"No, no; I tell you it is a little sign nailed over your door."
"Come, you want to joke."
"Not at all; I saw it as I came in. There is written on it in large letters, "Pipelet and Cabrion, Dealers in Friendship, etc. Apply within.""
"That"s written over our door, do you hear, Alfred?"
Pipelet looked at Mrs. Seraphin with a wild stare. He did not comprehend; he did not wish to comprehend.
"It is in the street--on a sign!" repeated Mrs. Pipelet, confounded at this new audacity.
"Yes, for I have just read it. Then I said to myself, "What a funny thing! Pipelet is a cobbler by trade, and he informs the pa.s.ser-by that he is engaged in a _commerce d"amitie_ with Cabrion. What does it signify? There is something concealed, it is clear; but as the sign says inquire within, Mrs. Pipelet will explain it." "But look there," cried Mrs. Seraphin, suddenly, "your husband looks as if he was sick; take care, he will fall backward!"
Mrs. Pipelet received Alfred in her arms, in a fainting state. This last blow had been too violent; the man nearly lost all consciousness as he p.r.o.nounced these words:
"The creature has publicly posted me."
"I told you, Mrs. Seraphin, Alfred has the cramp, without speaking of an unchained blackguard, who undermines him with his sorry tricks. The poor old darling cannot resist it! Happily, I have a drop of bitters here; probably it will put him on his legs."
In fact, thanks to the infallible remedy of Mrs. Pipelet, Alfred by degrees recovered his senses; but, alas! hardly had he come to, than he had to undergo another trial.
A middle-aged person, neatly dressed, and with a pleasing face, opened the door, and said, "I have just seen on a sign placed over this door, "Pipelet and Cabrion, Dealers in Friendship." Can you, if you please, do me the honor to inform me what this means--you being the porter of this house?"
"What this means!" cried Pipelet in a thundering voice, giving vent to his indignation, too long suppressed; "this means that Mr. Cabrion is an infamous impostor, sir!"
The man, at this sudden and furious explosion, drew back a step.
Alfred, much exasperated, with a fiery look and purple face, had stretched his body half out of the lodge, and leaned his contracted hands on the lower half of the door, while the figures of Mrs.
Seraphin and Anastasia could be vaguely seen in the background, in the semi-obscure light of the lodge.
"Learn, sir," cried Pipelet, "that I have no dealings with this scoundrel Cabrion, and that of friendship still less than any other!"
"It is true; and you must be very queer, old noodle that you are to come and ask such a question," cried Madame Pipelet, sharply, showing her quarrelsome face over the shoulder of her husband.
"Madame!" said the man sententiously, falling back another step, "notices are made to be read; you put them up, I read; I have the right to do so, but you have no right to say such rude things."
"Rude things yourself, you beggarly wretch!" replied Anastasia, showing her teeth. "You are a low-bred fellow. Alfred, your boot-tree, till I take the length of his muzzle, to teach him to come and play the Joe Miller at his age, old clown!"
"Insults when one comes to ask the meaning of a notice placed over your own door? It shall not pa.s.s over in this way, madame!"
"But, sir!" cried the unhappy porter.
"But, sir," answered the quiz, pretending to be angry, "be as friendly as you please with your Mr. Cabrion, but zounds! don"t stick it in large letters under the noses of the pa.s.sers-by! I find myself under the necessity of telling you that you are a pitiful wretch, and that I shall go and make my complaint to the authorities!" and the quiz departed in a great rage.
"Anastasia!" said Mr. Pipelet, in a sorrowful tone, "I shall not survive this, I feel it; I am wounded to death. I have no hope of escaping him. You see, my name is publicly stuck up alongside of this wretch. He dares to say that I have a friendly trade with him, and the public will believe it. I inform you--I say it--I communicate it; it is monstrous, it is enormous it is an infernal idea: but it must finish; the measure is full; either he or I must fall in this struggle!" and, overcoming his habitual apathy, Pipelet, determined on a vigorous resolution, seized the portrait of Cabrion, and rushed toward the door.
"Where are you going to, Alfred?"
"To the commissary"s. At the same time I am going to tear down this infamous sign; then with this portrait and this sign in my hand, I will cry to the commissary, "Defend me! avenge me! deliver me from Cabrion!""
"Well said, old darling; stir yourself, shake yourself; if you cannot get the sign down, ask the next door to help you, and lend you his ladder."
"Rascally Cabrion! Oh, if I had him, and I could do it, I"d fry him on my stove. I should like so much to see him suffer. Yes, people are guillotined who do not deserve it as much as he does. The wretch! I should like to see him on the scaffold, the villain!"
Alfred showed under these circ.u.mstances the most sublime equanimity.
Notwithstanding his great causes of revenge against Cabrion, he had the generosity to feel sentiments akin to pity for him.
"No," said he; "no; even if I could, I would not ask for his head."
"As for me, I would. Go do it!" cried the ferocious Anastasia.
"No," replied Alfred; "I do not like blood; but I have a right to claim the perpetual seclusion of this evil-doer; my repose requires it; my health commands it; the law accords me this reparation; otherwise, I leave la France--ma belle France! That is what they"ll gain!"
And Alfred, swallowed up in his grief, walked majestically out of the lodge, like one of those imposing victims of ancient fatality.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CECILY.
Before we relate the conversation between Mrs. Seraphin and Mrs.
Pipelet, we will inform the reader that Anastasia, without suspecting the least in the world the virtue and devotion of the notary, blamed extremely the severity he had shown toward Louise Morel and Germain.
Naturally she included Mrs. Seraphin in her reprobation; but like a skillful politician, for reasons which we will show by and by, she concealed her feeling for the housekeeper under a most cordial reception. After having formally disapproved of the unworthy conduct of Cabrion, Mrs. Seraphin added, "What has become of M. Bradamanti (Polidori)? Last night I wrote to him--no answer; this morning I came to find him--no one. I hope this time I shall be more fortunate."
Mrs. Pipelet feigned to be very much vexed.
"Ah!" cried she, "you must have bad luck."
"How?"
"M. Bradamanti has not come in."
"It is insupportable!"
"It is vexing, my poor Mrs. Seraphin!"
"I have so much to say to him."
"It is just like fate."
"So much the more, as I have to invent so many pretexts for coming here; for if M. Ferrand ever suspected that I knew a quack, he being so devout and scrupulous, you can judge of the scene."
"Just like Alfred. He is so prudish, that he is startled at everything." "And you do not know when Bradamanti will come in?"
"He made an appointment for six or seven o"clock in the evening, for he told me to say to the person to call again if he had not returned.
Come back this evening, you will be sure to find him." Anastasia added to herself: "You can count on this: in one hour he will be on the road to Normandy."