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The Mysteries of Paris V2

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Hardly had Anastasia pronounced the words than a strange thing came to
pass. Alfred remained sitting, his face turned toward the bed. The
lodge was lighted by the sickly light of a winter's day, and by a
lamp. At the moment his wife pronounced the name Cabrion, Pipelet
thought he saw in the shade of the alcove the immovable, cunning face
of the painter. It was he, his pointed hat, long hair, thin face,
satanic smile, queer beard, and paralyzing gaze. For a moment, Pipelet
thought himself in a dream; he passed his hand over his eyes,
believing that he was the victim of an illusion. It was not an
illusion. Nothing could be more real than this apparition. Frightful
thing! nobody could be seen, but only a head, of which the living
flesh stood out in bold relief from the obscurity of the alcove. At
this sight Pipelet fell over backward, without saying a word; he
raised his right arm toward the bed, and pointed at this terrible
vision, with a gesture so alarming, that Mrs. Pipelet turned to seek
the cause of an alarm of which she soon partook, in spite of her
habitual courage. She recoiled two steps, seized with force the hand
of Alfred, and cried, "Cabrion!"

"Yes," murmured Pipelet, in a hollow voice, almost extinct, shutting
his eyes.

The stupor of the pair paid the greatest honor to the talent of the
artist who had so admirably painted on the pasteboard the features of
Cabrion. Her first surprise over, Anastasia, as bold as a lion, ran to
the bed, got on it, and tore the picture from the wall.

The amazon crowned this valiant enterprise by shouting, as a war-cry,
her favorite exclamation, "Go ahead!"

Alfred, with his eyes closed, his hands stretched forth, remained
immovable, as he had always been accustomed to do in the critical
moments of his life. The convulsive oscillations of his hat alone
revealed, from time to time, the continued violence of his interior
emotions.

"Open your eyes, old darling," said Mrs. Pipelet, triumphantly; "it's
nothing! it's a picture; the portrait of that scoundrel Cabrion! Look,
see how I stamp upon him!" and Anastasia, in her indignation, threw
the picture on the ground, and trampled it under her feet, crying,
"That's the way I would like to treat his flesh and bones, the
wretch!" then picking it up, "see!" said she, "now it has my marks;
look now!"

Alfred shook his head negatively, without saying a word, and making a
sign to his wife to take away the detested picture.

"Has ever any one seen such impudence? This is not all; he has
written at the bottom, in red letters, 'Cabrion, to his good friend
Pipelet, for life,'" said the portress, examining the picture by the
light.

"His good friend for life!" murmured Alfred; raising his hands as if
to call heaven to witness this new outrageous irony.

[Illustration: Louise in Prison]

"But how could he do it?" said Anastasia. "This portrait was not there
this morning when I made the bed, very sure. You took the key with you
just now: nobody could have entered while you were absent? How, then,
once more, could this portrait get there? Could it be you, by chance,
who put it there, old darling?"

At this monstrous hypothesis, Alfred bounced from his seat; he opened
his eyes wide and threatening.

"I fasten in my alcove the portrait of this evil-doer, who, not
content with persecuting me by his odious presence, pursues me at
night in my dreams--the daytime in a picture! Would you make me mad,
Anastasia? mad enough to be chained?"

"Well! for the sake of making peace, you might have agreed with
Cabrion during my absence. Where would be the great harm?"

"I make up with--oh, merciful powers! you hear her?"

"And then, he might have given you his portrait, as a pledge of
friendship. If this is so, do not deny it."

"Anastasia!"

"If this is so, it must be confessed you are as capricious as a pretty
woman."

"Wife!"

"In short, it must have been you who placed the portrait!"

"I--oh!"

"But who is it then?"

"You, madame."

"I!"

"Yes," cried Pipelet wildly, "it is you; I have reason to believe it
is you. This morning, having my back turned toward the bed I could see
nothing."

"But, old darling, I tell you it must be you, otherwise I shall think
it was the devil."

"I have not left the lodge, and when I went upstairs to answer to the
call of the masculine organ, I had the key; the door was shut. You
opened it; deny that!"

"Ma foi; it is true!"

"You confess, then?"

"I confess that I comprehend nothing. It's a game, and it is prettily
played."

"A game!" cried Pipelet, carried away by frenzied indignation. "Ah!
there you are again! I tell you, I, that all this conceals some
abominable plot; there is something under all this--a plot. The abyss
is hidden under flowers--they try to stun me to prevent my seeing the
precipice from which they wish to plunge me. It only remains for me to
place myself under the protection of the laws. Happily, the Lord is on
our side;" and Pipelet turned toward the door,

"Where are you going, old darling?"

"To the commissary's, to lodge my complaint, and this portrait as
proof of the persecutions I am overwhelmed with."

"But what will you complain of?"

"What will I complain of? How! my most inveterate enemy shall find
means by proceeding fraudulently to force me to have his portrait in
my house, even on my nuptial bed, and the magistrates will not take me
under the aegis? Give me the portrait, Anastasia--give it to me--not
the side where the painting is, the sight revolts me! The traitor
cannot deny it; it is in his hand; Cabrion to his good friend Pipelet,
for life. For life! Yes, that's it; for my life, without doubt, he
pursues me, and he will finish by having it. I live in continual
alarm: I shall think that this infernal being is here, always here--
under the floor, in the walls, in the ceiling! at night he sees me
reposing in the arms of my wife; in the daytime he is standing behind
me, always with his satanic smile; and who will tell me that even at
this moment he is not here, concealed somewhere, like a venomous
insect? Come, now! are you there, monster? Are you here?" cried
Pipelet, accompanying this furious imprecation with a circular
movement of the head, as if he had wished to interrogate all parts of
the lodge.

"I am here, good friend!" said most affectionately the well-known
voice of Cabrion.

These words seemed to come from the bottom of the alcove, merely from
the effects of ventriloquism; for the infernal artist was standing
outside the door of the lodge, enjoying the smallest details of this
scene; however, after having pronounced these last words, he prudently
made off, not without leaving, as we shall see, a new subject of rage,
astonishment, and meditation to his victim. Mrs. Pipelet, always
courageous and skeptical, looked under the bed, and in every hole and
corner, without success, while M. Pipelet, undone by the last blow,
had fallen on the chair in a state of utter despair.

"It's nothing, Alfred," said Anastasia; "the scoundrel was concealed
behind the door, and while I looked one way, he escaped the other.
Patience, I'll catch him one of these days, and then, let him look
out! he shall taste the handle of my broom!"

The door opened, and Mrs. Seraphin, housekeeper of Jacques Ferrand,
entered.

"Good-day, Mrs. Seraphin," said Mrs. Pipelet, who, wishing to conceal
from a stranger her domestic sorrows, assumed a very gracious and
smiling air; "what can I do to serve you?"

"First, tell me, then, what is your new sign?"

"New sign?"

"The little sign."

"A little sign?"

"Yes, black with red letters, which is nailed over the door of your
alley."

"In the street?"

"Why, yes, in the street, just over your door."

"My dear Mrs. Seraphin, may I never speak again, if I understand a
word; and you, old darling?" Alfred remained dumb.

"In truth, it concerns Mr. Pipelet," said Mrs. Seraphin; "he must
explain this to me."

Alfred uttered a sort of low, inarticulate groan, shaking his hat, a
pantomime signifying that Alfred found himself incapable of explaining
anything to others, being sufficiently preoccupied with an infinity of
problems, each one more difficult of solution than the other.

"Pay no attention, Mrs. Seraphin," said Anastasia. "Poor Alfred has
got the cramp; that makes him--"

"But what is this sign, then, of which you speak?"

"Perhaps our neighbor--"

"No, no; I tell you it is a little sign nailed over your door."

"Come, you want to joke."

"Not at all; I saw it as I came in. There is written on it in large
letters, 'Pipelet and Cabrion, Dealers in Friendship, etc. Apply
within.'"

"That's written over our door, do you hear, Alfred?"

Pipelet looked at Mrs. Seraphin with a wild stare. He did not
comprehend; he did not wish to comprehend.

"It is in the street--on a sign!" repeated Mrs. Pipelet, confounded at
this new audacity.

"Yes, for I have just read it. Then I said to myself, 'What a funny
thing! Pipelet is a cobbler by trade, and he informs the passer-by
that he is engaged in a _commerce d'amitie_ with Cabrion. What
does it signify? There is something concealed, it is clear; but as
the sign says inquire within, Mrs. Pipelet will explain it." "But look
there," cried Mrs. Seraphin, suddenly, "your husband looks as if he
was sick; take care, he will fall backward!"

Mrs. Pipelet received Alfred in her arms, in a fainting state. This
last blow had been too violent; the man nearly lost all consciousness
as he pronounced these words:

"The creature has publicly posted me."

"I told you, Mrs. Seraphin, Alfred has the cramp, without speaking of
an unchained blackguard, who undermines him with his sorry tricks. The
poor old darling cannot resist it! Happily, I have a drop of bitters
here; probably it will put him on his legs."

In fact, thanks to the infallible remedy of Mrs. Pipelet, Alfred by
degrees recovered his senses; but, alas! hardly had he come to, than
he had to undergo another trial.

A middle-aged person, neatly dressed, and with a pleasing face, opened
the door, and said, "I have just seen on a sign placed over this door,
'Pipelet and Cabrion, Dealers in Friendship.' Can you, if you please,
do me the honor to inform me what this means--you being the porter of
this house?"

"What this means!" cried Pipelet in a thundering voice, giving vent to
his indignation, too long suppressed; "this means that Mr. Cabrion is
an infamous impostor, sir!"

The man, at this sudden and furious explosion, drew back a step.
Alfred, much exasperated, with a fiery look and purple face, had
stretched his body half out of the lodge, and leaned his contracted
hands on the lower half of the door, while the figures of Mrs.
Seraphin and Anastasia could be vaguely seen in the background, in the
semi-obscure light of the lodge.

"Learn, sir," cried Pipelet, "that I have no dealings with this
scoundrel Cabrion, and that of friendship still less than any other!"

"It is true; and you must be very queer, old noodle that you are to
come and ask such a question," cried Madame Pipelet, sharply, showing
her quarrelsome face over the shoulder of her husband.

"Madame!" said the man sententiously, falling back another step,
"notices are made to be read; you put them up, I read; I have the
right to do so, but you have no right to say such rude things."

"Rude things yourself, you beggarly wretch!" replied Anastasia,
showing her teeth. "You are a low-bred fellow. Alfred, your boot-tree,
till I take the length of his muzzle, to teach him to come and play
the Joe Miller at his age, old clown!"

"Insults when one comes to ask the meaning of a notice placed over
your own door? It shall not pass over in this way, madame!"

"But, sir!" cried the unhappy porter.

"But, sir," answered the quiz, pretending to be angry, "be as friendly
as you please with your Mr. Cabrion, but zounds! don't stick it in
large letters under the noses of the passers-by! I find myself under
the necessity of telling you that you are a pitiful wretch, and that I
shall go and make my complaint to the authorities!" and the quiz
departed in a great rage.

"Anastasia!" said Mr. Pipelet, in a sorrowful tone, "I shall not
survive this, I feel it; I am wounded to death. I have no hope of
escaping him. You see, my name is publicly stuck up alongside of this
wretch. He dares to say that I have a friendly trade with him, and the
public will believe it. I inform you--I say it--I communicate it; it
is monstrous, it is enormous it is an infernal idea: but it must
finish; the measure is full; either he or I must fall in this
struggle!" and, overcoming his habitual apathy, Pipelet, determined on
a vigorous resolution, seized the portrait of Cabrion, and rushed
toward the door.

"Where are you going to, Alfred?"

"To the commissary's. At the same time I am going to tear down this
infamous sign; then with this portrait and this sign in my hand, I
will cry to the commissary, 'Defend me! avenge me! deliver me from
Cabrion!'"

"Well said, old darling; stir yourself, shake yourself; if you cannot
get the sign down, ask the next door to help you, and lend you his
ladder."

"Rascally Cabrion! Oh, if I had him, and I could do it, I'd fry him on
my stove. I should like so much to see him suffer. Yes, people are
guillotined who do not deserve it as much as he does. The wretch! I
should like to see him on the scaffold, the villain!"

Alfred showed under these circumstances the most sublime equanimity.
Notwithstanding his great causes of revenge against Cabrion, he had
the generosity to feel sentiments akin to pity for him.

"No," said he; "no; even if I could, I would not ask for his head."

"As for me, I would. Go do it!" cried the ferocious Anastasia.

"No," replied Alfred; "I do not like blood; but I have a right to
claim the perpetual seclusion of this evil-doer; my repose requires
it; my health commands it; the law accords me this reparation;
otherwise, I leave la France--ma belle France! That is what they'll
gain!"

And Alfred, swallowed up in his grief, walked majestically out of the
lodge, like one of those imposing victims of ancient fatality.




CHAPTER XVIII.

CECILY.


Before we relate the conversation between Mrs. Seraphin and Mrs.
Pipelet, we will inform the reader that Anastasia, without suspecting
the least in the world the virtue and devotion of the notary, blamed
extremely the severity he had shown toward Louise Morel and Germain.
Naturally she included Mrs. Seraphin in her reprobation; but like a
skillful politician, for reasons which we will show by and by, she
concealed her feeling for the housekeeper under a most cordial
reception. After having formally disapproved of the unworthy conduct
of Cabrion, Mrs. Seraphin added, "What has become of M. Bradamanti
(Polidori)? Last night I wrote to him--no answer; this morning I came
to find him--no one. I hope this time I shall be more fortunate."

Mrs. Pipelet feigned to be very much vexed.

"Ah!" cried she, "you must have bad luck."

"How?"

"M. Bradamanti has not come in."

"It is insupportable!"

"It is vexing, my poor Mrs. Seraphin!"

"I have so much to say to him."

"It is just like fate."

"So much the more, as I have to invent so many pretexts for coming
here; for if M. Ferrand ever suspected that I knew a quack, he being
so devout and scrupulous, you can judge of the scene."

"Just like Alfred. He is so prudish, that he is startled at
everything." "And you do not know when Bradamanti will come in?"

"He made an appointment for six or seven o'clock in the evening, for
he told me to say to the person to call again if he had not returned.
Come back this evening, you will be sure to find him." Anastasia added
to herself: "You can count on this: in one hour he will be on the road
to Normandy."

"I will return then to-night," said Mrs. Seraphin, much annoyed; "but
I have something else to say to you, my dear Mrs. Pipelet. You know
what has happened to this wench of a Louise, whom every one thought so
virtuous?"

"Don't speak of it," answered Mrs. Pipelet, raising her eyes with
compunction, "it makes my hair stand on end."

"I want to tell you that we have no servant; and that if by chance you
should hear a girl spoken of, virtuous, hard-working, honest, you will
be very kind if you will address her to me. Good subjects are so
difficult to find, that one has to look on all sides for them."

"Be quite easy, Mrs. Seraphin. If I hear of any one, I will inform
you. Good places are as difficult to find as good subjects;" then she
added mentally, "Very likely I'd send you a poor girl to be starved to
death in your hovel! Your master is too miserly and too wicked--to
denounce, in one breath, poor Louise and poor M. Germain."

"I need not tell you," said Mrs. Seraphin, "how quiet our house is; a
girl gains much by getting there, and this Louise must have been an
incarnate imp to have turned out so bad, notwithstanding all the good
and holy advice M. Ferrand gave her."

"Certainly, so depend upon me; if I hear any one spoken of that I
think will answer, I will send them to you."

"There is one thing more," said Mrs. Seraphin; "M. Ferrand prefers
that this servant should have no family, because, you comprehend,
having no occasion to go out, she will run less risk; so, if by chance
she could be found, monsieur would prefer an orphan, I suppose; in the
first place, because it would be a good action, and then because,
having no friends, she would have no pretext to go out. This miserable
Louise is a good lesson for him, my poor Mrs. Pipelet! That's what
makes him so hard to please in the choice of a domestic. Such a
scandalous affair in a pious house like ours--how horrid! well,
goodbye; to-night, when I go to see M. Bradamanti, I'll call upon
Madame Burette."

"Good-bye, Mrs. Seraphin--you will certainly see him to-night."

Mrs. Seraphin took her departure.

"Isn't she crazy after Bradamanti!" said Mrs. Pipelet. "What can she
want with him? and wasn't he crazy for fear he should see her before
he left for Normandy? I was afraid she wouldn't go, as M. Bradamanti
expects the lady who came last night; I couldn't see her, but this
time I'll try to unmask her. But who can this lady of M. Bradamanti's
be? A lady or a common woman? I'd like to know, for I am as curious as
a magpie. It is not my fault--I'm made so. It is my character. Ah,
hold! an idea, a famous one too--to find out her name! I'll try it.
But who comes there? Ah! it is my prince of lodgers. Hail, Mr.
Rudolph," said Mrs. Pipelet, putting herself in the attitude of
carrying arms, the back of her left hand to her wig.

It was Rudolph, as yet ignorant of the death of M. d'Harville. "Good-day,
Madame Pipelet," said he on entering. "Is Mile. Rigolette at home?
I wish to speak to her."

"The poor little puss is always at home at her work! Does she ever
take a holiday?"

"And how is Morel's wife? Does she cheer up any?"

"Yes, Mr. Rudolph, many thanks to you, or to the protector of whom you
are the agent, she and her children are so happy now! They are like
fish _in_ water; they have fire, air, good beds, good food, a
nurse to take care of them, without reckoning little Rigolette, who
working like a little beaver, without appearing to, keeps them under
her eye? and, besides, a negro doctor has been to see them. Mr.
Rudolph, I said to myself, 'Ah! but this is the coalheaver doctor,
this black man; he can feel their pulse without soiling his hands!'
But never mind, color is skin deep; he seems to be a first-rate hand,
all the same. He ordered a potion for Madame Morel, which relieved her
at once."

"Poor woman, she must be very sad."

"Oh! yes, Mr. Rudolph, what else? her husband mad, and then her Louise
in prison. Louise is her heart's grief; for an honest family it is
terrible; and when I think that just now Mother Seraphin came here to
say such things about her. If I had not a gudgeon to make her swallow,
old Seraphin would not have got off so easy, but for a quarter of an
hour I gave her fair words. Didn't she have the brass to come and ask
me if I knew of any young body to take the place of Louise, at that
beggar of a notary's? Ain't he close and miserly? Just imagine, they
want an orphan, if she can be found. Do you know why, Mr. Rudolph?
Because she would never want to go out. But that is not it--trash, a
lie! The truth is, that they want to get hold of a girl who, having no
one to advise her, could be ground out of her wages at their pleasure.
Isn't it true?"

"Yes, yes," answered Rudolph, in a thoughtful manner.

Learning that Mrs. Seraphin sought an orphan to take the place of
Louise, Rudolph foresaw in this circumstance a means, perhaps certain
of obtaining the punishment of the notary. While Mrs. Pipelet was
speaking, he arranged in his mind the part a tool of his might play,
as a principal instrument in the just punishment which he wished to
inflict on the executioner of Louise Morel.

"I was sure you would think as I did," said Madame Pipelet; "yes, I
repeat it, and I would sooner die than send any one to them. Am I not
right, Mr. Rudolph?"

"Mrs. Pipelet, will you render me a great service?"

"Lord o' mercy! Mr. Rudolph, do you wish me to throw myself across the
fire, curl my wig with boiling oil? or would you prefer I should bite
some one? Speak, I am wholly yours! I and my heart are your slaves,
except--"

"Make yourself easy, Mrs. Pipelet; this is not what I mean. I want a
place for a young orphan. She is a stranger; she has never been at
Paris, and I wish to send her to M. Ferrand's."

"You suffocate me! How? In his barrack? to that Old miser's?"

"It is nevertheless a situation. If the girl should not like it, she
can leave; but, at least, she will for the time earn her living, and I
shall be easy on her account."

"Marry! Mr. Rudolph, it's your affair: you are warned. If,
notwithstanding, you find the place good, you are the master; and,
besides, I must be just--speaking of the notary--if there's something
against, there's also something for him. He is as miserly as a dog,
hard as an ass, bigoted as a sacristan, it is true; but he is as
honest as one can be. He gives small wages, but he pays like a man.
The food is bad. In fine, it is a house where one must work like a
horse, but where there is no risk of a young girl's reputation. Louise
was an exception."

"Madame Pipelet, I am going to confide a secret to your honor."

"On the faith of Anastasia Pipelet, whose maiden name was Galimard, as
true as there is a holiness in heaven, and Alfred wears only green
coats, I shall be as dumb as a fish."

"You must not say a word to Mr. Pipelet."

"I swear it on the head of my old darling! If the motive is honest."

"Oh, Mrs. Pipelet!"

"It is between ourselves, my prince of lodgers. Go on."

"The girl of whom I have spoken has committed a fault."

"I twig! If I had not at fifteen married Alfred, I should have perhaps
committed fifty-hundreds of faults! I, that you see--I was a regular
saltpeter mine unchained! Happily, Pipelet extinguished me in his
virtue; without that I should have committed follies. If your girl has
only committed one fault, there is yet some hope."

"I think so also. The girl was a servant in Germany, at one of my
relatives'; the son of this relative has been the accomplice of the
fault: you comprehend?"

"Whew! I comprehend-as if I had committed the _faux pas_ myself."

"The mother drove away the servant; but the young man was mad enough
to leave his paternal home, and bring this poor girl to Paris."

"Oh, these young folks--"

"After this came reflections--all the wiser as the money they had was
all gone. My young relative called upon me; I consented to give him
enough to return to his mother, but on condition that he should leave
this girl here, and I would endeavor to place her."

"I could not have done better for my own son, if Pipelet had been
pleased to grant me one."

"I am enchanted with your approbation; only as the young girl has no
recommendations, and is a stranger, it is very difficult to find a
place. If you would tell Mrs. Seraphin that one of your relations in
Germany had addressed and recommended this young girl to you, and the
notary would take her in his service, I should be doubly pleased.
Cecily--that is her name--having been only led astray, would be made
correct, certainly, in a house so strict as that of the notary. It is
for this reason I wish to see her enter the service of M. Ferrand. I
need not tell you that, presented by you--a person so respectable--"

"Oh! Mr. Rudolph--"

"So estimable--"

"Oh, my prince of lodgers-"

"She will be certainly accepted by Madame Seraphin; while, presented
by me--"

"Understood! It is as if I presented a young man. Oh, well! done! it
suits me. Stick old Seraphin! So much the better! I have a bone to
pick with her. I will answer for the affair, Mr. Rudolph! I'll make
her see stars at noon. I'll tell her I had a cousin, ever so long ago,
settle in Germany, one of the Galimards--my family name; that I have
just received the news that she is defunct, her husband also, and that
their daughter, now an orphan, will be on my hands immediately."

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