Volume II Part 62 (1/2)
”You always say 'I will' but you never do it, you sly puss. The time I told you to take the five francs from the counter of the grocer at Asnieres, while I kept him busy at the other end of his shop--it was very easy; no one suspects a child--why didn't you obey?”
”Sister, my heart failed me: I did not dare.”
”The other day you dared to steal a handkerchief from the peddler's pack while he was selling at the tavern. Did he find it out, fool?”
”Sister, you forced me--it was for you; and, besides, it was not money.”
”What of that?”
”To take a handkerchief is not so bad as to take money.”
”On my word! Martial teaches you these whims doesn't he?” said Calabash, in an ironical manner. ”You'll go and tell him everything, little spy! Do you think we are afraid that he'll eat us?” Then, addressing the widow, Calabash added, ”Mother, this will end badly for him; he wants to lay down the law here. Nicholas is furious against him; so am I. He sets Amandine and Francois against us, against you.
Can it be borne?”
”No!” said the mother, in a short, harsh voice.
”It is especially since his Louve was Saint-Lazared that he has gone on like a madman. Is it our fault that she is in prison? When she is once out of prison, let her come here, and I will serve her out--good measure--though she is strong.”
The widow, after a moment's pause, said to her daughter, ”You think there is something to be done with the old man who lives in the doctor's house?”
”Yes, mother.”
”He looks like a beggar.”
”That doesn't prevent his being a n.o.ble.”
”A n.o.ble?”
”Yes; or that he should have gold in his purse, although he goes to Paris on foot every day, and returns in the same manner, with his heavy stick for his carriage.”
”How do you know that he has gold?”
”The other day I was at the post-office, to see if there were any letters from Toulon.”
At these words, which brought to her mind her son at the galleys, the widow knit her brows and suppressed a sigh.
Calabash continued: ”I awaited my turn, when the old man we speak of came in. I twigged him at once by his beard, as white as his hair, and his black eyebrows. In spite of his hair, he must be a determined old man. He said, 'Have you any letters from Angers for the Count of Saint Remy?' 'Yes,' was the answer, 'here is one.' 'It is for me,' said he; 'here is my pa.s.sport.' While the postmaster examined it, the old man drew out his purse to pay the postage. At one end I saw the gold glittering through the meshes, at least forty or fifty louis,” cried Calabash, her eyes twinkling, ”and yet he is dressed like a beggar. He is one of those old misers who are stuffed with gold. Come, mother, we know his name; it may serve us to get into the crib when Amandine finds out if he has any servants.”
A violent barking of the dogs interrupted Calabash. ”Oh, the dogs bark,” said she; ”they hear a boat. It is either Martial or Nicholas.”
After a few moments the door opened, and Nicholas Martial made his appearance. His face was ign.o.ble and ferocious; small, thin, pitiful, it could hardly be imagined that he followed so dangerous a calling; but an indomitable energy supplied the place of the physical strength which was wanting. Over his blue slop he wore a great-coat, without sleeves, made of goat-skin with long hair. On entering he threw on the ground a roll of copper which he had on his shoulder.
”Good-night, and good booty, mother,” cried he, in a cracked voice; ”there are three more rolls in my boat, a bundle of clothes, and a box filled with I don't know what, for I have not amused myself by opening it. Perhaps I am sold--we shall see.”
”And what about the man at the Quai de Billy?” asked Calabash, while the widow looked at her son without saying a word.
He, for sole answer, put his hand in his pocket and jingled together a number of pieces of silver.
”You took all that from him?” cried Calabash.
”No, he sh.e.l.led out himself two hundred francs, and he will come down with eight hundred more when I shall have--but enough; let us unload the boat; we can jaw afterward. Isn't Martial here?”