Books: Conscience, v2
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Hector Malot >> Conscience, v2
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At this moment the door opened, and a man still young, tall, with a
curled beard, entered the room.
"My son," Madame Cormier said.
"My brother Florentin, of whom we have spoken so often," Phillis said.
Florentin! Was he then becoming imbecile, that he had not thought the
voice of the man who bid him enter was that of Phillis's brother? Was he
so profoundly overwhelmed that such a simple reasoning was impossible to
him? Decidedly, it was important for him to go away as quickly as
possible; the journey would calm his nerves.
"They wrote to me," Florentin said, "and since my return they have told
me how good you were to my mother. Permit me to thank you from a touched
and grateful heart. I hope that before long this gratitude will be
something more than a vain word."
"Do not let us speak of that," Saniel said, looking at Phillis with a
frankness and an open countenance that reassured heron a certain point.
"It is I who am obliged to Madame Cormier. If the word were not
barbarous, I should say that her illness has been a good thing for me."
To turn the conversation, and because he wished to speak to Phillis
alone, he approached her table and talked with her about her work.
Saniel then gave Madame Cormier some advice, and rose to go.
Phillis followed him, and Florentin was about to accompany them, but
Phillis stopped him.
"I wish to ask Doctor Saniel a question," she said.
When they were on the landing she closed the door.
"What is the matter?" she asked in a hurried and trembling voice.
"I wished to tell you that I start for Monaco at eleven o'clock."
"You are going away?"
"I have received two hundred francs from a patient, and I am going to
risk them at play. Two hundred francs will not pay Jardine or the
others, but with them I may win several thousands of francs."
"Oh! Poor dear! How desperate you must be--you, such as you are, to
have such an idea!"
"Am I wrong?"
"Never wrong to my eyes, to my heart, to my love. O my beloved, may
fortune be with you!"
"Give me your hand."
She looked around, listening. There was no one, no noise.
Then, drawing him toward her, she put her lips on his:
"All yours, yours!"
"I will return Tuesday."
"Tuesday, at five o'clock, I shall be there."
CHAPTER XVI
THE SMILES OF FORTUNE
No one knew so little about play as Saniel. He knew that people played
at Monaco, and that was all. He bought his ticket for Monaco, and left
the train at that place.
On leaving the station he looked all about him, to see what kind of a
place it was. Seeing nothing that looked like a gambling-house as he
understood it, that is, like the Casino de Royal, the only establishment
of the kind that he had ever seen, he asked a passer-by:
"Where is the gambling-house?"
"There is none at Monaco."
"I thought there was."
"There is one at Monte Carlo."
"Is it far?"
"Over yonder."
With his hand the man indicated, on the slope of the mountain, a green
spot where, in the midst of the foliage, were seen roofs and facades of
imposing buildings.
Saniel thanked him and followed his directions, while the man, calling
another, related the question that had been addressed to him, and both
laughed, shrugging their shoulders. Could any one be so stupid as these
Parisians! Another one who was going to be plucked, and who came from
Paris expressly for that! Was he not funny, with his big legs and arms?
Without troubling himself about the laughter that he heard behind him,
Saniel continued his way. In spite of his night on the train, he felt no
fatigue; on the contrary, his mind and body were active. The journey had
calmed the agitation of his nerves, and it was with perfect tranquillity
he looked back upon all that had passed before his departure. In the
state of satisfaction that was his now, he had nothing more to fear from
stupidity or acts of folly; and, since he had recovered his will, all
would go well. No more backward glances, and fewer still before. The
present only should absorb him.
The present, at this moment, was play. What did they play? He knew
roulette, but he knew not if the game was roulette. He would do as
others did. If he were ridiculed, it was of little importance; and in
reality he should desire to be ridiculed. People remember with pleasure
those at whom they have laughed, and he had come here to find some one
who would remember him.
When he entered the salon where the playing was going on, he observed
that a religious silence reigned there. Round a large table covered with
a carpet of green cloth, which was divided by lines and figures, some men
were seated on high chairs, making them appear like officers; others, on
lower chairs, or simply standing about the table, pushed or picked up the
louis and bank bills on the green cloth, and a strong voice repeated, in
a monotonous tone:
"Messieurs, faites votre jeu! Le jeu est fait! Rien ne va plus!"
Then a little ivory ball was thrown into a cylinder, where it rolled with
a metallic noise. Although he had never seen roulette, it required no
effort to divine that this was the game.
And, before putting several louis on the table, he looked about him to
see how it was played. But after the tenth time he understood as little
as at first. With the rakes the croupiers collected the stakes of
certain players; with these same rakes they doubled, separated, or even
paid, in proportions of which he took no account, certain others, and
that was all.
But it mattered little. Having seen how the money was placed on the
table, that was sufficient.
He had five louis in his hand when the croupier said:
"Messieurs, faites votre jeu."
He placed them on the number thirty-two, or, at least, he believed that
he placed them on this number.
"Rien ne va plus!" The ball rolled in the cylinder.
"Thirty-one!" cried the croupier, adding some other words that Saniel
did not understand. So little did he understand roulette that he thought
he had lost. He had placed his stake on the thirty-two, and it was the
thirty-one that had appeared; the bank had won. He was surprised to see
the croupier push a heap of gold toward him, which amounted to nearly a
hundred louis, and accompany this movement with a glance which, without
any doubt, meant to say:
"For you, sir."
What should he do? Since he had lost, he could not take this, money that
was given to him by mistake.
In placing his stake on the table, he had leaned over the shoulder of a
gentleman whose hair and beard were of a most extraordinary black, who,
without playing, pricked a card with a pin. This gentleman turned toward
him, and with an amiable smile, and in a most gracious tone said:
"It is yours, sir."
Decidedly, he was mistaken in thinking he had lost; and he must take this
heap of louis, which he did, but neglecting to take, also, his first
stake.
The game continued.
"Thirty-two," called the croupier.
Saniel perceived that his five louis had remained on the thirty-two; he
believed that he had won, since this number was called, and his ignorance
was such that he did not know that in roulette a number is paid thirty-
six times the stake: the croupier would, therefore, push toward him one
hundred and eighty Louis.
But, to his great surprise, he pushed him no more money than at first.
This was incomprehensible. When he lost, money was paid to him, and when
he won, he was paid only half his due.
His face betrayed his astonishment so plainly that he saw a mocking smile
in the eyes of the black-haired man, who had again turned toward him.
As he played merely for the sake of playing, and not to win or lose, he
pocketed all that was pushed toward him and his stake.
"Since you are not going to play any more," said the amiable gentleman,
leaving his chair, "will you permit me to say a word to you?"
Saniel bowed, and together they left the table. When they were far
enough away to converse without disturbing the players, the gentleman
bowed ceremoniously:
"Permit me to present myself-Prince Mazzazoli."
Saniel replied by giving his name and position.
"Well, doctor," the prince said with a strong Italian accent, "you will
pardon me, I hope, for making the simple observation that my age
authorizes: you play like a child."
"Like an ignoramus," Saniel replied, without being angry. For, however
unusual this observation might be, he had already decided that it might
be a good thing in the future to call upon the testimony of a prince.
"I am sure you are still asking yourself why you received eighteen times
the sum of your stake at the first play, and why you did not receive
thirty-six times the sum at the second."
"That is true."
"Well, I will tell you." And he proceeded to explain.
Saniel did not wait for the conclusion to learn the fact that this very-
much-dyed Italian prince was a liar.
"I do not intend to play again," he said.
"With your luck that would be more than a fault."
"I wanted a certain sum; I have won it, and that satisfies me."
"You will not be so foolish as to refuse the hand that Fortune holds
out?"
"Are you sure she holds it out to me?" Saniel asked, finding that it was
the prince.
"Do not doubt it. I will show you--"
"Thank you; but I never break a resolution."
In another moment Saniel would have turned his back on the man, but he
was a witness whom it would be well to treat with caution.
"I have nothing more to do here," he said, politely. "Permit me to
retire, after having thanked you for your offer, whose kindness I
appreciate."
"Well," cried the prince, "since you will not risk your fate, let me do
it for you. This money may be a fetich. Take off five louis, only five
louis, and confide them to me. I will play them according to my
combinations, which are certain, and this evening I will give you your
part of the proceeds. Where are you staying? I live at the Villa des
Palmes."
"Nowhere; I have just arrived."
"Then let us meet here this evening at ten o'clock, in this room, and we
will liquidate our association."
His first impulse was to refuse. Of what use to give alms to this old
monkey? But, after all, it did not cost much to pay his witness five
louis, and he gave them to him.
"A thousand thanks! This evening, at ten o'clock."
As Saniel left the room he found himself face to face with his old
comrade Duphot, who was accompanied by a woman, the same whom he had
cured.
"What! you here?" both the lover and his mistress exclaimed.
Saniel related why he was at Monaco, and what he had done since his
arrival.
"With my money! Ah! She is very well," Duphot cried.
"And you will play no more?" the woman asked.
"I have all I want."
"Then you will play for me."
He wished to decline, but they drew him to the roulette table, and each
put a louis in his hand.
"Play."
"How?"
"As inspiration counsels you. You have the luck."
But his luck had died. The two louis were lost.
They gave him two others, which won eight.
"You see, dear friend."
He went on, with varying luck, winning and losing.
At the end of a quarter of an hour they permitted him to go.
"And what are you going to do now?" Duphot asked.
"To send what I owe to my creditors by telegraph."
"Do you know where the telegraph is?"
"No."
"I will go with you."
This was a second witness that Saniel was too wise to shake off.
When he had sent his telegram to Jardine, he had nothing more to do at
Monte Carlo, and as he could not leave before eleven o'clock in the
evening, he was idle, not knowing how to employ his time. So he bought a
Nice newspaper and seated himself in the garden, under a gaslight, facing
the dark and tranquil sea. Perhaps he could find in it some telegraph
despatch which would tell him what had occurred in the Rue Sainte-Anne
since his departure.
At the end of the paper, under "Latest News," he read:
"The crime of the Rue Sainte-Anne seems to take a new turn; the
investigations made with more care have led to the discovery of a
trousers' button, to which is attached a piece of cloth. It shows,
therefore, that before the crime there was a struggle between the victim
and the assassin. As this button has certain letters and marks, it is a
valuable clew for the police."
This proof of a struggle between the victim and the assassin made Saniel
smile. Who could tell how long this button had been there?
Suddenly he left his seat, and entering a copse he examined his clothing.
Was it he who had lost it?
But soon he was ashamed of this unconscious movement. The button which
the police were so proud to discover, did not belong to him. This new
track on which they were about to enter did not lead to him.
CHAPTER XVII
PHILLIS'S FEARS
On Tuesday, a little before five o'clock, as she had promised, Phillis
rang at Saniel's door, and he left his laboratory where he was at work,
to let her in.
She threw herself on his neck.
"Well?" she asked, in a trembling voice.
He told her how he had played and won, without stating the exact sum;
also the propositions of the Prince Mazzazoli, the meeting with Duphot,
and the telegram to Jardine.
"Oh! What happiness!" she said, pressing him in her arms. "You are
free!"
"No more creditors! I am my own master. You see it was a good
inspiration. Justice willed it."
Then interrupting him:
"Apropos of justice, you did not speak of Caffie the morning of your
departure."
"I was so preoccupied I had no time to think of Caffie."
"Is it not curious, the coincidence of his death with the condemnation
that we pronounced against him? Does it not prove exactly the justice of
things?"
"If you choose."
"As the money you won at Monaco proves to you that what is just will
happen. Caffie is punished for all his rascalities and crimes, and you
are rewarded for your sufferings."
"Would it not have been just if Caffie had been punished sooner, and if I
had suffered less?"
She remained silent.
"You see," he said smiling, "that your philosophy is weak."
"It is not of my philosophy that I am thinking, but of Caffie and
ourselves."
"And how can Caffie be associated with you or yours?"
"He is, or rather he may be, if this justice in which I believe in spite
of your joking permits him to be."
"You are talking in enigmas."
"What have you heard about Caffie since you went away?"
"Nothing, or almost nothing."
"You know it is thought that the crime was committed by a butcher."
"The commissioner picked up the knife before me, and it is certainly a
butcher's knife. And more than that, the stroke that cut Caffie's throat
was given by a hand accustomed to butchery. I have indicated this in my
report."
"Since then, more careful investigations have discovered a trousers'
button--"
"Which might have been torn off in a struggle between Caffie and his
assassin, I read in a newspaper. But as for me, I do not believe in this
struggle. Caffie's position in his chair, where he was assaulted and
where he died, indicates that the old scamp was surprised. Otherwise, if
he had not been, if he had struggled, he could have cried out, and,
without doubt, he would have been heard."
"If you knew how happy I am to hear you say that!" she cried.
"Happy! What difference can it make to you?" and he looked at her in
surprise. "Of what importance is it to you whether Caffie was killed
with or without a struggle? You condemned him; he is dead. That should
satisfy you."
"I was very wrong to pronounce this condemnation, which I did without
attaching any importance to it."
"Do you think that hastened its execution?"
"I am not so foolish as that, but I should be better pleased if I had not
condemned him."
"Do you regret it?"
"I regret that he is dead."
"Decidedly, the enigma continues; but you know I do not understand it,
and, if you wish, we will stop there. We have something better to do
than to talk of Caffie."
"On the contrary, let me talk to you of him, because we want your
advice."
Again he looked at her, trying to read her face and to divine why she
insisted on speaking of Caffie, when he had just expressed a wish not to
speak of him. What was there beneath this insistence?
"I will listen," he said; "and, since you wish to ask my advice on the
subject, you must tell me immediately what you mean."
"You are right; and I should have told you before, but embarrassment and
shame restrained me. And I reproach myself, for with you I should feel
neither embarrassment nor reproach."
"Assuredly."
"But before everything else, I must tell you--you must know--that my
brother Florentin is a good and honest boy; you must believe it, you must
be convinced of it."
"I am, since you tell me so. Besides, he produced the best impression on
me during the short time I saw him the other day at your house."
"Would not one see immediately that he has a good nature?"
"Certainly."
"Frank and upright; weak, it is true, and a little effeminate also, that
is, lacking energy, letting himself be carried away by goodness and
tenderness. This weakness made him commit a fault before his departure
for America. I have kept it from you until this moment, but you must
know it now. Loving a woman who controlled him and made him do what she
wished, he let himself be persuaded to-take a sum of forty-five francs
that she demanded, that she insisted on having that evening, hoping to be
able to replace it three days later, without his employer discovering
it."
"His employer was Caffie?"
"No; it was three months after he left Caffie, and he was with another
man of business of whom I have never spoken to you, and now you
understand why. The money he expected failed him; his fault was
discovered, and his employer lodged a complaint against him."
"We made him withdraw his complaint, never mind how, and Florentin went to
America to seek his fortune. And since you have seen him, you admit that
he might be capable of the fault that he committed, without being
capable-of becoming an assassin."
He was about to reply, but she closed his lips with a quick gesture.
"You will see why I speak of this, and you will understand why I do not
drop the subject of Caffie, and of this button, on which the police count
to find the criminal. This button belonged to Florentin."
"To your brother?"
"Yes, to Florentin, who, the day of the crime, had been to see Caffie."
"That is true; the concierge told the commissioner of police that he
called about three o'clock."
Phillis gave a cry of despair.
"They know he was there? Then it is more serious than we imagined or
believed."
"In answering a question as to whom Caffie had received that day, the
concierge named your brother. But as this visit took place between three
and half-past, and the crime was certainly committed between five and
half-past, no one can accuse your brother of being the assassin, since he
left before Caffie lighted his lamp. As this lamp could not light
itself, it proves that he could not have butchered a man who was living
an hour after the concierge saw your brother and talked with him."
"What you say is a great relief; if you could know how alarmed we have
been!"
"You were too hasty to alarm yourself."
"Too hasty? But when Florentin read the account to us and came to the
button, he exclaimed, 'This button is mine!' and we experienced a shock
that made us lose our heads. We saw the police falling on us,
questioning Florentin, reproaching him with the past, which would be
retailed in all the newspapers, and you must understand how we felt."
"But cannot your brother explain how he lost this button at Caffie's?"
"Certainly, and in the most natural way. He went to see Caffie, to ask
him for a letter of recommendation, saying that he had been his clerk for
several years. Caffie gave it to him, and then, in the course of
conversation, Caffie spoke of a bundle of papers that he could not find.
Florentin had had charge of these papers, and had placed them on a high
shelf in the closet. As Caffie could not find them, and wanted them,
Florentin brought a small ladder, and, mounting it, found them. He was
about to descend the ladder, when he made a misstep, and in trying to
save himself, one of the buttons of his trousers was pulled off."
"And he did not pick it up?"
"He did not even notice it at first. But later, in the street, seeing
one leg of his trousers longer than the other, he thought of the ladder,
and found that he had lost a button. He would not return to Caffie's to
look for it, of course."
"Of course."
"How could he foresee that Caffie would be assassinated? That the crime
would be so skilfully planned and executed that the criminal would
escape? That two days later the police would find a button on which they
would build a story that would make him the criminal? Florentin had not
thought of all that."
"That is understood."
"The same evening he replaced the button by another, and it was only on
reading the newspaper that he felt there might be something serious in
this apparently insignificant fact. And we shared his alarm."
"Have you spoken to any one of this button?"
"Certainly not; we know too much. I tell you of it because I tell you
everything; and if we are menaced, we have no help to expect, except from
you. Florentin is a good boy, but he is weak and foolish. Mamma is like
him in more than one respect, and as for me, although I am more
resistant, I confess that, in the face of the law and the police, I
should easily lose my head, like children who begin to scream when they
are left in the dark. Is not the law, when you know nothing of it, a
night of trouble, full of horrors, and peopled with phantoms?"
"I do not believe there is the danger that you imagined in the first
moment of alarm."
"It was natural."
"Very natural, I admit, but reflection must show how little foundation
there is for it. The button has not the name of the tailor who furnished
it?"
"No, but it has the initials and the mark of the manufacturer; an A and a
P, with a crown and a cock."
"Well! Among two or three thousand tailors in Paris, how is it possible
for the police to find those who use these buttons? And when the tailors
are found, how could they designate the owner of this button, this one
exactly, and not another? It is looking for a needle in a bundle of hay.
Where did your brother have these trousers made? Did he bring them from
America?"
"The poor boy brought nothing from America but wretchedly shabby clothes,
and we had to clothe him from head to foot. We were obliged to
economize, and a little tailor in the Avenue de Clichy, called Valerius,
made this suit."
"It seems to me scarcely probable that the police will find this little
tailor. But if they do, would he recognize the button as coming from his
stock? And, if they get as far as your brother, they must prove that
there was a struggle; that the button was torn off in this struggle; that
your brother was in the Rue Sainte-Anne between five and six o'clock; in
which case, without doubt, he will find it easy to prove where he was at
that moment."
"He was with us--with mamma."
"You see, then, you need not feel alarmed."
CHAPTER XVIII
A GRAVE DISCUSSION
Phillis hurried to return to the Rue des Moines, to share with her mother
and brother the confidence that Saniel caused her to feel.
She pulled the bell with a trembling hand, for the time was past when in
this quiet house, where all the lodgers knew each other, the key was left
in the door, and one had only to knock before entering. Since the
newspapers had spoken of the button, all was changed; the feeling of
liberty and security had disappeared; the door was always closed, and
when the bell rang they looked at each other in fear and with trembling.
When Florentin opened the door, the table was set for dinner.
"I was afraid something had happened to you," Madame Cormier said.
"I was detained."
She took off her hat and cloak hastily.
"You have learned nothing?" the mother asked, bringing in the soup.
"No."
"They spoke to you of nothing?" Florentin continued in a low voice.
"They spoke to me of nothing else; or I heard only that when I was not
addressed directly."
"What was said?"
"No one believes that the investigations of the police bear on the
button."
"You see, Florentin," Madame Cormier interrupted, smiling at her son.
But he shook his head.
"However, the opinion of all has a value," Phillis cried.
"Speak lower," Florentin said.
"It is thought that it is impossible for the police to find, among the
two or three thousand tailors in Paris, all those who use the buttons
marked A. P. And if they did find them, they could not designate all
their customers to whom they have furnished these buttons. It is really
looking for a needle in a bundle of hay."
"When one takes plenty of time, one finds a needle in a bundle of hay,"
Florentin said.
"You ask me what I heard, and I tell you. But I do not depend entirely
on that. As I passed near the Rue Louis-le-Grand, I went to Doctor
Saniel's; it being his office hour I hoped to find him."
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