Эжен Сю - The Mysteries of Paris, Volume 3 of 6

"But, if she were dishonoured through her efforts to save you?" said Rodolph to him in a low voice.

These words made a sudden and painful impression on Morel, and he cast his eyes on his weeping child still on her knees before him; then, with a searching look, impossible to describe, he cried in a hollow voice, clenching his teeth with rage:

"The notary?"

An answer came to Louise's lips. She was about to speak, but paused, – no doubt a reflection, – and, bending down her head, remained silent.

"No, no; he sought to imprison me this morning!" continued Morel, with a violent burst. "Can it be he? Ah, so much the better, so much the better! She has not even an excuse for her crime; she never thought of me in her dishonour, and I may curse her without remorse."

"No, no; do not curse me, my father! I will tell you all, – to you alone, and you will see – you will see whether or not I deserve your forgiveness."

"For pity's sake, hear her!" said Rodolph to him.

"What will she tell me, – her infamy? That will soon be public, and I can wait till then."

"Sir," said Louise, addressing the magistrate, "for pity's sake, leave me alone with my father, that I may say a few words to him before I leave him, perhaps for ever; and before you, also, our benefactor, I will speak; but only before you and my father."

"Be it so," said the magistrate.

"Will you be pitiless, and refuse this last consolation to your child?" asked Rodolph of Morel. "If you think you owe me any gratitude for the kindness which I have been enabled to show you, consent to your daughter's entreaties."

After a moment's sad and angry silence, Morel replied:

"I will."

"But where shall we go!" inquired Rodolph; "your family are in the other room."

"Where shall we go," exclaimed the lapidary, with a bitter irony, "where shall we go? Up above, – up above, into the garret, by the side of the body of my dead daughter; that spot will well suit a confession, will it not? Come along, come, and we will see if Louise will dare to tell a lie in the presence of her sister's corpse. Come! Come along!"

And Morel went out hastily with a wild air, and turning his face from Louise.

"Sir," said the commissary to Rodolph, in an undertone, "I beg you for this poor man's sake not to protract this conversation. You were right when you said his reason was touched; just now his look was that of a madman."

"Alas, sir, I am equally fearful with yourself of some fresh and terrible disaster! I will abridge as much as I can this most painful farewell."

And Rodolph rejoined the lapidary and his daughter.

However strange and painful Morel's determination might appear, it was really the only thing that, under the circumstances, could be done. The magistrate consented to await the issue of this conversation in Rigolette's chamber; the Morel family were occupying Rodolph's apartment, and there was only the garret at liberty; and it was into this horrid retreat that Louise, her father, and Rodolph betook themselves. Sad and affecting sight!

In the middle of the attic which we have already described, there lay, stretched on the idiot's mattress, the body of the little girl who had died in the morning, now covered by a ragged cloth. The unusual and clear light, reflected through the narrow skylight, threw the figures of the three actors in this scene into bold relief. Rodolph, standing up, was leaning with his back against the wall, deeply moved. Morel, seated at the edge of his working-bench, with his head bent, his hands hanging listless by his sides, whilst his gaze, fixed and fierce, rested on, and did not quit, the mattress on which the remains of his poor little Adèle were deposited. At this spectacle, the anger and indignation of the lapidary subsided, and were changed to inexpressible bitterness; his energy left him, and he was utterly prostrated beneath this fresh blow. Louise, who was ghastly pale, felt her strength forsake her. The revelation she was about to make terrified her. Still she ventured, tremblingly, to take her father's hand, – that miserable and shrivelled hand, withered and wasted by excess of toil. The lapidary did not withdraw it, and then his daughter, sobbing as if her heart would burst, covered it with kisses, and felt it slightly pressed against her lips. Morel's wrath had ended, and then his tears, long repressed, flowed freely and bitterly.

"Oh, father, if you only knew!" exclaimed Louise; "if you only knew how much I am to be pitied!"

"Oh, Louise, this, this will be the heaviest bitter in my cup for the rest of my life, – all my life long," replied the lapidary, weeping terribly. "You, you in prison, – in the same bench with criminals; you so proud when you had a right to be proud! No," he resumed in a fresh burst of grief and despair, "no; I would rather have seen you in your shroud beside your poor little sister!"

"And I, I would sooner be there!" replied Louise.

"Be silent, unhappy girl, you pain me. I was wrong to say so; I have been too harsh. Come, speak; but in the name of Heaven, do not lie. However frightful the truth may be, yet tell it me all; let me learn it from your lips, and it will be less cruel. Speak, for, alas! our moments are counted, they are waiting for you down below. Ah, just Heaven, what a sad, sad parting!"

"My father, I will tell you all, – everything," replied Louise, taking courage; "but promise me – and our kind benefactor must promise me also – not to repeat this to any person, – to any person. If he knew that I had told! – oh," and she shuddered as she spoke, "you would be destroyed, destroyed as I am; for you know not the power and ferocity of this man."

"What man?"

"My master!"

"The notary?"

"Yes," said Louise in a whisper, and looking around her as if she feared to be overheard.

"Take courage," said Rodolph; "no matter how cruel and powerful this man may be, we will defeat him! Besides, if I reveal what you are about to tell us, it would only be in the interest of yourself or your father."

"And me too, Louise, if I speak, it would be in endeavouring to save you. But what has this villain done?"

"This is not all," said Louise, after a moment's reflection; "in this recital there will be a person implicated who has rendered me a great service, who has shown the utmost kindness to my father and family; this person was in the employ of M. Ferrand when I entered his service, and he made me take an oath not to disclose his name."

Rodolph, believing that she referred to Germain, said to Louise:

"If you mean François Germain, make your mind tranquil, his secret shall be kept by your father and myself."

Louise looked at Rodolph with surprise.

"Do you know him?" said she.

"What! was the good, excellent young man, who lived here for three months, employed at the notary's when you went to his service?" said Morel. "The first time you met him here, you appeared as if you had never seen him before."

"It was agreed between us, father; he had serious reasons why he did not wish it known that he was working at M. Ferrand's. It was I who told him of the room to let on the fourth story here, knowing that he would be a good neighbour for you."

"But," inquired Rodolph, "who, then, placed your daughter at the notary's?"

"During the illness of my wife, I said to Madame Burette – the woman who advanced money on pledges, who lived in this house – that Louise wished to get into service in order to assist us. Madame Burette knew the notary's housekeeper, and gave me a letter to her, in which she recommended Louise as a very good girl. Cursed letter! it was the cause of all our misfortune. This was the way, sir, that my daughter got into the notary's service."

"Although I know some of the causes which excited M. Ferrand's hatred against your father," said Rodolph to Louise, "I beg you to tell me as shortly as possible what passed between you and the notary after your entering into his service; it may, perhaps, be useful for your defence."