________________________________________________
_ A week later, Florent thought that he would at last be able to proceed
to action. A sufficiently serious outburst of public dissatisfaction
furnished an opportunity for launching his insurrectionary forces upon
Paris. The Corps Legislatif, whose members had lately shown great
variance of opinion respecting certain grants to the Imperial family,
was now discussing a bill for the imposition of a very unpopular tax,
at which the lower orders had already begun to growl. The Ministry,
fearing a defeat, was straining every nerve. It was probable, thought
Florent, that no better pretext for a rising would for a long time
present itself.
One morning, at daybreak, he went to reconnoitre the neighbourhood of
the Palais Bourbon. He forgot all about his duties as inspector, and
lingered there, studying the approaches of the palace, till eight
o'clock, without ever thinking that his absence would revolutionise
the fish market. He perambulated all the surrounding streets, the Rue
de Lille, the Rue de l'Universite, the Rue de Bourgogne, the Rue Saint
Dominique, and even extended his examination to the Esplanade des
Invalides, stopping at certain crossways, and measuring distances as
he walked along. Then, on coming back to the Quai d'Orsay, he sat down
on the parapet, and determined that the attack should be made
simultaneously from all sides. The contingents from the Gros-Caillou
district should arrive by way of the Champ de Mars; the sections from
the north of Paris should come down by the Madeleine; while those from
the west and the south would follow the quays, or make their way in
small detachments through the then narrow streets of the Faubourg
Saint Germain. However, the other side of the river, the Champs
Elysees, with their open avenues, caused him some uneasiness; for he
foresaw that cannon would be stationed there to sweep the quays. He
thereupon modified several details of his plan, and marked down in a
memorandum-book the different positions which the several sections
should occupy during the combat. The chief attack, he concluded, must
certainly be made from the Rue de Bourgogne and the Rue de
l'Universite, while a diversion might be effected on the side of the
river.
Whilst he thus pondered over his plans the eight o'clock sun, warming
the nape of his neck, shone gaily on the broad footways, and gilded
the columns of the great structure in front of him. In imagination he
already saw the contemplated battle; clusters of men clinging round
those columns, the gates burst open, the peristyle invaded; and then
scraggy arms suddenly appearing high aloft and planting a banner
there.
At last he slowly went his way homewards again with his gaze fixed
upon the ground. But all at once a cooing sound made him look up, and
he saw that he was passing through the garden of the Tuileries. A
number of wood-pigeons, bridling their necks, were strutting over a
lawn near by. Florent leant for a moment against the tub of an orange-
tree, and looked at the grass and the pigeons steeped in sunshine.
Right ahead under the chestnut-trees all was black. The garden was
wrapped in a warm silence, broken only by the distant rumbling which
came from behind the railings of the Rue de Rivoli. The scent of all
the greenery affected Florent, reminding him of Madame Francois.
However, a little girl ran past, trundling a hoop, and alarmed the
pigeons. They flew off, and settled in a row on the arm of a marble
statue of an antique wrestler standing in the middle of the lawn, and
once more, but with less vivacity, they began to coo and bridle their
necks.
As Florent was returning to the markets by way of the Rue Vauvilliers,
he heard Claude Lantier calling to him. The artist was going down into
the basement of the poultry pavilion. "Come with me!" he cried. "I'm
looking for that brute Marjolin."
Florent followed, glad to forget his thoughts and to defer his return
to the fish market for a little longer. Claude told him that his
friend Marjolin now had nothing further to wish for: he had become an
utter animal. Claude entertained an idea of making him pose on all-
fours in future. Whenever he lost his temper over some disappointing
sketch he came to spend whole hours in the idiot's company, never
speaking, but striving to catch his expression when he laughed.
"He'll be feeding his pigeons, I dare say," he said; "but
unfortunately I don't know whereabouts Monsieur Gavard's storeroom
is."
They groped about the cellar. In the middle of it some water was
trickling from a couple of taps in the dim gloom. The storerooms here
are reserved for pigeons exclusively, and all along the trellising
they heard faint cooings, like the hushed notes of birds nestling
under the leaves when daylight is departing. Claude began to laugh as
he heard it.
"It sounds as though all the lovers in Paris were embracing each other
inside here, doesn't it?" he exclaimed to his companion.
However, they could not find a single storeroom open, and were
beginning to think that Marjolin could not be in the cellar, when a
sound of loud, smacking kisses made them suddenly halt before a door
which stood slightly ajar. Claude pulled it open and beheld Marjolin,
whom Cadine was kissing, whilst he, a mere dummy, offered his face
without feeling the slightest thrill at the touch of her lips.
"Oh, so this is your little game, is it?" said Claude with a laugh.
"Oh," replied Cadine, quite unabashed, "he likes being kissed, because
he feels afraid now in the dim light. You do feel frightened, don't
you?"
Like the idiot he was, Marjolin stroked his face with his hands as
though trying to find the kisses which the girl had just printed
there. And he was beginning to stammer out that he was afraid, when
Cadine continued: "And, besides, I came to help him; I've been feeding
the pigeons."
Florent looked at the poor creatures. All along the shelves were rows
of lidless boxes, in which pigeons, showing their motley plumage,
crowded closely on their stiffened legs. Every now and then a tremor
ran along the moving mass; and then the birds settled down again, and
nothing was heard but their confused, subdued notes. Cadine had a
saucepan near her; she filled her mouth with the water and tares which
it contained, and then, taking up the pigeons one by one, shot the
food down their throats with amazing rapidity. The poor creatures
struggled and nearly choked, and finally fell down in the boxes with
swimming eyes, intoxicated, as it were, by all the food which they
were thus forced to swallow.[*]
[*] This is the customary mode of fattening pigeons at the Paris
markets. The work is usually done by men who make a specialty of
it, and are called /gaveurs/.--Translator.
"Poor creatures!" exclaimed Claude.
"Oh, so much the worse for them," said Cadine, who had now finished.
"They are much nicer eating when they've been well fed. In a couple of
hours or so all those over yonder will be given a dose of salt water.
That makes their flesh white and tender. Then two hours afterwards
they'll be killed. If you would like to see the killing, there are
some here which are quite ready. Marjolin will settle their account
for them in a jiffy."
Marjolin carried away a box containing some fifty pigeons, and Claude
and Florent followed him. Squatting upon the ground near one of the
water-taps, he placed the box by his side. Then he laid a framework of
slender wooden bars on the top of a kind of zinc trough, and forthwith
began to kill the pigeons. His knife flashed rapidly in his fingers,
as he seized the birds by the wings, stunned them by a blow on the
head from the knife-handle, and then thrust the point of the blade
into their throats. They quivered for an instant, and ruffled their
feathers as Marjolin laid them in a row, with their heads between the
wooden bars above the zinc trough, into which their blood fell drop by
drop. He repeated each different movement with the regularity of
clockwork, the blows from the knife-handle falling with a monotonous
tick-tack as he broke the birds' skulls, and his hand working
backwards and forwards like a pendulum as he took up the living
pigeons on one side and laid them down dead on the other. Soon,
moreover, he worked with increasing rapidity, gloating over the
massacre with glistening eyes, squatting there like a huge delighted
bull-dog enjoying the sight of slaughtered vermin. "Tick-tack! Tick-
tack!" whilst his tongue clucked as an accompaniment to the rhythmical
movements of his knife. The pigeons hung down like wisps of silken
stuff.
"Ah, you enjoy that, don't you, you great stupid?" exclaimed Cadine.
"How comical those pigeons look when they bury their heads in their
shoulders to hide their necks! They're horrid things, you know, and
would give one nasty bites if they got the chance." Then she laughed
more loudly at Marjolin's increasing, feverish haste; and added: "I've
killed them sometimes myself, but I can't get on as quickly as he
does. One day he killed a hundred in ten minutes."
The wooden frame was nearly full; the blood could be heard falling
into the zinc trough; and as Claude happened to turn round he saw
Florent looking so pale that he hurriedly led him away. When they got
above-ground again he made him sit down on a step.
"Why, what's the matter with you?" he exclaimed, tapping him on the
shoulder. "You're fainting away like a woman!"
"It's the smell of the cellar," murmured Florent, feeling a little
ashamed of himself.
The truth was, however, that those pigeons, which were forced to
swallow tares and salt water, and then had their skulls broken and
their throats slit, had reminded him of the wood-pigeons of the
Tuileries gardens, strutting over the green turf, with their satiny
plumage flashing iridescently in the sunlight. He again heard them
cooing on the arm of the marble wrestler amidst the hushed silence of
the garden, while children trundled their hoops in the deep gloom of
the chestnuts. And then, on seeing that big fair-haired animal
massacring his boxful of birds, stunning them with the handle of his
knife and driving its point into their throats, in the depths of that
foul-smelling cellar, he had felt sick and faint, his legs had almost
given way beneath him, while his eyelids quivered tremulously.
"Well, you'd never do for a soldier!" Claude said to him when he
recovered from his faintness. "Those who sent you to Cayenne must have
been very simple-minded folks to fear such a man as you! Why, my good
fellow, if ever you do put yourself at the head of a rising, you won't
dare to fire a shot. You'll be too much afraid of killing somebody."
Florent got up without making any reply. He had become very gloomy,
his face was furrowed by deep wrinkles; and he walked off, leaving
Claude to go back to the cellar alone. As he made his way towards the
fish market his thoughts returned to his plan of attack, to the levies
of armed men who were to invade the Palais Bourbon. Cannon would roar
from the Champs Elysees; the gates would be burst open; blood would
stain the steps, and men's brains would bespatter the pillars. A
vision of the fight passed rapidly before him; and he beheld himself
in the midst of it, deadly pale, and hiding his face in his hands, not
daring to look around him.
As he was crossing the Rue du Pont Neuf he fancied he espied Auguste's
pale face peering round the corner of the fruit pavilion. The
assistant seemed to be watching for someone, and his eyes were
starting from his head with an expression of intense excitement.
Suddenly, however, he vanished and hastened back to the pork shop.
"What's the matter with him?" thought Florent. "Is he frightened of
me, I wonder?"
Some very serious occurrences had taken place that morning at the
Quenu-Gradelles'. Soon after daybreak, Auguste, breathless with
excitement, had awakened his mistress to tell her that the police had
come to arrest Monsieur Florent. And he added, with stammering
incoherence, that the latter had gone out, and that he must have done
so with the intention of escaping. Lisa, careless of appearances, at
once hurried up to her brother-in-law's room in her dressing-wrapper,
and took possession of La Normande's photograph, after glancing round
to see if there was anything lying about that might compromise herself
and Quenu. As she was making her way downstairs again, she met the
police agents on the first floor. The commissary requested her to
accompany them to Florent's room, where, after speaking to her for a
moment in a low tone, he installed himself with his men, bidding her
open the shop as usual so as to avoid giving the alarm to anyone. The
trap was set.
Lisa's only worry in the matter was the terrible blow that the arrest
would prove to poor Quenu. She was much afraid that if he learned that
the police were in the house, he would spoil everything by his tears;
so she made Auguste swear to observe the most rigid silence on the
subject. Then she went back to her room, put on her stays, and
concocted some story for the benefit of Quenu, who was still drowsy.
Half an hour later she was standing at the door of the shop with all
her usual neatness of appearance, her hair smooth and glossy, and her
face glowing rosily. Auguste was quietly setting out the window. Quenu
came for a moment on to the footway, yawning slightly, and ridding
himself of all sleepiness in the fresh morning air. There was nothing
to indicate the drama that was in preparation upstairs.
The commissary himself, however, gave the alarm to the neighbourhood
by paying a domiciliary visit to the Mehudins' abode in the Rue
Pirouette. He was in possession of the most precise information. In
the anonymous letters which had been sent to the Prefecture, all sorts
of statements were made respecting Florent's alleged intrigue with the
beautiful Norman. Perhaps, thought the commissary, he had now taken
refuge with her; and so, accompanied by two of his men, he proceeded
to knock at the door in the name of the law. The Mehudins had only
just got up. The old woman opened the door in a fury; but suddenly
calmed down and began to smile when she learned the business on hand.
She seated herself and fastened her clothes, while declaring to the
officers: "We are honest folks here, and have nothing to be afraid of.
You can search wherever you like."
However, as La Normande delayed to open the door of her room, the
commissary told his men to break it open. The young woman was scarcely
clad when the others entered, and this unceremonious invasion, which
she could not understand, fairly exasperated her. She flushed crimson
from anger rather than from shame, and seemed as though she were about
to fly at the officers. The commissary, at the sight, stepped forward
to protect his men, repeating in his cold voice: "In the name of the
law! In the name of the law!"
Thereupon La Normande threw herself upon a chair, and burst into a
wild fit of hysterical sobbing at finding herself so powerless. She
was quite at a loss to understand what these men wanted with her. The
commissary, however, had noticed how scantily she was clad, and taking
a shawl from a peg, he flung it over her. Still she did not wrap it
round her, but only sobbed the more bitterly as she watched the men
roughly searching the apartment.
"But what have I done?" she at last stammered out. "What are you
looking for here?"
Thereupon the commissary pronounced the name of Florent; and La
Normande, catching sight of the old woman, who was standing at the
door, cried out: "Oh, the wretch! This is her doing!" and she rushed
at her mother.
She would have struck her if she had reached her; but the police
agents held her back, and forcibly wrapped her in the shawl.
Meanwhile, she struggled violently, and exclaimed in a choking voice:
"What do you take me for? That Florent has never been in this room, I
tell you. There was nothing at all between us. People are always
trying to injure me in the neighbourhood; but just let anyone come
here and say anything before my face, and then you'll see! You'll lock
me up afterwards, I dare say, but I don't mind that! Florent, indeed!
What a lie! What nonsense!"
This flood of words seemed to calm her; and her anger now turned
against Florent, who was the cause of all the trouble. Addressing the
commissary, she sought to justify herself.
"I did not know his real character, sir," she said. "He had such a
mild manner that he deceived us all. I was unwilling to believe all I
heard, because I know people are so malicious. He only came here to
give lessons to my little boy, and went away directly they were over.
I gave him a meal here now and again, that's true and sometimes made
him a present of a fine fish. That's all. But this will be a warning
to me, and you won't catch me showing the same kindness to anyone
again."
"But hasn't he given you any of his papers to take care of?" asked the
commissary.
"Oh no, indeed! I swear it. I'd give them up to you at once if he had.
I've had quite enough of this, I can tell you! It's no joke to see you
tossing all my things about and ferreting everywhere in this way. Oh!
you may look; there's nothing."
The officers, who examined every article of furniture, now wished to
enter the little closet where Muche slept. The child had been awakened
by the noise, and for the last few moments he had been crying
bitterly, as though he imagined that he was going to be murdered.
"This is my boy's room," said La Normande, opening the door.
Muche, quite naked, ran up and threw his arms round his mother's neck.
She pacified him, and laid him down in her own bed. The officers came
out of the little room again almost immediately, and the commissary
had just made up his mind to retire, when the child, still in tears,
whispered in his mother's ear: "They'll take my copy-books. Don't let
them have my copy-books."
"Oh, yes; that's true," cried La Normande; "there are some copy-books.
Wait a moment, gentlemen, and I'll give them to you. I want you to see
that I'm not hiding anything from you. Then, you'll find some of his
writing inside these. You're quite at liberty to hang him as far as
I'm concerned; you won't find me trying to cut him down."
Thereupon she handed Muche's books and the copies set by Florent to
the commissary. But at this the boy sprang angrily out of bed, and
began to scratch and bite his mother, who put him back again with a
box on the ears. Then he began to bellow.
In the midst of the uproar, Mademoiselle Saget appeared on the
threshold, craning her neck forward. Finding all the doors open, she
had come in to offer her services to old Madame Mehudin. She spied
about and listened, and expressed extreme pity for these poor women,
who had no one to defend them. The commissary, however, had begun to
read the copies with a grave air. The frequent repetition of such
words as "tyrannically," "liberticide," "unconstitutional," and
"revolutionary" made him frown; and on reading the sentence, "When the
hour strikes, the guilty shall fall," he tapped his fingers on the
paper and said: "This is very serious, very serious indeed."
Thereupon he gave the books to one of his men, and went off. Claire,
who had hitherto not shown herself, now opened her door, and watched
the police officers go down the stairs. And afterwards she came into
her sister's bedroom, which she had not entered for a year.
Mademoiselle Saget appeared to be on the best of terms with La
Normande, and was hanging over her in a caressing way, bringing the
shawl forward to cover her the better, and listening to her angry
indignation with an expression of the deepest sympathy.
"You wretched coward!" exclaimed Claire, planting herself in front of
her sister.
La Normande sprang up, quivering with anger, and let the shawl fall to
the floor.
"Ah, you've been playing the spy, have you?" she screamed. "Dare to
repeat what you've just said!"
"You wretched coward!" repeated Claire, in still more insulting tones
than before.
Thereupon La Normande struck Claire with all her force; and in return
Claire, turning terribly pale, sprang upon her sister and dug her
nails into her neck. They struggled together for a moment or two,
tearing at each other's hair and trying to choke one another. Claire,
fragile though she was, pushed La Normande backward with such
tremendous violence that they both fell against the wardrobe, smashing
the mirror on its front. Muche was roaring, and old Madame Mehudin
called to Mademoiselle Saget to come and help her separate the
sisters. Claire, however, shook herself free.
"Coward! Coward!" she cried; "I'll go and tell the poor fellow that it
is you who have betrayed him."
Her mother, however, blocked the doorway, and would not let her pass,
while La Normande seized her from behind, and then, Mademoiselle Saget
coming to the assistance of the other two, the three of them dragged
Claire into her bedroom and locked the door upon her, in spite of all
her frantic resistance. In her rage she tried to kick the door down,
and smashed everything in the room. Soon afterwards, however, nothing
could be heard except a furious scratching, the sound of metal
scarping at the plaster. The girl was trying to loosen the door hinges
with the points of her scissors.
"She would have murdered me if she had had a knife," said La Normande,
looking about for her clothes, in order to dress herself. "She'll be
doing something dreadful, you'll see, one of these days, with that
jealousy of hers! We mustn't let her get out on any account: she'd
bring the whole neighbourhood down upon us!"
Mademoiselle Saget went off in all haste. She reached the corner of
the Rue Pirouette just as the commissary of police was re-entering the
side passage of the Quenu-Gradelles' house. She grasped the situation
at once, and entered the shop with such glistening eyes that Lisa
enjoined silence by a gesture which called her attention to the
presence of Quenu, who was hanging up some pieces of salt pork. As
soon as he had returned to the kitchen, the old maid in a low voice
described the scenes that had just taken place at the Mehudins'. Lisa,
as she bent over the counter, with her hand resting on a dish of
larded veal, listened to her with the happy face of one who triumphs.
Then, as a customer entered the shop, and asked for a couple of pig's
trotters, Lisa wrapped them up, and handed them over with a thoughtful
air.
"For my own part, I bear La Normande no ill-will," she said to
Mademoiselle Saget, when they were alone again. "I used to be very
fond of her, and have always been sorry that other people made
mischief between us. The proof that I've no animosity against her is
here in this photograph, which I saved from falling into the hands of
the police, and which I'm quite ready to give her back if she will
come and ask me for it herself."
She took the photograph out of her pocket as she spoke. Mademoiselle
Saget scrutinised it and sniggered as she read the inscription,
"Louise, to her dear friend Florent."
"I'm not sure you'll be acting wisely," she said in her cutting voice.
"You'd do better to keep it."
"No, no," replied Lisa; "I'm anxious for all this silly nonsense to
come to an end. To-day is the day of reconciliation. We've had enough
unpleasantness, and the neighbourhood's now going to be quiet and
peaceful again."
"Well, well, shall I go and tell La Normande that you are expecting
her?" asked the old maid.
"Yes; I shall be very glad if you will."
Mademoiselle Saget then made her way back to the Rue Pirouette, and
greatly frightened the fish-girl by telling her that she had just seen
her photograph in Lisa's pocket. She could not, however, at once
prevail upon her to comply with her rival's terms. La Normande
propounded conditions of her own. She would go, but Madame Quenu must
come to the door of the shop to receive her. Thus the old maid was
obliged to make another couple of journeys between the two rivals
before their meeting could be satisfactorily arranged. At last,
however, to her great delight, she succeeded in negotiating the peace
which was destined to cause so much talk and excitement. As she passed
Claire's door for the last time she still heard the sound of the
scissors scraping away at the plaster.
When she had at last carried a definite reply to Madame Quenu,
Mademoiselle Saget hurried off to find Madame Lecoeur and La
Sarriette; and all three of them took up their position on the footway
at the corner of the fish market, just in front of the pork shop. Here
they would be certain to have a good view of every detail of the
meeting. They felt extremely impatient, and while pretending to chat
together kept an anxious look-out in the direction of the Rue
Pirouette, along which La Normande must come. The news of the
reconciliation was already travelling through the markets, and while
some saleswomen stood up behind their stalls trying to get a view of
what was taking place, others, still more inquisitive, actually left
their places and took up a position in the covered way. Every eye in
the markets was directed upon the pork shop; the whole neighbourhood
was on the tip-toe of expectation.
It was a very solemn affair. When La Normande at last turned the
corner of the Rue Pirouette the excitement was so great that the women
held their breath.
"She has got her diamonds on," murmured La Sarriette.
"Just look how she stalks along," added Madame Lecoeur; "the stuck-up
creature!"
The beautiful Norman was, indeed, advancing with the mien of a queen
who condescends to make peace. She had made a most careful toilet,
frizzing her hair and turning up a corner of her apron to display her
cashmere skirt. She had even put on a new and rich lace bow. Conscious
that the whole market was staring at her, she assumed a still
haughtier air as she approached the pork shop. When she reached the
door she stopped.
"Now it's beautiful Lisa's turn," remarked Mademoiselle Saget. "Mind
you pay attention."
Beautiful Lisa smilingly quitted her counter. She crossed the shop-
floor at a leisurely pace, and came and offered her hand to the
beautiful Norman. She also was smartly dressed, with her dazzling
linen and scrupulous neatness. A murmur ran through the crowd of fish-
wives, all their heads gathered close together, and animated chatter
ensued. The two women had gone inside the shop, and the /crepines/ in
the window prevented them from being clearly seen. However, they
seemed to be conversing affectionately, addressing pretty compliments
to one another.
"See!" suddenly exclaimed Mademoiselle Saget, "the beautiful Norman's
buying something! What is it she's buying? It's a chitterling, I
believe! Ah! Look! look! You didn't see it, did you? Well, beautiful
Lisa just gave her the photograph; she slipped it into her hand with
the chitterling."
Fresh salutations were then seen to pass between the two women; and
the beautiful Lisa, exceeding even the courtesies which had been
agreed upon, accompanied the beautiful Norman to the footway. There
they stood laughing together, exhibiting themselves to the
neighbourhood like a couple of good friends. The markets were quite
delighted; and the saleswomen returned to their stalls, declaring that
everything had passed off extremely well.
Mademoiselle Saget, however, detained Madame Lecoeur and La Sarriette.
The drama was not over yet. All three kept their eyes fixed on the
house opposite with such keen curiosity that they seemed trying to
penetrate the very walls. To pass the time away they once more began
to talk of the beautiful Norman.
"She's without a lover now," remarked Madame Lecoeur.
"Oh! she's got Monsieur Lebigre," replied La Sarriette, with a laugh.
"But surely Monsieur Lebigre won't have anything more to say to her."
Mademoiselle Saget shrugged her shoulders. "Ah, you don't know him,"
she said. "He won't care a straw about all this business. He knows
what he's about, and La Normande is rich. They'll come together in a
couple of months, you'll see. Old Madame Mehudin's been scheming to
bring about their marriage for a long time past."
"Well, anyway," retorted the butter dealer, "the commissary found
Florent at her lodgings."
"No, no, indeed; I'm sure I never told you that. The long spindle-
shanks had gone way," replied the old maid. She paused to take a
breath; then resumed in an indignant tone, "What distressed me most
was to hear of all the abominable things that the villain had taught
little Muche. You'd really never believe it. There was a whole bundle
of papers."
"What sort of abominable things?" asked La Sarriette with interest.
"Oh, all kinds of filth. The commissary said there was quite
sufficient there to hang him. The fellow's a perfect monster! To go
and demoralise a child! Why, it's almost past believing! Little Muche
is certainly a scamp, but that's no reason why he should be given over
to the 'Reds,' is it?"
"Certainly not," assented the two others.
"However, all these mysterious goings-on will come to an end now. You
remember my telling you once that there was some strange goings-on at
the Quenus'? Well, you see, I was right in my conclusions, wasn't I?
Thank God, however, the neighbourhood will now be able to breathe
easily. It was high time strong steps were taken, for things had got
to such a pitch that one actually felt afraid of being murdered in
broad daylight. There was no pleasure in life. All the dreadful
stories and reports one heard were enough to worry one to death. And
it was all owing to that man, that dreadful Florent. Now beautiful
Lisa and the beautiful Norman have sensibly made friends again. It was
their duty to do so for the sake of the peace and quietness of us all.
Everything will go on satisfactorily now, you'll find. Ah! there's
poor Monsieur Quenu laughing yonder!"
Quenu had again come on to the footway, and was joking with Madame
Taboureau's little servant. He seemed quite gay and skittish that
morning. He took hold of the little servant's hands, and squeezed her
fingers so tightly, in the exuberance of his spirits, that he made her
cry out. Lisa had the greatest trouble to get him to go back into the
kitchen. She was impatiently pacing about the shop, fearing lest
Florent should make his appearance; and she called to her husband to
come away, dreading a meeting between him and his brother.
"She's getting quite vexed," said Mademoiselle Saget. "Poor Monsieur
Quenu, you see, knows nothing at all about what's taking place. Just
look at him there, laughing like a child! Madame Taboureau, you know,
said that she should have nothing more to do with the Quenus if they
persisted in bringing themselves into discredit by keeping that
Florent with them."
"Well, now, I suppose, they will stick to the fortune," remarked
Madame Lecoeur.
"Oh, no, indeed, my dear. The other one has had his share already."
"Really? How do you know that?"
"Oh, it's clear enough, that is!" replied the old maid after a
momentary hesitation, but without giving any proof of her assertions.
"He's had even more than his share. The Quenus will be several
thousand francs out of pocket. Money flies, you know, when a man has
such vices as he has. I dare say you don't know that there was another
woman mixed up in it all. Yes, indeed, old Madame Verlaque, the wife
of the former inspector; you know the sallow-faced thing well enough."
The others protested that it surely wasn't possible. Why, Madame
Verlaque was positively hideous!
"What! do you think me a liar?" cried Mademoiselle Saget, with angry
indignation. "Why, her letters to him have been found, a whole pile of
letters, in which she asks for money, ten and twenty francs at a time.
There's no doubt at all about it. I'm quite certain in my own mind
that they killed the husband between them."
La Sarriette and Madame Lecoeur were convinced; but they were
beginning to get very impatient. They had been waiting on the footway
for more than an hour, and feared that somebody might be robbing their
stalls during their long absence. So Mademoiselle Saget began to give
them some further interesting information to keep them from going off.
Florent could not have taken to flight, said she; he was certain to
return, and it would be very interesting to see him arrested. Then she
went on to describe the trap that had been laid for him, while Madame
Lecoeur and La Sarriette continued scrutinising the house from top to
bottom, keeping watch upon every opening, and at each moment expecting
to see the hats of the detectives appear at one of the doors or
windows.
"Who would ever imagine, now, that the place was full of police?"
observed the butter dealer.
"Oh! they're in the garret at the top," said the old maid. "They've
left the window open, you see, just as they found it. Look! I think I
can see one of them hiding behind the pomegranate on the balcony."
The others excitedly craned out their necks, but could see nothing.
"Ah, no, it's only a shadow," continued Mademoiselle Saget. "The
little curtains even are perfectly still. The detectives must be
sitting down in the room, and keeping quiet."
Just at that moment the women caught sight of Gavard coming out of the
fish market with a thoughtful air. They looked at him with glistening
eyes, without speaking. They had drawn close to one another, and stood
there rigid in their drooping skirts. The poultry dealer came up to
them.
"Have you seen Florent go by?" he asked.
They replied that they had not.
"I want to speak to him at once," continued Gavard. "He isn't in the
fish market. He must have gone up to his room. But you would have seen
him, though, if he had."
The women had turned rather pale. They still kept looking at each
other with a knowing expression, their lips twitching slightly every
now and then. "We have only been here some five minutes, said Madame
Lecoeur unblushingly, as her brother-in-law still stood hesitating.
"Well, then, I'll go upstairs and see. I'll risk the five flights,"
rejoined Gavard with a laugh.
La Sarriette stepped forward as though she wished to detain him, but
her aunt took hold of her arm and drew her back.
"Let him alone, you big simpleton!" she whispered. "It's the best
thing that can happen to him. It'll teach him to treat us with respect
in future."
"He won't say again that I ate tainted meat," muttered Mademoiselle
Saget in a low tone.
They said nothing more. La Sarriette was very red; but the two others
still remained quite yellow. But they now averted their heads, feeling
confused by each other's looks, and at a loss what to do with their
hands, which they buried beneath their aprons. Presently their eyes
instinctively came back to the house, penetrating the walls, as it
were, following Gavard in his progress up the stairs. When they
imagined that he had entered Florent's room they again exchanged
furtive glances. La Sarriette laughed nervously. All at once they
fancied they could see the window curtains moving, and this led them
to believe that a struggle was taking place. But the house-front
remained as tranquil as ever in the sunshine; and another quarter of
an hour of unbroken quietness passed away, during which the three
women's nervous excitement became more and more intense. They were
beginning to feel quite faint when a man hurriedly came out of the
passage and ran off to get a cab. Five minutes later Gavard appeared,
followed by two police officers. Lisa, who had stepped out on to the
footway on observing the cab, hastily hurried back into the shop.
Gavard was very pale. The police had searched him upstairs, and had
discovered the revolver and cartridge case in his possession. Judging
by the commissary's stern expression on hearing his name, the poultry
dealer deemed himself lost. This was a terrible ending to his plotting
that had never entered into his calculations. The Tuileries would
never forgive him! His legs gave way beneath him as though the firing
party was already awaiting him outside. When he got into the street,
however, his vanity lent him sufficient strength to walk erect; and he
even managed to force a smile, as he knew the market people were
looking at him. They should see him die bravely, he resolved.
However, La Sarriette and Madame Lecoeur rushed up to him and
anxiously inquired what was the matter; and the butter dealer began to
cry, while La Sarriette embraced her uncle, manifesting the deepest
emotion. As Gavard held her clasped in his arms, he slipped a key into
her hand, and whispered in her ear: "Take everything, and burn the
papers."
Then he got into the cab with the same mien as he would have ascended
the scaffold. As the vehicle disappeared round the corner of the Rue
Pierre Lescot, Madame Lecoeur observed La Sarriette trying to hide the
key in her pocket.
"It's of no use you trying that little game on me, my dear," she
exclaimed, clenching her teeth; "I saw him slip it into your hand. As
true as there's a God in Heaven, I'll go to the gaol and tell him
everything, if you don't treat me properly."
"Of course I shall treat you properly, aunt, dear," replied La
Sarriette, with an embarrassed smile.
"Very well, then, let us go to his rooms at once. It's of no use to
give the police time to poke their dirty hands in the cupboards."
Mademoiselle Saget, who had been listening with gleaming eyes,
followed them, running along in the rear as quickly as her short legs
could carry her. She had no thought, now, of waiting for Florent. From
the Rue Rambuteau to the Rue de la Cossonnerie she manifested the most
humble obsequiousness, and volunteered to explain matters to Madame
Leonce, the doorkeeper.
"We'll see, we'll see," the butter dealer curtly replied.
However, on reaching the house a preliminary parley--as Mademoiselle
Saget had opined--proved to be necessary. Madame Leonce refused to
allow the women to go up to her tenant's room. She put on an
expression of severe austerity, and seemed greatly shocked by the
sight of La Sarriette's loosely fastened fichu. However, after the old
maid had whispered a few words to her and she was shown the key, she
gave way. When they got upstairs she surrendered the rooms and
furniture to the others article by article, apparently as heartbroken
as if she had been compelled to show a party of burglars the place
where her own money was secreted.
"There, take everything and have done with it!" she cried at last,
throwing herself into an arm-chair.
La Sarriette was already eagerly trying the key in the locks of
different closets. Madame Lecoeur, all suspicion, pressed her so
closely that she exclaimed: "Really, aunt, you get in my way. Do leave
my arms free, at any rate."
At last they succeeded in opening a wardrobe opposite the window,
between the fireplace and the bed. And then all four women broke into
exclamations. On the middle shelf lay some ten thousand francs in
gold, methodically arranged in little piles. Gavard, who had prudently
deposited the bulk of his fortune in the hands of a notary, had kept
this sum by him for the purposes of the coming outbreak. He had been
wont to say with great solemnity that his contribution to the
revolution was quite ready. The fact was that he had sold out certain
stock, and every night took an intense delight in contemplating those
ten thousand francs, gloating over them, and finding something quite
roysterous and insurrectional in their appearance. Sometimes when he
was in bed he dreamed that a fight was going on in the wardrobe; he
could hear guns being fired there, paving-stones being torn up and
piled into barricades, and voices shouting in clamorous triumph; and
he said to himself that it was his money fighting against the
Government.
La Sarriette, however, had stretched out her hands with a cry of
delight.
"Paws off, little one!" exclaimed Madame Lecoeur in a hoarse voice.
As she stood there in the reflection of the gold, she looked yellower
than ever--her face discoloured by biliousness, her eyes glowing
feverishly from the liver complaint which was secretly undermining
her. Behind her Mademoiselle Saget on tip-toe was gazing ecstatically
into the wardrobe, and Madame Leonce had now risen from her seat, and
was growling sulkily.
"My uncle said I was to take everything," declared the girl.
"And am I to have nothing, then; I who have done so much for him?"
cried the doorkeeper.
Madame Lecoeur was almost choking with excitement. She pushed the
others away, and clung hold of the wardrobe, screaming: "It all
belongs to me! I am his nearest relative. You are a pack of thieves,
you are! I'd rather throw it all out of the window than see you have
it!"
Then silence fell, and they all four stood glowering at each other.
The kerchief that La Sarriette wore over her breast was now altogether
unfastened, and she displayed her bosom heaving with warm life, her
moist red lips, her rosy nostrils. Madame Lecoeur grew still more sour
as she saw how lovely the girl looked in the excitement of her longing
desire.
"Well," she said in a lower tone, "we won't fight about it. You are
his niece, and I'll divide the money with you. We will each take a
pile in turn."
Thereupon they pushed the other two aside. The butter dealer took the
first pile, which at once disappeared within her skirts. Then La
Sarriette took a pile. They kept a close watch upon one another, ready
to fight at the slightest attempt at cheating. Their fingers were
thrust forward in turn, the hideous knotted fingers of the aunt and
the white fingers of the niece, soft and supple as silk. Slowly they
filled their pockets. When there was only one pile left, La Sarriette
objected to her aunt taking it, as she had commenced; and she suddenly
divided it between Mademoiselle Saget and Madame Leonce, who had
watched them pocket the gold with feverish impatience.
"Much obliged to you!" snarled the doorkeeper. "Fifty francs for
having coddled him up with tisane and broth! The old deceiver told me
he had no relatives!"
Before locking the wardrobe up again, Madame Lecoeur searched it
thoroughly from top to bottom. It contained all the political works
which were forbidden admission into the country, the pamphlets printed
at Brussels, the scandalous histories of the Bonapartes, and the
foreign caricatures ridiculing the Emperor. One of Gavard's greatest
delights was to shut himself up with a friend, and show him all these
compromising things.
"He told me that I was to burn all the papers," said La Sarriette.
"Oh, nonsense! we've no fire, and it would take up too long. The
police will soon be here! We must get out of this!"
They all four hastened off; but they had not reached the bottom of the
stairs before the police met them, and made Madame Leonce return with
them upstairs. The three others, making themselves as small as
possible, hurriedly escaped into the street. They walked away in
single file at a brisk pace; the aunt and niece considerably
incommoded by the weight of their drooping pockets. Mademoiselle Saget
had kept her fifty francs in her closed fist, and remained deep in
thought, brooding over a plan for extracting something more from the
heavy pockets in front of her.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, as they reached the corner of the fish market,
"we've got here at a lucky moment. There's Florent yonder, just going
to walk into the trap."
Florent, indeed, was just then returning to the markets after his
prolonged perambulation. He went into his office to change his coat,
and then set about his daily duties, seeing that the marble slabs were
properly washed, and slowly strolling along the alleys. He fancied
that the fish-wives looked at him in a somewhat strange manner; they
chuckled too, and smiled significantly as he passed them. Some new
vexation, he thought, was in store for him. For some time past those
huge, terrible women had not allowed him a day's peace. However, as he
passed the Mehudins' stall he was very much surprised to hear the old
woman address him in a honeyed tone: "There's just been a gentleman
inquiring for you, Monsieur Florent; a middle-aged gentleman. He's
gone to wait for you in your room."
As the old fish-wife, who was squatting, all of a heap, on her chair,
spoke these words, she felt such a delicious thrill of satisfied
vengeance that her huge body fairly quivered. Florent, still doubtful,
glanced at the beautiful Norman; but the young woman, now completely
reconciled with her mother, turned on her tap and slapped her fish,
pretending not to hear what was being said.
"You are quite sure?" said Florent to Mother Mehudin.
"Oh, yes, indeed. Isn't that so, Louise?" said the old woman in a
shriller voice.
Florent concluded that it must be some one who wanted to see him about
the great business, and he resolved to go up to his room. He was just
about to leave the pavilion, when, happening to turn round, he
observed the beautiful Norman watching him with a grave expression on
her face. Then he passed in front of the three gossips.
"Do you notice that there's no one in the pork shop?" remarked
Mademoiselle Saget. "Beautiful Lisa's not the woman to compromise
herself."
The shop was, indeed, quite empty. The front of the house was still
bright with sunshine; the building looked like some honest, prosperous
pile guilelessly warming itself in the morning rays. Up above, the
pomegranate on the balcony was in full bloom. As Florent crossed the
roadway he gave a friendly nod to Logre and Monsieur Lebigre, who
appeared to be enjoying the fresh air on the doorstep of the latter's
establishment. They returned his greeting with a smile. Florent was
then about to enter the side-passage, when he fancied he saw Auguste's
pale face hastily vanishing from its dark and narrow depths. Thereupon
he turned back and glanced into the shop to make sure that the middle-
aged gentleman was not waiting for him there. But he saw no one but
Mouton, who sat on a block displaying his double chin and bristling
whiskers, and gazed at him defiantly with his great yellow eyes. And
when he had at last made up his mind to enter the passage, Lisa's face
appeared behind the little curtain of a glazed door at the back of the
shop.
A hush had fallen over the fish market. All the huge paunches and
bosoms held their breath, waiting till Florent should disappear from
sight. Then there was an uproarious outbreak; and the bosoms heaved
wildly and the paunches nearly burst with malicious delight. The joke
had succeeded. Nothing could be more comical. As old Mother Mehudin
vented her merriment she shook and quivered like a wine-skin that is
being emptied. Her story of the middle-aged gentleman went the round
of the market, and the fish-wives found it extremely amusing. At last
the long spindle-shanks was collared, and they would no longer always
have his miserable face and gaol-bird's expression before their eyes.
They all wished him a pleasant journey, and trusted that they might
get a handsome fellow for their next inspector. And in their delight
they rushed about from one stall to another, and felt inclined to
dance round their marble slabs like a lot of holiday-making
schoolgirls. The beautiful Norman, however, watched this outbreak of
joy in a rigid attitude, not daring to move for fear she should burst
into tears; and she kept her hands pressed upon a big skate to cool
her feverish excitement.
"You see how those Mehudins turn their backs upon him now that he's
come to grief," said Madame Lecoeur.
"Well, and they're quite right too," replied Mademoiselle Saget.
"Besides, matters are settled now, my dear, and we're to have no more
disputes. You've every reason to be satisfied; leave the others to act
as they please."
"It's only the old woman who is laughing," La Sarriette remarked; "La
Normande looks anything but happy."
Meantime, upstairs in his bedroom, Florent allowed himself to be taken
as unresistingly as a sheep. The police officers sprang roughly upon
him, expecting, no doubt, that they would meet with a desperate
resistance. He quietly begged them to leave go of him; and then sat
down on a chair while they packed up his papers, and the red scarves,
armlets, and banners. He did not seem at all surprised at this ending;
indeed, it was something of a relief to him, though he would not
frankly confess it. But he suffered acutely at thought of the bitter
hatred which had sent him into that room; he recalled Auguste's pale
face and the sniggering looks of the fish-wives; he bethought himself
of old Madame Mehudin's words, La Normande's silence, and the empty
shop downstairs. The markets were leagued against him, he reflected;
the whole neighbourhood had conspired to hand him over to the police.
The mud of those greasy streets had risen up all around to overwhelm
him!
And amidst all the round faces which flitted before his mind's eye
there suddenly appeared that of Quenu, and a spasm of mortal agony
contracted his heart.
"Come, get along downstairs!" exclaimed one of the officers, roughly.
Florent rose and proceeded to go downstairs. When he reached the
second floor he asked to be allowed to return; he had forgotten
something, he said. But the officers refused to let him go back, and
began to hustle him forward. Then he besought them to let him return
to his room again, and even offered them the money he had in his
pocket. Two of them at last consented to return with him, threatening
to blow his brains out should he attempt to play them any trick; and
they drew their revolvers out of their pockets as they spoke. However,
on reaching his room once more Florent simply went straight to the
chaffinch's cage, took the bird out of it, kissed it between its
wings, and set it at liberty. He watched it fly away through the open
window, into the sunshine, and alight, as though giddy, on the roof of
the fish market. Then it flew off again and disappeared over the
markets in the direction of the Square des Innocents. For a moment
longer Florent remained face to face with the sky, the free and open
sky; and he thought of the wood-pigeons cooing in the garden of the
Tuileries, and of those other pigeons down in the market cellars with
their throats slit by Marjolin's knife. Then he felt quite broken, and
turned and followed the officers, who were putting their revolvers
back into their pockets as they shrugged their shoulders.
On reaching the bottom of the stairs, Florent stopped before the door
which led into the kitchen. The commissary, who was waiting for him
there, seemed almost touched by his gentle submissiveness, and asked
him: "Would you like to say good-bye to your brother?"
For a moment Florent hesitated. He looked at the door. A tremendous
noise of cleavers and pans came from the kitchen. Lisa, with the
design of keeping her husband occupied, had persuaded him to make the
black-puddings in the morning instead of in the evening, as was his
wont. The onions were simmering on the fire, and over all the noisy
uproar Florent could hear Quenu's joyous voice exclaiming, "Ah, dash
it all, the pudding will be excellent, that it will! Auguste, hand me
the fat!"
Florent thanked the commissary, but refused his offer. He was afraid
to return any more into that warm kitchen, reeking with the odour of
boiling onions, and so he went on past the door, happy in the thought
that his brother knew nothing of what had happened to him, and
hastening his steps as if to spare the establishment all further
worry. However, on emerging into the open sunshine of the street he
felt a touch of shame, and got into the cab with bent back and ashen
face. He was conscious that the fish market was gazing at him in
triumph; it seemed to him, indeed, as though the whole neighbourhood
had gathered there to rejoice at his fall.
"What a villainous expression he's got!" said Mademoiselle Saget.
"Yes, indeed, he looks just like a thief caught with his hand in
somebody's till," added Madame Lecoeur.
"I once saw a man guillotined who looked exactly like he does,"
asserted La Sarriette, showing her white teeth.
They stepped forward, lengthened their necks, and tried to see into
the cab. Just as it was starting, however, the old maid tugged sharply
at the skirts of her companions, and pointed to Claire, who was coming
round the corner of the Rue Pirouette, looking like a mad creature,
with her hair loose and her nails bleeding. She had at last succeeded
in opening her door. When she discovered that she was too late, and
that Florent was being taken off, she darted after the cab, but
checked herself almost immediately with a gesture of impotent rage,
and shook her fists at the receding wheels. Then, with her face quite
crimson beneath the fine plaster dust with which she was covered, she
ran back again towards the Rue Pirouette.
"Had he promised to marry her, eh?" exclaimed La Sarriette, laughing.
"The silly fool must be quite cracked."
Little by little the neighbourhood calmed down, though throughout the
day groups of people constantly assembled and discussed the events of
the morning. The pork shop was the object of much inquisitive
curiosity. Lisa avoided appearing there, and left the counter in
charge of Augustine. In the afternoon she felt bound to tell Quenu of
what had happened, for fear the news might cause him too great a shock
should he hear it from some gossiping neighbour. She waited till she
was alone with him in the kitchen, knowing that there he was always
most cheerful, and would weep less than if he were anywhere else.
Moreover, she communicated her tidings with all sorts of motherly
precautions. Nevertheless, as soon as he knew the truth he fell on the
chopping-block, and began to cry like a calf.
"Now, now, my poor dear, don't give way like that; you'll make
yourself quite ill," exclaimed Lisa, taking him in her arms.
His tears were inundating his white apron, the whole of his massive,
torpid form quivered with grief. He seemed to be sinking, melting
away. When he was at last able to speak, he stammered: "Oh, you don't
know how good he was to me when we lived together in the Rue Royer-
Collard! He did everything. He swept the room and cooked the meals. He
loved me as though I were his own child; and after his day's work he
used to come back splashed with mud, and so tired that he could
scarcely move, while I stayed warm and comfortable in the house, and
had nothing to do but eat. And now they're going to shoot him!"
At this Lisa protested, saying that he would certainly not be shot.
But Quenu only shook his head.
"I haven't loved him half as much as I ought to have done," he
continued. "I can see that very well now. I had a wicked heart, and I
hesitated about giving him his half of the money."
"Why, I offered it to him a dozen times and more!" Lisa interrupted.
"I'm sure we've nothing to reproach ourselves with."
"Oh, yes, I know that you are everything that is good, and that you
would have given him every copper. But I hesitated, I didn't like to
part with it; and now it will be a sorrow to me for the rest of my
life. I shall always think that if I'd shared the fortune with him he
wouldn't have gone wrong a second time. Oh, yes; it's my fault! It is
I who have driven him to this."
Then Lisa, expostulating still more gently, assured him that he had
nothing to blame himself for, and even expressed some pity for
Florent. But he was really very culpable, she said, and if he had had
more money he would probably have perpetrated greater follies.
Gradually she gave her husband to understand that it was impossible
matters could have had any other termination, and that now everything
would go on much better. Quenu was still weeping, wiping his cheeks
with his apron, trying to suppress his sobs to listen to her, and then
breaking into a wilder fit of tears than before. His fingers had
mechanically sought a heap of sausage-meat lying on the block, and he
was digging holes in it, and roughly kneading it together.
"And how unwell you were feeling, you know," Lisa continued. "It was
all because our life had got so shifted out of its usual course. I was
very anxious, though I didn't tell you so, at seeing you getting so
low."
"Yes, wasn't I?" he murmured, ceasing to sob for a moment.
"And the business has been quite under a cloud this year. It was as
though a spell had been cast on it. Come, now, don't take on so;
you'll see that everything will look up again now. You must take care
of yourself, you know, for my sake and your daughter's. You have
duties to us as well as to others, remember."
Quenu was now kneading the sausage-meat more gently. Another burst of
emotion was thrilling him, but it was a softer emotion, which was
already bringing a vague smile to his grief-stricken face. Lisa felt
that she had convinced him, and she turned and called to Pauline, who
was playing in the shop, and sat her on Quenu's knee.
"Tell your father, Pauline, that he ought not to give way like this.
Ask him nicely not to go on distressing us so."
The child did as she was told, and their fat, sleek forms united in a
general embrace. They all three looked at one another, already feeling
cured of that twelve months' depression from which they had but just
emerged. Their big, round faces smiled, and Lisa softly repeated, "And
after all, my dear, there are only we three, you know, only we three."
Two months later Florent was again sentenced to transportation. The
affair caused a great stir. The newspapers published all possible
details, and gave portraits of the accused, sketches of the banners
and scarves, and plans of the places where the conspirators had met.
For a fortnight nothing but the great plot of the central markets was
talked of in Paris. The police kept on launching more and more
alarming reports, and it was at last even declared that the whole of
the Montmartre Quarter was undermined. The excitement in the Corps
Legislatif was so intense that the members of the Centre and the Right
forgot their temporary disagreement over the Imperial Grant Bill, and
became reconciled. And then by an overwhelming majority they voted the
unpopular tax, of which even the lower classes, in the panic which was
sweeping over the city, dared no longer complain.
The trial lasted a week. Florent was very much surprised at the number
of accomplices with which he found himself credited. Out of the twenty
and more who were placed in the dock with him, he knew only some six
or seven. After the sentence of the court had been read, he fancied he
could see Robine's innocent-looking hat and back going off quietly
through the crowd. Logre was acquitted, as was also Lacaille;
Alexandre was sentenced to two years' imprisonment for his child-like
complicity in the conspiracy; while as for Gavard, he, like Florent,
was condemned to transportation. This was a heavy blow, which quite
crushed him amidst the final enjoyment that he derived from those
lengthy proceedings in which he had managed to make himself so
conspicuous. He was paying very dearly for the way in which he had
vented the spirit of perpetual opposition peculiar to the Paris
shopkeeping classes. Two big tears coursed down his scared face--the
face of a white-haired child.
And then one morning in August, amidst the busy awakening of the
markets, Claude Lantier, sauntering about in the thick of the arriving
vegetables, with his waist tightly girded by his red sash, came to
grasp Madame Francois's hand close by Saint Eustache. She was sitting
on her carrots and turnips, and her long face looked very sad. The
artist, too, was gloomy, notwithstanding the bright sun which was
already softening the deep-green velvet of the mountains of cabbages.
"Well, it's all over now," he said. "They are sending him back again.
He's already on his way to Brest, I believe."
Madame Francois made a gesture of mute grief. Then she gently waved
her hand around, and murmured in a low voice; "Ah, it is all Paris's
doing, this villainous Paris!"
"No, no, not quite that; but I know whose doing it is, the
contemptible creatures!" exclaimed Claude, clenching his fists. "Do
you know, Madame Francois, there was nothing too ridiculous for those
fellows in the court to say! Why, they even went ferreting in a
child's copy-books! That great idiot of a Public Prosecutor made a
tremendous fuss over them, and ranted about the respect due to
children, and the wickedness of demagogical education! It makes me
quite sick to think of it all!"
A shudder of disgust shook him, and then, burying himself more deeply
in his discoloured cloak, he resumed: "To think of it! A man who was
as gentle as a girl! Why, I saw him turn quite faint at seeing a
pigeon killed! I couldn't help smiling with pity when I saw him
between two gendarmes. Ah, well, we shall never see him again! He
won't come back this time."
"He ought to have listened to me," said Madame Francois, after a
pause, "and have come to live at Nanterre with my fowls and rabbits. I
was very fond of him, you see, for I could tell that he was a good-
hearted fellow. Ah, we might have been so happy together! It's a sad
pity. Well, we must bear it as best we can, Monsieur Claude. Come and
see me one of these days. I'll have an omelet ready for you."
Her eyes were dim with tears; but all at once she sprang up like a
brave woman who bears her sorrows with fortitude.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, "here's old Mother Chantemesse coming to buy some
turnips of me. The fat old lady's as sprightly as ever!"
Claude went off, and strolled about the footways. The dawn had risen
in the white sheaf of light at the end of the Rue Rambuteau; and the
sun, now level with the house-tops, was diffusing rosy rays which
already fell in warm patches on the pavements. Claude was conscious of
a gay awakening in the huge resonant markets--indeed, all over the
neighbourhood--crowded with piles of food. It was like the joy that
comes after cure, the mirth of folks who are at last relieved of a
heavy weight which has been pulling them down. He saw La Sarriette
displaying a gold chain and singing amidst her plums and strawberries,
while she playfully pulled the moustaches of Monsieur Jules, who was
arrayed in a velvet jacket. He also caught sight of Madame Lecoeur and
Mademoiselle Saget passing along one of the covered ways, and looking
less sallow than usual--indeed, almost rosy--as they laughed like
bosom friends over some amusing story. In the fish market, old Madame
Mehudin, who had returned to her stall, was slapping her fish, abusing
customers, and snubbing the new inspector, a presumptuous young man
whom she had sworn to spank; while Claire, seemingly more languid and
indolent than ever, extended her hands, blue from immersion in the
water of her tanks, to gather together a great heap of edible snails,
shimmering with silvery slime. In the tripe market Auguste and
Augustine, with the foolish expression of newly-married people, had
just been purchasing some pigs' trotters, and were starting off in a
trap for their pork shop at Montrouge. Then, as it was now eight
o'clock and already quite warm, Claude, on again coming to the Rue
Rambuteau, perceived Muche and Pauline playing at horses. Muche was
crawling along on all-fours, while Pauline sat on his back, and clung
to his hair to keep herself from falling. However, a moving shadow
which fell from the eaves of the market roof made Claude look up; and
he then espied Cadine and Marjolin aloft, kissing and warming
themselves in the sunshine, parading their loves before the whole
neighbourhood like a pair of light-hearted animals.
Claude shook his fist at them. All this joyousness down below and on
high exasperated him. He reviled the Fat; the Fat, he declared, had
conquered the Thin. All around him he could see none but the Fat
protruding their paunches, bursting with robust health, and greeting
with delight another day of gorging and digestion. And a last blow was
dealt to him by the spectacle which he perceived on either hand as he
halted opposite the Rue Pirouette.
On his right, the beautiful Norman, or the beautiful Madame Lebigre,
as she was now called, stood at the door of her shop. Her husband had
at length been granted the privilege of adding a State tobacco
agency[*] to his wine shop, a long-cherished dream of his which he had
finally been able to realise through the great services he had
rendered to the authorities. And to Claude the beautiful Madame
Lebigre looked superb, with her silk dress and her frizzed hair, quite
ready to take her seat behind her counter, whither all the gentlemen
in the neighbourhood flocked to buy their cigars and packets of
tobacco. She had become quite distinguished, quite the lady. The shop
behind her had been newly painted, with borders of twining
vine-branches showing against a soft background; the zinc-plated
wine-counter gleamed brightly, and in the tall mirror the flasks of
liqueurs set brighter flashes of colour than ever. And the mistress of
all these things stood smiling radiantly at the bright sunshine.
[*] Most readers will remember that the tobacco trade is a State
monopoly in France. The retail tobacconists are merely Government
agents.--Translator.
Then, on Claude's left, the beautiful Lisa blocked up the doorway of
her shop as she stood on the threshold. Never before had her linen
shone with such dazzling whiteness; never had her serene face and rosy
cheeks appeared in a more lustrous setting of glossy locks. She
displayed the deep calmness of repletion, a massive tranquillity
unruffled even by a smile. She was a picture of absolute quietude, of
perfect felicity, not only cloudless but lifeless, the simple felicity
of basking in the warm atmosphere. Her tightly stretched bodice seemed
to be still digesting the happiness of yesterday; while her dimpled
hands, hidden in the folds of her apron, did not even trouble to grasp
at the happiness of to-day, certain as they were that it would come of
itself. And the shop-window at her side seemed to display the same
felicity. It had recovered from its former blight; the tongues lolled
out, red and healthy; the hams had regained their old chubbiness of
form; the festoons of sausages no longer wore that mournful air which
had so greatly distressed Quenu. Hearty laughter, accompanied by a
jubilant clattering of pans, sounded from the kitchen in the rear. The
whole place again reeked with fat health. The flitches of bacon and
the sides of pork that hung against the marble showed roundly like
paunches, triumphant paunches, whilst Lisa, with her imposing breadth
of shoulders and dignity of mien, bade the markets good morning with
those big eyes of hers which so clearly bespoke a gross feeder.
However, the two women bowed to each other. Beautiful Madame Lebigre
and beautiful Madame Quenu exchanged a friendly salute.
And then Claude, who had certainly forgotten to dine on the previous
day, was thrilled with anger at seeing them standing there, looking so
healthy and well-to-do with their buxom bosoms; and tightening his
sash, he growled in a tone of irritation:
"What blackguards respectable people are!"
-THE END-
The Fat and the Thin, by Emile Zola _
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