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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/3990-0.txt b/3990-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e060218 --- /dev/null +++ b/3990-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11434 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Conscience, Complete, by Hector Malot + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Conscience, Complete + +Author: Hector Malot + +Release Date: October 5, 2006 [EBook #3990] +Last Updated: August 23, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CONSCIENCE, COMPLETE *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +CONSCIENCE + +By Hector Malot + + +With a Preface by EDOUARD PAILLERON, of the French Academy + + + + +HECTOR MALOT + +HECTOR-HENRI MALOT, the son of a notary public, was born at La Brouille +(Seine-Inferieure), March 20, 1830. He studied law, intending to devote +himself also to the Notariat, but toward 1853 or 1854 commenced writing +for various small journals. Somewhat later he assisted in compiling the +‘Biographie Generale’ of Firmin Didot, and was also a contributor to +some reviews. Under the generic title of ‘Les Victimes d’Amour,’ he made +his debut with the following three family-romances: ‘Les Amants (1859), +Les Epoux (1865), and Les Enfants (1866).’ About the same period he +published a book, ‘La Vie Moderne en Angleterre.’ Malot has written +quite a number of novels, of which the greatest is ‘Conscience,’ crowned +by the French Academy in 1878. + +His works have met with great success in all countries. They possess +that lasting interest which attends all work based on keen observation +and masterly analysis of the secret motives of human actions. + +The titles of his writings run as follows: ‘Les Amours de Jacques +(1868); Un Beau Frere (1869); Romain Kalbris (1864), being a romance +for children; Une Bonne Afaire, and Madame Obernin (1870); Un Cure de +Province (1872); Un Mariage sons le Second Empire (1873); Une Belle +Mere (1874); L’Auberge du Monde (1875-1876, 4 vols.); Les Batailles +du Mariage (1877, 3 vols.); Cara (1877); Le Docteur Claude (1879); Le +Boheme Tapageuse (1880, 3 vols.); Pompon, and Une Femme d’Argent (1881); +La Petite Soeur, and Les Millions Honteux (1882); Les Besogneux, and +Paulette (1883); Marichette, and Micheline (1884.); Le Lieutenant +Bonnet, and Sang Bleu (1885); Baccara, and Zyte (1886); Viceo Francis, +Seduction, and Ghislaine (1887); Mondaine (1888); Mariage Riche, and +Justice (1889); Mere (1890), Anie (1891); Complices (1892); Conscience +(1893); and Amours de Jeunes et Amours de Vieux (1894).’ + +About this time Hector Malot resolved not to write fiction any more. +He announced this determination in a card published in the journal, ‘Le +Temps,’ May 25, 1895--It was then maliciously stated that “M. Malot his +retired from business after having accumulated a fortune.” However, he +took up his pen again and published a history of his literary life: +Le Roman de mes Romans (1896); besides two volumes of fiction, L’Amour +dominateur (1896), and Pages choisies (1898), works which showed that, +in the language of Holy Writ, “his eye was not dimmed nor his natural +force abated,” and afforded him a triumph over his slanderers. + + EDOUARD PAILLERON + de l’Academie Francaise. + + + + +CONSCIENCE + + + + +BOOK 1. + + + + +CHAPTER I. THE REUNION + +When Crozat, the Bohemian, escaped from poverty, by a good marriage that +made him a citizen of the Rue de Vaugirard, he did not break with his +old comrades; instead of shunning them, or keeping them at a distance, +he took pleasure in gathering them about him, glad to open his house to +them, the comforts of which were very different from the attic of the +Rue Ganneron, that he had occupied for so long a time. + +Every Wednesday, from four to seven o’clock, he had a reunion at his +house, the Hotel des Medicis, and it was a holiday for which his friends +prepared themselves. When a new idea occurred to one of the habitues it +was caressed, matured, studied in solitude, in order to be presented in +full bloom at the assembly. + +Crozat’s reception of his friends was pleasing, simple, like the man, +cordial on the part of the husband, as well as on the part of the wife, +who, having been an actress, held to the religion of comradeship: On a +table were small pitchers of beer and glasses; within reach was an old +stone jar from Beauvais, full of tobacco. The beer was good, the tobacco +dry, and the glasses were never empty. + +And it was not silly subjects that were discussed here, worldly +babblings, or gossiping about absent friends, but the great questions +that ruled humanity: philosophy, politics, society, and religion. + +Formed at first of friends, or, at least, of comrades who had worked and +suffered together, these reunions had enlarged gradually, until one day +the rooms at the Hotel des Medicis became a ‘parlotte’ where preachers +of ideas and of new religions, thinkers, reformers, apostles, +politicians, aesthetes, and even babblers in search of ears more or less +complaisant that would listen to them, met together. Any one might come +who wished, and if one did not enter there exactly as one would enter an +ordinary hotel, it was sufficient to be brought by an habitue in order +to have the right to a pipe, some beer, and to speak. + +One of the habitues, Brigard, was a species of apostle, who had acquired +celebrity by practising in his daily life the ideas that he professed +and preached. Comte de Brigard by birth, he began by renouncing his +title, which made him a vassal of the respect of men and of social +conventions; an instructor of law, he could easily have made a thousand +or twelve hundred francs a month, but he arranged the number and the +price of his lessons so that each day brought him only ten francs in +order that he might not be a slave to money; living with a woman whom he +loved, he had always insisted, although he had two daughters, on +living with her ‘en union libre’, and in not acknowledging his children +legally, because the law debased the ties which attached him to them and +lessened his duties; it was conscience that sanctioned these duties; and +nature, like conscience, made him the most faithful of lovers, the best, +the most affectionate, the most tender of fathers. Tall, proud, carrying +in his person and manners the native elegance of his race, he dressed +like the porter at the corner, only replacing the blue velvet by +chestnut velvet, a less frivolous color. Living in Clamart for twenty +years, he always came to Paris on foot, and the only concessions that he +made to conventionality or to his comfort were to wear sabots in winter, +and to carry his vest on his arm in summer. + +Thus organized, he must have disciples, and he sought them +everywhere--in the streets, where he buttonholed those he was able to +snatch under the trees of the Luxembourg Gardens, and on Wednesday +at the house of his old comrade Crozat. How many he had had! But, +unfortunately, the greater number turned out badly. Several became +ministers; others accepted high government positions for life; some +handled millions of francs; two were at Noumea; one preached in the +pulpit of Notre Dame. + +One afternoon in October the little parlor was full; the end of the +summer vacation had brought back the habitues, and for the first time +the number was nearly large enough to open a profitable discussion. +Crozat, near the door, smiled at the arrivals on shaking hands, and +Brigard, his soft felt hat on his head, presided, assisted by his two +favorite disciples of the moment, the advocate Nougarede and the poet +Glady, neither of whom would turn out badly, he was certain. + +To tell the truth, for those who knew how to look and to see, the pale +face of Nougarede, his thin lips, restless eyes, and an austerity of +dress and manners which clashed with his twenty-six years, gave him more +the appearance of a man of ambition than of an apostle. And when one +knew that Glady was the owner of a beautiful house in Paris, and of real +estate in the country that brought him a hundred thousand francs a year, +it was difficult to imagine that he would long follow Father Brigard. + +But to see was not the dominant faculty of Brigard; it was to reason, +and reason told him that ambition would soon make Nougarede a deputy, +as fortune would one day make Glady an academician; and in that case, +although he detested assemblies as much as academies, they would then +have two tribunes whence the good word would fall on the multitude with +more weight. They might be counted on. When Nougarede began to come +to the Wednesday reunions he was as empty as a drum, and if he spoke +brilliantly on no matter what subject with an imperturbable eloquence, +it was to say nothing. In Glady’s first volume were words learnedly +arranged to please the ears and the eyes. Now, ideas sustained the +discourse of the advocate, as the verses of the poet said something--and +these ideas were Brigard’s; this something was the perfume of his +teaching. + +For half an hour the pipes burned fiercely, the smoke slowly rose to +the ceiling, and as in a cloud Brigard might be seen like a bearded god, +proclaiming his law, his hat on his head; for, if he had made a rule +never to take it off, he manipulated it continually while he spoke, +frequently pushing it forward, sometimes to the back of his head, to +the right, to the left, raising it, and flattening it, according to the +needs of his argument. + +“It is incontestable,” he said, “that we scatter our great force when we +ought to concentrate it.” + +He pressed down his hat. + +“In effect,” he raised it, “the hour has arrived for us to assert +ourselves as a group, and it is a duty for us, since it is a need of +humanity--” + +At this moment a new arrival glided into the room quietly, with the +manifest intention of disturbing no one; but Crozat, who was seated near +the door, stopped him and shook hands. + +“‘Tiens’, Saniel! Good-day, doctor.” + +“Good-evening, my dear sir.” + +“Come to the table; the beer is good to-day.” + +“Thank you; I am very well here.” + +Without taking the chair that Crozat designated, he leaned against the +wall. He was a tall, solid man about thirty, with tawny hair falling +on the collar of his coat, a long, curled beard, a face energetic, but +troubled and wan, to which the pale blue eyes gave an expression of +hardness that was accentuated by a prominent jaw and a decided air. A +Gaul, a true Gaul of ancient times, strong, bold, and resolute. + +Brigard continued: + +“It is incontestable”--this was his formula, because everything he +said was incontestable to him, simply because he said it--“it is +incontestable that in the struggle for existence the dogma of conscience +must be established, its only sanction being the performance of duty and +inward satisfaction--” + +“Duty accomplished toward whom?” interrupted Saniel. + +“Toward one’s self.” + +“Then begin by stating what are our duties, and codify what is good and +what is bad.” + +“That is easy,” some one replied. + +“Easy if you admit a certain innate regard for human life, for property, +and for the family. But you must acknowledge that not all men have this +regard. How many believe that it is not a fault to run away with the +wife of a friend, not a crime to appropriate something that they want, +or to kill an enemy! Where are the duties of those who reason and feel +in this way? What is their inward satisfaction worth? This is why I will +not admit that conscience is the proper guide of our actions.” + +There were several exclamations at this, which Brigard checked. + +“What guide, then, shall men obey?” he demanded. + +“Force, which is the last word of the philosophy of life!” + +“That which leads to a wise and progressive extermination. Is this what +you desire?” + +“Why not? I do not shrink from an extermination that relieves humanity +of idlers that it drags about without power to advance or to free +itself, finally sinking under the load. Is it not better for the world +to be rid of such people, who obstruct the advancement of others?” + +“At least the idea is bizarre coming from a doctor,” interrupted Crozat, +“since it would put an end to hospitals.” + +“Not at all; I would preserve them for the study of monsters.” + +“In placing society on this antagonistic footing,” said Brigard, +“you destroy society itself, which is founded on reciprocity, on good +fellowship; and in doing so you can create for the strong a state +of suspicion that paralyzes them. Carthage and Venice practised the +selection by force, and destroyed themselves.” + +“You speak of force, my dear Saniel,” interrupted a voice; “where do +you get that--the force of things, the tatum? There is no beginning, no +will; events decide for us climate, temperament, environment.” + +“Then,” replied Saniel, “there is no responsibility, and this instrument +conscience, that should decide everything, is good for nothing. You need +not consider consequences. Success or defeat may yet be immaterial, +for the accomplishment of an act that you have believed condemnable +may serve the race, while another that you have believed beneficent may +prove injurious; from which it follows that intentions only should be +judged, and that no one but God can sound human hearts to their depths.” + +He began to laugh. + +“Do you believe that? Is that the conclusion at which you have arrived?” + +A waiter entered, carrying pitchers of beer on a tray, and the +discussion was necessarily interrupted, every one drawing up to the +table where Crozat filled the glasses, and the conversation took a more +private turn. + +Saniel shook hands with Brigard, who received him somewhat coldly; then +he approached Glady with the manifest intention of detaining him, but +Glady had said that he was obliged to leave, so Saniel said that he +could remain no longer, and had only dropped in on passing. + +When they were both gone Brigard turned to Crozat and Nougarede, who +were near him, and declared that Saniel made him uneasy. + +“He believes himself stronger than life,” he said, “because he is sound +and intelligent. He must take care that he does not go too far!” + + + + +CHAPTER II. THE RICH MAN’S REFUSAL + +When Saniel and Glady reached the street, the rain that had fallen since +morning had ceased, and the asphalt shone clear and glittering like a +mirror. + +“The walking is good,” Saniel remarked. + +“It will rain again,” responded Glady, looking at the sky. + +“I think not.” It was evident that Glady wished to take a cab, but as +none passed he was obliged to walk with Saniel. + +“Do you know,” he said, “that you have wounded Brigard?” + +“I regret it sincerely; but the salon of our friend Crozat is not yet a +church, and I do not suppose that discussion is forbidden there.” + +“To deny is not to discuss.” + +“You say that as if you were angry with me.” + +“Not at all. I am sorry that you have wounded Brigard--nothing more.” + +“That is too much, because I have a sincere esteem, a real friendship +for you, if you will permit me to say so.” + +But Glady, apparently, did not desire the conversation to take this +turn. + +“I think this is an empty cab,” he said, as a fiacre approached them. + +“No,” replied Saniel, “I see the light of a cigar through the +windowpane.” + +Glady made a slight gesture of impatience that was not lost upon Saniel, +who was expecting some such demonstration. + +Rich, and frequenting the society of poor men, Glady lived in dread of +borrowers. It was enough for any man to appear to wish to talk to him +privately to make him believe that he was going to ask for fifty louis +or twenty francs; so often was this the case that every friend or +comrade was an enemy against whom he must defend his purse. And so he +lay in wait as if expecting some one to spring upon him, his eyes open, +his ears listening, and his hands in his pockets. This explains his +attitude toward Saniel, in whom he scented a demand for money, and +was the reason for his attempt to escape by taking a cab. But luck was +against him, and he tried to decline the unspoken request in another +way. + +“Do not be surprised,” he said, with the volubility with which a man +speaks when he does not wish to give his companion a chance to say a +word, “that I was pained to see Brigard take seriously an argument that +evidently was not directed against him.” + +“Neither against him nor against his ideas.” + +“I know that; you do not need to defend yourself. But I have so much +friendship, so much esteem and respect for Brigard that everything that +touches him affects me. And how could it be otherwise when one knows his +value, and what a man he is? This life of mediocrity that he lives, in +order to be free, is it not admirable? What a beautiful example!” + +“Not every one can follow it.” + +“You think that one cannot be contented with ten francs a day?” + +“I mean that not every one has the chance to make ten francs a day.” + +The vague fears of Glady became definite at these words. They had walked +down the Rue Ferou and reached the Place St. Sulpice. + +“I think that at last I am going to find a cab,” he said, precipitately. + +But this hope was not realized; there was not a single cab at the +station, and he was forced to submit to the assault from Saniel. + +And Saniel began: + +“You are compelled to walk with me, and, frankly, I rejoice, because I +wish to talk to you of a serious affair--on which depends my future.” + +“This is a poor place for serious talk.” + +“I do not find it so.” + +“We would better appoint some other time.” + +“Why should we, since chance has thrown us together here?” + +Glady resigned himself to the inevitable, and was as polite as he could +be in the circumstances. + +“I await your pleasure,” he said in a gracious tone, that was a contrast +to his former one. + +Saniel, who was in such a hurry a few moments before, now silently +walked by Glady, whose eyes were on the shining asphalt pavement. + +At last he spoke. + +“I have told you that my future depends on the affair concerning which +I wish to speak to you. I can tell you all in a few words: If I am +not able to procure three thousand francs within two days, I shall be +obliged to leave Paris, to give up my studies and my work here, and go +and bury myself in my native town and become a plain country doctor.” + +Glady did not flinch; if he had not foreseen the amount he expected the +demand, and he continued gazing at his feet. + +“You know,” continued Saniel, “that I am the son of peasants; my father +was marshal in a poor village of Auvergne. At school I gave proof of a +certain aptitude for work above my comrades, and our cure conceived +an affection for me and taught me all he knew. Then he made me enter +a small seminary. But I had neither the docile mind nor the submissive +character that was necessary for this education, and after several years +of pranks and punishments, although I was not expelled, I was given to +understand that my departure would be hailed with delight. I then became +usher in a small school, but without salary, taking board and lodging +as payment. I passed a good examination and was preparing for my degree, +when I left the school owing to a quarrel. I had made some money by +giving private lessons, and I found myself the possessor of nearly +eighty francs. I started for Paris, where I arrived at five o’clock +one morning in June, and where I knew, no one. I had a small trunk +containing a few shirts, which obliged me to take a carriage. I told the +coachman to take me to a hotel in the Latin Quarter. ‘Which hotel?’ he +asked; ‘I do not care,’ I answered. ‘Do you wish to go to the Hotel du +Senat?’ The name pleased me; perhaps it was an omen. He took me to the +Hotel du Senat, where, with what I had left of my eighty francs, I paid +a month in advance. I stayed there eight years.” + +“That is remarkable.” + +“What else could I do? I knew Latin and Greek as well as any man in +France, but as far as anything else was concerned I was as ignorant as +a schoolmaster. The same day I tried to make use of what I knew, and I +went to a publisher of classic books, of whom I had heard my professor +of Greek literature speak. After questioning me he gave me a copy of +Pindar to prepare with Latin notes, and advanced me thirty francs, which +lasted me a month. I came to Paris with the desire to work, but without +having made up my mind what to do. I went wherever there were lectures, +to the Sorbonne, to the College de France, to the Law School, and to the +School of Medicine; but it was a month before I came to a decision. The +subtleties of law displeased me, but the study of medicine, depending +upon the observation of facts, attracted me, and I decided to become a +doctor.” + +“A marriage of reason.” + +“No, a marriage for love. Because, if I had consulted reason, it would +have told me that to marry medicine when one has nothing--neither family +to sustain you nor relatives to push you--would be to condemn yourself +to a life of trials, of battles, and of misery. My student life was +happy; I worked hard, and by giving lessons in Latin I had enough to +eat. When I received as house-surgeon six, eight, nine hundred francs, +I thought it a large fortune, and I would have remained in this position +for the rest of my life if I had been able to do so, but when I took my +degree of doctor I was obliged to leave the hospital. The possessor of +several thousand francs, I should have followed rigorously my dream of +ambition. While attending the mistress of one of my comrades I made the +acquaintance of an upholsterer, who suggested that he should furnish +an apartment for me, and that I might pay him later. I yielded to +temptation. Remember, I had passed eight years in the Hotel du Senat, +and I knew nothing of Paris life. A home of my own! My own furniture, +and a servant in my anteroom! I should be somebody! My upholsterer could +have installed me in his own quarter of Paris, and perhaps could have +obtained some patients for me among his customers, who are rich and +fashionable. But he did not do this, probably concluding that with my +awkward appearance I would not be a success with such people. When you +are successful it is original to be a peasant--people find you clever; +but before success comes to you it is a disgrace. He furnished me an +apartment in a very respectable house in the Rue Louis-le-Grand. When I +went into it I had debts to the amount of ten thousand francs behind me, +the interest on this sum, the rent of two thousand four hundred francs, +not a sou in my pocket, not a relative--” + +“That was courageous.” + +“I did not know that in Paris everything is accomplished through +influence, and I imagined that an intelligent man could make his way +without assistance. I was to learn by experience. When a new doctor +arrives anywhere his brother doctors do not receive him with much +sympathy. ‘What does this intruder want?’ ‘Are there not enough of us +already?’ He is watched, and the first patient that he loses is made +use of as an example of his ignorance or imprudence, and his position +becomes uncomfortable. The chemists of my quarter whom I called upon +did not receive me very warmly; they made me feel the distance that +separates an honorable merchant from a beggar, and I was given to +understand that they could patronize me only on condition that I ordered +the specialties that they wished to profit by--iron from this one and +tar from that. On commencing to practise I had as patients only the +people of the quarter, whose principle was never to pay a doctor, and +who wait for the arrival of a new one in order that they may be rid of +the old one and this sort is numerous everywhere. It happened that my +concierge was from Auvergne like myself, and he considered it his duty +to make me give free attendance to all those from our country that +he could find in the quarter and everywhere else, so that I had the +patriotic satisfaction of seeing all the charcoal-dealers from Auvergne +sprawling in my beautiful armchairs. Finally, by remaining religiously +at home every Sunday in summer, while the other doctors were away, by +rising quickly at night every time my bell rang, I was able to acquire +a practice among a class of people who were more reasonable and +satisfactory. I obtained a prize at the Academy. At the same time I +delivered, at a moderate price, lectures in anatomy at schools on the +outskirts of the city; I gave lessons; I undertook all the anonymous +work of the book trade and of journalism that I could find. I slept five +hours a day, and in four years I had decreased my debt seven thousand +francs. If my upholsterer wished to be paid I could have it arranged, +but that was not his intention. He wishes to take his furniture that is +not worn out, and to keep the money that he has received. If I do not +pay these three thousand francs in a few days I shall be turned into +the street. To tell the truth, I shall soon have a thousand francs, but +those who owe it to me are not in Paris, or will pay in January. Behold +my situation! I am desperate because there is no one to whom I can +apply; those whom I have asked for money have not listened to me; I +have told you that I have no relatives, and neither have I any +friends--perhaps because I am not amiable. And then I thought of you. +You know me. You know that people say I have a future before me. At the +end of three months I shall be a doctor in the hospitals; my competitors +admit that I shall not miss admission; I have undertaken some +experiments that will, perhaps, give me fame. Will you give me your +hand?” + +Glady extended it toward him. “I thank you for having applied to me; it +is a proof of confidence that touches me.” He pressed the hand that he +had taken with some warmth. “I see that you have divined the sentiments +of esteem with which you have inspired me.” + +Saniel drew a long breath. + +“Unfortunately,” continued Glady, “I cannot do what you desire without +deviating from my usual line of conduct. When I started out in life I +lent to all those who appealed to me, and when I did not lose my friends +I lost my money. I then took an oath to refuse every one. It is an oath +that I cannot break. What would my old friends say if they learned that +I did for a young man what I have refused to do for them?” + +“Who would know it?” + +“My conscience.” + +They had reached the Quai Voltaire, where fiacres were stationed. + +“At last here are some cabs,” Glady said. “Pardon me for leaving you, +but I am in a hurry.” + + + + +CHAPTER III. A LAST RESORT + +Gady entered the cab so quickly that Saniel remained staring at the +sidewalk, slightly dazed. It was only when the door closed that he +understood. + +“His conscience!” he murmured. “Behold them! Tartufes!” + +After a moment of hesitation, he continued his way and reached the +bridge of Saints-Peres, but he walked with doubtful steps, like a man +who does not know where he is going. Presently he stopped, and, leaning +his arms on the parapet, watched the sombre, rapidly flowing Seine, its +small waves fringed with white foam. The rain had ceased, but the wind +blew in squalls, roughening the surface of the river and making the +red and green lights of the omnibus boats sway in the darkness. The +passers-by came and went, and more than one examined him from the corner +of the eye, wondering what this tall man was doing there, and if he +intended to throw himself into the water. + +And why not? What better could he do? + +And this was what Saniel said to himself while watching the flowing +water. One plunge, and he would end the fierce battle in which he had so +madly engaged for four years, and which would in the end drive him mad. + +It was not the first time that this idea of ending everything had +tempted him, and he only warded it off by constantly inventing +combinations which it seemed to him at the moment might save him. Why +yield to such a temptation before trying everything? And this was how he +happened to appeal to Glady. But he knew him, and knew that his avarice, +about which every one joked, had a certain reason for its existence. +However, he said to himself that if the landed proprietor obstinately +refused a friendly loan, which would only pay the debts of youth, +the poet would willingly fill the role of Providence and save from +shipwreck, without risking anything, a man with a future, who, later, +would pay him back. It was with this hope that he risked a refusal. +The landed proprietor replied; the poet was silent. And now there was +nothing to expect from any one. Glady was his last resort. + +In explaining his situation to Glady he lightened the misery instead of +exaggerating it. For it was not only his upholsterer that he owed, but +also his tailor, his bootmaker, his coal-dealer, his concierge, and +all those with whom he had dealings. In reality, his creditors had not +harassed him very much until lately, but this state of affairs would +not last when they saw him prosecuted; they also would sue him, and how +could he defend himself? How should he live? His only resource would be +to return to the Hotel du Senat, where even they would not leave him in +peace, or to his native town and become a country doctor. In either case +it was renouncing all his ambitions. Would it not be better to die? + +What good was life if his dreams were not realized--if he had nothing +that he wanted? + +Like many who frequently come in contact with death, life in itself +was a small thing to him--his own life as well as that of others; with +Hamlet he said: “To die, to sleep, no more,” but without adding: “To +die, to sleep, perchance to dream,” feeling certain that the dead do not +dream; and what is better than sleep to those who have had a hard life? + +He was absorbed in thought when something came between him and the +flaring gaslight, and threw a shadow over him that made him straighten +himself up. What was it? Only a policeman, who came and leaned against +the parapet near him. + +He understood. His attitude was that of a man who contemplates throwing +himself into the river, and the policeman had placed himself there in +order to prevent it. + +“Thanks!” he said to the astonished man. + +He continued his way, walking quickly, but hearing distinctly the steps +of the policeman following him, who evidently took him for a madman who +must be watched. + +When he left the bridge of Saints-Peres for the Place du Carrousel this +surveillance ceased, and he could then indulge freely in reflection--at +least as freely as his trouble and discouragement permitted. + +“The weak kill themselves; the strong fight to their last breath.” + +And, low as he was, he was not yet at his last breath. + +When he decided to appeal to Glady he had hesitated between him and a +usurer named Caffie, whom he did not know personally, but whom he had +heard spoken of as a rascal who was interested in all sorts of +affairs, preferring the bad to the good--of successions, marriages, +interdictions, extortions; and if he had not been to him it was for fear +of being refused, as much as from the dread of putting himself in such +hands in case of meeting with compliance. But these scruples and these +fears were useless now; since Glady failed him, cost what it might and +happen what would, he must go to this scamp for assistance. + +He knew that Caffie lived in the Rue Sainte-Anne, but he did not know +the number. He had only to go to one of his patients, a wine-merchant +in the Rue Therese, to find his address in the directory. It was but +a step, and he decided to run the risk; there was need of haste. +Discouraged by all the applications that he had made up to this time, +disheartened by betrayed hopes, irritated by rebuffs, he did not deceive +himself as to the chances of this last attempt, but at least he would +try it, slight though the hope of success might be. + +It was an old house where Caffie lived, and had been formerly a private +hotel; it was composed of two wings, one on the street, the other on an +inside court. A porte cochere gave access to this court, and under its +roof, near the staircase, was the concierge’s lodge. Saniel knocked at +the door in vain; it was locked and would not open. He waited several +minutes, and in his nervous impatience walked restlessly up and down the +court. At last an old woman appeared carrying a small wax taper. She was +feeble and bent, and began to excuse herself; she was alone and could +not be everywhere at the same time, in her lodge and lighting the lamps +on the stairways. Caffie lived on the first floor, in the wing on the +street. + +Saniel mounted the stairs and rang the bell. A long time passed, or +at least it seemed long to him, before there was an answer. At last he +heard a slow and heavy step on the tiled floor and the door was opened, +but held by a hand and a foot. + +“What do you wish?” + +“Monsieur Caffie.” + +“I am he. Who are you?” + +“Doctor Saniel.” + +“I have not sent for a doctor.” + +“It is not as doctor that I am here, but as client.” + +“This is not the hour when I receive clients.” + +“But you are at home.” + +“That is a fact!” + +And Caffie, concluding to open the door, asked Saniel to enter, and then +closed it. + +“Come into my office.” + +They were in a small room filled with papers that had only an old desk +and three chairs for furniture; it communicated with the office of the +business man, which was larger, but furnished with the same simplicity +and strewn with scraps of paper that had a mouldy smell. + +“My clerk is ill just now,” Caffie said, “and when I am alone I do not +like to open the door.” + +After giving this excuse he offered Saniel a chair, and, seating himself +before his desk, lighted by a lamp from which he had taken the shade, he +said: + +“Doctor, I am ready to listen to you.” + +He replaced the shade on the lamp. + +Saniel made his request concisely, without the details that he +had entered into with Glady. He owed three thousand francs to the +upholsterer who had furnished his apartment, and as he could not pay +immediately he was in danger of being prosecuted. + +“Who is the upholsterer?” Caffie asked, while holding his left jaw with +his right hand. + +“Jardine, Boulevard Haussmann.” + +“I know him. It is his trade to take back his furniture in this way, +after three quarters of the sum has been paid, and he has become rich at +it. How much money have you already paid of this ten thousand francs?” + +“Including the interest and what I have paid in instalments, nearly +twelve thousand francs.” + +“And you still owe three thousand?” + +“Yes.” + +“That is nice.” + +Caffie seemed full of admiration for this manner of proceeding. + +“What guarantee have you to offer for this loan of three thousand +francs?” + +“No other than my present position, I confess, and above all, my +future.” + +At Caffie’s request he explained his plans and prospects for the future, +while the business man, with his cheek resting on his hand, listened, +and from time to time breathed a stifled sigh, a sort of groan. + +“Hum! hum!” he said when Saniel finished his explanation. “You know, my +dear friend, you know: + + To fools alone the future’s smile unchangeable appears, + For Friday’s laughter Sunday’s sun may change to bitter tears.” + +“It is Sunday with you, my dear sir.” + +“But I am not at the end of my life nor at the end of my energy, and I +assure you that my energy makes me capable of many things.” + +“I do not doubt it; I know what energy can do. Tell a Greek who is dying +of hunger to go to heaven and he will go + + Graeculus esuriens in coelum, jusseris, ibit.” + +“But I do not see that you have started for heaven.” + +A smile of derision, accompanied by a grimace, crossed Caffies face. +Before becoming the usurer of the Rue Sainte-Anne, whom every one called +a rascal, he had been attorney in the country, deputy judge, and if +unmerited evils had obliged him to resign and to hide the unpleasant +circumstances in Paris, he never lost an opportunity to prove that by +education he was far above his present position. Finding this new client +a man of learning, he was glad to make quotations that he thought would +make him worthy of consideration. + +“It is, perhaps, because I am not Greek,” Saniel replied; “but I am an +Auvergnat, and the men of my country have great physical strength.” + +Caffie shook his head. + +“My dear sir,” he said, “I might as well tell you frankly that I do not +believe the thing can be done. I would do it myself willingly, because +I read intelligence in your face, and resolution in your whole person, +which inspire me with confidence in you; but I have no money to put into +such speculations. I can only be, as usual, a go-between--that is to +say, I can propose the loan to one of my clients, but I do not know one +who would be contented with the guarantee of a future that is more +or less uncertain. There are so many doctors in Paris who are in your +position.” + +Saniel rose. + +“Are you going?” cried Caffie. + +“But--” + +“Sit down, my dear sir! It is no use to throw the handle after the axe. +You make me a proposition, and I show you the difficulties in the way, +but I do not say there is no way to extricate you from embarrassment. I +must look around. I have known you only a few minutes; but it does not +take long to appreciate a man like you, and, frankly, you inspire me +with great interest.” + +What did he wish? Saniel was not simple enough to be caught by words, +nor was he a fop who accepts with gaping mouth all the compliments +addressed to him. Why did he inspire a sudden interest in this man who +had the reputation of pushing business matters to extremes? He would +find out. In the mean time he would be on his guard. + +“I thank you for your sympathy,” he said. + +“I shall prove to you that it is real, and that it may become useful. +You come to me because you want three thousand francs. I hope I may find +them for you, and I promise to try, though it will be difficult, very +difficult. They will make you secure for the present. But will they +assure your future? that is, will they permit you to continue the +important works of which you have spoken to me, and on which your future +depends? No. Your struggles will soon begin again. And you must shake +yourself clear from such cares in order to secure for yourself the +liberty that is indispensable if you wish to advance rapidly. And to +obtain this freedom from cares and this liberty, I see only one way--you +must marry.” + + + + +CHAPTER IV. ‘TWIXT THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP SEA + +Saniel, who was on his guard and expected some sort of roguery from this +man, had not foreseen that these expressions of interest were leading up +to a proposal of marriage, and an exclamation of surprise escaped +him. But it was lost in the sound of the door-bell, which rang at that +moment. + +Caffie rose. “How disagreeable it is not to have a clerk!” he said. + +He went to open the door with an eagerness that he had not shown to +Saniel, which proved that he had no fear of admitting people when he was +not alone. + +It was a clerk from the bank. + +“You will permit me,” Caffie said, on returning to his office. “It will +take but an instant.” + +The clerk took a paper from his portfolio and handed it to Caffie. + +Caffie drew a key from the pocket of his vest, with which he opened the +iron safe placed behind his desk, and turning his back to Saniel and the +clerk counted the bills which they heard rustle in his hands. Presently +he rose, and closing the door of the safe he placed under the lamp the +package of bills that he had counted. The clerk then counted them, and +placing them in his portfolio took his leave. + +“Close the door when you go out,” Caffie said, who was already seated in +his arm-chair. + +“Do not be afraid.” + +When the clerk was gone Caffie apologized for the interruption. + +“Let us continue our conversation, my dear sir. I told you that there is +only one way to relieve you permanently from embarrassment, and that +way you will find is in a good marriage, that will place ‘hic et nunc’ a +reasonable sum at your disposal.” + +“But it would be folly for me to marry now, when I have no position to +offer a wife.” + +“And your future, of which you have just spoken with so much assurance, +have you no faith in that?” + +“An absolute faith--as firm to-day as when I first began the battle of +life, only brighter. However, as others have not the same reasons that +I have to hope and believe what I hope and believe, it is quite +natural that they should feel doubts of my future. You felt it yourself +instantly in not finding it a good guarantee for the small loan of three +thousand francs.” + +“A loan and marriage are not the same thing. A loan relieves you +temporarily, and leaves you in a state to contract several others +successively, which, you must acknowledge, weakens the guarantee that +you offer. While a marriage instantly opens to you the road that your +ambition wishes to travel.” + +“I have never thought of marriage.” + +“If you should think of it?” + +“There must be a woman first of all.” + +“If I should propose one, what would you say?” + +“But--” + +“You are surprised?” + +“I confess that I am.” + +“My dear sir, I am the friend of my clients, and for many of them--I +dare to say it--a father. And having much affection for a young woman, +and for the daughter of one of my friends, while listening to you I +thought that one or the other might be the woman you need. Both have +fortunes, and both possess physical attractions that a handsome man +like yourself has a right to demand. And for the rest, I have their +photographs, and you may see for yourself what they are.” + +He opened a drawer in his desk, and took from it a package of +photographs. As he turned them over Saniel saw that they were all +portraits of women. Presently he selected two and handed them to Saniel. + +One represented a woman from thirty-eight to forty years, corpulent, +robust, covered with horrible cheap jewelry that she had evidently put +on for the purpose of being photographed. The other was a young girl +of about twenty years, pretty, simply and elegantly dressed, whose +distinguished and reserved physiognomy was a strong contrast to the +first portrait. + +While Saniel looked at these pictures Caffie studied him, trying to +discover the effect they produced. + +“Now that you have seen them,” he said, “let us talk of them a little. +If you knew me better, my dear sir, you would know that I am frankness +itself, and in business my principle is to tell everything, the good and +the bad, so that my clients are responsible for the decisions they make. +In reality, there is nothing bad about these two persons, because, +if there were, I would not propose them to you. But there are certain +things that my delicacy compels me to point out to you, which I do +frankly, feeling certain that a man like you is not the slave of narrow +prejudices.” + +An expression of pain passed over his face, and he clasped his jaw with +both hands. + +“You suffer?” Saniel asked. + +“Yes, from my teeth, cruelly. Pardon me that I show it; I know by +myself that nothing is more annoying than the sight of the sufferings of +others.” + +“At least not to doctors.” + +“Never mind; we will return to my clients. This one”--and he touched the +portrait of the bejewelled woman--“is, as you have divined already, a +widow, a very amiable widow. Perhaps she is a little older than you are, +but that is nothing. Your experience must have taught you that the man +who wishes to be loved, tenderly loved, pampered, caressed, spoiled, +should marry a woman older than himself, who will treat him as a husband +and as a son. Her first husband was a careful merchant, who, had he +lived, would have made a large fortune in the butcher business”--he +mumbled this word instead of pronouncing it clearly--“but although he +died just at the time when his affairs were beginning to develop, he +left twenty thousand pounds’ income to his wife. As I have told you what +is good, I must tell you what is to be regretted. Carried away by gay +companions, this intelligent man became addicted to intemperance, and +from drinking at saloons she soon took to drinking at home, and his wife +drank with him. I have every reason to believe that she has reformed; +but, if it is otherwise, you, a doctor, can easily cure her--” + +“You believe it?” + +“Without doubt. However, if it is impossible, you need only let her +alone, and her vice will soon carry her off; and, as the contract will +be made according to my wishes in view of such an event, you will find +yourself invested with a fortune and unencumbered with a wife.” + +“And the other?” Saniel said, who had listened silently to this curious +explanation of the situation that Caffie made with the most perfect +good-nature. So grave were the circumstances that he could not help +being amused at this diplomacy. + +“I expected your demand,” replied the agent with a shrewd smile. “And if +I spoke of this amiable widow it was rather to acquit my conscience than +with any hope of succeeding. However free from prejudices one may be, +one always retains a few. I understand yours, and more than that, I +share them. Happily, what I am now about to tell you is something quite +different. Take her photograph, my dear sir, and look at it while I +talk. A charming face, is it not? She has been finely educated at a +fashionable convent. In a word, a pearl, that you shall wear. And now I +must tell you the flaw, for there is one. Who is blameless? The daughter +of one of our leading actresses, after leaving the convent she returned +to live with her mother. It was there, in this environment-ahem! +ahem!--that an accident happened to her. To be brief, she has a sweet +little child that the father would have recognized assuredly, had he not +been already married. But at least he has provided for its future by +an endowment of two hundred thousand francs, in such a way that whoever +marries the mother and legitimizes the child will enjoy the interest of +this sum until the child’s majority. If that ever arrives--these little +creatures are so fragile! You being a physician, you know more about +that than any one. In case of an accident the father will inherit half +the money from his son; and if it seems cruel for an own father to +inherit from his own son, it is quite a different thing when it is a +stranger who receives the fortune. This is all, my dear sir, plainly and +frankly, and I will not do you the injury to suppose that you do not see +the advantages of what I have said to you without need of my insisting +further. If I have not explained clearly--” + +“But nothing is more clear.” + +“--it is the fault of this pain that paralyzes me.” + +And he groaned while holding his jaw. + +“You have a troublesome tooth?” Saniel said, with the tone of a +physician who questions a patient. + +“All my teeth trouble me. To tell the truth, they are all going to +pieces.” + +“Have you consulted a doctor?” + +“Neither a doctor nor a dentist. I have faith in medicine, of course; +but when I consult doctors, which seldom happens, I notice that they +think much more of their own affairs than of what I am saying, and that +keeps me away from them. But, my dear sir, when a client consults me, I +put myself in his place.” + +While he spoke, Saniel examined him, which he had not done until this +moment, and he saw the characteristic signs of rapid consumption. His +clothes hung on him as if made for a man twice his size, and his face +was red and shining, as if he were covered with a coating of cherry +jelly. + +“Will you show me your teeth?” he asked. “It may be possible to relieve +your sufferings.” + +“Do you think so?” + +The examination did not last long. + +“Your mouth is often dry, is it not?” he asked. + +“Yes.” + +“You are often thirsty?” + +“Always.” + +“Do you sleep well?” + +“No.” + +“Your sight troubles you?” + +“Yes.” + +“Have you a good appetite?” + +“Yes, I eat heartily; and the more I eat the thinner I become. I am +turning into a skeleton.” + +“I see that you have scars from boils on the back of your neck.” + +“They made me suffer enough, the rascals; but they are gone as they +came. Hang it, one is no longer young at seventy-two years; one has +small vexations. They are small vexations, are they not?” + +“Certainly. With some precautions and a diet that I shall prescribe, if +you wish, you will soon be better. I will give you a prescription that +will relieve your toothache.” + +“We will talk of this again, because we shall have occasion to meet if, +as I presume, you appreciate the advantages of the proposition that I +have made you.” + +“I must have time to reflect.” + +“Nothing is more reasonable. There is no hurry.” + +“But I am in a hurry because, if I do not pay Jardine, I shall find +myself in the street, which would not be a position to offer to a wife.” + +“In the street? Oh, things will not come to such a pass as that! What +are the prosecutions?” + +“They will soon begin; Jardine has already threatened me.” + +“They are going to begin? Then they have not begun. If he does, as we +presume he will, proceed by a replevin, we shall have sufficient time +before the judgment. Do you owe anything to your landlord?” + +“The lease expired on the fifteenth.” + +“Do not pay it.” + +“That is easy; it is the only thing that is easy for me to do.” + +“It is an obstacle in the way of your Jardine, and may stop him a +moment. We can manage this way more easily. The important thing is to +warn me as soon as the fire begins. ‘Au revoir’, my dear Sir.” + + + + +CHAPTER V. A CHARMING VISITOR + +Although Saniel had had no experience in business, he was not simple +enough not to know that in refusing him this loan Caffie meant to make +use of him. + +“It is very simple,” he said to himself, as he went downstairs. “He +undertakes to manage my affairs, and in such a way that some day I shall +have to save myself by marrying that charming girl. What a scoundrel!” + +However, the situation was such that he was glad to avail himself of the +assistance of this scoundrel. At least, some time was gained, and when +Jardine found that he was not disposed to let himself be slaughtered, he +might accept a reasonable arrangement. But he must manage so that Caffie +would not prevent this arrangement. + +Unfortunately, he felt himself hardly capable of such manoeuvring, +having been always straightforward, his eyes fixed on the end he wished +to attain, and thinking only of the work through which he would attain +it. And now he must act the part of a diplomat, submitting to craftiness +and rogueries that were not at all in accord with his open nature. +He had begun by not telling Caffie, instantly, what he thought of his +propositions; but it is more difficult to act than to control one’s +self, to speak than to be silent. + +What would he say, what would he do, when the time for action came? + +He reached his house without having decided anything, and as he passed +before the concierge’s lodge absorbed in thought, he heard some one call +him. + +“Doctor, come in a moment, I beg of you.” + +He thought some one wished to consult him, some countryman who had +waited for his return; and, although he did not feel like listening +patiently to idle complainings, he turned back and entered the lodge. + +“Some one brought this,” the concierge said, handing him a paper that +was stamped and covered with a running handwriting. “This” was the +beginning of the fire of which Caffie had spoken. Without reading it, +Saniel put it in his pocket and turned to go; but the concierge detained +him. + +“I would like to say two words to ‘monchieur le docteur’ about this +paper.” + +“Have you read it?” + +“No, but I talked with the officer who gave it to me, and he told me +what it meant. It is unfortunate, doctor.” + +To be pitied by his concierge! This was too much. + +“It is not as he told you,” he replied, haughtily. + +“So much the better. I am glad for you and for me. You can pay my little +bill.” + +“Give it to me.” + +“I have given it to you twice already, but I have a copy. Here it is.” + +To be sued by a creditor paralyzed Saniel; he was stunned, crushed, +humiliated, and could only answer stupidly. Taking the bill that the +concierge handed him, he put it in his pocket and stammered a few words. + +“You see, doctor, I must say what has been in my heart a long time. You +are my countryman, and I esteem you too much not to speak. In taking +your apartment and engaging your upholsterer, you did too much. You ruin +yourself. Give up your apartment, and take the one opposite that costs +less than half, and you will get on. You will not be obliged to leave +this quarter. What will become of our neighbors if you leave us? You are +a good doctor; everybody knows it and says so. And now, as for my bill, +it is understood that I shall be paid first, shall I not?” + +“As soon as I have the money I will pay you.” + +“It is a promise?” + +“I promise you.” + +“Thank you very much.” + +“If it could be to-morrow, it would suit me. I am not rich, you know, +but I have always paid the gas-bill for your experiments.” + +With the paper in his pocket, Saniel returned to Caffie, who was just +going out, and to whom he gave it. + +“I will see about it this, evening,” said the man of business. “Just +now I am going to dinner. Do not worry. To-morrow I will do what is +necessary. Good-evening. I am dying of hunger.” + +But three days before, Saniel emptied his purse to soothe his +upholsterer by an instalment as large as he was able to make it, keeping +only five francs for himself, and with the few sous left he could not +go to a restaurant, not even the lowest and cheapest. He could only +buy some bread for his supper, and eat it while working, as he had often +done before. + +But when he returned to his rooms he was not in a state of mind to write +an article that must be delivered that evening. Among other things that +he had undertaken was one, and not the least fastidious, which consisted +in giving, by correspondence, advice to the subscribers of a fashion +magazine, or, more exactly speaking, to recommend, in the form of +medical advice, all the cosmetics, depilatories, elixirs, dyes, +essences, oils, creams, soaps, pomades, toothpowders, rouges, and also +all the chemists’ specialties, to which their inventors wished to give +an authority that the public, which believes itself acute, refused to +the simple advertisement on the last page. With his ambition and the +career before him, he would never have consented to carry on this +correspondence under his own name. He did it for a neighboring doctor, +a simple man, who was not so cautious, and who signed his name to these +letters, glad to get clients from any quarter. For his trouble, Saniel +took this doctor’s place during Sunday in summer, and from time to time +received a box of perfumery or quack medicines, which he sold at a low +price when occasion offered. + +Every week he received the list of cosmetics and specialties that he +must make use of in his correspondence, no matter how he recommended +them, whether in answer to letters that were really addressed to him, or +by inventing questions that gave him the opportunity to introduce them. + +He began to consult this list and the pile of letters from subscribers +that the magazine had sent him, when the doorbell rang. Perhaps it was +a patient, the good patient whom he had expected for four years. He left +his desk to open the door. + +It was his coal man, who came with his bill. + +“I will stop some day when I am near you,” Saniel said. “I am in a hurry +this evening.” + +“And I am in a hurry, too; I must pay a large bill tomorrow, and I count +upon having some money from you.” + +“I have no money here.” + +After a long talk he got rid of the man and returned to his desk. He had +answered but a few of the many letters when his bell rang again. This +time he would not open the door; it was a creditor, without doubt. And +he continued his correspondence. + +But for four years he had waited for chance to draw him a good ticket +in the lottery of life--a rich patient afflicted with a cyst or a tumor +that he would take to a fashionable surgeon, who would divide with +him the ten or fifteen thousand francs that he would receive for the +operation. In that case he would be saved. + +He ran to the door. The patient with the cyst presented himself in the +form of a small bearded man with a red face, wearing over his vest the +wine-merchant’s apron of coarse black cloth. In fact, it was the wine +merchant from the corner, who, having heard of the officer’s visit, came +to ask for the payment of his bill for furnishing wine for three months. + +A scene similar to that which he had had with the coal merchant, but +more violent, took place, and it was only by threatening to put him out +of the door that Saniel got rid of the man, who went away declaring that +he would come the next morning with an officer. + +Saniel returned to his work. + +His pen flew over the paper, when a noise made him raise his head. +Either he had not closed the door tightly, or his servant was entering +with his key. What did he want? He did not employ him all day, but only +during his office hours, to put his rooms in order and to open the door +for his clients. + +As Saniel rose to go and see who it was, there was a knock at the door. +It was his servant, with a blank and embarrassed air. + +“What is the matter, Joseph?” + +“I thought I should find you, sir, so I came.” + +“Why?” + +Joseph hesitated; then, taking courage, he said volubly, while lowering +his eyes: + +“I came to ask, sir, if you will pay me my month, which expired on the +fifteenth, because there is need of money at my house; if there was not +need of money I would not have come. If you wish, sir, I will release +you--” + +“How?” + +“I will take the coat that you made me order a month ago; I am quite +sure it is not worth what is due me, but it is always so.” + +“Take the coat.” + +Joseph took the coat from the wardrobe in the hall, and rolled it in a +newspaper. + +“Of course you will not expect me in the morning,” he said, as he put +his key on the table. “I must look out for another place.” + +“Very well, I shall not expect you.” + +“Good-evening, sir.” + +And Joseph hurried away as quickly as possible. + +Left alone, Saniel did not return to his work immediately, but throwing +himself in an armchair he cast a melancholy glance around his office and +through the open door into the parlor. In the faint light of the candle +he saw the large armchairs methodically placed each side of the chimney, +the curtains at the windows lost in shadow, and all the furniture +which for four years had cost him so many efforts. He had long been the +prisoner of this Louis XIV camlet, and he was now going to be executed. +A beautiful affair, truly, brilliant and able! All this had been used +only by the poor Auvergnats, without Saniel enjoying it at all, for +he had neither the bourgeois taste for ornaments nor the desire for +elegance. A movement of anger and revolt against himself made him strike +his desk with his fist. What a fool he had been! + +The bell rang again. This time, not expecting a rich patient, he would +not open it. After a moment a slight tap was heard on the panel. He rose +quickly and ran to open the door. + +A woman threw herself into his arms. + +“O my dearest! I am so glad to find you at home!” + + + + +CHAPTER VI. A SWEET CONSOLER + +She passed her arm about him and pressed him to her, and with arms +entwined they entered the study. + +“How glad I am!” she said. “What a good idea I had!” + +With a quick movement she took off her long gray cloak that enveloped +her from head to foot. + +“And are you glad?” she asked, as she stood looking at him. + +“Can you ask that?” + +“Only to hear you say that you are.” + +“Are you not my only joy, the sweet lamp that gives me light in the +cavern where I work day and night?” + +“Dear Victor!” + +She was a tall, slender young woman with chestnut hair, whose thick +curls clustering about her forehead almost touched her eyebrows. Her +beautiful eyes were dark, her nose short, while her superb teeth and +rich, ruby-colored lips gave her the effect of a pretty doll; and she +had gayety, playful vivacity, gracious effrontery, and a passionate +caressing glance. Dressed extravagantly, like the Parisian woman who +has not a sou, but who adorns everything she wears, she had an ease, +a freedom, a natural elegance that was charming. With this she had the +voice of a child, a joyous laugh, and an expression of sensibility on +her fresh face. + +“I have come to dine with you,” she said, gayly, “and I am so hungry.” + +He made a gesture that was not lost upon her. + +“Do I disturb you?” she asked, uneasily. + +“Not at all.” + +“Must you go out?” + +“No.” + +“Then why did you make a gesture that showed indifference, or, at least, +embarrassment?” + +“You are mistaken, my little Phillis.” + +“With any one else I might be mistaken, but with you it is impossible. +You know that between us words are not necessary; that I read in your +eyes what you would say, in your face what you think and feel. Is it not +always so when one loves--as I love you?” + +He took her in his arms and kissed her long and tenderly. Then going +to a chair on which he had thrown his coat, he drew from the pocket the +bread that he had bought. + +“This is my dinner,” he said, showing the bread. + +“Oh! I must scold you. Work is making you lose your head. Can you not +take time to eat?” + +He smiled sadly. + +“It is not time that I want.” + +He fumbled in his pocket and brought out three big sous. + +“I cannot dine at a restaurant with six sous.” + +She threw herself in his arms. + +“O dearest, forgive me!” she cried. “Poor, dear martyr! Dear, great man! +It is I who accuse you, when I ought to embrace your knees. And you do +not scold me; a sad smile is your only reply. And it is really so bad as +that! Nothing to eat!” + +“Bread is very good eating. If I might be assured that I shall always +have some!” + +“Well, to-day you shall have something more and better. This morning, +seeing the storm, an idea came to me associated with you. It is quite +natural, since you are always in my heart and in my thoughts. I told +mamma that if the storm continued I would dine at the pension. You can +imagine with what joy I listened to the wind all day, and watched the +rain and leaves falling, and the dead branches waving in the whirlwind. +Thank God, the weather was bad enough for mamma to believe me safe at +the pension; and here I am. But we must not fast. I shall go and buy +something to eat, and we will play at making dinner by the fire, which +will be far more amusing than going to a restaurant.” + +She put on her cloak quickly. + +“Set the table while I make my purchases.” + +“I have my article to finish that will be sent for at eight o’clock. +Just think, I have three tonics to recommend, four preparations of iron, +a dye, two capillary lotions, an opiate, and I don’t know how many soaps +and powders. What a business!” + +“Very well, then, do not trouble yourself about the table; we will set +it together when you have finished, and that will be much more amusing.” + +“You take everything in good part.” + +“Is it better to look on the dark side? I shall soon return.” + +She went to the door. + +“Do not be extravagant,” he said. + +“There is no danger,” she replied, striking her pocket. + +Then, returning to him, she embraced him passionately. + +“Work!” + +And she ran out. + +They had loved each other for two years. At the time they met, Saniel +was giving a course of lectures on anatomy at a young ladies’ school +just outside of Paris, and every time he went out there he saw a young +woman whom he could not help noticing. She came and went on the +same trains that he did, and gave lessons in a rival school. As she +frequently carried under her arm a large cartoon, and sometimes a +plaster cast, he concluded that she gave lessons in drawing. At first +he paid no attention to her. What was she to him? He had more important +things in his head than women. But little by little, and because she was +reserved and discreet, he was struck by the vivacity and gayety of her +expression. He really enjoyed looking at this pretty and pleasing young +woman. However, his looks said nothing; if their eyes smiled when they +met, that was all; they did not make each other’s acquaintance. When +they left the train they did not notice each other; if he took the left +side of the street, she took the other, and vice versa. This state +of things lasted several months without a word having been exchanged +between them; in due time they learned each other’s names and +professions. She was a professor of drawing, as he supposed, the +daughter of an artist who had been dead several years, and was called +Mademoiselle Phillis Cormier. He was a physician for whom a brilliant +future was prophesied, a man of power, who would some day be famous; +and, very naturally, their attitude remained the same. There was no +particular reason why it should change. But accident made a reason. +One summer day, at the hour when they ordinarily took the train back +to Paris, the sky suddenly became overcast, and it was evident that +a violent storm was approaching. Saniel saw Phillis hurrying to the +station without an umbrella, and, as some friend had lent him one, he +decided to speak to her for the first time. + +“It seems as if the storm would overtake us before we reach the station. +As you have no umbrella, will you permit me to walk beside you, and to +shelter you with mine?” + +She replied with a smile, and they walked side by side until the rain +began to fall, when she drew nearer to him, and they entered the station +talking gayly. + +“Your umbrella is better than Virginia’s skirt,” she said. + +“And what is Virginia’s skirt?” + +“Have you not read Paul and Virginia?” + +“No.” + +She looked at him with a mocking smile, wondering what superior men +read. + +Not only had he not read Bernardin de Saint-Pierre’s romance, nor any +others, but he had never been in love. He knew nothing of the affairs of +the heart nor of the imagination. Leisure must be had for light reading, +and even more for love, for they require a liberty of mind and an +independence of life that he had not. Where could he find time to read +novels? When and how could he pay attention to a woman? Those that he +had known since his arrival in Paris had not had the slightest influence +over him, and he retained only faint memories of them. On the contrary, +thinking of this walk in the rain, he remembered this young girl with a +vividness entirely new to him. She made a strong impression on him, and +it remained. He saw her again, with her smile that showed her brilliant +teeth, he heard the music of her voice, and the bare plain that he had +walked so many times now seemed the most beautiful country in the world +to him. Evidently there was a change in him; something was awakened in +his soul; for the first time he discovered that the hollow and muscular +conoid organ called the heart had a use besides for the circulation of +blood. + +What a surprise and what a disappointment! Was he going to be simpleton +enough to love this young girl and entangle his life, already so hard +and heavily weighted, with a woman? A fine thing, truly, and nature had +built him to play the lover! It is true that only those who wish it fall +in love, and he knew the power of will by experience. + +But he soon lost confidence in himself. Away from Phillis he could do as +he wished, but with her it was as she wished. With one look she mastered +him. He met her, furious at the influence she exercised over him, and +against which he had struggled since their last meeting; he left her, +ravished at feeling how profoundly he loved her. + +To a man whose life had been ruled by reason and logic until this +moment, these contradictions were exasperating; and he only excused +himself for submitting to them by saying that they could in no way +modify the line of conduct that he had traced out for himself, nor make +him deviate from the road that he followed. + +Rich, or even with a small fortune, he might--when he was with her and +in her power--let himself be carried away; but when he was dying of +hunger he was not going to commit the folly of taking a wife. What would +he have to give her? Misery, nothing but misery; and shame, in default +of any other reason, would forever prevent him from offering himself to +her. + +She was the daughter of an artist who, after years of struggle, died at +the moment when fortune was beginning to smile upon him. Ten years more +of work, and he would have left his family, if not rich, at least in +comfortable circumstances. In reality, he left nothing but ruin. +The hotel he built was sold, and, after the debts were paid, nothing +remained but some furniture. His widow, son, and daughter must work. The +widow, having no trade, took in sewing; the son left college to become +the clerk of a money-lender named Caffie; the daughter, who, happily +for her, had learned to draw and paint under her father’s direction, +obtained pupils, and designed menacs for the stationers, and painted +silk fans and boxes. They lived with great economy, submitting to many +privations. The brother, weary of his monotonous existence and of the +exactions of his master, left them to try his fortunes in America. + +If Saniel ever married, which he doubted, certainly he would not marry a +woman situated as Phillis was. + +This reflection was reassuring, and he was more devoted to her. Why +should he not enjoy the delicious pleasure of seeing her and listening +to her? His life was neither gay nor happy; he felt perfectly sure of +himself, and, as he knew her now, he was also sure of her--a brave and +honest girl. Otherwise, how had she divined that he loved her? + +They continued to see each other with a pleasure that seemed equal on +both sides, meeting in the station, arranging to take the same trains, +and talking freely and gayly. + +Things went on this way until the approach of vacation, when they +decided to take a walk after their last lesson, instead of returning +immediately to Paris. + +When the day came the sun was very hot; they had walked some distance, +when Phillis expressed a wish to rest for a few minutes. They seated +themselves in a shady copse, and soon found themselves in each other’s +arms. + +Since then Saniel had never spoken of marriage, and neither had Phillis. + +They loved each other. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. A LITTLE DINNER FOR TWO + +Saniel was still at work when Phillis returned. + +“You have not yet finished, dear?” + +“Give me time to cure, by correspondence, a malady that has not yielded +to the care of ten physicians, and I am yours.” + +In three lines he finished the letter, and left his desk. + +“I am ready. What shall I do?” + +“Help me to take things out of my pockets.” + +“Don’t press too hard,” she said as he took each parcel. + +At last the pockets were empty. + +“Where shall we dine?” she asked. + +“Here, as the dining-room is transformed into a laboratory.” + +“Then let us begin by making a good fire. I wet my feet coming from the +station.” + +“I do not know whether there is any wood.” + +“Let us see.” + +She took the candle and they passed into the kitchen, which, like the +dining-room, was a laboratory, a stable where Saniel kept in cages pigs +from India and rabbits for his experiments, and where Joseph heaped +pell-mell the things that were in his way, without paying any attention +to the stove in which there never had been a fire. But their search was +vain; there was everything in this kitchen except fire-wood. + +“Do you value these boxes?” she asked, caressing a little pig that she +had taken in her arms. + +“Not at all; they enclosed the perfumes and tonics, but they are useless +now.” + +They returned to the office, Saniel carrying the boxes. + +“We will set the table here,” she said, gayly, for Saniel told her +that the dining-room was uninviting, as it was a small bacteriological +laboratory. + +The table was set by Phillis, who went and came, walking about with a +gracefulness that Saniel admired. + +“You are doing nothing,” she said. + +“I am watching you and thinking.” + +“And the result of these thoughts?” + +“It is that you have a fund of good-humor and gayety, an exuberance of +life, that would enliven a man condemned to death.” + +“And what would have become of us, I should like to know, if I had been +melancholy and discouraged when we lost my poor papa? He was joy itself, +singing all day long, laughing and joking. He brought me up, and I am +like him. Mamma, as you know, is melancholy and nervous, looking on the +dark side, and Florentin is like her. I obtained a place for Florentin, +I found work for mamma and for myself. We all took courage, and +gradually we became calm.” + +She looked at him with a smile that said: + +“Will you let me do for you what I have done for others?” + +But she did not speak these words. On the contrary, she immediately +endeavored to destroy the impression which she believed her words had +made upon him. + +“Go and bring some water,” she said, “and I will light the fire.” + +When he returned, carrying a carafe, the fire blazed brightly, lighting +the whole room. Phillis was seated at the desk, writing. + +“What are you doing?” he asked in surprise. + +“I am writing our menu, for you know we are not going to sit down at the +table like the bourgeois. How do you like it?” + +She read it to him. + +“Sardines de Nantes.” + +“Cuisse de dinde rotie.” + +“Terrine de pate de foie gras aux truffes du Perigord.” + +“But this is a feast.” + +“Did you think that I would offer you a fricandeau au jus?” + +She continued: + +“Fromage de Brie.” + +“Choux a la creme vanillge.” + +“Pomme de Normandie.” + +“Wine.” + +“Ah! Voila! What wine? I do not wish to deceive you. Let us put, ‘Wine +from the wine-seller at the corner.’ And now we will sit down.” + +As he was about to seat himself, she said: + +“You do not give me your arm to conduct me to the table. If we do not +do things seriously and methodically we shall not believe in them, and +perhaps the Perigord truffles will change into little black pieces of +anything else.” + +When they were seated opposite to each other, she continued, jesting: + +“My dear doctor, did you go to the representation of Don Juan, on +Monday?” + +And Saniel, who, in spite of all, had kept a sober face, now laughed +loudly. + +“Charming!” she cried, clapping her hands. “No more preoccupation; +no more cares. Look into my eyes, dear Victor, and think only of the +present hour, of the joy of being together, of our love.” + +She reached her hand over the table, and he pressed it in his. + +“Very well.” The dinner continued gayly, Saniel replying to Phillis’s +smiles, who would not permit the conversation to languish. She helped +him to each dish, poured out his wine, leaving her chair occasionally +to put a piece of wood on the fire, and such shoutings and laughter had +never been heard before in that office. + +However, she noticed that, little by little, Saniel’s face, that relaxed +one moment, was the next clouded by the preoccupation and bitterness +that she had tried hard to chase away. She would make a new effort. + +“Does not this charming little dinner give you the wish to repeat it?” + +“How? Where?” + +“As I am able to come this evening without making mamma uneasy, I shall +find some excuse to come again next week.” + +He shook his head. + +“Have you engagements for the whole of next week?” she asked with +uneasiness. + +“Where shall I be next week, to-morrow, in a few days?” + +“You alarm me. Explain, I beg of you. O Victor, have pity! Do not leave +me in suspense.” + +“You are right; I ought to tell you everything, and not let your tender +heart torment itself, trying to explain my preoccupation.” + +“If you have cares, do you not esteem me enough to let me share them +with you? You know that I love you; you only, to-day, to-morrow, +forever!” + +Saniel had not left her ignorant of the difficulties of his position, +but he had not entered into details, preferring to speak of his hopes +rather than of his present misery. + +The story that he had already told to Glady and Caffie he now told to +Phillis, adding what had passed with the concierge, the wine-seller, the +coal man, and Joseph. + +She listened, stupefied. + +“He took your coat?” she murmured. + +“That was what he came for.” + +“And to-morrow?” + +“Ah! to-morrow--to-morrow!” + +“Working so hard as you have, how did you come to such a pass?” + +“Like you, I believed in the virtue of work, and look at me! Because I +felt within me a will that nothing could weaken, a strength that nothing +could fatigue, a courage that nothing could, dishearten, I imagined that +I was armed for battle in such a way that I should never be conquered, +and I am conquered, as much by the fault of circumstances as by my +own--” + +“And in what are you to blame, poor dear?” + +“For my ignorance of life, stupidity, presumption, and blindness. If +I had been less simple, should I have been taken in by Jardine’s +propositions? Should I have accepted this furniture, this apartment? He +told me that the papers he made me sign were mere formalities, that in +reality I might pay when I could, and that he would be content with a +fair interest. That seemed reasonable, and, without inquiring further, +I accepted, happy and delighted to have a home, feeling sure of having +strength to bear this burden. To have confidence in one’s self is +strength, but it is also weakness. Because you love me you do not know +me; you do not see me as I am. In reality, I am not sociable, and +I lack, absolutely, suppleness, delicacy, politeness, as much in my +character as in my manners. Being so, how can I obtain a large practice, +or succeed, unless it is by some stroke of luck? I have counted on the +luck, but its hour has not yet sounded. Because I lack suppleness I have +not been able to win the sympathy or interest of my masters. They see +only my reserve; and because I stay away from them, as much through +timidity as pride, they do not come to me--which is quite natural, +I admit. And because I have not yielded my ideas to the authority of +others, they have taken a dislike to me, which is still more natural. +Because I lack politeness, and am still an Auvergnat, heavy and awkward +as nature made me, men of the world disdain me, judging me by my +exterior, which they see and dislike. More wary, more sly, more +experienced, I should be, at least, sustained by friendship, but I have +given no thought to it. What good is it? I had no need of it, my force +was sufficient. I find it more easy to make myself feared than loved. +Thus formed, there are only two things for me to do: remain in my poor +room in the Hotel du Senat, living by giving lessons and by work from +the booksellers, until the examination and admission to the central +bureau; or to establish myself in an out-of-the-way quarter at +Belleville, Montrouge, or elsewhere, and there practise among people who +will demand neither politeness nor fine manners. As these two ways are +reasonable, I have made up my mind to neither. Belleville, because I +should work only with my legs, like one of my comrades whom I saw +work at Villette: ‘Your tongue, good. Your arm, good.’ And while he is +supposed to be feeling the pulse of the patient with one hand, with the +other he is writing his prescription: ‘Vomitive, purgative, forty sous;’ +and he hurries away, his diagnosis having taken less than five minutes; +he had no time to waste. I object to the Hotel du Senat because I have +had enough of it, and it was there that Jardine tempted me with his +proposals. See what he has brought me to!” + +“And now?” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. EXPLANATIONS + +At this moment, without warning, the candle on the table went out. + +Phillis rose. “Where are the candles?” she asked. + +“There are no more; this was the last.” + +“Then we must brighten up the fire.” + +She threw a small log on the hearth, and then, instead of resuming +her seat, she took a cushion from the sofa, and placing it before the +chimney, threw herself upon it, and leaned her elbow on Saniel’s knee. + +“And now?” she repeated, her eyes raised to his. + +“Now I suppose the only thing for me to do is to return to Auvergne and +become a country doctor.” + +“My God! is it possible?” she murmured in a tone that surprised Saniel. +If there was sadness in this cry, there was also a sentiment that he did +not understand. + +“On leaving the school I could continue to live at the Hotel du Senat, +and, while giving lessons, prepare my ‘concours’; now, after having +reached a certain position, can I return to this life of poverty and +study? My creditors, who have fallen on me here, will harass me, and my +competitors will mock my misery--which is caused by my vices. They will +think that I dishonor the Faculty, and I shall be rebuffed. Neither +doctor of the hospitals nor fellow, I shall be reduced to nothing but a +doctor of the quarter. Of what use is it? The effort has been made here; +you see how it has succeeded.” + +“Then you mean to go?” + +“Not without sorrow and despair, since it will be our separation, the +renouncement of all the hopes on which I have lived for ten years, the +abandonment of my work, death itself. You see now why, in spite of your +gayety, I have not been able to hide my preoccupation from you. The more +charming you were, the more I felt how dear you are, and the greater my +despair at the thought of separation.” + +“Why should we separate?” + +“What do you mean?” + +She turned toward him. + +“To go with you. You must acknowledge that until this moment I have +never spoken to you of marriage, and never have I let the thought appear +that you might one day make me your wife. In your position, in the +struggle you have been through, a wife would have been a burden that +would have paralyzed you; above all, such a poor, miserable creature +as myself, with no dot but her misery and that of her family. But the +conditions are no longer the same. You are as miserable as I am, +and more desperate. In your own country, where you have only distant +relatives who are nothing to you, as they have not your education or +ideas, desires or habits, what will become of you all alone with your +158 disappointment and regrets? If you accept me, I will go with you; +together, and loving each other, we cannot be unhappy anywhere. When you +come home fatigued you will find me with a smile; when you stay at home +you will tell me your thoughts, and explain your work, and I will try to +understand. I have no fear of poverty, you know, and neither do I fear +solitude. Wherever we are together I shall be happy. All that I ask of +you is to take my mother with us, because you know I cannot leave her +alone. In attending her, you have learned to know her well enough +to know that she is not disagreeable or difficult to please. As for +Florentin, he will remain in Paris and work. His trip to America has +made him wise, and his ambition will now be easily satisfied; to earn +a small salary is all that he asks. Without doubt we shall be a burden, +but not so heavy as one might think at first. A woman, when she chooses, +brings order and economy into a house, and I promise you that I will be +that woman. And then I will work. I am sure my stationer will give me +as many menus when I am in Auvergne as he does now that I am in Paris. +I could, also, without doubt, procure other work. It would be a hundred +francs a month, perhaps a hundred and fifty, perhaps even two hundred. +While waiting for your patients to come, we could live on this money. In +Auvergne living must be cheap.” + +She had taken his hands in hers, and she watched anxiously his face as +the firelight shone on it, to see the effect of her words. It was the +life of both of them that was to be decided, and the fulness of her +heart made her voice tremble. What would he reply? She saw that his face +was agitated, without being able to read more. + +As she remained silent, he took her head in his hands, and looked in her +face for several moments. + +“How you love me!” he said. + +“Let me prove it in some way besides in words.” + +“It would be cowardly to let you share my misery.” + +“It would be loving me enough to feel sure that I would be happy.” + +“And I?” + +“Is not the love in your heart greater than pride? Do you not feel that +since I have loved you my love has filled all my life, and that there is +nothing in the world, in the present or in the future, but it and you? +Because I see you for several hours from time to time in Paris, I am +happy; whatever difficulties await us, I should be much happier in +Auvergne, because we should be together always.” + +He remained silent for some time. + +“Could you love me there?” he murmured. + +Evidently it was more to himself than to her that he addressed this +question, which was the sum of his reflections. + +“O dear Victor!” she cried. “Why do you doubt me? Have I deserved it? +The past, the present, do they not assure the future?” + +He shook his head. + +“The man you have loved, whom you love, has never shown himself to you +as he really is. In spite of the trials and sorrows of his life he has +been able to answer your smile with a smile, because, cruel as his life +was, he was sustained by hope and confidence; in Auvergne there will be +no more hope or confidence, but the madness of a broken life, and the +dejection of impotence. What sort of man should I be? Could you love +such a man?” + +“A thousand times more, for he would be unhappy, and I should have to +comfort him.” + +“Would you have the strength to do it? After a time you would become +weary, for the burden would be too heavy, however great your devotion +or profound your tenderness, to see my real position and my hopes, and, +descending into the future, to see my ruin. You know I am ambitious +without having ever compassed the scope of this ambition, and of the +hopes, dreams if you like, on which it rests. Understand that these +dreams are on the eve of being realized; two months more, and in +December or January I pass the ‘concours’ for the central bureau, which +will make me a physician of the hospitals, and at the same time the one +for the admission, which opens the Faculty of Medicine to me. Without +pride, I believe myself in a position to succeed--what sportsmen call +‘in condition.’ And just when I have only a few days to wait, behold me +ruined forever.” + +“Why forever?” + +“A man leaves his village for Paris to make a name for himself, and he +returns only when bad luck or inability sends him back. And then it is +only every four years that there is a ‘concours’ for admission. In four +years what will be my moral and intellectual condition? How should I +support this exile of four years? Imagine the effect that four years of +isolation in the mountains will produce. But this is not all. Besides +this ostensible end that I have pursued since I left my village, I +have my special work that I can carry out only in Paris. Without having +overwhelmed you with the details of medicine, you know that it is about +to undergo a revolution that will transform it. Until now it has been +taught officially, in pathology, that the human organism carries within +itself the germ of a great many infectious diseases which develop +spontaneously in certain conditions; for instance, that tuberculosis +is the result of fatigue, privations, and physiological miseries. Well, +recently it has been admitted, that is to say, the revolutionists admit, +a parasitical origin for these diseases, and in France and Germany there +is an army looking for these parasites. I am a soldier in this army, +and to help me in these researches I established a laboratory in the +dining-room. It is to the parasites of tuberculosis and cancers that I +devote myself, and for seven years, that is, since I was house-surgeon, +my comrades have called me the cancer topic. I have discovered the +parasite of the tuberculosis, but I have not yet been able to free it +from all its impurities by the process of culture. I am still at it. +That is to say, I am very near it, and to-morrow, perhaps, or in a few +days, I may make a discovery that will be a revolution, and cover +its discoverer with glory. The same with the cancer. I have found its +microbe. But all is not done. See what I must give up in leaving Paris.” + +“Why give all this up? Could you not continue your researches in +Auvergne?” + +“It is impossible, for many reasons that are too long to explain, but +one will suffice. The culture of these parasites can be done only in +certain temperatures rigorously maintained at the necessary degree, and +these temperatures can be obtained only by stoves, like the one in my +laboratory, fed by gas, the entrance of which is automatically regulated +by the temperature of the water. How could I use this stove in a country +where there is no gas? No, no! If I leave Paris, everything is at an end +my position, as well as my work. I shall become a country doctor, and +nothing but a country doctor. Let the sheriff turn me out to-morrow, +and all the four years’ accumulations in my laboratory, all my works en +train that demand only a few days or hours to complete, may go to the +second-hand dealer, or be thrown into the street. Of all my +efforts, weary nights, privations, and hopes, there remains only one +souvenir--for me. And yet, if it did not remain, perhaps I should be +less exasperated, and should accept with a heart less sore the life to +which I shall never resign myself. You know very well that I am a rebel, +and do not submit tamely.” + +She rose, and taking his hand, pressed it closely in her own. + +“You must stay in Paris,” she said. “Pardon me for having insisted that +you could live in the country. I thought more of myself than of you, of +our love and our marriage. It was an egotistic thought, a bad thought. +A way must be found, no matter what it costs, to enable you to continue +your work.” + +“But how to find it? Do you think I have not tried everything?” + +He related his visits to Jardine, his solicitations, prayers, and also +his request of a loan from Glady, and his visit to Caffie. + +“Caffie!” she cried. “What made you think of going to Caffie?” + +“I went partly because you had often spoken of him.” + +“But I spoke of him to you as the most wicked of men, capable of +anything and everything that is bad.” + +“And partly, also, because I knew from one of my patients that he lends +to those of whom he can make use.” + +“What did he say to you?” + +“That it was probable he would not be able to find any one who would +lend what I wished, but he would try to find some one, and would give +me an answer tomorrow evening. He also promised to protect me from +Jardine.” + +“You have put yourself in his hands?” + +“Well, what do you expect? In my position, I am not at liberty to go to +whom I wish and to those who inspire me with confidence in their honor. +If I should go to a notary or a banker they would not listen to me, +for I should be obliged to tell them, the first thing, that I have no +security to offer. That is how the unfortunate fall into the hands of +rascals; at least, these listen to them, and lend them something, small +though it may be.” + +“What did he give you?” + +“Advice.” + +“And you took it?” + +“There is time gained. To-morrow, perhaps, I shall be turned into the +street. Caffie will obtain a respite.” + +“And what price will he ask for this service?” + +“It is only those who own something who worry about the price.” + +“You have your name, dignity, and honor, and once you are in Caffies +hands, who knows what he may exact from you, what he may make you do, +without your being able to resist him?” + +“Then you wish me to leave Paris?” + +“Certainly not; but I wish you to be on your guard against Caffie, whom +you do not know, but I do, through what Florentin told us when he was +with him. However secret a man may be, he cannot hide himself from his +clerk. He is not only guilty of rascalities, but also of real crimes. I +assure you that he deserves ten deaths. To gain a hundred francs he will +do anything; he makes money only for the pleasure of making it, for he +has neither child nor relative.” + +“Well, I promise to be on my guard as you advise. But, wicked as Caffie +may be, I believe that I shall accept the concours that he offered +me. Who knows what may happen in the short time that he gains for me? +Because I need not tell you that I know beforehand what his reply will +be to my request for a loan--he could find no one.” + +“I shall come, all the same, to-morrow evening to learn his answer.” + + + + +CHAPTER IX. CAFFIE’S ANSWER + +Although Saniel did not build any false hopes on Caffie’s reply, he went +to see him the next afternoon at the same hour. + +As before, he waited some time after ringing the bell. At last he heard +a slow step within. + +“Who is there?” Caffie asked. + +As soon as Saniel answered, the door was opened. + +“As I do not like to be disturbed in the evening by troublesome people, +I do not always open the door,” Caffie said. “But I have a signal for my +clients so that I may know them. After ringing, knock three times on the +door.” + +During this explanation they entered Caffie’s office. + +“Have you done anything about my affair?” Saniel asked, after a moment, +as Caffie seemed disinclined to open the conversation. + +“Yes, my dear sir. I have been running about all the morning for you. I +never neglect my clients; their affairs are mine.” + +He paused. + +“Well?” Saniel said. + +Caffie put on an expression of despair. + +“What did I tell you, my dear sir? Do you remember? Do me the honor +to believe that a man of my experience does not speak lightly. What I +foresaw has come to pass. Everywhere I received the same reply. The risk +is too great; no one would take it.” + +“Not even for a large interest?” + +“Not even for a large interest; there is so much competition in your +profession. As for me, I believe in your future, and I have proved it by +my proposition; but, unfortunately, I am only an intermediary, and not +the lender of money.” + +Caffie emphasized the words, “my proposition,” and underlined them with +a glance; but Saniel did not appear to understand. + +“And the upholsterer’s summons?” he asked. + +“You may be easy on that point. I have attended to it. Your landlord, to +whom he owes rent, will interfere, and your creditor must indemnify him +before going farther. Will he submit? We shall see. If he does, we shall +defend ourselves on some other ground. I do not say victoriously, but in +a way to gain time.” + +“How much time?” + +“That, my dear sir, I do not know; the whole thing depends upon our +adversary. But what do you mean by ‘how much time?’--eternity?” + +“I mean until April.” + +“That is eternity. Do you believe that you will be able to free yourself +in April? If you have expectations founded on something substantial, you +should tell me what they are, my dear sir.” + +This question was put with such an air of benevolence, that Saniel was +taken in by it. + +“I have no guarantee,” he said. “But, on the other hand, it is of the +utmost importance to me that I should have this length of time. As I +have explained to you, I am about to pass two examinations; they will +last three months, and in March, or, at the latest, in April, I shall be +a physician of the hospitals, and fellow of the Faculty. In that case +I should then offer a surface to the lenders, that would permit you, +without doubt, to find the sum necessary to pay Jardine, whatever +expenses there may be, and your fee.” + +As he spoke, Saniel saw that he was wrong in thus committing himself, +but he continued to the end. + +“I should be unworthy of your confidence, my dear sir,” Caffie replied, +“if I encouraged you with the idea that we could gain so much time. +Whatever it costs me--and it costs me much, I assure you--I must tell +you that it is impossible, radically impossible; a few days, yes, or a +few weeks, but that is all.” + +“Well, obtain a few weeks,” Saniel said, rising, “that will be +something.” + +“And afterward?” + +“We shall see.” + +“My dear sir, do not go. You would not believe how much I am touched by +your position; I think only of you. When I learned that I could not find +the sum you desire, I paid a friendly visit to my young client of whom I +spoke to you--” + +“The one who received a superior education in a fashionable convent?” + +“Exactly; and I asked her what she would think of a young doctor, full +of talent, future professor of the Faculty, actually considered already +a savant of the first order, handsome--because you are handsome, my dear +sir, and it is no flattery to say this--in good health, a peasant by +birth, who presented himself as a husband. She appeared flattered, I +tell you frankly. But immediately afterward she said, ‘And the child?’ +To which I replied that you were too good, too noble, too generous, not +to have the indulgence of superior men, who accept an involuntary fault +with serenity. Did I go too far?” + +He did not wait for an answer. + +“No?” he went on. “Exactly. The child was present, for the mother +watches over it with a solicitude that promises much for the future, and +I examined it leisurely. It is very delicate, my dear sir, and like its +father. The poor baby! I doubt if you, with all your skill, can make +it live. If it should die, as it is to be feared it will, it would not +injure your reputation. You can give it care, but not life.” + +“Speaking of health,” interrupted Saniel, who did not wish to reply, +“did you do what I advised about yourself?” + +“Not yet. The chemists of this quarter are only licensed cutthroats; but +I am going this evening to see one of my clients who is a chemist, and +he will deal honestly with me.” + +“I will see you again, then.” + +“When you wish, my dear sir; when you have reflected. You have the +password.” + +Before leaving home Saniel gave his key to the concierge, so that on +her arrival Phillis might go immediately to his rooms. On his return +the concierge told him that “madame” was up-stairs, and when he rang the +bell, Phillis opened the door. + +“Well?” she asked in a trembling voice, before he had time to enter. + +“It is as I told you yesterday; he has found no one.” + +She clasped him in a long, passionate embrace. + +“And the upholsterer?” + +“Caffie has promised to gain some time for me.” + +While speaking, they entered the office. A fire burned on the hearth, +and an inviting dinner was on the table. Saniel looked at it in +surprise. + +“I have set the table, you see; I am going to dine with you.” + +And throwing herself in his arms: + +“Knowing Caffie better than you do, I knew what his answer would be, and +I did not wish you to be alone on your return. I made an excuse for not +dining with mamma.” + +“But this chicken?” + +“We must have a piece de resistance.” + +“This fire, and these candles?” + +“There, that is the end of my economies. I should have been so happy if +they had been less miserable and more useful.” + +As on the previous evening, they sat before the fire, and she began to +talk of various things in order to distract him. But what their lips +did not say, their eyes, on meeting, expressed with more intensity than +words could do. + +It was Saniel who suddenly betrayed his preoccupation. + +“Your brother studied Caffie well,” he said, as if speaking to himself. + +“He did, indeed!” + +“He is certainly the most thorough rascal that I have ever met.” + +“He proposed something infamous, I am sure.” + +“He proposed that I should marry.” + +“I suspected that.” + +“This is the reason why he refuses to lend me the money. I was foolish +enough to tell him frankly just how I am situated, and how important +it is for me to be free until April. He hopes that I shall be so pushed +that I will accept one of the women whom he has proposed to me. With the +knife at my throat, I should have to yield.” + +“And these women?” she asked, not daring to look at him. + +“Do not be alarmed, you have nothing to fear. One is the drunken widow +of a butcher, and the other is a young girl who has a baby.” + +“He dares to propose such women to a man like you!” + +And Saniel repeated all that Caffie had said to him about these two +women. + +“What a monster he is!” Phillis said. + +“While he was telling me these things I thought of what you said--that +if some one killed him, it would be no more than he deserved.” + +“That is perfectly true.” + +“Nothing would have been easier than for me to have made away with him. +He had the toothache, and when he showed me his teeth I could easily +have strangled him. We were alone, and a miserable diabetic, such as he +is, who has not more than six months to live, I am sure, could not have +resisted a grasp like this. I could take his keys from his pocket, open +his safe, and take the thirty, forty, sixty thousand francs that I saw +heaped up there. The devil take me if it were ever discovered. A +doctor does not strangle his patients, he poisons them. He kills them +scientifically, not brutally.” + +“People who have no conscience can do such things; but for us they are +impossible.” + +“I assure you it is not conscience that would have restrained me.” + +“The fear of remorse, if I may use an ugly word.” + +“But intelligent persons have no remorse, my dear child, because they +reason before the deed, and not after. Before acting they weigh the pros +and cons, and know what the consequences of their actions will be to +others as well as to themselves. If this previous examination proves +to them that for some reason or other they may act, they will always be +calm, assured that they will feel no remorse, which is only the reproach +of conscience.” + +“Without doubt what you say is to the point, but it is impossible for +me to accept it. If I have never committed crimes, I have often been +foolish and have committed faults, many of them deliberately, after the +examination of which you speak. I should have been, according to you, +perfectly placid and free from the reproach of conscience; however, the +next morning I woke unhappy, tormented, often overwhelmed, and unable to +stifle the mysterious voice that accused me.” + +“And in whose name did it speak, this voice, more vague than +mysterious?” + +“In the name of my conscience, evidently.” + +“‘Evidently’ is too much, and you would be puzzled if called upon +to demonstrate this evidence; whereas, nothing is more uncertain and +elusive than the thing that is called conscience, which is in reality +only an affair of environment and of education.” + +“I do not understand.” + +“Does your conscience tell you it is a crime to love me?” + +“No, decidedly.” + +“You see, then, that you have a personal way of understanding what is +good and bad, which is not that of our country, where it is admitted, +from the religious and from the social point of view, that a young +girl is guilty when she has a lover. Of course, you see, also, that +conscience is a bad weighing-machine, since each one, in order to make +it work, uses a weight that he has himself manufactured.” + +“However it is, you did right not to strangle Cafflie.” + +“Whom you, yourself, have condemned to death.” + +“By the hand of justice, whether human or divine; but not by yours, any +more than by Florentin’s or mine, although we know better than any one +that he does not deserve any mercy.” + +“And you see I foresaw your objections, as I did not tighten his +cravat.” + +“Happily.” + +“Is it necessary to say ‘happily’?” + + + + +CHAPTER X. SANIEL MAKES A RESOLUTION + +This evening Phillis was obliged to be at home early, but she cleared +off the table, and put everything in order before leaving. + +“You can breakfast on the remains of the chicken,” she said, as she put +it in the pantry. + +And as Saniel accompanied her with a candle in his hand, he saw that +she had thought not only of his breakfast for the following day, but for +many days, besides carrots for the rabbits. + +“What a good heart you have!” he said. + +“Because I think of the rabbits?” + +“Because of your tenderness and thoughtfulness.” + +“I wish I could do something for you!” + +As soon as she was gone he seated himself at his desk and began to work, +anxious to make up for the time that he had given to sentiment. The fact +that his work might not be of use to him, and that his experiments +might be rudely interrupted the next morning or in a few days, was not a +sufficient reason for being idle. He had work to do, and he worked as +if with the certitude that he would pass his examinations, and that +his experiments of four years past would have a good ending, without +interference from any one. + +This was his strong point, this power to work, that was never disturbed +or weakened by anything; not by pleasure or pain, by preoccupation or by +misery. In the street he could think of Phillis, be he hungry or sleepy; +at his desk he had no thought of Phillis, neither of hunger nor of +sleep, no cares, no memories; his work occupied him entirely. + +It was his strength, and also his pride, the only superiority of which +he boasted; for although he knew that he had others, he never spoke of +them, while he often said to his comrades: + +“I work when I will and as much as I wish. My will never weakens when I +am at work.” + +This evening he worked for about an hour, in his usual condition of +mind; neither sheriffs, nor Jardine, nor Caffie troubled him. But having +to draw upon his memory for certain facts, he found that it did not +obey him as usual; there were a hesitation, a fogginess, above all, +extraordinary wanderings. He wrestled with it and it obeyed, but only +for a short time, and soon again it betrayed him a second time, then a +third and fourth time. + +Decidedly he was not in a normal state, and his will obeyed in place of +commanding. + +There were a name and a phrase that recurred to him mechanically from +time to time. The name was Caffie, and the phrase was, “Nothing easier.” + +Why should this hypothesis to strangle Caffie, of which he had lightly +spoken, and to which he had attached no importance at the moment when he +uttered it, return to him in this way as a sort of obsession? + +Was it not strange? + +Never, until this day, had he had an idea that he could strangle a man, +even as wicked as this one, and yet, in talking of it, he found very +natural and legitimate reasons for the murder of this scamp. + +Had not Phillis herself condemned him? + +To tell the truth, she had added that Providence or justice should be +his executor, but this was the scruple of a simple conscience, formed in +a narrow environment, to which influence he would not submit. + +Had he these scruples, this old man who coldly, and merely for the +interest of so much a hundred on a dot, advised him to hasten the death +of a woman by drunkenness, and that of an infant in any way he pleased? + +When he reached this conclusion he stopped, and asked himself whether he +were mad to pursue this idea; then immediately, to get rid of it, he set +to work, which absorbed him for a certain time, but not so long a time +as at first. + +Then, finding that he could not control his will, he turned his thoughts +to Caffie. + +It was only too evident that if he had carried out the idea of +strangling Caffie, all the difficulties against which he had struggled, +and which would overwhelm him, if not the following day, at least in a +few days, would have disappeared immediately. + +No more sheriffs, no more creditors. What a deliverance! + +Repose, the possibility of passing examinations with a calm spirit that +the fever of material troubles would not disturb--in this condition he +felt his success was assured. + +And his experiments! He would run no danger of seeing them rudely +interrupted. His preparations were not cast out-of-doors; his precious +culture-tubes were not broken; his vases, his balloons, were not at the +second-hand dealer’s. He continued this train of thought to the results +that he desired for him, glory; for humanity, the cure of one, and +perhaps two, of the most terrible maladies with which it was afflicted. + +The question was simple: + +On one side, Caffie; + +On the other side, humanity and science; + +An old rascal who deserved twenty deaths, and who would, anyhow, die +naturally in a short time; + +And humanity, science, which would profit by a discovery of which he +would be the author. + +He saw that the perspiration stood out on his hands, and he felt it run +down his neck. + +Why this weakness? From horror of the crime, the possibility of which he +admitted? Or from fear of seeing his experiments destroyed? + +He would reflect, think about it, be upon his guard. + +He had told Phillis that intelligent men, before engaging in an action, +weigh the pro and con. + +Against Caffie’s death he saw nothing. + +For, on the contrary, everything combined. + +If he had had Phillis’s scruples, or Brigard’s beliefs, he would have +stopped. + +But, not having them, would he not be silly to draw back? + +Before what should he shrink? Why should he stop? + +Remorse? But he was convinced that intelligent men had no remorse when +they came to a decision on good grounds. It was before that they felt +remorse, not after; and he was exactly in this period of before. + +Fear of being arrested? But intelligent men do not let themselves be +arrested. Those who are lost are brutes who go straight ahead, or +the half-intelligent, who use their skill and cunning to combine a +complicated or romantic act, in which their hand is plainly seen. As for +him, he was a man of science and precision, and he would not compromise +himself by act or sentiment; there would be nothing to fear during the +action, and nothing afterward. Caffie strangled, suspicion would not +fall upon a doctor, but on a brute. When doctors wish to kill any one, +they do it learnedly, by poison or by some scientific method. Brutal men +kill brutally; murder, called the assassin’s profession. + +A few minutes before, he was inundated by perspiration; this word froze +him. + +He rose nervously, and walked up and down the room with long, unsteady +steps. The fire had long since gone out; out-of-doors the street noises +had ceased, and in his brain resounded the one word that he pronounced +in a low tone, “Assassin!” + +Was he the man to be influenced and stopped by a word? Where are the +rich, the self-made men, the successful men, who have not left some +corpses on the road behind them? Success carries them safely, and they +achieved success only because they had force. + +Certainly, violence was not recreation, and it would be more agreeable +to go in his way peacefully, by the power of intelligence and work, than +to make a way by blows; but he had not chosen this road, he was thrown +into it by circumstances, by fate, and whoever wishes to reach the end +cannot choose the means. If one must walk in the mud, what matters it, +when one knows that one will not get muddy? + +If Caffie had had heirs, poor people who expected to be saved from +misery by inheriting his fortune, he would have been touched by this +consideration, undoubtedly. Robber! The word was yet more vile than that +of assassin. But who would miss the few banknotes that he would take +from the safe? To steal is to injure some one. Whom would he injure? +He could see no one. But he saw distinctly an army of afflicted persons +whom he would benefit. + +A timid ring of the bell made him start violently, and he was angry with +himself for being so nervous, he who was always master of his mind as of +his body. + +He opened the door, and a man dressed like a laborer bowed humbly. + +“I beg your pardon for disturbing you, sir.” + +“What do you want?” + +“I called on account of my wife, if you will be so good as to come to +see her.” + +“What is the matter with her?” + +“She is about to be confined. The nurse does not know what to do, and +sent me for a doctor.” + +“Did the nurse tell you to come for me?” + +“No, sir; she sent me to Doctor Legrand.” + +“Well?” + +“His wife told me he could not get up on account of his bronchitis. And +the chemist gave me your address.” + +“That is right.” + +“I must tell you, sir, I am an honest man, but we are not rich; we could +not pay you--immediately.” + +“I understand. Wait a few minutes.” + +Saniel took his instruments and followed the laborer, who, on the way, +explained his wife’s condition. + +“Where are we going?” Saniel asked, interrupting these explanations. + +“Rue de la Corderie.” + +It was behind the Saint Honore’ market, on the sixth floor, under the +roof, in a room that was perfectly clean, in spite of its poverty. As +soon as Saniel entered the nurse came forward, and in a few words told +him the woman’s trouble. + +“Is the child living?” + +“Yes.” + +“That is well; let us see.” + +He approached the bed and made a careful examination of the patient, who +kept repeating: + +“I am going to die. Save me, doctor!” + +“Certainly, we shall save you,” he said, very softly. “I promise you.” + +He turned away from the bed and said to the nurse: + +“The only way to save the mother is to kill the child.” + +The operation was long, difficult, and painful, and after it was over +Saniel remained a long time with the patient. When he reached the street +a neighboring clock struck five, and the market-place had already begun +to show signs of life. + +But in the streets was still the silence and solitude of night, and +Saniel began to reflect on what had occurred during the last few hours. +Thus, he had not hesitated to kill this child, who had, perhaps, sixty +or seventy years of happy life before it, and he hesitated at the death +of Caffie, to whom remained only a miserable existence of a few weeks. +The interests of a poor, weak, stunted woman had decided him; his, those +of humanity, left him perplexed, irresolute, weak, and cowardly. What a +contradiction! + +He walked with his eyes lowered, and at this moment, before him on the +pavement, he saw an object that glittered in the glare of the gas. He +approached it, and found that it was a butcher’s knife, that must have +been lost, either on going to the market or the slaughterhouse. + +He hesitated a moment whether he should pick it up or leave it there; +then looking all about him, and seeing no one in the deserted street, +and hearing no sound of footsteps in the silence, he bent quickly and +took it. + +Caffie’s fate was decided. + + + + +BOOK 2. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE INSTRUMENT OF DEATH + +When, after two hours’ sleep, Saniel woke, he did not at first think of +this knife; he was tired and dull. Mechanically he walked about his room +without paying attention to what he was doing, as if he were in a state +of somnambulism, and it astonished him, because he never felt weariness +of mind any more than of body, no matter how little he had slept, nor +how hard he had worked. + +But suddenly, catching a glimpse of the knife that he had placed on the +mantel, he received a shock that annihilated his torpor and his fatigue. +It dazzled him like a flash of lightning. + +He took it, and, going to the window, he examined it by the pale light +of early morning. It was a strong instrument that, in a firm hand, would +be a terrible arm; newly sharpened, it had the edge of a razor. + +Then the idea, the vision that had come to him two hours before, came +back to him, clear and complete at nightfall, that is, at the moment +when the concierge was in the second wing of the building, he mounted +to Caffie’s apartment without being seen, and with this knife he cut his +throat. It was as simple as it was easy, and this knife left beside the +corpse, and the nature of the wound, would lead the police to look for a +butcher, or at least a man who was in the habit of using a knife of this +kind. + +The evening before, when he had discussed Caffie’s death, the how and +the when still remained vague and uncertain. But now the day and the +means were definitely settled: it should be with this knife, and this +evening. + +This shook him out of his torpor and made him shudder. + +He was angry with himself for this weakness. Did he know or did he not +know what he wished? Was he irresolute or cowardly? + +Then, going from one idea to another, he thought of an observation that +he had made, which appeared to prove that with many subjects there is +less firmness in the morning than in the evening. Was this the result +of dualism of the nervous centres, and was the human personality double +like the brain? Were there hours when the right hemisphere is master of +our will, and were there other hours when the left is master? Did one of +these hemispheres possess what the other lacked, and is it according to +the activity of this or that one, that one has such a character or such +a temperament? This would be curious, and would amount to saying that, a +lamb in the morning, one might be a tiger at evening. With him it was a +lamb that woke in the morning to be devoured by a tiger during the +day. To which hemisphere belonged the one and the other of these +personalities? + +He was angry with himself for yielding to these reflections; it was a +time, truly, to study this psychological question! It was of Caffie that +he should think, and of the plan which in an instant flashed through his +mind in the street, before he decided to pick up this knife. + +Evidently things were neither so simple nor so easy as they at first +appeared, and to insure the success of his plan a combination of +circumstances was necessary, which might be difficult to bring about. + +Would not the concierge see him pass? Would no one go up or down the +stairs? Would Caffie be alone? Would he open the door? Might not some +one ring after he had entered? + +Here was a series of questions that he had not thought of before, but +which now presented itself. + +He must examine them, weigh them, and not throw himself giddily into an +adventure that presented such risks. + +He was alone all day, fortunately, and, as in the state of agitation in +which he found himself he could not think of work, he gave himself up to +this examination. The stakes were worth the trouble--his honor and his +life. + +As soon as he was dressed he went out, and walked straight before him +through the streets that were already filled with people. + +It was only when he had left the heart of Paris that he could reflect +as he wished, without being disturbed each instant by people in a hurry, +for whom he must make way, or by others who, reading the newspapers, did +not look before them, and so jostled against him. + +Evidently the risks were more serious than he had imagined; and, as +they loomed up before him, he asked himself whether he should go on. To +suppress Caffie, yes; to give himself up, no. + +“If it is impossible--” + +He was not the man to set himself wildly against the impossible: he +should have had a dream, a bad dream, and that would be all. + +He stopped, and, after a moment of hesitation, turning on his heel, he +retraced his steps. Of what use was it to go farther? He had no need +to reflect nor to weigh the pro and con; he must give up this plan; +decidedly it was too dangerous. + +He had gone but a short distance when he asked himself whether these +dangers were such as he saw them, and whether he were face to face with +a radically demonstrated impossibility. + +Without doubt, the concierge might observe him when he passed her lodge, +either on going up-stairs or coming down; and, also, she might not +observe him. This, in reality, depended much upon himself, and on his +method of proceeding. + +Every evening this lame old concierge lighted the gas in the two wings +of the building, one on the street and one on the court. She began by +lighting that on the street, and, with the difficulty that she found in +walking, it should take her some time to climb the five stories and +to descend. If one watched from the street when, at dusk, she left her +lodge with a wax taper in her hand, and mounted the stairs behind her, +at a little distance, in such a way as to be on the landing of the first +story when she should reach the second, there would be time, the deed +done, to regain the street before she returned to her lodge, after +having lighted the gas on the two staircases. It was important to +proceed methodically, without hurry, but, also, without loitering. + +Was this impossible? + +Here, exactly, was the delicate point which he must examine with +composure, without permitting himself to be influenced by any other +consideration than that which sprang from the deed itself. + +He was wrong, then, not to continue his route, and it was better, +assuredly, to get out of Paris. In the country, in the fields or woods, +he could find the calm that was indispensable to his over-excited brain, +in which ideas clashed like the waves of a disturbed sea. + +He was at this moment in the middle of the Faubourg Saint Honore; he +followed a street that would bring him to the Champs Elysees, a desert +at this early hour. + +It took him some time to examine all the hypotheses that might present +themselves, and he reached the conclusion that what had appeared +impossible to him was not so. If he preserved his calmness, and did +not lose perception of the passing time, he could very well escape the +concierge, which was the main point. + +To tell the truth, the danger of the concierge removed, all was not +easy. There was the possibility of meeting one of the lodgers on the +stairs; there was a chance of not finding Caffie at home, or, at least, +not alone; or the bell might ring at the decisive moment. But, as +everything depended upon chance, these circumstances could not be +decided beforehand. It was a risk. If one of them happened, he would +wait until the next day; it would be one more day of agitation to live +through. + +But one question that should be decided in advance, because, surely, it +presented serious dangers, was how he should justify the coming into his +hands of a sum of money which, providentially and in the nick of time, +relieved him from the embarrassments against which he struggled. + +He had reached the Bois de Boulogne and still continued his walk. In +passing a fountain the rippling of the water attracted his attention, +and he stopped. Although the weather was damp and cold under the +influence of a strong west wind charged with rain, his tongue was dry; +he drank two goblets of water, and then pursued his way, indifferent +where he went. + +Then he built up an arrangement which appeared ingenious to him, when it +occurred to him to remember that he had gone to Caffie to borrow three +thousand francs. Why would he not lend it to him, if not the first +day, at least the second? With this loan he paid his debts, if he were +questioned on this point. To prove this loan he need only to sign a +receipt which he could place in the safe, and which would be found +there. Would not the first thought of those who had signed a paper of +this kind be to take it when an occasion presented itself? As he would +not seize this occasion to carry off his note, it would be the proof +that he had not opened the safe. + +Among other advantages, this arrangement did away with robbery; it +was only a loan. Later he would return these three thousand francs to +Caffies heirs. So much the worse for him if it were a forced loan. + +On returning to Paris he would buy a sheet of stamped paper, and as he +had asked the price the previous evening, he knew that he could afford +the expense. + +When he reached Saint Cloud he entered a tavern and ordered some bread +and cheese and wine. But if he drank little, he ate less, his parched +throat refusing to swallow bread. + +He took up his march in the clayey streets on the slope of Mont +Valerian, but he was insensible to the unpleasantness of slipping on the +soft soil, and walked hither and thither, his only care being not to get +too far away from the Seine, so that he might enter Paris before night. + +He was delighted since he had made up his mind to make out and sign +a receipt for the money. But on giving it further consideration, he +perceived that it was not so ingenious as he had at first supposed. Do +not the dealers of stamped paper often number their paper? With this +number it would be easy to find the dealer and him who had bought it. +And then, was it not likely that a scrupulous business man like Caffie +would keep a record of the loans he made, and would not the absence of +this one and the note be sufficient to awaken suspicion and to direct it +to him? + +Decidedly, he only escaped one danger to fall into another. + +For a moment he was discouraged, but it did not go so far as weakness. +His error had been in imagining that the execution of the idea that had +come to him while picking up the knife was as plain as it was easy. But +complicated and perilous as it was, it was not impossible. + +The question which finally stood before him was, to know whether he +possessed the force needed to cope with these dangers, and on this +ground hesitation was not possible; to wish to foresee everything was +folly; that which he would not have expected, would come to pass. + +He returned toward Paris, and by the Pont de Suresnes reentered the Bois +de Boulogne. As it was not yet three o’clock, he had plenty of time to +reach the Rue Sainte-Anne before night; but, on the way, a heavy shower +forced him to take shelter, and he watched the falling rain, asking +himself if this accident, which he had not foreseen, would not upset his +plan. A man who had received the force of this shower could not appear +in the street before Caffie’s door without attracting the attention of +the passers-by, and it was important for him that he should not attract +the attention of any one. + +At length the rain ceased, and at twenty minutes of five he reached his +home. There remained fifteen or twenty minutes of daylight, which was +more than he needed. + +He stuck the point of the knife in a cork, and, after having placed it +between the folded leaves of a newspaper, in the inside left-hand pocket +of his overcoat, he went out. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. THE CRUCIAL MOMENT + +When he reached Caffies door the night had scarcely fallen, and the +streets were not yet lighted. + +The better and the surest plan for him had been to wait in the +‘porte-cochere’ across the street; from there he could watch the +‘concierge’, who would not be able to go out without being seen by him. +But though the passers were few at this moment, they might have observed +him. Next to this ‘porte-cochere’ was a small ‘cafe’, whose brilliant +lights would cause him to be seen quite plainly. He, therefore, walked +on, but soon returned. + +All irresolution, all hesitation, had disappeared, and the only point on +which he still questioned himself bore upon the state in which he found +himself at this moment. He felt himself firm, and his pulse, he +was certain, beat regularly. He was as he had imagined he would be; +experience confirmed his foresight; his hand would tremble no more than +his will. + +As he passed before the house he saw the concierge come slowly out of +her lodge and close her door carefully, putting the key in her pocket. +In her left hand she held something white that he could not see +distinctly in the twilight, but it was probably the wax-taper which, +doubtless, she had not lighted for fear the wind would blow it out. + +This was a favorable circumstance, that gave him one or two minutes more +than he had counted on, for she would be obliged to strike a match on +the stairs to light her taper; and, in the execution of his plan, two +minutes, a single minute even, might be of great importance. + +With dragging steps and bent back she disappeared through the vestibule +of the stairway. Then Saniel continued his walk like an ordinary +passer-by until she had time to reach the first story; then, turning, +he returned to the porte-cochere and entered quietly. By the gaslight +in the vestibule he saw by his watch, which he held in his hand, that +it was fourteen minutes after five o’clock. Then, if his calculation +was right, at twenty-four or twenty-five minutes after five he must pass +before the lodge, which should still be empty at that moment. + +On the staircase above him he heard the heavy step of the concierge; she +had lighted the gas on the first story, and continued on her way slowly. +With rapid but light steps he mounted behind her, and, on reaching +Caffie’s door, he rang the bell, taking care not to ring too loudly or +too timidly; then he knocked three times, as Caffie had instructed him. + +Was Caffie alone? + +Up to this time all had gone as he wished; no one in the vestibule, no +one on the stairs; fate was in his favor; would it accompany him to the +end? + +While he waited at the door, asking himself this question, an idea +flashed into his mind. He would make a last attempt. If Caffie consented +to make the loan he would save himself; if he refused, he condemned +himself. + +After several seconds, that appeared like hours, his listening ears +perceived a sound which announced that Caffie was at home. A scratching +of wood on the tiled floor denoted that a chair had been pushed aside; +heavy, dragging steps approached, then the bolt creaked, and the door +was opened cautiously. + +“Ah! It is you, my dear sir!” Caffie said, in surprise. + +Saniel entered briskly and closed the door himself, pressing it firmly. + +“Is there anything new?” Caffie asked, as he led the way to his office. + +“No,” Saniel replied. + +“Well, then?” Caffie asked, as he seated himself in an armchair before +his desk, on which stood a lighted lamp. “I suppose you have come to +hear more about my young friend. This hurry augurs well.” + +“No, it is not of the young person that I wish to talk to you.” + +“I am sorry.” + +On seating himself opposite to Caffie, Saniel had taken out his watch. +Two minutes had passed since he left the vestibule; he must hurry. In +order to keep himself informed of the passing of time, he retained his +watch in his hand. + +“Are you in a hurry?” + +“Yes; I will come immediately to business. It concerns myself, my +position, and I make a last appeal to you. Let us be honest with each +other. Undoubtedly you think that, pushed by my distress, and seeing +that I shall be lost forever, I shall decide to accept this marriage to +save myself.” + +“Can you suppose such a thing, my dear sir?” Caffie cried. + +But Saniel stopped him.... + +“The calculation is too natural for you not to have made it. Well, +I must tell you that it is false. Never will I lend myself to such a +bargain. Renounce your project, and let us discuss my demand. I am in +absolute want of three thousand francs, and I will pay the interest that +you fix upon.” + +“I have not found a money-lender, my dear sir. I have taken a great deal +of trouble, I assure you, but I did not succeed.” + +“Make an effort yourself.” + +“Me? My dear sir!” + +“I address myself to you.” + +“But I have no ready money.” + +“It is a desperate appeal that I make. I understand that your long +experience in business makes you insensible to the misery that you see +every day--” + +“Insensible! Say that it breaks my heart, my dear sir.” + +“But will you not permit yourself to be touched by the misery of a man +who is young, intelligent, courageous, who will drown if a hand is not +held out to help him? For you, the assistance that I ask so earnestly is +nothing--” + +“Three thousand francs! Nothing! Bless me! How you talk!” + +“For me, if you refuse me, it is death.” + +Saniel began to speak with his eyes fixed on the hands of his watch, but +presently, carried away by the fever of the situation, he raised them to +look at Caffie, and to see the effect that he produced on him. In this +movement he made a discovery that destroyed all his calculations. + +Caffie’s office was a small room with a high window looking into the +court; never having been in this office except in the evening, he had +not observed that this window had neither shutters nor curtains of +muslin or of heavier stuff; there was nothing but the glass. To tell the +truth, two heavy curtains of woollen damask hung on either side of +the window, but they were not drawn. Talking to Caffie, who was placed +between him and this window, Saniel suddenly perceived that on the other +side of the court, in the second wing of the building, on the second +story, were two lighted windows directly opposite to the office, and +that from there any one could see everything that occurred in the +office. + +How should he execute his plan under the eyes of these people whom he +saw coming and going in this room? He would be lost. In any case, it was +risking an adventure so hazardous that he would be a fool to attempt it, +and he was not that; never had he felt himself so much the master of his +mind and nerves. + +Also, it was not only to save Caffie’s life that he argued, it was to +save himself in grasping this loan. + +“I can only, to my great regret, repeat to you what I have already said, +my dear sir. I have no ready money.” + +And he held his jaw, groaning, as if this refusal aroused his toothache. + +Saniel rose; evidently there was nothing for him to do but to go. It was +finished, and instead of being in despair he felt it as a relief. + +But, as he was about to leave the room, an idea flashed through his +mind. + +He looked at his watch, which he had not consulted for some time; it was +twenty minutes after five; there yet remained four minutes, five at the +most. + +“Why do you not draw these curtains?” he said. “I am sure your +sufferings are partly caused by the wind that comes in this window.” + +“Do you think so?” + +“I am sure of it; you should be warm about the head, and avoid currents +of air.” + +Passing behind Caffie, he went to the window to draw the curtains, but +the cords would not move. + +“It is years since they were drawn,” Caffie said. “Doubtless the cords +are entangled. I will bring the light.” + +And, taking the lamp, he went to the window, holding it high in order to +throw light on the cords. + +With a turn of the hand Saniel disentangled the cords, and the curtains +slid on the rods, almost covering the window. + +“It is true a good deal of air did come in the window,” Caffie said. “I +thank you, my dear doctor.” + +All this was done with a feverish rapidity that astonished Caffie. + +“Decidedly, you are in a hurry,” he said. + +“Yes, in a great hurry.” + +He looked at his watch. + +“However, I have still time to give you a consultation if you desire +it.” + +“I would not trouble you--” + +“You do not trouble me.” + +“But--” + +“Sit down in your armchair, and show me your mouth.” + +While Caffie seated himself, Saniel continued in a vibrating voice: + +“You see I give good for evil.” + +“How is that, my dear sir?” + +“You refuse me a service that would save me, and I give you a +consultation. It is true, it is the last.” + +“And why the last, my dear sir?” + +“Because death is between us.” + +“Death!” + +“Do you not see it?” + +“No.” + +“I see it.” + +“You must not think of such a thing, my dear sir. One does not die +because one cannot pay three thousand francs.” + +The chair in which Caffie seated himself was an old Voltaire, with an +inclined back, and he half reclined in it. As his shirtcollar was +too large for him since he had become thin, and his narrow cravat was +scarcely tied, he displayed as much throat as jaw. + +Saniel, behind the chair, had taken the knife in his right hand, while +he pressed the left heavily on Caffies forehead, and with a powerful +stroke, as quick as lightning, he cut the larynx under the glottis, +as well as the two carotid arteries, with the jugular veins. From this +terrible wound sprang a large jet of blood, which, crossing the room, +struck against the door. Cut clean, not a cry could be formed in the +windpipe, and in his armchair Caffie shook with convulsions from head to +foot. + +Leaving his position behind the chair, Saniel, who had thrown the +knife on the floor, looked at his watch and counted the ticking of the +second-hand in a low voice. + +“One, two, three-” + +At the end of ninety seconds the convulsions ceased. + +It was twenty-three minutes after five. Now it was important that he +should hurry and not lose a second. + +The blood, after having gushed out, had run down the body and wet the +vest pocket in which was the key of the safe. But blood does not produce +the same effect upon a doctor as upon those who are not accustomed to +its sight and odor, and to its touch. In spite of the lukewarm sea in +which it lay, Saniel took the key, and after wiping his hand on one of +the tails of Caffie’s coat, he placed it in the lock. + +Would it turn freely, or was it closed with a combination? The question +was poignant. The key turned and the door opened. On a shelf and in a +wooden bowl were packages of bank-notes and rolls of gold that he had +seen the evening when the bank-clerk came. Roughly, without counting; he +thrust them into his pocket, and without closing the safe, he ran to the +front door, taking care not to step in the streams of blood, which, on +the sloping tiled floor, ran toward this door. The time was short. + +And now was the greatest danger, that of meeting some one behind this +door, or on the stairs. He listened, and heard no noise. He went out, +and no one was to be seen. Without running, but hastily, he descended +the stairs. Should he look in the lodge, or should he turn his head +away? He looked, but the concierge was not there. + +A second later he was in the street mingling with the passersby, and he +drew a long breath. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. DISTRACTION + +There was no longer any need to be cautious, to listen, to stretch his +nerves, to restrain his heart; he could walk freely and reflect. + +His first thought was to endeavor to explain to himself how he felt, and +he found that it was an immense relief; something, doubtless, analogous +to the returning to life after being in a state of asphyxiation. +Physically, he was calm; morally, he felt no remorse. He was right, +therefore, in his theory when he told Phillis that in the intelligent +man remorse precedes the action, instead of following it. + +But where he was mistaken was in imagining that during the act he should +maintain his coolness and force, which, in reality, had failed him +completely. + +Going from one idea to another, tossed by irresolution, he was by no +means the strong man that he had believed himself: one to go to the +end unmoved, ready to face every attack; master of his nerves as of his +will, in full possession of all his powers. On the contrary, he had been +the plaything of agitation and weakness. If a serious danger had risen. +before him, he would not have known on which side to attack it; fear +would have paralyzed him, and he would have been lost. + +To tell the truth, his hand had been firm, but his head had been +bewildered. + +There was something humiliating in this, he was obliged to acknowledge; +and, what was more serious, it was alarming. Because, although +everything had gone as he wished, up to the present time, all was not +finished, nor even begun. + +If the investigations of the law should reach him, how should he defend +himself? + +He felt sure that he had not been seen in Caffies house at the moment +when the crime was committed; but does one ever know whether one has +been seen or not? + +And there was the production of money that he should use to pay his +debts, which might become an accusation against which it would be +difficult to defend himself. In any case, he must be ready to explain +his position. And what might complicate the matter was, that Caffie, +a careful man, had probably taken care to write the numbers of his +bank-notes in a book, which would be found. + +On leaving the Rue Sainte-Anne he took the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs +to his home, to leave the bank-notes and to wash off the stains of blood +that might have splashed on him and his hands, particularly the right +one, which was still red. But suddenly it occurred to him that he might +be followed, and it would be folly to show where he lived. He hastened +his steps, in order to make any one who might be following him run, +and took the streets that were not well lighted, those where there was +little chance of any one seeing the stains, if they were visible, on +his clothing or boots. He walked in this way for nearly half an hour, +turning and returning on his track, and after having crossed the Place +Vendome twice, where he was able to look behind him, he decided to go +home, not knowing whether he should be satisfied to have bewildered all +quest, or whether he should not be furious to have yielded to a sort of +panic. + +As he passed by the lodge without stopping, his concierge called him, +and, running out, gave him a letter with unusual eagerness. Saniel, who +wished to escape observation, took it hastily, and stuffed it into his +pocket. + +“It is an important letter,” the concierge said. “The servant who +brought it told me that it contained money.” + +It needed this recommendation at such a moment, or Saniel would not have +opened it, which he did as soon as he entered his rooms. + + “I do not wish, my dear Doctor, to leave Paris for Monaco, where I + go to pass two or three months, without sending you our thanks. + + “Yours very gratefully, + + “C. DUPHOT.” + +These thanks were represented by two bills of one hundred francs, a +payment more than sufficient for the care that Saniel had given some +months before to the mistress of this old comrade. Of what use now were +these two hundred francs, which a few days sooner would have been so +much to him? He threw them on his desk; and then, after having lighted +two candles, he inspected his clothing. + +The precaution that he had taken to place himself behind the chair was +wise. The blood, in squirting in front and on each side, had not +reached him; only the hand that held the knife and the shirt-sleeve were +splashed, but this was of no consequence. A doctor has the right to have +some blood on his sleeves, and this shirt went to join the one he had +worn the previous night when attending the sick woman. + +Free from this care, he still had the money in his pockets. He emptied +them on his desk and counted all: five rouleaux of gold, of a thousand +francs, and three packages of ten thousand francs each, of bank-notes. + +How should he get rid of this sum all at once, and, later, how should he +justify its production when the moment came, if it came? + +The question was complex, and, unfortunately for him, he was hardly in a +state to consider it calmly. + +For the gold, he had only to burn the papers in which it was rolled. +Louis have neither numbers nor particular marks, but bills have. Where +should he conceal them while waiting to learn through the newspapers if +Caffie had or had not made a note of these numbers? + +While burning these papers on which Caffie had written “2,000 francs,” + he tried to think of a place of concealment. + +As he threw a glance around him, asking from things the inspiration that +his brain did not furnish, he caught sight of the letter he had just +received, and it suggested an idea. Duphot was at Monaco to play. Why +should he not go also, and play? + +Having neither relatives nor friends from whom he could procure a +certain sum, his only resource was to make it at play; and in his +desperate position, known to every one, nothing was more natural than +this experiment. He had received two hundred francs, which would not +save him from his creditors. He would risk them at roulette at Monaco. +Whether he lost or won was of little consequence. He would have played +that would be sufficient. He would be seen playing. Who would know +whether he lost or won? From Monaco he would pay Jardine by telegraph, +out of the five thousand Louis, which would be more than sufficient for +that; and, when he returned to Paris, he would free himself from his +other creditors with what remained. + +The money affair decided--and it seemed to him cleverly settled--did +not include the bank-notes, which, spread out before his eyes, disturbed +him. What should he do with them? One moment he thought of burning them, +but reflection held him back. Would it not be folly to destroy this +fortune? In any case, would it not be the work of a narrow mind, of one +not fertile in resources? + +In trying to think of some safe place to hide the banknotes, one thought +continually absorbed him: What was happening in the Rue Sainte-Anne? Had +any one discovered the dead man? + +He should be there to observe events, instead of timidly shutting +himself up in his office. + +For several minutes he tried to resist this thought, but it was stronger +than his will or his reason. So much was he under its power that he +could do nothing. + +Willing or unwilling, foolish or not, he must go to the Rue Sainte-Anne. + +He washed his hands, changed his shirt, and throwing the notes and gold +into a drawer, he went out. + +He knew very well that there was a certain danger in leaving these +proofs of the crime, which, found in an official search, would overwhelm +him, without his being able to defend himself. But he thought that +an immediate search was unlikely to occur, and if he could not make a +probable story, it would be better for him not to reason about it. It +was a risk that he ran, but how much he had on his side! + +He hastened along the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, but on approaching +the Rue Sainte-Anne he slackened his steps, looking about him and +listening. Nothing unusual struck him. Even when he turned into the Rue +Sainte-Anne he found it bore its ordinary aspect. A few passers-by, +not curious; no groups on the sidewalk; no shopkeepers at their doors. +Nothing was different from usual. + +Apparently, nothing had yet been discovered. Then he stopped, judging +it useless to go farther. Already he had passed too much time before +Caffie’s door, and when one was of his build, above the medium height, +with a physiognomy and appearance unlike others, one should avoid +attracting attention. + +For several minutes he walked up and down slowly, from the Rue +Neuve-des-Petits-Champs to the Rue du Hasard; from there he could see +Caffie’s house, and yet be so far away that no one would suspect him of +watching it. + +But this promenade, which was quite natural, and which he would have +continued for an hour in ordinary circumstances, without thinking +anything about it, soon alarmed him. It seemed as if people looked at +him, and two persons stopping to talk made him wonder if they spoke of +him. Why did they not continue their way? Why, from time to time, did +they turn their heads toward him? + +He left the place, and neither wishing nor being able to decide to go +far away from “the house,” he concluded to go to a small cafe which was +close by. + +On entering, he seated himself at a table near the door that appeared +to be an excellent observatory, from where he could easily survey the +street. A waiter asked him what he would have, and he ordered coffee. + +He gave this order mechanically, without thinking what he was saying, +and not till afterward did he wonder if it were natural to take coffee +at this hour. The men seated at the other tables drank appetizers or +beer. Had he not made a blunder? + +But everything seemed a blunder, as everything seemed dangerous. Could +he not regain his composure and his reason? He drank his coffee slowly; +then he asked for a newspaper. The street was quiet, and people left the +cafe one by one. + +Behind his newspaper he reflected. It was his feverish curiosity that +made him admit that Caffie’s death would be discovered during the +evening. In reality, it might easily remain undiscovered until the next +day. + +But he could not stay in the cafe until the next day, nor even until +midnight. Perhaps he had remained there too long already. + +He did not wish to go yet, so he ordered writing materials, and paid the +waiter, in case he might wish to go hastily--if anything occurred. + +What should he write? He wished to test himself, and found that he was +able to write clearly, and to select the proper words; but when he came +to read it over, his will failed him. + +Time passed. Suddenly there was a movement under the porte-cochere of +“the house,” and a man ran through the street. Two or three persons +stopped in a group. + +Without hurrying too much, Saniel went out, and in a strong voice asked +what had happened. + +“An agent of business has been assassinated in his office. Word has been +sent to the police bureau in the Rue du Hasard.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. THE EXAMINATION + +Saniel was there to observe, without having decided what he should do. +Instantly, with the decision that had “failed him so often during his +vigil,” he resolved to go to Caffie’s. Was he not a doctor, and the +physician of the dead-man? What could be more natural? + +“A money-lender!” he exclaimed. “Is it Monsieur Caffie?” + +“Exactly.” + +“But I am his doctor.” + +“A doctor! Here is a doctor!” cried several voices. + +The crowd parted, and Saniel passed under the porte-cochere, where the +concierge, half fainting, was seated on a chair, surrounded by all the +maids of the house and several neighbors, to whom she related the news. + +By using his elbows he was able to approach her. + +“Who has said Monsieur Caffie is dead?” he asked with authority. + +“No one has said he is dead; at least, I have not.” + +“Well, then?” + +“There is a stain of blood that has run from his office down to the +landing; and as he is at home, since the light of his lamp is seen +in the court, and he never leaves it burning when he goes to dinner, +something must have happened. And why are his curtains drawn? He always +leaves them open.” + +At this moment two policemen appeared, preceded by a locksmith armed +with a bunch of keys, and a little man with a shrewd, sharp appearance, +wearing spectacles, and a hat from under which fell blond curls. The +commissioner of police probably. + +“On which story?” he asked the concierge. + +“On the first.” + +“Come with us.” + +He started to go upstairs, accompanied by the concierge, the locksmith, +and one of the policemen; Saniel wished to follow them, but the other +policeman barred the way. + +“Pardon, Monsieur Commissioner,” Saniel said. + +“What do you wish, sir?” + +“I am Monsieur Caffie’s physician.” + +“Your name?” + +“Doctor Saniel.” + +“Let the doctor pass,” the commissioner said, “but alone. Make every one +go out, and shut the porte-cochere.” + +On reaching the landing the commissioner stopped to look at the brown +stain which, running under the door, spread over the tiling, as Caffie +never had had a mat. + +“It is certainly a stain of blood,” Saniel said, who stopped to examine +it and dipped his finger in it. + +“Open the door,” the commissioner said to the locksmith. + +The latter examined the lock, looked among his keys, selected one, and +unlocked the door. + +“Let no one enter,” the commissioner said. “Doctor, have the goodness to +follow me.” + +And, going ahead, he entered the first office, that of the clerk, +followed by Saniel. Two little rills of blood, already thickened, +starting from Caffie’s chair, and running across the tiled floor, which +sloped a little toward the side of the staircase, joined in the stain +which caused the discovery of the crime. The commissioner and Saniel +took care not to step in it. + +“The unfortunate man has had his throat cut,” Saniel said. “Death must +have occurred two or three hours ago. There is nothing to do.” + +“Speak for yourself, doctor.” + +And, stooping, he picked up the knife. + +“Is it not a butcher’s knife?” asked Saniel, who could only use this +word. + +“It looks like it.” + +He had raised Caffie’s head and examined the wound. + +“You see,” he said, “that the victim has been butchered. The stroke was +from left to right, by a firm hand which must be accustomed to handle +this knife. But it is not only a strong and practised hand that has done +this deed; it was guided by an intelligence that knew how to proceed +to insure a quick, almost instantaneous death, and at the same time a +silent one.” + +“You think it was done by a butcher?” + +“By a professional killer; the larynx has been cut above the glottis, +and with the same stroke the two carotid arteries, with the jugular +veins. As the assassin had to raise the head, the victim was not able +to cry out; considerable blood has flowed, and death must have ensued in +one or two minutes.” + +“The scene appears to me very well reconstructed.” + +“The blood should have burst out in this direction,” Saniel continued, +pointing to the door. “But as this door was open, nothing is to be +seen.” + +While Saniel spoke, the commissioner threw a glance about the room--the +glance of the police, which takes in everything. + +“The safe is open,” he said. “The affair becomes clear; the +assassination was followed by theft.” + +There was a door opposite to the entrance, which the commissioner +opened; it was that of Caffie’s bedroom. + +“I will give you a man to help you carry the body into this room, where +you can continue your examination more easily, while I will continue my +investigations in this office.” + +Saniel would have liked to remain in the office to assist at these +investigations, but it was impossible to raise an objection. The chair +was rolled into the bedroom, where two candles had been lighted on the +mantel, and when the body was laid on the bed, the commissioner returned +to the office. + +Saniel made his examination last as long a time as possible, to the end +that he need not leave the house; but he could not prolong it beyond +certain limits. When they were reached, he returned to the clerk’s +office, where the commissioner had installed himself, and was hearing +the concierge’s deposition. + +“And so,” he said, “from five to seven o’clock no one asked for M. +Caffie?” + +“No one. But I left my lodge at a quarter past five to light the gas +on the stairs; that took me twenty minutes, because I am stiff in my +joints, and during this time some one might have gone up and down the +stairs without my seeing them.” + +“Well,” the commissioner said, turning to Saniel, “have you found any +distinguishing feature?” + +“No; there is only the wound on the neck.” + +“Will you draw up your medico-legal report while I continue my inquest?” + +“Willingly.” + +And, without waiting, he seated himself at the clerk’s desk, facing the +commissioner’s secretary, who had arrived a few minutes previous. + +“I am going to make you take the oath,” the commissioner said. + +After this formality Saniel began his report: + +“We, the undersigned, Victor Saniel, doctor of medicine of the Paris +Faculty, residing in Paris in the Rue Louis-le-Grand, after having taken +an oath to fulfil in all honor and conscience the mission confided to +us--” + +All the time that he was writing he paid attention to everything that +was said, and did not lose one word of the concierge’s deposition. + +“I am certain,” she said, “that from half-past five until now no one has +gone up or down the stairs but the people who live in the house.” + +“But before half-past five?” + +“I have told you that from a quarter past five until half-past I was not +in my lodge.” + +“And before a quarter past five o’clock?” + +“Several persons passed whom I did not know.” + +“Did any one among them ask you for Monsieur Caffie?” + +“No; that is to say, yes. There was one who asked me if Monsieur Caffie +was at home; but I know him well; that is why I answered No.” + +“And who is he?” + +“One of Monsieur Caffies old clerks.” + +“His name?” + +“Monsieur Florentin--Monsieur Florentin Cormier.” + +Saniel’s hand was arrested at this name, but he did not raise his head. + +“At what hour did he come?” asked the commissioner. + +“Near three o’clock, before rather than after.” + +“Did you see him go away?” + +“Certainly, he spoke to me.” + +“What time was it?” + +“Half-past three.” + +“Do you think that death could have occurred at this moment?” the +commissioner asked, turning to Saniel. + +“No; I think it must have been between five and six o’clock.” + +“It is wrong for the commissioner to suspect Monsieur Florentin,” cried +the concierge. “He is a good young man, incapable of harming a fly. +And then, there is a good reason why death could not have taken place +between three o’clock and half-past; it is that Monsieur Caffie’s lamp +was lighted, and you know the poor gentleman was not a man to light his +lamp in broad daylight, looking as he was--” + +She stopped abruptly, striking her forehead with her hand. + +“That is what I remember, and you will see that Monsieur Florentin has +nothing to do with this affair. As I went upstairs at a quarter past +five to light my gas, some one came behind me and rang Monsieur Caffie’s +bell, and rapped three or four times at equal distances, which is the +signal to open the door.” + +Again Saniel’s pen stopped, and he was obliged to lean his hand on the +table to prevent its trembling. + +“Who was it?” + +“Ah! That I do not know,” she answered. “I did not see him, but I heard +him, the step of a man. It was this rascal who killed him, you may be +sure.” + +This seemed likely. + +“He went out while I was on the stairs; he knew the customs of the +house.” + +Saniel continued his report. + +After having questioned and cross-questioned the concierge without being +able to make her say more, the commissioner dismissed her, and leaving +Saniel at his work, he passed into Caffie’s office, where he remained a +long time. + +When he returned he brought a small note-book that he consulted. Without +doubt it was the book of Caffie’s safe, simple and primitive, like +everything relating to the old man’s habits, governed by the narrowest +economy in his expenses, as well as in his work. + +“According to this note-book,” the commissioner said to his secretary, +“thirty-five or thirty-six thousand francs must have been taken from the +safe; but there are left deeds and papers for a large sum.” + +Saniel, who had finished his report, did not take his eyes from the +note-book, and what he could see reassured him. Evidently these accounts +were reduced to a minimum: a date, a name, a sum, and after this name +a capital P, which, without doubt, meant “paid.” It was hardly possible +that with such a system Caffie had ever taken the trouble to enter the +number of the bills that had passed through his hands; in any case, if +he did, it was not in this note-book. Would another one be found? + +“My report is finished,” he said. “Here it is.” + +“Since you are here, perhaps you can give me some information concerning +the habits of the victim and the persons he received.” + +“Not at all. I have known him but a short time, and he was my patient, +as I was his client, by accident. He undertook an affair for me, and +I gave him advice; he was in the last stage of diabetes. The assassin +hastened his death only a short time-a few days.” + +“That is nothing; he hastened it.” + +“Oh, certainly! Otherwise, if he is skilful in cutting throats, perhaps +he is less so in making a diagnosis of their maladies.” + +“That is probable,” responded the commissioner, smiling. “You think it +was a butcher?” + +“It seems probable.” + +“The knife?” + +“He might have stolen it or found it.” + +“But the mode of operating?” + +“That, it seems to me, is the point from where we should start.” + +Saniel could remain no longer, and he rose to leave. + +“You have my address,” he said; “but I must tell you, if you want me, I +leave to-morrow for Nice. But I shall be absent only just long enough to +go and return.” + +“If we want you, it will not be for several days. We shall not get on +very rapidly, we have so little to guide us.” + + + + +CHAPTER XV. A NEW PLAN + +Saniel walked home briskly. If, more than once during this interview, +his emotion was poignant, he could not but be satisfied with the result. +The concierge had not seen him, that was henceforth unquestionable; the +hypothesis of the butcher’s knife was put in a way to make his fortune; +and it seemed probable that Caffie had not kept the numbers of the +bank-notes. + +But if they had been noted, and should the notebook containing them be +discovered later, the danger was not immediate. While writing his report +and listening to the concierge’s deposition, by a sort of inspiration he +thought of a way of disposing of them. He would divide them into small +packages, place them in envelopes, and address them with different +initials to the poste restante, where they would remain until he could +call for them without compromising himself. + +In the deposition of the concierge, in the track indicated by the knife, +in the poste restante, he had just motives for satisfaction, that made +him breathe freely. Decidedly, fate seemed to be with him, and he should +have been able to say that everything was going well, if he had not +committed the imprudence of entering the cafe. Why had he gone there +and remained long enough to attract attention? What might not be the +consequences of this stupidity? + +As soon as he reached home and his door was closed, he carried out his +intentions regarding the bank-notes, dividing them into ten packages. +His first thought was to place them in the nearest letterbox, but +reflection showed him that this would be unwise, and he decided to mail +each one in a different quarter of the city. + +After his long walk of the morning, and the emotions of the evening, he +felt a fatigue that he had never known before, but he comprehended that +he was not at liberty to yield to this weariness. A new situation was +made for him, and henceforth he no longer belonged to himself. For the +rest of his life he would be the prisoner of his crime. And it was this +crime which, from this evening, would command, and he must obey. + +Why had he not foreseen this situation when, weighing the pro and con +like an intelligent man who can scrutinize the future under all its +phases, he had examined what must happen? But surprising as it was, the +discovery was no less certain, and the sad and troublesome proof +was that, however intelligent one may be, one can always learn by +experience. + +What was there yet to learn? He confessed that he found himself face to +face with the unknown, and all that he wished was, that this lesson he +had learned from experience might be the hardest. It would be folly to +imagine that it was the last. Time would show. + +When he returned home, after posting his letters, it was long past one +o’clock. He went to bed immediately, and slept heavily, without waking +or dreaming. + +It was broad daylight when he opened his eyes the next morning. +Surprised at having slept so late, he jumped up and looked at his watch, +which said eight o’clock. But as he should not leave until a quarter +past eleven, he had plenty of time. + +How should he employ it? + +It was the first time in years that he had asked himself such a +question; he, who each day always found that he needed three or four +hours more to carry out his programme. + +He dressed slowly, and then thought of writing to Phillis to tell her of +his trip to Nice. But suddenly he changed his mind, and decided to go to +see her. + +The preceding year he attended Madame Cormier, who had been stricken +with paralysis, and he could occasionally present himself at her house +without appearing to call upon Phillis. It was easy to say that he was +passing by, and wished to learn news of the patient whom he had cured. + +At nine o’clock he knocked at her door. + +“Enter,” a man’s voice said. + +He was surprised, for in his visits to Madame Cormier he had never seen +a man there. He crossed the hall and knocked at the dining-room door. +This time it was Phillis who bid him come in. + +He opened the door and saw Phillis, in a gray blouse, seated before a +large table placed by the window. She was painting some cards. + +Hearing steps, she turned her head and instantly rose, but she +restrained the cry-the name that was on her lips. + +“Mamma,” she said, “here is Doctor Saniel.” + +Madame Cormier entered, walking with difficulty; for, if Saniel had put +her on her feet, he had not given her the suppleness or the grace of +youth. + +After a few words, Saniel explained that, having to pay a visit to +the Batignolles, he would not come so near his former patient without +calling to see her. + +While Madame Cormier told at great length how she felt, and also how +she did not feel, Phillis looked at Saniel, uneasy to see his face so +convulsed. Surely, something very serious had happened; his visit +said this. But what? Her anguish was so much the greater, because he +certainly avoided looking at her. Why? She had done nothing, and could +find nothing with which to reproach herself. + +At this moment the door opened, and a man still young, tall, with a +curled beard, entered the room. + +“My son,” Madame Cormier said. + +“My brother Florentin, of whom we have spoken so often,” Phillis said. + +Florentin! Was he then becoming imbecile, that he had not thought the +voice of the man who bid him enter was that of Phillis’s brother? Was he +so profoundly overwhelmed that such a simple reasoning was impossible +to him? Decidedly, it was important for him to go away as quickly as +possible; the journey would calm his nerves. + +“They wrote to me,” Florentin said, “and since my return they have told +me how good you were to my mother. Permit me to thank you from a touched +and grateful heart. I hope that before long this gratitude will be +something more than a vain word.” + +“Do not let us speak of that,” Saniel said, looking at Phillis with a +frankness and an open countenance that reassured heron a certain +point. “It is I who am obliged to Madame Cormier. If the word were not +barbarous, I should say that her illness has been a good thing for me.” + +To turn the conversation, and because he wished to speak to Phillis +alone, he approached her table and talked with her about her work. + +Saniel then gave Madame Cormier some advice, and rose to go. + +Phillis followed him, and Florentin was about to accompany them, but +Phillis stopped him. + +“I wish to ask Doctor Saniel a question,” she said. + +When they were on the landing she closed the door. + +“What is the matter?” she asked in a hurried and trembling voice. + +“I wished to tell you that I start for Monaco at eleven o’clock.” + +“You are going away?” + +“I have received two hundred francs from a patient, and I am going +to risk them at play. Two hundred francs will not pay Jardine or the +others, but with them I may win several thousands of francs.” + +“Oh! Poor dear! How desperate you must be--you, such as you are, to have +such an idea!” + +“Am I wrong?” + +“Never wrong to my eyes, to my heart, to my love. O my beloved, may +fortune be with you!” + +“Give me your hand.” + +She looked around, listening. There was no one, no noise. + +Then, drawing him toward her, she put her lips on his: + +“All yours, yours!” + +“I will return Tuesday.” + +“Tuesday, at five o’clock, I shall be there.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. THE SMILES OF FORTUNE + +No one knew so little about play as Saniel. He knew that people played +at Monaco, and that was all. He bought his ticket for Monaco, and left +the train at that place. + +On leaving the station he looked all about him, to see what kind of a +place it was. Seeing nothing that looked like a gambling-house as he +understood it, that is, like the Casino de Royal, the only establishment +of the kind that he had ever seen, he asked a passer-by: + +“Where is the gambling-house?” + +“There is none at Monaco.” + +“I thought there was.” + +“There is one at Monte Carlo.” + +“Is it far?” + +“Over yonder.” + +With his hand the man indicated, on the slope of the mountain, a green +spot where, in the midst of the foliage, were seen roofs and facades of +imposing buildings. + +Saniel thanked him and followed his directions, while the man, calling +another, related the question that had been addressed to him, and both +laughed, shrugging their shoulders. Could any one be so stupid as these +Parisians! Another one who was going to be plucked, and who came from +Paris expressly for that! Was he not funny, with his big legs and arms? + +Without troubling himself about the laughter that he heard behind him, +Saniel continued his way. In spite of his night on the train, he felt no +fatigue; on the contrary, his mind and body were active. The journey had +calmed the agitation of his nerves, and it was with perfect tranquillity +he looked back upon all that had passed before his departure. In the +state of satisfaction that was his now, he had nothing more to fear from +stupidity or acts of folly; and, since he had recovered his will, all +would go well. No more backward glances, and fewer still before. The +present only should absorb him. + +The present, at this moment, was play. What did they play? He knew +roulette, but he knew not if the game was roulette. He would do as +others did. If he were ridiculed, it was of little importance; and in +reality he should desire to be ridiculed. People remember with pleasure +those at whom they have laughed, and he had come here to find some one +who would remember him. + +When he entered the salon where the playing was going on, he observed +that a religious silence reigned there. Round a large table covered with +a carpet of green cloth, which was divided by lines and figures, some +men were seated on high chairs, making them appear like officers; +others, on lower chairs, or simply standing about the table, pushed +or picked up the louis and bank bills on the green cloth, and a strong +voice repeated, in a monotonous tone: + +“Messieurs, faites votre jeu! Le jeu est fait! Rien ne va plus!” + +Then a little ivory ball was thrown into a cylinder, where it rolled +with a metallic noise. Although he had never seen roulette, it required +no effort to divine that this was the game. + +And, before putting several louis on the table, he looked about him to +see how it was played. But after the tenth time he understood as little +as at first. With the rakes the croupiers collected the stakes of +certain players; with these same rakes they doubled, separated, or even +paid, in proportions of which he took no account, certain others, and +that was all. + +But it mattered little. Having seen how the money was placed on the +table, that was sufficient. + +He had five louis in his hand when the croupier said: + +“Messieurs, faites votre jeu.” + +He placed them on the number thirty-two, or, at least, he believed that +he placed them on this number. + +“Rien ne va plus!” The ball rolled in the cylinder. + +“Thirty-one!” cried the croupier, adding some other words that Saniel +did not understand. So little did he understand roulette that he thought +he had lost. He had placed his stake on the thirty-two, and it was the +thirty-one that had appeared; the bank had won. He was surprised to see +the croupier push a heap of gold toward him, which amounted to nearly a +hundred louis, and accompany this movement with a glance which, without +any doubt, meant to say: + +“For you, sir.” + +What should he do? Since he had lost, he could not take this, money that +was given to him by mistake. + +In placing his stake on the table, he had leaned over the shoulder of a +gentleman whose hair and beard were of a most extraordinary black, who, +without playing, pricked a card with a pin. This gentleman turned toward +him, and with an amiable smile, and in a most gracious tone said: + +“It is yours, sir.” + +Decidedly, he was mistaken in thinking he had lost; and he must take +this heap of louis, which he did, but neglecting to take, also, his +first stake. + +The game continued. + +“Thirty-two,” called the croupier. + +Saniel perceived that his five louis had remained on the thirty-two; +he believed that he had won, since this number was called, and his +ignorance was such that he did not know that in roulette a number is +paid thirty-six times the stake: the croupier would, therefore, push +toward him one hundred and eighty Louis. + +But, to his great surprise, he pushed him no more money than at first. +This was incomprehensible. When he lost, money was paid to him, and when +he won, he was paid only half his due. + +His face betrayed his astonishment so plainly that he saw a mocking +smile in the eyes of the black-haired man, who had again turned toward +him. + +As he played merely for the sake of playing, and not to win or lose, he +pocketed all that was pushed toward him and his stake. + +“Since you are not going to play any more,” said the amiable gentleman, +leaving his chair, “will you permit me to say a word to you?” + +Saniel bowed, and together they left the table. When they were far +enough away to converse without disturbing the players, the gentleman +bowed ceremoniously: + +“Permit me to present myself-Prince Mazzazoli.” + +Saniel replied by giving his name and position. + +“Well, doctor,” the prince said with a strong Italian accent, “you +will pardon me, I hope, for making the simple observation that my age +authorizes: you play like a child.” + +“Like an ignoramus,” Saniel replied, without being angry. For, however +unusual this observation might be, he had already decided that it might +be a good thing in the future to call upon the testimony of a prince. + +“I am sure you are still asking yourself why you received eighteen times +the sum of your stake at the first play, and why you did not receive +thirty-six times the sum at the second.” + +“That is true.” + +“Well, I will tell you.” And he proceeded to explain. + +Saniel did not wait for the conclusion to learn the fact that this +very-much-dyed Italian prince was a liar. + +“I do not intend to play again,” he said. + +“With your luck that would be more than a fault.” + +“I wanted a certain sum; I have won it, and that satisfies me.” + +“You will not be so foolish as to refuse the hand that Fortune holds +out?” + +“Are you sure she holds it out to me?” Saniel asked, finding that it was +the prince. + +“Do not doubt it. I will show you--” + +“Thank you; but I never break a resolution.” + +In another moment Saniel would have turned his back on the man, but he +was a witness whom it would be well to treat with caution. + +“I have nothing more to do here,” he said, politely. “Permit me to +retire, after having thanked you for your offer, whose kindness I +appreciate.” + +“Well,” cried the prince, “since you will not risk your fate, let me do +it for you. This money may be a fetich. Take off five louis, only +five louis, and confide them to me. I will play them according to my +combinations, which are certain, and this evening I will give you your +part of the proceeds. Where are you staying? I live at the Villa des +Palmes.” + +“Nowhere; I have just arrived.” + +“Then let us meet here this evening at ten o’clock, in this room, and we +will liquidate our association.” + +His first impulse was to refuse. Of what use to give alms to this old +monkey? But, after all, it did not cost much to pay his witness five +louis, and he gave them to him. + +“A thousand thanks! This evening, at ten o’clock.” + +As Saniel left the room he found himself face to face with his old +comrade Duphot, who was accompanied by a woman, the same whom he had +cured. + +“What! you here?” both the lover and his mistress exclaimed. + +Saniel related why he was at Monaco, and what he had done since his +arrival. + +“With my money! Ah! She is very well,” Duphot cried. + +“And you will play no more?” the woman asked. + +“I have all I want.” + +“Then you will play for me.” + +He wished to decline, but they drew him to the roulette table, and each +put a louis in his hand. + +“Play.” + +“How?” + +“As inspiration counsels you. You have the luck.” + +But his luck had died. The two louis were lost. + +They gave him two others, which won eight. + +“You see, dear friend.” + +He went on, with varying luck, winning and losing. + +At the end of a quarter of an hour they permitted him to go. + +“And what are you going to do now?” Duphot asked. + +“To send what I owe to my creditors by telegraph.” + +“Do you know where the telegraph is?” + +“No.” + +“I will go with you.” + +This was a second witness that Saniel was too wise to shake off. + +When he had sent his telegram to Jardine, he had nothing more to do +at Monte Carlo, and as he could not leave before eleven o’clock in the +evening, he was idle, not knowing how to employ his time. So he bought +a Nice newspaper and seated himself in the garden, under a gaslight, +facing the dark and tranquil sea. Perhaps he could find in it some +telegraph despatch which would tell him what had occurred in the Rue +Sainte-Anne since his departure. + +At the end of the paper, under “Latest News,” he read: + +“The crime of the Rue Sainte-Anne seems to take a new turn; the +investigations made with more care have led to the discovery of a +trousers’ button, to which is attached a piece of cloth. It shows, +therefore, that before the crime there was a struggle between the victim +and the assassin. As this button has certain letters and marks, it is a +valuable clew for the police.” + +This proof of a struggle between the victim and the assassin made Saniel +smile. Who could tell how long this button had been there? + +Suddenly he left his seat, and entering a copse he examined his +clothing. Was it he who had lost it? + +But soon he was ashamed of this unconscious movement. The button which +the police were so proud to discover, did not belong to him. This new +track on which they were about to enter did not lead to him. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. PHILLIS’S FEARS + +On Tuesday, a little before five o’clock, as she had promised, Phillis +rang at Saniel’s door, and he left his laboratory where he was at work, +to let her in. + +She threw herself on his neck. + +“Well?” she asked, in a trembling voice. + +He told her how he had played and won, without stating the exact sum; +also the propositions of the Prince Mazzazoli, the meeting with Duphot, +and the telegram to Jardine. + +“Oh! What happiness!” she said, pressing him in her arms. “You are +free!” + +“No more creditors! I am my own master. You see it was a good +inspiration. Justice willed it.” + +Then interrupting him: + +“Apropos of justice, you did not speak of Caffie the morning of your +departure.” + +“I was so preoccupied I had no time to think of Caffie.” + +“Is it not curious, the coincidence of his death with the condemnation +that we pronounced against him? Does it not prove exactly the justice of +things?” + +“If you choose.” + +“As the money you won at Monaco proves to you that what is just will +happen. Caffie is punished for all his rascalities and crimes, and you +are rewarded for your sufferings.” + +“Would it not have been just if Caffie had been punished sooner, and if +I had suffered less?” + +She remained silent. + +“You see,” he said smiling, “that your philosophy is weak.” + +“It is not of my philosophy that I am thinking, but of Caffie and +ourselves.” + +“And how can Caffie be associated with you or yours?” + +“He is, or rather he may be, if this justice in which I believe in spite +of your joking permits him to be.” + +“You are talking in enigmas.” + +“What have you heard about Caffie since you went away?” + +“Nothing, or almost nothing.” + +“You know it is thought that the crime was committed by a butcher.” + +“The commissioner picked up the knife before me, and it is certainly a +butcher’s knife. And more than that, the stroke that cut Caffie’s throat +was given by a hand accustomed to butchery. I have indicated this in my +report.” + +“Since then, more careful investigations have discovered a trousers’ +button--” + +“Which might have been torn off in a struggle between Caffie and his +assassin, I read in a newspaper. But as for me, I do not believe in this +struggle. Caffie’s position in his chair, where he was assaulted and +where he died, indicates that the old scamp was surprised. Otherwise, +if he had not been, if he had struggled, he could have cried out, and, +without doubt, he would have been heard.” + +“If you knew how happy I am to hear you say that!” she cried. + +“Happy! What difference can it make to you?” and he looked at her in +surprise. “Of what importance is it to you whether Caffie was killed +with or without a struggle? You condemned him; he is dead. That should +satisfy you.” + +“I was very wrong to pronounce this condemnation, which I did without +attaching any importance to it.” + +“Do you think that hastened its execution?” + +“I am not so foolish as that, but I should be better pleased if I had +not condemned him.” + +“Do you regret it?” + +“I regret that he is dead.” + +“Decidedly, the enigma continues; but you know I do not understand it, +and, if you wish, we will stop there. We have something better to do +than to talk of Caffie.” + +“On the contrary, let me talk to you of him, because we want your +advice.” + +Again he looked at her, trying to read her face and to divine why she +insisted on speaking of Caffie, when he had just expressed a wish not to +speak of him. What was there beneath this insistence? + +“I will listen,” he said; “and, since you wish to ask my advice on the +subject, you must tell me immediately what you mean.” + +“You are right; and I should have told you before, but embarrassment and +shame restrained me. And I reproach myself, for with you I should feel +neither embarrassment nor reproach.” + +“Assuredly.” + +“But before everything else, I must tell you--you must know--that my +brother Florentin is a good and honest boy; you must believe it, you +must be convinced of it.” + +“I am, since you tell me so. Besides, he produced the best impression on +me during the short time I saw him the other day at your house.” + +“Would not one see immediately that he has a good nature?” + +“Certainly.” + +“Frank and upright; weak, it is true, and a little effeminate also, +that is, lacking energy, letting himself be carried away by goodness and +tenderness. This weakness made him commit a fault before his departure +for America. I have kept it from you until this moment, but you must +know it now. Loving a woman who controlled him and made him do what she +wished, he let himself be persuaded to-take a sum of forty-five francs +that she demanded, that she insisted on having that evening, hoping to +be able to replace it three days later, without his employer discovering +it.” + +“His employer was Caffie?” + +“No; it was three months after he left Caffie, and he was with another +man of business of whom I have never spoken to you, and now you +understand why. The money he expected failed him; his fault was +discovered, and his employer lodged a complaint against him.” + +“We made him withdraw his complaint, never mind how, and Florentin went +to America to seek his fortune. And since you have seen him, you admit +that he might be capable of the fault that he committed, without being +capable-of becoming an assassin.” + +He was about to reply, but she closed his lips with a quick gesture. + +“You will see why I speak of this, and you will understand why I do +not drop the subject of Caffie, and of this button, on which the police +count to find the criminal. This button belonged to Florentin.” + +“To your brother?” + +“Yes, to Florentin, who, the day of the crime, had been to see Caffie.” + +“That is true; the concierge told the commissioner of police that he +called about three o’clock.” + +Phillis gave a cry of despair. + +“They know he was there? Then it is more serious than we imagined or +believed.” + +“In answering a question as to whom Caffie had received that day, the +concierge named your brother. But as this visit took place between three +and half-past, and the crime was certainly committed between five and +half-past, no one can accuse your brother of being the assassin, since +he left before Caffie lighted his lamp. As this lamp could not light +itself, it proves that he could not have butchered a man who was living +an hour after the concierge saw your brother and talked with him.” + +“What you say is a great relief; if you could know how alarmed we have +been!” + +“You were too hasty to alarm yourself.” + +“Too hasty? But when Florentin read the account to us and came to the +button, he exclaimed, ‘This button is mine!’ and we experienced a +shock that made us lose our heads. We saw the police falling on us, +questioning Florentin, reproaching him with the past, which would be +retailed in all the newspapers, and you must understand how we felt.” + +“But cannot your brother explain how he lost this button at Caffie’s?” + +“Certainly, and in the most natural way. He went to see Caffie, to ask +him for a letter of recommendation, saying that he had been his clerk +for several years. Caffie gave it to him, and then, in the course of +conversation, Caffie spoke of a bundle of papers that he could not find. +Florentin had had charge of these papers, and had placed them on a high +shelf in the closet. As Caffie could not find them, and wanted them, +Florentin brought a small ladder, and, mounting it, found them. He was +about to descend the ladder, when he made a misstep, and in trying to +save himself, one of the buttons of his trousers was pulled off.” + +“And he did not pick it up?” + +“He did not even notice it at first. But later, in the street, seeing +one leg of his trousers longer than the other, he thought of the ladder, +and found that he had lost a button. He would not return to Caffie’s to +look for it, of course.” + +“Of course.” + +“How could he foresee that Caffie would be assassinated? That the crime +would be so skilfully planned and executed that the criminal would +escape? That two days later the police would find a button on which they +would build a story that would make him the criminal? Florentin had not +thought of all that.” + +“That is understood.” + +“The same evening he replaced the button by another, and it was only on +reading the newspaper that he felt there might be something serious in +this apparently insignificant fact. And we shared his alarm.” + +“Have you spoken to any one of this button?” + +“Certainly not; we know too much. I tell you of it because I tell you +everything; and if we are menaced, we have no help to expect, except +from you. Florentin is a good boy, but he is weak and foolish. Mamma +is like him in more than one respect, and as for me, although I am more +resistant, I confess that, in the face of the law and the police, I +should easily lose my head, like children who begin to scream when they +are left in the dark. Is not the law, when you know nothing of it, a +night of trouble, full of horrors, and peopled with phantoms?” + +“I do not believe there is the danger that you imagined in the first +moment of alarm.” + +“It was natural.” + +“Very natural, I admit, but reflection must show how little foundation +there is for it. The button has not the name of the tailor who furnished +it?” + +“No, but it has the initials and the mark of the manufacturer; an A and +a P, with a crown and a cock.” + +“Well! Among two or three thousand tailors in Paris, how is it possible +for the police to find those who use these buttons? And when the tailors +are found, how could they designate the owner of this button, this one +exactly, and not another? It is looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. +Where did your brother have these trousers made? Did he bring them from +America?” + +“The poor boy brought nothing from America but wretchedly shabby +clothes, and we had to clothe him from head to foot. We were obliged to +economize, and a little tailor in the Avenue de Clichy, called Valerius, +made this suit.” + +“It seems to me scarcely probable that the police will find this little +tailor. But if they do, would he recognize the button as coming from +his stock? And, if they get as far as your brother, they must prove that +there was a struggle; that the button was torn off in this struggle; +that your brother was in the Rue Sainte-Anne between five and six +o’clock; in which case, without doubt, he will find it easy to prove +where he was at that moment.” + +“He was with us--with mamma.” + +“You see, then, you need not feel alarmed.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. A GRAVE DISCUSSION + +Phillis hurried to return to the Rue des Moines, to share with her +mother and brother the confidence that Saniel caused her to feel. + +She pulled the bell with a trembling hand, for the time was past when +in this quiet house, where all the lodgers knew each other, the key was +left in the door, and one had only to knock before entering. Since the +newspapers had spoken of the button, all was changed; the feeling of +liberty and security had disappeared; the door was always closed, and +when the bell rang they looked at each other in fear and with trembling. + +When Florentin opened the door, the table was set for dinner. + +“I was afraid something had happened to you,” Madame Cormier said. + +“I was detained.” + +She took off her hat and cloak hastily. + +“You have learned nothing?” the mother asked, bringing in the soup. + +“No.” + +“They spoke to you of nothing?” Florentin continued in a low voice. + +“They spoke to me of nothing else; or I heard only that when I was not +addressed directly.” + +“What was said?” + +“No one believes that the investigations of the police bear on the +button.” + +“You see, Florentin,” Madame Cormier interrupted, smiling at her son. + +But he shook his head. + +“However, the opinion of all has a value,” Phillis cried. + +“Speak lower,” Florentin said. + +“It is thought that it is impossible for the police to find, among the +two or three thousand tailors in Paris, all those who use the buttons +marked A. P. And if they did find them, they could not designate all +their customers to whom they have furnished these buttons. It is really +looking for a needle in a bundle of hay.” + +“When one takes plenty of time, one finds a needle in a bundle of hay,” + Florentin said. + +“You ask me what I heard, and I tell you. But I do not depend entirely +on that. As I passed near the Rue Louis-le-Grand, I went to Doctor +Saniel’s; it being his office hour I hoped to find him.” + +“You told him the situation?” Florentin exclaimed. + +In any other circumstances she would have replied frankly, explaining +that she had perfect confidence in Saniel; but when she saw her +brother’s agitation, she could not exasperate him by this avowal, above +all, because she could not at the same time give her reasons for her +faith in him. She must reassure him before everything. + +“No,” she said, “but I spoke of Caffie to Doctor Saniel without his +being surprised. As he made the first deposition, was it not natural +that my curiosity should wish to learn a little more than the newspapers +tell?” + +“Never mind, the act must appear strange.” + +“I think not. But, anyhow, the interest that we have to learn all +made me overlook this; and I think, when I have told you the doctor’s +opinion, you will not regret my visit.” + +“And this opinion?” Madame Cormier asked. + +“His opinion is, that there was no struggle between Caffie and the +assassin, whereas the position of Caffie in the chair where he was +attacked proves that he was surprised. Therefore, if there was no +struggle, there was no button torn off, and all the scaffolding of the +police falls to the ground.” + +Madame Cormier breathed a profound sigh of deliverance. + +“You see,” she said to her son. + +“And the doctor’s opinion is not the opinion of the first-comer, it is +not even that of an ordinary physician. It is that of the physician who +has certified to the death, and who, more than any one, has power, +has authority, to say how it was given--by surprise, without struggle, +without a button being pulled off.” + +“It is not Doctor Saniel who directs the search of the police, or +who inspires it,” replied Florentin. “His opinion does not produce a +criminal, while the button can--at least for those who believe in the +struggle; and between the two the police will not hesitate. + +“Already the newspapers laugh at them for not having discovered the +assassin, who has rejoined all the others they have let escape. They +must follow the track they have started on, and this track--” + +He lowered his voice: + +“It will lead them here.” + +“To do that they must pass by the Avenue de Clichy, and that seems +unlikely.” + +“It is the possible that torments me, and not the unlikely, and you +cannot but recognize that what I fear is possible. I was at Caffies +the day of the crime. I lost there a button torn off by violence. +This button picked up by the police proves, according to them, the +criminality of the one who lost it. They will find that I am the one--” + +“They will not find you.” + +“Let us admit that they do find me. How should I defend myself?” + +“By proving that you were not in the Rue Sainte-Anne between five and +six o’clock, since you were here.” + +“And what witnesses will prove this alibi? I have only one--mamma. +What is the testimony of a mother worth in favor of her son in such +circumstances?” + +“You will have that of the doctor, affirming that there was no struggle, +and consequently no button torn off.” + +“Affirming, but carrying no proof to support his theory; the opinion of +one doctor, which the opinion of another doctor may refute and destroy. +And then, to prove that there was no struggle; Doctor Saniel will say +that Caffie was surprised. Who could surprise Caffie? To open Caffies +door when the clerk was away, it was necessary to ring first, and then +to knock three times in a peculiar way. No stranger could know that, and +who could know it better than I?” + +Step by step Phillis defended the ground against her brother; but little +by little the confidence which at first sustained her weakened. With +Saniel she was brave. Between her brother and mother, in this room that +had witnessed their fears, not daring to speak loud, she was downcast, +and let herself be overcome by their anxieties. + +“Truly,” she said, “it seems as if we were guilty and not innocent.” + +“And while we are tormenting ourselves, the criminal, probably, in +perfect safety laughs at the police investigations; he had not thought +of this button; chance throws it in his way. Luck is for him, and +against us--once more.” + +This was the plaint that was often on Florentin’s lips. Although he had +never been a gambler--and for sufficient reason--in his eyes everything +was decided by luck. There are those who are born under a lucky star, +others under an unlucky one. There are those who, in the battle of life, +receive knocks without being discouraged, because they expect something +the next day, as there are those who become discouraged because they +expect nothing, and know by experience that tomorrow will be for them +what today is, what yesterday was. And Florentin was one of these. + +“Why did I not stay in America?” he said. + +“Because you were too unhappy, my poor boy!” Madame Cormier said, whose +maternal heart was moved by this cry. + +“Am I happier here, or shall I be to-morrow? What does this to-morrow, +full of uncertainty and dangers, hold for us?” + +“Why do you insist that it has only dangers?” Phillis asked, in a +conciliating and caressing tone. + +“You always expect the good.” + +“At least I hope for it, and do not admit deliberately that it is +impossible. I do not say that life is always rose-colored, but neither +is it always black. I believe it is like the seasons. After winter, +which is vile, I confess, come the spring, summer, and autumn.” + +“Well, if I had the money necessary for the voyage, I would go and pass +the end of the winter in a country where it would be less disagreeable +than here, and, above all, less dangerous for my constitution.” + +“You do not say that seriously, I hope?” cried Madame Cormier. + +“On the contrary, very seriously.” + +“We are hardly reunited, and you think of a separation,” she said, +sadly. + +“It is not of a separation that Florentin thinks,” cried Phillis, “but +of a flight.” + +“And why not?” + +“Because only the guilty fly.” + +“It is exactly the contrary. The intelligent criminals stay, and, as +generally they are resolute men, they know beforehand that they are +able to face the danger; while the innocent, timid like myself, or the +unlucky, lose their heads and fly, because they know beforehand, also, +that if a danger threatens them, it will crush them. That is why I would +return to America if I could pay my passage; at least I should feel easy +there.” + +There was a moment of silence, during which each one seemed to have no +thought but to finish dinner. + +“Granting that this project is not likely,” Florentin said, “I have +another idea.” + +“Why do you have ideas?” Phillis asked. + +“I wish you were in my place; we should see if you would not have them.” + +“I assure you that I am in your place, and that your trouble is mine, +only it does not betray itself in the same manner. But what is your +idea?” + +“It is to find Valerius and tell him all.” + +“And who will answer to us for Valerius’s discretion?” asked Madame +Cormier. “Would it not be the greatest imprudence that you could commit? +One cannot play with a secret of this importance.” + +“Valerius is an honest man.” + +“It is because he cannot work when political, or rather patriotic, +affairs go wrong, that you say this.” + +“And why not? With a poor man who lives in a small way by his work, are +not this care and pride in his country marks of an honorable heart?” + +“I grant the honorable heart, but it is another reason for being prudent +with him,” Phillis said. “Precisely because he may be what you think, +reserve is necessary. You tell him what is passed. If he accepts it and +your innocence, it is well; he will not betray your secret voluntarily +nor by stupidity. But he will not accept it; he will look beyond. He +will suppose that you wish to deceive him, and he will suspect you. In +that case, would he not go and tell all to the police commissioner of +our quarter? As for me, I think it is a danger that it would be foolish +to risk.” + +“And, according to you, what is to be done?” + +“Nothing; that is, wait, since there are a thousand chances against one +for our uneasiness, and we exaggerate those that may never be realized.” + +“Well, let us wait,” he said. “Moreover, I like that; at the least, I +have no responsibilities. What can happen will happen.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR + +In order to put the button found at Caffies on the track of the +assassin, it required that it should have come from a Parisian tailor, +or, at least, a French one, and that the trousers had not been sold by a +ready-made clothing-house, where the names of customers are not kept. + +The task of the police was therefore difficult, as weak, also, were the +chances of success. As Saniel had said, it was like looking for a needle +in a bundle of hay, to go to each tailor in Paris. + +But this was not their way of proceeding. In place of trying to find +those who used these buttons, they looked for those who made them or +sold them, and suddenly, without going farther than the directory, they +found this manufacturer: “A. Pelinotte, manufacturer of metal buttons +for trousers; trademark, A.P., crown and cock; Faubourg du Temple.” + +At first this manufacturer was not disposed to answer questions of the +agent who went to see him; but when he began to understand that he might +reap some advantage from the affair, like the good merchant that he was, +young and active, he put his books and clerks at his disposition. His +boast was, in effect, that his buttons, thanks to a brass bonnet around +which the thread was rolled instead of passing through the holes, never +cut the thread and could not be broken. When they came off it was with +a piece of the cloth. What better justification of his pretensions, +what better advertisement than his button torn off with a piece of the +trousers of the assassin? The affair would go before the assizes, and in +all the newspapers there would be mention of the “A. P. buttons.” + +He was asked for his customers’ names, and after a few days the search +began, guided by a list so exact that useless steps were spared. + +One morning a detective reached the Avenue de Clichy, and found the +tailor Valerius in his shop, reading a newspaper. For it was not only +when the country was in danger that Valerius had a passion for reading +papers, but every morning and evening. + +Nothing that was published in the papers escaped him, and at the first +words of the agent he understood immediately about what he was to be +questioned. + +“It is concerning the affair in the Rue Sainte-Anne that you wish this +information?” he said. + +“Frankly, yes.” + +“Well, frankly also, I do not know if the secrets of the profession +permit me to answer you.” + +The agent, who was by no means stupid, immediately understood the man’s +character, and instead of yielding to the desire to laugh, caused by +this reply honestly made by this good-natured man, whose long, black, +bushy beard and bald head accentuated his gravity, he yielded to the +necessity of the occasion. + +“That is a question to discuss.” + +“Then let us discuss it. A customer, confiding in my honesty and +discretion, gives me an order to make a pair of trousers; he pays me as +he agreed, without beating me down, and on the day he promised. We are +loyal to each other. I give him a pair of good trousers, honestly made, +and he pays me with good money. We are even. Have I the right afterward, +by imprudent words, or otherwise, to furnish clews against him? The case +is a delicate one.” + +“Do you place the interest of the individual above that of society?” + +“When it is a question of a professional secret, yes. Where should we be +if the lawyer, the notary, the doctor, the confessor, the tailor, could +accept compromises on this point of doctrine? It would be anarchy, +simply, and in the end it would be the interest of society that would +suffer.” + +The agent, who had no time to lose, began to be impatient. + +“I will tell you,” he said, “that the tailor, however important his +profession may be, is not placed exactly as the doctor or confessor. +Have you not a book in which you write your customers’ orders?” + +“Certainly.” + +“So that if you persevere in a theory, pushing it to an extreme, I need +only to go to the commissioner of your quarter, who, in virtue of the +power of the law conferred upon him, will seize your books.” + +“That would be by violence, and my responsibility would be at an end.” + +“And in these books the judge would see to whom you have furnished +trousers of this stuff. It would only remain then to discover in whose +interest you have wished to escape the investigations of the law.” + +Saying this, he took from his pocket a small box, and taking out a piece +of paper, he took from it a button to which adhered a piece of navy blue +stuff. + +Valerius, who was not in the least moved by the threat of the +commissioner, for he was a man to brave martyrdom, looked at the box +curiously. When the agent displayed the button, a movement of great +surprise escaped him. + +“You see,” the agent exclaimed, “that you know this cloth!” + +“Will you permit me to look at it?” Valerius asked. + +“Willingly, but on condition that you do not touch it; it is precious.” + +Valerius took the box, and approaching the front of the shop, looked at +the button and the piece of cloth. + +“It is a button marked ‘A.P.,’ as you see, and we know that you use +these buttons.” + +“I do not deny it; they are good buttons, and I give only good things to +my customers.” + +Returning the box to the agent, he took a large book and began to turn +over the leaves; pieces of cloth were pasted on the pages, and at the +side were several lines of large handwriting. Arriving at a page where +was a piece of blue cloth, he took the box and compared this piece with +that of the button, examining it by daylight. + +“Sir,” he said, “I am going to tell you some very serious things.” + +“I am listening.” + +“We hold the assassin of the Rue Sainte-Anne, and it is I who will give +you the means of discovering him.” + +“You have made trousers of this cloth?” + +“I have made three pairs; but there is only one pair that can interest +you, that of the assassin. I have just told you that the secrets of the +profession prevented me from replying to your questions, but what I have +just seen frees my conscience. As I explained to you, when I make a +pair of good trousers for a customer who pays me in good money, I do not +think I have the right to reveal the affairs of my client to any one in +the world, even to the law.” + +“I understand,” interrupted the agent, whose impatience increased. + +“But this reserve on my part rests on reciprocity: to a good customer, +a good tailor. If the customer is not good the reciprocity ceases, or, +rather, it continues on another footing--that of war; if any one +treats me badly, I return the same. The trousers to which this stuff +belongs”--he showed the button--“I made for an individual whom I do not +know, and who presented himself to me as an Alsacian, which I believed +so much more easily, because he spoke with a strong foreign accent. +These trousers--I need not tell you how careful I was with them. I am +a patriot, sir. He agreed to pay for them on delivery. When they were +delivered, the young apprentice who took them had the weakness to not +insist upon the money. I went to him, but could obtain nothing; he +would pay me the next day, and so on. Finally he disappeared, leaving no +address.” + +“And this customer?” + +“I will give you his name without the slightest hesitation. Fritzner, +not an Alsacian as I believed, but a Prussian to a certainty, who surely +struck the blow; his disappearance the day after the crime is the proof +of it.” + +“You say that you were not able to procure his address?” + +“But you, who have other means at your disposal, can find him. He is +twenty-seven or thirty years old, of middle height, blue eyes, a blond +beard, and a complete blue suit of this cloth.” + +The agent wrote this description in his note-book as the tailor gave it +to him. + +“If he has not left Paris with these stolen thirty-five thousand francs, +we shall find him, and the thanks will be yours,” he said. + +“I am happy to be able to do anything for you.” + +The agent was going, but he thought better of it. + +“You said that you had made three suits of this cloth?” + +“Yes, but there is only this Fritzner who counts. The two others are +honest men, well known in the quarter, and they paid me honestly.” + +“Since they have no cause for alarm, you need have no scruples in naming +them. It is not in the name of justice that I ask their names, but for +myself.--They will look well in my report and will prove that I pushed +my investigations thoroughly.” + +“One is a merchant in the Rue Truffant, and is called Monsieur Blanchet; +the other is a young man just arrived from America, and his name is +Monsieur Florentin Cormier.” + +“You say Florentin Cormier?” the agent asked, who remembered this name +was that of one who had seen Caffie on the day of the crime. “Do you +know him?” + +“Not exactly; it is the first time that I have made clothes for him. But +I know his mother and sister, who have lived in the Rue des Moines five +or six years at least; good, honest people, who work hard and have no +debts.” + +The next morning about ten o’clock, a short time after Phillis’s +departure, Florentin, who was reading the newspaper in the dining-room, +while his mother prepared the breakfast, heard stealthy steps that +stopped on the landing before their door. His ear was too familiar with +the ordinary sounds in the house to be deceived; there was in these +steps a hesitation or a precaution which evidently betrayed a stranger, +and with the few connections they had, a stranger was surely an +enemy--the one whom he expected. + +A ring of the doorbell, given by a firm hand, made him jump from his +chair. He did not hesitate; slowly, and with an air of indifference, he +opened the door. + +He saw before him a man of about forty years, with a polite and shrewd +face, dressed in a short coat, and wearing a flat hat. + +“Monsieur Florentin Cormier?” + +“I am he.” + +And he asked him to come in. + +“The judge desires to see you at his office.” + +Madame Cormier came from the kitchen in time to hear these few words, +and if Florentin had not motioned to her to be silent, she would have +betrayed herself. The words on her lips were: + +“You came to arrest my son!” They would have escaped her, but she +crushed them back. + +“And can you tell me for what affair the judge summons me?” Florentin +asked, steadying his voice. + +“For the Caffie affair.” + +“And at what hour should I present myself before the judge?” + +“Immediately.” + +“But my son has not breakfasted!” Madame Cormier exclaimed. “At least, +take something before going, my dear child.” + +“It is not worth while.” + +He made a sign to her that she should not insist. His throat was too +tight to swallow a piece of bread, and it was important that he should +not betray his emotion before this agent. + +“I am ready,” he said. + +Going to his mother he embraced her, but lightly, without effusion, as +if he were only to be absent a short time. + +“By-and-by.” + +She was distracted; but, understanding that she would compromise her son +if she yielded to her feelings, she controlled herself. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. A TIGHTENING CHAIN + +As it was a part that he played, Florentin said to himself that he would +play it to the best of his ability in entering the skin of the person he +wished to be, and this part was that of a witness. + +He had been Caffie’s clerk; the justice would interrogate him about his +old employer, and nothing would be more natural. It was that only, and +nothing but that, which he could admit; consequently, he should interest +himself in the police investigations, and have the curiosity to learn +how they stood. + +“Have you advanced far in the Caffie affair?” he asked the agent as they +walked along. + +“I do not know,” the agent answered, who thought it prudent to be +reserved. “I know nothing more than the newspapers tell.” + +On leaving his mother’s house, Florentin observed on the other side +of the street a man who appeared to be stationed there; at the end of +several minutes, on turning a corner, he saw that this man followed them +at a certain distance. Then it was not a simple appearance before the +judge, for such precautions are not taken with a witness. + +When they reached the Place Clichy, the agent asked him if he would take +a carriage, but he declined. What good was it? It was a useless expense. + +Then he saw the agent raise his hat, as if bowing to some one, but this +bow was certainly not made to any one; and immediately, the man who had +followed them approached. The raising of the hat was a signal. As from +the deserted quarters of the Batignolles they entered the crowd, they +feared he might try to escape. The character of the arrest became +accentuated. + +After the presentiments and fears that had tormented him during the +last few days this did not astonish him, but since they took these +precautions with him, all was not yet decided. He must, then, defend +himself to the utmost. Distracted before the danger came, he felt less +weak now that he was in it. + +On arriving at the Palais de justice he was introduced immediately +into the judge’s office. But he did not attend to him at once; he was +questioning a woman, and Florentin examined him by stealth. He saw a man +of elegant and easy figure, still young, with nothing solemn or imposing +about him, having more the air of a boulevardier or of a sportsman than +of a magistrate. + +While continuing his questioning, he also examined Florentin, but with +a rapid glance, without persistence, carelessly, and simply because his +eyes fell upon him. Before a table a clerk was writing, and near the +door two policemen waited, with the weary, empty faces of men whose +minds are elsewhere. + +Soon the judge turned his head toward them. + +“You may take away the accused.” + +Then, immediately addressing Florentin, he asked him his name, his +Christian names, and his residence. + +“You have been the clerk of the agent of affairs, Caffie. Why did you +leave him?” + +“Because my work was too heavy.” + +“You are afraid of work?” + +“No, when it is not too hard; it was at his office, and left me no time +to work for myself. I was obliged to reach his office at eight o’clock +in the morning, breakfast there, and did not leave until seven to dine +with my mother at the Batignolles. I had an hour and a half for that; +at half-past eight I had to return, and stay until ten or half-past. In +accepting this position I believed that I should be able to finish my +education, interrupted by the death of my father, and to study law and +become something better than a miserable clerk of a business man. It was +impossible with Monsieur Caffie, so I left him, and this was the only +reason why we separated.” + +“Where have you been since?” + +This was a delicate question, and one that Florentin dreaded, for it +might raise prejudices that nothing would destroy. However, he must +reply, for what he would not tell himself others would reveal; an +investigation on this point was too easy. + +“With another business man, Monsieur Savoureux, Rue de la Victoire, +where I was not obliged to work in the evening. I stayed there about +three months, and then went to America.” + +“Why?” + +“Because, when I began to study seriously, I found that my studies +had been neglected too long to make it possible for me to take them +up again. I had forgotten nearly all I had learned. I should, without +doubt, fail in my examination, and I should only begin the law too late. +I left France for America, where I hoped to find a good situation.” + +“How long since your return?” + +“Three weeks.” + +“And you went to see Caffie?” + +“Yes.” + +“What for?” + +“To ask him for a recommendation to replace the one he gave me, which I +had lost.” + +“It was the day of the crime?” + +“Yes.” + +“At what time?” + +“I reached his house about a quarter to three, and I left about +half-past three.” + +“Did he give you the certificate for which you asked?” + +“Yes; here it is.” + +And, taking it from his pocket, he presented it to the judge. It was +a paper saying that, during the time that M. Florentin Cormier was his +clerk, Caffie was entirely satisfied with him; with his work, as with +his accuracy and probity. + +“And you did not return to him during the evening?” the judge asked. + +“Why should I return? I had obtained what I desired.” + +“Well, did you or did you not return?” + +“I did not return to him.” + +“Do you remember what you did on leaving Caffie’s house?” + +If Florentin had indulged in the smallest illusion about his appearance +before the judge, the manner of conducting the interview would have +destroyed it. It was not a witness who was being questioned, it was a +culprit. He had not to enlighten the justice, he had to defend himself. + +“Perfectly,” he said. “It is not so long ago. On leaving the Rue +Sainte-Anne, as I had nothing to do, I went down to the quays, and +looked at the old books from the Pont Royale to the Institute; but at +this moment a heavy shower came on, and I returned to the Batignolles, +where I remained with my mother.” + +“What time was it when you reached your mother’s house?” + +“A few minutes after five.” + +“Can you not say exactly?” + +“About a quarter past five, a few minutes more or less.” + +“And you did not go out again?” + +“No.” + +“Did any one call at your mother’s after you arrived there?” + +“No one. My sister came in at seven o’clock, as usual, when she returned +from her lesson.” + +“Before you went up to your rooms did you speak with any of the other +lodgers?” + +“No.” + +There was a pause, and Florentin felt the judge’s eyes fixed on him with +an aggravating persistency. It seemed as if this look, which enveloped +him from head to foot, wished to penetrate his inmost thoughts. + +“Another thing,” said the judge. “You did not lose a trousers’ button +while you were with Caffie?” + +Florentin expected this question, and for some time he had considered +what answer he should make to it. To deny was impossible. It would be +easy to convict him of a fib, for the fact of the question being asked +was sufficient to say there was proof that the button was his. He must, +then, confess the truth, grave as it might be. + +“Yes,” he said, “and this is how--” + +He related in detail the story of the bundle of papers placed on the +highest shelf of the cases, his slipping on the ladder, and the loss of +the button, which he did not discover until he was in the street. + +The judge opened a drawer and took from it a small box, from which he +took a button that he handed to Florentin. + +“Is that it?” he asked. + +Florentin looked at it. + +“It is difficult for me to answer,” he said, finally; “one button +resembles another.” + +“Not always.” + +“In that case, it would be necessary for me to have observed the form +of the one I lost, and I gave no attention to it. It seems to me that no +one knows exactly how, or of what, the buttons are made that they wear.” + +The judge examined him anew. + +“But are not the trousers that you wear to-day the same from which this +button was torn?” + +“It is the pair I wore the day I called on Monsieur Caffie.” + +“Then it is quite easy to compare the button that I show you with those +on your trousers, and your answer becomes easy.” + +It was impossible to escape this verification. + +“Unbutton your vest,” said the judge, “and make your comparison with +care--with all the care that you think wise. The question has some +importance.” + +Florentin felt it only too much, the importance of this question, but as +it was set before him, he could not but answer frankly. + +He unbuttoned his waistcoat, and compared the button with his. + +“I believe that it is really the button that I lost,” he said. + +Although he endeavored not to betray his anguish, he felt that his voice +trembled, and that it had a hoarse sound. Then he wished to explain this +emotion. + +“This is a truly terrible position for me,” he said. + +The judge did not reply. + +“But because I lost a button at Monsieur Caffie’s, it does not follow +that it was torn off in a struggle.” + +“You have your theory, and you will make the most of it, but this is not +the place. I have only one more question to ask: By what button have you +replaced the one you lost?” + +“By the first one I came across.” + +“Who sewed it on?” + +“I did.” + +“Are you in the habit of sewing on your buttons yourself?” + +Although the judge did not press this question by his tone, nor by the +form in which he made it, Florentin saw the strength of the accusation +that his reply would make against him. + +“Sometimes,” he said. + +“And yet, on returning home, you found your mother, you told me. Was +there any reason why she could not sew this button on for you?” + +“I did not ask her to do it.” + +“But when she saw you sewing it, did she not take the needle from your +hands?” + +“She did not see me.” + +“Why?” + +“She was occupied preparing our dinner.” + +“That is sufficient.” + +“I was in the entry of our apartment, where I have slept since my +return; my mother was in the kitchen.” + +“Is there no communication between the kitchen and the entry?” + +“The door was closed.” + +A flood of words rushed to his lips, to protest against the conclusions +which seemed to follow these answers, but he kept them back. He saw +himself caught in a net, and all his efforts to free himself only bound +him more strongly. + +As he was asked no more questions it seemed to him best to say nothing, +and he was silent a long time, of the duration of which he was only +vaguely conscious. + +The judge talked in a low tone, the recorder wrote rapidly, and he heard +only a monotonous murmur that interrupted the scratching of a pen on the +paper. + +“Your testimony will now be read to you,” the judge said. + +He wished to give all his attention to this reading, but he soon lost +the thread of it. The impression it made upon him, however, was that it +faithfully reproduced all that he had said, and he signed it. + +“Now,” said the judge, “my duty obliges me, in presence of the charges +which emanate from your testimony, to deliver against you a ‘manda +depot’.” + +Florentin received this blow without flinching. + +“I know,” he said, “that all the protestations I might make would have +no effect at this moment; I therefore spare you them. But I have a favor +to ask of you; it is to permit me to write to my mother and sister the +news of my arrest--they love me tenderly. Oh, you shall read my letter!” + +“You may, sir.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. “REGARDING THE CAFFIE AFFAIR” + +After the departure of her son and the detective, Madame Cormier was +prostrated. Her son! Her Florentin! The poor child! And she was sunk in +despair. + +Had they not suffered enough? Was this new proof necessary? Why had +their life been so unmercifully cruel? Why had not Dr. Saniel let +her die? At least she would not have seen this last catastrophe, this +disgrace; her son accused of assassination, in prison, at the assizes! + +Heretofore when she had yielded to her feelings and bewailed their sad +lot, Phillis was at hand to cheer and caress her; but now she was alone +in her deserted apartment, no one to hear her, see her, nor scold. Why +should she not abandon herself to tears? She wept and trembled, but the +moment arrived when, after having reached the extreme of despair, which +showed her her son condemned as an assassin, and executed, she stopped +and asked herself if she had not gone too far. + +He would return; certainly she might expect him. And she waited for him +without breakfasting; he would not like to sit down to the table all +alone, the poor child. + +Besides, she was too profoundly overcome to eat. She arranged the fire +with care, so that the haricot of mutton would keep warm, for it was his +favorite dish. + +Minutes and hours passed and he did not return. Her anguish came back; +a witness would not be retained so long by the judge. Had they arrested +him? Then what would become of him? + +She fell into a state of tears and despair, and longed for Phillis. +Fortunately she would not be late to-day. Finally a quick, light step +was heard on the landing, and as soon as she could, Madame Cormier went +to open the door, and was stunned on seeing the agitated face of her +daughter. Evidently Phillis was surprised by the sudden opening of the +door. + +“You know all, then?” Madame Cormier cried. + +Phillis put her arms about her, and drew her into the dining-room, where +she made her sit down. + +“Becalm,” she said. “They will not keep him.” + +“You know some way?” + +“We will find a way. I promise you that they will not keep him.” + +“You are sure?” + +“I promise you.” + +“You give me life. But how did you know?” + +“He wrote to me. The concierge gave me his letter, which had just come.” + +“What does he say?” + +Madame Cormier took the letter that Phillis handed her, but the paper +shook so violently in her trembling hand that she could not read. + +“Read it to me.” + +Phillis took it and read + + “DEAR LITTLE SISTER: After listening to my story, the judge retains + me. Soften for mamma the pain of this blow. Make her understand + that they will soon acknowledge the falseness of this accusation; + and, on your part, try to make this falseness evident, while on + mine, I will work to prove my innocence. + + “Embrace poor mamma for me, and find in your tenderness, strength, + and love, some consolation for her; mine will be to think that you + are near her, dear little beloved sister. + + “FLORENTIN.” + +“And it is this honest boy that they accuse of assassination!” cried +Madame Cormier, beginning to weep. + +It required several minutes for Phillis to quiet her a little. + +“We must think of him, mamma; we must not give up.” + +“You are going to do something, are you not, my little Phillis?” + +“I am going to find Doctor Saniel.” + +“He is a doctor, not a lawyer.” + +“It is exactly as a doctor that he can save Florentin. He knows that +Caffie was killed without a struggle between him and the assassin; +consequently without the wrenching off of a button. He will say it and +prove it to the judge, and Florentin’s innocence is evident. I am going +to see him.” + +“I beg of you, do not leave me alone too long.” + +“I will come back immediately.” + +Phillis ran from the Batignolles to the Rue Louis-le-Grand. In answer to +her ring, Joseph, who had returned to his place in the anteroom, opened +the door, and as Saniel was alone, she went immediately to his office. + +“What is the matter?” he asked, on seeing her agitation. + +“My brother is arrested.” + +“Ah! The poor boy!” + +What he had said to her on explaining that this arrest could not take +place was sincere; he believed it, and he more than believed it, he +wished it. When he decided to kill Caffie he had not thought that the +law would ever discover a criminal; it would be a crime that would +remain unpunished, as so many were, and no one would be disturbed. But +now the law had found and arrested one who was the brother of the woman +he loved. + +“How was he arrested?” he asked, as much for the sake of knowing as to +recover himself. + +She told what she knew, and read Florentin’s letter. + +“He is a good boy, your brother,” he said, as if talking to himself. + +“You will save him?” + +“How can I?” + +This cry escaped him without her understanding its weight; without her +divining the expression of anxious curiosity in his glance. + +“To whom shall I address myself, if not to you? Are you not everything +to me? My support, my guide, my counsel, my God!” + +She explained what she wished him to do. Once more an exclamation +escaped Saniel. + +“You wish me to go to the judge--me?” + +“Who, better than you, can explain how things happened?” + +Saniel, who had recovered from his first feeling of surprise, did not +flinch. Evidently she spoke with entire honesty, suspecting nothing, and +it would be folly to look for more than she said. + +“But I cannot present myself before a judge in such away,” he said. “It +is he who sends for those he wants to see.” + +“Why can you not go to his court, since you know things which will throw +light upon it?” + +“Is it truly easy to go before this court? In going before it, I make +myself the defender of your brother.” + +“That is exactly what I ask of you.” + +“And in presenting myself as his defender, I take away the weight of my +deposition, which would have more authority if it were that of a simple +witness.” + +“But when will you be asked for this deposition? Think of Florentin’s +sufferings during this time, of mamma’s, and of mine. He may lose his +head; he may kill himself. His spirit is not strong, nor is mamma’s. How +will they bear all that the newspapers will publish?” + +Saniel hesitated a moment. + +“Well, I will go,” he said. “Not this evening, it is too late, but +tomorrow.” + +“Oh, dear Victor!” she exclaimed, pressing him in her arms, “I knew that +you would save him. We will owe you his life, as we owe you mamma’s, as +I owe you happiness. Am I not right to say you are my God?” + +After she was gone he had a moment of repentance in which he regretted +this weakness; for it was a weakness, a stupid sentimentalism, unworthy +of a sensible man, who should not permit himself to be thus touched and +involved. Why should he go and invite danger when he could be quiet, +without any one giving him a thought? Was it not folly? The law wanted a +criminal. Public curiosity demanded one. Why take away the one that +they had? If he succeeded, would they not look for another? It was +imprudence, and, to use the true word, madness. Now that he was no +longer under the influence of Phillis’s beautiful, tearful eyes, +he would not commit this imprudence. All the evening this idea +strengthened, and when he went to bed his resolution was taken. He would +not go to the judge. + +But on awakening, he was surprised to find that this resolution of the +evening was not that of the morning, and that this dual personality, +which had already struck him, asserted itself anew. It was at night that +he resolved to kill Caffie, and he committed the deed in the evening. +It was in the morning that he had abandoned the idea, as it was in the +morning that he revoked the decision made the previous evening not to go +to the rescue of this poor boy. Of what then, was the will of man made, +undulating like the sea, and variable as the wind, that he had the folly +to believe his was firm? + +At noon he went to the Palais de justice and sent in his card to the +judge, on which he wrote these words: “Regarding the Caffie affair.” + +He was received almost immediately, and briefly explained how, according +to his opinion, Caffie was killed quickly and suddenly by a firm and +skilful hand, that of a killer by profession. + +“That is the conclusion of your report,” the judge said. + +“What I could not point out in my report, as I did not know of the +finding of the button and the opinion it has led to, is that there +was no struggle between the assassin and the victim, as is generally +supposed.” + +And medically he demonstrated how this struggle was impossible. + +The judge listened attentively, without a word, without interruption. + +“Do you know this young man?” he asked. + +“I have seen him only once; but I know his mother, who was my patient, +and it is at her instigation that I decided to make this explanation to +you.” + +“Without doubt, it has its value, but I must tell you that it tends in +no way to destroy our hypothesis.” + +“But if it has no foundation?” + +“I must tell you that you are negative, doctor, and not suggestive. We +have a criminal and you have not. Do you see one?” + +Saniel thought that the judge looked at him with a disagreeable +persistency. + +“No,” he said, sharply. + +Then rising, he said, more calmly: + +“That is not in my line.” + +He had nothing to do but to retire, which he did; and on passing through +the vestibule he said to himself that the magistrate was right. He +believed that he held a criminal. Why should he let him go? + +As for him, he had done what he could. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. NOUGAREDE’S BRIDE + +Saniel passed the first proofs of his two ‘concours’ so brilliantly that +the results of either were not doubtful. In delivering his thesis for +the ‘agregation’, he commanded the admiration of his audience; by turns +aggressive, severe, ironical, eloquent, he reduced his adversary to such +an extremity that, overwhelmed, he was not able to reply. In his lecture +at the hospital, his eloquence and his clear demonstration convinced the +judges who were opposed to him that he was in the right. + +What could Caffie’s death weigh, placed in the balance with these +results? So little that it counted for nothing, and would have held +no place in his thoughts if it had not been mixed in his mind with the +accusation that would send Florentin to the assizes. + +Cleared of this fact, the death of the old man rarely crossed his mind. +He had other things in his head, truly, than this memory which brought +neither regret nor remorse; and it was not at this moment, when he +touched the end at which he aimed, that he would embarrass himself, or +sadden his triumph, with Caffie. + +A little before the expiration of the two months, during which time +the poste restante retained the letters containing the thirty thousand +francs, he called for them, and readdressed and mailed them to other +post-offices. + +What did he want of this money, which was, in reality, a nuisance? His +habits remained the same, except that he no longer struggled with his +creditors, and paid cash for everything. He had no desire to make any +change in his former mode of living; his ambition was otherwise and +higher than in the small satisfactions, very small for him, that money +gives. + +Days passed without a thought of Caffie, except in connection with +Florentin. But Florentin, and above all, Phillis, reminded him that +the comfort he enjoyed he owed to Caffie’s death, and he was troubled +accordingly. + +He did not believe that the investigations of the law would reach him +now; everything conspired to confirm him in his scrutiny. That which +he arranged so laboriously had succeeded according to his wish, and the +only imprudence that he had committed, in a moment of aberration, seemed +not to have been observed; no one had noticed his presence in the cafe +opposite Caffie’s house, and no one was astonished at his pertinacity in +remaining there at an hour so unusual. + +But it was not enough that he was safe; he must prevent Florentin from +being unjustly condemned for a crime of which he was innocent. It was +a great deal that he should be imprisoned, that his sister should be in +despair, and his mother ill from chagrin; but if he should be sent to +the scaffold or to the galleys, it would be too much. In itself the +death of Caffie was a small thing; it became atrocious if it led to such +an ending. + +He did not wish this to happen, and he would do everything not only to +prevent the condemnation, but to shorten the imprisonment. + +It was this sentiment that he obeyed in going to see the judge; but +the manner in which he was received, showing him that the law was +not disposed to let its hypothesis be changed by a simple medical +demonstration, threw him into a state of uneasiness and perplexity. + +Without doubt, any one else in his place would have let things take +their course, and since the law had a criminal with which it contented +itself, would have done nothing to release him. While it followed its +hypothesis to prove the criminality of the one it held, it would not +look elsewhere; when it had condemned him, all would be finished; the +Caffie affair would be buried, as Caffie himself was buried; silence and +oblivion would give him security. The crime punished, the conscience of +the public satisfied, it would ask for no more, not even to know if the +debt was paid by the one who really owed it; it was paid, and that was +sufficient. But he was not “any one else,” and if he found the death of +this old scamp legitimate, it was on the condition that Florentin did +not pay for it, from whom he had not profited. + +Florentin must be released as soon as possible, and it was his duty +to interest himself in his behalf--his imperative duty not only toward +Phillis, but toward himself. + +He told Phillis that until Florentin came before the jury, he could +do nothing, or almost nothing. When the time came, he would assert his +authority, and speaking in the name of science, he would prove to the +jury that the story of the button was an invention of the police, who +were pushed to extremes, and would not bear examination; but until then +the poor boy remained at Mazas, and however assured one might be at this +moment of an acquittal, an immediate ‘ordonnance de non-lieu’ was of +more value, if it could be obtained. + +For this the intervention and direction of a doctor were of little use; +it required that of an advocate. + +Whom should he have? Phillis would have liked to apply to the most +illustrious, to him who, by his talent, authority, and success, would +win all his cases. But Saniel explained to her that workers of miracles +were probably as difficult to find at the bar as in the medical +profession, and that, if they did exist, they would expect a large fee. +To tell the truth, he would have willingly given the thirty thousand +francs in the ‘poste restante’, or a large part of this sum, to give +Florentin his liberty; but it would be imprudent to take out the bills +at this moment, and he could not declare that he had thirty thousand +francs, or even ten thousand. He decided with Phillis to consult +Brigard. + +On a Wednesday he went to the parlor in the Rue Vaugirard, where he +had not been since his experiment with Glady. As usual, he was received +affectionately by Crozat, who scolded him for coming so rarely, and as +usual also, in order not to disturb the discussion that was going on, he +remained standing near the door. + +This evening the theme of the discourse was a phrase of Chateaubriand’s: +“The tiger kills and sleeps; man kills and is sleepless.” On listening +to the discussion, Saniel said to himself that it was truly a pity not +to be able to reply to all this rhetoric by a simple fact of personal +experience. He had never slept so well, so tranquilly, as since Caffie’s +death, which relieved him from all the cares that in these last months +had tormented and broken his sleep so much. + +At the end, Brigard concluded the discussion on saying that nothing +better proved the power of the human conscience than this difference +between man and beast. + +When they had all gone but Brigard, and Saniel was alone with him and +Crozat, he stated his desire. + +“But is it the Caffie affair?” + +“Exactly.” + +And he explained in detail the interest he felt in Florentin, the son of +one of his patients, and also the situation of this patient. + +Brigard strongly recommended Nougarede, and described his recent +successes before a jury. Crozat concurred with Brigard, and advised +Saniel to see Nougarede the day after to-morrow. + +“In the morning, because after the Palais, Nougarede will be at +his wedding, which, as you know, prevents him from coming here this +evening.” + +“What! Nougarede married?” exclaimed Saniel, surprised that the favorite +disciple gave this lie to the doctrine and examples of his master. + +“My God, yes! We must not be too hard on him. + +“He submits to the fate of a special environment. Without our knowledge, +Nougarede, we may say it now, and ought to say it, was the happy +lover of a charming young person, the daughter of one of our most +distinguished actresses, who was brought up in a fashionable convent. +You see the situation. The result of this liaison was a child, a +delicious little boy. It seemed quite natural that they should live ‘en +union libre’, since they loved each other, and not weaken by legalities +the strength of those that attached them to this child. But the mother +is an actress, as I have told you, and wished her daughter to receive +all the sacraments that the law and the church can confer. She managed +so well that poor Nougarede yielded. He goes to the mayor, to the +church; he legitimizes the child, and he even accepts a dot of two +hundred thousand francs. I pity him, the unfortunate man! But I confess +that I have the weakness to not condemn him as he would deserve if he +married in any other way.” + +Saniel was a little surprised at these points of resemblance with the +charming young person that Caffie had proposed to him. At the least, it +was curious; but if it were the same woman, he was not vexed to see that +Nougarede had been less difficult than himself. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. STUNNING NEWS + +On going to see Nougarede, Saniel vaguely fancied the lawyer would tell +him that an acquittal was certain if Florentin passed to the assizes, +and even that an ‘ordonnance de non-lieu’ was probable. But his hope was +not realized. + +“The adventure of the button for you or me would not have the same +gravity as for this boy; we have no antecedents on which presumptions +might be established, but he has. The forty-five francs which constitute +an embezzlement for a salaried man will be, certainly, a starting-point +for the accusation; one commences by a weakness and finishes by a crime. +Do you not hear the advocate-general? He will begin by presenting the +portrait of the honest, laborious, exact, scrupulous clerk, content with +a little, and getting satisfaction from his duties accomplished; then, +in opposition, he will pass to the clerk of to-day, as irregular in +his work as in his conduct, full of desires, in a hurry to enjoy, +discontented with everything and everybody, with others as with himself. +And he will go on to speak of the embezzlement of the forty-five francs +as the beginning of the crimes that led to the assassination. You may +be sure if the affair goes to the assizes that you will hear these words +and more, and I assure you that it will be difficult for us to destroy +the impression that he will produce on the jury. But I hope we shall +succeed.” + +He had to give up the idea of obtaining the ‘ordonnance de non-lieu’, +and to tell himself that the ‘affaire’ would come before the assizes; +but it does not follow that one is condemned for what one is accused +of, and Saniel persisted in believing that Florentin would not be. +Assuredly, the prison was hard for the poor boy, and the trial before +the jury, with all the ignominy that necessarily accompanies it, would +be harder yet. But, after all, it would all disappear in the joy of +acquittal; when that time came, there would be found, surely, some +ingenious idea, sympathy, effective support, to pay him for all that he +would have suffered. Certainly, things would come to pass thus, and the +acquittal would be carried with a high hand. + +He said this to himself again and again, and from the day when he put +the affair in Nougarede’s hands, he often went to see him, to hear him +repeat it. + +“He cannot be condemned; can he?” + +“One may always be condemned, even when one is innocent; as one may die +at any time, you know that, even with excellent health.” + +In one of these visits he met Madame Nougarede, who had then been +several days married, and on recognizing in her the young virgin with +a child, of whom Caffie showed him the portrait, he was strengthened +in his idea that conscience, such as it was understood, was decidedly a +strange weighing-machine, which might be made to say whatever one chose. +Of what good were these hypocrisies, and whom did they deceive? + +Although he had told Phillis repeatedly that an acquittal was +certain, and that he had promised her he would do all he could for +Florentin--which he really did--she did not give entirely into his +hands, or into Nougarede’s, the task of defending her brother, but +worked with them in his defence. + +Nougarede believed that the delay in bringing the affair before the +assizes was caused by the attempts to learn if, during his residence in +America, Florentin had not worked in some large meat-shop or sheepfold, +where he would have learned to use a butcher knife, which was the chief +point for the accusation. Phillis wrote to the various towns where +Florentin had lived, and to tell the truth, he had worked at La Plata +for six months as accountant in a large sheepfold, but never slaughtered +the sheep. + +When she received a letter, she carried it immediately to Saniel, and +then to Nougarede; and, at the same time, on all sides, in Paris, among +those who had held relations with her brother, she sought for testimony +that should prove to the jury that he could not be the man that his +accusers believed him. It was thus that, all alone, without other means +of action than those which she found in her sisterly tenderness and +bravery, she organized an investigation parallel to that of the law, +which, on the day of judgment, would carry a certain weight, it seemed, +with the conviction of the jury, showing them what had been the true +life of this irregular and debauched man, capable of anything to glut +his appetite and satisfy his desires. + +Each time that she obtained a favorable deposition, she ran to Saniel +to tell him, and then together they repeated that a conviction was +impossible. + +“You are sure, are you not?” + +“Have I not always told you so?” + +He had also said that Florentin could not be arrested, basing the +accusation on the torn button, and he had said that certainly an +‘ordonnance de non-lieu’ would be given by the judge; but they wished to +remember neither the one nor the other. + +Things had reached this state, when one Saturday evening Phillis arrived +at Saniel’s, radiant. + +As soon as the door opened she exclaimed: + +“He is saved!” + +“An ordonnance de non-lieu?” + +“No; but now it is of little importance. We can go to the assizes.” + +She breathed a sigh which showed how great were her fears, in spite +of the confidence she expressed when she repeated that conviction was +impossible. + +He left his desk, and going toward her, took her in his arms, and made +her sit down beside him on the divan. + +“You will see that I do not let myself be carried away by an illusion, +and that, as I tell you, he is saved, really saved. You know that an +illustrated paper has published his portrait?” + +“I do not read illustrated papers.” + +“You could have seen them at the kiosks where they are displayed. It +is there that I saw them yesterday morning when I went out, and I was +petrified, red with shame, distracted, not knowing where to hide myself. +‘Florentin Cormier, the assassin of the Rue Sainte-Anne.’ Is it not +infamous that an innocent person should be thus dishonored? This was +what I said to myself. Where did the paper get the photograph? They came +to ask us for one, but you can imagine how I treated them, not knowing +how anything good for us would result from such a disgrace.” + +“And what is the result?” + +“The proof that it is not Florentin who was with Caffie at the moment +when the assassination took place. All day yesterday and all this +morning I was filled with the feeling of disgrace that followed me, when +at three o’clock I received this little note from the concierge of the +Rue Sainte-Anne.” + +She took from her pocket a piece of paper folded in the form of a +letter, which she handed to Saniel. + + “MADEMOISELLE: If you will pass through the Rue Sainte-Anne, I have + something to tell you that will give you a great deal of pleasure, I + believe. + + “I am your servant, + + “WIDOW ANAIS BOUCHU.” + +“You know the lame old concierge has never been willing to admit that my +brother could be guilty. Florentin was polite and kind to her during +his stay with Caffie, and she is grateful. Very often she has said to me +that she is certain the guilty one would be found, and that when it was +announced I must tell her. Instead of my telling her the good news, she +has written to me. You may be sure I hurried to the Rue Sainte-Anne, +expecting to hear something favorable, but we have a proof. When I +arrived, the old woman took both of my hands, and told me that she would +conduct me immediately to a lady who saw Caffie’s assassin.” + +“Saw him!” exclaimed Saniel, struck by a blow that shook him from head +to foot. + +“She saw him perfectly, as I tell you. She added that this lady was the +proprietor of the house, and that she lived in the second wing of the +building, on the second story on the court, just opposite to Caffie’s +office. This lady, who is called Madame Dammauville, widow of a lawyer, +is afflicted with paralysis, and I believe has not left her room for a +year. The concierge explained this to me while crossing the court and +mounting the stairs, but would say no more.” + +If Phillis had been able to observe Saniel, she would have seen him pale +to such a degree that his lips were as white as his cheeks; but she was +completely absorbed in what she was saying. + +“A servant conducted us to Madame Dammauville, whom I found in a small +bed near a window, and the concierge told her who I was. She received me +kindly, and after having made me sit down in front of her, she told +me that hearing from her concierge that I was exerting myself in my +brother’s behalf, she had something to tell me which would demonstrate +that Caffie’s assassin was not the man whom the law had arrested and +detained. The evening of the assassination she was in this same room, +lying on this same bed, before this same window, and after having read +all day, she reflected and dreamed about her book, while listlessly +watching the coming of twilight in the court, that already obscured +everything in its shadow. Mechanically she had fixed her eyes on the +window of Caffie’s office opposite. Suddenly she saw a tall man, whom +she took for an upholsterer, approach the window, and try to draw the +curtains. Then Caffie rose, and taking the lamp, he came forward in +such a way that the light fell full on the face of this upholsterer. You +understand, do you not?” + +“Yes,” murmured Saniel. + +“She saw him then plainly enough to remember him, and not to confound +him with another. Tall, with long hair, a curled blond beard, and +dressed like a gentleman, not like a poor man. The curtains were drawn. +It was fifteen or twenty minutes after five. And it was at this +same moment that Caffie was butchered by this false upholsterer, who +evidently had only drawn the curtains so that he might kill Caffie in +security, and not imagining that some one should see him doing a deed +that denounced him as the assassin as surely as if he had been surprised +with the knife in his hand. On reading the description of Florentin in +the newspapers when he was arrested, Madame Dammauville believed the +criminal was found--a tall man, with long hair and curled beard. There +are some points of resemblance, but in the portrait published in the +illustrated paper that she received, she did not recognize the man who +drew the curtains, and she is certain that the judge is deceived. You +see that Florentin is saved!” + + + + +BOOK 3. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. HEDGING + +As he did not reply to this cry of triumph, she looked at him in +surprise saw his face, pale, agitated, under the shock evidently of a +violent emotion that she could not explain to herself. + +“What is the matter?” she asked, with uneasiness. + +“Nothing,” he answered, almost brutally. + +“You do not wish to weaken my hope?” she said, not imagining that he +could not think of this hope and of Florentin. This was a path to lead +him out of his confusion. In following it he would have time to recover +himself. + +“It is true,” he said. + +“You do not think that what Madame Dammauville saw proves Florentin’s +innocence?” + +“Would what may be a proof for Madame Dammauville, for you, and for me, +be one in the eyes of the law?” + +“However--” + +“I saw you so joyful that I did not dare to interrupt you.” + +“Then you believe that this testimony is without value,” she murmured, +feeling crushed. + +“I do not say that. We must reflect, weigh the pro and con, compass the +situation from divers points of view; that is what I try to do, which is +the cause of my preoccupation that astonishes you.” + +“Say that it crushes me; I let myself be carried away.” + +“You need not be crushed or carried away. Certainly, what this lady told +you forms a considerable piece of work.” + +“Does it not?” + +“Without any doubt. But in order that the testimony she gives may be of +great consequence, the witness must be worthy of trust.” + +“Do you believe this lady could have invented such a story?” + +“I do not say that; but before all, it is necessary to know who she is.” + +“The widow of an attorney.” + +“The widow of an attorney and landowner. Evidently this constitutes +a social status that merits consideration from the law; but the moral +state, what is it? You say that she is paralyzed?” + +“She has been so a little more than a year.” + +“Of what paralysis? That is a vague word for us others. There are +paralyses that affect the sight; others that affect the mind. Is it one +of these with which this lady is afflicted, or one of the others, which +permitted her really to see, the evening of the assassination, that +which she relates, and which leaves her mental faculties in a sane +condition? Before everything, it is important to know this.” + +Phillis was prostrated. + +“I had not thought of all that,” she murmured. + +“It is very natural that you had not; but I am a doctor, and while you +talked it was the doctor who listened.” + +“It is true, it is true,” she repeated. “I only saw Florentin.” + +“In your place I should have seen, like you, only my brother, and I +should have been carried away by hope. But I am not in your place. It +is by your voice that this woman speaks, whom I do not know, and against +whom I must be on my guard, for the sole reason that it is a paralytic +who has told this story.” + +She could not restrain the tears that came to her eyes, and she let them +flow silently, finding nothing to reply. + +“I am sorry to pain you,” he said. + +“I saw only Florentin’s liberty.” + +“I do not say this testimony of Madame Dammauville will not influence +the judge, and, above all, the jury; but I must warn you that you +will expose yourself to a terrible deception if you believe that her +testimony alone will give your brother liberty. It is not on a testimony +of this kind or of this quality that the law decides; better than we, +it knows to what illusions people can lend themselves when it is the +question of a crime that absorbs and excites the public curiosity. There +are some witnesses who, with the best faith in the world, believe they +have seen the most extraordinary things which only existed in their +imaginations; and there are people who accuse themselves rather than say +nothing.” + +He heaped words on words, as if, in trying to convince Phillis, he might +hope to convince himself; but when the sound of his words faded, he was +obliged to declare to himself that, whatever the paralysis of this woman +might be, it had not, in this instance, produced either defect of sight +or of mind. She had seen, indeed, the tall man with long hair and curled +beard, dressed like a gentleman, who was not Florentin. When she related +the story of the lamp and the curtain cords, she knew what she was +saying. + +In his first alarm he had been very near betraying himself. Without +doubt he should have told himself that this incident of the curtains +might prove a trap; but all passed so rapidly that he never imagined +that, exactly at the moment when Caffie raised the lamp to give him +light, there was a woman opposite looking at him, and who saw him +so plainly that she had not forgotten him. He thought to use all +precautions on his side in drawing the curtains, when, on the contrary, +he would have done better had he left them undrawn. Without doubt the +widow of the attorney would have been a witness of a part of the scene, +but in the shadow she would not have distinguished his features as she +was able to do when he placed himself before the window under the light. +But this idea did not enter his mind, and, to save himself from +an immediate danger, he threw himself into another which, although +uncertain, was not less grave. + +Little by little Phillis recovered herself, and the hope that Madame +Dammauville put in her heart, momentarily crushed by Saniel’s remarks, +sprang up again. + +“Is it not possible Madame Dammauville really saw what she relates?” + +“Without any doubt; and there are even probabilities that it is so, +since the man who drew the curtains was not your brother, as we know. +Unfortunately, it is not ourselves who must be convinced, since we are +convinced in advance. It is those who, in advance also, have one whom +they will not give up unless he is torn from them by force.” + +“But if Madame Dammauville saw clearly?” + +“What must be learned before everything is, if she is in a state to see +clearly; I have said nothing else.” + +“A doctor would surely know on examining her?” + +“Without doubt.” + +“If you were this doctor?” + +It was a cry rather than an exclamation. She wished that he should +present himself before this woman; but in that case she would recognize +him. + +Once more, under the pain of betraying his emotion, he must recover from +this first impulse. + +“But how can you wish me to go and examine this woman whom I do not +know, and who does not know me? You know very well that patients choose +their doctors, and not doctors their patients.” + +“If she sent for you?” + +“By what right?” + +“By what I shall learn on making the concierge talk, could you not +recognize her kind of paralysis without seeing her?” + +“That would be a little vague. However, I will do the best I can. Try +to learn not only what concerns her illness, but all that relates to +her--what her position is, who are her relations, which is important +for a witness who overawes as much by what he is as by what he says. +You understand that a deposition that destroys the whole plan of the +prosecution will be severely disputed, and will only be accepted if +Madame Dammauville has by her character and position a sufficient +authority to break down all opposition.” + +“I will also try to learn who is her doctor. You may know him. What he +would tell you would be worth more than all the details that I could +bring you.” + +“We should be immediately decided on the paralysis, and we should see +what credit we could accord this woman’s words.” + +While listening to Phillis and talking himself, he had time to compass +the situation that this thunderbolt created for him. Evidently, the +first thing to do was to prevent a suspicion from arising in Phillis’s +mind, and it was to this that he applied himself on explaining the +different kinds of paralysis. He knew her well enough to know that he +had succeeded. But what would she do now? How did she mean to make use +of Madame Dammauville’s declaration? Had she spoken of it to any one +besides himself? Was it her intention to go to Nougarede and tell +him what she had learned? All that must be made clear, and as soon as +possible. She must do nothing without his knowledge and approval. The +circumstances were critical enough, without his letting accident become +the master to direct them and conduct them blindly. + +“When did you see Madame Dammauville?” he asked. + +“Just this minute.” + +“And now, what do you wish to do?” + +“I think that I ought to tell Monsieur Nougarde.” + +“Evidently, whatever the value of Madame Dammauville’s declaration, he +should know it; he will appraise it. Only, as it is well to explain to +him what may vitiate this testimony, if you wish, I will go to see him.” + +“Certainly I wish it, and I thank you.” + +“In the mean time, return to your mother and tell her what you have +learned; but, that she may not yield to an exaggerated hope, tell +her, also, that if there are chances, and great ones, in favor of your +brother, on the other side there are some that are unfavorable. Tomorrow +or this evening you will return to the Rue Sainte-Anne and begin +your inquiries of the concierge. If the old woman tells you nothing +interesting, you must go to Madame Dammauville, and make some reason +for seeing her. Make her talk, and you will notice if her ideas are +consecutive, and examine her face and eyes. Above all, neglect nothing +that appears to you characteristic. Having taken care of your mother, +you know almost as well as a doctor the symptoms of myelitis, and you +could see instantly if Madame Dammauville has them.” + +“If I dared!” she said timidly, after a short hesitation. + +“What?” + +“I would ask you to come with me to the concierge immediately.” + +“You think of such a thing!” he exclaimed. + +Since the evening when he had testified to the death of Caffie, he had +not returned to the Rue Sainte-Anne; and it was not when the description +given by Madame Dammauville was, doubtless, already spread in the +quarter, that he was going to commit the imprudence of showing himself. +But he must explain this exclamation. + +“How can you expect a doctor to give himself up to such an +investigation? On your part it is quite natural; on mine it would be +unheard of and ridiculous; add that it would be dangerous. You must +conciliate Madame Dammauville, and this would be truly a stupidity that +would give her a pretext for thinking that you are trying to find out +whether she is, or is not, in her right mind.” + +“That is true,” she said. “I had not thought of that. I said to myself +that, while I could only listen to what the concierge would tell me, you +would know how to question her in a way that would lead her to say what +you want to learn.” + +“I hope that your investigation will tell me. In any case, let us offend +in nothing. If to-morrow you bring me only insignificant details, we +will consider what to do. In the mean time, return to the concierge this +evening and question her. If it is possible, see Madame Dammauville, +and do not go home until after having obtained some news on this subject +that is of such importance to us. And I will go to see Nougarde.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. DANGEROUS DETAILS + +It was not to falsify Phillis’s story that Saniel insisted on going +to see Nougarede. What good would it do? That would be a blunder which +sooner or later would show itself, and in that case would turn against +him. He would have liked, with the authority of a physician, to explain +that this testimony of a paralytic could have no more importance than +that of a crazy woman. + +But at the first words of an explanation Nougarede stopped him. + +“What you say is very possible, my dear friend; but I shall make you +see that it is not for us to raise objections of this kind. Here is a +testimony that may save our client; let us accept this, such as it may +be, whence it comes. It is the business of the prosecution to prove that +our witness could not see what she relates that she saw, or that her +mental condition does not permit her to know what she saw; and do not +be afraid, investigation will not be lacking. Do not let us even give a +hint from our side; that would be stupid.” + +This, certainly, was not what Saniel wished; only he believed it a duty, +in his quality of physician, to indicate some rocks against which they +might strike themselves. + +“Our duty,” continued the advocate, “is, therefore, to manage in a way +to escape them; and this is how I understand the role of this really +providential witness, if it is possible to make her undertake it. +Since it has occurred to you--you who wish the acquittal of this poor +boy--that the testimony of Madame Dammauville may be vitiated by the +simple fact that it comes from a sick woman, it is incontestable, is +it not, that this same idea will occur to those who wish for his +conviction? This testimony should be irrefutable; it should be presented +in such a way that no one could raise anything against it, so that it +would compel the acquittal in the same moment that it is presented. It +was between a quarter past and half past five o’clock that Caffie was +assassinated; at exactly a quarter past five, a woman of respectable +position, and whose intellectual as well as physical faculties render +her worthy of being believed, saw in Caffies office a man, with whom +it is materially impossible to confound Florentin Cormier, draw the +curtains of the window, and thus prepare for the crime. She would make +her deposition in these conditions, and in these terms, and the affair +would be finished. There would not be a judge, after this confrontation, +who would send Florentin Cormier before the assizes, and, assuredly, +there would not be two voices in the jury for conviction. But things +will not happen like this. Without doubt, Madame Dammauville bears a +name that is worth something; her husband was an estimable attorney, a +brother of the one who was notary at Paris.” + +“Have you ever had any business with her?” + +“Never. I tell you what is well known to every one, morally she is +irreproachable. But is she the same physically and mentally? Not at all, +unfortunately. If a physician can be found who will declare that her +paralysis does not give her aberrations or hallucinations, another one +will be found who will contest these opinions, and who will come to +an opposite conclusion. So much for the witness herself; now for +the testimony. This testimony does not say that the man who drew the +curtains at a quarter past five was built in such a way that it is +materially impossible to confound him with Florentin Cormier, because +he was small or hunchbacked or bald, or dressed like a workman; while +Florentin is tall, straight, with long hair and beard, and dressed like +a gentleman. It says, simply, that the man who drew the curtains +was tall, with long hair, and curled blond beard, and dressed like a +gentleman. But this description is exactly Florentin Cormier’s, as it is +yours--” + +“Mine!” Saniel exclaimed. + +“Yours, as well as that of many others. And it is this, unfortunately +for us, which destroys the irrefutability that we must have. How is +it certain that this tall man, with long hair and curled beard, is not +Florentin Cormier, since these are his chief characteristics? And it was +at night, at a distance of twelve or fifteen metres, through a window, +whose panes were obscured by the dust of papers and the mist, that +this sick woman, whose eyes are affected, whose mind is weakened by +suffering, was able, in a very short space of time, when she had no +interest to imprint upon her memory what she saw, to grasp certain +signs, that she recalled yesterday strongly enough to declare that the +man who drew the curtains was not Florentin Cormier, against whom so +many charges have accumulated from various sides, and who has only this +testimony in his favor--every sensible person could not but find it +suspicious!” + +“But it is true,” Saniel said, happy to lend himself to this view of the +matter, which was his own. + +“What makes the truth of a thing, my dear sir, is the way of presenting +it; let us change this manner and we falsify it. To arrive at the +conclusion which made you say ‘It is true,’ I am on the side of the idea +that to-morrow Madame Dammauville’s story should be known to the law, +that the brave lady should be heard before the prosecution, and that +time should be allowed to examine this testimony that you suspect. Now +let us look at it from the opposite point. Madame Dammauville’s story is +not known to the law, or, if something transpires, we will arrange that +this something is so vague that the prosecution will attach but little +importance to it. And this is possible if we do not base a new defence +on this testimony. We arrive at the judgment, and when the prosecution +has listened to its witnesses which have overwhelmed us--the agent of +affairs Savoureux, the tailor Valerius,--it is Madame Dammauville’s +turn. She simply relates what she saw, and declares that the man who +is on the prisoner’s bench is not the same who drew the curtains at a +quarter past five. Do you see the ‘coup de theatre’? The prosecution had +not foreseen it; it had not inquired into the health of the witness; the +physician would not be there to quote the defects of sight or reason; +very probably it would not think of the dusty windowpanes, or of the +distance. And all the opposing arguments that would be properly arranged +if there were time, would be lacking, and we should carry the acquittal +with a high hand.” + +Arranged thus, things were too favorable for Saniel for him not to +receive, with a sentiment of relief, this combination which brought +Florentin’s acquittal more surely, it seemed to him, than all that +they had arranged for his defence up to this day. However, an objection +occurred to him, which he communicated to Nougarede immediately. + +“Would one wish to admit that Madame Dammauville had kept silent on so +grave a matter, and waited for an audience to reveal it?” + +“This silence she kept until yesterday; why should she not keep it a few +days longer? It is evident that if she had not related what she saw, it +is because she had reasons for being silent. It is probable that, being +ill, she did not wish to expose herself to the annoyances and fatigue +of an investigation; and in her eyes her deposition was not of great +importance. What should she have revealed to the prosecution? That the +man who committed the crime was tall, with a curled blond beard? This +man the law held, or it held one the description of whom answered to +this, which to Madame Dammauville was the same thing. She did not +need, therefore, to call the police or the judge to tell them these +insignificant things for her own comfort; and, also, because she +believed that she had nothing interesting to say, she did not speak. It +was when accident brought to her notice the portrait of the accused, she +recognized that the law had not the real criminal, and then she broke +the silence. The moment when she first saw this portrait is not stated +precisely; I undertake to arrange that. The difficulty is not there.” + +“Where do you see it?” + +“Here: Madame Dammauville may have already told her story to so many +persons that it is already public property, where the prosecution has +picked it up. In that case there will be no ‘coup de theatre’. She +will be questioned, her deposition examined, and we will have only a +suspected testimony. The first thing to do, then, is to know how far +this story has spread, and if there is yet time to prevent it from +spreading farther.” + +“That is not easy, it seems to me.” + +“I believe Mademoiselle Phillis can do it. She is a brave woman, whom +nothing dejects or disconcerts, which is the living proof that we +are only valued according to the force and versatility of the inner +consciousness. For the rest, I need not sound her praises, since you +know her better than I; and what I say has no other object but to +explain the confidence that I place in her. As I cannot interfere +myself, I think there is no better person than she to act on Madame +Dammauville, without disturbing or wounding her, and to bring about +the result that we desire. I am sure that she has already won Madame +Dammauville, and that she will be listened to with sympathy.” + +“Do you wish me to write to her to come to see you tomorrow?” + +“No; it would be better for you so see her this evening, if possible.” + +“I shall go to the Batignolles when I leave you.” + +“She will enter into her part perfectly, I am certain, and she will +succeed, I hope.” + +“It seems to me that your combination rests, above all, on the ‘coup de +theatre’ of the non-recognition of Florentin by Madame Dammauville. How +will you bring this paralytic to court?” + +“I depend upon you.” + +“And how?” + +“You will examine her.” + +“I shall have to go to her house!” + +“Why not?” + +“Because I am not her doctor.” + +“You will become so.” + +“It is impossible.” + +“I do not find it at all impossible that you should be called in +consultation. I have not forgotten that your thesis was on the paralyses +due to the affection of the spinal cord, and it was remarkable enough +for us to discuss it in our ‘parlotte’ of the Rue de Vaugirard. You +have, therefore, authority in the matter.” + +“It is not on account of having written several works on the +pathological anatomy of medullary lesions, and especially on the +alterations of the spinal ganglia, that one acquires authority in a +question so comprehensive and so delicate.” + +“Do not be too modest, dear friend. I have had, lately, to consult my +Dictionary of Medicine, and at each page your work was quoted. And, +besides, the way in which you passed your examinations made you famous. +Every one talks of you. So it is not impossible that Mademoiselle +Phillis, relating that her mother was cured of a similar paralysis, will +give Madame Dammauville the idea of consulting you, and her physician +will send for you.” + +“You will not do that?” + +“And why should I not do it?” + +They looked at each other a moment in silence, and Saniel turned his +eyes away. + +“I detest nothing so much as to appear to put myself forward.” + +“In this case it is no matter what you detest or like. The question is +to save this unfortunate young man whom you know to be innocent; and you +can do a kind deed and aid us. You examine Madame Dammauville; you see +with which paralysis she is afflicted, and consequently, what exceptions +may be taken at her testimony. At the same time, you see if you can cure +her, or, at least, put her in a state to go to court.” + +“And if it is proved that she cannot leave her bed?” + +“In that case I shall change my order of battle, and that is why it is +of capital importance--you know that that is the word--that we should be +warned beforehand.” + +“You will make the judge receive her deposition?” + +“In any case. But I shall make her write a letter that I shall read at +the desired moment, and I shall call upon her physician to explain that +he would not permit his patient to come to court. Without doubt, the +effect would not be what I desire, but, anyhow, we should have one.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. A GOOD MEMORY + +After Phillis, Nougarde also wished him to see Madame Dammauville; this +coincidence was not the least danger of the situation that opened before +him. + +If he saw her, the chances were that she would recognize in him the +man who drew the curtains; for, if he was able to speak to Phillis and +Nougarede of an affection of the eyes or of the mind, he did not believe +in these affections, which for him were only makeshifts. + +When he reached Madame Cormier’s, Phillis had not returned, and he was +obliged to explain to the uneasy mother why her daughter was late. + +It was a delirium of joy, before which he felt embarrassed. How should +he break the hope of this unhappy mother? + +What he had said to Phillis and to Nougarede he repeated to her. + +“But it is possible, also, for paralytics to enjoy all their faculties!” + Madame Cormier said, with a decision that was not in accordance with her +habit or with her character. + +“Assuredly.” + +“Am I not an example?” + +“Without doubt.” + +“Then Florentin will be saved.” + +“This is what we hope. I only caution you against an excess of joy by +an excess of prudence. Nevertheless, it is probable Mademoiselle Phillis +will settle this for us when she returns.” + +“Perhaps it would have been better if you had gone to the Rue +Sainte-Anne. You would have found her.” + +There was, then, a universal mania to send him to the Rue Sainte-Anne! + +They waited, but the conversation was difficult and slow between them. +It was neither of Phillis nor of Florentin that Saniel thought; it was +of himself and of his own fears; while Madame Cormier’s thoughts ran to +Phillis. Then there were long silences that Madame Cormier interrupted +by going to the kitchen to look after her dinner, that had been ready +since two o’clock. + +Not knowing what to say or do in the presence of Saniel’s sombre face +and preoccupation, which she could not explain, she asked him if he had +dined. + +“Not yet.” + +“If you will accept a plate of soup, I have some of yesterday’s +bouillon, that Phillis did not find bad.” + +But he did not accept, which hurt Madame Cormier. For a long time Saniel +had been a sort of god to her, and since he had shown so much zeal +regarding Florentin, the ‘culte’ was become more fervent. + +At last Phillis’s step was heard. + +“What! You came to tell mamma!” she exclaimed, on seeing Saniel. + +Ordinarily her mother listened to her respectfully, but now she +interrupted her. + +“And Madame Dammauville?” she asked. + +“Madame Dammauville has excellent eyes. She is a woman of intellect, +who, without the assistance of any business man, manages her fortune.” + +Overcome, Madame Cormier fell into a chair. + +“Oh, the poor child!” she murmured. + +Exclamations of joy escaped her which contained but little sense. + +“It is as I thought,” Saniel said; “but it would be imprudent to abandon +ourselves to hopes to-day that to-morrow may destroy.” + +While he spoke he escaped, at least, from the embarrassment of his +position and from the examination of Phillis. + +“What did Monsieur Nougarde say?” she asked. + +“I will explain to you presently. Begin by telling us what you learned +from Madame Dammauville. It is her condition that will decide our +course, at least that which Nougarde counsels us to adopt.” + +“When the concierge saw me return,” Phillis began, “she showed a certain +surprise; but she is a good woman, who is easily tamed, and I had not +much trouble in making her tell me all she knows of Madame Dammauville. +Three years ago Madame Dammauville became a widow without children. She +is about forty years of age, and since her widowhood has lived in her +house in the Rue Sainte-Anne. Until last year she was not ill, but she +went every year to the springs at Lamoulon. It is a year since she was +taken with pains that were thought to be rheumatic, following which, +paralysis attacked her and confined her to her bed. She suffers so much +sometimes that she cries, but these are spasms that do not last. In the +intervals she lives the ordinary life, except that she does not get up. +She reads a great deal, receives her friends, her sister-in-law--widow +of a notary--her nephews and nieces, and one of the vicars of the +parish, for she is very charitable. Her eyes are excellent. She has +never had delirium or hallucinations. She is very reserved, detests +gossip, and above everything seeks to live quietly. The assassination +of Caffie exasperated her; she would let no one speak to her of him, and +she spoke of it to no one. She even said that if she were in a condition +to leave her house, she would sell it, so that she would never hear the +name of Caffie.” + +“How did she speak of the portrait and of the man she saw in Caffie’s +office?” Saniel asked. + +“That is exactly the question that the concierge was not able to answer; +so I decided to go to see Madame Dammauville again.” + +“You are courageous,” the mother said with pride. + +“I assure you that I was not so on going up-stairs. After what I had +heard of her character, it was truly audacious to go a second time, +after an interval of two hours, to trouble her, but it was necessary. +While ascending, I sought a reason to justify, or, at least, to explain +my second visit, and I found only an adventurous one, for which I ought +to ask your indulgence.” + +She said this on turning toward Saniel, but with lowered eyes, without +daring to look at him, and with an emotion that made him uneasy. + +“My indulgence?” he said. + +“I acted without having time to reflect, and under the pressure of +immediate need. As Madame Dammauville expressed surprise at seeing me +again, I told her that what she had said to me was so serious, and might +have such consequences for the life and honor of my brother, that I had +thought of returning the next day, accompanied by a person familiar with +the affair, before whom she would repeat her story; and that I came to +ask her permission to present this person. This person is yourself.” + “I!” + +“And that is why,” she said feebly, without raising her eyes, “that I +have need of your indulgence.” + +“But I had told you--” he exclaimed with a violence that the +dissatisfaction at being so disposed of was not sufficient to justify. + +“That you could not present yourself to Madame Dammauville in the +character of a physician unless she sent for you. I did not forget that; +and it is not as a physician that I wish to beg you to accompany me, but +as a friend, if you permit me to speak thus; as the most devoted, the +most firm, and the most generous friend that we have had the happiness +to encounter in our distress.” + +“My daughter speaks in my name, as in her own,” Madame Cormier said +with emotion; “I add that it is a respectful friendship, a profound +gratitude, that we feel toward you.” + +Although Phillis trembled to see the effect that she produced on Saniel, +she continued with firmness: + +“You would accompany me, then, without doing anything ostensibly, +without saying you are a doctor, and while she talks you could examine +her. Madame Dammauville gave her consent to my request with extreme +kindness. I shall return to her to-morrow, and if you think it useful, +if you think you should accept the part that I claimed for you without +consulting you, you can accompany me.” + +He did not reply to these last words, which were an invitation as well +as a question. + +“Did you not examine her as I told you?” he asked, after a moment of +reflection. + +“With all the attention of which I was capable in my anguish. Her +glance seemed to me straight and untroubled; her voice is regular, very +rhythmical; her words follow each other without hesitation; her ideas +are consecutive and clearly expressed. There is no trace of suffering on +her pale face, which bears only the mark of a resigned grief. She +moves her arms freely, but the legs, so far as I could judge under +the bedclothes, are motionless. In many ways it seems to me that her +paralysis resembles mamma’s, though it is true that in others it does +not. She must be extremely sensitive to the cold, for although the +weather is not cold today, the temperature of her room seemed very +high.” + +“This is an examination,” Saniel said, “that a physician could not have +conducted better, unless he questioned the patient; and had I been +with you during this visit we should not have learned anything more. +It appears certain that Madame Dammauville is in possession of her +faculties, which renders her testimony invulnerable.” + +Madame Cormier drew her daughter to her and kissed her passionately. + +“I have, therefore, nothing to do with this lady,” continued Saniel, +with the precipitation of a man who has just escaped a danger. “But your +part, Mademoiselle, is not finished, and you must return to her tomorrow +to fulfil that which Nougarde confides to you.” + +He explained what Nougarde expected of her. + +“Certainly,” she said. “I will do all that I am advised to do for +Florentin. I will go to Madame Dammauville; I will go everywhere. But +will you permit me to express my astonishment that immediate profit is +not made of this declaration to obtain the release of my brother?” + +He repeated the reasons that Nougarede had given him for not proceeding +in this manner. + +“I would not say anything that resembles a reproach,” said Madame +Cormier, with more decision than she ordinarily put into her words; “but +perhaps Monsieur Nougarde has some personal ideas in his advice. Our +interest is that Florentin should return to us as quickly as possible, +and that he should be spared the sufferings of a prison. But I +understand that to an ‘ordonnance de non-lieu’, in which he does not +appear, Monsieur Nougarde prefers the broad light of the court, where he +could deliver a brilliant address, useful to his reputation.” + +“Whether or not he has made this calculation,” Saniel said, “things are +thus. I, also, I should have preferred the ‘ordonnance de non-lieu’, +which has the great advantage of finishing everything immediately. +Nougarede does not believe that this would be a good plan to follow, so +we must follow the one that he traces out for us.” + +“We will follow it,” Phillis said, “and I believe that it may bring +about the result Monsieur Nougarede expects, as Madame Dammauville would +have spoken to but few persons. When I tried to make her explain herself +on this point, without asking her the question directly, she told me +that she had only spoken to the concierge of the non-resemblance of the +portrait to the man she saw draw the curtains, so that the concierge, +who had often spoken to her of Florentin and of my efforts to save +him, might warn me. I shall see, then, to-morrow, how far her story has +spread, and I will go to see you about it at five o’clock, unless you +prefer that I should go at once to see Monsieur Nougarede.” + +“Begin with me, and we will go together to see him, if there is +occasion. I am going to write to him.” + +“If I understand Monsieur Nougarde’s plan, it seems that it rests +on Madame Dammauville’s appearance in court. Will this appearance be +possible? That is what I could not learn; only a physician could tell.” + +Saniel did not wish to let it appear that he understood this new +challenge. + +“I forgot to tell you,” Phillis continued, “that the physician who +attends her is Doctor Balzajette of the Rue de l’Echelle. Do you know +him?” + +“A prig, who conceals his ignorance under dignified manners.” + +No sooner had these words left his lips than he realized his error. +Madame Dammauville should have an excellent physician, one who was so +high in the estimation of his ‘confreres’ that, if he did not cure her, +it was because she was incurable. + +“Then how can you hope that he will cure her in time for her to go to +court?” Phillis asked. + +He did not answer, and rose to go. Timidly, Madame Cormier repeated her +invitation, but he did not accept it, in spite of the tender glance that +Phillis gave him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. A NEW PERIL + +Would he be able to resist the pressure which from all sides at once +pushed him toward the Rue Sainte Anne? + +It seemed that nothing was easier than not to commit the folly of +yielding, and yet such was the persistence of the efforts that were +united against him, that he asked himself if, one day, he would not +be led to obey them in spite of himself. Phillis, Nougarede, Madame +Cormier. Now, whence would come a new attack? + +For several months he had enjoyed a complete security, which convinced +him that all danger was over forever. But all at once this danger burst +forth under such conditions that he must recognize that there could +never more be any security for him. To-day Madame Dammauville menaced +him; tomorrow it would be some one else. Who? He did not know. Every +one. And it was the anguish of his position to be condemned to live +hereafter in fear, and on the defensive, without repose, without +forgetfulness. + +But it was not tomorrow about which he need be uneasy at this moment, it +was the present hour; that is to say, Madame Dammauville. + +That she should say, with so much firmness at the sight of a single +portrait, that the man who drew the curtains was not Florentin, she must +have an excellent memory of the eyes; at the same time a resolute mind +and a decision in her ideas, which permitted her to affirm without +hesitation what she believed to be true. + +If they should ever meet, she would recognize him, and recognizing him, +she would speak. + +Would she be believed? + +This was the decisive question, and from what he had heard of her, it +seemed that she would be. + +Denials would not suffice. He did not go to Caffie’s at a quarter past +five. Where was he at this moment? What witness could he call upon? +Caffie’s wound was made by a hand skilled in killing, and this learned +hand was his, more even than that of a murderer. Every one knew that +his position at that moment was desperate, financially speaking; and, +suddenly, he paid his debts. Who would believe the Monte Carlo story? + +One word, one little hint, from this Madame Dammauville and he was lost, +without defence, without possible struggles. + +Truly, and fortunately, since she was paralyzed and confined to her bed, +he ran no risk of meeting her face to face at the corner of a street, or +at the house of an acquaintance, nor of hearing the cry of surprise that +she would not fail to give on recognizing him. But that was not enough +to make him sleep in an imprudent security on saying to himself that +this meeting was improbable. It was improbable, also, to admit that some +one was exactly opposite to Caffies window at the moment when he +drew the curtains; more improbable yet to believe that this fact, +insignificant in itself, that this vision, lasting only an instant, +would be so solidly engraved in a woman’s memory as to be distinctly +remembered after several months, as if it dated from the previous +evening; and yet, of all these improbabilities, there was formed a +reality which enclosed him in such a way that at any moment it might +stifle him. + +Despite the importunities of Phillis, Madame Cormier, and Nougarede, and +of all those which might arise, he would not be fool enough to confront +the danger of a recognition in the room where this paralytic was +confined--at least, that was probable, for, after what had happened, he +was certain of nothing--but this recognition might take place elsewhere. + +In Nougarede’s plan Madame Dammauville would come to court to make her +declaration; he himself was a witness; they would, therefore, at a given +moment, meet each other, and it was not impossible that before the court +the recognition would occur with a ‘coup de theatre’ very different from +that arranged by Nougarede. + +Without doubt there were chances that Madame Dammauville would not be +able to leave her bed to go to court; but were there only one for her +leaving it, he must foresee it and take precautions. + +A single one offered security: to render himself unrecognizable; to cut +his beard and hair; to be no more the long-haired, curled, blond-bearded +man that she remembered. Had he been like every one else she would not +have remarked him; or, at least, she would have confounded him with +others. A man can only permit himself to be original in appearance when +he is sure beforehand that he will never have anything to fear. + +Assuredly, nothing was easier than to have his hair and beard cut; he +had only to enter the first barber shop he came to; in a few minutes the +change would be radical. + +Among his acquaintances he need not be uneasy at the curiosity that this +change might produce; more than one would not remark it, and those who +would be surprised at first would soon cease to think of it, without +doubt; otherwise, he had an easy answer for them; on the eve of becoming +a serious personage, he abandoned the last eccentricities of the old +student, and passed the bridge without wish to return by the left bank. + +But it was not only to acquaintances that he must account; there +were Phillis and Nougarde. Had not the latter already remarked the +resemblance between him and the description, and would it not be +imprudent to lead him to ask why this resemblance suddenly disappeared? + +It would be dangerous to expose himself to this question from the +lawyer, but it would be much more dangerous coming from Phillis. +Nougarede would only show surprise; Phillis might ask for an +explanation. + +And he must reply to her so much the more clearly, because four or five +times already he had almost betrayed himself as to Madame Dammauville, +and if she had let his explanations or embarrassment pass, his +hesitations or his refusal, without questioning him frankly, certainly +she was not the less astonished. Should he appear before her with short +hair and no beard, it would be a new astonishment which, added to the +others, would establish suspicions; and logically, by the force of +things, in spite of herself, in spite of her love and her faith, she +would arrive at conclusions from which she would not be able to free +herself. Already, five or six months before, this question of long hair +and beard had been agitated between them. As he complained one day of +the bourgeois who would not come to him, she gently explained to him +that to please and attract these bourgeois it was, perhaps, not quite +well to astonish those whom one does not shock. That overcoats less +long, hats with less brim, and hair and beard shorter; in fact, a +general appearance that more nearly approached their own, would be, +perhaps, more agreeable. He became angry, and replied plainly that such +concessions were not in keeping with his character. How could he now +abruptly make these concessions, and at a time when his success at the +examinations placed him above such small compromises? He resisted when +he needed help, and when a patient was an affair of life or death to +him; he yielded when he had need of no one, and when he did not care for +patients. The contradiction was truly too strong, and such that it could +not but strike Phillis, whose attention had already had only too much to +arouse it. + +And yet, as dangerous as it was to come to the decision to make himself +unrecognizable, it would be madness on his part to draw back; the sooner +the better. His fault had been in not foreseeing, the day after Caffie’s +death, that circumstances might arise sooner or later which would force +it upon him. At that moment it did not present the same dangers as now; +but parting from the idea that he had not been seen by any one, that +he could not have been seen, he had rejoiced in the security that this +conviction gave him, and quietly become benumbed. + +The awakening had come; with his eyes open he saw the abyss to the edge +of which his stupidity had brought him. + +How strong would he not be if during the last three months he had not +had this long hair and beard, which was most terrible testimony against +him? Instead of taking refuge in miserable makeshifts when Phillis and +Nougarede asked him to see Madame Dammauville, he would have boldly held +his own, and have gone to see her as they wished. In that case he would +be saved, and soon Florentin would be also. + +And he believed himself intelligent! And he proudly imagined he could +arrange things beforehand so well that he would never be surprised! What +he should have foreseen would come to pass, nothing more; the lesson +that experience taught him was hard, and this was not the first one; +the evening of Caffie’s death he saw very clearly that a new situation +opened before him, which to the end of his life would make him the +prisoner of his crime. To tell the truth, however, this impression +became faint soon enough; but now it was stronger than ever, and to a +certainty, never to be dismissed again. + +But it was useless to look behind; it was the present and the future +that he must measure with a clear and firm glance, if he did not wish to +be lost. + +After carefully examining and weighing the question, he decided to have +his hair and beard cut. However adventurous this resolution was, however +embarrassing it might become in provoking curiosity and questions, it +was the only way of escaping a possible recognition. + +Mechanically, by habit, he bent his steps toward the Rue +Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, where his barber lived, but he had taken only +a few steps when reflection caused him to stop; it would be certainly +a mistake to provoke the gossip of this man who, knew him, and who, for +the pleasure of talking, would tell every one in the quarter that he had +just cut the hair and beard of Dr. Saniel. He returned to the boulevard, +where he was not known. + +But as he was about to open the door of the shop which he decided to +enter, he changed his mind. He happened to find the explanation that he +must give Phillis, and as he wished to avoid the surprise that she would +not fail to show if she saw him suddenly without hair and beard, he +would give this explanation before having them cut, in such a way that +all at once and without looking for another reason, she would understand +that this operation was indispensable. + +And he went to dinner, furious with himself and with things, to see to +what miserable expedients he was reduced. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. SANIEL VISITS A BARBER + +The following day at five o’clock when Phillis rang, he opened the door +for her. Hardly had she entered when she was about to throw herself into +his arms as usual, with a quickness that told how happy she was to see +him. But he checked her with his hand. + +“What is the matter?” she asked paralyzed and full of fears. + +“Nothing; or, at least nothing much.” + +“Against me?” + +“Certainly not, dear one.” + +“You are ill?” + +“No, not ill, but I must take precautions which prevent me from +embracing you. I will explain; do not be uneasy, it is not serious.” + +“Quick!” she cried, examining him, and trying to anticipate his thought. + +“You have something to tell me?” + +“Yes, good news. But I beg of you, speak first; do not leave me in +suspense.” + +“I assure you that you need not be uneasy; and when I speak thus, you +know that you should believe me. You see that I am not uneasy.” + +“It is for others that you are alarmed, never for yourself.” + +“Do you know what the pelagre is?” + +“No.” + +“It is a special disease of the hair and beard, due to the presence in +the epidermis of a kind of mushroom. Well, it is probable that I have +this disease.” + +“Is it serious?” + +“Troublesome for a man, but disastrous for a woman, because, before any +treatment, the hair must be cut. You understand, therefore, that if I +have the pelagre, as I believe I have, I am not going to expose you to +the risk of catching it in embracing you. It is very easily transmitted, +and in that case you would be obliged, probably, to do for yourself +what I must do for myself; that is, to cut my hair. With me it is of no +consequence; but with you it would be murder to sacrifice your beautiful +hair.” + +“You say ‘probably.’” + +“Because I am not yet quite certain that I have the pelagre. For about +two weeks I have felt a slight itching in my head and, naturally, I paid +no attention to it. I had other things to do; and besides, I was not +going to believe I was attacked with a parasitic malady merely on +account of an itching. But, after some time, my hair became dry and +began to fall out. I had no time to attend to it, and the days passed; +besides, the excitement of my examinations was enough to make my hair +fall. To-day, just before you came, I had a few minutes to spare, and +I examined one of my hairs through a microscope; if I had not been +disturbed I should have finished by this time.” + +“Continue your examination.” + +“It would take some time to do it thoroughly. If it is really the +pelagre, as I have reason to believe, tomorrow you will see me without +hair and beard. I would not hesitate, in spite of the astonishment that +my appearance would cause.” + +“What good will that do?” + +“I cannot tell people that I had my hair and beard cut because I have a +parasitic disease. Every one knows it is contagious.” + +“When the hair is cut, what will become of the disease?” + +“With energetic treatment it will rapidly disappear. Before long you may +embrace me if--you do not find me too ugly.” + +“O dearest!” + +“And now for you; you have come from Madame Dammauville?” + +He did not need to persist; Phillis accepted his story so readily that +he felt reassured on her side; she would not alarm herself about it. As +for others, the embarrassment of confessing a contagious malady would be +a sufficient explanation, if he were ever obliged to furnish one. + +“What did she say to you?” he asked. + +“Good and kind words to begin with, which show what an excellent woman +she is. After having presented myself twice at her house yesterday, you +understand that I was not quite easy on asking her to receive me again +to-day. As I tried to excuse myself, she said she was glad to see my +devotion to my brother, that I need never excuse myself for asking +her assistance, and that she would help me all she could. With this +encouragement I explained what we want her to do, but she did not appear +disposed to do it. Without giving her Monsieur Nougarede’s reasons, I +said we were obliged to conform to the counsels of those who directed +the affair, and I begged her to help us. Finally she was won over, +but reluctantly, and said she would do as we wished. But she could +not assure me that her servants had not talked about it, nor could she +promise to leave her bed to go to court, for she had not left her room +for a year.” + +“Does she expect to be able to rise soon?” + +“I repeat her words, to which I paid great attention in order not to +forget them: ‘I am promised that I shall be better next year, but who +can tell? I will urge my doctor to give me an answer, and when you come +again I will tell you what he says.’ Profiting by the door that she +opened to me, I kept the conversation on this doctor. It seems to me, +but I am not certain, that she has but little confidence in him. He was +the classmate of her husband and of her brother-in-law the notary; he is +the friend of every one, curing those who can be cured, or letting them +die by accident. You see what kind of a doctor he is.” + +“I told you I knew him.” + +“See if I deceive myself, and to what I tell you, add what you already +know. Frightened to see in whose hands she is, I undertook to find out, +and finished by learning--without asking her directly--that she has seen +no other physician during the year. When she was taken with paralysis a +consultation was held, and she has had Doctor Balzajette ever since. She +says he is very kind, and takes care of her as well as another would.” + +Saniel improved the opportunity to refer to his stupidity in frankly +expressing his opinion on the solemn Balzajette. + +“It is probable,” he said. + +“It is certain? Do you believe that during one year nothing has appeared +in Madame Dammauville’s disease that should demand new treatment? Do you +think the solemn Balzajette is incapable of finding it all by himself?” + +“He is not so dull as you suppose.” + +“It is you who speak of dulness.” + +“To diagnose a disease and to treat it are two things. It is the +consultation you speak of that settled the question of Madame +Dammauville’s disease, and prescribed the treatment that Balzajette had +only to apply; and his capacity, I assure you, is sufficient for this +task.” + +As she appeared but little reassured, he persisted, for it would be +an imprudence to let Phillis become enamored of the idea that if he +attended Madame Dammauville, he would cure her, even if it required a +miracle. + +“We have some time before us, since the ‘ordonnance de renvoi’ before +the assizes is not yet given out. Madame Dammauville has promised to +question her doctor, to learn if he hopes to put her in condition to +leave her bed soon. Let us wait, therefore.” + +“Would it not be better to act than to wait?” + +“At least let us wait for news from Balzajette. Either it will be +satisfactory, and then we shall have nothing to do, or it will not be, +and in that case I promise you to see Balzajette. I know him well enough +to speak to him of your patient, which, above all, enables me, in +making your brother intervene, to interest myself openly in his +reestablishment.” + +“O dearest, dearest!” she murmured, in a spirit of gratitude. + +“You cannot doubt my devotion to you first, and to your brother +afterward. You asked me an impossible thing, that I was obliged to +refuse, to my regret, precisely because it was impossible; but you know +that I am yours, and will do all I can for your family.” + +“Forgive me.” + +“I have nothing to forgive; in your place I should think as you do, but +I believe that in mine you would act as I do.” + +“Be sure that I have never had an idea of blame in my heart for what is +with you an affair of dignity. It is because you are high and proud that +I love you so passionately.” + +She rose. + +“Are you going?” he asked. + +“I want to carry Madame Dammauville’s words to mamma; you can imagine +with what anguish she awaits me.” + +“Let us, go. I will leave you at the boulevard to go to see Nougarede.” + +The interview with the advocate was short. + +“You see, dear friend, that my plan is good; bring Madame Dammauville to +court, and we shall have some pleasant moments.” + +This time Saniel had not the hesitation of the previous evening, and he +entered the first barber-shop he saw. When he returned to his rooms +he lighted two candles, and placing them on the mantle, he looked at +himself in the glass. + +Coquetry had never been his sin, and often weeks passed without his +looking in a mirror, so indifferent was he when making his toilet. +However, as a young boy he sometimes looked in his small glass, asking +himself what he would become, and he could now recall his looks--an +energetic face with clearly drawn features, a physiognomy open and +frank, without being pretty, but not disagreeable. His beard had +concealed all this; but now that it was gone, he said to himself without +much reflection that he would find again, without doubt, the boy he +remembered. + +What he saw in the glass was a forehead lined transversely; oblique +eyebrows, raised at the inside extremity, and a mouth with tightened +lips turned down at the corners; furrows were hollowed in the cheeks; +and the whole physiognomy, harassed, ravaged, expressed hardness. + +What had become of that of the young man of other days? He had before +him the man that life had made, and of whom the violent contractions of +the muscles of the face had modelled the expression. + +“Truly, the mouth of an assassin!” he murmured. + +Then, looking at his shaved head, he added with a smile: + +“And perhaps that of one condemned to death, whose toilet has just been +made for the guillotine.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. A BROKEN NEGATIVE + +To have made himself unrecognizable was, without doubt, a safe +precaution; but having started on this course, he would not be easy +until he had destroyed all traces of himself in such a way that Madame +Dammauville would never be able to find the man that she had seen so +clearly under Caffie’s lamp. + +Precisely because he was not vain and had no pretension to beauty, he +had escaped the photograph mania. Once only he had been photographed +in spite of himself, simply to oblige a classmate who had abandoned +medicine for photography. + +But now this once was too much, for there was danger that this portrait +taken three years before, and showing him with the hair and beard that +he wished to suppress, might be discovered. Without doubt there were few +chances that a copy of it would be seen by Madame Dammauville; but if +there existed only one against a hundred thousand, he must arrange it so +that he need have no fear. + +He had had a dozen copies of this photograph, but as his relatives were +few, he kept the majority of them. One he sent to his mother, who was +living at that time; another went to the priest of his village, and +later he had given one to Phillis. He must, then, have nine in his +possession. He found them and burned them immediately. + +Of the three that remained, only one might testify against him, the one +belonging to Phillis. But it would be easy for him to get it again on +inventing some pretext, while as to the others, truly he had nothing to +fear. + +The real danger might come from the photographer, who perhaps had some +of the photographs, and who undoubtedly preserved the negative. This was +his first errand the next day. + +On entering the studio of this friend, he experienced a disagreeable +feeling, which troubled him and made him uneasy; he had not given his +name, and counting on the change made by the cutting of his hair and +beard, he said to himself that his friend, who had not seen him for a +long time, certainly would not recognize him. + +He had taken but a few steps, his hat in his hand, like a stranger who +is about to accost another, when the photographer came toward him with +outstretched hand, and a friendly smile on his face. + +“You, my dear friend! What good fortune is worth the pleasure of your +visit tome? Can I be useful to you in any way?” + +“You recognize me, then?” + +“What! Do I recognize you? Do you ask that because you have cut +your hair and beard? Certainly it changes you and gives you a new +physiognomy; but I should be unworthy of my business if, by a different +arrangement of the hair, I could not recognize you. + +“Besides, eyes of steel like yours are not forgotten; they are a +description and a signature.” + +Then this means in which he placed so much confidence was only a new +imprudence, as the question, “You recognize me, then?” was a mistake. + +“Come, I will pose you at once,” the photographer said. “Very curious, +this shaved head, and still more interesting, I think, than with the +beard and long hair. The traits of character are more clearly seen.” + +“It is not for a new portrait that I have come, but for the old one. +Have you any of the proofs?” + +“I think not, but I will see. In any case, if you wish some they are +easily made, since I have the plate.” + +“Will you look them up? For I have not a single proof left of those you +gave me, and on looking at myself in the glass this morning I found such +changes between my face of to-day and that of three years ago, that I +would like to study them. Certain ideas came to me on the expression of +the physiognomy, that I wish to study, with something to support them.” + +The search for the proofs made by an assistant led to no results; there +were no proofs. + +“Exactly; and for several days I have thought of making some,” the +photographer said. “Because your day of glory will come, when your +portrait will be in a distinguished place in the shop-windows and +collections. Every one talks of your ‘concours’. Although I have +abandoned medicine without the wish to return to it, I have not become +indifferent to what concerns it, and I learned of your success. Which +portrait shall we put in circulation? The old or the new?” + +“The new.” + +“Then let us arrange the pose.” + +“Not to-day; it is only yesterday that I was shaved, fearing an attack +of pelagre, and the skin covered by the beard has a crude whiteness that +will accentuate the hardness of my physiognomy, which is really useless. +We will wait until the air has tanned me a little, and then I will +return, I promise you.” + +“How many proofs do you want of your old portrait?” + +“One will do.” + +“I will send you a dozen.” + +“Do not take the trouble; I will take them when I come to pose. But in +the mean time, could you not show me the plate?” + +“Nothing easier.” + +When it was brought, Saniel took the glass plate with great care, +holding it with the tips of his fingers by the two opposite corners, in +order not to efface the portrait. Then, as he was standing in the shadow +of a blue curtain, he walked towards the chimney where the light was +strong, and began his examination. + +“It is very good,” he said; “very curious.” + +“Only a photograph can have this documentary value.” + +To compare this document with the reality, Saniel approached the chimney +more closely, above which was a mirror. When his feet touched the +marble hearth he stopped, looking alternately at the plate which he held +carefully in his hands, and at his face reflected in the glass. Suddenly +he made an exclamation; he let fall the plate, which, falling flat on +the marble, broke into little pieces that flew here and there. + +“How awkward I am!” + +He showed a vexation that should not leave the smallest doubt in the +photographer’s mind as to its truth. + +“You must get one of the proofs that you have given away,” his friend +said, “for I have not a single one left.” + +“I will try and find one.” + +What he did try to find on leaving was whether or no he had succeeded +in rendering himself unrecognizable, for he could not trust to +this experience, weakened by the fact that this old friend was a +photographer. With him it was a matter of business to note the typical +traits that distinguish one face from another, and in a long practice he +had acquired an accuracy Madame Dammauville could not possess. + +Among the persons he knew, it seemed to him that the one in the best +condition to give certainty to the proof was Madame Cormier. He knew at +this hour she would be alone, and as she had not been, assuredly, warned +by her daughter that he intended to shave, the experiment would be +presented in a way to give a result as exact as possible. + +In answer to his ring Madame Cormier opened the door, and he saluted her +without being recognized; but as the hall was dark this was not of great +significance. His hat in his hand, he followed her into the dining-room +without speaking, in order that his voice should not betray him. + +Then, after she had looked at him a moment, with uneasy surprise at +first, she began to smile. + +“It is Doctor Saniel!” she cried. “Mon Dieu! How stupid of me not to +recognize you; it changes you so much to be shaved! Pardon me.” + +“It is because I am shaved that I come to ask a favor.” + +“Of us, my dear sir? Ah! Speak quickly; we should be so happy to prove +our gratitude.” + +“I would ask Mademoiselle Phillis to give me, if she has it, a +photograph that I gave her about a year ago.” + +As Phillis wished the liberty to expose this photograph frankly, in +order to have it always before her, she had asked for it, and Saniel had +given it to her, in her mother’s presence. + +“If she has it!” exclaimed Mme. Cormier. “Ah! my dear sir, you do not +know the place that all your goodness, and the services that you have +rendered us, have made for you in our hearts.” + +And passing into the next room, she brought a small velvet frame in +which was the photograph. Saniel took it out, on explaining the study +for which he wanted it, and after promising to bring it back soon, he +returned to his rooms. + +Decidedly, everything was going well. The plate was destroyed, Phillis’s +proof in his hands; he had nothing more to fear from this side. As to +the experiment made on the mother, it was decisive enough to inspire him +with confidence. If Madame Cormier, who had seen him so often and for so +long a time, and who thought of him at every instant, did not recognize +him, how was it possible that Madame Dammauville, who had only seen him +from a distance and for a few seconds, could recognize him after several +months? + +Would he never accustom himself to the idea that his life could not have +the tranquil monotony of a bourgeois existence, that it would experience +shocks and storms, but that if he knew how to remain always master of +his force and will, it would bring him to a safe port? + +The calm that was his before this vexation came back to him, and when +the last proofs of his concours, confirming the success of the first, +had given him the two titles that he so ardently desired and pursued +at the price of so many pains, so many efforts and privations, he could +enjoy his triumph in all security. + +He held the present in his strong hands, and the future was his. + +Now he could walk straight, boldly, his head high, jostling those who +annoyed him, according to his natural temperament. + +Although these last months had been full of terrible agitation for +him, on account of everything connected with the affair of Caffie and +Florentin, and above all, on account of the fatigue, emotion, and the +fever of his ‘concours’, yet he had not interrupted his special works +for a day or even an hour, and his experiments followed for so many +years had at length produced important results, that prudence alone +prevented him from publishing. In opposition to the official teaching +of the school, these discoveries would have caused the hair to stand +upright on the old heads; and it was not the time, when he asked +permission to enter, to draw upon himself the hostility of these +venerable doorkeepers, who would bar the way to a revolutionist. But, +now that he was in the place for ten or twelve years, he need take no +precautions, either for persons or for ideas, and he might speak. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. PHILLIS PRECIPITATES MATTERS + +Saniel saw his colleague, the solemn Balzajette, and so adroitly as not +to provoke surprise or suspicion, he spoke of Madame Dammauville, in +whom he was interested incidentally; without persisting, and only to +justify his question, he explained the nature of this interest. + +Although solemn, Balzajette was not the less a gossip, and it was his +solemnity that made him gossip. He listened to himself talk, and when, +his chest bulging, his pink chin freshly shaved resting on his white +cravat, his be-ringed hand describing in the air noble and demonstrative +gestures, one could, if one had the patience to listen to him, make +him say all that one wished; for he was convinced that his interlocutor +passed an agreeable moment, whose remembrance would never be forgotten. +His patients might wait in pain or anguish, he did not hasten the +majestic delivery of his high-sounding phrases with choice adjectives; +and unless it was to go to a dinner-party, which he did at least five +days in the week, he could not leave you until after he had made you +partake of the admiration that he professed for himself. + +It was to an affection of the spinal cord that Mme. Dammauville’s +paralysis was due, and consequently it was perfectly curable; even +Balzajette was astonished that with his treatment and his care the cure +was delayed. + +“But what shall I say to you, young ‘confrere’? You know better than I +that with women everything is possible--above all the impossible.” + +And during a half-hour he complaisantly related the astonishment that +the fashionable women under his care had caused him, in spite of his +knowledge and experience. + +“Well, to resume, what shall I tell you, young ‘confrere’?” + +And he repeated and explained what he had already said and explained. + +Although Balzajette read only a morning paper, and never opened a book, +he had heard of Saniel’s reputation, and because he was young he thought +he might manage this ‘confrere’, who seemed destined to make a good +position. In spite of the high esteem that he professed for his own +merits and person, he vaguely felt that the doctors of his generation +who were eminent did not treat him with all the consideration that he +accorded himself, and in order to teach his ancient comrades a lesson, +he was glad to enter into friendly relations with a young one ‘dans le +mouvement’. He would speak of his young confrere Saniel: “You know the +one who was appointed ‘agrege’,” and he would relate the advice that he, +Balzajette, had given him. + +That Madame Dammauville would be well enough to go to court Saniel +doubted, above all, after Balzajette had explained his treatment; and as +far as he was concerned, he could not but rejoice. Doubtless, it would +be hard for Florentin not to have this testimony, and not to profit by +the ‘coup de theatre’ prepared by Nougarede; but for himself, he could +only feel happy over it. In spite of all the precautions he had taken, +it would be better not to expose himself to a meeting with Madame +Dammauville in the witness-chamber, or even in court. They must depend +upon a letter supported by Balzajette’s deposition, and Florentin would +be not the less acquitted. Only Nougarede would have to regret his ‘coup +de theatre’. But the satisfaction or disappointment of Nougarede was +nothing to him. + +But he did not tell Phillis the ideas suggested by his interview with +Balzajette; he summed up the conclusions of this interview. Balzajette +said that Madame Dammauville would soon be on her feet, and one might +have faith in his word; Florentin would be saved, and there was nothing +to do but to let things go on as they were going. + +Phillis, Madame Cormier, Nougarede, Florentin himself, whom the Mazas +cell had reconciled neither with hope nor with providential justice, +were all delighted with this idea. + +Also, when the chamber of the prosecution sent Florent to the assizes, +the emotion of Madame Cormier and Phillis would not be too violent. +Madame Dammauville would be in a state to make her deposition, since the +evening before she had been able to leave her bed; and although she left +it for only an hour, and then to go from her bedroom to her parlor, that +was enough. Nougarede said that the affair would come on at the second +session in April; between then and now Madame Dammauville would be solid +enough on her legs to appear before the jury and carry the acquittal. + +To Phillis, Saniel repeated that the cure was certain, and to her, also, +he rejoiced aloud. But he was troubled about this cure. This meeting, +only the idea of which had alarmed him to the point of losing his head, +would be brought about, and under conditions that could not but affect +him. Truly, the precautions he had taken should reassure him, but after +all there remained no less a troublesome uncertainty. Who could tell? He +preferred that she should not leave her room, and that Nougarede should +find a way to obtain her deposition without taking her to court; he +would then feel more reassured, more calm in mind, and with a more +impassive face he could go to court. + +Was he really unrecognizable? This was the question that beset him now. +Many times he compared his reflection in the glass with the photograph +that he had given Phillis. The hair and beard were gone, but his eyes +of steel, as his friend said, still remained, and nothing could change +them. He might wear blue eyeglasses, or injure himself in a chemical +experiment and wear a bandage. But such a disguise would provoke +curiosity and questions just so much more dangerous, because it would +coincide with the disappearance of his hair and beard. + +But these fears did not torment him long, for Phillis, who now passed a +part of every day in the Rue Sainte-Anne with Madame Dammauville, came +one evening in despair, and told him that that day the invalid had been +able to leave her bed for a few minutes only. + +Then she would not go to court. + +This apprehension of meeting Madame Dammauville face to face had begun +to exasperate him; he felt like a coward in yielding to it, and since he +had not the force to shake it off, he was happy to be relieved from it +by the intervention of chance, which, after having been against him so +long, now became favorable. The wheel turned. + +“See Madame Dammauville often,” he said to Phillis, “and note all that +she feels; perhaps I shall find some way to repair this impediment, +something that I may suggest to Balzajette without his suspecting it. +Besides, it is reasonable to believe that the recrudescence of cold that +we are suffering from now may have something to do with the change in +her condition; it is probable that with the mild spring weather she may +improve.” + +He hoped by this counsel to quiet Phillis’s uneasiness and to gain time. +But it had the opposite effect. In her anguish, which increased as the +time for the trial approached, it was not probabilities, any more than +the uncertain influence of the spring, that Phillis could depend on; she +must have something more and better; but fearing a refusal, she forbore +to tell him what she hoped to obtain. + +It was only when she had succeeded that she spoke. + +Every day, on leaving Madame Dammauville, she came to tell him what she +had learned, and for three successive days her story was the same: + +“She was not able to leave her bed.” + +And each day he made the same reply: + +“It is the cold weather. Surely, we shall soon have a change; this frost +and wind will not continue beyond the end of March.” + +He was pained at her desolation and anguish, but what could he do? It +was not his fault that this relapse occurred at a decisive moment; fate +had been against him long enough, and he was not going to counteract it +at the time when it seemed to take his side, by yielding to the desire +that Phillis dared not express, but which he divined, and by going to +see Madame Dammauville. + +When she entered his office on the fourth day, he knew at once by her +manner that something favorable to Florentin had happened. + +“Madame Dammauville is up,” he said. + +“No.” + +“I thought she must be, by your vivacity and lightness.” “It is because +I am happy; Madame Dammauville wishes to consult you.” + +He took her hands roughly and shook them. + +“You have done that!” he exclaimed. + +She looked at him frightened. + +“You! You!” he repeated with increasing fury. + +“At least listen to me,” she murmured. “You will see that I have not +compromised you in anything.” + +Compromised! It was professional dignity of which he thought, truly! + +“I do not want to listen to you; I shall not go.” + +“Do not say that.” + +“It only needed that you should dispose of me in your own way.” + +“Victor!” + +Anger carried him away. + +“I belong to you, then! I am your thing! You do with me what you wish! +You decide, and I have only to obey! There is too much of this! You can +go; everything is at an end between us.” + +She listened, crushed; but this last word, which struck her in her +love, gave her strength. In her turn she took his hands, and although he +wished to withdraw them, she held them closely in her own. + +“You may throw in my face all the angry words you please; you may +reproach me as much as you think I deserve it, and I will not complain. +Without doubt, I have done you wrong, and I feel the weight of it on +seeing how profoundly you are wounded; but to send me away, to tell me +that all is over between us, no, Victor, you will not do that. You +will not say it, for you know that never was a man loved as I love +you, adored, respected. And voluntarily, deliberately, even to save my +brother, that I should have compromised you!” + +He pushed her from him. + +“Go!” he said harshly. + +She threw herself on her knees, and taking his hands that he had +withdrawn, she kissed them passionately. + +“But listen to me,” she cried. “Before condemning me, hear my defence. +Even if I were a hundred times more guilty than I really am, you could +not drive me from you with this unmerciful hardness.” + +“Go!” + +“You lose your head; anger carries you away. What is the matter? It is +impossible that I, by my stupidity, through my fault, could put you in +such a state of mad exasperation. What is the matter, my beloved?” + +These few words did more than Phillis’s despair of her expressions of +love. She was right, he lost his head. And however guilty she might be +towards him, it was evident that she could not admit that the fault +she committed threw him into this access of furious folly. It was not +natural; and in his words and actions all must be natural, all must be +capable of explanation. + +“Very well, speak!” he said. “I am listening to you. Moreover, it is +better to know. Speak!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. THE APPOINTMENT + +“You should understand,” she said with a little more calmness--for, +since he permitted her to speak, she hoped to convince him--“that I have +done all I could to bring Madame Dammauville to the idea of calling, in +consultation with Monsieur Balzajette, a doctor--” + +“Which would be myself.” + +“You or another; I have not mentioned any name. You should not think me +awkward enough to put you forward clumsily; it would not be a good way +to make you acceptable to an intelligent woman, and I value your dignity +too much to lower it. I believed that another doctor than Monsieur +Balzajette would find a remedy, some way, a miracle if you will, to +enable Madame Dammauville to go to the Palais de justice, and I said +it. I said it in every tone, in every way, with as much persuasion as +I could put in my words. Was it not the life of my brother that I +defended, our honor? At first, I found Madame Dammauville much opposed +to this idea. She would be better soon, she felt it. Otherwise, if it +were her duty to be carried to the Palais de justice, she would not +hesitate.” + +“She would do that?” + +“Assuredly. No one has a stronger sense of justice. She would feel +guilty did she not give her testimony to save an innocent person; not to +save him when she could would be to take the responsibility of his loss. +It is therefore certain that if she cannot go to court alone, she will +do all she can to go, no matter how--on M. Balzajette’s arm, or on a +stretcher. I was, then, easy enough on this side, but I was not for the +stretcher. What would people think to see her in this condition? What +impression would she make on the jury? Would not her appearance weaken +the value of her testimony? As Madame Dammauville is fond of me, and +very kind to me, I determined to profit by this kindness to urge a +consultation, but without mentioning any name. I represented to her +that, since M. Balzajette might say with every appearance of truth he +had cured her, he should not be angry if she desired to ratify this +cure. That besides, there was an imperative motive that would not permit +her to wait, for it would be very disagreeable to her to present herself +at the court of assizes in a theatrical way, which was not at all +according to her character or habits. I easily discovered that the fear +of giving pain to this old friend of her husband was the chief reason +why she was opposed to this consultation. It was then that your name was +pronounced.” + +“You acknowledge it, then?” + +“You will see how, and you will not be angry about it. I have often +spoken to Madame Dammauville of mamma, and, consequently, of how you +cured her paralysis, that resembled hers. It was not wrong, was it, to +say what you have done for us? And without letting any one suspect my +love, I could praise you, which my gratitude prompted. She asked me many +questions, and naturally, as usual when I speak of you, when I have +the joy of pronouncing your name, I answered in detail. That is not a +crime?” + +She waited a moment, looking at him. Without softening the hardness of +his glance, he made a sign to her to continue. + +“When I persisted on the consultation, Madame Dammauville recalled what +I had said, and she was the first--you hear?--the first to pronounce +your name. As you had cured my mother, I had the right to praise you. +With a nature like hers, she would not have understood if I had not done +it; she would have believed me ungrateful. I spoke of your book on +the diseases of the spinal cord, which was quite natural; and as she +manifested a desire to read it, I offered to lend it to her.” + +“Was that natural?” + +“With any but Madame Dammauville, no; but she is not frivolous. I took +the book to her two days ago, and she has just told me that, after +reading it, she has decided to send for you.” + +“I shall certainly not go; she has her own physician.” + +“Do not imagine that I have come to ask you to pay her a visit; all is +arranged with Monsieur Balzajette, who will write to you or see you, I +do not know which.” + +“That will be very extraordinary on the part of Balzajette!” + +“Perhaps you judge him harshly. When Madame Dammauville spoke to him of +you he did not raise the smallest objection; on the contrary, he praised +you. He says that you are one of the rare young men in whom one may have +confidence. These are his own words that Madame Dammauville told me.” + +“What do I care for the opinion of this old beast!” + +“I am explaining how it happens that you are called into consultation; +it is not because I spoke of you, but because you have inspired Monsieur +Balzajette with confidence. However stupid he may be, he is just to you, +and knows your value.” + +It was come then, the time for the meeting that he did not wish to +believe possible; and it was brought about in such a way that he did not +see how he could escape it. He might refuse Phillis; but Balzajette? A +colleague called him in consultation, and why should he not go? Had he +foreseen this blow he would have left Paris until the trial was over, +but he was taken unawares. What could he say to justify a sudden +absence? He had no mother or brothers who might send for him, and with +whom he would be obliged to remain. Besides, he wished to go to court; +and since his testimony would carry considerable weight with the jury, +it was his duty to be present on account of Florentin. It would be a +contemptible cowardice to fail in this duty, and more, it would be an +imprudence. In the eyes of the world he must appear to have nothing to +fear, and this assurance, this confidence in himself, was one of the +conditions of his safety. Now, if he went to court, and from every point +of view it was impossible that he should not go, he would meet Madame +Dammauville, as she intended to be carried there if she were unable to +go in any other way. Whether it was at her house, or at the Palais de +justice, the meeting was then certain, and in spite of what he had done, +circumstances stronger than his will had prepared it and brought it +about; nothing that he could do would prevent it. + +The only question that deserved serious consideration just now was to +know where this meeting would be the least dangerous for him--at Madame +Dammauville’s or at the Palais? + +He reflected silently, paying no more attention to Phillis than if she +were not present, his eyes fixed, his brow contracted, his lips tightly +closed, when the doorbell rang. As Joseph was at his post, Saniel did +not move. + +“If it is a patient,” Phillis said, who did not wish to go yet, “I will +wait in the dining-room.” + +And she rose. + +Before she could leave the room, Joseph entered. + +“Doctor Balzajette,” he said. + +“You see!” Phillis cried. + +Without replying, Saniel made a sign to Joseph to admit Doctor +Balzajette, and while Phillis silently disappeared, he went toward the +parlor. + +Balzajette came forward with both hands extended. + +“Good-day, my young ‘confrere’. I am enchanted to meet you.” + +The reception was benevolent, amicable, and protecting, and Saniel +replied at his best. + +“Since we met the other day,” Balzajette continued, “I have thought +of you. And nothing more natural than that, for you inspired me with +a quick sympathy. The first time you came to see me you pleased me +immediately, and I told you you would make your way. Do you remember?” + +Assuredly he remembered; and of all the visits that he made to the +doctors and druggists of his quarter, that to Balzajette was the +hardest. It was impossible to show more pride, haughtiness, and disdain +than Balzajette had put into his reception of the then unknown young +man. + +“I told you what I thought of you,” continued Balzajette. “It is with +regard to this patient of whom you spoke to me; you remember?” + +“Madame Dammauville?” + +“Exactly. I put her on her feet, as I told you, but since then this bad +weather has compelled her to take to her bed again. Without doubt, it +is only an affair of a few days; but in the mean time, the poor woman is +irritable and impatient. You know women, young ‘confrere’. To calm +this impatience, I spontaneously proposed a consultation, and naturally +pronounced your name, which is well known by your fine work on the +medullary lesions. I supported it, as was proper, with the esteem that +it has acquired, and I have the satisfaction to see it accepted.” + +Saniel thanked him as if he believed in the perfect sincerity of this +spontaneous proposition. + +“I like the young, and whenever an occasion presents itself, I shall be +happy to introduce you to my clientage. For Madame Dammauville, when can +you go with me to see her?” + +As Saniel appeared to hesitate, Balzajette, mistaking the cause of his +silence, persisted. + +“She is impatient,” he said. “Let us go the first day that is possible.” + +He must reply, and in these conditions a refusal would be inexplicable. + +“Will to-morrow suit you?” he asked. + +“To-morrow, by all means. At what hour?” + +Before replying, Saniel went to his desk and consulted an almanac, which +appeared perfectly ridiculous to Balzajette. + +“Does he imagine, the young ‘confrere’, that I am going to believe his +time so fully occupied that he must make a special arrangement to give +me an hour?” + +But it was not an arrangement of this kind that Saniel sought. His +almanac gave the rising and the setting of the sun, and it was the exact +hour of sunset that he wished: “26 March, 6h. 20m.” At this moment +it would not be dark enough at Madame Dammauville’s for lamps to be +lighted, and yet it would be dark enough to prevent her from seeing him +clearly in the uncertain light of evening. + +“Will a quarter past six suit you? I will call for you at six o’clock.” + +“Very well. Only I shall ask you to be very exact; I have a dinner at +seven o’clock in the Rue Royale.” + +Saniel promised promptness. The dinner was a favorable circumstance, +enabling him to escape from Madame Dammauville’s before the lamps would +be lighted. + +When Balzajette was gone, he rejoined Phillis in the dining-room. + +“A consultation is arranged for to-morrow at six o’clock, at Madame +Dammauville’s.” + +She threw herself on his breast. + +“I knew that you would forgive me.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. THE FATAL LIGHT + +It was not without emotion that the next day Saniel saw the afternoon +slip away, and although he worked to employ his time, he interrupted +himself at each instant to look at the clock. + +Sometimes he found the time passing quickly, and then all at once it +seemed to stand still. + +This agitation exasperated him, for calmness had never been more +necessary than at this moment. A danger was before him, and it was only +in being master of himself that he could be saved. He must have the +coolness of a surgeon during an operation, the glance of a general in a +battle; and the coolness and the glance were not found among the nervous +and agitated. + +Could he escape from this danger? + +This was the question that he asked himself unceasingly, although he +knew the uselessness of it. What good was it to study the chances for or +against him? + +Either he had succeeded in rendering himself unrecognizable or he had +not; but it was done, and now he could do nothing more. He did the best +he could in choosing an hour when the dim evening light put the chances +on his side; for the rest he must trust to Fortune. + +All day he studied the sky, because for the success of his plan it +must be neither too bright nor too dark: if it were too bright Madame +Dammauville could see him clearly; if it were too dark the lamps would +be lighted. He remembered that it was by lamplight she had seen him. +Until evening the weather was uncertain, with a sky sometimes sunny, +sometimes cloudy; but at this hour the clouds were driven away by a wind +from the north, and the weather became decidedly cold, with the pink and +pale clearness of the end of March when it still freezes. + +On examining himself he had the satisfaction to feel that he was calmer +than in the morning, and that as the moment of attack approached, his +agitation decreased; decision, firmness, and coolness came to him; he +felt master of his will, and capable of obeying it. + +At six o’clock precisely he rang at Balzajette’s door, and they started +immediately for the Rue Sainte-Anne. Happy to have a complaisant +listener, Balzajette did all the talking, so that Saniel had only to +reply “yes” or “no” from time to time, and of course it was not +of Madame Dammauville that he spoke, but other matters--of a first +representation on the previous evening at the Opera Comique; of +politics; of the next salon. + +At exactly a quarter past six they reached the house in the Rue +Sainte-Anne, where Saniel had not been since Caffies death. On passing +the old concierge’s lodge he felt satisfied with himself; his heart +did not beat too quickly, his ideas were firm and clear. Should danger +arrive, he felt assured of mastery over himself, without excitement, as +without brutality. + +Balzajette rang the bell, and the door was opened by a maid, who was, +evidently, placed in the vestibule to await their arrival. Balzajette +entered first, and Saniel followed him, giving a hasty glance at the +rooms through which they passed. They reached a door at which Balzajette +knocked twice. + +“Enter,” replied a feminine voice in a firm tone. + +This was the decisive moment; the day was everything that could be +wished, neither too light nor too dark. What would Madame Dammauville’s +first glance mean? + +“My confrere, Doctor Saniel,” Balzajette said on going toward Madame +Dammauville, and taking her hand. + +She was lying on the little bed of which Phillis had spoken, but not +against the windows, rather in the middle of the room, placed there +evidently after the experience of a sick person who knows that to be +examined she must be easily seen. + +Profiting by this arrangement, Saniel immediately passed between the +bed and the windows in such a way that the daylight was behind him, and +consequently his face was in shadow. This was done naturally, without +affectation, and it seemed that he only took this side of the bed +because Balzajette took the other. + +Directed by Saniel, the examination commenced with a clearness and +a precision that pleased Balzajette. He did not lose himself in idle +words, the young ‘confrere’, any more than in useless details. He went +straight to the end, only asking and seeking the indispensable; and as +Madame Dammauville’s replies were as precise as his questions, while +listening and putting in a word from time to time he said to himself +that his dinner would not be delayed, which was the chief point of his +preoccupation. Decidedly, he understood life, the young ‘confrere’; he +might be called in consultation with his heavy appearance and careless +toilet, there was no danger of rivalry. + +However, when Madame Dammauville began to speak of being sensitive +to cold, Balzajette found that Saniel let her lose herself in minute +details. + +“Have you always been sensitive to cold?” + +“Yes; and with a deplorable disposition to take cold if the temperature +is lowered one or two degrees.” + +“Did you exercise in the open air?” + +“Very little.” + +“Were you ever advised to try shower-baths of cold water?” + +“I should not have been able to bear it.” + +“I must tell you,” Balzajette interrupted, “that before occupying this +house that belongs to her, Madame Dammauville lived in a more modern +apartment which was heated by a furnace, and where consequently it was +easier to maintain an even temperature to which she was accustomed.” + +“On coming to live in this house, where it is not possible to have a +furnace,” Madame Dammauville went on, “I employed every means to shelter +me from the cold, which I am sure is my great enemy. You can see that I +have had weather-strips put at the doors, as well as at the windows.” + +In spite of this invitation and the gesture which accompanied it, Saniel +was careful not to turn his head toward the window; he kept his face +in the shadow, contenting himself with looking at the door which was +opposite to him. + +“At the same time,” she continued, “I had hangings put on the walls, +carpets on the floors, thick curtains at the windows and doors, and in +spite of the large fire in my fireplace, often I am unable to get warm.” + +“Do you also have a fire in this little stove?” Saniel asked, pointing +to a small movable stove at the corner of the fireplace. + +“Only at night, so that my servants need not get up every hour to +replenish the fire in the chimney. The fire is made in the evening +just before I go to sleep; the pipe is placed in the chimney, and it +maintains sufficient heat until morning.” + +“I think it will be expedient to suppress this mode of heating, which +must be very inconvenient,” Saniel said; “and my ‘confrere’ and myself +will consider the question whether it will not be possible to give you +the heat you need with this chimney, without fatiguing your servants, +and without waking you too often to take care of the fire. But let us +continue.” + +When he reached the end of his questions he rose to examine the patient +on her bed, but without turning round, and in such a way as still to +keep his back to the light. + +As little by little the reflection of the setting sun faded, Balzajette +proposed asking for a lamp: without replying too hastily, Saniel +refused; it was useless, the daylight was sufficient. + +They passed into the parlor, where they very quickly came to an amicable +conclusion, for at everything that Saniel said Balzajette replied: + +“I am happy to see that you partake of my opinion. That is it. Truly, +that is so!” + +And, besides, each had his reasons for hurrying--Saniel, for fear of +the lamps; Balzajette, uneasiness for his dinner. The diagnosis and the +treatment were rapidly settled; Saniel proposed, Balzajette approved. +The question of the movable stove was decided in two words: for the +night a grate would be placed in the chimney; a fire of coal covered +with damp coal-dust would keep the fire until morning. + +“Let us return,” Balzajette said, who took the initiative and decided on +all material things. + +Saniel, who kept his eyes on the windows, was calm; it was yet too light +to need lamps, besides, during their tete-a-tete, no servant had crossed +the salon to enter Madame Dammauville’s room. + +But when Balzajette opened the door to return to the patient, a flood +of light filled the parlor and enveloped them. A lamp with a shade was +placed on the little table near the bed, and two other lighted lamps +with globes were on the mantel, reflecting their light in the +mirror. How had he not foreseen that there was another door to Madame +Dammauville’s room besides the door from the parlor? But if he had +foreseen it, it would not have lessened the danger of the situation. + +He would have had time to prepare himself, that was all. But to prepare +himself for what? Either to enter the room and brave this danger, or to +fly. He entered. + +“This is what we have decided,” Balzajette said, who never lost an +occasion to put himself forward and to speak. + +While he spoke, Madame Dammauville seemed not to listen to him. Her eyes +were on Saniel, placed between her and the chimney with his back to the +lamps, and she looked at him with a characteristic fixedness. + +Balzajette, who listened to himself, observed nothing; but Saniel, who +knew what there was behind this glance, could not but be struck with +it. Happily for him, he had only to let Balzajette talk, for if he had +spoken he would surely have betrayed himself by the quivering of his +voice. + +However, Balzajette seemed coming to the end of his explanations. +Suddenly Saniel saw Madame Dammauville extend her hand toward the lamp +on the table, and raise the shade by lowering it toward her in such a +way as to form a reflector that threw the light on him. At the same time +he received a bright ray full on his face. + +Madame Dammauville uttered a small, stifled cry. + +Balzajette stopped; then his astonished eyes went from Madame +Dammauville to Saniel, and front Saniel to Madame Dammauville. + +“Are you suffering?” he asked. + +“Not at all.” + +What, then, was the matter? But it was seldom that he asked for an +explanation of a thing that astonished him, preferring to divine and to +explain it himself. + +“Ah! I understand it,” he said with a satisfied smile. + +“The youth of my young ‘confrere’ astonishes you. It is his fault. Why +the devil did he have his long hair and his light curled beard cut?” + +If Madame Dammauville had not released the lampshade, she would have +seen Saniel turned pale and his lips quiver. + +“Mais voila!” continued Balzajette. “He made this sacrifice to his new +functions; the student has disappeared before the professor.” + +He might have continued along time. Neither Madame Dammauville nor +Saniel listened to him; but, thinking of his dinner, he was not going +to launch into a discourse that at any other moment he would not have +failed to undertake. He rose to go. + +As Saniel bowed, Madame Dammauville stopped him with a movement of her +hand. + +“Did you not know this unfortunate who was assassinated opposite?” she +asked, pointing to the windows. + +So serious as was an acknowledgment, Saniel could not answer in the +negative. + +“I was called in to prove his death,” he said. + +And he took several steps toward the door, but she stopped him again. + +“Had you business with him?” she asked. + +“I saw him several times.” + +Balzajette cut short this conversation, which was idle talk to him. + +“Good evening, dear Madame. I will see you tomorrow, but not in the +morning, for I go to the country at six o’clock, and shall not return +until noon.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. SUSPENSE + +“Did you observe how I cut the conversation short?” Balzajette said, as +they went down-stairs. “If you listen to women they will never let you +go. I cannot imagine why she spoke to you of this assassinated man, can +you?” + +“No.” + +“I believe that this assassination has affected her brain to a certain +point. In any case, it has given her a horror of this house.” + +He continued thus without Saniel listening to what he said. On reaching +the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, Balzajette hailed a passing cab. + +“You have had the kindness not to delay me,” he said, pressing the hand +of his young ‘confrere’, “but I feel that I must hurry. ‘Au revoir’.” + +A good riddance! This babbling gave Saniel the vertigo. + +He must recover himself, look the situation in the face, and consider +that which might, which must, happen. + +The situation was plain; Madame Dammauville’s cry revealed it. When the +lamplight struck him full in the face, she found in him the man whom +she had seen draw Caffies curtains. If, in her amazement, she at first +refused to believe it, her questions regarding Caffie, and Balzajette’s +explanations about his hair and beard, destroyed her hesitation and +replaced doubt by the horror of certainty. He was the assassin; she knew +it, she had seen him. And such as she revealed herself to him, it seemed +that she was not the woman to challenge the testimony of her eyes, and +to let the strength of her memory be shaken by simple denials, supported +by Balzajette’s words. + +With a vivid clearness he saw to the bottom of the abyss open before +him; but what he did not see was in what way she would push him into +this giddy whirlpool, that is, to whom she would reveal the discovery +that she had made. To Phillis, to Balzajette, or to the judge? + +It was almost a relief to think that for this evening, at least, it +would not be to Phillis, for at this moment she would be at his rooms, +anxiously awaiting his return. He felt a sadness and a revulsion at the +thought that she might be the first to learn the truth. He did not wish +that, and he would prevent it. + +This preoccupation gave him an object; he reached the Rue Louis-le-Grand +thinking more of Phillis than of himself. What distress when she should +know all! How could she support this blow, and with what sentiments +would it inspire her, with what judgment for the man whom she loved? +Poor girl! He grew tender at the thought. As for him, he was lost, +and it was his fault; he bore the penalty of his own stupidity. But +Phillis--it would be a blow to her love that she must bear. And what a +blow to this sensitive heart, to this proud and noble soul! + +Perhaps he would now see her for the last time, for this one hour, and +never again. Then he would be kind to her, and leave her a memory that, +later, would be an alleviation to her sorrow, a warm, bright ray in her +time of mourning. During these last few days he had been hard, brutal, +irritable, strange, and with her habitual serenity she had overlooked +it all. When he pushed her from him with his heavy hand, she had +kissed this hand, fastening on him her beautiful, tender eyes, full of +passionate caresses. He must make her forget that, and she must carry +from their last interview a tender impression that would sustain her. + +What could he do for her? He remembered how happy she had been at their +impromptu dinners six months before, and he would give her this same +pleasure. He would see her happy again, and near her, under her glance, +perhaps he would forget tomorrow. + +He went to the caterer who furnished him with breakfast, and ordered two +dinners to be sent to his rooms immediately. + +Before he could put the key in the lock, his door was opened by Phillis, +who recognized his step on the landing. + +“Well?” + +“Your brother is saved.” + +“Madame Dammauville will go to court?” + +“I promise you that he is saved.” + +“By you?” + +“Yes, by me--exactly.” + +In her access of joy, she did not notice the accent on these last words. + +“Then you forgive me?” + +He took her in his arms, and kissing her with deep emotion said: + +“With all my heart, I swear it!” + +“You see it was written that you should see Madame Dammauville, in spite +of yourself, in spite of all; it was providential.” + +“It is certain that your friend Providence could not interfere more +opportunely in my affairs.” + +This time she was struck by the tone of his voice; but she imagined that +it was only this allusion to superior intervention that had vexed him. + +“It was of ourselves that I thought,” she said, “not of you.” + +“I understood. But do not let us talk of that; you are happy, and I do +not wish to shadow your joy. On the contrary, I thought to associate +myself with it by giving you a surprise: we are going to dine together.” + +“Oh, dearest!” she exclaimed, trembling, “how-good you are! I will set +the table,” she added joyously, “and you light the fire; for we must +have a bright fire to enliven us and to keep our dinner warm. What have +you ordered?” + +“I do not know; two dinners.” + +“So much the better! We will have surprises. We will leave the dishes +covered before the fire, and we will take them anyhow. Perhaps we shall +eat the roast before the entree, but that will be all the more funny.” + +Light, quick, busy, graceful, and charming, she came and went around the +table. + +When the dinner came, the table was ready, and they sat down opposite to +each other. + +“What happiness to be alone!” she said. “To be able to talk and to look +at each other freely!” + +He looked at her with a tenderness in his eyes that she had never before +seen, with a depth of serious contemplation that overwhelmed her. From +time to time little cries of happiness escaped her. + +“Oh! Dearest, dearest!” she murmured. + +Yet she knew him too well not to see that a cloud of sadness often +veiled these eyes full of love, and that also they were often without +any expression, as if they looked within. Suddenly she became quiet; +but she could not long remain silent when she was uneasy. Why this +melancholy at such a moment? + +“What a difference between this dinner,” she said, “and those of the +end of October! At that time you were harassed by the most trying +difficulties, at war with creditors, menaced on all sides, without hope; +and now all is smooth. No more creditors, no more struggles. The cares +that I brought you are nearly at an end. Life opens easy and glorious. +The end that you pursued is reached; you have only to walk straight +before you, boldly and proudly. Yet there is a sadness in your face that +torments me. What is the matter? Speak, I beg you! To whom should you +confess, if not to the woman who adores you?” + +He looked at her a long time without replying, asking himself if, for +the peace of his own heart, this confession would not be better than +silence; but courage failed him, pride closed his lips. + +“What should be the matter?” he said. “If my face is sad, it does not +indicate faithfully what I feel; for what I feel at this moment is an +ineffable sentiment of tenderness for you, an inexpressible gratitude +for your love, and for the happiness that you have given me. If I have +been happy in my rough and struggling life, it is through you. What I +have had of joy, confidence, hope, memories, I owe to you; and if we +had not met I should have the right to say that I have been the most +miserable among the miserable. Whatever happens to us, remember these +words, my darling, and bury them in the depths of your heart, where you +will find them some day when you would judge me.” + +“To judge you--I!” + +“You love me, therefore you do not know me. But the hour will come when +you will wish to know exactly the man whom you have loved; when that +time comes remember this evening.” + +“It is too radiant for me to forget it.” + +“Whatever it may be, remember it. Life is so fragile and so ephemeral a +thing, that it is beautiful to be able to concentrate it, to sum it up +by remembrance, in one hour that marks it and gives it its scope. +Such an hour is this one, which passes while I speak to you with deep +sincerity.” + +Phillis was not accustomed to these ‘elanas’, for, in the rare effusions +to which he sometimes abandoned himself, Saniel always observed a +certain reserve, as if he feared to commit himself, and to let her read +his whole nature. Many times he rallied her when she became sentimental, +as he said, and “chantait sa romance;” and now he himself sang it--this +romance of love. + +Great as was her happiness to listen to him, she could not help +feeling an uneasy astonishment, and asked herself under what melancholy +impression he found himself at this moment. + +He read her too well not to divine this uneasiness. Not wishing to +betray himself, he brought a smile to his eyes, and said: + +“You do not recognize me, do you? I am sure you are asking yourself if I +am not ill.” + +“Oh, dearest, do not jest, and do not harden yourself against the +sentiment that makes such sweet music on your lips! I am happy, so +happy, to hear you speak thus, that I would like to see your happiness +equal to mine; to dissipate the dark cloud that veils your glance. Will +you never abandon yourself? At this hour, above all, when everything +sings and laughs within us as about us! Nothing was more natural than +that you should be sad six months ago; but today what more do you want +to make you happy?” + +“Nothing, it is true.” + +“Is not the present the radiant morning of a glorious future?” + +“What will you? There are sad physiognomies as there are happy ones; +mine is not yours. But let us talk no more of that, nor of the past, nor +of the future; let us talk of the present.” + +He rose, and, taking her in his arms, made her sit next to him on the +sofa. + +The sound of the doorbell made Saniel jump as if he had received an +electric shock. + +“You will not open the door?” Phillis said. “Do not let any one take our +evening from us.” + +But soon another ring, more decided, brought him to his feet. + +“It is better to know,” he said, and he went to open the door, leaving +Phillis in his office. + +A maid handed him a letter. + +“From Madame Dammauville,” she said; “there is an answer.” + +He left her in the vestibule, and returned to his office to read the +letter. The dream had not lasted long; reality seized him with its +pitiless hands. This letter, certainly, would announce the blow that +menaced him. + + “If Dr. Saniel is disengaged, I beg that he will come to see me this + evening on an urgent affair; I will wait for him until ten o’clock. + If not, I count on seeing him to-morrow morning after nine o’clock. + + “A. DAMMAUVILLE.” + +He returned to the vestibule. + +“Say to Madame. Dammauville that I shall be there in a quarter of an +hour.” + +When he reentered the office he found Phillis before the glass, putting +on her hat. + +“I heard,” she said. “What a disappointment! But I cannot wish you to +stay, since it is for Florentin that you leave me.” + +As she walked toward the door he stopped her. + +“Embrace me once more.” + +Never had he pressed her in such a long and passionate embrace. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. ON THE RACK + +He had not a second of doubt; Madame Dammauville did not wish a +professional visit from him. She wished to speak to him of Caffie, and, +in the coming crisis, he said to himself that perhaps it was fortunate +that it was so; at least he would be first to know what she had decided +to do, and he could defend himself. Nothing is hopeless as long as a +struggle is possible. + +He rang the bell with a firm hand, and the door was opened by the maid +who brought the letter. With a small lamp in her hand, she conducted him +through the dining-room and the salon to Madame Dammauville’s bedroom. + +At the threshold, a glance showed him that some changes had been made in +the arrangement of the furniture. The small bed where he had seen Madame +Dammauville was placed between the two windows, and she was lying in a +large bed with canopy and curtains. Near her was a table on which were +a shaded lamp, some books, a blotting-book, a teapot, and a cup; on the +white quilt rested an unusually long bellrope, so that she might pull it +without moving. The fire in the chimney was out, but the movable stove +sent out a heat that denoted it was arranged for the night. + +Saniel felt the heat, and mechanically unbuttoned his overcoat. + +“If the heat is uncomfortable, will you not remove your overcoat?” + Madame Dammauville said. + +While he disposed of it and his hat, placing them on a chair by the +fireplace, he heard Madame Dammauville say to her maid: + +“Remain in the salon, and tell the cook not to go to bed.” + +What did this mean? Was she afraid that he would cut her throat? + +“Will you come close to my bed?” she said. “It is important that we +should talk without raising our voices.” + +He took a chair and seated himself at a certain distance from the bed, +and in such a way that he was beyond the circle of light thrown by the +lamp. Then he waited. + +A moment of silence, which he found terribly long, slipped away before +she spoke. + +“You know,” she said at last, “how I saw, accidentally, from this +place”--she pointed to one of the windows--“the face of the assassin of +my unfortunate tenant, Monsieur Caffie.” + +“Mademoiselle Cormier has told me,” he replied in a tone of ordinary +conversation. + +“Perhaps you are astonished that at such a distance I saw the face +clearly enough to recognize it after five months, as if it were still +before me.” + +“It is extraordinary.” + +“Not to those who have a memory for faces and attitudes; with me this +memory has always been strongly developed. I remember the playmates of +my childhood, and I see them as they were at six and ten years of age, +without the slightest confusion in my mind.” + +“The impressions of childhood are generally vivid and permanent.” + +“This persistency does not only apply to my childish impressions. Today, +I neither forget nor confound a physiognomy. Perhaps if I had had many +acquaintances, and if I had seen a number of persons every day, there +might be some confusion in my mind; but such is not the case. My +delicate health has obliged me to lead a very quiet life, and I remember +every one whom I have met. When I think of such a one, it is not of the +name at first, but of the physiognomy. Each time that I have been to +the Senate or to the Chamber, I did not need to ask the names of +the deputies or senators who spoke; I had seen their portraits and I +recognized them. If I go into these details it is because they are of +great importance, as you will see.” + +It was not necessary for her to point out their importance; he +understood her only too well. + +“In fine, I am thus,” she continued. “It is, therefore, not astonishing +that the physiognomy and the attitude of the man who drew the curtains +in Monsieur Caffie’s office should not leave my memory. You admit this, +do you not?” + +“Since you consult me, I must tell you that the operations of the memory +are not so simple as people imagine. They comprise three things: the +conservation of certain states, their reproduction and localization in +the past, which should be reunited to constitute the perfect memory. +Now this reunion does not always take place, and often the third is +lacking.” + +“I do not grasp your meaning very well. But what is the third thing?” + +“Recognition.” + +“Well, I can assure you that in this case it is not lacking!” + +The action beginning in this way, it was of the utmost importance for +Saniel that he should throw doubts in Madame Dammauville’s mind, and +should make her think that this memory of which she felt so sure was +not, perhaps, as strong or as perfect as she imagined. + +“It is,” he said, “exactly this third thing that is the most delicate, +the most complex of the three, since it supposes, besides the state of +consciousness, some secondary states, variable in number and in degree, +which, grouped around it, determine it.” + +Madame Dammauville remained silent a moment, and Saniel saw that she +made an effort to explain these obscure words to herself. + +“I do not understand,” she said at last. + +This was exactly what he wished; yet, as it would not be wise to let her +believe that he desired to deceive or confuse her, he thought he might +be a little more precise. + +“I wish to ask,” he said, “if you are certain that in the mechanism of +the vision and that of the recognition, which is a vision of the past, +there is no confusion?” + +She drew a long breath, evidently satisfied to get rid of these +subtleties that troubled her. + +“It is exactly because I admit the possibility of this confusion, at +least in part, that I sent for you,” she said, “in order that you might +establish it.” + +Saniel appeared not to comprehend. + +“I, Madame?” + +“Yes. When you came herewith Monsieur Balzajette a few hours ago, +you must have observed that I examined you in a way that was scarcely +natural. Before the lamps were lighted, and when you turned your back +to the daylight, I tried in vain to remember where I had seen you. I was +certain that I found in you some points of resemblance to a physiognomy +I had known, but the name attached to this physiognomy escaped me. When +you returned, and I saw you more clearly by lamplight, my recollections +became more exact; when I raised the lamp-shade the light struck you +full in the face, and then your eyes, so characteristic, and at the same +time a violent contraction of your features, made me recall the name. +This physiognomy, these eyes, this face, belonged to the man whom from +this place” she pointed to the window--“I saw draw Monsieur Caffies +curtains.” + +Saniel did not flinch. + +“This is a resemblance that would be hard for me,” he said, “if your +memory were faithful.” + +“I tell myself that it may not be. And after the first feeling of +surprise which made me cry out, I was confirmed in this thought on +recalling the fact that you did not wear the long hair and blond beard +that the man wore who drew the curtains; but at that moment Monsieur +Balzajette spoke of the hair and beard that you had had cut. I was +prostrated. However, I had the strength to ask if you had had any +business with Monsieur Caffie. Do you remember your answer?” + +“Perfectly.” + +“After your departure I experienced a cruel anguish. It was you whom I +had seen draw the curtains, and it could not be you. I tried to think +what I ought to do--to inform the judge or to ask you for an interview. +For a long time I wavered. At length I decided on the interview, and I +wrote to you.” + +“I have come at your call, but I declare that I do not know what to +reply to this strange communication. You believe that you recognize in +me the man who drew the curtains.” + +“I recognize you.” + +“Then what do you wish me to say? It is not a consultation that you ask +of me?” + +She believed she understood the meaning of this reply and divined its +end. + +“The question does not concern me,” she said, “neither my moral nor +mental state, but yourself. My eyes, my memory, my conscience, bring a +frightful accusation against you. I cannot believe my eyes or my memory. +I challenge my conscience, and I ask you to reduce this accusation to +nothing.” + +“And how, Madame?” + +“Oh, not by protestations!” + +“How can you expect that a man in my position will lower himself to +discuss accusations that rest on an hallucination?” + +“Do you believe that I have hallucinations? If you do, call one of your +‘confreres’ to-morrow in consultation. If he believes as you do, I will +submit; if not, I shall be convinced that I saw clearly, and I shall act +accordingly.” + +“If you saw clearly, Madame, and I am ready to concede this to you, it +proves that there is some one somewhere who is my double.” + +“I said this to myself; and it is exactly this idea that made me write +to you. I wished to give you the opportunity of proving that you could +not be this man.” + +“You will agree that it is difficult for me to admit a discussion on +such an accusation.” + +“One may find one’s self accused by a concourse of fatal circumstances, +and be not less innocent. Witness the unfortunate boy imprisoned for +five months for a crime of which he is not guilty. And I pass from your +innocence as from his, to ask you to prove that the charges against you +are false.” + +“There are no charges against me.” + +“There may be; that depends upon yourself. Your hair and beard may have +been cut at the time of the assassination; in that case it is quite +certain that the man I saw was not you, and that I am the victim of an +hallucination. Were they or were they not?” + +“They were not; it is only a few days since I had them cut on account of +a contagious disease.” + +“It may be,” she continued, without appearing to be impressed by this +explanation, “that the day of the assassination, at the hour when I saw +you, you were occupied somewhere in such a way that you can prove you +could not have been in the Rue Sainte-Anne, and that I was the victim +of an hallucination. And again, it may be that at the time your position +was not that of a man at the last extremity, forced to crime by misery +or ambition, and that consequently you had no interest in committing the +crime of a desperate man. What do I know? Twenty other means of defence +may be in your hands.” + +“You cited the example of this poor boy who is imprisoned, although +innocent. Would it not be applicable to me if you did not recognize the +error of your eyes or your memory? Would he not be condemned without +your testimony? Should I not be if I do not find one that destroys your +accusation? And I see no one from whom I can ask this testimony. Have +you thought of the infamy with which such an accusation will cover me? +If I repel it, and I shall repel it, will it not have dishonored me, +ruined me forever?” + +“It is just because I thought of this that I sent for you, to the end +that by an explanation that you would give, it seemed to me, you would +prevent me from informing the judge of this suspicion. This explanation +you do not give me; I must now think only of him whose innocence is +proved for me, and take his side against him whose guilt is not less +proved. To-morrow I shall inform the judge.” + +“You will not do that!” + +“My duty compels me to; and whatever might come, I have always done +my duty. For me, in this horrible affair, there is the cause of the +innocent and of the guilty, and I place myself on the side of the +innocent.” + +“I can prove to you that it was an aberration of vision--” + +“You will prove it to the judge; the law will appreciate it.” + +He rose brusquely. She put her hand on the bellcord. They looked at each +other for a moment, and what their lips did not express their eyes said: + +“I do not fear you; my precautions are taken.” + +“That bell will not save you.” + +At last he spoke in a hoarse and quivering voice: + +“To you the responsibility of whatever happens Madame.” + +“I accept it before God,” she said, with a calm firmness. “Defend +yourself.” + +He went to the armchair on which he had placed his coat and hat, and +bending down to take them, he noiselessly turned the draught of the +stove. + +At the same time Madame Dammauville pulled the bellcord; the maid opened +the door of the salon. + +“Show Doctor Saniel to the door.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. A SECOND VICTIM + +On returning to his room Saniel was very much cast down, and without +lighting a candle, he threw himself on the divan, where he remained +prostrated. + +The frightful part of the affair was the rapidity with which he +condemned this poor woman to death, and without hesitation executed her. +To save himself she must die; she should die. This time the idea did not +turn and deviate as in Caffie’s case. Is it not true then, that it is +the first crime that costs, and in the path that he had entered, would +he go on to the end sowing corpses behind him? + +A shudder shook him from head to foot as he thought that this victim +might not be the last that his safety demanded. When she threatened to +warn the judge, he only saw a threat; if she spoke he was lost; he had +closed her mouth. But had not this mouth opened before he closed it? Had +she not already spoken? Before deciding on this interview she may +have told all to some one of her friends, who, between the time of his +departure with Balzajette and his return, might have visited her, or to +some one for whom she had sent for advice. In that case, those also were +condemned to death. + +A useless crime, or a series of crimes? + +The horror that rose within him was so strong that he thought of running +to the Rue Sainte-Anne; he would awake the sleeping household, open the +doors, break the windows, and save her. But between his departure and +this moment the carbonic acid and the oxide of carbon had had time to +produce asphyxiation, and certainly he would arrive after her death; or, +if he found her still living, some one would discover that the draught +of the stove had been turned, and seeing it, he would betray himself as +surely as by an avowal. + +After all, the maid might have discovered that the draught was turned, +and in that case she was saved and he was lost. Chance would decide +between them. + +There are moments when a shipwrecked man, tired of swimming, not knowing +to which side to direct his course, without light, without guide, at the +end of strength and hope, floats on his back and lets himself be tossed +by the waves, to rest and wait for light. This was his case; he could do +nothing but wait. + +He would not commit the insane folly of wishing to see and know, as in +Caffie’s case; he would know the result soon enough, too soon. + +Rising, he lighted a candle, and paced up and down his apartment like a +caged animal. Then it occurred to him that those underneath would hear +his steps; doubtless they would remark this agitated march, would be +surprised, and would ask an explanation. In his position he must take +care not to give cause for any remark that could not be explained. He +took off his boots and continued his walk. + +But why had she spoken to him of double weatherstrips at the doors and +windows, of hangings on the walls, of thick curtains? It was she who +thus suggested to him the idea of the draught of the stove, which would +not have come to him spontaneously. + +The night passed in such agitating thoughts; at times the hours seemed +to stand still, and again they flew with astounding rapidity. One moment +the perspiration fell from his forehead on his hands; at another he felt +frozen. + +When his windows grew light with the dawn, he threw himself prostrated +and shuddering on the divan, and leaning on a cushion he detected the +odor of Phillis; burying his head in it he remained motionless and +slept. + +A ring of the bell woke him, horrified, frightened; he did not know +where he was. It was broad daylight, carriages rumbled through the +street. A second ring sounded stronger, more violent. Shivering, he +went to open the door, and recognized the maid who the previous evening +brought a note from Madame Dammauville. He did not need to question her: +fate was on his side. His eyes became dim; without seeing her he heard +the maid explain why she had come. + +She had been to Monsieur Balzajette; he was in the country. Her mistress +was nearly cold in her bed; she neither spoke nor breathed, yet her face +was pink. + +“I will go with you.” + +He did not need to learn more. That rosy color, which has been observed +in those asphyxiated by oxide of carbon, decided it. However, he +questioned the maid. + +Nothing had occurred; she had talked with the cook in the kitchen, who, +near midnight, went to her room in the fifth story, and then she went to +bed in a small room contiguous to that of her mistress. During the night +she heard nothing; in the morning she found her mistress in the state +she mentioned, and immediately went for Monsieur Balzajette. + +Continuing his questions, Saniel asked her what Madame Dammauville did +after the consultation with Monsieur Balzajette. + +“She dined as usual, but less than usual, eating almost nothing; then +she received a visit from one of her friends, who remained only a few +minutes, before starting on a voyage.” + +This was what he dreaded: Madame Dammauville might have told this +friend. If this were so, his crime would be of no use to him; where +would it carry him? + +After a few moments, and in a tone that he tried to render indifferent, +he asked the name of this friend. + +“A friend of her youth, Madame Thezard, living at No. 9, in the Rue des +Capucines, the wife of a consul.” + +Until he reached the house in the Rue Sainte-Anne he repeated this name +and address to himself, which he could not write down, and which he +must not forget, for it was from there now that the danger would come if +Madame Dammauville had spoken. + +For a long time he had been habituated to the sight of death, but when +he found himself in the presence of this woman stretched on her bed as +if she slept, a shiver seized him. + +“Give me a mirror and a candle,” he said to the maid and the cook who +stood at the door, not daring to enter. + +While they went in search of these things he walked over to the stove; +the draught remained as he had turned it on the previous evening; he +opened it and returned to the bed. + +His examination was not long; she had succumbed to asphyxiation caused +by the gas from the charcoal. Did it proceed from the construction of +the stove, or from a defect in the chimney? The inquest would decide +this; as for him, he could only prove the death. + +On leaving him the evening before, Phillis, uneasy, told him that she +would come early in the morning to know what Madame Dammauville wished. +When he told her she was dead she was prostrated with despair; in that +case Florentin was lost. He tried to reassure her, but without success. + +Nougarede, also, was in despair, and regretted that he had not proceeded +otherwise. And he tried to reassure Phillis; the prosecution rested on +the button and the struggle that had torn it off. Saniel would destroy +this hypothesis; he counted on him. + +Saniel became, then, as he had been before the intervention of Madame +Dammauville, the only hope of Phillis and her mother, and to encourage +them he exaggerated the influence that his testimony would have. + +“When I shall have demonstrated that there was no struggle, the +hypothesis of the torn button will crumble by itself.” + +“And if it is sustained, how and with what shall we overthrow it?” + +If he had appeared as usual, she would have shared the confidence with +which he tried to inspire her; but since the death of Madame Dammauville +he was so changed, that she could not help being uneasy. Evidently it +was Madame Dammauville’s death that made him so gloomy and irritable +that he would submit to no opposition. He saw the dangers of the +situation that this death created for Florentin, and with his usual +generosity he reproached himself for not having consented to take care +of her sooner; he would have saved her, certainly, as he had begun by +demanding the removal of the stove, and Florentin would have been saved +also. + +The day of the trial arrived without a word from Madame Thezard, which +proved that Madame Dammauville had said nothing to her friend. It was +six months since the assassination occurred, and the affair had lost all +interest for the Parisian public; in the provinces it was still spoken +of, but at Paris it was a thing of the past. There is no romance about a +clerk who cuts the throat of his employer to rob him; there is no woman +in the case, no mystery. + +Saniel preferred that Phillis should remain at home with her mother, but +in spite of his wishes and prayers she insisted on going to court. She +must be there so that Florentin would see her and take courage; he would +defend himself better if she were there. + +He defended himself badly, or at least indifferently, like a man who +gives up because he knows beforehand that whatever he may say will be +useless. + +Until Saniel’s deposition the witnesses who testified were insignificant +enough, and revealed nothing that was not already known; only Valerius, +with his pretensions to a professional secret, which he developed +slowly, amused the audience. This deposition Saniel made brief and +exact, contenting himself with repeating his report. But then Nougarede +rose, and begged the president to ask the witness to explain the +struggle which should have taken place between the victim and his +assassin; and the president, who had commenced by arguing, before the +insistence of the defence, decided to ask this question. Then Saniel +slowly explained how the position of the body in the armchair and his +condition were scientific proof that there was no struggle. + +“This is an opinion,” said the president dryly; “the jury will +appreciate it.” + +“Perfectly,” replied Nougarede, “and I intend to make the jury feel the +weight that it carries on the authority of him who formulated it.” + +This phrase for effect was destined to invalidate in advance the +contradictions that the prosecution would, he believed, raise against +the testimony; but nothing of the kind occurred, and Saniel could go and +take his place beside Phillis without being called to the bar to sustain +his opinion against a physician whose scientific authority would be +opposed to his. + +In default of Madame Dammauville, Nougarede had summoned the concierge +of Rue Sainte-Anne, as well as the maid and the cook, who had heard +their mistress say that the man who drew Caffies curtains did not +resemble Florentin’s portrait; but this was only gossip repeated by +persons of no importance, who could not produce the effect of the ‘coup +de theatre’ on which he had based his defence. + +When the advocate-general pronounced his address, it was evident why +Saniel’s opinion on the absence of a struggle was not contradicted. +Although the prosecution believed in this struggle, it wished to abandon +it a moment, having no need of this hypothesis to prove that the button +had not been torn off on falling from a ladder; it had been done in the +act of assassination, in the effort made to cut the throat of the victim +who had violently extended the right arm, and, by the shock to the +suspenders, the button was torn off. The effect of Saniel’s deposition +was destroyed, and that one produced by the testimony of Madame +Dammauville’s maids, far less strong, was also destroyed when the +advocate-general proved that this gossip turned against the accused. She +had seen, it was said, a man with long hair and curled beard, draw the +curtains; very well! Does this description apply to the accused? To +tell the truth, it was said that she did not recognize him in a portrait +published by an illustrated paper. Well, it was because this portrait +did not resemble him. Besides, was it possible to admit that a woman of +Madame Dammauville’s character would not have informed the judge if +she believed her testimony important and decisive? The proof that she +considered it insignificant was the fact that she had kept silent. + +Nougarede’s eloquent appeal did not destroy these two arguments, +any more than it effaced the impression produced by the money-lender +relative to the theft of forty-five francs. The jury brought in +a verdict of “Guilty,” but without premeditation, and admitting +extenuating circumstances. + +On hearing the decree that condemned Florentin to twenty years of forced +labor, Phillis, half suffocated, clung to Saniel’s arm; but he could not +give her the attention he wished, for Brigard, who came to the trial to +assist at the triumph of his disciple, accosted him. + +“Receive my felicitations for your deposition, my dear friend; it is +an act of courage that does you honor. If this poor boy could have been +saved, it would have been by you; you may well say you are the man of +conscience.” + + + + +BOOK 4. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. CONSCIENCE ASSERTS ITSELF + +During the first years of his sojourn in Paris, Saniel had published in +a Latin Quarter review an article on the “Pharmacy of Shakespeare”--the +poison of Hamlet, and of Romeo and Juliet; and although since his choice +of medicine he read but little besides books of science, at that time +he was obliged to study the plays of his author. From this study there +lingered in his memory a phrase that for ten years had not risen to his +lips, and which all at once forced itself uppermost in his mind with +exasperating persistency. It was the words of Macbeth: + + “Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep; + Sleep, that knits up the ravell’d sleeve of care, + The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath, + Balm of hurt minds.” + +He also had lost it, “the innocent sleep, sore labor’s bath, balm +of hurt minds.” He had never been a great sleeper; at least he had +accustomed himself to the habit, hard at first, of passing only a few +hours in bed. But he employed these few hours well, sleeping as the +weary sleep, hands clenched, without dreaming, waking, or moving; and +the thought that occupied his mind in the evening was with him on waking +in the morning, not having been put to flight by others, any more than +by dreams. + +After Caffie’s death this tranquil and refreshing sleep continued the +same; but suddenly, after Madame Dammauville’s death, it became broken. + +At first it did not bother him. He did not sleep, so much the better! He +would work more. But one can no more work all the time than one can live +without eating. Saniel knew better than any one that the life of every +organ is composed of alternate periods of repose and activity, and +he did not suppose that he would be able to work indefinitely without +sleep. He only hoped that after some days of twenty hours of work daily, +overcome by fatigue, he would have, in spite of everything, four hours +of solid sleep, that Shakespeare called “sore labor’s bath.” + +He had not had these four hours, and the law that every state of +prolonged excitement brings exhaustion that should be refreshed by a +functional rest, was proved false in his case. After a hard day’s work +he would go to bed at one o’clock in the morning and would go to sleep +immediately. But very soon he awoke with a start, suffocating, covered +with perspiration, in a state of extreme anxiety, his mind agitated by +hallucinations of which he could not rid himself all at once. If he +did not wake suddenly, he dreamed frightful dreams, always of Madame +Dammauville or Caffie. Was it not curious that Caffie, who until then +had been completely effaced from his memory, was resuscitated by Madame +Dammauville in the night, ghost of the darkness that the daylight +dissipated? + +Believing that one of the causes of these dreams was the excitement of +the brain, occasioned by excessive work at the hour when he should not +exercise it, but on the contrary should allow it to rest, he decided to +change a plan which produced so little success. Instead of intellectual +work he would engage in physical exercise, which, by exhausting his +muscular functions, would procure him the sleep of the laboring class; +and as he could not roll a wheelbarrow nor chop wood, every evening +after dinner he walked seven or eight miles rapidly. + +Physical work succeeded no better than intellectual; he endured the +fatigue of butchers and wood-choppers, but he did not obtain their +sleep. Decidedly, bodily fatigue was worth no more than that of the +brain. It was worth even less. At his table, plunged in his books, or +in his laboratory over his microscope, he absorbed himself in his work, +and, by the force of a will that had been long exercised and submissive +to obedience, he was able to keep his thoughts on the subject in hand, +without distraction as without dreams. Time passed. But when walking +in the streets of Paris, in the deserted roads on the outskirts, by the +Seine or Marne, his mind wandered where it would; it was the mistress, +and it always dwelt on Madame Dammauville, Caffie, and Florentin. It +seemed as if the heat of walking started his brain. When he returned in +this state, after many hours of cerebral excitability, how could he +find the tranquil and refreshing sleep, complete and profound, of the +laboring classes who work only with their muscles? + +Never having been ill, he had never examined nor treated himself: +medicine was good for others but useless for him. With a machine +organized like his he need fear only accidents, and until now he had +been spared them; a true son of peasants, he victoriously resisted +Paris life as the destroyer of the intellect. But the time had come +to undertake an examination and to try a treatment that would give +him rest. He was not a sceptical doctor, and he believed that what he +ordered for others was good for himself. + +The misfortune was that he could not find in himself any of the causes +which resolve into insomnia; he had neither meningitis nor brain fever, +nor anything that indicated a cerebral tumor; he was not anaemic; he ate +well; he did not suffer with neuralgia, nor with any acute or chronic +affection that generally accompanied the absence of sleep; he drank +neither tea nor alcohol; and without this state of over-excitement of +the encephalic centres, he might have said that he was in good health, a +little thin, but that was all. + +It was this excitement that he must cure, and as there are many remedies +for insomnia, he tried those which, it seemed to him, were suitable to +his case; but bromide of potassium, in spite of its hypnotic properties, +produced no more effect than the over-working of the brain and body. +When he realized this he replaced it with chloral; but chloral, which +should create a desire to sleep, after several days had no more effect +than the bromide. Then he tried injections of morphine. + +It was not without a certain uneasiness that he made this third trial, +the first two having met with so little success; and since it is +acknowledged that chloral produces a calmer sleep than morphine, it +seemed as if the latter would prove as useless as the former. However, +he slept without being tormented by dreams or wakings, and the next day +he still slept. + +But he knew too well the effects produced by a prolonged use of these +injections to continue them beyond what was strictly indispensable; he +therefore omitted them, and sleep left him. + +He tried them again; then, soon, as the small doses lost their efficacy, +he gradually increased them. At the end of a certain time what he feared +came to pass--his leanness increased; he lost his appetite, his +muscular force, and his moral energy; his pale face began to wear the +characteristic expression of the morphomaniac. + +Then he stopped, frightened. + +Should he continue, he would become a morphomaniac in a given time, and +the apathy into which he fell prevented him from resisting the desire +to absorb new doses of poison, a desire as imperious, as irresistible +in morphinism as that of alcohol for the alcoholic, and more terrible in +its effects--the perversion of the intellectual faculties, loss of will, +of memory, of judgment, paralysis, or the mania that leads to suicide. + +If he did not continue, and these sleepless nights or the agitated +sleep which maddened him should return, and following them, this +over-excitement of the brain in troubling the nutrition of the +encephalic mass, it might be the prelude of some grave cerebral +affection. + +On one side the morphine habit; on the other, dementia from the constant +excitement and disorganization of the brain. + +Between a fatally certain result and one that was possible he did not +hesitate. He must give up morphine, and this choice forced itself upon +him with so much more strength, because if morphine assured him sleep at +night, it by no means gave him tranquil days--quite the contrary. + +He began to use this remedy at night when he fell under the influence +of certain ideas; during the day when applying himself to work, by +an effort of will he escaped from these ideas, and was the man he had +always been, master of his strength and mind. But the action of the +morphine rapidly weakened this all-powerful will, so much so, that when +these ideas crossed his mind during his working hours he had not the +energy to drive them away. He tried to shake them off, but in vain; they +would not leave his brain, to which they clung and encompassed it with +increasing strength. + +Truly, those two corpses troubled him horribly. Was it not exasperating +for a man who had seen and dissected so many, that there should be +always two before his eyes, even when they were closed--that of this old +rascal and of this unfortunate woman? In order not to complicate this +impression with another that humiliated him, he got rid of the packages +of bank bills taken from Caffie, by sending them “as restitution” to the +director of public charities. But this had no appreciable effect. + +The thought of Florentin troubled him also; and if he saw Caffie lying +in his chair, Madame Dammauville motionless and pink on her bed, to him +it was not less cruel to see Florentin between the decks of the vessel +that would soon carry him to New Caledonia. + +The ideas on conscience that he had expressed at Crozat’s, and those +that he explained to Phillis about remorse, were still his; but he was +not the less certain that these two dead persons and the condemned one +weighed upon him with a terrible weight, frightful, suffocating, like +a nightmare. It was not in accordance with his education nor with his +environment to have these corpses behind him and this victim before him. + +But where his former ideas were overthrown, since these dead bodies +seized hold of his life, was in his confidence in his strength. + +The strong man that he believed himself, he who follows his ambition +regardless of things and of persons, looking only before him and never +behind, master of his mind as of his heart and of his arm, was not at +all the one that reality revealed. + +On the contrary, he had been weak in action and yet weaker afterward. + +And it was not only humiliation in the present that he felt in +acknowledging this weakness, it was also in uneasiness for the future; +for, if he lacked this strength that he attributed to himself before +having tested it, he should, if his beliefs were true, succumb some day. + +Evidently, if he were perfectly strong he would not have complicated his +life with love. The strong walk alone because they need no one. And he +needed a woman; and so great was the need that it was through her +only, near her, when he looked at her, when he listened to her, that he +experienced a little calm. + +Was he weak and cowardly on account of this? Perhaps not, but only +human. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. ATTEMPTED REPARATION + +Because he felt calm when with Phillis, Saniel wished that she might +never leave him. + +But, as happy as she was in her sorrow to see that instead of avoiding +her--which a less generous man would have done, perhaps--he sought to +draw nearer each day, she could not give up her lessons and her work, +which was her daily bread, to give all her time to her love, any more +than she could leave her mother entirely alone, crushed with shame, who +had never needed so much as now to be cheered and sustained. + +She did not let a day pass without going to see Saniel; but in spite of +her desire she could not remain with him as long as she wished and he +asked. When she rose to go and he detained her, she remained, but it was +only for a few minutes; they were short, and the time soon came when, +after ten attempts, she was obliged to leave him. + +At all times these separations had been full of despair to her, the +apprehension of which, from the moment of her arrival, paralyzed her; +but now they were still more cruel. Formerly, on leaving him, she +often saw him deep in his work before she opened the door; now, on the +contrary, he conducted her to the vestibule, detained her, and only let +her leave him when she tore herself from his embrace, after promising +and repeating her promise to come early the next day and stay longer. +Formerly, also, she was calm when she left him, not thinking of his +health, nor asking herself how she would find him at their next meeting, +strong and powerful, as sound in body as in mind. On the contrary, now +she worried herself, wondering how she would find him on the occasion of +each visit. Would the sadness, melancholy, and dejection still remain? +Would he be thinner and paler? It was her care, her anguish, to try +to divine the causes of the change in him, which manifested itself +as strongly in his sentiments as in his person. Was it not truly +extraordinary that he was more grave and uneasy now that his life was +assured than during the hard times when he was so worried that he never +knew what the morrow would bring? He had obtained the position that his +ambition coveted; he had sufficient money for his wants; he admitted +that his experiments had succeeded beyond his expectations; the essays +that he published on his experiments were loudly discussed, praised by +some, contested by others; it seemed that he had attained his object; +and he was sad, discontented, unhappy, more tormented than when he +exhausted himself with efforts, without other support than his will. At +last, when frightened to see him thus, she questioned him as to how he +felt, he became angry, and answered brutally-- + +“Ill? Why do you think that I am--ill? Am I not better able than any +one to know how I am? I am overworked, that is all; and as my life of +privation does not permit me to repair my forces, I have become anaemic; +it is not serious. It is strange, truly, that you ask for explanations +of what is natural. Count the teeth of the polytechnicians and look at +their hair after their examinations, and tell me what you think of them. +Why do you think anything else is the matter with me? One cannot expend +one’s self with impunity; that would be too good. Everything must be +paid for in this world.” + +She was obliged to believe that he was right and understood his +condition; however, she could not help worrying. She knew nothing of +medicine; she did not know the meaning of the medical terms he used, +but she found that this was not sufficient to explain all--neither his +roughness of temper and excess of anger without reason, any more than +his sudden tenderness, his weakness and dejection, his preoccupation and +absence of mind. + +She discovered the effect she produced on him, and how, merely by her +presence, she cheered this gloomy fancy and raised this depression by +not asking him stupid questions on certain subjects which she had not +yet determined on, but which she hoped to avoid. Also, she did not wish +to leave him, and ingeniously invented excuses to go to see him twice +a day; in the morning on going to her lessons, and in the afternoon or +evening. + +Late one evening she rang his bell with a hand made nervous with joy. + +“I have come to stay till to-morrow,” she said, in triumphant tones. + +She expected that he would express his joy by an embrace, but he did +nothing. + +“Are you going out?” + +“Not at all; I am not thinking of myself, but of your mother.” + +“Do you think that I would have left her alone in her weak and nervous +state? A cousin of ours arrived from the country, who will occupy my +bed, and I profited by it quick enough, saying that I would remain at +the school. And here I am.” + +In spite of his desire for it, he had never dared ask her to pass the +night with him. During the day he would only betray himself by his sad +or fantastic temper; but at night, with such dreams as came to him, +might not some word escape that would betray him? + +However, since she was come it was impossible to send her away; he could +not do it for her nor for himself. What pretext could he find to say, +“Go! I do not want you?” He wanted her above all; he wanted to look at +her, to listen to her, to hear her voice that soothed and lulled his +anguish, to feel her near him--only to have her there, and not be face +to face with his thoughts. + +She examined him secretly, asking herself the cause of this singular +reception, standing at the entrance of the office, not daring to remove +her hat. How could her arrival produce an effect so different from what +she expected? + +“You do not take off your hat?” he said. + +“I was asking myself if you had to work.” + +“Why do you ask yourself that?” + +“For fear of disturbing you.” + +“What a madness you have for always asking something!” he exclaimed +violently. “What do you expect me to say? What astonishes you? Why +should you disturb me? In what? ‘Voyons’, speak, explain yourself!” + +The time was far distant when these explosions surprised her, though +they always pained her. + +“I speak stupidly,” she said. “What will you? I am stupid; forgive me.” + +These words, “forgive me,” were more cruel than numberless reproaches, +for he well knew that he had nothing to forgive in her, since she was +the victim and he the criminal. Should he never be able to master these +explosions, as imprudent as they were unjust? + +He took her in his arms and made her sit by him. + +“It is for you to forgive,” he said. + +And he was as tender and caressing as he had been brutal. He was a fool +to imagine that she could have suspicions, and the surest way to give +birth to them was to show fear that she had them. To betray himself +by such awkwardness was as serious as to let a cry escape him while +sleeping. + +But for this night he had a way which was in reality not difficult, that +would not expose him to the danger of talking in his sleep-he would +not sleep. After having passed so many nights without closing his eyes, +without doubt he could keep them open this entire night. + +But he deceived himself; when he heard the calm and regular respiration +of Phillis with her head on his shoulder, and felt the mild warmth of +her body penetrate his, in the quiet imposed upon him, without being +conscious of it, believing himself far from sleep, and convinced that he +required no effort to keep awake, he suddenly slept. When he awoke a ray +of pale sunlight filled the room, and leaning her elbow on the bolster, +Phillis was watching him. He made a brusque movement, throwing himself +backward. “What is the matter?” he cried. “What have I said?” Instantly +his face paled, his lips quivered; he felt his heart beat tumultuously +and his throat pressed by painful constriction. “But nothing is the +matter,” she answered, looking at him tenderly. “You have said nothing.” + To come to the point, why should he have spoken? During his frightful +dreams, his nights of disturbed sleep, he might have cried out, but he +did not know if he had ever done so. And besides, he had not just waked +from an agitated sleep. All this passed through his mind in an instant, +in spite of his alarm. “What time is it?” he asked. “Nearly six +o’clock.” “Six o’clock!” “Do you not hear the vehicles in the street? +The street-venders are calling their wares.” It must have been about +one o’clock when he closed his eyes; he had then slept five hours, +profoundly, and he felt calm, rested, refreshed, his body active and his +mind tranquil, the man of former times, in the days of his happy youth, +and not the half-insane man of these last frightful months. + +He breathed a sigh. + +“Ah, if I could have you always!” he murmured, as much to himself as to +her. + +And he gave her a long look mingled with a sad smile; then, placing his +arm around her shoulders, he pressed her to him. + +“Dear little wife!” + +She had never heard so profound, so vibrating, a tenderness in his +voice; never had she been able, until hearing these words, to measure +the depth of the love that she had inspired in him; and it even seemed +that this was the declaration of a new love. + +Pressing her passionately to him, he repeated: + +“Dear little wife!” + +Distracted, lost in her happiness, she did not reply. + +All at once he held her from him gently, and looking at her with the +same smile: + +“Does this word tell you nothing?” + +“It tells me that you love me.” + +“And is that all?” + +“What more can I wish? You say it, I feel it. You give me the greatest +joy of which I can dream.” + +“It is enough for you?” + +“It would be enough if it need never be interrupted. But it is the +misfortune of our life that we are obliged to separate at the time when +the ties that unite us are the most strongly bound.” + +“Why should we separate?” + +“Alas! Mamma? And daily bread?” + +“If you did not leave your mother. If you need no longer worry about +your life?” + +She looked at him, not daring to question him, not betraying the +direction of her thoughts except by a trembling that she could not +control in spite of her efforts. + +“I mean if you become my wife.” + +“Oh, my beloved!” + +“Will you not?” + +She threw herself in his arms, fainting; but after a moment she +recovered. + +“Alas! It is impossible,” she murmured. + +“Why impossible?” + +“Do not ask me; do not oblige me to say it.” + +“But, on the contrary, I wish you to tell me.” + +She turned her head away, and in a voice that was scarcely perceptible, +in a stifled sigh: + +“My brother--” + +“It is greatly on account of your brother that I wish this marriage.” + +Then, suddenly: “Do you think me the man to submit to prejudiced +blockheads?” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE IMPORTANT QUESTION + +Saniel had not waited until this day to acknowledge the salutary +influence that Phillis’s presence exercised over him, yet the idea +of making her his wife never occurred to him. He thought himself +ill-adapted to marriage, and but little desirous of being a husband. +Until lately he had had no desire for a home. + +This idea came to him suddenly and took strong hold of him; at least as +much on account of the calmness he felt in her presence, as by the charm +of her manner, her health, happiness, and gayety. + +It was not only physical calm that she gave him by a mysterious affinity +concerning which his studies told him nothing, but of which he did not +the less feel all the force; it was also a moral calm. + +There were duties he owed her, and terribly heavy were those he owed her +mother and Florentin. + +He did all he could for Florentin, but this was not all that he owed +them. Florentin was in prison; Madame Cormier fell into a mournful +despair, growing weaker each day; and Phillis, in spite of her +elasticity and courage, bent beneath the weight of injustice. + +How much the situation would be changed if he married her--for them, and +for him! + +When Phillis was a little recovered from her great surprise, she asked +him: + +“When did you decide on this marriage?” + +He did not wish to prevaricate, and he answered that it was at that +instant that the idea came to him, exact enough and strong enough to +give form to the ideas that had been floating in his brain for several +months. + +“At least, have you considered it? Have you not yielded to an impulse of +love?” + +“Would it be better to yield to a long, rational calculation? I marry +you because I love you, and also because I am certain that without you +I cannot be happy. Frankly, I acknowledge that I need you, your +tenderness, your love, your strength of character, your equal temper, +your invincible faith in hope, which, for me as I am organized, is worth +the largest dot.” + +“It is exactly because I have no dot to bring you. When you were at the +last extremity, desperate and crushed, I might ask to become the wife of +the poor village doctor that you were going to be; but to-day, in your +position, above all in the position that you will soon occupy, is poor +little Phillis worthy of you? You give me the greatest joy that I can +ever know, of which I have only dreamed in telling myself that it +would be folly to hope to have it realized. But just that gives me the +strength to beg you to reflect, and to consider whether you will ever +regret this moment of rapture that makes me so happy.” + +“I have reflected, and what you say proves better than anything that +I do not deceive myself. I want a wife who loves me, and you are that +wife.” + +“More than I can tell you at this moment, wild with happiness, but not +more than I shall prove to you in the continuance of our love.” + +“Besides, dearest, do not have any illusions on the splendors of this +position of which you speak; it is more than probable that they will +never be realized, for I am not a man of money, and will do nothing to +gain any. If it does not come by itself--” + +“It will come.” + +“That is not the object for which I work. What I wish I have obtained +partly; if now I make money and obtain a rich practice, the jealousy of +my confreres will make me lose, or wait too long, for what my ambition +prefers to a fortune. For the moment this position will be modest; my +four thousand francs of salary, that which I gain at the central bureau +while waiting to have the title of hospital physician, and five hundred +francs a month more that my editor offers me for work and a review of +bacteriology, will give us nearly twelve thousand francs, and we must +content ourselves with that for some time.” + +“That is a fortune to me.” + +“To me also; but I thought I ought to tell you.” + +“And when do you wish our marriage to take place?” + +“Immediately after the necessary legal delay, and as soon as I am +settled in a new apartment; for you could not come here as my wife, +where you have been seen so often. It would not be pleasant for you or +for me.” + +“And we will not be so foolish as to put ourselves in the hands of an +upholsterer; the first one cost enough.” + +He said these last words with fierce energy, but continued immediately: + +“What do we need? A parlor for the patients, if they come; an office for +me, which will do also as a laboratory; a bedroom for us, and one for +your mother.” + +“You wish--” + +“But certainly. Do you think that I would ask you to separate from her?” + +She took his hand, and kissing it with a passionate impulse: “Oh, the +dearest, the most generous of men!” + +“Do not let us talk of that,” he said with evident annoyance. “In your +mother’s condition of mental prostration it would kill her to be left +alone; she needs you, and I promise to help you to soften her grief. We +will make her comfortable; and although my nature is not very tender, +I will try to replace him from whom she is separated. It will be a +happiness to her to see you happy.” + +For a long time he enlarged upon what he wished, feeling a sentiment of +satisfaction in talking of what he would do for Madame Cormier, in whom +at this time he saw the mother of Florentin more than that of Phillis. + +“Do you think you can make her forget?” he asked from time to time. + +“Forget? No. Neither she nor I can ever forget; but it is certain our +sorrow will be drowned in our happiness, and this happiness we shall owe +to you. Oh, how you will be adored, respected, blessed!” + +Adored, respected! He repeated these words to himself. One could, then, +be happy by making others happy. He had had so little opportunity until +this time to do for others, that this was in some sort the revelation +of a sentiment that he was astonished to feel, but which, for being new, +was only the sweeter to him. + +He wished to give himself the satisfaction of tasting all the sweetness. + +“Where are you going this morning?” he asked. + +“I return to the school to help my pupils prepare their compositions for +the prize.” + +“Very well; while you are at the school this morning, I will go to see +your mother. The process of asking in marriage that we make use of is +perhaps original, and conforms to the laws of nature, if nature admits +marriage, which I ignore; but it certainly is not the way of those of +the world. And now I must address this request to your mother.” + +“What joy you will give her!” + +“I hope so.” + +“I should like to be there to enjoy her happiness. Mamma has a mania for +marriage; she spends her time marrying the people she knows or those +she does not know. And she has felt convinced that I should die in the +yellow skin of an old maid. At last, this evening she will have the +happiness of announcing to me your visit and your request. But do not +make this visit until the afternoon, because then our cousin will be +gone.” + +Saniel spent his morning in looking for apartments, and found one in a +quarter of the Invalides, which he engaged. + +It was nearly one o’clock when he reached Madame Cormier’s. As usual, +when he called, she looked at him with anxious curiosity, thinking of +Florentin. + +“It is not of him that I wish to speak to you to-day,” he said, without +pronouncing any name, which was unnecessary. “It is of Mademoiselle +Phillis--” + +“Do you find her ill?” Madame Cormier said, who thought only of +misfortune. + +“Not at all. It is of her and of myself that I wish to speak. Do not +be uneasy. I hope that what I am going to say will not be a cause of +sadness to you.” + +“Pardon me if I always see something to fear. We have been so +frightfully tried, so unjustly!” + +He interrupted her, for these complaints did not please him. + +“For a long time,” he said quickly, “Mademoiselle Phillis has inspired +me with a deep sentiment of esteem and tenderness; I have not been +able to see her so courageous, so brave in adversity, so decided in her +character, so good to you, so charming, without loving her, and I have +come to ask you to give her to me as my wife.” + +At Saniel’s words, Madame Cormier’s hands began to tremble, and the +trembling increased. + +“Is it possible?” she murmured, beginning to cry. “So great a happiness +for my daughter! Such an honor for us, for us, for us!” + +“I love her.” + +“Forgive me if happiness makes me forget the conventionalities, but I +lose my head. We are so unhappy that our souls are weak against joy. +Perhaps I should hide my daughter’s sentiments; but I cannot help +telling you that this esteem, this tenderness of which you speak, is +felt by her. I discovered it long ago, although she did not tell me. +Your request, then, can only be received with joy by mother, as well as +daughter.” + +This was said brokenly, evidently from an overflowing heart. But all at +once her face saddened. + +“I must talk to you sincerely,” she said. “You are young, I am not; +and my age makes it a duty for me not to yield to any impulse. We +are unfortunates, you are one of the happy; you will soon be rich +and famous. Is it wise to burden your life with a wife who is in my +daughter’s position?” + +With the exception of a few words, this was Phillis’s answer. He +answered the mother as he had answered the daughter. + +“It is not for you that I speak,” said Madame Cormier. “I should not +permit myself to give you advice; it is in placing myself at the point +of view of my daughter that I, her mother, with the experience of my +age, should watch over her future. Is it certain that in the struggles +of life you will never suffer from this marriage, not because my +daughter will not make you happy--from this side I am easy--but because +the situation that fate has made for us will weigh on you and fetter +you? I know my daughter-her delicacy; her uneasy susceptibility, that +of the unfortunate; her pride, that of the irreproachable. It would be a +wound for her that would make happiness give way to unhappiness, for she +could not bear contempt.” + +“If that is in human nature, it is not in mine; I give you my word.” + +He explained how he meant to arrange their life, and when she understood +that she was to live with them, she clasped her hands and exclaimed, + +“Oh, my God, who hast taken my son, how good thou art to give me +another!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. CONCESSION TO CONSCIENCE + +He asked nothing better than to be a son to this poor woman; in reality +he was worth much more than this unfortunate boy, effeminate and +incapable. What did this maternal hunger require? A son to love. She +would find one in her son-in-law. In seeing her daughter happy, how +could she help being happy herself? + +Evidently they would be happy, the mother and daughter; and whatever +Phillis might think, still under the influence of the shameful blow, +they would forget. They would owe him this. + +It was a long time since he had worked with so much serenity as on this +day; and when in the evening he went to bed, uneasy as usual about the +night, he slept as calmly as if Phillis were resting her charming head +on his shoulder and he breathed the perfume of it. + +Decidedly, to make others happy was the best thing in the world, and +as long as one could have this satisfaction there was no fear of being +unhappy. To create an atmosphere of happiness for others is to profit by +it at the same time. + +He waited for Phillis impatiently, for she would bring him an echo of +her mother’s joy, and it was a recompense that she owed him. + +She arrived happy, smiling, penetrated with tenderness; but he observed +that she was keeping something from him, something that embarrassed her, +and yet she would not tell him what it was. + +He was not disposed to admit that she could conceal anything from him, +and he questioned her. + +“What are you keeping from me?” + +“How can you suppose that I should keep anything from you?” + +“Well, what is the matter? You know, do you not, that I read all your +thoughts in your eyes? Very well your eyes speak when your lips are +silent.” + +“I have a request to make of you, a prayer.” + +“Why do you not tell me?” + +“Because I do not dare.” + +“Yet it does not seem to me that I show a disposition to make you +believe that I could refuse you anything.” + +“It is just that which is the cause of my embarrassment and reserve; I +fear to pain you at the moment when I would show you all the gratitude +and love in my heart.” + +“If you are going to give me pain, it is better not to make me wait.” + +She hesitated; then, before an impatient gesture, she decided to speak. + +“I wish to ask you how you mean to be married?” + +He looked at her in surprise. + +“But, like every one else!” + +“Every one?” she asked, persistently. + +“Is there any other way of being married?” + +“Yes.” + +“I do not in the least understand this manner of asking conundrums; if +you are alluding to a fashionable custom of which I know nothing, say so +frankly. That will not wound me, since I am the first to declare that I +know nothing of it. What do you wish?” + +She felt his irritation increase, and yet she could not decide to say +what she wished. + +“I have begun badly,” she said. “I should have told you at first that +you will always find in me a wife who will respect your ideas and +beliefs, who will never permit herself to judge you, and still less to +seek to contend with them or to modify them. That you feel, do you not, +is neither a part of my nature nor of my love?” + +“Conclude!” he said impatiently. + +“I think, then,” she said with timid hesitation, “that you will not say +that I fail in respect to your ideas in asking that our marriage take +place in church.” + +“But that was my intention.” + +“Truly!” she exclaimed. “O dearest! And I feared to offend you!” + +“Why should you think it would offend me?” he asked, smiling. + +“You consent to go to confession?” + +Instantly the smile in his eyes and on his lips was replaced by a gleam +of fury. + +“And why should I not go to confession?” he demanded. + +“But--” + +“Do you suppose that I can be afraid to confess? Why do you suppose +that? Tell me why?” + +He looked at her with eyes that pierced to her heart, as if they would +read her inmost thoughts. + +Stupefied by this access of fury, which burst forth without any warning, +since he had smilingly replied to her request for a religious marriage, +she could find nothing to say, not understanding how the simple word +“confess” could so exasperate him. And yet she could not deceive +herself: is was indeed this word and no other that put him in this +state. + +He continued to look at her, and wishing to explain herself, she said: +“I supposed only one thing, and that is that I might offend you by +asking you to do what is contrary to your beliefs.” + +The mad anger that carried him away so stupidly began to lose its first +violence; another word added to what had already escaped him would be an +avowal. + +“Do not let us talk of it anymore,” he said. “Above all, do not let us +think of it.” + +“Permit me to say one word,” she replied. “Had I been situated like +other people I would have asked nothing; my will is yours. But for +you, for your future and your honor, you should not appear to marry in +secret, as if ashamed, with a pariah.” + +“Be easy. I feel as you do, more than you, the necessity of consecrated +ceremonies for us.” + +She understood that on this path he would go farther than she. + +To destroy the impression of this unfortunate word, he proposed that +they should visit the apartment he had engaged the previous day. + +For the first time they walked together boldly, with heads held high, +side by side in the streets of Paris, without fear of meeting others. +How proud she was! Her husband! It was on her husband’s arm that she +leaned! When they crossed the Tuileries she was almost surprised that +people did not turn to see them pass. + +In her present state of mind she could not but find the house he chose +admirable; the street was admirable, the house was admirable, the +apartment was admirable. + +As it contained three bedrooms opening on a terrace, where he would keep +the animals for his experiments, Saniel wished to have her decide which +one she would choose; as she would share it with him she wished to take +the best, but he would not accept this arrangement. + +“I want you to choose between the two little ones,” he said. “The +largest and best must be reserved for your mother, who, not being able +to go out, needs more space, air, and light than we do.” + +She was transported with his kindness, delicacy, and generosity. Never +would she be able to love him enough to raise herself up to him. + +Fortunately the principal rooms, the parlor and the office, were about +the same size as those in the Rue Louis-le-Grand, so there need be but +little change in furnishing; and they would bring their furniture from +the Rue des Moines. + +This feminine talk, interrupted by passionate exclamations and glances, +charmed Saniel, who had forgotten the incident of the confession and +his anger, thinking only of Phillis, seeing only her, ravished by her +gayety, her vivacity, his whole being stirred by the tender caresses of +her beautiful dark eyes. + +How could he not be happy with this delicious woman who held such +sway over him, and who loved him so ardently? For him a single danger +henceforth--solitude. She would preserve him from it. With her gayety, +good temper, courage, and love, she would not leave him to his thoughts; +work would do the rest. + +After the question of furniture was decided, they settled that of the +marriage ceremony, and she was surprised to find that his ideas were the +same as hers. + +She decided upon her toilet, a silk gown as simple as possible, and +she would make it herself, as she made all her gowns. And then they +discussed the witnesses. “We have no friends,” Phillis said. + +“You had some formerly; your father had friends and comrades.” + +“I am no longer the daughter of my father, I am the sister of my +brother; I would not dare to ask them to witness my marriage.” + +“It is just because you are the sister of your brother that they cannot +refuse you; it would be cruelty added to rudeness. Cruelty may be +overlooked, but rudeness! Among the men of talent, who was your father’s +best friend?” + +“Cintrat.” + +“Is he not a bohemian, a drunkard?” + +“My father regarded him as the greatest painter of our time, the most +original.” + +“It is not a question of talent, but of name; I am sure that he is not +even decorated. Your father had other friends, more successful, more +commonplace, if you wish.” + +“Glorient.” + +“The member of the Institute?” + +“Casparis, the sculptor.” + +“An academician, also; that is what we want, and both are +‘archi-decore’. You will write them, and tell them who I am, assistant +professor of the school of medicine, and doctor of the hospitals. I +promise you they will accept. I will ask my old master Carbonneau, +president of the academy of medicine; and Claudet, the ancient minister, +who, in his quality of deputy of my department, could not decline any +more than the others. And that will give us decorated witnesses, which +will look well in the newspapers.” + +It was not only in the newspapers they looked well, but also in the +church of Sainte-Marie des Batignolles. + +“Glorient! Casparis! Carbonneau! Claudet! Art, science, and politics.” + +But the beauty and charm of the bride were not eclipsed by these +glorious witnesses. She entered on Glorient’s arm, proud in her modesty, +radiant with grace. + +While the priest celebrated mass at the altar, outside, before the door, +a man dressed in a costume of chestnut velvet, and wearing a felt hat, +walked up and down, smoking a pipe. It was the Count de Brigard, whose +principles forbade him to enter a church for either a wedding or a +funeral, and who walked up and down on the sidewalk with his disciples, +waiting to congratulate Saniel. When he appeared the Count rushed up to +him, and taking his hand pressed it warmly on separating him from his +wife, and saying: + +“It is good, it is noble. Circumstances made this marriage; without them +it would not have taken place. I understand and I excuse it; I do more, +I applaud it. My dear friend, you are a man.” + +And as it was Wednesday, in the evening at Crozat’s, he publicly +expressed his approbation, which, in the conditions in which it had been +offered, did not satisfy his conscience. + +“Gentlemen, we have assisted to-day at a grand act of reparation, the +marriage of our friend Saniel to the sister of this poor boy, victim of +an injustice that cries for vengeance. One evening in this same room, I +spoke lightly of Saniel, some of you remember, perhaps, in spite of +the time that has passed. I wish to make this public reparation to him. +To-day he has shown himself a man of duty and of conscience, bravely +putting himself above social weaknesses.” + +“Is it not a social weakness,” asked Glady, “to have chosen as witnesses +of this act of reparation persons who seem to have been selected for the +decorative side of their official positions?” + +“Profound irony, on the contrary!” said Brigard. “It is a powerful and +fruitful lesson, which makes even those who are professional defenders +concur in the demolition of the prejudiced. Saniel is a man!” + + + + +CHAPTER XL. PHILLIS IS SURPRISED + +The Sunday following her marriage, Phillis experienced a surprise +on which she reflected a long time without finding a satisfactory +explanation. + +As she was dressing, Saniel entered her room. + +“What are you going to do to-day?” he asked. + +“That which I do every day.” + +“You are not going to mass?” + +She looked at him astonished, not being able to control her surprise, +and as usual, when she appeared to wish to read his thoughts, he showed +temper. + +“In what way is my question extraordinary?” + +“Mass is not exactly the usual subject of your thoughts, it seems to +me.” + +“It may become so, especially when I think of others, as is the case +just now. Do you not often go to mass?” + +“When I can.” + +“Very well, you can go to-day if you wish. Listen to what I have to say +to you. I have not forgotten the promise you made to respect my ideas +and beliefs. I wish to make you the same; it is very simple.” + +“All that is good and generous seems simple to you.” + +“Well?” + +“I will go at once.” + +“Now? At once? It is not eight o’clock. Go to high mass, it is more +fashionable.” + +Fashionable! What a strange word in his mouth! It was not out of respect +to fashion that she went to church, but because there was in her a +depth of religious sentiment and of piety, a little vague perhaps, which +Florentin’s misfortunes had revived. + +“I will go to high mass,” she said, without letting it appear that this +word had suggested anything to her, and continuing her dressing. + +“Are you going to wear this frock?” he asked, pointing to one that lay +on a chair. + +“Yes; at least if it does not displease you.” + +“I find it rather simple.” + +In effect it was of extreme simplicity, made of some cheap stuff, +its only charm being an originality that Phillis gave it on making it +herself. + +“Do not forget,” he continued, “that Saint-Francois-Xavier is not a +church for working people; when a woman is as charming as you are she is +always noticed. People will ask who you are.” + +“You are right; I will wear the gown I wore at the distribution of the +prices.” + +“That is it; and your bonnet, will you not, instead of the round hat? +The first impression should be the best.” + +This mixture of religious and worldly things was surprising in him. Had +she not understood him, then, until now? After all, perhaps it was only +an exception. + +But these exactions regarding her dress were repeated. Although before +her marriage Phillis had only crossed Saniel’s path, she knew him well +enough to know that he was entirely given up to work, without thought of +anything else, and she believed that after marriage he would continue +to work in the same way, not caring for amusements or society. She was +correct about his work, but not so regarding society. A short time after +their marriage the minister Claudet was cured opportunely of an attack +of facial neuralgia by Saniel, for whom he conceived a great friendship. +He invited Saniel and his wife to all his reunions and fetes, and Saniel +accepted all his invitations. + +At first her wedding gown answered very well, but it would not do +always. It had to be trimmed, modified, three or four toilets made of +one gown; but, however ingenious Phillis might be in arranging several +yards of tulle or gauze, she could not make combinations indefinitely. + +And besides, they did not please Saniel; they were too simple. He liked +lace, beads, flowers, something shining and glittering, such as he saw +other women wear. + +How could she please him with the small resources at her disposal? In +her household expenses she was as economical as possible; Joseph was +dismissed, and replaced by a maid who did all the work; the table was +extremely simple. But these little economies, saved on one side, were +quickly spent on the other in toilets and carriages. + +When she expressed a wish to work, to paint menus, he would not consent, +and when she insisted he became angry. + +He only permitted her to paint pictures. As she had formerly painted for +amusement in her father’s studio, she might do so now. If trade were a +disgrace, art might be honorable. If she had talent he would be glad of +it; and if she should sell her pictures it would be original enough to +cause her to be talked about. + +The salon was partly transformed into a studio, and Phillis painted +several little pictures, which, without having any pretensions to great +art, were pleasing and painted with a certain dash. Glorient admired +them, and made a picture-dealer buy two of them and order others, at a +small price it is true, but it was much more than she expected. + +With the courage and constancy that women put into work that pleases +them, she would willingly have painted from morning till night; but the +connections that Saniel had made did not leave her this liberty. Through +Claudet they made many acquaintances and accepted invitations that +placed her under social obligations, so that almost every day she had a +visit to pay, a funeral or a marriage to attend, besides an occasional +charity fair, and her own day at home, when she listened for three hours +to feminine gossip of no interest to her. + +As for him, what pleasure could he take in dressing after a hard day’s +work to go to a reception? He, son of a peasant, and a peasant himself +in so many ways, who formerly understood nothing of fashionable life and +felt only contempt for it, finding it as dull as it was ridiculous. + +She tried to find a cause for this change, and when lightly, in a +roundabout way, she brought him to explain himself, she could only draw +one answer from him, which was no answer to her: + +“We must be of the world.” + +Why did he care so much about society? Was it because she was the sister +of a criminal that he wished to take her everywhere and make people +receive her? She understood this up to a certain point, although the +part he made her play was the most cruel that he could give her, and +entirely contrary to what she would have chosen if she had been free. + +But this was all there was in his desire to be of the world. Because +he had married her he was not the brother of a criminal, and on close +observation it might be seen that all he desired of these persons in +high places whom he sought was their consideration, a part of their +importance and honor. But he did not need this; he was some one by +himself. The position that he had made was worthy of his merit. His name +was honored. His future was envied. + +And yet, as if he did not realize this, he sought small satisfactions, +unworthy of a serious ambition. One evening she was very much surprised +when he told her that the decoration of a Spanish republic was offered +to him, and although she had formed a habit of watching over her words +she could not help exclaiming: + +“What will you do with that?” + +“I could not refuse it.” + +Not only had he not refused it, but he had accepted others, blue, green, +yellow, and tricolored; he wore them in his buttonhole, around his neck, +and on his breast. What good could those decorations do that belittled +him? And how could a man of his merit hasten to obtain the Legion of +Honor before it fell to him naturally? + +All this was astonishing, mysterious, and silly, and her mind dwelt +upon it when she was alone before her easel; while near her in his +laboratory, he continued his experiments, or wrote an article in his +office for the Review. + +But it was not without a struggle that she permitted herself to judge +him in this way. One does not judge those whom one loves, and she loved +him. Was it not failing in respect to her love that she did not admire +him in every way? When these ideas oppressed her she left her easel and +went to him. Close to him they disappeared. At first, in order not to +disturb him, she entered on tiptoe, walking softly and leaning over his +shoulder, embraced him before he saw or heard her; but he betrayed such +horror, such fear, that she gave up this way of greeting him. + +She continued to go to his room, but in a different way. Instead of +surprising him she announced her presence by rattling the handle of +the door, and walking noisily, and instead of receiving her with uneasy +manner he welcomed her joyfully. + +“You have finished painting?” + +“I have come to see you for a little while.” + +“Very well, stay with me, do not go away immediately; I am never so +happy, I never work so well, as when I have you near me.” + +She felt that this was true. When she was with him, whether she spoke or +not, her presence made him happy. + +And still she must appear not to look at him too attentively, as if +with the manifest intention of studying him; for she did this during the +first days of their marriage, and angered him so much that he exclaimed: + +“Why do you examine me thus? What do you look for in me?” + +She learned to watch herself carefully, and when with him to preserve a +discreet attitude that should not offend him. No curious looks, and no +questions. But this was not always easy, so she asked leave to assist +him in his work, and sometimes drew in larger size the designs that he +made for his microscopical studies. In this way the time passed rapidly. +If he were but willing to pass the evening hours in this sweet intimacy, +without a word about going out, how happy she would be! But he never +forgot the hour. + +“Allons,” he said, interrupting himself, “we must go.” + +She had never dared to ask the true reason for this “must.” + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. A TROUBLED SOUL + +If she dared not frankly ask him this question: Why must we go out? any +more than the others: Why is it proper that I should go to mass to +be seen? Why should I wear gowns that ruin us? Why do you accept +decorations that are valueless in your eyes? Why do you seek the society +of men who have no merit but what they derive from their official +position or from their fortune? Why do we take upon ourselves social +duties that weary both of us, instead of remaining together in a tender +and intelligent intimacy that is sweet to us both? she could not ask +herself. + +They all appertained to this order of ideas, that she, without doubt, +found explained them: disposition of character; the exactions of +an ambition in haste to realize its desires; susceptibility or +overshadowing pride; but there were others founded on observation or +memory, having no connection with those, or so it seemed to her. + +She began to know her husband the day following their marriage, having +believed that he was always such as he revealed himself to her; but this +was not the case, and the man she had loved was so unlike the man whose +wife she had become, that it might almost be thought there were two. + +To tell the truth, it was not marriage that made the change in his +temper that distressed her; but it was not less characteristic by that, +that it dated back to a period anterior to this marriage. + +She remembered the commencement with a clearness that left no place for +doubt or hesitation; it was at the time when pursued by creditors he +entered into relations with Caffie. For the first time he, always +so strong that she believed him above weakness, had had a moment of +discouragement on announcing that he would probably be obliged to leave +Paris; but this depression had neither the anger nor weakness that he +had since shown. It was the natural sadness of a man who saw his future +destroyed, nothing more. The only surprise that she then felt was caused +by the idea of strangling Caffie and taking enough money from his safe +to clear himself from debt, and also because he said--as a consequence +of this act--speaking of the remorse of an intelligent man, that his +conscience would not reproach him, since for him conscience did not +exist. But this was evidently a simple philosophical theory, not a trait +of character; a jest or an argument for the sake of discussion. + +Relieved from his creditors with the money won at Monaco, he returned +to his usual calm, working harder than ever, passing his ‘concours’, and +when it seemed excusable that he might be nervous, violent, unjust, he +remained the man that he had been ever since she knew him. Then, all at +once, a short time before Florlentin went to the assizes, occurred these +strange explosions of temper, spasms of anger, and restlessness that she +could not explain, manifesting themselves exactly at the time when, by +Madame Dammauville’s intervention, she hoped Florentin would be saved. +She had not forgotten the furious anger, that was inexplicable +and unjustifiable, with which he refused her request to see Madame +Dammauville. He had thrust her away, wishing to break with her, and +until she was a witness of this scene she never imagined that any one +could put such violence into exasperation. Then to this scene succeeded +another, totally opposed, which had not less impressed her, when, at +their little dinner by the fire, he showed such profound desolation on +telling her to keep the memory of this evening when she should judge +him, and announcing to her, in a prophetic sort of way, that the hour +would come when she would know him whom she loved. + +And now this hour, the thought of which she had thrown far from her, had +sounded; she sought to combine the elements of this judgment which then +appeared criminal to her, and now forced itself upon her, whatever she +might do to repel it. + +How many times this memory returned to her! It could almost be said that +it had never left her, sweet and sad at the same time, less sweet and +more sad, according as new subjects for uneasiness were added to the +others, in deepening the mysterious and troublous impression that it +left with her. + +To judge him! Why did he wish that she should judge him? And on what? + +And yet with him it was not an insignificant word, but the evidence of a +particular state of conscience, which many times since asserted itself. +Was it not, in effect, to this order of ideas that the cry belonged that +escaped him in the night when, waking suddenly, he asked with emotion, +with fright: “What have I said?” And also to the same appertained +the anger that carried him away when, ‘a propos’ of their religious +marriage, she spoke of confession: “Why do you think that I should be +afraid to go to confession?” + +How could he imagine that she could admit the idea of fear in connection +with him? The idea never occurred to her mind until this moment; and if +now the memory of her astonishment came to her, it was because of other +little things added to those of the past that evoked it. + +How numerous and significant they were, these things: his constant +uneasiness on seeing himself watched by her; his invitation when he +thought she was going to question him; his access of passion when, +through heedlessness or forgetfulness, or simply by chance, she asked +him a question on certain subjects, and immediately the tenderness +that followed, so sudden that they appeared rather planned in view of a +determined end than natural or spontaneous. + +It was a long time before she admitted the calculation under the sweet +words that made her so happy; but in the end it was well that she should +open her eyes to the evidence, and see that they were with him the +consequences of the same and constant preoccupation, that of not +committing himself. + +It was only one step from this to ask him what he did not wish to yield +up. + +Yet, as short as it was, she resisted for a long time the curiosity that +possessed her. It was her duty as a loving and devoted wife not to seek +beyond what he showed her, and this duty was in perfect accord with +the dispositions of her love; but the power of things seen carried her +beyond will and reason. She could not apply her mind to search for that +which agonized her, and she could not close her eyes and ears to what +she saw and heard. + +And what struck them were the same observations, turning always in the +same circle, applied to the same subjects and persons: + +Caffie’s name irritated him; Madame Dammauville’s angered him; +Florentin’s made him positively unhappy. + +As for the two former, she might have prevented the pronunciation of +them when she saw the effect they infallibly produced on him. + +But she could not prevent the utterance of Florentin’s name, even had +she wished it. How could she tell her mother never to speak the name of +him who was constantly in their thoughts? + +In spite of Saniel’s efforts and solicitations, supported by +Nougarede’s, Florentin had embarked for New Caledonia, whence he wrote +as often as he could. His letters related all his sufferings in the +terrible galleys, where he was confined during the voyage, and since his +arrival they were a series of long complaints, continued from one to the +other, like a story without end, turning always on the same subject, +his physical sufferings, his humiliation, his discouragement, and his +disgust in the midst of the unfortunates whose companion he was. + +The arrival of these letters filled the mother and sister with anguish +that lasted for several days; and this anguish, that neither of them +could dissimulate, angered Saniel. + +“What would you do if he were dead?” he asked Phillis. + +“Would it not be better for him?” + +“But he will return.” + +“In what condition?” + +“Are we the masters of fate?” + +“We weep, we do not complain.” + +But he complained of the weeping faces that surrounded him, the tears +they concealed from him, the sighs they stifled. Ordinarily he was +tender and affectionate to his mother-in-law, with attention and +deference which in some ways seemed affected, as if he were so by will +rather than by natural sentiment; but at these times he forgot this +tenderness, and treated her with hardness so unjust, that more than once +Madame Cormier spoke of it to her daughter. + +“How can your husband, who is so good to me, be so merciless regarding +Florentin? One would say that our sadness produces on him the effect of +a reproach that we would address to him.” + +One day when things had gone farther than usual, she had the courage to +speak to him plainly: “Forgive me for burdening you with the weariness +of our disgrace,” she said to him. “When I complain of everything, of +men and things, you should remember that you are the exception, you who +have done everything to save him.” + +But these few words which she believed would calm the irritation of her +son-in-law, had on the contrary exasperated him; he left her, furious. + +“I do not understand your husband at all,” she said to her daughter. +“Will you not explain to me what the matter is with him?” + +How could she give her mother the explanation that she could not give +herself? Having reached an unfathomable abyss, she dared not even lean +over to look into its depths; and instead of going on in the path where +she was pledged in spite of herself, she made every effort to return, or +at least to stop. + +What good would it do to find out why he was so peculiar, and what +it was that he took so much pains to conceal? This could only be idle +curiosity on her part, for which she would be punished sooner or later. + +Turning these thoughts over continually in her mind she lost her gayety, +her power to resist blows of fate, such as the small trials of life, +which formerly made her courageous; her vigorous elasticity sunk under +the heavy weight with which it was charged, and her smiling eyes now +more often expressed anxiety than happiness and confidence. + +In spite of her watchfulness over herself she was not able to hide the +change from Saniel, for it manifested itself in everything--in her face +formerly so open, but which now bore the imprint of a secret sadness; in +her concentrated manner, in her silence and abstraction. + +What was the matter with her? He questioned her, and she replied with +the prudence that she used in all her conversation with him. He examined +her medically, but found nothing to indicate a sickly condition which +would justify the change in her. + +If she did not wish to answer his questions, and he had the proof that +she did not wish to; if, on the other hand, she was not ill, and he was +convinced that she was not--there must be something serious the matter +to make the woman whom but lately he read so easily become an enigma +that made him uneasy. + +And this thing--if it were that whose crushing weight he himself carried +on his bent shoulders? She divined, she understood, if not all, at least +a part of the truth. + +What an extraordinary situation was hers, and one which might truly +destroy her reason. + +Nothing to fear from others, everything from himself. Justice, law, the +world--on all sides he was let alone; nothing was asked of him; that +which was owed was paid; but he by a sickly aberration was going to +awake the dead who slept in their tomb, from which no one thought of +taking them, and to make spectres of them which he alone saw and heard. + +And he believed himself strong. Fool that he was, and still more foolish +to have taken such a charge when by the exercise of his will he did +not place himself in a condition to carry it! To will! But he had not +learned how to will. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. THE POWER OF HYPNOTISM + +The relative calm that Saniel had felt since his marriage he owed to +Phillis; to the strength, the confidence, the peace that he drew from +her. Phillis without strength, without confidence, without interior +peace, such as she was now, could not give him what she no longer had +herself, and he returned to the distracted condition that preceded +his marriage, and felt the same anguish, the same agitation, the same +madness. The beautiful relations, worldly consideration, success, +decorations, honors, were good for others; but for his happiness he +required the tranquillity and serenity of his wife, and her good moral +health which passed into him when she slept on his shoulder. In that +case there were no sudden awakenings, no sleeplessness; at the sound of +her gentle respiration he was reassured, and the spectres remained in +their tomb. + +But now that this respiration was agitated, and he no longer felt in her +this tranquillity and serenity, he was no longer calm; she was weak and +uneasy, and she communicated her fever to him, not her sleep. + +“You do not sleep. Why do you not sleep?” + +“And you?” + +He must know. + +He persisted in his questions, but she was always on her guard, so that +he was unable to draw anything from her, checked as he was by the fear +of betraying himself, which seemed easy at the point he believed she +had reached. An awkward word, too much persistence, would let a flood of +light into her mind. + +He also affected to speak as a physician when questioning her, and to +look for medical explanations of her condition. + +“If you do not sleep it is because you suffer. What is this suffering? +From what does it proceed?” + +Having no reasons to give to justify it, since she did not even dare to +speak of her brother, she denied it obstinately. + +“But nothing is the matter with me, I assure you,” she repeated. “What +do you think is the matter?” + +“That is what I ask you.” + +“Then I ask you: What do you think I conceal from you?” + +He could not say that he suspected her of concealing anything from him. + +“You do not watch yourself properly.” + +“I can do nothing.” + +“I will force you to watch yourself and to speak.” + +“How?” + +“By putting you to sleep.” + +The threat was so terrible that she was beside herself. + +“Do not do that!” she cried. + +They looked at each other for a few moments in silence, both equally +frightened, she at the threat, he at what he would learn from her. But +to show this fright was on his side to let loose another proof even more +grave. + +“Why should I not seek to discover in every way the cause of this +uneasiness which escapes my examination as well as yours? For that +somnambulism offers us an excellent way.” + +“But since I am not ill, what more could I tell you when I am asleep +than when I am awake?” + +“We shall see.” + +“It is an experiment that I ask you not to attempt. Would you try a +poison on me?” + +“Somnambulism is not a poison.” + +“Who knows?” + +“Those who have made use of it.” + +“But you have not.” + +“Still I know enough to know that you will run no danger in my hands.” + +She believed that he opened a door of escape to her. + +“Never mind, I am too much afraid. If you ever want to make me talk in +a state of forced somnambulism, ask one of your ‘confreres’ in whom you +have confidence to put me to sleep.” + +Before a ‘confrere’ she was certain he would not ask her dangerous +questions. + +He understood that she wished to escape him. + +“Afraid of what?” he asked. “That I shall ask you questions about the +past, concerning your life before we knew each other, and demand a +confession that would wound my love?” + +“O Victor!” she cried, distracted. “What more cruel wound could you give +me than these words? My confession! It comprises three words: I love +you; I have never loved any one but you; I shall never love any one but +you. I have no past; my life began with my love.” + +He could not press it without showing the importance that he attached to +it. + +“I do not insist,” he said; “it is a way like any other, but better. You +do not wish it, and we will not talk of it.” + +But he yielded too quickly for her to hope that he renounced his +project, and she remained under the influence of a stupefying terror. +What would she say if he made her talk? Everything, possibly. She did +not even know what thoughts were hidden in the depths of her brain, and +she knew absolutely nothing of this forced somnambulism with which she +was threatened. + +At this time the works of the school of Nancy on sleep, hypnotism, +and suggestion, had not yet been published, or at least the book which +served as their starting-point was not known, and she knew nothing of +processes that were employed to provoke the hypnotic sleep. As soon as +her husband left the house she looked for some book in the library that +would enlighten her. But the dictionary that she found gave only obscure +or confused instructions in which she floundered. The only exact point +that struck her was the method employed to produce sleep; to make +the subject look at a brilliant object placed from fifteen to twenty +centimetres in front of the eyes. If this were true she had no fear of +ever being put to sleep. + +However, she was not reassured; and when a few days later at a dinner +she found herself seated next to one of her husband’s ‘confreres’, who +she knew interested himself in somnambulism, she had the courage to +conquer her usual timidity concerning medicine, and questioned him. + +“Are there not persons with certain diseases who can be put into a state +of somnambulism?” + +“It was formerly believed by the public and by many physicians that only +persons afflicted with hysteria and nervous troubles could be put to +sleep in this way, but it was a mistake; artificial somnambulism may be +produced on many subjects who are perfectly healthy.” + +“Is the will preserved in sleep?” + +“The subject only preserves the spontaneity and will that his hypnotizer +leaves him, who at his pleasure makes him sad, gay, angry, or tender, +and plays with his soul as with an instrument.” + +“But that is frightful.” + +“Curious, at least. It is certain that there is a local paralysis of +such or such a cell, the study of which is the starting-point of many +interesting discoveries.” + +“When he wakes, does the subject remember what he has said?” + +“There is a difference of opinion on this point. Some say yes, and +others no. As for me, I believe the memory depends upon the degree of +sleep: with a light sleep there is remembrance, but with a profound +sleep the subject does not remember what he has said or heard or done.” + +She would have liked to continue, and her companion, glad to talk of +what interested him, would willingly have said more, but she saw her +husband at the other end of the table watching them by fits and starts, +and fearing that he would suspect the subject of their conversation she +remained silent. + +What she had just learned seemed to her frightful. But, at least, as +she would not let herself be hypnotized she had nothing to fear; and +remembering what she had read, she promised herself that she would never +let him place her in a position where he could put her to sleep. It was +during the sleep that the will of the hypnotizer controlled that of the +subject, not before. + +Resting on this belief, and also on his not having again spoken of +sending her to sleep, she was reassured. Was not this a sign that he +accepted her opposition and renounced his idea of provoked somnambulism? + +But she deceived herself. + +One night when she had gone to bed at her usual hour while he remained +at his work, she awoke suddenly and saw him standing near her, looking +at her with eyes whose fixed stare frightened her. + +“What is the matter? What do you want?” + +“Nothing, I want nothing; I am going to bed.” + +In spite of the strangeness of his glance she did not persist; questions +would have taught her nothing. And besides, now that he no longer went +to bed at the same time as she did, there was nothing extraordinary in +his attitude. + +But a few days from that she woke again in the night with a feeling of +distress, and saw him leaning over her as if he would envelop her in his +arms. + +This time, frightened as she was, she had the strength to say nothing, +but her anguish was the more intense. Did he then wish to hypnotize her +while she slept? Was it possible? Then the dictionary had deceived her? + +In truth it was while she slept that Saniel tried to transform her +natural into an artificial sleep. Would he succeed? He knew nothing +about it, for the experience was new. But he risked it. + +The first time, instead of putting her into a state of somnambulism, he +awoke her; the second, he succeeded no better; the third, when he saw +that after a certain time she did not open her eyes, he supposed that +she was asleep. To assure himself, he raised her arm, which remained +in the air until he placed it on the bed. Then taking her two hands, he +turned them backward, and withdrawing his own, the impulsion which he +gave lasted until he checked it. Her face had an expression of calmness +and tranquillity that it had not had for a long time; she was the pretty +Phillis of other days, with the sprightly glance. + +“To-morrow I will make you sleep at the same time,” he said, “and you +will talk.” + +The next night he put her to sleep even more easily, but when he +questioned her she resisted. + +“No,” she said, “I will not speak; it is horrible. I will not, I +cannot.” + +He insisted, but she would not. + +“Very well, so be it,” he said; “not to-day, to-morrow. But to-morrow I +wish you to speak, and you shall not resist me; I will it!” + +If he did not insist it was not only because he knew that habit was +necessary to make her submit to his will without being able to defend +herself, but because he was ignorant whether, when she awoke, she had +any memory of what happened in her sleep, which was an important point. + +The next night she was the same as she had been the previous evening, +and nothing indicated that she was conscious of her provoked sleep, any +more than what she said in this sleep. He could then continue. + +This time she went to sleep sooner and more easily than usual, and her +face took the expression of tranquillity and repose he had seen the +night before. Would she answer? And if she consented, would she speak +sincerely, without attempting to weaken or falsify the truth? Emotion +made his voice tremble when he put the first question; it was his life, +his peace, the happiness of both which decided him. + +“Where do you suffer?” he asked. + +“I do not suffer.” + +“Yet you are agitated, often melancholy or uneasy; you do not sleep +well. What troubles you?” + +“I am afraid.” + +“Afraid of what? Of whom?” + +“Of you!” + +He trembled. + +“Afraid of me! Do you think that I could hurt you?” + +“No.” + +His tightened heart relaxed. + +“Then why are you afraid?” + +“Because there are things in you that frighten me.” + +“What things? Be exact.” + +“The change that has taken place in your temper, your character, and +your habits.” + +“And how do these changes make you uneasy?” + +“They indicate a serious situation.” + +“What situation?” + +“I do not know; I have never stated exactly.” + +“Why not?” + +“Because I was afraid; and I closed my eyes so that I might not see.” + +“See what?” + +“The explanation of all that is mysterious in your life.” + +“When did you notice the mystery in my life?” + +“At the time of Caffie’s death; and before, when you told me that you +could kill him without any remorse.” + +“Do you know who killed Caffie?” + +“No.” + +His relief was so great that for several moments he forgot to continue +his interrogations. Then he went on: “And after?” + +“A little before Madame Dammauville’s death, when you became irritable +and furious without cause; when you told me to go because you did not +wish to see Madame Dammauville; when, the night before her death, you +were so tender, and asked me not to judge you without recalling that +hour.” + +“Yet you have judged me.” + +“Never. When worry urged me, my love checked me.” + +“What provoked this uneasiness outside of these facts?” + +“Your manner of living since our marriage; your accesses of anger and of +tenderness; your fear of being observed; your agitation at night; your +complaints--” + +“I talked?” he cried. + +“Never distinctly; you groan often, and moan, pronouncing broken words +without sense, unintelligible--” + +His anguish was violent; when he recovered he continued: + +“What is it in this way of living that has made you uneasy?” + +“Your constant care not to commit yourself--” + +“Commit myself how?” + +“I do not know--” + +“What else?” + +“The anger that you show, or the embarrassment, when the name of Caffie +is pronounced, Madame Dammauville’s, and Florentin’s--” + +“And you conclude that my anger on hearing these three names--” + +“Nothing--I am afraid--” + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. THE TERRIBLE REVELATION + +This confession threw him into a state of confusion and agitation, +for if it did not go beyond what he feared, yet it revealed a terrible +situation. + +Clearly, as in an open book, he read her; if she did not know all, she +was but one step from the truth, and if she had not taken this step, it +was because her love restrained her. If her love had been less strong, +less powerful, she certainly would not have withstood the proofs that +pressed on her from all sides. + +But because she had held back so long, he must not conclude that the +struggle would be continued in this way, and that a more violent blow, +a stronger proof than the others, would not open her eyes in spite of +herself. + +It only needed an imprudence, a carelessness on his part, and unluckily +he could no longer be relied on. + +From what he had just learned it would be easy to watch himself closely, +and to avoid dangerous subjects, those that she described to him; but +if he could guard his words and looks during the day, neither saying +nor letting anything appear that was an accusation, not confirming the +suspicions against which she struggled, he could not do it at night. + +He had not talked, and when she answered negatively to his question, she +lifted a terribly heavy weight from his heart. But he had groaned and +moaned, he had pronounced broken words without sense and unintelligible, +and there was the danger. + +What was necessary to make these sighs, these groans, these broken and +unintelligible words become distinct and take a meaning? A nothing, an +accident, since his real cerebral tendency placed him up to a certain +point in a somnambulistic state. Was this tendency congenital with him +or acquired? He did not know. Before the agitated nights after Madame +Dammauville’s death and Florentin’s condemnation, the idea had never +occurred to him that he might talk in his sleep. But now he had the +proof that the vague fears which had tormented him on this subject were +only too well founded; he had talked, and if the words that escaped were +not now comprehensible, they might become so. + +Without having made a special study of sleep, natural or induced, he +knew that in the case of natural somnambulists a hypnotic sleep is +easily produced, and that while holding a conversation with a subject +who talks in his sleep one may readily hypnotize him. Without doubt he +need not fear this from Phillis; but it was possible that some night +when incoherent words escaped him she would not be able to resist the +temptation to enter into a conversation with him, and to lead him to +confess what she wished to know--what the love that she felt for her +brother would drive her to wish to learn. + +If this opportunity presented itself, would the love for her brother or +for her husband carry her away? If she questioned him, what would he not +say? + +For the first time he asked himself if he had done right to marry, +and if, on the contrary, he had not committed a mad imprudence in +introducing a woman into a life so tormented as his. He had asked +calmness from this woman, and now she brought him terror. + +To tell the truth, she was dangerous only at night; and if he found a +way to occupy another room he would have nothing to fear from her during +the day, on condition that he held himself rigorously on the defensive. +Loving him as she did, she would resist the curiosity that drew her; if +uneasiness drove her, her love would restrain her, as she herself had +said; little by little this uneasiness and curiosity, being no longer +excited, would die out, and they would again enjoy the sweet days that +followed their marriage. + +But in the present circumstances this way was difficult to find, for to +propose another room to Phillis would be equal to telling her that he +was afraid of her, and consequently it would give her a new mystery to +study. He reflected, and starting with the idea that the proposition of +two rooms must come from Phillis, he arranged a plan which, it seemed to +him, would accomplish what he wished. + +Ignorant of the fact that she had been hypnotized, and not remembering +that she had talked, without doubt Phillis still feared that he would +hypnotize her; he would threaten it again, and surely she would find a +way to defend herself and escape from him. + +This is what happened. The next day, when he told her decidedly that he +wished to put her to sleep in order that he might learn what troubled +her, she showed the same fright as on the first time. + +“All that you have asked of me, everything that you have desired, I have +wished as you and with you; but I will never consent to this.” + +“Your resistance is absurd; I will not yield to it.” + +“You shall not put me to sleep against my will.” + +“Easily.” + +“It is not possible.” + +Without replying, he took a book from the library, and turning over +the leaves, he read: “Is it possible to make a sleeping person, without +awaking him, pass from the natural to the hypnotic sleep? The thing is +possible, at least with certain subjects.” + +Then handing her the book: + +“You see that to put you to sleep artificially I need only the +opportunity of finding you sleeping naturally. It is very simple.” + +“That would be odious.” + +“Those are merely words.” + +He threw her into such a state of terror that she kept awake all night, +and as he would not sleep for fear of talking, he felt that she exerted +every faculty to keep awake. But had he not gone too far? And by this +threat would he not drive her to some desperate act? If she should +escape, if she deserted him--what would become of him without her? Was +she not his whole life? But he reassured himself by saying that she +loved him too much ever to consent to a separation. Without doubt, she +herself would come to think as he wished her to think. + +And yet when he returned home in the evening she told him that her +mother was not well, and begged him to examine her. This examination +proved that Madame Cormier was in her usual health; but she complained +that her breath failed her--during the day she had feared syncope. + +“If you are willing,” Phillis said, “I will sleep near mamma. I am +afraid of not hearing her at night, and she is suffering.” + +He began by refusing, then he consented to this arrangement; and to +thank him for it she stayed with him in his office, affectionate, full +of tenderness and caresses, until he went to his room. + +He was then free to sleep or not; whether he groaned or talked she could +not hear him, since there was no communicating door between his room and +that of his mother-in-law; his voice certainly would not penetrate the +partition. + +Who could have told him on the night that he decided to marry, that he +would come to such a pass--to be afraid, to hide himself from her who +brought him the calmness of sleep; and that by his fault, by a chain of +imprudences and stupidities, as if it were written that in everything +he would owe his sufferings to himself, and that if he ever succumbed to +the whirlwind that swept him along, it would be by his own deed, by his +own hand? At last he had assured the tranquillity of his nights, and as +a further precaution, although he did not fear that Phillis would enter +his room while he slept, to surprise him--she who dared not look in the +face what suspicion showed her--he locked his door. Naturally, Phillis +could not always sleep with her mother; but he would find a way to +suggest frankly their sleeping apart, and surely he could find one in +the storehouse of medicine. + +These cares and similar fears were not of a nature to dispose him to +sleep, and besides for a long time he had suffered from an exasperating +nervous insomnia. As the night was warm he thought a little fresh air +would calm him, and he opened the window; if this freshness did not calm +him, at least it would make him sleep. + +Obliged to improvise a bed in her mother’s room, Phillis placed it +against the partition that separated her from her husband, but without +preconcerted intention, simply by accident, because it was the only +place where she could put the bed. A little after midnight an unusual +noise awoke her; she sat up to listen and to recover herself. It seemed +as if this noise came from her husband’s room. Alarmed, she placed +her ear against the partition. She was not deceived; they were stifled +groans, moans that were repeated at short intervals. + +Carefully yet quickly she left her bed, and as the dawn was already +shining in the windows, she was able to leave the room without making +any noise. Reaching the door of her husband’s room she listened; she was +not deceived; they were indeed groans, but louder and sadder than those +she had so often heard during the night. She tried the door, but it was +evidently locked on the inside. What was the matter with him? She must +know, must go to him, and give him relief. She thought of knocking, of +shaking the door; but as he did not reply when she tried to open it, it +was because he did not hear or did not wish to hear. Then she thought +of the terrace; from there she could see what happened, and if it were +necessary she would break a pane to enter. + +She found the window open and saw her husband on the bed, sleeping, +his head turned toward her; she stopped and asked herself if she should +cross the threshold and wake him. + +At this moment, with closed lips, he pronounced several words +more distinctly than those that had so many times escaped him: +“Phillis--forgive.” + +He dreamed of her. Poor, dear Victor! for what did he wish her to pardon +him? Doubtless for having threatened to hypnotize her: + +Overcome by this proof of love she put her head through the opening of +the window to give him a look before returning to her mother, but +on seeing his face in the full white light of the morning, she was +frightened; it expressed the most violent sorrow, the features convulsed +with anguish and horror at the same time. Surely he was ill. She must +wake him. Just as she took a step toward him he began to speak: “Your +brother--or me?” + +She stopped as if thunderstruck, then instinctively she drew back and +clung to the window in the vestibule to keep herself from falling, +repeating those two words that she had just heard, not understanding, +not wishing to understand. + +Instead of returning to her mother, trembling and holding on to the wall +she entered the parlor and let herself fall into a chair, prostrated, +crushed. + +“Your brother--or me?” + +This was, then, the truth, the frightful truth that she had never wished +to see. + +She stayed there until the noises in the street warned her that it +was getting late, and she might be surprised. Then she returned to her +mother. + +“I am going out,” she said; “I will return at half-past eight or nine +o’clock.” + +“But your husband will not see you before going to the hospital.” + +“You will tell him that I have gone out.” + +She returned at half-past nine. Madame Cormier had finished dressing. + +“At last you have come,” she said. + +But at sight of her daughter’s face she saw that something had happened. +“My God! What is the matter?” she asked, trembling. + +“Something serious--very serious, but unfortunately it is irreparable. +We must leave here, never to return.” + +“Your husband--” + +“You must never speak to me of him. This the only thing I ask of you.” + +“Alas! I understand. It is what I foresaw, what I said would happen. You +cannot bear the contempt that he shows us on account of your brother.” + +“We must hereafter be strangers to each other, and this is why we leave +this house.” + +“My God! At my age, to drag my bones--” + +“I have engaged a lodging at the Ternes; a wagon will come to take the +furniture that belongs to us, what we brought here, only that. We will +tell the concierge that we are going to the country. As for Josephine, +you need not fear indiscreet questions, for I have given her a day off.” + +“But the money?” + +“I have two hundred francs from the sale of my last picture; that is +enough for the present. Before they are gone I shall have painted and +sold another; do not worry, we shall have all we need.” + +All this was said in a hard but resolute tone. + +A ring of the bell interrupted them. It was the express wagon. + +“See that they do not take what does not belong to us,” Phillis said. +“While they fill their wagon I will write in the parlor.” + +At the end of an hour the wagon was ready. Madame Cormier entered the +parlor to tell her daughter. + +“I have finished,” Phillis said. + +Having placed her letter in an envelope, she laid it in full view on +Saniel’s desk. + +“Now let us go,” she said. + +And as her mother sighed, while walking with difficulty + +“Lean on me, dear mamma, you know I am strong.” + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. AFTER LONG YEARS + +Saniel did not return until quite late in the afternoon. When he opened +the door with his key he was surprised at not seeing his wife run to him +and kiss him. + +“She is painting,” he said to himself, “she did not hear me.” + +He passed into the parlor, convinced that he would find her at her +easel; but he did not see her, and the easel was not in its usual place, +there nor anywhere else. + +He knocked at the door of Madame Cormier’s room; there was no reply; he +knocked louder a second time, and after waiting a moment he entered. The +room was empty; there was no bed, no furniture, no one. + +Stupefied, he looked around him, then returning to the vestibule he +called: “Phillis! Phillis!” + +There was no reply. He ran to the kitchen, no one was there; he went +into his office, no one there. But as he looked about him, he saw +Phillis’s letter on his desk, and his heart leaped; he grasped it +eagerly, and opened it with a trembling hand. It was as follows: + + “I have gone, never to return. My despair and disgust of life are + such, that without my mother and the poor being who is so far away, + I should kill myself; but in spite of the horror of my position I + was obliged to reflect, and I do not wish to aggravate by folly the + wickedness that is going on about me. My mother is no longer young; + she is ill and has suffered cruelly. Not only do I owe it to her to + brighten her old age by my presence, by the material and moral + support that I can give her, but she must have faith that I am there + to replace her, and to open my arms to her son, to my brother. The + least that I can do for them is to wait courageously for him; and, + however weary, terrible, or frightful my life may be hereafter, I + shall bear it so that the unfortunate, the pariah, whom a pitiless + fate has pursued, will find on his return a hearth, a home, a + friend. This will be my only object, my reason for living; and in + order to save myself from sluggishness and weariness, my thoughts + will always be on the time when he will return, he whom I will call + my child, and whom my love must save and cure. I know that long + years separate me from that day, and that until it comes my broken + heart will never have a moment of repose; but I shall employ this + time in working for him, for the brother, for the child, for the + cherished being who will come to me aged and desperate; and I wish + that he may yet believe in something good, that he will not imagine + everything in this world is unjust and infamous, for he will return + to me weighed down by twenty years of shame, of degrading and + undeserved shame. How will he bear these twenty years? What + efforts must I not make to prove to him that he should not abandon + himself to despair, and that life often offers the remedy, + compassion to the most profound, to the most unjust human sorrows? + How can I make him believe that? How lead his poor heart, closed to + confidence, to feeling, to the tears that alone can relieve it? God + who has so sorely tried me, without doubt will come to my aid, and + will inspire me with words of consolation, will show me the path to + follow, and give me the strength to persevere. Have I not already + to thank Him for being alone in the world, outside of a mother and + brother who will not betray me? I have no children, and I am spared + the terror of seeing a soul growing in evil, an intelligence + escaping from me to follow the path of infamy or dishonor. I leave, + then, as I came. I was a poor girl, I go away a poor woman. I have + taken the clothing and personal effects that I brought into our + common home, nothing that was bought with your money; and I forbid + you to interfere with my wish in this question of material things, + as well as in my resolution to fly from you. Nothing can ever + reunite us; nothing shall reunite us, no consideration, no + necessity. I reject the past, this guilty past, the responsibility + of which weighs so heavily on my conscience, and I should like to + lose the memory of the detested time. It would be impossible for me + to accept the struggle, or supplications, if you think it expedient + to make any. I have cut our bonds, and hereafter we shall be as far + apart as if one of us were dead, or even farther. Have no scruples, + then, in leaving me alone to face a new life, a beginning that may + appear difficult to one not situated as I am. The trials of former + times were good for me, since they accustomed me to the difficulties + of work. The desolation of to-day will sustain me, in the sense + that having suffered all I can suffer, I no longer fear some + discouraging catastrophe that will check me in my resolutions. In + order not to compromise you, and more fully to become myself again, + I shall take my family name--a dishonored name--but I shall bear it + without shame. I shall live obscurely, absorbed in work and in + trying to forget your existence; do the same yourself. If you think + of the past, you will find, perhaps, that I am hard; yet this + departure is not an egotistic desertion. I am no good to you, and + the repose that you want would shun you hereafter in my presence. + On the contrary, strive for forgetfulness, as I shall. If you + contrive to wipe out of your life the part that is associated with + me, perhaps you will be able to banish the remainder, and to recover + some of the calm of other days. I can no longer remember that I + have loved you, for my position is such that I have not the refuge + of memory; at my age I must remain without a past as without a + future; the consolation of the unfortunate is lost to me with + everything else. I cannot rise out of my sorrow to try to find one + hour when life was sweet to me; those hours, on the contrary, make + me tremble, and I reproach myself for them as if they were a crime. + Thus, whichever way I turn, I find only sadness and sharp regrets; + everything is blighted, dishonored for me.” + +Standing in the middle of his office he read this hastily written letter +breathlessly. Arrived at the end he looked about him vaguely. His +chair was near his desk; he let himself fall into it and remained there +prostrated, holding the letter in his shaking hand. + +“Alone!” + +It was an October afternoon, dark and muddy; in the Rue des +Saints-Peres, in front of the houses that hide the Charity Hospital, +coupes were standing, and their long line extended to the Boulevard +Saint-Germain, where the coachmen, having left their seats, talked +together like persons who were accustomed to meet each other. At +half-past four o’clock, in the deepening twilight, men with grave +looks and dark clothes--members of the Academy of Medicine--the Tuesday +sitting over, issued from the porch, and entered their carriages. Some +of them walked alone, briskly, in a great hurry; others demonstrated +a skilful tardiness, stopping to talk politely to a journalist, and to +give him notes of the day’s meeting, or continuing, with a ‘confrere’ +who was not an Academician, the conversation begun in the room of the +‘pas-perdus’; it was the Bourse of consultations that was just closed. +Not all the members of the Academy have, in truth, a long list of +patients to visit; but each one has a vote to give, and they are those +whom the candidates surround, trying to win them. + +One of the Academicians who appeared the last at the top of the steps +was a man of great height but bent figure, with hollow cheeks and pale +face lighted by pale blue eyes with a strange expression, both hard and +desolate at the same time. He advanced alone, and his heavy gait and +dragging step gave him the appearance of a man sixty years of age, while +in other ways he retained a certain youthfulness. It was Saniel, twenty +years older. + +Without exchanging a bow or a hand-shake with any one, he descended to +the pavement and walked to the boulevard, where he opened the door of a +coups whose interior showed a complete ambulant library--a writing table +with paper, ink, and lamp, pockets full of books and pamphlets. + +Just as he was about to enter, a voice stopped him. + +He turned; it was one of his old pupils, who had recently become a +physician in the suburb of Gentilly. + +“What is it?” asked Saniel. + +“I want to ask you to come and assist me in a curious case of spasms, +where your intervention may be decisive.” + +“Where?” + +“At the Maison-Blanche, a poor woman. What day could you give me?” + +“Is it urgent?” + +“Yes.” + +“In that case I will go at once. Give the address to my coachman, and +get in with me.” + +But at this moment a white-haired man dressed in chestnut velvet, +wearing a felt hat and sabots, came toward them, accompanied by two +young men with whom he discoursed in a loud tone while gesticulating. +People turned to look at them, so original was the appearance of old +Brigard, the same man from head to foot that he had always been. + +He came to Saniel with outstretched hands, and Saniel, taking off his +hat, received him with marked respect. + +“Enchanted to meet you,” Brigard said, “for I went to your office +yesterday and did not find you.” + +“Why did you not send me word beforehand? If you need me I am at your +disposal.” + +“Thanks, but happily I do not need your advice, neither for myself nor +my family; it was simply that I wished to see you. Arriving at your +house before your office hours, I waited in your reception-room and +several patients came after me--a young woman who appeared to suffer +cruelly, an old lady who was extremely anxious, and lastly a man who +had some nervous disease that would not permit him to sit still. And, +looking at them, I said to myself that as I was only making a friendly +visit I would not remain and prolong the waiting of these unfortunates +who counted the minutes, so I came away.” + +“May I ask to what do I owe the honor of this visit?” + +The two young men who accompanied Brigard, and Saniel’s old pupil +discreetly withdrew. + +“The desire to present you my congratulations. When I learned of your +candidature to the Academy of Medicine I said to myself: Here is one who +has no chance; friend Saniel has originality and force; he has succeeded +brilliantly; but these qualities are not exactly academic. I was +deceived. You have broken open the doors, which is the only way that +I understand of entering these places. That is why I congratulate you. +And, besides, I did you wrong formerly--” + +“Wrong? You?” + +“I accused you of believing yourself stronger than life; in truth you +were. My compliments!” + +After warmly pressing Saniel’s hands, he went on his way with his two +disciples, preaching to them. + +The young doctor approached Saniel. + +“He is an original,” he said. + +“A happy man!” was the only reply. + + + ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: + + As ignorant as a schoolmaster + As free from prejudices as one may be, one always retains a few + Confidence in one’s self is strength, but it is also weakness + Conscience is a bad weighing-machine + Conscience is only an affair of environment and of education + Find it more easy to make myself feared than loved + For the rest of his life he would be the prisoner of his crime + Force, which is the last word of the philosophy of life + He did not sleep, so much the better! He would work more + I believed in the virtue of work, and look at me! + In his eyes everything was decided by luck + Intelligent persons have no remorse + It is the first crime that costs + It is only those who own something who worry about the price + Leant--and when I did not lose my friends I lost my money + Leisure must be had for light reading, and even more for love + Looking for a needle in a bundle of hay + Neither so simple nor so easy as they at first appeared + One does not judge those whom one loves + People whose principle was never to pay a doctor + Power to work, that was never disturbed or weakened by anything + Reason before the deed, and not after + Repeated and explained what he had already said and explained + She could not bear contempt + The strong walk alone because they need no one + We are so unhappy that our souls are weak against joy + We weep, we do not complain + Will not admit that conscience is the proper guide of our action + You love me, therefore you do not know me + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Conscience, Complete, by Hector Malot + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CONSCIENCE, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 3990-0.txt or 3990-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/9/3990/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Conscience, Complete + +Author: Hector Malot + +Release Date: October 5, 2006 [EBook #3990] +Last Updated: August 23, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CONSCIENCE, COMPLETE *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1> + CONSCIENCE + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Hector Malot + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + With a Preface by EDOUARD PAILLERON, of the French Academy + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> HECTOR MALOT </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>CONSCIENCE</b> </a><br /><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0003"> <b>BOOK 1.</b> </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>THE REUNION <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a>THE RICH MAN’S REFUSAL <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a>A LAST RESORT <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a>’TWIXT THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP SEA + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>A CHARMING VISITOR + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>A SWEET CONSOLER + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>A LITTLE DINNER FOR + TWO <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a>EXPLANATIONS + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>CAFFIE’S ANSWER + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a>SANIEL MAKES A + RESOLUTION <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> <b>BOOK 2.</b> </a> + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a>THE INSTRUMENT OF + DEATH <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a>THE CRUCIAL + MOMENT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a>DISTRACTION + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a>THE EXAMINATION + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a>A NEW PLAN <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a>THE SMILES OF FORTUNE <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a>PHILLIS’S FEARS <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a>A GRAVE DISCUSSION <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a>THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a>A TIGHTENING CHAIN <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a>"REGARDING THE CAFFIE AFFAIR” + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a>NOUGAREDE’S BRIDE + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a>STUNNING NEWS + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> <b>BOOK 3.</b> </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a>HEDGING <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a>DANGEROUS DETAILS <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a>A GOOD MEMORY <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a>A NEW PERIL <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a>SANIEL VISITS A BARBER <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a>A BROKEN NEGATIVE <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a>PHILLIS PRECIPITATES MATTERS + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a>THE APPOINTMENT + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. </a>THE FATAL LIGHT + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII. </a>SUSPENSE + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. </a>ON THE RACK <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV. </a>A SECOND VICTIM <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0041"> <b>BOOK 4.</b> </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. </a>CONSCIENCE ASSERTS ITSELF <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII. </a>ATTEMPTED REPARATION <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII. </a>THE IMPORTANT QUESTION + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XXXIX. </a>CONCESSION TO + CONSCIENCE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XL. </a>PHILLIS + IS SURPRISED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XLI. </a>A + TROUBLED SOUL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER XLII. </a>THE + POWER OF HYPNOTISM <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER XLIII. + </a>THE TERRIBLE REVELATION <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER + XLIV. </a>AFTER LONG YEARS <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + HECTOR MALOT + </h2> + <p> + HECTOR-HENRI MALOT, the son of a notary public, was born at La Brouille + (Seine-Inferieure), March 20, 1830. He studied law, intending to devote + himself also to the Notariat, but toward 1853 or 1854 commenced writing + for various small journals. Somewhat later he assisted in compiling the + ‘Biographie Generale’ of Firmin Didot, and was also a contributor to some + reviews. Under the generic title of ‘Les Victimes d’Amour,’ he made his + debut with the following three family-romances: ‘Les Amants (1859), Les + Epoux (1865), and Les Enfants (1866).’ About the same period he published + a book, ‘La Vie Moderne en Angleterre.’ Malot has written quite a number + of novels, of which the greatest is ‘Conscience,’ crowned by the French + Academy in 1878. + </p> + <p> + His works have met with great success in all countries. They possess that + lasting interest which attends all work based on keen observation and + masterly analysis of the secret motives of human actions. + </p> + <p> + The titles of his writings run as follows: ‘Les Amours de Jacques (1868); + Un Beau Frere (1869); Romain Kalbris (1864), being a romance for children; + Une Bonne Afaire, and Madame Obernin (1870); Un Cure de Province (1872); + Un Mariage sons le Second Empire (1873); Une Belle Mere (1874); L’Auberge + du Monde (1875-1876, 4 vols.); Les Batailles du Mariage (1877, 3 vols.); + Cara (1877); Le Docteur Claude (1879); Le Boheme Tapageuse (1880, 3 + vols.); Pompon, and Une Femme d’Argent (1881); La Petite Soeur, and Les + Millions Honteux (1882); Les Besogneux, and Paulette (1883); Marichette, + and Micheline (1884.); Le Lieutenant Bonnet, and Sang Bleu (1885); + Baccara, and Zyte (1886); Viceo Francis, Seduction, and Ghislaine (1887); + Mondaine (1888); Mariage Riche, and Justice (1889); Mere (1890), Anie + (1891); Complices (1892); Conscience (1893); and Amours de Jeunes et + Amours de Vieux (1894).’ + </p> + <p> + About this time Hector Malot resolved not to write fiction any more. He + announced this determination in a card published in the journal, ‘Le + Temps,’ May 25, 1895—It was then maliciously stated that “M. Malot + his retired from business after having accumulated a fortune.” However, he + took up his pen again and published a history of his literary life: Le + Roman de mes Romans (1896); besides two volumes of fiction, L’Amour + dominateur (1896), and Pages choisies (1898), works which showed that, in + the language of Holy Writ, “his eye was not dimmed nor his natural force + abated,” and afforded him a triumph over his slanderers. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + EDOUARD PAILLERON + de l’Academie Francaise. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + CONSCIENCE + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK 1. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. THE REUNION + </h2> + <p> + When Crozat, the Bohemian, escaped from poverty, by a good marriage that + made him a citizen of the Rue de Vaugirard, he did not break with his old + comrades; instead of shunning them, or keeping them at a distance, he took + pleasure in gathering them about him, glad to open his house to them, the + comforts of which were very different from the attic of the Rue Ganneron, + that he had occupied for so long a time. + </p> + <p> + Every Wednesday, from four to seven o’clock, he had a reunion at his + house, the Hotel des Medicis, and it was a holiday for which his friends + prepared themselves. When a new idea occurred to one of the habitues it + was caressed, matured, studied in solitude, in order to be presented in + full bloom at the assembly. + </p> + <p> + Crozat’s reception of his friends was pleasing, simple, like the man, + cordial on the part of the husband, as well as on the part of the wife, + who, having been an actress, held to the religion of comradeship: On a + table were small pitchers of beer and glasses; within reach was an old + stone jar from Beauvais, full of tobacco. The beer was good, the tobacco + dry, and the glasses were never empty. + </p> + <p> + And it was not silly subjects that were discussed here, worldly babblings, + or gossiping about absent friends, but the great questions that ruled + humanity: philosophy, politics, society, and religion. + </p> + <p> + Formed at first of friends, or, at least, of comrades who had worked and + suffered together, these reunions had enlarged gradually, until one day + the rooms at the Hotel des Medicis became a ‘parlotte’ where preachers of + ideas and of new religions, thinkers, reformers, apostles, politicians, + aesthetes, and even babblers in search of ears more or less complaisant + that would listen to them, met together. Any one might come who wished, + and if one did not enter there exactly as one would enter an ordinary + hotel, it was sufficient to be brought by an habitue in order to have the + right to a pipe, some beer, and to speak. + </p> + <p> + One of the habitues, Brigard, was a species of apostle, who had acquired + celebrity by practising in his daily life the ideas that he professed and + preached. Comte de Brigard by birth, he began by renouncing his title, + which made him a vassal of the respect of men and of social conventions; + an instructor of law, he could easily have made a thousand or twelve + hundred francs a month, but he arranged the number and the price of his + lessons so that each day brought him only ten francs in order that he + might not be a slave to money; living with a woman whom he loved, he had + always insisted, although he had two daughters, on living with her ‘en + union libre’, and in not acknowledging his children legally, because the + law debased the ties which attached him to them and lessened his duties; + it was conscience that sanctioned these duties; and nature, like + conscience, made him the most faithful of lovers, the best, the most + affectionate, the most tender of fathers. Tall, proud, carrying in his + person and manners the native elegance of his race, he dressed like the + porter at the corner, only replacing the blue velvet by chestnut velvet, a + less frivolous color. Living in Clamart for twenty years, he always came + to Paris on foot, and the only concessions that he made to conventionality + or to his comfort were to wear sabots in winter, and to carry his vest on + his arm in summer. + </p> + <p> + Thus organized, he must have disciples, and he sought them everywhere—in + the streets, where he buttonholed those he was able to snatch under the + trees of the Luxembourg Gardens, and on Wednesday at the house of his old + comrade Crozat. How many he had had! But, unfortunately, the greater + number turned out badly. Several became ministers; others accepted high + government positions for life; some handled millions of francs; two were + at Noumea; one preached in the pulpit of Notre Dame. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon in October the little parlor was full; the end of the summer + vacation had brought back the habitues, and for the first time the number + was nearly large enough to open a profitable discussion. Crozat, near the + door, smiled at the arrivals on shaking hands, and Brigard, his soft felt + hat on his head, presided, assisted by his two favorite disciples of the + moment, the advocate Nougarede and the poet Glady, neither of whom would + turn out badly, he was certain. + </p> + <p> + To tell the truth, for those who knew how to look and to see, the pale + face of Nougarede, his thin lips, restless eyes, and an austerity of dress + and manners which clashed with his twenty-six years, gave him more the + appearance of a man of ambition than of an apostle. And when one knew that + Glady was the owner of a beautiful house in Paris, and of real estate in + the country that brought him a hundred thousand francs a year, it was + difficult to imagine that he would long follow Father Brigard. + </p> + <p> + But to see was not the dominant faculty of Brigard; it was to reason, and + reason told him that ambition would soon make Nougarede a deputy, as + fortune would one day make Glady an academician; and in that case, + although he detested assemblies as much as academies, they would then have + two tribunes whence the good word would fall on the multitude with more + weight. They might be counted on. When Nougarede began to come to the + Wednesday reunions he was as empty as a drum, and if he spoke brilliantly + on no matter what subject with an imperturbable eloquence, it was to say + nothing. In Glady’s first volume were words learnedly arranged to please + the ears and the eyes. Now, ideas sustained the discourse of the advocate, + as the verses of the poet said something—and these ideas were + Brigard’s; this something was the perfume of his teaching. + </p> + <p> + For half an hour the pipes burned fiercely, the smoke slowly rose to the + ceiling, and as in a cloud Brigard might be seen like a bearded god, + proclaiming his law, his hat on his head; for, if he had made a rule never + to take it off, he manipulated it continually while he spoke, frequently + pushing it forward, sometimes to the back of his head, to the right, to + the left, raising it, and flattening it, according to the needs of his + argument. + </p> + <p> + “It is incontestable,” he said, “that we scatter our great force when we + ought to concentrate it.” + </p> + <p> + He pressed down his hat. + </p> + <p> + “In effect,” he raised it, “the hour has arrived for us to assert + ourselves as a group, and it is a duty for us, since it is a need of + humanity—” + </p> + <p> + At this moment a new arrival glided into the room quietly, with the + manifest intention of disturbing no one; but Crozat, who was seated near + the door, stopped him and shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “‘Tiens’, Saniel! Good-day, doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening, my dear sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Come to the table; the beer is good to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; I am very well here.” + </p> + <p> + Without taking the chair that Crozat designated, he leaned against the + wall. He was a tall, solid man about thirty, with tawny hair falling on + the collar of his coat, a long, curled beard, a face energetic, but + troubled and wan, to which the pale blue eyes gave an expression of + hardness that was accentuated by a prominent jaw and a decided air. A + Gaul, a true Gaul of ancient times, strong, bold, and resolute. + </p> + <p> + Brigard continued: + </p> + <p> + “It is incontestable”—this was his formula, because everything he + said was incontestable to him, simply because he said it—“it is + incontestable that in the struggle for existence the dogma of conscience + must be established, its only sanction being the performance of duty and + inward satisfaction—” + </p> + <p> + “Duty accomplished toward whom?” interrupted Saniel. + </p> + <p> + “Toward one’s self.” + </p> + <p> + “Then begin by stating what are our duties, and codify what is good and + what is bad.” + </p> + <p> + “That is easy,” some one replied. + </p> + <p> + “Easy if you admit a certain innate regard for human life, for property, + and for the family. But you must acknowledge that not all men have this + regard. How many believe that it is not a fault to run away with the wife + of a friend, not a crime to appropriate something that they want, or to + kill an enemy! Where are the duties of those who reason and feel in this + way? What is their inward satisfaction worth? This is why I will not admit + that conscience is the proper guide of our actions.” + </p> + <p> + There were several exclamations at this, which Brigard checked. + </p> + <p> + “What guide, then, shall men obey?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Force, which is the last word of the philosophy of life!” + </p> + <p> + “That which leads to a wise and progressive extermination. Is this what + you desire?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? I do not shrink from an extermination that relieves humanity of + idlers that it drags about without power to advance or to free itself, + finally sinking under the load. Is it not better for the world to be rid + of such people, who obstruct the advancement of others?” + </p> + <p> + “At least the idea is bizarre coming from a doctor,” interrupted Crozat, + “since it would put an end to hospitals.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all; I would preserve them for the study of monsters.” + </p> + <p> + “In placing society on this antagonistic footing,” said Brigard, “you + destroy society itself, which is founded on reciprocity, on good + fellowship; and in doing so you can create for the strong a state of + suspicion that paralyzes them. Carthage and Venice practised the selection + by force, and destroyed themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak of force, my dear Saniel,” interrupted a voice; “where do you + get that—the force of things, the tatum? There is no beginning, no + will; events decide for us climate, temperament, environment.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” replied Saniel, “there is no responsibility, and this instrument + conscience, that should decide everything, is good for nothing. You need + not consider consequences. Success or defeat may yet be immaterial, for + the accomplishment of an act that you have believed condemnable may serve + the race, while another that you have believed beneficent may prove + injurious; from which it follows that intentions only should be judged, + and that no one but God can sound human hearts to their depths.” + </p> + <p> + He began to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe that? Is that the conclusion at which you have arrived?” + </p> + <p> + A waiter entered, carrying pitchers of beer on a tray, and the discussion + was necessarily interrupted, every one drawing up to the table where + Crozat filled the glasses, and the conversation took a more private turn. + </p> + <p> + Saniel shook hands with Brigard, who received him somewhat coldly; then he + approached Glady with the manifest intention of detaining him, but Glady + had said that he was obliged to leave, so Saniel said that he could remain + no longer, and had only dropped in on passing. + </p> + <p> + When they were both gone Brigard turned to Crozat and Nougarede, who were + near him, and declared that Saniel made him uneasy. + </p> + <p> + “He believes himself stronger than life,” he said, “because he is sound + and intelligent. He must take care that he does not go too far!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. THE RICH MAN’S REFUSAL + </h2> + <p> + When Saniel and Glady reached the street, the rain that had fallen since + morning had ceased, and the asphalt shone clear and glittering like a + mirror. + </p> + <p> + “The walking is good,” Saniel remarked. + </p> + <p> + “It will rain again,” responded Glady, looking at the sky. + </p> + <p> + “I think not.” It was evident that Glady wished to take a cab, but as none + passed he was obliged to walk with Saniel. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” he said, “that you have wounded Brigard?” + </p> + <p> + “I regret it sincerely; but the salon of our friend Crozat is not yet a + church, and I do not suppose that discussion is forbidden there.” + </p> + <p> + “To deny is not to discuss.” + </p> + <p> + “You say that as if you were angry with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. I am sorry that you have wounded Brigard—nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + “That is too much, because I have a sincere esteem, a real friendship for + you, if you will permit me to say so.” + </p> + <p> + But Glady, apparently, did not desire the conversation to take this turn. + </p> + <p> + “I think this is an empty cab,” he said, as a fiacre approached them. + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Saniel, “I see the light of a cigar through the windowpane.” + </p> + <p> + Glady made a slight gesture of impatience that was not lost upon Saniel, + who was expecting some such demonstration. + </p> + <p> + Rich, and frequenting the society of poor men, Glady lived in dread of + borrowers. It was enough for any man to appear to wish to talk to him + privately to make him believe that he was going to ask for fifty louis or + twenty francs; so often was this the case that every friend or comrade was + an enemy against whom he must defend his purse. And so he lay in wait as + if expecting some one to spring upon him, his eyes open, his ears + listening, and his hands in his pockets. This explains his attitude toward + Saniel, in whom he scented a demand for money, and was the reason for his + attempt to escape by taking a cab. But luck was against him, and he tried + to decline the unspoken request in another way. + </p> + <p> + “Do not be surprised,” he said, with the volubility with which a man + speaks when he does not wish to give his companion a chance to say a word, + “that I was pained to see Brigard take seriously an argument that + evidently was not directed against him.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither against him nor against his ideas.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that; you do not need to defend yourself. But I have so much + friendship, so much esteem and respect for Brigard that everything that + touches him affects me. And how could it be otherwise when one knows his + value, and what a man he is? This life of mediocrity that he lives, in + order to be free, is it not admirable? What a beautiful example!” + </p> + <p> + “Not every one can follow it.” + </p> + <p> + “You think that one cannot be contented with ten francs a day?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that not every one has the chance to make ten francs a day.” + </p> + <p> + The vague fears of Glady became definite at these words. They had walked + down the Rue Ferou and reached the Place St. Sulpice. + </p> + <p> + “I think that at last I am going to find a cab,” he said, precipitately. + </p> + <p> + But this hope was not realized; there was not a single cab at the station, + and he was forced to submit to the assault from Saniel. + </p> + <p> + And Saniel began: + </p> + <p> + “You are compelled to walk with me, and, frankly, I rejoice, because I + wish to talk to you of a serious affair—on which depends my future.” + </p> + <p> + “This is a poor place for serious talk.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not find it so.” + </p> + <p> + “We would better appoint some other time.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should we, since chance has thrown us together here?” + </p> + <p> + Glady resigned himself to the inevitable, and was as polite as he could be + in the circumstances. + </p> + <p> + “I await your pleasure,” he said in a gracious tone, that was a contrast + to his former one. + </p> + <p> + Saniel, who was in such a hurry a few moments before, now silently walked + by Glady, whose eyes were on the shining asphalt pavement. + </p> + <p> + At last he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I have told you that my future depends on the affair concerning which I + wish to speak to you. I can tell you all in a few words: If I am not able + to procure three thousand francs within two days, I shall be obliged to + leave Paris, to give up my studies and my work here, and go and bury + myself in my native town and become a plain country doctor.” + </p> + <p> + Glady did not flinch; if he had not foreseen the amount he expected the + demand, and he continued gazing at his feet. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” continued Saniel, “that I am the son of peasants; my father + was marshal in a poor village of Auvergne. At school I gave proof of a + certain aptitude for work above my comrades, and our cure conceived an + affection for me and taught me all he knew. Then he made me enter a small + seminary. But I had neither the docile mind nor the submissive character + that was necessary for this education, and after several years of pranks + and punishments, although I was not expelled, I was given to understand + that my departure would be hailed with delight. I then became usher in a + small school, but without salary, taking board and lodging as payment. I + passed a good examination and was preparing for my degree, when I left the + school owing to a quarrel. I had made some money by giving private + lessons, and I found myself the possessor of nearly eighty francs. I + started for Paris, where I arrived at five o’clock one morning in June, + and where I knew, no one. I had a small trunk containing a few shirts, + which obliged me to take a carriage. I told the coachman to take me to a + hotel in the Latin Quarter. ‘Which hotel?’ he asked; ‘I do not care,’ I + answered. ‘Do you wish to go to the Hotel du Senat?’ The name pleased me; + perhaps it was an omen. He took me to the Hotel du Senat, where, with what + I had left of my eighty francs, I paid a month in advance. I stayed there + eight years.” + </p> + <p> + “That is remarkable.” + </p> + <p> + “What else could I do? I knew Latin and Greek as well as any man in + France, but as far as anything else was concerned I was as ignorant as a + schoolmaster. The same day I tried to make use of what I knew, and I went + to a publisher of classic books, of whom I had heard my professor of Greek + literature speak. After questioning me he gave me a copy of Pindar to + prepare with Latin notes, and advanced me thirty francs, which lasted me a + month. I came to Paris with the desire to work, but without having made up + my mind what to do. I went wherever there were lectures, to the Sorbonne, + to the College de France, to the Law School, and to the School of + Medicine; but it was a month before I came to a decision. The subtleties + of law displeased me, but the study of medicine, depending upon the + observation of facts, attracted me, and I decided to become a doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “A marriage of reason.” + </p> + <p> + “No, a marriage for love. Because, if I had consulted reason, it would + have told me that to marry medicine when one has nothing—neither + family to sustain you nor relatives to push you—would be to condemn + yourself to a life of trials, of battles, and of misery. My student life + was happy; I worked hard, and by giving lessons in Latin I had enough to + eat. When I received as house-surgeon six, eight, nine hundred francs, I + thought it a large fortune, and I would have remained in this position for + the rest of my life if I had been able to do so, but when I took my degree + of doctor I was obliged to leave the hospital. The possessor of several + thousand francs, I should have followed rigorously my dream of ambition. + While attending the mistress of one of my comrades I made the acquaintance + of an upholsterer, who suggested that he should furnish an apartment for + me, and that I might pay him later. I yielded to temptation. Remember, I + had passed eight years in the Hotel du Senat, and I knew nothing of Paris + life. A home of my own! My own furniture, and a servant in my anteroom! I + should be somebody! My upholsterer could have installed me in his own + quarter of Paris, and perhaps could have obtained some patients for me + among his customers, who are rich and fashionable. But he did not do this, + probably concluding that with my awkward appearance I would not be a + success with such people. When you are successful it is original to be a + peasant—people find you clever; but before success comes to you it + is a disgrace. He furnished me an apartment in a very respectable house in + the Rue Louis-le-Grand. When I went into it I had debts to the amount of + ten thousand francs behind me, the interest on this sum, the rent of two + thousand four hundred francs, not a sou in my pocket, not a relative—” + </p> + <p> + “That was courageous.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know that in Paris everything is accomplished through + influence, and I imagined that an intelligent man could make his way + without assistance. I was to learn by experience. When a new doctor + arrives anywhere his brother doctors do not receive him with much + sympathy. ‘What does this intruder want?’ ‘Are there not enough of us + already?’ He is watched, and the first patient that he loses is made use + of as an example of his ignorance or imprudence, and his position becomes + uncomfortable. The chemists of my quarter whom I called upon did not + receive me very warmly; they made me feel the distance that separates an + honorable merchant from a beggar, and I was given to understand that they + could patronize me only on condition that I ordered the specialties that + they wished to profit by—iron from this one and tar from that. On + commencing to practise I had as patients only the people of the quarter, + whose principle was never to pay a doctor, and who wait for the arrival of + a new one in order that they may be rid of the old one and this sort is + numerous everywhere. It happened that my concierge was from Auvergne like + myself, and he considered it his duty to make me give free attendance to + all those from our country that he could find in the quarter and + everywhere else, so that I had the patriotic satisfaction of seeing all + the charcoal-dealers from Auvergne sprawling in my beautiful armchairs. + Finally, by remaining religiously at home every Sunday in summer, while + the other doctors were away, by rising quickly at night every time my bell + rang, I was able to acquire a practice among a class of people who were + more reasonable and satisfactory. I obtained a prize at the Academy. At + the same time I delivered, at a moderate price, lectures in anatomy at + schools on the outskirts of the city; I gave lessons; I undertook all the + anonymous work of the book trade and of journalism that I could find. I + slept five hours a day, and in four years I had decreased my debt seven + thousand francs. If my upholsterer wished to be paid I could have it + arranged, but that was not his intention. He wishes to take his furniture + that is not worn out, and to keep the money that he has received. If I do + not pay these three thousand francs in a few days I shall be turned into + the street. To tell the truth, I shall soon have a thousand francs, but + those who owe it to me are not in Paris, or will pay in January. Behold my + situation! I am desperate because there is no one to whom I can apply; + those whom I have asked for money have not listened to me; I have told you + that I have no relatives, and neither have I any friends—perhaps + because I am not amiable. And then I thought of you. You know me. You know + that people say I have a future before me. At the end of three months I + shall be a doctor in the hospitals; my competitors admit that I shall not + miss admission; I have undertaken some experiments that will, perhaps, + give me fame. Will you give me your hand?” + </p> + <p> + Glady extended it toward him. “I thank you for having applied to me; it is + a proof of confidence that touches me.” He pressed the hand that he had + taken with some warmth. “I see that you have divined the sentiments of + esteem with which you have inspired me.” + </p> + <p> + Saniel drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “Unfortunately,” continued Glady, “I cannot do what you desire without + deviating from my usual line of conduct. When I started out in life I lent + to all those who appealed to me, and when I did not lose my friends I lost + my money. I then took an oath to refuse every one. It is an oath that I + cannot break. What would my old friends say if they learned that I did for + a young man what I have refused to do for them?” + </p> + <p> + “Who would know it?” + </p> + <p> + “My conscience.” + </p> + <p> + They had reached the Quai Voltaire, where fiacres were stationed. + </p> + <p> + “At last here are some cabs,” Glady said. “Pardon me for leaving you, but + I am in a hurry.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. A LAST RESORT + </h2> + <p> + Gady entered the cab so quickly that Saniel remained staring at the + sidewalk, slightly dazed. It was only when the door closed that he + understood. + </p> + <p> + “His conscience!” he murmured. “Behold them! Tartufes!” + </p> + <p> + After a moment of hesitation, he continued his way and reached the bridge + of Saints-Peres, but he walked with doubtful steps, like a man who does + not know where he is going. Presently he stopped, and, leaning his arms on + the parapet, watched the sombre, rapidly flowing Seine, its small waves + fringed with white foam. The rain had ceased, but the wind blew in + squalls, roughening the surface of the river and making the red and green + lights of the omnibus boats sway in the darkness. The passers-by came and + went, and more than one examined him from the corner of the eye, wondering + what this tall man was doing there, and if he intended to throw himself + into the water. + </p> + <p> + And why not? What better could he do? + </p> + <p> + And this was what Saniel said to himself while watching the flowing water. + One plunge, and he would end the fierce battle in which he had so madly + engaged for four years, and which would in the end drive him mad. + </p> + <p> + It was not the first time that this idea of ending everything had tempted + him, and he only warded it off by constantly inventing combinations which + it seemed to him at the moment might save him. Why yield to such a + temptation before trying everything? And this was how he happened to + appeal to Glady. But he knew him, and knew that his avarice, about which + every one joked, had a certain reason for its existence. However, he said + to himself that if the landed proprietor obstinately refused a friendly + loan, which would only pay the debts of youth, the poet would willingly + fill the role of Providence and save from shipwreck, without risking + anything, a man with a future, who, later, would pay him back. It was with + this hope that he risked a refusal. The landed proprietor replied; the + poet was silent. And now there was nothing to expect from any one. Glady + was his last resort. + </p> + <p> + In explaining his situation to Glady he lightened the misery instead of + exaggerating it. For it was not only his upholsterer that he owed, but + also his tailor, his bootmaker, his coal-dealer, his concierge, and all + those with whom he had dealings. In reality, his creditors had not + harassed him very much until lately, but this state of affairs would not + last when they saw him prosecuted; they also would sue him, and how could + he defend himself? How should he live? His only resource would be to + return to the Hotel du Senat, where even they would not leave him in + peace, or to his native town and become a country doctor. In either case + it was renouncing all his ambitions. Would it not be better to die? + </p> + <p> + What good was life if his dreams were not realized—if he had nothing + that he wanted? + </p> + <p> + Like many who frequently come in contact with death, life in itself was a + small thing to him—his own life as well as that of others; with + Hamlet he said: “To die, to sleep, no more,” but without adding: “To die, + to sleep, perchance to dream,” feeling certain that the dead do not dream; + and what is better than sleep to those who have had a hard life? + </p> + <p> + He was absorbed in thought when something came between him and the flaring + gaslight, and threw a shadow over him that made him straighten himself up. + What was it? Only a policeman, who came and leaned against the parapet + near him. + </p> + <p> + He understood. His attitude was that of a man who contemplates throwing + himself into the river, and the policeman had placed himself there in + order to prevent it. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks!” he said to the astonished man. + </p> + <p> + He continued his way, walking quickly, but hearing distinctly the steps of + the policeman following him, who evidently took him for a madman who must + be watched. + </p> + <p> + When he left the bridge of Saints-Peres for the Place du Carrousel this + surveillance ceased, and he could then indulge freely in reflection—at + least as freely as his trouble and discouragement permitted. + </p> + <p> + “The weak kill themselves; the strong fight to their last breath.” + </p> + <p> + And, low as he was, he was not yet at his last breath. + </p> + <p> + When he decided to appeal to Glady he had hesitated between him and a + usurer named Caffie, whom he did not know personally, but whom he had + heard spoken of as a rascal who was interested in all sorts of affairs, + preferring the bad to the good—of successions, marriages, + interdictions, extortions; and if he had not been to him it was for fear + of being refused, as much as from the dread of putting himself in such + hands in case of meeting with compliance. But these scruples and these + fears were useless now; since Glady failed him, cost what it might and + happen what would, he must go to this scamp for assistance. + </p> + <p> + He knew that Caffie lived in the Rue Sainte-Anne, but he did not know the + number. He had only to go to one of his patients, a wine-merchant in the + Rue Therese, to find his address in the directory. It was but a step, and + he decided to run the risk; there was need of haste. Discouraged by all + the applications that he had made up to this time, disheartened by + betrayed hopes, irritated by rebuffs, he did not deceive himself as to the + chances of this last attempt, but at least he would try it, slight though + the hope of success might be. + </p> + <p> + It was an old house where Caffie lived, and had been formerly a private + hotel; it was composed of two wings, one on the street, the other on an + inside court. A porte cochere gave access to this court, and under its + roof, near the staircase, was the concierge’s lodge. Saniel knocked at the + door in vain; it was locked and would not open. He waited several minutes, + and in his nervous impatience walked restlessly up and down the court. At + last an old woman appeared carrying a small wax taper. She was feeble and + bent, and began to excuse herself; she was alone and could not be + everywhere at the same time, in her lodge and lighting the lamps on the + stairways. Caffie lived on the first floor, in the wing on the street. + </p> + <p> + Saniel mounted the stairs and rang the bell. A long time passed, or at + least it seemed long to him, before there was an answer. At last he heard + a slow and heavy step on the tiled floor and the door was opened, but held + by a hand and a foot. + </p> + <p> + “What do you wish?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Caffie.” + </p> + <p> + “I am he. Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Doctor Saniel.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not sent for a doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not as doctor that I am here, but as client.” + </p> + <p> + “This is not the hour when I receive clients.” + </p> + <p> + “But you are at home.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a fact!” + </p> + <p> + And Caffie, concluding to open the door, asked Saniel to enter, and then + closed it. + </p> + <p> + “Come into my office.” + </p> + <p> + They were in a small room filled with papers that had only an old desk and + three chairs for furniture; it communicated with the office of the + business man, which was larger, but furnished with the same simplicity and + strewn with scraps of paper that had a mouldy smell. + </p> + <p> + “My clerk is ill just now,” Caffie said, “and when I am alone I do not + like to open the door.” + </p> + <p> + After giving this excuse he offered Saniel a chair, and, seating himself + before his desk, lighted by a lamp from which he had taken the shade, he + said: + </p> + <p> + “Doctor, I am ready to listen to you.” + </p> + <p> + He replaced the shade on the lamp. + </p> + <p> + Saniel made his request concisely, without the details that he had entered + into with Glady. He owed three thousand francs to the upholsterer who had + furnished his apartment, and as he could not pay immediately he was in + danger of being prosecuted. + </p> + <p> + “Who is the upholsterer?” Caffie asked, while holding his left jaw with + his right hand. + </p> + <p> + “Jardine, Boulevard Haussmann.” + </p> + <p> + “I know him. It is his trade to take back his furniture in this way, after + three quarters of the sum has been paid, and he has become rich at it. How + much money have you already paid of this ten thousand francs?” + </p> + <p> + “Including the interest and what I have paid in instalments, nearly twelve + thousand francs.” + </p> + <p> + “And you still owe three thousand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “That is nice.” + </p> + <p> + Caffie seemed full of admiration for this manner of proceeding. + </p> + <p> + “What guarantee have you to offer for this loan of three thousand francs?” + </p> + <p> + “No other than my present position, I confess, and above all, my future.” + </p> + <p> + At Caffie’s request he explained his plans and prospects for the future, + while the business man, with his cheek resting on his hand, listened, and + from time to time breathed a stifled sigh, a sort of groan. + </p> + <p> + “Hum! hum!” he said when Saniel finished his explanation. “You know, my + dear friend, you know: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To fools alone the future’s smile unchangeable appears, + For Friday’s laughter Sunday’s sun may change to bitter tears.” + </pre> + <p> + “It is Sunday with you, my dear sir.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am not at the end of my life nor at the end of my energy, and I + assure you that my energy makes me capable of many things.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not doubt it; I know what energy can do. Tell a Greek who is dying + of hunger to go to heaven and he will go + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Graeculus esuriens in coelum, jusseris, ibit.” + </pre> + <p> + “But I do not see that you have started for heaven.” + </p> + <p> + A smile of derision, accompanied by a grimace, crossed Caffies face. + Before becoming the usurer of the Rue Sainte-Anne, whom every one called a + rascal, he had been attorney in the country, deputy judge, and if + unmerited evils had obliged him to resign and to hide the unpleasant + circumstances in Paris, he never lost an opportunity to prove that by + education he was far above his present position. Finding this new client a + man of learning, he was glad to make quotations that he thought would make + him worthy of consideration. + </p> + <p> + “It is, perhaps, because I am not Greek,” Saniel replied; “but I am an + Auvergnat, and the men of my country have great physical strength.” + </p> + <p> + Caffie shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir,” he said, “I might as well tell you frankly that I do not + believe the thing can be done. I would do it myself willingly, because I + read intelligence in your face, and resolution in your whole person, which + inspire me with confidence in you; but I have no money to put into such + speculations. I can only be, as usual, a go-between—that is to say, + I can propose the loan to one of my clients, but I do not know one who + would be contented with the guarantee of a future that is more or less + uncertain. There are so many doctors in Paris who are in your position.” + </p> + <p> + Saniel rose. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going?” cried Caffie. + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, my dear sir! It is no use to throw the handle after the axe. + You make me a proposition, and I show you the difficulties in the way, but + I do not say there is no way to extricate you from embarrassment. I must + look around. I have known you only a few minutes; but it does not take + long to appreciate a man like you, and, frankly, you inspire me with great + interest.” + </p> + <p> + What did he wish? Saniel was not simple enough to be caught by words, nor + was he a fop who accepts with gaping mouth all the compliments addressed + to him. Why did he inspire a sudden interest in this man who had the + reputation of pushing business matters to extremes? He would find out. In + the mean time he would be on his guard. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you for your sympathy,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I shall prove to you that it is real, and that it may become useful. You + come to me because you want three thousand francs. I hope I may find them + for you, and I promise to try, though it will be difficult, very + difficult. They will make you secure for the present. But will they assure + your future? that is, will they permit you to continue the important works + of which you have spoken to me, and on which your future depends? No. Your + struggles will soon begin again. And you must shake yourself clear from + such cares in order to secure for yourself the liberty that is + indispensable if you wish to advance rapidly. And to obtain this freedom + from cares and this liberty, I see only one way—you must marry.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. ‘TWIXT THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP SEA + </h2> + <p> + Saniel, who was on his guard and expected some sort of roguery from this + man, had not foreseen that these expressions of interest were leading up + to a proposal of marriage, and an exclamation of surprise escaped him. But + it was lost in the sound of the door-bell, which rang at that moment. + </p> + <p> + Caffie rose. “How disagreeable it is not to have a clerk!” he said. + </p> + <p> + He went to open the door with an eagerness that he had not shown to + Saniel, which proved that he had no fear of admitting people when he was + not alone. + </p> + <p> + It was a clerk from the bank. + </p> + <p> + “You will permit me,” Caffie said, on returning to his office. “It will + take but an instant.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk took a paper from his portfolio and handed it to Caffie. + </p> + <p> + Caffie drew a key from the pocket of his vest, with which he opened the + iron safe placed behind his desk, and turning his back to Saniel and the + clerk counted the bills which they heard rustle in his hands. Presently he + rose, and closing the door of the safe he placed under the lamp the + package of bills that he had counted. The clerk then counted them, and + placing them in his portfolio took his leave. + </p> + <p> + “Close the door when you go out,” Caffie said, who was already seated in + his arm-chair. + </p> + <p> + “Do not be afraid.” + </p> + <p> + When the clerk was gone Caffie apologized for the interruption. + </p> + <p> + “Let us continue our conversation, my dear sir. I told you that there is + only one way to relieve you permanently from embarrassment, and that way + you will find is in a good marriage, that will place ‘hic et nunc’ a + reasonable sum at your disposal.” + </p> + <p> + “But it would be folly for me to marry now, when I have no position to + offer a wife.” + </p> + <p> + “And your future, of which you have just spoken with so much assurance, + have you no faith in that?” + </p> + <p> + “An absolute faith—as firm to-day as when I first began the battle + of life, only brighter. However, as others have not the same reasons that + I have to hope and believe what I hope and believe, it is quite natural + that they should feel doubts of my future. You felt it yourself instantly + in not finding it a good guarantee for the small loan of three thousand + francs.” + </p> + <p> + “A loan and marriage are not the same thing. A loan relieves you + temporarily, and leaves you in a state to contract several others + successively, which, you must acknowledge, weakens the guarantee that you + offer. While a marriage instantly opens to you the road that your ambition + wishes to travel.” + </p> + <p> + “I have never thought of marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “If you should think of it?” + </p> + <p> + “There must be a woman first of all.” + </p> + <p> + “If I should propose one, what would you say?” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “You are surprised?” + </p> + <p> + “I confess that I am.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir, I am the friend of my clients, and for many of them—I + dare to say it—a father. And having much affection for a young + woman, and for the daughter of one of my friends, while listening to you I + thought that one or the other might be the woman you need. Both have + fortunes, and both possess physical attractions that a handsome man like + yourself has a right to demand. And for the rest, I have their + photographs, and you may see for yourself what they are.” + </p> + <p> + He opened a drawer in his desk, and took from it a package of photographs. + As he turned them over Saniel saw that they were all portraits of women. + Presently he selected two and handed them to Saniel. + </p> + <p> + One represented a woman from thirty-eight to forty years, corpulent, + robust, covered with horrible cheap jewelry that she had evidently put on + for the purpose of being photographed. The other was a young girl of about + twenty years, pretty, simply and elegantly dressed, whose distinguished + and reserved physiognomy was a strong contrast to the first portrait. + </p> + <p> + While Saniel looked at these pictures Caffie studied him, trying to + discover the effect they produced. + </p> + <p> + “Now that you have seen them,” he said, “let us talk of them a little. If + you knew me better, my dear sir, you would know that I am frankness + itself, and in business my principle is to tell everything, the good and + the bad, so that my clients are responsible for the decisions they make. + In reality, there is nothing bad about these two persons, because, if + there were, I would not propose them to you. But there are certain things + that my delicacy compels me to point out to you, which I do frankly, + feeling certain that a man like you is not the slave of narrow + prejudices.” + </p> + <p> + An expression of pain passed over his face, and he clasped his jaw with + both hands. + </p> + <p> + “You suffer?” Saniel asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, from my teeth, cruelly. Pardon me that I show it; I know by myself + that nothing is more annoying than the sight of the sufferings of others.” + </p> + <p> + “At least not to doctors.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind; we will return to my clients. This one”—and he touched + the portrait of the bejewelled woman—“is, as you have divined + already, a widow, a very amiable widow. Perhaps she is a little older than + you are, but that is nothing. Your experience must have taught you that + the man who wishes to be loved, tenderly loved, pampered, caressed, + spoiled, should marry a woman older than himself, who will treat him as a + husband and as a son. Her first husband was a careful merchant, who, had + he lived, would have made a large fortune in the butcher business”—he + mumbled this word instead of pronouncing it clearly—“but although he + died just at the time when his affairs were beginning to develop, he left + twenty thousand pounds’ income to his wife. As I have told you what is + good, I must tell you what is to be regretted. Carried away by gay + companions, this intelligent man became addicted to intemperance, and from + drinking at saloons she soon took to drinking at home, and his wife drank + with him. I have every reason to believe that she has reformed; but, if it + is otherwise, you, a doctor, can easily cure her—” + </p> + <p> + “You believe it?” + </p> + <p> + “Without doubt. However, if it is impossible, you need only let her alone, + and her vice will soon carry her off; and, as the contract will be made + according to my wishes in view of such an event, you will find yourself + invested with a fortune and unencumbered with a wife.” + </p> + <p> + “And the other?” Saniel said, who had listened silently to this curious + explanation of the situation that Caffie made with the most perfect + good-nature. So grave were the circumstances that he could not help being + amused at this diplomacy. + </p> + <p> + “I expected your demand,” replied the agent with a shrewd smile. “And if I + spoke of this amiable widow it was rather to acquit my conscience than + with any hope of succeeding. However free from prejudices one may be, one + always retains a few. I understand yours, and more than that, I share + them. Happily, what I am now about to tell you is something quite + different. Take her photograph, my dear sir, and look at it while I talk. + A charming face, is it not? She has been finely educated at a fashionable + convent. In a word, a pearl, that you shall wear. And now I must tell you + the flaw, for there is one. Who is blameless? The daughter of one of our + leading actresses, after leaving the convent she returned to live with her + mother. It was there, in this environment-ahem! ahem!—that an + accident happened to her. To be brief, she has a sweet little child that + the father would have recognized assuredly, had he not been already + married. But at least he has provided for its future by an endowment of + two hundred thousand francs, in such a way that whoever marries the mother + and legitimizes the child will enjoy the interest of this sum until the + child’s majority. If that ever arrives—these little creatures are so + fragile! You being a physician, you know more about that than any one. In + case of an accident the father will inherit half the money from his son; + and if it seems cruel for an own father to inherit from his own son, it is + quite a different thing when it is a stranger who receives the fortune. + This is all, my dear sir, plainly and frankly, and I will not do you the + injury to suppose that you do not see the advantages of what I have said + to you without need of my insisting further. If I have not explained + clearly—” + </p> + <p> + “But nothing is more clear.” + </p> + <p> + “—it is the fault of this pain that paralyzes me.” + </p> + <p> + And he groaned while holding his jaw. + </p> + <p> + “You have a troublesome tooth?” Saniel said, with the tone of a physician + who questions a patient. + </p> + <p> + “All my teeth trouble me. To tell the truth, they are all going to + pieces.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you consulted a doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Neither a doctor nor a dentist. I have faith in medicine, of course; but + when I consult doctors, which seldom happens, I notice that they think + much more of their own affairs than of what I am saying, and that keeps me + away from them. But, my dear sir, when a client consults me, I put myself + in his place.” + </p> + <p> + While he spoke, Saniel examined him, which he had not done until this + moment, and he saw the characteristic signs of rapid consumption. His + clothes hung on him as if made for a man twice his size, and his face was + red and shining, as if he were covered with a coating of cherry jelly. + </p> + <p> + “Will you show me your teeth?” he asked. “It may be possible to relieve + your sufferings.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” + </p> + <p> + The examination did not last long. + </p> + <p> + “Your mouth is often dry, is it not?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You are often thirsty?” + </p> + <p> + “Always.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you sleep well?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Your sight troubles you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you a good appetite?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I eat heartily; and the more I eat the thinner I become. I am + turning into a skeleton.” + </p> + <p> + “I see that you have scars from boils on the back of your neck.” + </p> + <p> + “They made me suffer enough, the rascals; but they are gone as they came. + Hang it, one is no longer young at seventy-two years; one has small + vexations. They are small vexations, are they not?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. With some precautions and a diet that I shall prescribe, if + you wish, you will soon be better. I will give you a prescription that + will relieve your toothache.” + </p> + <p> + “We will talk of this again, because we shall have occasion to meet if, as + I presume, you appreciate the advantages of the proposition that I have + made you.” + </p> + <p> + “I must have time to reflect.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing is more reasonable. There is no hurry.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am in a hurry because, if I do not pay Jardine, I shall find myself + in the street, which would not be a position to offer to a wife.” + </p> + <p> + “In the street? Oh, things will not come to such a pass as that! What are + the prosecutions?” + </p> + <p> + “They will soon begin; Jardine has already threatened me.” + </p> + <p> + “They are going to begin? Then they have not begun. If he does, as we + presume he will, proceed by a replevin, we shall have sufficient time + before the judgment. Do you owe anything to your landlord?” + </p> + <p> + “The lease expired on the fifteenth.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not pay it.” + </p> + <p> + “That is easy; it is the only thing that is easy for me to do.” + </p> + <p> + “It is an obstacle in the way of your Jardine, and may stop him a moment. + We can manage this way more easily. The important thing is to warn me as + soon as the fire begins. ‘Au revoir’, my dear Sir.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. A CHARMING VISITOR + </h2> + <p> + Although Saniel had had no experience in business, he was not simple + enough not to know that in refusing him this loan Caffie meant to make use + of him. + </p> + <p> + “It is very simple,” he said to himself, as he went downstairs. “He + undertakes to manage my affairs, and in such a way that some day I shall + have to save myself by marrying that charming girl. What a scoundrel!” + </p> + <p> + However, the situation was such that he was glad to avail himself of the + assistance of this scoundrel. At least, some time was gained, and when + Jardine found that he was not disposed to let himself be slaughtered, he + might accept a reasonable arrangement. But he must manage so that Caffie + would not prevent this arrangement. + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately, he felt himself hardly capable of such manoeuvring, having + been always straightforward, his eyes fixed on the end he wished to + attain, and thinking only of the work through which he would attain it. + And now he must act the part of a diplomat, submitting to craftiness and + rogueries that were not at all in accord with his open nature. He had + begun by not telling Caffie, instantly, what he thought of his + propositions; but it is more difficult to act than to control one’s self, + to speak than to be silent. + </p> + <p> + What would he say, what would he do, when the time for action came? + </p> + <p> + He reached his house without having decided anything, and as he passed + before the concierge’s lodge absorbed in thought, he heard some one call + him. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor, come in a moment, I beg of you.” + </p> + <p> + He thought some one wished to consult him, some countryman who had waited + for his return; and, although he did not feel like listening patiently to + idle complainings, he turned back and entered the lodge. + </p> + <p> + “Some one brought this,” the concierge said, handing him a paper that was + stamped and covered with a running handwriting. “This” was the beginning + of the fire of which Caffie had spoken. Without reading it, Saniel put it + in his pocket and turned to go; but the concierge detained him. + </p> + <p> + “I would like to say two words to ‘monchieur le docteur’ about this + paper.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you read it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but I talked with the officer who gave it to me, and he told me what + it meant. It is unfortunate, doctor.” + </p> + <p> + To be pitied by his concierge! This was too much. + </p> + <p> + “It is not as he told you,” he replied, haughtily. + </p> + <p> + “So much the better. I am glad for you and for me. You can pay my little + bill.” + </p> + <p> + “Give it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I have given it to you twice already, but I have a copy. Here it is.” + </p> + <p> + To be sued by a creditor paralyzed Saniel; he was stunned, crushed, + humiliated, and could only answer stupidly. Taking the bill that the + concierge handed him, he put it in his pocket and stammered a few words. + </p> + <p> + “You see, doctor, I must say what has been in my heart a long time. You + are my countryman, and I esteem you too much not to speak. In taking your + apartment and engaging your upholsterer, you did too much. You ruin + yourself. Give up your apartment, and take the one opposite that costs + less than half, and you will get on. You will not be obliged to leave this + quarter. What will become of our neighbors if you leave us? You are a good + doctor; everybody knows it and says so. And now, as for my bill, it is + understood that I shall be paid first, shall I not?” + </p> + <p> + “As soon as I have the money I will pay you.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a promise?” + </p> + <p> + “I promise you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much.” + </p> + <p> + “If it could be to-morrow, it would suit me. I am not rich, you know, but + I have always paid the gas-bill for your experiments.” + </p> + <p> + With the paper in his pocket, Saniel returned to Caffie, who was just + going out, and to whom he gave it. + </p> + <p> + “I will see about it this, evening,” said the man of business. “Just now I + am going to dinner. Do not worry. To-morrow I will do what is necessary. + Good-evening. I am dying of hunger.” + </p> + <p> + But three days before, Saniel emptied his purse to soothe his upholsterer + by an instalment as large as he was able to make it, keeping only five + francs for himself, and with the few sous left he could not go to a + restaurant, not even the lowest and cheapest. He could only buy some bread + for his supper, and eat it while working, as he had often done before. + </p> + <p> + But when he returned to his rooms he was not in a state of mind to write + an article that must be delivered that evening. Among other things that he + had undertaken was one, and not the least fastidious, which consisted in + giving, by correspondence, advice to the subscribers of a fashion + magazine, or, more exactly speaking, to recommend, in the form of medical + advice, all the cosmetics, depilatories, elixirs, dyes, essences, oils, + creams, soaps, pomades, toothpowders, rouges, and also all the chemists’ + specialties, to which their inventors wished to give an authority that the + public, which believes itself acute, refused to the simple advertisement + on the last page. With his ambition and the career before him, he would + never have consented to carry on this correspondence under his own name. + He did it for a neighboring doctor, a simple man, who was not so cautious, + and who signed his name to these letters, glad to get clients from any + quarter. For his trouble, Saniel took this doctor’s place during Sunday in + summer, and from time to time received a box of perfumery or quack + medicines, which he sold at a low price when occasion offered. + </p> + <p> + Every week he received the list of cosmetics and specialties that he must + make use of in his correspondence, no matter how he recommended them, + whether in answer to letters that were really addressed to him, or by + inventing questions that gave him the opportunity to introduce them. + </p> + <p> + He began to consult this list and the pile of letters from subscribers + that the magazine had sent him, when the doorbell rang. Perhaps it was a + patient, the good patient whom he had expected for four years. He left his + desk to open the door. + </p> + <p> + It was his coal man, who came with his bill. + </p> + <p> + “I will stop some day when I am near you,” Saniel said. “I am in a hurry + this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “And I am in a hurry, too; I must pay a large bill tomorrow, and I count + upon having some money from you.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no money here.” + </p> + <p> + After a long talk he got rid of the man and returned to his desk. He had + answered but a few of the many letters when his bell rang again. This time + he would not open the door; it was a creditor, without doubt. And he + continued his correspondence. + </p> + <p> + But for four years he had waited for chance to draw him a good ticket in + the lottery of life—a rich patient afflicted with a cyst or a tumor + that he would take to a fashionable surgeon, who would divide with him the + ten or fifteen thousand francs that he would receive for the operation. In + that case he would be saved. + </p> + <p> + He ran to the door. The patient with the cyst presented himself in the + form of a small bearded man with a red face, wearing over his vest the + wine-merchant’s apron of coarse black cloth. In fact, it was the wine + merchant from the corner, who, having heard of the officer’s visit, came + to ask for the payment of his bill for furnishing wine for three months. + </p> + <p> + A scene similar to that which he had had with the coal merchant, but more + violent, took place, and it was only by threatening to put him out of the + door that Saniel got rid of the man, who went away declaring that he would + come the next morning with an officer. + </p> + <p> + Saniel returned to his work. + </p> + <p> + His pen flew over the paper, when a noise made him raise his head. Either + he had not closed the door tightly, or his servant was entering with his + key. What did he want? He did not employ him all day, but only during his + office hours, to put his rooms in order and to open the door for his + clients. + </p> + <p> + As Saniel rose to go and see who it was, there was a knock at the door. It + was his servant, with a blank and embarrassed air. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, Joseph?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I should find you, sir, so I came.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + Joseph hesitated; then, taking courage, he said volubly, while lowering + his eyes: + </p> + <p> + “I came to ask, sir, if you will pay me my month, which expired on the + fifteenth, because there is need of money at my house; if there was not + need of money I would not have come. If you wish, sir, I will release you—” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “I will take the coat that you made me order a month ago; I am quite sure + it is not worth what is due me, but it is always so.” + </p> + <p> + “Take the coat.” + </p> + <p> + Joseph took the coat from the wardrobe in the hall, and rolled it in a + newspaper. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you will not expect me in the morning,” he said, as he put his + key on the table. “I must look out for another place.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I shall not expect you.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening, sir.” + </p> + <p> + And Joseph hurried away as quickly as possible. + </p> + <p> + Left alone, Saniel did not return to his work immediately, but throwing + himself in an armchair he cast a melancholy glance around his office and + through the open door into the parlor. In the faint light of the candle he + saw the large armchairs methodically placed each side of the chimney, the + curtains at the windows lost in shadow, and all the furniture which for + four years had cost him so many efforts. He had long been the prisoner of + this Louis XIV camlet, and he was now going to be executed. A beautiful + affair, truly, brilliant and able! All this had been used only by the poor + Auvergnats, without Saniel enjoying it at all, for he had neither the + bourgeois taste for ornaments nor the desire for elegance. A movement of + anger and revolt against himself made him strike his desk with his fist. + What a fool he had been! + </p> + <p> + The bell rang again. This time, not expecting a rich patient, he would not + open it. After a moment a slight tap was heard on the panel. He rose + quickly and ran to open the door. + </p> + <p> + A woman threw herself into his arms. + </p> + <p> + “O my dearest! I am so glad to find you at home!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. A SWEET CONSOLER + </h2> + <p> + She passed her arm about him and pressed him to her, and with arms + entwined they entered the study. + </p> + <p> + “How glad I am!” she said. “What a good idea I had!” + </p> + <p> + With a quick movement she took off her long gray cloak that enveloped her + from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + “And are you glad?” she asked, as she stood looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “Can you ask that?” + </p> + <p> + “Only to hear you say that you are.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you not my only joy, the sweet lamp that gives me light in the cavern + where I work day and night?” + </p> + <p> + “Dear Victor!” + </p> + <p> + She was a tall, slender young woman with chestnut hair, whose thick curls + clustering about her forehead almost touched her eyebrows. Her beautiful + eyes were dark, her nose short, while her superb teeth and rich, + ruby-colored lips gave her the effect of a pretty doll; and she had + gayety, playful vivacity, gracious effrontery, and a passionate caressing + glance. Dressed extravagantly, like the Parisian woman who has not a sou, + but who adorns everything she wears, she had an ease, a freedom, a natural + elegance that was charming. With this she had the voice of a child, a + joyous laugh, and an expression of sensibility on her fresh face. + </p> + <p> + “I have come to dine with you,” she said, gayly, “and I am so hungry.” + </p> + <p> + He made a gesture that was not lost upon her. + </p> + <p> + “Do I disturb you?” she asked, uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Must you go out?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you make a gesture that showed indifference, or, at least, + embarrassment?” + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken, my little Phillis.” + </p> + <p> + “With any one else I might be mistaken, but with you it is impossible. You + know that between us words are not necessary; that I read in your eyes + what you would say, in your face what you think and feel. Is it not always + so when one loves—as I love you?” + </p> + <p> + He took her in his arms and kissed her long and tenderly. Then going to a + chair on which he had thrown his coat, he drew from the pocket the bread + that he had bought. + </p> + <p> + “This is my dinner,” he said, showing the bread. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I must scold you. Work is making you lose your head. Can you not take + time to eat?” + </p> + <p> + He smiled sadly. + </p> + <p> + “It is not time that I want.” + </p> + <p> + He fumbled in his pocket and brought out three big sous. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot dine at a restaurant with six sous.” + </p> + <p> + She threw herself in his arms. + </p> + <p> + “O dearest, forgive me!” she cried. “Poor, dear martyr! Dear, great man! + It is I who accuse you, when I ought to embrace your knees. And you do not + scold me; a sad smile is your only reply. And it is really so bad as that! + Nothing to eat!” + </p> + <p> + “Bread is very good eating. If I might be assured that I shall always have + some!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, to-day you shall have something more and better. This morning, + seeing the storm, an idea came to me associated with you. It is quite + natural, since you are always in my heart and in my thoughts. I told mamma + that if the storm continued I would dine at the pension. You can imagine + with what joy I listened to the wind all day, and watched the rain and + leaves falling, and the dead branches waving in the whirlwind. Thank God, + the weather was bad enough for mamma to believe me safe at the pension; + and here I am. But we must not fast. I shall go and buy something to eat, + and we will play at making dinner by the fire, which will be far more + amusing than going to a restaurant.” + </p> + <p> + She put on her cloak quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Set the table while I make my purchases.” + </p> + <p> + “I have my article to finish that will be sent for at eight o’clock. Just + think, I have three tonics to recommend, four preparations of iron, a dye, + two capillary lotions, an opiate, and I don’t know how many soaps and + powders. What a business!” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then, do not trouble yourself about the table; we will set it + together when you have finished, and that will be much more amusing.” + </p> + <p> + “You take everything in good part.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it better to look on the dark side? I shall soon return.” + </p> + <p> + She went to the door. + </p> + <p> + “Do not be extravagant,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “There is no danger,” she replied, striking her pocket. + </p> + <p> + Then, returning to him, she embraced him passionately. + </p> + <p> + “Work!” + </p> + <p> + And she ran out. + </p> + <p> + They had loved each other for two years. At the time they met, Saniel was + giving a course of lectures on anatomy at a young ladies’ school just + outside of Paris, and every time he went out there he saw a young woman + whom he could not help noticing. She came and went on the same trains that + he did, and gave lessons in a rival school. As she frequently carried + under her arm a large cartoon, and sometimes a plaster cast, he concluded + that she gave lessons in drawing. At first he paid no attention to her. + What was she to him? He had more important things in his head than women. + But little by little, and because she was reserved and discreet, he was + struck by the vivacity and gayety of her expression. He really enjoyed + looking at this pretty and pleasing young woman. However, his looks said + nothing; if their eyes smiled when they met, that was all; they did not + make each other’s acquaintance. When they left the train they did not + notice each other; if he took the left side of the street, she took the + other, and vice versa. This state of things lasted several months without + a word having been exchanged between them; in due time they learned each + other’s names and professions. She was a professor of drawing, as he + supposed, the daughter of an artist who had been dead several years, and + was called Mademoiselle Phillis Cormier. He was a physician for whom a + brilliant future was prophesied, a man of power, who would some day be + famous; and, very naturally, their attitude remained the same. There was + no particular reason why it should change. But accident made a reason. One + summer day, at the hour when they ordinarily took the train back to Paris, + the sky suddenly became overcast, and it was evident that a violent storm + was approaching. Saniel saw Phillis hurrying to the station without an + umbrella, and, as some friend had lent him one, he decided to speak to her + for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “It seems as if the storm would overtake us before we reach the station. + As you have no umbrella, will you permit me to walk beside you, and to + shelter you with mine?” + </p> + <p> + She replied with a smile, and they walked side by side until the rain + began to fall, when she drew nearer to him, and they entered the station + talking gayly. + </p> + <p> + “Your umbrella is better than Virginia’s skirt,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “And what is Virginia’s skirt?” + </p> + <p> + “Have you not read Paul and Virginia?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him with a mocking smile, wondering what superior men read. + </p> + <p> + Not only had he not read Bernardin de Saint-Pierre’s romance, nor any + others, but he had never been in love. He knew nothing of the affairs of + the heart nor of the imagination. Leisure must be had for light reading, + and even more for love, for they require a liberty of mind and an + independence of life that he had not. Where could he find time to read + novels? When and how could he pay attention to a woman? Those that he had + known since his arrival in Paris had not had the slightest influence over + him, and he retained only faint memories of them. On the contrary, + thinking of this walk in the rain, he remembered this young girl with a + vividness entirely new to him. She made a strong impression on him, and it + remained. He saw her again, with her smile that showed her brilliant + teeth, he heard the music of her voice, and the bare plain that he had + walked so many times now seemed the most beautiful country in the world to + him. Evidently there was a change in him; something was awakened in his + soul; for the first time he discovered that the hollow and muscular conoid + organ called the heart had a use besides for the circulation of blood. + </p> + <p> + What a surprise and what a disappointment! Was he going to be simpleton + enough to love this young girl and entangle his life, already so hard and + heavily weighted, with a woman? A fine thing, truly, and nature had built + him to play the lover! It is true that only those who wish it fall in + love, and he knew the power of will by experience. + </p> + <p> + But he soon lost confidence in himself. Away from Phillis he could do as + he wished, but with her it was as she wished. With one look she mastered + him. He met her, furious at the influence she exercised over him, and + against which he had struggled since their last meeting; he left her, + ravished at feeling how profoundly he loved her. + </p> + <p> + To a man whose life had been ruled by reason and logic until this moment, + these contradictions were exasperating; and he only excused himself for + submitting to them by saying that they could in no way modify the line of + conduct that he had traced out for himself, nor make him deviate from the + road that he followed. + </p> + <p> + Rich, or even with a small fortune, he might—when he was with her + and in her power—let himself be carried away; but when he was dying + of hunger he was not going to commit the folly of taking a wife. What + would he have to give her? Misery, nothing but misery; and shame, in + default of any other reason, would forever prevent him from offering + himself to her. + </p> + <p> + She was the daughter of an artist who, after years of struggle, died at + the moment when fortune was beginning to smile upon him. Ten years more of + work, and he would have left his family, if not rich, at least in + comfortable circumstances. In reality, he left nothing but ruin. The hotel + he built was sold, and, after the debts were paid, nothing remained but + some furniture. His widow, son, and daughter must work. The widow, having + no trade, took in sewing; the son left college to become the clerk of a + money-lender named Caffie; the daughter, who, happily for her, had learned + to draw and paint under her father’s direction, obtained pupils, and + designed menacs for the stationers, and painted silk fans and boxes. They + lived with great economy, submitting to many privations. The brother, + weary of his monotonous existence and of the exactions of his master, left + them to try his fortunes in America. + </p> + <p> + If Saniel ever married, which he doubted, certainly he would not marry a + woman situated as Phillis was. + </p> + <p> + This reflection was reassuring, and he was more devoted to her. Why should + he not enjoy the delicious pleasure of seeing her and listening to her? + His life was neither gay nor happy; he felt perfectly sure of himself, + and, as he knew her now, he was also sure of her—a brave and honest + girl. Otherwise, how had she divined that he loved her? + </p> + <p> + They continued to see each other with a pleasure that seemed equal on both + sides, meeting in the station, arranging to take the same trains, and + talking freely and gayly. + </p> + <p> + Things went on this way until the approach of vacation, when they decided + to take a walk after their last lesson, instead of returning immediately + to Paris. + </p> + <p> + When the day came the sun was very hot; they had walked some distance, + when Phillis expressed a wish to rest for a few minutes. They seated + themselves in a shady copse, and soon found themselves in each other’s + arms. + </p> + <p> + Since then Saniel had never spoken of marriage, and neither had Phillis. + </p> + <p> + They loved each other. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. A LITTLE DINNER FOR TWO + </h2> + <h3> + Saniel was still at work when Phillis returned. + </h3> + <p> + “You have not yet finished, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Give me time to cure, by correspondence, a malady that has not yielded to + the care of ten physicians, and I am yours.” + </p> + <p> + In three lines he finished the letter, and left his desk. + </p> + <p> + “I am ready. What shall I do?” + </p> + <p> + “Help me to take things out of my pockets.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t press too hard,” she said as he took each parcel. + </p> + <p> + At last the pockets were empty. + </p> + <p> + “Where shall we dine?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Here, as the dining-room is transformed into a laboratory.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let us begin by making a good fire. I wet my feet coming from the + station.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know whether there is any wood.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us see.” + </p> + <p> + She took the candle and they passed into the kitchen, which, like the + dining-room, was a laboratory, a stable where Saniel kept in cages pigs + from India and rabbits for his experiments, and where Joseph heaped + pell-mell the things that were in his way, without paying any attention to + the stove in which there never had been a fire. But their search was vain; + there was everything in this kitchen except fire-wood. + </p> + <p> + “Do you value these boxes?” she asked, caressing a little pig that she had + taken in her arms. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all; they enclosed the perfumes and tonics, but they are useless + now.” + </p> + <p> + They returned to the office, Saniel carrying the boxes. + </p> + <p> + “We will set the table here,” she said, gayly, for Saniel told her that + the dining-room was uninviting, as it was a small bacteriological + laboratory. + </p> + <p> + The table was set by Phillis, who went and came, walking about with a + gracefulness that Saniel admired. + </p> + <p> + “You are doing nothing,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I am watching you and thinking.” + </p> + <p> + “And the result of these thoughts?” + </p> + <p> + “It is that you have a fund of good-humor and gayety, an exuberance of + life, that would enliven a man condemned to death.” + </p> + <p> + “And what would have become of us, I should like to know, if I had been + melancholy and discouraged when we lost my poor papa? He was joy itself, + singing all day long, laughing and joking. He brought me up, and I am like + him. Mamma, as you know, is melancholy and nervous, looking on the dark + side, and Florentin is like her. I obtained a place for Florentin, I found + work for mamma and for myself. We all took courage, and gradually we + became calm.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him with a smile that said: + </p> + <p> + “Will you let me do for you what I have done for others?” + </p> + <p> + But she did not speak these words. On the contrary, she immediately + endeavored to destroy the impression which she believed her words had made + upon him. + </p> + <p> + “Go and bring some water,” she said, “and I will light the fire.” + </p> + <p> + When he returned, carrying a carafe, the fire blazed brightly, lighting + the whole room. Phillis was seated at the desk, writing. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing?” he asked in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I am writing our menu, for you know we are not going to sit down at the + table like the bourgeois. How do you like it?” + </p> + <p> + She read it to him. + </p> + <p> + “Sardines de Nantes.” + </p> + <p> + “Cuisse de dinde rotie.” + </p> + <p> + “Terrine de pate de foie gras aux truffes du Perigord.” + </p> + <p> + “But this is a feast.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you think that I would offer you a fricandeau au jus?” + </p> + <p> + She continued: + </p> + <p> + “Fromage de Brie.” + </p> + <p> + “Choux a la creme vanillge.” + </p> + <p> + “Pomme de Normandie.” + </p> + <p> + “Wine.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Voila! What wine? I do not wish to deceive you. Let us put, ‘Wine + from the wine-seller at the corner.’ And now we will sit down.” + </p> + <p> + As he was about to seat himself, she said: + </p> + <p> + “You do not give me your arm to conduct me to the table. If we do not do + things seriously and methodically we shall not believe in them, and + perhaps the Perigord truffles will change into little black pieces of + anything else.” + </p> + <p> + When they were seated opposite to each other, she continued, jesting: + </p> + <p> + “My dear doctor, did you go to the representation of Don Juan, on Monday?” + </p> + <p> + And Saniel, who, in spite of all, had kept a sober face, now laughed + loudly. + </p> + <p> + “Charming!” she cried, clapping her hands. “No more preoccupation; no more + cares. Look into my eyes, dear Victor, and think only of the present hour, + of the joy of being together, of our love.” + </p> + <p> + She reached her hand over the table, and he pressed it in his. + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” The dinner continued gayly, Saniel replying to Phillis’s + smiles, who would not permit the conversation to languish. She helped him + to each dish, poured out his wine, leaving her chair occasionally to put a + piece of wood on the fire, and such shoutings and laughter had never been + heard before in that office. + </p> + <p> + However, she noticed that, little by little, Saniel’s face, that relaxed + one moment, was the next clouded by the preoccupation and bitterness that + she had tried hard to chase away. She would make a new effort. + </p> + <p> + “Does not this charming little dinner give you the wish to repeat it?” + </p> + <p> + “How? Where?” + </p> + <p> + “As I am able to come this evening without making mamma uneasy, I shall + find some excuse to come again next week.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Have you engagements for the whole of next week?” she asked with + uneasiness. + </p> + <p> + “Where shall I be next week, to-morrow, in a few days?” + </p> + <p> + “You alarm me. Explain, I beg of you. O Victor, have pity! Do not leave me + in suspense.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right; I ought to tell you everything, and not let your tender + heart torment itself, trying to explain my preoccupation.” + </p> + <p> + “If you have cares, do you not esteem me enough to let me share them with + you? You know that I love you; you only, to-day, to-morrow, forever!” + </p> + <p> + Saniel had not left her ignorant of the difficulties of his position, but + he had not entered into details, preferring to speak of his hopes rather + than of his present misery. + </p> + <p> + The story that he had already told to Glady and Caffie he now told to + Phillis, adding what had passed with the concierge, the wine-seller, the + coal man, and Joseph. + </p> + <p> + She listened, stupefied. + </p> + <p> + “He took your coat?” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “That was what he came for.” + </p> + <p> + “And to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! to-morrow—to-morrow!” + </p> + <p> + “Working so hard as you have, how did you come to such a pass?” + </p> + <p> + “Like you, I believed in the virtue of work, and look at me! Because I + felt within me a will that nothing could weaken, a strength that nothing + could fatigue, a courage that nothing could, dishearten, I imagined that I + was armed for battle in such a way that I should never be conquered, and I + am conquered, as much by the fault of circumstances as by my own—” + </p> + <p> + “And in what are you to blame, poor dear?” + </p> + <p> + “For my ignorance of life, stupidity, presumption, and blindness. If I had + been less simple, should I have been taken in by Jardine’s propositions? + Should I have accepted this furniture, this apartment? He told me that the + papers he made me sign were mere formalities, that in reality I might pay + when I could, and that he would be content with a fair interest. That + seemed reasonable, and, without inquiring further, I accepted, happy and + delighted to have a home, feeling sure of having strength to bear this + burden. To have confidence in one’s self is strength, but it is also + weakness. Because you love me you do not know me; you do not see me as I + am. In reality, I am not sociable, and I lack, absolutely, suppleness, + delicacy, politeness, as much in my character as in my manners. Being so, + how can I obtain a large practice, or succeed, unless it is by some stroke + of luck? I have counted on the luck, but its hour has not yet sounded. + Because I lack suppleness I have not been able to win the sympathy or + interest of my masters. They see only my reserve; and because I stay away + from them, as much through timidity as pride, they do not come to me—which + is quite natural, I admit. And because I have not yielded my ideas to the + authority of others, they have taken a dislike to me, which is still more + natural. Because I lack politeness, and am still an Auvergnat, heavy and + awkward as nature made me, men of the world disdain me, judging me by my + exterior, which they see and dislike. More wary, more sly, more + experienced, I should be, at least, sustained by friendship, but I have + given no thought to it. What good is it? I had no need of it, my force was + sufficient. I find it more easy to make myself feared than loved. Thus + formed, there are only two things for me to do: remain in my poor room in + the Hotel du Senat, living by giving lessons and by work from the + booksellers, until the examination and admission to the central bureau; or + to establish myself in an out-of-the-way quarter at Belleville, Montrouge, + or elsewhere, and there practise among people who will demand neither + politeness nor fine manners. As these two ways are reasonable, I have made + up my mind to neither. Belleville, because I should work only with my + legs, like one of my comrades whom I saw work at Villette: ‘Your tongue, + good. Your arm, good.’ And while he is supposed to be feeling the pulse of + the patient with one hand, with the other he is writing his prescription: + ‘Vomitive, purgative, forty sous;’ and he hurries away, his diagnosis + having taken less than five minutes; he had no time to waste. I object to + the Hotel du Senat because I have had enough of it, and it was there that + Jardine tempted me with his proposals. See what he has brought me to!” + </p> + <p> + “And now?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. EXPLANATIONS + </h2> + <h3> + At this moment, without warning, the candle on the table went out. + </h3> + <p> + Phillis rose. “Where are the candles?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “There are no more; this was the last.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we must brighten up the fire.” + </p> + <p> + She threw a small log on the hearth, and then, instead of resuming her + seat, she took a cushion from the sofa, and placing it before the chimney, + threw herself upon it, and leaned her elbow on Saniel’s knee. + </p> + <p> + “And now?” she repeated, her eyes raised to his. + </p> + <p> + “Now I suppose the only thing for me to do is to return to Auvergne and + become a country doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “My God! is it possible?” she murmured in a tone that surprised Saniel. If + there was sadness in this cry, there was also a sentiment that he did not + understand. + </p> + <p> + “On leaving the school I could continue to live at the Hotel du Senat, + and, while giving lessons, prepare my ‘concours’; now, after having + reached a certain position, can I return to this life of poverty and + study? My creditors, who have fallen on me here, will harass me, and my + competitors will mock my misery—which is caused by my vices. They + will think that I dishonor the Faculty, and I shall be rebuffed. Neither + doctor of the hospitals nor fellow, I shall be reduced to nothing but a + doctor of the quarter. Of what use is it? The effort has been made here; + you see how it has succeeded.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you mean to go?” + </p> + <p> + “Not without sorrow and despair, since it will be our separation, the + renouncement of all the hopes on which I have lived for ten years, the + abandonment of my work, death itself. You see now why, in spite of your + gayety, I have not been able to hide my preoccupation from you. The more + charming you were, the more I felt how dear you are, and the greater my + despair at the thought of separation.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should we separate?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + She turned toward him. + </p> + <p> + “To go with you. You must acknowledge that until this moment I have never + spoken to you of marriage, and never have I let the thought appear that + you might one day make me your wife. In your position, in the struggle you + have been through, a wife would have been a burden that would have + paralyzed you; above all, such a poor, miserable creature as myself, with + no dot but her misery and that of her family. But the conditions are no + longer the same. You are as miserable as I am, and more desperate. In your + own country, where you have only distant relatives who are nothing to you, + as they have not your education or ideas, desires or habits, what will + become of you all alone with your 158 disappointment and regrets? If you + accept me, I will go with you; together, and loving each other, we cannot + be unhappy anywhere. When you come home fatigued you will find me with a + smile; when you stay at home you will tell me your thoughts, and explain + your work, and I will try to understand. I have no fear of poverty, you + know, and neither do I fear solitude. Wherever we are together I shall be + happy. All that I ask of you is to take my mother with us, because you + know I cannot leave her alone. In attending her, you have learned to know + her well enough to know that she is not disagreeable or difficult to + please. As for Florentin, he will remain in Paris and work. His trip to + America has made him wise, and his ambition will now be easily satisfied; + to earn a small salary is all that he asks. Without doubt we shall be a + burden, but not so heavy as one might think at first. A woman, when she + chooses, brings order and economy into a house, and I promise you that I + will be that woman. And then I will work. I am sure my stationer will give + me as many menus when I am in Auvergne as he does now that I am in Paris. + I could, also, without doubt, procure other work. It would be a hundred + francs a month, perhaps a hundred and fifty, perhaps even two hundred. + While waiting for your patients to come, we could live on this money. In + Auvergne living must be cheap.” + </p> + <p> + She had taken his hands in hers, and she watched anxiously his face as the + firelight shone on it, to see the effect of her words. It was the life of + both of them that was to be decided, and the fulness of her heart made her + voice tremble. What would he reply? She saw that his face was agitated, + without being able to read more. + </p> + <p> + As she remained silent, he took her head in his hands, and looked in her + face for several moments. + </p> + <p> + “How you love me!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Let me prove it in some way besides in words.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be cowardly to let you share my misery.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be loving me enough to feel sure that I would be happy.” + </p> + <p> + “And I?” + </p> + <p> + “Is not the love in your heart greater than pride? Do you not feel that + since I have loved you my love has filled all my life, and that there is + nothing in the world, in the present or in the future, but it and you? + Because I see you for several hours from time to time in Paris, I am + happy; whatever difficulties await us, I should be much happier in + Auvergne, because we should be together always.” + </p> + <p> + He remained silent for some time. + </p> + <p> + “Could you love me there?” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + Evidently it was more to himself than to her that he addressed this + question, which was the sum of his reflections. + </p> + <p> + “O dear Victor!” she cried. “Why do you doubt me? Have I deserved it? The + past, the present, do they not assure the future?” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “The man you have loved, whom you love, has never shown himself to you as + he really is. In spite of the trials and sorrows of his life he has been + able to answer your smile with a smile, because, cruel as his life was, he + was sustained by hope and confidence; in Auvergne there will be no more + hope or confidence, but the madness of a broken life, and the dejection of + impotence. What sort of man should I be? Could you love such a man?” + </p> + <p> + “A thousand times more, for he would be unhappy, and I should have to + comfort him.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you have the strength to do it? After a time you would become + weary, for the burden would be too heavy, however great your devotion or + profound your tenderness, to see my real position and my hopes, and, + descending into the future, to see my ruin. You know I am ambitious + without having ever compassed the scope of this ambition, and of the + hopes, dreams if you like, on which it rests. Understand that these dreams + are on the eve of being realized; two months more, and in December or + January I pass the ‘concours’ for the central bureau, which will make me a + physician of the hospitals, and at the same time the one for the + admission, which opens the Faculty of Medicine to me. Without pride, I + believe myself in a position to succeed—what sportsmen call ‘in + condition.’ And just when I have only a few days to wait, behold me ruined + forever.” + </p> + <p> + “Why forever?” + </p> + <p> + “A man leaves his village for Paris to make a name for himself, and he + returns only when bad luck or inability sends him back. And then it is + only every four years that there is a ‘concours’ for admission. In four + years what will be my moral and intellectual condition? How should I + support this exile of four years? Imagine the effect that four years of + isolation in the mountains will produce. But this is not all. Besides this + ostensible end that I have pursued since I left my village, I have my + special work that I can carry out only in Paris. Without having + overwhelmed you with the details of medicine, you know that it is about to + undergo a revolution that will transform it. Until now it has been taught + officially, in pathology, that the human organism carries within itself + the germ of a great many infectious diseases which develop spontaneously + in certain conditions; for instance, that tuberculosis is the result of + fatigue, privations, and physiological miseries. Well, recently it has + been admitted, that is to say, the revolutionists admit, a parasitical + origin for these diseases, and in France and Germany there is an army + looking for these parasites. I am a soldier in this army, and to help me + in these researches I established a laboratory in the dining-room. It is + to the parasites of tuberculosis and cancers that I devote myself, and for + seven years, that is, since I was house-surgeon, my comrades have called + me the cancer topic. I have discovered the parasite of the tuberculosis, + but I have not yet been able to free it from all its impurities by the + process of culture. I am still at it. That is to say, I am very near it, + and to-morrow, perhaps, or in a few days, I may make a discovery that will + be a revolution, and cover its discoverer with glory. The same with the + cancer. I have found its microbe. But all is not done. See what I must + give up in leaving Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Why give all this up? Could you not continue your researches in + Auvergne?” + </p> + <p> + “It is impossible, for many reasons that are too long to explain, but one + will suffice. The culture of these parasites can be done only in certain + temperatures rigorously maintained at the necessary degree, and these + temperatures can be obtained only by stoves, like the one in my + laboratory, fed by gas, the entrance of which is automatically regulated + by the temperature of the water. How could I use this stove in a country + where there is no gas? No, no! If I leave Paris, everything is at an end + my position, as well as my work. I shall become a country doctor, and + nothing but a country doctor. Let the sheriff turn me out to-morrow, and + all the four years’ accumulations in my laboratory, all my works en train + that demand only a few days or hours to complete, may go to the + second-hand dealer, or be thrown into the street. Of all my efforts, weary + nights, privations, and hopes, there remains only one souvenir—for + me. And yet, if it did not remain, perhaps I should be less exasperated, + and should accept with a heart less sore the life to which I shall never + resign myself. You know very well that I am a rebel, and do not submit + tamely.” + </p> + <p> + She rose, and taking his hand, pressed it closely in her own. + </p> + <p> + “You must stay in Paris,” she said. “Pardon me for having insisted that + you could live in the country. I thought more of myself than of you, of + our love and our marriage. It was an egotistic thought, a bad thought. A + way must be found, no matter what it costs, to enable you to continue your + work.” + </p> + <p> + “But how to find it? Do you think I have not tried everything?” + </p> + <p> + He related his visits to Jardine, his solicitations, prayers, and also his + request of a loan from Glady, and his visit to Caffie. + </p> + <p> + “Caffie!” she cried. “What made you think of going to Caffie?” + </p> + <p> + “I went partly because you had often spoken of him.” + </p> + <p> + “But I spoke of him to you as the most wicked of men, capable of anything + and everything that is bad.” + </p> + <p> + “And partly, also, because I knew from one of my patients that he lends to + those of whom he can make use.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say to you?” + </p> + <p> + “That it was probable he would not be able to find any one who would lend + what I wished, but he would try to find some one, and would give me an + answer tomorrow evening. He also promised to protect me from Jardine.” + </p> + <p> + “You have put yourself in his hands?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you expect? In my position, I am not at liberty to go to + whom I wish and to those who inspire me with confidence in their honor. If + I should go to a notary or a banker they would not listen to me, for I + should be obliged to tell them, the first thing, that I have no security + to offer. That is how the unfortunate fall into the hands of rascals; at + least, these listen to them, and lend them something, small though it may + be.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he give you?” + </p> + <p> + “Advice.” + </p> + <p> + “And you took it?” + </p> + <p> + “There is time gained. To-morrow, perhaps, I shall be turned into the + street. Caffie will obtain a respite.” + </p> + <p> + “And what price will he ask for this service?” + </p> + <p> + “It is only those who own something who worry about the price.” + </p> + <p> + “You have your name, dignity, and honor, and once you are in Caffies + hands, who knows what he may exact from you, what he may make you do, + without your being able to resist him?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you wish me to leave Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not; but I wish you to be on your guard against Caffie, whom + you do not know, but I do, through what Florentin told us when he was with + him. However secret a man may be, he cannot hide himself from his clerk. + He is not only guilty of rascalities, but also of real crimes. I assure + you that he deserves ten deaths. To gain a hundred francs he will do + anything; he makes money only for the pleasure of making it, for he has + neither child nor relative.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I promise to be on my guard as you advise. But, wicked as Caffie + may be, I believe that I shall accept the concours that he offered me. Who + knows what may happen in the short time that he gains for me? Because I + need not tell you that I know beforehand what his reply will be to my + request for a loan—he could find no one.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall come, all the same, to-morrow evening to learn his answer.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. CAFFIE’S ANSWER + </h2> + <p> + Although Saniel did not build any false hopes on Caffie’s reply, he went + to see him the next afternoon at the same hour. + </p> + <p> + As before, he waited some time after ringing the bell. At last he heard a + slow step within. + </p> + <p> + “Who is there?” Caffie asked. + </p> + <p> + As soon as Saniel answered, the door was opened. + </p> + <p> + “As I do not like to be disturbed in the evening by troublesome people, I + do not always open the door,” Caffie said. “But I have a signal for my + clients so that I may know them. After ringing, knock three times on the + door.” + </p> + <p> + During this explanation they entered Caffie’s office. + </p> + <p> + “Have you done anything about my affair?” Saniel asked, after a moment, as + Caffie seemed disinclined to open the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear sir. I have been running about all the morning for you. I + never neglect my clients; their affairs are mine.” + </p> + <p> + He paused. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” Saniel said. + </p> + <p> + Caffie put on an expression of despair. + </p> + <p> + “What did I tell you, my dear sir? Do you remember? Do me the honor to + believe that a man of my experience does not speak lightly. What I foresaw + has come to pass. Everywhere I received the same reply. The risk is too + great; no one would take it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not even for a large interest?” + </p> + <p> + “Not even for a large interest; there is so much competition in your + profession. As for me, I believe in your future, and I have proved it by + my proposition; but, unfortunately, I am only an intermediary, and not the + lender of money.” + </p> + <p> + Caffie emphasized the words, “my proposition,” and underlined them with a + glance; but Saniel did not appear to understand. + </p> + <p> + “And the upholsterer’s summons?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “You may be easy on that point. I have attended to it. Your landlord, to + whom he owes rent, will interfere, and your creditor must indemnify him + before going farther. Will he submit? We shall see. If he does, we shall + defend ourselves on some other ground. I do not say victoriously, but in a + way to gain time.” + </p> + <p> + “How much time?” + </p> + <p> + “That, my dear sir, I do not know; the whole thing depends upon our + adversary. But what do you mean by ‘how much time?’—eternity?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean until April.” + </p> + <p> + “That is eternity. Do you believe that you will be able to free yourself + in April? If you have expectations founded on something substantial, you + should tell me what they are, my dear sir.” + </p> + <p> + This question was put with such an air of benevolence, that Saniel was + taken in by it. + </p> + <p> + “I have no guarantee,” he said. “But, on the other hand, it is of the + utmost importance to me that I should have this length of time. As I have + explained to you, I am about to pass two examinations; they will last + three months, and in March, or, at the latest, in April, I shall be a + physician of the hospitals, and fellow of the Faculty. In that case I + should then offer a surface to the lenders, that would permit you, without + doubt, to find the sum necessary to pay Jardine, whatever expenses there + may be, and your fee.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, Saniel saw that he was wrong in thus committing himself, but + he continued to the end. + </p> + <p> + “I should be unworthy of your confidence, my dear sir,” Caffie replied, + “if I encouraged you with the idea that we could gain so much time. + Whatever it costs me—and it costs me much, I assure you—I must + tell you that it is impossible, radically impossible; a few days, yes, or + a few weeks, but that is all.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, obtain a few weeks,” Saniel said, rising, “that will be something.” + </p> + <p> + “And afterward?” + </p> + <p> + “We shall see.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir, do not go. You would not believe how much I am touched by + your position; I think only of you. When I learned that I could not find + the sum you desire, I paid a friendly visit to my young client of whom I + spoke to you—” + </p> + <p> + “The one who received a superior education in a fashionable convent?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly; and I asked her what she would think of a young doctor, full of + talent, future professor of the Faculty, actually considered already a + savant of the first order, handsome—because you are handsome, my + dear sir, and it is no flattery to say this—in good health, a + peasant by birth, who presented himself as a husband. She appeared + flattered, I tell you frankly. But immediately afterward she said, ‘And + the child?’ To which I replied that you were too good, too noble, too + generous, not to have the indulgence of superior men, who accept an + involuntary fault with serenity. Did I go too far?” + </p> + <p> + He did not wait for an answer. + </p> + <p> + “No?” he went on. “Exactly. The child was present, for the mother watches + over it with a solicitude that promises much for the future, and I + examined it leisurely. It is very delicate, my dear sir, and like its + father. The poor baby! I doubt if you, with all your skill, can make it + live. If it should die, as it is to be feared it will, it would not injure + your reputation. You can give it care, but not life.” + </p> + <p> + “Speaking of health,” interrupted Saniel, who did not wish to reply, “did + you do what I advised about yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet. The chemists of this quarter are only licensed cutthroats; but I + am going this evening to see one of my clients who is a chemist, and he + will deal honestly with me.” + </p> + <p> + “I will see you again, then.” + </p> + <p> + “When you wish, my dear sir; when you have reflected. You have the + password.” + </p> + <p> + Before leaving home Saniel gave his key to the concierge, so that on her + arrival Phillis might go immediately to his rooms. On his return the + concierge told him that “madame” was up-stairs, and when he rang the bell, + Phillis opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she asked in a trembling voice, before he had time to enter. + </p> + <p> + “It is as I told you yesterday; he has found no one.” + </p> + <p> + She clasped him in a long, passionate embrace. + </p> + <p> + “And the upholsterer?” + </p> + <p> + “Caffie has promised to gain some time for me.” + </p> + <p> + While speaking, they entered the office. A fire burned on the hearth, and + an inviting dinner was on the table. Saniel looked at it in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I have set the table, you see; I am going to dine with you.” + </p> + <p> + And throwing herself in his arms: + </p> + <p> + “Knowing Caffie better than you do, I knew what his answer would be, and I + did not wish you to be alone on your return. I made an excuse for not + dining with mamma.” + </p> + <p> + “But this chicken?” + </p> + <p> + “We must have a piece de resistance.” + </p> + <p> + “This fire, and these candles?” + </p> + <p> + “There, that is the end of my economies. I should have been so happy if + they had been less miserable and more useful.” + </p> + <p> + As on the previous evening, they sat before the fire, and she began to + talk of various things in order to distract him. But what their lips did + not say, their eyes, on meeting, expressed with more intensity than words + could do. + </p> + <p> + It was Saniel who suddenly betrayed his preoccupation. + </p> + <p> + “Your brother studied Caffie well,” he said, as if speaking to himself. + </p> + <p> + “He did, indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “He is certainly the most thorough rascal that I have ever met.” + </p> + <p> + “He proposed something infamous, I am sure.” + </p> + <p> + “He proposed that I should marry.” + </p> + <p> + “I suspected that.” + </p> + <p> + “This is the reason why he refuses to lend me the money. I was foolish + enough to tell him frankly just how I am situated, and how important it is + for me to be free until April. He hopes that I shall be so pushed that I + will accept one of the women whom he has proposed to me. With the knife at + my throat, I should have to yield.” + </p> + <p> + “And these women?” she asked, not daring to look at him. + </p> + <p> + “Do not be alarmed, you have nothing to fear. One is the drunken widow of + a butcher, and the other is a young girl who has a baby.” + </p> + <p> + “He dares to propose such women to a man like you!” + </p> + <p> + And Saniel repeated all that Caffie had said to him about these two women. + </p> + <p> + “What a monster he is!” Phillis said. + </p> + <p> + “While he was telling me these things I thought of what you said—that + if some one killed him, it would be no more than he deserved.” + </p> + <p> + “That is perfectly true.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing would have been easier than for me to have made away with him. He + had the toothache, and when he showed me his teeth I could easily have + strangled him. We were alone, and a miserable diabetic, such as he is, who + has not more than six months to live, I am sure, could not have resisted a + grasp like this. I could take his keys from his pocket, open his safe, and + take the thirty, forty, sixty thousand francs that I saw heaped up there. + The devil take me if it were ever discovered. A doctor does not strangle + his patients, he poisons them. He kills them scientifically, not + brutally.” + </p> + <p> + “People who have no conscience can do such things; but for us they are + impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “I assure you it is not conscience that would have restrained me.” + </p> + <p> + “The fear of remorse, if I may use an ugly word.” + </p> + <p> + “But intelligent persons have no remorse, my dear child, because they + reason before the deed, and not after. Before acting they weigh the pros + and cons, and know what the consequences of their actions will be to + others as well as to themselves. If this previous examination proves to + them that for some reason or other they may act, they will always be calm, + assured that they will feel no remorse, which is only the reproach of + conscience.” + </p> + <p> + “Without doubt what you say is to the point, but it is impossible for me + to accept it. If I have never committed crimes, I have often been foolish + and have committed faults, many of them deliberately, after the + examination of which you speak. I should have been, according to you, + perfectly placid and free from the reproach of conscience; however, the + next morning I woke unhappy, tormented, often overwhelmed, and unable to + stifle the mysterious voice that accused me.” + </p> + <p> + “And in whose name did it speak, this voice, more vague than mysterious?” + </p> + <p> + “In the name of my conscience, evidently.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Evidently’ is too much, and you would be puzzled if called upon to + demonstrate this evidence; whereas, nothing is more uncertain and elusive + than the thing that is called conscience, which is in reality only an + affair of environment and of education.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Does your conscience tell you it is a crime to love me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, decidedly.” + </p> + <p> + “You see, then, that you have a personal way of understanding what is good + and bad, which is not that of our country, where it is admitted, from the + religious and from the social point of view, that a young girl is guilty + when she has a lover. Of course, you see, also, that conscience is a bad + weighing-machine, since each one, in order to make it work, uses a weight + that he has himself manufactured.” + </p> + <p> + “However it is, you did right not to strangle Cafflie.” + </p> + <p> + “Whom you, yourself, have condemned to death.” + </p> + <p> + “By the hand of justice, whether human or divine; but not by yours, any + more than by Florentin’s or mine, although we know better than any one + that he does not deserve any mercy.” + </p> + <p> + “And you see I foresaw your objections, as I did not tighten his cravat.” + </p> + <p> + “Happily.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it necessary to say ‘happily’?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. SANIEL MAKES A RESOLUTION + </h2> + <p> + This evening Phillis was obliged to be at home early, but she cleared off + the table, and put everything in order before leaving. + </p> + <p> + “You can breakfast on the remains of the chicken,” she said, as she put it + in the pantry. + </p> + <p> + And as Saniel accompanied her with a candle in his hand, he saw that she + had thought not only of his breakfast for the following day, but for many + days, besides carrots for the rabbits. + </p> + <p> + “What a good heart you have!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Because I think of the rabbits?” + </p> + <p> + “Because of your tenderness and thoughtfulness.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could do something for you!” + </p> + <p> + As soon as she was gone he seated himself at his desk and began to work, + anxious to make up for the time that he had given to sentiment. The fact + that his work might not be of use to him, and that his experiments might + be rudely interrupted the next morning or in a few days, was not a + sufficient reason for being idle. He had work to do, and he worked as if + with the certitude that he would pass his examinations, and that his + experiments of four years past would have a good ending, without + interference from any one. + </p> + <p> + This was his strong point, this power to work, that was never disturbed or + weakened by anything; not by pleasure or pain, by preoccupation or by + misery. In the street he could think of Phillis, be he hungry or sleepy; + at his desk he had no thought of Phillis, neither of hunger nor of sleep, + no cares, no memories; his work occupied him entirely. + </p> + <p> + It was his strength, and also his pride, the only superiority of which he + boasted; for although he knew that he had others, he never spoke of them, + while he often said to his comrades: + </p> + <p> + “I work when I will and as much as I wish. My will never weakens when I am + at work.” + </p> + <p> + This evening he worked for about an hour, in his usual condition of mind; + neither sheriffs, nor Jardine, nor Caffie troubled him. But having to draw + upon his memory for certain facts, he found that it did not obey him as + usual; there were a hesitation, a fogginess, above all, extraordinary + wanderings. He wrestled with it and it obeyed, but only for a short time, + and soon again it betrayed him a second time, then a third and fourth + time. + </p> + <p> + Decidedly he was not in a normal state, and his will obeyed in place of + commanding. + </p> + <p> + There were a name and a phrase that recurred to him mechanically from time + to time. The name was Caffie, and the phrase was, “Nothing easier.” + </p> + <p> + Why should this hypothesis to strangle Caffie, of which he had lightly + spoken, and to which he had attached no importance at the moment when he + uttered it, return to him in this way as a sort of obsession? + </p> + <p> + Was it not strange? + </p> + <p> + Never, until this day, had he had an idea that he could strangle a man, + even as wicked as this one, and yet, in talking of it, he found very + natural and legitimate reasons for the murder of this scamp. + </p> + <p> + Had not Phillis herself condemned him? + </p> + <p> + To tell the truth, she had added that Providence or justice should be his + executor, but this was the scruple of a simple conscience, formed in a + narrow environment, to which influence he would not submit. + </p> + <p> + Had he these scruples, this old man who coldly, and merely for the + interest of so much a hundred on a dot, advised him to hasten the death of + a woman by drunkenness, and that of an infant in any way he pleased? + </p> + <p> + When he reached this conclusion he stopped, and asked himself whether he + were mad to pursue this idea; then immediately, to get rid of it, he set + to work, which absorbed him for a certain time, but not so long a time as + at first. + </p> + <p> + Then, finding that he could not control his will, he turned his thoughts + to Caffie. + </p> + <p> + It was only too evident that if he had carried out the idea of strangling + Caffie, all the difficulties against which he had struggled, and which + would overwhelm him, if not the following day, at least in a few days, + would have disappeared immediately. + </p> + <p> + No more sheriffs, no more creditors. What a deliverance! + </p> + <p> + Repose, the possibility of passing examinations with a calm spirit that + the fever of material troubles would not disturb—in this condition + he felt his success was assured. + </p> + <p> + And his experiments! He would run no danger of seeing them rudely + interrupted. His preparations were not cast out-of-doors; his precious + culture-tubes were not broken; his vases, his balloons, were not at the + second-hand dealer’s. He continued this train of thought to the results + that he desired for him, glory; for humanity, the cure of one, and perhaps + two, of the most terrible maladies with which it was afflicted. + </p> + <p> + The question was simple: + </p> + <p> + On one side, Caffie; + </p> + <p> + On the other side, humanity and science; + </p> + <p> + An old rascal who deserved twenty deaths, and who would, anyhow, die + naturally in a short time; + </p> + <p> + And humanity, science, which would profit by a discovery of which he would + be the author. + </p> + <p> + He saw that the perspiration stood out on his hands, and he felt it run + down his neck. + </p> + <p> + Why this weakness? From horror of the crime, the possibility of which he + admitted? Or from fear of seeing his experiments destroyed? + </p> + <p> + He would reflect, think about it, be upon his guard. + </p> + <p> + He had told Phillis that intelligent men, before engaging in an action, + weigh the pro and con. + </p> + <p> + Against Caffie’s death he saw nothing. + </p> + <p> + For, on the contrary, everything combined. + </p> + <p> + If he had had Phillis’s scruples, or Brigard’s beliefs, he would have + stopped. + </p> + <p> + But, not having them, would he not be silly to draw back? + </p> + <p> + Before what should he shrink? Why should he stop? + </p> + <p> + Remorse? But he was convinced that intelligent men had no remorse when + they came to a decision on good grounds. It was before that they felt + remorse, not after; and he was exactly in this period of before. + </p> + <p> + Fear of being arrested? But intelligent men do not let themselves be + arrested. Those who are lost are brutes who go straight ahead, or the + half-intelligent, who use their skill and cunning to combine a complicated + or romantic act, in which their hand is plainly seen. As for him, he was a + man of science and precision, and he would not compromise himself by act + or sentiment; there would be nothing to fear during the action, and + nothing afterward. Caffie strangled, suspicion would not fall upon a + doctor, but on a brute. When doctors wish to kill any one, they do it + learnedly, by poison or by some scientific method. Brutal men kill + brutally; murder, called the assassin’s profession. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes before, he was inundated by perspiration; this word froze + him. + </p> + <p> + He rose nervously, and walked up and down the room with long, unsteady + steps. The fire had long since gone out; out-of-doors the street noises + had ceased, and in his brain resounded the one word that he pronounced in + a low tone, “Assassin!” + </p> + <p> + Was he the man to be influenced and stopped by a word? Where are the rich, + the self-made men, the successful men, who have not left some corpses on + the road behind them? Success carries them safely, and they achieved + success only because they had force. + </p> + <p> + Certainly, violence was not recreation, and it would be more agreeable to + go in his way peacefully, by the power of intelligence and work, than to + make a way by blows; but he had not chosen this road, he was thrown into + it by circumstances, by fate, and whoever wishes to reach the end cannot + choose the means. If one must walk in the mud, what matters it, when one + knows that one will not get muddy? + </p> + <p> + If Caffie had had heirs, poor people who expected to be saved from misery + by inheriting his fortune, he would have been touched by this + consideration, undoubtedly. Robber! The word was yet more vile than that + of assassin. But who would miss the few banknotes that he would take from + the safe? To steal is to injure some one. Whom would he injure? He could + see no one. But he saw distinctly an army of afflicted persons whom he + would benefit. + </p> + <p> + A timid ring of the bell made him start violently, and he was angry with + himself for being so nervous, he who was always master of his mind as of + his body. + </p> + <p> + He opened the door, and a man dressed like a laborer bowed humbly. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon for disturbing you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I called on account of my wife, if you will be so good as to come to see + her.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with her?” + </p> + <p> + “She is about to be confined. The nurse does not know what to do, and sent + me for a doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “Did the nurse tell you to come for me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; she sent me to Doctor Legrand.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “His wife told me he could not get up on account of his bronchitis. And + the chemist gave me your address.” + </p> + <p> + “That is right.” + </p> + <p> + “I must tell you, sir, I am an honest man, but we are not rich; we could + not pay you—immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand. Wait a few minutes.” + </p> + <p> + Saniel took his instruments and followed the laborer, who, on the way, + explained his wife’s condition. + </p> + <p> + “Where are we going?” Saniel asked, interrupting these explanations. + </p> + <p> + “Rue de la Corderie.” + </p> + <p> + It was behind the Saint Honore’ market, on the sixth floor, under the + roof, in a room that was perfectly clean, in spite of its poverty. As soon + as Saniel entered the nurse came forward, and in a few words told him the + woman’s trouble. + </p> + <p> + “Is the child living?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “That is well; let us see.” + </p> + <p> + He approached the bed and made a careful examination of the patient, who + kept repeating: + </p> + <p> + “I am going to die. Save me, doctor!” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, we shall save you,” he said, very softly. “I promise you.” + </p> + <p> + He turned away from the bed and said to the nurse: + </p> + <p> + “The only way to save the mother is to kill the child.” + </p> + <p> + The operation was long, difficult, and painful, and after it was over + Saniel remained a long time with the patient. When he reached the street a + neighboring clock struck five, and the market-place had already begun to + show signs of life. + </p> + <p> + But in the streets was still the silence and solitude of night, and Saniel + began to reflect on what had occurred during the last few hours. Thus, he + had not hesitated to kill this child, who had, perhaps, sixty or seventy + years of happy life before it, and he hesitated at the death of Caffie, to + whom remained only a miserable existence of a few weeks. The interests of + a poor, weak, stunted woman had decided him; his, those of humanity, left + him perplexed, irresolute, weak, and cowardly. What a contradiction! + </p> + <p> + He walked with his eyes lowered, and at this moment, before him on the + pavement, he saw an object that glittered in the glare of the gas. He + approached it, and found that it was a butcher’s knife, that must have + been lost, either on going to the market or the slaughterhouse. + </p> + <p> + He hesitated a moment whether he should pick it up or leave it there; then + looking all about him, and seeing no one in the deserted street, and + hearing no sound of footsteps in the silence, he bent quickly and took it. + </p> + <p> + Caffie’s fate was decided. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK 2. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. THE INSTRUMENT OF DEATH + </h2> + <p> + When, after two hours’ sleep, Saniel woke, he did not at first think of + this knife; he was tired and dull. Mechanically he walked about his room + without paying attention to what he was doing, as if he were in a state of + somnambulism, and it astonished him, because he never felt weariness of + mind any more than of body, no matter how little he had slept, nor how + hard he had worked. + </p> + <p> + But suddenly, catching a glimpse of the knife that he had placed on the + mantel, he received a shock that annihilated his torpor and his fatigue. + It dazzled him like a flash of lightning. + </p> + <p> + He took it, and, going to the window, he examined it by the pale light of + early morning. It was a strong instrument that, in a firm hand, would be a + terrible arm; newly sharpened, it had the edge of a razor. + </p> + <p> + Then the idea, the vision that had come to him two hours before, came back + to him, clear and complete at nightfall, that is, at the moment when the + concierge was in the second wing of the building, he mounted to Caffie’s + apartment without being seen, and with this knife he cut his throat. It + was as simple as it was easy, and this knife left beside the corpse, and + the nature of the wound, would lead the police to look for a butcher, or + at least a man who was in the habit of using a knife of this kind. + </p> + <p> + The evening before, when he had discussed Caffie’s death, the how and the + when still remained vague and uncertain. But now the day and the means + were definitely settled: it should be with this knife, and this evening. + </p> + <p> + This shook him out of his torpor and made him shudder. + </p> + <p> + He was angry with himself for this weakness. Did he know or did he not + know what he wished? Was he irresolute or cowardly? + </p> + <p> + Then, going from one idea to another, he thought of an observation that he + had made, which appeared to prove that with many subjects there is less + firmness in the morning than in the evening. Was this the result of + dualism of the nervous centres, and was the human personality double like + the brain? Were there hours when the right hemisphere is master of our + will, and were there other hours when the left is master? Did one of these + hemispheres possess what the other lacked, and is it according to the + activity of this or that one, that one has such a character or such a + temperament? This would be curious, and would amount to saying that, a + lamb in the morning, one might be a tiger at evening. With him it was a + lamb that woke in the morning to be devoured by a tiger during the day. To + which hemisphere belonged the one and the other of these personalities? + </p> + <p> + He was angry with himself for yielding to these reflections; it was a + time, truly, to study this psychological question! It was of Caffie that + he should think, and of the plan which in an instant flashed through his + mind in the street, before he decided to pick up this knife. + </p> + <p> + Evidently things were neither so simple nor so easy as they at first + appeared, and to insure the success of his plan a combination of + circumstances was necessary, which might be difficult to bring about. + </p> + <p> + Would not the concierge see him pass? Would no one go up or down the + stairs? Would Caffie be alone? Would he open the door? Might not some one + ring after he had entered? + </p> + <p> + Here was a series of questions that he had not thought of before, but + which now presented itself. + </p> + <p> + He must examine them, weigh them, and not throw himself giddily into an + adventure that presented such risks. + </p> + <p> + He was alone all day, fortunately, and, as in the state of agitation in + which he found himself he could not think of work, he gave himself up to + this examination. The stakes were worth the trouble—his honor and + his life. + </p> + <p> + As soon as he was dressed he went out, and walked straight before him + through the streets that were already filled with people. + </p> + <p> + It was only when he had left the heart of Paris that he could reflect as + he wished, without being disturbed each instant by people in a hurry, for + whom he must make way, or by others who, reading the newspapers, did not + look before them, and so jostled against him. + </p> + <p> + Evidently the risks were more serious than he had imagined; and, as they + loomed up before him, he asked himself whether he should go on. To + suppress Caffie, yes; to give himself up, no. + </p> + <p> + “If it is impossible—” + </p> + <p> + He was not the man to set himself wildly against the impossible: he should + have had a dream, a bad dream, and that would be all. + </p> + <p> + He stopped, and, after a moment of hesitation, turning on his heel, he + retraced his steps. Of what use was it to go farther? He had no need to + reflect nor to weigh the pro and con; he must give up this plan; decidedly + it was too dangerous. + </p> + <p> + He had gone but a short distance when he asked himself whether these + dangers were such as he saw them, and whether he were face to face with a + radically demonstrated impossibility. + </p> + <p> + Without doubt, the concierge might observe him when he passed her lodge, + either on going up-stairs or coming down; and, also, she might not observe + him. This, in reality, depended much upon himself, and on his method of + proceeding. + </p> + <p> + Every evening this lame old concierge lighted the gas in the two wings of + the building, one on the street and one on the court. She began by + lighting that on the street, and, with the difficulty that she found in + walking, it should take her some time to climb the five stories and to + descend. If one watched from the street when, at dusk, she left her lodge + with a wax taper in her hand, and mounted the stairs behind her, at a + little distance, in such a way as to be on the landing of the first story + when she should reach the second, there would be time, the deed done, to + regain the street before she returned to her lodge, after having lighted + the gas on the two staircases. It was important to proceed methodically, + without hurry, but, also, without loitering. + </p> + <p> + Was this impossible? + </p> + <p> + Here, exactly, was the delicate point which he must examine with + composure, without permitting himself to be influenced by any other + consideration than that which sprang from the deed itself. + </p> + <p> + He was wrong, then, not to continue his route, and it was better, + assuredly, to get out of Paris. In the country, in the fields or woods, he + could find the calm that was indispensable to his over-excited brain, in + which ideas clashed like the waves of a disturbed sea. + </p> + <p> + He was at this moment in the middle of the Faubourg Saint Honore; he + followed a street that would bring him to the Champs Elysees, a desert at + this early hour. + </p> + <p> + It took him some time to examine all the hypotheses that might present + themselves, and he reached the conclusion that what had appeared + impossible to him was not so. If he preserved his calmness, and did not + lose perception of the passing time, he could very well escape the + concierge, which was the main point. + </p> + <p> + To tell the truth, the danger of the concierge removed, all was not easy. + There was the possibility of meeting one of the lodgers on the stairs; + there was a chance of not finding Caffie at home, or, at least, not alone; + or the bell might ring at the decisive moment. But, as everything depended + upon chance, these circumstances could not be decided beforehand. It was a + risk. If one of them happened, he would wait until the next day; it would + be one more day of agitation to live through. + </p> + <p> + But one question that should be decided in advance, because, surely, it + presented serious dangers, was how he should justify the coming into his + hands of a sum of money which, providentially and in the nick of time, + relieved him from the embarrassments against which he struggled. + </p> + <p> + He had reached the Bois de Boulogne and still continued his walk. In + passing a fountain the rippling of the water attracted his attention, and + he stopped. Although the weather was damp and cold under the influence of + a strong west wind charged with rain, his tongue was dry; he drank two + goblets of water, and then pursued his way, indifferent where he went. + </p> + <p> + Then he built up an arrangement which appeared ingenious to him, when it + occurred to him to remember that he had gone to Caffie to borrow three + thousand francs. Why would he not lend it to him, if not the first day, at + least the second? With this loan he paid his debts, if he were questioned + on this point. To prove this loan he need only to sign a receipt which he + could place in the safe, and which would be found there. Would not the + first thought of those who had signed a paper of this kind be to take it + when an occasion presented itself? As he would not seize this occasion to + carry off his note, it would be the proof that he had not opened the safe. + </p> + <p> + Among other advantages, this arrangement did away with robbery; it was + only a loan. Later he would return these three thousand francs to Caffies + heirs. So much the worse for him if it were a forced loan. + </p> + <p> + On returning to Paris he would buy a sheet of stamped paper, and as he had + asked the price the previous evening, he knew that he could afford the + expense. + </p> + <p> + When he reached Saint Cloud he entered a tavern and ordered some bread and + cheese and wine. But if he drank little, he ate less, his parched throat + refusing to swallow bread. + </p> + <p> + He took up his march in the clayey streets on the slope of Mont Valerian, + but he was insensible to the unpleasantness of slipping on the soft soil, + and walked hither and thither, his only care being not to get too far away + from the Seine, so that he might enter Paris before night. + </p> + <p> + He was delighted since he had made up his mind to make out and sign a + receipt for the money. But on giving it further consideration, he + perceived that it was not so ingenious as he had at first supposed. Do not + the dealers of stamped paper often number their paper? With this number it + would be easy to find the dealer and him who had bought it. And then, was + it not likely that a scrupulous business man like Caffie would keep a + record of the loans he made, and would not the absence of this one and the + note be sufficient to awaken suspicion and to direct it to him? + </p> + <p> + Decidedly, he only escaped one danger to fall into another. + </p> + <p> + For a moment he was discouraged, but it did not go so far as weakness. His + error had been in imagining that the execution of the idea that had come + to him while picking up the knife was as plain as it was easy. But + complicated and perilous as it was, it was not impossible. + </p> + <p> + The question which finally stood before him was, to know whether he + possessed the force needed to cope with these dangers, and on this ground + hesitation was not possible; to wish to foresee everything was folly; that + which he would not have expected, would come to pass. + </p> + <p> + He returned toward Paris, and by the Pont de Suresnes reentered the Bois + de Boulogne. As it was not yet three o’clock, he had plenty of time to + reach the Rue Sainte-Anne before night; but, on the way, a heavy shower + forced him to take shelter, and he watched the falling rain, asking + himself if this accident, which he had not foreseen, would not upset his + plan. A man who had received the force of this shower could not appear in + the street before Caffie’s door without attracting the attention of the + passers-by, and it was important for him that he should not attract the + attention of any one. + </p> + <p> + At length the rain ceased, and at twenty minutes of five he reached his + home. There remained fifteen or twenty minutes of daylight, which was more + than he needed. + </p> + <p> + He stuck the point of the knife in a cork, and, after having placed it + between the folded leaves of a newspaper, in the inside left-hand pocket + of his overcoat, he went out. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. THE CRUCIAL MOMENT + </h2> + <p> + When he reached Caffies door the night had scarcely fallen, and the + streets were not yet lighted. + </p> + <p> + The better and the surest plan for him had been to wait in the + ‘porte-cochere’ across the street; from there he could watch the + ‘concierge’, who would not be able to go out without being seen by him. + But though the passers were few at this moment, they might have observed + him. Next to this ‘porte-cochere’ was a small ‘cafe’, whose brilliant + lights would cause him to be seen quite plainly. He, therefore, walked on, + but soon returned. + </p> + <p> + All irresolution, all hesitation, had disappeared, and the only point on + which he still questioned himself bore upon the state in which he found + himself at this moment. He felt himself firm, and his pulse, he was + certain, beat regularly. He was as he had imagined he would be; experience + confirmed his foresight; his hand would tremble no more than his will. + </p> + <p> + As he passed before the house he saw the concierge come slowly out of her + lodge and close her door carefully, putting the key in her pocket. In her + left hand she held something white that he could not see distinctly in the + twilight, but it was probably the wax-taper which, doubtless, she had not + lighted for fear the wind would blow it out. + </p> + <p> + This was a favorable circumstance, that gave him one or two minutes more + than he had counted on, for she would be obliged to strike a match on the + stairs to light her taper; and, in the execution of his plan, two minutes, + a single minute even, might be of great importance. + </p> + <p> + With dragging steps and bent back she disappeared through the vestibule of + the stairway. Then Saniel continued his walk like an ordinary passer-by + until she had time to reach the first story; then, turning, he returned to + the porte-cochere and entered quietly. By the gaslight in the vestibule he + saw by his watch, which he held in his hand, that it was fourteen minutes + after five o’clock. Then, if his calculation was right, at twenty-four or + twenty-five minutes after five he must pass before the lodge, which should + still be empty at that moment. + </p> + <p> + On the staircase above him he heard the heavy step of the concierge; she + had lighted the gas on the first story, and continued on her way slowly. + With rapid but light steps he mounted behind her, and, on reaching + Caffie’s door, he rang the bell, taking care not to ring too loudly or too + timidly; then he knocked three times, as Caffie had instructed him. + </p> + <p> + Was Caffie alone? + </p> + <p> + Up to this time all had gone as he wished; no one in the vestibule, no one + on the stairs; fate was in his favor; would it accompany him to the end? + </p> + <p> + While he waited at the door, asking himself this question, an idea flashed + into his mind. He would make a last attempt. If Caffie consented to make + the loan he would save himself; if he refused, he condemned himself. + </p> + <p> + After several seconds, that appeared like hours, his listening ears + perceived a sound which announced that Caffie was at home. A scratching of + wood on the tiled floor denoted that a chair had been pushed aside; heavy, + dragging steps approached, then the bolt creaked, and the door was opened + cautiously. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! It is you, my dear sir!” Caffie said, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + Saniel entered briskly and closed the door himself, pressing it firmly. + </p> + <p> + “Is there anything new?” Caffie asked, as he led the way to his office. + </p> + <p> + “No,” Saniel replied. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then?” Caffie asked, as he seated himself in an armchair before his + desk, on which stood a lighted lamp. “I suppose you have come to hear more + about my young friend. This hurry augurs well.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is not of the young person that I wish to talk to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry.” + </p> + <p> + On seating himself opposite to Caffie, Saniel had taken out his watch. Two + minutes had passed since he left the vestibule; he must hurry. In order to + keep himself informed of the passing of time, he retained his watch in his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Are you in a hurry?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I will come immediately to business. It concerns myself, my + position, and I make a last appeal to you. Let us be honest with each + other. Undoubtedly you think that, pushed by my distress, and seeing that + I shall be lost forever, I shall decide to accept this marriage to save + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you suppose such a thing, my dear sir?” Caffie cried. + </p> + <p> + But Saniel stopped him.... + </p> + <p> + “The calculation is too natural for you not to have made it. Well, I must + tell you that it is false. Never will I lend myself to such a bargain. + Renounce your project, and let us discuss my demand. I am in absolute want + of three thousand francs, and I will pay the interest that you fix upon.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not found a money-lender, my dear sir. I have taken a great deal + of trouble, I assure you, but I did not succeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Make an effort yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Me? My dear sir!” + </p> + <p> + “I address myself to you.” + </p> + <p> + “But I have no ready money.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a desperate appeal that I make. I understand that your long + experience in business makes you insensible to the misery that you see + every day—” + </p> + <p> + “Insensible! Say that it breaks my heart, my dear sir.” + </p> + <p> + “But will you not permit yourself to be touched by the misery of a man who + is young, intelligent, courageous, who will drown if a hand is not held + out to help him? For you, the assistance that I ask so earnestly is + nothing—” + </p> + <p> + “Three thousand francs! Nothing! Bless me! How you talk!” + </p> + <p> + “For me, if you refuse me, it is death.” + </p> + <p> + Saniel began to speak with his eyes fixed on the hands of his watch, but + presently, carried away by the fever of the situation, he raised them to + look at Caffie, and to see the effect that he produced on him. In this + movement he made a discovery that destroyed all his calculations. + </p> + <p> + Caffie’s office was a small room with a high window looking into the + court; never having been in this office except in the evening, he had not + observed that this window had neither shutters nor curtains of muslin or + of heavier stuff; there was nothing but the glass. To tell the truth, two + heavy curtains of woollen damask hung on either side of the window, but + they were not drawn. Talking to Caffie, who was placed between him and + this window, Saniel suddenly perceived that on the other side of the + court, in the second wing of the building, on the second story, were two + lighted windows directly opposite to the office, and that from there any + one could see everything that occurred in the office. + </p> + <p> + How should he execute his plan under the eyes of these people whom he saw + coming and going in this room? He would be lost. In any case, it was + risking an adventure so hazardous that he would be a fool to attempt it, + and he was not that; never had he felt himself so much the master of his + mind and nerves. + </p> + <p> + Also, it was not only to save Caffie’s life that he argued, it was to save + himself in grasping this loan. + </p> + <p> + “I can only, to my great regret, repeat to you what I have already said, + my dear sir. I have no ready money.” + </p> + <p> + And he held his jaw, groaning, as if this refusal aroused his toothache. + </p> + <p> + Saniel rose; evidently there was nothing for him to do but to go. It was + finished, and instead of being in despair he felt it as a relief. + </p> + <p> + But, as he was about to leave the room, an idea flashed through his mind. + </p> + <p> + He looked at his watch, which he had not consulted for some time; it was + twenty minutes after five; there yet remained four minutes, five at the + most. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you not draw these curtains?” he said. “I am sure your sufferings + are partly caused by the wind that comes in this window.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it; you should be warm about the head, and avoid currents of + air.” + </p> + <p> + Passing behind Caffie, he went to the window to draw the curtains, but the + cords would not move. + </p> + <p> + “It is years since they were drawn,” Caffie said. “Doubtless the cords are + entangled. I will bring the light.” + </p> + <p> + And, taking the lamp, he went to the window, holding it high in order to + throw light on the cords. + </p> + <p> + With a turn of the hand Saniel disentangled the cords, and the curtains + slid on the rods, almost covering the window. + </p> + <p> + “It is true a good deal of air did come in the window,” Caffie said. “I + thank you, my dear doctor.” + </p> + <p> + All this was done with a feverish rapidity that astonished Caffie. + </p> + <p> + “Decidedly, you are in a hurry,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, in a great hurry.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at his watch. + </p> + <p> + “However, I have still time to give you a consultation if you desire it.” + </p> + <p> + “I would not trouble you—” + </p> + <p> + “You do not trouble me.” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down in your armchair, and show me your mouth.” + </p> + <p> + While Caffie seated himself, Saniel continued in a vibrating voice: + </p> + <p> + “You see I give good for evil.” + </p> + <p> + “How is that, my dear sir?” + </p> + <p> + “You refuse me a service that would save me, and I give you a + consultation. It is true, it is the last.” + </p> + <p> + “And why the last, my dear sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Because death is between us.” + </p> + <p> + “Death!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you not see it?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I see it.” + </p> + <p> + “You must not think of such a thing, my dear sir. One does not die because + one cannot pay three thousand francs.” + </p> + <p> + The chair in which Caffie seated himself was an old Voltaire, with an + inclined back, and he half reclined in it. As his shirtcollar was too + large for him since he had become thin, and his narrow cravat was scarcely + tied, he displayed as much throat as jaw. + </p> + <p> + Saniel, behind the chair, had taken the knife in his right hand, while he + pressed the left heavily on Caffies forehead, and with a powerful stroke, + as quick as lightning, he cut the larynx under the glottis, as well as the + two carotid arteries, with the jugular veins. From this terrible wound + sprang a large jet of blood, which, crossing the room, struck against the + door. Cut clean, not a cry could be formed in the windpipe, and in his + armchair Caffie shook with convulsions from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + Leaving his position behind the chair, Saniel, who had thrown the knife on + the floor, looked at his watch and counted the ticking of the second-hand + in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “One, two, three-” + </p> + <p> + At the end of ninety seconds the convulsions ceased. + </p> + <p> + It was twenty-three minutes after five. Now it was important that he + should hurry and not lose a second. + </p> + <p> + The blood, after having gushed out, had run down the body and wet the vest + pocket in which was the key of the safe. But blood does not produce the + same effect upon a doctor as upon those who are not accustomed to its + sight and odor, and to its touch. In spite of the lukewarm sea in which it + lay, Saniel took the key, and after wiping his hand on one of the tails of + Caffie’s coat, he placed it in the lock. + </p> + <p> + Would it turn freely, or was it closed with a combination? The question + was poignant. The key turned and the door opened. On a shelf and in a + wooden bowl were packages of bank-notes and rolls of gold that he had seen + the evening when the bank-clerk came. Roughly, without counting; he thrust + them into his pocket, and without closing the safe, he ran to the front + door, taking care not to step in the streams of blood, which, on the + sloping tiled floor, ran toward this door. The time was short. + </p> + <p> + And now was the greatest danger, that of meeting some one behind this + door, or on the stairs. He listened, and heard no noise. He went out, and + no one was to be seen. Without running, but hastily, he descended the + stairs. Should he look in the lodge, or should he turn his head away? He + looked, but the concierge was not there. + </p> + <p> + A second later he was in the street mingling with the passersby, and he + drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. DISTRACTION + </h2> + <p> + There was no longer any need to be cautious, to listen, to stretch his + nerves, to restrain his heart; he could walk freely and reflect. + </p> + <p> + His first thought was to endeavor to explain to himself how he felt, and + he found that it was an immense relief; something, doubtless, analogous to + the returning to life after being in a state of asphyxiation. Physically, + he was calm; morally, he felt no remorse. He was right, therefore, in his + theory when he told Phillis that in the intelligent man remorse precedes + the action, instead of following it. + </p> + <p> + But where he was mistaken was in imagining that during the act he should + maintain his coolness and force, which, in reality, had failed him + completely. + </p> + <p> + Going from one idea to another, tossed by irresolution, he was by no means + the strong man that he had believed himself: one to go to the end unmoved, + ready to face every attack; master of his nerves as of his will, in full + possession of all his powers. On the contrary, he had been the plaything + of agitation and weakness. If a serious danger had risen. before him, he + would not have known on which side to attack it; fear would have paralyzed + him, and he would have been lost. + </p> + <p> + To tell the truth, his hand had been firm, but his head had been + bewildered. + </p> + <p> + There was something humiliating in this, he was obliged to acknowledge; + and, what was more serious, it was alarming. Because, although everything + had gone as he wished, up to the present time, all was not finished, nor + even begun. + </p> + <p> + If the investigations of the law should reach him, how should he defend + himself? + </p> + <p> + He felt sure that he had not been seen in Caffies house at the moment when + the crime was committed; but does one ever know whether one has been seen + or not? + </p> + <p> + And there was the production of money that he should use to pay his debts, + which might become an accusation against which it would be difficult to + defend himself. In any case, he must be ready to explain his position. And + what might complicate the matter was, that Caffie, a careful man, had + probably taken care to write the numbers of his bank-notes in a book, + which would be found. + </p> + <p> + On leaving the Rue Sainte-Anne he took the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs to + his home, to leave the bank-notes and to wash off the stains of blood that + might have splashed on him and his hands, particularly the right one, + which was still red. But suddenly it occurred to him that he might be + followed, and it would be folly to show where he lived. He hastened his + steps, in order to make any one who might be following him run, and took + the streets that were not well lighted, those where there was little + chance of any one seeing the stains, if they were visible, on his clothing + or boots. He walked in this way for nearly half an hour, turning and + returning on his track, and after having crossed the Place Vendome twice, + where he was able to look behind him, he decided to go home, not knowing + whether he should be satisfied to have bewildered all quest, or whether he + should not be furious to have yielded to a sort of panic. + </p> + <p> + As he passed by the lodge without stopping, his concierge called him, and, + running out, gave him a letter with unusual eagerness. Saniel, who wished + to escape observation, took it hastily, and stuffed it into his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “It is an important letter,” the concierge said. “The servant who brought + it told me that it contained money.” + </p> + <p> + It needed this recommendation at such a moment, or Saniel would not have + opened it, which he did as soon as he entered his rooms. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I do not wish, my dear Doctor, to leave Paris for Monaco, where I + go to pass two or three months, without sending you our thanks. + + “Yours very gratefully, + + “C. DUPHOT.” + </pre> + <p> + These thanks were represented by two bills of one hundred francs, a + payment more than sufficient for the care that Saniel had given some + months before to the mistress of this old comrade. Of what use now were + these two hundred francs, which a few days sooner would have been so much + to him? He threw them on his desk; and then, after having lighted two + candles, he inspected his clothing. + </p> + <p> + The precaution that he had taken to place himself behind the chair was + wise. The blood, in squirting in front and on each side, had not reached + him; only the hand that held the knife and the shirt-sleeve were splashed, + but this was of no consequence. A doctor has the right to have some blood + on his sleeves, and this shirt went to join the one he had worn the + previous night when attending the sick woman. + </p> + <p> + Free from this care, he still had the money in his pockets. He emptied + them on his desk and counted all: five rouleaux of gold, of a thousand + francs, and three packages of ten thousand francs each, of bank-notes. + </p> + <p> + How should he get rid of this sum all at once, and, later, how should he + justify its production when the moment came, if it came? + </p> + <p> + The question was complex, and, unfortunately for him, he was hardly in a + state to consider it calmly. + </p> + <p> + For the gold, he had only to burn the papers in which it was rolled. Louis + have neither numbers nor particular marks, but bills have. Where should he + conceal them while waiting to learn through the newspapers if Caffie had + or had not made a note of these numbers? + </p> + <p> + While burning these papers on which Caffie had written “2,000 francs,” he + tried to think of a place of concealment. + </p> + <p> + As he threw a glance around him, asking from things the inspiration that + his brain did not furnish, he caught sight of the letter he had just + received, and it suggested an idea. Duphot was at Monaco to play. Why + should he not go also, and play? + </p> + <p> + Having neither relatives nor friends from whom he could procure a certain + sum, his only resource was to make it at play; and in his desperate + position, known to every one, nothing was more natural than this + experiment. He had received two hundred francs, which would not save him + from his creditors. He would risk them at roulette at Monaco. Whether he + lost or won was of little consequence. He would have played that would be + sufficient. He would be seen playing. Who would know whether he lost or + won? From Monaco he would pay Jardine by telegraph, out of the five + thousand Louis, which would be more than sufficient for that; and, when he + returned to Paris, he would free himself from his other creditors with + what remained. + </p> + <p> + The money affair decided—and it seemed to him cleverly settled—did + not include the bank-notes, which, spread out before his eyes, disturbed + him. What should he do with them? One moment he thought of burning them, + but reflection held him back. Would it not be folly to destroy this + fortune? In any case, would it not be the work of a narrow mind, of one + not fertile in resources? + </p> + <p> + In trying to think of some safe place to hide the banknotes, one thought + continually absorbed him: What was happening in the Rue Sainte-Anne? Had + any one discovered the dead man? + </p> + <p> + He should be there to observe events, instead of timidly shutting himself + up in his office. + </p> + <p> + For several minutes he tried to resist this thought, but it was stronger + than his will or his reason. So much was he under its power that he could + do nothing. + </p> + <p> + Willing or unwilling, foolish or not, he must go to the Rue Sainte-Anne. + </p> + <p> + He washed his hands, changed his shirt, and throwing the notes and gold + into a drawer, he went out. + </p> + <p> + He knew very well that there was a certain danger in leaving these proofs + of the crime, which, found in an official search, would overwhelm him, + without his being able to defend himself. But he thought that an immediate + search was unlikely to occur, and if he could not make a probable story, + it would be better for him not to reason about it. It was a risk that he + ran, but how much he had on his side! + </p> + <p> + He hastened along the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, but on approaching the + Rue Sainte-Anne he slackened his steps, looking about him and listening. + Nothing unusual struck him. Even when he turned into the Rue Sainte-Anne + he found it bore its ordinary aspect. A few passers-by, not curious; no + groups on the sidewalk; no shopkeepers at their doors. Nothing was + different from usual. + </p> + <p> + Apparently, nothing had yet been discovered. Then he stopped, judging it + useless to go farther. Already he had passed too much time before Caffie’s + door, and when one was of his build, above the medium height, with a + physiognomy and appearance unlike others, one should avoid attracting + attention. + </p> + <p> + For several minutes he walked up and down slowly, from the Rue + Neuve-des-Petits-Champs to the Rue du Hasard; from there he could see + Caffie’s house, and yet be so far away that no one would suspect him of + watching it. + </p> + <p> + But this promenade, which was quite natural, and which he would have + continued for an hour in ordinary circumstances, without thinking anything + about it, soon alarmed him. It seemed as if people looked at him, and two + persons stopping to talk made him wonder if they spoke of him. Why did + they not continue their way? Why, from time to time, did they turn their + heads toward him? + </p> + <p> + He left the place, and neither wishing nor being able to decide to go far + away from “the house,” he concluded to go to a small cafe which was close + by. + </p> + <p> + On entering, he seated himself at a table near the door that appeared to + be an excellent observatory, from where he could easily survey the street. + A waiter asked him what he would have, and he ordered coffee. + </p> + <p> + He gave this order mechanically, without thinking what he was saying, and + not till afterward did he wonder if it were natural to take coffee at this + hour. The men seated at the other tables drank appetizers or beer. Had he + not made a blunder? + </p> + <p> + But everything seemed a blunder, as everything seemed dangerous. Could he + not regain his composure and his reason? He drank his coffee slowly; then + he asked for a newspaper. The street was quiet, and people left the cafe + one by one. + </p> + <p> + Behind his newspaper he reflected. It was his feverish curiosity that made + him admit that Caffie’s death would be discovered during the evening. In + reality, it might easily remain undiscovered until the next day. + </p> + <p> + But he could not stay in the cafe until the next day, nor even until + midnight. Perhaps he had remained there too long already. + </p> + <p> + He did not wish to go yet, so he ordered writing materials, and paid the + waiter, in case he might wish to go hastily—if anything occurred. + </p> + <p> + What should he write? He wished to test himself, and found that he was + able to write clearly, and to select the proper words; but when he came to + read it over, his will failed him. + </p> + <p> + Time passed. Suddenly there was a movement under the porte-cochere of “the + house,” and a man ran through the street. Two or three persons stopped in + a group. + </p> + <p> + Without hurrying too much, Saniel went out, and in a strong voice asked + what had happened. + </p> + <p> + “An agent of business has been assassinated in his office. Word has been + sent to the police bureau in the Rue du Hasard.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. THE EXAMINATION + </h2> + <p> + Saniel was there to observe, without having decided what he should do. + Instantly, with the decision that had “failed him so often during his + vigil,” he resolved to go to Caffie’s. Was he not a doctor, and the + physician of the dead-man? What could be more natural? + </p> + <p> + “A money-lender!” he exclaimed. “Is it Monsieur Caffie?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am his doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “A doctor! Here is a doctor!” cried several voices. + </p> + <p> + The crowd parted, and Saniel passed under the porte-cochere, where the + concierge, half fainting, was seated on a chair, surrounded by all the + maids of the house and several neighbors, to whom she related the news. + </p> + <p> + By using his elbows he was able to approach her. + </p> + <p> + “Who has said Monsieur Caffie is dead?” he asked with authority. + </p> + <p> + “No one has said he is dead; at least, I have not.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then?” + </p> + <p> + “There is a stain of blood that has run from his office down to the + landing; and as he is at home, since the light of his lamp is seen in the + court, and he never leaves it burning when he goes to dinner, something + must have happened. And why are his curtains drawn? He always leaves them + open.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment two policemen appeared, preceded by a locksmith armed with + a bunch of keys, and a little man with a shrewd, sharp appearance, wearing + spectacles, and a hat from under which fell blond curls. The commissioner + of police probably. + </p> + <p> + “On which story?” he asked the concierge. + </p> + <p> + “On the first.” + </p> + <p> + “Come with us.” + </p> + <p> + He started to go upstairs, accompanied by the concierge, the locksmith, + and one of the policemen; Saniel wished to follow them, but the other + policeman barred the way. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, Monsieur Commissioner,” Saniel said. + </p> + <p> + “What do you wish, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I am Monsieur Caffie’s physician.” + </p> + <p> + “Your name?” + </p> + <p> + “Doctor Saniel.” + </p> + <p> + “Let the doctor pass,” the commissioner said, “but alone. Make every one + go out, and shut the porte-cochere.” + </p> + <p> + On reaching the landing the commissioner stopped to look at the brown + stain which, running under the door, spread over the tiling, as Caffie + never had had a mat. + </p> + <p> + “It is certainly a stain of blood,” Saniel said, who stopped to examine it + and dipped his finger in it. + </p> + <p> + “Open the door,” the commissioner said to the locksmith. + </p> + <p> + The latter examined the lock, looked among his keys, selected one, and + unlocked the door. + </p> + <p> + “Let no one enter,” the commissioner said. “Doctor, have the goodness to + follow me.” + </p> + <p> + And, going ahead, he entered the first office, that of the clerk, followed + by Saniel. Two little rills of blood, already thickened, starting from + Caffie’s chair, and running across the tiled floor, which sloped a little + toward the side of the staircase, joined in the stain which caused the + discovery of the crime. The commissioner and Saniel took care not to step + in it. + </p> + <p> + “The unfortunate man has had his throat cut,” Saniel said. “Death must + have occurred two or three hours ago. There is nothing to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak for yourself, doctor.” + </p> + <p> + And, stooping, he picked up the knife. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not a butcher’s knife?” asked Saniel, who could only use this word. + </p> + <p> + “It looks like it.” + </p> + <p> + He had raised Caffie’s head and examined the wound. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” he said, “that the victim has been butchered. The stroke was + from left to right, by a firm hand which must be accustomed to handle this + knife. But it is not only a strong and practised hand that has done this + deed; it was guided by an intelligence that knew how to proceed to insure + a quick, almost instantaneous death, and at the same time a silent one.” + </p> + <p> + “You think it was done by a butcher?” + </p> + <p> + “By a professional killer; the larynx has been cut above the glottis, and + with the same stroke the two carotid arteries, with the jugular veins. As + the assassin had to raise the head, the victim was not able to cry out; + considerable blood has flowed, and death must have ensued in one or two + minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “The scene appears to me very well reconstructed.” + </p> + <p> + “The blood should have burst out in this direction,” Saniel continued, + pointing to the door. “But as this door was open, nothing is to be seen.” + </p> + <p> + While Saniel spoke, the commissioner threw a glance about the room—the + glance of the police, which takes in everything. + </p> + <p> + “The safe is open,” he said. “The affair becomes clear; the assassination + was followed by theft.” + </p> + <p> + There was a door opposite to the entrance, which the commissioner opened; + it was that of Caffie’s bedroom. + </p> + <p> + “I will give you a man to help you carry the body into this room, where + you can continue your examination more easily, while I will continue my + investigations in this office.” + </p> + <p> + Saniel would have liked to remain in the office to assist at these + investigations, but it was impossible to raise an objection. The chair was + rolled into the bedroom, where two candles had been lighted on the mantel, + and when the body was laid on the bed, the commissioner returned to the + office. + </p> + <p> + Saniel made his examination last as long a time as possible, to the end + that he need not leave the house; but he could not prolong it beyond + certain limits. When they were reached, he returned to the clerk’s office, + where the commissioner had installed himself, and was hearing the + concierge’s deposition. + </p> + <p> + “And so,” he said, “from five to seven o’clock no one asked for M. + Caffie?” + </p> + <p> + “No one. But I left my lodge at a quarter past five to light the gas on + the stairs; that took me twenty minutes, because I am stiff in my joints, + and during this time some one might have gone up and down the stairs + without my seeing them.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” the commissioner said, turning to Saniel, “have you found any + distinguishing feature?” + </p> + <p> + “No; there is only the wound on the neck.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you draw up your medico-legal report while I continue my inquest?” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly.” + </p> + <p> + And, without waiting, he seated himself at the clerk’s desk, facing the + commissioner’s secretary, who had arrived a few minutes previous. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to make you take the oath,” the commissioner said. + </p> + <p> + After this formality Saniel began his report: + </p> + <p> + “We, the undersigned, Victor Saniel, doctor of medicine of the Paris + Faculty, residing in Paris in the Rue Louis-le-Grand, after having taken + an oath to fulfil in all honor and conscience the mission confided to us—” + </p> + <p> + All the time that he was writing he paid attention to everything that was + said, and did not lose one word of the concierge’s deposition. + </p> + <p> + “I am certain,” she said, “that from half-past five until now no one has + gone up or down the stairs but the people who live in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “But before half-past five?” + </p> + <p> + “I have told you that from a quarter past five until half-past I was not + in my lodge.” + </p> + <p> + “And before a quarter past five o’clock?” + </p> + <p> + “Several persons passed whom I did not know.” + </p> + <p> + “Did any one among them ask you for Monsieur Caffie?” + </p> + <p> + “No; that is to say, yes. There was one who asked me if Monsieur Caffie + was at home; but I know him well; that is why I answered No.” + </p> + <p> + “And who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “One of Monsieur Caffies old clerks.” + </p> + <p> + “His name?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Florentin—Monsieur Florentin Cormier.” + </p> + <p> + Saniel’s hand was arrested at this name, but he did not raise his head. + </p> + <p> + “At what hour did he come?” asked the commissioner. + </p> + <p> + “Near three o’clock, before rather than after.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you see him go away?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, he spoke to me.” + </p> + <p> + “What time was it?” + </p> + <p> + “Half-past three.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think that death could have occurred at this moment?” the + commissioner asked, turning to Saniel. + </p> + <p> + “No; I think it must have been between five and six o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “It is wrong for the commissioner to suspect Monsieur Florentin,” cried + the concierge. “He is a good young man, incapable of harming a fly. And + then, there is a good reason why death could not have taken place between + three o’clock and half-past; it is that Monsieur Caffie’s lamp was + lighted, and you know the poor gentleman was not a man to light his lamp + in broad daylight, looking as he was—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped abruptly, striking her forehead with her hand. + </p> + <p> + “That is what I remember, and you will see that Monsieur Florentin has + nothing to do with this affair. As I went upstairs at a quarter past five + to light my gas, some one came behind me and rang Monsieur Caffie’s bell, + and rapped three or four times at equal distances, which is the signal to + open the door.” + </p> + <p> + Again Saniel’s pen stopped, and he was obliged to lean his hand on the + table to prevent its trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Who was it?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! That I do not know,” she answered. “I did not see him, but I heard + him, the step of a man. It was this rascal who killed him, you may be + sure.” + </p> + <p> + This seemed likely. + </p> + <p> + “He went out while I was on the stairs; he knew the customs of the house.” + </p> + <p> + Saniel continued his report. + </p> + <p> + After having questioned and cross-questioned the concierge without being + able to make her say more, the commissioner dismissed her, and leaving + Saniel at his work, he passed into Caffie’s office, where he remained a + long time. + </p> + <p> + When he returned he brought a small note-book that he consulted. Without + doubt it was the book of Caffie’s safe, simple and primitive, like + everything relating to the old man’s habits, governed by the narrowest + economy in his expenses, as well as in his work. + </p> + <p> + “According to this note-book,” the commissioner said to his secretary, + “thirty-five or thirty-six thousand francs must have been taken from the + safe; but there are left deeds and papers for a large sum.” + </p> + <p> + Saniel, who had finished his report, did not take his eyes from the + note-book, and what he could see reassured him. Evidently these accounts + were reduced to a minimum: a date, a name, a sum, and after this name a + capital P, which, without doubt, meant “paid.” It was hardly possible that + with such a system Caffie had ever taken the trouble to enter the number + of the bills that had passed through his hands; in any case, if he did, it + was not in this note-book. Would another one be found? + </p> + <p> + “My report is finished,” he said. “Here it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Since you are here, perhaps you can give me some information concerning + the habits of the victim and the persons he received.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. I have known him but a short time, and he was my patient, as + I was his client, by accident. He undertook an affair for me, and I gave + him advice; he was in the last stage of diabetes. The assassin hastened + his death only a short time-a few days.” + </p> + <p> + “That is nothing; he hastened it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, certainly! Otherwise, if he is skilful in cutting throats, perhaps he + is less so in making a diagnosis of their maladies.” + </p> + <p> + “That is probable,” responded the commissioner, smiling. “You think it was + a butcher?” + </p> + <p> + “It seems probable.” + </p> + <p> + “The knife?” + </p> + <p> + “He might have stolen it or found it.” + </p> + <p> + “But the mode of operating?” + </p> + <p> + “That, it seems to me, is the point from where we should start.” + </p> + <p> + Saniel could remain no longer, and he rose to leave. + </p> + <p> + “You have my address,” he said; “but I must tell you, if you want me, I + leave to-morrow for Nice. But I shall be absent only just long enough to + go and return.” + </p> + <p> + “If we want you, it will not be for several days. We shall not get on very + rapidly, we have so little to guide us.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. A NEW PLAN + </h2> + <p> + Saniel walked home briskly. If, more than once during this interview, his + emotion was poignant, he could not but be satisfied with the result. The + concierge had not seen him, that was henceforth unquestionable; the + hypothesis of the butcher’s knife was put in a way to make his fortune; + and it seemed probable that Caffie had not kept the numbers of the + bank-notes. + </p> + <p> + But if they had been noted, and should the notebook containing them be + discovered later, the danger was not immediate. While writing his report + and listening to the concierge’s deposition, by a sort of inspiration he + thought of a way of disposing of them. He would divide them into small + packages, place them in envelopes, and address them with different + initials to the poste restante, where they would remain until he could + call for them without compromising himself. + </p> + <p> + In the deposition of the concierge, in the track indicated by the knife, + in the poste restante, he had just motives for satisfaction, that made him + breathe freely. Decidedly, fate seemed to be with him, and he should have + been able to say that everything was going well, if he had not committed + the imprudence of entering the cafe. Why had he gone there and remained + long enough to attract attention? What might not be the consequences of + this stupidity? + </p> + <p> + As soon as he reached home and his door was closed, he carried out his + intentions regarding the bank-notes, dividing them into ten packages. His + first thought was to place them in the nearest letterbox, but reflection + showed him that this would be unwise, and he decided to mail each one in a + different quarter of the city. + </p> + <p> + After his long walk of the morning, and the emotions of the evening, he + felt a fatigue that he had never known before, but he comprehended that he + was not at liberty to yield to this weariness. A new situation was made + for him, and henceforth he no longer belonged to himself. For the rest of + his life he would be the prisoner of his crime. And it was this crime + which, from this evening, would command, and he must obey. + </p> + <p> + Why had he not foreseen this situation when, weighing the pro and con like + an intelligent man who can scrutinize the future under all its phases, he + had examined what must happen? But surprising as it was, the discovery was + no less certain, and the sad and troublesome proof was that, however + intelligent one may be, one can always learn by experience. + </p> + <p> + What was there yet to learn? He confessed that he found himself face to + face with the unknown, and all that he wished was, that this lesson he had + learned from experience might be the hardest. It would be folly to imagine + that it was the last. Time would show. + </p> + <p> + When he returned home, after posting his letters, it was long past one + o’clock. He went to bed immediately, and slept heavily, without waking or + dreaming. + </p> + <p> + It was broad daylight when he opened his eyes the next morning. Surprised + at having slept so late, he jumped up and looked at his watch, which said + eight o’clock. But as he should not leave until a quarter past eleven, he + had plenty of time. + </p> + <p> + How should he employ it? + </p> + <p> + It was the first time in years that he had asked himself such a question; + he, who each day always found that he needed three or four hours more to + carry out his programme. + </p> + <p> + He dressed slowly, and then thought of writing to Phillis to tell her of + his trip to Nice. But suddenly he changed his mind, and decided to go to + see her. + </p> + <p> + The preceding year he attended Madame Cormier, who had been stricken with + paralysis, and he could occasionally present himself at her house without + appearing to call upon Phillis. It was easy to say that he was passing by, + and wished to learn news of the patient whom he had cured. + </p> + <p> + At nine o’clock he knocked at her door. + </p> + <p> + “Enter,” a man’s voice said. + </p> + <p> + He was surprised, for in his visits to Madame Cormier he had never seen a + man there. He crossed the hall and knocked at the dining-room door. This + time it was Phillis who bid him come in. + </p> + <p> + He opened the door and saw Phillis, in a gray blouse, seated before a + large table placed by the window. She was painting some cards. + </p> + <p> + Hearing steps, she turned her head and instantly rose, but she restrained + the cry-the name that was on her lips. + </p> + <p> + “Mamma,” she said, “here is Doctor Saniel.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Cormier entered, walking with difficulty; for, if Saniel had put + her on her feet, he had not given her the suppleness or the grace of + youth. + </p> + <p> + After a few words, Saniel explained that, having to pay a visit to the + Batignolles, he would not come so near his former patient without calling + to see her. + </p> + <p> + While Madame Cormier told at great length how she felt, and also how she + did not feel, Phillis looked at Saniel, uneasy to see his face so + convulsed. Surely, something very serious had happened; his visit said + this. But what? Her anguish was so much the greater, because he certainly + avoided looking at her. Why? She had done nothing, and could find nothing + with which to reproach herself. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the door opened, and a man still young, tall, with a curled + beard, entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “My son,” Madame Cormier said. + </p> + <p> + “My brother Florentin, of whom we have spoken so often,” Phillis said. + </p> + <p> + Florentin! Was he then becoming imbecile, that he had not thought the + voice of the man who bid him enter was that of Phillis’s brother? Was he + so profoundly overwhelmed that such a simple reasoning was impossible to + him? Decidedly, it was important for him to go away as quickly as + possible; the journey would calm his nerves. + </p> + <p> + “They wrote to me,” Florentin said, “and since my return they have told me + how good you were to my mother. Permit me to thank you from a touched and + grateful heart. I hope that before long this gratitude will be something + more than a vain word.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not let us speak of that,” Saniel said, looking at Phillis with a + frankness and an open countenance that reassured heron a certain point. + “It is I who am obliged to Madame Cormier. If the word were not barbarous, + I should say that her illness has been a good thing for me.” + </p> + <p> + To turn the conversation, and because he wished to speak to Phillis alone, + he approached her table and talked with her about her work. + </p> + <p> + Saniel then gave Madame Cormier some advice, and rose to go. + </p> + <p> + Phillis followed him, and Florentin was about to accompany them, but + Phillis stopped him. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to ask Doctor Saniel a question,” she said. + </p> + <p> + When they were on the landing she closed the door. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” she asked in a hurried and trembling voice. + </p> + <p> + “I wished to tell you that I start for Monaco at eleven o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going away?” + </p> + <p> + “I have received two hundred francs from a patient, and I am going to risk + them at play. Two hundred francs will not pay Jardine or the others, but + with them I may win several thousands of francs.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Poor dear! How desperate you must be—you, such as you are, to + have such an idea!” + </p> + <p> + “Am I wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Never wrong to my eyes, to my heart, to my love. O my beloved, may + fortune be with you!” + </p> + <p> + “Give me your hand.” + </p> + <p> + She looked around, listening. There was no one, no noise. + </p> + <p> + Then, drawing him toward her, she put her lips on his: + </p> + <p> + “All yours, yours!” + </p> + <p> + “I will return Tuesday.” + </p> + <p> + “Tuesday, at five o’clock, I shall be there.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. THE SMILES OF FORTUNE + </h2> + <p> + No one knew so little about play as Saniel. He knew that people played at + Monaco, and that was all. He bought his ticket for Monaco, and left the + train at that place. + </p> + <p> + On leaving the station he looked all about him, to see what kind of a + place it was. Seeing nothing that looked like a gambling-house as he + understood it, that is, like the Casino de Royal, the only establishment + of the kind that he had ever seen, he asked a passer-by: + </p> + <p> + “Where is the gambling-house?” + </p> + <p> + “There is none at Monaco.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought there was.” + </p> + <p> + “There is one at Monte Carlo.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it far?” + </p> + <p> + “Over yonder.” + </p> + <p> + With his hand the man indicated, on the slope of the mountain, a green + spot where, in the midst of the foliage, were seen roofs and facades of + imposing buildings. + </p> + <p> + Saniel thanked him and followed his directions, while the man, calling + another, related the question that had been addressed to him, and both + laughed, shrugging their shoulders. Could any one be so stupid as these + Parisians! Another one who was going to be plucked, and who came from + Paris expressly for that! Was he not funny, with his big legs and arms? + </p> + <p> + Without troubling himself about the laughter that he heard behind him, + Saniel continued his way. In spite of his night on the train, he felt no + fatigue; on the contrary, his mind and body were active. The journey had + calmed the agitation of his nerves, and it was with perfect tranquillity + he looked back upon all that had passed before his departure. In the state + of satisfaction that was his now, he had nothing more to fear from + stupidity or acts of folly; and, since he had recovered his will, all + would go well. No more backward glances, and fewer still before. The + present only should absorb him. + </p> + <p> + The present, at this moment, was play. What did they play? He knew + roulette, but he knew not if the game was roulette. He would do as others + did. If he were ridiculed, it was of little importance; and in reality he + should desire to be ridiculed. People remember with pleasure those at whom + they have laughed, and he had come here to find some one who would + remember him. + </p> + <p> + When he entered the salon where the playing was going on, he observed that + a religious silence reigned there. Round a large table covered with a + carpet of green cloth, which was divided by lines and figures, some men + were seated on high chairs, making them appear like officers; others, on + lower chairs, or simply standing about the table, pushed or picked up the + louis and bank bills on the green cloth, and a strong voice repeated, in a + monotonous tone: + </p> + <p> + “Messieurs, faites votre jeu! Le jeu est fait! Rien ne va plus!” + </p> + <p> + Then a little ivory ball was thrown into a cylinder, where it rolled with + a metallic noise. Although he had never seen roulette, it required no + effort to divine that this was the game. + </p> + <p> + And, before putting several louis on the table, he looked about him to see + how it was played. But after the tenth time he understood as little as at + first. With the rakes the croupiers collected the stakes of certain + players; with these same rakes they doubled, separated, or even paid, in + proportions of which he took no account, certain others, and that was all. + </p> + <p> + But it mattered little. Having seen how the money was placed on the table, + that was sufficient. + </p> + <p> + He had five louis in his hand when the croupier said: + </p> + <p> + “Messieurs, faites votre jeu.” + </p> + <p> + He placed them on the number thirty-two, or, at least, he believed that he + placed them on this number. + </p> + <p> + “Rien ne va plus!” The ball rolled in the cylinder. + </p> + <p> + “Thirty-one!” cried the croupier, adding some other words that Saniel did + not understand. So little did he understand roulette that he thought he + had lost. He had placed his stake on the thirty-two, and it was the + thirty-one that had appeared; the bank had won. He was surprised to see + the croupier push a heap of gold toward him, which amounted to nearly a + hundred louis, and accompany this movement with a glance which, without + any doubt, meant to say: + </p> + <p> + “For you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + What should he do? Since he had lost, he could not take this, money that + was given to him by mistake. + </p> + <p> + In placing his stake on the table, he had leaned over the shoulder of a + gentleman whose hair and beard were of a most extraordinary black, who, + without playing, pricked a card with a pin. This gentleman turned toward + him, and with an amiable smile, and in a most gracious tone said: + </p> + <p> + “It is yours, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Decidedly, he was mistaken in thinking he had lost; and he must take this + heap of louis, which he did, but neglecting to take, also, his first + stake. + </p> + <p> + The game continued. + </p> + <p> + “Thirty-two,” called the croupier. + </p> + <p> + Saniel perceived that his five louis had remained on the thirty-two; he + believed that he had won, since this number was called, and his ignorance + was such that he did not know that in roulette a number is paid thirty-six + times the stake: the croupier would, therefore, push toward him one + hundred and eighty Louis. + </p> + <p> + But, to his great surprise, he pushed him no more money than at first. + This was incomprehensible. When he lost, money was paid to him, and when + he won, he was paid only half his due. + </p> + <p> + His face betrayed his astonishment so plainly that he saw a mocking smile + in the eyes of the black-haired man, who had again turned toward him. + </p> + <p> + As he played merely for the sake of playing, and not to win or lose, he + pocketed all that was pushed toward him and his stake. + </p> + <p> + “Since you are not going to play any more,” said the amiable gentleman, + leaving his chair, “will you permit me to say a word to you?” + </p> + <p> + Saniel bowed, and together they left the table. When they were far enough + away to converse without disturbing the players, the gentleman bowed + ceremoniously: + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to present myself-Prince Mazzazoli.” + </p> + <p> + Saniel replied by giving his name and position. + </p> + <p> + “Well, doctor,” the prince said with a strong Italian accent, “you will + pardon me, I hope, for making the simple observation that my age + authorizes: you play like a child.” + </p> + <p> + “Like an ignoramus,” Saniel replied, without being angry. For, however + unusual this observation might be, he had already decided that it might be + a good thing in the future to call upon the testimony of a prince. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure you are still asking yourself why you received eighteen times + the sum of your stake at the first play, and why you did not receive + thirty-six times the sum at the second.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will tell you.” And he proceeded to explain. + </p> + <p> + Saniel did not wait for the conclusion to learn the fact that this + very-much-dyed Italian prince was a liar. + </p> + <p> + “I do not intend to play again,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “With your luck that would be more than a fault.” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted a certain sum; I have won it, and that satisfies me.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not be so foolish as to refuse the hand that Fortune holds out?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure she holds it out to me?” Saniel asked, finding that it was + the prince. + </p> + <p> + “Do not doubt it. I will show you—” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; but I never break a resolution.” + </p> + <p> + In another moment Saniel would have turned his back on the man, but he was + a witness whom it would be well to treat with caution. + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing more to do here,” he said, politely. “Permit me to retire, + after having thanked you for your offer, whose kindness I appreciate.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” cried the prince, “since you will not risk your fate, let me do it + for you. This money may be a fetich. Take off five louis, only five louis, + and confide them to me. I will play them according to my combinations, + which are certain, and this evening I will give you your part of the + proceeds. Where are you staying? I live at the Villa des Palmes.” + </p> + <p> + “Nowhere; I have just arrived.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let us meet here this evening at ten o’clock, in this room, and we + will liquidate our association.” + </p> + <p> + His first impulse was to refuse. Of what use to give alms to this old + monkey? But, after all, it did not cost much to pay his witness five + louis, and he gave them to him. + </p> + <p> + “A thousand thanks! This evening, at ten o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + As Saniel left the room he found himself face to face with his old comrade + Duphot, who was accompanied by a woman, the same whom he had cured. + </p> + <p> + “What! you here?” both the lover and his mistress exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Saniel related why he was at Monaco, and what he had done since his + arrival. + </p> + <p> + “With my money! Ah! She is very well,” Duphot cried. + </p> + <p> + “And you will play no more?” the woman asked. + </p> + <p> + “I have all I want.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will play for me.” + </p> + <p> + He wished to decline, but they drew him to the roulette table, and each + put a louis in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Play.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “As inspiration counsels you. You have the luck.” + </p> + <p> + But his luck had died. The two louis were lost. + </p> + <p> + They gave him two others, which won eight. + </p> + <p> + “You see, dear friend.” + </p> + <p> + He went on, with varying luck, winning and losing. + </p> + <p> + At the end of a quarter of an hour they permitted him to go. + </p> + <p> + “And what are you going to do now?” Duphot asked. + </p> + <p> + “To send what I owe to my creditors by telegraph.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where the telegraph is?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go with you.” + </p> + <p> + This was a second witness that Saniel was too wise to shake off. + </p> + <p> + When he had sent his telegram to Jardine, he had nothing more to do at + Monte Carlo, and as he could not leave before eleven o’clock in the + evening, he was idle, not knowing how to employ his time. So he bought a + Nice newspaper and seated himself in the garden, under a gaslight, facing + the dark and tranquil sea. Perhaps he could find in it some telegraph + despatch which would tell him what had occurred in the Rue Sainte-Anne + since his departure. + </p> + <p> + At the end of the paper, under “Latest News,” he read: + </p> + <p> + “The crime of the Rue Sainte-Anne seems to take a new turn; the + investigations made with more care have led to the discovery of a + trousers’ button, to which is attached a piece of cloth. It shows, + therefore, that before the crime there was a struggle between the victim + and the assassin. As this button has certain letters and marks, it is a + valuable clew for the police.” + </p> + <p> + This proof of a struggle between the victim and the assassin made Saniel + smile. Who could tell how long this button had been there? + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he left his seat, and entering a copse he examined his clothing. + Was it he who had lost it? + </p> + <p> + But soon he was ashamed of this unconscious movement. The button which the + police were so proud to discover, did not belong to him. This new track on + which they were about to enter did not lead to him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. PHILLIS’S FEARS + </h2> + <p> + On Tuesday, a little before five o’clock, as she had promised, Phillis + rang at Saniel’s door, and he left his laboratory where he was at work, to + let her in. + </p> + <p> + She threw herself on his neck. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she asked, in a trembling voice. + </p> + <p> + He told her how he had played and won, without stating the exact sum; also + the propositions of the Prince Mazzazoli, the meeting with Duphot, and the + telegram to Jardine. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! What happiness!” she said, pressing him in her arms. “You are free!” + </p> + <p> + “No more creditors! I am my own master. You see it was a good inspiration. + Justice willed it.” + </p> + <p> + Then interrupting him: + </p> + <p> + “Apropos of justice, you did not speak of Caffie the morning of your + departure.” + </p> + <p> + “I was so preoccupied I had no time to think of Caffie.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it not curious, the coincidence of his death with the condemnation + that we pronounced against him? Does it not prove exactly the justice of + things?” + </p> + <p> + “If you choose.” + </p> + <p> + “As the money you won at Monaco proves to you that what is just will + happen. Caffie is punished for all his rascalities and crimes, and you are + rewarded for your sufferings.” + </p> + <p> + “Would it not have been just if Caffie had been punished sooner, and if I + had suffered less?” + </p> + <p> + She remained silent. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” he said smiling, “that your philosophy is weak.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not of my philosophy that I am thinking, but of Caffie and + ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “And how can Caffie be associated with you or yours?” + </p> + <p> + “He is, or rather he may be, if this justice in which I believe in spite + of your joking permits him to be.” + </p> + <p> + “You are talking in enigmas.” + </p> + <p> + “What have you heard about Caffie since you went away?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, or almost nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “You know it is thought that the crime was committed by a butcher.” + </p> + <p> + “The commissioner picked up the knife before me, and it is certainly a + butcher’s knife. And more than that, the stroke that cut Caffie’s throat + was given by a hand accustomed to butchery. I have indicated this in my + report.” + </p> + <p> + “Since then, more careful investigations have discovered a trousers’ + button—” + </p> + <p> + “Which might have been torn off in a struggle between Caffie and his + assassin, I read in a newspaper. But as for me, I do not believe in this + struggle. Caffie’s position in his chair, where he was assaulted and where + he died, indicates that the old scamp was surprised. Otherwise, if he had + not been, if he had struggled, he could have cried out, and, without + doubt, he would have been heard.” + </p> + <p> + “If you knew how happy I am to hear you say that!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “Happy! What difference can it make to you?” and he looked at her in + surprise. “Of what importance is it to you whether Caffie was killed with + or without a struggle? You condemned him; he is dead. That should satisfy + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I was very wrong to pronounce this condemnation, which I did without + attaching any importance to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think that hastened its execution?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not so foolish as that, but I should be better pleased if I had not + condemned him.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you regret it?” + </p> + <p> + “I regret that he is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Decidedly, the enigma continues; but you know I do not understand it, + and, if you wish, we will stop there. We have something better to do than + to talk of Caffie.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, let me talk to you of him, because we want your advice.” + </p> + <p> + Again he looked at her, trying to read her face and to divine why she + insisted on speaking of Caffie, when he had just expressed a wish not to + speak of him. What was there beneath this insistence? + </p> + <p> + “I will listen,” he said; “and, since you wish to ask my advice on the + subject, you must tell me immediately what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right; and I should have told you before, but embarrassment and + shame restrained me. And I reproach myself, for with you I should feel + neither embarrassment nor reproach.” + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly.” + </p> + <p> + “But before everything else, I must tell you—you must know—that + my brother Florentin is a good and honest boy; you must believe it, you + must be convinced of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I am, since you tell me so. Besides, he produced the best impression on + me during the short time I saw him the other day at your house.” + </p> + <p> + “Would not one see immediately that he has a good nature?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “Frank and upright; weak, it is true, and a little effeminate also, that + is, lacking energy, letting himself be carried away by goodness and + tenderness. This weakness made him commit a fault before his departure for + America. I have kept it from you until this moment, but you must know it + now. Loving a woman who controlled him and made him do what she wished, he + let himself be persuaded to-take a sum of forty-five francs that she + demanded, that she insisted on having that evening, hoping to be able to + replace it three days later, without his employer discovering it.” + </p> + <p> + “His employer was Caffie?” + </p> + <p> + “No; it was three months after he left Caffie, and he was with another man + of business of whom I have never spoken to you, and now you understand + why. The money he expected failed him; his fault was discovered, and his + employer lodged a complaint against him.” + </p> + <p> + “We made him withdraw his complaint, never mind how, and Florentin went to + America to seek his fortune. And since you have seen him, you admit that + he might be capable of the fault that he committed, without being + capable-of becoming an assassin.” + </p> + <p> + He was about to reply, but she closed his lips with a quick gesture. + </p> + <p> + “You will see why I speak of this, and you will understand why I do not + drop the subject of Caffie, and of this button, on which the police count + to find the criminal. This button belonged to Florentin.” + </p> + <p> + “To your brother?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to Florentin, who, the day of the crime, had been to see Caffie.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true; the concierge told the commissioner of police that he + called about three o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + Phillis gave a cry of despair. + </p> + <p> + “They know he was there? Then it is more serious than we imagined or + believed.” + </p> + <p> + “In answering a question as to whom Caffie had received that day, the + concierge named your brother. But as this visit took place between three + and half-past, and the crime was certainly committed between five and + half-past, no one can accuse your brother of being the assassin, since he + left before Caffie lighted his lamp. As this lamp could not light itself, + it proves that he could not have butchered a man who was living an hour + after the concierge saw your brother and talked with him.” + </p> + <p> + “What you say is a great relief; if you could know how alarmed we have + been!” + </p> + <p> + “You were too hasty to alarm yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Too hasty? But when Florentin read the account to us and came to the + button, he exclaimed, ‘This button is mine!’ and we experienced a shock + that made us lose our heads. We saw the police falling on us, questioning + Florentin, reproaching him with the past, which would be retailed in all + the newspapers, and you must understand how we felt.” + </p> + <p> + “But cannot your brother explain how he lost this button at Caffie’s?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, and in the most natural way. He went to see Caffie, to ask him + for a letter of recommendation, saying that he had been his clerk for + several years. Caffie gave it to him, and then, in the course of + conversation, Caffie spoke of a bundle of papers that he could not find. + Florentin had had charge of these papers, and had placed them on a high + shelf in the closet. As Caffie could not find them, and wanted them, + Florentin brought a small ladder, and, mounting it, found them. He was + about to descend the ladder, when he made a misstep, and in trying to save + himself, one of the buttons of his trousers was pulled off.” + </p> + <p> + “And he did not pick it up?” + </p> + <p> + “He did not even notice it at first. But later, in the street, seeing one + leg of his trousers longer than the other, he thought of the ladder, and + found that he had lost a button. He would not return to Caffie’s to look + for it, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course.” + </p> + <p> + “How could he foresee that Caffie would be assassinated? That the crime + would be so skilfully planned and executed that the criminal would escape? + That two days later the police would find a button on which they would + build a story that would make him the criminal? Florentin had not thought + of all that.” + </p> + <p> + “That is understood.” + </p> + <p> + “The same evening he replaced the button by another, and it was only on + reading the newspaper that he felt there might be something serious in + this apparently insignificant fact. And we shared his alarm.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you spoken to any one of this button?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not; we know too much. I tell you of it because I tell you + everything; and if we are menaced, we have no help to expect, except from + you. Florentin is a good boy, but he is weak and foolish. Mamma is like + him in more than one respect, and as for me, although I am more resistant, + I confess that, in the face of the law and the police, I should easily + lose my head, like children who begin to scream when they are left in the + dark. Is not the law, when you know nothing of it, a night of trouble, + full of horrors, and peopled with phantoms?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not believe there is the danger that you imagined in the first + moment of alarm.” + </p> + <p> + “It was natural.” + </p> + <p> + “Very natural, I admit, but reflection must show how little foundation + there is for it. The button has not the name of the tailor who furnished + it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but it has the initials and the mark of the manufacturer; an A and a + P, with a crown and a cock.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! Among two or three thousand tailors in Paris, how is it possible + for the police to find those who use these buttons? And when the tailors + are found, how could they designate the owner of this button, this one + exactly, and not another? It is looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. + Where did your brother have these trousers made? Did he bring them from + America?” + </p> + <p> + “The poor boy brought nothing from America but wretchedly shabby clothes, + and we had to clothe him from head to foot. We were obliged to economize, + and a little tailor in the Avenue de Clichy, called Valerius, made this + suit.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me scarcely probable that the police will find this little + tailor. But if they do, would he recognize the button as coming from his + stock? And, if they get as far as your brother, they must prove that there + was a struggle; that the button was torn off in this struggle; that your + brother was in the Rue Sainte-Anne between five and six o’clock; in which + case, without doubt, he will find it easy to prove where he was at that + moment.” + </p> + <p> + “He was with us—with mamma.” + </p> + <p> + “You see, then, you need not feel alarmed.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. A GRAVE DISCUSSION + </h2> + <p> + Phillis hurried to return to the Rue des Moines, to share with her mother + and brother the confidence that Saniel caused her to feel. + </p> + <p> + She pulled the bell with a trembling hand, for the time was past when in + this quiet house, where all the lodgers knew each other, the key was left + in the door, and one had only to knock before entering. Since the + newspapers had spoken of the button, all was changed; the feeling of + liberty and security had disappeared; the door was always closed, and when + the bell rang they looked at each other in fear and with trembling. + </p> + <p> + When Florentin opened the door, the table was set for dinner. + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid something had happened to you,” Madame Cormier said. + </p> + <p> + “I was detained.” + </p> + <p> + She took off her hat and cloak hastily. + </p> + <p> + “You have learned nothing?” the mother asked, bringing in the soup. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “They spoke to you of nothing?” Florentin continued in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “They spoke to me of nothing else; or I heard only that when I was not + addressed directly.” + </p> + <p> + “What was said?” + </p> + <p> + “No one believes that the investigations of the police bear on the + button.” + </p> + <p> + “You see, Florentin,” Madame Cormier interrupted, smiling at her son. + </p> + <p> + But he shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “However, the opinion of all has a value,” Phillis cried. + </p> + <p> + “Speak lower,” Florentin said. + </p> + <p> + “It is thought that it is impossible for the police to find, among the two + or three thousand tailors in Paris, all those who use the buttons marked + A. P. And if they did find them, they could not designate all their + customers to whom they have furnished these buttons. It is really looking + for a needle in a bundle of hay.” + </p> + <p> + “When one takes plenty of time, one finds a needle in a bundle of hay,” + Florentin said. + </p> + <p> + “You ask me what I heard, and I tell you. But I do not depend entirely on + that. As I passed near the Rue Louis-le-Grand, I went to Doctor Saniel’s; + it being his office hour I hoped to find him.” + </p> + <p> + “You told him the situation?” Florentin exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + In any other circumstances she would have replied frankly, explaining that + she had perfect confidence in Saniel; but when she saw her brother’s + agitation, she could not exasperate him by this avowal, above all, because + she could not at the same time give her reasons for her faith in him. She + must reassure him before everything. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, “but I spoke of Caffie to Doctor Saniel without his being + surprised. As he made the first deposition, was it not natural that my + curiosity should wish to learn a little more than the newspapers tell?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, the act must appear strange.” + </p> + <p> + “I think not. But, anyhow, the interest that we have to learn all made me + overlook this; and I think, when I have told you the doctor’s opinion, you + will not regret my visit.” + </p> + <p> + “And this opinion?” Madame Cormier asked. + </p> + <p> + “His opinion is, that there was no struggle between Caffie and the + assassin, whereas the position of Caffie in the chair where he was + attacked proves that he was surprised. Therefore, if there was no + struggle, there was no button torn off, and all the scaffolding of the + police falls to the ground.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Cormier breathed a profound sigh of deliverance. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” she said to her son. + </p> + <p> + “And the doctor’s opinion is not the opinion of the first-comer, it is not + even that of an ordinary physician. It is that of the physician who has + certified to the death, and who, more than any one, has power, has + authority, to say how it was given—by surprise, without struggle, + without a button being pulled off.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not Doctor Saniel who directs the search of the police, or who + inspires it,” replied Florentin. “His opinion does not produce a criminal, + while the button can—at least for those who believe in the struggle; + and between the two the police will not hesitate. + </p> + <p> + “Already the newspapers laugh at them for not having discovered the + assassin, who has rejoined all the others they have let escape. They must + follow the track they have started on, and this track—” + </p> + <p> + He lowered his voice: + </p> + <p> + “It will lead them here.” + </p> + <p> + “To do that they must pass by the Avenue de Clichy, and that seems + unlikely.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the possible that torments me, and not the unlikely, and you cannot + but recognize that what I fear is possible. I was at Caffies the day of + the crime. I lost there a button torn off by violence. This button picked + up by the police proves, according to them, the criminality of the one who + lost it. They will find that I am the one—” + </p> + <p> + “They will not find you.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us admit that they do find me. How should I defend myself?” + </p> + <p> + “By proving that you were not in the Rue Sainte-Anne between five and six + o’clock, since you were here.” + </p> + <p> + “And what witnesses will prove this alibi? I have only one—mamma. + What is the testimony of a mother worth in favor of her son in such + circumstances?” + </p> + <p> + “You will have that of the doctor, affirming that there was no struggle, + and consequently no button torn off.” + </p> + <p> + “Affirming, but carrying no proof to support his theory; the opinion of + one doctor, which the opinion of another doctor may refute and destroy. + And then, to prove that there was no struggle; Doctor Saniel will say that + Caffie was surprised. Who could surprise Caffie? To open Caffies door when + the clerk was away, it was necessary to ring first, and then to knock + three times in a peculiar way. No stranger could know that, and who could + know it better than I?” + </p> + <p> + Step by step Phillis defended the ground against her brother; but little + by little the confidence which at first sustained her weakened. With + Saniel she was brave. Between her brother and mother, in this room that + had witnessed their fears, not daring to speak loud, she was downcast, and + let herself be overcome by their anxieties. + </p> + <p> + “Truly,” she said, “it seems as if we were guilty and not innocent.” + </p> + <p> + “And while we are tormenting ourselves, the criminal, probably, in perfect + safety laughs at the police investigations; he had not thought of this + button; chance throws it in his way. Luck is for him, and against us—once + more.” + </p> + <p> + This was the plaint that was often on Florentin’s lips. Although he had + never been a gambler—and for sufficient reason—in his eyes + everything was decided by luck. There are those who are born under a lucky + star, others under an unlucky one. There are those who, in the battle of + life, receive knocks without being discouraged, because they expect + something the next day, as there are those who become discouraged because + they expect nothing, and know by experience that tomorrow will be for them + what today is, what yesterday was. And Florentin was one of these. + </p> + <p> + “Why did I not stay in America?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Because you were too unhappy, my poor boy!” Madame Cormier said, whose + maternal heart was moved by this cry. + </p> + <p> + “Am I happier here, or shall I be to-morrow? What does this to-morrow, + full of uncertainty and dangers, hold for us?” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you insist that it has only dangers?” Phillis asked, in a + conciliating and caressing tone. + </p> + <p> + “You always expect the good.” + </p> + <p> + “At least I hope for it, and do not admit deliberately that it is + impossible. I do not say that life is always rose-colored, but neither is + it always black. I believe it is like the seasons. After winter, which is + vile, I confess, come the spring, summer, and autumn.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if I had the money necessary for the voyage, I would go and pass + the end of the winter in a country where it would be less disagreeable + than here, and, above all, less dangerous for my constitution.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not say that seriously, I hope?” cried Madame Cormier. + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, very seriously.” + </p> + <p> + “We are hardly reunited, and you think of a separation,” she said, sadly. + </p> + <p> + “It is not of a separation that Florentin thinks,” cried Phillis, “but of + a flight.” + </p> + <p> + “And why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because only the guilty fly.” + </p> + <p> + “It is exactly the contrary. The intelligent criminals stay, and, as + generally they are resolute men, they know beforehand that they are able + to face the danger; while the innocent, timid like myself, or the unlucky, + lose their heads and fly, because they know beforehand, also, that if a + danger threatens them, it will crush them. That is why I would return to + America if I could pay my passage; at least I should feel easy there.” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment of silence, during which each one seemed to have no + thought but to finish dinner. + </p> + <p> + “Granting that this project is not likely,” Florentin said, “I have + another idea.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you have ideas?” Phillis asked. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you were in my place; we should see if you would not have them.” + </p> + <p> + “I assure you that I am in your place, and that your trouble is mine, only + it does not betray itself in the same manner. But what is your idea?” + </p> + <p> + “It is to find Valerius and tell him all.” + </p> + <p> + “And who will answer to us for Valerius’s discretion?” asked Madame + Cormier. “Would it not be the greatest imprudence that you could commit? + One cannot play with a secret of this importance.” + </p> + <p> + “Valerius is an honest man.” + </p> + <p> + “It is because he cannot work when political, or rather patriotic, affairs + go wrong, that you say this.” + </p> + <p> + “And why not? With a poor man who lives in a small way by his work, are + not this care and pride in his country marks of an honorable heart?” + </p> + <p> + “I grant the honorable heart, but it is another reason for being prudent + with him,” Phillis said. “Precisely because he may be what you think, + reserve is necessary. You tell him what is passed. If he accepts it and + your innocence, it is well; he will not betray your secret voluntarily nor + by stupidity. But he will not accept it; he will look beyond. He will + suppose that you wish to deceive him, and he will suspect you. In that + case, would he not go and tell all to the police commissioner of our + quarter? As for me, I think it is a danger that it would be foolish to + risk.” + </p> + <p> + “And, according to you, what is to be done?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing; that is, wait, since there are a thousand chances against one + for our uneasiness, and we exaggerate those that may never be realized.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let us wait,” he said. “Moreover, I like that; at the least, I have + no responsibilities. What can happen will happen.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR + </h2> + <p> + In order to put the button found at Caffies on the track of the assassin, + it required that it should have come from a Parisian tailor, or, at least, + a French one, and that the trousers had not been sold by a ready-made + clothing-house, where the names of customers are not kept. + </p> + <p> + The task of the police was therefore difficult, as weak, also, were the + chances of success. As Saniel had said, it was like looking for a needle + in a bundle of hay, to go to each tailor in Paris. + </p> + <p> + But this was not their way of proceeding. In place of trying to find those + who used these buttons, they looked for those who made them or sold them, + and suddenly, without going farther than the directory, they found this + manufacturer: “A. Pelinotte, manufacturer of metal buttons for trousers; + trademark, A.P., crown and cock; Faubourg du Temple.” + </p> + <p> + At first this manufacturer was not disposed to answer questions of the + agent who went to see him; but when he began to understand that he might + reap some advantage from the affair, like the good merchant that he was, + young and active, he put his books and clerks at his disposition. His + boast was, in effect, that his buttons, thanks to a brass bonnet around + which the thread was rolled instead of passing through the holes, never + cut the thread and could not be broken. When they came off it was with a + piece of the cloth. What better justification of his pretensions, what + better advertisement than his button torn off with a piece of the trousers + of the assassin? The affair would go before the assizes, and in all the + newspapers there would be mention of the “A. P. buttons.” + </p> + <p> + He was asked for his customers’ names, and after a few days the search + began, guided by a list so exact that useless steps were spared. + </p> + <p> + One morning a detective reached the Avenue de Clichy, and found the tailor + Valerius in his shop, reading a newspaper. For it was not only when the + country was in danger that Valerius had a passion for reading papers, but + every morning and evening. + </p> + <p> + Nothing that was published in the papers escaped him, and at the first + words of the agent he understood immediately about what he was to be + questioned. + </p> + <p> + “It is concerning the affair in the Rue Sainte-Anne that you wish this + information?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Frankly, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, frankly also, I do not know if the secrets of the profession permit + me to answer you.” + </p> + <p> + The agent, who was by no means stupid, immediately understood the man’s + character, and instead of yielding to the desire to laugh, caused by this + reply honestly made by this good-natured man, whose long, black, bushy + beard and bald head accentuated his gravity, he yielded to the necessity + of the occasion. + </p> + <p> + “That is a question to discuss.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let us discuss it. A customer, confiding in my honesty and + discretion, gives me an order to make a pair of trousers; he pays me as he + agreed, without beating me down, and on the day he promised. We are loyal + to each other. I give him a pair of good trousers, honestly made, and he + pays me with good money. We are even. Have I the right afterward, by + imprudent words, or otherwise, to furnish clews against him? The case is a + delicate one.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you place the interest of the individual above that of society?” + </p> + <p> + “When it is a question of a professional secret, yes. Where should we be + if the lawyer, the notary, the doctor, the confessor, the tailor, could + accept compromises on this point of doctrine? It would be anarchy, simply, + and in the end it would be the interest of society that would suffer.” + </p> + <p> + The agent, who had no time to lose, began to be impatient. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you,” he said, “that the tailor, however important his + profession may be, is not placed exactly as the doctor or confessor. Have + you not a book in which you write your customers’ orders?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “So that if you persevere in a theory, pushing it to an extreme, I need + only to go to the commissioner of your quarter, who, in virtue of the + power of the law conferred upon him, will seize your books.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be by violence, and my responsibility would be at an end.” + </p> + <p> + “And in these books the judge would see to whom you have furnished + trousers of this stuff. It would only remain then to discover in whose + interest you have wished to escape the investigations of the law.” + </p> + <p> + Saying this, he took from his pocket a small box, and taking out a piece + of paper, he took from it a button to which adhered a piece of navy blue + stuff. + </p> + <p> + Valerius, who was not in the least moved by the threat of the + commissioner, for he was a man to brave martyrdom, looked at the box + curiously. When the agent displayed the button, a movement of great + surprise escaped him. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” the agent exclaimed, “that you know this cloth!” + </p> + <p> + “Will you permit me to look at it?” Valerius asked. + </p> + <p> + “Willingly, but on condition that you do not touch it; it is precious.” + </p> + <p> + Valerius took the box, and approaching the front of the shop, looked at + the button and the piece of cloth. + </p> + <p> + “It is a button marked ‘A.P.,’ as you see, and we know that you use these + buttons.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not deny it; they are good buttons, and I give only good things to + my customers.” + </p> + <p> + Returning the box to the agent, he took a large book and began to turn + over the leaves; pieces of cloth were pasted on the pages, and at the side + were several lines of large handwriting. Arriving at a page where was a + piece of blue cloth, he took the box and compared this piece with that of + the button, examining it by daylight. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” he said, “I am going to tell you some very serious things.” + </p> + <p> + “I am listening.” + </p> + <p> + “We hold the assassin of the Rue Sainte-Anne, and it is I who will give + you the means of discovering him.” + </p> + <p> + “You have made trousers of this cloth?” + </p> + <p> + “I have made three pairs; but there is only one pair that can interest + you, that of the assassin. I have just told you that the secrets of the + profession prevented me from replying to your questions, but what I have + just seen frees my conscience. As I explained to you, when I make a pair + of good trousers for a customer who pays me in good money, I do not think + I have the right to reveal the affairs of my client to any one in the + world, even to the law.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” interrupted the agent, whose impatience increased. + </p> + <p> + “But this reserve on my part rests on reciprocity: to a good customer, a + good tailor. If the customer is not good the reciprocity ceases, or, + rather, it continues on another footing—that of war; if any one + treats me badly, I return the same. The trousers to which this stuff + belongs”—he showed the button—“I made for an individual whom I + do not know, and who presented himself to me as an Alsacian, which I + believed so much more easily, because he spoke with a strong foreign + accent. These trousers—I need not tell you how careful I was with + them. I am a patriot, sir. He agreed to pay for them on delivery. When + they were delivered, the young apprentice who took them had the weakness + to not insist upon the money. I went to him, but could obtain nothing; he + would pay me the next day, and so on. Finally he disappeared, leaving no + address.” + </p> + <p> + “And this customer?” + </p> + <p> + “I will give you his name without the slightest hesitation. Fritzner, not + an Alsacian as I believed, but a Prussian to a certainty, who surely + struck the blow; his disappearance the day after the crime is the proof of + it.” + </p> + <p> + “You say that you were not able to procure his address?” + </p> + <p> + “But you, who have other means at your disposal, can find him. He is + twenty-seven or thirty years old, of middle height, blue eyes, a blond + beard, and a complete blue suit of this cloth.” + </p> + <p> + The agent wrote this description in his note-book as the tailor gave it to + him. + </p> + <p> + “If he has not left Paris with these stolen thirty-five thousand francs, + we shall find him, and the thanks will be yours,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I am happy to be able to do anything for you.” + </p> + <p> + The agent was going, but he thought better of it. + </p> + <p> + “You said that you had made three suits of this cloth?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but there is only this Fritzner who counts. The two others are + honest men, well known in the quarter, and they paid me honestly.” + </p> + <p> + “Since they have no cause for alarm, you need have no scruples in naming + them. It is not in the name of justice that I ask their names, but for + myself.—They will look well in my report and will prove that I + pushed my investigations thoroughly.” + </p> + <p> + “One is a merchant in the Rue Truffant, and is called Monsieur Blanchet; + the other is a young man just arrived from America, and his name is + Monsieur Florentin Cormier.” + </p> + <p> + “You say Florentin Cormier?” the agent asked, who remembered this name was + that of one who had seen Caffie on the day of the crime. “Do you know + him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly; it is the first time that I have made clothes for him. But I + know his mother and sister, who have lived in the Rue des Moines five or + six years at least; good, honest people, who work hard and have no debts.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning about ten o’clock, a short time after Phillis’s + departure, Florentin, who was reading the newspaper in the dining-room, + while his mother prepared the breakfast, heard stealthy steps that stopped + on the landing before their door. His ear was too familiar with the + ordinary sounds in the house to be deceived; there was in these steps a + hesitation or a precaution which evidently betrayed a stranger, and with + the few connections they had, a stranger was surely an enemy—the one + whom he expected. + </p> + <p> + A ring of the doorbell, given by a firm hand, made him jump from his + chair. He did not hesitate; slowly, and with an air of indifference, he + opened the door. + </p> + <p> + He saw before him a man of about forty years, with a polite and shrewd + face, dressed in a short coat, and wearing a flat hat. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Florentin Cormier?” + </p> + <p> + “I am he.” + </p> + <p> + And he asked him to come in. + </p> + <p> + “The judge desires to see you at his office.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Cormier came from the kitchen in time to hear these few words, and + if Florentin had not motioned to her to be silent, she would have betrayed + herself. The words on her lips were: + </p> + <p> + “You came to arrest my son!” They would have escaped her, but she crushed + them back. + </p> + <p> + “And can you tell me for what affair the judge summons me?” Florentin + asked, steadying his voice. + </p> + <p> + “For the Caffie affair.” + </p> + <p> + “And at what hour should I present myself before the judge?” + </p> + <p> + “Immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “But my son has not breakfasted!” Madame Cormier exclaimed. “At least, + take something before going, my dear child.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not worth while.” + </p> + <p> + He made a sign to her that she should not insist. His throat was too tight + to swallow a piece of bread, and it was important that he should not + betray his emotion before this agent. + </p> + <p> + “I am ready,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Going to his mother he embraced her, but lightly, without effusion, as if + he were only to be absent a short time. + </p> + <p> + “By-and-by.” + </p> + <p> + She was distracted; but, understanding that she would compromise her son + if she yielded to her feelings, she controlled herself. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. A TIGHTENING CHAIN + </h2> + <p> + As it was a part that he played, Florentin said to himself that he would + play it to the best of his ability in entering the skin of the person he + wished to be, and this part was that of a witness. + </p> + <p> + He had been Caffie’s clerk; the justice would interrogate him about his + old employer, and nothing would be more natural. It was that only, and + nothing but that, which he could admit; consequently, he should interest + himself in the police investigations, and have the curiosity to learn how + they stood. + </p> + <p> + “Have you advanced far in the Caffie affair?” he asked the agent as they + walked along. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,” the agent answered, who thought it prudent to be + reserved. “I know nothing more than the newspapers tell.” + </p> + <p> + On leaving his mother’s house, Florentin observed on the other side of the + street a man who appeared to be stationed there; at the end of several + minutes, on turning a corner, he saw that this man followed them at a + certain distance. Then it was not a simple appearance before the judge, + for such precautions are not taken with a witness. + </p> + <p> + When they reached the Place Clichy, the agent asked him if he would take a + carriage, but he declined. What good was it? It was a useless expense. + </p> + <p> + Then he saw the agent raise his hat, as if bowing to some one, but this + bow was certainly not made to any one; and immediately, the man who had + followed them approached. The raising of the hat was a signal. As from the + deserted quarters of the Batignolles they entered the crowd, they feared + he might try to escape. The character of the arrest became accentuated. + </p> + <p> + After the presentiments and fears that had tormented him during the last + few days this did not astonish him, but since they took these precautions + with him, all was not yet decided. He must, then, defend himself to the + utmost. Distracted before the danger came, he felt less weak now that he + was in it. + </p> + <p> + On arriving at the Palais de justice he was introduced immediately into + the judge’s office. But he did not attend to him at once; he was + questioning a woman, and Florentin examined him by stealth. He saw a man + of elegant and easy figure, still young, with nothing solemn or imposing + about him, having more the air of a boulevardier or of a sportsman than of + a magistrate. + </p> + <p> + While continuing his questioning, he also examined Florentin, but with a + rapid glance, without persistence, carelessly, and simply because his eyes + fell upon him. Before a table a clerk was writing, and near the door two + policemen waited, with the weary, empty faces of men whose minds are + elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + Soon the judge turned his head toward them. + </p> + <p> + “You may take away the accused.” + </p> + <p> + Then, immediately addressing Florentin, he asked him his name, his + Christian names, and his residence. + </p> + <p> + “You have been the clerk of the agent of affairs, Caffie. Why did you + leave him?” + </p> + <p> + “Because my work was too heavy.” + </p> + <p> + “You are afraid of work?” + </p> + <p> + “No, when it is not too hard; it was at his office, and left me no time to + work for myself. I was obliged to reach his office at eight o’clock in the + morning, breakfast there, and did not leave until seven to dine with my + mother at the Batignolles. I had an hour and a half for that; at half-past + eight I had to return, and stay until ten or half-past. In accepting this + position I believed that I should be able to finish my education, + interrupted by the death of my father, and to study law and become + something better than a miserable clerk of a business man. It was + impossible with Monsieur Caffie, so I left him, and this was the only + reason why we separated.” + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been since?” + </p> + <p> + This was a delicate question, and one that Florentin dreaded, for it might + raise prejudices that nothing would destroy. However, he must reply, for + what he would not tell himself others would reveal; an investigation on + this point was too easy. + </p> + <p> + “With another business man, Monsieur Savoureux, Rue de la Victoire, where + I was not obliged to work in the evening. I stayed there about three + months, and then went to America.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, when I began to study seriously, I found that my studies had + been neglected too long to make it possible for me to take them up again. + I had forgotten nearly all I had learned. I should, without doubt, fail in + my examination, and I should only begin the law too late. I left France + for America, where I hoped to find a good situation.” + </p> + <p> + “How long since your return?” + </p> + <p> + “Three weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “And you went to see Caffie?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “To ask him for a recommendation to replace the one he gave me, which I + had lost.” + </p> + <p> + “It was the day of the crime?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “At what time?” + </p> + <p> + “I reached his house about a quarter to three, and I left about half-past + three.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he give you the certificate for which you asked?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; here it is.” + </p> + <p> + And, taking it from his pocket, he presented it to the judge. It was a + paper saying that, during the time that M. Florentin Cormier was his + clerk, Caffie was entirely satisfied with him; with his work, as with his + accuracy and probity. + </p> + <p> + “And you did not return to him during the evening?” the judge asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I return? I had obtained what I desired.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, did you or did you not return?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not return to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember what you did on leaving Caffie’s house?” + </p> + <p> + If Florentin had indulged in the smallest illusion about his appearance + before the judge, the manner of conducting the interview would have + destroyed it. It was not a witness who was being questioned, it was a + culprit. He had not to enlighten the justice, he had to defend himself. + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly,” he said. “It is not so long ago. On leaving the Rue + Sainte-Anne, as I had nothing to do, I went down to the quays, and looked + at the old books from the Pont Royale to the Institute; but at this moment + a heavy shower came on, and I returned to the Batignolles, where I + remained with my mother.” + </p> + <p> + “What time was it when you reached your mother’s house?” + </p> + <p> + “A few minutes after five.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you not say exactly?” + </p> + <p> + “About a quarter past five, a few minutes more or less.” + </p> + <p> + “And you did not go out again?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Did any one call at your mother’s after you arrived there?” + </p> + <p> + “No one. My sister came in at seven o’clock, as usual, when she returned + from her lesson.” + </p> + <p> + “Before you went up to your rooms did you speak with any of the other + lodgers?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, and Florentin felt the judge’s eyes fixed on him with + an aggravating persistency. It seemed as if this look, which enveloped him + from head to foot, wished to penetrate his inmost thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “Another thing,” said the judge. “You did not lose a trousers’ button + while you were with Caffie?” + </p> + <p> + Florentin expected this question, and for some time he had considered what + answer he should make to it. To deny was impossible. It would be easy to + convict him of a fib, for the fact of the question being asked was + sufficient to say there was proof that the button was his. He must, then, + confess the truth, grave as it might be. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “and this is how—” + </p> + <p> + He related in detail the story of the bundle of papers placed on the + highest shelf of the cases, his slipping on the ladder, and the loss of + the button, which he did not discover until he was in the street. + </p> + <p> + The judge opened a drawer and took from it a small box, from which he took + a button that he handed to Florentin. + </p> + <p> + “Is that it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Florentin looked at it. + </p> + <p> + “It is difficult for me to answer,” he said, finally; “one button + resembles another.” + </p> + <p> + “Not always.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case, it would be necessary for me to have observed the form of + the one I lost, and I gave no attention to it. It seems to me that no one + knows exactly how, or of what, the buttons are made that they wear.” + </p> + <p> + The judge examined him anew. + </p> + <p> + “But are not the trousers that you wear to-day the same from which this + button was torn?” + </p> + <p> + “It is the pair I wore the day I called on Monsieur Caffie.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it is quite easy to compare the button that I show you with those on + your trousers, and your answer becomes easy.” + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to escape this verification. + </p> + <p> + “Unbutton your vest,” said the judge, “and make your comparison with care—with + all the care that you think wise. The question has some importance.” + </p> + <p> + Florentin felt it only too much, the importance of this question, but as + it was set before him, he could not but answer frankly. + </p> + <p> + He unbuttoned his waistcoat, and compared the button with his. + </p> + <p> + “I believe that it is really the button that I lost,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Although he endeavored not to betray his anguish, he felt that his voice + trembled, and that it had a hoarse sound. Then he wished to explain this + emotion. + </p> + <p> + “This is a truly terrible position for me,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The judge did not reply. + </p> + <p> + “But because I lost a button at Monsieur Caffie’s, it does not follow that + it was torn off in a struggle.” + </p> + <p> + “You have your theory, and you will make the most of it, but this is not + the place. I have only one more question to ask: By what button have you + replaced the one you lost?” + </p> + <p> + “By the first one I came across.” + </p> + <p> + “Who sewed it on?” + </p> + <p> + “I did.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you in the habit of sewing on your buttons yourself?” + </p> + <p> + Although the judge did not press this question by his tone, nor by the + form in which he made it, Florentin saw the strength of the accusation + that his reply would make against him. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “And yet, on returning home, you found your mother, you told me. Was there + any reason why she could not sew this button on for you?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not ask her to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “But when she saw you sewing it, did she not take the needle from your + hands?” + </p> + <p> + “She did not see me.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “She was occupied preparing our dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “That is sufficient.” + </p> + <p> + “I was in the entry of our apartment, where I have slept since my return; + my mother was in the kitchen.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there no communication between the kitchen and the entry?” + </p> + <p> + “The door was closed.” + </p> + <p> + A flood of words rushed to his lips, to protest against the conclusions + which seemed to follow these answers, but he kept them back. He saw + himself caught in a net, and all his efforts to free himself only bound + him more strongly. + </p> + <p> + As he was asked no more questions it seemed to him best to say nothing, + and he was silent a long time, of the duration of which he was only + vaguely conscious. + </p> + <p> + The judge talked in a low tone, the recorder wrote rapidly, and he heard + only a monotonous murmur that interrupted the scratching of a pen on the + paper. + </p> + <p> + “Your testimony will now be read to you,” the judge said. + </p> + <p> + He wished to give all his attention to this reading, but he soon lost the + thread of it. The impression it made upon him, however, was that it + faithfully reproduced all that he had said, and he signed it. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said the judge, “my duty obliges me, in presence of the charges + which emanate from your testimony, to deliver against you a ‘manda + depot’.” + </p> + <p> + Florentin received this blow without flinching. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” he said, “that all the protestations I might make would have no + effect at this moment; I therefore spare you them. But I have a favor to + ask of you; it is to permit me to write to my mother and sister the news + of my arrest—they love me tenderly. Oh, you shall read my letter!” + </p> + <p> + “You may, sir.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. “REGARDING THE CAFFIE AFFAIR” + </h2> + <p> + After the departure of her son and the detective, Madame Cormier was + prostrated. Her son! Her Florentin! The poor child! And she was sunk in + despair. + </p> + <p> + Had they not suffered enough? Was this new proof necessary? Why had their + life been so unmercifully cruel? Why had not Dr. Saniel let her die? At + least she would not have seen this last catastrophe, this disgrace; her + son accused of assassination, in prison, at the assizes! + </p> + <p> + Heretofore when she had yielded to her feelings and bewailed their sad + lot, Phillis was at hand to cheer and caress her; but now she was alone in + her deserted apartment, no one to hear her, see her, nor scold. Why should + she not abandon herself to tears? She wept and trembled, but the moment + arrived when, after having reached the extreme of despair, which showed + her her son condemned as an assassin, and executed, she stopped and asked + herself if she had not gone too far. + </p> + <p> + He would return; certainly she might expect him. And she waited for him + without breakfasting; he would not like to sit down to the table all + alone, the poor child. + </p> + <p> + Besides, she was too profoundly overcome to eat. She arranged the fire + with care, so that the haricot of mutton would keep warm, for it was his + favorite dish. + </p> + <p> + Minutes and hours passed and he did not return. Her anguish came back; a + witness would not be retained so long by the judge. Had they arrested him? + Then what would become of him? + </p> + <p> + She fell into a state of tears and despair, and longed for Phillis. + Fortunately she would not be late to-day. Finally a quick, light step was + heard on the landing, and as soon as she could, Madame Cormier went to + open the door, and was stunned on seeing the agitated face of her + daughter. Evidently Phillis was surprised by the sudden opening of the + door. + </p> + <p> + “You know all, then?” Madame Cormier cried. + </p> + <p> + Phillis put her arms about her, and drew her into the dining-room, where + she made her sit down. + </p> + <p> + “Becalm,” she said. “They will not keep him.” + </p> + <p> + “You know some way?” + </p> + <p> + “We will find a way. I promise you that they will not keep him.” + </p> + <p> + “You are sure?” + </p> + <p> + “I promise you.” + </p> + <p> + “You give me life. But how did you know?” + </p> + <p> + “He wrote to me. The concierge gave me his letter, which had just come.” + </p> + <p> + “What does he say?” + </p> + <p> + Madame Cormier took the letter that Phillis handed her, but the paper + shook so violently in her trembling hand that she could not read. + </p> + <p> + “Read it to me.” + </p> + <p> + Phillis took it and read + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “DEAR LITTLE SISTER: After listening to my story, the judge retains + me. Soften for mamma the pain of this blow. Make her understand + that they will soon acknowledge the falseness of this accusation; + and, on your part, try to make this falseness evident, while on + mine, I will work to prove my innocence. + + “Embrace poor mamma for me, and find in your tenderness, strength, + and love, some consolation for her; mine will be to think that you + are near her, dear little beloved sister. + + “FLORENTIN.” + </pre> + <p> + “And it is this honest boy that they accuse of assassination!” cried + Madame Cormier, beginning to weep. + </p> + <p> + It required several minutes for Phillis to quiet her a little. + </p> + <p> + “We must think of him, mamma; we must not give up.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going to do something, are you not, my little Phillis?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to find Doctor Saniel.” + </p> + <p> + “He is a doctor, not a lawyer.” + </p> + <p> + “It is exactly as a doctor that he can save Florentin. He knows that + Caffie was killed without a struggle between him and the assassin; + consequently without the wrenching off of a button. He will say it and + prove it to the judge, and Florentin’s innocence is evident. I am going to + see him.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg of you, do not leave me alone too long.” + </p> + <p> + “I will come back immediately.” + </p> + <p> + Phillis ran from the Batignolles to the Rue Louis-le-Grand. In answer to + her ring, Joseph, who had returned to his place in the anteroom, opened + the door, and as Saniel was alone, she went immediately to his office. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” he asked, on seeing her agitation. + </p> + <p> + “My brother is arrested.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! The poor boy!” + </p> + <p> + What he had said to her on explaining that this arrest could not take + place was sincere; he believed it, and he more than believed it, he wished + it. When he decided to kill Caffie he had not thought that the law would + ever discover a criminal; it would be a crime that would remain + unpunished, as so many were, and no one would be disturbed. But now the + law had found and arrested one who was the brother of the woman he loved. + </p> + <p> + “How was he arrested?” he asked, as much for the sake of knowing as to + recover himself. + </p> + <p> + She told what she knew, and read Florentin’s letter. + </p> + <p> + “He is a good boy, your brother,” he said, as if talking to himself. + </p> + <p> + “You will save him?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I?” + </p> + <p> + This cry escaped him without her understanding its weight; without her + divining the expression of anxious curiosity in his glance. + </p> + <p> + “To whom shall I address myself, if not to you? Are you not everything to + me? My support, my guide, my counsel, my God!” + </p> + <p> + She explained what she wished him to do. Once more an exclamation escaped + Saniel. + </p> + <p> + “You wish me to go to the judge—me?” + </p> + <p> + “Who, better than you, can explain how things happened?” + </p> + <p> + Saniel, who had recovered from his first feeling of surprise, did not + flinch. Evidently she spoke with entire honesty, suspecting nothing, and + it would be folly to look for more than she said. + </p> + <p> + “But I cannot present myself before a judge in such away,” he said. “It is + he who sends for those he wants to see.” + </p> + <p> + “Why can you not go to his court, since you know things which will throw + light upon it?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it truly easy to go before this court? In going before it, I make + myself the defender of your brother.” + </p> + <p> + “That is exactly what I ask of you.” + </p> + <p> + “And in presenting myself as his defender, I take away the weight of my + deposition, which would have more authority if it were that of a simple + witness.” + </p> + <p> + “But when will you be asked for this deposition? Think of Florentin’s + sufferings during this time, of mamma’s, and of mine. He may lose his + head; he may kill himself. His spirit is not strong, nor is mamma’s. How + will they bear all that the newspapers will publish?” + </p> + <p> + Saniel hesitated a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will go,” he said. “Not this evening, it is too late, but + tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear Victor!” she exclaimed, pressing him in her arms, “I knew that + you would save him. We will owe you his life, as we owe you mamma’s, as I + owe you happiness. Am I not right to say you are my God?” + </p> + <p> + After she was gone he had a moment of repentance in which he regretted + this weakness; for it was a weakness, a stupid sentimentalism, unworthy of + a sensible man, who should not permit himself to be thus touched and + involved. Why should he go and invite danger when he could be quiet, + without any one giving him a thought? Was it not folly? The law wanted a + criminal. Public curiosity demanded one. Why take away the one that they + had? If he succeeded, would they not look for another? It was imprudence, + and, to use the true word, madness. Now that he was no longer under the + influence of Phillis’s beautiful, tearful eyes, he would not commit this + imprudence. All the evening this idea strengthened, and when he went to + bed his resolution was taken. He would not go to the judge. + </p> + <p> + But on awakening, he was surprised to find that this resolution of the + evening was not that of the morning, and that this dual personality, which + had already struck him, asserted itself anew. It was at night that he + resolved to kill Caffie, and he committed the deed in the evening. It was + in the morning that he had abandoned the idea, as it was in the morning + that he revoked the decision made the previous evening not to go to the + rescue of this poor boy. Of what then, was the will of man made, + undulating like the sea, and variable as the wind, that he had the folly + to believe his was firm? + </p> + <p> + At noon he went to the Palais de justice and sent in his card to the + judge, on which he wrote these words: “Regarding the Caffie affair.” + </p> + <p> + He was received almost immediately, and briefly explained how, according + to his opinion, Caffie was killed quickly and suddenly by a firm and + skilful hand, that of a killer by profession. + </p> + <p> + “That is the conclusion of your report,” the judge said. + </p> + <p> + “What I could not point out in my report, as I did not know of the finding + of the button and the opinion it has led to, is that there was no struggle + between the assassin and the victim, as is generally supposed.” + </p> + <p> + And medically he demonstrated how this struggle was impossible. + </p> + <p> + The judge listened attentively, without a word, without interruption. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know this young man?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I have seen him only once; but I know his mother, who was my patient, and + it is at her instigation that I decided to make this explanation to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Without doubt, it has its value, but I must tell you that it tends in no + way to destroy our hypothesis.” + </p> + <p> + “But if it has no foundation?” + </p> + <p> + “I must tell you that you are negative, doctor, and not suggestive. We + have a criminal and you have not. Do you see one?” + </p> + <p> + Saniel thought that the judge looked at him with a disagreeable + persistency. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, sharply. + </p> + <p> + Then rising, he said, more calmly: + </p> + <p> + “That is not in my line.” + </p> + <p> + He had nothing to do but to retire, which he did; and on passing through + the vestibule he said to himself that the magistrate was right. He + believed that he held a criminal. Why should he let him go? + </p> + <p> + As for him, he had done what he could. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. NOUGAREDE’S BRIDE + </h2> + <p> + Saniel passed the first proofs of his two ‘concours’ so brilliantly that + the results of either were not doubtful. In delivering his thesis for the + ‘agregation’, he commanded the admiration of his audience; by turns + aggressive, severe, ironical, eloquent, he reduced his adversary to such + an extremity that, overwhelmed, he was not able to reply. In his lecture + at the hospital, his eloquence and his clear demonstration convinced the + judges who were opposed to him that he was in the right. + </p> + <p> + What could Caffie’s death weigh, placed in the balance with these results? + So little that it counted for nothing, and would have held no place in his + thoughts if it had not been mixed in his mind with the accusation that + would send Florentin to the assizes. + </p> + <p> + Cleared of this fact, the death of the old man rarely crossed his mind. He + had other things in his head, truly, than this memory which brought + neither regret nor remorse; and it was not at this moment, when he touched + the end at which he aimed, that he would embarrass himself, or sadden his + triumph, with Caffie. + </p> + <p> + A little before the expiration of the two months, during which time the + poste restante retained the letters containing the thirty thousand francs, + he called for them, and readdressed and mailed them to other post-offices. + </p> + <p> + What did he want of this money, which was, in reality, a nuisance? His + habits remained the same, except that he no longer struggled with his + creditors, and paid cash for everything. He had no desire to make any + change in his former mode of living; his ambition was otherwise and higher + than in the small satisfactions, very small for him, that money gives. + </p> + <p> + Days passed without a thought of Caffie, except in connection with + Florentin. But Florentin, and above all, Phillis, reminded him that the + comfort he enjoyed he owed to Caffie’s death, and he was troubled + accordingly. + </p> + <p> + He did not believe that the investigations of the law would reach him now; + everything conspired to confirm him in his scrutiny. That which he + arranged so laboriously had succeeded according to his wish, and the only + imprudence that he had committed, in a moment of aberration, seemed not to + have been observed; no one had noticed his presence in the cafe opposite + Caffie’s house, and no one was astonished at his pertinacity in remaining + there at an hour so unusual. + </p> + <p> + But it was not enough that he was safe; he must prevent Florentin from + being unjustly condemned for a crime of which he was innocent. It was a + great deal that he should be imprisoned, that his sister should be in + despair, and his mother ill from chagrin; but if he should be sent to the + scaffold or to the galleys, it would be too much. In itself the death of + Caffie was a small thing; it became atrocious if it led to such an ending. + </p> + <p> + He did not wish this to happen, and he would do everything not only to + prevent the condemnation, but to shorten the imprisonment. + </p> + <p> + It was this sentiment that he obeyed in going to see the judge; but the + manner in which he was received, showing him that the law was not disposed + to let its hypothesis be changed by a simple medical demonstration, threw + him into a state of uneasiness and perplexity. + </p> + <p> + Without doubt, any one else in his place would have let things take their + course, and since the law had a criminal with which it contented itself, + would have done nothing to release him. While it followed its hypothesis + to prove the criminality of the one it held, it would not look elsewhere; + when it had condemned him, all would be finished; the Caffie affair would + be buried, as Caffie himself was buried; silence and oblivion would give + him security. The crime punished, the conscience of the public satisfied, + it would ask for no more, not even to know if the debt was paid by the one + who really owed it; it was paid, and that was sufficient. But he was not + “any one else,” and if he found the death of this old scamp legitimate, it + was on the condition that Florentin did not pay for it, from whom he had + not profited. + </p> + <p> + Florentin must be released as soon as possible, and it was his duty to + interest himself in his behalf—his imperative duty not only toward + Phillis, but toward himself. + </p> + <p> + He told Phillis that until Florentin came before the jury, he could do + nothing, or almost nothing. When the time came, he would assert his + authority, and speaking in the name of science, he would prove to the jury + that the story of the button was an invention of the police, who were + pushed to extremes, and would not bear examination; but until then the + poor boy remained at Mazas, and however assured one might be at this + moment of an acquittal, an immediate ‘ordonnance de non-lieu’ was of more + value, if it could be obtained. + </p> + <p> + For this the intervention and direction of a doctor were of little use; it + required that of an advocate. + </p> + <p> + Whom should he have? Phillis would have liked to apply to the most + illustrious, to him who, by his talent, authority, and success, would win + all his cases. But Saniel explained to her that workers of miracles were + probably as difficult to find at the bar as in the medical profession, and + that, if they did exist, they would expect a large fee. To tell the truth, + he would have willingly given the thirty thousand francs in the ‘poste + restante’, or a large part of this sum, to give Florentin his liberty; but + it would be imprudent to take out the bills at this moment, and he could + not declare that he had thirty thousand francs, or even ten thousand. He + decided with Phillis to consult Brigard. + </p> + <p> + On a Wednesday he went to the parlor in the Rue Vaugirard, where he had + not been since his experiment with Glady. As usual, he was received + affectionately by Crozat, who scolded him for coming so rarely, and as + usual also, in order not to disturb the discussion that was going on, he + remained standing near the door. + </p> + <p> + This evening the theme of the discourse was a phrase of Chateaubriand’s: + “The tiger kills and sleeps; man kills and is sleepless.” On listening to + the discussion, Saniel said to himself that it was truly a pity not to be + able to reply to all this rhetoric by a simple fact of personal + experience. He had never slept so well, so tranquilly, as since Caffie’s + death, which relieved him from all the cares that in these last months had + tormented and broken his sleep so much. + </p> + <p> + At the end, Brigard concluded the discussion on saying that nothing better + proved the power of the human conscience than this difference between man + and beast. + </p> + <p> + When they had all gone but Brigard, and Saniel was alone with him and + Crozat, he stated his desire. + </p> + <p> + “But is it the Caffie affair?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + And he explained in detail the interest he felt in Florentin, the son of + one of his patients, and also the situation of this patient. + </p> + <p> + Brigard strongly recommended Nougarede, and described his recent successes + before a jury. Crozat concurred with Brigard, and advised Saniel to see + Nougarede the day after to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + “In the morning, because after the Palais, Nougarede will be at his + wedding, which, as you know, prevents him from coming here this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “What! Nougarede married?” exclaimed Saniel, surprised that the favorite + disciple gave this lie to the doctrine and examples of his master. + </p> + <p> + “My God, yes! We must not be too hard on him. + </p> + <p> + “He submits to the fate of a special environment. Without our knowledge, + Nougarede, we may say it now, and ought to say it, was the happy lover of + a charming young person, the daughter of one of our most distinguished + actresses, who was brought up in a fashionable convent. You see the + situation. The result of this liaison was a child, a delicious little boy. + It seemed quite natural that they should live ‘en union libre’, since they + loved each other, and not weaken by legalities the strength of those that + attached them to this child. But the mother is an actress, as I have told + you, and wished her daughter to receive all the sacraments that the law + and the church can confer. She managed so well that poor Nougarede + yielded. He goes to the mayor, to the church; he legitimizes the child, + and he even accepts a dot of two hundred thousand francs. I pity him, the + unfortunate man! But I confess that I have the weakness to not condemn him + as he would deserve if he married in any other way.” + </p> + <p> + Saniel was a little surprised at these points of resemblance with the + charming young person that Caffie had proposed to him. At the least, it + was curious; but if it were the same woman, he was not vexed to see that + Nougarede had been less difficult than himself. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. STUNNING NEWS + </h2> + <p> + On going to see Nougarede, Saniel vaguely fancied the lawyer would tell + him that an acquittal was certain if Florentin passed to the assizes, and + even that an ‘ordonnance de non-lieu’ was probable. But his hope was not + realized. + </p> + <p> + “The adventure of the button for you or me would not have the same gravity + as for this boy; we have no antecedents on which presumptions might be + established, but he has. The forty-five francs which constitute an + embezzlement for a salaried man will be, certainly, a starting-point for + the accusation; one commences by a weakness and finishes by a crime. Do + you not hear the advocate-general? He will begin by presenting the + portrait of the honest, laborious, exact, scrupulous clerk, content with a + little, and getting satisfaction from his duties accomplished; then, in + opposition, he will pass to the clerk of to-day, as irregular in his work + as in his conduct, full of desires, in a hurry to enjoy, discontented with + everything and everybody, with others as with himself. And he will go on + to speak of the embezzlement of the forty-five francs as the beginning of + the crimes that led to the assassination. You may be sure if the affair + goes to the assizes that you will hear these words and more, and I assure + you that it will be difficult for us to destroy the impression that he + will produce on the jury. But I hope we shall succeed.” + </p> + <p> + He had to give up the idea of obtaining the ‘ordonnance de non-lieu’, and + to tell himself that the ‘affaire’ would come before the assizes; but it + does not follow that one is condemned for what one is accused of, and + Saniel persisted in believing that Florentin would not be. Assuredly, the + prison was hard for the poor boy, and the trial before the jury, with all + the ignominy that necessarily accompanies it, would be harder yet. But, + after all, it would all disappear in the joy of acquittal; when that time + came, there would be found, surely, some ingenious idea, sympathy, + effective support, to pay him for all that he would have suffered. + Certainly, things would come to pass thus, and the acquittal would be + carried with a high hand. + </p> + <p> + He said this to himself again and again, and from the day when he put the + affair in Nougarede’s hands, he often went to see him, to hear him repeat + it. + </p> + <p> + “He cannot be condemned; can he?” + </p> + <p> + “One may always be condemned, even when one is innocent; as one may die at + any time, you know that, even with excellent health.” + </p> + <p> + In one of these visits he met Madame Nougarede, who had then been several + days married, and on recognizing in her the young virgin with a child, of + whom Caffie showed him the portrait, he was strengthened in his idea that + conscience, such as it was understood, was decidedly a strange + weighing-machine, which might be made to say whatever one chose. Of what + good were these hypocrisies, and whom did they deceive? + </p> + <p> + Although he had told Phillis repeatedly that an acquittal was certain, and + that he had promised her he would do all he could for Florentin—which + he really did—she did not give entirely into his hands, or into + Nougarede’s, the task of defending her brother, but worked with them in + his defence. + </p> + <p> + Nougarede believed that the delay in bringing the affair before the + assizes was caused by the attempts to learn if, during his residence in + America, Florentin had not worked in some large meat-shop or sheepfold, + where he would have learned to use a butcher knife, which was the chief + point for the accusation. Phillis wrote to the various towns where + Florentin had lived, and to tell the truth, he had worked at La Plata for + six months as accountant in a large sheepfold, but never slaughtered the + sheep. + </p> + <p> + When she received a letter, she carried it immediately to Saniel, and then + to Nougarede; and, at the same time, on all sides, in Paris, among those + who had held relations with her brother, she sought for testimony that + should prove to the jury that he could not be the man that his accusers + believed him. It was thus that, all alone, without other means of action + than those which she found in her sisterly tenderness and bravery, she + organized an investigation parallel to that of the law, which, on the day + of judgment, would carry a certain weight, it seemed, with the conviction + of the jury, showing them what had been the true life of this irregular + and debauched man, capable of anything to glut his appetite and satisfy + his desires. + </p> + <p> + Each time that she obtained a favorable deposition, she ran to Saniel to + tell him, and then together they repeated that a conviction was + impossible. + </p> + <p> + “You are sure, are you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Have I not always told you so?” + </p> + <p> + He had also said that Florentin could not be arrested, basing the + accusation on the torn button, and he had said that certainly an + ‘ordonnance de non-lieu’ would be given by the judge; but they wished to + remember neither the one nor the other. + </p> + <p> + Things had reached this state, when one Saturday evening Phillis arrived + at Saniel’s, radiant. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the door opened she exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “He is saved!” + </p> + <p> + “An ordonnance de non-lieu?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but now it is of little importance. We can go to the assizes.” + </p> + <p> + She breathed a sigh which showed how great were her fears, in spite of the + confidence she expressed when she repeated that conviction was impossible. + </p> + <p> + He left his desk, and going toward her, took her in his arms, and made her + sit down beside him on the divan. + </p> + <p> + “You will see that I do not let myself be carried away by an illusion, and + that, as I tell you, he is saved, really saved. You know that an + illustrated paper has published his portrait?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not read illustrated papers.” + </p> + <p> + “You could have seen them at the kiosks where they are displayed. It is + there that I saw them yesterday morning when I went out, and I was + petrified, red with shame, distracted, not knowing where to hide myself. + ‘Florentin Cormier, the assassin of the Rue Sainte-Anne.’ Is it not + infamous that an innocent person should be thus dishonored? This was what + I said to myself. Where did the paper get the photograph? They came to ask + us for one, but you can imagine how I treated them, not knowing how + anything good for us would result from such a disgrace.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is the result?” + </p> + <p> + “The proof that it is not Florentin who was with Caffie at the moment when + the assassination took place. All day yesterday and all this morning I was + filled with the feeling of disgrace that followed me, when at three + o’clock I received this little note from the concierge of the Rue + Sainte-Anne.” + </p> + <p> + She took from her pocket a piece of paper folded in the form of a letter, + which she handed to Saniel. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “MADEMOISELLE: If you will pass through the Rue Sainte-Anne, I have + something to tell you that will give you a great deal of pleasure, I + believe. + + “I am your servant, + + “WIDOW ANAIS BOUCHU.” + </pre> + <p> + “You know the lame old concierge has never been willing to admit that my + brother could be guilty. Florentin was polite and kind to her during his + stay with Caffie, and she is grateful. Very often she has said to me that + she is certain the guilty one would be found, and that when it was + announced I must tell her. Instead of my telling her the good news, she + has written to me. You may be sure I hurried to the Rue Sainte-Anne, + expecting to hear something favorable, but we have a proof. When I + arrived, the old woman took both of my hands, and told me that she would + conduct me immediately to a lady who saw Caffie’s assassin.” + </p> + <p> + “Saw him!” exclaimed Saniel, struck by a blow that shook him from head to + foot. + </p> + <p> + “She saw him perfectly, as I tell you. She added that this lady was the + proprietor of the house, and that she lived in the second wing of the + building, on the second story on the court, just opposite to Caffie’s + office. This lady, who is called Madame Dammauville, widow of a lawyer, is + afflicted with paralysis, and I believe has not left her room for a year. + The concierge explained this to me while crossing the court and mounting + the stairs, but would say no more.” + </p> + <p> + If Phillis had been able to observe Saniel, she would have seen him pale + to such a degree that his lips were as white as his cheeks; but she was + completely absorbed in what she was saying. + </p> + <p> + “A servant conducted us to Madame Dammauville, whom I found in a small bed + near a window, and the concierge told her who I was. She received me + kindly, and after having made me sit down in front of her, she told me + that hearing from her concierge that I was exerting myself in my brother’s + behalf, she had something to tell me which would demonstrate that Caffie’s + assassin was not the man whom the law had arrested and detained. The + evening of the assassination she was in this same room, lying on this same + bed, before this same window, and after having read all day, she reflected + and dreamed about her book, while listlessly watching the coming of + twilight in the court, that already obscured everything in its shadow. + Mechanically she had fixed her eyes on the window of Caffie’s office + opposite. Suddenly she saw a tall man, whom she took for an upholsterer, + approach the window, and try to draw the curtains. Then Caffie rose, and + taking the lamp, he came forward in such a way that the light fell full on + the face of this upholsterer. You understand, do you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” murmured Saniel. + </p> + <p> + “She saw him then plainly enough to remember him, and not to confound him + with another. Tall, with long hair, a curled blond beard, and dressed like + a gentleman, not like a poor man. The curtains were drawn. It was fifteen + or twenty minutes after five. And it was at this same moment that Caffie + was butchered by this false upholsterer, who evidently had only drawn the + curtains so that he might kill Caffie in security, and not imagining that + some one should see him doing a deed that denounced him as the assassin as + surely as if he had been surprised with the knife in his hand. On reading + the description of Florentin in the newspapers when he was arrested, + Madame Dammauville believed the criminal was found—a tall man, with + long hair and curled beard. There are some points of resemblance, but in + the portrait published in the illustrated paper that she received, she did + not recognize the man who drew the curtains, and she is certain that the + judge is deceived. You see that Florentin is saved!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK 3. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. HEDGING + </h2> + <p> + As he did not reply to this cry of triumph, she looked at him in surprise + saw his face, pale, agitated, under the shock evidently of a violent + emotion that she could not explain to herself. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” she asked, with uneasiness. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” he answered, almost brutally. + </p> + <p> + “You do not wish to weaken my hope?” she said, not imagining that he could + not think of this hope and of Florentin. This was a path to lead him out + of his confusion. In following it he would have time to recover himself. + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You do not think that what Madame Dammauville saw proves Florentin’s + innocence?” + </p> + <p> + “Would what may be a proof for Madame Dammauville, for you, and for me, be + one in the eyes of the law?” + </p> + <p> + “However—” + </p> + <p> + “I saw you so joyful that I did not dare to interrupt you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you believe that this testimony is without value,” she murmured, + feeling crushed. + </p> + <p> + “I do not say that. We must reflect, weigh the pro and con, compass the + situation from divers points of view; that is what I try to do, which is + the cause of my preoccupation that astonishes you.” + </p> + <p> + “Say that it crushes me; I let myself be carried away.” + </p> + <p> + “You need not be crushed or carried away. Certainly, what this lady told + you forms a considerable piece of work.” + </p> + <p> + “Does it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Without any doubt. But in order that the testimony she gives may be of + great consequence, the witness must be worthy of trust.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe this lady could have invented such a story?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not say that; but before all, it is necessary to know who she is.” + </p> + <p> + “The widow of an attorney.” + </p> + <p> + “The widow of an attorney and landowner. Evidently this constitutes a + social status that merits consideration from the law; but the moral state, + what is it? You say that she is paralyzed?” + </p> + <p> + “She has been so a little more than a year.” + </p> + <p> + “Of what paralysis? That is a vague word for us others. There are + paralyses that affect the sight; others that affect the mind. Is it one of + these with which this lady is afflicted, or one of the others, which + permitted her really to see, the evening of the assassination, that which + she relates, and which leaves her mental faculties in a sane condition? + Before everything, it is important to know this.” + </p> + <p> + Phillis was prostrated. + </p> + <p> + “I had not thought of all that,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “It is very natural that you had not; but I am a doctor, and while you + talked it was the doctor who listened.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true, it is true,” she repeated. “I only saw Florentin.” + </p> + <p> + “In your place I should have seen, like you, only my brother, and I should + have been carried away by hope. But I am not in your place. It is by your + voice that this woman speaks, whom I do not know, and against whom I must + be on my guard, for the sole reason that it is a paralytic who has told + this story.” + </p> + <p> + She could not restrain the tears that came to her eyes, and she let them + flow silently, finding nothing to reply. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to pain you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I saw only Florentin’s liberty.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not say this testimony of Madame Dammauville will not influence the + judge, and, above all, the jury; but I must warn you that you will expose + yourself to a terrible deception if you believe that her testimony alone + will give your brother liberty. It is not on a testimony of this kind or + of this quality that the law decides; better than we, it knows to what + illusions people can lend themselves when it is the question of a crime + that absorbs and excites the public curiosity. There are some witnesses + who, with the best faith in the world, believe they have seen the most + extraordinary things which only existed in their imaginations; and there + are people who accuse themselves rather than say nothing.” + </p> + <p> + He heaped words on words, as if, in trying to convince Phillis, he might + hope to convince himself; but when the sound of his words faded, he was + obliged to declare to himself that, whatever the paralysis of this woman + might be, it had not, in this instance, produced either defect of sight or + of mind. She had seen, indeed, the tall man with long hair and curled + beard, dressed like a gentleman, who was not Florentin. When she related + the story of the lamp and the curtain cords, she knew what she was saying. + </p> + <p> + In his first alarm he had been very near betraying himself. Without doubt + he should have told himself that this incident of the curtains might prove + a trap; but all passed so rapidly that he never imagined that, exactly at + the moment when Caffie raised the lamp to give him light, there was a + woman opposite looking at him, and who saw him so plainly that she had not + forgotten him. He thought to use all precautions on his side in drawing + the curtains, when, on the contrary, he would have done better had he left + them undrawn. Without doubt the widow of the attorney would have been a + witness of a part of the scene, but in the shadow she would not have + distinguished his features as she was able to do when he placed himself + before the window under the light. But this idea did not enter his mind, + and, to save himself from an immediate danger, he threw himself into + another which, although uncertain, was not less grave. + </p> + <p> + Little by little Phillis recovered herself, and the hope that Madame + Dammauville put in her heart, momentarily crushed by Saniel’s remarks, + sprang up again. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not possible Madame Dammauville really saw what she relates?” + </p> + <p> + “Without any doubt; and there are even probabilities that it is so, since + the man who drew the curtains was not your brother, as we know. + Unfortunately, it is not ourselves who must be convinced, since we are + convinced in advance. It is those who, in advance also, have one whom they + will not give up unless he is torn from them by force.” + </p> + <p> + “But if Madame Dammauville saw clearly?” + </p> + <p> + “What must be learned before everything is, if she is in a state to see + clearly; I have said nothing else.” + </p> + <p> + “A doctor would surely know on examining her?” + </p> + <p> + “Without doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “If you were this doctor?” + </p> + <p> + It was a cry rather than an exclamation. She wished that he should present + himself before this woman; but in that case she would recognize him. + </p> + <p> + Once more, under the pain of betraying his emotion, he must recover from + this first impulse. + </p> + <p> + “But how can you wish me to go and examine this woman whom I do not know, + and who does not know me? You know very well that patients choose their + doctors, and not doctors their patients.” + </p> + <p> + “If she sent for you?” + </p> + <p> + “By what right?” + </p> + <p> + “By what I shall learn on making the concierge talk, could you not + recognize her kind of paralysis without seeing her?” + </p> + <p> + “That would be a little vague. However, I will do the best I can. Try to + learn not only what concerns her illness, but all that relates to her—what + her position is, who are her relations, which is important for a witness + who overawes as much by what he is as by what he says. You understand that + a deposition that destroys the whole plan of the prosecution will be + severely disputed, and will only be accepted if Madame Dammauville has by + her character and position a sufficient authority to break down all + opposition.” + </p> + <p> + “I will also try to learn who is her doctor. You may know him. What he + would tell you would be worth more than all the details that I could bring + you.” + </p> + <p> + “We should be immediately decided on the paralysis, and we should see what + credit we could accord this woman’s words.” + </p> + <p> + While listening to Phillis and talking himself, he had time to compass the + situation that this thunderbolt created for him. Evidently, the first + thing to do was to prevent a suspicion from arising in Phillis’s mind, and + it was to this that he applied himself on explaining the different kinds + of paralysis. He knew her well enough to know that he had succeeded. But + what would she do now? How did she mean to make use of Madame + Dammauville’s declaration? Had she spoken of it to any one besides + himself? Was it her intention to go to Nougarede and tell him what she had + learned? All that must be made clear, and as soon as possible. She must do + nothing without his knowledge and approval. The circumstances were + critical enough, without his letting accident become the master to direct + them and conduct them blindly. + </p> + <p> + “When did you see Madame Dammauville?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Just this minute.” + </p> + <p> + “And now, what do you wish to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I think that I ought to tell Monsieur Nougarde.” + </p> + <p> + “Evidently, whatever the value of Madame Dammauville’s declaration, he + should know it; he will appraise it. Only, as it is well to explain to him + what may vitiate this testimony, if you wish, I will go to see him.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I wish it, and I thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “In the mean time, return to your mother and tell her what you have + learned; but, that she may not yield to an exaggerated hope, tell her, + also, that if there are chances, and great ones, in favor of your brother, + on the other side there are some that are unfavorable. Tomorrow or this + evening you will return to the Rue Sainte-Anne and begin your inquiries of + the concierge. If the old woman tells you nothing interesting, you must go + to Madame Dammauville, and make some reason for seeing her. Make her talk, + and you will notice if her ideas are consecutive, and examine her face and + eyes. Above all, neglect nothing that appears to you characteristic. + Having taken care of your mother, you know almost as well as a doctor the + symptoms of myelitis, and you could see instantly if Madame Dammauville + has them.” + </p> + <p> + “If I dared!” she said timidly, after a short hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “I would ask you to come with me to the concierge immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “You think of such a thing!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Since the evening when he had testified to the death of Caffie, he had not + returned to the Rue Sainte-Anne; and it was not when the description given + by Madame Dammauville was, doubtless, already spread in the quarter, that + he was going to commit the imprudence of showing himself. But he must + explain this exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “How can you expect a doctor to give himself up to such an investigation? + On your part it is quite natural; on mine it would be unheard of and + ridiculous; add that it would be dangerous. You must conciliate Madame + Dammauville, and this would be truly a stupidity that would give her a + pretext for thinking that you are trying to find out whether she is, or is + not, in her right mind.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true,” she said. “I had not thought of that. I said to myself + that, while I could only listen to what the concierge would tell me, you + would know how to question her in a way that would lead her to say what + you want to learn.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope that your investigation will tell me. In any case, let us offend + in nothing. If to-morrow you bring me only insignificant details, we will + consider what to do. In the mean time, return to the concierge this + evening and question her. If it is possible, see Madame Dammauville, and + do not go home until after having obtained some news on this subject that + is of such importance to us. And I will go to see Nougarde.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. DANGEROUS DETAILS + </h2> + <p> + It was not to falsify Phillis’s story that Saniel insisted on going to see + Nougarede. What good would it do? That would be a blunder which sooner or + later would show itself, and in that case would turn against him. He would + have liked, with the authority of a physician, to explain that this + testimony of a paralytic could have no more importance than that of a + crazy woman. + </p> + <p> + But at the first words of an explanation Nougarede stopped him. + </p> + <p> + “What you say is very possible, my dear friend; but I shall make you see + that it is not for us to raise objections of this kind. Here is a + testimony that may save our client; let us accept this, such as it may be, + whence it comes. It is the business of the prosecution to prove that our + witness could not see what she relates that she saw, or that her mental + condition does not permit her to know what she saw; and do not be afraid, + investigation will not be lacking. Do not let us even give a hint from our + side; that would be stupid.” + </p> + <p> + This, certainly, was not what Saniel wished; only he believed it a duty, + in his quality of physician, to indicate some rocks against which they + might strike themselves. + </p> + <p> + “Our duty,” continued the advocate, “is, therefore, to manage in a way to + escape them; and this is how I understand the role of this really + providential witness, if it is possible to make her undertake it. Since it + has occurred to you—you who wish the acquittal of this poor boy—that + the testimony of Madame Dammauville may be vitiated by the simple fact + that it comes from a sick woman, it is incontestable, is it not, that this + same idea will occur to those who wish for his conviction? This testimony + should be irrefutable; it should be presented in such a way that no one + could raise anything against it, so that it would compel the acquittal in + the same moment that it is presented. It was between a quarter past and + half past five o’clock that Caffie was assassinated; at exactly a quarter + past five, a woman of respectable position, and whose intellectual as well + as physical faculties render her worthy of being believed, saw in Caffies + office a man, with whom it is materially impossible to confound Florentin + Cormier, draw the curtains of the window, and thus prepare for the crime. + She would make her deposition in these conditions, and in these terms, and + the affair would be finished. There would not be a judge, after this + confrontation, who would send Florentin Cormier before the assizes, and, + assuredly, there would not be two voices in the jury for conviction. But + things will not happen like this. Without doubt, Madame Dammauville bears + a name that is worth something; her husband was an estimable attorney, a + brother of the one who was notary at Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever had any business with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Never. I tell you what is well known to every one, morally she is + irreproachable. But is she the same physically and mentally? Not at all, + unfortunately. If a physician can be found who will declare that her + paralysis does not give her aberrations or hallucinations, another one + will be found who will contest these opinions, and who will come to an + opposite conclusion. So much for the witness herself; now for the + testimony. This testimony does not say that the man who drew the curtains + at a quarter past five was built in such a way that it is materially + impossible to confound him with Florentin Cormier, because he was small or + hunchbacked or bald, or dressed like a workman; while Florentin is tall, + straight, with long hair and beard, and dressed like a gentleman. It says, + simply, that the man who drew the curtains was tall, with long hair, and + curled blond beard, and dressed like a gentleman. But this description is + exactly Florentin Cormier’s, as it is yours—” + </p> + <p> + “Mine!” Saniel exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Yours, as well as that of many others. And it is this, unfortunately for + us, which destroys the irrefutability that we must have. How is it certain + that this tall man, with long hair and curled beard, is not Florentin + Cormier, since these are his chief characteristics? And it was at night, + at a distance of twelve or fifteen metres, through a window, whose panes + were obscured by the dust of papers and the mist, that this sick woman, + whose eyes are affected, whose mind is weakened by suffering, was able, in + a very short space of time, when she had no interest to imprint upon her + memory what she saw, to grasp certain signs, that she recalled yesterday + strongly enough to declare that the man who drew the curtains was not + Florentin Cormier, against whom so many charges have accumulated from + various sides, and who has only this testimony in his favor—every + sensible person could not but find it suspicious!” + </p> + <p> + “But it is true,” Saniel said, happy to lend himself to this view of the + matter, which was his own. + </p> + <p> + “What makes the truth of a thing, my dear sir, is the way of presenting + it; let us change this manner and we falsify it. To arrive at the + conclusion which made you say ‘It is true,’ I am on the side of the idea + that to-morrow Madame Dammauville’s story should be known to the law, that + the brave lady should be heard before the prosecution, and that time + should be allowed to examine this testimony that you suspect. Now let us + look at it from the opposite point. Madame Dammauville’s story is not + known to the law, or, if something transpires, we will arrange that this + something is so vague that the prosecution will attach but little + importance to it. And this is possible if we do not base a new defence on + this testimony. We arrive at the judgment, and when the prosecution has + listened to its witnesses which have overwhelmed us—the agent of + affairs Savoureux, the tailor Valerius,—it is Madame Dammauville’s + turn. She simply relates what she saw, and declares that the man who is on + the prisoner’s bench is not the same who drew the curtains at a quarter + past five. Do you see the ‘coup de theatre’? The prosecution had not + foreseen it; it had not inquired into the health of the witness; the + physician would not be there to quote the defects of sight or reason; very + probably it would not think of the dusty windowpanes, or of the distance. + And all the opposing arguments that would be properly arranged if there + were time, would be lacking, and we should carry the acquittal with a high + hand.” + </p> + <p> + Arranged thus, things were too favorable for Saniel for him not to + receive, with a sentiment of relief, this combination which brought + Florentin’s acquittal more surely, it seemed to him, than all that they + had arranged for his defence up to this day. However, an objection + occurred to him, which he communicated to Nougarede immediately. + </p> + <p> + “Would one wish to admit that Madame Dammauville had kept silent on so + grave a matter, and waited for an audience to reveal it?” + </p> + <p> + “This silence she kept until yesterday; why should she not keep it a few + days longer? It is evident that if she had not related what she saw, it is + because she had reasons for being silent. It is probable that, being ill, + she did not wish to expose herself to the annoyances and fatigue of an + investigation; and in her eyes her deposition was not of great importance. + What should she have revealed to the prosecution? That the man who + committed the crime was tall, with a curled blond beard? This man the law + held, or it held one the description of whom answered to this, which to + Madame Dammauville was the same thing. She did not need, therefore, to + call the police or the judge to tell them these insignificant things for + her own comfort; and, also, because she believed that she had nothing + interesting to say, she did not speak. It was when accident brought to her + notice the portrait of the accused, she recognized that the law had not + the real criminal, and then she broke the silence. The moment when she + first saw this portrait is not stated precisely; I undertake to arrange + that. The difficulty is not there.” + </p> + <p> + “Where do you see it?” + </p> + <p> + “Here: Madame Dammauville may have already told her story to so many + persons that it is already public property, where the prosecution has + picked it up. In that case there will be no ‘coup de theatre’. She will be + questioned, her deposition examined, and we will have only a suspected + testimony. The first thing to do, then, is to know how far this story has + spread, and if there is yet time to prevent it from spreading farther.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not easy, it seems to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe Mademoiselle Phillis can do it. She is a brave woman, whom + nothing dejects or disconcerts, which is the living proof that we are only + valued according to the force and versatility of the inner consciousness. + For the rest, I need not sound her praises, since you know her better than + I; and what I say has no other object but to explain the confidence that I + place in her. As I cannot interfere myself, I think there is no better + person than she to act on Madame Dammauville, without disturbing or + wounding her, and to bring about the result that we desire. I am sure that + she has already won Madame Dammauville, and that she will be listened to + with sympathy.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you wish me to write to her to come to see you tomorrow?” + </p> + <p> + “No; it would be better for you so see her this evening, if possible.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall go to the Batignolles when I leave you.” + </p> + <p> + “She will enter into her part perfectly, I am certain, and she will + succeed, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me that your combination rests, above all, on the ‘coup de + theatre’ of the non-recognition of Florentin by Madame Dammauville. How + will you bring this paralytic to court?” + </p> + <p> + “I depend upon you.” + </p> + <p> + “And how?” + </p> + <p> + “You will examine her.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall have to go to her house!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I am not her doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “You will become so.” + </p> + <p> + “It is impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not find it at all impossible that you should be called in + consultation. I have not forgotten that your thesis was on the paralyses + due to the affection of the spinal cord, and it was remarkable enough for + us to discuss it in our ‘parlotte’ of the Rue de Vaugirard. You have, + therefore, authority in the matter.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not on account of having written several works on the pathological + anatomy of medullary lesions, and especially on the alterations of the + spinal ganglia, that one acquires authority in a question so comprehensive + and so delicate.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not be too modest, dear friend. I have had, lately, to consult my + Dictionary of Medicine, and at each page your work was quoted. And, + besides, the way in which you passed your examinations made you famous. + Every one talks of you. So it is not impossible that Mademoiselle Phillis, + relating that her mother was cured of a similar paralysis, will give + Madame Dammauville the idea of consulting you, and her physician will send + for you.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not do that?” + </p> + <p> + “And why should I not do it?” + </p> + <p> + They looked at each other a moment in silence, and Saniel turned his eyes + away. + </p> + <p> + “I detest nothing so much as to appear to put myself forward.” + </p> + <p> + “In this case it is no matter what you detest or like. The question is to + save this unfortunate young man whom you know to be innocent; and you can + do a kind deed and aid us. You examine Madame Dammauville; you see with + which paralysis she is afflicted, and consequently, what exceptions may be + taken at her testimony. At the same time, you see if you can cure her, or, + at least, put her in a state to go to court.” + </p> + <p> + “And if it is proved that she cannot leave her bed?” + </p> + <p> + “In that case I shall change my order of battle, and that is why it is of + capital importance—you know that that is the word—that we + should be warned beforehand.” + </p> + <p> + “You will make the judge receive her deposition?” + </p> + <p> + “In any case. But I shall make her write a letter that I shall read at the + desired moment, and I shall call upon her physician to explain that he + would not permit his patient to come to court. Without doubt, the effect + would not be what I desire, but, anyhow, we should have one.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. A GOOD MEMORY + </h2> + <p> + After Phillis, Nougarde also wished him to see Madame Dammauville; this + coincidence was not the least danger of the situation that opened before + him. + </p> + <p> + If he saw her, the chances were that she would recognize in him the man + who drew the curtains; for, if he was able to speak to Phillis and + Nougarede of an affection of the eyes or of the mind, he did not believe + in these affections, which for him were only makeshifts. + </p> + <p> + When he reached Madame Cormier’s, Phillis had not returned, and he was + obliged to explain to the uneasy mother why her daughter was late. + </p> + <p> + It was a delirium of joy, before which he felt embarrassed. How should he + break the hope of this unhappy mother? + </p> + <p> + What he had said to Phillis and to Nougarede he repeated to her. + </p> + <p> + “But it is possible, also, for paralytics to enjoy all their faculties!” + Madame Cormier said, with a decision that was not in accordance with her + habit or with her character. + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I not an example?” + </p> + <p> + “Without doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “Then Florentin will be saved.” + </p> + <p> + “This is what we hope. I only caution you against an excess of joy by an + excess of prudence. Nevertheless, it is probable Mademoiselle Phillis will + settle this for us when she returns.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it would have been better if you had gone to the Rue Sainte-Anne. + You would have found her.” + </p> + <p> + There was, then, a universal mania to send him to the Rue Sainte-Anne! + </p> + <p> + They waited, but the conversation was difficult and slow between them. It + was neither of Phillis nor of Florentin that Saniel thought; it was of + himself and of his own fears; while Madame Cormier’s thoughts ran to + Phillis. Then there were long silences that Madame Cormier interrupted by + going to the kitchen to look after her dinner, that had been ready since + two o’clock. + </p> + <p> + Not knowing what to say or do in the presence of Saniel’s sombre face and + preoccupation, which she could not explain, she asked him if he had dined. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet.” + </p> + <p> + “If you will accept a plate of soup, I have some of yesterday’s bouillon, + that Phillis did not find bad.” + </p> + <p> + But he did not accept, which hurt Madame Cormier. For a long time Saniel + had been a sort of god to her, and since he had shown so much zeal + regarding Florentin, the ‘culte’ was become more fervent. + </p> + <p> + At last Phillis’s step was heard. + </p> + <p> + “What! You came to tell mamma!” she exclaimed, on seeing Saniel. + </p> + <p> + Ordinarily her mother listened to her respectfully, but now she + interrupted her. + </p> + <p> + “And Madame Dammauville?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Madame Dammauville has excellent eyes. She is a woman of intellect, who, + without the assistance of any business man, manages her fortune.” + </p> + <p> + Overcome, Madame Cormier fell into a chair. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the poor child!” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + Exclamations of joy escaped her which contained but little sense. + </p> + <p> + “It is as I thought,” Saniel said; “but it would be imprudent to abandon + ourselves to hopes to-day that to-morrow may destroy.” + </p> + <p> + While he spoke he escaped, at least, from the embarrassment of his + position and from the examination of Phillis. + </p> + <p> + “What did Monsieur Nougarde say?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I will explain to you presently. Begin by telling us what you learned + from Madame Dammauville. It is her condition that will decide our course, + at least that which Nougarde counsels us to adopt.” + </p> + <p> + “When the concierge saw me return,” Phillis began, “she showed a certain + surprise; but she is a good woman, who is easily tamed, and I had not much + trouble in making her tell me all she knows of Madame Dammauville. Three + years ago Madame Dammauville became a widow without children. She is about + forty years of age, and since her widowhood has lived in her house in the + Rue Sainte-Anne. Until last year she was not ill, but she went every year + to the springs at Lamoulon. It is a year since she was taken with pains + that were thought to be rheumatic, following which, paralysis attacked her + and confined her to her bed. She suffers so much sometimes that she cries, + but these are spasms that do not last. In the intervals she lives the + ordinary life, except that she does not get up. She reads a great deal, + receives her friends, her sister-in-law—widow of a notary—her + nephews and nieces, and one of the vicars of the parish, for she is very + charitable. Her eyes are excellent. She has never had delirium or + hallucinations. She is very reserved, detests gossip, and above everything + seeks to live quietly. The assassination of Caffie exasperated her; she + would let no one speak to her of him, and she spoke of it to no one. She + even said that if she were in a condition to leave her house, she would + sell it, so that she would never hear the name of Caffie.” + </p> + <p> + “How did she speak of the portrait and of the man she saw in Caffie’s + office?” Saniel asked. + </p> + <p> + “That is exactly the question that the concierge was not able to answer; + so I decided to go to see Madame Dammauville again.” + </p> + <p> + “You are courageous,” the mother said with pride. + </p> + <p> + “I assure you that I was not so on going up-stairs. After what I had heard + of her character, it was truly audacious to go a second time, after an + interval of two hours, to trouble her, but it was necessary. While + ascending, I sought a reason to justify, or, at least, to explain my + second visit, and I found only an adventurous one, for which I ought to + ask your indulgence.” + </p> + <p> + She said this on turning toward Saniel, but with lowered eyes, without + daring to look at him, and with an emotion that made him uneasy. + </p> + <p> + “My indulgence?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I acted without having time to reflect, and under the pressure of + immediate need. As Madame Dammauville expressed surprise at seeing me + again, I told her that what she had said to me was so serious, and might + have such consequences for the life and honor of my brother, that I had + thought of returning the next day, accompanied by a person familiar with + the affair, before whom she would repeat her story; and that I came to ask + her permission to present this person. This person is yourself.” “I!” + </p> + <p> + “And that is why,” she said feebly, without raising her eyes, “that I have + need of your indulgence.” + </p> + <p> + “But I had told you—” he exclaimed with a violence that the + dissatisfaction at being so disposed of was not sufficient to justify. + </p> + <p> + “That you could not present yourself to Madame Dammauville in the + character of a physician unless she sent for you. I did not forget that; + and it is not as a physician that I wish to beg you to accompany me, but + as a friend, if you permit me to speak thus; as the most devoted, the most + firm, and the most generous friend that we have had the happiness to + encounter in our distress.” + </p> + <p> + “My daughter speaks in my name, as in her own,” Madame Cormier said with + emotion; “I add that it is a respectful friendship, a profound gratitude, + that we feel toward you.” + </p> + <p> + Although Phillis trembled to see the effect that she produced on Saniel, + she continued with firmness: + </p> + <p> + “You would accompany me, then, without doing anything ostensibly, without + saying you are a doctor, and while she talks you could examine her. Madame + Dammauville gave her consent to my request with extreme kindness. I shall + return to her to-morrow, and if you think it useful, if you think you + should accept the part that I claimed for you without consulting you, you + can accompany me.” + </p> + <p> + He did not reply to these last words, which were an invitation as well as + a question. + </p> + <p> + “Did you not examine her as I told you?” he asked, after a moment of + reflection. + </p> + <p> + “With all the attention of which I was capable in my anguish. Her glance + seemed to me straight and untroubled; her voice is regular, very + rhythmical; her words follow each other without hesitation; her ideas are + consecutive and clearly expressed. There is no trace of suffering on her + pale face, which bears only the mark of a resigned grief. She moves her + arms freely, but the legs, so far as I could judge under the bedclothes, + are motionless. In many ways it seems to me that her paralysis resembles + mamma’s, though it is true that in others it does not. She must be + extremely sensitive to the cold, for although the weather is not cold + today, the temperature of her room seemed very high.” + </p> + <p> + “This is an examination,” Saniel said, “that a physician could not have + conducted better, unless he questioned the patient; and had I been with + you during this visit we should not have learned anything more. It appears + certain that Madame Dammauville is in possession of her faculties, which + renders her testimony invulnerable.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Cormier drew her daughter to her and kissed her passionately. + </p> + <p> + “I have, therefore, nothing to do with this lady,” continued Saniel, with + the precipitation of a man who has just escaped a danger. “But your part, + Mademoiselle, is not finished, and you must return to her tomorrow to + fulfil that which Nougarde confides to you.” + </p> + <p> + He explained what Nougarde expected of her. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” she said. “I will do all that I am advised to do for + Florentin. I will go to Madame Dammauville; I will go everywhere. But will + you permit me to express my astonishment that immediate profit is not made + of this declaration to obtain the release of my brother?” + </p> + <p> + He repeated the reasons that Nougarede had given him for not proceeding in + this manner. + </p> + <p> + “I would not say anything that resembles a reproach,” said Madame Cormier, + with more decision than she ordinarily put into her words; “but perhaps + Monsieur Nougarde has some personal ideas in his advice. Our interest is + that Florentin should return to us as quickly as possible, and that he + should be spared the sufferings of a prison. But I understand that to an + ‘ordonnance de non-lieu’, in which he does not appear, Monsieur Nougarde + prefers the broad light of the court, where he could deliver a brilliant + address, useful to his reputation.” + </p> + <p> + “Whether or not he has made this calculation,” Saniel said, “things are + thus. I, also, I should have preferred the ‘ordonnance de non-lieu’, which + has the great advantage of finishing everything immediately. Nougarede + does not believe that this would be a good plan to follow, so we must + follow the one that he traces out for us.” + </p> + <p> + “We will follow it,” Phillis said, “and I believe that it may bring about + the result Monsieur Nougarede expects, as Madame Dammauville would have + spoken to but few persons. When I tried to make her explain herself on + this point, without asking her the question directly, she told me that she + had only spoken to the concierge of the non-resemblance of the portrait to + the man she saw draw the curtains, so that the concierge, who had often + spoken to her of Florentin and of my efforts to save him, might warn me. I + shall see, then, to-morrow, how far her story has spread, and I will go to + see you about it at five o’clock, unless you prefer that I should go at + once to see Monsieur Nougarede.” + </p> + <p> + “Begin with me, and we will go together to see him, if there is occasion. + I am going to write to him.” + </p> + <p> + “If I understand Monsieur Nougarde’s plan, it seems that it rests on + Madame Dammauville’s appearance in court. Will this appearance be + possible? That is what I could not learn; only a physician could tell.” + </p> + <p> + Saniel did not wish to let it appear that he understood this new + challenge. + </p> + <p> + “I forgot to tell you,” Phillis continued, “that the physician who attends + her is Doctor Balzajette of the Rue de l’Echelle. Do you know him?” + </p> + <p> + “A prig, who conceals his ignorance under dignified manners.” + </p> + <p> + No sooner had these words left his lips than he realized his error. Madame + Dammauville should have an excellent physician, one who was so high in the + estimation of his ‘confreres’ that, if he did not cure her, it was because + she was incurable. + </p> + <p> + “Then how can you hope that he will cure her in time for her to go to + court?” Phillis asked. + </p> + <p> + He did not answer, and rose to go. Timidly, Madame Cormier repeated her + invitation, but he did not accept it, in spite of the tender glance that + Phillis gave him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. A NEW PERIL + </h2> + <p> + Would he be able to resist the pressure which from all sides at once + pushed him toward the Rue Sainte Anne? + </p> + <p> + It seemed that nothing was easier than not to commit the folly of + yielding, and yet such was the persistence of the efforts that were united + against him, that he asked himself if, one day, he would not be led to + obey them in spite of himself. Phillis, Nougarede, Madame Cormier. Now, + whence would come a new attack? + </p> + <p> + For several months he had enjoyed a complete security, which convinced him + that all danger was over forever. But all at once this danger burst forth + under such conditions that he must recognize that there could never more + be any security for him. To-day Madame Dammauville menaced him; tomorrow + it would be some one else. Who? He did not know. Every one. And it was the + anguish of his position to be condemned to live hereafter in fear, and on + the defensive, without repose, without forgetfulness. + </p> + <p> + But it was not tomorrow about which he need be uneasy at this moment, it + was the present hour; that is to say, Madame Dammauville. + </p> + <p> + That she should say, with so much firmness at the sight of a single + portrait, that the man who drew the curtains was not Florentin, she must + have an excellent memory of the eyes; at the same time a resolute mind and + a decision in her ideas, which permitted her to affirm without hesitation + what she believed to be true. + </p> + <p> + If they should ever meet, she would recognize him, and recognizing him, + she would speak. + </p> + <p> + Would she be believed? + </p> + <p> + This was the decisive question, and from what he had heard of her, it + seemed that she would be. + </p> + <p> + Denials would not suffice. He did not go to Caffie’s at a quarter past + five. Where was he at this moment? What witness could he call upon? + Caffie’s wound was made by a hand skilled in killing, and this learned + hand was his, more even than that of a murderer. Every one knew that his + position at that moment was desperate, financially speaking; and, + suddenly, he paid his debts. Who would believe the Monte Carlo story? + </p> + <p> + One word, one little hint, from this Madame Dammauville and he was lost, + without defence, without possible struggles. + </p> + <p> + Truly, and fortunately, since she was paralyzed and confined to her bed, + he ran no risk of meeting her face to face at the corner of a street, or + at the house of an acquaintance, nor of hearing the cry of surprise that + she would not fail to give on recognizing him. But that was not enough to + make him sleep in an imprudent security on saying to himself that this + meeting was improbable. It was improbable, also, to admit that some one + was exactly opposite to Caffies window at the moment when he drew the + curtains; more improbable yet to believe that this fact, insignificant in + itself, that this vision, lasting only an instant, would be so solidly + engraved in a woman’s memory as to be distinctly remembered after several + months, as if it dated from the previous evening; and yet, of all these + improbabilities, there was formed a reality which enclosed him in such a + way that at any moment it might stifle him. + </p> + <p> + Despite the importunities of Phillis, Madame Cormier, and Nougarede, and + of all those which might arise, he would not be fool enough to confront + the danger of a recognition in the room where this paralytic was confined—at + least, that was probable, for, after what had happened, he was certain of + nothing—but this recognition might take place elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + In Nougarede’s plan Madame Dammauville would come to court to make her + declaration; he himself was a witness; they would, therefore, at a given + moment, meet each other, and it was not impossible that before the court + the recognition would occur with a ‘coup de theatre’ very different from + that arranged by Nougarede. + </p> + <p> + Without doubt there were chances that Madame Dammauville would not be able + to leave her bed to go to court; but were there only one for her leaving + it, he must foresee it and take precautions. + </p> + <p> + A single one offered security: to render himself unrecognizable; to cut + his beard and hair; to be no more the long-haired, curled, blond-bearded + man that she remembered. Had he been like every one else she would not + have remarked him; or, at least, she would have confounded him with + others. A man can only permit himself to be original in appearance when he + is sure beforehand that he will never have anything to fear. + </p> + <p> + Assuredly, nothing was easier than to have his hair and beard cut; he had + only to enter the first barber shop he came to; in a few minutes the + change would be radical. + </p> + <p> + Among his acquaintances he need not be uneasy at the curiosity that this + change might produce; more than one would not remark it, and those who + would be surprised at first would soon cease to think of it, without + doubt; otherwise, he had an easy answer for them; on the eve of becoming a + serious personage, he abandoned the last eccentricities of the old + student, and passed the bridge without wish to return by the left bank. + </p> + <p> + But it was not only to acquaintances that he must account; there were + Phillis and Nougarde. Had not the latter already remarked the resemblance + between him and the description, and would it not be imprudent to lead him + to ask why this resemblance suddenly disappeared? + </p> + <p> + It would be dangerous to expose himself to this question from the lawyer, + but it would be much more dangerous coming from Phillis. Nougarede would + only show surprise; Phillis might ask for an explanation. + </p> + <p> + And he must reply to her so much the more clearly, because four or five + times already he had almost betrayed himself as to Madame Dammauville, and + if she had let his explanations or embarrassment pass, his hesitations or + his refusal, without questioning him frankly, certainly she was not the + less astonished. Should he appear before her with short hair and no beard, + it would be a new astonishment which, added to the others, would establish + suspicions; and logically, by the force of things, in spite of herself, in + spite of her love and her faith, she would arrive at conclusions from + which she would not be able to free herself. Already, five or six months + before, this question of long hair and beard had been agitated between + them. As he complained one day of the bourgeois who would not come to him, + she gently explained to him that to please and attract these bourgeois it + was, perhaps, not quite well to astonish those whom one does not shock. + That overcoats less long, hats with less brim, and hair and beard shorter; + in fact, a general appearance that more nearly approached their own, would + be, perhaps, more agreeable. He became angry, and replied plainly that + such concessions were not in keeping with his character. How could he now + abruptly make these concessions, and at a time when his success at the + examinations placed him above such small compromises? He resisted when he + needed help, and when a patient was an affair of life or death to him; he + yielded when he had need of no one, and when he did not care for patients. + The contradiction was truly too strong, and such that it could not but + strike Phillis, whose attention had already had only too much to arouse + it. + </p> + <p> + And yet, as dangerous as it was to come to the decision to make himself + unrecognizable, it would be madness on his part to draw back; the sooner + the better. His fault had been in not foreseeing, the day after Caffie’s + death, that circumstances might arise sooner or later which would force it + upon him. At that moment it did not present the same dangers as now; but + parting from the idea that he had not been seen by any one, that he could + not have been seen, he had rejoiced in the security that this conviction + gave him, and quietly become benumbed. + </p> + <p> + The awakening had come; with his eyes open he saw the abyss to the edge of + which his stupidity had brought him. + </p> + <p> + How strong would he not be if during the last three months he had not had + this long hair and beard, which was most terrible testimony against him? + Instead of taking refuge in miserable makeshifts when Phillis and + Nougarede asked him to see Madame Dammauville, he would have boldly held + his own, and have gone to see her as they wished. In that case he would be + saved, and soon Florentin would be also. + </p> + <p> + And he believed himself intelligent! And he proudly imagined he could + arrange things beforehand so well that he would never be surprised! What + he should have foreseen would come to pass, nothing more; the lesson that + experience taught him was hard, and this was not the first one; the + evening of Caffie’s death he saw very clearly that a new situation opened + before him, which to the end of his life would make him the prisoner of + his crime. To tell the truth, however, this impression became faint soon + enough; but now it was stronger than ever, and to a certainty, never to be + dismissed again. + </p> + <p> + But it was useless to look behind; it was the present and the future that + he must measure with a clear and firm glance, if he did not wish to be + lost. + </p> + <p> + After carefully examining and weighing the question, he decided to have + his hair and beard cut. However adventurous this resolution was, however + embarrassing it might become in provoking curiosity and questions, it was + the only way of escaping a possible recognition. + </p> + <p> + Mechanically, by habit, he bent his steps toward the Rue + Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, where his barber lived, but he had taken only a + few steps when reflection caused him to stop; it would be certainly a + mistake to provoke the gossip of this man who, knew him, and who, for the + pleasure of talking, would tell every one in the quarter that he had just + cut the hair and beard of Dr. Saniel. He returned to the boulevard, where + he was not known. + </p> + <p> + But as he was about to open the door of the shop which he decided to + enter, he changed his mind. He happened to find the explanation that he + must give Phillis, and as he wished to avoid the surprise that she would + not fail to show if she saw him suddenly without hair and beard, he would + give this explanation before having them cut, in such a way that all at + once and without looking for another reason, she would understand that + this operation was indispensable. + </p> + <p> + And he went to dinner, furious with himself and with things, to see to + what miserable expedients he was reduced. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII. SANIEL VISITS A BARBER + </h2> + <p> + The following day at five o’clock when Phillis rang, he opened the door + for her. Hardly had she entered when she was about to throw herself into + his arms as usual, with a quickness that told how happy she was to see + him. But he checked her with his hand. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” she asked paralyzed and full of fears. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing; or, at least nothing much.” + </p> + <p> + “Against me?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not, dear one.” + </p> + <p> + “You are ill?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not ill, but I must take precautions which prevent me from embracing + you. I will explain; do not be uneasy, it is not serious.” + </p> + <p> + “Quick!” she cried, examining him, and trying to anticipate his thought. + </p> + <p> + “You have something to tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, good news. But I beg of you, speak first; do not leave me in + suspense.” + </p> + <p> + “I assure you that you need not be uneasy; and when I speak thus, you know + that you should believe me. You see that I am not uneasy.” + </p> + <p> + “It is for others that you are alarmed, never for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what the pelagre is?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a special disease of the hair and beard, due to the presence in the + epidermis of a kind of mushroom. Well, it is probable that I have this + disease.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it serious?” + </p> + <p> + “Troublesome for a man, but disastrous for a woman, because, before any + treatment, the hair must be cut. You understand, therefore, that if I have + the pelagre, as I believe I have, I am not going to expose you to the risk + of catching it in embracing you. It is very easily transmitted, and in + that case you would be obliged, probably, to do for yourself what I must + do for myself; that is, to cut my hair. With me it is of no consequence; + but with you it would be murder to sacrifice your beautiful hair.” + </p> + <p> + “You say ‘probably.’” + </p> + <p> + “Because I am not yet quite certain that I have the pelagre. For about two + weeks I have felt a slight itching in my head and, naturally, I paid no + attention to it. I had other things to do; and besides, I was not going to + believe I was attacked with a parasitic malady merely on account of an + itching. But, after some time, my hair became dry and began to fall out. I + had no time to attend to it, and the days passed; besides, the excitement + of my examinations was enough to make my hair fall. To-day, just before + you came, I had a few minutes to spare, and I examined one of my hairs + through a microscope; if I had not been disturbed I should have finished + by this time.” + </p> + <p> + “Continue your examination.” + </p> + <p> + “It would take some time to do it thoroughly. If it is really the pelagre, + as I have reason to believe, tomorrow you will see me without hair and + beard. I would not hesitate, in spite of the astonishment that my + appearance would cause.” + </p> + <p> + “What good will that do?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot tell people that I had my hair and beard cut because I have a + parasitic disease. Every one knows it is contagious.” + </p> + <p> + “When the hair is cut, what will become of the disease?” + </p> + <p> + “With energetic treatment it will rapidly disappear. Before long you may + embrace me if—you do not find me too ugly.” + </p> + <p> + “O dearest!” + </p> + <p> + “And now for you; you have come from Madame Dammauville?” + </p> + <p> + He did not need to persist; Phillis accepted his story so readily that he + felt reassured on her side; she would not alarm herself about it. As for + others, the embarrassment of confessing a contagious malady would be a + sufficient explanation, if he were ever obliged to furnish one. + </p> + <p> + “What did she say to you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Good and kind words to begin with, which show what an excellent woman she + is. After having presented myself twice at her house yesterday, you + understand that I was not quite easy on asking her to receive me again + to-day. As I tried to excuse myself, she said she was glad to see my + devotion to my brother, that I need never excuse myself for asking her + assistance, and that she would help me all she could. With this + encouragement I explained what we want her to do, but she did not appear + disposed to do it. Without giving her Monsieur Nougarede’s reasons, I said + we were obliged to conform to the counsels of those who directed the + affair, and I begged her to help us. Finally she was won over, but + reluctantly, and said she would do as we wished. But she could not assure + me that her servants had not talked about it, nor could she promise to + leave her bed to go to court, for she had not left her room for a year.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she expect to be able to rise soon?” + </p> + <p> + “I repeat her words, to which I paid great attention in order not to + forget them: ‘I am promised that I shall be better next year, but who can + tell? I will urge my doctor to give me an answer, and when you come again + I will tell you what he says.’ Profiting by the door that she opened to + me, I kept the conversation on this doctor. It seems to me, but I am not + certain, that she has but little confidence in him. He was the classmate + of her husband and of her brother-in-law the notary; he is the friend of + every one, curing those who can be cured, or letting them die by accident. + You see what kind of a doctor he is.” + </p> + <p> + “I told you I knew him.” + </p> + <p> + “See if I deceive myself, and to what I tell you, add what you already + know. Frightened to see in whose hands she is, I undertook to find out, + and finished by learning—without asking her directly—that she + has seen no other physician during the year. When she was taken with + paralysis a consultation was held, and she has had Doctor Balzajette ever + since. She says he is very kind, and takes care of her as well as another + would.” + </p> + <p> + Saniel improved the opportunity to refer to his stupidity in frankly + expressing his opinion on the solemn Balzajette. + </p> + <p> + “It is probable,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “It is certain? Do you believe that during one year nothing has appeared + in Madame Dammauville’s disease that should demand new treatment? Do you + think the solemn Balzajette is incapable of finding it all by himself?” + </p> + <p> + “He is not so dull as you suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “It is you who speak of dulness.” + </p> + <p> + “To diagnose a disease and to treat it are two things. It is the + consultation you speak of that settled the question of Madame + Dammauville’s disease, and prescribed the treatment that Balzajette had + only to apply; and his capacity, I assure you, is sufficient for this + task.” + </p> + <p> + As she appeared but little reassured, he persisted, for it would be an + imprudence to let Phillis become enamored of the idea that if he attended + Madame Dammauville, he would cure her, even if it required a miracle. + </p> + <p> + “We have some time before us, since the ‘ordonnance de renvoi’ before the + assizes is not yet given out. Madame Dammauville has promised to question + her doctor, to learn if he hopes to put her in condition to leave her bed + soon. Let us wait, therefore.” + </p> + <p> + “Would it not be better to act than to wait?” + </p> + <p> + “At least let us wait for news from Balzajette. Either it will be + satisfactory, and then we shall have nothing to do, or it will not be, and + in that case I promise you to see Balzajette. I know him well enough to + speak to him of your patient, which, above all, enables me, in making your + brother intervene, to interest myself openly in his reestablishment.” + </p> + <p> + “O dearest, dearest!” she murmured, in a spirit of gratitude. + </p> + <p> + “You cannot doubt my devotion to you first, and to your brother afterward. + You asked me an impossible thing, that I was obliged to refuse, to my + regret, precisely because it was impossible; but you know that I am yours, + and will do all I can for your family.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me.” + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing to forgive; in your place I should think as you do, but I + believe that in mine you would act as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Be sure that I have never had an idea of blame in my heart for what is + with you an affair of dignity. It is because you are high and proud that I + love you so passionately.” + </p> + <p> + She rose. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I want to carry Madame Dammauville’s words to mamma; you can imagine with + what anguish she awaits me.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us, go. I will leave you at the boulevard to go to see Nougarede.” + </p> + <p> + The interview with the advocate was short. + </p> + <p> + “You see, dear friend, that my plan is good; bring Madame Dammauville to + court, and we shall have some pleasant moments.” + </p> + <p> + This time Saniel had not the hesitation of the previous evening, and he + entered the first barber-shop he saw. When he returned to his rooms he + lighted two candles, and placing them on the mantle, he looked at himself + in the glass. + </p> + <p> + Coquetry had never been his sin, and often weeks passed without his + looking in a mirror, so indifferent was he when making his toilet. + However, as a young boy he sometimes looked in his small glass, asking + himself what he would become, and he could now recall his looks—an + energetic face with clearly drawn features, a physiognomy open and frank, + without being pretty, but not disagreeable. His beard had concealed all + this; but now that it was gone, he said to himself without much reflection + that he would find again, without doubt, the boy he remembered. + </p> + <p> + What he saw in the glass was a forehead lined transversely; oblique + eyebrows, raised at the inside extremity, and a mouth with tightened lips + turned down at the corners; furrows were hollowed in the cheeks; and the + whole physiognomy, harassed, ravaged, expressed hardness. + </p> + <p> + What had become of that of the young man of other days? He had before him + the man that life had made, and of whom the violent contractions of the + muscles of the face had modelled the expression. + </p> + <p> + “Truly, the mouth of an assassin!” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + Then, looking at his shaved head, he added with a smile: + </p> + <p> + “And perhaps that of one condemned to death, whose toilet has just been + made for the guillotine.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX. A BROKEN NEGATIVE + </h2> + <p> + To have made himself unrecognizable was, without doubt, a safe precaution; + but having started on this course, he would not be easy until he had + destroyed all traces of himself in such a way that Madame Dammauville + would never be able to find the man that she had seen so clearly under + Caffie’s lamp. + </p> + <p> + Precisely because he was not vain and had no pretension to beauty, he had + escaped the photograph mania. Once only he had been photographed in spite + of himself, simply to oblige a classmate who had abandoned medicine for + photography. + </p> + <p> + But now this once was too much, for there was danger that this portrait + taken three years before, and showing him with the hair and beard that he + wished to suppress, might be discovered. Without doubt there were few + chances that a copy of it would be seen by Madame Dammauville; but if + there existed only one against a hundred thousand, he must arrange it so + that he need have no fear. + </p> + <p> + He had had a dozen copies of this photograph, but as his relatives were + few, he kept the majority of them. One he sent to his mother, who was + living at that time; another went to the priest of his village, and later + he had given one to Phillis. He must, then, have nine in his possession. + He found them and burned them immediately. + </p> + <p> + Of the three that remained, only one might testify against him, the one + belonging to Phillis. But it would be easy for him to get it again on + inventing some pretext, while as to the others, truly he had nothing to + fear. + </p> + <p> + The real danger might come from the photographer, who perhaps had some of + the photographs, and who undoubtedly preserved the negative. This was his + first errand the next day. + </p> + <p> + On entering the studio of this friend, he experienced a disagreeable + feeling, which troubled him and made him uneasy; he had not given his + name, and counting on the change made by the cutting of his hair and + beard, he said to himself that his friend, who had not seen him for a long + time, certainly would not recognize him. + </p> + <p> + He had taken but a few steps, his hat in his hand, like a stranger who is + about to accost another, when the photographer came toward him with + outstretched hand, and a friendly smile on his face. + </p> + <p> + “You, my dear friend! What good fortune is worth the pleasure of your + visit tome? Can I be useful to you in any way?” + </p> + <p> + “You recognize me, then?” + </p> + <p> + “What! Do I recognize you? Do you ask that because you have cut your hair + and beard? Certainly it changes you and gives you a new physiognomy; but I + should be unworthy of my business if, by a different arrangement of the + hair, I could not recognize you. + </p> + <p> + “Besides, eyes of steel like yours are not forgotten; they are a + description and a signature.” + </p> + <p> + Then this means in which he placed so much confidence was only a new + imprudence, as the question, “You recognize me, then?” was a mistake. + </p> + <p> + “Come, I will pose you at once,” the photographer said. “Very curious, + this shaved head, and still more interesting, I think, than with the beard + and long hair. The traits of character are more clearly seen.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not for a new portrait that I have come, but for the old one. Have + you any of the proofs?” + </p> + <p> + “I think not, but I will see. In any case, if you wish some they are + easily made, since I have the plate.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you look them up? For I have not a single proof left of those you + gave me, and on looking at myself in the glass this morning I found such + changes between my face of to-day and that of three years ago, that I + would like to study them. Certain ideas came to me on the expression of + the physiognomy, that I wish to study, with something to support them.” + </p> + <p> + The search for the proofs made by an assistant led to no results; there + were no proofs. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly; and for several days I have thought of making some,” the + photographer said. “Because your day of glory will come, when your + portrait will be in a distinguished place in the shop-windows and + collections. Every one talks of your ‘concours’. Although I have abandoned + medicine without the wish to return to it, I have not become indifferent + to what concerns it, and I learned of your success. Which portrait shall + we put in circulation? The old or the new?” + </p> + <p> + “The new.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let us arrange the pose.” + </p> + <p> + “Not to-day; it is only yesterday that I was shaved, fearing an attack of + pelagre, and the skin covered by the beard has a crude whiteness that will + accentuate the hardness of my physiognomy, which is really useless. We + will wait until the air has tanned me a little, and then I will return, I + promise you.” + </p> + <p> + “How many proofs do you want of your old portrait?” + </p> + <p> + “One will do.” + </p> + <p> + “I will send you a dozen.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not take the trouble; I will take them when I come to pose. But in the + mean time, could you not show me the plate?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing easier.” + </p> + <p> + When it was brought, Saniel took the glass plate with great care, holding + it with the tips of his fingers by the two opposite corners, in order not + to efface the portrait. Then, as he was standing in the shadow of a blue + curtain, he walked towards the chimney where the light was strong, and + began his examination. + </p> + <p> + “It is very good,” he said; “very curious.” + </p> + <p> + “Only a photograph can have this documentary value.” + </p> + <p> + To compare this document with the reality, Saniel approached the chimney + more closely, above which was a mirror. When his feet touched the marble + hearth he stopped, looking alternately at the plate which he held + carefully in his hands, and at his face reflected in the glass. Suddenly + he made an exclamation; he let fall the plate, which, falling flat on the + marble, broke into little pieces that flew here and there. + </p> + <p> + “How awkward I am!” + </p> + <p> + He showed a vexation that should not leave the smallest doubt in the + photographer’s mind as to its truth. + </p> + <p> + “You must get one of the proofs that you have given away,” his friend + said, “for I have not a single one left.” + </p> + <p> + “I will try and find one.” + </p> + <p> + What he did try to find on leaving was whether or no he had succeeded in + rendering himself unrecognizable, for he could not trust to this + experience, weakened by the fact that this old friend was a photographer. + With him it was a matter of business to note the typical traits that + distinguish one face from another, and in a long practice he had acquired + an accuracy Madame Dammauville could not possess. + </p> + <p> + Among the persons he knew, it seemed to him that the one in the best + condition to give certainty to the proof was Madame Cormier. He knew at + this hour she would be alone, and as she had not been, assuredly, warned + by her daughter that he intended to shave, the experiment would be + presented in a way to give a result as exact as possible. + </p> + <p> + In answer to his ring Madame Cormier opened the door, and he saluted her + without being recognized; but as the hall was dark this was not of great + significance. His hat in his hand, he followed her into the dining-room + without speaking, in order that his voice should not betray him. + </p> + <p> + Then, after she had looked at him a moment, with uneasy surprise at first, + she began to smile. + </p> + <p> + “It is Doctor Saniel!” she cried. “Mon Dieu! How stupid of me not to + recognize you; it changes you so much to be shaved! Pardon me.” + </p> + <p> + “It is because I am shaved that I come to ask a favor.” + </p> + <p> + “Of us, my dear sir? Ah! Speak quickly; we should be so happy to prove our + gratitude.” + </p> + <p> + “I would ask Mademoiselle Phillis to give me, if she has it, a photograph + that I gave her about a year ago.” + </p> + <p> + As Phillis wished the liberty to expose this photograph frankly, in order + to have it always before her, she had asked for it, and Saniel had given + it to her, in her mother’s presence. + </p> + <p> + “If she has it!” exclaimed Mme. Cormier. “Ah! my dear sir, you do not know + the place that all your goodness, and the services that you have rendered + us, have made for you in our hearts.” + </p> + <p> + And passing into the next room, she brought a small velvet frame in which + was the photograph. Saniel took it out, on explaining the study for which + he wanted it, and after promising to bring it back soon, he returned to + his rooms. + </p> + <p> + Decidedly, everything was going well. The plate was destroyed, Phillis’s + proof in his hands; he had nothing more to fear from this side. As to the + experiment made on the mother, it was decisive enough to inspire him with + confidence. If Madame Cormier, who had seen him so often and for so long a + time, and who thought of him at every instant, did not recognize him, how + was it possible that Madame Dammauville, who had only seen him from a + distance and for a few seconds, could recognize him after several months? + </p> + <p> + Would he never accustom himself to the idea that his life could not have + the tranquil monotony of a bourgeois existence, that it would experience + shocks and storms, but that if he knew how to remain always master of his + force and will, it would bring him to a safe port? + </p> + <p> + The calm that was his before this vexation came back to him, and when the + last proofs of his concours, confirming the success of the first, had + given him the two titles that he so ardently desired and pursued at the + price of so many pains, so many efforts and privations, he could enjoy his + triumph in all security. + </p> + <p> + He held the present in his strong hands, and the future was his. + </p> + <p> + Now he could walk straight, boldly, his head high, jostling those who + annoyed him, according to his natural temperament. + </p> + <p> + Although these last months had been full of terrible agitation for him, on + account of everything connected with the affair of Caffie and Florentin, + and above all, on account of the fatigue, emotion, and the fever of his + ‘concours’, yet he had not interrupted his special works for a day or even + an hour, and his experiments followed for so many years had at length + produced important results, that prudence alone prevented him from + publishing. In opposition to the official teaching of the school, these + discoveries would have caused the hair to stand upright on the old heads; + and it was not the time, when he asked permission to enter, to draw upon + himself the hostility of these venerable doorkeepers, who would bar the + way to a revolutionist. But, now that he was in the place for ten or + twelve years, he need take no precautions, either for persons or for + ideas, and he might speak. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX. PHILLIS PRECIPITATES MATTERS + </h2> + <p> + Saniel saw his colleague, the solemn Balzajette, and so adroitly as not to + provoke surprise or suspicion, he spoke of Madame Dammauville, in whom he + was interested incidentally; without persisting, and only to justify his + question, he explained the nature of this interest. + </p> + <p> + Although solemn, Balzajette was not the less a gossip, and it was his + solemnity that made him gossip. He listened to himself talk, and when, his + chest bulging, his pink chin freshly shaved resting on his white cravat, + his be-ringed hand describing in the air noble and demonstrative gestures, + one could, if one had the patience to listen to him, make him say all that + one wished; for he was convinced that his interlocutor passed an agreeable + moment, whose remembrance would never be forgotten. His patients might + wait in pain or anguish, he did not hasten the majestic delivery of his + high-sounding phrases with choice adjectives; and unless it was to go to a + dinner-party, which he did at least five days in the week, he could not + leave you until after he had made you partake of the admiration that he + professed for himself. + </p> + <p> + It was to an affection of the spinal cord that Mme. Dammauville’s + paralysis was due, and consequently it was perfectly curable; even + Balzajette was astonished that with his treatment and his care the cure + was delayed. + </p> + <p> + “But what shall I say to you, young ‘confrere’? You know better than I + that with women everything is possible—above all the impossible.” + </p> + <p> + And during a half-hour he complaisantly related the astonishment that the + fashionable women under his care had caused him, in spite of his knowledge + and experience. + </p> + <p> + “Well, to resume, what shall I tell you, young ‘confrere’?” + </p> + <p> + And he repeated and explained what he had already said and explained. + </p> + <p> + Although Balzajette read only a morning paper, and never opened a book, he + had heard of Saniel’s reputation, and because he was young he thought he + might manage this ‘confrere’, who seemed destined to make a good position. + In spite of the high esteem that he professed for his own merits and + person, he vaguely felt that the doctors of his generation who were + eminent did not treat him with all the consideration that he accorded + himself, and in order to teach his ancient comrades a lesson, he was glad + to enter into friendly relations with a young one ‘dans le mouvement’. He + would speak of his young confrere Saniel: “You know the one who was + appointed ‘agrege’,” and he would relate the advice that he, Balzajette, + had given him. + </p> + <p> + That Madame Dammauville would be well enough to go to court Saniel + doubted, above all, after Balzajette had explained his treatment; and as + far as he was concerned, he could not but rejoice. Doubtless, it would be + hard for Florentin not to have this testimony, and not to profit by the + ‘coup de theatre’ prepared by Nougarede; but for himself, he could only + feel happy over it. In spite of all the precautions he had taken, it would + be better not to expose himself to a meeting with Madame Dammauville in + the witness-chamber, or even in court. They must depend upon a letter + supported by Balzajette’s deposition, and Florentin would be not the less + acquitted. Only Nougarede would have to regret his ‘coup de theatre’. But + the satisfaction or disappointment of Nougarede was nothing to him. + </p> + <p> + But he did not tell Phillis the ideas suggested by his interview with + Balzajette; he summed up the conclusions of this interview. Balzajette + said that Madame Dammauville would soon be on her feet, and one might have + faith in his word; Florentin would be saved, and there was nothing to do + but to let things go on as they were going. + </p> + <p> + Phillis, Madame Cormier, Nougarede, Florentin himself, whom the Mazas cell + had reconciled neither with hope nor with providential justice, were all + delighted with this idea. + </p> + <p> + Also, when the chamber of the prosecution sent Florent to the assizes, the + emotion of Madame Cormier and Phillis would not be too violent. Madame + Dammauville would be in a state to make her deposition, since the evening + before she had been able to leave her bed; and although she left it for + only an hour, and then to go from her bedroom to her parlor, that was + enough. Nougarede said that the affair would come on at the second session + in April; between then and now Madame Dammauville would be solid enough on + her legs to appear before the jury and carry the acquittal. + </p> + <p> + To Phillis, Saniel repeated that the cure was certain, and to her, also, + he rejoiced aloud. But he was troubled about this cure. This meeting, only + the idea of which had alarmed him to the point of losing his head, would + be brought about, and under conditions that could not but affect him. + Truly, the precautions he had taken should reassure him, but after all + there remained no less a troublesome uncertainty. Who could tell? He + preferred that she should not leave her room, and that Nougarede should + find a way to obtain her deposition without taking her to court; he would + then feel more reassured, more calm in mind, and with a more impassive + face he could go to court. + </p> + <p> + Was he really unrecognizable? This was the question that beset him now. + Many times he compared his reflection in the glass with the photograph + that he had given Phillis. The hair and beard were gone, but his eyes of + steel, as his friend said, still remained, and nothing could change them. + He might wear blue eyeglasses, or injure himself in a chemical experiment + and wear a bandage. But such a disguise would provoke curiosity and + questions just so much more dangerous, because it would coincide with the + disappearance of his hair and beard. + </p> + <p> + But these fears did not torment him long, for Phillis, who now passed a + part of every day in the Rue Sainte-Anne with Madame Dammauville, came one + evening in despair, and told him that that day the invalid had been able + to leave her bed for a few minutes only. + </p> + <p> + Then she would not go to court. + </p> + <p> + This apprehension of meeting Madame Dammauville face to face had begun to + exasperate him; he felt like a coward in yielding to it, and since he had + not the force to shake it off, he was happy to be relieved from it by the + intervention of chance, which, after having been against him so long, now + became favorable. The wheel turned. + </p> + <p> + “See Madame Dammauville often,” he said to Phillis, “and note all that she + feels; perhaps I shall find some way to repair this impediment, something + that I may suggest to Balzajette without his suspecting it. Besides, it is + reasonable to believe that the recrudescence of cold that we are suffering + from now may have something to do with the change in her condition; it is + probable that with the mild spring weather she may improve.” + </p> + <p> + He hoped by this counsel to quiet Phillis’s uneasiness and to gain time. + But it had the opposite effect. In her anguish, which increased as the + time for the trial approached, it was not probabilities, any more than the + uncertain influence of the spring, that Phillis could depend on; she must + have something more and better; but fearing a refusal, she forbore to tell + him what she hoped to obtain. + </p> + <p> + It was only when she had succeeded that she spoke. + </p> + <p> + Every day, on leaving Madame Dammauville, she came to tell him what she + had learned, and for three successive days her story was the same: + </p> + <p> + “She was not able to leave her bed.” + </p> + <p> + And each day he made the same reply: + </p> + <p> + “It is the cold weather. Surely, we shall soon have a change; this frost + and wind will not continue beyond the end of March.” + </p> + <p> + He was pained at her desolation and anguish, but what could he do? It was + not his fault that this relapse occurred at a decisive moment; fate had + been against him long enough, and he was not going to counteract it at the + time when it seemed to take his side, by yielding to the desire that + Phillis dared not express, but which he divined, and by going to see + Madame Dammauville. + </p> + <p> + When she entered his office on the fourth day, he knew at once by her + manner that something favorable to Florentin had happened. + </p> + <p> + “Madame Dammauville is up,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought she must be, by your vivacity and lightness.” “It is because I + am happy; Madame Dammauville wishes to consult you.” + </p> + <p> + He took her hands roughly and shook them. + </p> + <p> + “You have done that!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him frightened. + </p> + <p> + “You! You!” he repeated with increasing fury. + </p> + <p> + “At least listen to me,” she murmured. “You will see that I have not + compromised you in anything.” + </p> + <p> + Compromised! It was professional dignity of which he thought, truly! + </p> + <p> + “I do not want to listen to you; I shall not go.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not say that.” + </p> + <p> + “It only needed that you should dispose of me in your own way.” + </p> + <p> + “Victor!” + </p> + <p> + Anger carried him away. + </p> + <p> + “I belong to you, then! I am your thing! You do with me what you wish! You + decide, and I have only to obey! There is too much of this! You can go; + everything is at an end between us.” + </p> + <p> + She listened, crushed; but this last word, which struck her in her love, + gave her strength. In her turn she took his hands, and although he wished + to withdraw them, she held them closely in her own. + </p> + <p> + “You may throw in my face all the angry words you please; you may reproach + me as much as you think I deserve it, and I will not complain. Without + doubt, I have done you wrong, and I feel the weight of it on seeing how + profoundly you are wounded; but to send me away, to tell me that all is + over between us, no, Victor, you will not do that. You will not say it, + for you know that never was a man loved as I love you, adored, respected. + And voluntarily, deliberately, even to save my brother, that I should have + compromised you!” + </p> + <p> + He pushed her from him. + </p> + <p> + “Go!” he said harshly. + </p> + <p> + She threw herself on her knees, and taking his hands that he had + withdrawn, she kissed them passionately. + </p> + <p> + “But listen to me,” she cried. “Before condemning me, hear my defence. + Even if I were a hundred times more guilty than I really am, you could not + drive me from you with this unmerciful hardness.” + </p> + <p> + “Go!” + </p> + <p> + “You lose your head; anger carries you away. What is the matter? It is + impossible that I, by my stupidity, through my fault, could put you in + such a state of mad exasperation. What is the matter, my beloved?” + </p> + <p> + These few words did more than Phillis’s despair of her expressions of + love. She was right, he lost his head. And however guilty she might be + towards him, it was evident that she could not admit that the fault she + committed threw him into this access of furious folly. It was not natural; + and in his words and actions all must be natural, all must be capable of + explanation. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, speak!” he said. “I am listening to you. Moreover, it is + better to know. Speak!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI. THE APPOINTMENT + </h2> + <p> + “You should understand,” she said with a little more calmness—for, + since he permitted her to speak, she hoped to convince him—“that I + have done all I could to bring Madame Dammauville to the idea of calling, + in consultation with Monsieur Balzajette, a doctor—” + </p> + <p> + “Which would be myself.” + </p> + <p> + “You or another; I have not mentioned any name. You should not think me + awkward enough to put you forward clumsily; it would not be a good way to + make you acceptable to an intelligent woman, and I value your dignity too + much to lower it. I believed that another doctor than Monsieur Balzajette + would find a remedy, some way, a miracle if you will, to enable Madame + Dammauville to go to the Palais de justice, and I said it. I said it in + every tone, in every way, with as much persuasion as I could put in my + words. Was it not the life of my brother that I defended, our honor? At + first, I found Madame Dammauville much opposed to this idea. She would be + better soon, she felt it. Otherwise, if it were her duty to be carried to + the Palais de justice, she would not hesitate.” + </p> + <p> + “She would do that?” + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly. No one has a stronger sense of justice. She would feel guilty + did she not give her testimony to save an innocent person; not to save him + when she could would be to take the responsibility of his loss. It is + therefore certain that if she cannot go to court alone, she will do all + she can to go, no matter how—on M. Balzajette’s arm, or on a + stretcher. I was, then, easy enough on this side, but I was not for the + stretcher. What would people think to see her in this condition? What + impression would she make on the jury? Would not her appearance weaken the + value of her testimony? As Madame Dammauville is fond of me, and very kind + to me, I determined to profit by this kindness to urge a consultation, but + without mentioning any name. I represented to her that, since M. + Balzajette might say with every appearance of truth he had cured her, he + should not be angry if she desired to ratify this cure. That besides, + there was an imperative motive that would not permit her to wait, for it + would be very disagreeable to her to present herself at the court of + assizes in a theatrical way, which was not at all according to her + character or habits. I easily discovered that the fear of giving pain to + this old friend of her husband was the chief reason why she was opposed to + this consultation. It was then that your name was pronounced.” + </p> + <p> + “You acknowledge it, then?” + </p> + <p> + “You will see how, and you will not be angry about it. I have often spoken + to Madame Dammauville of mamma, and, consequently, of how you cured her + paralysis, that resembled hers. It was not wrong, was it, to say what you + have done for us? And without letting any one suspect my love, I could + praise you, which my gratitude prompted. She asked me many questions, and + naturally, as usual when I speak of you, when I have the joy of + pronouncing your name, I answered in detail. That is not a crime?” + </p> + <p> + She waited a moment, looking at him. Without softening the hardness of his + glance, he made a sign to her to continue. + </p> + <p> + “When I persisted on the consultation, Madame Dammauville recalled what I + had said, and she was the first—you hear?—the first to + pronounce your name. As you had cured my mother, I had the right to praise + you. With a nature like hers, she would not have understood if I had not + done it; she would have believed me ungrateful. I spoke of your book on + the diseases of the spinal cord, which was quite natural; and as she + manifested a desire to read it, I offered to lend it to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Was that natural?” + </p> + <p> + “With any but Madame Dammauville, no; but she is not frivolous. I took the + book to her two days ago, and she has just told me that, after reading it, + she has decided to send for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall certainly not go; she has her own physician.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not imagine that I have come to ask you to pay her a visit; all is + arranged with Monsieur Balzajette, who will write to you or see you, I do + not know which.” + </p> + <p> + “That will be very extraordinary on the part of Balzajette!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you judge him harshly. When Madame Dammauville spoke to him of + you he did not raise the smallest objection; on the contrary, he praised + you. He says that you are one of the rare young men in whom one may have + confidence. These are his own words that Madame Dammauville told me.” + </p> + <p> + “What do I care for the opinion of this old beast!” + </p> + <p> + “I am explaining how it happens that you are called into consultation; it + is not because I spoke of you, but because you have inspired Monsieur + Balzajette with confidence. However stupid he may be, he is just to you, + and knows your value.” + </p> + <p> + It was come then, the time for the meeting that he did not wish to believe + possible; and it was brought about in such a way that he did not see how + he could escape it. He might refuse Phillis; but Balzajette? A colleague + called him in consultation, and why should he not go? Had he foreseen this + blow he would have left Paris until the trial was over, but he was taken + unawares. What could he say to justify a sudden absence? He had no mother + or brothers who might send for him, and with whom he would be obliged to + remain. Besides, he wished to go to court; and since his testimony would + carry considerable weight with the jury, it was his duty to be present on + account of Florentin. It would be a contemptible cowardice to fail in this + duty, and more, it would be an imprudence. In the eyes of the world he + must appear to have nothing to fear, and this assurance, this confidence + in himself, was one of the conditions of his safety. Now, if he went to + court, and from every point of view it was impossible that he should not + go, he would meet Madame Dammauville, as she intended to be carried there + if she were unable to go in any other way. Whether it was at her house, or + at the Palais de justice, the meeting was then certain, and in spite of + what he had done, circumstances stronger than his will had prepared it and + brought it about; nothing that he could do would prevent it. + </p> + <p> + The only question that deserved serious consideration just now was to know + where this meeting would be the least dangerous for him—at Madame + Dammauville’s or at the Palais? + </p> + <p> + He reflected silently, paying no more attention to Phillis than if she + were not present, his eyes fixed, his brow contracted, his lips tightly + closed, when the doorbell rang. As Joseph was at his post, Saniel did not + move. + </p> + <p> + “If it is a patient,” Phillis said, who did not wish to go yet, “I will + wait in the dining-room.” + </p> + <p> + And she rose. + </p> + <p> + Before she could leave the room, Joseph entered. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor Balzajette,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You see!” Phillis cried. + </p> + <p> + Without replying, Saniel made a sign to Joseph to admit Doctor Balzajette, + and while Phillis silently disappeared, he went toward the parlor. + </p> + <p> + Balzajette came forward with both hands extended. + </p> + <p> + “Good-day, my young ‘confrere’. I am enchanted to meet you.” + </p> + <p> + The reception was benevolent, amicable, and protecting, and Saniel replied + at his best. + </p> + <p> + “Since we met the other day,” Balzajette continued, “I have thought of + you. And nothing more natural than that, for you inspired me with a quick + sympathy. The first time you came to see me you pleased me immediately, + and I told you you would make your way. Do you remember?” + </p> + <p> + Assuredly he remembered; and of all the visits that he made to the doctors + and druggists of his quarter, that to Balzajette was the hardest. It was + impossible to show more pride, haughtiness, and disdain than Balzajette + had put into his reception of the then unknown young man. + </p> + <p> + “I told you what I thought of you,” continued Balzajette. “It is with + regard to this patient of whom you spoke to me; you remember?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame Dammauville?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. I put her on her feet, as I told you, but since then this bad + weather has compelled her to take to her bed again. Without doubt, it is + only an affair of a few days; but in the mean time, the poor woman is + irritable and impatient. You know women, young ‘confrere’. To calm this + impatience, I spontaneously proposed a consultation, and naturally + pronounced your name, which is well known by your fine work on the + medullary lesions. I supported it, as was proper, with the esteem that it + has acquired, and I have the satisfaction to see it accepted.” + </p> + <p> + Saniel thanked him as if he believed in the perfect sincerity of this + spontaneous proposition. + </p> + <p> + “I like the young, and whenever an occasion presents itself, I shall be + happy to introduce you to my clientage. For Madame Dammauville, when can + you go with me to see her?” + </p> + <p> + As Saniel appeared to hesitate, Balzajette, mistaking the cause of his + silence, persisted. + </p> + <p> + “She is impatient,” he said. “Let us go the first day that is possible.” + </p> + <p> + He must reply, and in these conditions a refusal would be inexplicable. + </p> + <p> + “Will to-morrow suit you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow, by all means. At what hour?” + </p> + <p> + Before replying, Saniel went to his desk and consulted an almanac, which + appeared perfectly ridiculous to Balzajette. + </p> + <p> + “Does he imagine, the young ‘confrere’, that I am going to believe his + time so fully occupied that he must make a special arrangement to give me + an hour?” + </p> + <p> + But it was not an arrangement of this kind that Saniel sought. His almanac + gave the rising and the setting of the sun, and it was the exact hour of + sunset that he wished: “26 March, 6h. 20m.” At this moment it would not be + dark enough at Madame Dammauville’s for lamps to be lighted, and yet it + would be dark enough to prevent her from seeing him clearly in the + uncertain light of evening. + </p> + <p> + “Will a quarter past six suit you? I will call for you at six o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Only I shall ask you to be very exact; I have a dinner at + seven o’clock in the Rue Royale.” + </p> + <p> + Saniel promised promptness. The dinner was a favorable circumstance, + enabling him to escape from Madame Dammauville’s before the lamps would be + lighted. + </p> + <p> + When Balzajette was gone, he rejoined Phillis in the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + “A consultation is arranged for to-morrow at six o’clock, at Madame + Dammauville’s.” + </p> + <p> + She threw herself on his breast. + </p> + <p> + “I knew that you would forgive me.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII. THE FATAL LIGHT + </h2> + <p> + It was not without emotion that the next day Saniel saw the afternoon slip + away, and although he worked to employ his time, he interrupted himself at + each instant to look at the clock. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes he found the time passing quickly, and then all at once it + seemed to stand still. + </p> + <p> + This agitation exasperated him, for calmness had never been more necessary + than at this moment. A danger was before him, and it was only in being + master of himself that he could be saved. He must have the coolness of a + surgeon during an operation, the glance of a general in a battle; and the + coolness and the glance were not found among the nervous and agitated. + </p> + <p> + Could he escape from this danger? + </p> + <p> + This was the question that he asked himself unceasingly, although he knew + the uselessness of it. What good was it to study the chances for or + against him? + </p> + <p> + Either he had succeeded in rendering himself unrecognizable or he had not; + but it was done, and now he could do nothing more. He did the best he + could in choosing an hour when the dim evening light put the chances on + his side; for the rest he must trust to Fortune. + </p> + <p> + All day he studied the sky, because for the success of his plan it must be + neither too bright nor too dark: if it were too bright Madame Dammauville + could see him clearly; if it were too dark the lamps would be lighted. He + remembered that it was by lamplight she had seen him. Until evening the + weather was uncertain, with a sky sometimes sunny, sometimes cloudy; but + at this hour the clouds were driven away by a wind from the north, and the + weather became decidedly cold, with the pink and pale clearness of the end + of March when it still freezes. + </p> + <p> + On examining himself he had the satisfaction to feel that he was calmer + than in the morning, and that as the moment of attack approached, his + agitation decreased; decision, firmness, and coolness came to him; he felt + master of his will, and capable of obeying it. + </p> + <p> + At six o’clock precisely he rang at Balzajette’s door, and they started + immediately for the Rue Sainte-Anne. Happy to have a complaisant listener, + Balzajette did all the talking, so that Saniel had only to reply “yes” or + “no” from time to time, and of course it was not of Madame Dammauville + that he spoke, but other matters—of a first representation on the + previous evening at the Opera Comique; of politics; of the next salon. + </p> + <p> + At exactly a quarter past six they reached the house in the Rue + Sainte-Anne, where Saniel had not been since Caffies death. On passing the + old concierge’s lodge he felt satisfied with himself; his heart did not + beat too quickly, his ideas were firm and clear. Should danger arrive, he + felt assured of mastery over himself, without excitement, as without + brutality. + </p> + <p> + Balzajette rang the bell, and the door was opened by a maid, who was, + evidently, placed in the vestibule to await their arrival. Balzajette + entered first, and Saniel followed him, giving a hasty glance at the rooms + through which they passed. They reached a door at which Balzajette knocked + twice. + </p> + <p> + “Enter,” replied a feminine voice in a firm tone. + </p> + <p> + This was the decisive moment; the day was everything that could be wished, + neither too light nor too dark. What would Madame Dammauville’s first + glance mean? + </p> + <p> + “My confrere, Doctor Saniel,” Balzajette said on going toward Madame + Dammauville, and taking her hand. + </p> + <p> + She was lying on the little bed of which Phillis had spoken, but not + against the windows, rather in the middle of the room, placed there + evidently after the experience of a sick person who knows that to be + examined she must be easily seen. + </p> + <p> + Profiting by this arrangement, Saniel immediately passed between the bed + and the windows in such a way that the daylight was behind him, and + consequently his face was in shadow. This was done naturally, without + affectation, and it seemed that he only took this side of the bed because + Balzajette took the other. + </p> + <p> + Directed by Saniel, the examination commenced with a clearness and a + precision that pleased Balzajette. He did not lose himself in idle words, + the young ‘confrere’, any more than in useless details. He went straight + to the end, only asking and seeking the indispensable; and as Madame + Dammauville’s replies were as precise as his questions, while listening + and putting in a word from time to time he said to himself that his dinner + would not be delayed, which was the chief point of his preoccupation. + Decidedly, he understood life, the young ‘confrere’; he might be called in + consultation with his heavy appearance and careless toilet, there was no + danger of rivalry. + </p> + <p> + However, when Madame Dammauville began to speak of being sensitive to + cold, Balzajette found that Saniel let her lose herself in minute details. + </p> + <p> + “Have you always been sensitive to cold?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and with a deplorable disposition to take cold if the temperature is + lowered one or two degrees.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you exercise in the open air?” + </p> + <p> + “Very little.” + </p> + <p> + “Were you ever advised to try shower-baths of cold water?” + </p> + <p> + “I should not have been able to bear it.” + </p> + <p> + “I must tell you,” Balzajette interrupted, “that before occupying this + house that belongs to her, Madame Dammauville lived in a more modern + apartment which was heated by a furnace, and where consequently it was + easier to maintain an even temperature to which she was accustomed.” + </p> + <p> + “On coming to live in this house, where it is not possible to have a + furnace,” Madame Dammauville went on, “I employed every means to shelter + me from the cold, which I am sure is my great enemy. You can see that I + have had weather-strips put at the doors, as well as at the windows.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of this invitation and the gesture which accompanied it, Saniel + was careful not to turn his head toward the window; he kept his face in + the shadow, contenting himself with looking at the door which was opposite + to him. + </p> + <p> + “At the same time,” she continued, “I had hangings put on the walls, + carpets on the floors, thick curtains at the windows and doors, and in + spite of the large fire in my fireplace, often I am unable to get warm.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you also have a fire in this little stove?” Saniel asked, pointing to + a small movable stove at the corner of the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + “Only at night, so that my servants need not get up every hour to + replenish the fire in the chimney. The fire is made in the evening just + before I go to sleep; the pipe is placed in the chimney, and it maintains + sufficient heat until morning.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it will be expedient to suppress this mode of heating, which must + be very inconvenient,” Saniel said; “and my ‘confrere’ and myself will + consider the question whether it will not be possible to give you the heat + you need with this chimney, without fatiguing your servants, and without + waking you too often to take care of the fire. But let us continue.” + </p> + <p> + When he reached the end of his questions he rose to examine the patient on + her bed, but without turning round, and in such a way as still to keep his + back to the light. + </p> + <p> + As little by little the reflection of the setting sun faded, Balzajette + proposed asking for a lamp: without replying too hastily, Saniel refused; + it was useless, the daylight was sufficient. + </p> + <p> + They passed into the parlor, where they very quickly came to an amicable + conclusion, for at everything that Saniel said Balzajette replied: + </p> + <p> + “I am happy to see that you partake of my opinion. That is it. Truly, that + is so!” + </p> + <p> + And, besides, each had his reasons for hurrying—Saniel, for fear of + the lamps; Balzajette, uneasiness for his dinner. The diagnosis and the + treatment were rapidly settled; Saniel proposed, Balzajette approved. The + question of the movable stove was decided in two words: for the night a + grate would be placed in the chimney; a fire of coal covered with damp + coal-dust would keep the fire until morning. + </p> + <p> + “Let us return,” Balzajette said, who took the initiative and decided on + all material things. + </p> + <p> + Saniel, who kept his eyes on the windows, was calm; it was yet too light + to need lamps, besides, during their tete-a-tete, no servant had crossed + the salon to enter Madame Dammauville’s room. + </p> + <p> + But when Balzajette opened the door to return to the patient, a flood of + light filled the parlor and enveloped them. A lamp with a shade was placed + on the little table near the bed, and two other lighted lamps with globes + were on the mantel, reflecting their light in the mirror. How had he not + foreseen that there was another door to Madame Dammauville’s room besides + the door from the parlor? But if he had foreseen it, it would not have + lessened the danger of the situation. + </p> + <p> + He would have had time to prepare himself, that was all. But to prepare + himself for what? Either to enter the room and brave this danger, or to + fly. He entered. + </p> + <p> + “This is what we have decided,” Balzajette said, who never lost an + occasion to put himself forward and to speak. + </p> + <p> + While he spoke, Madame Dammauville seemed not to listen to him. Her eyes + were on Saniel, placed between her and the chimney with his back to the + lamps, and she looked at him with a characteristic fixedness. + </p> + <p> + Balzajette, who listened to himself, observed nothing; but Saniel, who + knew what there was behind this glance, could not but be struck with it. + Happily for him, he had only to let Balzajette talk, for if he had spoken + he would surely have betrayed himself by the quivering of his voice. + </p> + <p> + However, Balzajette seemed coming to the end of his explanations. Suddenly + Saniel saw Madame Dammauville extend her hand toward the lamp on the + table, and raise the shade by lowering it toward her in such a way as to + form a reflector that threw the light on him. At the same time he received + a bright ray full on his face. + </p> + <p> + Madame Dammauville uttered a small, stifled cry. + </p> + <p> + Balzajette stopped; then his astonished eyes went from Madame Dammauville + to Saniel, and front Saniel to Madame Dammauville. + </p> + <p> + “Are you suffering?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all.” + </p> + <p> + What, then, was the matter? But it was seldom that he asked for an + explanation of a thing that astonished him, preferring to divine and to + explain it himself. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I understand it,” he said with a satisfied smile. + </p> + <p> + “The youth of my young ‘confrere’ astonishes you. It is his fault. Why the + devil did he have his long hair and his light curled beard cut?” + </p> + <p> + If Madame Dammauville had not released the lampshade, she would have seen + Saniel turned pale and his lips quiver. + </p> + <p> + “Mais voila!” continued Balzajette. “He made this sacrifice to his new + functions; the student has disappeared before the professor.” + </p> + <p> + He might have continued along time. Neither Madame Dammauville nor Saniel + listened to him; but, thinking of his dinner, he was not going to launch + into a discourse that at any other moment he would not have failed to + undertake. He rose to go. + </p> + <p> + As Saniel bowed, Madame Dammauville stopped him with a movement of her + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Did you not know this unfortunate who was assassinated opposite?” she + asked, pointing to the windows. + </p> + <p> + So serious as was an acknowledgment, Saniel could not answer in the + negative. + </p> + <p> + “I was called in to prove his death,” he said. + </p> + <p> + And he took several steps toward the door, but she stopped him again. + </p> + <p> + “Had you business with him?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I saw him several times.” + </p> + <p> + Balzajette cut short this conversation, which was idle talk to him. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, dear Madame. I will see you tomorrow, but not in the + morning, for I go to the country at six o’clock, and shall not return + until noon.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII. SUSPENSE + </h2> + <p> + “Did you observe how I cut the conversation short?” Balzajette said, as + they went down-stairs. “If you listen to women they will never let you go. + I cannot imagine why she spoke to you of this assassinated man, can you?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe that this assassination has affected her brain to a certain + point. In any case, it has given her a horror of this house.” + </p> + <p> + He continued thus without Saniel listening to what he said. On reaching + the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, Balzajette hailed a passing cab. + </p> + <p> + “You have had the kindness not to delay me,” he said, pressing the hand of + his young ‘confrere’, “but I feel that I must hurry. ‘Au revoir’.” + </p> + <p> + A good riddance! This babbling gave Saniel the vertigo. + </p> + <p> + He must recover himself, look the situation in the face, and consider that + which might, which must, happen. + </p> + <p> + The situation was plain; Madame Dammauville’s cry revealed it. When the + lamplight struck him full in the face, she found in him the man whom she + had seen draw Caffies curtains. If, in her amazement, she at first refused + to believe it, her questions regarding Caffie, and Balzajette’s + explanations about his hair and beard, destroyed her hesitation and + replaced doubt by the horror of certainty. He was the assassin; she knew + it, she had seen him. And such as she revealed herself to him, it seemed + that she was not the woman to challenge the testimony of her eyes, and to + let the strength of her memory be shaken by simple denials, supported by + Balzajette’s words. + </p> + <p> + With a vivid clearness he saw to the bottom of the abyss open before him; + but what he did not see was in what way she would push him into this giddy + whirlpool, that is, to whom she would reveal the discovery that she had + made. To Phillis, to Balzajette, or to the judge? + </p> + <p> + It was almost a relief to think that for this evening, at least, it would + not be to Phillis, for at this moment she would be at his rooms, anxiously + awaiting his return. He felt a sadness and a revulsion at the thought that + she might be the first to learn the truth. He did not wish that, and he + would prevent it. + </p> + <p> + This preoccupation gave him an object; he reached the Rue Louis-le-Grand + thinking more of Phillis than of himself. What distress when she should + know all! How could she support this blow, and with what sentiments would + it inspire her, with what judgment for the man whom she loved? Poor girl! + He grew tender at the thought. As for him, he was lost, and it was his + fault; he bore the penalty of his own stupidity. But Phillis—it + would be a blow to her love that she must bear. And what a blow to this + sensitive heart, to this proud and noble soul! + </p> + <p> + Perhaps he would now see her for the last time, for this one hour, and + never again. Then he would be kind to her, and leave her a memory that, + later, would be an alleviation to her sorrow, a warm, bright ray in her + time of mourning. During these last few days he had been hard, brutal, + irritable, strange, and with her habitual serenity she had overlooked it + all. When he pushed her from him with his heavy hand, she had kissed this + hand, fastening on him her beautiful, tender eyes, full of passionate + caresses. He must make her forget that, and she must carry from their last + interview a tender impression that would sustain her. + </p> + <p> + What could he do for her? He remembered how happy she had been at their + impromptu dinners six months before, and he would give her this same + pleasure. He would see her happy again, and near her, under her glance, + perhaps he would forget tomorrow. + </p> + <p> + He went to the caterer who furnished him with breakfast, and ordered two + dinners to be sent to his rooms immediately. + </p> + <p> + Before he could put the key in the lock, his door was opened by Phillis, + who recognized his step on the landing. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Your brother is saved.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame Dammauville will go to court?” + </p> + <p> + “I promise you that he is saved.” + </p> + <p> + “By you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, by me—exactly.” + </p> + <p> + In her access of joy, she did not notice the accent on these last words. + </p> + <p> + “Then you forgive me?” + </p> + <p> + He took her in his arms, and kissing her with deep emotion said: + </p> + <p> + “With all my heart, I swear it!” + </p> + <p> + “You see it was written that you should see Madame Dammauville, in spite + of yourself, in spite of all; it was providential.” + </p> + <p> + “It is certain that your friend Providence could not interfere more + opportunely in my affairs.” + </p> + <p> + This time she was struck by the tone of his voice; but she imagined that + it was only this allusion to superior intervention that had vexed him. + </p> + <p> + “It was of ourselves that I thought,” she said, “not of you.” + </p> + <p> + “I understood. But do not let us talk of that; you are happy, and I do not + wish to shadow your joy. On the contrary, I thought to associate myself + with it by giving you a surprise: we are going to dine together.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dearest!” she exclaimed, trembling, “how-good you are! I will set the + table,” she added joyously, “and you light the fire; for we must have a + bright fire to enliven us and to keep our dinner warm. What have you + ordered?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know; two dinners.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better! We will have surprises. We will leave the dishes + covered before the fire, and we will take them anyhow. Perhaps we shall + eat the roast before the entree, but that will be all the more funny.” + </p> + <p> + Light, quick, busy, graceful, and charming, she came and went around the + table. + </p> + <p> + When the dinner came, the table was ready, and they sat down opposite to + each other. + </p> + <p> + “What happiness to be alone!” she said. “To be able to talk and to look at + each other freely!” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her with a tenderness in his eyes that she had never before + seen, with a depth of serious contemplation that overwhelmed her. From + time to time little cries of happiness escaped her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Dearest, dearest!” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + Yet she knew him too well not to see that a cloud of sadness often veiled + these eyes full of love, and that also they were often without any + expression, as if they looked within. Suddenly she became quiet; but she + could not long remain silent when she was uneasy. Why this melancholy at + such a moment? + </p> + <p> + “What a difference between this dinner,” she said, “and those of the end + of October! At that time you were harassed by the most trying + difficulties, at war with creditors, menaced on all sides, without hope; + and now all is smooth. No more creditors, no more struggles. The cares + that I brought you are nearly at an end. Life opens easy and glorious. The + end that you pursued is reached; you have only to walk straight before + you, boldly and proudly. Yet there is a sadness in your face that torments + me. What is the matter? Speak, I beg you! To whom should you confess, if + not to the woman who adores you?” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her a long time without replying, asking himself if, for the + peace of his own heart, this confession would not be better than silence; + but courage failed him, pride closed his lips. + </p> + <p> + “What should be the matter?” he said. “If my face is sad, it does not + indicate faithfully what I feel; for what I feel at this moment is an + ineffable sentiment of tenderness for you, an inexpressible gratitude for + your love, and for the happiness that you have given me. If I have been + happy in my rough and struggling life, it is through you. What I have had + of joy, confidence, hope, memories, I owe to you; and if we had not met I + should have the right to say that I have been the most miserable among the + miserable. Whatever happens to us, remember these words, my darling, and + bury them in the depths of your heart, where you will find them some day + when you would judge me.” + </p> + <p> + “To judge you—I!” + </p> + <p> + “You love me, therefore you do not know me. But the hour will come when + you will wish to know exactly the man whom you have loved; when that time + comes remember this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “It is too radiant for me to forget it.” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever it may be, remember it. Life is so fragile and so ephemeral a + thing, that it is beautiful to be able to concentrate it, to sum it up by + remembrance, in one hour that marks it and gives it its scope. Such an + hour is this one, which passes while I speak to you with deep sincerity.” + </p> + <p> + Phillis was not accustomed to these ‘elanas’, for, in the rare effusions + to which he sometimes abandoned himself, Saniel always observed a certain + reserve, as if he feared to commit himself, and to let her read his whole + nature. Many times he rallied her when she became sentimental, as he said, + and “chantait sa romance;” and now he himself sang it—this romance + of love. + </p> + <p> + Great as was her happiness to listen to him, she could not help feeling an + uneasy astonishment, and asked herself under what melancholy impression he + found himself at this moment. + </p> + <p> + He read her too well not to divine this uneasiness. Not wishing to betray + himself, he brought a smile to his eyes, and said: + </p> + <p> + “You do not recognize me, do you? I am sure you are asking yourself if I + am not ill.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dearest, do not jest, and do not harden yourself against the + sentiment that makes such sweet music on your lips! I am happy, so happy, + to hear you speak thus, that I would like to see your happiness equal to + mine; to dissipate the dark cloud that veils your glance. Will you never + abandon yourself? At this hour, above all, when everything sings and + laughs within us as about us! Nothing was more natural than that you + should be sad six months ago; but today what more do you want to make you + happy?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, it is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Is not the present the radiant morning of a glorious future?” + </p> + <p> + “What will you? There are sad physiognomies as there are happy ones; mine + is not yours. But let us talk no more of that, nor of the past, nor of the + future; let us talk of the present.” + </p> + <p> + He rose, and, taking her in his arms, made her sit next to him on the + sofa. + </p> + <p> + The sound of the doorbell made Saniel jump as if he had received an + electric shock. + </p> + <p> + “You will not open the door?” Phillis said. “Do not let any one take our + evening from us.” + </p> + <p> + But soon another ring, more decided, brought him to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “It is better to know,” he said, and he went to open the door, leaving + Phillis in his office. + </p> + <p> + A maid handed him a letter. + </p> + <p> + “From Madame Dammauville,” she said; “there is an answer.” + </p> + <p> + He left her in the vestibule, and returned to his office to read the + letter. The dream had not lasted long; reality seized him with its + pitiless hands. This letter, certainly, would announce the blow that + menaced him. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “If Dr. Saniel is disengaged, I beg that he will come to see me this + evening on an urgent affair; I will wait for him until ten o’clock. + If not, I count on seeing him to-morrow morning after nine o’clock. + + “A. DAMMAUVILLE.” + </pre> + <p> + He returned to the vestibule. + </p> + <p> + “Say to Madame. Dammauville that I shall be there in a quarter of an + hour.” + </p> + <p> + When he reentered the office he found Phillis before the glass, putting on + her hat. + </p> + <p> + “I heard,” she said. “What a disappointment! But I cannot wish you to + stay, since it is for Florentin that you leave me.” + </p> + <p> + As she walked toward the door he stopped her. + </p> + <p> + “Embrace me once more.” + </p> + <p> + Never had he pressed her in such a long and passionate embrace. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIV. ON THE RACK + </h2> + <p> + He had not a second of doubt; Madame Dammauville did not wish a + professional visit from him. She wished to speak to him of Caffie, and, in + the coming crisis, he said to himself that perhaps it was fortunate that + it was so; at least he would be first to know what she had decided to do, + and he could defend himself. Nothing is hopeless as long as a struggle is + possible. + </p> + <p> + He rang the bell with a firm hand, and the door was opened by the maid who + brought the letter. With a small lamp in her hand, she conducted him + through the dining-room and the salon to Madame Dammauville’s bedroom. + </p> + <p> + At the threshold, a glance showed him that some changes had been made in + the arrangement of the furniture. The small bed where he had seen Madame + Dammauville was placed between the two windows, and she was lying in a + large bed with canopy and curtains. Near her was a table on which were a + shaded lamp, some books, a blotting-book, a teapot, and a cup; on the + white quilt rested an unusually long bellrope, so that she might pull it + without moving. The fire in the chimney was out, but the movable stove + sent out a heat that denoted it was arranged for the night. + </p> + <p> + Saniel felt the heat, and mechanically unbuttoned his overcoat. + </p> + <p> + “If the heat is uncomfortable, will you not remove your overcoat?” Madame + Dammauville said. + </p> + <p> + While he disposed of it and his hat, placing them on a chair by the + fireplace, he heard Madame Dammauville say to her maid: + </p> + <p> + “Remain in the salon, and tell the cook not to go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + What did this mean? Was she afraid that he would cut her throat? + </p> + <p> + “Will you come close to my bed?” she said. “It is important that we should + talk without raising our voices.” + </p> + <p> + He took a chair and seated himself at a certain distance from the bed, and + in such a way that he was beyond the circle of light thrown by the lamp. + Then he waited. + </p> + <p> + A moment of silence, which he found terribly long, slipped away before she + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” she said at last, “how I saw, accidentally, from this place”—she + pointed to one of the windows—“the face of the assassin of my + unfortunate tenant, Monsieur Caffie.” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Cormier has told me,” he replied in a tone of ordinary + conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you are astonished that at such a distance I saw the face clearly + enough to recognize it after five months, as if it were still before me.” + </p> + <p> + “It is extraordinary.” + </p> + <p> + “Not to those who have a memory for faces and attitudes; with me this + memory has always been strongly developed. I remember the playmates of my + childhood, and I see them as they were at six and ten years of age, + without the slightest confusion in my mind.” + </p> + <p> + “The impressions of childhood are generally vivid and permanent.” + </p> + <p> + “This persistency does not only apply to my childish impressions. Today, I + neither forget nor confound a physiognomy. Perhaps if I had had many + acquaintances, and if I had seen a number of persons every day, there + might be some confusion in my mind; but such is not the case. My delicate + health has obliged me to lead a very quiet life, and I remember every one + whom I have met. When I think of such a one, it is not of the name at + first, but of the physiognomy. Each time that I have been to the Senate or + to the Chamber, I did not need to ask the names of the deputies or + senators who spoke; I had seen their portraits and I recognized them. If I + go into these details it is because they are of great importance, as you + will see.” + </p> + <p> + It was not necessary for her to point out their importance; he understood + her only too well. + </p> + <p> + “In fine, I am thus,” she continued. “It is, therefore, not astonishing + that the physiognomy and the attitude of the man who drew the curtains in + Monsieur Caffie’s office should not leave my memory. You admit this, do + you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Since you consult me, I must tell you that the operations of the memory + are not so simple as people imagine. They comprise three things: the + conservation of certain states, their reproduction and localization in the + past, which should be reunited to constitute the perfect memory. Now this + reunion does not always take place, and often the third is lacking.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not grasp your meaning very well. But what is the third thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Recognition.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can assure you that in this case it is not lacking!” + </p> + <p> + The action beginning in this way, it was of the utmost importance for + Saniel that he should throw doubts in Madame Dammauville’s mind, and + should make her think that this memory of which she felt so sure was not, + perhaps, as strong or as perfect as she imagined. + </p> + <p> + “It is,” he said, “exactly this third thing that is the most delicate, the + most complex of the three, since it supposes, besides the state of + consciousness, some secondary states, variable in number and in degree, + which, grouped around it, determine it.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Dammauville remained silent a moment, and Saniel saw that she made + an effort to explain these obscure words to herself. + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand,” she said at last. + </p> + <p> + This was exactly what he wished; yet, as it would not be wise to let her + believe that he desired to deceive or confuse her, he thought he might be + a little more precise. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to ask,” he said, “if you are certain that in the mechanism of the + vision and that of the recognition, which is a vision of the past, there + is no confusion?” + </p> + <p> + She drew a long breath, evidently satisfied to get rid of these subtleties + that troubled her. + </p> + <p> + “It is exactly because I admit the possibility of this confusion, at least + in part, that I sent for you,” she said, “in order that you might + establish it.” + </p> + <p> + Saniel appeared not to comprehend. + </p> + <p> + “I, Madame?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. When you came herewith Monsieur Balzajette a few hours ago, you must + have observed that I examined you in a way that was scarcely natural. + Before the lamps were lighted, and when you turned your back to the + daylight, I tried in vain to remember where I had seen you. I was certain + that I found in you some points of resemblance to a physiognomy I had + known, but the name attached to this physiognomy escaped me. When you + returned, and I saw you more clearly by lamplight, my recollections became + more exact; when I raised the lamp-shade the light struck you full in the + face, and then your eyes, so characteristic, and at the same time a + violent contraction of your features, made me recall the name. This + physiognomy, these eyes, this face, belonged to the man whom from this + place” she pointed to the window—“I saw draw Monsieur Caffies + curtains.” + </p> + <p> + Saniel did not flinch. + </p> + <p> + “This is a resemblance that would be hard for me,” he said, “if your + memory were faithful.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell myself that it may not be. And after the first feeling of surprise + which made me cry out, I was confirmed in this thought on recalling the + fact that you did not wear the long hair and blond beard that the man wore + who drew the curtains; but at that moment Monsieur Balzajette spoke of the + hair and beard that you had had cut. I was prostrated. However, I had the + strength to ask if you had had any business with Monsieur Caffie. Do you + remember your answer?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly.” + </p> + <p> + “After your departure I experienced a cruel anguish. It was you whom I had + seen draw the curtains, and it could not be you. I tried to think what I + ought to do—to inform the judge or to ask you for an interview. For + a long time I wavered. At length I decided on the interview, and I wrote + to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I have come at your call, but I declare that I do not know what to reply + to this strange communication. You believe that you recognize in me the + man who drew the curtains.” + </p> + <p> + “I recognize you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what do you wish me to say? It is not a consultation that you ask of + me?” + </p> + <p> + She believed she understood the meaning of this reply and divined its end. + </p> + <p> + “The question does not concern me,” she said, “neither my moral nor mental + state, but yourself. My eyes, my memory, my conscience, bring a frightful + accusation against you. I cannot believe my eyes or my memory. I challenge + my conscience, and I ask you to reduce this accusation to nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “And how, Madame?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not by protestations!” + </p> + <p> + “How can you expect that a man in my position will lower himself to + discuss accusations that rest on an hallucination?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe that I have hallucinations? If you do, call one of your + ‘confreres’ to-morrow in consultation. If he believes as you do, I will + submit; if not, I shall be convinced that I saw clearly, and I shall act + accordingly.” + </p> + <p> + “If you saw clearly, Madame, and I am ready to concede this to you, it + proves that there is some one somewhere who is my double.” + </p> + <p> + “I said this to myself; and it is exactly this idea that made me write to + you. I wished to give you the opportunity of proving that you could not be + this man.” + </p> + <p> + “You will agree that it is difficult for me to admit a discussion on such + an accusation.” + </p> + <p> + “One may find one’s self accused by a concourse of fatal circumstances, + and be not less innocent. Witness the unfortunate boy imprisoned for five + months for a crime of which he is not guilty. And I pass from your + innocence as from his, to ask you to prove that the charges against you + are false.” + </p> + <p> + “There are no charges against me.” + </p> + <p> + “There may be; that depends upon yourself. Your hair and beard may have + been cut at the time of the assassination; in that case it is quite + certain that the man I saw was not you, and that I am the victim of an + hallucination. Were they or were they not?” + </p> + <p> + “They were not; it is only a few days since I had them cut on account of a + contagious disease.” + </p> + <p> + “It may be,” she continued, without appearing to be impressed by this + explanation, “that the day of the assassination, at the hour when I saw + you, you were occupied somewhere in such a way that you can prove you + could not have been in the Rue Sainte-Anne, and that I was the victim of + an hallucination. And again, it may be that at the time your position was + not that of a man at the last extremity, forced to crime by misery or + ambition, and that consequently you had no interest in committing the + crime of a desperate man. What do I know? Twenty other means of defence + may be in your hands.” + </p> + <p> + “You cited the example of this poor boy who is imprisoned, although + innocent. Would it not be applicable to me if you did not recognize the + error of your eyes or your memory? Would he not be condemned without your + testimony? Should I not be if I do not find one that destroys your + accusation? And I see no one from whom I can ask this testimony. Have you + thought of the infamy with which such an accusation will cover me? If I + repel it, and I shall repel it, will it not have dishonored me, ruined me + forever?” + </p> + <p> + “It is just because I thought of this that I sent for you, to the end that + by an explanation that you would give, it seemed to me, you would prevent + me from informing the judge of this suspicion. This explanation you do not + give me; I must now think only of him whose innocence is proved for me, + and take his side against him whose guilt is not less proved. To-morrow I + shall inform the judge.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not do that!” + </p> + <p> + “My duty compels me to; and whatever might come, I have always done my + duty. For me, in this horrible affair, there is the cause of the innocent + and of the guilty, and I place myself on the side of the innocent.” + </p> + <p> + “I can prove to you that it was an aberration of vision—” + </p> + <p> + “You will prove it to the judge; the law will appreciate it.” + </p> + <p> + He rose brusquely. She put her hand on the bellcord. They looked at each + other for a moment, and what their lips did not express their eyes said: + </p> + <p> + “I do not fear you; my precautions are taken.” + </p> + <p> + “That bell will not save you.” + </p> + <p> + At last he spoke in a hoarse and quivering voice: + </p> + <p> + “To you the responsibility of whatever happens Madame.” + </p> + <p> + “I accept it before God,” she said, with a calm firmness. “Defend + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + He went to the armchair on which he had placed his coat and hat, and + bending down to take them, he noiselessly turned the draught of the stove. + </p> + <p> + At the same time Madame Dammauville pulled the bellcord; the maid opened + the door of the salon. + </p> + <p> + “Show Doctor Saniel to the door.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXV. A SECOND VICTIM + </h2> + <p> + On returning to his room Saniel was very much cast down, and without + lighting a candle, he threw himself on the divan, where he remained + prostrated. + </p> + <p> + The frightful part of the affair was the rapidity with which he condemned + this poor woman to death, and without hesitation executed her. To save + himself she must die; she should die. This time the idea did not turn and + deviate as in Caffie’s case. Is it not true then, that it is the first + crime that costs, and in the path that he had entered, would he go on to + the end sowing corpses behind him? + </p> + <p> + A shudder shook him from head to foot as he thought that this victim might + not be the last that his safety demanded. When she threatened to warn the + judge, he only saw a threat; if she spoke he was lost; he had closed her + mouth. But had not this mouth opened before he closed it? Had she not + already spoken? Before deciding on this interview she may have told all to + some one of her friends, who, between the time of his departure with + Balzajette and his return, might have visited her, or to some one for whom + she had sent for advice. In that case, those also were condemned to death. + </p> + <p> + A useless crime, or a series of crimes? + </p> + <p> + The horror that rose within him was so strong that he thought of running + to the Rue Sainte-Anne; he would awake the sleeping household, open the + doors, break the windows, and save her. But between his departure and this + moment the carbonic acid and the oxide of carbon had had time to produce + asphyxiation, and certainly he would arrive after her death; or, if he + found her still living, some one would discover that the draught of the + stove had been turned, and seeing it, he would betray himself as surely as + by an avowal. + </p> + <p> + After all, the maid might have discovered that the draught was turned, and + in that case she was saved and he was lost. Chance would decide between + them. + </p> + <p> + There are moments when a shipwrecked man, tired of swimming, not knowing + to which side to direct his course, without light, without guide, at the + end of strength and hope, floats on his back and lets himself be tossed by + the waves, to rest and wait for light. This was his case; he could do + nothing but wait. + </p> + <p> + He would not commit the insane folly of wishing to see and know, as in + Caffie’s case; he would know the result soon enough, too soon. + </p> + <p> + Rising, he lighted a candle, and paced up and down his apartment like a + caged animal. Then it occurred to him that those underneath would hear his + steps; doubtless they would remark this agitated march, would be + surprised, and would ask an explanation. In his position he must take care + not to give cause for any remark that could not be explained. He took off + his boots and continued his walk. + </p> + <p> + But why had she spoken to him of double weatherstrips at the doors and + windows, of hangings on the walls, of thick curtains? It was she who thus + suggested to him the idea of the draught of the stove, which would not + have come to him spontaneously. + </p> + <p> + The night passed in such agitating thoughts; at times the hours seemed to + stand still, and again they flew with astounding rapidity. One moment the + perspiration fell from his forehead on his hands; at another he felt + frozen. + </p> + <p> + When his windows grew light with the dawn, he threw himself prostrated and + shuddering on the divan, and leaning on a cushion he detected the odor of + Phillis; burying his head in it he remained motionless and slept. + </p> + <p> + A ring of the bell woke him, horrified, frightened; he did not know where + he was. It was broad daylight, carriages rumbled through the street. A + second ring sounded stronger, more violent. Shivering, he went to open the + door, and recognized the maid who the previous evening brought a note from + Madame Dammauville. He did not need to question her: fate was on his side. + His eyes became dim; without seeing her he heard the maid explain why she + had come. + </p> + <p> + She had been to Monsieur Balzajette; he was in the country. Her mistress + was nearly cold in her bed; she neither spoke nor breathed, yet her face + was pink. + </p> + <p> + “I will go with you.” + </p> + <p> + He did not need to learn more. That rosy color, which has been observed in + those asphyxiated by oxide of carbon, decided it. However, he questioned + the maid. + </p> + <p> + Nothing had occurred; she had talked with the cook in the kitchen, who, + near midnight, went to her room in the fifth story, and then she went to + bed in a small room contiguous to that of her mistress. During the night + she heard nothing; in the morning she found her mistress in the state she + mentioned, and immediately went for Monsieur Balzajette. + </p> + <p> + Continuing his questions, Saniel asked her what Madame Dammauville did + after the consultation with Monsieur Balzajette. + </p> + <p> + “She dined as usual, but less than usual, eating almost nothing; then she + received a visit from one of her friends, who remained only a few minutes, + before starting on a voyage.” + </p> + <p> + This was what he dreaded: Madame Dammauville might have told this friend. + If this were so, his crime would be of no use to him; where would it carry + him? + </p> + <p> + After a few moments, and in a tone that he tried to render indifferent, he + asked the name of this friend. + </p> + <p> + “A friend of her youth, Madame Thezard, living at No. 9, in the Rue des + Capucines, the wife of a consul.” + </p> + <p> + Until he reached the house in the Rue Sainte-Anne he repeated this name + and address to himself, which he could not write down, and which he must + not forget, for it was from there now that the danger would come if Madame + Dammauville had spoken. + </p> + <p> + For a long time he had been habituated to the sight of death, but when he + found himself in the presence of this woman stretched on her bed as if she + slept, a shiver seized him. + </p> + <p> + “Give me a mirror and a candle,” he said to the maid and the cook who + stood at the door, not daring to enter. + </p> + <p> + While they went in search of these things he walked over to the stove; the + draught remained as he had turned it on the previous evening; he opened it + and returned to the bed. + </p> + <p> + His examination was not long; she had succumbed to asphyxiation caused by + the gas from the charcoal. Did it proceed from the construction of the + stove, or from a defect in the chimney? The inquest would decide this; as + for him, he could only prove the death. + </p> + <p> + On leaving him the evening before, Phillis, uneasy, told him that she + would come early in the morning to know what Madame Dammauville wished. + When he told her she was dead she was prostrated with despair; in that + case Florentin was lost. He tried to reassure her, but without success. + </p> + <p> + Nougarede, also, was in despair, and regretted that he had not proceeded + otherwise. And he tried to reassure Phillis; the prosecution rested on the + button and the struggle that had torn it off. Saniel would destroy this + hypothesis; he counted on him. + </p> + <p> + Saniel became, then, as he had been before the intervention of Madame + Dammauville, the only hope of Phillis and her mother, and to encourage + them he exaggerated the influence that his testimony would have. + </p> + <p> + “When I shall have demonstrated that there was no struggle, the hypothesis + of the torn button will crumble by itself.” + </p> + <p> + “And if it is sustained, how and with what shall we overthrow it?” + </p> + <p> + If he had appeared as usual, she would have shared the confidence with + which he tried to inspire her; but since the death of Madame Dammauville + he was so changed, that she could not help being uneasy. Evidently it was + Madame Dammauville’s death that made him so gloomy and irritable that he + would submit to no opposition. He saw the dangers of the situation that + this death created for Florentin, and with his usual generosity he + reproached himself for not having consented to take care of her sooner; he + would have saved her, certainly, as he had begun by demanding the removal + of the stove, and Florentin would have been saved also. + </p> + <p> + The day of the trial arrived without a word from Madame Thezard, which + proved that Madame Dammauville had said nothing to her friend. It was six + months since the assassination occurred, and the affair had lost all + interest for the Parisian public; in the provinces it was still spoken of, + but at Paris it was a thing of the past. There is no romance about a clerk + who cuts the throat of his employer to rob him; there is no woman in the + case, no mystery. + </p> + <p> + Saniel preferred that Phillis should remain at home with her mother, but + in spite of his wishes and prayers she insisted on going to court. She + must be there so that Florentin would see her and take courage; he would + defend himself better if she were there. + </p> + <p> + He defended himself badly, or at least indifferently, like a man who gives + up because he knows beforehand that whatever he may say will be useless. + </p> + <p> + Until Saniel’s deposition the witnesses who testified were insignificant + enough, and revealed nothing that was not already known; only Valerius, + with his pretensions to a professional secret, which he developed slowly, + amused the audience. This deposition Saniel made brief and exact, + contenting himself with repeating his report. But then Nougarede rose, and + begged the president to ask the witness to explain the struggle which + should have taken place between the victim and his assassin; and the + president, who had commenced by arguing, before the insistence of the + defence, decided to ask this question. Then Saniel slowly explained how + the position of the body in the armchair and his condition were scientific + proof that there was no struggle. + </p> + <p> + “This is an opinion,” said the president dryly; “the jury will appreciate + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly,” replied Nougarede, “and I intend to make the jury feel the + weight that it carries on the authority of him who formulated it.” + </p> + <p> + This phrase for effect was destined to invalidate in advance the + contradictions that the prosecution would, he believed, raise against the + testimony; but nothing of the kind occurred, and Saniel could go and take + his place beside Phillis without being called to the bar to sustain his + opinion against a physician whose scientific authority would be opposed to + his. + </p> + <p> + In default of Madame Dammauville, Nougarede had summoned the concierge of + Rue Sainte-Anne, as well as the maid and the cook, who had heard their + mistress say that the man who drew Caffies curtains did not resemble + Florentin’s portrait; but this was only gossip repeated by persons of no + importance, who could not produce the effect of the ‘coup de theatre’ on + which he had based his defence. + </p> + <p> + When the advocate-general pronounced his address, it was evident why + Saniel’s opinion on the absence of a struggle was not contradicted. + Although the prosecution believed in this struggle, it wished to abandon + it a moment, having no need of this hypothesis to prove that the button + had not been torn off on falling from a ladder; it had been done in the + act of assassination, in the effort made to cut the throat of the victim + who had violently extended the right arm, and, by the shock to the + suspenders, the button was torn off. The effect of Saniel’s deposition was + destroyed, and that one produced by the testimony of Madame Dammauville’s + maids, far less strong, was also destroyed when the advocate-general + proved that this gossip turned against the accused. She had seen, it was + said, a man with long hair and curled beard, draw the curtains; very well! + Does this description apply to the accused? To tell the truth, it was said + that she did not recognize him in a portrait published by an illustrated + paper. Well, it was because this portrait did not resemble him. Besides, + was it possible to admit that a woman of Madame Dammauville’s character + would not have informed the judge if she believed her testimony important + and decisive? The proof that she considered it insignificant was the fact + that she had kept silent. + </p> + <p> + Nougarede’s eloquent appeal did not destroy these two arguments, any more + than it effaced the impression produced by the money-lender relative to + the theft of forty-five francs. The jury brought in a verdict of “Guilty,” + but without premeditation, and admitting extenuating circumstances. + </p> + <p> + On hearing the decree that condemned Florentin to twenty years of forced + labor, Phillis, half suffocated, clung to Saniel’s arm; but he could not + give her the attention he wished, for Brigard, who came to the trial to + assist at the triumph of his disciple, accosted him. + </p> + <p> + “Receive my felicitations for your deposition, my dear friend; it is an + act of courage that does you honor. If this poor boy could have been + saved, it would have been by you; you may well say you are the man of + conscience.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK 4. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVI. CONSCIENCE ASSERTS ITSELF + </h2> + <p> + During the first years of his sojourn in Paris, Saniel had published in a + Latin Quarter review an article on the “Pharmacy of Shakespeare”—the + poison of Hamlet, and of Romeo and Juliet; and although since his choice + of medicine he read but little besides books of science, at that time he + was obliged to study the plays of his author. From this study there + lingered in his memory a phrase that for ten years had not risen to his + lips, and which all at once forced itself uppermost in his mind with + exasperating persistency. It was the words of Macbeth: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep; + Sleep, that knits up the ravell’d sleeve of care, + The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath, + Balm of hurt minds.” + </pre> + <p> + He also had lost it, “the innocent sleep, sore labor’s bath, balm of hurt + minds.” He had never been a great sleeper; at least he had accustomed + himself to the habit, hard at first, of passing only a few hours in bed. + But he employed these few hours well, sleeping as the weary sleep, hands + clenched, without dreaming, waking, or moving; and the thought that + occupied his mind in the evening was with him on waking in the morning, + not having been put to flight by others, any more than by dreams. + </p> + <p> + After Caffie’s death this tranquil and refreshing sleep continued the + same; but suddenly, after Madame Dammauville’s death, it became broken. + </p> + <p> + At first it did not bother him. He did not sleep, so much the better! He + would work more. But one can no more work all the time than one can live + without eating. Saniel knew better than any one that the life of every + organ is composed of alternate periods of repose and activity, and he did + not suppose that he would be able to work indefinitely without sleep. He + only hoped that after some days of twenty hours of work daily, overcome by + fatigue, he would have, in spite of everything, four hours of solid sleep, + that Shakespeare called “sore labor’s bath.” + </p> + <p> + He had not had these four hours, and the law that every state of prolonged + excitement brings exhaustion that should be refreshed by a functional + rest, was proved false in his case. After a hard day’s work he would go to + bed at one o’clock in the morning and would go to sleep immediately. But + very soon he awoke with a start, suffocating, covered with perspiration, + in a state of extreme anxiety, his mind agitated by hallucinations of + which he could not rid himself all at once. If he did not wake suddenly, + he dreamed frightful dreams, always of Madame Dammauville or Caffie. Was + it not curious that Caffie, who until then had been completely effaced + from his memory, was resuscitated by Madame Dammauville in the night, + ghost of the darkness that the daylight dissipated? + </p> + <p> + Believing that one of the causes of these dreams was the excitement of the + brain, occasioned by excessive work at the hour when he should not + exercise it, but on the contrary should allow it to rest, he decided to + change a plan which produced so little success. Instead of intellectual + work he would engage in physical exercise, which, by exhausting his + muscular functions, would procure him the sleep of the laboring class; and + as he could not roll a wheelbarrow nor chop wood, every evening after + dinner he walked seven or eight miles rapidly. + </p> + <p> + Physical work succeeded no better than intellectual; he endured the + fatigue of butchers and wood-choppers, but he did not obtain their sleep. + Decidedly, bodily fatigue was worth no more than that of the brain. It was + worth even less. At his table, plunged in his books, or in his laboratory + over his microscope, he absorbed himself in his work, and, by the force of + a will that had been long exercised and submissive to obedience, he was + able to keep his thoughts on the subject in hand, without distraction as + without dreams. Time passed. But when walking in the streets of Paris, in + the deserted roads on the outskirts, by the Seine or Marne, his mind + wandered where it would; it was the mistress, and it always dwelt on + Madame Dammauville, Caffie, and Florentin. It seemed as if the heat of + walking started his brain. When he returned in this state, after many + hours of cerebral excitability, how could he find the tranquil and + refreshing sleep, complete and profound, of the laboring classes who work + only with their muscles? + </p> + <p> + Never having been ill, he had never examined nor treated himself: medicine + was good for others but useless for him. With a machine organized like his + he need fear only accidents, and until now he had been spared them; a true + son of peasants, he victoriously resisted Paris life as the destroyer of + the intellect. But the time had come to undertake an examination and to + try a treatment that would give him rest. He was not a sceptical doctor, + and he believed that what he ordered for others was good for himself. + </p> + <p> + The misfortune was that he could not find in himself any of the causes + which resolve into insomnia; he had neither meningitis nor brain fever, + nor anything that indicated a cerebral tumor; he was not anaemic; he ate + well; he did not suffer with neuralgia, nor with any acute or chronic + affection that generally accompanied the absence of sleep; he drank + neither tea nor alcohol; and without this state of over-excitement of the + encephalic centres, he might have said that he was in good health, a + little thin, but that was all. + </p> + <p> + It was this excitement that he must cure, and as there are many remedies + for insomnia, he tried those which, it seemed to him, were suitable to his + case; but bromide of potassium, in spite of its hypnotic properties, + produced no more effect than the over-working of the brain and body. When + he realized this he replaced it with chloral; but chloral, which should + create a desire to sleep, after several days had no more effect than the + bromide. Then he tried injections of morphine. + </p> + <p> + It was not without a certain uneasiness that he made this third trial, the + first two having met with so little success; and since it is acknowledged + that chloral produces a calmer sleep than morphine, it seemed as if the + latter would prove as useless as the former. However, he slept without + being tormented by dreams or wakings, and the next day he still slept. + </p> + <p> + But he knew too well the effects produced by a prolonged use of these + injections to continue them beyond what was strictly indispensable; he + therefore omitted them, and sleep left him. + </p> + <p> + He tried them again; then, soon, as the small doses lost their efficacy, + he gradually increased them. At the end of a certain time what he feared + came to pass—his leanness increased; he lost his appetite, his + muscular force, and his moral energy; his pale face began to wear the + characteristic expression of the morphomaniac. + </p> + <p> + Then he stopped, frightened. + </p> + <p> + Should he continue, he would become a morphomaniac in a given time, and + the apathy into which he fell prevented him from resisting the desire to + absorb new doses of poison, a desire as imperious, as irresistible in + morphinism as that of alcohol for the alcoholic, and more terrible in its + effects—the perversion of the intellectual faculties, loss of will, + of memory, of judgment, paralysis, or the mania that leads to suicide. + </p> + <p> + If he did not continue, and these sleepless nights or the agitated sleep + which maddened him should return, and following them, this over-excitement + of the brain in troubling the nutrition of the encephalic mass, it might + be the prelude of some grave cerebral affection. + </p> + <p> + On one side the morphine habit; on the other, dementia from the constant + excitement and disorganization of the brain. + </p> + <p> + Between a fatally certain result and one that was possible he did not + hesitate. He must give up morphine, and this choice forced itself upon him + with so much more strength, because if morphine assured him sleep at + night, it by no means gave him tranquil days—quite the contrary. + </p> + <p> + He began to use this remedy at night when he fell under the influence of + certain ideas; during the day when applying himself to work, by an effort + of will he escaped from these ideas, and was the man he had always been, + master of his strength and mind. But the action of the morphine rapidly + weakened this all-powerful will, so much so, that when these ideas crossed + his mind during his working hours he had not the energy to drive them + away. He tried to shake them off, but in vain; they would not leave his + brain, to which they clung and encompassed it with increasing strength. + </p> + <p> + Truly, those two corpses troubled him horribly. Was it not exasperating + for a man who had seen and dissected so many, that there should be always + two before his eyes, even when they were closed—that of this old + rascal and of this unfortunate woman? In order not to complicate this + impression with another that humiliated him, he got rid of the packages of + bank bills taken from Caffie, by sending them “as restitution” to the + director of public charities. But this had no appreciable effect. + </p> + <p> + The thought of Florentin troubled him also; and if he saw Caffie lying in + his chair, Madame Dammauville motionless and pink on her bed, to him it + was not less cruel to see Florentin between the decks of the vessel that + would soon carry him to New Caledonia. + </p> + <p> + The ideas on conscience that he had expressed at Crozat’s, and those that + he explained to Phillis about remorse, were still his; but he was not the + less certain that these two dead persons and the condemned one weighed + upon him with a terrible weight, frightful, suffocating, like a nightmare. + It was not in accordance with his education nor with his environment to + have these corpses behind him and this victim before him. + </p> + <p> + But where his former ideas were overthrown, since these dead bodies seized + hold of his life, was in his confidence in his strength. + </p> + <p> + The strong man that he believed himself, he who follows his ambition + regardless of things and of persons, looking only before him and never + behind, master of his mind as of his heart and of his arm, was not at all + the one that reality revealed. + </p> + <p> + On the contrary, he had been weak in action and yet weaker afterward. + </p> + <p> + And it was not only humiliation in the present that he felt in + acknowledging this weakness, it was also in uneasiness for the future; + for, if he lacked this strength that he attributed to himself before + having tested it, he should, if his beliefs were true, succumb some day. + </p> + <p> + Evidently, if he were perfectly strong he would not have complicated his + life with love. The strong walk alone because they need no one. And he + needed a woman; and so great was the need that it was through her only, + near her, when he looked at her, when he listened to her, that he + experienced a little calm. + </p> + <p> + Was he weak and cowardly on account of this? Perhaps not, but only human. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVII. ATTEMPTED REPARATION + </h2> + <p> + Because he felt calm when with Phillis, Saniel wished that she might never + leave him. + </p> + <p> + But, as happy as she was in her sorrow to see that instead of avoiding her—which + a less generous man would have done, perhaps—he sought to draw + nearer each day, she could not give up her lessons and her work, which was + her daily bread, to give all her time to her love, any more than she could + leave her mother entirely alone, crushed with shame, who had never needed + so much as now to be cheered and sustained. + </p> + <p> + She did not let a day pass without going to see Saniel; but in spite of + her desire she could not remain with him as long as she wished and he + asked. When she rose to go and he detained her, she remained, but it was + only for a few minutes; they were short, and the time soon came when, + after ten attempts, she was obliged to leave him. + </p> + <p> + At all times these separations had been full of despair to her, the + apprehension of which, from the moment of her arrival, paralyzed her; but + now they were still more cruel. Formerly, on leaving him, she often saw + him deep in his work before she opened the door; now, on the contrary, he + conducted her to the vestibule, detained her, and only let her leave him + when she tore herself from his embrace, after promising and repeating her + promise to come early the next day and stay longer. Formerly, also, she + was calm when she left him, not thinking of his health, nor asking herself + how she would find him at their next meeting, strong and powerful, as + sound in body as in mind. On the contrary, now she worried herself, + wondering how she would find him on the occasion of each visit. Would the + sadness, melancholy, and dejection still remain? Would he be thinner and + paler? It was her care, her anguish, to try to divine the causes of the + change in him, which manifested itself as strongly in his sentiments as in + his person. Was it not truly extraordinary that he was more grave and + uneasy now that his life was assured than during the hard times when he + was so worried that he never knew what the morrow would bring? He had + obtained the position that his ambition coveted; he had sufficient money + for his wants; he admitted that his experiments had succeeded beyond his + expectations; the essays that he published on his experiments were loudly + discussed, praised by some, contested by others; it seemed that he had + attained his object; and he was sad, discontented, unhappy, more tormented + than when he exhausted himself with efforts, without other support than + his will. At last, when frightened to see him thus, she questioned him as + to how he felt, he became angry, and answered brutally— + </p> + <p> + “Ill? Why do you think that I am—ill? Am I not better able than any + one to know how I am? I am overworked, that is all; and as my life of + privation does not permit me to repair my forces, I have become anaemic; + it is not serious. It is strange, truly, that you ask for explanations of + what is natural. Count the teeth of the polytechnicians and look at their + hair after their examinations, and tell me what you think of them. Why do + you think anything else is the matter with me? One cannot expend one’s + self with impunity; that would be too good. Everything must be paid for in + this world.” + </p> + <p> + She was obliged to believe that he was right and understood his condition; + however, she could not help worrying. She knew nothing of medicine; she + did not know the meaning of the medical terms he used, but she found that + this was not sufficient to explain all—neither his roughness of + temper and excess of anger without reason, any more than his sudden + tenderness, his weakness and dejection, his preoccupation and absence of + mind. + </p> + <p> + She discovered the effect she produced on him, and how, merely by her + presence, she cheered this gloomy fancy and raised this depression by not + asking him stupid questions on certain subjects which she had not yet + determined on, but which she hoped to avoid. Also, she did not wish to + leave him, and ingeniously invented excuses to go to see him twice a day; + in the morning on going to her lessons, and in the afternoon or evening. + </p> + <p> + Late one evening she rang his bell with a hand made nervous with joy. + </p> + <p> + “I have come to stay till to-morrow,” she said, in triumphant tones. + </p> + <p> + She expected that he would express his joy by an embrace, but he did + nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going out?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all; I am not thinking of myself, but of your mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think that I would have left her alone in her weak and nervous + state? A cousin of ours arrived from the country, who will occupy my bed, + and I profited by it quick enough, saying that I would remain at the + school. And here I am.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of his desire for it, he had never dared ask her to pass the + night with him. During the day he would only betray himself by his sad or + fantastic temper; but at night, with such dreams as came to him, might not + some word escape that would betray him? + </p> + <p> + However, since she was come it was impossible to send her away; he could + not do it for her nor for himself. What pretext could he find to say, “Go! + I do not want you?” He wanted her above all; he wanted to look at her, to + listen to her, to hear her voice that soothed and lulled his anguish, to + feel her near him—only to have her there, and not be face to face + with his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + She examined him secretly, asking herself the cause of this singular + reception, standing at the entrance of the office, not daring to remove + her hat. How could her arrival produce an effect so different from what + she expected? + </p> + <p> + “You do not take off your hat?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I was asking myself if you had to work.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you ask yourself that?” + </p> + <p> + “For fear of disturbing you.” + </p> + <p> + “What a madness you have for always asking something!” he exclaimed + violently. “What do you expect me to say? What astonishes you? Why should + you disturb me? In what? ‘Voyons’, speak, explain yourself!” + </p> + <p> + The time was far distant when these explosions surprised her, though they + always pained her. + </p> + <p> + “I speak stupidly,” she said. “What will you? I am stupid; forgive me.” + </p> + <p> + These words, “forgive me,” were more cruel than numberless reproaches, for + he well knew that he had nothing to forgive in her, since she was the + victim and he the criminal. Should he never be able to master these + explosions, as imprudent as they were unjust? + </p> + <p> + He took her in his arms and made her sit by him. + </p> + <p> + “It is for you to forgive,” he said. + </p> + <p> + And he was as tender and caressing as he had been brutal. He was a fool to + imagine that she could have suspicions, and the surest way to give birth + to them was to show fear that she had them. To betray himself by such + awkwardness was as serious as to let a cry escape him while sleeping. + </p> + <p> + But for this night he had a way which was in reality not difficult, that + would not expose him to the danger of talking in his sleep-he would not + sleep. After having passed so many nights without closing his eyes, + without doubt he could keep them open this entire night. + </p> + <p> + But he deceived himself; when he heard the calm and regular respiration of + Phillis with her head on his shoulder, and felt the mild warmth of her + body penetrate his, in the quiet imposed upon him, without being conscious + of it, believing himself far from sleep, and convinced that he required no + effort to keep awake, he suddenly slept. When he awoke a ray of pale + sunlight filled the room, and leaning her elbow on the bolster, Phillis + was watching him. He made a brusque movement, throwing himself backward. + “What is the matter?” he cried. “What have I said?” Instantly his face + paled, his lips quivered; he felt his heart beat tumultuously and his + throat pressed by painful constriction. “But nothing is the matter,” she + answered, looking at him tenderly. “You have said nothing.” To come to the + point, why should he have spoken? During his frightful dreams, his nights + of disturbed sleep, he might have cried out, but he did not know if he had + ever done so. And besides, he had not just waked from an agitated sleep. + All this passed through his mind in an instant, in spite of his alarm. + “What time is it?” he asked. “Nearly six o’clock.” “Six o’clock!” “Do you + not hear the vehicles in the street? The street-venders are calling their + wares.” It must have been about one o’clock when he closed his eyes; he + had then slept five hours, profoundly, and he felt calm, rested, + refreshed, his body active and his mind tranquil, the man of former times, + in the days of his happy youth, and not the half-insane man of these last + frightful months. + </p> + <p> + He breathed a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, if I could have you always!” he murmured, as much to himself as to + her. + </p> + <p> + And he gave her a long look mingled with a sad smile; then, placing his + arm around her shoulders, he pressed her to him. + </p> + <p> + “Dear little wife!” + </p> + <p> + She had never heard so profound, so vibrating, a tenderness in his voice; + never had she been able, until hearing these words, to measure the depth + of the love that she had inspired in him; and it even seemed that this was + the declaration of a new love. + </p> + <p> + Pressing her passionately to him, he repeated: + </p> + <p> + “Dear little wife!” + </p> + <p> + Distracted, lost in her happiness, she did not reply. + </p> + <p> + All at once he held her from him gently, and looking at her with the same + smile: + </p> + <p> + “Does this word tell you nothing?” + </p> + <p> + “It tells me that you love me.” + </p> + <p> + “And is that all?” + </p> + <p> + “What more can I wish? You say it, I feel it. You give me the greatest joy + of which I can dream.” + </p> + <p> + “It is enough for you?” + </p> + <p> + “It would be enough if it need never be interrupted. But it is the + misfortune of our life that we are obliged to separate at the time when + the ties that unite us are the most strongly bound.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should we separate?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! Mamma? And daily bread?” + </p> + <p> + “If you did not leave your mother. If you need no longer worry about your + life?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him, not daring to question him, not betraying the direction + of her thoughts except by a trembling that she could not control in spite + of her efforts. + </p> + <p> + “I mean if you become my wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my beloved!” + </p> + <p> + “Will you not?” + </p> + <p> + She threw herself in his arms, fainting; but after a moment she recovered. + </p> + <p> + “Alas! It is impossible,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Why impossible?” + </p> + <p> + “Do not ask me; do not oblige me to say it.” + </p> + <p> + “But, on the contrary, I wish you to tell me.” + </p> + <p> + She turned her head away, and in a voice that was scarcely perceptible, in + a stifled sigh: + </p> + <p> + “My brother—” + </p> + <p> + “It is greatly on account of your brother that I wish this marriage.” + </p> + <p> + Then, suddenly: “Do you think me the man to submit to prejudiced + blockheads?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE IMPORTANT QUESTION + </h2> + <p> + Saniel had not waited until this day to acknowledge the salutary influence + that Phillis’s presence exercised over him, yet the idea of making her his + wife never occurred to him. He thought himself ill-adapted to marriage, + and but little desirous of being a husband. Until lately he had had no + desire for a home. + </p> + <p> + This idea came to him suddenly and took strong hold of him; at least as + much on account of the calmness he felt in her presence, as by the charm + of her manner, her health, happiness, and gayety. + </p> + <p> + It was not only physical calm that she gave him by a mysterious affinity + concerning which his studies told him nothing, but of which he did not the + less feel all the force; it was also a moral calm. + </p> + <p> + There were duties he owed her, and terribly heavy were those he owed her + mother and Florentin. + </p> + <p> + He did all he could for Florentin, but this was not all that he owed them. + Florentin was in prison; Madame Cormier fell into a mournful despair, + growing weaker each day; and Phillis, in spite of her elasticity and + courage, bent beneath the weight of injustice. + </p> + <p> + How much the situation would be changed if he married her—for them, + and for him! + </p> + <p> + When Phillis was a little recovered from her great surprise, she asked + him: + </p> + <p> + “When did you decide on this marriage?” + </p> + <p> + He did not wish to prevaricate, and he answered that it was at that + instant that the idea came to him, exact enough and strong enough to give + form to the ideas that had been floating in his brain for several months. + </p> + <p> + “At least, have you considered it? Have you not yielded to an impulse of + love?” + </p> + <p> + “Would it be better to yield to a long, rational calculation? I marry you + because I love you, and also because I am certain that without you I + cannot be happy. Frankly, I acknowledge that I need you, your tenderness, + your love, your strength of character, your equal temper, your invincible + faith in hope, which, for me as I am organized, is worth the largest dot.” + </p> + <p> + “It is exactly because I have no dot to bring you. When you were at the + last extremity, desperate and crushed, I might ask to become the wife of + the poor village doctor that you were going to be; but to-day, in your + position, above all in the position that you will soon occupy, is poor + little Phillis worthy of you? You give me the greatest joy that I can ever + know, of which I have only dreamed in telling myself that it would be + folly to hope to have it realized. But just that gives me the strength to + beg you to reflect, and to consider whether you will ever regret this + moment of rapture that makes me so happy.” + </p> + <p> + “I have reflected, and what you say proves better than anything that I do + not deceive myself. I want a wife who loves me, and you are that wife.” + </p> + <p> + “More than I can tell you at this moment, wild with happiness, but not + more than I shall prove to you in the continuance of our love.” + </p> + <p> + “Besides, dearest, do not have any illusions on the splendors of this + position of which you speak; it is more than probable that they will never + be realized, for I am not a man of money, and will do nothing to gain any. + If it does not come by itself—” + </p> + <p> + “It will come.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not the object for which I work. What I wish I have obtained + partly; if now I make money and obtain a rich practice, the jealousy of my + confreres will make me lose, or wait too long, for what my ambition + prefers to a fortune. For the moment this position will be modest; my four + thousand francs of salary, that which I gain at the central bureau while + waiting to have the title of hospital physician, and five hundred francs a + month more that my editor offers me for work and a review of bacteriology, + will give us nearly twelve thousand francs, and we must content ourselves + with that for some time.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a fortune to me.” + </p> + <p> + “To me also; but I thought I ought to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “And when do you wish our marriage to take place?” + </p> + <p> + “Immediately after the necessary legal delay, and as soon as I am settled + in a new apartment; for you could not come here as my wife, where you have + been seen so often. It would not be pleasant for you or for me.” + </p> + <p> + “And we will not be so foolish as to put ourselves in the hands of an + upholsterer; the first one cost enough.” + </p> + <p> + He said these last words with fierce energy, but continued immediately: + </p> + <p> + “What do we need? A parlor for the patients, if they come; an office for + me, which will do also as a laboratory; a bedroom for us, and one for your + mother.” + </p> + <p> + “You wish—” + </p> + <p> + “But certainly. Do you think that I would ask you to separate from her?” + </p> + <p> + She took his hand, and kissing it with a passionate impulse: “Oh, the + dearest, the most generous of men!” + </p> + <p> + “Do not let us talk of that,” he said with evident annoyance. “In your + mother’s condition of mental prostration it would kill her to be left + alone; she needs you, and I promise to help you to soften her grief. We + will make her comfortable; and although my nature is not very tender, I + will try to replace him from whom she is separated. It will be a happiness + to her to see you happy.” + </p> + <p> + For a long time he enlarged upon what he wished, feeling a sentiment of + satisfaction in talking of what he would do for Madame Cormier, in whom at + this time he saw the mother of Florentin more than that of Phillis. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think you can make her forget?” he asked from time to time. + </p> + <p> + “Forget? No. Neither she nor I can ever forget; but it is certain our + sorrow will be drowned in our happiness, and this happiness we shall owe + to you. Oh, how you will be adored, respected, blessed!” + </p> + <p> + Adored, respected! He repeated these words to himself. One could, then, be + happy by making others happy. He had had so little opportunity until this + time to do for others, that this was in some sort the revelation of a + sentiment that he was astonished to feel, but which, for being new, was + only the sweeter to him. + </p> + <p> + He wished to give himself the satisfaction of tasting all the sweetness. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going this morning?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I return to the school to help my pupils prepare their compositions for + the prize.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well; while you are at the school this morning, I will go to see + your mother. The process of asking in marriage that we make use of is + perhaps original, and conforms to the laws of nature, if nature admits + marriage, which I ignore; but it certainly is not the way of those of the + world. And now I must address this request to your mother.” + </p> + <p> + “What joy you will give her!” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to be there to enjoy her happiness. Mamma has a mania for + marriage; she spends her time marrying the people she knows or those she + does not know. And she has felt convinced that I should die in the yellow + skin of an old maid. At last, this evening she will have the happiness of + announcing to me your visit and your request. But do not make this visit + until the afternoon, because then our cousin will be gone.” + </p> + <p> + Saniel spent his morning in looking for apartments, and found one in a + quarter of the Invalides, which he engaged. + </p> + <p> + It was nearly one o’clock when he reached Madame Cormier’s. As usual, when + he called, she looked at him with anxious curiosity, thinking of + Florentin. + </p> + <p> + “It is not of him that I wish to speak to you to-day,” he said, without + pronouncing any name, which was unnecessary. “It is of Mademoiselle + Phillis—” + </p> + <p> + “Do you find her ill?” Madame Cormier said, who thought only of + misfortune. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. It is of her and of myself that I wish to speak. Do not be + uneasy. I hope that what I am going to say will not be a cause of sadness + to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me if I always see something to fear. We have been so frightfully + tried, so unjustly!” + </p> + <p> + He interrupted her, for these complaints did not please him. + </p> + <p> + “For a long time,” he said quickly, “Mademoiselle Phillis has inspired me + with a deep sentiment of esteem and tenderness; I have not been able to + see her so courageous, so brave in adversity, so decided in her character, + so good to you, so charming, without loving her, and I have come to ask + you to give her to me as my wife.” + </p> + <p> + At Saniel’s words, Madame Cormier’s hands began to tremble, and the + trembling increased. + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible?” she murmured, beginning to cry. “So great a happiness + for my daughter! Such an honor for us, for us, for us!” + </p> + <p> + “I love her.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me if happiness makes me forget the conventionalities, but I lose + my head. We are so unhappy that our souls are weak against joy. Perhaps I + should hide my daughter’s sentiments; but I cannot help telling you that + this esteem, this tenderness of which you speak, is felt by her. I + discovered it long ago, although she did not tell me. Your request, then, + can only be received with joy by mother, as well as daughter.” + </p> + <p> + This was said brokenly, evidently from an overflowing heart. But all at + once her face saddened. + </p> + <p> + “I must talk to you sincerely,” she said. “You are young, I am not; and my + age makes it a duty for me not to yield to any impulse. We are + unfortunates, you are one of the happy; you will soon be rich and famous. + Is it wise to burden your life with a wife who is in my daughter’s + position?” + </p> + <p> + With the exception of a few words, this was Phillis’s answer. He answered + the mother as he had answered the daughter. + </p> + <p> + “It is not for you that I speak,” said Madame Cormier. “I should not + permit myself to give you advice; it is in placing myself at the point of + view of my daughter that I, her mother, with the experience of my age, + should watch over her future. Is it certain that in the struggles of life + you will never suffer from this marriage, not because my daughter will not + make you happy—from this side I am easy—but because the + situation that fate has made for us will weigh on you and fetter you? I + know my daughter-her delicacy; her uneasy susceptibility, that of the + unfortunate; her pride, that of the irreproachable. It would be a wound + for her that would make happiness give way to unhappiness, for she could + not bear contempt.” + </p> + <p> + “If that is in human nature, it is not in mine; I give you my word.” + </p> + <p> + He explained how he meant to arrange their life, and when she understood + that she was to live with them, she clasped her hands and exclaimed, + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my God, who hast taken my son, how good thou art to give me another!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIX. CONCESSION TO CONSCIENCE + </h2> + <p> + He asked nothing better than to be a son to this poor woman; in reality he + was worth much more than this unfortunate boy, effeminate and incapable. + What did this maternal hunger require? A son to love. She would find one + in her son-in-law. In seeing her daughter happy, how could she help being + happy herself? + </p> + <p> + Evidently they would be happy, the mother and daughter; and whatever + Phillis might think, still under the influence of the shameful blow, they + would forget. They would owe him this. + </p> + <p> + It was a long time since he had worked with so much serenity as on this + day; and when in the evening he went to bed, uneasy as usual about the + night, he slept as calmly as if Phillis were resting her charming head on + his shoulder and he breathed the perfume of it. + </p> + <p> + Decidedly, to make others happy was the best thing in the world, and as + long as one could have this satisfaction there was no fear of being + unhappy. To create an atmosphere of happiness for others is to profit by + it at the same time. + </p> + <p> + He waited for Phillis impatiently, for she would bring him an echo of her + mother’s joy, and it was a recompense that she owed him. + </p> + <p> + She arrived happy, smiling, penetrated with tenderness; but he observed + that she was keeping something from him, something that embarrassed her, + and yet she would not tell him what it was. + </p> + <p> + He was not disposed to admit that she could conceal anything from him, and + he questioned her. + </p> + <p> + “What are you keeping from me?” + </p> + <p> + “How can you suppose that I should keep anything from you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is the matter? You know, do you not, that I read all your + thoughts in your eyes? Very well your eyes speak when your lips are + silent.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a request to make of you, a prayer.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you not tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I do not dare.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet it does not seem to me that I show a disposition to make you believe + that I could refuse you anything.” + </p> + <p> + “It is just that which is the cause of my embarrassment and reserve; I + fear to pain you at the moment when I would show you all the gratitude and + love in my heart.” + </p> + <p> + “If you are going to give me pain, it is better not to make me wait.” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated; then, before an impatient gesture, she decided to speak. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to ask you how you mean to be married?” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “But, like every one else!” + </p> + <p> + “Every one?” she asked, persistently. + </p> + <p> + “Is there any other way of being married?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not in the least understand this manner of asking conundrums; if you + are alluding to a fashionable custom of which I know nothing, say so + frankly. That will not wound me, since I am the first to declare that I + know nothing of it. What do you wish?” + </p> + <p> + She felt his irritation increase, and yet she could not decide to say what + she wished. + </p> + <p> + “I have begun badly,” she said. “I should have told you at first that you + will always find in me a wife who will respect your ideas and beliefs, who + will never permit herself to judge you, and still less to seek to contend + with them or to modify them. That you feel, do you not, is neither a part + of my nature nor of my love?” + </p> + <p> + “Conclude!” he said impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “I think, then,” she said with timid hesitation, “that you will not say + that I fail in respect to your ideas in asking that our marriage take + place in church.” + </p> + <p> + “But that was my intention.” + </p> + <p> + “Truly!” she exclaimed. “O dearest! And I feared to offend you!” + </p> + <p> + “Why should you think it would offend me?” he asked, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “You consent to go to confession?” + </p> + <p> + Instantly the smile in his eyes and on his lips was replaced by a gleam of + fury. + </p> + <p> + “And why should I not go to confession?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose that I can be afraid to confess? Why do you suppose that? + Tell me why?” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her with eyes that pierced to her heart, as if they would + read her inmost thoughts. + </p> + <p> + Stupefied by this access of fury, which burst forth without any warning, + since he had smilingly replied to her request for a religious marriage, + she could find nothing to say, not understanding how the simple word + “confess” could so exasperate him. And yet she could not deceive herself: + is was indeed this word and no other that put him in this state. + </p> + <p> + He continued to look at her, and wishing to explain herself, she said: “I + supposed only one thing, and that is that I might offend you by asking you + to do what is contrary to your beliefs.” + </p> + <p> + The mad anger that carried him away so stupidly began to lose its first + violence; another word added to what had already escaped him would be an + avowal. + </p> + <p> + “Do not let us talk of it anymore,” he said. “Above all, do not let us + think of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to say one word,” she replied. “Had I been situated like other + people I would have asked nothing; my will is yours. But for you, for your + future and your honor, you should not appear to marry in secret, as if + ashamed, with a pariah.” + </p> + <p> + “Be easy. I feel as you do, more than you, the necessity of consecrated + ceremonies for us.” + </p> + <p> + She understood that on this path he would go farther than she. + </p> + <p> + To destroy the impression of this unfortunate word, he proposed that they + should visit the apartment he had engaged the previous day. + </p> + <p> + For the first time they walked together boldly, with heads held high, side + by side in the streets of Paris, without fear of meeting others. How proud + she was! Her husband! It was on her husband’s arm that she leaned! When + they crossed the Tuileries she was almost surprised that people did not + turn to see them pass. + </p> + <p> + In her present state of mind she could not but find the house he chose + admirable; the street was admirable, the house was admirable, the + apartment was admirable. + </p> + <p> + As it contained three bedrooms opening on a terrace, where he would keep + the animals for his experiments, Saniel wished to have her decide which + one she would choose; as she would share it with him she wished to take + the best, but he would not accept this arrangement. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to choose between the two little ones,” he said. “The largest + and best must be reserved for your mother, who, not being able to go out, + needs more space, air, and light than we do.” + </p> + <p> + She was transported with his kindness, delicacy, and generosity. Never + would she be able to love him enough to raise herself up to him. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately the principal rooms, the parlor and the office, were about the + same size as those in the Rue Louis-le-Grand, so there need be but little + change in furnishing; and they would bring their furniture from the Rue + des Moines. + </p> + <p> + This feminine talk, interrupted by passionate exclamations and glances, + charmed Saniel, who had forgotten the incident of the confession and his + anger, thinking only of Phillis, seeing only her, ravished by her gayety, + her vivacity, his whole being stirred by the tender caresses of her + beautiful dark eyes. + </p> + <p> + How could he not be happy with this delicious woman who held such sway + over him, and who loved him so ardently? For him a single danger + henceforth—solitude. She would preserve him from it. With her + gayety, good temper, courage, and love, she would not leave him to his + thoughts; work would do the rest. + </p> + <p> + After the question of furniture was decided, they settled that of the + marriage ceremony, and she was surprised to find that his ideas were the + same as hers. + </p> + <p> + She decided upon her toilet, a silk gown as simple as possible, and she + would make it herself, as she made all her gowns. And then they discussed + the witnesses. “We have no friends,” Phillis said. + </p> + <p> + “You had some formerly; your father had friends and comrades.” + </p> + <p> + “I am no longer the daughter of my father, I am the sister of my brother; + I would not dare to ask them to witness my marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “It is just because you are the sister of your brother that they cannot + refuse you; it would be cruelty added to rudeness. Cruelty may be + overlooked, but rudeness! Among the men of talent, who was your father’s + best friend?” + </p> + <p> + “Cintrat.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he not a bohemian, a drunkard?” + </p> + <p> + “My father regarded him as the greatest painter of our time, the most + original.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not a question of talent, but of name; I am sure that he is not + even decorated. Your father had other friends, more successful, more + commonplace, if you wish.” + </p> + <p> + “Glorient.” + </p> + <p> + “The member of the Institute?” + </p> + <p> + “Casparis, the sculptor.” + </p> + <p> + “An academician, also; that is what we want, and both are ‘archi-decore’. + You will write them, and tell them who I am, assistant professor of the + school of medicine, and doctor of the hospitals. I promise you they will + accept. I will ask my old master Carbonneau, president of the academy of + medicine; and Claudet, the ancient minister, who, in his quality of deputy + of my department, could not decline any more than the others. And that + will give us decorated witnesses, which will look well in the newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + It was not only in the newspapers they looked well, but also in the church + of Sainte-Marie des Batignolles. + </p> + <p> + “Glorient! Casparis! Carbonneau! Claudet! Art, science, and politics.” + </p> + <p> + But the beauty and charm of the bride were not eclipsed by these glorious + witnesses. She entered on Glorient’s arm, proud in her modesty, radiant + with grace. + </p> + <p> + While the priest celebrated mass at the altar, outside, before the door, a + man dressed in a costume of chestnut velvet, and wearing a felt hat, + walked up and down, smoking a pipe. It was the Count de Brigard, whose + principles forbade him to enter a church for either a wedding or a + funeral, and who walked up and down on the sidewalk with his disciples, + waiting to congratulate Saniel. When he appeared the Count rushed up to + him, and taking his hand pressed it warmly on separating him from his + wife, and saying: + </p> + <p> + “It is good, it is noble. Circumstances made this marriage; without them + it would not have taken place. I understand and I excuse it; I do more, I + applaud it. My dear friend, you are a man.” + </p> + <p> + And as it was Wednesday, in the evening at Crozat’s, he publicly expressed + his approbation, which, in the conditions in which it had been offered, + did not satisfy his conscience. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, we have assisted to-day at a grand act of reparation, the + marriage of our friend Saniel to the sister of this poor boy, victim of an + injustice that cries for vengeance. One evening in this same room, I spoke + lightly of Saniel, some of you remember, perhaps, in spite of the time + that has passed. I wish to make this public reparation to him. To-day he + has shown himself a man of duty and of conscience, bravely putting himself + above social weaknesses.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it not a social weakness,” asked Glady, “to have chosen as witnesses + of this act of reparation persons who seem to have been selected for the + decorative side of their official positions?” + </p> + <p> + “Profound irony, on the contrary!” said Brigard. “It is a powerful and + fruitful lesson, which makes even those who are professional defenders + concur in the demolition of the prejudiced. Saniel is a man!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XL. PHILLIS IS SURPRISED + </h2> + <p> + The Sunday following her marriage, Phillis experienced a surprise on which + she reflected a long time without finding a satisfactory explanation. + </p> + <p> + As she was dressing, Saniel entered her room. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do to-day?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “That which I do every day.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not going to mass?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him astonished, not being able to control her surprise, and + as usual, when she appeared to wish to read his thoughts, he showed + temper. + </p> + <p> + “In what way is my question extraordinary?” + </p> + <p> + “Mass is not exactly the usual subject of your thoughts, it seems to me.” + </p> + <p> + “It may become so, especially when I think of others, as is the case just + now. Do you not often go to mass?” + </p> + <p> + “When I can.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, you can go to-day if you wish. Listen to what I have to say to + you. I have not forgotten the promise you made to respect my ideas and + beliefs. I wish to make you the same; it is very simple.” + </p> + <p> + “All that is good and generous seems simple to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “I will go at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Now? At once? It is not eight o’clock. Go to high mass, it is more + fashionable.” + </p> + <p> + Fashionable! What a strange word in his mouth! It was not out of respect + to fashion that she went to church, but because there was in her a depth + of religious sentiment and of piety, a little vague perhaps, which + Florentin’s misfortunes had revived. + </p> + <p> + “I will go to high mass,” she said, without letting it appear that this + word had suggested anything to her, and continuing her dressing. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to wear this frock?” he asked, pointing to one that lay on + a chair. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; at least if it does not displease you.” + </p> + <p> + “I find it rather simple.” + </p> + <p> + In effect it was of extreme simplicity, made of some cheap stuff, its only + charm being an originality that Phillis gave it on making it herself. + </p> + <p> + “Do not forget,” he continued, “that Saint-Francois-Xavier is not a church + for working people; when a woman is as charming as you are she is always + noticed. People will ask who you are.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right; I will wear the gown I wore at the distribution of the + prices.” + </p> + <p> + “That is it; and your bonnet, will you not, instead of the round hat? The + first impression should be the best.” + </p> + <p> + This mixture of religious and worldly things was surprising in him. Had + she not understood him, then, until now? After all, perhaps it was only an + exception. + </p> + <p> + But these exactions regarding her dress were repeated. Although before her + marriage Phillis had only crossed Saniel’s path, she knew him well enough + to know that he was entirely given up to work, without thought of anything + else, and she believed that after marriage he would continue to work in + the same way, not caring for amusements or society. She was correct about + his work, but not so regarding society. A short time after their marriage + the minister Claudet was cured opportunely of an attack of facial + neuralgia by Saniel, for whom he conceived a great friendship. He invited + Saniel and his wife to all his reunions and fetes, and Saniel accepted all + his invitations. + </p> + <p> + At first her wedding gown answered very well, but it would not do always. + It had to be trimmed, modified, three or four toilets made of one gown; + but, however ingenious Phillis might be in arranging several yards of + tulle or gauze, she could not make combinations indefinitely. + </p> + <p> + And besides, they did not please Saniel; they were too simple. He liked + lace, beads, flowers, something shining and glittering, such as he saw + other women wear. + </p> + <p> + How could she please him with the small resources at her disposal? In her + household expenses she was as economical as possible; Joseph was + dismissed, and replaced by a maid who did all the work; the table was + extremely simple. But these little economies, saved on one side, were + quickly spent on the other in toilets and carriages. + </p> + <p> + When she expressed a wish to work, to paint menus, he would not consent, + and when she insisted he became angry. + </p> + <p> + He only permitted her to paint pictures. As she had formerly painted for + amusement in her father’s studio, she might do so now. If trade were a + disgrace, art might be honorable. If she had talent he would be glad of + it; and if she should sell her pictures it would be original enough to + cause her to be talked about. + </p> + <p> + The salon was partly transformed into a studio, and Phillis painted + several little pictures, which, without having any pretensions to great + art, were pleasing and painted with a certain dash. Glorient admired them, + and made a picture-dealer buy two of them and order others, at a small + price it is true, but it was much more than she expected. + </p> + <p> + With the courage and constancy that women put into work that pleases them, + she would willingly have painted from morning till night; but the + connections that Saniel had made did not leave her this liberty. Through + Claudet they made many acquaintances and accepted invitations that placed + her under social obligations, so that almost every day she had a visit to + pay, a funeral or a marriage to attend, besides an occasional charity + fair, and her own day at home, when she listened for three hours to + feminine gossip of no interest to her. + </p> + <p> + As for him, what pleasure could he take in dressing after a hard day’s + work to go to a reception? He, son of a peasant, and a peasant himself in + so many ways, who formerly understood nothing of fashionable life and felt + only contempt for it, finding it as dull as it was ridiculous. + </p> + <p> + She tried to find a cause for this change, and when lightly, in a + roundabout way, she brought him to explain himself, she could only draw + one answer from him, which was no answer to her: + </p> + <p> + “We must be of the world.” + </p> + <p> + Why did he care so much about society? Was it because she was the sister + of a criminal that he wished to take her everywhere and make people + receive her? She understood this up to a certain point, although the part + he made her play was the most cruel that he could give her, and entirely + contrary to what she would have chosen if she had been free. + </p> + <p> + But this was all there was in his desire to be of the world. Because he + had married her he was not the brother of a criminal, and on close + observation it might be seen that all he desired of these persons in high + places whom he sought was their consideration, a part of their importance + and honor. But he did not need this; he was some one by himself. The + position that he had made was worthy of his merit. His name was honored. + His future was envied. + </p> + <p> + And yet, as if he did not realize this, he sought small satisfactions, + unworthy of a serious ambition. One evening she was very much surprised + when he told her that the decoration of a Spanish republic was offered to + him, and although she had formed a habit of watching over her words she + could not help exclaiming: + </p> + <p> + “What will you do with that?” + </p> + <p> + “I could not refuse it.” + </p> + <p> + Not only had he not refused it, but he had accepted others, blue, green, + yellow, and tricolored; he wore them in his buttonhole, around his neck, + and on his breast. What good could those decorations do that belittled + him? And how could a man of his merit hasten to obtain the Legion of Honor + before it fell to him naturally? + </p> + <p> + All this was astonishing, mysterious, and silly, and her mind dwelt upon + it when she was alone before her easel; while near her in his laboratory, + he continued his experiments, or wrote an article in his office for the + Review. + </p> + <p> + But it was not without a struggle that she permitted herself to judge him + in this way. One does not judge those whom one loves, and she loved him. + Was it not failing in respect to her love that she did not admire him in + every way? When these ideas oppressed her she left her easel and went to + him. Close to him they disappeared. At first, in order not to disturb him, + she entered on tiptoe, walking softly and leaning over his shoulder, + embraced him before he saw or heard her; but he betrayed such horror, such + fear, that she gave up this way of greeting him. + </p> + <p> + She continued to go to his room, but in a different way. Instead of + surprising him she announced her presence by rattling the handle of the + door, and walking noisily, and instead of receiving her with uneasy manner + he welcomed her joyfully. + </p> + <p> + “You have finished painting?” + </p> + <p> + “I have come to see you for a little while.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, stay with me, do not go away immediately; I am never so happy, + I never work so well, as when I have you near me.” + </p> + <p> + She felt that this was true. When she was with him, whether she spoke or + not, her presence made him happy. + </p> + <p> + And still she must appear not to look at him too attentively, as if with + the manifest intention of studying him; for she did this during the first + days of their marriage, and angered him so much that he exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Why do you examine me thus? What do you look for in me?” + </p> + <p> + She learned to watch herself carefully, and when with him to preserve a + discreet attitude that should not offend him. No curious looks, and no + questions. But this was not always easy, so she asked leave to assist him + in his work, and sometimes drew in larger size the designs that he made + for his microscopical studies. In this way the time passed rapidly. If he + were but willing to pass the evening hours in this sweet intimacy, without + a word about going out, how happy she would be! But he never forgot the + hour. + </p> + <p> + “Allons,” he said, interrupting himself, “we must go.” + </p> + <p> + She had never dared to ask the true reason for this “must.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLI. A TROUBLED SOUL + </h2> + <p> + If she dared not frankly ask him this question: Why must we go out? any + more than the others: Why is it proper that I should go to mass to be + seen? Why should I wear gowns that ruin us? Why do you accept decorations + that are valueless in your eyes? Why do you seek the society of men who + have no merit but what they derive from their official position or from + their fortune? Why do we take upon ourselves social duties that weary both + of us, instead of remaining together in a tender and intelligent intimacy + that is sweet to us both? she could not ask herself. + </p> + <p> + They all appertained to this order of ideas, that she, without doubt, + found explained them: disposition of character; the exactions of an + ambition in haste to realize its desires; susceptibility or overshadowing + pride; but there were others founded on observation or memory, having no + connection with those, or so it seemed to her. + </p> + <p> + She began to know her husband the day following their marriage, having + believed that he was always such as he revealed himself to her; but this + was not the case, and the man she had loved was so unlike the man whose + wife she had become, that it might almost be thought there were two. + </p> + <p> + To tell the truth, it was not marriage that made the change in his temper + that distressed her; but it was not less characteristic by that, that it + dated back to a period anterior to this marriage. + </p> + <p> + She remembered the commencement with a clearness that left no place for + doubt or hesitation; it was at the time when pursued by creditors he + entered into relations with Caffie. For the first time he, always so + strong that she believed him above weakness, had had a moment of + discouragement on announcing that he would probably be obliged to leave + Paris; but this depression had neither the anger nor weakness that he had + since shown. It was the natural sadness of a man who saw his future + destroyed, nothing more. The only surprise that she then felt was caused + by the idea of strangling Caffie and taking enough money from his safe to + clear himself from debt, and also because he said—as a consequence + of this act—speaking of the remorse of an intelligent man, that his + conscience would not reproach him, since for him conscience did not exist. + But this was evidently a simple philosophical theory, not a trait of + character; a jest or an argument for the sake of discussion. + </p> + <p> + Relieved from his creditors with the money won at Monaco, he returned to + his usual calm, working harder than ever, passing his ‘concours’, and when + it seemed excusable that he might be nervous, violent, unjust, he remained + the man that he had been ever since she knew him. Then, all at once, a + short time before Florlentin went to the assizes, occurred these strange + explosions of temper, spasms of anger, and restlessness that she could not + explain, manifesting themselves exactly at the time when, by Madame + Dammauville’s intervention, she hoped Florentin would be saved. She had + not forgotten the furious anger, that was inexplicable and unjustifiable, + with which he refused her request to see Madame Dammauville. He had thrust + her away, wishing to break with her, and until she was a witness of this + scene she never imagined that any one could put such violence into + exasperation. Then to this scene succeeded another, totally opposed, which + had not less impressed her, when, at their little dinner by the fire, he + showed such profound desolation on telling her to keep the memory of this + evening when she should judge him, and announcing to her, in a prophetic + sort of way, that the hour would come when she would know him whom she + loved. + </p> + <p> + And now this hour, the thought of which she had thrown far from her, had + sounded; she sought to combine the elements of this judgment which then + appeared criminal to her, and now forced itself upon her, whatever she + might do to repel it. + </p> + <p> + How many times this memory returned to her! It could almost be said that + it had never left her, sweet and sad at the same time, less sweet and more + sad, according as new subjects for uneasiness were added to the others, in + deepening the mysterious and troublous impression that it left with her. + </p> + <p> + To judge him! Why did he wish that she should judge him? And on what? + </p> + <p> + And yet with him it was not an insignificant word, but the evidence of a + particular state of conscience, which many times since asserted itself. + Was it not, in effect, to this order of ideas that the cry belonged that + escaped him in the night when, waking suddenly, he asked with emotion, + with fright: “What have I said?” And also to the same appertained the + anger that carried him away when, ‘a propos’ of their religious marriage, + she spoke of confession: “Why do you think that I should be afraid to go + to confession?” + </p> + <p> + How could he imagine that she could admit the idea of fear in connection + with him? The idea never occurred to her mind until this moment; and if + now the memory of her astonishment came to her, it was because of other + little things added to those of the past that evoked it. + </p> + <p> + How numerous and significant they were, these things: his constant + uneasiness on seeing himself watched by her; his invitation when he + thought she was going to question him; his access of passion when, through + heedlessness or forgetfulness, or simply by chance, she asked him a + question on certain subjects, and immediately the tenderness that + followed, so sudden that they appeared rather planned in view of a + determined end than natural or spontaneous. + </p> + <p> + It was a long time before she admitted the calculation under the sweet + words that made her so happy; but in the end it was well that she should + open her eyes to the evidence, and see that they were with him the + consequences of the same and constant preoccupation, that of not + committing himself. + </p> + <p> + It was only one step from this to ask him what he did not wish to yield + up. + </p> + <p> + Yet, as short as it was, she resisted for a long time the curiosity that + possessed her. It was her duty as a loving and devoted wife not to seek + beyond what he showed her, and this duty was in perfect accord with the + dispositions of her love; but the power of things seen carried her beyond + will and reason. She could not apply her mind to search for that which + agonized her, and she could not close her eyes and ears to what she saw + and heard. + </p> + <p> + And what struck them were the same observations, turning always in the + same circle, applied to the same subjects and persons: + </p> + <p> + Caffie’s name irritated him; Madame Dammauville’s angered him; Florentin’s + made him positively unhappy. + </p> + <p> + As for the two former, she might have prevented the pronunciation of them + when she saw the effect they infallibly produced on him. + </p> + <p> + But she could not prevent the utterance of Florentin’s name, even had she + wished it. How could she tell her mother never to speak the name of him + who was constantly in their thoughts? + </p> + <p> + In spite of Saniel’s efforts and solicitations, supported by Nougarede’s, + Florentin had embarked for New Caledonia, whence he wrote as often as he + could. His letters related all his sufferings in the terrible galleys, + where he was confined during the voyage, and since his arrival they were a + series of long complaints, continued from one to the other, like a story + without end, turning always on the same subject, his physical sufferings, + his humiliation, his discouragement, and his disgust in the midst of the + unfortunates whose companion he was. + </p> + <p> + The arrival of these letters filled the mother and sister with anguish + that lasted for several days; and this anguish, that neither of them could + dissimulate, angered Saniel. + </p> + <p> + “What would you do if he were dead?” he asked Phillis. + </p> + <p> + “Would it not be better for him?” + </p> + <p> + “But he will return.” + </p> + <p> + “In what condition?” + </p> + <p> + “Are we the masters of fate?” + </p> + <p> + “We weep, we do not complain.” + </p> + <p> + But he complained of the weeping faces that surrounded him, the tears they + concealed from him, the sighs they stifled. Ordinarily he was tender and + affectionate to his mother-in-law, with attention and deference which in + some ways seemed affected, as if he were so by will rather than by natural + sentiment; but at these times he forgot this tenderness, and treated her + with hardness so unjust, that more than once Madame Cormier spoke of it to + her daughter. + </p> + <p> + “How can your husband, who is so good to me, be so merciless regarding + Florentin? One would say that our sadness produces on him the effect of a + reproach that we would address to him.” + </p> + <p> + One day when things had gone farther than usual, she had the courage to + speak to him plainly: “Forgive me for burdening you with the weariness of + our disgrace,” she said to him. “When I complain of everything, of men and + things, you should remember that you are the exception, you who have done + everything to save him.” + </p> + <p> + But these few words which she believed would calm the irritation of her + son-in-law, had on the contrary exasperated him; he left her, furious. + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand your husband at all,” she said to her daughter. “Will + you not explain to me what the matter is with him?” + </p> + <p> + How could she give her mother the explanation that she could not give + herself? Having reached an unfathomable abyss, she dared not even lean + over to look into its depths; and instead of going on in the path where + she was pledged in spite of herself, she made every effort to return, or + at least to stop. + </p> + <p> + What good would it do to find out why he was so peculiar, and what it was + that he took so much pains to conceal? This could only be idle curiosity + on her part, for which she would be punished sooner or later. + </p> + <p> + Turning these thoughts over continually in her mind she lost her gayety, + her power to resist blows of fate, such as the small trials of life, which + formerly made her courageous; her vigorous elasticity sunk under the heavy + weight with which it was charged, and her smiling eyes now more often + expressed anxiety than happiness and confidence. + </p> + <p> + In spite of her watchfulness over herself she was not able to hide the + change from Saniel, for it manifested itself in everything—in her + face formerly so open, but which now bore the imprint of a secret sadness; + in her concentrated manner, in her silence and abstraction. + </p> + <p> + What was the matter with her? He questioned her, and she replied with the + prudence that she used in all her conversation with him. He examined her + medically, but found nothing to indicate a sickly condition which would + justify the change in her. + </p> + <p> + If she did not wish to answer his questions, and he had the proof that she + did not wish to; if, on the other hand, she was not ill, and he was + convinced that she was not—there must be something serious the + matter to make the woman whom but lately he read so easily become an + enigma that made him uneasy. + </p> + <p> + And this thing—if it were that whose crushing weight he himself + carried on his bent shoulders? She divined, she understood, if not all, at + least a part of the truth. + </p> + <p> + What an extraordinary situation was hers, and one which might truly + destroy her reason. + </p> + <p> + Nothing to fear from others, everything from himself. Justice, law, the + world—on all sides he was let alone; nothing was asked of him; that + which was owed was paid; but he by a sickly aberration was going to awake + the dead who slept in their tomb, from which no one thought of taking + them, and to make spectres of them which he alone saw and heard. + </p> + <p> + And he believed himself strong. Fool that he was, and still more foolish + to have taken such a charge when by the exercise of his will he did not + place himself in a condition to carry it! To will! But he had not learned + how to will. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLII. THE POWER OF HYPNOTISM + </h2> + <p> + The relative calm that Saniel had felt since his marriage he owed to + Phillis; to the strength, the confidence, the peace that he drew from her. + Phillis without strength, without confidence, without interior peace, such + as she was now, could not give him what she no longer had herself, and he + returned to the distracted condition that preceded his marriage, and felt + the same anguish, the same agitation, the same madness. The beautiful + relations, worldly consideration, success, decorations, honors, were good + for others; but for his happiness he required the tranquillity and + serenity of his wife, and her good moral health which passed into him when + she slept on his shoulder. In that case there were no sudden awakenings, + no sleeplessness; at the sound of her gentle respiration he was reassured, + and the spectres remained in their tomb. + </p> + <p> + But now that this respiration was agitated, and he no longer felt in her + this tranquillity and serenity, he was no longer calm; she was weak and + uneasy, and she communicated her fever to him, not her sleep. + </p> + <p> + “You do not sleep. Why do you not sleep?” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” + </p> + <p> + He must know. + </p> + <p> + He persisted in his questions, but she was always on her guard, so that he + was unable to draw anything from her, checked as he was by the fear of + betraying himself, which seemed easy at the point he believed she had + reached. An awkward word, too much persistence, would let a flood of light + into her mind. + </p> + <p> + He also affected to speak as a physician when questioning her, and to look + for medical explanations of her condition. + </p> + <p> + “If you do not sleep it is because you suffer. What is this suffering? + From what does it proceed?” + </p> + <p> + Having no reasons to give to justify it, since she did not even dare to + speak of her brother, she denied it obstinately. + </p> + <p> + “But nothing is the matter with me, I assure you,” she repeated. “What do + you think is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I ask you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I ask you: What do you think I conceal from you?” + </p> + <p> + He could not say that he suspected her of concealing anything from him. + </p> + <p> + “You do not watch yourself properly.” + </p> + <p> + “I can do nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “I will force you to watch yourself and to speak.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “By putting you to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + The threat was so terrible that she was beside herself. + </p> + <p> + “Do not do that!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + They looked at each other for a few moments in silence, both equally + frightened, she at the threat, he at what he would learn from her. But to + show this fright was on his side to let loose another proof even more + grave. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I not seek to discover in every way the cause of this + uneasiness which escapes my examination as well as yours? For that + somnambulism offers us an excellent way.” + </p> + <p> + “But since I am not ill, what more could I tell you when I am asleep than + when I am awake?” + </p> + <p> + “We shall see.” + </p> + <p> + “It is an experiment that I ask you not to attempt. Would you try a poison + on me?” + </p> + <p> + “Somnambulism is not a poison.” + </p> + <p> + “Who knows?” + </p> + <p> + “Those who have made use of it.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have not.” + </p> + <p> + “Still I know enough to know that you will run no danger in my hands.” + </p> + <p> + She believed that he opened a door of escape to her. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, I am too much afraid. If you ever want to make me talk in a + state of forced somnambulism, ask one of your ‘confreres’ in whom you have + confidence to put me to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + Before a ‘confrere’ she was certain he would not ask her dangerous + questions. + </p> + <p> + He understood that she wished to escape him. + </p> + <p> + “Afraid of what?” he asked. “That I shall ask you questions about the + past, concerning your life before we knew each other, and demand a + confession that would wound my love?” + </p> + <p> + “O Victor!” she cried, distracted. “What more cruel wound could you give + me than these words? My confession! It comprises three words: I love you; + I have never loved any one but you; I shall never love any one but you. I + have no past; my life began with my love.” + </p> + <p> + He could not press it without showing the importance that he attached to + it. + </p> + <p> + “I do not insist,” he said; “it is a way like any other, but better. You + do not wish it, and we will not talk of it.” + </p> + <p> + But he yielded too quickly for her to hope that he renounced his project, + and she remained under the influence of a stupefying terror. What would + she say if he made her talk? Everything, possibly. She did not even know + what thoughts were hidden in the depths of her brain, and she knew + absolutely nothing of this forced somnambulism with which she was + threatened. + </p> + <p> + At this time the works of the school of Nancy on sleep, hypnotism, and + suggestion, had not yet been published, or at least the book which served + as their starting-point was not known, and she knew nothing of processes + that were employed to provoke the hypnotic sleep. As soon as her husband + left the house she looked for some book in the library that would + enlighten her. But the dictionary that she found gave only obscure or + confused instructions in which she floundered. The only exact point that + struck her was the method employed to produce sleep; to make the subject + look at a brilliant object placed from fifteen to twenty centimetres in + front of the eyes. If this were true she had no fear of ever being put to + sleep. + </p> + <p> + However, she was not reassured; and when a few days later at a dinner she + found herself seated next to one of her husband’s ‘confreres’, who she + knew interested himself in somnambulism, she had the courage to conquer + her usual timidity concerning medicine, and questioned him. + </p> + <p> + “Are there not persons with certain diseases who can be put into a state + of somnambulism?” + </p> + <p> + “It was formerly believed by the public and by many physicians that only + persons afflicted with hysteria and nervous troubles could be put to sleep + in this way, but it was a mistake; artificial somnambulism may be produced + on many subjects who are perfectly healthy.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the will preserved in sleep?” + </p> + <p> + “The subject only preserves the spontaneity and will that his hypnotizer + leaves him, who at his pleasure makes him sad, gay, angry, or tender, and + plays with his soul as with an instrument.” + </p> + <p> + “But that is frightful.” + </p> + <p> + “Curious, at least. It is certain that there is a local paralysis of such + or such a cell, the study of which is the starting-point of many + interesting discoveries.” + </p> + <p> + “When he wakes, does the subject remember what he has said?” + </p> + <p> + “There is a difference of opinion on this point. Some say yes, and others + no. As for me, I believe the memory depends upon the degree of sleep: with + a light sleep there is remembrance, but with a profound sleep the subject + does not remember what he has said or heard or done.” + </p> + <p> + She would have liked to continue, and her companion, glad to talk of what + interested him, would willingly have said more, but she saw her husband at + the other end of the table watching them by fits and starts, and fearing + that he would suspect the subject of their conversation she remained + silent. + </p> + <p> + What she had just learned seemed to her frightful. But, at least, as she + would not let herself be hypnotized she had nothing to fear; and + remembering what she had read, she promised herself that she would never + let him place her in a position where he could put her to sleep. It was + during the sleep that the will of the hypnotizer controlled that of the + subject, not before. + </p> + <p> + Resting on this belief, and also on his not having again spoken of sending + her to sleep, she was reassured. Was not this a sign that he accepted her + opposition and renounced his idea of provoked somnambulism? + </p> + <p> + But she deceived herself. + </p> + <p> + One night when she had gone to bed at her usual hour while he remained at + his work, she awoke suddenly and saw him standing near her, looking at her + with eyes whose fixed stare frightened her. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter? What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, I want nothing; I am going to bed.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of the strangeness of his glance she did not persist; questions + would have taught her nothing. And besides, now that he no longer went to + bed at the same time as she did, there was nothing extraordinary in his + attitude. + </p> + <p> + But a few days from that she woke again in the night with a feeling of + distress, and saw him leaning over her as if he would envelop her in his + arms. + </p> + <p> + This time, frightened as she was, she had the strength to say nothing, but + her anguish was the more intense. Did he then wish to hypnotize her while + she slept? Was it possible? Then the dictionary had deceived her? + </p> + <p> + In truth it was while she slept that Saniel tried to transform her natural + into an artificial sleep. Would he succeed? He knew nothing about it, for + the experience was new. But he risked it. + </p> + <p> + The first time, instead of putting her into a state of somnambulism, he + awoke her; the second, he succeeded no better; the third, when he saw that + after a certain time she did not open her eyes, he supposed that she was + asleep. To assure himself, he raised her arm, which remained in the air + until he placed it on the bed. Then taking her two hands, he turned them + backward, and withdrawing his own, the impulsion which he gave lasted + until he checked it. Her face had an expression of calmness and + tranquillity that it had not had for a long time; she was the pretty + Phillis of other days, with the sprightly glance. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow I will make you sleep at the same time,” he said, “and you will + talk.” + </p> + <p> + The next night he put her to sleep even more easily, but when he + questioned her she resisted. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, “I will not speak; it is horrible. I will not, I cannot.” + </p> + <p> + He insisted, but she would not. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, so be it,” he said; “not to-day, to-morrow. But to-morrow I + wish you to speak, and you shall not resist me; I will it!” + </p> + <p> + If he did not insist it was not only because he knew that habit was + necessary to make her submit to his will without being able to defend + herself, but because he was ignorant whether, when she awoke, she had any + memory of what happened in her sleep, which was an important point. + </p> + <p> + The next night she was the same as she had been the previous evening, and + nothing indicated that she was conscious of her provoked sleep, any more + than what she said in this sleep. He could then continue. + </p> + <p> + This time she went to sleep sooner and more easily than usual, and her + face took the expression of tranquillity and repose he had seen the night + before. Would she answer? And if she consented, would she speak sincerely, + without attempting to weaken or falsify the truth? Emotion made his voice + tremble when he put the first question; it was his life, his peace, the + happiness of both which decided him. + </p> + <p> + “Where do you suffer?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I do not suffer.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you are agitated, often melancholy or uneasy; you do not sleep well. + What troubles you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “Afraid of what? Of whom?” + </p> + <p> + “Of you!” + </p> + <p> + He trembled. + </p> + <p> + “Afraid of me! Do you think that I could hurt you?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + His tightened heart relaxed. + </p> + <p> + “Then why are you afraid?” + </p> + <p> + “Because there are things in you that frighten me.” + </p> + <p> + “What things? Be exact.” + </p> + <p> + “The change that has taken place in your temper, your character, and your + habits.” + </p> + <p> + “And how do these changes make you uneasy?” + </p> + <p> + “They indicate a serious situation.” + </p> + <p> + “What situation?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know; I have never stated exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I was afraid; and I closed my eyes so that I might not see.” + </p> + <p> + “See what?” + </p> + <p> + “The explanation of all that is mysterious in your life.” + </p> + <p> + “When did you notice the mystery in my life?” + </p> + <p> + “At the time of Caffie’s death; and before, when you told me that you + could kill him without any remorse.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know who killed Caffie?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + His relief was so great that for several moments he forgot to continue his + interrogations. Then he went on: “And after?” + </p> + <p> + “A little before Madame Dammauville’s death, when you became irritable and + furious without cause; when you told me to go because you did not wish to + see Madame Dammauville; when, the night before her death, you were so + tender, and asked me not to judge you without recalling that hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you have judged me.” + </p> + <p> + “Never. When worry urged me, my love checked me.” + </p> + <p> + “What provoked this uneasiness outside of these facts?” + </p> + <p> + “Your manner of living since our marriage; your accesses of anger and of + tenderness; your fear of being observed; your agitation at night; your + complaints—” + </p> + <p> + “I talked?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Never distinctly; you groan often, and moan, pronouncing broken words + without sense, unintelligible—” + </p> + <p> + His anguish was violent; when he recovered he continued: + </p> + <p> + “What is it in this way of living that has made you uneasy?” + </p> + <p> + “Your constant care not to commit yourself—” + </p> + <p> + “Commit myself how?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know—” + </p> + <p> + “What else?” + </p> + <p> + “The anger that you show, or the embarrassment, when the name of Caffie is + pronounced, Madame Dammauville’s, and Florentin’s—” + </p> + <p> + “And you conclude that my anger on hearing these three names—” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing—I am afraid—” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIII. THE TERRIBLE REVELATION + </h2> + <p> + This confession threw him into a state of confusion and agitation, for if + it did not go beyond what he feared, yet it revealed a terrible situation. + </p> + <p> + Clearly, as in an open book, he read her; if she did not know all, she was + but one step from the truth, and if she had not taken this step, it was + because her love restrained her. If her love had been less strong, less + powerful, she certainly would not have withstood the proofs that pressed + on her from all sides. + </p> + <p> + But because she had held back so long, he must not conclude that the + struggle would be continued in this way, and that a more violent blow, a + stronger proof than the others, would not open her eyes in spite of + herself. + </p> + <p> + It only needed an imprudence, a carelessness on his part, and unluckily he + could no longer be relied on. + </p> + <p> + From what he had just learned it would be easy to watch himself closely, + and to avoid dangerous subjects, those that she described to him; but if + he could guard his words and looks during the day, neither saying nor + letting anything appear that was an accusation, not confirming the + suspicions against which she struggled, he could not do it at night. + </p> + <p> + He had not talked, and when she answered negatively to his question, she + lifted a terribly heavy weight from his heart. But he had groaned and + moaned, he had pronounced broken words without sense and unintelligible, + and there was the danger. + </p> + <p> + What was necessary to make these sighs, these groans, these broken and + unintelligible words become distinct and take a meaning? A nothing, an + accident, since his real cerebral tendency placed him up to a certain + point in a somnambulistic state. Was this tendency congenital with him or + acquired? He did not know. Before the agitated nights after Madame + Dammauville’s death and Florentin’s condemnation, the idea had never + occurred to him that he might talk in his sleep. But now he had the proof + that the vague fears which had tormented him on this subject were only too + well founded; he had talked, and if the words that escaped were not now + comprehensible, they might become so. + </p> + <p> + Without having made a special study of sleep, natural or induced, he knew + that in the case of natural somnambulists a hypnotic sleep is easily + produced, and that while holding a conversation with a subject who talks + in his sleep one may readily hypnotize him. Without doubt he need not fear + this from Phillis; but it was possible that some night when incoherent + words escaped him she would not be able to resist the temptation to enter + into a conversation with him, and to lead him to confess what she wished + to know—what the love that she felt for her brother would drive her + to wish to learn. + </p> + <p> + If this opportunity presented itself, would the love for her brother or + for her husband carry her away? If she questioned him, what would he not + say? + </p> + <p> + For the first time he asked himself if he had done right to marry, and if, + on the contrary, he had not committed a mad imprudence in introducing a + woman into a life so tormented as his. He had asked calmness from this + woman, and now she brought him terror. + </p> + <p> + To tell the truth, she was dangerous only at night; and if he found a way + to occupy another room he would have nothing to fear from her during the + day, on condition that he held himself rigorously on the defensive. Loving + him as she did, she would resist the curiosity that drew her; if + uneasiness drove her, her love would restrain her, as she herself had + said; little by little this uneasiness and curiosity, being no longer + excited, would die out, and they would again enjoy the sweet days that + followed their marriage. + </p> + <p> + But in the present circumstances this way was difficult to find, for to + propose another room to Phillis would be equal to telling her that he was + afraid of her, and consequently it would give her a new mystery to study. + He reflected, and starting with the idea that the proposition of two rooms + must come from Phillis, he arranged a plan which, it seemed to him, would + accomplish what he wished. + </p> + <p> + Ignorant of the fact that she had been hypnotized, and not remembering + that she had talked, without doubt Phillis still feared that he would + hypnotize her; he would threaten it again, and surely she would find a way + to defend herself and escape from him. + </p> + <p> + This is what happened. The next day, when he told her decidedly that he + wished to put her to sleep in order that he might learn what troubled her, + she showed the same fright as on the first time. + </p> + <p> + “All that you have asked of me, everything that you have desired, I have + wished as you and with you; but I will never consent to this.” + </p> + <p> + “Your resistance is absurd; I will not yield to it.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall not put me to sleep against my will.” + </p> + <p> + “Easily.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not possible.” + </p> + <p> + Without replying, he took a book from the library, and turning over the + leaves, he read: “Is it possible to make a sleeping person, without + awaking him, pass from the natural to the hypnotic sleep? The thing is + possible, at least with certain subjects.” + </p> + <p> + Then handing her the book: + </p> + <p> + “You see that to put you to sleep artificially I need only the opportunity + of finding you sleeping naturally. It is very simple.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be odious.” + </p> + <p> + “Those are merely words.” + </p> + <p> + He threw her into such a state of terror that she kept awake all night, + and as he would not sleep for fear of talking, he felt that she exerted + every faculty to keep awake. But had he not gone too far? And by this + threat would he not drive her to some desperate act? If she should escape, + if she deserted him—what would become of him without her? Was she + not his whole life? But he reassured himself by saying that she loved him + too much ever to consent to a separation. Without doubt, she herself would + come to think as he wished her to think. + </p> + <p> + And yet when he returned home in the evening she told him that her mother + was not well, and begged him to examine her. This examination proved that + Madame Cormier was in her usual health; but she complained that her breath + failed her—during the day she had feared syncope. + </p> + <p> + “If you are willing,” Phillis said, “I will sleep near mamma. I am afraid + of not hearing her at night, and she is suffering.” + </p> + <p> + He began by refusing, then he consented to this arrangement; and to thank + him for it she stayed with him in his office, affectionate, full of + tenderness and caresses, until he went to his room. + </p> + <p> + He was then free to sleep or not; whether he groaned or talked she could + not hear him, since there was no communicating door between his room and + that of his mother-in-law; his voice certainly would not penetrate the + partition. + </p> + <p> + Who could have told him on the night that he decided to marry, that he + would come to such a pass—to be afraid, to hide himself from her who + brought him the calmness of sleep; and that by his fault, by a chain of + imprudences and stupidities, as if it were written that in everything he + would owe his sufferings to himself, and that if he ever succumbed to the + whirlwind that swept him along, it would be by his own deed, by his own + hand? At last he had assured the tranquillity of his nights, and as a + further precaution, although he did not fear that Phillis would enter his + room while he slept, to surprise him—she who dared not look in the + face what suspicion showed her—he locked his door. Naturally, + Phillis could not always sleep with her mother; but he would find a way to + suggest frankly their sleeping apart, and surely he could find one in the + storehouse of medicine. + </p> + <p> + These cares and similar fears were not of a nature to dispose him to + sleep, and besides for a long time he had suffered from an exasperating + nervous insomnia. As the night was warm he thought a little fresh air + would calm him, and he opened the window; if this freshness did not calm + him, at least it would make him sleep. + </p> + <p> + Obliged to improvise a bed in her mother’s room, Phillis placed it against + the partition that separated her from her husband, but without + preconcerted intention, simply by accident, because it was the only place + where she could put the bed. A little after midnight an unusual noise + awoke her; she sat up to listen and to recover herself. It seemed as if + this noise came from her husband’s room. Alarmed, she placed her ear + against the partition. She was not deceived; they were stifled groans, + moans that were repeated at short intervals. + </p> + <p> + Carefully yet quickly she left her bed, and as the dawn was already + shining in the windows, she was able to leave the room without making any + noise. Reaching the door of her husband’s room she listened; she was not + deceived; they were indeed groans, but louder and sadder than those she + had so often heard during the night. She tried the door, but it was + evidently locked on the inside. What was the matter with him? She must + know, must go to him, and give him relief. She thought of knocking, of + shaking the door; but as he did not reply when she tried to open it, it + was because he did not hear or did not wish to hear. Then she thought of + the terrace; from there she could see what happened, and if it were + necessary she would break a pane to enter. + </p> + <p> + She found the window open and saw her husband on the bed, sleeping, his + head turned toward her; she stopped and asked herself if she should cross + the threshold and wake him. + </p> + <p> + At this moment, with closed lips, he pronounced several words more + distinctly than those that had so many times escaped him: “Phillis—forgive.” + </p> + <p> + He dreamed of her. Poor, dear Victor! for what did he wish her to pardon + him? Doubtless for having threatened to hypnotize her: + </p> + <p> + Overcome by this proof of love she put her head through the opening of the + window to give him a look before returning to her mother, but on seeing + his face in the full white light of the morning, she was frightened; it + expressed the most violent sorrow, the features convulsed with anguish and + horror at the same time. Surely he was ill. She must wake him. Just as she + took a step toward him he began to speak: “Your brother—or me?” + </p> + <p> + She stopped as if thunderstruck, then instinctively she drew back and + clung to the window in the vestibule to keep herself from falling, + repeating those two words that she had just heard, not understanding, not + wishing to understand. + </p> + <p> + Instead of returning to her mother, trembling and holding on to the wall + she entered the parlor and let herself fall into a chair, prostrated, + crushed. + </p> + <p> + “Your brother—or me?” + </p> + <p> + This was, then, the truth, the frightful truth that she had never wished + to see. + </p> + <p> + She stayed there until the noises in the street warned her that it was + getting late, and she might be surprised. Then she returned to her mother. + </p> + <p> + “I am going out,” she said; “I will return at half-past eight or nine + o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “But your husband will not see you before going to the hospital.” + </p> + <p> + “You will tell him that I have gone out.” + </p> + <p> + She returned at half-past nine. Madame Cormier had finished dressing. + </p> + <p> + “At last you have come,” she said. + </p> + <p> + But at sight of her daughter’s face she saw that something had happened. + “My God! What is the matter?” she asked, trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Something serious—very serious, but unfortunately it is + irreparable. We must leave here, never to return.” + </p> + <p> + “Your husband—” + </p> + <p> + “You must never speak to me of him. This the only thing I ask of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! I understand. It is what I foresaw, what I said would happen. You + cannot bear the contempt that he shows us on account of your brother.” + </p> + <p> + “We must hereafter be strangers to each other, and this is why we leave + this house.” + </p> + <p> + “My God! At my age, to drag my bones—” + </p> + <p> + “I have engaged a lodging at the Ternes; a wagon will come to take the + furniture that belongs to us, what we brought here, only that. We will + tell the concierge that we are going to the country. As for Josephine, you + need not fear indiscreet questions, for I have given her a day off.” + </p> + <p> + “But the money?” + </p> + <p> + “I have two hundred francs from the sale of my last picture; that is + enough for the present. Before they are gone I shall have painted and sold + another; do not worry, we shall have all we need.” + </p> + <p> + All this was said in a hard but resolute tone. + </p> + <p> + A ring of the bell interrupted them. It was the express wagon. + </p> + <p> + “See that they do not take what does not belong to us,” Phillis said. + “While they fill their wagon I will write in the parlor.” + </p> + <p> + At the end of an hour the wagon was ready. Madame Cormier entered the + parlor to tell her daughter. + </p> + <p> + “I have finished,” Phillis said. + </p> + <p> + Having placed her letter in an envelope, she laid it in full view on + Saniel’s desk. + </p> + <p> + “Now let us go,” she said. + </p> + <p> + And as her mother sighed, while walking with difficulty + </p> + <p> + “Lean on me, dear mamma, you know I am strong.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIV. AFTER LONG YEARS + </h2> + <p> + Saniel did not return until quite late in the afternoon. When he opened + the door with his key he was surprised at not seeing his wife run to him + and kiss him. + </p> + <p> + “She is painting,” he said to himself, “she did not hear me.” + </p> + <p> + He passed into the parlor, convinced that he would find her at her easel; + but he did not see her, and the easel was not in its usual place, there + nor anywhere else. + </p> + <p> + He knocked at the door of Madame Cormier’s room; there was no reply; he + knocked louder a second time, and after waiting a moment he entered. The + room was empty; there was no bed, no furniture, no one. + </p> + <p> + Stupefied, he looked around him, then returning to the vestibule he + called: “Phillis! Phillis!” + </p> + <p> + There was no reply. He ran to the kitchen, no one was there; he went into + his office, no one there. But as he looked about him, he saw Phillis’s + letter on his desk, and his heart leaped; he grasped it eagerly, and + opened it with a trembling hand. It was as follows: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I have gone, never to return. My despair and disgust of life are + such, that without my mother and the poor being who is so far away, + I should kill myself; but in spite of the horror of my position I + was obliged to reflect, and I do not wish to aggravate by folly the + wickedness that is going on about me. My mother is no longer young; + she is ill and has suffered cruelly. Not only do I owe it to her to + brighten her old age by my presence, by the material and moral + support that I can give her, but she must have faith that I am there + to replace her, and to open my arms to her son, to my brother. The + least that I can do for them is to wait courageously for him; and, + however weary, terrible, or frightful my life may be hereafter, I + shall bear it so that the unfortunate, the pariah, whom a pitiless + fate has pursued, will find on his return a hearth, a home, a + friend. This will be my only object, my reason for living; and in + order to save myself from sluggishness and weariness, my thoughts + will always be on the time when he will return, he whom I will call + my child, and whom my love must save and cure. I know that long + years separate me from that day, and that until it comes my broken + heart will never have a moment of repose; but I shall employ this + time in working for him, for the brother, for the child, for the + cherished being who will come to me aged and desperate; and I wish + that he may yet believe in something good, that he will not imagine + everything in this world is unjust and infamous, for he will return + to me weighed down by twenty years of shame, of degrading and + undeserved shame. How will he bear these twenty years? What + efforts must I not make to prove to him that he should not abandon + himself to despair, and that life often offers the remedy, + compassion to the most profound, to the most unjust human sorrows? + How can I make him believe that? How lead his poor heart, closed to + confidence, to feeling, to the tears that alone can relieve it? God + who has so sorely tried me, without doubt will come to my aid, and + will inspire me with words of consolation, will show me the path to + follow, and give me the strength to persevere. Have I not already + to thank Him for being alone in the world, outside of a mother and + brother who will not betray me? I have no children, and I am spared + the terror of seeing a soul growing in evil, an intelligence + escaping from me to follow the path of infamy or dishonor. I leave, + then, as I came. I was a poor girl, I go away a poor woman. I have + taken the clothing and personal effects that I brought into our + common home, nothing that was bought with your money; and I forbid + you to interfere with my wish in this question of material things, + as well as in my resolution to fly from you. Nothing can ever + reunite us; nothing shall reunite us, no consideration, no + necessity. I reject the past, this guilty past, the responsibility + of which weighs so heavily on my conscience, and I should like to + lose the memory of the detested time. It would be impossible for me + to accept the struggle, or supplications, if you think it expedient + to make any. I have cut our bonds, and hereafter we shall be as far + apart as if one of us were dead, or even farther. Have no scruples, + then, in leaving me alone to face a new life, a beginning that may + appear difficult to one not situated as I am. The trials of former + times were good for me, since they accustomed me to the difficulties + of work. The desolation of to-day will sustain me, in the sense + that having suffered all I can suffer, I no longer fear some + discouraging catastrophe that will check me in my resolutions. In + order not to compromise you, and more fully to become myself again, + I shall take my family name—a dishonored name—but I shall bear it + without shame. I shall live obscurely, absorbed in work and in + trying to forget your existence; do the same yourself. If you think + of the past, you will find, perhaps, that I am hard; yet this + departure is not an egotistic desertion. I am no good to you, and + the repose that you want would shun you hereafter in my presence. + On the contrary, strive for forgetfulness, as I shall. If you + contrive to wipe out of your life the part that is associated with + me, perhaps you will be able to banish the remainder, and to recover + some of the calm of other days. I can no longer remember that I + have loved you, for my position is such that I have not the refuge + of memory; at my age I must remain without a past as without a + future; the consolation of the unfortunate is lost to me with + everything else. I cannot rise out of my sorrow to try to find one + hour when life was sweet to me; those hours, on the contrary, make + me tremble, and I reproach myself for them as if they were a crime. + Thus, whichever way I turn, I find only sadness and sharp regrets; + everything is blighted, dishonored for me.” + </pre> + <p> + Standing in the middle of his office he read this hastily written letter + breathlessly. Arrived at the end he looked about him vaguely. His chair + was near his desk; he let himself fall into it and remained there + prostrated, holding the letter in his shaking hand. + </p> + <p> + “Alone!” + </p> + <p> + It was an October afternoon, dark and muddy; in the Rue des Saints-Peres, + in front of the houses that hide the Charity Hospital, coupes were + standing, and their long line extended to the Boulevard Saint-Germain, + where the coachmen, having left their seats, talked together like persons + who were accustomed to meet each other. At half-past four o’clock, in the + deepening twilight, men with grave looks and dark clothes—members of + the Academy of Medicine—the Tuesday sitting over, issued from the + porch, and entered their carriages. Some of them walked alone, briskly, in + a great hurry; others demonstrated a skilful tardiness, stopping to talk + politely to a journalist, and to give him notes of the day’s meeting, or + continuing, with a ‘confrere’ who was not an Academician, the conversation + begun in the room of the ‘pas-perdus’; it was the Bourse of consultations + that was just closed. Not all the members of the Academy have, in truth, a + long list of patients to visit; but each one has a vote to give, and they + are those whom the candidates surround, trying to win them. + </p> + <p> + One of the Academicians who appeared the last at the top of the steps was + a man of great height but bent figure, with hollow cheeks and pale face + lighted by pale blue eyes with a strange expression, both hard and + desolate at the same time. He advanced alone, and his heavy gait and + dragging step gave him the appearance of a man sixty years of age, while + in other ways he retained a certain youthfulness. It was Saniel, twenty + years older. + </p> + <p> + Without exchanging a bow or a hand-shake with any one, he descended to the + pavement and walked to the boulevard, where he opened the door of a coups + whose interior showed a complete ambulant library—a writing table + with paper, ink, and lamp, pockets full of books and pamphlets. + </p> + <p> + Just as he was about to enter, a voice stopped him. + </p> + <p> + He turned; it was one of his old pupils, who had recently become a + physician in the suburb of Gentilly. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Saniel. + </p> + <p> + “I want to ask you to come and assist me in a curious case of spasms, + where your intervention may be decisive.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “At the Maison-Blanche, a poor woman. What day could you give me?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it urgent?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case I will go at once. Give the address to my coachman, and get + in with me.” + </p> + <p> + But at this moment a white-haired man dressed in chestnut velvet, wearing + a felt hat and sabots, came toward them, accompanied by two young men with + whom he discoursed in a loud tone while gesticulating. People turned to + look at them, so original was the appearance of old Brigard, the same man + from head to foot that he had always been. + </p> + <p> + He came to Saniel with outstretched hands, and Saniel, taking off his hat, + received him with marked respect. + </p> + <p> + “Enchanted to meet you,” Brigard said, “for I went to your office + yesterday and did not find you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you not send me word beforehand? If you need me I am at your + disposal.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, but happily I do not need your advice, neither for myself nor my + family; it was simply that I wished to see you. Arriving at your house + before your office hours, I waited in your reception-room and several + patients came after me—a young woman who appeared to suffer cruelly, + an old lady who was extremely anxious, and lastly a man who had some + nervous disease that would not permit him to sit still. And, looking at + them, I said to myself that as I was only making a friendly visit I would + not remain and prolong the waiting of these unfortunates who counted the + minutes, so I came away.” + </p> + <p> + “May I ask to what do I owe the honor of this visit?” + </p> + <p> + The two young men who accompanied Brigard, and Saniel’s old pupil + discreetly withdrew. + </p> + <p> + “The desire to present you my congratulations. When I learned of your + candidature to the Academy of Medicine I said to myself: Here is one who + has no chance; friend Saniel has originality and force; he has succeeded + brilliantly; but these qualities are not exactly academic. I was deceived. + You have broken open the doors, which is the only way that I understand of + entering these places. That is why I congratulate you. And, besides, I did + you wrong formerly—” + </p> + <p> + “Wrong? You?” + </p> + <p> + “I accused you of believing yourself stronger than life; in truth you + were. My compliments!” + </p> + <p> + After warmly pressing Saniel’s hands, he went on his way with his two + disciples, preaching to them. + </p> + <p> + The young doctor approached Saniel. + </p> + <p> + “He is an original,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “A happy man!” was the only reply. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: + + As ignorant as a schoolmaster + As free from prejudices as one may be, one always retains a few + Confidence in one’s self is strength, but it is also weakness + Conscience is a bad weighing-machine + Conscience is only an affair of environment and of education + Find it more easy to make myself feared than loved + For the rest of his life he would be the prisoner of his crime + Force, which is the last word of the philosophy of life + He did not sleep, so much the better! He would work more + I believed in the virtue of work, and look at me! + In his eyes everything was decided by luck + Intelligent persons have no remorse + It is the first crime that costs + It is only those who own something who worry about the price + Leant—and when I did not lose my friends I lost my money + Leisure must be had for light reading, and even more for love + Looking for a needle in a bundle of hay + Neither so simple nor so easy as they at first appeared + One does not judge those whom one loves + People whose principle was never to pay a doctor + Power to work, that was never disturbed or weakened by anything + Reason before the deed, and not after + Repeated and explained what he had already said and explained + She could not bear contempt + The strong walk alone because they need no one + We are so unhappy that our souls are weak against joy + We weep, we do not complain + Will not admit that conscience is the proper guide of our action + You love me, therefore you do not know me +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Conscience, Complete, by Hector Malot + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CONSCIENCE, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 3990-h.htm or 3990-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/9/3990/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Conscience, Complete + +Author: Hector Malot + +Last Updated: March 4, 2009 +Release Date: October 5, 2006 [EBook #3990] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CONSCIENCE, COMPLETE *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +CONSCIENCE + +By Hector Malot + + +With a Preface by EDOUARD PAILLERON, of the French Academy + + + + +HECTOR MALOT + +HECTOR-HENRI MALOT, the son of a notary public, was born at La Brouille +(Seine-Inferieure), March 20, 1830. He studied law, intending to devote +himself also to the Notariat, but toward 1853 or 1854 commenced writing +for various small journals. Somewhat later he assisted in compiling the +'Biographie Generale' of Firmin Didot, and was also a contributor to +some reviews. Under the generic title of 'Les Victimes d'Amour,' he made +his debut with the following three family-romances: 'Les Amants (1859), +Les Epoux (1865), and Les Enfants (1866).' About the same period he +published a book, 'La Vie Moderne en Angleterre.' Malot has written +quite a number of novels, of which the greatest is 'Conscience,' crowned +by the French Academy in 1878. + +His works have met with great success in all countries. They possess +that lasting interest which attends all work based on keen observation +and masterly analysis of the secret motives of human actions. + +The titles of his writings run as follows: 'Les Amours de Jacques +(1868); Un Beau Frere (1869); Romain Kalbris (1864), being a romance +for children; Une Bonne Afaire, and Madame Obernin (1870); Un Cure de +Province (1872); Un Mariage sons le Second Empire (1873); Une Belle +Mere (1874); L'Auberge du Monde (1875-1876, 4 vols.); Les Batailles +du Mariage (1877, 3 vols.); Cara (1877); Le Docteur Claude (1879); Le +Boheme Tapageuse (1880, 3 vols.); Pompon, and Une Femme d'Argent (1881); +La Petite Soeur, and Les Millions Honteux (1882); Les Besogneux, and +Paulette (1883); Marichette, and Micheline (1884.); Le Lieutenant +Bonnet, and Sang Bleu (1885); Baccara, and Zyte (1886); Viceo Francis, +Seduction, and Ghislaine (1887); Mondaine (1888); Mariage Riche, and +Justice (1889); Mere (1890), Anie (1891); Complices (1892); Conscience +(1893); and Amours de Jeunes et Amours de Vieux (1894).' + +About this time Hector Malot resolved not to write fiction any more. +He announced this determination in a card published in the journal, 'Le +Temps,' May 25, 1895--It was then maliciously stated that "M. Malot his +retired from business after having accumulated a fortune." However, he +took up his pen again and published a history of his literary life: +Le Roman de mes Romans (1896); besides two volumes of fiction, L'Amour +dominateur (1896), and Pages choisies (1898), works which showed that, +in the language of Holy Writ, "his eye was not dimmed nor his natural +force abated," and afforded him a triumph over his slanderers. + + EDOUARD PAILLERON + de l'Academie Francaise. + + + + +CONSCIENCE + + + + +BOOK 1. + + + + +CHAPTER I. THE REUNION + +When Crozat, the Bohemian, escaped from poverty, by a good marriage that +made him a citizen of the Rue de Vaugirard, he did not break with his +old comrades; instead of shunning them, or keeping them at a distance, +he took pleasure in gathering them about him, glad to open his house to +them, the comforts of which were very different from the attic of the +Rue Ganneron, that he had occupied for so long a time. + +Every Wednesday, from four to seven o'clock, he had a reunion at his +house, the Hotel des Medicis, and it was a holiday for which his friends +prepared themselves. When a new idea occurred to one of the habitues it +was caressed, matured, studied in solitude, in order to be presented in +full bloom at the assembly. + +Crozat's reception of his friends was pleasing, simple, like the man, +cordial on the part of the husband, as well as on the part of the wife, +who, having been an actress, held to the religion of comradeship: On a +table were small pitchers of beer and glasses; within reach was an old +stone jar from Beauvais, full of tobacco. The beer was good, the tobacco +dry, and the glasses were never empty. + +And it was not silly subjects that were discussed here, worldly +babblings, or gossiping about absent friends, but the great questions +that ruled humanity: philosophy, politics, society, and religion. + +Formed at first of friends, or, at least, of comrades who had worked and +suffered together, these reunions had enlarged gradually, until one day +the rooms at the Hotel des Medicis became a 'parlotte' where preachers +of ideas and of new religions, thinkers, reformers, apostles, +politicians, aesthetes, and even babblers in search of ears more or less +complaisant that would listen to them, met together. Any one might come +who wished, and if one did not enter there exactly as one would enter an +ordinary hotel, it was sufficient to be brought by an habitue in order +to have the right to a pipe, some beer, and to speak. + +One of the habitues, Brigard, was a species of apostle, who had acquired +celebrity by practising in his daily life the ideas that he professed +and preached. Comte de Brigard by birth, he began by renouncing his +title, which made him a vassal of the respect of men and of social +conventions; an instructor of law, he could easily have made a thousand +or twelve hundred francs a month, but he arranged the number and the +price of his lessons so that each day brought him only ten francs in +order that he might not be a slave to money; living with a woman whom he +loved, he had always insisted, although he had two daughters, on +living with her 'en union libre', and in not acknowledging his children +legally, because the law debased the ties which attached him to them and +lessened his duties; it was conscience that sanctioned these duties; and +nature, like conscience, made him the most faithful of lovers, the best, +the most affectionate, the most tender of fathers. Tall, proud, carrying +in his person and manners the native elegance of his race, he dressed +like the porter at the corner, only replacing the blue velvet by +chestnut velvet, a less frivolous color. Living in Clamart for twenty +years, he always came to Paris on foot, and the only concessions that he +made to conventionality or to his comfort were to wear sabots in winter, +and to carry his vest on his arm in summer. + +Thus organized, he must have disciples, and he sought them +everywhere--in the streets, where he buttonholed those he was able to +snatch under the trees of the Luxembourg Gardens, and on Wednesday +at the house of his old comrade Crozat. How many he had had! But, +unfortunately, the greater number turned out badly. Several became +ministers; others accepted high government positions for life; some +handled millions of francs; two were at Noumea; one preached in the +pulpit of Notre Dame. + +One afternoon in October the little parlor was full; the end of the +summer vacation had brought back the habitues, and for the first time +the number was nearly large enough to open a profitable discussion. +Crozat, near the door, smiled at the arrivals on shaking hands, and +Brigard, his soft felt hat on his head, presided, assisted by his two +favorite disciples of the moment, the advocate Nougarede and the poet +Glady, neither of whom would turn out badly, he was certain. + +To tell the truth, for those who knew how to look and to see, the pale +face of Nougarede, his thin lips, restless eyes, and an austerity of +dress and manners which clashed with his twenty-six years, gave him more +the appearance of a man of ambition than of an apostle. And when one +knew that Glady was the owner of a beautiful house in Paris, and of real +estate in the country that brought him a hundred thousand francs a year, +it was difficult to imagine that he would long follow Father Brigard. + +But to see was not the dominant faculty of Brigard; it was to reason, +and reason told him that ambition would soon make Nougarede a deputy, +as fortune would one day make Glady an academician; and in that case, +although he detested assemblies as much as academies, they would then +have two tribunes whence the good word would fall on the multitude with +more weight. They might be counted on. When Nougarede began to come +to the Wednesday reunions he was as empty as a drum, and if he spoke +brilliantly on no matter what subject with an imperturbable eloquence, +it was to say nothing. In Glady's first volume were words learnedly +arranged to please the ears and the eyes. Now, ideas sustained the +discourse of the advocate, as the verses of the poet said something--and +these ideas were Brigard's; this something was the perfume of his +teaching. + +For half an hour the pipes burned fiercely, the smoke slowly rose to +the ceiling, and as in a cloud Brigard might be seen like a bearded god, +proclaiming his law, his hat on his head; for, if he had made a rule +never to take it off, he manipulated it continually while he spoke, +frequently pushing it forward, sometimes to the back of his head, to +the right, to the left, raising it, and flattening it, according to the +needs of his argument. + +"It is incontestable," he said, "that we scatter our great force when we +ought to concentrate it." + +He pressed down his hat. + +"In effect," he raised it, "the hour has arrived for us to assert +ourselves as a group, and it is a duty for us, since it is a need of +humanity--" + +At this moment a new arrival glided into the room quietly, with the +manifest intention of disturbing no one; but Crozat, who was seated near +the door, stopped him and shook hands. + +"'Tiens', Saniel! Good-day, doctor." + +"Good-evening, my dear sir." + +"Come to the table; the beer is good to-day." + +"Thank you; I am very well here." + +Without taking the chair that Crozat designated, he leaned against the +wall. He was a tall, solid man about thirty, with tawny hair falling +on the collar of his coat, a long, curled beard, a face energetic, but +troubled and wan, to which the pale blue eyes gave an expression of +hardness that was accentuated by a prominent jaw and a decided air. A +Gaul, a true Gaul of ancient times, strong, bold, and resolute. + +Brigard continued: + +"It is incontestable"--this was his formula, because everything he +said was incontestable to him, simply because he said it--"it is +incontestable that in the struggle for existence the dogma of conscience +must be established, its only sanction being the performance of duty and +inward satisfaction--" + +"Duty accomplished toward whom?" interrupted Saniel. + +"Toward one's self." + +"Then begin by stating what are our duties, and codify what is good and +what is bad." + +"That is easy," some one replied. + +"Easy if you admit a certain innate regard for human life, for property, +and for the family. But you must acknowledge that not all men have this +regard. How many believe that it is not a fault to run away with the +wife of a friend, not a crime to appropriate something that they want, +or to kill an enemy! Where are the duties of those who reason and feel +in this way? What is their inward satisfaction worth? This is why I will +not admit that conscience is the proper guide of our actions." + +There were several exclamations at this, which Brigard checked. + +"What guide, then, shall men obey?" he demanded. + +"Force, which is the last word of the philosophy of life!" + +"That which leads to a wise and progressive extermination. Is this what +you desire?" + +"Why not? I do not shrink from an extermination that relieves humanity +of idlers that it drags about without power to advance or to free +itself, finally sinking under the load. Is it not better for the world +to be rid of such people, who obstruct the advancement of others?" + +"At least the idea is bizarre coming from a doctor," interrupted Crozat, +"since it would put an end to hospitals." + +"Not at all; I would preserve them for the study of monsters." + +"In placing society on this antagonistic footing," said Brigard, +"you destroy society itself, which is founded on reciprocity, on good +fellowship; and in doing so you can create for the strong a state +of suspicion that paralyzes them. Carthage and Venice practised the +selection by force, and destroyed themselves." + +"You speak of force, my dear Saniel," interrupted a voice; "where do +you get that--the force of things, the tatum? There is no beginning, no +will; events decide for us climate, temperament, environment." + +"Then," replied Saniel, "there is no responsibility, and this instrument +conscience, that should decide everything, is good for nothing. You need +not consider consequences. Success or defeat may yet be immaterial, +for the accomplishment of an act that you have believed condemnable +may serve the race, while another that you have believed beneficent may +prove injurious; from which it follows that intentions only should be +judged, and that no one but God can sound human hearts to their depths." + +He began to laugh. + +"Do you believe that? Is that the conclusion at which you have arrived?" + +A waiter entered, carrying pitchers of beer on a tray, and the +discussion was necessarily interrupted, every one drawing up to the +table where Crozat filled the glasses, and the conversation took a more +private turn. + +Saniel shook hands with Brigard, who received him somewhat coldly; then +he approached Glady with the manifest intention of detaining him, but +Glady had said that he was obliged to leave, so Saniel said that he +could remain no longer, and had only dropped in on passing. + +When they were both gone Brigard turned to Crozat and Nougarede, who +were near him, and declared that Saniel made him uneasy. + +"He believes himself stronger than life," he said, "because he is sound +and intelligent. He must take care that he does not go too far!" + + + + +CHAPTER II. THE RICH MAN'S REFUSAL + +When Saniel and Glady reached the street, the rain that had fallen since +morning had ceased, and the asphalt shone clear and glittering like a +mirror. + +"The walking is good," Saniel remarked. + +"It will rain again," responded Glady, looking at the sky. + +"I think not." It was evident that Glady wished to take a cab, but as +none passed he was obliged to walk with Saniel. + +"Do you know," he said, "that you have wounded Brigard?" + +"I regret it sincerely; but the salon of our friend Crozat is not yet a +church, and I do not suppose that discussion is forbidden there." + +"To deny is not to discuss." + +"You say that as if you were angry with me." + +"Not at all. I am sorry that you have wounded Brigard--nothing more." + +"That is too much, because I have a sincere esteem, a real friendship +for you, if you will permit me to say so." + +But Glady, apparently, did not desire the conversation to take this +turn. + +"I think this is an empty cab," he said, as a fiacre approached them. + +"No," replied Saniel, "I see the light of a cigar through the +windowpane." + +Glady made a slight gesture of impatience that was not lost upon Saniel, +who was expecting some such demonstration. + +Rich, and frequenting the society of poor men, Glady lived in dread of +borrowers. It was enough for any man to appear to wish to talk to him +privately to make him believe that he was going to ask for fifty louis +or twenty francs; so often was this the case that every friend or +comrade was an enemy against whom he must defend his purse. And so he +lay in wait as if expecting some one to spring upon him, his eyes open, +his ears listening, and his hands in his pockets. This explains his +attitude toward Saniel, in whom he scented a demand for money, and +was the reason for his attempt to escape by taking a cab. But luck was +against him, and he tried to decline the unspoken request in another +way. + +"Do not be surprised," he said, with the volubility with which a man +speaks when he does not wish to give his companion a chance to say a +word, "that I was pained to see Brigard take seriously an argument that +evidently was not directed against him." + +"Neither against him nor against his ideas." + +"I know that; you do not need to defend yourself. But I have so much +friendship, so much esteem and respect for Brigard that everything that +touches him affects me. And how could it be otherwise when one knows his +value, and what a man he is? This life of mediocrity that he lives, in +order to be free, is it not admirable? What a beautiful example!" + +"Not every one can follow it." + +"You think that one cannot be contented with ten francs a day?" + +"I mean that not every one has the chance to make ten francs a day." + +The vague fears of Glady became definite at these words. They had walked +down the Rue Ferou and reached the Place St. Sulpice. + +"I think that at last I am going to find a cab," he said, precipitately. + +But this hope was not realized; there was not a single cab at the +station, and he was forced to submit to the assault from Saniel. + +And Saniel began: + +"You are compelled to walk with me, and, frankly, I rejoice, because I +wish to talk to you of a serious affair--on which depends my future." + +"This is a poor place for serious talk." + +"I do not find it so." + +"We would better appoint some other time." + +"Why should we, since chance has thrown us together here?" + +Glady resigned himself to the inevitable, and was as polite as he could +be in the circumstances. + +"I await your pleasure," he said in a gracious tone, that was a contrast +to his former one. + +Saniel, who was in such a hurry a few moments before, now silently +walked by Glady, whose eyes were on the shining asphalt pavement. + +At last he spoke. + +"I have told you that my future depends on the affair concerning which +I wish to speak to you. I can tell you all in a few words: If I am +not able to procure three thousand francs within two days, I shall be +obliged to leave Paris, to give up my studies and my work here, and go +and bury myself in my native town and become a plain country doctor." + +Glady did not flinch; if he had not foreseen the amount he expected the +demand, and he continued gazing at his feet. + +"You know," continued Saniel, "that I am the son of peasants; my father +was marshal in a poor village of Auvergne. At school I gave proof of a +certain aptitude for work above my comrades, and our cure conceived +an affection for me and taught me all he knew. Then he made me enter +a small seminary. But I had neither the docile mind nor the submissive +character that was necessary for this education, and after several years +of pranks and punishments, although I was not expelled, I was given to +understand that my departure would be hailed with delight. I then became +usher in a small school, but without salary, taking board and lodging +as payment. I passed a good examination and was preparing for my degree, +when I left the school owing to a quarrel. I had made some money by +giving private lessons, and I found myself the possessor of nearly +eighty francs. I started for Paris, where I arrived at five o'clock +one morning in June, and where I knew, no one. I had a small trunk +containing a few shirts, which obliged me to take a carriage. I told the +coachman to take me to a hotel in the Latin Quarter. 'Which hotel?' he +asked; 'I do not care,' I answered. 'Do you wish to go to the Hotel du +Senat?' The name pleased me; perhaps it was an omen. He took me to the +Hotel du Senat, where, with what I had left of my eighty francs, I paid +a month in advance. I stayed there eight years." + +"That is remarkable." + +"What else could I do? I knew Latin and Greek as well as any man in +France, but as far as anything else was concerned I was as ignorant as +a schoolmaster. The same day I tried to make use of what I knew, and I +went to a publisher of classic books, of whom I had heard my professor +of Greek literature speak. After questioning me he gave me a copy of +Pindar to prepare with Latin notes, and advanced me thirty francs, which +lasted me a month. I came to Paris with the desire to work, but without +having made up my mind what to do. I went wherever there were lectures, +to the Sorbonne, to the College de France, to the Law School, and to the +School of Medicine; but it was a month before I came to a decision. The +subtleties of law displeased me, but the study of medicine, depending +upon the observation of facts, attracted me, and I decided to become a +doctor." + +"A marriage of reason." + +"No, a marriage for love. Because, if I had consulted reason, it would +have told me that to marry medicine when one has nothing--neither family +to sustain you nor relatives to push you--would be to condemn yourself +to a life of trials, of battles, and of misery. My student life was +happy; I worked hard, and by giving lessons in Latin I had enough to +eat. When I received as house-surgeon six, eight, nine hundred francs, +I thought it a large fortune, and I would have remained in this position +for the rest of my life if I had been able to do so, but when I took my +degree of doctor I was obliged to leave the hospital. The possessor of +several thousand francs, I should have followed rigorously my dream of +ambition. While attending the mistress of one of my comrades I made the +acquaintance of an upholsterer, who suggested that he should furnish +an apartment for me, and that I might pay him later. I yielded to +temptation. Remember, I had passed eight years in the Hotel du Senat, +and I knew nothing of Paris life. A home of my own! My own furniture, +and a servant in my anteroom! I should be somebody! My upholsterer could +have installed me in his own quarter of Paris, and perhaps could have +obtained some patients for me among his customers, who are rich and +fashionable. But he did not do this, probably concluding that with my +awkward appearance I would not be a success with such people. When you +are successful it is original to be a peasant--people find you clever; +but before success comes to you it is a disgrace. He furnished me an +apartment in a very respectable house in the Rue Louis-le-Grand. When I +went into it I had debts to the amount of ten thousand francs behind me, +the interest on this sum, the rent of two thousand four hundred francs, +not a sou in my pocket, not a relative--" + +"That was courageous." + +"I did not know that in Paris everything is accomplished through +influence, and I imagined that an intelligent man could make his way +without assistance. I was to learn by experience. When a new doctor +arrives anywhere his brother doctors do not receive him with much +sympathy. 'What does this intruder want?' 'Are there not enough of us +already?' He is watched, and the first patient that he loses is made +use of as an example of his ignorance or imprudence, and his position +becomes uncomfortable. The chemists of my quarter whom I called upon +did not receive me very warmly; they made me feel the distance that +separates an honorable merchant from a beggar, and I was given to +understand that they could patronize me only on condition that I ordered +the specialties that they wished to profit by--iron from this one and +tar from that. On commencing to practise I had as patients only the +people of the quarter, whose principle was never to pay a doctor, and +who wait for the arrival of a new one in order that they may be rid of +the old one and this sort is numerous everywhere. It happened that my +concierge was from Auvergne like myself, and he considered it his duty +to make me give free attendance to all those from our country that +he could find in the quarter and everywhere else, so that I had the +patriotic satisfaction of seeing all the charcoal-dealers from Auvergne +sprawling in my beautiful armchairs. Finally, by remaining religiously +at home every Sunday in summer, while the other doctors were away, by +rising quickly at night every time my bell rang, I was able to acquire +a practice among a class of people who were more reasonable and +satisfactory. I obtained a prize at the Academy. At the same time I +delivered, at a moderate price, lectures in anatomy at schools on the +outskirts of the city; I gave lessons; I undertook all the anonymous +work of the book trade and of journalism that I could find. I slept five +hours a day, and in four years I had decreased my debt seven thousand +francs. If my upholsterer wished to be paid I could have it arranged, +but that was not his intention. He wishes to take his furniture that is +not worn out, and to keep the money that he has received. If I do not +pay these three thousand francs in a few days I shall be turned into +the street. To tell the truth, I shall soon have a thousand francs, but +those who owe it to me are not in Paris, or will pay in January. Behold +my situation! I am desperate because there is no one to whom I can +apply; those whom I have asked for money have not listened to me; I +have told you that I have no relatives, and neither have I any +friends--perhaps because I am not amiable. And then I thought of you. +You know me. You know that people say I have a future before me. At the +end of three months I shall be a doctor in the hospitals; my competitors +admit that I shall not miss admission; I have undertaken some +experiments that will, perhaps, give me fame. Will you give me your +hand?" + +Glady extended it toward him. "I thank you for having applied to me; it +is a proof of confidence that touches me." He pressed the hand that he +had taken with some warmth. "I see that you have divined the sentiments +of esteem with which you have inspired me." + +Saniel drew a long breath. + +"Unfortunately," continued Glady, "I cannot do what you desire without +deviating from my usual line of conduct. When I started out in life I +lent to all those who appealed to me, and when I did not lose my friends +I lost my money. I then took an oath to refuse every one. It is an oath +that I cannot break. What would my old friends say if they learned that +I did for a young man what I have refused to do for them?" + +"Who would know it?" + +"My conscience." + +They had reached the Quai Voltaire, where fiacres were stationed. + +"At last here are some cabs," Glady said. "Pardon me for leaving you, +but I am in a hurry." + + + + +CHAPTER III. A LAST RESORT + +Gady entered the cab so quickly that Saniel remained staring at the +sidewalk, slightly dazed. It was only when the door closed that he +understood. + +"His conscience!" he murmured. "Behold them! Tartufes!" + +After a moment of hesitation, he continued his way and reached the +bridge of Saints-Peres, but he walked with doubtful steps, like a man +who does not know where he is going. Presently he stopped, and, leaning +his arms on the parapet, watched the sombre, rapidly flowing Seine, its +small waves fringed with white foam. The rain had ceased, but the wind +blew in squalls, roughening the surface of the river and making the +red and green lights of the omnibus boats sway in the darkness. The +passers-by came and went, and more than one examined him from the corner +of the eye, wondering what this tall man was doing there, and if he +intended to throw himself into the water. + +And why not? What better could he do? + +And this was what Saniel said to himself while watching the flowing +water. One plunge, and he would end the fierce battle in which he had so +madly engaged for four years, and which would in the end drive him mad. + +It was not the first time that this idea of ending everything had +tempted him, and he only warded it off by constantly inventing +combinations which it seemed to him at the moment might save him. Why +yield to such a temptation before trying everything? And this was how he +happened to appeal to Glady. But he knew him, and knew that his avarice, +about which every one joked, had a certain reason for its existence. +However, he said to himself that if the landed proprietor obstinately +refused a friendly loan, which would only pay the debts of youth, +the poet would willingly fill the role of Providence and save from +shipwreck, without risking anything, a man with a future, who, later, +would pay him back. It was with this hope that he risked a refusal. +The landed proprietor replied; the poet was silent. And now there was +nothing to expect from any one. Glady was his last resort. + +In explaining his situation to Glady he lightened the misery instead of +exaggerating it. For it was not only his upholsterer that he owed, but +also his tailor, his bootmaker, his coal-dealer, his concierge, and +all those with whom he had dealings. In reality, his creditors had not +harassed him very much until lately, but this state of affairs would +not last when they saw him prosecuted; they also would sue him, and how +could he defend himself? How should he live? His only resource would be +to return to the Hotel du Senat, where even they would not leave him in +peace, or to his native town and become a country doctor. In either case +it was renouncing all his ambitions. Would it not be better to die? + +What good was life if his dreams were not realized--if he had nothing +that he wanted? + +Like many who frequently come in contact with death, life in itself +was a small thing to him--his own life as well as that of others; with +Hamlet he said: "To die, to sleep, no more," but without adding: "To +die, to sleep, perchance to dream," feeling certain that the dead do not +dream; and what is better than sleep to those who have had a hard life? + +He was absorbed in thought when something came between him and the +flaring gaslight, and threw a shadow over him that made him straighten +himself up. What was it? Only a policeman, who came and leaned against +the parapet near him. + +He understood. His attitude was that of a man who contemplates throwing +himself into the river, and the policeman had placed himself there in +order to prevent it. + +"Thanks!" he said to the astonished man. + +He continued his way, walking quickly, but hearing distinctly the steps +of the policeman following him, who evidently took him for a madman who +must be watched. + +When he left the bridge of Saints-Peres for the Place du Carrousel this +surveillance ceased, and he could then indulge freely in reflection--at +least as freely as his trouble and discouragement permitted. + +"The weak kill themselves; the strong fight to their last breath." + +And, low as he was, he was not yet at his last breath. + +When he decided to appeal to Glady he had hesitated between him and a +usurer named Caffie, whom he did not know personally, but whom he had +heard spoken of as a rascal who was interested in all sorts of +affairs, preferring the bad to the good--of successions, marriages, +interdictions, extortions; and if he had not been to him it was for fear +of being refused, as much as from the dread of putting himself in such +hands in case of meeting with compliance. But these scruples and these +fears were useless now; since Glady failed him, cost what it might and +happen what would, he must go to this scamp for assistance. + +He knew that Caffie lived in the Rue Sainte-Anne, but he did not know +the number. He had only to go to one of his patients, a wine-merchant +in the Rue Therese, to find his address in the directory. It was but +a step, and he decided to run the risk; there was need of haste. +Discouraged by all the applications that he had made up to this time, +disheartened by betrayed hopes, irritated by rebuffs, he did not deceive +himself as to the chances of this last attempt, but at least he would +try it, slight though the hope of success might be. + +It was an old house where Caffie lived, and had been formerly a private +hotel; it was composed of two wings, one on the street, the other on an +inside court. A porte cochere gave access to this court, and under its +roof, near the staircase, was the concierge's lodge. Saniel knocked at +the door in vain; it was locked and would not open. He waited several +minutes, and in his nervous impatience walked restlessly up and down the +court. At last an old woman appeared carrying a small wax taper. She was +feeble and bent, and began to excuse herself; she was alone and could +not be everywhere at the same time, in her lodge and lighting the lamps +on the stairways. Caffie lived on the first floor, in the wing on the +street. + +Saniel mounted the stairs and rang the bell. A long time passed, or +at least it seemed long to him, before there was an answer. At last he +heard a slow and heavy step on the tiled floor and the door was opened, +but held by a hand and a foot. + +"What do you wish?" + +"Monsieur Caffie." + +"I am he. Who are you?" + +"Doctor Saniel." + +"I have not sent for a doctor." + +"It is not as doctor that I am here, but as client." + +"This is not the hour when I receive clients." + +"But you are at home." + +"That is a fact!" + +And Caffie, concluding to open the door, asked Saniel to enter, and then +closed it. + +"Come into my office." + +They were in a small room filled with papers that had only an old desk +and three chairs for furniture; it communicated with the office of the +business man, which was larger, but furnished with the same simplicity +and strewn with scraps of paper that had a mouldy smell. + +"My clerk is ill just now," Caffie said, "and when I am alone I do not +like to open the door." + +After giving this excuse he offered Saniel a chair, and, seating himself +before his desk, lighted by a lamp from which he had taken the shade, he +said: + +"Doctor, I am ready to listen to you." + +He replaced the shade on the lamp. + +Saniel made his request concisely, without the details that he +had entered into with Glady. He owed three thousand francs to the +upholsterer who had furnished his apartment, and as he could not pay +immediately he was in danger of being prosecuted. + +"Who is the upholsterer?" Caffie asked, while holding his left jaw with +his right hand. + +"Jardine, Boulevard Haussmann." + +"I know him. It is his trade to take back his furniture in this way, +after three quarters of the sum has been paid, and he has become rich at +it. How much money have you already paid of this ten thousand francs?" + +"Including the interest and what I have paid in instalments, nearly +twelve thousand francs." + +"And you still owe three thousand?" + +"Yes." + +"That is nice." + +Caffie seemed full of admiration for this manner of proceeding. + +"What guarantee have you to offer for this loan of three thousand +francs?" + +"No other than my present position, I confess, and above all, my +future." + +At Caffie's request he explained his plans and prospects for the future, +while the business man, with his cheek resting on his hand, listened, +and from time to time breathed a stifled sigh, a sort of groan. + +"Hum! hum!" he said when Saniel finished his explanation. "You know, my +dear friend, you know: + + To fools alone the future's smile unchangeable appears, + For Friday's laughter Sunday's sun may change to bitter tears." + +"It is Sunday with you, my dear sir." + +"But I am not at the end of my life nor at the end of my energy, and I +assure you that my energy makes me capable of many things." + +"I do not doubt it; I know what energy can do. Tell a Greek who is dying +of hunger to go to heaven and he will go + + Graeculus esuriens in coelum, jusseris, ibit." + +"But I do not see that you have started for heaven." + +A smile of derision, accompanied by a grimace, crossed Caffies face. +Before becoming the usurer of the Rue Sainte-Anne, whom every one called +a rascal, he had been attorney in the country, deputy judge, and if +unmerited evils had obliged him to resign and to hide the unpleasant +circumstances in Paris, he never lost an opportunity to prove that by +education he was far above his present position. Finding this new client +a man of learning, he was glad to make quotations that he thought would +make him worthy of consideration. + +"It is, perhaps, because I am not Greek," Saniel replied; "but I am an +Auvergnat, and the men of my country have great physical strength." + +Caffie shook his head. + +"My dear sir," he said, "I might as well tell you frankly that I do not +believe the thing can be done. I would do it myself willingly, because +I read intelligence in your face, and resolution in your whole person, +which inspire me with confidence in you; but I have no money to put into +such speculations. I can only be, as usual, a go-between--that is to +say, I can propose the loan to one of my clients, but I do not know one +who would be contented with the guarantee of a future that is more +or less uncertain. There are so many doctors in Paris who are in your +position." + +Saniel rose. + +"Are you going?" cried Caffie. + +"But--" + +"Sit down, my dear sir! It is no use to throw the handle after the axe. +You make me a proposition, and I show you the difficulties in the way, +but I do not say there is no way to extricate you from embarrassment. I +must look around. I have known you only a few minutes; but it does not +take long to appreciate a man like you, and, frankly, you inspire me +with great interest." + +What did he wish? Saniel was not simple enough to be caught by words, +nor was he a fop who accepts with gaping mouth all the compliments +addressed to him. Why did he inspire a sudden interest in this man who +had the reputation of pushing business matters to extremes? He would +find out. In the mean time he would be on his guard. + +"I thank you for your sympathy," he said. + +"I shall prove to you that it is real, and that it may become useful. +You come to me because you want three thousand francs. I hope I may find +them for you, and I promise to try, though it will be difficult, very +difficult. They will make you secure for the present. But will they +assure your future? that is, will they permit you to continue the +important works of which you have spoken to me, and on which your future +depends? No. Your struggles will soon begin again. And you must shake +yourself clear from such cares in order to secure for yourself the +liberty that is indispensable if you wish to advance rapidly. And to +obtain this freedom from cares and this liberty, I see only one way--you +must marry." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. 'TWIXT THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP SEA + +Saniel, who was on his guard and expected some sort of roguery from this +man, had not foreseen that these expressions of interest were leading up +to a proposal of marriage, and an exclamation of surprise escaped +him. But it was lost in the sound of the door-bell, which rang at that +moment. + +Caffie rose. "How disagreeable it is not to have a clerk!" he said. + +He went to open the door with an eagerness that he had not shown to +Saniel, which proved that he had no fear of admitting people when he was +not alone. + +It was a clerk from the bank. + +"You will permit me," Caffie said, on returning to his office. "It will +take but an instant." + +The clerk took a paper from his portfolio and handed it to Caffie. + +Caffie drew a key from the pocket of his vest, with which he opened the +iron safe placed behind his desk, and turning his back to Saniel and the +clerk counted the bills which they heard rustle in his hands. Presently +he rose, and closing the door of the safe he placed under the lamp the +package of bills that he had counted. The clerk then counted them, and +placing them in his portfolio took his leave. + +"Close the door when you go out," Caffie said, who was already seated in +his arm-chair. + +"Do not be afraid." + +When the clerk was gone Caffie apologized for the interruption. + +"Let us continue our conversation, my dear sir. I told you that there is +only one way to relieve you permanently from embarrassment, and that +way you will find is in a good marriage, that will place 'hic et nunc' a +reasonable sum at your disposal." + +"But it would be folly for me to marry now, when I have no position to +offer a wife." + +"And your future, of which you have just spoken with so much assurance, +have you no faith in that?" + +"An absolute faith--as firm to-day as when I first began the battle of +life, only brighter. However, as others have not the same reasons that +I have to hope and believe what I hope and believe, it is quite +natural that they should feel doubts of my future. You felt it yourself +instantly in not finding it a good guarantee for the small loan of three +thousand francs." + +"A loan and marriage are not the same thing. A loan relieves you +temporarily, and leaves you in a state to contract several others +successively, which, you must acknowledge, weakens the guarantee that +you offer. While a marriage instantly opens to you the road that your +ambition wishes to travel." + +"I have never thought of marriage." + +"If you should think of it?" + +"There must be a woman first of all." + +"If I should propose one, what would you say?" + +"But--" + +"You are surprised?" + +"I confess that I am." + +"My dear sir, I am the friend of my clients, and for many of them--I +dare to say it--a father. And having much affection for a young woman, +and for the daughter of one of my friends, while listening to you I +thought that one or the other might be the woman you need. Both have +fortunes, and both possess physical attractions that a handsome man +like yourself has a right to demand. And for the rest, I have their +photographs, and you may see for yourself what they are." + +He opened a drawer in his desk, and took from it a package of +photographs. As he turned them over Saniel saw that they were all +portraits of women. Presently he selected two and handed them to Saniel. + +One represented a woman from thirty-eight to forty years, corpulent, +robust, covered with horrible cheap jewelry that she had evidently put +on for the purpose of being photographed. The other was a young girl +of about twenty years, pretty, simply and elegantly dressed, whose +distinguished and reserved physiognomy was a strong contrast to the +first portrait. + +While Saniel looked at these pictures Caffie studied him, trying to +discover the effect they produced. + +"Now that you have seen them," he said, "let us talk of them a little. +If you knew me better, my dear sir, you would know that I am frankness +itself, and in business my principle is to tell everything, the good and +the bad, so that my clients are responsible for the decisions they make. +In reality, there is nothing bad about these two persons, because, +if there were, I would not propose them to you. But there are certain +things that my delicacy compels me to point out to you, which I do +frankly, feeling certain that a man like you is not the slave of narrow +prejudices." + +An expression of pain passed over his face, and he clasped his jaw with +both hands. + +"You suffer?" Saniel asked. + +"Yes, from my teeth, cruelly. Pardon me that I show it; I know by +myself that nothing is more annoying than the sight of the sufferings of +others." + +"At least not to doctors." + +"Never mind; we will return to my clients. This one"--and he touched the +portrait of the bejewelled woman--"is, as you have divined already, a +widow, a very amiable widow. Perhaps she is a little older than you are, +but that is nothing. Your experience must have taught you that the man +who wishes to be loved, tenderly loved, pampered, caressed, spoiled, +should marry a woman older than himself, who will treat him as a husband +and as a son. Her first husband was a careful merchant, who, had he +lived, would have made a large fortune in the butcher business"--he +mumbled this word instead of pronouncing it clearly--"but although he +died just at the time when his affairs were beginning to develop, he +left twenty thousand pounds' income to his wife. As I have told you what +is good, I must tell you what is to be regretted. Carried away by gay +companions, this intelligent man became addicted to intemperance, and +from drinking at saloons she soon took to drinking at home, and his wife +drank with him. I have every reason to believe that she has reformed; +but, if it is otherwise, you, a doctor, can easily cure her--" + +"You believe it?" + +"Without doubt. However, if it is impossible, you need only let her +alone, and her vice will soon carry her off; and, as the contract will +be made according to my wishes in view of such an event, you will find +yourself invested with a fortune and unencumbered with a wife." + +"And the other?" Saniel said, who had listened silently to this curious +explanation of the situation that Caffie made with the most perfect +good-nature. So grave were the circumstances that he could not help +being amused at this diplomacy. + +"I expected your demand," replied the agent with a shrewd smile. "And if +I spoke of this amiable widow it was rather to acquit my conscience than +with any hope of succeeding. However free from prejudices one may be, +one always retains a few. I understand yours, and more than that, I +share them. Happily, what I am now about to tell you is something quite +different. Take her photograph, my dear sir, and look at it while I +talk. A charming face, is it not? She has been finely educated at a +fashionable convent. In a word, a pearl, that you shall wear. And now I +must tell you the flaw, for there is one. Who is blameless? The daughter +of one of our leading actresses, after leaving the convent she returned +to live with her mother. It was there, in this environment-ahem! +ahem!--that an accident happened to her. To be brief, she has a sweet +little child that the father would have recognized assuredly, had he not +been already married. But at least he has provided for its future by +an endowment of two hundred thousand francs, in such a way that whoever +marries the mother and legitimizes the child will enjoy the interest of +this sum until the child's majority. If that ever arrives--these little +creatures are so fragile! You being a physician, you know more about +that than any one. In case of an accident the father will inherit half +the money from his son; and if it seems cruel for an own father to +inherit from his own son, it is quite a different thing when it is a +stranger who receives the fortune. This is all, my dear sir, plainly and +frankly, and I will not do you the injury to suppose that you do not see +the advantages of what I have said to you without need of my insisting +further. If I have not explained clearly--" + +"But nothing is more clear." + +"--it is the fault of this pain that paralyzes me." + +And he groaned while holding his jaw. + +"You have a troublesome tooth?" Saniel said, with the tone of a +physician who questions a patient. + +"All my teeth trouble me. To tell the truth, they are all going to +pieces." + +"Have you consulted a doctor?" + +"Neither a doctor nor a dentist. I have faith in medicine, of course; +but when I consult doctors, which seldom happens, I notice that they +think much more of their own affairs than of what I am saying, and that +keeps me away from them. But, my dear sir, when a client consults me, I +put myself in his place." + +While he spoke, Saniel examined him, which he had not done until this +moment, and he saw the characteristic signs of rapid consumption. His +clothes hung on him as if made for a man twice his size, and his face +was red and shining, as if he were covered with a coating of cherry +jelly. + +"Will you show me your teeth?" he asked. "It may be possible to relieve +your sufferings." + +"Do you think so?" + +The examination did not last long. + +"Your mouth is often dry, is it not?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +"You are often thirsty?" + +"Always." + +"Do you sleep well?" + +"No." + +"Your sight troubles you?" + +"Yes." + +"Have you a good appetite?" + +"Yes, I eat heartily; and the more I eat the thinner I become. I am +turning into a skeleton." + +"I see that you have scars from boils on the back of your neck." + +"They made me suffer enough, the rascals; but they are gone as they +came. Hang it, one is no longer young at seventy-two years; one has +small vexations. They are small vexations, are they not?" + +"Certainly. With some precautions and a diet that I shall prescribe, if +you wish, you will soon be better. I will give you a prescription that +will relieve your toothache." + +"We will talk of this again, because we shall have occasion to meet if, +as I presume, you appreciate the advantages of the proposition that I +have made you." + +"I must have time to reflect." + +"Nothing is more reasonable. There is no hurry." + +"But I am in a hurry because, if I do not pay Jardine, I shall find +myself in the street, which would not be a position to offer to a wife." + +"In the street? Oh, things will not come to such a pass as that! What +are the prosecutions?" + +"They will soon begin; Jardine has already threatened me." + +"They are going to begin? Then they have not begun. If he does, as we +presume he will, proceed by a replevin, we shall have sufficient time +before the judgment. Do you owe anything to your landlord?" + +"The lease expired on the fifteenth." + +"Do not pay it." + +"That is easy; it is the only thing that is easy for me to do." + +"It is an obstacle in the way of your Jardine, and may stop him a +moment. We can manage this way more easily. The important thing is to +warn me as soon as the fire begins. 'Au revoir', my dear Sir." + + + + +CHAPTER V. A CHARMING VISITOR + +Although Saniel had had no experience in business, he was not simple +enough not to know that in refusing him this loan Caffie meant to make +use of him. + +"It is very simple," he said to himself, as he went downstairs. "He +undertakes to manage my affairs, and in such a way that some day I shall +have to save myself by marrying that charming girl. What a scoundrel!" + +However, the situation was such that he was glad to avail himself of the +assistance of this scoundrel. At least, some time was gained, and when +Jardine found that he was not disposed to let himself be slaughtered, he +might accept a reasonable arrangement. But he must manage so that Caffie +would not prevent this arrangement. + +Unfortunately, he felt himself hardly capable of such manoeuvring, +having been always straightforward, his eyes fixed on the end he wished +to attain, and thinking only of the work through which he would attain +it. And now he must act the part of a diplomat, submitting to craftiness +and rogueries that were not at all in accord with his open nature. +He had begun by not telling Caffie, instantly, what he thought of his +propositions; but it is more difficult to act than to control one's +self, to speak than to be silent. + +What would he say, what would he do, when the time for action came? + +He reached his house without having decided anything, and as he passed +before the concierge's lodge absorbed in thought, he heard some one call +him. + +"Doctor, come in a moment, I beg of you." + +He thought some one wished to consult him, some countryman who had +waited for his return; and, although he did not feel like listening +patiently to idle complainings, he turned back and entered the lodge. + +"Some one brought this," the concierge said, handing him a paper that +was stamped and covered with a running handwriting. "This" was the +beginning of the fire of which Caffie had spoken. Without reading it, +Saniel put it in his pocket and turned to go; but the concierge detained +him. + +"I would like to say two words to 'monchieur le docteur' about this +paper." + +"Have you read it?" + +"No, but I talked with the officer who gave it to me, and he told me +what it meant. It is unfortunate, doctor." + +To be pitied by his concierge! This was too much. + +"It is not as he told you," he replied, haughtily. + +"So much the better. I am glad for you and for me. You can pay my little +bill." + +"Give it to me." + +"I have given it to you twice already, but I have a copy. Here it is." + +To be sued by a creditor paralyzed Saniel; he was stunned, crushed, +humiliated, and could only answer stupidly. Taking the bill that the +concierge handed him, he put it in his pocket and stammered a few words. + +"You see, doctor, I must say what has been in my heart a long time. You +are my countryman, and I esteem you too much not to speak. In taking +your apartment and engaging your upholsterer, you did too much. You ruin +yourself. Give up your apartment, and take the one opposite that costs +less than half, and you will get on. You will not be obliged to leave +this quarter. What will become of our neighbors if you leave us? You are +a good doctor; everybody knows it and says so. And now, as for my bill, +it is understood that I shall be paid first, shall I not?" + +"As soon as I have the money I will pay you." + +"It is a promise?" + +"I promise you." + +"Thank you very much." + +"If it could be to-morrow, it would suit me. I am not rich, you know, +but I have always paid the gas-bill for your experiments." + +With the paper in his pocket, Saniel returned to Caffie, who was just +going out, and to whom he gave it. + +"I will see about it this, evening," said the man of business. "Just +now I am going to dinner. Do not worry. To-morrow I will do what is +necessary. Good-evening. I am dying of hunger." + +But three days before, Saniel emptied his purse to soothe his +upholsterer by an instalment as large as he was able to make it, keeping +only five francs for himself, and with the few sous left he could not +go to a restaurant, not even the lowest and cheapest. He could only +buy some bread for his supper, and eat it while working, as he had often +done before. + +But when he returned to his rooms he was not in a state of mind to write +an article that must be delivered that evening. Among other things that +he had undertaken was one, and not the least fastidious, which consisted +in giving, by correspondence, advice to the subscribers of a fashion +magazine, or, more exactly speaking, to recommend, in the form of +medical advice, all the cosmetics, depilatories, elixirs, dyes, +essences, oils, creams, soaps, pomades, toothpowders, rouges, and also +all the chemists' specialties, to which their inventors wished to give +an authority that the public, which believes itself acute, refused to +the simple advertisement on the last page. With his ambition and the +career before him, he would never have consented to carry on this +correspondence under his own name. He did it for a neighboring doctor, +a simple man, who was not so cautious, and who signed his name to these +letters, glad to get clients from any quarter. For his trouble, Saniel +took this doctor's place during Sunday in summer, and from time to time +received a box of perfumery or quack medicines, which he sold at a low +price when occasion offered. + +Every week he received the list of cosmetics and specialties that he +must make use of in his correspondence, no matter how he recommended +them, whether in answer to letters that were really addressed to him, or +by inventing questions that gave him the opportunity to introduce them. + +He began to consult this list and the pile of letters from subscribers +that the magazine had sent him, when the doorbell rang. Perhaps it was +a patient, the good patient whom he had expected for four years. He left +his desk to open the door. + +It was his coal man, who came with his bill. + +"I will stop some day when I am near you," Saniel said. "I am in a hurry +this evening." + +"And I am in a hurry, too; I must pay a large bill tomorrow, and I count +upon having some money from you." + +"I have no money here." + +After a long talk he got rid of the man and returned to his desk. He had +answered but a few of the many letters when his bell rang again. This +time he would not open the door; it was a creditor, without doubt. And +he continued his correspondence. + +But for four years he had waited for chance to draw him a good ticket +in the lottery of life--a rich patient afflicted with a cyst or a tumor +that he would take to a fashionable surgeon, who would divide with +him the ten or fifteen thousand francs that he would receive for the +operation. In that case he would be saved. + +He ran to the door. The patient with the cyst presented himself in the +form of a small bearded man with a red face, wearing over his vest the +wine-merchant's apron of coarse black cloth. In fact, it was the wine +merchant from the corner, who, having heard of the officer's visit, came +to ask for the payment of his bill for furnishing wine for three months. + +A scene similar to that which he had had with the coal merchant, but +more violent, took place, and it was only by threatening to put him out +of the door that Saniel got rid of the man, who went away declaring that +he would come the next morning with an officer. + +Saniel returned to his work. + +His pen flew over the paper, when a noise made him raise his head. +Either he had not closed the door tightly, or his servant was entering +with his key. What did he want? He did not employ him all day, but only +during his office hours, to put his rooms in order and to open the door +for his clients. + +As Saniel rose to go and see who it was, there was a knock at the door. +It was his servant, with a blank and embarrassed air. + +"What is the matter, Joseph?" + +"I thought I should find you, sir, so I came." + +"Why?" + +Joseph hesitated; then, taking courage, he said volubly, while lowering +his eyes: + +"I came to ask, sir, if you will pay me my month, which expired on the +fifteenth, because there is need of money at my house; if there was not +need of money I would not have come. If you wish, sir, I will release +you--" + +"How?" + +"I will take the coat that you made me order a month ago; I am quite +sure it is not worth what is due me, but it is always so." + +"Take the coat." + +Joseph took the coat from the wardrobe in the hall, and rolled it in a +newspaper. + +"Of course you will not expect me in the morning," he said, as he put +his key on the table. "I must look out for another place." + +"Very well, I shall not expect you." + +"Good-evening, sir." + +And Joseph hurried away as quickly as possible. + +Left alone, Saniel did not return to his work immediately, but throwing +himself in an armchair he cast a melancholy glance around his office and +through the open door into the parlor. In the faint light of the candle +he saw the large armchairs methodically placed each side of the chimney, +the curtains at the windows lost in shadow, and all the furniture +which for four years had cost him so many efforts. He had long been the +prisoner of this Louis XIV camlet, and he was now going to be executed. +A beautiful affair, truly, brilliant and able! All this had been used +only by the poor Auvergnats, without Saniel enjoying it at all, for +he had neither the bourgeois taste for ornaments nor the desire for +elegance. A movement of anger and revolt against himself made him strike +his desk with his fist. What a fool he had been! + +The bell rang again. This time, not expecting a rich patient, he would +not open it. After a moment a slight tap was heard on the panel. He rose +quickly and ran to open the door. + +A woman threw herself into his arms. + +"O my dearest! I am so glad to find you at home!" + + + + +CHAPTER VI. A SWEET CONSOLER + +She passed her arm about him and pressed him to her, and with arms +entwined they entered the study. + +"How glad I am!" she said. "What a good idea I had!" + +With a quick movement she took off her long gray cloak that enveloped +her from head to foot. + +"And are you glad?" she asked, as she stood looking at him. + +"Can you ask that?" + +"Only to hear you say that you are." + +"Are you not my only joy, the sweet lamp that gives me light in the +cavern where I work day and night?" + +"Dear Victor!" + +She was a tall, slender young woman with chestnut hair, whose thick +curls clustering about her forehead almost touched her eyebrows. Her +beautiful eyes were dark, her nose short, while her superb teeth and +rich, ruby-colored lips gave her the effect of a pretty doll; and she +had gayety, playful vivacity, gracious effrontery, and a passionate +caressing glance. Dressed extravagantly, like the Parisian woman who +has not a sou, but who adorns everything she wears, she had an ease, +a freedom, a natural elegance that was charming. With this she had the +voice of a child, a joyous laugh, and an expression of sensibility on +her fresh face. + +"I have come to dine with you," she said, gayly, "and I am so hungry." + +He made a gesture that was not lost upon her. + +"Do I disturb you?" she asked, uneasily. + +"Not at all." + +"Must you go out?" + +"No." + +"Then why did you make a gesture that showed indifference, or, at least, +embarrassment?" + +"You are mistaken, my little Phillis." + +"With any one else I might be mistaken, but with you it is impossible. +You know that between us words are not necessary; that I read in your +eyes what you would say, in your face what you think and feel. Is it not +always so when one loves--as I love you?" + +He took her in his arms and kissed her long and tenderly. Then going +to a chair on which he had thrown his coat, he drew from the pocket the +bread that he had bought. + +"This is my dinner," he said, showing the bread. + +"Oh! I must scold you. Work is making you lose your head. Can you not +take time to eat?" + +He smiled sadly. + +"It is not time that I want." + +He fumbled in his pocket and brought out three big sous. + +"I cannot dine at a restaurant with six sous." + +She threw herself in his arms. + +"O dearest, forgive me!" she cried. "Poor, dear martyr! Dear, great man! +It is I who accuse you, when I ought to embrace your knees. And you do +not scold me; a sad smile is your only reply. And it is really so bad as +that! Nothing to eat!" + +"Bread is very good eating. If I might be assured that I shall always +have some!" + +"Well, to-day you shall have something more and better. This morning, +seeing the storm, an idea came to me associated with you. It is quite +natural, since you are always in my heart and in my thoughts. I told +mamma that if the storm continued I would dine at the pension. You can +imagine with what joy I listened to the wind all day, and watched the +rain and leaves falling, and the dead branches waving in the whirlwind. +Thank God, the weather was bad enough for mamma to believe me safe at +the pension; and here I am. But we must not fast. I shall go and buy +something to eat, and we will play at making dinner by the fire, which +will be far more amusing than going to a restaurant." + +She put on her cloak quickly. + +"Set the table while I make my purchases." + +"I have my article to finish that will be sent for at eight o'clock. +Just think, I have three tonics to recommend, four preparations of iron, +a dye, two capillary lotions, an opiate, and I don't know how many soaps +and powders. What a business!" + +"Very well, then, do not trouble yourself about the table; we will set +it together when you have finished, and that will be much more amusing." + +"You take everything in good part." + +"Is it better to look on the dark side? I shall soon return." + +She went to the door. + +"Do not be extravagant," he said. + +"There is no danger," she replied, striking her pocket. + +Then, returning to him, she embraced him passionately. + +"Work!" + +And she ran out. + +They had loved each other for two years. At the time they met, Saniel +was giving a course of lectures on anatomy at a young ladies' school +just outside of Paris, and every time he went out there he saw a young +woman whom he could not help noticing. She came and went on the +same trains that he did, and gave lessons in a rival school. As she +frequently carried under her arm a large cartoon, and sometimes a +plaster cast, he concluded that she gave lessons in drawing. At first +he paid no attention to her. What was she to him? He had more important +things in his head than women. But little by little, and because she was +reserved and discreet, he was struck by the vivacity and gayety of her +expression. He really enjoyed looking at this pretty and pleasing young +woman. However, his looks said nothing; if their eyes smiled when they +met, that was all; they did not make each other's acquaintance. When +they left the train they did not notice each other; if he took the left +side of the street, she took the other, and vice versa. This state +of things lasted several months without a word having been exchanged +between them; in due time they learned each other's names and +professions. She was a professor of drawing, as he supposed, the +daughter of an artist who had been dead several years, and was called +Mademoiselle Phillis Cormier. He was a physician for whom a brilliant +future was prophesied, a man of power, who would some day be famous; +and, very naturally, their attitude remained the same. There was no +particular reason why it should change. But accident made a reason. +One summer day, at the hour when they ordinarily took the train back +to Paris, the sky suddenly became overcast, and it was evident that +a violent storm was approaching. Saniel saw Phillis hurrying to the +station without an umbrella, and, as some friend had lent him one, he +decided to speak to her for the first time. + +"It seems as if the storm would overtake us before we reach the station. +As you have no umbrella, will you permit me to walk beside you, and to +shelter you with mine?" + +She replied with a smile, and they walked side by side until the rain +began to fall, when she drew nearer to him, and they entered the station +talking gayly. + +"Your umbrella is better than Virginia's skirt," she said. + +"And what is Virginia's skirt?" + +"Have you not read Paul and Virginia?" + +"No." + +She looked at him with a mocking smile, wondering what superior men +read. + +Not only had he not read Bernardin de Saint-Pierre's romance, nor any +others, but he had never been in love. He knew nothing of the affairs of +the heart nor of the imagination. Leisure must be had for light reading, +and even more for love, for they require a liberty of mind and an +independence of life that he had not. Where could he find time to read +novels? When and how could he pay attention to a woman? Those that he +had known since his arrival in Paris had not had the slightest influence +over him, and he retained only faint memories of them. On the contrary, +thinking of this walk in the rain, he remembered this young girl with a +vividness entirely new to him. She made a strong impression on him, and +it remained. He saw her again, with her smile that showed her brilliant +teeth, he heard the music of her voice, and the bare plain that he had +walked so many times now seemed the most beautiful country in the world +to him. Evidently there was a change in him; something was awakened in +his soul; for the first time he discovered that the hollow and muscular +conoid organ called the heart had a use besides for the circulation of +blood. + +What a surprise and what a disappointment! Was he going to be simpleton +enough to love this young girl and entangle his life, already so hard +and heavily weighted, with a woman? A fine thing, truly, and nature had +built him to play the lover! It is true that only those who wish it fall +in love, and he knew the power of will by experience. + +But he soon lost confidence in himself. Away from Phillis he could do as +he wished, but with her it was as she wished. With one look she mastered +him. He met her, furious at the influence she exercised over him, and +against which he had struggled since their last meeting; he left her, +ravished at feeling how profoundly he loved her. + +To a man whose life had been ruled by reason and logic until this +moment, these contradictions were exasperating; and he only excused +himself for submitting to them by saying that they could in no way +modify the line of conduct that he had traced out for himself, nor make +him deviate from the road that he followed. + +Rich, or even with a small fortune, he might--when he was with her and +in her power--let himself be carried away; but when he was dying of +hunger he was not going to commit the folly of taking a wife. What would +he have to give her? Misery, nothing but misery; and shame, in default +of any other reason, would forever prevent him from offering himself to +her. + +She was the daughter of an artist who, after years of struggle, died at +the moment when fortune was beginning to smile upon him. Ten years more +of work, and he would have left his family, if not rich, at least in +comfortable circumstances. In reality, he left nothing but ruin. +The hotel he built was sold, and, after the debts were paid, nothing +remained but some furniture. His widow, son, and daughter must work. The +widow, having no trade, took in sewing; the son left college to become +the clerk of a money-lender named Caffie; the daughter, who, happily +for her, had learned to draw and paint under her father's direction, +obtained pupils, and designed menacs for the stationers, and painted +silk fans and boxes. They lived with great economy, submitting to many +privations. The brother, weary of his monotonous existence and of the +exactions of his master, left them to try his fortunes in America. + +If Saniel ever married, which he doubted, certainly he would not marry a +woman situated as Phillis was. + +This reflection was reassuring, and he was more devoted to her. Why +should he not enjoy the delicious pleasure of seeing her and listening +to her? His life was neither gay nor happy; he felt perfectly sure of +himself, and, as he knew her now, he was also sure of her--a brave and +honest girl. Otherwise, how had she divined that he loved her? + +They continued to see each other with a pleasure that seemed equal on +both sides, meeting in the station, arranging to take the same trains, +and talking freely and gayly. + +Things went on this way until the approach of vacation, when they +decided to take a walk after their last lesson, instead of returning +immediately to Paris. + +When the day came the sun was very hot; they had walked some distance, +when Phillis expressed a wish to rest for a few minutes. They seated +themselves in a shady copse, and soon found themselves in each other's +arms. + +Since then Saniel had never spoken of marriage, and neither had Phillis. + +They loved each other. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. A LITTLE DINNER FOR TWO + +Saniel was still at work when Phillis returned. + +"You have not yet finished, dear?" + +"Give me time to cure, by correspondence, a malady that has not yielded +to the care of ten physicians, and I am yours." + +In three lines he finished the letter, and left his desk. + +"I am ready. What shall I do?" + +"Help me to take things out of my pockets." + +"Don't press too hard," she said as he took each parcel. + +At last the pockets were empty. + +"Where shall we dine?" she asked. + +"Here, as the dining-room is transformed into a laboratory." + +"Then let us begin by making a good fire. I wet my feet coming from the +station." + +"I do not know whether there is any wood." + +"Let us see." + +She took the candle and they passed into the kitchen, which, like the +dining-room, was a laboratory, a stable where Saniel kept in cages pigs +from India and rabbits for his experiments, and where Joseph heaped +pell-mell the things that were in his way, without paying any attention +to the stove in which there never had been a fire. But their search was +vain; there was everything in this kitchen except fire-wood. + +"Do you value these boxes?" she asked, caressing a little pig that she +had taken in her arms. + +"Not at all; they enclosed the perfumes and tonics, but they are useless +now." + +They returned to the office, Saniel carrying the boxes. + +"We will set the table here," she said, gayly, for Saniel told her +that the dining-room was uninviting, as it was a small bacteriological +laboratory. + +The table was set by Phillis, who went and came, walking about with a +gracefulness that Saniel admired. + +"You are doing nothing," she said. + +"I am watching you and thinking." + +"And the result of these thoughts?" + +"It is that you have a fund of good-humor and gayety, an exuberance of +life, that would enliven a man condemned to death." + +"And what would have become of us, I should like to know, if I had been +melancholy and discouraged when we lost my poor papa? He was joy itself, +singing all day long, laughing and joking. He brought me up, and I am +like him. Mamma, as you know, is melancholy and nervous, looking on the +dark side, and Florentin is like her. I obtained a place for Florentin, +I found work for mamma and for myself. We all took courage, and +gradually we became calm." + +She looked at him with a smile that said: + +"Will you let me do for you what I have done for others?" + +But she did not speak these words. On the contrary, she immediately +endeavored to destroy the impression which she believed her words had +made upon him. + +"Go and bring some water," she said, "and I will light the fire." + +When he returned, carrying a carafe, the fire blazed brightly, lighting +the whole room. Phillis was seated at the desk, writing. + +"What are you doing?" he asked in surprise. + +"I am writing our menu, for you know we are not going to sit down at the +table like the bourgeois. How do you like it?" + +She read it to him. + +"Sardines de Nantes." + +"Cuisse de dinde rotie." + +"Terrine de pate de foie gras aux truffes du Perigord." + +"But this is a feast." + +"Did you think that I would offer you a fricandeau au jus?" + +She continued: + +"Fromage de Brie." + +"Choux a la creme vanillge." + +"Pomme de Normandie." + +"Wine." + +"Ah! Voila! What wine? I do not wish to deceive you. Let us put, 'Wine +from the wine-seller at the corner.' And now we will sit down." + +As he was about to seat himself, she said: + +"You do not give me your arm to conduct me to the table. If we do not +do things seriously and methodically we shall not believe in them, and +perhaps the Perigord truffles will change into little black pieces of +anything else." + +When they were seated opposite to each other, she continued, jesting: + +"My dear doctor, did you go to the representation of Don Juan, on +Monday?" + +And Saniel, who, in spite of all, had kept a sober face, now laughed +loudly. + +"Charming!" she cried, clapping her hands. "No more preoccupation; +no more cares. Look into my eyes, dear Victor, and think only of the +present hour, of the joy of being together, of our love." + +She reached her hand over the table, and he pressed it in his. + +"Very well." The dinner continued gayly, Saniel replying to Phillis's +smiles, who would not permit the conversation to languish. She helped +him to each dish, poured out his wine, leaving her chair occasionally +to put a piece of wood on the fire, and such shoutings and laughter had +never been heard before in that office. + +However, she noticed that, little by little, Saniel's face, that relaxed +one moment, was the next clouded by the preoccupation and bitterness +that she had tried hard to chase away. She would make a new effort. + +"Does not this charming little dinner give you the wish to repeat it?" + +"How? Where?" + +"As I am able to come this evening without making mamma uneasy, I shall +find some excuse to come again next week." + +He shook his head. + +"Have you engagements for the whole of next week?" she asked with +uneasiness. + +"Where shall I be next week, to-morrow, in a few days?" + +"You alarm me. Explain, I beg of you. O Victor, have pity! Do not leave +me in suspense." + +"You are right; I ought to tell you everything, and not let your tender +heart torment itself, trying to explain my preoccupation." + +"If you have cares, do you not esteem me enough to let me share them +with you? You know that I love you; you only, to-day, to-morrow, +forever!" + +Saniel had not left her ignorant of the difficulties of his position, +but he had not entered into details, preferring to speak of his hopes +rather than of his present misery. + +The story that he had already told to Glady and Caffie he now told to +Phillis, adding what had passed with the concierge, the wine-seller, the +coal man, and Joseph. + +She listened, stupefied. + +"He took your coat?" she murmured. + +"That was what he came for." + +"And to-morrow?" + +"Ah! to-morrow--to-morrow!" + +"Working so hard as you have, how did you come to such a pass?" + +"Like you, I believed in the virtue of work, and look at me! Because I +felt within me a will that nothing could weaken, a strength that nothing +could fatigue, a courage that nothing could, dishearten, I imagined that +I was armed for battle in such a way that I should never be conquered, +and I am conquered, as much by the fault of circumstances as by my +own--" + +"And in what are you to blame, poor dear?" + +"For my ignorance of life, stupidity, presumption, and blindness. If +I had been less simple, should I have been taken in by Jardine's +propositions? Should I have accepted this furniture, this apartment? He +told me that the papers he made me sign were mere formalities, that in +reality I might pay when I could, and that he would be content with a +fair interest. That seemed reasonable, and, without inquiring further, +I accepted, happy and delighted to have a home, feeling sure of having +strength to bear this burden. To have confidence in one's self is +strength, but it is also weakness. Because you love me you do not know +me; you do not see me as I am. In reality, I am not sociable, and +I lack, absolutely, suppleness, delicacy, politeness, as much in my +character as in my manners. Being so, how can I obtain a large practice, +or succeed, unless it is by some stroke of luck? I have counted on the +luck, but its hour has not yet sounded. Because I lack suppleness I have +not been able to win the sympathy or interest of my masters. They see +only my reserve; and because I stay away from them, as much through +timidity as pride, they do not come to me--which is quite natural, +I admit. And because I have not yielded my ideas to the authority of +others, they have taken a dislike to me, which is still more natural. +Because I lack politeness, and am still an Auvergnat, heavy and awkward +as nature made me, men of the world disdain me, judging me by my +exterior, which they see and dislike. More wary, more sly, more +experienced, I should be, at least, sustained by friendship, but I have +given no thought to it. What good is it? I had no need of it, my force +was sufficient. I find it more easy to make myself feared than loved. +Thus formed, there are only two things for me to do: remain in my poor +room in the Hotel du Senat, living by giving lessons and by work from +the booksellers, until the examination and admission to the central +bureau; or to establish myself in an out-of-the-way quarter at +Belleville, Montrouge, or elsewhere, and there practise among people who +will demand neither politeness nor fine manners. As these two ways are +reasonable, I have made up my mind to neither. Belleville, because I +should work only with my legs, like one of my comrades whom I saw +work at Villette: 'Your tongue, good. Your arm, good.' And while he is +supposed to be feeling the pulse of the patient with one hand, with the +other he is writing his prescription: 'Vomitive, purgative, forty sous;' +and he hurries away, his diagnosis having taken less than five minutes; +he had no time to waste. I object to the Hotel du Senat because I have +had enough of it, and it was there that Jardine tempted me with his +proposals. See what he has brought me to!" + +"And now?" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. EXPLANATIONS + +At this moment, without warning, the candle on the table went out. + +Phillis rose. "Where are the candles?" she asked. + +"There are no more; this was the last." + +"Then we must brighten up the fire." + +She threw a small log on the hearth, and then, instead of resuming +her seat, she took a cushion from the sofa, and placing it before the +chimney, threw herself upon it, and leaned her elbow on Saniel's knee. + +"And now?" she repeated, her eyes raised to his. + +"Now I suppose the only thing for me to do is to return to Auvergne and +become a country doctor." + +"My God! is it possible?" she murmured in a tone that surprised Saniel. +If there was sadness in this cry, there was also a sentiment that he did +not understand. + +"On leaving the school I could continue to live at the Hotel du Senat, +and, while giving lessons, prepare my 'concours'; now, after having +reached a certain position, can I return to this life of poverty and +study? My creditors, who have fallen on me here, will harass me, and my +competitors will mock my misery--which is caused by my vices. They will +think that I dishonor the Faculty, and I shall be rebuffed. Neither +doctor of the hospitals nor fellow, I shall be reduced to nothing but a +doctor of the quarter. Of what use is it? The effort has been made here; +you see how it has succeeded." + +"Then you mean to go?" + +"Not without sorrow and despair, since it will be our separation, the +renouncement of all the hopes on which I have lived for ten years, the +abandonment of my work, death itself. You see now why, in spite of your +gayety, I have not been able to hide my preoccupation from you. The more +charming you were, the more I felt how dear you are, and the greater my +despair at the thought of separation." + +"Why should we separate?" + +"What do you mean?" + +She turned toward him. + +"To go with you. You must acknowledge that until this moment I have +never spoken to you of marriage, and never have I let the thought appear +that you might one day make me your wife. In your position, in the +struggle you have been through, a wife would have been a burden that +would have paralyzed you; above all, such a poor, miserable creature +as myself, with no dot but her misery and that of her family. But the +conditions are no longer the same. You are as miserable as I am, +and more desperate. In your own country, where you have only distant +relatives who are nothing to you, as they have not your education or +ideas, desires or habits, what will become of you all alone with your +158 disappointment and regrets? If you accept me, I will go with you; +together, and loving each other, we cannot be unhappy anywhere. When you +come home fatigued you will find me with a smile; when you stay at home +you will tell me your thoughts, and explain your work, and I will try to +understand. I have no fear of poverty, you know, and neither do I fear +solitude. Wherever we are together I shall be happy. All that I ask of +you is to take my mother with us, because you know I cannot leave her +alone. In attending her, you have learned to know her well enough +to know that she is not disagreeable or difficult to please. As for +Florentin, he will remain in Paris and work. His trip to America has +made him wise, and his ambition will now be easily satisfied; to earn +a small salary is all that he asks. Without doubt we shall be a burden, +but not so heavy as one might think at first. A woman, when she chooses, +brings order and economy into a house, and I promise you that I will be +that woman. And then I will work. I am sure my stationer will give me +as many menus when I am in Auvergne as he does now that I am in Paris. +I could, also, without doubt, procure other work. It would be a hundred +francs a month, perhaps a hundred and fifty, perhaps even two hundred. +While waiting for your patients to come, we could live on this money. In +Auvergne living must be cheap." + +She had taken his hands in hers, and she watched anxiously his face as +the firelight shone on it, to see the effect of her words. It was the +life of both of them that was to be decided, and the fulness of her +heart made her voice tremble. What would he reply? She saw that his face +was agitated, without being able to read more. + +As she remained silent, he took her head in his hands, and looked in her +face for several moments. + +"How you love me!" he said. + +"Let me prove it in some way besides in words." + +"It would be cowardly to let you share my misery." + +"It would be loving me enough to feel sure that I would be happy." + +"And I?" + +"Is not the love in your heart greater than pride? Do you not feel that +since I have loved you my love has filled all my life, and that there is +nothing in the world, in the present or in the future, but it and you? +Because I see you for several hours from time to time in Paris, I am +happy; whatever difficulties await us, I should be much happier in +Auvergne, because we should be together always." + +He remained silent for some time. + +"Could you love me there?" he murmured. + +Evidently it was more to himself than to her that he addressed this +question, which was the sum of his reflections. + +"O dear Victor!" she cried. "Why do you doubt me? Have I deserved it? +The past, the present, do they not assure the future?" + +He shook his head. + +"The man you have loved, whom you love, has never shown himself to you +as he really is. In spite of the trials and sorrows of his life he has +been able to answer your smile with a smile, because, cruel as his life +was, he was sustained by hope and confidence; in Auvergne there will be +no more hope or confidence, but the madness of a broken life, and the +dejection of impotence. What sort of man should I be? Could you love +such a man?" + +"A thousand times more, for he would be unhappy, and I should have to +comfort him." + +"Would you have the strength to do it? After a time you would become +weary, for the burden would be too heavy, however great your devotion +or profound your tenderness, to see my real position and my hopes, and, +descending into the future, to see my ruin. You know I am ambitious +without having ever compassed the scope of this ambition, and of the +hopes, dreams if you like, on which it rests. Understand that these +dreams are on the eve of being realized; two months more, and in +December or January I pass the 'concours' for the central bureau, which +will make me a physician of the hospitals, and at the same time the one +for the admission, which opens the Faculty of Medicine to me. Without +pride, I believe myself in a position to succeed--what sportsmen call +'in condition.' And just when I have only a few days to wait, behold me +ruined forever." + +"Why forever?" + +"A man leaves his village for Paris to make a name for himself, and he +returns only when bad luck or inability sends him back. And then it is +only every four years that there is a 'concours' for admission. In four +years what will be my moral and intellectual condition? How should I +support this exile of four years? Imagine the effect that four years of +isolation in the mountains will produce. But this is not all. Besides +this ostensible end that I have pursued since I left my village, I +have my special work that I can carry out only in Paris. Without having +overwhelmed you with the details of medicine, you know that it is about +to undergo a revolution that will transform it. Until now it has been +taught officially, in pathology, that the human organism carries within +itself the germ of a great many infectious diseases which develop +spontaneously in certain conditions; for instance, that tuberculosis +is the result of fatigue, privations, and physiological miseries. Well, +recently it has been admitted, that is to say, the revolutionists admit, +a parasitical origin for these diseases, and in France and Germany there +is an army looking for these parasites. I am a soldier in this army, +and to help me in these researches I established a laboratory in the +dining-room. It is to the parasites of tuberculosis and cancers that I +devote myself, and for seven years, that is, since I was house-surgeon, +my comrades have called me the cancer topic. I have discovered the +parasite of the tuberculosis, but I have not yet been able to free it +from all its impurities by the process of culture. I am still at it. +That is to say, I am very near it, and to-morrow, perhaps, or in a few +days, I may make a discovery that will be a revolution, and cover +its discoverer with glory. The same with the cancer. I have found its +microbe. But all is not done. See what I must give up in leaving Paris." + +"Why give all this up? Could you not continue your researches in +Auvergne?" + +"It is impossible, for many reasons that are too long to explain, but +one will suffice. The culture of these parasites can be done only in +certain temperatures rigorously maintained at the necessary degree, and +these temperatures can be obtained only by stoves, like the one in my +laboratory, fed by gas, the entrance of which is automatically regulated +by the temperature of the water. How could I use this stove in a country +where there is no gas? No, no! If I leave Paris, everything is at an end +my position, as well as my work. I shall become a country doctor, and +nothing but a country doctor. Let the sheriff turn me out to-morrow, +and all the four years' accumulations in my laboratory, all my works en +train that demand only a few days or hours to complete, may go to the +second-hand dealer, or be thrown into the street. Of all my +efforts, weary nights, privations, and hopes, there remains only one +souvenir--for me. And yet, if it did not remain, perhaps I should be +less exasperated, and should accept with a heart less sore the life to +which I shall never resign myself. You know very well that I am a rebel, +and do not submit tamely." + +She rose, and taking his hand, pressed it closely in her own. + +"You must stay in Paris," she said. "Pardon me for having insisted that +you could live in the country. I thought more of myself than of you, of +our love and our marriage. It was an egotistic thought, a bad thought. +A way must be found, no matter what it costs, to enable you to continue +your work." + +"But how to find it? Do you think I have not tried everything?" + +He related his visits to Jardine, his solicitations, prayers, and also +his request of a loan from Glady, and his visit to Caffie. + +"Caffie!" she cried. "What made you think of going to Caffie?" + +"I went partly because you had often spoken of him." + +"But I spoke of him to you as the most wicked of men, capable of +anything and everything that is bad." + +"And partly, also, because I knew from one of my patients that he lends +to those of whom he can make use." + +"What did he say to you?" + +"That it was probable he would not be able to find any one who would +lend what I wished, but he would try to find some one, and would give +me an answer tomorrow evening. He also promised to protect me from +Jardine." + +"You have put yourself in his hands?" + +"Well, what do you expect? In my position, I am not at liberty to go to +whom I wish and to those who inspire me with confidence in their honor. +If I should go to a notary or a banker they would not listen to me, +for I should be obliged to tell them, the first thing, that I have no +security to offer. That is how the unfortunate fall into the hands of +rascals; at least, these listen to them, and lend them something, small +though it may be." + +"What did he give you?" + +"Advice." + +"And you took it?" + +"There is time gained. To-morrow, perhaps, I shall be turned into the +street. Caffie will obtain a respite." + +"And what price will he ask for this service?" + +"It is only those who own something who worry about the price." + +"You have your name, dignity, and honor, and once you are in Caffies +hands, who knows what he may exact from you, what he may make you do, +without your being able to resist him?" + +"Then you wish me to leave Paris?" + +"Certainly not; but I wish you to be on your guard against Caffie, whom +you do not know, but I do, through what Florentin told us when he was +with him. However secret a man may be, he cannot hide himself from his +clerk. He is not only guilty of rascalities, but also of real crimes. I +assure you that he deserves ten deaths. To gain a hundred francs he will +do anything; he makes money only for the pleasure of making it, for he +has neither child nor relative." + +"Well, I promise to be on my guard as you advise. But, wicked as Caffie +may be, I believe that I shall accept the concours that he offered +me. Who knows what may happen in the short time that he gains for me? +Because I need not tell you that I know beforehand what his reply will +be to my request for a loan--he could find no one." + +"I shall come, all the same, to-morrow evening to learn his answer." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. CAFFIE'S ANSWER + +Although Saniel did not build any false hopes on Caffie's reply, he went +to see him the next afternoon at the same hour. + +As before, he waited some time after ringing the bell. At last he heard +a slow step within. + +"Who is there?" Caffie asked. + +As soon as Saniel answered, the door was opened. + +"As I do not like to be disturbed in the evening by troublesome people, +I do not always open the door," Caffie said. "But I have a signal for my +clients so that I may know them. After ringing, knock three times on the +door." + +During this explanation they entered Caffie's office. + +"Have you done anything about my affair?" Saniel asked, after a moment, +as Caffie seemed disinclined to open the conversation. + +"Yes, my dear sir. I have been running about all the morning for you. I +never neglect my clients; their affairs are mine." + +He paused. + +"Well?" Saniel said. + +Caffie put on an expression of despair. + +"What did I tell you, my dear sir? Do you remember? Do me the honor +to believe that a man of my experience does not speak lightly. What I +foresaw has come to pass. Everywhere I received the same reply. The risk +is too great; no one would take it." + +"Not even for a large interest?" + +"Not even for a large interest; there is so much competition in your +profession. As for me, I believe in your future, and I have proved it by +my proposition; but, unfortunately, I am only an intermediary, and not +the lender of money." + +Caffie emphasized the words, "my proposition," and underlined them with +a glance; but Saniel did not appear to understand. + +"And the upholsterer's summons?" he asked. + +"You may be easy on that point. I have attended to it. Your landlord, to +whom he owes rent, will interfere, and your creditor must indemnify him +before going farther. Will he submit? We shall see. If he does, we shall +defend ourselves on some other ground. I do not say victoriously, but in +a way to gain time." + +"How much time?" + +"That, my dear sir, I do not know; the whole thing depends upon our +adversary. But what do you mean by 'how much time?'--eternity?" + +"I mean until April." + +"That is eternity. Do you believe that you will be able to free yourself +in April? If you have expectations founded on something substantial, you +should tell me what they are, my dear sir." + +This question was put with such an air of benevolence, that Saniel was +taken in by it. + +"I have no guarantee," he said. "But, on the other hand, it is of the +utmost importance to me that I should have this length of time. As I +have explained to you, I am about to pass two examinations; they will +last three months, and in March, or, at the latest, in April, I shall be +a physician of the hospitals, and fellow of the Faculty. In that case +I should then offer a surface to the lenders, that would permit you, +without doubt, to find the sum necessary to pay Jardine, whatever +expenses there may be, and your fee." + +As he spoke, Saniel saw that he was wrong in thus committing himself, +but he continued to the end. + +"I should be unworthy of your confidence, my dear sir," Caffie replied, +"if I encouraged you with the idea that we could gain so much time. +Whatever it costs me--and it costs me much, I assure you--I must tell +you that it is impossible, radically impossible; a few days, yes, or a +few weeks, but that is all." + +"Well, obtain a few weeks," Saniel said, rising, "that will be +something." + +"And afterward?" + +"We shall see." + +"My dear sir, do not go. You would not believe how much I am touched by +your position; I think only of you. When I learned that I could not find +the sum you desire, I paid a friendly visit to my young client of whom I +spoke to you--" + +"The one who received a superior education in a fashionable convent?" + +"Exactly; and I asked her what she would think of a young doctor, full +of talent, future professor of the Faculty, actually considered already +a savant of the first order, handsome--because you are handsome, my dear +sir, and it is no flattery to say this--in good health, a peasant by +birth, who presented himself as a husband. She appeared flattered, I +tell you frankly. But immediately afterward she said, 'And the child?' +To which I replied that you were too good, too noble, too generous, not +to have the indulgence of superior men, who accept an involuntary fault +with serenity. Did I go too far?" + +He did not wait for an answer. + +"No?" he went on. "Exactly. The child was present, for the mother +watches over it with a solicitude that promises much for the future, and +I examined it leisurely. It is very delicate, my dear sir, and like its +father. The poor baby! I doubt if you, with all your skill, can make +it live. If it should die, as it is to be feared it will, it would not +injure your reputation. You can give it care, but not life." + +"Speaking of health," interrupted Saniel, who did not wish to reply, +"did you do what I advised about yourself?" + +"Not yet. The chemists of this quarter are only licensed cutthroats; but +I am going this evening to see one of my clients who is a chemist, and +he will deal honestly with me." + +"I will see you again, then." + +"When you wish, my dear sir; when you have reflected. You have the +password." + +Before leaving home Saniel gave his key to the concierge, so that on +her arrival Phillis might go immediately to his rooms. On his return +the concierge told him that "madame" was up-stairs, and when he rang the +bell, Phillis opened the door. + +"Well?" she asked in a trembling voice, before he had time to enter. + +"It is as I told you yesterday; he has found no one." + +She clasped him in a long, passionate embrace. + +"And the upholsterer?" + +"Caffie has promised to gain some time for me." + +While speaking, they entered the office. A fire burned on the hearth, +and an inviting dinner was on the table. Saniel looked at it in +surprise. + +"I have set the table, you see; I am going to dine with you." + +And throwing herself in his arms: + +"Knowing Caffie better than you do, I knew what his answer would be, and +I did not wish you to be alone on your return. I made an excuse for not +dining with mamma." + +"But this chicken?" + +"We must have a piece de resistance." + +"This fire, and these candles?" + +"There, that is the end of my economies. I should have been so happy if +they had been less miserable and more useful." + +As on the previous evening, they sat before the fire, and she began to +talk of various things in order to distract him. But what their lips +did not say, their eyes, on meeting, expressed with more intensity than +words could do. + +It was Saniel who suddenly betrayed his preoccupation. + +"Your brother studied Caffie well," he said, as if speaking to himself. + +"He did, indeed!" + +"He is certainly the most thorough rascal that I have ever met." + +"He proposed something infamous, I am sure." + +"He proposed that I should marry." + +"I suspected that." + +"This is the reason why he refuses to lend me the money. I was foolish +enough to tell him frankly just how I am situated, and how important +it is for me to be free until April. He hopes that I shall be so pushed +that I will accept one of the women whom he has proposed to me. With the +knife at my throat, I should have to yield." + +"And these women?" she asked, not daring to look at him. + +"Do not be alarmed, you have nothing to fear. One is the drunken widow +of a butcher, and the other is a young girl who has a baby." + +"He dares to propose such women to a man like you!" + +And Saniel repeated all that Caffie had said to him about these two +women. + +"What a monster he is!" Phillis said. + +"While he was telling me these things I thought of what you said--that +if some one killed him, it would be no more than he deserved." + +"That is perfectly true." + +"Nothing would have been easier than for me to have made away with him. +He had the toothache, and when he showed me his teeth I could easily +have strangled him. We were alone, and a miserable diabetic, such as he +is, who has not more than six months to live, I am sure, could not have +resisted a grasp like this. I could take his keys from his pocket, open +his safe, and take the thirty, forty, sixty thousand francs that I saw +heaped up there. The devil take me if it were ever discovered. A +doctor does not strangle his patients, he poisons them. He kills them +scientifically, not brutally." + +"People who have no conscience can do such things; but for us they are +impossible." + +"I assure you it is not conscience that would have restrained me." + +"The fear of remorse, if I may use an ugly word." + +"But intelligent persons have no remorse, my dear child, because they +reason before the deed, and not after. Before acting they weigh the pros +and cons, and know what the consequences of their actions will be to +others as well as to themselves. If this previous examination proves +to them that for some reason or other they may act, they will always be +calm, assured that they will feel no remorse, which is only the reproach +of conscience." + +"Without doubt what you say is to the point, but it is impossible for +me to accept it. If I have never committed crimes, I have often been +foolish and have committed faults, many of them deliberately, after the +examination of which you speak. I should have been, according to you, +perfectly placid and free from the reproach of conscience; however, the +next morning I woke unhappy, tormented, often overwhelmed, and unable to +stifle the mysterious voice that accused me." + +"And in whose name did it speak, this voice, more vague than +mysterious?" + +"In the name of my conscience, evidently." + +"'Evidently' is too much, and you would be puzzled if called upon +to demonstrate this evidence; whereas, nothing is more uncertain and +elusive than the thing that is called conscience, which is in reality +only an affair of environment and of education." + +"I do not understand." + +"Does your conscience tell you it is a crime to love me?" + +"No, decidedly." + +"You see, then, that you have a personal way of understanding what is +good and bad, which is not that of our country, where it is admitted, +from the religious and from the social point of view, that a young +girl is guilty when she has a lover. Of course, you see, also, that +conscience is a bad weighing-machine, since each one, in order to make +it work, uses a weight that he has himself manufactured." + +"However it is, you did right not to strangle Cafflie." + +"Whom you, yourself, have condemned to death." + +"By the hand of justice, whether human or divine; but not by yours, any +more than by Florentin's or mine, although we know better than any one +that he does not deserve any mercy." + +"And you see I foresaw your objections, as I did not tighten his +cravat." + +"Happily." + +"Is it necessary to say 'happily'?" + + + + +CHAPTER X. SANIEL MAKES A RESOLUTION + +This evening Phillis was obliged to be at home early, but she cleared +off the table, and put everything in order before leaving. + +"You can breakfast on the remains of the chicken," she said, as she put +it in the pantry. + +And as Saniel accompanied her with a candle in his hand, he saw that +she had thought not only of his breakfast for the following day, but for +many days, besides carrots for the rabbits. + +"What a good heart you have!" he said. + +"Because I think of the rabbits?" + +"Because of your tenderness and thoughtfulness." + +"I wish I could do something for you!" + +As soon as she was gone he seated himself at his desk and began to work, +anxious to make up for the time that he had given to sentiment. The fact +that his work might not be of use to him, and that his experiments +might be rudely interrupted the next morning or in a few days, was not a +sufficient reason for being idle. He had work to do, and he worked as +if with the certitude that he would pass his examinations, and that +his experiments of four years past would have a good ending, without +interference from any one. + +This was his strong point, this power to work, that was never disturbed +or weakened by anything; not by pleasure or pain, by preoccupation or by +misery. In the street he could think of Phillis, be he hungry or sleepy; +at his desk he had no thought of Phillis, neither of hunger nor of +sleep, no cares, no memories; his work occupied him entirely. + +It was his strength, and also his pride, the only superiority of which +he boasted; for although he knew that he had others, he never spoke of +them, while he often said to his comrades: + +"I work when I will and as much as I wish. My will never weakens when I +am at work." + +This evening he worked for about an hour, in his usual condition of +mind; neither sheriffs, nor Jardine, nor Caffie troubled him. But having +to draw upon his memory for certain facts, he found that it did not +obey him as usual; there were a hesitation, a fogginess, above all, +extraordinary wanderings. He wrestled with it and it obeyed, but only +for a short time, and soon again it betrayed him a second time, then a +third and fourth time. + +Decidedly he was not in a normal state, and his will obeyed in place of +commanding. + +There were a name and a phrase that recurred to him mechanically from +time to time. The name was Caffie, and the phrase was, "Nothing easier." + +Why should this hypothesis to strangle Caffie, of which he had lightly +spoken, and to which he had attached no importance at the moment when he +uttered it, return to him in this way as a sort of obsession? + +Was it not strange? + +Never, until this day, had he had an idea that he could strangle a man, +even as wicked as this one, and yet, in talking of it, he found very +natural and legitimate reasons for the murder of this scamp. + +Had not Phillis herself condemned him? + +To tell the truth, she had added that Providence or justice should be +his executor, but this was the scruple of a simple conscience, formed in +a narrow environment, to which influence he would not submit. + +Had he these scruples, this old man who coldly, and merely for the +interest of so much a hundred on a dot, advised him to hasten the death +of a woman by drunkenness, and that of an infant in any way he pleased? + +When he reached this conclusion he stopped, and asked himself whether he +were mad to pursue this idea; then immediately, to get rid of it, he set +to work, which absorbed him for a certain time, but not so long a time +as at first. + +Then, finding that he could not control his will, he turned his thoughts +to Caffie. + +It was only too evident that if he had carried out the idea of +strangling Caffie, all the difficulties against which he had struggled, +and which would overwhelm him, if not the following day, at least in a +few days, would have disappeared immediately. + +No more sheriffs, no more creditors. What a deliverance! + +Repose, the possibility of passing examinations with a calm spirit that +the fever of material troubles would not disturb--in this condition he +felt his success was assured. + +And his experiments! He would run no danger of seeing them rudely +interrupted. His preparations were not cast out-of-doors; his precious +culture-tubes were not broken; his vases, his balloons, were not at the +second-hand dealer's. He continued this train of thought to the results +that he desired for him, glory; for humanity, the cure of one, and +perhaps two, of the most terrible maladies with which it was afflicted. + +The question was simple: + +On one side, Caffie; + +On the other side, humanity and science; + +An old rascal who deserved twenty deaths, and who would, anyhow, die +naturally in a short time; + +And humanity, science, which would profit by a discovery of which he +would be the author. + +He saw that the perspiration stood out on his hands, and he felt it run +down his neck. + +Why this weakness? From horror of the crime, the possibility of which he +admitted? Or from fear of seeing his experiments destroyed? + +He would reflect, think about it, be upon his guard. + +He had told Phillis that intelligent men, before engaging in an action, +weigh the pro and con. + +Against Caffie's death he saw nothing. + +For, on the contrary, everything combined. + +If he had had Phillis's scruples, or Brigard's beliefs, he would have +stopped. + +But, not having them, would he not be silly to draw back? + +Before what should he shrink? Why should he stop? + +Remorse? But he was convinced that intelligent men had no remorse when +they came to a decision on good grounds. It was before that they felt +remorse, not after; and he was exactly in this period of before. + +Fear of being arrested? But intelligent men do not let themselves be +arrested. Those who are lost are brutes who go straight ahead, or +the half-intelligent, who use their skill and cunning to combine a +complicated or romantic act, in which their hand is plainly seen. As for +him, he was a man of science and precision, and he would not compromise +himself by act or sentiment; there would be nothing to fear during the +action, and nothing afterward. Caffie strangled, suspicion would not +fall upon a doctor, but on a brute. When doctors wish to kill any one, +they do it learnedly, by poison or by some scientific method. Brutal men +kill brutally; murder, called the assassin's profession. + +A few minutes before, he was inundated by perspiration; this word froze +him. + +He rose nervously, and walked up and down the room with long, unsteady +steps. The fire had long since gone out; out-of-doors the street noises +had ceased, and in his brain resounded the one word that he pronounced +in a low tone, "Assassin!" + +Was he the man to be influenced and stopped by a word? Where are the +rich, the self-made men, the successful men, who have not left some +corpses on the road behind them? Success carries them safely, and they +achieved success only because they had force. + +Certainly, violence was not recreation, and it would be more agreeable +to go in his way peacefully, by the power of intelligence and work, than +to make a way by blows; but he had not chosen this road, he was thrown +into it by circumstances, by fate, and whoever wishes to reach the end +cannot choose the means. If one must walk in the mud, what matters it, +when one knows that one will not get muddy? + +If Caffie had had heirs, poor people who expected to be saved from +misery by inheriting his fortune, he would have been touched by this +consideration, undoubtedly. Robber! The word was yet more vile than that +of assassin. But who would miss the few banknotes that he would take +from the safe? To steal is to injure some one. Whom would he injure? +He could see no one. But he saw distinctly an army of afflicted persons +whom he would benefit. + +A timid ring of the bell made him start violently, and he was angry with +himself for being so nervous, he who was always master of his mind as of +his body. + +He opened the door, and a man dressed like a laborer bowed humbly. + +"I beg your pardon for disturbing you, sir." + +"What do you want?" + +"I called on account of my wife, if you will be so good as to come to +see her." + +"What is the matter with her?" + +"She is about to be confined. The nurse does not know what to do, and +sent me for a doctor." + +"Did the nurse tell you to come for me?" + +"No, sir; she sent me to Doctor Legrand." + +"Well?" + +"His wife told me he could not get up on account of his bronchitis. And +the chemist gave me your address." + +"That is right." + +"I must tell you, sir, I am an honest man, but we are not rich; we could +not pay you--immediately." + +"I understand. Wait a few minutes." + +Saniel took his instruments and followed the laborer, who, on the way, +explained his wife's condition. + +"Where are we going?" Saniel asked, interrupting these explanations. + +"Rue de la Corderie." + +It was behind the Saint Honore' market, on the sixth floor, under the +roof, in a room that was perfectly clean, in spite of its poverty. As +soon as Saniel entered the nurse came forward, and in a few words told +him the woman's trouble. + +"Is the child living?" + +"Yes." + +"That is well; let us see." + +He approached the bed and made a careful examination of the patient, who +kept repeating: + +"I am going to die. Save me, doctor!" + +"Certainly, we shall save you," he said, very softly. "I promise you." + +He turned away from the bed and said to the nurse: + +"The only way to save the mother is to kill the child." + +The operation was long, difficult, and painful, and after it was over +Saniel remained a long time with the patient. When he reached the street +a neighboring clock struck five, and the market-place had already begun +to show signs of life. + +But in the streets was still the silence and solitude of night, and +Saniel began to reflect on what had occurred during the last few hours. +Thus, he had not hesitated to kill this child, who had, perhaps, sixty +or seventy years of happy life before it, and he hesitated at the death +of Caffie, to whom remained only a miserable existence of a few weeks. +The interests of a poor, weak, stunted woman had decided him; his, those +of humanity, left him perplexed, irresolute, weak, and cowardly. What a +contradiction! + +He walked with his eyes lowered, and at this moment, before him on the +pavement, he saw an object that glittered in the glare of the gas. He +approached it, and found that it was a butcher's knife, that must have +been lost, either on going to the market or the slaughterhouse. + +He hesitated a moment whether he should pick it up or leave it there; +then looking all about him, and seeing no one in the deserted street, +and hearing no sound of footsteps in the silence, he bent quickly and +took it. + +Caffie's fate was decided. + + + + +BOOK 2. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE INSTRUMENT OF DEATH + +When, after two hours' sleep, Saniel woke, he did not at first think of +this knife; he was tired and dull. Mechanically he walked about his room +without paying attention to what he was doing, as if he were in a state +of somnambulism, and it astonished him, because he never felt weariness +of mind any more than of body, no matter how little he had slept, nor +how hard he had worked. + +But suddenly, catching a glimpse of the knife that he had placed on the +mantel, he received a shock that annihilated his torpor and his fatigue. +It dazzled him like a flash of lightning. + +He took it, and, going to the window, he examined it by the pale light +of early morning. It was a strong instrument that, in a firm hand, would +be a terrible arm; newly sharpened, it had the edge of a razor. + +Then the idea, the vision that had come to him two hours before, came +back to him, clear and complete at nightfall, that is, at the moment +when the concierge was in the second wing of the building, he mounted +to Caffie's apartment without being seen, and with this knife he cut his +throat. It was as simple as it was easy, and this knife left beside the +corpse, and the nature of the wound, would lead the police to look for a +butcher, or at least a man who was in the habit of using a knife of this +kind. + +The evening before, when he had discussed Caffie's death, the how and +the when still remained vague and uncertain. But now the day and the +means were definitely settled: it should be with this knife, and this +evening. + +This shook him out of his torpor and made him shudder. + +He was angry with himself for this weakness. Did he know or did he not +know what he wished? Was he irresolute or cowardly? + +Then, going from one idea to another, he thought of an observation that +he had made, which appeared to prove that with many subjects there is +less firmness in the morning than in the evening. Was this the result +of dualism of the nervous centres, and was the human personality double +like the brain? Were there hours when the right hemisphere is master of +our will, and were there other hours when the left is master? Did one of +these hemispheres possess what the other lacked, and is it according to +the activity of this or that one, that one has such a character or such +a temperament? This would be curious, and would amount to saying that, a +lamb in the morning, one might be a tiger at evening. With him it was a +lamb that woke in the morning to be devoured by a tiger during the +day. To which hemisphere belonged the one and the other of these +personalities? + +He was angry with himself for yielding to these reflections; it was a +time, truly, to study this psychological question! It was of Caffie that +he should think, and of the plan which in an instant flashed through his +mind in the street, before he decided to pick up this knife. + +Evidently things were neither so simple nor so easy as they at first +appeared, and to insure the success of his plan a combination of +circumstances was necessary, which might be difficult to bring about. + +Would not the concierge see him pass? Would no one go up or down the +stairs? Would Caffie be alone? Would he open the door? Might not some +one ring after he had entered? + +Here was a series of questions that he had not thought of before, but +which now presented itself. + +He must examine them, weigh them, and not throw himself giddily into an +adventure that presented such risks. + +He was alone all day, fortunately, and, as in the state of agitation in +which he found himself he could not think of work, he gave himself up to +this examination. The stakes were worth the trouble--his honor and his +life. + +As soon as he was dressed he went out, and walked straight before him +through the streets that were already filled with people. + +It was only when he had left the heart of Paris that he could reflect +as he wished, without being disturbed each instant by people in a hurry, +for whom he must make way, or by others who, reading the newspapers, did +not look before them, and so jostled against him. + +Evidently the risks were more serious than he had imagined; and, as +they loomed up before him, he asked himself whether he should go on. To +suppress Caffie, yes; to give himself up, no. + +"If it is impossible--" + +He was not the man to set himself wildly against the impossible: he +should have had a dream, a bad dream, and that would be all. + +He stopped, and, after a moment of hesitation, turning on his heel, he +retraced his steps. Of what use was it to go farther? He had no need +to reflect nor to weigh the pro and con; he must give up this plan; +decidedly it was too dangerous. + +He had gone but a short distance when he asked himself whether these +dangers were such as he saw them, and whether he were face to face with +a radically demonstrated impossibility. + +Without doubt, the concierge might observe him when he passed her lodge, +either on going up-stairs or coming down; and, also, she might not +observe him. This, in reality, depended much upon himself, and on his +method of proceeding. + +Every evening this lame old concierge lighted the gas in the two wings +of the building, one on the street and one on the court. She began by +lighting that on the street, and, with the difficulty that she found in +walking, it should take her some time to climb the five stories and +to descend. If one watched from the street when, at dusk, she left her +lodge with a wax taper in her hand, and mounted the stairs behind her, +at a little distance, in such a way as to be on the landing of the first +story when she should reach the second, there would be time, the deed +done, to regain the street before she returned to her lodge, after +having lighted the gas on the two staircases. It was important to +proceed methodically, without hurry, but, also, without loitering. + +Was this impossible? + +Here, exactly, was the delicate point which he must examine with +composure, without permitting himself to be influenced by any other +consideration than that which sprang from the deed itself. + +He was wrong, then, not to continue his route, and it was better, +assuredly, to get out of Paris. In the country, in the fields or woods, +he could find the calm that was indispensable to his over-excited brain, +in which ideas clashed like the waves of a disturbed sea. + +He was at this moment in the middle of the Faubourg Saint Honore; he +followed a street that would bring him to the Champs Elysees, a desert +at this early hour. + +It took him some time to examine all the hypotheses that might present +themselves, and he reached the conclusion that what had appeared +impossible to him was not so. If he preserved his calmness, and did +not lose perception of the passing time, he could very well escape the +concierge, which was the main point. + +To tell the truth, the danger of the concierge removed, all was not +easy. There was the possibility of meeting one of the lodgers on the +stairs; there was a chance of not finding Caffie at home, or, at least, +not alone; or the bell might ring at the decisive moment. But, as +everything depended upon chance, these circumstances could not be +decided beforehand. It was a risk. If one of them happened, he would +wait until the next day; it would be one more day of agitation to live +through. + +But one question that should be decided in advance, because, surely, it +presented serious dangers, was how he should justify the coming into his +hands of a sum of money which, providentially and in the nick of time, +relieved him from the embarrassments against which he struggled. + +He had reached the Bois de Boulogne and still continued his walk. In +passing a fountain the rippling of the water attracted his attention, +and he stopped. Although the weather was damp and cold under the +influence of a strong west wind charged with rain, his tongue was dry; +he drank two goblets of water, and then pursued his way, indifferent +where he went. + +Then he built up an arrangement which appeared ingenious to him, when it +occurred to him to remember that he had gone to Caffie to borrow three +thousand francs. Why would he not lend it to him, if not the first +day, at least the second? With this loan he paid his debts, if he were +questioned on this point. To prove this loan he need only to sign a +receipt which he could place in the safe, and which would be found +there. Would not the first thought of those who had signed a paper of +this kind be to take it when an occasion presented itself? As he would +not seize this occasion to carry off his note, it would be the proof +that he had not opened the safe. + +Among other advantages, this arrangement did away with robbery; it +was only a loan. Later he would return these three thousand francs to +Caffies heirs. So much the worse for him if it were a forced loan. + +On returning to Paris he would buy a sheet of stamped paper, and as he +had asked the price the previous evening, he knew that he could afford +the expense. + +When he reached Saint Cloud he entered a tavern and ordered some bread +and cheese and wine. But if he drank little, he ate less, his parched +throat refusing to swallow bread. + +He took up his march in the clayey streets on the slope of Mont +Valerian, but he was insensible to the unpleasantness of slipping on the +soft soil, and walked hither and thither, his only care being not to get +too far away from the Seine, so that he might enter Paris before night. + +He was delighted since he had made up his mind to make out and sign +a receipt for the money. But on giving it further consideration, he +perceived that it was not so ingenious as he had at first supposed. Do +not the dealers of stamped paper often number their paper? With this +number it would be easy to find the dealer and him who had bought it. +And then, was it not likely that a scrupulous business man like Caffie +would keep a record of the loans he made, and would not the absence of +this one and the note be sufficient to awaken suspicion and to direct it +to him? + +Decidedly, he only escaped one danger to fall into another. + +For a moment he was discouraged, but it did not go so far as weakness. +His error had been in imagining that the execution of the idea that had +come to him while picking up the knife was as plain as it was easy. But +complicated and perilous as it was, it was not impossible. + +The question which finally stood before him was, to know whether he +possessed the force needed to cope with these dangers, and on this +ground hesitation was not possible; to wish to foresee everything was +folly; that which he would not have expected, would come to pass. + +He returned toward Paris, and by the Pont de Suresnes reentered the Bois +de Boulogne. As it was not yet three o'clock, he had plenty of time to +reach the Rue Sainte-Anne before night; but, on the way, a heavy shower +forced him to take shelter, and he watched the falling rain, asking +himself if this accident, which he had not foreseen, would not upset his +plan. A man who had received the force of this shower could not appear +in the street before Caffie's door without attracting the attention of +the passers-by, and it was important for him that he should not attract +the attention of any one. + +At length the rain ceased, and at twenty minutes of five he reached his +home. There remained fifteen or twenty minutes of daylight, which was +more than he needed. + +He stuck the point of the knife in a cork, and, after having placed it +between the folded leaves of a newspaper, in the inside left-hand pocket +of his overcoat, he went out. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. THE CRUCIAL MOMENT + +When he reached Caffies door the night had scarcely fallen, and the +streets were not yet lighted. + +The better and the surest plan for him had been to wait in the +'porte-cochere' across the street; from there he could watch the +'concierge', who would not be able to go out without being seen by him. +But though the passers were few at this moment, they might have observed +him. Next to this 'porte-cochere' was a small 'cafe', whose brilliant +lights would cause him to be seen quite plainly. He, therefore, walked +on, but soon returned. + +All irresolution, all hesitation, had disappeared, and the only point on +which he still questioned himself bore upon the state in which he found +himself at this moment. He felt himself firm, and his pulse, he +was certain, beat regularly. He was as he had imagined he would be; +experience confirmed his foresight; his hand would tremble no more than +his will. + +As he passed before the house he saw the concierge come slowly out of +her lodge and close her door carefully, putting the key in her pocket. +In her left hand she held something white that he could not see +distinctly in the twilight, but it was probably the wax-taper which, +doubtless, she had not lighted for fear the wind would blow it out. + +This was a favorable circumstance, that gave him one or two minutes more +than he had counted on, for she would be obliged to strike a match on +the stairs to light her taper; and, in the execution of his plan, two +minutes, a single minute even, might be of great importance. + +With dragging steps and bent back she disappeared through the vestibule +of the stairway. Then Saniel continued his walk like an ordinary +passer-by until she had time to reach the first story; then, turning, +he returned to the porte-cochere and entered quietly. By the gaslight +in the vestibule he saw by his watch, which he held in his hand, that +it was fourteen minutes after five o'clock. Then, if his calculation +was right, at twenty-four or twenty-five minutes after five he must pass +before the lodge, which should still be empty at that moment. + +On the staircase above him he heard the heavy step of the concierge; she +had lighted the gas on the first story, and continued on her way slowly. +With rapid but light steps he mounted behind her, and, on reaching +Caffie's door, he rang the bell, taking care not to ring too loudly or +too timidly; then he knocked three times, as Caffie had instructed him. + +Was Caffie alone? + +Up to this time all had gone as he wished; no one in the vestibule, no +one on the stairs; fate was in his favor; would it accompany him to the +end? + +While he waited at the door, asking himself this question, an idea +flashed into his mind. He would make a last attempt. If Caffie consented +to make the loan he would save himself; if he refused, he condemned +himself. + +After several seconds, that appeared like hours, his listening ears +perceived a sound which announced that Caffie was at home. A scratching +of wood on the tiled floor denoted that a chair had been pushed aside; +heavy, dragging steps approached, then the bolt creaked, and the door +was opened cautiously. + +"Ah! It is you, my dear sir!" Caffie said, in surprise. + +Saniel entered briskly and closed the door himself, pressing it firmly. + +"Is there anything new?" Caffie asked, as he led the way to his office. + +"No," Saniel replied. + +"Well, then?" Caffie asked, as he seated himself in an armchair before +his desk, on which stood a lighted lamp. "I suppose you have come to +hear more about my young friend. This hurry augurs well." + +"No, it is not of the young person that I wish to talk to you." + +"I am sorry." + +On seating himself opposite to Caffie, Saniel had taken out his watch. +Two minutes had passed since he left the vestibule; he must hurry. In +order to keep himself informed of the passing of time, he retained his +watch in his hand. + +"Are you in a hurry?" + +"Yes; I will come immediately to business. It concerns myself, my +position, and I make a last appeal to you. Let us be honest with each +other. Undoubtedly you think that, pushed by my distress, and seeing +that I shall be lost forever, I shall decide to accept this marriage to +save myself." + +"Can you suppose such a thing, my dear sir?" Caffie cried. + +But Saniel stopped him.... + +"The calculation is too natural for you not to have made it. Well, +I must tell you that it is false. Never will I lend myself to such a +bargain. Renounce your project, and let us discuss my demand. I am in +absolute want of three thousand francs, and I will pay the interest that +you fix upon." + +"I have not found a money-lender, my dear sir. I have taken a great deal +of trouble, I assure you, but I did not succeed." + +"Make an effort yourself." + +"Me? My dear sir!" + +"I address myself to you." + +"But I have no ready money." + +"It is a desperate appeal that I make. I understand that your long +experience in business makes you insensible to the misery that you see +every day--" + +"Insensible! Say that it breaks my heart, my dear sir." + +"But will you not permit yourself to be touched by the misery of a man +who is young, intelligent, courageous, who will drown if a hand is not +held out to help him? For you, the assistance that I ask so earnestly is +nothing--" + +"Three thousand francs! Nothing! Bless me! How you talk!" + +"For me, if you refuse me, it is death." + +Saniel began to speak with his eyes fixed on the hands of his watch, but +presently, carried away by the fever of the situation, he raised them to +look at Caffie, and to see the effect that he produced on him. In this +movement he made a discovery that destroyed all his calculations. + +Caffie's office was a small room with a high window looking into the +court; never having been in this office except in the evening, he had +not observed that this window had neither shutters nor curtains of +muslin or of heavier stuff; there was nothing but the glass. To tell the +truth, two heavy curtains of woollen damask hung on either side of +the window, but they were not drawn. Talking to Caffie, who was placed +between him and this window, Saniel suddenly perceived that on the other +side of the court, in the second wing of the building, on the second +story, were two lighted windows directly opposite to the office, and +that from there any one could see everything that occurred in the +office. + +How should he execute his plan under the eyes of these people whom he +saw coming and going in this room? He would be lost. In any case, it was +risking an adventure so hazardous that he would be a fool to attempt it, +and he was not that; never had he felt himself so much the master of his +mind and nerves. + +Also, it was not only to save Caffie's life that he argued, it was to +save himself in grasping this loan. + +"I can only, to my great regret, repeat to you what I have already said, +my dear sir. I have no ready money." + +And he held his jaw, groaning, as if this refusal aroused his toothache. + +Saniel rose; evidently there was nothing for him to do but to go. It was +finished, and instead of being in despair he felt it as a relief. + +But, as he was about to leave the room, an idea flashed through his +mind. + +He looked at his watch, which he had not consulted for some time; it was +twenty minutes after five; there yet remained four minutes, five at the +most. + +"Why do you not draw these curtains?" he said. "I am sure your +sufferings are partly caused by the wind that comes in this window." + +"Do you think so?" + +"I am sure of it; you should be warm about the head, and avoid currents +of air." + +Passing behind Caffie, he went to the window to draw the curtains, but +the cords would not move. + +"It is years since they were drawn," Caffie said. "Doubtless the cords +are entangled. I will bring the light." + +And, taking the lamp, he went to the window, holding it high in order to +throw light on the cords. + +With a turn of the hand Saniel disentangled the cords, and the curtains +slid on the rods, almost covering the window. + +"It is true a good deal of air did come in the window," Caffie said. "I +thank you, my dear doctor." + +All this was done with a feverish rapidity that astonished Caffie. + +"Decidedly, you are in a hurry," he said. + +"Yes, in a great hurry." + +He looked at his watch. + +"However, I have still time to give you a consultation if you desire +it." + +"I would not trouble you--" + +"You do not trouble me." + +"But--" + +"Sit down in your armchair, and show me your mouth." + +While Caffie seated himself, Saniel continued in a vibrating voice: + +"You see I give good for evil." + +"How is that, my dear sir?" + +"You refuse me a service that would save me, and I give you a +consultation. It is true, it is the last." + +"And why the last, my dear sir?" + +"Because death is between us." + +"Death!" + +"Do you not see it?" + +"No." + +"I see it." + +"You must not think of such a thing, my dear sir. One does not die +because one cannot pay three thousand francs." + +The chair in which Caffie seated himself was an old Voltaire, with an +inclined back, and he half reclined in it. As his shirtcollar was +too large for him since he had become thin, and his narrow cravat was +scarcely tied, he displayed as much throat as jaw. + +Saniel, behind the chair, had taken the knife in his right hand, while +he pressed the left heavily on Caffies forehead, and with a powerful +stroke, as quick as lightning, he cut the larynx under the glottis, +as well as the two carotid arteries, with the jugular veins. From this +terrible wound sprang a large jet of blood, which, crossing the room, +struck against the door. Cut clean, not a cry could be formed in the +windpipe, and in his armchair Caffie shook with convulsions from head to +foot. + +Leaving his position behind the chair, Saniel, who had thrown the +knife on the floor, looked at his watch and counted the ticking of the +second-hand in a low voice. + +"One, two, three-" + +At the end of ninety seconds the convulsions ceased. + +It was twenty-three minutes after five. Now it was important that he +should hurry and not lose a second. + +The blood, after having gushed out, had run down the body and wet the +vest pocket in which was the key of the safe. But blood does not produce +the same effect upon a doctor as upon those who are not accustomed to +its sight and odor, and to its touch. In spite of the lukewarm sea in +which it lay, Saniel took the key, and after wiping his hand on one of +the tails of Caffie's coat, he placed it in the lock. + +Would it turn freely, or was it closed with a combination? The question +was poignant. The key turned and the door opened. On a shelf and in a +wooden bowl were packages of bank-notes and rolls of gold that he had +seen the evening when the bank-clerk came. Roughly, without counting; he +thrust them into his pocket, and without closing the safe, he ran to the +front door, taking care not to step in the streams of blood, which, on +the sloping tiled floor, ran toward this door. The time was short. + +And now was the greatest danger, that of meeting some one behind this +door, or on the stairs. He listened, and heard no noise. He went out, +and no one was to be seen. Without running, but hastily, he descended +the stairs. Should he look in the lodge, or should he turn his head +away? He looked, but the concierge was not there. + +A second later he was in the street mingling with the passersby, and he +drew a long breath. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. DISTRACTION + +There was no longer any need to be cautious, to listen, to stretch his +nerves, to restrain his heart; he could walk freely and reflect. + +His first thought was to endeavor to explain to himself how he felt, and +he found that it was an immense relief; something, doubtless, analogous +to the returning to life after being in a state of asphyxiation. +Physically, he was calm; morally, he felt no remorse. He was right, +therefore, in his theory when he told Phillis that in the intelligent +man remorse precedes the action, instead of following it. + +But where he was mistaken was in imagining that during the act he should +maintain his coolness and force, which, in reality, had failed him +completely. + +Going from one idea to another, tossed by irresolution, he was by no +means the strong man that he had believed himself: one to go to the +end unmoved, ready to face every attack; master of his nerves as of his +will, in full possession of all his powers. On the contrary, he had been +the plaything of agitation and weakness. If a serious danger had risen. +before him, he would not have known on which side to attack it; fear +would have paralyzed him, and he would have been lost. + +To tell the truth, his hand had been firm, but his head had been +bewildered. + +There was something humiliating in this, he was obliged to acknowledge; +and, what was more serious, it was alarming. Because, although +everything had gone as he wished, up to the present time, all was not +finished, nor even begun. + +If the investigations of the law should reach him, how should he defend +himself? + +He felt sure that he had not been seen in Caffies house at the moment +when the crime was committed; but does one ever know whether one has +been seen or not? + +And there was the production of money that he should use to pay his +debts, which might become an accusation against which it would be +difficult to defend himself. In any case, he must be ready to explain +his position. And what might complicate the matter was, that Caffie, +a careful man, had probably taken care to write the numbers of his +bank-notes in a book, which would be found. + +On leaving the Rue Sainte-Anne he took the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs +to his home, to leave the bank-notes and to wash off the stains of blood +that might have splashed on him and his hands, particularly the right +one, which was still red. But suddenly it occurred to him that he might +be followed, and it would be folly to show where he lived. He hastened +his steps, in order to make any one who might be following him run, +and took the streets that were not well lighted, those where there was +little chance of any one seeing the stains, if they were visible, on +his clothing or boots. He walked in this way for nearly half an hour, +turning and returning on his track, and after having crossed the Place +Vendome twice, where he was able to look behind him, he decided to go +home, not knowing whether he should be satisfied to have bewildered all +quest, or whether he should not be furious to have yielded to a sort of +panic. + +As he passed by the lodge without stopping, his concierge called him, +and, running out, gave him a letter with unusual eagerness. Saniel, who +wished to escape observation, took it hastily, and stuffed it into his +pocket. + +"It is an important letter," the concierge said. "The servant who +brought it told me that it contained money." + +It needed this recommendation at such a moment, or Saniel would not have +opened it, which he did as soon as he entered his rooms. + + "I do not wish, my dear Doctor, to leave Paris for Monaco, where I + go to pass two or three months, without sending you our thanks. + + "Yours very gratefully, + + "C. DUPHOT." + +These thanks were represented by two bills of one hundred francs, a +payment more than sufficient for the care that Saniel had given some +months before to the mistress of this old comrade. Of what use now were +these two hundred francs, which a few days sooner would have been so +much to him? He threw them on his desk; and then, after having lighted +two candles, he inspected his clothing. + +The precaution that he had taken to place himself behind the chair was +wise. The blood, in squirting in front and on each side, had not +reached him; only the hand that held the knife and the shirt-sleeve were +splashed, but this was of no consequence. A doctor has the right to have +some blood on his sleeves, and this shirt went to join the one he had +worn the previous night when attending the sick woman. + +Free from this care, he still had the money in his pockets. He emptied +them on his desk and counted all: five rouleaux of gold, of a thousand +francs, and three packages of ten thousand francs each, of bank-notes. + +How should he get rid of this sum all at once, and, later, how should he +justify its production when the moment came, if it came? + +The question was complex, and, unfortunately for him, he was hardly in a +state to consider it calmly. + +For the gold, he had only to burn the papers in which it was rolled. +Louis have neither numbers nor particular marks, but bills have. Where +should he conceal them while waiting to learn through the newspapers if +Caffie had or had not made a note of these numbers? + +While burning these papers on which Caffie had written "2,000 francs," +he tried to think of a place of concealment. + +As he threw a glance around him, asking from things the inspiration that +his brain did not furnish, he caught sight of the letter he had just +received, and it suggested an idea. Duphot was at Monaco to play. Why +should he not go also, and play? + +Having neither relatives nor friends from whom he could procure a +certain sum, his only resource was to make it at play; and in his +desperate position, known to every one, nothing was more natural than +this experiment. He had received two hundred francs, which would not +save him from his creditors. He would risk them at roulette at Monaco. +Whether he lost or won was of little consequence. He would have played +that would be sufficient. He would be seen playing. Who would know +whether he lost or won? From Monaco he would pay Jardine by telegraph, +out of the five thousand Louis, which would be more than sufficient for +that; and, when he returned to Paris, he would free himself from his +other creditors with what remained. + +The money affair decided--and it seemed to him cleverly settled--did +not include the bank-notes, which, spread out before his eyes, disturbed +him. What should he do with them? One moment he thought of burning them, +but reflection held him back. Would it not be folly to destroy this +fortune? In any case, would it not be the work of a narrow mind, of one +not fertile in resources? + +In trying to think of some safe place to hide the banknotes, one thought +continually absorbed him: What was happening in the Rue Sainte-Anne? Had +any one discovered the dead man? + +He should be there to observe events, instead of timidly shutting +himself up in his office. + +For several minutes he tried to resist this thought, but it was stronger +than his will or his reason. So much was he under its power that he +could do nothing. + +Willing or unwilling, foolish or not, he must go to the Rue Sainte-Anne. + +He washed his hands, changed his shirt, and throwing the notes and gold +into a drawer, he went out. + +He knew very well that there was a certain danger in leaving these +proofs of the crime, which, found in an official search, would overwhelm +him, without his being able to defend himself. But he thought that +an immediate search was unlikely to occur, and if he could not make a +probable story, it would be better for him not to reason about it. It +was a risk that he ran, but how much he had on his side! + +He hastened along the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, but on approaching +the Rue Sainte-Anne he slackened his steps, looking about him and +listening. Nothing unusual struck him. Even when he turned into the Rue +Sainte-Anne he found it bore its ordinary aspect. A few passers-by, +not curious; no groups on the sidewalk; no shopkeepers at their doors. +Nothing was different from usual. + +Apparently, nothing had yet been discovered. Then he stopped, judging +it useless to go farther. Already he had passed too much time before +Caffie's door, and when one was of his build, above the medium height, +with a physiognomy and appearance unlike others, one should avoid +attracting attention. + +For several minutes he walked up and down slowly, from the Rue +Neuve-des-Petits-Champs to the Rue du Hasard; from there he could see +Caffie's house, and yet be so far away that no one would suspect him of +watching it. + +But this promenade, which was quite natural, and which he would have +continued for an hour in ordinary circumstances, without thinking +anything about it, soon alarmed him. It seemed as if people looked at +him, and two persons stopping to talk made him wonder if they spoke of +him. Why did they not continue their way? Why, from time to time, did +they turn their heads toward him? + +He left the place, and neither wishing nor being able to decide to go +far away from "the house," he concluded to go to a small cafe which was +close by. + +On entering, he seated himself at a table near the door that appeared +to be an excellent observatory, from where he could easily survey the +street. A waiter asked him what he would have, and he ordered coffee. + +He gave this order mechanically, without thinking what he was saying, +and not till afterward did he wonder if it were natural to take coffee +at this hour. The men seated at the other tables drank appetizers or +beer. Had he not made a blunder? + +But everything seemed a blunder, as everything seemed dangerous. Could +he not regain his composure and his reason? He drank his coffee slowly; +then he asked for a newspaper. The street was quiet, and people left the +cafe one by one. + +Behind his newspaper he reflected. It was his feverish curiosity that +made him admit that Caffie's death would be discovered during the +evening. In reality, it might easily remain undiscovered until the next +day. + +But he could not stay in the cafe until the next day, nor even until +midnight. Perhaps he had remained there too long already. + +He did not wish to go yet, so he ordered writing materials, and paid the +waiter, in case he might wish to go hastily--if anything occurred. + +What should he write? He wished to test himself, and found that he was +able to write clearly, and to select the proper words; but when he came +to read it over, his will failed him. + +Time passed. Suddenly there was a movement under the porte-cochere of +"the house," and a man ran through the street. Two or three persons +stopped in a group. + +Without hurrying too much, Saniel went out, and in a strong voice asked +what had happened. + +"An agent of business has been assassinated in his office. Word has been +sent to the police bureau in the Rue du Hasard." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. THE EXAMINATION + +Saniel was there to observe, without having decided what he should do. +Instantly, with the decision that had "failed him so often during his +vigil," he resolved to go to Caffie's. Was he not a doctor, and the +physician of the dead-man? What could be more natural? + +"A money-lender!" he exclaimed. "Is it Monsieur Caffie?" + +"Exactly." + +"But I am his doctor." + +"A doctor! Here is a doctor!" cried several voices. + +The crowd parted, and Saniel passed under the porte-cochere, where the +concierge, half fainting, was seated on a chair, surrounded by all the +maids of the house and several neighbors, to whom she related the news. + +By using his elbows he was able to approach her. + +"Who has said Monsieur Caffie is dead?" he asked with authority. + +"No one has said he is dead; at least, I have not." + +"Well, then?" + +"There is a stain of blood that has run from his office down to the +landing; and as he is at home, since the light of his lamp is seen +in the court, and he never leaves it burning when he goes to dinner, +something must have happened. And why are his curtains drawn? He always +leaves them open." + +At this moment two policemen appeared, preceded by a locksmith armed +with a bunch of keys, and a little man with a shrewd, sharp appearance, +wearing spectacles, and a hat from under which fell blond curls. The +commissioner of police probably. + +"On which story?" he asked the concierge. + +"On the first." + +"Come with us." + +He started to go upstairs, accompanied by the concierge, the locksmith, +and one of the policemen; Saniel wished to follow them, but the other +policeman barred the way. + +"Pardon, Monsieur Commissioner," Saniel said. + +"What do you wish, sir?" + +"I am Monsieur Caffie's physician." + +"Your name?" + +"Doctor Saniel." + +"Let the doctor pass," the commissioner said, "but alone. Make every one +go out, and shut the porte-cochere." + +On reaching the landing the commissioner stopped to look at the brown +stain which, running under the door, spread over the tiling, as Caffie +never had had a mat. + +"It is certainly a stain of blood," Saniel said, who stopped to examine +it and dipped his finger in it. + +"Open the door," the commissioner said to the locksmith. + +The latter examined the lock, looked among his keys, selected one, and +unlocked the door. + +"Let no one enter," the commissioner said. "Doctor, have the goodness to +follow me." + +And, going ahead, he entered the first office, that of the clerk, +followed by Saniel. Two little rills of blood, already thickened, +starting from Caffie's chair, and running across the tiled floor, which +sloped a little toward the side of the staircase, joined in the stain +which caused the discovery of the crime. The commissioner and Saniel +took care not to step in it. + +"The unfortunate man has had his throat cut," Saniel said. "Death must +have occurred two or three hours ago. There is nothing to do." + +"Speak for yourself, doctor." + +And, stooping, he picked up the knife. + +"Is it not a butcher's knife?" asked Saniel, who could only use this +word. + +"It looks like it." + +He had raised Caffie's head and examined the wound. + +"You see," he said, "that the victim has been butchered. The stroke was +from left to right, by a firm hand which must be accustomed to handle +this knife. But it is not only a strong and practised hand that has done +this deed; it was guided by an intelligence that knew how to proceed +to insure a quick, almost instantaneous death, and at the same time a +silent one." + +"You think it was done by a butcher?" + +"By a professional killer; the larynx has been cut above the glottis, +and with the same stroke the two carotid arteries, with the jugular +veins. As the assassin had to raise the head, the victim was not able +to cry out; considerable blood has flowed, and death must have ensued in +one or two minutes." + +"The scene appears to me very well reconstructed." + +"The blood should have burst out in this direction," Saniel continued, +pointing to the door. "But as this door was open, nothing is to be +seen." + +While Saniel spoke, the commissioner threw a glance about the room--the +glance of the police, which takes in everything. + +"The safe is open," he said. "The affair becomes clear; the +assassination was followed by theft." + +There was a door opposite to the entrance, which the commissioner +opened; it was that of Caffie's bedroom. + +"I will give you a man to help you carry the body into this room, where +you can continue your examination more easily, while I will continue my +investigations in this office." + +Saniel would have liked to remain in the office to assist at these +investigations, but it was impossible to raise an objection. The chair +was rolled into the bedroom, where two candles had been lighted on the +mantel, and when the body was laid on the bed, the commissioner returned +to the office. + +Saniel made his examination last as long a time as possible, to the end +that he need not leave the house; but he could not prolong it beyond +certain limits. When they were reached, he returned to the clerk's +office, where the commissioner had installed himself, and was hearing +the concierge's deposition. + +"And so," he said, "from five to seven o'clock no one asked for M. +Caffie?" + +"No one. But I left my lodge at a quarter past five to light the gas +on the stairs; that took me twenty minutes, because I am stiff in my +joints, and during this time some one might have gone up and down the +stairs without my seeing them." + +"Well," the commissioner said, turning to Saniel, "have you found any +distinguishing feature?" + +"No; there is only the wound on the neck." + +"Will you draw up your medico-legal report while I continue my inquest?" + +"Willingly." + +And, without waiting, he seated himself at the clerk's desk, facing the +commissioner's secretary, who had arrived a few minutes previous. + +"I am going to make you take the oath," the commissioner said. + +After this formality Saniel began his report: + +"We, the undersigned, Victor Saniel, doctor of medicine of the Paris +Faculty, residing in Paris in the Rue Louis-le-Grand, after having taken +an oath to fulfil in all honor and conscience the mission confided to +us--" + +All the time that he was writing he paid attention to everything that +was said, and did not lose one word of the concierge's deposition. + +"I am certain," she said, "that from half-past five until now no one has +gone up or down the stairs but the people who live in the house." + +"But before half-past five?" + +"I have told you that from a quarter past five until half-past I was not +in my lodge." + +"And before a quarter past five o'clock?" + +"Several persons passed whom I did not know." + +"Did any one among them ask you for Monsieur Caffie?" + +"No; that is to say, yes. There was one who asked me if Monsieur Caffie +was at home; but I know him well; that is why I answered No." + +"And who is he?" + +"One of Monsieur Caffies old clerks." + +"His name?" + +"Monsieur Florentin--Monsieur Florentin Cormier." + +Saniel's hand was arrested at this name, but he did not raise his head. + +"At what hour did he come?" asked the commissioner. + +"Near three o'clock, before rather than after." + +"Did you see him go away?" + +"Certainly, he spoke to me." + +"What time was it?" + +"Half-past three." + +"Do you think that death could have occurred at this moment?" the +commissioner asked, turning to Saniel. + +"No; I think it must have been between five and six o'clock." + +"It is wrong for the commissioner to suspect Monsieur Florentin," cried +the concierge. "He is a good young man, incapable of harming a fly. +And then, there is a good reason why death could not have taken place +between three o'clock and half-past; it is that Monsieur Caffie's lamp +was lighted, and you know the poor gentleman was not a man to light his +lamp in broad daylight, looking as he was--" + +She stopped abruptly, striking her forehead with her hand. + +"That is what I remember, and you will see that Monsieur Florentin has +nothing to do with this affair. As I went upstairs at a quarter past +five to light my gas, some one came behind me and rang Monsieur Caffie's +bell, and rapped three or four times at equal distances, which is the +signal to open the door." + +Again Saniel's pen stopped, and he was obliged to lean his hand on the +table to prevent its trembling. + +"Who was it?" + +"Ah! That I do not know," she answered. "I did not see him, but I heard +him, the step of a man. It was this rascal who killed him, you may be +sure." + +This seemed likely. + +"He went out while I was on the stairs; he knew the customs of the +house." + +Saniel continued his report. + +After having questioned and cross-questioned the concierge without being +able to make her say more, the commissioner dismissed her, and leaving +Saniel at his work, he passed into Caffie's office, where he remained a +long time. + +When he returned he brought a small note-book that he consulted. Without +doubt it was the book of Caffie's safe, simple and primitive, like +everything relating to the old man's habits, governed by the narrowest +economy in his expenses, as well as in his work. + +"According to this note-book," the commissioner said to his secretary, +"thirty-five or thirty-six thousand francs must have been taken from the +safe; but there are left deeds and papers for a large sum." + +Saniel, who had finished his report, did not take his eyes from the +note-book, and what he could see reassured him. Evidently these accounts +were reduced to a minimum: a date, a name, a sum, and after this name +a capital P, which, without doubt, meant "paid." It was hardly possible +that with such a system Caffie had ever taken the trouble to enter the +number of the bills that had passed through his hands; in any case, if +he did, it was not in this note-book. Would another one be found? + +"My report is finished," he said. "Here it is." + +"Since you are here, perhaps you can give me some information concerning +the habits of the victim and the persons he received." + +"Not at all. I have known him but a short time, and he was my patient, +as I was his client, by accident. He undertook an affair for me, and +I gave him advice; he was in the last stage of diabetes. The assassin +hastened his death only a short time-a few days." + +"That is nothing; he hastened it." + +"Oh, certainly! Otherwise, if he is skilful in cutting throats, perhaps +he is less so in making a diagnosis of their maladies." + +"That is probable," responded the commissioner, smiling. "You think it +was a butcher?" + +"It seems probable." + +"The knife?" + +"He might have stolen it or found it." + +"But the mode of operating?" + +"That, it seems to me, is the point from where we should start." + +Saniel could remain no longer, and he rose to leave. + +"You have my address," he said; "but I must tell you, if you want me, I +leave to-morrow for Nice. But I shall be absent only just long enough to +go and return." + +"If we want you, it will not be for several days. We shall not get on +very rapidly, we have so little to guide us." + + + + +CHAPTER XV. A NEW PLAN + +Saniel walked home briskly. If, more than once during this interview, +his emotion was poignant, he could not but be satisfied with the result. +The concierge had not seen him, that was henceforth unquestionable; the +hypothesis of the butcher's knife was put in a way to make his fortune; +and it seemed probable that Caffie had not kept the numbers of the +bank-notes. + +But if they had been noted, and should the notebook containing them be +discovered later, the danger was not immediate. While writing his report +and listening to the concierge's deposition, by a sort of inspiration he +thought of a way of disposing of them. He would divide them into small +packages, place them in envelopes, and address them with different +initials to the poste restante, where they would remain until he could +call for them without compromising himself. + +In the deposition of the concierge, in the track indicated by the knife, +in the poste restante, he had just motives for satisfaction, that made +him breathe freely. Decidedly, fate seemed to be with him, and he should +have been able to say that everything was going well, if he had not +committed the imprudence of entering the cafe. Why had he gone there +and remained long enough to attract attention? What might not be the +consequences of this stupidity? + +As soon as he reached home and his door was closed, he carried out his +intentions regarding the bank-notes, dividing them into ten packages. +His first thought was to place them in the nearest letterbox, but +reflection showed him that this would be unwise, and he decided to mail +each one in a different quarter of the city. + +After his long walk of the morning, and the emotions of the evening, he +felt a fatigue that he had never known before, but he comprehended that +he was not at liberty to yield to this weariness. A new situation was +made for him, and henceforth he no longer belonged to himself. For the +rest of his life he would be the prisoner of his crime. And it was this +crime which, from this evening, would command, and he must obey. + +Why had he not foreseen this situation when, weighing the pro and con +like an intelligent man who can scrutinize the future under all its +phases, he had examined what must happen? But surprising as it was, the +discovery was no less certain, and the sad and troublesome proof +was that, however intelligent one may be, one can always learn by +experience. + +What was there yet to learn? He confessed that he found himself face to +face with the unknown, and all that he wished was, that this lesson he +had learned from experience might be the hardest. It would be folly to +imagine that it was the last. Time would show. + +When he returned home, after posting his letters, it was long past one +o'clock. He went to bed immediately, and slept heavily, without waking +or dreaming. + +It was broad daylight when he opened his eyes the next morning. +Surprised at having slept so late, he jumped up and looked at his watch, +which said eight o'clock. But as he should not leave until a quarter +past eleven, he had plenty of time. + +How should he employ it? + +It was the first time in years that he had asked himself such a +question; he, who each day always found that he needed three or four +hours more to carry out his programme. + +He dressed slowly, and then thought of writing to Phillis to tell her of +his trip to Nice. But suddenly he changed his mind, and decided to go to +see her. + +The preceding year he attended Madame Cormier, who had been stricken +with paralysis, and he could occasionally present himself at her house +without appearing to call upon Phillis. It was easy to say that he was +passing by, and wished to learn news of the patient whom he had cured. + +At nine o'clock he knocked at her door. + +"Enter," a man's voice said. + +He was surprised, for in his visits to Madame Cormier he had never seen +a man there. He crossed the hall and knocked at the dining-room door. +This time it was Phillis who bid him come in. + +He opened the door and saw Phillis, in a gray blouse, seated before a +large table placed by the window. She was painting some cards. + +Hearing steps, she turned her head and instantly rose, but she +restrained the cry-the name that was on her lips. + +"Mamma," she said, "here is Doctor Saniel." + +Madame Cormier entered, walking with difficulty; for, if Saniel had put +her on her feet, he had not given her the suppleness or the grace of +youth. + +After a few words, Saniel explained that, having to pay a visit to +the Batignolles, he would not come so near his former patient without +calling to see her. + +While Madame Cormier told at great length how she felt, and also how +she did not feel, Phillis looked at Saniel, uneasy to see his face so +convulsed. Surely, something very serious had happened; his visit +said this. But what? Her anguish was so much the greater, because he +certainly avoided looking at her. Why? She had done nothing, and could +find nothing with which to reproach herself. + +At this moment the door opened, and a man still young, tall, with a +curled beard, entered the room. + +"My son," Madame Cormier said. + +"My brother Florentin, of whom we have spoken so often," Phillis said. + +Florentin! Was he then becoming imbecile, that he had not thought the +voice of the man who bid him enter was that of Phillis's brother? Was he +so profoundly overwhelmed that such a simple reasoning was impossible +to him? Decidedly, it was important for him to go away as quickly as +possible; the journey would calm his nerves. + +"They wrote to me," Florentin said, "and since my return they have told +me how good you were to my mother. Permit me to thank you from a touched +and grateful heart. I hope that before long this gratitude will be +something more than a vain word." + +"Do not let us speak of that," Saniel said, looking at Phillis with a +frankness and an open countenance that reassured heron a certain +point. "It is I who am obliged to Madame Cormier. If the word were not +barbarous, I should say that her illness has been a good thing for me." + +To turn the conversation, and because he wished to speak to Phillis +alone, he approached her table and talked with her about her work. + +Saniel then gave Madame Cormier some advice, and rose to go. + +Phillis followed him, and Florentin was about to accompany them, but +Phillis stopped him. + +"I wish to ask Doctor Saniel a question," she said. + +When they were on the landing she closed the door. + +"What is the matter?" she asked in a hurried and trembling voice. + +"I wished to tell you that I start for Monaco at eleven o'clock." + +"You are going away?" + +"I have received two hundred francs from a patient, and I am going +to risk them at play. Two hundred francs will not pay Jardine or the +others, but with them I may win several thousands of francs." + +"Oh! Poor dear! How desperate you must be--you, such as you are, to have +such an idea!" + +"Am I wrong?" + +"Never wrong to my eyes, to my heart, to my love. O my beloved, may +fortune be with you!" + +"Give me your hand." + +She looked around, listening. There was no one, no noise. + +Then, drawing him toward her, she put her lips on his: + +"All yours, yours!" + +"I will return Tuesday." + +"Tuesday, at five o'clock, I shall be there." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. THE SMILES OF FORTUNE + +No one knew so little about play as Saniel. He knew that people played +at Monaco, and that was all. He bought his ticket for Monaco, and left +the train at that place. + +On leaving the station he looked all about him, to see what kind of a +place it was. Seeing nothing that looked like a gambling-house as he +understood it, that is, like the Casino de Royal, the only establishment +of the kind that he had ever seen, he asked a passer-by: + +"Where is the gambling-house?" + +"There is none at Monaco." + +"I thought there was." + +"There is one at Monte Carlo." + +"Is it far?" + +"Over yonder." + +With his hand the man indicated, on the slope of the mountain, a green +spot where, in the midst of the foliage, were seen roofs and facades of +imposing buildings. + +Saniel thanked him and followed his directions, while the man, calling +another, related the question that had been addressed to him, and both +laughed, shrugging their shoulders. Could any one be so stupid as these +Parisians! Another one who was going to be plucked, and who came from +Paris expressly for that! Was he not funny, with his big legs and arms? + +Without troubling himself about the laughter that he heard behind him, +Saniel continued his way. In spite of his night on the train, he felt no +fatigue; on the contrary, his mind and body were active. The journey had +calmed the agitation of his nerves, and it was with perfect tranquillity +he looked back upon all that had passed before his departure. In the +state of satisfaction that was his now, he had nothing more to fear from +stupidity or acts of folly; and, since he had recovered his will, all +would go well. No more backward glances, and fewer still before. The +present only should absorb him. + +The present, at this moment, was play. What did they play? He knew +roulette, but he knew not if the game was roulette. He would do as +others did. If he were ridiculed, it was of little importance; and in +reality he should desire to be ridiculed. People remember with pleasure +those at whom they have laughed, and he had come here to find some one +who would remember him. + +When he entered the salon where the playing was going on, he observed +that a religious silence reigned there. Round a large table covered with +a carpet of green cloth, which was divided by lines and figures, some +men were seated on high chairs, making them appear like officers; +others, on lower chairs, or simply standing about the table, pushed +or picked up the louis and bank bills on the green cloth, and a strong +voice repeated, in a monotonous tone: + +"Messieurs, faites votre jeu! Le jeu est fait! Rien ne va plus!" + +Then a little ivory ball was thrown into a cylinder, where it rolled +with a metallic noise. Although he had never seen roulette, it required +no effort to divine that this was the game. + +And, before putting several louis on the table, he looked about him to +see how it was played. But after the tenth time he understood as little +as at first. With the rakes the croupiers collected the stakes of +certain players; with these same rakes they doubled, separated, or even +paid, in proportions of which he took no account, certain others, and +that was all. + +But it mattered little. Having seen how the money was placed on the +table, that was sufficient. + +He had five louis in his hand when the croupier said: + +"Messieurs, faites votre jeu." + +He placed them on the number thirty-two, or, at least, he believed that +he placed them on this number. + +"Rien ne va plus!" The ball rolled in the cylinder. + +"Thirty-one!" cried the croupier, adding some other words that Saniel +did not understand. So little did he understand roulette that he thought +he had lost. He had placed his stake on the thirty-two, and it was the +thirty-one that had appeared; the bank had won. He was surprised to see +the croupier push a heap of gold toward him, which amounted to nearly a +hundred louis, and accompany this movement with a glance which, without +any doubt, meant to say: + +"For you, sir." + +What should he do? Since he had lost, he could not take this, money that +was given to him by mistake. + +In placing his stake on the table, he had leaned over the shoulder of a +gentleman whose hair and beard were of a most extraordinary black, who, +without playing, pricked a card with a pin. This gentleman turned toward +him, and with an amiable smile, and in a most gracious tone said: + +"It is yours, sir." + +Decidedly, he was mistaken in thinking he had lost; and he must take +this heap of louis, which he did, but neglecting to take, also, his +first stake. + +The game continued. + +"Thirty-two," called the croupier. + +Saniel perceived that his five louis had remained on the thirty-two; +he believed that he had won, since this number was called, and his +ignorance was such that he did not know that in roulette a number is +paid thirty-six times the stake: the croupier would, therefore, push +toward him one hundred and eighty Louis. + +But, to his great surprise, he pushed him no more money than at first. +This was incomprehensible. When he lost, money was paid to him, and when +he won, he was paid only half his due. + +His face betrayed his astonishment so plainly that he saw a mocking +smile in the eyes of the black-haired man, who had again turned toward +him. + +As he played merely for the sake of playing, and not to win or lose, he +pocketed all that was pushed toward him and his stake. + +"Since you are not going to play any more," said the amiable gentleman, +leaving his chair, "will you permit me to say a word to you?" + +Saniel bowed, and together they left the table. When they were far +enough away to converse without disturbing the players, the gentleman +bowed ceremoniously: + +"Permit me to present myself-Prince Mazzazoli." + +Saniel replied by giving his name and position. + +"Well, doctor," the prince said with a strong Italian accent, "you +will pardon me, I hope, for making the simple observation that my age +authorizes: you play like a child." + +"Like an ignoramus," Saniel replied, without being angry. For, however +unusual this observation might be, he had already decided that it might +be a good thing in the future to call upon the testimony of a prince. + +"I am sure you are still asking yourself why you received eighteen times +the sum of your stake at the first play, and why you did not receive +thirty-six times the sum at the second." + +"That is true." + +"Well, I will tell you." And he proceeded to explain. + +Saniel did not wait for the conclusion to learn the fact that this +very-much-dyed Italian prince was a liar. + +"I do not intend to play again," he said. + +"With your luck that would be more than a fault." + +"I wanted a certain sum; I have won it, and that satisfies me." + +"You will not be so foolish as to refuse the hand that Fortune holds +out?" + +"Are you sure she holds it out to me?" Saniel asked, finding that it was +the prince. + +"Do not doubt it. I will show you--" + +"Thank you; but I never break a resolution." + +In another moment Saniel would have turned his back on the man, but he +was a witness whom it would be well to treat with caution. + +"I have nothing more to do here," he said, politely. "Permit me to +retire, after having thanked you for your offer, whose kindness I +appreciate." + +"Well," cried the prince, "since you will not risk your fate, let me do +it for you. This money may be a fetich. Take off five louis, only +five louis, and confide them to me. I will play them according to my +combinations, which are certain, and this evening I will give you your +part of the proceeds. Where are you staying? I live at the Villa des +Palmes." + +"Nowhere; I have just arrived." + +"Then let us meet here this evening at ten o'clock, in this room, and we +will liquidate our association." + +His first impulse was to refuse. Of what use to give alms to this old +monkey? But, after all, it did not cost much to pay his witness five +louis, and he gave them to him. + +"A thousand thanks! This evening, at ten o'clock." + +As Saniel left the room he found himself face to face with his old +comrade Duphot, who was accompanied by a woman, the same whom he had +cured. + +"What! you here?" both the lover and his mistress exclaimed. + +Saniel related why he was at Monaco, and what he had done since his +arrival. + +"With my money! Ah! She is very well," Duphot cried. + +"And you will play no more?" the woman asked. + +"I have all I want." + +"Then you will play for me." + +He wished to decline, but they drew him to the roulette table, and each +put a louis in his hand. + +"Play." + +"How?" + +"As inspiration counsels you. You have the luck." + +But his luck had died. The two louis were lost. + +They gave him two others, which won eight. + +"You see, dear friend." + +He went on, with varying luck, winning and losing. + +At the end of a quarter of an hour they permitted him to go. + +"And what are you going to do now?" Duphot asked. + +"To send what I owe to my creditors by telegraph." + +"Do you know where the telegraph is?" + +"No." + +"I will go with you." + +This was a second witness that Saniel was too wise to shake off. + +When he had sent his telegram to Jardine, he had nothing more to do +at Monte Carlo, and as he could not leave before eleven o'clock in the +evening, he was idle, not knowing how to employ his time. So he bought +a Nice newspaper and seated himself in the garden, under a gaslight, +facing the dark and tranquil sea. Perhaps he could find in it some +telegraph despatch which would tell him what had occurred in the Rue +Sainte-Anne since his departure. + +At the end of the paper, under "Latest News," he read: + +"The crime of the Rue Sainte-Anne seems to take a new turn; the +investigations made with more care have led to the discovery of a +trousers' button, to which is attached a piece of cloth. It shows, +therefore, that before the crime there was a struggle between the victim +and the assassin. As this button has certain letters and marks, it is a +valuable clew for the police." + +This proof of a struggle between the victim and the assassin made Saniel +smile. Who could tell how long this button had been there? + +Suddenly he left his seat, and entering a copse he examined his +clothing. Was it he who had lost it? + +But soon he was ashamed of this unconscious movement. The button which +the police were so proud to discover, did not belong to him. This new +track on which they were about to enter did not lead to him. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. PHILLIS'S FEARS + +On Tuesday, a little before five o'clock, as she had promised, Phillis +rang at Saniel's door, and he left his laboratory where he was at work, +to let her in. + +She threw herself on his neck. + +"Well?" she asked, in a trembling voice. + +He told her how he had played and won, without stating the exact sum; +also the propositions of the Prince Mazzazoli, the meeting with Duphot, +and the telegram to Jardine. + +"Oh! What happiness!" she said, pressing him in her arms. "You are +free!" + +"No more creditors! I am my own master. You see it was a good +inspiration. Justice willed it." + +Then interrupting him: + +"Apropos of justice, you did not speak of Caffie the morning of your +departure." + +"I was so preoccupied I had no time to think of Caffie." + +"Is it not curious, the coincidence of his death with the condemnation +that we pronounced against him? Does it not prove exactly the justice of +things?" + +"If you choose." + +"As the money you won at Monaco proves to you that what is just will +happen. Caffie is punished for all his rascalities and crimes, and you +are rewarded for your sufferings." + +"Would it not have been just if Caffie had been punished sooner, and if +I had suffered less?" + +She remained silent. + +"You see," he said smiling, "that your philosophy is weak." + +"It is not of my philosophy that I am thinking, but of Caffie and +ourselves." + +"And how can Caffie be associated with you or yours?" + +"He is, or rather he may be, if this justice in which I believe in spite +of your joking permits him to be." + +"You are talking in enigmas." + +"What have you heard about Caffie since you went away?" + +"Nothing, or almost nothing." + +"You know it is thought that the crime was committed by a butcher." + +"The commissioner picked up the knife before me, and it is certainly a +butcher's knife. And more than that, the stroke that cut Caffie's throat +was given by a hand accustomed to butchery. I have indicated this in my +report." + +"Since then, more careful investigations have discovered a trousers' +button--" + +"Which might have been torn off in a struggle between Caffie and his +assassin, I read in a newspaper. But as for me, I do not believe in this +struggle. Caffie's position in his chair, where he was assaulted and +where he died, indicates that the old scamp was surprised. Otherwise, +if he had not been, if he had struggled, he could have cried out, and, +without doubt, he would have been heard." + +"If you knew how happy I am to hear you say that!" she cried. + +"Happy! What difference can it make to you?" and he looked at her in +surprise. "Of what importance is it to you whether Caffie was killed +with or without a struggle? You condemned him; he is dead. That should +satisfy you." + +"I was very wrong to pronounce this condemnation, which I did without +attaching any importance to it." + +"Do you think that hastened its execution?" + +"I am not so foolish as that, but I should be better pleased if I had +not condemned him." + +"Do you regret it?" + +"I regret that he is dead." + +"Decidedly, the enigma continues; but you know I do not understand it, +and, if you wish, we will stop there. We have something better to do +than to talk of Caffie." + +"On the contrary, let me talk to you of him, because we want your +advice." + +Again he looked at her, trying to read her face and to divine why she +insisted on speaking of Caffie, when he had just expressed a wish not to +speak of him. What was there beneath this insistence? + +"I will listen," he said; "and, since you wish to ask my advice on the +subject, you must tell me immediately what you mean." + +"You are right; and I should have told you before, but embarrassment and +shame restrained me. And I reproach myself, for with you I should feel +neither embarrassment nor reproach." + +"Assuredly." + +"But before everything else, I must tell you--you must know--that my +brother Florentin is a good and honest boy; you must believe it, you +must be convinced of it." + +"I am, since you tell me so. Besides, he produced the best impression on +me during the short time I saw him the other day at your house." + +"Would not one see immediately that he has a good nature?" + +"Certainly." + +"Frank and upright; weak, it is true, and a little effeminate also, +that is, lacking energy, letting himself be carried away by goodness and +tenderness. This weakness made him commit a fault before his departure +for America. I have kept it from you until this moment, but you must +know it now. Loving a woman who controlled him and made him do what she +wished, he let himself be persuaded to-take a sum of forty-five francs +that she demanded, that she insisted on having that evening, hoping to +be able to replace it three days later, without his employer discovering +it." + +"His employer was Caffie?" + +"No; it was three months after he left Caffie, and he was with another +man of business of whom I have never spoken to you, and now you +understand why. The money he expected failed him; his fault was +discovered, and his employer lodged a complaint against him." + +"We made him withdraw his complaint, never mind how, and Florentin went +to America to seek his fortune. And since you have seen him, you admit +that he might be capable of the fault that he committed, without being +capable-of becoming an assassin." + +He was about to reply, but she closed his lips with a quick gesture. + +"You will see why I speak of this, and you will understand why I do +not drop the subject of Caffie, and of this button, on which the police +count to find the criminal. This button belonged to Florentin." + +"To your brother?" + +"Yes, to Florentin, who, the day of the crime, had been to see Caffie." + +"That is true; the concierge told the commissioner of police that he +called about three o'clock." + +Phillis gave a cry of despair. + +"They know he was there? Then it is more serious than we imagined or +believed." + +"In answering a question as to whom Caffie had received that day, the +concierge named your brother. But as this visit took place between three +and half-past, and the crime was certainly committed between five and +half-past, no one can accuse your brother of being the assassin, since +he left before Caffie lighted his lamp. As this lamp could not light +itself, it proves that he could not have butchered a man who was living +an hour after the concierge saw your brother and talked with him." + +"What you say is a great relief; if you could know how alarmed we have +been!" + +"You were too hasty to alarm yourself." + +"Too hasty? But when Florentin read the account to us and came to the +button, he exclaimed, 'This button is mine!' and we experienced a +shock that made us lose our heads. We saw the police falling on us, +questioning Florentin, reproaching him with the past, which would be +retailed in all the newspapers, and you must understand how we felt." + +"But cannot your brother explain how he lost this button at Caffie's?" + +"Certainly, and in the most natural way. He went to see Caffie, to ask +him for a letter of recommendation, saying that he had been his clerk +for several years. Caffie gave it to him, and then, in the course of +conversation, Caffie spoke of a bundle of papers that he could not find. +Florentin had had charge of these papers, and had placed them on a high +shelf in the closet. As Caffie could not find them, and wanted them, +Florentin brought a small ladder, and, mounting it, found them. He was +about to descend the ladder, when he made a misstep, and in trying to +save himself, one of the buttons of his trousers was pulled off." + +"And he did not pick it up?" + +"He did not even notice it at first. But later, in the street, seeing +one leg of his trousers longer than the other, he thought of the ladder, +and found that he had lost a button. He would not return to Caffie's to +look for it, of course." + +"Of course." + +"How could he foresee that Caffie would be assassinated? That the crime +would be so skilfully planned and executed that the criminal would +escape? That two days later the police would find a button on which they +would build a story that would make him the criminal? Florentin had not +thought of all that." + +"That is understood." + +"The same evening he replaced the button by another, and it was only on +reading the newspaper that he felt there might be something serious in +this apparently insignificant fact. And we shared his alarm." + +"Have you spoken to any one of this button?" + +"Certainly not; we know too much. I tell you of it because I tell you +everything; and if we are menaced, we have no help to expect, except +from you. Florentin is a good boy, but he is weak and foolish. Mamma +is like him in more than one respect, and as for me, although I am more +resistant, I confess that, in the face of the law and the police, I +should easily lose my head, like children who begin to scream when they +are left in the dark. Is not the law, when you know nothing of it, a +night of trouble, full of horrors, and peopled with phantoms?" + +"I do not believe there is the danger that you imagined in the first +moment of alarm." + +"It was natural." + +"Very natural, I admit, but reflection must show how little foundation +there is for it. The button has not the name of the tailor who furnished +it?" + +"No, but it has the initials and the mark of the manufacturer; an A and +a P, with a crown and a cock." + +"Well! Among two or three thousand tailors in Paris, how is it possible +for the police to find those who use these buttons? And when the tailors +are found, how could they designate the owner of this button, this one +exactly, and not another? It is looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. +Where did your brother have these trousers made? Did he bring them from +America?" + +"The poor boy brought nothing from America but wretchedly shabby +clothes, and we had to clothe him from head to foot. We were obliged to +economize, and a little tailor in the Avenue de Clichy, called Valerius, +made this suit." + +"It seems to me scarcely probable that the police will find this little +tailor. But if they do, would he recognize the button as coming from +his stock? And, if they get as far as your brother, they must prove that +there was a struggle; that the button was torn off in this struggle; +that your brother was in the Rue Sainte-Anne between five and six +o'clock; in which case, without doubt, he will find it easy to prove +where he was at that moment." + +"He was with us--with mamma." + +"You see, then, you need not feel alarmed." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. A GRAVE DISCUSSION + +Phillis hurried to return to the Rue des Moines, to share with her +mother and brother the confidence that Saniel caused her to feel. + +She pulled the bell with a trembling hand, for the time was past when +in this quiet house, where all the lodgers knew each other, the key was +left in the door, and one had only to knock before entering. Since the +newspapers had spoken of the button, all was changed; the feeling of +liberty and security had disappeared; the door was always closed, and +when the bell rang they looked at each other in fear and with trembling. + +When Florentin opened the door, the table was set for dinner. + +"I was afraid something had happened to you," Madame Cormier said. + +"I was detained." + +She took off her hat and cloak hastily. + +"You have learned nothing?" the mother asked, bringing in the soup. + +"No." + +"They spoke to you of nothing?" Florentin continued in a low voice. + +"They spoke to me of nothing else; or I heard only that when I was not +addressed directly." + +"What was said?" + +"No one believes that the investigations of the police bear on the +button." + +"You see, Florentin," Madame Cormier interrupted, smiling at her son. + +But he shook his head. + +"However, the opinion of all has a value," Phillis cried. + +"Speak lower," Florentin said. + +"It is thought that it is impossible for the police to find, among the +two or three thousand tailors in Paris, all those who use the buttons +marked A. P. And if they did find them, they could not designate all +their customers to whom they have furnished these buttons. It is really +looking for a needle in a bundle of hay." + +"When one takes plenty of time, one finds a needle in a bundle of hay," +Florentin said. + +"You ask me what I heard, and I tell you. But I do not depend entirely +on that. As I passed near the Rue Louis-le-Grand, I went to Doctor +Saniel's; it being his office hour I hoped to find him." + +"You told him the situation?" Florentin exclaimed. + +In any other circumstances she would have replied frankly, explaining +that she had perfect confidence in Saniel; but when she saw her +brother's agitation, she could not exasperate him by this avowal, above +all, because she could not at the same time give her reasons for her +faith in him. She must reassure him before everything. + +"No," she said, "but I spoke of Caffie to Doctor Saniel without his +being surprised. As he made the first deposition, was it not natural +that my curiosity should wish to learn a little more than the newspapers +tell?" + +"Never mind, the act must appear strange." + +"I think not. But, anyhow, the interest that we have to learn all +made me overlook this; and I think, when I have told you the doctor's +opinion, you will not regret my visit." + +"And this opinion?" Madame Cormier asked. + +"His opinion is, that there was no struggle between Caffie and the +assassin, whereas the position of Caffie in the chair where he was +attacked proves that he was surprised. Therefore, if there was no +struggle, there was no button torn off, and all the scaffolding of the +police falls to the ground." + +Madame Cormier breathed a profound sigh of deliverance. + +"You see," she said to her son. + +"And the doctor's opinion is not the opinion of the first-comer, it is +not even that of an ordinary physician. It is that of the physician who +has certified to the death, and who, more than any one, has power, +has authority, to say how it was given--by surprise, without struggle, +without a button being pulled off." + +"It is not Doctor Saniel who directs the search of the police, or +who inspires it," replied Florentin. "His opinion does not produce a +criminal, while the button can--at least for those who believe in the +struggle; and between the two the police will not hesitate. + +"Already the newspapers laugh at them for not having discovered the +assassin, who has rejoined all the others they have let escape. They +must follow the track they have started on, and this track--" + +He lowered his voice: + +"It will lead them here." + +"To do that they must pass by the Avenue de Clichy, and that seems +unlikely." + +"It is the possible that torments me, and not the unlikely, and you +cannot but recognize that what I fear is possible. I was at Caffies +the day of the crime. I lost there a button torn off by violence. +This button picked up by the police proves, according to them, the +criminality of the one who lost it. They will find that I am the one--" + +"They will not find you." + +"Let us admit that they do find me. How should I defend myself?" + +"By proving that you were not in the Rue Sainte-Anne between five and +six o'clock, since you were here." + +"And what witnesses will prove this alibi? I have only one--mamma. +What is the testimony of a mother worth in favor of her son in such +circumstances?" + +"You will have that of the doctor, affirming that there was no struggle, +and consequently no button torn off." + +"Affirming, but carrying no proof to support his theory; the opinion of +one doctor, which the opinion of another doctor may refute and destroy. +And then, to prove that there was no struggle; Doctor Saniel will say +that Caffie was surprised. Who could surprise Caffie? To open Caffies +door when the clerk was away, it was necessary to ring first, and then +to knock three times in a peculiar way. No stranger could know that, and +who could know it better than I?" + +Step by step Phillis defended the ground against her brother; but little +by little the confidence which at first sustained her weakened. With +Saniel she was brave. Between her brother and mother, in this room that +had witnessed their fears, not daring to speak loud, she was downcast, +and let herself be overcome by their anxieties. + +"Truly," she said, "it seems as if we were guilty and not innocent." + +"And while we are tormenting ourselves, the criminal, probably, in +perfect safety laughs at the police investigations; he had not thought +of this button; chance throws it in his way. Luck is for him, and +against us--once more." + +This was the plaint that was often on Florentin's lips. Although he had +never been a gambler--and for sufficient reason--in his eyes everything +was decided by luck. There are those who are born under a lucky star, +others under an unlucky one. There are those who, in the battle of life, +receive knocks without being discouraged, because they expect something +the next day, as there are those who become discouraged because they +expect nothing, and know by experience that tomorrow will be for them +what today is, what yesterday was. And Florentin was one of these. + +"Why did I not stay in America?" he said. + +"Because you were too unhappy, my poor boy!" Madame Cormier said, whose +maternal heart was moved by this cry. + +"Am I happier here, or shall I be to-morrow? What does this to-morrow, +full of uncertainty and dangers, hold for us?" + +"Why do you insist that it has only dangers?" Phillis asked, in a +conciliating and caressing tone. + +"You always expect the good." + +"At least I hope for it, and do not admit deliberately that it is +impossible. I do not say that life is always rose-colored, but neither +is it always black. I believe it is like the seasons. After winter, +which is vile, I confess, come the spring, summer, and autumn." + +"Well, if I had the money necessary for the voyage, I would go and pass +the end of the winter in a country where it would be less disagreeable +than here, and, above all, less dangerous for my constitution." + +"You do not say that seriously, I hope?" cried Madame Cormier. + +"On the contrary, very seriously." + +"We are hardly reunited, and you think of a separation," she said, +sadly. + +"It is not of a separation that Florentin thinks," cried Phillis, "but +of a flight." + +"And why not?" + +"Because only the guilty fly." + +"It is exactly the contrary. The intelligent criminals stay, and, as +generally they are resolute men, they know beforehand that they are +able to face the danger; while the innocent, timid like myself, or the +unlucky, lose their heads and fly, because they know beforehand, also, +that if a danger threatens them, it will crush them. That is why I would +return to America if I could pay my passage; at least I should feel easy +there." + +There was a moment of silence, during which each one seemed to have no +thought but to finish dinner. + +"Granting that this project is not likely," Florentin said, "I have +another idea." + +"Why do you have ideas?" Phillis asked. + +"I wish you were in my place; we should see if you would not have them." + +"I assure you that I am in your place, and that your trouble is mine, +only it does not betray itself in the same manner. But what is your +idea?" + +"It is to find Valerius and tell him all." + +"And who will answer to us for Valerius's discretion?" asked Madame +Cormier. "Would it not be the greatest imprudence that you could commit? +One cannot play with a secret of this importance." + +"Valerius is an honest man." + +"It is because he cannot work when political, or rather patriotic, +affairs go wrong, that you say this." + +"And why not? With a poor man who lives in a small way by his work, are +not this care and pride in his country marks of an honorable heart?" + +"I grant the honorable heart, but it is another reason for being prudent +with him," Phillis said. "Precisely because he may be what you think, +reserve is necessary. You tell him what is passed. If he accepts it and +your innocence, it is well; he will not betray your secret voluntarily +nor by stupidity. But he will not accept it; he will look beyond. He +will suppose that you wish to deceive him, and he will suspect you. In +that case, would he not go and tell all to the police commissioner of +our quarter? As for me, I think it is a danger that it would be foolish +to risk." + +"And, according to you, what is to be done?" + +"Nothing; that is, wait, since there are a thousand chances against one +for our uneasiness, and we exaggerate those that may never be realized." + +"Well, let us wait," he said. "Moreover, I like that; at the least, I +have no responsibilities. What can happen will happen." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR + +In order to put the button found at Caffies on the track of the +assassin, it required that it should have come from a Parisian tailor, +or, at least, a French one, and that the trousers had not been sold by a +ready-made clothing-house, where the names of customers are not kept. + +The task of the police was therefore difficult, as weak, also, were the +chances of success. As Saniel had said, it was like looking for a needle +in a bundle of hay, to go to each tailor in Paris. + +But this was not their way of proceeding. In place of trying to find +those who used these buttons, they looked for those who made them or +sold them, and suddenly, without going farther than the directory, they +found this manufacturer: "A. Pelinotte, manufacturer of metal buttons +for trousers; trademark, A.P., crown and cock; Faubourg du Temple." + +At first this manufacturer was not disposed to answer questions of the +agent who went to see him; but when he began to understand that he might +reap some advantage from the affair, like the good merchant that he was, +young and active, he put his books and clerks at his disposition. His +boast was, in effect, that his buttons, thanks to a brass bonnet around +which the thread was rolled instead of passing through the holes, never +cut the thread and could not be broken. When they came off it was with +a piece of the cloth. What better justification of his pretensions, +what better advertisement than his button torn off with a piece of the +trousers of the assassin? The affair would go before the assizes, and in +all the newspapers there would be mention of the "A. P. buttons." + +He was asked for his customers' names, and after a few days the search +began, guided by a list so exact that useless steps were spared. + +One morning a detective reached the Avenue de Clichy, and found the +tailor Valerius in his shop, reading a newspaper. For it was not only +when the country was in danger that Valerius had a passion for reading +papers, but every morning and evening. + +Nothing that was published in the papers escaped him, and at the first +words of the agent he understood immediately about what he was to be +questioned. + +"It is concerning the affair in the Rue Sainte-Anne that you wish this +information?" he said. + +"Frankly, yes." + +"Well, frankly also, I do not know if the secrets of the profession +permit me to answer you." + +The agent, who was by no means stupid, immediately understood the man's +character, and instead of yielding to the desire to laugh, caused by +this reply honestly made by this good-natured man, whose long, black, +bushy beard and bald head accentuated his gravity, he yielded to the +necessity of the occasion. + +"That is a question to discuss." + +"Then let us discuss it. A customer, confiding in my honesty and +discretion, gives me an order to make a pair of trousers; he pays me as +he agreed, without beating me down, and on the day he promised. We are +loyal to each other. I give him a pair of good trousers, honestly made, +and he pays me with good money. We are even. Have I the right afterward, +by imprudent words, or otherwise, to furnish clews against him? The case +is a delicate one." + +"Do you place the interest of the individual above that of society?" + +"When it is a question of a professional secret, yes. Where should we be +if the lawyer, the notary, the doctor, the confessor, the tailor, could +accept compromises on this point of doctrine? It would be anarchy, +simply, and in the end it would be the interest of society that would +suffer." + +The agent, who had no time to lose, began to be impatient. + +"I will tell you," he said, "that the tailor, however important his +profession may be, is not placed exactly as the doctor or confessor. +Have you not a book in which you write your customers' orders?" + +"Certainly." + +"So that if you persevere in a theory, pushing it to an extreme, I need +only to go to the commissioner of your quarter, who, in virtue of the +power of the law conferred upon him, will seize your books." + +"That would be by violence, and my responsibility would be at an end." + +"And in these books the judge would see to whom you have furnished +trousers of this stuff. It would only remain then to discover in whose +interest you have wished to escape the investigations of the law." + +Saying this, he took from his pocket a small box, and taking out a piece +of paper, he took from it a button to which adhered a piece of navy blue +stuff. + +Valerius, who was not in the least moved by the threat of the +commissioner, for he was a man to brave martyrdom, looked at the box +curiously. When the agent displayed the button, a movement of great +surprise escaped him. + +"You see," the agent exclaimed, "that you know this cloth!" + +"Will you permit me to look at it?" Valerius asked. + +"Willingly, but on condition that you do not touch it; it is precious." + +Valerius took the box, and approaching the front of the shop, looked at +the button and the piece of cloth. + +"It is a button marked 'A.P.,' as you see, and we know that you use +these buttons." + +"I do not deny it; they are good buttons, and I give only good things to +my customers." + +Returning the box to the agent, he took a large book and began to turn +over the leaves; pieces of cloth were pasted on the pages, and at the +side were several lines of large handwriting. Arriving at a page where +was a piece of blue cloth, he took the box and compared this piece with +that of the button, examining it by daylight. + +"Sir," he said, "I am going to tell you some very serious things." + +"I am listening." + +"We hold the assassin of the Rue Sainte-Anne, and it is I who will give +you the means of discovering him." + +"You have made trousers of this cloth?" + +"I have made three pairs; but there is only one pair that can interest +you, that of the assassin. I have just told you that the secrets of the +profession prevented me from replying to your questions, but what I have +just seen frees my conscience. As I explained to you, when I make a +pair of good trousers for a customer who pays me in good money, I do not +think I have the right to reveal the affairs of my client to any one in +the world, even to the law." + +"I understand," interrupted the agent, whose impatience increased. + +"But this reserve on my part rests on reciprocity: to a good customer, +a good tailor. If the customer is not good the reciprocity ceases, or, +rather, it continues on another footing--that of war; if any one +treats me badly, I return the same. The trousers to which this stuff +belongs"--he showed the button--"I made for an individual whom I do not +know, and who presented himself to me as an Alsacian, which I believed +so much more easily, because he spoke with a strong foreign accent. +These trousers--I need not tell you how careful I was with them. I am +a patriot, sir. He agreed to pay for them on delivery. When they were +delivered, the young apprentice who took them had the weakness to not +insist upon the money. I went to him, but could obtain nothing; he +would pay me the next day, and so on. Finally he disappeared, leaving no +address." + +"And this customer?" + +"I will give you his name without the slightest hesitation. Fritzner, +not an Alsacian as I believed, but a Prussian to a certainty, who surely +struck the blow; his disappearance the day after the crime is the proof +of it." + +"You say that you were not able to procure his address?" + +"But you, who have other means at your disposal, can find him. He is +twenty-seven or thirty years old, of middle height, blue eyes, a blond +beard, and a complete blue suit of this cloth." + +The agent wrote this description in his note-book as the tailor gave it +to him. + +"If he has not left Paris with these stolen thirty-five thousand francs, +we shall find him, and the thanks will be yours," he said. + +"I am happy to be able to do anything for you." + +The agent was going, but he thought better of it. + +"You said that you had made three suits of this cloth?" + +"Yes, but there is only this Fritzner who counts. The two others are +honest men, well known in the quarter, and they paid me honestly." + +"Since they have no cause for alarm, you need have no scruples in naming +them. It is not in the name of justice that I ask their names, but for +myself.--They will look well in my report and will prove that I pushed +my investigations thoroughly." + +"One is a merchant in the Rue Truffant, and is called Monsieur Blanchet; +the other is a young man just arrived from America, and his name is +Monsieur Florentin Cormier." + +"You say Florentin Cormier?" the agent asked, who remembered this name +was that of one who had seen Caffie on the day of the crime. "Do you +know him?" + +"Not exactly; it is the first time that I have made clothes for him. But +I know his mother and sister, who have lived in the Rue des Moines five +or six years at least; good, honest people, who work hard and have no +debts." + +The next morning about ten o'clock, a short time after Phillis's +departure, Florentin, who was reading the newspaper in the dining-room, +while his mother prepared the breakfast, heard stealthy steps that +stopped on the landing before their door. His ear was too familiar with +the ordinary sounds in the house to be deceived; there was in these +steps a hesitation or a precaution which evidently betrayed a stranger, +and with the few connections they had, a stranger was surely an +enemy--the one whom he expected. + +A ring of the doorbell, given by a firm hand, made him jump from his +chair. He did not hesitate; slowly, and with an air of indifference, he +opened the door. + +He saw before him a man of about forty years, with a polite and shrewd +face, dressed in a short coat, and wearing a flat hat. + +"Monsieur Florentin Cormier?" + +"I am he." + +And he asked him to come in. + +"The judge desires to see you at his office." + +Madame Cormier came from the kitchen in time to hear these few words, +and if Florentin had not motioned to her to be silent, she would have +betrayed herself. The words on her lips were: + +"You came to arrest my son!" They would have escaped her, but she +crushed them back. + +"And can you tell me for what affair the judge summons me?" Florentin +asked, steadying his voice. + +"For the Caffie affair." + +"And at what hour should I present myself before the judge?" + +"Immediately." + +"But my son has not breakfasted!" Madame Cormier exclaimed. "At least, +take something before going, my dear child." + +"It is not worth while." + +He made a sign to her that she should not insist. His throat was too +tight to swallow a piece of bread, and it was important that he should +not betray his emotion before this agent. + +"I am ready," he said. + +Going to his mother he embraced her, but lightly, without effusion, as +if he were only to be absent a short time. + +"By-and-by." + +She was distracted; but, understanding that she would compromise her son +if she yielded to her feelings, she controlled herself. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. A TIGHTENING CHAIN + +As it was a part that he played, Florentin said to himself that he would +play it to the best of his ability in entering the skin of the person he +wished to be, and this part was that of a witness. + +He had been Caffie's clerk; the justice would interrogate him about his +old employer, and nothing would be more natural. It was that only, and +nothing but that, which he could admit; consequently, he should interest +himself in the police investigations, and have the curiosity to learn +how they stood. + +"Have you advanced far in the Caffie affair?" he asked the agent as they +walked along. + +"I do not know," the agent answered, who thought it prudent to be +reserved. "I know nothing more than the newspapers tell." + +On leaving his mother's house, Florentin observed on the other side +of the street a man who appeared to be stationed there; at the end of +several minutes, on turning a corner, he saw that this man followed them +at a certain distance. Then it was not a simple appearance before the +judge, for such precautions are not taken with a witness. + +When they reached the Place Clichy, the agent asked him if he would take +a carriage, but he declined. What good was it? It was a useless expense. + +Then he saw the agent raise his hat, as if bowing to some one, but this +bow was certainly not made to any one; and immediately, the man who had +followed them approached. The raising of the hat was a signal. As from +the deserted quarters of the Batignolles they entered the crowd, they +feared he might try to escape. The character of the arrest became +accentuated. + +After the presentiments and fears that had tormented him during the +last few days this did not astonish him, but since they took these +precautions with him, all was not yet decided. He must, then, defend +himself to the utmost. Distracted before the danger came, he felt less +weak now that he was in it. + +On arriving at the Palais de justice he was introduced immediately +into the judge's office. But he did not attend to him at once; he was +questioning a woman, and Florentin examined him by stealth. He saw a man +of elegant and easy figure, still young, with nothing solemn or imposing +about him, having more the air of a boulevardier or of a sportsman than +of a magistrate. + +While continuing his questioning, he also examined Florentin, but with +a rapid glance, without persistence, carelessly, and simply because his +eyes fell upon him. Before a table a clerk was writing, and near the +door two policemen waited, with the weary, empty faces of men whose +minds are elsewhere. + +Soon the judge turned his head toward them. + +"You may take away the accused." + +Then, immediately addressing Florentin, he asked him his name, his +Christian names, and his residence. + +"You have been the clerk of the agent of affairs, Caffie. Why did you +leave him?" + +"Because my work was too heavy." + +"You are afraid of work?" + +"No, when it is not too hard; it was at his office, and left me no time +to work for myself. I was obliged to reach his office at eight o'clock +in the morning, breakfast there, and did not leave until seven to dine +with my mother at the Batignolles. I had an hour and a half for that; +at half-past eight I had to return, and stay until ten or half-past. In +accepting this position I believed that I should be able to finish my +education, interrupted by the death of my father, and to study law and +become something better than a miserable clerk of a business man. It was +impossible with Monsieur Caffie, so I left him, and this was the only +reason why we separated." + +"Where have you been since?" + +This was a delicate question, and one that Florentin dreaded, for it +might raise prejudices that nothing would destroy. However, he must +reply, for what he would not tell himself others would reveal; an +investigation on this point was too easy. + +"With another business man, Monsieur Savoureux, Rue de la Victoire, +where I was not obliged to work in the evening. I stayed there about +three months, and then went to America." + +"Why?" + +"Because, when I began to study seriously, I found that my studies +had been neglected too long to make it possible for me to take them +up again. I had forgotten nearly all I had learned. I should, without +doubt, fail in my examination, and I should only begin the law too late. +I left France for America, where I hoped to find a good situation." + +"How long since your return?" + +"Three weeks." + +"And you went to see Caffie?" + +"Yes." + +"What for?" + +"To ask him for a recommendation to replace the one he gave me, which I +had lost." + +"It was the day of the crime?" + +"Yes." + +"At what time?" + +"I reached his house about a quarter to three, and I left about +half-past three." + +"Did he give you the certificate for which you asked?" + +"Yes; here it is." + +And, taking it from his pocket, he presented it to the judge. It was +a paper saying that, during the time that M. Florentin Cormier was his +clerk, Caffie was entirely satisfied with him; with his work, as with +his accuracy and probity. + +"And you did not return to him during the evening?" the judge asked. + +"Why should I return? I had obtained what I desired." + +"Well, did you or did you not return?" + +"I did not return to him." + +"Do you remember what you did on leaving Caffie's house?" + +If Florentin had indulged in the smallest illusion about his appearance +before the judge, the manner of conducting the interview would have +destroyed it. It was not a witness who was being questioned, it was a +culprit. He had not to enlighten the justice, he had to defend himself. + +"Perfectly," he said. "It is not so long ago. On leaving the Rue +Sainte-Anne, as I had nothing to do, I went down to the quays, and +looked at the old books from the Pont Royale to the Institute; but at +this moment a heavy shower came on, and I returned to the Batignolles, +where I remained with my mother." + +"What time was it when you reached your mother's house?" + +"A few minutes after five." + +"Can you not say exactly?" + +"About a quarter past five, a few minutes more or less." + +"And you did not go out again?" + +"No." + +"Did any one call at your mother's after you arrived there?" + +"No one. My sister came in at seven o'clock, as usual, when she returned +from her lesson." + +"Before you went up to your rooms did you speak with any of the other +lodgers?" + +"No." + +There was a pause, and Florentin felt the judge's eyes fixed on him with +an aggravating persistency. It seemed as if this look, which enveloped +him from head to foot, wished to penetrate his inmost thoughts. + +"Another thing," said the judge. "You did not lose a trousers' button +while you were with Caffie?" + +Florentin expected this question, and for some time he had considered +what answer he should make to it. To deny was impossible. It would be +easy to convict him of a fib, for the fact of the question being asked +was sufficient to say there was proof that the button was his. He must, +then, confess the truth, grave as it might be. + +"Yes," he said, "and this is how--" + +He related in detail the story of the bundle of papers placed on the +highest shelf of the cases, his slipping on the ladder, and the loss of +the button, which he did not discover until he was in the street. + +The judge opened a drawer and took from it a small box, from which he +took a button that he handed to Florentin. + +"Is that it?" he asked. + +Florentin looked at it. + +"It is difficult for me to answer," he said, finally; "one button +resembles another." + +"Not always." + +"In that case, it would be necessary for me to have observed the form +of the one I lost, and I gave no attention to it. It seems to me that no +one knows exactly how, or of what, the buttons are made that they wear." + +The judge examined him anew. + +"But are not the trousers that you wear to-day the same from which this +button was torn?" + +"It is the pair I wore the day I called on Monsieur Caffie." + +"Then it is quite easy to compare the button that I show you with those +on your trousers, and your answer becomes easy." + +It was impossible to escape this verification. + +"Unbutton your vest," said the judge, "and make your comparison with +care--with all the care that you think wise. The question has some +importance." + +Florentin felt it only too much, the importance of this question, but as +it was set before him, he could not but answer frankly. + +He unbuttoned his waistcoat, and compared the button with his. + +"I believe that it is really the button that I lost," he said. + +Although he endeavored not to betray his anguish, he felt that his voice +trembled, and that it had a hoarse sound. Then he wished to explain this +emotion. + +"This is a truly terrible position for me," he said. + +The judge did not reply. + +"But because I lost a button at Monsieur Caffie's, it does not follow +that it was torn off in a struggle." + +"You have your theory, and you will make the most of it, but this is not +the place. I have only one more question to ask: By what button have you +replaced the one you lost?" + +"By the first one I came across." + +"Who sewed it on?" + +"I did." + +"Are you in the habit of sewing on your buttons yourself?" + +Although the judge did not press this question by his tone, nor by the +form in which he made it, Florentin saw the strength of the accusation +that his reply would make against him. + +"Sometimes," he said. + +"And yet, on returning home, you found your mother, you told me. Was +there any reason why she could not sew this button on for you?" + +"I did not ask her to do it." + +"But when she saw you sewing it, did she not take the needle from your +hands?" + +"She did not see me." + +"Why?" + +"She was occupied preparing our dinner." + +"That is sufficient." + +"I was in the entry of our apartment, where I have slept since my +return; my mother was in the kitchen." + +"Is there no communication between the kitchen and the entry?" + +"The door was closed." + +A flood of words rushed to his lips, to protest against the conclusions +which seemed to follow these answers, but he kept them back. He saw +himself caught in a net, and all his efforts to free himself only bound +him more strongly. + +As he was asked no more questions it seemed to him best to say nothing, +and he was silent a long time, of the duration of which he was only +vaguely conscious. + +The judge talked in a low tone, the recorder wrote rapidly, and he heard +only a monotonous murmur that interrupted the scratching of a pen on the +paper. + +"Your testimony will now be read to you," the judge said. + +He wished to give all his attention to this reading, but he soon lost +the thread of it. The impression it made upon him, however, was that it +faithfully reproduced all that he had said, and he signed it. + +"Now," said the judge, "my duty obliges me, in presence of the charges +which emanate from your testimony, to deliver against you a 'manda +depot'." + +Florentin received this blow without flinching. + +"I know," he said, "that all the protestations I might make would have +no effect at this moment; I therefore spare you them. But I have a favor +to ask of you; it is to permit me to write to my mother and sister the +news of my arrest--they love me tenderly. Oh, you shall read my letter!" + +"You may, sir." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. "REGARDING THE CAFFIE AFFAIR" + +After the departure of her son and the detective, Madame Cormier was +prostrated. Her son! Her Florentin! The poor child! And she was sunk in +despair. + +Had they not suffered enough? Was this new proof necessary? Why had +their life been so unmercifully cruel? Why had not Dr. Saniel let +her die? At least she would not have seen this last catastrophe, this +disgrace; her son accused of assassination, in prison, at the assizes! + +Heretofore when she had yielded to her feelings and bewailed their sad +lot, Phillis was at hand to cheer and caress her; but now she was alone +in her deserted apartment, no one to hear her, see her, nor scold. Why +should she not abandon herself to tears? She wept and trembled, but the +moment arrived when, after having reached the extreme of despair, which +showed her her son condemned as an assassin, and executed, she stopped +and asked herself if she had not gone too far. + +He would return; certainly she might expect him. And she waited for him +without breakfasting; he would not like to sit down to the table all +alone, the poor child. + +Besides, she was too profoundly overcome to eat. She arranged the fire +with care, so that the haricot of mutton would keep warm, for it was his +favorite dish. + +Minutes and hours passed and he did not return. Her anguish came back; +a witness would not be retained so long by the judge. Had they arrested +him? Then what would become of him? + +She fell into a state of tears and despair, and longed for Phillis. +Fortunately she would not be late to-day. Finally a quick, light step +was heard on the landing, and as soon as she could, Madame Cormier went +to open the door, and was stunned on seeing the agitated face of her +daughter. Evidently Phillis was surprised by the sudden opening of the +door. + +"You know all, then?" Madame Cormier cried. + +Phillis put her arms about her, and drew her into the dining-room, where +she made her sit down. + +"Becalm," she said. "They will not keep him." + +"You know some way?" + +"We will find a way. I promise you that they will not keep him." + +"You are sure?" + +"I promise you." + +"You give me life. But how did you know?" + +"He wrote to me. The concierge gave me his letter, which had just come." + +"What does he say?" + +Madame Cormier took the letter that Phillis handed her, but the paper +shook so violently in her trembling hand that she could not read. + +"Read it to me." + +Phillis took it and read + + "DEAR LITTLE SISTER: After listening to my story, the judge retains + me. Soften for mamma the pain of this blow. Make her understand + that they will soon acknowledge the falseness of this accusation; + and, on your part, try to make this falseness evident, while on + mine, I will work to prove my innocence. + + "Embrace poor mamma for me, and find in your tenderness, strength, + and love, some consolation for her; mine will be to think that you + are near her, dear little beloved sister. + + "FLORENTIN." + +"And it is this honest boy that they accuse of assassination!" cried +Madame Cormier, beginning to weep. + +It required several minutes for Phillis to quiet her a little. + +"We must think of him, mamma; we must not give up." + +"You are going to do something, are you not, my little Phillis?" + +"I am going to find Doctor Saniel." + +"He is a doctor, not a lawyer." + +"It is exactly as a doctor that he can save Florentin. He knows that +Caffie was killed without a struggle between him and the assassin; +consequently without the wrenching off of a button. He will say it and +prove it to the judge, and Florentin's innocence is evident. I am going +to see him." + +"I beg of you, do not leave me alone too long." + +"I will come back immediately." + +Phillis ran from the Batignolles to the Rue Louis-le-Grand. In answer to +her ring, Joseph, who had returned to his place in the anteroom, opened +the door, and as Saniel was alone, she went immediately to his office. + +"What is the matter?" he asked, on seeing her agitation. + +"My brother is arrested." + +"Ah! The poor boy!" + +What he had said to her on explaining that this arrest could not take +place was sincere; he believed it, and he more than believed it, he +wished it. When he decided to kill Caffie he had not thought that the +law would ever discover a criminal; it would be a crime that would +remain unpunished, as so many were, and no one would be disturbed. But +now the law had found and arrested one who was the brother of the woman +he loved. + +"How was he arrested?" he asked, as much for the sake of knowing as to +recover himself. + +She told what she knew, and read Florentin's letter. + +"He is a good boy, your brother," he said, as if talking to himself. + +"You will save him?" + +"How can I?" + +This cry escaped him without her understanding its weight; without her +divining the expression of anxious curiosity in his glance. + +"To whom shall I address myself, if not to you? Are you not everything +to me? My support, my guide, my counsel, my God!" + +She explained what she wished him to do. Once more an exclamation +escaped Saniel. + +"You wish me to go to the judge--me?" + +"Who, better than you, can explain how things happened?" + +Saniel, who had recovered from his first feeling of surprise, did not +flinch. Evidently she spoke with entire honesty, suspecting nothing, and +it would be folly to look for more than she said. + +"But I cannot present myself before a judge in such away," he said. "It +is he who sends for those he wants to see." + +"Why can you not go to his court, since you know things which will throw +light upon it?" + +"Is it truly easy to go before this court? In going before it, I make +myself the defender of your brother." + +"That is exactly what I ask of you." + +"And in presenting myself as his defender, I take away the weight of my +deposition, which would have more authority if it were that of a simple +witness." + +"But when will you be asked for this deposition? Think of Florentin's +sufferings during this time, of mamma's, and of mine. He may lose his +head; he may kill himself. His spirit is not strong, nor is mamma's. How +will they bear all that the newspapers will publish?" + +Saniel hesitated a moment. + +"Well, I will go," he said. "Not this evening, it is too late, but +tomorrow." + +"Oh, dear Victor!" she exclaimed, pressing him in her arms, "I knew that +you would save him. We will owe you his life, as we owe you mamma's, as +I owe you happiness. Am I not right to say you are my God?" + +After she was gone he had a moment of repentance in which he regretted +this weakness; for it was a weakness, a stupid sentimentalism, unworthy +of a sensible man, who should not permit himself to be thus touched and +involved. Why should he go and invite danger when he could be quiet, +without any one giving him a thought? Was it not folly? The law wanted a +criminal. Public curiosity demanded one. Why take away the one that +they had? If he succeeded, would they not look for another? It was +imprudence, and, to use the true word, madness. Now that he was no +longer under the influence of Phillis's beautiful, tearful eyes, +he would not commit this imprudence. All the evening this idea +strengthened, and when he went to bed his resolution was taken. He would +not go to the judge. + +But on awakening, he was surprised to find that this resolution of the +evening was not that of the morning, and that this dual personality, +which had already struck him, asserted itself anew. It was at night that +he resolved to kill Caffie, and he committed the deed in the evening. +It was in the morning that he had abandoned the idea, as it was in the +morning that he revoked the decision made the previous evening not to go +to the rescue of this poor boy. Of what then, was the will of man made, +undulating like the sea, and variable as the wind, that he had the folly +to believe his was firm? + +At noon he went to the Palais de justice and sent in his card to the +judge, on which he wrote these words: "Regarding the Caffie affair." + +He was received almost immediately, and briefly explained how, according +to his opinion, Caffie was killed quickly and suddenly by a firm and +skilful hand, that of a killer by profession. + +"That is the conclusion of your report," the judge said. + +"What I could not point out in my report, as I did not know of the +finding of the button and the opinion it has led to, is that there +was no struggle between the assassin and the victim, as is generally +supposed." + +And medically he demonstrated how this struggle was impossible. + +The judge listened attentively, without a word, without interruption. + +"Do you know this young man?" he asked. + +"I have seen him only once; but I know his mother, who was my patient, +and it is at her instigation that I decided to make this explanation to +you." + +"Without doubt, it has its value, but I must tell you that it tends in +no way to destroy our hypothesis." + +"But if it has no foundation?" + +"I must tell you that you are negative, doctor, and not suggestive. We +have a criminal and you have not. Do you see one?" + +Saniel thought that the judge looked at him with a disagreeable +persistency. + +"No," he said, sharply. + +Then rising, he said, more calmly: + +"That is not in my line." + +He had nothing to do but to retire, which he did; and on passing through +the vestibule he said to himself that the magistrate was right. He +believed that he held a criminal. Why should he let him go? + +As for him, he had done what he could. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. NOUGAREDE'S BRIDE + +Saniel passed the first proofs of his two 'concours' so brilliantly that +the results of either were not doubtful. In delivering his thesis for +the 'agregation', he commanded the admiration of his audience; by turns +aggressive, severe, ironical, eloquent, he reduced his adversary to such +an extremity that, overwhelmed, he was not able to reply. In his lecture +at the hospital, his eloquence and his clear demonstration convinced the +judges who were opposed to him that he was in the right. + +What could Caffie's death weigh, placed in the balance with these +results? So little that it counted for nothing, and would have held +no place in his thoughts if it had not been mixed in his mind with the +accusation that would send Florentin to the assizes. + +Cleared of this fact, the death of the old man rarely crossed his mind. +He had other things in his head, truly, than this memory which brought +neither regret nor remorse; and it was not at this moment, when he +touched the end at which he aimed, that he would embarrass himself, or +sadden his triumph, with Caffie. + +A little before the expiration of the two months, during which time +the poste restante retained the letters containing the thirty thousand +francs, he called for them, and readdressed and mailed them to other +post-offices. + +What did he want of this money, which was, in reality, a nuisance? His +habits remained the same, except that he no longer struggled with his +creditors, and paid cash for everything. He had no desire to make any +change in his former mode of living; his ambition was otherwise and +higher than in the small satisfactions, very small for him, that money +gives. + +Days passed without a thought of Caffie, except in connection with +Florentin. But Florentin, and above all, Phillis, reminded him that +the comfort he enjoyed he owed to Caffie's death, and he was troubled +accordingly. + +He did not believe that the investigations of the law would reach him +now; everything conspired to confirm him in his scrutiny. That which +he arranged so laboriously had succeeded according to his wish, and the +only imprudence that he had committed, in a moment of aberration, seemed +not to have been observed; no one had noticed his presence in the cafe +opposite Caffie's house, and no one was astonished at his pertinacity in +remaining there at an hour so unusual. + +But it was not enough that he was safe; he must prevent Florentin from +being unjustly condemned for a crime of which he was innocent. It was +a great deal that he should be imprisoned, that his sister should be in +despair, and his mother ill from chagrin; but if he should be sent to +the scaffold or to the galleys, it would be too much. In itself the +death of Caffie was a small thing; it became atrocious if it led to such +an ending. + +He did not wish this to happen, and he would do everything not only to +prevent the condemnation, but to shorten the imprisonment. + +It was this sentiment that he obeyed in going to see the judge; but +the manner in which he was received, showing him that the law was +not disposed to let its hypothesis be changed by a simple medical +demonstration, threw him into a state of uneasiness and perplexity. + +Without doubt, any one else in his place would have let things take +their course, and since the law had a criminal with which it contented +itself, would have done nothing to release him. While it followed its +hypothesis to prove the criminality of the one it held, it would not +look elsewhere; when it had condemned him, all would be finished; the +Caffie affair would be buried, as Caffie himself was buried; silence and +oblivion would give him security. The crime punished, the conscience of +the public satisfied, it would ask for no more, not even to know if the +debt was paid by the one who really owed it; it was paid, and that was +sufficient. But he was not "any one else," and if he found the death of +this old scamp legitimate, it was on the condition that Florentin did +not pay for it, from whom he had not profited. + +Florentin must be released as soon as possible, and it was his duty +to interest himself in his behalf--his imperative duty not only toward +Phillis, but toward himself. + +He told Phillis that until Florentin came before the jury, he could +do nothing, or almost nothing. When the time came, he would assert his +authority, and speaking in the name of science, he would prove to the +jury that the story of the button was an invention of the police, who +were pushed to extremes, and would not bear examination; but until then +the poor boy remained at Mazas, and however assured one might be at this +moment of an acquittal, an immediate 'ordonnance de non-lieu' was of +more value, if it could be obtained. + +For this the intervention and direction of a doctor were of little use; +it required that of an advocate. + +Whom should he have? Phillis would have liked to apply to the most +illustrious, to him who, by his talent, authority, and success, would +win all his cases. But Saniel explained to her that workers of miracles +were probably as difficult to find at the bar as in the medical +profession, and that, if they did exist, they would expect a large fee. +To tell the truth, he would have willingly given the thirty thousand +francs in the 'poste restante', or a large part of this sum, to give +Florentin his liberty; but it would be imprudent to take out the bills +at this moment, and he could not declare that he had thirty thousand +francs, or even ten thousand. He decided with Phillis to consult +Brigard. + +On a Wednesday he went to the parlor in the Rue Vaugirard, where he +had not been since his experiment with Glady. As usual, he was received +affectionately by Crozat, who scolded him for coming so rarely, and as +usual also, in order not to disturb the discussion that was going on, he +remained standing near the door. + +This evening the theme of the discourse was a phrase of Chateaubriand's: +"The tiger kills and sleeps; man kills and is sleepless." On listening +to the discussion, Saniel said to himself that it was truly a pity not +to be able to reply to all this rhetoric by a simple fact of personal +experience. He had never slept so well, so tranquilly, as since Caffie's +death, which relieved him from all the cares that in these last months +had tormented and broken his sleep so much. + +At the end, Brigard concluded the discussion on saying that nothing +better proved the power of the human conscience than this difference +between man and beast. + +When they had all gone but Brigard, and Saniel was alone with him and +Crozat, he stated his desire. + +"But is it the Caffie affair?" + +"Exactly." + +And he explained in detail the interest he felt in Florentin, the son of +one of his patients, and also the situation of this patient. + +Brigard strongly recommended Nougarede, and described his recent +successes before a jury. Crozat concurred with Brigard, and advised +Saniel to see Nougarede the day after to-morrow. + +"In the morning, because after the Palais, Nougarede will be at +his wedding, which, as you know, prevents him from coming here this +evening." + +"What! Nougarede married?" exclaimed Saniel, surprised that the favorite +disciple gave this lie to the doctrine and examples of his master. + +"My God, yes! We must not be too hard on him. + +"He submits to the fate of a special environment. Without our knowledge, +Nougarede, we may say it now, and ought to say it, was the happy +lover of a charming young person, the daughter of one of our most +distinguished actresses, who was brought up in a fashionable convent. +You see the situation. The result of this liaison was a child, a +delicious little boy. It seemed quite natural that they should live 'en +union libre', since they loved each other, and not weaken by legalities +the strength of those that attached them to this child. But the mother +is an actress, as I have told you, and wished her daughter to receive +all the sacraments that the law and the church can confer. She managed +so well that poor Nougarede yielded. He goes to the mayor, to the +church; he legitimizes the child, and he even accepts a dot of two +hundred thousand francs. I pity him, the unfortunate man! But I confess +that I have the weakness to not condemn him as he would deserve if he +married in any other way." + +Saniel was a little surprised at these points of resemblance with the +charming young person that Caffie had proposed to him. At the least, it +was curious; but if it were the same woman, he was not vexed to see that +Nougarede had been less difficult than himself. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. STUNNING NEWS + +On going to see Nougarede, Saniel vaguely fancied the lawyer would tell +him that an acquittal was certain if Florentin passed to the assizes, +and even that an 'ordonnance de non-lieu' was probable. But his hope was +not realized. + +"The adventure of the button for you or me would not have the same +gravity as for this boy; we have no antecedents on which presumptions +might be established, but he has. The forty-five francs which constitute +an embezzlement for a salaried man will be, certainly, a starting-point +for the accusation; one commences by a weakness and finishes by a crime. +Do you not hear the advocate-general? He will begin by presenting the +portrait of the honest, laborious, exact, scrupulous clerk, content with +a little, and getting satisfaction from his duties accomplished; then, +in opposition, he will pass to the clerk of to-day, as irregular in +his work as in his conduct, full of desires, in a hurry to enjoy, +discontented with everything and everybody, with others as with himself. +And he will go on to speak of the embezzlement of the forty-five francs +as the beginning of the crimes that led to the assassination. You may +be sure if the affair goes to the assizes that you will hear these words +and more, and I assure you that it will be difficult for us to destroy +the impression that he will produce on the jury. But I hope we shall +succeed." + +He had to give up the idea of obtaining the 'ordonnance de non-lieu', +and to tell himself that the 'affaire' would come before the assizes; +but it does not follow that one is condemned for what one is accused +of, and Saniel persisted in believing that Florentin would not be. +Assuredly, the prison was hard for the poor boy, and the trial before +the jury, with all the ignominy that necessarily accompanies it, would +be harder yet. But, after all, it would all disappear in the joy of +acquittal; when that time came, there would be found, surely, some +ingenious idea, sympathy, effective support, to pay him for all that he +would have suffered. Certainly, things would come to pass thus, and the +acquittal would be carried with a high hand. + +He said this to himself again and again, and from the day when he put +the affair in Nougarede's hands, he often went to see him, to hear him +repeat it. + +"He cannot be condemned; can he?" + +"One may always be condemned, even when one is innocent; as one may die +at any time, you know that, even with excellent health." + +In one of these visits he met Madame Nougarede, who had then been +several days married, and on recognizing in her the young virgin with +a child, of whom Caffie showed him the portrait, he was strengthened +in his idea that conscience, such as it was understood, was decidedly a +strange weighing-machine, which might be made to say whatever one chose. +Of what good were these hypocrisies, and whom did they deceive? + +Although he had told Phillis repeatedly that an acquittal was +certain, and that he had promised her he would do all he could for +Florentin--which he really did--she did not give entirely into his +hands, or into Nougarede's, the task of defending her brother, but +worked with them in his defence. + +Nougarede believed that the delay in bringing the affair before the +assizes was caused by the attempts to learn if, during his residence in +America, Florentin had not worked in some large meat-shop or sheepfold, +where he would have learned to use a butcher knife, which was the chief +point for the accusation. Phillis wrote to the various towns where +Florentin had lived, and to tell the truth, he had worked at La Plata +for six months as accountant in a large sheepfold, but never slaughtered +the sheep. + +When she received a letter, she carried it immediately to Saniel, and +then to Nougarede; and, at the same time, on all sides, in Paris, among +those who had held relations with her brother, she sought for testimony +that should prove to the jury that he could not be the man that his +accusers believed him. It was thus that, all alone, without other means +of action than those which she found in her sisterly tenderness and +bravery, she organized an investigation parallel to that of the law, +which, on the day of judgment, would carry a certain weight, it seemed, +with the conviction of the jury, showing them what had been the true +life of this irregular and debauched man, capable of anything to glut +his appetite and satisfy his desires. + +Each time that she obtained a favorable deposition, she ran to Saniel +to tell him, and then together they repeated that a conviction was +impossible. + +"You are sure, are you not?" + +"Have I not always told you so?" + +He had also said that Florentin could not be arrested, basing the +accusation on the torn button, and he had said that certainly an +'ordonnance de non-lieu' would be given by the judge; but they wished to +remember neither the one nor the other. + +Things had reached this state, when one Saturday evening Phillis arrived +at Saniel's, radiant. + +As soon as the door opened she exclaimed: + +"He is saved!" + +"An ordonnance de non-lieu?" + +"No; but now it is of little importance. We can go to the assizes." + +She breathed a sigh which showed how great were her fears, in spite +of the confidence she expressed when she repeated that conviction was +impossible. + +He left his desk, and going toward her, took her in his arms, and made +her sit down beside him on the divan. + +"You will see that I do not let myself be carried away by an illusion, +and that, as I tell you, he is saved, really saved. You know that an +illustrated paper has published his portrait?" + +"I do not read illustrated papers." + +"You could have seen them at the kiosks where they are displayed. It +is there that I saw them yesterday morning when I went out, and I was +petrified, red with shame, distracted, not knowing where to hide myself. +'Florentin Cormier, the assassin of the Rue Sainte-Anne.' Is it not +infamous that an innocent person should be thus dishonored? This was +what I said to myself. Where did the paper get the photograph? They came +to ask us for one, but you can imagine how I treated them, not knowing +how anything good for us would result from such a disgrace." + +"And what is the result?" + +"The proof that it is not Florentin who was with Caffie at the moment +when the assassination took place. All day yesterday and all this +morning I was filled with the feeling of disgrace that followed me, when +at three o'clock I received this little note from the concierge of the +Rue Sainte-Anne." + +She took from her pocket a piece of paper folded in the form of a +letter, which she handed to Saniel. + + "MADEMOISELLE: If you will pass through the Rue Sainte-Anne, I have + something to tell you that will give you a great deal of pleasure, I + believe. + + "I am your servant, + + "WIDOW ANAIS BOUCHU." + +"You know the lame old concierge has never been willing to admit that my +brother could be guilty. Florentin was polite and kind to her during +his stay with Caffie, and she is grateful. Very often she has said to me +that she is certain the guilty one would be found, and that when it was +announced I must tell her. Instead of my telling her the good news, she +has written to me. You may be sure I hurried to the Rue Sainte-Anne, +expecting to hear something favorable, but we have a proof. When I +arrived, the old woman took both of my hands, and told me that she would +conduct me immediately to a lady who saw Caffie's assassin." + +"Saw him!" exclaimed Saniel, struck by a blow that shook him from head +to foot. + +"She saw him perfectly, as I tell you. She added that this lady was the +proprietor of the house, and that she lived in the second wing of the +building, on the second story on the court, just opposite to Caffie's +office. This lady, who is called Madame Dammauville, widow of a lawyer, +is afflicted with paralysis, and I believe has not left her room for a +year. The concierge explained this to me while crossing the court and +mounting the stairs, but would say no more." + +If Phillis had been able to observe Saniel, she would have seen him pale +to such a degree that his lips were as white as his cheeks; but she was +completely absorbed in what she was saying. + +"A servant conducted us to Madame Dammauville, whom I found in a small +bed near a window, and the concierge told her who I was. She received me +kindly, and after having made me sit down in front of her, she told +me that hearing from her concierge that I was exerting myself in my +brother's behalf, she had something to tell me which would demonstrate +that Caffie's assassin was not the man whom the law had arrested and +detained. The evening of the assassination she was in this same room, +lying on this same bed, before this same window, and after having read +all day, she reflected and dreamed about her book, while listlessly +watching the coming of twilight in the court, that already obscured +everything in its shadow. Mechanically she had fixed her eyes on the +window of Caffie's office opposite. Suddenly she saw a tall man, whom +she took for an upholsterer, approach the window, and try to draw the +curtains. Then Caffie rose, and taking the lamp, he came forward in +such a way that the light fell full on the face of this upholsterer. You +understand, do you not?" + +"Yes," murmured Saniel. + +"She saw him then plainly enough to remember him, and not to confound +him with another. Tall, with long hair, a curled blond beard, and +dressed like a gentleman, not like a poor man. The curtains were drawn. +It was fifteen or twenty minutes after five. And it was at this +same moment that Caffie was butchered by this false upholsterer, who +evidently had only drawn the curtains so that he might kill Caffie in +security, and not imagining that some one should see him doing a deed +that denounced him as the assassin as surely as if he had been surprised +with the knife in his hand. On reading the description of Florentin in +the newspapers when he was arrested, Madame Dammauville believed the +criminal was found--a tall man, with long hair and curled beard. There +are some points of resemblance, but in the portrait published in the +illustrated paper that she received, she did not recognize the man who +drew the curtains, and she is certain that the judge is deceived. You +see that Florentin is saved!" + + + + +BOOK 3. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. HEDGING + +As he did not reply to this cry of triumph, she looked at him in +surprise saw his face, pale, agitated, under the shock evidently of a +violent emotion that she could not explain to herself. + +"What is the matter?" she asked, with uneasiness. + +"Nothing," he answered, almost brutally. + +"You do not wish to weaken my hope?" she said, not imagining that he +could not think of this hope and of Florentin. This was a path to lead +him out of his confusion. In following it he would have time to recover +himself. + +"It is true," he said. + +"You do not think that what Madame Dammauville saw proves Florentin's +innocence?" + +"Would what may be a proof for Madame Dammauville, for you, and for me, +be one in the eyes of the law?" + +"However--" + +"I saw you so joyful that I did not dare to interrupt you." + +"Then you believe that this testimony is without value," she murmured, +feeling crushed. + +"I do not say that. We must reflect, weigh the pro and con, compass the +situation from divers points of view; that is what I try to do, which is +the cause of my preoccupation that astonishes you." + +"Say that it crushes me; I let myself be carried away." + +"You need not be crushed or carried away. Certainly, what this lady told +you forms a considerable piece of work." + +"Does it not?" + +"Without any doubt. But in order that the testimony she gives may be of +great consequence, the witness must be worthy of trust." + +"Do you believe this lady could have invented such a story?" + +"I do not say that; but before all, it is necessary to know who she is." + +"The widow of an attorney." + +"The widow of an attorney and landowner. Evidently this constitutes +a social status that merits consideration from the law; but the moral +state, what is it? You say that she is paralyzed?" + +"She has been so a little more than a year." + +"Of what paralysis? That is a vague word for us others. There are +paralyses that affect the sight; others that affect the mind. Is it one +of these with which this lady is afflicted, or one of the others, which +permitted her really to see, the evening of the assassination, that +which she relates, and which leaves her mental faculties in a sane +condition? Before everything, it is important to know this." + +Phillis was prostrated. + +"I had not thought of all that," she murmured. + +"It is very natural that you had not; but I am a doctor, and while you +talked it was the doctor who listened." + +"It is true, it is true," she repeated. "I only saw Florentin." + +"In your place I should have seen, like you, only my brother, and I +should have been carried away by hope. But I am not in your place. It +is by your voice that this woman speaks, whom I do not know, and against +whom I must be on my guard, for the sole reason that it is a paralytic +who has told this story." + +She could not restrain the tears that came to her eyes, and she let them +flow silently, finding nothing to reply. + +"I am sorry to pain you," he said. + +"I saw only Florentin's liberty." + +"I do not say this testimony of Madame Dammauville will not influence +the judge, and, above all, the jury; but I must warn you that you +will expose yourself to a terrible deception if you believe that her +testimony alone will give your brother liberty. It is not on a testimony +of this kind or of this quality that the law decides; better than we, +it knows to what illusions people can lend themselves when it is the +question of a crime that absorbs and excites the public curiosity. There +are some witnesses who, with the best faith in the world, believe they +have seen the most extraordinary things which only existed in their +imaginations; and there are people who accuse themselves rather than say +nothing." + +He heaped words on words, as if, in trying to convince Phillis, he might +hope to convince himself; but when the sound of his words faded, he was +obliged to declare to himself that, whatever the paralysis of this woman +might be, it had not, in this instance, produced either defect of sight +or of mind. She had seen, indeed, the tall man with long hair and curled +beard, dressed like a gentleman, who was not Florentin. When she related +the story of the lamp and the curtain cords, she knew what she was +saying. + +In his first alarm he had been very near betraying himself. Without +doubt he should have told himself that this incident of the curtains +might prove a trap; but all passed so rapidly that he never imagined +that, exactly at the moment when Caffie raised the lamp to give him +light, there was a woman opposite looking at him, and who saw him +so plainly that she had not forgotten him. He thought to use all +precautions on his side in drawing the curtains, when, on the contrary, +he would have done better had he left them undrawn. Without doubt the +widow of the attorney would have been a witness of a part of the scene, +but in the shadow she would not have distinguished his features as she +was able to do when he placed himself before the window under the light. +But this idea did not enter his mind, and, to save himself from +an immediate danger, he threw himself into another which, although +uncertain, was not less grave. + +Little by little Phillis recovered herself, and the hope that Madame +Dammauville put in her heart, momentarily crushed by Saniel's remarks, +sprang up again. + +"Is it not possible Madame Dammauville really saw what she relates?" + +"Without any doubt; and there are even probabilities that it is so, +since the man who drew the curtains was not your brother, as we know. +Unfortunately, it is not ourselves who must be convinced, since we are +convinced in advance. It is those who, in advance also, have one whom +they will not give up unless he is torn from them by force." + +"But if Madame Dammauville saw clearly?" + +"What must be learned before everything is, if she is in a state to see +clearly; I have said nothing else." + +"A doctor would surely know on examining her?" + +"Without doubt." + +"If you were this doctor?" + +It was a cry rather than an exclamation. She wished that he should +present himself before this woman; but in that case she would recognize +him. + +Once more, under the pain of betraying his emotion, he must recover from +this first impulse. + +"But how can you wish me to go and examine this woman whom I do not +know, and who does not know me? You know very well that patients choose +their doctors, and not doctors their patients." + +"If she sent for you?" + +"By what right?" + +"By what I shall learn on making the concierge talk, could you not +recognize her kind of paralysis without seeing her?" + +"That would be a little vague. However, I will do the best I can. Try +to learn not only what concerns her illness, but all that relates to +her--what her position is, who are her relations, which is important +for a witness who overawes as much by what he is as by what he says. +You understand that a deposition that destroys the whole plan of the +prosecution will be severely disputed, and will only be accepted if +Madame Dammauville has by her character and position a sufficient +authority to break down all opposition." + +"I will also try to learn who is her doctor. You may know him. What he +would tell you would be worth more than all the details that I could +bring you." + +"We should be immediately decided on the paralysis, and we should see +what credit we could accord this woman's words." + +While listening to Phillis and talking himself, he had time to compass +the situation that this thunderbolt created for him. Evidently, the +first thing to do was to prevent a suspicion from arising in Phillis's +mind, and it was to this that he applied himself on explaining the +different kinds of paralysis. He knew her well enough to know that he +had succeeded. But what would she do now? How did she mean to make use +of Madame Dammauville's declaration? Had she spoken of it to any one +besides himself? Was it her intention to go to Nougarede and tell +him what she had learned? All that must be made clear, and as soon as +possible. She must do nothing without his knowledge and approval. The +circumstances were critical enough, without his letting accident become +the master to direct them and conduct them blindly. + +"When did you see Madame Dammauville?" he asked. + +"Just this minute." + +"And now, what do you wish to do?" + +"I think that I ought to tell Monsieur Nougarde." + +"Evidently, whatever the value of Madame Dammauville's declaration, he +should know it; he will appraise it. Only, as it is well to explain to +him what may vitiate this testimony, if you wish, I will go to see him." + +"Certainly I wish it, and I thank you." + +"In the mean time, return to your mother and tell her what you have +learned; but, that she may not yield to an exaggerated hope, tell +her, also, that if there are chances, and great ones, in favor of your +brother, on the other side there are some that are unfavorable. Tomorrow +or this evening you will return to the Rue Sainte-Anne and begin +your inquiries of the concierge. If the old woman tells you nothing +interesting, you must go to Madame Dammauville, and make some reason +for seeing her. Make her talk, and you will notice if her ideas are +consecutive, and examine her face and eyes. Above all, neglect nothing +that appears to you characteristic. Having taken care of your mother, +you know almost as well as a doctor the symptoms of myelitis, and you +could see instantly if Madame Dammauville has them." + +"If I dared!" she said timidly, after a short hesitation. + +"What?" + +"I would ask you to come with me to the concierge immediately." + +"You think of such a thing!" he exclaimed. + +Since the evening when he had testified to the death of Caffie, he had +not returned to the Rue Sainte-Anne; and it was not when the description +given by Madame Dammauville was, doubtless, already spread in the +quarter, that he was going to commit the imprudence of showing himself. +But he must explain this exclamation. + +"How can you expect a doctor to give himself up to such an +investigation? On your part it is quite natural; on mine it would be +unheard of and ridiculous; add that it would be dangerous. You must +conciliate Madame Dammauville, and this would be truly a stupidity that +would give her a pretext for thinking that you are trying to find out +whether she is, or is not, in her right mind." + +"That is true," she said. "I had not thought of that. I said to myself +that, while I could only listen to what the concierge would tell me, you +would know how to question her in a way that would lead her to say what +you want to learn." + +"I hope that your investigation will tell me. In any case, let us offend +in nothing. If to-morrow you bring me only insignificant details, we +will consider what to do. In the mean time, return to the concierge this +evening and question her. If it is possible, see Madame Dammauville, +and do not go home until after having obtained some news on this subject +that is of such importance to us. And I will go to see Nougarde." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. DANGEROUS DETAILS + +It was not to falsify Phillis's story that Saniel insisted on going +to see Nougarede. What good would it do? That would be a blunder which +sooner or later would show itself, and in that case would turn against +him. He would have liked, with the authority of a physician, to explain +that this testimony of a paralytic could have no more importance than +that of a crazy woman. + +But at the first words of an explanation Nougarede stopped him. + +"What you say is very possible, my dear friend; but I shall make you +see that it is not for us to raise objections of this kind. Here is a +testimony that may save our client; let us accept this, such as it may +be, whence it comes. It is the business of the prosecution to prove that +our witness could not see what she relates that she saw, or that her +mental condition does not permit her to know what she saw; and do not +be afraid, investigation will not be lacking. Do not let us even give a +hint from our side; that would be stupid." + +This, certainly, was not what Saniel wished; only he believed it a duty, +in his quality of physician, to indicate some rocks against which they +might strike themselves. + +"Our duty," continued the advocate, "is, therefore, to manage in a way +to escape them; and this is how I understand the role of this really +providential witness, if it is possible to make her undertake it. +Since it has occurred to you--you who wish the acquittal of this poor +boy--that the testimony of Madame Dammauville may be vitiated by the +simple fact that it comes from a sick woman, it is incontestable, is +it not, that this same idea will occur to those who wish for his +conviction? This testimony should be irrefutable; it should be presented +in such a way that no one could raise anything against it, so that it +would compel the acquittal in the same moment that it is presented. It +was between a quarter past and half past five o'clock that Caffie was +assassinated; at exactly a quarter past five, a woman of respectable +position, and whose intellectual as well as physical faculties render +her worthy of being believed, saw in Caffies office a man, with whom +it is materially impossible to confound Florentin Cormier, draw the +curtains of the window, and thus prepare for the crime. She would make +her deposition in these conditions, and in these terms, and the affair +would be finished. There would not be a judge, after this confrontation, +who would send Florentin Cormier before the assizes, and, assuredly, +there would not be two voices in the jury for conviction. But things +will not happen like this. Without doubt, Madame Dammauville bears a +name that is worth something; her husband was an estimable attorney, a +brother of the one who was notary at Paris." + +"Have you ever had any business with her?" + +"Never. I tell you what is well known to every one, morally she is +irreproachable. But is she the same physically and mentally? Not at all, +unfortunately. If a physician can be found who will declare that her +paralysis does not give her aberrations or hallucinations, another one +will be found who will contest these opinions, and who will come to +an opposite conclusion. So much for the witness herself; now for +the testimony. This testimony does not say that the man who drew the +curtains at a quarter past five was built in such a way that it is +materially impossible to confound him with Florentin Cormier, because +he was small or hunchbacked or bald, or dressed like a workman; while +Florentin is tall, straight, with long hair and beard, and dressed like +a gentleman. It says, simply, that the man who drew the curtains +was tall, with long hair, and curled blond beard, and dressed like a +gentleman. But this description is exactly Florentin Cormier's, as it is +yours--" + +"Mine!" Saniel exclaimed. + +"Yours, as well as that of many others. And it is this, unfortunately +for us, which destroys the irrefutability that we must have. How is +it certain that this tall man, with long hair and curled beard, is not +Florentin Cormier, since these are his chief characteristics? And it was +at night, at a distance of twelve or fifteen metres, through a window, +whose panes were obscured by the dust of papers and the mist, that +this sick woman, whose eyes are affected, whose mind is weakened by +suffering, was able, in a very short space of time, when she had no +interest to imprint upon her memory what she saw, to grasp certain +signs, that she recalled yesterday strongly enough to declare that the +man who drew the curtains was not Florentin Cormier, against whom so +many charges have accumulated from various sides, and who has only this +testimony in his favor--every sensible person could not but find it +suspicious!" + +"But it is true," Saniel said, happy to lend himself to this view of the +matter, which was his own. + +"What makes the truth of a thing, my dear sir, is the way of presenting +it; let us change this manner and we falsify it. To arrive at the +conclusion which made you say 'It is true,' I am on the side of the idea +that to-morrow Madame Dammauville's story should be known to the law, +that the brave lady should be heard before the prosecution, and that +time should be allowed to examine this testimony that you suspect. Now +let us look at it from the opposite point. Madame Dammauville's story is +not known to the law, or, if something transpires, we will arrange that +this something is so vague that the prosecution will attach but little +importance to it. And this is possible if we do not base a new defence +on this testimony. We arrive at the judgment, and when the prosecution +has listened to its witnesses which have overwhelmed us--the agent of +affairs Savoureux, the tailor Valerius,--it is Madame Dammauville's +turn. She simply relates what she saw, and declares that the man who +is on the prisoner's bench is not the same who drew the curtains at a +quarter past five. Do you see the 'coup de theatre'? The prosecution had +not foreseen it; it had not inquired into the health of the witness; the +physician would not be there to quote the defects of sight or reason; +very probably it would not think of the dusty windowpanes, or of the +distance. And all the opposing arguments that would be properly arranged +if there were time, would be lacking, and we should carry the acquittal +with a high hand." + +Arranged thus, things were too favorable for Saniel for him not to +receive, with a sentiment of relief, this combination which brought +Florentin's acquittal more surely, it seemed to him, than all that +they had arranged for his defence up to this day. However, an objection +occurred to him, which he communicated to Nougarede immediately. + +"Would one wish to admit that Madame Dammauville had kept silent on so +grave a matter, and waited for an audience to reveal it?" + +"This silence she kept until yesterday; why should she not keep it a few +days longer? It is evident that if she had not related what she saw, it +is because she had reasons for being silent. It is probable that, being +ill, she did not wish to expose herself to the annoyances and fatigue +of an investigation; and in her eyes her deposition was not of great +importance. What should she have revealed to the prosecution? That the +man who committed the crime was tall, with a curled blond beard? This +man the law held, or it held one the description of whom answered to +this, which to Madame Dammauville was the same thing. She did not +need, therefore, to call the police or the judge to tell them these +insignificant things for her own comfort; and, also, because she +believed that she had nothing interesting to say, she did not speak. It +was when accident brought to her notice the portrait of the accused, she +recognized that the law had not the real criminal, and then she broke +the silence. The moment when she first saw this portrait is not stated +precisely; I undertake to arrange that. The difficulty is not there." + +"Where do you see it?" + +"Here: Madame Dammauville may have already told her story to so many +persons that it is already public property, where the prosecution has +picked it up. In that case there will be no 'coup de theatre'. She +will be questioned, her deposition examined, and we will have only a +suspected testimony. The first thing to do, then, is to know how far +this story has spread, and if there is yet time to prevent it from +spreading farther." + +"That is not easy, it seems to me." + +"I believe Mademoiselle Phillis can do it. She is a brave woman, whom +nothing dejects or disconcerts, which is the living proof that we +are only valued according to the force and versatility of the inner +consciousness. For the rest, I need not sound her praises, since you +know her better than I; and what I say has no other object but to +explain the confidence that I place in her. As I cannot interfere +myself, I think there is no better person than she to act on Madame +Dammauville, without disturbing or wounding her, and to bring about +the result that we desire. I am sure that she has already won Madame +Dammauville, and that she will be listened to with sympathy." + +"Do you wish me to write to her to come to see you tomorrow?" + +"No; it would be better for you so see her this evening, if possible." + +"I shall go to the Batignolles when I leave you." + +"She will enter into her part perfectly, I am certain, and she will +succeed, I hope." + +"It seems to me that your combination rests, above all, on the 'coup de +theatre' of the non-recognition of Florentin by Madame Dammauville. How +will you bring this paralytic to court?" + +"I depend upon you." + +"And how?" + +"You will examine her." + +"I shall have to go to her house!" + +"Why not?" + +"Because I am not her doctor." + +"You will become so." + +"It is impossible." + +"I do not find it at all impossible that you should be called in +consultation. I have not forgotten that your thesis was on the paralyses +due to the affection of the spinal cord, and it was remarkable enough +for us to discuss it in our 'parlotte' of the Rue de Vaugirard. You +have, therefore, authority in the matter." + +"It is not on account of having written several works on the +pathological anatomy of medullary lesions, and especially on the +alterations of the spinal ganglia, that one acquires authority in a +question so comprehensive and so delicate." + +"Do not be too modest, dear friend. I have had, lately, to consult my +Dictionary of Medicine, and at each page your work was quoted. And, +besides, the way in which you passed your examinations made you famous. +Every one talks of you. So it is not impossible that Mademoiselle +Phillis, relating that her mother was cured of a similar paralysis, will +give Madame Dammauville the idea of consulting you, and her physician +will send for you." + +"You will not do that?" + +"And why should I not do it?" + +They looked at each other a moment in silence, and Saniel turned his +eyes away. + +"I detest nothing so much as to appear to put myself forward." + +"In this case it is no matter what you detest or like. The question is +to save this unfortunate young man whom you know to be innocent; and you +can do a kind deed and aid us. You examine Madame Dammauville; you see +with which paralysis she is afflicted, and consequently, what exceptions +may be taken at her testimony. At the same time, you see if you can cure +her, or, at least, put her in a state to go to court." + +"And if it is proved that she cannot leave her bed?" + +"In that case I shall change my order of battle, and that is why it is +of capital importance--you know that that is the word--that we should be +warned beforehand." + +"You will make the judge receive her deposition?" + +"In any case. But I shall make her write a letter that I shall read at +the desired moment, and I shall call upon her physician to explain that +he would not permit his patient to come to court. Without doubt, the +effect would not be what I desire, but, anyhow, we should have one." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. A GOOD MEMORY + +After Phillis, Nougarde also wished him to see Madame Dammauville; this +coincidence was not the least danger of the situation that opened before +him. + +If he saw her, the chances were that she would recognize in him the +man who drew the curtains; for, if he was able to speak to Phillis and +Nougarede of an affection of the eyes or of the mind, he did not believe +in these affections, which for him were only makeshifts. + +When he reached Madame Cormier's, Phillis had not returned, and he was +obliged to explain to the uneasy mother why her daughter was late. + +It was a delirium of joy, before which he felt embarrassed. How should +he break the hope of this unhappy mother? + +What he had said to Phillis and to Nougarede he repeated to her. + +"But it is possible, also, for paralytics to enjoy all their faculties!" +Madame Cormier said, with a decision that was not in accordance with her +habit or with her character. + +"Assuredly." + +"Am I not an example?" + +"Without doubt." + +"Then Florentin will be saved." + +"This is what we hope. I only caution you against an excess of joy by +an excess of prudence. Nevertheless, it is probable Mademoiselle Phillis +will settle this for us when she returns." + +"Perhaps it would have been better if you had gone to the Rue +Sainte-Anne. You would have found her." + +There was, then, a universal mania to send him to the Rue Sainte-Anne! + +They waited, but the conversation was difficult and slow between them. +It was neither of Phillis nor of Florentin that Saniel thought; it was +of himself and of his own fears; while Madame Cormier's thoughts ran to +Phillis. Then there were long silences that Madame Cormier interrupted +by going to the kitchen to look after her dinner, that had been ready +since two o'clock. + +Not knowing what to say or do in the presence of Saniel's sombre face +and preoccupation, which she could not explain, she asked him if he had +dined. + +"Not yet." + +"If you will accept a plate of soup, I have some of yesterday's +bouillon, that Phillis did not find bad." + +But he did not accept, which hurt Madame Cormier. For a long time Saniel +had been a sort of god to her, and since he had shown so much zeal +regarding Florentin, the 'culte' was become more fervent. + +At last Phillis's step was heard. + +"What! You came to tell mamma!" she exclaimed, on seeing Saniel. + +Ordinarily her mother listened to her respectfully, but now she +interrupted her. + +"And Madame Dammauville?" she asked. + +"Madame Dammauville has excellent eyes. She is a woman of intellect, +who, without the assistance of any business man, manages her fortune." + +Overcome, Madame Cormier fell into a chair. + +"Oh, the poor child!" she murmured. + +Exclamations of joy escaped her which contained but little sense. + +"It is as I thought," Saniel said; "but it would be imprudent to abandon +ourselves to hopes to-day that to-morrow may destroy." + +While he spoke he escaped, at least, from the embarrassment of his +position and from the examination of Phillis. + +"What did Monsieur Nougarde say?" she asked. + +"I will explain to you presently. Begin by telling us what you learned +from Madame Dammauville. It is her condition that will decide our +course, at least that which Nougarde counsels us to adopt." + +"When the concierge saw me return," Phillis began, "she showed a certain +surprise; but she is a good woman, who is easily tamed, and I had not +much trouble in making her tell me all she knows of Madame Dammauville. +Three years ago Madame Dammauville became a widow without children. She +is about forty years of age, and since her widowhood has lived in her +house in the Rue Sainte-Anne. Until last year she was not ill, but she +went every year to the springs at Lamoulon. It is a year since she was +taken with pains that were thought to be rheumatic, following which, +paralysis attacked her and confined her to her bed. She suffers so much +sometimes that she cries, but these are spasms that do not last. In the +intervals she lives the ordinary life, except that she does not get up. +She reads a great deal, receives her friends, her sister-in-law--widow +of a notary--her nephews and nieces, and one of the vicars of the +parish, for she is very charitable. Her eyes are excellent. She has +never had delirium or hallucinations. She is very reserved, detests +gossip, and above everything seeks to live quietly. The assassination +of Caffie exasperated her; she would let no one speak to her of him, and +she spoke of it to no one. She even said that if she were in a condition +to leave her house, she would sell it, so that she would never hear the +name of Caffie." + +"How did she speak of the portrait and of the man she saw in Caffie's +office?" Saniel asked. + +"That is exactly the question that the concierge was not able to answer; +so I decided to go to see Madame Dammauville again." + +"You are courageous," the mother said with pride. + +"I assure you that I was not so on going up-stairs. After what I had +heard of her character, it was truly audacious to go a second time, +after an interval of two hours, to trouble her, but it was necessary. +While ascending, I sought a reason to justify, or, at least, to explain +my second visit, and I found only an adventurous one, for which I ought +to ask your indulgence." + +She said this on turning toward Saniel, but with lowered eyes, without +daring to look at him, and with an emotion that made him uneasy. + +"My indulgence?" he said. + +"I acted without having time to reflect, and under the pressure of +immediate need. As Madame Dammauville expressed surprise at seeing me +again, I told her that what she had said to me was so serious, and might +have such consequences for the life and honor of my brother, that I had +thought of returning the next day, accompanied by a person familiar with +the affair, before whom she would repeat her story; and that I came to +ask her permission to present this person. This person is yourself." +"I!" + +"And that is why," she said feebly, without raising her eyes, "that I +have need of your indulgence." + +"But I had told you--" he exclaimed with a violence that the +dissatisfaction at being so disposed of was not sufficient to justify. + +"That you could not present yourself to Madame Dammauville in the +character of a physician unless she sent for you. I did not forget that; +and it is not as a physician that I wish to beg you to accompany me, but +as a friend, if you permit me to speak thus; as the most devoted, the +most firm, and the most generous friend that we have had the happiness +to encounter in our distress." + +"My daughter speaks in my name, as in her own," Madame Cormier said +with emotion; "I add that it is a respectful friendship, a profound +gratitude, that we feel toward you." + +Although Phillis trembled to see the effect that she produced on Saniel, +she continued with firmness: + +"You would accompany me, then, without doing anything ostensibly, +without saying you are a doctor, and while she talks you could examine +her. Madame Dammauville gave her consent to my request with extreme +kindness. I shall return to her to-morrow, and if you think it useful, +if you think you should accept the part that I claimed for you without +consulting you, you can accompany me." + +He did not reply to these last words, which were an invitation as well +as a question. + +"Did you not examine her as I told you?" he asked, after a moment of +reflection. + +"With all the attention of which I was capable in my anguish. Her +glance seemed to me straight and untroubled; her voice is regular, very +rhythmical; her words follow each other without hesitation; her ideas +are consecutive and clearly expressed. There is no trace of suffering on +her pale face, which bears only the mark of a resigned grief. She +moves her arms freely, but the legs, so far as I could judge under +the bedclothes, are motionless. In many ways it seems to me that her +paralysis resembles mamma's, though it is true that in others it does +not. She must be extremely sensitive to the cold, for although the +weather is not cold today, the temperature of her room seemed very +high." + +"This is an examination," Saniel said, "that a physician could not have +conducted better, unless he questioned the patient; and had I been +with you during this visit we should not have learned anything more. +It appears certain that Madame Dammauville is in possession of her +faculties, which renders her testimony invulnerable." + +Madame Cormier drew her daughter to her and kissed her passionately. + +"I have, therefore, nothing to do with this lady," continued Saniel, +with the precipitation of a man who has just escaped a danger. "But your +part, Mademoiselle, is not finished, and you must return to her tomorrow +to fulfil that which Nougarde confides to you." + +He explained what Nougarde expected of her. + +"Certainly," she said. "I will do all that I am advised to do for +Florentin. I will go to Madame Dammauville; I will go everywhere. But +will you permit me to express my astonishment that immediate profit is +not made of this declaration to obtain the release of my brother?" + +He repeated the reasons that Nougarede had given him for not proceeding +in this manner. + +"I would not say anything that resembles a reproach," said Madame +Cormier, with more decision than she ordinarily put into her words; "but +perhaps Monsieur Nougarde has some personal ideas in his advice. Our +interest is that Florentin should return to us as quickly as possible, +and that he should be spared the sufferings of a prison. But I +understand that to an 'ordonnance de non-lieu', in which he does not +appear, Monsieur Nougarde prefers the broad light of the court, where he +could deliver a brilliant address, useful to his reputation." + +"Whether or not he has made this calculation," Saniel said, "things are +thus. I, also, I should have preferred the 'ordonnance de non-lieu', +which has the great advantage of finishing everything immediately. +Nougarede does not believe that this would be a good plan to follow, so +we must follow the one that he traces out for us." + +"We will follow it," Phillis said, "and I believe that it may bring +about the result Monsieur Nougarede expects, as Madame Dammauville would +have spoken to but few persons. When I tried to make her explain herself +on this point, without asking her the question directly, she told me +that she had only spoken to the concierge of the non-resemblance of the +portrait to the man she saw draw the curtains, so that the concierge, +who had often spoken to her of Florentin and of my efforts to save +him, might warn me. I shall see, then, to-morrow, how far her story has +spread, and I will go to see you about it at five o'clock, unless you +prefer that I should go at once to see Monsieur Nougarede." + +"Begin with me, and we will go together to see him, if there is +occasion. I am going to write to him." + +"If I understand Monsieur Nougarde's plan, it seems that it rests +on Madame Dammauville's appearance in court. Will this appearance be +possible? That is what I could not learn; only a physician could tell." + +Saniel did not wish to let it appear that he understood this new +challenge. + +"I forgot to tell you," Phillis continued, "that the physician who +attends her is Doctor Balzajette of the Rue de l'Echelle. Do you know +him?" + +"A prig, who conceals his ignorance under dignified manners." + +No sooner had these words left his lips than he realized his error. +Madame Dammauville should have an excellent physician, one who was so +high in the estimation of his 'confreres' that, if he did not cure her, +it was because she was incurable. + +"Then how can you hope that he will cure her in time for her to go to +court?" Phillis asked. + +He did not answer, and rose to go. Timidly, Madame Cormier repeated her +invitation, but he did not accept it, in spite of the tender glance that +Phillis gave him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. A NEW PERIL + +Would he be able to resist the pressure which from all sides at once +pushed him toward the Rue Sainte Anne? + +It seemed that nothing was easier than not to commit the folly of +yielding, and yet such was the persistence of the efforts that were +united against him, that he asked himself if, one day, he would not +be led to obey them in spite of himself. Phillis, Nougarede, Madame +Cormier. Now, whence would come a new attack? + +For several months he had enjoyed a complete security, which convinced +him that all danger was over forever. But all at once this danger burst +forth under such conditions that he must recognize that there could +never more be any security for him. To-day Madame Dammauville menaced +him; tomorrow it would be some one else. Who? He did not know. Every +one. And it was the anguish of his position to be condemned to live +hereafter in fear, and on the defensive, without repose, without +forgetfulness. + +But it was not tomorrow about which he need be uneasy at this moment, it +was the present hour; that is to say, Madame Dammauville. + +That she should say, with so much firmness at the sight of a single +portrait, that the man who drew the curtains was not Florentin, she must +have an excellent memory of the eyes; at the same time a resolute mind +and a decision in her ideas, which permitted her to affirm without +hesitation what she believed to be true. + +If they should ever meet, she would recognize him, and recognizing him, +she would speak. + +Would she be believed? + +This was the decisive question, and from what he had heard of her, it +seemed that she would be. + +Denials would not suffice. He did not go to Caffie's at a quarter past +five. Where was he at this moment? What witness could he call upon? +Caffie's wound was made by a hand skilled in killing, and this learned +hand was his, more even than that of a murderer. Every one knew that +his position at that moment was desperate, financially speaking; and, +suddenly, he paid his debts. Who would believe the Monte Carlo story? + +One word, one little hint, from this Madame Dammauville and he was lost, +without defence, without possible struggles. + +Truly, and fortunately, since she was paralyzed and confined to her bed, +he ran no risk of meeting her face to face at the corner of a street, or +at the house of an acquaintance, nor of hearing the cry of surprise that +she would not fail to give on recognizing him. But that was not enough +to make him sleep in an imprudent security on saying to himself that +this meeting was improbable. It was improbable, also, to admit that some +one was exactly opposite to Caffies window at the moment when he +drew the curtains; more improbable yet to believe that this fact, +insignificant in itself, that this vision, lasting only an instant, +would be so solidly engraved in a woman's memory as to be distinctly +remembered after several months, as if it dated from the previous +evening; and yet, of all these improbabilities, there was formed a +reality which enclosed him in such a way that at any moment it might +stifle him. + +Despite the importunities of Phillis, Madame Cormier, and Nougarede, and +of all those which might arise, he would not be fool enough to confront +the danger of a recognition in the room where this paralytic was +confined--at least, that was probable, for, after what had happened, he +was certain of nothing--but this recognition might take place elsewhere. + +In Nougarede's plan Madame Dammauville would come to court to make her +declaration; he himself was a witness; they would, therefore, at a given +moment, meet each other, and it was not impossible that before the court +the recognition would occur with a 'coup de theatre' very different from +that arranged by Nougarede. + +Without doubt there were chances that Madame Dammauville would not be +able to leave her bed to go to court; but were there only one for her +leaving it, he must foresee it and take precautions. + +A single one offered security: to render himself unrecognizable; to cut +his beard and hair; to be no more the long-haired, curled, blond-bearded +man that she remembered. Had he been like every one else she would not +have remarked him; or, at least, she would have confounded him with +others. A man can only permit himself to be original in appearance when +he is sure beforehand that he will never have anything to fear. + +Assuredly, nothing was easier than to have his hair and beard cut; he +had only to enter the first barber shop he came to; in a few minutes the +change would be radical. + +Among his acquaintances he need not be uneasy at the curiosity that this +change might produce; more than one would not remark it, and those who +would be surprised at first would soon cease to think of it, without +doubt; otherwise, he had an easy answer for them; on the eve of becoming +a serious personage, he abandoned the last eccentricities of the old +student, and passed the bridge without wish to return by the left bank. + +But it was not only to acquaintances that he must account; there +were Phillis and Nougarde. Had not the latter already remarked the +resemblance between him and the description, and would it not be +imprudent to lead him to ask why this resemblance suddenly disappeared? + +It would be dangerous to expose himself to this question from the +lawyer, but it would be much more dangerous coming from Phillis. +Nougarede would only show surprise; Phillis might ask for an +explanation. + +And he must reply to her so much the more clearly, because four or five +times already he had almost betrayed himself as to Madame Dammauville, +and if she had let his explanations or embarrassment pass, his +hesitations or his refusal, without questioning him frankly, certainly +she was not the less astonished. Should he appear before her with short +hair and no beard, it would be a new astonishment which, added to the +others, would establish suspicions; and logically, by the force of +things, in spite of herself, in spite of her love and her faith, she +would arrive at conclusions from which she would not be able to free +herself. Already, five or six months before, this question of long hair +and beard had been agitated between them. As he complained one day of +the bourgeois who would not come to him, she gently explained to him +that to please and attract these bourgeois it was, perhaps, not quite +well to astonish those whom one does not shock. That overcoats less +long, hats with less brim, and hair and beard shorter; in fact, a +general appearance that more nearly approached their own, would be, +perhaps, more agreeable. He became angry, and replied plainly that such +concessions were not in keeping with his character. How could he now +abruptly make these concessions, and at a time when his success at the +examinations placed him above such small compromises? He resisted when +he needed help, and when a patient was an affair of life or death to +him; he yielded when he had need of no one, and when he did not care for +patients. The contradiction was truly too strong, and such that it could +not but strike Phillis, whose attention had already had only too much to +arouse it. + +And yet, as dangerous as it was to come to the decision to make himself +unrecognizable, it would be madness on his part to draw back; the sooner +the better. His fault had been in not foreseeing, the day after Caffie's +death, that circumstances might arise sooner or later which would force +it upon him. At that moment it did not present the same dangers as now; +but parting from the idea that he had not been seen by any one, that +he could not have been seen, he had rejoiced in the security that this +conviction gave him, and quietly become benumbed. + +The awakening had come; with his eyes open he saw the abyss to the edge +of which his stupidity had brought him. + +How strong would he not be if during the last three months he had not +had this long hair and beard, which was most terrible testimony against +him? Instead of taking refuge in miserable makeshifts when Phillis and +Nougarede asked him to see Madame Dammauville, he would have boldly held +his own, and have gone to see her as they wished. In that case he would +be saved, and soon Florentin would be also. + +And he believed himself intelligent! And he proudly imagined he could +arrange things beforehand so well that he would never be surprised! What +he should have foreseen would come to pass, nothing more; the lesson +that experience taught him was hard, and this was not the first one; +the evening of Caffie's death he saw very clearly that a new situation +opened before him, which to the end of his life would make him the +prisoner of his crime. To tell the truth, however, this impression +became faint soon enough; but now it was stronger than ever, and to a +certainty, never to be dismissed again. + +But it was useless to look behind; it was the present and the future +that he must measure with a clear and firm glance, if he did not wish to +be lost. + +After carefully examining and weighing the question, he decided to have +his hair and beard cut. However adventurous this resolution was, however +embarrassing it might become in provoking curiosity and questions, it +was the only way of escaping a possible recognition. + +Mechanically, by habit, he bent his steps toward the Rue +Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, where his barber lived, but he had taken only +a few steps when reflection caused him to stop; it would be certainly +a mistake to provoke the gossip of this man who, knew him, and who, for +the pleasure of talking, would tell every one in the quarter that he had +just cut the hair and beard of Dr. Saniel. He returned to the boulevard, +where he was not known. + +But as he was about to open the door of the shop which he decided to +enter, he changed his mind. He happened to find the explanation that he +must give Phillis, and as he wished to avoid the surprise that she would +not fail to show if she saw him suddenly without hair and beard, he +would give this explanation before having them cut, in such a way that +all at once and without looking for another reason, she would understand +that this operation was indispensable. + +And he went to dinner, furious with himself and with things, to see to +what miserable expedients he was reduced. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. SANIEL VISITS A BARBER + +The following day at five o'clock when Phillis rang, he opened the door +for her. Hardly had she entered when she was about to throw herself into +his arms as usual, with a quickness that told how happy she was to see +him. But he checked her with his hand. + +"What is the matter?" she asked paralyzed and full of fears. + +"Nothing; or, at least nothing much." + +"Against me?" + +"Certainly not, dear one." + +"You are ill?" + +"No, not ill, but I must take precautions which prevent me from +embracing you. I will explain; do not be uneasy, it is not serious." + +"Quick!" she cried, examining him, and trying to anticipate his thought. + +"You have something to tell me?" + +"Yes, good news. But I beg of you, speak first; do not leave me in +suspense." + +"I assure you that you need not be uneasy; and when I speak thus, you +know that you should believe me. You see that I am not uneasy." + +"It is for others that you are alarmed, never for yourself." + +"Do you know what the pelagre is?" + +"No." + +"It is a special disease of the hair and beard, due to the presence in +the epidermis of a kind of mushroom. Well, it is probable that I have +this disease." + +"Is it serious?" + +"Troublesome for a man, but disastrous for a woman, because, before any +treatment, the hair must be cut. You understand, therefore, that if I +have the pelagre, as I believe I have, I am not going to expose you to +the risk of catching it in embracing you. It is very easily transmitted, +and in that case you would be obliged, probably, to do for yourself +what I must do for myself; that is, to cut my hair. With me it is of no +consequence; but with you it would be murder to sacrifice your beautiful +hair." + +"You say 'probably.'" + +"Because I am not yet quite certain that I have the pelagre. For about +two weeks I have felt a slight itching in my head and, naturally, I paid +no attention to it. I had other things to do; and besides, I was not +going to believe I was attacked with a parasitic malady merely on +account of an itching. But, after some time, my hair became dry and +began to fall out. I had no time to attend to it, and the days passed; +besides, the excitement of my examinations was enough to make my hair +fall. To-day, just before you came, I had a few minutes to spare, and +I examined one of my hairs through a microscope; if I had not been +disturbed I should have finished by this time." + +"Continue your examination." + +"It would take some time to do it thoroughly. If it is really the +pelagre, as I have reason to believe, tomorrow you will see me without +hair and beard. I would not hesitate, in spite of the astonishment that +my appearance would cause." + +"What good will that do?" + +"I cannot tell people that I had my hair and beard cut because I have a +parasitic disease. Every one knows it is contagious." + +"When the hair is cut, what will become of the disease?" + +"With energetic treatment it will rapidly disappear. Before long you may +embrace me if--you do not find me too ugly." + +"O dearest!" + +"And now for you; you have come from Madame Dammauville?" + +He did not need to persist; Phillis accepted his story so readily that +he felt reassured on her side; she would not alarm herself about it. As +for others, the embarrassment of confessing a contagious malady would be +a sufficient explanation, if he were ever obliged to furnish one. + +"What did she say to you?" he asked. + +"Good and kind words to begin with, which show what an excellent woman +she is. After having presented myself twice at her house yesterday, you +understand that I was not quite easy on asking her to receive me again +to-day. As I tried to excuse myself, she said she was glad to see my +devotion to my brother, that I need never excuse myself for asking +her assistance, and that she would help me all she could. With this +encouragement I explained what we want her to do, but she did not appear +disposed to do it. Without giving her Monsieur Nougarede's reasons, I +said we were obliged to conform to the counsels of those who directed +the affair, and I begged her to help us. Finally she was won over, +but reluctantly, and said she would do as we wished. But she could +not assure me that her servants had not talked about it, nor could she +promise to leave her bed to go to court, for she had not left her room +for a year." + +"Does she expect to be able to rise soon?" + +"I repeat her words, to which I paid great attention in order not to +forget them: 'I am promised that I shall be better next year, but who +can tell? I will urge my doctor to give me an answer, and when you come +again I will tell you what he says.' Profiting by the door that she +opened to me, I kept the conversation on this doctor. It seems to me, +but I am not certain, that she has but little confidence in him. He was +the classmate of her husband and of her brother-in-law the notary; he is +the friend of every one, curing those who can be cured, or letting them +die by accident. You see what kind of a doctor he is." + +"I told you I knew him." + +"See if I deceive myself, and to what I tell you, add what you already +know. Frightened to see in whose hands she is, I undertook to find out, +and finished by learning--without asking her directly--that she has seen +no other physician during the year. When she was taken with paralysis a +consultation was held, and she has had Doctor Balzajette ever since. She +says he is very kind, and takes care of her as well as another would." + +Saniel improved the opportunity to refer to his stupidity in frankly +expressing his opinion on the solemn Balzajette. + +"It is probable," he said. + +"It is certain? Do you believe that during one year nothing has appeared +in Madame Dammauville's disease that should demand new treatment? Do you +think the solemn Balzajette is incapable of finding it all by himself?" + +"He is not so dull as you suppose." + +"It is you who speak of dulness." + +"To diagnose a disease and to treat it are two things. It is the +consultation you speak of that settled the question of Madame +Dammauville's disease, and prescribed the treatment that Balzajette had +only to apply; and his capacity, I assure you, is sufficient for this +task." + +As she appeared but little reassured, he persisted, for it would be +an imprudence to let Phillis become enamored of the idea that if he +attended Madame Dammauville, he would cure her, even if it required a +miracle. + +"We have some time before us, since the 'ordonnance de renvoi' before +the assizes is not yet given out. Madame Dammauville has promised to +question her doctor, to learn if he hopes to put her in condition to +leave her bed soon. Let us wait, therefore." + +"Would it not be better to act than to wait?" + +"At least let us wait for news from Balzajette. Either it will be +satisfactory, and then we shall have nothing to do, or it will not be, +and in that case I promise you to see Balzajette. I know him well enough +to speak to him of your patient, which, above all, enables me, in +making your brother intervene, to interest myself openly in his +reestablishment." + +"O dearest, dearest!" she murmured, in a spirit of gratitude. + +"You cannot doubt my devotion to you first, and to your brother +afterward. You asked me an impossible thing, that I was obliged to +refuse, to my regret, precisely because it was impossible; but you know +that I am yours, and will do all I can for your family." + +"Forgive me." + +"I have nothing to forgive; in your place I should think as you do, but +I believe that in mine you would act as I do." + +"Be sure that I have never had an idea of blame in my heart for what is +with you an affair of dignity. It is because you are high and proud that +I love you so passionately." + +She rose. + +"Are you going?" he asked. + +"I want to carry Madame Dammauville's words to mamma; you can imagine +with what anguish she awaits me." + +"Let us, go. I will leave you at the boulevard to go to see Nougarede." + +The interview with the advocate was short. + +"You see, dear friend, that my plan is good; bring Madame Dammauville to +court, and we shall have some pleasant moments." + +This time Saniel had not the hesitation of the previous evening, and he +entered the first barber-shop he saw. When he returned to his rooms +he lighted two candles, and placing them on the mantle, he looked at +himself in the glass. + +Coquetry had never been his sin, and often weeks passed without his +looking in a mirror, so indifferent was he when making his toilet. +However, as a young boy he sometimes looked in his small glass, asking +himself what he would become, and he could now recall his looks--an +energetic face with clearly drawn features, a physiognomy open and +frank, without being pretty, but not disagreeable. His beard had +concealed all this; but now that it was gone, he said to himself without +much reflection that he would find again, without doubt, the boy he +remembered. + +What he saw in the glass was a forehead lined transversely; oblique +eyebrows, raised at the inside extremity, and a mouth with tightened +lips turned down at the corners; furrows were hollowed in the cheeks; +and the whole physiognomy, harassed, ravaged, expressed hardness. + +What had become of that of the young man of other days? He had before +him the man that life had made, and of whom the violent contractions of +the muscles of the face had modelled the expression. + +"Truly, the mouth of an assassin!" he murmured. + +Then, looking at his shaved head, he added with a smile: + +"And perhaps that of one condemned to death, whose toilet has just been +made for the guillotine." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. A BROKEN NEGATIVE + +To have made himself unrecognizable was, without doubt, a safe +precaution; but having started on this course, he would not be easy +until he had destroyed all traces of himself in such a way that Madame +Dammauville would never be able to find the man that she had seen so +clearly under Caffie's lamp. + +Precisely because he was not vain and had no pretension to beauty, he +had escaped the photograph mania. Once only he had been photographed +in spite of himself, simply to oblige a classmate who had abandoned +medicine for photography. + +But now this once was too much, for there was danger that this portrait +taken three years before, and showing him with the hair and beard that +he wished to suppress, might be discovered. Without doubt there were few +chances that a copy of it would be seen by Madame Dammauville; but if +there existed only one against a hundred thousand, he must arrange it so +that he need have no fear. + +He had had a dozen copies of this photograph, but as his relatives were +few, he kept the majority of them. One he sent to his mother, who was +living at that time; another went to the priest of his village, and +later he had given one to Phillis. He must, then, have nine in his +possession. He found them and burned them immediately. + +Of the three that remained, only one might testify against him, the one +belonging to Phillis. But it would be easy for him to get it again on +inventing some pretext, while as to the others, truly he had nothing to +fear. + +The real danger might come from the photographer, who perhaps had some +of the photographs, and who undoubtedly preserved the negative. This was +his first errand the next day. + +On entering the studio of this friend, he experienced a disagreeable +feeling, which troubled him and made him uneasy; he had not given his +name, and counting on the change made by the cutting of his hair and +beard, he said to himself that his friend, who had not seen him for a +long time, certainly would not recognize him. + +He had taken but a few steps, his hat in his hand, like a stranger who +is about to accost another, when the photographer came toward him with +outstretched hand, and a friendly smile on his face. + +"You, my dear friend! What good fortune is worth the pleasure of your +visit tome? Can I be useful to you in any way?" + +"You recognize me, then?" + +"What! Do I recognize you? Do you ask that because you have cut +your hair and beard? Certainly it changes you and gives you a new +physiognomy; but I should be unworthy of my business if, by a different +arrangement of the hair, I could not recognize you. + +"Besides, eyes of steel like yours are not forgotten; they are a +description and a signature." + +Then this means in which he placed so much confidence was only a new +imprudence, as the question, "You recognize me, then?" was a mistake. + +"Come, I will pose you at once," the photographer said. "Very curious, +this shaved head, and still more interesting, I think, than with the +beard and long hair. The traits of character are more clearly seen." + +"It is not for a new portrait that I have come, but for the old one. +Have you any of the proofs?" + +"I think not, but I will see. In any case, if you wish some they are +easily made, since I have the plate." + +"Will you look them up? For I have not a single proof left of those you +gave me, and on looking at myself in the glass this morning I found such +changes between my face of to-day and that of three years ago, that I +would like to study them. Certain ideas came to me on the expression of +the physiognomy, that I wish to study, with something to support them." + +The search for the proofs made by an assistant led to no results; there +were no proofs. + +"Exactly; and for several days I have thought of making some," the +photographer said. "Because your day of glory will come, when your +portrait will be in a distinguished place in the shop-windows and +collections. Every one talks of your 'concours'. Although I have +abandoned medicine without the wish to return to it, I have not become +indifferent to what concerns it, and I learned of your success. Which +portrait shall we put in circulation? The old or the new?" + +"The new." + +"Then let us arrange the pose." + +"Not to-day; it is only yesterday that I was shaved, fearing an attack +of pelagre, and the skin covered by the beard has a crude whiteness that +will accentuate the hardness of my physiognomy, which is really useless. +We will wait until the air has tanned me a little, and then I will +return, I promise you." + +"How many proofs do you want of your old portrait?" + +"One will do." + +"I will send you a dozen." + +"Do not take the trouble; I will take them when I come to pose. But in +the mean time, could you not show me the plate?" + +"Nothing easier." + +When it was brought, Saniel took the glass plate with great care, +holding it with the tips of his fingers by the two opposite corners, in +order not to efface the portrait. Then, as he was standing in the shadow +of a blue curtain, he walked towards the chimney where the light was +strong, and began his examination. + +"It is very good," he said; "very curious." + +"Only a photograph can have this documentary value." + +To compare this document with the reality, Saniel approached the chimney +more closely, above which was a mirror. When his feet touched the +marble hearth he stopped, looking alternately at the plate which he held +carefully in his hands, and at his face reflected in the glass. Suddenly +he made an exclamation; he let fall the plate, which, falling flat on +the marble, broke into little pieces that flew here and there. + +"How awkward I am!" + +He showed a vexation that should not leave the smallest doubt in the +photographer's mind as to its truth. + +"You must get one of the proofs that you have given away," his friend +said, "for I have not a single one left." + +"I will try and find one." + +What he did try to find on leaving was whether or no he had succeeded +in rendering himself unrecognizable, for he could not trust to +this experience, weakened by the fact that this old friend was a +photographer. With him it was a matter of business to note the typical +traits that distinguish one face from another, and in a long practice he +had acquired an accuracy Madame Dammauville could not possess. + +Among the persons he knew, it seemed to him that the one in the best +condition to give certainty to the proof was Madame Cormier. He knew at +this hour she would be alone, and as she had not been, assuredly, warned +by her daughter that he intended to shave, the experiment would be +presented in a way to give a result as exact as possible. + +In answer to his ring Madame Cormier opened the door, and he saluted her +without being recognized; but as the hall was dark this was not of great +significance. His hat in his hand, he followed her into the dining-room +without speaking, in order that his voice should not betray him. + +Then, after she had looked at him a moment, with uneasy surprise at +first, she began to smile. + +"It is Doctor Saniel!" she cried. "Mon Dieu! How stupid of me not to +recognize you; it changes you so much to be shaved! Pardon me." + +"It is because I am shaved that I come to ask a favor." + +"Of us, my dear sir? Ah! Speak quickly; we should be so happy to prove +our gratitude." + +"I would ask Mademoiselle Phillis to give me, if she has it, a +photograph that I gave her about a year ago." + +As Phillis wished the liberty to expose this photograph frankly, in +order to have it always before her, she had asked for it, and Saniel had +given it to her, in her mother's presence. + +"If she has it!" exclaimed Mme. Cormier. "Ah! my dear sir, you do not +know the place that all your goodness, and the services that you have +rendered us, have made for you in our hearts." + +And passing into the next room, she brought a small velvet frame in +which was the photograph. Saniel took it out, on explaining the study +for which he wanted it, and after promising to bring it back soon, he +returned to his rooms. + +Decidedly, everything was going well. The plate was destroyed, Phillis's +proof in his hands; he had nothing more to fear from this side. As to +the experiment made on the mother, it was decisive enough to inspire him +with confidence. If Madame Cormier, who had seen him so often and for so +long a time, and who thought of him at every instant, did not recognize +him, how was it possible that Madame Dammauville, who had only seen him +from a distance and for a few seconds, could recognize him after several +months? + +Would he never accustom himself to the idea that his life could not have +the tranquil monotony of a bourgeois existence, that it would experience +shocks and storms, but that if he knew how to remain always master of +his force and will, it would bring him to a safe port? + +The calm that was his before this vexation came back to him, and when +the last proofs of his concours, confirming the success of the first, +had given him the two titles that he so ardently desired and pursued +at the price of so many pains, so many efforts and privations, he could +enjoy his triumph in all security. + +He held the present in his strong hands, and the future was his. + +Now he could walk straight, boldly, his head high, jostling those who +annoyed him, according to his natural temperament. + +Although these last months had been full of terrible agitation for +him, on account of everything connected with the affair of Caffie and +Florentin, and above all, on account of the fatigue, emotion, and the +fever of his 'concours', yet he had not interrupted his special works +for a day or even an hour, and his experiments followed for so many +years had at length produced important results, that prudence alone +prevented him from publishing. In opposition to the official teaching +of the school, these discoveries would have caused the hair to stand +upright on the old heads; and it was not the time, when he asked +permission to enter, to draw upon himself the hostility of these +venerable doorkeepers, who would bar the way to a revolutionist. But, +now that he was in the place for ten or twelve years, he need take no +precautions, either for persons or for ideas, and he might speak. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. PHILLIS PRECIPITATES MATTERS + +Saniel saw his colleague, the solemn Balzajette, and so adroitly as not +to provoke surprise or suspicion, he spoke of Madame Dammauville, in +whom he was interested incidentally; without persisting, and only to +justify his question, he explained the nature of this interest. + +Although solemn, Balzajette was not the less a gossip, and it was his +solemnity that made him gossip. He listened to himself talk, and when, +his chest bulging, his pink chin freshly shaved resting on his white +cravat, his be-ringed hand describing in the air noble and demonstrative +gestures, one could, if one had the patience to listen to him, make +him say all that one wished; for he was convinced that his interlocutor +passed an agreeable moment, whose remembrance would never be forgotten. +His patients might wait in pain or anguish, he did not hasten the +majestic delivery of his high-sounding phrases with choice adjectives; +and unless it was to go to a dinner-party, which he did at least five +days in the week, he could not leave you until after he had made you +partake of the admiration that he professed for himself. + +It was to an affection of the spinal cord that Mme. Dammauville's +paralysis was due, and consequently it was perfectly curable; even +Balzajette was astonished that with his treatment and his care the cure +was delayed. + +"But what shall I say to you, young 'confrere'? You know better than I +that with women everything is possible--above all the impossible." + +And during a half-hour he complaisantly related the astonishment that +the fashionable women under his care had caused him, in spite of his +knowledge and experience. + +"Well, to resume, what shall I tell you, young 'confrere'?" + +And he repeated and explained what he had already said and explained. + +Although Balzajette read only a morning paper, and never opened a book, +he had heard of Saniel's reputation, and because he was young he thought +he might manage this 'confrere', who seemed destined to make a good +position. In spite of the high esteem that he professed for his own +merits and person, he vaguely felt that the doctors of his generation +who were eminent did not treat him with all the consideration that he +accorded himself, and in order to teach his ancient comrades a lesson, +he was glad to enter into friendly relations with a young one 'dans le +mouvement'. He would speak of his young confrere Saniel: "You know the +one who was appointed 'agrege'," and he would relate the advice that he, +Balzajette, had given him. + +That Madame Dammauville would be well enough to go to court Saniel +doubted, above all, after Balzajette had explained his treatment; and as +far as he was concerned, he could not but rejoice. Doubtless, it would +be hard for Florentin not to have this testimony, and not to profit by +the 'coup de theatre' prepared by Nougarede; but for himself, he could +only feel happy over it. In spite of all the precautions he had taken, +it would be better not to expose himself to a meeting with Madame +Dammauville in the witness-chamber, or even in court. They must depend +upon a letter supported by Balzajette's deposition, and Florentin would +be not the less acquitted. Only Nougarede would have to regret his 'coup +de theatre'. But the satisfaction or disappointment of Nougarede was +nothing to him. + +But he did not tell Phillis the ideas suggested by his interview with +Balzajette; he summed up the conclusions of this interview. Balzajette +said that Madame Dammauville would soon be on her feet, and one might +have faith in his word; Florentin would be saved, and there was nothing +to do but to let things go on as they were going. + +Phillis, Madame Cormier, Nougarede, Florentin himself, whom the Mazas +cell had reconciled neither with hope nor with providential justice, +were all delighted with this idea. + +Also, when the chamber of the prosecution sent Florent to the assizes, +the emotion of Madame Cormier and Phillis would not be too violent. +Madame Dammauville would be in a state to make her deposition, since the +evening before she had been able to leave her bed; and although she left +it for only an hour, and then to go from her bedroom to her parlor, that +was enough. Nougarede said that the affair would come on at the second +session in April; between then and now Madame Dammauville would be solid +enough on her legs to appear before the jury and carry the acquittal. + +To Phillis, Saniel repeated that the cure was certain, and to her, also, +he rejoiced aloud. But he was troubled about this cure. This meeting, +only the idea of which had alarmed him to the point of losing his head, +would be brought about, and under conditions that could not but affect +him. Truly, the precautions he had taken should reassure him, but after +all there remained no less a troublesome uncertainty. Who could tell? He +preferred that she should not leave her room, and that Nougarede should +find a way to obtain her deposition without taking her to court; he +would then feel more reassured, more calm in mind, and with a more +impassive face he could go to court. + +Was he really unrecognizable? This was the question that beset him now. +Many times he compared his reflection in the glass with the photograph +that he had given Phillis. The hair and beard were gone, but his eyes +of steel, as his friend said, still remained, and nothing could change +them. He might wear blue eyeglasses, or injure himself in a chemical +experiment and wear a bandage. But such a disguise would provoke +curiosity and questions just so much more dangerous, because it would +coincide with the disappearance of his hair and beard. + +But these fears did not torment him long, for Phillis, who now passed a +part of every day in the Rue Sainte-Anne with Madame Dammauville, came +one evening in despair, and told him that that day the invalid had been +able to leave her bed for a few minutes only. + +Then she would not go to court. + +This apprehension of meeting Madame Dammauville face to face had begun +to exasperate him; he felt like a coward in yielding to it, and since he +had not the force to shake it off, he was happy to be relieved from it +by the intervention of chance, which, after having been against him so +long, now became favorable. The wheel turned. + +"See Madame Dammauville often," he said to Phillis, "and note all that +she feels; perhaps I shall find some way to repair this impediment, +something that I may suggest to Balzajette without his suspecting it. +Besides, it is reasonable to believe that the recrudescence of cold that +we are suffering from now may have something to do with the change in +her condition; it is probable that with the mild spring weather she may +improve." + +He hoped by this counsel to quiet Phillis's uneasiness and to gain time. +But it had the opposite effect. In her anguish, which increased as the +time for the trial approached, it was not probabilities, any more than +the uncertain influence of the spring, that Phillis could depend on; she +must have something more and better; but fearing a refusal, she forbore +to tell him what she hoped to obtain. + +It was only when she had succeeded that she spoke. + +Every day, on leaving Madame Dammauville, she came to tell him what she +had learned, and for three successive days her story was the same: + +"She was not able to leave her bed." + +And each day he made the same reply: + +"It is the cold weather. Surely, we shall soon have a change; this frost +and wind will not continue beyond the end of March." + +He was pained at her desolation and anguish, but what could he do? It +was not his fault that this relapse occurred at a decisive moment; fate +had been against him long enough, and he was not going to counteract it +at the time when it seemed to take his side, by yielding to the desire +that Phillis dared not express, but which he divined, and by going to +see Madame Dammauville. + +When she entered his office on the fourth day, he knew at once by her +manner that something favorable to Florentin had happened. + +"Madame Dammauville is up," he said. + +"No." + +"I thought she must be, by your vivacity and lightness." "It is because +I am happy; Madame Dammauville wishes to consult you." + +He took her hands roughly and shook them. + +"You have done that!" he exclaimed. + +She looked at him frightened. + +"You! You!" he repeated with increasing fury. + +"At least listen to me," she murmured. "You will see that I have not +compromised you in anything." + +Compromised! It was professional dignity of which he thought, truly! + +"I do not want to listen to you; I shall not go." + +"Do not say that." + +"It only needed that you should dispose of me in your own way." + +"Victor!" + +Anger carried him away. + +"I belong to you, then! I am your thing! You do with me what you wish! +You decide, and I have only to obey! There is too much of this! You can +go; everything is at an end between us." + +She listened, crushed; but this last word, which struck her in her +love, gave her strength. In her turn she took his hands, and although he +wished to withdraw them, she held them closely in her own. + +"You may throw in my face all the angry words you please; you may +reproach me as much as you think I deserve it, and I will not complain. +Without doubt, I have done you wrong, and I feel the weight of it on +seeing how profoundly you are wounded; but to send me away, to tell me +that all is over between us, no, Victor, you will not do that. You +will not say it, for you know that never was a man loved as I love +you, adored, respected. And voluntarily, deliberately, even to save my +brother, that I should have compromised you!" + +He pushed her from him. + +"Go!" he said harshly. + +She threw herself on her knees, and taking his hands that he had +withdrawn, she kissed them passionately. + +"But listen to me," she cried. "Before condemning me, hear my defence. +Even if I were a hundred times more guilty than I really am, you could +not drive me from you with this unmerciful hardness." + +"Go!" + +"You lose your head; anger carries you away. What is the matter? It is +impossible that I, by my stupidity, through my fault, could put you in +such a state of mad exasperation. What is the matter, my beloved?" + +These few words did more than Phillis's despair of her expressions of +love. She was right, he lost his head. And however guilty she might be +towards him, it was evident that she could not admit that the fault +she committed threw him into this access of furious folly. It was not +natural; and in his words and actions all must be natural, all must be +capable of explanation. + +"Very well, speak!" he said. "I am listening to you. Moreover, it is +better to know. Speak!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. THE APPOINTMENT + +"You should understand," she said with a little more calmness--for, +since he permitted her to speak, she hoped to convince him--"that I have +done all I could to bring Madame Dammauville to the idea of calling, in +consultation with Monsieur Balzajette, a doctor--" + +"Which would be myself." + +"You or another; I have not mentioned any name. You should not think me +awkward enough to put you forward clumsily; it would not be a good way +to make you acceptable to an intelligent woman, and I value your dignity +too much to lower it. I believed that another doctor than Monsieur +Balzajette would find a remedy, some way, a miracle if you will, to +enable Madame Dammauville to go to the Palais de justice, and I said +it. I said it in every tone, in every way, with as much persuasion as +I could put in my words. Was it not the life of my brother that I +defended, our honor? At first, I found Madame Dammauville much opposed +to this idea. She would be better soon, she felt it. Otherwise, if it +were her duty to be carried to the Palais de justice, she would not +hesitate." + +"She would do that?" + +"Assuredly. No one has a stronger sense of justice. She would feel +guilty did she not give her testimony to save an innocent person; not to +save him when she could would be to take the responsibility of his loss. +It is therefore certain that if she cannot go to court alone, she will +do all she can to go, no matter how--on M. Balzajette's arm, or on a +stretcher. I was, then, easy enough on this side, but I was not for the +stretcher. What would people think to see her in this condition? What +impression would she make on the jury? Would not her appearance weaken +the value of her testimony? As Madame Dammauville is fond of me, and +very kind to me, I determined to profit by this kindness to urge a +consultation, but without mentioning any name. I represented to her +that, since M. Balzajette might say with every appearance of truth he +had cured her, he should not be angry if she desired to ratify this +cure. That besides, there was an imperative motive that would not permit +her to wait, for it would be very disagreeable to her to present herself +at the court of assizes in a theatrical way, which was not at all +according to her character or habits. I easily discovered that the fear +of giving pain to this old friend of her husband was the chief reason +why she was opposed to this consultation. It was then that your name was +pronounced." + +"You acknowledge it, then?" + +"You will see how, and you will not be angry about it. I have often +spoken to Madame Dammauville of mamma, and, consequently, of how you +cured her paralysis, that resembled hers. It was not wrong, was it, to +say what you have done for us? And without letting any one suspect my +love, I could praise you, which my gratitude prompted. She asked me many +questions, and naturally, as usual when I speak of you, when I have +the joy of pronouncing your name, I answered in detail. That is not a +crime?" + +She waited a moment, looking at him. Without softening the hardness of +his glance, he made a sign to her to continue. + +"When I persisted on the consultation, Madame Dammauville recalled what +I had said, and she was the first--you hear?--the first to pronounce +your name. As you had cured my mother, I had the right to praise you. +With a nature like hers, she would not have understood if I had not done +it; she would have believed me ungrateful. I spoke of your book on +the diseases of the spinal cord, which was quite natural; and as she +manifested a desire to read it, I offered to lend it to her." + +"Was that natural?" + +"With any but Madame Dammauville, no; but she is not frivolous. I took +the book to her two days ago, and she has just told me that, after +reading it, she has decided to send for you." + +"I shall certainly not go; she has her own physician." + +"Do not imagine that I have come to ask you to pay her a visit; all is +arranged with Monsieur Balzajette, who will write to you or see you, I +do not know which." + +"That will be very extraordinary on the part of Balzajette!" + +"Perhaps you judge him harshly. When Madame Dammauville spoke to him of +you he did not raise the smallest objection; on the contrary, he praised +you. He says that you are one of the rare young men in whom one may have +confidence. These are his own words that Madame Dammauville told me." + +"What do I care for the opinion of this old beast!" + +"I am explaining how it happens that you are called into consultation; +it is not because I spoke of you, but because you have inspired Monsieur +Balzajette with confidence. However stupid he may be, he is just to you, +and knows your value." + +It was come then, the time for the meeting that he did not wish to +believe possible; and it was brought about in such a way that he did not +see how he could escape it. He might refuse Phillis; but Balzajette? A +colleague called him in consultation, and why should he not go? Had he +foreseen this blow he would have left Paris until the trial was over, +but he was taken unawares. What could he say to justify a sudden +absence? He had no mother or brothers who might send for him, and with +whom he would be obliged to remain. Besides, he wished to go to court; +and since his testimony would carry considerable weight with the jury, +it was his duty to be present on account of Florentin. It would be a +contemptible cowardice to fail in this duty, and more, it would be an +imprudence. In the eyes of the world he must appear to have nothing to +fear, and this assurance, this confidence in himself, was one of the +conditions of his safety. Now, if he went to court, and from every point +of view it was impossible that he should not go, he would meet Madame +Dammauville, as she intended to be carried there if she were unable to +go in any other way. Whether it was at her house, or at the Palais de +justice, the meeting was then certain, and in spite of what he had done, +circumstances stronger than his will had prepared it and brought it +about; nothing that he could do would prevent it. + +The only question that deserved serious consideration just now was to +know where this meeting would be the least dangerous for him--at Madame +Dammauville's or at the Palais? + +He reflected silently, paying no more attention to Phillis than if she +were not present, his eyes fixed, his brow contracted, his lips tightly +closed, when the doorbell rang. As Joseph was at his post, Saniel did +not move. + +"If it is a patient," Phillis said, who did not wish to go yet, "I will +wait in the dining-room." + +And she rose. + +Before she could leave the room, Joseph entered. + +"Doctor Balzajette," he said. + +"You see!" Phillis cried. + +Without replying, Saniel made a sign to Joseph to admit Doctor +Balzajette, and while Phillis silently disappeared, he went toward the +parlor. + +Balzajette came forward with both hands extended. + +"Good-day, my young 'confrere'. I am enchanted to meet you." + +The reception was benevolent, amicable, and protecting, and Saniel +replied at his best. + +"Since we met the other day," Balzajette continued, "I have thought +of you. And nothing more natural than that, for you inspired me with +a quick sympathy. The first time you came to see me you pleased me +immediately, and I told you you would make your way. Do you remember?" + +Assuredly he remembered; and of all the visits that he made to the +doctors and druggists of his quarter, that to Balzajette was the +hardest. It was impossible to show more pride, haughtiness, and disdain +than Balzajette had put into his reception of the then unknown young +man. + +"I told you what I thought of you," continued Balzajette. "It is with +regard to this patient of whom you spoke to me; you remember?" + +"Madame Dammauville?" + +"Exactly. I put her on her feet, as I told you, but since then this bad +weather has compelled her to take to her bed again. Without doubt, it +is only an affair of a few days; but in the mean time, the poor woman is +irritable and impatient. You know women, young 'confrere'. To calm +this impatience, I spontaneously proposed a consultation, and naturally +pronounced your name, which is well known by your fine work on the +medullary lesions. I supported it, as was proper, with the esteem that +it has acquired, and I have the satisfaction to see it accepted." + +Saniel thanked him as if he believed in the perfect sincerity of this +spontaneous proposition. + +"I like the young, and whenever an occasion presents itself, I shall be +happy to introduce you to my clientage. For Madame Dammauville, when can +you go with me to see her?" + +As Saniel appeared to hesitate, Balzajette, mistaking the cause of his +silence, persisted. + +"She is impatient," he said. "Let us go the first day that is possible." + +He must reply, and in these conditions a refusal would be inexplicable. + +"Will to-morrow suit you?" he asked. + +"To-morrow, by all means. At what hour?" + +Before replying, Saniel went to his desk and consulted an almanac, which +appeared perfectly ridiculous to Balzajette. + +"Does he imagine, the young 'confrere', that I am going to believe his +time so fully occupied that he must make a special arrangement to give +me an hour?" + +But it was not an arrangement of this kind that Saniel sought. His +almanac gave the rising and the setting of the sun, and it was the exact +hour of sunset that he wished: "26 March, 6h. 20m." At this moment +it would not be dark enough at Madame Dammauville's for lamps to be +lighted, and yet it would be dark enough to prevent her from seeing him +clearly in the uncertain light of evening. + +"Will a quarter past six suit you? I will call for you at six o'clock." + +"Very well. Only I shall ask you to be very exact; I have a dinner at +seven o'clock in the Rue Royale." + +Saniel promised promptness. The dinner was a favorable circumstance, +enabling him to escape from Madame Dammauville's before the lamps would +be lighted. + +When Balzajette was gone, he rejoined Phillis in the dining-room. + +"A consultation is arranged for to-morrow at six o'clock, at Madame +Dammauville's." + +She threw herself on his breast. + +"I knew that you would forgive me." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. THE FATAL LIGHT + +It was not without emotion that the next day Saniel saw the afternoon +slip away, and although he worked to employ his time, he interrupted +himself at each instant to look at the clock. + +Sometimes he found the time passing quickly, and then all at once it +seemed to stand still. + +This agitation exasperated him, for calmness had never been more +necessary than at this moment. A danger was before him, and it was only +in being master of himself that he could be saved. He must have the +coolness of a surgeon during an operation, the glance of a general in a +battle; and the coolness and the glance were not found among the nervous +and agitated. + +Could he escape from this danger? + +This was the question that he asked himself unceasingly, although he +knew the uselessness of it. What good was it to study the chances for or +against him? + +Either he had succeeded in rendering himself unrecognizable or he had +not; but it was done, and now he could do nothing more. He did the best +he could in choosing an hour when the dim evening light put the chances +on his side; for the rest he must trust to Fortune. + +All day he studied the sky, because for the success of his plan it +must be neither too bright nor too dark: if it were too bright Madame +Dammauville could see him clearly; if it were too dark the lamps would +be lighted. He remembered that it was by lamplight she had seen him. +Until evening the weather was uncertain, with a sky sometimes sunny, +sometimes cloudy; but at this hour the clouds were driven away by a wind +from the north, and the weather became decidedly cold, with the pink and +pale clearness of the end of March when it still freezes. + +On examining himself he had the satisfaction to feel that he was calmer +than in the morning, and that as the moment of attack approached, his +agitation decreased; decision, firmness, and coolness came to him; he +felt master of his will, and capable of obeying it. + +At six o'clock precisely he rang at Balzajette's door, and they started +immediately for the Rue Sainte-Anne. Happy to have a complaisant +listener, Balzajette did all the talking, so that Saniel had only to +reply "yes" or "no" from time to time, and of course it was not +of Madame Dammauville that he spoke, but other matters--of a first +representation on the previous evening at the Opera Comique; of +politics; of the next salon. + +At exactly a quarter past six they reached the house in the Rue +Sainte-Anne, where Saniel had not been since Caffies death. On passing +the old concierge's lodge he felt satisfied with himself; his heart +did not beat too quickly, his ideas were firm and clear. Should danger +arrive, he felt assured of mastery over himself, without excitement, as +without brutality. + +Balzajette rang the bell, and the door was opened by a maid, who was, +evidently, placed in the vestibule to await their arrival. Balzajette +entered first, and Saniel followed him, giving a hasty glance at the +rooms through which they passed. They reached a door at which Balzajette +knocked twice. + +"Enter," replied a feminine voice in a firm tone. + +This was the decisive moment; the day was everything that could be +wished, neither too light nor too dark. What would Madame Dammauville's +first glance mean? + +"My confrere, Doctor Saniel," Balzajette said on going toward Madame +Dammauville, and taking her hand. + +She was lying on the little bed of which Phillis had spoken, but not +against the windows, rather in the middle of the room, placed there +evidently after the experience of a sick person who knows that to be +examined she must be easily seen. + +Profiting by this arrangement, Saniel immediately passed between the +bed and the windows in such a way that the daylight was behind him, and +consequently his face was in shadow. This was done naturally, without +affectation, and it seemed that he only took this side of the bed +because Balzajette took the other. + +Directed by Saniel, the examination commenced with a clearness and +a precision that pleased Balzajette. He did not lose himself in idle +words, the young 'confrere', any more than in useless details. He went +straight to the end, only asking and seeking the indispensable; and as +Madame Dammauville's replies were as precise as his questions, while +listening and putting in a word from time to time he said to himself +that his dinner would not be delayed, which was the chief point of his +preoccupation. Decidedly, he understood life, the young 'confrere'; he +might be called in consultation with his heavy appearance and careless +toilet, there was no danger of rivalry. + +However, when Madame Dammauville began to speak of being sensitive +to cold, Balzajette found that Saniel let her lose herself in minute +details. + +"Have you always been sensitive to cold?" + +"Yes; and with a deplorable disposition to take cold if the temperature +is lowered one or two degrees." + +"Did you exercise in the open air?" + +"Very little." + +"Were you ever advised to try shower-baths of cold water?" + +"I should not have been able to bear it." + +"I must tell you," Balzajette interrupted, "that before occupying this +house that belongs to her, Madame Dammauville lived in a more modern +apartment which was heated by a furnace, and where consequently it was +easier to maintain an even temperature to which she was accustomed." + +"On coming to live in this house, where it is not possible to have a +furnace," Madame Dammauville went on, "I employed every means to shelter +me from the cold, which I am sure is my great enemy. You can see that I +have had weather-strips put at the doors, as well as at the windows." + +In spite of this invitation and the gesture which accompanied it, Saniel +was careful not to turn his head toward the window; he kept his face +in the shadow, contenting himself with looking at the door which was +opposite to him. + +"At the same time," she continued, "I had hangings put on the walls, +carpets on the floors, thick curtains at the windows and doors, and in +spite of the large fire in my fireplace, often I am unable to get warm." + +"Do you also have a fire in this little stove?" Saniel asked, pointing +to a small movable stove at the corner of the fireplace. + +"Only at night, so that my servants need not get up every hour to +replenish the fire in the chimney. The fire is made in the evening +just before I go to sleep; the pipe is placed in the chimney, and it +maintains sufficient heat until morning." + +"I think it will be expedient to suppress this mode of heating, which +must be very inconvenient," Saniel said; "and my 'confrere' and myself +will consider the question whether it will not be possible to give you +the heat you need with this chimney, without fatiguing your servants, +and without waking you too often to take care of the fire. But let us +continue." + +When he reached the end of his questions he rose to examine the patient +on her bed, but without turning round, and in such a way as still to +keep his back to the light. + +As little by little the reflection of the setting sun faded, Balzajette +proposed asking for a lamp: without replying too hastily, Saniel +refused; it was useless, the daylight was sufficient. + +They passed into the parlor, where they very quickly came to an amicable +conclusion, for at everything that Saniel said Balzajette replied: + +"I am happy to see that you partake of my opinion. That is it. Truly, +that is so!" + +And, besides, each had his reasons for hurrying--Saniel, for fear of +the lamps; Balzajette, uneasiness for his dinner. The diagnosis and the +treatment were rapidly settled; Saniel proposed, Balzajette approved. +The question of the movable stove was decided in two words: for the +night a grate would be placed in the chimney; a fire of coal covered +with damp coal-dust would keep the fire until morning. + +"Let us return," Balzajette said, who took the initiative and decided on +all material things. + +Saniel, who kept his eyes on the windows, was calm; it was yet too light +to need lamps, besides, during their tete-a-tete, no servant had crossed +the salon to enter Madame Dammauville's room. + +But when Balzajette opened the door to return to the patient, a flood +of light filled the parlor and enveloped them. A lamp with a shade was +placed on the little table near the bed, and two other lighted lamps +with globes were on the mantel, reflecting their light in the +mirror. How had he not foreseen that there was another door to Madame +Dammauville's room besides the door from the parlor? But if he had +foreseen it, it would not have lessened the danger of the situation. + +He would have had time to prepare himself, that was all. But to prepare +himself for what? Either to enter the room and brave this danger, or to +fly. He entered. + +"This is what we have decided," Balzajette said, who never lost an +occasion to put himself forward and to speak. + +While he spoke, Madame Dammauville seemed not to listen to him. Her eyes +were on Saniel, placed between her and the chimney with his back to the +lamps, and she looked at him with a characteristic fixedness. + +Balzajette, who listened to himself, observed nothing; but Saniel, who +knew what there was behind this glance, could not but be struck with +it. Happily for him, he had only to let Balzajette talk, for if he had +spoken he would surely have betrayed himself by the quivering of his +voice. + +However, Balzajette seemed coming to the end of his explanations. +Suddenly Saniel saw Madame Dammauville extend her hand toward the lamp +on the table, and raise the shade by lowering it toward her in such a +way as to form a reflector that threw the light on him. At the same time +he received a bright ray full on his face. + +Madame Dammauville uttered a small, stifled cry. + +Balzajette stopped; then his astonished eyes went from Madame +Dammauville to Saniel, and front Saniel to Madame Dammauville. + +"Are you suffering?" he asked. + +"Not at all." + +What, then, was the matter? But it was seldom that he asked for an +explanation of a thing that astonished him, preferring to divine and to +explain it himself. + +"Ah! I understand it," he said with a satisfied smile. + +"The youth of my young 'confrere' astonishes you. It is his fault. Why +the devil did he have his long hair and his light curled beard cut?" + +If Madame Dammauville had not released the lampshade, she would have +seen Saniel turned pale and his lips quiver. + +"Mais voila!" continued Balzajette. "He made this sacrifice to his new +functions; the student has disappeared before the professor." + +He might have continued along time. Neither Madame Dammauville nor +Saniel listened to him; but, thinking of his dinner, he was not going +to launch into a discourse that at any other moment he would not have +failed to undertake. He rose to go. + +As Saniel bowed, Madame Dammauville stopped him with a movement of her +hand. + +"Did you not know this unfortunate who was assassinated opposite?" she +asked, pointing to the windows. + +So serious as was an acknowledgment, Saniel could not answer in the +negative. + +"I was called in to prove his death," he said. + +And he took several steps toward the door, but she stopped him again. + +"Had you business with him?" she asked. + +"I saw him several times." + +Balzajette cut short this conversation, which was idle talk to him. + +"Good evening, dear Madame. I will see you tomorrow, but not in the +morning, for I go to the country at six o'clock, and shall not return +until noon." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. SUSPENSE + +"Did you observe how I cut the conversation short?" Balzajette said, as +they went down-stairs. "If you listen to women they will never let you +go. I cannot imagine why she spoke to you of this assassinated man, can +you?" + +"No." + +"I believe that this assassination has affected her brain to a certain +point. In any case, it has given her a horror of this house." + +He continued thus without Saniel listening to what he said. On reaching +the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, Balzajette hailed a passing cab. + +"You have had the kindness not to delay me," he said, pressing the hand +of his young 'confrere', "but I feel that I must hurry. 'Au revoir'." + +A good riddance! This babbling gave Saniel the vertigo. + +He must recover himself, look the situation in the face, and consider +that which might, which must, happen. + +The situation was plain; Madame Dammauville's cry revealed it. When the +lamplight struck him full in the face, she found in him the man whom +she had seen draw Caffies curtains. If, in her amazement, she at first +refused to believe it, her questions regarding Caffie, and Balzajette's +explanations about his hair and beard, destroyed her hesitation and +replaced doubt by the horror of certainty. He was the assassin; she knew +it, she had seen him. And such as she revealed herself to him, it seemed +that she was not the woman to challenge the testimony of her eyes, and +to let the strength of her memory be shaken by simple denials, supported +by Balzajette's words. + +With a vivid clearness he saw to the bottom of the abyss open before +him; but what he did not see was in what way she would push him into +this giddy whirlpool, that is, to whom she would reveal the discovery +that she had made. To Phillis, to Balzajette, or to the judge? + +It was almost a relief to think that for this evening, at least, it +would not be to Phillis, for at this moment she would be at his rooms, +anxiously awaiting his return. He felt a sadness and a revulsion at the +thought that she might be the first to learn the truth. He did not wish +that, and he would prevent it. + +This preoccupation gave him an object; he reached the Rue Louis-le-Grand +thinking more of Phillis than of himself. What distress when she should +know all! How could she support this blow, and with what sentiments +would it inspire her, with what judgment for the man whom she loved? +Poor girl! He grew tender at the thought. As for him, he was lost, +and it was his fault; he bore the penalty of his own stupidity. But +Phillis--it would be a blow to her love that she must bear. And what a +blow to this sensitive heart, to this proud and noble soul! + +Perhaps he would now see her for the last time, for this one hour, and +never again. Then he would be kind to her, and leave her a memory that, +later, would be an alleviation to her sorrow, a warm, bright ray in her +time of mourning. During these last few days he had been hard, brutal, +irritable, strange, and with her habitual serenity she had overlooked +it all. When he pushed her from him with his heavy hand, she had +kissed this hand, fastening on him her beautiful, tender eyes, full of +passionate caresses. He must make her forget that, and she must carry +from their last interview a tender impression that would sustain her. + +What could he do for her? He remembered how happy she had been at their +impromptu dinners six months before, and he would give her this same +pleasure. He would see her happy again, and near her, under her glance, +perhaps he would forget tomorrow. + +He went to the caterer who furnished him with breakfast, and ordered two +dinners to be sent to his rooms immediately. + +Before he could put the key in the lock, his door was opened by Phillis, +who recognized his step on the landing. + +"Well?" + +"Your brother is saved." + +"Madame Dammauville will go to court?" + +"I promise you that he is saved." + +"By you?" + +"Yes, by me--exactly." + +In her access of joy, she did not notice the accent on these last words. + +"Then you forgive me?" + +He took her in his arms, and kissing her with deep emotion said: + +"With all my heart, I swear it!" + +"You see it was written that you should see Madame Dammauville, in spite +of yourself, in spite of all; it was providential." + +"It is certain that your friend Providence could not interfere more +opportunely in my affairs." + +This time she was struck by the tone of his voice; but she imagined that +it was only this allusion to superior intervention that had vexed him. + +"It was of ourselves that I thought," she said, "not of you." + +"I understood. But do not let us talk of that; you are happy, and I do +not wish to shadow your joy. On the contrary, I thought to associate +myself with it by giving you a surprise: we are going to dine together." + +"Oh, dearest!" she exclaimed, trembling, "how-good you are! I will set +the table," she added joyously, "and you light the fire; for we must +have a bright fire to enliven us and to keep our dinner warm. What have +you ordered?" + +"I do not know; two dinners." + +"So much the better! We will have surprises. We will leave the dishes +covered before the fire, and we will take them anyhow. Perhaps we shall +eat the roast before the entree, but that will be all the more funny." + +Light, quick, busy, graceful, and charming, she came and went around the +table. + +When the dinner came, the table was ready, and they sat down opposite to +each other. + +"What happiness to be alone!" she said. "To be able to talk and to look +at each other freely!" + +He looked at her with a tenderness in his eyes that she had never before +seen, with a depth of serious contemplation that overwhelmed her. From +time to time little cries of happiness escaped her. + +"Oh! Dearest, dearest!" she murmured. + +Yet she knew him too well not to see that a cloud of sadness often +veiled these eyes full of love, and that also they were often without +any expression, as if they looked within. Suddenly she became quiet; +but she could not long remain silent when she was uneasy. Why this +melancholy at such a moment? + +"What a difference between this dinner," she said, "and those of the +end of October! At that time you were harassed by the most trying +difficulties, at war with creditors, menaced on all sides, without hope; +and now all is smooth. No more creditors, no more struggles. The cares +that I brought you are nearly at an end. Life opens easy and glorious. +The end that you pursued is reached; you have only to walk straight +before you, boldly and proudly. Yet there is a sadness in your face that +torments me. What is the matter? Speak, I beg you! To whom should you +confess, if not to the woman who adores you?" + +He looked at her a long time without replying, asking himself if, for +the peace of his own heart, this confession would not be better than +silence; but courage failed him, pride closed his lips. + +"What should be the matter?" he said. "If my face is sad, it does not +indicate faithfully what I feel; for what I feel at this moment is an +ineffable sentiment of tenderness for you, an inexpressible gratitude +for your love, and for the happiness that you have given me. If I have +been happy in my rough and struggling life, it is through you. What I +have had of joy, confidence, hope, memories, I owe to you; and if we +had not met I should have the right to say that I have been the most +miserable among the miserable. Whatever happens to us, remember these +words, my darling, and bury them in the depths of your heart, where you +will find them some day when you would judge me." + +"To judge you--I!" + +"You love me, therefore you do not know me. But the hour will come when +you will wish to know exactly the man whom you have loved; when that +time comes remember this evening." + +"It is too radiant for me to forget it." + +"Whatever it may be, remember it. Life is so fragile and so ephemeral a +thing, that it is beautiful to be able to concentrate it, to sum it up +by remembrance, in one hour that marks it and gives it its scope. +Such an hour is this one, which passes while I speak to you with deep +sincerity." + +Phillis was not accustomed to these 'elanas', for, in the rare effusions +to which he sometimes abandoned himself, Saniel always observed a +certain reserve, as if he feared to commit himself, and to let her read +his whole nature. Many times he rallied her when she became sentimental, +as he said, and "chantait sa romance;" and now he himself sang it--this +romance of love. + +Great as was her happiness to listen to him, she could not help +feeling an uneasy astonishment, and asked herself under what melancholy +impression he found himself at this moment. + +He read her too well not to divine this uneasiness. Not wishing to +betray himself, he brought a smile to his eyes, and said: + +"You do not recognize me, do you? I am sure you are asking yourself if I +am not ill." + +"Oh, dearest, do not jest, and do not harden yourself against the +sentiment that makes such sweet music on your lips! I am happy, so +happy, to hear you speak thus, that I would like to see your happiness +equal to mine; to dissipate the dark cloud that veils your glance. Will +you never abandon yourself? At this hour, above all, when everything +sings and laughs within us as about us! Nothing was more natural than +that you should be sad six months ago; but today what more do you want +to make you happy?" + +"Nothing, it is true." + +"Is not the present the radiant morning of a glorious future?" + +"What will you? There are sad physiognomies as there are happy ones; +mine is not yours. But let us talk no more of that, nor of the past, nor +of the future; let us talk of the present." + +He rose, and, taking her in his arms, made her sit next to him on the +sofa. + +The sound of the doorbell made Saniel jump as if he had received an +electric shock. + +"You will not open the door?" Phillis said. "Do not let any one take our +evening from us." + +But soon another ring, more decided, brought him to his feet. + +"It is better to know," he said, and he went to open the door, leaving +Phillis in his office. + +A maid handed him a letter. + +"From Madame Dammauville," she said; "there is an answer." + +He left her in the vestibule, and returned to his office to read the +letter. The dream had not lasted long; reality seized him with its +pitiless hands. This letter, certainly, would announce the blow that +menaced him. + + "If Dr. Saniel is disengaged, I beg that he will come to see me this + evening on an urgent affair; I will wait for him until ten o'clock. + If not, I count on seeing him to-morrow morning after nine o'clock. + + "A. DAMMAUVILLE." + +He returned to the vestibule. + +"Say to Madame. Dammauville that I shall be there in a quarter of an +hour." + +When he reentered the office he found Phillis before the glass, putting +on her hat. + +"I heard," she said. "What a disappointment! But I cannot wish you to +stay, since it is for Florentin that you leave me." + +As she walked toward the door he stopped her. + +"Embrace me once more." + +Never had he pressed her in such a long and passionate embrace. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. ON THE RACK + +He had not a second of doubt; Madame Dammauville did not wish a +professional visit from him. She wished to speak to him of Caffie, and, +in the coming crisis, he said to himself that perhaps it was fortunate +that it was so; at least he would be first to know what she had decided +to do, and he could defend himself. Nothing is hopeless as long as a +struggle is possible. + +He rang the bell with a firm hand, and the door was opened by the maid +who brought the letter. With a small lamp in her hand, she conducted him +through the dining-room and the salon to Madame Dammauville's bedroom. + +At the threshold, a glance showed him that some changes had been made in +the arrangement of the furniture. The small bed where he had seen Madame +Dammauville was placed between the two windows, and she was lying in a +large bed with canopy and curtains. Near her was a table on which were +a shaded lamp, some books, a blotting-book, a teapot, and a cup; on the +white quilt rested an unusually long bellrope, so that she might pull it +without moving. The fire in the chimney was out, but the movable stove +sent out a heat that denoted it was arranged for the night. + +Saniel felt the heat, and mechanically unbuttoned his overcoat. + +"If the heat is uncomfortable, will you not remove your overcoat?" +Madame Dammauville said. + +While he disposed of it and his hat, placing them on a chair by the +fireplace, he heard Madame Dammauville say to her maid: + +"Remain in the salon, and tell the cook not to go to bed." + +What did this mean? Was she afraid that he would cut her throat? + +"Will you come close to my bed?" she said. "It is important that we +should talk without raising our voices." + +He took a chair and seated himself at a certain distance from the bed, +and in such a way that he was beyond the circle of light thrown by the +lamp. Then he waited. + +A moment of silence, which he found terribly long, slipped away before +she spoke. + +"You know," she said at last, "how I saw, accidentally, from this +place"--she pointed to one of the windows--"the face of the assassin of +my unfortunate tenant, Monsieur Caffie." + +"Mademoiselle Cormier has told me," he replied in a tone of ordinary +conversation. + +"Perhaps you are astonished that at such a distance I saw the face +clearly enough to recognize it after five months, as if it were still +before me." + +"It is extraordinary." + +"Not to those who have a memory for faces and attitudes; with me this +memory has always been strongly developed. I remember the playmates of +my childhood, and I see them as they were at six and ten years of age, +without the slightest confusion in my mind." + +"The impressions of childhood are generally vivid and permanent." + +"This persistency does not only apply to my childish impressions. Today, +I neither forget nor confound a physiognomy. Perhaps if I had had many +acquaintances, and if I had seen a number of persons every day, there +might be some confusion in my mind; but such is not the case. My +delicate health has obliged me to lead a very quiet life, and I remember +every one whom I have met. When I think of such a one, it is not of the +name at first, but of the physiognomy. Each time that I have been to +the Senate or to the Chamber, I did not need to ask the names of +the deputies or senators who spoke; I had seen their portraits and I +recognized them. If I go into these details it is because they are of +great importance, as you will see." + +It was not necessary for her to point out their importance; he +understood her only too well. + +"In fine, I am thus," she continued. "It is, therefore, not astonishing +that the physiognomy and the attitude of the man who drew the curtains +in Monsieur Caffie's office should not leave my memory. You admit this, +do you not?" + +"Since you consult me, I must tell you that the operations of the memory +are not so simple as people imagine. They comprise three things: the +conservation of certain states, their reproduction and localization in +the past, which should be reunited to constitute the perfect memory. +Now this reunion does not always take place, and often the third is +lacking." + +"I do not grasp your meaning very well. But what is the third thing?" + +"Recognition." + +"Well, I can assure you that in this case it is not lacking!" + +The action beginning in this way, it was of the utmost importance for +Saniel that he should throw doubts in Madame Dammauville's mind, and +should make her think that this memory of which she felt so sure was +not, perhaps, as strong or as perfect as she imagined. + +"It is," he said, "exactly this third thing that is the most delicate, +the most complex of the three, since it supposes, besides the state of +consciousness, some secondary states, variable in number and in degree, +which, grouped around it, determine it." + +Madame Dammauville remained silent a moment, and Saniel saw that she +made an effort to explain these obscure words to herself. + +"I do not understand," she said at last. + +This was exactly what he wished; yet, as it would not be wise to let her +believe that he desired to deceive or confuse her, he thought he might +be a little more precise. + +"I wish to ask," he said, "if you are certain that in the mechanism of +the vision and that of the recognition, which is a vision of the past, +there is no confusion?" + +She drew a long breath, evidently satisfied to get rid of these +subtleties that troubled her. + +"It is exactly because I admit the possibility of this confusion, at +least in part, that I sent for you," she said, "in order that you might +establish it." + +Saniel appeared not to comprehend. + +"I, Madame?" + +"Yes. When you came herewith Monsieur Balzajette a few hours ago, +you must have observed that I examined you in a way that was scarcely +natural. Before the lamps were lighted, and when you turned your back +to the daylight, I tried in vain to remember where I had seen you. I was +certain that I found in you some points of resemblance to a physiognomy +I had known, but the name attached to this physiognomy escaped me. When +you returned, and I saw you more clearly by lamplight, my recollections +became more exact; when I raised the lamp-shade the light struck you +full in the face, and then your eyes, so characteristic, and at the same +time a violent contraction of your features, made me recall the name. +This physiognomy, these eyes, this face, belonged to the man whom from +this place" she pointed to the window--"I saw draw Monsieur Caffies +curtains." + +Saniel did not flinch. + +"This is a resemblance that would be hard for me," he said, "if your +memory were faithful." + +"I tell myself that it may not be. And after the first feeling of +surprise which made me cry out, I was confirmed in this thought on +recalling the fact that you did not wear the long hair and blond beard +that the man wore who drew the curtains; but at that moment Monsieur +Balzajette spoke of the hair and beard that you had had cut. I was +prostrated. However, I had the strength to ask if you had had any +business with Monsieur Caffie. Do you remember your answer?" + +"Perfectly." + +"After your departure I experienced a cruel anguish. It was you whom I +had seen draw the curtains, and it could not be you. I tried to think +what I ought to do--to inform the judge or to ask you for an interview. +For a long time I wavered. At length I decided on the interview, and I +wrote to you." + +"I have come at your call, but I declare that I do not know what to +reply to this strange communication. You believe that you recognize in +me the man who drew the curtains." + +"I recognize you." + +"Then what do you wish me to say? It is not a consultation that you ask +of me?" + +She believed she understood the meaning of this reply and divined its +end. + +"The question does not concern me," she said, "neither my moral nor +mental state, but yourself. My eyes, my memory, my conscience, bring a +frightful accusation against you. I cannot believe my eyes or my memory. +I challenge my conscience, and I ask you to reduce this accusation to +nothing." + +"And how, Madame?" + +"Oh, not by protestations!" + +"How can you expect that a man in my position will lower himself to +discuss accusations that rest on an hallucination?" + +"Do you believe that I have hallucinations? If you do, call one of your +'confreres' to-morrow in consultation. If he believes as you do, I will +submit; if not, I shall be convinced that I saw clearly, and I shall act +accordingly." + +"If you saw clearly, Madame, and I am ready to concede this to you, it +proves that there is some one somewhere who is my double." + +"I said this to myself; and it is exactly this idea that made me write +to you. I wished to give you the opportunity of proving that you could +not be this man." + +"You will agree that it is difficult for me to admit a discussion on +such an accusation." + +"One may find one's self accused by a concourse of fatal circumstances, +and be not less innocent. Witness the unfortunate boy imprisoned for +five months for a crime of which he is not guilty. And I pass from your +innocence as from his, to ask you to prove that the charges against you +are false." + +"There are no charges against me." + +"There may be; that depends upon yourself. Your hair and beard may have +been cut at the time of the assassination; in that case it is quite +certain that the man I saw was not you, and that I am the victim of an +hallucination. Were they or were they not?" + +"They were not; it is only a few days since I had them cut on account of +a contagious disease." + +"It may be," she continued, without appearing to be impressed by this +explanation, "that the day of the assassination, at the hour when I saw +you, you were occupied somewhere in such a way that you can prove you +could not have been in the Rue Sainte-Anne, and that I was the victim +of an hallucination. And again, it may be that at the time your position +was not that of a man at the last extremity, forced to crime by misery +or ambition, and that consequently you had no interest in committing the +crime of a desperate man. What do I know? Twenty other means of defence +may be in your hands." + +"You cited the example of this poor boy who is imprisoned, although +innocent. Would it not be applicable to me if you did not recognize the +error of your eyes or your memory? Would he not be condemned without +your testimony? Should I not be if I do not find one that destroys your +accusation? And I see no one from whom I can ask this testimony. Have +you thought of the infamy with which such an accusation will cover me? +If I repel it, and I shall repel it, will it not have dishonored me, +ruined me forever?" + +"It is just because I thought of this that I sent for you, to the end +that by an explanation that you would give, it seemed to me, you would +prevent me from informing the judge of this suspicion. This explanation +you do not give me; I must now think only of him whose innocence is +proved for me, and take his side against him whose guilt is not less +proved. To-morrow I shall inform the judge." + +"You will not do that!" + +"My duty compels me to; and whatever might come, I have always done +my duty. For me, in this horrible affair, there is the cause of the +innocent and of the guilty, and I place myself on the side of the +innocent." + +"I can prove to you that it was an aberration of vision--" + +"You will prove it to the judge; the law will appreciate it." + +He rose brusquely. She put her hand on the bellcord. They looked at each +other for a moment, and what their lips did not express their eyes said: + +"I do not fear you; my precautions are taken." + +"That bell will not save you." + +At last he spoke in a hoarse and quivering voice: + +"To you the responsibility of whatever happens Madame." + +"I accept it before God," she said, with a calm firmness. "Defend +yourself." + +He went to the armchair on which he had placed his coat and hat, and +bending down to take them, he noiselessly turned the draught of the +stove. + +At the same time Madame Dammauville pulled the bellcord; the maid opened +the door of the salon. + +"Show Doctor Saniel to the door." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. A SECOND VICTIM + +On returning to his room Saniel was very much cast down, and without +lighting a candle, he threw himself on the divan, where he remained +prostrated. + +The frightful part of the affair was the rapidity with which he +condemned this poor woman to death, and without hesitation executed her. +To save himself she must die; she should die. This time the idea did not +turn and deviate as in Caffie's case. Is it not true then, that it is +the first crime that costs, and in the path that he had entered, would +he go on to the end sowing corpses behind him? + +A shudder shook him from head to foot as he thought that this victim +might not be the last that his safety demanded. When she threatened to +warn the judge, he only saw a threat; if she spoke he was lost; he had +closed her mouth. But had not this mouth opened before he closed it? Had +she not already spoken? Before deciding on this interview she may +have told all to some one of her friends, who, between the time of his +departure with Balzajette and his return, might have visited her, or to +some one for whom she had sent for advice. In that case, those also were +condemned to death. + +A useless crime, or a series of crimes? + +The horror that rose within him was so strong that he thought of running +to the Rue Sainte-Anne; he would awake the sleeping household, open the +doors, break the windows, and save her. But between his departure and +this moment the carbonic acid and the oxide of carbon had had time to +produce asphyxiation, and certainly he would arrive after her death; or, +if he found her still living, some one would discover that the draught +of the stove had been turned, and seeing it, he would betray himself as +surely as by an avowal. + +After all, the maid might have discovered that the draught was turned, +and in that case she was saved and he was lost. Chance would decide +between them. + +There are moments when a shipwrecked man, tired of swimming, not knowing +to which side to direct his course, without light, without guide, at the +end of strength and hope, floats on his back and lets himself be tossed +by the waves, to rest and wait for light. This was his case; he could do +nothing but wait. + +He would not commit the insane folly of wishing to see and know, as in +Caffie's case; he would know the result soon enough, too soon. + +Rising, he lighted a candle, and paced up and down his apartment like a +caged animal. Then it occurred to him that those underneath would hear +his steps; doubtless they would remark this agitated march, would be +surprised, and would ask an explanation. In his position he must take +care not to give cause for any remark that could not be explained. He +took off his boots and continued his walk. + +But why had she spoken to him of double weatherstrips at the doors and +windows, of hangings on the walls, of thick curtains? It was she who +thus suggested to him the idea of the draught of the stove, which would +not have come to him spontaneously. + +The night passed in such agitating thoughts; at times the hours seemed +to stand still, and again they flew with astounding rapidity. One moment +the perspiration fell from his forehead on his hands; at another he felt +frozen. + +When his windows grew light with the dawn, he threw himself prostrated +and shuddering on the divan, and leaning on a cushion he detected the +odor of Phillis; burying his head in it he remained motionless and +slept. + +A ring of the bell woke him, horrified, frightened; he did not know +where he was. It was broad daylight, carriages rumbled through the +street. A second ring sounded stronger, more violent. Shivering, he +went to open the door, and recognized the maid who the previous evening +brought a note from Madame Dammauville. He did not need to question her: +fate was on his side. His eyes became dim; without seeing her he heard +the maid explain why she had come. + +She had been to Monsieur Balzajette; he was in the country. Her mistress +was nearly cold in her bed; she neither spoke nor breathed, yet her face +was pink. + +"I will go with you." + +He did not need to learn more. That rosy color, which has been observed +in those asphyxiated by oxide of carbon, decided it. However, he +questioned the maid. + +Nothing had occurred; she had talked with the cook in the kitchen, who, +near midnight, went to her room in the fifth story, and then she went to +bed in a small room contiguous to that of her mistress. During the night +she heard nothing; in the morning she found her mistress in the state +she mentioned, and immediately went for Monsieur Balzajette. + +Continuing his questions, Saniel asked her what Madame Dammauville did +after the consultation with Monsieur Balzajette. + +"She dined as usual, but less than usual, eating almost nothing; then +she received a visit from one of her friends, who remained only a few +minutes, before starting on a voyage." + +This was what he dreaded: Madame Dammauville might have told this +friend. If this were so, his crime would be of no use to him; where +would it carry him? + +After a few moments, and in a tone that he tried to render indifferent, +he asked the name of this friend. + +"A friend of her youth, Madame Thezard, living at No. 9, in the Rue des +Capucines, the wife of a consul." + +Until he reached the house in the Rue Sainte-Anne he repeated this name +and address to himself, which he could not write down, and which he +must not forget, for it was from there now that the danger would come if +Madame Dammauville had spoken. + +For a long time he had been habituated to the sight of death, but when +he found himself in the presence of this woman stretched on her bed as +if she slept, a shiver seized him. + +"Give me a mirror and a candle," he said to the maid and the cook who +stood at the door, not daring to enter. + +While they went in search of these things he walked over to the stove; +the draught remained as he had turned it on the previous evening; he +opened it and returned to the bed. + +His examination was not long; she had succumbed to asphyxiation caused +by the gas from the charcoal. Did it proceed from the construction of +the stove, or from a defect in the chimney? The inquest would decide +this; as for him, he could only prove the death. + +On leaving him the evening before, Phillis, uneasy, told him that she +would come early in the morning to know what Madame Dammauville wished. +When he told her she was dead she was prostrated with despair; in that +case Florentin was lost. He tried to reassure her, but without success. + +Nougarede, also, was in despair, and regretted that he had not proceeded +otherwise. And he tried to reassure Phillis; the prosecution rested on +the button and the struggle that had torn it off. Saniel would destroy +this hypothesis; he counted on him. + +Saniel became, then, as he had been before the intervention of Madame +Dammauville, the only hope of Phillis and her mother, and to encourage +them he exaggerated the influence that his testimony would have. + +"When I shall have demonstrated that there was no struggle, the +hypothesis of the torn button will crumble by itself." + +"And if it is sustained, how and with what shall we overthrow it?" + +If he had appeared as usual, she would have shared the confidence with +which he tried to inspire her; but since the death of Madame Dammauville +he was so changed, that she could not help being uneasy. Evidently it +was Madame Dammauville's death that made him so gloomy and irritable +that he would submit to no opposition. He saw the dangers of the +situation that this death created for Florentin, and with his usual +generosity he reproached himself for not having consented to take care +of her sooner; he would have saved her, certainly, as he had begun by +demanding the removal of the stove, and Florentin would have been saved +also. + +The day of the trial arrived without a word from Madame Thezard, which +proved that Madame Dammauville had said nothing to her friend. It was +six months since the assassination occurred, and the affair had lost all +interest for the Parisian public; in the provinces it was still spoken +of, but at Paris it was a thing of the past. There is no romance about a +clerk who cuts the throat of his employer to rob him; there is no woman +in the case, no mystery. + +Saniel preferred that Phillis should remain at home with her mother, but +in spite of his wishes and prayers she insisted on going to court. She +must be there so that Florentin would see her and take courage; he would +defend himself better if she were there. + +He defended himself badly, or at least indifferently, like a man who +gives up because he knows beforehand that whatever he may say will be +useless. + +Until Saniel's deposition the witnesses who testified were insignificant +enough, and revealed nothing that was not already known; only Valerius, +with his pretensions to a professional secret, which he developed +slowly, amused the audience. This deposition Saniel made brief and +exact, contenting himself with repeating his report. But then Nougarede +rose, and begged the president to ask the witness to explain the +struggle which should have taken place between the victim and his +assassin; and the president, who had commenced by arguing, before the +insistence of the defence, decided to ask this question. Then Saniel +slowly explained how the position of the body in the armchair and his +condition were scientific proof that there was no struggle. + +"This is an opinion," said the president dryly; "the jury will +appreciate it." + +"Perfectly," replied Nougarede, "and I intend to make the jury feel the +weight that it carries on the authority of him who formulated it." + +This phrase for effect was destined to invalidate in advance the +contradictions that the prosecution would, he believed, raise against +the testimony; but nothing of the kind occurred, and Saniel could go and +take his place beside Phillis without being called to the bar to sustain +his opinion against a physician whose scientific authority would be +opposed to his. + +In default of Madame Dammauville, Nougarede had summoned the concierge +of Rue Sainte-Anne, as well as the maid and the cook, who had heard +their mistress say that the man who drew Caffies curtains did not +resemble Florentin's portrait; but this was only gossip repeated by +persons of no importance, who could not produce the effect of the 'coup +de theatre' on which he had based his defence. + +When the advocate-general pronounced his address, it was evident why +Saniel's opinion on the absence of a struggle was not contradicted. +Although the prosecution believed in this struggle, it wished to abandon +it a moment, having no need of this hypothesis to prove that the button +had not been torn off on falling from a ladder; it had been done in the +act of assassination, in the effort made to cut the throat of the victim +who had violently extended the right arm, and, by the shock to the +suspenders, the button was torn off. The effect of Saniel's deposition +was destroyed, and that one produced by the testimony of Madame +Dammauville's maids, far less strong, was also destroyed when the +advocate-general proved that this gossip turned against the accused. She +had seen, it was said, a man with long hair and curled beard, draw the +curtains; very well! Does this description apply to the accused? To +tell the truth, it was said that she did not recognize him in a portrait +published by an illustrated paper. Well, it was because this portrait +did not resemble him. Besides, was it possible to admit that a woman of +Madame Dammauville's character would not have informed the judge if +she believed her testimony important and decisive? The proof that she +considered it insignificant was the fact that she had kept silent. + +Nougarede's eloquent appeal did not destroy these two arguments, +any more than it effaced the impression produced by the money-lender +relative to the theft of forty-five francs. The jury brought in +a verdict of "Guilty," but without premeditation, and admitting +extenuating circumstances. + +On hearing the decree that condemned Florentin to twenty years of forced +labor, Phillis, half suffocated, clung to Saniel's arm; but he could not +give her the attention he wished, for Brigard, who came to the trial to +assist at the triumph of his disciple, accosted him. + +"Receive my felicitations for your deposition, my dear friend; it is +an act of courage that does you honor. If this poor boy could have been +saved, it would have been by you; you may well say you are the man of +conscience." + + + + +BOOK 4. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. CONSCIENCE ASSERTS ITSELF + +During the first years of his sojourn in Paris, Saniel had published in +a Latin Quarter review an article on the "Pharmacy of Shakespeare"--the +poison of Hamlet, and of Romeo and Juliet; and although since his choice +of medicine he read but little besides books of science, at that time +he was obliged to study the plays of his author. From this study there +lingered in his memory a phrase that for ten years had not risen to his +lips, and which all at once forced itself uppermost in his mind with +exasperating persistency. It was the words of Macbeth: + + "Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep; + Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, + The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, + Balm of hurt minds." + +He also had lost it, "the innocent sleep, sore labor's bath, balm +of hurt minds." He had never been a great sleeper; at least he had +accustomed himself to the habit, hard at first, of passing only a few +hours in bed. But he employed these few hours well, sleeping as the +weary sleep, hands clenched, without dreaming, waking, or moving; and +the thought that occupied his mind in the evening was with him on waking +in the morning, not having been put to flight by others, any more than +by dreams. + +After Caffie's death this tranquil and refreshing sleep continued the +same; but suddenly, after Madame Dammauville's death, it became broken. + +At first it did not bother him. He did not sleep, so much the better! He +would work more. But one can no more work all the time than one can live +without eating. Saniel knew better than any one that the life of every +organ is composed of alternate periods of repose and activity, and +he did not suppose that he would be able to work indefinitely without +sleep. He only hoped that after some days of twenty hours of work daily, +overcome by fatigue, he would have, in spite of everything, four hours +of solid sleep, that Shakespeare called "sore labor's bath." + +He had not had these four hours, and the law that every state of +prolonged excitement brings exhaustion that should be refreshed by a +functional rest, was proved false in his case. After a hard day's work +he would go to bed at one o'clock in the morning and would go to sleep +immediately. But very soon he awoke with a start, suffocating, covered +with perspiration, in a state of extreme anxiety, his mind agitated by +hallucinations of which he could not rid himself all at once. If he +did not wake suddenly, he dreamed frightful dreams, always of Madame +Dammauville or Caffie. Was it not curious that Caffie, who until then +had been completely effaced from his memory, was resuscitated by Madame +Dammauville in the night, ghost of the darkness that the daylight +dissipated? + +Believing that one of the causes of these dreams was the excitement of +the brain, occasioned by excessive work at the hour when he should not +exercise it, but on the contrary should allow it to rest, he decided to +change a plan which produced so little success. Instead of intellectual +work he would engage in physical exercise, which, by exhausting his +muscular functions, would procure him the sleep of the laboring class; +and as he could not roll a wheelbarrow nor chop wood, every evening +after dinner he walked seven or eight miles rapidly. + +Physical work succeeded no better than intellectual; he endured the +fatigue of butchers and wood-choppers, but he did not obtain their +sleep. Decidedly, bodily fatigue was worth no more than that of the +brain. It was worth even less. At his table, plunged in his books, or +in his laboratory over his microscope, he absorbed himself in his work, +and, by the force of a will that had been long exercised and submissive +to obedience, he was able to keep his thoughts on the subject in hand, +without distraction as without dreams. Time passed. But when walking +in the streets of Paris, in the deserted roads on the outskirts, by the +Seine or Marne, his mind wandered where it would; it was the mistress, +and it always dwelt on Madame Dammauville, Caffie, and Florentin. It +seemed as if the heat of walking started his brain. When he returned in +this state, after many hours of cerebral excitability, how could he +find the tranquil and refreshing sleep, complete and profound, of the +laboring classes who work only with their muscles? + +Never having been ill, he had never examined nor treated himself: +medicine was good for others but useless for him. With a machine +organized like his he need fear only accidents, and until now he had +been spared them; a true son of peasants, he victoriously resisted +Paris life as the destroyer of the intellect. But the time had come +to undertake an examination and to try a treatment that would give +him rest. He was not a sceptical doctor, and he believed that what he +ordered for others was good for himself. + +The misfortune was that he could not find in himself any of the causes +which resolve into insomnia; he had neither meningitis nor brain fever, +nor anything that indicated a cerebral tumor; he was not anaemic; he ate +well; he did not suffer with neuralgia, nor with any acute or chronic +affection that generally accompanied the absence of sleep; he drank +neither tea nor alcohol; and without this state of over-excitement of +the encephalic centres, he might have said that he was in good health, a +little thin, but that was all. + +It was this excitement that he must cure, and as there are many remedies +for insomnia, he tried those which, it seemed to him, were suitable to +his case; but bromide of potassium, in spite of its hypnotic properties, +produced no more effect than the over-working of the brain and body. +When he realized this he replaced it with chloral; but chloral, which +should create a desire to sleep, after several days had no more effect +than the bromide. Then he tried injections of morphine. + +It was not without a certain uneasiness that he made this third trial, +the first two having met with so little success; and since it is +acknowledged that chloral produces a calmer sleep than morphine, it +seemed as if the latter would prove as useless as the former. However, +he slept without being tormented by dreams or wakings, and the next day +he still slept. + +But he knew too well the effects produced by a prolonged use of these +injections to continue them beyond what was strictly indispensable; he +therefore omitted them, and sleep left him. + +He tried them again; then, soon, as the small doses lost their efficacy, +he gradually increased them. At the end of a certain time what he feared +came to pass--his leanness increased; he lost his appetite, his +muscular force, and his moral energy; his pale face began to wear the +characteristic expression of the morphomaniac. + +Then he stopped, frightened. + +Should he continue, he would become a morphomaniac in a given time, and +the apathy into which he fell prevented him from resisting the desire +to absorb new doses of poison, a desire as imperious, as irresistible +in morphinism as that of alcohol for the alcoholic, and more terrible in +its effects--the perversion of the intellectual faculties, loss of will, +of memory, of judgment, paralysis, or the mania that leads to suicide. + +If he did not continue, and these sleepless nights or the agitated +sleep which maddened him should return, and following them, this +over-excitement of the brain in troubling the nutrition of the +encephalic mass, it might be the prelude of some grave cerebral +affection. + +On one side the morphine habit; on the other, dementia from the constant +excitement and disorganization of the brain. + +Between a fatally certain result and one that was possible he did not +hesitate. He must give up morphine, and this choice forced itself upon +him with so much more strength, because if morphine assured him sleep at +night, it by no means gave him tranquil days--quite the contrary. + +He began to use this remedy at night when he fell under the influence +of certain ideas; during the day when applying himself to work, by +an effort of will he escaped from these ideas, and was the man he had +always been, master of his strength and mind. But the action of the +morphine rapidly weakened this all-powerful will, so much so, that when +these ideas crossed his mind during his working hours he had not the +energy to drive them away. He tried to shake them off, but in vain; they +would not leave his brain, to which they clung and encompassed it with +increasing strength. + +Truly, those two corpses troubled him horribly. Was it not exasperating +for a man who had seen and dissected so many, that there should be +always two before his eyes, even when they were closed--that of this old +rascal and of this unfortunate woman? In order not to complicate this +impression with another that humiliated him, he got rid of the packages +of bank bills taken from Caffie, by sending them "as restitution" to the +director of public charities. But this had no appreciable effect. + +The thought of Florentin troubled him also; and if he saw Caffie lying +in his chair, Madame Dammauville motionless and pink on her bed, to him +it was not less cruel to see Florentin between the decks of the vessel +that would soon carry him to New Caledonia. + +The ideas on conscience that he had expressed at Crozat's, and those +that he explained to Phillis about remorse, were still his; but he was +not the less certain that these two dead persons and the condemned one +weighed upon him with a terrible weight, frightful, suffocating, like +a nightmare. It was not in accordance with his education nor with his +environment to have these corpses behind him and this victim before him. + +But where his former ideas were overthrown, since these dead bodies +seized hold of his life, was in his confidence in his strength. + +The strong man that he believed himself, he who follows his ambition +regardless of things and of persons, looking only before him and never +behind, master of his mind as of his heart and of his arm, was not at +all the one that reality revealed. + +On the contrary, he had been weak in action and yet weaker afterward. + +And it was not only humiliation in the present that he felt in +acknowledging this weakness, it was also in uneasiness for the future; +for, if he lacked this strength that he attributed to himself before +having tested it, he should, if his beliefs were true, succumb some day. + +Evidently, if he were perfectly strong he would not have complicated his +life with love. The strong walk alone because they need no one. And he +needed a woman; and so great was the need that it was through her +only, near her, when he looked at her, when he listened to her, that he +experienced a little calm. + +Was he weak and cowardly on account of this? Perhaps not, but only +human. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. ATTEMPTED REPARATION + +Because he felt calm when with Phillis, Saniel wished that she might +never leave him. + +But, as happy as she was in her sorrow to see that instead of avoiding +her--which a less generous man would have done, perhaps--he sought to +draw nearer each day, she could not give up her lessons and her work, +which was her daily bread, to give all her time to her love, any more +than she could leave her mother entirely alone, crushed with shame, who +had never needed so much as now to be cheered and sustained. + +She did not let a day pass without going to see Saniel; but in spite of +her desire she could not remain with him as long as she wished and he +asked. When she rose to go and he detained her, she remained, but it was +only for a few minutes; they were short, and the time soon came when, +after ten attempts, she was obliged to leave him. + +At all times these separations had been full of despair to her, the +apprehension of which, from the moment of her arrival, paralyzed her; +but now they were still more cruel. Formerly, on leaving him, she +often saw him deep in his work before she opened the door; now, on the +contrary, he conducted her to the vestibule, detained her, and only let +her leave him when she tore herself from his embrace, after promising +and repeating her promise to come early the next day and stay longer. +Formerly, also, she was calm when she left him, not thinking of his +health, nor asking herself how she would find him at their next meeting, +strong and powerful, as sound in body as in mind. On the contrary, now +she worried herself, wondering how she would find him on the occasion of +each visit. Would the sadness, melancholy, and dejection still remain? +Would he be thinner and paler? It was her care, her anguish, to try +to divine the causes of the change in him, which manifested itself +as strongly in his sentiments as in his person. Was it not truly +extraordinary that he was more grave and uneasy now that his life was +assured than during the hard times when he was so worried that he never +knew what the morrow would bring? He had obtained the position that his +ambition coveted; he had sufficient money for his wants; he admitted +that his experiments had succeeded beyond his expectations; the essays +that he published on his experiments were loudly discussed, praised by +some, contested by others; it seemed that he had attained his object; +and he was sad, discontented, unhappy, more tormented than when he +exhausted himself with efforts, without other support than his will. At +last, when frightened to see him thus, she questioned him as to how he +felt, he became angry, and answered brutally-- + +"Ill? Why do you think that I am--ill? Am I not better able than any +one to know how I am? I am overworked, that is all; and as my life of +privation does not permit me to repair my forces, I have become anaemic; +it is not serious. It is strange, truly, that you ask for explanations +of what is natural. Count the teeth of the polytechnicians and look at +their hair after their examinations, and tell me what you think of them. +Why do you think anything else is the matter with me? One cannot expend +one's self with impunity; that would be too good. Everything must be +paid for in this world." + +She was obliged to believe that he was right and understood his +condition; however, she could not help worrying. She knew nothing of +medicine; she did not know the meaning of the medical terms he used, +but she found that this was not sufficient to explain all--neither his +roughness of temper and excess of anger without reason, any more than +his sudden tenderness, his weakness and dejection, his preoccupation and +absence of mind. + +She discovered the effect she produced on him, and how, merely by her +presence, she cheered this gloomy fancy and raised this depression by +not asking him stupid questions on certain subjects which she had not +yet determined on, but which she hoped to avoid. Also, she did not wish +to leave him, and ingeniously invented excuses to go to see him twice +a day; in the morning on going to her lessons, and in the afternoon or +evening. + +Late one evening she rang his bell with a hand made nervous with joy. + +"I have come to stay till to-morrow," she said, in triumphant tones. + +She expected that he would express his joy by an embrace, but he did +nothing. + +"Are you going out?" + +"Not at all; I am not thinking of myself, but of your mother." + +"Do you think that I would have left her alone in her weak and nervous +state? A cousin of ours arrived from the country, who will occupy my +bed, and I profited by it quick enough, saying that I would remain at +the school. And here I am." + +In spite of his desire for it, he had never dared ask her to pass the +night with him. During the day he would only betray himself by his sad +or fantastic temper; but at night, with such dreams as came to him, +might not some word escape that would betray him? + +However, since she was come it was impossible to send her away; he could +not do it for her nor for himself. What pretext could he find to say, +"Go! I do not want you?" He wanted her above all; he wanted to look at +her, to listen to her, to hear her voice that soothed and lulled his +anguish, to feel her near him--only to have her there, and not be face +to face with his thoughts. + +She examined him secretly, asking herself the cause of this singular +reception, standing at the entrance of the office, not daring to remove +her hat. How could her arrival produce an effect so different from what +she expected? + +"You do not take off your hat?" he said. + +"I was asking myself if you had to work." + +"Why do you ask yourself that?" + +"For fear of disturbing you." + +"What a madness you have for always asking something!" he exclaimed +violently. "What do you expect me to say? What astonishes you? Why +should you disturb me? In what? 'Voyons', speak, explain yourself!" + +The time was far distant when these explosions surprised her, though +they always pained her. + +"I speak stupidly," she said. "What will you? I am stupid; forgive me." + +These words, "forgive me," were more cruel than numberless reproaches, +for he well knew that he had nothing to forgive in her, since she was +the victim and he the criminal. Should he never be able to master these +explosions, as imprudent as they were unjust? + +He took her in his arms and made her sit by him. + +"It is for you to forgive," he said. + +And he was as tender and caressing as he had been brutal. He was a fool +to imagine that she could have suspicions, and the surest way to give +birth to them was to show fear that she had them. To betray himself +by such awkwardness was as serious as to let a cry escape him while +sleeping. + +But for this night he had a way which was in reality not difficult, that +would not expose him to the danger of talking in his sleep-he would +not sleep. After having passed so many nights without closing his eyes, +without doubt he could keep them open this entire night. + +But he deceived himself; when he heard the calm and regular respiration +of Phillis with her head on his shoulder, and felt the mild warmth of +her body penetrate his, in the quiet imposed upon him, without being +conscious of it, believing himself far from sleep, and convinced that he +required no effort to keep awake, he suddenly slept. When he awoke a ray +of pale sunlight filled the room, and leaning her elbow on the bolster, +Phillis was watching him. He made a brusque movement, throwing himself +backward. "What is the matter?" he cried. "What have I said?" Instantly +his face paled, his lips quivered; he felt his heart beat tumultuously +and his throat pressed by painful constriction. "But nothing is the +matter," she answered, looking at him tenderly. "You have said nothing." +To come to the point, why should he have spoken? During his frightful +dreams, his nights of disturbed sleep, he might have cried out, but he +did not know if he had ever done so. And besides, he had not just waked +from an agitated sleep. All this passed through his mind in an instant, +in spite of his alarm. "What time is it?" he asked. "Nearly six +o'clock." "Six o'clock!" "Do you not hear the vehicles in the street? +The street-venders are calling their wares." It must have been about +one o'clock when he closed his eyes; he had then slept five hours, +profoundly, and he felt calm, rested, refreshed, his body active and his +mind tranquil, the man of former times, in the days of his happy youth, +and not the half-insane man of these last frightful months. + +He breathed a sigh. + +"Ah, if I could have you always!" he murmured, as much to himself as to +her. + +And he gave her a long look mingled with a sad smile; then, placing his +arm around her shoulders, he pressed her to him. + +"Dear little wife!" + +She had never heard so profound, so vibrating, a tenderness in his +voice; never had she been able, until hearing these words, to measure +the depth of the love that she had inspired in him; and it even seemed +that this was the declaration of a new love. + +Pressing her passionately to him, he repeated: + +"Dear little wife!" + +Distracted, lost in her happiness, she did not reply. + +All at once he held her from him gently, and looking at her with the +same smile: + +"Does this word tell you nothing?" + +"It tells me that you love me." + +"And is that all?" + +"What more can I wish? You say it, I feel it. You give me the greatest +joy of which I can dream." + +"It is enough for you?" + +"It would be enough if it need never be interrupted. But it is the +misfortune of our life that we are obliged to separate at the time when +the ties that unite us are the most strongly bound." + +"Why should we separate?" + +"Alas! Mamma? And daily bread?" + +"If you did not leave your mother. If you need no longer worry about +your life?" + +She looked at him, not daring to question him, not betraying the +direction of her thoughts except by a trembling that she could not +control in spite of her efforts. + +"I mean if you become my wife." + +"Oh, my beloved!" + +"Will you not?" + +She threw herself in his arms, fainting; but after a moment she +recovered. + +"Alas! It is impossible," she murmured. + +"Why impossible?" + +"Do not ask me; do not oblige me to say it." + +"But, on the contrary, I wish you to tell me." + +She turned her head away, and in a voice that was scarcely perceptible, +in a stifled sigh: + +"My brother--" + +"It is greatly on account of your brother that I wish this marriage." + +Then, suddenly: "Do you think me the man to submit to prejudiced +blockheads?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE IMPORTANT QUESTION + +Saniel had not waited until this day to acknowledge the salutary +influence that Phillis's presence exercised over him, yet the idea +of making her his wife never occurred to him. He thought himself +ill-adapted to marriage, and but little desirous of being a husband. +Until lately he had had no desire for a home. + +This idea came to him suddenly and took strong hold of him; at least as +much on account of the calmness he felt in her presence, as by the charm +of her manner, her health, happiness, and gayety. + +It was not only physical calm that she gave him by a mysterious affinity +concerning which his studies told him nothing, but of which he did not +the less feel all the force; it was also a moral calm. + +There were duties he owed her, and terribly heavy were those he owed her +mother and Florentin. + +He did all he could for Florentin, but this was not all that he owed +them. Florentin was in prison; Madame Cormier fell into a mournful +despair, growing weaker each day; and Phillis, in spite of her +elasticity and courage, bent beneath the weight of injustice. + +How much the situation would be changed if he married her--for them, and +for him! + +When Phillis was a little recovered from her great surprise, she asked +him: + +"When did you decide on this marriage?" + +He did not wish to prevaricate, and he answered that it was at that +instant that the idea came to him, exact enough and strong enough to +give form to the ideas that had been floating in his brain for several +months. + +"At least, have you considered it? Have you not yielded to an impulse of +love?" + +"Would it be better to yield to a long, rational calculation? I marry +you because I love you, and also because I am certain that without you +I cannot be happy. Frankly, I acknowledge that I need you, your +tenderness, your love, your strength of character, your equal temper, +your invincible faith in hope, which, for me as I am organized, is worth +the largest dot." + +"It is exactly because I have no dot to bring you. When you were at the +last extremity, desperate and crushed, I might ask to become the wife of +the poor village doctor that you were going to be; but to-day, in your +position, above all in the position that you will soon occupy, is poor +little Phillis worthy of you? You give me the greatest joy that I can +ever know, of which I have only dreamed in telling myself that it +would be folly to hope to have it realized. But just that gives me the +strength to beg you to reflect, and to consider whether you will ever +regret this moment of rapture that makes me so happy." + +"I have reflected, and what you say proves better than anything that +I do not deceive myself. I want a wife who loves me, and you are that +wife." + +"More than I can tell you at this moment, wild with happiness, but not +more than I shall prove to you in the continuance of our love." + +"Besides, dearest, do not have any illusions on the splendors of this +position of which you speak; it is more than probable that they will +never be realized, for I am not a man of money, and will do nothing to +gain any. If it does not come by itself--" + +"It will come." + +"That is not the object for which I work. What I wish I have obtained +partly; if now I make money and obtain a rich practice, the jealousy of +my confreres will make me lose, or wait too long, for what my ambition +prefers to a fortune. For the moment this position will be modest; my +four thousand francs of salary, that which I gain at the central bureau +while waiting to have the title of hospital physician, and five hundred +francs a month more that my editor offers me for work and a review of +bacteriology, will give us nearly twelve thousand francs, and we must +content ourselves with that for some time." + +"That is a fortune to me." + +"To me also; but I thought I ought to tell you." + +"And when do you wish our marriage to take place?" + +"Immediately after the necessary legal delay, and as soon as I am +settled in a new apartment; for you could not come here as my wife, +where you have been seen so often. It would not be pleasant for you or +for me." + +"And we will not be so foolish as to put ourselves in the hands of an +upholsterer; the first one cost enough." + +He said these last words with fierce energy, but continued immediately: + +"What do we need? A parlor for the patients, if they come; an office for +me, which will do also as a laboratory; a bedroom for us, and one for +your mother." + +"You wish--" + +"But certainly. Do you think that I would ask you to separate from her?" + +She took his hand, and kissing it with a passionate impulse: "Oh, the +dearest, the most generous of men!" + +"Do not let us talk of that," he said with evident annoyance. "In your +mother's condition of mental prostration it would kill her to be left +alone; she needs you, and I promise to help you to soften her grief. We +will make her comfortable; and although my nature is not very tender, +I will try to replace him from whom she is separated. It will be a +happiness to her to see you happy." + +For a long time he enlarged upon what he wished, feeling a sentiment of +satisfaction in talking of what he would do for Madame Cormier, in whom +at this time he saw the mother of Florentin more than that of Phillis. + +"Do you think you can make her forget?" he asked from time to time. + +"Forget? No. Neither she nor I can ever forget; but it is certain our +sorrow will be drowned in our happiness, and this happiness we shall owe +to you. Oh, how you will be adored, respected, blessed!" + +Adored, respected! He repeated these words to himself. One could, then, +be happy by making others happy. He had had so little opportunity until +this time to do for others, that this was in some sort the revelation +of a sentiment that he was astonished to feel, but which, for being new, +was only the sweeter to him. + +He wished to give himself the satisfaction of tasting all the sweetness. + +"Where are you going this morning?" he asked. + +"I return to the school to help my pupils prepare their compositions for +the prize." + +"Very well; while you are at the school this morning, I will go to see +your mother. The process of asking in marriage that we make use of is +perhaps original, and conforms to the laws of nature, if nature admits +marriage, which I ignore; but it certainly is not the way of those of +the world. And now I must address this request to your mother." + +"What joy you will give her!" + +"I hope so." + +"I should like to be there to enjoy her happiness. Mamma has a mania for +marriage; she spends her time marrying the people she knows or those +she does not know. And she has felt convinced that I should die in the +yellow skin of an old maid. At last, this evening she will have the +happiness of announcing to me your visit and your request. But do not +make this visit until the afternoon, because then our cousin will be +gone." + +Saniel spent his morning in looking for apartments, and found one in a +quarter of the Invalides, which he engaged. + +It was nearly one o'clock when he reached Madame Cormier's. As usual, +when he called, she looked at him with anxious curiosity, thinking of +Florentin. + +"It is not of him that I wish to speak to you to-day," he said, without +pronouncing any name, which was unnecessary. "It is of Mademoiselle +Phillis--" + +"Do you find her ill?" Madame Cormier said, who thought only of +misfortune. + +"Not at all. It is of her and of myself that I wish to speak. Do not +be uneasy. I hope that what I am going to say will not be a cause of +sadness to you." + +"Pardon me if I always see something to fear. We have been so +frightfully tried, so unjustly!" + +He interrupted her, for these complaints did not please him. + +"For a long time," he said quickly, "Mademoiselle Phillis has inspired +me with a deep sentiment of esteem and tenderness; I have not been +able to see her so courageous, so brave in adversity, so decided in her +character, so good to you, so charming, without loving her, and I have +come to ask you to give her to me as my wife." + +At Saniel's words, Madame Cormier's hands began to tremble, and the +trembling increased. + +"Is it possible?" she murmured, beginning to cry. "So great a happiness +for my daughter! Such an honor for us, for us, for us!" + +"I love her." + +"Forgive me if happiness makes me forget the conventionalities, but I +lose my head. We are so unhappy that our souls are weak against joy. +Perhaps I should hide my daughter's sentiments; but I cannot help +telling you that this esteem, this tenderness of which you speak, is +felt by her. I discovered it long ago, although she did not tell me. +Your request, then, can only be received with joy by mother, as well as +daughter." + +This was said brokenly, evidently from an overflowing heart. But all at +once her face saddened. + +"I must talk to you sincerely," she said. "You are young, I am not; +and my age makes it a duty for me not to yield to any impulse. We +are unfortunates, you are one of the happy; you will soon be rich +and famous. Is it wise to burden your life with a wife who is in my +daughter's position?" + +With the exception of a few words, this was Phillis's answer. He +answered the mother as he had answered the daughter. + +"It is not for you that I speak," said Madame Cormier. "I should not +permit myself to give you advice; it is in placing myself at the point +of view of my daughter that I, her mother, with the experience of my +age, should watch over her future. Is it certain that in the struggles +of life you will never suffer from this marriage, not because my +daughter will not make you happy--from this side I am easy--but because +the situation that fate has made for us will weigh on you and fetter +you? I know my daughter-her delicacy; her uneasy susceptibility, that +of the unfortunate; her pride, that of the irreproachable. It would be a +wound for her that would make happiness give way to unhappiness, for she +could not bear contempt." + +"If that is in human nature, it is not in mine; I give you my word." + +He explained how he meant to arrange their life, and when she understood +that she was to live with them, she clasped her hands and exclaimed, + +"Oh, my God, who hast taken my son, how good thou art to give me +another!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. CONCESSION TO CONSCIENCE + +He asked nothing better than to be a son to this poor woman; in reality +he was worth much more than this unfortunate boy, effeminate and +incapable. What did this maternal hunger require? A son to love. She +would find one in her son-in-law. In seeing her daughter happy, how +could she help being happy herself? + +Evidently they would be happy, the mother and daughter; and whatever +Phillis might think, still under the influence of the shameful blow, +they would forget. They would owe him this. + +It was a long time since he had worked with so much serenity as on this +day; and when in the evening he went to bed, uneasy as usual about the +night, he slept as calmly as if Phillis were resting her charming head +on his shoulder and he breathed the perfume of it. + +Decidedly, to make others happy was the best thing in the world, and +as long as one could have this satisfaction there was no fear of being +unhappy. To create an atmosphere of happiness for others is to profit by +it at the same time. + +He waited for Phillis impatiently, for she would bring him an echo of +her mother's joy, and it was a recompense that she owed him. + +She arrived happy, smiling, penetrated with tenderness; but he observed +that she was keeping something from him, something that embarrassed her, +and yet she would not tell him what it was. + +He was not disposed to admit that she could conceal anything from him, +and he questioned her. + +"What are you keeping from me?" + +"How can you suppose that I should keep anything from you?" + +"Well, what is the matter? You know, do you not, that I read all your +thoughts in your eyes? Very well your eyes speak when your lips are +silent." + +"I have a request to make of you, a prayer." + +"Why do you not tell me?" + +"Because I do not dare." + +"Yet it does not seem to me that I show a disposition to make you +believe that I could refuse you anything." + +"It is just that which is the cause of my embarrassment and reserve; I +fear to pain you at the moment when I would show you all the gratitude +and love in my heart." + +"If you are going to give me pain, it is better not to make me wait." + +She hesitated; then, before an impatient gesture, she decided to speak. + +"I wish to ask you how you mean to be married?" + +He looked at her in surprise. + +"But, like every one else!" + +"Every one?" she asked, persistently. + +"Is there any other way of being married?" + +"Yes." + +"I do not in the least understand this manner of asking conundrums; if +you are alluding to a fashionable custom of which I know nothing, say so +frankly. That will not wound me, since I am the first to declare that I +know nothing of it. What do you wish?" + +She felt his irritation increase, and yet she could not decide to say +what she wished. + +"I have begun badly," she said. "I should have told you at first that +you will always find in me a wife who will respect your ideas and +beliefs, who will never permit herself to judge you, and still less to +seek to contend with them or to modify them. That you feel, do you not, +is neither a part of my nature nor of my love?" + +"Conclude!" he said impatiently. + +"I think, then," she said with timid hesitation, "that you will not say +that I fail in respect to your ideas in asking that our marriage take +place in church." + +"But that was my intention." + +"Truly!" she exclaimed. "O dearest! And I feared to offend you!" + +"Why should you think it would offend me?" he asked, smiling. + +"You consent to go to confession?" + +Instantly the smile in his eyes and on his lips was replaced by a gleam +of fury. + +"And why should I not go to confession?" he demanded. + +"But--" + +"Do you suppose that I can be afraid to confess? Why do you suppose +that? Tell me why?" + +He looked at her with eyes that pierced to her heart, as if they would +read her inmost thoughts. + +Stupefied by this access of fury, which burst forth without any warning, +since he had smilingly replied to her request for a religious marriage, +she could find nothing to say, not understanding how the simple word +"confess" could so exasperate him. And yet she could not deceive +herself: is was indeed this word and no other that put him in this +state. + +He continued to look at her, and wishing to explain herself, she said: +"I supposed only one thing, and that is that I might offend you by +asking you to do what is contrary to your beliefs." + +The mad anger that carried him away so stupidly began to lose its first +violence; another word added to what had already escaped him would be an +avowal. + +"Do not let us talk of it anymore," he said. "Above all, do not let us +think of it." + +"Permit me to say one word," she replied. "Had I been situated like +other people I would have asked nothing; my will is yours. But for +you, for your future and your honor, you should not appear to marry in +secret, as if ashamed, with a pariah." + +"Be easy. I feel as you do, more than you, the necessity of consecrated +ceremonies for us." + +She understood that on this path he would go farther than she. + +To destroy the impression of this unfortunate word, he proposed that +they should visit the apartment he had engaged the previous day. + +For the first time they walked together boldly, with heads held high, +side by side in the streets of Paris, without fear of meeting others. +How proud she was! Her husband! It was on her husband's arm that she +leaned! When they crossed the Tuileries she was almost surprised that +people did not turn to see them pass. + +In her present state of mind she could not but find the house he chose +admirable; the street was admirable, the house was admirable, the +apartment was admirable. + +As it contained three bedrooms opening on a terrace, where he would keep +the animals for his experiments, Saniel wished to have her decide which +one she would choose; as she would share it with him she wished to take +the best, but he would not accept this arrangement. + +"I want you to choose between the two little ones," he said. "The +largest and best must be reserved for your mother, who, not being able +to go out, needs more space, air, and light than we do." + +She was transported with his kindness, delicacy, and generosity. Never +would she be able to love him enough to raise herself up to him. + +Fortunately the principal rooms, the parlor and the office, were about +the same size as those in the Rue Louis-le-Grand, so there need be but +little change in furnishing; and they would bring their furniture from +the Rue des Moines. + +This feminine talk, interrupted by passionate exclamations and glances, +charmed Saniel, who had forgotten the incident of the confession and +his anger, thinking only of Phillis, seeing only her, ravished by her +gayety, her vivacity, his whole being stirred by the tender caresses of +her beautiful dark eyes. + +How could he not be happy with this delicious woman who held such +sway over him, and who loved him so ardently? For him a single danger +henceforth--solitude. She would preserve him from it. With her gayety, +good temper, courage, and love, she would not leave him to his thoughts; +work would do the rest. + +After the question of furniture was decided, they settled that of the +marriage ceremony, and she was surprised to find that his ideas were the +same as hers. + +She decided upon her toilet, a silk gown as simple as possible, and +she would make it herself, as she made all her gowns. And then they +discussed the witnesses. "We have no friends," Phillis said. + +"You had some formerly; your father had friends and comrades." + +"I am no longer the daughter of my father, I am the sister of my +brother; I would not dare to ask them to witness my marriage." + +"It is just because you are the sister of your brother that they cannot +refuse you; it would be cruelty added to rudeness. Cruelty may be +overlooked, but rudeness! Among the men of talent, who was your father's +best friend?" + +"Cintrat." + +"Is he not a bohemian, a drunkard?" + +"My father regarded him as the greatest painter of our time, the most +original." + +"It is not a question of talent, but of name; I am sure that he is not +even decorated. Your father had other friends, more successful, more +commonplace, if you wish." + +"Glorient." + +"The member of the Institute?" + +"Casparis, the sculptor." + +"An academician, also; that is what we want, and both are +'archi-decore'. You will write them, and tell them who I am, assistant +professor of the school of medicine, and doctor of the hospitals. I +promise you they will accept. I will ask my old master Carbonneau, +president of the academy of medicine; and Claudet, the ancient minister, +who, in his quality of deputy of my department, could not decline any +more than the others. And that will give us decorated witnesses, which +will look well in the newspapers." + +It was not only in the newspapers they looked well, but also in the +church of Sainte-Marie des Batignolles. + +"Glorient! Casparis! Carbonneau! Claudet! Art, science, and politics." + +But the beauty and charm of the bride were not eclipsed by these +glorious witnesses. She entered on Glorient's arm, proud in her modesty, +radiant with grace. + +While the priest celebrated mass at the altar, outside, before the door, +a man dressed in a costume of chestnut velvet, and wearing a felt hat, +walked up and down, smoking a pipe. It was the Count de Brigard, whose +principles forbade him to enter a church for either a wedding or a +funeral, and who walked up and down on the sidewalk with his disciples, +waiting to congratulate Saniel. When he appeared the Count rushed up to +him, and taking his hand pressed it warmly on separating him from his +wife, and saying: + +"It is good, it is noble. Circumstances made this marriage; without them +it would not have taken place. I understand and I excuse it; I do more, +I applaud it. My dear friend, you are a man." + +And as it was Wednesday, in the evening at Crozat's, he publicly +expressed his approbation, which, in the conditions in which it had been +offered, did not satisfy his conscience. + +"Gentlemen, we have assisted to-day at a grand act of reparation, the +marriage of our friend Saniel to the sister of this poor boy, victim of +an injustice that cries for vengeance. One evening in this same room, I +spoke lightly of Saniel, some of you remember, perhaps, in spite of +the time that has passed. I wish to make this public reparation to him. +To-day he has shown himself a man of duty and of conscience, bravely +putting himself above social weaknesses." + +"Is it not a social weakness," asked Glady, "to have chosen as witnesses +of this act of reparation persons who seem to have been selected for the +decorative side of their official positions?" + +"Profound irony, on the contrary!" said Brigard. "It is a powerful and +fruitful lesson, which makes even those who are professional defenders +concur in the demolition of the prejudiced. Saniel is a man!" + + + + +CHAPTER XL. PHILLIS IS SURPRISED + +The Sunday following her marriage, Phillis experienced a surprise +on which she reflected a long time without finding a satisfactory +explanation. + +As she was dressing, Saniel entered her room. + +"What are you going to do to-day?" he asked. + +"That which I do every day." + +"You are not going to mass?" + +She looked at him astonished, not being able to control her surprise, +and as usual, when she appeared to wish to read his thoughts, he showed +temper. + +"In what way is my question extraordinary?" + +"Mass is not exactly the usual subject of your thoughts, it seems to +me." + +"It may become so, especially when I think of others, as is the case +just now. Do you not often go to mass?" + +"When I can." + +"Very well, you can go to-day if you wish. Listen to what I have to say +to you. I have not forgotten the promise you made to respect my ideas +and beliefs. I wish to make you the same; it is very simple." + +"All that is good and generous seems simple to you." + +"Well?" + +"I will go at once." + +"Now? At once? It is not eight o'clock. Go to high mass, it is more +fashionable." + +Fashionable! What a strange word in his mouth! It was not out of respect +to fashion that she went to church, but because there was in her a +depth of religious sentiment and of piety, a little vague perhaps, which +Florentin's misfortunes had revived. + +"I will go to high mass," she said, without letting it appear that this +word had suggested anything to her, and continuing her dressing. + +"Are you going to wear this frock?" he asked, pointing to one that lay +on a chair. + +"Yes; at least if it does not displease you." + +"I find it rather simple." + +In effect it was of extreme simplicity, made of some cheap stuff, +its only charm being an originality that Phillis gave it on making it +herself. + +"Do not forget," he continued, "that Saint-Francois-Xavier is not a +church for working people; when a woman is as charming as you are she is +always noticed. People will ask who you are." + +"You are right; I will wear the gown I wore at the distribution of the +prices." + +"That is it; and your bonnet, will you not, instead of the round hat? +The first impression should be the best." + +This mixture of religious and worldly things was surprising in him. Had +she not understood him, then, until now? After all, perhaps it was only +an exception. + +But these exactions regarding her dress were repeated. Although before +her marriage Phillis had only crossed Saniel's path, she knew him well +enough to know that he was entirely given up to work, without thought of +anything else, and she believed that after marriage he would continue +to work in the same way, not caring for amusements or society. She was +correct about his work, but not so regarding society. A short time after +their marriage the minister Claudet was cured opportunely of an attack +of facial neuralgia by Saniel, for whom he conceived a great friendship. +He invited Saniel and his wife to all his reunions and fetes, and Saniel +accepted all his invitations. + +At first her wedding gown answered very well, but it would not do +always. It had to be trimmed, modified, three or four toilets made of +one gown; but, however ingenious Phillis might be in arranging several +yards of tulle or gauze, she could not make combinations indefinitely. + +And besides, they did not please Saniel; they were too simple. He liked +lace, beads, flowers, something shining and glittering, such as he saw +other women wear. + +How could she please him with the small resources at her disposal? In +her household expenses she was as economical as possible; Joseph was +dismissed, and replaced by a maid who did all the work; the table was +extremely simple. But these little economies, saved on one side, were +quickly spent on the other in toilets and carriages. + +When she expressed a wish to work, to paint menus, he would not consent, +and when she insisted he became angry. + +He only permitted her to paint pictures. As she had formerly painted for +amusement in her father's studio, she might do so now. If trade were a +disgrace, art might be honorable. If she had talent he would be glad of +it; and if she should sell her pictures it would be original enough to +cause her to be talked about. + +The salon was partly transformed into a studio, and Phillis painted +several little pictures, which, without having any pretensions to great +art, were pleasing and painted with a certain dash. Glorient admired +them, and made a picture-dealer buy two of them and order others, at a +small price it is true, but it was much more than she expected. + +With the courage and constancy that women put into work that pleases +them, she would willingly have painted from morning till night; but the +connections that Saniel had made did not leave her this liberty. Through +Claudet they made many acquaintances and accepted invitations that +placed her under social obligations, so that almost every day she had a +visit to pay, a funeral or a marriage to attend, besides an occasional +charity fair, and her own day at home, when she listened for three hours +to feminine gossip of no interest to her. + +As for him, what pleasure could he take in dressing after a hard day's +work to go to a reception? He, son of a peasant, and a peasant himself +in so many ways, who formerly understood nothing of fashionable life and +felt only contempt for it, finding it as dull as it was ridiculous. + +She tried to find a cause for this change, and when lightly, in a +roundabout way, she brought him to explain himself, she could only draw +one answer from him, which was no answer to her: + +"We must be of the world." + +Why did he care so much about society? Was it because she was the sister +of a criminal that he wished to take her everywhere and make people +receive her? She understood this up to a certain point, although the +part he made her play was the most cruel that he could give her, and +entirely contrary to what she would have chosen if she had been free. + +But this was all there was in his desire to be of the world. Because +he had married her he was not the brother of a criminal, and on close +observation it might be seen that all he desired of these persons in +high places whom he sought was their consideration, a part of their +importance and honor. But he did not need this; he was some one by +himself. The position that he had made was worthy of his merit. His name +was honored. His future was envied. + +And yet, as if he did not realize this, he sought small satisfactions, +unworthy of a serious ambition. One evening she was very much surprised +when he told her that the decoration of a Spanish republic was offered +to him, and although she had formed a habit of watching over her words +she could not help exclaiming: + +"What will you do with that?" + +"I could not refuse it." + +Not only had he not refused it, but he had accepted others, blue, green, +yellow, and tricolored; he wore them in his buttonhole, around his neck, +and on his breast. What good could those decorations do that belittled +him? And how could a man of his merit hasten to obtain the Legion of +Honor before it fell to him naturally? + +All this was astonishing, mysterious, and silly, and her mind dwelt +upon it when she was alone before her easel; while near her in his +laboratory, he continued his experiments, or wrote an article in his +office for the Review. + +But it was not without a struggle that she permitted herself to judge +him in this way. One does not judge those whom one loves, and she loved +him. Was it not failing in respect to her love that she did not admire +him in every way? When these ideas oppressed her she left her easel and +went to him. Close to him they disappeared. At first, in order not to +disturb him, she entered on tiptoe, walking softly and leaning over his +shoulder, embraced him before he saw or heard her; but he betrayed such +horror, such fear, that she gave up this way of greeting him. + +She continued to go to his room, but in a different way. Instead of +surprising him she announced her presence by rattling the handle of +the door, and walking noisily, and instead of receiving her with uneasy +manner he welcomed her joyfully. + +"You have finished painting?" + +"I have come to see you for a little while." + +"Very well, stay with me, do not go away immediately; I am never so +happy, I never work so well, as when I have you near me." + +She felt that this was true. When she was with him, whether she spoke or +not, her presence made him happy. + +And still she must appear not to look at him too attentively, as if +with the manifest intention of studying him; for she did this during the +first days of their marriage, and angered him so much that he exclaimed: + +"Why do you examine me thus? What do you look for in me?" + +She learned to watch herself carefully, and when with him to preserve a +discreet attitude that should not offend him. No curious looks, and no +questions. But this was not always easy, so she asked leave to assist +him in his work, and sometimes drew in larger size the designs that he +made for his microscopical studies. In this way the time passed rapidly. +If he were but willing to pass the evening hours in this sweet intimacy, +without a word about going out, how happy she would be! But he never +forgot the hour. + +"Allons," he said, interrupting himself, "we must go." + +She had never dared to ask the true reason for this "must." + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. A TROUBLED SOUL + +If she dared not frankly ask him this question: Why must we go out? any +more than the others: Why is it proper that I should go to mass to +be seen? Why should I wear gowns that ruin us? Why do you accept +decorations that are valueless in your eyes? Why do you seek the society +of men who have no merit but what they derive from their official +position or from their fortune? Why do we take upon ourselves social +duties that weary both of us, instead of remaining together in a tender +and intelligent intimacy that is sweet to us both? she could not ask +herself. + +They all appertained to this order of ideas, that she, without doubt, +found explained them: disposition of character; the exactions of +an ambition in haste to realize its desires; susceptibility or +overshadowing pride; but there were others founded on observation or +memory, having no connection with those, or so it seemed to her. + +She began to know her husband the day following their marriage, having +believed that he was always such as he revealed himself to her; but this +was not the case, and the man she had loved was so unlike the man whose +wife she had become, that it might almost be thought there were two. + +To tell the truth, it was not marriage that made the change in his +temper that distressed her; but it was not less characteristic by that, +that it dated back to a period anterior to this marriage. + +She remembered the commencement with a clearness that left no place for +doubt or hesitation; it was at the time when pursued by creditors he +entered into relations with Caffie. For the first time he, always +so strong that she believed him above weakness, had had a moment of +discouragement on announcing that he would probably be obliged to leave +Paris; but this depression had neither the anger nor weakness that he +had since shown. It was the natural sadness of a man who saw his future +destroyed, nothing more. The only surprise that she then felt was caused +by the idea of strangling Caffie and taking enough money from his safe +to clear himself from debt, and also because he said--as a consequence +of this act--speaking of the remorse of an intelligent man, that his +conscience would not reproach him, since for him conscience did not +exist. But this was evidently a simple philosophical theory, not a trait +of character; a jest or an argument for the sake of discussion. + +Relieved from his creditors with the money won at Monaco, he returned +to his usual calm, working harder than ever, passing his 'concours', and +when it seemed excusable that he might be nervous, violent, unjust, he +remained the man that he had been ever since she knew him. Then, all at +once, a short time before Florlentin went to the assizes, occurred these +strange explosions of temper, spasms of anger, and restlessness that she +could not explain, manifesting themselves exactly at the time when, by +Madame Dammauville's intervention, she hoped Florentin would be saved. +She had not forgotten the furious anger, that was inexplicable +and unjustifiable, with which he refused her request to see Madame +Dammauville. He had thrust her away, wishing to break with her, and +until she was a witness of this scene she never imagined that any one +could put such violence into exasperation. Then to this scene succeeded +another, totally opposed, which had not less impressed her, when, at +their little dinner by the fire, he showed such profound desolation on +telling her to keep the memory of this evening when she should judge +him, and announcing to her, in a prophetic sort of way, that the hour +would come when she would know him whom she loved. + +And now this hour, the thought of which she had thrown far from her, had +sounded; she sought to combine the elements of this judgment which then +appeared criminal to her, and now forced itself upon her, whatever she +might do to repel it. + +How many times this memory returned to her! It could almost be said that +it had never left her, sweet and sad at the same time, less sweet and +more sad, according as new subjects for uneasiness were added to the +others, in deepening the mysterious and troublous impression that it +left with her. + +To judge him! Why did he wish that she should judge him? And on what? + +And yet with him it was not an insignificant word, but the evidence of a +particular state of conscience, which many times since asserted itself. +Was it not, in effect, to this order of ideas that the cry belonged that +escaped him in the night when, waking suddenly, he asked with emotion, +with fright: "What have I said?" And also to the same appertained +the anger that carried him away when, 'a propos' of their religious +marriage, she spoke of confession: "Why do you think that I should be +afraid to go to confession?" + +How could he imagine that she could admit the idea of fear in connection +with him? The idea never occurred to her mind until this moment; and if +now the memory of her astonishment came to her, it was because of other +little things added to those of the past that evoked it. + +How numerous and significant they were, these things: his constant +uneasiness on seeing himself watched by her; his invitation when he +thought she was going to question him; his access of passion when, +through heedlessness or forgetfulness, or simply by chance, she asked +him a question on certain subjects, and immediately the tenderness +that followed, so sudden that they appeared rather planned in view of a +determined end than natural or spontaneous. + +It was a long time before she admitted the calculation under the sweet +words that made her so happy; but in the end it was well that she should +open her eyes to the evidence, and see that they were with him the +consequences of the same and constant preoccupation, that of not +committing himself. + +It was only one step from this to ask him what he did not wish to yield +up. + +Yet, as short as it was, she resisted for a long time the curiosity that +possessed her. It was her duty as a loving and devoted wife not to seek +beyond what he showed her, and this duty was in perfect accord with +the dispositions of her love; but the power of things seen carried her +beyond will and reason. She could not apply her mind to search for that +which agonized her, and she could not close her eyes and ears to what +she saw and heard. + +And what struck them were the same observations, turning always in the +same circle, applied to the same subjects and persons: + +Caffie's name irritated him; Madame Dammauville's angered him; +Florentin's made him positively unhappy. + +As for the two former, she might have prevented the pronunciation of +them when she saw the effect they infallibly produced on him. + +But she could not prevent the utterance of Florentin's name, even had +she wished it. How could she tell her mother never to speak the name of +him who was constantly in their thoughts? + +In spite of Saniel's efforts and solicitations, supported by +Nougarede's, Florentin had embarked for New Caledonia, whence he wrote +as often as he could. His letters related all his sufferings in the +terrible galleys, where he was confined during the voyage, and since his +arrival they were a series of long complaints, continued from one to the +other, like a story without end, turning always on the same subject, +his physical sufferings, his humiliation, his discouragement, and his +disgust in the midst of the unfortunates whose companion he was. + +The arrival of these letters filled the mother and sister with anguish +that lasted for several days; and this anguish, that neither of them +could dissimulate, angered Saniel. + +"What would you do if he were dead?" he asked Phillis. + +"Would it not be better for him?" + +"But he will return." + +"In what condition?" + +"Are we the masters of fate?" + +"We weep, we do not complain." + +But he complained of the weeping faces that surrounded him, the tears +they concealed from him, the sighs they stifled. Ordinarily he was +tender and affectionate to his mother-in-law, with attention and +deference which in some ways seemed affected, as if he were so by will +rather than by natural sentiment; but at these times he forgot this +tenderness, and treated her with hardness so unjust, that more than once +Madame Cormier spoke of it to her daughter. + +"How can your husband, who is so good to me, be so merciless regarding +Florentin? One would say that our sadness produces on him the effect of +a reproach that we would address to him." + +One day when things had gone farther than usual, she had the courage to +speak to him plainly: "Forgive me for burdening you with the weariness +of our disgrace," she said to him. "When I complain of everything, of +men and things, you should remember that you are the exception, you who +have done everything to save him." + +But these few words which she believed would calm the irritation of her +son-in-law, had on the contrary exasperated him; he left her, furious. + +"I do not understand your husband at all," she said to her daughter. +"Will you not explain to me what the matter is with him?" + +How could she give her mother the explanation that she could not give +herself? Having reached an unfathomable abyss, she dared not even lean +over to look into its depths; and instead of going on in the path where +she was pledged in spite of herself, she made every effort to return, or +at least to stop. + +What good would it do to find out why he was so peculiar, and what +it was that he took so much pains to conceal? This could only be idle +curiosity on her part, for which she would be punished sooner or later. + +Turning these thoughts over continually in her mind she lost her gayety, +her power to resist blows of fate, such as the small trials of life, +which formerly made her courageous; her vigorous elasticity sunk under +the heavy weight with which it was charged, and her smiling eyes now +more often expressed anxiety than happiness and confidence. + +In spite of her watchfulness over herself she was not able to hide the +change from Saniel, for it manifested itself in everything--in her face +formerly so open, but which now bore the imprint of a secret sadness; in +her concentrated manner, in her silence and abstraction. + +What was the matter with her? He questioned her, and she replied with +the prudence that she used in all her conversation with him. He examined +her medically, but found nothing to indicate a sickly condition which +would justify the change in her. + +If she did not wish to answer his questions, and he had the proof that +she did not wish to; if, on the other hand, she was not ill, and he was +convinced that she was not--there must be something serious the matter +to make the woman whom but lately he read so easily become an enigma +that made him uneasy. + +And this thing--if it were that whose crushing weight he himself carried +on his bent shoulders? She divined, she understood, if not all, at least +a part of the truth. + +What an extraordinary situation was hers, and one which might truly +destroy her reason. + +Nothing to fear from others, everything from himself. Justice, law, the +world--on all sides he was let alone; nothing was asked of him; that +which was owed was paid; but he by a sickly aberration was going to +awake the dead who slept in their tomb, from which no one thought of +taking them, and to make spectres of them which he alone saw and heard. + +And he believed himself strong. Fool that he was, and still more foolish +to have taken such a charge when by the exercise of his will he did +not place himself in a condition to carry it! To will! But he had not +learned how to will. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. THE POWER OF HYPNOTISM + +The relative calm that Saniel had felt since his marriage he owed to +Phillis; to the strength, the confidence, the peace that he drew from +her. Phillis without strength, without confidence, without interior +peace, such as she was now, could not give him what she no longer had +herself, and he returned to the distracted condition that preceded +his marriage, and felt the same anguish, the same agitation, the same +madness. The beautiful relations, worldly consideration, success, +decorations, honors, were good for others; but for his happiness he +required the tranquillity and serenity of his wife, and her good moral +health which passed into him when she slept on his shoulder. In that +case there were no sudden awakenings, no sleeplessness; at the sound of +her gentle respiration he was reassured, and the spectres remained in +their tomb. + +But now that this respiration was agitated, and he no longer felt in her +this tranquillity and serenity, he was no longer calm; she was weak and +uneasy, and she communicated her fever to him, not her sleep. + +"You do not sleep. Why do you not sleep?" + +"And you?" + +He must know. + +He persisted in his questions, but she was always on her guard, so that +he was unable to draw anything from her, checked as he was by the fear +of betraying himself, which seemed easy at the point he believed she +had reached. An awkward word, too much persistence, would let a flood of +light into her mind. + +He also affected to speak as a physician when questioning her, and to +look for medical explanations of her condition. + +"If you do not sleep it is because you suffer. What is this suffering? +From what does it proceed?" + +Having no reasons to give to justify it, since she did not even dare to +speak of her brother, she denied it obstinately. + +"But nothing is the matter with me, I assure you," she repeated. "What +do you think is the matter?" + +"That is what I ask you." + +"Then I ask you: What do you think I conceal from you?" + +He could not say that he suspected her of concealing anything from him. + +"You do not watch yourself properly." + +"I can do nothing." + +"I will force you to watch yourself and to speak." + +"How?" + +"By putting you to sleep." + +The threat was so terrible that she was beside herself. + +"Do not do that!" she cried. + +They looked at each other for a few moments in silence, both equally +frightened, she at the threat, he at what he would learn from her. But +to show this fright was on his side to let loose another proof even more +grave. + +"Why should I not seek to discover in every way the cause of this +uneasiness which escapes my examination as well as yours? For that +somnambulism offers us an excellent way." + +"But since I am not ill, what more could I tell you when I am asleep +than when I am awake?" + +"We shall see." + +"It is an experiment that I ask you not to attempt. Would you try a +poison on me?" + +"Somnambulism is not a poison." + +"Who knows?" + +"Those who have made use of it." + +"But you have not." + +"Still I know enough to know that you will run no danger in my hands." + +She believed that he opened a door of escape to her. + +"Never mind, I am too much afraid. If you ever want to make me talk in +a state of forced somnambulism, ask one of your 'confreres' in whom you +have confidence to put me to sleep." + +Before a 'confrere' she was certain he would not ask her dangerous +questions. + +He understood that she wished to escape him. + +"Afraid of what?" he asked. "That I shall ask you questions about the +past, concerning your life before we knew each other, and demand a +confession that would wound my love?" + +"O Victor!" she cried, distracted. "What more cruel wound could you give +me than these words? My confession! It comprises three words: I love +you; I have never loved any one but you; I shall never love any one but +you. I have no past; my life began with my love." + +He could not press it without showing the importance that he attached to +it. + +"I do not insist," he said; "it is a way like any other, but better. You +do not wish it, and we will not talk of it." + +But he yielded too quickly for her to hope that he renounced his +project, and she remained under the influence of a stupefying terror. +What would she say if he made her talk? Everything, possibly. She did +not even know what thoughts were hidden in the depths of her brain, and +she knew absolutely nothing of this forced somnambulism with which she +was threatened. + +At this time the works of the school of Nancy on sleep, hypnotism, +and suggestion, had not yet been published, or at least the book which +served as their starting-point was not known, and she knew nothing of +processes that were employed to provoke the hypnotic sleep. As soon as +her husband left the house she looked for some book in the library that +would enlighten her. But the dictionary that she found gave only obscure +or confused instructions in which she floundered. The only exact point +that struck her was the method employed to produce sleep; to make +the subject look at a brilliant object placed from fifteen to twenty +centimetres in front of the eyes. If this were true she had no fear of +ever being put to sleep. + +However, she was not reassured; and when a few days later at a dinner +she found herself seated next to one of her husband's 'confreres', who +she knew interested himself in somnambulism, she had the courage to +conquer her usual timidity concerning medicine, and questioned him. + +"Are there not persons with certain diseases who can be put into a state +of somnambulism?" + +"It was formerly believed by the public and by many physicians that only +persons afflicted with hysteria and nervous troubles could be put to +sleep in this way, but it was a mistake; artificial somnambulism may be +produced on many subjects who are perfectly healthy." + +"Is the will preserved in sleep?" + +"The subject only preserves the spontaneity and will that his hypnotizer +leaves him, who at his pleasure makes him sad, gay, angry, or tender, +and plays with his soul as with an instrument." + +"But that is frightful." + +"Curious, at least. It is certain that there is a local paralysis of +such or such a cell, the study of which is the starting-point of many +interesting discoveries." + +"When he wakes, does the subject remember what he has said?" + +"There is a difference of opinion on this point. Some say yes, and +others no. As for me, I believe the memory depends upon the degree of +sleep: with a light sleep there is remembrance, but with a profound +sleep the subject does not remember what he has said or heard or done." + +She would have liked to continue, and her companion, glad to talk of +what interested him, would willingly have said more, but she saw her +husband at the other end of the table watching them by fits and starts, +and fearing that he would suspect the subject of their conversation she +remained silent. + +What she had just learned seemed to her frightful. But, at least, as +she would not let herself be hypnotized she had nothing to fear; and +remembering what she had read, she promised herself that she would never +let him place her in a position where he could put her to sleep. It was +during the sleep that the will of the hypnotizer controlled that of the +subject, not before. + +Resting on this belief, and also on his not having again spoken of +sending her to sleep, she was reassured. Was not this a sign that he +accepted her opposition and renounced his idea of provoked somnambulism? + +But she deceived herself. + +One night when she had gone to bed at her usual hour while he remained +at his work, she awoke suddenly and saw him standing near her, looking +at her with eyes whose fixed stare frightened her. + +"What is the matter? What do you want?" + +"Nothing, I want nothing; I am going to bed." + +In spite of the strangeness of his glance she did not persist; questions +would have taught her nothing. And besides, now that he no longer went +to bed at the same time as she did, there was nothing extraordinary in +his attitude. + +But a few days from that she woke again in the night with a feeling of +distress, and saw him leaning over her as if he would envelop her in his +arms. + +This time, frightened as she was, she had the strength to say nothing, +but her anguish was the more intense. Did he then wish to hypnotize her +while she slept? Was it possible? Then the dictionary had deceived her? + +In truth it was while she slept that Saniel tried to transform her +natural into an artificial sleep. Would he succeed? He knew nothing +about it, for the experience was new. But he risked it. + +The first time, instead of putting her into a state of somnambulism, he +awoke her; the second, he succeeded no better; the third, when he saw +that after a certain time she did not open her eyes, he supposed that +she was asleep. To assure himself, he raised her arm, which remained +in the air until he placed it on the bed. Then taking her two hands, he +turned them backward, and withdrawing his own, the impulsion which he +gave lasted until he checked it. Her face had an expression of calmness +and tranquillity that it had not had for a long time; she was the pretty +Phillis of other days, with the sprightly glance. + +"To-morrow I will make you sleep at the same time," he said, "and you +will talk." + +The next night he put her to sleep even more easily, but when he +questioned her she resisted. + +"No," she said, "I will not speak; it is horrible. I will not, I +cannot." + +He insisted, but she would not. + +"Very well, so be it," he said; "not to-day, to-morrow. But to-morrow I +wish you to speak, and you shall not resist me; I will it!" + +If he did not insist it was not only because he knew that habit was +necessary to make her submit to his will without being able to defend +herself, but because he was ignorant whether, when she awoke, she had +any memory of what happened in her sleep, which was an important point. + +The next night she was the same as she had been the previous evening, +and nothing indicated that she was conscious of her provoked sleep, any +more than what she said in this sleep. He could then continue. + +This time she went to sleep sooner and more easily than usual, and her +face took the expression of tranquillity and repose he had seen the +night before. Would she answer? And if she consented, would she speak +sincerely, without attempting to weaken or falsify the truth? Emotion +made his voice tremble when he put the first question; it was his life, +his peace, the happiness of both which decided him. + +"Where do you suffer?" he asked. + +"I do not suffer." + +"Yet you are agitated, often melancholy or uneasy; you do not sleep +well. What troubles you?" + +"I am afraid." + +"Afraid of what? Of whom?" + +"Of you!" + +He trembled. + +"Afraid of me! Do you think that I could hurt you?" + +"No." + +His tightened heart relaxed. + +"Then why are you afraid?" + +"Because there are things in you that frighten me." + +"What things? Be exact." + +"The change that has taken place in your temper, your character, and +your habits." + +"And how do these changes make you uneasy?" + +"They indicate a serious situation." + +"What situation?" + +"I do not know; I have never stated exactly." + +"Why not?" + +"Because I was afraid; and I closed my eyes so that I might not see." + +"See what?" + +"The explanation of all that is mysterious in your life." + +"When did you notice the mystery in my life?" + +"At the time of Caffie's death; and before, when you told me that you +could kill him without any remorse." + +"Do you know who killed Caffie?" + +"No." + +His relief was so great that for several moments he forgot to continue +his interrogations. Then he went on: "And after?" + +"A little before Madame Dammauville's death, when you became irritable +and furious without cause; when you told me to go because you did not +wish to see Madame Dammauville; when, the night before her death, you +were so tender, and asked me not to judge you without recalling that +hour." + +"Yet you have judged me." + +"Never. When worry urged me, my love checked me." + +"What provoked this uneasiness outside of these facts?" + +"Your manner of living since our marriage; your accesses of anger and of +tenderness; your fear of being observed; your agitation at night; your +complaints--" + +"I talked?" he cried. + +"Never distinctly; you groan often, and moan, pronouncing broken words +without sense, unintelligible--" + +His anguish was violent; when he recovered he continued: + +"What is it in this way of living that has made you uneasy?" + +"Your constant care not to commit yourself--" + +"Commit myself how?" + +"I do not know--" + +"What else?" + +"The anger that you show, or the embarrassment, when the name of Caffie +is pronounced, Madame Dammauville's, and Florentin's--" + +"And you conclude that my anger on hearing these three names--" + +"Nothing--I am afraid--" + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. THE TERRIBLE REVELATION + +This confession threw him into a state of confusion and agitation, +for if it did not go beyond what he feared, yet it revealed a terrible +situation. + +Clearly, as in an open book, he read her; if she did not know all, she +was but one step from the truth, and if she had not taken this step, it +was because her love restrained her. If her love had been less strong, +less powerful, she certainly would not have withstood the proofs that +pressed on her from all sides. + +But because she had held back so long, he must not conclude that the +struggle would be continued in this way, and that a more violent blow, +a stronger proof than the others, would not open her eyes in spite of +herself. + +It only needed an imprudence, a carelessness on his part, and unluckily +he could no longer be relied on. + +From what he had just learned it would be easy to watch himself closely, +and to avoid dangerous subjects, those that she described to him; but +if he could guard his words and looks during the day, neither saying +nor letting anything appear that was an accusation, not confirming the +suspicions against which she struggled, he could not do it at night. + +He had not talked, and when she answered negatively to his question, she +lifted a terribly heavy weight from his heart. But he had groaned and +moaned, he had pronounced broken words without sense and unintelligible, +and there was the danger. + +What was necessary to make these sighs, these groans, these broken and +unintelligible words become distinct and take a meaning? A nothing, an +accident, since his real cerebral tendency placed him up to a certain +point in a somnambulistic state. Was this tendency congenital with him +or acquired? He did not know. Before the agitated nights after Madame +Dammauville's death and Florentin's condemnation, the idea had never +occurred to him that he might talk in his sleep. But now he had the +proof that the vague fears which had tormented him on this subject were +only too well founded; he had talked, and if the words that escaped were +not now comprehensible, they might become so. + +Without having made a special study of sleep, natural or induced, he +knew that in the case of natural somnambulists a hypnotic sleep is +easily produced, and that while holding a conversation with a subject +who talks in his sleep one may readily hypnotize him. Without doubt he +need not fear this from Phillis; but it was possible that some night +when incoherent words escaped him she would not be able to resist the +temptation to enter into a conversation with him, and to lead him to +confess what she wished to know--what the love that she felt for her +brother would drive her to wish to learn. + +If this opportunity presented itself, would the love for her brother or +for her husband carry her away? If she questioned him, what would he not +say? + +For the first time he asked himself if he had done right to marry, +and if, on the contrary, he had not committed a mad imprudence in +introducing a woman into a life so tormented as his. He had asked +calmness from this woman, and now she brought him terror. + +To tell the truth, she was dangerous only at night; and if he found a +way to occupy another room he would have nothing to fear from her during +the day, on condition that he held himself rigorously on the defensive. +Loving him as she did, she would resist the curiosity that drew her; if +uneasiness drove her, her love would restrain her, as she herself had +said; little by little this uneasiness and curiosity, being no longer +excited, would die out, and they would again enjoy the sweet days that +followed their marriage. + +But in the present circumstances this way was difficult to find, for to +propose another room to Phillis would be equal to telling her that he +was afraid of her, and consequently it would give her a new mystery to +study. He reflected, and starting with the idea that the proposition of +two rooms must come from Phillis, he arranged a plan which, it seemed to +him, would accomplish what he wished. + +Ignorant of the fact that she had been hypnotized, and not remembering +that she had talked, without doubt Phillis still feared that he would +hypnotize her; he would threaten it again, and surely she would find a +way to defend herself and escape from him. + +This is what happened. The next day, when he told her decidedly that he +wished to put her to sleep in order that he might learn what troubled +her, she showed the same fright as on the first time. + +"All that you have asked of me, everything that you have desired, I have +wished as you and with you; but I will never consent to this." + +"Your resistance is absurd; I will not yield to it." + +"You shall not put me to sleep against my will." + +"Easily." + +"It is not possible." + +Without replying, he took a book from the library, and turning over +the leaves, he read: "Is it possible to make a sleeping person, without +awaking him, pass from the natural to the hypnotic sleep? The thing is +possible, at least with certain subjects." + +Then handing her the book: + +"You see that to put you to sleep artificially I need only the +opportunity of finding you sleeping naturally. It is very simple." + +"That would be odious." + +"Those are merely words." + +He threw her into such a state of terror that she kept awake all night, +and as he would not sleep for fear of talking, he felt that she exerted +every faculty to keep awake. But had he not gone too far? And by this +threat would he not drive her to some desperate act? If she should +escape, if she deserted him--what would become of him without her? Was +she not his whole life? But he reassured himself by saying that she +loved him too much ever to consent to a separation. Without doubt, she +herself would come to think as he wished her to think. + +And yet when he returned home in the evening she told him that her +mother was not well, and begged him to examine her. This examination +proved that Madame Cormier was in her usual health; but she complained +that her breath failed her--during the day she had feared syncope. + +"If you are willing," Phillis said, "I will sleep near mamma. I am +afraid of not hearing her at night, and she is suffering." + +He began by refusing, then he consented to this arrangement; and to +thank him for it she stayed with him in his office, affectionate, full +of tenderness and caresses, until he went to his room. + +He was then free to sleep or not; whether he groaned or talked she could +not hear him, since there was no communicating door between his room and +that of his mother-in-law; his voice certainly would not penetrate the +partition. + +Who could have told him on the night that he decided to marry, that he +would come to such a pass--to be afraid, to hide himself from her who +brought him the calmness of sleep; and that by his fault, by a chain of +imprudences and stupidities, as if it were written that in everything +he would owe his sufferings to himself, and that if he ever succumbed to +the whirlwind that swept him along, it would be by his own deed, by his +own hand? At last he had assured the tranquillity of his nights, and as +a further precaution, although he did not fear that Phillis would enter +his room while he slept, to surprise him--she who dared not look in the +face what suspicion showed her--he locked his door. Naturally, Phillis +could not always sleep with her mother; but he would find a way to +suggest frankly their sleeping apart, and surely he could find one in +the storehouse of medicine. + +These cares and similar fears were not of a nature to dispose him to +sleep, and besides for a long time he had suffered from an exasperating +nervous insomnia. As the night was warm he thought a little fresh air +would calm him, and he opened the window; if this freshness did not calm +him, at least it would make him sleep. + +Obliged to improvise a bed in her mother's room, Phillis placed it +against the partition that separated her from her husband, but without +preconcerted intention, simply by accident, because it was the only +place where she could put the bed. A little after midnight an unusual +noise awoke her; she sat up to listen and to recover herself. It seemed +as if this noise came from her husband's room. Alarmed, she placed +her ear against the partition. She was not deceived; they were stifled +groans, moans that were repeated at short intervals. + +Carefully yet quickly she left her bed, and as the dawn was already +shining in the windows, she was able to leave the room without making +any noise. Reaching the door of her husband's room she listened; she was +not deceived; they were indeed groans, but louder and sadder than those +she had so often heard during the night. She tried the door, but it was +evidently locked on the inside. What was the matter with him? She must +know, must go to him, and give him relief. She thought of knocking, of +shaking the door; but as he did not reply when she tried to open it, it +was because he did not hear or did not wish to hear. Then she thought +of the terrace; from there she could see what happened, and if it were +necessary she would break a pane to enter. + +She found the window open and saw her husband on the bed, sleeping, +his head turned toward her; she stopped and asked herself if she should +cross the threshold and wake him. + +At this moment, with closed lips, he pronounced several words +more distinctly than those that had so many times escaped him: +"Phillis--forgive." + +He dreamed of her. Poor, dear Victor! for what did he wish her to pardon +him? Doubtless for having threatened to hypnotize her: + +Overcome by this proof of love she put her head through the opening of +the window to give him a look before returning to her mother, but +on seeing his face in the full white light of the morning, she was +frightened; it expressed the most violent sorrow, the features convulsed +with anguish and horror at the same time. Surely he was ill. She must +wake him. Just as she took a step toward him he began to speak: "Your +brother--or me?" + +She stopped as if thunderstruck, then instinctively she drew back and +clung to the window in the vestibule to keep herself from falling, +repeating those two words that she had just heard, not understanding, +not wishing to understand. + +Instead of returning to her mother, trembling and holding on to the wall +she entered the parlor and let herself fall into a chair, prostrated, +crushed. + +"Your brother--or me?" + +This was, then, the truth, the frightful truth that she had never wished +to see. + +She stayed there until the noises in the street warned her that it +was getting late, and she might be surprised. Then she returned to her +mother. + +"I am going out," she said; "I will return at half-past eight or nine +o'clock." + +"But your husband will not see you before going to the hospital." + +"You will tell him that I have gone out." + +She returned at half-past nine. Madame Cormier had finished dressing. + +"At last you have come," she said. + +But at sight of her daughter's face she saw that something had happened. +"My God! What is the matter?" she asked, trembling. + +"Something serious--very serious, but unfortunately it is irreparable. +We must leave here, never to return." + +"Your husband--" + +"You must never speak to me of him. This the only thing I ask of you." + +"Alas! I understand. It is what I foresaw, what I said would happen. You +cannot bear the contempt that he shows us on account of your brother." + +"We must hereafter be strangers to each other, and this is why we leave +this house." + +"My God! At my age, to drag my bones--" + +"I have engaged a lodging at the Ternes; a wagon will come to take the +furniture that belongs to us, what we brought here, only that. We will +tell the concierge that we are going to the country. As for Josephine, +you need not fear indiscreet questions, for I have given her a day off." + +"But the money?" + +"I have two hundred francs from the sale of my last picture; that is +enough for the present. Before they are gone I shall have painted and +sold another; do not worry, we shall have all we need." + +All this was said in a hard but resolute tone. + +A ring of the bell interrupted them. It was the express wagon. + +"See that they do not take what does not belong to us," Phillis said. +"While they fill their wagon I will write in the parlor." + +At the end of an hour the wagon was ready. Madame Cormier entered the +parlor to tell her daughter. + +"I have finished," Phillis said. + +Having placed her letter in an envelope, she laid it in full view on +Saniel's desk. + +"Now let us go," she said. + +And as her mother sighed, while walking with difficulty + +"Lean on me, dear mamma, you know I am strong." + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. AFTER LONG YEARS + +Saniel did not return until quite late in the afternoon. When he opened +the door with his key he was surprised at not seeing his wife run to him +and kiss him. + +"She is painting," he said to himself, "she did not hear me." + +He passed into the parlor, convinced that he would find her at her +easel; but he did not see her, and the easel was not in its usual place, +there nor anywhere else. + +He knocked at the door of Madame Cormier's room; there was no reply; he +knocked louder a second time, and after waiting a moment he entered. The +room was empty; there was no bed, no furniture, no one. + +Stupefied, he looked around him, then returning to the vestibule he +called: "Phillis! Phillis!" + +There was no reply. He ran to the kitchen, no one was there; he went +into his office, no one there. But as he looked about him, he saw +Phillis's letter on his desk, and his heart leaped; he grasped it +eagerly, and opened it with a trembling hand. It was as follows: + + "I have gone, never to return. My despair and disgust of life are + such, that without my mother and the poor being who is so far away, + I should kill myself; but in spite of the horror of my position I + was obliged to reflect, and I do not wish to aggravate by folly the + wickedness that is going on about me. My mother is no longer young; + she is ill and has suffered cruelly. Not only do I owe it to her to + brighten her old age by my presence, by the material and moral + support that I can give her, but she must have faith that I am there + to replace her, and to open my arms to her son, to my brother. The + least that I can do for them is to wait courageously for him; and, + however weary, terrible, or frightful my life may be hereafter, I + shall bear it so that the unfortunate, the pariah, whom a pitiless + fate has pursued, will find on his return a hearth, a home, a + friend. This will be my only object, my reason for living; and in + order to save myself from sluggishness and weariness, my thoughts + will always be on the time when he will return, he whom I will call + my child, and whom my love must save and cure. I know that long + years separate me from that day, and that until it comes my broken + heart will never have a moment of repose; but I shall employ this + time in working for him, for the brother, for the child, for the + cherished being who will come to me aged and desperate; and I wish + that he may yet believe in something good, that he will not imagine + everything in this world is unjust and infamous, for he will return + to me weighed down by twenty years of shame, of degrading and + undeserved shame. How will he bear these twenty years? What + efforts must I not make to prove to him that he should not abandon + himself to despair, and that life often offers the remedy, + compassion to the most profound, to the most unjust human sorrows? + How can I make him believe that? How lead his poor heart, closed to + confidence, to feeling, to the tears that alone can relieve it? God + who has so sorely tried me, without doubt will come to my aid, and + will inspire me with words of consolation, will show me the path to + follow, and give me the strength to persevere. Have I not already + to thank Him for being alone in the world, outside of a mother and + brother who will not betray me? I have no children, and I am spared + the terror of seeing a soul growing in evil, an intelligence + escaping from me to follow the path of infamy or dishonor. I leave, + then, as I came. I was a poor girl, I go away a poor woman. I have + taken the clothing and personal effects that I brought into our + common home, nothing that was bought with your money; and I forbid + you to interfere with my wish in this question of material things, + as well as in my resolution to fly from you. Nothing can ever + reunite us; nothing shall reunite us, no consideration, no + necessity. I reject the past, this guilty past, the responsibility + of which weighs so heavily on my conscience, and I should like to + lose the memory of the detested time. It would be impossible for me + to accept the struggle, or supplications, if you think it expedient + to make any. I have cut our bonds, and hereafter we shall be as far + apart as if one of us were dead, or even farther. Have no scruples, + then, in leaving me alone to face a new life, a beginning that may + appear difficult to one not situated as I am. The trials of former + times were good for me, since they accustomed me to the difficulties + of work. The desolation of to-day will sustain me, in the sense + that having suffered all I can suffer, I no longer fear some + discouraging catastrophe that will check me in my resolutions. In + order not to compromise you, and more fully to become myself again, + I shall take my family name--a dishonored name--but I shall bear it + without shame. I shall live obscurely, absorbed in work and in + trying to forget your existence; do the same yourself. If you think + of the past, you will find, perhaps, that I am hard; yet this + departure is not an egotistic desertion. I am no good to you, and + the repose that you want would shun you hereafter in my presence. + On the contrary, strive for forgetfulness, as I shall. If you + contrive to wipe out of your life the part that is associated with + me, perhaps you will be able to banish the remainder, and to recover + some of the calm of other days. I can no longer remember that I + have loved you, for my position is such that I have not the refuge + of memory; at my age I must remain without a past as without a + future; the consolation of the unfortunate is lost to me with + everything else. I cannot rise out of my sorrow to try to find one + hour when life was sweet to me; those hours, on the contrary, make + me tremble, and I reproach myself for them as if they were a crime. + Thus, whichever way I turn, I find only sadness and sharp regrets; + everything is blighted, dishonored for me." + +Standing in the middle of his office he read this hastily written letter +breathlessly. Arrived at the end he looked about him vaguely. His +chair was near his desk; he let himself fall into it and remained there +prostrated, holding the letter in his shaking hand. + +"Alone!" + +It was an October afternoon, dark and muddy; in the Rue des +Saints-Peres, in front of the houses that hide the Charity Hospital, +coupes were standing, and their long line extended to the Boulevard +Saint-Germain, where the coachmen, having left their seats, talked +together like persons who were accustomed to meet each other. At +half-past four o'clock, in the deepening twilight, men with grave +looks and dark clothes--members of the Academy of Medicine--the Tuesday +sitting over, issued from the porch, and entered their carriages. Some +of them walked alone, briskly, in a great hurry; others demonstrated +a skilful tardiness, stopping to talk politely to a journalist, and to +give him notes of the day's meeting, or continuing, with a 'confrere' +who was not an Academician, the conversation begun in the room of the +'pas-perdus'; it was the Bourse of consultations that was just closed. +Not all the members of the Academy have, in truth, a long list of +patients to visit; but each one has a vote to give, and they are those +whom the candidates surround, trying to win them. + +One of the Academicians who appeared the last at the top of the steps +was a man of great height but bent figure, with hollow cheeks and pale +face lighted by pale blue eyes with a strange expression, both hard and +desolate at the same time. He advanced alone, and his heavy gait and +dragging step gave him the appearance of a man sixty years of age, while +in other ways he retained a certain youthfulness. It was Saniel, twenty +years older. + +Without exchanging a bow or a hand-shake with any one, he descended to +the pavement and walked to the boulevard, where he opened the door of a +coups whose interior showed a complete ambulant library--a writing table +with paper, ink, and lamp, pockets full of books and pamphlets. + +Just as he was about to enter, a voice stopped him. + +He turned; it was one of his old pupils, who had recently become a +physician in the suburb of Gentilly. + +"What is it?" asked Saniel. + +"I want to ask you to come and assist me in a curious case of spasms, +where your intervention may be decisive." + +"Where?" + +"At the Maison-Blanche, a poor woman. What day could you give me?" + +"Is it urgent?" + +"Yes." + +"In that case I will go at once. Give the address to my coachman, and +get in with me." + +But at this moment a white-haired man dressed in chestnut velvet, +wearing a felt hat and sabots, came toward them, accompanied by two +young men with whom he discoursed in a loud tone while gesticulating. +People turned to look at them, so original was the appearance of old +Brigard, the same man from head to foot that he had always been. + +He came to Saniel with outstretched hands, and Saniel, taking off his +hat, received him with marked respect. + +"Enchanted to meet you," Brigard said, "for I went to your office +yesterday and did not find you." + +"Why did you not send me word beforehand? If you need me I am at your +disposal." + +"Thanks, but happily I do not need your advice, neither for myself nor +my family; it was simply that I wished to see you. Arriving at your +house before your office hours, I waited in your reception-room and +several patients came after me--a young woman who appeared to suffer +cruelly, an old lady who was extremely anxious, and lastly a man who +had some nervous disease that would not permit him to sit still. And, +looking at them, I said to myself that as I was only making a friendly +visit I would not remain and prolong the waiting of these unfortunates +who counted the minutes, so I came away." + +"May I ask to what do I owe the honor of this visit?" + +The two young men who accompanied Brigard, and Saniel's old pupil +discreetly withdrew. + +"The desire to present you my congratulations. When I learned of your +candidature to the Academy of Medicine I said to myself: Here is one who +has no chance; friend Saniel has originality and force; he has succeeded +brilliantly; but these qualities are not exactly academic. I was +deceived. You have broken open the doors, which is the only way that +I understand of entering these places. That is why I congratulate you. +And, besides, I did you wrong formerly--" + +"Wrong? You?" + +"I accused you of believing yourself stronger than life; in truth you +were. My compliments!" + +After warmly pressing Saniel's hands, he went on his way with his two +disciples, preaching to them. + +The young doctor approached Saniel. + +"He is an original," he said. + +"A happy man!" was the only reply. + + + ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + + As ignorant as a schoolmaster + As free from prejudices as one may be, one always retains a few + Confidence in one's self is strength, but it is also weakness + Conscience is a bad weighing-machine + Conscience is only an affair of environment and of education + Find it more easy to make myself feared than loved + For the rest of his life he would be the prisoner of his crime + Force, which is the last word of the philosophy of life + He did not sleep, so much the better! He would work more + I believed in the virtue of work, and look at me! + In his eyes everything was decided by luck + Intelligent persons have no remorse + It is the first crime that costs + It is only those who own something who worry about the price + Leant--and when I did not lose my friends I lost my money + Leisure must be had for light reading, and even more for love + Looking for a needle in a bundle of hay + Neither so simple nor so easy as they at first appeared + One does not judge those whom one loves + People whose principle was never to pay a doctor + Power to work, that was never disturbed or weakened by anything + Reason before the deed, and not after + Repeated and explained what he had already said and explained + She could not bear contempt + The strong walk alone because they need no one + We are so unhappy that our souls are weak against joy + We weep, we do not complain + Will not admit that conscience is the proper guide of our action + You love me, therefore you do not know me + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Conscience, Complete, by Hector Malot + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CONSCIENCE, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 3990.txt or 3990.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/9/3990/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Hart +and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.] +[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales +of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or +software or any other related product without express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.07/27/01*END* + + + + + +This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net> + + + + + +[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the +file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an +entire meal of them. D.W.] + + + + + +CONSCIENCE + +By HECTOR MALOT + + +With a Preface by EDOUARD PAILLERON, of the French Academy + + + +BOOK 1. + + +HECTOR MALOT + +HECTOR-HENRI MALOT, the son of a notary public, was born at La Brouille +(Seine-Inferieure), March 20, 1830. He studied law, intending to devote +himself also to the Notariat, but toward 1853 or 1854 commenced writing +for various small journals. Somewhat later he assisted in compiling the +'Biographie Generale' of Firmin Didot, and was also a contributor to some +reviews. Under the generic title of 'Les Victimes d'Amour,' he made his +debut with the following three family-romances: 'Les Amants (1859), Les +Epoux (1865), and Les Enfants (1866).' About the same period he +published a book, 'La Vie Moderne en Angleterre.' Malot has written +quite a number of novels, of which the greatest is 'Conscience,' crowned +by the French Academy in 1878. + +His works have met with great success in all countries. They possess +that lasting interest which attends all work based on keen observation +and masterly analysis of the secret motives of human actions. + +The titles of his writings run as follows: 'Les Amours de Jacques (1868); +Un Beau Frere (1869); Romain Kalbris (1864), being a romance for +children; Une Bonne Afaire, and Madame Obernin (1870); Un Cure de +Province (1872); Un Mariage sons le Second Empire (1873); Une Belle Mere +(1874); L'Auberge du Monde (1875-1876, 4 vols.); Les Batailles du Mariage +(1877, 3 vols.); Cara (1877); Le Docteur Claude (1879); Le Boheme +Tapageuse (1880, 3 vols.); Pompon, and Une Femme d'Argent (1881); La +Petite Soeur, and Les Millions Honteux (1882); Les Besogneux, and +Paulette (1883); Marichette, and Micheline (1884.); Le Lieutenant Bonnet, +and Sang Bleu (1885); Baccara, and Zyte (1886); Viceo Francis, Seduction, +and Ghislaine (1887); Mondaine (1888); Mariage Riche, and Justice (1889); +Mere (1890), Anie (1891); Complices (1892); Conscience (1893); and Amours +de Jeunes et Amours de Vieux (1894).' + +About this time Hector Malot resolved not to write fiction any more. +He announced this determination in a card published in the journal, +'Le Temps,' May 25, 1895--It was then maliciously stated that "M. Malot +his retired from business after having accumulated a fortune." However, +he took up his pen again and published a history of his literary life: +Le Roman de mes Romans (1896); besides two volumes of fiction, L'Amour +dominateur (1896), and Pages choisies (1898), works which showed that, +in the language of Holy Writ, "his eye was not dimmed nor his natural +force abated," and afforded him a triumph over his slanderers. + + EDOUARD PAILLERON + de l'Academie Francaise. + + + + +CONSCIENCE + +CHAPTER I + +THE REUNION + +When Crozat, the Bohemian, escaped from poverty, by a good marriage that +made him a citizen of the Rue de Vaugirard, he did not break with his old +comrades; instead of shunning them, or keeping them at a distance, he +took pleasure in gathering them about him, glad to open his house to +them, the comforts of which were very different from the attic of the Rue +Ganneron, that he had occupied for so long a time. + +Every Wednesday, from four to seven o'clock, he had a reunion at his +house, the Hotel des Medicis, and it was a holiday for which his friends +prepared themselves. When a new idea occurred to one of the habitues it +was caressed, matured, studied in solitude, in order to be presented in +full bloom at the assembly. + +Crozat's reception of his friends was pleasing, simple, like the man, +cordial on the part of the husband, as well as on the part of the wife, +who, having been an actress, held to the religion of comradeship: On a +table were small pitchers of beer and glasses; within reach was an old +stone jar from Beauvais, full of tobacco. The beer was good, the tobacco +dry, and the glasses were never empty. + +And it was not silly subjects that were discussed here, worldly +babblings, or gossiping about absent friends, but the great questions +that ruled humanity: philosophy, politics, society, and religion. + +Formed at first of friends, or, at least, of comrades who had worked and +suffered together, these reunions had enlarged gradually, until one day +the rooms at the Hotel des Medicis became a 'parlotte' where preachers of +ideas and of new religions, thinkers, reformers, apostles, politicians, +aesthetes, and even babblers in search of ears more or less complaisant +that would listen to them, met together. Any one might come who wished, +and if one did not enter there exactly as one would enter an ordinary +hotel, it was sufficient to be brought by an habitue in order to have the +right to a pipe, some beer, and to speak. + +One of the habitues, Brigard, was a species of apostle, who had acquired +celebrity by practising in his daily life the ideas that he professed and +preached. Comte de Brigard by birth, he began by renouncing his title, +which made him a vassal of the respect of men and of social conventions; +an instructor of law, he could easily have made a thousand or twelve +hundred francs a month, but he arranged the number and the price of his +lessons so that each day brought him only ten francs in order that he +might not be a slave to money; living with a woman whom he loved, he had +always insisted, although he had two daughters, on living with her 'en +union libre', and in not acknowledging his children legally, because the +law debased the ties which attached him to them and lessened his duties; +it was conscience that sanctioned these duties; and nature, like +conscience, made him the most faithful of lovers, the best, the most +affectionate, the most tender of fathers. Tall, proud, carrying in his +person and manners the native elegance of his race, he dressed like the +porter at the corner, only replacing the blue velvet by chestnut velvet, +a less frivolous color. Living in Clamart for twenty years, he always +came to Paris on foot, and the only concessions that he made to +conventionality or to his comfort were to wear sabots in winter, and to +carry his vest on his arm in summer. + +Thus organized, he must have disciples, and he sought them everywhere-- +in the streets, where he buttonholed those he was able to snatch under +the trees of the Luxembourg Gardens, and on Wednesday at the house of his +old comrade Crozat. How many he had had! But, unfortunately, the +greater number turned out badly. Several became ministers; others +accepted high government positions for life; some handled millions of +francs; two were at Noumea; one preached in the pulpit of Notre Dame. + +One afternoon in October the little parlor was full; the end of the +summer vacation had brought back the habitues, and for the first time the +number was nearly large enough to open a profitable discussion. Crozat, +near the door, smiled at the arrivals on shaking hands, and Brigard, his +soft felt hat on his head, presided, assisted by his two favorite +disciples of the moment, the advocate Nougarede and the poet Glady, +neither of whom would turn out badly, he was certain. + +To tell the truth, for those who knew how to look and to see, the pale +face of Nougarede, his thin lips, restless eyes, and an austerity of +dress and manners which clashed with his twenty-six years, gave him more +the appearance of a man of ambition than of an apostle. And when one +knew that Glady was the owner of a beautiful house in Paris, and of real +estate in the country that brought him a hundred thousand francs a year, +it was difficult to imagine that he would long follow Father Brigard. + +But to see was not the dominant faculty of Brigard; it was to reason, +and reason told him that ambition would soon make Nougarede a deputy, +as fortune would one day make Glady an academician; and in that case, +although he detested assemblies as much as academies, they would then +have two tribunes whence the good word would fall on the multitude with +more weight. They might be counted on. When Nougarede began to come to +the Wednesday reunions he was as empty as a drum, and if he spoke +brilliantly on no matter what subject with an imperturbable eloquence, +it was to say nothing. In Glady's first volume were words learnedly +arranged to please the ears and the eyes. Now, ideas sustained the +discourse of the advocate, as the verses of the poet said something--and +these ideas were Brigard's; this something was the perfume of his +teaching. + +For half an hour the pipes burned fiercely, the smoke slowly rose to the +ceiling, and as in a cloud Brigard might be seen like a bearded god, +proclaiming his law, his hat on his head; for, if he had made a rule +never to take it off, he manipulated it continually while he spoke, +frequently pushing it forward, sometimes to the back of his head, to the +right, to the left, raising it, and flattening it, according to the needs +of his argument. + +"It is incontestable," he said, "that we scatter our great force when we +ought to concentrate it." + +He pressed down his hat. + +"In effect," he raised it, "the hour has arrived for us to assert +ourselves as a group, and it is a duty for us, since it is a need of +humanity--" + +At this moment a new arrival glided into the room quietly, with the +manifest intention of disturbing no one; but Crozat, who was seated near +the door, stopped him and shook hands. + +"'Tiens', Saniel! Good-day, doctor." + +"Good-evening, my dear sir." + +"Come to the table; the beer is good to-day." + +"Thank you; I am very well here." + +Without taking the chair that Crozat designated, he leaned against the +wall. He was a tall, solid man about thirty, with tawny hair falling on +the collar of his coat, a long, curled beard, a face energetic, but +troubled and wan, to which the pale blue eyes gave an expression of +hardness that was accentuated by a prominent jaw and a decided air. A +Gaul, a true Gaul of ancient times, strong, bold, and resolute. + +Brigard continued: + +"It is incontestable"--this was his formula, because everything he said +was incontestable to him, simply because he said it--"it is incontestable +that in the struggle for existence the dogma of conscience must be +established, its only sanction being the performance of duty and inward +satisfaction--" + +"Duty accomplished toward whom?" interrupted Saniel. + +"Toward one's self." + +"Then begin by stating what are our duties, and codify what is good and +what is bad." + +"That is easy," some one replied. + +"Easy if you admit a certain innate regard for human life, for property, +and for the family. But you must acknowledge that not all men have this +regard. How many believe that it is not a fault to run away with the +wife of a friend, not a crime to appropriate something that they want, or +to kill an enemy! Where are the duties of those who reason and feel in +this way? What is their inward satisfaction worth? This is why I will +not admit that conscience is the proper guide of our actions." + +There were several exclamations at this, which Brigard checked. + +"What guide, then, shall men obey?" he demanded. + +"Force, which is the last word of the philosophy of life " + +"That which leads to a wise and progressive extermination. Is this what +you desire?" + +"Why not? I do not shrink from an extermination that relieves humanity +of idlers that it drags about without power to advance or to free itself, +finally sinking under the load. Is it not better for the world to be rid +of such people, who obstruct the advancement of others?" + +"At least the idea is bizarre coming from a doctor," interrupted Crozat, +"since it would put an end to hospitals." + +"Not at all; I would preserve them for the study of monsters." + +"In placing society on this antagonistic footing," said Brigard, "you +destroy society itself, which is founded on reciprocity, on good +fellowship; and in doing so you can create for the strong a state of +suspicion that paralyzes them. Carthage and Venice practised the +selection by force, and destroyed themselves." + +"You speak of force, my dear Saniel," interrupted a voice; "where do you +get that--the force of things, the tatum? There is no beginning, no +will; events decide for us climate, temperament, environment." + +"Then," replied Saniel, "there is no responsibility, and this instrument +conscience, that should decide everything, is good for nothing. You need +not consider consequences. Success or defeat may yet be immaterial, for +the accomplishment of an act that you have believed condemnable may serve +the race, while another that you have believed beneficent may prove +injurious; from which it follows that intentions only should be judged, +and that no one but God can sound human hearts to their depths." + +He began to laugh. + +"Do you believe that? Is that the conclusion at which you have arrived?" + +A waiter entered, carrying pitchers of beer on a tray, and the discussion +was necessarily interrupted, every one drawing up to the table where +Crozat filled the glasses, and the conversation took a more private turn. + +Saniel shook hands with Brigard, who received him somewhat coldly; then +he approached Glady with the manifest intention of detaining him, but +Glady had said that he was obliged to leave, so Saniel said that he could +remain no longer, and had only dropped in on passing. + +When they were both gone Brigard turned to Crozat and Nougarede, who were +near him, and declared that Saniel made him uneasy. + +"He believes himself stronger than life," he said, "because he is sound +and intelligent. He must take care that he does not go too far!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE RICH MAN'S REFUSAL + +When Saniel and Glady reached the street, the rain that had fallen since +morning had ceased, and the asphalt shone clear and glittering like a +mirror. + +"The walking is good," Saniel remarked. + +"It will rain again," responded Glady, looking at the sky. + +"I think not." It was evident that Glady wished to take a cab, but as +none passed he was obliged to walk with Saniel. + +"Do you know," he said, "that you have wounded Brigard?" + +"I regret it sincerely; but the salon of our friend Crozat is not yet a +church, and I do not suppose that discussion is forbidden there." + +"To deny is not to discuss." + +"You say that as if you were angry with me." + +"Not at all. I am sorry that you have wounded Brigard--nothing more." + +"That is too much, because I have a sincere esteem, a real friendship for +you, if you will permit me to say so." + +But Glady, apparently, did not desire the conversation to take this turn. + +"I think this is an empty cab," he said, as a fiacre approached them. + +"No," replied Saniel, "I see the light of a cigar through the +windowpane." + +Glady made a slight gesture of impatience that was not lost upon Saniel, +who was expecting some such demonstration. + +Rich, and frequenting the society of poor men, Glady lived in dread of +borrowers. It was enough for any man to appear to wish to talk to him +privately to make him believe that he was going to ask for fifty louis or +twenty francs; so often was this the case that every friend or comrade +was an enemy against whom he must defend his purse. And so he lay in +wait as if expecting some one to spring upon him, his eyes open, his ears +listening, and his hands in his pockets. This explains his attitude +toward Saniel, in whom he scented a demand for money, and was the reason +for his attempt to escape by taking a cab. But luck was against him, and +he tried to decline the unspoken request in another way. + +"Do not be surprised," he said, with the volubility with which a man +speaks when he does not wish to give his companion a chance to say a +word, "that I was pained to see Brigard take seriously an argument that +evidently was not directed against him." + +"Neither against him nor against his ideas." + +"I know that; you do not need to defend yourself. But I have so much +friendship, so much esteem and respect for Brigard that everything that +touches him affects me. And how could it be otherwise when one knows his +value, and what a man he is? This life of mediocrity that he lives, in +order to be free, is it not admirable? What a beautiful example!" + +"Not every one can follow it." + +"You think that one cannot be contented with ten francs a day?" + +"I mean that not every one has the chance to make ten francs a day." + +The vague fears of Glady became definite at these words. They had walked +down the Rue Ferou and reached the Place St. Sulpice. + +"I think that at last I am going to find a cab," he said, precipitately. + +But this hope was not realized; there was not a single cab at the +station, and he was forced to submit to the assault from Saniel. + +And Saniel began: + +"You are compelled to walk with me, and, frankly, I rejoice, because I +wish to talk to you of a serious affair--on which depends my future." + +"This is a poor place for serious talk." + +"I do not find it so." + +"We would better appoint some other time." + +"Why should we, since chance has thrown us together here?" + +Glady resigned himself to the inevitable, and was as polite as he could +be in the circumstances. + +"I await your pleasure," he said in a gracious tone, that was a contrast +to his former one. + +Saniel, who was in such a hurry a few moments before, now silently walked +by Glady, whose eyes were on the shining asphalt pavement. + +At last he spoke. + +"I have told you that my future depends on the affair concerning which I +wish to speak to you. I can tell you all in a few words: If I am not +able to procure three thousand francs within two days, I shall be obliged +to leave Paris, to give up my studies and my work here, and go and bury +myself in my native town and become a plain country doctor." + +Glady did not flinch; if he had not foreseen the amount he expected the +demand, and he continued gazing at his feet. + +"You know," continued Saniel, "that I am the son of peasants; my father +was marshal in a poor village of Auvergne. At school I gave proof of a +certain aptitude for work above my comrades, and our cure conceived an +affection for me and taught me all he knew. Then he made me enter a +small seminary. But I had neither the docile mind nor the submissive +character that was necessary for this education, and after several years +of pranks and punishments, although I was not expelled, I was given to +understand that my departure would be hailed with delight. I then became +usher in a small school, but without salary, taking board and lodging as +payment. I passed a good examination and was preparing for my degree, +when I left the school owing to a quarrel. I had made some money by +giving private lessons, and I found myself the possessor of nearly eighty +francs. I started for Paris, where I arrived at five o'clock one morning +in June, and where I knew, no one. I had a small trunk containing a few +shirts, which obliged me to take a carriage. I told the coachman to +take me to a hotel in the Latin Quarter. 'Which hotel?' he asked; 'I do +not care,' I answered. 'Do you wish to go to the Hotel du Senat?' +The name pleased me; perhaps it was an omen. He took me to the Hotel du +Senat, where, with what I had left of my eighty francs, I paid a month in +advance. I stayed there eight years." + +"That is remarkable." + +"What else could I do? I knew Latin and Greek as well as any man in +France, but as far as anything else was concerned I was as ignorant as a +schoolmaster. The same day I tried to make use of what I knew, and I +went to a publisher of classic books, of whom I had heard my professor of +Greek literature speak. After questioning me he gave me a copy of Pindar +to prepare with Latin notes, and advanced me thirty francs, which lasted +me a month. I came to Paris with the desire to work, but without having +made up my mind what to do. I went wherever there were lectures, to the +Sorbonne, to the College de France, to the Law School, and to the School +of Medicine; but it was a month before I came to a decision. The +subtleties of law displeased me, but the study of medicine, depending +upon the observation of facts, attracted me, and I decided to become a +doctor." + +"A marriage of reason." + +"No, a marriage for love. Because, if I had consulted reason, it would +have told me that to marry medicine when one has nothing--neither family +to sustain you nor relatives to push you--would be to condemn yourself to +a life of trials, of battles, and of misery. My student life was happy; +I worked hard, and by giving lessons in Latin I had enough to eat. When +I received as house-surgeon six, eight, nine hundred francs, I thought it +a large fortune, and I would have remained in this position for the rest +of my life if I had been able to do so, but when I took my degree of +doctor I was obliged to leave the hospital. The possessor of several +thousand francs, I should have followed rigorously my dream of ambition. +While attending the mistress of one of my comrades I made the +acquaintance of an upholsterer, who suggested that he should furnish an +apartment for me, and that I might pay him later. I yielded to +temptation. Remember, I had passed eight years in the Hotel du Senat, +and I knew nothing of Paris life. A home of my own! My own furniture, +and a servant in my anteroom! I should be somebody! My upholsterer +could have installed me in his own quarter of Paris, and perhaps could +have obtained some patients for me among his customers, who are rich and +fashionable. But he did not do this, probably concluding that with my +awkward appearance I would not be a success with such people. When you +are successful it is original to be a peasant--people find you clever; +but before success comes to you it is a disgrace. He furnished me an +apartment in a very respectable house in the Rue Louis-le-Grand. When I +went into it I had debts to the amount of ten thousand francs behind me, +the interest on this sum, the rent of two thousand four hundred francs, +not a sou in my pocket, not a relative--" + +"That was courageous." + +"I did not know that in Paris everything is accomplished through +influence, and I imagined that an intelligent man could make his way +without assistance. I was to learn by experience. When a new doctor +arrives anywhere his brother doctors do not receive him with much +sympathy. 'What does this intruder want?' 'Are there not enough of us +already?' He is watched, and the first patient that he loses is made use +of as an example of his ignorance or imprudence, and his position becomes +uncomfortable. The chemists of my quarter whom I called upon did not +receive me very warmly; they made me feel the distance that separates an +honorable merchant from a beggar, and I was given to understand that they +could patronize me only on condition that I ordered the specialties that +they wished to profit by--iron from this one and tar from that. On +commencing to practise I had as patients only the people of the quarter, +whose principle was never to pay a doctor, and who wait for the arrival +of a new one in order that they may be rid of the old one and this sort +is numerous everywhere. It happened that my concierge was from Auvergne +like myself, and he considered it his duty to make me give free +attendance to all those from our country that he could find in the +quarter and everywhere else, so that I had the patriotic satisfaction of +seeing all the charcoal-dealers from Auvergne sprawling in my beautiful +armchairs. Finally, by remaining religiously at home every Sunday in +summer, while the other doctors were away, by rising quickly at night +every time my bell rang, I was able to acquire a practice among a class +of people who were more reasonable and satisfactory. I obtained a prize +at the Academy. At the same time I delivered, at a moderate price, +lectures in anatomy at schools on the outskirts of the city; I gave +lessons; I undertook all the anonymous work of the book trade and of +journalism that I could find. I slept five hours a day, and in four +years I had decreased my debt seven thousand francs. If my upholsterer +wished to be paid I could have it arranged, but that was not his +intention. He wishes to take his furniture that is not worn out, and to +keep the money that he has received. If I do not pay these three +thousand francs in a few days I shall be turned into the street. To tell +the truth, I shall soon have a thousand francs, but those who owe it to +me are not in Paris, or will pay in January. Behold my situation! I am +desperate because there is no one to whom I can apply; those whom I have +asked for money have not listened to me; I have told you that I have no +relatives, and neither have I any friends--perhaps because I am not +amiable. And then I thought of you. You know me. You know that people +say I have a future before me. At the end of three months I shall be a +doctor in the hospitals; my competitors admit that I shall not miss +admission; I have undertaken some experiments that will, perhaps, give me +fame. Will you give me your hand?" + +Glady extended it toward him. "I thank you for having applied to me; it +is a proof of confidence that touches me." He pressed the hand that he +had taken with some warmth. "I see that you have divined the sentiments +of esteem with which you have inspired me." + +Saniel drew a long breath. + +"Unfortunately," continued Glady, "I cannot do what you desire without +deviating from my usual line of conduct. When I started out in life I +lent to all those who appealed to me, and when I did not lose my friends +I lost my money. I then took an oath to refuse every one. It is an oath +that I cannot break. What would my old friends say if they learned that +I did for a young man what I have refused to do for them?" + +"Who would know it?" + +"My conscience." + +They had reached the Quai Voltaire, where fiacres were stationed. + +"At last here are some cabs," Glady said. "Pardon me for leaving you, +but I am in a hurry." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +A LAST RESORT + +Gady entered the cab so quickly that Saniel remained staring at the +sidewalk, slightly dazed. It was only when the door closed that he +understood. + +"His conscience!" he murmured. "Behold them! Tartufes!" + +After a moment of hesitation, he continued his way and reached the bridge +of Saints-Peres, but he walked with doubtful steps, like a man who does +not know where he is going. Presently he stopped, and, leaning his arms +on the parapet, watched the sombre, rapidly flowing Seine, its small +waves fringed with white foam. The rain had ceased, but the wind blew in +squalls, roughening the surface of the river and making the red and green +lights of the omnibus boats sway in the darkness. The passers-by came +and went, and more than one examined him from the corner of the eye, +wondering what this tall man was doing there, and if he intended to throw +himself into the water. + +And why not? What better could he do? + +And this was what Saniel said to himself while watching the flowing +water. One plunge, and he would end the fierce battle in which he had so +madly engaged for four years, and which would in the end drive him mad. + +It was not the first time that this idea of ending everything had tempted +him, and he only warded it off by constantly inventing combinations which +it seemed to him at the moment might save him. Why yield to such a +temptation before trying everything? And this was how he happened to +appeal to Glady. But he knew him, and knew that his avarice, about which +every one joked, had a certain reason for its existence. However, he +said to himself that if the landed proprietor obstinately refused a +friendly loan, which would only pay the debts of youth, the poet would +willingly fill the role of Providence and save from shipwreck, without +risking anything, a man with a future, who, later, would pay him back. +It was with this hope that he risked a refusal. The landed proprietor +replied; the poet was silent. And now there was nothing to expect from +any one. Glady was his last resort. + +In explaining his situation to Glady he lightened the misery instead of +exaggerating it. For it was not only his upholsterer that he owed, but +also his tailor, his bootmaker, his coal-dealer, his concierge, and all +those with whom he had dealings. In reality, his creditors had not +harassed him very much until lately, but this state of affairs would not +last when they saw him prosecuted; they also would sue him, and how could +he defend himself? How should he live? His only resource would be to +return to the Hotel du Senat, where even they would not leave him in +peace, or to his native town and become a country doctor. In either case +it was renouncing all his ambitions. Would it not be better to die? + +What good was life if his dreams were not realized--if he had nothing +that he wanted? + +Like many who frequently come in contact with death, life in itself was a +small thing to him--his own life as well as that of others; with Hamlet +he said: "To die, to sleep, no more," but without adding: "To die, to +sleep, perchance to dream," feeling certain that the dead do not dream; +and what is better than sleep to those who have had a hard life? + +He was absorbed in thought when something came between him and the +flaring gaslight, and threw a shadow over him that made him straighten +himself up. What was it? Only a policeman, who came and leaned against +the parapet near him. + +He understood. His attitude was that of a man who contemplates throwing +himself into the river, and the policeman had placed himself there in +order to prevent it. + +"Thanks!" he said to the astonished man. + +He continued his way, walking quickly, but hearing distinctly the steps +of the policeman following him, who evidently took him for a madman who +must be watched. + +When he left the bridge of Saints-Peres for the Place du Carrousel this +surveillance ceased, and he could then indulge freely in reflection--at +least as freely as his trouble and discouragement permitted. + +"The weak kill themselves; the strong fight to their last breath." + +And, low as he was, he was not yet at his last breath. + +When he decided to appeal to Glady he had hesitated between him and a +usurer named Caffie, whom he did not know personally, but whom he had +heard spoken of as a rascal who was interested in all sorts of affairs, +preferring the bad to the good--of successions, marriages, interdictions, +extortions; and if he had not been to him it was for fear of being +refused, as much as from the dread of putting himself in such hands in +case of meeting with compliance. But these scruples and these fears were +useless now; since Glady failed him, cost what it might and happen what +would, he must go to this scamp for assistance. + +He knew that Caffie lived in the Rue Sainte-Anne, but he did not know the +number. He had only to go to one of his patients, a wine-merchant in the +Rue Therese, to find his address in the directory. It was but a step, +and he decided to run the risk; there was need of haste. Discouraged by +all the applications that he had made up to this time, disheartened by +betrayed hopes, irritated by rebuffs, he did not deceive himself as to +the chances of this last attempt, but at least he would try it, slight +though the hope of success might be. + +It was an old house where Caffie lived, and had been formerly a private +hotel; it was composed of two wings, one on the street, the other on an +inside court. A porte cochere gave access to this court, and under its +roof, near the staircase, was the concierge's lodge. Saniel knocked at +the door in vain; it was locked and would not open. He waited several +minutes, and in his nervous impatience walked restlessly up and down the +court. At last an old woman appeared carrying a small wax taper. She +was feeble and bent, and began to excuse herself; she was alone and could +not be everywhere at the same time, in her lodge and lighting the lamps +on the stairways. Caffie lived on the first floor, in the wing on the +street. + +Saniel mounted the stairs and rang the bell. A long time passed, or at +least it seemed long to him, before there was an answer. At last he +heard a slow and heavy step on the tiled floor and the door was opened, +but held by a hand and a foot. + +"What do you wish?" + +"Monsieur Caffie." + +"I am he. Who are you?" + +"Doctor Saniel." + +"I have not sent for a doctor." + +"It is not as doctor that I am here, but as client." + +"This is not the hour when I receive clients." + +"But you are at home." + +"That is a fact!" + +And Caffie, concluding to open the door, asked Saniel to enter, and then +closed it. + +"Come into my office." + +They were in a small room filled with papers that had only an old desk +and three chairs for furniture; it communicated with the office of the +business man, which was larger, but furnished with the same simplicity +and strewn with scraps of paper that had a mouldy smell. + +"My clerk is ill just now," Caffie said, "and when I am alone I do not +like to open the door." + +After giving this excuse he offered Saniel a chair, and, seating himself +before his desk, lighted by a lamp from which he had taken the shade, he +said: + +"Doctor, I am ready to listen to you." + +He replaced the shade on the lamp. + +Saniel made his request concisely, without the details that he had +entered into with Glady. He owed three thousand francs to the +upholsterer who had furnished his apartment, and as he could not pay +immediately he was in danger of being prosecuted. + +"Who is the upholsterer?" Caffie asked, while holding his left jaw with +his right hand. + +"Jardine, Boulevard Haussmann." + +"I know him. It is his trade to take back his furniture in this way, +after three quarters of the sum has been paid, and he has become rich at +it. How much money have you already paid of this ten thousand francs?" + +"Including the interest and what I have paid in instalments, nearly +twelve thousand francs." + +"And you still owe three thousand?" + +"Yes." + +"That is nice." + +Caffie seemed full of admiration for this manner of proceeding. + +"What guarantee have you to offer for this loan of three thousand +francs?" + +"No other than my present position, I confess, and above all, my future." + +At Caffie's request he explained his plans and prospects for the future, +while the business man, with his cheek resting on his hand, listened, and +from time to time breathed a stifled sigh, a sort of groan. + +"Hum! hum!" he said when Saniel finished his explanation. "You know, +my dear friend, you know: + + To fools alone the future's smile unchangeable appears, + For Friday's laughter Sunday's sun may change to bitter tears." + +"It is Sunday with you, my dear sir." + +"But I am not at the end of my life nor at the end of my energy, and I +assure you that my energy makes me capable of many things." + +"I do not doubt it; I know what energy can do. Tell a Greek who is dying +of hunger to go to heaven and he will go + + Graeculus esuriens in coelum, jusseris, ibit." + +"But I do not see that you have started for heaven." + +A smile of derision, accompanied by a grimace, crossed Caffies face. +Before becoming the usurer of the Rue Sainte-Anne, whom every one called +a rascal, he had been attorney in the country, deputy judge, and if +unmerited evils had obliged him to resign and to hide the unpleasant +circumstances in Paris, he never lost an opportunity to prove that by +education he was far above his present position. Finding this new client +a man of learning, he was glad to make quotations that he thought would +make him worthy of consideration. + +"It is, perhaps, because I am not Greek," Saniel replied; "but I am an +Auvergnat, and the men of my country have great physical strength." + +Caffie shook his head. + +"My dear sir," he said, "I might as well tell you frankly that I do not +believe the thing can be done. I would do it myself willingly, because I +read intelligence in your face, and resolution in your whole person, +which inspire me with confidence in you; but I have no money to put into +such speculations. I can only be, as usual, a go-between--that is to +say, I can propose the loan to one of my clients, but I do not know one +who would be contented with the guarantee of a future that is more or +less uncertain. There are so many doctors in Paris who are in your +position." + +Saniel rose. + +"Are you going?" cried Caffie. + +"But--" + +"Sit down, my dear sir! It is no use to throw the handle after the axe. +You make me a proposition, and I show you the difficulties in the way, +but I do not say there is no way to extricate you from embarrassment. +I must look around. I have known you only a few minutes; but it does not +take long to appreciate a man like you, and, frankly, you inspire me with +great interest." + +What did he wish? Saniel was not simple enough to be caught by words, +nor was he a fop who accepts with gaping mouth all the compliments +addressed to him. Why did he inspire a sudden interest in this man who +had the reputation of pushing business matters to extremes? He would +find out. In the mean time he would be on his guard. + +"I thank you for your sympathy," he said. + +"I shall prove to you that it is real, and that it may become useful. +You come to me because you want three thousand francs. I hope I may find +them for you, and I promise to try, though it will be difficult, very +difficult. They will make you secure for the present. But will they +assure your future? that is, will they permit you to continue the +important works of which you have spoken to me, and on which your future +depends? No. Your struggles will soon begin again. And you must shake +yourself clear from such cares in order to secure for yourself the +liberty that is indispensable if you wish to advance rapidly. And to +obtain this freedom from cares and this liberty, I see only one way-- +you must marry." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +'TWIXT THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP SEA + +Saniel, who was on his guard and expected some sort of roguery from this +man, had not foreseen that these expressions of interest were leading up +to a proposal of marriage, and an exclamation of surprise escaped him. +But it was lost in the sound of the door-bell, which rang at that moment. + +Caffie rose. "How disagreeable it is not to have a clerk!" he said. + +He went to open the door with an eagerness that he had not shown to +Saniel, which proved that he had no fear of admitting people when he was +not alone. + +It was a clerk from the bank. + +"You will permit me," Caffie said, on returning to his office. "It will +take but an instant." + +The clerk took a paper from his portfolio and handed it to Caffie. + +Caffie drew a key from the pocket of his vest, with which he opened the +iron safe placed behind his desk, and turning his back to Saniel and the +clerk counted the bills which they heard rustle in his hands. Presently +he rose, and closing the door of the safe he placed under the lamp the +package of bills that he had counted. The clerk then counted them, and +placing them in his portfolio took his leave. + +"Close the door when you go out," Caffie said, who was already seated in +his arm-chair. + +"Do not be afraid." + +When the clerk was gone Caffie apologized for the interruption. + +"Let us continue our conversation, my dear sir. I told you that there is +only one way to relieve you permanently from embarrassment, and that way +you will find is in a good marriage, that will place 'hic et nunc' a +reasonable sum at your disposal." + +"But it would be folly for me to marry now, when I have no position to +offer a wife." + +"And your future, of which you have just spoken with so much assurance, +have you no faith in that?" + +"An absolute faith--as firm to-day as when I first began the battle of +life, only brighter. However, as others have not the same reasons that I +have to hope and believe what I hope and believe, it is quite natural +that they should feel doubts of my future. You felt it yourself +instantly in not finding it a good guarantee for the small loan of three +thousand francs." + +"A loan and marriage are not the same thing. A loan relieves you +temporarily, and leaves you in a state to contract several others +successively, which, you must acknowledge, weakens the guarantee that +you offer. While a marriage instantly opens to you the road that your +ambition wishes to travel." + +"I have never thought of marriage." + +"If you should think of it?" + +"There must be a woman first of all." + +"If I should propose one, what would you say?" + +"But--" + +"You are surprised?" + +"I confess that I am." + +"My dear sir, I am the friend of my clients, and for many of them--I dare +to say it--a father. And having much affection for a young woman, and +for the daughter of one of my friends, while listening to you I thought +that one or the other might be the woman you need. Both have fortunes, +and both possess physical attractions that a handsome man like yourself +has a right to demand. And for the rest, I have their photographs, and +you may see for yourself what they are." + +He opened a drawer in his desk, and took from it a package of +photographs. As he turned them over Saniel saw that they were all +portraits of women. Presently he selected two and handed them to Saniel. + +One represented a woman from thirty-eight to forty years, corpulent, +robust, covered with horrible cheap jewelry that she had evidently put on +for the purpose of being photographed. The other was a young girl of +about twenty years, pretty, simply and elegantly dressed, whose +distinguished and reserved physiognomy was a strong contrast to the first +portrait. + +While Saniel looked at these pictures Caffie studied him, trying to +discover the effect they produced. + +"Now that you have seen them," he said, "let us talk of them a little. +If you knew me better, my dear sir, you would know that I am frankness +itself, and in business my principle is to tell everything, the good and +the bad, so that my clients are responsible for the decisions they make. +In reality, there is nothing bad about these two persons, because, if +there were, I would not propose them to you. But there are certain +things that my delicacy compels me to point out to you, which I do +frankly, feeling certain that a man like you is not the slave of narrow +prejudices." + +An expression of pain passed over his face, and he clasped his jaw with +both hands. + +"You suffer?" Saniel asked. + +"Yes, from my teeth, cruelly. Pardon me that I show it; I know by myself +that nothing is more annoying than the sight of the sufferings of +others." + +"At least not to doctors." + +"Never mind; we will return to my clients. This one"--and he touched +the portrait of the bejewelled woman--" is, as you have divined already, +a widow, a very amiable widow. Perhaps she is a little older than you +are, but that is nothing. Your experience must have taught you that the +man who wishes to be loved, tenderly loved, pampered, caressed, spoiled, +should marry a woman older than himself, who will treat him as a husband +and as a son. Her first husband was a careful merchant, who, had he +lived, would have made a large fortune in the butcher business"--he +mumbled this word instead of pronouncing it clearly--"but although he +died just at the time when his affairs were beginning to develop, he left +twenty thousand pounds' income to his wife. As I have told you what is +good, I must tell you what is to be regretted. Carried away by gay +companions, this intelligent man became addicted to intemperance, and +from drinking at saloons she soon took to drinking at home, and his wife +drank with him. I have every reason to believe that she has reformed; +but, if it is otherwise, you, a doctor, can easily cure her--" + +"You believe it?" + +"Without doubt. However, if it is impossible, you need only let her +alone, and her vice will soon carry her off; and, as the contract will be +made according to my wishes in view of such an event, you will find +yourself invested with a fortune and unencumbered with a wife." + +"And the other?" Saniel said, who had listened silently to this curious +explanation of the situation that Caffie made with the most perfect good- +nature. So grave were the circumstances that he could not help being +amused at this diplomacy. + +"I expected your demand," replied the agent with a shrewd smile. "And if +I spoke of this amiable widow it was rather to acquit my conscience than +with any hope of succeeding. However free from prejudices one may be, +one always retains a few. I understand yours, and more than that, I +share them. Happily, what I am now about to tell you is something quite +different. Take her photograph, my dear sir, and look at it while I +talk. A charming face, is it not? She has been finely educated at a +fashionable convent. In a word, a pearl, that you shall wear. And now +I must tell you the flaw, for there is one. Who is blameless? The +daughter of one of our leading actresses, after leaving the convent she +returned to live with her mother. It was there, in this environment- +ahem! ahem!--that an accident happened to her. To be brief, she has a +sweet little child that the father would have recognized assuredly, had +he not been already married. But at least he has provided for its future +by an endowment of two hundred thousand francs, in such a way that +whoever marries the mother and legitimizes the child will enjoy the +interest of this sum until the child's majority. If that ever arrives-- +these little creatures are so fragile! You being a physician, you know +more about that than any one. In case of an accident the father will +inherit half the money from his son; and if it seems cruel for an own +father to inherit from his own son, it is quite a different thing when it +is a stranger who receives the fortune. This is all, my dear sir, +plainly and frankly, and I will not do you the injury to suppose that you +do not see the advantages of what I have said to you without need of my +insisting further. If I have not explained clearly," + +"But nothing is more clear." + +"--it is the fault of this pain that paralyzes me." + +And he groaned while holding his jaw. + +"You have a troublesome tooth?" Saniel said, with the tone of a +physician who questions a patient. + +"All my teeth trouble me. To tell the truth, they are all going to +pieces." + +"Have you consulted a doctor?" + +"Neither a doctor nor a dentist. I have faith in medicine, of course; +but when I consult doctors, which seldom happens, I notice that they +think much more of their own affairs than of what I am saying, and that +keeps me away from them. But, my dear sir, when a client consults me, I +put myself in his place." + +While he spoke, Saniel examined him, which he had not done until this +moment, and he saw the characteristic signs of rapid consumption. His +clothes hung on him as if made for a man twice his size, and his face was +red and shining, as if he were covered with a coating of cherry jelly. + +"Will you show me your teeth?" he asked. "It may be possible to relieve +your sufferings." + +"Do you think so?" + +The examination did not last long. + +"Your mouth is often dry, is it not?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +"You are often thirsty?" + +"Always." + +"Do you sleep well?" + +"No." + +"Your sight troubles you?" + +"Yes." + +"Have you a good appetite?" + +"Yes, I eat heartily; and the more I eat the thinner I become. I am +turning into a skeleton." + +"I see that you have scars from boils on the back of your neck." + +"They made me suffer enough, the rascals; but they are gone as they came. +Hang it, one is no longer young at seventy-two years; one has small +vexations. They are small vexations, are they not?" + +"Certainly. With some precautions and a diet that I shall prescribe, if +you wish, you will soon be better. I will give you a prescription that +will relieve your toothache." + +"We will talk of this again, because we shall have occasion to meet if, +as I presume, you appreciate the advantages of the proposition that I +have made you." + +"I must have time to reflect." + +"Nothing is more reasonable. There is no hurry." + +"But I am in a hurry because, if I do not pay Jardine, I shall find +myself in the street, which would not be a position to offer to a wife." + +"In the street? Oh, things will not come to such a pass as that! What +are the prosecutions?" + +"They will soon begin; Jardine has already threatened me." + +"They are going to begin? Then they have not begun. If he does, as we +presume he will, proceed by a replevin, we shall have sufficient time +before the judgment. Do you owe anything to your landlord?" + +"The lease expired on the fifteenth." + +"Do not pay it." + +"That is easy; it is the only thing that is easy for me to do." + +"It is an obstacle in the way of your Jardine, and may stop him a moment. +We can manage this way more easily. The important thing is to warn me as +soon as the fire begins. 'Au revoir', my dear Sir." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +A CHARMING VISITOR + +Although Saniel had had no experience in business, he was not simple +enough not to know that in refusing him this loan Caffie meant to make +use of him. + +"It is very simple," he said to himself, as he went downstairs. "He +undertakes to manage my affairs, and in such a way that some day I shall +have to save myself by marrying that charming girl. What a scoundrel!" + +However, the situation was such that he was glad to avail himself of the +assistance of this scoundrel. At least, some time was gained, and when +Jardine found that he was not disposed to let himself be slaughtered, he +might accept a reasonable arrangement. But he must manage so that Caffie +would not prevent this arrangement. + +Unfortunately, he felt himself hardly capable of such manoeuvring, having +been always straightforward, his eyes fixed on the end he wished to +attain, and thinking only of the work through which he would attain it. +And now he must act the part of a diplomat, submitting to craftiness and +rogueries that were not at all in accord with his open nature. He had +begun by not telling Caffie, instantly, what he thought of his +propositions; but it is more difficult to act than to control one's self, +to speak than to be silent. + +What would he say, what would he do, when the time for action came? + +He reached his house without having decided anything, and as he passed +before the concierge's lodge absorbed in thought, he heard some one call +him. + +"Doctor, come in a moment, I beg of you." + +He thought some one wished to consult him, some countryman who had waited +for his return; and, although he did not feel like listening patiently to +idle complainings, he turned back and entered the lodge. + +"Some one brought this," the concierge said, handing him a paper that was +stamped and covered with a running handwriting. "This" was the beginning +of the fire of which Caffie had spoken. Without reading it, Saniel put +it in his pocket and turned to go; but the concierge detained him. + +"I would like to say two words to 'monchieur le docteur' about this +paper." + +"Have you read it?" + +"No, but I talked with the officer who gave it to me, and he told me what +it meant. It is unfortunate, doctor." + +To be pitied by his concierge! This was too much. + +"It is not as he told you," he replied, haughtily. + +"So much the better. I am glad for you and for me. You can pay my +little bill." + +"Give it to me." + +"I have given it to you twice already, but I have a copy. Here it is." + +To be sued by a creditor paralyzed Saniel; he was stunned, crushed, +humiliated, and could only answer stupidly. Taking the bill that the +concierge handed him, he put it in his pocket and stammered a few words. + +"You see, doctor, I must say what has been in my heart a long time. You +are my countryman, and I esteem you too much not to speak. In taking +your apartment and engaging your upholsterer, you did too much. You ruin +yourself. Give up your apartment, and take the one opposite that costs +less than half, and you will get on. You will not be obliged to leave +this quarter. What will become of our neighbors if you leave us? You +are a good doctor; everybody knows it and says so. And now, as for my +bill, it is understood that I shall be paid first, shall I not?" + +"As soon as I have the money I will pay you." + +"It is a promise?" + +"I promise you." + +"Thank you very much." + +"If it could be to-morrow, it would suit me. I am not rich, you know, but +I have always paid the gas-bill for your experiments." + +With the paper in his pocket, Saniel returned to Caffie, who was just +going out, and to whom he gave it. + +"I will see about it this, evening," said the man of business. "Just now +I am going to dinner. Do not worry. To-morrow I will do what is +necessary. Good-evening. I am dying of hunger." + +But three days before, Saniel emptied his purse to soothe his upholsterer +by an instalment as large as he was able to make it, keeping only five +francs for himself, and with the few sous left he could not go to a +resttaurant, not even the lowest and cheapest. He could only buy some +bread for his supper, and eat it while working, as he had often done +before. + +But when he returned to his rooms he was not in a state of mind to write +an article that must be delivered that evening. Among other things that +he had undertaken was one, and not the least fastidious, which consisted +in giving, by correspondence, advice to the subscribers of a fashion +magazine, or, more exactly speaking, to recommend, in the form of medical +advice, all the cosmetics, depilatories, elixirs, dyes, essences, oils, +creams, soaps, pomades, toothpowders, rouges, and also all the chemists' +specialties, to which their inventors wished to give an authority that +the public, which believes itself acute, refused to the simple +advertisement on the last page. With his ambition and the career before +him, he would never have consented to carry on this correspondence under +his own name. He did it for a neighboring doctor, a simple man, who was +not so cautious, and who signed his name to these letters, glad to get +clients from any quarter. For his trouble, Saniel took this doctor's +place during Sunday in summer, and from time to time received a box of +perfumery or quack medicines, which he sold at a low price when occasion +offered. + +Every week he received the list of cosmetics and specialties that he must +make use of in his correspondence, no matter how he recommended them, +whether in answer to letters that were really addressed to him, or by +inventing questions that gave him the opportunity to introduce them. + +He began to consult this list and the pile of letters from subscribers +that the magazine had sent him, when the doorbell rang. Perhaps it was a +patient, the good patient whom he had expected for four years. He left +his desk to open the door. + +It was his coal man, who came with his bill. + +"I will stop some day when I am near you," Saniel said. "I am in a hurry +this evening." + +"And I am in a hurry, too; I must pay a large bill tomorrow, and I count +upon having some money from you." + +"I have no money here." + +After a long talk he got rid of the man and returned to his desk. He had +answered but a few of the many letters when his bell rang again. This +time he would not open the door; it was a creditor, without doubt. And +he continued his correspondence. + +But for four years he had waited for chance to draw him a good ticket in +the lottery of life--a rich patient afflicted with a cyst or a tumor that +he would take to a fashionable surgeon, who would divide with him the ten +or fifteen thousand francs that he would receive for the operation. In +that case he would be saved. + +He ran to the door. The patient with the cyst presented himself in the +form of a small bearded man with a red face, wearing over his vest the +wine-merchant's apron of coarse black cloth. In fact, it was the wine +merchant from the corner, who, having heard of the officer's visit, came +to ask for the payment of his bill for furnishing wine for three months. + +A scene similar to that which he had had with the coal merchant, but more +violent, took place, and it was only by threatening to put him out of the +door that Saniel got rid of the man, who went away declaring that he +would come the next morning with an officer. + +Saniel returned to his work. + +His pen flew over the paper, when a noise made him raise his head. +Either he had not closed the door tightly, or his servant was entering +with his key. What did he want? He did not employ him all day, but only +during his office hours, to put his rooms in order and to open the door +for his clients. + +As Saniel rose to go and see who it was, there was a knock at the door. +It was his servant, with a blank and embarrassed air. + +"What is the matter, Joseph?" + +"I thought I should find you, sir, so I came." + +"Why?" + +Joseph hesitated; then, taking courage, he said volubly, while lowering +his eyes: + +"I came to ask, sir, if you will pay me my month, which expired on the +fifteenth, because there is need of money at my house; if there was not +need of money I would not have come. If you wish, sir, I will release +you--" + +"How?" + +"I will take the coat that you made me order a month ago; I am quite sure +it is not worth what is due me, but it is always so." + +"Take the coat." + +Joseph took the coat from the wardrobe in the hall, and rolled it in a +newspaper. + +"Of course you will not expect me in the morning," he said, as he put his +key on the table. "I must look out for another place." + +"Very well, I shall not expect you." + +"Good-evening, sir." + +And Joseph hurried away as quickly as possible. + +Left alone, Saniel did not return to his work immediately, but throwing +himself in an armchair he cast a melancholy glance around his office and +through the open door into the parlor. In the faint light of the candle +he saw the large armchairs methodically placed each side of the chimney, +the curtains at the windows lost in shadow, and all the furniture which +for four years had cost him so many efforts. He had long been the +prisoner of this Louis XIV camlet, and he was now going to be executed. +A beautiful affair, truly, brilliant and able! All this had been used +only by the poor Auvergnats, without Saniel enjoying it at all, for he +had neither the bourgeois taste for ornaments nor the desire for +elegance. A movement of anger and revolt against himself made him strike +his desk with his fist. What a fool he had been! + +The bell rang again. This time, not expecting a rich patient, he would +not open it. After a moment a slight tap was heard on the panel. He +rose quickly and ran to open the door. + +A woman threw herself into his arms. + +"O my dearest! I am so glad to find you at home!" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +A SWEET CONSOLER + +She passed her arm about him and pressed him to her, and with arms +entwined they entered the study. + +"How glad I am!" she said. "What a good idea I had!" + +With a quick movement she took off her long gray cloak that enveloped her +from head to foot. + +"And are you glad?" she asked, as she stood looking at him. + +"Can you ask that?" + +"Only to hear you say that you are." + +"Are you not my only joy, the sweet lamp that gives me light in the +cavern where I work day and night?" + +"Dear Victor!" + +She was a tall, slender young woman with chestnut hair, whose thick curls +clustering about her forehead almost touched her eyebrows. Her beautiful +eyes were dark, her nose short, while her superb teeth and rich, ruby- +colored lips gave her the effect of a pretty doll; and she had gayety, +playful vivacity, gracious effrontery, and a passionate caressing glance. +Dressed extravagantly, like the Parisian woman who has not a sou, but who +adorns everything she wears, she had an ease, a freedom, a natural +elegance that was charming. With this she had the voice of a child, a +joyous laugh, and an expression of sensibility on her fresh face. + +"I have come to dine with you," she said, gayly, "and I am so hungry." + +He made a gesture that was not lost upon her. + +"Do I disturb you?" she asked, uneasily. + +"Not at all." + +"Must you go out?" + +"No." + +"Then why did you make a gesture that showed indifference, or, at least, +embarrassment?" + +"You are mistaken, my little Phillis." + +"With any one else I might be mistaken, but with you it is impossible. +You know that between us words are not necessary; that I read in your +eyes what you would say, in your face what you think and feel. Is it not +always so when one loves--as I love you?" + +He took her in his arms and kissed her long and tenderly. Then going to +a chair on which he had thrown his coat, he drew from the pocket the +bread that he had bought. + +"This is my dinner," he said, showing the bread. + +"Oh! I must scold you. Work is making you lose your head. Can you not +take time to eat?" + +He smiled sadly. + +"It is not time that I want." + +He fumbled in his pocket and brought out three big sous. + +"I cannot dine at a restaurant with six sous." + +She threw herself in his arms. + +"O dearest, forgive me!" she cried. "Poor, dear martyr! Dear, great +man! It is I who accuse you, when I ought to embrace your knees. And +you do not scold me; a sad smile is your only reply. And it is really so +bad as that! Nothing to eat!" + +"Bread is very good eating. If I might be assured that I shall always +have some!" + +"Well, to-day you shall have something more and better. This morning, +seeing the storm, an idea came to me associated with you. It is quite +natural, since you are always in my heart and in my thoughts. I told +mamma that if the storm continued I would dine at the pension. You can +imagine with what joy I listened to the wind all day, and watched the +rain and leaves falling, arid the dead branches waving in the whirlwind. +Thank God, the weather was bad enough for mamma to believe me safe at the +pension; and here I am. But we must not fast. I shall go and buy +something to eat, and we will play at making dinner by the fire, which +will be far more amusing than going to a restaurant." + +She put on her cloak quickly. + +"Set the table while I make my purchases." + +"I have my article to finish that will be sent for at eight o'clock. +Just think, I have three tonics to recommend, four preparations of iron, +a dye, two capillary lotions, an opiate, and I don't know how many soaps +and powders. What a business!" + +"Very well, then, do not trouble yourself about the table; we will set it +together when you have finished, and that will be much more amusing." + +"You take everything in good part." + +"Is it better to look on the dark side? I shall soon return." + +She went to the door. + +"Do not be extravagant," he said. + +"There is no danger," she replied, striking her pocket. + +Then, returning to him, she embraced him passionately. + +"Work!" + +And she ran out. + +They had loved each other for two years. At the time they met, Saniel +was giving a course of lectures on anatomy at a young ladies' school just +outside of Paris, and every time he went out there he saw a young woman +whom he could not help noticing. She came and went on the same trains +that he did, and gave lessons in a rival school. As she frequently +carried under her arm a large cartoon, and sometimes a plaster cast, he +concluded that she gave lessons in drawing. At first he paid no +attention to her. What was she to him? He had more important things in +his head than women. But little by little, and because she was reserved +and discreet, he was struck by the vivacity and gayety of her expression. +He really enjoyed looking at this pretty and pleasing young woman. +However, his looks said nothing; if their eyes smiled when they met, that +was all; they did not make each other's acquaintance. When they left the +train they did not notice each other; if he took the left side of the +street, she took the other, and vice versa. This state of things lasted +several months without a word having been exchanged between them; in due +time they learned each other's names and professions. She was a +professor of drawing, as he supposed, the daughter of an artist who had +been dead several years, and was called Mademoiselle Phillis Cormier. +He was a physician for whom a brilliant future was prophesied, a man of +power, who would some day be famous; and, very naturally, their attitude +remained the same. There was no particular reason why it should change. +But accident made a reason. One summer day, at the hour when they +ordinarily took the train back to Paris, the sky suddenly became +overcast, and it was evident that a violent storm was approaching. +Saniel saw Phillis hurrying to the station without an umbrella, and, as +some friend had lent him one, he decided to speak to her for the first +time. + +"It seems as if the storm would overtake us before we reach the station. +As you have no umbrella, will you permit me to walk beside you, and to +shelter you with mine?" + +She replied with a smile, and they walked side by side until the rain +began to fall, when she drew nearer to him, and they entered the station +talking gayly. + +"Your umbrella is better than Virginia's skirt," she said. + +"And what is Virginia's skirt?" + +"Have you not read Paul and Virginia?" + +"No." + +She looked at him with a mocking smile, wondering what superior men read. + +Not only had he not read Bernardin de Saint-Pierre's romance, nor any +others, but he had never been in love. He knew nothing of the affairs of +the heart nor of the imagination. Leisure must be had for light reading, +and even more for love, for they require a liberty of mind and an +independence of life that he had not. Where could he find time to read +novels? When and how could he pay attention to a woman? Those that he +had known since his arrival in Paris had not had the slightest influence +over him, and he retained only faint memories of them. On the contrary, +thinking of this walk in the rain, he remembered this young girl with a +vividness entirely new to him. She made a strong impression on him, and +it remained. He saw her again, with her smile that showed her brilliant +teeth, he heard the music of her voice, and the bare plain that he had +walked so many times now seemed the most beautiful country in the world +to him. Evidently there was a change in him; something was awakened in +his soul; for the first time he discovered that the hollow and muscular +conoid organ called the heart had a use besides for the circulation of +blood. + +What a surprise and what a disappointment! Was he going to be simpleton +enough to love this young girl and entangle his life, already so hard and +heavily weighted, with a woman? A fine thing, truly, and nature had +built him to play the lover! It is true that only those who wish it fall +in love, and he knew the power of will by experience. + +But he soon lost confidence in himself. Away from Phillis he could do as +he wished, but with her it was as she wished. With one look she mastered +him. He met her, furious at the influence she exercised over him, and +against which he had struggled since their last meeting; he left her, +ravished at feeling how profoundly he loved her. + +To a man whose life had been ruled by reason and logic until this moment, +these contradictions were exasperating; and he only excused himself for +submitting to them by saying that they could in no way modify the line of +conduct that he had traced out for himself, nor make him deviate from the +road that he followed. + +Rich, or even with a small fortune, he might--when he was with her and in +her power--let himself be carried away; but when he was dying of hunger +he was not going to commit the folly of taking a wife. What would he +have to give her? Misery, nothing but misery; and shame, in default of +any other reason, would forever prevent him from offering himself to her. + +She was the daughter of an artist who, after years of struggle, died at +the moment when fortune was beginning to smile upon him. Ten years more +of work, and he would have left his family, if not rich, at least in +comfortable circumstances. In reality, he left nothing but ruin. The +hotel he built was sold, and, after the debts were paid, nothing remained +but some furniture. His widow, son, and daughter must work. The widow, +having no trade, took in sewing; the son left college to become the clerk +of a money-lender named Caffie; the daughter, who, happily for her, had +learned to draw and paint under her father's direction, obtained pupils, +and designed menacs for the stationers, and painted silk fans and boxes. +They lived with great economy, submitting to many privations. The +brother, weary of his monotonous existence and of the exactions of his +master, left them to try his fortunes in America. + +If Saniel ever married, which he doubted, certainly he would not marry a +woman situated as Phillis was. + +This reflection was reassuring, and he was more devoted to her. Why +should he not enjoy the delicious pleasure of seeing her and listening to +her? His life was neither gay nor happy; he felt perfectly sure of +himself, and, as he knew her now, he was also sure of her--a brave and +honest girl. Otherwise, how had she divined that he loved her? + +They continued to see each other with a pleasure that seemed equal on +both sides, meeting in the station, arranging to take the same trains, +and talking freely and gayly. + +Things went on this way until the approach of vacation, when they decided +to take a walk after their last lesson, instead of returning immediately +to Paris. + +When the day came the sun was very hot; they had walked some distance, +when Phillis expressed a wish to rest for a few minutes. They seated +themselves in a shady copse, and soon found themselves in each other's +arms. + +Since then Saniel had never spoken of marriage, and neither had Phillis. + +They loved each other. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +A LITTLE DINNER FOR TWO + +Saniel was still at work when Phillis returned. + +"You have not yet finished, dear?" + +"Give me time to cure, by correspondence, a malady that has not yielded +to the care of ten physicians, and I am yours." + +In three lines he finished the letter, and left his desk. + +"I am ready. What shall I do?" + +"Help me to take things out of my pockets." + +"Don't press too hard," she said as he took each parcel. + +At last the pockets were empty. + +"Where shall we dine?" she asked. + +"Here, as the dining-room is transformed into a laboratory." + +"Then let us begin by making a good fire. I wet my feet coming from the +station." + +"I do not know whether there is any wood." + +"Let us see." + +She took the candle and they passed into the kitchen, which, like the +dining-room, was a laboratory, a stable where Saniel kept in cages pigs +from India and rabbits for his experiments, and where Joseph heaped pell- +mell the things that were in his way, without paying any attention to the +stove in which there never had been a fire. But their search was vain; +there was everything in this kitchen except fire-wood. + +"Do you value these boxes?" she asked, caressing a little pig that she +had taken in her arms. + +"Not at all; they enclosed the perfumes and tonics, but they are useless +now." + +They returned to the office, Saniel carrying the boxes. + +"We will set the table here," she said, gayly, for Saniel told her that +the dining-room was uninviting, as it was a small bacteriological +laboratory. + +The table was set by Phillis, who went and came, walking about with a +gracefulness that Saniel admired. + +"You are doing nothing," she said. + +"I am watching you and thinking." + +"And the result of these thoughts?" + +"It is that you have a fund of good-humor and gayety, an exuberance of +life, that would enliven a man condemned to death." + +"And what would have become of us, I should like to know, if I had been +melancholy and discouraged when we lost my poor papa? He was joy itself, +singing all day long, laughing and joking. He brought me up, and I am +like him. Mamma, as you know, is melancholy and nervous, looking on the +dark side, and Florentin is like her. I obtained a place for Florentin, +I found work for mamma and for myself. We all took courage, and +gradually we became calm." + +She looked at him with a smile that said: + +"Will you let me do for you what I have done for others?" + +But she did not speak these words. On the contrary, she immediately +endeavored to destroy the impression which she believed her words had +made upon him. + +"Go and bring some water," she said, "and I will light the fire." + +When he returned, carrying a carafe, the fire blazed brightly, lighting +the whole room. Phillis was seated at the desk, writing. + +"What are you doing?" he asked in surprise. + +"I am writing our menu, for you know we are not going to sit down at the +table like the bourgeois. How do you like it?" + +She read it to him. + +"Sardines de Nantes." + +"Cuisse de dinde rotie." + +"Terrine de pate de foie gras aux truffes du Perigord." + +"But this is a feast." + +"Did you think that I would offer you a fricandeau au jus?" + +She continued: + +"Fromage de Brie." + +"Choux a la creme vanillge." + +"Pomme de Normandie." + +"Wine." + +"Ah! Voila! What wine? I do not wish to deceive you. Let us put, +'Wine from the wine-seller at the corner.' And now we will sit down." + +As he was about to seat himself, she said: + +"You do not give me your arm to conduct me to the table. If we do not do +things seriously and methodically we shall not believe in them, and +perhaps the Perigord truffles will change into little black pieces of +anything else." + +When they were seated opposite to each other, she continued, jesting: + +"My dear doctor, did you go to the representation of Don Juan, on +Monday?" + +And Saniel, who, in spite of all, had kept a sober face, now laughed +loudly. + +"Charming!" she cried, clapping her hands. "No more preoccupation; no +more cares. Look into my eyes, dear Victor, and think only of the +present hour, of the joy of being together, of our love." + +She reached her hand over the table, and he pressed it in his. + +"Very well." The dinner continued gayly, Saniel replying to Phillis's +smiles, who would not permit the conversation to languish. She helped +him to each dish, poured out his wine, leaving her chair occasionally to +put a piece of wood on the fire, and such shoutings and laughter had +never been heard before in that office. + +However, she noticed that, little by little, Saniel's face, that relaxed +one moment, was the next clouded by the preoccupation and bitterness that +she had tried hard to chase away. She would make a new effort. + +"Does not this charming little dinner give you the wish to repeat it?" + +"How? Where?" + +"As I am able to come this evening without making mamma uneasy, I shall +find some excuse to come again next week." + +He shook his head. + +"Have you engagements for the whole of next week?" she asked with +uneasiness. + +"Where shall I be next week, to-morrow, in a few days?" + +"You alarm me. Explain, I beg of you. O Victor, have pity! Do not +leave me in suspense." + +"You are right; I ought to tell you everything, and not let your tender +heart torment itself, trying to explain my preoccupation." + +"If you have cares, do you not esteem me enough to let me share them with +you? You know that I love you; you only, to-day, to-morrow, forever!" + +Saniel had not left her ignorant of the difficulties of his position, but +he had not entered into details, preferring to speak of his hopes rather +than of his present misery. + +The story that he had already told to Glady and Caffie he now told to +Phillis, adding what had passed with the concierge, the wine-seller, the +coal man, and Joseph. + +She listened, stupefied. + +"He took your coat?" she murmured. + +"That was what he came for." + +"And to-morrow?" + +"Ah! to-morrow--to-morrow!" + +"Working so hard as you have, how did you come to such a pass?" + +"Like you, I believed in the virtue of work, and look at me! Because I +felt within me a will that nothing could weaken, a strength that nothing +could fatigue, a courage that nothing could, dishearten, I imagined that +I was armed for battle in such a way that I should never be conquered, +and I am conquered, as much by the fault of circumstances as by my own--" + +"And in what are you to blame, poor dear?" + +"For my ignorance of life, stupidity, presumption, and blindness. +If I had been less simple, should I have been taken in by Jardine's +propositions? Should I have accepted this furniture, this apartment? +He told me that the papers he made me sign were mere formalities, that +in reality I might pay when I could, and that he would be content with +a fair interest. That seemed reasonable, and, without inquiring further, +I accepted, happy and delighted to have a home, feeling sure of having +strength to bear this burden. To have confidence in one's self is +strength, but it is also weakness. Because you love me you do not know +me; you do not see me as I am. In reality, I am not sociable, and I +lack, absolutely, suppleness, delicacy, politeness, as much in my +character as in my manners. Being so, how can I obtain a large practice, +or succeed, unless it is by some stroke of luck? I have counted on the +luck, but its hour has not yet sounded. Because I lack suppleness I have +not been able to win the sympathy or interest of my masters. They see +only my reserve; and because I stay away from them, as much through +timidity as pride, they do not come to me--which is quite natural, I +admit. And because I have not yielded my ideas to the authority of +others, they have taken a dislike to me, which is still more natural. +Because I lack politeness, and am still an Auvergnat, heavy and awkward +as nature made me, men of the world disdain me, judging me by my +exterior, which they see and dislike. More wary, more sly, more +experienced, I should be, at least, sustained by friendship, but I have +given no thought to it. What good is it? I had no need of it, my force +was sufficient. I find it more easy to make myself feared than loved. +Thus formed, there are only two things for me to do: remain in my poor +room in the Hotel du Senat, living by giving lessons and by work from the +booksellers, until the examination and admission to the central bureau; +or to establish myself in an out-of-the-way quarter at Belleville, +Montrouge, or elsewhere, and there practise among people who will demand +neither politeness nor fine manners. As these two ways are reasonable, +I have made up my mind to neither. Belleville, because I should work +only with my legs, like one of my comrades whom I saw work at Villette: +'Your tongue, good. Your arm, good.' And while he is supposed to be +feeling the pulse of the patient with one hand, with the other he is +writing his prescription: 'Vomitive, purgative, forty sous;' and he +hurries away, his diagnosis having taken less than five minutes; he had +no time to waste. I object to the Hotel du Senat because I have had +enough of it, and it was there that Jardine tempted me with his +proposals. See what he has brought me to!" + +"And now?" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +EXPLANATIONS + +At this moment, without warning, the candle on the table went out. + +Phillis rose. "Where are the candles?" she asked. + +"There are no more; this was the last." + +"Then we must brighten up the fire." + +She threw a small log on the hearth, and then, instead of resuming her +seat, she took a cushion from the sofa, and placing it before the +chimney, threw herself upon it, and leaned her elbow on Saniel's knee. + +"And now?" she repeated, her eyes raised to his. + +"Now I suppose the only thing for me to do is to return to Auvergne and +become a country doctor." + +"My God! is it possible?" she murmured in a tone that surprised Saniel. +If there was sadness in this cry, there was also a sentiment that he did +not understand. + +"On leaving the school I could continue to live at the Hotel du Senat, +and, while giving lessons, prepare my 'concours'; now, after having +reached a certain position, can I return to this life of poverty and +study? My creditors, who have fallen on me here, will harass me, and my +competitors will mock my misery--which is caused by my vices. They will +think that I dishonor the Faculty, and I shall be rebuffed. Neither +doctor of the hospitals nor fellow, I shall be reduced to nothing but a +doctor of the quarter. Of what use is it? The effort has been made +here; you see how it has succeeded." + +"Then you mean to go?" + +"Not without sorrow and despair, since it will be our separation, the +renouncement of all the hopes on which I have lived for ten years, the +abandonment of my work, death itself. You see now why, in spite of your +gayety, I have not been able to hide my preoccupation from you. The more +charming you were, the more I felt how dear you are, and the greater my +despair at the thought of separation." + +"Why should we separate?" + +"What do you mean?" + +She turned toward him. + +"To go with you. You must acknowledge that until this moment I have +never spoken to you of marriage, and never have I let the thought appear +that you might one day make me your wife. In your position, in the +struggle you have been through, a wife would have been a burden that +would have paralyzed you; above all, such a poor, miserable creature as +myself, with no dot but her misery and that of her family. But the +conditions are no longer the same. You are as miserable as I am, and +more desperate. In your own country, where you have only distant +relatives who are nothing to you, as they have not your education or +ideas, desires or habits, what will become of you all alone with your 158 +disappointment and regrets? If you accept me, I will go with you; +together, and loving each other, we cannot be unhappy anywhere. When you +come home fatigued you will find me with a smile; when you stay at home +you will tell me your thoughts, and explain your work, and I will try to +understand. I have no fear of poverty, you know, and neither do I fear +solitude. Wherever we are together I shall be happy. All that I ask of +you is to take my mother with us, because you know I cannot leave her +alone. In attending her, you have learned to know her well enough to +know that she is not disagreeable or difficult to please. As for +Florentin, he will remain in Paris and work. His trip to America has +made him wise, and his ambition will now be easily satisfied; to earn a +small salary is all that he asks. Without doubt we shall be a burden, +but not so heavy as one might think at first. A woman, when she chooses, +brings order and economy into a house, and I promise you that I will be +that woman. And then I will work. I am sure my stationer will give me +as many menus when I am in Auvergne as he does now that I am in Paris. +I could, also, without doubt, procure other work. It would be a hundred +francs a month, perhaps a hundred and fifty, perhaps even two hundred. +While waiting for your patients to come, we could live on this money. +In Auvergne living must be cheap." + +She had taken his hands in hers, and she watched anxiously his face as +the firelight shone on it, to see the effect of her words. It was the +life of both of them that was to be decided, and the fulness of her heart +made her voice tremble. What would he reply? She saw that his face was +agitated, without being able to read more. + +As she remained silent, he took her head in his hands, and looked in her +face for several moments. + +"How you love me!" he said. + +"Let me prove it in some way besides in words." + +"It would be cowardly to let you share my misery." + +"It would be loving me enough to feel sure that I would be happy." + +"And I?" + +"Is not the love in your heart greater than pride? Do you not feel that +since I have loved you my love has filled all my life, and that there is +nothing in the world, in the present or in the future, but it and you? +Because I see you for several hours from time to time in Paris, I am +happy; whatever difficulties await us, I should be much happier in +Auvergne, because we should be together always." + +He remained silent for some time. + +"Could you love me there?" he murmured. + +Evidently it was more to himself than to her that he addressed this +question, which was the sum of his reflections. + +"O dear Victor!" she cried. "Why do you doubt me? Have I deserved it? +The past, the present, do they not assure the future?" + +He shook his head. + +"The man you have loved, whom you love, has never shown himself to you as +he really is. In spite of the trials and sorrows of his life he has been +able to answer your smile with a smile, because, cruel as his life was, +he was sustained by hope and confidence; in Auvergne there will be no +more hope or confidence, but the madness of a broken life, and the +dejection of impotence. What sort of man should I be? Could you love +such a man?" + +"A thousand times more, for he would be unhappy, and I should have to +comfort him." + +"Would you have the strength to do it? After a time you would become +weary, for the burden would be too heavy, however great your devotion or +profound your tenderness, to see my real position and my hopes, and, +descending into the future, to see my ruin. You know I am ambitious +without having ever compassed the scope of this ambition, and of the +hopes, dreams if you like, on which it rests. Understand that these +dreams are on the eve of being realized; two months more, and in December +or January I pass the 'concours' for the central bureau, which will make +me a physician of the hospitals, and at the same time the one for the +admission, which opens the Faculty of Medicine to me. Without pride, I +believe myself in a position to succeed--what sportsmen call 'in +condition.' And just when I have only a few days to wait, behold me +ruined forever." + +"Why forever?" + +"A man leaves his village for Paris to make a name for himself, and he +returns only when bad luck or inability sends him back. And then it is +only every four years that there is a 'concours' for admission. In four +years what will be my moral and intellectual condition? How should I +support this exile of four years? Imagine the effect that four years of +isolation in the mountains will produce. But this is not all. Besides +this ostensible end that I have pursued since I left my village, I have +my special work that I can carry out only in Paris. Without having +overwhelmed you with the details of medicine, you know that it is about +to undergo a revolution that will transform it. Until now it has been +taught officially, in pathology, that the human organism carries within +itself the germ of a great many infectious diseases which develop +spontaneously in certain conditions; for instance, that tuberculosis is +the result of fatigue, privations, and physiological miseries. Well, +recently it has been admitted, that is to say, the revolutionists admit, +a parasitical origin for these diseases, and in France and Germany there +is an army looking for these parasites. I am a soldier in this army, and +to help me in these researches I established a laboratory in the dining- +room. It is to the parasites of tuberculosis and cancers that I devote +myself, and for seven years, that is, since I was house-surgeon, my +comrades have called me the cancer topic. I have discovered the parasite +of the tuberculosis, but I have not yet been able to free it from all its +impurities by the process of culture. I am still at it. That is to say, +I am very near it, and to-morrow, perhaps, or in a few days, I may make a +discovery that will be a revolution, and cover its discoverer with glory. +The same with the cancer. I have found its microbe. But all is not +done. See what I must give up in leaving Paris." + +"Why give all this up? Could you not continue your researches in +Auvergne?" + +"It is impossible, for many reasons that are too long to explain, but one +will suffice. The culture of these parasites can be done only in certain +temperatures rigorously maintained at the necessary degree, and these +temperatures can be obtained only by stoves, like the one in my +laboratory, fed by gas, the entrance of which is automatically regulated +by the temperature of the water. How could I use this stove in a country +where there is no gas? No, no! If I leave Paris, everything is at an +end my position, as well as my work. I shall become a country doctor, +and nothing but a country doctor. Let the sheriff turn me out to-morrow, +and all the four years' accumulations in my laboratory, all my works en +train that demand only a few days or hours to complete, may go to the +second-hand dealer, or be thrown into the street. Of all my efforts, +weary nights, privations, and hopes, there remains only one souvenir--for +me. And yet, if it did not remain, perhaps I should be less exasperated, +and should accept with a heart less sore the life to which I shall never +resign myself. You know very well that I am a rebel, and do not submit +tamely." + +She rose, and taking his hand, pressed it closely in her own. + +"You must stay in Paris," she said. "Pardon me for having insisted that +you could live in the country. I thought more of myself than of you, of +our love and our marriage. It was an egotistic thought, a bad thought. +A way must be found, no matter what it costs, to enable you to continue +your work." + +"But how to find it? Do you think I have not tried everything?" + +He related his visits to Jardine, his solicitations, prayers, and also +his request of a loan from Glady, and his visit to Caffie. + +"Caffie!" she cried. "What made you think of going to Caffie?" + +"I went partly because you had often spoken of him." + +"But I spoke of him to you as the most wicked of men, capable of anything +and everything that is bad." + +"And partly, also, because I knew from one of my patients that he lends +to those of whom he can make use." + +"What did he say to you?" + +"That it was probable he would not be able to find any one who would lend +what I wished, but he would try to find some one, and would give me an +answer tomorrow evening. He also promised to protect me from Jardine." + +"You have put yourself in his hands?" + +"Well, what do you expect? In my position, I am not at liberty to go to +whom I wish and to those who inspire me with confidence in their honor. +If I should go to a notary or a banker they would not listen to me, for I +should be obliged to tell them, the first thing, that I have no security +to offer. That is how the unfortunate fall into the hands of rascals; at +least, these listen to them, and lend them something, small though it may +be." + +"What did he give you?" + +"Advice." + +"And you took it?" + +"There is time gained. To-morrow, perhaps, I shall be turned into the +street. Caffie will obtain a respite." + +"And what price will he ask for this service?" + +"It is only those who own something who worry about the price." + +"You have your name, dignity, and honor, and once you are in Caffies +hands, who knows what he may exact from you, what he may make you do, +without your being able to resist him?." + +"Then you wish me to leave Paris?" + +"Certainly not; but I wish you to be on your guard against Caffie, whom +you do not know, but I do, through what Florentin told us when he was +with him. However secret a man may be, he cannot hide himself from his +clerk. He is not only guilty of rascalities, but also of real crimes. +I assure you that he deserves ten deaths. To gain a hundred francs he +will do anything; he makes money only for the pleasure of making it, for +he has neither child nor relative." + +"Well, I promise to be on my guard as you advise. But, wicked as Caffie +may be, I believe that I shall accept the concours that he offered me. +Who knows what may happen in the short time that he gains for me? +Because I need not tell you that I know beforehand what his reply will be +to my request for a loan--he could find no one." + +"I shall come, all the same, to-morrow evening to learn his answer." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +CAFFIE'S ANSWER + +Although Saniel did not build any false hopes on Caffie's reply, he went +to see him the next afternoon at the same hour. + +As before, he waited some time after ringing the bell. At last he heard +a slow step within. + +"Who is there?" Caffie asked. + +As soon as Saniel answered, the door was opened. + +"As I do not like to be disturbed in the evening by troublesome people, I +do not always open the door," Caffie said. "But I have a signal for my +clients so that I may know them. After ringing, knock three times on the +door." + +During this explanation they entered Caffie's office. + +"Have you done anything about my affair?" Saniel asked, after a moment, +as Caffie seemed disinclined to open the conversation. + +"Yes, my dear sir. I have been running about all the morning for you. +I never neglect my clients; their affairs are mine." + +He paused. + +"Well?" Saniel said. + +Caffie put on an expression of despair. + +"What did I tell you, my dear sir? Do you remember? Do me the honor to +believe that a man of my experience does not speak lightly. What I +foresaw has come to pass. Everywhere I received the same reply. The +risk is too great; no one would take it." + +"Not even for a large interest?" + +"Not even for a large interest; there is so much competition in your +profession. As for me, I believe in your future, and I have proved it by +my proposition; but, unfortunately, I am only an intermediary, and not +the lender of money." + +Caffie emphasized the words, "my proposition," and underlined them with a +glance; but Saniel did not appear to understand. + +"And the upholsterer's summons?" he asked. + +"You may be easy on that point. I have attended to it. Your landlord, +to whom he owes rent, will interfere, and your creditor must indemnify +him before going farther. Will he submit? We shall see. If he does, we +shall defend ourselves on some other ground. I do not say victoriously, +but in a way to gain time." + +"How much time?" + +"That, my dear sir, I do not know; the whole thing depends upon our +adversary. But what do you mean by 'how much time?'--eternity?" + +"I mean until April." + +"That is eternity. Do you believe that you will be able to free yourself +in April? If you have expectations founded on something substantial, you +should tell me what they are, my dear sir." + +This question was put with such an air of benevolence, that Saniel was +taken in by it. + +"I have no guarantee," he said. "But, on the other hand, it is of the +utmost importance to me that I should have this length of time. As I +have explained to you, I am about to pass two examinations; they will +last three months, and in March, or, at the latest, in April, I shall be +a physician of the hospitals, and fellow of the Faculty. In that case I +should then offer a surface to the lenders, that would permit you, +without doubt, to find the sum necessary to pay Jardine, whatever +expenses there may be, and your fee." + +As he spoke, Saniel saw that he was wrong in thus committing himself, but +he continued to the end. + +"I should be unworthy of your confidence, my dear sir," Caffie replied, +"if I encouraged you with the idea that we could gain so much time. +Whatever it costs me--and it costs me much, I assure you--I must tell you +that it is impossible, radically impossible; a few days, yes, or a few +weeks, but that is all." + +"Well, obtain a few weeks," Saniel said, rising, "that will be +something." + +"And afterward?" + +"We shall see." + +"My dear sir, do not go. You would not believe how much I am touched by +your position; I think only of you. When I learned that I could not find +the sum you desire, I paid a friendly visit to my young client of whom I +spoke to you--" + +"The one who received a superior education in a fashionable convent?" + +"Exactly; and I asked her what she would think of a young doctor, full of +talent, future professor of the Faculty, actually considered already a +savant of the first order, handsome--because you are handsome, my dear +sir, and it is no flattery to say this--in good health, a peasant by +birth, who presented himself as a husband. She appeared flattered, I +tell you frankly. But immediately afterward she said, 'And the child?' +To which I replied that you were too good, too noble, too generous, not +to have the indulgence of superior men, who accept an involuntary fault +with serenity. Did I go too far?" + +He did not wait for an answer. + +"No?" he went on. "Exactly. The child was present, for the mother +watches over it with a solicitude that promises much for the future, and +I examined it leisurely. It is very delicate, my dear sir, and like its +father. The poor baby! I doubt if you, with all your skill, can make it +live. If it should die, as it is to be feared it will, it would not +injure your reputation. You can give it care, but not life." + +"Speaking of health," interrupted Saniel, who did not wish to reply, "did +you do what I advised about yourself?" + +"Not yet. The chemists of this quarter are only licensed cutthroats; but +I am going this evening to see one of my clients who is a chemist, and he +will deal honestly with me." + +"I will see you again, then." + +"When you wish, my dear sir; when you have reflected. You have the +password." + +Before leaving home Saniel gave his key to the concierge, so that on her +arrival Phillis might go immediately to his rooms. On his return the +concierge told him that "madame" was up-stairs, and when he rang the +bell, Phillis opened the door. + +"Well?" she asked in a trembling voice, before he had time to enter. + +"It is as I told you yesterday; he has found no one." + +She clasped him in a long, passionate embrace. + +"And the upholsterer?" + +"Caffie has promised to gain some time for me." + +While speaking, they entered the office. A fire burned on the hearth, +and an inviting dinner was on the table. Saniel looked at it in +surprise. + +"I have set the table, you see; I am going to dine with you." + +And throwing herself in his arms: + +"Knowing Caffie better than you do, I knew what his answer would be, and +I did not wish you to be alone on your return. I made an excuse for not +dining with mamma." + +"But this chicken?" + +"We must have a piece de resistance." + +"This fire, and these candles?" + +"There, that is the end of my economies. I should have been so happy if +they had been less miserable and more useful." + +As on the previous evening, they sat before the fire, and she began to +talk of various things in order to distract him. But what their lips did +not say, their eyes, on meeting, expressed with more intensity than words +could do. + +It was Saniel who suddenly betrayed his preoccupation. + +"Your brother studied Caffie well," he said, as if speaking to himself. + +"He did, indeed!" + +"He is certainly the most thorough rascal that I have ever met." + +"He proposed something infamous, I am sure." + +"He proposed that I should marry." + +"I suspected that." + +"This is the reason why he refuses to lend me the money. I was foolish +enough to tell him frankly just how I am situated, and how important it +is for me to be free until April. He hopes that I shall be so pushed +that I will accept one of the women whom he has proposed to me. With the +knife at my throat, I should have to yield." + +"And these women?" she asked, not daring to look at him. + +"Do not be alarmed, you have nothing to fear. One is the drunken widow +of a butcher, and the other is a young girl who has a baby." + +"He dares to propose such women to a man like you!" + +And Saniel repeated all that Caffie had said to him about these two +women. + +"What a monster he is!" Phillis said. + +"While he was telling me these things I thought of what you said--that if +some one killed him, it would be no more than he deserved." + +"That is perfectly true." + +"Nothing would have been easier than for me to have made away with him. +He had the toothache, and when he showed me his teeth I could easily have +strangled him. We were alone, and a miserable diabetic, such as he is, +who has not more than six months to live, I am sure, could not have +resisted a grasp like this. I could take his keys from his pocket, open +his safe, and take the thirty, forty, sixty thousand francs that I saw +heaped up there. The devil take me if it were ever discovered. A doctor +does not strangle his patients, he poisons them. He kills them +scientifically, not brutally." + +"People who have no conscience can do such things; but for us they are +impossible." + +"I assure you it is not conscience that would have restrained me." + +"The fear of remorse, if I may use an ugly word." + +"But intelligent persons have no remorse, my dear child, because they +reason before the deed, and not after. Before acting they weigh the pros +and cons, and know what the consequences of their actions will be to +others as well as to themselves. If this previous examination proves to +them that for some reason or other they may act, they will always be +calm, assured that they will feel no remorse, which is only the reproach +of conscience." + +"Without doubt what you say is to the point, but it is impossible for me +to accept it. If I have never committed crimes, I have often been +foolish and have committed faults, many of them deliberately, after the +examination of which you speak. I should have been, according to you, +perfectly placid and free from the reproach of conscience; however, the +next morning I woke unhappy, tormented, often overwhelmed, and unable to +stifle the mysterious voice that accused me." + +"And in whose name did it speak, this voice, more vague than mysterious?" + +"In the name of my conscience, evidently." + +"'Evidently' is too much, and you would be puzzled if called upon to +demonstrate this evidence; whereas, nothing is more uncertain and elusive +than the thing that is called conscience, which is in reality only an +affair of environment and of education." + +"I do not understand." + +"Does your conscience tell you it is a crime to love me?" + +"No, decidedly." + +"You see, then, that you have a personal way of understanding what is +good and bad, which is not that of our country, where it is admitted, +from the religious and from the social point of view, that a young girl +is guilty when she has a lover. Of course, you see, also, that +conscience is a bad weighing-machine, since each one, in order to make it +work, uses a weight that he has himself manufactured." + +"However it is, you did right not to strangle Cafflie." + +"Whom you, yourself, have condemned to death." + +"By the hand of justice, whether human or divine; but not by yours, any +more than by Florentin's or mine, although we know better than any one +that he does not deserve any mercy." + +"And you see I foresaw your objections, as I did not tighten his cravat." + +"Happily." + +"Is it necessary to say 'happily'?" + + + + +CHAPTER X + +SANIEL MAKES A RESOLUTION + +This evening Phillis was obliged to be at home early, but she cleared off +the table, and put everything in order before leaving. + +"You can breakfast on the remains of the chicken," she said, as she put +it in the pantry. + +And as Saniel accompanied her with a candle in his hand, he saw that she +had thought not only of his breakfast for the following day, but for many +days, besides carrots for the rabbits. + +"What a good heart you have!" he said. + +"Because I think of the rabbits?" + +"Because of your tenderness and thoughtfulness." + +"I wish I could do something for you!" + +As soon as she was gone he seated himself at his desk and began to work, +anxious to make up for the time that he had given to sentiment. The fact +that his work might not be of use to him, and that his experiments might +be rudely interrupted the next morning or in a few days, was not a +sufficient reason for being idle. He had work to do, and he worked as if +with the certitude that he would pass his examinations, and that his +experiments of four years past would have a good ending, without +interference from any one. + +This was his strong point, this power to work, that was never disturbed +or weakened by anything; not by pleasure or pain, by preoccupation or by +misery. In the street he could think of Phillis, be he hungry or sleepy; +at his desk he had no thought of Phillis, neither of hunger nor of sleep, +no cares, no memories; his work occupied him entirely. + +It was his strength, and also his pride, the only superiority of which he +boasted; for although he knew that he had others, he never spoke of them, +while he often said to his comrades: + +"I work when I will and as much as I wish. My will never weakens when I +am at work." + +This evening he worked for about an hour, in his usual condition of mind; +neither sheriffs, nor Jardine, nor Caffie troubled him. But having to +draw upon his memory for certain facts, he found that it did not obey him +as usual; there were a hesitation, a fogginess, above all, extraordinary +wanderings. He wrestled with it and it obeyed, but only for a short +time, and soon again it betrayed him a second time, then a third and +fourth time. + +Decidedly he was not in a normal state, and his will obeyed in place of +commanding. + +There were a name and a phrase that recurred to him mechanically from +time to time. The name was Caffie, and the phrase was, "Nothing easier." + +Why should this hypothesis to strangle Caffie, of which he had lightly +spoken, and to which he had attached no importance at the moment when he +uttered it, return to him in this way as a sort of obsession? + +Was it not strange? + +Never, until this day, had he had an idea that he could strangle a man, +even as wicked as this one, and yet, in talking of it, he found very +natural and legitimate reasons for the murder of this scamp. + +Had not Phillis herself condemned him? + +To tell the truth, she had added that Providence or justice should be his +executor, but this was the scruple of a simple conscience, formed in a +narrow environment, to which influence he would not submit. + +Had he these scruples, this old man who coldly, and merely for the +interest of so much a hundred on a dot, advised him to hasten the death +of a woman by drunkenness, and that of an infant in any way he pleased? + +When he reached this conclusion he stopped, and asked himself whether he +were mad to pursue this idea; then immediately, to get rid of it, he set +to work, which absorbed him for a certain time, but not so long a time as +at first. + +Then, finding that he could not control his will, he turned his thoughts +to Caffie. + +It was only too evident that if he had carried out the idea of strangling +Caffie, all the difficulties against which he had struggled, and which +would overwhelm him, if not the following day, at least in a few days, +would have disappeared immediately. + +No more sheriffs, no more creditors. What a deliverance! + +Repose, the possibility of passing examinations with a calm spirit that +the fever of material troubles would not disturb--in this condition he +felt his success was assured. + +And his experiments! He would run no danger of seeing them rudely +interrupted. His preparations were not cast out-of-doors; his precious +culture-tubes were not broken; his vases, his balloons, were not at the +second-hand dealer's. He continued this train of thought to the results +that he desired for him, glory; for humanity, the cure of one, and +perhaps two, of the most terrible maladies with which it was afflicted. + +The question was simple: + +On one side, Caffie; + +On the other side, humanity and science; + +An old rascal who deserved twenty deaths, and who would, anyhow, die +naturally in a short time; + +And humanity, science, which would profit by a discovery of which he +would be the author. + +He saw that the perspiration stood out on his hands, and he felt it run +down his neck. + +Why this weakness? From horror of the crime, the possibility of which he +admitted? Or from fear of seeing his experiments destroyed? + +He would reflect, think about it, be upon his guard. + +He had told Phillis that intelligent men, before engaging in an action, +weigh the pro and con. + +Against Caffie's death he saw nothing. + +For, on the contrary, everything combined. + +If he had had Phillis's scruples, or Brigard's beliefs, he would have +stopped. + +But, not having them, would he not be silly to draw back? + +Before what should he shrink? Why should he stop? + +Remorse? But he was convinced that intelligent men had no remorse when +they came to a decision on good grounds. It was before that they felt +remorse, not after; and he was exactly in this period of before. + +Fear of being arrested? But intelligent men do not let themselves be +arrested. Those who are lost are brutes who go straight ahead, or the +half-intelligent, who use their skill and cunning to combine a +complicated or romantic act, in which their hand is plainly seen. As for +him, he was a man of science and precision, and he would not compromise +himself by act or sentiment; there would be nothing to fear during the +action, and nothing afterward. Caffie strangled, suspicion would not +fall upon a doctor, but on a brute. When doctors wish to kill any one, +they do it learnedly, by poison or by some scientific method. Brutal men +kill brutally; murder, called the assassin's profession. + +A few minutes before, he was inundated by perspiration; this word froze +him. + +He rose nervously, and walked up and down the room with long, unsteady +steps. The fire had long since gone out; out-of-doors the street noises +had ceased, and in his brain resounded the one word that he pronounced in +a low tone, "Assassin!" + +Was be the man to be influenced and stopped by a word? Where are the +rich, the self-made men, the successful men, who have not left some +corpses on the road behind them? Success carries them safely, and they +achieved success only because they had force. + +Certainly, violence was not recreation, and it would be more agreeable to +go in his way peacefully, by the power of intelligence and work, than to +make a way by blows; but he had not chosen this road, he was thrown into +it by circumstances, by fate, and whoever wishes to reach the end cannot +choose the means. If one must walk in the mud, what matters it, when one +knows that one will not get muddy? + +If Caffie had had heirs, poor people who expected to be saved from +misery by inheriting his fortune, he would have been touched by this +consideration, undoubtedly. Robber! The word was yet more vile than +that of assassin. But who would miss the few banknotes that he would +take from the safe? To steal is to injure some one. Whom would he +injure? He could see no one. But he saw distinctly an army of afflicted +persons whom he would benefit. + +A timid ring of the bell made him start violently, and he was angry with +himself for being so nervous, he who was always master of his mind as of +his body. + +He opened the door, and a man dressed like a laborer bowed humbly. + +"I beg your pardon for disturbing you, sir." + +"What do you want?" + +"I called on account of my wife, if you will be so good as to come to see +her." + +"What is the matter with her?" + +"She is about to be confined. The nurse does not know what to do, and +sent me for a doctor." + +"Did the nurse tell you to come for me?" + +"No, sir; she sent me to Doctor Legrand." + +"Well?" + +"His wife told me he could not get up on account of his bronchitis. And +the chemist gave me your address." + +"That is right." + +"I must tell you, sir, I am an honest man, but we are not rich; we could +not pay you--immediately." + +"I understand. Wait a few minutes." + +Saniel took his instruments and followed the laborer, who, on the way, +explained his wife's condition. + +"Where are we going?" Saniel asked, interrupting these explanations. + +"Rue de la Corderie." + +It was behind the Saint Honore' market, on the sixth floor, under the +roof, in a room that was perfectly clean, in spite of its poverty. As +soon as Saniel entered the nurse came forward, and in a few words told +him the woman's trouble. + +"Is the child living?" + +"Yes." + +"That is well; let us see." + +He approached the bed and made a careful examination of the patient, who +kept repeating: + +"I am going to die. Save me, doctor!" + +"Certainly, we shall save you," he said, very softly. "I promise you." + +He turned away from the bed and said to the nurse: + +"The only way to save the mother is to kill the child." + +The operation was long, difficult, and painful, and after it was over +Saniel remained a long time with the patient. When he reached the street +a neighboring clock struck five, and the market-place had already begun +to show signs of life. + +But in the streets was still the silence and solitude of night, and +Saniel began to reflect on what had occurred during the last few hours. +Thus, he had not hesitated to kill this child, who had, perhaps, sixty or +seventy years of happy life before it, and he hesitated at the death of +Caffie, to whom remained only a miserable existence of a few weeks. The +interests of a poor, weak, stunted woman had decided him; his, those of +humanity, left him perplexed, irresolute, weak, and cowardly. What a +contradiction! + +He walked with his eyes lowered, and at this moment, before him on the +pavement, he saw an object that glittered in the glare of the gas. He +approached it, and found that it was a butcher's knife, that must have +been lost, either on going to the market or the slaughterhouse. + +He hesitated a moment whether he should pick it up or leave it there; +then looking all about him, and seeing no one in the deserted street, +and hearing no sound of footsteps in the silence, he bent quickly and +took it. + +Caffie's fate was decided. + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +As free from prejudices as one may be, one always retains a few +As ignorant as a schoolmaster +Confidence in one's self is strength, but it is also weakness +Conscience is a bad weighing-machine +Conscience is only an affair of environment and of education +Find it more easy to make myself feared than loved +Force, which is the last word of the philosophy of life +I believed in the virtue of work, and look at me! +Intelligent persons have no remorse +It is only those who own something who worry about the price +Leant--and when I did not lose my friends I lost my money +Leisure must be had for light reading, and even more for love +People whose principle was never to pay a doctor +Power to work, that was never disturbed or weakened by anything +Reason before the deed, and not after +Will not admit that conscience is the proper guide of our action + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Conscience, v1 +by Hector Malot + + + + + + +CONSCIENCE + +By HECTOR MALOT + + + +BOOK 2. + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE INSTRUMENT OF DEATH + +When, after two hours' sleep, Saniel woke, he did not at first think of +this knife; he was tired and dull. Mechanically he walked about his room +without paying attention to what he was doing, as if he were in a state +of somnambulism, and it astonished him, because he never felt weariness +of mind any more than of body, no matter how little he had slept, nor how +hard he had worked. + +But suddenly, catching a glimpse of the knife that he had placed on the +mantel, he received a shock that annihilated his torpor and his fatigue. +It dazzled him like a flash of lightning. + +He took it, and, going to the window, he examined it by the pale light of +early morning. It was a strong instrument that, in a firm hand, would be +a terrible arm; newly sharpened, it had the edge of a razor. + +Then the idea, the vision that had come to him two hours before, came +back to him, clear and complete at nightfall, that is, at the moment when +the concierge was in the second wing of the building, he mounted to +Caffie's apartment without being seen, and with this knife he cut his +throat. It was as simple as it was easy, and this knife left beside the +corpse, and the nature of the wound, would lead the police to look for +a butcher, or at least a man who was in thehabit of using a knife of this +kind. + +The evening before, when he had discussed Caffie's death, the how and the +when still remained vague and uncertain. But now the day and the means +were definitely settled: it should be with this knife, and this evening. + +This shook him out of his torpor and made him shudder. + +He was angry with himself for this weakness. Did he know or did he not +know what he wished? Was he irresolute or cowardly? + +Then, going from one idea to another, he thought of an observation that +he had made, which appeared to prove that with many subjects there is +less firmness in the morning than in the evening. Was this the result of +dualism of the nervous centres, and was the human personality double like +the brain? Were there hours when the right hemisphere is master of our +will, and were there other hours when the left is master? Did one of +these hemispheres possess what the other lacked, and is it according to +the activity of this or that one, that one has such a character or such a +temperament? This would be curious, and would amount to saying that, a +lamb in the morning, one might be a tiger at evening. With him it was a +lamb that woke in the morning to be devoured by a tiger during the day. +To which hemisphere belonged the one and the other of these +personalities? + +He was angry with himself for yielding to these reflections; it was a +time, truly, to study this psychological question! It was of Caffie that +he should think, and of the plan which in an instant flashed through his +mind in the street, before he decided to pick up this knife. + +Evidently things were neither so simple nor so easy as they at first +appeared, and to insure the success of his plan a combination of +circumstances was necessary, which might be difficult to bring about. + +Would not the concierge see him pass? Would no one go up or down the +stairs? Would Caffie be alone? Would he open the door? Might not some +one ring after he had entered? + +Here was a series of questions that he had not thought of before, but +which now presented itself. + +He must examine them, weigh them, and not throw himself giddily into an +adventure that presented such risks. + +He was alone all day, fortunately, and, as in the state of agitation in +which he found himself he could not think of work, he gave himself up to +this examination. The stakes were worth the trouble--his honor and his +life. + +As soon as he was dressed he went out, and walked straight before him +through the streets that were already filled with people. + +It was only when he had left the heart of Paris that he could reflect as +he wished, without being disturbed each instant by people in a hurry, for +whom he must make way, or by others who, reading the newspapers, did not +look before them, and so jostled against him. + +Evidently the risks were more serious than he had imagined; and, as they +loomed up before him, he asked himself whether he should go on. To +suppress Caffie, yes; to give himself up, no. + +"If it is impossible--" + +He was not the man to set himself wildly against the impossible: he +should have had a dream, a bad dream, and that would be all. + +He stopped, and, after a moment of hesitation, turning on his heel, he +retraced his steps. Of what use was it to go farther? He had no need to +reflect nor to weigh the pro and con; he must give up this plan; +decidedly it was too dangerous. + +He had gone but a short distance when he asked himself whether these +dangers were such as he saw them, and whether he were face to face with a +radically demonstrated impossibility. + +Without doubt, the concierge might observe him when he passed her lodge, +either on going up-stairs or coming down; and, also, she might not +observe him. This, in reality, depended much upon himself, and on his +method of proceeding. + +Every evening this lame old concierge lighted the gas in the two wings of +the building, one on the street and one on the court. She began by +lighting that on the street, and, with the difficulty that she found in +walking, it should take her some time to climb the five stories and to +descend. If one watched from the street when, at dusk, she left her +lodge with a wax taper in her hand, and mounted the stairs behind her, at +a little distance, in such a way as to be on the landing of the first +story when she should reach the second, there would be time, the deed +done, to regain the street before she returned to her lodge, after having +lighted the gas on the two staircases. It was important to proceed +methodically, without hurry, but, also, without loitering. + +Was this impossible? + +Here, exactly, was the delicate point which he must examine with +composure, without permitting himself to be influenced by any other +consideration than that which sprang from the deed itself. + +He was wrong, then, not to continue his route, and it was better, +assuredly, to get out of Paris. In the country, in the fields or woods, +he could find the calm that was indispensable to his over-excited brain, +in which ideas clashed like the waves of a disturbed sea. + +He was at this moment in the middle of the Faubourg Saint Honore; he +followed a street that would bring him to the Champs Elysees, a desert at +this early hour. + +It took him some time to examine all the hypotheses that might present +themselves, and he reached the conclusion that what had appeared +impossible to him was not so. If he preserved his calmness, and did not +lose perception of the passing time, he could very well escape the +concierge, which was the main point. + +To tell the truth, the danger of the concierge removed, all was not easy. +There was the possibility of meeting one of the lodgers on the stairs; +there was a chance of not finding Caffie at home, or, at least, not +alone; or the bell might ring at the decisive moment. But, as everything +depended upon chance, these circumstances could not be decided +beforehand. It was a risk. If one of them happened, he would wait until +the next day; it would be one more day of agitation to live through. + +But one question that should be decided in advance, because, surely, it +presented serious dangers, was how he should justify the coming into his +hands of a sum of money which, providentially and in the nick of time, +relieved him from the embarrassments against which he struggled. + +He had reached the Bois de Boulogne and still continued his walk. In +passing a fountain the rippling of the water attracted his attention, and +he stopped. Although the weather was damp and cold under the influence +of a strong west wind charged with rain, his tongue was dry; he drank two +goblets of water, and then pursued his way, indifferent where he went. + +Then he built up an arrangement which appeared ingenious to him, when it +occurred to him to remember that he had gone to Caffie to borrow three +thousand francs. Why would he not lend it to him, if not the first day, +at least the second? With this loan he paid his debts, if he were +questioned on this point. To prove this loan he need only to sign a +receipt which he could place in the safe, and which would be found there. +Would not the first thought of those who had signed a paper of this kind +be to take it when an occasion presented itself? As he would not seize +this occasion to carry off his note, it would be the proof that he had +not opened the safe. + +Among other advantages, this arrangement did away with robbery; it was +only a loan. Later he would return these three thousand francs to +Caffies heirs. So much the worse for him if it were a forced loan. + +On returning to Paris he would buy a sheet of stamped paper, and as he +had asked the price the previous evening, he knew that he could afford +the expense. + +When he reached Saint Cloud he entered a tavern and ordered some bread +and cheese and wine. But if he drank little, he ate less, his parched +throat refusing to swallow bread. + +He took up his march in the clayey streets on the slope of Mont Valerian, +but he was insensible to the unpleasantness of slipping on the soft soil, +and walked hither and thither, his only care being not to get too far +away from the Seine, so that he might enter Paris before night. + +He was delighted since he had made up his mind to make out and sign a +receipt for the money. But on giving it further consideration, he +perceived that it was not so ingenious as he had at first supposed. Do +not the dealers of stamped paper often number their paper? With this +number it would be easy to find the dealer and him who had bought it. +And then, was it not likely that a scrupulous business man like Caffie +would keep a record of the loans he made, and would not the absence of +this one and the note be sufficient to awaken suspicion and to direct it +to him? + +Decidedly, he only escaped one danger to fall into another. + +For a moment he was discouraged, but it did not go so far as weakness. +His error had been in imagining that the execution of the idea that had +come to him while picking up the knife was as plain as it was easy. But +complicated and perilous as it was, it was not impossible. + +The question which finally stood before him was, to know whether he +possessed the force needed to cope with these dangers, and on this ground +hesitation was not possible; to wish to foresee everything was folly; +that which he would not have expected, would come to pass. + +He returned toward Paris, and by the Pont de Suresnes reentered the Bois +de Boulogne. As it was not yet three o'clock, he had plenty of time to +reach the Rue Sainte-Anne before night; but, on the way, a heavy shower +forced him to take shelter, and he watched the falling rain, asking +himself if this accident, which he had not foreseen, would not upset his +plan. A man who had received the force of this shower could not appear +in the street before Caffie's door without attracting the attention of +the passers-by, and it was important for him that he should not attract +the attention of any one. + +At length the rain ceased, and at twenty minutes of five he reached his +home. There remained fifteen or twenty minutes of daylight, which was +more than he needed. + +He stuck the point of the knife in a cork, and, after having placed it +between the folded leaves of a newspaper, in the inside left-hand pocket +of his overcoat, he went out. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE CRUCIAL MOMENT + +When he reached Caffies door the night had scarcely fallen, and the +streets were not yet lighted. + +The better and the surest plan for him had been to wait in the 'porte- +cochere' across the street; from there he could watch the 'concierge', +who would not be able to go out without being seen by him. But though +the passers were few at this moment, they might have observed him. +Next to this 'porte-cochere' was a small 'cafe', whose brilliant lights +would cause him to be seen quite plainly. He, therefore, walked on, +but soon returned. + +All irresolution, all hesitation, had disappeared, and the only point on +which he still questioned himself bore upon the state in which he found +himself at this moment. He felt himself firm, and his pulse, he was +certain, beat regularly. He was as he had imagined he would be; +experience confirmed his foresight; his hand would tremble no more than +his will. + +As he passed before the house he saw the concierge come slowly out of her +lodge and close her door carefully, putting the key in her pocket. In +her left hand she held something white that he could not see distinctly +in the twilight, but it was probably the wax-taper which, doubtless, she +had not lighted for fear the wind would blow it out. + +This was a favorable circumstance, that gave him one or two minutes more +than he had counted on, for she would be obliged to strike a match on the +stairs to light her taper; and, in the execution of his plan, two +minutes, a single minute even, might be of great importance. + +With dragging steps and bent back she disappeared through the vestibule +of the stairway. Then Saniel continued his walk like an ordinary passer- +by until she had time to reach the first story; then, turning, he +returned to the porte-cochere and entered quietly. By the gaslight in +the vestibule he saw by his watch, which he held in his hand, that it was +fourteen minutes after five o'clock. Then, if his calculation was right, +at twenty-four or twenty-five minutes after five he must pass before the +lodge, which should still be empty at that moment. + +On the staircase above him he heard the heavy step of the concierge; she +had lighted the gas on the first story, and continued on her way slowly. +With rapid but light steps he mounted behind her, and, on reaching +Caffie's door, he rang the bell, taking care not to ring too loudly or +too timidly; then he knocked three times, as Caffie had instructed him. + +Was Caffie alone? + +Up to this time all had gone as he wished; no one in the vestibule, no +one on the stairs; fate was in his favor; would it accompany him to the +end? + +While he waited at the door, asking himself this question, an idea +flashed into his mind. He would make a last attempt. If Caffie +consented to make the loan he would save himself; if he refused, he +condemned himself. + +After several seconds, that appeared like hours, his listening ears +perceived a sound which announced that Caffie was at home. A scratching +of wood on the tiled floor denoted that a chair had been pushed aside; +heavy, dragging steps approached, then the bolt creaked, and the door was +opened cautiously. + +"Ah! It is you, my dear sir!" Caffie said, in surprise. + +Saniel entered briskly and closed the door himself, pressing it firmly. + +"Is there anything new?" Caffie asked, as he led the way to his office. + +"No," Saniel replied. + +"Well, then?" Caffie asked, as he seated himself in an armchair before +his desk, on which stood a lighted lamp. "I suppose you have come to +hear more about my young friend. This hurry augurs well." + +"No, it is not of the young person that I wish to talk to you." + +"I am sorry." + +On seating himself opposite to Caffie, Saniel had taken out his watch. +Two minutes had passed since he left the vestibule; he must hurry. In +order to keep himself informed of the passing of time, he retained his +watch in his hand. + +"Are you in a hurry?" + +"Yes; I will come immediately to business. It concerns myself, my +position, and I make a last appeal to you. Let us be honest with each +other. Undoubtedly you think that, pushed by my distress, and seeing +that I shall be lost forever, I shall decide to accept this marriage to +save myself." + +"Can you suppose such a thing, my dear sir?" Caffie cried. + +But Saniel stopped him.... + +"The calculation is too natural for you not to have made it. Well, I +must tell you that it is false. Never will I lend myself to such a +bargain. Renounce your project, and let us discuss my demand. I am in +absolute want of three thousand francs, and I will pay the interest that +you fix upon." + +"I have not found a money-lender, my dear sir. I have taken a great deal +of trouble, I assure you, but I did not succeed." + +"Make an effort yourself." + +"Me? My dear sir!" + +"I address myself to you." + +"But I have no ready money." + +"It is a desperate appeal that I make. I understand that your long +experience in business makes you insensible to the misery that you see +every day--" + +"Insensible! Say that it breaks my heart, my dear sir." + +"But will you not permit yourself to be touched by the misery of a man +who is young, intelligent, courageous, who will drown if a hand is not +held out to help him? For you, the assistance that I ask so earnestly is +nothing--" + +"Three thousand francs! Nothing! Bless me! How you talk!" + +"For me, if you refuse me, it is death." + +Saniel began to speak with his eyes fixed on the hands of his watch, but +presently, carried away by the fever of the situation, he raised them to +look at Caffie, and to see the effect that he produced on him. In this +movement he made a discovery that destroyed all his calculations. + +Caffie's office was a small room with a high window looking into the +court; never having been in this office except in the evening, he had not +observed that this window had neither shutters nor curtains of muslin or +of heavier stuff; there was nothing but the glass. To tell the truth, +two heavy curtains of woollen damask hung on either side of the window, +but they were not drawn. Talking to Caffie, who was placed between him +and this window, Saniel suddenly perceived that on the other side of the +court, in the second wing of the building, on the second story, were two +lighted windows directly opposite to the office, and that from there any +one could see everything that occurred in the office. + +How should he execute his plan under the eyes of these people whom he saw +coming and going in this room? He would be lost. In any case, it was +risking an adventure so hazardous that he would be a fool to attempt it, +and he was not that; never had he felt himself so much the master of his +mind and nerves. + +Also, it was not only to save Caffie's life that he argued, it was to save +himself in grasping this loan. + +"I can only, to my great regret, repeat to you what I have already said, +my dear sir. I have no ready money." + +And he held his jaw, groaning, as if this refusal aroused his toothache. + +Saniel rose; evidently there was nothing for him to do but to go. It was +finished, and instead of being in despair he felt it as a relief. + +But, as he was about to leave the room, an idea flashed through his mind. + +He looked at his watch, which he had not consulted for some time; it was +twenty minutes after five; there yet remained four minutes, five at the +most. + +"Why do you not draw these curtains?" he said. "I am sure your +sufferings are partly caused by the wind that comes in this window." + +"Do you think so?" + +"I am sure of it; you should be warm about the head, and avoid currents +of air." + +Passing behind Caffie, he went to the window to draw the curtains, but +the cords would not move. + +"It is years since they were drawn," Caffie said. "Doubtless the cords +are entangled. I will bring the light." + +And, taking the lamp, he went to the window, holding it high in order to +throw light on the cords. + +With a turn of the hand Saniel disentangled the cords, and the curtains +slid on the rods, almost covering the window. + +"It is true a good deal of air did come in the window," Caffie said. +"I thank you, my dear doctor." + +All this was done with a feverish rapidity that astonished Caffie. + +"Decidedly, you are in a hurry," he said. + +"Yes, in a great hurry." + +He looked at his watch. + +"However, I have still time to give you a consultation if you desire it." + +"I would not trouble you--" + +"You do not trouble me." + +"But--" + +"Sit down in your armchair, and show me your mouth." + +While Caffie seated himself, Saniel continued in a vibrating voice: + +"You see I give good for evil." + +"How is that, my dear sir?" + +"You refuse me a service that would save me, and I give you a +consultation. It is true, it is the last." + +"And why the last, my dear sir?" + +"Because death is between us." + +"Death!" + +"Do you not see it?" + +"No." + +"I see it." + +"You must not think of such a thing, my dear sir. One does not die +because one cannot pay three thousand francs." + +The chair in which Caffie seated himself was an old Voltaire, with an +inclined back, and he half reclined in it. As his shirtcollar was too +large for him since he had become thin, and his narrow cravat was +scarcely tied, he displayed as much throat as jaw. + +Saniel, behind the chair, had taken the knife in his right hand, while he +pressed the left heavily on Caffies forehead, and with a powerful stroke, +as quick as lightning, he cut the larynx under the glottis, as well as +the two carotid arteries, with the jugular veins. From this terrible +wound sprang a large jet of blood, which, crossing the room, struck +against the door. Cut clean, not a cry could be formed in the windpipe, +and in his armchair Caffie shook with convulsions from head to foot. + +Leaving his position behind the chair, Saniel, who had thrown the knife +on the floor, looked at his watch and counted the ticking of the second- +hand in a low voice. + +"One, two, three-" + +At the end of ninety seconds the convulsions ceased. + +It was twenty-three minutes after five. Now it was important that he +should hurry and not lose a second. + +The blood, after having gushed out, had run down the body and wet the +vest pocket in which was the key of the safe. But blood does not produce +the same effect upon a doctor as upon those who are not accustomed to its +sight and odor, and to its touch. In spite of the lukewarm sea in which +it lay, Saniel took the key, and after wiping his hand on one of the +tails of Caffie's coat, he placed it in the lock. + +Would it turn freely, or was it closed with a combination? The question +was poignant. The key turned and the door opened. On a shelf and in a +wooden bowl were packages of bank-notes and rolls of gold that he had +seen the evening when the bank-clerk came. Roughly, without counting; he +thrust them into his pocket, and without closing the safe, he ran to the +front door, taking care not to step in the streams of blood, which, on +the sloping tiled floor, ran toward this door. The time was short. + +And now was the greatest danger, that of meeting some one behind this +door, or on the stairs. He listened, and heard no noise. He went out, +and no one was to be seen. Without running, but hastily, he descended +the stairs. Should he look in the lodge, or should he turn his head +away? He looked, but the concierge was not there. + +A second later he was in the street mingling with the passersby, and he +drew a long breath. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +DISTRACTION + +There was no longer any need to be cautious, to listen, to stretch his +nerves, to restrain his heart; he could walk freely and reflect. + +His first thought was to endeavor to explain to himself how he felt, and +he found that it was an immense relief; something, doubtless, analogous +to the returning to life after being in a state of asphyxiation. +Physically, he was calm; morally, he felt no remorse. He was right, +therefore, in his theory when he told Phillis that in the intelligent man +remorse precedes the action, instead of following it. + +But where he was mistaken was in imagining that during the act he should +maintain his coolness and force, which, in reality, had failed him +completely. + +Going from one idea to another, tossed by irresolution, he was by no +means the strong man that he had believed himself: one to go to the end +unmoved, ready to face every attack; master of his nerves as of his will, +in full possession of all his powers. On the contrary, he had been the +plaything of agitation and weakness. If a serious danger had risen. +before him, he would not have known on which side to attack it; fear +would have paralyzed him, and he would have been lost. + +To tell the truth, his hand had been firm, but his head had been +bewildered. + +There was something humiliating in this, he was obliged to acknowledge; +and, what was more serious, it was alarming. Because, although +everything had gone as he wished, up to the present time, all was not +finished, nor even begun. + +If the investigations of the law should reach him, how should he defend +himself? + +He felt sure that he had not been seen in Caffies house at the moment +when the crime was committed; but does one ever know whether one has been +seen or not? + +And there was the production of money that he should use to pay his +debts, which might become an accusation against which it would be +difficult to defend himself. In any case, he must be ready to explain +his position. And what might complicate the matter was, that Caffie, a +careful man, had probably taken care to write the numbers of his bank- +notes in a book, which would be found. + +On leaving the Rue Sainte-Anne he took the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs to +his home, to leave the bank-notes and to wash off the stains of blood +that might have splashed on him and his hands, particularly the right +one, which was still red. But suddenly it occurred to him that he might +be followed, and it would be folly to show where he lived. He hastened +his steps, in order to make any one who might be following him run, and +took the streets that were not well lighted, those where there was little +chance of any one seeing the stains, if they were visible, on his +clothing or boots. He walked in this way for nearly half an hour, +turning and returning on his track, and after having crossed the Place +Vendome twice, where he was able to look behind him, he decided to go +home, not knowing whether he should be satisfied to have bewildered all +quest, or whether he should not be furious to have yielded to a sort of +panic. + +As he passed by the lodge without stopping, his concierge called him, +and, running out, gave him a letter with unusual eagerness. Saniel, who +wished to escape observation, took it hastily, and stuffed it into his +pocket. + +"It is an important letter," the concierge said. "The servant who +brought it told me that it contained money." + +It needed this recommendation at such a moment, or Saniel would not have +opened it, which he did as soon as he entered his rooms. + + "I do not wish, my dear Doctor, to leave Paris for Monaco, where I + go to pass two or three months, without sending you our thanks. + + "Yours very gratefully, + "C. DUPHOT." + +These thanks were represented by two bills of one hundred francs, a +payment more than sufficient for the care that Saniel had given some +months before to the mistress of this old comrade. Of what use now were +these two hundred francs, which a few days sooner would have been so much +to him? He threw them on his desk; and then, after having lighted two +candles, he inspected his clothing. + +The precaution that he had taken to place himself behind the chair was +wise. The blood, in squirting in front and on each side, had not reached +him; only the hand that held the knife and the shirt-sleeve were +splashed, but this was of no consequence. A doctor has the right to have +some blood on his sleeves, and this shirt went to join the one he had +worn the previous night when attending the sick woman. + +Free from this care, he still had the money in his pockets. He emptied +them on his desk and counted all: five rouleaux of gold, of a thousand +francs, and three packages of ten thousand francs each, of bank-notes. + +How should he get rid of this sum all at once, and, later, how should he +justify its production when the moment came, if it came? + +The question was complex, and, unfortunately for him, he was hardly in a +state to consider it calmly. + +For the gold, he had only to burn the papers in which it was rolled. +Louis have neither numbers nor particular marks, but bills have. Where +should he conceal them while waiting to learn through the newspapers if +Caffie had or had not made a note of these numbers? + +While burning these papers on which Caffie had written "2,000 francs," +he tried to think of a place of concealment. + +As he threw a glance around him, asking from things the inspiration that +his brain did not furnish, he caught sight of the letter he had just +received, and it suggested an idea. Duphot was at Monaco to play. Why +should he not go also, and play? + +Having neither relatives nor friends from whom he could procure a certain +sum, his only resource was to make it at play; and in his desperate +position, known to every one, nothing was more natural than this +experiment. He had received two hundred francs, which would not save him +from his creditors. He would risk them at roulette at Monaco. Whether +he lost or won was of little consequence. He would have played that +would be sufficient. He would be seen playing. Who would know whether +he lost or won? From Monaco he would pay Jardine by telegraph, out of +the five thousand Louis, which would be more than sufficient for that; +and, when he returned to Paris, he would free himself from his other +creditors with what remained. + +The money affair decided--and it seemed to him cleverly settled--did not +include the bank-notes, which, spread out before his eyes, disturbed him. +What should he do with them? One moment he thought of burning them, but +reflection held him back. Would it not be folly to destroy this fortune? +In any case, would it not be the work of a narrow mind, of one not +fertile in resources? + +In trying to think of some safe place to hide the banknotes, one thought +continually absorbed him: What was happening in the Rue Sainte-Anne? Had +any one discovered the dead man? + +He should be there to observe events, instead of timidly shutting himself +up in his office. + +For several minutes he tried to resist this thought, but it was stronger +than his will or his reason. So much was he under its power that he +could do nothing. + +Willing or unwilling, foolish or not, he must go to the Rue Sainte-Anne. + +He washed his hands, changed his shirt, and throwing the notes and gold +into a drawer, he went out. + +He knew very well that there was a certain danger in leaving these proofs +of the crime, which, found in an official search, would overwhelm him, +without his being able to defend himself. But he thought that an +immediate search was unlikely to occur, and if he could not make a +probable story, it would be better for him not to reason about it. It +was a risk that he ran, but how much he had on his side! + +He hastened along the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, but on approaching the +Rue Sainte-Anne he slackened his steps, looking about him and listening. +Nothing unusual struck him. Even when he turned into the Rue Sainte-Anne +he found it bore its ordinary aspect. A few passers-by, not curious; no +groups on the sidewalk; no shopkeepers at their doors. Nothing was +different from usual. + +Apparently, nothing had yet been discovered. Then he stopped, judging it +useless to go farther. Already he had passed too much time before +Caffie's door, and when one was of his build, above the medium height, +with a physiognomy and appearance unlike others, one should avoid +attracting attention. + +For several minutes he walked up and down slowly, from the Rue Neuve-des- +Petits-Champs to the Rue du Hasard; from there he could see Caffie's +house, and yet be so far away that no one would suspect him of watching +it. + +But this promenade, which was quite natural, and which he would have +continued for an hour in ordinary circumstances, without thinking +anything about it, soon alarmed him. It seemed as if people looked at +him, and two persons stopping to talk made him wonder if they spoke of +him. Why did they not continue their way? Why, from time to time, did +they turn their heads toward him? + +He left the place, and neither wishing nor being able to decide to go far +away from "the house," he concluded to go to a small cafe which was close +by. + +On entering, he seated himself at a table near the door that appeared to +be an excellent observatory, from where he could easily survey the +street. A waiter asked him what he would have, and he ordered coffee. + +He gave this order mechanically, without thinking what he was saying, and +not till afterward did he wonder if it were natural to take coffee at +this hour. The men seated at the other tables drank appetizers or beer. +Had he not made a blunder? + +But everything seemed a blunder, as everything seemed dangerous. Could +he not regain his composure and his reason? He drank his coffee slowly; +then he asked for a newspaper. The street was quiet, and people left the +cafe one by one. + +Behind his newspaper he reflected. It was his feverish curiosity that +made him admit that Caffie's death would be discovered during the +evening. In reality, it might easily remain undiscovered until the next +day. + +But he could not stay in the cafe until the next day, nor even until +midnight. Perhaps he had remained there too long already. + +He did not wish to go yet, so he ordered writing materials, and paid the +waiter, in case he might wish to go hastily--if anything occurred. + +What should he write? He wished to test himself, and found that he was +able to write clearly, and to select the proper words; but when he came +to read it over, his will failed him. + +Time passed. Suddenly there was a movement under the porte-cochere of +"the house," and a man ran through the street. Two or three persons +stopped in a group. + +Without hurrying too much, Saniel went out, and in a strong voice asked +what had happened. + +"An agent of business has been assassinated in his office. Word has been +sent to the police bureau in the Rue du Hasard." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE EXAMINATION + +Saniel was there to observe, without having decided what he should do. +Instantly, with the decision that had "failed him so often during his +vigil," he resolved to go to Caffie's. Was he not a doctor, and the +physician of the dead-man? What could be more natural? + +"A money-lender!" he exclaimed. "Is it Monsieur Caffie?" + +"Exactly." + +"But I am his doctor." + +"A doctor! Here is a doctor!" cried several voices. + +The crowd parted, and Saniel passed under the porte-cochere, where the +concierge, half fainting, was seated on a chair, surrounded by all the +maids of the house and several neighbors, to whom she related the news. + +By using his elbows he was able to approach her. + +"Who has said Monsieur Caffie is dead?" he asked with authority. + +"No one has said he is dead; at least, I have not." + +"Well, then?" + +"There is a stain of blood that has run from his office down to the +landing; and as he is at home, since the light of his lamp is seen in the +court, and he never leaves it burning when he goes to dinner, something +must have happened. And why are his curtains drawn? He always leaves +them open." + +At this moment two policemen appeared, preceded by a locksmith armed with +a bunch of keys, and a little man with a shrewd, sharp appearance, +wearing spectacles, and a hat from under which fell blond curls. The +commissioner of police probably. + +"On which story?" he asked the concierge. + +"On the first." + +"Come with us." + +He started to go upstairs, accompanied by the concierge, the locksmith, +and one of the policemen; Saniel wished to follow them, but the other +policeman barred the way. + +"Pardon, Monsieur Commissioner," Saniel said. + +"What do you wish, sir?" + +"I am Monsieur Caffie's physician." + +"Your name?" + +"Doctor Saniel." + +"Let the doctor pass," the commissioner said, "but alone. Make every one +go out, and shut the porte-cochere." + +On reaching the landing the commissioner stopped to look at the brown +stain which, running under the door, spread over the tiling, as Caffie +never had had a mat. + +"It is certainly a stain of blood," Saniel said, who stopped to examine +it and dipped his finger in it. + +"Open the door," the commissioner said to the locksmith. + +The latter examined the lock, looked among his keys, selected one, and +unlocked the door. + +"Let no one enter," the commissioner said. "Doctor, have the goodness to +follow me." + +And, going ahead, he entered the first office, that of the clerk, +followed by Saniel. Two little rills of blood, already thickened, +starting from Caffie's chair, and running across the tiled floor, which +sloped a little toward the side of the staircase, joined in the stain +which caused the discovery of the crime. The commissioner and Saniel +took care not to step in it. + +"The unfortunate man has had his throat cut," Saniel said. "Death must +have occurred two or three hours ago. There is nothing to do." + +"Speak for yourself, doctor." + +And, stooping, he picked up the knife. + +"Is it not a butcher's knife?" asked Saniel, who could only use this +word. + +"It looks like it." + +He had raised Caffie's head and examined the wound. + +"You see," he said, "that the victim has been butchered. The stroke was +from left to right, by a firm hand which must be accustomed to handle +this knife. But it is not only a strong and practised hand that has done +this deed; it was guided by an intelligence that knew how to proceed to +insure a quick, almost instantaneous death, and at the same time a silent +one." + +"You think it was done by a butcher?" + +"By a professional killer; the larynx has been cut above the glottis, and +with the same stroke the two carotid arteries, with the jugular veins. +As the assassin had to raise the head, the victim was not able to cry +out; considerable blood has flowed, and death must have ensued in one or +two minutes." + +"The scene appears to me very well reconstructed." + +"The blood should have burst out in this direction," Saniel continued, +pointing to the door. "But as this door was open, nothing is to be +seen." + +While Saniel spoke, the commissioner threw a glance about the room--the +glance of the police, which takes in everything. + +"The safe is open," he said. "The affair becomes clear; the +assassination was followed by theft." + +There was a door opposite to the entrance, which the commissioner opened; +it was that of Caffie's bedroom. + +"I will give you a man to help you carry the body into this room, where +you can continue your examination more easily, while I will continue my +investigations in this office." + +Saniel would have liked to remain in the office to assist at these +investigations, but it was impossible to raise an objection. The chair +was rolled into the bedroom, where two candles had been lighted on the +mantel, and when the body was laid on the bed, the commissioner returned +to the office. + +Saniel made his examination last as long a time as possible, to the end +that he need not leave the house; but he could not prolong it beyond +certain limits. When they were reached, he returned to the clerk's +office, where the commissioner had installed himself, and was hearing the +concierge's deposition. + +"And so," he said, "from five to seven o'clock no one asked for M. +Caffie?" + +"No one. But I left my lodge at a quarter past five to light the gas on +the stairs; that took me twenty minutes, because I am stiff in my joints, +and during this time some one might have gone up and down the stairs +without my seeing them." + +"Well," the commissioner said, turning to Saniel, "have you found any +distinguishing feature?" + +"No; there is only the wound on the neck." + +"Will you draw up your medico-legal report while I continue my inquest?" + +"Willingly." + +And, without waiting, he seated himself at the clerk's desk, facing the +commissioner's secretary, who had arrived a few minutes previous. + +"I am going to make you take the oath," the commissioner said. + +After this formality Saniel began his report: + +"We, the undersigned, Victor Saniel, doctor of medicine of the Paris +Faculty, residing in Paris in the Rue Louis-le-Grand, after having +taken an oath to fulfil in all honor and conscience the mission confided +to us--" + +All the time that he was writing he paid attention to everything that was +said, and did not lose one word of the concierge's deposition. + +"I am certain," she said, "that from half-past five until now no one has +gone up or down the stairs but the people who live in the house." + +"But before half-past five?" + +"I have told you that from a quarter past five until half-past I was not +in my lodge." + +"And before a quarter past five o'clock?" + +"Several persons passed whom I did not know." + +"Did any one among them ask you for Monsieur Caffie?" + +"No; that is to say, yes. There was one who asked me if Monsieur Caffie +was at home; but I know him well; that is why I answered No." + +"And who is he?" + +"One of Monsieur Caffies old clerks." + +"His name?" + +"Monsieur Florentin--Monsieur Florentin Cormier." + +Saniel's hand was arrested at this name, but he did not raise his head. + +"At what hour did he come?" asked the commissioner. + +"Near three o'clock, before rather than after." + +"Did you see him go away?" + +"Certainly, he spoke to me." + +"What time was it?" + +"Half-past three." + +"Do you think that death could have occurred at this moment?" the +commissioner asked, turning to Saniel. + +"No; I think it must have been between five and six o'clock." + +"It is wrong for the commissioner to suspect Monsieur Florentin," cried +the concierge. "He is a good young man, incapable of harming a fly. And +then, there is a good reason why death could not have taken place between +three o'clock and half-past; it is that Monsieur Caffie's lamp was +lighted, and you know the poor gentleman was not a man to light his lamp +in broad daylight, looking as he was--" + +She stopped abruptly, striking her forehead with her hand. + +"That is what I remember, and you will see that Monsieur Florentin has +nothing to do with this affair. As I went upstairs at a quarter past +five to light my gas, some one came behind me and rang Monsieur Caffie's +bell, and rapped three or four times at equal distances, which is the +signal to open the door." + +Again Saniel's pen stopped, and he was obliged to lean his hand on the +table to prevent its trembling. + +"Who was it?" + +"Ah! That I do not know," she answered. "I did not see him, but I heard +him, the step of a man. It was this rascal who killed him, you may be +sure." + +This seemed likely. + +"He went out while I was on the stairs; he knew the customs of the +house." + +Saniel continued his report. + +After having questioned and cross-questioned the concierge without being +able to make her say more, the commissioner dismissed her, and leaving +Saniel at his work, he passed into Caffie's office, where he remained a +long time. + +When he returned he brought a small note-book that he consulted. Without +doubt it was the book of Caffie's safe, simple and primitive, like +everything relating to the old man's habits, governed by the narrowest +economy in his expenses, as well as in his work. + +"According to this note-book," the commissioner said to his secretary, " +thirty-five or thirty-six thousand francs must have been taken from the +safe; but there are left deeds and papers for a large sum." + +Saniel, who had finished his report, did not take his eyes from the note- +book, and what he could see reassured him. Evidently these accounts were +reduced to a minimum: a date, a name, a sum, and after this name a +capital P, which, without doubt, meant "paid." It was hardly possible +that with such a system Caffie had ever taken the trouble to enter the +number of the bills that had passed through his hands; in any case, if he +did, it was not in this note-book. Would another one be found? + +"My report is finished," he said. "Here it is." + +"Since you are here, perhaps you can give me some information concerning +the habits of the victim and the persons he received." + +"Not at all. I have known him but a short time, and he was my patient, +as I was his client, by accident. He undertook an affair for me, and I +gave him advice; he was in the last stage of diabetes. The assassin +hastened his death only a short time-a few days." + +"That is nothing; he hastened it." + +"Oh, certainly! Otherwise, if he is skilful in cutting throats, perhaps +he is less so in making a diagnosis of their maladies." + +"That is probable," responded the commissioner, smiling. "You think it +was a butcher?" + +"It seems probable." + +"The knife?" + +"He might have stolen it or found it." + +"But the mode of operating?" + +"That, it seems to me, is the point from where we should start." + +Saniel could remain no longer, and he rose to leave. + +"You have my address," he said; "but I must tell you, if you want me, I +leave to-morrow for Nice. But I shall be absent only just long enough to +go and return." + +"If we want you, it will not be for several days. We shall not get on +very rapidly, we have so little to guide us." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +A NEW PLAN + +Saniel walked home briskly. If, more than once during this interview, +his emotion was poignant, he could not but be satisfied with the result. +The concierge had not seen him, that was henceforth unquestionable; the +hypothesis of the butcher's knife was put in a way to make his fortune; +and it seemed probable that Caffie had not kept the numbers of the bank- +notes. + +But if they had been noted, and should the notebook containing them be +discovered later, the danger was not immediate. While writing his report +and listening to the concierge's deposition, by a sort of inspiration he +thought of a way of disposing of them. He would divide them into small +packages, place them in envelopes, and address them with different +initials to the poste restante, where they would remain until he could +call for them without compromising himself. + +In the deposition of the concierge, in the track indicated by the knife, +in the poste restante, he had just motives for satisfaction, that made +him breathe freely. Decidedly, fate seemed to be with him, and he should +have been able to say that everything was going well, if he had not +committed the imprudence of entering the cafe. Why had he gone there +and remained long enough to attract attention? What might not be the +consequences of this stupidity? + +As soon as he reached home and his door was closed, he carried out his +intentions regarding the bank-notes, dividing them into ten packages. +His first thought was to place them in the nearest letterbox, but +reflection showed him that this would be unwise, and he decided to mail +each one in a different quarter of the city. + +After his long walk of the morning, and the emotions of the evening, he +felt a fatigue that he had never known before, but he comprehended that +he was not at liberty to yield to this weariness. A new situation was +made for him, and henceforth he no longer belonged to himself. For the +rest of his life he would be the prisoner of his crime. And it was this +crime which, from this evening, would command, and he must obey. + +Why had he not foreseen this situation when, weighing the pro and con +like an intelligent man who can scrutinize the future under all its +phases, he had examined what must happen? But surprising as it was, +the discovery was no less certain, and the sad and troublesome proof was +that, however intelligent one may be, one can always learn by experience. + +What was there yet to learn? He confessed that he found himself face to +face with the unknown, and all that he wished was, that this lesson he +had learned from experience might be the hardest. It would be folly to +imagine that it was the last. Time would show. + +When he returned home, after posting his letters, it was long past one +o'clock. He went to bed immediately, and slept heavily, without waking +or dreaming. + +It was broad daylight when he opened his eyes the next morning. +Surprised at having slept so late, he jumped up and looked at his watch, +which said eight o'clock. But as he should not leave until a quarter +past eleven, he had plenty of time. + +How should he employ it? + +It was the first time in years that he had asked himself such a question; +he, who each day always found that he needed three or four hours more to +carry out his programme. + +He dressed slowly, and then thought of writing to Phillis to tell her of +his trip to Nice. But suddenly he changed his mind, and decided to go to +see her. + +The preceding year he attended Madame Cormier, who had been stricken with +paralysis, and he could occasionally present himself at her house without +appearing to call upon Phillis. It was easy to say that he was passing +by, and wished to learn news of the patient whom he had cured. + +At nine o'clock he knocked at her door. + +"Enter," a man's voice said. + +He was surprised, for in his visits to Madame Cormier he had never seen a +man there. He crossed the hall and knocked at the dining-room door. +This time it was Phillis who bid him come in. + +He opened the door and saw Phillis, in a gray blouse, seated before a +large table placed by the window. She was painting some cards. + +Hearing steps, she turned her head and instantly rose, but she restrained +the cry-the name that was on her lips. + +"Mamma," she said, "here is Doctor Saniel." + +Madame Cormier entered, walking with difficulty; for, if Saniel had put +her on her feet, he had not given her the suppleness or the grace of +youth. + +After a few words, Saniel explained that, having to pay a visit to the +Batignolles, he would not come so near his former patient without calling +to see her. + +While Madame Cormier told at great length how she felt, and also how she +did not feel, Phillis looked at Saniel, uneasy to see his face so +convulsed. Surely, something very serious had happened; his visit said +this. But what? Her anguish was so much the greater, because he +certainly avoided looking at her. Why? She had done nothing, and could +find nothing with which to reproach herself. + +At this moment the door opened, and a man still young, tall, with a +curled beard, entered the room. + +"My son," Madame Cormier said. + +"My brother Florentin, of whom we have spoken so often," Phillis said. + +Florentin! Was he then becoming imbecile, that he had not thought the +voice of the man who bid him enter was that of Phillis's brother? Was he +so profoundly overwhelmed that such a simple reasoning was impossible to +him? Decidedly, it was important for him to go away as quickly as +possible; the journey would calm his nerves. + +"They wrote to me," Florentin said, "and since my return they have told +me how good you were to my mother. Permit me to thank you from a touched +and grateful heart. I hope that before long this gratitude will be +something more than a vain word." + +"Do not let us speak of that," Saniel said, looking at Phillis with a +frankness and an open countenance that reassured heron a certain point. +"It is I who am obliged to Madame Cormier. If the word were not +barbarous, I should say that her illness has been a good thing for me." + +To turn the conversation, and because he wished to speak to Phillis +alone, he approached her table and talked with her about her work. + +Saniel then gave Madame Cormier some advice, and rose to go. + +Phillis followed him, and Florentin was about to accompany them, but +Phillis stopped him. + +"I wish to ask Doctor Saniel a question," she said. + +When they were on the landing she closed the door. + +"What is the matter?" she asked in a hurried and trembling voice. + +"I wished to tell you that I start for Monaco at eleven o'clock." + +"You are going away?" + +"I have received two hundred francs from a patient, and I am going to +risk them at play. Two hundred francs will not pay Jardine or the +others, but with them I may win several thousands of francs." + +"Oh! Poor dear! How desperate you must be--you, such as you are, to +have such an idea!" + +"Am I wrong?" + +"Never wrong to my eyes, to my heart, to my love. O my beloved, may +fortune be with you!" + +"Give me your hand." + +She looked around, listening. There was no one, no noise. + +Then, drawing him toward her, she put her lips on his: + +"All yours, yours!" + +"I will return Tuesday." + +"Tuesday, at five o'clock, I shall be there." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE SMILES OF FORTUNE + +No one knew so little about play as Saniel. He knew that people played +at Monaco, and that was all. He bought his ticket for Monaco, and left +the train at that place. + +On leaving the station he looked all about him, to see what kind of a +place it was. Seeing nothing that looked like a gambling-house as he +understood it, that is, like the Casino de Royal, the only establishment +of the kind that he had ever seen, he asked a passer-by: + +"Where is the gambling-house?" + +"There is none at Monaco." + +"I thought there was." + +"There is one at Monte Carlo." + +"Is it far?" + +"Over yonder." + +With his hand the man indicated, on the slope of the mountain, a green +spot where, in the midst of the foliage, were seen roofs and facades of +imposing buildings. + +Saniel thanked him and followed his directions, while the man, calling +another, related the question that had been addressed to him, and both +laughed, shrugging their shoulders. Could any one be so stupid as these +Parisians! Another one who was going to be plucked, and who came from +Paris expressly for that! Was he not funny, with his big legs and arms? + +Without troubling himself about the laughter that he heard behind him, +Saniel continued his way. In spite of his night on the train, he felt no +fatigue; on the contrary, his mind and body were active. The journey had +calmed the agitation of his nerves, and it was with perfect tranquillity +he looked back upon all that had passed before his departure. In the +state of satisfaction that was his now, he had nothing more to fear from +stupidity or acts of folly; and, since he had recovered his will, all +would go well. No more backward glances, and fewer still before. The +present only should absorb him. + +The present, at this moment, was play. What did they play? He knew +roulette, but he knew not if the game was roulette. He would do as +others did. If he were ridiculed, it was of little importance; and in +reality he should desire to be ridiculed. People remember with pleasure +those at whom they have laughed, and he had come here to find some one +who would remember him. + +When he entered the salon where the playing was going on, he observed +that a religious silence reigned there. Round a large table covered with +a carpet of green cloth, which was divided by lines and figures, some men +were seated on high chairs, making them appear like officers; others, on +lower chairs, or simply standing about the table, pushed or picked up the +louis and bank bills on the green cloth, and a strong voice repeated, in +a monotonous tone: + +"Messieurs, faites votre jeu! Le jeu est fait! Rien ne va plus!" + +Then a little ivory ball was thrown into a cylinder, where it rolled with +a metallic noise. Although he had never seen roulette, it required no +effort to divine that this was the game. + +And, before putting several louis on the table, he looked about him to +see how it was played. But after the tenth time he understood as little +as at first. With the rakes the croupiers collected the stakes of +certain players; with these same rakes they doubled, separated, or even +paid, in proportions of which he took no account, certain others, and +that was all. + +But it mattered little. Having seen how the money was placed on the +table, that was sufficient. + +He had five louis in his hand when the croupier said: + +"Messieurs, faites votre jeu." + +He placed them on the number thirty-two, or, at least, he believed that +he placed them on this number. + +"Rien ne va plus!" The ball rolled in the cylinder. + +"Thirty-one!" cried the croupier, adding some other words that Saniel +did not understand. So little did he understand roulette that he thought +he had lost. He had placed his stake on the thirty-two, and it was the +thirty-one that had appeared; the bank had won. He was surprised to see +the croupier push a heap of gold toward him, which amounted to nearly a +hundred louis, and accompany this movement with a glance which, without +any doubt, meant to say: + +"For you, sir." + +What should he do? Since he had lost, he could not take this, money that +was given to him by mistake. + +In placing his stake on the table, he had leaned over the shoulder of a +gentleman whose hair and beard were of a most extraordinary black, who, +without playing, pricked a card with a pin. This gentleman turned toward +him, and with an amiable smile, and in a most gracious tone said: + +"It is yours, sir." + +Decidedly, he was mistaken in thinking he had lost; and he must take this +heap of louis, which he did, but neglecting to take, also, his first +stake. + +The game continued. + +"Thirty-two," called the croupier. + +Saniel perceived that his five louis had remained on the thirty-two; he +believed that he had won, since this number was called, and his ignorance +was such that he did not know that in roulette a number is paid thirty- +six times the stake: the croupier would, therefore, push toward him one +hundred and eighty Louis. + +But, to his great surprise, he pushed him no more money than at first. +This was incomprehensible. When he lost, money was paid to him, and when +he won, he was paid only half his due. + +His face betrayed his astonishment so plainly that he saw a mocking smile +in the eyes of the black-haired man, who had again turned toward him. + +As he played merely for the sake of playing, and not to win or lose, he +pocketed all that was pushed toward him and his stake. + +"Since you are not going to play any more," said the amiable gentleman, +leaving his chair, "will you permit me to say a word to you?" + +Saniel bowed, and together they left the table. When they were far +enough away to converse without disturbing the players, the gentleman +bowed ceremoniously: + +"Permit me to present myself-Prince Mazzazoli." + +Saniel replied by giving his name and position. + +"Well, doctor," the prince said with a strong Italian accent, "you will +pardon me, I hope, for making the simple observation that my age +authorizes: you play like a child." + +"Like an ignoramus," Saniel replied, without being angry. For, however +unusual this observation might be, he had already decided that it might +be a good thing in the future to call upon the testimony of a prince. + +"I am sure you are still asking yourself why you received eighteen times +the sum of your stake at the first play, and why you did not receive +thirty-six times the sum at the second." + +"That is true." + +"Well, I will tell you." And he proceeded to explain. + +Saniel did not wait for the conclusion to learn the fact that this very- +much-dyed Italian prince was a liar. + +"I do not intend to play again," he said. + +"With your luck that would be more than a fault." + +"I wanted a certain sum; I have won it, and that satisfies me." + +"You will not be so foolish as to refuse the hand that Fortune holds +out?" + +"Are you sure she holds it out to me?" Saniel asked, finding that it was +the prince. + +"Do not doubt it. I will show you--" + +"Thank you; but I never break a resolution." + +In another moment Saniel would have turned his back on the man, but he +was a witness whom it would be well to treat with caution. + +"I have nothing more to do here," he said, politely. "Permit me to +retire, after having thanked you for your offer, whose kindness I +appreciate." + +"Well," cried the prince, "since you will not risk your fate, let me do +it for you. This money may be a fetich. Take off five louis, only five +louis, and confide them to me. I will play them according to my +combinations, which are certain, and this evening I will give you your +part of the proceeds. Where are you staying? I live at the Villa des +Palmes." + +"Nowhere; I have just arrived." + +"Then let us meet here this evening at ten o'clock, in this room, and we +will liquidate our association." + +His first impulse was to refuse. Of what use to give alms to this old +monkey? But, after all, it did not cost much to pay his witness five +louis, and he gave them to him. + +"A thousand thanks! This evening, at ten o'clock." + +As Saniel left the room he found himself face to face with his old +comrade Duphot, who was accompanied by a woman, the same whom he had +cured. + +"What! you here?" both the lover and his mistress exclaimed. + +Saniel related why he was at Monaco, and what he had done since his +arrival. + +"With my money! Ah! She is very well," Duphot cried. + +"And you will play no more?" the woman asked. + +"I have all I want." + +"Then you will play for me." + +He wished to decline, but they drew him to the roulette table, and each +put a louis in his hand. + +"Play." + +"How?" + +"As inspiration counsels you. You have the luck." + +But his luck had died. The two louis were lost. + +They gave him two others, which won eight. + +"You see, dear friend." + +He went on, with varying luck, winning and losing. + +At the end of a quarter of an hour they permitted him to go. + +"And what are you going to do now?" Duphot asked. + +"To send what I owe to my creditors by telegraph." + +"Do you know where the telegraph is?" + +"No." + +"I will go with you." + +This was a second witness that Saniel was too wise to shake off. + +When he had sent his telegram to Jardine, he had nothing more to do at +Monte Carlo, and as he could not leave before eleven o'clock in the +evening, he was idle, not knowing how to employ his time. So he bought a +Nice newspaper and seated himself in the garden, under a gaslight, facing +the dark and tranquil sea. Perhaps he could find in it some telegraph +despatch which would tell him what had occurred in the Rue Sainte-Anne +since his departure. + +At the end of the paper, under "Latest News," he read: + +"The crime of the Rue Sainte-Anne seems to take a new turn; the +investigations made with more care have led to the discovery of a +trousers' button, to which is attached a piece of cloth. It shows, +therefore, that before the crime there was a struggle between the victim +and the assassin. As this button has certain letters and marks, it is a +valuable clew for the police." + +This proof of a struggle between the victim and the assassin made Saniel +smile. Who could tell how long this button had been there? + +Suddenly he left his seat, and entering a copse he examined his clothing. +Was it he who had lost it? + +But soon he was ashamed of this unconscious movement. The button which +the police were so proud to discover, did not belong to him. This new +track on which they were about to enter did not lead to him. + + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +PHILLIS'S FEARS + +On Tuesday, a little before five o'clock, as she had promised, Phillis +rang at Saniel's door, and he left his laboratory where he was at work, +to let her in. + +She threw herself on his neck. + +"Well?" she asked, in a trembling voice. + +He told her how he had played and won, without stating the exact sum; +also the propositions of the Prince Mazzazoli, the meeting with Duphot, +and the telegram to Jardine. + +"Oh! What happiness!" she said, pressing him in her arms. "You are +free!" + +"No more creditors! I am my own master. You see it was a good +inspiration. Justice willed it." + +Then interrupting him: + +"Apropos of justice, you did not speak of Caffie the morning of your +departure." + +"I was so preoccupied I had no time to think of Caffie." + +"Is it not curious, the coincidence of his death with the condemnation +that we pronounced against him? Does it not prove exactly the justice of +things?" + +"If you choose." + +"As the money you won at Monaco proves to you that what is just will +happen. Caffie is punished for all his rascalities and crimes, and you +are rewarded for your sufferings." + +"Would it not have been just if Caffie had been punished sooner, and if I +had suffered less?" + +She remained silent. + +"You see," he said smiling, "that your philosophy is weak." + +"It is not of my philosophy that I am thinking, but of Caffie and +ourselves." + +"And how can Caffie be associated with you or yours?" + +"He is, or rather he may be, if this justice in which I believe in spite +of your joking permits him to be." + +"You are talking in enigmas." + +"What have you heard about Caffie since you went away?" + +"Nothing, or almost nothing." + +"You know it is thought that the crime was committed by a butcher." + +"The commissioner picked up the knife before me, and it is certainly a +butcher's knife. And more than that, the stroke that cut Caffie's throat +was given by a hand accustomed to butchery. I have indicated this in my +report." + +"Since then, more careful investigations have discovered a trousers' +button--" + +"Which might have been torn off in a struggle between Caffie and his +assassin, I read in a newspaper. But as for me, I do not believe in this +struggle. Caffie's position in his chair, where he was assaulted and +where he died, indicates that the old scamp was surprised. Otherwise, if +he had not been, if he had struggled, he could have cried out, and, +without doubt, he would have been heard." + +"If you knew how happy I am to hear you say that!" she cried. + +"Happy! What difference can it make to you?" and he looked at her in +surprise. "Of what importance is it to you whether Caffie was killed +with or without a struggle? You condemned him; he is dead. That should +satisfy you." + +"I was very wrong to pronounce this condemnation, which I did without +attaching any importance to it." + +"Do you think that hastened its execution?" + +"I am not so foolish as that, but I should be better pleased if I had not +condemned him." + +"Do you regret it?" + +"I regret that he is dead." + +"Decidedly, the enigma continues; but you know I do not understand it, +and, if you wish, we will stop there. We have something better to do +than to talk of Caffie." + +"On the contrary, let me talk to you of him, because we want your +advice." + +Again he looked at her, trying to read her face and to divine why she +insisted on speaking of Caffie, when he had just expressed a wish not to +speak of him. What was there beneath this insistence? + +"I will listen," he said; "and, since you wish to ask my advice on the +subject, you must tell me immediately what you mean." + +"You are right; and I should have told you before, but embarrassment and +shame restrained me. And I reproach myself, for with you I should feel +neither embarrassment nor reproach." + +"Assuredly." + +"But before everything else, I must tell you--you must know--that my +brother Florentin is a good and honest boy; you must believe it, you must +be convinced of it." + +"I am, since you tell me so. Besides, he produced the best impression on +me during the short time I saw him the other day at your house." + +"Would not one see immediately that he has a good nature?" + +"Certainly." + +"Frank and upright; weak, it is true, and a little effeminate also, that +is, lacking energy, letting himself be carried away by goodness and +tenderness. This weakness made him commit a fault before his departure +for America. I have kept it from you until this moment, but you must +know it now. Loving a woman who controlled him and made him do what she +wished, he let himself be persuaded to-take a sum of forty-five francs +that she demanded, that she insisted on having that evening, hoping to be +able to replace it three days later, without his employer discovering +it." + +"His employer was Caffie?" + +"No; it was three months after he left Caffie, and he was with another +man of business of whom I have never spoken to you, and now you +understand why. The money he expected failed him; his fault was +discovered, and his employer lodged a complaint against him." + +"We made him withdraw his complaint, never mind how, and Florentin went to +America to seek his fortune. And since you have seen him, you admit that +he might be capable of the fault that he committed, without being +capable-of becoming an assassin." + +He was about to reply, but she closed his lips with a quick gesture. + +"You will see why I speak of this, and you will understand why I do not +drop the subject of Caffie, and of this button, on which the police count +to find the criminal. This button belonged to Florentin." + +"To your brother?" + +"Yes, to Florentin, who, the day of the crime, had been to see Caffie." + +"That is true; the concierge told the commissioner of police that he +called about three o'clock." + +Phillis gave a cry of despair. + +"They know he was there? Then it is more serious than we imagined or +believed." + +"In answering a question as to whom Caffie had received that day, the +concierge named your brother. But as this visit took place between three +and half-past, and the crime was certainly committed between five and +half-past, no one can accuse your brother of being the assassin, since he +left before Caffie lighted his lamp. As this lamp could not light +itself, it proves that he could not have butchered a man who was living +an hour after the concierge saw your brother and talked with him." + +"What you say is a great relief; if you could know how alarmed we have +been!" + +"You were too hasty to alarm yourself." + +"Too hasty? But when Florentin read the account to us and came to the +button, he exclaimed, 'This button is mine!' and we experienced a shock +that made us lose our heads. We saw the police falling on us, +questioning Florentin, reproaching him with the past, which would be +retailed in all the newspapers, and you must understand how we felt." + +"But cannot your brother explain how he lost this button at Caffie's?" + +"Certainly, and in the most natural way. He went to see Caffie, to ask +him for a letter of recommendation, saying that he had been his clerk for +several years. Caffie gave it to him, and then, in the course of +conversation, Caffie spoke of a bundle of papers that he could not find. +Florentin had had charge of these papers, and had placed them on a high +shelf in the closet. As Caffie could not find them, and wanted them, +Florentin brought a small ladder, and, mounting it, found them. He was +about to descend the ladder, when he made a misstep, and in trying to +save himself, one of the buttons of his trousers was pulled off." + +"And he did not pick it up?" + +"He did not even notice it at first. But later, in the street, seeing +one leg of his trousers longer than the other, he thought of the ladder, +and found that he had lost a button. He would not return to Caffie's to +look for it, of course." + +"Of course." + +"How could he foresee that Caffie would be assassinated? That the crime +would be so skilfully planned and executed that the criminal would +escape? That two days later the police would find a button on which they +would build a story that would make him the criminal? Florentin had not +thought of all that." + +"That is understood." + +"The same evening he replaced the button by another, and it was only on +reading the newspaper that he felt there might be something serious in +this apparently insignificant fact. And we shared his alarm." + +"Have you spoken to any one of this button?" + +"Certainly not; we know too much. I tell you of it because I tell you +everything; and if we are menaced, we have no help to expect, except from +you. Florentin is a good boy, but he is weak and foolish. Mamma is like +him in more than one respect, and as for me, although I am more +resistant, I confess that, in the face of the law and the police, I +should easily lose my head, like children who begin to scream when they +are left in the dark. Is not the law, when you know nothing of it, a +night of trouble, full of horrors, and peopled with phantoms?" + +"I do not believe there is the danger that you imagined in the first +moment of alarm." + +"It was natural." + +"Very natural, I admit, but reflection must show how little foundation +there is for it. The button has not the name of the tailor who furnished +it?" + +"No, but it has the initials and the mark of the manufacturer; an A and a +P, with a crown and a cock." + +"Well! Among two or three thousand tailors in Paris, how is it possible +for the police to find those who use these buttons? And when the tailors +are found, how could they designate the owner of this button, this one +exactly, and not another? It is looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. +Where did your brother have these trousers made? Did he bring them from +America?" + +"The poor boy brought nothing from America but wretchedly shabby clothes, +and we had to clothe him from head to foot. We were obliged to +economize, and a little tailor in the Avenue de Clichy, called Valerius, +made this suit." + +"It seems to me scarcely probable that the police will find this little +tailor. But if they do, would he recognize the button as coming from his +stock? And, if they get as far as your brother, they must prove that +there was a struggle; that the button was torn off in this struggle; that +your brother was in the Rue Sainte-Anne between five and six o'clock; in +which case, without doubt, he will find it easy to prove where he was at +that moment." + +"He was with us--with mamma." + +"You see, then, you need not feel alarmed." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +A GRAVE DISCUSSION + +Phillis hurried to return to the Rue des Moines, to share with her mother +and brother the confidence that Saniel caused her to feel. + +She pulled the bell with a trembling hand, for the time was past when in +this quiet house, where all the lodgers knew each other, the key was left +in the door, and one had only to knock before entering. Since the +newspapers had spoken of the button, all was changed; the feeling of +liberty and security had disappeared; the door was always closed, and +when the bell rang they looked at each other in fear and with trembling. + +When Florentin opened the door, the table was set for dinner. + +"I was afraid something had happened to you," Madame Cormier said. + +"I was detained." + +She took off her hat and cloak hastily. + +"You have learned nothing?" the mother asked, bringing in the soup. + +"No." + +"They spoke to you of nothing?" Florentin continued in a low voice. + +"They spoke to me of nothing else; or I heard only that when I was not +addressed directly." + +"What was said?" + +"No one believes that the investigations of the police bear on the +button." + +"You see, Florentin," Madame Cormier interrupted, smiling at her son. + +But he shook his head. + +"However, the opinion of all has a value," Phillis cried. + +"Speak lower," Florentin said. + +"It is thought that it is impossible for the police to find, among the +two or three thousand tailors in Paris, all those who use the buttons +marked A. P. And if they did find them, they could not designate all +their customers to whom they have furnished these buttons. It is really +looking for a needle in a bundle of hay." + +"When one takes plenty of time, one finds a needle in a bundle of hay," +Florentin said. + +"You ask me what I heard, and I tell you. But I do not depend entirely +on that. As I passed near the Rue Louis-le-Grand, I went to Doctor +Saniel's; it being his office hour I hoped to find him." + +"You told him the situation?" Florentin exclaimed. + +In any other circumstances she would have replied frankly, explaining +that she had perfect confidence in Saniel; but when she saw her brother's +agitation, she could not exasperate him by this avowal, above all, +because she could not at the same time give her reasons for her faith in +him. She must reassure him before everything. + +"No," she said, "but I spoke of Caffie to Doctor Saniel without his being +surprised. As he made the first deposition, was it not natural that my +curiosity should wish to learn a little more than the newspapers tell?" + +"Never mind, the act must appear strange." + +"I think not. But, anyhow, the interest that we have to learn all made +me overlook this; and I think, when I have told you the doctor's opinion, +you will not regret my visit." + +"And this opinion?" Madame Cormier asked. + +"His opinion is, that there was no struggle between Caffie and the +assassin, whereas the position of Caffie in the chair where he was +attacked proves that he was surprised. Therefore, if there was no +struggle, there was no button torn off, and all the scaffolding of the +police falls to the ground." + +Madame Cormier breathed a profound sigh of deliverance. + +"You see," she said to her son. + +"And the doctor's opinion is not the opinion of the first-comer, it is +not even that of an ordinary physician. It is that of the physician who +has certified to the death, and who, more than any one, has power, has +authority, to say how it was given--by surprise, without struggle, +without a button being pulled off." + +"It is not Doctor Saniel who directs the search of the police, or who +inspires it," replied Florentin. "His opinion does not produce a +criminal, while the button can--at least for those who believe in the +struggle; and between the two the police will not hesitate. + +Already the newspapers laugh at them for not having discovered the +assassin, who has rejoined all the others they have let escape. They +must follow the track they have started on, and this track--" + +He lowered his voice: + +"It will lead them here." + +"To do that they must pass by the Avenue de Clichy, and that seems +unlikely." + +"It is the possible that torments me, and not the unlikely, and you +cannot but recognize that what I fear is possible. I was at Caffies the +day of the crime. I lost there a button torn off by violence. This +button picked up by the police proves, according to them, the criminality +of the one who lost it. They will find that I am the one--" + +"They will not find you." + +"Let us admit that they do find me. How should I defend myself?" + +"By proving that you were not in the Rue Sainte-Anne between five and six +o'clock, since you were here." + +"And what witnesses will prove this alibi? I have only one--mamma. +What is the testimony of a mother worth in favor of her son in such +circumstances?" + +"You will have that of the doctor, affirming that there was no struggle, +and consequently no button torn off." + +"Affirming, but carrying no proof to support his theory; the opinion of +one doctor, which the opinion of another doctor may refute and destroy. +And then, to prove that there was no struggle; Doctor Saniel will say +that Caffie was surprised. Who could surprise Caffie? To open Caffies +door when the clerk was away, it was necessary to ring first, and then to +knock three times in a peculiar way. No stranger could know that, and +who could know it better than I?" + +Step by step Phillis defended the ground against her brother; but little +by little the confidence which at first sustained her weakened. With +Saniel she was brave. Between her brother and mother, in this room that +had witnessed their fears, not daring to speak loud, she was downcast, +and let herself be overcome by their anxieties. + +"Truly," she said, "it seems as if we were guilty and not innocent." + +"And while we are tormenting ourselves, the criminal, probably, in +perfect safety laughs at the police investigations; he had not thought of +this button; chance throws it in his way. Luck is for him, and against +us--once more." + +This was the plaint that was often on Florentin's lips. Although he had +never been a gambler--and for sufficient reason--in his eyes everything +was decided by luck. There are those who are born under a lucky star, +others under an unlucky one. There are those who, in the battle of life, +receive knocks without being discouraged, because they expect something +the next day, as there are those who become discouraged because they +expect nothing, and know by experience that tomorrow will be for them +what today is, what yesterday was. And Florentin was one of these. + +"Why did I not stay in America?" he said. + +"Because you were too unhappy, my poor boy!" Madame Cormier said, whose +maternal heart was moved by this cry. + +"Am I happier here, or shall I be to-morrow? What does this to-morrow, +full of uncertainty and dangers, hold for us?" + +"Why do you insist that it has only dangers?" Phillis asked, in a +conciliating and caressing tone. + +"You always expect the good." + +"At least I hope for it, and do not admit deliberately that it is +impossible. I do not say that life is always rose-colored, but neither +is it always black. I believe it is like the seasons. After winter, +which is vile, I confess, come the spring, summer, and autumn." + +"Well, if I had the money necessary for the voyage, I would go and pass +the end of the winter in a country where it would be less disagreeable +than here, and, above all, less dangerous for my constitution." + +"You do not say that seriously, I hope?" cried Madame Cormier. + +"On the contrary, very seriously." + +"We are hardly reunited, and you think of a separation," she said, sadly. + +"It is not of a separation that Florentin thinks," cried Phillis, "but of +a flight." + +"And why not?" + +"Because only the guilty fly." + +"It is exactly the contrary. The intelligent criminals stay, and, as +generally they are resolute men, they know beforehand that they are able +to face the danger; while the innocent, timid like myself, or the +unlucky, lose their heads and fly, because they know beforehand, also, +that if a danger threatens them, it will crush them. That is why I would +return to America if I could pay my passage; at least I should feel easy +there." + +There was a moment of silence, during which each one seemed to have no +thought but to finish dinner. + +"Granting that this project is not likely," Florentin said, "I have +another idea." + +"Why do you have ideas?" Phillis asked. + +"I wish you were in my place; we should see if you would not have them." + +"I assure you that I am in your place, and that your trouble is mine, +only it does not betray itself in the same manner. But what is your +idea?" + +"It is to find Valerius and tell him all." + +"And who will answer to us for Valerius's discretion?" asked Madame +Cormier. "Would it not be the greatest imprudence that you could commit? +One cannot play with a secret of this importance." + +"Valerius is an honest man." + +"It is because he cannot work when political, or rather patriotic, +affairs go wrong, that you say this." + +"And why not? With a poor man who lives in a small way by his work, are +not this care and pride in his country marks of an honorable heart?" + +"I grant the honorable heart, but it is another reason for being prudent +with him," Phillis said. "Precisely because he may be what you think, +reserve is necessary. You tell him what is passed. If he accepts it and +your innocence, it is well; he will not betray your secret voluntarily +nor by stupidity. But he will not accept it; he will look beyond. He +will suppose that you wish to deceive him, and he will suspect you. In +that case, would he not go and tell all to the police commissioner of our +quarter? As for me, I think it is a danger that it would be foolish to +risk." + +"And, according to you, what is to be done?" + +"Nothing; that is, wait, since there are a thousand chances against one +for our uneasiness, and we exaggerate those that may never be realized." + +"Well, let us wait," he said. "Moreover, I like that; at the least, I +have no responsibilities. What can happen will happen." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR + +In order to put the button found at Caffies on the track of the assassin, +it required that it should have come from a Parisian tailor, or, at +least, a French one, and that the trousers had not been sold by a ready- +made clothing-house, where the names of customers are not kept. + +The task of the police was therefore difficult, as weak, also, were the +chances of success. As Saniel had said, it was like looking for a needle +in a bundle of hay, to go to each tailor in Paris. + +But this was not their way of proceeding. In place of trying to find +those who used these buttons, they looked for those who made them or sold +them, and suddenly, without going farther than the directory, they found +this manufacturer: "A. Pelinotte, manufacturer of metal buttons for +trousers; trademark, A.P., crown and cock; Faubourg du Temple." + +At first this manufacturer was not disposed to answer questions of the +agent who went to see him; but when he began to understand that he might +reap some advantage from the affair, like the good merchant that he was, +young and active, he put his books and clerks at his disposition. His +boast was, in effect, that his buttons, thanks to a brass bonnet around +which the thread was rolled instead of passing through the holes, never +cut the thread and could not be broken. When they came off it was with a +piece of the cloth. What better justification of his pretensions, what +better advertisement than his button torn off with a piece of the +trousers of the assassin? The affair would go before the assizes, and in +all the newspapers there would be mention of the "A. P. buttons." + +He was asked for his customers' names, and after a few days the search +began, guided by a list so exact that useless steps were spared. + +One morning a detective reached the Avenue de Clichy, and found the +tailor Valerius in his shop, reading a newspaper. For it was not only +when the country was in danger that Valerius had a passion for reading +papers, but every morning and evening. + +Nothing that was published in the papers escaped him, and at the first +words of the agent he understood immediately about what he was to be +questioned. + +"It is concerning the affair in the Rue Sainte-Anne that you wish this +information?" he said. + +"Frankly, yes." + +"Well, frankly also, I do not know if the secrets of the profession +permit me to answer you." + +The agent, who was by no means stupid, immediately understood the man's +character, and instead of yielding to the desire to laugh, caused by this +reply honestly made by this good-natured man, whose long, black, bushy +beard and bald head accentuated his gravity, he yielded to the necessity +of the occasion. + +"That is a question to discuss." + +"Then let us discuss it. A customer, confiding in my honesty and +discretion, gives me an order to make a pair of trousers; he pays me as +he agreed, without beating me down, and on the day he promised. We are +loyal to each other. I give him a pair of good trousers, honestly made, +and he pays me with good money. We are even. Have I the right +afterward, by imprudent words, or otherwise, to furnish clews against +him? The case is a delicate one." + +"Do you place the interest of the individual above that of society?" + +"When it is a question of a professional secret, yes. Where should we be +if the lawyer, the notary, the doctor, the confessor, the tailor, could +accept compromises on this point of doctrine? It would be anarchy, +simply, and in the end it would be the interest of society that would +suffer." + +The agent, who had no time to lose, began to be impatient. + +"I will tell you," he said, "that the tailor, however important his +profession may be, is not placed exactly as the doctor or confessor. +Have you not a book in which you write your customers' orders?" + +"Certainly." + +"So that if you persevere in a theory, pushing it to an extreme, I need +only to go to the commissioner of your quarter, who, in virtue of the +power of the law conferred upon him, will seize your books." + +"That would be by violence, and my responsibility would be at an end." + +"And in these books the judge would see to whom you have furnished +trousers of this stuff. It would only remain then to discover in whose +interest you have wished to escape the investigations of the law." + +Saying this, he took from his pocket a small box, and taking out a piece +of paper, he took from it a button to which adhered a piece of navy blue +stuff. + +Valerius, who was not in the least moved by the threat of the +commissioner, for he was a man to brave martyrdom, looked at the box +curiously. When the agent displayed the button, a movement of great +surprise escaped him. + +"You see," the agent exclaimed, "that you know this cloth!" + +"Will you permit me to look at it?" Valerius asked. + +"Willingly, but on condition that you do not touch it; it is precious." + +Valerius took the box, and approaching the front of the shop, looked at +the button and the piece of cloth. + +"It is a button marked 'A.P.,' as you see, and we know that you use these +buttons." + +"I do not deny it; they are good buttons, and I give only good things to +my customers." + +Returning the box to the agent, he took a large book and began to turn +over the leaves; pieces of cloth were pasted on the pages, and at the +side were several lines of large handwriting. Arriving at a page where +was a piece of blue cloth, he took the box and compared this piece with +that of the button, examining it by daylight. + +"Sir," he said, "I am going to tell you some very serious things." + +"I am listening." + +"We hold the assassin of the Rue Sainte-Anne, and it is I who will give +you the means of discovering him." + +"You have made trousers of this cloth?" + +"I have made three pairs; but there is only one pair that can interest +you, that of the assassin. I have just told you that the secrets of the +profession prevented me from replying to your questions, but what I have +just seen frees my conscience. As I explained to you, when I make a pair +of good trousers for a customer who pays me in good money, I do not think +I have the right to reveal the affairs of my client to any one in the +world, even to the law." + +"I understand," interrupted the agent, whose impatience increased. + +"But this reserve on my part rests on reciprocity: to a good customer, a +good tailor. If the customer is not good the reciprocity ceases, or, +rather, it continues on another footing--that of war; if any one treats +me badly, I return the same. The trousers to which this stuff belongs"-- +he showed the button--"I made for an individual whom I do not know, and +who presented himself to me as an Alsacian, which I believed so much more +easily, because he spoke with a strong foreign accent. These trousers-- +I need not tell you how careful I was with them. I am a patriot, sir. +He agreed to pay for them on delivery. When they were delivered, the +young apprentice who took them had the weakness to not insist upon the +money. I went to him, but could obtain nothing; he would pay me the next +day, and so on. Finally he disappeared, leaving no address." + +"And this customer?" + +"I will give you his name without the slightest hesitation. Fritzner, +not an Alsacian as I believed, but a Prussian to a certainty, who surely +struck the blow; his disappearance the day after the crime is the proof +of it." + +"You say that you were not able to procure his address?" + +"But you, who have other means at your disposal, can find him. He is +twenty-seven or thirty years old, of middle height, blue eyes, a blond +beard, and a complete blue suit of this cloth." + +The agent wrote this description in his note-book as the tailor gave it +to him. + +"If he has not left Paris with these stolen thirty-five thousand francs, +we shall find him, and the thanks will be yours," he said. + +"I am happy to be able to do anything for you." + +The agent was going, but he thought better of it. + +"You said that you had made three suits of this cloth?" + +"Yes, but there is only this Fritzner who counts. The two others are +honest men, well known in the quarter, and they paid me honestly." + +"Since they have no cause for alarm, you need have no scruples in naming +them. It is not in the name of justice that I ask their names, but for +myself. --They will look well in my report and will prove that I pushed +my investigations thoroughly." + +"One is a merchant in the Rue Truffant, and is called Monsieur Blanchet; +the other is a young man just arrived from America, and his name is +Monsieur Florentin Cormier." + +"You say Florentin Cormier?" the agent asked, who remembered this name +was that of one who had seen Caffie on the day of the crime. "Do you +know him?" + +"Not exactly; it is the first time that I have made clothes for him. But +I know his mother and sister, who have lived in the Rue des Moines five +or six years at least; good, honest people, who work hard and have no +debts." + +The next morning about ten o'clock, a short time after Phillis's +departure, Florentin, who was reading the newspaper in the dining-room, +while his mother prepared the breakfast, heard stealthy steps that +stopped on the landing before their door. His ear was too familiar with +the ordinary sounds in the house to be deceived; there was in these steps +a hesitation or a precaution which evidently betrayed a stranger, and +with the few connections they had, a stranger was surely an enemy--the +one whom he expected. + +A ring of the doorbell, given by a firm hand, made him jump from his +chair. He did not hesitate; slowly, and with an air of indifference, he +opened the door. + +He saw before him a man of about forty years, with a polite and shrewd +face, dressed in a short coat, and wearing a flat hat. + +"Monsieur Florentin Cormier?" + +"I am he." + +And he asked him to come in. + +"The judge desires to see you at his office." + +Madame Cormier came from the kitchen in time to hear these few words, and +if Florentin had not motioned to her to be silent, she would have +betrayed herself. The words on her lips were: + +"You came to arrest my son!" They would have escaped her, but she +crushed them back. + +"And can you tell me for what affair the judge summons me?" Florentin +asked, steadying his voice. + +"For the Caffie affair." + +"And at what hour should I present myself before the judge?" + +"Immediately." + +"But my son has not breakfasted!" Madame Cormier exclaimed. "At least, +take something before going, my dear child." + +"It is not worth while." + +He made a sign to her that she should not insist. His throat was too +tight to swallow a piece of bread, and it was important that he should +not betray his emotion before this agent. + +"I am ready," he said. + +Going to his mother he embraced her, but lightly, without effusion, as if +he were only to be absent a short time. + +"By-and-by." + +She was distracted; but, understanding that she would compromise her son +if she yielded to her feelings, she controlled herself. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +A TIGHTENING CHAIN + +As it was a part that he played, Florentin said to himself that he would +play it to the best of his ability in entering the skin of the person he +wished to be, and this part was that of a witness. + +He had been Caffie's clerk; the justice would interrogate him about his +old employer, and nothing would be more natural. It was that only, and +nothing but that, which he could admit; consequently, he should interest +himself in the police investigations, and have the curiosity to learn how +they stood. + +"Have you advanced far in the Caffie affair?" he asked the agent as they +walked along. + +"I do not know," the agent answered, who thought it prudent to be +reserved. "I know nothing more than the newspapers tell." + +On leaving his mother's house, Florentin observed on the other side of +the street a man who appeared to be stationed there; at the end of +several minutes, on turning a corner, he saw that this man followed them +at a certain distance. Then it was not a simple appearance before the +judge, for such precautions are not taken with a witness. + +When they reached the Place Clichy, the agent asked him if he would take +a carriage, but he declined. What good was it? It was a useless +expense. + +Then he saw the agent raise his hat, as if bowing to some one, but this +bow was certainly not made to any one; and immediately, the man who had +followed them approached. The raising of the hat was a signal. As from +the deserted quarters of the Batignolles they entered the crowd, they +feared he might try to escape. The character of the arrest became +accentuated. + +After the presentiments and fears that had tormented him during the last +few days this did not astonish him, but since they took these precautions +with him, all was not yet decided. He must, then, defend himself to the +utmost. Distracted before the danger came, he felt less weak now that he +was in it. + +On arriving at the Palais de justice he was introduced immediately into +the judge's office. But he did not attend to him at once; he was +questioning a woman, and Florentin examined him by stealth. He saw a man +of elegant and easy figure, still young, with nothing solemn or imposing +about him, having more the air of a boulevardier or of a sportsman than +of a magistrate. + +While continuing his questioning, he also examined Florentin, but with a +rapid glance, without persistence, carelessly, and simply because his +eyes fell upon him. Before a table a clerk was writing, and near the +door two policemen waited, with the weary, empty faces of men whose minds +are elsewhere. + +Soon the judge turned his head toward them. + +"You may take away the accused." + +Then, immediately addressing Florentin, he asked him his name, his +Christian names, and his residence. + +"You have been the clerk of the agent of affairs, Caffie. Why did you +leave him?" + +"Because my work was too heavy." + +"You are afraid of work?" + +"No, when it is not too hard; it was at his office, and left me no time +to work for myself. I was obliged to reach his office at eight o'clock +in the morning, breakfast there, and did not leave until seven to dine +with my mother at the Batignolles. I had an hour and a half for that; +at half-past eight I had to return, and stay until ten or half-past. +In accepting this position I believed that I should be able to finish my +education, interrupted by the death of my father, and to study law and +become something better than a miserable clerk of a business man. It was +impossible with Monsieur Caffie, so I left him, and this was the only +reason why we separated." + +"Where have you been since?" + +This was a delicate question, and one that Florentin dreaded, for it +might raise prejudices that nothing would destroy. However, he must +reply, for what he would not tell himself others would reveal; an +investigation on this point was too easy. + +"With another business man, Monsieur Savoureux, Rue de la Victoire, where +I was not obliged to work in the evening. I stayed there about three +months, and then went to America." + +"Why?" + +"Because, when I began to study seriously, I found that my studies had +been neglected too long to make it possible for me to take them up again. +I had forgotten nearly all I had learned. I should, without doubt, fail +in my examination, and I should only begin the law too late. I left +France for America, where I hoped to find a good situation." + +"How long since your return?" + +"Three weeks." + +"And you went to see Caffie?" + +"Yes." + +"What for?" + +"To ask him for a recommendation to replace the one he gave me, which I +had lost." + +"It was the day of the crime?" + +"Yes." + +"At what time?" + +"I reached his house about a quarter to three, and I left about half-past +three." + +"Did he give you the certificate for which you asked?" + +"Yes; here it is." + +And, taking it from his pocket, he presented it to the judge. It was a +paper saying that, during the time that M. Florentin Cormier was his +clerk, Caffie was entirely satisfied with him; with his work, as with his +accuracy and probity. + +"And you did not return to him during the evening?" the judge asked. + +"Why should I return? I had obtained what I desired." + +"Well, did you or did you not return?" + +"I did not return to him." + +"Do you remember what you did on leaving Caffie's house?" + +If Florentin had indulged in the smallest illusion about his appearance +before the judge, the manner of conducting the interview would have +destroyed it. It was not a witness who was being questioned, it was a +culprit. He had not to enlighten the justice, he had to defend himself. + +"Perfectly," he said. "It is not so long ago. On leaving the Rue +Sainte-Anne, as I had nothing to do, I went down to the quays, and looked +at the old books from the Pont Royale to the Institute; but at this +moment a heavy shower came on, and I returned to the Batignolles, where I +remained with my mother." + +"What time was it when you reached your mother's house?" + +"A few minutes after five." + +"Can you not say exactly?" + +"About a quarter past five, a few minutes more or less." + +"And you did not go out again?" + +"No." + +"Did any one call at your mother's after you arrived there?" + +"No one. My sister came in at seven o'clock, as usual, when she returned +from her lesson." + +"Before you went up to your rooms did you speak with any of the other +lodgers?" + +"No." + +There was a pause, and Florentin felt the judge's eyes fixed on him with +an aggravating persistency. It seemed as if this look, which enveloped +him from head to foot, wished to penetrate his inmost thoughts. + +"Another thing," said the judge. "You did not lose a trousers' button +while you were with Caffie?" + +Florentin expected this question, and for some time he had considered +what answer he should make to it. To deny was impossible. It would be +easy to convict him of a fib, for the fact of the question being asked +was sufficient to say there was proof that the button was his. He must, +then, confess the truth, grave as it might be. + +"Yes," he said, "and this is how--" + +He related in detail the story of the bundle of papers placed on the +highest shelf of the cases, his slipping on the ladder, and the loss of +the button, which he did not discover until he was in the street. + +The judge opened a drawer and took from it a small box, from which he +took a button that he handed to Florentin. + +"Is that it?" he asked. + +Florentin looked at it. + +"It is difficult for me to answer," he said, finally; "one button +resembles another." + +"Not always." + +"In that case, it would be necessary for me to have observed the form of +the one I lost, and I gave no attention to it. It seems to me that no +one knows exactly how, or of what, the buttons are made that they wear." + +The judge examined him anew. + +"But are not the trousers that you wear to-day the same from which this +button was torn?" + +"It is the pair I wore the day I called on Monsieur Caffie." + +"Then it is quite easy to compare the button that I show you with those +on your trousers, and your answer becomes easy." + +It was impossible to escape this verification. + +"Unbutton your vest," said the judge, "and make your comparison with +care--with all the care that you think wise. The question has some +importance." + +Florentin felt it only too much, the importance of this question, but as +it was set before him, he could not but answer frankly. + +He unbuttoned his waistcoat, and compared the button with his. + +"I believe that it is really the button that I lost," he said. + +Although he endeavored not to betray his anguish, he felt that his voice +trembled, and that it had a hoarse sound. Then he wished to explain this +emotion. + +"This is a truly terrible position for me," he said. + +The judge did not reply. + +"But because I lost a button at Monsieur Caffie's, it does not follow +that it was torn off in a struggle." + +"You have your theory, and you will make the most of it, but this is not +the place. I have only one more question to ask: By what button have you +replaced the one you lost?" + +"By the first one I came across." + +"Who sewed it on?" + +"I did." + +"Are you in the habit of sewing on your buttons yourself?" + +Although the judge did not press this question by his tone, nor by the +form in which he made it, Florentin saw the strength of the accusation +that his reply would make against him. + +"Sometimes," he said. + +"And yet, on returning home, you found your mother, you told me. Was +there any reason why she could not sew this button on for you?" + +"I did not ask her to do it." + +"But when she saw you sewing it, did she not take the needle from your +hands?" + +"She did not see me." + +"Why?" + +"She was occupied preparing our dinner." + +"That is sufficient." + +"I was in the entry of our apartment, where I have slept since my return; +my mother was in the kitchen." + +"Is there no communication between the kitchen and the entry?" + +"The door was closed." + +A flood of words rushed to his lips, to protest against the conclusions +which seemed to follow these answers, but he kept them back. He saw +himself caught in a net, and all his efforts to free himself only bound +him more strongly. + +As he was asked no more questions it seemed to him best to say nothing, +and he was silent a long time, of the duration of which he was only +vaguely conscious. + +The judge talked in a low tone, the recorder wrote rapidly, and he heard +only a monotonous murmur that interrupted the scratching of a pen on the +paper. + +"Your testimony will now be read to you," the judge said. + +He wished to give all his attention to this reading, but he soon lost the +thread of it. The impression it made upon him, however, was that it +faithfully reproduced all that he had said, and he signed it. + +"Now," said the judge, "my duty obliges me, in presence of the charges +which emanate from your testimony, to deliver against you a 'manda +depot'." + +Florentin received this blow without flinching. + +"I know," he said, "that all the protestations I might make would have no +effect at this moment; I therefore spare you them. But I have a favor to +ask of you; it is to permit me to write to my mother and sister the news +of my arrest--they love me tenderly. Oh, you shall read my letter!" + +"You may, sir." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +"REGARDING THE CAFFIE AFFAIR" + +After the departure of her son and the detective, Madame Cormier was +prostrated. Her son! Her Florentin! The poor child! And she was sunk +in despair. + +Had they not suffered enough? Was this new proof necessary? Why had +their life been so unmercifully cruel? Why had not Dr. Saniel let her +die? At least she would not have seen this last catastrophe, this +disgrace; her son accused of assassination, in prison, at the assizes! + +Heretofore when she had yielded to her feelings and bewailed their sad +lot, Phillis was at hand to cheer and caress her; but now she was alone +in her deserted apartment, no one to hear her, see her, nor scold. Why +should she not abandon herself to tears? She wept and trembled, but the +moment arrived when, after having reached the extreme of despair, which +showed her her son condemned as an assassin, and executed, she stopped +and asked herself if she had not gone too far. + +He would return; certainly she might expect him. And she waited for him +without breakfasting; he would not like to sit down to the table all +alone, the poor child. + +Besides, she was too profoundly overcome to eat. She arranged the fire +with care, so that the haricot of mutton would keep warm, for it was his +favorite dish. + +Minutes and hours passed and he did not return. Her anguish came back; a +witness would not be retained so long by the judge. Had they arrested +him? Then what would become of him? + +She fell into a state of tears and despair, and longed for Phillis. +Fortunately she would not be late to-day. Finally a quick, light step +was heard on the landing, and as soon as she could, Madame Cormier went +to open the door, and was stunned on seeing the agitated face of her +daughter. Evidently Phillis was surprised by the sudden opening of the +door. + +"You know all, then?" Madame Cormier cried. + +Phillis put her arms about her, and drew her into the dining-room, where +she made her sit down. + +"Becalm," she said. "They will not keep him." + +"You know some way?" + +"We will find a way. I promise you that they will not keep him." + +"You are sure?" + +"I promise you." + +"You give me life. But how did you know?" + +"He wrote to me. The concierge gave me his letter, which had just come." + +"What does he say?" + +Madame Cormier took the letter that Phillis handed her, but the paper +shook so violently in her trembling hand that she could not read. + +"Read it to me." + +Phillis took it and read + + "DEAR LITTLE SISTER: After listening to my story, the judge retains + me. Soften for mamma the pain of this blow. Make her understand + that they will soon acknowledge the falseness of this accusation; + and, on your part, try to make this falseness evident, while on + mine, I will work to prove my innocence. + + "Embrace poor mamma for me, and find in your tenderness, strength, + and love, some consolation for her; mine will be to think that you + are near her, dear little beloved sister. + "FLORENTIN." + +"And it is this honest boy that they accuse of assassination!" cried +Madame Cormier, beginning to weep. + +It required several minutes for Phillis to quiet her a little. + +"We must think of him, mamma; we must not give up." + +"You are going to do something, are you not, my little Phillis?" + +"I am going to find Doctor Saniel." + +"He is a doctor, not a lawyer." + +"It is exactly as a doctor that he can save Florentin. He knows that +Caffie was killed without a struggle between him and the assassin; +consequently without the wrenching off of a button. He will say it and +prove it to the judge, and Florentin's innocence is evident. I am going +to see him." + +"I beg of you, do not leave me alone too long." + +"I will come back immediately." + +Phillis ran from the Batignolles to the Rue Louis-le-Grand. In answer to +her ring, Joseph, who had returned to his place in the anteroom, opened +the door, and as Saniel was alone, she went immediately to his office. + +"What is the matter?" he asked, on seeing her agitation. + +"My brother is arrested." + +"Ah! The poor boy!" + +What he had said to her on explaining that this arrest could not take +place was sincere; he believed it, and he more than believed it, he +wished it. When he decided to kill Caffie he had not thought that the +law would ever discover a criminal; it would be a crime that would remain +unpunished, as so many were, and no one would be disturbed. But now the +law had found and arrested one who was the brother of the woman he loved. + +"How was he arrested?" he asked, as much for the sake of knowing as to +recover himself. + +She told what she knew, and read Florentin's letter. + +"He is a good boy, your brother," he said, as if talking to himself. + +"You will save him?" + +"How can I?" + +This cry escaped him without her understanding its weight; without her +divining the expression of anxious curiosity in his glance. + +"To whom shall I address myself, if not to you? Are you not everything +to me? My support, my guide, my counsel, my God!" + +She explained what she wished him to do. Once more an exclamation +escaped Saniel. + +"You wish me to go to the judge--me?" + +"Who, better than you, can explain how things happened?" + +Saniel, who had recovered from his first feeling of surprise, did not +flinch. Evidently she spoke with entire honesty, suspecting nothing, and +it would be folly to look for more than she said. + +"But I cannot present myself before a judge in such away," he said. +"It is he who sends for those he wants to see." + +"Why can you not go to his court, since you know things which will throw +light upon it?" + +"Is it truly easy to go before this court? In going before it, I make +myself the defender of your brother." + +"That is exactly what I ask of you." + +"And in presenting myself as his defender, I take away the weight of my +deposition, which would have more authority if it were that of a simple +witness." + +"But when will you be asked for this deposition? Think of Florentin's +sufferings during this time, of mamma's, and of mine. He may lose his +head; he may kill himself. His spirit is not strong, nor is mamma's. +How will they bear all that the newspapers will publish?" + +Saniel hesitated a moment. + +"Well, I will go," he said. "Not this evening, it is too late, but +tomorrow." + +"Oh, dear Victor!" she exclaimed, pressing him in her arms, "I knew that +you would save him. We will owe you his life, as we owe you mamma's, as +I owe you happiness. Am I not right to say you are my God?" + +After she was gone he had a moment of repentance in which he regretted +this weakness; for it was a weakness, a stupid sentimentalism, unworthy +of a sensible man, who should not permit himself to be thus touched and +involved. Why should he go and invite danger when he could be quiet, +without any one giving him a thought? Was it not folly? The law wanted +a criminal. Public curiosity demanded one. Why take away the one that +they had? If he succeeded, would they not look for another? It was +imprudence, and, to use the true word, madness. Now that he was no +longer under the influence of Phillis's beautiful, tearful eyes, he would +not commit this imprudence. All the evening this idea strengthened, and +when he went to bed his resolution was taken. He would not go to the +judge. + +But on awakening, he was surprised to find that this resolution of the +evening was not that of the morning, and that this dual personality, +which had already struck him, asserted itself anew. It was at night that +he resolved to kill Caffie, and he committed the deed in the evening. It +was in the morning that he had abandoned the idea, as it was in the +morning that he revoked the decision made the previous evening not to go +to the rescue of this poor boy. Of what then, was the will of man made, +undulating like the sea, and variable as the wind, that he had the folly +to believe his was firm? + +At noon he went to the Palais de justice and sent in his card to the +judge, on which he wrote these words: "Regarding the Caffie affair." + +He was received almost immediately, and briefly explained how, according +to his opinion, Caffie was killed quickly and suddenly by a firm and +skilful hand, that of a killer by profession. + +"That is the conclusion of your report," the judge said. + +"What I could not point out in my report, as I did not know of the +finding of the button and the opinion it has led to, is that there was no +struggle between the assassin and the victim, as is generally supposed." + +And medically he demonstrated how this struggle was impossible. + +The judge listened attentively, without a word, without interruption. + +"Do you know this young man?" he asked. + +"I have seen him only once; but I know his mother, who was my patient, +and it is at her instigation that I decided to make this explanation to +you." + +"Without doubt, it has its value, but I must tell you that it tends in no +way to destroy our hypothesis." + +"But if it has no foundation?" + +"I must tell you that you are negative, doctor, and not suggestive. We +have a criminal and you have not. Do you see one?" + +Saniel thought that the judge looked at him with a disagreeable +persistency. + +"No," he said, sharply. + +Then rising, he said, more calmly: + +"That is not in my line." + +He had nothing to do but to retire, which he did; and on passing through +the vestibule he said to himself that the magistrate was right. He +believed that he held a criminal. Why should he let him go? + +As for him, he had done what he could. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +NOUGAREDE'S BRIDE + +Saniel passed the first proofs of his two 'concours' so brilliantly that +the results of either were not doubtful. In delivering his thesis for +the 'agregation', he commanded the admiration of his audience; by turns +aggressive, severe, ironical, eloquent, he reduced his adversary to such +an extremity that, overwhelmed, he was not able to reply. In his lecture +at the hospital, his eloquence and his clear demonstration convinced the +judges who were opposed to him that he was in the right. + +What could Caffie's death weigh, placed in the balance with these +results? So little that it counted for nothing, and would have held no +place in his thoughts if it had not been mixed in his mind with the +accusation that would send Florentin to the assizes. + +Cleared of this fact, the death of the old man rarely crossed his mind. +He had other things in his head, truly, than this memory which brought +neither regret nor remorse; and it was not at this moment, when he +touched the end at which he aimed, that he would embarrass himself, or +sadden his triumph, with Caffie. + +A little before the expiration of the two months, during which time the +poste restante retained the letters containing the thirty thousand +francs, he called for them, and readdressed and mailed them to other +post-offices. + +What did he want of this money, which was, in reality, a nuisance? His +habits remained the same, except that he no longer struggled with his +creditors, and paid cash for everything. He had no desire to make any +change in his former mode of living; his ambition was otherwise and +higher than in the small satisfactions, very small for him, that money +gives. + +Days passed without a thought of Caffie, except in connection with +Florentin. But Florentin, and above all, Phillis, reminded him that the +comfort he enjoyed he owed to Caffie's death, and he was troubled +accordingly. + +He did not believe that the investigations of the law would reach him +now; everything conspired to confirm him in his scrutiny. That which he +arranged so laboriously had succeeded according to his wish, and the only +imprudence that he had committed, in a moment of aberration, seemed not +to have been observed; no one had noticed his presence in the cafe +opposite Caffie's house, and no one was astonished at his pertinacity in +remaining there at an hour so unusual. + +But it was not enough that he was safe; he must prevent Florentin from +being unjustly condemned for a crime of which he was innocent. It was a +great deal that he should be imprisoned, that his sister should be in +despair, and his mother ill from chagrin; but if he should be sent to the +scaffold or to the galleys, it would be too much. In itself the death of +Caffie was a small thing; it became atrocious if it led to such an +ending. + +He did not wish this to happen, and he would do everything not only to +prevent the condemnation, but to shorten the imprisonment. + +It was this sentiment that he obeyed in going to see the judge; but the +manner in which he was received, showing him that the law was not +disposed to let its hypothesis be changed by a simple medical +demonstration, threw him into a state of uneasiness and perplexity. + +Without doubt, any one else in his place would have let things take their +course, and since the law had a criminal with which it contented itself, +would have done nothing to release him. While it followed its hypothesis +to prove the criminality of the one it held, it would not look elsewhere; +when it had condemned him, all would be finished; the Caffie affair would +be buried, as Caffie himself was buried; silence and oblivion would give +him security. The crime punished, the conscience of the public +satisfied, it would ask for no more, not even to know if the debt was +paid by the one who really owed it; it was paid, and that was sufficient. +But he was not "any one else," and if he found the death of this old +scamp legitimate, it was on the condition that Florentin did not pay for +it, from whom he had not profited. + +Florentin must be released as soon as possible, and it was his duty to +interest himself in his behalf--his imperative duty not only toward +Phillis, but toward himself. + +He told Phillis that until Florentin came before the jury, he could do +nothing, or almost nothing. When the time came, he would assert his +authority, and speaking in the name of science, he would prove to the +jury that the story of the button was an invention of the police, who +were pushed to extremes, and would not bear examination; but until then +the poor boy remained at Mazas, and however assured one might be at this +moment of an acquittal, an immediate 'ordonnance de non-lieu' was of more +value, if it could be obtained. + +For this the intervention and direction of a doctor were of little use; +it required that of an advocate. + +Whom should he have? Phillis would have liked to apply to the most +illustrious, to him who, by his talent, authority, and success, would win +all his cases. But Saniel explained to her that workers of miracles were +probably as difficult to find at the bar as in the medical profession, +and that, if they did exist, they would expect a large fee. To tell the +truth, he would have willingly given the thirty thousand francs in the +'poste restante', or a large part of this sum, to give Florentin his +liberty; but it would be imprudent to take out the bills at this moment, +and he could not declare that he had thirty thousand francs, or even ten +thousand. He decided with Phillis to consult Brigard. + +On a Wednesday he went to the parlor in the Rue Vaugirard, where he had +not been since his experiment with Glady. As usual, he was received +affectionately by Crozat, who scolded him for coming so rarely, and as +usual also, in order not to disturb the discussion that was going on, he +remained standing near the door. + +This evening the theme of the discourse was a phrase of Chateaubriand's: +"The tiger kills and sleeps; man kills and is sleepless." On listening +to the discussion, Saniel said to himself that it was truly a pity not to +be able to reply to all this rhetoric by a simple fact of personal +experience. He had never slept so well, so tranquilly, as since Caffie's +death, which relieved him from all the cares that in these last months +had tormented and broken his sleep so much. + +At the end, Brigard concluded the discussion on saying that nothing +better proved the power of the human conscience than this difference +between man and beast. + +When they had all gone but Brigard, and Saniel was alone with him and +Crozat, he stated his desire. + +"But is it the Caffie affair?" + +"Exactly." + +And he explained in detail the interest he felt in Florentin, the son of +one of his patients, and also the situation of this patient. + +Brigard strongly recommended Nougarede, and described his recent +successes before a jury. Crozat concurred with Brigard, and advised +Saniel to see Nougarede the day after to-morrow. + +"In the morning, because after the Palais, Nougarede will be at his +wedding, which, as you know, prevents him from coming here this evening." + +"What! Nougarede married?" exclaimed Saniel, surprised that the +favorite disciple gave this lie to the doctrine and examples of his +master. + +"My God, yes! We must not be too hard on him. + +He submits to the fate of a special environment. Without our knowledge, +Nougarede, we may say it now, and ought to say it, was the happy lover of +a charming young person, the daughter of one of our most distinguished +actresses, who was brought up in a fashionable convent. You see the +situation. The result of this liaison was a child, a delicious little +boy. It seemed quite natural that they should live 'en union libre', +since they loved each other, and not weaken by legalities the strength +of those that attached them to this child. But the mother is an actress, +as I have told you, and wished her daughter to receive all the sacraments +that the law and the church can confer. She managed so well that poor +Nougarede yielded. He goes to the mayor, to the church; he legitimizes +the child, and he even accepts a dot of two hundred thousand francs. I +pity him, the unfortunate man! But I confess that I have the weakness to +not condemn him as he would deserve if he married in any other way." + +Saniel was a little surprised at these points of resemblance with the +charming young person that Caffie had proposed to him. At the least, it +was curious; but if it were the same woman, he was not vexed to see that +Nougarede had been less difficult than himself. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +STUNNING NEWS + +On going to see Nougarede, Saniel vaguely fancied the lawyer would tell +him that an acquittal was certain if Florentin passed to the assizes, and +even that an 'ordonnance de non-lieu' was probable. But his hope was not +realized. + +"The adventure of the button for you or me would not have the same +gravity as for this boy; we have no antecedents on which presumptions +might be established, but he has. The forty-five francs which constitute +an embezzlement for a salaried man will be, certainly, a starting-point +for the accusation; one commences by a weakness and finishes by a crime. +Do you not hear the advocate-general? He will begin by presenting the +portrait of the honest, laborious, exact, scrupulous clerk, content with +a little, and getting satisfaction from his duties accomplished; then, in +opposition, he will pass to the clerk of to-day, as irregular in his work +as in his conduct, full of desires, in a hurry to enjoy, discontented +with everything and everybody, with others as with himself. And he will +go on to speak of the embezzlement of the forty-five francs as the +beginning of the crimes that led to the assassination. You may be sure +if the affair goes to the assizes that you will hear these words and +more, and I assure you that it will be difficult for us to destroy the +impression that he will produce on the jury. But I hope we shall +succeed." + +He had to give up the idea of obtaining the 'ordonnance de non-lieu', +and to tell himself that the 'affaire' would come before the assizes; +but it does not follow that one is condemned for what one is accused of, +and Saniel persisted in believing that Florentin would not be. +Assuredly, the prison was hard for the poor boy, and the trial before the +jury, with all the ignominy that necessarily accompanies it, would be +harder yet. But, after all, it would all disappear in the joy of +acquittal; when that time came, there would be found, surely, some +ingenious idea, sympathy, effective support, to pay him for all that he +would have suffered. Certainly, things would come to pass thus, and the +acquittal would be carried with a high hand. + +He said this to himself again and again, and from the day when he put the +affair in Nougarede's hands, he often went to see him, to hear him repeat +it. + +"He cannot be condemned; can he?" + +"One may always be condemned, even when one is innocent; as one may die +at any time, you know that, even with excellent health." + +In one of these visits he met Madame Nougarede, who had then been several +days married, and on recognizing in her the young virgin with a child, of +whom Caffie showed him the portrait, he was strengthened in his idea that +conscience, such as it was understood, was decidedly a strange weighing- +machine, which might be made to say whatever one chose. Of what good +were these hypocrisies, and whom did they deceive? + +Although he had told Phillis repeatedly that an acquittal was certain, +and that he had promised her he would do all he could for Florentin-- +which he really did--she did not give entirely into his hands, or into +Nougarede's, the task of defending her brother, but worked with them in +his defence. + +Nougarede believed that the delay in bringing the affair before the +assizes was caused by the attempts to learn if, during his residence in +America, Florentin had not worked in some large meat-shop or sheepfold, +where he would have learned to use a butcher knife, which was the chief +point for the accusation. Phillis wrote to the various towns where +Florentin had lived, and to tell the truth, he had worked at La Plata for +six months as accountant in a large sheepfold, but never slaughtered the +sheep. + +When she received a letter, she carried it immediately to Saniel, and +then to Nougarede; and, at the same time, on all sides, in Paris, among +those who had held relations with her brother, she sought for testimony +that should prove to the jury that he could not be the man that his +accusers believed him. It was thus that, all alone, without other means +of action than those which she found in her sisterly tenderness and +bravery, she organized an investigation parallel to that of the law, +which, on the day of judgment, would carry a certain weight, it seemed, +with the conviction of the jury, showing them what had been the true life +of this irregular and debauched man, capable of anything to glut his +appetite and satisfy his desires. + +Each time that she obtained a favorable deposition, she ran to Saniel to +tell him, and then together they repeated that a conviction was +impossible. + +"You are sure, are you not?" + +"Have I not always told you so?" + +He had also said that Florentin could not be arrested, basing the +accusation on the torn button, and he had said that certainly an +'ordonnance de non-lieu' would be given by the judge; but they wished +to remember neither the one nor the other. + +Things had reached this state, when one Saturday evening Phillis arrived +at Saniel's, radiant. + +As soon as the door opened she exclaimed: + +"He is saved!" + +"An ordonnance de non-lieu?" + +"No; but now it is of little importance. We can go to the assizes." + +She breathed a sigh which showed how great were her fears, in spite of +the confidence she expressed when she repeated that conviction was +impossible. + +He left his desk, and going toward her, took her in his arms, and made +her sit down beside him on the divan. + +"You will see that I do not let myself be carried away by an illusion, +and that, as I tell you, he is saved, really saved. You know that an +illustrated paper has published his portrait?" + +"I do not read illustrated papers." + +"You could have seen them at the kiosks where they are displayed. +It is there that I saw them yesterday morning when I went out, and I was +petrified, red with shame, distracted, not knowing where to hide myself. +'Florentin Cormier, the assassin of the Rue Sainte-Anne.' Is it not +infamous that an innocent person should be thus dishonored? This was +what I said to myself. Where did the paper get the photograph? They +came to ask us for one, but you can imagine how I treated them, not +knowing how anything good for us would result from such a disgrace." + +"And what is the result?" + +"The proof that it is not Florentin who was with Caffie at the moment +when the assassination took place. All day yesterday and all this +morning I was filled with the feeling of disgrace that followed me, when +at three o'clock I received this little note from the concierge of the +Rue Sainte-Anne." + +She took from her pocket a piece of paper folded in the form of a letter, +which she handed to Saniel. + + "MADEMOISELLE: If you will pass through the Rue Sainte-Anne, I have + something to tell you that will give you a great deal of pleasure, I + believe. + "I am your servant, + "WIDOW ANAIS BOUCHU." + +"You know the lame old concierge has never been willing to admit that my +brother could be guilty. Florentin was polite and kind to her during his +stay with Caffie, and she is grateful. Very often she has said to me +that she is certain the guilty one would be found, and that when it was +announced I must tell her. Instead of my telling her the good news, she +has written to me. You may be sure I hurried to the Rue Sainte-Anne, +expecting to hear something favorable, but we have a proof. When I +arrived, the old woman took both of my hands, and told me that she would +conduct me immediately to a lady who saw Caffie's assassin." + +"Saw him!" exclaimed Saniel, struck by a blow that shook him from head +to foot. + +"She saw him perfectly, as I tell you. She added that this lady was the +proprietor of the house, and that she lived in the second wing of the +building, on the second story on the court, just opposite to Caffie's +office. This lady, who is called Madame Dammauville, widow of a lawyer, +is afflicted with paralysis, and I believe has not left her room for a +year. The concierge explained this to me while crossing the court and +mounting the stairs, but would say no more." + +If Phillis had been able to observe Saniel, she would have seen him pale +to such a degree that his lips were as white as his cheeks; but she was +completely absorbed in what she was saying. + +"A servant conducted us to Madame Dammauville, whom I found in a small +bed near a window, and the concierge told her who I was. She received me +kindly, and after having made me sit down in front of her, she told me +that hearing from her concierge that I was exerting myself in my +brother's behalf, she had something to tell me which would demonstrate +that Caffie's assassin was not the man whom the law had arrested and +detained. The evening of the assassination she was in this same room, +lying on this same bed, before this same window, and after having read +all day, she reflected and dreamed about her book, while listlessly +watching the coming of twilight in the court, that already obscured +everything in its shadow. Mechanically she had fixed her eyes on the +window of Caffie's office opposite. Suddenly she saw a tall man, whom +she took for an upholsterer, approach the window, and try to draw the +curtains. Then Caffie rose, and taking the lamp, he came forward in such +a way that the light fell full on the face of this upholsterer. You +understand, do you not?" + +"Yes," murmured Saniel. + +"She saw him then plainly enough to remember him, and not to confound him +with another. Tall, with long hair, a curled blond beard, and dressed +like a gentleman, not like a poor man. The curtains were drawn. It was +fifteen or twenty minutes after five. And it was at this same moment +that Caffie was butchered by this false upholsterer, who evidently had +only drawn the curtains so that he might kill Caffie in security, and not +imagining that some one should see him doing a deed that denounced him as +the assassin as surely as if he had been surprised with the knife in his +hand. On reading the description of Florentin in the newspapers when he +was arrested, Madame Dammauville believed the criminal was found--a tall +man, with long hair and curled beard. There are some points of +resemblance, but in the portrait published in the illustrated paper that +she received, she did not recognize the man who drew the curtains, and +she is certain that the judge is deceived. You see that Florentin is +saved!" + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +For the rest of his life he would be the prisoner of his crime +In his eyes everything was decided by luck +Looking for a needle in a bundle of hay +Neither so simple nor so easy as they at first appeared + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Conscience, v2 +by Hector Malot + + + + + + +CONSCIENCE + +By HECTOR MALOT + + + +BOOK 3. + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +HEDGING + +As he did not reply to this cry of triumph, she looked at him in +surprise. saw his face, pale, agitated, under the shock evidently of a +violent emotion that she could not explain to herself. + +"What is the matter?" she asked, with uneasiness. + +"Nothing," he answered, almost brutally. + +"You do not wish to weaken my hope?" she said, not imagining that he +could not think of this hope and of Florentin. This was a path to lead +him out of his confusion. In following it he would have time to recover +himself. + +"It is true," he said. + +"You do not think that what Madame Dammauville saw proves Florentin's +innocence?" + +"Would what may be a proof for Madame Dammauville, for you, and for me, +be one in the eyes of the law?" + +"However--" + +"I saw you so joyful that I did not dare to interrupt you." + +"Then you believe that this testimony is without value," she murmured, +feeling crushed. + +"I do not say that. We must reflect, weigh the pro and con, compass the +situation from divers points of view; that is what I try to do, which is +the cause of my preoccupation that astonishes you." + +"Say that it crushes me; I let myself be carried away." + +"You need not be crushed or carried away. Certainly, what this lady told +you forms a considerable piece of work." + +"Does it not?" + +"Without any doubt. But in order that the testimony she gives may be of +great consequence, the witness must be worthy of trust." + +"Do you believe this lady could have invented such a story?" + +"I do not say that; but before all, it is necessary to know who she is." + +"The widow of an attorney." + +"The widow of an attorney and landowner. Evidently this constitutes a +social status that merits consideration from the law; but the moral +state, what is it? You say that she is paralyzed?" + +"She has been so a little more than a year." + +"Of what paralysis? That is a vague word for us others. There are +paralyses that affect the sight; others that affect the mind. Is it one +of these with which this lady is afflicted, or one of the others, which +permitted her really to see, the evening of the assassination, that which +she relates, and which leaves her mental faculties in a sane condition? +Before everything, it is important to know this." + +Phillis was prostrated. + +"I had not thought of all that," she murmured. + +"It is very natural that you had not; but I am a doctor, and while you +talked it was the doctor who listened." + +"It is true, it is true," she repeated. "I only saw Florentin." + +"In your place I should have seen, like you, only my brother, and I +should have been carried away by hope. But I am not in your place. It +is by your voice that this woman speaks, whom I do not know, and against +whom I must be on my guard, for the sole reason that it is a paralytic +who has told this story." + +She could not restrain the tears that came to her eyes, and she let them +flow silently, finding nothing to reply. + +"I am sorry to pain you," he said. + +"I saw only Florentin's liberty." + +"I do not say this testimony of Madame Dammauville will not influence the +judge, and, above all, the jury; but I must warn you that you will expose +yourself to a terrible deception if you believe that her testimony alone +will give your brother liberty. It is not on a testimony of this kind or +of this quality that the law decides; better than we, it knows to what +illusions people can lend themselves when it is the question of a crime +that absorbs and excites the public curiosity. There are some witnesses +who, with the best faith in the world, believe they have seen the most +extraordinary things which only existed in their imaginations; and there +are people who accuse themselves rather than say nothing." + +He heaped words on words, as if, in trying to convince Phillis, he might +hope to convince himself; but when the sound of his words faded, he was +obliged to declare to himself that, whatever the paralysis of this woman +might be, it had not, in this instance, produced either defect of sight +or of mind. She had seen, indeed, the tall man with long hair and curled +beard, dressed like a gentleman, who was not Florentin. When she related +the story of the lamp and the curtain cords, she knew what she was +saying. + +In his first alarm he had been very near betraying himself. Without +doubt he should have told himself that this incident of the curtains +might prove a trap; but all passed so rapidly that he never imagined +that, exactly at the moment when Caffie raised the lamp to give him +light, there was a woman opposite looking at him, and who saw him so +plainly that she had not forgotten him. He thought to use all +precautions on his side in drawing the curtains, when, on the contrary, +he would have done better had he left them undrawn. Without doubt the +widow of the attorney would have been a witness of a part of the scene, +but in the shadow she would not have distinguished his features as she +was able to do when he placed himself before the window under the light. +But this idea did not enter his mind, and, to save himself from an +immediate danger, he threw himself into another which, although +uncertain, was not less grave. + +Little by little Phillis recovered herself, and the hope that Madame +Dammauville put in her heart, momentarily crushed by Saniel's remarks, +sprang up again. + +"Is it not possible Madame Dammauville really saw what she relates?" + +"Without any doubt; and there are even probabilities that it is so, since +the man who drew the curtains was not your brother, as we know. +Unfortunately, it is not ourselves who must be convinced, since we are +convinced in advance. It is those who, in advance also, have one whom +they will not give up unless he is torn from them by force." + +"But if Madame Dammauville saw clearly?" + +"What must be learned before everything is, if she is in a state to see +clearly; I have said nothing else." + +"A doctor would surely know on examining her?" + +"Without doubt." + +"If you were this doctor?" + +It was a cry rather than an exclamation. She wished that he should +present himself before this woman; but in that case she would recognize +him. + +Once more, under the pain of betraying his emotion, he must recover from +this first impulse. + +"But how can you wish me to go and examine this woman whom I do not know, +and who does not know me? You know very well that patients choose their +doctors, and not doctors their patients." + +"If she sent for you?" + +"By what right?" + +"By what I shall learn on making the concierge talk, could you not +recognize her kind of paralysis without seeing her?" + +"That would be a little vague. However, I will do the best I can. Try +to learn not only what concerns her illness, but all that relates to her +--what her position is, who are her relations, which is important for a +witness who overawes as much by what he is as by what he says. You +understand that a deposition that destroys the whole plan of the +prosecution will be severely disputed, and will only be accepted if +Madame Dammauville has by her character and position a sufficient +authority to break down all opposition." + +"I will also try to learn who is her doctor. You may know him. What he +would tell you would be worth more than all the details that I could +bring you." + +"We should be immediately decided on the paralysis, and we should see +what credit we could accord this woman's words." + +While listening to Phillis and talking himself, he had time to compass +the situation that this thunderbolt created for him. Evidently, the +first thing to do was to prevent a suspicion from arising in Phillis's +mind, and it was to this that he applied himself on explaining the +different kinds of paralysis. He knew her well enough to know that he +had succeeded. But what would she do now? How did she mean to make use +of Madame Dammauville's declaration? Had she spoken of it to any one +besides himself? Was it her intention to go to Nougarede and tell him +what she had learned? All that must be made clear, and as soon as +possible. She must do nothing without his knowledge and approval. The +circumstances were critical enough, without his letting accident become +the master to direct them and conduct them blindly. + +"When did you see Madame Dammauville?" he asked. + +"Just this minute." + +"And now, what do you wish to do?" + +"I think that I ought to tell Monsieur Nougarde." + +"Evidently, whatever the value of Madame Dammauville's declaration, he +should know it; he will appraise it. Only, as it is well to explain to +him what may vitiate this testimony, if you wish, I will go to see him." + +"Certainly I wish it, and I thank you." + +"In the mean time, return to your mother and tell her what you have +learned; but, that she may not yield to an exaggerated hope, tell her, +also, that if there are chances, and great ones, in favor of your +brother, on the other side there are some that are unfavorable. Tomorrow +or this evening you will return to the Rue Sainte-Anne and begin your +inquiries of the concierge. If the old woman tells you nothing +interesting, you must go to Madame Dammauville, and make some reason for +seeing her. Make her talk, and you will notice if her ideas are +consecutive, and examine her face and eyes. Above all, neglect nothing +that appears to you characteristic. Having taken care of your mother, +you know almost as well as a doctor the symptoms of myelitis, and you +could see instantly if Madame Dammauville has them." + +"If I dared!" she said timidly, after a short hesitation. + +"What?" + +"I would ask you to come with me to the concierge immediately." + +"You think of such a thing!" he exclaimed. + +Since the evening when he had testified to the death of Caffie, he had +not returned to the Rue Sainte-Anne; and it was not when the description +given by Madame Dammauville was, doubtless, already spread in the +quarter, that he was going to commit the imprudence of showing himself. +But he must explain this exclamation. + +"How can you expect a doctor to give himself up to such an investigation? +On your part it is quite natural; on mine it would be unheard of and +ridiculous; add that it would be dangerous. You must conciliate Madame +Dammauville, and this would be truly a stupidity that would give her a +pretext for thinking that you are trying to find out whether she is, or +is not, in her right mind." + +"That is true," she said. "I had not thought of that. I said to myself +that, while I could only listen to what the concierge would tell me, you +would know how to question her in a way that would lead her to say what +you want to learn." + +"I hope that your investigation will tell me. In any case, let us offend +in nothing. If to-morrow you bring me only insignificant details, we +will consider what to do. In the mean time, return to the concierge this +evening and question her. If it is possible, see Madame Dammauville, and +do not go home until after having obtained some news on this subject that +is of such importance to us. And I will go to see Nougarde." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +DAGNEROUS DETAILS + +It was not to falsify Phillis's story that Saniel insisted on going to +see Nougarede. What good would it do? That would be a blunder which +sooner or later would show itself, and in that case would turn against +him. He would have liked, with the authority of a physician, to explain +that this testimony of a paralytic could have no more importance than +that of a crazy woman. + +But at the first words of an explanation Nougarede stopped him. + +"What you say is very possible, my dear friend; but I shall make you +see that it is not for us to raise objections of this kind. Here is a +testimony that may save our client; let us accept this, such as it may +be, whence it comes. It is the business of the prosecution to prove that +our witness could not see what she relates that she saw, or that her +mental condition does not permit her to know what she saw; and do not be +afraid, investigation will not be lacking. Do not let us even give a +hint from our side; that would be stupid." + +This, certainly, was not what Saniel wished; only he believed it a duty, +in his quality of physician, to indicate some rocks against which they +might strike themselves. + +"Our duty," continued the advocate, "is, therefore, to manage in a way to +escape them; and this is how I understand the role of this really +providential witness, if it is possible to make her undertake it. Since +it has occurred to you--you who wish the acquittal of this poor boy--that +the testimony of Madame Dammauville may be vitiated by the simple fact +that it comes from a sick woman, it is incontestable, is it not, that +this same idea will occur to those who wish for his conviction? This +testimony should be irrefutable; it should be presented in such a way +that no one could raise anything against it, so that it would compel the +acquittal in the same moment that it is presented. It was between a +quarter past and half past five o'clock that Caffie was assassinated; +at exactly a quarter past five, a woman of respectable position, and +whose intellectual as well as physical faculties render her worthy of +being believed, saw in Caffies office a man, with whom it is materially +impossible to confound Florentin Cormier, draw the curtains of the +window, and thus prepare for the crime. She would make her deposition in +these conditions, and in these terms, and the affair would be finished. +There would not be a judge, after this confrontation, who would send +Florentin Cormier before the assizes, and, assuredly, there would not be +two voices in the jury for conviction. But things will not happen like +this. Without doubt, Madame Dammauville bears a name that is worth +something; her husband was an estimable attorney, a brother of the one +who was notary at Paris." + +"Have you ever had any business with her?" + +"Never. I tell you what is well known to every one, morally she is +irreproachable. But is she the same physically and mentally? Not at +all, unfortunately. If a physician can be found who will declare that +her paralysis does not give her aberrations or hallucinations, another +one will be found who will contest these opinions, and who will come to +an opposite conclusion. So much for the witness herself; now for the +testimony. This testimony does not say that the man who drew the +curtains at a quarter past five was built in such a way that it is +materially impossible to confound him with Florentin Cormier, because he +was small or hunchbacked or bald, or dressed like a workman; while +Florentin is tall, straight, with long hair and beard, and dressed like a +gentleman. It says, simply, that the man who drew the curtains was tall, +with long hair, and curled blond beard, and dressed like a gentleman. +But this description is exactly Florentin Cormier's, as it is yours--" + +"Mine!" Saniel exclaimed. + +"Yours, as well as that of many others. And it is this, unfortunately +for us, which destroys the irrefutability that we must have. How is it +certain that this tall man, with long hair and curled beard, is not +Florentin Cormier, since these are his chief characteristics? And it was +at night, at a distance of twelve or fifteen metres, through a window, +whose panes were obscured by the dust of papers and the mist, that this +sick woman, whose eyes are affected, whose mind is weakened by suffering, +was able, in a very short space of time, when she had no interest to +imprint upon her memory what she saw, to grasp certain signs, that she +recalled yesterday strongly enough to declare that the man who drew the +curtains was not Florentin Cormier, against whom so many charges have +accumulated from various sides, and who has only this testimony in his +favor--every sensible person could not but find it suspicious!" + +"But it is true," Saniel said, happy to lend himself to this view of the +matter, which was his own. + +"What makes the truth of a thing, my dear sir, is the way of presenting +it; let us change this manner and we falsify it. To arrive at the +conclusion which made you say 'It is true,' I am on the side of the idea +that to-morrow Madame Dammauville's story should be known to the law, +that the brave lady should be heard before the prosecution, and that time +should be allowed to examine this testimony that you suspect. Now let us +look at it from the opposite point. Madame Dammauville's story is not +known to the law, or, if something transpires, we will arrange that this +something is so vague that the prosecution will attach but little +importance to it. And this is possible if we do not base a new defence +on this testimony. We arrive at the judgment, and when the prosecution +has listened to its witnesses which have overwhelmed us--the agent of +affairs Savoureux, the tailor Valerius,--it is Madame Dammauville's turn. +She simply relates what she saw, and declares that the man who is on the +prisoner's bench is not the same who drew the curtains at a quarter past +five. Do you see the 'coup de theatre'? The prosecution had not +foreseen it; it had not inquired into the health of the witness; the +physician would not be there to quote the defects of sight or reason; +very probably it would not think of the dusty windowpanes, or of the +distance. And all the opposing arguments that would be properly arranged +if there were time, would be lacking, and we should carry the acquittal +with a high hand." + +Arranged thus, things were too favorable for Saniel for him not to +receive, with a sentiment of relief, this combination which brought +Florentin's acquittal more surely, it seemed to him, than all that they +had arranged for his defence up to this day. However, an objection +occurred to him, which he communicated to Nougarede immediately. + +"Would one wish to admit that Madame Dammauville had kept silent on so +grave a matter, and waited for an audience to reveal it?" + +"This silence she kept until yesterday; why should she not keep it a few +days longer? It is evident that if she had not related what she saw, it +is because she had reasons for being silent. It is probable that, being +ill, she did not wish to expose herself to the annoyances and fatigue of +an investigation; and in her eyes her deposition was not of great +importance. What should she have revealed to the prosecution? That the +man who committed the crime was tall, with a curled blond beard? This +man the law held, or it held one the description of whom answered to +this, which to Madame Dammauville was the same thing. She did not need, +therefore, to call the police or the judge to tell them these +insignificant things for her own comfort; and, also, because she believed +that she had nothing interesting to say, she did not speak. It was when +accident brought to her notice the portrait of the accused, she +recognized that the law had not the real criminal, and then she broke the +silence. The moment when she first saw this portrait is not stated +precisely; I undertake to arrange that. The difficulty is not there." + +"Where do you see it?" + +"Here: Madame Dammauville may have already told her story to so many +persons that it is already public property, where the prosecution has +picked it up. In that case there will be no 'coup de theatre'. She will +be questioned, her deposition examined, and we will have only a suspected +testimony. The first thing to do, then, is to know how far this story +has spread, and if there is yet time to prevent it from spreading +farther." + +"That is not easy, it seems to me." + +"I believe Mademoiselle Phillis can do it. She is a brave woman, whom +nothing dejects or disconcerts, which is the living proof that we are +only valued according to the force and versatility of the inner +consciousness. For the rest, I need not sound her praises, since you +know her better than I; and what I say has no other object but to explain +the confidence that I place in her. As I cannot interfere myself, I +think there is no better person than she to act on Madame Dammauville, +without disturbing or wounding her, and to bring about the result that we +desire. + +I am sure that she has already won Madame Dammauville, and that she will +be listened to with sympathy." + +"Do you wish me to write to her to come to see you tomorrow?" + +"No; it would be better for you so see her this evening, if possible." + +"I shall go to the Batignolles when I leave you." + +"She will enter into her part perfectly, I am certain, and she will +succeed, I hope." + +"It seems to me that your combination rests, above all, on the 'coup de +theatre' of the non-recognition of Florentin by Madame Dammauville. How +will you bring this paralytic to court?" + +"I depend upon you." + +"And how?" + +"You will examine her." + +"I shall have to go to her house!" + +"Why not?" + +"Because I am not her doctor." + +"You will become so." + +"It is impossible." + +"I do not find it at all impossible that you should be called in +consultation. I have not forgotten that your thesis was on the paralyses +due to the affection of the spinal cord, and it was remarkable enough for +us to discuss it in our 'parlotte' of the Rue de Vaugirard. You have, +therefore, authority in the matter." + +"It is not on account of having written several works on the pathological +anatomy of medullary lesions, and especially on the alterations of the +spinal ganglia, that one acquires authority in a question so +comprehensive and so delicate." + +"Do not be too modest, dear friend. I have had, lately, to consult my +Dictionary of Medicine, and at each page your work was quoted. And, +besides, the way in which you passed your examinations made you famous. +Every one talks of you. So it is not impossible that Mademoiselle +Phillis, relating that her mother was cured of a similar paralysis, will +give Madame Dammauville the idea of consulting you, and her physician +will send for you." + +"You will not do that?" + +"And why should I not do it?" + +They looked at each other a moment in silence, and Saniel turned his eyes +away. + +"I detest nothing so much as to appear to put myself forward." + +"In this case it is no matter what you detest or like. The question is +to save this unfortunate young man whom you know to be innocent; and you +can do a kind deed and aid us. You examine Madame Dammauville; you see +with which paralysis she is afflicted, and consequently, what exceptions +may be taken at her testimony. At the same time, you see if you can cure +her, or, at least, put her in a state to go to court." + +"And if it is proved that she cannot leave her bed?" + +"In that case I shall change my order of battle, and that is why it is of +capital importance--you know that that is the word--that we should be +warned beforehand." + +"You will make the judge receive her deposition?" + +"In any case. But I shall make her write a letter that I shall read at +the desired moment, and I shall call upon her physician to explain that +he would not permit his patient to come to court. Without doubt, the +effect would not be what I desire, but, anyhow, we should have one." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +A GOOD MEMORY + +After Phillis, Nougarde also wished him to see Madame Dammauville; this +coincidence was not the least danger of the situation that opened before +him. + +If he saw her, the chances were that she would recognize in him the man +who drew the curtains; for, if he was able to speak to Phillis and +Nougarede of an affection of the eyes or of the mind, he did not believe +in these affections, which for him were only makeshifts. + +When he reached Madame Cormier's, Phillis had not returned, and he was +obliged to explain to the uneasy mother why her daughter was late. + +It was a delirium of joy, before which he felt embarrassed. How should +he break the hope of this unhappy mother? + +What he had said to Phillis and to Nougarede he repeated to her. + +"But it is possible, also, for paralytics to enjoy all their faculties!" +Madame Cormier said, with a decision that was not in accordance with her +habit or with her character. + +"Assuredly." + +"Am I not an example?" + +"Without doubt." + +"Then Florentin will be saved." + +"This is what we hope. I only caution you against an excess of joy by an +excess of prudence. Nevertheless, it is probable Mademoiselle Phillis +will settle this for us when she returns." + +"Perhaps it would have been better if you had gone to the Rue Sainte- +Anne. You would have found her." + +There was, then, a universal mania to send him to the Rue Sainte-Anne! + +They waited, but the conversation was difficult and slow between them. +It was neither of Phillis nor of Florentin that Saniel thought; it was of +himself and of his own fears; while Madame Cormier's thoughts ran to +Phillis. Then there were long silences that Madame Cormier interrupted +by going to the kitchen to look after her dinner, that had been ready +since two o'clock. + +Not knowing what to say or do in the presence of Saniel's sombre face and +preoccupation, which she could not explain, she asked him if he had +dined. + +"Not yet." + +"If you will accept a plate of soup, I have some of yesterday's bouillon, +that Phillis did not find bad." + +But he did not accept, which hurt Madame Cormier. For a long time Saniel +had been a sort of god to her, and since he had shown so much zeal +regarding Florentin, the 'culte' was become more fervent. + +At last Phillis's step was heard. + +"What! You came to tell mamma!" she exclaimed, on seeing Saniel. + +Ordinarily her mother listened to her respectfully, but now she +interrupted her. + +"And Madame Dammauville?" she asked. + +"Madame Dammauville has excellent eyes. She is a woman of intellect, +who, without the assistance of any business man, manages her fortune." + +Overcome, Madame Cormier fell into a chair. + +"Oh, the poor child!" she murmured. + +Exclamations of joy escaped her which contained but little sense. + +"It is as I thought," Saniel said; "but it would be imprudent to abandon +ourselves to hopes to-day that to-morrow may destroy." + +While he spoke he escaped, at least, from the embarrassment of his +position and from the examination of Phillis. + +"What did Monsieur Nougarde say?" she asked. + +"I will explain to you presently. Begin by telling us what you learned +from Madame Dammauville. It is her condition that will decide our +course, at least that which Nougarde counsels us to adopt." + +"When the concierge saw me return," Phillis began, "she showed a certain +surprise; but she is a good woman, who is easily tamed, and I had not +much trouble in making her tell me all she knows of Madame Dammauville. +Three years ago Madame Dammauville became a widow without children. She +is about forty years of age, and since her widowhood has lived in her +house in the Rue Sainte-Anne. Until last year she was not ill, but she +went every year to the springs at Lamoulon. It is a year since she was +taken with pains that were thought to be rheumatic, following which, +paralysis attacked her and confined her to her bed. She suffers so much +sometimes that she cries, but these are spasms that do not last. In the +intervals she lives the ordinary life, except that she does not get up. +She reads a great deal, receives her friends, her sister-in-law--widow of +a notary--her nephews and nieces, and one of the vicars of the parish, +for she is very charitable. Her eyes are excellent. She has never had +delirium or hallucinations. She is very reserved, detests gossip, and +above everything seeks to live quietly. The assassination of Caffie +exasperated her; she would let no one speak to her of him, and she spoke +of it to no one. She even said that if she were in a condition to leave +her house, she would sell it, so that she would never hear the name of +Caffie." + +"How did she speak of the portrait and of the man she saw in Caffie's +office?" Saniel asked. + +"That is exactly the question that the concierge was not able to answer; +so I decided to go to see Madame Dammauville again." + +"You are courageous," the mother said with pride. + +"I assure you that I was not so on going up-stairs. After what I had +heard of her character, it was truly audacious to go a second time, after +an interval of two hours, to trouble her, but it was necessary. While +ascending, I sought a reason to justify, or, at least, to explain my +second visit, and I found only an adventurous one, for which I ought to +ask your indulgence." + +She said this on turning toward Saniel, but with lowered eyes, without +daring to look at him, and with an emotion that made him uneasy. + +"My indulgence?" he said. + +"I acted without having time to reflect, and under the pressure of +immediate need. As Madame Dammauville expressed surprise at seeing me +again, I told her that what she had said to me was so serious, and might +have such consequences for the life and honor of my brother, that I had +thought of returning the next day, accompanied by a person familiar with +the affair, before whom she would repeat her story; and that I came to +ask her permission to present this person. This person is yourself." + +"I!" + +"And that is why," she said feebly, without raising her eyes, "that I +have need of your indulgence." + +"But I had told you--" he exclaimed with a violence that the +dissatisfaction at being so disposed of was not sufficient to justify. + +"That you could not present yourself to Madame Dammauville in the +character of a physician unless she sent for you. I did not forget that; +and it is not as a physician that I wish to beg you to accompany me, but +as a friend, if you permit me to speak thus; as the most devoted, the +most firm, and the most generous friend that we have had the happiness to +encounter in our distress." + +"My daughter speaks in my name, as in her own," Madame Cormier said with +emotion; "I add that it is a respectful friendship, a profound gratitude, +that we feel toward you." + +Although Phillis trembled to see the effect that she produced on Saniel, +she continued with firmness: + +"You would accompany me, then, without doing anything ostensibly, without +saying you are a doctor, and while she talks you could examine her. +Madame Dammauville gave her consent to my request with extreme kindness. +I shall return to her to-morrow, and if you think it useful, if you think +you should accept the part that I claimed for you without consulting you, +you can accompany me." + +He did not reply to these last words, which were an invitation as well as +a question. + +"Did you not examine her as I told you?" he asked, after a moment of +reflection. + +"With all the attention of which I was capable in my anguish. Her glance +seemed to me straight and untroubled.; her voice is regular, very +rhythmical; her words follow each other without hesitation; her ideas are +consecutive and clearly expressed. There is no trace of suffering on her +pale face, which bears only the mark of a resigned grief. She moves her +arms freely, but the legs, so far as I could judge under the bedclothes, +are motionless. In many ways it seems to me that her paralysis resembles +mamma's, though it is true that in others it does not. She must be +extremely sensitive to the cold, for although the weather is not cold +today, the temperature of her room seemed very high." + +"This is an examination," Saniel said, "that a physician could not have +conducted better, unless he questioned the patient; and had I been with +you during this visit we should not have learned anything more. It +appears certain that Madame Dammauville is in possession of her +faculties, which renders her testimony invulnerable." + +Madame Cormier drew her daughter to her and kissed her passionately. + +"I have, therefore, nothing to do with this lady," continued Saniel, with +the precipitation of a man who has just escaped a danger. "But your +part, Mademoiselle, is not finished, and you must return to her tomorrow +to fulfil that which Nougarde confides to you." + +He explained what Nougarde expected of her. + +"Certainly," she said. "I will do all that I am advised to do for +Florentin. I will go to Madame Dammauville; I will go everywhere. But +will you permit me to express my astonishment that immediate profit is +not made of this declaration to obtain the release of my brother?" + +He repeated the reasons that Nougarede had given him for not proceeding +in this manner. + +"I would not say anything that resembles a reproach," said Madame +Cormier, with more decision than she ordinarily put into her words; "but +perhaps Monsieur Nougarde has some personal ideas in his advice. Our +interest is that Florentin should return to us as quickly as possible, +and that he should be spared the sufferings of a prison. But I +understand that to an 'ordonnance de non-lieu', in which he does not +appear, Monsieur Nougarde prefers the broad light of the court, where he +could deliver a brilliant address, useful to his reputation." + +"Whether or not he has made this calculation," Saniel said, "things are +thus. I, also, I should have preferred the 'ordonnance de non-lieu', +which has the great advantage of finishing everything immediately. +Nougarede does not believe that this would be a good plan to follow, so +we must follow the one that he traces out for us." + +"We will follow it," Phillis said, "and I believe that it may bring about +the result Monsieur Nougarede expects, as Madame Dammauville would have +spoken to but few persons. When I tried to make her explain herself on +this point, without asking her the question directly, she told me that +she had only spoken to the concierge of the non-resemblance of the +portrait to the man she saw draw the curtains, so that the concierge, +who had often spoken to her of Florentin and of my efforts to save him, +might warn me. I shall see, then, to-morrow, how far her story has +spread, and I will go to see you about it at five o'clock, unless you +prefer that I should go at once to see Monsieur Nougarede." + +"Begin with me, and we will go together to see him, if there is occasion. +I am going to write to him." + +"If I understand Monsieur Nougarde's plan, it seems that it rests on +Madame Dammauville's appearance in court. Will this appearance be +possible? That is what I could not learn; only a physician could tell." + +Saniel did not wish to let it appear that he understood this new +challenge. + +"I forgot to tell you," Phillis continued, "that the physician who +attends her is Doctor Balzajette of the Rue de l'Echelle. Do you know +him?" + +"A prig, who conceals his ignorance under dignified manners." + +No sooner had these words left his lips than he realized his error. +Madame Dammauville should have an excellent physician, one who was so +high in the estimation of his 'confreres' that, if he did not cure her, +it was because she was incurable. + +"Then how can you hope that he will cure her in time for her to go to +court?" Phillis asked. + +He did not answer, and rose to go. Timidly, Madame Cormier repeated her +invitation, but he did not accept it, in spite of the tender glance that +Phillis gave him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +A NEW PERIL + +Would he be able to resist the pressure which from all sides at once +pushed him toward the Rue Sainte Anne? + +It seemed that nothing was easier than not to commit the folly of +yielding, and yet such was the persistence of the efforts that were +united against him, that he asked himself if, one day, he would not be +led to obey them in spite of himself. Phillis, Nougarede, Madame +Cormier. Now, whence would come a new attack? + +For several months he had enjoyed a complete security, which convinced +him that all danger was over forever. But all at once this danger burst +forth under such conditions that he must recognize that there could never +more be any security for him. To-day Madame Dammauville menaced him; +tomorrow it would be some one else. Who? He did not know. Every one. +And it was the anguish of his position to be condemned to live hereafter +in fear, and on the defensive, without repose, without forgetfulness. + +But it was not tomorrow about which he need be uneasy at this moment, it +was the present hour; that is to say, Madame Dammauville. + +That she should say, with so much firmness at the sight of a single +portrait, that the man who drew the curtains was not Florentin, she must +have an excellent memory of the eyes; at the same time a resolute mind +and a decision in her ideas, which permitted her to affirm without +hesitation what she believed to be true. + +If they should ever meet, she would recognize him, and recognizing him, +she would speak. + +Would she be believed? + +This was the decisive question, and from what he had heard of her, it +seemed that she would be. + +Denials would not suffice. He did not go to Caffie's at a quarter past +five. Where was he at this moment? What witness could he call upon? +Caffie's wound was made by a hand skilled in killing, and this learned +hand was his, more even than that of a murderer. Every one knew that his +position at that moment was desperate, financially speaking; and, +suddenly, he paid his debts. Who would believe the Monte Carlo story? + +One word, one little hint, from this Madame Dammauville and he was lost, +without defence, without possible struggles. + +Truly, and fortunately, since she was paralyzed and confined to her bed, +he ran no risk of meeting her face to face at the corner of a street, or +at the house of an acquaintance, nor of hearing the cry of surprise that +she would not fail to give on recognizing him. But that was not enough +to make him sleep in an imprudent security on saying to himself that this +meeting was improbable. It was improbable, also, to admit that some one +was exactly opposite to Caffies window at the moment when he drew the +curtains; more improbable yet to believe that this fact, insignificant in +itself, that this vision, lasting only an instant, would be so solidly +engraved in a woman's memory as to be distinctly remembered after several +months, as if it dated from the previous evening; and yet, of all these +improbabilities, there was formed a reality which enclosed him in such a +way that at any moment it might stifle him. + +Despite the importunities of Phillis, Madame Cormier, and Nougarede, and +of all those which might arise, he would not be fool enough to confront +the danger of a recognition in the room where this paralytic was +confined--at least, that was probable, for, after what had happened, he +was certain of nothing--but this recognition might take place elsewhere. + +In Nougarede's plan Madame Dammauville would come to court to make her +declaration; he himself was a witness; they would, therefore, at a given +moment, meet each other, and it was not impossible that before the court +the recognition would occur with a 'coup de theatre' very different from +that arranged by Nougarede. + +Without doubt there were chances that Madame Dammauville would not be +able to leave her bed to go to court; but were there only one for her +leaving it, he must foresee it and take precautions. + +A single one offered security: to render himself unrecognizable; to cut +his beard and hair; to be no more the long-haired, curled, blond-bearded +man that she remembered. Had he been like every one else she would not +have remarked him; or, at least, she would have confounded him with +others. A man can only permit himself to be original in appearance when +he is sure beforehand that he will never have anything to fear. + +Assuredly, nothing was easier than to have his hair and beard cut; he had +only to enter the first barber shop he came to; in a few minutes the +change would be radical. + +Among his acquaintances he need not be uneasy at the curiosity that this +change might produce; more than one would not remark it, and those who +would be surprised at first would soon cease to think of it, without +doubt; otherwise, he had an easy answer for them; on the eve of becoming +a serious personage, he abandoned the last eccentricities of the old +student, and passed the bridge without wish to return by the left bank. + +But it was not only to acquaintances that he must account; there were +Phillis and Nougarde. Had not the latter already remarked the +resemblance between him and the description, and would it not be +imprudent to lead him to ask why this resemblance suddenly disappeared? + +It would be dangerous to expose himself to this question from the lawyer, +but it would be much more dangerous coming from Phillis. Nougarede would +only show surprise; Phillis might ask for an explanation. + +And he must reply to her so much the more clearly, because four or five +times already he had almost betrayed himself as to Madame Dammauville, +and if she had let his explanations or embarrassment pass, his +hesitations or his refusal, without questioning him frankly, certainly +she was not the less astonished. Should he appear before her with short +hair and no beard, it would be a new astonishment which, added to the +others, would establish suspicions; and logically, by the force of +things, in spite of herself, in spite of her love and her faith, she +would arrive at conclusions from which she would not be able to free +herself. Already, five or six months before, this question of long hair +and beard had been agitated between them. As he complained one day of +the bourgeois who would not come to him, she gently explained to him that +to please and attract these bourgeois it was, perhaps, not quite well to +astonish those whom one does not shock. That overcoats less long, hats +with less brim, and hair and beard shorter; in fact, a general appearance +that more nearly approached their own, would be, perhaps, more agreeable. +He became angry, and replied plainly that such concessions were not in +keeping with his character. How could he now abruptly make these +concessions, and at a time when his success at the examinations placed +him above such small compromises? He resisted when he needed help, and +when a patient was an affair of life or death to him; he yielded when he +had need of no one, and when he did not care for patients. The +contradiction was truly too strong, and such that it could not but strike +Phillis, whose attention had already had only too much to arouse it. + +And yet, as dangerous as it was to come to the decision to make himself +unrecognizable, it would be madness on his part to draw back; the sooner +the better. His fault had been in not foreseeing, the day after Caffie's +death, that circumstances might arise sooner or later which would force +it upon him. At that moment it did not present the same dangers as now; +but parting from the idea that he had not been seen by any one, that he +could not have been seen, he had rejoiced in the security that this +conviction gave him, and quietly become benumbed. + +The awakening had come; with his eyes open he saw the abyss to the edge +of which his stupidity had brought him. + +How strong would he not be if during the last three months he had not had +this long hair and beard, which was most terrible testimony against him? +Instead of taking refuge in miserable makeshifts when Phillis and +Nougarede asked him to see Madame Dammauville, he would have boldly held +his own, and have gone to see her as they wished. In that case he would +be saved, and soon Florentin would be also. + +And he believed himself intelligent! And he proudly imagined he could +arrange things beforehand so well that he would never be surprised! What +he should have foreseen would come to pass, nothing more; the lesson that +experience taught him was hard, and this was not the first one; the +evening of Caffie's death he saw very clearly that a new situation opened +before him, which to the end of his life would make him the prisoner of +his crime. To tell the truth, however, this impression became faint soon +enough; but now it was stronger than ever, and to a certainty, never to +be dismissed again. + +But it was useless to look behind; it was the present and the future that +he must measure with a clear and firm glance, if he did not wish to be +lost. + +After carefully examining and weighing the question, he decided to have +his hair and beard cut. However adventurous this resolution was, however +embarrassing it might become in provoking curiosity and questions, it was +the only way of escaping a possible recognition. + +Mechanically, by habit, he bent his steps toward the Rue Neuve-des- +Petits-Champs, where his barber lived, but he had taken only a few steps +when reflection caused him to stop; it would be certainly a mistake to +provoke the gossip of this man who, knew him, and who, for the pleasure +of talking, would tell every one in the quarter that he had just cut the +hair and beard of Dr. Saniel. He returned to the boulevard, where he was +not known. + +But as he was about to open the door of the shop which he decided to +enter, he changed his mind. He happened to find the explanation that he +must give Phillis, and as he wished to avoid the surprise that she would +not fail to show if she saw him suddenly without hair and beard, he would +give this explanation before having them cut, in such a way that all at +once and without looking for another reason, she would understand that +this operation was indispensable. + +And he went to dinner, furious with himself and with things, to see to +what miserable expedients he was reduced. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +SANIEL VISITS A BARBER + +The following day at five o'clock when Phillis rang, he opened the door +for her. Hardly had she entered when she was about to throw herself into +his arms as usual, with a quickness that told how happy she was to see +him. But he checked her with his hand. + +"What is the matter?" she asked paralyzed and full of fears. + +"Nothing; or, at least nothing much." + +"Against me?" + +"Certainly not, dear one." + +"You are ill?" + +"No, not ill, but I must take precautions which prevent me from embracing +you. I will explain; do not be uneasy, it is not serious." + +"Quick!" she cried, examining him, and trying to anticipate his thought. + +"You have something to tell me?" + +"Yes, good news. But I beg of you, speak first; do not leave me in +suspense." + +"I assure you that you need not be uneasy; and when I speak thus, you +know that you should believe me. You see that I am not uneasy." + +"It is for others that you are alarmed, never for yourself." + +"Do you know what the pelagre is?" + +"No." + +"It is a special disease of the hair and beard, due to the presence in +the epidermis of a kind of mushroom. Well, it is probable that I have +this disease." + +"Is it serious?" + +"Troublesome for a man, but disastrous for a woman, because, before any +treatment, the hair must be cut. You understand, therefore, that if I +have the pelagre, as I believe I have, I am not going to expose you to +the risk of catching it in embracing you. It is very easily transmitted, +and in that case you would be obliged, probably, to do for yourself what +I must do for myself; that is, to cut my hair. With me it is of no +consequence; but with you it would be murder to sacrifice your beautiful +hair." + +"You say 'probably.'" + +"Because I am not yet quite certain that I have the pelagre. For about +two weeks I have felt a slight itching in my head and, naturally, I paid +no attention to it. I had other things to do; and besides, I was not +going to believe I was attacked with a parasitic malady merely on account +of an itching. But, after some time, my hair became dry and began to +fall out. I had no time to attend to it, and the days passed; besides, +the excitement of my examinations was enough to make my hair fall. To- +day, just before you came, I had a few minutes to spare, and I examined +one of my hairs through a microscope; if I had not been disturbed I +should have finished by this time." + +"Continue your examination." + +"It would take some time to do it thoroughly. If it is really the +pelagre, as I have reason to believe, tomorrow you will see me without +hair and beard. I would not hesitate, in spite of the astonishment that +my appearance would cause." + +"What good will that do?" + +"I cannot tell people that I had my hair and beard cut because I have a +parasitic disease. Every one knows it is contagious." + +"When the hair is cut, what will be come of the disease?" + +"With energetic treatment it will rapidly disappear. Before long you may +embrace me if--you do not find me too ugly." + +"O dearest!" + +"And now for you; you have come from Madame Dammauville?" + +He did not need to persist; Phillis accepted his story so readily that he +felt reassured on her side; she would not alarm herself about it. As for +others, the embarrassment of confessing a contagious malady would be a +sufficient explanation, if he were ever obliged to furnish one. + +"What did she say to you?" he asked. + +"Good and kind words to begin with, which show what an excellent woman +she is. After having presented myself twice at her house yesterday, you +understand that I was not quite easy on asking her to receive me again +to-day. As I tried to excuse myself, she said she was glad to see my +devotion to my brother, that I need never excuse myself for asking her +assistance, and that she would help me all she could. With this +encouragement I explained what we want her to do, but she did not appear +disposed to do it. Without giving her Monsieur Nougarede's reasons, I +said we were obliged to conform to the counsels of those who directed the +affair, and I begged her to help us. Finally she was won over, but +reluctantly, and said she would do as we wished. But she could not +assure me that her servants had not talked about it, nor could she +promise to leave her bed to go to court, for she had not left her room +for a year." + +"Does she expect to be able to rise soon?" + +"I repeat her words, to which I paid great attention in order not to +forget them: 'I am promised that I shall be better next year, but who can +tell? I will urge my doctor to give me an answer, and when you come +again I will tell you what he says.' Profiting by the door that she +opened to me, I kept the conversation on this doctor. It seems to me, +but I am not certain, that she has but little confidence in him. He was +the classmate of her husband and of her brother-in-law the notary; he is +the friend of every one, curing those who can be cured, or letting them +die by accident. You see what kind of a doctor he is." + +"I told you I knew him." + +"See if I deceive myself, and to what I tell you, add what you already +know. Frightened to see in whose hands she is, I undertook to find out, +and finished by learning--without asking her directly--that she has seen +no other physician during the year. When she was taken with paralysis a +consultation was held, and she has had Doctor Balzajette ever since. She +says he is very kind, and takes care of her as well as another would." + +Saniel improved the opportunity to refer to his stupidity in frankly +expressing his opinion on the solemn Balzajette. + +"It is probable," he said. + +"It is certain? Do you believe that during one year nothing has appeared +in Madame Dammauville's disease that should demand new treatment? Do you +think the solemn Balzajette is incapable of finding it all by himself?" + +"He is not so dull as you suppose." + +"It is you who speak of dulness." + +"To diagnose a disease and to treat it are two things. It is the +consultation you speak of that settled the question of Madame +Dammauville's disease, and prescribed the treatment that Balzajette had +only to apply; and his capacity, I assure you, is sufficient for this +task." + +As she appeared but little reassured, he persisted, for it would be an +imprudence to let Phillis become enamored of the idea that if he attended +Madame Dammauville, he would cure her, even if it required a miracle. + +"We have some time before us, since the 'ordonnance de renvoi' before the +assizes is not yet given out. Madame Dammauville has promised to +question her doctor, to learn if he hopes to put her in condition to +leave her bed soon. Let us wait, therefore." + +"Would it not be better to act than to wait?" + +"At least let us wait for news from Balzajette. Either it will be +satisfactory, and then we shall have nothing to do, or it will not be, +and in that case I promise you to see Balzajette. I know him well enough +to speak to him of your patient, which, above all, enables me, in making +your brother intervene, to interest myself openly in his +reestablishment." + +"O dearest, dearest!" she murmured, in a spirit of gratitude. + +"You cannot doubt my devotion to you first, and to your brother +afterward. You asked me an impossible thing, that I was obliged to +refuse, to my regret, precisely because it was impossible; but you know +that I am yours, and will do all I can for your family." + +"Forgive me." + +"I have nothing to forgive; in your place I should think as you do, but I +believe that in mine you would act as I do." + +"Be sure that I have never had an idea of blame in my heart for what is +with you an affair of dignity. It is because you are high and proud that +I love you so passionately." + +She rose. + +"Are you going?" he asked. + +"I want to carry Madame Dammauville's words to mamma; you can imagine +with what anguish she awaits me." + +"Let us, go. I will leave you at the boulevard to go to see Nougarede." + +The interview with the advocate was short. + +"You see, dear friend, that my plan is good; bring Madame Dammauville to +court, and we shall have some pleasant moments." + +This time Saniel had not the hesitation of the previous evening, and he +entered the first barber-shop he saw. When he returned to his rooms he +lighted two candles, and placing them on the mantle, he looked at himself +in the glass. + +Coquetry had never been his sin, and often weeks passed without his +looking in a mirror, so indifferent was he when making his toilet. +However, as a young boy he sometimes looked in his small glass, asking +himself what he would become, and he could now recall his looks--an +energetic face with clearly drawn features, a physiognomy open and frank, +without being pretty, but not disagreeable. His beard had concealed all +this; but now that it was gone, he said to himself without much +reflection that he would find again, without doubt, the boy he +remembered. + +What he saw in the glass was a forehead lined transversely; oblique +eyebrows, raised at the inside extremity, and a mouth with tightened lips +turned down at the corners; furrows were hollowed in the cheeks; and the +whole physiognomy, harassed, ravaged, expressed hardness. + +What had become of that of the young man of other days? He had before +him the man that life had made, and of whom the violent contractions of +the muscles of the face had modelled the expression. + +"Truly, the mouth of an assassin!" he murmured. + +Then, looking at his shaved head, he added with a smile: + +"And perhaps that of one condemned to death, whose toilet has just been +made for the guillotine." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +A BROKEN NEGATIVE + +To have made himself unrecognizable was, without doubt, a safe +precaution; but having started on this course, he would not be easy until +he had destroyed all traces of himself in such a way that Madame +Dammauville would never be able to find the man that she had seen so +clearly under Caffie's lamp. + +Precisely because he was not vain and had no pretension to beauty, he had +escaped the photograph mania. Once only he had been photographed in +spite of himself, simply to oblige a classmate who had abandoned medicine +for photography. + +But now this once was too much, for there was danger that this portrait +taken three years before, and showing him with the hair and beard that he +wished to suppress, might be discovered. Without doubt there were few +chances that a copy of it would be seen by Madame Dammauville; but if +there existed only one against a hundred thousand, he must arrange it so +that he need have no fear. + +He had had a dozen copies of this photograph, but as his relatives were +few, he kept the majority of them. One he sent to his mother, who was +living at that time; another went to the priest of his village, and later +he had given one to Phillis. He must, then, have nine in his possession. +He found them and burned them immediately. + +Of the three that remained, only one might testify against him, the one +belonging to Phillis. But it would be easy for him to get it again on +inventing some pretext, while as to the others, truly he had nothing to +fear. + +The real danger might come from the photographer, who perhaps had some of +the photographs, and who undoubtedly preserved the negative. This was +his first errand the next day. + +On entering the studio of this friend, he experienced a disagreeable +feeling, which troubled him and made him uneasy; he had not given his +name, and counting on the change made by the cutting of his hair and +beard, he said to himself that his friend, who had not seen him for a +long time, certainly would not recognize him. + +He had taken but a few steps, his hat in his hand, like a stranger who is +about to accost another, when the photographer came toward him with +outstretched hand, and a friendly smile on his face. + +"You, my dear friend! What good fortune is worth the pleasure of your +visit tome? Can I be useful to you in any way?" + +"You recognize me, then?" + +"What! Do I recognize you? Do you ask that because you have cut your +hair and beard? Certainly it changes you and gives you a new +physiognomy; but I should be unworthy of my business if, by a different +arrangement of the hair, I could not recognize you. + +Besides, eyes of steel like yours are not forgotten; they are a +description and a signature." + +Then this means in which he placed so much confidence was only a new +imprudence, as the question, "You recognize me, then?" was a mistake. + +"Come, I will pose you at once," the photographer said. "Very curious, +this shaved head, and still more interesting, I think, than with the +beard and long hair. The traits of character are more clearly seen." + +"It is not for a new portrait that I have come, but for the old one. +Have you any of the proofs?" + +"I think not, but I will see. In any case, if you wish some they are +easily made, since I have the plate." + +"Will you look them up? For I have not a single proof left of those you +gave me, and on looking at myself in the glass this morning I found such +changes between my face of to-day and that of three years ago, that I +would like to study them. Certain ideas came to me on the expression of +the physiognomy, that I wish to study, with something to support them." + +The search for the proofs made by an assistant led to no results; there +were no proofs. + +"Exactly; and for several days I have thought of making some," the +photographer said. "Because your day of glory will come, when your +portrait will be in a distinguished place in the shop-windows and +collections. Every one talks of your 'concours'. Although I have +abandoned medicine without the wish to return to it, I have not become +indifferent to what concerns it, and I learned of your success. Which +portrait shall we put in circulation? The old or the new?" + +"The new." + +"Then let us arrange the pose." + +"Not to-day; it is only yesterday that I was shaved, fearing an attack of +pelagre, and the skin covered by the beard has a crude whiteness that +will accentuate the hardness of my physiognomy, which is really useless. +We will wait until the air has tanned me a little, and then I will +return, I promise you." + +"How many proofs do you want of your old portrait?" + +"One will do." + +"I will send you a dozen." + +"Do not take the trouble; I will take them when I come to pose. But in +the mean time, could you not show me the plate?" + +"Nothing easier." + +When it was brought, Saniel took the glass plate with great care, holding +it with the tips of his fingers by the two opposite corners, in order not +to efface the portrait. Then, as he was standing in the shadow of a blue +curtain, he walked towards the chimney where the light was strong, and +began his examination. + +"It is very good," he said; "very curious." + +"Only a photograph can have this documentary value." + +To compare this document with the reality, Saniel approached the chimney +more closely, above which was a mirror. When his feet touched the marble +hearth he stopped, looking alternately at the plate which he held +carefully in his hands, and at his face reflected in the glass. Suddenly +he made an exclamation; he let fall the plate, which, falling flat on the +marble, broke into little pieces that flew here and there. + +"How awkward I am!" + +He showed a vexation that should not leave the smallest doubt in the +photographer's mind as to its truth. + +"You must get one of the proofs that you have given away," his friend +said," for I have not a single one left." + +"I will try and find one." + +What he did try to find on leaving was whether or no he had succeeded in +rendering himself unrecognizable, for he could not trust to this +experience, weakened by the fact that this old friend was a photographer. +With him it was a matter of business to note the typical traits that +distinguish one face from another, and in a long practice he had acquired +an accuracy Madame Dammauville could not possess. + +Among the persons he knew, it seemed to him that the one in the best +condition to give certainty to the proof was Madame Cormier. He knew at +this hour she would be alone, and as she had not been, assuredly, warned +by her daughter that he intended to shave, the experiment would be +presented in a way to give a result as exact as possible. + +In answer to his ring Madame Cormier opened the door, and he saluted her +without being recognized; but as the hall was dark this was not of great +significance. His hat in his hand, he followed her into the dining-room +without speaking, in order that his voice should not betray him. + +Then, after she had looked at him a moment, with uneasy surprise at +first, she began to smile. + +"It is Doctor Saniel !" she cried. "Mon Dieu! How stupid of me not to +recognize you; it changes you so much to be shaved! Pardon me." + +"It is because I am shaved that I come to ask a favor." + +"Of us, my dear sir? Ah! Speak quickly; we should be so happy to prove +our gratitude." + +"I would ask Mademoiselle Phillis to give me, if she has it, a photograph +that I gave her about a year ago." + +As Phillis wished the liberty to expose this photograph frankly, in order +to have it always before her, she had asked for it, and Saniel had given +it to her, in her mother's presence. + +"If she has it!" exclaimed Mme. Cormier. "Ah! my dear sir, you do not +know the place that all your goodness, and the services that you have +rendered us, have made for you in our hearts." + +And passing into the next room, she brought a small velvet frame in which +was the photograph. Saniel took it out, on explaining the study for +which he wanted it, and after promising to bring it back soon, he +returned to his rooms. + +Decidedly, everything was going well. The plate was destroyed, Phillis's +proof in his hands; he had nothing more to fear from this side. As to +the experiment made on the mother, it was decisive enough to inspire him +with confidence. If Madame Cormier, who had seen him so often and for so +long a time, and who thought of him at every instant, did not recognize +him, how was it possible that Madame Dammauville, who had only seen him +from a distance and for a few seconds, could recognize him after several +months? + +Would he never accustom himself to the idea that his life could not have +the tranquil monotony of a bourgeois existence, that it would experience +shocks and storms, but that if he knew how to remain always master of his +force and will, it would bring him to a safe port? + +The calm that was his before this vexation came back to him, and when the +last proofs of his concours, confirming the success of the first, had +given him the two titles that he so ardently desired and pursued at the +price of so many pains, so many efforts and privations, he could enjoy +his triumph in all security. + +He held the present in his strong hands, and the future was his. + +Now he could walk straight, boldly, his head high, jostling those who +annoyed him, according to his natural temperament. + +Although these last months had been full of terrible agitation for him, +on account of everything connected with the affair of Caffie and +Florentin, and above all, on account of the fatigue, emotion, and the +fever of his 'concours', yet he had not interrupted his special works for +a day or even an hour, and his experiments followed for so many years had +at length produced important results, that prudence alone prevented him +from publishing. In opposition to the official teaching of the school, +these discoveries would have caused the hair to stand upright on the old +heads; and it was not the time, when he asked permission to enter, to +draw upon himself the hostility of these venerable doorkeepers, who would +bar the way to a revolutionist. But, now that he was in the place for +ten or twelve years, he need take no precautions, either for persons or +for ideas, and he might speak. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +PHILLIS PRECIPITATES MATTERS + +Saniel saw his colleague, the solemn Balzajette, and so adroitly as not +to provoke surprise or suspicion, he spoke of Madame Dammauville, in whom +he was interested incidentally; without persisting, and only to justify +his question, he explained the nature of this interest. + +Although solemn, Balzajette was not the less a gossip, and it was his +solemnity that made him gossip. He listened to himself talk, and when, +his chest bulging, his pink chin freshly shaved resting on his white +cravat, his be-ringed hand describing in the air noble and demonstrative +gestures, one could, if one had the patience to listen to him, make him +say all that one wished; for he was convinced that his interlocutor +passed an agreeable moment, whose remembrance would never be forgotten. +His patients might wait in pain or anguish, he did not hasten the +majestic delivery of his high-sounding phrases with choice adjectives; +and unless it was to go to a dinner-party, which he did at least five +days in the week, he could not leave you until after he had made you +partake of the admiration that he professed for himself. + +It was to an affection of the spinal cord that Mme. Dammauville's +paralysis was due, and consequently it was perfectly curable; even +Balzajette was astonished that with his treatment and his care the cure +was delayed. + +"But what shall I say to you, young 'confrere'? You know better than I +that with women everything is possible--above all the impossible." + +And during a half-hour he complaisantly related the astonishment that the +fashionable women under his care had caused him, in spite of his +knowledge and experience. + +"Well, to resume, what shall I tell you, young 'confrere'?" + +And he repeated and explained what he had already said and explained. + +Although Balzajette read only a morning paper, and never opened a book, +he had heard of Saniel's reputation, and because he was young he thought +he might manage this 'confrere', who seemed destined to make a good +position. In spite of the high esteem that he professed for his own +merits and person, he vaguely felt that the doctors of his generation +who were eminent did not treat him with all the consideration that he +accorded himself, and in order to teach his ancient comrades a lesson, +he was glad to enter into friendly relations with a young one 'dans le +mouvement'. He would speak of his young confrere Saniel: "You know the +one who was appointed 'agrege'," and he would relate the advice that he, +Balzajette, had given him. + +That Madame Dammauville would be well enough to go to court Saniel +doubted, above all, after Balzajette had explained his treatment; and as +far as he was concerned, he could not but rejoice. Doubtless, it would +be hard for Florentin not to have this testimony, and not to profit by +the 'coup de theatre' prepared by Nougarede; but for himself, he could +only feel happy over it. In spite of all the precautions he had taken, +it would be better not to expose himself to a meeting with Madame +Dammauville in the witness-chamber, or even in court. They must depend +upon a letter supported by Balzajette's deposition, and Florentin would +be not the less acquitted. Only Nougarede would have to regret his 'coup +de theatre'. But the satisfaction or disappointment of Nougarede was +nothing to him. + +But he did not tell Phillis the ideas suggested by his interview with +Balzajette; he summed up the conclusions of this interview. Balzajette +said that Madame Dammauville would soon be on her feet, and one might +have faith in his word; Florentin would be saved, and there was nothing +to do but to let things go on as they were going. + +Phillis, Madame Cormier, Nougarede, Florentin himself, whom the Mazas +cell had reconciled neither with hope nor with providential justice, were +all delighted with this idea. + +Also, when the chamber of the prosecution sent Florent to the assizes, +the emotion of Madame Cormier and Phillis would not be too violent. +Madame Dammauville would be in a state to make her deposition, since the +evening before she had been able to leave her bed; and although she left +it for only an hour, and then to go from her bedroom to her parlor, that +was enough. Nougarede said that the affair would come on at the second +session in April; between then and now Madame Dammauville would be solid +enough on her legs to appear before the jury and carry the acquittal. + +To Phillis, Saniel repeated that the cure was certain, and to her, also, +he rejoiced aloud. But he was troubled about this cure. This meeting, +only the idea of which had alarmed him to the point of losing his head, +would be brought about, and under conditions that could not but affect +him. Truly, the precautions he had taken should reassure him, but after +all there remained no less a troublesome uncertainty. Who could tell? +He preferred that she should not leave her room, and that Nougarede +should find a way to obtain her deposition without taking her to court; +he would then feel more reassured, more calm in mind, and with a more +impassive face he could go to court. + +Was he really unrecognizable? This was the question that beset him now. +Many times he compared his reflection in the glass with the photograph +that he had given Phillis. The hair and beard were gone, but his eyes of +steel, as his friend said, still remained, and nothing could change them. +He might wear blue eyeglasses, or injure himself in a chemical experiment +and wear a bandage. But such a disguise would provoke curiosity and +questions just so much more dangerous, because it would coincide with the +disappearance of his hair and beard. + +But these fears did not torment him long, for Phillis, who now passed a +part of every day in the Rue Sainte-Anne with Madame Dammauville, came +one evening in despair, and told him that that day the invalid had been +able to leave her bed for a few minutes only. + +Then she would not go to court. + +This apprehension of meeting Madame Dammauville face to face had begun to +exasperate him; he felt like a coward in yielding to it, and since he had +not the force to shake it off, he was happy to be relieved from it by the +intervention of chance, which, after having been against him so long, now +became favorable. The wheel turned. + +"See Madame Dammauville often," he said to Phillis, "and note all that +she feels; perhaps I shall find some way to repair this impediment, +something that I may suggest to Balzajette without his suspecting it. +Besides, it is reasonable to believe that the recrudescence of cold that +we are suffering from now may have something to do with the change in her +condition; it is probable that with the mild spring weather she may +improve." + +He hoped by this counsel to quiet Phillis's uneasiness and to gain time. +But it had the opposite effect. In her anguish, which increased as the +time for the trial approached, it was not probabilities, any more than +the uncertain influence of the spring, that Phillis could depend on; she +must have something more and better; but fearing a refusal, she forbore +to tell him what she hoped to obtain. + +It was only when she had succeeded that she spoke. + +Every day, on leaving Madame Dammauville, she came to tell him what she +had learned, and for three successive days her story was the same: + +"She was not able to leave her bed." + +And each day he made the same reply: + +"It is the cold weather. Surely, we shall soon have a change; this frost +and wind will not continue beyond the end of March." + +He was pained at her desolation and anguish, but what could he do? It +was not his fault that this relapse occurred at a decisive moment; fate +had been against him long enough, and he was not going to counteract it +at the time when it seemed to take his side, by yielding to the desire +that Phillis dared not express, but which he divined, and by going to see +Madame Dammauville. + +When she entered his office on the fourth day, he knew at once by her +manner that something favorable to Florentin had happened. + +"Madame Dammauville is up," he said. + +"No." + +"I thought she must be, by your vivacity and lightness." "It is because +I am happy; Madame Dammauville wishes to consult you." + +He took her hands roughly and shook them. + +"You have done that!" he exclaimed. + +She looked at him frightened. + +"You! You!" he repeated with increasing fury. + +"At least listen to me," she murmured. "You will see that I have not +compromised you in anything." + +Compromised! It was professional dignity of which he thought, truly! + +"I do not want to listen to you; I shall not go." + +"Do not say that." + +"It only needed that you should dispose of me in your own way." + +"Victor!" + +Anger carried him away. + +"I belong to you, then! I am your thing! You do with me what you wish! +You decide, and I have only to obey! There is too much of this! You can +go; everything is at an end between us." + +She listened, crushed; but this last word, which struck her in her love, +gave her strength. In her turn she took his hands, and although he +wished to withdraw them, she held them closely in her own. + +"You may throw in my face all the angry words you please; you may +reproach me as much as you think I deserve it, and I will not complain. +Without doubt, I have done you wrong, and I feel the weight of it on +seeing how profoundly you are wounded; but to send me away, to tell me +that all is over between us, no, Victor, you will not do that. You will +not say it, for you know that never was a man loved as I love you, +adored, respected. And voluntarily, deliberately, even to save my +brother, that I should have compromised you!" + +He pushed her from him. + +"Go!" he said harshly. + +She threw herself on her knees, and taking his hands that he had +withdrawn, she kissed them passionately. + +"But listen to me," she cried. "Before condemning me, hear my defence. +Even if I were a hundred times more guilty than I really am, you could +not drive me from you with this unmerciful hardness." + +"Go!" + +"You lose your head; anger carries you away. What is the matter? It is +impossible that I, by my stupidity, through my fault, could put you in +such a state of mad exasperation. What is the matter, my beloved?" + +These few words did more than Phillis's despair of her expressions of +love. She was right, he lost his head. And however guilty she might be +towards him, it was evident that she could not admit that the fault she +committed threw him into this access of furious folly. It was not +natural; and in his words and actions all must be natural, all must be +capable of explanation. + +"Very well, speak!" he said. "I am listening to you. Moreover, it is +better to know. Speak!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +THE APPOINTMENT + +"You should understand," she said with a little more calmness--for, since +he permitted her to speak, she hoped to convince him--"that I have done +all I could to bring Madame Dammauville to the idea of calling, in +consultation with Monsieur Balzajette, a doctor--" + +"Which would be myself." + +"You or another; I have not mentioned any name. You should not think me +awkward enough to put you forward clumsily; it would not be a good way to +make you acceptable to an intelligent woman, and I value your dignity too +much to lower it. I believed that another doctor than Monsieur +Balzajette would find a remedy, some way, a miracle if you will, to +enable Madame Dammauville to go to the Palais de justice, and I said it. +I said it in every tone, in every way, with as much persuasion as I could +put in my words. Was it not the life of my brother that I defended, our +honor? At first, I found Madame Dammauville much opposed to this idea. +She would be better soon, she felt it. Otherwise, if it were her duty to +be carried to the Palais de justice, she would not hesitate." + +"She would do that?" + +"Assuredly. No one has a stronger sense of justice. She would feel +guilty did she not give her testimony to save an innocent person; not to +save him when she could would be to take the responsibility of his loss. +It is therefore certain that if she cannot go to court alone, she will do +all she can to go, no matter how--on M. Balzajette's arm, or on a +stretcher. I was, then, easy enough on this side, but I was not for the +stretcher. What would people think to see her in this condition? What +impression would she make on the jury? Would not her appearance weaken +the value of her testimony? As Madame Dammauville is fond of me, and +very kind to me, I determined to profit by this kindness to urge a +consultation, but without mentioning any name. I represented to her +that, since M. Balzajette might say with every appearance of truth he had +cured her, he should not be angry if she desired to ratify this cure. +That besides, there was an imperative motive that would not permit her to +wait, for it would be very disagreeable to her to present herself at the +court of assizes in a theatrical way, which was not at all according to +her character or habits. I easily discovered that the fear of giving +pain to this old friend of her husband was the chief reason why she was +opposed to this consultation. It was then that your name was +pronounced." + +"You acknowledge it, then?" + +"You will see how, and you will not be angry about it. I have often +spoken to Madame Dammauville of mamma, and, consequently, of how you +cured her paralysis, that resembled hers. It was not wrong, was it, to +say what you have done for us? And without letting any one suspect my +love, I could praise you, which my gratitude prompted. She asked me many +questions, and naturally, as usual when I speak of you, when I have the +joy of pronouncing your name, I answered in detail. That is not a +crime?" + +She waited a moment, looking at him. Without softening the hardness of +his glance, he made a sign to her to continue. + +"When I persisted on the consultation, Madame Dammauville recalled what I +had said, and she was the first--you hear?--the first to pronounce your +name. As you had cured my mother, I had the right to praise you. With a +nature like hers, she would not have understood if I had not done it; she +would have believed me ungrateful. I spoke of your book on the diseases +of the spinal cord, which was quite natural; and as she manifested a +desire to read it, I offered to lend it to her." + +"Was that natural?" + +"With any but Madame Dammauville, no; but she is not frivolous. I took +the book to her two days ago, and she has just told me that, after +reading it, she has decided to send for you." + +"I shall certainly not go; she has her own physician." + +"Do not imagine that I have come to ask you to pay her a visit; all is +arranged with Monsieur Balzajette, who will write to you or see you, I do +not know which." + +"That will be very extraordinary on the part of Balzajette!" + +"Perhaps you judge him harshly. When Madame Dammauville spoke to him of +you he did not raise the smallest objection; on the contrary, he praised +you. He says that you are one of the rare young men in whom one may have +confidence. These are his own words that Madame Dammauville told me." + +"What do I care for the opinion of this old beast!" + +"I am explaining how it happens that you are called into consultation; it +is not because I spoke of you, but because you have inspired Monsieur +Balzajette with confidence. However stupid he may be, he is just to you, +and knows your value." + +It was come then, the time for the meeting that he did not wish to +believe possible; and it was brought about in such a way that he did not +see how he could escape it. He might refuse Phillis; but Balzajette? +A colleague called him in consultation, and why should he not go? Had he +foreseen this blow he would have left Paris until the trial was over, but +he was taken unawares. What could he say to justify a sudden absence? +He had no mother or brothers who might send for him, and with whom he +would be obliged to remain. Besides, he wished to go to court; and since +his testimony would carry considerable weight with the jury, it was his +duty to be present on account of Florentin. It would be a contemptible +cowardice to fail in this duty, and more, it would be an imprudence. In +the eyes of the world he must appear to have nothing to fear, and this +assurance, this confidence in himself, was one of the conditions of his +safety. Now, if he went to court, and from every point of view it was +impossible that he should not go, he would meet Madame Dammauville, +as she intended to be carried there if she were unable to go in any other +way. Whether it was at her house, or at the Palais de justice, the +meeting was then certain, and in spite of what he had done, circumstances +stronger than his will had prepared it and brought it about; nothing that +he could do would prevent it. + +The only question that deserved serious consideration just now was to +know where this meeting would be the least dangerous for him--at Madame +Dammauville's or at the Palais? + +He reflected silently, paying no more attention to Phillis than if she +were not present, his eyes fixed, his brow contracted, his lips tightly +closed, when the doorbell rang. As Joseph was at his post, Saniel did +not move. + +"If it is a patient," Phillis said, who did not wish to go yet, "I will +wait in the dining-room." + +And she rose. + +Before she could leave the room, Joseph entered. + +"Doctor Balzajette," he said. + +"You see!" Phillis cried. + +Without replying, Saniel made a sign to Joseph to admit Doctor +Balzajette, and while Phillis silently disappeared, he went toward the +parlor. + +Balzajette came forward with both hands extended. + +"Good-day, my young 'confrere'. I am enchanted to meet you." + +The reception was benevolent, amicable, and protecting, and Saniel +replied at his best. + +"Since we met the other day," Balzajette continued, "I have thought of +you. And nothing more natural than that, for you inspired me with a +quick sympathy. The first time you came to see me you pleased me +immediately, and I told you you would make your way. Do you remember?" + +Assuredly he remembered; and of all the visits that he made to the +doctors and druggists of his quarter, that to Balzajette was the hardest. +It was impossible to show more pride, haughtiness, and disdain than +Balzajette had put into his reception of the then unknown young man. + +"I told you what I thought of you," continued Balzajette. "It is with +regard to this patient of whom you spoke to me; you remember?" + +"Madame Dammauville?" + +"Exactly. I put her on her feet, as I told you, but since then this bad +weather has compelled her to take to her bed again. Without doubt, it is +only an affair of a few days; but in the mean time, the poor woman is +irritable and impatient. You know women, young 'confrere'. To calm this +impatience, I spontaneously proposed a consultation, and naturally +pronounced your name, which is well known by your fine work on the +medullary lesions. I supported it, as was proper, with the esteem that +it has acquired, and I have the satisfaction to see it accepted." + +Saniel thanked him as if he believed in the perfect sincerity of this +spontaneous proposition. + +"I like the young, and whenever an occasion presents itself, I shall be +happy to introduce you to my clientage. For Madame Dammauville, when can +you go with me to see her?" + +As Saniel appeared to hesitate, Balzajette, mistaking the cause of his +silence, persisted. + +"She is impatient," he said. "Let us go the first day that is possible." + +He must reply, and in these conditions a refusal would be inexplicable. + +"Will to-morrow suit you?" he asked. + +"To-morrow, by all means. At what hour?" + +Before replying, Saniel went to his desk and consulted an almanac, which +appeared perfectly ridiculous to Balzajette. + +"Does he imagine, the young 'confrere', that I am going to believe his +time so fully occupied that he must make a special arrangement to give me +an hour?" + +But it was not an arrangement of this kind that Saniel sought. His +almanac gave the rising and the setting of the sun, and it was the exact +hour of sunset that he wished: "26 March, 6h. 20m." At this moment it +would not be dark enough at Madame Dammauville's for lamps to be lighted, +and yet it would be dark enough to prevent her from seeing him clearly in +the uncertain light of evening. + +"Will a quarter past six suit you? I will call for you at six o'clock." + +"Very well. Only I shall ask you to be very exact; I have a dinner at +seven o'clock in the Rue Royale." + +Saniel promised promptness. The dinner was a favorable circumstance, +enabling him to escape from Madame Dammauville's before the lamps would +be lighted. + +When Balzajette was gone, he rejoined Phillis in the dining-room. + +"A consultation is arranged for to-morrow at six o'clock, at Madame +Dammauville's." + +She threw herself on his breast. + +"I knew that you would forgive me." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +THE FATAL LIGHT + +It was not without emotion that the next day Saniel saw the afternoon +slip away, and although he worked to employ his time, he interrupted +himself at each instant to look at the clock. + +Sometimes he found the time passing quickly, and then all at once it +seemed to stand still. + +This agitation exasperated him, for calmness had never been more +necessary than at this moment. A danger was before him, and it was only +in being master of himself that he could be saved. He must have the +coolness of a surgeon during an operation, the glance of a general in a +battle; and the coolness and the glance were not found among the nervous +and agitated. + +Could he escape from this danger? + +This was the question that he asked himself unceasingly, although he knew +the uselessness of it. What good was it to study the chances for or +against him? + +Either he had succeeded in rendering himself unrecognizable or he had +not; but it was done, and now he could do nothing more. He did the best +he could in choosing an hour when the dim evening light put the chances +on his side; for the rest he must trust to Fortune. + +All day he studied the sky, because for the success of his plan it must +be neither too bright nor too dark: if it were too bright Madame +Dammauville could see him clearly; if it were too dark the lamps would be +lighted. He remembered that it was by lamplight she had seen him. Until +evening the weather was uncertain, with a sky sometimes sunny, sometimes +cloudy; but at this hour the clouds were driven away by a wind from the +north, and the weather became decidedly cold, with the pink and pale +clearness of the end of March when it still freezes. + +On examining himself he had the satisfaction to feel that he was calmer +than in the morning, and that as the moment of attack approached, his +agitation decreased; decision, firmness, and coolness came to him; he +felt master of his will, and capable of obeying it. + +At six o'clock precisely he rang at Balzajette's door, and they started +immediately for the Rue Sainte-Anne. Happy to have a complaisant +listener, Balzajette did all the talking, so that Saniel had only to +reply "yes" or "no" from time to time, and of course it was not of Madame +Dammauville that he spoke, but other matters--of a first representation +on the previous evening at the Opera Comique; of politics; of the next +salon. + +At exactly a quarter past six they reached the house in the Rue Sainte- +Anne, where Saniel had not been since Caffies death. On passing the old +concierge's lodge he felt satisfied with himself; his heart did not +beat too quickly, his ideas were firm and clear. Should danger arrive, +he felt assured of mastery over himself, without excitement, as without +brutality. + +Balzajette rang the bell, and the door was opened by a maid, who was, +evidently, placed in the vestibule to await their arrival. Balzajette +entered first, and Saniel followed him, giving a hasty glance at the +rooms through which they passed. They reached a door at which Balzajette +knocked twice. + +"Enter," replied a feminine voice in a firm tone. + +This was the decisive moment; the day was everything that could be +wished, neither too light nor too dark. What would Madame Dammauville's +first glance mean? + +"My confrere, Doctor Saniel," Balzajette said on going toward Madame +Dammauville, and taking her hand. + +She was lying on the little bed of which Phillis had spoken, but not +against the windows, rather in the middle of the room, placed there +evidently after the experience of a sick person who knows that to be +examined she must be easily seen. + +Profiting by this arrangement, Saniel immediately passed between the bed +and the windows in such a way that the daylight was behind him, and +consequently his face was in shadow. This was done naturally, without +affectation, and it seemed that he only took this side of the bed because +Balzajette took the other. + +Directed by Saniel, the examination commenced with a clearness and a +precision that pleased Balzajette. He did not lose himself in idle +words, the young 'confrere', any more than in useless details. He went +straight to the end, only asking and seeking the indispensable; and as +Madame Dammauville's replies were as precise as his questions, while +listening and putting in a word from time to time he said to himself that +his dinner would not be delayed, which was the chief point of his +preoccupation. Decidedly, he understood life, the young 'confrere'; +he might be called in consultation with his heavy appearance and careless +toilet, there was no danger of rivalry. + +However, when Madame Dammauville began to speak of being sensitive to +cold, Balzajette found that Saniel let her lose herself in minute +details. + +"Have you always been sensitive to cold?" + +"Yes; and with a deplorable disposition to take cold if the temperature +is lowered one or two degrees." + +"Did you exercise in the open air?" + +"Very little." + +"Were you ever advised to try shower-baths of cold water?" + +"I should not have been able to bear it." + +"I must tell you," Balzajette interrupted, "that before occupying this +house that belongs to her, Madame Dammauville lived in a more modern +apartment which was heated by a furnace, and where consequently it was +easier to maintain an even temperature to which she was accustomed." + +"On coming to live in this house, where it is not possible to have a +furnace," Madame Dammauville went on, "I employed every means to shelter +me from the cold, which I am sure is my great enemy. You can see that I +have had weather-strips put at the doors, as well as at the windows." + +In spite of this invitation and the gesture which accompanied it, Saniel +was careful not to turn his head toward the window; he kept his face in +the shadow, contenting himself with looking at the door which was +opposite to him. + +"At the same time," she continued, "I had hangings put on the walls, +carpets on the floors, thick curtains at the windows and doors, and in +spite of the large fire in my fireplace, often I am unable to get warm." + +"Do you also have a fire in this little stove?" Saniel asked, pointing +to a small movable stove at the corner of the fireplace. + +"Only at night, so that my servants need not get up every hour to +replenish the fire in the chimney. The fire is made in the evening just +before I go to sleep; the pipe is placed in the chimney, and it maintains +sufficient heat until morning." + +"I think it will be expedient to suppress this mode of heating, which +must be very inconvenient," Saniel said; "and my 'confrere' and myself +will consider the question whether it will not be possible to give you +the heat you need with this chimney, without fatiguing your servants, +and without waking you too often to take care of the fire. But let us +continue." + +When he reached the end of his questions he rose to examine the patient +on her bed, but without turning round, and in such a way as still to keep +his back to the light. + +As little by little the reflection of the setting sun faded, + +Balzajette proposed asking for a lamp: without replying too hastily, +Saniel refused; it was useless, the daylight was sufficient. + +They passed into the parlor, where they very quickly came to an amicable +conclusion, for at everything that Saniel said Balzajette replied: + +"I am happy to see that you partake of my opinion. That is it. Truly, +that is so!" + +And, besides, each had his reasons for hurrying--Saniel, for fear of the +lamps; Balzajette, uneasiness for his dinner. The diagnosis and the +treatment were rapidly settled; Saniel proposed, Balzajette approved. +The question of the movable stove was decided in two words: for the night +a grate would be placed in the chimney; a fire of coal covered with damp +coal-dust would keep the fire until morning. + +"Let us return," Balzajette said, who took the initiative and decided on +all material things. + +Saniel, who kept his eyes on the windows, was calm; it was yet too light +to need lamps, besides, during their tete-a-tete, no servant had crossed +the salon to enter Madame Dammauville's room. + +But when Balzajette opened the door to return to the patient, a flood of +light filled the parlor and enveloped them. A lamp with a shade was +placed on the little table near the bed, and two other lighted lamps with +globes were on the mantel, reflecting their light in the mirror. How had +he not foreseen that there was another door to Madame Dammauville's room +besides the door from the parlor? But if he had foreseen it, it would +not have lessened the danger of the situation. + +He would have had time to prepare himself, that was all. But to prepare +himself for what? Either to enter the room and brave this danger, or to +fly. He entered. + +"This is what we have decided," Balzajette said, who never lost an +occasion to put himself forward and to speak. + +While he spoke, Madame Dammauville seemed not to listen to him. Her eyes +were on Saniel, placed beween her and the chimney with his back to the +lamps, and she looked at him with a characteristic fixedness. + +Balzajette, who listened to himself, observed nothing; but Saniel, who +knew what there was behind this glance, could not but be struck with it. +Happily for him, he had only to let Balzajette talk, for if he had spoken +he would surely have betrayed himself by the quivering of his voice. + +However, Balzajette seemed coming to the end of his explanations. +Suddenly Saniel saw Madame Dammauville extend her hand toward the lamp on +the table, and raise the shade by lowering it toward her in such a way as +to form a reflector that threw the light on him. At the same time he +received a bright ray full on his face. + +Madame Dammauville uttered a small, stifled cry. + +Balzajette stopped; then his astonished eyes went from Madame Dammauville +to Saniel, and front Saniel to Madame Dammauville. + +"Are you suffering?" he asked. + +"Not at all." + +What, then, was the matter? But it was seldom that he asked for an +explanation of a thing that astonished him, preferring to divine and to +explain it himself. + +"Ah! I understand it," he said with a satisfied smile. + +"The youth of my young 'confrere' astonishes you. It is his fault. Why +the devil did he have his long hair and his light curled beard cut?" + +If Madame Dammauville had not released the lampshade, she would have seen +Saniel turned pale and his lips quiver. + +"Mais voila!" continued Balzajette. "He made this sacrifice to his new +functions; the student has disappeared before the professor." + +He might have continued along time. Neither Madame Dammauville nor +Saniel listened to him; but, thinking of his dinner, he was not going to +launch into a discourse that at any other moment he would not have failed +to undertake. He rose to go. + +As Saniel bowed, Madame Dammauville stopped him with a movement of her +hand. + +"Did you not know this unfortunate who was assassinated opposite?" she +asked, pointing to the windows. + +So serious as was an acknowledgment, Saniel could not answer in the +negative. + +"I was called in to prove his death," he said. + +And he took several steps toward the door, but she stopped him again. + +"Had you business with him?" she asked. + +"I saw him several times." + +Balzajette cut short this conversation, which was idle talk to him. + +"Good evening, dear Madame. I will see you tomorrow, but not in the +morning, for I go to the country at six o'clock, and shall not return +until noon." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +SUSPENSE + +"Did you observe how I cut the conversation short?" Balzajette said, as +they went down-stairs. "If you listen to women they will never let you +go. I cannot imagine why she spoke to you of this assassinated man, can +you?" + +"No." + +"I believe that this assassination has affected her brain to a certain +point. In any case, it has given her a horror of this house." + +He continued thus without Saniel listening to what he said. On reaching +the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, Balzajette hailed a passing cab. + +"You have had the kindness not to delay me," he said, pressing the hand +of his young 'confrere', "but I feel that I must hurry. 'Au revoir'." + +A good riddance! This babbling gave Saniel the vertigo. + +He must recover himself, look the situation in the face, and consider +that which might, which must, happen. + +The situation was plain; Madame Dammauville's cry revealed it. When the +lamplight struck him full in the face, she found in him the man whom she +had seen draw Caffies curtains. If, in her amazement, she at first +refused to believe it, her questions regarding Caffie, and Balzajette's +explanations about his hair and beard, destroyed her hesitation and +replaced doubt by the horror of certainty. He was the assassin; she knew +it, she had seen him. And such as she revealed herself to him, it seemed +that she was not the woman to challenge the testimony of her eyes, and to +let the strength of her memory be shaken by simple denials, supported by +Balzajette's words. + +With a vivid clearness he saw to the bottom of the abyss open before him; +but what he did not see was in what way she would push him into this +giddy whirlpool, that is, to whom she would reveal the discovery that she +had made. To Phillis, to Balzajette, or to the judge? + +It was almost a relief to think that for this evening, at least, it would +not be to Phillis, for at this moment she would be at his rooms, +anxiously awaiting his return. He felt a sadness and a revulsion at the +thought that she might be the first to learn the truth. He did not wish +that, and he would prevent it. + +This preoccupation gave him an object; he reached the Rue Louis-le-Grand +thinking more of Phillis than of himself. What distress when she should +know all! How could she support this blow, and with what sentiments +would it inspire her, with what judgment for the man whom she loved? +Poor girl! He grew tender at the thought. As for him, he was lost, and +it was his fault; he bore the penalty of his own stupidity. But Phillis +--it would be a blow to her love that she must bear. And what a blow to +this sensitive heart, to this proud and noble soul! + +Perhaps he would now see her for the last time, for this one hour, and +never again. Then he would be kind to her, and leave her a memory that, +later, would be an alleviation to her sorrow, a warm, bright ray in her +time of mourning. During these last few days he had been hard, brutal, +irritable, strange, and with her habitual serenity she had overlooked it +all. When he pushed her from him with his heavy hand, she had kissed +this hand, fastening on him her beautiful, tender eyes, full of +passionate caresses. He must make her forget that, and she must carry +from their last interview a tender impression that would sustain her. + +What could he do for her? He remembered how happy she had been at their +impromptu dinners six months before, and he would give her this same +pleasure. He would see her happy again, and near her, under her glance, +perhaps he would forget tomorrow. + +He went to the caterer who furnished him with breakfast, and ordered two +dinners to be sent to his rooms immediately. + +Before he could put the key in the lock, his door was opened by Phillis, +who recognized his step on the landing. + +"Well?" + +"Your brother is saved." + +"Madame Dammauville will go to court?" + +"I promise you that he is saved." + +"By you?" + +"Yes, by me--exactly." + +In her access of joy, she did not notice the accent on these last words. + +"Then you forgive me?" + +He took her in his arms, and kissing her with deep emotion said: + +"With all my heart, I swear it!" + +"You see it was written that you should see Madame Dammauville, in spite +of yourself, in spite of all; it was providential." + +"It is certain that your friend Providence could not interfere more +opportunely in my affairs." + +This time she was struck by the tone of his voice; but she imagined that +it was only this allusion to superior intervention that had vexed him. + +"It was of ourselves that I thought," she said, "not of you." + +"I understood. But do not let us talk of that; you are happy, and I do +not wish to shadow your joy. On the contrary, I thought to associate +myself with it by giving you a surprise: we are going to dine together." + +"Oh, dearest!" she exclaimed, trembling, "how-good you are! I will set +the table," she added joyously, "and you light the fire; for we must have +a bright fire to enliven us and to keep our dinner warm. What have you +ordered?" + +"I do not know; two dinners." + +"So much the better! We will have surprises. We will leave the dishes +covered before the fire, and we will take them anyhow. Perhaps we shall +eat the roast before the entree, but that will be all the more funny." + +Light, quick, busy, graceful, and charming, she came and went around the +table. + +When the dinner came, the table was ready, and they sat down opposite to +each other. + +"What happiness to be alone!" she said. "To be able to talk and to look +at each other freely!" + +He looked at her with a tenderness in his eyes that she had never before +seen, with a depth of serious contemplation that overwhelmed her. From +time to time little cries of happiness escaped her. + +"Oh! Dearest, dearest!" she murmured. + +Yet she knew him too well not to see that a cloud of sadness often veiled +these eyes full of love, and that also they were often without any +expression, as if they looked within. Suddenly she became quiet; but she +could not long remain silent when she was uneasy. Why this melancholy at +such a moment? + +"What a difference between this dinner," she said, "and those of the end +of October! At that time you were harassed by the most trying +difficulties, at war with creditors, menaced on all sides, without hope; +and now all is smooth. No more creditors, no more struggles. The cares +that I brought you are nearly at an end. Life opens easy and glorious. +The end that you pursued is reached; you have only to walk straight +before you, boldly and proudly. Yet there is a sadness in your face that +torments me. What is the matter? Speak, I beg you! To whom should you +confess, if not to the woman who adores you?" + +He looked at her a long time without replying, asking himself if, for the +peace of his own heart, this confession would not be better than silence; +but courage failed him, pride closed his lips. + +"What should be the matter?" he said. "If my face is sad, it does not +indicate faithfully what I feel; for what I feel at this moment is an +ineffable sentiment of tenderness for you, an inexpressible gratitude for +your love, and for the happiness that you have given me. If I have been +happy in my rough and struggling life, it is through you. What I have +had of joy, confidence, hope, memories, I owe to you; and if we had not +met I should have the right to say that I have been the most miserable +among the miserable. Whatever happens to us, remember these words, my +darling, and bury them in the depths of your heart, where you will find +them some day when you would judge me." + +"To judge you--I!" + +"You love me, therefore you do not know me. But the hour will come when +you will wish to know exactly the man whom you have loved; when that time +comes remember this evening." + +"It is too radiant for me to forget it." + +"Whatever it may be, remember it. Life is so fragile and so ephemeral a +thing, that it is beautiful to be able to concentrate it, to sum it up by +remembrance, in one hour that marks it and gives it its scope. Such an +hour is this one, which passes while I speak to you with deep sincerity." + +Phillis was not accustomed to these 'elanas', for, in the rare effusions +to which he sometimes abandoned himself, Saniel always observed a certain +reserve, as if he feared to commit himself, and to let her read his whole +nature. Many times he rallied her when she became sentimental, as he +said, and "chantait sa romance;" and now he himself sang it--this romance +of love. + +Great as was her happiness to listen to him, she could not help feeling +an uneasy astonishment, and asked herself under what melancholy +impression he found himself at this moment. + +He read her too well not to divine this uneasiness. Not wishing to +betray himself, he brought a smile to his eyes, and said: + +"You do not recognize me, do you? I am sure you are asking yourself if I +am not ill." + +"Oh, dearest, do not jest, and do not harden yourself against the +sentiment that makes such sweet music on your lips! I am happy, so +happy, to hear you speak thus, that I would like to see your happiness +equal to mine; to dissipate the dark cloud that veils your glance. Will +you never abandon yourself? At this hour, above all, when everything +sings and laughs within us as about us! Nothing was more natural than +that you should be sad six months ago; but today what more do you want to +make you happy?" + +"Nothing, it is true." + +"Is not the present the radiant morning of a glorious future?" + +"What will you? There are sad physiognomies as there are happy ones; +mine is not yours. But let us talk no more of that, nor of the past, nor +of the future; let us talk of the present." + +He rose, and, taking her in his arms, made her sit next to him on the +sofa. + +The sound of the doorbell made Saniel jump as if he had received an +electric shock. + +"You will not open the door?" Phillis said. "Do not let any one take +our evening from us." + +But soon another ring, more decided, brought him to his feet. + +"It is better to know," he said, and he went to open the door, leaving +Phillis in his office. + +A maid handed him a lettter. + +"From Madame Dammauville," she said; "there is an answer." + +He left her in the vestibule, and returned to his office to read the +letter. The dream had not lasted long; reality seized him with its +pitiless hands. This letter, certainly, would announce the blow that +menaced him. + + "If Dr. Saniel is disengaged, I beg that he will come to see me this + evening on an urgent affair; I will wait for him until ten o'clock. + If not, I count on seeing him to-morrow morning after nine o'clock. + "A. DAMMAUVILLE." + +He returned to the vestibule. + +"Say to Madame. Dammauville that I shall be there in a quarter of an +hour." + +When he reentered the office he found Phillis before the glass, putting +on her hat. + +"I heard," she said. "What a disappointment! But I cannot wish you to +stay, since it is for Florentin that you leave me." + +As she walked toward the door he stopped her. + +"Embrace me once more." + +Never had he pressed her in such a long and passionate embrace. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +ON THE RACK + +He had not a second of doubt; Madame Dammauville did not wish a +professional visit from him. She wished to speak to him of Caffie, and, +in the coming crisis, he said to himself that perhaps it was fortunate +that it was so; at least he would be first to know what she had decided +to do, and he could defend himself. Nothing is hopeless as long as a +struggle is possible. + +He rang the bell with a firm hand, and the door was opened by the maid +who brought the letter. With a small lamp in her hand, she conducted him +through the dining-room and the salon to Madame Dammauville's bedroom. + +At the threshold, a glance showed him that some changes had been made in +the arrangement of the furniture. The small bed where he had seen Madame +Dammauville was placed between the two windows, and she was lying in a +large bed with canopy and curtains. Near her was a table on which were a +shaded lamp, some books, a blotting-book, a teapot, and a cup; on the +white quilt rested an unusually long bellrope, so that she might pull it +without moving. The fire in the chimney was out, but the movable stove +sent out a heat that denoted it was arranged for the night. + +Saniel felt the heat, and mechanically unbuttoned his overcoat. + +"If the heat is uncomfortable, will you not remove your overcoat?" +Madame Dammauville said. + +While he disposed of it and his hat, placing them on a chair by the +fireplace, he heard Madame Dammauville say to her maid: + +"Remain in the salon, and tell the cook not to go to bed." + +What did this mean? Was she afraid that he would cut her throat? + +"Will you come close to my bed?" she said. "It is important that we +should talk without raising our voices." + +He took a chair and seated himself at a certain distance from the bed, +and in such a way that he was beyond the circle of light thrown by the +lamp. Then he waited. + +A moment of silence, which he found terribly long, slipped away before +she spoke. + +"You know," she said at last, "how I saw, accidentally, from this place" +--she pointed to one of the windows--" the face of the assassin of my +unfortunate tenant, Monsieur Caffie." + +"Mademoiselle Cormier has told me," he replied in a tone of ordinary +conversation. + +"Perhaps you are astonished that at such a distance I saw the face +clearly enough to recognize it after five months, as if it were still +before me." + +"It is extraordinary." + +"Not to those who have a memory for faces and attitudes; with me this +memory has always been strongly developed. I remember the playmates of +my childhood, and I see them as they were at six and ten years of age, +without the slightest confusion in my mind." + +"The impressions of childhood are generally vivid and permanent." + +"This persistency does not only apply to my childish impressions. Today, +I neither forget nor confound a physiognomy. Perhaps if I had had many +acquaintances, and if I had seen a number of persons every day, there +might be some confusion in my mind; but such is not the case. My +delicate health has obliged me to lead a very quiet life, and I remember +every one whom I have met. When I think of such a one, it is not of the +name at first, but of the physiognomy. Each time that I have been to the +Senate or to the Chamber, I did not need to ask the names of the deputies +or senators who spoke; I had seen their portraits and I recognized them. +If I go into these details it is because they are of great importance, as +you will see." + +It was not necessary for her to point out their importance; he understood +her only too well. + +"In fine, I am thus," she continued. "It is, therefore, not astonishing +that the physiognomy and the attitude of the man who drew the curtains in +Monsieur Caffie's office should not leave my memory. You admit this, do +you not?" + +"Since you consult me, I must tell you that the operations of the memory +are not so simple as people imagine. They comprise three things: the +conservation of certain states, their reproduction and localization in +the past, which should be reunited to constitute the perfect memory. Now +this reunion does not always take place, and often the third is lacking." + +"I do not grasp your meaning very well. But what is the third thing?" + +"Recognition." + +"Well, I can assure you that in this case it is not lacking!" + +The action beginning in this way, it was of the utmost importance for +Saniel that he should throw doubts in Madame Dammauville's mind, and +should make her think that this memory of which she felt so sure was not, +perhaps, as strong or as perfect as she imagined. + +"It is," he said, "exactly this third thing that is the most delicate, +the most complex of the three, since it supposes, besides the state of +consciousness, some secondary states, variable in number and in degree, +which, grouped around it, determine it." + +Madame Dammauville remained silent a moment, and Saniel saw that she made +an effort to explain these obscure words to herself. + +"I do not understand," she said at last. + +This was exactly what he wished; yet, as it would not be wise to let her +believe that he desired to deceive or confuse her, he thought he might be +a little more precise. + +"I wish to ask," he said, "if you are certain that in the mechanism of +the vision and that of the recognition, which is a vision of the past, +there is no confusion?" + +She drew a long breath, evidently satisfied to get rid of these +subtleties that troubled her. + +"It is exactly because I admit the possibility of this confusion, at +least in part, that I sent for you," she said, "in order that you might +establish it." + +Saniel appeared not to comprehend. + +"I, Madame?" + +"Yes. When you came herewith Monsieur Balzajette a few hours ago, you +must have observed that I examined you in a way that was scarcely +natural. Before the lamps were lighted, and when you turned your back to +the daylight, I tried in vain to remember where I had seen you. I was +certain that I found in you some points of resemblance to a physiognomy +I had known, but the name attached to this physiognomy escaped me. When +you returned, and I saw you more clearly by lamplight, my recollections +became more exact; when I raised the lamp-shade the light struck you full +in the face, and then your eyes, so characteristic, and at the same time +a violent contraction of your features, made me recall the name. This +physiognomy, these eyes, this face, belonged to the man whom from this +place" she pointed to the window--"I saw draw Monsieur Caffies curtains." + +Saniel did not flinch. + +"This is a resemblance that would be hard for me," he said, "if your +memory were faithful." + +"I tell myself that it may not be. And after the first feeling of +surprise which made me cry out, I was confirmed in this thought on +recalling the fact that you did not wear the long hair and blond beard +that the man wore who drew the curtains; but at that moment Monsieur +Balzajette spoke of the hair and beard that you had had cut. I was +prostrated. However, I had the strength to ask if you had had any +business with Monsieur Caffie. Do you remember your answer?" + +"Perfectly." + +"After your departure I experienced a cruel anguish. It was you whom I +had seen draw the curtains, and it could not be you. I tried to think +what I ought to do--to inform the judge or to ask you for an interview. +For a long time I wavered. At length I decided on the interview, and I +wrote to you." + +"I have come at your call, but I declare that I do not know what to reply +to this strange communication. You believe that you recognize in me the +man who drew the curtains." + +"I recognize you." + +"Then what do you wish me to say? It is not a consultation that you ask +of me?" + +She believed she understood the meaning of this reply and divined its +end. + +"The question does not concern me," she said, "neither my moral nor +mental state, but yourself. My eyes, my memory, my conscience, bring a +frightful accusation against you. I cannot believe my eyes or my memory. +I challenge my conscience, and I ask you to reduce this accusation to +nothing." + +"And how, Madame?" + +"Oh, not by protestations!" + +"How can you expect that a man in my position will lower himself to +discuss accusations that rest on an hallucination?" + +"Do you believe that I have hallucinations? If you do, call one of your +'confreres' to-morrow in consultation. If he believes as you do, I will +submit; if not, I shall be convinced that I saw clearly, and I shall act +accordingly." + +"If you saw clearly, Madame, and I am ready to concede this to you, it +proves that there is some one somewhere who is my double." + +"I said this to myself; and it is exactly this idea that made me write to +you. I wished to give you the opportunity of proving that you could not +be this man." + +"You will agree that it is difficult for me to admit a discussion on such +an accusation." + +"One may find one's self accused by a concourse of fatal circumstances, +and be not less innocent. Witness the unfortunate boy imprisoned for +five months for a crime of which he is not guilty. And I pass from your +innocence as from his, to ask you to prove that the charges against you +are false." + +"There are no charges against me." + +"There may be; that depends upon yourself. Your hair and beard may have +been cut at the time of the assassination; in that case it is quite +certain that the man I saw was not you, and that I am the victim of an +hallucination. Were they or were they not?" + +"They were not; it is only a few days since I had them cut on account of +a contagious disease." + +"It may be," she continued, without appearing to be impressed by this +explanation, "that the day of the assassination, at the hour when I saw +you, you were occupied somewhere in such a way that you can prove you +could not have been in the Rue Sainte-Anne, and that I was the victim of +an hallucination. And again, it may be that at the time your position +was not that of a man at the last extremity, forced to crime by misery or +ambition, and that consequently you had no interest in committing the +crime of a desperate man. What do I know? Twenty other means of defence +may be in your hands." + +"You cited the example of this poor boy who is imprisoned, although +innocent. Would it not be applicable to me if you did not recognize the +error of your eyes or your memory? Would he not be condemned without +your testimony? Should I not be if I do not find one that destroys your +accusation? And I see no one from whom I can ask this testimony. Have +you thought of the infamy with which such an accusation will cover me? +If I repel it, and I shall repel it, will it not have dishonored me, +ruined me forever?" + +"It is just because I thought of this that I sent for you, to the end +that by an explanation that you would give, it seemed to me, you would +prevent me from informing the judge of this suspicion. This explanation +you do not give me; I must now think only of him whose innocence is +proved for me, and take his side against him whose guilt is not less +proved. To-morrow I shall inform the judge." + +"You will not do that!" + +"My duty compels me to; and whatever might come, I have always done my +duty. For me, in this horrible affair, there is the cause of the +innocent and of the guilty, and I place myself on the side of the +innocent." + +"I can prove to you that it was an aberration of vision--" + +"You will prove it to the judge; the law will appreciate it." + +He rose brusquely. She put her hand on the bellcord. They looked at +each other for a moment, and what their lips did not express their eyes +said: + +"I do not fear you; my precautions are taken." + +"That bell will not save you." + +At last he spoke in a hoarse and quivering voice: + +"To you the responsibility of whatever happens Madame." + +"I accept it before God," she said, with a calm firmness. "Defend +yourself." + +He went to the armchair on which he had placed his coat and hat, and +bending down to take them, he noiselessly turned the draught of the +stove. + +At the same time Madame Dammauville pulled the bellcord; the maid opened +the door of the salon. + +"Show Doctor Saniel to the door." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +A SECOND VICTIM + +On returning to his room Saniel was very much cast down, and without +lighting a candle, he threw himself on the divan, where he remained +prostrated. + +The frightful part of the affair was the rapidity with which he condemned +this poor woman to death, and without hesitation executed her. To save +himself she must die; she should die. This time the idea did not turn +and deviate as in Caffie's case. Is it not true then, that it is the +first crime that costs, and in the path that he had entered, would he go +on to the end sowing corpses behind him? + +A shudder shook him from head to foot as he thought that this victim +might not be the last that his safety demanded. When she threatened to +warn the judge, he only saw a threat; if she spoke he was lost; he had +closed her mouth. But had not this mouth opened before he closed it? +Had she not already spoken? Before deciding on this interview she may +have told all to some one of her friends, who, between the time of his +departure with Balzajette and his return, might have visited her, or to +some one for whom she had sent for advice. In that case, those also were +condemned to death. + +A useless crime, or a series of crimes? + +The horror that rose within him was so strong that he thought of running +to the Rue Sainte-Anne; he would awake the sleeping household, open the +doors, break the windows, and save her. But between his departure and +this moment the carbonic acid and the oxide of carbon had had time to +produce asphyxiation, and certainly he would arrive after her death; or, +if he found her still living, some one would discover that the draught of +the stove had been turned, and seeing it, he would betray himself as +surely as by an avowal. + +After all, the maid might have discovered that the draught was turned, +and in that case she was saved and he was lost. Chance would decide +between them. + +There are moments when a shipwrecked man, tired of swimming, not knowing +to which side to direct his course, without light, without guide, at the +end of strength and hope, floats on his back and lets himself be tossed +by the waves, to rest and wait for light. This was his case; he could do +nothing but wait. + +He would not commit the insane folly of wishing to see and know, as in +Caffie's case; he would know the result soon enough, too soon. + +Rising, he lighted a candle, and paced up and down his apartment like a +caged animal. Then it occurred to him that those underneath would hear +his steps; doubtless they would remark this agitated march, would be +surprised, and would ask an explanation. In his position he must take +care not to give cause for any remark that could not be explained. He +took off his boots and continued his walk. + +But why had she spoken to him of double weatherstrips at the doors and +windows, of hangings on the walls, of thick curtains? It was she who +thus suggested to him the idea of the draught of the stove, which would +not have come to him spontaneously. + +The night passed in such agitating thoughts; at times the hours seemed to +stand still, and again they flew with astounding rapidity. One moment +the perspiration fell from his forehead on his hands; at another he felt +frozen. + +When his windows grew light with the dawn, he threw himself prostrated +and shuddering on the divan, and leaning on a cushion he detected the +odor of Phillis; burying his head in it he remained motionless and slept. + +A ring of the bell woke him, horrified, frightened; he did not know where +he was. It was broad daylight, carriages rumbled through the street. A +second ring sounded stronger, more violent. Shivering, he went to open +the door, and recognized the maid who the previous evening brought a note +from Madame Dammauville. He did not need to question her: fate was on +his side. His eyes became dim; without seeing her he heard the maid +explain why she had come. + +She had been to Monsieur Balzajette; he was in the country. Her mistress +was nearly cold in her bed; she neither spoke nor breathed, yet her face +was pink. + +"I will go with you." + +He did not need to learn more. That rosy color, which has been observed +in those asphyxiated by oxide of carbon, decided it. However, he +questioned the maid. + +Nothing had occurred; she had talked with the cook in the kitchen, who, +near midnight, went to her room in the fifth story, and then she went to +bed in a small room contiguous to that of her mistress. During the night +she heard nothing; in the morning she found her mistress in the state she +mentioned, and immediately went for Monsieur Balzajette. + +Continuing his questions, Saniel asked her what Madame Dammauville did +after the consultation with Monsieur Balzajette. + +"She dined as usual, but less than usual, eating almost nothing; then she +received a visit from one of her friends, who remained only a few +minutes, before starting on a voyage." + +This was what he dreaded: Madame Dammauville might have told this friend. +If this were so, his crime would be of no use to him; where would it +carry him? + +After a few moments, and in a tone that he tried to render indifferent, +he asked the name of this friend. + +"A friend of her youth, Madame Thezard, living at No. 9, in the Rue des +Capucines, the wife of a consul." + +Until he reached the house in the Rue Sainte-Anne he repeated this name +and address to himself, which he could not write down, and which he must +not forget, for it was from there now that the danger would come if +Madame Dammauville had spoken. + +For a long time he had been habituated to the sight of death, but when he +found himself in the presence of this woman stretched on her bed as if +she slept, a shiver seized him. + +"Give me a mirror and a candle," he said to the maid and the cook who +stood at the door, not daring to enter. + +While they went in search of these things he walked over to the stove; +the draught remained as he had turned it on the previous evening; he +opened it and returned to the bed. + +His examination was not long; she had succumbed to asphyxiation caused by +the gas from the charcoal. Did it proceed from the construction of the +stove, or from a defect in the chimney? The inquest would decide this; +as for him, he could only prove the death. + +On leaving him the evening before, Phillis, uneasy, told him that she +would come early in the morning to know what Madame Dammauville wished. +When he told her she was dead she was prostrated with despair; in that +case Florentin was lost. He tried to reassure her, but without success. + +Nougarede, also, was in despair, and regretted that he had not proceeded +otherwise. And he tried to reassure Phillis; the prosecution rested on +the button and the struggle that had torn it off. Saniel would destroy +this hypothesis; he counted on him. + +Saniel became, then, as he had been before the intervention of Madame +Dammauville, the only hope of Phillis and her mother, and to encourage +them he exaggerated the influence that his testimony would have. + +"When I shall have demonstrated that there was no struggle, the +hypothesis of the torn button will crumble by itself." + +"And if it is sustained, how and with what shall we overthrow it?" + +If he had appeared as usual, she would have shared the confidence with +which he tried to inspire her; but since the death of Madame Dammauville +he was so changed, that she could not help being uneasy. Evidently it +was Madame Dammauville's death that made him so gloomy and irritable that +he would submit to no opposition. He saw the dangers of the situation +that this death created for Florentin, and with his usual generosity he +reproached himself for not having consented to take care of her sooner; +he would have saved her, certainly, as he had begun by demanding the +removal of the stove, and Florentin would have been saved also. + +The day of the trial arrived without a word from Madame Thezard, which +proved that Madame Dammauville had said nothing to her friend. It was +six months since the assassination occurred, and the affair had lost all +interest for the Parisian public; in the provinces it was still spoken +of, but at Paris it was a thing of the past. There is no romance about a +clerk who cuts the throat of his employer to rob him; there is no woman +in the case, no mystery. + +Saniel preferred that Phillis should remain at home with her mother, but +in spite of his wishes and prayers she insisted on going to court. She +must be there so that Florentin would see her and take courage; he would +defend himself better if she were there. + +He defended himself badly, or at least indifferently, like a man who +gives up because he knows beforehand that whatever he may say will be +useless. + +Until Saniel's deposition the witnesses who testified were insignificant +enough, and revealed nothing that was not already known; only Valerius, +with his pretensions to a professional secret, which he developed slowly, +amused the audience. This deposition Saniel made brief and exact, +contenting himself with repeating his report. But then Nougarede rose, +and begged the president to ask the witness to explain the struggle which +should have taken place between the victim and his assassin; and the +president, who had commenced by arguing, before the insistence of the +defence, decided to ask this question. Then Saniel slowly explained how +the position of the body in the armchair and his condition were +scientific proof that there was no struggle. + +"This is an opinion," said the president dryly; "the jury will appreciate +it." + +"Perfectly," replied Nougarede, "and I intend to make the jury feel the +weight that it carries on the authority of him who formulated it." + +This phrase for effect was destined to invalidate in advance the +contradictions that the prosecution would, he believed, raise against the +testimony; but nothing of the kind occurred, and Saniel could go and take +his place beside Phillis without being called to the bar to sustain his +opinion against a physician whose scientific authority would be opposed +to his. + +In default of Madame Dammauville, Nougarede had summoned the concierge of +Rue Sainte-Anne, as well as the maid and the cook, who had heard their +mistress say that the man who drew Caffies curtains did not resemble +Florentin's portrait; but this was only gossip repeated by persons of no +importance, who could not produce the effect of the 'coup de theatre' on +which he had based his defence. + +When the advocate-general pronounced his address, it was evident why +Saniel's opinion on the absence of a struggle was not contradicted. +Although the prosecution believed in this struggle, it wished to abandon +it a moment, having no need of this hypothesis to prove that the button +had not been torn off on falling from a ladder; it had been done in the +act of assassination, in the effort made to cut the throat of the victim +who had violently extended the right arm, and, by the shock to the +suspenders, the button was torn off. The effect of Saniel's deposition +was destroyed, and that one produced by the testimony of Madame +Dammauville's maids, far less strong, was also destroyed when the +advocate-general proved that this gossip turned against the accused. +She had seen, it was said, a man with long hair and curled beard, draw +the curtains; very well! Does this description apply to the accused? +To tell the truth, it was said that she did not recognize him in a +portrait published by an illustrated paper. Well, it was because this +portrait did not resemble him. Besides, was it possible to admit that a +woman of Madame Dammauville's character would not have informed the judge +if she believed her testimony important and decisive? The proof that she +considered it insignificant was the fact that she had kept silent. + +Nougarede's eloquent appeal did not destroy these two arguments, any more +than it effaced the impression produced by the money-lender relative to +the theft of forty-five francs. The jury brought in a verdict of +"Guilty," but without premeditation, and admitting extenuating +circumstances. + +On hearing the decree that condemned Florentin to twenty years of forced +labor, Phillis, half suffocated, clung to Saniel's arm; but he could not +give her the attention he wished, for Brigard, who came to the trial to +assist at the triumph of his disciple, accosted him. + +"Receive my felicitations for your deposition, my dear friend; it is an +act of courage that does you honor. If this poor boy could have been +saved, it would have been by you; you may well say you are the man of +conscience." + + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +It is the first crime that costs +Repeated and explained what he had already said and explained +You love me, therefore you do not know me + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Conscience, v3 +by Hector Malot + + + + + + +CONSCIENCE + +By HECTOR MALOT + + +BOOK 4. + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +CONSCIENCE ASSERTS ITSELF + +During the first years of his sojourn in Paris, Saniel had published in a +Latin Quarter review an article on the "Pharmacy of Shakespeare"--the +poison of Hamlet, and of Romeo and Juliet; and although since his choice +of medicine he read but little besides books of science, at that time he +was obliged to study the plays of his author. From this study there +lingered in his memory a phrase that for ten years had not risen to his +lips, and which all at once forced itself uppermost in his mind with +exasperating persistency. It was the words of Macbeth: + + "Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep; + Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care, + The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, + Balm of hurt minds." + +He also had lost it, "the innocent sleep, sore labor's bath, balm of hurt +minds." He had never been a great sleeper; at least he had accustomed +himself to the habit, hard at first, of passing only a few hours in bed. +But he employed these few hours well, sleeping as the weary sleep, hands +clenched, without dreaming, waking, or moving; and the thought that +occupied his mind in the evening was with him on waking in the morning, +not having been put to flight by others, any more than by dreams. + +After Caffie's death this tranquil and refreshing sleep continued the +same; but suddenly, after Madame Dammauville's death, it became broken. + +At first it did not bother him. He did not sleep, so much the better! +He would work more. But one can no more work all the time than one can +live without eating. Saniel knew better than any one that the life of +every organ is composed of alternate periods of repose and activity, and +he did not suppose that he would be able to work indefinitely without +sleep. He only hoped that after some days of twenty hours of work daily, +overcome by fatigue, he would have, in spite of everything, four hours of +solid sleep, that Shakespeare called "sore labor's bath." + +He had not had these four hours, and the law that every state of +prolonged excitement brings exhaustion that should be refreshed by a +functional rest, was proved false in his case. After a hard day's work +he would go to bed at one o'clock in the morning and would go to sleep +immediately. But very soon he awoke with a start, suffocating, covered +with perspiration, in a state of extreme anxiety, his mind agitated by +hallucinations of which he could not rid himself all at once. If he did +not wake suddenly, he dreamed frightful dreams, always of Madame +Dammauville or Caffie. Was it not curious that Caffie, who until then +had been completely effaced from his memory, was resuscitated by Madame +Dammauville in the night, ghost of the darkness that the daylight +dissipated? + +Believing that one of the causes of these dreams was the excitement of +the brain, occasioned by excessive work at the hour when he should not +exercise it, but on the contrary should allow it to rest, he decided to +change a plan which produced so little success. Instead of intellectual +work he would engage in physical exercise, which, by exhausting his +muscular functions, would procure him the sleep of the laboring class; +and as he could not roll a wheelbarrow nor chop wood, every evening after +dinner he walked seven or eight miles rapidly. + +Physical work succeeded no better than intellectual; he endured the +fatigue of butchers and wood-choppers, but he did not obtain their sleep. +Decidedly, bodily fatigue was worth no more than that of the brain. +It was worth even less. At his table, plunged in his books, or in his +laboratory over his microscope, he absorbed himself in his work, and, +by the force of a will that had been long exercised and submissive to +obedience, he was able to keep his thoughts on the subject in hand, +without distraction as without dreams. Time passed. But when walking in +the streets of Paris, in the deserted roads on the outskirts, by the +Seine or Marne, his mind wandered where it would; it was the mistress, +and it always dwelt on Madame Dammauville, Caffie, and Florentin. It +seemed as if the heat of walking started his brain. When he returned in +this state, after many hours of cerebral excitability, how could he find +the tranquil and refreshing sleep, complete and profound, of the laboring +classes who work only with their muscles? + +Never having been ill, he had never examined nor treated himself: +medicine was good for others but useless for him. With a machine +organized like his he need fear only accidents, and until now he had been +spared them; a true son of peasants, he victoriously resisted Paris life +as the destroyer of the intellect. But the time had come to undertake an +examination and to try a treatment that would give him rest. He was not +a sceptical doctor, and he believed that what he ordered for others was +good for himself. + +The misfortune was that he could not find in himself any of the causes +which resolve into insomnia; he had neither meningitis nor brain fever, +nor anything that indicated a cerebral tumor; he was not anaemic; he ate +well; he did not suffer with neuralgia, nor with any acute or chronic +affection that generally accompanied the absence of sleep; he drank +neither tea nor alcohol; and without this state of over-excitement of the +encephalic centres, he might have said that he was in good health, a +little thin, but that was all. + +It was this excitement that he must cure, and as there are many remedies +for insomnia, he tried those which, it seemed to him, were suitable to +his case; but bromide of potassium, in spite of its hypnotic properties, +produced no more effect than the over-working of the brain and body. +When he realized this he replaced it with chloral; but chloral, which +should create a desire to sleep, after several days had no more effect +than the bromide. Then he tried injections of morphine. + +It was not without a certain uneasiness that he made this third trial, +the first two having met with so little success; and since it is +acknowledged that chloral produces a calmer sleep than morphine, it +seemed as if the latter would prove as useless as the former. However, +he slept without being tormented by dreams or wakings, and the next day +he still slept. + +But he knew too well the effects produced by a prolonged use of these +injections to continue them beyond what was strictly indispensable; he +therefore omitted them, and sleep left him. + +He tried them again; then, soon, as the small doses lost their efficacy, +he gradually increased them. At the end of a certain time what he feared +came to pass--his leanness increased; he lost his appetite, his muscular +force, and his moral energy; his pale face began to wear the +characteristic expression of the morphomaniac. + +Then he stopped, frightened. + +Should he continue, he would become a morphomaniac in a given time, and +the apathy into which he fell prevented him from resisting the desire to +absorb new doses of poison, a desire as imperious, as irresistible in +morphinism as that of alcohol for the alcoholic, and more terrible in its +effects--the perversion of the intellectual faculties, loss of will, of +memory, of judgment, paralysis, or the mania that leads to suicide. + +If he did not continue, and these sleepless nights or the agitated sleep +which maddened him should return, and following them, this over- +excitement of the brain in troubling the nutrition of the encephalic +mass, it might be the prelude of some grave cerebral affection. + +On one side the morphine habit; on the other, dementia from the constant +excitement and disorganization of the brain. + +Between a fatally certain result and one that was possible he did not +hesitate. He must give up morphine, and this choice forced itself upon +him with so much more strength, because if morphine assured him sleep at +night, it by no means gave him tranquil days--quite the contrary. + +He began to use this remedy at night when he fell under the influence of +certain ideas; during the day when applying himself to work, by an effort +of will he escaped from these ideas, and was the man he had always been, +master of his strength and mind. But the action of the morphine rapidly +weakened this all-powerful will, so much so, that when these ideas +crossed his mind during his working hours he had not the energy to drive +them away. He tried to shake them off, but in vain; they would not leave +his brain, to which they clung and encompassed it with increasing +strength. + +Truly, those two corpses troubled him horribly. Was it not exasperating +for a man who had seen and dissected so many, that there should be always +two before his eyes, even when they were closed--that of this old rascal +and of this unfortunate woman? In order not to complicate this +impression with another that humiliated him, he got rid of the packages +of bank bills taken from Caffie, by sending them "as restitution" to the +director of public charities. But this had no appreciable effect. + +The thought of Florentin troubled him also; and if he saw Caffie lying in +his chair, Madame Dammauville motionless and pink on her bed, to him it +was not less cruel to see Florentin between the decks of the vessel that +would soon carry him to New Caledonia. + +The ideas on conscience that he had expressed at Crozat's, and those that +he explained to Phillis about remorse, were still his; but he was not the +less certain that these two dead persons and the condemned one weighed +upon him with a terrible weight, frightful, suffocating, like a +nightmare. It was not in accordance with his education nor with his +environment to have these corpses behind him and this victim before him. + +But where his former ideas were overthrown, since these dead bodies +seized hold of his life, was in his confidence in his strength. + +The strong man that he believed himself, he who follows his ambition +regardless of things and of persons, looking only before him and never +behind, master of his mind as of his heart and of his arm, was not at all +the one that reality revealed. + +On the contrary, he had been weak in action and yet weaker afterward. + +And it was not only humiliation in the present that he felt in +acknowledging this weakness, it was also in uneasiness for the future; +for, if he lacked this strength that he attributed to himself before +having tested it, he should, if his beliefs were true, succumb some day. + +Evidently, if he were perfectly strong he would not have complicated his +life with love. The strong walk alone because they need no one. And he +needed a woman; and so great was the need that it was through her only, +near her, when he looked at her, when he listened to her, that he +experienced a little calm. + +Was he weak and cowardly on account of this? Perhaps not, but only +human. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +ATTEMPTED REPARATION + +Because he felt calm when with Phillis, Saniel wished that she might +never leave him. + +But, as happy as she was in her sorrow to see that instead of avoiding +her--which a less generous man would have done, perhaps--he sought to +draw nearer each day, she could not give up her lessons and her work, +which was her daily bread, to give all her time to her love, any more +than she could leave her mother entirely alone, crushed with shame, who +had never needed so much as now to be cheered and sustained. + +She did not let a day pass without going to see Saniel; but in spite of +her desire she could not remain with him as long as she wished and he +asked. When she rose to go and he detained her, she remained, but it was +only for a few minutes; they were short, and the time soon came when, +after ten attempts, she was obliged to leave him. + +At all times these separations had been full of despair to her, the +apprehension of which, from the moment of her arrival, paralyzed her; +but now they were still more cruel. Formerly, on leaving him, she often +saw him deep in his work before she opened the door; now, on the +contrary, he conducted her to the vestibule, detained her, and only let +her leave him when she tore herself from his embrace, after promising and +repeating her promise to come early the next day and stay longer. +Formerly, also, she was calm when she left him, not thinking of his +health, nor asking herself how she would find him at their next meeting, +strong and powerful, as sound in body as in mind. On the contrary, now +she worried herself, wondering how she would find him on the occasion of +each visit. Would the sadness, melancholy, and dejection still remain? +Would he be thinner and paler? It was her care, her anguish, to try to +divine the causes of the change in him, which manifested itself as +strongly in his sentiments as in his person. Was it not truly +extraordinary that he was more grave and uneasy now that his life was +assured than during the hard times when he was so worried that he never +knew what the morrow would bring? He had obtained the position that his +ambition coveted; he had sufficient money for his wants; he admitted that +his experiments had succeeded beyond his expectations; the essays that he +published on his experiments were loudly discussed, praised by some, +contested by others; it seemed that he had attained his object; and he +was sad, discontented, unhappy, more tormented than when he exhausted +himself with efforts, without other support than his will. At last, when +frightened to see him thus, she questioned him as to how he felt, he +became angry, and answered brutally + +"Ill? Why do you think that I am--ill? Am I not better able than any +one to know how I am? I am overworked, that is all; and as my life of +privation does not permit me to repair my forces, I have become anaemic; +it is not serious. It is strange, truly, that you ask for explanations +of what is natural. Count the teeth of the polytechnicians and look at +their hair after their examinations, and tell me what you think of them. +Why do you think anything else is the matter with me? One cannot expend +one's self with impunity; that would be too good. Everything must be +paid for in this world." + +She was obliged to believe that he was right and understood his +condition; however, she could not help worrying. She knew nothing of +medicine; she did not know the meaning of the medical terms he used, +but she found that this was not sufficient to explain all--neither his +roughness of temper and excess of anger without reason, any more than his +sudden tenderness, his weakness and dejection, his preoccupation and +absence of mind. + +She discovered the effect she produced on him, and how, merely by her +presence, she cheered this gloomy fancy and raised this depression by not +asking him stupid questions on certain subjects which she had not yet +determined on, but which she hoped to avoid. Also, she did not wish to +leave him, and ingeniously invented excuses to go to see him twice a day; +in the morning on going to her lessons, and in the afternoon or evening. + +Late one evening she rang his bell with a hand made nervous with joy. + +"I have come to stay till to-morrow," she said, in triumphant tones. + +She expected that he would express his joy by an embrace, but he did +nothing. + +"Are you going out?" + +"Not at all; I am not thinking of myself, but of your mother." + +"Do you think that I would have left her alone in her weak and nervous +state? A cousin of ours arrived from the country, who will occupy my +bed, and I profited by it quick enough, saying that I would remain at the +school. And here I am." + +In spite of his desire for it, he had never dared ask her to pass the +night with him. During the day he would only betray himself by his sad +or fantastic temper; but at night, with such dreams as came to him, might +not some word escape that would betray him? + +However, since she was come it was impossible to send her away; he could +not do it for her nor for himself. What pretext could he find to say, +"Go! I do not want you?" He wanted her above all; he wanted to look at +her, to listen to her, to hear her voice that soothed and lulled his +anguish, to feel her near him--only to have her there, and not be face +to face with his thoughts. + +She examined him secretly, asking herself the cause of this singular +reception, standing at the entrance of the office, not daring to remove +her hat. How could her arrival produce an effect so different from what +she expected? + +"You do not take off your hat?" he said. + +"I was asking myself if you had to work." + +"Why do you ask yourself that?" + +"For fear of disturbing you." + +"What a madness you have for always asking something!" he exclaimed +violently. "What do you expect me to say? What astonishes you? Why +should you disturb me? In what? 'Voyons', speak, explain yourself!" + +The time was far distant when these explosions surprised her, though they +always pained her. + +"I speak stupidly," she said. "What will you? I am stupid; forgive me." + +These words, "forgive me," were more cruel than numberless reproaches, +for he well knew that he had nothing to forgive in her, since she was the +victim and he the criminal. Should he never be able to master these +explosions, as imprudent as they were unjust? + +He took her in his arms and made her sit by him. + +"It is for you to forgive," he said. + +And he was as tender and caressing as he had been brutal. He was a fool +to imagine that she could have suspicions, and the surest way to give +birth to them was to show fear that she had them. To betray himself by +such awkwardness was as serious as to let a cry escape him while +sleeping. + +But for this night he had a way which was in reality not difficult, that +would not expose him to the danger of talking in his sleep-he would not +sleep. After having passed so many nights without closing his eyes, +without doubt he could keep them open this entire night. + +But he deceived himself; when he heard the calm and regular respiration +of Phillis with her head on his shoulder, and felt the mild warmth of her +body penetrate his, in the quiet imposed upon him, without being +conscious of it, believing himself far from sleep, and convinced that he +required no effort to keep awake, he suddenly slept. When he awoke a ray +of pale sunlight filled the room, and leaning her elbow on the bolster, +Phillis was watching him. He made a brusque movement, throwing himself +backward. "What is the matter?" he cried. "What have I said?" +Instantly his face paled, his lips quivered; he felt his heart beat +tumultuously and his throat pressed by painful constriction. "But +nothing is the matter," she answered, looking at him tenderly. "You have +said nothing." To come to the point, why should he have spoken? During +his frightful dreams, his nights of disturbed sleep, he might have cried +out, but he did not know if he had ever done so. And besides, he had not +just waked from an agitated sleep. All this passed through his mind in +an instant, in spite of his alarm. "What time is it?" he asked. +"Nearly six o'clock." "Six o'clock!" "Do you not hear the vehicles in +the street? The street-venders are calling their wares." It must have +been about one o'clock when he closed his eyes; he had then slept five +hours, profoundly, and he felt calm, rested, refreshed, his body active +and his mind tranquil, the man of former times, in the days of his happy +youth, and not the half-insane man of these last frightful months. + +He breathed a sigh. + +"Ah, if I could have you always!" he murmured, as much to himself as to +her. + +And he gave her a long look mingled with a sad smile; then, placing his +arm around her shoulders, he pressed her to him. + +"Dear little wife!" + +She had never heard so profound, so vibrating, a tenderness in his voice; +never had she been able, until hearing these words, to measure the depth +of the love that she had inspired in him; and it even seemed that this +was the declaration of a new love. + +Pressing her passionately to him, he repeated: + +"Dear little wife!" + +Distracted, lost in her happiness, she did not reply. + +All at once he held her from him gently, and looking at her with the same +smile: + +"Does this word tell you nothing?" + +"It tells me that you love me." + +"And is that all?" + +"What more can I wish? You say it, I feel it. You give me the greatest +joy of which I can dream." + +"It is enough for you?" + +"It would be enough if it need never be interrupted. But it is the +misfortune of our life that we are obliged to separate at the time when +the ties that unite us are the most strongly bound." + +"Why should we separate?" + +"Alas! Mamma? And daily bread?" + +"If you did not leave your mother. If you need no longer worry about +your life?" + +She looked at him, not daring to question him, not betraying the +direction of her thoughts except by a trembling that she could not +control in spite of her efforts. + +"I mean if you become my wife." + +"Oh, my beloved!" + +"Will you not?" + +She threw herself in his arms, fainting; but after a moment she +recovered. + +"Alas! It is impossible," she murmured. + +"Why impossible?" + +"Do not ask me; do not oblige me to say it." + +"But, on the contrary, I wish you to tell me." + +She turned her head away, and in a voice that was scarcely perceptible, +in a stifled sigh: + +"My brother--" + +"It is greatly on account of your brother that I wish this marriage." + +Then, suddenly: "Do you think me the man to submit to prejudiced +blockheads?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +THE IMPORTANT QUESTION + +Saniel had not waited until this day to acknowledge the salutary +influence that Phillis's presence exercised over him, yet the idea of +making her his wife never occurred to him. He thought himself ill- +adapted to marriage, and but little desirous of being a husband. +Until lately he had had no desire for a home. + +This idea came to him suddenly and took strong hold of him; at least as +much on account of the calmness he felt in her presence, as by the charm +of her manner, her health, happiness, and gayety. + +It was not only physical calm that she gave him by a mysterious affinity +concerning which his studies told him nothing, but of which he did not +the less feel all the force; it was also a moral calm. + +There were duties he owed her, and terribly heavy were those he owed her +mother and Florentin. + +He did all he could for Florentin, but this was not all that he owed +them. Florentin was in prison; Madame Cormier fell into a mournful +despair, growing weaker each day; and Phillis, in spite of her elasticity +and courage, bent beneath the weight of injustice. + +How much the situation would be changed if he married her--for them, +and for him! + +When Phillis was a little recovered from her great surprise, she asked +him: + +"When did you decide on this marriage?" + +He did not wish to prevaricate, and he answered that it was at that +instant that the idea came to him, exact enough and strong enough to give +form to the ideas that had been floating in his brain for several months. + +"At least, have you considered it? Have you not yielded to an impulse of +love?" + +"Would it be better to yield to a long, rational calculation? I marry +you because I love you, and also because I am certain that without you +I cannot be happy. Frankly, I acknowledge that I need you, your +tenderness, your love, your strength of character, your equal temper, +your invincible faith in hope, which, for me as I am organized, is worth +the largest dot." + +"It is exactly because I have no dot to bring you. When you were at the +last extremity, desperate and crushed, I might ask to become the wife of +the poor village doctor that you were going to be; but to-day, in your +position, above all in the position that you will soon occupy, is poor +little Phillis worthy of you? You give me the greatest joy that I can +ever know, of which I have only dreamed in telling myself that it would +be folly to hope to have it realized. But just that gives me the +strength to beg you to reflect, and to consider whether you will ever +regret this moment of rapture that makes me so happy." + +"I have reflected, and what you say proves better than anything that I do +not deceive myself. I want a wife who loves me, and you are that wife." + +"More than I can tell you at this moment, wild with happiness, but not +more than I shall prove to you in the continuance of our love." + +"Besides, dearest, do not have any illusions on the splendors of this +position of which you speak; it is more than probable that they will +never be realized, for I am not a man of money, and will do nothing to +gain any. If it does not come by itself--" + +"It will come." + +"That is not the object for which I work. What I wish I have obtained +partly; if now I make money and obtain a rich practice, the jealousy of +my confreres will make me lose, or wait too long, for what my ambition +prefers to a fortune. For the moment this position will be modest; my +four thousand francs of salary, that which I gain at the central bureau +while waiting to have the title of hospital physician, and five hundred +francs a month more that my editor offers me for work and a review of +bacteriology, will give us nearly twelve thousand francs, and we must +content ourselves with that for some time." + +"That is a fortune to me." + +"To me also; but I thought I ought to tell you." + +"And when do you wish our marriage to take place?" + +"Immediately after the necessary legal delay, and as soon as I am settled +in a new apartment; for you could not come here as my wife, where you +have been seen so often. It would not be pleasant for you or for me." + +"And we will not be so foolish as to put ourselves in the hands of an +upholsterer; the first one cost enough." + +He said these last words with fierce energy, but continued immediately: + +"What do we need? A parlor for the patients, if they come; an office for +me, which will do also as a laboratory; a bedroom for us, and one for +your mother." + +"You wish--" + +"But certainly. Do you think that I would ask you to separate from her?" + +She took his hand, and kissing it with a passionate impulse: "Oh, the +dearest, the most generous of men!" + +"Do not let us talk of that," he said with evident annoyance. "In your +mother's condition of mental prostration it would kill her to be left +alone; she needs you, and I promise to help you to soften her grief. +We will make her comfortable; and although my nature is not very tender, +I will try to replace him from whom she is separated. It will be a +happiness to her to see you happy." + +For a long time he enlarged upon what he wished, feeling a sentiment of +satisfaction in talking of what he would do for Madame Cormier, in whom +at this time he saw the mother of Florentin more than that of Phillis. + +"Do you think you can make her forget?" he asked from time to time. + +"Forget? No. Neither she nor I can ever forget; but it is certain our +sorrow will be drowned in our happiness, and this happiness we shall owe +to you. Oh, how you will be adored, respected, blessed!" + +Adored, respected! He repeated these words to himself. One could, then, +be happy by making others happy. He had had so little opportunity until +this time to do for others, that this was in some sort the revelation of +a sentiment that he was astonished to feel, but which, for being new, was +only the sweeter to him. + +He wished to give himself the satisfaction of tasting all the sweetness. + +"Where are you going this morning?" he asked. + +"I return to the school to help my pupils prepare their compositions for +the prize." + +"Very well; while you are at the school this morning, I will go to see +your mother. The process of asking in marriage that we make use of is +perhaps original, and conforms to the laws of nature, if nature admits +marriage, which I ignore; but it certainly is not the way of those of the +world. And now I must address this request to your mother." + +"What joy you will give her!" + +"I hope so." + +"I should like to be there to enjoy her happiness. Mamma has a mania for +marriage; she spends her time marrying the people she knows or those she +does not know. And she has felt convinced that I should die in the +yellow skin of an old maid. At last, this evening she will have the +happiness of announcing to me your visit and your request. But do not +make this visit until the afternoon, because then our cousin will be +gone." + +Saniel spent his morning in looking for apartments, and found one in a +quarter of the Invalides, which he engaged. + +It was nearly one o'clock when he reached Madame Cormier's. As usual, +when he called, she looked at him with anxious curiosity, thinking of +Florentin. + +"It is not of him that I wish to speak to you to-day," he said, without +pronouncing any name, which was unnecessary. "It is of Mademoiselle +Phillis--" + +"Do you find her ill?" Madame Cormier said, who thought only of +misfortune. + +"Not at all. It is of her and of myself that I wish to speak. Do not be +uneasy. I hope that what I am going to say will not be a cause of +sadness to you." + +"Pardon me if I always see something to fear. We have been so +frightfully tried, so unjustly!" + +He interrupted her, for these complaints did not please him. + +"For a long time," he said quickly, "Mademoiselle Phillis has inspired me +with a deep sentiment of esteem and tenderness; I have not been able to +see her so courageous, so brave in adversity, so decided in her +character, so good to you, so charming, without loving her, and I have +come to ask you to give her to me as my wife." + +At Saniel's words, Madame Cormier's hands began to tremble, and the +trembling increased. + +"Is it possible?" she murmured, beginning to cry. "So great a happiness +for my daughter! Such an honor for us, for us, for us!" + +"I love her." + +"Forgive me if happiness makes me forget the conventionalities, but I +lose my head. We are so unhappy that our souls are weak against joy. +Perhaps I should hide my daughter's sentiments; but I cannot help telling +you that this esteem, this tenderness of which you speak, is felt by her. +I discovered it long ago, although she did not tell me. Your request, +then, can only be received with joy by mother, as well as daughter." + +This was said brokenly, evidently from an overflowing heart. But all at +once her face saddened. + +"I must talk to you sincerely," she said. "You are young, I am not; +and my age makes it a duty for me not to yield to any impulse. We are +unfortunates, you are one of the happy; you will soon be rich and famous. +Is it wise to burden your life with a wife who is in my daughter's +position?" + +With the exception of a few words, this was Phillis's answer. He +answered the mother as he had answered the daughter. + +"It is not for you that I speak," said Madame Cormier. "I should not +permit myself to give you advice; it is in placing myself at the point of +view of my daughter that I, her mother, with the experience of my age, +should watch over her future. Is it certain that in the struggles of +life you will never suffer from this marriage, not because my daughter +will not make you happy--from this side I am easy--but because the +situation that fate has made for us will weigh on you and fetter you? +I know my daughter-her delicacy; her uneasy susceptibility, that of the +unfortunate; her pride, that of the irreproachable. It would be a wound +for her that would make happiness give way to unhappiness, for she could +not bear contempt." + +"If that is in human nature, it is not in mine; I give you my word." + +He explained how he meant to arrange their life, and when she understood +that she was to live with them, she clasped her hands and exclaimed + +"Oh, my God, who hast taken my son, how good thou art to give me +another!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + +CONCESSION TO CONSCIENCE + +He asked nothing better than to be a son to this poor woman; in reality +he was worth much more than this unfortunate boy, effeminate and +incapable. What did this maternal hunger require? A son to love. She +would find one in her son-in-law. In seeing her daughter happy, how +could she help being happy herself? + +Evidently they would be happy, the mother and daughter; and whatever +Phillis might think, still under the influence of the shameful blow, +they would forget. They would owe him this. + +It was a long time since he had worked with so much serenity as on this +day; and when in the evening he went to bed, uneasy as usual about the +night, he slept as calmly as if Phillis were resting her charming head on +his shoulder and he breathed the perfume of it. + +Decidedly, to make others happy was the best thing in the world, and as +long as one could have this satisfaction there was no fear of being +unhappy. To create an atmosphere of happiness for others is to profit by +it at the same time. + +He waited for Phillis impatiently, for she would bring him an echo of her +mother's joy, and it was a recompense that she owed him. + +She arrived happy, smiling, penetrated with tenderness; but he observed +that she was keeping something from him, something that embarrassed her, +and yet she would not tell him what it was. + +He was not disposed to admit that she could conceal anything from him, +and he questioned her. + +"What are you keeping from me?" + +"How can you suppose that I should keep anything from you?" + +"Well, what is the matter? You know, do you not, that I read all your +thoughts in your eyes? Very well your eyes speak when your lips are +silent." + +"I have a request to make of you, a prayer." + +"Why do you not tell me?" + +"Because I do not dare." + +"Yet it does not seem to me that I show a disposition to make you believe +that I could refuse you anything." + +"It is just that which is the cause of my embarrassment and reserve; I +fear to pain you at the moment when I would show you all the gratitude +and love in my heart." + +"If you are going to give me pain, it is better not to make me wait." + +She hesitated; then, before an impatient gesture, she decided to speak. + +"I wish to ask you how you mean to be married?" + +He looked at her in surprise. + +"But, like every one else!" + +"Every one?" she asked, persistently. + +"Is there any other way of being married?" + +"Yes." + +"I do not in the least understand this manner of asking conundrums; if +you are alluding to a fashionable custom of which I know nothing, say so +frankly. That will not wound me, since I am the first to declare that I +know nothing of it. What do you wish?" + +She felt his irritation increase, and yet she could not decide to say +what she wished. + +"I have begun badly," she said. "I should have told you at first that +you will always find in me a wife who will respect your ideas and +beliefs, who will never permit herself to judge you, and still less to +seek to contend with them or to modify them. That you feel, do you not, +is neither a part of my nature nor of my love?" + +"Conclude!" he said impatiently. + +"I think, then," she said with timid hesitation, "that you will not say +that I fail in respect to your ideas in asking that our marriage take +place in church." + +"But that was my intention." + +"Truly!" she exclaimed. "O dearest! And I feared to offend you!" + +"Why should you think it would offend me?" he asked, smiling. + +"You consent to go to confession?" + +Instantly the smile in his eyes and on his lips was replaced by a gleam +of fury. + +"And why should I not go to confession?" he demanded. + +"But--" + +"Do you suppose that I can be afraid to confess? Why do you suppose +that? Tell me why?" + +He looked at her with eyes that pierced to her heart, as if they would +read her inmost thoughts. + +Stupefied by this access of fury, which burst forth without any warning, +since he had smilingly replied to her request for a religious marriage, +she could find nothing to say, not understanding how the simple word +"confess" could so exasperate him. And yet she could not deceive +herself: is was indeed this word and no other that put him in this state. + +He continued to look at her, and wishing to explain herself, she said: +"I supposed only one thing, and that is that I might offend you by asking +you to do what is contrary to your beliefs." + +The mad anger that carried him away so stupidly began to lose its first +violence; another word added to what had already escaped him would be an +avowal. + +"Do not let us talk of it anymore," he said. "Above all, do not let us +think of it." + +"Permit me to say one word," she replied. "Had I been situated like +other people I would have asked nothing; my will is yours. But for you, +for your future and your honor, you should not appear to marry in secret, +as if ashamed, with a pariah." + +"Be easy. I feel as you do, more than you, the necessity of consecrated +ceremonies for us." + +She understood that on this path he would go farther than she. + +To destroy the impression of this unfortunate word, he proposed that they +should visit the apartment he had engaged the previous day. + +For the first time they walked together boldly, with heads held high, +side by side in the streets of Paris, without fear of meeting others. +How proud she was! Her husband! It was on her husband's arm that she +leaned! When they crossed the Tuileries she was almost surprised that +people did not turn to see them pass. + +In her present state of mind she could not but find the house he chose +admirable; the street was admirable, the house was admirable, the +apartment was admirable. + +As it contained three bedrooms opening on a terrace, where he would keep +the animals for his experiments, Saniel wished to have her decide which +one she would choose; as she would share it with him she wished to take +the best, but he would not accept this arrangement. + +"I want you to choose between the two little ones," he said. "The +largest and best must be reserved for your mother, who, not being able to +go out, needs more space, air, and light than we do." + +She was transported with his kindness, delicacy, and generosity. Never +would she be able to love him enough to raise herself up to him. + +Fortunately the principal rooms, the parlor and the office, were about +the same size as those in the Rue Louis-le-Grand, so there need be but +little change in furnishing; and they would bring their furniture from +the Rue des Moines. + +This feminine talk, interrupted by passionate exclamations and glances, +charmed Saniel, who had forgotten the incident of the confession and his +anger, thinking only of Phillis, seeing only her, ravished by her gayety, +her vivacity, his whole being stirred by the tender caresses of her +beautiful dark eyes. + +How could he not be happy with this delicious woman who held such sway +over him, and who loved him so ardently? For him a single danger +henceforth--solitude. She would preserve him from it. With her gayety, +good temper, courage, and love, she would not leave him to his thoughts; +work would do the rest. + +After the question of furniture was decided, they settled that of the +marriage ceremony, and she was surprised to find that his ideas were the +same as hers. + +She decided upon her toilet, a silk gown as simple as possible, and she +would make it herself, as she made all her gowns. And then they +discussed the witnesses. "We have no friends," Phillis said. + +"You had some formerly; your father had friends and comrades." + +"I am no longer the daughter of my father, I am the sister of my brother; +I would not dare to ask them to witness my marriage." + +"It is just because you are the sister of your brother that they cannot +refuse you; it would be cruelty added to rudeness. Cruelty may be +overlooked, but rudeness! Among the men of talent, who was your father's +best friend?" + +"Cintrat." + +"Is he not a bohemian, a drunkard?" + +"My father regarded him as the greatest painter of our time, the most +original." + +"It is not a question of talent, but of name; I am sure that he is not +even decorated. Your father had other friends, more successful, more +commonplace, if you wish." + +"Glorient." + +"The member of the Institute?" + +"Casparis, the sculptor." + +"An academician, also; that is what we want, and both are 'archi-decore'. +You will write them, and tell them who I am, assistant professor of the +school of medicine, and doctor of the hospitals. I promise you they will +accept. I will ask my old master Carbonneau, president of the academy of +medicine; and Claudet, the ancient minister, who, in his quality of +deputy of my department, could not decline any more than the others. +And that will give us decorated witnesses, which will look well in the +newspapers." + +It was not only in the newspapers they looked well, but also in the +church of Sainte-Marie des Batignolles. + +"Glorient! Casparis! Carbonneau! Claudet! Art, science, and +politics." + +But the beauty and charm of the bride were not eclipsed by these glorious +witnesses. She entered on Glorient's arm, proud in her modesty, radiant +with grace. + +While the priest celebrated mass at the altar, outside, before the door, +a man dressed in a costume of chestnut velvet, and wearing a felt hat, +walked up and down, smoking a pipe. It was the Count de Brigard, whose +principles forbade him to enter a church for either a wedding or a +funeral, and who walked up and down on the sidewalk with his disciples, +waiting to congratulate Saniel. When he appeared the Count rushed up to +him, and taking his hand pressed it warmly on separating him from his +wife, and saying: + +"It is good, it is noble. Circumstances made this marriage; without them +it would not have taken place. I understand and I excuse it; I do more, +I applaud it. My dear friend, you are a man." + +And as it was Wednesday, in the evening at Crozat's, he publicly +expressed his approbation, which, in the conditions in which it had been +offered, did not satisfy his conscience. + +"Gentlemen, we have assisted to-day at a grand act of reparation, the +marriage of our friend Saniel to the sister of this poor boy, victim of +an injustice that cries for vengeance. One evening in this same room, +I spoke lightly of Saniel, some of you remember, perhaps, in spite of the +time that has passed. I wish to make this public reparation to him. To- +day he has shown himself a man of duty and of conscience, bravely putting +himself above social weaknesses." + +"Is it not a social weakness," asked Glady, "to have chosen as witnesses +of this act of reparation persons who seem to have been selected for the +decorative side of their official positions?" + +"Profound irony, on the contrary!" said Brigard. "It is a powerful and +fruitful lesson, which makes even those who are professional defenders +concur in the demolition of the prejudiced. Saniel is a man!" + + + + +CHAPTER XL + +PHILLIS IS SURPRISED + +The Sunday following her marriage, Phillis experienced a surprise on +which she reflected a long time without finding a satisfactory +explanation. + +As she was dressing, Saniel entered her room. + +"What are you going to do to-day?" he asked. + +"That which I do every day." + +"You are not going to mass?" + +She looked at him astonished, not being able to control her surprise, and +as usual, when she appeared to wish to read his thoughts, he showed +temper. + +"In what way is my question extraordinary?" + +"Mass is not exactly the usual subject of your thoughts, it seems to me." + +"It may become so, especially when I think of others, as is the case just +now. Do you not often go to mass?" + +"When I can." + +"Very well, you can go to-day if you wish. Listen to what I have to say +to you. I have not forgotten the promise you made to respect my ideas +and beliefs. I wish to make you the same; it is very simple." + +"All that is good and generous seems simple to you." + +"Well?" + +"I will go at once." + +"Now? At once? It is not eight o'clock. Go to high mass, it is more +fashionable." + +Fashionable! What a strange word in his mouth! It was not out of +respect to fashion that she went to church, but because there was in her +a depth of religious sentiment and of piety, a little vague perhaps, +which Florentin's misfortunes had revived. + +"I will go to high mass," she said, without letting it appear that this +word had suggested anything to her, and continuing her dressing. + +"Are you going to wear this frock?" he asked, pointing to one that lay +on a chair. + +"Yes; at least if it does not displease you." + +"I find it rather simple." + +In effect it was of extreme simplicity, made of some cheap stuff, its +only charm being an originality that Phillis gave it on making it +herself. + +"Do not forget," he continued, "that Saint-Francois-Xavier is not a +church for working people; when a woman is as charming as you are she is +always noticed. People will ask who you are." + +"You are right; I will wear the gown I wore at the distribution of the +prices." + +"That is it; and your bonnet, will you not, instead of the round hat? +The first impression should be the best." + +This mixture of religious and worldly things was surprising in him. Had +she not understood him, then, until now? After all, perhaps it was only +an exception. + +But these exactions regarding her dress were repeated. Although before +her marriage Phillis had only crossed Saniel's path, she knew him well +enough to know that he was entirely given up to work, without thought of +anything else, and she believed that after marriage he would continue to +work in the same way, not caring for amusements or society. She was +correct about his work, but not so regarding society. A short time after +their marriage the minister Claudet was cured opportunely of an attack of +facial neuralgia by Saniel, for whom he conceived a great friendship. He +invited Saniel and his wife to all his reunions and fetes, and Saniel +accepted all his invitations. + +At first her wedding gown answered very well, but it would not do always. +It had to be trimmed, modified, three or four toilets made of one gown; +but, however ingenious Phillis might be in arranging several yards of +tulle or gauze, she could not make combinations indefinitely. + +And besides, they did not please Saniel; they were too simple. He liked +lace, beads, flowers, something shining and glittering, such as he saw +other women wear. + +How could she please him with the small resources at her disposal? In +her household expenses she was as economical as possible; Joseph was +dismissed, and replaced by a maid who did all the work; the table was +extremely simple. But these little economies, saved on one side, were +quickly spent on the other in toilets and carriages. + +When she expressed a wish to work, to paint menus, he would not consent, +and when she insisted he became angry + +He only permitted her to paint pictures. As she had formerly painted for +amusement in her father's studio, she might do so now. If trade were a +disgrace, art might be honorable. If she had talent he would be glad of +it; and if she should sell her pictures it would be original enough to +cause her to be talked about. + +The salon was partly transformed into a studio, and Phillis painted +several little pictures, which, without having any pretensions to great +art, were pleasing and painted with a certain dash. Glorient admired +them, and made a picture-dealer buy two of them and order others, at a +small price it is true, but it was much more than she expected. + +With the courage and constancy that women put into work that pleases +them, she would willingly have painted from morning till night; but the +connections that Saniel had made did not leave her this liberty. Through +Claudet they made many acquaintances and accepted invitations that placed +her under social obligations, so that almost every day she had a visit to +pay, a funeral or a marriage to attend, besides an occasional charity +fair, and her own day at home, when she listened for three hours to +feminine gossip of no interest to her. + +As for him, what pleasure could he take in dressing after a hard day's +work to go to a reception? He, son of a peasant, and a peasant himself +in so many ways, who formerly understood nothing of fashionable life and +felt only contempt for it, finding it as dull as it was ridiculous. + +She tried to find a cause for this change, and when lightly, in a +roundabout way, she brought him to explain himself, she could only draw +one answer from him, which was no answer to her: + +"We must be of the world." + +Why did he care so much about society? Was it because she was the sister +of a criminal that he wished to take her everywhere and make people +receive her? She understood this up to a certain point, although the +part he made her play was the most cruel that he could give her, and +entirely contrary to what she would have chosen if she had been free. + +But this was all there was in his desire to be of the world. Because he +had married her he was not the brother of a criminal, and on close +observation it might be seen that all he desired of these persons in high +places whom he sought was their consideration, a part of their importance +and honor. But he did not need this; he was some one by himself. The +position that he had made was worthy of his merit. His name was honored. +His future was envied. + +And yet, as if he did not realize this, he sought small satisfactions, +unworthy of a serious ambition. One evening she was very much surprised +when he told her that the decoration of a Spanish republic was offered to +him, and although she had formed a habit of watching over her words she +could not help exclaiming: + +"What will you do with that?" + +"I could not refuse it." + +Not only had he not refused it, but he had accepted others, blue, green, +yellow, and tricolored; he wore them in his buttonhole, around his neck, +and on his breast. What good could those decorations do that belittled +him? And how could a man of his merit hasten to obtain the Legion of +Honor before it fell to him naturally? + +All this was astonishing, mysterious, and silly, and her mind dwelt upon +it when she was alone before her easel; while near her in his laboratory, +he continued his experiments, or wrote an article in his office for the +Review. + +But it was not without a struggle that she permitted herself to judge him +in this way. One does not judge those whom one loves, and she loved him. +Was it not failing in respect to her love that she did not admire him in +every way? When these ideas oppressed her she left her easel and went to +him. Close to him they disappeared. At first, in order not to disturb +him, she entered on tiptoe, walking softly and leaning over his shoulder, +embraced him before he saw or heard her; but he betrayed such horror, +such fear, that she gave up this way of greeting him. + +She continued to go to his room, but in a different way. Instead of +surprising him she announced her presence by rattling the handle of the +door, and walking noisily, and instead of receiving her with uneasy +manner he welcomed her joyfully. + +"You have finished painting?" + +"I have come to see you for a little while." + +"Very well, stay with me, do not go away immediately; I am never so +happy, I never work so well, as when I have you near me." + +She felt that this was true. When she was with him, whether she spoke or +not, her presence made him happy. + +And still she must appear not to look at him too attentively, as if with +the manifest intention of studying him; for she did this during the first +days of their marriage, and angered him so much that he exclaimed: + +"Why do you examine me thus? What do you look for in me?" + +She learned to watch herself carefully, and when with him to preserve a +discreet attitude that should not offend him. No curious looks, and no +questions. But this was not always easy, so she asked leave to assist +him in his work, and sometimes drew in larger size the designs that he +made for his microscopical studies. In this way the time passed rapidly. +If he were but willing to pass the evening hours in this sweet intimacy, +without a word about going out, how happy she would be! But he never +forgot the hour. + +"Allons," he said, interrupting himself, "we must go." + +She had never dared to ask the true reason for this "must." + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + +A TROUBLED SOUL + +If she dared not frankly ask him this question: Why must we go out? any +more than the others: Why is it proper that I should go to mass to be +seen? Why should I wear gowns that ruin us? Why do you accept +decorations that are valueless in your eyes? Why do you seek the society +of men who have no merit but what they derive from their official +position or from their fortune? Why do we take upon ourselves social +duties that weary both of us, instead of remaining together in a tender +and intelligent intimacy that is sweet to us both? she could not ask +herself. + +They all appertained to this order of ideas, that she, without doubt, +found explained them: disposition of character; the exactions of an +ambition in haste to realize its desires; susceptibility or overshadowing +pride; but there were others founded on observation or memory, having no +connection with those, or so it seemed to her. + +She began to know her husband the day following their marriage, having +believed that he was always such as he revealed himself to her; but this +was not the case, and the man she had loved was so unlike the man whose +wife she had become, that it might almost be thought there were two. + +To tell the truth, it was not marriage that made the change in his temper +that distressed her; but it was not less characteristic by that, that it +dated back to a period anterior to this marriage. + +She remembered the commencement with a clearness that left no place for +doubt or hesitation; it was at the time when pursued by creditors he +entered into relations with Caffie. For the first time he, always so +strong that she believed him above weakness, had had a moment of +discouragement on announcing that he would probably be obliged to leave +Paris; but this depression had neither the anger nor weakness that he had +since shown. It was the natural sadness of a man who saw his future +destroyed, nothing more. The only surprise that she then felt was caused +by the idea of strangling Caffie and taking enough money from his safe to +clear himself from debt, and also because he said--as a consequence of +this act--speaking of the remorse of an intelligent man, that his +conscience would not reproach him, since for him conscience did not +exist. But this was evidently a simple philosophical theory, not a trait +of character; a jest or an argument for the sake of discussion. + +Relieved from his creditors with the money won at Monaco, he returned to +his usual calm, working harder than ever, passing his 'concours', and +when it seemed excusable that he might be nervous, violent, unjust, he +remained the man that he had been ever since she knew him. Then, all at +once, a short time before Florlentin went to the assizes, occurred these +strange explosions of temper, spasms of anger, and restlessness that she +could not explain, manifesting themselves exactly at the time when, by +Madame Dammauville's intervention, she hoped Florentin would be saved. +She had not forgotten the furious anger, that was inexplicable and +unjustifiable, with which he refused her request to see Madame +Dammauville. He had thrust her away, wishing to break with her, and +until she was a witness of this scene she never imagined that any one +could put such violence into exasperation. Then to this scene succeeded +another, totally opposed, which had not less impressed her, when, at +their little dinner by the fire, he showed such profound desolation on +telling her to keep the memory of this evening when she should judge him, +and announcing to her, in a prophetic sort of way, that the hour would +come when she would know him whom she loved. + +And now this hour, the thought of which she had thrown far from her, had +sounded; she sought to combine the elements of this judgment which then +appeared criminal to her, and now forced itself upon her, whatever she +might do to repel it. + +How many times this memory returned to her! It could almost be said that +it had never left her, sweet and sad at the same time, less sweet and +more sad, according as new subjects for uneasiness were added to the +others, in deepening the mysterious and troublous impression that it left +with her. + +To judge him! Why did he wish that she should judge him? And on what? + +And yet with him it was not an insignificant word, but the evidence of a +particular state of conscience, which many times since asserted itself. +Was it not, in effect, to this order of ideas that the cry belonged that +escaped him in the night when, waking suddenly, he asked with emotion, +with fright: "What have I said?" And also to the same appertained the +anger that carried him away when, 'a propos' of their religious marriage, +she spoke of confession: "Why do you think that I should be afraid to go +to confession?" + +How could he imagine that she could admit the idea of fear in connection +with him? The idea never occurred to her mind until this moment; and if +now the memory of her astonishment came to her, it was because of other +little things added to those of the past that evoked it. + +How numerous and significant they were, these things: his constant +uneasiness on seeing himself watched by her; his invitation when he +thought she was going to question him; his access of passion when, +through heedlessness or forgetfulness, or simply by chance, she asked him +a question on certain subjects, and immediately the tenderness that +followed, so sudden that they appeared rather planned in view of a +determined end than natural or spontaneous. + +It was a long time before she admitted the calculation under the sweet +words that made her so happy; but in the end it was well that she should +open her eyes to the evidence, and see that they were with him the +consequences of the same and constant preoccupation, that of not +committing himself. + +It was only one step from this to ask him what he did not wish to yield +up. + +Yet, as short as it was, she resisted for a long time the curiosity that +possessed her. It was her duty as a loving and devoted wife not to seek +beyond what he showed her, and this duty was in perfect accord with the +dispositions of her love; but the power of things seen carried her beyond +will and reason. She could not apply her mind to search for that which +agonized her, and she could not close her eyes and ears to what she saw +and heard. + +And what struck them were the same observations, turning always in the +same circle, applied to the same subjects and persons: + +Caffie's name irritated him; Madame Dammauville's angered him; +Florentin's made him positively unhappy. + +As for the two former, she might have prevented the pronunciation of them +when she saw the effect they infallibly produced on him. + +But she could not prevent the utterance of Florentin's name, even had she +wished it. How could she tell her mother never to speak the name of him +who was constantly in their thoughts? + +In spite of Saniel's efforts and solicitations, supported by Nougarede's, +Florentin had embarked for New Caledonia, whence he wrote as often as he +could. His letters related all his sufferings in the terrible galleys, +where he was confined during the voyage, and since his arrival they were +a series of long complaints, continued from one to the other, like a +story without end, turning always on the same subject, his physical +sufferings, his humiliation, his discouragement, and his disgust in the +midst of the unfortunates whose companion he was. + +The arrival of these letters filled the mother and sister with anguish +that lasted for several days; and this anguish, that neither of them +could dissimulate, angered Saniel. + +"What would you do if he were dead?" he asked Phillis. + +"Would it not be better for him?" + +"But he will return." + +"In what condition?" + +"Are we the masters of fate?" + +"We weep, we do not complain." + +But he complained of the weeping faces that surrounded him, the tears +they concealed from him, the sighs they stifled. Ordinarily he was +tender and affectionate to his mother-in-law, with attention and +deference which in some ways seemed affected, as if he were so by will +rather than by natural sentiment; but at these times he forgot this +tenderness, and treated her with hardness so unjust, that more than once +Madame Cormier spoke of it to her daughter. + +"How can your husband, who is so good to me, be so merciless regarding +Florentin? One would say that our sadness produces on him the effect of +a reproach that we would address to him." + +One day when things had gone farther than usual, she had the courage to +speak to him plainly: "Forgive me for burdening you with the weariness of +our disgrace," she said to him. "When I complain of everything, of men +and things, you should remember that you are the exception, you who have +done everything to save him." + +But these few words which she believed would calm the irritation of her +son-in-law, had on the contrary exasperated him; he left her, furious. + +"I do not understand your husband at all," she said to her daughter. +"Will you not explain to me what the matter is with him?" + +How could she give her mother the explanation that she could not give +herself? Having reached an unfathomable abyss, she dared not even lean +over to look into its depths; and instead of going on in the path where +she was pledged in spite of herself, she made every effort to return, or +at least to stop. + +What good would it do to find out why he was so peculiar, and what it was +that he took so much pains to conceal? This could only be idle curiosity +on her part, for which she would be punished sooner or later. + +Turning these thoughts over continually in her mind she lost her gayety, +her power to resist blows of fate, such as the small trials of life, +which formerly made her courageous; her vigorous elasticity sunk under +the heavy weight with which it was charged, and her smiling eyes now more +often expressed anxiety than happiness and confidence. + +In spite of her watchfulness over herself she was not able to hide the +change from Saniel, for it manifested itself in everything--in her face +formerly so open, but which now bore the imprint of a secret sadness; in +her concentrated manner, in her silence and abstraction. + +What was the matter with her? He questioned her, and she replied with +the prudence that she used in all her conversation with him. He examined +her medically, but found nothing to indicate a sickly condition which +would justify the change in her. + +If she did not wish to answer his questions, and he had the proof that +she did not wish to; if, on the other hand, she was not ill, and he was +convinced that she was not--there must be something serious the matter to +make the woman whom but lately he read so easily become an enigma that +made him uneasy. + +And this thing--if it were that whose crushing weight he himself carried +on his bent shoulders? She divined, she understood, if not all, at least +a part of the truth. + +What an extraordinary situation was hers, and one which might truly +destroy her reason. + +Nothing to fear from others, everything from himself. Justice, law, the +world--on all sides he was let alone; nothing was asked of him; that +which was owed was paid; but he by a sickly aberration was going to awake +the dead who slept in their tomb, from which no one thought of taking +them, and to make spectres of them which he alone saw and heard. + +And he believed himself strong. Fool that he was, and still more foolish +to have taken such a charge when by the exercise of his will he did not +place himself in a condition to carry it! To will! But he had not +learned how to will. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + +THE POWER OF HYPNOTISM + +The relative calm that Saniel had felt since his marriage he owed to +Phillis; to the strength, the confidence, the peace that he drew from +her. Phillis without strength, without confidence, without interior +peace, such as she was now, could not give him what she no longer had +herself, and he returned to the distracted condition that preceded his +marriage, and felt the same anguish, the same agitation, the same +madness. The beautiful relations, worldly consideration, success, +decorations, honors, were good for others; but for his happiness he +required the tranquillity and serenity of his wife, and her good moral +health which passed into him when she slept on his shoulder. In that +case there were no sudden awakenings, no sleeplessness; at the sound of +her gentle respiration he was reassured, and the spectres remained in +their tomb. + +But now that this respiration was agitated, and he no longer felt in her +this tranquillity and serenity, he was no longer calm; she was weak and +uneasy, and she communicated her fever to him, not her sleep. + +"You do not sleep. Why do you not sleep?" + +"And you?" + +He must know. + +He persisted in his questions, but she was always on her guard, so that +he was unable to draw anything from her, checked as he was by the fear of +betraying himself, which seemed easy at the point he believed she had +reached. An awkward word, too much persistence, would let a flood of +light into her mind. + +He also affected to speak as a physician when questioning her, and to +look for medical explanations of her condition. + +"If you do not sleep it is because you suffer. What is this suffering? +From what does it proceed?" + +Having no reasons to give to justify it, since she did not even dare to +speak of her brother, she denied it obstinately. + +"But nothing is the matter with me, I assure you," she repeated. "What +do you think is the matter?" + +"That is what I ask you." + +"Then I ask you: What do you think I conceal from you?" + +He could not say that he suspected her of concealing anything from him. + +"You do not watch yourself properly." + +"I can do nothing." + +"I will force you to watch yourself and to speak." + +"How?" + +"By putting you to sleep." + +The threat was so terrible that she was beside herself. + +"Do not do that!" she cried. + +They looked at each other for a few moments in silence, both equally +frightened, she at the threat, he at what he would learn from her. But +to show this fright was on his side to let loose another proof even more +grave. + +"Why should I not seek to discover in every way the cause of this +uneasiness which escapes my examination as well as yours? For that +somnambulism offers us an excellent way." + +"But since I am not ill, what more could I tell you when I am asleep than +when I am awake?" + +"We shall see." + +"It is an experiment that I ask you not to attempt. Would you try a +poison on me?" + +"Somnambulism is not a poison." + +"Who knows?" + +"Those who have made use of it." + +"But you have not." + +"Still I know enough to know that you will run no danger in my hands." + +She believed that he opened a door of escape to her. + +"Never mind, I am too much afraid. If you ever want to make me talk in a +state of forced somnambulism, ask one of your 'confreres' in whom you +have confidence to put me to sleep." + +Before a 'confrere' she was certain he would not ask her dangerous +questions. + +He understood that she wished to escape him. + +"Afraid of what?" he asked. "That I shall ask you questions about the +past, concerning your life before we knew each other, and demand a +confession that would wound my love?" + +"O Victor!" she cried, distracted. "What more cruel wound could you +give me than these words? My confession! It comprises three words: I +love you; I have never loved any one but you; I shall never love any one +but you. I have no past; my life began with my love." + +He could not press it without showing the importance that he attached to +it. + +"I do not insist," he said; "it is a way like any other, but better. +You do not wish it, and we will not talk of it." + +But he yielded too quickly for her to hope that he renounced his project, +and she remained under the influence of a stupefying terror. What would +she say if he made her talk? Everything, possibly. She did not even +know what thoughts were hidden in the depths of her brain, and she knew +absolutely nothing of this forced somnambulism with which she was +threatened. + +At this time the works of the school of Nancy on sleep, hypnotism, and +suggestion, had not yet been published, or at least the book which served +as their starting-point was not known, and she knew nothing of processes +that were employed to provoke the hypnotic sleep. As soon as her husband +left the house she looked for some book in the library that would +enlighten her. But the dictionary that she found gave only obscure or +confused instructions in which she floundered. The only exact point that +struck her was the method employed to produce sleep; to make the subject +look at a brilliant object placed from fifteen to twenty centimetres in +front of the eyes. If this were true she had no fear of ever being put +to sleep. + +However, she was not reassured; and when a few days later at a dinner she +found herself seated next to one of her husband's 'confreres', who she +knew interested himself in somnambulism, she had the courage to conquer +her usual timidity concerning medicine, and questioned him. + +"Are there not persons with certain diseases who can be put into a state +of somnambulism?" + +"It was formerly believed by the public and by many physicians that only +persons afflicted with hysteria and nervous troubles could be put to +sleep in this way, but it was a mistake; artificial somnambulism may be +produced on many subjects who are perfectly healthy." + +"Is the will preserved in sleep?" + +"The subject only preserves the spontaneity and will that his hypnotizer +leaves him, who at his pleasure makes him sad, gay, angry, or tender, and +plays with his soul as with an instrument." + +"But that is frightful." + +"Curious, at least. It is certain that there is a local paralysis of +such or such a cell, the study of which is the starting-point of many +interesting discoveries." + +"When he wakes, does the subject remember what he has said?" + +"There is a difference of opinion on this point. Some say yes, and +others no. As for me, I believe the memory depends upon the degree of +sleep: with a light sleep there is remembrance, but with a profound sleep +the subject does not remember what he has said or heard or done." + +She would have liked to continue, and her companion, glad to talk of what +interested him, would willingly have said more, but she saw her husband +at the other end of the table watching them by fits and starts, and +fearing that he would suspect the subject of their conversation she +remained silent. + +What she had just learned seemed to her frightful. But, at least, as she +would not let herself be hypnotized she had nothing to fear; and +remembering what she had read, she promised herself that she would never +let him place her in a position where he could put her to sleep. It was +during the sleep that the will of the hypnotizer controlled that of the +subject, not before. + +Resting on this belief, and also on his not having again spoken of +sending her to sleep, she was reassured. Was not this a sign that he +accepted her opposition and renounced his idea of provoked somnambulism? + +But she deceived herself. + +One night when she had gone to bed at her usual hour while he remained at +his work, she awoke suddenly and saw him standing near her, looking at +her with eyes whose fixed stare frightened her. + +"What is the matter? What do you want?" + +"Nothing, I want nothing; I am going to bed." + +In spite of the strangeness of his glance she did not persist; questions +would have taught her nothing. And besides, now that he no longer went +to bed at the same time as she did, there was nothing extraordinary in +his attitude. + +But a few days from that she woke again in the night with a feeling of +distress, and saw him leaning over her as if he would envelop her in his +arms. + +This time, frightened as she was, she had the strength to say nothing, +but her anguish was the more intense. Did he then wish to hypnotize her +while she slept? Was it possible? Then the dictionary had deceived her? + +In truth it was while she slept that Saniel tried to transform her +natural into an artificial sleep. Would he succeed? He knew nothing +about it, for the experience was new. But he risked it. + +The first time, instead of putting her into a state of somnambulism, he +awoke her; the second, he succeeded no better; the third, when he saw +that after a certain time she did not open her eyes, he supposed that she +was asleep. To assure himself, he raised her arm, which remained in the +air until he placed it on the bed. Then taking her two hands, he turned +them backward, and withdrawing his own, the impulsion which he gave +lasted until he checked it. Her face had an expression of calmness and +tranquillity that it had not had for a long time; she was the pretty +Phillis of other days, with the sprightly glance. + +"To-morrow I will make you sleep at the same time," he said, "and you +will talk." + +The next night he put her to sleep even more easily, but when he +questioned her she resisted. + +"No," she said, "I will not speak; it is horrible. I will not, I +cannot." + +He insisted, but she would not. + +"Very well, so be it," he said; "not to-day, to-morrow. But to-morrow I +wish you to speak, and you shall not resist me; I will it!" + +If he did not insist it was not only because he knew that habit was +necessary to make her submit to his will without being able to defend +herself, but because he was ignorant whether, when she awoke, she had any +memory of what happened in her sleep, which was an important point. + +The next night she was the same as she had been the previous evening, and +nothing indicated that she was conscious of her provoked sleep, any more +than what she said in this sleep. He could then continue. + +This time she went to sleep sooner and more easily than usual, and her +face took the expression of tranquillity and repose he had seen the night +before. Would she answer? And if she consented, would she speak +sincerely, without attempting to weaken or falsify the truth? Emotion +made his voice tremble when he put the first question; it was his life, +his peace, the happiness of both which decided him. + +"Where do you suffer?" he asked. + +"I do not suffer." + +"Yet you are agitated, often melancholy or uneasy; you do not sleep well. +What troubles you?" + +"I am afraid." + +"Afraid of what? Of whom?" + +"Of you!" + +He trembled. + +"Afraid of me! Do you think that I could hurt you?" + +"No." + +His tightened heart relaxed. + +"Then why are you afraid?" + +"Because there are things in you that frighten me." + +"What things? Be exact." + +"The change that has taken place in your temper, your character, and your +habits." + +"And how do these changes make you uneasy?" + +"They indicate a serious situation." + +"What situation?" + +"I do not know; I have never stated exactly." + +"Why not?" + +"Because I was afraid; and I closed my eyes so that I might not see." + +"See what?" + +"The explanation of all that is mysterious in your life." + +"When did you notice the mystery in my life?" + +"At the time of Caffie's death; and before, when you told me that you +could kill him without any remorse." + +"Do you know who killed Caffie?" + +"No." + +His relief was so great that for several moments he forgot to continue +his interrogations. Then he went on: "And after?" + +"A little before Madame Dammauville's death, when you became irritable +and furious without cause; when you told me to go because you did not +wish to see Madame Dammauville; when, the night before her death, you +were so tender, and asked me not to judge you without recalling that +hour." + +"Yet you have judged me." + +"Never. When worry urged me, my love checked me." + +"What provoked this uneasiness outside of these facts?" + +"Your manner of living since our marriage; your accesses of anger and of +tenderness; your fear of being observed; your agitation at night; your +complaints--" + +"I talked?" he cried. + +"Never distinctly; you groan often, and moan, pronouncing broken words +without sense, unintelligible--" + +His anguish was violent; when he recovered he continued: + +"What is it in this way of living that has made you uneasy?" + +"Your constant care not to commit yourself--" + +"Commit myself how?" + +"I do not know--" + +"What else?" + +"The anger that you show, or the embarrassment, when the name of Caffie +is pronounced, Madame Dammauville's, and Florentin's--" + +"And you conclude that my anger on hearing these three names--" + +"Nothing--I am afraid--" + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + +THE TERRIBLE REVELATION + +This confession threw him into a state of confusion and agitation, for if +it did not go beyond what he feared, yet it revealed a terrible +situation. + +Clearly, as in an open book, he read her; if she did not know all, she +was but one step from the truth, and if she had not taken this step, it +was because her love restrained her. If her love had been less strong, +less powerful, she certainly would not have withstood the proofs that +pressed on her from all sides. + +But because she had held back so long, he must not conclude that the +struggle would be continued in this way, and that a more violent blow, +a stronger proof than the others, would not open her eyes in spite of +herself. + +It only needed an imprudence, a carelessness on his part, and unluckily +he could no longer be relied on. + +From what he had just learned it would be easy to watch himself closely, +and to avoid dangerous subjects, those that she described to him; but if +he could guard his words and looks during the day, neither saying nor +letting anything appear that was an accusation, not confirming the +suspicions against which she struggled, he could not do it at night. + +He had not talked, and when she answered negatively to his question, she +lifted a terribly heavy weight from his heart. But he had groaned and +moaned, he had pronounced broken words without sense and unintelligible, +and there was the danger. + +What was necessary to make these sighs, these groans, these broken and +unintelligible words become distinct and take a meaning? A nothing, an +accident, since his real cerebral tendency placed him up to a certain +point in a somnambulistic state. Was this tendency congenital with him +or acquired? He did not know. Before the agitated nights after Madame +Dammauville's death and Florentin's condemnation, the idea had never +occurred to him that he might talk in his sleep. But now he had the +proof that the vague fears which had tormented him on this subject were +only too well founded; he had talked, and if the words that escaped were +not now comprehensible, they might become so. + +Without having made a special study of sleep, natural or induced, he knew +that in the case of natural somnambulists a hypnotic sleep is easily +produced, and that while holding a conversation with a subject who talks +in his sleep one may readily hypnotize him. Without doubt he need not +fear this from Phillis; but it was possible that some night when +incoherent words escaped him she would not be able to resist the +temptation to enter into a conversation with him, and to lead him to +confess what she wished to know--what the love that she felt for her +brother would drive her to wish to learn. + +If this opportunity presented itself, would the love for her brother or +for her husband carry her away? If she questioned him, what would he not +say? + +For the first time he asked himself if he had done right to marry, and +if, on the contrary, he had not committed a mad imprudence in introducing +a woman into a life so tormented as his. He had asked calmness from this +woman, and now she brought him terror. + +To tell the truth, she was dangerous only at night; and if he found a way +to occupy another room he would have nothing to fear from her during the +day, on condition that he held himself rigorously on the defensive. +Loving him as she did, she would resist the curiosity that drew her; if +uneasiness drove her, her love would restrain her, as she herself had +said; little by little this uneasiness and curiosity, being no longer +excited, would die out, and they would again enjoy the sweet days that +followed their marriage. + +But in the present circumstances this way was difficult to find, for to +propose another room to Phillis would be equal to telling her that he was +afraid of her, and consequently it would give her a new mystery to study. +He reflected, and starting with the idea that the proposition of two +rooms must come from Phillis, he arranged a plan which, it seemed to him, +would accomplish what he wished. + +Ignorant of the fact that she had been hypnotized, and not remembering +that she had talked, without doubt Phillis still feared that he would +hypnotize her; he would threaten it again, and surely she would find a +way to defend herself and escape from him. + +This is what happened. The next day, when he told her decidedly that he +wished to put her to sleep in order that he might learn what troubled +her, she showed the same fright as on the first time. + +"All that you have asked of me, everything that you have desired, I have +wished as you and with you; but I will never consent to this." + +"Your resistance is absurd; I will not yield to it." + +"You shall not put me to sleep against my will." + +"Easily." + +"It is not possible." + +Without replying, he took a book from the library, and turning over the +leaves, he read: "Is it possible to make a sleeping person, without +awaking him, pass from the natural to the hypnotic sleep? The thing is +possible, at least with certain subjects." + +Then handing her the book: + +"You see that to put you to sleep artificially I need only the +opportunity of finding you sleeping naturally. It is very simple." + +"That would be odious." + +"Those are merely words." + +He threw her into such a state of terror that she kept awake all night, +and as he would not sleep for fear of talking, he felt that she exerted +every faculty to keep awake. But had he not gone too far? And by this +threat would he not drive her to some desperate act? If she should +escape, if she deserted him--what would become of him without her? Was +she not his whole life? But he reassured himself by saying that she +loved him too much ever to consent to a separation. Without doubt, she +herself would come to think as he wished her to think. + +And yet when he returned home in the evening she told him that her mother +was not well, and begged him to examine her. This examination proved +that Madame Cormier was in her usual health; but she complained that her +breath failed her--during the day she had feared syncope. + +"If you are willing," Phillis said, "I will sleep near mamma. I am +afraid of not hearing her at night, and she is suffering." + +He began by refusing, then he consented to this arrangement; and to thank +him for it she stayed with him in his office, affectionate, full of +tenderness and caresses, until he went to his room. + +He was then free to sleep or not; whether he groaned or talked she could +not hear him, since there was no communicating door between his room and +that of his mother-in-law; his voice certainly would not penetrate the +partition. + +Who could have told him on the night that he decided to marry, that he +would come to such a pass--to be afraid, to hide himself from her who +brought him the calmness of sleep; and that by his fault, by a chain of +imprudences and stupidities, as if it were written that in everything he +would owe his sufferings to himself, and that if he ever succumbed to the +whirlwind that swept him along, it would be by his own deed, by his own +hand? At last he had assured the tranquillity of his nights, and as a +further precaution, although he did not fear that Phillis would enter his +room while he slept, to surprise him--she who dared not look in the face +what suspicion showed her--he locked his door. Naturally, Phillis could +not always sleep with her mother; but he would find a way to suggest +frankly their sleeping apart, and surely he could find one in the +storehouse of medicine. + +These cares and similar fears were not of a nature to dispose him to +sleep, and besides for a long time he had suffered from an exasperating +nervous insomnia. As the night was warm he thought a little fresh air +would calm him, and he opened the window; if this freshness did not calm +him, at least it would make him sleep. + +Obliged to improvise a bed in her mother's room, Phillis placed it +against the partition that separated her from her husband, but without +preconcerted intention, simply by accident, because it was the only place +where she could put the bed. A little after midnight an unusual noise +awoke her; she sat up to listen and to recover herself. It seemed as if +this noise came from her husband's room. Alarmed, she placed her ear +against the partition. She was not deceived; they were stifled groans, +moans that were repeated at short intervals. + +Carefully yet quickly she left her bed, and as the dawn was already +shining in the windows, she was able to leave the room without making any +noise. Reaching the door of her husband's room she listened; she was not +deceived; they were indeed groans, but louder and sadder than those she +had so often heard during the night. She tried the door, but it was +evidently locked on the inside. What was the matter with him? She must +know, must go to him, and give him relief. She thought of knocking, of +shaking the door; but as he did not reply when she tried to open it, it +was because he did not hear or did not wish to hear. Then she thought of +the terrace; from there she could see what happened, and if it were +necessary she would break a pane to enter. + +She found the window open and saw her husband on the bed, sleeping, his +head turned toward her; she stopped and asked herself if she should cross +the threshold and wake him. + +At this moment, with closed lips, he pronounced several words more +distinctly than those that had so many times escaped him: "Phillis-- +forgive." + +He dreamed of her. Poor, dear Victor! for what did he wish her to +pardon him? Doubtless for having threatened to hypnotize her: + +Overcome by this proof of love she put her head through the opening of +the window to give him a look before returning to her mother, but on +seeing his face in the full white light of the morning, she was +frightened; it expressed the most violent sorrow, the features convulsed +with anguish and horror at the same time. Surely he was ill. She must +wake him. just as she took a step toward him he began to speak: "Your +brother--or me?" + +She stopped as if thunderstruck, then instinctively she drew back and +clung to the window in the vestibule to keep herself from falling, +repeating those two words that she had just heard, not understanding, not +wishing to understand. + +Instead of returning to her mother, trembling and holding on to the wall +she entered the parlor and let herself fall into a chair, prostrated, +crushed. + +"Your brother--or me?" + +This was, then, the truth, the frightful truth that she had never wished +to see. + +She stayed there until the noises in the street warned her that it was +getting late, and she might be surprised. Then she returned to her +mother. + +"I am going out," she said; "I will return at half-past eight or nine +o'clock." + +"But your husband will not see you before going to the hospital." + +"You will tell him that I have gone out." + +She returned at half-past nine. Madame Cormier had finished dressing. + +"At last you have come," she said. + +But at sight of her daughter's face she saw that something had happened. +"My God! What is the matter?" she asked, trembling. + +"Something serious--very serious, but unfortunately it is irreparable. +We must leave here, never to return." + +"Your husband--" + +"You must never speak to me of him. This the only thing I ask of you." + +"Alas! I understand. It is what I foresaw, what I said would happen. +You cannot bear the contempt that he shows us on account of your +brother." + +"We must hereafter be strangers to each other, and this is why we leave +this house." + +"My God! At my age, to drag my bones--" + +"I have engaged a lodging at the Ternes; a wagon will come to take the +furniture that belongs to us, what we brought here, only that. We will +tell the concierge that we are going to the country. As for Josephine, +you need not fear indiscreet questions, for I have given her a day off." + +"But the money?" + +"I have two hundred francs from the sale of my last picture; that is +enough for the present. Before they are gone I shall have painted and +sold another; do not worry, we shall have all we need." + +All this was said in a hard but resolute tone. + +A ring of the bell interrupted them. It was the express wagon. + +"See that they do not take what does not belong to us," Phillis said. +"While they fill their wagon I will write in the parlor." + +At the end of an hour the wagon was ready. Madame Cormier entered the +parlor to tell her daughter. + +"I have finished," Phillis said. + +Having placed her letter in an envelope, she laid it in full view on +Saniel's desk. + +"Now let us go," she said. + +And as her mother sighed, while walking with difficulty + +"Lean on me, dear mamma, you know I am strong." + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + +AFTER LONG YEARS + +Saniel did not return until quite late in the afternoon. When he opened +the door with his key he was surprised at not seeing his wife run to him +and kiss him. + +"She is painting," he said to himself, "she did not hear me." + +He passed into the parlor, convinced that he would find her at her easel; +but he did not see her, and the easel was not in its usual place, there +nor anywhere else. + +He knocked at the door of Madame Cormier's room; there was no reply; he +knocked louder a second time, and after waiting a moment he entered. The +room was empty; there was no bed, no furniture, no one. + +Stupefied, he looked around him, then returning to the vestibule he +called: "Phillis! Phillis!" + +There was no reply. He ran to the kitchen, no one was there; he went +into his office, no one there. But as he looked about him, he saw +Phillis's letter on his desk, and his heart leaped; he grasped it +eagerly, and opened it with a trembling hand. It was as follows: + + "I have gone, never to return. My despair and disgust of life are + such, that without my mother and the poor being who is so far away, + I should kill myself; but in spite of the horror of my position I + was obliged to reflect, and I do not wish to aggravate by folly the + wickedness that is going on about me. My mother is no longer young; + she is ill and has suffered cruelly. Not only do I owe it to her to + brighten her old age by my presence, by the material and moral + support that I can give her, but she must have faith that I am there + to replace her, and to open my arms to her son, to my brother. The + least that I can do for them is to wait courageously for him; and, + however weary, terrible, or frightful my life may be hereafter, I + shall bear it so that the unfortunate, the pariah, whom a pitiless + fate has pursued, will find on his return a hearth, a home, a + friend. This will be my only object, my reason for living; and in + order to save myself from sluggishness and weariness, my thoughts + will always be on the time when he will return, he whom I will call + my child, and whom my love must save and cure. I know that long + years separate me from that day, and that until it comes my broken + heart will never have a moment of repose; but I shall employ this + time in working for him, for the brother, for the child, for the + cherished being who will come to me aged and desperate; and I wish + that he may yet believe in something good, that he will not imagine + everything in this world is unjust and infamous, for he will return + to me weighed down by twenty years of shame, of degrading and + undeserved shame. How will he bear these twenty years? What + efforts must I not make to prove to him that he should not abandon + himself to despair, and that life often offers the remedy, + compassion to the most profound, to the most unjust human sorrows? + How can I make him believe that? How lead his poor heart, closed to + confidence, to feeling, to the tears that alone can relieve it? God + who has so sorely tried me, without doubt will come to my aid, and + will inspire me with words of consolation, will show me the path to + follow, and give me the strength to persevere. Have I not already + to thank Him for being alone in the world, outside of a mother and + brother who will not betray me? I have no children, and I am spared + the terror of seeing a soul growing in evil, an intelligence + escaping from me to follow the path of infamy or dishonor. I leave, + then, as I came. I was a poor girl, I go away a poor woman. I have + taken the clothing and personal effects that I brought into our + common home, nothing that was bought with your money; and I forbid + you to interfere with my wish in this question of material things, + as well as in my resolution to fly from you. Nothing can ever + reunite us; nothing shall reunite us, no consideration, no + necessity. I reject the past, this guilty past, the responsibility + of which weighs so heavily on my conscience, and I should like to + lose the memory of the detested time. It would be impossible for me + to accept the struggle, or supplications, if you think it expedient + to make any. I have cut our bonds, and hereafter we shall be as far + apart as if one of us were dead, or even farther. Have no scruples, + then, in leaving me alone to face a new life, a beginning that may + appear difficult to one not situated as I am. The trials of former + times were good for me, since they accustomed me to the difficulties + of work. The desolation of to-day will sustain me, in the sense + that having suffered all I can suffer, I no longer fear some + discouraging catastrophe that will check me in my resolutions. In + order not to compromise you, and more fully to become myself again, + I shall take my family name--a dishonored name--but I shall bear it + without shame. I shall live obscurely, absorbed in work and in + trying to forget your existence; do the same yourself. If you think + of the past, you will find, perhaps, that I am hard; yet this + departure is not an egotistic desertion. I am no good to you, and + the repose that you want would shun you hereafter in my presence. + On the contrary, strive for forgetfulness, as I shall. If you + contrive to wipe out of your life the part that is associated with + me, perhaps you will be able to banish the remainder, and to recover + some of the calm of other days. I can no longer remember that I + have loved you, for my position is such that I have not the refuge + of memory; at my age I must remain without a past as without a + future; the consolation of the unfortunate is lost to me with + everything else. I cannot rise out of my sorrow to try to find one + hour when life was sweet to me; those hours, on the contrary, make + me tremble, and I reproach myself for them as if they were a crime. + Thus, whichever way I turn, I find only sadness and sharp regrets; + everything is blighted, dishonored for me." + + +Standing in the middle of his office he read this hastily written letter +breathlessly. Arrived at the end he looked about him vaguely. His chair +was near his desk; he let himself fall into it and remained there +prostrated, holding the letter in his shaking hand. + +"Alone!" + +It was an October afternoon, dark and muddy; in the Rue des Saints-Peres, +in front of the houses that hide the Charity Hospital, coupes were +standing, and their long line extended to the Boulevard Saint-Germain, +where the coachmen, having left their seats, talked together like persons +who were accustomed to meet each other. At half-past four o'clock, in +the deepening twilight, men with grave looks and dark clothes--members of +the Academy of Medicine--the Tuesday sitting over, issued from the porch, +and entered their carriages. Some of them walked alone, briskly, in a +great hurry; others demonstrated a skilful tardiness, stopping to talk +politely to a journalist, and to give him notes of the day's meeting, +or continuing, with a 'confrere' who was not an Academician, the +conversation begun in the room of the 'pas-perdus'; it was the Bourse of +consultations that was just closed. Not all the members of the Academy +have, in truth, a long list of patients to visit; but each one has a vote +to give, and they are those whom the candidates surround, trying to win +them. + +One of the Academicians who appeared the last at the top of the steps was +a man of great height but bent figure, with hollow cheeks and pale face +lighted by pale blue eyes with a strange expression, both hard and +desolate at the same time. He advanced alone, and his heavy gait and +dragging step gave him the appearance of a man sixty years of age, while +in other ways he retained a certain youthfulness. It was Saniel, twenty +years older. + +Without exchanging a bow or a hand-shake with any one, he descended to +the pavement and walked to the boulevard, where he opened the door of a +coups whose interior showed a complete ambulant library--a writing table +with paper, ink, and lamp, pockets full of books and pamphlets. + +Just as he was about to enter, a voice stopped him. + +He turned; it was one of his old pupils, who had recently become a +physician in the suburb of Gentilly. + +"What is it?" asked Saniel. + +"I want to ask you to come and assist me in a curious case of spasms, +where your intervention may be decisive." + +"Where?" + +"At the Maison-Blanche, a poor woman. What day could you give me?" + +"Is it urgent?" + +"Yes." + +"In that case I will go at once. Give the address to my coachman, and +get in with me." + +But at this moment a white-haired man dressed in chestnut velvet, wearing +a felt hat and sabots, came toward them, accompanied by two young men +with whom he discoursed in a loud tone while gesticulating. People +turned to look at them, so original was the appearance of old Brigard, +the same man from head to foot that he had always been. + +He came to Saniel with outstretched hands, and Saniel, taking off his +hat, received him with marked respect. + +"Enchanted to meet you," Brigard said, "for I went to your office +yesterday and did not find you." + +"Why did you not send me word beforehand? If you need me I am at your +disposal." + +"Thanks, but happily I do not need your advice, neither for myself nor my +family; it was simply that I wished to see you. Arriving at your house +before your office hours, I waited in your reception-room and several +patients came after me--a young woman who appeared to suffer cruelly, an +old lady who was extremely anxious, and lastly a man who had some nervous +disease that would not permit him to sit still. And, looking at them, I +said to myself that as I was only making a friendly visit I would not +remain and prolong the waiting of these unfortunates who counted the +minutes, so I came away." + +"May I ask to what do I owe the honor of this visit?" + +The two young men who accompanied Brigard, and Saniel's old pupil +discreetly withdrew. + +"The desire to present you my congratulations. When I learned of your +candidature to the Academy of Medicine I said to myself: Here is one who +has no chance; friend Saniel has originality and force; he has succeeded +brilliantly; but these qualities are not exactly academic. I was +deceived. You have broken open the doors, which is the only way that I +understand of entering these places. That is why I congratulate you. +And, besides, I did you wrong formerly--" + +"Wrong? You?" + +"I accused you of believing yourself stronger than life; in truth you +were. My compliments!" + +After warmly pressing Saniel's hands, he went on his way with his two +disciples, preaching to them. + +The young doctor approached Saniel. + +"He is an original," he said. + +"A happy man!" was the only reply. + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +He did not sleep, so much the better! He would work more +One does not judge those whom one loves +She could not bear contempt +The strong walk alone because they need no one +We are so unhappy that our souls are weak against joy +We weep, we do not complain + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Conscience, v4 +by Hector Malot + + + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE CONSCIENCE: + +As ignorant as a schoolmaster +As free from prejudices as one may be, one always retains a few +Confidence in one's self is strength, but it is also weakness +Conscience is a bad weighing-machine +Conscience is only an affair of environment and of education +Find it more easy to make myself feared than loved +For the rest of his life he would be the prisoner of his crime +Force, which is the last word of the philosophy of life +He did not sleep, so much the better! He would work more +I believed in the virtue of work, and look at me! +In his eyes everything was decided by luck +Intelligent persons have no remorse +It is the first crime that costs +It is only those who own something who worry about the price +Leant--and when I did not lose my friends I lost my money +Leisure must be had for light reading, and even more for love +Looking for a needle in a bundle of hay +Neither so simple nor so easy as they at first appeared +One does not judge those whom one loves +People whose principle was never to pay a doctor +Power to work, that was never disturbed or weakened by anything +Reason before the deed, and not after +Repeated and explained what he had already said and explained +She could not bear contempt +The strong walk alone because they need no one +We are so unhappy that our souls are weak against joy +We weep, we do not complain +Will not admit that conscience is the proper guide of our action +You love me, therefore you do not know me + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Conscience, entire +by Hector Malot + diff --git a/old/im77b10.zip b/old/im77b10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0afff02 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/im77b10.zip |