by Émile Zola
CHAPTER V
At about four o'clock on the afternoon of the following day Lisa betookherself to Saint Eustache. For the short walk across the square she hadarrayed herself very seriously in a black silk gown and thick woollenshawl. The handsome Norman, who, from her stall in the fish market,watched her till she vanished into the church porch, was quite amazed.
"Hallo! So the fat thing's gone in for priests now, has she?" sheexclaimed, with a sneer. "Well, a little holy water may do her good!"
She was mistaken in her surmises, however, for Lisa was not a devotee.She did not observe the ordinances of the Church, but said that shedid her best to lead an honest life, and that this was all that wasnecessary. At the same time, however, she disliked to hear religionspoken ill of, and often silenced Gavard, who delighted in scandalousstories of priests and their doings. Talk of that sort seemed to heraltogether improper. Everyone, in her opinion, should be allowed tobelieve as they pleased, and every scruple should be respected. Besides,the majority of the clergy were most estimable men. She knew AbbeRoustan, of Saint Eustache--a distinguished priest, a man of shrewdsense, and one, she thought, whose friendship might be safely reliedupon. And she would wind up by explaining that religion was absolutelynecessary for the people; she looked upon it as a sort of police forcethat helped to maintain order, and without which no government would bepossible. When Gavard went too far on this subject and asserted that thepriests ought to be turned into the streets and have their shops shutup, Lisa, shrugged her shoulders and replied: "A great deal of good thatwould do! Why, before a month was over the people would be murderingone another in the streets, and you would be compelled to invent anotherGod. That was just what happened in '93. You know very well that I'm notgiven to mixing with the priests, but for all that I say that they arenecessary, as we couldn't do without them."
And so when Lisa happened to enter a church she always manifestedthe utmost decorum. She had bought a handsome missal, which she neveropened, for use when she was invited to a funeral or a wedding. Sheknelt and rose at the proper times, and made a point of conductingherself with all propriety. She assumed, indeed, what she considered asort of official demeanour, such as all well-to-do folks, tradespeople,and house-owners ought to observe with regard to religion.
As she entered Saint Eustache that afternoon she let the double doors,covered with green baize, faded and worn by the frequent touch of pioushands, close gently behind her. Then she dipped her fingers in the holywater and crossed herself in the correct fashion. And afterwards, withhushed footsteps, she made her way to the chapel of Saint Agnes, wheretwo kneeling women with their faces buried in their hands were waiting,whilst the blue skirts of a third protruded from the confessional. Lisaseemed rather put out by the sight of these women, and, addressing averger who happened to pass along, wearing a black skullcap anddragging his feet over the slabs, she inquired: "Is this Monsieur l'AbbeRoustan's day for hearing confessions?"
The verger replied that his reverence had only two more penitentswaiting, and that they would not detain him long, so that if Lisa wouldtake a chair her turn would speedily come. She thanked him, withouttelling him that she had not come to confess; and, making up her mind towait, she began to pace the church, going as far as the chief entrance,whence she gazed at the lofty, severe, bare nave stretching between thebrightly coloured aisles. Raising her head a little, she examined thehigh altar, which she considered too plain, having no taste for the coldgrandeur of stonework, but preferring the gilding and gaudy colouring ofthe side chapels. Those on the side of the Rue du Jour looked greyish inthe light which filtered through their dusty windows, but on the sideof the markets the sunset was lighting up the stained glass with lovelytints, limpid greens and yellows in particular, which reminded Lisa ofthe bottle of liqueurs in front of Monsieur Lebigre's mirror. She cameback by this side, which seemed to be warmed by the glow of light,and took a passing interest in the reliquaries, altar ornaments, andpaintings steeped in prismatic reflections. The church was empty,quivering with the silence that fell from its vaulted roofing. Here andthere a woman's dress showed like a dark splotch amidst the vague yellowof the chairs; and a low buzzing came from the closed confessionals. AsLisa again passed the chapel of Saint Agnes she saw the blue dress stillkneeling at Abbe Roustan's feet.
"Why, if I'd wanted to confess I could have said everything in tenseconds," she thought, proud of her irreproachable integrity.
Then she went on to the end of the church. Behind the high altar, in thegloom of a double row of pillars, is the chapel of the Blessed Virgin,damp and dark and silent. The dim stained windows only show the flowingcrimson and violet robes of saints, which blaze like flames of mysticlove in the solemn, silent adoration of the darkness. It is a weird,mysterious spot, like some crepuscular nook of paradise solely illuminedby the gleaming stars of two tapers. The four brass lamps hanging fromthe roof remain unlighted, and are but faintly seen; on espying them youthink of the golden censers which the angels swing before the throne ofMary. And kneeling on the chairs between the pillars there are alwayswomen surrendering themselves languorously to the dim spot's voluptuouscharm.
Lisa stood and gazed tranquilly around her. She did not feel the leastemotion, but considered that it was a mistake not to light the lamps.Their brightness would have given the place a more cheerful look. Thegloom even struck her as savouring of impropriety. Her face was warmedby the flames of some candles burning in a candelabrum by her side, andan old woman armed with a big knife was scraping off the wax which hadtrickled down and congealed into pale tears. And amidst the quiveringsilence, the mute ecstasy of adoration prevailing in the chapel, Lisawould distinctly hear the rumbling of the vehicles turning out of theRue Montmartre, behind the scarlet and purple saints on the windows,whilst in the distance the markets roared without a moment's pause.
Just as Lisa was leaving the chapel, she saw the younger of theMehudins, Claire, the dealer in fresh water fish, come in. The girllighted a taper at the candelabrum, and then went to kneel behind apillar, her knees pressed upon the hard stones, and her face so palebeneath her loose fair hair that she seemed a corpse. And believingherself to be securely screened from observation, she gave way toviolent emotion, and wept hot tears with a passionate outpouring ofprayer which bent her like a rushing wind. Lisa looked on in amazement,for the Mehudins were not known to be particularly pious; indeed, Clairewas accustomed to speak of religion and priests in such terms as tohorrify one.
"What's the meaning of this, I wonder?" pondered Lisa, as she againmade her way to the chapel of Saint Agnes. "The hussy must have beenpoisoning some one or other."
Abbe Roustan was at last coming out of his confessional. He was ahandsome man, of some forty years of age, with a smiling, kindly air.When he recognised Madame Quenu he grasped her hand, called her "dearlady," and conducted her to the vestry, where, taking off his surplice,he told her that he would be entirely at her service in a moment. Theyreturned, the priest in his cassock, bareheaded, and Lisa struttingalong in her shawl, and paced up and down in front of the side-chapelsadjacent to the Rue du Jour. They conversed together in low tones. Thesunlight was departing from the stained windows, the church was growingdark, and the retreating footsteps of the last worshippers sounded butfaintly over the flagstones.
Lisa explained her doubts and scruples to Abbe Roustan. There had neverbeen any question of religion between them; she never confessed, butmerely consulted him in cases of difficulty, because he was shrewdand discreet, and she preferred him, as she sometimes said, to shadybusiness men redolent of the galleys. The abbe, on his side, manifestedinexhaustible complaisance. He looked up points of law for her inthe Code, pointed out profitable investments, resolved her moraldifficulties with great tact, recommended tradespeople to her,invariably having an answer ready however diverse and complicatedher requirements might be. And he supplied all this help in a naturalmatter-of-fact way, without ever introducing the Deity into his talk,or seeking to obtain any advantage either for himself o
r the cause ofreligion. A word of thanks and a smile sufficed him. He seemed glad tohave an opportunity of obliging the handsome Madame Quenu, of whom hishousekeeper often spoke to him in terms of praise, as of a woman who washighly respected in the neighbourhood.
Their consultation that afternoon was of a peculiarly delicate nature.Lisa was anxious to know what steps she might legitimately take, as awoman of honour, with respect to her brother-in-law. Had she a rightto keep a watch upon him, and to do what she could to prevent him fromcompromising her husband, her daughter, and herself? And then how farmight she go in circumstances of pressing danger? She did not bluntlyput these questions to the abbe, but asked them with such skilfulcircumlocutions that he was able to discuss the matter without enteringinto personalities. He brought forward arguments on both sides of thequestion, but the conclusion he came to was that a person of integritywas entitled, indeed bound, to prevent evil, and was justified in usingwhatever means might be necessary to ensure the triumph of that whichwas right and proper.
"That is my opinion, dear lady," he said in conclusion. "The questionof means is always a very grave one. It is a snare in which soulsof average virtue often become entangled. But I know your scrupulousconscience. Deliberate carefully over each step you think of taking, andif it contains nothing repugnant to you, go on boldly. Pure natures havethe marvelous gift of purifying all that they touch."
Then, changing his tone of voice, he continued: "Pray give my kindregards to Monsieur Quenu. I'll come in to kiss my dear little Paulinesome time when I'm passing. And now good-bye, dear lady; remember thatI'm always at your service."
Thereupon he returned to the vestry. Lisa, on her way out, was curiousto see if Claire was still praying, but the girl had gone back toher eels and carp; and in front of the Lady-chapel, which was alreadyshrouded in darkness, there was now but a litter of chairs overturned bythe ardent vehemence of the woman who had knelt there.
When the handsome Lisa again crossed the square, La Normande, whohad been watching for her exit from the church, recognised her in thetwilight by the rotundity of her skirts.
"Good gracious!" she exclaimed, "she's been more than an hour in there!When the priests set about cleansing her of her sins, the choir-boyshave to form in line to pass the buckets of filth and empty them in thestreet!"
The next morning Lisa went straight up to Florent's bedroom and settledherself there with perfect equanimity. She felt certain that she wouldnot be disturbed, and, moreover, she had made up her mind to tell afalsehood and say that she had come to see if the linen was clean,should Florent by any chance return. Whilst in the shop, however, shehad observed him busily engaged in the fish market. Seating herself infront of the little table, she pulled out the drawer, placed it upon herknees, and began to examine its contents, taking the greatest care torestore them to their original positions.
First of all she came upon the opening chapters of the work on Cayenne;then upon the drafts of Florent's various plans and projects, hisschemes for converting the Octroi duties into taxes upon sales, forreforming the administrative system of the markets, and all the others.These pages of small writing, which she set herself to read, bored herextremely, and she was about to restore the drawer to its place, feelingconvinced that Florent concealed the proofs of his wicked designselsewhere, and already contemplating a searching visitation of hismattress, when she discovered a photograph of La Normande in anenvelope. The impression was rather dark. La Normande was standing upwith her right arm resting on a broken column. Decked out with allher jewels, and attired in a new silk dress, the fish-girl was smilingimpudently, and Lisa, at the sight, forgot all about her brother-in-law,her fears, and the purpose for which she had come into the room. Shebecame quite absorbed in her examination of the portrait, as oftenhappens when one woman scrutinises the photograph of another at herease, without fear of being seen. Never before had she so favourable anopportunity to study her rival. She scrutinised her hair, her nose, hermouth; held the photograph at a distance, and then brought it closeragain. And, finally, with compressed lips, she read on the back of it,in a big, ugly scrawl: "Louise, to her friend, Florent." This quitescandalised her; to her mind it was a confession, and she felt a strongimpulse to take possession of the photograph, and keep it as a weaponagainst her enemy. However, she slowly replaced it in the envelope oncoming to the conclusion that this course would be wrong, and reflectingthat she would always know where to find it should she want it again.
Then, as she again began turning over the loose sheets of paper, itoccurred to her to look at the back end of the drawer, where Florent hadrelegated Augustine's needles and thread; and there, between the missaland the Dream-book, she discovered what she sought, some extremelycompromising memoranda, simply screened from observation by a wrapper ofgrey paper.
That idea of an insurrection, of the overthrow of the Empire by meansof an armed rising, which Logre had one evening propounded at MonsieurLebigre's, had slowly ripened in Florent's feverish brain. He soon grewto see a duty, a mission in it. Therein undoubtedly lay the task towhich his escape from Cayenne and his return to Paris predestined him.Believing in a call to avenge his leanness upon the city which wallowedin food while the upholders of right and equity were racked by hungerin exile, he took upon himself the duties of a justiciary, and dreamt ofrising up, even in the midst of those markets, to sweep away the reignof gluttony and drunkenness. In a sensitive nature like his, this ideaquickly took root. Everything about him assumed exaggerated proportions,the wildest fancies possessed him. He imagined that the markets had beenconscious of his arrival, and had seized hold of him that they mightenervate him and poison him with their stenches. Then, too, Lisa wantedto cast a spell over him, and for two or three days at a time he wouldavoid her, as though she were some dissolving agency which would destroyall his power of will should he approach too closely. However, theseparoxysms of puerile fear, these wild surgings of his rebellious brain,always ended in thrills of the gentlest tenderness, with yearnings tolove and be loved, which he concealed with a boyish shame.
It was more especially in the evening that his mind became blurred byall his wild imaginings. Depressed by his day's work, but shunning sleepfrom a covert fear--the fear of the annihilation it brought with it--hewould remain later than ever at Monsieur Lebigre's, or at the Mehudins';and on his return home he still refrained from going to bed, and satup writing and preparing for the great insurrection. By slow degrees hedevised a complete system of organisation. He divided Paris into twentysections, one for each arrondissement. Each section would have achief, a sort of general, under whose orders there were to be twentylieutenants commanding twenty companies of affiliated associates. Everyweek, among the chiefs, there would be a consultation, which was to beheld in a different place each time; and, the better to ensure secrecyand discretion, the associates would only come in contact with theirrespective lieutenants, these alone communicating with the chiefs of thesections. It also occurred to Florent that it would be as well that thecompanies should believe themselves charged with imaginary missions, asa means of putting the police upon a wrong scent.
As for the employment of the insurrectionary forces, that would be allsimplicity. It would, of course, be necessary to wait till the companieswere quite complete, and then advantage would be taken of the firstpublic commotion. They would doubtless only have a certain number ofguns used for sporting purposes in their possession, so they wouldcommence by seizing the police stations and guard-houses, disarming thesoldiers of the line; resorting to violence as little as possible, andinviting the men to make common cause with the people. Afterwards theywould march upon the Corps Legislatif, and thence to the Hotel de Ville.This plan, to which Florent returned night after night, as though itwere some dramatic scenario which relieved his over-excited nervoussystem, was as yet simply jotted down on scraps of paper, full oferasures, which showed how the writer had felt his way, and revealedeach successive phase of his scientific yet puerile conception. WhenLisa had glanced through the no
tes, without understanding some of them,she remained there trembling with fear; afraid to touch them furtherlest they should explode in her hands like live shells.
A last memorandum frightened her more than any of the others. It wasa half sheet of paper on which Florent had sketched the distinguishinginsignia which the chiefs and the lieutenants were to wear. By theside of these were rough drawings of the standards which the differentcompanies were to carry; and notes in pencil even described what coloursthe banners should assume. The chiefs were to wear red scarves, and thelieutenants red armlets.
To Lisa this seemed like an immediate realisation of the rising; she sawall the men with their red badges marching past the pork shop, firingbullets into her mirrors and marble, and carrying off sausagesand chitterlings from the window. The infamous projects of herbrother-in-law were surely directed against herself--against her ownhappiness. She closed the drawer and looked round the room, reflectingthat it was she herself who had provided this man with a home--that heslept between her sheets and used her furniture. And she was especiallyexasperated at his keeping his abominable infernal machine in thatlittle deal table which she herself had used at Uncle Gradelle's beforeher marriage--a perfectly innocent, rickety little table.
For a while she stood thinking what she should do. In the first place,it was useless to say anything to Quenu. For a moment it occurred toher to provoke an explanation with Florent, but she dismissed that idea,fearing lest he would only go and perpetrate his crime elsewhere, andmaliciously make a point of compromising them. Then gradually growingsomewhat calmer, she came to the conclusion that her best plan would beto keep a careful watch over her brother-in-law. It would be time enoughto take further steps at the first sign of danger. She already had quitesufficient evidence to send him back to the galleys.
On returning to the shop again, she found Augustine in a state ofgreat excitement. Little Pauline had disappeared more than half anhour before, and to Lisa's anxious questions the young woman could onlyreply: "I don't know where she can have got to, madame. She was on thepavement there with a little boy. I was watching them, and then I had tocut some ham for a gentleman, and I never saw them again."
"I'll wager it was Muche!" cried Lisa. "Ah, the young scoundrel!"
It was, indeed, Muche who had enticed Pauline away. The little girl, whowas wearing a new blue-striped frock that day for the first time, hadbeen anxious to exhibit it, and had accordingly taken her stand outsidethe shop, manifesting great propriety of bearing, and compressing herlips with the grave expression of a little woman of six who is afraid ofsoiling her clothes. Her short and stiffly-starched petticoats stood outlike the skirts of a ballet girl, allowing a full view of her tightlystretched white stockings and little sky-blue boots. Her pinafore,which hung low about her neck, was finished off at the shoulders with anedging of embroidery, below which appeared her pretty little arms, bareand rosy. She had small turquoise rings in her ears, a cross at herneck, a blue velvet ribbon in her well-brushed hair; and she displayedall her mother's plumpness and softness--the gracefulness, indeed, of anew doll.
Muche had caught sight of her from the market, where he was amusinghimself by dropping little dead fishes into the gutter, following themalong the kerb as the water carried them away, and declaring that theywere swimming. However, the sight of Pauline standing in front of theshop and looking so smart and pretty made him cross over to her, caplessas he was, with his blouse ragged, his trousers slipping down, and hiswhole appearance suggestive of a seven-year-old street-arab. His motherhad certainly forbidden him to play any more with "that fat booby of agirl who was stuffed by her parents till she almost burst"; so he stoodhesitating for a moment, but at last came up to Pauline, and wanted tofeel her pretty striped frock. The little girl, who had at first feltflattered, then put on a prim air and stepped back, exclaiming in a toneof displeasure: "Leave me alone. Mother says I'm not to have anything todo with you."
This brought a laugh to the lips of Muche, who was a wily, enterprisingyoung scamp.
"What a little flat you are!" he retorted. "What does it matter whatyour mother says? Let's go and play at shoving each other, eh?"
He doubtless nourished some wicked idea of dirtying the neat littlegirl; but she, on seeing him prepare to give her a push in the back,retreated as though about to return inside the shop. Muche thereuponadopted a flattering tone like a born cajoler.
"You silly! I didn't mean it," said he. "How nice you look like that! Isthat little cross your mother's?"
Pauline perked herself up, and replied that it was her own, whereuponMuche gently led her to the corner of the Rue Pirouette, touching herskirts the while and expressing his astonishment at their wonderfulstiffness. All this pleased the little girl immensely. She had been verymuch vexed at not receiving any notice while she was exhibiting herselfoutside the shop. However, in spite of all Muche's blandishments, shestill refused to leave the footway.
"You stupid fatty!" thereupon exclaimed the youngster, relapsing intocoarseness. "I'll squat you down in the gutter if you don't look out,Miss Fine-airs!"
The girl was dreadfully alarmed. Muche had caught hold of her bythe hand; but, recognising his mistake in policy, he again put on awheedling air, and began to fumble in his pocket.
"I've got a sou," said he.
The sight of the coin had a soothing effect upon Pauline. The boy heldup the sou with the tips of his fingers, and the temptation to followit proved so great that the girl at last stepped down into the roadway.Muche's diplomacy was eminently successful.
"What do you like best?" he asked.
Pauline gave no immediate answer. She could not make up her mind; therewere so many things that she liked. Muche, however, ran over a wholelist of dainties--liquorice, molasses, gum-balls, and powdered sugar.The powdered sugar made the girl ponder. One dipped one's fingers intoit and sucked them; it was very nice. For a while she gravely consideredthe matter. Then, at last making up her mind, she said:
"No, I like the mixed screws the best."
Muche thereupon took hold of her arm, and she unresistingly allowed himto lead her away. They crossed the Rue Rambuteau, followed the broadfootway skirting the markets, and went as far as a grocer's shop in theRue de la Cossonnerie which was celebrated for its mixed screws. Thesemixed screws are small screws of paper in which grocers put up all sortsof damaged odds and ends, broken sugar-plums, fragments of crystallisedchestnuts--all the doubtful residuum of their jars of sweets. Mucheshowed himself very gallant, allowed Pauline to choose the screw--a blueone--paid his sou, and did not attempt to dispossess her of the sweets.Outside, on the footway, she emptied the miscellaneous collection ofscraps into both pockets of her pinafore; and they were such littlepockets that they were quite filled. Then in delight she began to munchthe fragments one by one, wetting her fingers to catch the fine sugarydust, with such effect that she melted the scraps of sweets, and thepockets of her pinafore soon showed two brownish stains. Muche laughedslily to himself. He had his arm about the girl's waist, and rumpled herfrock at his ease whilst leading her round the corner of the Rue PierreLescot, in the direction of the Place des Innocents.
"You'll come and play now, won't you?" he asked. "That's nice whatyou've got in your pockets, ain't it? You see that I didn't want to doyou any harm, you big silly!"
Thereupon he plunged his own fingers into her pockets, and they enteredthe square together. To this spot, no doubt, he had all along intendedto lure his victim. He did the honours of the square as though it werehis own private property, and indeed it was a favourite haunt of his,where he often larked about for whole afternoons. Pauline had neverbefore strayed so far from home, and would have wept like an abducteddamsel had it not been that her pockets were full of sweets. Thefountain in the middle of the flowered lawn was sending sheets of waterdown its tiers of basins, whilst, between the pilasters above, JeanGoujon's nymphs, looking very white beside the dingy grey stonework,inclined their urns and displayed their nude graces in the grimy airof the Saint Denis
quarter. The two children walked round the fountain,watching the water fall into the basins, and taking an interest in thegrass, with thoughts, no doubt, of crossing the central lawn, or glidinginto the clumps of holly and rhododendrons that bordered the railings ofthe square. Little Muche, however, who had now effectually rumpled theback of the pretty frock, said with his sly smile:
"Let's play at throwing sand at each other, eh?"
Pauline had no will of her own left; and they began to throw the sand ateach other, keeping their eyes closed meanwhile. The sand made its wayin at the neck of the girl's low bodice, and trickled down into herstockings and boots. Muche was delighted to see the white pinaforebecome quite yellow. But he doubtless considered that it was still fartoo clean.
"Let's go and plant trees, shall we?" he exclaimed suddenly. "I know howto make such pretty gardens."
"Really, gardens!" murmured Pauline full of admiration.
Then, as the keeper of the square happened to be absent, Muche told herto make some holes in one of the borders; and dropping on her knees inthe middle of the soft mould, and leaning forward till she lay at fulllength on her stomach, she dug her pretty little arms into the ground.He, meantime, began to hunt for scraps of wood, and broke off branches.These were the garden-trees which he planted in the holes that Paulinemade. He invariably complained, however, that the holes were not deepenough, and rated the girl as though she were an idle workman and he anindignant master. When she at last got up, she was black from head tofoot. Her hair was full of mould, her face was smeared with it, shelooked such a sight with her arms as black as a coalheaver's that Mucheclapped his hands with glee, and exclaimed: "Now we must water thetrees. They won't grow, you know, if we don't water them."
That was the finishing stroke. They went outside the square, scooped thegutter-water up in the palms of their hands, and then ran back to pourit over the bits of wood. On the way, Pauline, who was so fat that shecouldn't run properly, let the water trickle between her fingers on toher frock, so that by the time of her sixth journey she looked as if shehad been rolled in the gutter. Muche chuckled with delight on beholdingher dreadful condition. He made her sit down beside him under arhododendron near the garden they had made, and told her that the treeswere already beginning to grow. He had taken hold of her hand and calledher his little wife.
"You're not sorry now that you came, are you," he asked, "instead ofmooning about on the pavement, where there was nothing to do? I know allsorts of fun we can have in the streets; you must come with me again.You will, won't you? But you mustn't say anything to your mother, mind.If you say a word to her, I'll pull your hair the next time I come pastyour shop."
Pauline consented to everything; and then, as a last attention, Muchefilled both pockets of her pinafore with mould. However, all the sweetswere finished, and the girl began to get uneasy, and ceased playing.Muche thereupon started pinching her, and she burst into tears, sobbingthat she wanted to go away. But at this the lad only grinned, and playedthe bully, threatening that he would not take her home at all. Then shegrew terribly alarmed, and sobbed and gasped like a maiden in the powerof a libertine. Muche would certainly have ended by punching her inorder to stop her row, had not a shrill voice, the voice of MademoiselleSaget, exclaimed, close by: "Why, I declare it's Pauline! Leave heralone, you wicked young scoundrel!"
Then the old maid took the girl by the hand, with endless expressionsof amazement at the pitiful condition of her clothes. Muche showed noalarm, but followed them, chuckling to himself, and declaring that itwas Pauline who had wanted to come with him, and had tumbled down.
Mademoiselle Saget was a regular frequenter of the Square des Innocents.Every afternoon she would spend a good hour there to keep herself wellposted in the gossip of the common people. On either side there is along crescent of benches placed end to end; and on these the poor folkswho stifle in the hovels of the neighbouring narrow streets assemble incrowds. There are withered, chilly-looking old women in tumbled caps,and young ones in loose jackets and carelessly fastened skirts, withbare heads and tired, faded faces, eloquent of the wretchedness of theirlives. There are some men also: tidy old buffers, porters in greasyjackets, and equivocal-looking individuals in black silk hats, while thefoot-path is overrun by a swarm of youngsters dragging toy carts withoutwheels about, filling pails with sand, and screaming and fighting;a dreadful crew, with ragged clothes and dirty noses, teeming in thesunshine like vermin.
Mademoiselle Saget was so slight and thin that she always managed toinsinuate herself into a place on one of the benches. She listened towhat was being said, and started a conversation with her neighbour, somesallow-faced workingman's wife, who sat mending linen, from time to timeproducing handkerchiefs and stockings riddled with holes from a littlebasket patched up with string. Moreover, Mademoiselle Saget hadplenty of acquaintances here. Amidst the excruciating squalling ofthe children, and the ceaseless rumble of the traffic in the Rue SaintDenis, she took part in no end of gossip, everlasting tales about thetradesmen of the neighbourhood, the grocers, the butchers, and thebakers, enough, indeed, to fill the columns of a local paper, and thewhole envenomed by refusals of credit and covert envy, such as is alwaysharboured by the poor. From these wretched creatures she also obtainedthe most disgusting revelations, the gossip of low lodging-houses anddoorkeepers' black-holes, all the filthy scandal of the neighbourhood,which tickled her inquisitive appetite like hot spice.
As she sat with her face turned towards the markets, she had immediatelyin front of her the square and its three blocks of houses, into thewindows of which her eyes tried to pry. She seemed to gradually riseand traverse the successive floors right up to the garret skylights.She stared at the curtains; based an entire drama on the appearance ofa head between two shutters; and, by simply gazing at the facades, endedby knowing the history of all the dwellers in these houses. The BaratteRestaurant, with its wine shop, its gilt wrought-iron _marquise_,forming a sort of terrace whence peeped the foliage of a few plants inflower-pots, and its four low storeys, all painted and decorated, had anespecial interest for her. She gazed at its yellow columns standingout against a background of tender blue, at the whole of its imitationtemple-front daubed on the facade of a decrepit, tumble-down house,crowned at the summit by a parapet of painted zinc. Behind thered-striped window-blinds she espied visions of nice little lunches,delicate suppers, and uproarious, unlimited orgies. And she did nothesitate to invent lies about the place. It was there, she declared,that Florent came to gorge with those two hussies, the Mehudins, on whomhe lavished his money.
However, Pauline cried yet louder than before when the old maid tookhold of her hand. Mademoiselle Saget at first led her towards the gateof the square; but before she got there she seemed to change her mind;for she sat down at the end of a bench and tried to pacify the child.
"Come, now, give over crying, or the policeman will lock you up," shesaid to Pauline. "I'll take you home safely. You know me, don't you? I'ma good friend. Come, come, let me see how prettily you can smile."
The child, however, was choking with sobs and wanted to go away.Mademoiselle Saget thereupon quietly allowed her to continue weeping,reserving further remarks till she should have finished. The poor littlecreature was shivering all over; her petticoats and stockings werewet through, and as she wiped her tears away with her dirty hands sheplastered the whole of her face with earth to the very tips of herears. When at last she became a little calmer the old maid resumed ina caressing tone: "Your mamma isn't unkind, is she? She's very fond ofyou, isn't she?"
"Oh, yes, indeed," replied Pauline, still sobbing.
"And your papa, he's good to you, too, isn't he? He doesn't flog you, orquarrel with your mother, does he? What do they talk about when they goto bed?"
"Oh, I don't know. I'm asleep then."
"Do they talk about your cousin Florent?"
"I don't know."
Mademoiselle Saget thereupon assumed a severe expression, and got up asif about to go away.
; "I'm afraid you are a little story-teller," she said. "Don't you knowthat it's very wicked to tell stories? I shall go away and leave you, ifyou tell me lies, and then Muche will come back and pinch you."
Pauline began to cry again at the threat of being abandoned. "Be quiet,be quiet, you wicked little imp!" cried the old maid shakingher. "There, there, now, I won't go away. I'll buy you a stick ofbarley-sugar; yes, a stick of barley-sugar! So you don't love yourcousin Florent, eh?"
"No, mamma says he isn't good."
"Ah, then, so you see your mother does say something."
"One night when I was in bed with Mouton--I sleep with Mouton sometimes,you know--I heard her say to father, 'Your brother has only escaped fromthe galleys to take us all back with him there.'"
Mademoiselle Saget gave vent to a faint cry, and sprang to her feet,quivering all over. A ray of light had just broken upon her. Thenwithout a word she caught hold of Pauline's hand and made her run tillthey reached the pork shop, her lips meanwhile compressed by an inwardsmile, and her eyes glistening with keen delight. At the corner of theRue Pirouette, Muche, who had so far followed them, amused at seeing thegirl running along in her muddy stockings, prudently disappeared.
Lisa was now in a state of terrible alarm; and when she saw her daughterso bedraggled and limp, her consternation was such that she turned thechild round and round, without even thinking of beating her.
"She has been with little Muche," said the old maid, in her maliciousvoice. "I took her away at once, and I've brought her home. I found themtogether in the square. I don't know what they've been up to; but thatyoung vagabond is capable of anything."
Lisa could not find a word to say; and she did not know where to takehold of her daughter, so great was her disgust at the sight of thechild's muddy boots, soiled stockings, torn skirts, and filthy face andhands. The blue velvet ribbon, the earrings, and the necklet were allconcealed beneath a crust of mud. But what put the finishing touch toLisa's exasperation was the discovery of the two pockets filled withmould. She stooped and emptied them, regardless of the pink and whiteflooring of the shop. And as she dragged Pauline away, she could onlygasp: "Come along, you filthy thing!"
Quite enlivened by this scene, Mademoiselle Saget now hurriedly madeher way across the Rue Rambuteau. Her little feet scarcely touched theground; her joy seemed to carry her along like a breeze which fanned herwith a caressing touch. She had at last found out what she had so muchwanted to know! For nearly a year she had been consumed by curiosity,and now at a single stroke she had gained complete power over Florent!This was unhoped-for contentment, positive salvation, for she felt thatFlorent would have brought her to the tomb had she failed much longer insatisfying her curiosity about him. At present she was complete mistressof the whole neighbourhood of the markets. There was no longer any gapin her information. She could have narrated the secret history of everystreet, shop by shop. And thus, as she entered the fruit market, shefairly gasped with delight, in a perfect transport of pleasure.
"Hallo, Mademoiselle Saget," cried La Sarriette from her stall, "whatare you smiling to yourself like that about? Have you won the grandprize in the lottery?"
"No, no. Ah, my dear, if you only knew!"
Standing there amidst her fruit, La Sarriette, in her picturesquedisarray, looked charming. Frizzy hair fell over her brow like vinebranches. Her bare arms and neck, indeed all the rosy flesh she showed,bloomed with the freshness of peach and cherry. She had playfully hungsome cherries on her ears, black cherries which dangled against hercheeks when she stooped, shaking with merry laughter. She was eatingcurrants, and her merriment arose from the way in which she was smearingher face with them. Her lips were bright red, glistening with the juiceof the fruit, as though they had been painted and perfumed with someseraglio face-paint. A perfume of plum exhaled from her gown, whilefrom the kerchief carelessly fastened across her breast came an odour ofstrawberries.
Fruits of all kinds were piled around her in her narrow stall. On theshelves at the back were rows of melons, so-called "cantaloups" swarmingwith wart-like knots, "maraichers" whose skin was covered with greylace-like netting, and "culs-de-singe" displaying smooth bare bumps. Infront was an array of choice fruits, carefully arranged in baskets, andshowing like smooth round cheeks seeking to hide themselves, or glimpsesof sweet childish faces, half veiled by leaves. Especially was this thecase with the peaches, the blushing peaches of Montreuil, with skinas delicate and clear as that of northern maidens, and the yellow,sun-burnt peaches from the south, brown like the damsels of Provence.The apricots, on their beds of moss, gleamed with the hue of amber orwith that sunset glow which so warmly colours the necks of brunettes atthe nape, just under the little wavy curls which fall below the chignon.The cherries, ranged one by one, resembled the short lips of smilingChinese girls; the Montmorencies suggested the dumpy mouths of buxomwomen; the English ones were longer and graver-looking; the common blackones seemed as though they had been bruised and crushed by kisses; whilethe white-hearts, with their patches of rose and white, appeared tosmile with mingled merriment and vexation. Then piles of applesand pears, built up with architectural symmetry, often in pyramids,displayed the ruddy glow of budding breasts and the gleaming sheen ofshoulders, quite a show of nudity, lurking modestly behind a screen offern-leaves. There were all sorts of varieties--little red ones sotiny that they seemed to be yet in the cradle, shapeless "rambours"for baking, "calvilles" in light yellow gowns, sanguineous-looking"Canadas," blotched "chataignier" apples, fair freckled rennets anddusky russets. Then came the pears--the "blanquettes," the "Britishqueens," the "Beurres," the "messirejeans," and the "duchesses"--somedumpy, some long and tapering, some with slender necks, and others withthick-set shoulders, their green and yellow bellies picked out at timeswith a splotch of carmine. By the side of these the transparent plumsresembled tender, chlorotic virgins; the greengages and the Orleansplums paled as with modest innocence, while the mirabelles lay likegolden beads of a rosary forgotten in a box amongst sticks ofvanilla. And the strawberries exhaled a sweet perfume--a perfume ofyouth--especially those little ones which are gathered in the woods, andwhich are far more aromatic than the large ones grown in gardens,for these breathe an insipid odour suggestive of the watering-pot.Raspberries added their fragrance to the pure scent. The currants--red,white, and black--smiled with a knowing air; whilst the heavy clustersof grapes, laden with intoxication, lay languorously at the edgesof their wicker baskets, over the sides of which dangled some of theberries, scorched by the hot caresses of the voluptuous sun.
It was there that La Sarriette lived in an orchard, as it were, inan atmosphere of sweet, intoxicating scents. The cheaper fruits--thecherries, plums, and strawberries--were piled up in front of her inpaper-lined baskets, and the juice coming from their bruised ripenessstained the stall-front, and steamed, with a strong perfume, in theheat. She would feel quite giddy on those blazing July afternoons whenthe melons enveloped her with a powerful, vaporous odour of musk; andthen with her loosened kerchief, fresh as she was with the springtide oflife, she brought sudden temptation to all who saw her. It was she--itwas her arms and necks which gave that semblance of amorous vitalityto her fruit. On the stall next to her an old woman, a hideous olddrunkard, displayed nothing but wrinkled apples, pears as flabbyas herself, and cadaverous apricots of a witch-like sallowness. LaSarriette's stall, however, spoke of love and passion. The cherrieslooked like the red kisses of her bright lips; the silky peaches werenot more delicate than her neck; to the plums she seemed to have lentthe skin from her brow and chin; while some of her own crimson bloodcoursed through the veins of the currants. All the scents of theavenue of flowers behind her stall were but insipid beside the aroma ofvitality which exhaled from her open baskets and falling kerchief.
That day she was quite intoxicated by the scent of a large arrival ofmirabelle plums, which filled the market. She could plainly see thatMademoiselle Saget had learnt some great piece of news, and she wishedto make her talk. But the old maid stamped
impatiently whilst sherepeated: "No, no; I've no time. I'm in a great hurry to see MadameLecoeur. I've just learnt something and no mistake. You can come withme, if you like."
As a matter of fact, she had simply gone through the fruit market forthe purpose of enticing La Sarriette to go with her. The girl couldnot refuse temptation. Monsieur Jules, clean-shaven and as fresh as acherub, was seated there, swaying to and fro on his chair.
"Just look after the stall for a minute, will you?" La Sarriette said tohim. "I'll be back directly."
Jules, however, got up and called after her, in a thick voice: "Not I;no fear! I'm off! I'm not going to wait an hour for you, as I did theother day. And, besides, those cursed plums of yours quite make my headache."
Then he calmly strolled off, with his hands in his pockets, and thestall was left to look after itself. Mademoiselle Saget went so fastthat La Sarriette had to run. In the butter pavilion a neighbour ofMadame Lecoeur's told them that she was below in the cellar; and so,whilst La Sarriette went down to find her, the old maid installedherself amidst the cheeses.
The cellar under the butter market is a very gloomy spot. The rows ofstorerooms are protected by a very fine wire meshing, as a safeguardagainst fire; and the gas jets, which are very few and far between,glimmer like yellow splotches destitute of radiance in the heavy,malordorous atmosphere beneath the low vault. Madame Lecoeur, however,was at work on her butter at one of the tables placed parallel with theRue Berger, and here a pale light filtered through the vent-holes. Thetables, which are continually sluiced with a flood of water from thetaps, are as white as though they were quite new. With her back turnedto the pump in the rear, Madame Lecoeur was kneading her butter in akind of oak box. She took some of different sorts which lay beside her,and mixed the varieties together, correcting one by another, just as isdone in the blending of wines. Bent almost double, and showing sharp,bony shoulders, and arms bared to the elbows, as scraggy and knotted aspea-rods, she dug her fists into the greasy paste in front of her, whichwas assuming a whitish and chalky appearance. It was trying work, andshe heaved a sigh at each fresh effort.
"Mademoiselle Saget wants to speak to you, aunt," said La Sarriette.
Madame Lecoeur stopped her work, and pulled her cap over her hair withher greasy fingers, seemingly quite careless of staining it. "I'venearly finished. Ask her to wait a moment," she said.
"She's got something very particular to tell you," continued LaSarriette.
"I won't be more than a minute, my dear."
Then she again plunged her arms into the butter, which buried them upto the elbows. Previously softened in warm water, it covered MadameLecoeur's parchment-like skin as with an oily film, and threw the bigpurple veins that streaked her flesh into strong relief. La Sarriettewas quite disgusted by the sight of those hideous arms working sofrantically amidst the melting mass. However, she could recall the timewhen her own pretty little hands had manipulated the butter for wholeafternoons at a time. It had even been a sort of almond-paste to her,a cosmetic which had kept her skin white and her nails delicately pink;and even now her slender fingers retained the suppleness it had endowedthem with.
"I don't think that butter of yours will be very good, aunt," shecontinued, after a pause. "Some of the sorts seem much too strong."
"I'm quite aware of that," replied Madame Lecoeur, between a couple ofgroans. "But what can I do? I must use everything up. There are somefolks who insist upon having butter cheap, and so cheap butter must bemade for them. Oh! it's always quite good enough for those who buy it."
La Sarriette reflected that she would hardly care to eat butter whichhad been worked by her aunt's arms. Then she glanced at a little jarfull of a sort of reddish dye. "Your colouring is too pale," she said.
This colouring-matter--"raucourt," as the Parisians call it is used togive the butter a fine yellow tint. The butter women imagine thatits composition is known only to themselves, and keep it very secret.However, it is merely made from anotta;[*] though a composition ofcarrots and marigold is at times substituted for it.
[*] Anotta, which is obtained from the pulp surrounding the seeds of the _Bixa Orellana_, is used for a good many purposes besides the colouring of butter and cheese. It frequently enters into the composition of chocolate, and is employed to dye nankeen. Police court proceedings have also shown that it is well known to the London milkmen, who are in the habit of adding water to their merchandise. --Translator.
"Come, do be quick!" La Sarriette now exclaimed, for she was gettingimpatient, and was, moreover, no longer accustomed to the malodorousatmosphere of the cellar. "Mademoiselle Saget will be going. I fancyshe's got something very important to tell you abut my uncle Gavard."
On hearing this, Madame Lecoeur abruptly ceased working. She at onceabandoned both butter and dye, and did not even wait to wipe her arms.With a slight tap of her hand she settled her cap on her head again, andmade her way up the steps, at her niece's heels, anxiously repeating:"Do you really think that she'll have gone away?"
She was reassured, however, on catching sight of Mademoiselle Sagetamidst the cheeses. The old maid had taken good care not to go awaybefore Madame Lecoeur's arrival. The three women seated themselves atthe far end of the stall, crowding closely together, and their facesalmost touching one another. Mademoiselle Saget remained silent fortwo long minutes, and then, seeing that the others were burning withcuriosity, she began, in her shrill voice: "You know that Florent! Well,I can tell you now where he comes from."
For another moment she kept them in suspense; and then, in a deep,melodramatic voice, she said: "He comes from the galleys!"
The cheeses were reeking around the three women. On the two shelves atthe far end of the stall were huge masses of butter: Brittany buttersoverflowing from baskets; Normandy butters, wrapped in canvas, andresembling models of stomachs over which some sculptor had thrown dampcloths to keep them from drying; while other great blocks had been cutinto, fashioned into perpendicular rocky masses full of crevasses andvalleys, and resembling fallen mountain crests gilded by the pale sun ofan autumn evening.
Beneath the stall show-table, formed of a slab of red marble veined withgrey, baskets of eggs gleamed with a chalky whiteness; while on layersof straw in boxes were Bondons, placed end to end, and Gournays,arranged like medals, forming darker patches tinted with green. Butit was upon the table that the cheeses appeared in greatest profusion.Here, by the side of the pound-rolls of butter lying on white-beetleaves, spread a gigantic Cantal cheese, cloven here and there as by anaxe; then came a golden-hued Cheshire, and next a Gruyere, resemblinga wheel fallen from some barbarian chariot; whilst farther on were someDutch cheeses, suggesting decapitated heads suffused with dry blood, andhaving all that hardness of skulls which in France has gained themthe name of "death's heads." Amidst the heavy exhalations of these, aParmesan set a spicy aroma. Then there came three Brie cheeses displayedon round platters, and looking like melancholy extinct moons. Two ofthem, very dry, were at the full; the third, in its second quarter, wasmelting away in a white cream, which had spread into a pool and flowedover the little wooden barriers with which an attempt had been made toarrest its course. Next came some Port Saluts, similar to antique discs,with exergues bearing their makers' names in print. A Romantour, in itstin-foil wrapper, suggested a bar of nougat or some sweet cheese astrayamidst all these pungent, fermenting curds. The Roqueforts under theirglass covers also had a princely air, their fat faces marbled with blueand yellow, as though they were suffering from some unpleasant maladysuch as attacks the wealthy gluttons who eat too many truffles. And on adish by the side of these, the hard grey goats' milk cheeses, about thesize of a child's fist, resembled the pebbles which the billy-goatssend rolling down the stony paths as they clamber along ahead of theirflocks. Next came the strong smelling cheeses: the Mont d'Ors, of abright yellow hue, and exhaling a comparatively mild odour; the Troyes,very thick, and bruised at the edges, and of a far more pungent smell,recalling the dampne
ss of a cellar; the Camemberts, suggestive of highgame; the square Neufchatels, Limbourgs, Marolles, and Pont l'Eveques,each adding its own particular sharp scent to the malodorous bouquet,till it became perfectly pestilential; the Livarots, ruddy in hue, andas irritating to the throat as sulphur fumes; and, lastly, stronger thanall the others, the Olivets, wrapped in walnut leaves, like the carrionwhich peasants cover with branches as it lies rotting in the hedgerowunder the blazing sun.
The heat of the afternoon had softened the cheeses; the patches of mouldon their crusts were melting, and glistening with tints of ruddy bronzeand verdigris. Beneath their cover of leaves, the skins of the Olivetsseemed to be heaving as with the slow, deep respiration of a sleepingman. A Livarot was swarming with life; and in a fragile box behind thescales a Gerome flavoured with aniseed diffused such a pestilentialsmell that all around it the very flies had fallen lifeless on thegray-veined slap of ruddy marble.
This Gerome was almost immediately under Mademoiselle Saget's nose; soshe drew back, and leaned her head against the big sheets of white andyellow paper which were hanging in a corner.
"Yes," she repeated, with an expression of disgust, "he comes from thegalleys! Ah, those Quenu-Gradelles have no reason to put on so manyairs!"
Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette, however, had burst into exclamations ofastonishment: "It wasn't possible, surely! What had he done to be sentto the galleys? Could anyone, now, have ever suspected that MadameQuenu, whose virtue was the pride of the whole neighbourhood, wouldchoose a convict for a lover?"
"Ah, but you don't understand at all!" cried the old maid impatiently."Just listen, now, while I explain things. I was quite certain that Ihad seen that great lanky fellow somewhere before."
Then she proceeded to tell them Florent's story. She had recalled tomind a vague report which had circulated of a nephew of old Gradellebeing transported to Cayenne for murdering six gendarmes at a barricade.She had even seen this nephew on one occasion in the Rue Pirouette. Thepretended cousin was undoubtedly the same man. Then she began to bemoanher waning powers. Her memory was quite going, she said; she would soonbe unable to remember anything. And she bewailed her perishing memoryas bitterly as any learned man might bewail the loss of his notesrepresenting the work of a life-time, on seeing them swept away by agust of wind.
"Six gendarmes!" murmured La Sarriette, admiringly; "he must have a veryheavy fist!"
"And he's made away with plenty of others, as well," added MademoiselleSaget. "I shouldn't advise you to meet him at night!"
"What a villain!" stammered out Madame Lecoeur, quite terrified.
The slanting beams of the sinking sun were now enfilading the pavilion,and the odour of the cheeses became stronger than ever. That of theMarolles seemed to predominate, borne hither and thither in powerfulwhiffs. Then, however, the wind appeared to change, and suddenly theemanations of the Limbourgs were wafted towards the three women, pungentand bitter, like the last gasps of a dying man.
"But in that case," resumed Madame Lecoeur, "he must be fat Lisa'sbrother-in-law. And we thought that he was her lover!"
The women exchanged glances. This aspect of the case took them bysurprise. They were loth to give up their first theory. However, LaSarriette, turning to Mademoiselle Saget, remarked: "That must have beenall wrong. Besides, you yourself say that he's always running after thetwo Mehudin girls."
"Certainly he is," exclaimed Mademoiselle Saget sharply, fancying thather word was doubted. "He dangles about them every evening. But, afterall, it's no concern of ours, is it? We are virtuous women, and what hedoes makes no difference to us, the horrid scoundrel!"
"No, certainly not," agreed the other two. "He's a consummate villain."
The affair was becoming tragical. Of course beautiful Lisa was nowout of the question, but for this they found ample consolation inprophesying that Florent would bring about some frightful catastrophe.It was quite clear, they said, that he had got some base design inhis head. When people like him escaped from gaol it was only to burneverything down; and if he had come to the markets it must assuredly befor some abominable purpose. Then they began to indulge in the wildestsuppositions. The two dealers declared that they would put additionalpadlocks to the doors of their storerooms; and La Sarriette calledto mind that a basket of peaches had been stolen from her during theprevious week. Mademoiselle Saget, however, quite frightened the twoothers by informing them that that was not the way in which the Redsbehaved; they despised such trifles as baskets of peaches; their planwas to band themselves together in companies of two or three hundred,kill everybody they came across, and then plunder and pillage at theirease. That was "politics," she said, with the superior air of one whoknew what she was talking about. Madame Lecoeur felt quite ill. Shealready saw Florent and his accomplices hiding in the cellars, andrushing out during the night to set the markets in flames and sackParis.
"Ah! by the way," suddenly exclaimed the old maid, "now I think of it,there's all that money of old Gradelle's! Dear me, dear me, those Quenuscan't be at all at their ease!"
She now looked quite gay again. The conversation took a fresh turn, andthe others fell foul of the Quenus when Mademoiselle Saget had told themthe history of the treasure discovered in the salting-tub, with everyparticular of which she was acquainted. She was even able to informthem of the exact amount of the money found--eighty-five thousandfrancs--though neither Lisa nor Quenu was aware of having revealed thisto a living soul. However, it was clear that the Quenus had not giventhe great lanky fellow his share. He was too shabbily dressed forthat. Perhaps he had never even heard of the discovery of the treasure.Plainly enough, they were all thieves in his family. Then the threewomen bent their heads together and spoke in lower tones. They wereunanimously of opinion that it might perhaps be dangerous to attack thebeautiful Lisa, but it was decidedly necessary that they should settlethe Red Republican's hash, so that he might no longer prey upon thepurse of poor Monsieur Gavard.
At the mention of Gavard there came a pause. The gossips looked ateach other with a circumspect air. And then, as they drew breath, theyinhaled the odour of the Camemberts, whose gamy scent had overpoweredthe less penetrating emanations of the Marolles and the Limbourgs, andspread around with remarkable power. Every now and then, however, aslight whiff, a flutelike note, came from the Parmesan, while the Briescontributed a soft, musty scent, the gentle, insipid sound, as it were,of damp tambourines. Next followed an overpowering refrain from theLivarots, and afterwards the Gerome, flavoured with aniseed, kept up thesymphony with a high prolonged note, like that of a vocalist during apause in the accompaniment.
"I have seen Madame Leonce," Mademoiselle Saget at last continued, witha significant expression.
At this the two others became extremely attentive. Madame Leonce was thedoorkeeper of the house where Gavard lived in the Rue de la Cossonnerie.It was an old house standing back, with its ground floor occupied by animporter of oranges and lemons, who had had the frontage coloured blueas high as the first floor. Madame Leonce acted as Gavard's housekeeper,kept the keys of his cupboards and closets, and brought him up tisanewhen he happened to catch cold. She was a severe-looking woman, betweenfifty and sixty years of age, and spoke slowly, but at endless length.Mademoiselle Saget, who went to drink coffee with her every Wednesdayevening, had cultivated her friendship more closely than ever since thepoultry dealer had gone to lodge in the house. They would talk aboutthe worthy man for hours at a time. They both professed the greatestaffection for him, and a keen desire to ensure his comfort andhappiness.
"Yes, I have seen Madame Leonce," repeated the old maid. "We had a cupof coffee together last night. She was greatly worried. It seems thatMonsieur Gavard never comes home now before one o'clock in the morning.Last Sunday she took him up some broth, as she thought he looked quiteill."
"Oh, she knows very well what she's about," exclaimed Madame Lecoeur,whom these attentions to Gavard somewhat alarmed.
Mademoiselle Saget felt bound to defend her friend. "Oh, real
ly, you arequite mistaken," said she. "Madame Leonce is much above her position;she is quite a lady. If she wanted to enrich herself at MonsieurGavard's expense, she might easily have done so long ago. It seems thathe leaves everything lying about in the most careless fashion. It'sabout that, indeed, that I want to speak to you. But you'll not repeatanything I say, will you? I am telling it you in strict confidence."
Both the others swore that they would never breathe a word of what theymight hear; and they craned out their necks with eager curiosity, whilstthe old maid solemnly resumed: "Well, then, Monsieur Gavard has beenbehaving very strangely of late. He has been buying firearms--a greatbig pistol--one of those which revolve, you know. Madame Leonce saysthat things are awful, for this pistol is always lying about on thetable or the mantelpiece; and she daren't dust anywhere near it. Butthat isn't all. His money--"
"His money!" echoed Madame Lecoeur, with blazing cheeks.
"Well, he's disposed of all his stocks and shares. He's sold everything,and keeps a great heap of gold in a cupboard."
"A heap of gold!" exclaimed La Sarriette in ecstasy.
"Yes, a great heap of gold. It covers a whole shelf, and is quitedazzling. Madame Leonce told me that one morning Gavard opened thecupboard in her presence, and that the money quite blinded her, it shoneso."
There was another pause. The eyes of the three women were blinking asthough the dazzling pile of gold was before them. Presently La Sarriettebegan to laugh.
"What a jolly time I would have with Jules if my uncle would give thatmoney to me!" said she.
Madame Lecoeur, however, seemed quite overwhelmed by this revelation,crushed beneath the weight of the gold which she could not banish fromher sight. Covetous envy thrilled her. But at last, raising her skinnyarms and shrivelled hands, her finger-nails still stuffed with butter,she stammered in a voice full of bitter distress: "Oh, I mustn't thinkof it! It's too dreadful!"
"Well, it would all be yours, you know, if anything were to happen toMonsieur Gavard," retorted Mademoiselle Saget. "If I were in your place,I would look after my interests. That revolver means nothing good,you may depend upon it. Monsieur Gavard has got into the hands of evilcounsellors; and I'm afraid it will all end badly."
Then the conversation again turned upon Florent. The three womenassailed him more violently than ever. And afterwards, with perfectcomposure, they began to discuss what would be the result of all thesedark goings-on so far as he and Gavard were concerned; certainly itwould be no pleasant one if there was any gossiping. And thereupon theyswore that they themselves would never repeat a word of what they knew;not, however, because that scoundrel Florent merited any consideration,but because it was necessary, at all costs, to save that worthy MonsieurGavard from being compromised. Then they rose from their seats, andMademoiselle Saget was burning as if to go away when the butter dealerasked her: "All the same, in case of accident, do you think that MadameLeonce can be trusted? I dare say she has the key of the cupboard."
"Well, that's more than I can tell you," replied the old maid. "Ibelieve she's a very honest woman; but, after all, there's no telling.There are circumstances, you know, which tempt the best of people.Anyhow, I've warned you both; and you must do what you think proper."
As the three women stood there, taking leave of each other, the odourof the cheeses seemed to become more pestilential than ever. It was acacophony of smells, ranging from the heavily oppressive odour of theDutch cheeses and the Gruyeres to the alkaline pungency of the Olivets.From the Cantal, the Cheshire, and the goats' milk cheeses there seemedto come a deep breath like the sound of a bassoon, amidst which thesharp, sudden whiffs of the Neufchatels, the Troyes, and the Montd'Ors contributed short, detached notes. And then the different odoursappeared to mingle one with another, the reek of the Limbourgs, the PortSaluts, the Geromes, the Marolles, the Livarots, and the Pont l'Evequesuniting in one general, overpowering stench sufficient to provokeasphyxia. And yet it almost seemed as though it were not the cheeses butthe vile words of Madame Lecoeur and Mademoiselle Saget that diffusedthis awful odour.
"I'm very much obliged to you, indeed I am," said the butter dealer. "Ifever I get rich, you shall not find yourself forgotten."
The old maid still lingered in the stall. Taking up a Bondon, she turnedit round, and put it down on the slab again. Then she asked its price.
"To me!" she added, with a smile.
"Oh, nothing to you," replied Madame Lecoeur. "I'll make you a presentof it." And again she exclaimed: "Ah, if I were only rich!"
Mademoiselle Saget thereupon told her that some day or other she wouldbe rich. The Bondon had already disappeared within the old maid's bag.And now the butter dealer returned to the cellar, while MademoiselleSaget escorted La Sarriette back to her stall. On reaching it theytalked for a moment or two about Monsieur Jules. The fruits around themdiffused a fresh scent of summer.
"It smells much nicer here than at your aunt's," said the old maid. "Ifelt quite ill a little time ago. I can't think how she manages to existthere. But here it's very sweet and pleasant. It makes you look quiterosy, my dear."
La Sarriette began to laugh, for she was fond of compliments. Then sheserved a lady with a pound of mirabelle plums, telling her that theywere as sweet as sugar.
"I should like to buy some of those mirabelles too," murmuredMademoiselle Saget, when the lady had gone away; "only I want so few. Alone woman, you know."
"Take a handful of them," exclaimed the pretty brunette. "That won'truin me. Send Jules back to me if you see him, will you? You'll mostlikely find him smoking his cigar on the first bench to the right as youturn out of the covered way."
Mademoiselle Saget distended her fingers as widely as possible in orderto take a handful of mirabelles, which joined the Bondon in the bag.Then she pretended to leave the market, but in reality made a detour byone of the covered ways, thinking, as she walked slowly along, that themirabelles and Bondon would not make a very substantial dinner. When shewas unable, during her afternoon perambulations, to wheedle stallkeepersinto filling her bag for her, she was reduced to dining off the merestscraps. So she now slyly made her way back to the butter pavilions,where, on the side of the Rue Berger, at the back of the offices of theoyster salesmen, there were some stalls at which cooked meat wassold. Every morning little closed box-like carts, lined with zinc andfurnished with ventilators, drew up in front of the larger Parisiankitchens and carried away the leavings of the restaurants, theembassies, and State Ministries. These leavings were conveyed to themarket cellars and there sorted. By nine o'clock plates of food weredisplayed for sale at prices ranging from three to five sous, theircontents comprising slices of meat, scraps of game, heads and tails offishes, bits of galantine, stray vegetables, and, by way of dessert,cakes scarcely cut into, and other confectionery. Poor starvingwretches, scantily-paid clerks, and women shivering with fever wereto be seen crowding around, and the street lads occasionally amusedthemselves by hooting the pale-faced individuals, known to be misers,who only made their purchases after slyly glancing about them to seethat they were not observed.[*] Mademoiselle Saget wriggled her way toa stall, the keeper of which boasted that the scraps she sold cameexclusively from the Tuileries. One day, indeed, she had induced the oldmaid to buy a slice of leg of mutton by informing that it had come fromthe plate of the Emperor himself; and this slice of mutton, eaten withno little pride, had been a soothing consolation to Mademoiselle Saget'svanity. The wariness of her approach to the stall was, moreover, solelycaused by her desire to keep well with the neighbouring shop people,whose premises she was eternally haunting without ever buying anything.Her usual tactics were to quarrel with them as soon as she had managedto learn their histories, when she would bestow her patronage upon afresh set, desert it in due course, and then gradually make friendsagain with those with whom she had quarrelled. In this way she made thecomplete circuit of the market neighbourhood, ferreting about in everyshop and stall. Anyone would have imagined that she consumed an enormousamount of provisions,
whereas, in point of fact, she lived solely uponpresents and the few scraps which she was compelled to buy when peoplewere not in the giving vein.
[*] The dealers in these scraps are called _bijoutiers_, or jewellers, whilst the scraps themselves are known as _harlequins_, the idea being that they are of all colours and shapes when mingled together, thus suggesting harlequin's variegated attire.--Translator.
On that particular evening there was only a tall old man standing infront of the stall. He was sniffing at a plate containing a mixtureof meat and fish. Mademoiselle Saget, in her turn, began to sniff at aplate of cold fried fish. The price of it was three sous, but, by dintof bargaining, she got it for two. The cold fish then vanished into thebag. Other customers now arrived, and with a uniform impulse loweredtheir noses over the plates. The smell of the stall was very disgusting,suggestive alike of greasy dishes and a dirty sink.[*]
[*] Particulars of the strange and repulsive trade in harlequins, which even nowadays is not extinct, will be found in Privat d'Anglemont's well-known book _Paris Anecdote_, written at the very period with which M. Zola deals in the present work. My father, Henry Vizetelly, also gave some account of it in his _Glances Back through Seventy Years_, in a chapter describing the odd ways in which certain Parisians contrive to get a living.--Translator.
"Come and see me to-morrow," the stallkeeper called out to the old maid,"and I'll put something nice on one side for you. There's going to be agrand dinner at the Tuileries to-night."
Mademoiselle Saget was just promising to come, when, happening to turnround, she discovered Gavard looking at her and listening to what shewas saying. She turned very red, and, contracting her skinny shoulders,hurried away, affecting not to recognise him. Gavard, however, followedher for a few yards, shrugging his shoulders and muttering to himselfthat he was no longer surprised at the old shrew's malice, now heknew that "she poisoned herself with the filth carted away from theTuileries."
On the very next morning vague rumours began to circulate in themarkets. Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette were in their own fashionkeeping the oaths of silence they had taken. For her own part,Mademoiselle Saget warily held her tongue, leaving the two others tocirculate the story of Florent's antecedents. At first only a few meagredetails were hawked about in low tones; then various versions of thefacts got into circulation, incidents were exaggerated, and graduallyquite a legend was constructed, in which Florent played the part of aperfect bogey man. He had killed ten gendarmes at the barricade in theRue Greneta, said some; he had returned to France on a pirate ship whosecrew scoured the seas to murder everyone they came across, said others;whilst a third set declared that ever since his arrival he had beenobserved prowling about at nighttime with suspicious-looking characters,of whom he was undoubtedly the leader. Soon the imaginative marketwomen indulged in the highest flights of fancy, revelled in the mostmelodramatic ideas. There was talk of a band of smugglers plying theirnefarious calling in the very heart of Paris, and of a vast centralassociation formed for systematically robbing the stalls in the markets.Much pity was expressed for the Quenu-Gradelles, mingled with maliciousallusions to their uncle's fortune. That fortune was an endless subjectof discussion. The general opinion was that Florent had returnedto claim his share of the treasure; however, as no good reason wasforthcoming to explain why the division had not taken place already, itwas asserted that Florent was waiting for some opportunity whichmight enable him to pocket the whole amount. The Quenu-Gradelles wouldcertainly be found murdered some morning, it was said; and a rumourspread that dreadful quarrels already took place every night between thetwo brothers and beautiful Lisa.
When these stories reached the ears of the beautiful Norman, sheshrugged her shoulders and burst out laughing.
"Get away with you!" she cried, "you don't know him. Why, the dearfellow's as gentle as a lamb."
She had recently refused the hand of Monsieur Lebigre, who had at lastventured upon a formal proposal. For two months past he had given theMehudins a bottle of some liqueur every Sunday. It was Rose who broughtit, and she was always charged with a compliment for La Normande, somepretty speech which she faithfully repeated, without appearing in theslightest degree embarrassed by the peculiar commission. When MonsieurLebigre was rejected, he did not pine, but to show that he took nooffence and was still hopeful, he sent Rose on the following Sunday withtwo bottles of champagne and a large bunch of flowers. She gave theminto the handsome fish-girl's own hands, repeating, as she did so, thewine dealer's prose madrigal:
"Monsieur Lebigre begs you to drink this to his health, which has beengreatly shaken by you know what. He hopes that you will one day bewilling to cure him, by being for him as pretty and as sweet as theseflowers."
La Normande was much amused by the servant's delighted air. She kissedher as she spoke to her of her master, and asked her if he wore braces,and snored at nights. Then she made her take the champagne and flowersback with her. "Tell Monsieur Lebigre," said she, "that he's not to sendyou here again. It quite vexes me to see you coming here so meekly, withyour bottles under your arms."
"Oh, he wishes me to come," replied Rose, as she went away. "It is wrongof you to distress him. He is a very handsome man."
La Normande, however, was quite conquered by Florent's affectionatenature. She continued to follow Muche's lessons of an evening in thelamplight, indulging the while in a dream of marrying this man who wasso kind to children. She would still keep her fish stall, while he woulddoubtless rise to a position of importance in the administrative staffof the markets. This dream of hers, however, was scarcely furthered bythe tutor's respectful bearing towards her. He bowed to her, and kepthimself at a distance, when she have liked to laugh with him, and lovehim as she knew how to love. But it was just this covert resistanceon Florent's part which continually brought her back to the dream ofmarrying him. She realised that he lived in a loftier sphere than herown; and by becoming his wife she imagined that her vanity would reap nolittle satisfaction.
She was greatly surprised when she learned the history of the man sheloved. He had never mentioned a word of those things to her; and shescolded him about it. His extraordinary adventures only increased hertenderness for him, and for evenings together she made him relate allthat had befallen him. She trembled with fear lest the police shoulddiscover him; but he reassured her, saying that the matter was now tooold for the police to trouble their heads about it. One evening he toldher of the woman on the Boulevard Montmartre, the woman in the pinkbonnet, whose blood had dyed his hands. He still frequently thought ofthat poor creature. His anguish-stricken mind had often dwelt upon herduring the clear nights he had passed in Cayenne; and he had returnedto France with a wild dream of meeting her again on some footway in thebright sunshine, even though he could still feel her corpse-like weightacross his legs. And yet, he thought, she might perhaps have recovered.At times he received quite a shock while he was walking through thestreets, on fancying that he recognised her; and he followed pinkbonnets and shawl-draped shoulders with a wildly beating heart. When heclosed his eyes he could see her walking, and advancing towards him;but she let her shawl slip down, showing the two red stains on herchemisette; and then he saw that her face was pale as wax, and thather eyes were blank, and her lips distorted by pain. For a long time hesuffered from not knowing her name, from being forced to look upon heras a mere shadow, whose recollection filled him with sorrow. Wheneverany idea of woman crossed his mind it was always she that rose up beforehim, as the one pure, tender wife. He often found himself fancying thatshe might be looking for him on that boulevard where she had fallendead, and that if she had met him a few seconds sooner she would havegiven him a life of joy. And he wished for no other wife; none otherexisted for him. When he spoke of her, his voice trembled to such adegree that La Normande, her wits quickened by her love, guessed hissecret, and felt jealous.
"Oh, it's really much better that you shouldn't see her again," she saidmaliciously. "She
can't look particularly nice by this time."
Florent turned pale with horror at the vision which these words evoked.His love was rotting in her grave. He could not forgive La Normande'ssavage cruelty, which henceforth made him see the grinning jaws andhollow eyes of a skeleton within that lovely pink bonnet. Whenever thefish-girl tried to joke with him on the subject he turned quite angry,and silenced her with almost coarse language.
That, however, which especially surprised the beautiful Norman inthese revelations was the discovery that she had been quite mistaken insupposing that she was enticing a lover away from handsome Lisa. Thisso diminished her feeling of triumph, that for a week or so her lovefor Florent abated. She consoled herself, however, with the story of theinheritance, no longer calling Lisa a strait-laced prude, but a thiefwho kept back her brother-in-law's money, and assumed sanctimonious airsto deceive people. Every evening, while Muche took his writing lesson,the conversation turned upon old Gradelle's treasure.
"Did anyone ever hear of such an idea?" the fish-girl would exclaim,with a laugh. "Did the old man want to salt his money, since he putit in a salting-tub? Eighty-five thousand francs! That's a nice sumof money! And, besides, the Quenus, no doubt, lied about it--therewas perhaps two or three times as much. Ah, if I were in your place, Ishouldn't lose any time about claiming my share; indeed I shouldn't."
"I've no need of anything," was Florent's invariable answer. "Ishouldn't know what to do with the money if I had it."
"Oh, you're no man!" cried La Normande, losing all control over herself."It's pitiful! Can't you see that the Quenus are laughing at you? Thatgreat fat thing passes all her husband's old clothes over to you. I'mnot saying this to hurt your feelings, but everybody makes remarks aboutit. Why, the whole neighbourhood has seen the greasy pair of trousers,which you're now wearing, on your brother's legs for three years andmore! If I were in your place I'd throw their dirty rags in their faces,and insist upon my rights. Your share comes to forty-two thousand fivehundred francs, doesn't it? Well, I shouldn't go out of the place tillI'd got forty-two thousand five hundred francs."
It was useless for Florent to explain to her that his sister-in-law hadoffered to pay him his share, that she was taking care of it for him,and that it was he himself who had refused to receive it. He enteredinto the most minute particulars, seeking to convince her of the Quenus'honesty, but she sarcastically replied: "Oh, yes, I dare say! I know allabout their honesty. That fat thing folds it up every morning and putsit away in her wardrobe for fear it should get soiled. Really, I quitepity you, my poor friend. It's easy to gull you, for you can't see anyfurther than a child of five. One of these days she'll simply put yourmoney in her pocket, and you'll never look on it again. Shall I go, now,and claim your share for you, just to see what she says? There'd besome fine fun, I can tell you! I'd either have the money, or I'd breakeverything in the house--I swear I would!"
"No, no, it's no business of yours," Florent replied, quite alarmed."I'll see about it; I may possibly be wanting some money soon."
At this La Normande assumed an air of doubt, shrugged her shoulders, andtold him that he was really too chicken-hearted. Her one great aim nowwas to embroil him with the Quenu-Gradelles, and she employed everymeans she could think of to effect her purpose, both anger and banter,as well as affectionate tenderness. She also cherished another design.When she had succeeded in marrying Florent, she would go and administera sound cuffing to beautiful Lisa, if the latter did not yield up themoney. As she lay awake in her bed at night she pictured every detail ofthe scene. She saw herself sitting down in the middle of the pork shopin the busiest part of the day, and making a terrible fuss. She broodedover this idea to such an extent, it obtained such a hold upon her, thatshe would have been willing to marry Florent simply in order to be ableto go and demand old Gradelle's forty-two thousand five hundred francs.
Old Madame Mehudin, exasperated by La Normande's dismissal of MonsieurLebigre, proclaimed everywhere that her daughter was mad, and that the"long spindle-shanks" must have administered some insidious drug to her.When she learned the Cayenne story, her anger was terrible. She calledFlorent a convict and murderer, and said it was no wonder that hisvillainy had kept him lank and flat. Her versions of Florent's biographywere the most horrible of all that were circulated in the neighbourhood.At home she kept a moderately quiet tongue in her head, and restrictedherself to muttered indignation, and a show of locking up the drawerwhere the silver was kept whenever Florent arrived. One day, however,after a quarrel with her elder daughter, she exclaimed:
"Things can't go on much longer like this! It is that vile man who issetting you against me. Take care that you don't try me too far, or I'llgo and denounce him to the police. I will, as true as I stand here!"
"You'll denounce him!" echoed La Normande, trembling violently,and clenching her fists. "You'd better not! Ah, if you weren't mymother----"
At this, Claire, who was a spectator of the quarrel, began to laugh,with a nervous laughter that seemed to rasp her throat. For some timepast she had been gloomier and more erratic than ever, invariablyshowing red eyes and a pale face.
"Well, what would you do?" she asked. "Would you give her a cuffing?Perhaps you'd like to give me, your sister, one as well? I dare say itwill end in that. But I'll clear the house of him. I'll go to the policeto save mother the trouble."
Then, as La Normande almost choked with the angry threats that roseto her throat, the younger girl added: "I'll spare you the exertion ofbeating me. I'll throw myself into the river as I come back over thebridge."
Big tears were streaming from her eyes; and she rushed off to herbedroom, banging the doors violently behind her. Old Madame Mehudin saidnothing more about denouncing Florent. Muche, however, told La Normandethat he met his grandma talking with Monsieur Lebigre in every corner ofthe neighbourhood.
The rivalry between the beautiful Norman and the beautiful Lisanow assumed a less aggressive but more disturbing character. In theafternoon, when the red-striped canvas awning was drawn down in frontof the pork shop, the fish-girl would remark that the big fat thing feltafraid, and was concealing herself. She was also much exasperated bythe occasional lowering of the window-blind, on which was pictureda hunting-breakfast in a forest glade, with ladies and gentlemen inevening dress partaking of a red pasty, as big as themselves, on theyellow grass.
Beautiful Lisa, however, was by no means afraid. As soon as the sunbegan to sink she drew up the blind; and, as she sat knitting behind hercounter, she serenely scanned the market square, where numerous urchinswere poking about in the soil under the gratings which protected theroots of the plane-trees, while porters smoked their pipes on thebenches along the footway, at either end of which was an advertisementcolumn covered with theatrical posters, alternately green, yellow, red,and blue, like some harlequin's costume. And while pretending to watchthe passing vehicles, Lisa would really be scrutinising the beautifulNorman. She might occasionally be seen bending forward, as though hereyes were following the Bastille and Place Wagram omnibus to the PointeSaint Eustache, where it always stopped for a time. But this was only amanoeuvre to enable her to get a better view of the fish-girl, who, asa set-off against the blind, retorted by covering her head and fish withlarge sheets of brown paper, on the pretext of warding off the rays ofthe setting sun. The advantage at present was on Lisa's side, for asthe time for striking the decisive blow approached she manifested thecalmest serenity of bearing, whereas her rival, in spite of all herefforts to attain the same air of distinction, always lapsed into somepiece of gross vulgarity, which she afterwards regretted. La Normande'sambition was to look "like a lady." Nothing irritated her more than tohear people extolling the good manners of her rival. This weak pointof hers had not escaped old Madame Mehudin's observation, and she nowdirected all her attacks upon it.
"I saw Madame Quenu standing at her door this evening," she wouldsay sometimes. "It is quite amazing how well she wears. And she's sorefined-looking, too; quite the lady, indeed. It's the cou
nter that doesit, I'm sure. A fine counter gives a woman such a respectable look."
In this remark there was a veiled allusion to Monsieur Lebigre'sproposal. The beautiful Norman would make no reply; but for a moment ortwo she would seem deep in thought. In her mind's eye she saw herselfbehind the counter of the wine shop at the other corner of the street,forming a pendent, as it were, to beautiful Lisa. It was this that firstshook her love for Florent.
To tell the truth, it was now becoming a very difficult thing to defendFlorent. The whole neighbourhood was in arms against him; it seemed asthough everyone had an immediate interest in exterminating him. Some ofthe market people swore that he had sold himself to the police; whileothers asserted that he had been seen in the butter-cellar, attemptingto make holes in the wire grating, with the intention of tossing lightedmatches through them. There was a vast increase of slander, a perfectflood of abuse, the source of which could not be exactly determined.The fish pavilion was the last one to join in the revolt against theinspector. The fish-wives liked Florent on account of his gentleness,and for some time they defended him; but, influenced by the stallkeepersof the butter and fruit pavilions, they at last gave way. Thenhostilities began afresh between these huge, swelling women and thelean and lank inspector. He was lost in the whirl of the voluminouspetticoats and buxom bodices which surged furiously around his scraggyshoulders. However, he understood nothing, but pursued his coursetowards the realisation of his one haunting idea.
At every hour of the day, and in every corner of the market,Mademoiselle Saget's black bonnet was now to be seen in the midst ofthis outburst of indignation. Her little pale face seemed to multiply.She had sworn a terrible vengeance against the company which assembledin Monsieur Lebigre's little cabinet. She accused them of havingcirculated the story that she lived on waste scraps of meat. The truthwas that old Gavard had told the others one evening that the "oldnanny-goat" who came to play the spy upon them gorged herself with thefilth which the Bonapartist clique tossed away. Clemence felt quite illon hearing this, and Robine hurriedly gulped down a draught of beer, asthough to wash his throat. In Gavard's opinion, the scraps of meatleft on the Emperor's plate were so much political ordure, the putridremnants of all the filth of the reign. Thenceforth the party atMonsieur Lebigre's looked on Mademoiselle Saget as a creature whom noone could touch except with tongs. She was regarded as some uncleananimal that battened upon corruption. Clemence and Gavard circulated thestory so freely in the markets that the old maid found herself seriouslyinjured in her intercourse with the shopkeepers, who unceremoniouslybade her go off to the scrap-stalls when she came to haggle and gossipat their establishments without the least intention of buying anything.This cut her off from her sources of information; and sometimes she wasaltogether ignorant of what was happening. She shed tears of rage, andin one such moment of anger she bluntly said to La Sarriette and MadameLecoeur: "You needn't give me any more hints: I'll settle your Gavard'shash for him now--that I will!"
The two women were rather startled, but refrained from all protestation.The next day, however, Mademoiselle Saget had calmed down, and againexpressed much tender-hearted pity for that poor Monsieur Gavard who wasso badly advised, and was certainly hastening to his ruin.
Gavard was undoubtedly compromising himself. Ever since the conspiracyhad begun to ripen he had carried the revolver, which caused MadameLeonce so much alarm, in his pocket wherever he went. It was a big,formidable-looking weapon, which he had bought of the principal gunmakerin Paris. He exhibited it to all the women in the poultry market, like aschoolboy who has got some prohibited novel hidden in his desk. First hewould allow the barrel to peer out of his pocket, and call attentionto it with a wink. Then he affected a mysterious reticence, indulged invague hints and insinuations--played, in short, the part of a man whorevelled in feigning fear. The possession of this revolver gavehim immense importance, placed him definitely amongst the dangerouscharacters of Paris. Sometimes, when he was safe inside his stall, hewould consent to take it out of his pocket, and exhibit it to two orthree of the women. He made them stand before him so as to conceal himwith their petticoats, and then he brandished the weapon, cocked thelock, caused the breech to revolve, and took aim at one of the geese orturkeys that were hanging in the stall. He was immensely delighted atthe alarm manifested by the women; but eventually reassured them bystating that the revolver was not loaded. However, he carried a supplyof cartridges about with him, in a case which he opened with the mostelaborate precautions. When he had allowed his friends to feelthe weight of the cartridges, he would again place both weapon andammunition in his pockets. And afterwards, crossing his arms over hisbreast, he would chatter away jubilantly for hours.
"A man's a man when he's got a weapon like that," he would say with aswaggering air. "I don't care a fig now for the gendarmes. A friend andI went to try it last Sunday on the plain of Saint Denis. Of course,you know, a man doesn't tell everyone that he's got a plaything of thatsort. But, ah! my dears, we fired at a tree, and hit it every time. Ah,you'll see, you'll see. You'll hear of Anatole one of these days, I cantell you."
He had bestowed the name of Anatole upon the revolver; and he carriedthings so far that in a week's time both weapon and cartridges wereknown to all the women in the pavilion. His friendship for Florentseemed to them suspicious; he was too sleek and rich to be visited withthe hatred that was manifested towards the inspector; still, he lost theesteem of the shrewder heads amongst his acquaintances, and succeeded interrifying the timid ones. This delighted him immensely.
"It is very imprudent for a man to carry firearms about with him," saidMademoiselle Saget. "Monsieur Gavard's revolver will end by playing hima nasty trick."
Gavard now showed the most jubilant bearing at Monsieur Lebigre's.Florent, since ceasing to take his meals with the Quenus, had comealmost to live in the little "cabinet." He breakfasted, dined, andconstantly shut himself up there. In fact he had converted the placealmost into a sort of private room of his own, where he left his oldcoats and books and papers lying about. Monsieur Lebigre had offered noobjection to these proceedings; indeed, he had even removed one of thetables to make room for a cushioned bench, on which Florent couldhave slept had he felt so inclined. When the inspector manifested anyscruples about taking advantage of Monsieur Lebigre's kindness, thelatter told him to do as he pleased, saying that the whole house was athis service. Logre also manifested great friendship for him, and evenconstituted himself his lieutenant. He was constantly discussing affairswith him, rendering an account of the steps he was supposed to take, andfurnishing the names of newly affiliated associates. Logre, indeed, hadnow assumed the duties of organiser; on him rested the task of bringingthe various plotters together, forming the different sections, andweaving each mesh of the gigantic net into which Paris was to fall ata given signal. Florent meantime remained the leader, the soul of theconspiracy.
However, much as the hunchback seemed to toil, he attained noappreciable result. Although he had loudly asserted that in eachdistrict of Paris he knew two or three groups of men as determined andtrustworthy as those who met at Monsieur Lebigre's, he had never yetgiven any precise information about them, but had merely mentioned aname here and there, and recounted stories of endless alleged secretexpeditions, and the wonderful enthusiasm that the people manifestedfor the cause. He made a great point of the hand-grasps he had received.So-and-so, whom he thou'd and thee'd, had squeezed his fingers anddeclared he would join them. At the Gros Caillou a big, burly fellow,who would make a magnificent sectional leader, had almost dislocatedhis arm in his enthusiasm; while in the Rue Popincourt a whole groupof working men had embraced him. He declared that at a day's notice ahundred thousand active supporters could be gathered together. Each timethat he made his appearance in the little room, wearing an exhaustedair, and dropping with apparent fatigue on the bench, he launched intofresh variations of his usual reports, while Florent duly took notes ofwhat he said, and relied on him to realise his many promises. And soonin Florent
's pockets the plot assumed life. The notes were looked uponas realities, as indisputable facts, upon which the entire plan of therising was constructed. All that now remained to be done was to waitfor a favourable opportunity, and Logre asserted with passionategesticulations that the whole thing would go on wheels.
Florent was at last perfectly happy. His feet no longer seemed to treadthe ground; he was borne aloft by his burning desire to pass sentence onall the wickedness he had seen committed. He had all the credulity of alittle child, all the confidence of a hero. If Logre had told him thatthe Genius of Liberty perched on the Colonne de Juillet[*] would havecome down and set itself at their head, he would hardly have expressedany surprise. In the evenings, at Monsieur Lebigre's, he showed greatenthusiasm and spoke effusively of the approaching battle, as though itwere a festival to which all good and honest folks would be invited. Butalthough Gavard in his delight began to play with his revolver, Charvetgot more snappish than ever, and sniggered and shrugged his shoulders.His rival's assumption of the leadership angered him extremely; indeed,quite disgusted him with politics. One evening when, arriving early,he happened to find himself alone with Logre and Lebigre, he franklyunbosomed himself.
[*] The column erected on the Place de la Bastille in memory of the Revolution of July 1830, by which Charles X was dethroned.--Translator.
"Why," said he, "that fellow Florent hasn't an idea about politics,and would have done far better to seek a berth as writing master in aladies' school! It would be nothing short of a misfortune if he were tosucceed, for, with his visionary social sentimentalities, he would crushus down beneath his confounded working men! It's all that, you know,which ruins the party. We don't need any more tearful sentimentalists,humanitarian poets, people who kiss and slobber over each other for themerest scratch. But he won't succeed! He'll just get locked up, and thatwill be the end of it."
Logre and the wine dealer made no remark, but allowed Charvet to talk onwithout interruption.
"And he'd have been locked up long ago," he continued, "if he wereanything as dangerous as he fancies he is. The airs he puts on justbecause he's been to Cayenne are quite sickening. But I'm sure that thepolice knew of his return the very first day he set foot in Paris, andif they haven't interfered with him it's simply because they hold him incontempt."
At this Logre gave a slight start.
"They've been dogging me for the last fifteen years," resumed theHebertist, with a touch of pride, "but you don't hear me proclaiming itfrom the house-tops. However, he won't catch me taking part in his riot.I'm not going to let myself be nabbed like a mere fool. I dare say he'salready got half a dozen spies at his heels, who will take him by thescruff of the neck whenever the authorities give the word."
"Oh, dear, no! What an idea!" exclaimed Monsieur Lebigre, who usuallyobserved complete silence. He was rather pale, and looked at Logre, whowas gently rubbing his hump against the partition.
"That's mere imagination," murmured the hunchback.
"Very well; call it imagination, if you like," replied the tutor; "butI know how these things are arranged. At all events, I don't mean tolet the 'coppers' nab me this time. You others, of course, will pleaseyourselves, but if you take my advice--and you especially, MonsieurLebigre--you'll take care not to let your establishment be compromised,or the authorities will close it."
At this Logre could not restrain a smile. On several subsequentoccasions Charvet plied him and Lebigre with similar arguments, asthough he wished to detach them from Florent's project by frighteningthem; and he was much surprised at the calmness and confidence whichthey both continued to manifest. For his own part, he still came prettyregularly in the evening with Clemence. The tall brunette was no longera clerk at the fish auctions--Monsieur Manoury had discharged her.
"Those salesmen are all scoundrels!" Logre growled, when he heard of herdismissal.
Thereupon Clemence, who, lolling back against the partition, was rollinga cigarette between her long, slim fingers, replied in a sharp voice:"Oh, it's fair fighting! We don't hold the same political views, youknow. That fellow Manoury, who's making no end of money, would lick theEmperor's boots. For my part, if I were an auctioneer, I wouldn't keephim in my service for an hour."
The truth was that she had been indulging in some clumsy pleasantry,amusing herself one day by inscribing in the sale-book, alongside of thedabs and skate and mackerel sold by auction, the names of some of thebest-known ladies and gentlemen of the Court. This bestowal of piscinenames upon high dignitaries, these entries of the sale of duchessesand baronesses at thirty sous apiece, had caused Monsieur Manoury muchalarm. Gavard was still laughing over it.
"Well, never mind!" said he, patting Clemence's arm; "you are every incha man, you are!"
Clemence had discovered a new method of mixing her grog. She began byfilling her glass with hot water; and after adding some sugar she pouredthe rum drop by drop upon the slice of lemon floating on the surface,in such wise that it did not mix with the water. Then she lighted it andwith a grave expression watched it blaze, slowly smoking her cigarettewhile the flame of the alcohol cast a greenish tinge over her face."Grog," however, was an expensive luxury in which she could not affordto indulge after she had lost her place. Charvet told her, with astrained laugh, that she was no longer a millionaire. She supportedherself by giving French lessons, at a very early hour in the morning,to a young lady residing in the Rue de Miromesnil, who was perfectingher education in secrecy, unknown even to her maid. And so now Clemencemerely ordered a glass of beer in the evenings, but this she drank, itmust be admitted, with the most philosophical composure.
The evenings in the little sanctum were now far less noisy than they hadbeen. Charvet would suddenly lapse into silence, pale with suppressedrage, when the others deserted him to listen to his rival. The thoughtthat he had been the king of the place, had ruled the whole party withdespotic power before Florent's appearance there, gnawed at his heart,and he felt all the regretful pangs of a dethroned monarch. If hestill came to the meetings, it was only because he could not resist theattraction of the little room where he had spent so many happy hours intyrannising over Gavard and Robine. In those days even Logre's hump hadbeen his property, as well as Alexandre's fleshy arms and Lacaille'sgloomy face. He had done what he liked with them, stuffed his opinionsdown their throats, belaboured their shoulders with his sceptre. Butnow he endured much bitterness of spirit; and ended by quite ceasingto speak, simply shrugging his shoulders and whistling disdainfully,without condescending to combat the absurdities vented in his presence.What exasperated him more than anything else was the gradual way inwhich he had been ousted from his position of predominance withoutbeing conscious of it. He could not see that Florent was in any way hissuperior, and after hearing the latter speak for hours, in his gentleand somewhat sad voice, he often remarked: "Why, the fellow's a parson!He only wants a cassock!"
The others, however, to all appearance eagerly absorbed whatever theinspector said. When Charvet saw Florent's clothes hanging from everypeg, he pretended not to know where he could put his hat so that itwould not be soiled. He swept away the papers that lay about the littleroom, declaring that there was no longer any comfort for anyone inthe place since that "gentleman" had taken possession of it. He evencomplained to the landlord, and asked if the room belonged to a singlecustomer or to the whole company. This invasion of his realm was indeedthe last straw. Men were brutes, and he conceived an unspeakable scornfor humanity when he saw Logre and Monsieur Lebigre fixing their eyes onFlorent with rapt attention. Gavard with his revolver irritated him, andRobine, who sat silent behind his glass of beer, seemed to him to be theonly sensible person in the company, and one who doubtless judgedpeople by their real value, and was not led away by mere words. Asfor Alexandre and Lacaille, they confirmed him in his belief that"the people" were mere fools, and would require at least ten years ofrevolutionary dictatorship to learn how to conduct themselves.
Logre, however, declared that the sections w
ould soon be completelyorganised; and Florent began to assign the different parts that eachwould have to play. One evening, after a final discussion in which heagain got worsted, Charvet rose up, took his hat, and exclaimed: "Well,I'll wish you all good night. You can get your skulls cracked if itamuses you; but I would have you understand that I won't take any partin the business. I have never abetted anybody's ambition."
Clemence, who had also risen and was putting on her shawl, coldly added:"The plan's absurd."
Then, as Robine sat watching their departure with a gentle glance,Charvet asked him if he were not coming with them; but Robine, havingstill some beer left in his glass, contented himself with shaking hands.Charvet and Clemence never returned again; and Lacaille one day informedthe company that they now frequented a beer-house in the Rue Serpente.He had seen them through the window, gesticulating with great energy, inthe midst of an attentive group of very young men.
Florent was never able to enlist Claude amongst his supporters. Hehad once entertained the idea of gaining him over to his own politicalviews, of making a disciple of him, an assistant in his revolutionarytask; and in order to initiate him he had taken him one evening toMonsieur Lebigre's. Claude, however, spent the whole time in makinga sketch of Robine, in his hat and chestnut cloak, and with his beardresting on the knob of his walking-stick.
"Really, you know," he said to Florent, as they came away, "all that youhave been saying inside there doesn't interest me in the least. It maybe very clever, but, for my own part, I see nothing in it. Still, you'vegot a splendid fellow there, that blessed Robine. He's as deep as awell. I'll come with you again some other time, but it won't be forpolitics. I shall make sketches of Logre and Gavard, so as to put themwith Robine in a picture which I was thinking about while you werediscussing the question of--what do you call it? eh? Oh, the questionof the two Chambers. Just fancy, now, a picture of Gavard and Logre andRobine talking politics, entrenched behind their glasses of beer! Itwould be the success of the Salon, my dear fellow, an overwhelmingsuccess, a genuine modern picture!"
Florent was grieved by the artist's political scepticism; so he took himup to his bedroom, and kept him on the narrow balcony in front of thebluish mass of the markets, till two o'clock in the morning, lecturinghim, and telling him that he was no man to show himself so indifferentto the happiness of his country.
"Well, you're perhaps right," replied Claude, shaking his head; "I'm anegotist. I can't even say that I paint for the good of my country; for,in the first place, my sketches frighten everybody, and then, when I'mbusy painting, I think about nothing but the pleasure I take in it. WhenI'm painting, it is as though I were tickling myself; it makes me laughall over my body. Well, I can't help it, you know; it's my nature tobe like that; and you can't expect me to go and drown myself inconsequence. Besides, France can get on very well without me, as myaunt Lisa says. And--may I be quite frank with you?--if I like you it'sbecause you seem to me to follow politics just as I follow painting. Youtitillate yourself, my good friend."
Then, as Florent protested, he continued:
"Yes, yes; you are an artist in your own way; you dream of politics,and I'll wager you spend hours here at night gazing at the stars andimagining they are the voting-papers of infinity. And then you titillateyourself with your ideas of truth and justice; and this is so evidentlythe case that those ideas of yours cause just as much alarm tocommonplace middle-class folks as my sketches do. Between ourselves,now, do you imagine that if you were Robine I should take any pleasurein your friendship? Ah, no, my friend, you are a great poet!"
Then he began to joke on the subject, saying that politics caused him notrouble, and that he had got accustomed to hear people discussing themin beer shops and studios. This led him to speak of a cafe in theRue Vauvilliers; the cafe on the ground-floor of the house where LaSarriette lodged. This smoky place, with its torn, velvet-cushionedseats, and marble table-tops discoloured by the drippings fromcoffee-cups, was the chief resort of the young people of the markets.Monsieur Jules reigned there over a company of porters, apprentices,and gentlemen in white blouses and velvet caps. Two curling "Newgateknockers" were glued against his temples; and to keep his neck white hehad it scraped with a razor every Saturday at a hair-dresser's in theRue des Deux Ecus. At the cafe he gave the tone to his associates,especially when he played billiards with studied airs and graces,showing off his figure to the best advantage. After the game the companywould begin to chat. They were a very reactionary set, taking a delightin the doings of "society." For his part, Monsieur Jules read thelighter boulevardian newspapers, and knew the performers at the smallertheatres, talked familiarly of the celebrities of the day, and couldalways tell whether the piece first performed the previous evening hadbeen a success or a failure. He had a weakness, however, for politics.His ideal man was Morny, as he curtly called him. He read the reports ofthe discussions of the Corps Legislatif, and laughed with glee over theslightest words that fell from Morny's lips. Ah, Morny was the man tosit upon your rascally republicans! And he would assert that only thescum detested the Emperor, for his Majesty desired that all respectablepeople should have a good time of it.
"I've been to the cafe occasionally," Claude said to Florent. "The youngmen there are vastly amusing, with their clay pipes and their talk aboutthe Court balls! To hear them chatter you might almost fancy they wereinvited to the Tuileries. La Sarriette's young man was making great funof Gavard the other evening. He called him uncle. When La Sarriette camedownstairs to look for him she was obliged to pay his bill. It cost hersix francs, for he had lost at billiards, and the drinks they had playedfor were owing. And now, good night, my friend, and pleasant dreams. Ifever you become a Minister, I'll give you some hints on the beautifyingof Paris."
Florent was obliged to relinquish the hope of making a docile discipleof Claude. This was a source of grief to him, for, blinded though hewas by his fanatical ardour, he at last grew conscious of theever-increasing hostility which surrounded him. Even at the Mehudins' henow met with a colder reception: the old woman would laugh slyly; Mucheno longer obeyed him, and the beautiful Norman cast glances of hastyimpatience at him, unable as she was to overcome his coldness. At theQuenus', too, he had lost Auguste's friendship. The assistant no longercame to see him in his room on the way to bed, being greatly alarmedby the reports which he heard concerning this man with whom he hadpreviously shut himself up till midnight. Augustine had made her loverswear that he would never again be guilty of such imprudence; however,it was Lisa who turned the young man into Florent's determined enemy bybegging him and Augustine to defer their marriage till her cousin shouldvacate the little bedroom at the top of the house, as she did not wantto give that poky dressing-room on the first floor to the new shopgirl whom she would have to engage. From that time forward Auguste wasanxious that the "convict" should be arrested. He had found such apork shop as he had long dreamed of, not at Plaisance certainly, but atMontrouge, a little farther away. And now trade had much improved, andAugustine, with her silly, overgrown girl's laugh, said that she wasquite ready. So every night, whenever some slight noise awoke him,August was thrilled with delight as he imagined that the police were atlast arresting Florent.
Nothing was said at the Quenu-Gradelles' about all the rumours whichcirculated. There was a tacit understanding amongst the staff of thepork shop to keep silent respecting them in the presence of Quenu. Thelatter, somewhat saddened by the falling-out between his brother and hiswife, sought consolation in stringing his sausages and salting his pork.Sometimes he would come and stand on his door-step, with his red faceglowing brightly above his white apron, which his increasing corpulencestretched quite taut, and never did he suspect all the gossip which hisappearance set on foot in the markets. Some of the women pitied him, andthought that he was losing flesh, though he was, indeed, stouter thanever; while others, on the contrary, reproached him for not having grownthin with shame at having such a brother as Florent. He, however, likeone of those betrayed husbands who are always
the last to know whathas befallen them, continued in happy ignorance, displaying alight-heartedness which was quite affecting. He would stop someneighbour's wife on the footway to ask her if she found his brawn ortruffled boar's head to her liking, and she would at once assume asympathetic expression, and speak in a condoling way, as though all thepork on his premises had got jaundice.
"What do they all mean by looking at me with such a funereal air?" heasked Lisa one day. "Do you think I'm looking ill?"
Lisa, well aware that he was terribly afraid of illness, and groanedand made a dreadful disturbance if he suffered the slightest ailment,reassured him on this point, telling him that he was as blooming asa rose. The fine pork shop, however, was becoming gloomy; the mirrorsseemed to pale, the marbles grew frigidly white, and the cooked meats onthe counter stagnated in yellow fat or lakes of cloudy jelly. One day,even, Claude came into the shop to tell his aunt that the display inthe window looked quite "in the dumps." This was really the truth. TheStrasburg tongues on their beds of blue paper-shavings had a melancholywhiteness of hue, like the tongues of invalids; and the whilom chubbyhams seemed to be wasting away beneath their mournful green top-knots.Inside the shop, too, when customers asked for a black-pudding or tensous' worth of bacon, or half a pound of lard, they spoke in subdued,sorrowful voices, as though they were in the bed-chamber of a dying man.There were always two or three lachrymose women in front of the chilledheating-pan. Beautiful Lisa meantime discharged the duties of chiefmourner with silent dignity. Her white apron fell more primly than everover her black dress. Her hands, scrupulously clean and closely girdedat the wrists by long white sleevelets, her face with its becoming airof sadness, plainly told all the neighbourhood, all the inquisitivegossips who streamed into the shop from morning to night, that they, theQuenu-Gradelles, were suffering from unmerited misfortune, but that sheknew the cause of it, and would triumph over it at last. And sometimesshe stooped to look at the two gold-fish, who also seemed ill at easeas they swam languidly around the aquarium in the window, and her glanceseemed to promise them better days in the future.
Beautiful Lisa now only allowed herself one indulgence. She fearlesslypatted Marjolin's satiny chin. The young man had just come out of thehospital. His skull had healed, and he looked as fat and merry as ever;but even the little intelligence he had possessed had left him, he wasnow quite an idiot. The gash in his skull must have reached his brain,for he had become a mere animal. The mind of a child of five dwelt inhis sturdy frame. He laughed and stammered, he could no longer pronouncehis words properly, and he was as submissively obedient as a sheep.Cadine took entire possession of him again; surprised, at first, at thealteration in him, and then quite delighted at having this big fellow todo exactly as she liked with. He was her doll, her toy, her slave inall respects but one: she could not prevent him from going off to MadameQuenu's every now and then. She thumped him, but he did not seem to feelher blows; as soon as she had slung her basket round her neck, and setoff to sell her violets in the Rue du Pont Neuf and the Rue de Turbigo,he went to prowl about in front of the pork shop.
"Come in!" Lisa cried to him.
She generally gave him some gherkins, of which he was extremely fond;and he ate them, laughing in a childish way, whilst he stood in front ofthe counter. The sight of the handsome mistress of the shop filled himwith rapture; he often clapped his hands with joy and began to jumpabout and vent little cries of pleasure, like a child delighted atsomething shown to it. On the first few occasions when he came to seeher after leaving the hospital Lisa had feared that he might rememberwhat had happened.
"Does your head still hurt you?" she asked him.
But he swayed about and burst into a merry laugh as he answered no; andthen Lisa gently inquired: "You had a fall, hadn't you?"
"Yes, a fall, fall, fall," he sang, in a happy voice, tapping his skullthe while.
Then, as though he were in a sort of ecstasy, he continued in lingeringnotes, as he gazed at Lisa, "Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!" Thisquite touched Madame Quenu. She had prevailed upon Gavard to keep himin his service. It was on the occasions when he so humbly vented hisadmiration that she caressed his chin, and told him that he was a goodlad. He smiled with childish satisfaction, at times closing his eyeslike some domestic pet fondled by its mistress; and Lisa thought toherself that she was making him some compensation for the blow withwhich she had felled him in the cellar of the poultry market.
However, the Quenus' establishment still remained under a cloud. Florentsometimes ventured to show himself, and shook hands with his brother,while Lisa observed a frigid silence. He even dined with them sometimeson Sundays, at long intervals, and Quenu then made great efforts atgaiety, but could not succeed in imparting any cheerfulness to the meal.He ate badly, and ended by feeling altogether put out. One evening,after one of these icy family gatherings, he said to his wife with tearsin his eyes:
"What can be the matter with me? Is it true that I'm not ill? Don't youreally see anything wrong in my appearance? I feel just as though I'dgot a heavy weight somewhere inside me. And I'm so sad and depressed,too, without in the least knowing why. What can it be, do you think?"
"Oh, a little attack of indigestion, I dare say," replied Lisa.
"No, no; it's been going on too long for that; I feel quite crusheddown. Yet the business is going on all right; I've no great worries, andI am leading just the same steady life as ever. But you, too, my dear,don't look well; you seem melancholy. If there isn't a change for thebetter soon, I shall send for the doctor."
Lisa looked at him with a grave expression.
"There's no need of a doctor," she said, "things will soon be all rightagain. There's something unhealthy in the atmosphere just now. All theneighbourhood is unwell." Then, as if yielding to an impulse of anxiousaffection, she added: "Don't worry yourself, my dear. I can't have youfalling ill; that would be the crowning blow."
As a rule she sent him back to the kitchen, knowing that the noise ofthe choppers, the tuneful simmering of the fat, and the bubbling of thepans had a cheering effect upon him. In this way, too, she kept him ata distance from the indiscreet chatter of Mademoiselle Saget, who nowspent whole mornings in the shop. The old maid seemed bent on arousingLisa's alarm, and thus driving her to some extreme step. She began bytrying to obtain her confidence.
"What a lot of mischievous folks there are about!" she exclaimed; "folkswho would be much better employed in minding their own business. If youonly knew, my dear Madame Quenu--but no, really, I should never dare torepeat such things to you."
And, as Madame Quenu replied that she was quite indifferent to gossip,and that it had no effect upon her, the old maid whispered into her earacross the counter: "Well, people say, you know, that Monsieur Florentisn't your cousin at all."
Then she gradually allowed Lisa to see that she knew the whole story; byway of proving that she had her quite at her mercy. When Lisa confessedthe truth, equally as a matter of diplomacy, in order that she mighthave the assistance of some one who would keep her well posted in allthe gossip of the neighbourhood, the old maid swore that for her ownpart she would be as mute as a fish, and deny the truth of the reportsabout Florent, even if she were to be led to the stake for it. Andafterwards this drama brought her intense enjoyment; every morning shecame to the shop with some fresh piece of disturbing news.
"You must be careful," she whispered one day; "I have just heard twowomen in the tripe market talking about you know what. I can't interruptpeople and tell them they are lying, you know. It would look so strange.But the story's got about, and it's spreading farther every day. Itcan't be stopped now, I fear; the truth will have to come out."
A few days later she returned to the assault in all earnest. She madeher appearance looking quite scared, and waited impatiently till therewas no one in the shop, when she burst out in her sibilant voice:
"Do you know what people are saying now? Well, they say that all thosemen who meet at Monsieur Lebigre's have got guns, and are going tobreak ou
t again as they did in '48. It's quite distressing to see sucha worthy man as Monsieur Gavard--rich, too, and so respectable--leaguinghimself with such scoundrels! I was very anxious to let you know, onaccount of your brother-in-law."
"Oh, it's mere nonsense, I'm sure; it can't be serious," rejoined Lisa,just to incite the old maid to tell her more.
"Not serious, indeed! Why, when one passes along the Rue Pirouette inthe evening one can hear them screaming out in the most dreadful way.Oh! they make no mystery of it all. You know yourself how they tried tocorrupt your husband. And the cartridges which I have seen them makingfrom my own window, are they mere nonsense? Well, well, I'm only tellingyou this for your own good."
"Oh! I'm sure of that, and I'm very much obliged to you," replied Lisa;"but people do invent such stories, you know."
"Ah, but this is no invention, unfortunately. The whole neighbourhood istalking of it. It is said, too, that if the police discover the matterthere will be a great many people compromised--Monsieur Gavard, forinstance."
Madame Quenu shrugged her shoulders as though to say that MonsieurGavard was an old fool, and that it would do him good to be locked up.
"Well, I merely mention Monsieur Gavard as I might mention any of theothers, your brother-in-law, for instance," resumed the old maid with awily glance. "Your brother-in-law is the leader, it seems. That's veryannoying for you, and I'm very sorry indeed; for if the police were tomake a descent here they might march Monsieur Quenu off as well. Twobrothers, you know, they're like two fingers of the same hand."
Beautiful Lisa protested against this, but she turned very pale, forMademoiselle Saget's last thrust had touched a vulnerable point. Fromthat day forward the old maid was ever bringing her stories of innocentpeople who had been thrown into prison for extending hospitality tocriminal scoundrels. In the evening, when La Saget went to get herblack-currant syrup at the wine dealer's, she prepared her budget forthe next morning. Rose was but little given to gossiping, and the oldmain reckoned chiefly on her own eyes and ears. She had been struck byMonsieur Lebigre's extremely kind and obliging manner towards Florent,his eagerness to keep him at his establishment, all the politecivilities, for which the little money which the other spent in thehouse could never recoup him. And this conduct of Monsieur Lebigre'ssurprised her the more as she was aware of the position in which the twomen stood in respect to the beautiful Norman.
"It looks as though Lebigre were fattening him up for sale," shereflected. "Whom can he want to sell him to, I wonder?"
One evening when she was in the bar she saw Logre fling himself on thebench in the sanctum, and heard him speak of his perambulations throughthe faubourgs, with the remark that he was dead beat. She cast a hastyglance at his feet, and saw that there was not a speck of dust on hisboots. Then she smiled quietly, and went off with her black-currantsyrup, her lips closely compressed.
She used to complete her budget of information on getting back to herwindow. It was very high up, commanding a view of all the neighbouringhouses, and proved a source of endless enjoyment to her. She wasconstantly installed at it, as though it were an observatory from whichshe kept watch upon everything that went on in the neighbourhood. Shewas quite familiar with all the rooms opposite her, both on the rightand the left, even to the smallest details of their furniture. She couldhave described, without the least omission, the habits of their tenants,have related if the latter's homes were happy or the contrary, have toldwhen and how they washed themselves, what they had for dinner, andwho it was that came to see them. Then she obtained a side view of themarkets, and not a woman could walk along the Rue Rambuteau withoutbeing seen by her; and she could have correctly stated whence the womanhad come and whither she was going, what she had got in her basket,and, in short, every detail about her, her husband, her clothes, herchildren, and her means. "That's Madame Loret, over there; she's givingher son a fine education; that's Madame Hutin, a poor little woman who'sdreadfully neglected by her husband; that's Mademoiselle Cecile,the butcher's daughter, a girl that no one will marry becauseshe's scrofulous." In this way she could have continued jerking outbiographical scraps for days together, deriving extraordinary amusementfrom the most trivial, uninteresting incidents. However, as soon aseight o'clock struck, she only had eyes for the frosted "cabinet" windowon which appeared the black shadows of the coterie of politicians. Shediscovered the secession of Charvet and Clemence by missing their bonysilhouettes from the milky transparency. Not an incident occurred inthat room but she sooner or later learnt it by some sudden motion ofthose silent arms and heads. She acquired great skill in interpretation,and could divine the meaning of protruding noses, spreading fingers,gaping mouths, and shrugging shoulders; and in this way she followedthe progress of the conspiracy step by step, in such wise that she couldhave told day by day how matters stood. One evening the terrible outcomeof it all was revealed to her. She saw the shadow of Gavard's revolver,a huge silhouette with pointed muzzle showing very blackly against theglimmering window. It kept appearing and disappearing so rapidly that itseemed as though the room was full of revolvers. Those were the firearmsof which Mademoiselle Saget had spoken to Madame Quenu. On anotherevening she was much puzzled by the sight of endless lengths of somematerial or other, and came to the conclusion that the men must bemanufacturing cartridges. The next morning, however, she made herappearance in the wine shop by eleven o'clock, on the pretext of askingRose if she could let her have a candle, and, glancing furtively intothe little sanctum, she espied a heap of red material lying on thetable. This greatly alarmed her, and her next budget of news was one ofdecisive gravity.
"I don't want to alarm you, Madame Quenu," she said, "but matters arereally looking very serious. Upon my word, I'm quite alarmed. You muston no account repeat what I am going to confide to you. They wouldmurder me if they knew I had told you."
Then, when Lisa had sworn to say nothing that might compromise her, shetold her about the red material.
"I can't think what it can be. There was a great heap of it. It lookedjust like rags soaked in blood. Logre, the hunchback, you know, put oneof the pieces over his shoulder. He looked like a headsman. You may besure this is some fresh trickery or other."
Lisa made no reply, but seemed deep in thought whilst with lowered eyes,she handled a fork and mechanically arranged some piece of salt pork ona dish.
"If I were you," resumed Mademoiselle Saget softly, "I shouldn't be easyin mind; I should want to know the meaning of it all. Why shouldn't yougo upstairs and examine your brother-in-law's bedroom?"
At this Lisa gave a slight start, let the fork drop, and glanceduneasily at the old maid, believing that she had discovered herintentions. But the other continued: "You would certainly be justifiedin doing so. There's no knowing into what danger your brother-in-law maylead you, if you don't put a check on him. They were talking about youyesterday at Madame Taboureau's. Ah! you have a most devoted friend inher. Madame Taboureau said that you were much too easy-going, and thatif she were you she would have put an end to all this long ago."
"Madame Taboureau said that?" murmured Lisa thoughtfully.
"Yes, indeed she did; and Madame Taboureau is a woman whose advice isworth listening to. Try to find out the meaning of all those red bands;and if you do, you'll tell me, won't you?"
Lisa, however, was no longer listening to her. She was gazingabstractedly at the edible snails and Gervais cheeses between thefestoons of sausages in the window. She seemed absorbed in a mentalconflict, which brought two little furrows to her brow. The old maid,however, poked her nose over the dishes on the counter.
"Ah, some slices of saveloy!" she muttered, as though she werespeaking to herself. "They'll get very dry cut up like that. And thatblack-pudding's broken, I see--a fork's been stuck into it, I expect. Itmight be taken away--it's soiling the dish."
Lisa, still absent-minded, gave her the black-pudding and slices ofsaveloy. "You may take them," she said, "if you would care for them."
The black bag swallowed them
up. Mademoiselle Saget was so accustomedto receiving presents that she had actually ceased to return thanks forthem. Every morning she carried away all the scraps of the pork shop.And now she went off with the intention of obtaining her dessert from LaSarriette and Madame Lecoeur, by gossiping to them about Gavard.
When Lisa was alone again she installed herself on the bench, behind thecounter, as though she thought she would be able to come to a sounderdecision if she were comfortably seated. For the last week she hadbeen very anxious. Florent had asked Quenu for five hundred francs oneevening, in the easy, matter-of-course way of a man who had money lyingto his credit at the pork shop. Quenu referred him to his wife. Thiswas distasteful to Florent, who felt somewhat uneasy on applying tobeautiful Lisa. But she immediately went up to her bedroom, broughtthe money down and gave it to him, without saying a word, or making theleast inquiry as to what he intended to do with it. She merely remarkedthat she had made a note of the payment on the paper containing theparticulars of Florent's share of the inheritance. Three days later hetook a thousand francs.
"It was scarcely worth while trying to make himself out sodisinterested," Lisa said to Quenu that night, as they went to bed. "Idid quite right, you see, in keeping the account. By the way, I haven'tnoted down the thousand francs I gave him to-day."
She sat down at the secretaire, and glanced over the page of figures.Then she added: "I did well to leave a blank space. I'll put down whatI pay him on the margin. You'll see, now, he'll fritter it all away bydegrees. That's what I've been expecting for a long time past."
Quenu said nothing, but went to bed feeling very much put out. Everytime that his wife opened the secretaire the drawer gave out a mournfulcreak which pierced his heart. He even thought of remonstrating withhis brother, and trying to prevent him from ruining himself with theMehudins; but when the time came, he did not dare to do it. Two dayslater Florent asked for another fifteen hundred francs. Logre had saidone evening that things would ripen much faster if they could only getsome money. The next day he was enchanted to find these words of his,uttered quite at random, result in the receipt of a little pile ofgold, which he promptly pocketed, sniggering as he did so, and his hunchfairly shaking with delight. From that time forward money was constantlybeing needed: one section wished to hire a room where they could meet,while another was compelled to provide for various needy patriots. Thenthere were arms and ammunition to be purchased, men to be enlisted, andprivate police expenses. Florent would have paid for anything. Hehad bethought himself of Uncle Gradelle's treasure, and recalled LaNormande's advice. So he made repeated calls upon Lisa's secretaire,being merely kept in check by the vague fear with which hissister-in-law's grave face inspired him. Never, thought he, couldhe have spent his money in a holier cause. Logre now manifestedthe greatest enthusiasm, and wore the most wonderful rose-colouredneckerchiefs and the shiniest of varnished boots, the sight of whichmade Lacaille glower blackly.
"That makes three thousand francs in seven days," Lisa remarked toQuenu. "What do you think of that? A pretty state of affairs, isn'tit? If he goes on at this rate his fifty thousand francs will last himbarely four months. And yet it took old Gradelle forty years to put hisfortune together!"
"It's all your own fault!" cried Quenu. "There was no occasion for youto say anything to him about the money."
Lisa gave her husband a severe glance. "It is his own," she said; "andhe is entitled to take it all. It's not the giving him the money thatvexes me, but the knowledge that he must make a bad use of it. I tellyou again, as I have been telling you for a long time past, all thismust come to an end."
"Do whatever you like; I won't prevent you," at last exclaimed the porkbutcher, who was tortured by his cupidity.
He still loved his brother; but the thought of fifty thousand francssquandered in four months was agony to him. As for his wife, after allMademoiselle Saget's chattering she guessed what became of the money.The old maid having ventured to refer to the inheritance, Lisa had takenadvantage of the opportunity to let the neighbourhood know that Florentwas drawing his share, and spending it after his own fashion.
It was on the following day that the story of the strips of red materialimpelled Lisa to take definite actin. For a few moments she remainedstruggling with herself whilst gazing at the depressed appearance of theshop. The sides of pork hung all around in a sullen fashion, and Mouton,seated beside a bowl of fat, displayed the ruffled coat and dim eyes ofa cat who no longer digests his meals in peace. Thereupon Lisa called toAugustine and told her to attend to the counter, and she herself went upto Florent's room.
When she entered it, she received quite a shock. The bed, hitherto sospotless, was quite ensanguined by a bundle of long red scarves danglingdown to the floor. On the mantelpiece, between the gilt cardboard boxesand the old pomatum-pots, were several red armlets and clusters of redcockades, looking like pools of blood. And hanging from every nail andpeg against the faded grey wallpaper were pieces of bunting, squareflags--yellow, blue, green, and black--in which Lisa recognised thedistinguishing banners of the twenty sections. The childish simplicityof the room seemed quite scared by all this revolutionary decoration.The aspect of guileless stupidity which the shop girl had left behindher, the white innocence of the curtains and furniture, now glaredas with the reflection of a fire; while the photograph of Augusteand Augustine looked white with terror. Lisa walked round the room,examining the flags, the armlets, and the scarves, without touching anyof them, as though she feared that the dreadful things might burn her.She was reflecting that she had not been mistaken, that it was indeed onthese and similar things that Florent's money had been spent. And to herthis seemed an utter abomination, an incredibility which set her wholebeing surging with indignation. To think that her money, that moneywhich had been so honestly earned, was being squandered to organise anddefray the expenses of an insurrection!
She stood there, gazing at the expanded blossoms of the pomegranate onthe balcony--blossoms which seemed to her like an additional supply ofcrimson cockades--and listening to the sharp notes of the chaffinch,which resembled the echo of a distant fusillade. And then it struck herthat the insurrection might break out the next day, or perhaps that veryevening. She fancied she could see the banners streaming in the air andthe scarves advancing in line, while a sudden roll of drums broke on herear. Then she hastily went downstairs again, without even glancingat the papers which were lying on the table. She stopped on the firstfloor, went into her own room, and dressed herself.
In this critical emergency Lisa arranged her hair with scrupulous careand perfect calmness. She was quite resolute; not a quiver of hesitationdisturbed her; but a sterner expression than usual had come into hereyes. As she fastened her black silk dress, straining the waistband withall the strength of her fingers, she recalled Abbe Roustan's words; andshe questioned herself, and her conscience answered that she was goingto fulfil a duty. By the time she drew her broidered shawl round herbroad shoulders, she felt that she was about to perform a deed of highmorality. She put on a pair of dark mauve gloves, secured a thickveil to her bonnet; and before leaving the room she double-locked thesecretaire, with a hopeful expression on her face which seemed to saythat that much worried piece of furniture would at last be able to sleepin peace again.
Quenu was exhibiting his white paunch at the shop door when his wifecame down. He was surprised to see her going out in full dress at teno'clock in the morning. "Hallo! Where are you off to?" he asked.
She pretended that she was going out with Madame Taboureau, and addedthat she would call at the Gaite Theatre to buy some tickets. Quenuhurried after her to tell her to secure some front seats, so that theymight be able to see well. Then, as he returned to the shop, Lisa madeher way to the cab-stand opposite St. Eustache, got into a cab, pulleddown the blinds, and told the driver to go to the Gaite Theatre. Shefelt afraid of being followed. When she had booked two seats, however,she directed the cabman to drive her to the Palais de Justice. There,in front of the gate, she discharged h
im, and then quietly made her waythrough the halls and corridors to the Prefecture of Police.
She soon lost herself in a noisy crowd of police officers and gentlemenin long frock-coats, but at last gave a man half a franc to guide her tothe Prefect's rooms. She found, however, that the Prefect only receivedsuch persons as came with letters of audience; and she was shown into asmall apartment, furnished after the style of a boarding-house parlour.A fat, bald-headed official, dressed in black from head to foot,received her there with sullen coldness. What was her business? heinquired. Thereupon she raised her veil, gave her name, and told herstory, clearly and distinctly, without a pause. The bald man listenedwith a weary air.
"You are this man's sister-in-law, are you not?" he inquired, when shehad finished.
"Yes," Lisa candidly replied. "We are honest, straight-forward people,and I am anxious that my husband should not be compromised."
The official shrugged his shoulders, as though to say that the wholeaffair was a great nuisance.
"Do you know," he said impatiently, "that I have been pestered with thisbusiness for more than a year past? Denunciation after denunciation hasbeen sent to me, and I am being continually goaded and pressed to takeaction. You will understand that if I haven't done so as yet, it isbecause I prefer to wait. We have good reasons for our conduct in thematter. Stay, now, here are the papers relating to it. I'll let you seethem."
He laid before her an immense collection of papers in a blue wrapper.Lisa turned them over. They were like detached chapters of the story shehad just been relating. The commissaires of police at Havre, Rouen, andVernon notified Florent's arrival within their respective jurisdictions.Then came a report which announced that he had taken up his residencewith the Quenu-Gradelles. Next followed his appointment at the markets,an account of his mode of life, the spending of his evenings at MonsieurLebigre's; not a detail was deficient. Lisa, quite astounded as shewas, noticed that the reports were in duplicate, so that they must haveemanated from two different sources. And at last she came upon a pile ofletters, anonymous letters of every shape, and in every description ofhandwriting. They brought her amazement to a climax. In one letter sherecognised the villainous hand of Mademoiselle Saget, denouncing thepeople who met in the little sanctum at Lebigre's. On a large piece ofgreasy paper she identified the heavy pot-hooks of Madame Lecoeur;and there was also a sheet of cream-laid note-paper, ornamented with ayellow pansy, and covered with the scrawls of La Sarriette and MonsieurJules. These two letters warned the Government to beware of Gavard.Farther on Lisa recognised the coarse style of old Madame Mehudin, whoin four pages of almost indecipherable scribble repeated all the wildstories about Florent that circulated in the markets. However, whatstartled her more than anything else was the discovery of a bill-headof her own establishment, with the inscription _Quenu-Gradelle, PorkButcher_, on its face, whilst on the back of it Auguste had penneda denunciation of the man whom he looked upon as an obstacle to hismarriage.
The official had acted upon a secret idea in placing these papers beforeher. "You don't recognise any of these handwritings, do you?" he asked.
"No," she stammered, rising from her seat, quite oppressed by what shehad just learned; and she hastily pulled down her veil again to concealthe blush of confusion which was rising to her cheeks. Her silk dressrustled, and her dark gloves disappeared beneath her heavy shawl.
"You see, madame," said the bald man with a faint smile, "yourinformation comes a little late. But I promise you that your visit shallnot be forgotten. And tell your husband not to stir. It is possible thatsomething may happen soon that----"
He did not complete his sentence, but, half rising from his armchair,made a slight bow to Lisa. It was a dismissal, and she took her leave.In the ante-room she caught sight of Logre and Monsieur Lebigre, whohastily turned their faces away; but she was more disturbed than theywere. She went her way through the halls and along the corridors,feeling as if she were in the clutches of this system of police which,it now seemed to her, saw and knew everything. At last she came out uponthe Place Dauphine. When she reached the Quai de l'Horloge she slackenedher steps, and felt refreshed by the cool breeze blowing from the Seine.
She now had a keen perception of the utter uselessness of what she haddone. Her husband was in no danger whatever; and this thought,whilst relieving her, left her a somewhat remorseful feeling. Shewas exasperated with Auguste and the women who had put her in such aridiculous position. She walked on yet more slowly, watching the Seineas it flowed past. Barges, black with coal-dust, were floating down thegreenish water; and all along the bank anglers were casting their lines.After all, it was not she who had betrayed Florent. This reflectionsuddenly occurred to her and astonished her. Would she have been guiltyof a wicked action, then, if she had been his betrayer? She was quiteperplexed; surprised at the possibility of her conscience havingdeceived her. Those anonymous letters seemed extremely base. She herselfhad gone openly to the authorities, given her name, and saved innocentpeople from being compromised. Then at the sudden thought of oldGradelle's fortune she again examined herself, and felt ready to throwthe money into the river if such a course should be necessary toremove the blight which had fallen on the pork shop. No, she was notavaricious, she was sure she wasn't; it was no thought of money thathad prompted her in what she had just done. As she crossed the Pont auChange she grew quite calm again, recovering all her superb equanimity.On the whole, it was much better, she felt, that others should haveanticipated her at the Prefecture. She would not have to deceive Quenu,and she would sleep with an easier conscience.
"Have you booked the seats?" Quenu asked her when she returned home.
He wanted to see the tickets, and made Lisa explain to him the exactposition the seats occupied in the dress-circle. Lisa had imaginedthat the police would make a descent upon the house immediately afterreceiving her information, and her proposal to go to the theatre hadonly been a wily scheme for getting Quenu out of the way while theofficers were arresting Florent. She had contemplated taking him foran outing in the afternoon--one of those little jaunts which theyoccasionally allowed themselves. They would then drive in an open cab tothe Bois de Boulogne, dine at a restaurant, and amuse themselves for anhour or two at some cafe concern. But there was no need to go out now,she thought; so she spent the rest of the day behind her counter, witha rosy glow on her face, and seeming brighter and gayer, as though shewere recovering from some indisposition.
"You see, I told you it was fresh air you wanted!" exclaimed Quenu."Your walk this morning has brightened you up wonderfully!"
"No, indeed," she said after a pause, again assuming her look ofseverity; "the streets of Paris are not at all healthy places."
In the evening they went to the Gaite to see the performance of "LaGrace de Dieu." Quenu, in a frock-coat and drab gloves, with his haircarefully pomatumed and combed, was occupied most of the time in huntingfor the names of the performers in the programme. Lisa looked superbin her low dress as she rested her hands in their tight-fitting whitegloves on the crimson velvet balustrade. They were both of them deeplyaffected by the misfortunes of Marie. The commander, they thought, wascertainly a desperate villain; while Pierrot made them laugh from thefirst moment of his appearance on the stage. But at last Madame Quenucried. The departure of the child, the prayer in the maiden's chamber,the return of the poor mad creature, moistened her eyes with gentletears, which she brushed away with her handkerchief.
However, the pleasure which the evening afforded her turned into afeeling of triumph when she caught sight of La Normande and her mothersitting in the upper gallery. She thereupon puffed herself out more thanever, sent Quenu off to the refreshment bar for a box of caramels, andbegan to play with her fan, a mother-of-pearl fan, elaborately gilt.The fish-girl was quite crushed; and bent her head down to listen toher mother, who was whispering to her. When the performance was overand beautiful Lisa and the beautiful Norman met in the vestibule theyexchanged a vague smile.
Florent had dined earl
y at Monsieur Lebigre's that day. He was expectingLogre, who had promised to introduce to him a retired sergeant, acapable man, with whom they were to discuss the plan of attack upon thePalais Bourbon and the Hotel de Ville. The night closed in, and thefine rain, which had begun to fall in the afternoon, shrouded the vastmarkets in a leaden gloom. They loomed darkly against the copper-tintedsky, while wisps of murky cloud skimmed by almost on a level with theroofs, looking as though they were caught and torn by the points of thelightning-conductors. Florent felt depressed by the sight of the muddystreets, and the streaming yellowish rain which seemed to sweep thetwilight away and extinguish it in the mire. He watched the crowds ofpeople who had taken refuge on the foot-pavements of the covered ways,the umbrellas flitting past in the downpour, and the cabs that dashedwith increased clatter and speed along the wellnigh deserted roads.Presently there was a rift in the clouds; and a red glow arose in thewest. Then a whole army of street-sweepers came into sight at the end ofthe Rue Montmartre, driving a lake of liquid mud before them with theirbrooms.
Logre did not turn up with the sergeant; Gavard had gone to dine withsome friends at Batignolles, and so Florent was reduced to spending theevening alone with Robine. He had all the talking to himself, and endedby feeling very low-spirited. His companion merely wagged his beard, andstretched out his hand every quarter of an hour to raise his glass ofbeer to his lips. At last Florent grew so bored that he went off tobed. Robine, however, though left to himself, still lingered there,contemplating his glass with an expression of deep thought. Rose and thewaiter, who had hoped to shut up early, as the coterie of politicianswas absent, had to wait a long half hour before he at last made up hismind to leave.
When Florent got to his room, he felt afraid to go to bed. He wassuffering from one of those nervous attacks which sometimes plunged himinto horrible nightmares until dawn. On the previous day he had been toClamart to attend the funeral of Monsieur Verlaque, who had died afterterrible sufferings; and he still felt sad at the recollection of thenarrow coffin which he had seen lowered into the earth. Nor could hebanish from his mind the image of Madame Verlaque, who, with a tearfulvoice, though there was not a tear in her eyes, kept following him andspeaking to him about the coffin, which was not paid for, and of thecost of the funeral, which she was quite at a loss about, as she hadnot a copper in the place, for the druggist, on hearing of her husband'sdeath on the previous day, had insisted upon his bill being paid. SoFlorent had been obliged to advance the money for the coffin and otherfuneral expenses, and had even given the gratuities to the mutes.Just as he was going away, Madame Verlaque looked at him with such aheartbroken expression that he left her twenty francs.
And now Monsieur Verlaque's death worried him very much. It affectedhis situation in the markets. He might lose his berth, or perhapsbe formally appointed inspector. In either case he foresaw vexatiouscomplications which might arouse the suspicions of the police. He wouldhave been delighted if the insurrection could have broken out the verynext day, so that he might at once have tossed the laced cap of hisinspectorship into the streets. With his mind full of harassing thoughtslike these, he stepped out upon the balcony, as though soliciting of thewarm night some whiff of air to cool his fevered brow. The rain hadlaid the wind, and a stormy heat still reigned beneath the deep blue,cloudless heavens. The markets, washed by the downpour, spread out belowhim, similar in hue to the sky, and, like the sky, studded with theyellow stars of their gas lamps.
Leaning on the iron balustrade, Florent recollected that sooner or laterhe would certainly be punished for having accepted the inspectorship. Itseemed to lie like a stain on his life. He had become an official of thePrefecture, forswearing himself, serving the Empire in spite of allthe oaths he had taken in his exile. His anxiety to please Lisa, thecharitable purpose to which he had devoted the salary he received, thejust and scrupulous manner in which he had always struggled to carryout his duties, no longer seemed to him valid excuses for his baseabandonment of principle. If he had suffered in the midst of all thatsleek fatness, he had deserved to suffer. And before him arose avision of the evil year which he had just spent, his persecution by thefish-wives, the sickening sensations he had felt on close, damp days,the continuous indigestion which had afflicted his delicate stomach, andthe latent hostility which was gathering strength against him. All thesethings he now accepted as chastisement. That dull rumbling of hostilityand spite, the cause of which he could not divine, must forebode somecoming catastrophe before whose approach he already stooped, with theshame of one who knows there is a transgression that he must expiate.Then he felt furious with himself as he thought of the popular rising hewas preparing; and reflected that he was no longer unsullied enough toachieve success.
In how many dreams he had indulged in that lofty little room, with hiseyes wandering over the spreading roofs of the market pavilions! Theyusually appeared to him like grey seas that spoke to him of far-offcountries. On moonless nights they would darken and turn into stagnantlakes of black and pestilential water. But on bright nights they becameshimmering fountains of light, the moonbeams streaming over both tierslike water, gliding along the huge plates of zinc, and flowing over theedges of the vast superposed basins. Then frosty weather seemed to turnthese roofs into rigid ice, like the Norwegian bays over which skatersskim; while the warm June nights lulled them into deep sleep. OneDecember night, on opening his window, he had seen them white with snow,so lustrously white that they lighted up the coppery sky. Unsullied bya single footstep, they then stretched out like the lonely plains of theFar North, where never a sledge intrudes. Their silence was beautiful,their soft peacefulness suggestive of innocence.
And at each fresh aspect of the ever-changing panorama before him,Florent yielded to dreams which were now sweet, now full of bitter pain.The snow calmed him; the vast sheet of whiteness seemed to him like aveil of purity thrown over the filth of the markets. The bright, clearnights, the shimmering moonbeams, carried him away into the fairy-landof story-books. It was only the dark, black nights, the burning nightsof June, when he beheld, as it were, a miasmatic marsh, the stagnantwater of a dead and accursed sea, that filled him with gloom and grief;and then ever the same dreadful visions haunted his brain.
The markets were always there. He could never open the window and resthis elbows on the balustrade without having them before him, fillingthe horizon. He left the pavilions in the evening only to behold theirendless roofs as he went to bed. They shut him off from the rest ofParis, ceaselessly intruded their huge bulk upon him, entered into everyhour of his life. That night again horrible fancies came to him, fanciesaggravated by the vague forebodings of evil which distressed him. Therain of the afternoon had filled the markets with malodorous dampness,and as they wallowed there in the centre of the city, like some drunkenman lying, after his last bottle, under the table, they cast all theirfoul breath into his face. He seemed to see a thick vapour rising upfrom each pavilion. In the distance the meat and tripe markets reekedwith the sickening steam of blood; nearer in, the vegetable and fruitpavilions diffused the odour of pungent cabbages, rotten apples, anddecaying leaves; the butter and cheese exhaled a poisonous stench; fromthe fish market came a sharp, fresh gust; while from the ventilator inthe tower of the poultry pavilion just below him, he could see a warmsteam issuing, a fetid current rising in coils like the sooty smoke froma factory chimney. And all these exhalations coalesced above the roofs,drifted towards the neighbouring houses, and spread themselves out ina heavy cloud which stretched over the whole of Paris. It was as thoughthe markets were bursting within their tight belt of iron, were beatingthe slumber of the gorged city with the stertorous fumes of theirmidnight indigestion.
However, on the footway down below Florent presently heard a sound ofvoices, the laughter of happy folks. Then the door of the passage wasclosed noisily. It was Quenu and Lisa coming home from the theatre.Stupefied and intoxicated, as it were, by the atmosphere he wasbreathing, Florent thereupon left the balcony, his nerves stillpainfully excit
ed by the thought of the tempest which he could feelgathering round his head. The source of his misery was yonder, inthose markets, heated by the day's excesses. He closed the window withviolence, and left them wallowing in the darkness, naked and perspiringbeneath the stars.
CHAPTER VI
A week later, Florent thought that he would at last be able to proceedto action. A sufficiently serious outburst of public dissatisfactionfurnished an opportunity for launching his insurrectionary forcesupon Paris. The Corps Legislatif, whose members had lately shown greatvariance of opinion respecting certain grants to the Imperial family,was now discussing a bill for the imposition of a very unpopular tax, atwhich the lower orders had already begun to growl. The Ministry, fearinga defeat, was straining every nerve. It was probable, thought Florent,that no better pretext for a rising would for a long time presentitself.
One morning, at daybreak, he went to reconnoitre the neighbourhood ofthe Palais Bourbon. He forgot all about his duties as inspector, andlingered there, studying the approaches of the palace, till eighto'clock, without ever thinking that his absence would revolutionise thefish market. He perambulated all the surrounding streets, the Rue deLille, the Rue de l'Universite, the Rue de Bourgogne, the Rue SaintDominique, and even extended his examination to the Esplanade desInvalides, stopping at certain crossways, and measuring distances as hewalked along. Then, on coming back to the Quai d'Orsay, he sat downon the parapet, and determined that the attack should be madesimultaneously from all sides. The contingents from the Gros-Cailloudistrict should arrive by way of the Champ de Mars; the sections fromthe north of Paris should come down by the Madeleine; while those fromthe west and the south would follow the quays, or make their way insmall detachments through the then narrow streets of the Faubourg SaintGermain. However, the other side of the river, the Champs Elysees, withtheir open avenues, caused him some uneasiness; for he foresaw thatcannon would be stationed there to sweep the quays. He thereuponmodified several details of his plan, and marked down in amemorandum-book the different positions which the several sectionsshould occupy during the combat. The chief attack, he concluded, mustcertainly be made from the Rue de Bourgogne and the Rue de l'Universite,while a diversion might be effected on the side of the river.
Whilst he thus pondered over his plans the eight o'clock sun, warmingthe nape of his neck, shone gaily on the broad footways, and gildedthe columns of the great structure in front of him. In imagination healready saw the contemplated battle; clusters of men clinging roundthose columns, the gates burst open, the peristyle invaded; and thenscraggy arms suddenly appearing high aloft and planting a banner there.
At last he slowly went his way homewards again with his gaze fixed uponthe ground. But all at once a cooing sound made him look up, and he sawthat he was passing through the garden of the Tuileries. A number ofwood-pigeons, bridling their necks, were strutting over a lawn near by.Florent leant for a moment against the tub of an orange-tree, and lookedat the grass and the pigeons steeped in sunshine. Right ahead under thechestnut-trees all was black. The garden was wrapped in a warm silence,broken only by the distant rumbling which came from behind the railingsof the Rue de Rivoli. The scent of all the greenery affected Florent,reminding him of Madame Francois. However, a little girl ran past,trundling a hoop, and alarmed the pigeons. They flew off, and settled ina row on the arm of a marble statue of an antique wrestler standingin the middle of the lawn, and once more, but with less vivacity, theybegan to coo and bridle their necks.
As Florent was returning to the markets by way of the Rue Vauvilliers,he heard Claude Lantier calling to him. The artist was going down intothe basement of the poultry pavilion. "Come with me!" he cried. "I'mlooking for that brute Marjolin."
Florent followed, glad to forget his thoughts and to defer his returnto the fish market for a little longer. Claude told him that his friendMarjolin now had nothing further to wish for: he had become an utteranimal. Claude entertained an idea of making him pose on all-fours infuture. Whenever he lost his temper over some disappointing sketch hecame to spend whole hours in the idiot's company, never speaking, butstriving to catch his expression when he laughed.
"He'll be feeding his pigeons, I dare say," he said; "but unfortunatelyI don't know whereabouts Monsieur Gavard's storeroom is."
They groped about the cellar. In the middle of it some water wastrickling from a couple of taps in the dim gloom. The storerooms hereare reserved for pigeons exclusively, and all along the trellising theyheard faint cooings, like the hushed notes of birds nestling under theleaves when daylight is departing. Claude began to laugh as he heard it.
"It sounds as though all the lovers in Paris were embracing each otherinside here, doesn't it?" he exclaimed to his companion.
However, they could not find a single storeroom open, and were beginningto think that Marjolin could not be in the cellar, when a sound ofloud, smacking kisses made them suddenly halt before a door which stoodslightly ajar. Claude pulled it open and beheld Marjolin, whom Cadinewas kissing, whilst he, a mere dummy, offered his face without feelingthe slightest thrill at the touch of her lips.
"Oh, so this is your little game, is it?" said Claude with a laugh.
"Oh," replied Cadine, quite unabashed, "he likes being kissed, becausehe feels afraid now in the dim light. You do feel frightened, don'tyou?"
Like the idiot he was, Marjolin stroked his face with his hands asthough trying to find the kisses which the girl had just printed there.And he was beginning to stammer out that he was afraid, when Cadinecontinued: "And, besides, I came to help him; I've been feeding thepigeons."
Florent looked at the poor creatures. All along the shelves were rows oflidless boxes, in which pigeons, showing their motley plumage, crowdedclosely on their stiffened legs. Every now and then a tremor ran alongthe moving mass; and then the birds settled down again, and nothing washeard but their confused, subdued notes. Cadine had a saucepan near her;she filled her mouth with the water and tares which it contained, andthen, taking up the pigeons one by one, shot the food down their throatswith amazing rapidity. The poor creatures struggled and nearly choked,and finally fell down in the boxes with swimming eyes, intoxicated, asit were, by all the food which they were thus forced to swallow.[*]
[*] This is the customary mode of fattening pigeons at the Paris markets. The work is usually done by men who make a specialty of it, and are called _gaveurs_.--Translator.
"Poor creatures!" exclaimed Claude.
"Oh, so much the worse for them," said Cadine, who had now finished."They are much nicer eating when they've been well fed. In a couple ofhours or so all those over yonder will be given a dose of salt water.That makes their flesh white and tender. Then two hours afterwardsthey'll be killed. If you would like to see the killing, there are somehere which are quite ready. Marjolin will settle their account for themin a jiffy."
Marjolin carried away a box containing some fifty pigeons, and Claudeand Florent followed him. Squatting upon the ground near one of thewater-taps, he placed the box by his side. Then he laid a framework ofslender wooden bars on the top of a kind of zinc trough, and forthwithbegan to kill the pigeons. His knife flashed rapidly in his fingers,as he seized the birds by the wings, stunned them by a blow on the headfrom the knife-handle, and then thrust the point of the blade into theirthroats. They quivered for an instant, and ruffled their feathers asMarjolin laid them in a row, with their heads between the wooden barsabove the zinc trough, into which their blood fell drop by drop. Herepeated each different movement with the regularity of clockwork, theblows from the knife-handle falling with a monotonous tick-tack as hebroke the birds' skulls, and his hand working backwards and forwardslike a pendulum as he took up the living pigeons on one side and laidthem down dead on the other. Soon, moreover, he worked with increasingrapidity, gloating over the massacre with glistening eyes, squattingthere like a huge delighted bull-dog enjoying the sight of slaughteredvermin. "Tick-tack! Tick-tack!" whilst his tongue clucked as anaccompaniment to the rhythmi
cal movements of his knife. The pigeons hungdown like wisps of silken stuff.
"Ah, you enjoy that, don't you, you great stupid?" exclaimed Cadine."How comical those pigeons look when they bury their heads in theirshoulders to hide their necks! They're horrid things, you know, andwould give one nasty bites if they got the chance." Then she laughedmore loudly at Marjolin's increasing, feverish haste; and added: "I'vekilled them sometimes myself, but I can't get on as quickly as he does.One day he killed a hundred in ten minutes."
The wooden frame was nearly full; the blood could be heard falling intothe zinc trough; and as Claude happened to turn round he saw Florentlooking so pale that he hurriedly led him away. When they gotabove-ground again he made him sit down on a step.
"Why, what's the matter with you?" he exclaimed, tapping him on theshoulder. "You're fainting away like a woman!"
"It's the smell of the cellar," murmured Florent, feeling a littleashamed of himself.
The truth was, however, that those pigeons, which were forced to swallowtares and salt water, and then had their skulls broken and their throatsslit, had reminded him of the wood-pigeons of the Tuileries gardens,strutting over the green turf, with their satiny plumage flashingiridescently in the sunlight. He again heard them cooing on the armof the marble wrestler amidst the hushed silence of the garden, whilechildren trundled their hoops in the deep gloom of the chestnuts. Andthen, on seeing that big fair-haired animal massacring his boxful ofbirds, stunning them with the handle of his knife and driving its pointinto their throats, in the depths of that foul-smelling cellar, he hadfelt sick and faint, his legs had almost given way beneath him, whilehis eyelids quivered tremulously.
"Well, you'd never do for a soldier!" Claude said to him when herecovered from his faintness. "Those who sent you to Cayenne must havebeen very simple-minded folks to fear such a man as you! Why, my goodfellow, if ever you do put yourself at the head of a rising, you won'tdare to fire a shot. You'll be too much afraid of killing somebody."
Florent got up without making any reply. He had become very gloomy, hisface was furrowed by deep wrinkles; and he walked off, leaving Claude togo back to the cellar alone. As he made his way towards the fish markethis thoughts returned to his plan of attack, to the levies of armed menwho were to invade the Palais Bourbon. Cannon would roar from the ChampsElysees; the gates would be burst open; blood would stain the steps, andmen's brains would bespatter the pillars. A vision of the fight passedrapidly before him; and he beheld himself in the midst of it, deadlypale, and hiding his face in his hands, not daring to look around him.
As he was crossing the Rue du Pont Neuf he fancied he espied Auguste'spale face peering round the corner of the fruit pavilion. The assistantseemed to be watching for someone, and his eyes were starting from hishead with an expression of intense excitement. Suddenly, however, hevanished and hastened back to the pork shop.
"What's the matter with him?" thought Florent. "Is he frightened of me,I wonder?"
Some very serious occurrences had taken place that morning at theQuenu-Gradelles'. Soon after daybreak, Auguste, breathless withexcitement, had awakened his mistress to tell her that the policehad come to arrest Monsieur Florent. And he added, with stammeringincoherence, that the latter had gone out, and that he must have done sowith the intention of escaping. Lisa, careless of appearances, at oncehurried up to her brother-in-law's room in her dressing-wrapper, andtook possession of La Normande's photograph, after glancing round tosee if there was anything lying about that might compromise herself andQuenu. As she was making her way downstairs again, she met the policeagents on the first floor. The commissary requested her to accompanythem to Florent's room, where, after speaking to her for a moment in alow tone, he installed himself with his men, bidding her open the shopas usual so as to avoid giving the alarm to anyone. The trap was set.
Lisa's only worry in the matter was the terrible blow that the arrestwould prove to poor Quenu. She was much afraid that if he learned thatthe police were in the house, he would spoil everything by his tears; soshe made Auguste swear to observe the most rigid silence on the subject.Then she went back to her room, put on her stays, and concocted somestory for the benefit of Quenu, who was still drowsy. Half an hour latershe was standing at the door of the shop with all her usual neatnessof appearance, her hair smooth and glossy, and her face glowing rosily.Auguste was quietly setting out the window. Quenu came for a moment onto the footway, yawning slightly, and ridding himself of all sleepinessin the fresh morning air. There was nothing to indicate the drama thatwas in preparation upstairs.
The commissary himself, however, gave the alarm to the neighbourhood bypaying a domiciliary visit to the Mehudins' abode in the Rue Pirouette.He was in possession of the most precise information. In the anonymousletters which had been sent to the Prefecture, all sorts of statementswere made respecting Florent's alleged intrigue with the beautifulNorman. Perhaps, thought the commissary, he had now taken refuge withher; and so, accompanied by two of his men, he proceeded to knock at thedoor in the name of the law. The Mehudins had only just got up. The oldwoman opened the door in a fury; but suddenly calmed down and beganto smile when she learned the business on hand. She seated herself andfastened her clothes, while declaring to the officers: "We are honestfolks here, and have nothing to be afraid of. You can search whereveryou like."
However, as La Normande delayed to open the door of her room, thecommissary told his men to break it open. The young woman was scarcelyclad when the others entered, and this unceremonious invasion, which shecould not understand, fairly exasperated her. She flushed crimson fromanger rather than from shame, and seemed as though she were about tofly at the officers. The commissary, at the sight, stepped forward toprotect his men, repeating in his cold voice: "In the name of the law!In the name of the law!"
Thereupon La Normande threw herself upon a chair, and burst into a wildfit of hysterical sobbing at finding herself so powerless. She was quiteat a loss to understand what these men wanted with her. The commissary,however, had noticed how scantily she was clad, and taking a shawl froma peg, he flung it over her. Still she did not wrap it round her, butonly sobbed the more bitterly as she watched the men roughly searchingthe apartment.
"But what have I done?" she at last stammered out. "What are you lookingfor here?"
Thereupon the commissary pronounced the name of Florent; and LaNormande, catching sight of the old woman, who was standing at the door,cried out: "Oh, the wretch! This is her doing!" and she rushed at hermother.
She would have struck her if she had reached her; but the police agentsheld her back, and forcibly wrapped her in the shawl. Meanwhile, shestruggled violently, and exclaimed in a choking voice:
"What do you take me for? That Florent has never been in this room, Itell you. There was nothing at all between us. People are always tryingto injure me in the neighbourhood; but just let anyone come here andsay anything before my face, and then you'll see! You'll lock me upafterwards, I dare say, but I don't mind that! Florent, indeed! What alie! What nonsense!"
This flood of words seemed to calm her; and her anger now turnedagainst Florent, who was the cause of all the trouble. Addressing thecommissary, she sought to justify herself.
"I did not know his real character, sir," she said. "He had such a mildmanner that he deceived us all. I was unwilling to believe all I heard,because I know people are so malicious. He only came here to givelessons to my little boy, and went away directly they were over. I gavehim a meal here now and again, that's true and sometimes made him apresent of a fine fish. That's all. But this will be a warning to me,and you won't catch me showing the same kindness to anyone again."
"But hasn't he given you any of his papers to take care of?" asked thecommissary.
"Oh no, indeed! I swear it. I'd give them up to you at once if he had.I've had quite enough of this, I can tell you! It's no joke to see youtossing all my things about and ferreting everywhere in this way. Oh!you may look; there's nothing."
The officers,
who examined every article of furniture, now wished toenter the little closet where Muche slept. The child had been awakenedby the noise, and for the last few moments he had been crying bitterly,as though he imagined that he was going to be murdered.
"This is my boy's room," said La Normande, opening the door.
Muche, quite naked, ran up and threw his arms round his mother's neck.She pacified him, and laid him down in her own bed. The officers cameout of the little room again almost immediately, and the commissaryhad just made up his mind to retire, when the child, still in tears,whispered in his mother's ear: "They'll take my copy-books. Don't letthem have my copy-books."
"Oh, yes; that's true," cried La Normande; "there are some copy-books.Wait a moment, gentlemen, and I'll give them to you. I want you to seethat I'm not hiding anything from you. Then, you'll find some of hiswriting inside these. You're quite at liberty to hang him as far as I'mconcerned; you won't find me trying to cut him down."
Thereupon she handed Muche's books and the copies set by Florent to thecommissary. But at this the boy sprang angrily out of bed, and began toscratch and bite his mother, who put him back again with a box on theears. Then he began to bellow.
In the midst of the uproar, Mademoiselle Saget appeared on thethreshold, craning her neck forward. Finding all the doors open, she hadcome in to offer her services to old Madame Mehudin. She spied about andlistened, and expressed extreme pity for these poor women, who hadno one to defend them. The commissary, however, had begun to readthe copies with a grave air. The frequent repetition of such words as"tyrannically," "liberticide," "unconstitutional," and "revolutionary"made him frown; and on reading the sentence, "When the hour strikes, theguilty shall fall," he tapped his fingers on the paper and said: "Thisis very serious, very serious indeed."
Thereupon he gave the books to one of his men, and went off. Claire,who had hitherto not shown herself, now opened her door, and watchedthe police officers go down the stairs. And afterwards she came intoher sister's bedroom, which she had not entered for a year. MademoiselleSaget appeared to be on the best of terms with La Normande, and washanging over her in a caressing way, bringing the shawl forward tocover her the better, and listening to her angry indignation with anexpression of the deepest sympathy.
"You wretched coward!" exclaimed Claire, planting herself in front ofher sister.
La Normande sprang up, quivering with anger, and let the shawl fall tothe floor.
"Ah, you've been playing the spy, have you?" she screamed. "Dare torepeat what you've just said!"
"You wretched coward!" repeated Claire, in still more insulting tonesthan before.
Thereupon La Normande struck Claire with all her force; and in returnClaire, turning terribly pale, sprang upon her sister and dug her nailsinto her neck. They struggled together for a moment or two, tearingat each other's hair and trying to choke one another. Claire, fragilethough she was, pushed La Normande backward with such tremendousviolence that they both fell against the wardrobe, smashing the mirroron its front. Muche was roaring, and old Madame Mehudin called toMademoiselle Saget to come and help her separate the sisters. Claire,however, shook herself free.
"Coward! Coward!" she cried; "I'll go and tell the poor fellow that itis you who have betrayed him."
Her mother, however, blocked the doorway, and would not let her pass,while La Normande seized her from behind, and then, Mademoiselle Sagetcoming to the assistance of the other two, the three of them draggedClaire into her bedroom and locked the door upon her, in spite of allher frantic resistance. In her rage she tried to kick the door down, andsmashed everything in the room. Soon afterwards, however, nothing couldbe heard except a furious scratching, the sound of metal scarping at theplaster. The girl was trying to loosen the door hinges with the pointsof her scissors.
"She would have murdered me if she had had a knife," said La Normande,looking about for her clothes, in order to dress herself. "She'll bedoing something dreadful, you'll see, one of these days, with thatjealousy of hers! We mustn't let her get out on any account: she'd bringthe whole neighbourhood down upon us!"
Mademoiselle Saget went off in all haste. She reached the corner of theRue Pirouette just as the commissary of police was re-entering the sidepassage of the Quenu-Gradelles' house. She grasped the situation atonce, and entered the shop with such glistening eyes that Lisa enjoinedsilence by a gesture which called her attention to the presence ofQuenu, who was hanging up some pieces of salt pork. As soon as he hadreturned to the kitchen, the old maid in a low voice described thescenes that had just taken place at the Mehudins'. Lisa, as she bentover the counter, with her hand resting on a dish of larded veal,listened to her with the happy face of one who triumphs. Then, as acustomer entered the shop, and asked for a couple of pig's trotters,Lisa wrapped them up, and handed them over with a thoughtful air.
"For my own part, I bear La Normande no ill-will," she said toMademoiselle Saget, when they were alone again. "I used to be veryfond of her, and have always been sorry that other people made mischiefbetween us. The proof that I've no animosity against her is here in thisphotograph, which I saved from falling into the hands of the police, andwhich I'm quite ready to give her back if she will come and ask me forit herself."
She took the photograph out of her pocket as she spoke. MademoiselleSaget scrutinised it and sniggered as she read the inscription, "Louise,to her dear friend Florent."
"I'm not sure you'll be acting wisely," she said in her cutting voice."You'd do better to keep it."
"No, no," replied Lisa; "I'm anxious for all this silly nonsense tocome to an end. To-day is the day of reconciliation. We've had enoughunpleasantness, and the neighbourhood's now going to be quiet andpeaceful again."
"Well, well, shall I go and tell La Normande that you are expectingher?" asked the old maid.
"Yes; I shall be very glad if you will."
Mademoiselle Saget then made her way back to the Rue Pirouette, andgreatly frightened the fish-girl by telling her that she had just seenher photograph in Lisa's pocket. She could not, however, at once prevailupon her to comply with her rival's terms. La Normande propoundedconditions of her own. She would go, but Madame Quenu must come to thedoor of the shop to receive her. Thus the old maid was obliged to makeanother couple of journeys between the two rivals before their meetingcould be satisfactorily arranged. At last, however, to her greatdelight, she succeeded in negotiating the peace which was destined tocause so much talk and excitement. As she passed Claire's door for thelast time she still heard the sound of the scissors scraping away at theplaster.
When she had at last carried a definite reply to Madame Quenu,Mademoiselle Saget hurried off to find Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette;and all three of them took up their position on the footway at thecorner of the fish market, just in front of the pork shop. Here theywould be certain to have a good view of every detail of the meeting.They felt extremely impatient, and while pretending to chat togetherkept an anxious look-out in the direction of the Rue Pirouette, alongwhich La Normande must come. The news of the reconciliation was alreadytravelling through the markets, and while some saleswomen stood upbehind their stalls trying to get a view of what was taking place,others, still more inquisitive, actually left their places and took up aposition in the covered way. Every eye in the markets was directedupon the pork shop; the whole neighbourhood was on the tip-toe ofexpectation.
It was a very solemn affair. When La Normande at last turned the cornerof the Rue Pirouette the excitement was so great that the women heldtheir breath.
"She has got her diamonds on," murmured La Sarriette.
"Just look how she stalks along," added Madame Lecoeur; "the stuck-upcreature!"
The beautiful Norman was, indeed, advancing with the mien of a queen whocondescends to make peace. She had made a most careful toilet, frizzingher hair and turning up a corner of her apron to display her cashmereskirt. She had even put on a new and rich lace bow. Conscious that thewhole market was staring at her, she assumed a still haughtie
r air asshe approached the pork shop. When she reached the door she stopped.
"Now it's beautiful Lisa's turn," remarked Mademoiselle Saget. "Mind youpay attention."
Beautiful Lisa smilingly quitted her counter. She crossed the shop-floorat a leisurely pace, and came and offered her hand to the beautifulNorman. She also was smartly dressed, with her dazzling linen andscrupulous neatness. A murmur ran through the crowd of fish-wives, alltheir heads gathered close together, and animated chatter ensued. Thetwo women had gone inside the shop, and the _crepines_ in the windowprevented them from being clearly seen. However, they seemed to beconversing affectionately, addressing pretty compliments to one another.
"See!" suddenly exclaimed Mademoiselle Saget, "the beautiful Norman'sbuying something! What is it she's buying? It's a chitterling, Ibelieve! Ah! Look! look! You didn't see it, did you? Well, beautifulLisa just gave her the photograph; she slipped it into her hand with thechitterling."
Fresh salutations were then seen to pass between the two women; andthe beautiful Lisa, exceeding even the courtesies which had been agreedupon, accompanied the beautiful Norman to the footway. There they stoodlaughing together, exhibiting themselves to the neighbourhood likea couple of good friends. The markets were quite delighted; and thesaleswomen returned to their stalls, declaring that everything hadpassed off extremely well.
Mademoiselle Saget, however, detained Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette.The drama was not over yet. All three kept their eyes fixed on the houseopposite with such keen curiosity that they seemed trying to penetratethe very walls. To pass the time away they once more began to talk ofthe beautiful Norman.
"She's without a lover now," remarked Madame Lecoeur.
"Oh! she's got Monsieur Lebigre," replied La Sarriette, with a laugh.
"But surely Monsieur Lebigre won't have anything more to say to her."
Mademoiselle Saget shrugged her shoulders. "Ah, you don't know him," shesaid. "He won't care a straw about all this business. He knows what he'sabout, and La Normande is rich. They'll come together in a couple ofmonths, you'll see. Old Madame Mehudin's been scheming to bring abouttheir marriage for a long time past."
"Well, anyway," retorted the butter dealer, "the commissary foundFlorent at her lodgings."
"No, no, indeed; I'm sure I never told you that. The long spindle-shankshad gone way," replied the old maid. She paused to take a breath; thenresumed in an indignant tone, "What distressed me most was to hear ofall the abominable things that the villain had taught little Muche.You'd really never believe it. There was a whole bundle of papers."
"What sort of abominable things?" asked La Sarriette with interest.
"Oh, all kinds of filth. The commissary said there was quite sufficientthere to hang him. The fellow's a perfect monster! To go and demoralisea child! Why, it's almost past believing! Little Muche is certainly ascamp, but that's no reason why he should be given over to the 'Reds,'is it?"
"Certainly not," assented the two others.
"However, all these mysterious goings-on will come to an end now. Youremember my telling you once that there was some strange goings-on atthe Quenus'? Well, you see, I was right in my conclusions, wasn'tI? Thank God, however, the neighbourhood will now be able to breatheeasily. It was high time strong steps were taken, for things had got tosuch a pitch that one actually felt afraid of being murdered in broaddaylight. There was no pleasure in life. All the dreadful stories andreports one heard were enough to worry one to death. And it was allowing to that man, that dreadful Florent. Now beautiful Lisa and thebeautiful Norman have sensibly made friends again. It was their duty todo so for the sake of the peace and quietness of us all. Everything willgo on satisfactorily now, you'll find. Ah! there's poor Monsieur Quenulaughing yonder!"
Quenu had again come on to the footway, and was joking with MadameTaboureau's little servant. He seemed quite gay and skittish thatmorning. He took hold of the little servant's hands, and squeezed herfingers so tightly, in the exuberance of his spirits, that he made hercry out. Lisa had the greatest trouble to get him to go back into thekitchen. She was impatiently pacing about the shop, fearing lest Florentshould make his appearance; and she called to her husband to come away,dreading a meeting between him and his brother.
"She's getting quite vexed," said Mademoiselle Saget. "Poor MonsieurQuenu, you see, knows nothing at all about what's taking place. Justlook at him there, laughing like a child! Madame Taboureau, you know,said that she should have nothing more to do with the Quenus if theypersisted in bringing themselves into discredit by keeping that Florentwith them."
"Well, now, I suppose, they will stick to the fortune," remarked MadameLecoeur.
"Oh, no, indeed, my dear. The other one has had his share already."
"Really? How do you know that?"
"Oh, it's clear enough, that is!" replied the old maid after a momentaryhesitation, but without giving any proof of her assertions. "He's hadeven more than his share. The Quenus will be several thousand francs outof pocket. Money flies, you know, when a man has such vices as he has. Idare say you don't know that there was another woman mixed up in it all.Yes, indeed, old Madame Verlaque, the wife of the former inspector; youknow the sallow-faced thing well enough."
The others protested that it surely wasn't possible. Why, MadameVerlaque was positively hideous!
"What! do you think me a liar?" cried Mademoiselle Saget, with angryindignation. "Why, her letters to him have been found, a whole pile ofletters, in which she asks for money, ten and twenty francs at a time.There's no doubt at all about it. I'm quite certain in my own mind thatthey killed the husband between them."
La Sarriette and Madame Lecoeur were convinced; but they were beginningto get very impatient. They had been waiting on the footway for morethan an hour, and feared that somebody might be robbing their stallsduring their long absence. So Mademoiselle Saget began to give them somefurther interesting information to keep them from going off. Florentcould not have taken to flight, said she; he was certain to return, andit would be very interesting to see him arrested. Then she went on todescribe the trap that had been laid for him, while Madame Lecoeurand La Sarriette continued scrutinising the house from top to bottom,keeping watch upon every opening, and at each moment expecting to seethe hats of the detectives appear at one of the doors or windows.
"Who would ever imagine, now, that the place was full of police?"observed the butter dealer.
"Oh! they're in the garret at the top," said the old maid. "They've leftthe window open, you see, just as they found it. Look! I think I can seeone of them hiding behind the pomegranate on the balcony."
The others excitedly craned out their necks, but could see nothing.
"Ah, no, it's only a shadow," continued Mademoiselle Saget. "The littlecurtains even are perfectly still. The detectives must be sitting downin the room, and keeping quiet."
Just at that moment the women caught sight of Gavard coming out of thefish market with a thoughtful air. They looked at him with glisteningeyes, without speaking. They had drawn close to one another, and stoodthere rigid in their drooping skirts. The poultry dealer came up tothem.
"Have you seen Florent go by?" he asked.
They replied that they had not.
"I want to speak to him at once," continued Gavard. "He isn't in thefish market. He must have gone up to his room. But you would have seenhim, though, if he had."
The women had turned rather pale. They still kept looking at each otherwith a knowing expression, their lips twitching slightly every now andthen. "We have only been here some five minutes, said Madame Lecoeurunblushingly, as her brother-in-law still stood hesitating.
"Well, then, I'll go upstairs and see. I'll risk the five flights,"rejoined Gavard with a laugh.
La Sarriette stepped forward as though she wished to detain him, but heraunt took hold of her arm and drew her back.
"Let him alone, you big simpleton!" she whispered. "It's the best thingthat can happen to him. It'll teach him to treat us with respec
t infuture."
"He won't say again that I ate tainted meat," muttered MademoiselleSaget in a low tone.
They said nothing more. La Sarriette was very red; but the two othersstill remained quite yellow. But they now averted their heads, feelingconfused by each other's looks, and at a loss what to do with theirhands, which they buried beneath their aprons. Presently their eyesinstinctively came back to the house, penetrating the walls, as it were,following Gavard in his progress up the stairs. When they imagined thathe had entered Florent's room they again exchanged furtive glances. LaSarriette laughed nervously. All at once they fancied they could see thewindow curtains moving, and this led them to believe that a struggle wastaking place. But the house-front remained as tranquil as ever in thesunshine; and another quarter of an hour of unbroken quietness passedaway, during which the three women's nervous excitement became moreand more intense. They were beginning to feel quite faint when a manhurriedly came out of the passage and ran off to get a cab. Five minuteslater Gavard appeared, followed by two police officers. Lisa, who hadstepped out on to the footway on observing the cab, hastily hurried backinto the shop.
Gavard was very pale. The police had searched him upstairs, and haddiscovered the revolver and cartridge case in his possession. Judgingby the commissary's stern expression on hearing his name, the poultrydealer deemed himself lost. This was a terrible ending to his plottingthat had never entered into his calculations. The Tuileries would neverforgive him! His legs gave way beneath him as though the firing partywas already awaiting him outside. When he got into the street, however,his vanity lent him sufficient strength to walk erect; and he evenmanaged to force a smile, as he knew the market people were looking athim. They should see him die bravely, he resolved.
However, La Sarriette and Madame Lecoeur rushed up to him and anxiouslyinquired what was the matter; and the butter dealer began to cry, whileLa Sarriette embraced her uncle, manifesting the deepest emotion. AsGavard held her clasped in his arms, he slipped a key into her hand, andwhispered in her ear: "Take everything, and burn the papers."
Then he got into the cab with the same mien as he would have ascendedthe scaffold. As the vehicle disappeared round the corner of the RuePierre Lescot, Madame Lecoeur observed La Sarriette trying to hide thekey in her pocket.
"It's of no use you trying that little game on me, my dear," sheexclaimed, clenching her teeth; "I saw him slip it into your hand.As true as there's a God in Heaven, I'll go to the gaol and tell himeverything, if you don't treat me properly."
"Of course I shall treat you properly, aunt, dear," replied LaSarriette, with an embarrassed smile.
"Very well, then, let us go to his rooms at once. It's of no use to givethe police time to poke their dirty hands in the cupboards."
Mademoiselle Saget, who had been listening with gleaming eyes, followedthem, running along in the rear as quickly as her short legs couldcarry her. She had no thought, now, of waiting for Florent. From the RueRambuteau to the Rue de la Cossonnerie she manifested the most humbleobsequiousness, and volunteered to explain matters to Madame Leonce, thedoorkeeper.
"We'll see, we'll see," the butter dealer curtly replied.
However, on reaching the house a preliminary parley--as MademoiselleSaget had opined--proved to be necessary. Madame Leonce refused to allowthe women to go up to her tenant's room. She put on an expressionof severe austerity, and seemed greatly shocked by the sight of LaSarriette's loosely fastened fichu. However, after the old maid hadwhispered a few words to her and she was shown the key, she gave way.When they got upstairs she surrendered the rooms and furniture to theothers article by article, apparently as heartbroken as if she had beencompelled to show a party of burglars the place where her own money wassecreted.
"There, take everything and have done with it!" she cried at last,throwing herself into an arm-chair.
La Sarriette was already eagerly trying the key in the locks ofdifferent closets. Madame Lecoeur, all suspicion, pressed her so closelythat she exclaimed: "Really, aunt, you get in my way. Do leave my armsfree, at any rate."
At last they succeeded in opening a wardrobe opposite the window,between the fireplace and the bed. And then all four women broke intoexclamations. On the middle shelf lay some ten thousand francs ingold, methodically arranged in little piles. Gavard, who had prudentlydeposited the bulk of his fortune in the hands of a notary, had keptthis sum by him for the purposes of the coming outbreak. He had beenwont to say with great solemnity that his contribution to the revolutionwas quite ready. The fact was that he had sold out certain stock, andevery night took an intense delight in contemplating those ten thousandfrancs, gloating over them, and finding something quite roysterous andinsurrectional in their appearance. Sometimes when he was in bed hedreamed that a fight was going on in the wardrobe; he could hearguns being fired there, paving-stones being torn up and piled intobarricades, and voices shouting in clamorous triumph; and he said tohimself that it was his money fighting against the Government.
La Sarriette, however, had stretched out her hands with a cry ofdelight.
"Paws off, little one!" exclaimed Madame Lecoeur in a hoarse voice.
As she stood there in the reflection of the gold, she looked yellowerthan ever--her face discoloured by biliousness, her eyes glowingfeverishly from the liver complaint which was secretly undermining her.Behind her Mademoiselle Saget on tip-toe was gazing ecstatically intothe wardrobe, and Madame Leonce had now risen from her seat, and wasgrowling sulkily.
"My uncle said I was to take everything," declared the girl.
"And am I to have nothing, then; I who have done so much for him?" criedthe doorkeeper.
Madame Lecoeur was almost choking with excitement. She pushed the othersaway, and clung hold of the wardrobe, screaming: "It all belongs tome! I am his nearest relative. You are a pack of thieves, you are! I'drather throw it all out of the window than see you have it!"
Then silence fell, and they all four stood glowering at each other.The kerchief that La Sarriette wore over her breast was now altogetherunfastened, and she displayed her bosom heaving with warm life, hermoist red lips, her rosy nostrils. Madame Lecoeur grew still more souras she saw how lovely the girl looked in the excitement of her longingdesire.
"Well," she said in a lower tone, "we won't fight about it. You are hisniece, and I'll divide the money with you. We will each take a pile inturn."
Thereupon they pushed the other two aside. The butter dealer tookthe first pile, which at once disappeared within her skirts. Then LaSarriette took a pile. They kept a close watch upon one another, readyto fight at the slightest attempt at cheating. Their fingers were thrustforward in turn, the hideous knotted fingers of the aunt and the whitefingers of the niece, soft and supple as silk. Slowly they filled theirpockets. When there was only one pile left, La Sarriette objected toher aunt taking it, as she had commenced; and she suddenly dividedit between Mademoiselle Saget and Madame Leonce, who had watched thempocket the gold with feverish impatience.
"Much obliged to you!" snarled the doorkeeper. "Fifty francs for havingcoddled him up with tisane and broth! The old deceiver told me he had norelatives!"
Before locking the wardrobe up again, Madame Lecoeur searched itthoroughly from top to bottom. It contained all the political workswhich were forbidden admission into the country, the pamphlets printedat Brussels, the scandalous histories of the Bonapartes, and the foreigncaricatures ridiculing the Emperor. One of Gavard's greatestdelights was to shut himself up with a friend, and show him all thesecompromising things.
"He told me that I was to burn all the papers," said La Sarriette.
"Oh, nonsense! we've no fire, and it would take up too long. The policewill soon be here! We must get out of this!"
They all four hastened off; but they had not reached the bottom of thestairs before the police met them, and made Madame Leonce return withthem upstairs. The three others, making themselves as small as possible,hurriedly escaped into the street. They walked away in single file at abris
k pace; the aunt and niece considerably incommoded by the weight oftheir drooping pockets. Mademoiselle Saget had kept her fifty francs inher closed fist, and remained deep in thought, brooding over a plan forextracting something more from the heavy pockets in front of her.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, as they reached the corner of the fish market,"we've got here at a lucky moment. There's Florent yonder, just going towalk into the trap."
Florent, indeed, was just then returning to the markets after hisprolonged perambulation. He went into his office to change his coat,and then set about his daily duties, seeing that the marble slabs wereproperly washed, and slowly strolling along the alleys. He fancied thatthe fish-wives looked at him in a somewhat strange manner; they chuckledtoo, and smiled significantly as he passed them. Some new vexation, hethought, was in store for him. For some time past those huge, terriblewomen had not allowed him a day's peace. However, as he passed theMehudins' stall he was very much surprised to hear the old woman addresshim in a honeyed tone: "There's just been a gentleman inquiring for you,Monsieur Florent; a middle-aged gentleman. He's gone to wait for you inyour room."
As the old fish-wife, who was squatting, all of a heap, on her chair,spoke these words, she felt such a delicious thrill of satisfiedvengeance that her huge body fairly quivered. Florent, still doubtful,glanced at the beautiful Norman; but the young woman, now completelyreconciled with her mother, turned on her tap and slapped her fish,pretending not to hear what was being said.
"You are quite sure?" said Florent to Mother Mehudin.
"Oh, yes, indeed. Isn't that so, Louise?" said the old woman in ashriller voice.
Florent concluded that it must be some one who wanted to see him aboutthe great business, and he resolved to go up to his room. He was justabout to leave the pavilion, when, happening to turn round, he observedthe beautiful Norman watching him with a grave expression on her face.Then he passed in front of the three gossips.
"Do you notice that there's no one in the pork shop?" remarkedMademoiselle Saget. "Beautiful Lisa's not the woman to compromiseherself."
The shop was, indeed, quite empty. The front of the house was stillbright with sunshine; the building looked like some honest, prosperouspile guilelessly warming itself in the morning rays. Up above, thepomegranate on the balcony was in full bloom. As Florent crossed theroadway he gave a friendly nod to Logre and Monsieur Lebigre, whoappeared to be enjoying the fresh air on the doorstep of the latter'sestablishment. They returned his greeting with a smile. Florent was thenabout to enter the side-passage, when he fancied he saw Auguste's paleface hastily vanishing from its dark and narrow depths. Thereupon heturned back and glanced into the shop to make sure that the middle-agedgentleman was not waiting for him there. But he saw no one but Mouton,who sat on a block displaying his double chin and bristling whiskers,and gazed at him defiantly with his great yellow eyes. And when he hadat last made up his mind to enter the passage, Lisa's face appearedbehind the little curtain of a glazed door at the back of the shop.
A hush had fallen over the fish market. All the huge paunches and bosomsheld their breath, waiting till Florent should disappear from sight.Then there was an uproarious outbreak; and the bosoms heaved wildlyand the paunches nearly burst with malicious delight. The joke hadsucceeded. Nothing could be more comical. As old Mother Mehudin ventedher merriment she shook and quivered like a wine-skin that is beingemptied. Her story of the middle-aged gentleman went the round of themarket, and the fish-wives found it extremely amusing. At last the longspindle-shanks was collared, and they would no longer always have hismiserable face and gaol-bird's expression before their eyes. Theyall wished him a pleasant journey, and trusted that they might get ahandsome fellow for their next inspector. And in their delight theyrushed about from one stall to another, and felt inclined to danceround their marble slabs like a lot of holiday-making schoolgirls.The beautiful Norman, however, watched this outbreak of joy in a rigidattitude, not daring to move for fear she should burst into tears;and she kept her hands pressed upon a big skate to cool her feverishexcitement.
"You see how those Mehudins turn their backs upon him now that he's cometo grief," said Madame Lecoeur.
"Well, and they're quite right too," replied Mademoiselle Saget."Besides, matters are settled now, my dear, and we're to have no moredisputes. You've every reason to be satisfied; leave the others to actas they please."
"It's only the old woman who is laughing," La Sarriette remarked; "LaNormande looks anything but happy."
Meantime, upstairs in his bedroom, Florent allowed himself to be takenas unresistingly as a sheep. The police officers sprang roughlyupon him, expecting, no doubt, that they would meet with a desperateresistance. He quietly begged them to leave go of him; and then satdown on a chair while they packed up his papers, and the red scarves,armlets, and banners. He did not seem at all surprised at this ending;indeed, it was something of a relief to him, though he would not franklyconfess it. But he suffered acutely at thought of the bitter hatredwhich had sent him into that room; he recalled Auguste's pale face andthe sniggering looks of the fish-wives; he bethought himself of oldMadame Mehudin's words, La Normande's silence, and the empty shopdownstairs. The markets were leagued against him, he reflected; thewhole neighbourhood had conspired to hand him over to the police. Themud of those greasy streets had risen up all around to overwhelm him!
And amidst all the round faces which flitted before his mind's eye theresuddenly appeared that of Quenu, and a spasm of mortal agony contractedhis heart.
"Come, get along downstairs!" exclaimed one of the officers, roughly.
Florent rose and proceeded to go downstairs. When he reached the secondfloor he asked to be allowed to return; he had forgotten something, hesaid. But the officers refused to let him go back, and began to hustlehim forward. Then he besought them to let him return to his room again,and even offered them the money he had in his pocket. Two of them atlast consented to return with him, threatening to blow his brains outshould he attempt to play them any trick; and they drew their revolversout of their pockets as they spoke. However, on reaching his room oncemore Florent simply went straight to the chaffinch's cage, took thebird out of it, kissed it between its wings, and set it at liberty.He watched it fly away through the open window, into the sunshine, andalight, as though giddy, on the roof of the fish market. Then it flewoff again and disappeared over the markets in the direction of theSquare des Innocents. For a moment longer Florent remained face to facewith the sky, the free and open sky; and he thought of the wood-pigeonscooing in the garden of the Tuileries, and of those other pigeons downin the market cellars with their throats slit by Marjolin's knife. Thenhe felt quite broken, and turned and followed the officers, who wereputting their revolvers back into their pockets as they shrugged theirshoulders.
On reaching the bottom of the stairs, Florent stopped before the doorwhich led into the kitchen. The commissary, who was waiting for himthere, seemed almost touched by his gentle submissiveness, and askedhim: "Would you like to say good-bye to your brother?"
For a moment Florent hesitated. He looked at the door. A tremendousnoise of cleavers and pans came from the kitchen. Lisa, with thedesign of keeping her husband occupied, had persuaded him to make theblack-puddings in the morning instead of in the evening, as was hiswont. The onions were simmering on the fire, and over all the noisyuproar Florent could hear Quenu's joyous voice exclaiming, "Ah, dash itall, the pudding will be excellent, that it will! Auguste, hand me thefat!"
Florent thanked the commissary, but refused his offer. He was afraidto return any more into that warm kitchen, reeking with the odour ofboiling onions, and so he went on past the door, happy in the thoughtthat his brother knew nothing of what had happened to him, and hasteninghis steps as if to spare the establishment all further worry. However,on emerging into the open sunshine of the street he felt a touch ofshame, and got into the cab with bent back and ashen face. He wasconscious that the fish market was gazing at him in triumph; it seemedto him, indeed, as th
ough the whole neighbourhood had gathered there torejoice at his fall.
"What a villainous expression he's got!" said Mademoiselle Saget.
"Yes, indeed, he looks just like a thief caught with his hand insomebody's till," added Madame Lecoeur.
"I once saw a man guillotined who looked exactly like he does," assertedLa Sarriette, showing her white teeth.
They stepped forward, lengthened their necks, and tried to see into thecab. Just as it was starting, however, the old maid tugged sharply atthe skirts of her companions, and pointed to Claire, who was cominground the corner of the Rue Pirouette, looking like a mad creature,with her hair loose and her nails bleeding. She had at last succeededin opening her door. When she discovered that she was too late, andthat Florent was being taken off, she darted after the cab, but checkedherself almost immediately with a gesture of impotent rage, and shookher fists at the receding wheels. Then, with her face quite crimsonbeneath the fine plaster dust with which she was covered, she ran backagain towards the Rue Pirouette.
"Had he promised to marry her, eh?" exclaimed La Sarriette, laughing."The silly fool must be quite cracked."
Little by little the neighbourhood calmed down, though throughout theday groups of people constantly assembled and discussed the events ofthe morning. The pork shop was the object of much inquisitive curiosity.Lisa avoided appearing there, and left the counter in charge ofAugustine. In the afternoon she felt bound to tell Quenu of what hadhappened, for fear the news might cause him too great a shock shouldhe hear it from some gossiping neighbour. She waited till she was alonewith him in the kitchen, knowing that there he was always most cheerful,and would weep less than if he were anywhere else. Moreover, shecommunicated her tidings with all sorts of motherly precautions.Nevertheless, as soon as he knew the truth he fell on thechopping-block, and began to cry like a calf.
"Now, now, my poor dear, don't give way like that; you'll make yourselfquite ill," exclaimed Lisa, taking him in her arms.
His tears were inundating his white apron, the whole of his massive,torpid form quivered with grief. He seemed to be sinking, melting away.When he was at last able to speak, he stammered: "Oh, you don't know howgood he was to me when we lived together in the Rue Royer-Collard! Hedid everything. He swept the room and cooked the meals. He loved me asthough I were his own child; and after his day's work he used to comeback splashed with mud, and so tired that he could scarcely move, whileI stayed warm and comfortable in the house, and had nothing to do buteat. And now they're going to shoot him!"
At this Lisa protested, saying that he would certainly not be shot. ButQuenu only shook his head.
"I haven't loved him half as much as I ought to have done," hecontinued. "I can see that very well now. I had a wicked heart, and Ihesitated about giving him his half of the money."
"Why, I offered it to him a dozen times and more!" Lisa interrupted."I'm sure we've nothing to reproach ourselves with."
"Oh, yes, I know that you are everything that is good, and that youwould have given him every copper. But I hesitated, I didn't like topart with it; and now it will be a sorrow to me for the rest of my life.I shall always think that if I'd shared the fortune with him he wouldn'thave gone wrong a second time. Oh, yes; it's my fault! It is I who havedriven him to this."
Then Lisa, expostulating still more gently, assured him that he hadnothing to blame himself for, and even expressed some pity for Florent.But he was really very culpable, she said, and if he had had more moneyhe would probably have perpetrated greater follies. Gradually she gaveher husband to understand that it was impossible matters could have hadany other termination, and that now everything would go on much better.Quenu was still weeping, wiping his cheeks with his apron, trying tosuppress his sobs to listen to her, and then breaking into a wilderfit of tears than before. His fingers had mechanically sought a heapof sausage-meat lying on the block, and he was digging holes in it, androughly kneading it together.
"And how unwell you were feeling, you know," Lisa continued. "It was allbecause our life had got so shifted out of its usual course. I was veryanxious, though I didn't tell you so, at seeing you getting so low."
"Yes, wasn't I?" he murmured, ceasing to sob for a moment.
"And the business has been quite under a cloud this year. It was asthough a spell had been cast on it. Come, now, don't take on so; you'llsee that everything will look up again now. You must take care ofyourself, you know, for my sake and your daughter's. You have duties tous as well as to others, remember."
Quenu was now kneading the sausage-meat more gently. Another burstof emotion was thrilling him, but it was a softer emotion, which wasalready bringing a vague smile to his grief-stricken face. Lisa feltthat she had convinced him, and she turned and called to Pauline, whowas playing in the shop, and sat her on Quenu's knee.
"Tell your father, Pauline, that he ought not to give way like this. Askhim nicely not to go on distressing us so."
The child did as she was told, and their fat, sleek forms united in ageneral embrace. They all three looked at one another, already feelingcured of that twelve months' depression from which they had but justemerged. Their big, round faces smiled, and Lisa softly repeated, "Andafter all, my dear, there are only we three, you know, only we three."
Two months later Florent was again sentenced to transportation. Theaffair caused a great stir. The newspapers published all possibledetails, and gave portraits of the accused, sketches of the banners andscarves, and plans of the places where the conspirators had met. For afortnight nothing but the great plot of the central markets was talkedof in Paris. The police kept on launching more and more alarmingreports, and it was at last even declared that the whole of theMontmartre Quarter was undermined. The excitement in the CorpsLegislatif was so intense that the members of the Centre and the Rightforgot their temporary disagreement over the Imperial Grant Bill, andbecame reconciled. And then by an overwhelming majority they voted theunpopular tax, of which even the lower classes, in the panic which wassweeping over the city, dared no longer complain.
The trial lasted a week. Florent was very much surprised at the numberof accomplices with which he found himself credited. Out of the twentyand more who were placed in the dock with him, he knew only some sixor seven. After the sentence of the court had been read, he fanciedhe could see Robine's innocent-looking hat and back going off quietlythrough the crowd. Logre was acquitted, as was also Lacaille; Alexandrewas sentenced to two years' imprisonment for his child-like complicityin the conspiracy; while as for Gavard, he, like Florent, was condemnedto transportation. This was a heavy blow, which quite crushed him amidstthe final enjoyment that he derived from those lengthy proceedings inwhich he had managed to make himself so conspicuous. He was payingvery dearly for the way in which he had vented the spirit of perpetualopposition peculiar to the Paris shopkeeping classes. Two big tearscoursed down his scared face--the face of a white-haired child.
And then one morning in August, amidst the busy awakening of themarkets, Claude Lantier, sauntering about in the thick of the arrivingvegetables, with his waist tightly girded by his red sash, came to graspMadame Francois's hand close by Saint Eustache. She was sitting on hercarrots and turnips, and her long face looked very sad. The artist, too,was gloomy, notwithstanding the bright sun which was already softeningthe deep-green velvet of the mountains of cabbages.
"Well, it's all over now," he said. "They are sending him back again.He's already on his way to Brest, I believe."
Madame Francois made a gesture of mute grief. Then she gently waved herhand around, and murmured in a low voice; "Ah, it is all Paris's doing,this villainous Paris!"
"No, no, not quite that; but I know whose doing it is, the contemptiblecreatures!" exclaimed Claude, clenching his fists. "Do you know, MadameFrancois, there was nothing too ridiculous for those fellows in thecourt to say! Why, they even went ferreting in a child's copy-books!That great idiot of a Public Prosecutor made a tremendous fuss overthem, and ranted about the respect due to children
, and the wickednessof demagogical education! It makes me quite sick to think of it all!"
A shudder of disgust shook him, and then, burying himself more deeplyin his discoloured cloak, he resumed: "To think of it! A man who wasas gentle as a girl! Why, I saw him turn quite faint at seeing a pigeonkilled! I couldn't help smiling with pity when I saw him between twogendarmes. Ah, well, we shall never see him again! He won't come backthis time."
"He ought to have listened to me," said Madame Francois, after a pause,"and have come to live at Nanterre with my fowls and rabbits. I wasvery fond of him, you see, for I could tell that he was a good-heartedfellow. Ah, we might have been so happy together! It's a sad pity. Well,we must bear it as best we can, Monsieur Claude. Come and see me one ofthese days. I'll have an omelet ready for you."
Her eyes were dim with tears; but all at once she sprang up like a bravewoman who bears her sorrows with fortitude.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, "here's old Mother Chantemesse coming to buy someturnips of me. The fat old lady's as sprightly as ever!"
Claude went off, and strolled about the footways. The dawn had risen inthe white sheaf of light at the end of the Rue Rambuteau; and the sun,now level with the house-tops, was diffusing rosy rays which alreadyfell in warm patches on the pavements. Claude was conscious of agay awakening in the huge resonant markets--indeed, all over theneighbourhood--crowded with piles of food. It was like the joy thatcomes after cure, the mirth of folks who are at last relieved of a heavyweight which has been pulling them down. He saw La Sarriette displayinga gold chain and singing amidst her plums and strawberries, while sheplayfully pulled the moustaches of Monsieur Jules, who was arrayed in avelvet jacket. He also caught sight of Madame Lecoeur and MademoiselleSaget passing along one of the covered ways, and looking less sallowthan usual--indeed, almost rosy--as they laughed like bosom friendsover some amusing story. In the fish market, old Madame Mehudin, whohad returned to her stall, was slapping her fish, abusing customers, andsnubbing the new inspector, a presumptuous young man whom she had swornto spank; while Claire, seemingly more languid and indolent than ever,extended her hands, blue from immersion in the water of her tanks, togather together a great heap of edible snails, shimmering with silveryslime. In the tripe market Auguste and Augustine, with the foolishexpression of newly-married people, had just been purchasing somepigs' trotters, and were starting off in a trap for their pork shop atMontrouge. Then, as it was now eight o'clock and already quite warm,Claude, on again coming to the Rue Rambuteau, perceived Muche andPauline playing at horses. Muche was crawling along on all-fours, whilePauline sat on his back, and clung to his hair to keep herself fromfalling. However, a moving shadow which fell from the eaves of themarket roof made Claude look up; and he then espied Cadine and Marjolinaloft, kissing and warming themselves in the sunshine, parading theirloves before the whole neighbourhood like a pair of light-heartedanimals.
Claude shook his fist at them. All this joyousness down below and onhigh exasperated him. He reviled the Fat; the Fat, he declared, hadconquered the Thin. All around him he could see none but the Fatprotruding their paunches, bursting with robust health, and greetingwith delight another day of gorging and digestion. And a last blow wasdealt to him by the spectacle which he perceived on either hand as hehalted opposite the Rue Pirouette.
On his right, the beautiful Norman, or the beautiful Madame Lebigre, asshe was now called, stood at the door of her shop. Her husband had atlength been granted the privilege of adding a State tobacco agency[*] tohis wine shop, a long-cherished dream of his which he had finallybeen able to realise through the great services he had rendered to theauthorities. And to Claude the beautiful Madame Lebigre looked superb,with her silk dress and her frizzed hair, quite ready to take her seatbehind her counter, whither all the gentlemen in the neighbourhoodflocked to buy their cigars and packets of tobacco. She had becomequite distinguished, quite the lady. The shop behind her had been newlypainted, with borders of twining vine-branches showing against a softbackground; the zinc-plated wine-counter gleamed brightly, and in thetall mirror the flasks of liqueurs set brighter flashes of colour thanever. And the mistress of all these things stood smiling radiantly atthe bright sunshine.
[*] Most readers will remember that the tobacco trade is a State monopoly in France. The retail tobacconists are merely Government agents.--Translator.
Then, on Claude's left, the beautiful Lisa blocked up the doorway ofher shop as she stood on the threshold. Never before had her linen shonewith such dazzling whiteness; never had her serene face and rosy cheeksappeared in a more lustrous setting of glossy locks. She displayed thedeep calmness of repletion, a massive tranquillity unruffled even by asmile. She was a picture of absolute quietude, of perfect felicity, notonly cloudless but lifeless, the simple felicity of basking in the warmatmosphere. Her tightly stretched bodice seemed to be still digestingthe happiness of yesterday; while her dimpled hands, hidden in the foldsof her apron, did not even trouble to grasp at the happiness of to-day,certain as they were that it would come of itself. And the shop-windowat her side seemed to display the same felicity. It had recovered fromits former blight; the tongues lolled out, red and healthy; the hamshad regained their old chubbiness of form; the festoons of sausages nolonger wore that mournful air which had so greatly distressed Quenu.Hearty laughter, accompanied by a jubilant clattering of pans, soundedfrom the kitchen in the rear. The whole place again reeked with fathealth. The flitches of bacon and the sides of pork that hung againstthe marble showed roundly like paunches, triumphant paunches, whilstLisa, with her imposing breadth of shoulders and dignity of mien, badethe markets good morning with those big eyes of hers which so clearlybespoke a gross feeder.
However, the two women bowed to each other. Beautiful Madame Lebigre andbeautiful Madame Quenu exchanged a friendly salute.
And then Claude, who had certainly forgotten to dine on the previousday, was thrilled with anger at seeing them standing there, looking sohealthy and well-to-do with their buxom bosoms; and tightening his sash,he growled in a tone of irritation:
"What blackguards respectable people are!"
