Chapter II

IN an old hotel situated at the end of a large courtyard, in the Rue de Provènce, has been established, for more than fifty years, the banking firm of Baradier and Graff. Following on the war of 1870, it was usual in business to designate this establishment under the company name of Alsace-Lorraine. They are ardent patriots, and never since the annexation have they returned to Metz. Still, they have never been willing to sell any of their land property in the lost provinces. They have kept a foot on the soil torn from France, as though they had no doubt they would return to it some day, like masters after a long and sorrowful absence. Baradier is a man of fifty-five years of age, stout and short, with ruddy, pleasant face lit up by light blue eyes. Graff is tall and thin, dark-complexioned, and of stern forbidding mien and glabrous countenance, the complete opposite of his ally, both physically and morally. For Baradier, with his engaging exterior, is an influential and practical man; whilst Graff, with his cold and reserved aspect, possesses the fancy and sensitiveness of a poet.

In other respects, admirably equipped, the imagination of the one moderated by the prudence of the other, and all rough points in the determination of the former being mitigated by the benevolent gentleness of the latter. In financial circles this fortunate want of similarity of disposition was well known. Never did a customer, after failing with Baradier, leave the house without calling at Graff’s office to appeal for his intervention, and obtaining a “just leave the matter to me, I will arrange it all” preliminary balm on the sore of displeasure, followed, in the majority of instances, by an arrangement profitable to both parties. For, in the long run, the two partners had reached such a point that they profited by the differences in their dispositions, and Baradier pretended to be altogether irreconcilable, well knowing that Graff would come in afterwards, and have the pleasure of arranging everything to suit all concerned.

Baradier, hearty and happy-looking, had two children, a son aged twenty-six and a daughter of eighteen, both admirably brought up by their mother. Graff, solemn and sentimental, had remained a bachelor. As Marcel Baradier said jokingly, he would be the best uncle in France in point of inheritance. In fact, Madame Baradier’s brother loves the two children as though they were his own, and every time Marcel commits some grave act of folly he always appeals to Uncle Graff to settle things, as his father is rather strict with him. Father and son, unfortunately, have often been on anything but good terms, for Marcel, reared in the lap of luxury, and early discovering the mercantile value of his name, has not always given his family all the satisfaction that might have been desired. “Nothing important,” said Uncle Graff; “merely money difficulties!”

It was so that the taciturn and modest banker, who would not have spent a farthing outside of his daily expenses on anything else than charity, called the debts which young Marcel periodically gave him the opportunity of paying. When his nephew comes for him at night, after dinner, before leaving for the club, where he goes to indulge in a game of cards, Uncle Graff knows at once his errand. He assumes his most gloomy aspect, sinks into his armchair, casts a veiled glance at his rather embarrassed heir, and, in sepulchral tones, demands—

“Well, what is it this time?”

Then, as Marcel develops his usual request—terribly bad luck at the races, or at baccarat, or some love difficulty—Graff looks at his sister’s son, and, without listening to a word, says to himself, What a handsome fellow! How could one with such a figure help getting into a scrape? He is popular everywhere by reason of his graciousness and amiability. He is only twenty-six, and is it not quite natural that he should enjoy himself while he is young? Why do Baradier and Graff engage in banking operations all day long, anxious as to what is happening at the London and Berlin Exchanges, as well as keeping an eye on the Bourse of Paris, if not for this charming and agreeable young fellow to enjoy himself whilst they are working? Well! Marcel, take your pleasure, and take my share as well, for am I not your steward? Off to the races in a fine turn-out, drawn by prancing horses, and take your place in the most exclusive society; your means, those of the firm of Baradier, will permit of all this. All the same, do not squander too much in gambling; do not wager in too extravagant a fashion, for this is an evil passion, and very harmful to those who recklessly give themselves up to it. In all things else do as you wish, and then come back and give your old uncle the pleasure of asking a service of him.

All these reflections, however, crowding into his mind, and giving him the most perfect satisfaction, Uncle Graff kept wisely to himself. Aloud, he said, in that Lorraine accent he had never succeeded in abandoning—

“How stupid you are, Marcel, to be swindled by a crowd of adventurers! A member of the firm of Baradier and Graff ought not to behave in this way. If your father knew he would be furious. What reply can I give him when he accuses me of encouraging your bad conduct? He is quite right, and I am wrong to give you money when you make such bad use of it. I shall finish by cutting off your allowance. Do you know how much you have received from me since the beginning of the year?”

And as the old bachelor pretended to turn the leaves of his cash-book, Marcel, terrified, exclaimed—

“Oh, Uncle Graff, it shall be the last time!”

“It is always the last time!” replied the old uncle. “Well, tell me all about it.”

And Marcel would enflame the old bachelor’s tender soul with his enthusiasm, and end by obtaining all he wanted.

Still, Uncle Graff had some excuse. Marcel did not neglect his work. Admirably endowed by nature, the young man, as though they were a mere pastime, had advanced considerably in his studies. He had opposed the General de Trémont, who wished him to enter the Polytechnic School, and afterwards the Artillery. He had preferred the Central and the General’s chemical laboratory. Under the supervision of his father’s friend, he had made interesting researches into mineral colouring matters, and given Baradier the pleasure of saying: “We employ in our works dyeing processes, invented by my son, and which are absolutely unique.”

It was one of Uncle Graff’s grand arguments when defending Marcel—

“You know very well that your son is a remarkable man, and that our manufactures owe much to him!” Whereupon Baradier would reply, furiously—

“Ah! If only he would be serious! He has every quality necessary, but he will not make use of his gifts. Our fine young fellow will work a month a year, and spend the other eleven in reckless folly!”

For all that, for some time past, Marcel seemed to have sobered down, or, rather, his mind was occupied in investigations of more than usual interest. He no longer appeared at the club, scarcely ever went out at nights, and, but for the fact that he still went to the races on Sundays, one might have imagined he had entirely changed his life. Both Baradier and Graff were equally surprised at this transformation; the father was pleased, the uncle uneasy at it. They had spoken on the matter to the General, who had said to them—

“He is an extraordinary young man; you will continually have surprises with him, but do not be anxious, he will turn out a fine man in the end. He has great gifts. Just now he is trying to discover some process of colour photography. Surprising results have already been obtained. Let him alone, do not hinder him, and you will see!”

Graff’s triumph was a brilliant, Baradier’s a quiet one. Marcel had not even noticed the effect caused on his family. He had almost completely quitted Paris. For three weeks he had been living at Troyes, at the Ars manufactory, shut up in his laboratory, only returning to embrace his mother, and give the General an account of the progress of his work. The old chemist and the young inventor then spent delightful days in verifying prescriptions and practising experiments. The one communicated his calculations in the dosings of powders, the other explained his superpositions of plates to obtain the perfect stereotypes he sought. Then they would lunch together, and the General, as warmhearted as the young man, would relate his former escapades, and envy the youth, whilst admiring the strength and intelligence of this fine young fellow before him, who combined so perfectly the capacity for study and pleasure at the same time.

In spite of the storms caused by Marcel’s caprices, life for Baradier and Graff would have flown along pleasantly enough had not destiny brought them in touch with Lichtenbach. Moses, the chief of the firm, son of a Jew marine-store dealer of Passy-sur-Moselle, had in past times been at school with Graff at Metz. Old Graff, who was a brewer, had dealings with Lichtenbach, “the rabbit-skin dealer,” as he called him jokingly, and sold him all his broken glasses and used-up barrels. He imagined him to be poor, and liked to give him the chance of earning a little money. Moses Lichtenbach might have been seen in the streets of Metz driving an old grey horse, harnessed to a waggon, in which the marine-store dealer piled up all kinds of goods and rubbish. He was a kind of wholesale rag-picker, who helped house-wives to get rid of utensils which were no longer of any use, and were becoming an encumbrance. He bought them cheap, but not for nothing. Sometimes, almost ashamed of loading him with corroded stove-pipes, broken shovels, worn-out carpets, and even old straw, or shavings, they would say to him, “Take it, Moses, for the trouble of carting it away.” He would reply, “No! no! Everything has some value or other; I pay little, but I pay.”

It was a point of honour with him to pay. Several people shrugged their shoulders, with a smile, as they said to themselves, “The old madman that he is! What use will he make of all that rubbish?” They were in the wrong. Everything had a value, as Moses affirmed, and this was proved when, after the war, the old man left Metz, and settled in Paris, in the rue de la Chaussee d’Antin, in a small shop, above the door of which he had painted the sign: “Lichtenbach, money-changer.” It was in this modest counter that the Passy dealer, leaving Lorraine, which had become part of the Empire, had commenced his new business, ceasing to buy and sell old iron in order to buy and sell money. But one grave event had happened, which had in no slight degree contributed to the exodus of the Lichtenbach family from Passy to Paris, and to the change of business.

The first cannon-shots of the war, fired at Forbach, had been, for the majority of the inhabitants of Metz and its environs, the signal for departure. The farmers and peasants strictly bound down to the land were the only ones to remain in the villages. All who were free of action had loaded the waggons with their trunks, and reached the towns, to shelter themselves from the enemy, whose approach was announced by defeats and disasters. The highways in the direction of Thionville, Metz, and Verdun were covered with carts and flocks. The majority of the fugitives made their way towards the interior, making forced marches, to escape the invasion, which, according to them, must, of necessity, halt, crushed before the strongholds of the East. Contrary to the general impulse, Moses, decided on leaving Passy, had not bent his steps towards the centre of France. Instead of moving away from the invader he had marched towards him, and leaving behind in the shop everything cumbersome and worthless, had reached Metz with six baggage waggons, carefully covered, and had settled in a small street near the cathedral, with his wife and son, Elias.

Moses had been well received. Through seeing him, along with his waggon and old horse, all over the town, everybody knew him. Some, more cunning than others, said, “Old Moses is a sly fellow. If Metz is besieged he will buy the broken fragments of German shells as old iron, and continue his business.” But they were wrong. Old iron was not now the end of Lichtenbach’s ambition. He had guessed that a stout siege and an energetic defence would take place, that victuals would soon become scarce for the town population, and that whoever had the disposal, at a given time, of special food products, might, by selling them at a high price, make a considerable profit.

Accordingly he had entered the town with his six waggons, whilst in his cellar were carefully stored quantities of brandy, coffee, sugar, ham, and a dozen barrels of salt. He had spent a portion of the ready money he possessed in procuring these stores, and had awaited results. Meanwhile, all the Lorraine youth left. The male population which had not become enrolled in the army, as being under age, undertook to resist the invaders. The old martial blood boiled in French hearts, and the young Graff, returned from the town hall, a cockade in his hat, when he met on the square Elias Lichtenbach, walking about smoking a pipe.

Scores of times, extending over long years, whilst old Moses was stationed at Graff’s door loading old iron, or buying the skins of goats or hares killed by the brewer the previous Sunday, had the two boys played together. Antoine carried off young Elias into the garden, and, between them, to the great wrath of Madame Graff, they would climb the wall and steal the fruit, still unripe. They often played at marbles, but in spite of Elias’s utmost efforts, he could never succeed in transferring his glass ones for Antoine’s agate ones. He was the only boy in the town he had not succeeded in exploiting. One day even Antoine proved himself the more cunning, and succeeded in getting Elias to take an old broken sword in exchange for six enormous marbles quite new. Moses was obliged to confess, with a feeling of humiliation, that the young Graff had proved himself more shrewd than the young Lichtenbach.

It must be stated that, on that occasion, Catherine Graff was present, and, with the object of dazzling his friend’s sister, Elias had shown unwonted generosity. This young girl had even then the power of troubling the young boy.

As he saw his former companion pass by, proud of his patriotic determination, Elias had taken the pipe from his mouth, and said—

“Where are you going, Antoine?”

“To join the 27th line regiment at Chalons.”

“What! Have you enlisted?”

“Yes, like every one else of my age. Are not you going to do the same?”

“I don’t know; my father has said nothing to me about it.”

“Are you to wait for your father’s orders before doing your duty?”

Elias scratched his head, whilst his whole face expressed uncertainty and embarrassment.

“But he needs me for the business.”

“France also needs you, and more urgently than your father.”

“I am only nineteen years old.”

“And I, not yet twenty.”

“Yes, you are right, I will go and speak to my father about it.”

“If I do not see you again, good-bye.”

“Good-bye, and good luck.”

Elias, in greater trouble than he had ever been before, made his way to his father’s shop, and found old Moses in the cellar in the act of bottling brandy. The son was warmly received by his father, and Lichtenbach, filling a goblet, held it out to his son and heir.

“Taste this cognac, it is very palatable! In a short time it will fetch twenty francs a litre; there will be only ourselves who will drink it for nothing, my son!”

“You will drink of it, perhaps, father,” said Elias, troubled. “But I—”

“What! You? What is the meaning of this?”

“Shall I be by your side when the cost of this good liquor has mounted to that price?”

“Well! Where will you be?”

“Where all the youths of the village are—in the army.”

“You in the army, Elias; what will you do there?”

“Fight, like the others.”

Old Moses, by the light of the candle, which lit the cellar, looked at his son in utter bewilderment. He could not believe his own ears. Still he said—

“Fight? Why fight?”

“To defend the country.”

“What country?”

“France, where I have lived and been brought up, whose language I speak, and where all our clients and friends are.”

Old Lichtenbach shook his head, and remained a moment without speaking. Then, in trenchant tones, he said—

“My son, we do business in this country, but we have not been born here. I was in Switzerland, with your mother, in Geneva, when you came into the world. My birthplace is Hanover, your mother’s Baden. Your name appears on no official register, and you are free to do what you like. We are German by birth, French by habit and everyday relations; we belong no more to one side than to the other. The best thing we can do is to keep out of the quarrel. What could we gain by fighting? Blows for you, pain and suffering for both of us. And how would it benefit any one, if Elias Lichtenbach were killed in battle, and old Moses were left to finish his life all alone? Does any one even know why all these people are fighting? Do they even know themselves? They have quarrelled, like tipplers on leaving the grog-shop after having absorbed more than is good for them. And now they fly at one another’s throats. What have the Germans done to you to make you want to fight them? What advantage will you gain from having defended the French?”

“But all the young men are off, father. Antoine Graff, whom I have just met, has received his papers.”

“He is a fool!”

“But the son of Rabbi Zacharias is also going.”

“Great good may he get from it!”

“To-morrow there will only be left in the town the aged and infirm. I shall be the only one remaining, and everybody will laugh me to scorn.”

Old Moses sighed as he said, “Yes, you have your full share of self-respect; you have been brought up in the schools of France, in which a great deal is related on the subject of honour. Listen, Elias, and remember all your life long, all this teaching is sheer nonsense. Honour consists in paying what one owes, and in meeting one’s bills when they fall due. Outside of that, believe me, everything is false. Patriotic legends have been invented to lead men to butchery and slaughter to the strains of the ‘Marseillaise.’ They consist merely of sounding words, with which mankind is deceived in the interests of rulers and states. One ought not to let one’s self be the dupe of such tricks and artifices. When it is all over, none of the sly rascals who have persuaded the rest to fight, and carefully kept out of the way themselves, will give you even a single word of pity for your misfortunes. I have seen the world, and I know life. Beware of enthusiasm, it is the most false and dangerous thing on earth.”

There was a moment’s silence in the dark cellar, where the countenances of the two men showed red in the flickering flames of the candle. The dripping of the brandy, as it fell into the tub beneath the barrel tap, was the only sound audible. The dark, cold air which enveloped Elias began to calm the ardour, with which he was burning a few minutes before. The old man continued after a moment’s silence—

“Besides, I well understand that you do not care to remain alone here when all your acquaintances are leaving the town. You shall leave, too. But there are other things for you to do than risk your skin, or try to endanger the lives of others. Great profits may now be made in food supplies. In a short time the whole of Alsace and Lorraine will be invaded. The armies will have to live—the French armies, I mean, for the Germans, who are the conquerors, will lack nothing. We must make it our duty to collect provisions on the side of Chalons, towards Paris. You are not yet of age, you owe nothing to any one; besides, the services you may render are a thousand times more important than those of these simpletons, who are intending to shoulder muskets. I will prove my confidence in you by giving you the means to show what you are worth. Come here; bring me the light.”

Moses went to one corner of the cellar. Removing a couple of barrels, he took up a spade, and, digging a hole in the ground, laid bare an iron-bound box. Raising it with considerable difficulty, he took from his pocket a bunch of keys, opened the lock, and showed his son the interior full of carefully arranged rolls. Tearing away the paper envelope of one of these rolls, he poured the contents into his son’s hands. They were twenty-franc gold pieces.

“Here,” said Moses, “are forty thousand francs in gold. You are strong enough to carry off the box. Early to-morrow morning you will take the train for Troyes. Deposit this money with Baradier, the banker, but do not accept either bank-notes or drafts. Before long gold will be at a premium, and you will benefit by the exchange. With the capital I now place at your disposal buy sheep and cattle, and offer to supply the management with beef and mutton. Owing to the disorder in which the invasion will throw agriculture, cattle will be sold at a loss of seventy-five per cent. In the embarrassment in which the army will find itself for victuals, the contractors will sell again at a profit of cent. per cent. Do you understand the affair? Then act according to these data. If you do, by contributing to feed the troops you will be of far more service than marching in red trousers, under the orders of a stupid corporal. You, too, will be defending your country. And do not forget to betake yourself to the drug-store to-night to proclaim it aloud.”

“But suppose some one asks me in what corps I am to serve, what reply shall I give?”

“You will say, ‘I am going to Rhetel. It will be settled there.’”

“Very well, father.”

“Take hold of one of the handles of the box, and help me to mount it to the shop.”

“Leave it to me, father.”

Whereupon, seizing in both his arms the heavy box, filled with gold, he raised it on his stout shoulder, and, preceded by Moses, who held aloft his candle to light the staircase, he bore away without flinching all his father’s fortune.

The double combination conceived by Lichtenbach succeeded, as all simple ideas do. Within Metz, besieged and filled with troops, stored provisions were not long in coming to a premium. The salt Moses thought of selling at a moderate price gave him a great surprise. It proved more valuable than sugar. The want of salt caused keen suffering to the soldiers, who had become disgusted with horseflesh. The brandy, largely adulterated, also sold well. Still the old man’s profits did not recompense him for lack of news of his heir. Elias’s last letter, delivered on the evening of the Battle of Borny, announced the young man’s arrival in Paris. He had left thirty thousand francs in gold with the firm of Baradier, at Troyes, and was preparing to make for Orleans, as he did not consider himself in safety in Paris, which would infallibly soon be blockaded.

He had introduced five thousand sheep into the town. But he did not consider it necessary to continue business with the Government, which was too economical and avaricious. After the 14th of August not a word did the old man receive. During those long, sleepless nights, whilst listening to the cannon of Saint Julien or of Plappeville thundering away at long intervals, the old man reflected bitterly that his son was very young and inexperienced, that he might be robbed, and that the sum he had entrusted to him represented twenty years’ wanderings along the roads of Lorraine, buying up all the old iron in the province. Still, he had the consolation of thinking that Elias was not taking part in the terrible and bloody battles, doleful and desperate tidings of which came across the outposts right to the besieged town. He saw his neighbours and clients pass along with bowed heads, wondering uneasily, and asking one another—

“What news? Have you heard anything of your son? Where is he? If only all our boys are not dead!”

He at least could reply, “I do not know,” with comparative assurance. But the others? Old Graff especially was an object of pity. He seemed as though he would go mad. One evening he had gone out bareheaded into the streets, when the weather was icy cold, saying to all he met, “If Antoine does not come back, I shall have been his murderer. Why did I send him to the war; he was not even of age? He ought to be here by my side. All this time they have been fighting around Paris. A presentiment comes to me that my son is dead!” and he wept bitterly. They were obliged to take him back home by force, whilst little Catherine hid herself behind her mother’s skirts. Moses congratulated himself for the prudent resolution he had imposed on Elias, though he did his best to lament with the rest on the dangers run by this brave and valiant band of youth gone out in defence of their country.

One evening, on returning homey the inhabitants of the district around the cathedral found ambulance carriages in the streets and assistants carrying wounded men into private houses. No more beds were to be had at the hospitals. All the untenanted houses had been requisitioned, and now the military authorities appealed to the patriotism of the inhabitants of Metz for lodging the victims of the last sortie. A captain of light infantry belonging to the Guards had just been carried to the house of Moses, and Graff had taken in a captain of artillery, named M. de Trémont. As he was bringing back his battery from the hills of Servigny, the young officer had received a ball in the thigh.

Anxiety for the health of his patient, the remedies he needed, and other little attentions, caused a happy diversion to the ever-present anxiety of Antoine’s father. As he saw this handsome young officer, who had fought so heroically, and who under such solicitous care, was about to recover his health under his roof, Graff began to hope once more. He said to himself, “If my own son is wounded, why should not he also be so fortunate as Captain de Trémont? He has been brought a long distance, with his wounded thigh, but he will be quite well again in less than a couple of months. They do not all die who are wounded in war. I feel sure Antoine will come back now.” And his spirits returned with renewed hope. The captain, well cared for by Graff and his wife, was soon able to leave his bed, and after dinner, at night, he would relate to them his campaigns in Algeria and Mexico. He explained to his hosts the reasons why France was coming off the worst in this disastrous campaign, attributing all the advantages of the Germans to their remarkable organizing capacity, and the perfection of their artillery.

“You see, the whole future of war consists in war material. We have to give way before breech-loading cannons, which have, from the very first, given proof of a marked superiority over our grooved arms. The moral effect on our troops has been decisive. The first thing to be done after the war, will be to investigate a new kind of cannon and explosives of a terribly destructive power. The question of explosives will be of capital importance. This ought to be the main end of our efforts in the artillery.”

With remarkable clearness he explained all that modern chemistry offered in cunning combinations, such as would guarantee victory to that adversary which could most scientifically assure massacre and death. So, in the evening silence in that large town, besieged by the conquering enemy, the conquered were already engaged in thinking of preparations for revenge.

The siege came to an end, and all the brave soldiers who would have defended Metz to the death were surrendered alive to the enemy. The flags, a prey to famine, were carried off to form trophies of victory in Germany. Paris fell in her turn, then the final armies of France, driven back across the snow, stained with blood, not so tired of death as exhausted with the fight, stopped at the country’s call. And on that immense battlefield, two hundred leagues square, the victors’ shout of triumph mingled with the despairing cry of the vanquished. By degrees news arrived, bringing sorrow to some and joy to others. Among the brave young fellows who had gone forth to fight, so ardent and proud, many never returned, whilst the numbers of prisoners and wounded will never be known.

One morning, Graff, in the dining-room, was taking breakfast with his family and Captain de Trémont, who was still a convalescent in Metz, when the outside door was opened, a rapid step was heard on the staircase, and father, mother, and little Catherine, looked at one another with pale faces. Not a word was uttered as they listened tremblingly to this quick, seemingly joyful ascent. They had all been struck by the same thought; he who comes hastening to us in this way, without asking any questions, who enters as though he were master of the house, and mounts the well-known steps four at a time, must be Antoine! Before they had time to give expression to their thoughts the door opened, and a tall, bearded young man, so thin and terrible that they did not recognize him, but whose eyes were instantly flooded with tears, appeared before them.

“Father! Catherine! Mother!”

They all rose to their feet, mad with joy, for they could not mistake the voice, and the long-expected child for whom so many tears had been shed, was taken in their arms and covered with kisses, amid the cries and sobs, questions and exclamations, of parents and servants, whilst the Captain looked on with a smile at this family scene. Finally, Antoine escaped from their arms, and his first words were the following—

“Good heavens! How hungry I am!”

As he spoke he cast hungry looks on the coffee and cake with which the table was spread. In a trice he was seated there, and served and fed so well, that he was obliged to beg them to desist. Then explanations began, and long accounts of events, interspersed with questions as to the fate of such and such a one. He himself, after fighting at Sedan, had escaped by Mézières, reached the North, where, with Faidherbe, he had passed the whole campaign. He had not slept in a bed for three months. But he had fought at Pont-Noyelles, Bapaume, and Saint Quentin, and had been lucky enough to come out without a scratch, with the grade of sergeant-major; disgusted all the same, with the soldier’s profession for the rest of his life. His father said to him—

“Well, it is all over now! You shall never begin again. Our unhappy country is crushed. It will take a score of years to bring things to their former condition. Ah, my poor Antoine, how ill I have slept the last six months! I may say, with truth, I have not had a single hour’s peace of mind since you left. But here you are back again once more, and all is forgotten.”

Then the incidents of the campaign would begin again. Captain de Trémont questioned the young soldier on the details of the campaign in the North, and Antoine could not dwell too long on the valour of the calm and indefatigable Faidherbe, the bravery of his companions, and the services rendered by François Baradier, a volunteer like himself, the son of a banker of Troyes, who had saved his life, snatching him away from the hands of the Prussians of Manteufel on the evening of the battle of Bapaume, within a farm which the shells had set on fire, and where he was surrounded by a dozen of the enemy.

“He will come and see you—he promised me so—and you will appreciate such a fine brave fellow as he is.”

“Your rescuer? Certainly, he shall be welcome. But let me look at you, my poor child. Who would have recognized you? You look like a brigand! Had I met you in the street, I should have been afraid!”

All day long the Graffs were visited by whole lines of relations and friends, who had called to congratulate them, to admire the returned soldier, and to listen to the hundredth account of the episode of the Battle of Bapaume, whilst tumblers of beer and glasses of kirsch-wasser were served, bringing to their height the overwrought feelings of Graff, who was usually sober enough, though, on this occasion, he had completely lost his bearings.

The following morning fresh stirrings in the quarter. Elias Lichtenbach made his appearance in a cab. He looked well and hearty, and, after greeting his family, immediately entered into conference with the German authorities. The rumour soon spread that young Lichtenbach had been sent by the authorities of Bordeaux, and had become a person of importance during the war. In reality, his mission concerned the re-victualling of the army on the frontiers of the East. The delegate to the war, who appreciated the services rendered by Elias, his skill as an intermediary, and his facility in avoiding difficulties, had sent his agent to the enemy’s headquarters. He was now full of self-importance, and proudly looked down upon his compatriots, worn out by privation and hunger, though furious at defeat.

After the first few hours of astonishment full fling was given to curiosity. Where had Elias come from, looking so strong and well? Of all who had left at the same time as himself, he was the only one who had returned looking better than when he left. All the rest were pale and savage-looking. Inquiries were set afoot. At the very first question the representatives of the authorities replied, with circumspection, that M. Lichtenbach had rendered eminent service to the country, and that the delegate for the war considered him with the most benevolent esteem. What kind of service? It was young Baradier who, on reaching Metz, on a visit to Antoine and his family, began to throw light on the obscure conduct of the boasting Elias.

Sergeant Baradier, ruddy of complexion, full of life and vigour, was as firm in disposition as Antoine was gentle. His open frankness pleased everybody, and amongst all these good people he was immediately at his ease. Twenty-four hours had not passed before he was on very good terms with Captain de Trémont, and had grouped together all the volunteers of Metz to a banquet to celebrate their return. Elias had had the calm audacity to give in his name, like the rest, and had put in an appearance at the Hotel de l’Ours, to take part in the banquet. But his reception had been a cold one. All who were present, though in civil dress, as the German authorities had forbidden the uniform, knew in what regiments they had served, in what battles they had been wounded. Elias alone lost himself in vague explanations. He pretended to have been everywhere—with the armies at Chanzy and Bourbaki, at the camp of Conlie, and near Garibaldi. This gift of ubiquity astonished everybody. Sergeant Baradier undertook to give an explanation clearer than all those behind which Elias had sheltered himself.

“Are you not the Lichtenbach who did business with the firm of Baradier at Troyes?” he asked old Moses’ son, point-blank. “Is it not you who bought sheep in the Ardennes, and drove them through Belgium into France?”

“Yes, it is myself,” replied Elias, cautiously.

“Well! No wonder you have been everywhere during the war, since you were buying meat from every available spot, on behalf of the management.”

As Elias became agitated and turned pale, Baradier continued—

“Oh, I am not reproaching you, I am simply stating a fact. These gentlemen just now did not appear to understand the part you played. I am explaining it to them. M. Lichtenbach is a patriot in a fashion. Instead of fighting he undertook to feed the fighters. If not a glorious employment, it is, at least a useful one.”

“But I risked my life like the rest,” exclaimed Elias, red with anger. “Had the Germans caught me they would have shot me!”

“It is most extraordinary that they allowed you to move in and out so freely through their lines, for they did not generally show themselves over confident. The good reception, too, they gave you must have appeared very strange.”

“What do you mean!” exclaimed Elias.

“Simply what I say; nothing more,” replied Baradier, coldly. “But if you wish me to explain, I merely remark that remaining out of the reach of sabre cuts and musket shots, whilst others are fighting, being warm and comfortable, and deprived of nothing, whilst your companions are dying of cold and hunger, seeing in the misfortunes of one’s country only an opportunity of making a fortune, is not what one would call the height of heroism.”

“You insult me!”

“I am ready to give you satisfaction.”

“Good! you shall hear from me.”

“Do not cry out so loud; I can easily be found. I am staying with M. Graff, and am the son of M. Baradier, your banker at Troyes. Now we will change the subject.”

Immediately Elias found himself alone. Everybody turned their backs on him. Flinging on his adversary a look of hatred he left the room. As he closed the door he heard Graff exclaim—

“Now that there are none but good patriots left let us drink to the health of France!”

The following morning Baradier, accompanied by Captain de Trémont and his friend Graff, waited for Lichtenbach to put in an appearance. They waited in vain. The prudent Elias, having avoided wounds during the war, seemed quite determined not to run the risk of receiving any in times of peace. Still, as though by chance, M. Baradier at Troyes, received in his house a supplement of twenty Hessian hussars, to board and lodge, and old Graff was summoned thrice in a single week to reply to denunciations representing him as having spoken in insulting terms concerning the German army. Finally, Baradier received notice to leave Metz within twelve hours.

It was quite possible that chance alone might have caused the increase of the burden laid on the banker of Troyes, and the expulsion of Baradier might have been the consequence of the banquet, at which more was said than the circumstances warranted. But old Graff was convinced that his neighbour Lichtenbach’s son was an agent of the enemy, and that the rogue had simply turned informer against him. All the same, Elias bowed to him in the street with the greatest deference, and he always showed himself very polite to Antoine.

The quiet and taciturn heir to the firm of Graff avoided, as far as possible, his former companion. He did not openly break with him, his nature being opposed to violence of every kind. But very few words were spoken on either side, and he avoided transacting business with him. The firm Graff stored up large quantities of wool, which were sold to the manufacturers of Champagne and the Ardennes. The Baradiers, who had just bought a large factory at Ars, were great customers of theirs. Elias, who continued his father’s wholesale business, bought and sold everything in the nature of a business transaction, and had often made offers to the Graff for the wool of Germany. The latter had always declined his offers. Still, in spite of such evident ill-will, Elias was not discouraged, and, with that tenacity which is one of the virtues of his race, he periodically visited Graff and his son, in the hope of bringing off a bargain.

Thus, after two years spent by Mademoiselle Graff in one of the best boarding schools in Nancy, Elias, one fine morning, found himself in front of her in the garden, whilst waiting for Antoine. He was stupefied and completely dazzled. The child had become a young lady, tall and graceful, with dark eyes, light hair, and brilliant complexion. He dared not speak to her, and could only bow as she passed. On returning home he mentioned the incident to his father, and, with a wealth of biblical comparison, he depicted the maiden, like Rebecca appearing to Jacob. He left his father in no doubt that he was passionately in love, and that if, as the shepherd had served Laban, he should have to serve Graff, he would submit to it for love of the fair Elise.

Old Moses remarked that, being a Jew, and the Graffs being Christians, there was no chance of being accepted by them, without prejudice to the grievances they had manifested against him ever since the war. Elias replied that he could abjure his religion, and by his conversion give great prestige to the Catholic faith, that he had earned sufficient money, and that a young fellow of twenty-two years of age, who would place four hundred thousand francs on the table when the contract was signed was not a suitor to be thrown over so easily.

Moses warned his son that he was entering upon a perilous negotiation. He did not dissuade him from changing his religion, if he found any advantage in such a course, but he warned him that, whether as Christian or Jew, he would not obtain the hand of Mademoiselle Graff, and that he would gain nothing but the shame of his apostacy. Elias, however, had a will of iron; he astonished the archbishop by his determination, conciliated him by his piety and generosity, and, with remarkable skill, brought over to his interests all the high Catholic powers. At a time when German pietism was struggling in the conquered provinces, with a clergy of purely Protestant tendencies, the conversion of Elias was a political event.

Had Elias not been so well known he might have become popular. All the same, he met a thorough refusal at the hands of the Graff family, and, as though to intensify the insult offered to him, before six months the beautiful Elise married the former sergeant, Baradier. At the same time, a rumour spread abroad that the Graffs were leaving the town. Antoine followed his step-brother to Paris, and entered with him into the banking establishment of Baradier senior.

It was too much for Elias. He lost his sleep, and one day, after meeting the Graffs, who were being escorted to the station by all their friends, he returned home, and was taken suddenly ill. Old Moses, terrified, put his son to bed, summoned the doctor, and learnt that the new convert was at the point of death. A furious delirium had taken possession of him; during its course he negotiated fabulous bargains with imaginary buyers and sellers. A semblance of reason returned only when he poured forth floods of insults and threats against the Baradiers and the Graffs, whilst his father calmed him by saying—

“Yes, Elias, you shall have your revenge on these rascals! You shall ruin them! You shall crush them under your heel!”

Then a happy smile came over the patient’s lips; he slept a few hours, and awoke feeling much better. One may affirm that it was the intensity of his hatred that kept him from dying. Plans of revenge haunted his fevered brain, and when the doctor, in astonishment, declared that the young man was convalescent, the first words Elias uttered were, “All the better! Had I died, the Baradiers and Graff’s would have been too glad!”

To tell the truth, the latter paid not the slightest heed to the feelings of rancour they had so violently aroused. They had assumed the direction of the firm, had extended the business, and founded additional woollen factories. Marcel Baradier and his sister Amélie were born. Complete harmony seemed to exist in this happy family, when Elias Lichtenbach, his father having died, came to establish himself in Paris.

A singular metamorphosis had been wrought in him. The first time Baradier and his rival met at the Bourse the banker did not recognize Lichtenbach. He saw before him a thin, stooping man, almost bald, with cold, passionless eyes, hidden behind gold spectacles. His very voice had changed. M. Lichtenbach spoke little, said only what was absolutely essential, and remained impassive before the most important news. A contraction of the jaws alone betrayed his emotion, giving to his countenance a character of singular ferocity.

Lichtenbach’s connection with the firm of Baradier and Graff was full of meaning. He caused them to lose three hundred thousand francs in a single morning on a contract for wool, concluded at the Bourse of Troyes. Elias sold wool from Hungary at so low a rate that Baradier and Graff, who had speculated on a rise, were obliged to sell out rapidly to limit their risks. It was the first clear flash from the cloud. Henceforward an enemy, always on the watch, was ever ready to strike the Baradier firm in its most vulnerable part. Lichtenbach’s evil intentions, though concealed, were none the less certain.

When attacked they ingeniously defended themselves, took needful precautions, and trusted nothing to hazard. Lichtenbach was very powerful and dangerous. Left a widower, with one daughter, whom he had sent to the Sacre-Coeur, there to be brought up according to the principles of the most rigid devotion, Elias was a type of the renegade who had become more Christian than the Pope himself.

Still, if Lichtenbach was dreaded, he was received everywhere, and his influence in society was as secret as it was sure. He rendered priceless help to ruined families. Instead of aiming his financial batteries against the established Government, he divided his attempts, placed his hands on all the syndicates of Europe, and by means of the capital he collected caused diverse speculations not only to benefit himself, but all his friends in addition.

The simplicity of his life was extreme. He lived in a gloomy mansion in the Rue Barbet-de-Jouy, attended by servants from Lorraine, who spoke German better than French. He never received visitors, whilst a game of whist seemed to form his only distraction. It was at his office, right in front of the Bourse, that he received his clients. Although only forty-five years of age, he seemed to have lost all interest in the fair sex, as though all women were an object of terror for him. The little Duchess de Bernay, who, thanks to speculations conducted by Elias, had been able to pay her debts, one day said to her friend, the Marchioness de Premeur—

“I must find out what Lichtenbach really thinks. After all, the manner in which he treats us is almost humiliating.”

For some evenings, in the presence of all her friends, she flirted with Elias, without succeeding in thawing him. Then suddenly she ceased paying attention to him. To her companions’ ironical questions she replied, evasively—

“I have lost my time. It is no use.”

But it was noticed that her style of living changed; that she spent large sums of money, and that, according as she ceased joking with the financier, she became more and more settled in money matters. Elias, distant and silent as ever, continued to speculate in the four corners of the globe, to advise the Prince, manage his journal, and prove to the-firm of Baradier and Graff, as well as to those in any way connected with him, that the enmity he was nourishing would be with him as long as he lived.