Complete Works of Emile Zola (78 page)

Mathéus thought that Philippe could not have hidden his son among all this rubbish covered with dust and cobwebs, and did not pursue his search further, but returned to the first floor, where he made another minute inspection. He opened the articles of furniture, pulled up the curtains, looked everywhere. There was no child. Then he sat down and began to think. The rascal was in the habit of reasoning on all occasions, and of always acting in accordance with the strict laws of logic.

His reasoning was short and his conclusion unanswerable. He had heard the child cry, therefore he must be in the house; if he was not to be found on the first floor, he must naturally be in the loft. He had no doubt made an imperfect search.

He returned to the loft.

As soon as he entered, he placed his taper on an old watering-pot so as not to set fire to anything. He had thought for a moment of lighting the straw at the risk of burning the place down. The child was there for sure, and he had a vague idea that M. de Cazalis would be delighted at the poor little creature’s death. He had only to let the taper fall and Blanche’s heir would be roasted. But he was afraid of displaying too much zeal, of going beyond his instructions. His master had asked for the child alive and he couldn’t decently take it to him dead.

He began to search in the straw, to rummage among the old barrels. He proceeded slowly, making sure no corner escaped him, expecting at every moment to put his hand on a warm body.

The taper placed on the watering-pot, cast a yellow, vacillating light over the loft and afforded him very poor assistance in his search. When he had reached the end of the loft, he suddenly stopped, hearing the sound of restrained breathing. He smiled triumphantly. The noise came from a sort of buttress formed by trusses of hay piled up at some distance from the wall.

Mathéus stretched forward his head and hands, but when he had cast a glance into the hiding-place, he brought his hands down beside him in surprise. Fine had suddenly risen up before him, holding little Joseph against her bosom. The child was fast asleep and smiling in his slumber.

For nearly a quarter of an hour the young girl had been listening to the smothered tread of Mathéus, and during that time, had been a prey to most terrible anxiety. She almost betrayed herself when he appeared in the loft the first time. Then, when he went down, she breathed, thinking herself saved. And there he was back again, and had discovered her! She was lost, he was about to tear Joseph from her arms.

Erect, all of a tremor, determined she would sooner be assassinated than part with the child, she stared him in the face.

Mathéus was at first stupefied. He did not expect to find this young woman, whom he did not know and who appeared to be the child’s mother. Then, the wretch gave a smile of ill-omen. After all, he preferred to have to deal with this young woman than with Philippe. With a push he would tumble her over on the hay and easily take the child from her. Fine no doubt read his thoughts in his eyes, for she put her back against the wall and stiffened her legs ready for the struggle.

They did not exchange a word. The taper was dimly burning. He stretched out his hand, she closed her eyes, thinking herself already dead, when a sound, increasing as it proceeded, rose from the room where Philippe was still with the gendarmes. A well-beloved voice which the young woman recognised, was crying: “Pardon! Pardon!” amid outbursts of joy and triumph.

Fine felt her courage return.

“Do you hear?” she asked Mathéus. “Heaven has come to our assistance. It’s for you, rascal, that the gendarmes have brought the handcuffs.”

Mathéus in alarm, forgot Fine and the child, thinking only of his safety. He ran to the door of the loft and listened. Then he began thinking where he could fly to in case things took an unfavourable turn.

Down below, Philippe, after reading the warrant for his arrest, had to give himself up to the gendarmes. He succeeded, however, in delaying his departure under pretence that he could not quit the gardener’s house, without leaving him a few words of explanation. The truth was that he had seen Mathéus disappear by the staircase and was trembling for Fine and his child. He counted no longer on Marius, he simply wanted to await the gardener’s return so as not to leave the house at the mercy of M. de Cazalis.

The gendarmes allowed him to write a few lines and then told him he must set out. He gazed about him in despair and only saw the ex-deputy who was sneering.

“Well!” exclaimed the latter, “so you’re muzzled! You won’t carry off any more heiresses, you won’t cause any more scandal in families. Ah! it’ll be a curious sight to see the gallant Philippe Cayol fastened to the pillory!”

Philippe did not answer — out of disdain and so as not to be tempted to smack the man in the face. Since he had been there, he feigned to ignore his presence. Whilst M. de Cazalis insulted him, a gendarme put on the handcuffs.

“Off we go!” he said.

And Philippe was obliged to advance towards the door. He felt dreadful agony at the throat and almost burst out sobbing. Just at that moment, as the door was open, a joyful shout resounded outside, and a man walked in repeating: “Pardon! Pardon!”

It was Marius. Not having been able to get a fly, he had run all the way from Marseille. He drew a paper from beneath his dusty clothes and presented it to the gendarmes. This paper announced the pardon which the King had granted to Philippe.

The document had been promised to the condemned man’s brother for more than a month, and as chance would have it, it arrived at the very moment when M. de Cazalis was exerting his last vestiges of influence to prevail on the authorities to act. If Marius had not proceeded at once to Saint Barnabé with Fine, it was because he wanted to see once more whether the pardon had not come to hand.

The gendarmes read the all-powerful letter and bowed before it. Their errand was over: it only remained for them to withdraw. M. de Cazalis, with haggard features, terrified at this unforeseen issue, watched them leave with anger, as if they had been working for the liberty of his enemy. He was thinking in the folly of his despair, whether there was not some means of compelling them to take Philippe off to prison in spite of all. Marius had embraced his brother on entering, Saying to him:

“You are free. Heaven be praised! I’ve come in time!”

And Philippe had remained for a moment motionless, choking, not daring to understand. Then he suddenly darted upstairs. He had just thought of the man who had gone up there to rob him of his son.

Mathéus heard the sound of his footsteps. In terror, understanding that he was threatened with danger, he looked rapidly about him for something to assist him in flight. Hanging from a pulley before the window of the loft, which stood wide open, was a piece of cord. He grasped it at the risk of falling and slid down, almost falling on the head of M. de Cazalis, who was leaving with an oath on his lips, and rage in his heart.

When the ex-deputy saw Mathéus without the child, he almost struck him. His expedition had entirely failed, he had not secured either father or son.

Fine, rescued from the brutality of Mathéus, hastened downstairs with Philippe to the room below. And there the two brothers and young woman, mad with joy, smothered little Joseph with kisses.

“Now, we are strong!” exclaimed Marius. “We are no longer at the disadvantage of having a criminal sentence hanging over our heads, and can work openly for the happiness of this child.”

CHAPTER X

THE INSURRECTION OF FEBRUARY, 1848

THE two brothers on awakening the next morning experienced considerable delight at finding themselves together and free of all fear. They had brought Joseph away with them the evening before, after having thanked Ayasse, the gardener, and handsomely rewarded him.

Philippe and his son slept at the little lodging of the young married couple. During the night Marius who was very much upset and unable to close his eyes, thought out the plan of a new existence, and as soon as the family were assembled round the breakfast-table proceeded to explain it.

“Come,” he said, “let us speak seriously. We must decide what we are going to do with this child, and what Philippe will do.”

Philippe at once became grave and attentive. He had often thought of the life he would lead when it would be no longer necessary to keep in hiding; and he felt it was his duty to work for his son and renounce his ambitious ideas and follies.

“The child,” continued Marius, smiling, and looking at Fine, “will easily find a mother.”

The young woman was holding little Joseph on her knees and encouraging him to eat his bread and milk with all sorts of caresses. When she heard what her husband said, she exclaimed:

“A mother! Here she is! He was entrusted to me, given to me. Is not that so, Philippe? It’s I who am his mother. As we have no children, I’ll take this one and I’ll not part with him. He will always stay with me and you’ll see how fond I shall be of him!”

Philippe who was very much affected at these words pressed the hands of the former flower-girl warmly. The thought of bringing up his son had caused him much anxiety, and he had often inquired of himself how he could attend to a boy of four. Fine’s offer relieved him of his embarrassed position: he would not be separated from Joseph and the child would have a devoted mother to watch over him.

“The child is provided for,” continued Marius, laughing, “and I will undertake to provide for the father; but before we go any further, tell me, Philippe, what your ideas are.”

“I wish to work,” replied the young man, “I want to make you forget my follies, and to assure for myself a calm and happy future.”

“That is perfect. You renounce your dreams of wealth, and consent to be a poor fellow like I am?”

“Yes.”

“Then I can give you what you want. You must cast aside the stevedore’s blouse. I will offer you a modest position which will enable you to live without being a drag upon anyone.”

“I accept all, in anticipation. I confide in you with my eyes closed, being sure that whatever you do will conduce to my happiness.”

“Very well! I am going to place you immediately with my employer, M. Martelly. For more than six months I have been reserving a post for you there, that will bring you in eighteen hundred francs a year. Believe me, my dear brother, remain obscure, do not seek to bear the sway and we will enjoy happy times together.”

The two brothers went to the ship-owner, who gave Philippe a kind welcome and seemed delighted to assist him by engaging him in his employ.

“My dear Marius,” said he, gaily, “put this young man where you like. There is a great deal of work to do here, and we require an active and intelligent staff. I like those who serve me faithfully.”

Marius entrusted his brother with a part of the correspondence, which was considerable, and from that moment Philippe commenced a peaceful existence. He passed the daytime at his office and in the evening enjoyed the tranquillity of the home of the young couple, taking Joseph on his knees and playing with him for hours together. Fine had been able to rent an extra room on the fourth floor from the landlord, and made it comfortable for the young man whose life was in common with that of the young household; he lodged and took his meals with his brother, never went out, and seemed to care for nothing beyond this domestic felicity.

This peaceful and affectionate life lasted for several weeks, and to see such an united and happy family, no one would ever have thought that it had been a victim to the most violent commotion a few months before.

Sometimes, however, Philippe’s voice took the brief and irritated accents of former days. When he thought of M. de Cazalis the fever seized him again, and he spoke of making Blanche’s uncle disgorge.

“We are cowards,” he said one evening to Marius, “we don’t know how to avenge ourselves. I ought to go and slap that man in the face and demand my son’s fortune.”

Marius, whose calm and well-balanced mind enabled him to take a more sober view of the position, was quite alarmed at his brother’s sudden outbursts of passion.

“And what good would it do,” he answered, “if you were to slap your enemy in the face? He would have you imprisoned again, that is all.”

“But that man’s a thief! He’s keeping money that does not belong to him; he’s perhaps spending it for his own purposes. Ah! you’re a happy fellow, Marius, to be able to think of such things without getting in a rage. For my part I feel inclined to wrest this property, which by right should go to Joseph, away from him.”

“I beg you not to do any more headstrong things. We are living peacefully enough at present. Do not spoil our happiness.”

“Then you want me to renounce on behalf of my child, his mother’s inheritance?”

“Eh! I prefer that you should renounce this inheritance, at least for the moment, rather than trouble our life again. Let us remain on the defensive and not attack. We are too weak, and shall be smashed at the first shock.”

“I would like to see my son wealthy and powerful. I feel ambitious for him if not for myself.”

“Your son is happy, we love him and will bring him up as an honest man. Believe me, he wants nothing, there would perhaps be more reason to pity him if you succeeded in making him a rich heir.”

Conversations such as these frequently occurred between Philippe and Marius. The latter felt that M. de Cazalis was too powerful to be attacked with any likelihood of success; he understood that the former deputy would assume the offensive at the first opportunity, and he wished to reserve all his power for the defence. His most earnest desire was to make Blanche’s uncle forget the existence of Joseph and Philippe.

Besides, he was urged by many reasons to preach disinterestedness to his brother. He feared that the latter on becoming wealthy would go crazy again. What he was dreaming of, moreover, for his nephew, was the same tranquil existence of a clerk as his own, and he did not think that he could prepare him a more agreeable future.

He frequently said to himself: “This child will be poor and happy as I am, he will find a Fine who will afford him the same pleasure as I enjoy.” At the bottom of his heart he had decided that he would never claim a sou from M. de Cazalis.