The Mysteries of Paris. Эжен Сю
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Come, let us have something lively now. What do you say, master; will you guess a charade or two, just to enliven us a bit?"
Instead of replying, Rodolph addressed the black doctor:
"Proceed, David! And if I do wrong, may the Almighty punish me alone!"
The negro rang; two men entered. David pointed to a side door, which opened into an adjoining closet.
The chair in which the Schoolmaster remained bound, so as to be incapable of the smallest movement, was then rolled into the anteroom.
"Are you going to murder me, then? Mercy! mercy!" shrieked the wretched man, as he was being removed.
"Gag him!" cried the negro, entering the closet.
Rodolph and the Chourineur were left alone.
"M. Rodolph," said the Chourineur, pale and trembling, "M. Rodolph, what is going to be done? I never felt so frightened. Pray speak; I must be dreaming, surely. What have they done to the Schoolmaster? He does not cry out—all is so silent; it makes me more fearful still!"
At this moment David issued from the cabinet; his complexion had that livid hue peculiar to the negro countenance, while his lips were ashy pale.
The men who had conveyed the Schoolmaster into the closet now replaced him, still bound in his chair, on the spot he had previously occupied in Rodolph's presence.
"Unbind him, and remove the gag!" exclaimed David.
There was a moment of fearful silence while the two attendants relieved the Schoolmaster of his gag and untied the cords which bound him to the chair. As the last ligature gave way, he sprang up, his hideous countenance expressing rage, horror, and alarm. He advanced one step with extended hands, then, falling back into the chair, he uttered a cry of unspeakable agony, and, raising his hands towards the ceiling, exclaimed, with maddened fury:
"Blind, by heaven!"
"Give him this pocketbook, David," said Rodolph.
The negro placed a small pocketbook in the trembling hands of the Schoolmaster.
"You will find in that pocketbook wherewithal to provide yourself with a home and the means of living for the remainder of your days. Go, seek out some safe and solitary dwelling, where, by humble repentance, you may seek to propitiate an offended God! You are free! Go and repent; the Lord is merciful, and his ears are ever open to such as truly repent."
"Blind! quite blind!" repeated the Schoolmaster, mechanically grasping the pocketbook.
"Open the doors—let him depart!" said Rodolph.
"Blind! blind!" repeated the bewildered and discomfited ruffian.
"You are free; you have the means of providing for yourself; begone!"
"And whither am I to go?" exclaimed he, with the most unbounded rage. "You have taken away my sight; how, then, do I know in which direction to go? Call you not this a crime thus to abuse your power over one unhappily in your hands? Thus to—"
"To abuse my power!" repeated Rodolph, in a solemn voice. "And how have you employed the power granted to you? How used your superior strength?"
"O Death! how gladly would I now accept you!" cried the wretched man. "To be henceforward at every one's mercy—to fear the weakest, the smallest object!—a child might now master me! Gracious God! what will become of me?"
"You have plenty of money."
"It will be taken from me!" cried the ruffian.
"Mark those words—'It will be taken from me!' See how they fill you with fear and dread! You have plundered so many, unmindful of their helpless, destitute condition—begone!"
"For the love of God," cried the Schoolmaster, in a suppliant tone, "let some person lead me forth! What will become of me in the streets? Oh, in mercy kill me! take my miserable life! but do not turn me out thus wretched, thus helpless! Kill, for pity's sake, and save me from being crushed beneath the first vehicle I encounter!"
"No! Live and repent."
"Repent!" shouted the Schoolmaster, in a fearful voice. "Never! I will live for vengeance—for deep and fearful vengeance!" And again he threw himself from the chair, holding his clenched fists in a menacing attitude towards the ceiling, as though calling upon Heaven to witness the fixedness of his resolve. In an instant his step faltered; he again hesitated, as though fearful of a thousand dangers.
"Alas! alas! I cannot proceed—I dare not move! And I, lately so strong and so dreaded by all—look at me now! Yet no one pities me—no one cares for me—no hand is stretched out to help the wretched blind upon his lonely way!"
It is impossible to express the stupefaction and alarm expressed by the countenance of the Chourineur during this terrible scene. His rough features exhibited the deepest compassion for his fallen foe, and approaching Rodolph, he said, in a low tone:
"M. Rodolph, he was an accomplished villain, and has only got what he richly deserves; he wanted to murder me a little while ago, too. But he is now blind—he does not even know how to find his way out of the house, and he may be crushed to death in the streets; may I lead him to some safe place, where, at least, he may remain quiet for a time?"
"Nobly said!" replied Rodolph, kindly pressing the hand of the Chourineur. "Go, my worthy fellow! Go with him, by all means!"
The Chourineur approached the Schoolmaster and laid his hand on his shoulder; the miserable villain started.
"Who touches me?" asked he, in a husky voice.
"It is I."
"I? Who? Who are you—friend or foe?"
"The Chourineur."
"And you have come to avenge yourself now you find I am incapable of protecting myself, I suppose?"
"Nothing of the sort. Here, take my arm; you cannot find the way out by yourself; let me lead you—there—"
"You, Chourineur? You!"
"Yes, for all you doubt it; but you vex me by not seeming to like my help. Come, hold tight by me; I will see you all right before I leave you."
"Are you quite sure you do not mean me some harm? that you are only laying a trap to ensnare me?"
"I am not such a scoundrel as to take advantage of your misfortune. But let us begone. Come on, old fellow; it will be daylight directly."
"Day! which I shall never more behold! Day and night to me are henceforward all the same!" exclaimed the Schoolmaster, in such piteous tones that Rodolph, unable longer to endure this scene, abruptly retired, followed by David, who first dismissed his two assistants.
The Chourineur and the Schoolmaster remained alone. After a lengthened silence the latter spoke first, by inquiring whether it were really true that the pocketbook presented to him contained money.
"Yes, I can positively speak to its containing five thousand francs," replied the Chourineur, "since I put them in it with my own hand. With that sum you could easily place yourself to board with some quiet, good sort of people, who would look to you—in some retired spot in the country, where you might pass your days happily. Or would you like me to take you to the ogress's?"
"She! she would not leave me a rap."
"Well, then, will you go to Bras Rouge?"
"No, no! He would poison me first and rob me afterwards."
"Well, then, where shall I take you?"
"I know not. Happily for both, you are no thief, Chourineur. Here, take my pocketbook, and conceal it carefully in my waistcoat, that La Chouette may not see it; she would plunder me of every sou."
"Oh, bless you! the Chouette is quite safe just now; she lies in the Hôpital Beaujon. While I was struggling with you both to-night I happened to dislocate her leg, so she's obliged to lie up for the present."
"But what, in