CHAPTER XIII.
After seeing the Count de Commarin safely in his carriage at theentrance of the Palais de Justice, Noel Gerdy seemed inclined to leavehim. Resting one hand against the half-opened carriage door, he bowedrespectfully, and said: "When, sir, shall I have the honour of paying myrespects to you?"
"Come with me now," said the old nobleman.
The advocate, still leaning forward, muttered some excuses. He had, hesaid, important business: he must positively return home at once.
"Come," repeated the count, in a tone which admitted no reply.
Noel obeyed.
"You have found your father," said M. de Commarin in a low tone; "but Imust warn you, that at the same time you lose your independence."
The carriage started; and only then did the count notice that Noelhad very modestly seated himself opposite him. This humility seemed todisplease him greatly.
"Sit here by my side, sir," he exclaimed; "are you not my son?"
The advocate, without replying, took his seat by the side of theterrible old man, but occupied as little room as possible.
He had been very much upset by his interview with M. Daburon; for heretained none of his usual assurance, none of that exterior coolness bywhich he was accustomed to conceal his feelings. Fortunately, the ridegave him time to breathe, and to recover himself a little.
On the way from the Palais de Justice to the De Commarin mansion, not aword passed between the father and son. When the carriage stopped beforethe steps leading to the principal entrance, and the count got out withNoel's assistance, there was great commotion among the servants.
There were, it is true, few of them present, nearly all having beensummoned to the Palais; but the count and the advocate had scarcelydisappeared, when, as if by enchantment, they were all assembled inthe hall. They came from the garden, the stables, the cellar, and thekitchen. Nearly all bore marks of their calling. A young groom appearedwith his wooden shoes filled with straw, shuffling about on the marblefloor like a mangy dog on a Gobelin tapestry. One of them recognisedNoel as the visitor of the previous Sunday; and that was enough to setfire to all these gossip-mongers, thirsting for scandal.
Since morning, moreover, the unusual events at the De Commarin mansionhad caused a great stir in society. A thousand stories werecirculated, talked over, corrected, and added to by the ill-naturedand malicious,--some abominably absurd, others simply idiotic. Twentypeople, very noble and still more proud, had not been above sendingtheir most intelligent servants to pay a little visit among the count'sretainers, for the sole purpose of learning something positive. Asit was, nobody knew anything; and yet everybody pretended to be fullyinformed.
Let any one explain who can this very common phenomenon: A crime iscommitted; justice arrives, wrapped in mystery; the police are stillignorant of almost everything; and yet details of the most minutecharacter are already circulated about the streets.
"So," said a cook, "that tall dark fellow with the whiskers is thecount's true son!"
"You are right," said one of the footmen who had accompanied M. deCommarin; "as for the other, he is no more his son than Jean here; who,by the way, will be kicked out of doors, if he is caught in this part ofthe house with his dirty working-shoes on."
"What a romance," exclaimed Jean, supremely indifferent to the dangerwhich threatened him.
"Such things constantly occur in great families," said the cook.
"How ever did it happen?"
"Well, you see, one day, long ago, when the countess who is now dead wasout walking with her little son, who was about six months old, the childwas stolen by gypsies. The poor lady was full of grief; but above all,was greatly afraid of her husband, who was not over kind. What did shedo? She purchased a brat from a woman, who happened to be passing;and, never having noticed his child, the count has never known thedifference."
"But the assassination!"
"That's very simple. When the woman saw her brat in such a nice berth,she bled him finely, and has kept up a system of blackmailing all along.The viscount had nothing left for himself. So he resolved at last to putan end to it, and come to a final settling with her."
"And the other, who is up there, the dark fellow?"
The orator would have gone on, without doubt, giving the mostsatisfactory explanations of everything, if he had not been interruptedby the entrance of M. Lubin, who came from the Palais in company ofyoung Joseph. His success, so brilliant up to this time, was cut short,just like that of a second-rate singer when the star of the eveningcomes on the stage. The entire assembly turned towards Albert's valet,all eyes questioning him. He of course knew all, he was the man theywanted. He did not take advantage of his position, and keep themwaiting.
"What a rascal!" he exclaimed at first. "What a villainous fellow isthis Albert!"
He entirely did away with the "Mr." and the "Viscount," and met withgeneral approval for doing so.
"However," he added, "I always had my doubts. The fellow didn'tplease me by half. You see now to what we are exposed every day in ourprofession, and it is dreadfully disagreeable. The magistrate did notconceal it from me. 'M. Lubin,' said he, 'it is very sad for a manlike you to have waited on such a scoundrel.' For you must know, that,besides an old woman over eighty years old, he also assassinated a younggirl of twelve. The little child, the magistrate told me, was choppedinto bits."
"Ah!" put in Joseph; "he must have been a great fool. Do people do thosesort of things themselves when they are rich, and when there are so manypoor devils who only ask to gain their living?"
"Pshaw!" said M. Lubin in a knowing tone; "you will see him come out ofit as white as snow. These rich men can do anything."
"Anyhow," said the cook, "I'd willingly give a month's wages to be amouse, and to listen to what the count and the tall dark fellow aretalking about. Suppose some one went up and tried to find out what isgoing on."
This proposition did not meet with the least favour. The servantsknew by experience that, on important occasions, spying was worse thanuseless.
M. de Commarin knew all about servants from infancy. His study was,therefore, a shelter from all indiscretion. The sharpest ear placed atthe keyhole could hear nothing of what was going on within, even whenthe master was in a passion, and his voice loudest. One alone, Denis,the count's valet, had the opportunity of gathering information; but hewas well paid to be discreet, and he was so.
At this moment, M. de Commarin was sitting in the same arm-chair onwhich the evening before he had bestowed such furious blows whilelistening to Albert.
As soon as he left his carriage, the old nobleman recovered hishaughtiness. He became even more arrogant in his manner, than he hadbeen humble when before the magistrate, as though he were ashamed ofwhat he now considered an unpardonable weakness.
He wondered how he could have yielded to a momentary impulse, how hisgrief could have so basely betrayed him.
At the remembrance of the avowals wrested from him by a sort ofdelirium, he blushed, and reproached himself bitterly. The same asAlbert, the night before, Noel, having fully recovered himself, stooderect, cold as marble, respectful, but no longer humble.
The father and son exchanged glances which had nothing of sympathy norfriendliness.
They examined one another, they almost measured each other, much astwo adversaries feel their way with their eyes before encountering withtheir weapons.
"Sir," said the count at length in a harsh voice, "henceforth this houseis yours. From this moment you are the Viscount de Commarin; you regainpossession of all the rights of which you were deprived. Listen, beforeyou thank me. I wish, at once, to relieve you of all misunderstanding.Remember this well, sir; had I been master of the situation, I wouldnever have recognised you: Albert should have remained in the positionin which I placed him."
"I understand you, sir," replied Noel. "I don't think that I couldever bring myself to do an act like that by which you deprived me ofmy birthright; but I declare that, if I had the misfortune
to do so, Ishould afterwards have acted as you have. Your rank was too conspicuousto permit a voluntary acknowledgment. It was a thousand times better tosuffer an injustice to continue in secret, than to expose the name tothe comments of the malicious."
This answer surprised the count, and very agreeably too. But he wouldn'tlet his satisfaction be seen, and it was in a still harsher voice thathe resumed.
"I have no claim, sir, upon your affection; I do not ask for it, but Iinsist at all times upon the utmost deference. It is traditional in ourhouse, that a son shall never interrupt his father when he is speaking;that, you have just been guilty of. Neither do children judge theirparents; that also you have just done. When I was forty years of age myfather was in his second childhood; but I do not remember ever havingraised my voice above his. This said, I continue. I provided thenecessary funds for the expenses of Albert's household completely,distinct from my own, for he had his own servants, horses, andcarriages; and besides that I allowed the unhappy boy four thousandfrancs a month. I have decided in order to put a stop to all foolishgossip, and to make your position the easier, that you should live ona grander scale; this matter concerns myself. Further, I will increaseyour monthly allowance to six thousand francs; which I trust youwill spend as nobly as possible, giving the least possible cause forridicule. I cannot too strongly exhort you to the utmost caution. Keepclose watch over yourself. Weigh your words well. Study your slightestactions. You will be the point of observation of the thousands ofimpertinent idlers who compose our world; your blunders will be theirdelight. Do you fence?"
"Moderately well."
"That will do! Do you ride?"
"No; but in six months I will be a good horseman, or break my neck."
"You must become a horseman, and not break anything. Let us proceed.You will, of course, not occupy Albert's apartments. They will be walledoff, as soon as I am free of the police. Thank heaven! the house islarge. You will occupy the other wing; and there will be a separateentrance to your apartments, by another staircase. Servants, horses,carriages, furniture, such as become a viscount, will be at yourservice, cost what it may, within forty-eight hours. On the day of yourtaking possession, you must look as though you had been installed therefor years. There will be a great scandal; but that cannot be avoided. Aprudent father might send you away for a few months to the Austrian orRussian courts; but, in this instance, such prudence would be absurd.Much better a dreadful outcry, which ends quickly, than low murmurswhich last forever. Dare public opinion; and, in eight days, it willhave exhausted its comments, and the story will have become old. So,to work! This very evening the workmen shall be here; and, in the firstplace, I must present you to my servants."
To put his purpose into execution, the count moved to touch thebell-rope. Noel stopped him.
Since the commencement of this interview, the advocate had wandered inthe regions of the thousand and one nights, the wonderful lamp in hishand. The fairy reality cast into the shade his wildest dreams. He wasdazzled by the count's words, and had need of all his reason to struggleagainst the giddiness which came over him, on realising his great goodfortune. Touched by a magic wand, he seemed to awake to a thousand noveland unknown sensations. He rolled in purple, and bathed in gold.
But he knew how to appear unmoved. His face had contracted the habit ofguarding the secret of the most violent internal excitement. While allhis passions vibrated within him, he appeared to listen with a sad andalmost indifferent coldness.
"Permit me, sir," he said to the count "without overstepping the boundsof the utmost respect, to say a few words. I am touched more than Ican express by your goodness; and yet I beseech you, to delay itsmanifestation. The proposition I am about to suggest may perhaps appearto you worthy of consideration. It seems to me that the situationdemands the greatest delicacy on my part. It is well to despise publicopinion, but not to defy it. I am certain to be judged with the utmostseverity. If I install myself so suddenly in your house, what will besaid? I shall have the appearance of a conqueror, who thinks little,so long as he succeeds, of passing over the body of the conquered. Theywill reproach me with occupying the bed still warm from Albert's body.They will jest bitterly at my haste in taking possession. They willcertainly compare me to Albert, and the comparison will be to mydisadvantage, since I should appear to triumph at a time when a greatdisaster has fallen upon our house."
The count listened without showing any signs of disapprobation,struck perhaps by the justice of these reasons. Noel imagined that hisharshness was much more feigned than real; and this idea encouraged him.
"I beseech you then, sir," he continued, "to permit me for the presentin no way to change my mode of living, By not showing myself, I leaveall malicious remarks to waste themselves in air,--I let public opinionthe better familiarise itself with the idea of a coming change. Thereis a great deal in not taking the world by surprise. Being expected, Ishall not have the air of an intruder on presenting myself. Absent,I shall have the advantages which the unknown always possess; I shallobtain the good opinion of all those who have envied Albert; and Ishall secure as champions all those who would to-morrow assail me, ifmy elevation came suddenly upon them. Besides, by this delay, I shallaccustom myself to my abrupt change of fortune. I ought not to bringinto your world, which is now mine, the manners of a parvenu. My nameought not to inconvenience me, like a badly fitting coat."
"Perhaps it would be wisest," murmured the count.
This assent, so easily obtained, surprised Noel. He got the idea thatthe count had only wished to prove him, to tempt him. In any case,whether he had triumphed by his eloquence, or whether he had simplyshunned a trap, he had succeeded. His confidence increased; he recoveredall his former assurance.
"I must add, sir," he continued, "that there are a few mattersconcerning myself which demand my attention. Before entering upon my newlife, I must think of those I am leaving behind me. I have friends andclients. This event has surprised me, just as I am beginning to reap thereward of ten years of hard work and perseverance. I have as yet onlysown; I am on the point of reaping. My name is already known; I haveobtained some little influence. I confess, without shame, that I haveheretofore professed ideas and opinions that would not be suited to thishouse; and it is impossible in the space of a day--"
"Ah!" interrupted the count in a bantering tone, "you are a liberal. Itis a fashionable disease. Albert also was a great liberal."
"My ideas, sir," said Noel quickly, "were those of every intelligent manwho wishes to succeed. Besides, have not all parties one and the sameaim--power? They merely take different means of reaching it. I will notenlarge upon this subject. Be assured, sir, that I shall know how tobear my name, and think and act as a man of my rank should."
"I trust so," said M. de Commarin; "and I hope that you will never makeme regret Albert."
"At least, sir, it will not be my fault. But, since you have mentionedthe name of that unfortunate young man, let us occupy ourselves abouthim."
The count cast a look of distrust upon Noel.
"What can now be done for Albert?" he asked.
"What, sir!" cried Noel with ardour, "would you abandon him, when hehas not a friend left in the world? He is still your son, sir, he ismy brother; for thirty years he has borne the name of Commarin. All themembers of a family are jointly liable. Innocent, or guilty, he has aright to count upon us; and we owe him our assistance."
"What do you then hope for, sir?" asked the count.
"To save him, if he is innocent; and I love to believe that he is. I aman advocate, sir, and I wish to defend him. I have been told that Ihave some talent; in such a cause I must have. Yes, however strong thecharges against him may be, I will overthrow them. I will dispel alldoubts. The truth shall burst forth at the sound of my voice. I willfind new accents to imbue the judges with my own conviction. I will savehim, and this shall be my last cause."
"And if he should confess," said the count, "if he has alreadyconfessed?"
"Then, sir," replied
Noel with a dark look, "I will render him the lastservice, which in such a misfortune I should ask of a brother, I willprocure him the means of avoiding judgment."
"That is well spoken, sir," said the count, "very well, my son!"
And he held out his hand to Noel, who pressed it, bowing a respectfulacknowledgment. The advocate took a long breath. At last he had foundthe way to this haughty noble's heart; he had conquered, he had pleasedhim.
"Let us return to yourself, sir," continued the count. "I yield to thereasons which you have suggested. All shall be done as you desire. Butdo not consider this a precedent. I never change my plans, even thoughthey are proved to be bad, and contrary to my interests. But at leastnothing prevents your remaining here from to-day, and taking your mealswith me. We will, first of all, see where you can be lodged, until youformally take possession of the apartments which are to be prepared foryou."
Noel had the hardihood to again interrupt the old nobleman.
"Sir," said he, "when you bade me follow you here, I obeyed you, as wasmy duty. Now another and a sacred duty calls me away. Madame Gerdy isat this moment dying. Ought I to leave the deathbed of her who filled mymother's place?"
"Valerie!" murmured the count. He leaned upon the arm of his chair, hisface buried in his hands; in one moment the whole past rose up beforehim.
"She has done me great harm," he murmured, as if answering his thoughts."She has ruined my whole life; but ought I to be implacable? She isdying from the accusation which is hanging over Albert our son. It wasI who was the cause of it all. Doubtless, in this last hour, a word fromme would be a great consolation to her. I will accompany you, sir."
Noel started at this unexpected proposal.
"O sir!" said he hastily, "spare yourself, pray, a heart-rending sight.Your going would be useless. Madame Gerdy exists probably still; buther mind is dead. Her brain was unable to resist so violent a shock. Theunfortunate woman would neither recognise nor understand you."
"Go then alone," sighed the count, "go, my son!"
The words "my son," pronounced with a marked emphasis, sounded like anote of victory in Noel's ears.
He bowed to take his leave. The count motioned him to wait.
"In any case," he said, "a place at table will be set for you here. Idine at half-past six precisely. I shall be glad to see you."
He rang. His valet appeared.
"Denis," said he, "none of the orders I may give will affect thisgentleman. You will tell this to all the servants. This gentleman is athome here."
The advocate took his leave; and the count felt great comfort in beingonce more alone. Since morning, events had followed one another withsuch bewildering rapidity that his thoughts could scarcely keep pacewith them. At last, he was able to reflect.
"That, then," said he to himself, "is my legitimate son. I am sure ofhis birth, at any rate. Besides I should be foolish to disown him, for Ifind him the exact picture of myself at thirty. He is a handsome fellow,Noel, very handsome. His features are decidedly in his favour. Heis intelligent and acute. He knows how to be humble without loweringhimself, and firm without arrogance. His unexpected good fortune doesnot turn his head. I augur well of a man who knows how to bear himselfin prosperity. He thinks well; he will carry his title proudly. And yetI feel no sympathy with him; it seems to me that I shall always regretmy poor Albert. I never knew how to appreciate him. Unhappy boy! Tocommit such a vile crime! He must have lost his reason. I do not likethe look of this one's eye. They say that he is perfect. He expresses,at least, the noblest and most appropriate sentiments. He is gentleand strong, magnanimous, generous, heroic. He is without malice, and isready to sacrifice himself to repay me for what I have done for him.He forgives Madame Gerdy; he loves Albert. It is enough to make onedistrust him. But all young men now-a-days are so. Ah! we live in ahappy age. Our children are born free from all human shortcomings. Theyhave neither the vices, the passions, nor the tempers of their fathers;and these precocious philosophers, models of sagacity and virtue, areincapable of committing the least folly. Alas! Albert, too, was perfect;and he has assassinated Claudine! What will this one do?--All the same,"he added, half-aloud, "I ought to have accompanied him to see Valerie!"
And, although the advocate had been gone at least a good ten minutes,M. de Commarin, not realising how the time had passed, hastened to thewindow, in the hope of seeing Noel in the court-yard, and calling himback.
But Noel was already far away. On leaving the house, he took a cab andwas quickly driven to the Rue St. Lazare.
On reaching his own door, he threw rather than gave five francs to thedriver, and ran rapidly up the four flights of stairs.
"Who has called to see me?" he asked of the servant.
"No one, sir."
He seemed relieved from a great anxiety, and continued in a calmer tone,"And the doctor?"
"He came this morning, sir," replied the girl, "while you were out; andhe did not seem at all hopeful. He came again just now, and is stillhere."
"Very well. I will go and speak to him. If any one calls, show them intomy study, and let me know."
On entering Madame Gerdy's chamber, Noel saw at a glance that no changefor the better had taken place during his absence. With fixed eyesand convulsed features, the sick woman lay extended upon her back. Sheseemed dead, save for the sudden starts, which shook her at intervals,and disarranged the bedclothes.
Above her head was placed a little vessel, filled with ice water, whichfell drop by drop upon her forehead, covered with large bluish spots.The table and mantel-piece were covered with little pots, medicinebottles, and half-emptied glasses. At the foot of the bed, a piece ofrag stained with blood showed that the doctor had just had recourse toleeches.
Near the fireplace, where was blazing a large fire, a nun of the orderof St. Vincent de Paul was kneeling, watching a saucepan. She was ayoung woman, with a face whiter than her cap. Her immovably placidfeatures, her mournful look, betokened the renunciation of the flesh,and the abdication of all independence of thought.
Her heavy grey costume hung about her in large ungraceful folds. Everytime she moved, her long chaplet of beads of coloured box-wood, loadedwith crosses and copper medals, shook and trailed along the floor with anoise like a jingling of chains.
Dr. Herve was seated on a chair opposite the bed, watching, apparentlywith close attention, the nun's preparations. He jumped up as Noelentered.
"At last you are here," he said, giving his friend a strong grasp of thehand.
"I was detained at the Palais," said the advocate, as if he felt thenecessity of explaining his absence; "and I have been, as you may wellimagine, dreadfully anxious."
He leant towards the doctor's ear, and in a trembling voice asked:"Well, is she at all better?"
The doctor shook his head with an air of deep discouragement.
"She is much worse," he replied: "since morning bad symptoms havesucceeded each other with frightful rapidity."
He checked himself. The advocate had seized his arm and was pressing itwith all his might. Madame Gerdy stirred a little, and a feeble groanescaped her.
"She heard you," murmured Noel.
"I wish it were so," said the doctor; "It would be most encouraging.But I fear you are mistaken. However, we will see." He went up to MadameGerdy, and, whilst feeling her pulse, examined her carefully; then, withthe tip of his finger, he lightly raised her eyelid.
The eye appeared dull, glassy, lifeless.
"Come, judge for yourself; take her hand, speak to her."
Noel, trembling all over, did as his friend wished. He drew near, and,leaning over the bed, so that his mouth almost touched the sick woman'sear, he murmured: "Mother, it is I, Noel, your own Noel. Speak to me,make some sign, do you hear me, mother?"
It was in vain; she retained her frightful immobility. Not a sign ofintelligence crossed her features.
"You see," said the doctor, "I told you the truth."
"Poor woman!" sighed Noel, "does she suffer?"
> "Not at present."
The nun now rose; and she too came beside the bed.
"Doctor," said she: "all is ready."
"Then call the servant, sister, to help us. We are going to apply amustard poultice."
The servant hastened in. In the arms of the two women, Madame Gerdy waslike a corpse, whom they were dressing for the last time. She was asrigid as though she were dead. She must have suffered much and long,poor woman, for it was pitiable to see how thin she was. The nunherself was affected, although she had become habituated to the sight ofsuffering. How many invalids had breathed their last in her arms duringthe fifteen years that she had gone from pillow to pillow!
Noel, during this time, had retired into the window recess, and pressedhis burning brow against the panes.
Of what was he thinking, while she who had given him so many proofs ofmaternal tenderness and devotion was dying a few paces from him? Didhe regret her? was he not thinking rather of the grand and magnificentexistence which awaited him on the other side of the river, at theFaubourg St. Germain? He turned abruptly round on hearing his friend'svoice.
"It is done," said the doctor; "we have only now to wait the effectof the mustard. If she feels it, it will be a good sign; if it has noeffect, we will try cupping."
"And if that does not succeed?"
The doctor answered only with a shrug of the shoulders, which showed hisinability to do more.
"I understand your silence, Herve," murmured Noel. "Alas! you told melast night she was lost."
"Scientifically, yes; but I do not yet despair. It is hardly a year agothat the father-in-law of one of our comrades recovered from an almostidentical attack; and I saw him when he was much worse than this;suppuration had set in."
"It breaks my heart to see her in this state," resumed Noel. "Must shedie without recovering her reason even for one moment? Will she notrecognise me, speak one word to me?"
"Who knows? This disease, my poor friend, baffles all foresight. Eachmoment, the aspect may change, according as the inflammation affectssuch or such a part of the brain. She is now in a state of utterinsensibility, of complete prostration of all her intellectualfaculties, of coma, of paralysis so to say; to-morrow, she may be seizedwith convulsions, accompanied with a fierce delirium."
"And will she speak then?"
"Certainly; but that will neither modify the nature nor the gravity ofthe disease."
"And will she recover her reason?"
"Perhaps," answered the doctor, looking fixedly at his friend; "but whydo you ask that?"
"Ah, my dear Herve, one word from Madame Gerdy, only one, would be ofsuch use to me!"
"For your affair, eh! Well, I can tell you nothing, can promise younothing. You have as many chances in your favour as against you;only, do not leave her. If her intelligence returns, it will be onlymomentary, try and profit by it. But I must go," added the doctor; "Ihave still three calls to make."
Noel followed his friend. When they reached the landing, he asked: "Youwill return?"
"This evening, at nine. There will be no need of me till then. Alldepends upon the watcher. But I have chosen a pearl. I know her well."
"It was you, then, who brought this nun?"
"Yes, and without your permission. Are you displeased?"
"Not the least in the world. Only I confess--"
"What! you make a grimace. Do your political opinions forbid your havingyour mother, I should say Madame Gerdy, nursed by a nun of St. Vincent?"
"My dear Herve, you--"
"Ah! I know what you are going to say. They are adroit, insinuating,dangerous, all that is quite true. If I had a rich old uncle whose heirI expected to be, I shouldn't introduce one of them into his house.These good creatures are sometimes charged with strange commissions.But, what have you to fear from this one? Never mind what fools say.Money aside, these worthy sisters are the best nurses in the world.I hope you will have one when your end comes. But good-bye; I am in ahurry."
And, regardless of his professional dignity, the doctor hurried downthe stairs; while Noel, full of thought, his countenance displaying thegreatest anxiety, returned to Madame Gerdy.
At the door of the sick-room, the nun awaited the advocate's return.
"Sir," said she, "sir."
"You want something of me, sister?"
"Sir, the servant bade me come to you for money; she has no more, andhad to get credit at the chemist's."
"Excuse me, sister," interrupted Noel, seemingly very much vexed;"excuse me for not having anticipated your request; but you see I amrather confused."
And, taking a hundred-franc note out of his pocket-book, he laid it onthe mantel piece.
"Thanks, sir," said the nun; "I will keep an account of what I spend. Wealways do that," she added; "it is more convenient for the family. Oneis so troubled at seeing those one loves laid low by illness. You haveperhaps not thought of giving this poor lady the sweet aid of ourholy religion! In your place, sir, I should send without delay for apriest,--"
"What, now, sister? Do you not see the condition she is in? She is thesame as dead; you saw that she did not hear my voice."
"That is of little consequence, sir," replied the nun; "you will alwayshave done your duty. She did not answer you; but are you sure that shewill not answer the priest? Ah, you do not know all the power of thelast sacraments! I have seen the dying recover their intelligence andsufficient strength to confess, and to receive the sacred body of ourLord Jesus Christ. I have often heard families say that they do not wishto alarm the invalid, that the sight of the minister of our Lord mightinspire a terror that would hasten the final end. It is a fatal error.The priest does not terrify; he reassures the soul, at the beginning ofits long journey. He speaks in the name of the God of mercy, who comesto save, not to destroy. I could cite to you many cases of dying peoplewho have been cured simply by contact with the sacred balm."
The nun spoke in a tone as mournful as her look. Her heart was evidentlynot in the words which she uttered. Without doubt, she had learned themwhen she first entered the convent. Then they expressed somethingshe really felt, she spoke her own thoughts; but, since then, she hadrepeated the words over and over again to the friends of every sickperson that she attended, until they lost all meaning so far as she wasconcerned. To utter them became simply a part of her duties as nurse,the same as the preparation of draughts, and the making of poultices.
Noel was not listening to her; his thoughts were far away.
"Your dear mother," continued the nun, "this good lady that you loveso much, no doubt trusted in her religion. Do you wish to endanger hersalvation? If she could speak in the midst of her cruel sufferings--"
The advocate was on the point of replying, when the servant announcedthat a gentleman, who would not give his name, wished to speak with himon business.
"I will come," he said quickly.
"What do you decide, sir?" persisted the nun.
"I leave you free, sister, to do as you may judge best."
The worthy woman began to recite her lesson of thanks, but to nopurpose. Noel had disappeared with a displeased look; and almostimmediately she heard his voice in the next room, saying: "At last youhave come, M. Clergeot, I had almost given you up!"
The visitor, whom the advocate had been expecting, is a person wellknown in the Rue St. Lazare, round about the Rue de Provence, theneighbourhood of Notre Dame de Lorette, and all along the exteriorBoulevards, from the Chaussee des Martyrs to the Rond-Point of the oldBarriere de Clichy.
M. Clergeot is no more a usurer than M. Jourdin's father was ashopkeeper. Only, as he has lots of money, and is very obliging, helends it to his friends; and, in return for this kindness, he consentsto receive interest, which varies from fifteen to five hundred per cent.
The excellent man positively loves his clients, and his honesty isgenerally appreciated. He has never been known to seize a debtor'sgoods; he prefers to follow him up without respite for ten years, andtear from him bit by bit what is his due.<
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He lives near the top of the Rue de la Victoire. He has no shop, and yethe sells everything saleable, and some other things, too, that the lawscarcely considers merchandise. Anything to be useful or neighbourly.He often asserts that he is not very rich. It is possibly true. He iswhimsical more than covetous, and fearfully bold. Free with his moneywhen one pleases him, he would not lend five francs, even with amortgage on the Chateau of Ferrieres as guarantee, to whosoever doesnot meet with his approval. However, he often risks his all on the mostunlucky cards.
His preferred customers consist of women of doubtful morality,actresses, artists, and those venturesome fellows who enter uponprofessions which depend solely upon those who practice them, such aslawyers and doctors.
He lends to women upon their present beauty, to men upon their futuretalent. Slight pledges! His discernment, it should be said, however,enjoys a great reputation. It is rarely at fault. A pretty girlfurnished by Clergeot is sure to go far. For an artist to be inClergeot's debt was a recommendation preferable to the warmestcriticism.
Madame Juliette had procured this useful and honourable acquaintance forher lover.
Noel, who well knew how sensitive this worthy man was to kindattentions, and how pleased by politeness, began by offering him a seat,and asking after his health. Clergeot went into details. His teeth werestill good; but his sight was beginning to fail. His legs were nolonger so steady, and his hearing was not all that could be desired. Thechapter of complaints ended--"You know," said he, "why I have called.Your bills fall due to-day; and I am devilishly in need of money. I haveone of ten, one of seven, and a third of five thousand francs, total,twenty-two thousand francs."
"Come, M. Clergeot," replied Noel, "do not let us have any joking."
"Excuse me," said the usurer; "I am not joking at all."
"I rather think you are though. Why, it's just eight days ago to-daythat I wrote to tell you that I was not prepared to meet the bills, andasked for a renewal!"
"I recollect very well receiving your letter."
"What do you say to it, then?"
"By my not answering the note, I supposed that you would understandthat I could not comply with your request; I hoped that you would exertyourself to find the amount for me."
Noel allowed a gesture of impatience to escape him.
"I have not done so," he said; "so take your own course. I haven't asou."
"The devil. Do you know that I have renewed these bills four timesalready?"
"I know that the interest has been fully and promptly paid, and at arate which cannot make you regret the investment."
Clergeot never likes talking about the interest he received. He pretendsthat it is humiliating.
"I do not complain; I only say that you take things too easily with me.If I had put your signature in circulation all would have been paid bynow."
"Not at all."
"Yes, you would have found means to escape being sued. But you say toyourself: 'Old Clergeot is a good fellow.' And that is true. But I amso only when it can do me no harm. Now, to-day, I am absolutely ingreat need of my money. Ab--so--lute--ly," he added, emphasising eachsyllable.
The old fellow's decided tone seemed to disturb the advocate.
"Must I repeat it?" he said; "I am completely drained, com--plete--ly!"
"Indeed?" said the usurer; "well, I am sorry for you; but I shall haveto sue you."
"And what good will that do? Let us play above board, M. Clergeot. Doyou care to increase the lawyers' fees? You don't do you? Even though,you may put me to great expense, will that procure you even a centime?You will obtain judgment against me. Well, what then? Do you think ofputting in an execution? This is not my home; the lease is in MadameGerdy's name."
"I know all that. Besides, the sale of everything here would not coverthe amount."
"Then you intend to put me in prison, at Clichy! Bad speculation, I warnyou, my practice will be lost, and, you know, no practice, no money."
"Good!" cried the worthy money-lender. "Now you are talking nonsense!You call that being frank. Pshaw! If you supposed me capable of halfthe cruel things you have said, my money would be there in your drawer,ready for me."
"A mistake! I should not know where to get it, unless by asking MadameGerdy, a thing I would never do."
A sarcastic and most irritating little laugh, peculiar to old Clergeot,interrupted Noel.
"It would be no good doing that," said the usurer; "mamma's purse haslong been empty; and if the dear creature should die now,--they tellme she is very ill,--I would not give two hundred napoleons for theinheritance."
The advocate turned red with passion, his eyes glittered; but hedissembled, and protested with some spirit.
"We know what we know," continued Clergeot quietly. "Before a man riskshis money, he takes care to make some inquiries. Mamma's remaining bondswere sold last October. Ah! the Rue de Provence is an expensive place!I have made an estimate, which is at home. Juliette is a charming woman,to be sure; she has not her equal, I am convinced; but she is expensive,devilish expensive."
Noel was enraged at hearing his Juliette thus spoke of by thishonourable personage. But what reply could he make? Besides, none ofus are perfect; and M. Clergeot possessed the fault of not properlyappreciating women, which doubtless arises from the businesstransactions he has had with them. He is charming in his businesswith the fair sex, complimenting and flattering them; but the coarsestinsults would be less revolting than his disgusting familiarity.
"You have gone too fast," he continued, without deigning to notice hisclient's ill looks; "and I have told you so before. But, you would notlisten; you are mad about the girl. You can never refuse her anything.Fool! When a pretty girl wants anything, you should let her long for itfor a while; she has then something to occupy her mind and keep her fromthinking of a quantity of other follies. Four good strong wishes, wellmanaged, ought to last a year. You don't know how to look after your owninterests. I know that her glance would turn the head of a stone saint;but you should reason with yourself, hang it! Why, there are not tengirls in Paris who live in such style! And do you think she loves youany the more for it? Not a bit. When she has ruined you, she'll leaveyou in the lurch."
Noel accepted the eloquence of his prudent banker like a man without anumbrella accepts a shower.
"What is the meaning of all this!" he asked.
"Simply that I will not renew your bills. You understand? Just now, ifyou try very hard, you will be able to hand me the twenty-two thousandfrancs in question. You need not frown: you will find means to do so toprevent my seizing your goods,--not here, for that would be absurd, butat your little woman's apartments. She would not be at all pleased, andwould not hesitate to tell you so."
"But everything there belongs to her; and you have no right--"
"What of that? She will oppose the seizure, no doubt, and I expect herto do so; but she will make you find the requisite sum. Believe me, youhad best parry the blow. I insist on being paid now. I won't give youany further delay; because, in three months' time, you will have usedyour last resources. It is no use saying 'No,' like that. You are in oneof those conditions that must be continued at any price. You would burnthe wood from your dying mother's bed to warm this creature's feet.Where did you obtain the ten thousand francs that you left with her theother evening? Who knows what you will next attempt to procure money?The idea of keeping her fifteen days, three days, a single day more, maylead you far. Open your eyes. I know the game well. If you do not leaveJuliette, you are lost. Listen to a little good advice, gratis. You mustgive her up, sooner or later, mustn't you? Do it to-day, then."
As you see, our worthy Clergeot never minces the truth to his customers,when they do not keep their engagements. If they are displeased, so muchthe worse for them! His conscience is at rest. He would never join inany foolish business.
Noel could bear it no longer: and his anger burst forth.
"Enough," he cried decidedly. "Do as you please, M. Clergeot, but havedone
with your advice. I prefer the lawyer's plain prose. If I havecommitted follies, I can repair them, and in a way that would surpriseyou. Yes, M. Clergeot, I can procure twenty-two thousand francs; I couldhave a hundred thousand to-morrow morning, if I saw fit. They wouldonly cost me the trouble of asking for them. But that I will not do.My extravagance, with all due deference to you, will remain a secret asheretofore. I do not choose that my present embarrassed circumstancesshould be even suspected. I will not relinquish, for your sake, that atwhich I have been aiming, the very day it is within my grasp."
"He resists," thought the usurer; "he is less deeply involved than Iimagined."
"So," continued the advocate, "put your bills in the hands of yourlawyer. Let him sue me. In eight days, I shall be summoned to appearbefore the Tribunal de Commerce, and I shall ask for the twenty-fivedays' delay, which the judges always grant to an embarrassed debtor.Twenty-five and eight, all the world over, make just thirty-three days.That is precisely the respite I need. You have two alternatives: eitheraccept from me at once a new bill for twenty-four thousand francspayable in six weeks, or else, as I have an appointment, go off to yourlawyer."
"And in six weeks," replied the usurer, "you will be in precisely thesame condition you are to-day. And forty-five days more of Juliette willcost--"
"M. Clergeot," interrupted Noel, "long before that time, my positionwill be completely changed. But I have finished," he added rising; "andmy time is valuable."
"One moment, you impatient fellow!" exclaimed the good-natured banker,"you said twenty-four thousand francs at forty-five days?"
"Yes. That is about seventy-five per cent,--pretty fair interest."
"I never cavil about interest," said M. Clergeot; "only--" He lookedslyly at Noel scratching his chin violently, a movement which in himindicated how insensibly his brain was at work. "Only," he continued, "Ishould very much like to know what you are counting upon."
"That I will not tell you. You will know it ere long, in common with allthe world."
"I have it!" cried M. Clergeot, "I have it! You are going to marry! Youhave found an heiress, of course, your little Juliette told me somethingof the sort this morning. Ah! you are going to marry! Is she pretty? Butno matter. She has a full purse, eh? You wouldn't take her without that.So you are going to start a home of your own?"
"I did not say so."
"That's right. Be discreet. But I can take a hint. One word more. Bewareof the storm; your little woman has a suspicion of the truth. You areright; it wouldn't do to be seeking money now. The slightest inquirywould be sufficient to enlighten your father-in-law as to your financialposition, and you would lose the damsel. Marry and settle down. But getrid of Juliette, or I won't give five francs for the fortune. So it issettled: prepare a new bill for twenty-four thousand francs, and I willcall for it when I bring you the old ones on Monday."
"You haven't them with you, then?"
"No. And to be frank, I confess that, knowing well I should get nothingfrom you, I left them with others at my lawyer's. However, you may resteasy: you have my word."
M. Clergeot made a pretence of retiring; but just as he was going out,he returned quickly.
"I had almost forgotten," said he; "while you are about it, you can makethe bill for twenty-six thousand francs. Your little woman ordered somedresses, which I shall deliver to-morrow; in this way they will be paidfor."
The advocate began to remonstrate. He certainly did not refuse to pay,only he thought he ought to be consulted when any purchases were made.He didn't like this way of disposing of his money.
"What a fellow!" said the usurer, shrugging his shoulders; "do you wantto make the girl unhappy for nothing at all? She won't let you off yet,my friend. You may be quite sure she will eat up your new fortune also.And you know, if you need any money for the wedding, you have but togive me some guarantee. Procure me an introduction to the notary, andeverything shall be arranged. But I must go. On Monday then."
Noel listened, to make sure that the usurer had actually gone. When heheard him descending the staircase, "Scoundrel!" he cried, "miserablethieving old skinflint! Didn't he need a lot of persuading? He had quitemade up his mind to sue me. It would have been a pleasant thing hadthe count come to hear of it. Vile usurer! I was afraid, one moment, ofbeing obliged to tell him all."
While inveighing thus against the money-lender, the advocate looked athis watch.
"Half-past five already," he said.
His indecision was great. Ought he to go and dine with his father? Couldhe leave Madame Gerdy? He longed to dine at the de Commarin mansion;yet, on the other hand, to leave a dying woman!
"Decidedly," he murmured, "I can't go."
He sat down at his desk, and with all haste wrote a letter of apologyto his father. Madame Gerdy, he said, might die at any moment; he mustremain with her. As he bade the servant give the note to a messenger, tocarry it to the count, a sudden thought seemed to strike him.
"Does madame's brother," he asked, "know that she is dangerously ill?"
"I do not know, sir," replied the servant, "at any rate, I have notinformed him."
"What, did you not think to send him word? Run to his house quickly.Have him sought for, if he is not at home; he must come."
Considerably more at ease, Noel went and sat in the sick-room. The lampwas lighted; and the nun was moving about the room as though quite athome, dusting and arranging everything, and putting it in its place. Shewore an air of satisfaction, that Noel did not fail to notice.
"Have we any gleam of hope, sister?" he asked.
"Perhaps," replied the nun. "The priest has been here, sir; your dearmother did not notice his presence; but he is coming back. That is notall. Since the priest was here, the poultice has taken admirably. Theskin is quite reddened. I am sure she feels it."
"God grant that she does, sister!"
"Oh, I have already been praying! But it is important not to leave heralone a minute. I have arranged all with the servant. After the doctorhas been, I shall lie down, and she will watch until one in the morning.I will then take her place and--"
"You shall both go to bed, sister," interrupted Noel, sadly. "It is I,who could not sleep a wink, who will watch through this night."