Books: Gerfaut, v3
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Charles de Bernard >> Gerfaut, v3
The latter granted the prayer by loosening his hold of the carpenter's
neck and seizing him by his vest in such a way as to take away all chance
of escape while leaving him free to speak.
"This letter!" he repeated.
Frightened by the shaking he had just received, and not in a condition to
reflect with his usual prudence, Lambernier mechanically obeyed this
order; he hunted in his pockets for some time, and at last took a
carefully folded paper from his vest-pocket, saying with a stunned air:
"Here it is. It is worth ten louis."
Christian seized the paper and opened it with his teeth, for he could not
use his hands without releasing his prisoner. It was, like all notes of
this kind, without address, seal, or signature. It did not differ from
most of its kind save in the natural beauty of its style and its simple
eloquence. Ardent protestations, sweet and loving complaints, those
precious words that one bestows only upon the woman he loves and which
betray a love that has yet much to desire but as much to hope. The
handwriting was entirely unknown to Bergenheim, but Clemence's name,
which was repeated several times, did not permit him to doubt for a
moment that this note was written to his wife. When he had finished
reading, he put it in his pocket with apparent serenity, and then looked
at Lambernier, who, during this time, had remained motionless under the
hand that detained him.
"You are mistaken, Lambernier," said he to him; "it is one of my letters
before my marriage." And he tried to force himself to smile; but the
muscles of his lips refused to act this falsehood, and drops of cold
perspiration stood upon his forehead and at the roots of his hair.
The carpenter had watched the change in the Baron's countenance as he
read the letter. He was persuaded that he could turn the capital
importance of his revelations into profit for himself; he believed that
the time had come when he might gain advantage by showing that he
understood perfectly well the value of the secret he had just imparted.
So he replied with a glance of intelligence:
"Monsieur's handwriting must have changed greatly, then; I have some of
his orders which do not resemble this any more than a glass of water does
a glass of wine."
Christian tried to find a response but failed. His eyebrows contracted
in a manner that betokened a coming storm, but Lambernier was not
disturbed by this symptom; he continued in a more and more assured voice:
"When I said that this letter was worth ten louis, I meant that it was
worth that much to a mere stranger, and I am very sure I should not have
to go very far to find one; but Monsieur le Baron is too sensible not to
know the value of this secret. I do not wish to set a price upon it, but
since I am obliged to go away on account of this coachman, and have no
money--"
He did not have time to finish; Bergenheim seized him in the middle of
the body and made him describe a horizontal half-circle without touching
the ground, then threw him upon his knees on the edge of the path which
descended almost perpendicularly alongside the rocks. Lambernier
suddenly saw his haggard face reflected in the river fifty feet below.
At this sight, and feeling a powerful knee between his shoulders which
bent him over the abyss, as if to make him appreciate its dangers, the
workman uttered a terrified cry; his hands clutched wildly at the tufts
of grass and roots of plants which grew here and there on the sides of
the rocks, and he struggled with all his might to throw himself back upon
the ground. But it was in vain for him to struggle against the superior
strength of his adversary, and his attempts only aggravated the danger of
his position. After two or three powerless attempts, he found himself
lying upon his stomach with half his body hanging over the precipice,
having nothing to prevent him from falling over but Bergenheim's hand,
which held him by the collar and at the same time hindered him from
rising.
"Have you ever said one word about this?" asked the Baron, as he took
hold of the trunk of a tree to steady himself upon this dangerous ground
that he had chosen as the field of discussion.
"To nobody!--ah!--how my head swims!" replied the carpenter, closing his
eyes in terror, for the blood rushing to his brain made him dizzy, and it
seemed to him that the river was slowly reaching him.
"You see that if I make one gesture, you are a dead man," replied the
Baron, leaning upon him harder yet.
"Give me up to the police; I will say nothing about the letters; as sure
as there is a God, I will say nothing. But do not let me fall--hold me
tight--do not let go of me--I am slipping--oh! holy mother of God!"
Christian taking hold of the tree near him, leaned over and raised
Lambernier up, for he really was incapable of doing so himself; fright
and the sight of the water had given him vertigo. When he was upon his
legs again, he reeled like a drunken man and his feet nearly gave way
beneath him. The Baron looked at him a moment in silence, but at last he
said:
"Go away, leave the country at once; you have time to fly before there
will be any pursuit. But remember that if I ever hear one word of what
has passed between us from your lips, I shall know how to find you and
you will die by my hand."
"I swear by the Holy Virgin and by all the saints--" stammered
Lambernier, who had suddenly become a very fervent Catholic.
Christian pointed with his finger to the stone steps beneath them.
"There is your road; pass over the rock, through the woods, and reach
Alsace. If you conduct yourself well, I will assure your living. But
remember; one single indiscreet word, and you are a dead man."
At these words he pushed him into the path with one of those quick
movements which very powerful men can not always calculate the effect of.
Lambernier, whose strength was almost exhausted by the struggles he had
undergone, had not vigor enough left to stand, and he lost his balance at
this violent as well as unexpected push. He stumbled over the first
step, reeled as he tried to regain his footing, and fell head first down
the almost vertical declivity. A ledge of the cliff, against which he
first struck, threw him upon the loose rocks. He slowly glided downward,
uttering lamentable cries; he clutched, for a moment, a little bush which
had grown in a crevice of the rocks but he did not have strength enough
to hold on to it, his arm having been broken in three places by his fall.
He let go of it suddenly, and dropped farther and farther down uttering a
last terrible shriek of despair; he rolled over twice again-and then fell
into the torrent below, that swallowed him up like a mass already
deprived of life.
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