The Mysteries Of Paris Volume Iv Part 26

"No, mamma, don't mind me; but tell me, suppose all fails us, the little money we have in the box is spent,--is it possible that, in a city as rich as Paris, we shall both die of hunger and misery--for want of work, and because a wicked man has taken from you all you had in the world?"

"Oh, be silent, my unfortunate child!"

"But really, mamma, is it possible?"

"Alas!"

"But G.o.d, who knows all, who can do all, will he abandon us, who have never offended him?"

"I entreat you, my dearest girl, do not give way to these distressing ideas. I would prefer seeing you hope, without great reason, either.

Come, come, comfort me rather with your consoling ideas; I am but too apt to be discouraged, as you well know."

"Yes, yes, let us hope, that is best. No doubt the porter's nephew will return to-day from the _Poste-Restante_ with a letter. Another errand to pay out of your little stock, and through my fault. If I had not been so weak yesterday and to-day we should have gone to the post-office ourselves, as we did the day before yesterday; but you will not leave me here alone and go yourself."

"How could I, my dear? Only think, just now, that horrid man who burst open the door! Suppose you had been alone?"

"Oh, mamma, pray don't talk of it; it quite frightens me only to think of it."

At this moment some one knocked suddenly at the door.

"Heaven, it is he again!" exclaimed Madame de Fermont, still under her first fears; and she pushed the table against the door with all her strength. Her fears ceased when she heard the voice of Father Micou:

"Madame, my nephew, Andre, has come from the _Poste-Restante_. He has brought a letter with an 'X' and a 'Z.' It comes a long way; there are eight sous for postage, and commission makes twenty sous."

"Mamma, a letter from the country,--we are saved! It is from M. de Saint-Remy or M. d'Orbigny. Poor mother! You will not suffer any more; you will no longer be uneasy about me, you will be so happy! G.o.d is just! G.o.d is good!" exclaimed the young girl, and a ray of hope lighted up her mild and lovely face.

"Oh, sir, thank you; give it to me quickly!" said Madame de Fermont, moving the table as well as she could, and half opening the door.

"Twenty sous," said the man, giving her the anxiously desired letter.

"I will pay you, sir."

"Oh, madame, there's no hurry, I am going up higher; in ten minutes I shall be down again, and can call for the money as I pa.s.s."

"The letter is from Normandy, with the postmark of 'Les Aubiers.' It is from Madame d'Orbigny!" exclaimed Madame de Fermont, examining the address, "To Madame X. Z., _Poste-Restante_, a Paris."

"Well, mamma, am I right? Oh, how my heart beats!"

"Our good or bad fate is in it," said Madame de Fermont; and twice her trembling hand was extended to break the seal; she had not courage.

How can we describe the terrible agony to which they are a prey who, like Madame de Fermont, expect a letter which brings them either hope or despair? The burning, fevered excitement of the player whose last pieces of gold are hazarded on a card, and who, breathless, with inflamed eye, awaits for a decisive cast which brings his ruin or his fortune,--this emotion, violent as it is, may perhaps give some idea of the painful anguish of which we speak. In a second the soul is elevated to the most radiant hope or relapses into the most mortal discouragement. According as he hopes to be aided, or fears to be refused, the unhappy wretch suffers in turn emotions of a most contrary nature,--unutterable feelings of happiness and grat.i.tude to the generous heart which pities his miserable condition--bitter and intense resentment against selfish indifference!

When it is a question of deserving sufferers, those who give often would perhaps give always, and those who always refuse would perhaps give frequently, if they knew or saw that the hope of benevolent aid or the fear of a haughty refusal--that their decision, indeed--can excite all that is distressing or encouraging in the hearts of their pet.i.tioners.

"What weakness!" said Madame de Fermont, with a deep sigh, seating herself by her daughter; "once again, my poor Claire, our destiny is in this envelope; I burn with anxiety to know its contents, and yet I dare not read it. If it be a refusal, alas, it will be soon enough!"

"And if it be a promise of a.s.sistance, then, mamma--If this poor little letter contain consoling words, which shall a.s.sure us for the future, by promising us a humble employment in the establishment of M. d'Orbigny, every moment lost is a moment of happiness lost,--is it not?"

"Yes, my love; but on the other hand--"

"No, mamma, you are mistaken; I told you that M. d'Orbigny had only delayed so long that he might mention something certain to you. Let me see the letter, mamma. I am sure I can guess if it is good or bad by the writing. And I am sure," said Claire, looking at the letter, "that it is a kind and generous hand, accustomed to execute benevolence towards those who suffer."

"I entreat you, Claire, not to give way to vain hopes; for, if you do, I shall not have the courage to open the letter."

"My dear mother, without opening it, I can tell you almost word for word what it contains. Listen: 'Madame,--Your fate and that of your daughter are so worthy of interest, that I beg you will come to me, in case you should like to undertake the superintendence of my house.'"

"Pray, my dearest, I beseech you, do not give way to vain hopes; the disappointment would be terrible!" said Madame de Fermont, taking the letter.

"Come, dear mamma," said Claire, smiling, and excited by one of those feelings of certainty so natural to her age, "give me the letter; I have courage to read it!"

"No," said Madame de Fermont, "I will read it! It is from the Comtesse d'Orbigny."

"So much the better," replied Claire.

"We shall see." And Madame de Fermont read as follows in a trembling voice:

"'MADAME:--M. the Comte d'Orbigny, who has been a great invalid for some time, could not reply to you during my absence--'"

"You see, mamma, it was no one's fault."

"Listen, listen!

"'On arriving from Paris this morning, I hasten to write to you, madame, after having discussed your letter with M. d'Orbigny. He recollects but very indistinctly the intimacy you allude to as having subsisted between him and your brother. As to the name of your husband, madame, it is not unknown to M. d'Orbigny; but he cannot recall to mind under what circ.u.mstances he has heard it.

The spoliation of which you so unhesitatingly accuse M. Jacques Ferrand, whom we have the happiness to call our solicitor, is, in the eyes of M. d'Orbigny, a cruel calumny, whose effects you have by no means calculated upon. My husband, as well as myself, madame, know and admire the extreme probity of the respectable and pious individual whom you so blindly a.s.sail; and I am compelled to tell you, madame, that M. d'Orbigny, whilst he regrets the painful situation in which you are placed, and the real cause of which it is not his business to find out, feels it impossible to afford you the a.s.sistance requested. Accept, madame, with the expression of M. d'Orbigny's regrets, my best compliments.

"'COMTESSE D'ORBIGNY.'"

The mother and daughter looked at each other perfectly stupefied, and incapable of uttering a word. Father Micou rapped at the door, and said:

"Madame, may I come in for the postage and commission? It's twenty sous."

"Ah, true, such good news is worth a sum on which we exist for two days," said Madame de Fermont, with a bitter smile, laying the letter down on her daughter's bed, and going towards an old trunk without a lock, to which she stooped down and opened. "We are robbed!" exclaimed the unhappy woman, with alarm. "Nothing--not a sou left!" she added, in a mournful voice; and, overwhelmed, she supported herself on the trunk.

"What do you say, mamma,--the bag with the money in it?"

But Madame de Fermont, rising suddenly, opened the room door, and, addressing the receiver, who was on the landing-place:

"Sir," she said, whilst her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks were flushed with indignation and alarm, "I had a bag of silver in this trunk; it was stolen from me, no doubt, the day before yesterday, when I went out for an hour with my daughter. The money must be restored, I tell you,--you are responsible for it!"

"You've been robbed! That's false, I know. My house is respectable,"

said the fellow, in an insolent and brutal tone; "you only say that in order not to pay me my postage and commission."

"I tell you, sir, that this money was all I possessed in the world; it has been stolen from me, and I must have it found and restored, or I will lodge an information. Oh, I will conceal nothing--I will respect nothing--I tell you!"

"Very fine, indeed! You who have got no papers. Go and lay your information,--go at once. Why don't you? I defy you, I do!"

The wretched woman was thunderstruck. She could not go out and leave her daughter alone, confined to her bed as she was by the fright the Gros-Boiteux had occasioned her in the morning, and particularly after the threats with which the receiver of stolen goods had menaced her. He added: