but the Baron was so broken down, that she was obliged to call a coach
to take him to the Rue Plumet, where he went to bed. The man remained
there for several days in a sort of half-dissolution, refusing all
nourishment without a word. By floods of tears, Adeline persuaded him
to swallow a little broth; she nursed him, sitting by his bed, and
feeling only, of all the emotions that once had filled her heart, the
deepest pity for him.
At half-past twelve, Lisbeth showed into her dear Marshal's room--for
she would not leave him, so much was she alarmed at the evident change
in him--Count Steinbock and the notary.
"Monsieur le Comte," said the Marshal, "I would beg you to be so good
as to put your signature to a document authorizing my niece, your
wife, to sell a bond for certain funds of which she at present holds
only the reversion.--You, Mademoiselle Fischer, will agree to this
sale, thus losing your life interest in the securities."
"Yes, dear Count," said Lisbeth without hesitation.
"Good, my dear," said the old soldier. "I hope I may live to reward
you. But I did not doubt you; you are a true Republican, a daughter of
the people." He took the old maid's hand and kissed it.
"Monsieur Hannequin," he went on, speaking to the notary, "draw up the
necessary document in the form of a power of attorney, and let me have
it within two hours, so that I may sell the stock on the Bourse
to-day. My niece, the Countess, holds the security; she will be here
to sign the power of attorney when you bring it, and so will
mademoiselle. Monsieur le Comte will be good enough to go with you and
sign it at your office."
The artist, at a nod from Lisbeth, bowed respectfully to the Marshal
and went away.
Next morning, at ten o'clock, the Comte de Forzheim sent in to
announce himself to the Prince, and was at once admitted.
"Well, my dear Hulot," said the Prince, holding out the newspapers to
his old friend, "we have saved appearances, you see.--Read."
Marshal Hulot laid the papers on his comrade's table, and held out to
him the two hundred thousand francs.
"Here is the money of which my brother robbed the State," said he.
"What madness!" cried the Minister. "It is impossible," he said into
the speaking-trumpet handed to him by the Marshal, "to manage this
restitution. We should be obliged to declare your brother's dishonest
dealings, and we have done everything to hide them."
"Do what you like with the money; but the family shall not owe one sou
of its fortune to a robbery on the funds of the State," said the
Count.
"I will take the King's commands in the matter. We will discuss it no
further," replied the Prince, perceiving that it would be impossible
to conquer the old man's sublime obstinacy on the point.
"Good-bye, Cottin," said the old soldier, taking the Prince's hand. "I
feel as if my soul were frozen--"
Then, after going a step towards the door, he turned round, looked at
the Prince, and seeing that he was deeply moved, he opened his arms to
clasp him in them; the two old soldiers embraced each other.
"I feel as if I were taking leave of the whole of the old army in
you," said the Count.
"Good-bye, my good old comrade!" said the Minister.
"Yes, it is good-bye; for I am going where all our brave men are for
whom we have mourned--"
Just then Claude Vignon was shown in. The two relics of the Napoleonic
phalanx bowed gravely to each other, effacing every trace of emotion.
"You have, I hope, been satisfied by the papers," said the Master of
Appeals-elect. "I contrived to let the Opposition papers believe that
they were letting out our secrets."
"Unfortunately, it is all in vain," replied the Minister, watching
Hulot as he left the room. "I have just gone through a leave-taking
that has been a great grief to me. For, indeed, Marshal Hulot has not
three days to live; I saw that plainly enough yesterday. That man, one
of those honest souls that are above proof, a soldier respected by the
bullets in spite of his valor, received his death-blow--there, in that
armchair--and dealt by my hand, in a letter!--Ring and order my
carriage. I must go to Neuilly," said he, putting the two hundred
thousand francs into his official portfolio.
Notwithstanding Lisbeth's nursing, Marshal Hulot three days later was
a dead man. Such men are the glory of the party they support. To
Republicans, the Marshal was the ideal of patriotism; and they all
attended his funeral, which was followed by an immense crowd. The
army, the State officials, the Court, and the populace all came to do
homage to this lofty virtue, this spotless honesty, this immaculate
glory. Such a last tribute of the people is not a thing to be had for
the asking.
This funeral was distinguished by one of those tributes of delicate
feeling, of good taste, and sincere respect which from time to time
remind us of the virtues and dignity of the old French nobility.
Following the Marshal's bier came the old Marquis de Montauran, the
brother of him who, in the great rising of the Chouans in 1799, had
been the foe, the luckless foe, of Hulot. That Marquis, killed by the
balls of the "Blues," had confided the interests of his young brother
to the Republican soldier. (See _Les Chouans_.) Hulot had so
faithfully acted on the noble Royalist's verbal will, that he
succeeded in saving the young man's estates, though he himself was at
the time an emigre. And so the homage of the old French nobility was
not wanting to the leader who, nine years since, had conquered MADAME.
This death, happening just four days before the banns were cried for
the last time, came upon Lisbeth like the thunderbolt that burns the
garnered harvest with the barn. The peasant of Lorraine, as often
happens, had succeeded too well. The Marshal had died of the blows
dealt to the family by herself and Madame Marneffe.
The old maid's vindictiveness, which success seemed to have somewhat
mollified, was aggravated by this disappointment of her hopes. Lisbeth
went, crying with rage, to Madame Marneffe; for she was homeless, the
Marshal having agreed that his lease was at any time to terminate with
his life. Crevel, to console Valerie's friend, took charge of her
savings, added to them considerably, and invested the capital in five
per cents, giving her the life interest, and putting the securities
into Celestine's name. Thanks to this stroke of business, Lisbeth had
an income of about two thousand francs.
When the Marshal's property was examined and valued, a note was found,
addressed to his sister-in-law, to his niece Hortense, and to his
nephew Victorin, desiring that they would pay among them an annuity of
twelve hundred francs to Mademoiselle Lisbeth Fischer, who was to have
been his wife.
Adeline, seeing her husband between life and death, succeeded for some
days in hiding from him the fact of his brother's death; but Lisbeth
came, in mourning, and the terrible truth was told him eleven days
after the funeral.
The crushing blow revived the sick man's energies. He got up, found
his family collected in the drawing-room, all in black, and suddenly
silent as he came in. In a fortnight, Hulot, as lean as a spectre,
looked to his family the mere shadow of himself.
"I must decide on something," said he in a husky voice, as he seated
himself in an easy-chair, and looked round at the party, of whom
Crevel and Steinbock were absent.
"We cannot stay here, the rent is too high," Hortense was saying just
as her father came in.
"As to a home," said Victorin, breaking the painful silence, "I can
offer my mother----"
As he heard these words, which excluded him, the Baron raised his
head, which was sunk on his breast as though he were studying the
pattern of the carpet, though he did not even see it, and he gave the
young lawyer an appealing look. The rights of a father are so
indefeasibly sacred, even when he is a villain and devoid of honor,
that Victorin paused.
"To your mother," the Baron repeated. "You are right, my son."
"The rooms over ours in our wing," said Celestine, finishing her
husband's sentence.
"I am in your way, my dears?" said the Baron, with the mildness of a
man who has judged himself. "But do not be uneasy as to the future;
you will have no further cause for complaint of your father; you will
not see him till the time when you need no longer blush for him."
He went up to Hortense and kissed her brow. He opened his arms to his
son, who rushed into his embrace, guessing his father's purpose. The
Baron signed to Lisbeth, who came to him, and he kissed her forehead.
Then he went to his room, whither Adeline followed him in an agony of
dread.
"My brother was quite right, Adeline," he said, holding her hand. "I
am unworthy of my home life. I dared not bless my children, who have
behaved so nobly, but in my heart; tell them that I could only venture
to kiss them; for the blessing of a bad man, a father who has been an
assassin and the scourge of his family instead of its protector and
its glory, might bring evil on them; but assure them that I shall
bless them every day.--As to you, God alone, for He is Almighty, can
ever reward you according to your merits!--I can only ask your
forgiveness!" and he knelt at her feet, taking her hands and wetting
them with his tears.
"Hector, Hector! Your sins have been great, but Divine Mercy is
infinite, and you may repair all by staying with me.--Rise up in
Christian charity, my dear--I am your wife, and not your judge. I am
your possession; do what you will with me; take me wherever you go, I
feel strong enough comfort you, to make life endurable to you, by the
strength of my love, my care, and respect.--Our children are settled
in life; they need me no more. Let me try to be an amusement to you,
an occupation. Let me share the pain of your banishment and of your
poverty, and help to mitigate it. I could always be of some use, if it
were only to save the expense of a servant."
"Can you forgive, my dearly-beloved Adeline?"
"Yes, only get up, my dear!"
"Well, with that forgiveness I can live," said he, rising to his feet.
"I came back into this room that my children should not see their
father's humiliation. Oh! the sight constantly before their eyes of a
father so guilty as I am is a terrible thing; it must undermine
parental influence and break every family tie. So I cannot remain
among you, and I must go to spare you the odious spectacle of a father
bereft of dignity. Do not oppose my departure Adeline. It would only
be to load with your own hand the pistol to blow my brains out. Above
all, do not seek me in my hiding-place; you would deprive me of the
only strong motive remaining in me, that of remorse."
Hector's decisiveness silenced his dejected wife. Adeline, lofty in
the midst of all this ruin, had derived her courage from her perfect
union with her husband; for she had dreamed of having him for her own,
of the beautiful task of comforting him, of leading him back to family
life, and reconciling him to himself.
"But, Hector, would you leave me to die of despair, anxiety, and
alarms!" said she, seeing herself bereft of the mainspring of her
strength.
"I will come back to you, dear angel--sent from Heaven expressly for
me, I believe. I will come back, if not rich, at least with enough to
live in ease.--Listen, my sweet Adeline, I cannot stay here for many
reasons. In the first place, my pension of six thousand francs is
pledged for four years, so I have nothing. That is not all. I shall be
committed to prison within a few days in consequence of the bills held
by Vauvinet. So I must keep out of the way until my son, to whom I
will give full instructions, shall have bought in the bills. My
disappearance will facilitate that. As soon as my pension is my own,
and Vauvinet is paid off, I will return to you.--You would be sure to
let out the secret of my hiding-place. Be calm; do not cry, Adeline
--it is only for a month--"
"Where will you go? What will you do? What will become of you? Who
will take care of you now that you are no longer young? Let me go with
you--we will go abroad--" said she.
"Well, well, we will see," he replied.
The Baron rang and ordered Mariette to collect all his things and pack
them quickly and secretly. Then, after embracing his wife with a
warmth of affection to which she was unaccustomed, he begged her to
leave him alone for a few minutes while he wrote his instructions for
Victorin, promising that he would not leave the house till dark, or
without her.
As soon as the Baroness was in the drawing-room, the cunning old man
stole out through the dressing-closet to the anteroom, and went away,
giving Mariette a slip of paper, on which was written, "Address my
trunks to go by railway to Corbeil--to Monsieur Hector, cloak-room,
Corbeil."
The Baron jumped into a hackney coach, and was rushing across Paris by
the time Mariette came to give the Baroness this note, and say that
her master had gone out. Adeline flew back into her room, trembling
more violently than ever; her children followed on hearing her give a
piercing cry. They found her in a dead faint; and they put her to bed,
for she was seized by a nervous fever which held her for a month
between life and death.
"Where is he?" was the only thing she would say.
Victorin sought for him in vain.
And this is why. The Baron had driven to the Place du Palais Royal.
There this man, who had recovered all his wits to work out a scheme
which he had premeditated during the days he had spent crushed with
pain and grief, crossed the Palais Royal on foot, and took a handsome
carriage from a livery-stable in the Rue Joquelet. In obedience to his
orders, the coachman went to the Rue de la Ville l'Eveque, and into
the courtyard of Josepha's mansion, the gates opening at once at the
call of the driver of such a splendid vehicle. Josepha came out,
prompted by curiosity, for her man-servant had told her that a
helpless old gentleman, unable to get out of his carriage, begged her
to come to him for a moment.
"Josepha!--it is I----"
The singer recognized her Hulot only by his voice.
"What? you, poor old man?--On my honor, you look like a twenty-franc
piece that the Jews have sweated and the money-changers refuse."
"Alas, yes," replied Hulot; "I am snatched from the jaws of death! But
you are as lovely as ever. Will you be kind?"
"That depends," said she; "everything is relative."
"Listen," said Hulot; "can you put me up for a few days in a servant's
room under the roof? I have nothing--not a farthing, not a hope; no
food, no pension, no wife, no children, no roof over my head; without
honor, without courage, without a friend; and worse than all that,
liable to imprisonment for not meeting a bill."
"Poor old fellow! you are without most things.--Are you also _sans
culotte_?"
"You laugh at me! I am done for," cried the Baron. "And I counted on
you as Gourville did on Ninon."
"And it was a 'real lady,' I am told who brought you to this," said
Josepha. "Those precious sluts know how to pluck a goose even better
than we do!--Why, you are like a corpse that the crows have done with
--I can see daylight through!"
"Time is short, Josepha!"
"Come in, old boy, I am alone, as it happens, and my people don't know
you. Send away your trap. Is it paid for?"
"Yes," said the Baron, getting out with the help of Josepha's arm.
"You may call yourself my father if you like," said the singer, moved
to pity.
She made Hulot sit down in the splendid drawing-room where he had last
seen her.
"And is it the fact, old man," she went on, "that you have killed your
brother and your uncle, ruined your family, mortgaged your children's
house over and over again, and robbed the Government till in Africa,
all for your princess?"
Hulot sadly bent his head.
"Well, I admire that!" cried Josepha, starting up in her enthusiasm.
"It is a general flare-up! It is Sardanapalus! Splendid, thoroughly
complete! I may be a hussy, but I have a soul! I tell you, I like a
spendthrift, like you, crazy over a woman, a thousand times better
than those torpid, heartless bankers, who are supposed to be so good,
and who ruin no end of families with their rails--gold for them, and
iron for their gulls! You have only ruined those who belong to you,
you have sold no one but yourself; and then you have excuses, physical
and moral."
She struck a tragic attitude, and spouted:
"'Tis Venus whose grasp never parts from her prey.
And there you are!" and she pirouetted on her toe.
Vice, Hulot found, could forgive him; vice smiled on him from the
midst of unbridled luxury. Here, as before a jury, the magnitude of a
crime was an extenuating circumstance. "And is your lady pretty at any
rate?" asked Josepha, trying as a preliminary act of charity, to
divert Hulot's thoughts, for his depression grieved her.
"On my word, almost as pretty as you are," said the Baron artfully.
"And monstrously droll? So I have been told. What does she do, I say?
Is she better fun than I am?"
"I don't want to talk about her," said Hulot.
"And I hear she has come round my Crevel, and little Steinbock, and a
gorgeous Brazilian?"
"Very likely."
"And that she has got a house as good as this, that Crevel has given
her. The baggage! She is my provost-marshal, and finishes off those I
have spoiled. I tell you why I am so curious to know what she is like,
old boy; I just caught sight of her in the Bois, in an open carriage
--but a long way off. She is a most accomplished harpy, Carabine says.
She is trying to eat up Crevel, but he only lets her nibble. Crevel is
a knowing hand, good-natured but hard-headed, who will always say Yes,
and then go his own way. He is vain and passionate; but his cash is
cold. You can never get anything out of such fellows beyond a thousand
to three thousand francs a month; they jib at any serious outlay, as a
donkey does at a running stream.
"Not like you, old boy. You are a man of passions; you would sell your
country for a woman. And, look here, I am ready to do anything for
you! You are my father; you started me in life; it is a sacred duty.
What do you want? Do you want a hundred thousand francs? I will wear
myself to a rag to gain them. As to giving you bed and board--that is
nothing. A place will be laid for you here every day; you can have a
good room on the second floor, and a hundred crowns a month for
pocket-money."
The Baron, deeply touched by such a welcome, had a last qualm of
honor.
"No, my dear child, no; I did not come here for you to keep me," said
he.
"At your age it is something to be proud of," said she.
"This is what I wish, my child. Your Duc d'Herouville has immense
estates in Normandy, and I want to be his steward, under the name of
Thoul. I have the capacity, and I am honest. A man may borrow of the
Government, and yet not steal from a cash-box----"
"H'm, h'm," said Josepha. "Once drunk, drinks again."
"In short, I only want to live out of sight for three years--"
"Well, it is soon done," said Josepha. "This evening, after dinner, I
have only to speak. The Duke would marry me if I wished it, but I have
his fortune, and I want something better--his esteem. He is a Duke of
the first water. He is high-minded, as noble and great as Louis XIV.
and Napoleon rolled into one, though he is a dwarf. Besides, I have
done for him what la Schontz did for Rochefide; by taking my advice he
has made two millions.
"Now, listen to me, old popgun. I know you; you are always after the
women, and you would be dancing attendance on the Normandy girls, who
are splendid creatures, and getting your ribs cracked by their lovers
and fathers, and the Duke would have to get you out of the scrape.
Why, can't I see by the way you look at me that the _young_ man is not
dead in you--as Fenelon put it.--No, this stewardship is not the thing
for you. A man cannot be off with his Paris and with us, old boy, for
the saying! You would die of weariness at Herouville."
"What is to become of me?" said the Baron, "for I will only stay here
till I see my way."
"Well, shall I find a pigeon-hole for you? Listen, you old pirate.
Women are what you want. They are consolation in all circumstances.
Attend now.--At the end of the Alley, Rue Saint-Maur-du-Temple, there
is a poor family I know of where there is a jewel of a little girl,
prettier than I was at sixteen.--Ah! there is a twinkle in your eye
already!--The child works sixteen hours a day at embroidering costly
pieces for the silk merchants, and earns sixteen sous a day--one sou
an hour!--and feeds like the Irish, on potatoes fried in rats'
dripping, with bread five times a week--and drinks canal water out of
the town pipes, because the Seine water costs too much; and she cannot
set up on her own account for lack of six or seven thousand francs.
Your wife and children bore you to death, don't they?--Besides, one
cannot submit to be nobody where one has been a little Almighty. A
father who has neither money nor honor can only be stuffed and kept in
a glass case."
The Baron could not help smiling at these abominable jests.
"Well, now, Bijou is to come to-morrow morning to bring me an
embroidered wrapper, a gem! It has taken six months to make; no one
else will have any stuff like it! Bijou is very fond of me; I give her
tidbits and my old gowns. And I send orders for bread and meat and
wood to the family, who would break the shin-bones of the first comer
if I bid them.--I try to do a little good. Ah! I know what I endured
from hunger myself!--Bijou has confided to me all her little sorrows.
There is the making of a super at the Ambigu-Comique in that child.
Her dream is to wear fine dresses like mine; above all, to ride in a
carriage. I shall say to her, 'Look here, little one, would you like
to have a friend of--' How old are you?" she asked, interrupting
herself. "Seventy-two?"
"I have given up counting."
"'Would you like an old gentleman of seventy-two?' I shall say. 'Very
clean and neat, and who does not take snuff, who is as sound as a
bell, and as good as a young man? He will marry you (in the Thirteenth
Arrondissement) and be very kind to you; he will place seven thousand
francs in your account, and furnish you a room all in mahogany, and if
you are good, he will sometimes take you to the play. He will give you
a hundred francs a month for pocket-money, and fifty francs for
housekeeping.'--I know Bijou; she is myself at fourteen. I jumped for
joy when that horrible Crevel made me his atrocious offers. Well, and
you, old man, will be disposed of for three years. She is a good
child, well behaved; for three or four years she will have her
illusions--not for longer."
Hulot did not hesitate; he had made up his mind to refuse; but to seem
grateful to the kind-hearted singer, who was benevolent after her
lights, he affected to hesitate between vice and virtue.
"Why, you are as cold as a paving-stone in winter!" she exclaimed in
amazement. "Come, now. You will make a whole family happy--a
grandfather who runs all the errands, a mother who is being worn out
with work, and two sisters--one of them very plain--who make
thirty-two sous a day while putting their eyes out. It will make up for
the misery you have caused at home, and you will expiate your sin while
you are having as much fun as a minx at Mabille."
Hulot, to put an end to this temptation, moved his fingers as if he
were counting out money.
"Oh! be quite easy as to ways and means," replied Josepha. "My Duke
will lend you ten thousand francs; seven thousand to start an
embroidery shop in Bijou's name, and three thousand for furnishing;
and every three months you will find a cheque here for six hundred and
fifty francs. When you get your pension paid you, you can repay the
seventeen thousand francs. Meanwhile you will be as happy as a cow in
clover, and hidden in a hole where the police will never find you. You
must wear a loose serge coat, and you will look like a comfortable
householder. Call yourself Thoul, if that is your fancy. I will tell
Bijou that you are an uncle of mine come from Germany, having failed
in business, and you will be cosseted like a divinity.--There now,
Daddy!--And who knows! you may have no regrets. In case you should be
bored, keep one Sunday rig-out, and you can come and ask me for a
dinner and spend the evening here."
"I!--and I meant to settle down and behave myself!--Look here, borrow
twenty thousand francs for me, and I will set out to make my fortune
in America, like my friend d'Aiglemont when Nucingen cleaned him out."