Collected Works of Eugène Sue Page 9

  “To find some charitable soul who would get me work, so that I might be enabled to leave the ogress; and this hope comforted me. Then I said to myself, I am very wretched, but I have never injured anybody, and if I had any one to advise me I should not be as I am. This lightened my sorrow a little, though it had greatly increased at the loss of my rose-tree,” added Goualeuse, with a sigh.

  “Always so very sad.”

  “Yes; but look, here it is.”

  And Goualeuse took from her pocket a little bundle of wood trimmed very carefully, and tied with a rose-coloured bow.

  “What, have you kept it?”

  “I have, indeed; it is all I possess in the world.”

  “What, have you nothing else?”

  “Nothing.”

  “This coral necklace?”

  “Belongs to the ogress.”

  “And you have not a piece of riband, a cap, or handkerchief?”

  “No, nothing, — nothing but the dead branches of my poor rose-tree; and that is why I love it so.”

  When Rodolph and Goualeuse had reached the Quai aux Fleurs, a coach was waiting there, into which Rodolph handed Goualeuse. He got in himself, saying to the driver:

  “To St. Denis; I will tell you presently which road to take.”

  The coach went on. The sun was bright, and the sky cloudless, whilst the air, fresh and crisp, circulated freely through the open windows.

  “Here is a woman’s cloak!” said Goualeuse, remarking that she had seated herself on the garment without having at first noticed it.

  “Yes, it is for you, my child; I brought it with me for fear you should be cold.”

  Little accustomed to such attention, the poor girl looked at Rodolph with surprise.

  “Mon Dieu! M. Rodolph, how kind you are; I am really ashamed—”

  “Because I am kind?”

  “No; but you do not speak as you did yesterday; you appear quite another person.”

  “Tell me, then, Fleur-de-Marie, which do you like best, — the Rodolph of yesterday, or the Rodolph of to-day?”

  “I like you better now; yet yesterday I seemed to be more your equal.” Then, as if correcting herself, and fearing to have annoyed Rodolph, she said to him, “When I say your equal, M. Rodolph, I do not mean that I can ever be that.”

  “One thing in you astonishes me very much, Fleur-de-Marie.”

  “And what is that, M. Rodolph?”

  “You appear to have forgotten that the Chouette said to you yesterday that she knew the persons who had brought you up.”

  “Oh! I have not forgotten it; I thought of it all night, and I cried bitterly; but I am sure it is not true; she invented this tale to make me unhappy.”

  “Yet the Chouette may know more than you think. If it were so, should you not be delighted to be restored to your parents?”

  “Alas, sir! if my parents never loved me, what should I gain by discovering them? They would only see me and — But if they did ever love me, what shame I should bring on them! Perhaps I should kill them!”

  “If your parents ever loved you, Fleur-de-Marie, they will pity, pardon, and still love you. If they have abandoned you, then, when they see the frightful destiny to which they have brought you, their shame and remorse will avenge you.”

  “What is the good of vengeance?”

  “You are right; let us talk no more on the subject.”

  At this moment the carriage reached St. Ouen, where the road divides to St. Denis and the Revolte. In spite of the monotony of the landscape, Fleur-de-Marie was so delighted at seeing the fields, as she called them, that, forgetting the sad thoughts which the recollection of the Chouette had awakened in her, her lovely countenance grew radiant with delight. She leaned out of the window, clasping her hands, and crying:

  “M. Rodolph, how happy I am! Grass! Fields! May I get out? It is so fine! I should so like to run in the meadows.”

  “Let us run, then, my child. Coachman, stop.”

  “What! You, too? Will you run, M. Rodolph?”

  “I’m having a holiday.”

  “Oh! What pleasure!”

  And Rodolph and Goualeuse, taking each other’s hand, ran as fast as they could over a long piece of latter-grass, just mowed. It would be impossible to describe the leaps and exclamations of joy, the intense delight, of Fleur-de-Marie. Poor lamb! so long a prisoner, she inspired the free air with indescribable pleasure. She ran, returned, stopped, and then raced off again with renewed happiness. At the sight of the daisies and buttercups Goualeuse could not restrain her transport, — she did not leave one flower which she could gather. After having run about in this way for some time, she became rather tired, for she had lost the habit of exercise, and stopped to take breath, sitting down on the trunk of a fallen tree which was lying at the edge of a deep ditch.

  “She Proffered to Rodolph the Bouquet”

  Etching by Mercier, after the drawing by Frank T. Merrill

  The clear and white complexion of Fleur-de-Marie, generally rather pale, was now heightened by the brightest colour. Her large blue eyes sparkled brightly, her vermilion lips, partly opened to recover her breath, displayed two rows of liquid pearls; her bosom throbbed under her worn-out little orange shawl, and she placed one of her hands upon her heart, as if to restrain its quickened pulsation, whilst with the other hand she proffered to Rodolph the bouquet of field flowers which she had just gathered. Nothing could be more charming than the combination of innocence and pure joy which beamed on her expressive countenance. When Fleur-de-Marie could speak, she said to Rodolph, with an accent of supreme happiness and of gratitude, almost amounting to piety:

  “How good is the great God to give us so fine a day!”

  A tear came into Rodolph’s eye when he heard this poor, forsaken, despised, lost creature utter a cry of happiness and deep gratitude to the Creator, because she enjoyed a ray of sunshine and the sight of a green field. He was roused from his reverie by an unexpected occurrence.

  CHAPTER IX.

  THE SURPRISE.

  WE HAVE SAID that Goualeuse was sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree, at the edge of a deep ditch. Suddenly a man, springing up from the bottom of this hollow, shook the rubbish from him under which he had concealed himself, and burst into a loud fit of laughter. Goualeuse turned around, screaming with alarm. It was the Chourineur.

  “Don’t be frightened, my girl,” said the Chourineur, when he saw her extreme fear, and that she had sought protection from her companion. “Ah, Master Rodolph, here’s a curious meeting, which I am sure neither you nor I expected.” Then he added, in a serious tone, “Listen, master. People may say what they like, but there is something in the air, — there, up there, above our heads, very wonderful; which seems to say to a man, ‘Go where I send you.’ See how you two have been sent here. It is devilish wonderful!”

  “What are you doing there?” said Rodolph, greatly surprised.

  “I was on the lookout in a matter of yours, master; but, thunder and lightning! what a high joke that you should come at this particular moment into this very neighbourhood of my country-house! There’s something in all this, — decidedly there is something.”

  “But again I ask you, what are you doing there?”

  “All in good time, I’ll tell you; only let me first look about me for a moment.”

  The Chourineur then ran towards the coach, which was some distance off, looked this way and that way over the plain with a keen and rapid glance, and then rejoined Rodolph, running quickly.

  “Will you explain to me the meaning of all this?”

  “Patience, patience, good master; one word more. What’s o’clock?”

  “Half past twelve,” said Rodolph, looking at his watch.

  “All right; we have time, then. The Chouette will not be here for the next half-hour.”

  “The Chouette!” cried Rodolph and the girl both at once.

  “Yes, the Chouette; in two words, master, I’ll tell you all. Yesterday, after you had lef
t the tapis-franc, there came—”

  “A tall man with a woman in man’s attire, who asked for me; I know all about that, but then—”

  “Then they paid for my liquor, and wanted to ‘draw’ me about you. I had nothing to tell them, because you had communicated nothing to me, except those fisticuffs which settled me. All I know is, that I learned something then which I shall not easily forget. But we are friends for life and death, Master Rodolph, though the devil burn me if I know why. I feel for you the regard which the bulldog feels for his master. It was after you told me that I had ‘heart and honour;’ but that’s nothing, so there’s an end of it. It is no use trying to account for it; so it is, and so let it be, if it’s any good to you.”

  “Many thanks, my man; but go on.”

  “The tall man and the little lady in men’s clothes, finding that they could get nothing out of me, left the ogress’s, and so did I; they going towards the Palais de Justice, and I to Notre Dame. On reaching the end of the street I found it was raining pitchforks, points downward, — a complete deluge. There was an old house in ruins close at hand, and I said to myself, ‘If this shower is to last all night, I shall sleep as well here as in my own “crib.”’ So I rolled myself into a sort of cave, where I was high and dry; my bed was an old beam, and my pillow a heap of lath and plaster, and there I slept like a king.”

  “Well, well, go on.”

  “We had drank together, Master Rodolph; I had drank, too, with the tall man and the little woman dressed in man’s clothes, so you may believe my head was rather heavy, and, besides, nothing sends me off to sleep like a good fall of rain. I began then to snooze, but I had not been long asleep, I think, when, aroused by a noise, I sat up and listened. I heard the Schoolmaster, who was talking in a friendly tone with somebody. I soon made out that he was parleying with the tall man who came into the tapis-franc with the little woman dressed in man’s clothes.”

  “They in conference with the Schoolmaster and the Chouette?” said Rodolph, with amazement.

  “With the Schoolmaster and the Chouette; and they agreed to meet again on the morrow.”

  “That’s to-day!” said Rodolph.

  “At one o’clock.”

  “This very moment!”

  “Where the road branches off to St. Denis and La Revolte.”

  “This very spot!”

  “Just as you say, Master Rodolph, on this very spot.”

  “The Schoolmaster! Oh, pray be on your guard, M. Rodolph,” exclaimed Fleur-de-Marie.

  “Don’t be alarmed, my child, he won’t come; it’s only the Chouette.”

  “How could the man who, with the female in disguise, sought me at the tapis-franc, come into contact with these two wretches?” said Rodolph.

  “I’faith I don’t know, and I think I only awoke at the end of the affair, for the tall man was talking of getting back his pocketbook, which the Chouette was to bring here in exchange for five hundred francs. I should say that the Schoolmaster had begun by robbing him, and that it was after that that they began to parley, and to come to friendly terms.”

  “It is very strange.”

  “Mon Dieu! it makes me quite frightened on your account, M. Rodolph,” said Fleur-de-Marie.

  “Master Rodolph is no chicken, girl; but as you say, there may be something working against him, and so I am here.”

  “Go on, my good fellow.”

  “The tall man and the little woman have promised two thousand francs to the Schoolmaster to do to you — I don’t know what. The Chouette is to be here directly to return the pocketbook, and to know what is required from them, which she is to tell the Schoolmaster, who will undertake it.”

  Fleur-de-Marie started. Rodolph smiled disdainfully.

  “Two thousand francs to do something to you, Master Rodolph; that makes me think that when I see a notice of a dog that has been lost (I don’t mean to make a comparison), and the offer of a hundred francs reward for his discovery, I say to myself, ‘Animal, if you were lost, no one would give a hundred farthings to find you.’ Two thousand francs to do something to you! Who are you, then?”

  “I’ll tell you by and by.”

  “That’s enough, master. When I heard this proposal, I said to myself, I must find out where these two dons live who want to set the Schoolmaster on the haunches of M. Rodolph; it may be serviceable. So when they had gone away, I got out of my hiding-place, and followed them quietly. I saw the tall man and little woman get into a coach near Notre Dame, and I got up behind, and we went on until we reached the Boulevard de l’Observatoire. It was as dark as the mouth of an oven, and I could not distinguish anything, so I cut a notch in a tree, that I might find out the place in the morning.”

  “Well thought of, my good fellow.”

  “This morning I went there, and about ten yards from the tree I saw a narrow entrance, closed by a gate. In the mud there were little and large footsteps, and at the end of the entrance a small garden-gate, where the traces ended; so the roosting-place of the tall man and the little woman must be there.”

  “Thanks, my worthy friend, you have done me a most essential piece of service, without knowing it.”

  “I beg your pardon, Master Rodolph, but I believed I was serving you, and that was the reason I did as I did.”

  “I know it, my fine fellow, and I wish I could recompense your service more properly than by thanks; but, unfortunately, I am only a poor devil of a workman, although you say they offer two thousand francs for something to be done against me. I will explain that to you.”

  “Yes, if you like, but not unless. Somebody threatens you with something, and I will come across them if I can; the rest is your affair.”

  “I know what they want. Listen to me. I have a secret for cutting fans in ivory by a mechanical process, but this secret does not belong to me alone. I am awaiting my comrade to go to work, and, no doubt, it is the model of the machine which I have at home that they are desirous of getting from me at any price, for there is a great deal of money to be made by this discovery.”

  “The tall man and the little woman then are—”

  “Work-people with whom I have been associated, and to whom I have refused my secret.”

  This explanation appeared satisfactory to the Chourineur, whose apprehension was not the clearest in the world, and he replied:

  “Now I understand it all. The beggars! you see they have not the courage to do their dirty tricks themselves. But to come to the end of my story. I said to myself this morning, I know the rendezvous of the Chouette and the tall man; I will go there and wait for them; I have good legs, and my employer will wait for me. I came here and found this hole, and, taking an armful of stuff from the dunghill yonder, I hid myself here up to my nose, and waited for the Chouette. But, lo and behold! you came into the field, and poor Goualeuse came and sat down on the very edge of my park, and then I determined to have a bit of fun, and, jumping out of my lair, I called out like a man on fire.”

  “And now what do you propose to do?”

  “To wait for the Chouette, who is sure to come first; to try and overhear what she and the tall man talk about, for that may be useful for you to know. There is nothing in the field but this trunk of a tree, and from here you may see all over the plain; it is as if it were made on purpose to sit down upon. The rendezvous of the Chouette is only four steps off at the cross-road, and I will lay a bet they come and sit here when they arrive. If I cannot hear anything, then, as soon as they separate, I will follow the Chouette, who is sure to stay last, and I’ll pay her the old grudge I owe her for the Goualeuse’s tooth; and I’ll twist her neck until she tells me the name of the parents of the poor girl, for she says she knows them. What do you think of my idea, Master Rodolph?”

  “I like it very well, my lad; but there is one part which you must alter.”

  “Oh, Chourineur, do not get yourself into any quarrel on my account. If you beat the Chouette, then the Schoolmaster—”

  “Say no more, my
lass. The Chouette shall not go scot free for me. Confound it! why, for the very reason that the Schoolmaster will defend her, I will double her dose.”

  “Listen, my man, to me; I have a better plan for avenging the Chouette’s brutalities to Goualeuse, which I will tell you hereafter. Now,” said Rodolph, moving a few paces from Goualeuse, and speaking low, “Now, will you render me a real service?”

  “Name it, Master Rodolph.”

  “The Chouette does not know you?”

  “I saw her yesterday for the first time at the tapis-franc.”

  “This is what you must do. Hide yourself first; but, when you see her come close to you, get out of this hole—”

  “And twist her neck?”

  “No, defer that for a time. To-day, only prevent her from speaking to the tall man. He, seeing some one with her, will not approach; and if he does, do not leave her alone for a moment. He cannot make his proposal before you.”

  “If the man thinks me curious, I know what to do; he is neither the Schoolmaster nor Master Rodolph. I will follow the Chouette like her shadow, and the man shall not say a word that I do not overhear. He will then be off, and after that I will have one little turn with the Chouette. I must have it; it will be such a sweet drop for me.”

  “Not yet; the one-eyed hag does not know whether you are a thief or not?”

  “No, not unless the Schoolmaster has talked of me to her, and told her that I did not do business in that line.”

  “If he have, you must appear to have altered your ideas on that subject.”

  “I?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ten thousand thunders! M. Rodolph, what do you mean? Indeed — truly — I don’t like it; it does not suit me to play such a farce as that.”

  “You shall only do what you please; but you will not find that I shall suggest any infamous plan to you. The tall man once driven away, you must try and talk over the Chouette. As she will be very savage at having missed the good haul she expected, you must try and smooth her down by telling her that you know of a capital bit of business which may be done, and that you are then waiting for your comrade, and that, if the Schoolmaster will join you, there is a lump of money to be made.”