Books: Conscience, v3
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Hector Malot >> Conscience, v3
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"Very well, speak!" he said. "I am listening to you. Moreover, it is
better to know. Speak!"
CHAPTER XXXI
THE APPOINTMENT
"You should understand," she said with a little more calmness--for, since
he permitted her to speak, she hoped to convince him--"that I have done
all I could to bring Madame Dammauville to the idea of calling, in
consultation with Monsieur Balzajette, a doctor--"
"Which would be myself."
"You or another; I have not mentioned any name. You should not think me
awkward enough to put you forward clumsily; it would not be a good way to
make you acceptable to an intelligent woman, and I value your dignity too
much to lower it. I believed that another doctor than Monsieur
Balzajette would find a remedy, some way, a miracle if you will, to
enable Madame Dammauville to go to the Palais de justice, and I said it.
I said it in every tone, in every way, with as much persuasion as I could
put in my words. Was it not the life of my brother that I defended, our
honor? At first, I found Madame Dammauville much opposed to this idea.
She would be better soon, she felt it. Otherwise, if it were her duty to
be carried to the Palais de justice, she would not hesitate."
"She would do that?"
"Assuredly. No one has a stronger sense of justice. She would feel
guilty did she not give her testimony to save an innocent person; not to
save him when she could would be to take the responsibility of his loss.
It is therefore certain that if she cannot go to court alone, she will do
all she can to go, no matter how--on M. Balzajette's arm, or on a
stretcher. I was, then, easy enough on this side, but I was not for the
stretcher. What would people think to see her in this condition? What
impression would she make on the jury? Would not her appearance weaken
the value of her testimony? As Madame Dammauville is fond of me, and
very kind to me, I determined to profit by this kindness to urge a
consultation, but without mentioning any name. I represented to her
that, since M. Balzajette might say with every appearance of truth he had
cured her, he should not be angry if she desired to ratify this cure.
That besides, there was an imperative motive that would not permit her to
wait, for it would be very disagreeable to her to present herself at the
court of assizes in a theatrical way, which was not at all according to
her character or habits. I easily discovered that the fear of giving
pain to this old friend of her husband was the chief reason why she was
opposed to this consultation. It was then that your name was
pronounced."
"You acknowledge it, then?"
"You will see how, and you will not be angry about it. I have often
spoken to Madame Dammauville of mamma, and, consequently, of how you
cured her paralysis, that resembled hers. It was not wrong, was it, to
say what you have done for us? And without letting any one suspect my
love, I could praise you, which my gratitude prompted. She asked me many
questions, and naturally, as usual when I speak of you, when I have the
joy of pronouncing your name, I answered in detail. That is not a
crime?"
She waited a moment, looking at him. Without softening the hardness of
his glance, he made a sign to her to continue.
"When I persisted on the consultation, Madame Dammauville recalled what I
had said, and she was the first--you hear?--the first to pronounce your
name. As you had cured my mother, I had the right to praise you. With a
nature like hers, she would not have understood if I had not done it; she
would have believed me ungrateful. I spoke of your book on the diseases
of the spinal cord, which was quite natural; and as she manifested a
desire to read it, I offered to lend it to her."
"Was that natural?"
"With any but Madame Dammauville, no; but she is not frivolous. I took
the book to her two days ago, and she has just told me that, after
reading it, she has decided to send for you."
"I shall certainly not go; she has her own physician."
"Do not imagine that I have come to ask you to pay her a visit; all is
arranged with Monsieur Balzajette, who will write to you or see you, I do
not know which."
"That will be very extraordinary on the part of Balzajette!"
"Perhaps you judge him harshly. When Madame Dammauville spoke to him of
you he did not raise the smallest objection; on the contrary, he praised
you. He says that you are one of the rare young men in whom one may have
confidence. These are his own words that Madame Dammauville told me."
"What do I care for the opinion of this old beast!"
"I am explaining how it happens that you are called into consultation; it
is not because I spoke of you, but because you have inspired Monsieur
Balzajette with confidence. However stupid he may be, he is just to you,
and knows your value."
It was come then, the time for the meeting that he did not wish to
believe possible; and it was brought about in such a way that he did not
see how he could escape it. He might refuse Phillis; but Balzajette?
A colleague called him in consultation, and why should he not go? Had he
foreseen this blow he would have left Paris until the trial was over, but
he was taken unawares. What could he say to justify a sudden absence?
He had no mother or brothers who might send for him, and with whom he
would be obliged to remain. Besides, he wished to go to court; and since
his testimony would carry considerable weight with the jury, it was his
duty to be present on account of Florentin. It would be a contemptible
cowardice to fail in this duty, and more, it would be an imprudence. In
the eyes of the world he must appear to have nothing to fear, and this
assurance, this confidence in himself, was one of the conditions of his
safety. Now, if he went to court, and from every point of view it was
impossible that he should not go, he would meet Madame Dammauville,
as she intended to be carried there if she were unable to go in any other
way. Whether it was at her house, or at the Palais de justice, the
meeting was then certain, and in spite of what he had done, circumstances
stronger than his will had prepared it and brought it about; nothing that
he could do would prevent it.
The only question that deserved serious consideration just now was to
know where this meeting would be the least dangerous for him--at Madame
Dammauville's or at the Palais?
He reflected silently, paying no more attention to Phillis than if she
were not present, his eyes fixed, his brow contracted, his lips tightly
closed, when the doorbell rang. As Joseph was at his post, Saniel did
not move.
"If it is a patient," Phillis said, who did not wish to go yet, "I will
wait in the dining-room."
And she rose.
Before she could leave the room, Joseph entered.
"Doctor Balzajette," he said.
"You see!" Phillis cried.
Without replying, Saniel made a sign to Joseph to admit Doctor
Balzajette, and while Phillis silently disappeared, he went toward the
parlor.
Balzajette came forward with both hands extended.
"Good-day, my young 'confrere'. I am enchanted to meet you."
The reception was benevolent, amicable, and protecting, and Saniel
replied at his best.
"Since we met the other day," Balzajette continued, "I have thought of
you. And nothing more natural than that, for you inspired me with a
quick sympathy. The first time you came to see me you pleased me
immediately, and I told you you would make your way. Do you remember?"
Assuredly he remembered; and of all the visits that he made to the
doctors and druggists of his quarter, that to Balzajette was the hardest.
It was impossible to show more pride, haughtiness, and disdain than
Balzajette had put into his reception of the then unknown young man.
"I told you what I thought of you," continued Balzajette. "It is with
regard to this patient of whom you spoke to me; you remember?"
"Madame Dammauville?"
"Exactly. I put her on her feet, as I told you, but since then this bad
weather has compelled her to take to her bed again. Without doubt, it is
only an affair of a few days; but in the mean time, the poor woman is
irritable and impatient. You know women, young 'confrere'. To calm this
impatience, I spontaneously proposed a consultation, and naturally
pronounced your name, which is well known by your fine work on the
medullary lesions. I supported it, as was proper, with the esteem that
it has acquired, and I have the satisfaction to see it accepted."
Saniel thanked him as if he believed in the perfect sincerity of this
spontaneous proposition.
"I like the young, and whenever an occasion presents itself, I shall be
happy to introduce you to my clientage. For Madame Dammauville, when can
you go with me to see her?"
As Saniel appeared to hesitate, Balzajette, mistaking the cause of his
silence, persisted.
"She is impatient," he said. "Let us go the first day that is possible."
He must reply, and in these conditions a refusal would be inexplicable.
"Will to-morrow suit you?" he asked.
"To-morrow, by all means. At what hour?"
Before replying, Saniel went to his desk and consulted an almanac, which
appeared perfectly ridiculous to Balzajette.
"Does he imagine, the young 'confrere', that I am going to believe his
time so fully occupied that he must make a special arrangement to give me
an hour?"
But it was not an arrangement of this kind that Saniel sought. His
almanac gave the rising and the setting of the sun, and it was the exact
hour of sunset that he wished: "26 March, 6h. 20m." At this moment it
would not be dark enough at Madame Dammauville's for lamps to be lighted,
and yet it would be dark enough to prevent her from seeing him clearly in
the uncertain light of evening.
"Will a quarter past six suit you? I will call for you at six o'clock."
"Very well. Only I shall ask you to be very exact; I have a dinner at
seven o'clock in the Rue Royale."
Saniel promised promptness. The dinner was a favorable circumstance,
enabling him to escape from Madame Dammauville's before the lamps would
be lighted.
When Balzajette was gone, he rejoined Phillis in the dining-room.
"A consultation is arranged for to-morrow at six o'clock, at Madame
Dammauville's."
She threw herself on his breast.
"I knew that you would forgive me."
CHAPTER XXXII
THE FATAL LIGHT
It was not without emotion that the next day Saniel saw the afternoon
slip away, and although he worked to employ his time, he interrupted
himself at each instant to look at the clock.
Sometimes he found the time passing quickly, and then all at once it
seemed to stand still.
This agitation exasperated him, for calmness had never been more
necessary than at this moment. A danger was before him, and it was only
in being master of himself that he could be saved. He must have the
coolness of a surgeon during an operation, the glance of a general in a
battle; and the coolness and the glance were not found among the nervous
and agitated.
Could he escape from this danger?
This was the question that he asked himself unceasingly, although he knew
the uselessness of it. What good was it to study the chances for or
against him?
Either he had succeeded in rendering himself unrecognizable or he had
not; but it was done, and now he could do nothing more. He did the best
he could in choosing an hour when the dim evening light put the chances
on his side; for the rest he must trust to Fortune.
All day he studied the sky, because for the success of his plan it must
be neither too bright nor too dark: if it were too bright Madame
Dammauville could see him clearly; if it were too dark the lamps would be
lighted. He remembered that it was by lamplight she had seen him. Until
evening the weather was uncertain, with a sky sometimes sunny, sometimes
cloudy; but at this hour the clouds were driven away by a wind from the
north, and the weather became decidedly cold, with the pink and pale
clearness of the end of March when it still freezes.
On examining himself he had the satisfaction to feel that he was calmer
than in the morning, and that as the moment of attack approached, his
agitation decreased; decision, firmness, and coolness came to him; he
felt master of his will, and capable of obeying it.
At six o'clock precisely he rang at Balzajette's door, and they started
immediately for the Rue Sainte-Anne. Happy to have a complaisant
listener, Balzajette did all the talking, so that Saniel had only to
reply "yes" or "no" from time to time, and of course it was not of Madame
Dammauville that he spoke, but other matters--of a first representation
on the previous evening at the Opera Comique; of politics; of the next
salon.
At exactly a quarter past six they reached the house in the Rue Sainte-
Anne, where Saniel had not been since Caffies death. On passing the old
concierge's lodge he felt satisfied with himself; his heart did not
beat too quickly, his ideas were firm and clear. Should danger arrive,
he felt assured of mastery over himself, without excitement, as without
brutality.
Balzajette rang the bell, and the door was opened by a maid, who was,
evidently, placed in the vestibule to await their arrival. Balzajette
entered first, and Saniel followed him, giving a hasty glance at the
rooms through which they passed. They reached a door at which Balzajette
knocked twice.
"Enter," replied a feminine voice in a firm tone.
This was the decisive moment; the day was everything that could be
wished, neither too light nor too dark. What would Madame Dammauville's
first glance mean?
"My confrere, Doctor Saniel," Balzajette said on going toward Madame
Dammauville, and taking her hand.
She was lying on the little bed of which Phillis had spoken, but not
against the windows, rather in the middle of the room, placed there
evidently after the experience of a sick person who knows that to be
examined she must be easily seen.
Profiting by this arrangement, Saniel immediately passed between the bed
and the windows in such a way that the daylight was behind him, and
consequently his face was in shadow. This was done naturally, without
affectation, and it seemed that he only took this side of the bed because
Balzajette took the other.
Directed by Saniel, the examination commenced with a clearness and a
precision that pleased Balzajette. He did not lose himself in idle
words, the young 'confrere', any more than in useless details. He went
straight to the end, only asking and seeking the indispensable; and as
Madame Dammauville's replies were as precise as his questions, while
listening and putting in a word from time to time he said to himself that
his dinner would not be delayed, which was the chief point of his
preoccupation. Decidedly, he understood life, the young 'confrere';
he might be called in consultation with his heavy appearance and careless
toilet, there was no danger of rivalry.
However, when Madame Dammauville began to speak of being sensitive to
cold, Balzajette found that Saniel let her lose herself in minute
details.
"Have you always been sensitive to cold?"
"Yes; and with a deplorable disposition to take cold if the temperature
is lowered one or two degrees."
"Did you exercise in the open air?"
"Very little."
"Were you ever advised to try shower-baths of cold water?"
"I should not have been able to bear it."
"I must tell you," Balzajette interrupted, "that before occupying this
house that belongs to her, Madame Dammauville lived in a more modern
apartment which was heated by a furnace, and where consequently it was
easier to maintain an even temperature to which she was accustomed."
"On coming to live in this house, where it is not possible to have a
furnace," Madame Dammauville went on, "I employed every means to shelter
me from the cold, which I am sure is my great enemy. You can see that I
have had weather-strips put at the doors, as well as at the windows."
In spite of this invitation and the gesture which accompanied it, Saniel
was careful not to turn his head toward the window; he kept his face in
the shadow, contenting himself with looking at the door which was
opposite to him.
"At the same time," she continued, "I had hangings put on the walls,
carpets on the floors, thick curtains at the windows and doors, and in
spite of the large fire in my fireplace, often I am unable to get warm."
"Do you also have a fire in this little stove?" Saniel asked, pointing
to a small movable stove at the corner of the fireplace.
"Only at night, so that my servants need not get up every hour to
replenish the fire in the chimney. The fire is made in the evening just
before I go to sleep; the pipe is placed in the chimney, and it maintains
sufficient heat until morning."
"I think it will be expedient to suppress this mode of heating, which
must be very inconvenient," Saniel said; "and my 'confrere' and myself
will consider the question whether it will not be possible to give you
the heat you need with this chimney, without fatiguing your servants,
and without waking you too often to take care of the fire. But let us
continue."
When he reached the end of his questions he rose to examine the patient
on her bed, but without turning round, and in such a way as still to keep
his back to the light.
As little by little the reflection of the setting sun faded,
Balzajette proposed asking for a lamp: without replying too hastily,
Saniel refused; it was useless, the daylight was sufficient.
They passed into the parlor, where they very quickly came to an amicable
conclusion, for at everything that Saniel said Balzajette replied:
"I am happy to see that you partake of my opinion. That is it. Truly,
that is so!"
And, besides, each had his reasons for hurrying--Saniel, for fear of the
lamps; Balzajette, uneasiness for his dinner. The diagnosis and the
treatment were rapidly settled; Saniel proposed, Balzajette approved.
The question of the movable stove was decided in two words: for the night
a grate would be placed in the chimney; a fire of coal covered with damp
coal-dust would keep the fire until morning.
"Let us return," Balzajette said, who took the initiative and decided on
all material things.
Saniel, who kept his eyes on the windows, was calm; it was yet too light
to need lamps, besides, during their tete-a-tete, no servant had crossed
the salon to enter Madame Dammauville's room.
But when Balzajette opened the door to return to the patient, a flood of
light filled the parlor and enveloped them. A lamp with a shade was
placed on the little table near the bed, and two other lighted lamps with
globes were on the mantel, reflecting their light in the mirror. How had
he not foreseen that there was another door to Madame Dammauville's room
besides the door from the parlor? But if he had foreseen it, it would
not have lessened the danger of the situation.
He would have had time to prepare himself, that was all. But to prepare
himself for what? Either to enter the room and brave this danger, or to
fly. He entered.
"This is what we have decided," Balzajette said, who never lost an
occasion to put himself forward and to speak.
While he spoke, Madame Dammauville seemed not to listen to him. Her eyes
were on Saniel, placed beween her and the chimney with his back to the
lamps, and she looked at him with a characteristic fixedness.
Balzajette, who listened to himself, observed nothing; but Saniel, who
knew what there was behind this glance, could not but be struck with it.
Happily for him, he had only to let Balzajette talk, for if he had spoken
he would surely have betrayed himself by the quivering of his voice.
However, Balzajette seemed coming to the end of his explanations.
Suddenly Saniel saw Madame Dammauville extend her hand toward the lamp on
the table, and raise the shade by lowering it toward her in such a way as
to form a reflector that threw the light on him. At the same time he
received a bright ray full on his face.
Madame Dammauville uttered a small, stifled cry.
Balzajette stopped; then his astonished eyes went from Madame Dammauville
to Saniel, and front Saniel to Madame Dammauville.
"Are you suffering?" he asked.
"Not at all."
What, then, was the matter? But it was seldom that he asked for an
explanation of a thing that astonished him, preferring to divine and to
explain it himself.
"Ah! I understand it," he said with a satisfied smile.
"The youth of my young 'confrere' astonishes you. It is his fault. Why
the devil did he have his long hair and his light curled beard cut?"
If Madame Dammauville had not released the lampshade, she would have seen
Saniel turned pale and his lips quiver.
"Mais voila!" continued Balzajette. "He made this sacrifice to his new
functions; the student has disappeared before the professor."
He might have continued along time. Neither Madame Dammauville nor
Saniel listened to him; but, thinking of his dinner, he was not going to
launch into a discourse that at any other moment he would not have failed
to undertake. He rose to go.
As Saniel bowed, Madame Dammauville stopped him with a movement of her
hand.
"Did you not know this unfortunate who was assassinated opposite?" she
asked, pointing to the windows.
So serious as was an acknowledgment, Saniel could not answer in the
negative.
"I was called in to prove his death," he said.
And he took several steps toward the door, but she stopped him again.
"Had you business with him?" she asked.
"I saw him several times."
Balzajette cut short this conversation, which was idle talk to him.
"Good evening, dear Madame. I will see you tomorrow, but not in the
morning, for I go to the country at six o'clock, and shall not return
until noon."
CHAPTER XXXIII
SUSPENSE
"Did you observe how I cut the conversation short?" Balzajette said, as
they went down-stairs. "If you listen to women they will never let you
go. I cannot imagine why she spoke to you of this assassinated man, can
you?"
"No."
"I believe that this assassination has affected her brain to a certain
point. In any case, it has given her a horror of this house."
He continued thus without Saniel listening to what he said. On reaching
the Rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, Balzajette hailed a passing cab.
"You have had the kindness not to delay me," he said, pressing the hand
of his young 'confrere', "but I feel that I must hurry. 'Au revoir'."
A good riddance! This babbling gave Saniel the vertigo.
He must recover himself, look the situation in the face, and consider
that which might, which must, happen.
The situation was plain; Madame Dammauville's cry revealed it. When the
lamplight struck him full in the face, she found in him the man whom she
had seen draw Caffies curtains. If, in her amazement, she at first
refused to believe it, her questions regarding Caffie, and Balzajette's
explanations about his hair and beard, destroyed her hesitation and
replaced doubt by the horror of certainty. He was the assassin; she knew
it, she had seen him. And such as she revealed herself to him, it seemed
that she was not the woman to challenge the testimony of her eyes, and to
let the strength of her memory be shaken by simple denials, supported by
Balzajette's words.
With a vivid clearness he saw to the bottom of the abyss open before him;
but what he did not see was in what way she would push him into this
giddy whirlpool, that is, to whom she would reveal the discovery that she
had made. To Phillis, to Balzajette, or to the judge?
It was almost a relief to think that for this evening, at least, it would
not be to Phillis, for at this moment she would be at his rooms,
anxiously awaiting his return. He felt a sadness and a revulsion at the
thought that she might be the first to learn the truth. He did not wish
that, and he would prevent it.
This preoccupation gave him an object; he reached the Rue Louis-le-Grand
thinking more of Phillis than of himself. What distress when she should
know all! How could she support this blow, and with what sentiments
would it inspire her, with what judgment for the man whom she loved?
Poor girl! He grew tender at the thought. As for him, he was lost, and
it was his fault; he bore the penalty of his own stupidity. But Phillis
--it would be a blow to her love that she must bear. And what a blow to
this sensitive heart, to this proud and noble soul!
Perhaps he would now see her for the last time, for this one hour, and
never again. Then he would be kind to her, and leave her a memory that,
later, would be an alleviation to her sorrow, a warm, bright ray in her
time of mourning. During these last few days he had been hard, brutal,
irritable, strange, and with her habitual serenity she had overlooked it
all. When he pushed her from him with his heavy hand, she had kissed
this hand, fastening on him her beautiful, tender eyes, full of
passionate caresses. He must make her forget that, and she must carry
from their last interview a tender impression that would sustain her.
What could he do for her? He remembered how happy she had been at their
impromptu dinners six months before, and he would give her this same
pleasure. He would see her happy again, and near her, under her glance,
perhaps he would forget tomorrow.
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