THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

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      CHAPTER I

      THE CONSPIRACY

      ONE calm evening in February, about two months after Philippe’s escape, Blanche was taking a very slow walk. Twilight was just setting in. Far away, the sea was quite pale, and it broke sluggishly over the boulders on the beach, barely making any spray under the impulse of the evening breeze. The warmth of approaching spring could already be detected in the clear air. In the grand blue sky of the south one sometimes meets with winter suns, possessing all the invigorating heat of those of summer.

      The young woman was taking short strides beside the cliff, watching night falling over the waves which were turning a blackish blue, whilst their plaintive sounds were becoming softer. The unhappy girl was much changed. She was barely seventeen, and yet the terrible fatalities of which she had been the victim, had caused her to stoop and had overspread her youthful face with the paleness of death. All her strength, all her gay and thoughtless life had passed away in tears. She was about to become a mother, and she walked along with faltering footsteps, suffering more from mental trouble than from her position.

      A few paces behind her came a tall, thin, stiff-limbed woman, who followed her as a convict-keeper does his prisoner. She did not allow her out of her sight and watched all her movements. This woman was the new guardian whom M. de Cazalis had given his niece during the previous few weeks.

      The deputy was then at Marseille where he had hastened as soon as he had heard that a child was about to be born. He wished to be there on the watch. This child, this bastard which was about to make its appearance in his family, exasperated him. But his mind was made up, and he was only waiting to put into execution the plan he had long since decided on.

      When he had been able to absent himself, and go privately to the cottage at Saint-Henri, he came to the conclusion that his niece was not close enough a prisoner. She must be completely shut up if he wished to carry out his intentions. The first guardian he had selected, appeared to him too weak and accommodating. He had heard that a young girl came almost daily to talk to Blanche, and that made him particularly anxious. It was then that he decided on entrusting the guardianship of the cottage to a vigilant gaoler, who would allow no one to enter it, and who would give him a faithful account of the least incidents that happened.

      Madame Lambert, the stiff-limbed, thin woman, the convict-keeper, was admirably adapted for such a position. She was an old maid, brought up with exaggerated ideas of religious zeal, had the harsh character of narrowminded people and the unrelenting cruelty of those who have never loved. She knew Blanche had given way to the dictates of her heart and that made her all the harder, all the more implacable, she whom all men disdained. She rigorously performed the duty M. de Cazalis had entrusted her with, watched over her prisoner with diabolical cunning, surrounded her with absolute solitude and dismissed all who approached too near.

      The cottage thus became a sort of citadel in which she entrenched herself, and where she had Blanche at her mercy. Fine was pitilessly driven away: as soon as she appeared on the hill Madame Lambert placed herself at one of the windows and continued to spy her movements until she withdrew; so the flower-girl, in the end, was obliged to give up her visits. Then poor Blanche almost died of grief and despondency, for she felt herself throttled by the coils her gaoler set about her, and which were drawn tighter every day.

      Abbé Chastanier was the only visitor admitted, and even when he came, Madame Lambert arranged to hear what he said to his penitent.

      On that particular evening Blanche had obtained permission from her guardian to take a short walk on the seashore. She was in great uneasiness and suffered from fits of giddiness which were calmed by the fresh air. The two people continued to follow the cliff, the young woman wondering how she could baffle this supervision which interfered with her plans, the guardian glancing behind each rock in fear that someone would suddenly rush out and rob her of her prisoner. As they were about to return, they suddenly saw a dark form advancing towards them along the narrow path.

      Night had completely set in. Madame Lambert was greatly afraid, and was advancing rapidly in front when she recognised Abbé Chastanier. The priest not having found Blanche at the cottage had come to look for her on the beach.

      “Let us go in quick,” said Madame Lambert, sharply. “You will be more comfortable talking in the drawingroom. The breeze is becoming fresh.”

      “We are very well here,” murmured Blanche. “Let us remain a little while longer.”

      And she nudged Abbé Chastanier so that he might support her.

      “Eh! yes,” he said in his turn, “it is quite a spring evening. The fresh air of the sea is beautiful, and will do our dear invalid a deal of good.”

      Then he took the young woman’s arm and added gaily:

      “We’ll walk along together, my dear child, like a couple of lovers! If you are afraid of catching cold, Madame Lambert, pray go in. We’ll rejoin you presently.”

      And he continued along the path beside the cliff, leading Blanche, who was laughing at his adroit manoeuvre, along with him. The guardian took very good care not to go in; for she would have preferred to run the risk of catching twenty colds rather than lose sight of her prisoner for a quarter of an hour. She therefore proceeded to follow the pair at a distance of ten paces, full of anxiety, straining her ears to discover what they said, and angry against the waves, the sound of which prevented her hearing. She could listen at her ease in the cottage, either openly or hidden behind a door; but there, on the rocks, she did not dare, she was unable to exercise her calling of spy.

      “How much I thank you,” said Blanche to the priest in a sad and grateful tone, “for having helped me to procure a moment’s conversation with you! My prison, as you see, becomes narrower and narrower every day.”

      “Have hope, my dear child,” answered Abbé Chastanier, “you will soon be free, and you will then be able to act according to your faith and heart.”

      “Oh! I was not thinking of myself, they can do what they please with my personality, without fear that I shall ever have the least idea of revolting. Besides, you know my resolution, your words have shown me the only road I can follow now.”

      “It is not I, it is Providence that has brought you peace and hope.”

      Blanche did not seem to understand, but continued becoming animated little by little:

      “I have sacrificed all my pleasure, and am pleased to suffer, for I hope thus to obtain my pardon. At times I would like to invent harder punishment to hasten my penitence.”

      “Then, my child, why do you complain of your solitude?” inquired the abbé gently.

      “It is not a question of myself, my father. If I alone were threatened with imprisonment, perhaps for ever, I would be resigned to my fate, but I am trembling for the little creature I am about to bring into the world.”

      “What is there to fear?”

      “I hardly know. If my uncle had not some plan he would not shut me up like this. Look at all the precautions that are taken to isolate me, to prevent me communicating, with you even. I am certain that at this moment Madame Lambert is in despair.”

      “You exaggerate.”

      “No, СКАЧАТЬ