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Mysteries of Paris, V3

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"Sarah, in mercy--"

"Rudolph, a last prayer--your hand."

The prince, turning away his eyes, gave his hand to the countess, who
placed it between her own.

"Oh! your hands are icy cold," cried Rudolph with affright.

"Yes, I am dying. Perhaps for a last punishment, heaven does not will that
I should embrace my child."

"Oh! yes, yes, it will be moved by your remorse."

"And you, my friend, are you touched? do you pardon me? Oh! in mercy, say
it. Directly, when our child shall be here--if she comes in time--you
cannot pardon me before her; that would be to teach her how guilty I have
been, and that you would not like. When I am once dead, what matters it to
you if she love me?"

"Be comforted; she shall know nothing."

"Rudolph, pardon! oh! pardon! Will you be without pity! Am I not
sufficiently unhappy?"

"Well, may heaven pardon the evil you have done to your child, as I pardon
what you have done to me, unhappy woman."

"You pardon me--from the bottom of your heart?"

"From the bottom of my heart," replied the prince.

The lady pressed the hand of Rudolph to her dying lips in an ecstasy of joy
and gratitude, and said, "Let the clergyman come in, my friend, and tell
him that afterward he must stay. I feel myself very weak."

This scene was heart-rending; Rudolph opened the folding-doors, and the
clergyman entered, followed by the witnesses. All the actors in this sad
scene were grave and sad; M. de Lucenay himself had forgotten his habitual
frivolity. The contract of marriage between the most illustrious and very
puissant prince, His Serene Highness, Gustavus Rudolph V., reigning Grand
Duke of Gerolstein, and Sarah Seyton of Halsbury, Countess M'Gregor, had
been prepared by the care of Baron de Graun: it was read by him, and signed
by the bride and groom and their witnesses. Notwithstanding the repentance
of the countess, when the clergyman said, with a solemn voice, to Rudolph,
"Does your royal highness consent to take for wife Madame Sarah Seyton of
Halsbury, Countess M'Gregor?" and the prince had answered "YES!" with a
loud and firm voice, the deathlike countenance of the lady brightened; a
rapid and transitory expression of triumphant pride passed over her livid
features; it was the last flash of the ambition which died with her. During
this sad and imposing ceremony, not a word was uttered by the witnesses.
When it was finished, they all came forward, profoundly saluted the prince,
and retired.

"Brother," said Sarah in a low tone, "beg the clergyman to have the
goodness to wait a moment in the adjoining room."

"How do you feel now, my sister? you are very pale."

"I am sure to live now--am I not the Grand Duchess of Gerolstein?" added
she, with a bitter smile.

Remaining alone with Rudolph, Sarah murmured, in an exhausted voice, while
her features changed in an alarming manner, "My strength is gone. I feel
that I am dying--I shall never see her."

"Yes, yes, calm yourself, Sarah--you will see her."

"I have no more hope--this delay--oh! it needs a strength superhuman. My
sight fails already."

"Sarah!" said the prince, approaching, and taking her hands within his own,
"she will come--now she cannot delay."

"God has not willed this last consolation."

"Sarah, listen--listen. I hear a carriage--yes--it is she; here is your
child!"

"Rudolph, you will not tell her that I was a bad mother?" articulated the
countess, slowly. The noise of a carriage resounded on the pavement of the
court. The countess could not hear it. Her words were more and more
incoherent. Rudolph leaned over her with anxiety; he saw her eyes covered
with a film.

"Pardon--my child--see, my child--pardon--at least--after my death--the
honors--of--my--rank----" These were her last intelligible words. The
fixed, predominating thought of her whole life returned again,
notwithstanding her sincere repentance. At this moment Murphy entered the
room.

"Your highness, the Princess Marie----"

"No," cried Rudolph, quickly, "let her not enter. Tell Seyton to bring the
clergyman." Then, pointing to Sarah, who was gradually expiring, Rudolph
added, "Heaven refuses her the last consolation of embracing her child."

Half an hour afterward, the Countess M'Gregor had ceased to exist.




CHAPTER XXIV.

BICETRE.


Fifteen days had passed since Rudolph, by marrying the Countess M'Gregor
_in extremis_, had legitimatized the birth of Fleur-de-Marie. It was
Mid-Lent. This date being established, we will conduct the reader to
Bicetre. This immense establishment, founded for the treatment of the
insane, serves also as a place of refuge for seven or eight hundred poor
old men, who are admitted when they have reached the age of seventy, or are
afflicted with any very serious infirmity. On arriving at Bicetre, the
visitor enters at first a vast court planted with large trees, and divided
into grass plots, ornamented in summer with flower borders. Nothing could
be more cheerful, more peaceful, or more salubrious than this promenade,
which was specially designed for the indigent old men of whom we have
spoken. It surrounds the buildings, in which, on the first floor, are found
the spacious sleeping apartments; and on the ground floor, the dining
halls, kept in admirable order, where the pensioners of Bicetre eat, in
common, most excellent food, prepared with great care, thanks to the
paternal solicitude of the directors of this establishment. To enumerate
completely the different purposes for which this institution is designed,
we mention that, at the time of which we speak, the condemned prisoners
were brought here after their sentence. It was in one of the cells of this
house that Widow Martial and her daughter Calabash awaited the moment of
their execution, which was fixed for the next day. Nicholas, Skeleton, and
several other scoundrels, had succeeded in making their escape from La
Force.

We have already said that nothing could be more cheerful than the approach
to this edifice, when, on coming from Paris, one entered it by the
poorhouse yard. Thanks to a forward spring, the elms and the lindens were
already beginning to shoot forth their leaves; the large plots of grass
were of a luxuriant growth; here and there the flower beds were enameled
with crocuses, primroses, and auriculas. The sun was shining brightly, and
the old pensioners, dressed in gray coats, were walking up and down, or
seated on the benches; their placid countenances expressed calmness, or a
kind of tranquil indifference. Eleven o'clock had just struck, when two
carriages stopped before the outer gate: from the first descended Madame
George, Germain, and Rigolette; from the second, Louise Morel and her
mother. Germain and Rigolette had been married a fortnight. We will leave
the reader to imagine the saucy gayety, the lively happiness, which shone
in the blooming visage of the grisette, whose rosy lips were only opened to
smile or embrace Madame George, whom she called her mother. The features of
Germain expressed a felicity more calm, more reflecting, more grave; there
was mingled with it a feeling of profound gratitude, almost of respect,
toward this noble and excellent girl, who had offered him in prison
consolations so sustaining and delightful, which Rigolette did not seem to
recollect the least in the world; thus, as soon as Germain turned the
conversation on this subject, she spoke of something else, saying these
recollections made her sad. Although she had become Madame Germain, and
Rudolph had settled on her forty thousand francs, Rigolette had not been
willing (and her husband was of the same opinion) to change her grisette
cap for a hat. Certainly, never had humility served better an innocent
coquetry; for nothing could be more becoming, more elegant, than her little
cap, ornamented on each side with orange bows, which contrasted well with
her shining black hair, now worn in long ringlets, since she had _time_ to
put them in paper; around her charming neck she wore a richly-embroidered
collar and a scarf of French cashmere of the same shade as the ribbons of
her cap, which half concealed her fine person; and although she wore no
corset, according to her usual custom, her dress showed not the slightest
wrinkle on her slender figure. Madame George contemplated her son and
Rigolette with quiet happiness.

Louise Morel, after a rigid examination and autopsy of her child, had been
set at liberty; the beautiful features of the daughter of the lapidary
expressed a kind of sad and melancholy resignation. Thanks to the
generosity of Rudolph, and the care and attention which he had caused to be
shown her, the mother of Louise Morel, who accompanied her, had recovered
her health. The porter at the gate had asked Madame George whom she desired
to see; she replied that one of the physicians of the asylum for the insane
had made an appointment with her and her friends at eleven o'clock. Madame
George had the option either to wait for the doctor in an office which was
pointed out to her, or in the court of which we have spoken. She chose the
latter; leaning on the arm of her son, and continuing to converse with the
wife of the lapidary, she walked in the garden, Louise and Rigolette
following at a short distance.

"How happy I am to see you, dear Louise!" said the grisette. "Just now when
we went to seek you in the Rue du Temple on our arrival from Bouqueval, I
wished to go up and see you; but my husband did not wish it, saying it was
high up; I waited in the cab. Your vehicle followed ours, so that I now see
you for the first time since---"

"Since you came to see me in prison. Ah! Miss Rigolette," cried Louise,
"what a kind heart! what--"

"In the first place, my good Louise," said the grisette, interrupting gayly
the daughter of the lapidary, in order to escape her thanks, "I am no more
Miss Rigolette, but Madame Germain. I do not know if you are aware of it,
and I am proud of it!"

"Yes, I knew you were married. But let me thank you again--"

"That of which you are most completely ignorant, my good Louise," replied
Madame Germain, again interrupting the daughter of Morel, in order to
change the course of her ideas: "that of which you are ignorant is, that I
am married, thanks to the generosity of him who has been our
Providence--mine as well as yours!"

"M. Rudolph! Oh! we bless him every day! When I came out of prison, the
lawyer whom he sent to see me told me that (owing to M. Rudolph, who had
already done so much for us) M. Ferrand," the poor creature shuddered, "M.
Ferrand, to make amends for his cruelties, had settled some money on my
father and me--my poor father, who is still here, but who, thanks to God,
gets better and better."

"And who will return with us to-day to Paris, if the hopes of the worthy
doctor are realized."

"May heaven grant it!"

"It will grant it. Your father is so good and honest! I am sure that we
will take him back with us. The doctor thinks that now a great effort must
be made, and that the unexpected presence of several persons whom your
father was accustomed to see almost daily before he lost his reason may
effect a cure. As for me, in my poor judgment, it appears certain."

"I dare hardly believe it, Miss--"

"Mrs. Germain--Mrs. Germain, if it is all the same to you, my good Louise.
But to return to what I was speaking about: you do not know who M. Rudolph
is?"

"He is the Providence of the unfortunate!"

"It is true; and what then? you do not know. Well, I am going to tell you."
Then, addressing her husband, who was walking near her, Rigolette cried,
"Do not go so fast, my dear!--you fatigue our good mother; and, besides, I
prefer to have you nearer to me."

Germain turned round, lessening his pace a little, and smiled on Rigolette
who playfully threw him a kiss.

"How genteel my little Germain is! is he not, Louise? With that air so
stylish! such a fine figure! was I not right when I found him more to my
liking than M. Girandeau, the traveling clerk, or M. Cabrion? Oh! speaking
of Cabrion--M. Pipelet and his wife? where are they? The doctor said they
ought to come also, because your father often pronounces their names."

"They will not long delay. When I left the house, they had been gone for a
long time."

"Oh! then they will not fail to be here; for M. Pipelet is as punctual as a
clock. But let us return to my marriage and to M. Rudolph. Only think,
Louise, it was he who sent me with the order for Germain's release. You can
imagine our joy on leaving that dreadful prison! We reached my room, and
there, aided by Germain, I arranged a slight repast, but a repast for real
gourmands. It is true, it was of no great use to us, for when we had
finished, we had neither of us eaten anything--we were too happy. At eleven
o'clock, Germain went away; we agreed to meet the next morning. At five
o'clock I was up and at work, for I was two days behindhand. At eight
o'clock some one knocked; I opened; who should come in but M. Rudolph. At
once I began to thank him from the bottom of my heart for what he had done
for Germain; he would not let me finish. 'My neighbor,' said he to me,
'Germain will soon be here; give him this letter. You and he will take a
cab, and go at once to a little village called Bouqueval, near Ecouen, on
the St. Denis Road. Once there, you will ask for Madame George; and I wish
you much pleasure.' 'M. Rudolph, I am going to tell you it will be another
day lost, and, without any reproach, this will make three.' 'Reassure
yourself, my neighbor; there is some work for you at Madame George's, whom
you will find an excellent customer.' 'If that is so, very good, M.
Rudolph.' 'Adieu, neighbor.' 'Adieu, and thank you, neighbor.' He went, and
Germain arrived. I told him what had occurred; M. Rudolph could not deceive
us; we got into a carriage, as frolicsome as children--we, who were so sad
the day previous. Well! we arrive. Oh! my good Louise--hold! in spite of
myself the tears will come to my eyes. This Madame George whom you see
before us is the mother of Germain."

"His mother?"

"Dear me! yes, his own mother, from whom her child had been carried off
when quite young, and whom she had no hope of ever seeing again. You can
imagine their happiness. After Madame George had wept much, and embraced
her son, it was my turn. M. Rudolph had written many fine things about me,
for she told me, as she held me in her arms, that she knew of my conduct
toward her son. 'And if you wish, mother,' said Germain, 'Rigolette shall
be your daughter also.' 'If I wish it, my children? with all my heart. I
know you will never find a better or nicer little wife.' Behold me, then,
installed in a fine farm with Germain, his mother, and my birds, which I
sent for, poor little things, so that they should be of the party. Although
I do not like the country, the days passed so quickly, that it was like a
dream; I only worked for my pleasure; I assisted Madame George, I walked
with Germain, I sung, I jumped; it was enough to make one crazy. At length
our marriage was fixed for two weeks ago yesterday. Two days previous, who
should arrive in a fine carriage but a stout, bald gentleman, with a very
good-natured look, who brought me from M. Rudolph a wedding gift. Just
imagine, Louise, a large rosewood box, with these words written in gold on
a plate of blue enamel: 'Industry and Virtue, Love and Happiness.' I opened
the box; what did I find? some small lace caps like the one I have on,
dress patterns, jewels, gloves, this scarf, a beautiful shawl; in fine, it
was like a real fairy tale."

"It is true, it is like a real fairy tale; but, do you see, to have been so
good, so industrious, has brought you happiness."

"As to being good and industrious, my dear Louise, I have not been so
purposely; it has so happened: so much the better for me. But this is not
all: at the bottom of the box I discovered a handsome portfolio, with these
words, 'Neighbor to Neighbor.' I opened it: there were two packages, one
for Germain, the other for me; in Germain's I found a paper, which named
him director of a Bank for the Poor, with a salary of 4,000 francs; in the
envelope directed to me, there was a check for 40,000 francs on the--on the
Treasury; yes, that is it; this was my marriage portion. I wished to refuse
it, but Madame George, who had talked with the tall, bald gentleman and
with Germain, said to me, 'My child, you can, and ought to accept it; it is
the recompense of your virtue, your industry, and of your devotion to those
who suffer; for it is only by depriving yourself of your usual hours of
repose, at the risk of making yourself sick, and thus losing your sole
means of subsistence, that you have been able to go and console your
unfortunate friends.'"

"Oh! that is very true," cried Louise; "there is no one else like you, at
least, Miss--Mrs. Germain."

"Very good! I told the bald gentleman that what I had done was my pleasure;
he answered, 'No matter! M. Rudolph is immensely rich; your marriage
portion on his part is a testimony of esteem and friendship; your refusal
would cause him great sorrow; he will be present at your marriage, and will
force you to accept.' What happiness that so much wealth should be in the
possession of a person as charitable as M. Rudolph!"

"Doubtless he is very rich, but if that were all--"

"Oh! my good Louise, if you only knew who M. Rudolph is! and I made him
carry my bundles! But patience! you shall see. The evening before the
marriage, very late, the bald gentleman arrived, having traveled post. M.
Rudolph could not come; he was indisposed; but the tall gentleman came in
his place It is only then, my good Louise, that we were informed that your
benefactor, that ours, was--guess what? a prince!"

"A prince?"

"What do I say, a prince? a royal highness, a reigning grand duke, a king
on a small scale. Germain explained this to me."

"M. Rudolph!"

"My poor Louise, yes! And I had asked him to help me wax my floor!"

"A prince--almost a king. That is the reason he has so much power to do
good."

"You comprehend my embarrassment, my good Louise. Thus, seeing that he was
almost a king, I did not dare refuse my marriage portion. We were married.
Eight days afterward, M. Rudolph sent word to us, and Madame George, that
he would be very happy, if we would make him a bridal visit; we went. You
comprehend, my heart beat fast; we arrived at the Rue Plumet; we entered a
palace; we passed through parlors filled with servants in livery, gentlemen
in black, wearing silver chains around their necks and words at their
sides, and officers in uniform; and then gildings everywhere, almost enough
to blind you. At length we found the bald gentleman in a saloon with some
other gentlemen, all laced over with embroidery; he introduced us into a
large room, where we found M. Rudolph--that is to say, the prince, dressed
very plainly, and looking so kind, so frank, so little proud--in fine, he
looked so much like the M. Rudolph of old, that I felt myself at once at my
ease, recalling to my mind that I had made him fasten my shawl, mend my
pens, and give me his arm in the streets."

"You were no longer afraid? Oh! how I should have trembled!"

"Not I, after having received Madame George with great kindness, and
offered his hand to Germain, the prince said to me, smiling, 'Well, my
neighbor, how are _Papa Cretu_ and _Ramonette?_" (those are the names of my
birds; how kind in him to remember them). 'I am sure,' he added, 'that now
you and Germain rival with your joyous songs those of your little birds?'
'Yes, your highness!' (Madame George had taught us to say that while we
were on the road)--'Yes, your highness, our happiness is great, and it
seems to us more sweet because we owe it to you.' 'It is not to me you owe
it, my child, but to your excellent qualities and to those of Germain,' and
so forth, and so forth: I pass over the rest of his compliments. Finally,
we left this good nobleman with our hearts rather full, for we shall see
him no more. He told us that he would return to Germany in a few days;
perhaps he has already gone; but gone or not, we shall always remember
him."

"Since he has subjects, they must be very happy!"

"Judge! he has done so much good to us, who are nothing to him. I forgot to
tell you that it was at this farm where we lived that one of my old prison
companions resided, a very good little girl, who, to her happiness, had
also met M. Rudolph; but Madame George had recommended me not to speak
about it to the prince; I do not know wherefore; doubtless because he does
not like that any one should speak to him of the good he does. What is
certain is, that it appears this dear Goualeuse has found her parents, who
have taken her with them, very far away: all I regret is, not having
embraced her before her departure."

"So much the better," said Louise, bitterly; "she is happy also--she--"

"My good Louise, pardon me--I am selfish; I only speak to you of happiness,
and you have yet so many reasons for sorrow."

"If my child had lived," said Louise, sadly, "that would have consoled me;
for now where is the virtuous man who would have me, although I have
money!"

"On the contrary, Louise, I say that none but a virtuous man can comprehend
your position; yes, when he knows all, when he shall know you, he can but
pity you, esteem you; and he will be sure to have in you a good and worthy
wife."

"You say that to console me."

"No, I say that because it is true."

"Well, true or not, it does me good, and I thank you. But who comes here?
Hold! it is M. Pipelet and his wife! Goodness! how pleased he is! he who
formerly was always so miserable on account of the jokes of M. Cabrion."

The Pipelets came forward joyfully; Alfred, wearing his irremovable hat,
had on a magnificent coat of grass green in all its pristine luster; his
cravat, with embroidered corners, just allowed room for a formidable shirt
collar, which concealed half of his cheeks, a large waistcoat, of a
deep-yellow ground, with brown stripes; black breeches, rather short;
stockings of dazzling whiteness, and well-brushed shoes, completed his
attire. Anastasia strutted in a robe of amaranth-colored merino, over which
showed to great advantage a shawl of deep blue. She proudly displayed to
all eyes her wig, freshly curled, and had her cap suspended from her arm
by strings of green ribbon, like a reticule. The physiognomy of Alfred,
ordinarily so grave, so collected, and latterly so much cast down, was
beaming, rejoicing, sparkling; as soon as he saw Louise and Rigolette at a
distance, he ran toward them, crying in his bass voice, "Delivered--gone!"

"Oh! M. Pipelet," said Rigolette, "how very gay you look! what is the
matter?"

"Gone, miss, or, rather, madame, do I, can I, ought I to say, for now you
are exactly like Anastasia, thanks to the conjugal! just as your husband,
M. Germain, is exactly like me."

"You are very kind, M. Pipelet," said Rigolette, smiling; "but who has
gone, then?"

"Cabrion!!!" cried M. Pipelet, respiring and inhaling the air with
inexpressible satisfaction, as if he had been relieved from an enormous
weight. "He leaves France forever--forever--for perpetuity--in fine, he is
gone."

"You are very sure of it?"

"I have seen him, with my own eyes, get into a diligence for Strasbourg--he
and his trunks, and all his effects--that is, to say, a hatbox, a
maulstick, and a box of colors."

"What is he singing about there, the old darling?" said Anastasia, arriving
out of breath, for she had with difficulty followed the quick movements of
Alfred. "I bet he is talking to you of Cabrion! he has done nothing but
repeat it over and over again all along the way."

"That is to say, Anastasia, that I could hardly keep on the ground. Before,
it seemed to me that my hat was lined with lead; now, one would say that
the air raised me toward the firmament! gone--at last--gone!!! and he will
never return more!"

"Most happily, the blackguard!"

"Anastasia, spare the absent; happiness renders me merciful; I will simply
say that he was an unworthy blackguard."

"And how did you know that he had gone to Germany?" asked Rigolette.

"By a friend of my prince of lodgers. Apropos of this dear man, do you not
know that, thanks to his good recommendations, Alfred is appointed porter
of a Pawn Office and Bank for the Poor, established in our house by a good
soul that I cannot help thinking must be the person for whom M. Rudolph was
the traveling clerk in good actions!"

"That happens very well," said Rigolette: "my husband is the director of
this bank, for which he is also indebted to the recommendation of M.
Rudolph."

"Hooraw!" cried Madame Pipelet, gayly; "so much the better; so much the
better! old faces are preferable to new ones. But to return to Cabrion:
just imagine, that a tall bald gentleman, on coming to inform us of
Alfred's appointment as porter, asked us if a painter of much talent, named
Cabrion had not lived with us. At the name of Cabrion, there was my old
darling lifting his boot in the air, and already half dead. Happily, the
great fat bald man added, 'This young painter is about to start for
Germany; a wealthy person sends him there for some work which will employ
him for several years; perhaps he may always remain there.' As a proof of
what he had said, the individual gave to my old darling the date of the
intended departure of Cabrion and the address of the stage-coach office,
and I had the unhoped-for happiness to read on the register, 'M. Cabrion,
painter, leaves for Strasbourg.' The departure was fixed for this morning."

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