_A New Trade_
|AFTER the concert the party went out of the hall, and passed on to a
striking mansion in which a sumptuous repast was served. M. Mifroid
had by this time become quite intimate with the Lady de Montfort. He
confessed that he was unable to withstand the allurements of the lady.
It must not be forgotten that the darkness was most conducive to the
failure of all his honorable intentions. However, we will not dilate
upon what happened, but Mme. de Montfort weakened him with her caresses
and M. Mifroid at last succumbed to the temptation. After a while she
slept, and he opened the door and went out.
Although they had been among the Talfa several hours, neither M. Mifroid
nor Théophraste had had the inclination to see what kind of habitation
they were in. Weakness and the great crowd of Talfa had prevented them.
M. Théophraste had conducted himself in such a manner during the meal,
eating everything to excess, that he had had to be carried out. It was
done according to the directions of Mme. de Coucy, who, it is feared,
would not at that time have carried on her love intrigues.
Now M. Mifroid found himself alone, and he decided to investigate. As he
went out of the room, he realized that he was in a subterranean city.
That which struck him most was the total absence of doors. All the shops
were open to the passers-by, and the most precious articles as well as
the poorest were exposed for any one to take who wished.
He was very much amused by the profusion of the columns, by the
incredible carving in the friezes, by the reliefs and sculptured caps
to the pillars. They were so extravagantly flowered, with the lines so
intricate, that only a master hand could have worked them. A curious
point about all this work was that it only reached as high as a man
could touch. Above that point the design mixed in with the vaulting of
the catacombs and was left to the imagination. But whatever was seen of
this beautiful carving could only be compared with the marvels worked by
the early sculptors of India or the ivory-carvers of Burma.
In the search M. Mifroid did not come upon any large building. He had
frequently heard Mademoiselle say: “Ah, St. Mary!” And so he tried
to find some temple in order to find out what their religion was. His
search, however, was in vain. The only building of any size was
the concert hall where they had been earlier. It was certainly more
wonderful than all the rest, but except for this one example all the
architectural marvels were applied to the private buildings. The meanest
aperture, the poorest door, were little gems of art. There were no
statues in the squares.
M. Mifroid was just starting back to his lady’s house, when he met
a party of young Talfa, armed with cross-bows. “Ah!” thought he,
“here are the guards.” He was, however, quickly undeceived, for they
had smelled the odor from his lamp, and they came up to him. They told
him they were going for a hunt. The hunting season started every year
on the rising of the waters of the great lake. At this time there were
always a lot of rats, which were killed in thousands and used for many
different things in the Talfa households.
Thanks to the directions they had given him, he soon found his way back
to Lady de Montfort’s house. There he found her waiting at the window,
and as soon as he got near her, she waved her handkerchief.
They were soon in conversation again, and he found out that she was not
married.
She asked him what he did on the top of the earth, and he told her he
was a commissioner of police. She listened intently, and asked what
Théophraste did.
“He is a robber,” said M. Mifroid.
Evidently neither a commissioner of police nor a robber was known among
the Talfa, and soon the news spread that the two strangers had unknown
trades, and a great crowd gathered, who begged them to show them what
they did on earth.
M. Mifroid sent to fetch Théophraste.
CHAPTER XXXVI
_A Robber is Caught_
|WHEN Théophraste was brought up to M. Mifroid, he was in a pitiful
condition. He had given himself up to the worst debauchery, and was
still under the influence of his excesses.
However, M. Mifroid explained to him what was required of him. He had to
demonstrate to the Talfa people the duties of a police commissioner, and
Théophraste was to act the robber and be arrested. However, owing to
Théophraste’s condition, M. Mifroid had his misgivings as to the
result of this practical demonstration.
The crowd by this time had assumed enormous proportions, and by special
permission an electric lamp was lit. All present held their noses as if
the lamp smelled.
Then M. Mifroid instructed Théophraste. He told him to run into a store
and take some things, and run out. This was an easy matter, as none of
the stores had doors, and Théophraste commenced to act the robber.
He ran into a hatter’s and seized all sorts of rat-skin caps. He
instinctively put them under his coat, and hid them about his person,
looking furtively around him in a most natural way.
All this time the people around the store looked on noiselessly. No one
said anything and not the least sign of surprise was shown. One man at
length said: “Look at that fellow providing himself with hats for
a year. It was then that M. Mifroid came upon the scene, and seizing
Théophraste by the arm, said in his most official tone: “In the name
of the law, I arrest you!”
This did not produce the desired effect, as the people still preserved
their dumbness, and did not appear at all impressed.
Mlle. de Coucy asked M. Mifroid what he meant by “In the name of the
law.” But as the Talfa people had no law, he found it difficult to
explain.
He told her how the police was an institution to protect the person and
property of peaceable citizens. They were the guardians of the law. He,
however, could not make them understand, as they thought Théophraste
had a right to the hats.
Lady de Montfort explained that they had no need of laws to protect the
state, as they had no state, nor the property, as they had no property,
and as individuals never conflicted no law was necessary to protect
persons. All the Talfa people did was to hunt for their food and make
clothing from the skins of rats. Marriage to them was a prehistoric
institution which appeared unworthy of the human state. They only half
believed its existence as a sacred legend. Their unions were of a very
liberal nature, and did not require any ceremony or oath. Consequently
they lived together peacefully and happily.
A curious feature of these Talfa people was the entire absence of any
code of morals. There was no difference made between a virtuous woman
and one of loose habits. Everybody lived on the same footing and enjoyed
the same privileges. Things happened according to taste and temperament,
and nobody thought anything about it. Thus conflicts of passion were
reduced to a minimum. No one had rights, as no one possessed anything.
Thus lived the Talfa people. No laws, no trouble, and no police
commissioners.
CHAPTER XXXVII
_The Escape from the Catacombs_
|M. THEOPHRASTE LONGUET had by this time quite forgotten the ties
which bound him to the world above, and while M. Mifroid was abandoning
himself to the fancies of Lady de Montfort, he was indulging in excesses
of debauchery with the Talfa people.
The time came when M. Mifroid became tired of this kind of life. They
had been in the catacombs three weeks and had become acquainted with the
habits of all the Talfa people. M. Mifroid longed to get into the open
world, where people had public affairs and a properly organized society.
He felt confused, and a feeling of weariness came over him.
Théophraste was for stopping there altogether. He said he had never had
such a time before. He had been playing the tricks of Cartouche on
the Talfa people, and he felt more free in spirits than he had felt on
earth. He was so persistent In his determination to stay that M. Mifroid
decided to appeal to Mlle de Coucy. He felt that Théophraste was a
nuisance to the Talfa, and the best way to get him out was to appeal to
the people themselves. Théophraste had even suggested putting out his
own eyes to be like these people.
Upon telling Mlle, de Coucy, however, he got a totally different answer
than he expected. She told him that the Talfa people had decided to let
them go as soon as twenty thousand people had passed their fingers over
their faces. She explained that the Talfa had forever been trying to get
into the upper world, and therefore they must all visit these men from
the coveted realms and see what they looked like before their departure.
M. Mifroid calculated that it would take some time to complete this
ceremony, and so he devised a plan by which they could deceive the
people and escape. They were never long alone, and all day and all night
fingers were feeling their faces and were thrust into their eyes, nose
or mouth. It was during these operations one night that M. Mifroid
devised his plan of escape. He would utilize his powers as a sculptor.
Obtaining some clay from the bed of the lake he modeled two masks like
those of the Talfa people with large noses and ears. Then under the
pretense of acquiescing in Théophraste’s wishes, who dreamed only of
becoming a Talfa, he put one of the masks on his face, and the other he
wore himself. The deception was perfect, and although they met several
Talfa they were not recognized, in spite of much finger feeling.
M. Mifroid took the precaution of providing himself with food, and
they both started out. Théophraste laughed with delight at the bold
deception, and in his merriment he did not realize that M. Mifroid had
led him out of the domains of the Talfa. They walked for five days.
Their eyes had by this time become accustomed to the darkness, and they
were able to make good headway. On the fifth day they came across some
human bones, and M. Mifroid uttered a prayer of thankfulness, for here
were signs of a civilized people. They were on the outskirts of the city
of Ossarium.
Théophraste had been in a very depressed state of mind since leaving
the Talfa. He had continually reproached M. Mifroid for getting him
away. Upon coming upon the first signs of human existence, M. Mifroid
drew his attention to them and declared that in a short time they would
be out in the light of day again.
Soon they came across a skull with the signs of a candle near it,
showing Catholic burial, then the gallery seemed to dip down, the ground
became wet, and they found themselves wading through mire. Water dripped
on them from crevices above, and the air became cold and damp. At last
M. Mifroid recognized a part of the gallery, and again he sent a prayer
up to heaven for his deliverance.
There was a Latin inscription cut out of the rock: “Ossa arida audite
verbum Domini,” which M. Mifroid recognized as being near an entrance
to the catacombs.
They had not proceeded far when voices were heard, and they found
themselves in a large vault. This was a very different place than
the hall of the Talfa, though. There were ordinary human beings here.
Through the whole length of the hall chairs were arranged. The place was
lit up by numerous candles enclosed in human skulls. At the end was a
kind of rotunda where evidently the musicians sat, for a large circle
of music-stands were arranged. A number of people were present getting
ready for a feast. No one took any notice of the two strangers, as it
was thought that they were invited guests, and they strolled through,
watching the proceedings. Soon the musicians began to arrive one by one,
and the people sat around making pleasantries, and passing the time away
in talk. It was half-past one.
It was indeed a curious sight. Here down among the dead, with coffins
and bones all around, had assembled a crowd to listen to music, and
to make revelry. Fifty musicians had assembled, among whom M. Mifroid
recognized many of the orchestra of the Opera House.
Soon the music started, Chopin’s “Dead March” being the first
piece. After listening for some time M. Mifroid tapped Théophraste on
the shoulder, whispering to him that it was time to go. They hurried
along, and ten minutes later they found themselves on the earth again.
They walked together for about half an hour, neither uttering a word.
They were both thinking what a wonderful experience they had gone
through. The Talfa nation, with its peculiar habits, had impressed them
wonderfully, and neither wished to disturb the other in contemplation of
it all.
Suddenly Théophraste said: “What are you waiting for, M. Mifroid? Do
you intend to arrest me?”
M. Mifroid had, in the emotion of the moment, forgotten his original
mission. He, however, had become very friendly with Théophraste in the
catacombs, in spite of his excesses, and so, now that he was confronted
with the necessity of arresting him, he said: “No, my friend, I shall
not arrest you. My mission was to arrest Cartouche, but as Cartouche
is no more, I cannot arrest him. Besides, you, M. Longuet, are my
friend.”
They then parted at the Buci Crossway.
CHAPTER XXXVII
An Old Friend
|AFTER the footsteps of M. Mifroid had died away, M. Longuet remained
standing at the street corner. A feeling of intense sadness and
loneliness had come over him. He could not decide on whether to go back
to his wife or to leave her altogether. But what would he do? If he left
her he would have no home, and he would be an outcast from the world.
He wandered for a long time through the streets, until he found himself
opposite a door in the Rue Suger. He rang the bell and a man in a blouse
and paper cap opened the door in response.
“Good-evening, Ambrose,” said Théophraste. “Are you up at this
hour? I would not have disturbed you, but many things have happened
since I last saw you.”
He had not seen him since the evening he came to ask his opinion on the
watermark on the old paper.
“Come in,” said Ambrose cordially. “Make yourself at home. How are
all the folks at home?” “I will tell you all to-morrow. What I want
now is some sound sleep. I am tired out.”
Ambrose showed him his own bed, and soon Théophraste was stretched out
and asleep.
The following day Ambrose tried to get some news from Théophraste, who,
however, observed an absolute silence, and would not be persuaded to
say a word. He was like a dumb man. He passed his time for two days in
examining words and papers, which filled his pockets, and in writing,
but always without saying a word.
One morning as he was preparing to go out, Ambrose asked him: “Where
are you going?”
“I am going to see M. Mifroid about the details of a trip we took
together, and of which you will learn when I am dead.”
“You are going to kill yourself?”
“Oh, no. There is no use in doing that. I shall die soon enough. But I
shall come to your house to die, my dear Ambrose. After going to see M.
Mifroid, I shall go to see my wife.”
“I did not dare to ask about her. Your sadness and silence made me
fear some domestic trouble. It is all so inexplicable.”
“She still loves me,” said Théophraste.
Before letting him go, Ambrose made him change his underclothes, and
lent him a clean shirt, as he said he could not see his wife decently in
the rags he was in at present.
“I will put it on,” said Théophraste, “for my own sake, as my
wife won’t see it. I’m not going near her. I shall only see her from
a distance. I only want to learn if she is happy.”
CHAPTER XXXIX
_The Final Tragedy_
|IT was nine o’clock in the evening, the season was well advanced,
and a heavy mist hung over the land. M. Longuet went up the long
drive toward the “Villa Flots de Azure.” His hand trembled as he
cautiously pushed open the little garden gate. He crossed the garden
step by step, to look around. His whole demeanor was one of evil intent.
There was a light in the parlor, and the window was half open. With
short steps Théophraste advanced, and stretching his head he peered in.
He fell back groaning. Placing his hands over his face, he tore the
white locks on his forehead. The sight had frenzied him, and he felt a
pang of agonizing jealousy go through his frame.
Marceline and Adolphe were there, locked in affectionate embrace! This
is what he had come to see! His wife no doubt was happy, but in quite a
different way from what he expected.
He sat down on the ground and wept with rage. Rising, his curiosity
forced him to get nearer and listen.
What he heard only made him worse, and he inwardly felt that he was
about to commit a great crime. However, he battled against this feeling,
and ran away from the house. Something compelled him to return!
In a state of sanguinary expectation, comparable to nothing in the
history of crimes, he again retraced his steps, found himself in the
garden again, and without waiting to look in he bounded into the parlor.
M. Lecamus and Marceline were taken aback, and both uttered a cry of
surprise. Their surprise was soon turned to terror, as Théophraste,
seizing some stout cord, ran to Adolphe, and with superhuman strength
and agility bound him hand and foot. Dragging him to the hall, he tied
him to a newel post and left him. It was all done with such lightning
speed that Adolphe hadn’t the time to resist the first attack, and he
was as a child in the ferocious grip of Théophraste.
Turning around he ran to the sitting-room, and seized an old sword that
was hanging on the wall. Marceline in her terror called to Lecamus to
mind his ears. She feared that he would undergo the same treatment
as Signor Petito. However, nothing was further from Théophraste’s
thoughts, for turning on Marceline he struck her down with one blow. Two
seconds later he was holding her head up to Adolphe, saying: “Haste
thee now to kiss these lips while they are still warm.”
Adolphe could do nothing, so he touched the lips of the dead woman, and
then fell in a faint.
Théophraste ran upstairs, and brought down from the garret an old
trunk, and in less than twenty-five minutes he had the body of Marceline
cut up and placed in it. He closed the trunk with a key, and putting
it over his shoulder he said good-by to Lecamus. However, he might
have said good-by to the door-post, for Lecamus was in a dead faint and
choking from the cords around his neck.
Théophraste and the trunk disappeared in the darkness.
That same night one could have seen a man on a barge in the Seine
discharging the contents of a trunk into the river. They could also have
heard him murmur: “My poor Marceline, my poor Marceline! It was not
your fault.”
At dawn Théophraste knocked at Ambrose’s door. Ambrose saw that
he was greatly agitated, and asked him in sympathetic tones what had
happened.
Théophraste could not reply. His tongue seemed riveted to his mouth. He
crawled to the bed, and, lying down, wept.
At last Ambrose was able to console him sufficiently to get these few
words from him: “I felt the flame of murder pass through my veins.
The impulse to kill had returned to me after centuries. The same impulse
that had made me decapitate my faithless wife, Marie Antoinette Neron,
two hundred years previously, and to throw her body into the river. I
forgive M. Lecamus. When I am dead go and look for him and tell him that
I name him my testamentary executor. I leave him all my worldly goods.
He will know what to do with the little oaken chest, in which is locked
the terrible secrets of the last months of my sad life.” Having
said these words, Théophraste raised himself on the pillow, for the
oppression increased, and he knew that the end was near. His look was
no longer of this world. His gaze was fixed on some imaginary object far
away, and in a doleful voice he said: “I have seen—I see—I turn
again toward the square ray of light.”
And he expired!
THE END