"Of course madame has friends there? If not, if I could be of any service to madame----"
Adeline made no reply; she did not hear her companion; she was once more absorbed in thought, she was with her husband.
The old gentleman profited nothing by his offer of his services; but far from taking offence, he felt all the deeper interest in the young woman, who seemed beset by such profound sorrow.
At last they reached Paris, and the carriage stopped. Adeline alighted hastily, took her child in her arms, and paid the driver; then she bowed to her companion, and disappeared before the old gentleman had had time to put his foot on the little stool which a street urchin had placed on the ground to help him to alight from the vehicle.
"Poor young woman!" said the old man, looking in the direction in which Adeline had disappeared; "how she runs! how excited she seems! dear me!
I hope that she will not learn any bad news."
Adeline went as fast as it is possible to go when one has a child in one"s arms. She asked the way to the Conciergerie; it was pointed out to her, and she hurried on without stopping. Love and anxiety redoubled her strength; she drew near at last; she saw a square--it was that in front of the Palais de Justice.
That square was surrounded by people; the crowd was so dense that one could hardly walk.
"And I must pa.s.s through," said Adeline sadly to herself; "well, as there is no other road, I must make one last effort and try to force my way through."
But why had so many people a.s.sembled there? Was it a fete-day, some public rejoicing? Had some charlatan established his travelling booth there? Was that mult.i.tude attracted by singers or jugglers, with their music or their tricks? No, it was none of those things; our Parisian idlers would show less interest, if it were a matter of pleasant diversion only. It was an execution which was to take place; several miserable wretches were to be branded, and exposed to public view upon the fatal stool of repentance; and it was to gaze on that spectacle, distressing to mankind, that those children, those young maidens, those old men, hastened thither so eagerly! Are you surprised to hear it? Do you not know that La Greve is crowded, that the windows which look on the square are rented, when a criminal is to undergo capital punishment there? And whom do we see gloat with the greatest avidity over these ghastly spectacles? Women, young women, whose faces are instinct with gentleness and sensitiveness.--What takes place in the depths of the human heart, if this excess of stoicism is to be found in a weak and timid s.e.x?
But let us do justice to those who shun such abhorrent spectacles, and who cannot endure to look upon an execution. Adeline was one of these; she did not know what was about to happen on the square, and she paid no attention to the cries of the mob that surrounded her.
"Here they come! here they come!" cried the people; "ah! just wait and see what faces they will make in a minute, when they feel the red hot iron!"
Adeline tried to cross the square, but she could not do it; the crowd either forced her back or dragged her in the opposite direction; thus, without intention, she found herself quite near the gendarmes who surrounded the culprits. She raised her eyes, and saw the miserable wretches, marked with the brand of infamy. She instantly looked away, she preferred not to see that horrid spectacle. At that moment a piteous cry arose; it came from one of the wretches who had just been branded.
That cry went to Adeline"s heart, it revolutionized all her senses; she heard it constantly, for she had recognized the griefstricken tone. A sentiment which she could not control caused her to turn her eyes toward the culprits. A man, still young, but pale, downcast, disfigured, was bound upon the stool in front of her. Adeline gazed at him. She could not fail to recognize him. The miserable wretch"s eyes met hers. It was Edouard, it was her husband, who had been cast out from society, and whom she found upon the stool of repentance.
A shriek of horror escaped from the young woman"s lips. The criminal dropped his head on his breast, and Adeline, beside herself, bereft of her senses, succ.u.mbed at last to the violence of her grief, and fell unconscious to the ground, still pressing her child to her bosom with a convulsive movement.
x.x.x
GOODMAN GERVAL
The French, especially the lower cla.s.ses, have this merit, that they pa.s.s readily from one sensation to another; after witnessing an execution, they will stop in front of a Punch and Judy show; they laugh and weep with amazing rapidity; and the same man who has just pushed his neighbor roughly aside because he prevented him from seeing a criminal led to the gallows, will eagerly raise and succor the unfortunate mortal whom dest.i.tution or some accident causes to fall at his feet.
The gossips and the young girls who crowded Place du Palais forgot the pleasant spectacle they had come to see, and turned their attention to the young woman who lay unconscious on the ground.
Adeline and her child were carried to the nearest cafe, and there everything that could be done was done for the poor mother. Everybody formed his or her own conjectures concerning the incident.
"Perhaps it was the crowd, or the heat, which was too much for this pretty young lady," said some. Others thought with more reason that the stranger"s trouble seemed to be too serious to have been caused by so simple a matter.
"Perhaps," they said, "she saw among those poor devils someone she once knew and loved."
While they all tried to guess the cause of the accident, little Ermance uttered piercing shrieks, and although she was too young to appreciate her misfortune, she wept bitterly none the less because her mother did not kiss her.
They succeeded at last in restoring the young woman to consciousness.
The unhappy creature! Did they do her a service thereby? Everybody waited with curiosity to see what she would say; but Adeline gazed about her with expressionless eyes; then, taking her daughter in her arms, as if she wished to protect her from some peril, she started to leave the cafe without uttering a word.
This extraordinary behavior surprised all those who were present.
"Why do you go away so soon, madame?" said one kindhearted old woman, taking Adeline"s arm; "you must rest a little longer, and recover your wits entirely."
"Oh! I must go, I must go and join him," Adeline replied, looking toward the street; "he is there waiting for me; he motioned for me to rescue him from that place, to take off those chains. I can still hear his voice; yes, he is calling me. Listen, don"t you hear? He is groaning--ah! that heartrending cry! Poor fellow! How they are hurting him!"
Adeline fell motionless on a chair; her eyes turned away in horror from a spectacle which she seemed to have constantly in her mind. All those who stood about her shed tears; they saw that she had lost her reason; one and all pitied the unfortunate creature and tried to restore peace to her mind; but to no purpose did they offer her such comfort as they could; Adeline did not hear them, she recognized no one but her daughter, and persisted in her purpose to fly with her.
What were they to do? How could they find out who the family or the kindred of the poor woman were? Her dress did not indicate wealth; the bundle of clothes, containing in addition to her garments the jewels that she had taken away, was not found by Adeline"s side when they picked her up; doubtless some spectator, observing in antic.i.p.ation the place that he was likely to occupy some day, had found a way to abstract Adeline"s property. So she seemed to be without means, and as with many people, emotion is always sterile, they were already talking of taking the poor woman to a refuge, and her child to the Foundling Hospital, when the arrival of a new personage suspended their plans.
An old man entered the cafe and enquired the cause of the gathering.
Everyone tried to tell him the story. The stranger walked in, forcing his way through the curious crowd of spectators who surrounded the unfortunate young woman; he approached Adeline, and uttered a cry of surprise when he recognized the person with whom he had travelled from Villeneuve-Saint-Georges to Paris.
"It is really she!" he cried; and little Ermance held out her arms to him with a smile; for she recognized the man who had given her bonbons but a few hours before.
Thereupon the old man became an interesting character to the crowd, who were most eager to learn the poor mother"s story. They all plied the old gentleman with questions, and he, annoyed and wearied by their importunities, sent for a carriage, and after learning from the keeper of the cafe exactly what had happened to the young stranger, he put Adeline and her child into the cab, and thus removed them from the scrutiny of the curiosity seekers.
Adeline had fallen into a state of listless prostration. She allowed herself to be taken away, without uttering a word; she seemed to pay no heed to what was taking place about her, and even her daughter no longer engaged her attention.
Monsieur Gerval--such was the old man"s name--gazed at the young woman with deep emotion; he could not as yet believe that she whom he had seen in the morning, sad, it is true, but in the full enjoyment of her senses, could so soon be deprived of her reason. He lost himself in conjectures as to the cause of that strange occurrence.
The cab stopped in front of a handsome, furnished lodging house. It was where Monsieur Gerval stopped when he was in Paris. He was well known in the house, and everyone treated him with the regard which his years and his character deserved.
He caused Adeline and her daughter to alight and took them to his hostess.
"Look you, madame," he said, "here is a stranger whom I beg you to take care of until further orders."
"Ah! mon Dieu! how pretty she is! But what a melancholy expression! what an air of depression!--Can"t she speak, Monsieur Gerval?"
"She is ill; she has undergone some great misfortune; they say even that her mind----"
"Merciful heaven! what a pity!"
"I hope that with the best care, we shall succeed in calming her excitement. I commend this unfortunate woman and her child to you."
"Never fear, Monsieur Gerval, she shall have everything she needs.--Another unfortunate of whom you have taken charge, I see."
"What would you have, my dear hostess; a man must needs make himself useful when he can. I have no children, and I am growing old; what good would all my wealth do me, if I did not a.s.sist the unfortunate?
Moreover, it is a source of enjoyment to myself. I am like Florian"s man: "I often do good for the pleasure of it.""
"Ah! if all the rich men thought as you do, Monsieur Gerval!"
"Tell me, madame, has my old Dupre come in?"
"Yes, monsieur, he is waiting for you in your room."
"I will go up to him. Look after this young woman, I beg you, and see that she lacks nothing."
"Rely upon me, monsieur."