THE FRESHWATER PIRATE.
After a silence of several minutes, the criminal's widow said to her
daughter:
"Go and get some wood; we will set the wood-pile to rights when Nicholas
and Martial return home this evening."
"Martial! Do you mean to tell him also that--"
"The wood, I say!" repeated the widow, abruptly interrupting her
daughter, who, accustomed to yield to the imperious and iron rule of her
mother, lighted a lantern, and went out.
During the preceding scene, Amandine, deeply disquieted concerning the
fate of Francois, whom she tenderly loved, had not ventured either to
lift up her eyes, or dry her tears, which fell, drop by drop, on to her
lap. Her sobs, which she dared not give utterance to, almost suffocated
her, and she strove even to repress the fearful beatings of her heart.
Blinded by her fast gathering tears, she sought to conceal her emotion
by endeavouring to pick the mark from the chemise given to her, but,
from the nervous trembling of her hand, she ran the scissors into her
finger sufficiently deep to cause considerable effusion of blood; but
the poor child thought much less of the pain she experienced than of the
certain punishment which awaited her for staining the linen with her
blood. Happily for her, the widow was too deeply absorbed in profound
reflection to take any notice of what had occurred. Calabash now
returned, bearing a basket filled with wood. To the inquiring look of
her mother, she returned an affirmative nod of the head, which was
intended to acquaint her with the fact of the dead man's foot being
actually above the ground. The widow compressed her lips, and continued
the work she was occupied upon; the only difference perceptible in her
being that she plied her needle with increased rapidity. Calabash,
meanwhile, renewed the fire, superintended the state of the cookery
progressing in the saucepan beside the hearth, and then resumed her seat
near her mother.
"Nicholas is not here yet," said she to her parent. "It is to be hoped
that the old woman who this morning engaged him to meet a gentleman from
Bradamanti has not led him into any scrape. She had such a very offhand
way with her; she would neither give any explanation as to the nature of
the business Nicholas was wanted for, nor tell her name, or where she
came from."
The widow shrugged her shoulders.
"You do not consider Nicholas is in any danger, I see, mother. And,
after all, I dare say you are quite right! The old woman desired him to
be on the Quai de Billy, opposite the landing-place, about seven o'clock
in the evening, and wait there for a person who wished to speak with
him, and who would utter the word 'Bradamanti' as a sort of countersign.
Certainly there is nothing very perilous in doing so much. No doubt
Nicholas is late from having to-day found, as he did yesterday,
something on the road. Look at this capital linen which he contrived to
filch from a boat, in which a laundress had just left it!" So saying,
she pointed to one of the pieces of linen Amandine was endeavouring to
pick the mark out of. Then, addressing the child, she said, "What do
folks mean when they talk of filching?"
"I believe," answered the frightened child, without venturing to look
up, "it means taking things that are not ours."
"Oh, you little fool! It means stealing, not taking. Do you
understand?--stealing!"
"Thank you, sister!"
"And when one can steal as cleverly as Nicholas, there is no need to
want for anything. Look at that linen he filched yesterday; how
comfortably it set us all up; and that, too, with no other trouble than
just taking out the marks; isn't it true, mother?" added Calabash, with
a burst of laughter, which displayed her decayed and irregular teeth,
yellow and jaundiced as her complexion.
The widow received this pleasantry with cold indifference.
"Talking of fitting ourselves up without any expense," continued
Calabash, "it strikes me we might possibly do so at another shop. You
know quite well that an old man has come, within the last few days, to
live in the country-house belonging to M. Griffon, the doctor of the
hospital at Paris. I mean that lone house about a hundred steps from the
river's side, just opposite the lime-kilns,--eh, mother? You understand
me, don't you?"
The widow bowed her head, in token of assent.
"Well, Nicholas was saying yesterday that it was very likely a good job
might be made out of it," pursued Calabash. "Now I have ascertained,
this very morning, that there is good booty to be found there. The best
way will be to send Amandine to watch the place a little; no one will
take notice of a child like her; and she could pretend to be just
playing about, and amusing herself; all the time she can take notice of
everything, and will be able to tell us all she sees or hears. Do you
hear what I say?" added Calabash, roughly addressing Amandine.
"Yes, sister," answered the trembling child; "I will be sure to do as
you wish me."
"Yes, that is what you always say; but you never do more than promise,
you little slink! That time that I desired you to take a five-franc
piece out of the grocer's till at Asnieres, while I managed to keep the
man occupied at the other end of the shop, you did not choose to obey
me; and yet you might have done it so easily; no one ever mistrusts a
child. Pray what was your reason for not doing as you were bid?"
"Because, sister, my heart failed me, and I was afraid."
"And yet, the other day, you took a handkerchief out of the peddler's
pack, when the man was selling his goods inside the public-house. Pray
did he find it out, you silly thing?"
"Oh, but, sister, you know the handkerchief was for you, not me; and you
made me do it. Besides, it was not money."
"What difference does that make?"
"Oh, why, taking a handkerchief is not half so wicked as stealing
money!"
"Upon my word," said Calabash, contemptuously, "these are mighty fine
notions! I suppose it is Martial stuffs your head with all this rubbish.
I suppose you will run open-mouthed to tell him every word we have
said,--eh, little spy? But Lord bless you! We are not afraid of you or
Martial either; you can neither eat us nor drink us, that is one good
thing." Then, addressing herself to the widow, Calabash continued, "I
tell you what, mother, that fellow will get himself into no good by
trying to rule, and domineer, and lay down the law here, as he does;
both Nicholas and myself are determined not to submit to it. He sets
both Amandine and Francois against everything either you or I order them
to do. Do you think this can last much longer?"
"No!" said the mother, in a harsh, abrupt voice.
"Ever since his Louve has been sent to St. Lazare, Martial has gone on
like a madman, savage as a bear with every one. Pray is it our fault?
Can we help his sweetheart being put in prison? Only let her show her
face here when she comes out, and I'll serve her in such a way she
sha'n't forget one while! I'll match her! I'll--"
Here the widow, who had been buried in profound reflection, suddenly
interrupted her daughter by saying:
"You think something profitable might be got out of the old fellow who
lives in the doctor's house, do you not?"
"Yes, mother!"
"He looks poor and shabby as any common beggar!"
"And, for all that, he is a nobleman."
"A nobleman?"
"True as you're alive! And, what's more, he carries a purse full of
gold, spite of his always going into Paris, and returning, on foot,
leaning on an old stick, just for all the world like a poor wretch that
had not a sou in the world."
"How do you know that he has gold?"
"A little while ago I was at the post-office at Asnieres, to inquire
whether there was any letter for us from Toulon--"
At these words, which recalled the circumstance of her son's confinement
in the galleys, the brows of the widow were contracted with a dark
frown, while a half repressed sigh escaped her lips. Unheeding these
signs of perturbation, Calabash proceeded:
"I was waiting my turn, when the old man who lives at the doctor's house
entered the office. I knew him again directly, by his white hair and
beard, his dark complexion, and thick black eyebrows. He does not look
like one that would be easily managed, I can tell you; and, spite of his
age, he has the appearance of a determined old fool that would die
sooner than yield. He walked straight up to the postmistress. 'Pray,'
said he, 'have you any letters from Angers for M. le Comte de Remy?'
'Yes,' replied the woman, 'here is one.' 'Then it is for me,' said the
old man; 'here is my passport.' While the postmistress was examining it,
he drew out a green silk purse, to pay the postage; and, I promise you,
one end was stuffed with gold till it looked as large as an egg. I know
it was gold, for I saw the bright, yellow pieces shining through the
meshes of the purse; and I am quite certain there must have been at
least forty or fifty louis in it!" cried Calabash, her eyes glowing with
a covetous eagerness to possess herself of such a treasure. "And only to
think," continued she, "of a person, with all that money in his pocket,
going about like an old beggar! No doubt he is some old miser, too rich
to be able to count his hoards. One good thing, mother, we know his
name; that may assist us in gaining admittance into the house. As soon
as Amandine can find out for us whether he has any servants or not--"
A loud barking of dogs here interrupted Calabash.
"Listen, mother," cried she; "no doubt the dogs hear the sound of a boat
approaching; it must be either Martial or Nicholas."
At the mention of Martial's name, the features of Amandine expressed a
sort of troubled joy. After waiting for some minutes, during which the
anxious looks of the impatient child were fixed on the door, she saw, to
her extreme regret, Nicholas, the future accomplice of Barbillon, make
his appearance. The physiognomy of the youth was at once ignoble and
ferocious; small in figure, short in stature, and mean in appearance, no
one would have deemed him a likely person to pursue the dangerous and
criminal path he trod. Unhappily, a sort of wild, savage energy supplied
the place of that physical force in which the hardened youth was
deficient. Over his blue loose frock he wore a kind of vest, without
sleeves, made of goatskin, covered with long brown hair. As he entered,
he threw on the ground a lump of copper, which he had with difficulty
carried on his shoulder.
"A famous good night I have made of it, mother!" said he, in a hoarse
and hollow voice, after he had freed himself from his burden. "Look
there! There's a prize. Well, I've got three more lumps of copper, quite
as big as that, in my boat, a bundle of clothes, and a case filled with
something, I know not what, for I did not waste my time in opening it.
Perhaps I have been robbed on my way home; we shall see."
"And the man you were to meet on the Quai de Billy?" inquired Calabash,
while the widow regarded her son in silence.
The only reply made by the young man consisted in his plunging his hand
into the pocket of his trousers, and jingling a quantity of silver.
"Did you take all that from him?" cried Calabash.
"No, I didn't; he shelled out two hundred francs of his own accord; and
he will fork out eight hundred more as soon as I have--But that's
enough; let's, first of all, unload my boat; we can jabber afterwards.
Is not Martial here?"
"No," said his sister.
"So much the better; we will put away the swag before he sees it;
leastways, if he can be kept from knowing about it."
"What! Are you afraid of him, you coward?" asked Calabash, provokingly.
Nicholas shrugged his shoulders significantly; then replied:
"Afraid of him? No, I should rather think not! But I have a strong
suspicion he means to sell us,--that is my only fear; as for any other
sort of dread, my weazen-slicer (knife) has rather too keen an edge for
that!"
"Ah, when he is not here, you are full of boast and brag; but only let
him show his face, and you are quiet as a mouse!"
This reproach seemed quite thrown away upon Nicholas, who, affecting not
to have heard it, exclaimed:
"Come, come! Let's unload the boat at once. Where is Francois, mother?
He could help us a good deal."
"Mother has locked him up, after having preciously flogged him; and, I
can tell you, he will have to go to bed without any supper."
"Well and good as far as that goes; but still, he might lend a hand in
unloading the boat,--eh, mother? Because, then myself and Calabash could
fetch all in at once."
The widow raised her hand, and pointed with her finger towards the
ceiling. Her daughter perfectly comprehended the signal, and departed at
once to fetch Francois.
The countenance of the widow Martial had become less cloudy since the
arrival of Nicholas, whom she greatly preferred to Calabash, but by no
means entertaining for him the affection she felt for her Toulon son, as
she designated him; for the maternal love of this ferocious woman
appeared to increase in proportion to the criminality of her offspring.
This perverse preference will serve to account for the widow's
indifference towards her two younger children, neither of whom exhibited
any disposition to evil, as well as her perfect hatred of Martial, her
eldest son, who, although not leading an altogether irreproachable life,
might still have passed for a perfectly honest and well-conducted person
if placed in comparison with Nicholas, Calabash, or his brother, the
felon at Toulon.
"Which road did you take to-night?" inquired the widow of her son.
"Why, as I returned from the Quai de Billy, where, you know, I had to go
to meet the gentleman who appointed to see me there, I spied a barge
moored alongside the quay; it was as dark as pitch. 'Halloa!' says I,
'no light in the cabin? No doubt,' says I, 'all hands are ashore. I'll
just go on board, and have a look; if I meet any one, it's easy to ask
for a bit of string, and make up a fudge about wanting to splice my
oar.' So up the side I climbs, and ventures into the cabin. Not a soul
was there; so I began collecting all I could find: clothes, a great box,
and, on the deck, four quintals of copper. So, you may guess, I was
obliged to make two journeys. The vessel was loaded with copper and
iron; but here comes Francois and Calabash. Now, then, let's be off to
the boat. Here, you young un, you Amandine! Look sharp, and make
yourself useful; you can carry the clothes; we must get new things, you
know, before we can throw aside our old ones."
Left alone, the widow busied herself in preparations for the family
supper. She placed on the table bottles, glasses, earthenware, plates,
with forks and spoons of silver; and, by the time this occupation was
completed, her offspring returned heavily laden.
Little Francois staggered beneath the weight of copper which he carried
on his shoulders, and Amandine was almost buried beneath the mass of
stolen garments which she bore on her head, while Nicholas and Calabash
brought in between them a wooden case, on the top of which lay the
fourth lump of copper.
"The case,--the case!" cried Calabash, with savage eagerness. "Come,
let's rip it open, and know what's in it."
The lumps of copper were flung on the ground. Nicholas took the heavy
hatchet he carried in his belt, and introduced its strong iron head
between the lid and the box which he had set down in the middle of the
kitchen, and endeavoured with all his strength to force it open. The red
and flickering light of the fire illumined this scene of pillage, while,
from without, the loud gusts of the night wind increased in violence.
Nicholas, meanwhile, attired in his goatskin vest, stooped over the box,
and essayed with all his might to wrench off the top, breaking out into
the most horrible and blasphemous expressions, as he found the solidity
of the fastenings resist all his endeavours to arrive at a knowledge of
its contents; and Calabash, her eyes inflamed by covetousness, her
cheeks flushed by the excitement of plunder, knelt down beside the case,
on which she leaned her utmost weight, in order to give more power to
the action of the lever employed by Nicholas. The widow, separated from
the group by the table, on the other side of which she was standing, in
her eagerness to behold the spoils, threw herself almost across the
table, the better to gaze on the booty; her longing eyes sparkled with
eagerness to learn the value of it. And finally--though unhappily, too
true to human nature--the two children, whose naturally good
inclinations had so often triumphed over the sea of vice and domestic
corruption by which they were surrounded, even they, forgetting at once
both their fears and their scruples, were alike infected by the same
fatal curiosity.
Huddling close to each other, their eyes glittering with excitement, the
breathing short and quick, Francois and Amandine seemed of all the party
most impatient to ascertain the contents of the case, and the most
irritated and out of patience with the slow progress made by Nicholas in
his attempts to break it open. At length the lid yielded to the powerful
and repeated blows dealt on it by the vigorous arm of the young man, and
as its fragments fell on the ground a loud, exulting cry rose from the
joyful and almost breathless group, who, joining in one wild mass, from
the mother to the little girl, rushed forward, and with savage haste
threw themselves on the opened box, which, forwarded, doubtless, by some
house in Paris to a fashionable draper and mercer residing near the
banks of the river, contained a large assortment of the different
materials employed in female attire.
"Nicholas has not done amiss!" cried Calabash, unfolding a piece of
mousseline-de-laine.
"No, faith!" returned the plunderer, opening, in his turn, a parcel of
silk handkerchiefs; "I shall manage to pay myself for my trouble."
"Levantine, I declare!" cried the widow, dipping into the box, and
drawing forth a rich silk. "Ah, that is a thing that fetches a price as
readily as a loaf of bread."
"Oh, Bras Rouge's receiver, who lives in the Rue du Temple, will buy all
the finery, and be glad of it. And Father Micou, the man who lets
furnished lodgings in the Quartier St. Honore, will take the rest of the
swag."
"Amandine," whispered Francois to his little sister, "what a beautiful
cravat one of those handsome silk handkerchiefs Nicholas is holding in
his hand would make, wouldn't it?"
"Oh, yes; and what a sweet pretty _marmotte_ it would make for me!"
replied the child, in rapture at the very idea.
"Well, it must be confessed, Nicholas," said Calabash, "that it was a
lucky thought of yours to go on board that barge,--famous! Look, here
are shawls, too! How many, I wonder? One, two, three. And just see here,
mother! This one is real Bourre de Soie."
"Mother Burette would give at least five hundred francs for the lot,"
said the widow, after closely examining each article.
"Then, I'll be sworn," answered Nicholas, "if she'll give that, the
things are worth at least fifteen hundred francs. But, as the old
saying is, 'The receiver's as bad as the thief.' Never mind; so much the
worse for us! I'm no hand at splitting differences; and I shall be quite
flat enough this time to let Mother Burette have it all her own way, and
Father Micou also, for the matter of that; but then, to be sure, he is a
friend."
"I don't care for that, he'd cheat you as soon as another; I'm up to the
old dealer in marine stores. But then these rascally receivers know we
cannot do without them," continued Calabash, putting on one of the
shawls, and folding it around her, "and so they take advantage of it."
"There is nothing else," said Nicholas, coming to the bottom of the box.
"Now, let us put everything away," said the widow.
"I shall keep this shawl for myself," exclaimed Calabash.
"Oh, you will, will you?" cried Nicholas, roughly; "that depends whether
I choose to let you or not. You are always laying your clutches on
something or other; you are Madame Free-and-Easy!"
"You are so mighty particular yourself--about taking whatever you have a
fancy to, arn't you?"
"Ah, that's as different as different can be! I filch at the risk of my
life; and if I had happened to have been nabbed on board the barge, you
would not have been trounced for it."
"La! Well, don't make such a fuss,--take your shawl! I'm sure I don't
want it; I was only joking about it," continued Calabash, flinging the
shawl back into the box; "but you never can stand the least bit of fun."
"Oh, I don't speak because of the shawl; I am not stingy enough to
squabble about a trumpery shawl. One more or less would make no
difference in the price Mother Burette would give for the things; she
buys in the lump, you know," continued Nicholas; "only I consider that,
instead of calling out you should keep the shawl, it would have been
more decent to have asked me to give it you. There--there it is--keep
it--you may have it; keep it, I say, or else I'll just fling it into the
fire to make the pot boil."
These words entirely appeased Calabash, who forthwith accepted the shawl
without further scruple.
Nicholas appeared seized with a sudden fit of generosity, for, ripping
off the fag end from one of the pieces of silk, he contrived to separate
two silk handkerchiefs, which he threw to Amandine and Francois, who had
been contemplating them with longing looks, saying:
"There! that's for you brats; just a little taste to give you a relish
for prigging; it's a thing you'll take to more kindly if it's made
agreeable to you. And now, get off to bed. Come, look sharp, I've got a
deal to say to mother. There--you shall have some supper brought
up-stairs to you."
The delighted children clapped their hands with joy, and triumphantly
waved the stolen handkerchiefs which had just been presented to them.
"What do you say now, you little stupids?" said Calabash to them; "will
you ever go and be persuaded by Martial again? Did he ever give you
beautiful silk handkerchiefs like those, I should be glad to know?"
Francois and Amandine looked at each other, then hung down their heads,
and made no answer.
"Answer, can't you?" persisted Calabash, roughly. "I ask you whether you
ever received such presents from Martial?"
"No," answered Francois, gazing with intense delight on his bright red
silk handkerchief, "Brother Martial never gives us anything."
To which Amandine replied, in a low yet firm voice:
"Ah, Francois, that is because Martial has nothing to give anybody."
"He might have as much as other people if he chose to steal it, mightn't
he, Francois?" said Nicholas, brutally.
"Yes, brother," replied Francois. Then, as if glad to quit the subject,
he resumed his ecstatic contemplation of his handkerchief, saying:
"Oh, what a real beauty it is! What a fine cravat it will make for
Sundays, won't it?"
"That it will," answered Amandine. "And just see, Francois, how charming
I shall look with my sweet pretty handkerchief tied around my head,--so,
brother."
"What a rage the little children at the lime-kilns will be in when they
see you pass by!" said Calabash, fixing her malignant glances on the
poor children to ascertain whether they comprehended the full and
spiteful meaning of her words,--the hateful creature seeking, by the aid
of vanity, to stifle the last breathings of virtue within their young
minds. "The brats at the lime-kilns," continued she, "will look like
beggar children beside you, and be ready to burst with envy and jealousy
at seeing you two looking like a little lady and gentleman with your
pretty silk handkerchiefs."
"So they will," cried Francois. "Ah, and I like my new cravat ever so
much the better, Sister Calabash, now you have told me that the children
at the kilns will be so mad with me for being smarter than they; don't
you, Amandine?"
"No, Francois, I don't find that makes any difference. But I am quite
glad I have got such a nice new pretty _marmotte_ as that will make, all
the same."
"Go along with you, you little mean-spirited thing!" cried Calabash,
disdainfully; "you have not a grain of proper pride in you." Then,
snatching from the table a morsel of bread and cheese, she thrust them
into the children's hands, saying, "Now, get off to bed,--there is a
lanthorn; take care you don't set fire to anything, and be sure to put
it out before you go to sleep."
"And hark ye," added Nicholas, "remember that if you dare to say one
word to Martial of the box, the copper, or the clothes, I'll make you
dance upon red-hot iron; and, besides that, your pretty silk
handkerchiefs shall be taken from you."
After the departure of the children, Nicholas and his sister concealed
the box, with its contents, the clothes, and lumps of copper, in a sort
of cellar below the kitchen, the entrance to which was by a low flight
of steps not far from the fireplace.
"That'll do!" cried the hardened youth. "And now, mother, give us a
glass of your very best brandy; none of your poor, every-day stuff, but
some of the real right sort, and plenty of it. Faith! I think I've
earned a right to eat and to drink whatever you happen to have put by
for grand occasions. Come, Calabash, look sharp, and let's have supper.
Never mind Martial, he may amuse himself with picking the bones we may
leave; they are good enough for him. Now, then, for a bit of gossip over
the affair of the individual I went to meet on the Quai de Billy,
because that little job must be settled at once if I mean to pouch the
money he promised me. I'll tell you all about it, mother, from beginning
to end. But first give me something to moisten my throat. Give me some
drink, I say! Devilish hard to be obliged to ask so many times,
considering what I have done for you all to-day! I tell you I can stand
treat, if that's what you are waiting for."
And here Nicholas again jingled the five-franc pieces he had in his
pocket; then flinging his goatskin waistcoat and black woollen cap into
a distant part of the room, he seated himself at table before a huge
dish of ragout made of mutton, a piece of cold veal, and a salad. As
soon as Calabash had brought wine and brandy, the widow, still gloomy
and imperturbable, took her place at one side of the table, having
Nicholas on her right hand and her daughter on her left; the other side
of the table had been destined for Martial and the two younger children.
Nicholas then drew from his pocket a long and wide Spanish knife, with a
horn handle and a trenchant blade. Contemplating this murderous weapon
with a sort of savage pleasure, he said to the widow:
"There's my bread-earner,--what an edge it has! Talking of bread,
mother, just hand me some of that beside you."
"And talking of knives, too," replied Calabash, "Francois has found
out--you know what--in the wood-pile!"
"What do you mean?" asked Nicholas, not understanding her.
"Why, he saw--one of the feet!"
"Phew!" whistled Nicholas; "what, of the man?"
"Yes," answered the widow, concisely, at the same time placing a large
slice of meat on her son's plate.
"That's droll enough," returned the young ruffian; "I'm sure the hole
was dug deep enough; but I suppose the ground has sunk in a good deal."
"It must all be thrown into the river to-night," said the widow.
"That is the surest way to get rid of further bother," said Nicholas.
"Yes," chimed in Calabash, "throw it in the river, with a heavy stone
fastened to it, with part of an old boat-chain."
"We are not quite such fools as that either," returned Nicholas, pouring
out for himself a brimming glass of wine. Then, holding the bottle up,
he said, addressing the widow: "Come, mother, let's touch glasses, and
drink to each other. You seem a cup too low, and it will cheer you up."
The widow drew back her glass, shook her head, and said to her son:
"Tell me of the man you met on the Quai de Billy."
"Why, this is it," said Nicholas, without ceasing to eat and drink:
"When I got to the landing-place, I fastened my boat, and went up the
steps of the quay as the clock was striking seven at the military
bakehouse at Chaillot. You could not see four yards before you, but I
walked up and down by the parapet wall for a quarter of an hour, when I
heard footsteps moving softly behind me. I stopped, and a man,
completely wrapped up in a mantle, approached me, coughing as he
advanced. As I paused, he paused; and all I could make out of him was
that his cloak hid his nose, and his hat fell over his eyes."
We will inform our readers that this mysterious personage was Jacques
Ferrand, the notary, who, anxious to get rid of Fleur-de-Marie, had,
that same morning, despatched Madame Seraphin to the Martials, whom he
hoped to find the ready instruments of his fresh crime.
"'Bradamanti,' said the man to me," continued Nicholas; "that was the
password agreed upon by the old woman, that I might know my man.
'Ravageur,' says I, as was agreed. 'Is your name Martial?' he asked.
'Yes, master.' 'A woman was at your isle to-day: what did she say to
you?' 'That you wished to speak to me on the part of M. Bradamanti.'
'You have a boat?' 'We have four, that's our number: boatmen and
ravageurs, from father to son, at your service.' 'This is what I want
you to do if you are not afraid--' 'Afraid of what, master?' 'Of seeing
a person accidentally drowned. Only you must assist with the accident.
Do you understand?' 'Perfectly, master; we must make some individual
have a draught of the Seine, as if by accident? I'll do it; only, as the
dish to be dressed is a dainty one, why, the seasoning will cost rather
dear.' 'How much for two?' 'For two? What! are there two persons who are
to have a mess of broth in the river?' 'Yes.' 'Five hundred francs a
head, master; that's not too dear.' 'Agreed, for a thousand francs.'
'Money down, master?' 'Two hundred francs now, and the rest afterwards.'
'Then you doubt me, master?' 'No; you may pocket the two hundred
francs, without completing the bargain.' 'And you may say, after it's
done, "Don't you wish you may get it?"' 'That as may be; but does it
suit you? yes or no. Two hundred francs down, and on the evening of the
day after to-morrow, here, at nine o'clock, I will give you the eight
hundred francs.' 'And who will inform you that I have done the trick
with these two persons?' 'I shall know; that is my affair. Is it a
bargain?' 'Yes, master.' 'Here are two hundred francs. Now listen to me;
you will know again the old woman who was at your house this morning?'
'Yes, master.' 'To-morrow, or next day at latest, you will see her come,
about four o'clock in the evening, on the bank in face of your island
with a young fair girl. The old woman will make a signal to you by
waving her handkerchief.' 'Yes, master.' 'What time does it take to go
from the bank-side to your island?' 'Twenty minutes, quite.' 'Your boats
are flat-bottomed?' 'Flat as your hand, master.' 'Then you must make,
very skilfully, a sort of large hole in the bottom of one of these
boats, so that, when you open it, the water may flow in rapidly. Do you
understand?' 'Quite well, master; how clever you are! I have by me a
worn-out old boat, half rotten, that I was going to break up, but it
will just do for this one more voyage.' 'You will then leave the island
with this boat, with the hole prepared; let a good boat follow you,
conducted by some one of your family. Go to the shore, accost the old
woman and the fair young girl, and take them on board the boat with the
hole in it; then go back towards your island; but, when you are at some
distance from the bank, pretend to stoop for some purpose, open the
hole, and leap into the other boat, whilst the old woman and the fair
young girl--' 'Drink out of the same cup,--that's it,--eh, master?' 'But
are you sure you will not be interrupted? Suppose some customers should
come to your house?' 'There is no fear, master. At this time, and
especially in winter, no one comes, it is our dead time of year; and, if
they come, that would not be troublesome; on the contrary, they are all
good friends.' 'Very well. Besides, you in no way compromise yourselves;
the boat will be supposed to have sunk from old age, and the old woman
who brings the young girl will disappear with her. In order to be quite
assured that they are drowned (by accident, mind! quite by accident),
you can, if they rise to the surface, or if they cling to the boat,
appear to do all in your power to assist them, and--' 'Help them--to
sink again! Good, master!' 'It will be requisite that the passage be
made after sunset, in order that it may be quite dark when they fall
into the water.' 'No, master; for if one does not see clear, how shall
we know if the two women swallow their doses at one gulp, or want a
second?' 'True; and, therefore, the accident will take place before
sunset.' 'All right, master; but the old woman has no suspicion, has
she?' 'Not the slightest. When she arrives, she will whisper to you:
"The young girl is to be drowned; a little while before you sink the
boat, make me a signal, that I may be ready to escape with you." You
will reply to the old woman in such a way as to avoid all suspicion.'
'So that she may suppose the young 'un only is going to swallow the
dose?' 'But which she will drink as well as the fair girl.' 'It's
"downily" arranged, master.' 'But mind the old woman has not the
slightest suspicion.' 'Be easy on that score, master; she will be done
as nicely as possible.' 'Well, then, good luck to you, my lad! If I am
satisfied, perhaps I shall give you another job.' 'At your service,
master.' Then," said the ruffian, in conclusion, "I left the man in the
cloak, and 'prigged the swag' I've just brought in."
We may glean from Nicholas's recital that the notary was desirous, by a
twofold crime, of getting rid at once of Fleur-de-Marie and Madame
Seraphin, by causing the latter to fall into the snare which she
thought was only spread for the Goualeuse. It is hardly necessary to
repeat that, justly alarmed lest the Chouette should inform
Fleur-de-Marie at any moment that she had been abandoned by Madame
Seraphin, Jacques Ferrand believed he had a paramount interest in
getting rid of this young girl, whose claims might mortally injure him
both in his fortune and in his reputation. As to Madame Seraphin, the
notary, by sacrificing her, got rid of one of his accomplices
(Bradamanti was the other), who might ruin him, whilst they ruined
themselves, it is true; but Jacques Ferrand believed that the grave
would keep his secrets better than any personal interests.
The felon's widow and Calabash had listened attentively to Nicholas, who
had not paused except to swallow large quantities of wine, and then he
began to talk with considerable excitement.
"That is not all," he continued. "I have begun another affair with the
Chouette and Barbillon of the Rue aux Feves. It is a capital job, well
planted; and if it does not miss fire, it will bring plenty of fish to
net, and no mistake. It is to clean out a jewel-matcher, who has
sometimes as much as fifty thousand francs in jewelry in her basket."
"Fifty thousand francs!" cried the mother and daughter, whose eyes
sparkled with cupidity.
"Yes--quite. Bras Rouge is in it with us. He yesterday opened upon the
woman with a letter which we carried to her--Barbillon and I--at her
house, Boulevard St. Denis. He's an out-and-outer, Bras Rouge is! As he
appears--and, I believe, is--well-to-do, nobody mistrusts him. To make
the jewel-matcher bite he has already sold her a diamond worth four
hundred francs. She'll not be afraid to come towards nightfall to his
cabaret in the Champs Elysees. We shall be concealed there. Calabash may
come with us, and take care of my boat along the side of the Seine. If
we are obliged to carry her off, dead or alive, that will be a
convenient conveyance, and one that leaves no traces. There's a plan for
you! That beggar Bras Rouge is nothing but a good 'un!"
"I have always distrusted Bras Rouge," said the widow. "After that
affair of the Rue Montmartre your brother Ambroise was sent to Toulon,
and Bras Rouge was set at liberty."
"Because he's so downy there's no proofs against him. But betray
others?--never!"
The widow shook her head, as if she were only half convinced of Bras
Rouge's probity. After a few moments' reflection she said:
"I like much better that affair of the Quai de Billy for to-morrow or
next day evening,--the drowning the two women. But Martial will be in
the way as usual."
"Will not the devil's thunder ever rid us of him?" exclaimed Nicholas,
half drunk, and striking his long knife savagely on the table.
"I have told mother that we had enough of him, and that we could not go
on in this way," said Calabash. "As long as he is here we can do nothing
with the children."
"I tell you that he is capable of one day denouncing us,--the villain!"
said Nicholas. "You see, mother, if you would have believed me," he
added, with a savage and significant air, "all would have been settled!"
"There are other means--"
"This is the best!" said the ruffian.
"Now? No!" replied the widow, with a tone so decided that Nicholas was
silent, overcome by the influence of his mother, whom he knew to be as
criminal, as wicked, but still more determined than himself.
The widow added, "To-morrow he will quit the island for ever."
"How?" inquired Nicholas and Calabash at the same time.
"When he comes in pick a quarrel with him,--but boldly, mind,--out to
his face, as you have never yet dared to do. Come to blows, if
necessary. He is powerful, but you will be two, for I will help you.
Mind, no steel,--no blood! Let him be beaten, but not wounded."
"And what then, mother?" asked Nicholas.
"We shall then explain afterwards. We will tell him to leave the island
next day; if not, that the scenes of the night before will occur over
and over again. I know him; these perpetual squabbles disgust him; until
now we have let him be too quiet."
"But he is as obstinate as a mule, and is likely enough to insist upon
staying, because of the children," observed Calabash.
"He's a regular hound; but a row don't frighten him," said Nicholas.
"One? No!" said the widow. "But every day--day by day--it is hell in
earth, and he will give way."
"Suppose he don't?"
"Then I have another sure means to make him go away,--this very night or
to-morrow at farthest," replied the widow, with a singular smile.
"Really, mother!"
"Yes, but I prefer rather to annoy him with a row; and, if that don't
do, why, then, it must be the other way."
"And if the other way does not succeed, either, mother?" said Nicholas.
"There is one which always succeeds," replied the widow.
Suddenly the door opened, and Martial entered. It blew so strong without
that they had not heard the barkings of the dogs at the return of the
first-born son of the felon's widow.