Mysteries of Paris Volume II Part 62

"You always say 'I will' but you never do it, you sly puss. The time I told you to take the five francs from the counter of the grocer at Asnieres, while I kept him busy at the other end of his shop--it was very easy; no one suspects a child--why didn't you obey?"

"Sister, my heart failed me: I did not dare."

"The other day you dared to steal a handkerchief from the peddler's pack while he was selling at the tavern. Did he find it out, fool?"

"Sister, you forced me--it was for you; and, besides, it was not money."

"What of that?"

"To take a handkerchief is not so bad as to take money."

"On my word! Martial teaches you these whims doesn't he?" said Calabash, in an ironical manner. "You'll go and tell him everything, little spy! Do you think we are afraid that he'll eat us?" Then, addressing the widow, Calabash added, "Mother, this will end badly for him; he wants to lay down the law here. Nicholas is furious against him; so am I. He sets Amandine and Francois against us, against you.

Can it be borne?"

"No!" said the mother, in a short, harsh voice.

"It is especially since his Louve was Saint-Lazared that he has gone on like a madman. Is it our fault that she is in prison? When she is once out of prison, let her come here, and I will serve her out--good measure--though she is strong."

The widow, after a moment's pause, said to her daughter, "You think there is something to be done with the old man who lives in the doctor's house?"

"Yes, mother."

"He looks like a beggar."

"That doesn't prevent his being a n.o.ble."

"A n.o.ble?"

"Yes; or that he should have gold in his purse, although he goes to Paris on foot every day, and returns in the same manner, with his heavy stick for his carriage."

"How do you know that he has gold?"

"The other day I was at the post-office, to see if there were any letters from Toulon."

At these words, which brought to her mind her son at the galleys, the widow knit her brows and suppressed a sigh.

Calabash continued: "I awaited my turn, when the old man we speak of came in. I twigged him at once by his beard, as white as his hair, and his black eyebrows. In spite of his hair, he must be a determined old man. He said, 'Have you any letters from Angers for the Count of Saint Remy?' 'Yes,' was the answer, 'here is one.' 'It is for me,' said he; 'here is my pa.s.sport.' While the postmaster examined it, the old man drew out his purse to pay the postage. At one end I saw the gold glittering through the meshes, at least forty or fifty louis," cried Calabash, her eyes twinkling, "and yet he is dressed like a beggar. He is one of those old misers who are stuffed with gold. Come, mother, we know his name; it may serve us to get into the crib when Amandine finds out if he has any servants."

A violent barking of the dogs interrupted Calabash. "Oh, the dogs bark," said she; "they hear a boat. It is either Martial or Nicholas."

After a few moments the door opened, and Nicholas Martial made his appearance. His face was ign.o.ble and ferocious; small, thin, pitiful, it could hardly be imagined that he followed so dangerous a calling; but an indomitable energy supplied the place of the physical strength which was wanting. Over his blue slop he wore a great-coat, without sleeves, made of goat-skin with long hair. On entering he threw on the ground a roll of copper which he had on his shoulder.

"Good-night, and good booty, mother," cried he, in a cracked voice; "there are three more rolls in my boat, a bundle of clothes, and a box filled with I don't know what, for I have not amused myself by opening it. Perhaps I am sold--we shall see."

"And what about the man at the Quai de Billy?" asked Calabash, while the widow looked at her son without saying a word.

He, for sole answer, put his hand in his pocket and jingled together a number of pieces of silver.

"You took all that from him?" cried Calabash.

"No, he sh.e.l.led out himself two hundred francs, and he will come down with eight hundred more when I shall have--but enough; let us unload the boat; we can jaw afterward. Isn't Martial here?"

"No," said the sister.

"So much the better; we will lock up the booty without him; just as well he shouldn't know."

"You are afraid of him, coward!" said Calabash, crossly.

"Afraid of him? me!" He shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid he'll sell us, that's all. As to the fear, my sticker has too sharp a tongue."

"Oh, when he is not here, you brag; let him but come, that shuts your bill."

Nicholas appeared insensible to this reproach, and said, "Come, quick!

quick! to the boat. Where is Francois, mother? He could help us."

"Mother has shut him upstairs, after having dressed him nicely; he goes to bed without supper," said Calabash.

"Good; but let him come and help us unload the boat all the same--eh, mother? Calabash, him, and me, in a twist, will have all housed."

The widow pointed upward. Calabash understood, and went to look for Francois.

The gloomy visage of Mother Martial had become slightly relaxed since the arrival of Nicholas; she liked him better than Calabash, but not as well as she did her Toulon son, as she called him; for the maternal love of this ferocious creature increased in proportion to the criminality of her offspring. This perverse preference sufficiently explains the dislike of the widow to her youngest children, who displayed no bad tendencies, and her profound hatred for Martial, her eldest son, who, without leading a blameless life, might have pa.s.sed for a very honest man if he had been compared to Nicholas, Calabash, or his brother, the galley--slave at Toulon.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PILLAGE ]

"Where have you been plundering to-night?" asked the widow.

"On returning from the Quai de Billy, I cast a sheep's-eye upon a barge fastened to the quay near the Invalides Bridge. It was dark; I said, no light in the cabin--the sailors are on sh.o.r.e--I'll go on board; if I meet any one, I'll ask for a piece of seizing to mend my oar. I went into the cabin--n.o.body; then I took what I could, some clothes, a large box, and, on the deck, four rolls of copper; for I returned twice. The barge was loaded with copper and iron. But here come Francois and Calabash. Quick, to the boat! Come, be moving--you, too, Amandine. You can carry the clothes. A dog learns to carry before he is taught hunting."

Left alone, the widow busied herself in preparing the supper for the family, placing on the table gla.s.ses, bottles, plates, and silver forks and spoons. Just as she finished her preparation, her children returned heavily laden. The weight of the two rolls, which he carried on his shoulders, seemed almost to crush Francois. Amandine was hardly visible under the bundle of clothes which she carried on her head.

Nicholas and Calabash carried between them a deal box, on the top of which was placed the fourth roll of copper.

"The box, the box!" cried Calabash, with impatience. "Let us air the case!" The copper was thrown on the ground. Nicholas, armed with a hatchet, endeavored to get it under the cover, so as to force it up.

The red flickering light from the earth illuminated this scene of pillage; without, the wind howled with renewed violence. Nicholas, kneeling before the box, tried to break it, and uttered the most horrible oaths on seeing his efforts useless. Her eyes glistening with cupidity, her cheeks flus.h.i.+ng, Calabash kneeled on the box, and a.s.sisted Nicholas with all her strength. The widow, separated from the group by the table, where she stood at full length, also had her eager gaze fixed on the stolen object.

Finally, a thing, alas! too human, the two children, whose good natural instincts had so often triumphed over the cursed influence of this abominable domestic corruption, forgetting their scruples and their fears, gave way to the attractions of a fatal curiosity. Leaning against one another, their eyes sparkling, their breathing oppressed, Francois and Amandine were not less anxious to know the contents of the box than their brother or sister. At length the top was forced off.

"Ah!" cried the family, in a joyful tone. And all, from the mother to the little girl, crowded around the stolen case. Without doubt, consigned by some Paris merchant to some of his country customers, it contained a large quant.i.ty of articles for women's use.

"Nicholas is not sold!" cried Calabash, unrolling a piece of muslin de laine.

"No," answered the pirate, shaking out a package of foulards; "no, I have paid my expenses."

"Levantine! that will sell like bread," said the widow, putting her hand in the box. "The Bras-Rouge's fence, who lives in the Rue du Temple, will buy the stuffs, and Daddy Micou, who keeps furnished lodgings in the Quartier Saint Honore, will arrange for the copper."

"Amandine!" whispered Francois to his little sister; "what a pretty cravat this would make."

"Yes, and it would make a very fine scarf," answered the child, with admiration. "I must say you had some luck, getting on board the barge," said Calabash; "look here, famous shawls; three real silk! Do look, mother?"