Part 60 (2/2)
The Baroness trembled more severely than ever; every nerve quivered; she wiped away the tears that rose to her eyes and looked mournfully up to heaven.
”I cannot think that a Grand Commander of the Legion of Honor will have fallen so low,” said she.
”For his pleasure what would he not do?” said Lisbeth. ”He robbed the State, he will rob private persons, commit murder--who knows?”
”Oh, Lisbeth!” cried the Baroness, ”keep such thoughts to yourself.”
At this moment Louise came up to the family group, now increased by the arrival of the two Hulot children and little Wenceslas to see if their grandmother's pockets did not contain some sweetmeats.
”What is it, Louise?” asked one and another.
”A man who wants to see Mademoiselle Fischer.”
”Who is the man?” asked Lisbeth.
”He is in rags, mademoiselle, and covered with flue like a mattress-picker; his nose is red, and he smells of brandy.--He is one of those men who work half of the week at most.”
This uninviting picture had the effect of making Lisbeth hurry into the courtyard of the house in the Rue Louis-le-Grand, where she found a man smoking a pipe colored in a style that showed him an artist in tobacco.
”Why have you come here, Pere Chardin?” she asked. ”It is understood that you go, on the first Sat.u.r.day in every month, to the gate of the Hotel Marneffe, Rue Barbet-de-Jouy. I have just come back after waiting there for five hours, and you did not come.”
”I did go there, good and charitable lady!” replied the mattress-picker.
”But there was a game at pool going on at the Cafe des Savants, Rue du Cerf-Volant, and every man has his fancy. Now, mine is billiards. If it wasn't for billiards, I might be eating off silver plate. For, I tell you this,” and he fumbled for a sc.r.a.p of paper in his ragged trousers pocket, ”it is billiards that leads on to a dram and plum-brandy.--It is ruinous, like all fine things, in the things it leads to. I know your orders, but the old 'un is in such a quandary that I came on to forbidden grounds.--If the hair was all hair, we might sleep sound on it; but it is mixed. G.o.d is not for all, as the saying goes. He has His favorites--well, He has the right. Now, here is the writing of your estimable relative and my very good friend--his political opinion.”
Chardin attempted to trace some zigzag lines in the air with the forefinger of his right hand.
Lisbeth, not listening to him, read these few words:
”DEAR COUSIN,--Be my Providence; give me three hundred francs this day.
”HECTOR.”
”What does he want so much money for?”
”The lan'lord!” said Chardin, still trying to sketch arabesques. ”And then my son, you see, has come back from Algiers through Spain and Bayonee, and, and--he has _found_ nothing--against his rule, for a sharp cove is my son, saving your presence. How can he help it, he is in want of food; but he will repay all we lend him, for he is going to get up a company. He has ideas, he has, that will carry him--”
”To the police court,” Lisbeth put in. ”He murdered my uncle; I shall not forget that.”
”He--why, he could not bleed a chicken, honorable lady.”
”Here are the three hundred francs,” said Lisbeth, taking fifteen gold pieces out of her purse. ”Now, go, and never come here again.”
She saw the father of the Oran storekeeper off the premises, and pointed out the drunken old creature to the porter.
”At any time when that man comes here, if by chance he should come again, do not let him in. If he should ask whether Monsieur Hulot junior or Madame la Baronne Hulot lives here, tell him you know of no such persons.”
”Very good, mademoiselle.”
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