CHAPTER XVIII

      HOW ABBÉ DONADÉI ELOPED WITH THE SISTER SOUL TO HIS OWN

      ABBÉ DONADÉI had allowed himself to be overcome by one of those violent desires which sometimes burst out in cunning, sneaking natures. He so clever, so prudent, had been guilty of a clumsy mistake. He was conscious of it when the beadle had left with the prayer-book and love-letter. From that moment he must be prepared to meet all the consequences of his audacious act. Claire had excited a yearning in him which he meant to satisfy in spite of all. He was beyond the sacred scruples of his calling. He looked on things human from too lofty a height, he had mixed in too many jobs of a more or less honourable nature, to hesitate at a seduction. That was the least thing that troubled him. It was the sequel to the seduction, at which he felt alarmed.

      For two long months he had tried to attract the young girl to his house. Then, as she was about to accede to his wish in all simplicity, he had renounced that plan, convinced that an intrigue of this nature could not be carried on in the midst of Marseille. It was thus that he had little by little reached the point of wishing to play all for all, like a daring gambler; his passion was increasing and torturing him and he was ready to exchange his influential position for a woman’s free and entire love: he preferred to elope with Claire openly, and fly with her to Italy.

      Donadéi was too sharp and intelligent not to have thought of a retreat. If the young girl in the long run had been in his way, he would have shut her up in a convent and obtained the forgiveness of his uncle the Cardinal. When he had examined and calculated everything, an elopement seemed to him the most easy and prompt of all plans and the one which presented the least danger.

      He only feared one thing: that Claire would not keep the appointment and would refuse to run away with him. Then, the love-letter would become a terrible arm. He would be without the girl and might lose his position. But he was blinded by desire, he did not notice the calm candour of his penitent, but took the acts of adoration addressed to the Almighty for so many mute avowals made to himself.

      However, he had still fears, and regretted having advanced too far to be able to retreat. All his prudence and cowardice returned to him, and he impatiently awaited the beadle’s return. As soon as he caught sight of him he exclaimed:

      “Well?”

      “I gave the book,” answered the beadle.

      “To the young lady herself?”

      “Yes, to the young lady.”

      The beadle made this answer with superb self-possession. On his way back he regretted having given Marius the prayer-book, and, as he saw that he had performed his errand very badly, he determined to lie in order to deserve the abbé’s good will.

      Donadéi felt somewhat reassured. He judged that if the young girl felt offended at the note, she would burn it. Hazard, forgetting a prayer-book, had hastened a solution that he had been seeking so long. He had now only to wait.

      The next morning, he received the visit of a veiled lady whose features he was unable to distinguish. This person handed him a letter and promptly withdrew. The missive only contained these words: “Yes, tonight!” Donadéi was beside himself with delight, and set about making his preparations for departure.

      If anyone had followed the veiled lady, they would have seen her join the gallant Sauvaire who was awaiting her in the Rue du Petit Chantier. She raised her veil: it was Clairon.

      “He’s a very nice fellow that abbé,” she said, on reaching the master-stevedore.

      “Does he please you? So much the better!” answered Sauvaire. And they went off bursting with laughter.

      At about half-past nine in the evening, Clairon and Sauvaire were again in the Rue du Petit Chantier. They walked slowly, stopping at each step as if waiting for someone. Clairon, who was dressed simply in a black woollen gown, had her face hidden beneath a thick veil. Sauvaire was disguised as a commissionaire.

      “Here’s Marius,” the latter suddenly exclaimed.

      “Are you ready?” inquired the young man in an undertone, as soon as he was close to them. “Do you know your parts well?”

      “Of course!” answered the master-stevedore. “You’ll see how we can act. Ah! the good joke! I shall be laughing over it for the next six months.”

      “Go on to the abbé’s, we will wait for you here. Be prudent.”

      Sauvaire went and knocked at Donadéi’s door. It was opened by the abbé himself who was attired in a travelling suit and seemed very excited.

      “What do you want?” he inquired roughly, disappointed at seeing a man before him.

      “I have come with a young lady,” answered the sham commissionaire.

      “Good, let her come in quickly.”

      “She would not come up to the door.”

      “Ah!”

      “She said like this: ‘Tell the gentleman that I prefer going straight to the carriage.’”

      “Wait a minute. I have something to take with me.”

      “Yes, but you see the young lady is afraid, standing in the middle of the Boulevard.”

      “Then run quick and tell her that the post-chaise is at the corner of the Rue des Tyrans. Let her get in. I shall be there in five minutes.”

      Donadéi banged the door to, and Sauvaire held his sides and almost split with silent laughter. This adventure beat everything he had ever heard of.

      He returned to the Rue du Petit Chantier, where Clairon and Marius were awaiting him.

      “Everything is proceeding marvellously well,” he said to them in an undertone, “the abbé falls into the trap with angelic innocence. I know where the post-chaise is.”

      “I noticed it coming along,” said Marius, “it is at the corner of the Rue des Tyrans.”

      “That’s it, there is not a moment to spare, the abbé has promised to be there in five minutes.”

      All three set off along the Boulevard de la Corderie, as far as the Rue des Tyrans, skirting the houses.