THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

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СКАЧАТЬ derision and scorn. He bowed his head still more, becoming yet more humble, weeping over his faith, shaken by the words and deeds of the worldly priests about him.

      Fortunately of an evening, he had some happy moments. He nursed his sister, consoling himself in his own way by devoting himself to another. He surrounded the poor invalid with a thousand little joys. Then another pleasure had been vouchsafed him: M. de Cazalis, who had no faith in young abbés, had selected him to be his niece’s spiritual adviser. The old priest seldom attracted a lady penitent and scarcely ever heard a confession. He was moved to tears on the receipt of the deputy’s proposal, and he questioned, he loved Blanche as though she had been his own child.

      Marius handed him the young girl’s letter and watched his face for a trace of the emotions the reading of it was about to cause him. He beheld the signs of acute grief. Yet the priest did not appear to experience that surprise which results from unexpected news, and Marius concluded that Blanche had mentioned in confession her growing affection for Philippe.

      “You did well to count upon me, sir,” said Abbé Chastanier to Marius. “But I am very weak and not at all skilful. I should have displayed more energy.”

      The poor man’s head and hands shook with that sad gentle trembling peculiar to old people.

      “I am at your disposal,” he continued. “How can I assist the unhappy child?”

      “Sir,” replied Marius, “I am the brother of the young madman who has eloped with Mademoiselle de Cazalis, and I have sworn to right the wrong, to stifle the scandal. Will you join with me. The young lady’s honour is gone if her uncle has already denounced the affair to the authorities. Go, therefore, and find him, endeavour to calm his anger, and tell him his niece shall promptly be restored to him.”

      “Why did you not bring her with you? I know how passionate M. de Cazalis can be. Nothing but certainty will satisfy him.”

      “It is just that anger which has frightened my brother. Besides, this is no time for reasoning. We are overwhelmed with accomplished facts. Believe me, I feel as indignant as you, and fully understand how disgraceful my brother’s behaviour has been. But, for pity’s sake, let us do something.”

      “Very well,” said the abbé simply, “I will go wherever you wish.”

      They went along the Boulevard de la Corderie and reached the Cours Bonaparte where the deputy’s town house was situated. M. de Cazalis, a prey to terrible anger and despair, had returned to Marseille early in the morning following the elopement. Abbé Chastanier stopped Marius at the door of the house.

      “Do not come in,” said he. “Your visit might be considered an insult. Let me manage, and wait for me here.”

      Marius walked feverishly up and down the pavement for a good hour. He would have preferred to have gone in, to have explained matters himself and have asked for pardon in Philippe’s name. Whilst the fate of his family was under discussion in that house, he had to remain there, outside, inactive, and a prey to all the agony of waiting. At length Abbé Chastanier came out. He had been weeping; his eyes were red, his lips quivering.

      “M. de Cazalis will listen to nothing,” he said, in a troubled voice. “I found him in a blind rage. He has already been to the crown-attorney.”

      The poor priest did not mention that M. de Cazalis had received him with the bitterest reproaches, venting his anger upon him, and accusing him, in his rage, of having given evil counsel to his niece. The abbé bent beneath the storm; he almost fell on his knees, not seeking to defend himself, but imploring the deputy to take pity on the others.

      “Tell me all!” exclaimed Marius, in despair.

      “It appears,” the priest replied, “that the man with whom your brother left his horse, assisted M. de Cazalis in his search. A complaint was lodged at an early hour this morning, and the police have been to ransack your lodging in the Rue Sainte, and your mother’s house at Saint Just.”

      “Good heavens! good heavens!” sighed Marius.

      “M. de Cazalis swears that he will crush the whole of your family. I vainly endeavoured to bring him to a kindlier frame of mind. He talks of having your mother arrested.”

      “My mother! Whatever for?”

      “He makes out that she is an accomplice, that she assisted your brother in carrying off Mademoiselle Blanche.”

      “What can we do, how prove the falsity of such an accusation? Ah! wretched Philippe! It will be the death of our mother.”

      And Marius sobbed aloud, his face buried in his hands. Abbé Chastanier beheld his fit of despair with tender pity. He understood the goodness and probity of the poor lad, who wept thus in the open street.

      “Come, my child,” he said, “be courageous.”

      “You are right, father,” exclaimed Marius, “it is courage I need. I was weak, this morning. I should have wrested the young lady from Philippe, and have taken her back to her uncle. An inner voice bade me perform that act of justice, and I am punished for not having obeyed its prompting. They talked to me of love, passion, marriage, and I allowed their words to move me.”

      They remained a moment silent, and then Marius said suddenly:

      “Come with me. Between us, we shall be strong enough to separate them.”

      “I am willing,” the abbé replied.

      And, without even thinking to take a cab, they followed the Rue de Bréteuil, the canal quay, the Napoleon quay, and then ascended the Cannebière. They walked hurriedly along, without speaking. When they reached the Coins Saint Louis, the sound of a fresh young voice caused them to turn their heads. It was Fine, the flower-girl, calling Marius.

      Josephine Cougourdan, familiarly known by the pet name of Fine, was one of those Marseille brunettes, small and plump, whose refined features have preserved all the delicate purity of their Grecian ancestors. Her round head stood upon slightly drooping shoulders; her pale face bore an expression of disdainful scorn beneath her braided black hair; passionate energy was visible in her large melancholy eyes which were softened now and again by a smile. She was from twenty-two to twenty-four years of age.

      When only fifteen she found herself an orphan with a young brother, not more than ten years old, dependent upon her. She bravely took her mother’s place, and three days after the funeral, whilst still suffering from her great grief, she was seated in a kiosk on the Cours Saint Louis making up and selling nosegays, sobbing the while.

      The little florist soon became the spoilt child of Marseille. Her youth and grace secured her popularity. Her flowers, it was said, had a sweeter smell than those sold elsewhere. Gallants swarmed around her; she sold them her roses, violets, and carnations, but that was all. And it is thus that she was able to bring up her brother Cadet and apprentice him, when eighteen years old, to a master-stevedore.

      The two young people lived on the Place aux Œufs, in the centre of the labouring-class quarter. Cadet was now a big fellow employed at the docks; Fine, grown handsomer and having arrived at womanhood, had the lively gait and careless caressing way of Marseillese women.

      She was acquainted with the Cayols through having sold them flowers, and she would speak to them with that tender familiarity which springs from the warm air and gentle language of Provence. Besides which, if all must be told, Philippe had latterly so often bought СКАЧАТЬ