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The Mysteries of Paris V2

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The diamonds and rubies confided to the wife of the artisan were the
same day given to Mrs. Mathieu, the broker, who came to get them.
Unfortunately, this woman was watched and followed by Tortillard, who
knew the value of the pretended false jewels, from a conversation he
had overheard when Morel was arrested by the bailiffs. The son of
Bras-Rouge (Red Arm) ascertained that she lived at No. 11 Boulevard
Saint Denis.

Miss Dimpleton informed Mrs. Morel, with much tact, of the lunacy of
her husband and the imprisonment of Louise. At first she wept much,
uttering sorrowful cries. Then, the first spasms of grief over, the
poor creature, weak and unsettled, consoled herself by degrees in
seeing herself and children surrounded by comforts which they owed to
the generosity of their benefactor.

Rudolph's thoughts were bitter in thinking of the revelations of
Louise.




CHAPTER V.

JACQUES FERRAND.


At the time when the events passed which we relate, at one of the
extremities of the Rue du Sentier could have been seen a long wall,
much cracked, and covered with a coating of plaster, the top protected
with pieces of broken glass. This wall, forming the boundary on this
side of the garden of Jacques Ferrand, the notary, extended to a
building situated on the street, of only one story and a garret. Two
large brass plates, the sign of the notary's office, flanked the
worm-eaten gate, the primitive appearance of which was no longer to be
distinguished under the mud which covered it. This door led to a
covered passage; on the right was the lodge of an old porter, half
deaf, who was to the fraternity of tailors what Pipelet was to the
boot-maker; on the left a stable, which served the purposes of a
cellar, wash-house, wood-house, and of a growing colony of rabbits,
lodged in a manger by the porter, who consoled himself from the pangs
of a recent bereavement, in the death of his wife, by raising these
domestic animals.

Alongside the lodge was the crooked, narrow, and obscure staircase,
leading to the office, as the clients were informed by a hand painted
black, the forefinger pointing to these words on the wall "Office--
Second Floor." On one side of a large paved court, overgrown with
grass, were to be seen the unoccupied carriage-houses, on the other, a
rusty iron railing, which inclosed the garden; at the end the
pavillion, where the notary alone dwelt.

A flight of eight or ten steps of tottering, disjointed stones,
covered with moss and worn by time, led to this house, composed of a
kitchen, and other offices under ground, two floors and an attic,
where Louise had slept.

This pavilion appeared also in a great state of decay; immense cracks
were to be seen in the walls; the windows and blinds, once painted
gray, had become with age almost black; the six windows of the first
story, looking upon the court, had no curtains; the glasses were
almost incrusted with dirt; on the ground floor they were rather
cleaner, and were hung with faded yellow curtains, red-flowered. On
the side toward the garden the pavilion had but four windows; two were
walled up.

This garden, overgrown with wild briers, seemed abandoned; not a
single border, not a bed; a cluster of elms, five or six large trees,
some acacias and alders, a yellow grass-plot, walks encumbered with
brambles, and bounded by a high wall. Such was the sad aspect of the
garden and habitation.

To this appearance, or rather to this reality, Ferrand attached great
importance. To vulgar eyes, a carelessness of comfort and prosperity
passes almost always for disinterestedness; uncleanliness for
austerity.

Comparing the grand financial luxury of some notaries, or the reported
toilets of their wives, to the gloomy mansion of M. Ferrand, so
contemptuous of elegance and splendor, the clients felt a kind of
respect, or, rather, of blind confidence for this man, who, from the
number of his employers and the fortune he was supposed to possess,
could have said, like many of his brethren, "My equipage, my
country-house, my opera-box," etc., and who, far from that, lived with
great economy; thus deposits, legacies on trust, investments, all those
affairs in fine which depend upon the most tried integrity, or the
most perfect good faith, flowed into the hands of Ferrand. In living
as he did, the notary consulted his taste. He detested society, pomp,
pleasures dearly bought; had it been otherwise, he would have, without
hesitation, sacrificed his most lively wishes to the appearances which
it was important to give himself. Some words on the character of this
man. He was a son of the grand family of misers. Avarice is, above
all, a negative, passive passion. Yet Jacques Ferrand risked, and
risked much.

He counted on his cunning--it was extreme; on his hypocrisy--it was
profound; on his understanding--it was fertile and pliable; on his
audacity--it was infernal--to assure impunity to his crimes, and they
were already numerous.

One single passion, or rather appetite, but most disgraceful, ignoble,
shameful, but almost ferocious, raised him often to frenzy--lust.

Save this weakness, Jacques Ferrand loved but gold He loved gold for
the sake of gold.

Not for the enjoyments it procured; he was stoical.

Notwithstanding his great cunning, this man had committed two or three
errors which the most crafty criminals hardly ever escape from.

Forced by circumstances, it is true, he had two accomplices: this
great fault, as he said himself, had been repaired in part; neither of
his accomplices could betray him without betraying themselves; nor
could any advantage be derived from their denouncing the notary and
themselves to public vindictiveness. He was therefore on this head
quite at rest.

Some words now on the personal appearance of Ferrand, and we will
introduce the reader into the notary's study, where he will find out
the principal personages. Ferrand had passed his fiftieth year. He did
not appear more than forty; he was of medium size, round-shouldered,
square-built, strong, thick-set, red-haired, shaggy as a bear. His
hair lay smooth on his temples, the top of his head was bald, his
eyebrows hardly to be perceived; his bilious-looking skin was covered
with large freckles; but when any lively emotion agitated it, this
yellow, clayey visage filled with blood, and became a livid red.

His face was as flat as a death's-head, his nose crushed down, his
lips so thin, so imperceptible, that his mouth seemed cut in his face;
when he smiled in a wicked and sinister manner, the ends of his teeth
could be seen, black and decayed. Closely shaved to his temples, this
man's countenance had an expression austere, sanctified, impassible,
rigid, cold and reflecting; his little black eyes--quick, piercing,
restless,--were hidden by large green spectacles.

Jacques Ferrand had excellent sight, but under the shelter of his
spectacles he had great advantages, observing without being observed;
he knew how much a glance of the eye is often and involuntarily
significant. In spite of his imperturbable audacity, he had
encountered, two or three times in his life, certain powerful looks,
before which he had been forced to quail. Now, in some circumstances,
it is fatal to cast down your eye before the man who interrogates,
accuses, or judges you. The large spectacles of Ferrand were therefore
a kind of covered breastwork, from whence he could attentively examine
the maneuvers of the enemy; for many such he had to encounter, because
many found themselves more or less his dupes.

He affected in his dress a negligence which reached to uncleanliness,
or, rather, it was naturally rusty and mean. His face, shaved but once
in two or three days, his dirty bald head, his black nails, old
snuff-colored-coats, greasy hats, threadbare cravats, black woolen hose,
and coarse shoes, recommended him singularly to his clients, by giving him
an air of detachment from the world, and a perfume of practical
philosophy, which charmed them. "To what pleasures--what passions--
could the notary," said they, "sacrifice the confidence which was
shown him? He gained, perhaps, sixty thousand francs a year, and his
household was composed of a servant and an old housekeeper; his sole
pleasure was to go every Sunday to mass and vespers; he knew no opera
comparable to the solemn sounds of the organ, no company which could
equal an evening passed at his fireside with the parish priest, after
a frugal dinner. Finally, he placed his delight in his probity, his
pride in his honor, his happiness in his religion."

Such was the opinion of many concerning Jacques Ferrand, this good and
excellent man.




CHAPTER VI.

THE OFFICE.


His office resembled all offices, his clerks all other clerks. It was
reached by an ante-chamber, furnished with four old chairs. In the
office, properly so called, surrounded by shelves furnished with paper
boxes, containing documents belonging to the clients of the notary,
five young men, bending over desks of black wood, laughed, talked, or
scribbled incessantly. An adjoining room, in which usually remained
the head clerk, then an empty room, which, for the sake of secrecy,
separated the notary's sanctum from the other offices, such was this
laboratory of all kinds and sorts. Two o'clock had just struck by an
old cuckoo clock, placed between the two windows of the office;
agitation seemed to reign among the clerks, which some fragments of
their conversation will explain.

"Certainly, if any one had told me that Francois Germain was a thief,"
said one of the young men, "I should have answered, `You are a liar!'"

"And I!"

"And I also!"

"I! It produced such an effect on me to see him arrested and taken
away by the guard that I could not eat my breakfast. I was
recompensed, however, for it spared me from eating the daily mess of
Mother Seraphin."

"Seventeen thousand francs--it is a sum!"

"A famous sum!"

"And to think that for seventeen months, since he has been cashier, he
never has been wanting a centime in his cash account!"

"As for me, I think master was wrong to arrest Germain, since the poor
fellow swore that he had only taken thirteen hundred francs in gold."

"Yes. And so much the more, that he brought back the amount this
morning at the moment the master had sent for the guard!"

"That is the consequence of being of such a rigid probity as master.
Such people are always without pity."

"Never mind; one ought always to think twice before ruining a poor
young man who always conducted himself well until now."

"M. Ferrand would reply to that, 'It was for the sake of example.'"

"Example of what? It is of no use to those who are honest; and those
who are not, know well enough that they are likely to be discovered if
they steal."

"This house is, however, a good customer for the officer."

"How?"

"Why, this morning poor Louise; just now Germain."

"As for me, the affair of Germain don't appear too clear."

"But he has acknowledged it!"

"He confessed that he had taken thirteen hundred francs--yes; but he
maintained that he had not taken the remaining fifteen thousand francs
in bank bills, and the remaining seven hundred francs that were
missing."

"Exactly; since he acknowledged one thing, why not the other?"

"It is true, one is as much punished for five hundred as for fifteen
thousand francs.".

"Yes; but one keeps the fifteen thousand francs, and on coming out of
prison, that makes a nice little establishment, a rogue would say."

"Not so bad."

"One may well say there is something in that."

"And Germain, who always defended master when we called him a Jesuit!"

"It is nevertheless true. 'Why hasn't master a right to go to mass?'
he would say: 'you have the right to stay away.'"

"Stop, here is Chalomel; now he will be astonished!"

"About what! what! My good fellow, is there anything new concerning
poor Louise?"

"You would have known, lazybones, if you hadn't been absent so long."

"Hold; you think it is only a hop, skip, and a jump from here to the
Rue de Chaillot."

"Well; this famous Viscount de Saint Remy?"

"Has he not come yet?"

"No."

"His carriage was all ready, and his valet told me that he would come
at once; but he did not appear pleased, the domestic said. Oh! that is
a fine hotel; one might say it had belonged to the lords of the olden
time, as are spoken of in Faublas. Oh! Faublas! he is my hero, my
model!" said Chalomel, putting away his umbrella and taking off his
overshoes.

"I believe that this viscount is in debt, and there are writs out
against him."

"A writ for thirty-four thousand francs, which has been sent here,
since it is here he must come to pay it; the creditor prefers it, why,
I know not."

"He must be able to pay it now, because he returned last night from
the country, where he has been concealed for three days to escape the
bailiffs."

"But why did they not levy on his furniture?"

"He is not such an ass! The house is not his; the furniture is in the
name of his valet, who is looked upon as hiring him furnished
lodgings, in the same way that his horses and carriages are in the
name of his coachman, who says he lets them out to the viscount at so
much per month. Oh! he is cunning, this Viscount de Saint Remy. But
what is that you were talking about? Has anything new happened here?"

"Just imagine--about two hours since, master came in here like a
madman: 'Germain is not here?' cried he. 'No, sir.' 'Well! the
scoundrel has robbed me, last night, of seventeen thousand francs!'
continued the governor."

"Germain steal! Come, come, draw it mild."

"You shall see. 'How sir! are you sure? It is not possible!' we all
cried.

"'I tell you, gentlemen, that I put yesterday in the desk where he
works fifteen notes of a thousand francs, besides two thousand francs
in gold in a small box; all has disappeared.' At this moment Marriton,
the porter, came in and said, 'The guard is coming.'"

"And Germain?"

"Stop a moment. The governor said to the porter. 'As soon as Germain
comes, send him here, without telling him anything. I wish to confound
him before you, gentlemen,' continued the governor. At the end of
fifteen minutes poor Germain arrived, as if nothing was the matter.
Mother Seraphin came to bring us our breakfast; she saluted the
governor, and said good-day to us very tranquilly. 'Germain, do you
not breakfast?' said M. Ferrand. 'No, sir, I am not hungry, I thank
you.' 'You come very late!' 'Yes, sir, I have been to Belleville this
morning.' 'To conceal, doubtless the money you have stolen from me,'
cried M. Ferrand with a terrible voice."

"And Germain?"

"Oh! the poor boy became as pale as death, stammering, 'Sir, I beg
you, do not ruin me."

"He had stolen?"

"Now, do wait, Chalomel. 'Do not ruin me,' said he to the governor.
'You acknowledge then, wretch?' 'Yes, sir; but here is the money that
is wanting. I thought I should be able to return it this morning
before you were up; unfortunately, a friend, who had a small sum of
mine, and whom I thought to find at home last night, had been at
Belleville for two days. I was obliged to go there this morning, which
has caused my delay. Pardon me, sir, do not ruin me! In taking this
money, I knew I could return it this morning. Here are the thirteen
hundred francs in gold.' 'You have robbed me of fifteen notes of one
thousand francs each, that were in a green book, and two thousand
francs in gold!' 'I! never!' cried poor Germain. 'I took the thirteen
hundred francs, but not one penny more. I have seen no pocket-book in
the drawer; there was only two thousand francs in gold in a box.' 'Oh!
the infamous liar!' cried the master. 'You have stolen thirteen
hundred francs, you could well steal more; justice will decide. Oh! I
shall be without pity for such a frightful breach of confidence. It
will be an example.' Finally, the guard arrived with an officer to
make out a commitment; they carried him off, and that's all!"

"Can it be possible? Germain, the cream of honest people!"

"It has appeared to us quite as singular."

"After all, it must be confessed, Germain was reserved; he never would
tell where he lived."

"That is true."

"He always had a mysterious air"

"That's no reason why he should steal the money."

"Doubtless. It is a remark I make."

"Ah! well, this is news! It is as if some one had given me a stunner
on the head--Germain--who looked so honest; who would have died
without confession!"

"One would have said that he had a presentiment of his misfortune."

"Why?"

"For some time past he looked as if something troubled him."

"It was, perhaps, concerning Louise."

"Louise?"

"Oh! I only repeat what Mother Seraphin said this morning,"

"What?"

"That he was the lover of Louise, and the--"

"Oh! the cunning fellow."

"Stop, stop, stop!"

"Bah!"

"It is not true!"

"How do you know that, Chalomel?"

"It is not two weeks since, that Germain told me, in confidence, that
he was dead in love with a little sewing girl, whom he had known in
the house where he lived; he had tears in his eyes when he spoke to me
about her."

"Oh!"

"He says that Faublas is his hero, and yet he is simple enough, stupid
enough, not to comprehend that one can be in love with one and the
love of another."

"I tell you that Germain spoke seriously."

At this moment the chief clerk entered the office.

"Well," said he. "Chalomel, have you finished all your errands?"

"Yes, M. Dubois, I have been to M. de Saint Remy: he will be here
shortly to pay."

"And to Countess M'Gregor?"

"Likewise; here is the answer."

"And to Countess d'Orbigny?"

"She is much obliged; she arrived yesterday from Normandy, she did not
expect an answer so soon; here is her letter. I have also been to the
Marquis d'Harville's steward, as he required, for the charges of the
contract I signed the other day at the hotel."

"You told him that it was not pressing?"

"Yes, but he would pay it. There is the money. Ah! I forgot that this
card was here, below, at the porter's; the words in pencil written
underneath by the porter; this gentleman asked for M. Ferrand; he left
this."

"'WALTER MURPHY,'" read the chief clerk; and then in pencil, "'_Will
return at three o'clock on important business_.' I do not know this
name."

"Oh! I forgot," continued Chalomel; "M. Badinot said it was all right,
that M. Ferrand should do as he pleased; that would be always right."

"He did not give a written answer?"

"No, sir, he said he hadn't time."

"Very well."

"M. Charles Robert will also come in the course of the day to speak to
the governor; it appears he fought a duel yesterday with the Duke of
Lucenay."

"Is he wounded?"

"I believe not, or they would have told me of it at his house."

"Look! here is a carriage stopping."

"Oh! the fine horses, are they not mettlesome."

"And the fat English coachman, with his white wig and brown livery,
with silver lace and epaulets like a colonel!"

"An embassador, surely."

"And the chasseur, has not he enough silver lace?"

"And grand mustachios."

"Hold!" said Chalomel, "it is the carriage of the Viscount de Saint
Remy."

"Ain't it stylish? Whew!"

Soon afterward Saint Remy entered the office. We have described the
charming face, the exquisite elegance, the ravishing bearing of Saint
Remy, arrived the previous evening from Arnouville Farm, belonging to
the Duchess Lucenay, where he had found a refuge from the bailiffs.

Saint Remy entered the office hastily, his hat on, his manner haughty
and proud, his eyes half closed, asking, in a very impertinent way,
without looking at any one, "The notary? where is he?"

"M. Ferrand is busy in his private office," answered the head clerk;
"if you will wait a moment, sir, he will receive you."

"I wait?"

"But, sir----"

"There are no 'but, sirs'; go and tell him that M. de Saint Remy is
here. I find it very singular that this notary makes me wait in his
antechamber; it smells of the stove."

"Please to pass into the next room, sir," said the clerk; "I will go
at once and inform M. Ferrand."

Saint Remy shrugged his shoulders, and followed the head clerk. At the
end of a quarter of an hour, which seemed to him very long, and
changed his contempt into rage, Saint Remy was introduced into the
cabinet of the notary. Nothing could be more curious than the contrast
of these two men, both profound physiognomists, and generally
accustomed to judge at a first glance with whom they had to deal.

Saint Remy saw Jacques Ferrand for the first time. He was struck with
the characteristics of this wan, rigid, impassible face; the
expression concealed by the large green spectacles, the head
half-hidden in an old black silk cap.

The notary was seated before his desk in a leathern arm-chair, beside
a broken-down fireplace, filled with ashes, in which were smoking two
black stumps. Curtains of green muslin, almost in tatters, suspended
from iron rods, concealed the lower part of the windows, and cast into
this cabinet, already dark enough, a dull and disagreeable light.
Shelves of black wood, filled with labeled boxes; some chairs of
cherry wood, covered with yellow Utrecht velvet; a mahogany clock; a
yellow, moist, and slippery floor; a ceiling filled with cracks, and,
ornamented with garlands of spider-webs; such was the sanctum
sanctorum of Jacques Ferrand.

The viscount had not advanced two steps, had not said a single word,
before the notary who knew him by reputation, hated him already. In
the first place, he saw in him, so to speak, a rival in knavery; and,
although Ferrand was of a mean and ignoble appearance himself, he did
not the less detest in others elegance, grace, and youth; above all
when an air deeply insolent accompanied these advantages.

The notary ordinarily affected a sort of rudeness, almost gross,
toward his clients, who only felt more esteem for him for these
boorish manners. He promised himself to redouble this brutality toward
the viscount.

He, knowing M. Ferrand only by reputation, expected to find in him a
kind of scrivener, good-natured or ridiculous, the viscount figuring
to himself always that men of proverbial probity must be simpletons.
Far from this, the other's looks imposed on the viscount an
undefinable feeling, half fear, half hatred, although he had no
serious reason to fear or hate him. Thus, in consequence of his
resolute character, Saint Remy increased his insolence and habitual
foppery of manner. The notary kept his cap upon his head; the viscount
retained his hat, and cried from the door in a loud, sharp voice:

"It is, by Jove! very strange, that you give me the trouble to come
here, instead of sending to me for the money for the bills I have
indorsed for this Badinot, for which the fellow has sued me. You
should not expose me to wait a quarter of an hour in your antechamber;
that is not so polite as it might be."

Ferrand, without paying the least attention, finished a calculation he
was making, wiped his pen methodically on the sponge which lay near
his ink-stand, and raised toward the viscount his cold, unearthly,
flattened face, encumbered with the green spectacles.

It looked like a death's head, whose eyes had been replaced by great,
fixed, glassy sockets. After having looked at him for a moment in
silence, he said to the viscount, in a rough, short tone, "Where is
the money?"

Such coolness exasperated Saint Remy.

He-he! the idol of the women, the envy of men, the paragon of the best
company in Paris, the renowned duelist, not to produce more effect on
a miserable notary! It was odious; although he was _tete-a-tete_
with Jacques Ferrand, his self-pride revolted.

"Where are the bills?"

With the ends of his fingers, hard as iron, and covered with red hair,
the notary, without answering, struck on a large portfolio of leather
placed near him.

Decided to be equally laconic, although bursting with rage, the
viscount took from the pocket of his coat a small book of Russian
leather, clasped with golden hasps, drew out forty-one thousand franc
notes and showed them to the notary.

"How much?" asked he.

"Forty thousand francs."

"Give them to me."

"Here, and let us finish quickly, sir; do your business, pay yourself,
hand me back the papers," said the viscount, throwing the packet
impatiently on the table.

The notary took them, arose and examined them near the window, turning
them over one by one with an attention so scrupulous and so insulting
to Saint Remy, that he grew pale with rage.

The notary, as if he had suspected the thoughts which agitated the
viscount, shook his head, half turned toward him, and said, in an
undefinable tone, "There are such things as--"

For a moment astonished, Saint Remy replied, dryly, "What?"

"Counterfeits," answered the notary, continuing to examine those he
held closely.

"For what purpose do you make this remark to me, Sir?"

Jacques Ferrand stopped a moment, looked steadily at the viscount
through his glasses; then, shrugging his shoulders, he turned again to
counting and examining the bills.

"By George, Master Notary, you must know, when I ask a question, I am
always answered!" cried Saint Remy, irritated beyond measure at the
calmness of Jacques Ferrand.

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