Volume III Part 3 (1/2)
”We can talk just as well with our mouths full.”
”A thousand times better,” said the office-boy.
Chalamel was carving the turkey, and he said to the princ.i.p.al clerk: ”What reason have you for thinking that the governor is crazy?”
”We were inclined to think that he had become perfectly stupid, when he agreed to give us forty sous per head for our daily breakfast.”
”I confess that I was as much surprised as you are, gentlemen; but it is a trifle, actually a trifle, compared with what has just occurred.”
”You don't say so!” said another.
”Is the notary crazy enough to invite us to dine every day, at his expense, at the Cadran-Bleu?”
”And give us tickets to the play, after dinner?”
”And after that, take us to the _cafe_, to round off with punch?”
”And after that a la--”
”Gentlemen, just as far as you please; but the scene which I have just observed is more frightful than funny.”
”Give us the scene, I beg of you.”
”That's right; don't trouble yourself about the breakfast--we are all ears.”
”And all jaws! I see through you, my pretties! while I am speaking, your teeth will be in motion, and the turkey would be finished before my story.
Be patient; I will reserve it for the dessert.”
We do not know whether it was the goad of hunger or curiosity that stimulated the mastication of the young limbs of the law, but the breakfast was so rapidly completed, that the moment for the story arrived immediately.
Not to be surprised by the governor, they sent the office-boy, on whom the carca.s.s and claws of the turkey had been most liberally bestowed, as a sentry into the neighboring room.
The head clerk said to his colleagues, ”In the first place, you must know that, for some days past the porter has been alarmed about master's health.
As the good man sits up very late, he has seen M. Ferrand go down to the garden in the night in spite of the cold and rain, and walk up and down rapidly. He ventured to leave his nest, and ask his master if he had need of anything. The governor sent him to bed in such a tone that, since then, the porter has kept himself quiet, and he will keep himself so always, as soon as he hears the governor descend to the garden, which happens every night, no matter what weather.”
”The old boy is, perhaps, a somnambulist?”
”Not probable; but such nocturnal promenades announce great agitation. I arrive at my story: just now, I went in to get some signatures. At the moment I placed my hand on the lock, I thought I heard some one speak. I stopped, and distinguished two or three dull cries, like stifled sobs.
After having hesitated to enter for a moment, fearing some misfortune, I opened the door.”
”Well?”
”What did I see? The governor on his knees, on the floor.”
”On his knees?”
”On the floor?”
”Yes, kneeling on the floor, his face in his hands and Us elbows on the seat of one of his old arm-chairs.”