CHAPTER I.

Produced by Beth L. Constantine, Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks

and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.

[Illustration: THE SAUCEPAN THROWN IN DEFIANCE]

THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS

_IN THREE VOLUMES_

VOLUME TWO

By EUGENE SUE

[Illustration]

THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE EXECUTION.

The surprised lapidary rose and opened the door. Two men entered the

garret. One of them was tall and thin, with a face mean and pimpled,

surrounded by thick, grayish whiskers; he held in his hand a stout

loaded cane, and wore a shapeless hat and a large green greatcoat,

covered with mud, and buttoned close up to the neck; the black velvet

collar, much worn, exposed to view his long, bare, red throat, which

resembled a vulture's. This man was one Malicorne. The other was short

and thick-set, his countenance equally mean, and his hair red. He was

dressed with an attempt at finery, quite ridiculous. Bright studs

fastened the front of his shirt, whose cleanliness was more than

doubtful; a long gold chain, passed across his second-hand plaid stuff

waistcoat, was left to view by a velveteen jacket, of a yellowish-gray

color. This man's name was Bourdin.

"Oh, what a stink of misery and death is here!" said Malicorne,

stopping at the threshold.

"The fact is, it does not smell of musk. What habits!" repeated

Bourdin, turning up his nose in disgust and disdain. He then advanced

toward the artisan, who looked at him with mingled surprise and

indignation.

Through the half-open door was seen Hoppy's evil, watchful, and

cunning face, who, having followed the strangers, unknown to them, was

narrowly watching and listening attentively.

"What do you want?" challenged the lapidary, roughly, disgusted with

the rudeness of the two men.

"Jerome Morel," responded Bourdin.

"I am he."

"Working jeweler?"

"The same."

"Are you quite sure?"

"Once more, I am that person; you annoy me--what do you want? Explain,

or leave the room!"

"Oh, you are coming the _bounce_, are you? I say, Malicorne,"

said this man, turning toward his companion, "there is no catch here;

it is not like the haul at Viscount de Saint-Remy's."

"No, but when there is much, the door is shut against you, as we found

in the Rue de---. The bird had watched the net, and would not be

taken; while such vermin as these stick to their _cribs_ like a

snail to his shell."

"It is my opinion that they only require to be jugged to cram

themselves."

"Still the costs will be more than ever the creditor _wolf_ will

get here; however, that's his look-out."

"Hold!" said Morel with indignation; "if you were not drunk, as you

surely are, I should be very angry. Instantly leave my room!"

"How very sharp you are this morning, old lopsides!" cried Malicorne,

insultingly alluding to the deformity in the lapidary's person.

"Do you hear, Malicorne?--he has the impudence to call this place a

_room_--a hole where I would not put my dog."

"For heaven's sake!" cried Madeleine, so alarmed, that till then she

had not spoken a word, "call for assistance; perhaps they are thieves.

Take care of the diamonds!"

In truth, seeing these two strangers, of doubtful appearance, approach

nearer and nearer to the bench on which lay the jewels, Morel, fearing

some evil intention, ran forward, and with both hands covered the

precious stones.

Hoppy, always on the watch, and listening, hearing Madeleine's words,

and seeing the movement of the artisan, said to himself; "They say he

is a cutter of false stones; if so, he would not fear their being

stolen. Just as well to know that. _I take!_ Then again, Mother

Mathieu, who comes here so often, is a dealer in _real_; and

those she has in her casket are real diamonds. I will put the Owl up

to this!" added Red Arm's son.

"If you do not leave this room instantly, I will call the police,"

said Morel.

The children, frightened at this scene, began to cry, while the old

idiot started upright in her bed.

"If any one has a right to call the police, we're the men. Do you

hear, Mister Sideways?" said Bourdin.

"You'll see the police lend a hand to take you, if you don't go

quietly," added Malicorne; "we have not the magistrate with us, it is

true; but if you wish to enjoy his society, you shall have a taste of

one, just out of his bed, quite hot and heavy. Bourdin will go and

fetch him."

"To prison! Me?" cried the astounded Morel.

"Yes, to Clichy."

"To Clichy!" repeated the artisan, with a wild look.

"Is he hard of hearing?" asked Malicorne.

"Well, then, to the debtor's prison, if you like that better,"

explained Bourdin.

"You--you--are--can it be?--the lawyer! Oh, my God!"

The artisan, pale as death, fell back on his stool, unable to utter

another word.

"We are the officers who are to take you, if we can; do you understand

now, old fellow?"

"Morel, it is for the bill in the hands of Louise's master! We are all

lost!" said Madeleine, with a sorrowful voice.

"This is the warrant," said Malicorne, taking from his dirty pocket-book

a stamped writ.

After having mumbled over in the usual way a part of this document, in

a voice hardly intelligible, he pronounced distinctly the last words,

unfortunately too well understood by the artisan.--

"As final judgment, the court condemns Jerome Morel to pay to Pierre

Petit-Jean, merchant,[Footnote: The crafty notary incompetent to

proceed in his own name, had got from the unfortunate Morel a blank

acceptance, and had introduced a third party's name.] by all his

goods, and even with his body, the sum of thirteen hundred francs,

with lawful interest, dated from the day of the protest; and he is

besides condemned to pay all other and extra costs. Given and judged

at Paris, the 30th of September," etc., etc.

"And Louise, then? Louise!" cried Morel, almost distracted, without

appearing to have heard what had just been read. "Where is she? She

must have left the lawyer, since he sends me to prison. Louise! my

child! what has become of her?"

"Who is this Louise?" said Bourdin.

"Let him alone," said Malicorne. "Don't you see he's coming the

artful?" Then, approaching Morel, he added: "Come, to the

right-about-face, march; I want to breathe the air, I am poisoned here!"

"Morel, do not go!" said Madeleine, wildly. "Kill them, the thieves!

Oh, you are a coward! You will let them take you, and abandon us to

our fate."

"Act as though you were at home, madame," said Bourdin, sarcastically;

"but if your husband lifts his hand against me, I will give him

something to remember it by," continued he, twisting his loaded stick

round and round.

Occupied solely with thoughts of Louise, Morel heard nothing of what

was said. Suddenly, an expression of bitter joy lighting up his face,

he cried out, "Louise has quitted the lawyer's house. I shall go to

prison with a light heart!" But then, glancing round him, he

exclaimed, "But my wife, and her mother, and my poor children--who

will support them? They will not trust me with stones to cut in

prison; for it will be supposed that my own misconduct has sent me

there. Does this lawyer desire the death of all of us?"

"Once for all, let us be off!" said Bourdin; "I am sick of all this.

Come, dress yourself and march."

"My good gentleman, forgive what I have just said to you," cried

Madeleine, still in bed; "you will not have the cruelty to take away

Morel; what do you think will become of me, with my five children, and

my idiot mother? There she is, huddled up on her mattress. She is

foolish, my good gentlemen; she is quite out of her mind."

"The old woman that is shorn?"

"Sure enough she is shaved," said Malicorne; "I thought she had on a

white scull-cap."

"My dear children, throw yourselves at the feet of these two

gentlemen," said Madeleine, hoping, by a last effort, to soften the

bailiffs, "entreat them not to take away your poor father--our only

hope." But in spite of the order of their mother, the children,

frightened and crying, dared not leave their beds.

At the unusual noise, and the sight of the two bailiffs, whom she did

not know, the idiot began to utter deafening howls, crouching herself

against the wall. Morel appeared careless to all that was passing

around him; the blow was so frightful, so unexpected, the consequences

of this arrest appeared so terrible, that he could scarcely believe in

its reality. Already weakened by privations of every description, his

strength failed him; he remained pale and haggard, seated on his

stool, as though incapable of speech or motion, his head drooping on

his breast, and his arms hanging listlessly down.

"Confound it! when will all this end?" cried Malicorne; "think you

that we come here for fun? Off with you, or I shall make you!" So

saying, the bailiff put his hand on the artisan's shoulder, and shook

him roughly. The threat and action alarmed the children; the three

little boys left their mattress half naked, and came, in a flood of

tears, to throw themselves at the feet of the bailiffs, and, with

clasped hands, cried, in tones of touching earnestness, "Pray, pray do

not kill father."

At sight of these unhappy children, shivering with cold and fear,

Bourdin, in spite of his natural callousness, and the constant sight

of scenes like the present, felt something akin to compassion; his

companion, unpitying, brutally disengaged his leg from the grasp of

the kneeling supplicants.

"Hands off, you young ragamuffins! A pretty business ours would be

truly, if we had always to do with such beggars!"

A fearful addition was made to the horrors of this scene. The elder of

the little girls, who had remained in the straw with her sick sister,

cried out, "Oh, mother, mother! I do not know what is the matter with

Adele! She is quite cold, and she stares so at me and she don't

breathe!"

The poor consumptive child had just quietly expired, without a murmur,

her looks resting on her sister, whom she tenderly loved.

No language can describe the heart-rending cry of anguish uttered by

the diamond-cutter's wife at this frightful announcement, for she

understood it all. It was one of those stifling, convulsive screams,

torn from the depth of a mother's heart.

"My sister seems as though she were dead!" continued the child. "Oh,

how she frightens me! She still looks at me, but how cold her face

is!" Saying this, the poor child suddenly rose from the side of her

dead sister, and, running terrified, threw herself into the arms of

her mother; while the distracted parent, forgetful that her paralyzed

limbs were incapable of sustaining her, made a violent effort to rise,

and ran toward the corpse; but her strength failed her, and she fell

on the floor, uttering a last cry of despair. That cry found an echo

in Morel's heart, and roused him from his stupor; with one step he

reached the bed's side, snatching from it his child, four years old.

She was dead! Cold and want had hastened her end, although her

complaint, brought on by the want of common necessaries, was beyond

cure. Her poor little limbs were already cold and stiff. Morel, his

gray hair almost standing on end with despair and fright, remained

motionless, holding his dead child in his arms, whom he contemplated

with fixed, tearless eyes, bloodshot with agony.

"Morel! Morel! give my Adele to me!" shrieked the unhappy mother,

holding out her arms toward her husband; "it is not true that she is

dead: you shall see--I will warm her in my arms!"

The idiot's curiosity was excited by the haste with which the two

bailiffs approached the lapidary, who would not part with the body of

his infant. The old woman ceased to howl, rose from her bed, slowly

approached Morel, and passing her hideous and stupid face over his

shoulder, gazed vacantly on the corpse of her grandchild. The features

of the idiot retained their usual expression of ferocity. After a

little time, she uttered a sort of hoarse, hollow groan, like a hungry

beast, and returning to her bed, she threw herself upon it, crying

out, "I am hungry! I am hungry!"

"You see, gentlemen, this poor little girl, just four years old--

Adele; yes, she was named Adele. Only last night, she fondly returned

my caresses--and now--look at her! You will, perhaps, say that I have

one less to feed, and that I ought not to murmur," said the artisan,

with a haggard look.

The poor man's reason began to totter under so many repeated shocks.

"Morel, I want my child; I will have her!" said Madeleine.

"True, true," replied the lapidary, "each in turn, that is but fair!"

He went and laid the child in the arms of his wife. Then, hiding his

face between his hands, he groaned bitterly. Madeleine, almost as

frenzied as her husband, laid the child in the straw of her couch, and

watched it with a sort of savage jealousy; while the other children

were kneeling round in tears.

The bailiffs, for a moment softened by the death of the child, soon

returned to their accustomed brutality of conduct. "Oh, look here, my

friend," said Malicorne to the lapidary, "your child is dead; it is

unfortunate, but we are all mortal; we cannot help it, nor can you, so

there's an end of it. We have an extra job to do to-day--a

_swell_ to grab."

Morel did not hear the man. Completely lost in mournful contemplation,

the artisan said to himself, in a hollow and broken voice: "It will be

necessary to bury my poor little girl--to watch her here till they

come to carry her away. But how?--we have nothing! And the coffin!--

who will give us credit? Oh, a little coffin for a child of four years

old ought not to cost much! And then we shall want no bearers! One can

take it under his arm. Ha! ha! ha!" added he, with a frightful burst

of laughter, "how lucky I am! She might perhaps have lived to be

eighteen, Louise's age, and no one would have given me credit for a

large coffin!"

"Egad! this chap seems as though he would lose his senses!" said

Bourdin to Malicorne. "Look at him; he quite frightens me! and how the

old idiot howls with hunger! What a queer lot!"

"We must, however, make a finish; although the arrest of this beggar

is only for seventy-six francs, seventy-five centimes, it is only

right that we should swell the costs to two hundred and forty or fifty

francs. It is the _wolf_ who pays."

"You mean who has to _fork out_--for this poor devil here will

have to pay the fiddler, since it is he that must dance."

"By the time he has paid his creditor two thousand five hundred

francs, for principal, interest, costs, and all, he will be warm."

"It will not be then as now, for it freezes," said the bailiff,

blowing his fingers. "Come, old fellow, pack up and let us be off; you

can blubber as you go along. Who the devil can help the youngun's

kicking the bucket!"

"Besides, when people are so poor, they have no right to have

children."

"A good idea!" said Malicorne. Then slapping Morel on the shoulder, he

continued: "Come, come, old boy, we can wait no longer; since you

cannot pay, off to prison with you!"

"Prison!" said a pure, youthful voice; "Morel to prison!" A young,

bright, rosy brunette suddenly entered the garret.

"Oh, Miss Dimpleton!" said one of the children, crying; "you are so

good; save papa! they want to take him to prison, and little sister is

dead."

"Adele dead!" exclaimed the girl, whose large, brilliant black eyes

were veiled in tears. "Your father to prison? This cannot be."

Stupefied by surprise, she looked alternately at the lapidary, his

wife, and the bailiffs.

"My pretty girl," said Bourdin approaching Miss Dimpleton, "you're

cool, you must try to make this poor man listen to reason; his little

girl is dead, but nevertheless he must come with us to Clichy--to the

debtors' prison. We are sheriffs' officers."

"It is, then, all true," said the girl.

"Quite true. The mother has the little one in her bed--they cannot

take it from her; and while she is hugging it there, the father ought

to take the opportunity of slipping out."

"My God! my God! what misery," said Miss Dimpleton. "What is to be

done?"

"Pay, or go to prison! there is no other way, unless you have notes

for two or three thousand francs to lend them," said Malicorne, in a

careless tone; "if you have them, _shell out_, and we will

_cut_, devilish glad to get away."

"Oh, this is dreadful!" said Miss Dimpleton, with indignation; "daring

to jest with such dreadful misfortunes."

"Well then, joking aside," replied the other bailiff, "if you would do

some good, endeavor to prevent the woman from seeing us take away her

husband. You will thus save each of them a very disagreeable quarter

of an hour."

The advice was good, though coarsely given, and Miss Dimpleton,

following it, approached Madeleine, who, distracted with grief, did

not appear to notice the young girl, as she knelt down beside the bed

with the children.

Meanwhile, Morel had only recovered from his temporary delirium to

sink under the most painful reflections. Having become calm, he could

view far too clearly the horror of his situation. The notary must be

pitiless, since he had gone to such extremity; the bailiffs did but do

their duty. The artisan was therefore resigned.

"Come, come, let's be marching some time to-day," said Bourdin to him.

"I cannot leave these diamonds here, my wife is half mad," said Morel,

pointing to the stones scattered upon the bench; "the person for whom

I work will come for them this morning, or in the course of the day.

Their amount is considerable."

"Good!" said Hoppy, who still remained near the half-open door: "good,

good! Screech-Owl shall know that."

"Grant me only till to-morrow," urged Morel, "that I may restore the

diamonds."

"Impossible! We must go immediately."

"But I cannot, by leaving the diamonds here, run the risk of their

being lost."

"Take them with you, a coach waits at the door, which you will have to

pay for, with the other expenses. We can call on the owner of the

stones; if he is not at home you can place them in the registry at

Clichy; they will be as safe there as in the bank. Come, make haste;

we will slip away before your wife or children are aware of it."

"Grant me only till to-morrow, that I may bury my child!" entreated

Morel, with a supplicating voice, half stifled with the sobs he

endeavored to restrain.

"No! we have already lost more than an hour waiting here."

"This burying still worries you, then?" added Malicorne.

"Oh! yes, it makes me sad," said Morel, with bitterness; "you so much

fear to grieve people. Well, then, a last farewell!"

"There, again! confound you, make haste!" said Malicorne, with brutal

impatience.

"How long have you had the order to arrest me?"

"The judgment was signed four months since; but it was only yesterday

that our officer received instructions from the lawyer to put it in

execution."

"Yesterday only. Why was it delayed so long?"

"How can I tell? Come, pack up."

"Yesterday! and Louise not yet here! Where can she be? what has become

of her?" said the lapidary, taking from the bench a card-box filled

with cotton, in which he arranged the jewels. "But never mind that; in

prison I shall have plenty of time for thinking."

"Come, pack up the duds to take with you, and make haste and dress

yourself."

"I have no clothes to pack up: I have only these diamonds to take

away, and place in the prison registry."

"Well, then, dress yourself."

"I have no other clothes than these."

"Going out in these rags?" said Bourdin.

"You will be ashamed of me, doubtless," said the lapidary, bitterly.

"No, it is of no consequence, since we go in your coach," answered

Malicorne.

"Father, father! mother is calling you," said one of the children.

"You hear?" muttered Morel, rapidly, appealing to one of the bailiffs;

"do not be inhuman; grant me a last favor. I have not the courage to

say farewell to my wife and children; it would break my heart. If they

see you take me away they will run after me, and I would avoid that. I

therefore beg of you to say aloud that you will return in three or

four days, and pretend to go away; you can wait for me on the landing

below; I will come to you in less than five minutes. That will spare

me the pain of saying farewell. I will no longer resist, I promise

you. I shall go stark mad; I was nearly so just now."

"Not so green!--you want to give us the slip!" said Malicorne, "want

to bolt, old son!"

"Oh, God! God!" cried Morel, with mournful indignation.

"I don't think he intends to chouse us," said Bourdin, in a low tone

to his companion; "let us do as he wishes, or we'll never get away. I

will wait outside the door, there is no other outlet from the garret--

he cannot escape us."

"Very well; but he needn't be so particular about leaving the mucky

crib!" Then, addressing Morel in a low voice, he said: "Now then, look

sharp, and we will wait for you below. Make haste, and offer some

pretense for our going."

"I thank you," said Morel.

"Very well, it shall be so," said Bourdin, in a loud voice, and

looking significantly at the artisan; "in such case, as you promise to

pay in a short time, we will leave you for the present, and call again

in four or five days; but then you must be punctual."

"Yes, gentlemen, I trust I shall then be able to pay you."

The bailiffs left the room; while Hoppy, for fear of being seen, had

disappeared down the staircase at the same time the bailiffs quitted

the garret.

"Madame Morel, do you hear?" said Miss Dimpleton, trying to withdraw

the attention of the mother from her melancholy abstraction; "they

will not take away your husband--the two men are gone."

"Mother, don't you hear? they will not take father away," said the

eldest of the boys.

"Morel, listen to me," murmured Madeleine, in a state of delirium.

"Take one of the large diamonds and sell it--no one will know it, and

we shall be saved. Our Adele will no longer feel cold; she will not be

dead."

Taking advantage of a moment when none belonging to him were observing

his actions, the lapidary cautiously left the room. The bailiff was

waiting for him upon a sort of little landing, covered also by the

roof. Upon this landing, opened the door of a loft, which had formerly

been part of the garret occupied by the Morels, and in which Pipelet

kept his stock of leather; and the worthy porter called this place his

_box at the play_, because, by means of a hole made in the wall

between two laths, he was sometimes a witness to the sad scenes that

passed in the Morels' room. The bailiff noticed the door of the loft;

in a moment he thought that most likely his prisoner had reckoned upon

that outlet for escape, or to hide himself.

"Come, march, old fellow!" said he, beginning to descend the stair,

and making a sign to the lapidary to follow.

"One minute more, I beseech!" said Morel; and he fell on his knees

upon the floor. Through a chink in the door, he threw a last look upon

his family, and clasping his hands, he uttered, in a low, heart-rending

voice, while tears flowed down his haggard cheeks: "Farewell,

my dear children--my poor wife! may heaven preserve you all!

Farewell!"

"Make haste and cut that sermon," said Bourdin, brutally, "Malicorne

is quite right; you needn't make so much fuss about leaving the

stinking kennel. What a hole! what a hole!"

Morel rose to follow the bailiff, when the words "Father! father!"

sounded on the staircase.

"Louise!" exclaimed the lapidary, raising his hands toward heaven; "I

can then clasp you to my breast before I go!"

"I thank thee, God, I am in time!" said the voice, approaching nearer

and nearer, and light steps were heard rapidly ascending the stairs.

"Be calm, my dear," said a third voice, sharp, asthmatic, and out of

breath, coming from a lower part of the house;

"I will lay in wait, if I must, in the alley, with my broom and my old

darling, and they sha'n't leave here till you have spoken to them, the

contemptible beggars!"

The reader has doubtless recognized Mrs. Pipelet, who, less nimble

than Louise, followed her slowly. An instant after, the lapidary's

daughter was in her father's arms.

"It is indeed you, Louise, my darling Louise!" said Morel, crying;

"but how pale you are! For mercy's sake what ails you?"

"Nothing, nothing, father," stammered Louise. "I have run so fast.

Here is the money!"

"How is this?"

"You are free!"

"So you know?"

"Yes, yes! Here, sir, take the money," said the young girl, giving a

rouleau of gold to Malicorne.

"But this money, Louise--this money?"

"You shall know all presently; don't be uneasy. Come and comfort dear

mother."

"No, not now!" exclaimed Morel, placing himself before the door,

remembering that Louise was still in ignorance of the death of the

little girl; "wait, I must speak to you. Now, about this money?"

"Stay!" said Malicorne, as he finished counting the gold, and while

putting it in his pocket; "sixty-four, sixty-five--that will just make

thirteen hundred francs. Have you no more than that, my little dear?"

"Why, you only owe thirteen hundred francs?" said Louise, addressing

her father, with a stupefied air.

"Yes," said the lapidary.

"Stop!" rejoined the catchpole; "the bill is for thirteen hundred

francs. Well, the bill is paid; but the expenses? Without the

execution, they are already eleven hundred and forty francs."

[Footnote: We append some curious facts about imprisonment for debt,

taken from "_Le Pauvre Jacques_," a paper published by the

Society of Christian Morality Prison Committee:--

"A protest and a warrant is legally set down as at 4 francs 35

centimes for the first, and 4 francs 70 centimes for the other, but is

generally increased by the warrant-officers to 10fr. 40c., and 16fr.

40c. respectively. Thus 26fr. 80c. illegally obtained for what should

have been but 9fr. 50c. The law sets down bailiff fees thus:--Stamp

and registry, 3fr. 50c.; hackney-coach, 5fr.; arresting and

imprisonment, 60fr. 25c.; turnkey's fee, 8fr. Total 76fr. 75c. One

bill of charges taken as the average of those sent in by sheriffs'

officers, swells the above to 240 francs!"

In the same paper is this paragraph:--

"M---, bailiff, has written to desire correction of the article on the

Hanged Woman. He did not kill her, he says. We did not say that he did

_kill_ that unfortunate woman. We reprint that article:--

"M---, bailiff, having writ out for a cabinet-maker in the Rue de la

Lune, was seen by the latter from the house windows. He called out to

his wife.--'I am lost, for there they come to arrest me!' His wife

heard this, and fastened the door, while her husband hid him self in

the loft. The bailiff called in a locksmith. The wife's room door was

forced, and they found the woman had hanged herself! The sight of

the corpse did not delay or prevent the officer hunting for the husband.

'I arrest you.' 'I have no money.' 'To prison, then.' 'Very well, let me

give my wife good-bye.' 'That be hanged, like she is herself. She's

dead.' What can you complain of, M---? we only print your own words,

which minutely and blackly paint this frightful picture."

This same paper quotes three or four hundred facts, of which the

following is a fair sample:--

"On collection of a 300 franc debt a warrant-officer charged 964

francs! The debtor, a workman with five children, lay seven months in

prison."

For two reasons, the present writer quotes from "_Le Pauvre

Jacques_," firstly, to show that the chapter just read falls below

reality; and again, to prove that, if merely in a philanthropic point

of view, the maintenance of such a state of things (the exorbitance of

extras, illegally extorted by public servants,) often paralyzes the

most generous intentions. For instance, with 1,000 francs there might

be three or four honest though unfortunate workmen restored to their

families from a prison whither petty debts of 250 or 500 francs had

driven them; but these sums being tripled by a shameful exaggeration

of costs, the most charitable persons often recoil from doing a good

deed at the thought of two-thirds of their bounty merely going to

sheriffs and their officers. And yet, there are few hardships more

worthy of relief than those befalling such unfortunate people as we

speak of.]

"Gracious heaven!" cried Louise; "I thought it was only thirteen

hundred francs in all! But, sir, we will very soon pay you the

remainder; this is a pretty good sum on account--is it not, father?"

"Soon!--very well; bring the money to the office, and we will then let

your father go. Come, let's be off."

"You will take him away?"

"At once. This is on account. When the rest is paid, he will be free.

Go on, Bourdin; let us get out of this."

"Mercy! mercy!" shrieked Louise.

"Oh, what a row! here it is--the old game over again: it is enough to

make one sweat in the depth of winter--on my honor!" said the bailiff,

in a brutal tone. Then advancing toward Morel, he continued: "If you

don't come along at once, I will take you by the collar, and bundle

you down. This wind-up is beastly!"

"Oh, poor father! when I had hoped to save you!" said Louise,

overwhelmed.

"No, no! hope nothing for me! Heaven is not just!" cried the lapidary,

in a voice of deep despair, and stamping his feet with rage.

"Peace! heaven is just! There is Providence for honest men!" said a

soft, yet manly voice.

The same instant Rudolph appeared at the door of the little recess,

from whence he had, unseen, witnessed the greater part of the scenes

we have just related. He was very pale, and deeply moved. At this

sudden interposition, the bailiffs drew back with surprise; while

Morel and his daughter stared at the prince vacantly. Taking from his

pocket a small parcel of folded bank notes, Rudolph selected three,

and giving them to Malicorne, said to him: "Here are two thousand five

hundred francs; give back to this girl the money you have just

received from her."

More and more surprised, the bailiff took the notes hesitatingly,

examined them very suspiciously, turning them over and over, and

finally pocketed them. But as his alarm and surprise began to subside,

so did his natural coarseness return, and eying Rudolph from head to

foot with an impertinent stare, he exclaimed, "Your notes are good;

but how came the likes of you with so large a sum? I hope, at least,

it is your own!" added he.

Rudolph was very humbly dressed, and covered with dust--thanks to his

stay in Pipelet's loft.

"I have bidden you restore that gold to the young girl," answered

Rudolph, in a sharp, stern voice.

"Bid me! Who gives you the right to order me?" cried the bailiff,

advancing toward Rudolph, in a threatening manner.

"The gold! the gold!" said the prince, seizing the fellow's wrist so

violently that he winced under the iron hold, and cried out,

"Oh, you hurt me! Hands off!"

"Restore the gold! you are paid. Take yourself off, without further

insolence, or I will kick you to the foot of the stairs."

"Very well; here is the gold," said Malicorne, giving it to the girl;

"but mind what you are about, young man--don't fancy you are going to

do as you like with me, because you happen to be the strongest."

"That's right. Who are you, to give yourself such airs?" said Bourdin,

sheltering himself behind his companion. "Who are you?"

"Who is he? He is my tenant, the king of tenants, you foul-mouthed

wretches!" cried Mrs. Pipelet, who appeared at last, quite out of

breath, still wearing the Brutus wig. In her hand she held an earthen

pot filled with boiling soup, which she was kindly taking to the

Morels.

"What does this old polecat want?" said Bourdin.

"If you dare to pass any of your blackguard remarks upon me, I'll make

you feel my nails--and my teeth too, if necessary!" screamed Mrs.

Pipelet: "and more than that, my lodger, my prince of lodgers, will

pitch you from the top to the bottom of the staircase, as he says! And

I will sweep you away like a heap of rubbish, as you are!"

"This old woman will rouse all the people in the house against us. We

are paid, and our expenses also; let us be off!" said Bourdin to

Malicorne.

"Here are your documents," said the last-named individual, throwing a

bundle of papers at Morel's feet.

"Pick them up, and deliver them properly! You are paid for being

civil," said Rudolph, seizing the bailiff with his vigorous hand,

while the other he pointed to the papers.

Convinced by this new and formidable grasp that he could not struggle

against so powerful an adversary, the bailiff stooped down grumbling,

picked up the bundle of papers, and gave them to Morel, who took them

mechanically. The lapidary believed himself under the influence of a

dream.

"Mind, young fellow, although you have an arm as strong as a porter's,

never come under our lash!" said Malicorne. Shaking his fist at

Rudolph, he nimbly jumped down the stairs, followed by his companion,

who looked behind him with fear.

Mrs. Pipelet, burning for revenge on the bailiffs, for the insults

offered to Rudolph, looked at her saucepan with an air of inspiration,

and cried out, heroically: "Morel's debts are paid; they will now have

plenty to eat, and no longer stand in need of my soup--heads!" Leaning

over the banisters, the old woman emptied the contents of her saucepan

on the backs of the bailiffs, who had just arrived at the first-floor

landing.

"Oh, you are caught, I see!" added the portress. "They are soaked

through like two sops! He! he! this is capital!"

"A thousand million thunders!" cried Malicorne, wet through with Mrs.

Pipelet's culinary preparation. "Will you take care what you are about

up there, you old baggage!"

"Alfred!" retorted Mrs. Pipelet, bawling in a voice sharp enough to

split the tympanum of a deaf man. "Alfred! have at 'em, old darling!

They wanted to behave improperly to thy 'Stasie! (Anastasia). Those

rascals would take liberties with me! Pitch into them with your broom!

call the oyster-woman and the potboy next door to help you. Quick!--

quick!--after them! Murder! police! thieves! Hish!--hish!--hish!

bravo! Halloo! go it, old darling! Broom!--broom!" By way of a

formidable finish to these hootings, which she had accompanied with a

violent stamping of her feet, Mrs. Pipelet, carried away by the

intoxication of her victory, hurled from the top to the bottom of the

staircase her earthenware saucepan, which, breaking with a loud,

crashing noise, the very moment the bailiffs, stunned by the frightful

cries, were taking the stairs four at a time, added greatly to their

fears.

"Ha! ha! I rayther think you have got enough for once!" cried

Anastasia laughing loudly, and folding her arms in an attitude of

triumph.

While Mrs. Pipelet was thus venting her rage upon the bailiffs, Morel,

overcome with gratitude, had thrown himself at Rudolph's feet.

"Ah, sir, you have saved our lives! To whom do we owe this

unlooked-for succor?"

"'_To HIM who watches over and protects honest men_,' as our

immortal Beranger says."

CHAPTER XXXIX.

MISS DIMPLETON.

Louise, the lapidary's daughter, was possessed of remarkable

loveliness; tall and graceful, she resembled the classic Juno for

regularity of features, and the huntress Diana for the finish of her

tall figure. In spite of her sunburned complexion, her rough and

freckled hands, beautifully formed, but hardened by domestic labor; in

spite of her humble garments, this girl possessed a nobility of

exterior.

We will not attempt to describe the gratitude and surprise of this

family, so abruptly snatched from a fearful fate; in the first burst

of happiness, even the death of the little girl was forgotten. Rudolph

alone remarked the extreme paleness of Louise, and the utter

abstraction with which she seemed oppressed, in spite of her father's

deliverance. Wishing to completely satisfy the Morels as to

apprehensions about the future, and to explain a liberality which

might otherwise betray suspicions as to the character he thought

proper to assume, Rudolph said to the lapidary, whom he took to the

landing (while Miss Dimpleton broke to Louise the news of her sister's

death):

"Yesterday morning a young lady came to see you."

"Yes, sir, and appeared much distressed at the situation in which she

found us."

"It is to her you must return thanks, and not to me."

"Is it indeed true, sir? That young lady--"

"Is your benefactress. I have often waited upon her with goods from

our warehouse. The day before yesterday, while I was here engaging an

apartment on the fourth story, I learned from the portress your cruel

position. Knowing this lady's charity, I went to her. She came, so

that she might herself judge of the extent of your misfortunes, with

which she was painfully moved; but as your situation might be the

result of misconduct, she begged of me as soon as possible, to make

some inquiries respecting you, as she was desirous of apportioning her

benefits according to your deserts."

"Good and excellent lady! I had reason to say--"

"As you observed to Madeleine: 'If the rich knew,' is it not so?"

"How, sir!--you know the name of my wife! Who told you that?"

"Since six o' clock this morning," said Rudolph, interrupting Morel,

"I have been concealed in the little loft which adjoins your garret."

"You, sir!"

"Yes, and I have heard all that passed, my honest man."

"Oh, sir! but why were you there?"

"I could employ no better means of getting at your real character and

sentiments. I wished to see and hear all, without your knowledge. The

porter had spoken to me of this little nook, and offered it to me that

I might keep my wood in it. This morning I requested him to permit me

to visit it; I remained there an hour, and I feel convinced that there

does not exist a character more worthy, noble, and courageously

resigned than yours."

"Nay, sir, indeed I cannot see much merit in my conduct; I was born

honest, and cannot act otherwise than I have done."

"I know it; and for that reason I do not praise your conduct but

appreciate it. I had quitted the loft to release you from the bailiffs

when I heard your daughter's voice. I wished to leave her the pleasure

of saving you; unhappily the rapacity of the bailiffs prevented poor

Louise from enjoying so sweet a delight. I then made my appearance.

Fortunately, I yesterday recovered several sums of money that were due

to me, and I was able to give an advance to your benefactress by

paying for you this unfortunate debt. But your misfortunes are so

great, so unmerited, so nobly sustained, that the interest felt for

you and deserved, will not stop here. I can, in the name of your

preserving angel, assure you of future repose with happiness to you

and yours."

"Is it possible? But at least tell me her name, sir--the name of this

preserving angel, as you have called her."

"Yes, she is an angel; and you have still reason to say that the great

and the lowly have their troubles."

"Is this lady, then, unhappy?"

"Who is there without their sorrows? But I see no cause to withhold

her name. This lady is called--"

Remembering that Mrs. Pipelet knew that Lady d'Harville had come to

her house to inquire for the Commander, Rudolph, hearing the

indiscreet gossiping of the portress, said after a moment's

reflection: "I will tell you the name of this lady on one condition--"

"Oh, pray, speak, sir!"

"It is, that you will repeat it to no one. You understand!--to no

one."

"Oh, I will solemnly promise that to you. But cannot I at least offer

my thanks to this savior of the unhappy?"

"I will ask Lady d'Harville, and I doubt not she will give her

consent."

"Then this lady is--"

"The Marchioness d'Harville."

"Oh, I shall never forget that name! It shall be my saint, my

adoration! To think that, thanks to her, my wife and children are

saved! saved!--no, not all, not all, my poor little Adele, we shall

never see her again. Alas! but it is necessary to remember that any

day we might have lost her, for she was doomed." Here the poor

lapidary brushed the tears from his eyes.

"As regards the last sad duties to be performed for this little one,"

said Rudolph, "trust to my advice; this is what must be done: I do not

yet occupy my room, which is large, wholesome, and well aired. There

is already a bed in it; we will convey thither all that is necessary

for yourself and family to be established there till Lady d'Harville

has arranged where to lodge you suitably. Your child's body will

remain in the garret, where it shall to-night, as is customary, be

attended and watched by a priest. I will go and request M. Pipelet to

undertake the management of these sad duties."

"But, sir, it is not necessary to deprive you of your room. Now that

we are in peace, and I no longer fear being taken to prison, our

humble apartment appears to me a palace, particularly if my dear

Louise remains with us, to attend to the family as formerly."

"Your Louise will not again leave you. You said not long ago it would

be a luxury to have her always with you; as some recompense for your

past sufferings, she shall never leave you again."

"Oh, sir, can it be possible? It surely cannot be a reality! My senses

seem lulled in a sweet dream. I have never thought much of religion,

but this sudden change from so much misery to so much happiness shows

the hand of an overruling Providence."

"And if a father's grief could be assuaged by promises of reward or

recompense," said Rudolph, "I should remind you, that although the

Almighty hand has removed one of your daughters from you, He has

mercifully restored another."

"True, true, sir. Henceforth we shall have our dear Louise to content

us for the loss of poor little Adele."

"You will accept my chamber, will you not? If you refuse, how can you

manage the mournful duties toward the poor child that is gone? Think

also of your wife, whose mind is already so distracted--to leave her

for four-and-twenty hours with such an afflicting spectacle before her

eyes!"

"You think of everything--of all! How kind you are, sir!"

"It is your benefactress you must thank, for her goodness inspires me.

I say to you as she would say, and I am sure she would approve of all;

so it is agreed that you will accept the offer of my room. Now tell

me, this Jacques Ferrand--"

A dark frown passed across Morel's face.

"This Jacques Ferrand," continued Rudolph, "is the same lawyer who

resides in the Rue du Sentier?"

"Yes, sir; do you know him?" Then, his fears newly awakened on the

subject of Louise, Morel exclaimed: "Since you have heard all that

passed, sir, say, say--have I not a right to hate this man? And who

knows, if my child, my Louise--"

He could not proceed; he hid his face with his hands. Rudolph

understood his fears.

"The lawyer's proceedings," said he to him, "ought to reassure you, as

he doubtless ordered your arrest to be revenged for the scorn of your

daughter; I have good reason, too, to believe that he is a dishonest

man. If he is so," resumed Rudolph, after a moment's silence, "let us

believe that Providence will punish him. If the justice of Heaven

often appears to slumber it awakens some time or other."

"He is very rich, and very hypocritical, sir."

"In your deepest despair, a guardian angel came to your assistance,

and plucked you from inevitable ruin; so, at a moment when least

expected, the Almighty Avenger may call upon the lawyer to atone for

his past crimes if he be guilty."

At this moment Miss Dimpleton came from the garret, wiping her eyes.

Rudolph said to the young girl, "Will it not, my good neighbor, be

better that M. Morel should occupy my room, with his family, until his

benefactress, whose agent I am, shall have provided a suitable

lodging?"

Miss Dimpleton regarded Rudolph with a look of unfeigned surprise.

"Oh, sir! are you really in earnest when you make so generous an

offer?"

"Yes, but on one condition, which will depend on yourself."

"Oh, depend upon all that is in my power!"

"I had some accounts required in haste, to arrange for my employers;

they will come for them soon. Now, if you will be so neighborly as to

permit me to work in your room, on a corner of your table, I should

not disturb your work in the least, and the Morel family can, with the

assistance of M. and Mrs. Pipelet, immediately be settled in my room."

"Oh, if it be only that, sir, most willingly; neighbors ought to

assist each other. You have set so good an example by what you have

done for that poor Morel, that I am at your service, sir."

"No, no, call me neighbor. If you use any ceremony toward me, I shall

not have courage to intrude on you," said Rudolph.

"Well, then, it shall be so, I will call you 'neighbor,' because you

really are so."

"Father, father!" cried one of Morel's little boys, coming out of the

garret, "mother is calling you; come directly, pray do." The lapidary

hastily entered the room.

"Now, neighbor," said Rudolph to Miss Dimpleton, "you must render me a

still further service."

"With all my heart, if it be in my power."

"You are, I am sure, an excellent little housewife. It is necessary to

purchase immediately all that is wanted for Morel's family to be

properly clothed, bedded, and settled in my room, for there is only

sufficient for myself as a bachelor, that was brought yesterday. How

can we manage to procure instantly all I wish for the Morels?"

Miss Dimpleton thought for a moment, and answered: "In a couple of

hours you can have all your want; good clothes ready-made, warm and

neat, with good clean linen for all the family: two little beds for

the children, and one for the grandmother--in short, all that is

necessary; but it will cost a great deal of money."

"You don't say so! How much?"

"Oh, at least--at the very least--five or six hundred francs."

"For everything?"

"Yes, it is a great sum of money, you see," said Miss Dimpleton

opening her large eyes, and shaking her bead.

"And we can procure all these things--"

"In two hours."

"You must be a fairy, neighbor."

"Oh, no, it is quite easy. The Temple is only two steps from here,

where you will find all of which you are in want." "The Temple?"

"Yes, the Temple."

"What place is that?"

"Don't know the Temple, neighbor?"

"No."

"It is, nevertheless, here where people like you and I furnish our

rooms, and clothe ourselves, when we would be economical. Things are

cheaper there than elsewhere, and quite as good."

"Really?"

"I assure you. Come, now, I suppose--But what did you pay for this

great-coat?"

"I do not know exactly."

"What, neighbor, can't tell how much your great-coat cost you?"

"I acknowledge to you in confidence," said Rudolph, smiling, "that I

owe for it; now do you understand that I cannot know?"

"Oh, neighbor, neighbor, I fear you are a spendthrift!"

"Alas! neighbor!"

"You must alter in that respect, if you wish us to be good friends;

and I already see that we shall be such, you appear so kind! You shall

see that you will be glad to have me for a neighbor; for on that

account we can assist each other. I will take care of your linen, and

you will help me clean my room. I rise very early, and will call you,

so that you may not be late at your shop. I'll knock at the wall until

you say to me: 'Good-morning, neighbor.'"

"It is agreed; you shall wake me, take care of my linen, and I will

clean your room."

"And you will be very neat?"

"Certainly."

"And when you wish to make any purchase, you will go to the Temple,

because here is an example; your greatcoat cost, I suppose, eighty

francs; very well, you could have had it at the Temple for thirty."

"Why, that is marvelous! Then you think that with five or six hundred

francs, these poor Morels--"

"Will be stocked with everything, first-class, for a long time to

come."

"Neighbor, an idea has just struck me."

"Well, what is it about?"

"Do you understand household affairs--are you clever at making

purchases?"

"Yes--rather so," said Miss Dimpleton, with a look of simplicity.

"Take my arm, and let us go to the Temple and buy wherewith to clothe

the Morels; will that suit you?"

"Oh, what happiness! Poor creatures!--but where's the money?"

"I have sufficient."

"Five hundred francs?"

"The benefactress of the Morels has given me _carte blanche;_

nothing is to be spared that these poor people require. Is there even

a place where better things are to be had than at the Temple?"

"You will find nowhere better; then there is everything, and all

ready-made--little frocks for the children, and dresses for their

mother."

"Then let us go at once to the Temple, neighbor."

"Oh! but--"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing; but you see, my time is everything to me; and I am already a

little behindhand, in occasionally nursing the poor woman Morel; and

you may imagine that an hour in one way and an hour in another makes

in time a day; a day brings thirty sous, and if we earn nothing one

must still live all the same. But, pshaw! never mind; I must spare

from my nights; and then, again, parties of pleasure are rare, and I

will make this a joyful day; it will seem to me that I am rich, and

that it is with my own money I am buying such good things for these

poor Morels. Very well, as soon as I have put on my shawl and cap, I

shall be at your service, neighbor."

"Suppose, during the time, I bring my papers to your room?"

"Willingly, and then you will see my apartment," said Miss Dimpleton,

with pride; "for it is already put in order, and that will prove to

you that I am an early riser, and that if you are sleepy and idle so

much the worse for you, for I shall be a troublesome neighbor."

So saying, light as a bird, she flew down the stairs, followed by

Rudolph, who went to his room to brush off the dust he had carried

away from Pipelet's loft. We will hereafter disclose to the reader how

Rudolph was not yet informed of the abduction of Fleur-de-Marie from

Bouqueval farm, and why he had not visited the Morels the day after

the conversation with Lady d'Harville.

Rudolph, for the sake of appearances, furnished himself with a large

roll of papers, which he carried into Miss Dimpleton's room.

Miss Dimpleton was nearly of the same age as Goualeuse, her former

prison-friend. There was between these girls the same difference that

exists between laughter and tears; between joyful carelessness and

melancholy reverie; between daring improvidence and serious, incessant

anticipation of the future: between a nature exquisitely delicate,

elevated, poetic, morbidly sensitive, incurably wounded by remorse,

and a disposition gay, lively, happy, unreflective, although good and

compassionate; for, far from being selfish, Miss Dimpleton only cared

for the griefs of others; with them she sympathized entirely, devoting

herself, soul and body, to those who suffered; but, to use a common

expression, her _back turned_ on them, she thought no more about

them. Often she interrupted a lively laugh to weep passionately, and

checked her tears to laugh again. A real child of Paris, Miss

Dimpleton preferred tumult to quiet, bustle to repose, the sharp,

ringing harmony of the orchestra at the balls of the _Chartreuse_

and the _Colysee_, to the soft murmur of wind, water, and trees;

the deafening tumult of the streets of Paris, to the silence of the

country; the dazzling of the fireworks, the glittering of the flowers,

the crash of the rockets, to the serenity of a lovely night--starlit,

clear, and still. Alas! yes, this good girl preferred the black mud of

the streets of the capital to the verdure of its flowery meadows; its

pavements miry or tortuous, to the fresh and velvet moss of the paths

in the woods, perfumed by violets; the suffocating dust at the City

gates, or the Boulevards, to the waving of the golden ears of corn,

enameled by the scarlet of the wild poppy and the azure of the

bluebell.

Miss Dimpleton never left home but on Sundays, and every morning laid

in her provisions of chick-weed, bread, hempseed, and milk for her

birds and herself, as Mrs. Pipelet observed. But she lived in Paris

for the sake of Paris; she would have been miserable elsewhere than in

the capital.

After a few words upon the personal appearance of the grisette, we

will introduce Rudolph into his neighbor's apartment.

Miss Dimpleton had scarcely attained her eighteenth year; rather below

the middle size, her figure was so gracefully formed and voluptuously

rounded, harmonizing so well with a sprightly and elastic step, that

an inch more in height would have spoiled the graceful symmetry that

distinguished her. The movement of her pretty little feet, incased in

faultless boots of black cloth, with a rather stout sole, reminded you

of the quick, pretty, and cautious tread of the quail or wagtail. She

did not seem to walk, but to pass over the pavement as if she were

gliding over its surface. This step, so peculiar to _grisettes_,

at once nimble, attractive, and as if somewhat alarmed, may be

attributed to three causes; their desire to be thought pretty, their

fear of a too-plainly expressed admiration, and the desire they always

have not to lose a minute in their peregrinations.

Rudolph had never seen Miss Dimpleton but by the somber light in

Morel's garret, or on the landing, equally obscure; he was therefore

dazzled by the brilliant freshness of the girl, when he entered

silently her room, lit by two large windows. He remained for an

instant motionless, struck by the charming picture before him.

Standing before a glass, placed over the chimney-piece, Miss Dimpleton

had just finished tying under her chin the strings of a small cap of

bordered tulle, trimmed with cherry-colored ribbons. The cap, which

fitted tightly, was placed far back on her head, and thus revealed two

large thick braids of glossy hair, shining like jet, and falling very

low in front. Her eyebrows, well-defined, seemed as if traced in ink,

and were arched above large black eyes, full of vivacity and

expression; her firm and downy cheeks were tinted with a lovely bloom,

like a ripe peach sprinkled with the dew of morning. Her small,

upturned, and saucy nose would have made the fortune of a Lisette or

Marton; her mouth, rather large, with rosy lips and small white teeth,

was full of laughter and sport; her cheeks were dimpled and also her

chin, not far from which was a little speck of beauty, a dark mole,

_killingly_ placed at the corner of her mouth. Between a very low

worked collar and the border of the little cap, gathered in by a

cherry-colored ribbon, was seen beautiful hair, so carefully twisted

and turned up, that its roots were as clear and as black as if they

had been painted on the ivory of that tempting neck. A plum-colored

merino dress, with a plain back and tight sleeves, skillfully made by

herself, covered a bust so dainty and supple, that the young girl

never wore a corset--for economy's sake. An ease and unusual freedom

in the smallest action of the shoulders and body, resembling the

facile, undulating motions of a cat, evinced this peculiarity. Imagine

a gown fitting tightly to a form rounded and polished as marble, and

we must agree that Miss Dimpleton could easily dispense with the

accessory to the dress of which we have spoken. The band of a small

apron of dark green levantine formed a girdle round a waist which

might have been spanned with your two hands.

[Illustration: THE ROTUNDA]

Supposing herself to be quite alone (for Rudolph still remained at the

door motionless and unperceived), Miss Dimpleton, after having

smoothed the bands of her hair with her small white hand, placed her

little foot upon a chair, and stooped down to tighten her boot-lace.

This attitude disclosed to Rudolph a snow-white cotton stocking, and

half of a beautifully formed leg.

After this detailed account we may conclude that Miss Dimpleton had

put on her prettiest cap and apron, to do honor to her neighbor on

their visit to the Temple. The person of the pretended merchant's

clerk was quite to her taste: his face, benevolent, proud, and noble,

pleased her greatly: and then he had shown so much compassion toward

the poor Morels, in giving up his room to them, that, thanks to his

kindness of heart, and perhaps also to his good looks, Rudolph had

made great steps in the confidence of the grisette, who, according to

her ideas of the necessity of reciprocal obligations imposed on

neighbors, esteemed herself fortunate that Rudolph had succeeded the

commission-traveler, Cabrion, and Francois Germain; for she had begun

to feel that the next room had been too long empty, and she feared,

above all, that it would not be _agreeably_ occupied.

Rudolph took advantage of his being unperceived, to throw a curious

look around this room, which he found deserved more praise than Mrs.

Pipelet had given to the extreme neatness of Miss Dimpleton's humble

home. Nothing could be gayer or better arranged than this little room.

A gray paper, with green flowers, covered the walls; the red-waxed

floor shone like a mirror; a saucepan of white earthenware was on the

hob, where was also arranged a small quantity of wood, cut so fine and

small that you could well compare each piece to a large match. Upon

the stone mantelpiece, representing gray marble, were placed for

ornament two common flower-pots, painted an emerald green; a little

wooden stand held a silver watch, which served in lieu of a clock. On

one side shone a brass candle-stick, bright as gold, ornamented with

an end of wax candle; on the other side, was one of those lamps formed

of a cylinder, with a tin reflector, mounted upon a steel stem, with a

leaden stand. A tolerably large glass, in a frame of black wood,

surmounted the mantel.

Curtains of green and gray chintz, bordered with worsted galloon, cut

out and arranged by Miss Dimpleton, and placed on slight rods of black

iron, draperied the windows; and the bed was covered with a quilt of

the same make and material. Two glass-fronted cupboards, painted white

and varnished, were placed each side of the recess; no doubt

containing the household utensils--the portable stove, the broom,

etc., etc.; for none of these necessaries destroyed the harmonious

arrangement of the room.

A walnut chest of drawers, beautifully grained and well polished, four

chairs of the same wood, a large table with one of those green cloth

covers sometimes seen in country cottages, a straw-bottom armchair,

with a footstool--such was the unpretending furniture. There was, too,

in the recess in one of the windows, the cage of the two canaries,

faithful companions of Miss Dimpleton. By one of those notable

inventions which arise only in the minds of poor people, the cage was

set in the middle of a large chest, a foot in depth, upon the table:

this chest, which Miss Dimpleton called the garden of her birds, was

filled with earth, covered with moss during the winter, and in the

spring with turf and flowers. Rudolph gazed into this apartment with

interest and curiosity; he perfectly comprehended the joyous humor of

this young girl; he pictured the silence disturbed by the warbling

birds, and the singing of Miss Dimpleton. In the summer, doubtless,

she worked near the open window, half hidden by a verdant curtain of

sweet pea, nasturtium, and blue and white morning-glories; in the

winter, she sat by the side of the stove, enlivened by the soft light

of her lamp.

* * * * * * *

Rudolph was thus far in these reflections, when, looking mechanically

at the door, he noticed a strong bolt--a bolt that would not have been

out of place on the door of a prison. This bolt caused him to reflect.

It had two meanings, two distinct uses: to shut the door _upon_

lovers within--to shut the door _against_ lovers without. One of

these uses would utterly contradict the assertions of Mrs. Pipelet--

the other would confirm them. Rudolph had just arrived at these

conclusions, when Miss Dimpleton, turning her head, perceived him,

and, without changing her position, said: "What, neighbor! there you

are then!" Instantly the pretty leg disappeared under the ample skirt

of the currant-colored gown, and Miss Dimpleton added: "Caught you,

Cunning!"

"I am here, admiring in silence."

"And what do you admire, neighbor?"

"This pretty little room, for you are lodged like a queen."

"Nay, you see, this is my enjoyment. I seldom go out; so at least I

may please myself at home."

"But I do not find fault. What tasteful curtains! and the drawers--as

good as mahogany. You must have spent heaps of money here."

"Oh, pray don't remind me of it! I had four hundred and twenty-six

francs when I left prison, and almost all is gone."

"When you left prison?"

"Yes; it is quite a story. But you do not, I hope, think I was in

prison for any crime?"

"Certainly not; but how was it?"

"After the cholera, I found myself alone in the world; I was then, I

believe, about ten years of age."

"Until that time, who had taken care of you?"

"Oh, very good people; but they died of the cholera (here the large

black eyes became tearful); the little they left was sold to discharge

two or three small debts, and I found that no one would shelter me.

Not knowing what to do I went to the guard-house, opposite where I had

resided, and said to the sentinel: 'Soldier, my parents are dead, and

I do not know where to go. What must I do?' The sub-officer came and

took me to the magistrate, who sent me to prison as a vagabond, which

I was allowed to quit at sixteen years of age."

"But your parents?"

"I do not know who was my father; I was six years old when I lost my

mother, who had taken me from the Foundling Hospital, where she had

been compelled at first to place me. The kind people of whom I have

spoken lived in our house; they had no children, and seeing me an

orphan, took care of me."

"And how did they live? What was their condition in life?"

"Papa Cretu, so I always called him, was a house-painter, and the

female who lived with him worked at her needle."

"Then they were tolerably well off?"

"Oh, as well off as most people in their station. Though not married,

they called each other husband and wife. They had their ups and downs;

to-day in abundance, if there was plenty of work; to-morrow

straitened, if there was not any; but that did not prevent them from

being contented and gay (at this remembrance Miss Dimpleton's face

brightened). There was nowhere near a house like it--always cheerful,

always singing; and with all that, good and kind beyond belief! What

was theirs, was for others also. Mamma Cretu was a plump body of

thirty, clean as a new penny, lively as an eel, merry as a finch. Her

husband was a regular jolly old King Cole; he had a large nose, a

large mouth, always a paper cap on his head, and a face so droll--oh,

so droll, that you could not look at him without laughing! When he

returned home after work he did nothing but sing, make faces, and

gambol like a child. He made me dance, and jump upon his knees; he

played with me as if he were my own age, and his wife entirely spoilt

me. Both required of me but one thing--to be good-humored; and in

that, thank God! I never disappointed them; so they baptized me,

Dimpleton (not Simpleton, neighbor!) and the cap fitted. As to gayety,

they set me the example: never did I see them sad. If they uttered

reproaches at all, it was the wife said to her husband: 'Stop, Cretu,

you make me laugh too much!' or he said to her 'Hold your tongue,

Ramonette (I do not know why he called her Ramonette), you will make

me ill, you are so funny!' And as for me, I laughed to see them laugh.

That's how I was brought up, and how my character was formed; I trust

I have profited by it!"

"To perfection, neighbor! Then they never quarreled?"

"Never; oh, the biggest kind of never! Sunday, Monday, sometimes

Tuesday, they had, as they called it, an outing, and took me always

with them. Papa Cretu was a very good workman; when employed, he could

earn what he pleased, and so could his wife too. As soon as they had

sufficient for the Sunday and Monday, and could live till then, well

or ill, they were satisfied. After that if they were on short

allowance, they were still contented. I remember that when we had only

bread and water, Papa Cretu used to take out of his library--"

"He had a library?"

"So he called a little chest, where he put his collections of new

songs: for he bought all the new songs, and knew them all. When there

was nothing in the house but bread, he would take from his library an

old cookery-book, and say to us: 'Let us see what we will have to eat

today--this or that?' and he would read to us a list of many good

things. Each chose their dish. Papa Cretu would then take an empty

stewpan, and with the drollest manner, and the funniest jests in the

world, pretend to put in all the ingredients necessary to make a good

stew, and seemed to pour it into a plate, also empty, which he would

place on the table, always with grimaces that made us hold our sides,

then taking his book again, he would read, for example, the receipt

for a good fricassee of chicken that we had chosen, and that made our

mouths water; we then eat our bread (while he read) laughing like so

many mad things."

"And were they in debt?"

"Not at all! As long as they had money they feasted: when they had

none they dined on _water-color_ as Papa Cretu called it."

"And did they not think of the future?"

"Oh, yes, they thought of it; but then our present and future were

like Sunday and Monday--summer we spent gayly and happily outside the

City, the winter we got over at home."

"Since these poor people agreed so well together, why did they not

marry?"

"One of their friends once asked the same question, before me."

"Well?"

"They answered: 'If we should ever have children, we will marry; but

we are very well as we are. What is the good of compelling us to do

that which we now do willingly? Besides, it is expensive, and we have

no money to spare.' But see how I am gossiping! as I always do on the

subject of those good people, who were so kind to me, for I never tire

of speaking of them. Here, neighbor, be civil enough to take my shawl,

which is on the bed, and fasten it under the collar of my dress with

this large pin, and we will then go, for we shall be some time

selecting all you wish to purchase for the Morels."

Rudolph hastened to obey the instructions; he took from the bed a

large plaid shawl, and carefully arranged it on his neighbor's lovely

shoulders.

"Now then, lift up the collar a little, press the dress and shawl

close together and stick in the pin. Above all, take care not to prick

me."

The prince executed the given instructions with zealous nicety; then

he observed, smilingly, to the grisette, "Oh, Miss Dimpleton, I must

not be your _femme de chambre_--there is danger in it!"

"Yes, yes," answer Miss Dimpleton, gayly, "there is great danger of my

having a pin run into me! But now," added she, after they had left the

room and locked the door after them; "here, neighbor, take the key; it

is so very heavy, that I always fear it will tear my pocket. It is

quite a pistol for size!" And then she laughed merrily.

Rudolph accordingly took possession of an enormous key--such a one as

is sometimes seen in those allegorical representations where the

vanquished offer the keys of their cities to the conquerors. Although

Rudolph believed himself sufficiently changed by years not to be

recognized by Polidori, he yet pulled up the collar of his coat before

passing the door of the quack Bradamanti.

"Neighbor, don't forget to tell M. Pipelet that some goods will be

brought here, which must be taken to your room," said Miss Dimpleton.

"You are right, neighbor; we will step into the lodge as we pass by."

Pipelet, his everlasting immense hat, as usual, on his head, dressed

in his green coat, was sitting gravely before a table, on which were

spread pieces of leather and fragments of old shoes; he was occupied

in putting a new sole to a boot, which he did with that serious and

meditative air which characterized all his doings. Anastasia was

absent from the lodge.

"Well, M. Pipelet," said Miss Dimpleton, "I trust things will be

better now! Thanks to my neighbor, the poor Morels were rescued from

trouble just as those heartless bailiffs were about to drag the

unhappy man to prison."

"Oh! these bailiffs are really without hearts, or manners either,

mademoiselle," added Pipelet, in an angry voice, flourishing the boot

he was repairing, in which he had thrust his left hand and arm.

"No! I do not fear to repeat, in the face of heaven and man, that they

are without manners; they took advantage of the darkness of the

staircase to make rude remarks on my wife's very person. On hearing

the cries of her offended modesty, in spite of myself, I yielded to

the impulse of my temper. I do not disguise it, my first movement was

to remain perfectly motionless."

"But afterward you followed them, I hope, M. Pipelet?" said Miss

Dimpleton, who had some trouble to preserve a serious air.

"I thought of it," answered Pipelet, with a deep sigh; "but when those

shameless ruffians passed before my door, my blood rose, and I could

not hinder myself from putting my hand before my eyes, to hide the

monsters from my sight! But that does not surprise me; I knew

something unfortunate would happen to me to-day, for I dreamed--last

night--of Monster Cabrion!"

Miss Dimpleton smiled, as Pipelet's painful sighs were mingled with

the taps of the hammer, which he vigorously applied to the sole of the

old boot.

"You truly acted the part of a wise man, my dear M. Pipelet, that of

despising offenses, and holding it beneath you to revenge them. But

let us forget these miserable bailiffs. Will you be kind enough to do

me a favor?" asked Rudolph.

"Man is born to assist his fellow-man," replied Pipelet, in a

sententious and melancholy tone: "and more particularly so when his

fellow-man is so good a lodger as yourself."

"It will be necessary to take up to my room different things which

will be brought here presently for the Morels."

"Be assured I will take charge of them," replied Pipelet, "and

faithfully carry out your wishes."

"And afterward," said Rudolph, sadly, "you must obtain a priest to

watch by the little girl the Morels have lost in the night. Go and

register her death, and order a decent funeral. Here is money; spare

not, for Morel's benefactress, whose mere agent I am, wishes all to go

well."

"Make your mind quite easy, sir," replied Pipelet; "directly my wife

comes back, I will go to the mayor, the church, and the ham-and-beef

shop--to the church for the soul of the dead, to the cook-shop for the

body of the living," added Pipelet, philosophically and poetically.

"You may consider it done--already done, in both cases, my good sir."

At the entrance, Rudolph and Miss Dimpleton found themselves face to

face with Anastasia, who had returned from market, bearing a heavy

basket of provisions.

"Well done!" exclaimed the portress, looking at them both with a

knowing and significant air; "already arm-in-arm! That's your sort!

Young people will be young people--and where's the harm? To a pretty

lass, a handsome lad! If you don't enjoy yourselves while young, you

will find it difficult to do so when you get old! My poor dear Alfred

and I, for instance, when we were young, didn't we go the pace--But

now, oh, dear! oh, dear!--Well, never mind; go along, my dears, and

make yourselves happy while you can. Love forever!" The old woman

disappeared in the darkness of the alley, calling out, "Alfred, do not

grumble, old darling. Here is 'Stasie who brings you good things--rare

dainties!"

The young couple had left the house.

* * * * * * *

To the mind of Rudolph, for Miss Dimpleton was too little prone to

mournful impressions to long reflect on the matter, the troubles of

the Morels had ceased; but in the grim reality, a calamity, ten fold

severer than their direst poverty, was gathering and forming nearer

them, ready to burst upon their heads almost before the gay young

couple would return from their stroll. What this great evil was, and

what fate befalls other characters yet to be introduced, will

presently be revealed, in shadow and by sunshine.

The Slasher, the Schoolmaster, the Screech-Owl, Hoppy, and the other

wretches whose misdeeds blacken these pages, form the foil; while

Fleur-de-Marie, Clemence d'Harville, Miss Dimpleton, and Mrs. George

are the gems which will be seen to shed their luster and charm over

the no less interesting pages of the Second Division of this work,

entitled, "_Part Second:_ NOON."

PART II.

NOON.

CHAPTER I.

THE ARREST.

To the snow of the past night had succeeded a very sharp wind; so that

the pavement of the streets, usually muddy, was almost dry, as Rudolph

and Miss Dimpleton directed their steps toward the extensive and

singular bazaar called the Temple. The girl leaned without ceremony

upon the arm of her cavalier, with as little restraint as though they

had been intimate for a long time.

"Isn't Mrs. Pipelet funny," said the grisette to Rudolph, "with the

odd remarks she makes?"

"Indeed, neighbor, I think she is quite right."

"In what?"

"Why when she said: 'Young people will be young people--and where's

the harm?--Love forever!'"

"Well?"

"Well! I mean to say that I perfectly agree with her."

"Agree with her!"

"Yes, I should like nothing better than to pass my youth with you,

taking '_Love forever_!' for my motto."

"I believe it: you are not difficult to please."

"Where is the harm? We are neighbors."

"If we were not neighbors, I should not walk out with you in this

way."

"Then allow me to hope--"

"Hope what?" "That you will learn to love me."

"I love you already."

"Really?"

"To be sure I do and for a very simple reason. You are good and

lively; although poor yourself, you do all you can for those

unfortunate Morels, in interesting rich people in their behalf; you

have a face that pleases me much, and a well-turned figure, which is

agreeable and flattering to me, as I shall frequently accept your arm.

Here are, I think, many reasons that I should love you."

Then interrupting herself to enjoy a hearty laugh, Miss Dimpleton

cried: "Look! look at that fat woman, with her old furrowed shoes; one

could imagine her drawn along by two cats without tails!" And again

she laughed merrily.

"I prefer looking at you, neighbor; I am so happy in thinking you

already love me."

"I tell you so, because it is so; if you did not please me, I should

say so all the same. I cannot reproach myself with having ever

deceived or flattered any one; when people please me, I tell them so

at once."

Then, interrupting herself again, to stop before a shop-window, the

grisette exclaimed:

"Oh, look at that beautiful clock, and those two pretty vases! I have

already saved up three francs and a half toward buying some like them.

In five or six years I may be able to manage it."

"Saved up, neighbor? Then you earn--"

"At least thirty sous a day--sometimes forty, but I only reckon upon

thirty; it is more prudent, and I regulate my expenses accordingly,"

said Miss Dimpleton, with an air as important as though it related to

the transactions of a financier.

"But with thirty sous a day, how can you manage to live?"

"The reckoning is not difficult; shall I explain it to you, neighbor?

You appear rather extravagant, so it may serve you as an example."

"Let's hear it."

"Thirty sous a day will make forty-five francs a month, will it not?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, by that account I have twelve francs for lodging, and

twenty-three francs for living."

"Twenty-three francs for a month's living!"

"Yes, quite as much. I acknowledge that, for a person like myself, it

is enormous; but then, you see, I refuse myself nothing."

"Oh, you little glutton!"

"Ah, but I also include food for my birds."

"Certainly, if you reckon for three, it is less extravagant. But let

me hear the detail of your every-day management, that I may benefit by

the instruction."

"Listen then. A pound of bread, that is four sous; milk, two sous--

that makes six; four sous for vegetables in winter, or fruit and salad

in summer (I dote on salad and vegetables, because they do not soil

the hands)--there is already ten sous; three sous for butter or oil

and vinegar, as seasoning--thirteen sous; two pailfuls of water (oh,

that is my luxury!) that will make fifteen sous; add to that two sous

for chickweed and hempseed for my two birds, which usually share with

me my bread and milk--that is twenty-two or twenty-three francs a

month, neither more nor less."

"And do you never eat meat?"

"Oh, Lord! Meat indeed! that costs ten to twelve sous a pound; how can

I think of that? Besides, it smells of the kitchen, of the stewpan;

instead of which, milk, fruit, and vegetables require no cooking. I

will tell you a dish I am very fond of, not troublesome, and which I

make to perfection."

"Hold up the dish!"

"I put fine potatoes in the oven of my stove; when they are done, I

mash them with a little butter and milk, and a pinch of salt. It is a

meal for the gods! If you are well behaved I will let you taste them

some day."

"Prepared by your pretty hands, it cannot fail to be excellent. But

let us see neighbor; we have already reckoned twenty-three francs for

living, and twelve francs for lodging--that makes thirty-five francs a

month."

"Well, then, out of the forty-five or fifty francs I earn, there

remain to me ten or fifteen francs for wood and oil during winter, as

well as for my dress and washing--that is to say for soap--as,

excepting my sheets, I wash for myself: that is another luxury--a

laundress would pretty well ruin me; and as I also iron very well, I

thereby save my money. During the five winter months I burn a load and

a half of wood, and four or five sous-worth of oil in the day for my

lamp; that makes nearly eighteen francs a year for my light and fire."

"So that there remain to you more than a hundred francs for your

clothing?"

"Yes; and it is from that I have saved the three francs and a half."

"But your dresses--your shoes and stockings--this pretty cap?"

"My caps I only wear when I go out, and that does not ruin me, for I

make them myself; at home I am satisfied with my hair. As to my

dresses and boots--is there not the Temple?"--"Oh, yes, that

contentment, excellent Temple! Well, you buy there--"

"Very good and pretty dresses. You must know that rich ladies are

accustomed to give their old dresses to their waiting maids--when I

say old, I mean that maybe they have worn them in their carriages a

month or two--and their servants go and sell them to people who keep

shops at the Temple for almost nothing. Thus, you see, I have a nice

merino dress that I bought for fifteen francs, which perhaps cost

sixty; it has hardly been put on and is beautifully fine. I altered it

to fit me, and I flatter myself it does me credit."

"Indeed you do it much credit! Thanks to the resources of the Temple,

I begin to think you can manage to dress respectably with a hundred

francs a year."

"To be sure I can. Why, I can buy charming dresses for five or six

francs; and boots, the same that I have on now, and almost new, for

two or three francs. Look! would not any one say that they were made

for me?" said Miss Dimpleton, stooping and showing the tip of her

pretty little foot, very nicely set off by the well-made and well-fitting

boot.

"The foot is charming, truly; but you must find a difficulty in

fitting it. After that you will doubtless tell me that they sell

children's shoes at the Temple."

"You are a sad flatterer, neighbor; however, after what I have told

you, you will acknowledge that a girl, quite alone and well, can live

respectably on thirty sous a day? I must tell you, by-the-by, the four

hundred and fifty francs which I brought from prison assisted

materially in establishing me. When once known that I possessed

furniture, it inspired confidence and I had work intrusted to me to

take home; but it was necessary to wait a long time before I could

meet with employment. Fortunately I kept sufficient money to live upon

for three months, without earning anything."

"Spite of your gay, heedless manner, allow me to say that you possess

a great deal of good sense, neighbor."

"Nay, when one is alone in the world, and would not be under

obligation to any one, you must exercise some management to build your

nest well, and take care of it when it is built, as the saying is."

"And your nest is delightful!"

"Is it not? for, as I have said, I refuse myself nothing; I consider I

have a lodging above my station. Then, again, I have birds; in summer

always at least two pots of flowers on the mantelpiece, besides the

boxes in the windows; and then, as I told you, I had three francs or

more in my money-box, toward ornaments I hoped one day to be able to

purchase for the chimney-piece."

"And what became of these savings?"

"Why, latterly I have seen those poor Morels so unhappy, so very

unhappy, that I said to myself: 'There is no sense in having these

ugly pieces of money idling in a box, whilst poor people are perishing

of hunger beside you,' so I lent them to Morel. When I say lent, I

mean I told him I only lent them, in order to spare his feelings, for

I assure you I gave them freely."

"Yes, neighbor, but as they are no longer in want, you surely will not

refuse to allow them to repay you?"

"True, I shall not refuse it; it will be something toward the purchase

of chimney-ornaments--my dream."

"And then, again, you ought to think a little of the future."

"The future?"

"Should you fall ill, for instance."

And, at the bare idea, Miss Dimpleton burst into an immoderate fit of

laughter, so loud, that a fat man, who was walking before her,

carrying a dog under his arm, turned round quite angrily, believing

himself to be the butt. Miss Dimpleton, resuming her composure, made a

half-courtesy to the stout person, and pointing to the animal under

his arm, said: "Is your dog so very tired, sir?"

The fat man grumbled something, and continued to walk.

"Come, come, neighbor," said Rudolph; "are you losing your senses?"

"It is your fault if I am."

"My fault?"

"Yes; because you say such silly things to me."

"What, because I tell you that you may fall ill?"

"I ill?"

"Why not?"

"Am I a likely-looking person to be sick then?"

"Never have I beheld a face more rosy and fresh!"

"Very well then, why do you think I shall be ill?"

"Nay, but--"

"At eighteen years of age, leading the life I do, how can that be

possible? I rise at five o'clock, winter and summer; I go to bed at

ten or eleven; I eat to satisfy my hunger, which is not very great, it

is true; I sing like a lark all day, and at night I sleep like a

dormouse: I have a mind free, joyful, and contented, with the

certainty of plenty of work, because my employers are pleased with

what I have done. Why should I be sick! What an idea! Well, I never!"

And Miss Dimpleton again relapsed into long and hearty laughter.

Rudolph, struck with this blind, yet happy confidence in the future,

reproached himself with having attempted to shake it. He thought, with

horror, that an illness of a month could ruin this merry, peaceful

mode of existence. Miss Dimpleton's deep faith in her health and her

eighteen years, her only treasures, appeared to Rudolph something akin

to holiness; for, on the young girl's part, it was neither

carelessness nor improvidence, but an instinctive reliance on the

commiseration of Divine justice, which could not abandon an

industrious and virtuous creature, whose only error was a too

confident dependence on the youth and health she enjoyed. The birds,

as they cleave with gay and agile wings the azure skies in spring, or

skim lightly over the blooming fields, do they think of the cheerless

winter?

"Then," said Rudolph to the grisette, "you are not ambitious to

possess more than you have?"

"Nothing."

"Absolutely nothing?"

"No--that is to say, I should like to have my chimney-ornaments, and I

shall have them, though I do not know when; but I have it in my head

to possess them, and I will, if I should have to sit up to work all

night to do it."

"And besides these ornaments--"

"I want for nothing; I cannot recollect a single thing more that I

care about possessing now."

"How now?"

"Because, if you had asked me the same question yesterday, I should

have told you I was longing for a suitable neighbor; so that I could

arrange with him comfortably, as I have always done, to perform little

services for him, that he might return nice little attentions to me."

"Well, it is already agreed, my pretty neighbor, that you shall take

charge of my linen, and that I shall clean your room--without naming

your waking me early in the morning, by tapping at the wall."

"And do you think that will be all?'

"What else is there?"

"Oh, bless your heart, you have not arrived at the end of what I

expect of you. Is it not necessary that on Sundays you take me for a

walk on the Boulevards?--you know that is the only day I have for

recreation."

"To be sure. In summer we will go into the country."

"No, I detest the country. I like no place so well as Paris.

Nevertheless, I went, once upon a time, out of good nature, with a

young friend of mine, who was my companion in prison, to visit Meudon

and Saint-Germain. My friend was a very pleasant, good girl, whom they

called Sweet-throat, because she was always singing."

"And what has become of her?"

"I do not know. She spent all the money she brought from prison,

without appearing to be much amused; she was always sad, but

sympathizing and charitable. When we used to go out together, I had

not then any work; but when I succeeded in obtaining some, I did not

stir from home. I gave her my address, but as she has not been to see

me, doubtless she has also some occupation, and, like me, is too busy

to get out. I only mention this to let you know, neighbor, that I love

Paris above every other place. So whenever you can, on Sunday, you may

take me to dine at the ordinary, sometimes to the play; or, if you

have not any money, you can take me to see the fashionable shops,

which will amuse me almost as much. Rest satisfied, that in our little

excursions I shall not disgrace you. You will see how smart I shall

look in my pretty dress of blue levantine, that I only wear on

Sundays: it suits me to perfection. With that I wear a pretty little

cap, trimmed with lace and orange-colored ribbon, which does not

contrast badly with my black hair; satin boots, that I have made for

me; an elegant shawl of silk imitation Cashmere! Indeed, I expect,

neighbor, people will turn round to look after us as we pass along.

Men will say: 'Really, that is a pretty little girl, upon my word!'

And the women, on their part, will exclaim: 'Look at that tall young

man! what an elegant shape! He has an air that is truly fashionable!

and his little brown mustache becomes him exceedingly!' And I shall be

of their opinion, for I adore mustaches. Unfortunately, M. Germain did

not wear one, because of the situation he held. M. Cabrion did, but

then it was red, like his long beard, and I do not like those great

beards; besides, he made himself so ridiculously conspicuous in the

streets, and teased poor M. Pipelet so much. Now, M. Giraudeau, who

was my neighbor before M. Cabrion, dressed well, and altogether had a

very good appearance, but he squinted. At first it annoyed me very

much, because he always appeared to be looking at some one at the side

of me, and without thinking, I often turned round to see who--" And

again Miss Dimpleton laughed.

Rudolph, as he listened to this prattle, asked himself, for the third

or fourth time, what he ought to think of the _virtue_ of Miss

Dimpleton. Sometimes the frankness of the grisette, and the

remembrance of the large bolt, made him almost believe that she loved

her neighbors merely as _brothers_ or _companions_, and that

Mrs. Pipelet had caluminated her; then again he smiled at his

credulity, in thinking it probable that a girl so young, so pretty, so

solitary, should have escaped the seductions of Giraudeau, Cabrion,

and Germain. Still, for all that, Miss Dimpleton's frankness and

originality disposed him to think favorably of her.

"You delight me, neighbor, by your manner of disposing of my Sundays,"

said Rudolph, gayly; "we will have some famous treats."

"Stop a moment, Mr. Spendthrift. I warn you that I shall keep house.

In summer, we can dine very well--yes, very well--for three francs, at

the Chartreuse or at the Montmartre Hermitage, half a dozen country

dances, or valses included, with a ride upon the wooden horses:--oh, I

do so love riding on horseback! That will makeup your five francs--not

a farthing more, I assure you. Do you valse?"

"Very well."

"Oh, this pleases me! M. Cabrion always trod on my feet, and then for

fun he would throw fulminating balls on the ground, which was the

reason they would not let him go any more to the Chartreuse."

"Be assured, I will answer for my discretion wherever we go together;

and as to the fulminating balls, I will have nothing to do with them.

But in winter, what shall we do?" "In winter, we are less hungry, and

can dine luxuriously for forty sous; then we shall have three francs

left for the play, for I would not have you exceed a hundred sous--

that is indeed too much to spend in pleasure; but if alone, you would

spend much more at the wine-shop or the billiard-rooms, with low

fellows, who smell horribly of tobacco. Is it not better to pass the

day pleasantly with a young friend, very laughter-loving and discreet,

who will save you some expense, by hemming your cravats, and taking

care of your other little domestic affairs?"

"It is clearly a gaining for me, neighbor; only if my friends should

meet me with my pretty little friend on my arm, what then?"

"Well, they will look at us and say: 'He is not at all unlucky, that

rogue Rudolph!'"

"You know my name?"

"Why, to be sure I do. When I learned that the next room was let, I

asked to whom!"

"Yes, when people meet us together, no doubt, as you say, they will

remark: 'What a lucky fellow that Rudolph is!' and will envy me."

"So much the better."

"They will think me perfectly happy."

"Of course they will; and so much the better!"

"And if I should not be so happy as I seem?"

"What does that matter, provided they believe it; men require nothing

further than mere outward show."

"But your reputation?"

Miss Dimpleton burst into an immoderate fit of laughter.

"The reputation of a grisette! Would any one believe in such a

phenomenon?" answered she. "If I had father or mother, brother or

sister, for them I should be careful of what people would say: but I

am alone in the world, and it's my own look out. As long as I am

satisfied with myself, I don't care a snap for others!"

"But still I should be very uncomfortable."

"What for?"

"In being thought happy in having you for a companion, while, on the

contrary, I love you. It would be something like taking dinner with

Papa Cretu--eating dry bread, whilst a cookery book was being read to

me."

"Nonsense, nonsense! You will be very happy to live after my fashion.

I shall prove so mild, grateful, and unwearying, that you will say:

'After all, it is as well to pass my Sunday, with her as with any one

else.' If you should be disengaged in the evenings, during the week,

and it would not annoy you, you might pass them in my room, and have

the advantage of my fire and lamp, you could hire romances, and read

them aloud to me. Better than go and lose your money at billiards.

Otherwise, if you were kept late at your business, or you liked better

to go to the _cafe_, you could wish me good-night on your return,

if I were still up. But should I be in bed, at an early hour next day

I would say good-morning, by tapping at the wall to waken you. M.

Germain, my last neighbor, spent all his evenings in that manner with

me, and did not complain; he read all Walter Scott's works to me,

which were very interesting. Sometimes on Sunday, when the weather was

bad, instead of leaving home, he bought something nice, and we made a

downright banquet in my room; after which we amused ourselves with

reading, and I was almost as much pleased as if I had been at the

theater. This is to show you that it would not be difficult to live

with me, and that I will do what I can to make things pleasant and

agreeable. And then, you, who talk of illness, if ever you should be

laid up, I'll be a real Sister of Charity; only ask the Morels what

sort of a nurse I am! So, you see, you are not aware of all your

happiness; it is as good as a lucky hit in the lottery to have me for

a neighbor."

"That is true, I have always been lucky; but, speaking of M. Germain,

where is he now?"

"In Paris, I believe."

"Then you never see him now?"

"Since he left this house, he has not been to see me."

"But where does he live, and what is he doing?"

"Why do you ask those questions, neighbor?"

"Because I feel jealous of him," said Rudolph, smiling, "and I would--"

"Jealous!" exclaimed Miss Dimpleton, laughing. "There is no reason for

that, poor fellow!"

"Seriously, then, I have the greatest interest in knowing the address

of M. Germain; you know where he lives, and I may, without boasting,

add, that I am incapable of abusing the secret I ask of you; it will

be for his interest also." "Seriously, neighbor, I believe you wish

every good to M. Germain, but he made me promise not to give his

address to any one; therefore, be assured, that as I do not give it to

you, it is because I cannot. You ought not to be angry with me; if you

had intrusted a secret to me, you would be pleased to find I acted as

I am now doing."

"But--"

"Stop, neighbor! Once for all, do not speak to me any more on that

subject; I have made a promise, I intend to keep it, and, whatever you

may say to me, I shall still answer you in the same way."

In spite of her giddiness and frivolity, the girl pronounced these

last words so decisively, that Rudolph felt, to his great regret, that

he would never obtain from her the desired information about Germain;

and he felt a repugnance to employ artifice in surprising her

confidence. He paused a moment, and then resumed: "Do not let us speak

of it again, neighbor. Upon my soul, you keep so well the secrets of

others, that I am no longer surprised at your keeping your own."

"Secrets! I have secrets! I wish I had some; it must be so very

amusing."

"Do you mean to say that you have not a little secret of the heart?"

"A secret of the heart!"

"In a word, have you never loved?" said Rudolph, looking steadfastly

at Miss Dimpleton, to read the truth in her tell-tale face.

"Loved!--have I not loved M. Giraudeau, M. Cabrion, M. Germain, and

you?"

"And did you love them the same as you love me--neither more nor

less?"

"Oh, I cannot tell you that, exactly--less, perhaps; for I had to

habituate myself to the squint of M. Giraudeau, to the red beard and

disagreeable jests of M. Cabrion, and the melancholy of M. Germain,

for he was so very sad, poor young man: while you, on the contrary,

pleased me instantly."

"You will not feel angry, neighbor, if I speak to you as a friend?"

"Oh, no, don't be afraid--I am very good-natured; and then you are so

kind, that I am sure you have not the heart to say anything that would

cause me pain."

"Certainly not; but now, frankly, have you never had--a lover?"

"Lovers! Now, is that very likely? Have I time for that?"

"But what has time to do with it?"

"Everything. First of all, I should be as jealous as a tiger, and I

should be constantly worrying myself with one idea or the other. Then,

again, do I earn money enough to enable me to lose two or three hours

a day in grief and tears?--and if he deceived me, what weeping, what

sorrow! All that would throw me pretty well behindhand, you may

guess."

"But all lovers are not unfaithful, and do not cause their mistresses

to weep."

"That would be still worse. If he were very good and loving, could I

live a moment away from him? And then, as most likely he would be

obliged to stay all day, either at the desk, manufactory, or shop, I

should be like a poor restless spirit during his absence. I should

invent a thousand chimeras; imagine that others loved him, and that he

was with them. Heaven only knows what I might be tempted to do in my

despair! Certain it is, that my work would be neglected, and what

would become of me then? I can manage, quiet as I am, to live by

working twelve or fourteen hours a day; but, were I to lose two or

three days in the week by tormenting myself, how could I make up the

lost time? Impossible! I must then take a situation. Oh, no, I love my

liberty too well."

"Your liberty?"

"Yes; I could enter as forewoman to the person who now employs me; I

should receive four hundred francs a year, with board and lodging."

"And you will not accept that?"

"No, indeed. I should be dependent on others; instead of which,

however humble my home may be, it is my own. I owe no one anything; I

have courage, health and gayety: with an agreeable neighbor like

yourself, what do I want more?"

"Then you have never thought of marrying?"

"I marry! I could only expect to meet with a husband as poor as

myself; and look at the unhappy Morels--see where it ends! When you

have but yourself to look to, you can always manage somehow."

"Then you never build castles in the air--never dream?"

"Yes, I dream of my chimney-ornaments; besides them what can I

desire?"

"But suppose, now, some relation, of whom you have never heard, should

die and leave you a fortune--say twelve hundred francs a year--to you,

who live upon five hundred francs----"

"It might prove a good thing--perhaps an evil."

"An evil?"

"I am very happy as I am; I can enjoy the life I now lead, but I do

not know how I should pass my time if I were rich. After a hard day's

work, I go to bed, my lamp extinguished, and, by a few light embers

that remain in my stove, I see my room neat--curtains, drawers,

chairs, birds, watch, and my table spread with goods intrusted to me--

and then I say to myself, `All this I owe to myself.' Truly, neighbor,

these thoughts cradle me softly, and sometimes I go to sleep with

pride, always with content. But here we are at the Temple! You must

confess, now, that it is a very superb show!"

Although Rudolph did not participate in the deep veneration expressed

by Miss Dimpleton at the sight of the Temple, he was nevertheless

struck by the singular appearance of this enormous bazaar, with its

numerous divisions and passages. Toward the middle of the Rue du

Temple, not far from a fountain which was placed in the angle of a

large square, might be seen an immense parallelogram built of timber,

surmounted with a slated roof. That building is the Temple. Bounded on

the left by the Rue du Petit Thouars, on the right by the Rue Percee,

it finished in a vast rotunda, surrounded with a gallery, forming a

sort of arcade. A long opening, intersecting this parallelogram in its

length, divided it in two equal parts; these were in their turn

divided and subdivided by little lateral and transverse courts,

sheltered from the rain by the roof of the edifice. In this bazaar new

merchandise is generally prohibited; but the smallest rag of any

stuff, the smallest piece of iron, brass, or steel, there found its

buyer or seller.

There you saw dealers in scraps of cloth of all colors, ages, shades,

qualities, and fashion, to assimilate either with worn-out or ill-fitting

garments. Some of the shops presented mountains of old shoes,

some trodden down at heel, others twisted, torn, split, and in holes,

presenting a mass of nameless, formless, colorless objects, among

which were grimly visible some species of _fossil_ soles, about

an inch thick, studded with thick nails, like a prison door, and hard

as a horseshoe, the actual skeletons of shoes whose other component

parts had long since been devoured by Time. Yet all this moldy, rusty,

dried-up accumulation of decaying rubbish found a willing purchaser,

an extensive body of _merchants_ trading in this particular line.

There existed retailers of trimming, fringes, cords, ravelings of

silk, cotton, or thread, during the destruction of curtains, etc.,

rendered unfit for use. Other industrious persons occupied themselves

in the business of women's bonnets; these bonnets never came to their

shop but in the bags of the retailer, after the most singular changes,

the most extraordinary transformations, the most unheard-of

discolorations. To prevent the merchandise taking up too much room in

a shop usually of the size of a large box, they folded these bonnets

in two, after which they smoothed them and pressed them down

excessively tight--saving the salt, it is positively the same process

as is used in the preservation of herrings: thus you may imagine how

much, thanks to this method of stowage, may be contained in a space of

four square feet.

When the purchaser presents himself, they withdraw these bags from the

pressure to which they are subject; the merchant, with a careless air,

gives a slight push with his fist to the bottom of the crown, to raise

it up, smooths the front upon his knee, and presents to your eyes an

object at once whimsically fantastical, which recalls confusedly to

your memory those fabulous head-dresses favored by box-keepers, aunts

of opera dancers, or duennas of provincial theaters. Further on, at

the sign of the _Gout du jour_, under the arcades of the Rotunda,

elevated at the end of the wide opening which separates the Temple in

two parts, were hanging, like _exotics_, numerous clothes, in

color, shape, and make still more extravagant than those of the

bonnets just described. Here were seen frock-coats, flashily set off

by three rows of hussar-jacket buttons, and warmly ornamented with a

little fur collar of fox's skin. Great-coats, formerly of bottle-green,

rendered by time _invisible_, edged with a black cord, and

brightened by a lining of plaid, blue and yellow, which had a most

laughable effect. Coats, formerly styled the "swallow-tails," of a

reddish-brown, with a handsome collar of plush, ornamented with

buttons, once gilt, but now of a copper color. There were also to be

seen Polish cloaks, with collars of cat-skin, frogged, and faced with

old black cotton-velvet; not far from these were dressing-gowns,

cunningly made of watchmen's old great-coats, from which were taken

the many capes, and lined with pieces of printed cotton; the better

sort were of dead blue and dark green, patched up with sundry pieces

of variegated colors, and fastened round the waist with an old woolen

bell-rope serving for a girdle, making a finish to these elegant

_deshabilles_, so exultingly worn by Robert Macaire.

We shall briefly pass over a variety of "loud" costumes, more or less

uncouth, in the midst of which might here and there be seen some

authentic relics of royalty or greatness, dragged by the revolution of

time from palaces and noble halls, to figure on the dingy shelves of

the Rotunda.

These exhibitions of old shoes, old hats, and ridiculous old dresses,

were on the grotesque side of the bazaar--the quarter for beggars,

ostentatiously decked out and disguised; but it must be allowed, or

rather distinctly asserted, that this vast establishment was of

immense use to the humble classes, or those of limited means. There

they might purchase, at an amazing reduction in price, excellent

things, almost new, the actual depreciation in value being almost

imaginary. On one side of the Temple, set apart for bedding, there

were heaps of coverlets, sheets, mattresses, and pillows. Further on

were carpets, curtains, and all sorts of kitchen utensils, besides

clothes, shoes, and head-dresses for all classes and ages. These

objects, generally of perfect cleanliness, offered nothing repugnant

to the sight.

One could scarcely believe, before visiting the bazaar, how little

time and money were requisite to fill a cart with all that is

necessary to the complete fitting out of two or three families who

wanted everything.

Rudolph was struck by the manner, at once eager, obliging, and merry,

with which the various dealers, standing outside their shops,

solicited the custom of the passers-by; these manners, stamped with a

sort of respectful familiarity, seemed to belong to another age.

Scarcely had Miss Dimpleton and her companion appeared in the long

passage occupied by those who sold bedding, than they were surrounded

by the most seductive offers.

"Sir, come in and see my mattresses; they are better than new! I will

unsew a corner, that you may examine the stuffing; you will think it

lambs'-wool, it is so white and soft!"

"My pretty little lady, I have sheets of fine holland, finer than at

first, for their stiffness has been taken out of them; they are as

soft as a glove, strong as steel!"

"Come, my elegant new-married couple, buy of me a counterpane. See how

soft, warm, and light they are--you would imagine them of eider-down;

nearly new--have not been used twenty times. Look, my little lady;

decide for your husband; give me your custom--I will furnish very

cheaply for you--you will be satisfied--you will come again to Mother

Bouvard. You will find all you want in my shop; yesterday I made

beautiful purchases--you shall see them all. Come in, anyhow; it will

not cost anything to look."

"By my faith, neighbor," said Rudolph to Miss Dimpleton, "this good

fat woman shall have the preference. She takes us for young married

people; the supposition flatters me, and I decide for her shop."

"To the good fat woman's, then," answered Miss Dimpleton; "her face

pleases me too."

The grisette and her companion then entered Mother Bouvard's shop. By

a magnanimity perhaps unexampled anywhere but at the Temple, the

rivals of Mother Bouvard did not rebel at the preference accorded her;

one of the neighbors, indeed, had the generosity to say, "So long as

it is Mother Bouvard, and no other, who has this customer, it is very

well: she has a family, and is the oldest inhabitant of the Temple,

and an honor to it." It was, besides, impossible to have a face more

prepossessing, open, and joyous than hers.

"Here, my pretty little lady," said she to Miss Dimpleton, who

examined everything with the manner of one capable of judging, "this

is the purchase of which I spoke; two beds, completely fitted up, and

as good as new. If by chance you want a little old secretary, and not

dear, there is one," and she pointed to it, "that I had in the same

lot. Although I do not generally buy furniture, I could not refuse to

take it, as the person of whom I had all this seemed so unhappy. Poor

lady! it was the parting with that, above all, that appeared to rend

her heart; an old piece of furniture very long with the family."

At these words, while the shopkeeper and Miss Dimpleton were debating

the prices of different articles, Rudolph looked more attentively at

the piece of furniture which Mother Bouvard had pointed out. It was

one of those old secretaries of rosewood, in shape nearly triangular,

shut in by a panel in front, which, thrown back, and supported by two

long brass hinges, could be used as a writing-desk. In the middle of

the panel, inlaid with different-colored wood, Rudolph noticed a

cipher in ebony, an M. and R. interlaced, and surmounted by the

coronet of a count. He imagined its last possessor to belong to an

elevated class of society. His curiosity increased; he examined the

secretary with renewed attention; he opened mechanically the drawers,

one after the other, when, finding some difficulty in opening the

last, and seeking the cause, he discovered and drew out carefully a

sheet of paper, partly entangled between the drawer and the bottom of

the secretary. While Miss Dimpleton was finishing her purchases with

Mother Bouvard, Rudolph narrowly scrutinized the paper; from the many

erasures it was easily to be seen that it was an unfinished draught of

a letter. Rudolph, with difficulty, read as follows:

"Sir,--Be assured that misfortunes the most frightful could alone

compel me to address you. It is not from ill-placed pride I feel these

scruples, but the absolute want of any claim to the service I venture

to ask of you. The sight of my daughter, reduced, like myself, to the

most painful privation, urges me to the task. A few words will explain

the cause of the misfortunes which overwhelm me. After the death of my

husband, there remained to me a fortune of three hundred thousand

francs, placed by my brother with M. Jacques Ferrand, notary. I

received at Angers, where I had retired with my daughter, the interest

of this sum in remittances from my brother. You remember, sir, the

frightful event that put an end to his existence: ruined, as it

appeared, by secret and unfortunate speculations, he destroyed himself

eight months since. Before this melancholy event, I received from him

a few lines, written in despair, in which he said, when I read them he

should have ceased to exist; he finished by informing me that he

possessed no document relative to the sum placed in my name with M.

Jacques Ferrand, as that individual never gave a receipt, but was

honor and goodness itself, and it would only be necessary for me to

call on him for the affairs to be satisfactorily arranged. As soon as

I could possibly turn my attention to anything but the fearful death

of my brother, I came to Paris, where I knew no one but yourself, sir,

and that indirectly, by business you had had with my husband. I told

you that the sum placed with M. Jacques Ferrand comprised the whole of

my fortune, and that my brother sent me, every six months, the

interest derived from that sum. More than a year having passed since

the last payment, I consequently called on the notary, to demand that

of which I stood greatly in want. Scarcely had I made myself known,

than, without respecting my grief, he accused my brother of having

borrowed from him two thousand francs, which he had entirely lost by

his death; adding, that not only was his suicide a crime toward God

and man, but that it was still further an act of dishonesty, of which

he was the victim. This odious speech made me indignant. The upright

conduct of my brother was well known; he had, it is true, without the

knowledge of myself or his friends, lost his fortune in hazardous

speculations, but he died with his reputation unsullied, regretted by

every one, and leaving no debts, save that to his notary. I replied to

M. Ferrand that I authorized him to take instantly, from the sum he

had in his charge of mine, the two thousand francs my brother was

indebted to him. At these words he looked at me in stupefied manner,

and asked me of what money I spoke. 'The three hundred thousand francs

that my brother placed in your hands eighteen months since, sir; the

interest of which you have remitted, through him,' said I not

comprehending his question. The notary shrugged his shoulders, smiled

in pity, as though my assertion was not true, and answered me that, so

far from having placed money with him, he had borrowed two thousand

francs.

"It is impossible to explain to you my terror at this answer. 'But

what, then, has become of this sum?' asked I. 'My daughter and myself

have no other resource; if it be taken from us, there remains but the

greatest misery. What will become of us?' 'I know nothing about it,'

said the notary coolly: 'it is most likely that your brother, instead

of placing this sum with me, as he told you, made use of it in those

unfortunate speculations to which he gave himself up, without the

knowledge of any one.' 'It is false, sir!' I exclaimed; 'my brother

was honor's self. Far from despoiling myself and child, he sacrificed

himself to us. He would never marry, that he might leave all he

possessed to my child.' 'Dare you assume, then, madame, that I am

capable of denying a trust reposed in me?' asked the notary, with an

indignation so apparently honorable and sincere, that I replied, 'No,

sir; without doubt your reputation for probity is well known; but,

notwithstanding, I cannot accuse my brother of so cruel an abuse of

confidence.' 'Upon what deeds do you found this demand on me?' asked

M. Ferrand. 'None, sir; eighteen months since, my brother, who took

upon himself the management of my affairs, wrote to me, saying, 'I

have an excellent opportunity of realizing six per cent.; send me your

warrant of attorney; I will deposit three hundred thousand francs,

which I have concluded about, with M. Ferrand, the notary.' I sent the

power of attorney; and, a few days after, he informed me that he had

effected the deposit with you, and at the end of six months he sent me

the interest of that sum. 'At least you have some letters from him on

the subject, madame?' 'No, sir; as they related only to business, I

did not preserve them.' 'I, unhappily, madame, know nothing of all

this,' replied the notary; 'if my character was not above all

suspicion, all attack, I should say to you, 'The law is open to you--

proceed against me; the judges will have to choose between an

honorable man, who for thirty years has enjoyed the esteem of persons

of consideration, and the posthumous declaration of a man who, after

ruining himself in the most hazardous speculations, found refuge only

in suicide.' In short, I say to you now, attack me, madame, if you

dare, and the memory of your brother will be dishonored! But I should

think that you will nave the good sense to be resigned to a

misfortune, doubtless very great, but to which I am a stranger.' 'But,

sir, I am a mother; if my fortune is lost to me, my daughter and

myself have only the resource of some little furniture; that sold,

there remains but misery, sir, appalling misery!' 'You have,

unfortunately, been cheated; I can do nothing,' replied the notary.

'Again I tell you, madame, your brother deceived you. If you hesitate

between my word and his, proceed against me; the law is open to you--I

abide by its decision.' I left the office of the notary in the deepest

despair. What remained for me to do in this extremity. Without any

document to prove the validity of my claim, convinced of the strict

honesty of my brother, confounded by the assurance of M. Ferrand,

having no one from whom I could ask advice (you were then traveling),

knowing that money was necessary to have the opinion of counsel, and

wishing carefully to preserve the little which was left to me, I dared

not undertake the commencement of a lawsuit. It was then--"

This copy of a letter ended here, for strokes not decipherable,

covered some lines which followed: at last, at the bottom, in a corner

of the page, Rudolph read the following memorandum: "_Write to the

Duchess de Lucenay, for M. de Saint-Remy_."

Rudolph remained thoughtful after the perusal of this fragment of a

letter, in which he had found two names whose connection struck him.

Although the additional infamy with which M. Ferrand appeared to be

accused was not proved, this man had shown himself so pitiless towards

the unfortunate Morel, so infamous to Louise, his daughter, that a

denial of the deposit, protected as he was from certain discovery, did

not appear strange, coming from such a wretch. This mother, who

claimed a fortune which had so strangely disappeared, no doubt

accustomed to the comforts of life, was ruined by a blow so sudden:

knowing no one at Paris, as the letter said, what could now be the

existence of these two females, deprived of everything, alone in the

heart of this immense city?

The prince had, as we know, promised to Lady d'Harville _some

intrigues_, which he hazarded for the purpose of occupying her

mind, and a part to perform in some future work of charity, feeling

certain of finding, before his again meeting the lady, some grief to

assuage: he trusted that perhaps chance might throw in his path some

worthy, unfortunate person, who could, agreeably to his project,

interest the heart and imagination of Lady d'Harville. The wording of

the letter that he held in his hands, a copy of which, without doubt,

had never been sent to the person from whom assistance was implored,

showed a character proud and resigned, to whom the offer of charity

would be no doubt repugnant. In that case, what precautions and

delicate deceptions would be necessary to hide the source of a

generous succor, or to make it acceptable! And then, what address to

gain introduction to this lady, so that you might judge if she really

merited the interest it seemed she ought to inspire! Rudolph foresaw a

crowd of emotions, new, curious, and touching, which ought singularly

to amuse Lady d'Harville, as he had promised her.

"Well, _husband_," said Miss Dimpleton, gayly, "what is that

scrap of paper you are reading?"

"My little _wife_," answered Rudolph, "you are very curious. I

will tell you presently. Have you concluded your purchases?"

"Certainly, and your poor friends will be established like kings.

There remains only to pay. Mother Bouvard is very accommodating, it

must be allowed."

"My little _wife_, an idea has just struck me; while I am paying,

will you go and choose clothing for Mrs. Morel and her children; I

confess my ignorance on the subject of such purchases. You can tell

them to bring the things here, as there need be but one journey, and

the poor people will have all at the same time."

"You are always right, _husband_. Wait for me, I shall not be

long; I know two shopkeepers with whom I always deal, and I shall find

there all that I want." Miss Dimpleton went out, saying, "Mother

Bouvard, I trust my _husband_ to you; do not make love to him."

And, laughing, she hastily disappeared.

"Indeed, sir," said Mother Bouvard to Rudolph, after the departure of

Miss Dimpleton, "you must allow that you possess a famous little

manager. She understands well how to buy. So pretty! Red and white,

with beautiful large black eyes, and hair to match!"

"Is she not charming? Am I not a happy husband, Mother Bouvard?"

"As happy a husband as she is a wife, I am quite sure."

"You are not mistaken there; but tell me, how much do I owe you?"

"Your little lady would not go beyond three hundred and thirty francs

for all. As there is a heaven above, I only clear fifteen francs, for

I did not buy them so cheaply as I might; I had not the heart to beat

them down, the people who sold them appeared so very unhappy!"

"Indeed! were they not the same persons of whom you bought the little

secretary?"

"Yes, sir; and its break my heart only to think of it. There came here

the day before yesterday, a lady, still young and beautiful, but so

pale and thin, that it gave you pain to see her. Although she was neat

and clean, her old threadbare, black worsted shawl, her black stuff

gown, also much worn and frayed, her straw bonnet in the month of

January, for she was in mourning, proclaimed what is termed a

_shabby genteel_ appearance, but I am sure she was of real

quality. At length she inquired, with a blush, if I would purchase two

beds complete, and an old secretary. I replied, that as I sold I must

buy, and that, if they suited me, I would have them. She then begged

me to go with her, not far from here, on the other side of the street,

to a house on the quay of the Canal Saint Martin. I left my shop in

charge of my niece, and followed the lady. We came to a shabby-looking

house, quite at the bottom of a court; we went up to the fourth story,

the lady knocked, and a young girl of fourteen opened the door; she

was also in mourning, and equally pale and thin, but in spite of this,

beautiful as the day--so beautiful, that I was enraptured!"

"Well, and this young girl?"

"Was the daughter of the lady in mourning. Although so cold she had on

nothing more than a black cotton dress with white spots, and a little

black shawl quite worn out."

"And their lodging was wretched?"

"Imagine, sir, two little rooms, very clean, but almost empty, and so

cold that I was nearly frozen; a fireplace where you could not

perceive the least appearance of ashes; there had not been a fire for

a long time. The whole of the furniture consisted of two beds, two

chairs, a chest of drawers, an old trunk, and the little secretary.

Upon the trunk was a bundle in a handkerchief. This bundle was all

that remained to the mother and daughter, when once their furniture

was sold. The landlord selected the two bedsteads, the chairs, trunk,

and table, for what they were indebted to him, as the porter said who

came up with us. When the lady begged me to put a fair value on the

mattress, sheets, curtains, and blankets, on the faith of an honest

woman, sir, although I live by buying cheap and selling dear, when I

saw the poor young lady, her eyes filled with tears, and her mother,

in spite of her calmness, appearing to weep inwardly, I estimated them

within fifteen francs of their value to sell again, I assure you; I

even consented, to oblige them, to take the little secretary, although

it is not in my line of business."

"I will buy it of you, Mother Bouvard."

"Will you though? So much the better, sir; it would have remained on

my hands a long time, and I only took it to serve the lady. I then

told her what I would give for the things, and I expected she would

ask me more than I had offered; but no, she said not a word about it.

This still more satisfied me that she was no common person; _genteel

poverty_, sir, be assured. I said, 'So much,' she answered, 'Thank

you! now let us return to your shop, and you can then pay me, as I

shall not come back again to this house.' Then, speaking to her

daughter, who was sitting on the trunk, crying, she said, 'Claire,

take the bundle.' I remember the name well. The young lady rose up,

but in passing by the side of the little secretary, she threw herself

on her knees before it, and began to sob. 'Courage, my child, they are

looking at us,' said her mother, in a low tone, but yet I heard her.

You can understand, sir, they are poor but proud people. When the lady

gave me the key of the little secretary, I noticed a tear in her eyes,

her heart seemed breaking at parting with the old piece of furniture;

but she still tried to preserve her calmness and dignity before

strangers. She then gave the porter to understand that I was to take

away all the landlord did not keep, and afterward we returned here.

The young lady gave her arm to her mother, and carried in her hand the

little bundle which contained their all. I paid them three hundred and

fifteen francs, and have not since seen them."

"But their name?"

"I do not know: the lady sold me the things in the presence of the

porter; I had not the necessity to ask her name, as what she sold

belonged to herself."

"But their new abode?"

"That, also, I do not know."

"Perhaps they can inform me at their old lodging?"

"No, sir; for when I returned to fetch away the things, the porter

said, speaking of the mother and daughter; 'They are very quiet

people, but very unhappy; some misfortunes have happened to them. They

always appeared calm; but I am sure they were in a state of despair.'

'And where are they going to lodge at this late hour?' I asked him.

'In truth, I know nothing,' answered he; 'it is, however, quite

certain they will not return here.'"

The hopes that Rudolph had entertained for a moment vanished. How

could he discover these two unhappy females, having only as a clew the

name of the young girl, Claire, and the fragment of a letter, of which

we have spoken, at the bottom of which were the words: "_Write to

Madame de Lucenay, for M. de Saint-Remy_."

The only chance, and that was a very faint one, of tracing these

unfortunates, rested in Madame de Lucenay, who, fortunately, was on

intimate terms with Lady d'Harville.

"Here, madame, pay yourself," said Rudolph to the shopkeeper, giving

her a note for five hundred francs.

"I will give you the difference, sir."

"Where can I engage a cart to carry the things?"

"If it be not very far, a large truck will be sufficient; Father

Jerome has one, quite close by; I always employ him. What is your

address?"

"No. 17, Rue du Temple."

"Rue du Temple, No. 17. Yes, yes, I know the house."

"You have been there?"

"Many times. First, I bought some clothes of a pawnbroker who lived

there. It is true, she did not carry on a large business, but that was

no affair of mine: she sold, I bought, and we were quits. Another

time, not six months ago, I went again for the furniture of a young

man who lived on the fourth story, and who was going to remove."

"M. Francois Germain, perhaps," said Rudolph.

"The same. Do you know him?"

"Very well. Unhappily, he has not left in the Rue du Temple his

present address, and I do not know where to find him."

"If that be all, I can remove the difficulty."

"You know where he lives?"

"Not exactly; but I know where you will be sure to meet with him."

"Where is that?"--

"At a notary's, where he is employed."

"At a notary's?"

"Yes; who lives in the Rue du Sentier."

"M. Jacques Ferrand!" exclaimed Rudolph.

"The same; a worthy man; he has a crucifix and a bit of the true cross

in his office, which reminds one of a sacristy."

"But how do you know that M. Germain is with the notary?"

"Why, in this way. The young man came to me, and proposed that I

should buy all his furniture; although not in my way of business, I

agreed, and afterward retailed them here; for, as it suited the young

man, I did not like to refuse. Well, then, I bought him clean out, and

gave him a good price; he was, doubtless, satisfied with me, for at

the end of a fortnight he came to buy a bedstead and bedding. He

brought with him a truck and a porter; they packed up all; but just as

he was about to pay he found he had forgotten his purse. He appeared

such an honest young man, that I said to him: 'Take the things with

you, all the same; I will call for the money.''Very well,' he said;

'but I am seldom at home; call, therefore, tomorrow, in the Rue du

Sentier, at M. Jacques Ferrand's the notary, where I am employed, and

I will then pay you.' I went the next day, and he paid me. Only, what

I thought so odd, was, his selling me all his goods, and buying others

in a fortnight after."

Rudolph thought he could account for the cause of this singularity.

Germain, wishing that the wretches who pursued him should lose all

traces, of him, had sold his goods, thinking that if he removed them

it might give a clew to his new abode, and had preferred, to avoid

this evil, purchasing others, and taking them himself to his lodgings.

Rudolph started with joy when he thought of the happiness for Mrs.

George, who was at last about to see this son, so long and vainly

sought.

Miss Dimpleton now returned with joyful eyes and smiling lips.

"Well, did I not tell you?" she exclaimed. "I was not wrong: we have

spent, in all, six hundred and forty francs, and the Morels will be

housed like princes. See! the shopkeepers are coming: are they not

loaded? Nothing is wanted for the use of the family--even to a

gridiron, two beautiful saucepans newly tinned, and a coffee-pot. I

said to myself, since everything is to be had, it shall be so; and,

besides all that, I have spent three hours. But make haste and pay,

neighbor, and let us go. It is almost noon, and my needle must go at a

pretty rate to overtake this morning!"

Rudolph paid, and left the Temple with Miss Dimpleton. As the grisette

and her companion entered the passage of the house, they were almost

thrown down by Mrs. Pipelet, who was running out, troubled,

frightened, aghast.

"Gracious heaven!" said Miss Dimpleton, "what is the matter with you,

Mrs. Pipelet? Where are you running to in that manner?"

"Is that you, Miss Dimpleton?" exclaimed Anastasia.

"Providence has sent you. Help me! save the life of Alfred!"

"What do you say?"

"That poor old darling has fainted! Have pity upon us! run and fetch

two sous worth of absinthe--very strong; that is the remedy when he is

indisposed in the pylorus. Be kind; do not refuse me, and I can return

to Alfred. I am quite confused!"

Miss Dimpleton left Rudolph's arm, and ran off to the dram-shop.

"But what has happened, Mrs. Pipelet?" asked Rudolph, following the

portress, who returned to the lodge.

"How should I know, my worthy sir? I left home to go to the mayor's,

the church, and the cook-shop, to prevent Alfred from tiring himself.

I returned; what did I see? the dear old man with his legs and arms

all in the air! Look, M. Rudolph!" said Anastasia, opening the door of

the room, "is not that a sight to break one's heart?"

Lamentable spectacle! With his enormous hat still on his head, even

further on than usual, for the questionable _castor,_ pushed

down, no doubt, by violence, if we may judge by a transverse gap,

covered Pipelet's eyes, who was on his back on the floor, at the foot

of his bed.

The fainting was over, and Alfred was beginning to make some slight

movements with his hands, as though he wished to repulse some one or

some thing; and then he tried to remove his troublesome visor.

"He kicks! that is a good sign; he recovers!" cried the portress--and

stooping down, she bawled in his ears: "What is the matter with my

Alfred? It is his 'Stasie who is here. How are you now? They are

coming to bring you some absinthe; that will put you to rights." Then,

assuming a caressing tone of voice, she added: "Have they abused you,

killed you, my dear old darling--eh?"

Alfred sighed deeply, and with a groan uttered a fatal word:

"_Cabrion!_" His trembling hands seemed as though desirous of

repulsing a frightful vision.

"Cabrion! that devil of a painter again!" exclaimed Mrs. Pipelet.

"Alfred all night dreamed so much about him, that he kicked me

dreadfully. That monster is his nightmare! Not only has he poisoned

his days, but his nights also; he persecutes him even in his sleep--

yes, sir, as though Alfred was a malefactor, and this Cabrion, whom

may the devil confound! is his remorseless enemy."

Rudolph smiled, as he foresaw some new trick on the part of Miss

Dimpleton's former neighbor.

"Alfred, answer me; do not remain dumb--you alarm me," said Mrs.

Pipelet; "let us get you up. Why will you think on that beggarly

fellow? You know that, when you think of him, it has the same effect

on you as when you eat cabbage--it fills up your gizzard, and stifles

you!"

"Cabrion!" repeated Pipelet, lifting with difficulty his hat from his

eyes, which he rolled about with a frightened air.

Miss Dimpleton entered, carrying a small bottle of absinthe.

"Thank you, mademoiselle; you are very kind," said the old woman. Then

she added: "Here, darling, pop it down; it will bring you to

yourself."

And Anastasia, presenting the vial quickly to Pipelet's lips, insisted

on his swallowing the contents. Alfred in vain struggled courageously:

his wife, profiting by the weakness of her victim, held his head with

a firm grasp in one hand, and with the other introduced the neck of

the vial between his teeth, and forced him to drink the absinthe;

after which she cried triumphantly: "Well done! you are again on your

pins, my cherished one!"

Alfred, having wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, opened his

eyes, stood up, and asked in a trembling voice: "Have you seen him?"

"Who?"

"Is he gone?"

"Alfred, whom do you mean?"

"Cabrion!"

"Has he dared--" cried the portress.

Pipelet, as dumb as the statue of the Commander in _Don

Giovanni,_ bowed his head twice in the affirmative.

"M. Cabrion, has he been here?" asked Miss Dimpleton, restraining with

difficulty an inclination to laugh.

"That monster! has he been let loose upon Alfred?" cried Mrs. Pipelet.

"Oh, if I had been here with my broom, he should have eaten it up, to

the very handle! But speak, Alfred; relate to us this horrible

affair."

Pipelet made a sign with his hand that he was about to speak, and they

listened to the man of the immense hat in religious silence. Pie

expressed himself in these terms, with a voice deeply agitated: "My

wife had just left me to complete the orders given by you, sir (bowing

to Rudolph), to call at the mayor's and the cook-shop."

"The dear old man had the nightmare all night, and I wished him to

rest," said Anastasia.

"This nightmare was sent me as a warning from above," said the porter,

solemnly. "I had dreamed of Cabrion--I was to suffer by Cabrion. Here

was I sitting quietly before the table, thinking of an alteration that

I wished to make in this boot confided to me, when I heard a noise, a

rustling at the window of my lodge--was it a presentiment--a warning

from above? My heart beat; I raised my head, and through the window I

saw--saw--"

"Cabrion!" cried Anastasia, clasping her hands.

"Cabrion!" replied Pipelet, in a hollow tone. "His hideous face was

there, close to the window, looking at me with his cat's eyes--what do

I say? tiger's eyes! just as in my dream. I tried to speak, but my

tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth: I would have risen--I was glued

to my seat; the boot fell from my hands, and, as in every critical and

important event of my life, I remained completely motionless. Then the

key turned in the lock; the door opened, and Cabrion entered!"

"He entered? what effrontery!" said Mrs. Pipelet, as much astonished

as her husband at such audacity.

"Cabrion advanced slowly, his looks fixed on me, as a serpent glares

on the bird, like a phantom--on, on, chilling, lowering!"

"I'm goose-flesh all over!" groaned Anastasia.

"He came quite close to me; I could no longer endure his revolting

aspect; it was too much, I could hold out no longer. I shut my eyes,

and I then felt that he dared to put his hands on my hat, took it

slowly off my head, and left it naked! I was seized with giddiness--my

breathing was suspended--a ringing came in my ears--I was more than

ever glued to my seat--I shut my eyes more firmly. Then Cabrion

stooped, took my bald head between his hands, cold as death, and upon

my forehead, bathed in sweat, imprinted a lascivious kiss!"

Anastasia lifted her arms toward heaven.

"My most inveterate enemy kissed my forehead! A monstrosity so

unparalleled overcame and paralyzed me. Cabrion profited by my stupor

to replace my hat on my head: then, with a blow on the crown, bonneted

me as you saw. The last outrage quite overpowered me--the measure was

full; everything about me turned round, and I fainted at the moment

when I saw him, from under the rim of my hat, leave the room as

quietly and slowly as he had entered."

Then, as though this recital had exhausted his strength, Pipelet fell

back on his chair, raising his hands to heaven in the attitude of mute

imprecation. Miss Dimpleton left the room suddenly; her desire to

laugh almost stifled her, and she could no longer restrain herself.

Rudolph himself had with difficulty preserved his gravity.

Suddenly a confused murmur, such as announces the assembling of a

multitude, was heard in the street; a tumult arose at the end of the

passage, and then musket-butts sounded on the door-step.

"Good heaven, M. Rudolph!" cried Miss Dimpleton, running back, pale

and trembling; "here are a commissary of police and the guard!"

"Divine justice watches over me!" said Pipelet, in a burst of

religious gratitude; "they come to arrest Cabrion! Unhappily, it is

too late!"

A commissary of police, known by a scarf worn under his black coat,

entered the lodge. His countenance was grave, dignified, and severe.

"M. le Commissaire, you are too late; the malefactor has fled!" said

Pipelet, sadly; "but I can give you his description. Villainous smile,

impudent manners--"

"Of whom do you speak?" asked the officer.

"Of Cabrion, M. le Commissaire, and if you make all haste, there may

be yet time to get hold of him," answered Pipelet.

"I do not know who this Cabrion is," said the officer, impatiently.

"Does Jerome Morel, working lapidary, live in this house?"

"Yes, sir," said Mrs. Pipelet, standing at the salute.

"Conduct me to his apartment."'

"Morel, the lapidary!" resumed the portress, quite surprised; "he is

as gentle as a lamb, and incapable of--"

"Does Jerome Morel live here or not?"

"He does live here, sir, with his family, in the attic."

"Show me, then, to this garret."

Then, addressing a man who accompanied him, the magistrate said: "Let

the two municipal guards wait below, and not leave the alley. Send

Justin for a coach." The man left to execute these orders.

"Now," said the magistrate, addressing Pipelet, "conduct me to Morel."

"If it be all the same to you, sir, I will go instead of Alfred, who

is indisposed from the persecution of Cabrion; who, just as cabbage

does, troubles his gizzard."

"You, or your husband, it matters little which--go on." Preceded by

Mrs. Pipelet, he began to ascend the stairs; but he soon stopped,

perceiving that he was followed by Rudolph and Miss Dimpleton.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" demanded he.

"They are the two fourth-floors," said Mrs. Pipelet.

"Pardon me, sir, I did not know that you belonged to the house," said

he, to Rudolph; who, auguring well from the politeness of the

magistrate, said, "You will find a family in great distress, sir. I do

not know what new misfortune menaces the unhappy artisan, but he has

been cruelly tried last night; one of his children, worn out by

illness, is dead beneath his eyes--dead from cold and misery."

"Is it possible?"

"It is the truth," said Mrs. Pipelet. "If it had not been for the

gentleman who now speaks to you, and who is a king of lodgers, for he

has saved, by his goodness, poor Morel from prison, the whole family

of the lapidary must have died from hunger."

The commissary looked at Rudolph with as much interest as surprise.

"Nothing is more simple, sir," said the latter. "A person who is very

charitable, knowing that Morel, to whose worth I pledge my honor, was

in a position as deplorable as it was unmerited, instructed me to pay

a bill of exchange, for which the bailiffs were about to drag to

prison this poor man, the sole support of a large family."

Struck in his turn by the noble appearance of Rudolph, and the dignity

of his manner, the magistrate replied, "I do not doubt the probity of

Morel; I only regret being compelled to fulfill a painful duty before

you, sir, who have shown so lively an interest in this family."

"What can you mean, sir?"

"After the services you have rendered the Morels, and from your

language, I know that you are a worthy man. Having, besides, no reason

to conceal the object of the mandate I am about to execute, I will

acknowledge that I am about to arrest Louise Morel, the lapidary's

daughter."

The rouleau of gold that she had offered to the bailiffs came to the

mind of Rudolph.

"Of what is she accused?"

"She is accused of infanticide."

"She, she! Oh, her poor father!"

"From what you have told me, sir, I conceive that, under the

circumstances in which the artisan is placed, this new blow will be

terrible for him. Unfortunately I must obey my orders."

"But it is only a simple accusation!" cried Rudolph. "The proofs are

wanting, without doubt?"

"I cannot explain myself further on this subject. The authorities have

been informed of this crime, or rather, the presumption, by the

declarations of a man in every way respectable--the master of Louise

Morel."

"Jacques Ferrand, the notary," said Rudolph indignantly.

"Yes, sir. But why this vivacity?"

"M. Jacques Ferrand, the notary, is a scoundrel, sir!"

"I see with pain that you do not know of whom you speak. M. Jacques

Ferrand is the most honorable man in the world; of most exemplary

piety, and known probity."

"I repeat to you, sir, that the notary is a scoundrel. He wished to

imprison Morel, because his daughter repulsed his infamous

propositions. If Louise is only accused on the testimony of such a

man--acknowledge, sir, that it merits but little belief."

"It does not belong to me, sir, and it does not become me, to discuss

the value of the testimony of M. Ferrand," said the officer coldly.

"Justice has taken cognizance of the affair; the tribunals will

decide. As to me, I have orders to arrest Louise Morel, and I shall do

it."

"You are right, sir. I regret that a movement of indignation, perhaps

legitimate, has made me forget that this is neither the time nor place

for such a discussion. One word alone: the body of the child he has

lost is in the garret. I have offered my room to this family, to spare

them the sad sight of the corpse; hence it is, probably, in my chamber

you will find the artisan and his daughter. I conjure you, sir, in the

name of humanity, do not arrest Louise suddenly in the midst of these

misfortunes. Morel has gone through so many shocks this night, that

his reason will give way: his wife is also dangerously sick--such a

blow will kill her. If you will permit me, I'll ask you a favor. This

is what I propose. The young girl who follows us with the door-keeper

occupies a room adjoining mine; I do not doubt but that she will place

it at your disposal. You can at first send for Louise; then, if it

must be, for Morel, that his daughter may bid him farewell. You will

at least spare a poor, sick, and infirm mother a heart-rending scene.

"If this can be arranged so, sir, willingly."

The conversation had taken place in an undertone, while Rigolette and

Mrs. Pipelet held themselves discreetly at some distance off.

Rudolph descended, and said to the former: "My poor neighbor, I must

ask another favor; you must let me have your room at my disposal for

an hour."

"As long as you please, M. Rudolph. You have my key. But, what is the

matter?"

"I will tell you directly. This is not all: you must be kind enough to

return to the Temple to tell them to delay sending home our purchases

for an hour." "Willingly, M. Rudolph; but is there a new misfortune

happened to the Morels?"

"Alas! yes; you will know it only too soon."

"Come, neighbor, I fly to the Temple. I, thanks to you, thought them

out of trouble," said the grisette, descending rapidly the stairs.

Rudolph wished to spare Rigolette the sad spectacle of the arrest of

Louise. "Officer," said Mrs. Pipelet, "since my prince of lodgers

accompanies you, I can go and find Alfred. He alarms me: he has hardly

recovered from his attack of--Cabrion."

"Go--go!" said the magistrate; who remained alone with Rudolph. Both

arrived on the landing place of the fourth, opposite the door of the

room where the artisan and his family were temporarily placed.

Suddenly this door was opened. Louise, pale and weeping, came out

quickly. "Adieu, adieu! father," cried she; "I will return--I must go

now."

"Louise, my child, listen to me, then," answered Morel, following his

daughter, and trying to detain her.

At the sight of Rudolph and the magistrate they remained immovable.

"Ah, sir! you, our savior," said the artisan, recognizing Rudolph;

"aid me to prevent Louise from going. I do not know what is the matter

with her, she makes me afraid; she wishes to go away. Is it not so,

sir, that she must not return any more to her master? Did you not say,

'Louise shall quit you no more--this shall be your recompense'? Oh! at

this delightful promise, I avow it, for a moment I have forgotten the

death of my poor little Adele; but to be separated from you, Louise,

never, never!"

Rudolph felt himself overcome; be had not strength to utter a word.

The officer said severely to Louise, "Are you Louise Morel?"

"Yes, sir!" answered the young girl, amazed. Rudolph had opened the

chamber of Rigolette.

"You are Jerome Morel, her father?" added the magistrate addressing

the artisan.

"Yes, sir! but--"

"Enter there with your daughter." And the magistrate pointed to the

chamber of Rigolette, where Rudolph already was. Reassured by his

presence, the artisan and Louise, astonished and troubled, obeyed; the

officer shut the door, and said to Morel, with emotion, "I know your

honesty and misfortunes; it is, then, with regret I inform you that,

in the name of the law, I come to arrest your daughter."

"All is discovered--I am lost!" cried Louise, throwing herself in the

arms of her father.

"What do you say? what do you say?" said Morel, stupefied. "Are you

mad? why lost? arrest you! why arrest you? who will arrest you?"

"I--in the name of the law!" and the officer showed his scarf.

"Oh, unfortunate! unfortunate that I am!" cried Louise, falling on her

knees.

"How, in the name of the law?" said the artisan, whose mind began to

wander; "why arrest my daughter in the name of the law? I answer for

Louise, I--she is my daughter, my worthy daughter--is it not true,

Louise? How arrest you, when our guardian angel restores you to us, to

console us for the death of my little Adele? Come now! it cannot be!

And besides, sir, speaking with respect, only criminals are arrested,

do you understand--and Louise, my daughter, is not a criminal. Very

sure, do you see, my child, this gentleman is mistaken. My name is

Morel; there are more Morels than me. You are Louise--but there are

more of the same name. That's it, you see, sir; there is a mistake!"

"Unfortunately, there is no mistake! Louise Morel, say farewell to

your father."

"You carry away my daughter, will you?" cried the workman, furious

from grief, and advancing toward the magistrate with a threatening

air.

Rudolph seized him by the arm, and said, "Calm yourself, and hope;

your daughter shall be returned to you--her innocence shall be proved;

she is doubtless not culpable."

"Of what? she can be culpable of nothing. I would place my hand in the

fire that"--then recollecting the gold that Louise had brought to pay

the note, Morel cried, "But that money, that money, Louise?" and he

cast on his daughter a terrible look.

Louise understood it. "I steal!" cried she, and the cheeks colored

with generous indignation. Her tone of voice, her gesture, satisfied

her father.

"I knew it!" he cried. "Do you see, sir--she denies it--and never in

her life has she lied, I swear to you. Ask every one who knows her,

and they will say the same. She lie? she is too proud for that.

Besides, the bill was paid by our benefactor. She don't want gold; she

was going to return it to the person who lent it, wasn't you, Louise?"

"Your daughter is not accused of theft," said the magistrate.

"But of what is she accused, then? I, her father, swear that, whatever

she is accused of, she is innocent; and all my life I have never

lied."

"What good will it do to know what she is accused of?" said Rudolph to

him; "her innocence shall be proven--the person who interests herself

so much in you will protect your daughter. Come, come. This time,

again, Providence will not fail you. Embrace your daughter--you will

soon see her again."

"M. le Commissaire," cried Morel, without listening to Rudolph, "a

daughter is not taken away from a father without at least telling him

of what she is accused! I wish to know all! Louise, will you speak?"

"Your daughter is accused--of infanticide," said the magistrate.

"I--I--do not comprehend--I--you--"

"Your daughter is accused of having killed her child," said the

officer, much overcome at this scene.

"But it is not yet proved that she has committed this crime."

"Oh, no, it is not so, sir, it is not so," cried Louise, with force,

and raising herself up: "I swear to you it was dead. It breathed no

more; it was frozen; I lost all consciousness; that is my crime. But

kill my child, oh, never!"

"Your child, wretch!" cried Morel, raising his hands to Louise, as if

he wished to annihilate her with this gesture and terrible

imprecation.

"Pardon, father, pardon!" cried she.

After a moment of frightful silence, Morel went on with a calmness

still more frightful.

"Sir, take away this creature; she is not my child."

He wished to go out; Louise threw herself at his knees, which she

embraced with both arms, and, with face upward, frantic and

supplicating, she cried, "Father, listen to me, only listen to me."

"Officer, take her away, I abandon her to you," said the artisan,

making every effort to disengage himself from the embraces of Louise.

"Listen to her," said Rudolph, stopping him; "do not be now without

pity."

"She, she!" repeated Morel, burying his face in his hands, "she

dishonored! oh! infamous, infamous!"

"Is she dishonored to save you?" whispered Rudolph.

These words made a startling impression on Morel; he looked at his

weeping child, still kneeling at his feet, then, interrogating her

with a look impossible to describe, he cried in a hollow voice, his

teeth grinding with rage, "The notary!"

An answer came to the lips of Louise. She was about to speak, but, on

reflection, she stopped, bent her head, and remained silent.

"But no--he wished to imprison me this morning," continued Morel; "it

is not he? oh, so much the better! so much the better. She has no

excuse for her fault; I can curse her without remorse."

"No, no! do not curse me, my father; to you I will tell all; to you

alone; and you will see--you will see if I do not deserve your

pardon."

"Listen to her for the sake of pity," said Rudolph.

"What can she tell me? her infamy? it will soon be public; I will

wait."

"Sir!" cried Louise to the magistrate, "in mercy let me say a few

words to my father before leaving him, perhaps forever. And before you

also, our savior, I will speak, but only before you and my father."

"I consent," said the magistrate.

"Will you, then, be insensible? will you refuse this last consolation

to your child?" asked Rudolph. "If you think you owe me some return

for the favors I have directed toward you, grant the prayer of your

daughter."

After a moment of mournful silence, Morel answered, "Let us go."

"But where shall we go?" asked Rudolph; "your family is in the next

room."

"Where shall we go?" cried the artisan, with bitter irony, "where

shall we go? up there--up there, in the garret, alongside of the body

of my child. The place is well chosen for this confession--is it not?

Come--we will see if Louise will dare to lie in the sight of her

sister. Come!" Morel went out precipitately, with a wild stare,

without looking at Louise."

"Sir," whispered the officer to Rudolph, "do not prolong this

interview. You said truly, his reason will not sustain it; just now

his look was that of a madman."

"Alas! sir, I fear, like you, a terrible and new misfortune: I will

shorten as much as possible the touching adieus." And Rudolph rejoined

the artisan and his daughter.