The Mysteries of Paris, Volume 5 of 6. Эжен Сю
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monseigneur, the game is won, and ours."
"I hope so. A ferocious cupidity, a brutal passion, have impelled the injurer of Louise Morel to the most odious crimes. It is in his passion and his cupidity that he shall find the terrible punishment of his crimes, – a punishment which, moreover, shall not be without fruit for his victims, for you know the aim of all the Creole's wiles."
"Cecily! Cecily! Never did greater wickedness, never more dangerous corruption, never blacker soul have served for the accomplishment of a more strict morality, a more just result! And David, monseigneur, what does he say to this arrangement?"
"Approves of everything. At the pitch of contempt and horror which he has reached for this creature, he sees in her only the instrument of a just vengeance. 'If this accursed woman ever could deserve any commiseration after all the ill she has done me,' he said to me, 'it would be by devoting herself to the remorseless punishment of this scoundrel, whose exterminating demon she may become.'"
A servant having knocked at the door, Murphy went out, but soon returned with two letters, only one of which was for Rodolph.
"A line from Madame Georges," he said, as he hastily perused it.
"Well, monseigneur, and La Goualeuse?"
"There can be no further doubt," exclaimed Rodolph, after having read, "there is some dark plot afoot. On the evening of the day when the poor girl disappeared from the farm, and at the instant when Madame Georges was about to inform me of this event, a man unknown to her, sent express and on horseback, came as from me to tell her that I was aware of the sudden disappearance of Fleur-de-Marie, and that in a few days I should take her back to the farm. In spite of this, Madame Georges, uneasy at my silence with respect to her protégée, cannot, as she says, resist the desire to hear how her dear daughter is, for so she calls her."
"It is very strange, monseigneur."
"What could be the motive for carrying off Fleur-de-Marie?"
"Monseigneur!" said Murphy, suddenly, "the Countess Sarah is no stranger to this carrying off."
"Sarah! And what makes you think so?"
"Compare this event with her denunciations against Madame d'Harville."
"You are right!" cried Rodolph, struck with a sudden light, "it is evident – now I understand. Yes, constantly the one calculation. The countess persists in thinking that by breaking down all the affections which she supposes me to form, she will make me feel the necessity of attaching myself to her. This is as odious as it is absurd. Still, such unworthy persecution must be put a stop to. It is not only myself, but all that deserve respect, interest, and pity, that this woman assails. Send M. de Graün instantly and officially to the countess and let him say that I have the certain assurance that she has been instrumental in carrying off Fleur-de-Marie, and if she does not give me at once such information as is necessary for me to find the poor girl, I will show no mercy; and then M. de Graün will go to the law officers of the crown."
"According to Madame d'Harville's letter, La Goualeuse must be in St. Lazare."
"Yes, but Rigolette declares that she saw her free, and quit the prison. There is some mystery which I must clear up."
"I will instantly go and give the Baron de Graün your orders, monseigneur. But allow me to open this letter, which comes from my correspondent at Marseilles, to whom I had recommended the Chourineur, as he was to facilitate the passage of the poor devil to Algeria."
"Well, has he set sail?"
"Monseigneur, it is really singular!"
"What is it?"
"After having waited for a long time at Marseilles for a ship to convey him to Algeria, the Chourineur, who seemed every day more sad and serious, suddenly protested, on the very day fixed for his embarkation, that he should prefer returning to Paris."
"What a whim!"
"Although my correspondent had, as agreed, placed a considerable sum at the disposal of the Chourineur, he had only taken sufficient for his return to Paris, where he must shortly arrive."
"Then he will explain to us his change of resolution. But despatch De Graün immediately to the Countess Macgregor, and go yourself to St. Lazare, and inquire about Fleur-de-Marie."
After the lapse of an hour, the Baron de Graün returned from the Countess Sarah Macgregor's. In spite of his habitual and official sang-froid, the diplomatist seemed overwhelmed; the groom of the chambers had scarcely admitted him before Rodolph observed his paleness.
"Well, De Graün, what ails you? Have you seen the countess?"
"Your royal highness must prepare for very painful intelligence – so unexpected – the Countess Macgregor – "
"The countess, then, is dead?"
"No, but her life is despaired of; she has been stabbed with a stiletto."
"Horrible!" exclaimed Rodolph. "Who committed the crime?"
"That is not ascertained; the murder was accompanied with robbery; a large quantity of jewels have been stolen."
"And how is she now?"
"She has not recovered her senses yet; her brother is in despair."
"Send some one daily to make inquiries, my dear De Graün."
At this moment Murphy entered, having returned from St. Lazare.
"Sad news!" said Rodolph to him; "Sarah has been stabbed."
"Ah, monseigneur, though very guilty, one must still pity her."
"Yes, such a fearful end! And La Goualeuse?"
"Set at liberty by the intercession of Madame d'Harville."
"That is impossible! for Madame d'Harville entreats me to take the necessary steps for getting the poor, unhappy girl out of prison."
"Yet an elderly woman came to St. Lazare, bringing an order to set Fleur-de-Marie at liberty, and they both quitted the prison together."
"As Rigolette said. But this elderly woman, who can she be? The Countess Sarah alone can clear this up, and she is in no state to afford us particulars."
"But her brother, Tom Seyton, may throw some light on it, he has always been in his sister's confidence."
"His sister is dying, and if there is any fresh plot, he will not say a word. But," added Rodolph, "we must learn the name of the person who liberated Fleur-de-Marie, and then we shall arrive at something."
"True, monseigneur."
"Try, then, and find out this person, my dear De Graün; and if you do not succeed, put your M. Badinot on the scent."
"Your royal highness may rely on my zeal."
"Upon my word, monseigneur," said Murphy, "it is, perhaps, fortunate that the Chourineur returns to us, his services may be useful."
"You are right; and now I am impatient to see my brave preserver arrive in Paris, for I never can forget that I owe my life to him."
CHAPTER III
THE CLERK'S OFFICE
Several days had elapsed since Jacques Ferrand had taken Cecily into his service. We will conduct the reader (who already knows the place) into the notary's office, whilst his clerks are at breakfast. Unheard of, extravagant, wonderful thing! Instead of the meagre and repulsive broth brought each morning to these young men by the late Madame Séraphin, an enormous cold roast turkey, placed in a large box, was enthroned in the centre of one of the office-tables, flanked by two new loaves, a Dutch cheese, and three bottles of wine; an ancient leaden inkstand served to hold a mixture of pepper and salt. Each clerk, provided with a knife and a strong appetite, awaited the arrival of the head clerk with hungry impatience, without whom they could not, without a breach of etiquette, begin to breakfast. A revolution so radical in Jacques Ferrand's office bespoke some extraordinary domestic mutation. The following conversation may throw some light on this phenomenon:
"Here is a turkey who did not expect when he was ushered into life ever to appear on the breakfast-table