Volume III Part 9 (1/2)
”I grant all; for if you have this blind confidence in me--do you see, Jacques--it will no longer be the ideal lover of the song I call. It is to you, my tiger, you, that I shall say come--come--come.”
”Oh, you will be mine. I shall be your tiger,” cried he; ”and then, if you will, you shall dishonor me--my head shall fall. My honor, my life, all is yours now,”
”Your honor?”
”My honor! Listen; ten years since an infant was confided to my care, and two hundred thousand francs for its support; I have abandoned this child. I spread the report the child was dead, and I kept the money.”
”It was bold and skillful--who would have thought it of you?”
”Listen again: I hated my cas.h.i.+er, Francois Germain. One night he took from me a little gold, which he returned the next day; but to ruin him, I accused him of having robbed me of a considerable sum. I was believed, he was thrown into prison. Now my honor is at your mercy.”
”Oh, you love me, Jacques, you love me. To inform me thus of your secrets--what empire I must have over you! I will not be ungrateful; let me kiss this forehead, where so many infernal thoughts were created.”
”Oh!” cried the notary, stammering, ”if the scaffold stood there, ready, I would not draw back. Listen again: this child, Fleur-de-Marie, once abandoned, crosses my path--she inspires me with fears; I have had her killed!”
”You? How? where?”
”A few days since--near Asnieres Bridge, by Ravageurs' Island. One named Martial drowned her in a boat. Are these details sufficient? do you believe me?”
”Oh! demon from h.e.l.l: you alarm, yet attract me. You inspire me. What is, then, your power?”
”Listen again: before that a man had confided to me a hundred thousand crowns. I set a trap for him. I blew his brains out. I proved that he committed suicide, and I denied the deposit which his sister the Baroness de Fermont reclaimed. Now my life is at your mercy--open.”
”Jacques, I adore you!” said the Creole, with warmth.
”Oh! come a thousand deaths, and I'd dare them!” cried the notary, in an intoxication impossible to describe. ”Yes, you are right; were I young and charming, I should not experience this triumphant joy. The key! throw me the key! draw the bolt!”
The Creole took the key from the lock, and handed it to the notary through the wicket, saying, ”Jacques, I am mad!”
”You are mine, at length!” cried he, with a savage roar, turning the key in the lock. But the door, fastened with a bolt, did not open.
”Come, my tiger! come,” said Cecily, in an expiring voice.
”The bolt! the bolt!” cried Jacques Ferrand.
”But, if you deceive me,” cried the Creole, suddenly, ”if these secrets are an invention, to cajole me---”
The notary remained for a moment, struck with stupor; he thought he had succeeded: this last difficulty raised his impatient fury to its climax.
He thrust his hand quickly in his bosom, opened his waistcoat, broke with violence a small chain of steel, to which was suspended a small, thin pocket-book, took it, and showing it through the wicket to Cecily, he said, in an oppressed and breathless tone,
”Here is what would cause my head to fall! draw the bolt--the book is yours.”
”Give it to me, my tiger,” cried Cecily.
And hastily drawing the bolt with one hand, with the other she seized the book.
But Jacques Ferrand did not abandon it until the moment he felt the door yielding to his efforts.