Chapter VI: The Gentleman of the Third Floor

Georget left Monsieur and Madame Baudoin fighting over the remains of the brandy with sponge and tongue, and lighted one of the small, thin candles which are rolled up like small rockets and which are sold for one or two sous at the grocer’s. Then running quickly up six flights of stairs, he reached a small door in which the key had been left; poor people are not suspicious, especially as they have nothing which is worth the trouble of stealing.

The young messenger walked through a small room, which received no light except through a little round window, in which room was a cot bed supplied with a very thin mattress and with an old window curtain which served as bedclothes. This was Georget’s bedroom; but he did not stop there. Opening the door at the end of the room, and trying to make no noise, he entered another much larger one, where there was a little window. This room, although the walls sloped, was large enough to contain a bed surrounded by white curtains, an old mahogany bureau, a white wood table, a small sideboard, several chairs, and on the mantel a tiny mirror surrounded by a branch of consecrated boxwood. All this was more than modest, but it was neat and clean; it indicated not destitution, but poverty.

Georget was walking very softly, concealing his light with his right hand, when he heard a feeble voice from the bed:

“Is that you, Georget?”

“Yes, mother, it’s I. So you’re not asleep?”

“No, I haven’t been able to go to sleep, I don’t know why.”

“It must be because you are sicker; and you have not been well for several days, although you didn’t admit it to me.”

“It’s nothing, just the lumbago, it will soon be gone. If you would just give me something to drink, my dear, for I am very thirsty.”

“Yes, mother, in a minute. Wait until I light your candle and put out this tallow thing of mine which smells worse than thirty-six lamps.”

After lighting a bit of candle stuck in a bottle, Georget approached his mother’s bed.

“Come, now you must tell me where your medicine is. But gracious heaven, how red your face is, mother! and black circles round your eyes! Are you worse?”

“Why, no, it is the heat of the bed that does that.”

“Give me your hand, and let me feel your pulse. Oh! how hot your hand is! You are feverish, and very feverish too, I am sure.”

“Nonsense, as if you knew anything about it.”

“Oh! yes I do; you must have pain somewhere.”

“No, I am not in pain.”

“The first thing in the morning I’ll fetch a doctor.”

“I don’t want you to; what’s the use of a doctor, just because one has a little fever; it will go away all right without him!”

“Where is your drink?”

“I thought I wouldn’t make any; I prefer water, I like it better.”

“Water, when one is feverish! Why, you didn’t do right! If I did such a thing, you’d scold me and say that I acted like a child, and you would be right. However, tell me where the sugar is; where do you keep the sugar, mother?”

“Sugar! I don’t want any; it nauseates me; I prefer clear water.”

“Water without sugar, when one is as burning hot as you are! I never heard of such a thing! You can’t mean it! Do you want to kill yourself? I am going to give you some sweetened water, but I must heat it; it’s better so.”

“Oh, no! no!”

“I say yes; I will take care of you better than you do yourself. Come, where is the sugar? where is the coal?”

And Georget ran all about the room, fumbling over all the furniture, opening all the closets, looking in every corner, but he found nothing. Thereupon a bright light broke upon his mind. He stopped in the middle of the room, threw his cap on the floor, and cried in a tone of deep distress:

“Ah! I understand everything now! You didn’t make yourself any drink, because you had no coal nor charcoal! You don’t want any sugar, because you haven’t a single particle of it here! Yes, yes, that is it! You are out of everything! You haven’t any money either, I am sure! and I, instead of trying to earn some, so that you might have what you need, why, I do nothing at all! I pass my day loafing, and at night I go to the theatre with Patatras, who absolutely insisted on treating me. I go about enjoying myself when my mother is sick, and I come home without a sou, without a single piece of money; and I haven’t anything to buy her what might cure her! Ah! I am a wicked son, a good-for-nothing! Forgive me, mother, forgive me; I won’t do so any more! I will work, I swear to you that I will work now!”

And the young fellow fell on his knees beside his mother’s bed; and the poor mother forgot her suffering, and tried only to comfort her son.

“What are you talking about, Georget? You, a good-for-nothing! Why, you don’t mean that, my boy! Have I ever complained of your conduct?”

“Oh! I know very well that you never complain; you are too good!”

“You have been amusing yourself a little to-day; well, my boy, there’s no harm in that; you must enjoy yourself while you’re young. Your friend Chicotin took you to the theatre; the theatre is a decent amusement; it is much better than going to the wine shop; you don’t make evil acquaintances there, or destroy your health with unhealthy stuff that they give you for wine. You haven’t earned anything to-day--that is too bad, but to-morrow you will work, and you will be happier!”

“To-morrow! to-morrow! but you have had nothing to drink this evening; you haven’t any sugar; and what will you take to quench your thirst to-night? cold water, I suppose?”

“I am going to try to sleep; when one is asleep, one doesn’t need to drink.”

“But when you wake in the morning, what shall I give you? for you have no money here, nothing at all; isn’t that so, mother?”

“Dear me, yes, my dear; for unfortunately I haven’t been able to work for a week; my sight has been all blurred!”

“Oh! you work too much, when you ought to rest.”

“Why so, Georget? I am not old enough yet to give up work, I am only fifty-four! If a body was good for nothing at that age, it would be a great pity!”

“I know that you’re not old, but still your health isn’t very good, and then you didn’t use to need to work for your living.”

“Oh! my dear, we must never say such things as that, and sigh over the past! If one has been happy, so much the better; if one is so no longer, so much the worse; regrets don’t help and only make our position worse!”

“All this doesn’t give you any nice, hot, sweet drink, and that is what you must have!”

“Don’t despair, we are not altogether without resources. You know that I have--your father’s watch; and if it is absolutely necessary, why----”

“What’s that you say! my father’s watch, which you think so much of! the only thing of his that you have! part with that? No, I won’t have it. Wait--suppose I should go and stand in front of some theatre?”

“What an idea! They are all over, all closed at this time of night.”

“Never mind; in front of a restaurant, I may still get something to do.”

“I don’t want you to go out; it’s too late.”

“Well then, in the house; pardi! sugar and coal--people lend each other such things as that. Don’t be impatient, mother, I will come right back.”

“No, Georget, I don’t want you to ask the neighbors; don’t, I beg you!”

But Georget was not listening to his mother; he had already relighted his tallow-dip and hurried from the room. When he reached the landing, the young man stopped, for he was uncertain to whom he should apply for the loan which he wished to obtain; but he did not hesitate long. He ran down the stairs three or four at a time, and did not stop until he reached the ground floor and knocked at the concierge’s lodge, saying to himself:

“Baudoin and his wife are not unkind; they dispute together, and fight sometimes, but they haven’t bad hearts; they won’t refuse me. Besides, it is only a loan, I will return it all.”

But Georget forgot that he had left the concierge and his wife engaged in an occupation which was likely to plunge them into a profound slumber ere long. In fact, after sucking and lapping brandy for some time, the husband and wife had felt such an intense longing to sleep, that they had hardly strength enough to reach their bed; and as the sleep caused by intoxication is never light, Monsieur and Madame Baudoin did not hear the knocking at their door; one might have fired a cannon under their noses, and they would simply have said: “God bless you!”

Weary of knocking to no purpose, Georget walked away from the lodge, murmuring:

“Those concierges are regular beer kegs; I shall never succeed in waking them, and I might as well give it up. Let me see, where can I apply? on the first floor? The whole floor is occupied by a family of English people, who hardly understand what you say to them and who don’t look very pleasant; I should not be well received there, they would not be able to understand what I said. On the second floor is a very pretty, very stylish lady, who receives fine gentlemen, but who refuses to open her door when she has company; her maid told me so the other day,--those are her orders. On the third,--ah! that is the gentleman that they call the _Bear_ in the house, because he never talks with anybody, never receives any visitors, and hardly answers when you speak to him. Much use there would be in trying to borrow sugar and charcoal of that man! and still, if I thought that his black man would open the door;--but no, Pongo sleeps so sound that he never hears his master come home. So it would be the gentleman himself who would open the door, and he would shut it in my face without answering me. I don’t even dare to try!--On the fourth, on one side is an old woman, so timid that she will never open her door after dusk; on the other, a student; but he has gone into the country. And at the top, opposite us, no one; the room is to let. Mon Dieu! whom shall I apply to then, if among all these people I can see no hope of help for my poor mother, who has a high fever and no cooling draft to lessen her suffering? Ah! Chicotin was quite right to say that I am a fool to be in love, that I am too young. Mamzelle Violette makes me forget my mother, my duty, my work. To think that I have done nothing to-day! that I came home without a sou when I knew that my mother was sick! Oh, I am a miserable, heartless villain! I shall never forgive myself!”

As he said this, Georget went slowly upstairs, stopping frequently because he was weeping; and he had stopped again, and rested his head against the wall, to sob at his ease, when a door opened within two steps of him.

He was then on the landing of the third floor, and it was Monsieur Malberg who stood before him. When he saw the young messenger, who still had the look of a mere boy, beating his head against the wall, and giving free vent to his sobs, the gentleman who was called the Bear, and who in fact had a rather stern expression and a rather rough voice, walked toward Georget and asked:

“What are you doing here?”

“Well! monsieur, you see, I am crying, I am unhappy.”

“And why are you crying?”

“Because my mother is sick, and because she has nothing that might help her; because I didn’t work to-day, and came home to the house without a sou; because I am a heartless wretch, and I deserve to be beaten!”

“Well, do you think that if you beat your head against the wall that that will help your mother?”

“Oh! no, monsieur! but when a fellow doesn’t know which way to turn! I went down and knocked at the concierge’s door; I wanted to borrow a little sugar and some charcoal of them; but they didn’t answer; I suppose they sleep too sound!”

“So you live in the house, do you?”

“Yes, monsieur, at the top, under the eaves; I live there with my mother, who is the widow of my father, Pierre Brunoy, who was a soldier, a non-commissioned officer, who left the service on account of a wound. Oh! he was a fine man, was my father! He was a draughts-man, he had lots of talent, and he used to make designs for ladies who embroider; we were happy then; but he died. My mother undertook to keep a little smallwares shop, to earn enough to educate me; but she didn’t succeed, for no one paid her. Then, as she works very well on linen, she began to work for people, and I, knowing that I ought to help mother, whose health isn’t very good, and who has weak eyes, I said to myself: ‘I will be a messenger, for I could never find a place, although I can read and write and figure; or else I should have to work without pay for a long while and I must earn money right away to help mother.’--So I started in as a messenger; for there isn’t any foolish trade, so I was told;--and--that’s all, monsieur.”

The gentleman of the third floor listened attentively to Georget, and when he had finished, said to him:

“Come with me.”

“Where, monsieur?”

“Into my room, of course.”

“What for, monsieur?”

“You will see; come.”

The youth placed his tallow-dip on the floor, and followed the gentleman; his heart was still heavy, for he didn’t understand how the person who occupied the handsome apartment on the third floor could need his services so late. Monsieur Malberg passed through a reception room very carefully polished, and into a beautiful dining-room. There he stopped, opened a large sideboard, took out a loaf of sugar, which was hardly touched, and placed it in Georget’s hand, saying:

“Take this!”

The poor boy looked at him with an almost dazed expression, and murmured:

“What is this, monsieur?”

“Don’t you see that it is sugar?”

“Sugar, oh, yes! but this great loaf,--who’s all this for?”

“For your mother, of course! Didn’t you tell me that she hadn’t any and that she was sick?”

“Oh! is it possible, monsieur, that you are so kind as--but this is too much, monsieur, too much.”

“Hush, and come with me.”

This time Monsieur Malberg went into his kitchen, where Georget followed him, holding the loaf of sugar in his arms. The gentleman pointed to a large box without a cover, which stood under the stove, saying:

“Take that box; there’s charcoal in it.”

“Oh! how kind you are, monsieur! How can I thank you for----”

“It isn’t worth while, I don’t like thanks; take this box, I say.”

“Yes, monsieur, but be sure--I will return all this; pray believe me. Oh! I will work to pay my debt.”

“Very well, very well! By the way, wait; I have some linden leaves here, and some mallow; perhaps they will be good for your mother, and you haven’t any in your room, I suppose?”

“No, I think not, monsieur.”

“Well, I’ll give you some then; come.”

Monsieur Malberg returned to his dining-room. Georget still followed him, holding under one arm the loaf of sugar, and under the other the box filled with charcoal. The gentleman opened the drawer of a small piece of furniture, took out several paper bags, looked to see what they contained, put two of them aside, and was about to give them to Georget, when he stopped as if a sudden thought had struck him, and left the dining-room, saying:

“I will return in a moment; what I want isn’t there; wait here.”

The young messenger was careful not to stir; he was so pleased that he wondered whether he was not the play-thing of a dream; but he for whom he was waiting soon returned, bringing several small packages of herbs, saying:

“Here are some things which may be good for your mother,--linden, orange leaves, mallow and violet; take them all, or rather let me put them in your pocket, for you have no hand free.”

“Oh, monsieur! excuse me for the trouble I put you to. Mon Dieu! you are too kind! I will pay you for this, monsieur; for we are not beggars, we don’t ask alms, and I should be sorry for you to have that idea of us.”

“Very good! Your mother is sick and may need you; don’t leave her alone any longer.”

“Yes, monsieur, you are right; my poor mother, she will be so happy, so--so--Thanks, monsieur, oh, thanks a thousand times! Remember that I am always here day and night, at your service.”

“I will remember; but go.”

And the gentleman pushed Georget before him, so that he soon found himself on the landing once more. The door of the apartment closed, and he reascended the staircase as quickly as he could, with his box of charcoal, his loaf of sugar, and his tallow-dip still lighted.

At last he reached his room; this time he was not afraid of making a noise when he went in; he was too happy not to wish to tell his mother about it; but she was not asleep, and she gazed in amazement at her son when he danced into the room, and placed the loaf of sugar on her bed, crying:

“There, mother; you shall not drink plain cold water any more! Here is sugar, here is charcoal, and in my pocket I have half a dozen herbs in leaves. Ah! what luck! you will be cured right away! I can nurse you nicely now.”

“What does this mean, my dear? where did you get all these things? You hadn’t a sou just now. Explain yourself, Georget, I insist.”

“Why, yes, yes, never fear, I am going to tell you the whole story; but let me light the stove first, and then, while I blow my charcoal, I will tell you how Providence came to our assistance. Where is the stove? Ah! there it is. This will light very quickly, I know, although the bellows isn’t any too good.”

“Did you get all these things in the house, my son?”

“Yes, mother; you see, first of all, I went down to borrow from the concierge, Monsieur Baudoin; but it wasn’t any use for me to knock at their door, I couldn’t wake them, they’re worse than deaf people. So then I was coming up again in very low spirits, indeed, I believe I was crying, when the door on the third landing opened, and the gentleman who lives there came out to me. Oh! this thing proves, mother, that people very often say foolish things, or that it’s very wrong to judge a person by his appearance. For that gentleman that they call the Bear, that gentleman that never speaks to anybody, and that everybody makes stupid jokes about, why, he took me into his room, and gave me all these things for you, because I told him that you were sick; and he didn’t even let me thank him!--Ah! you miserable charcoal! you’ve got to burn! Now I am going to put some water over the fire.”

“But, my dear, this is an enormous loaf of sugar, and it is almost whole; you ought not to have borrowed so much as this.”

“As if that gentleman would listen to me! He says: ‘Take this!’ and if you try to remonstrate, he shouts: ‘Hold your tongue!’ and it’s impossible to prevent him from doing what he wants to.--Ah! my fire is going at last!”

“But this Monsieur Malberg--for the gentleman of the third floor is named Malberg--I have never met him; what sort of looking man is he, Georget? You must have had a good look at him, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes! mother; why, he’s a man neither young nor old. At first sight, I am sure that you would take him to be older than he really is, because when a person never laughs, that makes him look older. He may be somewhat over fifty years old; his face is not ugly, not by any means, but his features have a sort of stern expression; his eyes are always gloomy and melancholy, and there are great wrinkles on his brow; his eyebrows are heavy, and his hair must have been black, but it’s a little gray now. When he fixes his great brown eyes on you, it frightens you; and yet I got used to them, for his expression is neither unkind nor contemptuous; it’s--I don’t know just how to describe it--it’s sort of compassionate, or sorrowful; and his voice, which sounds harsh at first, is much less so when he’s talked to you for some time. You see, mother, that gentleman isn’t like most people; oh, no! he makes you respect him, and it comes natural to obey him, and you don’t dare to say anything.”

“Really, my dear, you make me long to know this gentleman; when I am able to go out, I shall go to thank him. And did you tell him----”

“Just how we are placed, what we used to be, and what father did. Yes, I told him everything. Did I do wrong?”

“No, my boy, we have done nothing which we need to be ashamed of or to conceal.”

“Ah! my water is boiling; now I am going to make you some herb tea, mother; which would you rather have?”

“Why, tell me first what you have in your pocket.”

“Wait and I’ll show you; I have a whole lot of bundles! Here, see what this is.”

“Violet.”

“And this?”

“Linden leaves.”

“And--and--well! here’s something else now!”

“What’s the matter, Georget? Have you lost something?”

“Lost! oh, no! not by any means, mother! What I have just found in my pocket certainly wasn’t there before! I am sure of that.”

“Why, what have you found in your pocket?”

“Here, look, mother!”

And the young messenger tossed upon the good woman’s bed four five-franc pieces.

“Twenty francs, Georget! twenty francs! What does this mean? where did you get all that money, my son?”

“I haven’t any idea, mother; and I am very sure that I didn’t have it when I came home. I didn’t have a sou.”

“But this money didn’t get into your pocket of itself. Answer me, Georget, and above all, don’t lie.”

“Mon Dieu! how you say that, mother! Do you suppose that I am capable of having stolen this money from someone, I should like to know?”

“No, my dear, I do not suppose that my son, that the child of my honest Brunoy, would ever do a wicked action; but I have always carefully preserved your father’s watch, and some time, without my knowledge, to help me, you might have----”

“Pawned papa’s watch! Oh! never! I’d rather pawn myself! but wait, mother; I remember now; yes, that must have been it.”

“What? tell me.”

“That gentleman on the third floor, when I had the loaf of sugar and the box of charcoal in my arms, insisted on putting all these little bundles of dried leaves in my pocket himself; and that’s the way he stuffed these five-franc pieces into my pocket! Oh! I am sure of it now! for he went into his bedroom alone, to get the money, no doubt. It was him, mother, it was him; indeed, who else could have given me all this?”

“You are right, Georget, it can’t have been anybody else; people who like to do good, think of everything, and it seems that he is very kind, this Bear!”

“Yes, indeed, he is kind, but I shall not keep his money. I will work to-morrow, and earn some; and he has put us under enough obligation by lending us sugar and charcoal. Mother, we mustn’t keep these twenty francs that he slipped into my pocket so slyly, so that I could not thank him, must we? But still, it was very nice of him, all the same; he isn’t like other people, that gentleman! I’ll bet that when he tosses a piece of money to a poor man, he doesn’t try to make it ring on the sidewalk when it falls.”

“No, my dear, we mustn’t keep the twenty francs, for it is quite a large sum, and it would be too hard to repay it.”

“I am going to take it back to the gentleman right away.”

“Oh! it must be quite late now; Monsieur Malberg has gone to bed, no doubt, and is probably asleep; if you wake him up, he won’t like it. Wait till morning, and when he’s up, you can take the money back to him, and thank him again for both of us.”

“After all, you are right, mother; it will be better for me to let the gentleman sleep, who has helped me to cure you. I will go to-morrow morning, when his negro is up.--But the water is still boiling; give me what I need for your tea.”

The invalid chose one of the herbs. Georget soon made the tea and carried his mother a cup smoking hot and well sweetened; and when she had drunk it, he filled the cup again and placed it on the table by the bed.

“If you are thirsty again in the night,” he said, “you must drink this; it will be all ready; now try to go to sleep.”

“Yes, my dear, but it seems to me that I feel better already.”

“Well! mother; it is always like that; when a person has all that he needs to get well, then the disease must go.”

“Oh! not always, my boy, for in that case rich people would never be sick; but the thing that relieves one is contentment, happiness. It requires so little to make poor people happy! and what has happened to us this evening is real good fortune.”

“Oh, yes! it is a kind of good fortune that the rich do not know, but that they can confer on others; and that must be a great pleasure too.--Good-night, mother; if you need anything, call me.”