THE CRIME
Rudolph remained confounded at the detestable villainy of Ferrand.
"Then," said he to Louise, "you did not dare to complain to your
father of the odious conduct of the notary?"
"No, sir; I feared he would have thought me the accomplice instead of
the victim; and besides, I feared that, in his anger, my father would
forget that his liberty, the existence of his family, depended
entirely upon my master."
"And was his conduct less brutal toward you afterward?"
"No, sir. To drive away suspicion, when by chance he had the Cure of
Bonne Nouvelle and his vicar to dinner, my master addressed me before
them with severe reproaches; he prayed the Cure to admonish me; he
said that sooner or later I should be lost; that my manners were too
free with his clerks; that I was idle; that he kept me out of charity
for my father, an honest man with a family, whom he had served. All
this was false. I never saw the clerks; they were in a separate
building from us."
"And when you found yourself alone with M. Ferrand, how did he explain
his conduct toward you before the Cure?
"He assured me that he joked. But the Cure took these accusations for
serious; he told me severely that one must be doubly vicious to act
thus in a holy house, where I had religious examples continually under
my eyes. To that I did not know what to answer; I held down my head,
blushing. My silence, my confusion, turned still more against me; my
life was such a burden that several times I was on the point of
destroying myself; but I thought of my father, my mother, my brothers
and sisters, whom I helped to support. I resigned myself; in the midst
of my degradation I found a consolation--at least my father was saved
from prison. A new misfortune overwhelmed me--I was _enceinte;_ I
saw myself altogether lost. I do not know why, I had a presentiment
that M. Ferrand, in learning an event which should have rendered him
less cruel toward me, would increase his bad treatment; I was,
however, far from supposing what would happen."
Morel recovered from his momentary aberration, looked around him with
astonishment, passed his hand over his face, collected his thoughts,
and said to his daughter, "It seems to me I have forgotten myself for
a moment--fatigue--sorrow. What did you say?"
"When M. Ferrand was informed of my situation--"
The artisan made a movement of despair. Rudolph calmed him with a
look.
"Go on; I will listen to the end," said Morel. "Go on, go on."
Louise resumed:--"I asked M. Ferrand by what means I could conceal my
shame. Interrupting me with indignation, and a feigned surprise, he
pretended not to understand me; he asked me if I were mad; frightened,
I cried, 'But, my God, what do you wish to become of me now? If you
have no pity on me, have at least some pity on your child!' 'What a
horror!' cried he, raising his hands toward heaven. 'How, wretch! You
have the audacity to accuse me of being corrupt enough to descend to a
girl of your class! you have effrontery enough to accuse me!--I, who
have a hundred times repeated before the most respectable witnesses
that you would be ruined, vile wanton. Leave my house this moment--I
thrust you from my door.'"
Rudolph and Morel remained horror-struck; such atrocity overpowered
them.
"Oh! I confess," said Rudolph, "this passes all conception."
Morel said nothing; his eyes became enlarged in a fearful manner: a
convulsive spasm contracted his features; he descended from the bench
where he was seated, opened quickly a drawer, and took out a strong,
very sharp, file, with a wooden handle, and rushed toward the door.
Rudolph, divining his thoughts, seized him by the arm and stopped him.
"Morel, where are you going? You will ruin yourself, unfortunate man."
"Take care!" cried the artisan, furiously struggling; "I shall commit
two crimes instead of one!" and the madman threatened Rudolph.
"Father, it is our savior!" cried Louise.
"He is mocking us! bah, bah! he wishes to save the notary!" answered
Morel, completely wild, and contending with Rudolph. At the end of a
second, he succeeded in disarming him, opened the door, and threw the
instrument on the staircase.
Louise ran to the artisan, held him in her arms, and said, "Father, he
is our benefactor; you have raised your hand on him; come to
yourself."
These words recalled Morel to himself; he covered his face with his
hands, and, without saying a word, he fell at Rudolph's feet.
"Rise, unfortunate father!" said Rudolph kindly. "Patience, patience;
I understand your fury, I partake of your hatred; but, in the name
even of your vengeance, do not compromise it."
"Good heavens!" cried the artisan, raising himself up. "What can
justice--law--do in such a case? Poor as we are, when we go and accuse
the powerful, rich, and respected man, they will laugh in our face--
ah, ah, ah!" and he laughed convulsively. "And they will be right.
Where are our proofs--yes, our proofs? They will not believe us.
Therefore, I tell you," cried he, in another storm of madness, "I tell
you I have no confidence but in the impartiality of the knife!"
"Silence, Morel; grief makes you wander," said Rudolph suddenly. "Let
your daughter speak; moments are precious--the magistrate waits; I
must know all--I tell you, all. Continue, my child."
"It is useless, sir," said Louise, "to speak to you of my tears, my
prayers. I was disregarded. This took place at ten o'clock in the
morning, in the cabinet of M. Ferrand. The priest was to breakfast
with him that morning; he entered at the moment my master was loading
me with reproaches and outrages. He appeared much vexed at the sight
of the priest."
"And what did he say then?"
"He soon made up his mind what course to pursue; he cried, pointing to
me, 'Well, reverend sir, I said truly that this creature would be
ruined. She is lost--lost forever; she has just acknowledged to me her
fault and her shame, begging me to save her. And to think that I,
through pity, have received such a wretch into my house.' 'How,' said
the priest to me, with indignation, 'in spite of the salutary counsels
which your master has given you so often before me, you have thus
degraded yourself? Oh, this is unpardonable. My friend, after the
kindness you have shown her and her family, pity would be a weakness.
Be inexorable,' said the priest, a dupe, like everybody else, of the
hypocrisy of M. Ferrand."
"And you did not at once unmask the scoundrel?" said Rudolph.
"I was terrified, my head turned; I dared not, I could not pronounce a
word, yet I wished to speak, to defend myself. 'But, sir'--I cried.
'Not a word more, unworthy creature!' said M. Ferrand, interrupting
me. 'You have heard the worthy priest: pity would be weakness. In an
hour, you leave my house!' Then, without giving me time to answer, he
led the priest into another room.
"After the departure of M. Ferrand," continued Louise, "I was for a
moment, as it were, delirious. I saw myself driven from his house, not
able to get another place, on account of my situation and the bad
character my master would give me. I did not doubt but that in his
anger he would imprison my father; I did not know what would become of
me. I went for refuge and to weep, to my chamber. At the end of two
hours M. Ferrand appeared. 'Is your trunk ready?' said he. 'Have
mercy!' I cried, falling at his feet 'Do not send me away in the state
in which I am; what will become of me? I can find no other place.' 'So
much the better; God will thus punish your conduct and your lies.' 'You
dare to say that I lie!' cried I indignantly; 'you dare to say you
are not the cause of my ruin?' 'Leave my house at once, you infamous
creature, since you persist in your calumnies!' cried he, in a
terrible voice. 'And to punish you, to-morrow I will imprison your
father.' 'Well--no, no!' said I, aghast; 'I will accuse you no longer,
sir--I promise it; but do not drive me away--have pity on my father;
the little that I earn here supports my family. Keep me here--I will
say nothing--I will conceal everything as long as I can, and then--you
can send me away.'
"After renewed supplications, M. Ferrand consented to my prayers: I
regarded it as a great favor, so frightful was my condition. Yet, for
the five months which followed this cruel scene, I was very unhappy,
very cruelly treated. Sometimes only M. Germain, whom I saw but
seldom, interrogated me with kindness on the subject of my sorrows;
but shame forbade my confession."
"Is it not about this time that he came to live here?"
"Yes, sir. He wished for a room near the Temple or the Arsenal; there
was one to be let here, it suited him."
"And you never thought of confiding your sorrows to M. Germain?" asked
Rudolph.
"No, sir; he was also a dupe of M. Ferrand's; he said he was hard and
exacting, but he thought him the most honest man in the world. I
passed these five months in tears, in continual agony. With care, I
had concealed my situation from all eyes, but I could hope to do so no
longer. The future was for me most dreadful; M. Ferrand had declared
he would not keep me any longer with him. I was thus about to be
deprived of the small resource that aided our family to live. Cursed,
driven away by my father--for, after the falsehoods that I had told
him to dissipate his suspicions, he would not believe me to be the
victim of M. Ferrand--what was to become of me? where was I to fly?
where to find a refuge? I had then a very wicked idea. I confess this,
sir, because I wish to conceal nothing, even that which may cast
suspicion on me, and also to show you to what an extremity I was
reduced by the cruelty of M. Ferrand. If I had yielded to a fatal
thought, would he not have been an accomplice of my crime?"
After a moment's silence, Louise resumed, with an effort, and in a
trembling voice, "I had heard from the portress that a quack lived in
the house--and--" She could not finish.
Rudolph remembered that at his first call on Mrs. Pipelet he had
received from the postman, in her absence, a letter written on coarse
paper, in a disguised hand, and on which he had remarked the traces of
tears. "And you did write him, unhappy child, three days since? On
this letter you have wept; your writing was disguised."
Louise looked at Rudolph with affright. "How do you know, sir?"
"Calm yourself. I was alone in the lodge of Mrs. Pipelet when this
letter was handed in, and it was my chance to receive it."
"Yes, sir; in this letter, without signature, I wrote to M.
Bradamanti, that, not daring to come to him, I begged he would meet me
that evening near the Château dead. I was half crazy. I wished to ask
his fearful advice. I left my master's house to meet him; but my
reason returned. I regained the house; I did not see him. Thus the
scene took place, from the consequences of which I am now suffering--
M. Ferrand believing me gone out for two hours, while after a very
short time I returned."
"In pacing before the little door of the garden, to my great
astonishment I saw it open. I entered that way, and I carried the key
to the cabinet of M. Ferrand, where it was ordinarily kept. This was,
next to his bed-chamber, the most retired place in the house: it was
there he gave his secret audiences. You will see, sir, why I give you
these details. Knowing all the ways of the house very well, after
having crossed the dining-room, which was lighted, I entered into the
saloon in the dark, then to the cabinet, as I said before. The door of
his chamber opened at the moment I placed the key on the table. Hardly
had my master perceived me by the light which was burning in his
chamber, than he closed the door quickly on a person whom I could not
see. Then he threw himself on me, seized me by the throat as if he
wished to strangle me, and said to me in a low tone, at once furious
and alarmed, 'You were spying; you listened at the door; what did you
hear? Answer, answer! or I'll strangle you.' But changing his mind,
without giving me time to say a word, he pushed me backward into the
dining-room. The office was open; he threw me into it brutally, and
locked the door."
"And you heard nothing of his conversation?"
"Nothing, sir: if I had known he had anybody in the room, I should
have taken care not to have entered the cabinet; he forbade even Mrs.
Seraphin to do so."
"And when you came out of the office, what did he say to you?"
"It was the housekeeper who came to conduct me, and I did not see him
again that night. The alarm I had experienced had made me very ill.
The next morning, as I came downstairs, I met M. Ferrand. I shuddered
in thinking of his threats of the evening previous; what was my
surprise when he said to me, almost calmly, 'You know I forbid any one
to come into my cabinet when I have some one in my chamber; but for
the short time that you have to remain here, it is useless to scold
any more,' and he passed into his office. This moderation surprised
me, after the violence of the previous evening. I went on with my
usual duties; I went to put in order his sleeping apartment. In
arranging some clothes in a dark closet near the alcove, I was
suddenly taken very ill; I felt that I was about to faint. In falling,
I grasped at a cloak which was hanging against the wall. I dragged it
along with me; it covered me completely as I lay upon the floor. When
I came to myself, the glass door of this closet was shut. I heard the
voice of M. Ferrand. He spoke very loud. Recollecting the scene of the
previous evening, I thought myself killed if I stirred. I supposed
that, concealed under the mantle which had fallen on me, my master, in
shutting the door, had not perceived me. If he discovered me, how
could I make him believe that my presence was accidental? I held my
breath, and, in spite of myself, I heard the end of this conversation,
which doubtless had been commenced for some time."
"Who was the person who was talking with him?" asked Rudolph.
"I am ignorant, sir; I did not know the voice."
"And what did they say?"
"The conversation had lasted for some time, doubtless, for this is all
I heard. 'Nothing can be plainer,' said this unknown voice. 'A queer
fish, called Bras-Rouge (Red-Arm), a determined smuggler, has brought
me, for the affair I have just spoken about, in connection with a
family of fresh-water pirates, who are established at the point of a
little island near Aspires. They are the greatest bandits in the land;
the father and grandfather have both been guillotined, two of the sons
are to the galleys for life; but the mother, three sons, and two
daughters are left, all as great villains one as the other. It is said
that at night, to rob on both sides of the Seine, they come down in
their boats sometimes as far as Barky. They are folks who will kill
the first comer for a crown; but we have no need of them; it suffices
if they will give hospitality to your country lady. The Martial (the
name of my pirates) will pass in her eyes for an honest family of
fishermen. I will go on your account, and make two or three visits to
your young lady; I will order her certain potions, and at the end of
eight days she will make acquaintance with Aspires Cemetery. In the
villages, a death passes like a letter through the post-office, while
at Paris they scrutinize too closely. But when will you send your
country girl to the island, so that I can advise the Martial what part
they have to play?' 'She will arrive to-morrow, and the day after she
will be there,' answered Ferrand; 'and I will inform her that the
Doctor Vincent will take care of her on my account.' 'Agreed for the
name of Vincent,' said the voice; 'I like that as well as any other.'"
"What is this new mystery of crime and infamy?" said Rudolph, more and
more surprised.
"New? no, sir; you will see that it has reference to a crime that you
do know," answered Louise; and she continued, "I heard the movement of
chairs; the conversation was at an end. 'I do not ask you to be
secret,' said M. Ferrand; 'you hold me as I hold you.' 'That proves
that we can serve, but never injure one another,' answered the voice;
'see my zeal. I received your letter last night at ten o'clock; this
morning I am here. Farewell, accomplice; do not forget the Island of
Asnieres, the fisher Martial, and Dr. Vincent. Thanks to these three
magical words, your country girl has only eight days left.' 'Stop,'
said M. Ferrand, 'while I go and unbolt the door of my cabinet, and
see if there is any one in the ante-chamber, that you may go out by
the garden, as you came in.' M. Ferrand went out a moment, and then
returned, and finally I heard him go off with the unknown person. You
may imagine my alarm, sir, during this conversation, and my horror at
knowing such a secret. Two hours after this conversation, Mrs.
Seraphin came to seek me in my chamber, where I had gone more
trembling and sick than I had yet been. 'M. Ferrand wants you,' said
she; 'you have more good luck than you deserve; come, descend. You are
very pale; what you are going to learn will give you more color.'
"I followed Mrs. Seraphin; M. Ferrand was in his cabinet. At seeing
him, I shuddered in spite of myself; yet he had a less wicked look
than usual; he looked at me fixedly for a long time, as if he wished
to read my thoughts. I cast down my eyes. 'You appear very ill,' said
he. 'Yes, sir,' I answered, astonished that he did not address me
familiarly as usual. 'It is very plain,' added he, 'it is in
consequence of your situation; but notwithstanding your lies, your bad
conduct, and your indiscretion of yesterday,' added he, in a softened
tone, 'I have pity on you. Although I have treated you as you deserved
before the cure of the parish, such an affair as this will be a
scandal to my house; and, moreover, your family will be in despair. I
consent, under these circumstances to come to your assistance.' 'Ah,
sir,' I cried, 'these words of kindness on your part make me forget
all.' 'Forget what?' asked he sharply. 'Nothing, nothing; pardon me,
sir,' answered I, fearing to irritate him, and believing in his
professions of pity. 'Listen to me,' said he; 'you will go to see your
father to-day; you will announce to him that I am going to send you
for two or three months in the country to take charge of a house I
have just bought; during your absence I will send him your wages.
To-morrow you will leave Paris; I will give you a letter of
recommendation for Mrs. Martial, the mother of a family of honest
fishermen who live near Asnieres. You will require to say you came
from the country, nothing more. Later you will know the object of this
letter, all for your interest. Mrs. Martial will treat you as her
child; a physician, a friend of mine, Dr. Vincent, will take you under
his charge. You see how good I am for you!'"
"What a horrible plot!" cried Rudolph. "Now I comprehend all.
Believing that the evening previous you had become possessed of a
secret of great importance to him, he wished to get rid of you. He had
probably some interest in deceiving his accomplice, in representing
you as a girl from the country. What must have been your affright at
this proposition!"
"It was a great blow. I was completely bewildered; I knew not what to
answer; I looked at M. Ferrand with affright; my mind wandered. I was
about, perhaps, to risk my life in telling him that I had overheard
his projects in the morning, when, happily, I recollected the new
dangers to which this would expose me. 'You do not comprehend me,
then?' asked he, with impatience. 'Yes, sir, but,' said I, trembling,
'I prefer not to go to the country.' 'Why not? You will be perfectly
well taken care of where I shall send you. 'No, no, I will not go; I
prefer to remain in Paris, near my family; I had rather confess all,
die with shame, if it is necessary.' 'You refuse me!' said M. Ferrand,
restraining his anger, and looking at me with attention. 'Why have you
changed your mind so quickly? Just now you accepted.' I saw that if he
suspected me I was lost; I answered that I did not think that he meant
me to leave Paris and my family. 'But you will dishonor your family,
wretch,' cried he; and not being able any longer to contain himself,
he seized me by the arm, and pushed me so violently that I fell. 'I
give you until after to-morrow,' cried he; 'to-morrow you shall leave
this to go to the Martials, or to tell your father I have sent you
away, and that he goes the same day to prison.' I remained alone,
stretched on the earth; I had not the strength to get up. Mrs.
Seraphin came, and with her assistance I regained my chamber. I threw
myself on my bed; I remained there until night."
* * * * * * *
"Amid the horrors of this frightful, solitary night, I had a moment of
bitter joy: it was when I pressed my child in my arms." And the voice
of Louise was suffocated with her tears.
Morel had listened to the story of his daughter with an apathy and
indifference which alarmed Rudolph. Yet, seeing her in tears, he
looked fixedly at her and said: "She weeps--she weeps; why, then, does
she weep? Oh, yes; I know, I know--the notary. Continue, my poor
Louise; you are my child. I love you still--just now I did not know
you; my tears obscured my sight. Oh, my head--my head--it gives me
great pain."
"You see I am not culpable; is it not so, father?"
"Yes, yes."
"It is a great sorrow--but I feared the notary so much!"
"The notary? Oh! I believe you--he is so bad--so wicked!"
"You pardon me now?"
"Yes."
"Truly?"
"Yes, truly. Oh, I love you still--go--although--I cannot--say--do you
see--because--oh! my head! my bead!"
Louise looked at Rudolph with alarm.
"He suffers; let him compose himself. Continue."
"I pressed my child to my heart. I was astonished not to hear it
breathe, but I said to myself, the respiration of so young a child can
hardly be heard; and yet it seemed to me that it was very cold. I had
no light. I waited until dawn, trying to warm it as well as I could,
At daylight I found it was stiff--icy. I placed my hand on its heart;
it did not beat--it was dead."
And Louise burst into bitter sobs.
"Oh! at this moment," continued she, "thoughts passed impossible to
describe, I remember it confusedly as a dream; it was at once despair,
terror, anger, and, above all, I was seized with another alarm; I no
longer dreaded that Ferrand would strangle me, but I feared that if my
child was found dead at my side I should be accused of having killed
it. Then I had but one thought, that of concealing it from all eyes;
in that way my dishonor would not be known; I would no longer have to
dread the anger of my father; I should escape the vengeance of
Ferrand; then I could leave his house, procure another place, and
continue to earn something toward the support of my family. Alas! sir,
such are the reasons which induced me to acknowledge nothing, to
conceal the body of my child from all eyes. It was wrong, certainly;
but the position I was in, overwhelmed on all sides, crushed by long
sufferings, almost delirious, I did not reflect to what I exposed
myself if I was discovered."
"What tortures! what tortures!" said Rudolph, overcome.
"Daylight increased," continued Louise, "in a short time every one
would be awake in the house. I hesitated no longer. I wrapped up my
child as well as I could; I descended very softly; I went to the end
of the garden to make a hole in the ground to bury it, but it had
frozen all night--the earth was too hard. Then I hid the body at the
bottom of a kind of cellar where no one entered in winter. I covered
it with an empty flower-box, and I returned to my room without seeing
any one. Of all I tell you, sir, I have but a confused idea. Feeble as
I was, I can as yet hardly comprehend how I had the nerve to do all
this. At nine o'clock, Mrs. Seraphin came to know why I was not yet
up. I said that I was so ill, that I begged her to let me remain in
bed all day; the next day I would quit the house, since M. Ferrand
sent me away. At the end of one hour he came himself. 'You are worse;
this is the consequence of your self-will,' said he. 'If you had
profited by my offers, to-day you would have been established with
kind people, who would have taken every care of you; however, I will
not be so inhuman as to let you suffer; to-night Dr. Vincent will come
to see you.' At this threat I shuddered with fear. I answered that I
was wrong the night before to refuse his offers; that I accepted them;
but that, as yet being too ill to leave, I would go the next day but
one to the Martials; and that it was useless to send for Dr. Vincent.
I only wished to gain time; I was decided to leave the house, and to
go to my father. I hoped in this manner he would be ignorant of all.
But, deceived by my promise, M. Ferrand was almost affectionate toward
me, and recommended me, for the first time in his life, to the care of
Mrs. Seraphin.
"I passed the day in mental agony, trembling at each moment that
chance would cause a discovery of the body of my child. I only desired
one thing--that the cold might cease, so that I might be able to dig a
grave. It snowed--that gave me hopes. I remained all day in bed. The
night being come, I waited until every one was asleep. I had strength
to get up to go to the wood pile to look for a hatchet to cut some
wood to make a hole in the frozen ground. After infinite trouble I at
last succeeded; then I took the body, I wept over it again, and I
buried it as I could in the little flower-box. I did not know the
prayer for the dead; I said a pater and an ave, praying God to receive
it. I thought my courage would have failed me when I covered it with
the earth. A mother interring her child! At length I succeeded. Oh!
what it cost me! I placed the snow over the grave, so that nothing
should be seen. The moon gave me light. When all was finished, I could
not make up my mind to come away. Poor little thing! in the frozen
ground--under the snow. Although it was dead, it seemed to me that it
must feel the cold. At length I returned to my chamber. I went to my
bed with a violent fever. In the morning M. Ferrand sent to know how I
was. I answered that I felt rather better, and that I should certainly
be ready to leave for the country the next day. I remained all this
day still in bed, in order to gain strength. In the evening I arose. I
went to the kitchen to warm myself. I remained late, all alone. I went
to the garden to say a last prayer. At the moment I ascended toward my
chamber, I met M. Germain on the landing-place of the cabinet, where
he sometimes worked; he was very pale. He said to me, quickly, placing
a rouleau in my hand, 'Your father will be arrested early to-morrow
morning; here is the money; as soon as it is day run to his house. It
is only to-day I have found out Ferrand; he is a bad man; I will
unmask him. Do not, above all, say that you have this money from me.'
And M. Germain, not giving me time to thank him, descended the stairs
quickly."