The Mysteries of Paris, Volume 3 of 6

"You are, sir, a man of rigid, moral, and incorruptible character."

"Yes, madame."

"Yet, sir, if you were told that it depended on you to restore life – more than life, reason – to an unhappy mother, should you have the courage to refuse her?"

"If you will state the circumstances, madame, I shall be better able to reply."

"It is fourteen years since, at the end of the month of December, 1824, a man in the prime of life, and dressed in deep mourning, came to ask you to take, by way of life-annuity, the sum of a hundred and fifty thousand francs (6,000l.), which it was desired should be sunk in favour of a child of three years of age, whose parents were desirous of remaining unknown."

"Well, madame?" said the notary, careful not to reply in the affirmative.

"You assented, and took charge of this sum, agreeing to insure the child a yearly pension of eight thousand francs (320l.). Half this income was to accumulate for the child's benefit until of age; the other half was to be paid by you to the person who took care of this little girl."

"Well, madame?"

"At the end of two years," said Sarah, unable to repress a slight emotion, "on the 28th of November, 1827, the child died."

"Before we proceed any farther, madame, with this conversation, I must know what interest you take in this matter?"

"The mother of this little girl, sir, was – my sister.[2 - It is, perhaps, unnecessary to remind the reader that the child in question is Fleur-de-Marie, daughter of Rodolph and Sarah, and that the latter, in speaking of a pretended sister, tells a falsehood necessary for her plans, as will be seen. Sarah was convinced, as was Rodolph, also, of the death of the little girl.] I have here proofs of what I advance: the declaration of the poor child's death, the letters of the person who took charge of her, and the acknowledgment of one of your clients with whom you have placed the hundred and fifty thousand francs."

"Allow me to see those papers, madame."

Somewhat astonished at not being believed on her word, Sarah drew from a pocket-book several papers, which the notary examined with great attention.

"Well, madame, what do you desire? The declaration of decease is perfectly in order. The hundred and fifty thousand francs came to my client, M. Petit-Jean, on the death of the child. It is one of the chances of life-annuities, as I remarked to the person who placed the affair in my hands. As to the pension, it was duly paid by me up to the time of the child's decease."

"I am ready to declare, sir, that nothing could be more satisfactory than your conduct throughout the whole of the affair. The female who had charge of the child is also entitled to our gratitude, for she took the greatest care of my poor little niece."

"True, madame. And I was so much satisfied with her conduct, that, seeing her out of place after the death of the child, I took her into my employment; and, since that time, she has remained with me."

"Is Madame Séraphin in your service, sir?"

"She has been my housekeeper these fourteen years, and I must ever speak in her praise."

"Since that is the case, sir, she may be of the greatest use to us, if you will kindly grant me a request, which may appear strange, perhaps even culpable, at first sight, but when you know the motive – "

"A culpable request, madame, is what I cannot believe you capable of addressing to me."

"Sir, I am acquainted with the rectitude of your principles; but all my hope – my only hope – is in your pity. Under any event, I may rely on your discretion?"

"Madame, you may."

"Well, then, I will proceed. The death of this poor child was so great a shock to her mother, that her grief is as great now as it was fourteen years since, and, having then feared for her life, we are now in dread for her reason."

"Poor mother!" said M. Ferrand, in a tone of sympathy.

"Oh, yes, poor unhappy mother, indeed, sir! for she could only blush at the birth of her child at the time when she lost it; whilst now circumstances are such, that, if the child were still alive, my sister could render her legitimate, be proud of her, and never again allow her to quit her. Thus this incessant regret, coming to add to her other sorrows, we are afraid every hour lest she should be bereft of her senses."

"It is unfortunate that nothing can be done in the matter."

"Yes, sir – "

"What, madame?"

"Suppose some one told the poor mother, 'Your child was reported to be dead, but she did not die: the woman who had charge of her when she was little could vouch for this.'"

"Such a falsehood, madame, would be cruel. Why give so vain a hope to the poor mother?"

"But, supposing it were not a falsehood, sir? or, rather, if the supposition could be realised?"

"By a miracle? If it only required my prayers to be united with your own to obtain this result, I would give them to you from the bottom of my heart, – believe me, madame. Unfortunately, the register of decease is strictly regular."

"Oh, yes, sir, I know well enough that the child is dead; and yet, if you will agree, that misfortune need not be irreparable."

"Is this some riddle, madame?"

"I will speak more clearly. If my sister were to-morrow to recover her daughter, she would be certain not only to be restored to health, but to be wedded to the father of her child, who is now as free as herself. My niece died at six years old. Separated from her parents from a very tender age, they have not the slightest recollection of her. Suppose a young girl of seventeen was produced (my niece would be about that age), – a young girl (such as there are many) forsaken by her parents, – and it was said to my sister, 'Here's your daughter, for you have been imposed upon. Important interests have required that she should have been said to be dead. The female who brought her up and a respectable notary will confirm these facts, and prove to you that it is really she – '"

Jacques Ferrand, after having allowed the countess to speak on without interruption, rose abruptly, and exclaimed, with an indignant air:

"Madame, this is infamous!"

"Sir!"

"To dare to propose such a thing to me – to me! A supposititious child, the destruction of a registry of decease; a criminal act, indeed! It is the first time in my life that I was ever subjected to so outrageous a proposal, – a proposal I have not merited, and you know it!"

"But, sir, what wrong does this do to any one? My sister and the individual she desires to marry are widow and widower, and childless, both bitterly lamenting the child they have lost. To deceive them is to restore them to happiness, to life, is to ensure a happy destiny to some poor, forsaken girl; and it becomes, therefore, a noble, a generous action, and not a crime!"

"Really, madame, I marvel to see how the most execrable projects may be coloured, so as to pass for beautiful pictures!"

"But, sir, reflect – "

"I repeat to you, madame, that it is infamous! And it is shameful to see a lady of your rank lend herself to such abominable machinations, – to which, I trust, your sister is a stranger."

"Sir – "

"Enough, madame, enough! I am not a polished gentleman, I am not, and I shall speak my mind bluntly."

Sarah gave the notary a piercing look with her jet-black eyes, and said, coldly:

"You refuse?"

"I pray, madame, that you will not again insult me."

"Beware!"

"What! Threats?"