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The Mysteries of Paris V2

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"And what do you mean to do my neighbor?"

"Do? why, everything he asks, and as soon as possible. I should have
already been off, but for this work, which I must finish and take to
the Rue Saint Honore as I go to Germain's room to get the papers he
speaks of. I have passed a part of the night in working, so as to gain
some hours in advance. I am going to have so many things to do,
besides my work, that I must get in readiness. In the first place,
Madame Morel wishes me to see Louise in her prison? It is, perhaps,
very difficult, but I will try. Unfortunately, I do not know who to
address myself to."

"I have thought of that."

"You, my neighbor?"

"Here is a magistrate's order."

"What happiness! Can you not get me one also for the prison of this
unfortunate Germain? it will give him so much pleasure."

"I will give you, also, the means to see Germain."

"Oh, thank you, M. Rudolph."

"You are not afraid, then, to go to the prison?"

"Very certain my heart will beat the first time. But never mind. When
Germain was happy, did I not always find him ready to anticipate all
my wishes? To take me to the theater, or a walk? to read to me at
night? to assist me in arranging my flowers? to wax my floor? Well!
now he is in trouble, it is my turn; a poor little mouse like me can't
do much, I know; but all I can do I will do--he can count on it; he
shall see whether I am a good friend! M. Rudolph, there is one thing
that vexes me; it is his suspicion--he believes me capable of
despising him! I ask you why? This old miser of a notary accuses him
of theft; but what is that to me? I know it is not true. The letter of
Germain proves as clear as day that he is innocent, whom I should
never have thought guilty. Only to see him, to know him, shows he is
incapable of a wrong action. One must be as wicked as M. Ferrand to
maintain such false assertions."

"Bravo, neighbor, I like your indignation!"

"Oh! stop--I wish I was a man, to go see this notary, and say to him:
'Oh! you maintain that Germain has robbed you; well, look here, take
that, you old liar, he won't steal this from you.' And I'd beat him to
a mummy."

"You'd have very expeditious justice," said Rudolph, smiling at the
animation of Rigolette.

"It is so revolting; and, as Germain says in his letter, everybody
will take the master's part against him, because his master is rich,
and thought much of, while Germain is a poor young man without
protection; unless you come to his assistance, M. Rudolph, who know so
many benevolent persons. Can nothing be done?"

"He must wait for his trial. Once acquitted, as I think he will be,
numerous proofs of interest will be shown him, I assure you. But
listen, my neighbor. I know from experience that I can count on your
discretion."

"Oh, yes, M. Rudolph. I have never been a babbler."

"Well, no one must know, even Germain himself must be ignorant that he
has friends who are watching over him, for he has friends."

"Really."

"Very powerful and very devoted."

"It would give him so much courage to know it."

"Doubtless; but perhaps he could not keep the secret. Then, M.
Ferrand, alarmed, would be on his guard, his suspicions aroused; and
as he is very cunning, he would make it difficult to get at him; which
would be lamentable, for not only must the innocence of Germain be
proved, but his calumniator unmasked."

"I understand you, M. Rudolph."

"Just so with Louise; I bring you this permission to see her, so that
you can tell her not to speak to any one of what she had revealed to
me. She will know what this means."

"That is sufficient, M. Rudolph."

"In a word, Louise must be careful not to complain in her prison of
the conduct of her master; it is very important. But she must conceal
nothing from the lawyer who will be sent by me to prepare for her
defense; recommend all this to her."

"Be quite easy, neighbor; I will forget nothing. I have a good memory.
But I speak of kindness, when it is you who are good and generous! If
any one's in trouble, you are there at once!"

"I have told you, neighbor, I am only a poor clerk. When, in roving
about, I find good people who deserve protection, I inform a
benevolent person who has all confidence in me, and they are
assisted."

"Where do you lodge, now that you have given up your room to the
Morels?"

"I lodge--in furnished lodgings."

"Oh, how I detest that. To be where everybody else has been--it is as
if everybody had been in your own room."

"I am only there at night, and then--"

"I conceive--it is less disagreeable. My home, M. Rudolph, rendered me
so happy; I had arranged a life so tranquil, that I should not have
believed it possible to have a sorrow. Yet you see! No, I cannot tell
you what a blow the misfortunes of Germain have caused me. I have seen
the Morels and others--much to be pitied, it is true; but misery is
misery. Among poor folks they expect it; it does not surprise them,
and they help one another as they can. But to see a poor young man,
honest, and good, who has been your friend for a long time, accused of
theft, and imprisoned pell-mell with rogues and cut-throats! Oh, M.
Rudolph! it is true I have no strength against this; it is a
misfortune I have never thought of; it upsets me."

Rigolette's large eyes filled with tears.

"Courage, courage! your gayety will return when your friend is
acquitted."

"Oh, he must be acquitted! They will only have to read to the judges
the letter which he has written me--that will be enough, will it not,
M. Rudolph?"

"In reality, this simple and touching letter has all the marks of
truth. You must let me take a copy; it will be useful in his defense."

"Certainly, M. Rudolph. If I did not write like a real cat, in spite
of the lessons Germain gave me, I should propose to copy it for you;
but my writing is so coarse, so crooked, and besides, there are so
many--so many faults."

"I only ask you to lend me this letter until tomorrow."

"There it is, neighbor; but you will take good care of it? I have
burned all the _billets doux_ which M. Cabrion and M. Girandeau
wrote me at the commencement of our acquaintance, with bleeding hearts
and doves on the top of the paper; but this poor letter of Germain, I
will take good care of; it and others also, if he writes them. For, in
truth M. Rudolph, it is a proof in my favor that he asks these little
services."

"Without doubt it proves that you are the best little friend that one
can have. But I reflect--instead of going by and by alone to M.
Germain's, shall I accompany you?"

"With pleasure, neighbor. Night approaches, and I prefer not to be
alone in the streets after dark, especially as I have to go near the
Palais Royal. But to go so far will be tiresome and fatiguing to you,
perhaps?"

"Not at all; we will take a hack."

"Really! Oh, how it would amuse me to go in a carriage, if I had not
so much sorrow. And I must have sorrow, for this is the first day
since I lived here that I have not sung. My birds are all astonished.
Poor little things! they do not know what it means; two or three times
Papa Cretu has sung a little to entice me. I wished to amuse him; but
after a moment I began to weep; Ramonette then tried, but I could
answer no more."

[Illustration: MENACED IN PRISON]

"What singular names you have given your birds--Papa Cretu, Ramonette?"

"M. Rudolph, my birds are the joy of my solitude; they are my best
friends. I have given them the names of good people who were the joy
of my childhood, my best friends. Without reckoning, to finish the
resemblance, that Papa Cretu and Ramonette were as gay and tuneful as
the birds of heaven. My adopted parents were thus called. They are
ridiculous names for birds, I know; but it only concerns me. Now, it
was on this very subject that I saw Germain had a good heart."

"He had, eh?"

"Certainly; M. Girandeau and M. Cabrion--M. Cabrion, above all--were
forever making jokes on the names of my birds. 'To call a canary Papa
Cretu, did you ever?' M. Cabrion never finished, and then he would
laugh--such laughs. 'If it were a cock,' said he, 'very well, you I
might call it Cretu (combed). It is the same with the other one;
Ramonette sounds too much like Ramoneur (chimney sweep).' At length he
made me so angry that I would not go out with him for two Sundays,
just to teach him; and I told him, very seriously, that if he
recommenced his jokes, which were unpleasant to me, we should never go
out together again."

"What a courageous resolution!"

"It cost me a good deal, M. Rudolph--I looked so eagerly for my Sunday
excursions. I had a sorrowful heart, I tell you, to remain home all
alone of a fine day; but never mind, I preferred rather to sacrifice
my Sunday than to continue to hear M. Cabrion make fun of what I
respected. Except for this, and the ideas attached to it, I would have
preferred to give other names to my birds. There is, above all, one
name I should have loved to adoration--Humming-Bird. Well, I cannot do
it, because I never shall call my birds otherwise than Cretu and
Ramonette; it would seem to me that I sacrificed them, that I forgot
my kind adopted parents-wouldn't it, M. Rudolph?"

"You are right-a thousand times right. Germain did not make fun of
these names?"

"On the contrary; only the first time it appeared droll to him, as to
every one else--it is very simple; but when I explained my reasons, as
I had explained them to M. Cabrion, the tears came into his eyes. From
that day I said, `M. Germain has a kind heart; he has nothing against
him but his sadness.' And do you see, M. Rudolph, that he has brought
me misfortune to reproach him for his sadness. Then I did not
comprehend how one could be sad. Now I comprehend it but too well. But
now my work is finished, will you give me my shawl, neighbor It is not
cold enough for a cloak, is it?"

"We shall go in a carriage, and I will bring you back."

"It is true, we shall go and return quicker; it will be so much time
gained."

"But, on reflection, how are you going to manage? Your work will
suffer from your visit to the prisons?"

"Oh no, no! I have laid my plans. In the first place, I have my
Sundays; I will go and see Louise and Germain on these days--it will
serve me for a walk and recreation; then, in the week, I shall go to
the prison once or twice; each time will cost me three good hours a
day. Well, to make up for this, I will work one hour more each day,
and I will go to bed at twelve o'clock instead of eleven; that will
give me a clear gain of seven or eight hours each week, which I can
use in going to see Louise and Germain. You see, I am richer than I
appear to be," added Rigolette, smiling.

"And do you not fear this will fatigue you?"

"Bah! I can do it--one can do anything; and, besides, it will not last
forever."

"Here is your shawl, neighbor. I shall not be so indiscreet as to
bring my lips too close to this charming neck."

"Oh, neighbor! take care, you prick me."

"Come, the pin is crooked."

"Well, take another--there, on the pincushion. Oh, I forget! Will you
do me a favor, neighbor?"

"Command, neighbor."

"Make me a good pen, very coarse, so that I can, on my return, write
to poor Germain that his commissions are executed. He shall have my
letter to-morrow morning early."

"And where are your pens?"

"There, on the table; the knife is in the drawer. Stop, I am going to
light my candle, for it grows quite dark."

"I shall want it to mend the pen."

"And, besides, I can't see to tie my bonnet."

Rigolette took a match, and lit an end of candle, which was in a very
shining candlestick.

"Dear me! wax candle, neighbor--what luxury!"

"The little I burn costs me a trifle more than a tallow candle, but it
is so much neater."

"Not much dearer?"

"Oh, no. I buy these ends of candles by the pound, and a half-pound
serves me a month."

"But," said Rudolph, mending the pen carefully, while the grisette
tied her bonnet before the glass, "I see no preparations for your
dinner."

"I haven't a shadow of hunger. I took a cup of milk this morning; I
will take another to-night, with a little bread! I shall have enough."

"Will you not come and eat dinner with me when we come away from
Germain's?"

"I thank you, neighbor; I have my heart too full; another time with
pleasure. What do you say to the evening of the day that poor Germain
comes out of prison? I invite myself, and afterward we will go to the
play. Is it agreed?"

"It is, neighbor; I assure you that I shall not forget this
engagement. But to-day you refuse me?"

"Yes, M. Rudolph; I should be too stupid to-day; besides, it would
take up too much time. Only think--it is now, if ever, that I must not
be lazy."

"Come, I will give up this pleasure for to-day."

"Here, take my bundle, neighbor; go before, I will shut the door."

"Here is an excellent pen--now, your bundle."

"Take care you don't tumble it--it is poult de soie--it shows the
folds--hold it in your hand--that way--lightly. Well, pass on, I will
light you."

Rudolph descended, preceded by Rigolette. As they passed the lodge
they saw Pipelet, who, with his arms hanging down, advanced toward
them from the bottom of the alley. In one hand he held the sign, which
announced to the public that he would "deal in friendship" with
Cabrion; and in the other, the portrait of the infernal painter.

The despair of Alfred was so overwhelming that his chin rested on his
breast, and nothing could be seen but the top of his hat. On seeing
him approach, with his head down, toward Rudolph and Rigolette, one
would have said it was a goat or a negro butt preparing for combat.
Anastasia appeared on the threshold, and cried at the sight of her
husband. "Well, old darling! here you are, hey? What did the
commissary say to you? Alfred, pay attention; now you are going to
poke yourself against my prince of lodgers. Who has stolen your eyes?
Pardon, M. Rudolph; that beggar Cabrion stupefies him more and more--
he certainly will make him turn to a jackass, my poor love! Alfred,
answer!"

At this voice, so dear to his heart, Pipelet raised his head; his
features were imprinted with a melancholy bitterness.

"What did the commissary say to you?" repeated Anastasia.

"Anastasia, we must collect the little that we possess, clasp our
friends in our arms, pack our trunks, and expatriate ourselves from
France-from my 'belle France!'-for, sure now of impunity, the monster
is capable of pursuing me everywhere."

"Then, the commissary!"

"The commissary!" cried Pipelet, with savage indignation; "the
commissary laughed in my face."

"Your face! an aged man, who has so respectable an air, that you'd
look as stupid as a goose if one did not know your virtues."

"Well, notwithstanding that, when I had respectfully deposed before
him my heap of complaints and griefs against this infernal Cabrion,
this magistrate, after looking at and laughing--yes, laughing--I say,
laughing indecently--over the sign and portrait which I produced as
justificatory of my complaint, replied, 'My good man, this Cabrion is
a funny fellow--a jester--pay no attention to his jokes. I advise you
now, in a friendly manner, to laugh at them, for really there is
cause.' 'To laugh!' cried I; 'to laugh! but grief is devouring me--my
existence is imbittered by those scoundrels--they pester me--they will
cause me to lose my reason--I demand that they be locked up--exiled,
at least from my street.' At these words the commissary smiled, and
obligingly showed me the door. I understood this gesture of the
magistrate, and here I am."

"Magistrate of nothing at all!" cried Mrs. Pipelet.

"All is finished! Anastasia, all is finished! No more hope! There is
no longer any justice in France! I am atrociously sacrificed!" and by
way of peroration, Pipelet threw, with all his strength, the portrait
and sign to the end of the alley. Rudolph and Rigolette had, in the
obscurity, slightly smiled at Pipelet's despair. After having
addressed some words of consolation to Alfred, whom Anastasia was
calming in the best way she could, the "prince of lodgers" left the
house of the Rue du Temple with Rigolette, and got into a hackney
coach to go to the residence of Francois Germain.




CHAPTER XX.

THE WILL.


Francois Germain lived on the Boulevard Saint Denis, No. 11. During
the long ride from the Rue du Temple to the Rue Saint Honore, where
the woman lived who supplied Rigolette with work, Rudolph was able to
appreciate still more the girl's excellent feelings. Like all
characters instinctively good and devoted, she was not conscious of
the delicacy and generosity of her conduct, which seemed to her quite
natural.

Nothing would have been easier for Rudolph than to have made a liberal
provision for Rigolette, as well for her present wants as the future,
so that she could have gone charitably to console Louise and Germain,
without counting the time she lost in these visits from her work, her
only resource; but the prince feared to weaken the merit of the
grisette's devotion in rendering it too easy; quite decided to
recompense the rare and charming qualities which he had discovered in
her, he wished to follow her to the end of this new and interesting
trial. At the end of an hour the carriage, on its return from her Rue
Saint Honore, stopped on the Boulevard Saint Denis, No. 11, before a
house of modest appearance.

Rudolph assisted Rigolette to alight; she entered the porter's lodge
and communicated to him the intentions of Germain, without forgetting
the promised gratuity. From his amenity of disposition, the clerk was
everywhere loved. The _confrere_ of Pipelet was much concerned to
learn that the house should lose so honest and quiet a lodger: such
were his expressions. The grisette, furnished with a light, rejoined
her companion; the porter was to follow, after a little while, to
receive instructions. The chamber of Germain was on the fourth story.
On arriving at the door, Rigolette said to Rudolph, giving him the
key, "Here, neighbor, open--my hand trembles too much. You will laugh
at me; but, in thinking that poor Germain will never return here, it
seems to me I am about to enter a chamber of the dead."

"Come, be reasonable now, neighbor--have no such ideas!"

"I was wrong, but it was stronger than I;" and she wiped away a tear.

Without being as much moved as his companion, Rudolph nevertheless
experienced a painful impression on entering the modest apartment. He
knew that the unfortunate young man must have passed many sad hours
in this solitude. Rigolette placed the light on a table. Nothing could be
more plain than the furniture of this sleeping-room, composed of a
bed, a chest of drawers, a secretary of black walnut, four straw-bottomed
chairs, and a table; white cotton curtains covered the windows and the
bed recess; the only ornaments on the mantelpiece were a decanter
and a glass. From the appearance of the bed, which was made, it
could be seen that Germain had thrown himself upon it without taking
off his clothes the night preceding his arrest.

"Poor fellow," said Rigolette, sadly, examining, with interest, the
interior of the chamber: "it is easy to see that lie no longer has me
for a neighbor. It is in order, but not neat; there is dust
everywhere, the curtains are smoked, the windows are dirty, the floor
is not washed. Oh! what a difference! Rue du Temple was not handsome,
but it was more gay, because everything shone with neatness, like my
own room."

"It was because you were there, to give your advice."

"But see, now," cried Rigolette, showing the bed, "he did not go to
rest the other night, so much was he disturbed. Look here! his
handkerchief, which he has left, has been steeped in tears. That is
plain to be seen;" and she took it, adding, "Germain has kept a little
orange silk cravat of mine, which I gave him when we were happy; I am
sure he will not be angry."

"On the contrary, he will be very happy at this proof of your
affection."

"Now let us think of serious matters; I will make a package of linen,
which I shall find in the drawers, to take to him in prison; Mother
Bouvard, whom I shall send here to-morrow, will manage the rest.
First, however, I'll open the secretary and take out the papers and
money which M. Germain begged me keep for him."

"But while I think of it," said Rudolph, "Louise Morel gave me,
yesterday, one thousand three hundred francs in gold, which Germain
had given her to pay the debt of her father, which I had already done;
I have this money; it belongs to Germain, since he has paid back the
notary; I will give it to you; you can add it to the rest."

"As you please, M. Rudolph; yet I would rather not have so large a sum
with me at home, there are so many robbers nowadays. Papers are very
well--there is nothing to fear; but money is dangerous."

"Perhaps you are right, neighbor; shall I take charge of this sum? If
Germain has need of anything, you must let me know at once. I will
leave you my address, and I will send you what he wants."

"I should not have dared to ask this service from you; it will be much
better, neighbor. I will give you also the money I shall receive from
the sale of his effects. Let us see the papers," said the girl,
opening the secretary and several drawers. "Ah, it is probably this.
Here is a large envelope. Oh, my gracious! look here, M. Rudolph, how
sad it is what's written on this." And she read, in a faltering tone:

"In case I should die a violent death, or otherwise, I beg the person
who should open this secretary to carry these papers to Mlle.
Rigolette, seamstress, Rue du Temple, No. 17."

"Can I break the seal, M. Rudolph?"

"Doubtless; does he not say that among these papers there is one
particularly addressed to you?"

The girl broke the seal. Several papers were inclosed; one of them,
bearing the superscription, "_To Mademoiselle Rigolette_"
contained these words: "Mademoiselle--When you read this letter, I
shall no longer exist. If, as I fear, I die a violent death, in
falling a victim to willful murder, some information, under the title
of _Notes of my Life_ may give a clew to my assassins."

"Ah! M. Rudolph," said Rigolette, "I am no longer astonished that he
was so sad. Poor Germain! always pursued by such ideas!"

"Yes; he must have been much afflicted. But his worst days are over,
believe me."

"I hope so, M. Rudolph. But, however, to be in prison, accused of
robbery!"

"Be comforted. Once his innocence recognized, instead of falling into
an isolated state, he will find friends. You, in the first place; then
a beloved mother, from whom he has been separated since his
childhood."

"His mother! He has still a mother?"

"Yes. She thinks him lost to her. Judge of her joy when she will see
him again. Do not speak to him of his mother. I confide this secret to
you, because you interest yourself so generously in his favor."

"I thank you, M. Rudolph; you may be assured I will keep your secret,"
and Rigolette continued the reading of the letter:

"If you will, mademoiselle, look over these notes, you will see that I
have been all my life very unhappy, except during the time I passed
with you. What I should never have dared to tell you, you will find
written here, entitled '_My sole days of happiness._'

"Almost every evening, on leaving you, I thus poured out the consoling
thoughts that your affection inspired, and which alone tempered the
bitterness of my life. What was friendship when with you, became love
when absent from you. I have concealed this until this moment, when I
shall be no more for you than perhaps a sad souvenir. My destiny was
so unhappy, that I should never have spoken to you of this sentiment;
although sincere and profound, it would only have made you unhappy.

"One wish alone remains to be fulfilled, and I hope that you will
accomplish it. I have seen with what admirable courage you work, and
how much method and economy was necessary for you to live on the small
amount you earn so industriously. Often, without telling, you, I have
trembled in thinking that a malady, caused, perhaps, by excess of
labor, might reduce you to a situation so frightful that I could not
even think of it without alarm. It is very grateful to me to think
that I can at least spare you the horrors, and, perhaps, in a great
degree, the miseries, which you, in the thoughtlessness of youth, do
not foresee, happily."

"What does he mean, M. Rudolph?" said Rigolette, astonished.

"Continue, we shall see."

"I know on how little you can live, and what a resource the smallest
sum would be to you in a time of difficulty. I am very poor, but, by
economy, I have set aside one thousand five hundred francs, deposited
at a banker's; it is all that I possess. By my will, which you will
find here, I bequeath it to you; accept it from a friend, a good
brother, who is no more."

"Oh! M. Rudolph," said Rigolette, bursting into tears, and giving the
letter to the prince, "this gives me too much pain. Good Germain, thus
to think of me! Oh! what a heart! what an excellent heart!"

"Worthy and good young man!" replied Rudolph, with emotion. "But calm
yourself, my child. Germain is not dead; this anticipation will only
serve as a witness of his love for you."

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