第 8 页

weapon.

* This so-called peninsula lies to the northwest of Paris, and

is formed by the windings of the Seine.--Trans.

However, Camille was walking about with a steaming cup of coffee in her

hand: "Will you take some coffee, Monsieur l'Abbe?" she inquired.

"No, thank you, mademoiselle."

"A glass of Chartreuse then?"

"No, thank you."

Then everybody being served, the Baroness came back and said amiably:

"Come, Monsieur l'Abbe, what do you desire of me?"

Pierre began to speak almost in an undertone, his throat contracting and

his heart beating with emotion. "I have come, madame, to appeal to your

great kindness of heart. This morning, in a frightful house, in the Rue

des Saules, behind Montmartre, I beheld a sight which utterly upset me.

You can have no idea what an abode of misery and suffering it was; its

inmates without fire or bread, the men reduced to idleness because there

is no work, the mothers having no more milk for their babes, the children

barely clad, coughing and shivering. And among all these horrors I saw

the worst, the most abominable of all, an old workman, laid on his back

by age, dying of hunger, huddled on a heap of rags, in a nook which a dog

would not even accept as kennel."

He tried to recount things as discreetly as possible, frightened by the

very words he spoke, the horrors he had to relate in that sphere of

superlative luxury and enjoyment, before those happy ones who possessed

all the gifts of this world; for--to use a slang expression--he fully

realised that he sang out of tune, and in most uncourteous fashion. What

a strange idea of his to have called at the hour when one has just

finished _dejeuner_, when the aroma of hot coffee flatters happy

digestion. Nevertheless he went on, and even ended by raising his voice,

yielding to the feeling of revolt which gradually stirred him, going to

the end of his terrible narrative, naming Laveuve, insisting on the

unjust abandonment in which the old man was left, and asking for succour

in the name of human compassion. And the whole company approached to

listen to him; he could see the Baron and the General, and Duthil and

Amadieu, in front of him, sipping their coffee, in silence, without a

gesture.

"Well, madame," he concluded, "it seemed to me that one could not leave

that old man an hour longer in such a frightful position, and that this

very evening you would have the extreme goodness to have him admitted

into the Asylum of the Invalids of Labour, which is, I think, the proper

and only place for him."

Tears had moistened Eve's beautiful eyes. She was in consternation at so

sad a story coming to her to spoil her afternoon when she was looking

forward to her assignation with Gerard. Weak and indolent as she was,

lacking all initiative, too much occupied moreover with her own person,

she had only accepted the presidency of the Committee on the condition

that all administrative worries were to fall on Fonsegue. "Ah! Monsieur

l'Abbe," she murmured, "you rend my heart. But I can do nothing, nothing

at all, I assure you. Moreover, I believe that we have already inquired

into the affair of that man Laveuve. With us, you know, there must be the

most serious guarantees with regard to every admission. A reporter is

chosen who has to give us full information. Wasn't it you, Monsieur

Duthil, who was charged with this man Laveuve's affair?"

The deputy was finishing a glass of Chartreuse. "Yes, it was I. That fine

fellow played you a comedy, Monsieur l'Abbe. He isn't at all ill, and if

you left him any money you may be sure he went down to drink it as soon

as you were gone. For he is always drunk; and, besides that, he has the

most hateful disposition imaginable, crying out from morning till evening

against the _bourgeois_, and saying that if he had any strength left in

his arms he would undertake to blow up the whole show. And, moreover, he

won't go into the asylum; he says that it's a real prison where one's

guarded by Beguins who force one to hear mass, a dirty convent where the

gates are shut at nine in the evening! And there are so many of them like

that, who rather than be succoured prefer their liberty, with cold and

hunger and death. Well then, let the Laveuves die in the street, since

they refuse to be with us, and be warm and eat in our asylums!"

The General and Amadieu nodded their heads approvingly. But Duvillard

showed himself more generous. "No, no, indeed! A man's a man after all,

and should be succoured in spite of himself."

Eve, however, in despair at the idea that she would be robbed of her

afternoon, struggled and sought for reasons. "I assure you that my hands

are altogether tied. Monsieur l'Abbe does not doubt my heart or my zeal.

But how call I possibly assemble the Committee without a few days' delay?

And I have particular reasons for coming to no decision, especially in an

affair which has already been inquired into and pronounced upon, without

the Committee's sanction." Then, all at once she found a solution: "What

I advise you to do, Monsieur l'Abbe, is to go at once to see Monsieur

Fonsegue, our managing director. He alone can act in an urgent case, for

he knows that the ladies have unlimited confidence in him and approve

everything he does."

"You will find Fonsegue at the Chamber," added Duthil smiling, "only the

sitting will be a warm one, and I doubt whether you will be able to have

a comfortable chat with him."

Pierre, whose heart had contracted yet more painfully, insisted on the

subject no further; but at once made up his mind to see Fonsegue, and in

any event obtain from him a promise that the wretched Laveuve should be

admitted to the Asylum that very evening. Then he lingered in the saloon

for a few minutes listening to Gerard, who obligingly pointed out to him

how he might best convince the deputy, which was by alleging how bad an

effect such a story could have, should it be brought to light by the

revolutionary newspapers. However, the guests were beginning to take

their leave. The General, as he went off, came to ask his nephew if he

should see him that afternoon at his mother's, Madame de Quinsac, whose

"day" it was: a question which the young man answered with an evasive

gesture when he noticed that both Eve and Camille were looking at him.

Then came the turn of Amadieu, who hurried off saying that a serious

affair required his presence at the Palace of Justice. And Duthil soon

followed him in order to repair to the Chamber.

"I'll see you between four and five at Silviane's, eh?" said the Baron as

he conducted him to the door. "Come and tell me what occurs at the

Chamber in consequence of that odious article of Sagnier's. I must at all

events know. For my part I shall go to the Ministry of Fine Arts, to

settle that affair of the Comedie; and besides I've some calls to make,

some contractors to see, and a big launching and advertisement affair to

settle."

"It's understood then, between four and five, at Silviane's," said the

deputy, who went off again mastered by his vague uneasiness, his anxiety

as to what turn that nasty affair of the African Railway Lines might

take.

And all of them had forgotten Laveuve, the miserable wretch who lay at

death's door; and all of them were hastening away to their business or

their passions, caught in the toils, sinking under the grindstone and

whisked away by that rush of all Paris, whose fever bore them along,

throwing one against another in an ardent scramble, in which the sole

question was who should pass over the others and crush them.

"And so, mamma," said Camille, who continued to scrutinise her mother and

Gerard, "you are going to take us to the Princess's _matinee_?"

"By-and-by, yes. Only I shan't be able to stay there with you. I received

a telegram from Salmon about my corsage this morning, and I must

absolutely go to try it on at four o'clock."

By the slight trembling of her mother's voice, the girl felt certain that

she was telling a falsehood. "Oh!" said she, "I thought you were only

going to try it on to-morrow? In that case I suppose we are to go and

call for you at Salmon's with the carriage on leaving the _matinee_?"

"Oh! no my dear! One never knows when one will be free; and besides, if I

have a moment, I shall call at the _modiste's_."

Camille's secret rage brought almost a murderous glare to her dark eyes.

The truth was evident. But however passionately she might desire to set

some obstacle across her mother's path, she could not, dared not, carry

matters any further. In vain had she attempted to implore Gerard with her

eyes. He was standing to take his leave, and turned away his eyes.

Pierre, who had become acquainted with many things since he had

frequented the house, noticed how all three of them quivered, and divined

thereby the mute and terrible drama.

At this moment, however, Hyacinthe, stretched in an armchair, and

munching an ether capsule, the only liqueur in which he indulged, raised

his voice: "For my part, you know, I'm going to the Exposition du Lis.

All Paris is swarming there. There's one painting in particular, 'The

Rape of a Soul,' which it's absolutely necessary for one to have seen."

"Well, but I don't refuse to drive you there," resumed the Baroness.

"Before going to the Princess's we can look in at that exhibition."

"That's it, that's it," hastily exclaimed Camille, who, though she

harshly derided the symbolist painters as a rule, now doubtless desired

to delay her mother. Then, forcing herself to smile, she asked: "Won't

you risk a look-in at the Exposition du Lis with us, Monsieur Gerard?"

"Well, no," replied the Count, "I want to walk. I shall go with Monsieur

l'Abbe Froment to the Chamber."

Thereupon he took leave of mother and daughter, kissing the hand of each

in turn. It had just occurred to him that to while away his time he also

might call for a moment at Silviane's, where, like the others, he had his

_entrees_. On reaching the cold and solemn courtyard he said to the

priest, "Ah! it does one good to breathe a little cool air. They keep

their rooms too hot, and all those flowers, too, give one the headache."

Pierre for his part was going off with his brain in a whirl, his hands

feverish, his senses oppressed by all the luxury which he left behind

him, like the dream of some glowing, perfumed paradise where only the

elect had their abode. At the same time his reviving thirst for charity

had become keener than ever, and without listening to the Count, who was

speaking very affectionately of his mother, he reflected as to how he

might obtain Laveuve's admission to the Asylum from Fonsegue. However,

when the door of the mansion had closed behind them and they had taken a

few steps along the street, it occurred to Pierre that a moment

previously a sudden vision had met his gaze. Had he not seen a workman

carrying a tool-bag, standing and waiting on the foot pavement across the

road, gazing at that monumental door, closed upon so much fabulous

wealth--a workman in whom he fancied he had recognised Salvat, that

hungry fellow who had gone off that morning in search of work? At this

thought Pierre hastily turned round. Such wretchedness in face of so much

affluence and enjoyment made him feel anxious. But the workman, disturbed

in his contemplation, and possibly fearing that he had been recognised,

was going off with dragging step. And now, getting only a back view of

him, Pierre hesitated, and ended by thinking that he must have been

mistaken.

III. RANTERS AND RULERS

WHEN Abbe Froment was about to enter the Palais-Bourbon he remembered

that he had no card, and he was making up his mind that he would simply

ask for Fonsegue, though he was not known to him, when, on reaching the

vestibule, he perceived Mege, the Collectivist deputy, with whom he had

become acquainted in his days of militant charity in the poverty-stricken

Charonne district.

"What, you here? You surely have not come to evangelise us?" said Mege.

"No, I've come to see Monsieur Fonsegue on an urgent matter, about a poor

fellow who cannot wait."

"Fonsegue? I don't know if he has arrived. Wait a moment." And stopping a

short, dark young fellow with a ferreting, mouse-like air, Mege said to

him: "Massot, here's Monsieur l'Abbe Froment, who wants to speak to your

governor at once."

"The governor? But he isn't here. I left him at the office of the paper,

where he'll be detained for another quarter of an hour. However, if

Monsieur l'Abbe likes to wait he will surely see him here."

Thereupon Mege ushered Pierre into the large waiting-hall, the Salle des

Pas Perdus, which in other moments looked so vast and cold with its

bronze Minerva and Laocoon, and its bare walls on which the pale mournful

winter light fell from the glass doors communicating with the garden.

Just then, however, it was crowded, and warmed, as it were, by the

feverish agitation of the many groups of men that had gathered here and

there, and the constant coming and going of those who hastened through

the throng. Most of these were deputies, but there were also numerous

journalists and inquisitive visitors. And a growing uproar prevailed:

colloquies now in undertones, now in loud voices, exclamations and bursts

of laughter, amidst a deal of passionate gesticulation, Mege's return

into the tumult seemed to fan it. He was tall, apostolically thin, and

somewhat neglectful of his person, looking already old and worn for his

age, which was but five and forty, though his eyes still glowed with

youth behind the glasses which never left his beak-like nose. And he had