Produced by David Moynihan; Dagny; John Bickers
THE CLIQUE OF GOLD
BY
EMILE GABORIAU
THE CLIQUE OF GOLD
I.
There is not in all Paris a house better kept or more inviting-lookingthan No. 23 in Grange Street. As soon as you enter, you are struck by aminute, extreme neatness, which reminds you of Holland, and almost setsyou a-laughing. The neighbors might use the brass plate on the door as amirror to shave in; the stone floor is polished till it shines; and thewoodwork of the staircase is varnished to perfection.
In the entrance-hall a number of notices, written in the peculiarstyle which owners of houses affect, request the tenants to respect theproperty of others, without regard to the high price they pay for theirshare. "Clean your feet, if you please," they say to all who come in orgo out. "No spitting allowed on the stairs." "Dogs are not allowed inthe house."
Nevertheless, this admirably-kept house "enjoyed" but a sorry reputationin the neighborhood. Was it worse than other houses,--No. 21, forinstance, or No. 25? Probably not; but there is a fate for houses aswell as for men.
The first story was occupied by the families of two independentgentlemen, whose simplicity of mind was only equalled by that of theirmode of life. A collector, who occasionally acted as broker, lived inthe second story, and had his offices there. The third story was rentedto a very rich man, a baron as people said, who only appeared there atlong intervals, preferring, according to his own account, to live onhis estates near Saintonge. The whole fourth story was occupied by aman familiarly known as Papa Ravinet, although he was barely fifty yearsold. He dealt in second-hand merchandise, furniture, curiosities, andtoilet articles; and his rooms were filled to overflowing with a medleycollection of things which he was in the habit of buying at auctions.The fifth story, finally, was cut up in numerous small rooms andclosets, which were occupied by poor families or clerks, who, almostwithout exception, disappeared early in the morning, and returned onlyas late as possible at night.
An addition to the house in the rear had its own staircase, and wasprobably in the hands of still humbler tenants; but then it is sodifficult to rent out small lodgings!
However this may have been, the house had a bad reputation; and thelodgers had to bear the consequences. Not one of them would have beentrusted with a dollar's worth of goods in any of the neighboring shops.No one, however, stood, rightly or wrongly, in as bad repute as thedoorkeeper, or concierge, who lived in a little hole near the greatdouble entrance-door, and watched over the safety of the whole house.Master Chevassat and his wife were severely "cut" by their colleaguesof adjoining houses; and the most atrocious stories were told of bothhusband and wife.
Master Chevassat was reputed to be well off; but the story went thathe lent out money, and did not hesitate to charge a hundred per centa month. He acted, besides, it was said, as agent for two of histenants,--the broker, and the dealer in second-hand goods, and undertookthe executions, when poor debtors were unable to pay. Mrs. Chevassat,however, had even graver charges to bear. People said she would doanything for money, and had aided and encouraged many a poor girl in thehouse in her evil career.
It was also asserted that the estimable couple had formerly lived in thefashionable Faubourg St. Honore, but had been compelled to leave thereon account of several ugly occurrences. They were, finally, reported tohave a son called Justin, a handsome fellow, thirty-five years old, wholived in the best society, and whom they nearly worshipped; while he wasashamed of them, and despised them, although he came often at night toask them for money. No one, it must, however, be confessed, had everseen this son; and no one knew him.
The two Chevassats shrugged their shoulders, and said it would be absurdif they should trouble themselves about public opinion, as long as theirconsciences were clear, and they owed nobody anything.
Towards the end of last December, however, on a Saturday afternoon,towards five o'clock, husband and wife were just sitting down to dinner,when the dealer in old clothes, Papa Ravinet, rushed like a tempest intotheir room.
He was a man of middle size, clean shaven, with small, bright, yellowisheyes, which shone with restless eagerness from under thick, bushy brows.Although he had lived for years in Paris, he was dressed like a man fromthe country, wearing a flowered silk vest, and a long frock-coat with animmense collar.
"Quick, Chevassat!" he cried, with a voice full of trouble. "Take yourlamp, and follow me; an accident has happened upstairs."
He was so seriously disturbed, although generally very calm and cool,that the two Chevassats were thoroughly frightened.
"An accident!" exclaimed the woman; "that was all that was wanting. Butpray, what has happened, dear M. Ravinet?"
"How do I know? This very moment, as I was just coming out of my room, Ithought I heard the death-rattle of a dying person. It was in the fifthstory. Of course I ran up a few steps, I listened. All was silent. Iwent down again, thinking I had been mistaken; and at once I heard againa sighing, a sobbing--I can't tell you exactly what; but it soundedexactly like the last sigh of a person in agony, and at the point ofdeath."
"And then?"
"Then I ran down to tell you, and ask you to come up. I am not sure,you understand; but I think I could swear it was the voice of MissHenrietta,--that pretty young girl who lives up there. Well, are youcoming?"
But they did not stir.
"Miss Henrietta is not in her room," said Mrs. Chevassat coldly. "Shewent out just now, and told me she would not be back till nine o'clock.My dear M. Ravinet, you must have been mistaken; you had a ringing inyour ears, or"--
"No, I am sure I was not mistaken! But never mind; we must see what itis."
During this conversation, the door of the room had been open; andseveral of the lodgers, hearing the voice of the merchant and theexclamations of the woman as they crossed the hall, had stopped andlistened.
"Yes, we must see what it is," they repeated.
Master Chevassat dared no longer oppose the general desire soperemptorily expressed,--
"Let us go then, since you will have it _so_," he sighed.
And, taking up his lamp, he began to ascend the stairs, followed by themerchant, his wife, and five or six other persons.
The steps of all these people were heard all over the house; and fromstory to story the lodgers opened their doors to see what was going on.And, when they heard that something was likely to happen, they almostall left their rooms, and followed the others.
So that Master Chevassat had nearly a dozen curious persons behind him,when he stopped on the fifth floor to take breath.
The door to Miss Henrietta's room was the first on the left in thepassage. He knocked at first gently, then harder, and at last with allhis energy, till his heavy fists shook the thin partition-walls of allthe rooms.
Between each blow he cried,--
"Miss Henrietta, Miss Henrietta, they want you!"
No reply came.
"Well!" he said triumphantly, "you see!"
But, whilst the man was knocking at the door, M. Ravinet had knelt down,and tried to open the door a little, putting now his eye, and now hisear, to the keyhole and to the slight opening between the door and theframe.
Suddenly he rose deadly pale.
"It is all over; we are too late!"
And, as the neighbors expressed some doubts, he cried furiously,--
"Have you no noses? Don't you smell that abominable charcoal?"
Everybody tried to perceive the odor; and soon all agreed that he wasright. As the door had given way a little, the passage had graduallybecome filled with a sickening vapor.
The people shuddered; and a woman's voice exclaimed,--
"She has kill
ed herself!"
As it happens strangely enough, but too frequently, in such cases, allhesitated.
"I am going for the police," said at last Master Chevassat.
"That's right!" replied the merchant. "Now there is, perhaps, a chanceyet to save the poor girl; and, when you come back, it will of course betoo late."
"What's to be done, then?"
"Break in the door."
"I dare not."
"Well, I will."
The kind-hearted man put his shoulder to the worm-eaten door, and in amoment the lock gave way. The bystanders shrank instinctively back; theywere frightened. The door was wide open, and masses of vapors rolledout. Soon, however, curiosity triumphed over fear. No one doubted anylonger that the poor girl was lying in there dead; and each one triedhis best to see where she was.
In vain. The feeble light of the lamp had gone out in the foul air; andthe darkness was frightful.
Nothing could be seen but the reddish glow of the charcoal, which wasslowly going out under a little heap of white ashes in two small stoves.No one ventured to enter.
But Papa Ravinet had not gone so far to stop now, and remain in thepassage.
"Where is the window?" he asked the concierge.
"On the right there."
"Very well; I'll open it."
And boldly the strange man plunged into the dark room; and almostinstantly the noise of breaking glass was heard. A moment later, and theair in the room had become once more fit for breathing, and everybodyrushed in.
Alas! it was the death-rattle which M. Ravinet had heard.
On the bed, on a thin mattress, without blankets or bedclothes, lay ayoung girl about twenty years old, dressed in a wretched black merinodress, stretched out at full-length, stiff, lifeless.
The women sobbed aloud.
"To die so young!" they said over and over again, "and to die thus."
In the meantime the merchant had gone up to the bed, and examined thepoor girl.
"She is not dead yet!" he cried. "No, she cannot be dead! Come, ladies,come here and help the poor child, till the doctor comes."
And then, with strange self-possession, he told them what to do for thepurpose of recalling her to life.
"Give her air," he said, "plenty of air; try to get some air into herlungs. Cut open her dress; pour some vinegar on her face; rub her withsome woollen stuff."
He issued his orders, and they obeyed him readily, although they had nohope of success.
"Poor child!" said one of the women. "No doubt she was crossed in love."
"Or she was starving," whispered another.
There was no doubt that poverty, extreme poverty, had ruled in thatmiserable chamber: the traces were easily seen all around. The wholefurniture consisted of a bed, a chest of drawers, and two chairs. Therewere no curtains at the window, no dresses in the trunk, not a ribbonin the drawers. Evidently everything that could be sold had been sold,piece by piece, little by little. The mattresses had followed thedresses,--first the wool, handful by handful, then the covering.
Too proud to complain, and cut off from society by bashfulness, the poorgirl who was lying there had evidently gone through all the stages ofsuffering which the shipwrecked mariner endures, who floats, resting ona stray spar in the great ocean.
Papa Ravinet was thinking of all this, when a paper lying on the bureauattracted his eye. He took it up. It was the last will of the poor girl,and ran thus:--
"Let no one be accused; I die voluntarily. I beg Mrs. Chevassat willcarry the two letters which I enclose to their addresses. She will bepaid whatever I may owe her. Henrietta."
There were the two letters. On the first he read,--
Count Ville-Handry, Rue de Varennest 115. And, on the other,--
M. Maxime de Brevan, 62 Rue Laffitte.
A sudden light seemed to brighten up the small yellowish eye of thedealer in old clothes; a wicked smile played on his lips; and he uttereda very peculiar, "Ah!"
But all this passed away in a moment.
His brow grew as dark as ever; and he looked around anxiously andsuspiciously to see if anybody had caught the impression produced uponhim by the letters.
No, nobody had noticed him, nobody was thinking of him; for everybodywas occupied with Miss Henrietta.
Thereupon he slipped the paper and the two letters into the vast pocketof his huge frock-coat with a dexterity and a rapidity which would haveexcited the envy of an accomplished pickpocket. It was high time;for the women who were bending over the bed of the young girl wereexhibiting signs of intense excitement. One of them said she was surethe body had trembled under her hand, and the others insisted upon itthat she was mistaken. The matter was soon to be decided, however.
After, perhaps, twenty seconds of unspeakable anguish, during which allheld their breath, and solemn stillness reigned in the room, a cry ofhope and joy broke forth suddenly.
"_She_ has trembled, she has moved!"
This time there was no doubt, no denial possible. The unfortunate girlhad certainly moved, very faintly and feebly; but still she had stirred.
A slight color returned to her pallid cheeks; her bosom rose painfully,and sank again; her teeth, closely shut, opened; and with partedlips she stretched forth her neck as if to draw in the fresh airinstinctively.
"She is alive!" exclaimed the women, almost frightened, and as if theyhad seen a miracle performed,--"she is alive!"
In an instant, M. Ravinet was by her side.
One of the women, the wife of the gentleman in the first story, held thehead of the girl on her arm, and the poor child looked around with thatblank, unmeaning eye which we see in mad-houses. They spoke to her; butshe did not answer; evidently she did not hear.
"Never mind!" said the merchant, "she is saved; and, _when_ the doctorcomes, he will have little else to do. But she must be attended to, thepoor child, and we cannot leave her here alone."
The bystanders knew very well what that meant; and yet hardly any oneventured timidly to assent, and say, "Oh, of course!"
This reluctance did not deter the good man.
"We must put her to bed," he went on; "and, of course, she must have amattress, bedclothes and blankets. We want wood also (for it is terriblycold here), and sugar for her tea, and a candle."
He did not mention all that was needed, but nearly so, and a great dealtoo much for the people who stood by. As a proof of this, the wifeof the broker put grandly a five-franc piece on the mantlepiece, andquietly slipped out. Some of the others followed her example; but theyleft nothing. When Papa Ravinet had finished his little speech, therewas nobody left but the two ladies who lived on the first floor, and theconcierge and his wife. The two ladies, moreover, looked at each otherin great embarrassment, as if they did not know what their curiositymight cost them. Had the shrewd man foreseen this noble abandonment ofthe poor girl? One would have fancied so; for he smiled bitterly, andsaid,--
"Excellent hearts--pshaw!"
Then, shrugging his shoulders, he added,--
"Luckily, I deal in all possible things. Wait a minute. I'll run downstairs, and I'll be back in a moment with all that is needed. Afterthat, we shall see what can be done."
The face of the concierge's wife was a picture. Never in her life hadshe been so much astonished.
"They have changed Papa Ravinet, or I am mad."
The fact is, that the man was not exactly considered a benevolent andgenerous mortal. They told stories of him that would have made Harpagonenvious, and touched the heart of a constable.
Nevertheless, he re-appeared soon after, almost succumbing under theweight of two excellent mattresses; and, when he came back a secondtime, he brought much more than he had mentioned.
Miss Henrietta was breathing more freely, but her face was stillpainfully rigid. Life had come back before the mind had recovered; andit was evident that she was utterly unconscious of her situation, and ofwhat was going on around her. This troubled the two ladies not a little,although they felt very much rel
ieved, and disposed to do everything,now that they were no longer expected to open their purses.
"Well, that is always the way," said Papa Ravinet boldly. "However, thedoctor will bleed her, if there is any necessity."
And, turning to Master Chevassat, he added,--
"But we are in the way of these ladies; suppose we go down and takesomething? We can come back when the child is comfortably put to bed."
The good man lived, to tell the truth, in the same rooms in which thethousand and one things he was continually buying were piled up in vastheaps. There was no fixed place for his bed even. He slept where hecould, or, rather, wherever an accidental sale had cleared a space forthe time,--one night in a costly bed of the days of Louis XIV., and thenext night on a lounge that he would have sold for a few francs. Justnow he occupied a little closet not more than three-quarters full; andhere he asked the concierge to enter.
He poured some brandy into two small wineglasses, put a teakettle on thefire, and sank into an arm-chair; then he said,--
"Well, M. Chevassat, what a terrible thing this is!"
His visitor had been well drilled by his wife, and said neither yes norno; but the old merchant was a man of experience, and knew how to loosenhis tongue.
"The most disagreeable thing about it," he said with an absent air, "is,that the doctor will report the matter to the police, and there will bean investigation."
Master Chevassat nearly dropped his glass.
"What? The police in the house? Well, good-by, then, to our lodgers; weare lost. Why did that stupid girl want to die, I wonder! But no doubtyou are mistaken, my dear sir."
"No, I am not. But you go too fast. They will simply ask you who thatgirl is, how she supports herself, and where she lived before she camehere."
"That is exactly what I cannot tell."
The dealer in old clothes seemed to be amazed; he frowned and said,--
"Halloo! that makes matters worse. How came it about that Miss Henriettahad rooms in your house?"
The concierge was evidently ill at ease; something was troubling himsorely.
"Oh! that is as clear as sunlight," he replied; "and, if you wish it,I'll tell you the story; you will see there is no harm done."
"Well, let us hear."
"Well, then, it was about a year ago this very day, when a gentlemancame in, well dressed, an eyeglass stuck in his eye, impudent like ahangman's assistant, in fact a thoroughly fashionable young man. He saidhe had seen the notice that there was a room for rent up stairs, andwanted to see it. Of course I told him it was a wretched garret, unfitfor people like him; but he insisted, and _I_ took him up."
"To the room in which Miss Henrietta is now staying?"
"Exactly. I thought he would be disgusted; but no. He looked out of thewindow, tried the door if it would shut, examined the partition-wall,and at last he said, 'This suits me; I take the room.' And thereupon hehands me a twenty-franc piece to make it a bargain. I was amazed."
If M. Ravinet felt any interest in the story, he took pains not to showit; for his eyes wandered to and fro as if his thoughts were elsewhere,and he was heartily tired of the tedious account.
"And who is that fashionable young man?" he asked.
"Ah! that is more than I know, except that his name is Maxime."
That name made the old merchant jump as if a shower-bath had suddenlyfallen upon his head. He changed color; and his small yellowish eyes hada strange look in them.
But he recovered promptly, so promptly, that his visitor saw nothing;and then he said in a tone of indifference,--
"The young man did not give you his family name?"
"No."
"But ought you not to have inquired?"
"Ah, there is the trouble! I did not do it."
Gradually, and by a great effort, Master Chevassat began to masterhis embarrassment. It looked as if he were preparing himself for theassault, and to get ready for the police-officer.
"I know it was wrong," he continued; "but you would not have acteddifferently in my place, my dear sir, I am sure. Just think! My roombelonged to M. Maxime, for I had his money in my pocket. I asked himpolitely where he lived, and if there was any furniture to come. Icaught it nicely. He laughed me in the face, and did not even let mefinish my question. 'Do I look,' he said, 'like a man who lives in aplace like this?' And when he saw I was puzzled, he went on to tell methat he took the room for a young person from the country, in whom hetook an interest, and that the contract and the receipts for rent mustall be made out in the name of Miss Henrietta. That was clear enough,wasn't it? Still it was my duty to know who Miss Henrietta was; so Iasked him civilly. But he got angry, and told me that was none of mybusiness, and that some furniture would be sent presently."
He stopped, waiting for his host to express his approbation by a word ora sign; but, as nothing came, he went on,--
"In fine, I did not dare to insist, and all was done as he wanted itdone. That very day a dealer in second-hand furniture brought the piecesyou have seen up stairs; and the day after, about eleven o'clock, MissHenrietta herself appeared. She had not much baggage, I tell you; shebrought every thing she owned in a little carpet-bag in her hand."
The old merchant was stooping over the fire as if his whole attentionwas given to the teakettle, in which the water was beginning to boil.
"It seems to me, my good friend," he said, "that you did not act verywisely. Still, if that is really all, I don't think they are likely totrouble you."
"What else could there be?"
"How do I know? But if that young damsel had been carried off by M.Maxime, if you were lending a hand in an elopement, I think you wouldbe in a bad box. The law is pretty strict about it, in the case of aminor."
The concierge protested with a solemn air.
"I have told you the whole truth," he declared.
But Papa Ravinet did not by any means seem so sure of that.
"That is your lookout," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Still, youmay be sure they will ask you how it could happen that one of yourtenants should fall into such a state of abject poverty without yourgiving notice to anybody."
"Why, in the first place, I do not wait upon my lodgers. They are freeto do what they choose in their rooms."
"Quite right, Master Chevassat! quite right! So you did not know that M.Maxime no longer came to see Miss Henrietta?"
"He still came to see her."
In the most natural manner in the world, Papa Ravinet raised his arms toheaven, and exclaimed as if horror-struck,--
"What! is it possible? That handsome young man knew how the poor girlsuffered? he knew that she was dying of hunger?"
Master Chevassat became more and more troubled. He began to see what theold merchant meant by his questions, and how unsatisfactory his answerswere.
"Ah! you ask too many questions," he said at last. "It was not my dutyto watch over M. Maxime. As for Miss Henrietta, as soon as she is ableto move, the serpent! I tell you I'll send her off pretty quickly!"
The old merchant shook his head, and said in his softest voice,--
"My dear sir, you won't do that, because from today I'll pay the rentfor her room. And, more than that, if you wish to oblige me, you willbe very kind to the poor girl, you hear, and even respectful, if youplease."
There was no misunderstanding the meaning of the word "oblige," from themanner in which he pronounced it; and yet he was about to enforce therecommendation, when a fretting voice exclaimed on the stairs,--
"Chevassat! where are you, Chevassat?"
"It's my wife," said the concierge.
And, delighted to get away, he said to Papa Ravinet--
"I understand; she shall be treated as politely as if she were thedaughter of the owner of the house. But excuse me, I must attend to thedoor; they call me, and I must go down stairs."
He slipped out without waiting for an answer, and utterly unable toguess why the old merchant should take such a sudden interest in thelodger on the fifth floor.
But he had found out what he wanted to know. He was alone, and he knewhe had no time to lose.
Quickly he drew the teakettle from the fire; and, pulling out MissHenrietta's two letters, he held the one that was addressed to M. Maximede Brevan over the steam of the boiling water. In a moment the mucilageof the envelope was dissolved, and the letter could easily be openedwithout showing in any way that it had ever been broken open. And nowthe old man read the following words:--
"You are victorious, M. de Brevan. When you read this, I shall be nolonger alive.
"You may raise your head again; you are relieved of all fears. Danielcan come back. I shall carry the secret of your infamy and yourcowardice into the grave with me.
"And yet, no!
"I can pardon you, having but a few moments longer to live; but Godwill not pardon you. I--I shall be avenged. And, if it should require amiracle, that miracle will be done, so as to inform that honorable manwho thought you were his friend, how and why the poor girl died whom hehad intrusted to your honor. H."
The old man was furious.
"The honor of Maxime de Brevan!" he growled with a voice of intensehatred,--"the honor of Maxime de Brevan!"
But his terrible excitement did not keep him from manipulating theother letter, addressed to Count Ville-Handry, in the same manner. Theoperation was successful; and, without the slightest hesitation, heread:--
"Dear father,--Broken down with anxiety, and faint from exhaustion, Ihave waited till this morning for an answer to my humble letter, which Ihad written to you on my knees.
"You have never replied to it; you are inexorable. I see I must die. Ishall die. Alas! I can hardly say I die willingly.
"I must appear very guilty in your eyes, father, that you should abandonme thus to the hatred of Sarah Brandon and her people. And yet--ah! Ihave suffered terribly. I have struggled hard before I could make up mymind to leave your house,--the house where my mother had died, where Ihad been so happy, and so tenderly beloved as a child by both of you.Ah, if you but knew!
"And yet it was so little I asked of you!--barely enough to bury myundeserved disgrace in a convent.
"Yes, undeserved, father; for I tell you at this hour, when no oneutters a falsehood, if my reputation was lost, my honor was not lost."
Big tears rolled down the cheeks of the old man; and he said in ahalf-stifled voice,--
"Poor, poor child! And to think that for a whole year I have lived underthe same roof with her, without knowing it. But I am here. I am still intime. Oh, what a friend _chance_ can be when it chooses!"
Most assuredly not one of the inmates of the house would have recognizedPapa Ravinet at this moment; he was literally transfigured. He was nolonger the cunning dealer in second-hand articles, the old scamp withthe sharp, vulgar face, so well known at all public sales, where he satin the front rank, watching for good bargains, and keeping cool when allaround him were in a state of fervent excitement.
The two letters he had just read had opened anew in his heart more thanone badly-healed and badly-scarred wound. He was suffering intensely;and his pain, his wrath, and his hope of vengeance long delayed, gaveto his features a strange expression of energy and nobility. Withhis elbows on the table, holding his head in his hands, and lookingapparently into the far past, he seemed to call up the miseries of thepast, and to trace out in the future the vague outlines of some greatscheme. And as his thoughts began to overflow, so to say, he broke outin a strange, spasmodic monologue,--
"Yes," he murmured, "yes, I recognize you, Sarah Brandon! Poor child,poor child! Overcome by such horrible intrigues! And that Daniel, whointrusted her to the care of Maxime de Brevan--who is he? Why did shenot write to him when she suffered thus? Ah, if she had trusted me! Whata sad fate! And how can I ever hope to make her confide in _me_?"
An old clock struck seven, and the merchant was suddenly recalled to thepresent; he trembled in all his limbs.
"Nonsense!" he growled. "I was falling asleep; and that is what I cannotafford to do. I must go up stairs, and hear the child's confession."
Instantly, and with amazing dexterity, he replaced the letters in theirenvelopes, dried them, pasted them up again, and smoothed them down,till every trace of the steam had entirely disappeared. Then looking athis work with an air of satisfaction, he said,--
"That was not so badly done. An expert in the post-office would notsuspect it. I may risk it."
And, thus re-assured, he rapidly mounted up to the fifth story; butthere Mrs. Chevassat suddenly barred his way, coming down stairs in amanner which showed clearly that she had lain in wait for him.
"Well, my dear sir," she said with her sweetest manner: "so you havebecome Miss Henrietta's banker?"
"Yes; do you object to it?"
"Oh, not at all! It is none of my business, only"--
She stopped, smiling wickedly, and then added,--
"Only she is a prodigiously pretty girl; and I was just saying tomyself, 'Upon my word, M. Ravinet's taste is not bad.'"
The merchant was on the point of giving her a pretty sharp, indignantreply; but he controlled himself, because he knew how important it wasto mislead the woman; and, forcing himself to smile, he said,--
"You know I count upon your being discreet."
When he got up, he found that he ought, at least, to give credit toMamma Chevassat and the two ladies from the first floor, for havingemployed their time well, and for having skilfully made use of thearticles he had contributed. The room, a short time ago cold and bare,had an air of comfort about it now, which was delightful. On thebureau stood a lamp with a shade to prevent the light from hurting thepatient's eyes; a bright fire blazed on the hearth; several old curtainshad been hung before the window, one before the other, to replace forthe time the missing panes; and on the table stood a teakettle, a chinacup, and two small medicine-bottles.
Evidently the doctor had been here during Ravinet's absence. He hadbled the poor girl, prescribed some medicines, and left again, with theassurance that nothing more was needed but perfect quiet.
In fact, there was no trace left of the sufferings and the terribledanger from which the patient had so marvellously escaped, except thedeep pallor of her face. Stretched out at full-length on her comfortablebed with its thick mattresses and snow-white sheets, her head proppedup high on a couple of pillows, she was breathing freely, as was easilyseen by the steady, regular rising and falling of her bosom under thecover.
But life and consciousness had also brought back to her a sense of thehorror of her position, and of her capacity for suffering.
Her brow resting on her arm, which was almost concealed by masses ofgolden hair, immovable, and her eyes fixed steadily upon infinite space,as if trying to pierce the darkness of the future, she would have lookedlike a statue of sorrow rather than of resignation, but for the bigtears which were slowly dropping down her cheeks.
Her exquisite beauty looked almost ethereal under the circumstances; andPapa Ravinet, when he saw her, remained fixed by admiration, standingupon the threshold of the open door. But it occurred to him at once thathe might be looked upon as a spy, and that his feelings would be sureto be misinterpreted. He coughed, therefore, to give warning, and thenstepped in.
At the noise he made, Henrietta roused herself. When she saw the oldmerchant, she said in a faint, feeble voice,--
"Ah! it is you, sir. These kind ladies have told me all. You have savedmy life." Then, shaking her head, she added,--
"You have rendered me a sad service, sir."
She uttered these words so simply, but in a tone of such harrowinggrief, that Papa Ravinet was overcome.
"Unhappy child!" he exclaimed, "you do not think of trying it overagain?"
She made no answer. It was as good as if she had said, Yes.
"Why, you must be mad!" said the old man, excited almost beyond control."Only twenty years old, and give up life! That has never been donebefore. You are
suffering now; but you can hardly imagine whatcompensation Providence may have in store for you hereafter"--
She interrupted him by a gesture, and said,--
"There was no future for me, sir, when I sought refuge in death."
"But"--
"Oh, don't try to convince me, sir! What I did, I had to do. I felt howlife was leaving me, and I only wished to shorten the agony. I had noteaten any thing for three days when I lit that charcoal. Even to get thecharcoal, I had to risk a falsehood, and cheat the woman who let me haveit in credit. And yet God knows I was not wanting in courage. I wouldhave done the coarsest, hardest work cheerfully, joyously. But how didI know how to get work? I asked Mrs. Chevassat a hundred times to obtainemployment for me; but she always laughed at me; and, when I beggedhard, she said"--
She stopped; and her face became crimson with shame. She dared notrepeat what the wife of the concierge had said. But she added in a voicetrembling with womanly shame and deep indignation,--
"Ah, that woman is a wicked creature!"
The old merchant was probably fully aware of the character of Mrs.Chevassat. He guessed only too readily what kind of advice she had giventhis poor girl of twenty, who had turned to her for help in her greatsuffering. He uttered an oath which would have startled even thatestimable woman, and then said warmly,--
"I understand, Miss Henrietta, I understand. Do you think I don't knowwhat you must have suffered? I know poverty, as well as you. I canunderstand your purpose but too well. Who would not give up life itselfwhen everybody abandons us? But I do not understand your despair, nowthat circumstances have changed."
"Alas, sir, how have they changed?"
"How? What do you mean? Don't you see me? Do you think I would leaveyou, after having been just in time to save your life? That would benice! No, my dear child, compose yourself; poverty shall not come nearyou again, I'll see to that. You want somebody to advise you, to defendyou; and here I am; if you have enemies, let them beware! Come, smileagain, and think of the good times a-coming."
But she did not smile; she looked frightened, almost stupefied. Makinga supreme effort, she looked fixedly at the old man to see if she couldread in his face what were his real thoughts. He, on his part, wasseriously troubled by his failure to inspire her with confidence.
"Do you doubt my promises?" he asked her.
She shook her head; and uttering her words one by one, as if to givethem greater weight, she said,--
"I beg your pardon, sir. I do not doubt you. But I cannot understand whyyou should offer me your kind protection."
Papa Ravinet affected a greater surprise than he really felt, and said,raising his hands to heaven,--
"Great God! she mistrusts my good will."
"Sir!"
"Pray what can you have to fear from me? I am an old man; you are almosta child. I come to help you. Is not that perfectly natural, and quitesimple?"
She said nothing; and he remained a few moments buried in thought, as iftrying to find out her motive for refusing his help. Suddenly he criedout, beating his forehead,--
"Ah, I have it. That woman Chevassat has talked to you about me, nodoubt. Ah, the viper! I'll crush her one of these days! Come, let us befrank; what has she told you?"
He hoped she would say a word at least. He waited; but nothing came.
Then he broke forth, with a vehemence scarcely controlled, and in wordsvery unexpected from a man like him,--
"Well, I will tell you what the old thief has told you. She told youPapa Ravinet was a dangerous, ill-reputed man, who carried on in thedark all kind of suspicious trades. She told you the old scamp was ausurer, who knew no law, and kept no promise; whose only principle wasprofit; who dealt in every thing with everybody, selling to-day old ironin junk-shops, and to-morrow cashmere shawls to fashionable ladies; andwho lent money on imaginary securities--the talent of men and the beautyof women. In fine, she told you that it was a piece of good-fortune fora woman to be under my protection, and you knew it was a disgrace."
He stopped, as if to give the poor girl time to form her judgment, andthen went on more calmly,--
"Let us suppose there is such a Papa Ravinet as she has described. Butthere is another one, whom but few people know, who has been sorelytried by misfortune; and he is the one who now offers his aid to you."
There is no surer way to make people believe in any virtue we have, orwish to appear to have, than to accuse ourselves of bad qualities, oreven vices, which we do not have. But, if the old man had calculatedupon this policy, he failed signally. Henrietta remained as icy as ever,and said,--
"Believe me, sir, I am exceedingly obliged to you for all you have donefor me, and for your effort to convince me."
The poor man looked disappointed.
"In fact, you reject my offers, because I do not explain them to you byany of the usual motives. But what can I tell you? Suppose I should sayto you that I have a daughter who has secretly left me, so that I donot know what has become of her, and that her memory makes me anxiousto serve you. May I not have said to myself, that perhaps she isstruggling, just as you have done, with poverty; that she also has beenabandoned by her lover?"
The poor girl turned deadly pale as he spoke thus, and interrupted himeagerly, raising herself on her pillows,--
"You are mistaken, sir. My position here may justify such suspicions, Iknow; but I have no lover."
He replied,--
"I believe you; I swear I believe you. But, if that is so, how did youget here? and how were you reduced to such extreme suffering?"
At last Papa Ravinet had touched the right chord. The poor girl wasdeeply moved; and the tears started in her eyes. She said in a lowvoice,--
"There are secrets which cannot be revealed."
"Not even when life and honor depend on them?"
"Yes."
"But"--
"Oh, pray do not insist!"
If Henrietta had known the old merchant, she would have read in his eyesthe satisfaction which he felt. A moment before he had despaired of evergaining her confidence; now he felt almost sure of success. The timeseemed to him to have come to strike a decisive blow.
"I have tried my best to win your confidence, I confess; but it wassolely in your own interest. If it had been otherwise, do you thinkI should have asked you these questions, instead of finding out everything by simply tearing a piece of paper?"
The poor girl could not retain a cry of terror.
"You mean my letters?"
"I have both."
"Ah! That is why the ladies who nursed me looked for them everywhere invain."
Instead of any other answer, he drew them from his pocket, and laid themon the bed with an air of injured innocence. To all appearances, theenvelopes had not been touched. Henrietta glanced at them, and then,holding out her hand to the old man, she said,--
"I thank you, sir!"
He did not stir; but he felt that this false evidence of honesty hadhelped him more than all his eloquence. He hastily added,--
"After all, I could not resist the temptation to read the directions,and to draw my own conclusions. Who is Count Ville-Handry? I suppose heis your father. And M. Maxime de Brevan? No doubt he is the young manwho called to see you so often. Ah, if you would but trust me! If youbut knew how a little experience of the world often helps us to overcomethe greatest difficulties!"
He was evidently deeply moved.
"However, wait till you are perfectly well again before you come to anydecision. Consider the matter carefully. You need not tell me any thingelse but what is absolutely necessary for me to know in order to adviseyou."
"Yes, indeed! In that way I may"--
"Well, I'll wait, why, as long as you want me to wait,--two days, tendays."
"Very well."
"Only, I pray you, promise me solemnly that you will give up all idea ofsuicide."
"I promise you solemnly I will."
Papa Ravinet's eyes shone with delight; and he exclaimed joyously,--
/> "Done! I'll come up again to-morrow; for, to tell the truth, I am tiredto death, and must go and lie down."
But he told a fib; for he did not go back to his rooms. In spite ofthe wretched weather, he left the house; and, as soon as he was in thestreet, he hid himself in a dark corner, from which he could watch thefront-door of the house. He remained there a long time, exposed to windand rain, uttering now and then a low oath, and stamping with his feetto keep himself warm. At last, just as it struck eleven, a hack stoppedat No. 23. A young man got out, rang the bell, and entered.
"He is Maxime de Brevan," murmured the old man. Then he added in asavage voice,--
"I knew he would come, the scoundrel! to see if the charcoal had doneits work."
But the same moment the young man came out again, and jumped into thecarriage, which quickly drove off.
"Aha!" laughed the merchant. "No chance for you, my fine fellow! Youhave lost your game, and you'll have to try your luck elsewhere; andthis time I am on hand. I hold you fast; and, instead of one bill topay, there will be two now."
La clique dorée. English Page 1
