The Widow Lerouge

E >> Emile Gaboriau >> The Widow Lerouge


He bowed to take his leave. The count motioned him to wait.

"In any case," he said, "a place at table will be set for you here. I
dine at half-past six precisely. I shall be glad to see you."

He rang. His valet appeared.

"Denis," said he, "none of the orders I may give will affect this
gentleman. You will tell this to all the servants. This gentleman is at
home here."

The advocate took his leave; and the count felt great comfort in being
once more alone. Since morning, events had followed one another with
such bewildering rapidity that his thoughts could scarcely keep pace
with them. At last, he was able to reflect.

"That, then," said he to himself, "is my legitimate son. I am sure of
his birth, at any rate. Besides I should be foolish to disown him, for I
find him the exact picture of myself at thirty. He is a handsome fellow,
Noel, very handsome. His features are decidedly in his favour. He
is intelligent and acute. He knows how to be humble without lowering
himself, and firm without arrogance. His unexpected good fortune does
not turn his head. I augur well of a man who knows how to bear himself
in prosperity. He thinks well; he will carry his title proudly. And yet
I feel no sympathy with him; it seems to me that I shall always regret
my poor Albert. I never knew how to appreciate him. Unhappy boy! To
commit such a vile crime! He must have lost his reason. I do not like
the look of this one's eye. They say that he is perfect. He expresses,
at least, the noblest and most appropriate sentiments. He is gentle
and strong, magnanimous, generous, heroic. He is without malice, and is
ready to sacrifice himself to repay me for what I have done for him.
He forgives Madame Gerdy; he loves Albert. It is enough to make one
distrust him. But all young men now-a-days are so. Ah! we live in a
happy age. Our children are born free from all human shortcomings. They
have neither the vices, the passions, nor the tempers of their fathers;
and these precocious philosophers, models of sagacity and virtue, are
incapable of committing the least folly. Alas! Albert, too, was perfect;
and he has assassinated Claudine! What will this one do?--All the same,"
he added, half-aloud, "I ought to have accompanied him to see Valerie!"

And, although the advocate had been gone at least a good ten minutes,
M. de Commarin, not realising how the time had passed, hastened to the
window, in the hope of seeing Noel in the court-yard, and calling him
back.

But Noel was already far away. On leaving the house, he took a cab and
was quickly driven to the Rue St. Lazare.

On reaching his own door, he threw rather than gave five francs to the
driver, and ran rapidly up the four flights of stairs.

"Who has called to see me?" he asked of the servant.

"No one, sir."

He seemed relieved from a great anxiety, and continued in a calmer tone,
"And the doctor?"

"He came this morning, sir," replied the girl, "while you were out; and
he did not seem at all hopeful. He came again just now, and is still
here."

"Very well. I will go and speak to him. If any one calls, show them into
my study, and let me know."

On entering Madame Gerdy's chamber, Noel saw at a glance that no change
for the better had taken place during his absence. With fixed eyes
and convulsed features, the sick woman lay extended upon her back. She
seemed dead, save for the sudden starts, which shook her at intervals,
and disarranged the bedclothes.

Above her head was placed a little vessel, filled with ice water, which
fell drop by drop upon her forehead, covered with large bluish spots.
The table and mantel-piece were covered with little pots, medicine
bottles, and half-emptied glasses. At the foot of the bed, a piece of
rag stained with blood showed that the doctor had just had recourse to
leeches.

Near the fireplace, where was blazing a large fire, a nun of the order
of St. Vincent de Paul was kneeling, watching a saucepan. She was a
young woman, with a face whiter than her cap. Her immovably placid
features, her mournful look, betokened the renunciation of the flesh,
and the abdication of all independence of thought.

Her heavy grey costume hung about her in large ungraceful folds. Every
time she moved, her long chaplet of beads of coloured box-wood, loaded
with crosses and copper medals, shook and trailed along the floor with a
noise like a jingling of chains.

Dr. Herve was seated on a chair opposite the bed, watching, apparently
with close attention, the nun's preparations. He jumped up as Noel
entered.

"At last you are here," he said, giving his friend a strong grasp of the
hand.

"I was detained at the Palais," said the advocate, as if he felt the
necessity of explaining his absence; "and I have been, as you may well
imagine, dreadfully anxious."

He leant towards the doctor's ear, and in a trembling voice asked:
"Well, is she at all better?"

The doctor shook his head with an air of deep discouragement.

"She is much worse," he replied: "since morning bad symptoms have
succeeded each other with frightful rapidity."

He checked himself. The advocate had seized his arm and was pressing it
with all his might. Madame Gerdy stirred a little, and a feeble groan
escaped her.

"She heard you," murmured Noel.

"I wish it were so," said the doctor; "It would be most encouraging.
But I fear you are mistaken. However, we will see." He went up to Madame
Gerdy, and, whilst feeling her pulse, examined her carefully; then, with
the tip of his finger, he lightly raised her eyelid.

The eye appeared dull, glassy, lifeless.

"Come, judge for yourself; take her hand, speak to her."

Noel, trembling all over, did as his friend wished. He drew near, and,
leaning over the bed, so that his mouth almost touched the sick woman's
ear, he murmured: "Mother, it is I, Noel, your own Noel. Speak to me,
make some sign, do you hear me, mother?"

It was in vain; she retained her frightful immobility. Not a sign of
intelligence crossed her features.

"You see," said the doctor, "I told you the truth."

"Poor woman!" sighed Noel, "does she suffer?"

"Not at present."

The nun now rose; and she too came beside the bed.

"Doctor," said she: "all is ready."

"Then call the servant, sister, to help us. We are going to apply a
mustard poultice."

The servant hastened in. In the arms of the two women, Madame Gerdy was
like a corpse, whom they were dressing for the last time. She was as
rigid as though she were dead. She must have suffered much and long,
poor woman, for it was pitiable to see how thin she was. The nun
herself was affected, although she had become habituated to the sight of
suffering. How many invalids had breathed their last in her arms during
the fifteen years that she had gone from pillow to pillow!

Noel, during this time, had retired into the window recess, and pressed
his burning brow against the panes.

Of what was he thinking, while she who had given him so many proofs of
maternal tenderness and devotion was dying a few paces from him? Did
he regret her? was he not thinking rather of the grand and magnificent
existence which awaited him on the other side of the river, at the
Faubourg St. Germain? He turned abruptly round on hearing his friend's
voice.

"It is done," said the doctor; "we have only now to wait the effect
of the mustard. If she feels it, it will be a good sign; if it has no
effect, we will try cupping."

"And if that does not succeed?"

The doctor answered only with a shrug of the shoulders, which showed his
inability to do more.

"I understand your silence, Herve," murmured Noel. "Alas! you told me
last night she was lost."

"Scientifically, yes; but I do not yet despair. It is hardly a year ago
that the father-in-law of one of our comrades recovered from an almost
identical attack; and I saw him when he was much worse than this;
suppuration had set in."

"It breaks my heart to see her in this state," resumed Noel. "Must she
die without recovering her reason even for one moment? Will she not
recognise me, speak one word to me?"

"Who knows? This disease, my poor friend, baffles all foresight. Each
moment, the aspect may change, according as the inflammation affects
such or such a part of the brain. She is now in a state of utter
insensibility, of complete prostration of all her intellectual
faculties, of coma, of paralysis so to say; to-morrow, she may be seized
with convulsions, accompanied with a fierce delirium."

"And will she speak then?"

"Certainly; but that will neither modify the nature nor the gravity of
the disease."

"And will she recover her reason?"

"Perhaps," answered the doctor, looking fixedly at his friend; "but why
do you ask that?"

"Ah, my dear Herve, one word from Madame Gerdy, only one, would be of
such use to me!"

"For your affair, eh! Well, I can tell you nothing, can promise you
nothing. You have as many chances in your favour as against you;
only, do not leave her. If her intelligence returns, it will be only
momentary, try and profit by it. But I must go," added the doctor; "I
have still three calls to make."

Noel followed his friend. When they reached the landing, he asked: "You
will return?"

"This evening, at nine. There will be no need of me till then. All
depends upon the watcher. But I have chosen a pearl. I know her well."

"It was you, then, who brought this nun?"

"Yes, and without your permission. Are you displeased?"

"Not the least in the world. Only I confess--"

"What! you make a grimace. Do your political opinions forbid your having
your mother, I should say Madame Gerdy, nursed by a nun of St. Vincent?"

"My dear Herve, you--"

"Ah! I know what you are going to say. They are adroit, insinuating,
dangerous, all that is quite true. If I had a rich old uncle whose heir
I expected to be, I shouldn't introduce one of them into his house.
These good creatures are sometimes charged with strange commissions.
But, what have you to fear from this one? Never mind what fools say.
Money aside, these worthy sisters are the best nurses in the world.
I hope you will have one when your end comes. But good-bye; I am in a
hurry."

And, regardless of his professional dignity, the doctor hurried down
the stairs; while Noel, full of thought, his countenance displaying the
greatest anxiety, returned to Madame Gerdy.

At the door of the sick-room, the nun awaited the advocate's return.

"Sir," said she, "sir."

"You want something of me, sister?"

"Sir, the servant bade me come to you for money; she has no more, and
had to get credit at the chemist's."

"Excuse me, sister," interrupted Noel, seemingly very much vexed;
"excuse me for not having anticipated your request; but you see I am
rather confused."

And, taking a hundred-franc note out of his pocket-book, he laid it on
the mantel piece.

"Thanks, sir," said the nun; "I will keep an account of what I spend. We
always do that," she added; "it is more convenient for the family. One
is so troubled at seeing those one loves laid low by illness. You have
perhaps not thought of giving this poor lady the sweet aid of our
holy religion! In your place, sir, I should send without delay for a
priest,--"

"What, now, sister? Do you not see the condition she is in? She is the
same as dead; you saw that she did not hear my voice."

"That is of little consequence, sir," replied the nun; "you will always
have done your duty. She did not answer you; but are you sure that she
will not answer the priest? Ah, you do not know all the power of the
last sacraments! I have seen the dying recover their intelligence and
sufficient strength to confess, and to receive the sacred body of our
Lord Jesus Christ. I have often heard families say that they do not wish
to alarm the invalid, that the sight of the minister of our Lord might
inspire a terror that would hasten the final end. It is a fatal error.
The priest does not terrify; he reassures the soul, at the beginning of
its long journey. He speaks in the name of the God of mercy, who comes
to save, not to destroy. I could cite to you many cases of dying people
who have been cured simply by contact with the sacred balm."

The nun spoke in a tone as mournful as her look. Her heart was evidently
not in the words which she uttered. Without doubt, she had learned them
when she first entered the convent. Then they expressed something
she really felt, she spoke her own thoughts; but, since then, she had
repeated the words over and over again to the friends of every sick
person that she attended, until they lost all meaning so far as she was
concerned. To utter them became simply a part of her duties as nurse,
the same as the preparation of draughts, and the making of poultices.

Noel was not listening to her; his thoughts were far away.

"Your dear mother," continued the nun, "this good lady that you love
so much, no doubt trusted in her religion. Do you wish to endanger her
salvation? If she could speak in the midst of her cruel sufferings--"

The advocate was on the point of replying, when the servant announced
that a gentleman, who would not give his name, wished to speak with him
on business.

"I will come," he said quickly.

"What do you decide, sir?" persisted the nun.

"I leave you free, sister, to do as you may judge best."

The worthy woman began to recite her lesson of thanks, but to no
purpose. Noel had disappeared with a displeased look; and almost
immediately she heard his voice in the next room, saying: "At last you
have come, M. Clergeot, I had almost given you up!"

The visitor, whom the advocate had been expecting, is a person well
known in the Rue St. Lazare, round about the Rue de Provence, the
neighbourhood of Notre Dame de Lorette, and all along the exterior
Boulevards, from the Chaussee des Martyrs to the Rond-Point of the old
Barriere de Clichy.

M. Clergeot is no more a usurer than M. Jourdin's father was a
shopkeeper. Only, as he has lots of money, and is very obliging, he
lends it to his friends; and, in return for this kindness, he consents
to receive interest, which varies from fifteen to five hundred per cent.

The excellent man positively loves his clients, and his honesty is
generally appreciated. He has never been known to seize a debtor's
goods; he prefers to follow him up without respite for ten years, and
tear from him bit by bit what is his due.

He lives near the top of the Rue de la Victoire. He has no shop, and yet
he sells everything saleable, and some other things, too, that the law
scarcely considers merchandise. Anything to be useful or neighbourly.
He often asserts that he is not very rich. It is possibly true. He is
whimsical more than covetous, and fearfully bold. Free with his money
when one pleases him, he would not lend five francs, even with a
mortgage on the Chateau of Ferrieres as guarantee, to whosoever does
not meet with his approval. However, he often risks his all on the most
unlucky cards.

His preferred customers consist of women of doubtful morality,
actresses, artists, and those venturesome fellows who enter upon
professions which depend solely upon those who practice them, such as
lawyers and doctors.

He lends to women upon their present beauty, to men upon their future
talent. Slight pledges! His discernment, it should be said, however,
enjoys a great reputation. It is rarely at fault. A pretty girl
furnished by Clergeot is sure to go far. For an artist to be in
Clergeot's debt was a recommendation preferable to the warmest
criticism.

Madame Juliette had procured this useful and honourable acquaintance for
her lover.

Noel, who well knew how sensitive this worthy man was to kind
attentions, and how pleased by politeness, began by offering him a seat,
and asking after his health. Clergeot went into details. His teeth were
still good; but his sight was beginning to fail. His legs were no
longer so steady, and his hearing was not all that could be desired. The
chapter of complaints ended--"You know," said he, "why I have called.
Your bills fall due to-day; and I am devilishly in need of money. I have
one of ten, one of seven, and a third of five thousand francs, total,
twenty-two thousand francs."

"Come, M. Clergeot," replied Noel, "do not let us have any joking."

"Excuse me," said the usurer; "I am not joking at all."

"I rather think you are though. Why, it's just eight days ago to-day
that I wrote to tell you that I was not prepared to meet the bills, and
asked for a renewal!"

"I recollect very well receiving your letter."

"What do you say to it, then?"

"By my not answering the note, I supposed that you would understand
that I could not comply with your request; I hoped that you would exert
yourself to find the amount for me."

Noel allowed a gesture of impatience to escape him.

"I have not done so," he said; "so take your own course. I haven't a
sou."

"The devil. Do you know that I have renewed these bills four times
already?"

"I know that the interest has been fully and promptly paid, and at a
rate which cannot make you regret the investment."

Clergeot never likes talking about the interest he received. He pretends
that it is humiliating.

"I do not complain; I only say that you take things too easily with me.
If I had put your signature in circulation all would have been paid by
now."

"Not at all."

"Yes, you would have found means to escape being sued. But you say to
yourself: 'Old Clergeot is a good fellow.' And that is true. But I am
so only when it can do me no harm. Now, to-day, I am absolutely in
great need of my money. Ab--so--lute--ly," he added, emphasising each
syllable.

The old fellow's decided tone seemed to disturb the advocate.

"Must I repeat it?" he said; "I am completely drained, com--plete--ly!"

"Indeed?" said the usurer; "well, I am sorry for you; but I shall have
to sue you."

"And what good will that do? Let us play above board, M. Clergeot. Do
you care to increase the lawyers' fees? You don't do you? Even though,
you may put me to great expense, will that procure you even a centime?
You will obtain judgment against me. Well, what then? Do you think of
putting in an execution? This is not my home; the lease is in Madame
Gerdy's name."

"I know all that. Besides, the sale of everything here would not cover
the amount."

"Then you intend to put me in prison, at Clichy! Bad speculation, I warn
you, my practice will be lost, and, you know, no practice, no money."

"Good!" cried the worthy money-lender. "Now you are talking nonsense!
You call that being frank. Pshaw! If you supposed me capable of half
the cruel things you have said, my money would be there in your drawer,
ready for me."

"A mistake! I should not know where to get it, unless by asking Madame
Gerdy, a thing I would never do."

A sarcastic and most irritating little laugh, peculiar to old Clergeot,
interrupted Noel.

"It would be no good doing that," said the usurer; "mamma's purse has
long been empty; and if the dear creature should die now,--they tell
me she is very ill,--I would not give two hundred napoleons for the
inheritance."

The advocate turned red with passion, his eyes glittered; but he
dissembled, and protested with some spirit.

"We know what we know," continued Clergeot quietly. "Before a man risks
his money, he takes care to make some inquiries. Mamma's remaining bonds
were sold last October. Ah! the Rue de Provence is an expensive place!
I have made an estimate, which is at home. Juliette is a charming woman,
to be sure; she has not her equal, I am convinced; but she is expensive,
devilish expensive."

Noel was enraged at hearing his Juliette thus spoke of by this
honourable personage. But what reply could he make? Besides, none of
us are perfect; and M. Clergeot possessed the fault of not properly
appreciating women, which doubtless arises from the business
transactions he has had with them. He is charming in his business
with the fair sex, complimenting and flattering them; but the coarsest
insults would be less revolting than his disgusting familiarity.

"You have gone too fast," he continued, without deigning to notice his
client's ill looks; "and I have told you so before. But, you would not
listen; you are mad about the girl. You can never refuse her anything.
Fool! When a pretty girl wants anything, you should let her long for it
for a while; she has then something to occupy her mind and keep her from
thinking of a quantity of other follies. Four good strong wishes, well
managed, ought to last a year. You don't know how to look after your own
interests. I know that her glance would turn the head of a stone saint;
but you should reason with yourself, hang it! Why, there are not ten
girls in Paris who live in such style! And do you think she loves you
any the more for it? Not a bit. When she has ruined you, she'll leave
you in the lurch."

Noel accepted the eloquence of his prudent banker like a man without an
umbrella accepts a shower.

"What is the meaning of all this!" he asked.

"Simply that I will not renew your bills. You understand? Just now, if
you try very hard, you will be able to hand me the twenty-two thousand
francs in question. You need not frown: you will find means to do so to
prevent my seizing your goods,--not here, for that would be absurd, but
at your little woman's apartments. She would not be at all pleased, and
would not hesitate to tell you so."

"But everything there belongs to her; and you have no right--"

"What of that? She will oppose the seizure, no doubt, and I expect her
to do so; but she will make you find the requisite sum. Believe me, you
had best parry the blow. I insist on being paid now. I won't give you
any further delay; because, in three months' time, you will have used
your last resources. It is no use saying 'No,' like that. You are in one
of those conditions that must be continued at any price. You would burn
the wood from your dying mother's bed to warm this creature's feet.
Where did you obtain the ten thousand francs that you left with her the
other evening? Who knows what you will next attempt to procure money?
The idea of keeping her fifteen days, three days, a single day more, may
lead you far. Open your eyes. I know the game well. If you do not leave
Juliette, you are lost. Listen to a little good advice, gratis. You must
give her up, sooner or later, mustn't you? Do it to-day, then."

As you see, our worthy Clergeot never minces the truth to his customers,
when they do not keep their engagements. If they are displeased, so much
the worse for them! His conscience is at rest. He would never join in
any foolish business.

Noel could bear it no longer: and his anger burst forth.

"Enough," he cried decidedly. "Do as you please, M. Clergeot, but have
done with your advice. I prefer the lawyer's plain prose. If I have
committed follies, I can repair them, and in a way that would surprise
you. Yes, M. Clergeot, I can procure twenty-two thousand francs; I could
have a hundred thousand to-morrow morning, if I saw fit. They would
only cost me the trouble of asking for them. But that I will not do.
My extravagance, with all due deference to you, will remain a secret as
heretofore. I do not choose that my present embarrassed circumstances
should be even suspected. I will not relinquish, for your sake, that at
which I have been aiming, the very day it is within my grasp."

"He resists," thought the usurer; "he is less deeply involved than I
imagined."

"So," continued the advocate, "put your bills in the hands of your
lawyer. Let him sue me. In eight days, I shall be summoned to appear
before the Tribunal de Commerce, and I shall ask for the twenty-five
days' delay, which the judges always grant to an embarrassed debtor.
Twenty-five and eight, all the world over, make just thirty-three days.
That is precisely the respite I need. You have two alternatives: either
accept from me at once a new bill for twenty-four thousand francs
payable in six weeks, or else, as I have an appointment, go off to your
lawyer."

"And in six weeks," replied the usurer, "you will be in precisely the
same condition you are to-day. And forty-five days more of Juliette will
cost--"

"M. Clergeot," interrupted Noel, "long before that time, my position
will be completely changed. But I have finished," he added rising; "and
my time is valuable."

"One moment, you impatient fellow!" exclaimed the good-natured banker,
"you said twenty-four thousand francs at forty-five days?"

"Yes. That is about seventy-five per cent,--pretty fair interest."

"I never cavil about interest," said M. Clergeot; "only--" He looked
slyly at Noel scratching his chin violently, a movement which in him
indicated how insensibly his brain was at work. "Only," he continued, "I
should very much like to know what you are counting upon."

"That I will not tell you. You will know it ere long, in common with all
the world."

"I have it!" cried M. Clergeot, "I have it! You are going to marry! You
have found an heiress, of course, your little Juliette told me something
of the sort this morning. Ah! you are going to marry! Is she pretty? But
no matter. She has a full purse, eh? You wouldn't take her without that.
So you are going to start a home of your own?"