第 36 页

"You lie, you lie! You wretched child, you only want to torture and kill

me!"

Then, in her fury and distress, Eve remembered that she was the mother,

and that it was for her to chastise that unworthy daughter. There was no

stick near her, but from a basket of the yellow roses, whose powerful

scent intoxicated both of them, she plucked a handful of blooms, with

long and spiny stalks, and smote Camille across the face. A drop of blood

appeared on the girl's left temple, near her eyelid.

But she sprang forward, flushed and maddened by this correction, with her

hand raised and ready to strike back. "Take care, mother! I swear I'd

beat you like a gipsy! And now just put this into your head: I mean to

marry Gerard, and I will; and I'll take him from you, even if I have to

raise a scandal, should you refuse to give him to me with good grace."

Eve, after her one act of angry vigour, had sunk into an armchair,

overcome, distracted. And all the horror of quarrels, which sprang from

her egotistical desire to be happy, caressed, flattered and adored, was

returning to her. But Camille, still threatening, still unsatiated,

showed her heart as it really was, her stern, black, unforgiving heart,

intoxicated with cruelty. There came a moment of supreme silence, while

Duvillard's gay voice again rang out in the adjoining room.

The mother was gently weeping, when Hyacinthe, coming upstairs at a run,

swept into the little _salon_. He looked at the two women, and made a

gesture of indulgent contempt. "Ah! you're no doubt satisfied now! But

what did I tell you? It would have been much better for you to have come

downstairs at once! Everybody is asking for you. It's all idiotic. I've

come to fetch you."

Eve and Camille would not yet have followed him, perhaps, if Duvillard

and Fonsegue had not at that moment come out of the former's room. Having

finished their cigars they also spoke of going downstairs. And Eve had to

rise and smile and show dry eyes, while Camille, standing before a

looking-glass, arranged her hair, and stanched the little drop of blood

that had gathered on her temple.

There was already quite a number of people below, in the three huge

saloons adorned with tapestry and plants. The stalls had been draped with

red silk, which set a gay, bright glow around the goods. And no ordinary

bazaar could have put forth such a show, for there was something of

everything among the articles of a thousand different kinds, from

sketches by recognised masters, and the autographs of famous writers,

down to socks and slippers and combs. The haphazard way in which things

were laid out was in itself an attraction; and, in addition, there was a

buffet, where the whitest of beautiful hands poured out champagne, and

two lotteries, one for an organ and another for a pony-drawn village

cart, the tickets for which were sold by a bevy of charming girls, who

had scattered through the throng. As Duvillard had expected, however, the

great success of the bazaar lay in the delightful little shiver which the

beautiful ladies experienced as they passed through the entrance where

the bomb had exploded. The rougher repairing work was finished, the walls

and ceilings had been doctored, in part re-constructed. However, the

painters had not yet come, and here and there the whiter stone and

plaster work showed like fresh scars left by all the terrible gashes. It

was with mingled anxiety and rapture that pretty heads emerged from the

carriages which, arriving in a continuous stream, made the flagstones of

the court re-echo. And in the three saloons, beside the stalls, there was

no end to the lively chatter: "Ah! my dear, did you see all those marks?

How frightful, how frightful! The whole house was almost blown up. And to

think it might begin again while we are here! One really needs some

courage to come, but then, that asylum is such a deserving institution,

and money is badly wanted to build a new wing. And besides, those

monsters will see that we are not frightened, whatever they do."

When the Baroness at last came down to her stall with Camille she found

the saleswomen feverishly at work already under the direction of Princess

Rosemonde, who on occasions of this kind evinced the greatest cunning and

rapacity, robbing the customers in the most impudent fashion. "Ah! here

you are," she exclaimed. "Beware of a number of higglers who have come to

secure bargains. I know them! They watch for their opportunities, turn

everything topsy-turvy and wait for us to lose our heads and forget

prices, so as to pay even less than they would in a real shop. But I'll

get good prices from them, you shall see!"

At this, Eve, who for her own part was a most incapable saleswoman, had

to laugh with the others. And in a gentle voice she made a pretence of

addressing certain recommendations to Camille, who listened with a

smiling and most submissive air. In point of fact the wretched mother was

sinking with emotion, particularly at the thought that she would have to

remain there till seven o'clock, and suffer in secret before all those

people, without possibility of relief. And thus it was almost like a

respite when she suddenly perceived Abbe Froment sitting and waiting for

her on a settee, covered with red velvet, near her stall. Her legs were

failing her, so she took a place beside him.

"You received my letter then, Monsieur l'Abbe. I am glad that you have

come, for I have some good news to give you, and wished to leave you the

pleasure of imparting it to your _protege_, that man Laveuve, whom you so

warmly recommended to me. Every formality has now been fulfilled, and you

can bring him to the asylum to-morrow."

Pierre gazed at her in stupefaction. "Laveuve? Why, he is dead!"

In her turn she became astonished. "What, dead! But you never informed me

of it! If I told you of all the trouble that has been taken, of all that

had to be undone and done again, and the discussions and the papers and

the writing! Are you quite sure that he is dead?"

"Oh! yes, he is dead. He has been dead a month."

"Dead a month! Well, we could not know; you yourself gave us no sign of

life. Ah! _mon Dieu_! what a worry that he should be dead. We shall now

be obliged to undo everything again!"

"He is dead, madame. It is true that I ought to have informed you of it.

But that doesn't alter the fact--he is dead."

Dead! that word which kept on returning, the thought too, that for a

month past she had been busying herself for a corpse, quite froze her,

brought her to the very depths of despair, like an omen of the cold death

into which she herself must soon descend, in the shroud of her last

passion. And, meantime, Pierre, despite himself, smiled bitterly at the

atrocious irony of it all. Ah! that lame and halting Charity, which

proffers help when men are dead!

The priest still lingered on the settee when the Baroness rose. She had

seen magistrate Amadieu hurriedly enter like one who just wished to show

himself, purchase some trifle, and then return to the Palace of Justice.

However, he was also perceived by little Massot, the "Globe" reporter,

who was prowling round the stalls, and who at once bore down upon him,

eager for information. And he hemmed him in and forthwith interviewed him

respecting the affair of that mechanician Salvat, who was accused of

having deposited the bomb at the entrance of the house. Was this simply

an invention of the police, as some newspapers pretended? Or was it

really correct? And if so, would Salvat soon be arrested? In self-defence

Amadieu answered correctly enough that the affair did not as yet concern

him, and would only come within his attributions, if Salvat should be

arrested and the investigation placed in his hands. At the same time,

however, the magistrate's pompous and affectedly shrewd manner suggested

that he already knew everything to the smallest details, and that, had he

chosen, he could have promised some great events for the morrow. A circle

of ladies had gathered round him as he spoke, quite a number of pretty

women feverish with curiosity, who jostled one another in their eagerness

to hear that brigand tale which sent a little shiver coursing under their

skins. However, Amadieu managed to slip off after paying Rosemonde twenty

francs for a cigarette case, which was perhaps worth thirty sous.

Massot, on recognising Pierre, came up to shake hands with him. "Don't

you agree with me, Monsieur l'Abbe, that Salvat must be a long way off by

now if he's got good legs? Ah! the police will always make me laugh!"

However, Rosemonde brought Hyacinthe up to the journalist. "Monsieur

Massot," said she, "you who go everywhere, I want you to be judge. That

Chamber of Horrors at Montmartre, that tavern where Legras sings the

'Flowers of the Streets'--"

"Oh! a delightful spot, madame," interrupted Massot, "I wouldn't take

even a gendarme there."

"No, don't jest, Monsieur Massot, I'm talking seriously. Isn't it quite

allowable for a respectable woman to go there when she's accompanied by a

gentleman?" And, without allowing the journalist time to answer her, she

turned towards Hyacinthe: "There! you see that Monsieur Massot doesn't

say no! You've got to take me there this evening, it's sworn, it's

sworn."

Then she darted away to sell a packet of pins to an old lady, while the

young man contented himself with remarking, in the voice of one who has

no illusions left: "She's quite idiotic with her Chamber of Horrors!"

Massot philosophically shrugged his shoulders. It was only natural that a

woman should want to amuse herself. And when Hyacinthe had gone off,

passing with perverse contempt beside the lovely girls who were selling

lottery tickets, the journalist ventured to murmur: "All the same, it

would do that youngster good if a woman were to take him in hand."

Then, again addressing Pierre, he resumed: "Why, here comes Duthil! What

did Sagnier mean this morning by saying that Duthil would sleep at Mazas

to-night?"

In a great hurry apparently, and all smiles, Duthil was cutting his way

through the crowd in order to join Duvillard and Fonsegue, who still

stood talking near the Baroness's stall. And he waved his hand to them in

a victorious way, to imply that he had succeeded in the delicate mission

entrusted to him. This was nothing less than a bold manoeuvre to hasten

Silviane's admission to the Comedie Francaise. The idea had occurred to

her of making the Baron give a dinner at the Cafe Anglais in order that

she might meet at it an influential critic, who, according to her

statements, would compel the authorities to throw the doors wide open for

her as soon as he should know her. However, it did not seem easy to

secure the critic's presence, as he was noted for his sternness and

grumbling disposition. And, indeed, after a first repulse, Duthil had for

three days past been obliged to exert all his powers of diplomacy, and

bring even the remotest influence into play. But he was radiant now, for

he had conquered.

"It's for this evening, my dear Baron, at half-past seven," he exclaimed.

"Ah! dash it all, I've had more trouble than I should have had to secure

a concession vote!" Then he laughed with the pretty impudence of a man of

pleasure, whom political conscientiousness did not trouble. And, indeed,

his allusion to the fresh denunciations of the "Voix du Peuple" hugely

amused him.

"Don't jest," muttered Fonsegue, who for his part wished to amuse himself

by frightening the young deputy. "Things are going very badly!"

Duthil turned pale, and a vision of the police and Mazas rose before his

eyes. In this wise sheer funk came over him from time to time. However,

with his lack of all moral sense, he soon felt reassured and began to

laugh. "Bah!" he retorted gaily, winking towards Duvillard, "the

governor's there to pilot the barque!"

The Baron, who was extremely pleased, had pressed his hands, thanked him,

and called him an obliging fellow. And now turning towards Fonsegue, he

exclaimed: "I say, you must make one of us this evening. Oh! it's

necessary. I want something imposing round Silviane. Duthil will

represent the Chamber, you journalism, and I finance--" But he suddenly

paused on seeing Gerard, who, with a somewhat grave expression, was

leisurely picking his way through the sea of skirts. "Gerard, my friend,"

said the Baron, after beckoning to him, "I want you to do me a service."

And forthwith he told him what was in question; how the influential

critic had been prevailed upon to attend a dinner which would decide

Silviane's future; and how it was the duty of all her friends to rally

round her.

"But I can't," the young man answered in embarrassment. "I have to dine

at home with my mother, who was rather poorly this morning."

"Oh! a sensible woman like your mother will readily understand that there

are matters of exceptional importance. Go home and excuse yourself. Tell

her some story, tell her that a friend's happiness is in question." And

as Gerard began to weaken, Duvillard added: "The fact is, that I really

want you, my dear fellow; I must have a society man. Society, you know,

is a great force in theatrical matters; and if Silviane has society with

her, her triumph is certain."

Gerard promised, and then chatted for a moment with his uncle, General de

Bozonnet, who was quite enlivened by that throng of women, among whom he

had been carried hither and thither like an old rudderless ship. After

acknowledging the amiability with which Madame Fonsegue had listened to

his stories, by purchasing an autograph of Monseigneur Martha from her

for a hundred francs, he had quite lost himself amid the bevy of girls