The stranger was a man of forty-five years, or thereabouts, with worn
but regular features, bearing deep traces of excessive dissipation and
the most absolute profligacy. His physiognomy offered a strange
mixture of deceit and impertinence; and these disagreeable traits were
still more emphasized by a dark heavy moustache, which shone with a
lustre equaled only by the false ebony of his artistically curled hair.
His hands and feet were large; and, notwithstanding his visible
pretentions, he at once betrayed the vulgar personage destined, not to
imitate, but to parody veritable elegance. His dress was pompous, and
in exceedingly bad taste; and even Mariette could not refrain from a
smile at his affected military attitude and the ridiculously large red
ribbon that adorned his button-hole.
Madame Lacombe, who had once more returned to her gloomy and sardonic
humor, was gazing at the stranger with as much astonishment as
distrust, feeling an almost invincible aversion against this insolent
and patronizing personage, who had unceremoniously taken a seat at some
distance from the bed, and was nibbling at the gold head of his cane
while pursuing the conversation with her.
"Yes," repeated the visitor, "I am delighted to find you alone; as I
was saying, I can explain myself more clearly."
"Monsieur," said the invalid, in a crabbed tone, "you have asked me if
my name was Lacombe and if I was Mariette Moreau's godmother. I have
already told you _yes_. Now what do you want of me? Explain yourself."
"To begin with, my good woman--" he began.
"I am called Madame Lacombe!" interrupted the woman.
"The devil! Well, then, Madame Lacombe," resumed the stranger with
mock deference, "I shall first tell you who I am, and then proceed to
explain what I want."
"Go on."
"I am called Commander de La Miraudière, an old military officer, as
you see," pointing to the red ribbon on his coat, "ten campaigns and
five wounds!"
"That's nothing to me. And then?"
"I have the most brilliant acquaintances in Paris: dukes, counts,
marquises--"
"What's that to me?"
"I keep a carriage, and spend at least twenty thousand francs a year."
"While my god-daughter and myself are starving on twenty sous per
day--that is, when she can earn them!" exclaimed the invalid bitterly.
"Such is the justice of the world!"
"No! it is not justice!" protested the commander. "It is not just, and
I am here to put an end to such injustice!"
"If you are here to laugh at me," rejoined the woman, with an ominous
scowl, "you had better go."
"Laugh at you, madame!--I!--judge me by what I offer. Do you want a
pretty room, in a fine house, a servant to wait on you, two delicious
meals every day, coffee every morning, and fifty francs a month for
your snuff or other little fancies? Eh! what do you say to that?"
"I say--I say--that it's all a lie--or else there is something beneath
it. When one offers so much to a poor, crippled old woman, it is not
for the love of God, I am sure."
"You are right, Mamma Lacombe; it's for the love of two beautiful eyes."
"Whose eyes?"
"Your god-daughter's eyes, Mamma Lacombe," returned Commander de La
Miraudière cynically. "No use beating around the bush, you know."
"You know Mariette, then?" she said, with a piercing glance at his
dissipated face.
"I often visit Madame Jourdan's establishment, for I am exceedingly
fond of fine linen," he observed, casting a complaisant glance on the
embroidered folds of his shirt. "I therefore found frequent occasion
to admire you god-daughter; I think her beautiful and charming, and--"
"And you want to buy her from me?"
"Bravo! you are a woman of intelligence and good sense, Mamma Lacombe.
You understand things without needless words. Now, this is my
proposition: A fine, elegantly furnished apartment for Mariette, with
whom you shall live, of course; five hundred francs per month for her
expenses, exclusive of maid and cook; a suitable trousseau for the
girl; and a purse of fifty louis to begin housekeeping, not counting
costly gifts for good conduct. Besides this, there will be carriages,
operas, balls, and a host of friends among ladies of my acquaintance.
In a word, she will lead an enchanted existence--the existence of a
duchess! What do you think of it?"
"Why not?" murmured the woman, with a strange smile. "Poor wretches
like us are only good to sell ourselves when we are young, or sell
others when we are old."
"Come now, Mamma Lacombe; to quiet your honest scruples, we shall say
sixty francs per month for your pin money, and throw a superb shawl
into the bargain. This will enable you to appear to advantage beside
Mariette, whom you must watch with motherly solicitude, and never allow
out of your sight, for I am jealous as a tiger, and don't like to be
deceived."
"Only this very morning," put in the sick woman, "I was saying to
Mariette, 'You are a respectable girl, and barely earn twenty sous per
day sewing on chemises worth three hundred francs apiece, for a kept
woman.'"
"Chemises worth three hundred francs apiece, ordered from Madame
Jourdan? Let me see--ah! yes, I know. They must be for Amandine, the
mistress of the Marquis de Saint-Herem, my most intimate friend--I
recommended the establishment--a veritable fortune for Madame Jourdan,
although that devil of a marquis seldom pays. But, on the other hand,
all the furnishers and women he patronizes become the rage. Amandine
was but an obscure little shop-girl six months ago, and now she is the
most fashionable woman in Paris. And Mariette may have the same luck,
you know. Fancy her wearing chemises worth three hundred francs
apiece, instead of sewing them! Doesn't it make you feel like bursting
with pride, Mamma Lacombe?"
"Unless Mariette ended like a girl of my acquaintance, who also sold
herself through misery."
"What happened her?"
"She was robbed."
"Robbed?"
"She was promised mountains of gold, too; but at the end of three
months she was deserted and left without a single sou. Then she killed
herself in despair."
"The devil! what do you take me for?" cried the visitor, haughtily.
"Do I look like a swindler; a _Robert Macaire_?"
"I don't know what you are."
"I, an old soldier! twenty campaigns and ten times wounded! The
intimate companion and friend of all the _lions_ of Paris! a man with
his own carriage and who spends twenty thousand francs per annum! The
devil! be frank with me! Do you require securities or advances? Very
well, then; the house shall be furnished within a week and the lease
signed in your own name to-morrow, with the payment of a whole year in
advance; besides, if we come to terms, here are twenty-five to thirty
louis to bind the bargain."
Drawing twenty-eight gold pieces from his pocket, he tossed them on the
work-table beside the bed, saying: "I am not like you, Mamma Lacombe; I
am not afraid of being robbed."
At the clinking of gold, the sick woman leaned out of her bed and cast
a glance of covetousness at the glittering pieces.
In all the course of her miserable existence, she had never possessed a
single gold piece, and the sight of the scattered louis before her eyes
almost dazzled her. Grasping a few in her withered fingers, she held
them up to the light, trying to catch the sun's rays that she might
feast her hungry eyes on their sparkling beauty.
"I had to show the bait to catch the old witch," said the tempter to
himself, with a contemptuous smile.
"At last, at last I have touched the glittering gold!" muttered the old
woman, jingling the yellow pieces in her hand.
"Touching them is nothing; the agreeable part of it is to spend them,
Mamma Lacombe."
"And this is enough to live in comfort for four or five months," she
went on, piling up the coins with childish glee.
"You and Mariette will have as much for every month of the year, if you
only say so," said the tempter. "Yes, all this gold; do you hear? in
pure, glittering gold!"
There was a long interval of silence; then, raising her sunken eyes to
the visitor, the invalid said wistfully: "You think Mariette pretty and
charming, monsieur, do you not? You are right; there is not a better
creature in the world. Now, be generous toward her! This sum is
nothing for a rich man like you--give it to us as a gift."
"What!" gasped the astounded man.
"Monsieur, you are good and kind, pray be charitable also," pleaded the
woman.
"This sum, so insignificant to you, would set us afloat once more. We
could pay our debts, and Mariette would not be obliged to kill herself
working. She would then find time to seek a more remunerative
position, and we would owe you five or six months of tranquillity, of
paradise--we live on so little! Come, my good sir, do that and we
shall bless your name forever--and I can say that I was happy once in
my life."
The request was so naïve, the tone so sincere and earnest that the
decorated visitor was more hurt than surprised at this proposition. He
could neither understand nor believe that a human being could be stupid
enough to seriously make such a request to a man of his stamp.
"This is anything but flattering," he muttered to himself; "the old
witch must take me for a young duckling ready to be plucked."
"The devil! Mamma Lacombe," he added aloud, bursting into a sneering
laugh, "do you take me for a philanthropist, the inspector of
charitable institutions, or a candidate for the Montyon prize? Tut,
tut, you will rot in your bed before you receive charitable gifts of
six hundred francs, redeemable in blessings and grateful thanks, my
good woman! Bless my stars, I am not a bank of that sort!"
The sick woman had yielded to one of those wild, sudden hopes, which
sometimes sway the most distrustful beings, and even the most hardened
victims of implacable destiny. But the withering scorn it had brought
upon her aroused all her ire and bitterness of heart.
"Pardon me, Monsieur, if I have insulted you!" she rejoined, with her
habitual sardonic laugh.
"I am not offended, Mamma Lacombe," he returned magnanimously; "but let
us come to the point. Shall I, yes or no, re-pocket these beautiful
louis, which you take so much pleasure in handling?"
He stretched his hand toward the gold pieces, but she thrust it away
with an instinctive movement and drew the shining coins nearer to her.
"One moment," she said hoarsely, her eyes glittering with cupidity in
their deep orbits, "I shall not eat your gold!"
"That is just what I am urging you to do, Mamma Lacombe; I want you to
eat that gold, on condition--"
"I know Mariette," she interrupted, her wistful gaze still fixed on the
gold, "she will never consent."
"Nonsense!"
"I tell you she is an upright girl. She might, like many others, yield
to a man she loved; but to you--never! She would refuse, I am sure.
You may laugh, but she has ideas of her own."
"Granted, my good woman. I believe in Mariette's good principles, for
Madame Jourdan has known her many years and she has full confidence in
her."
"Well, then?"
"Well, I also know, Mamma Lacombe, that you possess great influence
over her and that she fears you like the devil himself--so Madame
Jourdan informed me. Now, you can induce, or, it need be, compel
Mariette to accept happiness! For, after all, you are lodged like
beggars and starving to death. Besides, if you refuse, do you know
what will happen? The girl, with her fine sentiments of
disinterestedness, will, sooner or later, become the victim of some
unscrupulous rascal as poor as herself."
"That may be, but she will not have sold her soul."
"Tut, tut, tut, those are mere phrases. Some fine day, this lover of
her choice will probably desert her; then, to save herself from
starvation, she will end like the rest--mark my word."
"Yes, that may be," she repeated, with a dismal moan. "Hunger is a bad
counselor, when we and our children have known its pangs. And how many
of those poor, unhappy girls might be saved with this gold! And if
Mariette were destined to end like them--would it not be better to
yield now?"
For a few moments, the most varied emotions were depicted on the pale,
emaciated features of the unhappy, crippled creature. With eyes still
fixed hungrily on the glittering pieces, she strove to calm the
struggle waged between misery and virtue in her heart; then, by a
desperate effort, she closed her eyes as if to escape the fascination
of the gold, and sank back wearily on her wretched pallet.
"Go, and leave me in peace!" she said feebly, as if exhausted by the
violent conflict.
"What! you refuse?" he cried in amazement.
"Yes."
"Positively refuse?"
"Yes."
"Very well, I shall take back my gold," he rejoined, slowly picking up
the louis and jingling them together. "I shall refill my pockets with
the glittering yellow coins."
"The devil take you and your gold!" cried the exasperated woman. "Take
it, and go! I have not sheltered Mariette all these years to sell her,
body and soul. Rather than eat such bread, I would build a charcoal
fire and make on end to us both."
At these words Mariette entered, pale and indignant, her cheeks bathed
in tears and her eyes flashing with anger and scorn.
"Ah! god-mother," she cried, throwing her arms around the woman's neck,
"I knew that you loved me as a daughter!" Then turning toward
Commander de La Miraudière, whom she recognized as the man whose
persistent gaze had so frequently annoyed her at Madame Jourdan's
establishment, she added with withering scorn: "Go, this moment,
monsieur!"
"But, my dear little dove--" he began.
"I was there at the door, monsieur, and heard all," she interrupted
quickly.
"So much the better then, my dear. You know my offer; you are still at
liberty to accept it."
"Once more, monsieur, I beg you to go out."
"There, there, I am going my little Lucretia! But I give you a week
for reflection," said the visitor, as he moved toward the door, Pausing
on the threshold, however, he added:
"Don't forget my name, my dear--Commander de La Miraudière. Madame
Jourdan has my address," and he vanished with these words.
"Ah! godmother," cried the girl, kissing the sick woman with new
effusion, "how warmly you defended me! how your heart spoke for me!"
"Yes, yes," muttered the invalid, roughly disengaging herself from the
girl's embrace, "and with those fine principles we starve instead of
rolling in luxury."
"But, my dear godmother--" Mariette tried to protest.
"There, there, it's all said and done now," cried the woman
impatiently. "I have done my duty, and you have done yours--and it's
small good it will do either of us, you may count on that!"
"But godmother, listen to me--"
"And if some fine morning we are both found dead with a charcoal fire
between us, we shall only have done our duty once more. Ha! ha! ha!--"
and with this grim laugh, this unhappy creature, so pursued and
exasperated by wretchedness and misfortune, cut short the conversation
by turning her face to the wall.
Mariette silently brought in the basket containing her purchases,
arranged the supper on the table near the bed, and quietly withdrew to
the narrow window through which filtered the deepening twilight. Then
drawing the torn fragments of Louis' letter from her bosom, she gazed
at them sadly, and sank back into grim despair.
* * * * * *
In the meantime, Commander de La Miraudière had reached the street and
was rolling away rapidly in his dashing cabriolet.
"Bah! this is only a first rebuff," he was saying complacently to
himself; "the girl will reflect, and that old schemer will think better
of it. Her round eyes fairly blinked at the sight of my gold; it
dazzled her like the noonday sun. Besides, their abject misery will
plead in my favor, and I have no reason to despair. Two months of fat
living will suffice to make the girl the prettiest woman in Paris; and
she will do me credit at very small cost. But I must think of business
now; I have made a precious discovery."
Having reached the Rue Grenelle-Saint-Honoré, he stopped his horse
before a house of modest appearance and alighted.
"Does M. Richard reside here?" he inquired of the concierge.
"Yes, monsieur, both the father and son live here," replied the man.
"I want to speak to the son, M. Louis Richard; is he at home?"
"He has just arrived in Paris; you will find him with his father."
"I must see him alone."
"That's rather difficult, as they have but one room between them."
The commander drew a card from his pocket, and wrote the following
words above his own name: "Will expect M. Louis Richard at my home,
between nine and ten o'clock tomorrow morning, to communicate something
of grave importance, which admits of no delay."
"My dear fellow," he said, addressing the concierge, when he had
replaced his pencil, "here are forty sous for a _pourboire_."
"Thank you, monsieur," rejoined the man, pocketing the money; "but what
do you expect me to do for it?"
"Remit this card to M. Louis Richard."
"Nothing difficult about that."
"It must be given him to-morrow morning as he goes out, and without his
father's knowledge; do you understand?"
"Perfectly. It can be easily done, as M. Louis goes to his studies at
seven o'clock, while old Richard leaves only at nine for his writing
office."
"I may count on you then?" said the commander, leaping into the
cabriolet.
"Consider it done, monsieur," was the reassuring reply.
The carriage had scarcely vanished when the postman appeared with a
letter addressed to M. Louis Richard. It was Mariette's missive, which
the old scribe had addressed Rue de Grenelle, Paris, instead of Dreux,
according to the girl's request.