There is not in all Paris a house better kept or more inviting-looking
than No. 23 in Grange Street. As soon as you enter, you are struck by a
minute, extreme neatness, which reminds you of Holland, and almost sets
you a-laughing. The neighbors might use the brass plate on the door as a
mirror to shave in; the stone floor is polished till it shines; and the
woodwork of the staircase is varnished to perfection.
In the entrance-hall a number of notices, written in the peculiar
style which owners of houses affect, request the tenants to respect the
property of others, without regard to the high price they pay for their
share. “Clean your feet, if you please,” they say to all who come in or
go out. “No spitting allowed on the stairs.” “Dogs are not allowed in
the house.”
Nevertheless, this admirably-kept house “enjoyed” but a sorry reputation
in the neighborhood. Was it worse than other houses,--No. 21, for
instance, or No. 25? Probably not; but there is a fate for houses as
well as for men.
The first story was occupied by the families of two independent
gentlemen, whose simplicity of mind was only equalled by that of their
mode of life. A collector, who occasionally acted as broker, lived in
the second story, and had his offices there. The third story was rented
to a very rich man, a baron as people said, who only appeared there at
long intervals, preferring, according to his own account, to live on
his estates near Saintonge. The whole fourth story was occupied by a
man familiarly known as Papa Ravinet, although he was barely fifty years
old. He dealt in second-hand merchandise, furniture, curiosities, and
toilet articles; and his rooms were filled to overflowing with a medley
collection of things which he was in the habit of buying at auctions.
The fifth story, finally, was cut up in numerous small rooms and
closets, which were occupied by poor families or clerks, who, almost
without exception, disappeared early in the morning, and returned only
as late as possible at night.
An addition to the house in the rear had its own staircase, and was
probably in the hands of still humbler tenants; but then it is so
difficult to rent out small lodgings!
However this may have been, the house had a bad reputation; and the
lodgers had to bear the consequences. Not one of them would have been
trusted with a dollar’s worth of goods in any of the neighboring shops.
No one, however, stood, rightly or wrongly, in as bad repute as the
doorkeeper, or concierge, who lived in a little hole near the great
double entrance-door, and watched over the safety of the whole house.
Master Chevassat and his wife were severely “cut” by their colleagues
of adjoining houses; and the most atrocious stories were told of both
husband and wife.
Master Chevassat was reputed to be well off; but the story went that
he lent out money, and did not hesitate to charge a hundred per cent
a month. He acted, besides, it was said, as agent for two of his
tenants,--the broker, and the dealer in second-hand goods, and undertook
the executions, when poor debtors were unable to pay. Mrs. Chevassat,
however, had even graver charges to bear. People said she would do
anything for money, and had aided and encouraged many a poor girl in the
house in her evil career.
It was also asserted that the estimable couple had formerly lived in the
fashionable Faubourg St. Honore, but had been compelled to leave there
on account of several ugly occurrences. They were, finally, reported to
have a son called Justin, a handsome fellow, thirty-five years old, who
lived in the best society, and whom they nearly worshipped; while he was
ashamed of them, and despised them, although he came often at night to
ask them for money. No one, it must, however, be confessed, had ever
seen this son; and no one knew him.
The two Chevassats shrugged their shoulders, and said it would be absurd
if they should trouble themselves about public opinion, as long as their
consciences were clear, and they owed nobody anything.
Towards the end of last December, however, on a Saturday afternoon,
towards five o’clock, husband and wife were just sitting down to dinner,
when the dealer in old clothes, Papa Ravinet, rushed like a tempest into
their room.
He was a man of middle size, clean shaven, with small, bright, yellowish
eyes, which shone with restless eagerness from under thick, bushy brows.
Although he had lived for years in Paris, he was dressed like a man from
the country, wearing a flowered silk vest, and a long frock-coat with an
immense collar.
“Quick, Chevassat!” he cried, with a voice full of trouble. “Take your
lamp, and follow me; an accident has happened upstairs.”
He was so seriously disturbed, although generally very calm and cool,
that the two Chevassats were thoroughly frightened.
“An accident!” exclaimed the woman; “that was all that was wanting. But
pray, what has happened, dear M. Ravinet?”
“How do I know? This very moment, as I was just coming out of my room, I
thought I heard the death-rattle of a dying person. It was in the fifth
story. Of course I ran up a few steps, I listened. All was silent. I
went down again, thinking I had been mistaken; and at once I heard again
a sighing, a sobbing--I can’t tell you exactly what; but it sounded
exactly like the last sigh of a person in agony, and at the point of
death.”
“And then?”
“Then I ran down to tell you, and ask you to come up. I am not sure,
you understand; but I think I could swear it was the voice of Miss
Henrietta,--that pretty young girl who lives up there. Well, are you
coming?”
But they did not stir.
“Miss Henrietta is not in her room,” said Mrs. Chevassat coldly. “She
went out just now, and told me she would not be back till nine o’clock.
My dear M. Ravinet, you must have been mistaken; you had a ringing in
your ears, or”--
“No, I am sure I was not mistaken! But never mind; we must see what it
is.”
During this conversation, the door of the room had been open; and
several of the lodgers, hearing the voice of the merchant and the
exclamations of the woman as they crossed the hall, had stopped and
listened.
“Yes, we must see what it is,” they repeated.
Master Chevassat dared no longer oppose the general desire so
peremptorily expressed,--
“Let us go then, since you will have it _so_,” he sighed.
And, taking up his lamp, he began to ascend the stairs, followed by the
merchant, his wife, and five or six other persons.
The steps of all these people were heard all over the house; and from
story to story the lodgers opened their doors to see what was going on.
And, when they heard that something was likely to happen, they almost
all left their rooms, and followed the others.
So that Master Chevassat had nearly a dozen curious persons behind him,
when he stopped on the fifth floor to take breath.
The door to Miss Henrietta’s room was the first on the left in the
passage. He knocked at first gently, then harder, and at last with all
his energy, till his heavy fists shook the thin partition-walls of all
the rooms.