III
THE CASE OF JEAN LOUIS
"Monsieur," continued the young girl, addressing Serge Renine, "it waswhile I was spending the Easter holidays at Nice with my father that I madethe acquaintance of Jean Louis d'Imbleval...."
Renine interrupted her:
"Excuse me, mademoiselle, but just now you spoke of this young man as JeanLouis Vaurois."
"That's his name also," she said.
"Has he two names then?"
"I don't know ... I don't know anything about it," she said, with someembarrassment, "and that is why, by Hortense's advice, I came to ask foryour help."
This conversation was taking place in Renine's flat on the BoulevardHaussmann, to which Hortense had brought her friend Genevieve Aymard, aslender, pretty little creature with a face over-shadowed by an expressionof the greatest melancholy.
"Renine will be successful, take my word for it, Genevieve. You will,Renine, won't you?"
"Please tell me the rest of the story, mademoiselle," he said.
Genevieve continued:
"I was already engaged at the time to a man whom I loathe and detest. Myfather was trying to force me to marry him and is still trying to do so.Jean Louis and I felt the keenest sympathy for each other, a sympathy thatsoon developed into a profound and passionate affection which, I can assureyou, was equally sincere on both sides. On my return to Paris, Jean Louis,who lives in the country with his mother and his aunt, took rooms in ourpart of the town; and, as I am allowed to go out by myself, we used to seeeach other daily. I need not tell you that we were engaged to be married. Itold my father so. And this is what he said: 'I don't particularly like thefellow. But, whether it's he or another, what I want is that you should getmarried. So let him come and ask for your hand. If not, you must do as Isay.' In the middle of June, Jean Louis went home to arrange matters withhis mother and aunt. I received some passionate letters; and then justthese few words:
'There are too many obstacles in the way of our happiness. I give up. I am mad with despair. I love you more than ever. Good-bye and forgive me.'
"Since then, I have received nothing: no reply to my letters andtelegrams."
"Perhaps he has fallen in love with somebody else?" asked Renine. "Or theremay be some old connection which he is unable to shake off."
Genevieve shook her head:
"Monsieur, believe me, if our engagement had been broken off for anordinary reason, I should not have allowed Hortense to trouble you. But itis something quite different, I am absolutely convinced. There's a mysteryin Jean Louis' life, or rather an endless number of mysteries which hamperand pursue him. I never saw such distress in a human face; and, fromthe first moment of our meeting, I was conscious in him of a grief andmelancholy which have always persisted, even at times when he was givinghimself to our love with the greatest confidence."
"But your impression must have been confirmed by minor details, by thingswhich happened to strike you as peculiar?"
"I don't quite know what to say."
"These two names, for instance?"
"Yes, there was certainly that."
"By what name did he introduce himself to you?"
"Jean Louis d'Imbleval."
"But Jean Louis Vaurois?"
"That's what my father calls him."
"Why?"
"Because that was how he was introduced to my father, at Nice, by agentleman who knew him. Besides, he carries visiting-cards which describehim under either name."
"Have you never questioned him on this point?"
"Yes, I have, twice. The first time, he said that his aunt's name wasVaurois and his mother's d'Imbleval."
"And the second time?"
"He told me the contrary: he spoke of his mother as Vaurois and of his auntas d'Imbleval. I pointed this out. He coloured up and I thought it betternot to question him any further."
"Does he live far from Paris?"
"Right down in Brittany: at the Manoir d'Elseven, five miles from Carhaix."
Renine rose and asked the girl, seriously:
"Are you quite certain that he loves you, mademoiselle?"
"I am certain of it and I know too that he represents all my life and allmy happiness. He alone can save me. If he can't, then I shall be marriedin a week's time to a man whom I hate. I have promised my father; and thebanns have been published."
"We shall leave for Carhaix, Madame Daniel and I, this evening," saidRenine.
That evening he and Hortense took the train for Brittany. They reachedCarhaix at ten o'clock in the morning; and, after lunch, at half pasttwelve o'clock they stepped into a car borrowed from a leading resident ofthe district.
"You're looking a little pale, my dear," said Renine, with a laugh, as theyalighted by the gate of the garden at Elseven.
"I'm very fond of Genevieve," she said. "She's the only friend I have. AndI'm feeling frightened."
He called her attention to the fact that the central gate was flanked bytwo wickets bearing the names of Madame d'Imbleval and Madame Vauroisrespectively. Each of these wickets opened on a narrow path which ran amongthe shrubberies of box and aucuba to the left and right of the main avenue.The avenue itself led to an old manor-house, long, low and picturesque, butprovided with two clumsily-built, ugly wings, each in a different style ofarchitecture and each forming the destination of one of the side-paths.Madame d'Imbleval evidently lived on the left and Madame Vaurois on theright.
Hortense and Renine listened. Shrill, hasty voices were disputing insidethe house. The sound came through one of the windows of the ground-floor,which was level with the garden and covered throughout its length with redcreepers and white roses.
"We can't go any farther," said Hortense. "It would be indiscreet."
"All the more reason," whispered Renine. "Look here: if we walk straightahead, we shan't be seen by the people who are quarrelling."
The sounds of conflict were by no means abating; and, when they reached thewindow next to the front-door, through the roses and creepers they couldboth see and hear two old ladies shrieking at the tops of their voices andshaking their fists at each other.
The women were standing in the foreground, in a large dining-room wherethe table was not yet cleared; and at the farther side of the table sat ayoung man, doubtless Jean Louis himself, smoking his pipe and reading anewspaper, without appearing to trouble about the two old harridans.
One of these, a thin, tall woman, was wearing a purple silk dress; and herhair was dressed in a mass of curls much too yellow for the ravaged facearound which they tumbled. The other, who was still thinner, but quiteshort, was bustling round the room in a cotton dressing-gown and displayeda red, painted face blazing with anger:
"A baggage, that's what you are!" she yelped. "The wickedest woman in theworld and a thief into the bargain!"
"I, a thief!" screamed the other.
"What about that business with the ducks at ten francs apiece: don't youcall that thieving?"
"Hold your tongue, you low creature! Who stole the fifty-franc note from mydressing-table? Lord, that I should have to live with such a wretch!"
The other started with fury at the outrage and, addressing the young man,cried:
"Jean, are you going to sit there and let me be insulted by your hussy of ad'Imbleval?"
And the tall one retorted, furiously:
"Hussy! Do you hear that, Louis? Look at her, your Vaurois! She's got theairs of a superannuated barmaid! Make her stop, can't you?"
Suddenly Jean Louis banged his fist upon the table, making the plates anddishes jump, and shouted:
"Be quiet, both of you, you old lunatics!"
They turned upon him at once and loaded him with abuse:
"Coward!... Hypocrite!... Liar!... A pretty sort of son you are!... The sonof a slut and not much better yourself!..."
The insults rained down upon him. He stopped his ears with his fingers andwrithed as he sat at table like a man who has lost all patience and hasneed to restrain him
self lest he should fall upon his enemy.
Renine whispered:
"Now's the time to go in."
"In among all those infuriated people?" protested Hortense.
"Exactly. We shall see them better with their masks off."
And, with a determined step, he walked to the door, opened it and enteredthe room, followed by Hortense.
His advent gave rise to a feeling of stupefaction. The two women stoppedyelling, but were still scarlet in the face and trembling with rage. JeanLouis, who was very pale, stood up.
Profiting by the general confusion, Renine said briskly:
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Prince Renine. This is Madame Daniel.We are friends of Mlle. Genevieve Aymard and we have come in her name. Ihave a letter from her addressed to you, monsieur."
Jean Louis, already disconcerted by the newcomers' arrival, lostcountenance entirely on hearing the name of Genevieve. Without quiteknowing what he was saying and with the intention of responding to Renine'scourteous behaviour, he tried in his turn to introduce the two ladies andlet fall the astounding words:
"My mother, Madame d'Imbleval; my mother, Madame Vaurois."
For some time no one spoke. Renine bowed. Hortense did not know with whomshe should shake hands, with Madame d'Imbleval, the mother, or with MadameVaurois, the mother. But what happened was that Madame d'Imbleval andMadame Vaurois both at the same time attempted to snatch the letter whichRenine was holding out to Jean Louis, while both at the same time mumbled:
"Mlle. Aymard!... She has had the coolness ... she has had theaudacity...!"
Then Jean Louis, recovering his self-possession, laid hold of his motherd'Imbleval and pushed her out of the room by a door on the left and next ofhis mother Vaurois and pushed her out of the room by a door on the right.Then, returning to his two visitors, he opened the envelope and read, in anundertone:
"I am to be married in a week, Jean Louis. Come to my rescue, I beseech you. My friend Hortense and Prince Renine will help you to overcome the obstacles that baffle you. Trust them. I love you.
"GENEVIEVE."
He was a rather dull-looking young man, whose very swarthy, lean and bonyface certainly bore the expression of melancholy and distress described byGenevieve. Indeed, the marks of suffering were visible in all his harassedfeatures, as well as in his sad and anxious eyes.
He repeated Genevieve's name over and over again, while looking about himwith a distracted air. He seemed to be seeking a course of conduct.
He seemed on the point of offering an explanation but could find nothingto say. The sudden intervention had taken him at a disadvantage, like anunforseen attack which he did not know how to meet.
Renine felt that the adversary would capitulate at the first summons. Theman had been fighting so desperately during the last few months and hadsuffered so severely in the retirement and obstinate silence in which hehad taken refuge that he was not thinking of defending himself. Moreover,how could he do so, now that they had forced their way into the privacy ofhis odious existence?
"Take my word for it, monsieur," declared Renine, "that it is in your bestinterests to confide in us. We are Genevieve Aymard's friends. Do nothesitate to speak."
"I can hardly hesitate," he said, "after what you have just heard. This isthe life I lead, monsieur. I will tell you the whole secret, so that youmay tell it to Genevieve. She will then understand why I have not gone backto her ... and why I have not the right to do so."
He pushed a chair forward for Hortense. The two men sat down, and, withoutany need of further persuasion, rather as though he himself felt a certainrelief in unburdening himself, he said:
"You must not be surprised, monsieur, if I tell my story with a certainflippancy, for, as a matter of fact, it is a frankly comical story andcannot fail to make you laugh. Fate often amuses itself by playing theseimbecile tricks, these monstrous farces which seem as though they must havebeen invented by the brain of a madman or a drunkard. Judge for yourself.Twenty-seven years ago, the Manoir d'Elseven, which at that time consistedonly of the main building, was occupied by an old doctor who, to increasehis modest means, used to receive one or two paying guests. In this way,Madame d'Imbleval spent the summer here one year and Madame Vaurois thefollowing summer. Now these two ladies did not know each other. One of themwas married to a Breton of a merchant-vessel and the other to a commercialtraveller from the Vendee.
"It so happened that they lost their husbands at the same time, at a periodwhen each of them was expecting a baby. And, as they both lived in thecountry, at places some distance from any town, they wrote to the olddoctor that they intended to come to his house for their confinement....He agreed. They arrived almost on the same day, in the autumn. Two smallbedrooms were prepared for them, behind the room in which we are sitting.The doctor had engaged a nurse, who slept in this very room. Everythingwas perfectly satisfactory. The ladies were putting the finishing touchesto their baby-clothes and were getting on together splendidly. They weredetermined that their children should be boys and had chosen the names ofJean and Louis respectively.... One evening the doctor was called out to acase and drove off in his gig with the man-servant, saying that he wouldnot be back till next day. In her master's absence, a little girl whoserved as maid-of-all-work ran out to keep company with her sweetheart.These accidents destiny turned to account with diabolical malignity. Atabout midnight, Madame d'Imbleval was seized with the first pains. Thenurse, Mlle. Boussignol, had had some training as a midwife and did notlose her head. But, an hour later, Madame Vaurois' turn came; and thetragedy, or I might rather say the tragi-comedy, was enacted amid thescreams and moans of the two patients and the bewildered agitation of thenurse running from one to the other, bewailing her fate, opening the windowto call out for the doctor or falling on her knees to implore the aid ofProvidence.... Madame Vaurois was the first to bring a son into the world.Mlle. Boussignol hurriedly carried him in here, washed and tended him andlaid him in the cradle prepared for him.... But Madame d'Imbleval wasscreaming with pain; and the nurse had to attend to her while the newbornchild was yelling like a stuck pig and the terrified mother, unable to stirfrom her bed, fainted.... Add to this all the wretchedness of darkness anddisorder, the only lamp, without any oil, for the servant had neglected tofill it, the candles burning out, the moaning of the wind, the screechingof the owls, and you will understand that Mlle. Boussignol was scaredout of her wits. However, at five o'clock in the morning, after manytragic incidents, she came in here with the d'Imbleval baby, likewise aboy, washed and tended him, laid him in his cradle and went off to helpMadame Vaurois, who had come to herself and was crying out, while Madamed'Imbleval had fainted in her turn. And, when Mlle. Boussignol, havingsettled the two mothers, but half-crazed with fatigue, her brain in awhirl, returned to the new-born children, she realized with horror that shehad wrapped them in similar binders, thrust their feet into similar woolensocks and laid them both, side by side, _in the same cradle_, so thatit was impossible to tell Louis d'Imbleval from Jean Vaurois!... To makematters worse, when she lifted one of them out of the cradle, she foundthat his hands were cold as ice and that he had ceased to breathe. He wasdead. What was his name and what the survivor's?... Three hours later, thedoctor found the two women in a condition of frenzied delirium, while thenurse was dragging herself from one bed to the other, entreating the twomothers to forgive her. She held me out first to one, then to the other,to receive their caresses--for I was the surviving child--and they firstkissed me and then pushed me away; for, after all, who was I? The son ofthe widowed Madame d'Imbleval and the late merchant-captain or the son ofthe widowed Madame Vaurois and the late commercial traveller? There wasnot a clue by which they could tell.... The doctor begged each of the twomothers to sacrifice her rights, at least from the legal point of view,so that I might be called either Louis d'Imbleval or Jean Vaurois. Theyrefused absolutely. 'Why Jean Vaurois, if he's a d'Imbleval?' protested theone. 'Why Louis d'Imbleval, if he's a Vaurois?' retorted the othe
r. And Iwas registered under the name of Jean Louis, the son of an unknown fatherand mother."
Prince Renine had listened in silence. But Hortense, as the storyapproached its conclusion, had given way to a hilarity which she could nolonger restrain and suddenly, in spite of all her efforts, she burst intoa fit of the wildest laughter:
"Forgive me," she said, her eyes filled with tears, "do forgive me; it'stoo much for my nerves...."
"Don't apologize, madame," said the young man, gently, in a voice freefrom resentment. "I warned you that my story was laughable; I, better thanany one, know how absurd, how nonsensical it is. Yes, the whole thing isperfectly grotesque. But believe me when I tell you that it was no fun inreality. It seems a humorous situation and it remains humorous by the forceof circumstances; but it is also horrible. You can see that for yourself,can't you? The two mothers, neither of whom was certain of being a mother,but neither of whom was certain that she was not one, both clung to JeanLouis. He might be a stranger; on the other hand, he might be their ownflesh and blood. They loved him to excess and fought for him furiously.And, above all, they both came to hate each other with a deadly hatred.Differing completely in character and education and obliged to livetogether because neither was willing to forego the advantage of herpossible maternity, they lived the life of irreconcilable enemies who cannever lay their weapons aside.... I grew up in the midst of this hatred andhad it instilled into me by both of them. When my childish heart, hungeringfor affection, inclined me to one of them, the other would seek to inspireme with loathing and contempt for her. In this manor-house, which theybought on the old doctor's death and to which they added the two wings, Iwas the involuntary torturer and their daily victim. Tormented as a child,and, as a young man, leading the most hideous of lives, I doubt if any oneon earth ever suffered more than I did."
"You ought to have left them!" exclaimed Hortense, who had stoppedlaughing.
"One can't leave one's mother; and one of those two women was my mother.And a woman can't abandon her son; and each of them was entitled to believethat I was her son. We were all three chained together like convicts, withchains of sorrow, compassion, doubt and also of hope that the truth mightone day become apparent. And here we still are, all three, insulting oneanother and blaming one another for our wasted lives. Oh, what a hell! Andthere was no escaping it. I tried often enough ... but in vain. The brokenbonds became tied again. Only this summer, under the stimulus of my lovefor Genevieve, I tried to free myself and did my utmost to persuade the twowomen whom I call mother. And then ... and then! I was up against theircomplaints, their immediate hatred of the wife, of the stranger, whom Iwas proposing to force upon them.... I gave way. What sort of a life wouldGenevieve have had here, between Madame d'Imbleval and Madame Vaurois? Ihad no right to victimize her."
Jean Louis, who had been gradually becoming excited, uttered these lastwords in a firm voice, as though he would have wished his conduct tobe ascribed to conscientious motives and a sense of duty. In reality,as Renine and Hortense clearly saw, his was an unusually weak nature,incapable of reacting against a ridiculous position from which he hadsuffered ever since he was a child and which he had come to look upon asfinal and irremediable. He endured it as a man bears a cross which he hasno right to cast aside; and at the same time he was ashamed of it. He hadnever spoken of it to Genevieve, from dread of ridicule; and afterwards, onreturning to his prison, he had remained there out of habit and weakness.
He sat down to a writing-table and quickly wrote a letter which he handedto Renine:
"Would you be kind enough to give this note to Mlle. Aymard and beg heronce more to forgive me?"
Renine did not move and, when the other pressed the letter upon him, hetook it and tore it up.
"What does this mean?" asked the young man.
"It means that I will not charge myself with any message."
"Why?"
"Because you are coming with us."
"I?"
"Yes. You will see Mlle. Aymard to-morrow and ask for her hand inmarriage."
Jean Louis looked at Renine with a rather disdainful air, as though he werethinking:
"Here's a man who has not understood a word of what I've been explaining tohim."
But Hortense went up to Renine:
"Why do you say that?"
"Because it will be as I say."
"But you must have your reasons?"
"One only; but it will be enough, provided this gentleman is so kind as tohelp me in my enquiries."
"Enquiries? With what object?" asked the young man.
"With the object of proving that your story is not quite accurate."
Jean Louis took umbrage at this:
"I must ask you to believe, monsieur, that I have not said a word which isnot the exact truth."
"I expressed myself badly," said Renine, with great kindliness. "Certainlyyou have not said a word that does not agree with what you believe to bethe exact truth. But the truth is not, cannot be what you believe it tobe."
The young man folded his arms:
"In any case, monsieur, it seems likely that I should know the truth betterthan you do."
"Why better? What happened on that tragic night can obviously be known toyou only at secondhand. You have no proofs. Neither have Madame d'Imblevaland Madame Vaurois."
"No proofs of what?" exclaimed Jean Louis, losing patience.
"No proofs of the confusion that took place."
"What! Why, it's an absolute certainty! The two children were laid in thesame cradle, with no marks to distinguish one from the other; and the nursewas unable to tell...."
"At least, that's her version of it," interrupted Renine.
"What's that? Her version? But you're accusing the woman."
"I'm accusing her of nothing."
"Yes, you are: you're accusing her of lying. And why should she lie? Shehad no interest in doing so; and her tears and despair are so much evidenceof her good faith. For, after all, the two mothers were there ... they sawthe woman weeping ... they questioned her.... And then, I repeat, whatinterest had she ...?"
Jean Louis was greatly excited. Close beside him, Madame d'Imbleval andMadame Vaurois, who had no doubt been listening behind the doors and whohad stealthily entered the room, stood stammering, in amazement:
"No, no ... it's impossible.... We've questioned her over and over again.Why should she tell a lie?..."
"Speak, monsieur, speak," Jean Louis enjoined. "Explain yourself. Give yourreasons for trying to cast doubt upon an absolute truth!"
"Because that truth is inadmissible," declared Renine, raising his voiceand growing excited in turn to the point of punctuating his remarks bythumping the table. "No, things don't happen like that. No, fate does notdisplay those refinements of cruelty and chance is not added to chance withsuch reckless extravagance! It was already an unprecedented chance that, onthe very night on which the doctor, his man-servant and his maid were outof the house, the two ladies should be seized with labour-pains at the samehour and should bring two sons into the world at the same time. Don't letus add a still more exceptional event! Enough of the uncanny! Enough oflamps that go out and candles that refuse to burn! No and again no, itis not admissable that a midwife should become confused in the essentialdetails of her trade. However bewildered she may be by the unforeseennature of the circumstances, a remnant of instinct is still on the alert,so that there is a place prepared for each child and each is kept distinctfrom the other. The first child is here, the second is there. Even if theyare lying side by side, one is on the left and the other on the right.Even if they are wrapped in the same kind of binders, some little detaildiffers, a trifle which is recorded by the memory and which is inevitablyrecalled to the mind without any need of reflection. Confusion? I refuseto believe in it. Impossible to tell one from the other? It isn't true. Inthe world of fiction, yes, one can imagine all sorts of fantastic accidentsand heap contradiction on contradiction. But, in the world of reality, atthe very heart of reality,
there is always a fixed point, a solid nucleus,about which the facts group themselves in accordance with a logical order.I therefore declare most positively that Nurse Boussignol could not havemixed up the two children."
All this he said decisively, as though he had been present during the nightin question; and so great was his power of persuasion that from the veryfirst he shook the certainty of those who for more than a quarter of acentury had never doubted.
The two women and their son pressed round him and questioned him withbreathless anxiety:
"Then you think that she may know ... that she may be able to tell us....?"
He corrected himself:
"I don't say yes and I don't say no. All I say is that there was somethingin her behaviour during those hours that does not tally with her statementsand with reality. All the vast and intolerable mystery that has weigheddown upon you three arises not from a momentary lack of attention but fromsomething of which we do not know, but of which she does. That is what Imaintain; and that is what happened."
Jean Louis said, in a husky voice:
"She is alive.... She lives at Carhaix.... We can send for her...."
Hortense at once proposed:
"Would you like me to go for her? I will take the motor and bring her backwith me. Where does she live?"
"In the middle of the town, at a little draper's shop. The chauffeur willshow you. Mlle. Boussignol: everybody knows her...."
"And, whatever you do," added Renine, "don't warn her in any way. If she'suneasy, so much the better. But don't let her know what we want with her."
Twenty minutes passed in absolute silence. Renine paced the room, in whichthe fine old furniture, the handsome tapestries, the well-bound books andpretty knick-knacks denoted a love of art and a seeking after style in JeanLouis. This room was really his. In the adjoining apartments on eitherside, through the open doors, Renine was able to note the bad taste of thetwo mothers.
He went up to Jean Louis and, in a low voice, asked:
"Are they well off?"
"Yes."
"And you?"
"They settled the manor-house upon me, with all the land around it, whichmakes me quite independent."
"Have they any relations?"
"Sisters, both of them."
"With whom they could go to live?"
"Yes; and they have sometimes thought of doing so. But there can't be anyquestion of that. Once more, I assure you...."
Meantime the car had returned. The two women jumped up hurriedly, ready tospeak.
"Leave it to me," said Renine, "and don't be surprised by anything that Isay. It's not a matter of asking her questions but of frightening her, offlurrying her.... The sudden attack," he added between his teeth.
The car drove round the lawn and drew up outside the windows. Hortensesprang out and helped an old woman to alight, dressed in a fluted linencap, a black velvet bodice and a heavy gathered skirt.
The old woman entered in a great state of alarm. She had a pointed face,like a weasel's, with a prominent mouth full of protruding teeth.
"What's the matter, Madame d'Imbleval?" she asked, timidly stepping intothe room from which the doctor had once driven her. "Good day to you,Madame Vaurois."
The ladies did not reply. Renine came forward and said, sternly:
"Mlle. Boussignol, I have been sent by the Paris police to throw lightupon a tragedy which took place here twenty-seven years ago. I have justsecured evidence that you have distorted the truth and that, as the resultof your false declarations, the birth-certificate of one of the childrenborn in the course of that night is inaccurate. Now false declarations inmatters of birth-certificates are misdemeanours punishable by law. I shalltherefore be obliged to take you to Paris to be interrogated ... unlessyou are prepared here and now to confess everything that might repair theconsequences of your offence."
The old maid was shaking in every limb. Her teeth were chattering. She wasevidently incapable of opposing the least resistance to Renine.
"Are you ready to confess everything?" he asked.
"Yes," she panted.
"Without delay? I have to catch a train. The business must be settledimmediately. If you show the least hesitation, I take you with me. Haveyou made up your mind to speak?"
"Yes."
He pointed to Jean Louis:
"Whose son is this gentleman? Madame d'Imbleval's?"
"No."
"Madame Vaurois', therefore?"
"No."
A stupefied silence welcomed the two replies.
"Explain yourself," Renine commanded, looking at his watch.
Then Madame Boussignol fell on her knees and said, in so low and dull avoice that they had to bend over her in order to catch the sense of whatshe was mumbling:
"Some one came in the evening ... a gentleman with a new-born baby wrappedin blankets, which he wanted the doctor to look after. As the doctor wasn'tthere, he waited all night and it was he who did it all."
"Did what?" asked Renine. "What did he do? What happened?"
"Well, what happened was that it was not one child but the two of them thatdied: Madame d'Imbleval's and Madame Vaurois' too, both in convulsions.Then the gentleman, seeing this, said, 'This shows me where my duty lies. Imust seize this opportunity of making sure that my own boy shall be happyand well cared for. Put him in the place of one of the dead children.' Heoffered me a big sum of money, saying that this one payment would save himthe expense of providing for his child every month; and I accepted. Only, Idid not know in whose place to put him and whether to say that the boy wasLouis d'Imbleval or Jean Vaurois. The gentleman thought a moment and saidneither. Then he explained to me what I was to do and what I was to sayafter he had gone. And, while I was dressing his boy in vest and bindersthe same as one of the dead children, he wrapped the other in the blanketshe had brought with him and went out into the night."
Mlle. Boussignol bent her head and wept. After a moment, Renine said:
"Your deposition agrees with the result of my investigations."
"Can I go?"
"Yes."
"And is it over, as far as I'm concerned? They won't be talking about thisall over the district?"
"No. Oh, just one more question: do you know the man's name?"
"No. He didn't tell me his name."
"Have you ever seen him since?"
"Never."
"Have you anything more to say?"
"No."
"Are you prepared to sign the written text of your confession?"
"Yes."
"Very well. I shall send for you in a week or two. Till then, not a word toanybody."
He saw her to the door and closed it after her. When he returned, JeanLouis was between the two old ladies and all three were holding hands. Thebond of hatred and wretchedness which had bound them had suddenly snapped;and this rupture, without requiring them to reflect upon the matter, filledthem with a gentle tranquillity of which they were hardly conscious, butwhich made them serious and thoughtful.
"Let's rush things," said Renine to Hortense. "This is the decisive momentof the battle. We must get Jean Louis on board."
Hortense seemed preoccupied. She whispered:
"Why did you let the woman go? Were you satisfied with her statement?"
"I don't need to be satisfied. She told us what happened. What more do youwant?"
"Nothing.... I don't know...."
"We'll talk about it later, my dear. For the moment, I repeat, we must getJean Louis on board. And immediately.... Otherwise...."
He turned to the young man:
"You agree with me, don't you, that, things being as they are, it is bestfor you and Madame Vaurois and Madame d'Imbleval to separate for a time?That will enable you all to see matters more clearly and to decide inperfect freedom what is to be done. Come with us, monsieur. The mostpressing thing is to save Genevieve Aymard, your _fiancee_."
Jean Louis stood perplexed and undecided. Renine turned to the two women:
; "That is your opinion too, I am sure, ladies?"
They nodded.
"You see, monsieur," he said to Jean Louis, "we are all agreed. In greatcrises, there is nothing like separation ... a few days' respite. Quicklynow, monsieur."
And, without giving him time to hesitate, he drove him towards his bedroomto pack up.
Half an hour later, Jean Louis left the manor-house with his new friends.
"And he won't go back until he's married," said Renine to Hortense, as theywere waiting at Carhaix station, to which the car had taken them, whileJean Louis was attending to his luggage. "Everything's for the best. Areyou satisfied?"
"Yes, Genevieve will be glad," she replied, absently.
When they had taken their seats in the train, Renine and she repaired tothe dining-car. Renine, who had asked Hortense several questions to whichshe had replied only in monosyllables, protested:
"What's the matter with you, my child? You look worried!"
"I? Not at all!"
"Yes, yes, I know you. Now, no secrets, no mysteries!"
She smiled:
"Well, since you insist on knowing if I am satisfied, I am bound toadmit that of course I am ... as regards my friend Genevieve, but that,in another respect--from the point of view of the adventure--I have anuncomfortable sort of feeling...."
"To speak frankly, I haven't 'staggered' you this time?"
"Not very much."
"I seem to you to have played a secondary part. For, after all, what have Idone? We arrived. We listened to Jean Louis' tale of woe. I had a midwifefetched. And that was all."
"Exactly. I want to know if that _was_ all; and I'm not quite sure.To tell you the truth, our other adventures left behind them an impressionwhich was--how shall I put it?--more definite, clearer."
"And this one strikes you as obscure?"
"Obscure, yes, and incomplete."
"But in what way?"
"I don't know. Perhaps it has something to do with that woman's confession.Yes, very likely that is it. It was all so unexpected and so short."
"Well, of course, I cut it short, as you can readily imagine!" said Renine,laughing. "We didn't want too many explanations."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, if she had given her explanations with too much detail, we shouldhave ended by doubting what she was telling us."
"By doubting it?"
"Well, hang it all, the story is a trifle far-fetched! That fellow arrivingat night, with a live baby in his pocket, and going away with a dead one:the thing hardly holds water. But you see, my dear, I hadn't much time tocoach the unfortunate woman in her part."
Hortense stared at him in amazement:
"What on earth do you mean?"
"Well, you know how dull-witted these countrywomen are. And she and Ihad no time to spare. So we worked out a little scene in a hurry ... andshe really didn't act it so badly. It was all in the right key: terror,_tremolo_, tears...."
"Is it possible?" murmured Hortense. "Is it possible? You had seen herbeforehand?"
"I had to, of course."
"But when?"
"This morning, when we arrived. While you were titivating yourself atthe hotel at Carhaix, I was running round to see what information Icould pick up. As you may imagine, everybody in the district knows thed'Imbleval-Vaurois story. I was at once directed to the former midwife,Mlle. Boussignol. With Mlle. Boussignol it did not take long. Three minutesto settle a new version of what had happened and ten thousand francs toinduce her to repeat that ... more or less credible ... version to thepeople at the manor-house."
"A quite incredible version!"
"Not so bad as all that, my child, seeing that you believed it ... andthe others too. And that was the essential thing. What I had to do was todemolish at one blow a truth which had been twenty-seven years in existenceand which was all the more firmly established because it was founded onactual facts. That was why I went for it with all my might and attacked itby sheer force of eloquence. Impossible to identify the children? I denyit. Inevitable confusion? It's not true. 'You're all three,' I say, 'thevictims of something which I don't know but which it is your duty to clearup!' 'That's easily done,' says Jean Louis, whose conviction is at onceshaken. 'Let's send for Mlle. Boussignol.' 'Right! Let's send for her.'Whereupon Mlle. Boussignol arrives and mumbles out the little speech whichI have taught her. Sensation! General stupefaction ... of which I takeadvantage to carry off our young man!"
Hortense shook her head:
"But they'll get over it, all three of them, on thinking!"
"Never! Never! They will have their doubts, perhaps. But they willnever consent to feel certain! They will never agree to think! Use yourimagination! Here are three people whom I have rescued from the hell inwhich they have been floundering for a quarter of a century. Do you thinkthey're going back to it? Here are three people who, from weakness or afalse sense of duty, had not the courage to escape. Do you think that theywon't cling like grim death to the liberty which I'm giving them? Nonsense!Why, they would have swallowed a hoax twice as difficult to digest as thatwhich Mlle. Boussignol dished up for them! After all, my version was nomore absurd than the truth. On the contrary. And they swallowed it whole!Look at this: before we left, I heard Madame d'Imbleval and Madame Vauroisspeak of an immediate removal. They were already becoming quiteaffectionate at the thought of seeing the last of each other."
"But what about Jean Louis?"
"Jean Louis? Why, he was fed up with his two mothers! By Jingo, one can'tdo with two mothers in a life-time! What a situation! And when one has theluck to be able to choose between having two mothers or none at all, why,bless me, one doesn't hesitate! And, besides, Jean Louis is in love withGenevieve." He laughed. "And he loves her well enough, I hope and trust,not to inflict two mothers-in-law upon her! Come, you may be easy in yourmind. Your friend's happiness is assured; and that is all you asked for.All that matters is the object which we achieve and not the more or lesspeculiar nature of the methods which we employ. And, if some adventuresare wound up and some mysteries elucidated by looking for and findingcigarette-ends, or incendiary water-bottles and blazing hat-boxes as on ourlast expedition, others call for psychology and for purely psychologicalsolutions. I have spoken. And I charge you to be silent."
"Silent?"
"Yes, there's a man and woman sitting behind us who seem to be sayingsomething uncommonly interesting."
"But they're talking in whispers."
"Just so. When people talk in whispers, it's always about something shady."
He lit a cigarette and sat back in his chair. Hortense listened, but invain. As for him, he was emitting little slow puffs of smoke.
Fifteen minutes later, the train stopped and the man and woman got out.
"Pity," said Renine, "that I don't know their names or where they're going.But I know where to find them. My dear, we have a new adventure before us."
Hortense protested:
"Oh, no, please, not yet!... Give me a little rest!... And oughtn't we tothink of Genevieve?"
He seemed greatly surprised:
"Why, all that's over and done with! Do you mean to say you want to wasteany more time over that old story? Well, I for my part confess that I'velost all interest in the man with the two mammas."
And this was said in such a comical tone and with such diverting sinceritythat Hortense was once more seized with a fit of giggling. Laughter alonewas able to relax her exasperated nerves and to distract her from so manycontradictory emotions.