Chapter XXVIII: The Audacious Villain.--The Coward.--The Drunkard

Fortune seemed to smile anew upon the wretches who, to obtain money, had been false to honor and had defied all the laws of society; it was a fresh temptation, which impelled them toward crime and prevented them from turning back. The first success seems to warrant impunity for the future; the guilty man grows bolder, and one who enters in fear and trembling the path of vice soon casts aside all shame and seeks to surpass those who have led him on to dishonor.

The gaming table, to which Edouard abandoned himself more madly than ever, had ceased to be unfavorable to him; he won constantly, and the wretch congratulated himself upon having found an expedient to restore his fortune. Dufresne and Lampin taught him all the methods employed by blacklegs to play, without risk of loss, with such gulls as would play with them. Then the worthy trio would laugh among themselves at the expense of the dupes they had ruined, and each of them tried to invent some more rascally trick, in order to outdo his comrades.

Lampin lived with his two friends; Dufresne had convinced Edouard that it was not safe to break with him. Moreover, Lampin was endowed with an imagination fertile in stratagems and in skilful devices; he was a great help to swindlers.

When fortune had been favorable, or they had found some new dupe, they thought only of enjoying themselves. They would take to their rooms some of those women who go everywhere, and who, for money, sell themselves to the mason, the pensioner, the banker, or the bootblack, indiscriminately. Such women alone were suitable companions for men who took part in the most horrible orgies, the most unbridled debauchery.

One evening, when they were waiting for Lampin before taking their seats at the table, he arrived laughing, and hastened to inform his friends, as a very amusing piece of news, that a certain note had been declared a forgery, and that the discounter was out of pocket to the amount of the note. Edouard was horrified and turned pale; Dufresne reassured him by declaring that they could never be discovered; they had changed their names and abode since then, and no one could recognize them; there were no proofs to be produced against them. Lampin alone might be sought for; but he was so accomplished in changing his face and his whole person, that he snapped his fingers at the police.

Edouard was not reassured; however, he tried to divert his thoughts and to drive away his fears. Two young women, frequent guests of these gentlemen, arrived opportunely to enliven the company.

“Parbleu,” said Lampin, “Véronique-la-Blonde must tell us some amusing story; she always knows the most interesting news; that will brace up our friend Bellecour--this was Edouard’s new name--who is rather in the dumps to-night.”

“Oh! I am not just in the mood for fooling,” replied Véronique, with a sigh; “I am sort of upside down myself to-day.”

“It seems to me that you ought to be used to that.”

“Oh! don’t talk a lot of nonsense. Really, my heart is terribly sore.”

“The deuce you say! Have you had trouble with the beaks?”

“No, it ain’t that; but I’ve got a friend who’s mixed up in a bad piece of business, and that troubles me.”

“What business is it? Tell us; perhaps we can help her out of it.”

“Oh, no! The law has got its hand on her, and yet the poor child is as innocent as you and me.”

“The devil! that’s saying a good deal; but tell us what it’s all about.”

“You must know that my friend, who has only been in the business a little while, was formerly a servant, a lady’s maid in several houses; among others she worked for a widow lady who died a little while ago. Well, would you believe that they have taken it into their heads, in the quarter, that that lady was poisoned! That report came to the ears of the authorities; they dug up the dead woman, and it seems that the doctors say the same thing as the neighbors. So they looked into the matter, and they’ve arrested my friend, because she worked for the lady at that time; but the poor child is as pure as this glass of wine, I swear.”

Dufresne listened attentively to Véronique’s story, while Lampin toyed with the other young woman, and Edouard, who had relapsed into his reflections concerning a forgery of which he knew that he was guilty, had thrown himself into an easy-chair in a corner of the room, paying no heed to a story which did not interest him in the least.

“This affair seems to me to be a most remarkable one,” said Dufresne, drawing his chair nearer to Véronique’s; “but what is your friend’s name?”

“Suzanne; she is a good child, on my honor, and incapable of tearing a hair from anybody’s head, I don’t care whose.”

At the name of Suzanne, Dufresne showed signs of perturbation. But instantly recovering himself, he glanced about the room, saw that Murville was not listening, and that Lampin was busy; and he continued to question Véronique.

“It seems to me that your Suzanne will have difficulty in getting out of the scrape, if, as you say, this lady had no other servant than her?”

“Oh! that don’t make any difference; Suzanne suspects who it was that did the job.”

“Really?”

“Yes, my friend. A young man, a friend of the widow, her lover, used to come to see her; he was a gambler, a rascal, a sharper.”

“All right! all right! I understand!--Well?”

“The poor woman ruined herself for the good-for-nothing!--Wait a minute, I know her name--Madame Dou--Dol------”

“No matter! no matter!” said Dufresne, abruptly interrupting Véronique, “I don’t need to know her name.”

“That’s so, that don’t make any difference about the business. However, this lady was mad over her lover, who didn’t care anything for her and robbed her all he could. It seems that they had a row toward the end, and that the monster must have poisoned her to revenge himself because she proposed to tell about all his goings-on.”

“That is very probable.”

“Ah! men are vile dogs nowadays. They kill a woman as quick as a fly!”

“What does your Suzanne intend to do?”

“Oh! she has already told the police all this, so that they can get track of the criminal, who is now I don’t know where.”

“That is very wise, and I hope they will discover the truth.”

Dufresne said these last words in an undertone. Despite the assurance which he affected, the discomposure of his features betrayed the sensations that agitated him.

The evening came to an end earlier than usual. Edouard was anxious, and Dufresne also seemed greatly excited. They sent the two young women away. Lampin, who alone had retained his good spirits, poured out bumper after bumper for his friends, making fun of their gloom. Edouard drank to forget himself, but Dufresne was not inclined to bear them company, and Lampin got tipsy alone, trying in vain to make his companions laugh.

“Come, come, my boys, this won’t work,” he said, filling the glasses; “you’re as solemn to-night as gallows-birds! I forgive Bellecour, who is only a chicken-hearted fellow anyway! But you over there--Vermontré--Courval--Dufresne--or whatever you choose to call yourself----”

“Hold your tongue, you idiot!” cried Dufresne angrily; “I forbid you to call me by that last name now!”

“You forbid me! Well, upon my soul! what a savage look! You used to call yourself that, when you lived with that poor Dolban, who thought you really loved her, and who----”

“Hold your tongue, I say, you sot!”

“Sot! ah! it sounds well for you to call me a sot, when you slept under the table last night! and when you drink punch like a hole in the ground! But never mind, I don’t quarrel with my friends, and we are friends, after all. It is plain enough that you are both out of temper; Edouard on account of that scrap of paper which worries him so, and you--Oh! as to you, I don’t know what the matter is; it must be some martingale that didn’t work, or some friend that took you in, or else it’s--But I say, what was that Véronique was telling you, about her poisoning, and her widow, and the lover who wasn’t her lover? Do you know that’s as like your intimacy with old Dolban as one drop of water is like another! If it was you--Ha! ha! you’re quite capable of such a game!”

“For heaven’s sake, go to bed, Lampin; you see that Edouard is asleep already, and you will wake him up with your laughter.”

“Well! what’s the harm if I should wake him? The deuce! You’re terribly careful of him to-night! But I propose to laugh, to laugh and drink; and I don’t propose to go to bed, do you understand? I feel in the mood for raising the deuce! I’m sorry I let our girls go; I’m just the man to deal with ’em.--Tra la la la.”

“Do you mean that you don’t propose to go to bed at all to-night?”

“I will go to bed when I please, you fox. Oh! I see that you’re in an ugly mood, I tell you. You are keeping something from us; Véronique’s story dried you up altogether, my poor Dufresne!”

“You villain, will you hold your tongue?” cried Dufresne, seizing Lampin by the throat; he struggled, stepped back and almost fell upon Edouard, who had fallen asleep in a corner of the room, and who, being awakened with a start, glanced about him in terror, crying:

“Here they are! here they are! they have come to arrest me!”

“To arrest you,” said Dufresne; “who, for God’s sake?”

“Ha! ha! what fools you are!” cried Lampin, rising and trying to maintain his equilibrium; “one of them is dreaming and the other one doesn’t see it!”

“Ah! it was only a dream,” said Edouard, passing his hand across his brow.

“Why, yes! you are a couple of babies; but, my boy, don’t take it into your head to grasp my windpipe again, or I shall lose my temper for good and all.”

“It’s getting late, messieurs,” said Dufresne; “I’m tired and I’m going to lie down!”

“Well, go! Our friend here will keep me company and finish up this bottle of rum.”

“No, I’m going to bed too; my head is in a whirl already.”

“Go to the devil! I will drink all by myself.”

“Once more, Lampin, don’t make so much noise; it may annoy the neighbors.”

“Let the neighbors go to grass! I don’t care a hang, and I’ll make more noise than ever.--Tra la la.”

Lampin sang at the top of his voice, as he drank a large glass of rum. Edouard and Dufresne had taken candles, to go to their bedroom, when there came three very loud knocks at the street door.

Dufresne started back in dismay, Edouard listened, trembling from head to foot, and Lampin threw himself on a couch.

“Somebody’s knocking,” said Edouard, looking at Dufresne.

“Yes, I heard it.”

“Well! so did I; I ain’t deaf, and they knocked loud enough anyway, but what difference does it make to us? We don’t expect anybody, for it’s nearly three o’clock in the morning; unless it’s our lady friends come back to rock us to sleep.”

“Hush! somebody is opening the door, I think.”

“Somebody must open the door to let them in! In a furnished lodging house, especially one of this kind, don’t people come in at all hours of the night? However, come what may, I snap my fingers at it, and I propose to keep on drinking.”

“I don’t hear anything more,” said Dufresne; “it evidently wasn’t for us.”

Edouard put his ear to the door opening on the landing, and listened attentively. Lampin resumed his singing, and tried to put to his lips a glass which his hand was no longer strong enough to raise. Suddenly Edouard seemed to become more excited.

“What is it?” Dufresne asked in an undertone.

“I hear several voices whispering; the noise is coming nearer--yes, they are coming up these stairs. Ah! there is no more doubt; they are coming to arrest us,--we are discovered!”

“Silence! what imprudence!” said Dufresne, trying to overcome his own alarm; “if they are really coming here, let us not lose our heads, and be careful what you say; above all things, do not call me Dufresne.”

“I don’t know where I am,” said Edouard, whose terror redoubled as the noise drew nearer.

“Well! I--I don’t know what my name is, myself,” said Lampin, dropping his glass; “but I tell you that they don’t want us.”

At that moment there was a ring at the door on the landing. Edouard fell, almost lifeless, on a chair; Dufresne remained standing in the middle of the room, motioning to the others not to stir. Soon there was another ring, accompanied by violent knocking.

“There’s no one here,” cried Lampin; “go to the devil!”

“Damn!” said Dufresne, “we must open the door now.--Who’s there?”

“Open, messieurs, or we shall be obliged to break in the door.”

“Break away, my friend!” said Lampin; “it’s all one to me! The house ain’t mine.”

Dufresne, seeing that there was no way to avoid it, decided to open the door, after motioning to the others to be prudent; but Lampin could no longer see, and Murville had lost his head completely.

Several gendarmes and a sergeant entered the apartment. At sight of them Dufresne turned pale. Edouard uttered a cry of alarm, and Lampin rolled from his chair to the floor.

“You must come with us, monsieur,” said the sergeant, addressing Dufresne. He tried to put a bold face upon the matter and asked insolently by what right they came to disturb his rest.

“Yes, by what right do you disturb respectable people in their pleasures?” stammered Lampin; “why, I will answer for my friend, body for body!”

“Your guarantee is of no value; we know you, Master Lampin.”

“Well, then you have a pleasant acquaintance, I flatter myself.”

“You must come with us, too.”

“I? Ah! that will be rather hard; I wouldn’t walk a step for a bowl of punch; judge whether I will go to prison.”

“As for monsieur,” said the sergeant, turning to Edouard, “I have no orders to arrest him, but I advise him to select his acquaintances more wisely.”

Edouard stood in a corner of the room, trembling, and with downcast eyes. He did not hear what was said to him, he was so thoroughly convinced that they were going to take him away that he fancied himself already confined in a dungeon, and had decided to confess his crime, in the hope that his outspokenness would move his judges to pity.

Dufresne was furious to find that he was to be arrested and that Edouard would not accompany him to prison.

“You have made a mistake, messieurs,” said he; “I have done nothing to be arrested for.”

“You are Dufresne, who lived with Madame Dolban?”

“You are mistaken, my name is Vermontré.”

“Oh! that’s the truth,” said Lampin, trying to stand up without the help of the gendarmes; “it’s at least two months that he’s been calling himself that.”

“It’s of no use for you to try to deny it. The police have been watching you for a long while, and when we heard of the murder of which you are accused, it was not difficult for us to find you, despite all the false names you have assumed.”

“Murder! murder!” exclaimed Lampin; “one moment, messieurs, I haven’t got anything to do with that. I thought that you came about the matter of the scrap of paper, which is only a trifle. But a murder! Damnation! let us understand each other. I am as white as snow, and Fluet, who’s over there in the corner, will tell you as much. We only worked on the writings, we two.”

“On the writings?”

“Yes; when I say we--why it was La Valeur, who stands shaking over there, that did most of it; but he writes mighty well! Ah! that was a good job! And the old Jew tumbled into it; so that we’ve eaten and drunk the stuff all up. If you would like to join us, I’m your man.”

The sergeant listened attentively, and Edouard’s terror, combined with Lampin’s fragments of sentences, led him to guess that those gentry were the authors of some rascality of a different sort from the affair which had brought him thither. The crime committed upon Madame Dolban was the occasion of that midnight visit, undertaken because they wished to make sure of Dufresne; the forgery had only been discovered the day before, and the police had not yet found the tracks of the culprits.

“After what I have heard, you will have to come with us too, monsieur,” said the sergeant to Edouard; “if you are innocent, it will be easy for you to clear your skirts.”

“Oh! I will confess everything,” said Edouard, allowing the gendarmes to lay hold of him.

“Well! you’re nothing but a fool, on the faith of Lampin! For my part, I won’t confess anything.--Come, my friends, carry me, if you want me to go with you.”

They dragged away Dufresne, who tried to resist. Edouard, on the contrary, allowed himself to be led away without uttering a word. As for Lampin, they were obliged to carry him; for he could not stand on his legs. The three men passed the rest of the night in prison.

Taken the next morning before an examining magistrate, in order to undergo a preliminary examination, Edouard trembled and stammered, but he had not the courage to deny his crime; in vain did Lampin, now thoroughly sober, impress upon him the importance of the replies he was to make, and teach him his lesson; Edouard promised him to be steadfast and to follow his advice; but in the magistrate’s presence the miserable wretch lost courage, and did not know what he said.

Edouard was confined with Lampin at La Force, until judgment should be pronounced upon him for the forgery. Dufresne was not with them; being accused of having poisoned Madame Dolban, he was to be tried before his two friends, and he had been taken to the Conciergerie.

Edouard, who had not taken the precaution to supply himself with money, was confined with Lampin in a pestilential room, in the midst of a multitude of wretches, all arrested for theft or offences of that nature. He slept upon a handful of straw, and his food was that supplied by the prison to those awaiting trial. Lampin gaily made the best of it; he sang and shouted and played the devil with the outcasts who surrounded him. But Edouard had not the courage of crime; he felt remorse and regret in the depths of his soul. He wept at night on the stone which served him as a bed, and his tears were a source of jest and witticisms to the miserable creatures confined with him.

During the day the prisoners were allowed to walk in a large courtyard; Edouard did not go with them, in order that he might be alone for a few moments, and at all events lament at liberty. He saw no one from outside; he had no friends; his companions in dissipation did not come to visit him in prison; and yet the other prisoners, who were no better than he, received visits every day and were not deserted by their worthy comrades. But Edouard bore the reputation among them of a weak and pusillanimous creature; men of that description are good for nothing; the slightest reverse discourages them, and cowards are as much despised by criminals as they are ignored by respectable people.

The memory of Adeline and her daughter recurred to Edouard’s mind; it is when we are unhappy that we remember those who truly love us. He had spurned his wife and child, and had abandoned them without taking pains to ascertain whether the unfortunate creatures could find means of subsistence; but he felt sure that Adeline would hasten to his side, to comfort him, and to mingle her tears with his, if she knew that he was in prison. Despite all the injury that he had done her, he knew enough not to doubt the warmth of her heart.

One day, Lampin approached Murville, and his joyous air seemed to announce good news.

“Are we pardoned?” Edouard at once asked him.

“Pardoned! oh, no! we needn’t expect that. Besides, you jackass, you made our affair so clear, that unless they are blind, they can’t help convicting us. Ah! if you had been another kind of man; if you had simply recited your lesson, we would have mixed the whole thing up so that they wouldn’t have seen anything but smoke; but you chatter like a magpie.”

“Do you forget that it was your fault that I was arrested? It was you who put those officers on the track.”

“Oh! my boy, that’s different; I was drunk, like a good fellow; I drank for you too, and in wine, as the proverb says,--_in vino_--the truth.--But after all, that isn’t what I wanted to talk about: our friend Dufresne is luckier than we are.”

“Have they given him his liberty?”

“Oh, no! but he has taken it. In other words, he has escaped from prison with two other prisoners. Bless my soul! my son, what a fellow that Dufresne is! He is a solid rascal, I tell you, and not soft like you. I will bet that he would set the prison on fire rather than stay there. When a man is like that, he don’t lack friends. Dufresne found acquaintances there; he has escaped, and he has done well; for they say that he is certain to be sentenced to death.”

“To death! Why, what has he done?”

“What has he done? Well, well! that’s a good one, that is. Have you just come out of a rat-hole? Do you mean to say that you don’t know why they pinched him?”

“I thought it was on account of that miserable note,--for the same reason that they took us.”

“Oh, no! it’s something better than that. But I do remember now, that fright acted on you like wine; you didn’t know what was going on. Let me tell you that Dufresne is accused of poisoning a certain Madame Dolban, with whom he used to live.”

“Great God! the monster!”

“It seems that his case is serious; he will be sentenced to death in default; but you understand that he won’t return to these diggings, to be caught. We shan’t see him again; I am sorry for that, for he is a smart fellow; it’s a pity that he went too far.”

“And we?”

“We are to be transferred to the Conciergerie before long, to be tried. That’s the place, my man, where you will need firmness and eloquence. If you weep there as you do here, it’s all over; we shall take a sea voyage in the service of the government.”

“You villain! is it possible?”

“Hush, they’re listening to us; enough said.”

While the wretched Edouard was in the throes of all the anguish of terror and remorse, and, surrounded by vile criminals who plumed themselves upon their crimes and their depravity, found himself the object of their contempt, so that not one of them addressed a word of compassion to him or deigned to sympathize with his sufferings, Adeline passed peaceful days at Guillot’s farm. She watched the growth of her daughter, who was already beginning to lisp a few words which only a mother could understand. Jacques, still overflowing with zeal and courage, insisted upon doing the hardest work; he did more than two farm hands, and to him toil was a pleasure. At night he returned to Adeline; he took his little niece on his knees, and danced her up and down to the refrain of a military ballad. Everybody loved Brother Jacques; for that is what he was called in the village after he was known to be Madame Murville’s brother-in-law; and the peasants were proud to have under their humble roof a woman like Adeline, and a fine fellow like Jacques.

But that peaceful life could not endure; a certain trip of Sans-Souci’s to Paris was destined to cause a great change. Jacques’s excellent comrade set out one day for the great city, intrusted as usual with secret commissions from Adeline and her brother-in-law, both of whom, although without communicating with each other, had the same thought, the same desire, and burned to know what Edouard was doing.

Hitherto Sans-Souci had been unable to obtain any information, but an unlucky chance led this time to his meeting a friend whom he had not seen for a very long time. This friend, after practising divers trades, had become a messenger at the Conciergerie. He was employed by those prisoners who were still allowed to communicate with the outside world. Sans-Souci mentioned the name of Edouard Murville; his friend informed him that he was in the prison, and that his sentence was to be pronounced on the following day.

“In prison!” cried Sans-Souci; “my brave comrade’s brother! Ten thousand cartridges! this will be a sad blow to Jacques.”

The messenger, seeing that Sans-Souci was deeply interested in Edouard, regretted having said so much.

“But why is he in prison?” asked Sans-Souci anxiously; “what has he done? Speak! tell me. Is it for debt?”

“Yes, yes; I believe it’s about a note,” replied the messenger, hesitating, and resolved not to disclose the truth; and he tried, but in vain, to change the subject.

“Morbleu! his brother--her husband--in prison! Poor little woman! Poor fellow!”

“Don’t say anything about it to them, my friend, don’t mention it to them. I am sorry myself that I told you this distressing news.”

“You are right, I will hold my tongue, I won’t say anything. After all, they can’t help it. That Edouard is a bad fellow! So much the worse for him.”

“Oh, yes! he is a very bad fellow, and they will do well to forget him.”

“Yes, of course, we can think that, we fellows; but a wife, a brother, they have hearts, you see, and when it’s a question of someone you love, the heart always drives you on.--Good-bye, old man; I am going back to the farm, very sorry that I met you, although it isn’t your fault. My heart is heavy, and the trouble is that I am too stupid to make-believe.”

Sans-Souci left his friend and returned to the farm. Adeline and Jacques questioned him according to their custom, and Sans-Souci replied that he knew no more than at other times; but in vain did he try to dissemble; his sadness betrayed him; his embarrassment, when Adeline spoke to him of Edouard, aroused her suspicions; a woman easily divines our secret thoughts. Edouard’s wife, convinced that Sans-Souci was concealing from her something unpleasant about her husband, was constantly at his heels; she urged him, she implored him to tell her all.

For two days the honest soldier’s courage held good against Adeline’s prayers. But he reflected upon the plight of Edouard, whom he believed to be in prison for debt; he thought that his wife might have acquaintances in Paris, through whom she could probably alleviate Edouard’s situation. Edouard had been guilty; but perhaps misfortune would have matured his character. And it was not right to deprive him of help and encouragement. These reflections caused Sans-Souci to decide to conceal no longer from Adeline what he knew. The opportunity soon presented itself; the next day the young woman entreated him again to tell her what her husband was doing; Sans-Souci surrendered, on condition that she would not mention it to Jacques, by whom he feared to be scolded. Adeline promised, and then he told her all that he had learned in Paris.

As soon as Adeline heard that her husband was in prison, she made up her mind what course to pursue; she left Sans-Souci, went to her chamber, collected a few jewels, the last remnant of her past fortune, made a little bundle of her clothes, and after writing on a sheet of paper that they must not be disturbed by her absence, she took her little Ermance in her arms and secretly left the farm house, resolved to leave no stone unturned to obtain her husband’s freedom, or to share his captivity.

It was then nine o’clock in the morning; Jacques was in the fields, and the peasants were occupied in different directions. Adeline was on the Paris road before the people at the farm had discovered her departure.