"Very good; sit down yonder and await your turn."
Jacques sat down as the man in black bade him do, and waited.
Five or six persons of varying age, sex, and feature were waiting like
himself, and as they had arrived before him their turns naturally came
before his. Some of them went out alone,--they were the ones, doubtless,
against whom no sufficient evidence was adduced,--while others went out
accompanied by an exempt, or by two of the provost's guards. Jacques
Aubry envied the fortune of these latter, for they were being taken to
the Châtelet, to which he was so anxious to be admitted.
At last the name of Jacques Aubry, student, was called. Jacques Aubry
instantly rose and rushed into the magistrate's office as joyously as if
he were on his way to the most agreeable of entertainments.
There were two men in the lieutenant criminal's sanctum; one taller,
thinner, and more forbidding than he in the antechamber, which Jacques
Aubry would have deemed impossible five minutes earlier: this was the
clerk. The other was short, fat, coarse, with a cheerful eye, a smiling
mouth, and a jovial expression generally: this was the magistrate.
Aubry's smile and his met, and the student was quite ready to grasp his
hand, so strongly conscious was he of the existence of a bond of
sympathy between them.
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the lieutenant criminal, as he caught the
student's eye.
"Faith, that is true, messire," the student rejoined.
"You seem a jolly dog," said the magistrate. "Come, master knave, take a
chair and sit you down."
Jacques Aubry took a chair, sat down, threw one leg over the other and
swung it in high glee.
"Ah!" exclaimed the lieutenant, rubbing his hands. "Master Clerk, let us
look over the complainant's deposition."
The clerk rose, and, by virtue of his great height, readied over to the
other side of the table, and selected the documents concerning Jacques
Aubry from a pile of papers.
"Here it is," he said.
"Who lodges the complaint?" inquired the magistrate.
"Gervaise-Perrette Popinot," said the clerk.
"That's it," said the student, nodding his head violently; "that's the
one."
"A minor," said the clerk; "nineteen years of age."
"Oho! a minor!" exclaimed Aubry.
"So it appears from her declaration."
"Poor Gervaise!" muttered Aubry. "She was quite right when she said that
she was so confused she didn't know what answers she made; she has
confessed to twenty-two. However, nineteen it is."
"And so," said the lieutenant criminal, "and so, my buck, you are
charged with seducing a minor child. Ha! ha! ha!"
"Ha! ha! ha!" echoed Aubry, joining in the judge's hilarity.
"With aggravating circumstances," continued the clerk, mingling his
yelping tones with the jovial voices of the magistrate and the student.
"With aggravating circumstances," repeated the former.
"The devil!" exclaimed Jacques. "I should like very much to know what
they were."
"As the complainant remained deaf to all the entreaties and wiles of the
accused for six months--"
"For six months?" Jacques interposed. "Pardon, monsieur, I think there's
a mistake there."
"For six months, monsieur, so it is written," replied the man in black,
in a tone which admitted no rejoinder.
"So be it! six months it is," said Jacques; "but in truth Gervaise was
quite right when she said--"
"The said Jacques Aubry, angered by her coldness, threatened her--"
"Oh! oh!" exclaimed Jacques.
"Oh! oh!" echoed the judge.
"But," the clerk read on, "the said Gervaise-Perrette Popinot held out
so stubbornly and courageously that the insolent fellow begged her
forgiveness in view of his sincere repentance."
"Ah! ah!" muttered Aubry.
"Ah! ah!" exclaimed the magistrate.
"Poor Gervaise!" Aubry continued, speaking to himself, with a shrug;
"what was the matter with her head?"
"But," continued the clerk, "his repentance was only feigned;
unfortunately, the complainant, in her innocence and purity, allowed
herself to be deceived by it, and one evening, when she was imprudent
enough to accept refreshments of which the accused invited her to
partake, the said Jacques Aubry mixed with her water--"
"With her water?" the student interrupted.
"The complainant declared that she never drinks wine," said the
clerk.--"The said Jacques Aubry mixed an intoxicating decoction with her
water."
"Look you, Master Clerk," cried Aubry; "what the deuce are you reading
from?"
"The complainant's deposition."
"Impossible!"
"Is it so written?" inquired the magistrate.
"It is written."
"Go on."
"After all," said Aubry aside, "the more guilty I am, the surer I shall
be of being sent to join Ascanio at the Châtelet. Intoxicating
decoction it is. Go on, Master Clerk."
"You confess, do you?" queried the judge.
"I confess," said the student.
"Ah, gallows-bird!" exclaimed the judge, roaring with laughter, and
rubbing his hands.
"So that," continued the clerk, "poor Gervaise, bereft of her reason,
ended by confessing to her seducer that she loved him."
"Aha!" said Jacques.
"Lucky knave!" murmured the lieutenant criminal, whose little eyes
shone.
"Why!" cried Aubry; "why, there isn't a word of truth in the whole of
it!"
"You deny the charge?"
"Absolutely."
"Write," said the magistrate, "that the accused declares that he is not
guilty of any of the charges brought against him."
"Wait a moment! wait a moment!" cried the student, who reflected that if
he denied his guilt, they would not send him to prison.
"So you don't deny it altogether?" queried the judge.
"I confess that there is some little truth, not in the form, but in the
substance."
"Oh! as you have confessed to the decoction," said the judge, "you may
as well admit the results."
"True," said Jacques, "as I've confessed to the decoction, I admit the
rest, Master Clerk. But, upon my word," he added in an undertone,
"Gervaise was quite right in saying--"
"But that's not all," the clerk interrupted him.
"What! that's not all!"
"The crime of which the accused was guilty had terrible results. The
unhappy Gervaise discovered that she was about to become a mother."
"Ah! that is too much!" cried Jacques.
"Do you deny the paternity?" asked the judge.
"Not only do I deny the paternity, but I deny the condition."
"Write," said the judge, "that the accused denies the paternity, and
also denies the condition; an inquiry will be ordered on that point."
"One moment, one moment!" cried Aubry, realizing that if Gervaise were
convicted of falsehood on a single point the whole structure would fall
to the ground: "did Gervaise really say what the clerk has read?"
"She said it word for word," replied the clerk.
"Then if she said it," continued Aubry, "if she said it--why--"
"Well?" queried the lieutenant criminal.
"Why, it must be so."
"Write that the accused pleads guilty to all the charges."
The clerk wrote as directed.
"Pardieu!" said the student to himself, "if Ascanio deserves a week in
the Châtelet for simply paying court to Colombe, I, who have deceived
Gervaise, drugged her, and seduced her, can count upon three months'
incarceration at the very least. But, faith, I would like to be sure of
my facts. However, I must congratulate Gervaise. Peste! she kept to her
word, and Jeanne d'Arc was nowhere beside her."
"So you confess to all the crimes you're accused of?" said the judge.
"I do, messire," replied Jacques unhesitatingly; "I do: all of them and
more too, if you choose. I am a great sinner, Monsieur le Lieutenant
Criminel, don't spare me."
"Impudent varlet!" muttered the magistrate, in the tone in which the
uncle of comedy speaks to his nephew, "impudent varlet, out upon you!"
With that he let his great round head, with his bloated, purple face,
fall upon his breast, and reflected magisterially.
"Whereas," he began, after meditating a few moments, raising his head,
and lifting the index finger of his right hand,--"write, Master
Clerk,--whereas Jacques Aubry, clerk of the Basoche, has pleaded guilty
to the charge of seducing one Gervaise-Perrette Popinot by fine promises
and simulated affection, we sentence said Jacques Aubry to pay a fine of
twenty Paris sous, to support the child, if it is a boy, and to pay the
costs."
"And the imprisonment?" cried Aubry.
"Imprisonment! what do you mean?" asked the judge.
"Why, I mean the imprisonment. For Heaven's sake, aren't you going to
sentence me to prison?"
"No."
"You're not going to order me committed to the Châtelet as Ascanio
was?"
"Who's Ascanio?"
"Ascanio is a pupil of Master Benvenuto Cellini."
"What did he do?"
"He seduced a maid."
"Who was she?"
"Mademoiselle Colombe d'Estourville, daughter of the Provost of Paris."
"What then?"
"What then! why I say that it's unjust, when we both committed the same
crime, to make a distinction in the punishment. What! you send him to
prison and fine me twenty Paris sous! In God's name, is there no justice
in this world?"
"On the contrary," rejoined the magistrate, "it is because there is
justice in this world, and enlightened justice too, that this is as it
is."
"How so?"
"There are honors and honors, my young rascal; the honor of a noble
maiden is valued at imprisonment; the honor of a grisette is worth
twenty Paris sous. If you want to go to the Châtelet, you must try your
arts on a duchess, and then the affair will take care of itself."
"But this is frightful! immoral! outrageous!" cried the student.
"My dear friend," said the judge, "pay your fine and begone!"
"I won't pay my fine, and I won't go."
"Then I shall call a couple of archers and commit you to prison until
you do pay it."
"That's all I ask."
The judge summoned two guards:--
"Take this scoundrel to the Grands-Carmes!"
"The Grands-Carmes!" cried Jacques; "why not the Châtelet, pray?"
"Because the Châtelet is not a debtor's prison, my friend; because the
Châtelet is a royal fortress, and one must have committed some heinous
crime to be sent there. The Châtelet! Ah! yes, my little fellow, you'll
get to the Châtelet soon enough, just wait!"
"One moment," said Aubry, "one moment."
"What is it?"
"If I am not to be sent to the Châtelet, I will pay."
"Very well; if you pay, there's nothing more to be said. You may go, you
fellows, the young man will pay."
The archers went out and Jacques Aubry took from his wallet twenty Paris
sous, which he spread out in a line on the judge's desk.
"See if that is right," said the lieutenant criminal.
The clerk rose, and to execute the order bent his back like a how,
embracing in the half-circle described by his body, which seemed to
possess the power of lengthening itself out indefinitely, his table and
the papers which lay upon it. As he stood with his feet on the floor and
his hands on the judge's desk, he reminded one of a sombre-hued rainbow.
"It is right," he said.
"Then off with you, my young rascal," said the magistrate, "and give
place to others; the court has no more time to waste on you. Go."
Jacques saw that he had nothing to gain by remaining there, and withdrew
in despair.
XIII
IN WHICH JACQUES AUBRY RISES TO EPIC
PROPORTIONS
"Well, upon my word," said the student to himself as he left the Palais
de Justice, and mechanically crossed the Pont aux Moulins, which brought
him out almost opposite the Châtelet; "upon my word, I am curious to
know what Gervaise will say when she learns that her honor is valued at
twenty Paris sous! She will say that I have been indiscreet, and told
things I shouldn't have told, and she'll tear my eyes out. But what do
I see yonder?"
What the student saw was a page belonging to the amiable nobleman to
whom he was accustomed to confide his secrets, and whom he looked upon
as one of his dearest friends. The boy was leaning up against the
parapet of the bridge and amusing himself by performing sleight-of-hand
tricks with pebbles.
"Pardieu!" said the student, "this happens very fortunately. My friend,
whose name I don't know, and who seems to stand extremely well at court,
may have influence enough to have me committed to prison: Providence
sends his page to me to tell me where I can find him, as I know neither
his name nor his address."
In order to avail himself of what he considered a direct interposition
of Providence in his behalf, Jacques Aubry advanced toward the young
page, who likewise recognized him, and, letting his three pebbles fall
into the same hand, crossed his legs and awaited the student with that
knowing look which is especially characteristic of the profession to
which he had the honor to belong.
"_Bon jour_, Monsieur le Page," cried Aubry from the most distant point
at which he thought the boy could hear his voice.
"_Bon jour_, Seigneur Student," was the reply; "what are you doing in
this quarter?"
"Faith! if I must tell you, I was looking for something which I think I
have found, now that I see you; I was seeking the address of my
excellent friend, the comte--the baron--the vicomte--your master's
address."
"Do you wish to see him?" asked the page.
"Instantly, if possible."
"In that case you will have your wish in a moment, for he is calling on
the provost."
"At the Châtelet."
"Yes, he will come out directly."
"He's very lucky to be admitted to the Châtelet when he wishes; but is
my friend the vicomte--the comte--the baron--"
"Vicomte."
"On intimate terms with Messire Robert d'Estourville? The Vicomte de--
Tell me," continued Aubry, anxious to avail himself of the opportunity
to learn his friend's name at last; "the Vicomte de--"
"The Vicomte de Mar--"
"Ah!" cried the student, interrupting the page in the middle of the
word, as he saw the man he sought appear at the door. "Ah! my dear
viscount, there you are. I was looking for you and waiting for you."
"_Bon jour_," said Marmagne, evidently but little pleased at the
meeting. "_Bon jour_, my dear fellow. I would be glad to talk with you,
but unfortunately I am very hurried. So adieu."
"One moment, one moment," cried Jacques, clinging to his friend's arm;
"deuce take me! you won't leave me like this. In the first place I have
a very great favor to ask of you."
"You?"
"Yes, I; and God's law, you know, bids friends to succor one another."
"Friends?"
"To be sure; aren't you my friend? What constitutes friendship?
Confidence. Now I am full of confidence in you. I tell you all my own
business, and other people's too."
"Have you ever had occasion to repent of your confidence."
"Never, so far as you are concerned at least; but it's not so with
everybody. There is one man in Paris that I am looking for, and with
God's help I shall meet him some day."
"My dear fellow," interrupted Marmagne, who had a shrewd suspicion who
the man was, "I told you that I was much hurried."
"But wait a moment, pray, when I tell you that you can do me a great
service."
"Well, speak quickly."
"You stand well at court, do you not?"
"My friends say so."
"You have some influence then?"
"My enemies may discover it to their cost."
"Very good! Now my dear comte--my dear baron--my dear--"
"Vicomte."
"Help me to get into the Châtelet."
"In what capacity?"
"As a prisoner."
"As a prisoner? That's a singular ambition, on my word."
"As you please, but it's my ambition."
"For what purpose do you wish to be committed to the Châtelet?" queried
Marmagne, who suspected that this strange desire on the part of the
student indicated some new secret which it might be to his advantage to
know.
"To any other than you I wouldn't tell it, my good friend," replied
Jacques; "or I have learned to my cost, or rather to poor Ascanio's,
that I must learn to hold my tongue. But with you it's a different
matter. You know that I have no secrets from you."
"In that case tell me quickly."
"Will you have me committed to the Châtelet if I tell you?"
"Instantly."
"Well, my friend, imagine that I was idiot enough to confide to others
than yourself the fact that I had seen a lovely girl in the head of the
statue of Mars."
"What then?"
"The crack-brained fools! would you believe that they spread the story
so that it came to the provost's ears; and as the provost had lost his
daughter some days before, he suspected that it was she who had selected
that hiding place. He notified D'Orbec and the Duchesse d'Etampes: they
came to the Hôtel de Nesle to make a domiciliary visit while Benvenuto
Cellini was at Fontainebleau. They carried off Colombe and imprisoned
Ascanio."
"Nonsense!"
"It's as I tell you, my dear viscount. And who managed it all? A certain
Vicomte de Marmagne."
"But," interposed the viscount, not at all pleased to hear his name upon
the student's lips, "you don't tell me why you want to be committed to
the Châtelet."
"You don't understand?"
"No."
"They arrested Ascanio."
"Yes."
"And took him to the Châtelet."
"Very good."
"But what they don't know, and what nobody knows save the Duchesse
d'Etampes, Benvenuto, and myself, is that Ascanio possesses a certain
letter, a certain secret, which places the duchess in his power. Now do
you understand?"
"Yes I begin to see light. But do you help me, my dear friend."
"You see, viscount," continued Aubry, assuming a more and more
aristocratic air, "I want to be admitted to the Châtelet, get to
Ascanio's cell, take the letter or learn the secret, leave the prison
again, go to Benvenuto and arrange with him some method whereby
Colombe's virtue and Ascanio's love may triumph, to the confusion of the
Marmagnes and D'Orbecs, the provost, the Duchesse d'Etampes, and the
whole clique."
"That's a very ingenious plan," said Marmagne.
"Thanks for your confidence, my dear student. You shall have no reason
to regret it."
"Do you promise me your assistance?"
"To what end?"
"Why, to help me get committed to the Châtelet, as I asked you."
"Rely upon me."
"Immediately?"
"Wait here for me."
"Where I am?"
"In this same spot."
"And you?"
"I am going to get the order for your arrest."
"Ah, my friend, my dear baron, my dear count! But you must tell me your
name and address in case I may need you."
"Useless. I will return at once."
"Yes, return as soon as possible; and if you chance to meet that
accursed Marmagne on the road, tell him--"
"What?"
"Tell him that I have sworn an oath that he shall die by no hand but
mine."
"Adieu!" cried the viscount; "adieu, and wait here for me."
"_Au revoir!_" said Aubry. "I will expect you soon. Ah! you are a friend
indeed, a man one can trust, and I would be glad to know--"
"Adieu, Seigneur Student," said the page, who had stood aloof during
this conversation, and was now about to follow his master.
"Adieu, my pretty page," said Aubry; "but before you leave me do me a
favor."
"What is it?"
"Who is this gallant nobleman to whom you have the honor to belong?"
"He whom you've been talking with for the last fifteen minutes?"
"The same."
"And whom you call friend?"
"Yes."
"You don't know his name?"
"No."
"Why, he is--"
"A very well known nobleman, is he not?"
"To be sure."
"And influential?"
"Next to the king and the Duchesse d'Etampes, he's the man."
"Ah! and his name you say is--"
"He is the Vicomte de--But he is turning back and calling me.
Pardon--"
"The Vicomte de--"
"The Vicomte de Marmagne."
"Marmagne!" cried Aubry, "Vicomte de Marmagne! That young gentleman is
the Vicomte de Marmagne!"
"Himself."
"Marmagne! the friend of the provost and D'Orbec and Madame d'Etampes?"
"In person."
"And the enemy of Benvenuto Cellini?"
"Just so."
"Ah!" exclaimed Aubry, to whom the whole past was revealed as by a flash
of lightning. "Ah! I understand now. O Marmagne, Marmagne!"
As the student was unarmed, with a movement as swift as thought, he
seized the page's short sword by the hilt, drew it from its sheath, and
darted in pursuit of Marmagne, shouting, "Halt!"
At his first shout, Marmagne, decidedly ill at ease, looked around, and,
seeing Aubry rushing after him sword in hand, suspected that he was
discovered. To stand his ground or fly was therefore the only
alternative. Marmagne was not quite courageous enough to stand his
ground, nor was he quite enough of a coward to fly; he therefore adopted
the intermediate course of darting into a house, the door of which stood
open, hoping to close the door behind him. But unluckily for him it was
held fast to the wall by a chain which he could not detach, so that
Aubry, who was some little distance behind him, was in the little
courtyard before he had time to reach the staircase.
"Ah! Marmagne! you damned viscount! you infernal spy! you filcher of
secrets! it's you, is it? At last I know you, and have my hand on you!
On guard, villain! on guard!"
"Monsieur," replied Marmagne, trying to assume a lordly bearing, "do you
imagine that the Vicomte de Marmagne will honor the student Jacques
Aubry by crossing swords with him?"
"If the Vicomte de Marmagne will not honor Jacques Aubry by crossing
swords with him, Jacques Aubry will have the honor of passing his sword
through the Vicomte de Marmagne's body."
To leave no doubt in the mind of him to whom this threat was addressed,
Jacques Aubry placed the point of his sword against the viscount's
breast, and let him feel the touch of the cold steel through his
doublet.
"Murder!" cried Marmagne. "Help! help!"
"Oh, shout as much as you choose," retorted Jacques; "you will have done
shouting before any one comes. And so the best thing you can do,
viscount, is to defend yourself. On guard, viscount! on guard!"
"If you will have it so," cried the viscount, "wait a bit, and you will
see!"
Marmagne, as the reader will have discovered ere this, was not naturally
brave; but like all noblemen of that chivalrous epoch he had received a
military education; furthermore, he was reputed to have some skill in
fencing. It is true that this reputation was said to result rather in
enabling him to avoid unpleasant encounters which he might have had,
than in bringing to a fortunate conclusion those which he did have. It
is none the less true that, being closely pressed by Jacques, he drew
his sword and stood on guard in the most approved style of the art.
But if Marmagne's skill was recognized among the noblemen at court,
Jacques Aubry's address was accepted as an incontestable fact among the
students at the University and the clerks of the Basoche. The result
was, that the moment their swords crossed each of the combatants saw
that he had to do with no despicable opponent. But Marmagne had one
great advantage; the page's sword, which Aubry had taken, was six inches
shorter than the viscount's; this was no great disadvantage in defensive
work, but became a serious matter when he wished to assume the
offensive. Furthermore, Marmagne was six inches taller than the student,
and being armed with a sword as much longer he had simply to present the
point at his face to keep him at a distance, while Jacques cut and
thrust and feinted to no purpose. Marmagne, without retreating a step,
got out of reach simply by drawing his right leg back beside the left.
The consequence was that, despite Aubry's agility, the viscount's long
sword grazed his chest several times, while he could succeed in cutting
nothing more substantial than the air, try as hard as he would.
Aubry realized that he was lost if he continued to play the same game,
but in order to give his opponent no idea of the plan he proposed to
adopt, he continued to thrust and parry in the ordinary way, gaining
ground imperceptibly inch by inch; when he thought he was sufficiently
near he allowed himself to be caught off guard as if through
awkwardness. Marmagne, seeing an opening, made a lunge, but Aubry was
ready for him; he parried the blow, and, taking advantage of the
position of his opponent's sword, two inches above his head, darted
under it, leaped upon him, and thrust as he leaped, so cleverly and so
vigorously that the page's short sword disappeared up to the hilt in the
viscount's breast.
Marmagne uttered one of those shrill cries, which indicate a severe
wound; his hand fell to his side, the blood left his cheeks, and he fell
headlong to the ground.
At that moment the patrol came running up, attracted by Marmagne's
shrieks, the gestures of the page, and the sight of the crowd in front
of the door. As Aubry still held his bloody sword in his hand, they
arrested him.