"I think I have seen the man before."
"I think not."
"Tell me, gents, have you not also remarked that for some days past, there comes regularly almost every two hours a man with great light mustaches and a military air, who asks the porter for the intruder? The intruder comes down, talks for a moment with the man with mustaches, after which the latter makes a half turn like an automaton, to come again in two hours after."
"It is true; I have remarked him. It seems to me, also, that I meet some men when I go into the street who appear to be watching the house."
"Seriously, there is something extraordinary going on here."
"Who lives long enough will see."
"On this subject the head clerk, perhaps, knows more than we do. But he plays the diplomatist."
"Exactly; and where is he, then, for so long a time?"
"He has gone to the house of the countess who was stabbed; it appears that she is now out of danger."
"The Countess M"Gregor?"
"Yes; this morning she sent for the governor to come at once, but he sent the head clerk in his place."
"It is, perhaps, for a will."
"No, because she is better."
"Hasn"t he work enough now, the head clerk, since he has taken Germain"s place also?"
"Speaking of Germain, here is another strange thing.""
"What is it?"
"In order to have him set at liberty, the governor has declared it was he himself who made an error in his accounts, and that he had found the money which he accused Germain of stealing."
"I do not find this strange, but just; you recollect I always said that Germain was incapable of theft."
"It must, nevertheless, have been very disagreeable for him to be arrested and confined as a thief."
"If I were in his place I would sue Jacques Ferrand for damages."
"The least he could do would be to reinstate him as cashier, in order to prove that Germain was not culpable."
"Yes, but perhaps Germain would not be willing."
"Is he still at the farm, where he went on coming out of prison, and from which he wrote us to announce M. Ferrand"s discontinuance of the suit?"
"Probably, for yesterday I went to the place where he directed us to go; they told me that he was still in the country, and that I could write to him at Bouqueval, near Ecouen, at Madame George"s."
"Oh! a carriage!" said Chalamel, leaning over toward the window.
"Nothing but a hackney-coach."
"And who gets out?"
"Stop a moment! Oh! a black-gown!"
"A woman! a woman! Oh! let us see."
"This gutter-jumper is indecently sensitive at his age; he only thinks of women. We shall have to chain him up, or he will carry off the Sabines from the streets; for, as said the Swan of Cambray in his Treatise on Education for the Dauphin,
""Of Gutter-jumper have a care, Who a.s.saults the lovely fair.""
"I demand the head of Chalamel!"
"M. Chalamel, you said a black robe, I thought."
"It is the cure, goose! Let him be an example for you."
"The cure of the parish? The good pastor?"
"Himself."
"He is a worthy man!"
"He is no Jesuit, not he."
"I think not; and if all the priests were like him everybody would be devout."
"Silence! some one opens the door."
And all the clerks, bending over their desks, began to scratch away with apparent industry, making their pens pa.s.s rapidly over the paper. The pale face of this priest was at once mild and grave, intelligent and venerable, its expression full of benevolence and serenity. A small black cap concealed his tonsure, and his long gray hair floated on the collar of his maroon-colored coat. Let us add that, from his simple credulity, this excellent priest had always been, and was still, the dupe of Jacques Ferrand"s deep and cunning hypocrisy.
"Your worthy master is in his cabinet, my son?" asked the cure.
"Yes, M. l"Abbe," said Chalamel, rising respectfully. And he opened for the priest the door leading into a room adjoining the office.
Hearing some one speaking with vehemence in the cabinet of the notary, the abbe, not wishing to hear, walked rapidly toward the door, and knocked.
"Come in," said a voice with an Italian accent, and the priest found himself face to face with Jacques Ferrand and Polidori.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE STORY IS TOLD]
It would seem that the clerks were not wrong when they prophesied the death of their employer at no distant day. Since the flight of Cecily, the notary was hardly to be recognized. Although his visage was of a frightful thinness, and of a cadaverous hue, a hectic flush colored his hollow cheeks; a nervous shivering, except when interrupted by convulsive spasms, agitated his frame continually; his bony hands were dry and burning; his large green spectacles concealed his bloodshot eyes, which sparkled with the fire of a consuming fever; in a word, this sinister face betrayed the ravages of a rapid consumption. The physiognomy of Polidori formed a contrast with that of the notary; nothing could be more bitterly, more coldly ironical than the expression of this scoundrel; a forest of fiery red hair, interspersed with some silvered locks, crowned his high and wrinkled forehead; his penetrating eyes, green as the ocean wave, were close to his hooked nose; his mouth, with its thin lips, expressed wickedness and sarcasm. Polidori, completely dressed in black, was seated beside the desk of Jacques Ferrand. At the sight of the priest they both arose.
"Well! how do you get on, my worthy M. Ferrand?" said the abbe, with solicitude; "are you a little better?"
"I am always in the same state, M. l"Abbe; the fever does not leave me,"
answered the notary; "the want of sleep is killing me. But the will of heaven be done!"
"See, M. l"Abbe," added Polidori, with emphasis, "what pious resignation!