THE CONVENT.
Let us explain in a few words the presence of Dagobert. His countenance
was impressed with such an air of military frankness that the manager of
the coach-office would have been satisfied with his promise to return and
pay the money; but the soldier had obstinately insisted on remaining in
pledge, as he called it, till his wife had answered his letter. When,
however, on the return of the porter, he found that the money was coming,
his scruples were satisfied, and he hastened to run home.
We may imagine the stupor of Mrs. Grivois, when, upon entering the
chamber, she perceived Dagobert (whom she easily recognized by the
description she had heard of him) seated beside his wife and the orphans.
The anxiety of Frances at sight of Mrs. Grivois was equally striking.
Rose and Blanche had told her of the visit of a lady, during her absence,
upon important business; and, judging by the information received from
her confessor, Frances had no doubt that this was the person charged to
conduct the orphans to a religious establishment.
Her anxiety was terrible. Resolved to follow the counsels of Abbe Dubois,
she dreaded lest a word from Mrs. Grivois should put Dagobert on the
scent--in which case all would be lost, and the orphans would remain in
their present state of ignorance and mortal sin, for which she believed
herself responsible.
Dagobert, who held the hands of Rose and Blanche, left his seat as the
Princess de Saint-Dizier's waiting-woman entered the room and cast an
inquiring glance on Frances.
The moment was critical--nay, decisive; but Mrs. Grivois had profited by
the example of the Princess de Saint-Dizier. So, taking her resolution at
once, and turning to account the precipitation with which she had mounted
the stairs, after the odious charge she had brought against poor Mother
Bunch, and even the emotion caused by the unexpected sight of Dagobert,
which gave to her features an expression of uneasiness and alarm--she
exclaimed, in an agitated voice, after the moment's silence necessary to
collect her thoughts: "Oh, madame! I have just been the spectator of a
great misfortune. Excuse my agitation! but I am so excited--"
"Dear me! what is the matter?" said Frances, in a trembling voice, for
she dreaded every moment some indiscretion on the part of Mrs. Grivois.
"I called just now," resumed the other, "to speak to you on some
important business; whilst I was waiting for you, a poor young woman,
rather deformed, put up sundry articles in a parcel--"
"Yes," said Frances; "it was Mother Bunch, an excellent, worthy
creature."
"I thought as much, madame; well, you shall hear what has happened. As
you did not come in, I resolved to pay a visit in the neighborhood. I go
out, and get as far as the Rue St. Mery, when--Oh, madame!"
"Well?" said Dagobert, "what then?"
"I see a crowd--I inquire what is the matter--I learn that a policeman
has just arrested a young girl as a thief, because she had been seen
carrying a bundle, composed of different articles which did not appear to
belong to her--I approached--what do I behold?--the same young woman that
I had met just before in this room."
"Oh! the poor child!" exclaimed Frances, growing pale, and clasping her
hands together. "What a dreadful thing!"
"Explain, then," said Dagobert to his wife. "What was in this bundle?"
"Well, my dear--to confess the truth--I was a little short, and I asked
our poor friend to take some things for me to the pawnbroker's--"
"What! and they thought she had robbed us!" cried Dagobert; "she, the
most honest girl in the world! it is dreadful--you ought to have
interfered, madame; you ought to have said that you knew her."
"I tried to do so, sir; but, unfortunately, they would not hear me. The
crowd increased every moment, till the guard came up, and carried her
off."
"She might die of it, she is so sensitive and timid!" exclaimed Frances.
"Ah, good Mother Bunch! so gentle! so considerate!" said Blanche, turning
with tearful eyes towards her sister.
"Not being able to help her," resumed Mrs. Grivois "I hastened hither to
inform you of this misadventure--which may, indeed, easily be
repaired--as it will only be necessary to go and claim the young girl as
soon as possible."
At these words, Dagobert hastily seized his hat, and said abruptly to
Mrs. Grivois: "Zounds, madame! you should have begun by telling us that.
Where is the poor child? Do you know?"
"I do not, sir; but there are still so many excited people in the street
that, if you will have the kindness to step out, you will be sure to
learn."
"Why the devil do you talk of kindness? It is my duty, madame. Poor
child!" repeated Dagobert. "Taken up as a thief!--it is really horrible.
I will go to the guard-house, and to the commissary of police for this
neighborhood, and, by hook or crook, I will find her, and have her out,
and bring her home with me."
So saying, Dagobert hastily departed. Frances, now that she felt more
tranquil as to the fate of Mother Bunch, thanked the Lord that this
circumstance had obliged her husband to go out, for his presence at this
juncture caused her a terrible embarrassment.
Mrs. Grivois had left My Lord in the coach below, for the moments were
precious. Casting a significant glance at Frances she handed her Abbe
Dubois' letter, and said to her, with strong emphasis on every word: "You
will see by this letter, madame, what was the object of my visit, which I
have not before been able to explain to you, but on which I truly
congratulate myself, as it brings me into connection with these two
charming young ladies." Rose and Blanche looked at each other in
surprise. Frances took the letter with a trembling hand. It required all
the pressing and threatening injunctions of her confessor to conquer the
last scruples of the poor woman, for she shuddered at the thought of
Dagobert's terrible indignation. Moreover, in her simplicity, she knew
not how to announce to the young girls that they were to accompany this
lady.
Mrs. Grivois guessed her embarrassment, made a sign to her to be at her
ease, and said to Rose, whilst Frances was reading the letter of her
confessor: "How happy your relation will be to see you, my dear young
lady!'
"Our relation, madame?" said Rose, more and more astonished.
"Certainly. She knew of your arrival here, but, as she is still suffering
from the effects of a long illness, she was not able to come herself
to-day, and has sent me to fetch you to her. Unfortunately," added Mrs.
Grivois, perceiving a movement of uneasiness on the part of the two
sisters, "it will not be in her power, as she tells Mrs. Baudoin in her
letter, to see you for more than a very short time--so you may be back
here in about an hour. But to-morrow or the next day after, she will be
well enough to leave home, and then she will come and make arrangements
with Mrs. Baudoin and her husband, to take you into her house--for she
could not bear to leave you at the charge of the worthy people who have
been so kind to you."
These last words of Mrs. Grivois made a favorable impression upon the two
sisters, and banished their fears of becoming a heavy burden to
Dagobert's family. If it had been proposed to them to quit altogether the
house in the Rue Bris-Miche, without first asking the consent of their
old friend, they would certainly have hesitated; but Mrs. Grivois had
only spoken of an hour's visit. They felt no suspicion, therefore, and
Rose said to Frances: "We may go and see our relation, I suppose, madame,
without waiting for Dagobert's return?"
"Certainly," said Frances, in a feeble voice, "since you are to be back
almost directly."
"Then, madame, I would beg these dear young ladies to come with me as
soon as possible, as I should like to bring them back before noon.
"We are ready, madame," said Rose.
"Well then, young ladies, embrace your second mother, and come," said
Mrs. Grivois, who was hardly able to control her uneasiness, for she
trembled lest Dagobert should return from one moment to the other.
Rose and Blanche embraced Frances, who, clasping in her arms the two
charming and innocent creatures that she was about to deliver up, could
with difficulty restrain her tears, though she was fully convinced that
she was acting for their salvation.
"Come, young ladies," said Mrs. Grivois, in the most affable tone, "let
us make haste--you will excuse my impatience, I am sure--but it is in the
name of your relation that I speak."
Having once more tenderly kissed the wife of Dagobert, the sisters
quitted the room hand in hand, and descended the staircase close behind
Mrs. Grivois, followed (without their being aware of it), by Spoil-sport.
The intelligent animal cautiously watched their movements, for, in the
absence of his master, he never let them out of his sight.
For greater security, no doubt, the waiting-woman of Madame de Saint
Dizier had ordered the hackney-coach to wait for her at a little distance
from the Rue Brise-Miche, in the cloister square. In a few seconds, the
orphans and their conductress reached the carriage.
"Oh, missus!" said the coachman, opening the door; "no offence, I
hope--but you have the most ill-tempered rascal of a dog! Since you put
him into my coach, he has never ceased howling like a roasted cat, and
looks as if he would eat us all up alive!" In fact, My Lord, who detested
solitude, was yelling in the most deplorable manner.
"Be quiet, My Lord! here I am," said Mrs. Grivois; then addressing the
two sisters, she added: "Pray, get in, my dear young ladies."
Rose and Blanche got into the coach. Before she followed them, Mrs.
Grivois was giving to the coachman in a low voice the direction to St.
Mary's Convent, and was adding other instructions, when suddenly the pug
dog, who had growled savagely when the sisters took their seats in the
coach, began to bark with fury. The cause of this anger was clear enough;
Spoil-sport, until now unperceived, had with one bound entered the
carriage.
The pug, exasperated by this boldness, forgetting his ordinary prudence,
and excited to the utmost by rage and ugliness of temper, sprang at his
muzzle, and bit him so cruelly, that, in his turn, the brave Siberian
dog, maddened by the pain, threw himself upon the teaser, seized him by
the throat, and fairly strangled him with two grips of his powerful
jaws--as appeared by one stifled groan of the pug, previously half
suffocated with fat.
All this took place in less time than is occupied by the description.
Rose and Blanche had hardly opportunity to exclaim twice: "Here, Spoil
sport! down!"
"Oh, good gracious!" said Mrs. Grivois, turning round at the noise.
"There again is that monster of a dog--he will certainly hurt my love.
Send him away, young ladies--make him get down--it is impossible to take
him with us."
Ignorant of the degree of Spoil-sport's criminality, for his paltry foe
was stretched lifeless under a seat, the young girls yet felt that it
would be improper to take the dog with them, and they therefore said to
him in an angry tone, at the same time slightly touching him with their
feet: "Get down, Spoil-sport! go away!"
The faithful animal hesitated at first to obey this order. Sad and
supplicatingly looked he at the orphans, and with an air of mild
reproach, as if blaming them for sending away their only defender. But,
upon the stern repetition of the command, he got down from the coach,
with his tail between his legs, feeling perhaps that he had been somewhat
over-hasty with regard to the pug.
Mrs. Grivois, who was in a great hurry to leave that quarter of the town,
seated herself with precipitation in the carriage; the coachman closed
the door, and mounted his box; and then the coach started at a rapid
rate, whilst Mrs. Grivois prudently let down the blinds, for fear of
meeting Dagobert by the way.
Having taken these indispensable precautions, she was able to turn her
attention to her pet, whom she loved with all that deep, exaggerated
affection, which people of a bad disposition sometimes entertain for
animals, as if then concentrated and lavished upon them all those
feelings in which they are deficient with regard to their fellow
creatures. In a word. Mrs. Grivois was passionately attached to this
peevish, cowardly, spiteful dog, partly perhaps from a secret sympathy
with his vices. This attachment had lasted for six years, and only seemed
to increase as My Lord advanced in age.
We have laid some stress on this apparently puerile detail, because the
most trifling causes have often disastrous effects, and because we wish
the reader to understand what must have been the despair, fury, and
exasperation of this woman, when she discovered the death of her dog--a
despair, a fury, and an exasperation, of which the orphans might yet feel
the cruel consequences.
The hackney-coach had proceeded rapidly for some seconds, when Mrs.
Grivois, who was seated with her back to the horses, called My Lord. The
dog had very good reasons for not replying.
"Well, you sulky beauty!" said Mrs. Grivois, soothingly; "you have taken
offence, have you? It was not my fault if that great ugly dog came into
the coach, was it, young ladies? Come and kiss your mistress, and let us
make peace, old obstinate!"
The same obstinate silence continued on the part of the canine noble.
Rose and Blanche began to look anxiously at each other, for they knew
that Spoil-sport was somewhat rough in his ways, though they were far
from suspecting what had really happened. But Mrs. Grivois, rather
surprised than uneasy at her pug-log's insensibility to her affectionate
appeals, and believing him to be sullenly crouching beneath the seat,
stooped clown to take him up, and feeling one of his paws, drew it
impatiently towards her whilst she said to him in a half-jesting, half
angry tone: "Come, naughty fellow! you will give a pretty notion of your
temper to these young ladies."
So saying, she took up the dog, much astonished at his unresisting
torpor; but what was her fright, when, having placed him upon her lap,
she saw that he was quite motionless.
"An apoplexy!" cried she. "The dear creature ate too much--I was always
afraid of it."
Turning round hastily, she exclaimed: "Stop, coachman! stop!" without
reflecting that the coachman could not hear her. Then raising the cur's
head, still thinking that he was only in a fit, she perceived with horror
the bloody holes imprinted by five or six sharp fangs, which left no
doubt of the cause of his deplorable end.
Her first impulse was one of grief and despair. "Dead!" she exclaimed;
"dead! and already cold! Oh, goodness!" And this woman burst into tears.
The tears of the wicked are ominous. For a bad man to weep, he must have
suffered much; and, with him, the reaction of suffering, instead of
softening the soul, inflames it to a dangerous anger.
Thus, after yielding to that first painful emotion, the mistress of My
Lord felt herself transported with rage and hate--yes, hate--violent hate
for the young girls, who had been the involuntary cause of the dog's
death. Her countenance so plainly betrayed her resentment, that Blanche
and Rose were frightened at the expression of her face, which had now
grown purple with fury, as with agitated voice and wrathful glance she
exclaimed: "It was your dog that killed him!"
"Oh, madame!" said Rose; "we had nothing to do with it."
"It was your dog that bit Spoil-sport first," added Blanche, in a
plaintive voice.
The look of terror impressed on the features of the orphans recalled Mrs.
Grivois to herself. She saw the fatal consequences that might arise from
yielding imprudently to her anger. For the very sake of vengeance, she
had to restrain herself, in order not to awaken suspicion in the minds of
Marshal Simon's daughters. But not to appear to recover too soon from her
first impression, she continued for some minutes to cast irritated
glances at the young girls; then, little by little, her anger seemed to
give way to violent grief; she covered her face with her hands, heaved a
long sigh, and appeared to weep bitterly.
"Poor lady!" whispered Rose to Blanche. "How she weeps!--No doubt, she
loved her dog as much as we love Spoil-sport."
"Alas! yes," replied Blanche. "We also wept when our old Jovial was
killed."
After a few minutes, Mrs. Grivois raised her head, dried her eyes
definitively, and said in a gentle, and almost affectionate voice:
"Forgive me, young ladies! I was unable to repress the first movement of
irritation, or rather of deep sorrow--for I was tenderly attached to this
poor dog he has never left me for six years."
"We are very sorry for this misfortune, madame," resumed Rose; "and we
regret it the more, that it seems to be irreparable."
"I was just saying to my sister, that we can the better fancy your grief,
as we have had to mourn the death of our old horse, that carried us all
the way from Siberia."
"Well, my dear young ladies, let us think no more about it. It was my
fault; I should not have brought him with me; but he was always so
miserable, whenever I left him. You will make allowance for my weakness.
A good heart feels for animals as well as people; so I must trust to your
sensibility to excuse my hastiness."
"Do not think of it, madame; it is only your grief that afflicts us."
"I shall get over it, my dear young ladies--I shall get over it. The joy
of the meeting between you and your relation will help to console me. She
will be so happy. You are so charming! and then the singular circumstance
of your exact likeness to each other adds to the interest you inspire."
"You are too kind to us, madame."
"Oh, no--I am sure you resemble each other as much in disposition as in
face."
"That is quite natural, madame," said Rose, "for since our birth we have
never left each other a minute, whether by night or day. It would be
strange, if we were not like in character."
"Really, my dear young ladies! you have never left each other a minute?"
"Never, madame." The sisters joined hands with an expressive smile.
"Then, how unhappy you would be, and how much to be pitied, if ever you
were separated."
"Oh, madame! it is impossible," said Blanche, smiling.
"How impossible?"
"Who would have the heart to separate us?"
"No doubt, my dear young ladies, it would be very cruel."
"Oh, madame," resumed Blanche, "even very wicked people would not think
of separating us."
"So much the better, my dear young ladies--pray, why?"
"Because it would cause us too much grief."
"Because it would kill us."
"Poor little dears!"
"Three months ago, we were shut up in prison. Well when the governor of
the prison saw us, though he looked a very stern man, he could not help
saying: 'It would be killing these children to separate them;' and so we
remained together, and were as happy as one can be in prison."
"It shows your excellent heart, and also that of the persons who knew how
to appreciate it."
The carriage stopped, and they heard the coachman call out "Any one at
the gate there?"
"Oh! here we are at your relation's," said Mrs. Grivois. Two wings of a
gate flew open, and the carriage rolled over the gravel of a court-yard.
Mrs. Grivois having drawn up one of the blinds, they found themselves in
a vast court, across the centre of which ran a high wall, with a kind of
porch upon columns, under which was a little door. Behind this wall, they
could see the upper part of a very large building in freestone. Compared
with the house in the Rue Brise-Miche, this building appeared a palace;
so Blanche said to Mrs. Grivois, with an expression of artless
admiration: "Dear me, madame, what a fine residence!"
"That is nothing," replied Madame Grivois; "wait till you see the
interior, which is much finer."
When the coachman opened the door of the carriage, what was the rage of
Mrs. Grivois, and the surprise of the girls, to see Spoil-sport, who had
been clever enough to follow the coach. Pricking up his ears, and wagging
his tail, he seemed to have forgotten his late offences, and to expect to
be praised for his intelligent fidelity.
"What!" cried Mrs. Grivois, whose sorrows were renewed at the sight; "has
that abominable dog followed the coach?"
"A famous dog, mum," answered the coachman "he never once left the heels
of my horses. He must have been trained to it. He's a powerful beast, and
two men couldn't scare him. Look at the throat of him now!"
The mistress of the deceased pug, enraged at the somewhat unseasonable
praises bestowed upon the Siberian, said to the orphans, "I will announce
your arrival, wait for me an instant in the coach."
So saying, she went with a rapid step towards the porch, and rang the
bell. A woman, clad in a monastic garb, appeared at the door, and bowed
respectfully to Mrs. Grivois, who addressed her in these few words, "I
have brought you the two young girls; the orders of Abbe d'Aigrigny and
the princess are, that they be instantly separated, and kept apart in
solitary cells--you understand, sister--and subjected to the rule for
impenitents."
"I will go and inform the superior, and it will be done," said the
portress, with another bend.
"Now, will you come, my dear young ladies?" resumed Mrs. Grivois,
addressing the two girls, who had secretly bestowed a few caresses upon
Spoil sport, so deeply were they touched by his instinctive attachment;
"you will be introduced to your relation, and I will return and fetch you
in half an hour. Coachman keep that dog back."
Rose and Blanche, in getting out of the coach, were so much occupied with
Spoil-sport, that they did not perceive the portress, who was half hidden
behind the little door. Neither did they remark, that the person who was
to introduce them was dressed as a nun, till, taking them by the hand,
she had led them across the threshold, when the door was immediately
closed behind them.
As soon as Mrs. Grivois had seen the orphans safe into the convent, she
told the coachman to leave the court-yard, and wait for her at the outer
gate. The coachman obeyed; but Spoil-sport, who had seen Rose and Blanche
enter by the little door, ran to it, and remained there.
Mrs. Grivois then called the porter of the main entrance, a tall,
vigorous fellow and said to him: "Here are ten francs for you, Nicholas,
if you will beat out the brains of that great dog, who is crouching under
the porch."
Nicholas shook his head, as he observed Spoil-sport's size and strength.
"Devil take me, madame!" said he; "'tis not so easy to tackle a dog of
that build."
"I will give you twenty francs; only kill him before me."
"One ought to have a gun, and I have only an iron hammer."
"That will do; you can knock him down at a blow."
"Well, madame--I will try--but I have my doubts." And Nicholas went to
fetch his mallet.
"Oh! if I had the strength!" said Mrs. Grivois.
The porter returned with his weapon, and advanced slowly and
treacherously towards Spoil-sport, who was still crouching beneath the
porch. "Here, old fellow! here, my good dog!" said Nicholas striking his
left hand on his thigh, and keeping his right behind him, with the
crowbar grasped in it.
Spoil-sport rose, examined Nicholas attentively, and no doubt perceiving
by his manner that the porter meditated some evil design, bounded away
from him, outflanked the enemy, saw clearly what was intended, and kept
himself at a respectful distance.
"He smells a rat," said Nicholas; "the rascal's on his guard. He will not
let me come near him. It's no go."
"You are an awkward fellow," said Mrs. Grivois in a passion, as she threw
a five-franc piece to Nicholas: "at all events, drive him away."
"That will be easier than to kill him, madame," said the porter. Indeed,
finding himself pursued, and conscious probably that it would be useless
to attempt an open resistance, Spoil-sport fled from the court-yard into
the street; but once there, he felt himself, as it were, upon neutral
ground, and notwithstanding all the threats of Nicholas, refused to
withdraw an inch further than just sufficient to keep out of reach of the
sledge-hammer. So that when Mrs. Grivois, pale with rage, again stepped
into her hackney-coach, in which were My Lord's lifeless remains, she saw
with the utmost vexation that Spoil-sport was lying at a few steps from
the gate, which Nicholas had just closed, having given up the chase in
despair.
The Siberian dog, sure of finding his way back to the Rue Brise-Miche,
had determined, with the sagacity peculiar to his race, to wait for the
orphans on the spot where he then was.
Thus were the two sisters confined in St. Mary's Convent, which, as we
have already said, was next door to the lunatic asylum in which Adrienne
de Cardoville was immured.
We now conduct the reader to the dwelling of Dagobert's wife, who was
waiting with dreadful anxiety for the return of her husband, knowing that
he would call her to account for the disappearance of Marshal Simon's
daughters.