Chapter XLI: A New Way of Obtaining Revenge

The weather was cold and dull, and a fall of snow ending in rain added to the discomfort of a penetrating dampness. But the fireplace of the small room in which Roncherolle lay contained only two small sticks, which had been laid near together, but which imparted no heat to the room.

Roncherolle was suffering horribly with his gout, and as he was alone, he did not hesitate to complain in very energetic fashion; despite his resolutions to be philosophical, pain sometimes won the victory over his courage; but when Violette was with him he did his utmost to conceal his suffering.

The young girl came in; she held in one hand a tea-pot, in the other a cup and a sugar-bowl full of sugar; she approached the invalid and placed all those objects on the table beside his bed.

"Here I am, monsieur; I'm a little late this morning, perhaps, but I wanted to make this tea that was ordered for you, before I came down; I have brought it with me; it's scalding hot, and you must drink it."

Roncherolle dissembled his agony and tried to smile at Violette, as he said to her:

"How good you are, my child! how kind to a person whom you hardly know, and who has no claim upon your interest!"

"No claim! well, upon my word! when I was sick, didn't you come to see me? And you didn't know me at all! I should be very ungrateful if I did not do for you what you did for me."

"But such a difference; in the first place, you were hardly sick at all; and then it is always a pleasure to make oneself useful to a young lady; whereas a sick old man is not an agreeable object."

"Oh, yes! you are very agreeable, when you are not in too much pain; you always have stories and adventures to tell us.--But how are you feeling this morning?"

"Still about the same; a little better, perhaps."

"No, I see by your face that you suffered terribly during the night, that you are suffering still!"

"No; when you are here, I suffer less."

"Very well; then you should let me pass the night with you, as I wanted to."

"God forbid that you should go without sleep on my account, and be sick again perhaps. I won't have it; and besides, my dear neighbor, there's nothing to be done for the disease that I have--one simply must know how to suffer."

"I don't believe that myself; there must be remedies for everything. Drink this now. Here, sweeten it to suit yourself."

"This is strange; this sugar-bowl is full, and yet I remember that there were only a few pieces in it yesterday."

Violette turned her face away as she replied:

"Oh! you were--you had some more--in a paper, and I put it with the other."

Roncherolle looked at the girl, but she was busily engaged in putting the room in order.--Chicotin arrived at that moment, with a red nose, and beating his hands together.

"Good-morning, bourgeois and the company," he cried. "How does it go this morning, bourgeois?"

"Not very well, my boy."

"Mere Lamort told me to tell you that she couldn't come up this morning; Mirontaine has swallowed a bone that stuck in his throat, so that he ain't able to bark and watch the door."

"Oh! bless my soul! we don't need the concierge," said Violette; "am I not here?"

"But you have your business that demands your attention, my child," said Roncherolle, "and I don't propose that you shall neglect your business for me; in fact, it's already late, I think, and you should be at your stand."

"No, monsieur, it isn't late; and anyway this isn't a market day, and in such weather as this, I am in no hurry; I shouldn't sell anything, for there won't be anyone out of doors."

"It's beastly weather, that's true enough!" cried Chicotin; "and cold! why, my nose and fingers are frozen stiff. But it ain't very warm in your room either, bourgeois; _bigre!_ it's just the same as being on the boulevard."

"Well, stir up the fire, put on some wood."

"I ask nothing better."

Chicotin looked in all directions, then went into the outer room, and returned in a moment, saying:

"There's one little difficulty, bourgeois, and that is that I don't find any wood; the wood pile seems to have gone up in smoke."

"Already! the devil! the wood seems to go faster than the sugar!"

"Oh! that's easy to understand--it's dearer, because--look you, bourgeois, here's a comparison: for fifteen sous, you get three or four sticks of wood; they're bigger than a pound of sugar, to be sure, but they're very soon burned up; in one day they're all gone; whereas, with a pound of sugar, you've got something to lap and sip for a long while!"

"I'll do without fire," said Roncherolle. "Lying in bed, I don't need it, and my little neighbor is going away."

"What a bungling fellow you are, Chicotin!" said Violette to the young messenger, in an undertone; "you shouldn't have said anything, but when you saw that there wasn't any wood in the other room, you should have gone up to my room; you would have found some there. You know that Monsieur de Roncherolle isn't willing that anybody should lend him anything, so we must help him without letting him suspect it; and I don't propose that he shall stay without a fire."

"That is true, I am an idiot!" muttered Chicotin, shaking his head; "but bless my soul! I couldn't guess all that. Never mind, don't worry, I'll fix it all right; I'll find some way to make a fire."

"Monsieur," said the girl, returning to the invalid, "if I remember right, the doctor who came to see you yesterday prescribed medicine for your gout."

"Doctors don't know of any remedy for this disease, my neighbor; several of them have told me this themselves when talking with me."

"Nonsense! I have been told of several people who were entirely cured; and I remember now--it was syrup of _Boubee_ that he told you to take."

"That is quite possible."

"I beg you, monsieur, take some of it; even if it should do nothing but lessen the pain, would that not be a great gain?"

"As you insist upon it, I will take some."

"If you are willing, monsieur, I won't stay long in my booth to-day, and I will bring you some in a little while when I come home."

"No, no, my little neighbor, I won't have it; for you never tell me the price of things; you manage so that they cost me almost nothing. But I don't propose to have that, and I shall be angry if you go on acting in that way; I shall be obliged to deprive myself of the pleasure of seeing you."

"Oh! it wouldn't do any good for you to forbid me to come, monsieur; I should come all the same!"

Violette said this with such heartfelt earnestness that Roncherolle felt the tears gather in his eyes. He pressed the girl's hand and replied in a cheerful tone:

"I will obey you, neighbor; come, Chicotin, my groom, come here."

"Here I am, bourgeois."

"Go to the druggist's on the corner of the boulevard, and ask for some syrup of Boubee. Will you remember that name?"

"I should say so; it isn't hard to remember. Syrup of Poupee."

"Boubee, you idiot! not Poupee."

"Oh! very good."

"Wait; I prefer to write it for you."

"On the whole, that will be better; my tongue might slip again."

"Here you are; and take that two-franc piece there--upon my table; I am inclined to believe that that will be enough."

"Let us hope so! a paltry syrup--that can't cost so much as that; for two francs you could get a lot of molasses.--I will go right away, bourgeois."

"Aren't you going to your stand, my little neighbor?" Roncherolle asked Violette, who was stooping in front of the fire, trying to make the two sticks burn by putting under them all the old papers that were lying about the room.

"In a minute, neighbor; I will wait until Chicotin comes back."

"And your love-affairs, my child, how do they come on? You are fully reconciled with your young lover now, I hope?"

"Yes, monsieur. Oh! Georget loves me dearly; he comes to see me every day at my booth, and I am very happy, except when he frightens me."

"What's that? your lover frightens you?"

"You will understand, monsieur; Georget has never forgotten the abominable remarks that that Monsieur Jericourt made about me, and the trap he led me into; but, monsieur, you don't know--Georget says that he will kill Monsieur Jericourt."

"He is right; he is a fine fellow; in his place, I would do the same."

"But I don't want him to fight; for, after all, monsieur, the man who is in the right doesn't always win; and if Georget were killed, I should be very unhappy."

"You are right; that boy must not take the risk; he is so young--eighteen, did you tell me?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Then he probably doesn't know anything about the sword or the pistol?"

"Nothing at all; he would be killed instantly."

"Patience, my little neighbor. Corbleu! if only I could get well!--But I hear Chicotin, I believe."

The young messenger returned with a sheepish expression, holding the two-franc piece in his hand.

"Well, where is the syrup, Chicotin?" asked Roncherolle.

"The syrup is at the druggist's, monsieur."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that it's an outrage! Just fancy that a little bottle no bigger than my wrist costs twelve francs!"

"Twelve francs?"

"Yes, monsieur, syrup of Poupee twelve francs, no less; it wasn't any use for me to say: 'Put me up forty sous' worth in a little pomade box'; he laughed in my face and told me they didn't sell it at retail; he showed me a bottle, all sealed, with the price on it. Then I said: 'If the gout can only be cured at that price, only rich people can be cured!'--'Only rich people have the gout,' said the clerk. I say, bourgeois, that's nonsense, ain't it? For it seems to me that you're none too well fixed."

Violette nudged Chicotin, saying in an undertone:

"You ought to have said that the syrup wasn't ready, and I would have gone out and bought it and paid for it without letting Monsieur de Roncherolle know the price."

"He would have found it out all the same, mamzelle, for the price is pasted on the bottle; it wouldn't have been possible to deceive him, and how he would have sworn then!"

Roncherolle had dropped his head on the pillow, and said nothing more. Chicotin handed him the two-franc piece, saying:

"Shall I buy anything else with this, bourgeois?"

"You may buy some wood, my boy, and make a fire; but not until evening; for my little neighbor comes to sit with me in the evening, and I don't want her to freeze in my room.--Now leave me, my children; I don't want anything more, and I am going to try to sleep."

Violette pressed the invalid's hand and went out, with a feeling of oppression at her heart; Chicotin followed her, muttering:

"Poor dear man, not to be able to buy what might cure him; it ain't very gay here; but never mind, I will come back soon and see if he wants something else that don't cost so much."

"And you won't spend his two francs, will you, Chicotin? you must get some wood in my room."

"Yes, mamzelle, but what shall I do with his money? I can't give it back to him."

"Keep it; it will serve to buy something else which may be dearer still; and you mustn't tell him, as you did to-day. To think of his being without a fire, in such cold weather, and when he is suffering so! for to-day I could see on his face the efforts he made to conceal his suffering; why, it makes me want to cry!"

"After all, Mamzelle Violette, you mustn't feel so bad for somebody who ain't anything to you."

"Oh! he is so wretched, without relations, or friends, sick and poor; and then there are people for whom you feel affection right away; and Georget won't be jealous of him; I feel that I have a sincere affection for him."

"I am going to see if Mirontaine is cured, and if Madame Lamort can go up."

Violette had been at her stand for some time, when Monsieur de Brevanne came there and inquired about her neighbor. The girl gave him an exact description of his plight; she concealed nothing from him, neither his suffering, nor the privations which he was obliged to undergo, nor the pride which made him refuse any assistance in the form of money.

"He has no fire now," said Violette, her eyes wet with tear; "and he isn't willing that we should make him one before evening, because I go to sit with him in the evening, poor man! and he did not have the money to buy something that might perhaps have cured him.--Ah! he is very unfortunate!"

The count listened attentively to the girl's story; Roncherolle's position touched him more than he chose to show. He stood for some time buried in thought, then he said to Violette:

"I would like to judge for myself of this gentleman's plight, of his situation, but I should not want him to see me."

"That is very easy, monsieur; in the first place, Monsieur de Roncherolle never leaves his bed, and a person can stand in the outer room and look into the other without his seeing him; in the second place, he often sleeps, and I am always careful not to wake him."

"Well, I will go this evening, I will go to see you, with Georget."

"Oh! how kind it is of you, monsieur! I am very sure that you will have compassion on my poor neighbor."

"On your account--it is possible.--But not a word concerning me, my child!"

"Oh! I am dumb, monsieur; but I am very glad that you are coming to see my neighbor."

About eight o'clock in the evening, Violette was installed in Roncherolle's room; he had been dozing for some time, and when he woke, his eyes met those of the young girl, who, as she mended her neighbor's linen, glanced at him often to see if he were asleep.

"Really, my dear child," said Roncherolle, "your kindness to me fills me with gratitude, and reconciles me to your sex; for, if I must admit it, I had but a very slight esteem for women."

"Why so, monsieur? have they injured you?"

"Not exactly; but they are responsible for my having injured others, and that amounts to the same thing."

"Why no, monsieur, if they didn't advise you to do it."

"They do not need to advise us to make fools of ourselves; they lead us into it easily enough without that."

"I don't understand, monsieur."

"So much the better for you, my child.--But what are you doing there? God forgive me, I believe that you are patching my rags!"

"Well! I had nothing to do, and I like to be busy; I thought that it wouldn't offend you if I should take a few stitches in your linen."

"Offend me! ah! my dear girl, you are too kind to me; one does not take offence with those who are so kind to them. Ah me! when I think----"

Here Roncherolle paused and heaved a profound sigh. Violette looked up at him and said:

"What are you thinking about, monsieur, that makes you sigh so? You mustn't think of melancholy things when you are sick."

"I am thinking, my dear child, that I might have with me--my own daughter,--who, however, I am sure, would take no better care of me than you do."

"Your daughter! what, monsieur, you have a daughter, and she is not with you when you are ill and suffering!"

"If she is not with me, it is not her fault,--it is mine."

"Ah! then it is you who have sent her away, and she is not in Paris, of course?"

"No, she is not in Paris."

"Why don't you write for her to come, to join you?"

"I don't want to disturb her."

"How old is your daughter?"

"Nineteen."

"Why, that is just my age!"

"Ah! you are nineteen? And what about your parents? I never see them with you. But I remember now, that you told me that you had lost them."

"I never knew my parents, monsieur; I am an abandoned child!"

"Abandoned! is it possible? what a strange coincidence!--Were you abandoned in Paris?"

Violette, remembering the count's injunction, replied hesitatingly:

"Why--I don't know, monsieur; I--I think so."

"Poor child, what a pity! her parents do not realize what a treasure they cast away."

Roncherolle buried his face in his pillow, murmuring:

"But my child--I do not know her; perhaps she too is lovely and good! ah! if I could only find her! But no! why should I wish to? to force her to share my destitution?--No, it is better as it is."

The invalid dropped asleep. Violette was anxiously awaiting that moment, for she had heard noises in the outer room for several moments, and she guessed who it might be. As soon as she was certain that Roncherolle was asleep, she arose and softly opened the door of the other room, where she found Monsieur de Brevanne and Georget.

"My neighbor is asleep; you may come in, monsieur," said Violette to the count.

"You are quite sure that he is asleep, my child?"

"Yes, monsieur. You can tell by listening to him, his breathing is so difficult. Poor man! it seems that he has suffered terribly all day, and he is taking advantage of a little respite from pain, to rest."

"But you were talking just now."

"Yes, monsieur.--Oh! if you knew--he has a daughter, the poor man, and he said that he bitterly regretted not having her with him."

"Oho! he spoke to you of his daughter, did he?"

"Yes, monsieur; can you imagine that she does not come to take care of him, her father, when he is sick?"

"Did he tell you why she was not with him?"

"No, monsieur; he simply said that it was his fault.--But come in, monsieur; he is sound asleep."

"Yes, I will come in. Stay here, my child, and talk with Georget; but don't talk too loud."

"No, there's no danger of that, monsieur," said Georget; "we understand each other perfectly well simply by looking at each other."

The count entered the room occupied by Roncherolle. A single tallow candle, which was badly in need of snuffing, lighted that room with a dim, uncertain light; it enabled the visitor, however, to distinguish a cheap wall paper, torn or lacking altogether in several places; a window with large cracks, and without curtains, in which one pane was broken, its place being ill supplied by paper; two or three pieces of cheap black walnut furniture; a painted cot, on which was a coarse flock bed and a very thin mattress; on the mantel, a small mirror in a wooden frame, and on the hearth two tiny bits of wood, which were hardly burning.

Everything in that abode indicated poverty and privation; and the cold that one felt there, the wind that one could hear whistling in all directions, heightened the melancholy impression which one was certain to feel at finding an invalid in such a place.

Monsieur de Brevanne noticed and scrutinized everything; then he walked to the bed and gazed at Roncherolle, whose features were more than ever changed by suffering and want, and who, even in his sleep, seemed to be struggling with pain.

"The wretched man!" said the count to himself; "is this what the future seemed to promise him? Endowed with every advantage, possessor of a handsome fortune, this is what his passions have brought him to!--It is all over; I can think no more of the vengeance which I was determined to wreak upon him; heaven has undertaken that duty; and besides, I should not have the courage to deprive Violette of her father; I do not know whether men will blame me, but something tells me that the time has come to forgive."

Roncherolle moved in his sleep, and the count instantly left the room and joined the two young sweet-hearts, who had not found the time long.

"Well, monsieur, you have seen him," said Violette; "is he really the man whom you used to know?"

"Yes, my child; but not a word about my visit!"

"Oh! have no fear, monsieur."

"Come, Georget, let us go."

Georget considered that he had had very little time to talk to Violette; but he dared not make any remark, and took his leave with the count, after exchanging a loving pressure of the hand with his sweetheart.

The next morning, about nine o'clock, Violette was in her neighbor's room once more; he was feeling a little better, and was telling her about a strange dream he had had, when Chicotin arrived, bringing with him a letter, which he handed to Roncherolle.

"For you, bourgeois; it just came, so your concierge told me."

"Who can have written me? I don't know this writing," said Roncherolle, as he broke the seal. But in an instant, he uttered a cry of surprise.

"My children, you could never guess what this letter contains; listen.

"'Monsieur:

"'One of your debtors, Monsieur de Juvigny, has instructed me to
send you a thousand francs on account of what he owes you.'

"Signed--the devil take me if I can read it--Dubois or Dubosc.--But the thousand-franc note is inside all right; here it is!"

"Ah! what good luck, monsieur! how happy it makes me for you!" said Violette.

"Name of an--excuse me, bourgeois, but I am so glad that I brought that letter for you!"

"Thanks, my friends, thanks, I am trying to remember--Yes, Juvigny did owe me money--I can't remember just how much; but when I inquired about him a few months ago, I was told that he was travelling."

"He must have sent word to this person to send you this sum, monsieur."

"Faith! I hardly expected this restitution. The money arrives most opportunely, but I can't get over my surprise!"

"You see, monsieur, that I told you that your dream meant good luck."

"You can buy all the syrup of Poupee that you want now, bourgeois."

"Yes, my boy, and my little neighbor will be kind enough to do that for me, and change this note. Here, my dear, is the note, here's the thousand francs which seems to have fallen from heaven!"

"Ah! I have a strong suspicion where it fell from, myself!" thought Violette as she left the room.