THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя
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no!” mercilessly answered the old woman, “I want her to go to prison. I have waited too long already. Yesterday, again, she failed to meet a bill of a thousand francs which she had made payable here. She signed that bill ‘Sauvaire,’ the name of one of her admirers, no doubt.”
The master-stevedore, on hearing himself referred to, started. The sum of a thousand alarmed him.
“You say you have an acceptance of a thousand francs signed ‘Sauvaire’?” he inquired, with an appearance of something very much like terror.
“Yes, sir,” answered the old woman. “I brought it with me, it is in my basket.”
“Show it me, if you please.”
Sauvaire turned the bill over in his fingers, studying the handwriting very closely, and was confounded.
“By Jupiter,” he exclaimed, “it’s perfectly imitated!”
He leant over towards Armande, who was doubled up with grief, and continued in a dry tone of voice:
“Look here, my dear, no nonsense! I will never pay that, you know. The deuce! I’d willingly give you a hundred francs; but a thousand! It’s too much.”
He no longer spoke familiarly to her, he even began to regret his excursion into the demimonde of Marseille.
“Oh! That’s not the only one I’ve got,” continued Madame Mercier; “I’ve many others in my possession bearing different names. However, if this one were paid, I would agree not to say anything. I would continue to wait.”
Marius’ sensible remarks had made her understand that it would be better not to lodge a complaint, and as she had Sauvaire beside her she was in hopes he would pay. She became quite tender, changed her plans and began to excuse Armande.
“After all,” she said, “I don’t know that the other bills are false. The poor little woman has had a rough time. You must not be angry with her, sir. She is a very good person at heart.” And she began to shed warm tears.
Marius could not restrain a smile. Sauvaire walked up and down, excited, grumbling angrily. He cared very little about Armande’s infamous conduct, he was simply irritated at the struggle between egotism and generosity that was taking place within him.
“No, decidedly!” he exclaimed at last, “I can do nothing.”
Armande, buried in her armchair, continued sobbing in a low, brokenhearted manner. This woman who had known all the delight of luxury and adoration, suffered bitterly at having fallen so low. There she was, degraded, with her misery and shame brought home to her, and she was seized with despair when her thoughts went back to her elegance and wealth of former times. She would never rise again; she would fall still lower, become the last of creatures. And she was all the more upset at the thought that her disgrace would be public. The presence of Sauvaire and Marius gave her additional pain.
Her silent grief produced a strange effect on Marius, who was weak in the presence of tears. He would willingly have given the old woman her thousand francs if he had had them. After a painful silence he addressed Sauvaire who was taking great strides about the room, very much annoyed.
“Come, sir,” he said to him, “this woman must be saved. Her own sobs plead her cause better than I could do. You are fond of her and will not abandon her in her despair.”
“Eh! Yes, I was fond of her,” answered the master-stevedore sharply, “and I think I have shown it sufficiently, during the last three months. Do you know that I have already spent nearly five thousand francs with her. I’ll give no more. So much the worse! She must get out of it as she can. It would be a thousand francs thrown into the street. What enjoyment shall I have for this money if I give it her?”
“You will have done a good action. Her behaviour is scandalous, and I am not trying to excuse her; only, I think I can guess how it was she became a forger, and I could plead her cause.”
“Oh! all that has nothing to do with me. She did what she pleased. You see I am not angry. I am simply going to place myself beyond all this disagreeable business.”
Marius was getting discouraged, he remembered what Fine had related to him about the master-stevedore’s vanity, and he continued in a careless way:
“Let’s say no more about it. I spoke to you thus because I knew you were very rich and very generous. Sooner or later the account of your good action would have been mooted abroad, and you would have won, in this affair, more than a thousand francs worth of praise.”
“Do you think so?” asked Sauvaire hesitating.
“I am certain. Few men would be so generous, and for that reason it would be positively glorious to save this woman. But let us say no more about it.”
Sauvaire ceased walking about. He stopped in the centre of the room and began to think.
Madame Mercier, who saw him hesitating, and who was experiencing thrills of desire, at the idea of receiving a thousand francs, thought she had better intervene. She had resumed her tearful voice and her humble, gentle manner:
“Ah! sir,” she said to Sauvaire, “if you only knew how this poor little woman adores you! There are very wealthy men who have tried to take your place. She has refused all offers, and it is perhaps that which has placed her in straitened circumstances and prevented her repairing the faults she has committed. You cannot imagine how closely she clings to you.”
The master-stevedore felt very much flattered at these remarks. From the moment his self-esteem was in question the matter bore a different complexion.
“Very well! Be it so,” he said, “I’ll give the thousand francs. I’ll take them to you tomorrow evening. Now withdraw. Leave madame alone.”
The old woman bowed with servile humility and went quietly away, closing the doors without the least noise.
Armande had raised her head. Her face flushed with tears seemed to have grown older. All upset with fright and feverish with shame, she rose with difficulty and wanted to kneel down before Marius and Sauvaire.
The young man held her up whilst the master-stevedore said:
“Come! my dear, it’s all over. I accept your thanks, and trust my good action will be profitable to you.”
The truth was that Sauvaire no longer found any charm in Armande. He had just perceived that the poor creature was faded, and he had received too hard a lesson to forget himself any longer in the boudoirs of the demimonde. He began to prefer the rosette.
The two men withdrew, and at the door Armande warmly kissed Marius’ hand. She saw that he felt real and profound pity for her, and she thanked him for having saved her.
The following night Sauvaire called to fetch Marius to accompany him to Madame Mercier’s. The female usurer occupied a filthy house in the Rue du Pavé d’Amour. The two visitors ascended three flights of stairs and knocked, without obtaining an answer, at a blackened, damp door. The noise they made brought out a neighbour who informed them that the “wicked old woman” had been arrested that morning.
“The police,” said this person, “had been on her track for some days. It seems a complaint had been lodged against her. All the tenants were delighted at her arrest. She only just had time to burn the papers likely to compromise her.”
Marius understood that Armande had been saved by Providence. He made inquiries of the people at the house and acquired the certitude that the old woman had burnt all the acceptances signed by the lorette, fearing that their possession might constitute other charges against her; for she guessed that if Armande found herself implicated, she would tell the truth and give the most overwhelming details. Besides, by destroying the securities she lost nothing, as she had long since recovered her advances.
Sauvaire was particularly delighted at their adventure. He carried off the thousand francs triumphantly. He had been enabled to give a proof of his generosity without spending a sou. It was all profit.
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