are left whose parents cannot or, in some cases, do not choose to bring
them up. There was a paper on me, on which was written: _Paul de
Saint-Cloud._ Saint-Cloud is probably where I was born. And on my
forearm there was a little cross--which I still have, for it doesn't
wear out;--was that mark placed there so that I might be found and
identified some day? I hoped so for a long time. But now I have ceased
to hope, for I am more than twenty-three years old, and I have never
heard of my parents. During all the time I passed with Monsieur
Desroches,--an excellent man, who took me from the charitable asylum
when I was ten years old, and treated me like his own son,--he did all
that he could to obtain some information which would help me to find my
parents; but it all came to nothing; and when my benefactor saw me
weeping with grief, because I could not embrace my father or mother, he
would kiss me affectionately, and say: 'Don't grieve so, my boy; birth
is a game of chance; those who come into the world with a name and rank
and wealth all ready for them, often do not take the trouble to
cultivate talents and estimable qualities, because they deem themselves
sufficiently well equipped as they are; but he who begins his life
without any of those advantages is compelled to behave well in order to
obtain what he lacks. According to that, my boy, the advantage would
seem to be with him who comes into the world without anything.' With
such arguments, Monsieur Desroches comforted me and gave me courage. But
I am a poor foundling none the less, with no name, no family, to offer
you. That is what I felt bound to tell you, mademoiselle; for it is
wrong to deceive anyone. That is what makes me think that I shall never
be considered worthy to be your husband."
Elina had listened to the young messenger's story with the most profound
interest; her eyes were filled with tears when he finished, and she
held out her hand, saying with the impulsive frankness that comes from
the heart:
"Take my hand; I give it to you, and what you have told me will not
prevent me from loving you; far from it; and since my parents are dead,
it seems to me that I have the right to select a husband for myself."
Beside himself with joy, Paul seized the hand she offered him, and
covered it with kisses, repeating the most fervent oaths.
"Just see how things change their aspect!" cried the girl, in her
ingenuous delight; "this loft, which seemed such a dismal place to me at
first, seems very attractive now, and I am sure that I shall like it
very much; for I shall always remember that it was here that you first
told me that you loved me."
Paul was about to reply with renewed protestations, when they heard a
great burst of laughter close at hand. They stepped to the entrance to
the loft, and saw three young men in the small room below that opened on
the landing, standing at the foot of the ladder, clapping their hands,
shouting _bravo_, and laughing uproariously.
The new-comers were Albert, Célestin, and Mouillot, whom we left asleep
in Balivan's studio, and who, when they woke about six in the morning,
began by laughing at the idea of their being in that place. Then they
started to return to their respective abodes; but when they were on the
landing, Célestin remembered the pretty neighbor.
"By the way," he said, "what about the little neighbor overhead!
Parbleu! she must be at home still, and I won't go away without a look
at her."
"Nor I, either," added tall Mouillot. "I want to decide whether she's as
good-looking as Balivan claims.--Au revoir, Albert! Go on, if you're in
a hurry."
"No; I still have some time to spare, and I also am curious to see the
neighbor. I will go with you, messieurs."
"But how shall we get her to open the door?"
"That's a simple matter. We will knock, stamp heavily on the floor, and
say in a deep voice: 'The water carrier, mamzelle.'--The water carriers
always come early, and people open their doors for them, even when
they're only half dressed. She'll open for us."
And the young men went upstairs, leaving Varinet still asleep, with his
olive in his pocket.
When they reached the upper landing, they were surprised to find two
open doors.
"It seems that we shall not have to play water carrier," they said. "Can
it be that the pretty neighbor sleeps with her door open? That would
indicate the confidence of innocence--or just the opposite. Which door
shall we go in?"
"Let chance decide."
Chance led them into the small room below the loft. There their
attention was attracted by the fervent protestations of love repeated by
Paul and Elina, who did not hear them enter the room; for lovers, when
they are swearing to adore each other, never hear anything else.
Thereupon the young men made their comments aloud.
"I should say that we had found a nest!" said Mouillot.
"Love in a loft! a genre picture," added Albert.
"And to think that Balivan extolled his neighbor's virtue!" observed
Célestin. "I thought our artist was more sharp-witted than that; but it
seems that he doesn't know all the colors yet."
The outburst of laughter followed, and warned the lovers at last that
there was somebody close at hand.
Elina blushed to the whites of her eyes when she saw the young men; Paul
quivered with wrath, and would have rushed down the ladder, but Célestin
had just taken it away.
"Things seem to be progressing up there," said Mouillot; "we're
beginning our day well."
"On my word, she is charming!" said Albert; "Balivan didn't deceive us."
"True, so far as her face goes."
"Why have you come here, messieurs? what do you want?" demanded Paul;
"why do you presume to take away the ladder? Put it back at once!"
"Aha! the lover is losing his temper!" said Mouillot. "But, just
consider--suppose we were evil-minded? We have you both in a cage up
there--suppose we should go and tell the young lady's parents; what
would you say?"
"That there is no harm, messieurs, in going into a loft when one is
moving furniture there; and that is why I am here now with
mademoiselle."
"Ah! not bad! not bad! and it was part of the moving to kiss her, I
suppose; and to swear eternal love, young Lothario?"
"I kissed mademoiselle's hand only, monsieur. As to what I said to her,
that doesn't concern you; you had no right to listen."
"Hoity-toity! then you should lock the doors, imprudent children that
you are!"
"Why, God bless me! the lover is one of our messengers, Sans-Cravate's
mate!"
"Yes, that is so! it was he who did Tobie's errands yesterday. Ah! young
dressmaker! is it possible? you listen to a messenger? Why, you degrade
yourself, girl; your trade entitles you to look higher--especially with
such lovely eyes!"
"Treat mademoiselle with respect, messieurs!" exclaimed Paul; "or I'll
make you repent your insolence!"
"Do you, knave," retorted Célestin, "begin by holding your tongue; if
not, you'll be whipped for your impertinence."
"We shall not put back the ladder except on several conditions," said
Albert; "first, that the little dressmaker allow us to kiss her."
"I," said Mouillot, "demand that she measure me for a pair of drawers."
Elina made no reply; in her distress, she had taken refuge in the
farthest corner of the loft, where she tried to avoid the glances of the
young men. But Paul could not control his wrath; he jumped down into the
room below, at the risk of injuring himself, rushed at Célestin,
snatched the ladder from him with a powerful hand, and placed it against
the entrance to the loft.
"Now, let anyone dare to take it away, and he will have to settle with
me!"
The messenger had acted so rapidly and energetically that the young men
were speechless for a moment. Then Célestin walked toward Paul, saying:
"Leave this room instantly! Gentlemen like us do not care to soil our
hands with a fellow of your stamp; but if I had a cane, I'd break it
over your shoulders."
Paul took his stand in front of Célestin and looked him straight in the
eye, as he rejoined:
"Men like me, messengers though we are, are far above men of your stamp,
who know no better than to insult an honest girl. If you do deem
yourself my superior in the street, because I stand there to do your
errands, here, you are far below the poor man of the people; for he
bears himself with honor, while your conduct is that of a scoundrel."
"Ah! this is too much!--Well, messieurs, won't you help me to thrash
this wretch?"
Albert hesitated; one would have said that Paul's resolute bearing had
made an impression on him, and that in his heart he felt that the young
man was in the right. But Mouillot did not choose to disregard
Célestin's appeal; he ran to the ladder, and Célestin tried to drag Paul
from his position by pulling his arm; but the messenger pushed him away
so violently that he stumbled over his friend Mouillot. However, they
were preparing to renew their attack, when they heard a succession of
piercing shrieks; and little Elina, seeing that Paul was going to fight,
added her voice to the tumult, calling for help.
"Robbers! robbers!" a voice cried from the next apartment.
"Mon Dieu! it's my aunt who is being robbed!" said Elina. "Do go and
see, Monsieur Paul!"
Paul was unwilling to move from the foot of the ladder and leave Elina
exposed to the enterprises of the young men. But the appearance of an
old woman, clad in nothing but a chemise and a camisole, with an old
handkerchief, twisted into the shape of a turban, on her head, changed
the whole aspect of affairs; it was Elina's aunt, who, regardless of the
incompleteness of her costume, ran wildly about the room, shrieking:
"Robbers! there's a thief in my room! I saw him standing by my bed when
I woke up! Arrest him, messieurs, I beg you! he's there still. I put
myself under your protection."
And Madame Vardeine would have rushed into the arms of the young men;
but they were cruel enough to shrink from the embraces of that lady in
chemise and camisole, who at that moment concealed none of her charms.
Meanwhile, attracted by the shrieks of the old woman and the girl, the
concierge had arrived upon the scene, carrying his broom in one hand and
a newspaper in the other. He thrust his broom into the chamber first, as
if he intended to remove the cobwebs; then entered himself, saying in a
hoarse voice:
"Is anybody being killed here? What's all this row about? It's hardly
daylight, and you're fighting already! I give you notice that I am going
to tell the landlord, so that he'll turn you all out of doors."
The concierge's head, upon which he wore three or four woollen and
cotton caps, one above another, and Madame Vardeine's, with her turban
awry, were so comical to look at, that Mouillot and Albert roared with
laughter. To add to the confusion, Varinet also appeared in the doorway.
"What are you all doing here?" he inquired.
At sight of the young man with the white eyebrows, Madame Vardeine gave
a jump which shook her whole frame in a distressing way.
"There's my robber!" she cried; "that's the man I saw by my bed when I
woke up; I know him by his eyebrows!"
"Mon Dieu, madame!" rejoined Varinet, calmly; "I beg that you will
excuse me, but I was looking for these gentlemen; I heard them laughing,
from the floor below; so I came up, found a door open, and entered your
apartment with no idea where I was going."
Madame Vardeine did not seem convinced, and the concierge still held his
broom in the air as if he proposed to sweep everybody out of the room.
But the arrival of Balivan restored peace. The painter rescued his
friends, guaranteeing that there were no thieves among them, and they
decided at last to go away with him; but before taking their leave, each
of them cast a parting glance at the loft, where Elina crouched,
trembling from head to foot.
"She is charming," said Albert.
"I shall see her again," said Mouillot.
"Yes, yes," added Célestin; "and everyone will receive what he deserves
for his conduct this morning."
Paul made no reply, but the glance with which he met Célestin's seemed
to defy him, and to show how little heed he paid to his threats.
XI
IN THE MAGISTRATE'S OFFICE
It was eight o'clock in the morning; Sans-Cravate was in his usual
place, not lying on his _crochets_ this time, but seated on the end of
them, with his elbows resting on his knees, and his head in his hands,
looking about from time to time with a dissatisfied air. His eyes often
sought out Paul's place, which was empty; then he clenched his fists,
muttered some words between his teeth, and stamped on the ground
impatiently.
Jean Ficelle was pacing back and forth, within a space of about twenty
yards; constantly passing in front of his comrade, to whom he spoke now
and then, while he took huge bites from an enormous piece of bread and
from a bologna sausage, alternately.
"Well, Sans-Cravate, you don't have anything to say this morning. Did
our little spree last night tie up your tongue? You ain't sick, are
you?"
"No, no! I've forgotten all about it; I'm all right."
"_Pardié_, you wasn't drunk, anyway! anybody who says you was drunk
lies."
"I think myself that I had a little too much."
"Not a bit of it; you think that because you got into a dispute, and
that heated you up. You could have drunk a lot more. Do you know, I'm
very sorry you couldn't settle your bet with Père Cagnoux; that would
have staggered the old boy. It was that snivelling Paul that spoiled it
all. Hm! he was rather inclined to crawl. Refuse to fight! that's just
what he did! I call him a poor cuss for friends to be seen with. Look
you, a comparison: he's like a slater that's afraid to go up on the roof
and is only willing to slate the ground floor."
"But he was willing to fight with the rest of you."
"Oh! yes! for what? mere brag! humbug! he knew well enough that
challenging everybody was just the same as challenging nobody. You're
the one that he insulted--and, whatever way you look at it, you're the
one he owed reparation to. To refuse to drink with friends, and break
their glasses! Thanks! that's too damned unceremonious!"
"Oh! now that my head's clear, that isn't what I bear him a grudge for.
You see yourself that he was quite right to despise that Laboussole, as
he's a thief; and I blush now to think that I drank with such a cur!"
"No, no, not at all! you're all wrong! You think Laboussole's a thief,
just because they arrested him as a thief!--why, that's one of the law's
spiteful tricks. A man may be involved in a bad piece of business and
not be a thief, for all that. I'm sure that Laboussole will come out as
white as snow. Come and have a glass of beer. It's my treat."
"No, thanks; I ain't thirsty."
"Oh! you ain't hungry or thirsty to-day! Well, just as you please. But
you see the little sneak don't dare to come here this morning; that
proves that he has a feeling that he's in the wrong."
"That's true; it's almost nine o'clock, and Paul is almost always the
first one here; he don't seem to come."
Jean Ficelle continued to walk back and forth; then stopped again in
front of Sans-Cravate, saying with a mocking expression:
"_Dame!_ perhaps his time was so well occupied last night that he's
resting this morning--that's what's the matter!"
Sans-Cravate sprang to his feet.
"What do you mean by that?" he cried, with a savage gesture.
"I mean--I mean----Faith! you know well enough what I mean; and I'll bet
I know who he's with now."
"With Bastringuette, you mean, don't you?"
"_Dame!_ it seems to me that she didn't hesitate to show you that she
preferred that popinjay to you. Women must have mighty little taste;
such a fine fellow as you are! Why, you'd make three of Paul!"
"Oh! I'm not jealous of his good fortune," rejoined Sans-Cravate,
struggling to appear calm; "let him go with Bastringuette, if he
chooses! But last night I saw that he didn't go with her when we left
the wine shop; he went away alone--and she--she waited to see if I was
following her; then she went off alone, too."
"Bah! humbug! they met afterward. If we knew where Paul lived, we could
go and see if he was at home. Do you know where he lives, Sans-Cravate?"
"No, I don't; he told me he lived Faubourg Montmartre way; but that's
all."
"The devil! in a faubourg! it would be a nice job to find him! There's
some mystery about that fellow; he's a queer fish."
"What difference does it make whether he's at home, or at her room? I
don't care a hang! I'm done with Bastringuette."
"Never mind," muttered Jean Ficelle, biting into his bread; "if a mate
of mine took my mistress from under my nose, it wouldn't make any
difference if I didn't love her--that wouldn't be the end of it."
"And do you suppose that I won't have my revenge?" shouted Sans-Cravate,
giving free vent to his anger, and clenching his fists with a
threatening air.
"Good!" said Jean Ficelle, patting the other's shoulder hypocritically;
"that's more like you. You're still a man. I says to myself: 'It's
mighty strange that a brick like Sans-Cravate stands being put upon
without doing anything'; but I see that you have a plan; bravo! you're a
man!"
At that moment, a short, thin individual, dressed in black, but not well
dressed, stopped in front of the two messengers, and said to them:
"You two are the men I want; you're Sans-Cravate, aren't you; and you,
Jean Ficelle?"
They assented, and the man in black continued:
"Then you'll be kind enough to come and see monsieur le commissaire."
Jean Ficelle was visibly disturbed by the mention of the magistrate,
while Sans-Cravate asked:
"What the devil should we go to see monsieur le commissaire for? I've
never been there, and I've no business to settle with him."
"Weren't you at the Petit Bacchus wine shop last night, when a certain
Laboussole was arrested there? weren't you drinking with him?"
"Yes, but we didn't know him," Jean Ficelle made haste to reply.
"You can tell monsieur le commissaire what you know about him; he wants
to question you. That's all I know; don't fail to come this morning."
"We will come, monsieur."
The little man went away. Jean Ficelle had become thoughtful, and
Sans-Cravate knitted his brows, muttering:
"To have to go before the magistrate! Not three days ago, I was
congratulating myself on never having had anything to do with him. I've
had quarrels enough; I've often fought, but I've always fought fair. No
man I ever whipped could complain of being tricked, and there was no
need of going before a magistrate to settle our quarrels. And
to-day--just because I drank with that Laboussole, a friend of
yours,--and now you say that you don't know him, and again that he ain't
a thief. Tell me the truth, do you know him, or not?"
"Good God! as if I was called on to compromise myself before the
magistrate to help someone else!"
"But if that someone is your friend, if he's arrested unjustly, you'd be
a coward if you didn't try to defend him."
"Parbleu! Laboussole's a fox; he will get out of it without any help.
Come, Sans-Cravate, don't be ugly; after all, the most respectable
people go before the magistrate; you see, we're only summoned as
witnesses."
"_Sacrédié!_ what do you expect to be summoned for? Let's go right away;
I long to have it over with."
"All right, let's go."
"But I don't know where the magistrate lives; do you, Jean Ficelle?"
"Yes, it ain't very far from here; come, I'll show you the way."
"And Paul hasn't come yet; but perhaps we shall find him at the
magistrate's, too."
The two messengers soon reached their destination.
There are four police magistrates for each arrondissement of Paris,
which makes forty-eight for the whole city. That is none too large a
number for such a huge, densely populated, turbulent city, where so many
things happen every day.
A lantern suspended over the door indicates the magistrate's residence;
his office is rarely a particularly attractive apartment; but there is
no occasion for him to go to much expense for the benefit of the society
he ordinarily receives there, and cleansing would be a useless luxury.
Those who come thither are not even accustomed to wipe their feet on the
mat--when there is one.
You enter the office, where the magistrate's clerk and secretary are
usually to be found, although sometimes the latter official has his desk
in another room. Then comes the magistrate's private office, to which
everybody is not admitted.
Just as Sans-Cravate and Jean Ficelle arrived, a corporal and two
soldiers brought in two women and a boy, the latter holding in his arms
a small black dog, evidently a very young puppy.
One of the women was about fifty years of age; she was so enormous that
she seemed not to be a human being at all, but a shapeless mass, on top
of which was a red, purple, scarlet face surmounted by a dirty bonnet
with flying strings; she was a wine shop keeper.
The other woman was younger; she was thin and pale, and had not a
pleasant face; but, at all events, she resembled a woman; she was
dressed very modestly, and wore a cap and an apron.
The boy, who was about fourteen, could boast already of an enormous head
and two puffy cheeks which concealed his nose; he resembled the bulky
wine shop keeper, if anything could have resembled her. He was dressed
in a blouse, with a small cap on his head; he wore shoes, but no
stockings.
The party entered the magistrate's office, yelling, whining, and hurling
insults at one another; and the corporal was compelled at times to exert
his authority, to keep the two women from fighting.
A considerable crowd, entertained by the quarrel between the two,
followed them to the magistrate's door, but were not allowed to go
farther.
The magistrate left his private office, where he did not hear trivial
matters, and, first of all, asked the corporal what the two women had
done.
A corporal of the line is not always a born orator; this one put his
hand to his shako, and answered:
"Faith!--the thing--well, you see, I don't know anything about it, but
these two women made such a noise in the street--and then they hit each
other--and there was this dog here--this little pup no bigger than my
hand--then someone came after us to put a stop to it--and, _sapredié!_
how they gave it each other on the way! but as for telling you which is
in the right, monsieur le commissaire, I'll never try."
Having presented his report, the corporal stepped back. Thereupon the
magistrate addressed the two women.
"Well, which of you is the complainant?"
They both spoke at once, and the boy chimed in as well.
"She's the one that's in the wrong, monsieur le commissaire."
"That ain't true, for she says I stole her dog."
"Of course, when I saw you."
"You lie!"
"And she kicked me in the fat of my leg, above the garter."
"And she pinched me so she tore my dress, and you can see the marks of
her nails."
"Shut up, you saucy hussy! you ought to tell him that you're the
cause----"
"Yes, monsieur le commissaire; she's the cause of it. I've never been
here before--this is the first time, I can tell you that!"
The boy, who had the Limousin accent, and talked as if his mouth were
full of paste, tried to put in a word:
"First--sure as I stand here--for I was carrying my--my basket, and I
saw her!"
To add to the confusion, the dog began to yelp.
"Very good," said the magistrate, with a smile, for he saw that the
affair was of no consequence. "I judge that a dog is the subject of your
dispute. Well, we will follow Solomon's example, cut him in two, and
give half to each of you."
"That's right!" cried the bulky mass, trying to laugh, until her
enormous paunch seemed on the point of bursting. "There's no way but
cutting him in two."
"The deuce! I should say that you are not the real mother."
"Oh! monsieur le commissaire, I was joking when I said that; but he's my
dog. I've got witnesses, too."
"Oh, yes!" cried the thin woman; "and the very first man that came into
your shop, when you said to him: 'Ain't that my dog?' answered: 'I never
saw him.'"
"She lies! she lies! it is my dog. Everybody knows him; and then, he was
with François, my son here;--come, François, make your deposition."
François opened his mouth and moved his lips a long while before he
could find a word to say, his excitement had such a powerful effect on
his mental faculties; at last, he muttered in a thick voice:
"First--sure as I stand here--as I was going along with my basket, I
thought the dog was behind me--and she grabbed him, and run off with
him!"