The village had fallen back into its accustomed quiet, when Elise and
Barnabé set out barefoot across the sands of the bay.
Barbet followed them joyfully. He seemed to have been born again to a
new youth, and was thoroughly frivolous. He tossed the crabs in air
with his nose, he made the flocks of sea-gulls take wing, he leaped
over the streams, and splashed through the pools as if he thoroughly
enjoyed this clear and beautiful July day.
In honor of his new mistress he had forgotten his daily duties and
played truant, while the village children, left without their guard,
quarrelled and pilfered along the road to school.
If he could have seen his company of scholars, some in tears, others
rolling in the dust, their hats dusty, their aprons torn, and their
baskets upset in the brook, he would have been proud. During the three
days since he left the service, the road to school was nothing but a
field of battle. Henceforth they would know in the village what he was
worth.
But this was not the time for serious reflections. Barbet gave himself
up to pleasure, for he had caught a smile on his mistress’ face, and
that showed him that she was happy.
As a matter of fact, Elise had a strange pleasure in setting out for
the Maritime Bureau. It seemed to her that she was beginning the
task of reparation which had been imposed on her, and a feeling of
contentment and peace overflowed her.
She was not at all deceived about Barnabé. She knew him to be a
braggart, of no principle, but in spite of all she was glad to have him
for a guide, and above all for a mouthpiece. At times, carried away
by his desire to be useful, he made certain suggestions that made her
uneasy.
“Have no fears, Mam’selle Elise. These scribblers, all put together,
are not worth one good sailor. They must be spoken to firmly. So much
the worse for timid folk, if they revenge themselves on them afterward.”
Elise had no idea that she would succeed through her companion’s
bravado. All along the way she reasoned with him, and explained the
object of the call. She asked that he would repeat to her, as they
talked together, the remarks he proposed to make. And while he went
complaisantly over his lesson, she corrected him and softened every
violent expression. But he came back always to the same idea.
“We shall lose everything if we let them treat us with insolence, as
they do others.”
“Listen, Barnabé; I think that we shall gain more by talking quietly.”
“No, Mam’selle Elise; allow me to say, it is necessary to make a heavy
shift of the helm to make the ship come about promptly.”
Elise began to regret that she had asked such help. Her cheeks were red
and her heart beat quickly, when she entered the Bureau by the side of
Barnabé. She threw about her an uneasy look, as if to make certain that
Barbet at least had not forsaken her. He was there, sober and faithful.
The room which they entered was lighted by one low window at the
further end. It was divided across its whole width by a railing the
height of the elbow, behind which, on a large table, was a huge pile of
boxes, books, and documents.
The air was damp and mouldy. The walls were stained in spots by
moisture, and the pigeon-holes were black from dampness. Everything
seemed unhealthy.
Elise had too respectful an idea of the Bureau to note these signs
of age. She had not dared to enter, but stood waiting on the sill,
holding the door open. She started at the sound of a harsh voice, which
appeared to come from under the table.
“Shut the door there. You let the heat in.”
Then in a surly tone:
“They’re all stupid alike.”
Barnabé was just about to launch into his first burst of eloquence. He
stopped short, and turned suddenly to Elise:
“Come into the room. You will shipwreck everything.”
Timidly and softly, Elise stepped forward just far enough to allow the
door to be shut behind her. Barnabé began in a low tone and a trembling
voice. The beautiful, sonorous sentences which he had planned died
away on his lips. The wretched appearance of the room, and its mouldy
odor, were so little stimulating to the development of a brilliant and
pompous speech that he lost the thread of his oration. For lack of
anything better he said simply:
“We have come about the soul of Father Hénin.”
“That is a matter for the Church. You should not come to the
commissaire when you need a priest.”
Then Barnabé began:
“We have come hither, together----”
“There are two of you, then? Let the other one step forward.”
Elise advanced to the railing. Behind the boxes she saw, nearly hidden
from sight, a little hunchback, who, with his back toward them, was
nibbling a crust of bread, while he read his newspaper.
Elise had anticipated an impertinent reception, and to her it seemed to
increase the clerk’s importance. But Barnabé was not so complaisant.
He had promised himself to be magnificent before Elise, and not to
allow himself to be treated as a common sailor. But from the feeling
of respect which the sailor has for officials he still kept himself in
check, and simply raised his voice:
“It is your affair, this matter of Father Hénin.”
“What affair? Explain yourself, if you want to be understood.”
“The affair of his ghost, which walks because he is at the bottom of
the Vergoyer.”
From the desk came a growl:
“What idiots!”
Then all moderation forsook Barnabé. He could think of nothing but
insults, which he was about to rain upon the hunchback.
“You crooked----”
With a look Elise stopped him. Leaning on the railing, she fixed on
him a look both serious and friendly, as if she wished to inspire him
with all her confidence. In the half light her pure profile, with its
somewhat heavy lines, was softened, and she seemed wrapped in a natural
grace and delicacy. Under the influence of her suppliant beauty,
Barnabé turned over and over his ideas, without finding any which
appeared to him likely to meet with the clerk’s favor.
A strange clerk this! He kept his face always out of sight, supported
on his elbow, and turned his curious hump toward all inquirers. It
was a piece of affectation on his part. Not being able to domineer by
his size over the people who came to his office, he had hit upon this
attitude of contemptuous indifference. In this way he tried to revenge
himself for his disgrace upon those more favored of fortune.
He had a way of disconcerting sailors, for they, more than all others,
are outspoken men, and become embarrassed when they cannot meet one
face to face and eye to eye. He made them, as it were, talk to his
hump, and he moved it about at them cunningly so as to throw them
into confusion, when he saw that they were well under way with their
statements.
Elise herself was not able to avoid its strange attraction. She
stopped looking at Barnabé in order to look at this strange clerk, and,
moved by fear as much as by compassion, kept her eyes fixed on his
pitiful and threatening back. It seemed to her that the fate of her
request was written on this deformity if she could only decipher it.
She tried to read a favorable response.
“It is your----” said Barnabé for the third time. He did not finish his
phrase. He could not restrain his impatience to see at least the nose
of this man.
He added brutally:
“Have you not another side that speaks also? Are you like one of those
round beasts who have no face?”
The head of the clerk disappeared entirely behind his hump. Barbet, who
up to this time had been silent and respectful, stood up, with his fore
feet on the railing. He proposed to take part in the debate, and since
the interests of his mistress were under discussion he wished it to be
known that he had the right to interpose. He was no more pleased than
Barnabé to see a hump in place of the face which he expected, and he
expressed his disapprobation by surly barks.
The clerk turned about suddenly. He appeared frightened. His long, bony
face was pale, and here and there were what seemed like dark stains.
His eye was that of a sick man, and his face expressed sadness more
than ill-will.
At the sight of Elise he appeared abashed, rose to his feet, laid aside
the crust of bread, shook off the crumbs which lay on his chest, ran
his fingers through his hair, and took a hurried look at a bit of
mirror propped up between two boxes. He forgot all about complaining of
the dog, and said with his best smile:
“Mademoiselle, I am entirely at your service. I did not suspect that
this snip of a sailor had such charming company. These deck-scourers do
not know how to explain anything.”
“Deck-scourers! I’ll scour your hump!”
And Barnabé reached out his hand. Elise stopped him. She saw that all
hope for her was lost, if she did not take the matter into her own
hands. Since she had entered the office she had been making up her mind
not to leave until she had gained what she came for. She shook off her
indecision and raised her head, resolute and firm.
The little clerk was disturbed under his hump. He rubbed together
nervously his thin, knotty hands, and with an air of obsequious
gallantry, trying to make his sharp voice as pleasant as possible,
renewed his offer of his services.
“You injure your cause by not explaining it yourself, mademoiselle.
Your sailor----”
“Present! the sailor!” cried Barnabé, happy to find a chance to put in
a word. “I will tell the whole affair. I have no fancy to come here
like a ship’s boy, and watch others work the ship.”
He looked at the clerk angrily. He seemed to throw defiance at this
chicken-breasted wretch, who made himself agreeable to ladies, preening
like a turtle dove. But the hunchback turned from him, showing Barnabé
the outline of his crooked back, which he worked at him contemptuously.
Barbet was out of patience. Standing on his hind legs he bristled up
his hair and moved his tail, now slowly, now excitedly, according to
the state of his feelings.
Elise saw that all this boded no good to her cause.
“I pray you,” she said to Barnabé, “let me speak. It was I who saw my
father, and I know better what he demanded.”
The clerk threw at her a glance of intelligence.
“Yes, mademoiselle, speak. The sound of your voice will make amends to
me for having heard these barkings.”
“Does Barbet trouble you, sir? I will make him go out if you wish.”
“Yes, and the other dog with him----”
He had not finished the sentence when Barnabé, seizing Barbet by the
back, tried to lift him over the railing.
“Eat the hunchback! bite him! bite him!”
Barbet struggled, refusing to lend himself to such unjust reprisals.
Barnabé dropped him, and deciding to take vengeance in his own person
struck out with his fist, and the clerk rolled over and over on the
floor, uttering sharp cries.
Immediately from the next room there appeared a man in tightly buttoned
overcoat and silver-laced hat. He was dressed exactly as the official
whom Elise had seen on the deck of the _Bon-Pêcheur_ at Treport. He
was the under-commissaire, and appeared to uphold the dignity of his
office. With a glance of his eye he saw what had happened, and stiffly,
and as if wishing to avoid any explanation, gave out the order:
“M. Emile, you will be good enough to have a placard fastened to the
door--Dogs not admitted. Turn these people out.”
Without waiting to hear more, Barnabé took flight. But Elise could
not resign herself to see all her hopes disappear on account of
such a ridiculous incident. She lifted her great black eyes to the
commissaire, sweetly suppliant:
“Sir, I have seen my father’s ghost. He was drowned at the Vergoyer. He
demands that his body be found. You have men to do such work.”
The hunchback was still groaning. In his fall he had overturned his
chair, and most unhappily caught his hump between the four legs. He was
unable to free himself. The commissaire acted as if he did not see him:
“Well, M. Emile, why do you not send these people away?”
“You are not listening to me,” cried Elise. “I have seen my father’s
ghost. He cannot rest in the sea sands----”
“Go out----”
And the under-commissaire pointed so severely at the door, that Elise
went in tears and despair. She was nearly overturned on the sill by
Barbet who, rushing out, nearly tripped her up, so that she lost the
consolation of hearing the chief in a low tone reprimand his clerk.
“I have been hoping you would have a lesson like this for a long time.
I don’t pity you in the least. He who sows the wind must expect to reap
the whirlwind.”
[Illustration: THE NEXT NIGHT, ELISE SAW HER FATHER AGAIN.
Chap. 15.]