dreams and ideas to one another. Everyone talks at once; but in that
respect everyone is wise; it is a veritable babel, despite the
remonstrances of the mistress of the place, who shouts every five
minutes, as they do in court:
“Silence in the corner. Pray be quiet, mesdames, you can’t hear yourself
think!”
Edouard, not being accustomed to it, was bewildered by the chatter of
the gossips, who talked on without stopping; but wealth cannot be bought
too dearly, and he made the best of it, and even determined to profit by
what he overheard.
“My girl,” said an old hag covered with rags, to another who held her
chafing-dish under her arm; “I saw a gray spider behind my bed this
morning before breakfast.”
“Pardi!” replied the other--”spiders! I see ’em every day at home!”
“No matter, they bring luck; I’m going to put a crown on 9, 30 and 51;
I’m sure they won’t all draw blanks.”
And the poor creature, who wore no stockings and whose skirt was full of
holes, took a crown from her pocket to put on her spider. To those who
believe firmly in dreams, numbers cease to be numbers, and become the
objects they have seen in their dreams, all of which are represented by
particular numbers, as set forth in the books of dreams, the _Petit
Cagliostro_, the _Aveugle du Bonheur_, and a thousand nice little works
of about the same value, which the ticket buyers know by heart. The
keeper of the office, who knew her trade, and, when the customer was
worth the trouble, could make calculations on the mists of the Seine,
told them what numbers to take, when they described their dreams to her.
“Monsieur, give me my oxen,” said an oyster woman, presenting her
thirty-sou piece.
“Monsieur, put twenty-four sous on a white cat for me.”
“My aunt’s dressing jacket, monsieur.”
“My little woman, some anchovies, in the first drawing.”
“Give me a _terne_ on artichokes.”
“My child, I saw horses trotting round my room all night, just as if it
was a stable.”
“What color were they?” inquired the agent, with the most comical
gravity.
“Bless me! wait a minute--I believe they were dappled--no, they were
black.”
“That’s 24.--Were they harnessed?”
“I should say so!”
“That’s 23.--Did they run fast?”
“Like the Circus!”
“That’s 72.”
“All right! arrange ’em right for me. With such a dream as that, I can’t
fail to have a carriage to ride in.”
“I had a funnier dream than that! I was in a country where there was
cows that danced with shepherds and shepherdesses, and houses built of
gingerbread.”
“The deuce you say! You could get fat by licking the walls.”
“Let her go on, saucebox.”
“And I was rowing on a river where the water was boiling and bubbling
like a soup-kettle.”
“And you caught fish all cooked, eh?”
“Hold your tongue, you magpie!--At last I saw a palace on the other side
of the river, come up out of the ground the way they do at the
Funambules; the roof was made of diamonds, the walls of gold, the
windows of silver and the door of rubies.”
“The devil! that must ‘a’ made your gingerbread houses look mean.”
“When I sees that, I tells my boatman--and a fine young man he was--I
tells him to take me to the palace; and would you believe that he asks
me to let him make a fool of me as pay for my passage. I said no, sharp,
but he didn’t listen to me; he just threw me into the bottom of his
boat--and the rascal overpowered me, my dears!”
“Well! so that’s your fine dream! All that just to come to the climax!
It was your man, of course; while you was asleep, he----”
“Oh, yes, indeed! Why, not since Saint-Fiacre’s Eve, six months ago----”
“Oho! so you’ve had a row, have you?”
“Why, once he made me swallow truffles for the King of Prussia, and
since then, when he comes to me--not if I know it!”
“Well, you’re wrong; yes, you’re wrong! refuse and you’re left to muse.
He’ll just take your property somewhere else. Don’t be a fool; once
those dogs have found another kennel, there’s no way to bring ’em back;
it’s all over!”
“I believe you’re right, Bérénice; I’ll rub a sponge over it next
Sunday.”
“And you’ll do well.”
“You’re very good, mesdames,” said a cook, stuffing into her basket the
fowl she had just bought, which, from its odor, might have been taken
for game, “you’re very good, but my master’s waiting for his chocolate;
he wants to go out early and I ain’t lighted my fire yet.--Quick,
madame, my regular number; here’s thirty-six sous--please hurry up.”
The cook took her ticket and returned to her master, making figures on
the way: the fowl had cost her fifty sous; by calling it eighty-six
sous, she would get her ticket for nothing, which was very pleasant. To
be sure, her master would eat a tainted fowl instead of a delicate bird;
but one must have one’s little perquisites, and what was the use of
being a cordon bleu if one did not make something out of the marketing?
“The _considérés_ are very old combinations,” said a little man who had
been gazing at the list for three-quarters of an hour; “they’re
excellent to play by extracts.”
“See,” said another, “notice that the 6 is a prisoner; it will soon come
out.”
“The 2 has come, that brings the 20.”
“The 39 in a hundred and three drawings--it’s an ingot of gold! Zeros
haven’t done anything for a long while.”
“That’s true; I’ll bet that they’ll come in a _terne_ or an _ambe_.”
“How often the forties come out! If I’d followed my first idea, I’d have
had an _ambe_ at Strasbourg; I must tell you that, when my wife dreams
that she’s had a child, the 44 comes out--that never fails. Well! she
dreamed that the other night. I’ve got a dog that I’ve taught to draw
numbers out of a bag; he’s beginning to do it very well with his paw. He
drew out 46, and I was going to put it with my wife’s dream; we thought
about it all day, and she wanted to put instead of it the number of her
birthday which was very near; and what do you suppose?--my dog’s number
came out with her dream!--I wouldn’t sell that beast for three hundred
francs.”
“I’m shrewder than you, my dear man,” said an old candy woman; “I’ve got
a talisman.”
“A talisman!”
“Yes, it’s a fact; a fortune-teller told me the secret.”
“What is it?” shouted all the gossips at once.
“A bit of clean parchment, with letters written on it with my blood.”
“Mon Dieu! that’s worse than the play at the Ambigu.--Tell us, what do
your letters say?”
“Faith! I don’t know; they’re Hebrew, so she said.”
“Look out, Javotte! don’t trust it; it may be an invention of the devil,
and then you’ll go straight to hell with your talisman.”
“Bah! I ain’t afraid, and I won’t let go of my little parchment. I’m a
philosopher!”
“What a fool she is with her talisman!” said the gossips, when Javotte
had gone. “It beats the devil what luck it brings her! She owes
everybody in the quarter, and she can’t pay.--But it’s almost market
time, and I haven’t put out my goods.”
“And I ought by now to be at the Fontaine des Innocents!”
“Bless my soul! you remind me that my children ain’t up yet, and I’m
sure they’re squalling, the little brats! and their gruel has been on
the fire ever since eight o’clock.”
“It’ll be well cooked!”
“I’m off; good-day, neighbor.”
“See you soon; we shall have the list if the sun shines.”
Amid this mob, pushed by one, pulled by another, deafened by them all,
Edouard waited for three-quarters of an hour for his turn to come. At
last he reached the desk; all that he had heard about _considérés_,
prisoners and lucky numbers was running in his head; but as he had no
idea what to choose, he put twenty francs on the first numbers that
occurred to him, and left the office with hope in his pocket.
On the street he met many individuals most shabbily clad, who offered
him fifty louis in gold for twelve sous. These gentlemen and ladies
apparently disdained for themselves the fortune that they proposed to
sell to the passers-by at such a bargain. But Murville declined their
offers. He had in his pocket what he wanted. He was already building
castles in Spain, for his numbers were excellent--so the agent told
him--and could not fail to draw something. He was about to be released
from embarrassment; he could live in style, and keep the prettiest, aye,
and the most expensive women, which would drive Madame de Géran frantic.
In short, he would deny himself nothing.
But the sun shone; at three o’clock the list was posted outside the
offices; Edouard, who had been pacing back and forth impatiently in
front of the one at which he had bought his ticket, eagerly drew near;
he looked at the list and saw that he had drawn nothing.
XXVI
THE KIND FRIENDS AND WHAT RESULTED
Dufresne left the village behind him, with rage in his heart and his
head filled with schemes of revenge. It was no longer the hope of seeing
Adeline share his brutal passion that tormented him; he felt that that
was impossible now; only by the most infamous craft had he succeeded in
gratifying his lust; and Adeline was no less virtuous than before. In
vain had he hoped, by that method, to change the sentiments of Edouard’s
wife; she detested him more than ever. What did he propose to do? Was
she not unhappy enough? She wept for a fault which she had not
committed; she had lost the affection of her husband; she would soon
find herself reduced to penury! What other blows could he deal her?
Dufresne’s advice was not needed any longer to lure Edouard to the
gaming table; the unhappy wretch did not pass a single day without
visiting one or more of the gambling hells in which the capital abounds.
He sought there to forget his plight, by plunging deeper and deeper into
the abyss. The proceeds of his last notes went to join his fortune,
which had been divided among Madame de Géran, roulette, trente-et-un,
prostitutes and swindlers. What was he to do now, to procure the means
to gratify his depraved tastes? The maturity of his notes was
approaching; he could not pay them, his country house would be sold, his
wife and child would have no roof to cover their heads, no resource
except in him; but it was not that that preoccupied him; he thought of
himself alone, and if he desired to procure money, it was not to relieve
his family. No, he no longer remembered the sacred bonds which united
him to an amiable and lovely wife. The cards caused him to forget
entirely that he was a husband and father.
Forced to leave the apartment which he occupied alone in a handsome
house, he went to Dufresne and took up his abode with him. The latter
had been anxious for some days after his return from the country; he was
afraid that Jacques would pursue him to Paris, and, in order to avoid
his search, he changed his name, and urged his companion to do the same.
Dufresne called himself Courval, and Edouard, Monbrun. It was under
these names that they hired lodgings, in a wretched lodging house in
Faubourg Saint-Jacques, having no other associates than blacklegs and
men without means, who like Dufresne had reasons of their own for
avoiding the daylight.
Three weeks after Madame Germeuil’s death, what she had left was already
spent, and they were compelled to have recourse every day to all sorts
of expedients to obtain means of subsistence.
One evening, when Dufresne and Edouard had remained at home, having no
money to gamble, and cudgeling their brains to think of a way of
procuring some, there was a knock at their door, and one Lampin, a
consummate scamp, worthy to be Dufresne’s intimate friend, entered their
room with a joyous air, and with four bottles under his arm.
“Oho! is that you, Lampin?” said Dufresne, as he opened the door to his
friend, and made certain signs to which the other replied without being
detected by Edouard, who was absorbed in his thoughts.
“Yes, messieurs, it’s me. Come, come, comrade Monbrun, come, stop your
dreaming! I have brought something to brighten you up.”
“What’s that?”
“Wine, brandy and rum.”
“The deuce it is! so you are in funds, are you?”
“Faith, I won ten francs at _biribi_, and I have come to drink ’em up
with my friends.”
“That’s right, Lampin, you’re a good fellow. You have come just in time
to cheer us up, for we were as dismal as empty pockets, Monbrun and I.”
“Let’s have a drink first; that will set you up, and then we will talk.”
The four bottles were placed on a table; the gentlemen took their places
at it, and the glasses were filled and emptied rapidly.
“We haven’t a sou, Lampin, and that’s a wretched disease.”
“Bah! because you are fools!--Here’s your health.”
“What do you mean by that, Jean-Fesse?”
“I mean that if I had your talents, and especially Monbrun’s, I wouldn’t
be where you are now, but I would have my bread well buttered.”
“What do you mean?” asked Edouard, pouring out a glass of brandy;
“explain yourself.”
“Anybody can understand that, my son; I tell you again that if I knew
how to handle a pen as you do, I would speculate on a large scale! But
you’re scared to death!”
“We have speculated enough, but it hasn’t succeeded with us.”
“But that’s not what I’m talking about, youngster. Let’s take a drink,
messieurs; it’s good stuff, at all events.”
“Tell us, Lampin, what you would have done to----”
“Ah! I’m a blade, I am; I would risk the job! But I write like a cat.”
“But what is it that you’d write?”
“That depends--sometimes one thing, sometimes another.--Look here,
here’s a note that a friend entrusted to me; it is the proceeds of his
father’s property, which is to be paid him here in Paris, because he
means to enjoy himself with us.”
“What is it?”
“A note for twelve hundred francs, accepted by a famous banker of Paris.
Oh! it’s good, anyone would discount it for you on the instant; my
colleague knows a man who lives in the suburbs of Paris, and who
proposed to give him _rocks_ for his paper.--Well, my boy, make one like
it, and you can get that discounted too.”
“What? What do you say? Counterfeit this note?”
“Oh, no, not counterfeit it, for instead of twelve hundred francs I
would make it twelve thousand; it’s just an imitation. Here’s your
health.”
“Why, you villain! that’s forgery!”
“No, it ain’t forgery; it’s a note that we put in circulation; it ain’t
forgery; is it, Dufresne? In all this, the banker is the only one that’s
fooled; but those rascals are rich enough to make us a little present.”
“In fact,” said Dufresne, “it isn’t exactly a forgery; we create a note,
that’s all, and we make someone else pay it.”
“That’s just it, my boy, it’s only a little joke.--Oh! you understand
such games, you do; but Monbrun is a little dull.”
“No, no, I understand very well, messieurs; but I cannot consent to
resort to such methods. I disapprove of your plan.”
“Is that so? Well, you’ll never get ahead, my man, and you’ll die of
hunger, like the fleas in winter!”
“It is true that we have no resources,” said Dufresne; “no linen, no
clothes except those we have on!”
“That’s very fine! Just reflect that you have everything to gain and
nothing to lose.”
“What about honor?” said Edouard in a weak voice.
“Honor! Pardi! I rather guess yours has been roaming the country for a
long while; as for Dufresne, he’s like me, never had any, for fear of
losing it.”
“This rascal of a Lampin is always joking! Let’s have a drink,
messieurs.”
“Remember, too, that with the twelve thousand francs you will get, you
can make up all your losses. I have discovered a sure way of winning;
you only need three hundred louis to catch a thousand.”
“Really?”
“On my word as an honest man; I will teach you my scheme, and we will
share the profits.”
“That is really attractive,” said Dufresne, examining the note closely,
while Lampin filled Edouard’s glass with rum, and he began to lose
command of his wits.
“You say, Lampin, that you know a man who would discount your friend’s
note?”
“Yes, he knows that it is all right. It can’t look suspicious to him, I
tell you; he will think that the inheritance was larger, that’s all.”
“True,” said Dufresne; “who will ever know about it? It is a secret
between ourselves.”
“And our conscience?” faltered Edouard.
“Oh! damn! What an ass he is with his conscience! Do you think you’re
talking to small boys?”
“The most essential thing,” continued Dufresne, “is to succeed. For my
part, if Monbrun will write the body of the note, I will look after the
signature, and I will take the whole thing on myself.”
“Well! what have you got to say to that, booby? Are you going to make
more fuss? You hear, he takes the whole thing on himself; I should say
that that was acting like a friend?”
“What! Dufresne, would you----”
“Faith, I see no other way of extricating ourselves from poverty; I tell
you again, it will not put you forward in any way!”
“Are you sure of it?”
“Bah! What’s the matter with you, Nicodemus, when he tells you that you
won’t be put forward? Look here, colleagues, I happen to have on me a
blank note, all stamped; just cut a quill, Dufresne, and let’s amuse
ourselves by making different kinds of letters.”
“My hand trembles, messieurs,” said Edouard; “I shall never be able to
write.”
“Go on, go on! that’s just right! Ah! how rich I should be if I had been
able to do as much! But my education was rather neglected.”
“Suppose we should be arrested, identified as the authors of----”
“Bah! it is impossible; and if you should be, you would get off with a
few months in prison; and you are very well off there, you enjoy
yourself and make acquaintances.”
Edouard, led astray by the talk of the villains who were with him, and
having long since lost all sense of delicacy in the haunts of vice and
debauchery, crossed the narrow space which still separated him from the
miserable wretches who are at odds with the laws; he choked back the
last cry of his conscience, and committed the most shameful of crimes.
The note was written, Dufresne exerted himself to counterfeit the
signatures, and succeeded perfectly, whereat Edouard alone was
surprised. They invented endorsers; the unhappy Murville, who allowed
himself to be led wherever they would, disguised his handwriting and
wrote on the back of the note the names that they gave him.
Lampin was overjoyed, and for greater safety proposed to carry the note
to the man who had agreed to discount the one for twelve hundred francs,
and who lived in a small town not far from Paris. This plan was agreed
upon: Dufresne was to accompany Lampin, because those gentry did not
trust him sufficiently to leave their note in his hands; and Edouard,
who was less bold than they, was to await at Paris the result of the
affair.
Everything being arranged, they drank again, Edouard to deaden his
conscience more completely, the others for conviviality’s sake. They
formed plans for the use of their future wealth, and ended by falling
asleep with their elbows on the table.
Edouard, who had drunk more, and who was less able to stand excessive
indulgence in wine and liqueurs than the others, did not wake until
eight o’clock in the morning. The first thought that came to his mind
was that of the dishonorable act he had committed the night before. He
shuddered, for he realized the full extent of his crime; he looked for
Dufresne, to urge him to destroy the false note; but Dufresne was not
there, he had gone away early with Lampin, anticipating remorse on
Edouard’s part, and by his own absence making it impossible for him to
retrace his steps.
Edouard left his room, and went out into the street with no definite
object. But he sought some distraction from the anxiety which beset him.
Already he was afraid of being recognized as a criminal. He glanced
about him fearfully; if anyone looked hard at him as he passed, he
blushed, became confused, and fancied that he was about to be arrested;
he tried in vain to overcome his terror and his weakness, but he could
not succeed, and he already cursed money obtained at so high a price.
At a street corner, he heard a cry; someone uttered his name. He
quickened his pace, not daring to look back; but someone ran after him,
overtook him and grasped his arm; he trembled, the cold perspiration
stood on his brow; he raised his eyes and saw his wife and daughter
before him.
“Is it really you? I have found you at last!” said Adeline; “oh! I have
been looking for you for a long, long while.”
“You frightened me,” said Edouard, greatly surprised by this meeting.
“But why are you here? Why did you leave the country?”
“Your creditors have turned me out of the house I was living in; it no
longer belongs to you. Some time ago the notary warned me that your
fortune was impaired; that such property as you possessed was subject to
numerous mortgages.”
“I know all that, madame; spare me your useless complaints and
reproaches.”
“I don’t propose to make any complaints or reproaches; and yet--Oh! my
dear, how changed you are!”
“I have been sick.”
“Why not have written to me? I would have come and nursed you.”
“I needed nobody.”
“And this is the way you treat her whom you have reduced to want! I have
lost my mother, and I no longer have a husband! Chance alone is
responsible for my meeting you; I have asked for you in all the places
where you have lived, but no one has been able to give me any news of
you. For a fortnight I have been here; I was losing hope when at last I
caught sight of you, dear Edouard; and this is the way you speak to me;
and you don’t even kiss your daughter!”
“Do you want me to make a show of myself to the passers-by?”
“How can the sight of a father kissing his child be absurd, in the eyes
of decent people? But let us go in somewhere, into a café.”
“I haven’t any time.”
“Where do you live now?”
“A long way from here; I was in very straitened circumstances, and
Dufresne took me in to lodge with him.”
“You live with Dufresne? A villain who has already been guilty of all
sorts of crimes!”
“Hold your tongue, and don’t bore me with your preaching! I do what I
choose and I see whom I choose; I give you leave to do the same.”
“What a tone, and what manners!” said Adeline to herself, as she
examined Edouard; “but no matter, I must make one last
attempt.--Monsieur,” she said aloud, “if it is want that forces you to
remain with that scoundrel who deceives you, come and live with me; let
us leave this city, which would recall painful memories to you, and come
with me to some lonely place in the country; I have nothing, but I will
work, I will work nights if necessary, and I will provide means of
subsistence for us. In a poor cottage we may still be happy, if we
endure adversity with courage, and Heaven, moved by our resignation,
will perhaps take pity on us. You will find the repose which eludes you,
and I shall find my husband. In pity’s name, do not refuse me; come, I
implore you; leave this town, with its treacherous counselors and
dangerous acquaintances, or beware lest you become a criminal.”
Edouard was moved; his heart was agitated by pity and remorse, and he
looked at his daughter for the first time.
“Well,” he said to Adeline, “I will see; if I can arrange my affairs, I
will go with you.”
“What detains you now?”
“A single thing, but a most important one; I must find out--where are
you staying now?”
“At a hotel in Faubourg Saint-Antoine; see, here is my address.”
“Give it to me; to-morrow I will go to see you.”
“Do you promise?”
“Yes; until to-morrow. Adieu, I leave you.”
Edouard hurried away, and Adeline returned to her hotel, passing from
hope to fear and from fear to hope. She knew her husband, she knew how
little she could rely upon his promises, so that she awaited the morrow
with anxiety. But on the morrow Dufresne and Lampin returned with money.
The discounter had fallen into the trap; he had thought that he had
recognized the banker’s signature. Those men led Edouard away; they
abandoned themselves anew to the pleasures of the table and the gambling
house. They made Murville drunk; they put his remorse and his scruples
to silence; they laughed at his fears; and Adeline, instead of seeing
him whom she expected, received in the morning a note containing only
these words:
“Do not try to see me again, do not hope that I will go with you to
bury myself in a cottage; that sort of thing does not suit me.
Leave Paris without me; this is the last command that you will
receive from your husband, who leaves you entirely at liberty to do
whatever you please.”
Adeline bathed the letter in her tears.
“You have no father now,” she said to little Ermance; “poor child, what
will your lot be? Let us leave this city, let us follow my husband’s
last orders. Let us go back to the honest villagers; at the farm they
will not spurn me. I shall not blush to ask them for work. O mother! If
you were still alive, I should find comfort in your arms. If only I had
followed your advice! Perhaps Edouard then--but it’s too late! At all
events, you never knew the full extent of my sorrow.”