The Mysteries of Paris, Volume 3 of 6

"He had, indeed. As for me, sir," continued Louise, "I was so thunderstruck with horror at these assertions of M. Ferrand, that I knew not what to reply. Ignorant of my having taken anything to induce sleep, I felt wholly unable to account for my having slept so unusually heavy and long. Appearances were strongly against me; what would it avail for me to publish the dreadful story? No one would believe me innocent. How, indeed, could I hope or expect they should, when even to myself the events of that fatal night continued an impenetrable mystery?"

Even Rodolph remained speechless with horror at this fearful revelation of the diabolical hypocrisy of M. Ferrand.

"Then," said he, after a pause of some minutes, "you never ventured to inform your father of the infamous treatment you had received?"

"No," answered she, "for I dreaded lest he might suppose I had willingly listened to the persuasions of my master; and I also feared that, in the first burst of his indignation, my poor father would forget that not only his own freedom, but the very existence of his family, depended upon the pleasure of M. Ferrand."

"And probably," continued Rodolph, desirous if possible to save Louise the painful confession, "probably, yielding to constraint, and the dread of endangering the safety of your father and family by a refusal, you continued to be the victim of this monster's brutality?"

Louise spoke not, but her cast-down eyes, and the deep blushes which dyed her pale cheek, answered most painfully in the affirmative.

"And was his conduct afterwards less barbarous and unfeeling than before?"

"Not in the least. And when, by chance, my master had the curé and vicaire of Bonne Nouvelle to dine with him, the better to avert all suspicion from himself, he would scold me severely in their presence, and even beg M. le Curé to admonish me, assuring him that some day or other I should fall into ruin; that I was a girl of free and bold manners, and that he could not make me keep my distance with the young men in his office; that I was an idle, unworthy person, whom he only kept out of charity and pity for my father, who was an honest man with a large family, whom he had greatly served and obliged. With the exception of that part of the statement which referred to my father, the rest was utterly false. I never, by any chance, saw the clerks belonging to his office, as it was situated in a building entirely detached from the house."

"And, when alone with M. Ferrand, how did he account for his treatment of you before the curé?"

"He assured me he was only jesting. However, the curé believed him, and reprehended me very severely, saying that a person must be vicious indeed to go astray in so godly a household, where I had none but the most holy and religious examples before my eyes. I knew not what answer to make to this address; I felt my cheeks burn and my eyes involuntarily cast down. All these indications of shame and confusion were construed to my disadvantage, until, at length, sick at heart, and weary, and disgusted, my very life seemed a burden to me, and many times I felt tempted to destroy myself; but the thoughts of my parents, my poor brothers and sisters, that my small earnings helped to maintain, deterred me from ending my sorrows by death. I therefore resigned myself to my wretched fate, finding one consolation, amidst the degradation of my lot, in the thought that, at least, I had preserved my father from the horrors of a prison. But a fresh misfortune overwhelmed me; I became enceinte. I now felt myself lost indeed. A secret presentiment assured me that, when M. Ferrand became aware of a circumstance which ought, at least, to have rendered him less harsh and cruel, he would treat me even more unkindly than before. I was still, however, far from expecting what afterwards occurred."

At this moment, Morel, recovering from his temporary abstraction, gazed around him, as though trying to collect his ideas, then, pressing his hand upon his forehead, looked at his daughter with an inquiring glance, and said:

"I fancy I have been ill, or something is wrong with my head – grief – fatigue – tell me, my child – what were you saying just now? I seem almost unable to recollect."

"When," continued Louise, unheeding her father's look, "when M. Ferrand discovered that I was likely to become a mother – "

Here the lapidary waved his hand in despairing agony, but Rodolph calmed him by an imploring look.

"Yes, yes," said Morel, "let me hear all; 'tis fit and right the tale should be told. Go on, go on, my girl, and I will listen from beginning to end."

Louise went on. "I besought M. Ferrand to tell me by what means I should conceal my shame, and the consequence of a crime of which he was the author. Alas, dear father, I can scarcely hope or believe you will credit what I am about to tell you."

"What did he say? Speak."

"Interrupting me with much indignation and well-feigned surprise, he affected not to understand my meaning, and even inquired whether I had not lost my senses. Terrified, I exclaimed, 'Oh, sir, what is to become of me? Alas, if you have no pity on me, pity at least the poor infant that must soon see the light!'

"'What a lost, depraved character!' cried M. Ferrand, raising his clasped hands towards heaven. 'Horrible, indeed! Why, you poor, wretched girl, is it possible that you have the audacity to accuse me of disgracing myself by any illicit acquaintance with a person of your infamous description? Can it be that you have the hardihood to lay the fruits of your immoral conduct and gross irregularity at my door, – I, who have repeated a hundred times, in the presence of respectable witnesses, that you would come to ruin some day, vile profligate that you are? Quit my house this instant, or I will drive you out!'"

Rodolph and Morel were struck with horror; a system of wickedness like this seemed to freeze their blood.

"By Heaven!" said Rodolph, "this surpasses any horrors that imagination could have conceived."

Morel did not speak, but his eyes expanded fearfully, whilst a convulsive spasm contracted his features. He quitted the stool on which he was sitting, opened a drawer suddenly, and, taking out a long and very sharp file, fixed in a wooden handle, he rushed towards the door. Rodolph, guessing his thoughts, seized his arm, and stopped his progress.

"Morel, where are you going? You will do a mischief, unhappy man!"

"Take care," exclaimed the infuriated artisan, struggling, "or I shall commit two crimes instead of one!" and the madman threatened Rodolph.

"Father, it is our benefactor!" exclaimed Louise.

"He is jesting at us; he wants to save the notary," replied Morel, quite crazed, and struggling with Rodolph. At the end of a second, the latter disarmed him, carefully opened the door, and threw the file out on the staircase. Louise ran to the lapidary, embraced him, and said:

"Father, it is our benefactor! You have raised your hand against him, – recover yourself."

These words recalled Morel to himself, and hiding his face in his hands, he fell mutely on his knees before Rodolph.

"Rise, rise, unhappy father," said Rodolph, in accents of great kindness; "be patient, be patient, I understand your wrath and share your hatred; but, in the name of your vengeance, do not compromise your daughter!"

"Louise! – my daughter!" cried the lapidary, rising, "but what can justice – the law – do against that? We are but poor wretches, and were we to accuse this rich, powerful, and respected man, we should be laughed to scorn. Ha! ha! ha!" and he laughed convulsively, "and they would be right. Where would be our proofs? – yes, our proofs? No one would believe us. So, I tell you – I tell you," he added, with increased fury, "I tell you that I have no confidence but in the impartiality of my knife."

"Silence, Morel! your grief distracts you," said Rodolph to him sorrowfully; "let your daughter speak; the moments are precious; the magistrate waits; I must know all, – all, I tell you; go on, my child."

Morel fell back on the stool, overwhelmed with his anguish.

"It is useless, sir," continued Louise, "to tell you of my tears, my prayers. I was thunderstruck. This took place at ten o'clock in the morning in M. Ferrand's private room. The curate was coming to breakfast with him, and entered at the moment when my master was assailing me with reproach and accusations. He appeared much put out at the sight of the priest."

"What occurred then?"

"Oh, he soon recovered himself, and exclaimed, call him by name, 'Well, Monsieur l'Abbé, I said so, I said this unhappy girl would be undone. She is ruined, ruined for ever; she has just confessed to me her fault and her shame, and entreated me to save her. Only think that, from commiseration, I have received such a wanton into my house!' 'How,' said the abbé to me with indignation, 'in spite of the excellent counsels which your master has given you a hundred times in my presence, have you really sunk so low? Oh, it is unpardonable! My friend, my friend, after the kindness you have evinced towards this wretched girl and her family, any pity would be weakness. Be inexorable,' said the abbé, the dupe, like the rest of the world, of M. Ferrand's hypocrisy."

"And you did not unmask the scoundrel on the spot?" asked Rodolph.

"Ah, no! monsieur, I was terrified, my head was in a whirl, I did not dare, I could not pronounce a word, – yet I was anxious to speak and defend myself. 'But sir – ' I cried. 'Not one word more, unworthy creature,' said M. Ferrand, interrupting me. 'You heard M. l'Abbé. Pity would be weakness. In an hour you leave my house!' Then, without allowing me time to reply, he led the abbé into another room. After the departure of M. Ferrand," resumed Louise, "I was almost bereft of my senses for a moment. I was driven from his house, and unable to find any home elsewhere, in consequence of my condition, and the bad character which my master would give with me. I felt sure, too, that in his rage he would send my father to prison; and I did not know what to do. I went to my room, and there I wept bitterly. At the end of two hours M. Ferrand appeared. 'Is your bundle made up?' said he. 'Pardon,' I exclaimed, falling at his feet, 'do not turn me from your house in my present condition. What will become of me? I have no place to turn to.' 'So much the better; this is the way that God punishes loose behaviour and falsehood.' 'Dare you say that I tell falsehood?' I asked, indignantly, 'dare you say that it is not you who have caused my ruin?' 'Leave my house this moment, you wretch, since you persist in your calumnies!' he replied in a terrible voice; 'and to punish you I will to-morrow send your father to the gaol.' 'Well, no, no!' said I, terrified; 'I will not again accuse you, sir; that I promise you; but do not drive me away from the house. Have pity on my father. The little I earn here helps to support my family. Keep me here; I will say nothing. I will endeavour to hide every thing; and when I can no longer do so, oh, then, but not till then, send me away!' After fresh entreaties on my part, M. Ferrand consented to keep me with him; and I considered that a great favour in my wretched condition. During the time that followed this cruel scene, I was most wretched, and miserably treated; only sometimes M. Germain, whom I seldom saw, kindly asked me what made me unhappy; but shame prevented me from confessing anything to him."

"Was not that about the time when he came to reside here?"

"Yes, sir, he was looking out for an apartment near the Rue du Temple or de l'Arsenal. There was one to let here, and I told him of that one which you now occupy, sir, and it suited him exactly. When he quitted it, about two months ago, he begged me not to mention his new address here, but that they knew it at M. Ferrand's."

The necessity under which Germain was to conceal himself from those who were trying to find him explained all these precautions to Rodolph.

"And it never occurred to you to make a confidant of Germain?" he said to Louise.

"No, sir, he was also a dupe to the hypocrisy of M. Ferrand; he called him harsh and exacting; but he thought him the honestest man on the face of the earth."

"When Germain was lodging here, did he never hear your father at times accuse the notary of desiring to seduce you?"

"My father never expressed his fears before strangers; and besides, at this period, I deceived his uneasiness, and comforted him by the assurances that M. Ferrand no longer thought of me. Alas! my poor father will now forgive me those falsehoods? I only employed them to tranquillise your mind, father dear, that was all."

Morel made no reply; he only leaned his forehead on his two arms, crossed on his working-board, and sobbed bitterly.

Rodolph made a sign to Louise not to address herself to her father, and she continued thus:

"I led from this time a life of tears and perpetual anguish. By using every precaution, I had contrived to conceal my condition from all eyes; but I could not hope thus to hide it during the last two months. The future became more and more alarming to me, as M. Ferrand had declared that he would not keep me any longer in the house; and therefore I should be deprived of the small resources which assisted our family to live. Cursed and driven from my home by my father, for, after the falsehoods I had told him to set his mind at ease, he would believe me the accomplice, and not the victim of M. Ferrand, what was to become of me? where could I find refuge or place myself in my condition? I then had a criminal idea; but, fortunately, I recoiled from putting it into execution. I confess this to you, sir, because I will not keep any thing concealed, not even that which may tell against myself; and thus I may show you the extremities to which I was reduced by the cruelty of M. Ferrand. If I had given way to such a thought, would he not have been the accomplice of my crime?"

After a moment's silence, Louise resumed with great effort, and in a trembling voice:

"I had heard say by the porteress that a quack doctor lived in the house, – and, – "

She could not finish.