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1. Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_.
2. Passages in Gothic Bold are surrounded by +plus+ signs.
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[Illustration: "_Kneeling Down, Placed It on the Ground_"
Original Etching by Mercier]
+The Mysteries of Paris.+
_ILLUSTRATED WITH ETCHINGS
BY MERCIER, BICKNELL, POITEAU,
AND ADRIAN MARCEL._
_BY EUGENE SUE_
_IN SIX VOLUMES
VOLUME VI._
_PRINTED FOR
FRANCIS A. NICCOLLS & CO.
BOSTON_
+Edition de Luxe+
_This edition is limited to one thousand copies,
of which this is_
No.____
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. PUNISHMENT 11
II. RODOLPH AND SARAH 44
III. LOVE'S FRENZY 68
IV. THE HOSPITAL 80
V. HOPE 108
VI. THE FATHER AND DAUGHTER 122
VII. THE MARRIAGE 141
VIII. BICETRE 152
IX. THE TOILET 183
X. MARTIAL AND THE CHOURINEUR 195
XI. THE FINGER OF PROVIDENCE 201
EPILOGUE.
I. GEROLSTEIN 215
II. THE PRINCESS AMELIE 236
III. THE VOWS 262
IV. THE THIRTEENTH OF JANUARY 267
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
"KNEELING DOWN PLACED IT ON THE GROUND" _Frontispiece_
"WAS LOOKING AT HERSELF IN A MIRROR" 44
"THEY TOOK HER TO THEIR GUILTY HAUNTS" 65
"THE SCHOOLMASTER WAS SITTING ON A BENCH" 172
"IN THE CHURCH IN PRAYER" 264
THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS.
CHAPTER I.
PUNISHMENT.
We will again conduct the reader into the study of Jacques Ferrand.
Availing ourselves of the loquacity of the clerks, we shall endeavour,
through their instrumentality, to narrate the events that had occurred
since the disappearance of Cecily.
"A hundred sous to ten, if his present state continues, that in less
than a month our governor will go off with a pop."
"The fact is, since Cecily left, he is only skin and bones."
"And now he takes to the priests again more than ever."
"The cure of the parish is a most respectable man, and I overheard him
say yesterday, to another priest who accompanied him, 'It is admirable!
M. Jacques Ferrand is the personification of charity.'"
"Well, then, when the cure declares a thing one must credit it; and yet
to believe that the governor is charitable is almost beyond my belief."
"Remember the forty sous for our breakfast."
"Yes, but then the head clerk says that three days ago the governor
realised a large sum in the funds, and that he is about to sell his
business."
"Well, no doubt he has the means to retire."
"He has speculated on the Bourse, and gained lots of money."
"What astonishes me is this friend who follows him like his shadow."
"Yes, he does not leave M. Ferrand for a moment; they eat together, and
seem as if they were inseparable."
"It seems to me as if I had seen this intruder somewhere!"
"Have you not remarked that every two hours there comes a man with large
light moustaches, with a military air, who inquires for the intruder of
the porter? This friend then goes down-stairs, discourses for a moment
with the hero with moustaches, after which the military gent turns on
his heel, goes away, and returns two hours afterwards."
"Yes, I have remarked it. It appears to me that, as I go and come, I see
in the street men who appear to be watching the house."
"Perhaps the head clerk knows more of this than we do. By the way, where
is he?"
"At the house of the Countess Macgregor, who has been assassinated, and
is now despaired of. They sent for the governor to-day, but the head
clerk was despatched in his stead."
"He has plenty in his hands, then, for I suppose he will fill Germain's
place as cashier."
"Talking of Germain, an odd thing has occurred. The governor, in order
to free him from prison, has declared that he made a mistake in his
accounts, and that he has found the money he accused Germain of taking."
"I do not see anything odd in that,--it is but justice. I was sure that
Germain was incapable of theft."
"Ah, here's a coach, gents!" said Chalamel, looking out of the window;
"it is not a spicy turn-out like that of the famous vicomte, the gay
Saint-Remy, but a hack concern."
"Who is coming out of it?"
"Only the cure,--a very worthy man he is, too."
"Silence! Some one comes in! To your work, my boys!"
And all the clerks, leaning over their desks, began to scrawl away with
much apparent industry, and as if their attention had not been taken off
their business for a single instant.
The pale features of the priest expressed at once a gentle melancholy
combined with an air of intelligence and venerable serenity. A small
black cap covered the crown of his head, while his long gray locks hung
down over the collar of his greatcoat. Let us merely add to this hasty
sketch, that owing to the worthy priest's implicit confidence in the
words and actions of others, he was, and ever had been, completely
blinded by the deep and well-practised hypocrisy of Jacques Ferrand.
"Is your worthy employer in his room, my children?" inquired the cure.
"Yes, M. l'Abbe, he is," answered Chalamel, as, rising respectfully, he
opened the door of an adjoining study, and waited for the priest to
enter.
Hearing loud voices in the apartment, and unwilling to overhear words
not intended for his ears, the abbe walked rapidly forwards, and tapped
briskly at the door.
"Come in," said a voice with a strong Italian accent; and, entering, the
priest found himself in the presence of Polidori and Jacques Ferrand.
The clerks did not appear to have erred in calculating upon the
approaching end of their employer. He was, indeed, scarcely to be
recognised. Spite of the almost spectral thinness and pallor of his
sharpened features, a deep red fever-spot burned and scorched upon his
projecting cheek-bones; a sort of incessant tremor, amounting
occasionally to convulsive spasms and starts, shook his attenuated
frame. His coarse but wasted hands seemed parched with feverish heat,
while his bloodshot eyes were shrouded from view by the large green
glasses he wore. Altogether his face was a fearful index of the internal
ravages of a fast consuming disease.
The physiognomy of Polidori offered a strong contrast to that of the
notary. Nothing could express a more bitter irony, a more biting
contempt, than the features of this hardened villain, surrounded as they
were by a mass of red hair, slightly mingled with gray, hanging in wild
disorder over his pale, wrinkled brow, and partially hiding his sharp,
penetrating eyes, which, green and transparent as the stone known as the
_aqua marine_, were placed very close to his hooked nose, and imparted a
still more sinister character to the look of sarcastic malevolence that
dwelt on his thin, compressed lips. Such was Polidori, as, attired in a
suit of entire black, he sat beside the desk of Jacques Ferrand. At the
sight of the priest both rose.
"And how do you find yourself, my good M. Ferrand?" inquired the abbe,
in a tone of deep solicitude; "let me hope you are better."
"Much the same as you last saw me, M. l'Abbe," replied the notary. "No
sleep, no rest, and constantly devoured by fever; but God's will be
done!"
"Alas, M. l'Abbe!" interposed Polidori, "my poor friend is no better;
but what a blessed spirit he is in! What resignation! Finding no other
relief from his suffering than in doing good!"
"Have the goodness to cease these praises, which I am far from
meriting," said the notary, in a short, dry tone, as though struggling
hard to restrain his feelings of rage and resentment; "to the Lord alone
belongs the right of judging what is good and what evil,--I am but a
miserable sinner!"
"We are all sinners," replied the abbe, mildly; "but all have not the
extreme charity by which you are distinguished, my worthy friend. Few,
indeed, like you, are capable of weaning their affections from their
earthly goods, that they may be employed only as a means of leading a
more Christianlike life. Are you still determined upon retiring from
your profession, the better to devote yourself to religious duties?"
"I disposed of my practice a day or two ago, for a large and handsome
sum. This money, united with other property, will enable me to found the
institution I was speaking to you of, and of which I have entirely
sketched out the plan. I am about to lay it before you, and to ask your
assistance in improving it where necessary."
"My noble-minded friend," exclaimed the abbe, with the deepest and
holiest admiration, "how naturally and unostentatiously you do these
things! Ah, well might I say there were but few who resembled you; and
upon the heads of such too many blessings can scarcely be prayed for and
wished."
"Few persons, like my friend Jacques here," said Polidori, with an
ironical smile, which wholly escaped the abbe, "are fortunate enough to
possess both piety and riches, charity and discrimination as to the
right channel into which to pour their wealth, in order that it may work
well for the good of their soul."
At this repetition of sarcastic eulogium, the notary's hand became
clenched with internal emotion, while, through his spectacles, he darted
a look of deadly hatred on Polidori.
"Do you perceive, M. l'Abbe," said the dear friend of Jacques Ferrand,
hastily, "he has these convulsive twitchings of the limbs
continually?--and yet he will not have any advice. He really makes me
quite wretched to see him, as it were, killing himself! Nay, my
excellent friend, spite of those displeased looks, I will persist in
declaring, in the presence of M. l'Abbe, that you are destroying
yourself by refusing all succour as you do."
As Polidori uttered these words, a convulsive shudder shook the
notary's whole frame; but in another instant he had regained the mastery
over himself, and was calm as before. A less simple-minded man than the
abbe might have perceived, both during this conversation and in that
which followed, a something unnatural in the language and forced actions
of Jacques Ferrand, for it is scarcely necessary to state that his
present proceedings were dictated to him by a will and authority he was
powerless to resist, and that it was by the command of Rodolph the
wretched man was compelled to adopt words and conduct diametrically the
reverse of his own sentiments or inclinations. And so it was that, when
sore pressed, the notary seemed half inclined to resist the arbitrary
and invisible power he found himself obliged to obey. But a glance at
Polidori soon put an end to his indecision, and, restraining all his
rage and impotent fury, Jacques Ferrand forbore any further
manifestation of futile rage, and bent beneath the yoke he could neither
shake off nor break.
"Alas, M. l'Abbe!" resumed Polidori, as though taking an infernal
pleasure in thus torturing the miserable notary, "my poor friend wholly
neglects his health. Let me entreat of you to join your request to mine,
that he will be more careful of his precious self, if not for himself or
his friends, at least for the sake of the poor and needy, whose hope and
support he is."
"Enough! Enough!" murmured the notary, in a deep, guttural voice.
"No," said the priest, much moved, "'tis not enough! You can never be
reminded too frequently that you belong not to yourself, and that you
are to blame for neglecting your health. During the ten years I have
known you I cannot recollect your ever being ill before the present
time, but really the last month has so changed you that you are scarcely
like the same person. And I am the more struck with the alteration in
your appearance, since for some little time I have not seen you. You
may recollect that when you sent for me the other day, I could not
conceal my surprise on finding you so changed; during the short space of
time that has elapsed since that visit, I find you even more rapidly
altered for the worse. You are visibly wasting away, and occasion us all
very serious uneasiness. I therefore most earnestly entreat of you to
consider and attend to your health."
"Believe me, M. l'Abbe, I feel most grateful for the kind interest you
express, but that I cannot bring myself to believe my situation as
dangerous as you do."
"Nay," said Polidori, "since you are thus obstinate, M. l'Abbe shall
know all. He greatly loves, esteems, and honours you; but how will those
feelings be increased when he learns the real cause of your languishing
condition, with the fresh claims your additional merits give you to his
regard and veneration!"
"M. l'Abbe," said the notary, impatiently, "I sent to beg your company
that I might confer with you on a matter of importance, and not to take
up your time in listening to the absurd and exaggerated eulogiums of my
friend!"
"You know, Jacques," said Polidori, fixing a piercing glance of fearful
meaning on the notary, "that it is useless attempting to escape from me,
and that you must hear all I have got to say."
The person so addressed cast down his eyes, and durst not reply.
Polidori continued:
"You may probably have remarked, M. l'Abbe, that the first symptoms of
our friend's illness manifested themselves in a sort of nervous attack,
which followed the abominable scandal raised by the affair of Louise
Morel, while in his service."
A sort of aguish shivering ran over the notary.
"Is it possible that you, sir, are acquainted with that unfortunate
girl's story?" inquired the priest, greatly astonished. "I imagined you
had only been in Paris a few days."
"And you were correctly informed; but my good friend Jacques told me all
about it, as a man would relate such a circumstance to his friend and
physician, since he attributed the nervous shock under which he is now
labouring to the excessive indignation awakened in his mind by the
discovery of his servant's crime. But that is not all. My poor friend's
sympathies have been still more painfully awakened by a fresh blow,
which, as you perceive, has had a very serious effect on his health. An
old and faithful servant, attached to him by many years of well-requited
service--"
"You allude to the untimely end of Madame Seraphin, I presume," said the
cure, interrupting Polidori. "I heard of the melancholy affair; she was
drowned, I believe, from some carelessness or imprudence manifested by
her while making one in a party of pleasure. I can quite understand the
distress such a circumstance must have occasioned M. Ferrand, whose kind
heart would be unable to forget that she who was thus snatched from life
had, for ten long years, been his faithful, zealous domestic; far from
blaming such regrets, I think them but natural, and reflecting as much
honour on the survivor as the deceased."
"M. l'Abbe," said the notary, "let me beseech of you to cease commending
my virtues; you confuse--you make me really uncomfortable."
"And who, then, shall speak of them as they deserve?" asked Polidori,
with feigned affection. "Will you? Oh, no! But, M. l'Abbe, you shall
have a fresh opportunity of praising him as he deserves. Listen! You
are, perhaps, ignorant that Jacques took a third servant, to replace
Louise Morel and Madame Seraphin? If you are not aware of that fact, you
have still to learn all his goodness towards poor Cecily; for that was
the name of the new domestic, M. l'Abbe."
Involuntarily the notary sprung from his seat, and with eyes glaring
with rage and madness, even in spite of the glasses he wore, he cried,
while a deep, fiery glow overspread his before livid countenance:
"Silence! I command! I insist! I forbid another word on this subject!"
"Come, come!" said the abbe, soothingly, "compose yourself. It seems
there is still some generous action I have not yet been told of. I
really must plead guilty to admiring the candour of your friend, however
his love of truth may offend your modesty. I was not acquainted with the
servant you alluded to, as, unfortunately, just about the time she
entered the service of our worthy M. Ferrand, he became so overwhelmed
with cares and business as to be obliged temporarily to interrupt our
frequent friendly meetings."
"That was merely a pretext to conceal the fresh act of goodness he
meditated, M. l'Abbe, and, at the risk of paining his modesty, I am
determined you shall know all about it," said Polidori, with a malignant
smile, while Jacques Ferrand, in mute rage, leaned his elbows on his
desk, while he concealed his face with his hands. "Imagine, then, M.
l'Abbe," resumed Polidori, feigning to address himself to the cure, but
at each phrase contriving to direct an ironical glance towards Jacques
Ferrand, "imagine that my kind-hearted friend here found his new
domestic possessed of the purest and rarest qualifications, the most
perfect modesty, with the gentleness and piety of an angel; nor was this
all. The quick penetration of my friend Jacques soon discovered that the
female in question (who, by the way, was both young and beautiful) had
never been accustomed to a servant's life, and that, to the most austere
virtue, she added great and varied information, with first-rate talents,
which had received the highest cultivation."
"Indeed!" exclaimed the abbe, much interested in the recital. "I was
not aware of this. But what ails you, my good M. Ferrand? You seem ill
and disturbed!"
"A slight headache," answered the notary, wiping the cold, clammy drops
from his brow, for the restraint he imposed upon himself was most
severe,--"nothing more! It will soon pass off."
Polidori shrugged up his shoulders, smiled maliciously, and said:
"Observe, M. l'Abbe, that Jacques is always seized with the same
symptoms directly any of his good actions are brought forward. But never
mind,--I am determined that his light shall no longer be hid under a
bushel, and it is my firm intention to reveal all his hidden charities.
But first let me go on with the history of his generous exertions in
favour of Cecily, who, on her side, had quickly discovered the
excellency of Jacques's heart, and, when questioned by him touching the
past, she candidly confessed that, left a stranger and wholly destitute
in a foreign land, by the imprudence of her husband, she considered
herself particularly fortunate in being able to obtain a shelter under
so sanctified a roof as M. Ferrand's as a most singular interposition of
Providence. The sight of so much misfortune, united to so much heavenly
resignation, banished all hesitation from the mind of Jacques, and he
wrote to the birthplace of the unfortunate girl for further information
respecting her. The reply to his inquiries was most satisfactory, as
well as confirmatory of all the young person had previously stated.
Then, assured of rightly dispensing his benevolence, Jacques bestowed
the most paternal kindness on Cecily, whom he sent back to her own
country, with a sum of money to support her till better days should
dawn, or she be enabled to obtain some suitable employment. Now I will
not utter one word in Jacques's praise for doing all this,--let the
facts speak for themselves."
"Excellent! Most excellent!" exclaimed the deeply affected cure.
"M. l'Abbe," said Jacques Ferrand, in a hoarse and abrupt tone, "I do
not desire to take up your valuable time in discoursing of myself, but
of the project respecting which I requested your presence, and for the
furtherance of which I wished to obtain your valuable concurrence."
"I can well understand that the praises so justly bestowed on you by
your friend are painful to one of your extreme modesty; let us, then,
merely speak of your good works as though you were not the author of
them. But, first of all, let me give an account of my own proceedings in
the matters you confided to me. According to your desire, I have
deposited the sum of one hundred thousand crowns in the Bank of France,
in my own name, with the intention of employing that amount in the act
of restitution of which you are the medium, and which I am to effect.
You preferred the money being lodged in the bank, although, in my
opinion, it would have been in equal safety with you."
"And in so doing, M. l'Abbe, I only acted in concurrence with the wishes
of the person making this restitution for the sake of his conscience.
His request to me was to place the sum mentioned by you in your hands,
and to entreat of you to forward it to the widow lady, Madame Fermont,
whose maiden name was Renneville (the notary's voice trembled as he
pronounced these two names), whenever that person should present herself
to you. I fully substantiate her claims."
"Be assured," replied the priest, "I will with pleasure discharge the
trust committed to me."
"But that is not the only matter in which your assistance is solicited."
"So much the better, if the others resemble this, for, without seeking
the motives which dictate it, a voluntary restitution is always
calculated to excite a deep interest; these rigid decrees of an
awakened conscience are always the harbingers of a deep and sincere
repentance, and such an expiation cannot fail to bring forth good
fruits."
"True, M. l'Abbe, the soul must indeed be in a perilous state when such
a sum as one hundred thousand crowns is voluntarily refunded. For my
part, I confess to having felt more inquisitive on the subject than
yourself; but what chance had my curiosity against the firm and unshaken
discretion of my friend Jacques? I am, therefore, still in ignorance of
the name of the individual who thus restores such immense wealth for
their conscience' sake."
"But," continued Polidori, eyeing Jacques Ferrand with a keen,
significant glance, "you will hear to what an extent are carried the
generous scruples of the author of this restitution; and, to tell the
truth, I strongly suspect that our right-minded friend here was the
first to awaken the slumbering feelings of the guilty person, as well as
to point out the surest and fittest way of tranquillising them."
"How so?" inquired the priest.
"What do you mean?" asked the notary.
"Why, remember the Morels, those honest, deserving people."
"True, true!" interposed Jacques Ferrand, in a hasty tone, "I had
forgotten them."
"Imagine, M. l'Abbe, that the author of this restitution, doubtless
influenced by Jacques, not contented with the restitution of this large
sum, wishes also--But my worthy friend shall speak for himself--I will
not deprive him of the pleasure of relating so fine an action."
"Pray let me hear all about it, my dear M. Ferrand," said the priest.
"You are aware," replied Jacques Ferrand, with affected sympathy,
strangely mingled with the deep repugnance he entertained at being
compelled to play a part so opposite to his inclinations, and which
betrayed itself in the alteration his voice and manner exhibited, even
in spite of all his attempts to be on his guard,--"you are aware, I say,
M. l'Abbe, that the misconduct of that unhappy girl, Louise Morel, took
so deep an effect on her father as to deprive him of his senses, and to
reduce his numerous family to the very verge of destitution, thus bereft
of their sole support and prop. Happily Providence interposed in their
behalf, and the person whose voluntary restitution you have so kindly
undertaken to arrange, not satisfied with this step, believed his abuse
of confidence required still further expiation, and, therefore, inquired
of me if I knew any genuine case of real and unmerited distress. I
immediately thought of the Morel family, and recommended them so warmly
that the unknown personage begged me to hand over to you (as I shall do)
the necessary funds for purchasing an annuity of eighty pounds a year
for the joint lives of Morel, his wife, and children."
"Truly," said the abbe, "such conduct is beyond my poor praise. Most
gladly will I add this commission to the former; still permit me to
express my surprise that you were not yourself selected to arrange an
affair of this nature, the proceedings of which must be so much more
familiar to you than to me."
"The reason for your being preferred, M. l'Abbe, was because the
individual in question believed that his expiatory acts would go forth
even in greater sanctity if they passed through hands as pure and pious
as your own."
"Then be it so! And I will at once proceed to arrange for an annuity to
Morel, the worthy but unfortunate parent of Louise. Still I am inclined
to think, with your friend, that you are not altogether a stranger to
the motives which dictated this additional expiation."
"Nay, M. l'Abbe, let me beg of you to believe that all I did was to
recommend the Morel family as a deserving case upon which to exercise
charitable sympathy; I had no further share in the good work," said
Jacques Ferrand.
"Now, then," said Polidori, "you are next to be gratified, M. l'Abbe,
with seeing to what an extent my worthy friend there has carried his
philanthropic views, as manifested in the foundation of such an
establishment as that we have already discussed. He will read to you the
plan definitely decided on. The necessary money for its endowment is
ready, and all is prepared for immediate action; but since yesterday a
doubt has crossed his mind, and if he does not like to state it himself
I will do so for him."
"There is no occasion for your taking that trouble," said Jacques, who
seemed to find a relief in talking himself rather than be compelled to
sit in silence and listen to the ironical praises of his accomplice.
"The fact is this, M. l'Abbe, I have reflected upon our purposed
undertaking, and it occurs to me that it would be more in accordance
with a right spirit of humility and Christian meekness if the projected
establishment were instituted in your name, and not in mine."
"Nay, nay!" exclaimed the abbe, "such humility is exaggerated beyond all
reasonable scruples. You may fairly pride yourself upon having
originated so noble a charity, and it becomes your just right, as well
as your duty, to give it your own name."
"Pardon me for insisting in this instance on having my own way. I have
thought the matter well over, and am resolved upon preserving a strict
_incognito_ as to being the founder of the undertaking. I therefore
venture to hope you will do me the favour to act for me, and carry the
scheme into execution, selecting the various functionaries requisite for
its several departments. I merely desire to have the nomination of the
chief clerk and one of the doorkeepers. To this kindness you must add
the most inviolable secrecy as regards myself."
"Independently of the pleasure it would afford me to cooperate in such a
work as yours, my duty to my fellow creatures would not permit me to do
otherwise than accede to your wishes; you may therefore reckon upon me
in every way you desire."
"Then, with your permission, M. l'Abbe, my friend will read you the plan
he has decided on adopting."
"Perhaps," said Jacques Ferrand, bitterly, "you will spare me the
fatigue of reading it, by taking that office on yourself? You will
oblige me by so doing, will you not?"
"By no means!" answered Polidori. "The pure philanthropy which dictated
the scheme will sound far better from your lips than mine."
"Enough!" interrupted the notary; "I will read it myself."
Polidori, so long the accomplice of Jacques Ferrand, and consequently
well acquainted with the black catalogue of his crimes, could not
restrain a fiendish smile as he saw the notary compelled in his own
despite to read aloud and adopt as his own the words and sentiments so
arbitrarily dictated by Rodolph.
"ESTABLISHMENT OF THE BANK FOR WORKMEN OUT OF EMPLOY.
"We are instructed to 'Love one another!' These divine words
contain the germ of all charities. They have inspired the humble
founder of this institution. Limited as to the means of action,
the founder has desired at least to enable as many as possible
to participate in what he offers. In the first place, he
addresses himself to the honest, hard-working workmen, burdened
with families, whom the want of employment frequently reduces to
the most cruel extremities. It is not a degrading alms which he
offers to his brethren, but a gratuitous loan he begs them to
accept. And he hopes that this loan may frequently prevent them
from involving their future by distressing loans, which they are
forced to make in order to await a return of work, their only
resource for a family of whom they are the sole support. As a
guarantee of this loan he only requires from his brethren an
undertaking on honour, and a keeping of the word pledged. He
invests a sum producing an annual income of twelve thousand
francs, and to this amount loans of twenty to forty francs,
without interest, will be advanced to married men out of work.
These loans will only be made to workmen or workwomen with
certificates of good conduct given by the last employer, who
will mention the cause and date of the suspension from labour.
These loans to be repaid monthly by one-sixths' or one-tenths',
at the option of the borrower, beginning from the day when he
again procures employment. He must sign a simple engagement, on
his honour, to return the loan at the periods fixed. This
engagement must be also signed by two fellow workmen as
guarantees, in order to develop and extend by their conjunction
the sacredness of the promise sworn to. The workman and his two
sureties who do not return the sum borrowed must never again
have another loan, having forfeited his sacred engagement, and,
especially, having deprived so many of his brethren of the
advantage he has enjoyed, as the sum he has not repaid is for
ever lost to the Bank for the Poor. The sums lent being, on the
contrary, scrupulously repaid, the loans will augment from year
to year. Not to degrade man by a loan, not to encourage idleness
by an unprofitable gift, to increase the sentiments of honour
and probity natural to the labouring classes, to come paternally
to the aid of the workman, who, already living with difficulty
from day to day, owing to the insufficiency of wages, cannot,
when work stops, suspend the wants of himself and family because
his labour is suspended,--these are the thoughts which have
presided over this institution. May His Holy Name who has said
'Love one another!' be alone glorified!"
"Ah, sir," exclaimed the abbe, "what a charitable idea! Now I understand
your emotion on reading these lines of such touching simplicity."
In truth, as he concluded the reading, the voice of Jacques Ferrand had
faltered, his patience and courage were at an end; but, watched by
Polidori, he dared not infringe Rodolph's slightest order.
"M. l'Abbe, is not Jacques's idea excellent?" asked Polidori.
"Ah, sir, I, who know all the wretchedness of the city, can more easily
comprehend of what importance may be for poor workmen out of employ a
loan which may seem so trifling to the happy in this world! Ah, what
good may be done if persons but knew that with thirty or forty francs,
which would be scrupulously repaid, if without interest, they might
often save the future, and sometimes the honour of a family, whom the
want of work places in the grasp of misery and want!"
"Jacques values your praises, Monsieur l'Abbe," replied Polidori. "And
you will have still more to say to him when you hear of his institution
of a gratuitous Mont-de-Piete (pawnbroking establishment), for Jacques
has not forgotten this, but made it an adjunct to his Bank for the
Poor."
"Can it be true?" exclaimed the priest, clasping his hands in
admiration.
The notary contrived to read with a rapid voice the other details, which
referred to loans to workmen whose labour was suspended by fatigue or
illness, and his intention to establish a Bank for the Poor producing
twenty-five thousand francs a year for advances on pledges, which were
never to go beyond ten francs for each pledge, without any charges for
interest. The management and office of the loans in the Bank for the
Poor was to be in the Rue du Temple, Number 17, in a house bought for
the purpose. An income of ten thousand francs a year was to be devoted
to the costs and management of the Bank for the Poor, whose manager was
to be--
Polidori here interrupted the notary, and said to the priest:
"You will see, sir, by the choice of the manager, that Jacques knows how
to repair an involuntary error. You know that by a mistake, which he
deeply deplores, he had falsely accused his cashier of embezzling a sum
which he afterwards found. Well, it is this honest fellow, Francois
Germain by name, that Jacques has named as manager of the institution,
with four thousand francs a year salary. Is it not admirable, Monsieur
l'Abbe?"
"Nothing now can astonish me, or rather nothing ever astonished me so
much before," the priest replied; "the fervent piety, the virtues of our
worthy friend, could only have such a result sooner or later. To devote
his whole fortune to so admirable an institution is most excellent!"
"More than a million of francs (40,000_l._), M. l'Abbe," said Polidori;
"more than a million, amassed by order, economy, and probity! And there
were so many wretches who accused Jacques of avarice! By what they said,
his business brings him in fifty or sixty thousand francs a year, and
yet he leads a life of privations!"
"To that I would reply," said the abbe, with enthusiasm, "that during
fifteen years he lived like a beggar, in order one day to console those
in distress most gloriously."
"But be at least proud and joyful at the good you do," cried Polidori,
addressing Jacques Ferrand, who, gloomy, beaten, and with his eye fixed,
seemed absorbed in painful meditation.
"Alas!" said the abbe, in a tone of sorrow, "it is not in this world
that one receives the recompense of so many virtues! There is a higher
ambition."
"Jacques," said Polidori, lightly touching the notary's shoulder,
"finish reading your prospectus."
The notary started, passed his hand across his forehead, and addressing
himself to the priest, "Your pardon, M. l'Abbe," said he, "but I was
lost in thought; I felt myself involuntarily carried away by the idea of
how immensely the funds of this 'Bank for the Poor' might be augmented
if the sums lent out were, when repaid, allowed to accumulate only for a
year. At the end of four years, the institution would be in a condition
to afford loans, either wholly gratuitously, or upon security, to the
amount of fifty thousand crowns! Enormous! And I am delighted to find it
so," continued he, as he reflected, with concealed rage, on the value of
the sacrifice he was compelled to make. He then added, "A revenue of ten
thousand francs will be secured for the expenses and management of the
'Bank for unemployed Workmen,' whose perpetual director shall be
Francois Germain; and the housekeeper, the present porter in the place,
an individual named Pipelet. M. l'Abbe Dumont, in whose hands the
necessary funds for carrying out the undertaking will be placed, will
establish a board of superintendence, composed of the magistrate of the
district and other legal functionaries, in addition to all such
influential personages whose patronage and support may be likely to
advance the interests of the 'Poor Man's Bank;' for the founder would
esteem himself more than paid for the little he has done, should his
example induce other charitable persons to come forward in aid of his
work."
"The opening of 'the bank' will be duly announced by every channel
calculated to give publicity."
"In conclusion, the founder has only to disclaim any desire to attract
notoriety or draw down applause, his sole motive being an earnest wish
to reecho the divine precept of 'Love ye one another!'"
The notary had now concluded; and without making any reply to the
congratulations of the abbe, he proceeded to furnish him with the cash
and notes requisite for the very considerable outlay required in
carrying out the institution just described, and purchasing the annuity
for Morel; after which he said, "Let me hope, M. l'Abbe, that you will
not refuse the fresh mission confided to your charity. There is, indeed,
a stranger, one Sir Walter Murphy, who has given me the benefit of his
advice in drawing up the plan I have lately read to you, who will in
some degree relieve you of the entire burden of this affair; and this
very day he purposes conversing with you on the best means of bringing
our schemes to bear, as well as to place himself at your disposal
whenever he can render you the slightest service. To him you may speak
freely and without any reserve, but to all others I pray of you to
preserve the strictest secrecy as regards myself."
"You may rely on me. But you are surely ill! Tell me, my excellent
friend, is it bodily or mental pain that thus blanches your cheek? Are
you ill?"
"Somewhat indisposed, M. l'Abbe; the fatigue of reading that long paper,
added to the emotions called up by your gratifying praises, have
combined to overcome me; and, indeed, I have been a great sufferer
during the last few days. Pray excuse me," said Jacques Ferrand, as he
threw himself back languidly in his chair; "I do not apprehend any
serious consequences from my present weakness, but must own I do feel
quite exhausted."
"Perhaps," said the priest, kindly, "your best plan would be to retire
to bed, and allow your physician to see you."
"I am a physician, M. l'Abbe," said Polidori; "the condition of my
friend Jacques requires the greatest care, and I shall immediately do my
best to relieve his present symptoms."
The notary shuddered.
"Well, well," said the cure, "let us hope that a little rest is all you
require to set you to rights! I will now take my leave; but first let me
give you an acknowledgment for the money I have received."
While the priest was writing the receipt, a look wholly impossible to
describe passed between Jacques Ferrand and Polidori.
"Come, come," said the priest, as he handed the paper he had written to
Jacques Ferrand, "be of good cheer! Depend upon it, it will be long ere
so faithful and devout a servant is suffered to quit a life so usefully
and religiously employed. I will come again to-morrow, and inquire how
you are. Adieu, monsieur! Farewell, my good, my holy, and excellent
friend!"
And with these words the priest quitted the apartment, leaving Jacques
Ferrand and Polidori alone there. No sooner was the door closed than a
fearful imprecation burst from the lips of Jacques Ferrand, whose rage
and despair, so long and forcibly repressed, now broke forth with
redoubled fury. Breathless and excited, he continued, with wild and
haggard looks, to pace to and fro like a furious tiger going the length
of his chain, and then again retracing his infuriated march; while
Polidori, preserving the most imperturbable look and manner, gazed on
him with insulting calmness.
"Damnation!" exclaimed Jacques Ferrand, at last, in a voice of
concentrated wrath and violence; "the idea of my fortune being thus
swallowed up in founding these humbugging philanthropic institutions,
and to be obliged to give away my riches in such absurdities as building
banks for other people! Your master must be the fiend himself to torture
a man as he is doing me!"
"I have no master," replied Polidori, coldly; "only, like yourself, I
have a judge whose decrees there is no escaping!"
"But thus blindly and idiotically to follow the most trifling order of
this man!" continued Jacques Ferrand, with redoubled rage. "To compel
me, constrain me, to the very actions most galling and hateful to me!"
"Nay, you have your chance between obedience and the scaffold!"
"And to think that there should be no way to escape this accursed
domination! To be obliged to part with such a sum as that I lately
handed over to that old proser,--a million sterling! The very extent of
all my earthly possessions are now this house and about one hundred
thousand francs. What more can he want with me?"
"Oh, but you have not done yet! The prince has learned, through Badinot,
that your man of straw, 'Petit Jean,' was only your own assumed title,
under which you made so many usurious loans to the Count de Remy, whom
you so roughly took to task for his forgeries. The sums repaid by
Saint-Remy were supplied him by a lady of high rank; and you may, very
probably, be called upon to make a second restitution in that case, as
well as the former; however, you may escape that in consequence of the
fear entertained of wounding the delicacy of the noble lender, were the
facts brought before the public."
"And fixed, chained here!"
"As firmly as though bound by an iron cable!"
"With such a wretch as you for my gaoler!"
"Why, it is the prince's system to punish crime by crime,--the guilty by
the hand of his accomplice. So how can you object to me?"
"Oh, rage!"
"But, unhappily, powerless rage; for until he sends me his orders to
permit you to leave this house, I shall follow you like your shadow! I,
like yourself, have placed my head in danger of falling on the scaffold;
and should I fail to perform my prescribed task of gaoler, there it
would quickly fall. So that, you perceive, my integrity as your keeper
is necessarily incorruptible. And as for our both attempting to free
ourselves by flight, that is wholly impossible. Not a step could we take
without immediately falling into the hands of those who, day and night,
keep vigilant watch around and at each door of this house."
"Death and fury! I know it."
"Then resign yourself to what is inevitable; for if even flight were
practicable, what would it do for our ultimate safety? We should be
hunted down by the officers of justice, and speedily overtaken, with
certain death before us; while, on the contrary, by your submitting and
my superintending your obedience, we are quite sure to keep our heads on
our shoulders."
"Do not exasperate me by this cool irony, or--"
"Well, go on--or what? Oh, bless you, I am not afraid of you or your
anger; but I know you too well not to adopt every precaution. I am well
armed, I can tell you; and though you may have possessed yourself of the
celebrated poisoned stiletto carried by Cecily, it would not be worth
your while to try its power on me. You are aware that I am obliged,
every two hours, to send to him who has a right to demand it a bulletin
of your precious health! Should I not present myself with the required
document, murder would be suspected, and you be taken into custody. But
I wrong you in supposing you capable of such a crime. Is it likely that,
after sacrificing more than a million of money to save your life, you
would place it in danger for the poor satisfaction of avenging yourself
on me by taking my life? No, no! You are not quite such a fool as that,
at any rate!"
"Oh, misery, misery! Endless and inextricable! Whichever way I turn, I
see nothing but death or disgrace! My curse be on you--on all mankind!"
"Your misanthropy, then, exceeds your philanthropy; for while the former
embraces the whole world, the latter merely relates to a small part of
Paris."
"Go on, go on, monster! Mock as you will!"
"Would you rather I should overwhelm you with reproaches? Whose fault is
it but yours that we are placed in our present position? Why would you
persist in hanging to that letter of mine relative to the murder I
assisted you in, which gained you one hundred thousand crowns, although
you contrived to make it appear the man had fallen by his own hand? Why,
I say, did you keep that letter of mine suspended around your neck, as
though it had been a holy relic, instead of the confession of a crime?"
"Why, you contemptible being! Why, because having handed over to you
fifty thousand francs for your share and assistance in the deed, I
exacted from you that letter containing an admission of your
participation in the affair, in order that I might have that security
for your playing me fair; for with that document in existence, to betray
me would have been to denounce yourself. That letter was the security,
both for my life and fortune. Now are you answered as to my reasons for
keeping it so carefully about me?"
"I see! It was skilfully devised on your part, for by betraying you I
gained nothing but the certainty of perishing with you on the same
scaffold; and yet your cleverness has ruined us, while mine has assured
our safety, up to the present moment."
"Great safety, certainly, if our present situation is taken into
consideration!"
"Who could foresee the turn things have taken? But according to the
ordinary course of events, our crime would have remained for ever under
the same veil of concealment my management had thrown over it."
"Your management?"
"Even so! Why, do you not recollect that, after we had killed the man,
you were for merely counterfeiting his writing, in order to despatch a
letter as if from himself to his sister, stating his intention of
committing suicide in consequence of having utterly ruined himself by
losses at play? You believed it a great stroke of policy not to make any
mention, in this letter, of the money entrusted to your charge. This was
absurd because the sister, being aware of the deposit left in your
hands, would be sure to claim it; it was wiser to take the contrary
path, and make mention, as we did, of the money deposited with you; so
that, should any suspicions arise as to the manner in which the murdered
man met his death, you would be the very last on whom suspicion could
fall; for how could it be supposed for an instant that you would first
kill a man to obtain possession of the treasure placed under your care,
and then write to inform the sister of the fact of the money having been
lodged with you? And what was the consequence of this skilful suggestion
on my part? Every one believed the dead man had destroyed himself. Your
high reputation for probity enabled you successfully to deny the
circumstance of any such sum of money as that claimed ever having been
placed in your hands; and the general impression was, that the
unprincipled brother had first dissipated his sister's fortune, and then
committed suicide."
"But what does all this matter now, since the crime is discovered?"
"And who is to be thanked for its discovery? Is it my fault if my letter
has become a sort of two-edged sword? Why were you so weak, so silly, as
to surrender so formidable a weapon to--that infernal Cecily?"
"Silence!" exclaimed Jacques Ferrand, with a fearful expression of
countenance; "name her not!"
"With all my heart! I don't want to bring on an attack of epilepsy. You
see plainly enough that, as regards the common course of ordinary
justice, our mutual precautions were quite sufficient to ensure our
safety; but he who now holds us in his formidable power goes to work
differently; he believes that cutting off the heads of criminals is not
a sufficient reparation for the wrongs they have done. With the proofs
he has against us, he might give you and myself up to the laws of our
country; but what would be got by that? Merely a couple of dead bodies,
to help to enrich the churchyard."
"True, true! This prince, devil, or demon--whichever he is--requires
tears, groans, wringings of the heart, ere he is satisfied. And yet 'tis
strange he should work so much woe for me, who know him not, neither
have ever done him the least harm. Why, then, is he so bitter against
me?"
"In the first place, because he professes to sympathise with the
sufferings of other men, whom he calls, simply enough, his brethren;
and, secondly, because he knows those you have injured, and he punishes
you according to his ideas."
"But what right has he to exercise any such power over me?"
"Why, look you, Jacques! Between ourselves it is not worth while to
question the right of a man who might legally consign us to a scaffold.
But what would be the result? Your two only relations are both dead;
consequently government would profit by your wealth, to the injury of
those you have wronged. On the other hand, by making your fortune the
price of your life, Morel (the father of the unhappy girl you
dishonoured), with his numerous family, may be placed beyond the reach
of want; Madame de Fermont, the sister of the pretended self-murderer,
Renneville, will get back her one hundred thousand crowns; Germain,
falsely accused by you of robbery, will be reinstated in life, and
placed at the head of the 'Bank for distressed Workmen,' which you are
compelled to found and endow as an expiation for your many offences
against society. And, candidly looking at the thing in the same point of
view as he who now holds us in his clutches, it must be owned that,
though mankind would have gained nothing by your death, they will be
considerably advantaged by your life."
"And this it is excites my rage, that forms my greatest torture!"
"The prince knows that as well as you do. And what is he going to do
with us, after all? I know not. He promised us our lives, if we would
blindly comply with all his orders; but if he should not consider our
past offences sufficiently expiated, he will find means to make death
itself preferable a thousand times to the existence he grants us. You
don't know him. When he believes himself called upon to be stern, no
executioner can be more inexorable and unpitying to the criminal his
hand must deprive of life. He must have had some fiend at his elbow, to
discover what I went into Normandy for. However, he has more than one
demon at his command; for that Cecily, whom may the descending lightning
strike to the earth--"
"Again I say, silence! Name her not! Utter not the word Cecily!"
"I tell you I wish that every curse may light upon her! And have I not
good reason for hating one who has placed us in our present situation?
But for her, our heads would be safe on our shoulders, and likely to
remain so. To what has your besotted passion for that creature brought
us!"
Instead of breaking out into a fresh rage, Jacques Ferrand replied, with
the most extreme dejection, "Do you know the person you are speaking of?
Tell me, have you ever seen her?"
"Never; but I am aware she is reported to be very beautiful."
"Beautiful!" exclaimed the notary, emphatically; then, with an
expression of bitter despair, he added, "Cease to speak of that you know
not. What I did you would have done if similarly tempted."
"What, endanger my life for the love of a woman?"
"For such a one as Cecily; and I tell you candidly I would do the same
thing again, for the same hopes as then led me on."
"By all the devils in hell," cried Polidori, in utter amazement, "he is
bewitched!"
"Hearken to me," resumed the notary, in a low, calm tone, occasionally
rendered more energetic by the bursts of uncontrollable despair which
possessed his mind. "Listen! You know how much I love gold, as well as
all I have ventured to acquire it. To count over in my thoughts the
sums I possessed, to see them doubled by my avarice, to know myself
master of immense wealth, was at once my joy, my happiness; to possess,
not for the sake of expending or enjoying, but to hoard, to gloat over,
was my life, my delight. A month ago, had I been told to choose between
my fortune and my head, I should certainly have sacrificed the latter to
save the former."
"But what would be the use of possessing all this wealth, if you must
die?"
"The ecstasy of dying in the consciousness of its possession; to enjoy
till the last moment the dear delightful feeling of being the owner of
those riches for which you have braved everything, privations, disgrace,
infamy, the scaffold itself, to be able to say, even as you lay your
head on the fatal block,'Those vast treasures are mine!' Oh, death is
far sweeter than to endure the living agonies I suffer at seeing the
riches accumulated with so much pain, difficulties, and dangers torn
from me! Dreadful, dreadful! 'Tis not dying daily, but each minute in
the day; and this dreadful state of misery may be protracted for years!
Oh, how greatly should I prefer being struck down by that sudden and
rapid death that carries you off ere one fragment of your beloved riches
is taken from you! For still, with your dying breath, you might sigh
forth, 'Those treasures are mine,--all, all mine! None but me can or
dare approach them!'"
Polidori gazed on his accomplice with profound astonishment. "I do not
understand you," said he, at last; "if such be the case, why have you
obeyed the commands of him whose denunciation of you would bring you to
a scaffold? Why, if life be so horrible to you, have you chosen to
accept it at his hands, and pay the heavy price you are doing for it?"
"Because," answered the notary, in a voice that sunk so low as to be
scarcely audible, "because death brings
forgetfulness--annihilation--and then, too, Cecily--"
"What!" said Polidori, "do you still hope?"
"No," said the notary, "I possess--"
"What?"
"The fond impassioned remembrance of her."
"But what folly is this when you are sure never to see her more, and
when she has brought you to a scaffold!"
"That matters not; I love her even more ardently, more frantically than
ever!" exclaimed Jacques Ferrand, amid a torrent of sighs and sobs that
contrasted strongly with the previous gloomy dejection of his last
remark. "Yes," continued he, with fearful wildness, "I love her too well
to be willing to die, while I can feast my senses upon the recollection
only of that night--that memorable night in which I saw her so lovely,
so loving, so fascinating! Never is her image, as I then beheld her,
absent from my brain; waking or sleeping, she is ever before me, decked
in all the intoxicating beauty that was displayed to my impassioned
gaze! Still do her large, lustrous eyes seem to dart forth their fiery
glances, and I almost fancy I can feel her warm breath on my cheek,
while her clear, melodious voice seems ringing its full sounds into my
ear with promises of bliss, alas, never to be mine! Yet, though to live
thus is torturing--horrible--yet would I prefer it to the apathy, the
still nothingness of the grave. No, no, no; let me live, poor, wretched,
despised,--a branded galley-slave, if you will,--but give me yet the
means of doting in secret on the recollection of this wonderful being;
whether she be fiend or angel, yet does she engross my every thought!"
"Jacques," said Polidori, in a voice and manner contrasting strongly
with his habitual tone of cool, provoking sarcasm, "I have witnessed
almost every description of bodily and mental suffering, but certainly
nothing that equalled what you endure. He who holds us in his power
could not have devised more cruel torture than that you are compelled to
endure. You are condemned to live, to await death through a vista of
long, wasting torments, for your description of your feelings fully
explains to me the many alarming symptoms I have observed in you from
day to day, and of which I have hitherto vainly sought to find the
cause."
"But the symptoms you speak of as alarming are nothing but exhaustion, a
sort of reaction of the bodily and mental powers; do you not think so?
Tell me! I am not surely in any danger of dying?"
"There is no immediate danger, but your situation is precarious; and
there are some thoughts you must cease to dwell on--nay, banish from
your memory--or your danger is imminent."
"I will do whatever you bid me, so that my life be preserved,--for I
will not die. Oh, let priests talk of the sufferings of the damned, but
what are their tortures compared to mine? Tormented alike by passion and
avarice, I have two open wounds rankling in my heart, each occasioning
mortal agony. The loss of my fortune is dreadful, but the fear of death
is even still more so. I have desired to live; and though my existence
may probably be but one protracted scene of endless wretchedness, it is
preferable to death and annihilation; for it would be the termination of
my fatal happiness,--the power of recalling each word and look of
Cecily!"
"You have at least one vast consolation," said Polidori, resuming his
accustomed _sang-froid_, "in the recollection of the good actions by
which you have sought to expiate your crimes!"
"Rail on! Mock my misery! Turn me on the hot coals on which my ill
fortune has placed me! But you well know, mean and contemptible being
that you are, how I hate, how I loathe all mankind, and that these
forced expiations to which I am condemned only serve to increase my
detestation of those who compel me to make them, and those who profit by
them. By all that is sacred, it passes human malice to condemn me to
live in endless misery, such as would dismay the stoutest nature, while
my fellow creatures, as they are called, have all their griefs assuaged
at the cost of my dearly prized treasures! Oh, that priest who but now
quitted us, loading me with blessings while my heart seemed like one
vast ocean of fiery gall and bitterness against himself and all
mankind--oh, how I longed to plunge a dagger in his breast! 'Tis too
much--too much for endurance!" cried he, pressing his clenched hands to
his forehead; "my brain burns, my ideas become confused, I shall not be
able much longer to resist these violent attacks of impotent, futile
rage,--these unending tortures; and all through you, Cecily,--fatal,
adored Cecily! Will you ever know all the agonies I have borne on your
account, and will you still haunt me with that mocking smile? Cecily,
Cecily! Back to the fiends from whom you sprung, and drive me not to
destruction!"
All at once a hasty knock was heard at the door of the apartment.
Polidori immediately opened it, and perceived the principal clerk in the
notary's office, who, pale and much agitated, exclaimed, "I must speak
with M. Ferrand directly!"
"Hush!" answered Polidori, in a low tone, as he came forth from the room
and shut the door after him; "he is very ill just now, and cannot be
disturbed on any account."
"Then do you, sir, who are M. Ferrand's best and most intimate friend,
step forward to help and assist him; but come quickly, for there is not
an instant to be lost!"
"What has happened?"
"By M. Ferrand's orders, I went to-day to the house of the Countess
Macgregor, to say that he was unable to wait on her to-day, according to
her request. This lady, who seems quite out of danger at present, sent
for me to her chamber; when I went in, she exclaimed, in an angry,
threatening manner,'Go back to M. Ferrand, and say to him that if he is
not here in half an hour, or at least before the close of the day, he
shall be arrested for felony. The child he passed off as dead is still
living; I know into whose hands he gave her up, and I also know where
she is at this present minute.'"
"This lady must be out of her senses," cried Polidori, shrugging up his
shoulders. "Poor thing!"
"I should have thought so myself, but for the confident manner in which
the countess spoke."
"I have no doubt but that her illness has affected her head; and persons
labouring under any delusion are always impressed with the most perfect
conviction of the truth of their fancies."
"I ought also to state that, just as I was leaving the room, one of the
countess's female attendants entered all in a hurry, and said, 'His
highness will be here in an hour's time!'"
"You are sure you heard those words?" asked Polidori.
"Quite, quite sure, sir! And I remember it the more, because I
immediately began wondering in my own mind what highness she could
mean."
"It is quite clear," said Polidori, mentally, "she expects the prince;
but how comes that about? What strange course of events can have induced
him to visit one he ought never again to meet? I know not why, but I
greatly mistrust this renewal of intimacy. Our position, bad as it is,
may even be rendered still worse by it." Then, addressing himself to the
clerk, he added, "Depend upon it there is nothing of any consequence in
the message you have brought; 'tis merely the effects of a wandering
imagination on the part of the countess; but, to prevent your feeling
any uneasiness, I promise to acquaint M. Ferrand with it directly he is
well enough to converse upon any matter of business."
We shall now conduct the reader to the house of the Countess Sarah
Macgregor.