THE MEETING.
It is eight o'clock in the evening, the rain dashes against the windows
of Frances Baudoin's apartment in the Rue Brise-Miche, while violent
squalls of wind shake the badly dosed doors and casements. The disorder
and confusion of this humble abode, usually kept with so much care and
neatness, bore testimony to the serious nature of the sad events which
had thus disturbed existences hitherto peaceful in their obscurity.
The paved floor was soiled with mud, and a thick layer of dust covered
the furniture, once so bright and clean. Since Frances was taken away by
the commissary, the bed had not been made; at night Dagobert had thrown
himself upon it for a few hours in his clothes, when, worn out with
fatigue, and crushed by despair, he had returned from new and vain
attempts to discover Rose and Blanche's prison-house. Upon the drawers
stood a bottle, a glass, and some fragments of dry bread, proving the
frugality of the soldier, whose means of subsistence were reduced to the
money lent by the pawnbroker upon the things pledged by Mother Bunch,
after the arrest of Frances.
By the faint glimmer of a candle, placed upon the little stove, now cold
as marble, for the stock of wood had long been exhausted, one might have
seen the hunchback sleeping upon a chair, her head resting on her bosom,
her hands concealed beneath her cotton apron, and her feet resting on the
lowest rung of the chair; from time to time, she shivered in her damp,
chill garments.
After that long day of fatigue and diverse emotions, the poor creature
had eaten nothing. Had she even thought of it, she would have been at a
loss for bread. Waiting for the return of Dagobert and Agricola, she had
sunk into an agitated sleep--very different, alas! from calm and
refreshing slumber. From time to time, she half opened her eyes uneasily,
and looked around her. Then, again, overcome by irresistible heaviness,
her head fell upon her bosom.
After some minutes of silence, only interrupted by the noise of the wind,
a slow and heavy step was heard on the landing-place. The door opened,
and Dagobert entered, followed by Spoil-sport.
Waking with a start, Mother Bunch raised her head hastily, sprang from
her chair, and, advancing rapidly to meet Agricola's father, said to him:
"Well, M. Dagobert! have you good news? Have you--"
She could not continue, she was so struck with the gloomy expression of
the soldier's features. Absorbed in his reflections, he did not at first
appear to perceive the speaker, but threw himself despondingly on a
chair, rested his elbows upon the table, and hid his face in his hands.
After a long meditation, he rose, and said in a low voice: "It must--yes,
it must be done!"
Taking a few steps up and down the room, Dagobert looked around him, as
if in search of something. At length, after about a minute's examination,
he perceived near the stove, a bar of iron, perhaps two feet long,
serving to lift the covers, when too hot for the fingers. Taking this in
his hand, he looked at it closely, poised it to judge of its weight, and
then laid it down upon the drawers with an air of satisfaction. Surprised
at the long silence of Dagobert, the needlewoman followed his movements
with timid and uneasy curiosity. But soon her surprise gave way to
fright, when she saw the soldier take down his knapsack, place it upon a
chair, open it, and draw from it a pair of pocket-pistols, the locks of
which he tried with the utmost caution.
Seized with terror, the sempstress could not forbear exclaiming: "Good
gracious, M. Dagobert! what are you going to do?"
The soldier looked at her as if he only now perceived her for the first
time, and said to her in a cordial, but abrupt voice: "Good-evening, my
good girl! What is the time?"
"Eight o'clock has just struck at Saint-Mery's, M. Dagobert."
"Eight o'clock," said the soldier, speaking to himself; "only eight!"
Placing the pistols by the side of the iron bar, he appeared again to
reflect, while he cast his eyes around him.
"M. Dagobert," ventured the girl, "you have not, then, good news?"
"No."
That single word was uttered by the soldier in so sharp a tone, that, not
daring to question him further, Mother Bunch sat down in silence. Spoil
sport came to lean his head on the knees of the girl, and followed the
movements of Dagobert with as much curiosity as herself.
After remaining for some moments pensive and silent, the soldier
approached the bed, took a sheet from it, appeared to measure its length,
and then said, turning towards Mother Bunch: "The scissors!"
"But, M. Dagobert--"
"Come, my good girl! the scissors!" replied Dagobert, in a kind tone, but
one that commanded obedience. The sempstress took the scissors from
Frances' work-basket, and presented them to the soldier.
"Now, hold the other end of the sheet, my girl, and draw it out tight."
In a few minutes, Dagobert had cut the sheet into four strips, which he
twisted in the fashion of cords, fastening them here and there with bits
of tape, so as to preserve the twist, and tying them strongly together,
so as to make a rope of about twenty feet long. This, however, did not
suffice him, for he said to himself: "Now I must have a hook."
Again he looked around him, and Mother Bunch, more and more frightened,
for she now no longer doubted Dagobert's designs, said to him timidly:
"M. Dagobert, Agricola has not yet come in. It may be some good news that
makes him so late."
"Yes," said the soldier, bitterly, as he continued to cast round his eyes
in search of something he wanted; "good news like mine! But I must have a
strong iron hook."
Still looking about, he found one of the coarse, gray sacks, that Frances
was accustomed to make. He took it, opened it, and said to the work girl:
"Put me the iron bar and the cord into this bag, my girl. It will be
easier to carry."
"Heavens!" cried she, obeying his directions; "you will not go without
seeing Agricola, M. Dagobert? He may perhaps have some good news to tell
you."
"Be satisfied! I shall wait for my boy. I need not start before ten
o'clock--so I have time."
"Alas, M. Dagobert! have you last all hope?"
"On the contrary. I have good hope--but in myself."
So saying, Dagobert twisted the upper end of the sack, for the purpose of
closing it, and placed it on the drawers, by the side of his pistols.
"At all events, you will wait for Agricola, M. Dagobert?"
"Yes, if he arrives before ten o'clock."
"Alas; you have then quite made up your mind?"
"Quite. And yet, if I were weak enough to believe in bad omens--"
"Sometimes, M. Dagobert, omens do not deceive one," said the girl, hoping
to induce the soldier to abandon his dangerous resolution.
"Yes," resumed Dagobert; "old women say so--and, although I am not an old
woman, what I saw just now weighed heavily on my heart. After all, I may
have taken a feeling of anger for a presentiment."
"What have you seen?"
"I will tell it you, my good girl; it may help to pass the time, which
appears long enough." Then, interrupting himself, he exclaimed: "Was it
the half hour that just struck?"
"Yes, M. Dagobert; it is half-past eight."
"Still an hour and a half," said Dagobert, in a hollow voice. "This," he
added, "is what I saw. As I came along the street, my notice was
attracted by a large red placard, at the head of which was a black
panther devouring a white horse. That sight gave me a turn, for you must
know, my good girl, that a black panther destroyed a poor old white horse
that I had, Spoil-sport's companion, whose name was Jovial."
At the sound of this name, once so familiar, Spoil-sport, who was
crouching at the workwoman's feet, raised his head hastily, and looked at
Dagobert.
"You see that beasts have memory--he recollects," said the soldier,
sighing himself at the remembrance. Then, addressing his dog he added:
"Dost remember Jovial?"
On hearing this name a second time pronounced by his master, in a voice
of emotion, Spoil-sport gave a low whine, as if to indicate that he had
not forgotten his old travelling companion.
"It was, indeed, a melancholy incident, M. Dagobert," said Mother Bunch,
"to find upon this placard a panther devouring a horse."
"That is nothing to what's to come; you shall hear the rest. I drew near
the bill, and read in it, that one Morok, just arrived from Germany, is
about to exhibit in a theatre different wild beasts that he tamed, among
others a splendid lion, a tiger, and a black Java panther named Death."
"What an awful name!" said the hearer.
"You will think it more awful, my child, when I tell you, that this is
the very panther which strangled my horse at Leipsic, four months ago."
"Good Heaven! you are right, M. Dagobert," said the girl, "it is awful."
"Wait a little," said Dagobert, whose countenance was growing more and
more gloomy, "that is not all. It was by means of this very Morok, the
owner of the panther, that I and my poor children were imprisoned in
Leipsic."
"And this wicked man is in Paris, and wishes you evil?" said Mother
Bunch. "Oh! you are right, M. Dagobert; you must take care of yourself;
it is a bad omen."
"For him, if I catch him," said Dagobert, in a hollow tone. "We have old
accounts to settle."
"M. Dagobert," cried Mother Bunch, listening; "some one is running up the
stairs. It is Agricola's footsteps. I am sure he has good news."
"That will just do," said the soldier, hastily, without answering.
"Agricola is a smith. He will be able to find me the iron hook."
A few moments after, Agricola entered the room; but, alas! the sempstress
perceived at the first glance, in the dejected countenance of the
workman, the ruin of her cherished hopes.
"Well!" said Dagobert to his son, in a tone which clearly announced the
little faith he attached to the steps taken by Agricola; "well, what
news?"
"Father, it is enough to drive one mad--to make one dash one's brains out
against the wall!" cried the smith in a rage.
Dagobert turned towards Mother Bunch, and said: "You see, my poor
child--I was sure of it."
"Well, father," cried Agricola; "have you seen the Court de Montbron?"
"The Count de Montbron set out for Lorraine three days ago. That is my
good news," continued the soldier, with bitter irony; "let us have
yours--I long to know all. I need to know, if, on appealing to the laws,
which, as you told me, protect and defend honest people, it ever happens
that the rogues get the best of it. I want to know this, and then I want
an iron hook--so I count upon you for both."
"What do you mean, father?"
"First, tell me what you have done. We have time. It is not much more
than half-past eight. On leaving me, where did you go first?"
"To the commissary, who had already received your depositions."
"What did he say to you?"
"After having very kindly listened to all I had to state, he answered,
that these young girls were placed in a respectable house, a convent--so
that there did not appear any urgent necessity for their immediate
removal--and besides, he could not take upon himself to violate the
sanctity of a religious dwelling upon your simple testimony; to-morrow,
he will make his report to the proper authorities, and steps will be
taken accordingly."
"Yes, yes--plenty of put offs," said the soldier.
"'But, sir,' answered I to him," resumed Agricola, "'it is now, this very
night, that you ought to act, for if these young girls should not be
present to-morrow morning in the Rue Saint Francois, their interests may
suffer incalculable damage. 'I am very sorry for it,' replied he, 'but I
cannot, upon your simple declaration, or that of your father, who--like
yourself--is no relation or connection of these young persons, act in
direct opposition to forms, which could not be set aside, even on the
demand of a family. The law has its delays and its formalities, to which
we are obliged to submit.'"
"Certainly!" said Dagobert. "We must submit to them, at the risk of
becoming cowardly, ungrateful traitors!"
"Didst speak also of Mdlle. de Cardoville to him?" asked the work-girl.
"Yes--but he: answered me on this subject in much the same manner: 'It
was very serious; there was no proof in support of my deposition. A third
party had told me that Mdlle. de Cardoville affirms she was not mad; but
all mad people pretend to be sane. He could not, therefore, upon my sole
testimony, take upon himself to enter the house of a respectable
physician. But he would report upon it, and the law would have its
course--'"
"When I wished to act just now for myself," said Dagobert, "did I not
forsee all this? And yet I was weak enough to listen to you."
"But, father, what you wished to attempt was impossible, and you agreed
that it would expose you to far too dangerous consequences."
"So," resumed the soldier, without answering his son, "they told you in
plain terms, that we must not think of obtaining legally the release of
Rose and Blanche this evening or even to-morrow morning?"
"Yes, father. In the eyes of the law, there is no special urgency. The
question may not be decided for two or three days."
"That is all I wished to know," said Dagobert, rising and walking up and
down the room.
"And yet," resumed his son, "I did not consider myself beaten. In
despair, but believing that justice could not remain deaf to such
equitable claims, I ran to the Palais de Justice, hoping to find there a
judge, a magistrate who would receive my complaint, and act upon it."
"Well?" said the soldier, stopping him.
"I was told that the courts shut every day at five o'clock, and do not
open again til ten in the morning. Thinking of your despair, and of the
position of poor Mdlle. de Cardoville, I determined to make one more
attempt. I entered a guard-house of troops of the line, commanded by a
lieutenant. I told him all. He saw that I was so much moved, and I
spoke with such warmth and conviction, that he became interested.
--'Lieutenant,' said I to him, 'grant me one favor; let a petty officer
and two soldiers go to the convent to obtain a legal entrance. Let them
ask to see the daughters of Marshal Simon, and learn whether it is their
choice to remain, or return to my father, who brought them from Russia.
You will then see if they are not detained against their will--'"
"And what answer did he give you, Agricola?" asked Mother Bunch, while
Dagobert shrugged his shoulders, and continued to walk up and down.
"'My good fellow,' said he, 'what you ask me is impossible. I understand
your motives, but I cannot take upon myself so serious a measure. I
should be broke were I to enter a convent by force.--'Then, sir, what am
I to do? It is enough to turn one's head.'--'Faith, I don't know,' said
the lieutenant; 'it will be safest, I think, to wait.'--Then, believing I
had done all that was possible, father, I resolved to come back, in the
hope that you might have been more fortunate than I--but, alas! I was
deceived!"
So saying, the smith sank upon a chair, for he was worn out with anxiety
and fatigue. There was a moment of profound silence after these words of
Agricola, which destroyed the last hopes of the three, mute and crushed
beneath the strokes of inexorable fatality.
A new incident came to deepen the sad and painful character of this
scene.