Part 293 (1/2)
The reply was ungracious. The personage, determined to be gracious at any cost, insisted.
”Then it must have been at Chateaubriand's that I have seen Monsieur! I know Chateaubriand very well. He is very affable. He sometimes says to me: 'Thenard, my friend ... won't you drink a gla.s.s of wine with me?'”
Marius' brow grew more and more severe:
”I have never had the honor of being received by M. de Chateaubriand.
Let us cut it short. What do you want?”
The man bowed lower at that harsh voice.
”Monsieur le Baron, deign to listen to me. There is in America, in a district near Panama, a village called la Joya. That village is composed of a single house, a large, square house of three stories, built of bricks dried in the sun, each side of the square five hundred feet in length, each story retreating twelve feet back of the story below, in such a manner as to leave in front a terrace which makes the circuit of the edifice, in the centre an inner court where the provisions and munitions are kept; no windows, loopholes, no doors, ladders, ladders to mount from the ground to the first terrace, and from the first to the second, and from the second to the third, ladders to descend into the inner court, no doors to the chambers, trap-doors, no staircases to the chambers, ladders; in the evening the traps are closed, the ladders are withdrawn carbines and blunderbusses trained from the loopholes; no means of entering, a house by day, a citadel by night, eight hundred inhabitants,--that is the village. Why so many precautions? because the country is dangerous; it is full of cannibals. Then why do people go there? because the country is marvellous; gold is found there.”
”What are you driving at?” interrupted Marius, who had pa.s.sed from disappointment to impatience.
”At this, Monsieur le Baron. I am an old and weary diplomat. Ancient civilization has thrown me on my own devices. I want to try savages.”
”Well?”
”Monsieur le Baron, egotism is the law of the world. The proletarian peasant woman, who toils by the day, turns round when the diligence pa.s.ses by, the peasant proprietress, who toils in her field, does not turn round. The dog of the poor man barks at the rich man, the dog of the rich man barks at the poor man. Each one for himself.
Self-interest--that's the object of men. Gold, that's the loadstone.”
”What then? Finish.”
”I should like to go and establish myself at la Joya. There are three of us. I have my spouse and my young lady; a very beautiful girl. The journey is long and costly. I need a little money.”
”What concern is that of mine?” demanded Marius.
The stranger stretched his neck out of his cravat, a gesture characteristic of the vulture, and replied with an augmented smile.
”Has not Monsieur le Baron perused my letter?”
There was some truth in this. The fact is, that the contents of the epistle had slipped Marius' mind. He had seen the writing rather than read the letter. He could hardly recall it. But a moment ago a fresh start had been given him. He had noted that detail: ”my spouse and my young lady.”
He fixed a penetrating glance on the stranger. An examining judge could not have done the look better. He almost lay in wait for him.
He confined himself to replying:
”State the case precisely.”
The stranger inserted his two hands in both his fobs, drew himself up without straightening his dorsal column, but scrutinizing Marius in his turn, with the green gaze of his spectacles.
”So be it, Monsieur le Baron. I will be precise. I have a secret to sell to you.”
”A secret?”
”A secret.”
”Which concerns me?”
”Somewhat.”