PUNISHMENT.
We will conduct the reader again to the office of the notary, Jacques
Ferrand. Thanks to the habitual loquacity of the clerks, almost constantly
occupied with the increasing caprices of their patron, we can learn the
events that occurred since the disappearance of Cecily.
"A hundred to ten, if the present state of his health continues, before a
month the governor will be as dead as a doornail."
"The fact is, that since the servant who had the air of an Alsatian has
left the house, he has had nothing but skin on his bones."
"And what skin!"
"I'll wager he was in love with this Alsatian, for it is since her
departure that he has shriveled up so!"
"He in love? what nonsense! on the contrary, he sees the priests more than
ever; and the parish curé, a very respectable man (one must be just), went
away yesterday, saying (I overheard him) to another priest who accompanied
him,' This is admirable! M. Ferrand is the personification of Charity and
Generosity.'"
"The curé said that? of himself? without prompting?"
"Yes! I heard him."
"Then, I can't understand it at all. The curé has the reputation, and
deserves it, of being what is called a right good pastor."
"It is true; and of him we must speak seriously and with respect; he is as
good and charitable as 'Little Blue Mantle,' [Footnote: We must be allowed
to mention here, with veneration, the name of that excellent man, M.
Champion, with whom we have not the honor of a personal acquaintance, but
of whom all the poor of Paris speak with as much respect as gratitude.] and
when one says that of a man he is judged."
"Ay, that is not a little to say."
"No. For 'Little Blue Mantle,' as well as for the good priest, the poor
have only one word, and a good word it is, from the heart."
"Then I return to my idea; when the curé affirms a thing, he must be
believed, as he is incapable of telling a falsehood; and yet to think as he
does, that our master is charitable and generous--that sticks in my
throat."
"Oh! how pretty that is, Chalamel! how pretty."
"Seriously, I would just as soon believe that as I would a miracle. It
would not be more difficult."
"M. Ferrand generous! he would skin an egg!"
"And yet the forty sous for our breakfast?"
"Beautiful proof! It is like a pimple on the end of a man's nose--it is an
accident."
"Yes, but, on the other hand, the head clerk told me that three days ago he
sold out an enormous amount of treasury bonds, and that--"
"Well! speak then."
"It is a secret."
"So much the more reason for telling it."
"Your word and honor that you won't mention it?"
"On the heads of our children, we give it."
"And besides, let us remember what the great king Louis XIV. majestically
said to the Doge of Venice before his assembled court:
"'When a secret's told a clerk,
Its exposure he'll not burk!'"
"Good! there is Chalamel with his proverbs!"
"I demand the head of Chalamel!"
"Proverbs are the wisdom of nations; it is on that account I require your
secret."
"Come, none of your nonsense. I tell you the head clerk made me a promise
to speak of it to no one."
"Yes; but he did not say that you should not tell it to every one?"
"It shall not go out of the office. Go on."
"He is dying with desire to tell us the secret."
"Well! the governor is about selling his notary's business. At this present
moment, perhaps, it is done."
"Nonsense!"
"Here is news!"
"Let us see, without charge, who charges himself with the charge which he
discharges?"
"Tush! how insupportable Chalamel is with his riddles."
"Do you think I know to whom he sells it?"
"If he sells it, it is because, perhaps, he wishes to come out, give balls,
routs, in the gay world. After all, there is something in it."
"I think so, indeed! The head clerk spoke of more than a million, including
the value of the business."
"More than a million!"
"It is said that he has been gambling in stocks secretly with Commandant
Robert, and that he has made much money."
"Not to speak of his living like a curmudgeon."
"But these misers, when once they begin to spend money, become as prodigal
as they were once mean."
"Well, I agree with Chalamel; I think that now the governor is coming out."
"And he would be most stupendously in the wrong not to bury himself in
voluptuousness, and not to plunge into the delights of Golconda, if he has
the means; for, as the misty Ossian says, in the grotto of Fingal,
"'All-Ariel is it, yet not-arial, too,
That he should still be right,
Who roseate tapestry has in open view,
And of his gold makes light.'"
"I demand the head of Chalamel!"
"It is absurd!"
"Yes, and the governor looks very much like a man who thinks of amusing
himself. He has a face that might cause the devil to appear on earth."
"And then the cure, who boasts of his charity!"
"Well-ordered charity begins at home."
"You do not know your ten commandments, heathen! If the governor asks from
himself the alms of great pleasures, it is his duty to grant them."
"What astonishes me is, that this intimate friend, who seems to have
dropped from the clouds, never leaves him."
"Not to mention his ugly face."
"He is as red as a carrot."
"I am rather inclined to believe that this intruder is the fruit of a first
false step which M. Ferrand has committed in the springtime of life, for,
as the Eagle of Meaux said concerning the taking of the veil by the tender
La Vallière,
"'Young or old, whiche'er you love,
Crows may have an offspring dove!'"
"I demand the head of Chalamel!"
"In truth, with him it is impossible to talk reason a moment."
"What stupidity! To say that this stranger is the son of the governor, when
he is the oldest, as is easy to be seen--"
"Well, what of that?"
"How? what of that? The son older than the father?"
"It is very plain; in that case, the intruder must have made the false
step, and be the father of M. Ferrand, intead of being his son."
"I demand the head of Chalamel!"
"Do not listen to him; you know, when once he is in the way of saying
stupid things, there is no end to it."
"What is certain is, that this intruder has a bad face, and does not leave
M. Ferrand for a moment."
"He is always with him in his cabinet; they eat together; one does not move
without the other."
"I think I have seen the man before."
"I think not."
"Tell me, gents, have you not also remarked that for some days past, there
comes regularly almost every two hours a man with great light mustaches and
a military air, who asks the porter for the intruder? The intruder comes
down, talks for a moment with the man with mustaches, after which the
latter makes a half turn like an automaton, to come again in two hours
after."
"It is true; I have remarked him. It seems to me, also, that I meet some
men when I go into the street who appear to be watching the house."
"Seriously, there is something extraordinary going on here."
"Who lives long enough will see."
"On this subject the head clerk, perhaps, knows more than we do. But he
plays the diplomatist."
"Exactly; and where is he, then, for so long a time?"
"He has gone to the house of the countess who was stabbed; it appears that
she is now out of danger."
"The Countess M'Gregor?"
"Yes; this morning she sent for the governor to come at once, but he sent
the head clerk in his place."
"It is, perhaps, for a will."
"No, because she is better."
"Hasn't he work enough now, the head clerk, since he has taken Germain's
place also?"
"Speaking of Germain, here is another strange thing.'"
"What is it?"
"In order to have him set at liberty, the governor has declared it was he
himself who made an error in his accounts, and that he had found the money
which he accused Germain of stealing."
"I do not find this strange, but just; you recollect I always said that
Germain was incapable of theft."
"It must, nevertheless, have been very disagreeable for him to be arrested
and confined as a thief."
"If I were in his place I would sue Jacques Ferrand for damages."
"The least he could do would be to reinstate him as cashier, in order to
prove that Germain was not culpable."
"Yes, but perhaps Germain would not be willing."
"Is he still at the farm, where he went on coming out of prison, and from
which he wrote us to announce M. Ferrand's discontinuance of the suit?"
"Probably, for yesterday I went to the place where he directed us to go;
they told me that he was still in the country, and that I could write to
him at Bouqueval, near Ecouen, at Madame George's."
"Oh! a carriage!" said Chalamel, leaning over toward the window.
"Nothing but a hackney-coach."
"And who gets out?"
"Stop a moment! Oh! a black-gown!"
"A woman! a woman! Oh! let us see."
"This gutter-jumper is indecently sensitive at his age; he only thinks of
women. We shall have to chain him up, or he will carry off the Sabines from
the streets; for, as said the Swan of Cambray in his Treatise on Education
for the Dauphin,
"'Of Gutter-jumper have a care,
Who assaults the lovely fair.'"
"I demand the head of Chalamel!"
"M. Chalamel, you said a black robe, I thought."
"It is the curé, goose! Let him be an example for you."
"The curé of the parish? The good pastor?"
"Himself."
"He is a worthy man!"
"He is no Jesuit, not he."
"I think not; and if all the priests were like him everybody would be
devout."
"Silence! some one opens the door."
And all the clerks, bending over their desks, began to scratch away with
apparent industry, making their pens pass rapidly over the paper. The pale
face of this priest was at once mild and grave, intelligent and venerable,
its expression full of benevolence and serenity. A small black cap
concealed his tonsure, and his long gray hair floated on the collar of his
maroon-colored coat. Let us add that, from his simple credulity, this
excellent priest had always been, and was still, the dupe of Jacques
Ferrand's deep and cunning hypocrisy.
"Your worthy master is in his cabinet, my son?" asked the curé.
"Yes, M. l'Abbé," said Chalamel, rising respectfully. And he opened for the
priest the door leading into a room adjoining the office.
Hearing some one speaking with vehemence in the cabinet of the notary, the
abbé, not wishing to hear, walked rapidly toward the door, and knocked.
"Come in," said a voice with an Italian accent, and the priest found
himself face to face with Jacques Ferrand and Polidori.
[Illustration: THE STORY IS TOLD]
It would seem that the clerks were not wrong when they prophesied the death
of their employer at no distant day. Since the flight of Cecily, the notary
was hardly to be recognized. Although his visage was of a frightful
thinness, and of a cadaverous hue, a hectic flush colored his hollow
cheeks; a nervous shivering, except when interrupted by convulsive spasms,
agitated his frame continually; his bony hands were dry and burning; his
large green spectacles concealed his bloodshot eyes, which sparkled with
the fire of a consuming fever; in a word, this sinister face betrayed the
ravages of a rapid consumption. The physiognomy of Polidori formed a
contrast with that of the notary; nothing could be more bitterly, more
coldly ironical than the expression of this scoundrel; a forest of fiery
red hair, interspersed with some silvered locks, crowned his high and
wrinkled forehead; his penetrating eyes, green as the ocean wave, were
close to his hooked nose; his mouth, with its thin lips, expressed
wickedness and sarcasm. Polidori, completely dressed in black, was seated
beside the desk of Jacques Ferrand. At the sight of the priest they both
arose.
"Well! how do you get on, my worthy M. Ferrand?" said the abbé, with
solicitude; "are you a little better?"
"I am always in the same state, M. l'Abbé; the fever does not leave me,"
answered the notary; "the want of sleep is killing me. But the will of
heaven be done!"
"See, M. l'Abbé," added Polidori, with emphasis, "what pious resignation!
My poor friend is always the same; he only finds a solace for his
sufferings in doing good."
"I do not deserve these praises, have the goodness to dispense with them,"
said the notary, dryly, with difficulty concealing his anger. "To the Lord
alone belongs the appreciation of good and evil; I am only a miserable
sinner."
"We are all sinners," answered the abbé gently; "but we have not all the
charity which distinguishes you, my respected friend. There are very few
who, like you, dispossess themselves of so much of their earthly wealth to
employ it during their lifetime in a manner so Christian-like. Do you still
persist in selling your business, in order to devote yourself more entirely
to the practice of religion?"
"Since yesterday, my business is sold, M. l'Abbé; some concessions have
enabled me to realize (a rare thing) the cash down: this sum, added to
others, will enable me to found the institution of which I have spoken, and
of which I have definitively arranged the plan that I am about to submit to
you."
"Ah! my worthy friend," said the abbé, with deep and reverential
admiration, "to do so much good--so unostentatiously--and, I may say, so
naturally! I repeat to you, people like you are rare; they will receive
their reward."
"It is true that very few persons unite, like Jacques Ferrand, riches to
piety, intelligence to charity," said Polidori, with an ironical smile
which escaped the notice of the good abbé.
At this new and sarcastic eulogium the hand of the notary was clinched; he
cast from under his spectacles a look of deadly hatred on Polidori.
"You see, M. l'Abbé," the bosom friend of Jacques Ferrand hastened to say,
"he has continually these nervous spasms, and he will do nothing for them.
He worries me, he is his own executioner, my poor friend!"
At these words of Polidori, the notary shuddered still more convulsively,
but he composed himself again. A man less simple than the abbé would have
remarked, during this conversation, and, above all, during what is about to
follow, the notary's constrained manner of speaking; for it is hardly
necessary to say that a will superior to his own, the will of Rudolph, in a
word, imposed on this man words and acts diametrically opposed to his true
character. Thus sometimes, pushed to extremities, the notary appeared
reluctant to obey this all powerful and invisible authority; but a look
from Polidori put an end to his indecision. Then, constraining with a sigh
of rage his most violent feelings, Jacques Ferrand submitted to the yoke
which he could not break.
"Alas! M. l'Abbé," said Polidori, who seemed to take delight in torturing
his victim, as is said vulgarly, by pricks of a pin, "my poor friend
neglects his health too much. Tell him to be more careful of himself, if
not for his own sake, for his friends', or, at least, for the unfortunates
of whom he is the hope and support."
"Enough! enough!" murmured the notary.
"No, it is not enough," said the priest, with emotion; "we cannot repeat to
you too often that you do not belong to yourself, and that it is wrong thus
to neglect your health. In ten years that I have known you, I have never
seen you ill; but for a month past you are no longer recognizable. I am so
much the more struck with this alteration of your features, as I was for
some time without seeing you. Thus, at our first interview, I could not
conceal my surprise; but the change I have remarked in you for the last few
days is much more serious: you sink every hour, you give us much
uneasiness. I implore you, my worthy friend, take care of your health."
"I am very sensible of your solicitude, M. l'Abbé; but I assure you that my
condition is not so alarming as you think."
"Since you are so obstinate," said Polidori, "I will tell everything to the
abbé; he loves you--he esteems you--he honors you much; how much the more
will he honor you when he shall know your new merits--when he shall know
the true cause of your wasting away?"
"What is this?" asked the abbé.
"M. l'Abbé," said the notary, with impatience, "I begged you to come here
to communicate to you projects of high importance, and not to hear me
ridiculously praised by _my friend_."
"You know, Jacques, that from me you must be resigned to here everything,"
said Polidori, looking fixedly at the notary, who cast down his eyes, and
remained silent. Polidori continued: "You perhaps remarked, M. l'Abbé, that
the first symptoms of his nervous complaint appeared a short time after the
abominable scandal which Louise Morel caused in this house."
The notary shuddered.
"You know of the crime of this unhappy girl, sir?" demanded the astonished
priest; "I thought you had arrived but a few days since at Paris?"
"Without doubt, M. l'Abbé; but Jacques has related everything to me, as his
friend--as his physician; for he attributes these nervous attacks almost
entirely to the indignation which the crime of Louise Morel caused him.
This is nothing, as yet; my poor friend, alas! had new trials to endure,
which, you see, have ruined his health. An old servant, who for many years
was attached to him by the ties of gratitude--"
"Madame Séraphin?" said the curé, interrupting Polidori. "I have heard of
the death of this unfortunate, drowned by her own imprudence, and I
comprehend the grief of M. Ferrand. It is not easy to forget ten years of
faithful services; such regrets do credit to the master as well as to the
servant."
"M. l'Abbé," said the notary, "I entreat you, do not speak of my
virtues--you confuse me--it is painful."
"And who will speak of them, then--will it be yourself?" answered Polidori
affectionately; "but you will be obliged to praise him still more, M.
l'Abbé: you perhaps do not know who is the servant that took the place of
Louise Morel and Madame Séraphin. You do not know what he has done for this
poor Cecily, M. l'Abbé, for so she is named."
The notary started from his seat, his eyes sparkling under his spectacles,
a burning red diffused over his livid face.
"Hush! be silent!" he cried; "not a word more. I forbid it!"
"Come, come, calm yourself," said the abbé, smiling benevolently; "another
good action to reveal? As for myself, I strongly approve of the generous
indiscretion of your friend. I did not know this servant, for it was just
after her arrival that my worthy friend, overwhelmed with business, was
obliged momentarily, to my great regret, to interrupt our relations."
"It was to conceal from you this new good action he meditated, M. l'Abbé;
thus, although his modesty revolts at the mention of it, he must hear me,
and you shall know all," said Polidori, smiling.
Jacques Ferrand was silent; he leaned on his desk, and concealed his face
in his hands.