"You love Germain, then?"
"Oh, yes, that I do! Why, you know, I must have some pretext for visiting him in prison. Am I not an odd sort of girl?" said Rigolette, choking a rising sigh, and smiling, like an April shower, amid the tears which glittered in her large dark eyes.
"You are good and generous-hearted, as you ever were!" said Fleur-de-Marie, tenderly pressing her friend's hands within her own.
Madame Séraphin had evidently learned all she cared to know, and feeling very little interest in any further disclosure of Rigolette's love for young Germain, hastily approaching Fleur-de-Marie, she abruptly said:
"Come, my dear child, do not keep me waiting another minute, I beg; it is very late, and I shall be scolded, as it is, for being so much behind my time; we have trifled away a good quarter of an hour, and must endeavour to make up for it."
"What a nasty cross old body that is!" said Rigolette, in a whisper, to Fleur-de-Marie. "I don't like the looks of her at all!" Then, speaking in a louder voice, she added, "Whenever you come to Paris, my dear Goualeuse, be sure to come and see me. I should be so delighted to have you all to myself for a whole day, to show you my little home and my birds; for I have got some, such sweet pretty ones! Oh, that is my chief indulgence and expense!"
"I will try to come and see you, but certainly I will write you. So good-bye, my dear, dear Rigolette! Adieu! Oh, if you only knew how happy I feel at having met with you again!"
"And, I am sure, so do I; but I trust we shall soon see each other again; and, besides, I am so impatient to know whether your M. Rodolph is the same as mine. Pray write to me very soon upon this subject, will you? Promise you will!"
"Indeed I will! Adieu, dear Rigolette!"
"Farewell, my very dear Goualeuse!"
And again the two poor girls, each striving to conceal their distress at parting, indulged in a long and affectionate embrace. Rigolette then turned away, to enter the prison for the purpose of visiting Louise, according to the kind permission obtained for her by Rodolph, while Fleur-de-Marie, with Madame Séraphin, got into the coach which was waiting for them. The coachman was instructed to proceed to Batignolles, and to stop at the barrier. A cross-road of inconsiderable length conducted from this spot almost directly to the borders of the Seine, not far from the Isle du Ravageur. Wholly unacquainted with the locality of Paris, Fleur-de-Marie was unable to detect that the vehicle did not take the road to the Barrier St. Denis; it was only when the coach stopped at Batignolles, and she was requested by Madame Séraphin to alight, that she said:
"It seems to me, madame, that we are not in the road to Bouqueval; and how shall we be able to walk from hence to the farm?"
"All that I can tell you, my dear child," answered the femme de charge, kindly, "is, that I am obeying their orders given me by your benefactors, and that you will pain them greatly if you keep your friends waiting."
"Oh, not for worlds would I be so presuming and ungrateful as to oppose their slightest wish!" exclaimed poor Fleur-de-Marie, with kindling warmth, "and I beseech you, madame, to pardon my seeming hesitation; but, since you plead the commands of my revered protectors, depend upon my following you blindly and silently whithersoever you are pleased to take me. Only tell me, is Madame Georges quite well?"
"Oh, in most excellent health and spirits!"
"And M. Rodolph?"
"Perfectly well, also."
"Then you know him? But, madame, when I was speaking to Rigolette concerning him just now, you did not seem to be acquainted with him; at least, you did not say so."
"Because, in pursuance with the directions given me, I affected to be ignorant of the person you alluded to."
"And did M. Rodolph, himself, give you those orders?"
"Why, what a dear, curious little thing this is!" said the femme de charge, smilingly; "I must mind what I am about, or, with her innocent ways of putting questions, she will find out all my secrets!"
"Indeed, madame, I am ashamed of seeming so inquisitive, but if you could only imagine how my heart beats with joy at the bare thoughts of seeing my beloved friends again, you would pardon me; but, as we have only to walk on to the place whither you are taking me, I shall soon be able to gratify my wishes, without tormenting you by further inquiries."
"To be sure you will, my dear, for I promise you that in a quarter of an hour we shall have reached the end of our journey."
The femme de charge, having now left behind the last houses in the village of Batignolles, conducted Fleur-de-Marie across a grassy road, bordered on each side by lofty walnut-trees. The day was warm and fine, the sky half covered by the rich purple clouds of the setting sun, which now cast its declining rays on the heights of the colombes, situated on the other side of the Seine. As Fleur-de-Marie approached the banks of the river, a delicate bloom tinged her pale cheeks, and she seemed to breathe with delight the pure fresh air that blew from the country. Indeed, so strongly was the look of happiness imprinted on her countenance, that even Madame Séraphin could not avoid noticing it.
"You seem full of joy, my dear child; I declare it is quite a pleasure to see you."
"Oh, yes, indeed, I am overflowing with gratitude and eagerness at the thoughts of seeing my dear Madame Georges so soon, and perhaps, too, M. Rodolph! I trust I may, for, besides my own happiness at beholding him, I want to speak to him in favour of several poor unfortunate persons I should be so glad to recommend to his kindness and protection. How, then, can I be sad when I have so many delightful things to look forward to? Oh, who could be unhappy, with such a prospect as mine? And see, too, how gay and beautiful the sky is, all covered with bright, golden clouds! And the dear soft green grass, – I think it seems greener than ever, spite of the season. And look – look out there! See, where the river flows behind those willow-trees! Oh, how wide and sparkling it seems; and, when the sun shines on it, it almost dazzles my eyes to gaze on it! It seems like a sheet of gold. Ah, I saw it shining in the same way in the basin of the prison a little while ago! God does not forget even the poor prisoners, but allows them to have a sight of his wondrous works. Though they are separated by high stone walls from their fellow creatures, the glorious sun shows them his golden face, and sparkles and glitters upon the water there, the same as in the gardens of a king!" added Fleur-de-Marie, with pious gratitude. Then, incited by a reference to her captivity still more to appreciate the charms of liberty, she exclaimed, with a burst of innocent delight: "Oh, pray, madame, do look there, just in the middle of the river, at that pretty little island, bordered with willows and poplars, and that sweet little white house, almost close to the water's edge! How delicious it must be to live there in the summer, when all the leaves are on the trees and the birds sing so sweetly among the branches! Oh, how quiet and cool it must be in that nice place!"
"Well, really, now, my dear," said Madame Séraphin, with a grim smile, "it is singular enough your being so much struck with that little isle!"
"Why, madame?"
"Because it is there we are actually going to."
"Going to that island?"
"Yes; does that astonish you?"
"Rather so, madame."
"But suppose you found your friends there?"
"Oh, what do you mean?"
"Suppose, I say, you found all your friends had assembled there, to welcome you on your release from prison, should you not then be greatly surprised?"
"Oh, if it were but possible! My dear Madame Georges? – M. Rodolph?"
"Upon my word, my dear, I am just like a baby in your hands, and you turn and twist me just as you please; it is useless for me to try to conceal anything, for, with your little winning ways, you find out all secrets."
"Then I shall soon see them again? Dear madame, how can I ever thank you sufficiently for your goodness to a poor girl like me? Feel how my heart beats! It is all with joy and happiness!"
"Well, well, my love, be as wild with delight as you please, but pray do not hurry on so very fast. You forget, you little mad thing, that my old bones cannot run as fast as your nimble young feet."
"I beg your pardon, madame; but I cannot help being quite impatient to arrive where we are going."
"To be sure you cannot; don't fancy I mean to blame you for it; quite the contrary."
"The road slopes a little now, madame, and it is rather rough, too; will you accept of my arm to assist you down?"
"I never refuse a good offer, my dear; for I am somewhat infirm, as well as old, while you are young and active."
"Then pray lean all your weight on me, madame; don't be afraid of tiring me."
"Many thanks, my child! Your help was really very serviceable, for the descent is so extremely rapid just here. Now, then, we are once more on smooth, level ground."
"Oh, madame, can it, indeed, be true that I am about to meet my dear Madame Georges? I can scarcely persuade myself it is reality."
"A little patience, – another quarter of an hour, and then you will see whether it is true or false."
"But what puzzles me," said Fleur-de-Marie, after a moment's reflection, "is, why Madame Georges should have thought proper to meet me here, instead of at the farm."
"Still curious, my dear child, still wanting to know everybody's reasons."
"How very foolish and unreasonable I am, am I not, madame?" said Fleur-de-Marie, smiling.
"And, by way of punishing you, I have a great mind to tell you what the surprise is that your friends have prepared for you."
"For me, madame, a surprise?"
"Be quiet, you little chatterbox! You will make me reveal the secret, in spite of myself."
We shall now leave Madame Séraphin and her victim proceeding along the road which led to the river's side, while we precede them, by a few minutes, to the Isle du Ravageur.
CHAPTER XV
THE BOATS
During the night the appearance of the isle inhabited by the Martial family was very gloomy, but by the bright light of day nothing could be more smiling than this accursed spot. Bordered by willows and poplars, almost entirely covered with thick grass, in which wound several paths of yellow sand, the islet included a kitchen-garden and a good number of fruit-trees. In the midst of the orchard was to be seen the hovel, with the thatched roof, into which Martial had expressed his intention to retire with François and Amandine. On this side, the isle terminated at its point by a kind of stockade, formed of large piles, driven in to prevent the soil from wearing away.
In front of the house, and almost touching the landing-place, was a small arbour of green trellis-work, intended to support in summer-time the creeping shoots of the young vines and hops, – a cradle of verdure, beneath which were arranged tables for the visitors. At one end of the house, painted white and covered with tiles, a wood-house, with a loft over it, formed at the angle a small wing, much lower than the main body of the building. Almost precisely over this wing there appeared a window, with the shutters covered with iron plates, and strengthened without by two transverse iron bars attached to the wall by strong clamps.
Three boats were undulating in the water, fastened to posts at the landing-place. Seated in one of these boats, Nicholas was making sure that the valve he had introduced performed its part properly. Standing on a bench at the mouth of the arbour, Calabash, with her hands placed over her eyes so as to shade away the sun, was looking out in the direction in which Madame Séraphin and Fleur-de-Marie were to come to reach the isle.
"I don't see any one yet, old or young," said Calabash, getting off the bench and speaking to Nicholas. "It will be just as it was yesterday; we may as well wait for the King of Prussia. If these women do not come in half an hour, we can't wait any longer; Bras-Rouge's 'dodge' is much better, and he'll be waiting for us. The diamond-matcher is to be at his place in the Champs Elysées at five o'clock. We ought to be there before her; the Chouette said so this morning."
"You are right," replied Nicholas, leaving the boat. "May thunder smite the old devil's kin, who has given us all the trouble for nothing! The valve works capitally. It appears we shall only have one instead of two jobs."
"Besides, Bras-Rouge and Barbillon will want us; they can do nothing by their two selves."
"True, again; for, whilst the job is doing, Bras-Rouge must keep watch outside the cabaret, and Barbillon is not strong enough to drag the matcher into the cellar, for the old – will fight for it, I know!"
"Didn't the Chouette say that, for a joke, she had got the Schoolmaster at 'school' in the cellar?"
"Not in this one; in another much deeper, and which is filled with water at spring-tides."
"How the Schoolmaster must rage and foam there in the cellar! There all alone, and blind, too!"
"That is no matter, for, if he saw as clear as ever, he could see nothing there; the cellar is as dark as an oven."
"Still, when he has done singing all the songs he knows, to pass away the time, his days must hang precious heavy on his hands."
"The Chouette says that he amuses himself with rat-hunting, and that the cellar is full of game."
"I say, Nicholas, talking of certain persons who must be tired, and fume, and fret," remarked Calabash, with a savage smile, and pointing to the window fastened up with the iron plates, "there is one there who must be ready to devour his own flesh and blood."
"Bah! He's asleep. Since the morning he hasn't stirred, and his dog is silent."
"Perhaps he has strangled him for food. For two days, they must both be desperate hungry and thirsty up there together."
"That is their affair. Martial may still last a long time in this way, if it amuses him. When it is done, why, we shall say he died of his complaint, and there'll be an end of that affair."
"Do you think so?"
"Of course I do. As mother went to Asnières this morning, she met Père Férot, the fisherman, and, as he was very much astonished at not having seen his friend Martial for the last two days, mother told him that Martial was confined to his bed, and was so ill that his life was despaired of. Daddy Férot swallowed all, like so much honey; he'll tell everybody else, and when the thing's done and over, why, it'll all seem nat'ral enough."
"Yes, but he won't die directly; this way is a tedious one."
"What else is to be done? There was no way of doing otherwise. That devil of a Martial, when he's put up, is as full of mischief as the old one himself, and as strong as a bull; particularly when he suspects anything, it is dangerous to approach him; but, now his door is well nailed up on the outside, what can he do? His window is strongly fastened with iron, too."
"Why, he might have driven out the bars by cutting away the plaster with his knife, and he would have done it, only I got up the ladder, and chopped at his fingers with the bill-hook every time he tried to go to work."
"What a pleasant watch!" said the ruffian, with a chuckle; "it must have been vastly amusing!"
"Why, it was to give you time to come with the iron plates you went to get from Père Micou."
"What a rage the dear brother must have been in!"
"He ground his teeth like a lunatic. Two or three times he tried to drive me away from the iron bars with his stick, but then, as he had only one hand at liberty, he could not work and release the iron bars, which was what he was trying at."
"Fortunately, there's no fireplace in his room, and the door is solid, and his hands finely cut; if not, he would work his way through the floor."
"What! Through those heavy beams? No, no, there's no chance of his escaping; the shutters are covered with iron plates and strengthened with two bars of iron, the door is nailed up outside with large boat-nails three inches long. His coffin is more solid than if it were made of oak and lead."
"I say, though, when La Louve comes out of prison, and makes her way here, to see her man, as she calls him?"
"Well, we shall say, 'Look for him.'"
"By the way, do you know that, if mother had not shut up those young 'rips' of children, they would have gnawed their ways through the door, like young rats, to free Martial? That little vagabond François is quite furious since he suspects we have packed away his tall brother."
"But, you know, they mustn't be left in the room up-stairs whilst we leave the island; the window is not barred, and they have only to drop down outside."
At this moment the attention of Nicholas and Calabash was attracted by the sound of cries and sobs which came from the house. They saw the door of the ground floor, which had been open until then, close violently, and a minute afterwards the pale and sinister countenance of Mère Martial appeared through the bars of the kitchen window. With her long lean arm the culprit's widow made a sign to her children to come to her.
"There's a row, I know; I'll bet that it is François, who's giving himself some airs again," said Nicholas. "That beggar Martial! But for him, this young scamp would be by himself. You keep a good look-out, and, if you see the two women coming, give me a call."
Whilst Calabash again mounted the bench, and looked out for the arrival of Séraphin and the Goualeuse, Nicholas entered the house. Little Amandine was on her knees in the centre of the kitchen, sobbing and asking pardon for her Brother François. Enraged and threatened, the lad, ensconced in one of the angles of the apartment, had Nicholas's hatchet in his hand, and appeared determined this time to offer the most desperate resistance to his mother's wishes. Impassive as usual, showing Nicholas the cellar, the widow made a sign to her son to shut François up there.
"I will never be shut up there!" cried the boy, in a determined tone. "You want to make us die of hunger, like Brother Martial."
The widow looked at Nicholas with an impatient air, as if to reproach him for not instantly executing her commands, as, with another imperious gesture, she pointed to François. Seeing his brother advance towards him, the young boy brandished the axe with a desperate air and cried:
"If you try to shut me up there, whether it is mother, brother, or Calabash, so much the worse. I shall strike, and the hatchet cuts."
Nicholas felt as the widow did the pressing necessity there was to prevent the two children from going to Martial's succour whilst the house was left to itself, as well as to put them out of the way of seeing the scenes which were about to pass, for their window looked onto the river in which they were about to drown Fleur-de-Marie. But Nicholas was as cowardly as he was ferocious, and, afraid of receiving a blow from the dangerous hatchet with which his young brother was armed, hesitated to approach him. The widow, angry at his hesitation, pushed him towards François; but Nicholas, again retreating, exclaimed:
"But, mother, if he cuts me? You know I want all my arms and fingers at this time, and I feel still the thump that brute Martial gave me."
The widow shrugged her shoulders, and advanced towards François.
"Don't come near me, mother," shrieked the boy in a fury, "or you'll pay dear for all the beatings you have given me and Amandine!"
"Let 'em shut us up; don't strike mother!" cried Amandine, in fear.
At this moment Nicholas saw upon a chair a large blanket which he used to wrap his booty in at times, and, taking hold of and partly unfolding it, he threw it completely over François's head, who, in spite of his efforts, finding himself entangled under its folds, could not make use of his weapon. Nicholas then seized hold of him, and, with his mother's help, carried him into the cellar. Amandine had continued kneeling in the centre of the kitchen, and, as soon as she saw her brother overcome, she sprang up and, in spite of her fright, went to join him in the dark hole. The door was then double-locked on the brother and sister.
"It will still be that infernal Martial's fault, if these children behave in this outrageous manner to us," said Nicholas.
"Nothing has been heard in his room since this morning," said the widow, with a pensive air, and she shuddered, "nothing!"
"That's a sign, mother, that you were right to say to Père Férot, the fisherman at Asnières, that Martial had been so dangerously ill as to be confined to his bed for the last two days; for now, when all is known, it will not astonish anybody."
After a moment's silence, as and if she wished to escape a painful thought, the widow replied, suddenly:
"Didn't the Chouette come here whilst I was at Asnières?"
"Yes, mother."
"Why didn't she stay and accompany us to Bras-Rouge's? I mistrust her."
"Bah! You mistrust everybody, mother; you are always fancying they are going to play you some trick. To-day it is the Chouette, yesterday it was Bras-Rouge."
"Bras-Rouge is at liberty, – my son is at Toulon, yet they committed the same robbery."
"You are always saying this. Bras-Rouge escaped because he is as cunning as a fox – that's it; the Chouette did not stay, because she had an appointment at two o'clock, near the Observatory, with the tall man in black, at whose desire she has carried off this young country girl, by the help of the Schoolmaster and Tortillard; and Barbillon drove the hackney-coach which the tall man in black had hired for the job. So how, mother, do you suppose the Chouette would inform against us, when she tells us the 'jobs' she has in hand, and we do not tell her ours? for she knows nothing of this drowning job that is to come off directly. Be easy, mother; wolves don't eat each other, and this will be a good day's work; and when I recollect, too, that the jewel-matcher has often about her twenty to thirty thousand francs' worth of diamonds in her bag, and that, in less than two hours, we shall have her in Bras-Rouge's cellar! Thirty thousand francs' worth of diamonds, mother! Think of that!"
"And, whilst we lay hands on this woman, Bras-Rouge is to remain outside the cabaret?" inquired the widow, with an air of suspicion.
"Well, and where would you have him, I should like to know? If any one comes to his house, mustn't he be outside the door to answer them, and prevent them from entering the place whilst we are doing our 'job?'"
"Nicholas! Nicholas!" cried Calabash, at this moment from outside, "here come the two women!"
"Quick, quick, mother! Your shawl! I will land you on the other side, and that will be so much done," said Nicholas.
The widow had replaced her mourning head-dress with a high black cap, in which she now made her appearance. At the instigation of Nicholas, she wrapped herself in a large plaid shawl, with gray and white checks; and, after having carefully closed and secured the kitchen door, she placed the key behind one of the window-shutters on the ground-floor, and followed her son, who was hastily pursuing his way to the landing-place. Almost involuntarily, as she quitted the island, she cast a long and meditative look at Martial's window; and the train of thought to which its firmly nailed and iron-bound exterior gave rise seemed, to judge by their effect, to be of a very mingled and complicated character, for she knitted her brows, pursed her lips, and then, after a sudden convulsive shudder, she murmured, in a low hesitating voice:
"It is his own fault – it is his own fault!"
"Nicholas, do you see them? Just down there, along the path, – a country girl and an old woman!" exclaimed Calabash, pointing to the other side of the river, where Madame Séraphin and Fleur-de-Marie were descending a narrow, winding path which passed by a high bank, on the top of which were the lime-kilns.
"Let us wait for the signal; don't let us spoil the job by too much haste," said Nicholas.
"What! Are you blind? Don't you recognise the stout woman who came the day before yesterday? Look at her orange shawl; and the little country girl, what a hurry she seems in! She's a good little thing, I know; and it's plain she has no idea of what is going to happen to her, or she wouldn't hasten on at that pace, I'm thinking."
"Yes, I recollect the stout woman now. It's all right, then – all right! Although they are so much behind the time I had almost given up the job as bad. But let us quite understand the thing, Calabash. I shall take the old woman and the young girl in the boat with a valve to it; you will follow me close on, stern to stern; and mind and row steadily, so that, with one spring, I may jump from one boat to the other, as soon as I have opened the pipe and the water begins to sink the boat."
"Don't be afraid about me, it is not the first time I've pulled a boat, is it?"
"I am not afraid of being drowned, you know I can swim; but, if I did not jump well into the other boat, why, the women, in their struggles against drowning, might catch hold of me and – much obliged to you, but I have no fancy for a bath with the two ladies."
"The old woman waves her handkerchief," said Calabash; "there they are on the bank."
"Come, come along, mother, let's push off," said Nicholas, unmooring. "Come you into the boat with the valve, then the two women will not have any fear; and you, Calabash, jump into t'other, and use your arms, my girl, and pull a good one. Ah, by the way, take the boat-hook and put it beside you, it is as sharp as a lance, and it may be useful," added the ruffian, as he placed beside Calabash in the boat a long hook with a sharp iron point.
A few moments, and the two boats, one rowed by Nicholas and the other by Calabash, reached the shore where, for some moments, Madame Séraphin and Fleur-de-Marie had been waiting. Whilst Nicholas was fastening his boat to a post on the bank, Madame Séraphin approached him, and said, in a low and rapid tone:
"Say that Madame Georges is waiting for us at the island, – you understand?" And then, in a louder voice, she added, "We are rather late, my lad."
"Yes, my good lady, Madame Georges has been asking for you several times."
"You see, my dear young lady, Madame Georges is waiting for us," said Madame Séraphin, turning to Fleur-de-Marie, who, in spite of her confidence, had felt considerable repugnance at the sight of the sinister countenances of Calabash, Nicholas, and the widow; but the mention of Madame Georges reassured her, and she replied:
"I am just as impatient to see Madame Georges; fortunately, it is not a long way across."
"How delighted the dear lady will be!" said Madame Séraphin. Then, addressing Nicholas, "Now, then, my lad, bring your boat a little closer that we may get in." Adding, in an undertone, "The girl must be drowned, mind; if she comes up thrust her back again into the water."
"All right, ma'am; and don't be alarmed yourself, but, when I make you the signal, give me your hand, she'll then pass under all alone, for everything's ready, and you have nothing to fear," replied Nicholas, in a similar tone; and then, with savage brutality, unmoved by Fleur-de-Marie's youth and beauty, he put his hand out to her. The young girl leaned lightly on him and entered the boat.
"Now you, my good lady," said Nicholas to Madame Séraphin, offering her his hand in turn.
Was it presentiment, or mistrust, or only fear that she could not spring quickly enough out of the little bark in which Nicholas and the Goualeuse were, that made Jacques Ferrand's housekeeper say to Nicholas, shrinking back, "No, I'll go in the boat with mademoiselle?" And she took her seat by Calabash.
"Just as you please," said Nicholas, exchanging an expressive look with his sister as, with a vigorous thrust with his oar, he drove his boat from the bank.
His sister did the same directly Madame Séraphin was seated beside her. Standing, looking fixedly on the bank, indifferent to the scene, the widow, pensive and absorbed, fixed her look obstinately on Martial's window, which was discernible from the landing-place through the poplars. During this time the two boats, in the first of which were Nicholas and Fleur-de-Marie and in the other Calabash and Madame Séraphin, left the bank slowly.