Mysteries of Paris
Chapter 79 : "Oh! sir, thank you; give--give me quickly," said Madame de Fermont, pus.h.i.

"Oh! sir, thank you; give--give me quickly," said Madame de Fermont, pus.h.i.+ng back the table and half opening the door.

"It is twenty sous, madame," said the fence, showing the letter so impatiently desired.

"I am going to pay you, sir."

"Oh! madame, there is no hurry. I am going to the roof; in ten minutes I will descend, and take the money as I pa.s.s." Micou handed the letter to Madame de Fermont, and disappeared.

"The letter is from Normandy. On the stamp is _Aubiers_; it is from M. d'Orbigny!" cried Madame de Fermont examining the address.

"Well, mamma, was I right?"

"Oh, how my heart beats! Our good or bad fortune is, however, here,"

said Madame de Ferment, in a faltering voice, showing the letter.

Twice her trembling hand approached the seal to break it. She had not the courage. Can one hope to paint the terrible anguish suffered by those who, like Madame de Fermont, await from a letter hope or despair?

The burning and feverish emotion of a player whose last pieces of gold are staked on a single card, and who, breathless, the eye inflamed, awaits the decisive throw which saves or ruins him forever: this emotion, so violent, would hardly give an idea of the terrible anguish of which we speak. In an instant the soul is lifted up with the most radiant hopes, or plunged into the blackest despair. The unfortunate being pa.s.ses in turn through the most contrary emotions; ineffable feelings of happiness and grat.i.tude toward the generous heart which had pity on his sorrows--a sad and bitter resentment against the selfish or indifferent.

"What weakness!" said Madame de Fermont, with a sad smile, seating herself on the bed of her daughter: "once more, my poor Claire, our fate is there. I burn to know it, and I dare not. If it is a refusal, alas! it will be always soon enough."

"And if it should be a promise of succor? say, mamma; if this poor little letter contains good and consoling words, which will a.s.sure us as to the future, in promising us a modest employ in the house of M.

d'Orbigny, each minute we lose, is it not a moment of happiness lost?"

"Yes, my child; but if, on the contrary--"

"No, mamma; you are mistaken, I am sure of it--when I told you that M.

d'Orbigny would not have waited, so long to answer your letter, except to give you a favorable answer. Let me look at the letter, mamma; I am sure to guess, only from the writing, if the news is good or bad.

Hold, I am sure of it now," said Claire, taking the letter; "you have only to look at the bold, good, and strong hand, to see that the writer must be accustomed to give to those who suffer."

"I entreat you, Claire, no more of these foolish hopes, or I can never open the letter."

"My G.o.d! good little mamma, without opening it I can tell you what it contains; listen: 'Madame, your condition and that of your daughter is so worthy of interest, that I beg you will have the goodness to come immediately to me, in case you would like to take charge of my house.'"

"My child, once more I entreat you--no insane hopes; the reverse will be frightful. Come, courage," said Madame de Fermont, taking the letter from her daughter, and preparing to break the seal.

"Courage for you--very well!" said Claire, smiling, and carried away by a feeling of confidence so natural at her age. "As for me, I have no need of it: I am so sure of what I advance. Stop, do you wish me to open the letter? shall I read it? give it me, timid mamma."

"Yes--I would rather--here. But no, no; it is better that I should."

Madame de Fermont broke the seal with indescribable emotion. Her daughter, also, in spite of her apparent confidence, could hardly breathe.

"Read it aloud, mamma," said she.

"The letter is not long; it is from the Countess d'Orbigny," said Madame de Fermont looking at the signature.

"So much the better; it is good. Do you see, mamma, this excellent young lady has been pleased to answer you herself."

"We shall see."

"MADAME-M. le Comte d'Orbigny, very much indisposed for some time past, could not reply to you during my absence."

"You see, mamma, it was not his fault."

"Listen, listen."

"Having arrived this morning from Paris, I hasten to write to you, madame, after having conferred on the subject of your letter with M.

d'Orbigny. He has but a faint recollection of the relation which you suppose to have existed between him and your brother. As to the name of your husband, madame, it is not unknown to M. d'Orbigny; but he cannot recollect under what circ.u.mstances he heard it mentioned. The pretended spoliation, of which so lightly you accuse M. Jacques Ferrand, whom we have the good fortune to have for a notary, is, in the eyes of M. d'Orbigny, a cruel calumny, of which, doubtless, you have not counted the bearing. My husband, as well as myself, madame, know and admire the well-known probity of the respectable and pious man you attack so blindly. This is to inform you, madame, that M.

d'Orbigny, feeling, doubtless, for the unfortunate position in which you are placed, and of which it is not in his province to find out the real cause, finds it out of his power to a.s.sist you.

"Be pleased to receive, madame, with this expression of the regrets of M. d'Orbigny the a.s.surance of my most distinguished sentiments.

"COMTESSE D'ORSIGNY."

The mother and daughter looked at each other, incapable of uttering a word.

Micou knocked at the door and said, "Madame, can I come in for the postage and commission? It is twenty sous."

"Oh! it is right; such good news! well worth what we spend in two days for our living," said Madame de Fermont, with a bitter smile; and leaving the letter on the bed, she went toward an old trunk without a lock, stooped down, and opened it. "We are robbed!" cried the unhappy woman, with horror. "Nothing--no more;" added she, in a mournful tone.

And powerless, she leaned on the trunk.

"What do you say, mamma? The bag of money?"

But Madame de Fermont arose quickly, went out of the chamber, and, addressing the receiver, she said, with a sparkling eye, and cheeks colored with indignation and alarm, "Sir, I had a bag of money in this trunk; some one has robbed me--yesterday, doubtless, for I went out for an hour with my daughter. This money must be found. Do you hear?

You are responsible."

"Some one robbed you! It is not true; my house is honest," said the receiver, harshly and insolently. "You say that, so as not to pay me the twenty sous."

"I tell you that this money, all that I possessed in the world, some one has stolen; it must be found, or I'll make a complaint. Oh! I shall spare nothing, respect nothing--I notify you!"

"That would be very fine of you, who have no papers; go and make your complaint; go at once! I defy you." The unhappy woman was overcome.

She could not go out and leave her daughter alone in bed, since the fright she had received in the morning, and, above all, after the threats addressed to her by the receiver. He continued, "It is a cheat; you had no more a bag of silver than a bag of gold; you don't want to pay me the postage, hey? Good! all the same; when you pa.s.s before my door, I will tear off your old black shawl from your shoulders; it is very threadbare, but it is worth at least twenty sous."

"Oh! sir," cried Madame de Fermont, bursting into tears, "have pity on us. This small sum was all we had--my daughter and I; that stolen, we have nothing left--nothing, do you understand? nothing-but to starve."

"What would you have me to do? If it is true that you are robbed, and silver, too, it has been spent long since: the money--"

"Alas!"

"The lad who stole them would not have been simple enough to mark the money and keep it here, so that he might be caught--if it is some one in this house, which I do not believe--for, as I said only this morning to the uncle of the lady on the first floor, here is no place for plunder! if you are robbed, it is your misfortune. For should you make a hundred thousand complaints, you would not recover a sou--you would gain nothing by it, I tell you--believe me. Well," cried the receiver, seeing Madame de Fermont stagger, "what's the matter? You turn pale? Take care of your mother, she is sick," added he, advancing in time to save her from falling. The fict.i.tious energy which had so long sustained her gave way under this new affliction.

"Mother, what is the matter?" cried Claire, still in bed.

The receiver, yet active and strong for his age, seized with a transitory feeling of pity, took Madame de Fermont in his arms, pushed open the door, and entered, saying, "Mademoiselle, pardon me for coming in while you are in bed, but I must bring in your mother; she has fainted; it can't last."

On seeing this man enter, Claire uttered a cry of alarm, and concealed herself as well as she could under the bedclothes. The receiver seated Madame de Fermont on the chair near the bed, and retired, leaving the door half-open, the Big Cripple having broken the lock.

One hour after this, the violent malady, which for so long a time had threatened Madame de Fermont, showed itself. Attacked by a violent fever and frightful delirium, the unfortunate woman was laid in the bed of her child, who, alone, alarmed and almost as ill as her mother, had neither money nor resources, and feared at any moment to see the ruffian enter who lived upon the same floor.