccini drew from his pocket-book a folded paper, with three seals,\nwhich he kissed respectfully, and delivered to Rodin, who himself kissed\nit in his turn, and opened it with visible anxiety. While he read it the\ncountenance of the Jesuit remained impassible, but the pulsation of the\narteries on his temples announced his internal agitation. Yet he put the\nletter coolly into his pocket, and looking at the Roman, said to him,\n\"Be it as our excellent General has commanded!\"\n\n\"Then, father,\" cried Caboccini, with a new effusion of tenderness and\nadmiration, \"I shall be the shadow of your light, and, in fact, your\nsecond self. I shall have the happiness of being always with you, day\nand night, and of acting as your socius, since, after having allowed\nyou to be without one for some time, according to your wish, and for the\ninterest of our blessed Company, our excellent General now thinks fit to\nsend me from Rome, to fill that post about your person--an unexpected,\nan immense favor, which fills me with gratitude to our General, and with\nlove to you, my dear, my excellent father!\"\n\n\"It is well played,\" thought Rodin; \"but I am not so soft, and 'tis only\namong the blind that your Cyclops are kings!\"\n\nThe evening of the day in which this scene took place between the\nJesuit and his new socius, Ninny Moulin, after receiving in presence\nof Caboccini the instructions of Rodin, went straight to Madame de la\nSainte-Colombe's.\n\nThis woman had made her fortune, at the time of the allies taking Paris,\nby keeping one of those \"pretty milliner's shops,\" whose \"pink bonnets\"\nhave run into a proverb not extinct in these days when bonnets are not\nknown. Ninny Moulin had no better well to draw inspiration from when,\nas now, he had to find out, as per Rodin's order, a girl of an age and\nappearance which, singularly enough, were closely resembling those of\nMdlle. de Cardoville.\n\nNo doubt of Ninny Moulin's success in this mission, for the next morning\nRodin, whose countenance wore a triumphant expression, put with his own\nhand a letter into the post.\n\nThis letter was addressed:\n\n\"To M. Agricola Baudoin, \"No. 2, Rue Brise-Miche, \"Paris.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LXIII. FARINGHEA'S AFFECTION.\n\nIt will, perhaps, be remembered that Djalma, when he heard for the first\ntime that he was beloved by Adrienne, had, in the fulness of his joy,\nspoken thus to Faringhea, whose treachery he had just discovered, \"You\nleagued with my enemies, and I had done you no harm. You are wicked,\nbecause you are no doubt unhappy. I will strive to make you happy, so\nthat you may be good. Would you have gold?--you shall have it. Would\nyou have a friend?--though you are a slave, a king's son offers you his\nfriendship.\"\n\nFaringhea had refused the gold, and appeared to accept the friendship\nof the son of Kadja-sing. Endowed with remarkable intelligence, and\nextraordinary power of dissimulation the half-breed had easily persuaded\nthe prince of the sincerity of his repentance, and obtained credit for\nhis gratitude and attachment from so confiding and generous a character.\nBesides, what motives could Djalma have to suspect the slave, now become\nhis friend? Certain of the love of Mdlle. de Cardoville, with whom he\npassed a portion of every day, her salutary influence would have guarded\nhim against any dangerous counsels or calumnies of the half-caste, a\nfaithful and secret instrument of Rodin, and attached by him to the\nCompany. But Faringhea, whose tact was amazing, did not act so lightly;\nhe never spoke to the prince of Mdlle. de Cardoville, and waited\nunobtrusively for the confidential communications into which Djalma was\nsometimes hurried by his excessive joy. A few days after the interview\nlast described between Adrienne and Djalma, and on the morrow of the day\nwhen Rodin, certain of the success of Ninny Moulin's mission to Sainte\nColombe, had himself put a letter in the post to the address of Agricola\nBaudoin, the half-caste, who for some time had appeared oppressed with a\nviolent grief, seemed to get so much worse, that the prince, struck with\nthe desponding air of the man, asked him kindly and repeatedly the cause\nof his sorrow. But Faringhea, while he gratefully thanked the prince for\nthe interest he took in him, maintained the most absolute silence and\nreserve on the subject of his grief.\n\nThese preliminaries will enable the reader to understand the following\nscene, which took place about noon in the house in the Rue de Clichy\noccupied by the Hindoo. Contrary to his habit, Djalma had not passed\nthat morning with Adrienne. He had been informed the evening before,\nby the young lady, that she must ask of him the sacrifice of this whole\nday, to take the necessary measures to make their marriage sacred and\nacceptable in the eyes of the world, and yet free from the restrictions\nwhich she and Djalma disapproved. As for the means to be employed by\nMdlle. de Cardoville to attain this end, and the name of the pure and\nhonorable person who was to consecrate their union, these were secrets\nwhich, not belonging exclusively to the young lady, could not yet be\ncommunicated to Djalma. To the Indian, so long accustomed to devote\nevery instant to Adrienne, this day seemed interminable. By turns a\nprey to the most burning agitation, and to a kind of stupor, in which\nhe plunged himself to escape from the thoughts that caused his tortures,\nDjalma lay stretched upon a divan, with his face buried in his hands,\nas if to shut out the view of a too enchanting vision. Suddenly,\nwithout knocking at the door, as usual, Faringhea entered the prince's\napartment.\n\nAt the noise the half-caste made in entering Djalma started, raised\nhis head, and looked round him with surprise; but, on seeing the pale\nagitated countenance of the slave, he rose hastily, and advancing\ntowards him, exclaimed, \"What is the matter, Faringhea!\"\n\nAfter a moment's silence, and as if struggling with a painful feeling of\nhesitation, Faringhea threw himself at the feet of Djalma, and murmured\nin a weak, despairing, almost supplicating voice: \"I am very miserable.\nPity me, my good lord!\"\n\nThe tone was so touching, the grief under which the half-breed suffered\nseemed to give to his features, generally fixed and hard as bronze,\nsuch a heart-rending expression, that Djalma was deeply affected, and,\nbending to raise him from the ground, said to him, in a kindly voice:\n\"Speak to me! Confidence appeases the torments of the heart. Trust me,\nfriend--for my angel herself said to me, that happy love cannot bear to\nsee tears about him.\"\n\n\"But unhappy love, miserable love, betrayed love--weeps tears of blood,\"\nreplied Faringhea, with painful dejection.\n\n\"Of what love dost thou speak?\" asked Djalma, in surprise.\n\n\"I speak of my love,\" answered the half-caste, with a gloomy air.\n\n\"Of your love?\" said Djalma, more and more astonished; not that the half\ncaste, still young, and with a countenance of sombre beauty, appeared\nto him incapable of inspiring or feeling the tender passion, but that,\nuntil now, he had never imagined him capable of conceiving so deep a\nsorrow.\n\n\"My lord,\" resumed the half-caste, \"you told me, that misfortune had\nmade me wicked, and that happiness would make me good. In those words,\nI saw a presentiment, and a noble love entered my heart, at the moment\nwhen hatred and treachery departed from it. I, the half-savage, found a\nwoman, beautiful and young, to respond to my passion. At least I thought\nso. But I had betrayed you, my lord, and there is no happiness for\na traitor, even though he repent. In my turn, I have been shamefully\nbetrayed.\"\n\nThen, seeing the surprise of the prince, the half-caste added, as if\noverwhelmed with confusion: \"Do not mock me, my lord! The most frightful\ntortures would not have wrung this confession from me; but you, the son\nof a king, deigned to call the poor slave your friend!\"\n\n\"And your friend thanks you for the confidence,\" answered Djalma. \"Far\nfrom mocking, he will console you. Mock you! do you think it possible?\"\n\n\"Betrayed love merits contempt and insult,\" said Faringhea, bitterly.\n\"Even cowards may point at one with scorn--for, in this country, the\nsight of the man deceived in what is dearest to his soul, the very life\nblood of his life, only makes people shrug their shoulders and laugh.\"\n\n\"But are you certain of this treachery?\" said Djalma, mildly. Then he\nadded, with visible hesitation, that proved the goodness of his heart:\n\"Listen to me, and forgive me for speaking of the past! It will only be\nanother proof, that I cherish no evil memories, and that I fully believe\nin your repentance and affection. Remember, that I also once thought,\nthat she, who is the angel of my life, did not love me--and yet it\nwas false. Who tells you, that you are not, like me, deceived by false\nappearances?\"\n\n\"Alas, my lord! could I only believe so! But I dare not hope it. My\nbrain wanders uncertain, I cannot come to any resolution, and therefore\nI have recourse to you.\"\n\n\"But what causes your suspicions?\"\n\n\"Her coldness, which sometimes succeeds to apparent tenderness. The\nrefusals she gives me in the name of duty. Yes,\" added the half-caste,\nafter a moment's silence, \"she reasons about her love--a proof, that she\nhas never loved me, or that she loves me no more.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, she perhaps loves you all the more, that she takes\ninto consideration the interest and the dignity of her love.\"\n\n\"That is what they all say,\" replied the half-caste, with bitter irony,\nas he fixed a penetrating look on Djalma; \"thus speak all those who love\nweakly, coldly; but those who love valiantly, never show these insulting\nsuspicions. For them, a word from the man they adore is a command;\nthey do not haggle and bargain, for the cruel pleasure of exciting the\npassion of their lover to madness, and so ruling him more surely. No,\nwhat their lover asks of them, were it to cost life and honor, they\nwould grant it without hesitation--because, with them, the will of the\nman they love is above every other consideration, divine and human. But\nthose crafty women, whose pride it is to tame and conquer man--who take\ndelight in irritating his passion, and sometimes appear on the point of\nyielding to it--are demons, who rejoice in the tears and torments of the\nwretch, that loves them with the miserable weakness of a child. While we\nexpire with love at their feet, the perfidious creatures are calculating\nthe effects of their refusals, and seeing how far they can go, without\nquite driving their victim to despair. Oh! how cold and cowardly are\nthey, compared to the valiant, true-hearted women, who say to the men\nof their choice: 'Let me be thine to-day-and to-morrow, come shame,\ndespair, and death--it matters little! Be happy! my life is not worth\none tear of thine!\"\n\nDjalma's brow had darkened, as he listened. Having kept inviolable the\nsecret of the various incidents of his passion for Mdlle. de Cardoville,\nhe could not but see in these words a quite involuntary allusion to the\ndelays and refusals of Adrienne. And yet Djalma suffered a moment in his\npride, at the thought of considerations and duties, that a woman holds\ndearer than her love. But this bitter and painful thought was soon\neffaced from the oriental's mind, thanks to the beneficent influence of\nthe remembrance of Adrienne. His brow again cleared, and he answered\nthe half-caste, who was watching him attentively with a sidelong glance:\n\"You are deluded by grief. If you have no other reason to doubt her you\nlove, than these refusals and vague suspicions, be satisfied! You are\nperhaps loved better than you can imagine.\"\n\n\"Alas! would it were so, my lord!\" replied the half-caste, dejectedly,\nas if he had been deeply touched by the words of Djalma. \"Yet I say\nto myself: There is for this woman something stronger than her\nlove--delicacy, dignity, honor, what you will--but she does not love me\nenough to sacrifice for me this something!\"\n\n\"Friend, you are deceived,\" answered Djalma, mildly, though the words\naffected him with a painful impression. \"The greater the love of a\nwoman, the more it should be chaste and noble. It is love itself that\nawakens this delicacy and these scruples. He rules, instead of being\nruled.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" replied the half-caste, with bitter irony, \"Love so\nrules me, that this woman bids me love in her own fashion, and I have\nonly to submit.\"\n\nPausing suddenly, Faringhea hid his face in his hands, and heaved a deep\ndrawn sigh. His features expressed a mixture of hate, rage, and despair,\nat once so terrible and so painful, that Djalma, more and more affected,\nexclaimed, as he seized the other's hand: \"Calm this fury, and listen to\nthe voice of friendship! It will disperse this evil influence. Speak to\nme!\"\n\n\"No, no! it is too dreadful!\"\n\n\"Speak, I bid thee.\"\n\n\"No! leave the wretch to his despair!\"\n\n\"Do you think me capable of that?\" said Djalma, with a mixture of\nmildness and dignity, which seemed to make an impression on the half\ncaste.\n\n\"Alas!\" replied he, hesitating; \"do you wish to hear more, my lord?\"\n\n\"I wish to hear all.\"\n\n\"Well, then! I have not told you all--for, at the moment of making this\nconfession, shame and the fear of ridicule kept me back. You asked me\nwhat reason I had to believe myself betrayed. I spoke to you of vague\nsuspicions, refusals, coldness. That is not all--this evening--\"\n\n\"Go on!\"\n\n\"This evening--she made an appointment--with a man that she prefers to\nme.\"\n\n\"Who told you so?\"\n\n\"A stranger who pitied my blindness.\"\n\n\"And suppose the man deceived you--or deceives himself?\"\n\n\"He has offered me proofs of what he advances.\"\n\n\"What proofs?\"\n\n\"He will enable me this evening to witness the interview. 'It may be,'\nsaid he, 'that this appointment may have no guilt in it, notwithstanding\nappearances to the contrary. Judge for yourself, have courage, and your\ncruel indecision will be at an end.'\"\n\n\"And what did you answer?\"\n\n\"Nothing, my lord. My head wandered as it does now and I came to you for\nadvice.\"\n\nThen, making a gesture of despair, he proceeded with a savage laugh:\n\"Advice? It is from the blade of my kand-jiar that I should ask counsel!\nIt would answer: 'Blood! blood!'\"\n\nFaringhea grasped convulsively the long dagger attached to his girdle.\nThere is a sort of contagion in certain forms of passion. At sight of\nFaringhea's countenance, agitated by jealous fury, Djalma shuddered--for\nhe remembered the fit of insane rage, with which he had been possessed,\nwhen the Princess de Saint-Dizier had defied Adrienne to contradict her,\nas to the discovery of Agricola Baudoin in her bed-chamber. But then,\nreassured by the lady's proud and noble bearing, Djalma had soon learned\nto despise the horrible calumny, which Adrienne had not even thought\nworthy of an answer. Still, two or three times, as the lightning will\nflash suddenly across the clearest sky, the remembrance of that shameful\naccusation had crossed the prince's mind, like a streak of fire, but\nhad almost instantly vanished, in the serenity and happiness of his\nineffable confidence in Adrienne's heart. These memories, however,\nwhilst they saddened the mind of Djalma, only made him more\ncompassionate with regard to Faringhea, than he might have been without\nthis strange coincidence between the position of the half-caste and his\nown. Knowing, by his own experience, to what madness a blind fury may\nbe carried, and wishing to tame the half-caste by affectionate\nkindness, Djalma said to him in a grave and mild tone: \"I offered you my\nfriendship. I will now act towards you a friend.\"\n\nBut Faringhea, seemingly a prey to a dull and mute frenzy, stood with\nfixed and haggard eyes, as though he did not hear Djalma.\n\nThe latter laid his hand on his shoulder, and resumed: \"Faringhea,\nlisten to me!\"\n\n\"My lord,\" said the half-caste, starting abruptly, as from a dream,\n\"forgive me--but--\"\n\n\"In the anguish occasioned by these cruel suspicions, it is not of your\nkandjiar that you must take counsel--but of your friend.\"\n\n\"My lord--\"\n\n\"To this interview, which will prove the innocence or the treachery of\nyour beloved, you will do well to go.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes!\" said the half-caste, in a hollow voice, and with a bitter\nsmile: \"I shall be there.\"\n\n\"But you must not go alone.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, my lord?\" cried the half-caste. \"Who will accompany\nme?\"\n\n\"I will.\"\n\n\"You, my lord?\"\n\n\"Yes--perhaps, to save you from a crime--for I know how blind and unjust\nis the earliest outburst of rage.\"\n\n\"But that transport gives us revenge!\" cried the half-caste, with a\ncruel smile.\n\n\"Faringhea, this day is all my own. I shall not leave you,\" said the\nprince, resolutely. \"Either you shall not go to this interview, or I\nwill accompany you.\"\n\nThe half-caste appeared conquered by this generous perseverance. He fell\nat the feet of Djalma, pressed the prince's hand respectfully to his\nforehead and to his lips, and said: \"My lord, be generous to the end!\nforgive me!\"\n\n\"For what should I forgive you?\"\n\n\"Before I spoke to you, I had the audacity to think of asking for what\nyou have just freely offered. Not knowing to what extent my fury might\ncarry me, I had thought of asking you this favor, which you would not\nperhaps grant to an equal, but I did not dare to do it. I shrunk even\nfrom the avowal of the treachery I have cause to fear, and I came only\nto tell you of my misery--because to you alone in all the world I could\ntell it.\"\n\nIt is impossible to describe the almost candid simplicity, with which\nthe half-breed pronounced these words, and the soft tones, mingled with\ntears, which had succeeded his savage fury. Deeply affected, Djalma\nraised him from the ground, and said: \"You were entitled to ask of me a\nmark of friendship. I am happy in having forestalled you. Courage! be of\ngood cheer! I will accompany you to this interview, and if my hopes\ndo not deceive me, you will find you have been deluded by false\nappearances.\"\n\nWhen the night was come, the half-breed and Djalma, wrapped in their\ncloaks, got into a hackney-coach. Faringhea ordered the coachman to\ndrive to the house inhabited by Sainte-Colombe.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LXIV. AN EVENING AT SAINTE-COLOMBE'S.\n\nLeaving Djalma and Faringhea in the coach, on their way, a few words are\nindispensable before continuing this scene. Ninny Moulin, ignorant of\nthe real object of the step he took at the instigation of Rodin, had,\non the evening before, according to orders received from the latter,\noffered a considerable sum to Sainte-Colombe, to obtain from that\ncreature (still singularly rapacious) the use of her apartments for\nwhole day. Sainte-Colombe, having accepted this proposition, too\nadvantageous to be refused, had set out that morning with her servants,\nto whom she wished, she said, in return for their good services, to give\na day's pleasure in the country. Master of the house, Rodin, in a black\nwig, blue spectacles, and a cloak, and with his mouth and chin buried\nin a worsted comforter--in a word, perfectly disguised--had gone that\nmorning to take a look at the apartments, and to give his instructions\nto the half-caste. The latter, in two hours from the departure of the\nJesuit, had, thanks to his address and intelligence, completed the most\nimportant preparation and returned in haste to Djalma, to play with\ndetestable hypocrisy the scene at which we have just been present.\n\nDuring the ride from the Rue de Clichy to the Rue de Richelieu,\nFaringhea appeared plunged in a mournful reverie. Suddenly, he said\nto Djalma to a quick tone: \"My lord, if I am betrayed, I must have\nvengeance.\"\n\n\"Contempt is a terrible revenge,\" answered Djalma.\n\n\"No, no,\" replied the half-caste, with an accent of repressed rage. \"It\nis not enough. The nearer the moment approaches, the more I feel I must\nhave blood.\"\n\n\"Listen to me--\"\n\n\"My lord, have pity on me! I was a coward to draw back from my revenge.\nLet me leave you, my lord! I will go alone to this interview.\"\n\nSo saying, Faringhea made a movement, as if he would spring from the\ncarriage.\n\nDjalma held him by the arm, and said: \"Remain! I wilt not leave you.\nIf you are betrayed, you shall not shed blood. Contempt will avenge and\nfriendship will console you.\"\n\n\"No, no, my lord; I am resolved. When I have killed--then I will kill\nmyself,\" cried the half-caste, with savage excitement. \"This kandjiar\nfor the false ones!\" added he, laying his hand on his dagger. \"The\npoison in the hilt for me.\"\n\n\"Faringhea--\"\n\n\"If I resist you, my lord, forgive me! My destiny must be accomplished.\"\n\nTime pressed, and Djalma, despairing to calm the other's ferocious rage,\nresolved to have recourse to a stratagem.\n\nAfter some minutes' silence, he said to Faringhea: \"I will not leave\nyou. I will do all I can to save you from a crime. If I do not succeed,\nthe blood you shed be on your own head. This hand shall never again be\nlocked in yours.\"\n\nThese words appeared to make a deep impression on Faringhea. He breathed\na long sigh, and, bowing his head upon his breast, remained silent\nand full of thought. Djalma prepared, by the faint light of the lamps,\nreflected in the interior of the coach, to throw himself suddenly on\nthe half-caste, and disarm him. But the latter, who saw at a glance the\nintention of the prince, drew his kandjiar abruptly from his girdle,\nand holding it still in its sheath, said to the prince in a half-solemn,\nhalf-savage tone: \"This dagger, in a strong hand, is terrible; and in\nthis phial is one of the most subtle poisons of our country.\"\n\nHe touched a spring, and the knob at the top of the hilt rose like a\nlid, discovering the mouth of a small crystal phial concealed in this\nmurderous weapon.\n\n\"Two or three drops of this poison upon the lips,\" resumed the half\ncaste, \"and death comes slowly and peacefully, in a few hours, and\nwithout pain. Only, for the first symptom, the nails turn blue. But he\nwho emptied this phial at a draught would fall dead, as if struck by\nlightning.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Djalma; \"I know that our country produces such mysterious\npoisons. But why lay such stress on the murderous properties of this\nweapon?\"\n\n\"To show you, my lord, that this kandjiar would ensure the success and\nimpunity of my vengeance. With the blade I could destroy, and by the\npoison escape from human justice. Well, my lord! this kandjiar--take\nit--I give it up to you--I renounce my vengeance--rather than render\nmyself unworthy to clasp again your hand!\"\n\nHe presented the dagger to the prince, who, as pleased as surprised\nat this unexpected determination, hastily secured the terrible weapon\nbeneath his own girdle; whilst the half-breed continued, in a voice of\nemotion: \"Deep this kandjiar, my lord--and when you have seen and heard\nall that we go to hear and see--you shall either give me the dagger\nto strike a wretch--or the poison, to die without striking. You shall\ncommand; I will obey.\"\n\nDjalma was about to reply, when the coach stopped at the house inhabited\nby Sainte-Colombe. The prince and the half-caste, well enveloped in\ntheir mantles, entered a dark porch, and the door was closed after them.\nFaringhea exchanged a few words with the porter, and the latter gave him\na key. The two Orientals soon arrived at Sainte-Colombe's apartments,\nwhich had two doors opening upon the landing-place, besides a private\nentrance from the courtyard. As he put the key into the lock, Faringhea\nsaid to Djalma, in an agitated voice: \"Pity my weakness, my lord--but,\nat this terrible moment, I tremble and hesitate. It were perhaps better\nto doubt--or to forget!\"\n\nThen, as the prince was about to answer, the half-caste exclaimed: \"No!\nwe must have no cowardice!\" and, opening the door precipitately, he\nentered, followed by Djalma.\n\nWhen the door was again closed, the prince and the half-caste found\nthemselves in a dark and narrow passage. \"Your hand, my lord--let me\nguide you--walk lightly,\" said Faringhea, in a low whisper.\n\nHe extended his hand to the prince, who took hold of it, and they\nboth advanced silently through the darkness. After leading Djalma some\ndistance, and opening and closing several doors, the half-caste stopped\nabruptly, and abandoning the hand which he had hitherto held, said to\nthe prince: \"My lord, the decisive moment approaches; let us wait here\nfor a few seconds.\"\n\nA profound silence followed these words of the half-caste. The darkness\nwas so complete, that Djalma could distinguish nothing. In about a\nminute, he heard Faringhea moving away from him; and then a door was\nsuddenly opened, and as abruptly closed and locked. This circumstance\nmade Djalma somewhat uneasy. By a mechanical movement, he laid his hand\nupon his dagger, and advanced cautiously towards the side, where he\nsupposed the door to be.\n\nSuddenly, the half-caste's voice struck upon his ear, though it was\nimpossible to guess whence it came. \"My lord,\" it said, \"you told me,\nyou were my friend. I act as a friend. If I have employed stratagem\nto bring you hither, it is because the blindness of your fatal passion\nwould otherwise have prevented your accompanying me. The Princess de\nSaint Dizier named to you Agricola Baudoin, the lover of Adrienne de\nCardoville. Listen--look--judge!\"\n\nThe voice ceased. It appeared to have issued from one corner of the\nroom. Djalma, still in darkness, perceived too late into what a snare he\nhad fallen, and trembled with rage--almost with alarm.\n\n\"Faringhea!\" he exclaimed; \"where am I? where are you? Open the door on\nyour life! I would leave this place instantly.\"\n\nExtending his arms, the prince advanced hastily several steps, but he\nonly touched a tapestried wall; he followed it, hoping to find the\ndoor, and he at length found it; but it was locked, and resisted all his\nefforts. He continued his researches, and came to a fireplace with no\nfire in it, and to a second door, equally fast. In a few moments, he\nhad thus made the circle of the room, and found himself again at the\nfireplace. The anxiety of the prince increased more and more. He called\nFaringhea, in a voice trembling with passion. There was no answer.\nProfound silence reigned without, and complete darkness within. Ere\nlong, a perfumed vapor, of indescribable sweetness, but very subtle and\npenetrating, spread itself insensibly through the little room in which\nDjalma was. It might be, that the orifice of a tube, passing through one\nof the doors of the room, introduced this balmy current. At the height\nof angry and terrible thoughts, Djalma paid no attention to this\nodor--but soon the arteries of his temples began to beat violently, a\nburning heat seemed to circulate rapidly through his veins, he felt a\nsensation of pleasure, his resentment died gradually away, and a mild,\nineffable torpor crept over him, without his being fully conscious of\nthe mental transformation that was taking place. Yet, by a last effort\nof the wavering will, Djalma advanced once more to try and open one\nof the doors; he found it indeed, but at this place the vapor was so\nstrong, that its action redoubled, and, unable to move a step further,\nDjalma was obliged to support himself by leaning against the wall.(43)\n\nThen a strange thing happened. A faint light spread itself gradually\nthrough an adjoining apartment, and Djalma now perceived, for the first\ntime, the existence of a little round window, in the wall of the room in\nwhich he was. On the side of the prince, this opening was protected by\na slight but strong railing, which hardly intercepted the view. On the\nother side a thick piece of plate-glass was fixed at the distance of two\nor three inches from the railing in question. The room, which Djalma saw\nthrough this window, and through which the faint light was now gradually\nspreading, was richly furnished. Between two windows, hung with crimson\nsilk curtains, stood a kind of wardrobe, with a looking-glass front;\nopposite the fireplace in which glowed the burning coals, was a long,\nwide divan, furnished with cushions.\n\nIn another second a woman entered this apartment. Her face and figure\nwere invisible, being wrapped in a long, hooded mantle, of peculiar\nform, and a dark color. The sight of this mantle made Djalma start. To\nthe pleasure he at first felt succeeded a feverish anxiety, like the\ngrowing fumes of intoxication. There was that strange buzzing in his\nears which we experience when we plunge into deep waters. It was in a\nkind of delirium that Djalma looked on at what was passing in the next\nroom. The woman who had just appeared entered with caution, almost with\nfear. Drawing aside one of the window curtains, she glanced through\nthe closed blinds into the street. Then she returned slowly to the\nfireplace, where she stood for a moment pensive, still carefully\nenveloped in her mantle. Completely yielding to the influence of the\nvapor, which deprived him of his presence of mind--forgetting Faringhea,\nand all the circumstances that had accompanied his arrival at this\nhouse--Djalma concentrated all the powers of his attention on the\nspectacle before him, at which he seemed to be present as in a dream.\n\nSuddenly Djalma saw the woman leave the fireplace and advance towards\nthe looking-glass. Turning her face toward it, she allowed the mantle\nto glide down to her feet. Djalma was thunderstruck. He saw the face\nof Adrienne de Cardoville. Yes, Adrienne, as he had seen her the night\nbefore, attired as during her interview with the Princess de Saint\nDizier--the light green dress, the rose-colored ribbons, the white\nhead ornaments. A network of white beads concealed her back hair, and\nharmonized admirably with the shining gold of her ringlets. Finally, as\nfar as the Hindoo could judge through the railing and the thick glass,\nand in the faint light, it was the figure of Adrienne, with her marble\nshoulders and swan-like neck, so proud and so graceful. In a word, he\ncould not, he did not doubt that it was Adrienne de Cardoville. Djalma\nwas bathed in a burning dew, his dizzy excitement increased, and, with\nbloodshot eye and heaving bosom, he remained motionless, gazing almost\nwithout the power of thought. The young lady, with her back still\nturned towards Djalma, arranged her hair with graceful art, took off the\nnetwork which formed her head-dress, placed it on the chimney-piece, and\nbegan to unfasten her gown; then, withdrawing from the looking-glass,\nshe disappeared for an instant from Djalma's view.\n\n\"She is expecting Agricola Baudoin, her lover,\" said a voice, which\nseemed to proceed from the wall of the dark room in which Djalma was.\n\nNotwithstanding his bewilderment, these terrible words, \"She is\nexpecting Agricola Baudoin, her lover,\" passed like a stream of fire\nthrough the brain and heart of the prince. A cloud of blood came over\nhis eyes, he uttered a hollow moan, which the thickness of the glass\nprevented from being heard in the next room, and broke his nails in\nattempting to tear down the iron railing before the window.\n\nHaving reached this paroxysm of delirious rage, Djalma saw the uncertain\nlight grow still fainter, as if it had been discreetly obscured, and,\nthrough the vapory shadow that hung before him, he perceived the young\nlady returning, clad in a long white dressing-gown, and with her\ngolden curls floating over her naked arms and shoulders. She advanced\ncautiously in the direction of a door which was hid from Djalma's view.\nAt this moment, one of the doors of the apartment in which the prince\nwas concealed was gently opened by an invisible hand. Djalma noticed it\nby the click of the lock, and by the current of fresh air which streamed\nupon his face, for he could see nothing. This door, left open for\nDjalma, like that in the next room, to which the young lady had drawn\nnear, led to a sort of ante-chamber communicating with the stairs, which\nsome one now rapidly ascended, and, stopping short, knocked twice at the\nouter door.\n\n\"Here comes Agricola Baudoin. Look and listen!\" said the same voice that\nthe prince had already heard.\n\nMad, intoxicated, but with the fixed idea and reckless determination of\na madman or a drunkard, Djalma drew the dagger which Faringhea had left\nin his possession, and stood in motionless expectation. Hardly were the\ntwo knocks heard before the young lady quitted the apartment, from which\nstreamed a faint ray of light, ran to the door of the staircase, so that\nsome faint glimmer reached the place where Djalma stood watching, his\ndagger in his hand. He saw the young lady pass across the ante-chamber,\nand approach the door of the staircase, where she said in a whisper:\n\"Who is there?\"\n\n\"It is I--Agricola Baudoin,\" answered, from, without, a manly voice.\n\nWhat followed was rapid as lightning, and must be conceived rather than\ndescribed. Hardly had the young lady drawn the bolt of the door, hardly\nhad Agricola Baudoin stepped across the threshold, than Djalma, with the\nbound of a tiger, stabbed as it were at once, so rapid were the strokes,\nboth the young lady, who fell dead on the floor, and Agricola, who sank,\ndangerously wounded, by the side of the unfortunate victim. This\nscene of murder, rapid as thought, took place in the midst of a half\nobscurity. Suddenly the faint light from the chamber was completely\nextinguished, and a second after, Djalma felt his arm seized in the\ndarkness by an iron grasp, and the voice of Faringhea whispered: \"You\nare avenged. Come; we can secure our retreat.\" Inert, stupefied at what\nhe had done, Djalma offered no resistance, and let himself be dragged\nby the half-caste into the inner apartment, from which there was another\nway out.\n\nWhen Rodin had exclaimed, in his admiration of the generative power\nof thought, that the word NECKLACE had been the germ of the infernal\nproject he then contemplated, it was, that chance had brought to his\nmind the remembrance of the too famous affair of the diamond necklace,\nin which a woman, thanks to her vague resemblance to Queen Marie\nAntoinette, being dressed like that princess, and favored by the\nuncertainty of a twilight, had played so skillfully the part of her\nunfortunate sovereign, as to make the Cardinal Prince de Rohan, though\nfamiliar with the court, the complete dupe of the illusion. Having once\ndetermined on his execrable design, Rodin had sent Jacques Dumoulin to\nSainte-Colombe, without telling him the real object of his mission, to\nask this experienced woman to procure a fine young girl, tall, and\nwith red hair. Once found, a costume exactly resembling that worn by\nAdrienne, and of which the Princess de Saint-Dizier gave the description\nto Rodin (though herself ignorant of this new plot), was to complete the\ndeception. The rest is known, or may be guessed. The unfortunate girl,\nwho acted as Adrienne's double, believed she was only aiding in a jest.\nAs for Agricola, he had received a letter, in which he was invited to\na meeting that might be of the greatest importance to Mdlle. de\nCardoville.\n\n(43) See the strange effect of hasheesh. To the effect of this is\nattributed the kind of hallucination which seized on those unhappy\npersons, whom the Prince of the Assassins (the Old Man of the Mountain)\nused as the instruments of his vengeance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LXV. THE NUPTIAL BED.\n\nThe mild light of a circular lamp of oriental alabaster, suspended from\nthe ceiling by three silver chains, spreads a faint lustre through the\nbed-chamber of Adrienne de Cardoville.\n\nThe large ivory bedstead, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, is not at present\noccupied, and almost disappears beneath snowy curtains of lace\nand muslin, transparent and vapory as clouds. On the white marble\nmantlepiece, from beneath which the fire throws ruddy beams on the\nermine carpet, is the usual basket filled with a bush of red camellias,\nin the midst of their shining green leaves. A pleasant aromatic odor,\nrising from a warm and perfumed bath in the next room, penetrates every\ncorner of the bed-chamber. All without is calm and silent. It is hardly\neleven o'clock. The ivory door, opposite to that which leads to the\nbath-room, opens slowly. Djalma appears. Two hours have elapsed since he\ncommitted a double murder, and believed that he had killed Adrienne in a\nfit of jealous fury.\n\nThe servants of Mdlle. de Cardoville, accustomed to Djalma's daily\nvisits, no longer announced his arrival, and admitted him without\ndifficulty, having received no orders to the contrary from their\nmistress. He had never before entered the bed-chamber, but, knowing that\nthe apartment the lady occupied was on the first floor of the house,\nhe had easily found it. As he entered that virgin sanctuary, his\ncountenance was pretty calm, so well did he control his feelings, only a\nslight paleness tarnished the brilliant amber of his complexion. He wore\nthat day a robe of purple cashmere, striped with silver--a color which\ndid not show the stains of blood upon it. Djalma closed the door after\nhim, and tore off his white turban, for it seemed to him as if a band of\nhot iron encircled his brow. His dark hair streamed around his handsome\nface. He crossed his arms upon his bosom, and looked slowly about him.\nWhen his eyes rested on Adrienne's bed, he started suddenly, and his\ncheek grew purple. Then he drew his hand across his brow, hung down his\nhead, and remained standing for some moments in a dream, motionless as a\nstatue.\n\nAfter a mournful silence of a few seconds' duration, Djalma fell upon\nhis knees, and raised his eyes to heaven. The Asiatic's countenance was\nbathed in tears, and no longer expressed any violent passion. On his\nfeatures was no longer the stamp of hate, or despair, or the ferocious\njoy of vengeance gratified. It was rather the expression of grief at\nonce simple and immense. For several minutes he was almost choked with\nsobs, and tears ran freely down his cheeks.\n\n\"Dead! dead!\" he murmured, in a half-stifled voice. \"She, who this\nmorning slept so peacefully in this chamber! And I have killed her. Now\nthat she is dead, what is her treachery to me? I should not have killed\nher for that. She had betrayed me; she loved the man whom I slew--she\nloved him! Alas! I could not hope to gain the preference,\" added he,\nwith a touching mixture of resignation and remorse; \"I, poor, untaught\nyouth--how could I merit her love? It was my fault that she did not love\nme; but, always generous, she concealed from me her indifference, that\nshe might not make me too unhappy--and for that I killed her. What\nwas her crime? Did she not meet me freely? Did she not open to me her\ndwelling? Did she not allow me to pass whole days with her? No doubt she\ntried to love me, and could not. I loved her with all the faculties of\nmy soul, but my love was not such as she required. For that, I should\nnot have killed her. But a fatal delusion seized me and, after it was\ndone, I woke as from a dream. Alas! it was not a dream: I have killed\nher. And yet--until this evening--what happiness I owed to her--what\nhope--what joy! She made my heart better, nobler, more generous. All\ncame from her,\" added the Indian, with a new burst of grief. \"That\nremained with me--no one could take from me that treasure of the\npast--that ought to have consoled me. But why think of it? I struck them\nboth--her and the man--without a struggle. It was a cowardly murder--the\nferocity of the tiger that tears its innocent prey!\"\n\nDjalma buried his face in his hands. Then, drying his tears, he resumed,\n\"I know, clearly, that I mean to die also. But my death will not restore\nher to life!\"\n\nHe rose from the ground, and drew from his girdle Faringhea's bloody\ndagger; then, taking the little phial from the hilt, he threw the blood\nstained blade upon the ermine carpet, the immaculate whiteness of which\nwas thus slightly stained with red.\n\n\"Yes,\" resumed Djalma, holding the phial with a convulsive grasp, \"I\nknow well that I am about to die. It is right. Blood for blood; my life\nfor hers. How happens it that my steel did not turn aside? How could I\nkill her?--but it is done--and my heart is full of remorse, and sorrow,\nan inexpressible tenderness--and I have come here--to die!\n\n\"Here, in this chamber,\" he continued, \"the heaven of my burning\nvisions!\" And then he added, with a heartrending accent, as he again\nburied his face in his hands, \"Dead! dead!\"\n\n\"Well! I too shall soon be dead,\" he resumed, in a firmer voice.\n\"But, no! I will die slowly, gradually. A few drops of the poison will\nsuffice; and, when I am quite certain of dying, my remorse will perhaps\nbe less terrible. Yesterday, she pressed my hand when we parted. Who\ncould have foretold me this?\" The Indian raised the phial resolutely to\nhis lips. He drank a few drops of the liquor it contained, and replaced\nit on a little ivory table close to Adrienne's bed.\n\n\"This liquor is sharp and hot,\" said he. \"Now I am certain to die. Oh!\nthat I may still have time to feast on the sight and perfume of this\nchamber--to lay my dying head on the couch where she has reposed.\"\n\nDjalma fell on his knees beside the bed, and leaned against it his\nburning brow. At this moment, the ivory door, which communicated with\nthe bath-room, rolled gently on its hinges, and Adrienne entered. The\nyoung lady had just sent away her woman, who had assisted to undress\nher. She wore a long muslin wrapper of lustrous whiteness. Her golden\nhair, neatly arranged in little plaits, formed two bands, which gave\nto her sweet face an extremely juvenile air. Her snowy complexion was\nslightly tinged with rose-color, from the warmth of the perfumed bath,\nwhich she used for a few seconds every evening. When she opened the\nivory door, and placed her little naked foot, in its white satin\nslipper, upon the ermine carpet, Adrienne was dazzlingly beautiful.\nHappiness sparkled in her eyes, and adorned her brow. All the\ndifficulties relative to her union with Djalma had now been removed. In\ntwo days she would be his. The sight of the nuptial chamber oppressed\nher with a vague and ineffable languor. The ivory door had been opened\nso gently, the lady's first steps were so soft upon the fur carpet, that\nDjalma, still leaning against the bed, had heard nothing. But suddenly a\ncry of surprise and alarm struck upon his ear. He turned round abruptly.\nAdrienne stood before him.\n\nWith an impulse of modesty, Adrienne closed her nightdress over her\nbosom, and hastily drew back, still more afflicted than angry at what\nshe considered a guilty attempt on the part of Djalma. Cruelly hurt\nand offended, she was about to reproach him with his conduct, when she\nperceived the dagger, which he had thrown down upon the ermine carpet.\nAt sight of this weapon, and the expression of fear and stupor which\npetrified the features of Djalma, who remained kneeling, motionless,\nwith his body thrown back, hands stretched out, his eyes fixed and\nwildly staring Adrienne, no longer dreading an amorous surprise, was\nseized with an indescribable terror, and, instead of flying from the\nprince, advanced several steps towards him, and said, in an agitated\nvoice, whilst she pointed to the kandjiar, \"My friend, why are you here?\nwhat ails you? why this dagger?\"\n\nDjalma made no answer. At first, the presence of Adrienne seemed to him\na vision, which he attributed to the excitement of his brain, already\n(it might be) under the influence of the poison. But when the soft voice\nsounded in his ears--when his heart bounded with the species of electric\nshock, which he always felt when he met the gaze of that woman so\nardently beloved--when he had contemplated for an instant that\nadorable face, so fresh and fair, in spite of its expression of deep\nuneasiness--Djalma understood that he was not the sport of a dream, but\nthat Mdlle. de Cardoville was really before his eyes.\n\nThen, as he began fully to grasp the thought that Adrienne was not dead,\nthough he could not at all explain the prodigy of her resurrection, the\nHindoo's countenance was transfigured, the pale gold of his complexion\nbecame warm and red, his eyes (tarnished by tears of remorse) shone with\nnew radiance, and his features, so lately contracted with terror and\ndespair, expressed all the phases of the most ecstatic joy. Advancing,\nstill on his knees, towards Adrienne, he lifted up to her his trembling\nhands, and, too deeply affected to pronounce a word, he gazed on her\nwith so much amazement, love, adoration, gratitude, that the young lady,\nfascinated by those inexplicable looks, remained mute also, motionless\nalso, and felt, by the precipitate beating of her heart, and by the\nshudder which ran through her frame, that there was here some dreadful\nmystery to be unfolded.\n\nAt last, Djalma, clasping his hands together, exclaimed with an accent\nimpossible to describe, \"Thou art not dead!\"\n\n\"Dead!\" repeated the young lady, in amazement.\n\n\"It was not thou, really not thou, whom I killed? God is kind and just!\"\n\nAnd as he pronounced these words with intense joy, the unfortunate youth\nforgot the victim whom he had sacrificed in error.\n\nMore and more alarmed, and again glancing at the dagger en which she now\nperceived marks of blood--a terrible evidence, in confirmation of the\nwords of Djalma--Mdlle. de Cardoville exclaimed, \"You have killed some\none, Djalma! Oh! what does he say? It is dreadful!\"\n\n\"You are alive--I see you--you are here,\" said Djalma, in a voice\ntrembling with rapture. \"You are here--beautiful! pure! for it was not\nyou! Oh, no! had it been you, the steel would have turned back upon\nmyself.\"\n\n\"You have killed some one?\" cried the young lady, beside her with this\nunforeseen revelation, and clasping her hands in horror. \"Why? whom did\nyou kill?\"\n\n\"I do not know. A woman that was like you--a man that I thought your\nlover--it was an illusion, a frightful dream--you are alive--you are\nhere!\"\n\nAnd the oriental wept for joy.\n\n\"A dream? but no, it is not a dream. There is blood upon that dagger!\"\ncried the young lady, as she pointed wildly to the kandjiar. \"I tell you\nthere is blood upon it!\"\n\n\"Yes. I threw it down just now, when I took the poison from it, thinking\nthat I had killed you.\"\n\n\"The poison!\" exclaimed Adrienne, and her teeth chattered convulsively.\n\"What poison?\"\n\n\"I thought I had killed you, and I came here to die.\"\n\n\"To die? Oh! wherefore? who is to die?\" cried the young lady, almost in\ndelirium.\n\n\"I,\" replied Djalma, with inexpressible tenderness, \"I thought I had\nkilled you--and I took poison.\"\n\n\"You!\" exclaimed Adrienne, becoming pale as death. \"You!\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Oh! it is not true!\" said the young lady, shaking her head.\n\n\"Look!\" said the Asiatic. Mechanically, he turned towards the\nbed--towards the little ivory table, on which sparkled the crystal\nphial.\n\nWith a sudden movement, swifter than thought, swifter, it may be, than\nthe will, Adrienne rushed to the table, seized the phial, and applied it\neagerly to her lips.\n\nDjalma had hitherto remained on his knees; but he now uttered a terrible\ncry, made one spring to the drinker's side, and dragged away the phial,\nwhich seemed almost glued to her mouth.\n\n\"No matter! I have swallowed as much as you,\" said Adrienne, with an air\nof gloomy triumph.\n\nFor an instant, there followed an awful silence. Adrienne and Djalma\ngazed upon each other, mute, motionless, horror-struck. The young lady\nwas the first to break this mournful silence, and said in a tone which\nshe tried to make calm and steady, \"Well! what is there extraordinary in\nthis? You have killed, and death most expiate your crime. It is just. I\nwill not survive you. That also is natural enough. Why look at me thus?\nThis poison has a sharp taste--does it act quickly! Tell me, my Djalma!\"\n\nThe prince did not answer. Shuddering through all his frame, he looked\ndown upon his hands. Faringhea had told the truth; a slight violet\ntint appeared already beneath the nails. Death was approaching, slowly,\nalmost insensibly, but not the less certain. Overwhelmed with despair\nat the thought that Adrienne, too, was about to die, Djalma felt his\ncourage fail him. He uttered a long groan, and hid his face in his\nhands. His knees shook under him, and he felt down upon the bed, near\nwhich he was standing.\n\n\"Already?\" cried the young lady in horror, as she threw herself on her\nknees at Djalma's feet. \"Death already? Do you hide your face from me?\"\n\nIn her fright, she pulled his hands from before his face. That face was\nbathed in tears.\n\n\"No, not yet,\" murmured he, through his sobs. \"The poison is slow.\"\n\n\"Really!\" cried Adrienne, with ineffable joy. Then, kissing the hands of\nDjalma, she added tenderly, \"If the poison is slow, why do you weep?\"\n\n\"For you! for you!\" said the Indian, in a heart-rending tone.\n\n\"Think not of me,\" replied Adrienne, resolutely. \"You have killed, and\nwe must expiate the crime. I know not what has taken place; but I swear\nby our love that you did not do evil for evil's sake. There is some\nhorrible mystery in all this.\"\n\n\"On a pretence which I felt bound to believe,\" replied Djalma, speaking\nquickly, and panting for breath, \"Faringhea led me to a certain house.\nOnce there, he told me that you had betrayed me. I did not believe him,\nbut I know not what strange dizziness seized upon me--and then, through\na half-obscurity, I saw you--\"\n\n\"Me!\"\n\n\"No--not you--but a woman resembling you, dressed like you, so that I\nbelieved the illusion--and then there came a man--and you flew to meet\nhim--and I--mad with rage--stabbed her, stabbed him, saw them fall--and\nso came here to die. And now I find you only to cause your death. Oh,\nmisery! misery! that you should die through me!\"\n\nAnd Djalma, this man of formidable energy, began again to weep with\nthe weakness of a child. At sight of this deep, touching, passionate\ndespair, Adrienne, with that admirable courage which women alone possess\nin love, thought only of consoling Djalma. By an effort of superhuman\npassion, as the prince revealed to her this infernal plot, the lady's\ncountenance became so splendid with an expression of love and happiness,\nthat the East Indian looked at her in amazement, fearing for an instant\nthat he must have lost his reason.\n\n\"No more tears, my adored!\" cried the young lady, exultingly. \"No more\ntears--but only smiles of joy and love! Our cruel enemies shall not\ntriumph!\"\n\n\"What do you say?\"\n\n\"They wished to make us miserable. We pity them. Our felicity shall be\nthe envy of the world!\"\n\n\"Adrienne--bethink you--\"\n\n\"Oh! I have all my senses about me. Listen to me, my adored! I now\nunderstand it all. Falling into a snare, which these wretches spread for\nyou, you have committed murder. Now, in this country, murder leads to\ninfamy, or the scaffold--and to-morrow--to-night, perhaps--you would be\nthrown into prison. But our enemies have said: 'A man like Prince Djalma\ndoes not wait for infamy--he kills himself. A woman like Adrienne de\nCardoville does not survive the disgrace or death of her lover--she\nprefers to die.'\"\n\n\"Therefore a frightful death awaits them both,\" said the black-robed\nmen; \"and that immense inheritance, which we covet--'\"\n\n\"And for you--so young, so beautiful so innocent--death is frightful,\nand these monsters triumph!\" cried Djalma. \"They have spoken the truth!\"\n\n\"They have lied!\" answered Adrienne. \"Our death shall be celestial. This\npoison is slow--and I adore you, my Djalma!\"\n\nShe spoke those words in a low voice, trembling with passionate love,\nand, leaning upon Djalma's knees, approached so near, that he felt her\nwarm breath upon his cheek. As he felt that breath, and saw the humid\nflame that darted from the large, swimming eyes of Adrienne, whose half\nopened lips were becoming of a still deeper and brighter hue, the Indian\nstarted--his young blood boiled in his veins--he forgot everything--his\ndespair, and the approach of death, which as yet (as with Adrienne),\nonly showed itself in a kind of feverish ardor. His face, like the young\ngirl's, became once more splendidly beautiful.\n\n\"Oh, my lover! my husband! how beautiful you are!\" said Adrienne, with\nidolatry. \"Those eyes--that brow--those lips--how I love them!--How many\ntimes has the remembrance of your grace and beauty, coupled with your\nlove, unsettled my reason, and shaken my resolves--even to this moment,\nwhen I am wholly yours!--Yes, heaven wills that we should be united.\nOnly this morning, I gave to the apostolic man, that was to bless our\nunion, in thy name and mine, a royal gift--a gift, that will bring joy\nand peace to the heart of many an unfortunate creature. Then what have\nwe to regret, my beloved? Our immortal souls will pass away in a kiss,\nand ascend, full of love, to that God who is all love!\"\n\n\"Adrienne!\"\n\n\"Djalma!\"\n\nThe light, transparent curtains fell like a cloud over that nuptial and\nfunereal couch. Yes, funereal; for, two hours after, Adrienne and Djalma\nbreathed their last sigh in a voluptuous agony.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LXVI. A DUEL TO THE DEATH.\n\nAdrienne and Djalma died on the 30th of May. The following scene took\nplace on the 31st, the eve of the day appointed for the last convocation\nof the heirs of Marius de Rennepont. The reader will no doubt remember\nthe room occupied by M. Hardy, in the \"house of retreat,\" in the Rue de\nVaugirard--a gloomy and retired apartment, opening on a dreary little\ngarden, planted with yew-trees, and surrounded by high walls. To reach\nthis chamber, it was necessary to cross two vast rooms, the doors of\nwhich, once shut, intercepted all noise and communication from without.\nBearing this in mind, we may go on with our narrative. For the last\nthree or four days, Father d'Aigrigny occupied this apartment. He had\nnot chosen it, but had been induced to accept it, under most plausible\npretexts, given him at the instigation of Rodin. It was about noon.\nSeated in an arm-chair, by the window opening on the little garden,\nFather d'Aigrigny held in his hand a newspaper, in which he read as\nfollows, under the head of \"Paris:\"\n\n\"Eleven p.m.--A most horrible and tragical event has just excited the\ngreatest consternation in the quarter of the Rue de Richelieu. A double\nmurder has been committed, on the person of a young man and woman.\nThe girl was killed on the spot, by the stroke of a dagger; hopes are\nentertained of saving the life of the young man. The crime is attributed\nto jealousy. The officers of justice are investigating the matter. We\nshall give full particulars tomorrow.\"\n\nWhen he had read these lines, Father d'Aigrigny threw down the paper and\nremained in deep thought.\n\n\"It is incredible,\" said he, with bitter envy, in allusion to Rodin. \"He\nhas attained his end. Hardly one of his anticipations has been defeated.\nThis family is annihilated, by the mere play of the passions, good and\nevil that he has known how to set in motion. He said it would be so.\nOh! I must confess,\" added Father d'Aigrigny, with a jealous and hateful\nsmile, \"that Rodin is a man of rare dissimulation, patience, energy,\nobstinacy and intelligence. Who would have told a few months ago, when\nhe wrote under my orders, a discreet and humble socius, that he had\nalready conceived the most audacious ambition, and dared to lift his\neyes to the Holy See itself? that, thanks to intrigues and corruption,\npursued with wondrous ability, these views were not so unreasonable?\nNay, that this infernal ambition would soon be realized, were it not\nthat the secret proceedings of this dangerous man have long been as\nsecretly watched?--Ah!\" sneered Father d'Aigrigny, with a smile of\nirony and triumph, \"you wish to be a second Sixtus V., do you? And,\nnot content with this audacious pretension, you mean, if successful, to\nabsorb our Company in the Papacy, even as the Sultan has absorbed the\nJanissaries. Ah! You would make us your stepping-stone to power! And you\nhave thought to humiliate and crush me with your insolent disdain! But\npatience, patience: the day of retribution approaches. I alone am the\ndepository of our General's will. Father Caboccini himself does not\nknow that. The fate of Rodin is in my hands. Oh! it will not be what he\nexpects. In this Rennepont affair (which, I must needs confess, he has\nmanaged admirably), he thinks to outwit us all, and to work only for\nhimself. But to-morrow--\"\n\nFather d'Aigrigny was suddenly disturbed in these agreeable reflections.\nHe heard the door of the next room open, and, as he turned round to see\nwho was coming, the door of the apartment in which he was turned upon\nits hinges. Father d'Aigrigny started with surprise, and became almost\npurple. Marshal Simon stood before him. And, behind the marshal, in the\nshadow of the door, Father d'Aigrigny perceived the cadaverous face\nof Rodin. The latter cast on him one glance of diabolical delight, and\ninstantly disappeared. The door was again closed, and Father d'Aigrigny\nand Marshal Simon were left alone together. The father of Rose and\nBlanche was hardly recognizable. His gray hair had become completely\nwhite. His pale, thin face had not been shaved for some days. His hollow\neyes were bloodshot and restless, and had in them something wild and\nhaggard. He was wrapped in a large cloak, and his black cravat was tied\nloosely about his neck. In withdrawing from the apartment, Rodin had (as\nif by inadvertence) double-locked the door on the outside. When he\nwas alone with the Jesuit, the marshal threw back his cloak from his\nshoulders, and Father d'Aigrigny could see two naked swords, stuck\nthrough a silk handkerchief which served him as a belt.\n\nFather d'Aigrigny understood it all. He remembered how, a few days\nbefore, Rodin had obstinately pressed him to say what he would do if the\nmarshal were to strike him in the face. There could be no doubt that\nhe, who thought to have held the fate of Rodin in his hands, had been\nbrought by the latter into a fearful peril; for he knew that, the two\nouter rooms being closed, there was no possibility of making himself\nheard, and that the high walls of the garden only bordered upon some\nvacant lots. The first thought which occurred to him, one by no means\ndestitute of probability, was that Rodin, either by his agents at Rome,\nor by his own incredible penetration, had learned that his fate\ndepended on Father d'Aigrigny, and hoped therefore to get rid of him,\nby delivering him over to the inexorable vengeance of the father of\nRose and Blanche. Without speaking a word, the marshal unbound the\nhandkerchief from his waist, laid the two swords upon the table,\nand, folding his arms upon his breast, advanced slowly towards Father\nd'Aigrigny. Thus these two men, who through life had pursued each other\nwith implacable hatred, at length met face to face--they, who had fought\nin hostile armies, and measured swords in single combat, and one of whom\nnow came to seek vengeance for the death of his children. As the marshal\napproached, Father d'Aigrigny rose from his seat. He wore that day a\nblack cassock, which rendered still more visible the pale hue, which had\nnow succeeded to the sudden flush on his cheek. For a few seconds, the\ntwo men stood face to face without speaking. The marshal was terrific\nin his paternal despair. His calmness, inexorable as fate, was more\nimpressive than the most furious burst of anger.\n\n\"My children are dead,\" said he at last, in a slow and hollow tone. \"I\ncome to kill you.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" cried Father d'Aigrigny, \"listen to me. Do not believe--\"\n\n\"I must kill you,\" resumed the marshal, interrupting the Jesuit; \"your\nhate followed my wife into exile, where she perished. You and your\naccomplices sent my children to certain death. For twenty years you have\nbeen my evil genius. I must have your life, and I will have it.\"\n\n\"My life belongs, first, to God,\" answered Father d'Aigrigny, piously,\n\"and then to who likes to take it.\"\n\n\"We will fight to the death in this room,\" said the marshal; \"and, as I\nhave to avenge my wife and children, I am tranquil as to the result.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" answered Father d'Aigrigny, coldly, \"you forget that my\nprofession forbids me to fight. Once I accepted your challenge--but my\nposition is changed since then.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said the marshal, with a bitter smile; \"you refuse to fight\nbecause you are a priest?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir--because I am a priest.\"\n\n\"So that, because he is a priest, a wretch like you may commit any\ncrime, any baseness, under shelter of his black gown?\"\n\n\"I do not understand a word of your accusations. In any case, the law is\nopen,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, biting his pale lips, for he felt deeply\nthe insult offered by the marshal; \"if you have anything to complain of,\nappeal to that law, before which all are equal.\"\n\nMarshal Simon shrugged his shoulders in angry disdain. \"Your crimes\nescape the law--and, could it even reach you, that would not satisfy my\nvengeance, after all the evil you have done me, after all you have taken\nfrom me,\" said the marshal; and, at the memory of his children, his\nvoice slightly trembled; but he soon proceeded, with terrible calmness:\n\"You must feel that I now only live for vengeance. And I must have\nsuch revenge as is worth the seeking--I must have your coward's heart\npalpitating on the point of my sword. Our last duel was play; this will\nbe earnest--oh! you shall see.\"\n\nThe marshal walked up to the table, where he had laid the two swords.\nFather d'Aigrigny needed all his resolution to restrain himself. The\nimplacable hate which he had always felt for Marshal Simon, added to\nthese insults, filled him with savage ardor. Yet he answered, in a tone\nthat was still calm: \"For the last time, sir, I repeat to you, that my\nprofession forbids me to fight.\"\n\n\"Then you refuse?\" said the marshal, turning abruptly towards him.\n\n\"I refuse.\"\n\n\"Positively?\"\n\n\"Positively. Nothing on earth should force me to it.\"\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"No, sir; nothing.\"\n\n\"We shall see,\" said the marshal, as his hand fell with its full force\non the cheek of Father d'Aigrigny.\n\nThe Jesuit uttered a cry of fury; all his blood rushed to his face, so\nroughly handled; the courage of the man (for he was brave), his ancient\nmilitary ardor, carried him away; his eyes sparkled, and, with teeth\nfirmly set, and clenched fists, he advanced towards the marshal,\nexclaiming: \"The swords! the swords!\"\n\nBut suddenly, remembering the appearance of Rodin, and the interest\nwhich the latter had in bringing about this encounter, he determined to\navoid the diabolical snare laid by his former socius, and so gathered\nsufficient resolution to restrain his terrible resentment.\n\nTo his passing fury succeeded a calm, full of contrition; and, wishing\nto play his part out to the end, he knelt down, and bowing his head\nand beating his bosom, repeated: \"Forgive me, Lord, for yielding to a\nmovement of rage! and, above all, forgive him who has injured me!\"\n\nIn spite of his apparent resignation, the Jesuit's voice was neatly\nagitated. He seemed to feel a hot iron upon his cheek, for never before\nin his life, whether as a soldier or a priest, had he suffered such\nan insult. He had thrown himself upon his knees, partly from religious\nmummery, and partly to avoid the gaze of the marshal, fearing that, were\nhe to meet his eye, he should not be able to answer for himself, but\ngive way to his impetuous feelings. On seeing the Jesuit kneel down, and\non hearing his hypocritical invocation, the marshal, whose sword was in\nhis hand, shook with indignation.\n\n\"Stand up, scoundrel!\" he said, \"stand up, wretch!\" And he spurned the\nJesuit with his boot.\n\nAt this new insult, Father d'Aigrigny leaped up, as if he had been moved\nby steel springs. It was too much; he could bear no more. Blinded with\nrage, he rushed to the able, caught up the other sword, and exclaimed,\ngrinding his teeth together: \"Ah! you will have blood. Well then! it\nshall be yours--if possible!\"\n\nAnd the Jesuit, still in all the vigor of manhood, his face purple, his\nlarge gray eyes sparkling with hate, fell upon his guard with the ease\nand skill of a finished swordsman.\n\n\"At last!\" cried the marshal, as their blades were about to cross.\n\nBut once more reflection came to damp the fire of the Jesuit. He\nremembered how this hazardous duel would gratify the wishes of Rodin,\nwhose fate was in his hands, and whom he hated perhaps even more than\nthe marshal. Therefore, in spite of the fury which possessed him,\nin spite of his secret hope to conquer in this combat, so strong and\nhealthy did he feel himself, and so fatal had been the effects of grief\non the constitution of Marshal Simon, he succeeded in mastering his\nrage, and, to the amazement of the marshal, dropped the point of his\nsword, exclaiming: \"I am a minister of the Lord, and must not shed\nblood. Forgive ne, heaven! and, oh! forgive my brother also.\"\n\nThen placing the blade beneath his heel, he drew the hilt suddenly\ntowards him, and broke the weapon into two pieces. The duel was no\nlonger possible. Father d'Aigrigny had put it out of his own power to\nyield to a new burst of violence, of which he saw the imminent danger.\nMarshal Simon remained for an instant mute and motionless with surprise\nand indignation, for he also saw that the duel was now impossible. But,\nsuddenly, imitating the Jesuit, the marshal placed his blade also\nunder his heel, broke it in half, and picking up the pointed end, about\neighteen inches in length tore off his black silk cravat, rolled\nit round the broken part so as to form a handle, and said to Father\nd'Aigrigny: \"Then we will fight with daggers.\"\n\nStruck with this mixture of coolness and ferocity, the Jesuit exclaimed:\n\"Is this then a demon of hell?\"\n\n\"No; it is a father, whose children have been murdered,\" said the\nmarshal, in a hollow voice, whilst he fitted the blade to his hand, and\na tear stood in the eye, that instantly after became fierce and ardent.\n\nThe Jesuit saw that tear. There was in this mixture of vindictive rage\nand paternal grief something so awful, and yet so sacred, that for the\nfirst time in his life Father d'Aigrigny felt fear--cowardly, ignoble\nfear--fear for his own safety. While a combat with swords was in\nquestion, in which skill, agility, and experience are such powerful\nauxiliaries to courage, his only difficulty had been to repress the\nardor of his hate--but when he thought of the combat proposed, body\nto body, face to face, heart to heart, he trembled, grew pale, and\nexclaimed: \"A butchery with knives?--never!\"\n\nHis countenance and the accent betrayed his alarm, so that the marshal\nhimself was struck with it, and fearing to lose his revenge, he cried:\n\"After all, he is a coward! The wretch had only the courage or\nthe vanity of a fencer. This pitiful renegade--this traitor to\nhis country--whom I have cuffed, kicked--yes, kicked, most noble\nmarquis!--shame of your ancient house--disgrace to the rank of\ngentleman, old or new--ah! it is not hypocrisy, it is not calculation,\nas I at first thought--it is fear! You need the noise of war, and the\neyes of spectators to give you courage--\"\n\n\"Sir--have a care!\" said Father d'Aigrigny, stammering through his\nclenched teeth, for rage and hate now made him forget his fear-\"Must I\nthen spit on you, to make the little blood you have left rise to your\nface?\" cried the exasperated marshal.\n\n\"Oh! this is too much! too much!\" said the Jesuit, seizing the pointed\npiece of the blade that lay at his feet.\n\n\"It is not enough!\" said the marshal, panting for breath. \"There,\nJudas!\" and he spat in his face.\n\n\"If you will not fight now,\" added the marshal, \"I will beat you like a\ndog, base child-murderer!\"\n\nOn receiving the uttermost insult which can be offered to an already\ninsulted man, Father d'Aigrigny lost all his presence of mind, forgot\nhis interests, his resolutions, his fears, forgot even Rodin--felt only\nthe frenzied ardor of revenge--and, recovering his courage, rejoiced\nin the prospect of a close struggle, in which his superior strength\npromised success over the enfeebled frame of the marshal for, in this\nkind of brutal and savage combat, physical strength offers an immense\nadvantage. In an instant, Father d'Aigrigny had rolled his handkerchief\nround the broken blade, and rushed upon Marshal Simon, who received the\nshock with intrepidity. For the short time that this unequal struggle\nlasted--unequal, for the marshal had since some days been a prey to a\ndevouring fever, which had undermined his strength--the two combatants,\nmute in their fury, uttered not a word or a cry. Had any one been\npresent at this horrible scene, it would have been impossible for him\nto tell how they dealt their blows. He would have seen two\nheads--frightful, livid, convulsed--rising, falling, now here,\nnow there--arms, now stiff as bars of iron, and now twisting like\nserpents--and, in the midst of the undulation of the blue coat of the\nmarshal and the black cassock of the Jesuit, from time to time the\nsudden gleam of the steel. He would have heard only a dull stamping,\nand now and then a deep breath. In about two minutes at most, the two\nadversaries fell, and rolled one over the other. One of them--it was\nFather d'Aigrigny--contrived to disengage himself with a violent effort,\nand to rise upon his knees. His arms fell powerless by his side; and\nthen the dying voice of the marshal murmured: \"My children! Dagobert!\"\n\n\"I have killed him,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, in a weak voice; \"but I\nfeel--that I am wounded--to death.\"\n\nLeaning with one hand on the ground, the Jesuit pressed the other to\nhis bosom. His black cassock was pierced through and through, but the\nblades, which had served for the combat, being triangular and very\nsharp, the blood instead of issuing from the wounds, was flowing\ninwards.\n\n\"Oh! I die--I choke,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, whose features were\nalready changing with the approach of death.\n\nAt this moment, the key turned twice in the door, Rodin appeared on the\nthreshold, and, thrusting in his head, he said in a humble and discreet\nvoice: \"May I come in?\"\n\nAt this dreadful irony, Father d'Aigrigny strove to rise, and rush upon\nRodin; but he fell back exhausted; the blood was choking him.\n\n\"Monster of hell!\" he muttered, casting on Rodin a terrible glance of\nrage and agony. \"Thou art the cause of my death.\"\n\n\"I always told you, my dear father, that your old military habits would\nbe fatal to you,\" answered Rodin with a frightful smile. \"Only a few\ndays ago, I gave you warning, and advised you take a blow patiently from\nthis old swordsman--who seems to have done with that work forever, which\nis well--for the Scripture says: 'All they that take the sword shall\nperish with the sword.' And then this Marshal Simon might have had some\nclaim on his daughter's inheritance. And, between ourselves, my dear\nfather, what was I to do? It was necessary to sacrifice you for the\ncommon interest; the rather, that I well knew what you had in pickle for\nme to-morrow. But I am not so easily caught napping.\"\n\n\"Before I die,\" said Father d'Aigrigny, in a failing voice, \"I will\nunmask you.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, you will not,\" said Rodin, shaking his head with a knowing air;\n\"I alone, if you please, will receive your last confession.\"\n\n\"Oh! this is horrible,\" moaned Father d'Aigrigny, whose eyes were\nclosing. \"May God have mercy on me, if it is not too late!--Alas! at\nthis awful moment, I feel that I have been a great sinner--\"\n\n\"And, above all, a great fool,\" said Rodin, shrugging his shoulders, and\nwatching with cold disdain the dying moments of his accomplice.\n\nFather d'Aigrigny had now but a few minutes more to live. Rodin\nperceived it, and said: \"It is time to call for help.\" And the Jesuit\nran, with an air of alarm and consternation, into the courtyard of the\nhouse.\n\nOthers came at his cries; but, as he had promised, Rodin had only\nquitted Father d'Aigrigny as the latter had breathed his last sigh.\n\nThat evening, alone in his chamber, by the glimmer of a little lamp,\nRodin sat plunged in a sort of ecstatic contemplation, before the print\nrepresenting Sixtus V. The great house-clock struck twelve. At the last\nstroke, Rodin drew himself up in all the savage majesty of his infernal\ntriumph, and exclaimed: \"This is the first of June. There are no more\nRenneponts!--Methinks, I hear the hour from the clock of St. Peter's at\nRome striking!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LXVII. A MESSAGE.\n\nWhile Rodin sat plunged in ambitious reverie, contemplating the portrait\nof Sixtus V., good little Father Caboccini, whose warm embraces had\nso much irritated the first mentioned personage, went secretly to\nFaringhea, to deliver to him a fragment of an ivory crucifix, and\nsaid to him with his usual air of jovial good-nature: \"His Excellency\nCardinal Malipieri, on my departure from Rome, charged me to give you\nthis only on the 31st of May.\"\n\nThe half-caste, who was seldom affected by anything, started abruptly,\nalmost with an expression of pain. His face darkened, and bending upon\nthe little father a piercing look, he said to him: \"You were to add\nsomething.\"\n\n\"True,\" replied Father Caboccini; \"the words I was to add are these:\n'There is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip.'\"\n\n\"It is well,\" said the other. Heaving a deep sigh, he joined the\nfragment of the ivory crucifix to a piece already in his possession; it\nfitted exactly.\n\nFather Caboccini looked at him with curiosity, for the cardinal had only\ntold him to deliver the ivory fragment to Faringhea, and to repeat the\nabove words. Being somewhat mystified with all this, the reverend father\nsaid to the half-caste: \"What are you going to do with that crucifix?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" said Faringhea, still absorbed in painful thought.\n\n\"Nothing?\" resumed the reverend father, in astonishment. \"What, then,\nwas the use of bringing it so far?\"\n\nWithout satisfying his curiosity, Faringhea replied: \"At what hour to\nmorrow does Father Rodin go to the Rue Saint Francois?\"\n\n\"Very early.\"\n\n\"Before leaving home, he will go to say prayers in the chapel?\"\n\n\"Yes, according to the habit of our reverend fathers.\"\n\n\"You sleep near him?\"\n\n\"Being his socius, I occupy the room next to his.\"\n\n\"It is possible,\" said Faringhea, after a moment's silence, \"that the\nreverend father, full of the great interests which occupy his mind,\nmight forget to go to the chapel. In that case, pray remind him of this\npious duty.\"\n\n\"I shall not fail.\"\n\n\"Pray do not fail,\" repeated Faringhea, anxiously.\n\n\"Be satisfied,\" said the good little father; \"I see that you take great\ninterest in his salvation.\"\n\n\"Great interest.\"\n\n\"It is very praiseworthy in you. Continue as you have begun, and you\nmay one day belong, completely to our Company,\" said Father Caboccini,\naffectionately.\n\n\"I am as yet but a poor auxiliary member,\" said Faringhea, humbly; \"but\nno one is more devoted to the Society, body and soul. Bowanee is nothing\nto it.\"\n\n\"Bowanee! who is that, my good friend?\"\n\n\"Bowanee makes corpses which rot in the ground. The Society makes\ncorpses which walk about.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes! Perinde ac cadaver--they were the last words of our great\nsaint, Ignatius de Loyola. But who is this Bowanee?\"\n\n\"Bowanee is to the Society what a child is to a man,\" replied the\nAsiatic, with growing excitement. \"Glory to the Company--glory! Were my\nfather its enemy, I would kill my father. The man whose genius inspires\nme most with admiration, respect, and terror--were he its enemy, I would\nkill, in spite of all,\" said the half-caste, with an effort. Then, after\na moment's silence, he looked full in Caboccini's face, and added: \"I\nsay this, that you may report my words to Cardinal Malipieri, and beg\nhim to mention them to--\"\n\nFaringhea stopped short. \"To whom should the cardinal mention your\nwords?\" asked Caboccini.\n\n\"He knows,\" replied the half-caste, abruptly. \"Good night!\"\n\n\"Good-night, my friend! I can only approve of your excellent sentiments\nwith regard to our Company. Alas! it is in want of energetic defenders,\nfor there are said to be traitors in its bosom.\"\n\n\"For those,\" said Faringhea, \"we must have no pity.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said the good little father; \"we understand one another.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said the half-caste. \"Do not, at all events, forget to remind\nFather Rodin to go to chapel to-morrow morning.\"\n\n\"I will take care of that,\" said Father Caboccini.\n\nThe two men parted. On his return to the house, Caboccini learned that\na courier, only arrived that night from Rome, had brought despatches to\nRodin.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LXVIII. THE FIRST OF JUNE.\n\nThe chapel belonging to the house of the reverend fathers in the Rue de\nVaugirard, was gay and elegant. Large panes of stained glass admitted\na mysterious light; the altar shone with gold and silver; and at the\nentrance of this little church, in an obscure corner beneath the organ\nloft, was a font for holy water in sculptured marble. It was close to\nthis font, in a dark nook where he could hardly be seen, that Faringhea\nknelt down, early on the 1st of June, as soon indeed as the chapel doors\nwere opened. The half-caste was exceedingly sad. From time to time he\nstarted and sighed, as if agitated by a violent internal struggle.\nThis wild, untamable being, possessed with the monomania of evil and\ndestruction, felt, as may be imagined, a profound admiration for Rodin,\nwho exercised over him a kind of magnetic fascination. The half-caste,\nalmost a wild beast in human form, saw something supernatural in the\ninfernal genius of Rodin. And the latter, too sagacious not to have\ndiscovered the savage devotion of this wretch, had made, as we have\nseen, good use of him, is bringing about the tragical termination of the\nloves of Adrienne and Djalma. But what excited to an incredible degree\nthe admiration of Faringhea, was what he knew of the Society of\nJesus. This immense, occult power, which undermined the world by its\nsubterraneous ramifications, and reached its ends by diabolical means,\nhad inspired the half-caste with a wild enthusiasm. And if anything in\nthe world surpassed his fanatical admiration for Rodin, it was his blind\ndevotion to the Company of Ignatius de Loyola, which, as he said, could\nmake corpses that walk about. Hid in the shadow of the organ-loft,\nFaringhea was reflecting deeply on these things, when footsteps were\nheard, and Rodin entered the chapel, accompanied by his socius, the\nlittle one-eyed father.\n\nWhether from absence of mind, or that the shadow of the orange-loft\ncompletely concealed the half-caste, Rodin dipped his fingers into the\nfont without perceiving Faringhea, who stood motionless as a statue,\nthough a cold sweat streamed from his brow. The prayer of Rodin was,\nas may be supposed, short; he was in haste to get to the Rue\nSaint-Francois. After kneeling down with Father Caboccini for a few\nseconds, he rose, bowed respectfully to the altar, and returned towards\nthe door, followed by his socius. At the moment Rodin approached the\nfont he perceived the tall figure of the half-caste standing out from\nthe midst of the dark shadow; advancing a little, Faringhea bowed\nrespectfully to Rodin, who said to him, in a low voice; \"Come to me at\ntwo o'clock.\"\n\nSo saying, Rodin stretched forth his hand to dip it into the holy water;\nbut Faringhea spared him the trouble, by offering him the sprinkling\nbrush, which generally stood in the font.\n\nPressing between his dirty fingers the damp hairs of the brush,\nwhich the half-caste held by the handle, Rodin wetted his thumb and\nforefinger, and, according to custom, traced the sign of the cross upon\nhis forehead. Then, opening the door of the chapel, he went out, after\nagain repeating to Faringhea: \"Come to me at two o'clock.\"\n\nThinking he would also make use of the sprinkling-brush, which,\nFaringhea, still motionless, held with a trembling hand, Father\nCaboccini stretched out his fingers to reach it, when the half-breed,\nas if determined to confine his favors to Rodin, hastily withdrew the\ninstrument. Deceived in his expectation, Father Caboccini lost no time\nin following Rodin, whom he was not to leave that day for a single\nmoment, and, getting into a hackney-coach with him, set out for the Rue\nSaint-Francois. It is impossible to describe the look which the half\nbreed fixed upon Rodin as the latter quitted the chapel. Left alone in\nthe sacred edifice, Faringhea sank upon the stones, half kneeling, half\ncrouching, with his face buried in his hands. As the coach drew near\nthe quarter of the Marais, in which was situated the house of Marius\nde Rennepont, a feverish agitation, and the devouring impatience of\ntriumph, were visible on the countenance of Rodin. Two or three times he\nopened his pocketbook, and read and arranged the different certificates\nof death of the various members of the Rennepont family; and from time\nto time he thrust his head anxiously from the coach-window, as if he had\nwished to hasten the slow progress of the vehicle.\n\nThe good little father, his socius, did not take his eye off Rodin, and\nhis look had a strange and crafty expression. At last the coach entered\nthe Rue Saint-Francois, and stopped before the iron-studded door of the\nold house, which had been closed for a century and a half. Rodin sprang\nfrom the coach with the agility of a young man, and knocked violently\nat the door, whilst Father Caboccini, less light of foot, descended more\nprudently to the ground. No answer was returned to the loud knocking\nof Rodin. Trembling with anxiety, he knocked again. This time, as he\nlistened attentively, he heard slow steps approaching. They stopped at\nsome distance from the door, which was not yet opened.\n\n\"It is keeping one upon red-hot coals,\" said Rodin, for he felt as\nif there was a burning fire in his chest. He again shook the door\nviolently, and began to gnaw his nails according to his custom.\n\nSuddenly the door opened, and Samuel, the Jew guardian, appeared beneath\nthe porch. The countenance of the old man expressed bitter grief. Upon\nhis venerable cheeks were the traces of recent tears, which he strove to\ndry with his trembling hands, as he opened the door to Rodin.\n\n\"Who are you, gentlemen?\" said Samuel.\n\n\"I am the bearer of a power of attorney from the Abbe Gabriel, the only\nliving representative of the Rennepont family,\" answered Rodin,\nhastily. \"This gentleman is my secretary,\" added he, pointing to Father\nCaboccini, who bowed.\n\nAfter looking attentively at Rodin, Samuel resumed: \"I recognize you,\nsir. Please to follow me.\" And the old guardian advanced towards the\nhouse in the garden, making a sign to the two reverend fathers to\nfollow.\n\n\"That confounded old man kept me so long at the door,\" said Rodin to his\nsocius, \"that I think I have caught a cold in consequence. My lips and\nthroat are dried up, like parchment baked at the fire.\"\n\n\"Will you not take something, my dear, good father? Suppose you were to\nask this man for a glass of water,\" cried the little one-eyed priest,\nwith tender solicitude.\n\n\"No, no,\" answered Rodin; \"it is nothing. I am devoured by impatience.\nThat is all.\"\n\nPale and desolate, Bathsheba, the wife of Samuel, was standing at the\ndoor of the apartment she occupied with her husband, in the building\nnext the street. As the Jew passed before her, he said, in Hebrew: \"The\ncurtains of the Hall of Mourning?\"\n\n\"Are closed.\"\n\n\"And the iron casket?\"\n\n\"Is prepared,\" answered Bathsheba, also in Hebrew.\n\nAfter pronouncing these words, completely unintelligible to Rodin\nand Caboccini, Samuel and Bathsheba exchanged a bitter smile,\nnotwithstanding the despair impressed on their countenances.\n\nAscending the steps, followed by the two reverend fathers, Samuel\nentered the vestibule of the house, in which a lamp was burning. Endowed\nwith an excellent local memory, Rodin was about to take the direction\nof the Red Saloon, in which had been held the first convocation of the\nheirs, when Samuel stopped him, and said: \"It is not that way.\"\n\nThen, taking the lamp, he advanced towards a dark staircase, for the\nwindows of the house had not been un-bricked.\n\n\"But,\" said Rodin, \"the last time, we met in a saloon on the ground\nfloor.\"\n\n\"To-day, we must go higher,\" answered Samuel, as he began slowly to\nascend the stairs.\n\n\"Where to? higher!\" said Rodin, following him.\n\n\"To the Hall of Mourning,\" replied the Jew, and he continued to ascend.\n\n\"What is the Hall of Mourning?\" resumed Rodin, in some surprise.\n\n\"A place of tears and death,\" answered the Israelite; and he kept on\nascending through the darkness, for the little lamp threw but a faint\nlight around.\n\n\"But,\" said Rodin, more and more astonished, and stopping short on the\nstairs, \"why go to this place?\"\n\n\"The money is there,\" answered Samuel, and he went on,\n\n\"Oh? if the money is there, that alters the case,\" replied Rodin; and he\nmade haste to regain the few steps he had lost by stopping.\n\nSamuel continued to ascend, and, at a turn of the staircase, the two\nJesuits could see by the pale light of the little lamp, the profile of\nthe old Israelite, in the space left between the iron balustrade and the\nwall, as he climbed on with difficulty above them. Rodin was struck with\nthe expression of Samuel's countenance. His black eyes, generally\nso calm, sparkled with ardor. His features, usually impressed with a\nmixture of sorrow, intelligence, and goodness, seemed to grow harsh and\nstern, and his thin lips wore a strange smile.\n\n\"It is not so very high,\" whispered Rodin to Caboccini, \"and yet my legs\nache, and I am quite out of breath. There is a strange throbbing too in\nmy temples.\"\n\nIn fact, Rodin breathed hard, and with difficulty. To this confidential\ncommunication, good little Father Caboccini, in general so full of\ntender care for his colleague, made no answer. He seemed to be in deep\nthought.\n\n\"Will we soon be there?\" said Rodin, impatiently, to Samuel.\n\n\"We are there,\" replied the Israelite.\n\n\"And a good thing too,\" said Rodin.\n\n\"Very good,\" said the Jew.\n\nStopping in the midst of a corridor, he pointed with the hand in which\nhe held the lamp to a large door from which streamed a faint light. In\nspite of his growing surprise. Rodin entered resolutely, followed\nby Father Caboccini and Samuel. The apartment in which these three\npersonage, now found themselves was very large. The daylight only\nentered from a belvedere in the roof, the four sides of which had been\ncovered with leaden plates, each of which was pierced with seven holes,\nforming a cross, thus:\n\n             *\n           * * *\n             *\n             *\n             *\n\nNow, the light being only admitted through these holes, the obscurity\nwould have been complete, had it not been for a lamp, which burned on a\nlarge massive slab of black marble, fixed against one of the walls.\nOne would have taken it for a funeral chamber, for it was all hung with\nblack curtains, fringed with white. There was no furniture, save the\nslab of black marble we have already mentioned. On this slab was an iron\ncasket, of the manufacture of the seventeenth century, admirably adorned\nwith open work, like lace made of metal.\n\nAddressing Rodin, who was wiping his forehead with his dirty\nhandkerchief, and looking round him with surprise, but not fear, Samuel\nsaid to him: \"The will of the testator, however strange it may appear,\nis sacred with me, and must be accomplished in all things.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Rodin; \"but what are we to do here?\"\n\n\"You will know presently, sir. You are the representative of the only\nremaining heir of the Rennepont family, the Abbe Gabriel de Rennepont?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, and here are my papers,\" replied Rodin.\n\n\"To save time,\" resumed Samuel, \"I will, previous to the arrival of the\nmagistrate, go through the inventory of the securities contained in\nthis casket, which I withdrew yesterday from the custody of the Bank of\nFrance.\"\n\n\"The securities are there?\" cried Rodin, advancing eagerly towards the\ncasket.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" replied Samuel, \"as by the list. Your secretary will call\nthem over, and I will produce each in turn. They can then be replaced\nin the casket, which I will deliver up to you in presence of the\nmagistrate.\"\n\n\"All this seems perfectly correct,\" said Rodin.\n\nSamuel delivered the list to Father Caboccini, and approaching the\ncasket, touched a spring, which was not seen by Rodin. The heavy lid\nflew open, and, while Father Caboccini read the names of the different\nsecurities, Samuel showed them to Rodin, who returned them to the old\nJew, after a careful examination. This verification did not last long,\nfor this immense fortune was all comprised, as we already know, in eight\ngovernment securities, five hundred thousand francs in bank-note,\nthirty five thousand francs in gold, and two hundred and fifty francs in\nsilver--making in all an amount of two hundred and twelve millions, one\nhundred and seventy-five thousand francs. When Rodin had counted the\nlast of the five hundred bank-notes, of a thousand francs each, he\nsaid, as he returned them to Samuel: \"It is quite right. Two hundred and\ntwelve millions, one hundred and seventy-five thousand francs!\"\n\nHe was no doubt almost choked with joy, for he breathed with difficulty,\nhis eyes closed, and he was obliged to lean upon Father Caboccini's arm,\nas he said to him in an altered voice: \"It is singular. I thought myself\nproof against all such emotions; but what I feel is extraordinary.\"\n\nThe natural paleness of the Jesuit increased so much, and he seemed\nso much agitated with convulsive movements, that Father Caboccini\nexclaimed: \"My dear father, collect yourself; do not let success\novercome you thus.\"\n\nWhilst the little one-eyed man was, attending to Rodin, Samuel carefully\nreplaced the securities in the iron casket. Thanks to his unconquerable\nenergy, and to the joy he felt at seeing himself so near the term of his\nlabors, Rodin mastered this attack of weakness, and drawing himself up,\ncalm and proud, he said to Caboccini: \"It is nothing. I did not survive\nthe cholera to die of joy on the first of June.\"\n\nAnd, though still frightfully pale, the countenance of the Jesuit shone\nwith audacious confidence. But now, when Rodin appeared to be quite\nrecovered, Father Caboccini seemed suddenly transformed. Though short,\nfat, and one-eyed, his features assumed on the instant so firm, harsh,\nand commanding an expression, that Rodin recoiled a step as he looked at\nhim. Then Father Caboccini, drawing a paper from his pocket, kissed it\nrespectfully, glanced sternly at Rodin, and read as follows, in a severe\nand menacing tone:\n\n\"'On receipt of the present rescript, the Reverend Father Rodin will\ndeliver up all his powers to the Reverend Father Caboccini, who is\nalone commissioned, with the Reverend Father d'Aigrigny, to receive the\ninheritance of the Rennepont family, if, in His eternal justice,\nthe Lord should restore this property, of which our Company has been\nwronged.\n\n\"'Moreover, on receipt of the present rescript, the Reverend Father\nRodin, in charge of a person to be named by the Reverend Father\nCaboccini, shall be conveyed to our house in the Town of Laval, to be\nkept in strict seclusion in his cell until further orders.'\"\n\nThen Father Caboccini handed the rescript to Rodin, that the latter\nmight read the signature of the General of the Company. Samuel, greatly\ninterested by this scene, drew a few steps nearer, leaving the casket\nhalf-open. Suddenly, Rodin burst into a loud laugh--a laugh of joy,\ncontempt and triumph, impossible to describe. Father Caboccini looked\nat him with angry astonishment; when Rodin, growing still more imperious\nand haughty, and with an air of more sovereign disdain than ever, pushed\naside the paper with the back of his dirty hand and said: \"What is the\ndate of that scribble?\"\n\n\"The eleventh of May,\" answered Father Caboccini in amazement.\n\n\"Here is a brief, that I received last night from Rome, under date of\nthe eighteenth. It informs me that I am appointed GENERAL OF THE ORDER.\nRead!\"\n\nFather Caboccini took the paper, read it, and remained thunderstruck.\nThen, returning it humbly to Rodin, he respectfully bent his knee before\nhim. Thus seemed the ambitious views of Rodin accomplished. In spite of\nthe hatred and suspicion of that party, of which Cardinal Malipieri was\nthe representative and the chief, Rodin, by address and craft, audacity\nand persuasion, and in consequence of the high esteem in which his\npartisans at Rome held his rare capacity, had succeeded in deposing his\nGeneral, and in procuring his own elevation to that eminent post. Now,\naccording to his calculation, aided by the millions he was about to\npossess, it would be but one step from that post to the pontifical\nthrone. A mute witness of this scene, Samuel smiled also with an air of\ntriumph, as he closed the casket by means of the spring known only to\nhimself. That metallic sound recalled Rodin from the heights of his\nmad ambition to the realities of life, and he said to Samuel in a sharp\nvoice: \"You have heard? These millions must be delivered to me alone.\"\n\nHe extended his hands eagerly and impatiently towards the casket, as\nif he would have taken possession of it, before the arrival of the\nmagistrate. Then Samuel in his turn seemed transfigured, and, folding\nhis arms upon his breast, and drawing up his aged form to its full\nheight, he assumed a threatening and imposing air. His eyes flashed with\nindignation, and he said in a solemn tone: \"This fortune--at first the\nhumble remains of the inheritance of the most noble of men, whom the\nplots of the sons of Loyola drove to suicide--this fortune, which has\nsince become royal in amount, thanks to the sacred probity of three\ngenerations of faithful servants--this fortune shall never be the reward\nof falsehood, hypocrisy and murder. No! the eternal justice of heaven\nwill not allow it.\"\n\n\"On murder? what do you mean, sir?\" asked Rodin, boldly.\n\nSamuel made no answer. He stamped his foot, and extended his arm slowly\ntowards the extremity of the apartment. Then Rodin and Father Caboccini\nbeheld an awful spectacle. The draperies on the wall were drawn aside,\nas if by an invisible hand. Round a funeral vault, faintly illumined-by\nthe bluish light of a silver lamp, six dead bodies were ranged\nupon black biers, dressed in long black robes. They were: Jacques\nRennepont--Francois Hardy--Rose and Blanche Simon--Adrienne and Djalma.\nThey appeared to be asleep. Their eyelids were closed, their hands\ncrossed over their breasts. Father Caboccini, trembling in every limb,\nmade the sign of the cross, and retreating to the opposite wall, buried\nhis face in his hands. Rodin on the contrary, with agitated countenance,\nstaring eyes, and hair standing on end, yielding to an invincible\nattraction, advanced towards those inanimate forms. One would have said\nthat these last of the Renneponts had only just expired. They seemed to\nbe in the first hour of the eternal sleep.(44)\n\n\"Behold those whom thou host slain!\" cried Samuel, in a voice broken\nwith sobs. \"Yea! your detestable plots caused their death--and, as they\nfell one by one, it was my pious care to obtain possession of their\npoor remains, that they may all repose in the same sepulchre.\nOh!--cursed--cursed--cursed--be thou who has killed them! But their\nspoils shall escape thy murderous hands.\"\n\nRodin, still drawn forward in spite of himself, had approached the\nfuneral couch of Djalma. Surmounting his first alarm, the Jesuit, to\nassure himself that he was not the sport of frightful dream, ventured\nto touch the hands of the Asiatic--and found that they were damp and\npliant, though cold as ice.\n\nThe Jesuit drew back in horror. For some seconds, he trembled\nconvulsively. But, his first amazement over, reflection returned, and,\nwith reflection came that invincible energy, that infernal obstinacy of\ncharacter, that gave him so much power. Steadying himself on his legs,\ndrawing his hand across his brow, raising his head, moistening his lips\ntwo or three times before he spoke--for his throat and mouth grew\never drier and hotter, without his being able to explain the cause--he\nsucceeded in giving to his features an imperious and ironical\nexpression, and, turning towards Samuel, who wept in silence, he said to\nhim, in a hoarse, guttural voice: \"I need not show you the certificates\nof their death. There they are in person.\" And he pointed with his bony\nhand to the six dead bodies.\n\nAt these words of his General, Father Caboccini again made the sign of\nthe cross, as if he had seen a fiend.\n\n\"Oh, my God!\" cried Samuel; \"Thou hast quite abandoned this man. With\nwhat a calm look he contemplates his victims!\"\n\n\"Come, sir!\" said Rodin, with a horrid smile; \"this is a natural waxwork\nexhibition, that is all. My calmness proves my innocence--and we had\nbest come at once to business. I have an appointment at two o'clock. So\nlet us carry down this casket.\"\n\nHe advanced towards the marble slab. Seized with indignation and horror,\nSamuel threw himself before him, and, pressing with all his might on a\nknob in the lid of the casket--a knob which yielded to the pressure--he\nexclaimed: \"Since your infernal soul is incapable of remorse, it may\nperhaps be shaken by disappointed avarice.\"\n\n\"What does he say?\" cried Rodin. \"What is he doing?\"\n\n\"Look!\" said Samuel, in his turn assuming an air of savage triumph. \"I\ntold you, that the spoils of your victims should escape your murderous\nhands.\"\n\nHardly had he uttered these words, before through the open-work of the\niron casket rose a light cloud of smoke, and an odor as of burnt paper\nspread itself through the room. Rodin understood it instantly. \"Fire!\"\nhe exclaimed, as he rushed forward to seize the casket. It had been made\nfast to the heavy marble slab.\n\n\"Yes, fire,\" said Samuel. \"In a few minutes, of that immense treasure\nthere will remain nothing but ashes. And better so, than that it should\nbelong to you or yours. This treasure is not mine, and it only remains\nfor me to destroy it--since Gabriel de Rennepont will be faithful to the\noath he has taken.\"\n\n\"Help! water! water!\" cried Rodin, as he covered the casket with his\nbody, trying in vain to extinguish the flames, which, fanned by the\ncurrent of air, now issued from the thousand apertures in the lid; but\nsoon the intensity of the fire diminished, a few threads of bluish smoke\nalone mounted upwards--and then, all was extinct.\n\nThe work was done! Breathless and faint, Rodin leaned against the marble\nslab. For the first time in his life, he wept; large tears of rage\nrolled down his cadaverous cheeks. But suddenly, dreadful pains, at\nfirst dull, but gradually augmenting in intensity, seized on him with so\nmuch fury, though he employed all his energy to struggle against them,\nthat he fell on his knees, and, pressing his two hands to his chest,\nmurmured with an attempt to smile: \"It is nothing. Do not be alarmed. A\nfew spasms--that is all. The treasure is destroyed--but I remain General\nof the Order. Oh! I suffer. What a furnace!\" he added, writhing in\nagony. \"Since I entered this cursed house, I know not what ails me.\nIf--I had not lived on roots--water--bread--which I go myself to buy--I\nshould think--I was poisoned--for I triumph--and Cardinal Malipieri has\nlong arms. Yes--I still triumph--for I will not die--this time no more\nthan the other--I will not die!\"\n\nThen, as he stretched out his arms convulsively, he continued: \"It is\nfire that devours my entrails. No doubt, they have tried to poison me.\nBut when? but how?\"\n\nAfter another pause, Rodin again cried out, in a stifled voice: \"Help!\nhelp me, you that stand looking on--like, spectres!--Help me, I say!\"\n\nHorror-struck at this dreadful agony, Samuel and Father Caboccini were\nunable to stir.\n\n\"Help!\" repeated Rodin, in a tone of strangulation, \"This poison is\nhorrible.--But how--\" Then, with a terrific cry of rage, as if a sudden\nidea had struck him, he exclaimed: \"Ha! Faringhea--this morning--the\nholy water--he knows such subtle poisons. Yes--it is he--he had an\ninterview with Malipieri. The demon!--Oh! it was well played. The\nBorgias are still the same. Oh! it is all over. I die. They will regret\nme, the fools!--Oh! hell! hell! The Church knows not its loss--but I\nburn--help!\"\n\nThey came to his assistance. Quick steps were heard upon the stairs, and\nDr. Baleinier, followed by the Princess de Saint-Dizier, appeared at the\nentrance of the Hall of Mourning. The princess had learned vaguely that\nmorning the death of Father d'Aigrigny, and had come to question Rodin\nupon the subject. When this woman, entering the room, suddenly saw the\nfrightful spectacle that offered itself to her view--when she saw\nRodin writhing in horrible agony, and, further on, by the light of the\nsepulchral lamp, those six corpses--and, amongst them, her own niece,\nand the two orphans whom she had sent to meet their death--she stood\npetrified with horror, and her reason was unable to withstand the shock.\nShe looked slowly round her, and then raised her arms on high, and burst\ninto a wild fit of laughter. She had gone mad. Whilst Dr. Baleinier\nsupported the head of Rodin, who expired in his arms, Faringhea appeared\nat the door; remaining in the shade, he cast a ferocious glance at\nthe corpse of the Jesuit. \"He would have made himself the chief of the\nCompany of Jesus, to destroy it,\" said he; \"with me, the Company of\nJesus stands in the place of Bowanee. I have obeyed the cardinal!\"\n\n(44) Should this appear incredible, we would remind the reader of\nthe marvellous discoveries in the art of embalming--particularly Dr.\nGannal's.\n\n\n\n\nEPILOGUE.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I. FOUR YEARS AFTER.\n\nFour years had elapsed, since the events we have just related,\nwhen Gabriel de Rennepont wrote the following letter to Abbe Joseph\nCharpentier, curate of the Parish of Saint-Aubin, a hamlet of Sologne:\n\n\"Springwater Farm, \"June 2d, 1836.\n\n\"Intending to write to you yesterday, my bear Joseph, I seated myself\nat the little old black table, that you will remember well. My window\nlooks, you know, upon the farmyard, and I can see all that takes place\nthere. These are grave preliminaries, my friend, but I am coming to the\npoint. I had just taken my seat at the table, when, looking from the\nwindow, this is what I saw. You, my dear Joseph, who can draw so well,\nshould have been there to have sketched the charming scene. The sun was\nsinking, the sky serene, the air warm and balmy with the breath of the\nhawthorn, which, flowering by the side of a little rivulet, forms the\nedge which borders the yard. Under the large pear-tree, close to the\nwall of the barn, sat upon the stone bench my adopted father, Dagobert,\nthat brave and honest soldier whom you love so much. He appeared\nthoughtful, his white head was bowed on his bosom; with absent mind,\nhe patted old Spoil-sport, whose intelligent face was resting on his\nmaster's knees. By his side was his wife, my dear adopted mother,\noccupied with her sewing; and near them, on a stool, sat Angela,\nthe wife of Agricola, nursing her last-born child, while the gentle\nMagdalen, with the eldest boy in her lap, was occupied in teaching him\nthe letters of the alphabet. Agricola had just returned from the fields,\nand was beginning to unyoke his cattle, when, struck, like me, no doubt,\nwith this picture, he stood gazing on it for a moment, with his hand\nstill leaning on the yoke, beneath which bent submissive the broad\nforeheads of his two large black oxen. I cannot express to you, my\nfriend, the enchanting repose of this picture, lighted by the last rays\nof the sun, here and there broken by the thick foliage. What various\nand touching types! The venerable face of the soldier--the good, loving\ncountenance of my adopted mother--the fresh beauty of Angela, smiling\non her little child--the soft melancholy of the hunchback, now and\nthen pressing her lips to the fair, laughing cheek of Agricola's eldest\nson--and then Agricola himself, in his manly beauty, which seems to\nreflect so well the valor and honesty of his heart! Oh, my Friend!\nin contemplating this assemblage of good, devoted, noble, and loving\nbeings, so dear to each other, living retired in a little farm of our\npoor Sologne, my heart rose towards heaven with a feeling of ineffable\ngratitude. This peace of the family circle--this clear evening, with the\nperfume of the woods and wild flowers wafted on the breeze--this deep\nsilence, only broken by the murmur of the neighboring rill--all affected\nme with one of these passing fits of vague and sweet emotion, which\none feels but cannot express. You well know it, my friend, who, in your\nsolitary walks, in the midst of your immense plains of flowering heath,\nsurrounded by forests of fir trees, often feel your eyes grow moist,\nwithout being able to explain the cause of that sweet melancholy, which\nI, too, have often felt, during those glorious nights passed in the\nprofound solitudes of America.\n\n\"But, alas! a painful incident disturbed the serenity of the picture.\nSuddenly I heard Dagobert's wife say to him: 'My dear--you are weeping!'\n\n\"At these words, Agricola, Angela, and Magdalen gathered round the\nsoldier. Anxiety was visible upon every face. Then, as he raised his\nhead abruptly, one could see two large tears trickle down his cheek to\nhis white moustache. 'It is nothing, my children,' said he, in a voice\nof emotion 'it is nothing. Only, to-day is the first of June--and this\nday four years--' He could not complete the sentence; and, as he raised\nhis hands to his eyes, to brush away the tears, we saw that he held\nbetween his fingers a little bronze chain, with a medal suspended to it.\nThat is his dearest relic. Four years ago, almost dying with despair at\nthe loss of the two angels, of whom I have so often spoken to you, my\nfriend, he took from the neck of Marshal Simon, brought home dead from a\nfatal duel, this chain and medal which his children had so long worn.\nI went down instantly, as you may suppose, to endeavor to soothe the\npainful remembrances of this excellent man; gradually, he grew calmer,\nand the evening was passed in a pious and quiet sadness.\n\n\"You cannot imagine, my friend, when I returned to my chamber, what\ncruel thoughts came to my mind, as I recalled those past events, from\nwhich I generally turn away with fear and horror. Then I saw once more\nthe victims of those terrible and mysterious plots, the awful depths of\nwhich have never been penetrated thanks to the death of Father d'A.\nand Father R., and the incurable madness of Madame de St.-D., the three\nauthors or accomplices of the dreadful deeds. The calamities occasioned\nby them are irreparable; for those who were thus sacrificed to a\ncriminal ambition, would have been the pride of humanity by the good\nthey would have done. Ah, my friend! if you had known those noble\nhearts; if you had known the projects of splendid charity, formed by\nthat young lady, whose heart was so generous, whose mind so elevated,\nwhose soul so great! On the eve of her death, as a kind of prelude to\nher magnificent designs, after a conversation, the subject of which I\nmust keep secret, even from you, she put into my hands a considerable\nsum, saying, with her usual grace and goodness: 'I have been threatened\nwith ruin, and it might perhaps come. What I now confide to you will at\nleast be safe--safe--for those who suffer. Give much--give freely--make\nas many happy hearts as you can. My happiness shall have a royal\ninauguration!!' I do not know whether I ever told you, my friend,\nthat, after those fatal events, seeing Dagobert and his wife reduced to\nmisery, poor 'Mother Bunch' hardly able to earn a wretched subsistence,\nAgricola soon to become a father, and myself deprived of my curacy, and\nsuspended by my bishop, for having given religious consolations to\na Protestant, and offered up prayers at the tomb of an unfortunate\nsuicide--I considered myself justified in employing a small portion of\nthe sum intrusted to me by Mdlle. de Cardoville in the purchase of this\nfarm in Dagobert's name.\n\n\"Yes, my friend, such is the origin of my fortune. The farmer to\nwhom these few acres formerly belonged, gave us the rudiments of our\nagricultural education, and common sense, and the study of a few good\npractical books, completed it. From an excellent workman, Agricola has\nbecome an equally excellent husbandman; I have tried to imitate him, and\nhave put my hand also to the plough there is no derogation in it, for\nthe labor which provides food for man is thrice hallowed, and it is\ntruly to serve and glorify God, to cultivate and enrich the earth He has\ncreated. Dagobert, when his first grief was a little appeased, seemed to\ngather new vigor from this healthy life of the fields; and, during his\nexile in Siberia, he had already learned to till the ground. Finally, my\ndear adopted mother and sister, and Agricola's good wife, have divided\nbetween them the household cares; and God has blessed this little colony\nof people, who, alas! have been sorely tried by misfortune, and who now\nonly ask of toil and solitude, a quite, laborious, innocent life, and\noblivion of great sorrows. Sometimes, in our winter evenings, you have\nbeen able to appreciate the delicate and charming mind of the gentle\n'Mother Bunch,' the rare poetical imagination of Agricola, the\ntenderness of his mother, the good sense of his father, the exquisite\nnatural grace of Angela. Tell me, my friend, was it possible to unite\nmore elements of domestic happiness? What long evenings have we passed\nround the fire of crackling wood, reading, or commenting on a few\nimmortal works, which always warm the heart, and enlarge the soul!\nWhat sweet talk have we had, prolonged far into the night! And then\nAgricola's pastorals, and the timid literary confidences of Magdalen!\nAnd the fresh, clear voice of Angela, joined to the deep manly tones of\nAgricola, in songs of simple melody! And the old stories of Dagobert,\nso energetic and picturesque in their warlike spirit! And the adorable\ngayety of the children, in their sports with good old Spoil-sport,\nwho rather lends himself to their play than takes part in it--for the\nfaithful, intelligent creature seems always to be looking for somebody,\nas Dagobert says--and he is right. Yes, the dog also regrets those two\nangels, of whom he was the devoted guardian!\n\n\"Do not think, my friend, that our happiness makes us forgetful. No, no;\nnot a day passes without our repeating, with pious and tender respect,\nthose names so dear to our heart. And these painful memories, hovering\nforever about us, give to our calm and happy existence that shade of\nmild seriousness which struck you so much. No doubt, my friend, this\nkind of life, bounded by the family circle, and not extending beyond,\nfor the happiness or improvement of our brethren, may be set down as\nselfish; but, alas! we have not the means--and though the poor man\nalways finds a place at our frugal table, and shelter beneath our roof,\nwe must renounce all great projects of fraternal action. The little\nrevenue of our farm just suffices to supply our wants. Alas! when I\nthink over it, notwithstanding a momentary regret, I cannot blame my\nresolution to keep faithfully my sacred oath, and to renounce that great\ninheritance, which, alas! had become immense by the death of my kindred.\nYes, I believe I performed a duty, when I begged the guardian of that\ntreasure to reduce it to ashes, rather than let it fall into the hands\nof people, who would have made an execrable use of it, or to perjure\nmyself by disputing a donation which I had granted freely, voluntarily,\nsincerely. And yet, when I picture to myself the realization of the\nmagnificent views of--my ancestor--an admirable Utopia, only possible\nwith immense resources--and which Mdlle. de Cardoville hoped to carry\ninto execution, with the aid of M. Francois Hardy, of Prince Djalma,\nof Marshal Simon and his daughters, and of myself--when I think of the\ndazzling focus of living forces, which such an association would have\nbeen, and of the immense influence it might have had on the happiness of\nthe whole human race--my indignation and horror, as an honest man and\na Christian, are excited against that abominable Company, whose black\nplots nipped in their bud all those great hopes, which promised so much\nfor futurity. What remains now of all these splendid projects? Seven\ntombs. For my grave also is dug in that mausoleum, which Samuel has\nerected on the site of the house in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Francois, and of\nwhich he remains the keeper--faithful to the end!\n\n\"I had written thus far, my friend, when I received your letter. So,\nafter having forbidden you to see me, your bishop now orders that you\nshall cease to correspond with me. Your touching, painful regrets\nhave deeply moved me, my friend. Often have we talked together of\necclesiastical discipline, and of the absolute power of the bishops\nover, us, the poor working clergy, left to their mercy without remedy.\nIt is painful, but it is the law of the church, my friend, and you have\nsworn to observe it. Submit as I have submitted. Every engagement is\nbinding upon the man of honor! My poor, dear Joseph! would that you had\nthe compensations which remained to me, after the rupture of ties that I\nso much value. But I know too well what you must feel--I cannot go on\nI find it impossible to continue this letter, I might be bitter against\nthose whose orders we are bound to respect. Since it must be so, this\nletter shall be my last. Farewell, my friend! farewell forever. My heart\nis almost broken.\n\n\"GABRIEL DE RENNEPONT.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II. THE REDEMPTION.\n\nDay was about to dawn. A rosy light, almost imperceptible, began to\nglimmer in the east; but the stars still shone, sparkling with radiance,\nupon the azure of the zenith. The birds awoke beneath the fresh foliage\nof the great woods; and, with isolated warblings, sang the prelude of\ntheir morning-concert. A light mist rose from the high grass, bathed in\nnocturnal dew, while the calm and limpid waters of a vast lake reflected\nthe whitening dawn in their deep, blue mirror. Everything promised one\nof those warm and joyous days, that belong to the opening of summer.\n\nHalf-way up the slope of a hill, facing the east, a tuft of old, moss\ngrown willows, whose rugged bark disappeared beneath the climbing\nbranches of wild honeysuckle and harebells, formed a natural harbor;\nand on their gnarled and enormous roots, covered with thick moss, were\nseated a man and a woman, whose white hair, deep wrinkles, and bending\nfigures, announced extreme old age. And yet this woman had only lately\nbeen young and beautiful, with long black hair overshadowing her pale\nforehead. And yet this man had, a short time ago, been still in the\nvigor of his age. From the spot where this man and woman were reposing,\ncould be seen the valley, the lake, the woods, and, soaring above the\nwoods, the blue summit of a high mountain, from behind which the sun was\nabout to rise. This picture, half veiled by the pale transparency of the\nmorning twilight, was pleasing, melancholy, and solemn.\n\n\"Oh, my sister!\" said the old man to the woman, who was reposing with\nhim beneath the rustic arbor formed by the tuft of willow-trees; \"oh,\nmy sister! how many times during the centuries in which the hand of the\nLord carried us onward, and, separated from each other, we traversed the\nworld from pole to pole--how many times we have witnessed this awakening\nof nature with a sentiment of incurable grief!--Alas! it was but another\nday of wandering--another useless day added to our life, since it\nbrought death no nearer!\"\n\n\"But now what happiness, oh, my brother! since the Lord has had mercy on\nus, and, with us, as with all other creatures, every returning day is a\nstep nearer to the grave. Glory to Him! yes, glory!\"\n\n\"Glory to Him, my sister! for since yesterday, when we again met, I feel\nthat indescribable languor which announces the approach of death.\"\n\n\"Like you, my brother, I feel my strength, already shaken, passing away\nin a sweet exhaustion. Doubtless, the term of our life approaches. The\nwrath of the Lord is satisfied.\"\n\n\"Alas, my sister! doubtless also, the last of my doomed race, will, at\nthe same time, complete our redemption by his death; for the will of\nheaven is manifest, that I can only be pardoned, when the last of\nmy family shall have disappeared from the face of the earth. To him,\nholiest amongst the holiest--was reserved the favor of accomplishing\nthis end he who has done so much for the salvation of his brethren!\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, my brother! he who has suffered so much, and without\ncomplaining, drunk to the dregs the bitter cup of woe--he, the minister\nof the Lord, who has been his Master's image upon earth--he was fitted\nfor the last instrument of this redemption!\"\n\n\"Yes, for I feel, my sister, that, at this hour, the last of my race,\ntouching victim of slow persecution, is on the point of resigning his\nangelic soul to God. Thus, even to the end, have I been fatal to\nmy doomed family. Lord, if Thy mercy is great, Thy anger is great\nlikewise!\"\n\n\"Courage and hope, my brother! Think how after the expiration cometh\npardon, and pardon is followed by a blessing. The Lord punished, in\nyou and your posterity, the artisan rendered wicked by misfortune and\ninjustice. He said to you: 'Go on! without truce or rest--and your labor\nshall be vain--and every evening, throwing yourself on the hard ground,\nyou shall be no nearer to the end of your eternal course!'--And so, for\ncenturies, men without pity have said to the artisan: 'Work! work! work!\nwithout truce or rest--and your labor shall be fruitful for all others,\nbut fruitless for yourself--and every evening, throwing yourself on the\nhard ground, you shall be no nearer to happiness and repose; and your\nwages shall only suffice to keep you alive in pain, privation, and\npoverty!'\"\n\n\"Alas! alas! will it be always thus?\"\n\n\"No, no, my brother! and instead of weeping over your lost race, rejoice\nfor them--since their death was needed for your redemption, and in\nredeeming you, heaven will redeem the artisan, cursed and feared by\nthose--who have laid on him the iron yoke. Yes, my brother! the time\ndraweth nigh--heaven's mercy will not stop with us alone. Yes, I tell\nyou; in us will be rescued both the WOMAN and the SLAVE of these\nmodern ages. The trial has been hard, brother; it has lasted throughout\neighteen centuries; but it will last no longer. Look, my brother!\nsee that rosy light, there in the east, gradually spreading over the\nfirmament! Thus will rise the sun of the new emancipation--peaceful,\nholy, great, salutary, fruitful, filling the world with light and\nvivifying heat, like the day-star that will soon appear in heaven!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, my sister! I feel it. Your words are prophetic. We\nshall close our heavy eyes just as we see the aurora of the day of\ndeliverance--a fair, a splendid day, like that which is about to dawn.\nHenceforth I will only shed tears of pride and glory for those of my\nrace, who have died the martyrs of humanity, sacrificed by humanity's\neternal enemies--for the true ancestors of the sacrilegious wretches,\nwho blaspheme the name of Jesus by giving it to their Company, were the\nfalse Scribes and Pharisees, whom the Saviour cursed!--Yes! glory to the\ndescendants of my family, who have been the last martyrs offered up by\nthe accomplices of all slavery and all despotism, the pitiless enemies\nof those who wish to think, and not to suffer in silence--of those that\nwould feign enjoy, as children of heaven, the gifts which the Creator\nhas bestowed upon all the human family. Yes, the day approaches--the end\nof the reign of our modern Pharisees--the false priests, who lend their\nsacrilegious aid to the merciless selfishness of the strong against the\nweak, by daring to maintain in the face of the exhaustless treasures\nof the creation, that God has made man for tears, and sorrow, and\nsuffering--the false priests, who are the agents of all oppression, and\nwould bow to the earth, in brutish and hopeless humiliation, the brow of\nevery creature. No, no! let man lift his head proudly! God made him to\nbe noble and intelligent free and happy.\"\n\n\"Oh, my brother! your words also are prophetic. Yes, yes! the dawn of\nthat bright day approaches, even as the dawn of the natural day which,\nby the mercy of God, will be our last on earth.\"\n\n\"The last, my sister; for a strange weakness creeps over me, all matter\nseems dissolving in me, and my soul aspires to mount to heaven.\"\n\n\"Mine eyes are growing dim, brother; I can scarcely see that light in\nthe east, which lately appeared so red.\"\n\n\"Sister! it is through a confused vapor that I now see the valley--the\nlake--the woods. My strength fails me.\"\n\n\"Blessed be God, brother! the moment of eternal rest is at hand.\"\n\n\"Yes, it comes, my sister! the sweetness of the everlasting sleep takes\npossession of my senses.\"\n\n\"Oh, happiness! I am dying--\"\n\n\"These eyes are closing, sister!\"\n\n\"We are then forgiven!\"\n\n\"Forgiven!\"\n\n\"Oh, my brother! may this Divine redemption extend to all those who\nsuffer upon the earth!\"\n\n\"Die in peace, my sister! The great day has dawned--the sun is\nrising--behold!\"\n\n\"Blessed be God!\"\n\n\"Blessed be God!\"\n\nAnd at the moment when those two voices ceased forever, the sun rose\nradiant and dazzling, and deluged the valley with its beams.\n\nTo M. C--P--.\n\nTo you, my friend, I dedicated this book. To inscribe it with your name,\nwas to assume an engagement that, in the absence of talent, it should\nbe at least conscientious, sincere, and of a salutary influence, however\nlimited. My object is attained. Some select hearts, like yours, my\nfriend, have put into practice the legitimate association of labor,\ncapital, and intelligence, and have already granted to their workmen a\nproportionate share in the profits of their industry. Others have\nlaid the foundations of Common Dwelling-houses, and one of the chief\ncapitalists of Hamburg has favored me with his views respecting an\nestablishment of this kind, on the most gigantic scale.\n\nAs for the dispersion of the members of the Company of Jesus, I have\ntaken less part in it than other enemies of the detestable doctrines of\nLoyola, whose influence and authority were far greater than mine.\n\nAdieu, my friend. I could have wished this work more worthy of you; but\nyou are indulgent, and will at least give me credit for the intentions\nwhich dictated it.\n\nBelieve me, Yours truly,\n\nEUGENE SUE.\n\nParis, 25th August, 1845. Paris, 25th August, 1845.","title":"The Wandering Jew \u2014 Complete","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":521458}