The Mysteries of Paris, Volume 2 of 6. Эжен Сю

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      M. d'Harville gazed on his wife with feelings approaching to adoration, as he exclaimed, "Angel of goodness, how has base slander dared to disturb your heavenly work!"

      "An angel!" repeated Madame Pipelet; "that she is, and one of the very best heaven could send. There is not a better."

      "Let us return home, I entreat!" said Madame d'Harville, who was suffering acutely under the restraint she had put upon herself since entering the house, and, now that the necessity for exertion was over, found her strength rapidly forsaking her.

      "Instantly," replied the marquis.

      At the instant of their emerging into the open air from the obscurity of the alley, M. d'Harville, observing the pale looks of his wife, said, tenderly:

      "Ah, Clémence, I have deep cause to solicit your pity and forgiveness."

      "Alas! my lord," said the marquise, sighing deeply, "which of us has not need of pardon?"

      Rodolph quitted his hiding-place, deeply ruminating upon so terrible a scene, thus intermingled with absurdity and coarseness, and pondering over the curious termination to a drama, the commencement of which had called forth such different passions.

      "Well, now," exclaimed Madame Pipelet, "you must say I played my part well. Didn't I send that donkey of a husband home with longer ears than he came out with? Lord bless you! he'll put his wife under a glass case, and worship her from this day forward. Poor, dear gentleman! I really could not help feeling sorry for him. Oh! but about your furniture, M. Rodolph; it has not come yet."

      "I am now going to see about it. By the by, you had better go and inform the commandant that he may venture out."

      "True; I'll go and let the caged bird out. But what stuff and nonsense for him to hire apartments of no more use to him than they are to the King of Prussia! He is a fine fellow, he is, with his paltry twelve francs a month. This is the fourth time he has been made a fool of."

      Rodolph quitted the house, and Madame Pipelet, turning to her husband, said, with a chuckling laugh, "Now, Alfred, the commandant's turn has come; now for it! I mean to have a jolly good laugh at my gentleman, – up and dressed for nothing."

      Arrived at the apartments of M. Charles Robert, the porteress rang the bell; the door was opened by the commandant himself.

      "Commandant," said Anastasie, giving him a military salute, by placing the back of her little fat hand against the front of her wig, "I have come to set you free. Your friends have gone away arm in arm, happy as doves, under your very nose. Well, you are out of a nice mess, thanks to M. Rodolph. You ought to stand something very handsome to him for all he has done upon the present occasion."

      "Then this slim individual with the moustachios is called M. Rodolph, is he?"

      "Exactly so; neither more nor less."

      "And who and what is the fellow?"

      "Fellow, indeed!" cried Madame Pipelet, in a wrathful voice; "he is as good as other men, – better than some I could mention. Why, he is a travelling clerk, but the very king of lodgers; for, though he has only one room, he does not haggle and beat folks down, – not he. Why, he gave me six francs for doing for him, – six francs, mind, I say, without a word. Think of that! – without ever offering me a sou less. Oh, he is a lodger! I wish other people were at all like him!"

      "There, there, that's enough; take the key."

      "Shall I light the fire to-morrow, commandant?"

      "No!"

      "Next day?"

      "No, no! Don't bother me."

      "I say, commandant, if you recollect, I warned you that you would have your trouble for your pains."

      M. Charles Robert threw a glance at his grinning tormentor that spoke of annihilation at least, and, dashing furiously by her, quitted the house, wondering much how a mere clerk should have become acquainted with his assignation with the Marquise d'Harville.

      As the commandant left the alley, Tortillard came hobbling along.

      "Well, what do you want?" said Madame Pipelet.

      "Has the Borgnesse been to call upon me?" asked the young scamp, without attending to the porteress's question.

      "The Chouette? No, you ugly monster! What should she come for?"

      "Why, to take me with her into the country, to be sure," said Tortillard, swinging on the lodge gate.

      "And what does your master say to it?"

      "Oh, father managed all that. He sent this morning to M. Bradamanti, to ask him to give me leave to go in the country, – the country, – the country," sang or rather screamed the amiable scion of M. Bras Rouge, beating time most melodiously on the window-panes.

      "Will you leave off, you young rascal, or are you going to break my window? Oh, here comes a coach!"

      "Oh! oh! oh!" shrieked the urchin; "it is my dear Chouette! Oh, how nice the ride in a coach!"

      And, looking through the window, they saw reflected upon the red blind of the opposite glass the hideous profile of the Borgnesse. She beckoned to Tortillard, who ran out to her. The coachman descended from his box, and opened the door; Tortillard sprang into the vehicle, which instantly drove off.

      Another person beside the Chouette was in the carriage. In the farther corner, and wrapped in an old cloak with a furred collar, his features shrouded by a black silk cap pulled down over his brows, sat the Schoolmaster. His inflamed lids formed a horrible contrast with the white globeless space beneath; and this fearful spectacle was rendered still more hideous by the action of the severe cold upon his seamed and frightful countenance.

      "Now, small boy, squat yourself down on the pins of my man; you'll serve to keep him warm," said the Borgnesse to Tortillard, who crouched like a dog close to the feet of the Schoolmaster and the Chouette.

      "Now, then, my coves," said the driver, "on we go to the 'ken' at Bouqueval, don't we, La Chouette? You shall see whether I can 'tool a drag' or not."

      "And keep your pads on the move, my fine fellow; for we must get hold of the girl to-night."

      "All right, my blind un; we'll go the pace."

      "Shall I give you a hint?" said the Schoolmaster.

      "What about?"

      "Why, cut it fine as you pass by the 'nabs' at the barrier; the meeting might lead to disagreeable recollections. It is not every old acquaintance it is worth while to renew our friendship with. You have been wanted at the barriers for some time."

      "I'll keep my weather-eye open," replied the driver, getting on his box.

      It needs scarcely be told, after this specimen of slang, that the coachman was a robber, one of the Schoolmaster's worthy associates. The vehicle then quitted the Rue du Temple.

      Two hours afterwards, towards the closing of a winter's day, the vehicle containing the Chouette, the Schoolmaster, and Tortillard, stopped before a wooden cross, marking out the sunken and lonely road which conducted to the farm at Bouqueval, where the Goualeuse remained under the kind protection of Madame Georges.

      CHAPTER СКАЧАТЬ