Part 41 (1/2)

It was not until some minutes had elapsed that I saw he had ceased to breathe, for his eyes seemed to stare with meaning on me, and his countenance remained unchanged. At length, however, I became conscious that the struggle was over, and his spirit had pa.s.sed away forever. The stillness of the room was terrible, for not a stir broke it; and I knelt down beside Marguerite to pray.

”Here is the surgeon, mademoiselle,” said Lizette, hurriedly; and an old man drew nigh the bed and touched the wrist of the dead man.

”Ma foi!” said he, ”this is the fourth time I have been sent for to-day on a like errand;” and, so saying, he tapped me on the shoulder, and motioned me to follow him.

I obeyed at once.

”Are you his son?” asked he, briefly.

”No,” I replied.

”His nephew?--his clerk, then?”

”Neither; I am a lodger here, and do not even claim acquaintance with the family.”

”No matter,” resumed he, dryly, ”you will do as well as another; give me pen and paper.”

I took some from an open portfolio on the table and laid it before him, and he wrote rapidly a few lines in a straggling hand:--

”The citizen Louis Bernois, age--; domiciled, Rue Neuve de Viardot, No.

318, avocat,”--”we may call him _avocat_, though he was only a writer,”

said he, looking up,--”wounded fatally in the lungs and heart, and attended till his death, on this morning, by the doctor Joseph Caillot, surgeon and licentiate. The above verified by me.”--”Sign here,” added he, handing me the pen, ”and put your quality. Say, 'Friend of the family.'”

”But I never knew them; I have only lodged in the house for some months back.”

”What signifies that? It is a mere form for the authorities, to whom his death must be reported, or his family exposed to trouble and annoyance.

I will take it to the bureau myself.”

I signed my name, therefore, as he directed me, and sealed the ”act”

with a seal I found on the table. The doctor pocketed the paper and withdrew, not even bestowing on me a good-bye as he left the room.

Lizette came to me for instructions as to what was to be done. Madame had never recovered consciousness from the very first moment of the misfortune; mademoiselle was too young and too inexperienced to be consulted on the occasion. The family, too, had only been a few months in Paris, and had no acquaintance save with the tradespeople they dealt with.

I asked the name of the _avocat_ for whom he usually transcribed the deeds and papers, and learned that it was a certain Monsieur le Monnier, a lawyer of high standing at the bar of Paris, and who lived in the Rue Quincampoix! With what a strange sensation I heard the name of that street, which was the same that Herr Robert spoke of as inhabited by his father in the days of his greatest prosperity! The thought merely shot through my head rapidly, for other and far more pressing considerations demanded all my attention. I resolved at once to call on Monsieur le Monnier and ask his advice and guidance in the difficult position I then found myself. Dressing myself with all the care my scanty wardrobe permitted, I set out for the Rue Quincampoix, and soon found the house, which was a large and s.p.a.cious though somewhat sombre-looking hotel, with a half-effaced s.h.i.+eld over the doorway. The porter inquired if I came on business; and on my saying ”Yes,” informed me that I must call on the following morning, from eleven to two o'clock,--that the ”batonnier,” for such was his rank, did not transact affairs in the evening.

I argued and pressed my suit with all zeal; but it was only when I produced a piece of two francs that he consented to present my card, on which I had written a few lines to explain the urgent cause of my visit.

After a long and most impatient waiting a servant came to Bay that monsieur would receive me, and I followed him up a s.p.a.cious but dimly lighted stair, and across a long dreary gallery, where a single lamp shone, into a small chamber fitted up like a study. Here, although it was autumn, the ”batonnier” was seated beside a brisk fire, enjoying his coffee. He was a small man, with a ma.s.sive, well-shaped head covered with a profusion of snow-white hair, which he wore in such careless fas.h.i.+on as to make his head appear even much larger than it was; his features were pleasing, and his eyes were singularly soft and gentle-looking. With a voice of peculiar sweetness, and in a low tone, he welcomed me and desired me to be seated. This done, he begged me to state the object of my visit.

In the very fewest words I could relate it, I mentioned the sad circ.u.mstances about which I came, told my own difficulty in the matter, and asked for advice.

”At any other moment,” said he, when I concluded, ”your task would be an easy one. You could report the event to the 'commissaire' of the 'Quarter,' state what you know, and withdraw from the affair altogether.

Now, however, the troubles in which we live excite suspicions in every mind. Your name will be a.s.sociated with the opinions for which this poor man has given his life. The authorities will be on your track at every moment, and every act of your life watched and reported. With whom were you acquainted in Paris?”

”With none.”

He stared with some surprise; and I told him briefly the circ.u.mstances of my own situation.