TREATING OF DARK DEPTHS.
M. Leblanc was scarce seated ere he turned his eyes to the beds, which
were empty.
"How is the poor little wounded girl?" he asked.
"Very bad," Jondrette replied with a heart-broken and grateful smile.
"Very bad, my good sir. Her elder sister has taken her to La Bourbe
to have her hand dressed. But you will see them, as they will return
almost immediately."
"Madame Fabantou seems to me better?" M. Leblanc continued, taking a
glance at the strange garb of Mother Jondrette, who, standing between
him and the door, as if already guarding the outlet, was looking at him
in a menacing and almost combative posture.
"She is dying," Jondrette said. "But what would you have, sir? That
woman has so much courage. She is not a woman, but an ox."
Mother Jondrette, affected by the compliment, protested with the
affectation of a flattered monster,--
"You are always too kind to me, Monsieur Jondrette."
"Jondrette?" said M. Leblanc; "why, I thought your name was Fabantou."
"Fabantou _alias_ Jondrette," the husband quickly replied,--"a
professional name."
And throwing at his wife a shrug of the shoulders which M. Leblanc did
not see, he continued with an emphatic and caressing inflection of
voice,--
"Ah! that poor dear and I have ever lived happily together, for what
would be left us if we had not that, we are so wretched, respectable
sir? I have arms, but no labor; a heart, but no work. I do not know
how the Government manage it, but, on my word of honor, sir, I am no
Jacobin, I wish them no harm; but if I were the ministers, on my most
sacred word, things would go differently. For instance, I wished my
daughters to learn the trade of making paper boxes. You will say to me,
'What! a trade?' Yes, a trade, a simple trade, a bread-winner. What
a fall, my benefactor! What degradation, after persons have been in
such circumstances as we were! But, alas! nothing is left us from our
prosperous days. Nothing but one article,--a picture, to which I cling,
but which I am ready to part with, as we must live."
While Jondrette was saying this with a sort of apparent disorder,
which did not in any way alter the thoughtful and sagacious expression
of his face, Marius raised his eyes and saw some one at the back of
the room whom he had not seen before. A man had just entered, but so
softly that the hinges had not been heard to creak. This man had on
a violet knitted jacket, old, worn, stained, and full of holes, wide
cotton-velvet trousers, thick socks on his feet, and no shirt; his neck
was bare, his arms were naked and tattooed, and his face was daubed
with black. He seated himself silently, and with folded arms, on the
nearest bed, and as he was behind Mother Jondrette, he could be but
dimly distinguished. That sort of magnetic instinct which warns the eye
caused M. Leblanc to turn almost at the same moment as Marius. He could
not suppress a start of surprise, which Jondrette noticed.
"Ah, I see," Jondrette exclaimed, as he buttoned his coat complacently,
"you are looking at your surtout? It fits me, really fits me capitally."
"Who is that man?" M. Leblanc asked.
"That?" said Jondrette; "oh, a neighbor; pay no attention to him."
The neighbor looked singular, but chemical factories abound in the
Faubourg St. Marceau, and a workman may easily have a black face. M.
Leblanc's whole person displayed a confident and intrepid candor as he
continued,--
"I beg your pardon, but what were you saying, M. Fabantou?"
"I was saying, Monsieur, and dear protector," Jondrette replied, as he
placed his elbows on the table and gazed at M. Leblanc with fixed and
tender eyes, very like those of a boa-constrictor,--"I was saying that
I had a picture to sell."
There was a slight noise at the door; a second man came in and seated
himself on the bed behind Mother Jondrette. Like the first, he had
bare arms and a mask, either of ink or soot. Though this man literally
glided into the room, he could not prevent M. Leblanc noticing him.
"Take no heed," said Jondrette; "they are men living in the house. I
was saying that I had a valuable picture left; look here, sir."
He rose, walked to the wall, against which the panel to which we
have already referred was leaning, and turned it round, while still
letting it rest on the wall. It was something, in fact, that resembled
a picture, and which the candle almost illumined. Marius could
distinguish nothing, as Jondrette was standing between him and the
picture; but he fancied he could catch a glimpse of a coarse daub, and
a sort of principal character standing out of the canvas with the bold
crudity of a showman's pictures and screen paintings.
"What is that?" M. Leblanc asked.
Jondrette exclaimed,--
"A masterpiece, a most valuable picture, my benefactor! I am as much
attached to it as I am to my daughters, for it recalls dear memories.
But, as I told you,--and I will not go back from my word,--I am
willing to dispose of it, as we are in such poverty."
Either by accident, or some vague feeling of anxiety, M. Leblanc's
eye, while examining the picture, returned to the end of the room.
There were now four men there, three seated on the bed and one leaning
against the door-post, but all four bare-armed, motionless, and with
blackened faces. One of those on the bed was leaning against the wall
with closed eyes and apparently asleep; this one was old, and the white
hair on the blackened face was horrible. The other two were young,--one
was hairy, the other bearded. Not a single one had shoes, and those
who did not wear socks were barefooted. Jondrette remarked that M.
Leblanc's eyes rested on these men.
"They are friends, neighbors," he said; "their faces are black because
they work about the coal. They are chimney-menders. Do not trouble
yourself about them, sir, but buy my picture. Have pity on my misery. I
will not ask much for it; what value do you set upon it?"
"Well," M. Leblanc said, looking Jondrette full in the face, like a man
setting himself on guard, "it is some pot-house sign, and worth about
three francs."
Jondrette replied gently,--
"Have you your pocket-book about you? I shall be satisfied with a
thousand crowns."
M. Leblanc rose, set his back against the wall, and took a hurried
glance round the room. He had Jondrette on his left by the window,
and on his right the woman and the four men by the door. The four men
did not stir, and did not even appear to see him. Jondrette had begun
talking again with a plaintive accent, and with such a wandering eye
that M. Leblanc might fairly believe that he simply had before him a
man driven mad by misery.
"If you do not buy my picture, dear benefactor," Jondrette said, "I
have no resource remaining, and nothing is left me but to throw myself
into the river. When I think that I wished my two daughters to learn
how to make paper boxes for new-year's gifts--Well, for that you
require a table with a backboard to prevent the glasses falling on the
ground, a stove made expressly, a pot with three compartments for the
three different degrees of strength which the glue must have, according
as it is used for wood, paper, and cloth; a board to cut pasteboard
on, a hammer, a pair of pincers, and the deuce knows what, and all
that to gain four sous a day! And you must work fourteen hours; and
each box passes thirteen times through the hands of the work-girl; and
moistening the paper, and not spoiling anything; and keeping the glue
hot--the devil! I tell you, four sous a day! How do you expect them to
live?"
While speaking, Jondrette did not look at M. Leblanc, who was watching
him. M. Leblanc's eye was fixed on Jondrette, and Jondrette's on the
door, while Marius's gasping attention went from one to the other. M.
Leblanc seemed to be asking himself. Is he a lunatic? And Jondrette
repeated twice or thrice with all sorts of varied inflections in the
suppliant style, "All that is left me is to throw myself into the
river! The other day I went for that purpose down three steps by the
side of the bridge of Austerlitz." All at once his eyes glistened
with a hideous radiance, the little man drew himself up and became
frightful, he walked a step toward M. Leblanc, and shouted in a
thundering voice,--
"All this is not the question! Do you recognize me?"