The Mysteries Of Paris Volume Iii Part 12

"I do not know, sir; I did not recognise the voice."

"And what were they saying?"

"No doubt they had been conversing some time; but all I heard was this: 'Nothing more easy,' said the unknown voice; 'a fellow named Bras Rouge has put me, for the affair I mentioned to you just now, in connection with a family of "fresh-water pirates,"[1] established on the point of a small islet near Asnieres. They are the greatest scoundrels on earth; the father and grandfather were guillotined; two of the sons were condemned to the galleys for life; but there are still left a mother, three sons, and two daughters, all as infamous as they can possibly be.

They say that at night, in order to plunder on both sides of the Seine, they sometimes come down in their boats as low as Bercy. They are ruffians, who will kill any one for a crown-piece; but we shall not want their aid further than their hospitality for your lady from the country.

The Martials--that is the name of these pirates--will pa.s.s in her eyes for an honest family of fishers. I will go, as if from you, to pay two or three visits to your young lady. I will order her a few comforting draughts; and at the end of a week or ten days, she will form an acquaintance with the burial-ground of Asnieres. In villages, deaths are looked on as nothing more than a letter by the post, whilst in Paris they are a little more curious in such matters. But when do you send your young lady from the provinces to the isle of Asnieres, for I must give the Martials notice of the part they have to play?' 'She will arrive here to-morrow, and next day I shall send her to them,' replied M. Ferrand; 'and I shall tell her that Doctor Vincent will pay her a visit at my request.' 'Ah, Vincent will do as well as any other name,'

said the voice."

[1] We shall hear more particulars of these worthies in another chapter.

"What new mystery of crime and infamy?" said Rodolph, with increased astonishment.

"New? No, sir, you will see that it is in connection with another crime that you know of," resumed Louise, who thus continued: "I heard a movement of chairs,--the interview had ended. 'I do not ask the secret of you,' said M. Ferrand, 'you behave to me as I behave to you.' 'Thus we may mutually serve without any power mutually to injure each other,'

answered the voice. 'Observe my zeal! I received your letter at ten o'clock last night, and here I am this morning. Good-by, accomplice; do not forget the isle of Asnieres, the fisher Martial, and Doctor Vincent.

Thanks to these three magic words, your country damsel has only eight days to look forward to.' 'Wait,' said M. Ferrand, 'whilst I go and undo the safety-bolt, which I have drawn to in my closet, and let me look out and see that there is no one in the antechamber, in order that you may go out by the side path in the garden by which you entered.' M. Ferrand went out for a moment, and then returned; and I heard him go away with the person whose voice I did not know. You may imagine my fright, sir, during this conversation, and my despair at having unintentionally discovered such a secret. Two hours after this conversation, Madame Seraphin came to me in my room, whither I had gone, trembling all over, and worse than I had been yet. 'My master is inquiring for you,' said she to me; 'you are better off than you deserve to be. Come, go down-stairs. You are very pale; but what you are going to hear will give you a colour.' I followed Madame Seraphin, and found M. Ferrand in his private study. When I saw him, I shuddered in spite of myself, and yet he did not look so disagreeable as usual. He looked at me steadfastly for some time, as if he would read the bottom of my thoughts. I lowered my eyes. 'You seem very ill?' he said. 'Yes, sir,' I replied, much surprised at being thus addressed. 'It is easily accounted for,' added he; 'it is the result of your condition and the efforts you make to conceal it; but, in spite of your falsehoods, your bad conduct, and your indiscretion yesterday,' he added, in a milder tone, 'I feel pity for you. A few days more, and it will be impossible to conceal your situation. Although I have treated you as you deserve before the curate of the parish, such an event in the eyes of the world will be the disgrace of a house like mine; and, moreover, your family will be deeply distressed. Under these circ.u.mstances I will come to your aid.' 'Ah!

sir,' I cried, 'such kind words from you make me forget everything.'

'Forget what?' asked he, hastily. 'Nothing,--nothing,--forgive me, sir!'

I replied, fearful of irritating him, and believing him kindly disposed towards me. 'Then attend to me,' said he; 'you will go to see your father to-day, and tell him that I am going to send you into the country for two or three months, to take care of a house which I have just bought. During your absence I will send your wages to him. To-morrow you will leave Paris. I will give you a letter of introduction to Madame Martial, the mother of an honest family of fishers, who live near Asnieres. You will say you came from the country and nothing more. You will learn hereafter my motive for this introduction, which is for your good. Madame Martial will treat you as one of the family, and a medical man of my acquaintance, Dr. Vincent, will give you all you require in your situation. You see how kind I am to you!'"

"What a horrible snare!" exclaimed Rodolph; "I see it all now. Believing that overnight you had listened to some secret, no doubt very important for him, he desired to get rid of you. He had probably an interest in deceiving his accomplice by describing you as a female from the country.

What must have been your alarm at this proposal?"

"It was like a violent blow; it quite bereft me of sense. I could not reply, but looked at M. Ferrand aghast; my head began to wander. I should, perhaps, have risked my life by telling him that I had overheard his projects in the morning, when fortunately I recollected the fresh perils to which such an avowal would expose me. 'You do not understand me, then?' he said, impatiently. 'Yes, sir,--but,' I added, all trembling, 'I should prefer not going into the country.' 'Why not? You will be taken every care of where I send you.' 'No, no, I will not go; I would rather remain in Paris, and not go away from my family; I would rather confess all to them, and die with them, if it must be so.' 'You refuse me, then?' said M. Ferrand, repressing his rage, and looking fixedly at me. 'Why have you so suddenly changed your mind? Not a minute ago you accepted my offer.' I saw that if he guessed my motive I was lost, so I replied that I did not then think that he desired me to leave Paris and my family. 'But you dishonour your family, you wretched girl!'

he exclaimed, and unable any longer to restrain himself, he seized me by the arms, and shook me so violently that I fell. 'I will give you until the day after to-morrow,' he cried, 'and then you shall go from here to the Martials, or go and inform your father that I have turned you out of my house, and will send him to gaol to-morrow.' He then left me, stretched on the floor, whence I had not the power to rise. Madame Seraphin had run in when she heard her master raise his voice so loud, and with her a.s.sistance, and staggering at every step, I regained my chamber, where I threw myself on my bed, and remained until night, so entirely was I prostrated by all that had happened. By the pains that came on about one o'clock in the morning, I felt a.s.sured that I should be prematurely a mother."

"Why did you not summon a.s.sistance?"

"Oh, I did not dare. M. Ferrand was anxious to get rid of me, and he would certainly have sent for Dr. Vincent, who would have killed me at my master's instead of killing me at the Martials, or else M. Ferrand would have stifled me, and said that I had died in my confinement. Alas, sir, perhaps these were vain terrors, but they came over me at this moment and caused my suffering; otherwise I would have endured the shame, and should never have been accused of killing my child. Instead of calling for help, and for fear my cries should be heard, I stuffed my mouth full with the bedclothes. At length, after dreadful anguish, alone, in the midst of darkness, the child was born, and,--dead,--I did not kill it!--indeed, I did not kill it,--ah, no! In the midst of this fearful night I had one moment of bitter joy, and that was when I pressed my child in my arms."

And the voice of Louise was stifled with sobs.

Morel had listened to his daughter's recital with a mournful apathy and indifference which alarmed Rodolph. However, seeing her burst into tears, the lapidary, who was still leaning on his work-board with his two hands pressed against his temples, looked at Louise steadfastly, and said:

"She weeps,--she weeps,--why is she weeping?" Then, after a moment's hesitation, "Ah, yes,--I know, I know,--the notary,--isn't it? Go on my poor Louise,--you are my daughter,--I love you still,--just now I did not recognise you,--my eyes were darkened with my tears,--oh, my head,--how badly it aches,--my head, my head!"

"You do not believe me guilty, do you, father, do you?"

"Oh, no, no!"

"It is a terrible misfortune; but I was so fearful of the notary."

"The notary? Ah, yes, and well you might be; he is so wicked, so very wicked!"

"But you will forgive me now?"

"Yes, yes."

"Really and truly?"

"Yes--ah, yes! Ah! I love you the same as ever,--although I cannot--not say--you see--because--oh, my head, my head!"

Louise looked at Rodolph in extreme alarm.

"He is suffering deeply; but let him calm himself. Go on."

Louise, after looking twice or thrice at Morel with great disquietude, thus resumed:

"I clasped my infant to my breast, and was astonished at not hearing it breathe. I said to myself, 'The breathing of a baby is so faint that it is difficult to hear it.' But then it was so cold. I had no light, for they never would leave one with me. I waited until the dawn came, trying to keep it warm as well as I could; but it seemed to me colder and colder. I said to myself then; 'It freezes so hard that it must be the cold that chills it so.' At daybreak I carried my child to the window and looked at it; it was stiff and cold. I placed my mouth to its mouth, to try and feel its breath. I put my hand on its heart; but it did not beat; it was dead."

And Louise burst into tears.

"Oh! at this moment," she continued, "something pa.s.sed within me which it is impossible to describe. I only remember confusedly what followed,--it was like a dream,--it was at once despair, terror, rage, and above all, I was seized with another fear; I no longer feared M.

Ferrand would strangle me, but I feared that, if they found my child dead by my side, I should be accused of having killed it. Then I had but one thought, and that was to conceal the corpse from everybody's sight; and then my dishonour would not be known, and I should no longer have to dread my father's anger. I should escape from M. Ferrand's vengeance, because I could now leave his house, obtain another situation, and gain something to help and support my family. Alas! sir, such were the reasons which induced me not to say any thing, but try and hide my child's remains from all eyes. I was wrong, I know; but, in the situation in which I was, oppressed on all sides, worn out by suffering, and almost mad, I did not consider to what I exposed myself if I should be discovered."

"What torture! what torture!" said Rodolph with deep sympathy.

"The day was advancing," continued Louise, "and I had but a few moments before me until the household would be stirring. I hesitated no longer, but, wrapping up the unhappy babe as well as I could, I descended the staircase silently, and went to the bottom of the garden to try and make a hole in the ground to bury it; but it had frozen so hard in the night that I could not dig up the earth. So I concealed the body in the bottom of a sort of cellar, into which no one entered during the winter, and then I covered it up with an empty box which had held flowers, and returned to my apartment, without any person having seen me. Of all I tell you, sir, I have but a very confused recollection. Weak as I was, it is inexplicable to me how I had strength and courage to do all I did.

At nine o'clock Madame Seraphin came to inquire why I had not risen. I told her that I was so very ill, and prayed of her to allow me to remain in bed during the day, and that on the following day I should quit the house, as M. Ferrand had dismissed me. At the end of an hour's time, he came himself. 'You are worse to-day. Ah! that is the consequence of your obstinacy,' said he; 'if you had taken advantage of my kind offer, you would to-day have been comfortably settled with some worthy people, who would have taken every care of you; but I will not be so cruel as to leave you without help in your present situation; and this evening Doctor Vincent shall come and see you.' At this threat I shuddered; but I replied to M. Ferrand that I was wrong to refuse his offers the evening before, and that I would now accept them; but that, being too ill to move then, I could not go until the day after the next to the Martials, and that it was useless to send for Doctor Vincent. I only sought to gain time, for I had made up my mind to leave the house, and go the next day to my father, whom I hoped to keep in ignorance of all.

Relying on my promise, M. Ferrand was almost kind to me, and, for the first time in his life, recommended Madame Seraphin to take care of me.

I pa.s.sed the day in mental agony, trembling every instant lest the body of my child should be accidentally discovered. I was only anxious that the frost should break up, so that, the ground not being so hard, I might be able to dig it up. The snow began to fall, and that gave me some hopes. I remained all day in bed, and when the night came, I waited until every one should be asleep, and then I summoned strength enough to rise and go to the wood-closet, where I found a chopper, with which I hoped to dig a hole in the ground which was covered with snow. After immense trouble I succeeded, and then, taking the body, I wept bitterly over it, and buried it as well as I could in the little box that had held flowers. I did not know the prayer for the dead; but I said a Pater and an Ave, and prayed to the good G.o.d to receive it into Paradise. I thought my courage would fail me when I was covering the mould over the sort of bier I had made. A mother burying her own child! At length I completed my task, and ah, what it cost me! I covered the place all over with snow, that it might conceal every trace of what I had done. The moon had lighted me; yet, when all was done, I could hardly resolve to go away. Poor little innocent!--in the icy ground,--beneath the snow!

Although it was dead, yet I still seemed to fear that it must feel the cold. At length I returned to my chamber; and when I got into bed I was in a violent fever. In the morning M. Ferrand sent to know how I found myself. I replied that I was a little better, and that I felt sure I should be strong enough to go next day into the country. I remained the whole of the day in bed, hoping to acquire a little strength, and in the evening I arose and went down into the kitchen to warm myself. I was then quite alone, and then went out into the garden to to say a last prayer. As I went up to my room I met M. Germain on the landing-place of the study in which he wrote sometimes, looking very pale. He said to me hastily, placing a rouleau of money in my hand, 'They are going to arrest your father to-morrow morning for an over-due bill of thirteen hundred francs; he is unable to pay it; but here is the money. As soon as it is light, run to him. It was only to-day that I found out what sort of a man M. Ferrand is; and he is a villain. I will unmask him.

Above all, do not say that you have the money from me.'

"M. Germain did not even give me time to thank him, but ran quickly down-stairs. This morning," continued Louise, "before any one had risen at M. Ferrand's, I came here with the money which M. Germain had given me to save my father; but it was not enough, and but for your generosity, I could not have rescued him from the bailiff's hands.

Probably, after I had left, they went into my room and, having suspicions, have now sent to arrest me. One last service, sir," said Louise, taking the rouleau of gold from her pocket, "will you give back this money to M. Germain; I had promised him not to say to any one that he was employed at M. Ferrand's; but, since you know it, I have not broken my confidence. Now, sir, I repeat to you before G.o.d, who hears me, that I have not said a word that is not quite true; I have not tried to hide my faults, and--"

But, suddenly interrupting herself, Louise exclaimed with alarm:

"Sir, sir, look at my father! what can be the matter with him?"

Morel had heard the latter part of this narration with a dull indifference, which Rodolph had accounted for by attributing it to the heavy additional misfortune which had occurred to him. After such violent and repeated shocks, his tears must have dried up, his sensibility have become lost; he had not even the strength left to feel anger, as Rodolph thought; but Rodolph was mistaken. As the flame of a candle which is nearly extinguished dies away and recovers, so Morel's reason, already much shaken, wavered for some time, throwing out now and then some small rays of intelligence, and then suddenly all was darkness.

Absolutely unconscious of what was said or pa.s.sing around him, for some time the lapidary had become quite insane. Although his hand-wheel was placed on the other side of his working-table, and he had not in his hands either stones or tools, yet the occupied artisan was feigning the operations of his daily labour, and affecting to use his implements. He accompanied this pantomime with a sort of noise with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, in imitation of the noise of his lathe in its rotatory motions.

"But, sir," said Louise again, with increasing fright, "look, pray look at my father!"

Then, approaching the artisan, she said to him:

"Father! father!"

Morel gazed on his daughter with that troubled, vague, distracted, wandering look which characterises the insane, and without discontinuing his a.s.sumed labour, he replied, in a low and melancholy tone:

"I owe the notary thirteen hundred francs; it is the price of Louise's blood,--so I must work, work, work!--oh, I'll pay, I'll pay, I'll pay!"

"Can it be possible? This cannot be,--he is not mad,--no, no!" exclaimed Louise, in a heart-rending voice. "He will recover,--it is but a momentary fit of absence!"

"Morel, my good fellow," said Rodolph to him, "we are here. Your daughter is near you,--she is innocent."

"Thirteen hundred francs!" said the lapidary, not attending to Rodolph, but going on with his sham employment.