The Mysteries of Paris. Volume 6

CHAPTER I. PUNISHMENT.-2

Involuntarily the notary sprung from his seat, and with eyes glaring with rage and madness, even in spite of the glasses he wore, he cried, while a deep, fiery glow overspread his before livid countenance:

“Silence! I command! I insist! I forbid another word on this subject!”

“Come, come!” said the abbé, soothingly, “compose yourself. It seems there is still some generous action I have not yet been told of. I really must plead guilty to admiring the candour of your friend, however his love of truth may offend your modesty. I was not acquainted with the servant you alluded to, as, unfortunately, just about the time she entered the service of our worthy M. Ferrand, he became so overwhelmed with cares and business as to be obliged temporarily to interrupt our frequent friendly meetings.”

“That was merely a pretext to conceal the fresh act of goodness he meditated, M. l’Abbé, and, at the risk of paining his modesty, I am determined you shall know all about it,” said Polidori, with a malignant smile, while Jacques Ferrand, in mute rage, leaned his elbows on his desk, while he concealed his face with his hands. “Imagine, then, M. l’Abbé,” resumed Polidori, feigning to address himself to the curé, but at each phrase contriving to direct an ironical glance towards Jacques Ferrand, “imagine that my kind-hearted friend here found his new domestic possessed of the purest and rarest qualifications, the most perfect modesty, with the gentleness and piety of an angel; nor was this all. The quick penetration of my friend Jacques soon discovered that the female in question (who, by the way, was both young and beautiful) had never been accustomed to a servant’s life, and that, to the most austere virtue, she added great and varied information, with first-rate talents, which had received the highest cultivation.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed the abbé, much interested in

“A slight headache,” answered the notary, wiping the cold, clammy drops from his brow, for the restraint he imposed upon himself was most severe,—“nothing more! It will soon pass off.”

Polidori shrugged up his shoulders, smiled maliciously, and said:

“Observe, M. l’Abbé, that Jacques is always seized with the same symptoms directly any of his good actions are brought forward. But never mind,—I am determined that his light shall no longer be hid under a bushel, and it is my firm intention to reveal all his hidden charities. But first let me go on with the history of his generous exertions in favour of Cecily, who, on her side, had quickly discovered the excellency of Jacques’s heart, and, when questioned by him touching the past, she candidly confessed that, left a stranger and wholly destitute in a foreign land, by the imprudence of her husband, she considered herself particularly fortunate in being able to obtain a shelter under so sanctified a roof as M. Ferrand’s as a most singular interposition of Providence. The sight of so much misfortune, united to so much heavenly resignation, banished all hesitation from the mind of Jacques, and he wrote to the birthplace of the unfortunate girl for further information respecting her. The reply to his inquiries was most satisfactory, as well as confirmatory of all the young person had previously stated. Then, assured of rightly dispensing his benevolence, Jacques bestowed the most paternal kindness on Cecily, whom he sent back to her own country, with a sum of money to support her till better days should dawn, or she be enabled to obtain some suitable employment. Now I will not utter one word in Jacques’s praise for doing all this,—let the facts speak for themselves.”

“Excellent! Most excellent!” exclaimed the deeply affected curé.

“M. l’Abbé,” said Jacques Ferrand, in a hoarse and abrupt tone, “I do not desire to take up your valuable time in discoursing of myself, but of the project respecting which I requested your presence, and for the furtherance of which I wished to obtain your valuable concurrence.”

“I can well understand that the praises so justly bestowed on you by your friend are painful to one of your extreme modesty; let us, then, merely speak of your good works as though you were not the author of them. But, first of all, let me give an account of my own proceedings in the matters you confided to me. According to your desire, I have deposited the sum of one hundred thousand crowns in the Bank of France, in my own name, with the intention of employing that amount in the act of restitution of which you are the medium, and which I am to effect. You preferred the money being lodged in the bank, although, in my opinion, it would have been in equal safety with you.”

“And in so doing, M. l’Abbé, I only acted in concurrence with the wishes of the person making this restitution for the sake of his conscience. His request to me was to place the sum mentioned by you in your hands, and to entreat of you to forward it to the widow lady, Madame Fermont, whose maiden name was Renneville (the notary’s voice trembled as he pronounced these two names), whenever that person should present herself to you. I fully substantiate her claims.”

“Be assured,” replied the priest, “I will with pleasure discharge the trust committed to me.”

“But that is not the only matter in which your assistance is solicited.”

“So much the better, if the others resemble this, for, without seeking the motives which dictate it, a voluntary restitution is always calculated to excite a deep interest;

“True, M. l’Abbé, the soul must indeed be in a perilous state when such a sum as one hundred thousand crowns is voluntarily refunded. For my part, I confess to having felt more inquisitive on the subject than yourself; but what chance had my curiosity against the firm and unshaken discretion of my friend Jacques? I am, therefore, still in ignorance of the name of the individual who thus restores such immense wealth for their conscience’ sake.”

“But,” continued Polidori, eyeing Jacques Ferrand with a keen, significant glance, “you will hear to what an extent are carried the generous scruples of the author of this restitution; and, to tell the truth, I strongly suspect that our right-minded friend here was the first to awaken the slumbering feelings of the guilty person, as well as to point out the surest and fittest way of tranquillising them.”

“How so?” inquired the priest.

“What do you mean?” asked the notary.

“Why, remember the Morels, those honest, deserving people.”

“True, true!” interposed Jacques Ferrand, in a hasty tone, “I had forgotten them.”

“Imagine, M. l’Abbé, that the author of this restitution, doubtless influenced by Jacques, not contented with the restitution of this large sum, wishes also—But my worthy friend shall speak for himself—I will not deprive him of the pleasure of relating so fine an action.”

“Pray let me hear all about it, my dear M. Ferrand,” said the priest.

“You are aware,” replied Jacques Ferrand, with affected sympathy, strangely mingled with the deep repugnance he entertained at being compelled to play a

“Truly,” said the abbé, “such conduct is beyond my poor praise. Most gladly will I add this commission to the former; still permit me to express my surprise that you were not yourself selected to arrange an affair of this nature, the proceedings of which must be so much more familiar to you than to me.”

“The reason for your being preferred, M. l’Abbé, was because the individual in question believed that his expiatory acts would go forth even in greater sanctity if they passed through hands as pure and pious as your own.”

“Then be it so! And I will at once proceed to arrange for an annuity to Morel, the worthy but unfortunate parent of Louise. Still I am inclined to think, with your friend, that you are not altogether a stranger to the motives which dictated this additional expiation.”

“Nay, M. l’Abbé, let me beg of you to believe that all I did was to recommend the Morel family as a deserving

“Now, then,” said Polidori, “you are next to be gratified, M. l’Abbé, with seeing to what an extent my worthy friend there has carried his philanthropic views, as manifested in the foundation of such an establishment as that we have already discussed. He will read to you the plan definitely decided on. The necessary money for its endowment is ready, and all is prepared for immediate action; but since yesterday a doubt has crossed his mind, and if he does not like to state it himself I will do so for him.”

“There is no occasion for your taking that trouble,” said Jacques, who seemed to find a relief in talking himself rather than be compelled to sit in silence and listen to the ironical praises of his accomplice. “The fact is this, M. l’Abbé, I have reflected upon our purposed undertaking, and it occurs to me that it would be more in accordance with a right spirit of humility and Christian meekness if the projected establishment were instituted in your name, and not in mine.”

“Nay, nay!” exclaimed the abbé, “such humility is exaggerated beyond all reasonable scruples. You may fairly pride yourself upon having originated so noble a charity, and it becomes your just right, as well as your duty, to give it your own name.”

“Pardon me for insisting in this instance on having my own way. I have thought the matter well over, and am resolved upon preserving a strict incognito as to being the founder of the undertaking. I therefore venture to hope you will do me the favour to act for me, and carry the scheme into execution, selecting the various functionaries requisite for its several departments. I merely desire to have the nomination of the chief clerk and one of the doorkeepers. To this kindness you must add the most inviolable secrecy as regards myself.”

“Independently of the pleasure it would afford me to coöperate in such a work as yours, my duty to my fellow creatures would not permit me to do otherwise than accede to your wishes; you may therefore reckon upon me in every way you desire.”

“Then, with your permission, M. l’Abbé, my friend will read you the plan he has decided on adopting.”

“Perhaps,” said Jacques Ferrand, bitterly, “you will spare me the fatigue of reading it, by taking that office on yourself? You will oblige me by so doing, will you not?”

“By no means!” answered Polidori. “The pure philanthropy which dictated the scheme will sound far better from your lips than mine.”

“Enough!” interrupted the notary; “I will read it myself.”

Polidori, so long the accomplice of Jacques Ferrand, and consequently well acquainted with the black catalogue of his crimes, could not restrain a fiendish smile as he saw the notary compelled in his own despite to read aloud and adopt as his own the words and sentiments so arbitrarily dictated by Rodolph.

“ESTABLISHMENT OF THE BANK FOR WORKMEN OUT OF EMPLOY.

“We are instructed to ‘Love one another!’ These divine words contain the germ of all charities. They have inspired the humble founder of this institution. Limited as to the means of action, the founder has desired at least to enable as many as possible to participate in what he offers. In the first place, he addresses himself to the honest, hard-working workmen, burdened with families, whom the want of employment frequently reduces to the most cruel extremities. It is not a degrading alms which he offers to his brethren, but a gratuitous loan he begs them to accept. And he hopes that this loan may frequently prevent them from involving their future by distressing loans, which they are forced to make in order to await a return of work, their only resource for a family of whom they are the sole support. As a

“Ah, sir,” exclaimed the abbé, “what a charitable idea! Now I understand your emotion on reading these lines of such touching simplicity.”