THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя

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      Fine’s words had suddenly made them silent and compassionate. Both girls were then able to retire.

      Blanche, crimson with shame, nestled in fear against her companion and feverishly hastened her footsteps.

      In order to avoid the Rue du Pont Moreau, which was then swarming with people and full of noise, the flower-girl took the little Rue St. John. On reaching the Cours, she conducted Mademoiselle de Cazalis to her residence, the door of which was open. She had not uttered a single word all the way.

      Blanche obliged her to enter the hall, and there, half closing the door, she said to her in an affected tone of voice:

      “Oh! Mademoiselle, how grateful I am to you for your assistance. Those wicked women would have killed me.”

      “Don’t thank me,” answered Fine sharply, “I went there, like the others, to insult and beat you.”

      “You!”

      “Yes, I hate you, I wish you had died in your cradle.”

      Blanche looked at the flower-girl with astonishment. She had drawn herself up, her aristocratic instincts were getting the better of her, and her lips were curling slightly with disdain.

      The two young girls were facing each other, one in all her slim gracefulness, the other in all her energetic beauty. They contemplated each other in silence, feeling the rivalry of their race and heart thundering within them.

      “You are beautiful and wealthy,” continued Fine bitterly. “Why did you come and rob me of my sweetheart, when later on you could only feel contempt and anger for him? You should have sought out someone in your own sphere; you would have found a youth as pale and cowardly as yourself who would have satisfied your little girlish feeling of love. Look here, do not take our men, or if you do we will tear your pink faces.”

      “I do not understand,” stammered Blanche, who was becoming afraid again.

      “You don’t understand? Listen: I was in love with Philippe. He came and bought roses of me of a morning and my heart used to beat fit to break, when I handed him my nosegays. I now know where those flowers went to. One day they told me he had run away with you. I wept, then I thought that you would love him fondly and he would be happy. And now you have had him put in prison. Look here, do not let us speak of that, or I shall get angry and beat you.”

      She stopped palpitating, then continued, approaching nearer to Blanche and burning her icy cold cheeks with her hot breath:

      “You don’t know then how we love, we poor girls? We love with all our body, with all our courage. When we run away with a man, we don’t say afterwards that he took advantage of our weakness. We clasp him in our arms with all our might to defend him. Ah! if Philippe had loved me! But I am an unhappy girl, a poor creature, an ugly — “

      And Fine began to sob and show herself as weak as Mademoiselle de Cazalis. The latter took her hand, and in a voice broken with tears answered:

      “For pity’s sake do not accuse me. Will you be my friend? Shall I lay my heart bare to you? I suffer so much, if you only knew! I can do nothing. I obey my uncle, who subdues me in his grip of iron. I am a coward, I know it; but I have not the strength to be otherwise. And I love Philippe, the memory of him is always within me. He told me it would be: that my punishment, if ever I betrayed him, would be to love him eternally, to keep him without end in my breast. He is there, he is burning me, he will kill me. A short time ago, when they sentenced him, I felt something within me that made me start, and which tore my inside. I weep, look, I ask your pardon.” All Fine’s anger had gone. She was supporting Blanche, who was staggering.

      “You are right,” continued the poor child, “I do not deserve pity. I have dealt a blow at the one I love and who will never love me more. Ah! for mercy’s sake, if he one day become your husband, speak to him of my tears, ask him to forgive me. What drives me mad is that I cannot tell him I worship him: he would laugh, he would not understand all my cowardice. No, do not speak to him of me. Let him forget me: I shall be alone to weep.”

      There was a painful silence.

      “And your child?” asked Fine.

      “My child,” said Blanche bewildered, “I don’t know. My uncle will take it away from me.”

      “Shall I act as a mother to it?”

      The flower-girl uttered these words in a tender and grave voice. Mademoiselle clasped her in her arms in a passionate embrace.

      “Oh! you are good,” she said. “You know how to love. Try to see me at Marseille when the hour arrives, I will trust in you.”

      At this moment, the elderly relative returned, after having sought in vain for Blanche in the crowd. Fine promptly withdrew and reascended the Cours. As she reached the Place des Carmelites, she perceived Marius from afar conversing with Philippe’s lawyer.

      The young man was in despair. He would never have believed that they could pass such a severe sentence on his brother. The five years’ imprisonment terrified him; but he was perhaps still more painfully overcome at the thought of the public exhibition on a square at Marseille. He recognised the deputy’s hand in this punishment.

      M. de Cazalis had above all wished to deprive Philippe of the power of pleasing, to render him for ever unworthy of woman’s love.

      The crowd surrounding Marius were clamouring about injustice, the public with one voice protesting against the enormity of the punishment, and while the young man was engaged in a heated discussion with the lawyer, losing his temper and showing symptoms of despair, he felt a soft hand on his arm. He turned sharply round and perceived Fine at his side, calm and smiling.

      “Hope, and follow me,” she said to him in an undertone. “Your brother is saved.”

      CHAPTER XII

      WHICH SHOWS THAT A GAOLER’S HEART IS NOT ALWAYS MADE OF STONE

      WHILE Marius was running over the town before the trial to no purpose, Fine had been labouring on her side at the work of deliverance. She had engaged in a regular campaign against the conscience of her uncle, the gaoler Revertégat.

      She had taken up her quarters with him, and passed her days at the prison. She did her best from morning to night to make herself useful, to be beloved by her uncle, who lived alone like a growling bear, with his two young daughters. She attacked him in his paternal love, she was full of charming ways with the children, and spent all her savings in toys, sweets, and small articles of dress.

      The little ones were not in the habit of being spoiled. They showed riotous tenderness for their big cousin, who danced them on her knees and distributed such nice, beautiful things amongst them. The father felt affected and thanked Fine effusively.

      He experienced the young girl’s penetrating influence in spite of himself, and was ill-tempered when he had to leave her. She seemed to have brought the sweet perfume of her roses and violets with her. The lodge smelt nice since she was there, merry and light of foot; her bright petticoats appeared to bring light, air, and gaiety. All was smiling, now, in the dark room, and Revertégat remarked, with a broad grin, that spring had taken up its abode with him.

      The worthy man forgot himself СКАЧАТЬ