Part 61 (1/2)

The old woman rose from the corner of the mattress she had seated herself on.

”True? You're Elizabeth Dollon?... Well, that's funny! Have you been nabbed long?...”

”You ask if it is long since I was...?”

”Nabbed!... Taken!... Arrested!... Eh?”

Elizabeth nodded in the affirmative. It seemed to her that an infinity of time had pa.s.sed since her imprisonment at Saint Lazare.

”I was nabbed last night. If you want to know my name, I'm called Mother Toulouche. They say I'm one of the band of Numbers, and that I receive stolen goods! Lies! That's well understood!”

Elizabeth had no desire to go into such an unsavoury question. This horrid old woman rather frightened her; but, such had been her distress and fears since she had been a prisoner, that it was a relief not to be quite alone; to have even this old creature to speak to was better than solitary confinement.

In her character of old jail-bird, Mother Toulouche made herself quickly at home.

”Moved to-morrow, they say I'm to be! Pity! At bottom you're not one of the scurvy sort, but you must be here to play spy on me, for all that!... When do you go out? Are you long for Saint Lago?” Alas, how could Elizabeth tell?

”I like being a barrister,” thought Fandor, as he entered Saint Lazare.

”For the last hour I have felt a different person, much more serious, more sure of myself, not to say, more eloquent!... I must be eloquent, since I have succeeded in persuading my friend, Maitre Dubard, to get himself appointed officially as Mademoiselle Dollon's counsel; then to obtain a permit of communication, and to hand this same permit over to me, so that his identification papers, safely tucked away in my portfolio, make of me the most indisputable of Maitres Dubard!”

Fandor might well congratulate himself! By means of this ruse--his own idea--he was enabled to see Elizabeth, not in the prison parlour, but in a special cell, and without a witness. As Fandor crossed the threshold of the sordid building, he said to himself:

”I am Maitre Dubard, visiting his client, in order to prepare her defence!”

He easily accomplished the necessary formalities, and, at last, he saw himself being conducted by a morose warder to a little parlour, scantily furnished with a table and a few stools.

”Please be seated, maitre,” said the surly fellow. ”I'll fetch your client along!”

Fandor put down his portfolio, but remained standing, anxious, all aquiver at the thought that he was about to see his dear Elizabeth appear between two warders, just like a common prisoner!

”In a moment she will be here,” thought he.... But she must on no account recognise him on entering! By an exclamation she might betray his ident.i.ty and complicate things! Therefore, Fandor feigned to be absorbed in a newspaper he unfolded and raised, so as to hide his face from the approaching pair. The door opened.

”Come now! Go in!...” growled the warder. ”Maitre, when you wish to leave, you have only to ring.”

The door fell to, heavily, behind the warder.

Fandor made a sharp movement. He stood revealed. He hurried up to Elizabeth.

”Oh, tell me how you are, Mademoiselle Elizabeth!” he cried.

But the girl was struck dumb: she grew suddenly pale, and made no reply.

”Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Will you not give me your hand even? You do not understand why I am here? I had to see you, speak to you without a witness ... that's why I have pa.s.sed myself off as an advocate!”

The startled girl was regaining her self-control. Fandor was gazing at her with frankly admiring eyes.

”Poor Elizabeth! How I have made you suffer!”