THE REGISTER OF ST. GERMAIN-DES-PRÉS
A hazy hope concerning his descent had haunted Lecour for some months
past. That the Chevalier de Lincy was really in some manner his relative
became his belief. He argued that his own fitness for aristocratic
society must have a hereditary explanation and that, were he able to
trace his lineage a short distance backward he would discover some
higher status fallen from by his family through misfortune. On the day
of de Grancey's departure, he began to place together the straws of
information which might guide him. He had once heard his father speak of
having left France at the age of twelve years. Was he a kidnapped and
deported heir? Was he a cadet of some reduced family?
Again, on one of the rare occasions when Lecour senior referred to the
past--a winter's evening chat by the fire-side with the curé of the
parish--he had described his boyish recollection of the interior of the
Paris church of St. Germain-des-Prés, then the family church of his
family. Was his own name taken from its patron saint? Would its
registers contain records of the Lecours?
He knew at least his father's age--born in 1736, it would make him--yes,
and also his birth month, June. Here were straws to start by.
He lost no time in crossing the Seine and seeking the church. As he
passed the middle of the Pont Neuf--near the equestrian statue of Henry
IV., a small man, meanly dressed, glided out of the shadow of a vehicle,
and moved stealthily after him, his motions wary as a cat's. This man
was Jude.
Germain arrived at the edifice, which adjoined the great abbey of the
same name, and scanned its ancient spire and dilapidated façade for some
moments before he entered, full of thought--"for here," said he "is the
temple of my forefathers--the visible link that binds my origin to
France." He passed in, regarding every pillar and ornament of its
quaint, dark, Norman interior with the same fascination, and traversing
its length, came to the sacristy behind the high altar. A young priest
was standing there overlooking the operations of some workmen, and
muttering his breviary.
"Messire, I am seeking information for which I wish to examine your
parish registers," said Germain.
"It is an honour, sir," replied the priest. "What is the year?"
"1736."
"The books are here, sir," opening a cupboard in which various large
volumes leaned against each other on the shelves. "This is 1736. May I
assist you in finding the entry?"
"I am not sure what I need."
"I fear Monsieur will not find some of the entries easy reading."
"Time is not important to me, father," answered Germain cheerfully. "May
I take the register to this table near the light?"
"With pleasure; but should the handwriting be difficult, speak to me. I
am the archivist of the abbey." And thus saying he turned back to his
workmen.
Lecour examined the volume with beating heart. He nervously fingered the
leaves at first without receiving any distinct impression of the
contents, his brain was so full of other thoughts. At last he noticed
that the entries were regular and consecutive, and though written in
different hands, were clear to follow. He reached the month of June,
read its entries slowly, one after another--a birth, a marriage, a
death, then another death, then a birth again, and so on, with the names
of the parties and their parents, some high, some low, until he came to
nearly the end, when suddenly one seemed to stare at him out of the
page.
"The 27th,--Took place the baptism of François Xavier, tenth son of
_Pierre Lecour, master-butcher, of this Parish_, and of his wife, Marie
LeCoq. He had for godfather, Jean LeCoq, tinker, and for godmother,
Thérèse, wife of Louis Bossu, Charcoal vendor."
From the moment he read the word "master-butcher," his head swam, his
heart sank, he felt a blow as if it were the stunning thud of a heavy
weight upon it, and an unconscious groan escaped him.
"Monsieur is sick," exclaimed the priest to his men. "Bring wine."
"No, father," returned Germain, slowly rising, and steadying himself,
"it is nothing," and he walked forward and left the sacristy.
The room had two doors leading inward to the high altar, one on each
side. Just as Lecour passed out by the left one, Jude glided in by that
on the right, and crossing boldly to the open book, pounced upon the
entry of baptism.