FROMONT AND RISLER By ALPHONSE DAUDET BOOK 4. CHAPTER XXI THE DAY OF RECKONING The great clock of Saint-Gervais struck one in the morning. It was socold that the fine snow, flying through the air, hardened as it fell, covering the pavements with a slippery, white blanket. Risler, wrapped in his cloak, was hastening home from the brewery throughthe deserted streets of the Marais. He had been celebrating, in companywith his two faithful borrowers, Chebe and Delobelle, his first moment ofleisure, the end of that almost endless period of seclusion during whichhe had been superintending the manufacture of his press, with all thesearchings, the joys, and the disappointments of the inventor. It hadbeen long, very long. At the last moment he had discovered a defect. The crane did not work well; and he had had to revise his plans anddrawings. At last, on that very day, the new machine had been tried. Everything had succeeded to his heart's desire. The worthy man wastriumphant. It seemed to him that he had paid a debt, by giving thehouse of Fromont the benefit of a new machine, which would lessen thelabor, shorten the hours of the workmen, and at the same time doublethe profits and the reputation of the factory. He indulged in beautifuldreams as he plodded along. His footsteps rang out proudly, emphasizedby the resolute and happy trend of his thoughts. Quickening his pace, he reached the corner of Rue des Vieilles-Haudriettes. A long line of carriages was standing in front of thefactory, and the light of their lanterns in the street, the shadows ofthe drivers seeking shelter from the snow in the corners and angles thatthose old buildings have retained despite the straightening of thesidewalks, gave an animated aspect to that deserted, silent quarter. "Yes, yes! to be sure, " thought the honest fellow, "we have a ball atour house. " He remembered that Sidonie was giving a grand musical anddancing party, which she had excused him from attending, by the way, knowing that he was very busy. Shadows passed and repassed behind the fluttering veil of the curtains;the orchestra seemed to follow the movements of those stealthyapparitions with the rising and falling of its muffled notes. The guestswere dancing. Risler let his eyes rest for a moment on thatphantasmagoria of the ball, and fancied that he recognized Sidonie'sshadow in a small room adjoining the salon. She was standing erect in her magnificent costume, in the attitude of apretty woman before her mirror. A shorter shadow behind her, MadameDobson doubtless, was repairing some accident to the costume, retieingthe knot of a ribbon tied about her neck, its long ends floating down tothe flounces of the train. It was all very indistinct, but the woman'sgraceful figure was recognizable in those faintly traced outlines, andRisler tarried long admiring her. The contrast on the first floor was most striking. There was no lightvisible, with the exception of a little lamp shining through the lilachangings of the bedroom. Risler noticed that circumstance, and as thelittle girl had been ailing a few days before, he felt anxious about her, remembering Madame Georges's strange agitation when she passed him sohurriedly in the afternoon; and he retraced his steps as far as PereAchille's lodge to inquire. The lodge was full. Coachmen were warming themselves around the stove, chatting and laughing amid the smoke from their pipes. When Rislerappeared there was profound silence, a cunning, inquisitive, significantsilence. They had evidently been speaking of him. "Is the Fromont child still sick?" he asked. "No, not the child, Monsieur. " "Monsieur Georges sick?" "Yes, he was taken when he came home to-night. I went right off to getthe doctor. He said that it wouldn't amount to anything--that allMonsieur needed was rest. " As Risler closed the door Pere Achille added, under his breath, with thehalf-fearful, half-audacious insolence of an inferior, who would like tobe listened to and yet not distinctly heard: "Ah! 'dame', they're not making such a show on the first floor as theyare on the second. " This is what had happened. Fromont jeune, on returning home during the evening, had found his wifewith such a changed, heartbroken face, that he at once divined acatastrophe. But he had become so accustomed in the past two years tosin with impunity that it did not for one moment occur to him that hiswife could have been informed of his conduct. Claire, for her part, toavoid humiliating him, was generous enough to speak only of Savigny. "Grandpapa refused, " she said. The miserable man turned frightfully pale. "I am lost--I am lost!" he muttered two or three times in the wildaccents of fever; and his sleepless nights, a last terrible scene whichhe had had with Sidonie, trying to induce her not to give this party onthe eve of his downfall, M. Gardinois' refusal, all these maddeningthings which followed so closely on one another's heels and had agitatedhim terribly, culminated in a genuine nervous attack. Claire took pityon him, put him to bed, and established herself by his side; but hervoice had lost that affectionate intonation which soothes and persuades. There was in her gestures, in the way in which she arranged the pillowunder the patient's head and prepared a quieting draught, a strangeindifference, listlessness. "But I have ruined you!" Georges said from time to time, as if to rouseher from that apathy which made him uncomfortable. She replied with aproud, disdainful gesture. Ah! if he had done only that to her! At last, however, his nerves became calmer, the fever subsided, and hefell asleep. She remained to attend to his wants. "It is my duty, " she said to herself. Her duty. She had reached that point with the man whom she had adored soblindly, with the hope of a long and happy life together. At that moment the ball in Sidonie's apartments began to become veryanimated. The ceiling trembled rhythmically, for Madame had had all thecarpets removed from her salons for the greater comfort of the dancers. Sometimes, too, the sound of voices reached Claire's ears in waves, andfrequent tumultuous applause, from which one could divine the greatnumber of the guests, the crowded condition of the rooms. Claire was lost in thought. She did not waste time in regrets, infruitless lamentations. She knew that life was inflexible and that allthe arguments in the world will not arrest the cruel logic of itsinevitable progress. She did not ask herself how that man had succeededin deceiving her so long--how he could have sacrificed the honor andhappiness of his family for a mere caprice. That was the fact, and allher reflections could not wipe it out, could not repair the irreparable. The subject that engrossed her thoughts was the future. A new existencewas unfolding before her eyes, dark, cruel, full of privation and toil;and, strangely enough, the prospect of ruin, instead of terrifying her, restored all her courage. The idea of the change of abode made necessaryby the economy they would be obliged to practise, of work made compulsoryfor Georges and perhaps for herself, infused an indefinable energy intothe distressing calmness of her despair. What a heavy burden of soulsshe would have with her three children: her mother, her child, and herhusband! The feeling of responsibility prevented her giving way too muchto her misfortune, to the wreck of her love; and in proportion as sheforgot herself in the thought of the weak creatures she had to protectshe realized more fully the meaning of the word "sacrifice, " so vague oncareless lips, so serious when it becomes a rule of life. Such were the poor woman's thoughts during that sad vigil, a vigil ofarms and tears, while she was preparing her forces for the great battle. Such was the scene lighted by the modest little lamp which Risler hadseen from below, like a star fallen from the radiant chandeliers of theballroom. Reassured by Pere Achille's reply, the honest fellow thought of going upto his bedroom, avoiding the festivities and the guests, for whom hecared little. On such occasions he used a small servants' staircase communicating withthe counting-room. So he walked through the many-windowed workshops, which the moon, reflected by the snow, made as light as at noonday. Hebreathed the atmosphere of the day of toil, a hot, stifling atmosphere, heavy with the odor of boiled talc and varnish. The papers spread out onthe dryers formed long, rustling paths. On all sides tools were lyingabout, and blouses hanging here and there ready for the morrow. Rislernever walked through the shops without a feeling of pleasure. Suddenly he spied a light in Planus's office, at the end of that longline of deserted rooms. The old cashier was still at work, at oneo'clock in the morning! That was really most extraordinary. Risler's first impulse was to retrace his steps. In fact, since hisunaccountable falling-out with Sigismond, since the cashier had adoptedthat attitude of cold silence toward him, he had avoided meeting him. His wounded friendship had always led him to shun an explanation; he hada sort of pride in not asking Planus why he bore him ill-will. But, onthat evening, Risler felt so strongly the need of cordial sympathy, ofpouring out his heart to some one, and then it was such an excellentopportunity for a tete-a-tete with his former friend, that he did not tryto avoid him but boldly entered the counting-room. The cashier was sitting there, motionless, among heaps of papers andgreat books, which he had been turning over, some of which had fallen tothe floor. At the sound of his employer's footsteps he did not even lifthis eyes. He had recognized Risler's step. The latter, somewhatabashed, hesitated a moment; then, impelled by one of those secretsprings which we have within us and which guide us, despite ourselves, inthe path of our destiny, he walked straight to the cashier's grating. "Sigismond, " he said in a grave voice. The old man raised his head and displayed a shrunken face down which twogreat tears were rolling, the first perhaps that that animate column offigures had ever shed in his life. "You are weeping, old man? What troubles you?" And honest Risler, deeply touched, held out his hand to his friend, whohastily withdrew his. That movement of repulsion was so instinctive, sobrutal, that all Risler's emotion changed to indignation. He drew himself up with stern dignity. "I offer you my hand, Sigismond Planus!" he said. "And I refuse to take it, " said Planus, rising. There was a terrible pause, during which they heard the muffled music ofthe orchestra upstairs and the noise of the ball, the dull, wearing noiseof floors shaken by the rhythmic movement of the dance. "Why do you refuse to take my hand?" demanded Risler simply, while thegrating upon which he leaned trembled with a metallic quiver. Sigismond was facing him, with both hands on his desk, as if to emphasizeand drive home what he was about to say in reply. "Why? Because you have ruined the house; because in a few hours amessenger from the Bank will come and stand where you are, to collect ahundred thousand francs; and because, thanks to you, I haven't a sou inthe cash-box--that's the reason why!" Risler was stupefied. "I have ruined the house--I?" "Worse than that, Monsieur. You have allowed it to be ruined by yourwife, and you have arranged with her to benefit by our ruin and yourdishonor. Oh! I can see your game well enough. The money your wife haswormed out of the wretched Fromont, the house at Asnieres, the diamondsand all the rest is invested in her name, of course, out of reach ofdisaster; and of course you can retire from business now. " "Oh--oh!" exclaimed Risler in a faint voice, a restrained voice rather, that was insufficient for the multitude of thoughts it strove to express;and as he stammered helplessly he drew the grating toward him with suchforce that he broke off a piece of it. Then he staggered, fell to thefloor, and lay there motionless, speechless, retaining only, in whatlittle life was still left in him, the firm determination not to dieuntil he had justified himself. That determination must have been verypowerful; for while his temples throbbed madly, hammered by the bloodthat turned his face purple, while his ears were ringing and his glazedeyes seemed already turned toward the terrible unknown, the unhappy manmuttered to himself in a thick voice, like the voice of a shipwrecked manspeaking with his mouth full of water in a howling gale: "I must live!I must live!" When he recovered consciousness, he was sitting on the cushioned bench onwhich the workmen sat huddled together on pay-day, his cloak on thefloor, his cravat untied, his shirt open at the neck, cut by Sigismond'sknife. Luckily for him, he had cut his hands when he tore the gratingapart; the blood had flowed freely, and that accident was enough to avertan attack of apoplexy. On opening his eyes, he saw on either side oldSigismond and Madame Georges, whom the cashier had summoned in hisdistress. As soon as Risler could speak, he said to her in a chokingvoice: "Is this true, Madame Chorche--is this true that he just told me?" She had not the courage to deceive him, so she turned her eyes away. "So, " continued the poor fellow, "so the house is ruined, and I--" "No, Risler, my friend. No, not you. " "My wife, was it not? Oh! it is horrible! This is how I have paid mydebt of gratitude to you. But you, Madame Chorche, you could not havebelieved that I was a party to this infamy?" "No, my friend, no; be calm. I know that you are the most honorable manon earth. " He looked at her a moment, with trembling lips and clasped hands, forthere was something child-like in all the manifestations of that artlessnature. "Oh! Madame Chorche, Madame Chorche, " he murmured. "When I think that Iam the one who has ruined you. " In the terrible blow which overwhelmed him, and by which his heart, overflowing with love for Sidonie, was most deeply wounded, he refused tosee anything but the financial disaster to the house of Fromont, causedby his blind devotion to his wife. Suddenly he stood erect. "Come, " he said, "let us not give way to emotion. We must see aboutsettling our accounts. " Madame Fromont was frightened. "Risler, Risler--where are you going?" She thought that he was going up to Georges' room. Risler understood her and smiled in superb disdain. "Never fear, Madame. Monsieur Georges can sleep in peace. I havesomething more urgent to do than avenge my honor as a husband. Wait forme here. I will come back. " He darted toward the narrow staircase; and Claire, relying upon his word, remained with Planus during one of those supreme moments of uncertaintywhich seem interminable because of all the conjectures with which theyare thronged. A few moments later the sound of hurried steps, the rustling of silkfilled the dark and narrow staircase. Sidonie appeared first, in ballcostume, gorgeously arrayed and so pale that the jewels that glistenedeverywhere on her dead-white flesh seemed more alive than she, as if theywere scattered over the cold marble of a statue. The breathlessness dueto dancing, the trembling of intense excitement and her rapid descent, caused her to shake from head to foot, and her floating ribbons, herruffles, her flowers, her rich and fashionable attire drooped tragicallyabout her. Risler followed her, laden with jewel-cases, caskets, andpapers. Upon reaching his apartments he had pounced upon his wife'sdesk, seized everything valuable that it contained, jewels, certificates, title-deeds of the house at Asnieres; then, standing in the doorway, hehad shouted into the ballroom: "Madame Risler!" She had run quickly to him, and that brief scene had in no wise disturbedthe guests, then at the height of the evening's enjoyment. When she sawher husband standing in front of the desk, the drawers broken open andoverturned on the carpet with the multitude of trifles they contained, she realized that something terrible was taking place. "Come at once, " said Risler; "I know all. " She tried to assume an innocent, dignified attitude; but he seized her bythe arm with such force that Frantz's words came to her mind: "It willkill him perhaps, but he will kill you first. " As she was afraid ofdeath, she allowed herself to be led away without resistance, and had noteven the strength to lie. "Where are we going?" she asked, in a low voice. Risler did not answer. She had only time to throw over her shoulders, with the care for herself that never failed her, a light tulle veil, andhe dragged her, pushed her, rather, down the stairs leading to thecounting-room, which he descended at the same time, his steps close uponhers, fearing that his prey would escape. "There!" he said, as he entered the room. "We have stolen, we makerestitution. Look, Planus, you can raise money with all this stuff. "And he placed on the cashier's desk all the fashionable plunder withwhich his arms were filled--feminine trinkets, trivial aids to coquetry, stamped papers. Then he turned to his wife: "Take off your jewels! Come, be quick. " She complied slowly, opened reluctantly the clasps of bracelets andbuckles, and above all the superb fastening of her diamond necklace onwhich the initial of her name-a gleaming S-resembled a sleeping serpent, imprisoned in a circle of gold. Risler, thinking that she was too slow, ruthlessly broke, the fragile fastenings. Luxury shrieked beneath hisfingers, as if it were being whipped. "Now it is my turn, " he said; "I too must give up everything. Here is myportfolio. What else have I? What else have I?" He searched his pockets feverishly. "Ah! my watch. With the chain it will bring four-thousand francs. Myrings, my wedding-ring. Everything goes into the cash-box, everything. We have a hundred thousand francs to pay this morning. As soon as it isdaylight we must go to work, sell out and pay our debts. I know some onewho wants the house at Asnieres. That can be settled at once. " He alone spoke and acted. Sigismond and Madame Georges watched himwithout speaking. As for Sidonie, she seemed unconscious, lifeless. The cold air blowing from the garden through the little door, which wasopened at the time of Risler's swoon, made her shiver, and shemechanically drew the folds of her scarf around her shoulders, her eyesfixed on vacancy, her thoughts wandering. Did she not hear the violinsof her ball, which reached their ears in the intervals of silence, likebursts of savage irony, with the heavy thud of the dancers shaking thefloors? An iron hand, falling upon her, aroused her abruptly from hertorpor. Risler had taken her by the arm, and, leading her before hispartner's wife, he said: "Down on your knees!" Madame Fromont drew back, remonstrating: "No, no, Risler, not that. " "It must be, " said the implacable Risler. "Restitution, reparation!Down on your knees then, wretched woman!" And with irresistible force hethrew Sidonie at Claire's feet; then, still holding her arm; "You will repeat after me, word for word, what I say: Madame--" Sidonie, half dead with fear, repeated faintly: "Madame--" "A whole lifetime of humility and submission--" "A whole lifetime of humil-- No, I can not!" she exclaimed, springing toher feet with the agility of a deer; and, wresting herself from Risler'sgrasp, through that open door which had tempted her from the beginning ofthis horrible scene, luring her out into the darkness of the night to theliberty obtainable by flight, she rushed from the house, braving thefalling snow and the wind that stung her bare shoulders. "Stop her, stop her!--Risler, Planus, I implore you! In pity's name donot let her go in this way, " cried Claire. Planus stepped toward the door. Risler detained him. "I forbid you to stir! I ask your pardon, Madame, but we have moreimportant matters than this to consider. Madame Risler concerns us nolonger. We have to save the honor of the house of Fromont, which alone isat stake, which alone fills my thoughts at this moment. " Sigismond put out his hand. "You are a noble man, Risler. Forgive me for having suspected you. " Risler pretended not to hear him. "A hundred thousand francs to pay, you say? How much is there left inthe strong-box?" He sat bravely down behind the gratin, looking over the books of account, the certificates of stock in the funds, opening the jewel-cases, estimating with Planus, whose father had been a jeweller, the value ofall those diamonds, which he had once so admired on his wife, having nosuspicion of their real value. Meanwhile Claire, trembling from head to foot, looked out through thewindow at the little garden, white with snow, where Sidonie's footstepswere already effaced by the fast-falling flakes, as if to bear witnessthat that precipitate departure was without hope of return. Up-stairs they were still dancing. The mistress of the house wassupposed to be busy with the preparations for supper, while she wasflying, bare-headed, forcing back sobs and shrieks of rage. Where was she going? She had started off like a mad woman, runningacross the garden and the courtyard of the factory, and under the darkarches, where the cruel, freezing wind blew in eddying circles. PereAchille did not recognize her; he had seen so many shadows wrapped inwhite pass his lodge that night. The young woman's first thought was to join the tenor Cazaboni, whom atthe last she had not dared to invite to her ball; but he lived atMontmartre, and that was very far away for her to go, in that garb; andthen, would he be at home? Her parents would take her in, doubtless; butshe could already hear Madame Chebe's lamentations and the little man'ssermon under three heads. Thereupon she thought of Delobelle, her oldDelobelle. In the downfall of all her splendors she remembered the manwho had first initiated her into fashionable life, who had given herlessons in dancing and deportment when she was a little girl, laughed ather pretty ways, and taught her to look upon herself as beautiful beforeany one had ever told her that she was so. Something told her that thatfallen star would take her part against all others. She entered one ofthe carriages standing at the gate and ordered the driver to take her tothe actor's lodgings on the Boulevard Beaumarchais. For some time past Mamma Delobelle had been making straw hats for export-a dismal trade if ever there was one, which brought in barely two francsfifty for twelve hours' work. And Delobelle continued to grow fat in the same degree that his "saintedwife" grew thin. At the very moment when some one knocked hurriedly athis door he had just discovered a fragrant soup 'au fromage', which hadbeen kept hot in the ashes on the hearth. The actor, who had beenwitnessing at Beaumarchais some dark-browed melodrama drenched with goreeven to the illustrated headlines of its poster, was startled by thatknock at such an advanced hour. "Who is there?" he asked in some alarm. "It is I, Sidonie. Open the door quickly. " She entered the room, shivering all over, and, throwing aside her wrap, went close to the stove where the fire was almost extinct. She began totalk at once, to pour out the wrath that had been stifling her for anhour, and while she was describing the scene in the factory, lowering hervoice because of Madame Delobelle, who was asleep close by, themagnificence of her costume in that poor, bare, fifth floor, the dazzlingwhiteness of her disordered finery amid the heaps of coarse hats and thewisps of straw strewn about the room, all combined to produce the effectof a veritable drama, of one of those terrible upheavals of life whenrank, feelings, fortunes are suddenly jumbled together. "Oh! I never shall return home. It is all over. Free--I am free!" "But who could have betrayed you to your husband?" asked the actor. "It was Frantz! I am sure it was Frantz. He wouldn't have believed itfrom anybody else. Only last evening a letter came from Egypt. Oh! howhe treated me before that woman! To force me to kneel! But I'll berevenged. Luckily I took something to revenge myself with before I cameaway. " And the smile of former days played about the corners of her pale lips. The old strolling player listened to it all with deep interest. Notwithstanding his compassion for that poor devil of a Risler, and forSidonie herself, for that matter, who seemed to him, in theatricalparlance, "a beautiful culprit, " he could not help viewing the affairfrom a purely scenic standpoint, and finally cried out, carried away byhis hobby: "What a first-class situation for a fifth act!" She did not bear him. Absorbed by some evil thought, which made hersmile in anticipation, she stretched out to the fire her dainty shoes, saturated with snow, and her openwork stockings. "Well, what do you propose to do now?" Delobelle asked after a pause. "Stay here till daylight and get a little rest. Then I will see. " "I have no bed to offer you, my poor girl. Mamma Delobelle has gone tobed. " "Don't you worry about me, my dear Delobelle. I'll sleep in thatarmchair. I won't be in your way, I tell you!" The actor heaved a sigh. "Ah! yes, that armchair. It was our poor Zizi's. She sat up many anight in it, when work was pressing. Ah, me! those who leave this worldare much the happiest. " He had always at hand such selfish, comforting maxims. He had no sooneruttered that one than he discovered with dismay that his soup would soonbe stone-cold. Sidonie noticed his movement. "Why, you were just eating your supper, weren't you? Pray go on. " "'Dame'! yes, what would you have? It's part of the trade, of the hardexistence we fellows have. For you see, my girl, I stand firm. Ihaven't given up. I never will give up. " What still remained of Desiree's soul in that wretched household in whichshe had lived twenty years must have shuddered at that terribledeclaration. He never would give up! "No matter what people may say, " continued Delobelle, "it's the noblestprofession in the world. You are free; you depend upon nobody. Devotedto the service of glory and the public! Ah! I know what I would do inyour place. As if you were born to live with all those bourgeois--thedevil! What you need is the artistic life, the fever of success, theunexpected, intense emotion. " As he spoke he took his seat, tucked his napkin in his neck, and helpedhimself to a great plateful of soup. "To say nothing of the fact that your triumphs as a pretty woman wouldin no wise interfere with your triumph as an actress. By the way, do youknow, you must take a few lessons in elocution. With your voice, yourintelligence, your charms, you would have a magnificent prospect. " Then he added abruptly, as if to initiate her into the joys of thedramatic art: "But it occurs to me that perhaps you have not supped! Excitement makesone hungry; sit there, and take this soup. I am sure that you haven'teaten soup 'au fromage' for a long while. " He turned the closet topsy-turvy to find her a spoon and a napkin; andshe took her seat opposite him, assisting him and laughing a little atthe difficulties attending her entertainment. She was less pale already, and there was a pretty sparkle in her eyes, composed of the tears of amoment before and the present gayety. The strolling actress! All her happiness in life was lost forever:honor, family, wealth. She was driven from her house, stripped, dishonored. She had undergone all possible humiliations and disasters. That did not prevent her supping with a wonderful appetite and joyouslyholding her own under Delobelle's jocose remarks concerning her vocationand her future triumphs. She felt light-hearted and happy, fairlyembarked for the land of Bohemia, her true country. What more wouldhappen to her? Of how many ups and downs was her new, unforeseen, andwhimsical existence to consist? She thought about that as she fellasleep in Desiree's great easy-chair; but she thought of her revenge, too--her cherished revenge which she held in her hand, all ready for use, and so unerring, so fierce! CHAPTER XXII THE NEW EMYLOYEE OF THE HOUSE OF FROMONT It was broad daylight when Fromont Jeune awoke. All night long, betweenthe drama that was being enacted below him and the festivity in joyousprogress above, he slept with clenched fists, the deep sleep of completeprostration like that of a condemned man on the eve of his execution orof a defeated General on the night following his disaster; a sleep fromwhich one would wish never to awake, and in which, in the absence of allsensation, one has a foretaste of death. The bright light streaming through his curtains, made more dazzling bythe deep snow with which the garden and the surrounding roofs werecovered, recalled him to the consciousness of things as they were. Hefelt a shock throughout his whole being, and, even before his mind beganto work, that vague impression of melancholy which misfortunes, momentarily forgotten, leave in their place. All the familiar noises ofthe factory, the dull throbbing of the machinery, were in full activity. So the world still existed! and by slow degrees the idea of his ownresponsibility awoke in him. "To-day is the day, " he said to himself, with an involuntary movementtoward the dark side of the room, as if he longed to bury himself anew inhis long sleep. The factory bell rang, then other bells in the neighborhood, then theAngelus. "Noon! Already! How I have slept!" He felt some little remorse and a great sense of relief at the thoughtthat the drama of settling-day had passed off without him. What had theydone downstairs? Why did they not call him? He rose, drew the curtains aside, and saw Risler and Sigismond talkingtogether in the garden. And it was so long since they had spoken to eachother! What in heaven's name had happened? When he was ready to go downhe found Claire at the door of his room. "You must not go out, " she said. "Why not?" "Stay here. I will explain it to you. " "But what's the matter? Did any one come from the Bank?" "Yes, they came--the notes are paid. " "Paid?" "Risler obtained the money. He has been rushing about with Planus sinceearly morning. It seems that his wife had superb jewels. The diamondnecklace alone brought twenty thousand francs. He has also sold theirhouse at Asnieres with all it contained; but as time was required torecord the deed, Planus and his sister advanced the money. " She turned away from him as she spoke. He, on his side, hung his head toavoid her glance. "Risler is an honorable man, " she continued, "and when he learned fromwhom his wife received all her magnificent things--" "What!" exclaimed Georges in dismay. "He knows?" "All, " Claire replied, lowering her voice. The wretched man turned pale, stammered feebly: "Why, then--you?" "Oh! I knew it all before Risler. Remember, that when I came home lastnight, I told you I had heard very cruel things down at Savigny, and thatI would have given ten years of my life not to have taken that journey. " "Claire!" Moved by a mighty outburst of affection, he stepped toward his wife; buther face was so cold, so sad, so resolute, her despair was so plainlywritten in the stern indifference of her whole bearing, that he dared nottake her in his arms as he longed to do, but simply murmured under hisbreath: "Forgive!--forgive!" "You must think me strangely calm, " said the brave woman; "but I shed allmy tears yesterday. You may have thought that I was weeping over ourruin; you were mistaken. While one is young and strong as we are, such cowardly conduct is not permissible. We are armed against want andcan fight it face to face. No, I was weeping for our departed happiness, for you, for the madness that led you to throw away your only, your truefriend. " She was lovely, lovelier than Sidonie had ever been, as she spoke thus, enveloped by a pure light which seemed to fall upon her from a greatheight, like the radiance of a fathomless, cloudless sky; whereas theother's irregular features had always seemed to owe their brilliancy, their saucy, insolent charm to the false glamour of the footlights insome cheap theatre. The touch of statuesque immobility formerlynoticeable in Claire's face was vivified by anxiety, by doubt, by all thetorture of passion; and like those gold ingots which have their fullvalue only when the Mint has placed its stamp upon them, those beautifulfeatures stamped with the effigy of sorrow had acquired since thepreceding day an ineffaceable expression which perfected their beauty. Georges gazed at her in admiration. She seemed to him more alive, morewomanly, and worthy of adoration because of their separation and all theobstacles that he now knew to stand between them. Remorse, despair, shame entered his heart simultaneously with this new love, and he wouldhave fallen on his knees before her. "No, no, do not kneel, " said Claire; "if you knew of what you remind me, if you knew what a lying face, distorted with hatred, I saw at my feetlast night!" "Ah! but I am not lying, " replied Georges with a shudder. "Claire, Iimplore you, in the name of our child--" At that moment some one knocked at the door. "Rise, I beg of you! You see that life has claims upon us, " she said ina low voice and with a bitter smile; then she asked what was wanted. Monsieur Risler had sent for Monsieur to come down to the office. "Very well, " she said; "say that he will come. " Georges approached the door, but she stopped him. "No, let me go. He must not see you yet. " "But--" "I wish you to stay here. You have no idea of the indignation and wrathof that poor man, whom you have deceived. If you had seen him lastnight, crushing his wife's wrists!" As she said it she looked him in the face with a curiosity most cruel toherself; but Georges did not wince, and replied simply: "My life belongs to him. " "It belongs to me, too; and I do not wish you to go down. There has beenscandal enough in my father's house. Remember that the whole factory isaware of what is going on. Every one is watching us, spying upon us. It required all the authority of the foremen to keep the men busy to-day, to compel them to keep their inquisitive looks on their work. " "But I shall seem to be hiding. " "And suppose it were so! That is just like a man. They do not recoilfrom the worst crimes: betraying a wife, betraying a friend; but thethought that they may be accused of being afraid touches them more keenlythan anything. Moreover, listen to what I say. Sidonie has gone; shehas gone forever; and if you leave this house I shall think that you havegone to join her. " "Very well, I will stay, " said Georges. "I will do whatever you wish. " Claire descended into Planus' office. To see Risler striding to and fro, with his hands behind his back, ascalm as usual, no one would ever have suspected all that had taken placein his life since the night before. As for Sigismond, he was fairlybeaming, for he saw nothing in it all beyond the fact that the notes hadbeen paid at maturity and that the honor of the firm was safe. When Madame Fromont appeared, Risler smiled sadly and shook his head. "I thought that you would prefer to come down in his place; but you arenot the one with whom I have to deal. It is absolutely necessary that Ishould see Georges and talk with him. We have paid the notes that felldue this morning; the crisis has passed; but we must come to anunderstanding about many matters. " "Risler, my friend, I beg you to wait a little longer. " "Why, Madame Chorche, there's not a minute to lose. Oh! I suspect thatyou fear I may give way to an outbreak of anger. Have no fear--let himhave no fear. You know what I told you, that the honor of the house ofFromont is to be assured before my own. I have endangered it by myfault. First of all, I must repair the evil I have done or allowed to bedone. " "Your conduct toward us is worthy of all admiration, my good Risler; Iknow it well. " "Oh! Madame, if you could see him! he's a saint, " said poor Sigismond, who, not daring to speak to his friend, was determined at all events toexpress his remorse. "But aren't you afraid?" continued Claire. "Human endurance has itslimits. It may be that in presence of the man who has injured you so--" Risler took her hands, gazed into her eyes with grave admiration, andsaid: "You dear creature, who speak of nothing but the injury done to me! Doyou not know that I hate him as bitterly for his falseness to you? Butnothing of that sort has any existence for me at this moment. You see inme simply a business man who wishes to have an understanding with hispartner for the good of the firm. So let him come down without theslightest fear, and if you dread any outbreak on my part, stay here withus. I shall need only to look at my old master's daughter to be remindedof my promise and my duty. " "I trust you, my friend, " said Claire; and she went up to bring herhusband. The first minute of the interview was terrible. Georges was deeplymoved, humiliated, pale as death. He would have preferred a hundredtimes over to be looking into the barrel of that man's pistol at twentypaces, awaiting his fire, instead of appearing before him as anunpunished culprit and being compelled to confine his feelings within thecommonplace limits of a business conversation. Risler pretended not to look at him, and continued to pace the floor ashe talked: "Our house is passing through a terrible crisis. We have averted thedisaster for to-day; but this is not the last of our obligations. Thatcursed invention has kept my mind away from the business for a longwhile. Luckily, I am free now, and able to attend to it. But you mustgive your attention to it as well. The workmen and clerks have followedthe example of their employers to some extent. Indeed, they have becomeextremely negligent and indifferent. This morning, for the first time ina year, they began work at the proper time. I expect that you will makeit your business to change all that. As for me, I shall work at mydrawings again. Our patterns are old-fashioned. We must have new onesfor the new machines. I have great confidence in our presses. Theexperiments have succeeded beyond my hopes. We unquestionably have inthem a means of building up our business. I didn't tell you soonerbecause I wished to surprise you; but we have no more surprises for eachother, have we, Georges?" There was such a stinging note of irony in his voice that Claireshuddered, fearing an outbreak; but he continued, in his natural tone. "Yes, I think I can promise that in six months the Risler Press willbegin to show magnificent results. But those six months will be veryhard to live through. We must limit ourselves, cut down our expenses, save in every way that we can. We have five draughtsmen now; hereafterwe will have but two. I will undertake to make the absence of the othersof no consequence by working at night myself. Furthermore, beginningwith this month, I abandon my interest in the firm. I will take mysalary as foreman as I took it before, and nothing more. " Fromont attempted to speak, but a gesture from his wife restrained him, and Risler continued: "I am no longer your partner, Georges. I am once more the clerk that Inever should have ceased to be. From this day our partnership articlesare cancelled. I insist upon it, you understand; I insist upon it. Wewill remain in that relation to each other until the house is out ofdifficulty and I can-- But what I shall do then concerns me alone. Thisis what I wanted to say to you, Georges. You must give your attention tothe factory diligently; you must show yourself, make it felt that you aremaster now, and I believe there will turn out to be, among all ourmisfortunes, some that can be retrieved. " During the silence that followed, they heard the sound of wheels in thegarden, and two great furniture vans stopped at the door. "I beg your pardon, " said Risler, "but I must leave you a moment. Thoseare the vans from the public auction rooms; they have come to take awaymy furniture from upstairs. " "What! you are going to sell your furniture too?" asked Madame Fromont. "Certainly--to the last piece. I am simply giving it back to the firm. It belongs to it. " "But that is impossible, " said Georges. "I can not allow that. " Risler turned upon him indignantly. "What's that? What is it that you can't allow?" Claire checked him with an imploring gesture. "True--true!" he muttered; and he hurried from the room to escape thesudden temptation to give vent to all that was in his heart. The second floor was deserted. The servants, who had been paid anddismissed in the morning, had abandoned the apartments to the disorder ofthe day following a ball; and they wore the aspect peculiar to placeswhere a drama has been enacted, and which are left in suspense, as itwere, between the events that have happened and those that are still tohappen. The open doors, the rugs lying in heaps in the corners, thesalvers laden with glasses, the preparations for the supper, the tablestill set and untouched, the dust from the dancing on all the furniture, its odor mingled with the fumes of punch, of withered flowers, of rice-powder--all these details attracted Risler's notice as he entered. In the disordered salon the piano was open, the bacchanal from 'Orpheeaux Enfers' on the music-shelf, and the gaudy hangings surrounding thatscene of desolation, the chairs overturned, as if in fear, reminded oneof the saloon of a wrecked packet-boat, of one of those ghostly nights ofwatching when one is suddenly informed, in the midst of a fete at sea, that the ship has sprung a leak, that she is taking in water in everypart. The men began to remove the furniture. Risler watched them at work withan indifferent air, as if he were in a stranger's house. Thatmagnificence which had once made him so happy and proud inspired in himnow an insurmountable disgust. But, when he entered his wife's bedroom, he was conscious of a vague emotion. It was a large room, hung with blue satin under white lace. A veritablecocotte's nest. There were torn and rumpled tulle ruffles lying about, bows, and artificial flowers. The wax candles around the mirror hadburned down to the end and cracked the candlesticks; and the bed, withits lace flounces and valances, its great curtains raised and drawn back, untouched in the general confusion, seemed like the bed of a corpse, astate bed on which no one would ever sleep again. Risler's first feeling upon entering the room was one of mad indignation, a longing to fall upon the things before him, to tear and rend andshatter everything. Nothing, you see, resembles a woman so much as herbedroom. Even when she is absent, her image still smiles in the mirrorsthat have reflected it. A little something of her, of her favoriteperfume, remains in everything she has touched. Her attitudes arereproduced in the cushions of her couch, and one can follow her goingsand comings between the mirror and the toilette table in the pattern ofthe carpet. The one thing above all others in that room that recalledSidonie was an 'etagere' covered with childish toys, petty, trivialknickknacks, microscopic fans, dolls' tea-sets, gilded shoes, littleshepherds and shepherdesses facing one another, exchanging cold, gleaming, porcelain glances. That 'etagere' was Sidonie's very soul, andher thoughts, always commonplace, petty, vain, and empty, resembled thosegewgaws. Yes, in very truth, if Risler, while he held her in his grasplast night, had in his frenzy broken that fragile little head, a wholeworld of 'etagere' ornaments would have come from it in place of a brain. The poor man was thinking sadly of all these things amid the ringing ofhammers and the heavy footsteps of the furniture-movers, when he heard aninterloping, authoritative step behind him, and Monsieur Chebe appeared, little Monsieur Chebe, flushed and breathless, with flames darting fromhis eyes. He assumed, as always, a very high tone with his son-in-law. "What does this mean? What is this I hear? Ah! so you're moving, areyou?" "I am not moving, Monsieur Chebe--I am selling out. " The little man gave a leap like a scalded fish. "You are selling out? What are you selling, pray?" "I am selling everything, " said Risler in a hollow voice, without evenlooking at him. "Come, come, son-in-law, be reasonable. God knows I don't say thatSidonie's conduct-- But, for my part, I know nothing about it. I neverwanted to know anything. Only I must remind you of your dignity. Peoplewash their dirty linen in private, deuce take it! They don't makespectacles of themselves as you've been doing ever since morning. Justsee everybody at the workshop windows; and on the porch, too! Why, you're the talk of the quarter, my dear fellow. " "So much the better. The dishonor was public, the reparation must bepublic, too. " This apparent coolness, this indifference to all his observations, exasperated Monsieur Chebe. He suddenly changed his tactics, andadopted, in addressing his son-in-law, the serious, peremptory tone whichone uses with children or lunatics. "Well, I say that you haven't any right to take anything away from here. I remonstrate formally, with all my strength as a man, with all myauthority as a father. Do you suppose I am going to let you drive mychild into the street. No, indeed! Oh! no, indeed! Enough of suchnonsense as that! Nothing more shall go out of these rooms. " And Monsieur Chebe, having closed the door, planted himself in front ofit with a heroic gesture. Deuce take it! his own interest was at stakein the matter. The fact was that when his child was once in the gutterhe ran great risk of not having a feather bed to sleep on himself. Hewas superb in that attitude of an indignant father, but he did not keepit long. Two hands, two vises, seized his wrists, and he found himselfin the middle of the room, leaving the doorway clear for the workmen. "Chebe, my boy, just listen, " said Risler, leaning over him. "I am atthe end of my forbearance. Since this morning I have been makingsuperhuman efforts to restrain myself, but it would take very little nowto make my anger burst all bonds, and woe to the man on whom it falls!I am quite capable of killing some one. Come! Be off at once!--" There was such an intonation in his son-in-law's voice, and the way thatson-in-law shook him as he spoke was so eloquent, that Monsieur Chebe wasfully convinced. He even stammered an apology. Certainly Risler hadgood reason for acting as he had. All honorable people would be on hisside. And he backed toward the door as he spoke. When he reached it, he inquired timidly if Madame Chebe's little allowance would becontinued. "Yes, " was Risler's reply, "but never go beyond it, for my position hereis not what it was. I am no longer a partner in the house. " Monsieur Chebe stared at him in amazement, and assumed the idioticexpression which led many people to believe that the accident that hadhappened to him--exactly like that of the Duc d'Orleans, you know--wasnot a fable of his own invention; but he dared not make the slightestobservation. Surely some one had changed his son-in-law. Was thisreally Risler, this tiger-cat, who bristled up at the slightest wordand talked of nothing less than killing people? He took to his heels, recovered his self-possession at the foot of thestairs, and walked across the courtyard with the air of a conqueror. When all the rooms were cleared and empty, Risler walked through them forthe last time, then took the key and went down to Planus's office to handit to Madame Georges. "You can let the apartment, " he said, "it will be so much added to theincome of the factory. " "But you, my friend?" "Oh! I don't need much. An iron bed up under the eaves. That's all aclerk needs. For, I repeat, I am nothing but a clerk from this time on. A useful clerk, by the way, faithful and courageous, of whom you willhave no occasion to complain, I promise you. " Georges, who was going over the books with Planus, was so affected athearing the poor fellow talk in that strain that he left his seatprecipitately. He was suffocated by his sobs. Claire, too, was deeplymoved; she went to the new clerk of the house of Fromont and said to him: "Risler, I thank you in my father's name. " At that moment Pere Achille appeared with the mail. Risler took the pile of letters, opened them tranquilly one by one, andpassed them over to Sigismond. "Here's an order for Lyon. Why wasn't it answered at Saint-Etienne?" He plunged with all his energy into these details, and he brought to thema keen intelligence, due to the constant straining of the mind towardpeace and forgetfulness. Suddenly, among those huge envelopes, stamped with the names of businesshouses, the paper of which and the manner of folding suggested the officeand hasty despatch, he discovered one smaller one, carefully sealed, andhidden so cunningly between the others that at first he did not noticeit. He recognized instantly that long, fine, firm writing, --To MonsieurRisler--Personal. It was Sidonie's writing! When he saw it he felt thesame sensation he had felt in the bedroom upstairs. All his love, all the hot wrath of the betrayed husband poured back intohis heart with the frantic force that makes assassins. What was shewriting to him? What lie had she invented now? He was about to open theletter; then he paused. He realized that, if he should read that, itwould be all over with his courage; so he leaned over to the old cashier, and said in an undertone: "Sigismond, old friend, will you do me a favor?" "I should think so!" said the worthy man enthusiastically. He was sodelighted to hear his friend speak to him in the kindly voice of the olddays. "Here's a letter someone has written me which I don't wish to read now. I am sure it would interfere with my thinking and living. You must keepit for me, and this with it. " He took from his pocket a little package carefully tied, and handed it tohim through the grating. "That is all I have left of the past, all I have left of that woman. I have determined not to see her, nor anything that reminds me of her, until my task here is concluded, and concluded satisfactorily, --I needall my intelligence, you understand. You will pay the Chebes' allowance. If she herself should ask for anything, you will give her what she needs. But you will never mention my name. And you will keep this package safefor me until I ask you for it. " Sigismond locked the letter and the package in a secret drawer of hisdesk with other valuable papers. Risler returned at once to hiscorrespondence; but all the time he had before his eyes the slenderEnglish letters traced by a little hand which he had so often and soardently pressed to his heart. CHAPTER XXIII CAFE CHANTANT What a rare, what a conscientious clerk did that new employe of the houseof Fromont prove himself! Every day his lamp was the first to appear at, and the last to disappearfrom, the windows of the factory. A little room had been arranged forhim under the eaves, exactly like the one he had formerly occupied withFrantz, a veritable Trappist's cell, furnished with an iron cot and awhite wooden table, that stood under his brother's portrait. He led thesame busy, regular, quiet life as in those old days. He worked constantly, and had his meals brought from the same littlecreamery. But, alas! the disappearance forever of youth and hopedeprived those memories of all their charm. Luckily he still had Frantzand Madame "Chorche, " the only two human beings of whom he could thinkwithout a feeling of sadness. Madame "Chorche" was always at hand, always trying to minister to his comfort, to console him; and Frantzwrote to him often, without mentioning Sidonie, by the way. Rislersupposed that some one had told Frantz of the disaster that had befallenhim, and he too avoided all allusion to the subject in his letters. "Oh! when I can send for him to come home!" That was his dream, his soleambition: to restore the factory and recall his brother. Meanwhile the days succeeded one another, always the same to him in therestless activity of business and the heartrending loneliness of hisgrief. Every morning he walked through the workshops, where the profoundrespect he inspired and his stern, silent countenance had reestablishedthe orderly conditions that had been temporarily disturbed. In thebeginning there had been much gossip, and various explanations ofSidonie's departure had been made. Some said that she had eloped with alover, others that Risler had turned her out. The one fact that upsetall conjectures was the attitude of the two partners toward each other, apparently as unconstrained as before. Sometimes, however, when theywere talking together in the office, with no one by, Risler wouldsuddenly start convulsively, as a vision of the crime passed before hiseyes. Then he would feel a mad longing to spring upon the villain, seize him bythe throat, strangle him without mercy; but the thought of Madame"Chorche" was always there to restrain him. Should he be lesscourageous, less master of himself than that young wife? Neither Claire, nor Fromont, nor anybody else suspected what was in his mind. They couldbarely detect a severity, an inflexibility in his conduct, which were nothabitual with him. Risler awed the workmen now; and those of them uponwhom his white hair, blanched in one night, his drawn, prematurely oldfeatures did not impose respect, quailed before his strange glance-aglance from eyes of a bluish-black like the color of a gun-barrel. Whereas he had always been very kind and affable with the workmen, he hadbecome pitilessly severe in regard to the slightest infraction of therules. It seemed as if he were taking vengeance upon himself for someindulgence in the past, blind, culpable indulgence, for which he blamedhimself. Surely he was a marvellous employe, was this new officer in the house ofFromont. Thanks to him, the factory bell, notwithstanding the quavering of itsold, cracked voice, had very soon resumed its authority; and the man whoguided the whole establishment denied himself the slightest recreation. Sober as an apprentice, he left three-fourths of his salary with Planusfor the Chebes' allowance, but he never asked any questions about them. Punctually on the last day of the month the little man appeared tocollect his little income, stiff and formal in his dealings withSigismond, as became an annuitant on duty. Madame Chebe had tried toobtain an interview with her son-in-law, whom she pitied and loved; butthe mere appearance of her palm-leaf shawl on the steps put Sidonie'shusband to flight. In truth, the courage with which he armed himself was more apparent thanreal. The memory of his wife never left him. What had become of her?What was she doing? He was almost angry with Planus for never mentioningher. That letter, above all things, that letter which he had had thecourage not to open, disturbed him. He thought of it continually. Ah!had he dared, how he would have liked to ask Sigismond for it! One day the temptation was too strong. He was alone in the office. The old cashier had gone out to luncheon, leaving the key in his drawer, a most extraordinary thing. Risler could not resist. He opened thedrawer, moved the papers, and searched for his letter. It was not there. Sigismond must have put it away even more carefully, perhaps with aforeboding of what actually happened. In his heart Risler was not sorryfor his disappointment; for he well knew that, had he found the letter, it would have been the end of the resigned and busy life which he imposedupon himself with so much difficulty. Through the week it was all very well. Life was endurable, absorbed bythe innumerable duties of the factory, and so fatiguing that, when nightcame, Risler fell on his bed like a lifeless mass. But Sunday was longand sad. The silence of the deserted yards and workshops opened a farwider field to his thoughts. He tried to busy himself, but he missed theencouragement of the others' work. He alone was busy in that great, empty factory whose very breath was arrested. The locked doors, theclosed blinds, the hoarse voice of Pere Achille playing with his dog inthe deserted courtyard, all spoke of solitude. And the wholeneighborhood also produced the same effect. In the streets, which seemedwider because of their emptiness, and where the passers-by were few andsilent, the bells ringing for vespers had a melancholy sound, andsometimes an echo of the din of Paris, rumbling wheels, a belated hand-organ, the click of a toy-peddler's clappers, broke the silence, as if tomake it even more noticeable. Risler would try to invent new combinations of flowers and leaves, and, while he handled his pencil, his thoughts, not finding sufficient foodthere, would escape him, would fly back to his past happiness, to hishopeless misfortunes, would suffer martyrdom, and then, on returning, would ask the poor somnambulist, still seated at his table: "What haveyou done in my absence?" Alas! he had done nothing. Oh! the long, heartbreaking, cruel Sundays! Consider that, mingled withall these perplexities in his mind, was the superstitious reverence ofthe common people for holy days, for the twenty-four hours of rest, wherein one recovers strength and courage. If he had gone out, the sightof a workingman with his wife and child would have made him weep, but hismonastic seclusion gave him other forms of suffering, the despair ofrecluses, their terrible outbreaks of rebellion when the god to whom theyhave consecrated themselves does not respond to their sacrifices. Now, Risler's god was work, and as he no longer found comfort or serenitytherein, he no longer believed in it, but cursed it. Often in those hours of mental struggle the door of the draughting-roomwould open gently and Claire Fromont would appear. The poor man'sloneliness throughout those long Sunday afternoons filled her withcompassion, and she would come with her little girl to keep him company, knowing by experience how contagious is the sweet joyousness of children. The little one, who could now walk alone, would slip from her mother'sarms to run to her friend. Risler would hear the little, hurrying steps. He would feel the light breath behind him, and instantly he would beconscious of a soothing, rejuvenating influence. She would throw herplump little arms around his neck with affectionate warmth, with herartless, causeless laugh, and a kiss from that little mouth which neverhad lied. Claire Fromont, standing in the doorway, would smile as shelooked at them. "Risler, my friend, " she would say, "you must come down into the garden awhile, --you work too hard. You will be ill. " "No, no, Madame, --on the contrary, work is what saves me. It keeps mefrom thinking. " Then, after a long pause, she would continue: "Come, my dear Risler, you must try to forget. " Risler would shake his head. "Forget? Is that possible? There are some things beyond one's strength. A man may forgive, but he never forgets. " The child almost always succeeded in dragging him down to the garden. He must play ball, or in the sand, with her; but her playfellow'sawkwardness and lack of enthusiasm soon impressed the little girl. Thenshe would become very sedate, contenting herself with walking gravelybetween the hedges of box, with her hand in her friend's. After a momentRisler would entirely forget that she was there; but, although he did notrealize it, the warmth of that little hand in his had a magnetic, softening effect upon his diseased mind. A man may forgive, but he never forgets! Poor Claire herself knew something about it; for she had never forgotten, notwithstanding her great courage and the conception she had formed ofher duty. To her, as to Risler; her surroundings were a constantreminder of her sufferings. The objects amid which she lived pitilesslyreopened the wound that was ready to close. The staircase, the garden, the courtyard, all those dumb witnesses of her husband's sin, assumed oncertain days an implacable expression. Even the careful precaution herhusband took to spare her painful reminders, the way in which he calledattention to the fact that he no longer went out in the evening, and tookpains to tell her where he had been during the day, served only to remindher the more forcibly of his wrong-doing. Sometimes she longed to askhim to forbear, --to say to him: "Do not protest too much. " Faith wasshattered within her, and the horrible agony of the priest who doubts, and seeks at the same time to remain faithful to his vows, betrayeditself in her bitter smile, her cold, uncomplaining gentleness. Georges was wofully unhappy. He loved his wife now. The nobility of hercharacter had conquered him. There was admiration in his love, and--whynot say it?--Claire's sorrow filled the place of the coquetry which wascontrary to her nature, the lack of which had always been a defect in herhusband's eyes. He was one of that strange type of men who love to makeconquests. Sidonie, capricious and cold as she was, responded to thatwhim of his heart. After parting from her with a tender farewell, hefound her indifferent and forgetful the next day, and that continual needof wooing her back to him took the place of genuine passion. Serenity inlove bored him as a voyage without storms wearies a sailor. On thisoccasion he had been very near shipwreck with his wife, and the dangerhad not passed even yet. He knew that Claire was alienated from him anddevoted entirely to the child, the only link between them thenceforth. Their separation made her seem lovelier, more desirable, and he exercisedall his powers of fascination to recapture her. He knew how hard a taskit would be, and that he had no ordinary, frivolous nature to deal with. But he did not despair. Sometimes a vague gleam in the depths of themild and apparently impassive glance with which she watched his efforts, bade him hope. As for Sidonie, he no longer thought of her. Let no one be astonished atthat abrupt mental rupture. Those two superficial beings had nothing toattach them securely to each other. Georges was incapable of receivinglasting impressions unless they were continually renewed; Sidonie, forher part, had no power to inspire any noble or durable sentiment. It wasone of those intrigues between a cocotte and a coxcomb, compounded ofvanity and of wounded self-love, which inspire neither devotion norconstancy, but tragic adventures, duels, suicides which are rarely fatal, and which end in a radical cure. Perhaps, had he seen her again, hemight have had a relapse of his disease; but the impetus of flight hadcarried Sidonie away so swiftly and so far that her return wasimpossible. At all events, it was a relief for him to be able to livewithout lying; and the new life he was leading, a life of hard work andself-denial, with the goal of success in the distance, was notdistasteful to him. Luckily; for the courage and determination of bothpartners were none too much to put the house on its feet once more. The poor house of Fromont had sprung leaks on all sides. So Pere Planusstill had wretched nights, haunted by the nightmare of notes maturing andthe ominous vision of the little blue man. But, by strict economy, theyalways succeeded in paying. Soon four Risler Presses were definitively set up and used in the work ofthe factory. People began to take a deep interest in them and in thewall-paper trade. Lyons, Caen, Rixbeim, the great centres of theindustry, were much disturbed concerning that marvellous "rotary anddodecagonal" machine. One fine day the Prochassons appeared, and offeredthree hundred thousand francs simply for an interest in the patentrights. "What shall we do?" Fromont Jeune asked Risler Aine. The latter shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "Decide for yourself. It doesn't concern me. I am only an employe. " The words, spoken coldly, without anger, fell heavily upon Fromont'sbewildered joy, and reminded him of the gravity of a situation which hewas always on the point of forgetting. But when he was alone with his dear Madame "Chorche, " Risler advised hernot to accept the Prochassons' offer. "Wait, --don't be in a hurry. Later you will have a better offer. " He spoke only of them in that affair in which his own share was soglorious. She felt that he was preparing to cut himself adrift fromtheir future. Meanwhile orders came pouring in and accumulated on their hands. Thequality of the paper, the reduced price because of the improved methodsof manufacture, made competition impossible. There was no doubt that acolossal fortune was in store for the house of Fromont. The factory hadresumed its former flourishing aspect and its loud, business-like hum. Intensely alive were all the great buildings and the hundreds of workmenwho filled them. Pere Planus never raised his nose from his desk; onecould see him from the little garden, leaning over his great ledgers, jotting down in magnificently molded figures the profits of the Rislerpress. Risler still worked as before, without change or rest. The return ofprosperity brought no alteration in his secluded habits, and from thehighest window on the topmost floor of the house he listened to theceaseless roar of his machines. He was no less gloomy, no less silent. One day, however, it became known at the factory that the press, aspecimen of which had been sent to the great Exposition at Manchester, had received the gold medal, whereby its success was definitelyestablished. Madame Georges called Risler into the garden at theluncheon hour, wishing to be the first to tell him the good news. For the moment a proud smile relaxed his prematurely old, gloomyfeatures. His inventor's vanity, his pride in his renown, above all, the idea of repairing thus magnificently the wrong done to the family byhis wife, gave him a moment of true happiness. He pressed Claire's handsand murmured, as in the old days: "I am very happy! I am very happy!" But what a difference in tone! He said it without enthusiasm, hopelessly, with the satisfaction of a task accomplished, and nothingmore. The bell rang for the workmen to return, and Risler went calmly upstairsto resume his work as on other days. In a moment he came down again. In spite of all, that news had excitedhim more than he cared to show. He wandered about the garden, prowledaround the counting-room, smiling sadly at Pere Planus through thewindow. "What ails him?" the old cashier wondered. "What does he want of me?" At last, when night came and it was time to close the office, Rislersummoned courage to go and speak to him. "Planus, my old friend, I should like--" He hesitated a moment. "I should like you to give me the--letter, you know, the little letterand the package. " Sigismond stared at him in amazement. In his innocence, he had imaginedthat Risler never thought of Sidonie, that he had entirely forgotten her. "What--you want--?" "Ah! I have well earned it; I can think of myself a little now. I havethought enough of others. " "You are right, " said Planus. "Well, this is what we'll do. The letterand package are at my house at Montrouge. If you choose, we will go anddine together at the Palais-Royal, as in the good old times. I willstand treat. We'll water your medal with a bottle of wine; somethingchoice! Then we'll go to the house together. You can get your trinkets, and if it's too late for you to go home, Mademoiselle Planus, my sister, shall make up a bed for you, and you shall pass the night with us. Weare very comfortable there--it's in the country. To-morrow morning atseven o'clock we'll come back to the factory by the first omnibus. Come, old fellow, give me this pleasure. If you don't, I shall think you stillbear your old Sigismond a grudge. " Risler accepted. He cared little about celebrating the award of hismedal, but he desired to gain a few hours before opening the littleletter he had at last earned the right to read. He must dress. That was quite a serious matter, for he had lived in aworkman's jacket during the past six months. And what an event in thefactory! Madame Fromont was informed at once. "Madame, Madame! Monsieur Risler is going out!" Claire looked at him from her window, and that tall form, bowed bysorrow, leaning on Sigismond's arm, aroused in her a profound, unusualemotion which she remembered ever after. In the street people bowed to Risler with great interest. Even theirgreetings warmed his heart. He was so much in need of kindness! But thenoise of vehicles made him a little dizzy. "My head is spinning, " he said to Planus: "Lean hard on me, old fellow-don't be afraid. " And honest Planus drew himself up, escorting his friend with the artless, unconventional pride of a peasant of the South bearing aloft his villagesaint. At last they arrived at the Palais-Royal. The garden was full of people. They had come to hear the music, and were trying to find seats amid clouds of dust and the scraping ofchairs. The two friends hurried into the restaurant to avoid all thatturmoil. They established themselves in one of the large salons on thefirst floor, whence they could see the green trees, the promenaders, andthe water spurting from the fountain between the two melancholy flower-gardens. To Sigismond it was the ideal of luxury, that restaurant, withgilding everywhere, around the mirrors, in the chandelier and even on thefigured wallpaper. The white napkin, the roll, the menu of a tabled'hote dinner filled his soul with joy. "We are comfortable here, aren'twe?" he said to Risler. And he exclaimed at each of the courses of that banquet at two francsfifty, and insisted on filling his friend's plate. "Eat that--it's good. " The other, notwithstanding his desire to do honor to the fete, seemedpreoccupied and gazed out-of-doors. "Do you remember, Sigismond?" he said, after a pause. The old cashier, engrossed in his memories of long ago, of Risler's firstemployment at the factory, replied: "I should think I do remember--listen! The first time we dined togetherat the Palais-Royal was in February, 'forty-six, the year we put in theplanches-plates at the factory. " Risler shook his head. "Oh! no--I mean three years ago. It was in that room just opposite thatwe dined on that memorable evening. " And he pointed to the great windows of the salon of Cafe Vefour, gleamingin the rays of the setting sun like the chandeliers at a wedding feast. "Ah! yes, true, " murmured Sigismond, abashed. What an unlucky idea ofhis to bring his friend to a place that recalled such painful things! Risler, not wishing to cast a gloom upon their banquet, abruptly raisedhis glass. "Come! here's your health, my old comrade. " He tried to change the subject. But a moment later he himself led theconversation back to it again, and asked Sigismond, in an undertone, asif he were ashamed: "Have you seen her?" "Your wife? No, never. " "She hasn't written again?" "No--never again. " "But you must have heard of her. What has she been doing these sixmonths? Does she live with her parents?" "No. " Risler turned pale. He hoped that Sidonie would have returned to her mother, that she wouldhave worked, as he had worked, to forget and atone. He had often thoughtthat he would arrange his life according to what he should learn of herwhen he should have the right to speak of her; and in one of those far-off visions of the future, which have the vagueness of a dream, hesometimes fancied himself living in exile with the Chebes in an unknownland, where nothing would remind him of his past shame. It was not adefinite plan, to be sure; but the thought lived in the depths of hismind like a hope, caused by the need that all human creatures feel offinding their lost happiness. "Is she in Paris?" he asked, after a few moments' reflection. "No. She went away three months ago. No one knows where she has gone. " Sigismond did not add that she had gone with her Cazaboni, whose name shenow bore, that they were making the circuit of the provincial citiestogether, that her mother was in despair, never saw her, and heard of heronly through Delobelle. Sigismond did not deem it his duty to mentionall that, and after his last words he held his peace. Risler, for his part, dared ask no further questions. While they sat there, facing each other, both embarrassed by the longsilence, the military band began to play under the trees in the garden. They played one of those Italian operatic overtures which seem to havebeen written expressly for public open-air resorts; the swiftly-flowingnotes, as they rise into the air, blend with the call of the swallows andthe silvery plash of the fountain. The blaring brass brings out in boldrelief the mild warmth of the closing hours of those summer days, so longand enervating in Paris; it seems as if one could hear nothing else. Thedistant rumbling of wheels, the cries of children playing, the footstepsof the promenaders are wafted away in those resonant, gushing, refreshingwaves of melody, as useful to the people of Paris as the daily wateringof their streets. On all sides the faded flowers, the trees white withdust, the faces made pale and wan by the heat, all the sorrows, all themiseries of a great city, sitting dreamily, with bowed head, on thebenches in the garden, feel its comforting, refreshing influence. Theair is stirred, renewed by those strains that traverse it, filling itwith harmony. Poor Risler felt as if the tension upon all his nerves were relaxed. "A little music does one good, " he said, with glistening eyes. "My heartis heavy, old fellow, " he added, in a lower tone; "if you knew--" They sat without speaking, their elbows resting on the window-sill, whiletheir coffee was served. Then the music ceased, the garden became deserted. The light that hadloitered in the corners crept upward to the roofs, cast its last raysupon the highest windowpanes, followed by the birds, the swallows, whichsaluted the close of day with a farewell chirp from the gutter where theywere huddled together. "Now, where shall we go?" said Planus, as they left the restaurant. "Wherever you wish. " On the first floor of a building on the Rue Montpensier, close at hand, was a cafe chantant, where many people entered. "Suppose we go in, " said Planus, desirous of banishing his friend'smelancholy at any cost, "the beer is excellent. " Risler assented to the suggestion; he had not tasted beer for six months. It was a former restaurant transformed into a concert-hall. There werethree large rooms, separated by gilded pillars, the partitions havingbeen removed; the decoration was in the Moorish style, bright red, paleblue, with little crescents and turbans for ornament. Although it was still early, the place was full; and even before enteringone had a feeling of suffocation, simply from seeing the crowds of peoplesitting around the tables, and at the farther end, half-hidden by therows of pillars, a group of white-robed women on a raised platform, inthe heat and glare of the gas. Our two friends had much difficulty in finding seats, and had to becontent with a place behind a pillar whence they could see only half ofthe platform, then occupied by a superb person in black coat and yellowgloves, curled and waxed and oiled, who was singing in a vibrating voice Mes beaux lions aux crins dores, Du sang des troupeaux alteres, Halte la!--Je fais sentinello! [My proud lions with golden manes Who thirst for the blood of my flocks, Stand back!--I am on guard!] The audience--small tradesmen of the quarter with their wives anddaughters-seemed highly enthusiastic: especially the women. He represented so perfectly the ideal of the shopkeeper imagination, that magnificent shepherd of the desert, who addressed lions with such anair of authority and tended his flocks in full evening dress. And so, despite their bourgeois bearing, their modest costumes and theirexpressionless shop-girl smiles, all those women, made up their littlemouths to be caught by the hook of sentiment, and cast languishingglances upon the singer. It was truly comical to see that glance at theplatform suddenly change and become contemptuous and fierce as it fellupon the husband, the poor husband tranquilly drinking a glass of beeropposite his wife: "You would never be capable of doing sentry duty inthe very teeth of lions, and in a black coat too, and with yellowgloves!" And the husband's eye seemed to reply: "Ah! 'dame', yes, he's quite a dashing buck, that fellow. " Being decidedly indifferent to heroism of that stamp, Risler andSigismond were drinking their beer without paying much attention to themusic, when, at the end of the song, amid the applause and cries anduproar that followed it, Pere Planus uttered an exclamation: "Why, that is odd; one would say--but no, I'm not mistaken. It is he, it's Delobelle!" It was, in fact, the illustrious actor, whom he had discovered in thefront row near the platform. His gray head was turned partly away fromthem. He was leaning carelessly against a pillar, hat in hand, in hisgrand make-up as leading man: dazzlingly white linen, hair curled withthe tongs, black coat with a camellia in the buttonhole, like the ribbonof an order. He glanced at the crowd from time to time with apatronizing air: but his eyes were most frequently turned toward theplatform, with encouraging little gestures and smiles and pretendedapplause, addressed to some one whom Pere Planus could not see from hisseat. There was nothing very extraordinary in the presence of the illustriousDelobelle at a cafe concert, as he spent all his evenings away from home;and yet the old cashier felt vaguely disturbed, especially when hediscovered in the same row a blue cape and a pair of steely eyes. It wasMadame Dobson, the sentimental singing-teacher. The conjunction of thosetwo faces amid the pipe-smoke and the confusion of the crowd, producedupon Sigismond the effect of two ghosts evoked by a bad dream. He wasafraid for his friend, without knowing exactly why; and suddenly itoccurred to him to take him away. "Let us go, Risler. The heat here is enough to kill one. " Just as they rose--for Risler was no more desirous to stay than to go--the orchestra, consisting of a piano and several violins, began apeculiar refrain. There was a flutter of curiosity throughout the room, and cries of "Hush! hush! sit down!" They were obliged to resume their seats. Risler, too, was beginning tobe disturbed. "I know that tune, " he said to himself. "Where have I heard it?" A thunder of applause and an exclamation from Planus made him raise hiseyes. "Come, come, let us go, " said the cashier, trying to lead him away. But it was too late. Risler had already seen his wife come forward to the front of the stageand curtsey to the audience with a ballet-dancer's smile. She wore a white gown, as on the night of the ball; but her whole costumewas much less rich and shockingly immodest. The dress was barely caught together at the shoulders; her hair floatedin a blond mist low over her eyes, and around her neck was a necklace ofpearls too large to be real, alternated with bits of tinsel. Delobellewas right: the Bohemian life was better suited to her. Her beauty hadgained an indefinably reckless expression, which was its mostcharacteristic feature, and made her a perfect type of the woman who hasescaped from all restraint, placed herself at the mercy of everyaccident, and is descending stage by stage to the lowest depths of theParisian hell, from which nothing is powerful enough to lift her andrestore her to the pure air and the light. And how perfectly at ease she seemed in her strolling life! With whatself-possession she walked to the front of the stage! Ah! could she haveseen the desperate, terrible glance fixed upon her down there in thehall, concealed behind a pillar, her smile would have lost that equivocalplacidity, her voice would have sought in vain those wheedling, languorous tones in which she warbled the only song Madame Dobson hadever been able to teach her: Pauv' pitit Mamz'elle Zizi, C'est l'amou, l'amou qui tourne La tete a li. Risler had risen, in spite of Planus's efforts. "Sit down! sit down!"the people shouted. The wretched man heard nothing. He was staring athis wife. C'est l'amou, l'amou qui tourne La tete a li, Sidonie repeated affectedly. For a moment he wondered whether he should not leap on the platform andkill her. Red flames shot before his eyes, and he was blinded withfrenzy. Then, suddenly, shame and disgust seized upon him and he rushed from thehall, overturning chairs and tables, pursued by the terror andimprecations of all those scandalized bourgeois. CHAPTER XXIV SIDONIE'S VENGEANCE Never had Sigismond Planus returned home so late without giving hissister warning, during the twenty years and more that he had lived atMontrouge. Consequently Mademoiselle Planus was greatly worried. Livingin community of ideas and of everything else with her brother, having butone mind for herself and for him, the old maid had felt for severalmonths the rebound of all the cashier's anxiety and indignation; and theeffect was still noticeable in her tendency to tremble and becomeagitated on slight provocation. At the slightest tardiness onSigismond's part, she would think: "Ah! mon Dieu! If only nothing has happened at the factory!" That is the reason why on the evening in question, when the hens andchickens were all asleep on their perches, and the dinner had beenremoved untouched, Mademoiselle Planus was sitting in the little ground-floor living-room, waiting, in great agitation. At last, about eleven o'clock, some one rang. A timid, melancholy ring, in no wise resembling Sigismond's vigorous pull. "Is it you, Monsieur Planus?" queried the old lady from behind the door. It was he; but he was not alone. A tall, bent old man accompanied him, and, as they entered, bade her good-evening in a slow, hesitating voice. Not till then did Mademoiselle Planus recognize Risler Aine, whom she hadnot seen since the days of the New Year's calls, that is to say, sometime before the dramas at the factory. She could hardly restrain anexclamation of pity; but the grave taciturnity of the two men told herthat she must be silent. "Mademoiselle Planus, my sister, you will put clean sheets on my bed. Our friend Risler does us the honor to pass the night with us. " The sister hastened away to prepare the bedroom with an almostaffectionate zeal; for, as we know, beside "Monsieur Planus, my brother, "Risler was the only man excepted from the general reprobation in whichshe enveloped the whole male sex. Upon leaving the cafe concert, Sidonie's husband had had a moment offrantic excitement. He leaned on Planus's arm, every nerve in his bodystrained to the utmost. At that moment he had no thought of going toMontrouge to get the letter and the package. "Leave me--go away, " he said to Sigismond. "I must be alone. " But the other knew better than to abandon him thus to his despair. Unnoticed by Risler, he led him away from the factory, and as hisaffectionate heart suggested to the old cashier what he had best say tohis friend, he talked to him all the time of Frantz, his little Frantzwhom he loved so dearly. "That was genuine affection, genuine and trustworthy. No treachery tofear with such hearts as that!" While they talked they left behind them the noisy streets of the centreof Paris. They walked along the quays, skirted the Jardin des Plantes, plunged into Faubourg Saint-Marceau. Risler followed where the otherled. Sigismond's words did him so much good! In due time they came to the Bievre, bordered at that point withtanneries whose tall drying-houses with open sides were outlined in blueagainst the sky; and then the ill-defined plains of Montsouris, vasttracts of land scorched and stripped of vegetation by the fiery breaththat Paris exhales around its daily toil, like a monstrous dragon, whosebreath of flame and smoke suffers no vegetation within its range. From Montsouris to the fortifications of Montrouge is but a step. Whenthey had reached that point, Planus had no great difficulty in taking hisfriend home with him. He thought, and justly, that his tranquilfireside, the spectacle of a placid, fraternal, devoted affection, wouldgive the wretched man's heart a sort of foretaste of the happiness thatwas in store for him with his brother Frantz. And, in truth, the charmof the little household began to work as soon as they arrived. "Yes, yes, you are right, old fellow, " said Risler, pacing the floor ofthe living-room, "I mustn't think of that woman any more. She's like adead woman to me now. I have nobody left in the world but my littleFrantz; I don't know yet whether I shall send for him to come home, or goout and join him; the one thing that is certain is that we are going tostay together. Ah! I longed so to have a son! Now I have found one. I want no other. When I think that for a moment I had an idea of killingmyself! Nonsense! it would make Madame What-d'ye-call-her, yonder, toohappy. On the contrary, I mean to live--to live with my Frantz, and forhim, and for nothing else. " "Bravo!" said Sigismond, "that's the way I like to hear you talk. " At that moment Mademoiselle Planus came to say that the room was ready. Risler apologized for the trouble he was causing them. "You are so comfortable, so happy here. Really, it's too bad to burdenyou with my melancholy. " "Ah! my old friend, you can arrange just such happiness as ours foryourself, " said honest Sigismond with beaming face. "I have my sister, you have your brother. What do we lack?" Risler smiled vaguely. He fancied himself already installed with Frantzin a quiet little quakerish house like that. Decidedly, that was an excellent idea of Pere Planus. "Come to bed, " he said triumphantly. "We'll go and show you your room. " Sigismond Planus's bedroom was on the ground floor, a large room simplybut neatly furnished; with muslin curtains at the windows and the bed, and little squares of carpet on the polished floor, in front of thechairs. The dowager Madame Fromont herself could have found nothing tosay as to the orderly and cleanly aspect of the place. On a shelf or twoagainst the wall were a few books: Manual of Fishing, The Perfect CountryHousewife, Bayeme's Book-keeping. That was the whole of the intellectualequipment of the room. Pere Planus glanced proudly around. The glass of water was in its placeon the walnut table, the box of razors on the dressing-case. "You see, Risler. Here is everything you need. And if you should wantanything else, the keys are in all the drawers--you have only to turnthem. Just see what a beautiful view you get from here. It's a littledark just now, but when you wake up in the morning you'll see; it ismagnificent. " He opened the widow. Great drops of rain were beginning to fall, andlightning flashes rending the darkness disclosed the long, silent line ofthe fortifications, with telegraph poles at intervals, or the frowningdoor of a casemate. Now and then the footsteps of a patrol making therounds, the clash of muskets or swords, reminded them that they werewithin the military zone. That was the outlook so vaunted by Planus--a melancholy outlook if everthere were one. "And now good-night. Sleep well!" But, as the old cashier was leaving the room, his friend called him back: "Sigismond. " "Here!" said Sigismond, and he waited. Risler blushed slightly and moved his lips like a man who is about tospeak; then, with a mighty effort, he said: "No, no-nothing. Good-night, old man. " In the dining-room the brother and sister talked together a long while inlow tones. Planus described the terrible occurrence of the evening, themeeting with Sidonie; and you can imagine the--"Oh! these women!" and"Oh! these men?" At last, when they had locked the little garden-door, Mademoiselle Planus went up to her room, and Sigismond made himself ascomfortable as possible in a small cabinet adjoining. About midnight the cashier was aroused by his sister calling him in aterrified whisper: "Monsieur Planus, my brother?" "What is it?" "Did you hear?" "No. What?" "Oh! it was awful. Something like a deep sigh, but so loud and so sad!It came from the room below. " They listened. Without, the rain was falling in torrents, with thedreary rustling of leaves that makes the country seem so lonely. "That is only the wind, " said Planus. "I am sure not. Hush! Listen!" Amid the tumult of the storm, they heard a wailing sound, like a sob, inwhich a name was pronounced with difficulty: "Frantz! Frantz!" It was terrible and pitiful. When Christ on the Cross sent up to heaven His despairing cry: 'Eli, eli, lama sabachthani', they who heard him must have felt the same species ofsuperstitious terror that suddenly seized upon Mademoiselle Planus. "I am afraid!" she whispered; "suppose you go and look--" "No, no, we will let him alone. He is thinking of his brother. Poorfellow! It's the very thought of all others that will do him the mostgood. " And the old cashier went to sleep again. The next morning he woke as usual when the drums beat the reveille in thefortifications; for the little family, surrounded by barracks, regulatedits life by the military calls. The sister had already risen and wasfeeding the poultry. When she saw Sigismond she came to him inagitation. "It is very strange, " she said, "I hear nothing stirring in MonsieurRisler's room. But the window is wide open. " Sigismond, greatly surprised, went and knocked at his friend's door. "Risler! Risler!" He called in great anxiety: "Risler, are you there? Are you asleep?" There was no reply. He opened the door. The room was cold. It was evident that the damp air had been blowing inall night through the open window. At the first glance at the bed, Sigismond thought: "He hasn't been in bed"--for the clothes wereundisturbed and the condition of the room, even in the most trivialdetails, revealed an agitated vigil: the still smoking lamp, which he hadneglected to extinguish, the carafe, drained to the last drop by thefever of sleeplessness; but the thing that filled the cashier with dismaywas to find the bureau drawer wide open in which he had carefullybestowed the letter and package entrusted to him by his friend. The letter was no longer there. The package lay on the table, open, revealing a photograph of Sidonie at fifteen. With her high-neckedfrock, her rebellious hair parted over the forehead, and the embarrassedpose of an awkward girl, the little Chebe of the old days, MademoiselleLe Mire's apprentice, bore little resemblance to the Sidonie of to-day. And that was the reason why Risler had kept that photograph, as asouvenir, not of his wife, but of the "little one. " Sigismond was in great dismay. "This is my fault, " he said to himself. "I ought to have taken away thekeys. But who would have supposed that he was still thinking of her?He had sworn so many times that that woman no longer existed for him. " At that moment Mademoiselle Planus entered the room with consternationwritten on her face. "Monsieur Risler has gone!" she exclaimed. "Gone? Why, wasn't the garden-gate locked?" "He must have climbed over the wall. You can see his footprints. " They looked at each other, terrified beyond measure. "It was the letter!" thought Planus. Evidently that letter from his wife must have made some extraordinaryrevelation to Risler; and, in order not to disturb his hosts, he had madehis escape noiselessly through the window, like a burglar. Why? Withwhat aim in view? "You will see, sister, " said poor Planus, as he dressed with all haste, "you will see that that hussy has played him still another trick. " Andwhen his sister tried to encourage him, he recurred to his favoriterefrain: "I haf no gonfidence!" As soon as he was dressed, he darted out of the house. Risler's footprints could be distinguished on the wet ground as far asthe gate of the little garden. He must have gone before daylight, forthe beds of vegetables and flowers were trampled down at random by deepfootprints with long spaces between; there were marks of heels on thegarden-wall and the mortar was crumbled slightly on top. The brother andsister went out on the road skirting the fortifications. There it wasimpossible to follow the footprints. They could tell nothing more thanthat Risler had gone in the direction of the Orleans road. "After all, " Mademoiselle Planus ventured to say, "we are very foolish totorment ourselves about him; perhaps he has simply gone back to thefactory. " Sigismond shook his head. Ah! if he had said all that he thought! "Return to the house, sister. I will go and see. " And with the old "I haf no gonfidence" he rushed away like a hurricane, his white mane standing even more erect than usual. At that hour, on the road near the fortifications, was an endlessprocession of soldiers and market-gardeners, guard-mounting, officers'horses out for exercise, sutlers with their paraphernalia, all the bustleand activity that is seen in the morning in the neighborhood of forts. Planus was striding along amid the tumult, when suddenly he stopped. Atthe foot of the bank, on the left, in front of a small, square building, with the inscription. CITY OF PARIS, ENTRANCE TO THE QUARRIES, On the rough plaster, he saw a crowd assembled, and soldiers' and custom-house officers' uniforms, mingled with the shabby, dirty blouses ofbarracks-loafers. The old man instinctively approached. A customsofficer, seated on the stone step below a round postern with iron bars, was talking with many gestures, as if he were acting out his narrative. "He was where I am, " he said. "He had hanged himself sitting, by pullingwith all his strength on the rope! It's clear that he had made up hismind to die, for he had a razor in his pocket that he would have used incase the rope had broken. " A voice in the crowd exclaimed: "Poor devil!" Then another, a tremulousvoice, choking with emotion, asked timidly: "Is it quite certain that he's dead?" Everybody looked at Planus and began to laugh. "Well, here's a greenhorn, " said the officer. "Don't I tell you that hewas all blue this morning, when we cut him down to take him to thechasseurs' barracks!" The barracks were not far away; and yet Sigismond Planus had the greatestdifficulty in the world in dragging himself so far. In vain did he sayto himself that suicides are of frequent occurrence in Paris, especiallyin those regions; that not a day passes that a dead body is not foundsomewhere along that line of fortifications, as upon the shores of atempestuous sea, --he could not escape the terrible presentiment that hadoppressed his heart since early morning. "Ah! you have come to see the man that hanged himself, " said thequartermaster-sergeant at the door of the barracks. "See! there he is. " The body had been laid on a table supported by trestles in a sort ofshed. A cavalry cloak that had been thrown over it covered it from headto foot, and fell in the shroud-like folds which all draperies assumethat come in contact with the rigidity of death. A group of officers andseveral soldiers in duck trousers were looking on at a distance, whispering as if in a church; and an assistant-surgeon was writing areport of the death on a high window-ledge. To him Sigismond spoke. "I should like very much to see him, " he said softly. "Go and look. " He walked to the table, hesitated a minute, then, summoning courage, uncovered a swollen face, a tall, motionless body in its rain-soakedgarments. "She has killed you at last, my old comrade!" murmured Planus, and fellon his knees, sobbing bitterly. The officers had come forward, gazing curiously at the body, which wasleft uncovered. "Look, surgeon, " said one of them. "His hand is closed, as if he wereholding something in it. " "That is true, " the surgeon replied, drawing nearer. "That sometimeshappens in the last convulsions. "You remember at Solferino, Commandant Bordy held his little daughter'sminiature in his hand like that? We had much difficulty in taking itfrom him. " As he spoke he tried to open the poor, tightly-closed dead hand. "Look!" said he, "it is a letter that he is holding so tight. " He was about to read it; but one of the officers took it from his handsand passed it to Sigismond, who was still kneeling. "Here, Monsieur. Perhaps you will find in this some last wish to becarried out. " Sigismond Planus rose. As the light in the room was dim, he walked withfaltering step to the window, and read, his eyes filled with tears: "Well, yes, I love you, I love you, more than ever and forever! What isthe use of struggling and fighting against fate? Our sin is strongerthan we . . . " It was the letter which Frantz had written to his sister-in-law a yearbefore, and which Sidonie had sent to her husband on the day followingtheir terrible scene, to revenge herself on him and his brother at thesame time. Risler could have survived his wife's treachery, but that of his brotherhad killed him. When Sigismond understood, he was petrified with horror. He stood there, with the letter in his hand, gazing mechanically through the open window. The clock struck six. Yonder, over Paris, whose dull roar they could hear although they couldnot see the city, a cloud of smoke arose, heavy and hot, moving slowlyupward, with a fringe of red and black around its edges, like the powder-smoke on a field of battle. Little by little, steeples, white buildings, a gilded cupola, emerged from the mist, and burst forth in a splendidawakening. Then the thousands of tall factory chimneys, towering above that sea ofclustered roofs, began with one accord to exhale their quivering vapor, with the energy of a steamer about to sail. Life was beginning anew. Forward, ye wheels of time! And so much the worse for him who lagsbehind! Thereupon old Planus gave way to a terrible outburst of wrath. "Ah! harlot-harlot!" he cried, shaking his fist; and no one could saywhether he was addressing the woman or the city of Paris. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: A man may forgive, but he never forgetsWord "sacrifice, " so vague on careless lips