THE THREE CITIES

 PARIS

 BY

 EMILE ZOLA

 TRANSLATED BY ERNEST A. VIZETELLY

 BOOK I

 TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

WITH the present work M. Zola completes the "Trilogy of the ThreeCities, " which he began with "Lourdes" and continued with "Rome"; andthus the adventures and experiences of Abbe Pierre Froment, the doubtingCatholic priest who failed to find faith at the miraculous grotto by theCave, and hope amidst the crumbling theocracy of the Vatican, are herebrought to what, from M. Zola's point of view, is their logicalconclusion. From the first pages of "Lourdes, " many readers will havedivined that Abbe Froment was bound to finish as he does, for, frankly, no other finish was possible from a writer of M. Zola's opinions. 

Taking the Trilogy as a whole, one will find that it is essentiallysymbolical. Abbe Froment is Man, and his struggles are the strugglesbetween Religion, as personified by the Roman Catholic Church, on the onehand, and Reason and Life on the other. In the Abbe's case the victoryultimately rests with the latter; and we may take it as being M. Zola'sopinion that the same will eventually be the case with the great bulk ofmankind. English writers are often accused of treating subjects from aninsular point of view, and certainly there may be good ground for such acharge. But they are not the only writers guilty of the practice. Thepurview of French authors is often quite as limited: they regard Frenchopinion as the only good opinion, and judge the rest of the world bytheir own standard. In the present case, if we leave the world andmankind generally on one side, and apply M. Zola's facts and theories toFrance alone, it will be found, I think, that he has made out aremarkably good case for himself. For it is certain that Catholicism, Imay say Christianity, is fast crumbling in France. There may be revivalsin certain limited circles, efforts of the greatest energy to prop up thetottering edifice by a "rallying" of believers to the democratic cause, and by a kindling of the most bitter anti-Semitic warfare; but all theserevivals and efforts, although they are extremely well-advertised andcreate no little stir, produce very little impression on the bulk of thepopulation. So far as France is concerned, the policy of Leo XIII. Seemsto have come too late. The French masses regard Catholicism orChristianity, whichever one pleases, as a religion of death, --a religionwhich, taking its stand on the text "There shall always be poor amongyou, " condemns them to toil and moil in poverty and distress their wholelife long, with no other consolation than the promise of happiness inheaven. And, on the other hand, they see the ministers of the Deity, "whose kingdom is not of this world, " supporting the wealthy andpowerful, and striving to secure wealth and power for themselves. Charityexists, of course, but the masses declare that it is no remedy; they donot ask for doles, they ask for Justice. It is largely by reason of allthis that Socialism and Anarchism have made such great strides in Franceof recent years. Robespierre, as will be remembered, once tried tosuppress Christianity altogether, and for a time certainly there was avirtually general cessation of religious observances in France. But nosuch Reign of Terror prevails there to-day. Men are perfectly free tobelieve if they are inclined to do so; and yet never were there fewerreligious marriages, fewer baptisms or smaller congregations in theFrench churches. I refer not merely to Paris and other large cities, butto the smaller towns, and even the little hamlets of many parts. Oldvillage priests, men practising what they teach and possessed of the mostloving, benevolent hearts, have told me with tears in their eyes of thegrowing infidelity of their parishioners. 

I have been studying this matter for some years, and write withoutprejudice, merely setting down what I believe to be the truth. Of coursewe are all aware that the most stupendous efforts are being made by theCatholic clergy and zealous believers to bring about a revival of thefaith, and certainly in some circles there has been a measure of success. But the reconversion of a nation is the most formidable of tasks; and, inmy own opinion, as in M. Zola's, France as a whole is lost to theChristian religion. On this proposition, combined with a second one, namely, that even as France as a nation will be the first to discardChristianity, so she will be the first to promulgate a new faith based onreason, science and the teachings of life, is founded the whole argumentof M. Zola's Trilogy. 

Having thus dealt with the Trilogy's religious aspects, I would now speakof "Paris, " its concluding volume. This is very different from "Lourdes"and "Rome. " Whilst recounting the struggles and fate of Abbe Froment andhis brother Guillaume, and entering largely into the problem of Capitaland Labour, which problem has done so much to turn the masses away fromChristianity, it contains many an interesting and valuable picture of theParisian world at the close of the nineteenth century. It is noguide-book to Paris; but it paints the city's social life, its rich andpoor, its scandals and crimes, its work and its pleasures. Among thehouseholds to which the reader is introduced are those of a banker, anaged Countess of the old /noblesse/, a cosmopolitan Princess, of a kindthat Paris knows only too well, a scientist, a manufacturer, a workingmechanician, a priest, an Anarchist, a petty clerk and an actress of aclass that so often dishonours the French stage. Science and art andlearning and religion, all have their representatives. Then, too, thepolitical world is well to the front. There are honest and unscrupulousMinisters of State, upright and venal deputies, enthusiastic and cautiouscandidates for power, together with social theoreticians of variousschools. And the /blase/, weak-minded man of fashion is here, as well asthe young "symbolist" of perverted, degraded mind. The women are of alltypes, from the most loathsome to the most lovable. Then, too, thejournalists are portrayed in such life-like fashion that I might giveeach of them his real name. And journalism, Parisian journalism, isflagellated, shown as it really is, --if just a few well-conducted organsbe excepted, --that is, venal and impudent, mendacious and even petty. 

The actual scenes depicted are quite as kaleidoscopic as are thecharacters in their variety. We enter the banker's gilded saloon and thehovel of the pauper, the busy factory, the priest's retired home and thelaboratory of the scientist. We wait in the lobbies of the Chamber ofDeputies, and afterwards witness "a great debate"; we penetrate into theprivate sanctum of a Minister of the Interior; we attend a fashionablewedding at the Madeleine and a first performance at the ComedieFrancaise; we dine at the Cafe Anglais and listen to a notorious vocalistin a low music hall at Montmartre; we pursue an Anarchist through theBois de Boulogne; we slip into the Assize Court and see that Anarchisttried there; we afterwards gaze upon his execution by the guillotine; weare also on the boulevards when the lamps are lighted for a long night ofrevelry, and we stroll along the quiet streets in the small hours of themorning, when crime and homeless want are prowling round. 

And ever the scene changes; the whole world of Paris passes before one. Yet the book, to my thinking, is far less descriptive than analytical. The souls of the principal characters are probed to their lowest depths. Many of the scenes, too, are intensely dramatic, admirably adapted forthe stage; as, for instance, Baroness Duvillard's interview with herdaughter in the chapter which I have called "The Rivals. " And side byside with baseness there is heroism, while beauty of the flesh finds itscounterpart in beauty of the mind. M. Zola has often been reproached forshowing us the vileness of human nature; and no doubt such vileness maybe found in "Paris, " but there are contrasting pictures. If some of M. Zola's characters horrify the reader, there are others that the lattercan but admire. Life is compounded of good and evil, and unfortunately itis usually the evil that makes the most noise and attracts the mostattention. Moreover, in M. Zola's case, it has always been his purpose toexpose the evils from which society suffers in the hope of directingattention to them and thereby hastening a remedy, and thus, in the courseof his works, he could not do otherwise than drag the whole frightfulmass of human villany and degradation into the full light of day. But ifthere are, again, black pages in "Paris, " others, bright and comforting, will be found near them. And the book ends in no pessimist strain. Whatever may be thought of the writer's views on religion, most readerswill, I imagine, agree with his opinion that, despite much socialinjustice, much crime, vice, cupidity and baseness, we are ever marchingon to better things. 

In the making of the coming, though still far-away, era of truth andjustice, Paris, he thinks, will play the leading part, for whatever thestains upon her, they are but surface-deep; her heart remains good andsound; she has genius and courage and energy and wit and fancy. She canbe generous, too, when she chooses, and more than once her ideas haveirradiated the world. Thus M. Zola hopes much from her, and who willgainsay him? Not I, who can apply to her the words which Byron addressedto the home of my own and M. Zola's forefathers:--

 "I loved her from my boyhood; she to me Was as a fairy city of the heart. "

Thus I can but hope that Paris, where I learnt the little I know, where Istruggled and found love and happiness, whose every woe and disaster andtriumph I have shared for over thirty years, may, however dark the cloudsthat still pass over her, some day fully justify M. Zola's confidence, and bring to pass his splendid dream of perfect truth and perfectjustice. 

E. A. V. 

MERTON, SURREY, ENGLAND, Feb. 5, 1898. 

 PARIS

 BOOK I

I

THE PRIEST AND THE POOR

THAT morning, one towards the end of January, Abbe Pierre Froment, whohad a mass to say at the Sacred Heart at Montmartre, was on the height, in front of the basilica, already at eight o'clock. And before going inhe gazed for a moment upon the immensity of Paris spread out below him. 

After two months of bitter cold, ice and snow, the city was steeped in amournful, quivering thaw. From the far-spreading, leaden-hued heavens athick mist fell like a mourning shroud. All the eastern portion of thecity, the abodes of misery and toil, seemed submerged beneath ruddysteam, amid which the panting of workshops and factories could bedivined; while westwards, towards the districts of wealth and enjoyment, the fog broke and lightened, becoming but a fine and motionless veil ofvapour. The curved line of the horizon could scarcely be divined, theexpanse of houses, which nothing bounded, appeared like a chaos of stone, studded with stagnant pools, which filled the hollows with pale steam;whilst against them the summits of the edifices, the housetops of theloftier streets, showed black like soot. It was a Paris of mystery, shrouded by clouds, buried as it were beneath the ashes of some disaster, already half-sunken in the suffering and the shame of that which itsimmensity concealed. 

Thin and sombre in his flimsy cassock, Pierre was looking on when AbbeRose, who seemed to have sheltered himself behind a pillar of the porchon purpose to watch for him, came forward: "Ah! it's you at last, my dearchild, " said he, "I have something to ask you. "

He seemed embarrassed and anxious, and glanced round distrustfully tomake sure that nobody was near. Then, as if the solitude thereabouts didnot suffice to reassure him, he led Pierre some distance away, throughthe icy, biting wind, which he himself did not seem to feel. "This is thematter, " he resumed, "I have been told that a poor fellow, a formerhouse-painter, an old man of seventy, who naturally can work no more, isdying of hunger in a hovel in the Rue des Saules. So, my dear child, Ithought of you. I thought you would consent to take him these threefrancs from me, so that he may at least have some bread to eat for a fewdays. "

"But why don't you take him your alms yourself?"

At this Abbe Rose again grew anxious, and cast vague, frightened glancesabout him. "Oh, no, oh, no!" he said, "I can no longer do that after allthe worries that have befallen me. You know that I am watched, and shouldget another scolding if I were caught giving alms like this, scarcelyknowing to whom I give them. It is true that I had to sell something toget these three francs. But, my dear child, render me this service, Ipray you. "

Pierre, with heart oppressed, stood contemplating the old priest, whoselocks were quite white, whose full lips spoke of infinite kindliness, andwhose eyes shone clear and childlike in his round and smiling face. Andhe bitterly recalled the story of that lover of the poor, thesemi-disgrace into which he had fallen through the sublime candour of hischaritable goodness. His little ground-floor of the Rue de Charonne, which he had turned into a refuge where he offered shelter to all thewretchedness of the streets, had ended by giving cause for scandal. His/naivete/ and innocence had been abused; and abominable things had goneon under his roof without his knowledge. Vice had turned the asylum intoa meeting-place; and at last, one night, the police had descended upon itto arrest a young girl accused of infanticide. Greatly concerned by thisscandal, the diocesan authorities had forced Abbe Rose to close hisshelter, and had removed him from the church of Ste. Marguerite to thatof St. Pierre of Montmartre, where he now again acted as curate. Truth totell, it was not a disgrace but a removal to another spot. However, hehad been scolded and was watched, as he said; and he was much ashamed ofit, and very unhappy at being only able to give alms by stealth, muchlike some harebrained prodigal who blushes for his faults. 

Pierre took the three francs. "I promise to execute your commission, myfriend, oh! with all my heart, " he said. 

"You will go after your mass, won't you? His name is Laveuve, he lives inthe Rue des Saules in a house with a courtyard, just before reaching theRue Marcadet. You are sure to find it. And if you want to be very kindyou will tell me of your visit this evening at five o'clock, at theMadeleine, where I am going to hear Monseigneur Martha's address. He hasbeen so good to me! Won't you also come to hear him?"

Pierre made an evasive gesture. Monseigneur Martha, Bishop of Persepolisand all powerful at the archiepiscopal palace, since, like the genialpropagandist he was, he had been devoting himself to increasing thesubscriptions for the basilica of the Sacred Heart, had indeed supportedAbbe Rose; in fact, it was by his influence that the abbe had been keptin Paris, and placed once more at St. Pierre de Montmartre. 

"I don't know if I shall be able to hear the address, " said Pierre, "butin any case I will go there to meet you. "

The north wind was blowing, and the gloomy cold penetrated both of themon that deserted summit amidst the fog which changed the vast city into amisty ocean. However, some footsteps were heard, and Abbe Rose, againmistrustful, saw a man go by, a tall and sturdy man, who wore clogs andwas bareheaded, showing his thick and closely-cut white hair. "Is notthat your brother?" asked the old priest. 

Pierre had not stirred. "Yes, it is my brother Guillaume, " he quietlyresponded. "I have found him again since I have been coming occasionallyto the Sacred Heart. He owns a house close by, where he has been livingfor more than twenty years, I think. When we meet we shake hands, but Ihave never even been to his house. Oh! all is quite dead between us, wehave nothing more in common, we are parted by worlds. "

Abbe Rose's tender smile again appeared, and he waved his hand as if tosay that one must never despair of love. Guillaume Froment, a savant oflofty intelligence, a chemist who lived apart from others, like one whorebelled against the social system, was now a parishioner of the abbe's, and when the latter passed the house where Guillaume lived with his threesons--a house all alive with work--he must often have dreamt of leadinghim back to God. 

"But, my dear child, " he resumed, "I am keeping you here in this darkcold, and you are not warm. Go and say your mass. Till this evening, atthe Madeleine. " Then, in entreating fashion, after again making sure thatnone could hear them, he added, still with the air of a child at fault:"And not a word to anybody about my little commission--it would again besaid that I don't know how to conduct myself. "

Pierre watched the old priest as he went off towards the Rue Cartot, where he lived on a damp ground-floor, enlivened by a strip of garden. The veil of disaster, which was submerging Paris, now seemed to growthicker under the gusts of the icy north wind. And at last Pierre enteredthe basilica, his heart upset, overflowing with the bitterness stirred upby the recollection of Abbe Rose's story--that bankruptcy of charity, thefrightful irony of a holy man punished for bestowing alms, and hidinghimself that he might still continue to bestow them. Nothing could calmthe smart of the wound reopened in Pierre's heart--neither the warmpeacefulness into which he entered, nor the silent solemnity of thebroad, deep fabric, whose new stonework was quite bare, without a singlepainting or any kind of decoration; the nave being still half-barred bythe scaffoldings which blocked up the unfinished dome. At that early hourthe masses of entreaty had already been said at several altars, under thegrey light falling from the high and narrow windows, and the tapers ofentreaty were burning in the depths of the apse. So Pierre made haste togo to the sacristy, there to assume his vestments in order that he mightsay his mass in the chapel of St. Vincent de Paul. 

But the floodgates of memory had been opened, and he had no thought butfor his distress whilst, in mechanical fashion, he performed the ritesand made the customary gestures. Since his return from Rome three yearspreviously, he had been living in the very worst anguish that can fall onman. At the outset, in order to recover his lost faith, he had essayed afirst experiment: he had gone to Lourdes, there to seek the innocentbelief of the child who kneels and prays, the primitive faith of youngnations bending beneath the terror born of ignorance; but he had rebelledyet more than ever in presence of what he had witnessed at Lourdes: thatglorification of the absurd, that collapse of common sense; and wasconvinced that salvation, the peace of men and nations nowadays, couldnot lie in that puerile relinquishment of reason. And afterwards, againyielding to the need of loving whilst yet allowing reason, so hard tosatisfy, her share in his intellect, he had staked his final peace on asecond experiment, and had gone to Rome to see if Catholicism could therebe renewed, could revert to the spirit of primitive Christianity andbecome the religion of the democracy, the faith which the modern world, upheaving and in danger of death, was awaiting in order to calm down andlive. And he had found there naught but ruins, the rotted trunk of a treethat could never put forth another springtide; and he had heard therenaught but the supreme rending of the old social edifice, near to itsfall. Then it was, that, relapsing into boundless doubt, total negation, he had been recalled to Paris by Abbe Rose, in the name of their poor, and had returned thither that he might forget and immolate himself andbelieve in them--the poor--since they and their frightful sufferingsalone remained certain. And then it was too, that for three years he cameinto contact with that collapse, that very bankruptcy of goodness itself:charity a derision, charity useless and flouted. 

Those three years had been lived by Pierre amidst ever-growing torments, in which his whole being had ended by sinking. His faith was foreverdead; dead, too, even his hope of utilising the faith of the multitudesfor the general salvation. He denied everything, he anticipated nothingbut the final, inevitable catastrophe: revolt, massacre andconflagration, which would sweep away a guilty and condemned world. Unbelieving priest that he was, yet watching over the faith of others, honestly, chastely discharging his duties, full of haughty sadness at thethought that he had been unable to renounce his mind as he had renouncedhis flesh and his dream of being a saviour of the nations, he withalremained erect, full of fierce yet solitary grandeur. And thisdespairing, denying priest, who had dived to the bottom of nothingness, retained such a lofty and grave demeanour, perfumed by such purekindness, that in his parish of Neuilly he had acquired the reputation ofbeing a young saint, one beloved by Providence, whose prayers wroughtmiracles. He was but a personification of the rules of the Church; of thepriest he retained only the gestures; he was like an empty sepulchre inwhich not even the ashes of hope remained; yet grief-stricken weepingwomen worshipped him and kissed his cassock; and it was a tortured motherwhose infant was in danger of death, who had implored him to come and askthat infant's cure of Jesus, certain as she felt that Jesus would granther the boon in that sanctuary of Montmartre where blazed the prodigy ofHis heart, all burning with love. 

Clad in his vestments, Pierre had reached the chapel of St. Vincent dePaul. He there ascended the altar-step and began the mass; and when heturned round with hands spread out to bless the worshippers he showed hishollow cheeks, his gentle mouth contracted by bitterness, his loving eyesdarkened by suffering. He was no longer the young priest whosecountenance had glowed with tender fever on the road to Lourdes, whoseface had been illumined by apostolic fervour when he started for Rome. The two hereditary influences which were ever at strife within him--thatof his father to whom he owed his impregnable, towering brow, that of hismother who had given him his love-thirsting lips, were still waging war, the whole human battle of sentiment and reason, in that now ravaged faceof his, whither in moments of forgetfulness ascended all the chaos ofinternal suffering. The lips still confessed that unquenched thirst forlove, self-bestowal and life, which he well thought he could nevermorecontent, whilst the solid brow, the citadel which made him suffer, obstinately refused to capitulate, whatever might be the assaults oferror. But he stiffened himself, hid the horror of the void in which hestruggled, and showed himself superb, making each gesture, repeating eachword in sovereign fashion. And gazing at him through her tears, themother who was there among the few kneeling women, the mother who awaiteda supreme intercession from him, who thought him in communion with Jesusfor the salvation of her child, beheld him radiant with angelic beautylike some messenger of the divine grace. 

When, after the offertory, Pierre uncovered the chalice he felt contemptfor himself. The shock had been too great, and he thought of those thingsin spite of all. What puerility there had been in his two experiments atLourdes and Rome, the /naivete/ of a poor distracted being, consumed bydesire to love and believe. To have imagined that present-day sciencewould in his person accommodate itself to the faith of the year OneThousand, and in particular to have foolishly believed that he, pettypriest that he was, would be able to indoctrinate the Pope and prevail onhim to become a saint and change the face of the world! It all filled himwith shame; how people must have laughed at him! Then, too, his idea of aschism made him blush. He again beheld himself at Rome, dreaming ofwriting a book by which he would violently sever himself from Catholicismto preach the new religion of the democracies, the purified, human andliving Gospel. But what ridiculous folly! A schism? He had known in Parisan abbe of great heart and mind who had attempted to bring about thatfamous, predicted, awaited schism. Ah! the poor man, the sad, theludicrous labour in the midst of universal incredulity, the icyindifference of some, the mockery and the reviling of others! If Lutherwere to come to France in our days he would end, forgotten and dying ofhunger, on a Batignolles fifth-floor. A schism cannot succeed among apeople that no longer believes, that has ceased to take all interest inthe Church, and sets its hope elsewhere. And it was all Catholicism, infact all Christianity, that would be swept away, for, apart from certainmoral maxims, the Gospel no longer supplied a possible code for society. And this conviction increased Pierre's torment on the days when hiscassock weighed more heavily on his shoulders, when he ended by feelingcontempt for himself at thus celebrating the divine mystery of the mass, which for him had become but the formula of a dead religion. 

Having half filled the chalice with wine from the vase, Pierre washed hishands and again perceived the mother with her face of ardent entreaty. Then he thought it was for her that, with the charitable leanings of avow-bound man, he had remained a priest, a priest without belief, feedingthe belief of others with the bread of illusion. But this heroic conduct, the haughty spirit of duty in which he imprisoned himself, was notpractised by him without growing anguish. Did not elementary probityrequire that he should cast aside the cassock and return into the midstof men? At certain times the falsity of his position filled him withdisgust for his useless heroism; and he asked himself if it were notcowardly and dangerous to leave the masses in superstition. Certainly thetheory of a just and vigilant Providence, of a future paradise where allthese sufferings of the world would receive compensation, had long seemednecessary to the wretchedness of mankind; but what a trap lay in it, whata pretext for the tyrannical grinding down of nations; and how far morevirile it would be to undeceive the nations, however brutally, and givethem courage to live the real life, even if it were in tears. If theywere already turning aside from Christianity was not this because theyneeded a more human ideal, a religion of health and joy which should notbe a religion of death? On the day when the idea of charity shouldcrumble, Christianity would crumble also, for it was built upon the ideaof divine charity correcting the injustice of fate, and offering futurerewards to those who might suffer in this life. And it was crumbling; forthe poor no longer believed in it, but grew angry at the thought of thatdeceptive paradise, with the promise of which their patience had beenbeguiled so long, and demanded that their share of happiness should notalways be put off until the morrow of death. A cry for justice arose fromevery lip, for justice upon this earth, justice for those who hunger andthirst, whom alms are weary of relieving after eighteen hundred years ofGospel teaching, and who still and ever lack bread to eat. 

When Pierre, with his elbows on the altar, had emptied the chalice afterbreaking the sacred wafer, he felt himself sinking into yet greaterdistress. And so a third experiment was beginning for him, the supremebattle of justice against charity, in which his heart and his mind wouldstruggle together in that great Paris, so full of terrible, unknownthings. The need for the divine still battled within him againstdomineering intelligence. How among the masses would one ever be able tocontent the thirst for the mysterious? Leaving the /elite/ on one side, would science suffice to pacify desire, lull suffering, and satisfy thedream? And what would become of himself in the bankruptcy of that samecharity, which for three years had alone kept him erect by occupying hisevery hour, and giving him the illusion of self-devotion, of being usefulto others? It seemed, all at once, as if the ground sank beneath him, andhe heard nothing save the cry of the masses, silent so long, but nowdemanding justice, growling and threatening to take their share, whichwas withheld from them by force and ruse. Nothing more, it seemed, coulddelay the inevitable catastrophe, the fratricidal class warfare thatwould sweep away the olden world, which was condemned to disappearbeneath the mountain of its crimes. Every hour with frightful sadness heexpected the collapse, Paris steeped in blood, Paris in flames. And hishorror of all violence froze him; he knew not where to seek the newbelief which might dissipate the peril. Fully conscious, though he was, that the social and religious problems are but one, and are alone inquestion in the dreadful daily labour of Paris, he was too deeplytroubled himself, too far removed from ordinary things by his position asa priest, and too sorely rent by doubt and powerlessness to tell as yetwhere might be truth, and health, and life. Ah! to be healthy and tolive, to content at last both heart and reason in the peace, the certain, simply honest labour, which man has come to accomplish upon this earth!

The mass was finished, and Pierre descended from the altar, when theweeping mother, near whom he passed, caught hold of a corner of thechasuble with her trembling hands, and kissed it with wild fervour, asone may kiss some relic of a saint from whom one expects salvation. Shethanked him for the miracle which he must have accomplished, certain asshe felt that she would find her child cured. And he was deeply stirredby that love, that ardent faith of hers, in spite of the sudden and yetkeener distress which he felt at being in no wise the sovereign ministerthat she thought him, the minister able to obtain a respite from Death. But he dismissed her consoled and strengthened, and it was with an ardentprayer that he entreated the unknown but conscious Power to succour thepoor creature. Then, when he had divested himself in the sacristy, andfound himself again out of doors before the basilica, lashed by the keenwintry wind, a mortal shiver came upon him, and froze him, while throughthe mist he looked to see if a whirlwind of anger and justice had notswept Paris away: that catastrophe which must some day destroy it, leaving under the leaden heavens only the pestilential quagmire of itsruins. 

Pierre wished to fulfil Abbe Rose's commission immediately. He followedthe Rue des Norvins, on the crest of Montmartre; and, reaching the Ruedes Saules, descended by its steep slope, between mossy walls, to theother side of Paris. The three francs which he was holding in hiscassock's pocket, filled him at once with gentle emotion and covert angeragainst the futility of charity. But as he gradually descended by thesharp declivities and interminable storeys of steps, the mournful nooksof misery which he espied took possession of him, and infinite pity wrunghis heart. A whole new district was here being built alongside the broadthoroughfares opened since the great works of the Sacred Heart had begun. Lofty middle-class houses were already rising among ripped-up gardens andplots of vacant land, still edged with palings. And these houses withtheir substantial frontages, all new and white, lent a yet more sombreand leprous aspect to such of the old shaky buildings as remained, thelow pot-houses with blood-coloured walls, the /cites/ of workmen'sdwellings, those abodes of suffering with black, soiled buildings inwhich human cattle were piled. Under the low-hanging sky that day, thepavement, dented by heavily-laden carts, was covered with mud; the thawsoaked the walls with an icy dampness, whilst all the filth anddestitution brought terrible sadness to the heart. 

After going as far as the Rue Marcadet, Pierre retraced his steps; and inthe Rue des Saules, certain that he was not mistaken, he entered thecourtyard of a kind of barracks or hospital, encompassed by threeirregular buildings. This court was a quagmire, where filth must haveaccumulated during the two months of terrible frost; and now all wasmelting, and an abominable stench arose. The buildings were half falling, the gaping vestibules looked like cellar holes, strips of paper streakedthe cracked and filthy window-panes, and vile rags hung about like flagsof death. Inside a shanty which served as the door-keeper's abode Pierreonly saw an infirm man rolled up in a tattered strip of what had oncebeen a horse-cloth. 

"You have an old workman named Laveuve here, " said the priest. "Whichstaircase is it, which floor?"

The man did not answer, but opened his anxious eyes, like a scared idiot. The door-keeper, no doubt, was in the neighbourhood. For a moment thepriest waited; then seeing a little girl on the other side of thecourtyard, he risked himself, crossed the quagmire on tip-toe, and asked:"Do you know an old workman named Laveuve in the house, my child?"

The little girl, who only had a ragged gown of pink cotton stuff abouther meagre figure, stood there shivering, her hands covered withchilblains. She raised her delicate face, which looked pretty thoughnipped by the cold: "Laveuve, " said she, "no, don't know, don't know. "And with the unconscious gesture of a beggar child she put out one of herpoor, numbed and disfigured hands. Then, when the priest had given her alittle bit of silver, she began to prance through the mud like a joyfulgoat, singing the while in a shrill voice: "Don't know, don't know. "

Pierre decided to follow her. She vanished into one of the gapingvestibules, and, in her rear, he climbed a dark and fetid staircase, whose steps were half-broken and so slippery, on account of the vegetableparings strewn over them, that he had to avail himself of the greasy ropeby which the inmates hoisted themselves upwards. But every door wasclosed; he vainly knocked at several of them, and only elicited, at thelast, a stifled growl, as though some despairing animal were confinedwithin. Returning to the yard, he hesitated, then made his way to anotherstaircase, where he was deafened by piercing cries, as of a child who isbeing butchered. He climbed on hearing this noise and at last foundhimself in front of an open room where an infant, who had been leftalone, tied in his little chair, in order that he might not fall, washowling and howling without drawing breath. Then Pierre went down again, upset, frozen by the sight of so much destitution and abandonment. 

But a woman was coming in, carrying three potatoes in her apron, and onbeing questioned by him she gazed distrustfully at his cassock. "Laveuve, Laveuve? I can't say, " she replied. "If the door-keeper were there, shemight be able to tell you. There are five staircases, you see, and wedon't all know each other. Besides, there are so many changes. Still tryover there; at the far end. "

The staircase at the back of the yard was yet more abominable than theothers, its steps warped, its walls slimy, as if soaked with the sweat ofanguish. At each successive floor the drain-sinks exhaled a pestilentialstench, whilst from every lodging came moans, or a noise of quarrelling, or some frightful sign of misery. A door swung open, and a man appeareddragging a woman by the hair whilst three youngsters sobbed aloud. On thenext floor, Pierre caught a glimpse of a room where a young girl in herteens, racked by coughing, was hastily carrying an infant to and fro toquiet it, in despair that all the milk of her breast should be exhausted. Then, in an adjoining lodging, came the poignant spectacle of threebeings, half clad in shreds, apparently sexless and ageless, who, amidstthe dire bareness of their room, were gluttonously eating from the sameearthen pan some pottage which even dogs would have refused. They barelyraised their heads to growl, and did not answer Pierre's questions. 

He was about to go down again, when right atop of the stairs, at theentry of a passage, it occurred to him to make a last try by knocking atthe door. It was opened by a woman whose uncombed hair was alreadygetting grey, though she could not be more than forty; while her palelips, and dim eyes set in a yellow countenance, expressed utterlassitude, the shrinking, the constant dread of one whom wretchedness haspitilessly assailed. The sight of Pierre's cassock disturbed her, and shestammered anxiously: "Come in, come in, Monsieur l'Abbe. "

However, a man whom Pierre had not at first seen--a workman also of someforty years, tall, thin and bald, with scanty moustache and beard of awashed-out reddish hue--made an angry gesture--a threat as it were--toturn the priest out of doors. But he calmed himself, sat down near arickety table and pretended to turn his back. And as there was also achild present--a fair-haired girl, eleven or twelve years old, with along and gentle face and that intelligent and somewhat aged expressionwhich great misery imparts to children--he called her to him, and heldher between his knees, doubtless to keep her away from the man in thecassock. 

Pierre--whose heart was oppressed by his reception, and who realised theutter destitution of this family by the sight of the bare, fireless room, and the distressed mournfulness of its three inmates--decided all thesame to repeat his question: "Madame, do you know an old workman namedLaveuve in the house?"

The woman--who now trembled at having admitted him, since it seemed todisplease her man--timidly tried to arrange matters. "Laveuve, Laveuve?no, I don't. But Salvat, you hear? Do you know a Laveuve here?"

Salvat merely shrugged his shoulders; but the little girl could not keepher tongue still: "I say, mamma Theodore, it's p'raps the Philosopher. "

"A former house-painter, " continued Pierre, "an old man who is ill andpast work. "

Madame Theodore was at once enlightened. "In that case it's him, it'shim. We call him the Philosopher, a nickname folks have given him in theneighbourhood. But there's nothing to prevent his real name from beingLaveuve. "

With one of his fists raised towards the ceiling, Salvat seemed to beprotesting against the abomination of a world and a Providence thatallowed old toilers to die of hunger just like broken-down beasts. However, he did not speak, but relapsed into the savage, heavy silence, the bitter meditation in which he had been plunged when the priestarrived. He was a journeyman engineer, and gazed obstinately at the tablewhere lay his little leather tool-bag, bulging with something itcontained--something, perhaps, which he had to take back to a work-shop. He might have been thinking of a long, enforced spell of idleness, of avain search for any kind of work during the two previous months of thatterrible winter. Or perhaps it was the coming bloody reprisals of thestarvelings that occupied the fiery reverie which set his large, strange, vague blue eyes aglow. All at once he noticed that his daughter had takenup the tool-bag and was trying to open it to see what it might contain. At this he quivered and at last spoke, his voice kindly, yet bitter withsudden emotion, which made him turn pale. "Celine, you must leave thatalone. I forbade you to touch my tools, " said he; then taking the bag, hedeposited it with great precaution against the wall behind him. 

"And so, madame, " asked Pierre, "this man Laveuve lives on this floor?"

Madame Theodore directed a timid, questioning glance at Salvat. She wasnot in favour of hustling priests when they took the trouble to call, forat times there was a little money to be got from them. And when sherealised that Salvat, who had once more relapsed into his black reverie, left her free to act as she pleased, she at once tendered her services. "If Monsieur l'Abbe is agreeable, I will conduct him. It's just at theend of the passage. But one must know the way, for there are still somesteps to climb. "

Celine, finding a pastime in this visit, escaped from her father's kneesand likewise accompanied the priest. And Salvat remained alone in thatden of poverty and suffering, injustice and anger, without a fire, without bread, haunted by his burning dream, his eyes again fixed uponhis bag, as if there, among his tools, he possessed the wherewithal toheal the ailing world. 

It indeed proved necessary to climb a few more steps; and then, followingMadame Theodore and Celine, Pierre found himself in a kind of narrowgarret under the roof, a loft a few yards square, where one could notstand erect. There was no window, only a skylight, and as the snow stillcovered it one had to leave the door wide open in order that one mightsee. And the thaw was entering the place, the melting snow was fallingdrop by drop, and coming over the tiled floor. After long weeks ofintense cold, dark dampness rained quivering over all. And there, lackingeven a chair, even a plank, Laveuve lay in a corner on a little pile offilthy rags spread upon the bare tiles; he looked like some animal dyingon a dung-heap. 

"There!" said Celine in her sing-song voice, "there he is, that's thePhilosopher!"

Madame Theodore had bent down to ascertain if he still lived. "Yes, hebreathes; he's sleeping I think. Oh! if he only had something to eatevery day, he would be well enough. But what would you have? He hasnobody left him, and when one gets to seventy the best is to throwoneself into the river. In the house-painting line it often happens thata man has to give up working on ladders and scaffoldings at fifty. He atfirst found some work to do on the ground level. Then he was lucky enoughto get a job as night watchman. But that's over, he's been turned awayfrom everywhere, and, for two months now, he's been lying in this nookwaiting to die. The landlord hasn't dared to fling him into the street asyet, though not for want of any inclination that way. We others sometimesbring him a little wine and a crust, of course; but when one has nothingoneself, how can one give to others?"

Pierre, terrified, gazed at that frightful remnant of humanity, thatremnant into which fifty years of toil, misery and social injustice hadturned a man. And he ended by distinguishing Laveuve's white, worn, sunken, deformed head. Here, on a human face, appeared all the ruinfollowing upon hopeless labour. Laveuve's unkempt beard straggled overhis features, suggesting an old horse that is no longer cropped; histoothless jaws were quite askew, his eyes were vitreous, and his noseseemed to plunge into his mouth. But above all else one noticed hisresemblance to some beast of burden, deformed by hard toil, lamed, wornto death, and now only good for the knackers. 

"Ah! the poor fellow, " muttered the shuddering priest. "And he is left todie of hunger, all alone, without any succour? And not a hospital, not anasylum has given him shelter?"

"Well, " resumed Madame Theodore in her sad yet resigned voice, "thehospitals are built for the sick, and he isn't sick, he's simplyfinishing off, with his strength at an end. Besides he isn't always easyto deal with. People came again only lately to put him in an asylum, buthe won't be shut up. And he speaks coarsely to those who question him, not to mention that he has the reputation of liking drink and talkingbadly about the gentle-folks. But, thank Heaven, he will now soon bedelivered. "

Pierre had leant forward on seeing Laveuve's eyes open, and he spoke tohim tenderly, telling him that he had come from a friend with a littlemoney to enable him to buy what he might most pressingly require. Atfirst, on seeing Pierre's cassock, the old man had growled some coarsewords; but, despite his extreme feebleness, he still retained the pertchaffing spirit of the Parisian artisan: "Well, then, I'll willinglydrink a drop, " he said distinctly, "and have a bit of bread with it, ifthere's the needful; for I've lost taste of both for a couple of dayspast. "

Celine offered her services, and Madame Theodore sent her to fetch a loafand a quart of wine with Abbe Rose's money. And in the interval she toldPierre how Laveuve was at one moment to have entered the Asylum of theInvalids of Labour, a charitable enterprise whose lady patronesses werepresided over by Baroness Duvillard. However, the usual regulationinquiries had doubtless led to such an unfavourable report that mattershad gone no further. 

"Baroness Duvillard! but I know her, and will go to see her to-day!"exclaimed Pierre, whose heart was bleeding. "It is impossible for a manto be left in such circumstances any longer. "

Then, as Celine came back with the loaf and the wine, the three of themtried to make Laveuve more comfortable, raised him on his heap of rags, gave him to eat and to drink, and then left the remainder of the wine andthe loaf--a large four-pound loaf--near him, recommending him to waitawhile before he finished the bread, as otherwise he might stifle. 

"Monsieur l'Abbe ought to give me his address in case I should have anynews to send him, " said Madame Theodore when she again found herself ather door. 

Pierre had no card with him, and so all three went into the room. ButSalvat was no longer alone there. He stood talking in a low voice veryquickly, and almost mouth to mouth, with a young fellow of twenty. Thelatter, who was slim and dark, with a sprouting beard and hair cut inbrush fashion, had bright eyes, a straight nose and thin lips set in apale and slightly freckled face, betokening great intelligence. Withstern and stubborn brow, he stood shivering in his well-worn jacket. 

"Monsieur l'Abbe wants to leave me his address for the Philosopher'saffair, " gently explained Madame Theodore, annoyed to find another therewith Salvat. 

The two men had glanced at the priest and then looked at one another, each with terrible mien. And they suddenly ceased speaking in the bittercold which fell from the ceiling. Then, again with infinite precaution, Salvat went to take his tool-bag from alongside the wall. 

"So you are going down, you are again going to look for work?" askedMadame Theodore. 

He did not answer, but merely made an angry gesture, as if to say that hewould no longer have anything to do with work since work for so long atime had not cared to have anything to do with him. 

"All the same, " resumed the woman, "try to bring something back with you, for you know there's nothing. At what time will you be back?"

With another gesture he seemed to answer that he would come back when hecould, perhaps never. And tears rising, despite all his efforts, to hisvague, blue, glowing eyes he caught hold of his daughter Celine, kissedher violently, distractedly, and then went off, with his bag under hisarm, followed by his young companion. 

"Celine, " resumed Madame Theodore, "give Monsieur l'Abbe your pencil, and, see, monsieur, seat yourself here, it will be better for writing. "

Then, when Pierre had installed himself at the table, on the chairpreviously occupied by Salvat, she went on talking, seeking to excuse herman for his scanty politeness: "He hasn't a bad heart, but he's had somany worries in life that he has become a bit cracked. It's like thatyoung man whom you just saw here, Monsieur Victor Mathis. There's anotherfor you, who isn't happy, a young man who was well brought up, who has alot of learning, and whose mother, a widow, has only just got thewherewithal to buy bread. So one can understand it, can't one? It allupsets their heads, and they talk of blowing up everybody. For my partthose are not my notions, but I forgive them, oh! willingly enough. "

Perturbed, yet interested by all the mystery and vague horror which hecould divine around him, Pierre made no haste to write his address, butlingered listening, as if inviting confidence. 

"If you only knew, Monsieur l'Abbe, that poor Salvat was a forsakenchild, without father or mother, and had to scour the roads and try everytrade at first to get a living. Then afterwards he became a mechanician, and a very good workman, I assure you, very skilful and very painstaking. But he already had those ideas of his, and quarrelled with people, andtried to bring his mates over to his views; and so he was unable to stayanywhere. At last, when he was thirty, he was stupid enough to go toAmerica with an inventor, who traded on him to such a point that aftersix years of it he came back ill and penniless. I must tell you that hehad married my younger sister Leonie, and that she died before he went toAmerica, leaving him little Celine, who was then only a year old. I wasthen living with my husband, Theodore Labitte, a mason; and it's not tobrag that I say it, but however much I wore out my eyes with needleworkhe used to beat me till he left me half-dead on the floor. But he endedby deserting me and going off with a young woman of twenty, which, afterall, caused me more pleasure than grief. And naturally when Salvat cameback he sought me out and found me alone with his little Celine, whom hehad left in my charge when he went away, and who called me mamma. Andwe've all three been living together since then--"

She became somewhat embarrassed, and then, as if to show that she did notaltogether lack some respectable family connections, she went on to say:"For my part I've had no luck; but I've another sister, Hortense, who'smarried to a clerk, Monsieur Chretiennot, and lives in a pretty lodgingon the Boulevard Rochechouart. There were three of us born of my father'ssecond marriage, --Hortense, who's the youngest, Leonie, who's dead, andmyself, Pauline, the eldest. And of my father's first marriage I've stilla brother Eugene Toussaint, who is ten years older than me and is anengineer like Salvat, and has been working ever since the war in the sameestablishment, the Grandidier factory, only a hundred steps away in theRue Marcadet. The misfortune is that he had a stroke lately. As for me, my eyes are done for; I ruined them by working ten hours a day at fineneedlework. And now I can no longer even try to mend anything without myeyes filling with water till I can't see at all. I've tried to findcharwoman's work, but I can't get any; bad luck always follows us. And sowe are in need of everything; we've nothing but black misery, two orthree days sometimes going by without a bite, so that it's like thechance life of a dog that feeds on what it can find. And with these lasttwo months of bitter cold to freeze us, it's sometimes made us think thatone morning we should never wake up again. But what would you have? I'venever been happy, I was beaten to begin with, and now I'm done for, leftin a corner, living on, I really don't know why. "

Her voice had begun to tremble, her red eyes moistened, and Pierre couldrealise that she thus wept through life, a good enough woman but one whohad no will, and was already blotted out, so to say, from existence. 

"Oh! I don't complain of Salvat, " she went on. "He's a good fellow; heonly dreams of everybody's happiness, and he doesn't drink, and he workswhen he can. Only it's certain that he'd work more if he didn't busyhimself with politics. One can't discuss things with comrades, and go topublic meetings and be at the workshop at the same time. In that he's atfault, that's evident. But all the same he has good reason to complain, for one can't imagine such misfortunes as have pursued him. Everythinghas fallen on him, everything has beaten him down. Why, a saint evenwould have gone mad, so that one can understand that a poor beggar whohas never had any luck should get quite wild. For the last two months hehas only met one good heart, a learned gentleman who lives up yonder onthe height, Monsieur Guillaume Froment, who has given him a little work, just something to enable us to have some soup now and then. "

Much surprised by this mention of his brother, Pierre wished to askcertain questions; but a singular feeling of uneasiness, in which fearand discretion mingled, checked his tongue. He looked at Celine, whostood before him, listening in silence with her grave, delicate air; andMadame Theodore, seeing him smile at the child, indulged in a finalremark: "It's just the idea of that child, " said she, "that throws Salvatout of his wits. He adores her, and he'd kill everybody if he could, whenhe sees her go supperless to bed. She's such a good girl, she waslearning so nicely at the Communal School! But now she hasn't even ashift to go there in. "

Pierre, who had at last written his address, slipped a five-franc pieceinto the little girl's hand, and, desirous as he was of curtailing anythanks, he hastily said: "You will know now where to find me if you needme for Laveuve. But I'm going to busy myself about him this veryafternoon, and I really hope that he will be fetched away this evening. "

Madame Theodore did not listen, but poured forth all possible blessings;whilst Celine, thunderstruck at seeing five francs in her hand, murmured:"Oh! that poor papa, who has gone to hunt for money! Shall I run afterhim to tell him that we've got enough for to-day?"

Then the priest, who was already in the passage, heard the woman answer:"Oh! he's far away if he's still walking. He'll p'raps come back rightenough. "

However, as Pierre, with buzzing head and grief-stricken heart, hastilyescaped out of that frightful house of suffering, he perceived to hisastonishment Salvat and Victor Mathis standing erect in a corner of thefilthy courtyard, where the stench was so pestilential. They had comedownstairs, there to continue their interrupted colloquy. And again, theywere talking in very low tones, and very quickly, mouth to mouth, absorbed in the violent thoughts which made their eyes flare. But theyheard the priest's footsteps, recognised him, and suddenly becoming coldand calm, exchanged an energetic hand-shake without uttering anotherword. Victor went up towards Montmartre, whilst Salvat hesitated like aman who is consulting destiny. Then, as if trusting himself to sternchance, drawing up his thin figure, the figure of a weary, hungry toiler, he turned into the Rue Marcadet, and walked towards Paris, his tool-bagstill under his arm. 

For an instant Pierre felt a desire to run and call to him that hislittle girl wished him to go back again. But the same feeling ofuneasiness as before came over the priest--a commingling of discretionand fear, a covert conviction that nothing could stay destiny. And hehimself was no longer calm, no longer experienced the icy, despairingdistress of the early morning. On finding himself again in the street, amidst the quivering fog, he felt the fever, the glow of charity whichthe sight of such frightful wretchedness had ignited, once more withinhim. No, no! such suffering was too much; he wished to struggle still, tosave Laveuve and restore a little joy to all those poor folk. The newexperiment presented itself with that city of Paris which he had seenshrouded as with ashes, so mysterious and so perturbing beneath thethreat of inevitable justice. And he dreamed of a huge sun bringinghealth and fruitfulness, which would make of the huge city the fertilefield where would sprout the better world of to-morrow. 

II

WEALTH AND WORLDLINESS

THAT same morning, as was the case nearly every day, some intimates wereexpected to /dejeuner/ at the Duvillards', a few friends who more or lessinvited themselves. And on that chilly day, all thaw and fog, the regalmansion in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy near the Boulevard de la Madeleinebloomed with the rarest flowers, for flowers were the greatest passion ofthe Baroness, who transformed the lofty, sumptuous rooms, littered withmarvels, into warm and odoriferous conservatories, whither the gloomy, livid light of Paris penetrated caressingly with infinite softness. 

The great reception rooms were on the ground-floor looking on to thespacious courtyard, and preceded by a little winter garden, which servedas a vestibule where two footmen in liveries of dark green and gold wereinvariably on duty. A famous gallery of paintings, valued at millions offrancs, occupied the whole of the northern side of the house. And thegrand staircase, of a sumptuousness which also was famous, conducted tothe apartments usually occupied by the family, a large red drawing-room, a small blue and silver drawing-room, a study whose walls were hung withold stamped leather, and a dining-room in pale green with Englishfurniture, not to mention the various bedchambers and dressing-rooms. Built in the time of Louis XIV. The mansion retained an aspect of noblegrandeur, subordinated to the epicurean tastes of the triumphant/bourgeoisie/, which for a century now had reigned by virtue of theomnipotence of money. 

Noon had not yet struck, and Baron Duvillard, contrary to custom, foundhimself the first in the little blue and silver /salon/. He was a man ofsixty, tall and sturdy, with a large nose, full cheeks, broad, fleshylips, and wolfish teeth, which had remained very fine. He had, however, become bald at an early age, and dyed the little hair that was left him. Moreover, since his beard had turned white, he had kept his faceclean-shaven. His grey eyes bespoke his audacity, and in his laugh therewas a ring of conquest, while the whole of his face expressed the factthat this conquest was his own, that he wielded the sovereignty of anunscrupulous master, who used and abused the power stolen and retained byhis caste. 

He took a few steps, and then halted in front of a basket of wonderfulorchids near the window. On the mantel-piece and table tufts of violetssent forth their perfume, and in the warm, deep silence which seemed tofall from the hangings, the Baron sat down and stretched himself in oneof the large armchairs, upholstered in blue satin striped with silver. Hehad taken a newspaper from his pocket, and began to re-peruse an articleit contained, whilst all around him the entire mansion proclaimed hisimmense fortune, his sovereign power, the whole history of the centurywhich had made him the master. His grandfather, Jerome Duvillard, son ofa petty advocate of Poitou, had come to Paris as a notary's clerk in1788, when he was eighteen; and very keen, intelligent and hungry as hewas, he had gained the family's first three millions--at first intrafficking with the /emigres'/ estates when they were confiscated andsold as national property, and later, in contracting for supplies to theimperial army. His father, Gregoire Duvillard, born in 1805, and the realgreat man of the family--he who had first reigned in the RueGodot-de-Mauroy, after King Louis Philippe had granted him the title ofBaron--remained one of the recognized heroes of modern finance by reasonof the scandalous profits which he had made in every famous thievingspeculation of the July Monarchy and the Second Empire, such as mines, railroads, and the Suez Canal. And he, the present Baron, Henri by name, and born in 1836, had only seriously gone into business on BaronGregoire's death soon after the Franco-German War. However, he had doneso with such a rageful appetite, that in a quarter of a century he hadagain doubled the family fortune. He rotted and devoured, corrupted, swallowed everything that he touched; and he was also the tempterpersonified--the man who bought all consciences that were forsale--having fully understood the new times and its tendencies inpresence of the democracy, which in its turn had become hungry andimpatient. Inferior though he was both to his father and his grandfather, being a man of enjoyment, caring less for the work of conquest than thedivision of the spoil, he nevertheless remained a terrible fellow, asleek triumpher, whose operations were all certainties, who amassedmillions at each stroke, and treated with governments on a footing ofequality, able as he was to place, if not France, at least a ministry inhis pocket. In one century and three generations, royalty had becomeembodied in him: a royalty already threatened, already shaken by thetempest close ahead. And at times his figure grew and expanded till itbecame, as it were, an incarnation of the whole /bourgeoisie/--that/bourgeoisie/ which at the division of the spoils in 1789 appropriatedeverything, and has since fattened on everything at the expense of themasses, and refuses to restore anything whatever. 

The article which the Baron was re-perusing in a halfpenny newspaperinterested him. "La Voix du Peuple" was a noisy sheet which, under thepretence of defending outraged justice and morality, set a fresh scandalcirculating every morning in the hope of thereby increasing its sales. And that morning, in big type on its front page, this sub-title wasdisplayed: "The Affair of the African Railways. Five Millions spent inBribes: Two Ministers Bought, Thirty Deputies and Senators Compromised. "Then in an article of odious violence the paper's editor, the famousSagnier, announced that he possessed and intended to publish the list ofthe thirty-two members of Parliament, whose support Baron Duvillard hadpurchased at the time when the Chambers had voted the bill for theAfrican Railway Lines. Quite a romantic story was mingled with all this, the adventures of a certain Hunter, whom the Baron had employed as hisgo-between and who had now fled. The Baron, however, re-perused eachsentence and weighed each word of the article very calmly; and althoughhe was alone he shrugged his shoulders and spoke aloud with the tranquilassurance of a man whose responsibility is covered and who is, moreover, too powerful to be molested. 

"The idiot, " he said, "he knows even less than he pretends. "

Just then, however, a first guest arrived, a man of barely four andthirty, elegantly dressed, dark and good looking, with a delicatelyshaped nose, and curly hair and beard. As a rule, too, he had laughingeyes, and something giddy, flighty, bird-like in his demeanour; but thatmorning he seemed nervous, anxious even, and smiled in a scared way. 

"Ah! it's you, Duthil, " said the Baron, rising. "Have you read this?" Andhe showed the new comer the "Voix du Peuple, " which he was folding up toreplace it in his pocket. 

"Why yes, I've read it. It's amazing. How can Sagnier have got hold ofthe list of names? Has there been some traitor?"

The Baron looked at his companion quietly, amused by his secret anguish. Duthil, the son of a notary of Angouleme, almost poor and very honest, had been sent to Paris as deputy for that town whilst yet very young, thanks to the high reputation of his father; and he there led a life ofpleasure and idleness, even as he had formerly done when a student. However, his pleasant bachelor's quarters in the Rue de Suresnes, and hissuccess as a handsome man in the whirl of women among whom he lived, costhim no little money; and gaily enough, devoid as he was of any moralsense, he had already glided into all sorts of compromising and loweringactions, like a light-headed, superior man, a charming, thoughtlessfellow, who attached no importance whatever to such trifles. 

"Bah!" said the Baron at last. "Has Sagnier even got a list? I doubt it, for there was none; Hunter wasn't so foolish as to draw one up. And then, too, it was merely an ordinary affair; nothing more was done than isalways done in such matters of business. "

Duthil, who for the first time in his life had felt anxious, listenedlike one that needs to be reassured. "Quite so, eh?" he exclaimed. "That's what I thought. There isn't a cat to be whipped in the wholeaffair. "

He tried to laugh as usual, and no longer exactly knew how it was that hehad received some ten thousand francs in connection with the matter, whether it were in the shape of a vague loan, or else under some pretextof publicity, puffery, or advertising, for Hunter had acted with extremeadroitness so as to give no offence to the susceptibilities of even theleast virginal consciences. 

"No, there's not a cat to be whipped, " repeated Duvillard, who decidedlyseemed amused by the face which Duthil was pulling. "And besides, my dearfellow, it's well known that cats always fall on their feet. But have youseen Silviane?"

"I just left her. I found her in a great rage with you. She learnt thismorning that her affair of the Comedie is off. "

A rush of anger suddenly reddened the Baron's face. He, who could scoffso calmly at the threat of the African Railways scandal, lost his balanceand felt his blood boiling directly there was any question of Silviane, the last, imperious passion of his sixtieth year. "What! off?" said he. "But at the Ministry of Fine Arts they gave me almost a positive promiseonly the day before yesterday. "

He referred to a stubborn caprice of Silviane d'Aulnay, who, although shehad hitherto only reaped a success of beauty on the stage, obstinatelysought to enter the Comedie Francaise and make her /debut/ there in thepart of "Pauline" in Corneille's "Polyeucte, " which part she had beenstudying desperately for several months past. Her idea seemed an insaneone, and all Paris laughed at it; but the young woman, with superbassurance, kept herself well to the front, and imperiously demanded the/role/, feeling sure that she would conquer. 

"It was the minister who wouldn't have it, " explained Duthil. 

The Baron was choking. "The minister, the minister! Ah! well, I will soonhave that minister sent to the rightabout. "

However, he had to cease speaking, for at that moment Baroness Duvillardcame into the little drawing-room. At forty-six years of age she wasstill very beautiful. Very fair and tall, having hitherto put on butlittle superfluous fat, and retaining perfect arms and shoulders, withspeckless silky skin, it was only her face that was spoiling, colouringslightly with reddish blotches. And these blemishes were her torment, herhourly thought and worry. Her Jewish origin was revealed by her somewhatlong and strangely charming face, with blue and softly voluptuous eyes. As indolent as an Oriental slave, disliking to have to move, walk, oreven speak, she seemed intended for a harem life, especially as she wasfor ever tending her person. That day she was all in white, gowned in awhite silk toilette of delicious and lustrous simplicity. 

Duthil complimented her, and kissed her hand with an enraptured air. "Ah!madame, you set a little springtide in my heart. Paris is so black andmuddy this morning. "

However, a second guest entered the room, a tall and handsome man of fiveor six and thirty; and the Baron, still disturbed by his passion, profited by this opportunity to make his escape. He carried Duthil awayinto his study, saying, "Come here an instant, my dear fellow. I have afew more words to say to you about the affair in question. Monsieur deQuinsac will keep my wife company for a moment. "

The Baroness, as soon as she was alone with the new comer, who, likeDuthil, had most respectfully kissed her hand, gave him a long, silentlook, while her soft eyes filled with tears. Deep silence, tinged withsome slight embarrassment, had fallen, but she ended by saying in a verylow voice: "How happy I am, Gerard, to find myself alone with you for amoment. For a month past I have not had that happiness. "

The circumstances in which Henri Duvillard had married the youngerdaughter of Justus Steinberger, the great Jew banker, formed quite astory which was often recalled. The Steinbergers--after the fashion ofthe Rothschilds--were originally four brothers--Justus, residing inParis, and the three others at Berlin, Vienna, and London, a circumstancewhich gave their secret association most formidable power in thefinancial markets of Europe. Justus, however, was the least wealthy ofthe four, and in Baron Gregoire Duvillard he had a redoubtable adversaryagainst whom he was compelled to struggle each time that any large preywas in question. And it was after a terrible encounter between the pair, after the eager sharing of the spoils, that the crafty idea had come toJustus of giving his younger daughter Eve in marriage, by way of/douceur/, to the Baron's son, Henri. So far the latter had only beenknown as an amiable fellow, fond of horses and club life; and no doubtJustus's idea was that, at the death of the redoubtable Baron, who wasalready condemned by his physicians, he would be able to lay his hands onthe rival banking-house, particularly if he only had in front of him ason-in-law whom it was easy to conquer. As it happened, Henri had beenmastered by a violent passion for Eve's blond beauty, which was thendazzling. He wished to marry her, and his father, who knew him, consented, in reality greatly amused to think that Justus was making anexecrably bad stroke of business. The enterprise became indeed disastrousfor Justus when Henri succeeded his father and the man of prey appearedfrom beneath the man of pleasure and carved himself his own huge share inexploiting the unbridled appetites of the middle-class democracy, whichhad at last secured possession of power. Not only did Eve fail to devourHenri, who in his turn had become Baron Duvillard, the all-powerfulbanker, more and more master of the market; but it was the Baron whodevoured Eve, and this in less than four years' time. After she had bornehim a daughter and a son in turn, he suddenly drew away from her, neglected her, as if she were a mere toy that he no longer cared for. Shewas at first both surprised and distressed by the change, especially onlearning that he was resuming his bachelor's habits, and had set hisfickle if ardent affections elsewhere. Then, however, without any kind ofrecrimination, any display of anger, or even any particular effort toregain her ascendency over him, she, on her side, imitated his example. She could not live without love, and assuredly she had only been born tobe beautiful, to fascinate and reap adoration. To the lover whom shechose when she was five and twenty she remained faithful for more thanfifteen years, as faithful as she might have been to a husband; and whenhe died her grief was intense, it was like real widowhood. Six monthslater, however, having met Count Gerard de Quinsac she had again beenunable to resist her imperative need of adoration, and an intrigue hadfollowed. 

"Have you been ill, my dear Gerard?" she inquired, noticing the youngman's embarrassment. "Are you hiding some worry from me?"

She was ten years older than he was; and she clung desperately to thislast passion of hers, revolting at the thought of growing old, andresolved upon every effort to keep the young man beside her. 

"No, I am hiding nothing, I assure you, " replied the Count. "But mymother has had much need of me recently. "

She continued looking at him, however, with anxious passion, finding himso tall and aristocratic of mien, with his regular features and dark hairand moustaches which were always most carefully tended. He belonged toone of the oldest families of France, and resided on a ground-floor inthe Rue St. Dominique with his widowed mother, who had been ruined by heradventurously inclined husband, and had at most an income of some fifteenthousand francs* to live upon. Gerard for his part had never doneanything; contenting himself with his one year of obligatory militaryservice, he had renounced the profession of arms in the same way as hehad renounced that of diplomacy, the only one that offered him an openingof any dignity. He spent his days in that busy idleness common to allyoung men who lead "Paris life. " And his mother, haughtily severe thoughshe was, seemed to excuse this, as if in her opinion a man of his birthwas bound by way of protest to keep apart from official life under aRepublic. However, she no doubt had more intimate, more disturbingreasons for indulgence. She had nearly lost him when he was only seven, through an attack of brain fever. At eighteen he had complained of hisheart, and the doctors had recommended that he should be treated gentlyin all respects. She knew, therefore, what a lie lurked behind his prouddemeanour, within his lofty figure, that haughty /facade/ of his race. Hewas but dust, ever threatened with illness and collapse. In the depths ofhis seeming virility there was merely girlish /abandon/; and he wassimply a weak, good-natured fellow, liable to every stumble. It was onthe occasion of a visit which he had paid with his mother to the Asylumof the Invalids of Labour that he had first seen Eve, whom he continuedto meet; his mother, closing her eyes to this culpable connection in asphere of society which she treated with contempt, in the same way as shehad closed them to so many other acts of folly which she had forgivenbecause she regarded them as the mere lapses of an ailing child. Moreover, Eve had made a conquest of Madame de Quinsac, who was verypious, by an action which had recently amazed society. It had beensuddenly learnt that she had allowed Monseigneur Martha to convert her tothe Roman Catholic faith. This thing, which she had refused to do whensolicited by her lawful husband, she had now done in the hope of ensuringherself a lover's eternal affection. And all Paris was still stirred bythe magnificence exhibited at the Madeleine, on the occasion of thebaptism of this Jewess of five and forty, whose beauty and whose tearshad upset every heart. 

 * About 3000 dollars. 

Gerard, on his side, was still flattered by the deep and touchingtenderness shown to him; but weariness was coming, and he had alreadysought to break off the connection by avoiding any further assignations. He well understood Eve's glances and her tears, and though he was movedat sight of them he tried to excuse himself. "I assure you, " said he, "mymother has kept me so busy that I could not get away. " But she, without aword, still turned her tearful glance on him, and weak, like herself, indespair that he should have been left alone with her in this fashion, heyielded, unable to continue refusing. "Well, then, " said he, "thisafternoon at four o'clock if you are free. "

He had lowered his voice in speaking, but a slight rustle made him turnhis head and start like one in fault. It was the Baroness's daughterCamille entering the room. She had heard nothing; but by the smile whichthe others had exchanged, by the very quiver of the air, she understoodeverything; an assignation for that very day and at the very spot whichshe suspected. Some slight embarrassment followed, an exchange of anxiousand evil glances. 

Camille, at three and twenty, was a very dark young woman, short ofstature and somewhat deformed, with her left shoulder higher than theright. There seemed to be nothing of her father or mother in her. Hercase was one of those unforeseen accidents in family heredity which makepeople wonder whence they can arise. Her only pride lay in her beautifulblack eyes and superb black hair, which, short as she was, would, saidshe, have sufficed to clothe her. But her nose was long, her facedeviated to the left, and her chin was pointed. Her thin, witty, andmalicious lips bespoke all the rancour and perverse anger stored in theheart of this uncomely creature, whom the thought of her uncomelinessenraged. However, the one whom she most hated in the whole world was herown mother, that /amorosa/ who was so little fitted to be a mother, whohad never loved her, never paid attention to her, but had abandoned herto the care of servants from her very infancy. In this wise real hatredhad grown up between the two women, mute and frigid on the one side, andactive and passionate on the other. The daughter hated her mother becauseshe found her beautiful, because she had not been created in the sameimage: beautiful with the beauty with which her mother crushed her. Dayby day she suffered at being sought by none, at realising that theadoration of one and all still went to her mother. As she was amusing inher maliciousness, people listened to her and laughed; however, theglances of all the men--even and indeed especially the younger ones--soonreverted to her triumphant mother, who seemingly defied old age. In partfor this reason Camille, with ferocious determination, had decided thatshe would dispossess her mother of her last lover Gerard, and marry himherself, conscious that such a loss would doubtless kill the Baroness. Thanks to her promised dowry of five millions of francs, the young womandid not lack suitors; but, little flattered by their advances, she wasaccustomed to say, with her malicious laugh: "Oh! of course; why for fivemillions they would take a wife from a mad-house. " However, she, herself, had really begun to love Gerard, who, good-natured as he was, evincedmuch kindness towards this suffering young woman whom nature had treatedso harshly. It worried him to see her forsaken by everyone, and little bylittle he yielded to the grateful tenderness which she displayed towardshim, happy, handsome man that he was, at being regarded as a demi-god andhaving such a slave. Indeed, in his attempt to quit the mother there wascertainly a thought of allowing the daughter to marry him, which would bean agreeable ending to it all, though he did not as yet acknowledge this, ashamed as he felt and embarrassed by his illustrious name and all thecomplications and tears which he foresaw. 

The silence continued. Camille with her piercing glance, as sharp as anyknife, had told her mother that she knew the truth; and then with anotherand pain-fraught glance she had complained to Gerard. He, in order tore-establish equilibrium, could only think of a compliment: "Goodmorning, Camille. Ah! that havana-brown gown of yours looks nice! It'sastonishing how well rather sombre colours suit you. "

Camille glanced at her mother's white robe, and then at her own darkgown, which scarcely allowed her neck and wrists to be seen. "Yes, " shereplied laughing, "I only look passable when I don't dress as a younggirl. "

Eve, ill at ease, worried by the growth of a rivalry in which she did notas yet wish to believe, changed the conversation. "Isn't your brotherthere?" she asked. 

"Why yes, we came down together. "

Hyacinthe, who came in at that moment, shook hands with Gerard in a wearyway. He was twenty, and had inherited his mother's pale blond hair, andher long face full of Oriental languor; while from his father he hadderived his grey eyes and thick lips, expressive of unscrupulousappetites. A wretched scholar, regarding every profession with the samecontempt, he had decided to do nothing. Spoilt by his father, he tooksome little interest in poetry and music, and lived in an extraordinarycircle of artists, low women, madmen and bandits; boasting himself of allsorts of crimes and vices, professing the very worst philosophical andsocial ideas, invariably going to extremes, becoming in turn aCollectivist, an Individualist, an Anarchist, a Pessimist, a Symbolist, and what not besides; without, however, ceasing to be a Catholic, as thisconjunction of Catholicity with something else seemed to him the supreme/bon ton/. In reality he was simply empty and rather a fool. In fourgenerations the vigorous hungry blood of the Duvillards, after producingthree magnificent beasts of prey, had, as if exhausted by the contentmentof every passion, ended in this sorry emasculated creature, who wasincapable alike of great knavery or great debauchery. 

Camille, who was too intelligent not to realise her brother'snothingness, was fond of teasing him; and looking at him as he stoodthere, tightly buttoned in his long frock coat with pleated skirt--aresurrection of the romantic period, which he carried to exaggeration, she resumed: "Mamma has been asking for you, Hyacinthe. Come and show heryour gown. You are the one who would look nice dressed as a young girl. "

However, he eluded her without replying. He was covertly afraid of her, though they lived together in great intimacy, frankly exchangingconfidences respecting their perverse views of life. And he directed aglance of disdain at the wonderful basket of orchids which seemed to himpast the fashion, far too common nowadays. For his part he had left thelilies of life behind him, and reached the ranunculus, the flower ofblood. 

The two last guests who were expected now arrived almost together. Thefirst was the investigating magistrate Amadieu, a little man of five andforty, who was an intimate of the household and had been brought intonotoriety by a recent anarchist affair. Between a pair of fair, bushywhiskers he displayed a flat, regular judicial face, to which he tried toimpart an expression of keenness by wearing a single eyeglass behindwhich his glance sparkled. Very worldly, moreover, he belonged to the newjudicial school, being a distinguished psychologist and having written abook in reply to the abuses of criminalist physiology. And he was also aman of great, tenacious ambition, fond of notoriety and ever on thelookout for those resounding legal affairs which bring glory. Behind him, at last appeared General de Bozonnet, Gerard's uncle on the maternalside, a tall, lean old man with a nose like an eagle's beak. Chronicrheumatism had recently compelled him to retire from the service. Raisedto a colonelcy after the Franco-German War in reward for his gallantconduct at St. Privat, he had, in spite of his extremely monarchicalconnections, kept his sworn faith to Napoleon III. And he was excused inhis own sphere of society for this species of military Bonapartism, onaccount of the bitterness with which he accused the Republic of havingruined the army. Worthy fellow that he was, extremely fond of his sister, Madame de Quinsac, it seemed as though he acted in accordance with somesecret desire of hers in accepting the invitations of Baroness Duvillardby way of rendering Gerard's constant presence in her house more naturaland excusable. 

However, the Baron and Duthil now returned from the study, laughingloudly in an exaggerated way, doubtless to make the others believe thatthey were quite easy in mind. And one and all passed into the largedining-room where a big wood fire was burning, its gay flames shininglike a ray of springtide amid the fine mahogany furniture of English makeladen with silver and crystal. The room, of a soft mossy green, had anunassuming charm in the pale light, and the table which in the centredisplayed the richness of its covers and the immaculate whiteness of itslinen adorned with Venetian point, seemed to have flowered miraculouslywith a wealth of large tea roses, most admirable blooms for the season, and of delicious perfume. 

The Baroness seated the General on her right, and Amadieu on her left. The Baron on his right placed Duthil, and on his left Gerard. Then theyoung people installed themselves at either end, Camille between Gerardand the General, and Hyacinthe between Duthil and Amadieu. And forthwith, from the moment of starting on the scrambled eggs and truffles, conversation began, the usual conversation of Parisian /dejeuners/, whenevery event, great or little, of the morning or the day before is passedin review: the truths and the falsehoods current in every social sphere, the financial scandal, and the political adventure of the hour, the novelthat has just appeared, the play that has just been produced, the storieswhich should only be retailed in whispers, but which are repeated aloud. And beneath all the light wit which circulates, beneath all the laughter, which often has a false ring, each retains his or her particular worry, or distress of mind, at times so acute that it becomes perfect agony. 

With his quiet and wonted impudence, the Baron, bravely enough, was thefirst to speak of the article in the "Voix du Peuple. " "I say, have youread Sagnier's article this morning? It's a good one; he has /verve/ youknow, but what a dangerous lunatic he is!"

This set everybody at ease, for the article would certainly have weighedupon the /dejeuner/ had no one mentioned it. 

"It's the 'Panama' dodge over again!" cried Duthil. "But no, no, we'vehad quite enough of it!"

"Why, " resumed the Baron, "the affair of the African Railway Lines is asclear as spring water! All those whom Sagnier threatens may sleep inpeace. The truth is that it's a scheme to upset Barroux's ministry. Leaveto interpellate will certainly be asked for this afternoon. You'll seewhat a fine uproar there'll be in the Chamber. "

"That libellous, scandal-seeking press, " said Amadieu gravely, "is adissolving agent which will bring France to ruin. We ought to have lawsagainst it. "

The General made an angry gesture: "Laws, what's the use of them, sincenobody has the courage to enforce them. "

Silence fell. With a light, discreet step the house-steward presentedsome grilled mullet. So noiseless was the service amid the cheerfulperfumed warmth that not even the faintest clatter of crockery was heard. Without anyone knowing how it had come about, however, the conversationhad suddenly changed; and somebody inquired: "So the revival of the pieceis postponed?"

"Yes, " said Gerard, "I heard this morning that 'Polyeucte' wouldn't getits turn till April at the earliest. "

At this Camille, who had hitherto remained silent, watching the youngCount and seeking to win him back, turned her glittering eyes upon herfather and mother. It was a question of that revival in which Silvianewas so stubbornly determined to make her /debut/. However, the Baron andthe Baroness evinced perfect serenity, having long been acquainted withall that concerned each other. Moreover Eve was too much occupied withher own passion to think of anything else; and the Baron too busy withthe fresh application which he intended to make in tempestuous fashion atthe Ministry of Fine Arts, so as to wrest Silviane's engagement fromthose in office. He contented himself with saying: "How would you havethem revive pieces at the Comedie! They have no actresses left there. "

"Oh, by the way, " the Baroness on her side simply remarked, "yesterday, in that play at the Vaudeville, Delphine Vignot wore such an exquisitegown. She's the only one too who knows how to arrange her hair. "

Thereupon Duthil, in somewhat veiled language, began to relate a storyabout Delphine and a well-known senator. And then came another scandal, the sudden and almost suspicious death of a lady friend of theDuvillards'; whereupon the General, without any transition, broke in torelieve his bitter feelings by denouncing the idiotic manner in which thearmy was nowadays organised. Meantime the old Bordeaux glittered likeruby blood in the delicate crystal glasses. A truffled fillet of venisonhad just cast its somewhat sharp scent amidst the dying perfume of theroses, when some asparagus made its appearance, a /primeur/ which oncehad been so rare but which no longer caused any astonishment. 

"Nowadays we get it all through the winter, " said the Baron with agesture of disenchantment. 

"And so, " asked Gerard at the same moment, "the Princess de Harn's/matinee/ is for this afternoon?"

Camille quickly intervened. "Yes, this afternoon. Shall you go?"

"No, I don't think so, I shan't be able, " replied the young man inembarrassment. 

"Ah! that little Princess, she's really deranged you know, " exclaimedDuthil. "You are aware that she calls herself a widow? But the truth, itseems, is that her husband, a real Prince, connected with a royal houseand very handsome, is travelling about the world in the company of asinger. She with her vicious urchin-like face preferred to come and reignin Paris, in that mansion of the Avenue Hoche, which is certainly themost extraordinary Noah's ark imaginable, with its swarming ofcosmopolitan society indulging in every extravagance!"

"Be quiet, you malicious fellow, " the Baroness gently interrupted. "We, here, are very fond of Rosemonde, who is a charming woman. "

"Oh! certainly, " Camille again resumed. "She invited us; and we are goingto her place by-and-by, are we not, mamma?"

To avoid replying, the Baroness pretended that she did not hear, whilstDuthil, who seemed to be well-informed concerning the Princess, continuedto make merry over her intended /matinee/, at which she meant to producesome Spanish dancing girls, whose performance was so very indecorous thatall Paris, forewarned of the circumstance, would certainly swarm to herhouse. And he added: "You've heard that she has given up painting. Yes, she busies herself with chemistry. Her /salon/ is full of Anarchistsnow--and, by the way, it seemed to me that she had cast her eyes on you, my dear Hyacinthe. "

Hyacinthe had hitherto held his tongue, as if he took no interest inanything. "Oh! she bores me to death, " he now condescended to reply. "IfI'm going to her /matinee/ it's simply in the hope of meeting my friendyoung Lord George Eldrett, who wrote to me from London to give me anappointment at the Princess's. And I admit that hers is the only /salon/where I find somebody to talk to. "

"And so, " asked Amadieu in an ironical way, "you have now gone over toAnarchism?"

With his air of lofty elegance Hyacinthe imperturbably confessed hiscreed: "But it seems to me, monsieur, that in these times of universalbaseness and ignominy, no man of any distinction can be other than anAnarchist. "

A laugh ran round the table. Hyacinthe was very much spoilt, andconsidered very entertaining. His father in particular was immenselyamused by the notion that he of all men should have an Anarchist for ason. However, the General, in his rancorous moments, talked anarchicallyenough of blowing up a society which was so stupid as to let itself beled by half a dozen disreputable characters. And, indeed, theinvestigating magistrate, who was gradually making a specialty ofAnarchist affairs, proved the only one who opposed the young man, defending threatened civilisation and giving terrifying particularsconcerning what he called the army of devastation and massacre. Theothers, while partaking of some delicious duck's-liver /pate/, which thehouse-steward handed around, continued smiling. There was so much misery, said they; one must take everything into account: things would surely endby righting themselves. And the Baron himself declared, in a conciliatorymanner: "It's certain that one might do something, though nobody knowsexactly what. As for all sensible and moderate claims, oh! I agree tothem in advance. For instance, the lot of the working classes may beameliorated, charitable enterprises may be undertaken, such, forinstance, as our Asylum for the Invalids of Labour, which we have reasonto be proud of. But we must not be asked for impossibilities. "

With the dessert came a sudden spell of silence; it was as if, amidst therestless fluttering of the conversation, and the dizziness born of thecopious meal, each one's worry or distress was again wringing the heartand setting an expression of perturbation on the countenance. The nervousunconscientiousness of Duthil, threatened with denunciation, was seen torevive; so, too, the anxious anger of the Baron, who was meditating howhe might possibly manage to content Silviane. That woman was this sturdy, powerful man's taint, the secret sore which would perhaps end by eatinghim away and destroying him. But it was the frightful drama in which theBaroness, Camille and Gerard were concerned that flitted by most visiblyacross the faces of all three of them: that hateful rivalry of mother anddaughter, contending for the man they loved. And, meantime, thesilver-gilt blades of the dessert-knives were delicately peeling choicefruit. And there were bunches of golden grapes looking beautifully fresh, and a procession of sweetmeats, little cakes, an infinity of dainties, over which the most satiated appetites lingered complacently. 

Then, just as the finger-glasses were being served, a footman came andbent over the Baroness, who answered in an undertone, "Well, show himinto the /salon/, I will join him there. " And aloud to the others sheadded: "It's Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, who has called and asks mostparticularly to see me. He won't be in our way; I think that almost allof you know him. Oh! he's a genuine saint, and I have much sympathy forhim. "

For a few minutes longer they loitered round the table, and then at lastquitted the dining-room, which was full of the odours of viands, wines, fruits and roses; quite warm, too, with the heat thrown out by the biglogs of firewood, which were falling into embers amidst the somewhatjumbled brightness of all the crystal and silver, and the pale, delicatelight which fell upon the disorderly table. 

Pierre had remained standing in the centre of the little blue and silver/salon/. Seeing a tray on which the coffee and the liqueurs were inreadiness, he regretted that he had insisted upon being received. And hisembarrassment increased when the company came in rather noisily, withbright eyes and rosy cheeks. However, his charitable fervour had revivedso ardently within him that he overcame this embarrassment, and all thatremained to him of it was a slight feeling of discomfort at bringing thewhole frightful morning which he had just spent amid such scenes ofwretchedness, so much darkness and cold, so much filth and hunger, intothis bright, warm, perfumed affluence, where the useless and thesuperfluous overflowed around those folks who seemed so gay at havingmade a delightful meal. 

However, the Baroness at once came forward with Gerard, for it wasthrough the latter, whose mother he knew, that the priest had beenpresented to the Duvillards at the time of the famous conversion. And ashe apologised for having called at such an inconvenient hour, theBaroness responded: "But you are always welcome, Monsieur l'Abbe. Youwill allow me just to attend to my guests, won't you? I will be with youin an instant. "

She thereupon returned to the table on which the tray had been placed, inorder to serve the coffee and the liqueurs, with her daughter'sassistance. Gerard, however, remained with Pierre; and, it so chanced, began to speak to him of the Asylum for the Invalids of Labour, wherethey had met one another at the recent laying of the foundation-stone ofa new pavilion which was being erected, thanks to a handsome donation of100, 000 francs made by Baron Duvillard. So far, the enterprise onlycomprised four pavilions out of the fourteen which it was proposed toerect on the vast site given by the City of Paris on the peninsula ofGennevilliers*; and so the subscription fund remained open, and, indeed, no little noise was made over this charitable enterprise, which wasregarded as a complete and peremptory reply to the accusations of thoseevilly disposed persons who charged the satiated /bourgeoisie/ with doingnothing for the workers. But the truth was that a magnificent chapel, erected in the centre of the site, had absorbed two-thirds of the fundshitherto collected. Numerous lady patronesses, chosen from all the"worlds" of Paris--the Baroness Duvillard, the Countess de Quinsac, thePrincess Rosemonde de Harn, and a score of others--were entrusted withthe task of keeping the enterprise alive by dint of collections and fancybazaars. But success had been chiefly obtained, thanks to the happy ideaof ridding the ladies of all the weighty cares of organisation, bychoosing as managing director a certain Fonsegue, who, besides being adeputy and editor of the "Globe" newspaper, was a prodigious promoter ofall sorts of enterprises. And the "Globe" never paused in its propaganda, but answered the attacks of the revolutionaries by extolling theinexhaustible charity of the governing classes in such wise that, at thelast elections, the enterprise had served as a victorious electoralweapon. 

 * This so-called peninsula lies to the northwest of Paris, and is formed by the windings of the Seine. --Trans. 

However, Camille was walking about with a steaming cup of coffee in herhand: "Will you take some coffee, Monsieur l'Abbe?" she inquired. 

"No, thank you, mademoiselle. "

"A glass of Chartreuse then?"

"No, thank you. "

Then everybody being served, the Baroness came back and said amiably:"Come, Monsieur l'Abbe, what do you desire of me?"

Pierre began to speak almost in an undertone, his throat contracting andhis heart beating with emotion. "I have come, madame, to appeal to yourgreat kindness of heart. This morning, in a frightful house, in the Ruedes Saules, behind Montmartre, I beheld a sight which utterly upset me. You can have no idea what an abode of misery and suffering it was; itsinmates without fire or bread, the men reduced to idleness because thereis no work, the mothers having no more milk for their babes, the childrenbarely clad, coughing and shivering. And among all these horrors I sawthe worst, the most abominable of all, an old workman, laid on his backby age, dying of hunger, huddled on a heap of rags, in a nook which a dogwould not even accept as kennel. "

He tried to recount things as discreetly as possible, frightened by thevery words he spoke, the horrors he had to relate in that sphere ofsuperlative luxury and enjoyment, before those happy ones who possessedall the gifts of this world; for--to use a slang expression--he fullyrealised that he sang out of tune, and in most uncourteous fashion. Whata strange idea of his to have called at the hour when one has justfinished /dejeuner/, when the aroma of hot coffee flatters happydigestion. Nevertheless he went on, and even ended by raising his voice, yielding to the feeling of revolt which gradually stirred him, going tothe end of his terrible narrative, naming Laveuve, insisting on theunjust abandonment in which the old man was left, and asking for succourin the name of human compassion. And the whole company approached tolisten to him; he could see the Baron and the General, and Duthil andAmadieu, in front of him, sipping their coffee, in silence, without agesture. 

"Well, madame, " he concluded, "it seemed to me that one could not leavethat old man an hour longer in such a frightful position, and that thisvery evening you would have the extreme goodness to have him admittedinto the Asylum of the Invalids of Labour, which is, I think, the properand only place for him. "

Tears had moistened Eve's beautiful eyes. She was in consternation at sosad a story coming to her to spoil her afternoon when she was lookingforward to her assignation with Gerard. Weak and indolent as she was, lacking all initiative, too much occupied moreover with her own person, she had only accepted the presidency of the Committee on the conditionthat all administrative worries were to fall on Fonsegue. "Ah! Monsieurl'Abbe, " she murmured, "you rend my heart. But I can do nothing, nothingat all, I assure you. Moreover, I believe that we have already inquiredinto the affair of that man Laveuve. With us, you know, there must be themost serious guarantees with regard to every admission. A reporter ischosen who has to give us full information. Wasn't it you, MonsieurDuthil, who was charged with this man Laveuve's affair?"

The deputy was finishing a glass of Chartreuse. "Yes, it was I. That finefellow played you a comedy, Monsieur l'Abbe. He isn't at all ill, and ifyou left him any money you may be sure he went down to drink it as soonas you were gone. For he is always drunk; and, besides that, he has themost hateful disposition imaginable, crying out from morning till eveningagainst the /bourgeois/, and saying that if he had any strength left inhis arms he would undertake to blow up the whole show. And, moreover, hewon't go into the asylum; he says that it's a real prison where one'sguarded by Beguins who force one to hear mass, a dirty convent where thegates are shut at nine in the evening! And there are so many of them likethat, who rather than be succoured prefer their liberty, with cold andhunger and death. Well then, let the Laveuves die in the street, sincethey refuse to be with us, and be warm and eat in our asylums!"

The General and Amadieu nodded their heads approvingly. But Duvillardshowed himself more generous. "No, no, indeed! A man's a man after all, and should be succoured in spite of himself. "

Eve, however, in despair at the idea that she would be robbed of herafternoon, struggled and sought for reasons. "I assure you that my handsare altogether tied. Monsieur l'Abbe does not doubt my heart or my zeal. But how call I possibly assemble the Committee without a few days' delay?And I have particular reasons for coming to no decision, especially in anaffair which has already been inquired into and pronounced upon, withoutthe Committee's sanction. " Then, all at once she found a solution: "WhatI advise you to do, Monsieur l'Abbe, is to go at once to see MonsieurFonsegue, our managing director. He alone can act in an urgent case, forhe knows that the ladies have unlimited confidence in him and approveeverything he does. "

"You will find Fonsegue at the Chamber, " added Duthil smiling, "only thesitting will be a warm one, and I doubt whether you will be able to havea comfortable chat with him. "

Pierre, whose heart had contracted yet more painfully, insisted on thesubject no further; but at once made up his mind to see Fonsegue, and inany event obtain from him a promise that the wretched Laveuve should beadmitted to the Asylum that very evening. Then he lingered in the saloonfor a few minutes listening to Gerard, who obligingly pointed out to himhow he might best convince the deputy, which was by alleging how bad aneffect such a story could have, should it be brought to light by therevolutionary newspapers. However, the guests were beginning to taketheir leave. The General, as he went off, came to ask his nephew if heshould see him that afternoon at his mother's, Madame de Quinsac, whose"day" it was: a question which the young man answered with an evasivegesture when he noticed that both Eve and Camille were looking at him. Then came the turn of Amadieu, who hurried off saying that a seriousaffair required his presence at the Palace of Justice. And Duthil soonfollowed him in order to repair to the Chamber. 

"I'll see you between four and five at Silviane's, eh?" said the Baron ashe conducted him to the door. "Come and tell me what occurs at theChamber in consequence of that odious article of Sagnier's. I must at allevents know. For my part I shall go to the Ministry of Fine Arts, tosettle that affair of the Comedie; and besides I've some calls to make, some contractors to see, and a big launching and advertisement affair tosettle. "

"It's understood then, between four and five, at Silviane's, " said thedeputy, who went off again mastered by his vague uneasiness, his anxietyas to what turn that nasty affair of the African Railway Lines mighttake. 

And all of them had forgotten Laveuve, the miserable wretch who lay atdeath's door; and all of them were hastening away to their business ortheir passions, caught in the toils, sinking under the grindstone andwhisked away by that rush of all Paris, whose fever bore them along, throwing one against another in an ardent scramble, in which the solequestion was who should pass over the others and crush them. 

"And so, mamma, " said Camille, who continued to scrutinise her mother andGerard, "you are going to take us to the Princess's /matinee/?"

"By-and-by, yes. Only I shan't be able to stay there with you. I receiveda telegram from Salmon about my corsage this morning, and I mustabsolutely go to try it on at four o'clock. "

By the slight trembling of her mother's voice, the girl felt certain thatshe was telling a falsehood. "Oh!" said she, "I thought you were onlygoing to try it on to-morrow? In that case I suppose we are to go andcall for you at Salmon's with the carriage on leaving the /matinee/?"

"Oh! no my dear! One never knows when one will be free; and besides, if Ihave a moment, I shall call at the /modiste's/. "

Camille's secret rage brought almost a murderous glare to her dark eyes. The truth was evident. But however passionately she might desire to setsome obstacle across her mother's path, she could not, dared not, carrymatters any further. In vain had she attempted to implore Gerard with hereyes. He was standing to take his leave, and turned away his eyes. Pierre, who had become acquainted with many things since he hadfrequented the house, noticed how all three of them quivered, and divinedthereby the mute and terrible drama. 

At this moment, however, Hyacinthe, stretched in an armchair, andmunching an ether capsule, the only liqueur in which he indulged, raisedhis voice: "For my part, you know, I'm going to the Exposition du Lis. All Paris is swarming there. There's one painting in particular, 'TheRape of a Soul, ' which it's absolutely necessary for one to have seen. "

"Well, but I don't refuse to drive you there, " resumed the Baroness. "Before going to the Princess's we can look in at that exhibition. "

"That's it, that's it, " hastily exclaimed Camille, who, though sheharshly derided the symbolist painters as a rule, now doubtless desiredto delay her mother. Then, forcing herself to smile, she asked: "Won'tyou risk a look-in at the Exposition du Lis with us, Monsieur Gerard?"

"Well, no, " replied the Count, "I want to walk. I shall go with Monsieurl'Abbe Froment to the Chamber. "

Thereupon he took leave of mother and daughter, kissing the hand of eachin turn. It had just occurred to him that to while away his time he alsomight call for a moment at Silviane's, where, like the others, he had his/entrees/. On reaching the cold and solemn courtyard he said to thepriest, "Ah! it does one good to breathe a little cool air. They keeptheir rooms too hot, and all those flowers, too, give one the headache. "

Pierre for his part was going off with his brain in a whirl, his handsfeverish, his senses oppressed by all the luxury which he left behindhim, like the dream of some glowing, perfumed paradise where only theelect had their abode. At the same time his reviving thirst for charityhad become keener than ever, and without listening to the Count, who wasspeaking very affectionately of his mother, he reflected as to how hemight obtain Laveuve's admission to the Asylum from Fonsegue. However, when the door of the mansion had closed behind them and they had taken afew steps along the street, it occurred to Pierre that a momentpreviously a sudden vision had met his gaze. Had he not seen a workmancarrying a tool-bag, standing and waiting on the foot pavement across theroad, gazing at that monumental door, closed upon so much fabulouswealth--a workman in whom he fancied he had recognised Salvat, thathungry fellow who had gone off that morning in search of work? At thisthought Pierre hastily turned round. Such wretchedness in face of so muchaffluence and enjoyment made him feel anxious. But the workman, disturbedin his contemplation, and possibly fearing that he had been recognised, was going off with dragging step. And now, getting only a back view ofhim, Pierre hesitated, and ended by thinking that he must have beenmistaken. 

III

RANTERS AND RULERS

WHEN Abbe Froment was about to enter the Palais-Bourbon he rememberedthat he had no card, and he was making up his mind that he would simplyask for Fonsegue, though he was not known to him, when, on reaching thevestibule, he perceived Mege, the Collectivist deputy, with whom he hadbecome acquainted in his days of militant charity in the poverty-strickenCharonne district. 

"What, you here? You surely have not come to evangelise us?" said Mege. 

"No, I've come to see Monsieur Fonsegue on an urgent matter, about a poorfellow who cannot wait. "

"Fonsegue? I don't know if he has arrived. Wait a moment. " And stopping ashort, dark young fellow with a ferreting, mouse-like air, Mege said tohim: "Massot, here's Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, who wants to speak to yourgovernor at once. "

"The governor? But he isn't here. I left him at the office of the paper, where he'll be detained for another quarter of an hour. However, ifMonsieur l'Abbe likes to wait he will surely see him here. "

Thereupon Mege ushered Pierre into the large waiting-hall, the Salle desPas Perdus, which in other moments looked so vast and cold with itsbronze Minerva and Laocoon, and its bare walls on which the pale mournfulwinter light fell from the glass doors communicating with the garden. Just then, however, it was crowded, and warmed, as it were, by thefeverish agitation of the many groups of men that had gathered here andthere, and the constant coming and going of those who hastened throughthe throng. Most of these were deputies, but there were also numerousjournalists and inquisitive visitors. And a growing uproar prevailed:colloquies now in undertones, now in loud voices, exclamations and burstsof laughter, amidst a deal of passionate gesticulation, Mege's returninto the tumult seemed to fan it. He was tall, apostolically thin, andsomewhat neglectful of his person, looking already old and worn for hisage, which was but five and forty, though his eyes still glowed withyouth behind the glasses which never left his beak-like nose. And he hada warm but grating voice, and had always been known to cough, living onsolely because he was bitterly intent on doing so in order to realise thedream of social re-organisation which haunted him. The son of animpoverished medical man of a northern town, he had come to Paris whenvery young, living there during the Empire on petty newspaper and otherunknown work, and first making a reputation as an orator at the publicmeetings of the time. Then, after the war, having become the chief of theCollectivist party, thanks to his ardent faith and the extraordinaryactivity of his fighting nature, he had at last managed to enter theChamber, where, brimful of information, he fought for his ideas withfierce determination and obstinacy, like a /doctrinaire/ who has decidedin his own mind what the world ought to be, and who regulates in advance, and bit by bit, the whole dogma of Collectivism. However, since he hadtaken pay as a deputy, the outside Socialists had looked upon him as amere rhetorician, an aspiring dictator who only tried to cast society ina new mould for the purpose of subordinating it to his personal views andruling it. 

"You know what is going on?" he said to Pierre. "This is another niceaffair, is it not? But what would you have? We are in mud to our veryears. "

He had formerly conceived genuine sympathy for the priest, whom he hadfound so gentle with all who suffered, and so desirous of socialregeneration. And the priest himself had ended by taking an interest inthis authoritarian dreamer, who was resolved to make men happy in spiteeven of themselves. He knew that he was poor, and led a retired life withhis wife and four children, to whom he was devoted. 

"You can well understand that I am no ally of Sagnier's, " Mege resumed. "But as he chose to speak out this morning and threaten to publish thenames of all those who have taken bribes, we can't allow ourselves topass as accomplices any further. It has long been said that there wassome nasty jobbery in that suspicious affair of the African railways. Andthe worst is that two members of the present Cabinet are in question, forthree years ago, when the Chambers dealt with Duvillard's emission, Barroux was at the Home Department, and Monferrand at that of PublicWorks. Now that they have come back again, Monferrand at the HomeDepartment, and Barroux at that of Finance, with the Presidency of theCouncil, it isn't possible, is it, for us to do otherwise than compelthem to enlighten us, in their own interest even, about their formergoings-on? No, no, they can no longer keep silence, and I've announcedthat I intend to interpellate them this very day. "

It was the announcement of Mege's interpellation, following the terriblearticle of the "Voix du Peuple, " which thus set the lobbies in an uproar. And Pierre remained rather scared at this big political affair fallinginto the midst of his scheme to save a wretched pauper from hunger anddeath. Thus he listened without fully understanding the explanationswhich the Socialist deputy was passionately giving him, while all aroundthem the uproar increased, and bursts of laughter rang out, testifying tothe astonishment which the others felt at seeing Mege in conversationwith a priest. 

"How stupid they are!" said Mege disdainfully. "Do they think then that Ieat a cassock for /dejeuner/ every morning? But I beg your pardon, mydear Monsieur Froment. Come, take a place on that seat and wait forFonsegue. "

Then he himself plunged into all the turmoil, and Pierre realised thathis best course was to sit down and wait quietly. His surroundings beganto influence and interest him, and he gradually forgot Laveuve for thepassion of the Parliamentary crisis amidst which he found himself cast. The frightful Panama adventure was scarcely over; he had followed theprogress of that tragedy with the anguish of a man who every nightexpects to hear the tocsin sound the last hour of olden, agonisingsociety. And now a little Panama was beginning, a fresh cracking of thesocial edifice, an affair such as had been frequent in all parliaments inconnection with big financial questions, but one which acquired mortalgravity from the circumstances in which it came to the front. That storyof the African Railway Lines, that little patch of mud, stirred up andexhaling a perturbing odour, and suddenly fomenting all that emotion, fear, and anger in the Chamber, was after all but an opportunity forpolitical strife, a field on which the voracious appetites of the various"groups" would take exercise and sharpen; and, at bottom, the solequestion was that of overthrowing the ministry and replacing it byanother. Only, behind all that lust of power, that continuous onslaughtof ambition, what a distressful prey was stirring--the whole people withall its poverty and its sufferings!

Pierre noticed that Massot, "little Massot, " as he was generally called, had just seated himself on the bench beside him. With his lively eye andready ear listening to everything and noting it, gliding everywhere withhis ferret-like air, Massot was not there in the capacity of a galleryman, but had simply scented a stormy debate, and come to see if he couldnot pick up material for some occasional "copy. " And this priest lost inthe midst of the throng doubtless interested him. 

"Have a little patience, Monsieur l'Abbe, " said he, with the amiablegaiety of a young gentleman who makes fun of everything. "The governorwill certainly come, for he knows well enough that they are going to heatthe oven here. You are not one of his constituents from La Correze, areyou?"

"No, no! I belong to Paris; I've come on account of a poor fellow whom Iwish to get admitted into the Asylum of the Invalids of Labour. "

"Oh! all right. Well, I'm a child of Paris, too. "

Then Massot laughed. And indeed he was a child of Paris, son of a chemistof the St. Denis district, and an ex-dunce of the Lycee Charlemagne, where he had not even finished his studies. He had failed entirely, andat eighteen years of age had found himself cast into journalism withbarely sufficient knowledge of orthography for that calling. And fortwelve years now, as he often said, he had been a rolling stone wanderingthrough all spheres of society, confessing some and guessing at others. He had seen everything, and become disgusted with everything, no longerbelieving in the existence of great men, or of truth, but livingpeacefully enough on universal malice and folly. He naturally had noliterary ambition, in fact he professed a deliberate contempt forliterature. Withal, he was not a fool, but wrote in accordance with nomatter what views in no matter what newspaper, having neither convictionnor belief, but quietly claiming the right to say whatever he pleased tothe public on condition that he either amused or impassioned it. 

"And so, " said he, "you know Mege, Monsieur l'Abbe? What a study incharacter, eh? A big child, a dreamer of dreams in the skin of a terriblesectarian! Oh! I have had a deal of intercourse with him, I know himthoroughly. You are no doubt aware that he lives on with the everlastingconviction that he will attain to power in six months' time, and thatbetween evening and morning he will have established that famousCollectivist community which is to succeed capitalist society, just asday follows night. And, by the way, as regards his interpellation to-day, he is convinced that in overthrowing the Barroux ministry he'll behastening his own turn. His system is to use up his adversaries. How manytimes haven't I heard him making his calculations: there's such a one tobe used up, then such a one, and then such a one, so that he himself mayat last reign. And it's always to come off in six months at the latest. The misfortune is, however, that others are always springing up, and sohis turn never comes at all. "

Little Massot openly made merry over it. Then, slightly lowering hisvoice, he asked: "And Sagnier, do you know him? No? Do you see thatred-haired man with the bull's neck--the one who looks like a butcher?That one yonder who is talking in a little group of frayed frock-coats. "

Pierre at last perceived the man in question. He had broad red ears, ahanging under-lip, a large nose, and big, projecting dull eyes. 

"I know that one thoroughly, as well, " continued Massot; "I was on the'Voix du Peuple' under him before I went on the 'Globe. ' The one thingthat nobody is exactly aware of is whence Sagnier first came. He longdragged out his life in the lower depths of journalism, doing nothing atall brilliant, but wild with ambition and appetite. Perhaps you rememberthe first hubbub he made, that rather dirty affair of a new Louis XVII. Which he tried to launch, and which made him the extraordinary Royalistthat he still is. Then it occurred to him to espouse the cause of themasses, and he made a display of vengeful Catholic socialism, attackingthe Republic and all the abominations of the times in the name of justiceand morality, under the pretext of curing them. He began with a series ofsketches of financiers, a mass of dirty, uncontrolled, unprovedtittle-tattle, which ought to have led him to the dock, but which met, asyou know, with such wonderful success when gathered together in a volume. And he goes on in the same style in the 'Voix du Peuple, ' which hehimself made a success at the time of the Panama affair by dint ofdenunciation and scandal, and which to-day is like a sewer-pipe pouringforth all the filth of the times. And whenever the stream slackens, why, he invents things just to satisfy his craving for that hubbub on whichboth his pride and his pocket subsist. "

Little Massot spoke without bitterness; indeed, he had even begun tolaugh again. Beneath his thoughtless ferocity he really felt some respectfor Sagnier. "Oh! he's a bandit, " he continued, "but a clever fellow allthe same. You can't imagine how full of vanity he is. Lately it occurredto him to get himself acclaimed by the populace, for he pretends to be akind of King of the Markets, you know. Perhaps he has ended by taking hisfine judge-like airs in earnest, and really believes that he is savingthe people and helping the cause of virtue. What astonishes me is hisfertility in the arts of denunciation and scandalmongering. Never amorning comes but he discovers some fresh horror, and delivers freshculprits over to the hatred of the masses. No! the stream of mud neverceases; there is an incessant, unexpected spurt of infamy, an increase ofmonstrous fancies each time that the disgusted public shows any sign ofweariness. And, do you know, there's genius in that, Monsieur l'Abbe; forhe is well aware that his circulation goes up as soon as he threatens tospeak out and publish a list of traitors and bribe-takers. His sales arecertain now for some days to come. "

Listening to Massot's gay, bantering voice, Pierre began to understandcertain things, the exact meaning of which had hitherto escaped him. Heended by questioning the young journalist, surprised as he was that somany deputies should be in the lobbies when the sitting was in progress. Oh! the sitting indeed. The gravest matters, some bill of nationalinterest, might be under discussion, yet every member fled from it at thesudden threat of an interpellation which might overturn the ministry. Andthe passion stirring there was the restrained anger, the growing anxietyof the present ministry's clients, who feared that they might have togive place to others; and it was also the sudden hope, the eager hungerof all who were waiting--the clients of the various possible ministriesof the morrow. 

Massot pointed to Barroux, the head of the Cabinet, who, though he wasout of his element in the Department of Finances, had taken it simplybecause his generally recognised integrity was calculated to reassurepublic opinion after the Panama crisis. Barroux was chatting in a cornerwith the Minister of Public Instruction, Senator Taboureau, an olduniversity man with a shrinking, mournful air, who was extremely honest, but totally ignorant of Paris, coming as he did from some far-awayprovincial faculty. Barroux for his part was of decorative aspect, tall, and with a handsome, clean-shaven face, which would have looked quitenoble had not his nose been rather too small. Although he was sixty, hestill had a profusion of curly snow-white hair completing the somewhattheatrical majesty of his appearance, which he was wont to turn toaccount when in the tribune. Coming of an old Parisian family, well-to-do, an advocate by profession, then a Republican journalist underthe Empire, he had reached office with Gambetta, showing himself at oncehonest and romantic, loud of speech, and somewhat stupid, but at the sametime very brave and very upright, and still clinging with ardent faith tothe principles of the great Revolution. However, his Jacobinism wasgetting out of fashion, he was becoming an "ancestor, " as it were, one ofthe last props of the middle-class Republic, and the new comers, theyoung politicians with long teeth, were beginning to smile at him. Moreover, beneath the ostentation of his demeanour, and the pomp of hiseloquence, there was a man of hesitating, sentimental nature, a goodfellow who shed tears when re-perusing the verses of Lamartine. 

However, Monferrand, the minister for the Home Department, passed by anddrew Barroux aside to whisper a few words in his ear. He, Monferrand, wasfifty, short and fat, with a smiling, fatherly air; nevertheless a lookof keen intelligence appeared at times on his round and somewhat commonface fringed by a beard which was still dark. In him one divined a man ofgovernment, with hands which were fitted for difficult tasks, and whichnever released a prey. Formerly mayor of the town of Tulle, he came fromLa Correze, where he owned a large estate. He was certainly a force inmotion, one whose constant rise was anxiously watched by keen observers. He spoke in a simple quiet way, but with extraordinary power ofconviction. Having apparently no ambition, affecting indeed the greatestdisinterestedness, he nevertheless harboured the most ferociousappetites. Sagnier had written that he was a thief and a murderer, havingstrangled two of his aunts in order to inherit their property. But evenif he were a murderer, he was certainly not a vulgar one. 

Then, too, came another personage of the drama which was about to beperformed--deputy Vignon, whose arrival agitated the various groups. Thetwo ministers looked at him, whilst he, at once surrounded by hisfriends, smiled at them from a distance. He was not yet thirty-six. Slim, and of average height, very fair, with a fine blond beard of which hetook great care, a Parisian by birth, having rapidly made his way in thegovernment service, at one time Prefect at Bordeaux, he now representedyouth and the future in the Chamber. He had realised that new men wereneeded in the direction of affairs in order to accomplish the moreurgent, indispensable reforms; and very ambitious and intelligent as hewas, knowing many things, he already had a programme, the application ofwhich he was quite capable of attempting, in part at any rate. However, he evinced no haste, but was full of prudence and shrewdness, convincedthat his day would dawn, strong in the fact that he was as yetcompromised in nothing, but had all space before him. At bottom he wasmerely a first-class administrator, clear and precise in speech, and hisprogramme only differed from Barroux's by the rejuvenation of itsformulas, although the advent of a Vignon ministry in place of a Barrouxministry appeared an event of importance. And it was of Vignon thatSagnier had written that he aimed at the Presidency of the Republic, evenshould he have to march through blood to reach the Elysee Palace. 

"/Mon Dieu/!" Massot was explaining, "it's quite possible that Sagnierisn't lying this time, and that he has really found a list of names insome pocket-book of Hunter's that has fallen into his hands. I myselfhave long known that Hunter was Duvillard's vote-recruiter in the affairof the African Railways. But to understand matters one must first realisewhat his mode of proceeding was, the skill and the kind of amiabledelicacy which he showed, which were far from the brutal corruption anddirty trafficking that people imagine. One must be such a man as Sagnierto picture a parliament as an open market, where every conscience is forsale and is impudently knocked down to the highest bidder. Oh! thingshappened in a very different way indeed; and they are explainable, and attimes even excusable. Thus the article is levelled in particular againstBarroux and Monferrand, who are designated in the clearest possiblemanner although they are not named. You are no doubt aware that at thetime of the vote Barroux was at the Home Department and Monferrand atthat of Public Works, and so now they are accused of having betrayedtheir trusts, the blackest of all social crimes. I don't know into whatpolitical combinations Barroux may have entered, but I am ready to swearthat he put nothing in his pocket, for he is the most honest of men. Asfor Monferrand, that's another matter; he's a man to carve himself hisshare, only I should be much surprised if he had put himself in a badposition. He's incapable of a blunder, particularly of a stupid blunder, like that of taking money and leaving a receipt for it lying about. "

Massot paused, and with a jerk of his head called Pierre's attention toDuthil, who, feverish, but nevertheless smiling, stood in a group whichhad just collected around the two ministers. "There! do you see thatyoung man yonder, that dark handsome fellow whose beard looks sotriumphant?"

"I know him, " said Pierre. 

"Oh! you know Duthil. Well, he's one who most certainly took money. Buthe's a mere bird. He came to us from Angouleme to lead the pleasantest oflives here, and he has no more conscience, no more scruples, than thepretty finches of his native part, who are ever love-making. Ah! forDuthil, Hunter's money was like manna due to him, and he never evenpaused to think that he was dirtying his fingers. You may be quite surehe feels astonished that people should attach the slightest importance tothe matter. "

Then Massot designated another deputy in the same group, a man of fiftyor thereabouts, of slovenly aspect and lachrymose mien, lanky, too, likea maypole, and somewhat bent by the weight of his head, which was longand suggestive of a horse's. His scanty, straight, yellowish hair, hisdrooping moustaches, in fact the whole of his distracted countenance, expressed everlasting distress. 

"And Chaigneux, do you know him?" continued Massot, referring to thedeputy in question. "No? Well, look at him and ask yourself if it isn'tquite as natural that he, too, should have taken money. He came fromArras. He was a solicitor there. When his division elected him he letpolitics intoxicate him, and sold his practice to make his fortune inParis, where he installed himself with his wife and his three daughters. And you can picture his bewilderment amidst those four women, terriblewomen ever busy with finery, receiving and paying visits, and runningafter marriageable men who flee away. It's ill-luck with a vengeance, thedaily defeat of a poor devil of mediocre attainments, who imagined thathis position as a deputy would facilitate money-making, and who isdrowning himself in it all. And so how can Chaigneux have done otherwisethan take money, he who is always hard up for a five-hundred-franc note!I admit that originally he wasn't a dishonest man. But he's become one, that's all. "

Massot was now fairly launched, and went on with his portraits, theseries which he had, at one moment, dreamt of writing under the title of"Deputies for Sale. " There were the simpletons who fell into the furnace, the men whom ambition goaded to exasperation, the low minds that yieldedto the temptation of an open drawer, the company-promoters who grewintoxicated and lost ground by dint of dealing with big figures. At thesame time, however, Massot admitted that these men were relatively few innumber, and that black sheep were to be found in every parliament of theworld. Then Sagnier's name cropped up again, and Massot remarked thatonly Sagnier could regard the French Chambers as mere dens of thieves. 

Pierre, meantime, felt most interested in the tempest which the threat ofa ministerial crisis was stirring up before him. Not only the men likeDuthil and Chaigneux, pale at feeling the ground tremble beneath them, and wondering whether they would not sleep at the Mazas prison thatnight, were gathered round Barroux and Monferrand; all the latters'clients were there, all who enjoyed influence or office through them, andwho would collapse and disappear should they happen to fall. And it wassomething to see the anxious glances and the pale dread amidst all thewhispered chatter, the bits of information and tittle-tattle which werecarried hither and thither. Then, in a neighbouring group formed roundVignon, who looked very calm and smiled, were the other clients, thosewho awaited the moment to climb to the assault of power, in order thatthey, in their turn, might at last possess influence or office. Eyesglittered with covetousness, hopeful delight could be read in them, pleasant surprise at the sudden opportunity now offered. Vignon avoidedreplying to the over-direct questions of his friends, and simplyannounced that he did not intend to intervene. Evidently enough his planwas to let Mege interpellate and overthrow the ministry, for he did notfear him, and in his own estimation would afterwards simply have to stoopto pick up the fallen portfolios. 

"Ah! Monferrand now, " little Massot was saying, "there's a rascal whotrims his sails! I knew him as an anti-clerical, a devourer of priests, Monsieur l'Abbe, if you will allow me so to express myself; however, Idon't say this to be agreeable to you, but I think I may tell you forcertain that he has become reconciled to religion. At least, I have beentold that Monseigneur Martha, who is a great converter, now seldom leaveshim. This is calculated to please one in these new times, when sciencehas become bankrupt, and religion blooms afresh with delicious mysticismon all sides, whether in art, literature, or society itself. "

Massot was jesting, according to his wont; but he spoke so amiably thatthe priest could not do otherwise than bow. However, a great stir had setin before them; it was announced that Mege was about to ascend thetribune, and thereupon all the deputies hastened into the assembly hall, leaving only the inquisitive visitors and a few journalists in the Salledes Pas Perdus. 

"It's astonishing that Fonsegue hasn't yet arrived, " resumed Massot;"he's interested in what's going on. However, he's so cunning, that whenhe doesn't behave as others do, one may be sure that he has his reasonsfor it. Do you know him?" And as Pierre gave a negative answer, Massotwent on: "Oh! he's a man of brains and real power--I speak with allfreedom, you know, for I don't possess the bump of veneration; and, asfor my editors, well, they're the very puppets that I know the best andpick to pieces with the most enjoyment. Fonsegue, also, is clearlydesignated in Sagnier's article. Moreover, he's one of Duvillard's usualclients. There can be no doubt that he took money, for he takes money ineverything. Only he always protects himself, and takes it for reasonswhich may be acknowledged--as payment or commission on account ofadvertising, and so forth. And if I left him just now, looking, as itseemed to me, rather disturbed, and if he delays his arrival here toestablish, as it were, a moral alibi, the truth must be that he hascommitted the first imprudent action in his life. "

Then Massot rattled on, telling all there was to tell about Fonsegue. He, too, came from the department of La Correze, and had quarrelled for lifewith Monferrand after some unknown underhand affairs. Formerly anadvocate at Tulle, his ambition had been to conquer Paris; and he hadreally conquered it, thanks to his big morning newspaper, "Le Globe, " ofwhich he was both founder and director. He now resided in a luxuriousmansion in the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, and no enterprise was launchedbut he carved himself a princely share in it. He had a genius for"business, " and employed his newspaper as a weapon to enable him to reignover the market. But how very carefully he had behaved, what long andskilful patience he had shown, before attaining to the reputation of areally serious man, who guided authoritatively the most virtuous andrespected of the organs of the press! Though in reality he believedneither in God nor in Devil, he had made this newspaper the supporter oforder, property, and family ties; and though he had become a ConservativeRepublican, since it was to his interest to be such, he had remainedoutwardly religious, affecting a Spiritualism which reassured the/bourgeoisie/. And amidst all his accepted power, to which others bowed, he nevertheless had one hand deep in every available money-bag. 

"Ah! Monsieur l'Abbe, " said Massot, "see to what journalism may lead aman. There you have Sagnier and Fonsegue: just compare them a bit. Inreality they are birds of the same feather: each has a quill and uses it. But how different the systems and the results. Sagnier's print is reallya sewer which rolls him along and carries him to the cesspool; while theother's paper is certainly an example of the best journalism one canhave, most carefully written, with a real literary flavour, a treat forreaders of delicate minds, and an honour to the man who directs it. Butat the bottom, good heavens! in both cases the farce is precisely thesame!"

Massot burst out laughing, well pleased with this final thrust. Then allat once: "Ah! here's Fonsegue at last!" said he. 

Quite at his ease, and still laughing, he forthwith introduced thepriest. "This is Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, my dear /patron/, who has beenwaiting more than twenty minutes for you--I'm just going to see what ishappening inside. You know that Mege is interpellating the government. "

The new comer started slightly: "An interpellation!" said he. "All right, all right, I'll go to it. "

Pierre was looking at him. He was about fifty years of age, short ofstature, thin and active, still looking young without a grey hair in hisblack beard. He had sparkling eyes, too, but his mouth, said to be aterrible one, was hidden by his moustaches. And withal he looked apleasant companion, full of wit to the tip of his little pointed nose, the nose of a sporting dog that is ever scenting game. "What can I do foryou, Monsieur l'Abbe?" he inquired. 

Then Pierre briefly presented his request, recounting his visit toLaveuve that morning, giving every heart-rending particular, and askingfor the poor wretch's immediate admittance to the Asylum. 

"Laveuve!" said the other, "but hasn't his affair been examined? Why, Duthil drew up a report on it, and things appeared to us of such a naturethat we could not vote for the man's admittance. "

But the priest insisted: "I assure you, monsieur, that your heart wouldhave burst with compassion had you been with me this morning. It isrevolting that an old man should be left in such frightful abandonmenteven for another hour. He must sleep at the Asylum to-night. "

Fonsegue began to protest. "To-night! But it's impossible, altogetherimpossible! There are all sorts of indispensable formalities to beobserved. And besides I alone cannot take such responsibility. I haven'tthe power. I am only the manager; all that I do is to execute the ordersof the committee of lady patronesses. "

"But it was precisely Baroness Duvillard who sent me to you, monsieur, telling me that you alone had the necessary authority to grant immediateadmittance in an exceptional case. "

"Oh! it was the Baroness who sent you? Ah! that is just like her, incapable of coming to any decision herself, and far too desirous of herown quietude to accept any responsibility. Why is it that she wants me tohave the worries? No, no, Monsieur l'Abbe, I certainly won't go againstall our regulations; I won't give an order which would perhaps embroil mewith all those ladies. You don't know them, but they become positivelyterrible directly they attend our meetings. "

He was growing lively, defending himself with a jocular air, whilst insecret he was fully determined to do nothing. However, just then Duthilabruptly reappeared, darting along bareheaded, hastening from lobby tolobby to recruit absent members, particularly those who were interestedin the grave debate at that moment beginning. "What, Fonsegue!" he cried, "are you still here? Go, go to your seat at once, it's serious!" Andthereupon he disappeared. 

His colleague evinced no haste, however. It was as if the suspiciousaffair which was impassioning the Chamber had no concern for him. And hestill smiled, although a slight feverish quiver made him blink. "Excuseme, Monsieur l'Abbe, " he said at last. "You see that my friends have needof me. I repeat to you that I can do absolutely nothing for your/protege/. "

But Pierre would not accept this reply as a final one. "No, no, monsieur, " he rejoined, "go to your affairs, I will wait for you here. Don't come to a decision without full reflection. You are wanted, and Ifeel that your mind is not sufficiently at liberty for you to listen tome properly. By-and-by, when you come back and give me your fullattention, I am sure that you will grant me what I ask. "

And, although Fonsegue, as he went off, repeated that he could not alterhis decision, the priest stubbornly resolved to make him do so, and satdown on the bench again, prepared, if needful, to stay there till theevening. The Salle des Pas Perdus was now almost quite empty, and lookedyet more frigid and mournful with its Laocoon and its Minerva, its barecommonplace walls like those of a railway-station waiting-room, betweenwhich all the scramble of the century passed, though apparently withouteven warming the lofty ceiling. Never had paler and more callous lightentered by the large glazed doors, behind which one espied the littleslumberous garden with its meagre, wintry lawns. And not an echo of thetempest of the sitting near at hand reached the spot; from the wholeheavy pile there fell but death-like silence, and a covert quiver ofdistress that had come from far away, perhaps from the entire country. 

It was that which now haunted Pierre's reverie. The whole ancient, envenomed sore spread out before his mind's eye, with its poison andvirulence. Parliamentary rottenness had slowly increased till it hadbegun to attack society itself. Above all the low intrigues and the rushof personal ambition there certainly remained the loftier struggle of thecontending principles, with history on the march, clearing the past awayand seeking to bring more truth, justice, and happiness in the future. But in practice, if one only considered the horrid daily cuisine of thesphere, what an unbridling of egotistical appetite one beheld, what anabsorbing passion to strangle one's neighbour and triumph oneself alone!Among the various groups one found but an incessant battle for power andthe satisfactions that it gives. "Left, " "Right, " "Catholics, ""Republicans, " "Socialists, " the names given to the parties of twentydifferent shades, were simply labels classifying forms of the one burningthirst to rule and dominate. All questions could be reduced to a singleone, that of knowing whether this man, that man, or that other man shouldhold France in his grasp, to enjoy it, and distribute its favours amonghis creatures. And the worst was that the outcome of the greatparliamentary battles, the days and the weeks lost in setting this man inthe place of that man, and that other man in the place of this man, wassimply stagnation, for not one of the three men was better than hisfellows, and there were but vague points of difference between them; insuch wise that the new master bungled the very same work as the previousone had bungled, forgetful, perforce, of programmes and promises as soonas ever he began to reign. 

However, Pierre's thoughts invincibly reverted to Laveuve, whom he hadmomentarily forgotten, but who now seized hold of him again with a quiveras of anger and death. Ah! what could it matter to that poor old wretch, dying of hunger on his bed of rags, whether Mege should overthrowBarroux's ministry, and whether a Vignon ministry should ascend to poweror not! At that rate, a century, two centuries, would be needed beforethere would be bread in the garrets where groan the lamed sons of labour, the old, broken-down beasts of burden. And behind Laveuve there appearedthe whole army of misery, the whole multitude of the disinherited and thepoor, who agonised and asked for justice whilst the Chamber, sitting inall pomp, grew furiously impassioned over the question as to whom thenation should belong to, as to who should devour it. Mire was flowing onin a broad stream, the hideous, bleeding, devouring sore displayed itselfin all impudence, like some cancer which preys upon an organ and spreadsto the heart. And what disgust, what nausea must such a spectacleinspire; and what a longing for the vengeful knife that would bringhealth and joy!

Pierre could not have told for how long he had been plunged in thisreverie, when uproar again filled the hall. People were coming back, gesticulating and gathering in groups. And suddenly he heard littleMassot exclaim near him: "Well, if it isn't down it's not much betteroff. I wouldn't give four sous for its chance of surviving. "

He referred to the ministry, and began to recount the sitting to a fellowjournalist who had just arrived. Mege had spoken very eloquently, withextraordinary fury of indignation against the rotten /bourgeoisie/, whichrotted everything it touched; but, as usual, he had gone much too far, alarming the Chamber by his very violence. And so, when Barroux hadascended the tribune to ask for a month's adjournment of theinterpellation, he had merely had occasion to wax indignant, in allsincerity be it said, full of lofty anger that such infamous campaignsshould be carried on by a certain portion of the press. Were the shamefulPanama scandals about to be renewed? Were the national representativesgoing to let themselves be intimidated by fresh threats of denunciation?It was the Republic itself which its adversaries were seeking to submergebeneath a flood of abominations. No, no, the hour had come for one tocollect one's thoughts, and work in quietude without allowing those whohungered for scandal to disturb the public peace. And the Chamber, impressed by these words, fearing, too, lest the electorate should atlast grow utterly weary of the continuous overflow of filth, hadadjourned the interpellation to that day month. However, although Vignonhad not personally intervened in the debate, the whole of his group hadvoted against the ministry, with the result that the latter had merelysecured a majority of two votes--a mockery. 

"But in that case they will resign, " said somebody to Massot. 

"Yes, so it's rumoured. But Barroux is very tenacious. At all events ifthey show any obstinacy they will be down before a week is over, particularly as Sagnier, who is quite furious, declares that he willpublish the list of names to-morrow. "

Just then, indeed, Barroux and Monferrand were seen to pass, hasteningalong with thoughtful, busy mien, and followed by their anxious clients. It was said that the whole Cabinet was about to assemble to consider theposition and come to a decision. And then Vignon, in his turn, reappearedamidst a stream of friends. He, for his part, was radiant, with a joywhich he sought to conceal, calming his friends in his desire not to cryvictory too soon. However, the eyes of the band glittered, like those ofa pack of hounds when the moment draws near for the offal of the quarryto be distributed. And even Mege also looked triumphant. He had all butoverthrown the ministry. That made another one that was worn out, andby-and-by he would wear out Vignon's, and at last govern in his turn. 

"The devil!" muttered little Massot, "Chaigneux and Duthil look likewhipped dogs. And see, there's nobody who is worth the governor. Justlook at him, how superb he is, that Fonsegue! But good-by, I must now beoff!"

Then he shook hands with his brother journalist unwilling as he was toremain any longer, although the sitting still continued, some bill ofpublic importance again being debated before the rows of empty seats. 

Chaigneux, with his desolate mien, had gone to lean against the pedestalof the high figure of Minerva; and never before had he been more boweddown by his needy distress, the everlasting anguish of his ill-luck. Onthe other hand, Duthil, in spite of everything, was perorating in thecentre of a group with an affectation of scoffing unconcern; neverthelessnervous twitches made his nose pucker and distorted his mouth, while thewhole of his handsome face was becoming moist with fear. And even asMassot had said, there really was only Fonsegue who showed composure andbravery, ever the same with his restless little figure, and his eyesbeaming with wit, though at times they were just faintly clouded by ashadow of uneasiness. 

Pierre had risen to renew his request; but Fonsegue forestalled him, vivaciously exclaiming: "No, no, Monsieur l'Abbe, I repeat that I cannottake on myself such an infraction of our rules. There was an inquiry, anda decision was arrived at. How would you have me over-rule it?"

"Monsieur, " said the priest, in a tone of deep grief, "it is a questionof an old man who is hungry and cold, and in danger of death if he be notsuccoured. "

With a despairing gesture, the director of "Le Globe" seemed to take thevery walls as witnesses of his powerlessness. No doubt he feared somenasty affair for his newspaper, in which he had abused the Invalids ofLabour enterprise as an electoral weapon. Perhaps, too, the secret terrorinto which the sitting of the Chamber had just thrown him was hardeninghis heart. "I can do nothing, " he repeated. "But naturally I don't askbetter than to have my hands forced by the ladies of the Committee. Youalready have the support of the Baroness Duvillard, secure that of someothers. "

Pierre, who was determined to fight on to the very end, saw in thissuggestion a supreme chance. "I know the Countess de Quinsac, " he said, "I can go to see her at once. "

"Quite so! an excellent idea, the Countess de Quinsac! Take a cab and goto see the Princess de Harn as well. She bestirs herself a great deal, and is becoming very influential. Secure the approval of these ladies, goback to the Baroness's at seven, get a letter from her to cover me, andthen call on me at the office of my paper. That done, your man shallsleep at the Asylum at nine o'clock!"

He evinced in speaking a kind of joyous good nature, as though he nolonger doubted of success now that he ran no risk of compromisinghimself. And great hope again came back to the priest: "Ah! thank you, monsieur, " he said; "it is a work of salvation that you will accomplish. "

"But you surely know that I ask nothing better. Ah! if we could only curemisery, prevent hunger and thirst by a mere word. However, make haste, you have not a minute to lose. "

They shook hands, and Pierre at once tried to get out of the throng. This, however, was no easy task, for the various groups had grown largeras all the anger and anguish, roused by the recent debate, ebbed backthere amid a confused tumult. It was as when a stone, cast into a pool, stirs the ooze below, and causes hidden, rotting things to rise once moreto the surface. And Pierre had to bring his elbows into play and force apassage athwart the throng, betwixt the shivering cowardice of some, theinsolent audacity of others, and the smirchings which sullied the greaternumber, given the contagion which inevitably prevailed. However, hecarried away a fresh hope, and it seemed to him that if he should save alife, make but one man happy that day, it would be like a firstinstalment of redemption, a sign that a little forgiveness would beextended to the many follies and errors of that egotistical andall-devouring political world. 

On reaching the vestibule a final incident detained him for a momentlonger. Some commotion prevailed there following upon a quarrel between aman and an usher, the latter of whom had prevented the former fromentering on finding that the admission ticket which he tendered was anold one, with its original date scratched out. The man, very rough at theoutset, had then refrained from insisting, as if indeed sudden timidityhad come upon him. And in this ill-dressed fellow Pierre was astonishedto recognise Salvat, the journeyman engineer, whom he had seen going offin search of work that same morning. This time it was certainly he, tall, thin and ravaged, with dreamy yet flaming eyes, which set his palestarveling's face aglow. He no longer carried his tool-bag; his raggedjacket was buttoned up and distended on the left side by something thathe carried in a pocket, doubtless some hunk of bread. And on beingrepulsed by the ushers, he walked away, taking the Concorde bridge, slowly, as if chancewise, like a man who knows not whither he is going. 

IV

SOCIAL SIDELIGHTS

IN her old faded drawing-room--a Louis Seize /salon/ with greywoodwork--the Countess de Quinsac sat near the chimney-piece in heraccustomed place. She was singularly like her son, with a long and nobleface, her chin somewhat stern, but her eyes still beautiful beneath herfine snowy hair, which was arranged in the antiquated style of her youth. And whatever her haughty coldness, she knew how to be amiable, withperfect, kindly graciousness. 

Slightly waving her hand after a long silence, she resumed, addressingherself to the Marquis de Morigny, who sat on the other side of thechimney, where for long years he had always taken the same armchair. "Ah!you are right, my friend, Providence has left us here forgotten, in amost abominable epoch. "

"Yes, we passed by the side of happiness and missed it, " the Marquisslowly replied, "and it was your fault, and doubtless mine as well. "

Smiling sadly, she stopped him with another wave of her hand. And thesilence fell once more; not a sound from the streets reached that gloomyground floor at the rear of the courtyard of an old mansion in the RueSt. Dominique, almost at the corner of the Rue de Bourgogne. 

The Marquis was an old man of seventy-five, nine years older than theCountess. Short and thin though he was, he none the less had adistinguished air, with his clean-shaven face, furrowed by deep, aristocratic wrinkles. He belonged to one of the most ancient families ofFrance, and remained one of the last hopeless Legitimists, of very pureand lofty views, zealously keeping his faith to the dead monarchy amidstthe downfall of everything. His fortune, still estimated at severalmillions of francs, remained, as it were, in a state of stagnation, through his refusal to invest it in any of the enterprises of thecentury. It was known that in all discretion he had loved the Countess, even when M. De Quinsac was alive, and had, moreover, offered marriageafter the latter's death, at the time when the widow had sought a refugeon that damp ground floor with merely an income of some 15, 000 francs, saved with great difficulty from the wreck of the family fortune. Butshe, who adored her son Gerard, then in his tenth year, and of delicatehealth, had sacrificed everything to the boy from a kind of maternalchasteness and a superstitious fear that she might lose him should sheset another affection and another duty in her life. And the Marquis, while bowing to her decision, had continued to worship her with his wholesoul, ever paying his court as on the first evening when he had seen her, still gallant and faithful after a quarter of a century had passed. Therehad never been anything between them, not even the exchange of a kiss. 

Seeing how sad she looked, he feared that he might have displeased her, and so he asked: "I should have liked to render you happy, but I didn'tknow how, and the fault can certainly only rest with me. Is Gerard givingyou any cause for anxiety?"

She shook her head, and then replied: "As long as things remain as theyare we cannot complain of them, my friend, since we accepted them. "

She referred to her son's culpable connection with Baroness Duvillard. She had ever shown much weakness with regard to that son whom she had hadso much trouble to rear, for she alone knew what exhaustion, what racialcollapse was hidden behind his proud bearing. She tolerated his idleness, the apathetic disgust which, man of pleasure that he was, had turned himfrom the profession of diplomacy as from that of arms. How many times hadshe not repaired his acts of folly and paid his petty debts, keepingsilent concerning them, and refusing all pecuniary help from the Marquis, who no longer dared offer his millions, so stubbornly intent she was onliving upon the remnants of her own fortune. And thus she had ended byclosing her eyes to her son's scandalous love intrigue, divining in somemeasure how things had happened, through self-abandonment and lack ofconscience--the man weak, unable to resume possession of himself, and thewoman holding and retaining him. The Marquis, however, strangely enough, had only forgiven the intrigue on the day when Eve had allowed herself tobe converted. 

"You know, my friend, how good-natured Gerard is, " the Countess resumed. "In that lie both his strength and weakness. How would you have me scoldhim when he weeps over it all with me? He will tire of that woman. "

M. De Morigny wagged his head. "She is still very beautiful, " said he. "And then there's the daughter. It would be graver still if he were tomarry her--"

"But the daughter's infirm?"

"Yes, and you know what would be said: A Quinsac marrying a monster forthe sake of her millions. "

This was their mutual terror. They knew everything that went on at theDuvillards, the affectionate friendship of the uncomely Camille and thehandsome Gerard, the seeming idyll beneath which lurked the most awful ofdramas. And they protested with all their indignation. "Oh! that, no, no, never!" the Countess declared. "My son in that family, no, I will neverconsent to it. "

Just at that moment General de Bozonnet entered. He was much attached tohis sister and came to keep her company on the days when she received, for the old circle had gradually dwindled down till now only a fewfaithful ones ventured into that grey gloomy /salon/, where one mighthave fancied oneself at thousands of leagues from present-day Paris. Andforthwith, in order to enliven the room, he related that he had been to/dejeuner/ at the Duvillards, and named the guests, Gerard among them. Heknew that he pleased his sister by going to the banker's house whence hebrought her news, a house, too, which he cleansed in some degree byconferring on it the great honour of his presence. And he himself in nowise felt bored there, for he had long been gained over to the centuryand showed himself of a very accommodating disposition in everything thatdid not pertain to military art. 

"That poor little Camille worships Gerard, " said he; "she was devouringhim with her eyes at table. "

But M. De Morigny gravely intervened: "There lies the danger, a marriagewould be absolutely monstrous from every point of view. "

The General seemed astonished: "Why, pray? She isn't beautiful, but it'snot only the beauties who marry! And there are her millions. However, ourdear child would only have to put them to a good use. True, there is alsothe mother; but, /mon Dieu/! such things are so common nowadays in Parissociety. "

This revolted the Marquis, who made a gesture of utter disgust. What wasthe use of discussion when all collapsed? How could one answer aBozonnet, the last surviving representative of such an illustriousfamily, when he reached such a point as to excuse the infamous moralsthat prevailed under the Republic; after denying his king, too, andserving the Empire, faithfully and passionately attaching himself to thefortunes and memory of Caesar? However, the Countess also becameindignant: "Oh! what are you saying, brother? I will never authorize sucha scandal, I swore so only just now. "

"Don't swear, sister, " exclaimed the General; "for my part I should liketo see our Gerard happy. That's all. And one must admit that he's notgood for much. I can understand that he didn't go into the Army, for thatprofession is done for. But I do not so well understand why he did notenter the diplomatic profession, or accept some other occupation. It isvery fine, no doubt, to run down the present times and declare that a manof our sphere cannot possibly do any clean work in them. But, as a matterof fact, it is only idle fellows who still say that. And Gerard has butone excuse, his lack of aptitude, will and strength. "

Tears had risen to the mother's eyes. She even trembled, well knowing howdeceitful were appearances: a mere chill might carry her son off, howevertall and strong he might look. And was he not indeed a symbol of thatold-time aristocracy, still so lofty and proud in appearance, though atbottom it is but dust?

"Well, " continued the General, "he's thirty-six now; he's constantlyhanging on your hands, and he must make an end of it all. "

However, the Countess silenced him and turned to the Marquis: "Let us putour confidence in God, my friend, " said she. "He cannot but come to myhelp, for I have never willingly offended Him. "

"Never!" replied the Marquis, who in that one word set an expression ofall his grief, all his affection and worship for that woman whom he hadadored for so many years. 

But another faithful friend came in and the conversation changed. M. DeLarombiere, Vice-President of the Appeal Court, was an old man ofseventy-five, thin, bald and clean shaven but for a pair of little whitewhiskers. And his grey eyes, compressed mouth and square and obstinatechin lent an expression of great austerity to his long face. The grief ofhis life was that, being afflicted with a somewhat childish lisp, he hadnever been able to make his full merits known when a public prosecutor, for he esteemed himself to be a great orator. And this secret worryrendered him morose. In him appeared an incarnation of that old royalistFrance which sulked and only served the Republic against its heart, thatold stern magistracy which closed itself to all evolution, to all newviews of things and beings. Of petty "gown" nobility, originally aLegitimist but now supporting Orleanism, he believed himself to be theone man of wisdom and logic in that /salon/, where he was very proud tomeet the Marquis. 

They talked of the last events; but with them political conversation wassoon exhausted, amounting as it did to a mere bitter condemnation of menand occurrences, for all three were of one mind as to the abominations ofthe Republican /regime/. They themselves, however, were only ruins, theremnants of the old parties now all but utterly powerless. The Marquisfor his part soared on high, yielding in nothing, ever faithful to thedead past; he was one of the last representatives of that lofty obstinate/noblesse/ which dies when it finds itself without an effort to escapeits fate. The judge, who at least had a pretender living, relied on amiracle, and demonstrated the necessity for one if France were not tosink into the depths of misfortune and completely disappear. And as forthe General, all that he regretted of the two Empires was their greatwars; he left the faint hope of a Bonapartist restoration on one side todeclare that by not contenting itself with the Imperial military system, and by substituting thereto obligatory service, the nation in arms, theRepublic had killed both warfare and the country. 

When the Countess's one man-servant came to ask her if she would consentto receive Abbe Froment she seemed somewhat surprised. "What can he wantof me? Show him in, " she said. 

She was very pious, and having met Pierre in connection with variouscharitable enterprises, she had been touched by his zeal as well as bythe saintly reputation which he owed to his Neuilly parishioners. 

He, absorbed by his fever, felt intimidated directly he crossed thethreshold. He could at first distinguish nothing, but fancied he wasentering some place of mourning, a shadowy spot where human forms seemedto melt away, and voices were never raised above a whisper. Then, onperceiving the persons present, he felt yet more out of his element, forthey seemed so sad, so far removed from the world whence he had justcome, and whither he was about to return. And when the Countess had madehim sit down beside her in front of the chimney-piece, it was in a lowvoice that he told her the lamentable story of Laveuve, and asked hersupport to secure the man's admittance to the Asylum for the Invalids ofLabour. 

"Ah! yes, " said she, "that enterprise which my son wished me to belongto. But, Monsieur l'Abbe, I have never once attended the Committeemeetings. So how could I intervene, having assuredly no influencewhatever?"

Again had the figures of Eve and Gerard arisen before her, for it was atthis asylum that the pair had first met. And influenced by her sorrowfulmaternal love she was already weakening, although it was regretfully thatshe had lent her name to one of those noisy charitable enterprises, whichpeople abused to further their selfish interests in a manner shecondemned. 

"But, madame, " Pierre insisted, "it is a question of a poor starving oldman. I implore you to be compassionate. "

Although the priest had spoken in a low voice the General drew near. "It's for your old revolutionary that you are running about, is it not, "said he. "Didn't you succeed with the manager, then? The fact is thatit's difficult to feel any pity for fellows who, if they were themasters, would, as they themselves say, sweep us all away. "

M. De Larombiere jerked his chin approvingly. For some time past he hadbeen haunted by the Anarchist peril. But Pierre, distressed andquivering, again began to plead his cause. He spoke of all the frightfulmisery, the homes where there was no food, the women and childrenshivering with cold, and the fathers scouring muddy, wintry Paris insearch of a bit of bread. All that he asked for was a line on a visitingcard, a kindly word from the Countess, which he would at once carry toBaroness Duvillard to prevail on her to set the regulations aside. Andhis words fell one by one, tremulous with stifled tears, in that mournful/salon/, like sounds from afar, dying away in a dead world where therewas no echo left. 

Madame de Quinsac turned towards M. De Morigny, but he seemed to take nointerest in it all. He was gazing fixedly at the fire, with the haughtyair of a stranger who was indifferent to the things and beings in whosemidst an error of time compelled him to live. But feeling that the glanceof the woman he worshipped was fixed upon him he raised his head; andthen their eyes met for a moment with an expression of infinitegentleness, the mournful gentleness of their heroic love. 

"/Mon Dieu/!" said she, "I know your merits, Monsieur l'Abbe, and I won'trefuse my help to one of your good works. "

Then she went off for a moment, and returned with a card on which she hadwritten that she supported with all her heart Monsieur l'Abbe Froment inthe steps he was taking. And he thanked her and went off delighted, as ifhe carried yet a fresh hope of salvation from that drawing-room where, ashe retired, gloom and silence once more seemed to fall on that old ladyand her last faithful friends gathered around the fire, last relics of aworld that was soon to disappear. 

Once outside, Pierre joyfully climbed into his cab again, after givingthe Princess de Harn's address in the Avenue Kleber. If he could alsoobtain her approval he would no longer doubt of success. However, therewas such a crush on the Concorde bridge, that the driver had to walk hishorse. And, on the foot-pavement, Pierre again saw Duthil, who, with acigar between his lips, was smiling at the crowd, with his amiablebird-like heedlessness, happy as he felt at finding the pavement dry andthe sky blue on leaving that worrying sitting of the Chamber. Seeing howgay and triumphant he looked, a sudden inspiration came to the priest, who said to himself that he ought to win over this young man, whosereport had had such a disastrous effect. As it happened, the cab havingbeen compelled to stop altogether, the deputy had just recognized him andwas smiling at him. 

"Where are you going, Monsieur Duthil?" Pierre asked. 

"Close by, in the Champs Elysees. "

"I'm going that way, and, as I should much like to speak to you for amoment, it would be very kind of you to take a seat beside me. I will setyou down wherever you like. "

"Willingly, Monsieur l'Abbe. It won't inconvenience you if I finish mycigar?"

"Oh! not at all. "

The cab found its way out of the crush, crossed the Place de la Concordeand began to ascend the Champs Elysees. And Pierre, reflecting that hehad very few minutes before him, at once attacked Duthil, quite ready forany effort to convince him. He remembered what a sortie the young deputyhad made against Laveuve at the Baron's; and thus he was astonished tohear him interrupt and say quite pleasantly, enlivened as he seemed bythe bright sun which was again beginning to shine: "Ah, yes! your olddrunkard! So you didn't settle his business with Fonsegue? And what is ityou want? To have him admitted to-day? Well, you know I don't oppose it?"

"But there's your report. "

"My report, oh, my report! But questions change according to the way onelooks at them. And if you are so anxious about your Laveuve I won'trefuse to help you. "

Pierre looked at him in astonishment, at bottom extremely well pleased. And there was no further necessity even for him to speak. 

"You didn't take the matter in hand properly, " continued Duthil, leaningforward with a confidential air. "It's the Baron who's the master athome, for reasons which you may divine, which you may very likely know. The Baroness does all that he asks without even discussing the point; andthis morning, --instead of starting on a lot of useless visits, you onlyhad to gain his support, particularly as he seemed to be very welldisposed. And she would then have given way immediately. " Duthil began tolaugh. "And so, " he continued, "do you know what I'll do? Well, I'll gainthe Baron over to your cause. Yes, I am this moment going to a housewhere he is, where one is certain to find him every day at this time. "Then he laughed more loudly. "And perhaps you are not ignorant of it, Monsieur l'Abbe. When he is there you may be certain he never gives arefusal. I promise you I'll make him swear that he will compel his wifeto grant your man admission this very evening. Only it will, perhaps, berather late. "

Then all at once, as if struck by a fresh idea, Duthil went on: "But whyshouldn't you come with me? You secure a line from the Baron, andthereupon, without losing a minute, you go in search of the Baroness. Ah!yes, the house embarrasses you a little, I understand it. Would you liketo see only the Baron there? You can wait for him in a little /salon/downstairs; I will bring him to you. "

This proposal made Duthil altogether merry, but Pierre, quite scared, hesitated at the idea of thus going to Silviane d'Aulnay's. It was hardlya place for him. However, to achieve his purpose, he would have descendedinto the very dwelling of the fiend, and had already done so sometimeswith Abbe Rose, when there was hope of assuaging wretchedness. So heturned to Duthil and consented to accompany him. 

Silviane d'Aulnay's little mansion, a very luxurious one, displaying, too, so to say, the luxury of a temple, refined but suggestive ofgallantry, stood in the Avenue d'Antin, near the Champs Elysees. Theinmate of this sanctuary, where the orfrays of old dalmaticas glitteredin the mauve reflections from the windows of stained-glass, had justcompleted her twenty-fifth year. Short and slim she was, of an adorable, dark beauty, and all Paris was acquainted with her delicious, virginalcountenance of a gentle oval, her delicate nose, her little mouth, hercandid cheeks and artless chin, above all which she wore her black hairin thick, heavy bands, which hid her low brow. Her notoriety was dueprecisely to her pretty air of astonishment, the infinite purity of herblue eyes, the whole expression of chaste innocence which she assumedwhen it so pleased her, an expression which contrasted powerfully withher true nature, shameless creature that she really was, of the mostmonstrous, confessed, and openly-displayed perversity; such as, in fact, often spring up from the rotting soil of great cities. Extraordinarythings were related about Silviane's tastes and fancies. Some said thatshe was a door-keeper's, others a doctor's, daughter. In any case she hadmanaged to acquire instruction and manners, for when occasion requiredshe lacked neither wit, nor style, nor deportment. She had been rollingthrough the theatres for ten years or so, applauded for her beauty'ssake, and she had even ended by obtaining some pretty little successes insuch parts as those of very pure young girls or loving and persecutedyoung women. Since there had been a question, though, of her entering theComedie Francaise to play the /role/ of Pauline in "Polyeucte, " somepeople had waxed indignant and others had roared with laughter, soridiculous did the idea appear, so outrageous for the majesty of classictragedy. She, however, quiet and stubborn, wished this thing to be, wasresolved that it should be, certain as she was that she would secure it, insolent like a creature to whom men had never yet been able to refuseanything. 

That day, at three o'clock, Gerard de Quinsac, not knowing how to killthe time pending the appointment he had given Eve in the Rue Matignon, had thought of calling at Silviane's, which was in the neighbourhood. Shewas an old caprice of his, and even nowadays he would sometimes linger atthe little mansion if its pretty mistress felt bored. But he had thistime found her in a fury; and, reclining in one of the deep armchairs ofthe /salon/ where "old gold" formed the predominant colour, he waslistening to her complaints. She, standing in a white gown, white indeedfrom head to foot like Eve herself at the /dejeuner/, was speakingpassionately, and fast convincing the young man, who, won over by so muchyouth and beauty, unconsciously compared her to his other flame, wearyalready of his coming assignation, and so mastered by supineness, bothmoral and physical, that he would have preferred to remain all day in thedepths of that armchair. 

"You hear me, Gerard!" she at last exclaimed, "I'll have nothing whateverto do with him, unless he brings me my nomination. "

Just then Baron Duvillard came in, and forthwith she changed to ice andreceived him like some sorely offended young queen who awaits anexplanation; whilst he, who foresaw the storm and brought moreoverdisastrous tidings, forced a smile, though very ill at ease. She was thestain, the blemish attaching to that man who was yet so sturdy and sopowerful amidst the general decline of his race. And she was also thebeginning of justice and punishment, taking all his piled-up gold fromhim by the handful, and by her cruelty avenging those who shivered andwho starved. And it was pitiful to see that feared and flattered man, beneath whom states and governments trembled, here turn pale withanxiety, bend low in all humility, and relapse into the senile, lispinginfancy of acute passion. 

"Ah! my dear friend, " said he, "if you only knew how I have been rushingabout. I had a lot of worrying business, some contractors to see, a bigadvertisement affair to settle, and I feared that I should never be ableto come and kiss your hand. "

He kissed it, but she let her arm fall, coldly, indifferently, contentingherself with looking at him, waiting for what he might have to say toher, and embarrassing him to such a point that he began to perspire andstammer, unable to express himself. "Of course, " he began, "I alsothought of you, and went to the Fine Arts Office, where I had received apositive promise. Oh! they are still very much in your favour at the FineArts Office! Only, just fancy, it's that idiot of a minister, thatTaboureau, * an old professor from the provinces who knows nothing aboutour Paris, that has expressly opposed your nomination, saying that aslong as he is in office you shall not appear at the Comedie. "

 * Taboureau is previously described as Minister of Public Instruction. It should be pointed out, however, that although under the present Republic the Ministries of Public Instruction and Fine Arts have occasionally been distinct departments, at other times they have been united, one minister, as in Taboureau's case, having charge of both. --Trans. 

Erect and rigid, she spoke but two words: "And then?"

"And then--well, my dear, what would you have me do? One can't after alloverthrow a ministry to enable you to play the part of Pauline. "

"Why not?"

He pretended to laugh, but his blood rushed to his face, and the whole ofhis sturdy figure quivered with anguish. "Come, my little Silviane, " saidhe, "don't be obstinate. You can be so nice when you choose. Give up theidea of that /debut/. You, yourself, would risk a great deal in it, forwhat would be your worries if you were to fail? You would weep all thetears in your body. And besides, you can ask me for so many other thingswhich I should be so happy to give you. Come now, at once, make a wishand I will gratify it immediately. "

In a frolicsome way he sought to take her hand again. But she drew backwith an air of much dignity. "No, you hear me, my dear fellow, I willhave nothing whatever to do with you--nothing, so long as I don't playPauline. "

He understood her fully, and he knew her well enough to realise howrigorously she would treat him. Only a kind of grunt came from hiscontracted throat, though he still tried to treat the matter in a jestingway. "Isn't she bad-tempered to-day!" he resumed at last, turning towardsGerard. "What have you done to her that I find her in such a state?"

But the young man, who kept very quiet for fear lest he himself might bebespattered in the course of the dispute, continued to stretch himselfout in a languid way and gave no answer. 

But Silviane's anger burst forth. "What has he done to me? He has pitiedme for being at the mercy of such a man as you--so egotistical, soinsensible to the insults heaped upon me. Ought you not to be the firstto bound with indignation? Ought you not to have exacted my admittance tothe Comedie as a reparation for the insult? For, after all, it is adefeat for you; if I'm considered unworthy, you are struck at the sametime as I am. And so I'm a drab, eh? Say at once that I'm a creature tobe driven away from all respectable houses. "

She went on in this style, coming at last to vile words, the abominablewords which, in moments of anger, always ended by returning to herinnocent-looking lips. The Baron, who well knew that a syllable from himwould only increase the foulness of the overflow, vainly turned animploring glance on the Count to solicit his intervention. Gerard, withhis keen desire for peace and quietness, often brought about areconciliation, but this time he did not stir, feeling too lazy andsleepy to interfere. And Silviane all at once came to a finish, repeatingher trenchant, severing words: "Well, manage as you can, secure my/debut/, or I'll have nothing more to do with you, nothing!"

"All right! all right!" Duvillard at last murmured, sneering, but indespair, "we'll arrange it all. "

However, at that moment a servant came in to say that M. Duthil wasdownstairs and wished to speak to the Baron in the smoking-room. Duvillard was astonished at this, for Duthil usually came up as thoughthe house were his own. Then he reflected that the deputy had doubtlessbrought him some serious news from the Chamber which he wished to impartto him confidentially at once. So he followed the servant, leaving Gerardand Silviane together. 

In the smoking-room, an apartment communicating with the hall by a widebay, the curtain of which was drawn up, Pierre stood with his companion, waiting and glancing curiously around him. What particularly struck himwas the almost religious solemnness of the entrance, the heavy hangings, the mystic gleams of the stained-glass, the old furniture steeped inchapel-like gloom amidst scattered perfumes of myrrh and incense. Duthil, who was still very gay, tapped a low divan with his cane and said: "Shehas a nicely-furnished house, eh? Oh! she knows how to look after herinterests. "

Then the Baron came in, still quite upset and anxious. And without evenperceiving the priest, desirous as he was of tidings, he began: "Well, what did they do? Is there some very bad news, then?"

"Mege interpellated and applied for a declaration of urgency so as tooverthrow Barroux. You can imagine what his speech was. "

"Yes, yes, against the /bourgeois/, against me, against you. It's alwaysthe same thing--And then?"

"Then--well, urgency wasn't voted, but, in spite of a very fine defence, Barroux only secured a majority of two votes. "

"Two votes, the devil! Then he's down, and we shall have a Vignonministry next week. "

"That's what everybody said in the lobbies. "

The Baron frowned, as if he were estimating what good or evil mightresult to the world from such a change. Then, with a gesture ofdispleasure, he said: "A Vignon ministry! The devil! that would hardly beany better. Those young democrats pretend to be virtuous, and a Vignonministry wouldn't admit Silviane to the Comedie. "

This, at first, was his only thought in presence of the crisis which madethe political world tremble. And so the deputy could not refrain fromreferring to his own anxiety. "Well, and we others, what is our positionin it all?"

This brought Duvillard back to the situation. With a fresh gesture, thistime a superbly proud one, he expressed his full and impudent confidence. "We others, why we remain as we are; we've never been in peril, Iimagine. Oh! I am quite at ease. Sagnier can publish his famous list ifit amuses him to do so. If we haven't long since bought Sagnier and hislist, it's because Barroux is a thoroughly honest man, and for my part Idon't care to throw money out of the window--I repeat to you that we fearnothing. "

Then, as he at last recognised Abbe Froment, who had remained in theshade, Duthil explained what service the priest desired of him. AndDuvillard, in his state of emotion, his heart still rent by Silviane'ssternness, must have felt a covert hope that a good action might bringhim luck; so he at once consented to intervene in favour of Laveuve'sadmission. Taking a card and a pencil from his pocket-book he drew nearto the window. "Oh! whatever you desire, Monsieur l'Abbe, " he said, "Ishall be very happy to participate in this good work. Here, this is whatI have written: 'My dear, please do what M. L'Abbe Froment solicits infavour of this unfortunate man, since our friend Fonsegue only awaits aword from you to take proper steps. '"

At this moment through the open bay Pierre caught sight of Gerard, whomSilviane, calm once more, and inquisitive no doubt to know why Duthil hadcalled, was escorting into the hall. And the sight of the young womanfilled him with astonishment, so simple and gentle did she seem to him, full of the immaculate candour of a virgin. Never had he dreamt of a lilyof more unobtrusive yet delicious bloom in the whole garden of innocence. 

"Now, " continued Duvillard, "if you wish to hand this card to my wife atonce, you must go to the Princess de Harn's, where there is a/matinee/--"

"I was going there, Monsieur le Baron. "

"Very good. You will certainly find my wife there; she is to take thechildren there. " Then he paused, for he too had just seen Gerard; and hecalled him: "I say, Gerard, my wife said that she was going to that/matinee/, didn't she? You feel sure--don't you?--that Monsieur l'Abbewill find her there?"

Although the young man was then going to the Rue Matignon, there to waitfor Eve, it was in the most natural manner possible that he replied: "IfMonsieur l'Abbe makes haste, I think he will find her there, for she wascertainly going there before trying on a corsage at Salmon's. "

Then he kissed Silviane's hand, and went off with the air of a handsome, indolent man, who knows no malice, and is even weary of pleasure. 

Pierre, feeling rather embarrassed, was obliged to let Duvillardintroduce him to the mistress of the house. He bowed in silence, whilstshe, likewise silent, returned his bow with modest reserve, the tactappropriate to the occasion, such as no /ingenue/, even at the Comedie, was then capable of. And while the Baron accompanied the priest to thedoor, she returned to the /salon/ with Duthil, who was scarcely screenedby the door-curtain before he passed his arm round her waist. 

When Pierre, who at last felt confident of success, found himself, stillin his cab, in front of the Princess de Harn's mansion in the AvenueKleber, he suddenly relapsed into great embarrassment. The avenue wascrowded with carriages brought thither by the musical /matinee/, and sucha throng of arriving guests pressed round the entrance, decorated with akind of tent with scallopings of red velvet, that he deemed the houseunapproachable. How could he manage to get in? And how in his cassockcould he reach the Princess, and ask for a minute's conversation withBaroness Duvillard? Amidst all his feverishness he had not thought ofthese difficulties. However, he was approaching the door on foot, askinghimself how he might glide unperceived through the throng, when the soundof a merry voice made him turn: "What, Monsieur l'Abbe! Is it possible!So now I find you here!"

It was little Massot who spoke. He went everywhere, witnessed ten sightsa day, --a parliamentary sitting, a funeral, a wedding, any festive ormourning scene, --when he wanted a good subject for an article. "What!Monsieur l'Abbe, " he resumed, "and so you have come to our amiablePrincess's to see the Mauritanians dance!"

He was jesting, for the so-called Mauritanians were simply six Spanishdancing-girls, who by the sensuality of their performance were thenmaking all Paris rush to the Folies-Bergere. For drawing-roomentertainments these girls reserved yet more indecorous dances--dances ofsuch a character indeed that they would certainly not have been allowedin a theatre. And the /beau monde/ rushed to see them at the houses ofthe bolder lady-entertainers, the eccentric and foreign ones like thePrincess, who in order to draw society recoiled from no "attraction. "

But when Pierre had explained to little Massot that he was still runningabout on the same business, the journalist obligingly offered to pilothim. He knew the house, obtained admittance by a back door, and broughtPierre along a passage into a corner of the hall, near the very entranceof the grand drawing-room. Lofty green plants decorated this hall, and inthe spot selected Pierre was virtually hidden. "Don't stir, my dearAbbe, " said Massot, "I will try to ferret out the Princess for you. Andyou shall know if Baroness Duvillard has already arrived. "

What surprised Pierre was that every window-shutter of the mansion wasclosed, every chink stopped up so that daylight might not enter, and thatevery room flared with electric lamps, an illumination of supernaturalintensity. The heat was already very great, the atmosphere heavy with aviolent perfume of flowers and /odore di femina/. And to Pierre, who feltboth blinded and stifled, it seemed as if he were entering one of thoseluxurious, unearthly Dens of the Flesh such as the pleasure-world ofParis conjures from dreamland. By rising on tiptoes, as the drawing-roomentrance was wide open, he could distinguish the backs of the women whowere already seated, rows of necks crowned with fair or dark hair. TheMauritanians were doubtless executing their first dance. He did not seethem, but he could divine the lascivious passion of the dance from thequiver of all those women's necks, which swayed as beneath a great gustof wind. Then laughter arose and a tempest of bravos, quite a tumult ofenjoyment. 

"I can't put my hand on the Princess; you must wait a little, " Massotreturned to say. "I met Janzen and he promised to bring her to me. Don'tyou know Janzen?"

Then, in part because his profession willed it, and in part forpleasure's sake, he began to gossip. The Princess was a good friend ofhis. He had described her first /soiree/ during the previous year, whenshe had made her /debut/ at that mansion on her arrival in Paris. He knewthe real truth about her so far as it could be known. Rich? yes, perhapsshe was, for she spent enormous sums. Married she must have been, and toa real prince, too; no doubt she was still married to him, in spite ofher story of widowhood. Indeed, it seemed certain that her husband, whowas as handsome as an archangel, was travelling about with a vocalist. Asfor having a bee in her bonnet that was beyond discussion, as clear asnoonday. Whilst showing much intelligence, she constantly and suddenlyshifted. Incapable of any prolonged effort, she went from one thing thathad awakened her curiosity to another, never attaching herself anywhere. After ardently busying herself with painting, she had lately becomeimpassioned for chemistry, and was now letting poetry master her. 

"And so you don't know Janzen, " continued Massot. "It was he who threwher into chemistry, into the study of explosives especially, for, as youmay imagine, the only interest in chemistry for her is its connectionwith Anarchism. She, I think, is really an Austrian, though one mustalways doubt anything she herself says. As for Janzen, he calls himself aRussian, but he's probably German. Oh! he's the most unobtrusive, enigmatical man in the world, without a home, perhaps without a name--aterrible fellow with an unknown past. I myself hold proofs which make methink that he took part in that frightful crime at Barcelona. At allevents, for nearly a year now I've been meeting him in Paris, where thepolice no doubt are watching him. And nothing can rid me of the idea thathe merely consented to become our lunatic Princess's lover in order tothrow the detectives off the scent. He affects to live in the midst of/fetes/, and he has introduced to the house some extraordinary people, Anarchists of all nationalities and all colours--for instance, oneRaphanel, that fat, jovial little man yonder, a Frenchman he is, and hiscompanions would do well to mistrust him. Then there's a Bergaz, aSpaniard, I think, an obscure jobber at the Bourse, whose sensual, blobber-lipped mouth is so disquieting. And there are others and others, adventurers and bandits from the four corners of the earth! . . . Ah! theforeign colonies of our Parisian pleasure-world! There are a few spotlessfine names, a few real great fortunes among them, but as for the rest, ah! what a herd!"

Rosemonde's own drawing-room was summed up in those words: resoundingtitles, real millionaires, then, down below, the most extravagant medleyof international imposture and turpitude. And Pierre thought of thatinternationalism, that cosmopolitanism, that flight of foreigners which, ever denser and denser, swooped down upon Paris. Most certainly it camethither to enjoy it, as to a city of adventure and delight, and it helpedto rot it a little more. Was it then a necessary thing, thatdecomposition of the great cities which have governed the world, thataffluxion of every passion, every desire, every gratification, thataccumulation of reeking soil from all parts of the world, there where, inbeauty and intelligence, blooms the flower of civilisation?

However, Janzen appeared, a tall, thin fellow of about thirty, very fairwith grey, pale, harsh eyes, and a pointed beard and flowing curly hairwhich elongated his livid, cloudy face. He spoke indifferent French in alow voice and without a gesture. And he declared that the Princess couldnot be found; he had looked for her everywhere. Possibly, if somebody haddispleased her, she had shut herself up in her room and gone to bed, leaving her guests to amuse themselves in all freedom in whatever waythey might choose. 

"Why, but here she is!" suddenly said Massot. 

Rosemonde was indeed there, in the vestibule, watching the door as if sheexpected somebody. Short, slight, and strange rather than pretty, withher delicate face, her sea-green eyes, her small quivering nose, herrather large and over-ruddy mouth, which was parted so that one could seeher superb teeth, she that day wore a sky-blue gown spangled with silver;and she had silver bracelets on her arms and a silver circlet in her palebrown hair, which rained down in curls and frizzy, straggling locks asthough waving in a perpetual breeze. 

"Oh! whatever you desire, Monsieur l'Abbe, " she said to Pierre as soon asshe knew his business. "If they don't take your old man in at our asylum, send him to me, I'll take him, I will; I will sleep him somewhere here. "

Still, she remained disturbed, and continually glanced towards the door. And on the priest asking if Baroness Duvillard had yet arrived, "Why no!"she cried, "and I am much surprised at it. She is to bring her son anddaughter. Yesterday, Hyacinthe positively promised me that he wouldcome. "

There lay her new caprice. If her passion for chemistry was giving way toa budding taste for decadent, symbolical verse, it was because oneevening, whilst discussing Occultism with Hyacinthe, she had discoveredan extraordinary beauty in him: the astral beauty of Nero's wanderingsoul! At least, said she, the signs of it were certain. 

And all at once she quitted Pierre: "Ah, at last!" she cried, feelingrelieved and happy. Then she darted forward: Hyacinthe was coming in withhis sister Camille. 

On the very threshold, however, he had just met the friend on whoseaccount he was there, young Lord George Eldrett, a pale and languidstripling with the hair of a girl; and he scarcely condescended to noticethe tender greeting of Rosemonde, for he professed to regard woman as animpure and degrading creature. Distressed by such coldness, she followedthe two young men, returning in their rear into the reeking, blindingfurnace of the drawing-room. 

Massot, however, had been obliging enough to stop Camille and bring herto Pierre, who at the first words they exchanged relapsed into despair. "What, mademoiselle, has not madame your mother accompanied you here?"

The girl, clad according to her wont in a dark gown, this time ofpeacock-blue, was nervous, with wicked eyes and sibilant voice. And asshe ragefully drew up her little figure, her deformity, her left shoulderhigher than the right one, became more apparent than ever. "No, " sherejoined, "she was unable. She had something to try on at herdressmaker's. We stopped too long at the Exposition du Lis, and sherequested us to set her down at Salmon's door on our way here. "

It was Camille herself who had skilfully prolonged the visit to the artshow, still hoping to prevent her mother from meeting Gerard. And herrage arose from the ease with which her mother had got rid of her, thanksto that falsehood of having something to try on. 

"But, " ingenuously said Pierre, "if I went at once to this person Salmon, I might perhaps be able to send up my card. "

Camille gave a shrill laugh, so funny did the idea appear to her. Thenshe retorted: "Oh! who knows if you would still find her there? She hadanother pressing appointment, and is no doubt already keeping it!"

"Well, then, I will wait for her here. She will surely come to fetch you, will she not?"

"Fetch us? Oh no! since I tell you that she has other important affairsto attend to. The carriage will take us home alone, my brother and I. "

Increasing bitterness was infecting the girl's pain-fraught irony. Did henot understand her then, that priest who asked such naive questions whichwere like dagger-thrusts in her heart? Yet he must know, since everybodyknew the truth. 

"Ah! how worried I am, " Pierre resumed, so grieved indeed that tearsalmost came to his eyes. "It's still on account of that poor man aboutwhom I have been busying myself since this morning. I have a line fromyour father, and Monsieur Gerard told me--" But at this point he pausedin confusion, and amidst all his thoughtlessness of the world, absorbedas he was in the one passion of charity, he suddenly divined the truth. "Yes, " he added mechanically, "I just now saw your father again withMonsieur de Quinsac. "

"I know, I know, " replied Camille, with the suffering yet scoffing air ofa girl who is ignorant of nothing. "Well, Monsieur l'Abbe, if you have aline from papa for mamma, you must wait till mamma has finished herbusiness. You might come to the house about six o'clock, but I doubt ifyou'll find her there, as she may well be detained. "

While Camille thus spoke, her murderous eyes glistened, and each word sheuttered, simple as it seemed, became instinct with ferocity, as if itwere a knife, which she would have liked to plunge into her mother'sbreast. In all certainty she had never before hated her mother to such apoint as this in her envy of her beauty and her happiness in being loved. And the irony which poured from the girl's virgin lips, before thatsimple priest, was like a flood of mire with which she sought to submergeher rival. 

Just then, however, Rosemonde came back again, feverish and flurried asusual. And she led Camille away: "Ah, my dear, make haste. They areextraordinary, delightful, intoxicating!"

Janzen and little Massot also followed the Princess. All the men hastenedfrom the adjoining rooms, scrambled and plunged into the /salon/ at thenews that the Mauritanians had again begun to dance. That time it musthave been the frantic, lascivious gallop that Paris whispered about, forPierre saw the rows of necks and heads, now fair, now dark, wave andquiver as beneath a violent wind. With every window-shutter closed, theconflagration of the electric lamps turned the place into a perfectbrazier, reeking with human effluvia. And there came a spell of rapture, fresh laughter and bravos, all the delight of an overflowing orgy. 

When Pierre again found himself on the footwalk, he remained for a momentbewildered, blinking, astonished to be in broad daylight once more. Half-past four would soon strike, but he had nearly two hours to waitbefore calling at the house in the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy. What should hedo? He paid his driver; preferring to descend the Champs Elysees on foot, since he had some time to lose. A walk, moreover, might calm the feverwhich was burning his hands, in the passion of charity which ever sincethe morning had been mastering him more and more, in proportion as heencountered fresh and fresh obstacles. He now had but one pressingdesire, to complete his good work, since success henceforth seemedcertain. And he tried to restrain his steps and walk leisurely down themagnificent avenue, which had now been dried by the bright sun, and wasenlivened by a concourse of people, while overhead the sky was againblue, lightly blue, as in springtime. 

Nearly two hours to lose while, yonder, the wretched Laveuve lay withlife ebbing from him on his bed of rags, in his icy den. Sudden feelingsof revolt, of well-nigh irresistible impatience ascended from Pierre'sheart, making him quiver with desire to run off and at once find BaronessDuvillard so as to obtain from her the all-saving order. He felt surethat she was somewhere near, in one of those quiet neighbouring streets, and great was his perturbation, his grief-fraught anger at having to waitin this wise to save a human life until she should have attended to thoseaffairs of hers, of which her daughter spoke with such murderous glances!He seemed to hear a formidable cracking, the family life of the/bourgeoisie/ was collapsing: the father was at a hussy's house, themother with a lover, the son and daughter knew everything; the formergliding to idiotic perversity, the latter enraged and dreaming ofstealing her mother's lover to make a husband of him. And meantime thesplendid equipages descended the triumphal avenue, and the crowd with itsluxury flowed along the sidewalks, one and all joyous and superb, seemingly with no idea that somewhere at the far end there was a gapingabyss wherein everyone of them would fall and be annihilated!

When Pierre got as far as the Summer Circus he was much surprised atagain seeing Salvat, the journeyman engineer, on one of the avenue seats. He must have sunk down there, overcome by weariness and hunger, aftermany a vain search. However, his jacket was still distended by somethinghe carried in or under it, some bit of bread, no doubt, which he meant totake home with him. And leaning back, with his arms hanging listlessly, he was watching with dreamy eyes the play of some very little children, who, with the help of their wooden spades, were laboriously raisingmounds of sand, and then destroying them by dint of kicks. As he lookedat them his red eyelids moistened, and a very gentle smile appeared onhis poor discoloured lips. This time Pierre, penetrated by disquietude, wished to approach and question him. But Salvat distrustfully rose andwent off towards the Circus, where a concert was drawing to a close; andhe prowled around the entrance of that festive edifice in which twothousand happy people were heaped up together listening to music. 

V

FROM RELIGION TO ANARCHY

AS Pierre was reaching the Place de la Concorde he suddenly rememberedthe appointment which Abbe Rose had given him for five o'clock at theMadeleine, and which he was forgetting in the feverishness born of hisrepeated steps to save Laveuve. And at thought of it he hastened on, wellpleased at having this appointment to occupy and keep him patient. 

When he entered the church he was surprised to find it so dark. Therewere only a few candles burning, huge shadows were flooding the nave, andamidst the semi-obscurity a very loud, clear voice spoke on with aceaseless streaming of words. All that one could at first distinguish ofthe numerous congregation was a pale, vague mass of heads, motionlesswith extreme attention. In the pulpit stood Monseigneur Martha, finishinghis third address on the New Spirit. The two former ones had re-echoedfar and wide, and so what is called "all Paris" was there--women ofsociety, politicians, and writers, who were captivated by the speaker'sartistic oratory, his warm, skilful language, and his broad, easygestures, worthy of a great actor. 

Pierre did not wish to disturb the solemn attention, the quiveringsilence above which the prelate's voice alone rang out. Accordingly heresolved to wait before seeking Abbe Rose, and remained standing near apillar. A parting gleam of daylight fell obliquely on Monseigneur Martha, who looked tall and sturdy in his white surplice, and scarcely showed agrey hair, although he was more than fifty. He had handsome features:black, keen eyes, a commanding nose, a mouth and chin of the greatestfirmness of contour. What more particularly struck one, however, whatgained the heart of every listener, was the expression of extremeamiability and anxious sympathy which ever softened the imperioushaughtiness of the prelate's face. 

Pierre had formerly known him as Cure, or parish priest, of Ste. Clotilde. He was doubtless of Italian origin, but he had been born inParis, and had quitted the seminary of St. Sulpice with the best possiblerecord. Very intelligent and very ambitious, he had evinced an activitywhich even made his superiors anxious. Then, on being appointed Bishop ofPersepolis, he had disappeared, gone to Rome, where he had spent fiveyears engaged in work of which very little was known. However, since hisreturn he had been astonishing Paris by his brilliant propaganda, busyinghimself with the most varied affairs, and becoming much appreciated andvery powerful at the archiepiscopal residence. He devoted himself inparticular, and with wonderful results, to the task of increasing thesubscriptions for the completion of the basilica of the Sacred Heart. Herecoiled from nothing, neither from journeys, nor lectures, norcollections, nor applications to Government, nor even endeavours amongIsraelites and Freemasons. And at last, again enlarging his sphere ofaction, he had undertaken to reconcile Science with Catholicism, and tobring all Christian France to the Republic, on all sides expounding thepolicy of Pope Leo XIII. , in order that the Church might finally triumph. 

However, in spite of the advances of this influential and amiable man, Pierre scarcely liked him. He only felt grateful to him for one thing, the appointment of good Abbe Rose as curate at St. Pierre de Montmartre, which appointment he had secured for him no doubt in order to preventsuch a scandal as the punishment of an old priest for showing himself toocharitable. On thus finding and hearing the prelate speak in thatrenowned pulpit of the Madeleine, still and ever pursuing his work ofconquest, Pierre remembered how he had seen him at the Duvillards' duringthe previous spring, when, with his usual /maestria/, he had achieved hisgreatest triumph--the conversion of Eve to Catholicism. That church, too, had witnessed her baptism, a wonderfully pompous ceremony, a perfect galaoffered to the public which figures in all the great events of Parisianlife. Gerard had knelt down, moved to tears, whilst the Baron triumphedlike a good-natured husband who was happy to find religion establishingperfect harmony in his household. It was related among the spectatorsthat Eve's family, and particularly old Justus Steinberger, her father, was not in reality much displeased by the affair. The old man sneeringlyremarked, indeed, that he knew his daughter well enough to wish her tobelong to his worst enemy. In the banking business there is a class ofsecurity which one is pleased to see discounted by one's rivals. With thestubborn hope of triumph peculiar to his race, Justus, consoling himselffor the failure of his first scheme, doubtless considered that Eve wouldprove a powerful dissolving agent in the Christian family which she hadentered, and thus help to make all wealth and power fall into the handsof the Jews. 

However, Pierre's vision faded. Monseigneur Martha's voice was risingwith increase of volume, celebrating, amidst the quivering of thecongregation, the benefits that would accrue from the New Spirit, whichwas at last about to pacify France and restore her to her due rank andpower. Were there not certain signs of this resurrection on every hand?The New Spirit was the revival of the Ideal, the protest of the soulagainst degrading materialism, the triumph of spirituality over filthyliterature; and it was also Science accepted, but set in its properplace, reconciled with Faith, since it no longer pretended to encroach onthe latter's sacred domain; and it was further the Democracy welcomed infatherly fashion, the Republic legitimated, recognised in her turn asEldest Daughter of the Church. A breath of poetry passed by. The Churchopened her heart to all her children, there would henceforth be butconcord and delight if the masses, obedient to the New Spirit, would givethemselves to the Master of love as they had given themselves to theirkings, recognising that the Divinity was the one unique power, absolutesovereign of both body and soul. 

Pierre was now listening attentively, wondering where it was that he hadpreviously heard almost identical words. And suddenly he remembered; andcould fancy that he was again at Rome, listening to the last words ofMonsignor Nani, the Assessor of the Holy Office. Here, again, he foundthe dream of a democratic Pope, ceasing to support the compromisedmonarchies, and seeking to subdue the masses. Since Caesar was down, ornearly so, might not the Pope realise the ancient ambition of hisforerunners and become both emperor and pontiff, the sovereign, universaldivinity on earth? This, too, was the dream in which Pierre himself, withapostolic naivete, had indulged when writing his book, "New Rome": adream from which the sight of the real Rome had so roughly roused him. Atbottom it was merely a policy of hypocritical falsehood, the priestlypolicy which relies on time, and is ever tenacious, carrying on the workof conquest with extraordinary suppleness, resolved to profit byeverything. And what an evolution it was, the Church of Rome makingadvances to Science, to the Democracy, to the Republican /regimes/, convinced that it would be able to devour them if only it were allowedthe time! Ah! yes, the New Spirit was simply the Old Spirit ofDomination, incessantly reviving and hungering to conquer and possess theworld. 

Pierre thought that he recognised among the congregation certain deputieswhom he had seen at the Chamber. Wasn't that tall gentleman with the fairbeard, who listened so devoutly, one of Monferrand's creatures? It wassaid that Monferrand, once a devourer of priests, was now smilinglycoquetting with the clergy. Quite an underhand evolution was beginning inthe sacristies, orders from Rome flitted hither and thither; it was aquestion of accepting the new form of government, and absorbing it bydint of invasion. France was still the Eldest Daughter of the Church, theonly great nation which had sufficient health and strength to place thePope in possession of his temporal power once more. So France must bewon; it was well worth one's while to espouse her, even if she wereRepublican. In the eager struggle of ambition the bishop made use of theminister, who thought it to his interest to lean upon the bishop. Butwhich of the two would end by devouring the other? And to what a /role/had religion sunk: an electoral weapon, an element in a parliamentarymajority, a decisive, secret reason for obtaining or retaining aministerial portfolio! Of divine charity, the basis of religion, therewas no thought, and Pierre's heart filled with bitterness as heremembered the recent death of Cardinal Bergerot, the last of the greatsaints and pure minds of the French episcopacy, among which there nowseemed to be merely a set of intriguers and fools. 

However, the address was drawing to a close. In a glowing peroration, which evoked the basilica of the Sacred Heart dominating Paris with thesaving symbol of the Cross from the sacred Mount of the Martyrs, *Monseigneur Martha showed that great city of Paris Christian once moreand master of the world, thanks to the moral omnipotence conferred uponit by the divine breath of the New Spirit. Unable to applaud, thecongregation gave utterance to a murmur of approving rapture, delightedas it was with this miraculous finish which reassured both pocket andconscience. Then Monseigneur Martha quitted the pulpit with a noble step, whilst a loud noise of chairs broke upon the dark peacefulness of thechurch, where the few lighted candles glittered like the first stars inthe evening sky. A long stream of men, vague, whispering shadows, glidedaway. The women alone remained, praying on their knees. 

 * Montmartre. 

Pierre, still in the same spot, was rising on tip-toes, looking for AbbeRose, when a hand touched him. It was that of the old priest, who hadseen him from a distance. "I was yonder near the pulpit, " said he, "and Isaw you plainly, my dear child. Only I preferred to wait so as to disturbnobody. What a beautiful address dear Monseigneur delivered!"

He seemed, indeed, much moved. But there was deep sadness about hiskindly mouth and clear childlike eyes, whose smile as a rule illuminedhis good, round white face. "I was afraid you might go off without seeingme, " he resumed, "for I have something to tell you. You know that poorold man to whom I sent you this morning and in whom I asked you tointerest yourself? Well, on getting home I found a lady there, whosometimes brings me a little money for my poor. Then I thought to myselfthat the three francs I gave you were really too small a sum, and as thethought worried me like a kind of remorse, I couldn't resist the impulse, but went this afternoon to the Rue des Saules myself. "

He lowered his voice from a feeling of respect, in order not to disturbthe deep, sepulchral silence of the church. Covert shame, moreover, impeded his utterance, shame at having again relapsed into the sin ofblind, imprudent charity, as his superiors reproachfully said. And, quivering, he concluded in a very low voice indeed: "And so, my child, picture my grief. I had five francs more to give the poor old man, and Ifound him dead. "

Pierre suddenly shuddered. But he was unwilling to understand: "What, dead!" he cried. "That old man dead! Laveuve dead?"

"Yes, I found him dead--ah! amidst what frightful wretchedness, like anold animal that has laid itself down for the finish on a heap of rags inthe depths of a hole. No neighbours had assisted him in his last moments;he had simply turned himself towards the wall. And ah! how bare and coldand deserted it was! And what a pang for a poor creature to go off likethat without a word, a caress. Ah! my heart bounded within me and it isstill bleeding!"

Pierre in his utter amazement at first made but a gesture of revoltagainst imbecile social cruelty. Had the bread left near the unfortunatewretch, and devoured too eagerly, perhaps, after long days of abstinence, been the cause of his death? Or was not this rather the fatal/denouement/ of an ended life, worn away by labour and privation?However, what did the cause signify? Death had come and delivered thepoor man. "It isn't he that I pity, " Pierre muttered at last; "it iswe--we who witness all that, we who are guilty of these abominations. "

But good Abbe Rose was already becoming resigned, and would only think offorgiveness and hope. "No, no, my child, rebellion is evil. If we are allguilty we can only implore Providence to forget our faults. I had givenyou an appointment here hoping for good news; and it's I who come to tellyou of that frightful thing. Let us be penitent and pray. "

Then he knelt upon the flagstones near the pillar, in the rear of thepraying women, who looked black and vague in the gloom. And he inclinedhis white head, and for a long time remained in a posture of humility. 

But Pierre was unable to pray, so powerfully did revolt stir him. He didnot even bend his knees, but remained erect and quivering. His heartseemed to have been crushed; not a tear came to his ardent eyes. SoLaveuve had died yonder, stretched on his litter of rags, his handsclenched in his obstinate desire to cling to his life of torture, whilsthe, Pierre, again glowing with the flame of charity, consumed byapostolic zeal, was scouring Paris to find him for the evening a cleanbed on which he might be saved. Ah! the atrocious irony of it all! Hemust have been at the Duvillards' in the warm /salon/, all blue andsilver, whilst the old man was expiring; and it was for a wretched corpsethat he had then hastened to the Chamber of Deputies, to the Countess deQuinsac's, to that creature Silviane's, and to that creature Rosemonde's. And it was for that corpse, freed from life, escaped from misery as fromprison, that he had worried people, broken in upon their egotism, disturbed the peace of some, threatened the pleasures of others! What wasthe use of hastening from the parliamentary den to the cold /salon/ wherethe dust of the past was congealing; of going from the sphere ofmiddle-class debauchery to that of cosmopolitan extravagance, since onealways arrived too late, and saved people when they were already dead?How ridiculous to have allowed himself to be fired once more by thatblaze of charity, that final conflagration, only the ashes of which henow felt within him? This time he thought he was dead himself; he wasnaught but an empty sepulchre. 

And all the frightful void and chaos which he had felt that morning atthe basilica of the Sacred Heart after his mass became yet deeper, henceforth unfathomable. If charity were illusory and useless the Gospelcrumbled, the end of the Book was nigh. After centuries of stubbornefforts, Redemption through Christianity failed, and another means ofsalvation was needed by the world in presence of the exasperated thirstfor justice which came from the duped and wretched nations. They wouldhave no more of that deceptive paradise, the promise of which had so longserved to prop up social iniquity; they demanded that the question ofhappiness should be decided upon this earth. But how? By means of whatnew religion, what combination between the sentiment of the Divine andthe necessity for honouring life in its sovereignty and its fruitfulness?Therein lay the grievous, torturing problem, into the midst of whichPierre was sinking; he, a priest, severed by vows of chastity andsuperstition from the rest of mankind. 

He had ceased to believe in the efficacy of alms; it was not sufficientthat one should be charitable, henceforth one must be just. Givenjustice, indeed, horrid misery would disappear, and no such thing ascharity would be needed. Most certainly there was no lack ofcompassionate hearts in that grievous city of Paris; charitablefoundations sprouted forth there like green leaves at the first warmth ofspringtide. There were some for every age, every peril, every misfortune. Through the concern shown for mothers, children were succoured evenbefore they were born; then came the infant and orphan asylums lavishlyprovided for all sorts of classes; and, afterwards, man was followedthrough his life, help was tendered on all sides, particularly as he grewold, by a multiplicity of asylums, almshouses, and refuges. And therewere all the hands stretched out to the forsaken ones, the disinheritedones, even the criminals, all sorts of associations to protect the weak, societies for the prevention of crime, homes that offered hospitality tothose who repented. Whether as regards the propagation of good deeds, thesupport of the young, the saving of life, the bestowal of pecuniary help, or the promotion of guilds, pages and pages would have been needed merelyto particularise the extraordinary vegetation of charity that sproutedbetween the paving-stones of Paris with so fine a vigour, in whichgoodness of soul was mingled with social vanity. Still that could notmatter, since charity redeemed and purified all. But how terrible theproposition that this charity was a useless mockery! What! after so manycenturies of Christian charity not a sore had healed. Misery had onlygrown and spread, irritated even to rage. Incessantly aggravated, theevil was reaching the point when it would be impossible to tolerate itfor another day, since social injustice was neither arrested nor evendiminished thereby. And besides, if only one single old man died of coldand hunger, did not the social edifice, raised on the theory of charity, collapse? But one victim, and society was condemned, thought Pierre. 

He now felt such bitterness of heart that he could remain no longer inthat church where the shadows ever slowly fell, blurring the sanctuariesand the large pale images of Christ nailed upon the Cross. All was aboutto sink into darkness, and he could hear nothing beyond an expiringmurmur of prayers, a plaint from the women who were praying on theirknees, in the depths of the shrouding gloom. 

At the same time he hardly liked to go off without saying a word to AbbeRose, who in his entreaties born of simple faith left the happiness andpeace of mankind to the good pleasure of the Invisible. However, fearingthat he might disturb him, Pierre was making up his mind to retire, whenthe old priest of his own accord raised his head. "Ah, my child, " saidhe, "how difficult it is to be good in a reasonable manner. MonseigneurMartha has scolded me again, and but for the forgiveness of God I shouldfear for my salvation. "

For a moment Pierre paused under the porticus of the Madeleine, on thesummit of the great flight of steps which, rising above the railings, dominates the Place. Before him was the Rue Royale dipping down to theexpanse of the Place de la Concorde, where rose the obelisk and the pairof plashing fountains. And, farther yet, the paling colonnade of theChamber of Deputies bounded the horizon. It was a vista of sovereigngrandeur under that pale sky over which twilight was slowly stealing, andwhich seemed to broaden the thoroughfares, throw back the edifices, andlend them the quivering, soaring aspect of the palaces of dreamland. Noother capital in the world could boast a scene of such aerial pomp, suchgrandiose magnificence, at that hour of vagueness, when falling nightimparts to cities a dreamy semblance, the infinite of human immensity. 

Motionless and hesitating in presence of the opening expanse, Pierredistressfully pondered as to whither he should go now that all which hehad so passionately sought to achieve since the morning had suddenlycrumbled away. Was he still bound for the Duvillard mansion in the RueGodot-de-Mauroy? He no longer knew. Then the exasperating remembrance, with its cruel irony, returned to him. Since Laveuve was dead, of whatuse was it for him to kill time and perambulate the pavements pending thearrival of six o'clock? The idea that he had a home, and that the mostsimple course would be to return to it, did not even occur to him. Hefelt as if there were something of importance left for him to do, thoughhe could not possibly tell what it might be. It seemed to him to beeverywhere and yet very far away, to be so vague and so difficult ofaccomplishment that he would certainly never be in time or havesufficient power to do it. However, with heavy feet and tumultuous brainhe descended the steps and, yielding to some obstinate impulse, began towalk through the flower-market, a late winter market where the firstazaleas were opening with a little shiver. Some women were purchasingNice roses and violets; and Pierre looked at them as if he wereinterested in all that soft, delicate, perfumed luxury. But suddenly hefelt a horror of it and went off, starting along the Boulevards. 

He walked straight before him without knowing why or whither. The fallingdarkness surprised him as if it were an unexpected phenomenon. Raisinghis eyes to the sky he felt astonished at seeing its azure gently palebetween the slender black streaks of the chimney funnels. And the hugegolden letters by which names or trades were advertised on every balconyalso seemed to him singular in the last gleams of the daylight. Neverbefore had he paid attention to the motley tints seen on thehouse-fronts, the painted mirrors, the blinds, the coats of arms, theposters of violent hues, the magnificent shops, like drawing-rooms andboudoirs open to the full light. And then, both in the roadway and alongthe foot-pavements, between the blue, red or yellow columns and kiosks, what mighty traffic there was, what an extraordinary crowd! The vehiclesrolled along in a thundering stream: on all sides billows of cabs wereparted by the ponderous tacking of huge omnibuses, which suggested lofty, bright-hued battle-ships. And on either hand, and farther and farther, and even among the wheels, the flood of passengers rushed on incessantly, with the conquering haste of ants in a state of revolution. Whence cameall those people, and whither were all those vehicles going? Howstupefying and torturing it all was. 

Pierre was still walking straight ahead, mechanically, carried on by hisgloomy reverie. Night was coming, the first gas-burners were beinglighted; it was the dusk of Paris, the hour when real darkness has notyet come, when the electric lights flame in the dying day. Lamps shoneforth on all sides, the shop-fronts were being illumined. Soon, moreover, right along the Boulevards the vehicles would carry their vivid starrylights, like a milky way on the march betwixt the foot-pavements allglowing with lanterns and cordons and girandoles, a dazzling profusion ofradiance akin to sunlight. And the shouts of the drivers and the jostlingof the foot passengers re-echoed the parting haste of the Paris which isall business or passion, which is absorbed in the merciless struggle forlove and for money. The hard day was over, and now the Paris of Pleasurewas lighting up for its night of /fete/. The cafes, the wine shops, therestaurants, flared and displayed their bright metal bars, and theirlittle white tables behind their clear and lofty windows, whilst neartheir doors, by way of temptation, were oysters and choice fruits. Andthe Paris which was thus awaking with the first flashes of the gas wasalready full of the gaiety of enjoyment, already yielding to an unbridledappetite for whatsoever may be purchased. 

However, Pierre had a narrow escape from being knocked down. A flock ofnewspaper hawkers came out of a side street, and darted through the crowdshouting the titles of the evening journals. A fresh edition of the "Voixdu Peuple" gave rise, in particular, to a deafening clamour, which roseabove all the rumbling of wheels. At regular intervals hoarse voicesraised and repeated the cry: "Ask for the 'Voix du Peuple'--the newscandal of the African Railway Lines, the repulse of the ministry, thethirty-two bribe-takers of the Chamber and the Senate!" And theseannouncements, set in huge type, could be read on the copies of thepaper, which the hawkers flourished like banners. Accustomed as it was tosuch filth, saturated with infamy, the crowd continued on its way withoutpaying much attention. Still a few men paused and bought the paper, whilepainted women, who had come down to the Boulevards in search of a dinner, trailed their skirts and waited for some chance lover, glancinginterrogatively at the outside customers of the cafes. And meantime thedishonouring shout of the newspaper hawkers, that cry in which there wasboth smirch and buffet, seemed like the last knell of the day, ringingthe nation's funeral at the outset of the night of pleasure which wasbeginning. 

Then Pierre once more remembered his morning and that frightful house inthe Rue des Saules, where so much want and suffering were heaped up. Heagain saw the yard filthy like a quagmire, the evil-smelling staircases, the sordid, bare, icy rooms, the families fighting for messes which evenstray dogs would not have eaten; the mothers, with exhausted breasts, carrying screaming children to and fro; the old men who fell in cornerslike brute beasts, and died of hunger amidst filth. And then came hisother hours with the magnificence or the quietude or the gaiety of the/salons/ through which he had passed, the whole insolent display offinancial Paris, and political Paris, and society Paris. And at last hecame to the dusk, and to that Paris-Sodom and Paris-Gomorrah before him, which was lighting itself up for the night, for the abominations of thataccomplice night which, like fine dust, was little by little submergingthe expanse of roofs. And the hateful monstrosity of it all howled aloudunder the pale sky where the first pure, twinkling stars were gleaming. 

A great shudder came upon Pierre as he thought of all that mass ofiniquity and suffering, of all that went on below amid want and crime, and all that went on above amid wealth and vice. The /bourgeoisie/, wielding power, would relinquish naught of the sovereignty which it hadconquered, wholly stolen, while the people, the eternal dupe, silent solong, clenched its fists and growled, claiming its legitimate share. Andit was that frightful injustice which filled the growing gloom withanger. From what dark-breasted cloud would the thunderbolt fall? Foryears he had been waiting for that thunderbolt which low rumblesannounced on all points of the horizon. And if he had written a book fullof candour and hope, if he had gone in all innocence to Rome, it was toavert that thunderbolt and its frightful consequences. But all hope ofthe kind was dead within him; he felt that the thunderbolt wasinevitable, that nothing henceforth could stay the catastrophe. And neverbefore had he felt it to be so near, amidst the happy impudence of some, and the exasperated distress of others. And it was gathering, and itwould surely fall over that Paris, all lust and bravado, which, whenevening came, thus stirred up its furnace. 

Tired out and distracted, Pierre raised his eyes as he reached the Placede l'Opera. Where was he then? The heart of the great city seemed to beaton this spot, in that vast expanse where met so many thoroughfares, as iffrom every point the blood of distant districts flowed thither alongtriumphal avenues. Right away to the horizon stretched the great gaps ofthe Avenue de l'Opera, the Rue du Quatre-Septembre, and the Rue de laPaix, still showing clearly in a final glimpse of daylight, but alreadystarred with swarming sparks. The torrent of the Boulevard traffic pouredacross the Place, where clashed, too, all that from the neighbouringstreets, with a constant turning and eddying which made the spot the mostdangerous of whirlpools. In vain did the police seek to impose somelittle prudence, the stream of pedestrians still overflowed, wheelsbecame entangled and horses reared amidst all the uproar of the humantide, which was as loud, as incessant, as the tempest voice of an ocean. Then there was the detached mass of the opera-house, slowly steeped ingloom, and rising huge and mysterious like a symbol, its lyre-bearingfigure of Apollo, right aloft, showing a last reflection of daylightamidst the livid sky. And all the windows of the house-fronts began toshine, gaiety sprang from those thousands of lamps which coruscated oneby one, a universal longing for ease and free gratification of eachdesire spread with the increasing darkness; whilst, at long intervals, the large globes of the electric lights shone as brightly as the moons ofthe city's cloudless nights. 

But why was he, Pierre, there, he asked himself, irritated and wondering. Since Laveuve was dead he had but to go home, bury himself in his nook, and close up door and windows, like one who was henceforth useless, whohad neither belief nor hope, and awaited naught save annihilation. It wasa long journey from the Place de l'Opera to his little house at Neuilly. Still, however great his weariness, he would not take a cab, but retracedhis steps, turning towards the Madeleine again, and plunging into thescramble of the pavements, amidst the deafening uproar from the roadway, with a bitter desire to aggravate his wound and saturate himself withrevolt and anger. Was it not yonder at the corner of that street, at theend of that Boulevard, that he would find the expected abyss into whichthat rotten world, whose old society he could hear rending at each step, must soon assuredly topple?

However, when Pierre wished to cross the Rue Scribe a block in thetraffic made him halt. In front of a luxurious cafe two tall, shabbily-clad and very dirty fellows were alternately offering the "Voixdu Peuple" with its account of the scandals and the bribe-takers of theChamber and the Senate, in voices so suggestive of cracked brass thatpassers-by clustered around them. And here, in a hesitating, wanderingman, who after listening drew near to the large cafe and peered throughits windows, Pierre was once again amazed to recognise Salvat. This timethe meeting struck him forcibly, filled him with suspicion to such apoint that he also stopped and resolved to watch the journeyman engineer. He did not expect that one of such wretched aspect, with what seemed tobe a hunk of bread distending his old ragged jacket, would enter and seathimself at one of the cafe's little tables amidst the warm gaiety of thelamps. However, he waited for a moment, and then saw him wander away withslow and broken steps as if the cafe, which was nearly empty, did notsuit him. What could he have been seeking, whither had he been going, since the morning, ever on a wild, solitary chase through the Paris ofwealth and enjoyment while hunger dogged his steps? It was only withdifficulty that he now dragged himself along, his will and energy seemedto be exhausted. As if quite overcome, he drew near to a kiosk, and for amoment leant against it. Then, however, he drew himself up again, andwalked on further, still as it were in search of something. 

And now came an incident which brought Pierre's emotion to a climax. Atall sturdy man on turning out of the Rue Caumartin caught sight ofSalvat, and approached him. And just as the new comer without false pridewas shaking the workman's hand, Pierre recognised him as his brotherGuillaume. Yes, it was indeed he, with his thick bushy hair already whitelike snow, though he was but seven and forty. However, his heavymoustaches had remained quite dark without one silver thread, thuslending an expression of vigorous life to his full face with its loftytowering brow. It was from his father that he had inherited that brow ofimpregnable logic and reason, similar to that which Pierre himselfpossessed. But the lower part of the elder brother's countenance wasfuller than that of his junior; his nose was larger, his chin was square, and his mouth broad and firm of contour. A pale scar, the mark of an oldwound, streaked his left temple. And his physiognomy, though it might atfirst seem very grave, rough, and unexpansive, beamed with masculinekindliness whenever a smile revealed his teeth, which had remainedextremely white. 

While looking at his brother, Pierre remembered what Madame Theodore hadtold him that morning. Guillaume, touched by Salvat's dire want, hadarranged to give him a few days' employment. And this explained the airof interest with which he now seemed to be questioning him, while theengineer, whom the meeting disturbed, stamped about as if eager to resumehis mournful ramble. For a moment Guillaume appeared to notice theother's perturbation, by the embarrassed answers which he obtained fromhim. Still, they at last parted as if each were going his way. Then, however, almost immediately, Guillaume turned round again and watched theother, as with harassed stubborn mien he went off through the crowd. Andthe thoughts which had come to Guillaume must have been very serious andvery pressing, for he all at once began to retrace his steps and followthe workman from a distance, as if to ascertain for certain whatdirection he would take. 

Pierre had watched the scene with growing disquietude. His nervousapprehension of some great unknown calamity, the suspicions born of hisfrequent and inexplicable meetings with Salvat, his surprise at nowseeing his brother mingled with the affair, all helped to fill him with apressing desire to know, witness, and perhaps prevent. So he did nothesitate, but began to follow the others in a prudent way. 

Fresh perturbation came upon him when first Salvat and then Guillaumesuddenly turned into the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy. What destiny was thusbringing him back to that street whither a little time previously he hadwished to return in feverish haste, and whence only the death of Laveuvehad kept him? And his consternation increased yet further when, afterlosing sight of Salvat for a moment, he saw him standing in front of theDuvillard mansion, on the same spot where he had fancied he recognisedhim that morning. As it happened the carriage entrance of the mansion waswide open. Some repairs had been made to the paving of the porch, andalthough the workmen had now gone off, the doorway remained gaping, fullof the falling night. The narrow street, running from the glitteringBoulevard, was steeped in bluish gloom, starred at long intervals by afew gas-lamps. Some women went by, compelling Salvat to step off thefoot-pavement. But he returned to it again, lighted the stump of a cigar, some remnant which he had found under a table outside a cafe, and thenresumed his watch, patient and motionless, in front of the mansion. 

Disturbed by his dim conjectures, Pierre gradually grew frightened, andasked himself if he ought not to approach that man. The chief thing thatdetained him was the presence of his brother, whom he had seen disappearinto a neighbouring doorway, whence he also was observing the engineer, ready to intervene. And so Pierre contented himself with not losing sightof Salvat, who was still waiting and watching, merely taking his eyesfrom the mansion in order to glance towards the Boulevard as though heexpected someone or something which would come from that direction. Andat last, indeed, the Duvillards' landau appeared, with coachman andfootman in livery of green and gold--a closed landau to which a pair oftall horses of superb build were harnessed in stylish fashion. 

Contrary to custom, however, the carriage, which at that hour usuallybrought the father and mother home, was only occupied that evening by theson and daughter, Hyacinthe and Camille. Returning from the Princess deHarn's /matinee/, they were chatting freely, with that calm immodesty bywhich they sought to astonish one another. Hyacinthe, influenced by hisperverted ideas, was attacking women, whilst Camille openly counselledhim to respond to the Princess's advances. However, she was visiblyirritated and feverish that evening, and, suddenly changing the subject, she began to speak of their mother and Gerard de Quinsac. 

"But what can it matter to you?" quietly retorted Hyacinthe; and, seeingthat she almost bounded from the seat at this remark, he continued: "Areyou still in love with him, then? Do you still want to marry him?"

"Yes, I do, and I will!" she cried with all the jealous rage of anuncomely girl, who suffered so acutely at seeing herself spurned whilsther yet beautiful mother stole from her the man she wanted. 

"You will, you will!" resumed Hyacinthe, well pleased to have anopportunity of teasing his sister, whom he somewhat feared. "But youwon't unless /he/ is willing--And he doesn't care for you. "

"He does!" retorted Camille in a fury. "He's kind and pleasant with me, and that's enough. "

Her brother felt afraid as he noticed the blackness of her glance, andthe clenching of her weak little hands, whose fingers bent like claws. And after a pause he asked: "And papa, what does he say about it?"

"Oh, papa! All that he cares about is the other one. "

Then Hyacinthe began to laugh. 

But the landau, with its tall horses trotting on sonorously, had turnedinto the street and was approaching the house, when a slim fair-hairedgirl of sixteen or seventeen, a modiste's errand girl with a largebandbox on her arm, hastily crossed the road in order to enter the archeddoorway before the carriage. She was bringing a bonnet for the Baroness, and had come all along the Boulevard musing, with her soft blue eyes, herpinky nose, and her mouth which ever laughed in the most adorable littleface that one could see. And it was at this same moment that Salvat, after another glance at the landau, sprang forward and entered thedoorway. An instant afterwards he reappeared, flung his lighted cigarstump into the gutter; and without undue haste went off, slinking intothe depths of the vague gloom of the street. 

And then what happened? Pierre, later on, remembered that a dray of theWestern Railway Company in coming up stopped and delayed the landau for amoment, whilst the young errand girl entered the doorway. And with aheart-pang beyond description he saw his brother Guillaume in his turnspring forward and rush into the mansion as though impelled to do so bysome revelation, some sudden certainty. He, Pierre, though he understoodnothing clearly, could divine the approach of some frightful horror. Butwhen he would have run, when he would have shouted, he found himself asif nailed to the pavement, and felt his throat clutched as by a hand oflead. Then suddenly came a thunderous roar, a formidable explosion, as ifthe earth was opening, and the lightning-struck mansion was beingannihilated. Every window-pane of the neighbouring houses was shivered, the glass raining down with the loud clatter of hail. For a moment ahellish flame fired the street, and the dust and the smoke were such thatthe few passers-by were blinded and howled with affright, aghast attoppling, as they thought, into that fiery furnace. 

And that dazzling flare brought Pierre enlightenment. He once more sawthe bomb distending the tool-bag, which lack of work had emptied andrendered useless. He once more saw it under the ragged jacket, aprotuberance caused, he had fancied, by some hunk of bread, picked up ina corner and treasured that it might be carried home to wife and child. After wandering and threatening all happy Paris, it was there that it hadflared, there that it had burst with a thunder-clap, there on thethreshold of the sovereign /bourgeoisie/ to whom all wealth belonged. He, however, at that moment thought only of his brother Guillaume, and flunghimself into that porch where a volcanic crater seemed to have opened. And at first he distinguished nothing, the acrid smoke streamed over all. Then he perceived the walls split, the upper floor rent open, the pavingbroken up, strewn with fragments. Outside, the landau which had been onthe point of entering, had escaped all injury; neither of the horses hadbeen touched, nor was there even a scratch on any panel of the vehicle. But the young girl, the pretty, slim, fair-haired errand girl, lay thereon her back, her stomach ripped open, whilst her delicate face remainedintact, her eyes clear, her smile full of astonishment, so swiftly andlightning-like had come the catastrophe. And near her, from the fallenbandbox, whose lid had merely come unfastened, had rolled the bonnet, avery fragile pink bonnet, which still looked charming in its floweryfreshness. 

By a prodigy Guillaume was alive and already on his legs again. His lefthand alone streamed with blood, a projectile seemed to have broken hiswrist. His moustaches moreover had been burnt, and the explosion bythrowing him to the ground had so shaken and bruised him that he shiveredfrom head to feet as with intense cold. Nevertheless, he recognised hisbrother without even feeling astonished to see him there, as indeed oftenhappens after great disasters, when the unexplained becomes providential. That brother, of whom he had so long lost sight, was there, naturallyenough, because it was necessary that he should be there. And Guillaume, amidst the wild quivers by which he was shaken, at once cried to him"Take me away! take me away! To your house at Neuilly, oh! take me away!"

Then, for sole explanation, and referring to Salvat, he stammered: "Isuspected that he had stolen a cartridge from me; only one, mostfortunately, for otherwise the whole district would have been blown topieces. Ah! the wretched fellow! I wasn't in time to set my foot upon thematch. "

With perfect lucidity of mind, such as danger sometimes imparts, Pierre, neither speaking nor losing a moment, remembered that the mansion had aback entrance fronting the Rue Vignon. He had just realised in whatserious peril his brother would be if he were found mixed up in thataffair. And with all speed, when he had led him into the gloom of the RueVignon, he tied his handkerchief round his wrist, which he bade him pressto his chest, under his coat, as that would conceal it. 

But Guillaume, still shivering and haunted by the horror he hadwitnessed, repeated: "Take me away--to your place at Neuilly--not to myhome. "

"Of course, of course, be easy. Come, wait here a second, I will stop acab. "

In his eagerness to procure a conveyance, Pierre had brought his brotherdown to the Boulevard again. But the terrible thunderclap of theexplosion had upset the whole neighbourhood, horses were still rearing, and people were running demented, hither and thither. And numerouspolicemen had hastened up, and a rushing crowd was already blocking thelower part of the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy, which was now as black as a pit, every light in it having been extinguished; whilst on the Boulevard ahawker of the "Voix du Peuple" still stubbornly vociferated: "The newscandal of the African Railway Lines! The thirty-two bribe-takers of theChamber and the Senate! The approaching fall of the ministry!"

Pierre was at last managing to stop a cab when he heard a person who ranby say to another, "The ministry? Ah, well! that bomb will mend it rightenough!"

Then the brothers seated themselves in the cab, which carried them away. And now, over the whole of rumbling Paris black night had gathered, anunforgiving night, in which the stars foundered amidst the mist of crimeand anger that had risen from the house-roofs. The great cry of justiceswept by amidst the same terrifying flapping of wings which Sodom andGomorrah once heard bearing down upon them from all the black clouds ofthe horizon.