THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя
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to the little one. His plan consisted in keeping it near him, and bringing it up with care, so as to endeavour to set its mind, also, on religion. However, he could not foresee the future. The only thing he wanted was to have all the chances on his own side. In place of immediate ruin he preferred the risk of a catastrophe in the distance. His adopted son, if son it were, would grow up under his eyes, and he would endeavour to get rid of him in an upright way, either by persuading him to take Holy Orders, or by getting him killed in warfare, after having discovered a legal means to rob him of what belonged to him. If it were a girl, he would make her take the veil. In any case, boy or girl, he must prevent the child falling into the hands of the Cayols at any cost.
We now know the plan that M. de Cazalis had formed. He came to see Blanche every morning, accompanied by a doctor who gave him daily information as to her condition. When she ventured to make a timid complaint as to the way in which she was imprisoned, he flew into a passion, spoke of the honour of the family, and made her crimson by shouting out to her that she ought to bury herself in a tomb of her own accord, to hide her shame from the world. He wanted to finish with the business, for he was anxious to return to Paris, where his Parliamentary duties required his presence, it being the middle of the Session; but he had made up his mind not to leave until he had placed the newborn babe in sure hands.
Each day he made Madame Lambert give an exact account of what had occurred during his absence and was particular in asking her if she had seen anyone loitering near the house. The guardian set his mind at ease, no one had approached the place, and he began to think there would be no contention for the child.
And so he was immensely delighted when he was informed one morning, that the birth would in all probability take place that same evening.
But Blanche had heard what had been said in an undertone, and when her uncle and the doctor had left her room, she dragged herself to the window and fastened a piece of white rag to the shutter.
CHAPTER III
WHICH TELLS OF THE EFFECTS PRODUCED BY A PIECE OF WHITE RAG
To understand the events that are about to follow, it is necessary to give a short description of the cottage on the seashore. It was built in a rather peculiar way: it had two doors, one in the front which gave access to the rooms below, and the other at the back which led straight from the ground to the rooms upstairs. The cottage was built against the rock, so that the first floor, seen from the country, appeared to be only a ground floor.
The room occupied by Blanche was upstairs to the left of the staircase and had windows facing the sea. Following on to this room was a smaller one which served as a dressing-room, and into this opened the door at the back. This door had a rusty lock and had perhaps not turned on its hinges for twenty years. The key to it being lost, it was never used.
When M. de Cazalis took the house, he had not thought of troubling about this exit, which seemed closed for good.
Blanche, some days before being laid up, while looking for a pin she had dropped, was very much surprised to come across a key hidden between the floor and the wall, and her first thought was that it must belong to the door in question. She was not mistaken: it turned in the lock, and pulling the door towards her she was able to gaze out on the country. She placed her discovery in safety, and spoke to no one about it, being forewarned by a sort of instinct, that she would in future have a means of safety in her hands.
On the day she was taken ill she fastened a piece of white rag to the window shutter, and then, after taking the key from the bottom of a drawer where she had hidden it, went back to bed and slipped it under the bolster.
As soon as M. de Cazalis heard that the baby would be born that evening he resolved to stay in the house, and not leave it until the child was in his possession. He retained a doctor, sent for the midwife, and despatched a messenger to Marseille to fetch a wet-nurse whom he had engaged some time previous, and who was a creature of his own, on whose fidelity he could rely.
When these precautions had been taken he awaited events. To pass the time, he went for a walk beside the sea, feeling very anxious notwithstanding his busy frame of mind, and thinking he would be lost if the infant escaped him. He calmed himself, a little, by reflecting that such a thing was impossible, as he would not leave Blanche’s door until the newborn babe had been taken away by the wet-nurse. He walked for several hours along the beach casting, from time to time, a glance at the windows of his niece’s room. Madame Lambert was to come and call him as soon as all was over. Night closed in, and he ended by seating himself among the boulders, watching the shadows flitting across the cottage windows.
In the meanwhile poor Blanche was in agony, and at one time doctor and midwife despaired of her life. She had been so weakened by sorrow, that she was hardly able to bear up against the present physical trial. She had a son, but she did not hear the poor little thing’s first cry: pale, insensible, and with the appearance of a corpse, she was lying on her couch of pain. The infant was placed beside her, the wet-nurse not having yet arrived, and Madame Lambert ran to inform M. de Cazalis that everything had ended well, and his niece was dying.
The deputy came in all haste, very much annoyed to find that the wet-nurse was not there. He, however, restrained himself, so as not to show his anxiety before the doctor and midwife. At heart he cared very little about his niece’s sufferings, but in presence of her pale exhausted form extended on the bed, he had to assume a concerned and affectionate manner. Turning to the doctor he inquired if there was still danger.
“Not at present,” was the answer, “and I think I can withdraw.”
Then pointing to the midwife:
“Madame’s presence will be sufficient, only I must impress on you that the patient must be spared all worry and excitement. Her life depends on it. I will come again tomorrow.”
The wet-nurse arrived just as M. de Cazalis was seeing the doctor out. He returned with her into the house, and severely upbraided her as they went upstairs to Blanche’s room. The wet-nurse excused herself as best she could and the deputy gave her his final instructions. She was to take away the newborn child and watch over him from hour to hour, with the greatest vigilance. The following morning she was to leave for the village where she resided, and which was situated in an out-of-the-way corner in the department of the Basses-Alpes. He hoped they would not go and ferret out his great nephew at the bottom of such a hole as that.
He found Madame Lambert and the midwife silently bending over the patient’s bed, but when he approached to take the child, so as to give him to the nurse, he met Blanche’s eyes. They had just opened wide, and were fixed upon him. He had the courage, however, to stretch out his arm.
Then the young woman making a great effort succeeded in sitting up in bed and pressed the child to her bosom.
“What do you want?” she said to M. de Cazalis in a choking undertone.
The deputy started back.
“The wet-nurse is here,” he replied, hesitating. “You know what was agreed. You must give her your child.”
He had told her a few days before the event that the honour of the family depended on Philippe’s child being sent away from the moment of its birth. She had shown herself as pliant as usual on hearing her uncle’s brief and cruel words. But she had hoped she would have been able to keep the newborn babe with her at least for twenty-four hours, for it was on that hope she had based her plan for placing him out of harm’s way.
When she heard M. de Cazalis insist on the child being instantly handed over to the nurse, she imagined all was lost. If they took him away at once, her plan was upset, she had no time to put him beyond the danger that she foresaw, with her motherly anxiety, would be in store for him, and she became still paler than before, if possible, as she pressed him to her bosom.
“Oh! for mercy’s sake!” she exclaimed, “leave him me until tomorrow morning.”
She felt herself weak, and was afraid of showing cowardice and obeying.
The deputy continued with a voice