AN UNEXPECTED ASSAULT.
No man was ever more fond of domestic life than Victor. The happiest
hours of the day were those we all spent together—he, my mother, my
young sister, and myself—occupied in some useful work, but often
stopping to exchange a few words. It was with regret Victor sometimes
left us at such hours to mingle with the world. He refused all
invitations to dinners, soirées, and balls as often as possible, but
he could not always do so. He had taken the first place—a place quite
exceptional—in local journalism, and it was impossible for him to
decline all the advances made him. Besides, he wished, as was natural
to one of his profession, to ascertain for himself public opinion on
the question of the day. I cannot tell you how dull the evenings seemed
when he was away, or how anxious I was till he returned. There was
something dreadful about his profession. In vain he resolved to avoid
personalities; they were often discovered when none had been intended.
If he was fortunately able to keep within the limits he had marked out
for himself, and confined himself to the defence of justice, morality,
and religion, he found these three great causes had furious opponents.
Whoever defended them incurred the ardent ill-will of the enemies of
all good. This is what happened to Victor. Their secret hatred burst
forth on an occasion of but little importance.
A renowned preacher of the South, worthy in every respect of his
reputation, came to preach at the cathedral during Advent. This man,
as eloquent as he was good, attacked the vices of the day with all the
ardor of an apostle. Many of the young men of the place who went to
hear him were infuriated at the boldness of his zeal. Some supposed
themselves to be meant in the portraits he drew of vicious men in
a manner so forcible and with such striking imagery as to make his
hearers tremble. At the close of one of these sermons, there was some
disturbance in the body of the church. Threats were uttered aloud, and
women treated with insult. Victor, indignant at such conduct, had the
courage to rebuke the corrupt young men of the place. Never had he
been more happily inspired, and never had he produced such an effect.
The article was everywhere read. It gave offence, and we awaited the
consequences.
The next day Victor received an invitation to a large ball given by a
wealthy banker. The invitation surprised him, for he knew the banker
was a liberal with but little sympathy for the priesthood and its
defenders. I begged Victor to decline the invitation politely. I feared
it was only a pretext to offer him some affront. He gently reassured me
by saying that, though M. Beauvais was a liberal, he had the reputation
of being an honorable man. “I am glad,” added he, “to become acquainted
with those who frequent the banker’s salon. I shall probably find more
than one Christian among them,” as, in fact, often happened.
When the night came, Victor went away, leaving me quite uneasy, in
spite of all his efforts to reassure me. I made him promise to return
at an early hour. I was beginning to be anxious towards eleven, when
all at once there was a sound of hasty footsteps. I sprang to the
door—I opened it—it was he. As soon as he entered the room, I noticed
he was extremely pale. He vainly endeavored to appear calm, but could
not conceal the agitation that overpowered him.
“Victor,” I cried, “something has happened!”
“Yes, but not much. Somebody tried to frighten me.”
“Are you wounded?”
“No, they did not wish to take my life.”
“I conjure you to tell me frankly what has happened.”
“Well, here are the facts: I had left M. Beauvais’ house, where I was
politely received, and had gone two streets, when I observed three men
walking swiftly after me on the Place. They seemed well dressed, which
removed my suspicions. I turned into the little Rue St. Augustine. It
is dimly lighted in the evening and almost always deserted.”
“How imprudent!”
“That is true. I did wrong. I had scarcely gone a hundred yards, before
the three men overtook me.”
“‘Stop!’ exclaimed one of them. I stopped to ascertain what they
wished. The same voice continued in these terms: ‘How much do those
_calotins_ give you to defend them?’
“‘I have only one word to say in reply to your insulting question—I
defend my own principles, above all because I cherish them in the
depths of my soul.’ So saying, I sought to keep on my way.
“One of them detained me. ‘Before going any further,’ said he who
seemed to be the spokesman, ‘swear never to abuse the young men of this
town again!’
“‘I attack no one individually,’ I replied. ‘Am I forbidden to defend
my own cause because it is not yours?—But this is no time or place for
such an interview. It should be at my office and by daylight. Come to
see me to-morrow, and I will answer your questions.’
“The three men were so wrapped up in their bernouses and large
comforters that I could not tell who they were. I thought it time to
disengage myself from the grasp of the one that held me. I made a
violent effort. In the struggle, my cloak fell off. As I stooped to
pick it up, I received several blows. I then called for assistance.
Several windows in the neighborhood opened. The three cowards
disappeared. As you see, I am neither killed nor wounded. On the whole,
no great harm has been done.”
My whole frame trembled during this account. When it was ended, I
became somewhat calmer, and, passionately throwing my arms around
Victor, I begged him to promise me solemnly never to go out again in
the evening. He did so willingly.