CHAPTER V

THE LITTLE MONSTER

A month later, in the early days of November, the installation of the

Universal Bank was not yet finished. Carpenters were still putting up

wainscotings, and painters were applying putty to the enormous glass

roof with which the courtyard had been covered.

This delay was due to Saccard, who, dissatisfied with the smallness of

the quarters, prolonged the work for the sake of adding unreasonable

luxuries to it; and, not being able to set back the walls in order to

realise his continual dream of the enormous, he had at last become

angry, and thrown upon Madame Caroline the duty of finally dismissing

the contractors. She it was, therefore, who superintended the placing

of the last wickets. There was an extraordinary number of these. The

courtyard, transformed into a central hall, was surrounded by them;

grated wickets they were, severe and dignified, surmounted by beautiful

brass plates, bearing inscriptions in black letters. In short, the

installation, although effected in rather limited quarters, was a very

happy one. On the ground floor were the departments which were to be in

constant relation with the public, the different cash, issue, and other

offices, where every current banking operation went on; and upstairs

was the inner mechanism, so to speak, of the establishment, the

managing, correspondence, and accountant's offices--that for disputed

claims, and that of the staff. Altogether more than two hundred

employees moved about in this restricted space. And what struck one as

soon as one entered, even amidst the bustle of the workmen driving in

their last nails while the gold jingled in the wooden bowls, was an

air of severity, of ancient probity, vaguely suggestive of a sacristy,

and due undoubtedly to the premises--to that old, dark, damp mansion,

standing silent in the shadow of the trees of the neighbouring garden.

It seemed to you, indeed, as though you were entering a house of piety.

One afternoon, on returning from the Bourse, Saccard himself

experienced this sensation, which surprised him. It consoled him,

however, for the absence of gilding, and he expressed his satisfaction

to Madame Caroline. 'Well, all the same, for a beginning it is very

nice,' said he. 'It has a family air; it's a real little chapel. Later

on we shall see. Thank you, my beautiful friend, for all the trouble

you have taken in your brother's absence.'

And as he made it a principle to utilize unexpected circumstances,

he thenceforward exercised his ingenuity in developing the austere

appearance of the house. He imposed upon his employees the manners of

young priests; they spoke only in measured tones; they received and

paid out money with quite priestly discretion.

Never had Saccard in his tumultuous life so actively expended his

energy. In the morning at seven o'clock in advance of all the clerks,

and before the office porter had even lighted his fire, he was already

at his desk, opening his correspondence, and answering the most

pressing letters. Then, until eleven o'clock, there was an interminable

gallop--the principal friends and customers of the house, brokers,

_remisiers_, the whole host of the financial world, to say nothing of

the procession of heads of departments, coming for orders. He himself,

as soon as he had a minute's rest, rose and made a rapid inspection of

the various offices, where the employees lived in terror of his sudden

appearances, which never occurred at the same hours two days running.

At eleven o'clock he went up to breakfast with Madame Caroline, ate

heartily and drank heartily, with the ease of a thin man whom food

does not inconvenience; and the full hour which he spent there was not

wasted, for that was the time when, as he put it, he confessed his

beautiful friend--that is, asked her for her opinion about men and

things, although as a rule he did not know how to profit by her great

good sense. At noon he went off to the Bourse, wishing to be one of

the first to arrive there, in order to see and talk. However, he did

not gamble openly, but repaired to the spot as to a natural place of

appointment, where he was certain to meet the customers of his bank.

Moreover, his influence was already felt at the Bourse; he had

re-entered the building as a conqueror, a substantial man, supported

henceforth by real millions; and the shrewd ones talked in low tones as

they looked at him, whispering extraordinary rumours, and predicting

his approaching sovereignty. Towards half-past three he was always

back at the bank again, settling down to the irksome task of signing,

and so trained in this mechanical movement of the hand that, his head

free and speaking at his ease, he summoned employees, gave answers,

and decided important matters without once ceasing to sign. Then,

until six o'clock, he again received visitors, finished the work of

the day, and prepared that of the morrow. And when he went up again to

Madame Caroline, it was for a more copious meal than that at eleven

o'clock--delicate fish and particularly game, with caprices in the

matter of wine that led him to dine on one evening with Burgundy, on

another with Bordeaux, and on another with Champagne, according to the

fortune that had attended him that day.

'Dare to say that I am not well-behaved!' he cried sometimes, with a

smile. 'Instead of frequenting clubs and theatres, I live here, like a

good _bourgeois_, beside you. You must write that to your brother to

reassure him.'

He was not as well-behaved as he pretended, having about that time

taken a fancy to a little singer at the Bouffes; but he lived in such

a desire, such an anxiety, for success, that all other appetites were

bound to remain diminished and paralysed until he should feel himself

triumphant, fortune's undisputed master.

'Bah!' Madame Caroline would answer, 'my brother has always been so

staid that staidness is to him a natural condition, and not a merit,

I wrote to him yesterday that I had induced you not to re-gild the

board-room. That will please him much more.'

It was about this time, one very cold afternoon in the early days

of November, at the moment when Madame Caroline was giving the head

painter an order to merely clean the paint in the board-room, that a

servant brought her a card, saying that the person who had delivered it

strongly insisted upon seeing her. The card, a dirty one, bore the name

of Busch, coarsely printed. She did not know the name; still she gave

orders for the person to be shown up to her brother's room, where she

usually received.

If for six long months Busch had remained patient, and had not

utilised the extraordinary discovery which he had made of Saccard's

natural son, it was in the first place for the reasons that he had

originally advanced--the comparatively trifling result that there

would be in simply obtaining payment of the six hundred francs,

which the notes given to the mother represented, and the extreme

difficulty of blackmailing Saccard in order to obtain more, that is,

a reasonable sum of a few thousand francs or so. A widower, free from

all 'incumbrances,' and but little afraid of scandal--how could one

terrorise him, how make him pay a stiff price for that ugly present,

a natural child, who had grown up in the mud, and was fated possibly

to become a brute and an assassin? La Méchain had certainly made out a

long bill of expenses, about six thousand francs: first small sums lent

to Rosalie Chavaille, her cousin, the little one's mother; then what

the poor woman's sickness had cost her, her burial, the care of her

grave, and finally what had been spent for Victor himself, since he had

fallen to her charge, in the way of food, clothing, and a multitude of

other things. But if Saccard should not prove an affectionate father,

was it not likely that he would send them about their business? For

there was nothing in the world to prove that he was the father except

the resemblance between himself and the child; and at most they might

merely get from him the amount represented by the notes, provided

always that he did not contend that they were barred by the statute of

limitation.

Another reason why Busch had delayed action so long was that he had

just spent several weeks of frightful anxiety by the side of his

brother Sigismond, who was in bed stretched low by consumption. For

a fortnight especially, this terrible 'stirabout' had neglected

everything, forgotten the thousand and one complicated skeins which

he was unravelling, no more appearing at the Bourse, and no longer

pursuing a single debtor--never indeed leaving the bedside of his

patient, but watching over him, caring for him, and changing his linen

like a mother. Becoming prodigal, he who was so stingy, he summoned

the best doctors of Paris, and would have paid an enhanced price

for drugs if by this means they could only have been rendered more

efficacious; and, as the doctors had forbidden all work, and Sigismond

in this respect was obstinate, he carefully hid all the young fellow's

papers and books. A war of ruses was then carried on between them. As

soon as his nurse, overcome by fatigue, fell asleep, the young man,

drenched with perspiration and devoured by fever, would manage to

find a bit of pencil, and on the margin of a newspaper would again

begin making his calculations, distributing wealth according to his

dream of justice, and assuring to one and all a due share of happiness

and life. And Busch, on waking, was irritated to find him worse, and

felt heartbroken at the thought that he thus bestowed on his chimera

the little life that was left him. He allowed him to play with these

stupid theories, as he called them, just as one allows a child to play

with jumping-jacks, when he was in good health; but to kill himself

with such mad, impracticable ideas, really it was imbecile! At last,

however, having consented to be prudent through affection for his elder

brother, Sigismond had recovered some strength and was beginning to get

up.

Then it was that Busch, going back to his work, declared that it

was time to settle the Saccard matter, especially as Saccard had

re-entered the Bourse as a conqueror, and had again become a personage

of indisputable solvency. The report which Busch had received from

La Méchain, whom he had sent to the Rue Saint Lazare, was excellent.

Nevertheless, he still hesitated to attack his man in front, and was

delaying matters in the hope of discovering some method by which he

might conquer him, when a word dropped by La Méchain with regard to

Madame Caroline, the lady who kept the house, and of whom all the

shopkeepers in the neighbourhood had spoken to her, started him on a

new plan of campaign. Was this lady perchance the real mistress, the

one who held the keys of the cupboards and of the heart? He frequently

obeyed what he called the stroke of inspiration, yielding to sudden

divination, starting upon the chase with a mere indication due to his

scent, and then collecting facts which would bring him certainty, and

enable him to form a resolution. Thus it was that he betook himself to

the Rue Saint Lazare to see Madame Caroline.

Upstairs in the work-room, she stopped short in surprise at sight of

this stout, ill-shaven man, with a flat dirty face, greasy frock-coat,

and white cravat. He, on the other hand, searched her very soul,

finding her such as he desired her to be, so tall and healthy-looking,

with her wonderful white hair, which, so to say, illumined her young

face with gaiety and gentleness; and he was especially struck by the

expression of her rather large mouth, such an expression of kindliness

that he at once made up his mind.

'Madame,' said he, 'I wished to see Monsieur Saccard, but they just

told me he was not in.'

He lied; he had not even asked for Saccard, for he knew very well that

he was not in, having watched his departure for the Bourse.

'And so,' he resumed, 'I ventured to apply to you, really preferring

this, for I am not ignorant who it is that I address. It is a question

of a communication so serious and so delicate----'

Madame Caroline, who had so far not asked him to sit down, pointed out

a chair with anxious alacrity.

'Speak, monsieur, I am listening.'

Carefully lifting the skirts of his coat, which he seemed to be afraid

of soiling, Busch settled in his own mind that this woman must be

Saccard's mistress.

'You see, madame,' said he, 'it is not an easy thing to say, and I

confess to you that at the last moment I ask myself if I really ought

to confide such a matter to you. I hope that you will see in the step I

am taking nothing but a desire to enable Monsieur Saccard to repair old

wrongs.'

With a gesture she put him at his ease, having, in her turn, understood

with what sort of personage she had to deal, and desiring to curtail

all useless protests. For the rest, he did not insist, but began to

tell the old story in great detail--the seduction of Rosalie in the Rue

de la Harpe, the birth of a child after Saccard's disappearance, the

death of the mother in poverty and debauchery, and the fate of Victor

left in the charge of a cousin too busy to watch him, and growing up in

the midst of abomination. She listened to him, astonished at first by

this romance which she had not expected, for she had imagined that it

was a question of some shady financial transaction; and afterwards she

visibly softened, moved by the mother's sad fate and the abandonment of

the child, deeply stirred in the maternal instinct which was so strong

within her, childless though she was.

'But,' said she, 'are you certain, monsieur, of the things that you

tell me? Very strong proofs are needed, absolute proofs, in support of

such stories.'

He smiled. 'Oh, madame, there is a certain proof, the extraordinary

resemblance of the child to Monsieur Saccard. Besides, there are the

dates--everything agrees and proves the facts beyond a doubt.'

She was trembling, and he observed it. After a pause he continued: 'You

will understand now, madame, how embarrassing it was for me to address

myself direct to Monsieur Saccard. I would say that I have no personal

interest in the matter; I only come in the name of Madame Méchain, the

cousin, whom chance alone has put on the track of the father; for, as I

have had the honour to tell you, the twelve notes of fifty francs each

given to the unfortunate Rosalie were signed with the name of Sicardot,

a thing which I do not permit myself to judge--excusable, _mon Dieu_!

in this terrible life of Paris. Only Monsieur Saccard, you see, might

have misunderstood the nature of my intervention. And it was then

that I was inspired with the idea of seeing you first, madame, so that

I might be guided entirely by you as to the best course to follow,

knowing what an interest you take in Monsieur Saccard. There! you have

our secret. Do you think that I had better wait for him and tell him

all to-day?'

Madame Caroline evinced increasing emotion. 'No, no, later on,' she

replied.

But she herself did not know what to do, so strange was the story told

her. Meanwhile, Busch continued to study her, well pleased with the

extreme sensibility that placed her in his power, perfecting his plans,

and henceforth feeling certain that he should be able to get from her

far more than Saccard would ever have given.

'You see,' he murmured, 'it is necessary to come to some decision.'

'Well, I will go--yes, I will go to this Cité you speak of. I will go

to see this Madame Méchain and the child. It is better, much better,

that I should first see things for myself.'

She thought aloud; she had just decided to make a careful investigation

before saying anything whatever to the father. Then, if she were

convinced of the truth of the story, there would be time to tell him.

Was she not there to watch over his house and his peace of mind?

'Unfortunately, the case is pressing,' replied Busch, bringing her

little by little to the desired point. 'The poor boy is suffering. He

is in abominable surroundings.'

She had risen. 'I will put on my bonnet and go at once,' said she.

In his turn he had to leave his seat, and he added carelessly: 'I say

nothing of the little bill there will be to settle. Of course, the

child has been an expense; and there was also some money lent during

the mother's life. Oh! I don't know how much. I would not undertake

that part of the matter. However, all the papers are there.'

'Very well, I will see them.'

Then he seemed to be moved himself.

'Ah! madame, if you knew all the queer things that I see in the

course of business! The most respectable people have to suffer later

on through their passions, or, what is worse, through the passions

of their relatives. For instance, I could give you an example. Your

unfortunate neighbours, those Beauvilliers ladies----'

With a sudden movement he had approached one of the windows, and

was now darting inquisitive glances into the neighbouring garden.

Undoubtedly, since his very arrival, he had been planning this attempt

at spying, anxious as he always was to know his battle-ground. He

had made a correct guess in the matter of the acknowledgment of ten

thousand francs, signed by the Count de Beauvilliers in favour of

Léonie Cron; the information he had received from Vendôme corroborated

his theory of the adventure; the seduced girl, consumed by a desire to

come to Paris, had left the paper as security with the usurer Charpier

for some trifling loan, and then had taken herself off. But, although

he had speedily found the Beauvilliers, he had employed La Méchain in

scouring Paris for six months without managing to put his hand upon

Léonie. She had first become maid of all work to a process-server,

and he had traced her to three other situations, but, dismissed for

misbehaviour, she had at last disappeared, and in vain had he searched

every gutter. This exasperated him the more, as he could make no

attempt upon the Countess until he could secure the girl and utilise

her to threaten a scandal. However, he still nursed the affair; and,

standing at Madame Caroline's window, he felt happy at being able to

spy into the garden of the mansion, of which latter he had previously

seen nothing save the façade in the street.

'Are those ladies also threatened with some annoyance?' asked Madame

Caroline, with anxious sympathy.

He affected ignorance. 'No, I do not think so. I was simply referring

to the sad situation in which the Count's misconduct has left them.

Yes, I have friends at Vendôme; I know their story.' And as he finally

made up his mind to leave the window, he felt, amid the emotion which

he feigned, a sudden and singular reaction upon himself. 'And after

all,' said he, 'if there were only money losses! But it is when death

enters a house!'

This time real tears moistened his eyes. He had just thought of his

brother, and was choking. She fancied that he had recently lost a

relative, and discreetly refrained from questioning him. She had not

been deceived as to the abject calling of this personage who inspired

her with such a feeling of repugnance; and these unexpected tears

determined her more than his shrewdest tactics would have done; her

desire increased to hasten off to the Cité de Naples at once.

'Then, madame, I rely upon you?' said Busch.

'I start immediately,' she answered.

An hour later, having taken a cab, she was wandering about behind

the Butte Montmartre, unable to find the Cité. At last, in one of

the deserted streets running out of the Rue Marcadet, an old woman

pointed it out to the cabman. At the entrance it was like some

broken-up country road blocked with mud and refuse, and leading across

a tract of waste land. It was only after an attentive glance that you

distinguished the miserable shanties, compounded of earth, old boards,

and zinc, and looking like heaps of rubbish around the inner courtyard.

At the street corner, a one-storey house built of freestone, but

repulsively decrepit and filthy, seemed to command the entrance, like a

gaol. And here, indeed, lived La Méchain, like a vigilant proprietress,

ever on the watch, exploiting in person her little population of

starving tenants.

As soon as Madame Caroline had stepped from the cab, she saw La Méchain

appear on the threshold, with her enormous figure swaying in an ancient

blue silk dress, frayed at the folds and cracked at the seams, and

with cheeks so puffy and red that her tiny nose, almost lost to sight,

seemed to be cooking between two live coals. At this sight Madame

Caroline hesitated, filled with a sudden feeling of uneasiness, but

all at once the woman's gentle voice, which had the shrilly charm of a

shepherd's pipe, reassured her.

'Ah! madame, Monsieur Busch sends you; you came for little Victor. Come

in, come in. Yes, this is really the Cité de Naples. The street is not

classified; we have no numbers yet. Come in. We must talk it all over

first. _Mon Dieu_, it is so annoying, it is so sad!'

And then Madame Caroline had to accept a dilapidated chair, in a

dining-room black with grease, where a red-hot stove kept up a stifling

temperature and odour. La Méchain next had a deal to say about the

visitor's luck in finding her there, for she had so much business to

attend to in Paris that she seldom reached home before six o'clock. It

became necessary to interrupt her.

'Excuse me, madame, I came about this poor child.'

'Precisely, madame, I am going to show him to you. You know that his

mother was my cousin. Ah! I can say that I have done my duty. Here are

the papers, here are the accounts.'

Going to a cupboard, she thereupon took from it a package of papers,

carefully arranged, and enclosed in a blue wrapper such as lawyers

use. And she talked on endlessly about the unhappy Rosalie, who had

undoubtedly ended by leading a fearful life, though originally she had

been a good hard-working girl.

'You see, madame, I lent her all this money in sums of forty sous and a

hundred sous at a time. Here are the dates: June 20, forty sous; June

27, forty sous again; July 3, one hundred sous. And see, she must have

been ill about this time, for here is an endless line of items of one

hundred sous. Then I had Victor to dress. I have placed a V before all

the expenditures made for the boy. To say nothing of the fact that,

when Rosalie died--oh! in a very dreadful way--he fell completely into

my charge. So, look, I have put down fifty francs a month. That is very

reasonable. The father is rich; he can easily give fifty francs a month

for his boy. In short, it makes five thousand four hundred and three

francs, which, with the amount of the notes, six hundred francs, would

make a total of six thousand francs. Yes, everything for six thousand

francs; there you have it!'

In spite of the nausea, which was making her turn pale, Madame Caroline

remarked: 'But the notes do not belong to you; they are the child's

property.'

'Ah! excuse me,' replied La Méchain sharply, 'I advanced money upon

them. To oblige Rosalie, I discounted them for her. You see my

endorsement on the back. It is very good of me not to claim interest.

You will reflect, my good lady; I am sure that you won't cause a poor

woman like me to lose anything.'

Upon a weary gesture from the good lady, who accepted the statement

of account, she became calm again. And once more she found her little

piping voice to say: 'Now I will have Victor called.'

But in vain did she in turn despatch three urchins who were prowling

about; in vain did she plant herself on the threshold and make vigorous

gestures; it became certain that Victor refused to stir. One of the

brats even brought back a dirty word for sole reply. Thereupon she

started off herself, as if to lead the youngster back by the ear. But

she reappeared alone, having reflected, thinking it a good plan, no

doubt, to exhibit him in all his abominable horror.

'If Madame will take the trouble to follow me,' said she.

And on the way she furnished some particulars about the Cité de

Naples, which her husband had inherited from an uncle. This husband

probably was dead; no one had ever known him, and she never spoke of

him except to explain the origin of her property. A sorry business,

which would be the death of her, she said, for she found more trouble

than profit in it, especially now that the Prefecture was tormenting

her, sending inspectors to require repairs and improvements, under the

pretext that people were dying like flies on her premises. However,

she energetically refused to spend a copper. Would they not soon

require chimney-pieces ornamented with mirrors in rooms which she let

for two francs a week! But she did not speak of her own greediness in

collecting the rents, throwing families into the street the moment they

failed to pay the usual two francs in advance, doing her own police

work, and so feared that beggars without a shelter would not have dared

to sleep for nothing against one of her walls.

With her heart oppressed, Madame Caroline examined the courtyard, a

devastated piece of ground, full of mounds and hollows, and transformed

by accumulated filth into a perfect cloaca. Everything was thrown into

it; there was neither pit nor cesspool in the Cité, so that this yard

had become an ever-growing dunghill, poisoning the air; and fortunately

it was now cold weather, for on warm sunny days the stench generated

pestilence. With anxious feet, Madame Caroline tried to avoid the heaps

of vegetables and bones, while casting glances at the dwellings on

either side. These were indescribable dens, some half tumbling down,

others in ruins strengthened with the most extraordinary materials.

Several were simply covered with tarred paper. Many had no doors, but

afforded a glimpse of dark cave-like holes, whence came a nauseous

breath of poverty. Families of eight and ten persons were huddled

in these charnel-houses, often without even a bed--men, women, and

children, rotting like decayed fruit, given over from early childhood

to the most monstrous promiscuity. And thus bands of emaciated, puny

brats, eaten up by disease, continually filled the courtyard, poor

creatures growing on this dunghill like mushrooms. When an epidemic of

typhoid fever or small-pox arose, it at once swept half the Cité into

the cemetery.[18]

'I explained to you, madame,' continued La Méchain, 'that Victor has

not had good examples before his eyes, and that it is time to think

of his education, for he is almost in his teens. During his mother's

life, you know, he saw things that were not at all proper, for she

didn't stand on ceremony when she got drunk. Then, too, I have never

had time to keep a sufficiently watchful eye upon him, because of my

business in Paris. I tried to send him to school, but he would play

on the Fortifications all day long, and twice I had to go to claim

him because he had stolen--oh! trifles only. But you will see for

yourself; at the age of twelve he is already a man. Finally, so that he

might work a little, I gave him to Mother Eulalie, a woman who hawks

vegetables about at Montmartre. He goes with her to market, and carries

one of her baskets. The misfortune is that just now she is laid up, as

she has something the matter with her. But here we are, madame; be good

enough to enter.'

Madame Caroline shrank back. It was one of the foulest holes, at the

very end of the courtyard, behind a real barricade of filth, a hovel

scarce rising above the soil, a heap of plaster sustained by pieces of

board. There was no window. The door--an old glass door it was lined

with a sheet of zinc--was left open to let in the light, and the cold

wind entered in a frightful fashion. In one corner she saw a palliasse

thrown upon the beaten ground. There was no other recognisable piece

of furniture among the jumble of broken casks, torn-down trellis-work,

and half-rotten baskets which served as chairs and tables. A sticky

moisture oozed from the walls, whilst a crack, a greenish split in the

black ceiling, allowed the rain to come in just at the foot of the

mattress. And the smell, the smell especially was frightful. Here was

human degradation and absolute destitution in all their horror.

'Mother Eulalie,' cried La Méchain, 'here's a lady who's interested in

Victor. What ails the brat that he doesn't come when he is called?'

A shapeless bundle of flesh stirred upon the mattress, under a shred of

old printed calico which served as a covering; and Madame Caroline at

last distinguished a fat woman of about forty. Her face was not ugly,

and with little blonde ringlets around it still looked fairly fresh.

'Ah!' the sick woman moaned, 'by all means let the lady come in if she

means us well, for this cannot possibly continue! When one thinks,

madame, that I haven't been able to get up for a fortnight on account

of my illness! Of course, I haven't a copper left. Impossible to

continue business. I had a few things, which Victor went to sell; and

I really believe that to-night we should have died of hunger.' Then,

raising her voice, she added: 'Come now, it's stupid! Come out, little

one! The lady wishes you no harm.'

And Madame Caroline trembled at seeing a bundle, which she had taken

for a heap of rags, rise up from a basket. It was Victor, clad in

the remnants of a pair of trousers and a linen vest. The light from

the doorway fell full upon him, and she stood there with open mouth,

astounded at his extraordinary resemblance to Saccard. All her doubts

vanished; the paternity was undeniable.

'I don't want to be bored about going to school,' he declared.

But she still looked at him with a growing feeling of uneasiness.

Besides the resemblance which had struck her, there was something

alarming about the appearance of this urchin, with one half of his

face larger than the other, and his nose twisted to the right; for he

seemed prodigiously developed for his age--not very tall certainly,

but thickset, full-grown already, like a precocious beast. Although

his complexion was yet fresh and pure, his bold devouring eyes and

sensual mouth were those of a man; and he embarrassed and terrified the

beholder, like the sight of some monstrosity.

But the worst was to come, for when Madame Caroline questioned him,

the answers he gave, the admissions he made, though Mother Eulalie

in her shame sought to tone them down, were horrible and revolting

beyond expression. Madame Caroline shuddered. Her heart failed her in a

frightful attack of nausea.

She left twenty francs, hurried away, and again sought refuge in the

house of the proprietress, in order to make up her mind and come to a

definite understanding with the woman. The sight of such abandonment

had suggested an idea to her--the Institute of Work. Had it not been

expressly created for such falls, for the wretched children of the

gutter, whom it was sought to regenerate by hygiene and the teaching

of a trade? Victor must be extricated from this mire as quickly

as possible, placed in that home, and have a new existence given

him. She was still trembling at all that she had seen. And into the

decision that she had arrived at there entered a woman's delicacy: to

say nothing yet awhile to Saccard, to wait until the monster should

be somewhat cleansed before exhibiting him; for the sight of this

frightful offspring had filled her with something like shame for the

father; she suffered at the thought of how ashamed of such a child he

would be. A few months, however, would undoubtedly suffice to effect a

great change, and then she would speak out, well pleased with her good

work.

It was difficult to make La Méchain understand, however.

'_Mon Dieu_! Madame, as you please,' said she. 'Only I want my six

thousand francs at once. Victor shall not stir from my house until I

have my six thousand francs.'

This decision filled Madame Caroline with despair. She did not possess

the amount, and, of course, did not want to ask the father for it. In

vain did she argue and plead.

'No, no!' said La Méchain. 'If I no longer had my security, I might say

good-bye to the money. I know that!' At last, however, realizing that

the sum was a large one and that she might get nothing at all, she made

an abatement. 'Well, give me two thousand francs at once. I will wait

for the rest.'

But Madame Caroline's embarrassment remained the same, and she was

asking herself where she could possibly get two thousand francs, when

the idea struck her of applying to Maxime. She did not pause to think

it over. He would surely consent to share the secret; he would not

refuse to advance such a small sum, which his father would certainly

repay him. And thereupon she went away, saying that she would return

the next day to fetch Victor.

It was only five o'clock, and she was in such a fever to finish the

matter that, on getting into her cab, she gave the driver Maxime's

address in the Avenue de l'Impératrice. When she arrived, the valet

told her that his master was at his toilet, but that he would all the

same announce her.

For a moment she stifled in the reception-room into which she

was ushered. The house was small, but furnished with an exquisite

refinement of luxury and comfort. Hangings and carpets had been

lavished upon it; and amid the warm silence of the rooms a delicate

odour of ambergris was diffused. All was pretty, soft, and discreet

here, although there was no sign of woman; for the young widower,

enriched by his wife's death, had arranged his life for the sole

worship of self, declining, like a man of experience, to allow anyone

to share it again. Owing the enjoyments of life to one woman, he was

determined not to let them be spoilt by another. He had long since

abandoned his idea of entering the Council of State; he no longer even

kept a racing stable, weary as he was of horses as well as women. And

he lived alone, idle, perfectly happy, spending his fortune with art

and precaution, evincing the ferocity of a perverse 'kept' masher who

has turned serious.

'If Madame will allow me,' the valet returned to say, 'Monsieur will

receive her in his room directly.'

Madame Caroline was on familiar terms with Maxime, now that whenever he

went to his father's to dine he found her installed there as a faithful

housekeeper. On entering his room, she saw that the curtains were

drawn. Six candles, burning on the mantel-shelf and a stand, illumined

with a quiet light this silky, downy nest, the more than effeminate

chamber of a beautiful woman. With its deep seats and immense soft

downy bed, this was his favourite room, where he had lavished

delicacies, marvellous furniture, and precious _bibelots_ of the last

century, all blended, lost amidst the most delightful confusion of

stuffs imaginable.

However, the door leading to the adjoining dressing-room was wide open,

and Maxime appeared, saying: 'What has happened, then? Papa isn't dead,

eh?'

With his pretty face, girlish but no longer fresh, his eyes blue and

clear, hiding the emptiness of his brain, he had just left the bath,

and, his skin cool and balmy, had slipped on an elegant white flannel

costume. Through the door could still be heard the dripping from one

of the bath taps, and a strong flowery perfume ascended from the soft

warm water.

'No, no; it is not so serious,' she answered, put out by the quietly

jesting tone of the question. 'And yet what I have to say to you

embarrasses me a little. You will excuse me for thus falling in upon

you----'

'It's true I dine out, but I have time enough to dress. Come, what is

the matter?'

He waited, and now she hesitated, and began to stammer, greatly struck

by all the luxury and enjoyable refinement which she perceived about

her. Cowardice seized upon her; and she could not find courage to tell

the whole story. Was it possible that existence, so stern to the child

of chance over yonder, in the sink of the Cité de Naples, had shown

itself so prodigal to this one, living amid such well-ordered wealth?

So much vile wretchedness, hunger, and filth on the one hand, and on

the other such exquisite refinement, abundance, and beautiful life.

Could money, then, be education, health, intelligence? And if the same

human mud remained beneath, did not all civilisation consist in the

superiority of smelling nice and living well?

'_Mon Dieu_!' said she, 'it is such a story! But I believe I do right

in telling it to you. For that matter, I am obliged to; I have need of

you.'

Maxime at first listened to her standing; then he sat down in front

of her, his legs giving way, such was his surprise. And when she had

finished, he exclaimed: 'What, what! So I am not the only son! A

frightful little brother falls on me from the sky, without so much as

shouting "Look out!"'

She thought he spoke from an interested motive, and made an allusion to

the question of inheritance.

'Oh! an inheritance from papa!' said he.

And he made a gesture of ironical carelessness, which she did not

understand. What--what did he mean? Did he not believe in his father's

great qualities, his certainty of attaining to fortune?

'No, no, I have my pile,' he added. 'I need nobody. But really this is

such a queer affair that I cannot help laughing at it.'

And he did laugh, but in a vexed, anxious, hollow fashion, thinking

only of himself, not yet having had time to consider what good or harm

this event might bring him. He felt that he lived altogether apart from

the others, and dropped a remark in which he brutally gave expression

to his real feelings: 'After all, what do I care?'

Having risen, he passed into the dressing-room, and came back directly

with a tortoiseshell polisher, with which he began gently rubbing his

nails. 'And what are you going to do with your monster?' he asked. 'He

cannot be put in the Bastille, like the Man with the Iron Mask.'

She then spoke of La Méchain's accounts, explained her idea of placing

Victor at the Institute of Work, and asked for the two thousand francs.

'I don't wish your father to know anything of the matter yet awhile,'

said she. 'You are the only person to whom I can apply; you must

advance this money.'

But he flatly refused. 'To papa--not if I know it! not a sou! Listen,

it is an oath! Even if papa only needed a sou to pay a bridge-toll, I

would not lend it to him. Understand! there are some silly things that

are altogether too silly; I do not wish to be ridiculous.'

Again she looked at him, disturbed by his ugly insinuations. In this

exciting moment, however, she had neither the wish nor the time to make

him talk. 'And to me,' she abruptly rejoined--'will you lend these two

thousand francs to me?'

'To you, to you----'

He continued polishing his nails with a light, pretty movement, while

examining her with his clear eyes, which searched women to their

heart's blood. 'To you, yes; after all--I am willing. You are one of

the gullible ones, you will pay me back.'

Then, after going to take two notes of a thousand francs each from a

little desk, and giving them to her, he grasped her hands and held

them for a moment in his own, with an air of friendly gaiety, like

a step-son who feels some sympathy for his step-mother. 'You have

some illusions respecting papa,' said he. 'Oh! don't protest; I don't

want to meddle with your affairs. Women are so queer; it amuses them

sometimes to devote themselves, and of course they are quite right in

taking their pleasure where they find it. All the same, if some day you

should be ill rewarded, come and see me, we will have a chat.'

When Madame Caroline was once more in her cab, still stifling from the

soft warmth of the little residence and the heliotrope perfume which

had penetrated her garments, she shuddered as though she had just left

some house of ill-repute, frightened also by the son's reticence and

jocularity with regard to his father, which increased her suspicion of

a past life such as none would confess to. However, she did not wish to

know anything; she had the money, and quieted herself by planning the

work of the morrow, so that by night time the child might be saved from

his vices.

Accordingly, early in the morning, she already had to start out, for

there were all sorts of formalities to be fulfilled in order to ensure

her _protege's_ admission into the Institute of Work. Naturally, her

position as secretary of the Committee of Superintendence, to which

the Princess d'Orviedo, the founder of the Institute, had appointed

ten ladies of high social standing, facilitated the accomplishment of

these formalities; and in the afternoon she had only to go to the Cité

de Naples to fetch Victor. She took some suitable garments with her,

and was not really without anxiety as to the resistance which the boy

might offer--he who would not hear speak of going to school. However,

La Méchain, to whom she had sent a telegram, and who was waiting for

her, informed her on the threshold of a piece of news by which she

herself had been upset. Mother Eulalie had died suddenly in the night,

from some cause which the doctor had been unable to precisely fix--a

congestion, perhaps, some distemper produced by her corrupted blood.

This tragedy had quite stupefied the boy, filled him with a secret

fear, so that he consented to dress and seemed even pleased with the

idea of living in a house with a beautiful garden. There was nothing

to keep him at the Cité any longer since the 'fat 'un,' as he called

Mother Eulalie, was going to rot in the grave.

Meanwhile, La Méchain, while writing her receipt for the two thousand

francs, laid down her conditions. 'It is agreed, isn't it? you will

complete the six thousand in one payment, six months from now.

Otherwise, I shall apply to Monsieur Saccard.'

'But you will be paid by Monsieur Saccard himself,' said Madame

Caroline. 'To-day I am simply his substitute, that is all.'

There was no affection in the farewells exchanged between Victor and

his old cousin; a kiss upon the hair, and then the urchin was all

haste to get into the cab, while La Méchain, scolded by Busch for

having consented to accept merely an instalment of her claim, remained

secretly annoyed at seeing her security thus escape her. 'Now, madame,

be honest with me,' said she, 'otherwise I shall find a way to make you

repent.'

On the way from the Cité de Naples to the Institute of Work on

the Boulevard Bineau, Madame Caroline was only able to extract

monosyllables from Victor, who with glittering eyes devoured the route,

the broad avenues, the passers-by and handsome houses. He did not know

how to write and could scarcely read, having always played the truant

from school in order to loaf about the Fortifications; and his face,

the face of a child who has precociously matured, only expressed the

exasperated appetites of his race, a violent, pressing longing for

enjoyment, aggravated by the wretchedness and the abominable examples

amidst which he had grown up. On the Boulevard Bineau his eyes, like

those of a young wild beast, glowed more brightly when, having alighted

from the cab, he began crossing the central courtyard, edged on one

side by the boys' and on the other by the girls' department. He had

already darted a searching look at the spacious play-grounds planted

with beautiful trees, at the faïence-walled kitchens, from whose open

windows came the smell of meat, at the marble-decorated dining halls,

as long and as lofty as the naves of chapels, at all the regal luxury

which the Princess, obstinately bent on restitution, had desired to

bestow upon the poor. Then, on reaching the farther end of the court,

on entering the building where the managerial offices were installed,

on being led from department to department so that the customary

formalities of admission might be fulfilled, he listened to the clatter

of his new shoes along the endless corridors, up and down the broad

stairways, across all the vestibules flooded with air and light, and

decorated in palatial style. His nostrils quivered; all this would be

his.

Returning to the ground floor, however, in order that some document

might be signed, Madame Caroline led him along a fresh corridor, and

suddenly stopped before a glass door through which he could see a

workshop, where some lads of his own age, standing at benches, were

receiving instruction in wood-carving.

'You see, my little friend,' said she, 'they work here, because it is

necessary to work if one wishes to secure good health and happiness.

There are classes in the evening, and I hope you will be steady, and

study well. You will, won't you? You will be able to decide your own

future here, a future such as you have never dreamt of.'

Victor frowned, a dark expression came over his face. He did not

answer, and henceforth his eyes--the eyes of a young wolf--only cast

envious, thieving glances at all the lavish display of luxury. To have,

to enjoy it all, but without work; to seize and feast upon it, tooth

and nail--that was what he wanted. And from that moment he was there

only as a rebel, a prisoner who dreams of robbery and escape.

'Everything is now settled,' resumed Madame Caroline; 'we are going up

to the bathroom.'

It was the regulation that each inmate should take a bath on his

arrival, and the baths were installed upstairs in little rooms

adjoining the infirmary, beyond whose two small dormitories, one for

boys and one for girls, the linen-room was situated. Six sisters of

charity reigned in this superb linen-room, around which ran tiers

of presses all of varnished maple, and also in the model infirmary,

whose immaculate brightness, whiteness, and cheerful cleanliness were

typical of health. And at times, too, some ladies of the Committee of

Superintendence would come and spend an hour here in the afternoon,

less to exercise any supervision than to help on the work by their own

devoted assistance.

That day it chanced that the Countess de Beauvilliers and her daughter

Alice were in a room separating the dormitories of the infirmary. The

Countess often brought the girl there in order to divert her mind,

in order that she might experience the pleasure which the practice

of charity affords. And on this occasion Alice was helping one of

the sisters to prepare some slices of bread and jam for two little

convalescent girls who were allowed a snack between meals.

'Ah!' exclaimed the Countess at sight of Victor, who was given a seat

whilst his bath was being got ready, 'here is a new one!'

As a rule, she behaved very ceremoniously towards Madame Caroline,

merely saluting her with an inclination of the head, never speaking

to her, for fear perhaps lest she might be obliged to enter into

neighbourly intercourse with her. However, the sight of this boy whom

Madame Caroline had brought to the Institute, the active kindness with

which she attended to him, doubtless touched Madame de Beauvilliers and

helped to draw her from her reserve. So they began talking together in

an undertone.

'If you only knew, madame, from what a hell I have just taken him!'

said Madame Caroline. 'I recommend him to your kindness as I have

recommended him to all the ladies and gentlemen.'

'Has he any relatives? Do you know them?'

'No, his mother is dead. He has only me.'

'Poor boy! Ah! what misery there is!'

In the meantime Victor did not take his eyes off the slices of bread

and jam. Ferocious greed had lighted up his eyes, and from the jam

which was being spread on the bread with a knife his glances strayed

first to Alice's tapering white hands, then to her slender neck, in

turn to all parts of her figure--the spare figure of a sickly girl

wasting away in the vain waiting for wedlock. Ah! if he had only been

alone with her, how he would have given her a good butt in the stomach

with his head and sent her reeling against the wall, so that he might

have taken the bread and jam from her. However, the girl had noticed

his gluttonous glances, and after consulting the sister of charity with

her eyes, exclaimed: 'Are you hungry, my little friend?'

'Yes.'

'And you don't dislike jam?'

'No.'

'So it would suit you if I got a couple of slices ready for you to eat

when you have taken your bath?'

'Yes.'

'A great deal of jam on very little bread, that's what you want, isn't

it?'

'Yes.'

She laughed and joked, but he remained grave and open-mouthed, with his

greedy eyes devouring both herself and her bread and jam.

At that moment, however, loud shouts of joy, quite a violent uproar,

arose from the boys' ground, where four o'clock playtime was beginning.

The workshops were emptying, and the youngsters had half an hour before

them to stretch their legs and eat a morsel. 'You see,' resumed Madame

Caroline, leading Victor to a window, 'although they work here, they

also play. Do you like work?'

'No.'

'But you like play?'

'Yes.'

'Well, if you want to play you will have to work. Everything will come

all right; you will be sensible, I am sure of it.'

He returned no answer. A flush of pleasure was heating his face at

the sight of his released companions shouting and skipping hither

and thither. Then his eyes reverted to the promised slices of bread

and jam, which the girl had finished preparing and was laying on a

plate. Yes, liberty and dainties all the time, he wanted nothing else.

However, his bath was now ready, and so he was led away.

'That little fellow won't be easy to manage, I fancy,' gently said the

sister; 'I distrust them when they haven't a straight face.'

'Yet this one isn't ugly,' murmured Alice. 'To see him look at you, you

would think he was eighteen.'

'That is true,' rejoined Madame Caroline, with a slight shudder; 'he is

very advanced for his age.'

Before going away the ladies wished to have the pleasure of seeing

the little convalescent girls eat their bread and jam. One of them

especially was very interesting, a little fair-complexioned thing of

ten years old, who already had knowing eyes, a womanly look, the sickly

precocity peculiar to the Parisian _faubourgs_. Moreover, hers was the

old story: a drunken father who had gone off with a mistress, and a

mother who had likewise taken to drink and chosen a paramour. Yet the

wretched woman was allowed to come and see her child, for she herself

had begged that she might be taken from her, having retained an ardent

feeling of maternal love amidst all her degradation. And she happened

to be there that very afternoon--a thin, yellow-skinned, worn-out

creature with eyelids reddened by tears--and she sat beside the white

bed where, propped up by pillows, her little one, neat and clean, lay

eating her bread and jam in a pretty, graceful way.

The woman recognised Madame Caroline, for she had previously called

at Saccard's for help. 'Ah! madame,' said she, 'so here's my poor

Madeleine saved again. She has all our misfortunes in the blood,

you see, and the doctor well told me that she wouldn't live if she

continued to be hustled about at home, whereas here she has meat

and wine, and air and quietness. I pray you, madame, tell that good

gentleman that I don't spend an hour of my life without blessing him.'

A sob checked her utterance; her heart was melting with gratitude. It

was Saccard whom she alluded to, for, like most of the parents who had

children at the institution, she knew him alone. The Princess d'Orviedo

did not show herself, whereas he had long lavished his efforts,

peopling the establishment, picking little wretches of all kinds out

of the gutters in order that this charitable machine, in some degree

his own creation, might the sooner set to work. And, moreover, he had,

as usual, grown quite enthusiastic, taking five-franc pieces from his

own pocket and distributing them among the sorry parents whose little

ones he saved. And to all those wretched folk he remained the one true

benefactor.

'And you will tell him, won't you, madame? that there is a poor woman

praying for him somewhere. Oh! it isn't that I'm religious. I don't

want to be; I've never been a hypocrite. No, between the churches and

us it is all over, for we not merely don't think of them any more, but

it's of no use to waste one's time in them. Still, that doesn't alter

the fact that there's something up above us, and when somebody has been

good to you it relieves you, you know, to call down the blessings of

Heaven upon him.'

Tears started from her eyes and rolled down her withered cheeks.

'Listen to me, Madeleine, listen,' she resumed.

The little girl, who looked so pale in her snow-white chemise as she

lay there licking the jam off the bread with the tip of her greedy

tongue, her eyes beaming the while with happiness, raised her head and

became attentive, but without interrupting her feast.

'Every evening,' continued the mother, 'before you go to sleep in bed,

you must join your hands like this, and say: "Pray, God, grant Monsieur

Saccard a reward for all his kindness, and give him a long life and

happiness." You hear, Madeleine; you promise me you will say it?'

'Yes, mother.'

* * * * *

During the following weeks Madame Caroline's mind was sorely troubled.

She had no longer a clear opinion of Saccard. The story of Victor's

birth and abandonment, of that poor creature Rosalie's sad affair,

of the unpaid notes of hand, and of the fatherless child growing up

in the midst of mire--all that lamentable past made her feel sick at

heart. She brushed aside the visions of it that arose before her in

the same way as she had refrained from provoking Maxime's indiscreet

revelations. Plainly enough, there were certain old-time mud stains

in all this business, the thought of which frightened her, and the

full knowledge of which would have brought her, she felt it, too much

grief. And then how strange the contrast. There was that woman in

tears, joining her little girl's hands, and teaching her to pray for

that very same man. There, in this case, was Saccard worshipped as an

incarnation of beneficent Providence; and verily he had given proof of

true kindness of heart, had actually saved souls from perdition, by

the passionate scheming activity which he evinced, raising himself to

virtue whenever the task before him was a fine one. And thus Madame

Caroline ended by refusing to judge him, and, like a learned woman who

has read and thought too much, sought to quiet her conscience by saying

that he, like all other men, was compounded of good and evil.

Three months slipped by, during which she went to see Victor twice

every week; and at last, how it came about she hardly knew, she one

day again found herself Saccard's mistress. Was it that this child

Victor had become as it were a bond, a link, inevitably drawing her,

his mother by chance and adoption, towards the father who had abandoned

him? Yes, it is probable that in her case there was far less sensuality

than a kind of sentimental perversion. In her great sorrow, at being

childless herself, the charge of this man's son amid such poignant

circumstances had certainly affected her to the point of annihilating

her will. And, moreover, her self-surrender was explained by her

craving for maternity. Then, too, she was a woman of clear good sense;

she accepted the facts of life without wearing herself out in trying

to explain their thousand complex causes. The unravelling of heart and

brain, the minute splitting and analysing of hairs, was, to her mind,

a pastime fit only for idle worldlings with no household to manage, no

child to love, intellectual humbugs who ever seek excuses for their

frailty in what they call 'the science of the soul.'

She, with her vast erudition, who formerly had wasted her time in a

burning desire to know the whole vast world and join in the disputes of

philosophers, had emerged from this phase of her life with a feeling of

great contempt for all such psychological recreations, which threaten

to supersede both the pianoforte and the embroidery frame, and of which

she would laughingly remark that they had depraved far more women

than they had reclaimed. And so, whenever she felt a gap within her,

whenever her free will succumbed, she preferred to have the requisite

courage to realise the fact and accept it, and relied upon the work of

Life to efface the fault, to repair the evil, even as the ever-rising

sap closes the gash in the heart of an oak tree, supplying in time

fresh wood and bark.

Thus, if she was now Saccard's mistress, without having desired it,

without feeling sure if she esteemed him, she did not experience any

feeling of ignominy, but buoyed herself up by judging him to be not

unworthy of her, attracted as she was by the qualities he showed as a

man of action, by the energy to conquer that he evinced, by the belief

that he was good and useful to others. In the need we all feel of

purifying our errors, her first feeling of shame had passed away, and

nothing now appeared more natural, more peaceful than their _liaison_.

Reason, not passion, seemed to link them together; he was happy at

having her with him of an evening when he did not go out; and she, with

her keen intelligence and uprightness, showed herself almost maternal,

evinced a calming affection. And for Saccard, that freebooter of the

Parisian streets, whose roguery in all sorts of shady financial affairs

had brought him many a scorching and drubbing, the affection of this

adorable woman, who, her six and thirty years notwithstanding, was

still so young and healthy under the snowy mass of her abundant white

hair, who displayed such valiant good sense, such true wisdom in her

faith in life, such as it is, and despite all the mud that its torrent

rolls along--this affection was really an undeserved stroke of luck, a

reward stolen like all others.

Months passed by, and it must be admitted that throughout all the

difficult beginnings of the Universal Bank Madame Caroline found

Saccard very energetic and very prudent. Indeed, her suspicions of

shady transactions, her fears that he might compromise her brother

and herself entirely disappeared when she saw him so obstinately, so

incessantly struggling with difficulties, expending his energy from

morning till night in order to ensure the perfect working of this huge

new machine, whose mechanism was grinding and grating and seemed likely

to burst. And she felt grateful to him for it all, she admired him.

The Universal was not progressing as he had hoped it would, for it had

against it the covert hostility of great financiers. Evil reports were

spread abroad and obstacles were constantly cropping up, preventing

the employment of its capital, frustrating all profitable endeavours

on a large scale. Accordingly Saccard made a virtue of necessity--of

the slow progress to which he was reduced--taking but one step forward

at a time, and on solid ground, ever on the look-out for pitfalls,

too much absorbed in striving to avoid a fall to dare to launch out

into hazardous speculation. He impatiently champed the bit, stamping

like a race-horse who is allowed a mere trot. However, never were the

beginnings of a financial house more honourable or more correct, and

the Bourse talked of it all in astonishment.

In this wise, then, they reached the date of the first general meeting

of shareholders. April 25 had been chosen for this meeting, and on the

20th Hamelin, hastily recalled by Saccard, who was stifling in his

narrow sphere, arrived from the East expressly to preside over it. He

brought excellent news with him; the agreements for the formation of

the United Steam Navigation Company were concluded, and he, moreover,

had in his pocket the firmans granting the working of the Carmel silver

mines to a French company; to say nothing of the National Turkish Bank,

the foundations of which he had just laid at Constantinople, and which

would become a branch of the Universal. As for the big question of the

Asia Minor Railway, this was not yet ripe and must be kept in reserve.

Besides, he meant to return to the East directly after the meeting, in

order to continue his studies. Saccard, who was delighted, had a long

conversation with him, at which Madame Caroline was present, and he

easily persuaded them that an increase of capital would be absolutely

necessary if they wished to provide for all these enterprises. The

large shareholders, Daigremont, Huret, Sédille, and Kolb, who had been

consulted, had already approved of an increase, so that a couple of

days sufficed to mature the suggestion and lay it before the board on

the very eve of the meeting of shareholders.

This special board-meeting was a solemn affair. All the directors

attended in that large severe-looking room on the first floor, where

the light acquired a greenish tinge through the proximity of the lofty

trees in the garden of the Beauvilliers mansion. As a rule, there were

two board-meetings every month: the petty, but more important meeting

on or about the 15th, when only the real leaders, the true managers, of

the enterprise would attend; and the full meeting on the 30th, when the

silent and purely ornamental directors came to signify their approval

of all that had been prearranged and to give the signatures required of

them. On this occasion the Marquis de Bohain arrived one of the first,

testifying with an aristocratic weary air to the approval of the entire

French nobility. And the Viscount de Robin-Chagot, the penurious,

gentle vice-chairman, who had been selected to school those of the

directors to whom the position of affairs had not been communicated,

drew them aside, and in a few words informed them of the orders of the

general manager, the real master of one and all. It was an understood

thing, and with a nod they all promised compliance.

At last the proceedings commenced. Hamelin acquainted the board with

the report which he was to read at the shareholders' meeting. This was

the big task on which Saccard had long been at work, and which he had

at last drafted in a couple of days, supplementing it with information

which Hamelin had furnished on his arrival. Yet, while the engineer

read it aloud, he listened modestly, with an air of keen interest, as

though he had not previously been acquainted with a single word of it.

The report began by recapitulating the business done by the Universal

Bank since its foundation. Its transactions were good ones, but they

were mainly little every-day matters in which money was promptly

turned over--all the usual routine, in fact, of financial houses.

Still, some rather large profits had been made in the matter of the

Mexican loan which had been floated during the preceding month, after

the Emperor Maximilian's departure for Mexico. A queer affair was

this, disgracefully mismanaged, with plenty of pickings in the way of

premiums for enterprising speculators; and Saccard greatly regretted

that lack of money had kept him from wading yet more deeply in these

troubled waters. However, if the bank's transactions had simply been

commonplace ones, at least it had managed to live. Since its foundation

on October 5, until December 31, it had realised profits amounting

to rather more than four hundred thousand francs. This had enabled

the management to pay off one-fourth of the preliminary expenses, to

give the shareholders five per cent., and to carry ten per cent. to a

reserve fund. Moreover, the directors had received the ten per cent.

guaranteed to them by the articles of association, and there remained

about sixty-eight thousand francs, which it was proposed to carry

forward until the next distribution of profits. Nothing could have been

more strictly commonplace and honourable than all this. It was the

same with regard to the price at which Universal shares were quoted at

the Bourse; they had risen from five hundred to six hundred francs,

not suddenly, but in a slow normal fashion, just like the shares of

any respectable banking house. And for two months now the price had

remained stationary, there being no reason for any increase, given

the humdrum daily round in which the newly-born concern seemed to be

falling asleep.

But the report passed on to the future, and here everything suddenly

expanded; a vast horizon of a series of great enterprises was spread

before the view. Especial attention was called to the United Steam

Navigation Company, whose shares were to be issued by the Universal

Bank. This company, with a capital of fifty millions of francs, was

to monopolise the entire transport service of the Mediterranean.

It would amalgamate those two great rival concerns, the Phocæan

Company, with its service to Constantinople, Smyrna, and Trebizond

by way of the Piræus and the Dardanelles, and the Maritime Company,

with its service to Alexandria by way of Messina and Syria; to say

nothing of the various minor houses which would be absorbed in the

enterprise--Combarel and Co., with their service to Algeria and Tunis;

Veuve Henri Liétard, who ran another service to Algeria, but by way of

Spain and Morocco; and, finally, Messrs. Féraud-Giraud Brothers, whose

vessels plied along the coasts of Italy to Naples, Civita Vecchia, and

the ports of the Adriatic. By making one company of all these rival

concerns, which were killing one another, the entire Mediterranean

would be conquered. By the centralization of capital they would be able

to build superior vessels, of unsurpassed speed and comfort; and they

would further be able to increase the frequency of the services and

the number of the ports of call, so that the East would soon become a

mere suburb of Marseilles. And to what importance would the company not

attain when the Suez Canal was finished and it became possible for it

to organise services to India, Tonquin, China, and Japan! Never had a

greater and a safer enterprise been conceived.

Then came the question of supporting the National Turkish Bank,

concerning which the report supplied an abundance of technical

particulars, fully demonstrating what a secure and substantial

enterprise this would be. And the recital of the contemplated

operations concluded with the announcement that the Universal would

also give its patronage to the Carmel Silver Mining Company, which

was to be established with a capital of twenty millions of francs.

Specimens of ore, which chemists had analysed, had been found to

contain a large proportion of silver. But, more even than science,

the antique poesy clinging to the Holy Places summoned up a vision of

silver pouring forth in a miraculous stream--a divine, dazzling vision

which Saccard had alluded to at the end of a sentence with which he was

very pleased.

Finally, after all these promises of a glorious future, the report

concluded by recommending an increase of capital. It should be doubled,

raised from five and twenty to fifty millions of francs. The suggested

system of issue was of extreme simplicity, in order that everybody

might understand it. Fifty thousand new shares would be created, and

reserved share by share for the holders of the original stock, so that

there would not even be any public subscription. Only these new shares

were to be issued at five hundred and twenty francs apiece, inclusive

of a premium of twenty francs. This would yield a million, which could

be carried to the reserve fund. It was reasonable and prudent that this

little tax should be levied on the shareholders, since they would be

favoured by the new issue. Moreover, only a fourth part of the value of

the shares, _plus_ the premium, was payable on allotment.

A hum of approval arose when Hamelin ceased reading. It was perfect;

not the faintest objection could be raised. Throughout the perusal

Daigremont, to all appearance very much interested in his finger-nails,

had smiled at sundry vague thoughts that occurred to him; whilst deputy

Huret, leaning back in his arm-chair with closed eyes, almost fell

asleep under the impression that he was at the Chamber of Deputies. And

meantime Kolb, the banker, quietly and openly devoted himself to making

a long calculation on some of the sheets of paper which, like every

director, he had before him.

However, Sédille, who was always anxious and distrustful, made up his

mind to ask a few questions. What would become of those new shares

which the shareholders, relinquishing their right, might not choose

to take up? Would the bank keep them on its own account, and, if so,

would this not be illegal, as the declaration of increase of capital,

required by law, could not be made at the notary's until the entire

additional capital had been subscribed? On the other hand, if the Bank

meant to get rid of these shares, to whom and how did it expect to sell

them? However, at the first words spoken by the silk manufacturer, the

Marquis de Bohain, observing Saccard's impatience, intervened, and

declared, with his grand aristocratic air, that the board left these

matters of detail to its chairman and manager, who were both so devoted

and so competent. And after this only congratulations were heard, and

the meeting broke up with everybody in rapturous delight.

The shareholders' meeting on the morrow supplied occasion for some

really touching demonstrations. It was again held in that hall in the

Rue Blanche where the proprietor of a public ball had gone bankrupt;

and prior to the chairman's arrival the most favourable reports began

to circulate among the crowd of shareholders. One rumour in particular

was transmitted in whispers from ear to ear: Rougon, the minister,

the manager's brother, whom the growing Opposition was now virulently

attacking, was disposed to favour the Universal if the Bank's newspaper

'L'Espérance,' a former organ of the Catholic party, would only defend

the Government. One of the deputies of the Left had lately raised

that terrible cry 'The second of December[19] is a crime!' which had

resounded from one to the other end of France like an awakening of

the public conscience. And it was necessary to answer it by great

deeds--such as the launching of the approaching Universal Exhibition,

which, it was expected, would increase business tenfold. Besides,

people would make piles of money in Mexico and elsewhere now that the

triumph of the Empire was at its zenith.

In one little group of shareholders, whom Jantrou and Sabatani were

schooling, a good deal of laughter was indulged in at the expense of

another deputy of the Left who, during the discussion of the army

budget, had let his fancy run riot to the point of suggesting that the

Prussian recruiting system should be adopted in France. The Chamber had

been much amused by this. How the terror of Prussia had been troubling

certain brains since that Denmark affair, under the influence of

the secret resentment that Italy had harboured against France since

Solferino! However, all the hubbub of private conversation, all the

loud buzzing that prevailed in the hall, was suddenly hushed when

Hamelin and the other officials entered. Displaying even more modesty

than at the board meeting, Saccard had withdrawn from all prominence,

hidden himself away among the throng; and he contented himself with

giving the signal for applauding the report, which embodied the first

balance-sheet, duly checked and approved by Lavignière and Rousseau

the auditors, and finally proposed the doubling of the Bank's capital.

The meeting alone had power to authorise this increase, upon which it

decided with enthusiasm, quite intoxicated as it was by the millions of

the United Steam Navigation Company and the National Turkish Bank, and

realising, moreover, that it was necessary to place the capital on a

par with the importance which the Universal was now about to acquire.

As for the Carmel silver mines, the announcement concerning them was

greeted with a religious thrill. And when votes of thanks had been

accorded to the chairman, directors, and manager, and the shareholders

separated, they all began dreaming of Carmel and of that miraculous

rain of silver which would pour down from the Holy Places amidst a halo

of glory.

A couple of days later Hamelin and Saccard, on this occasion

accompanied by the Viscount de Robin-Chagot, the vice-chairman,

returned to Maître Lelorrain's offices in the Rue Ste. Anne to make

the needful declaration of the increase of capital, which, they

alleged, had been entirely subscribed. But the truth was that some

three thousand shares, declined by the original shareholders to whom

by right they belonged, had been left on the Bank's hands and turned

over to the Sabatani account by some jugglery in the book-keeping. It

was the original irregular device, repeated and aggravated--the system

of concealing a certain number of Universal shares in the Bank's own

coffers, as a kind of reserve, which would enable it to speculate and

throw itself into the thick of the fight at the Bourse so as to keep up

prices should any coalition of 'bears' be formed to beat them down.

Hamelin, though he disapproved of these illegal tactics, had ended

by completely trusting the management of financial operations to

Saccard. There was a conversation between them and Madame Caroline

on this subject, but in reference only to the shares which Saccard

had compelled the Hamelins to take for themselves. Five hundred of

the first issue and five hundred of the second had been allotted to

them, a thousand shares in all, one-fourth of the value of which was

demandable, together with the premium of twenty francs per share on

the last five hundred. The brother and sister insisted on paying the

amount in question, one hundred and thirty-five thousand francs, out

of an unexpected legacy of three hundred thousand francs which had come

to them from an aunt, who had recently died, ten days after her only

son, the same fever carrying them both off. Saccard allowed his friends

to pay as they desired to do so; however, he did not explain in what

manner he expected to release his own shares.

'Ah, this inheritance!' said Madame Caroline, laughing. 'It is the

first piece of luck that has come to us. I really believe that you

bring us luck. Why, what with my brother's salary of thirty thousand

francs, his liberal allowance for travelling expenses, and all this

gold that has just rained down upon us--probably because we no longer

needed it--we are now quite rich!'

She looked at Saccard with hearty gratitude, henceforth vanquished,

absolutely confident in him, each day losing some of her

clear-sightedness amidst the growing affection with which he inspired

her. Then, carried away by her gay frankness despite everything, she

added: 'No matter. If I had earned this money, I shouldn't risk it in

your enterprises, I assure you. But, you see, we scarcely ever knew

that aunt of ours; we never gave a thought to her money. It's like

money picked up in the street, something which seems to me not to be

quite honestly come by, something which I feel a trifle ashamed about,

and so, you understand, I don't set much store by it, and shan't be so

sorry if it's lost.'

'Precisely!' exclaimed Saccard, jesting in his turn. 'It will increase

and multiply and give you millions. There is nothing like stolen money

to yield a profit. Within a week from now you'll see--you'll see what a

rise there will be.'

And indeed Hamelin, having been compelled to delay his departure,

witnessed with surprise a rapid rise in the price of Universal. At the

settlement at the end of May they commanded more than seven hundred

francs. This was the usual result which attends an augmentation of

capital: the classic whip-stroke, the trick of stimulating success,

of urging the quotations into a brisk canter whenever there is a

new issue. But the rise was also in a measure due to the genuine

importance of the enterprises which the Bank was about to launch.

The large yellow bills, placarded all over Paris, announcing the

approaching opening of the Carmel silver mines, had ended by turning

every head, kindling the first symptoms of a passionate intoxication

which was destined to grow and sweep all common sense away. The ground

was prepared; for there, all ready, was that compost of the Empire,

compounded of fermenting remnants and heated by maddened appetites,

a soil favourable to one of those wild growths of speculation which

every ten or fifteen years block and poison the Bourse, leaving

only ruin and blood behind them.[20] Swindling financial concerns

were already springing up like mushrooms; great companies, by the

example they set, were urging people into risky speculative ventures;

an intense gambling fever was breaking out amidst the uproarious

prosperity of the reign, amidst all the dazzling whirl of pleasure and

luxury, of which the approaching Exhibition promised to be the final

splendour, the deceptive transformation scene, as at the close of some

extravaganza. And amidst the vertigo that had seized upon the mob,

amidst the scramble of all the fine chances that were freely offered,

the Universal was at last setting in motion, like some powerful machine

which was destined to infatuate and crush everybody, and which violent

hands were heating incautiously, immoderately, to the point almost of

explosion.

When her brother had again started for the East, Madame Caroline once

more found herself alone with Saccard, and they resumed their life

of close, almost conjugal, intimacy. She obstinately continued to

manage his household and effect economies like a faithful stewardess,

albeit there was now a great change in his fortune, as in hers. And

in the smiling peacefulness of her existence, her temper ever even,

she experienced but one worry--her conscientious scruples with regard

to Victor, her hesitating doubt as to whether she ought to conceal

the child's existence from his father any longer. They were very

dissatisfied with the boy at the Institute of Work, where he was ever

committing depredations. However, the six months' trial had now taken

place, so ought she to produce the little monster, though he was not

yet cleansed of his vices? At thought of him, she at times experienced

genuine suffering.

One evening she was on the point of speaking. Saccard, ever

dissatisfied with the petty quarters in which the Universal was lodged,

had just prevailed on the board to rent the ground floor of a house

next door, in order to enlarge the offices, pending the time when he

might venture to propose the building of the palatial pile which he

dreamt of. So it again became necessary to have doorways cut through

the walls, partitions removed, and wickets set in place. And on the

evening in question, when Madame Caroline returned from the Boulevard

Bineau in despair over the abominable conduct of Victor, who had almost

eaten the ear of one of his playmates, she requested Saccard to come up

with her to their rooms.

'I have something to say to you,' she remarked.

But, once upstairs, when she saw him, one shoulder white with plaster,

go into an ecstasy over a fresh idea of enlargement which had just

occurred to him--that of covering the courtyard of the next house

with glass, as he had done in the case of the Orviedo mansion--she

lacked the courage to upset him, as she must do should she reveal her

deplorable secret. No, she could continue waiting; that frightful

little scapegrace must be reformed. The thought of the suffering of

others took all strength away from her; and so she simply said: 'Well,

my friend, it was precisely about that courtyard. The very same idea

had occurred to me.'