Collected works of eugen.., p.902
Collected Works of Eugène Sue, page 902
“When you know the manoeuvres of your enemy, you may at least defend yourself,” said Dagobert. “I prefer an attack in broad daylight to an ambuscade.”
“And I assure you,” resumed Adrienne, “the few words you have spoken cause me a vague uneasiness.”
“Well, if I must, my dear young lady,” replied the Jesuit, appearing to make a great effort, “since you do not understand my hints, I will be more explicit; but remember,” added he, in a deeply serious tone, “that you have persevered in forcing me to tell you what you had perhaps better not have known.”
“Speak, Sir, I pray you speak,” said Adrienne.
Drawing about him Adrienne, Dagobert, and Mother Bunch, Rodin said to them in a low voce, and with a mysterious air: “Have you never heard of a powerful association, which extends its net over all the earth, and counts its disciples, agents, and fanatics in every class of society which has had, and often has still, the ear of kings and nobles — which, in a word, can raise its creatures to the highest positions, and with a word can reduce them again to the nothingness from which it alone could uplift them?”
“Good heaven, sir!” said Adrienne, “what formidable association? Until now I never heard of it.”
“I believe you; and yet your ignorance on this subject greatly astonishes me, my dear young lady.”
“And why should it astonish you?”
“Because you lived some time with your aunt, and must have often seen the Abbe d’Aigrigny.”
“I lived at the princess’s, but not with her; for a thousand reasons she had inspired me with warrantable aversion.”
“In truth, my dear young lady, my remark was ill-judged. It was there, above all, and particularly in your presence, that they would keep silence with regard to this association — and yet to it alone did the Princess de Saint-Dizier owe her formidable influence in the world, during the last reign. Well, then; know this — it is the aid of that association which renders the Abbe d’Aigrigny so dangerous a man.
“By it he was enabled to follow and to reach divers members of your family, some in Siberia, some in India, others on the heights of the American mountains; but, as I have told you, it was only the day before yesterday, and by chance, that, examining the papers of Abbe d’Aigrigny, I found the trace of his connection with this Company, of which he is the most active and able chief.”
“But the name, sir, the name of this Company?” said Adrienne.
“Well! it is—” but Rodin stopped short.
“It is,” repeated Adrienne, who was now as much interested as Dagobert and the sempstress; “it is—”
Rodin looked round him, beckoned all the actors in this scene to draw nearer, and said in a whisper, laying great stress upon the words: “It is — the Society of Jesus!” and he again shuddered.
“The Jesuits!” cried Mdlle. de Cardoville, unable to restrain a burst of laughter, which was the more buoyant, as, from the mysterious precautions of Rodin, she had expected some very different revelation. “The Jesuits!” she resumed, still laughing. “They have no existence, except in books; they are frightful historical personages, certainly; but why should you put forward Madame de Saint-Dizier and M. d’Aigrigny in that character? Such as they are, they have done quite enough to justify my aversion and disdain.”
After listening in silence to Mdlle. de Cardoville Rodin continued, with a grave and agitated air: “Your blindness frightens me, my dear, young lady; the past should have given you some anxiety for the future, since, more than any one, you have already suffered from the fatal influence of this Company, whose existence you regard as a dream!”
“I, sir?” said Adrienne, with a smile, although a little surprised.
“You.”
“Under what circumstances?”
“You ask me this question! my dear young lady! you ask me this question! — and yet you have been confined here as a mad person! Is it not enough to tell you that the master of this house is one of the most devoted lay members of the Company, and therefore the blind instrument of the Abbe d’Aigrigny?”
“So,” said Adrienne, this time without smiling, “Dr. Baleinier”
“Obeyed the Abbe d’Aigrigny, the most formidable chief of that formidable society. He employs his genius for evil; but I must confess he is a man of genius. Therefore, it is upon him that you and yours must fix all your doubts and suspicions; it is against him that you must be upon your guard. For, believe me, I know him, and he does not look upon the game as lost. You must be prepared for new attacks, doubtless of another kind, but only the more dangerous on that account—”
“Luckily, you give us notice,” said Dagobert, “and you will be on our side.”
“I can do very little, my good friends; but that little is at the service of honest people,” said Rodin.
“Now,” said Adrienne, with a thoughtful air, completely persuaded by Rodin’s air of conviction, “I can explain the inconceivable influence that my aunt exercised in the world. I ascribed it chiefly to her relations with persons in power; I thought that she, like the Abbe d’Aigrigny, was concerned in dark intrigues, for which religion served as a veil — but I was far from believing what you tell me.”
“How many things you have got to learn!” resumed Rodin. “If you knew, my dear young lady, with what art these people surround you, without your being aware of it, by agents devoted to themselves! Every one of your steps is known to them, when they have any interest in such knowledge. Thus, little by little, they act upon you — slowly, cautiously, darkly. They circumvent you by every possible means, from flattery to terror — seduce or frighten, in order at last to rule you, without your being conscious of their authority. Such is their object, and I must confess they pursue it with detestable ability.”
Rodin had spoken with so much sincerity, that Adrienne trembled; then, reproaching herself with these fears, she resumed: “And yet, no — I can never believe in so infernal a power; the might of priestly ambition belongs to another age. Heaven be praised, it has disappeared forever!”
“Yes, certainly, it is out of sight; for they now know how to disperse and disappear, when circumstances require it. But then are they the most dangerous; for suspicion is laid asleep, and they keep watch in the dark. Oh! my dear young lady, if you knew their frightful ability! In my hatred of all that is oppressive, cowardly, and hypocritical, I had studied the history of that terrible society, before I knew that the Abbe d’Aigrigny belonged to it. Oh! it is dreadful. If you knew what means they employ! When I tell you that, thanks to their diabolical devices, the most pure and devoted appearances often conceal the most horrible snares.” Rodin’s eye rested, as if by chance, on the hunchback; but, seeing that Adrienne did not take the hint, the Jesuit continued: “In a word — are you not exposed to their pursuits? — have they any interest in gaining you over? — oh! from that moment, suspect all that surround you, suspect the most noble attachments, the most tender affections, for these monsters sometimes succeed in corrupting your best friends, and making a terrible use of them, in proportion to the blindness of your confidence.”
“Oh! it is impossible,” cried Adrienne, in horror. “You must exaggerate. No! hell itself never dreamed of more frightful treachery!”
“Alas, my dear young lady! one of your relations, M. Hardy — the most loyal and generous-hearted man that could be — has been the victim of some such infamous treachery. Do you know what we learned from the reading of your ancestor’s will? Why, that he died the victim of the malevolence of these people; and now, at the lapse of a hundred and fifty years, his descendants are still exposed to the hate of that indestructible society.”
“Oh, sir! it terrifies me,” said Adrienne, feeling her heart sink within her. “But are there no weapons against such attacks?”
“Prudence, my dear young lady — the most watchful caution — the most incessant study and suspicion of all that approach you.”
“But such a life would be frightful! It is a torture to be the victim of continual suspicions, doubts, and fears.”
“Without doubt! They know it well, the wretches! That constitutes their strength. They often triumph by the very excess of the precautions taken against them. Thus, my dear young lady, and you, brave and worthy soldier, in the name of all that is dear to you, be on your guard, and do not lightly impart your confidence. Be on your guard, for you have nearly fallen the victims of those people. They will always be your implacable enemies. And you, also, poor, interesting girl!” added the Jesuit, speaking to Mother Bunch, “follow my advice — fear these people. Sleep, as the proverb says, with one eye open.”
“I, sir!” said the work-girl. “What have I done? what have I to fear?”
“What have you done? Dear me! Do not you tenderly love this young lady, your protectress? have you not attempted to assist her? Are you not the adopted sister of the son of this intrepid soldier, the brave Agricola! Alas, poor, girl! are not these sufficient claims to their hatred, in spite of your obscurity? Nay, my dear young lady! do not think that I exaggerate. Reflect! only reflect! Think what I have just said to the faithful companion-in-arms of Marshal Simon, with regard to his imprisonment at Leipsic. Think what happened to yourself, when, against all law and reason, you were brought hither. Then you will see, that there is nothing exaggerated in the picture I have drawn of the secret power of this Company. Be always on your guard, and, in doubtful cases, do not fear to apply to me. In three days, I have learned enough by my own experience, with regard to their manner of acting, to be able to point out to you many a snare, device, and danger, and to protect you from them.”
“In any such case, sir,” replied Mdlle. de Cardoville, “my interests, as well as gratitude, would point to you as my best counsellor.”
According to the skillful tactics of the sons of Loyola, who sometimes deny their own existence, in order to escape from an adversary — and sometimes proclaim with audacity the living power of their organization, in order to intimidate the feeble-R-odin had laughed in the face of the bailiff of Cardoville, when the latter had spoken of the existence of the Jesuits; while now, at this moment, picturing their means of action, he endeavored, and he succeeded in the endeavor, to impregnate the mind of Mdlle. de Cardoville with some germs of doubt, which were gradually to develop themselves by reflection, and serve hereafter the dark projects that he meditated. Mother Bunch still felt considerable alarm with regard to Rodin. Yet, since she had heard the fatal powers of the formidable Order revealed to Adrienne, the young sempstress, far from suspecting the Jesuit of having the audacity to speak thus of a society of which he was himself a member, felt grateful to him, in spite of herself, for the important advice that he had just given her patroness. The side-glance which she now cast upon him (which Rodin also detected, for he watched the young girl with sustained attention), was full of gratitude, mingled with surprise. Guessing the nature of this impression, and wishing entirely to remove her unfavorable opinion, and also to anticipate a revelation which would be made sooner or later, the Jesuit appeared to have forgotten something of great importance, and exclaimed, striking his forehead: “What was I thinking of?” Then, speaking to Mother Bunch, he added: “Do you know where your sister is, my dear girl?” Disconcerted and saddened by this unexpected question, the workwoman answered with a blush, for she remembered her last interview with the brilliant Bacchanal Queen: “I have not seen my sister for some days, sir.”
“Well, my dear girl, she is not very comfortable,” said Rodin; “I promised one of her friends to send her some little assistance. I have applied to a charitable person, and that is what I received for her.” So saying, he drew from his pocket a sealed roll of coin, which he delivered to Mother Bunch, who was now both surprised and affected.
“You have a sister in trouble, and I know nothing of it?” said Adrienne, hastily. “This is not right of you, my child!”
“Do not blame her,” said Rodin. “First of all, she did not know that her sister was in distress, and, secondly, she could not ask you, my dear young lady, to interest yourself about her.”
As Mdlle. de Cardoville looked at Rodin with astonishment, he added, again speaking to the hunchback: “Is not that true, my dear girl!”
“Yes, sir,” said the sempstress, casting down her eyes and blushing. Then she added, hastily and anxiously: “But when did you see my sister, sir? where is she? how did she fall into distress?”
“All that would take too long to tell you, my dear girl; but go as soon as possible to the greengrocer’s in the Rue Clovis, and ask to speak to your sister as from M. Charlemagne or M. Rodin, which you please, for I am equally well known in that house by my Christian name as by my surname, and then you will learn all about it. Only tell your sister, that, if she behaves well, and keeps to her good resolutions, there are some who will continue to look after her.”
More and more surprised, Mother Bunch was about to answer Rodin, when the door opened, and M. de Gernande entered. The countenance of the magistrate was grave and sad.
“Marshal Simon’s daughters!” cried Mdlle. de Cardoville.
“Unfortunately, they are not with me,” answered the judge.
“Then, where are they, sir? What have they done with them? The day before yesterday, they were in the convent!” cried Dagobert, overwhelmed by this complete destruction of his hopes.
Hardly had the soldier pronounced these words, when, profiting by the impulse which gathered all the actors in this scene about the magistrate, Rodin withdrew discreetly towards the door, and disappeared without any one perceiving his absence. Whilst the soldier, thus suddenly thrown back to the depths of his despair, looked at M. de Gernande, waiting with anxiety for the answer, Adrienne said to the magistrate: “But, sir, when you applied at the convent, what explanation did the superior give on the subject of these young girls?”
“The lady superior refused to give any explanation, madame. ‘You pretend,’ said she, ‘that the young persons of whom you speak are detained here against their will. Since the law gives you the right of entering this house, make your search.’ ‘But, madame, please to answer me positively,’ said I to the superior; ‘do you declare, that you know nothing of the young girls, whom I have come to claim?’ ‘I have nothing to say on this subject, sir. You assert, that you are authorized to make a search: make it.’ Not being able to get any other explanation,” continued the magistrate, “I searched all parts of the convent, and had every door opened — but, unfortunately, I could find no trace of these young ladies.”
“They must have sent them elsewhere,” cried Dagobert; “who knows? — perhaps, ill. They will kill them — O God! they will kill them!” cried he, in a heart-rending tone.
“After such a refusal, what is to be done? Pray, sir, give us your advice; you are our providence,” said Adrienne, turning to speak to Rodin, who she fancied was behind her. “What is your—”
Then, perceiving that the Jesuit had suddenly disappeared, she said to Mother Bunch, with uneasiness: “Where is M. Rodin?”
“I do not know, madame,” answered the girl, looking round her; “he is no longer here.”
“It is strange,” said Adrienne, “to disappear so abruptly!”
“I told you he was a traitor!” cried Dagobert, stamping with rage; “they are all in a plot together.”
“No, no,” said Mdlle. de Cardoville; “do not think that. But the absence is not the less to be regretted, for, under these difficult circumstances, he might have given us very useful information, thanks to the position he occupied at M. d’Aigrigny’s.”
“I confess, madame, that I rather reckoned upon it,” said M. de Gernande; “and I returned hither, not only to inform you of the fruitless result of my search, but also to seek from the upright and honorable roan, who so courageously unveiled these odious machinations, the aid of his counsels in this contingency.”
Strangely enough, for the last few moments Dagobert was so completely absorbed in thought, that he paid no attention to the words of the magistrate, however important to him. He did not even perceive the departure of M. de Gernande, who retired after promising Adrienne that he would neglect no means to arrive at the truth, in regard to the disappearance of the orphans. Uneasy at this silence, wishing to quit the house immediately, and induce Dagobert to accompany her, Adrienne, after exchanging a rapid glance with Mother Bunch, was advancing towards the soldier, when hasty steps were heard from without the chamber, and a manly sonorous voice, exclaiming with impatience, “Where is he — where is he?”
At the sound of this voice, Dagobert seemed to rouse himself with a start, made a sudden bound, and with a loud cry, rushed towards the door. It opened. Marshal Simon appeared on the threshold!
CHAPTER XXXIX. PIERRE SIMON.
MARSHAL PIERRE SIMON, Duke de Ligny, was a man of tall stature, plainly dressed in a blue frock-coat, buttoned up to the throat, with a red ribbon tied to the top buttonhole. You could not have wished to see a more frank, honest, and chivalrous cast of countenance than the marshal’s. He had a broad forehead, an aquiline nose, a well formed chin, and a complexion bronzed by exposure to the Indian sun. His hair, cut very short, was inclined to gray about the temples; but his eyebrows were still as black as his large, hanging moustache. His walk was free and bold, and his decided movements showed his military impetuosity. A man of the people, a man of war and action, the frank cordiality of his address invited friendliness and sympathy. As enlightened as he was intrepid as generous as he was sincere, his manly, plebeian pride was the most remarkable part of his character. As others are proud of their high birth, so was he of his obscure origin, because it was ennobled by the fine qualities of his father, the rigid republican, the intelligent and laborious artisan, who, for the space of forty years, had been the example and the glory of his fellow-workmen. In accepting with gratitude the aristocratic title which the Emperor had bestowed upon him, Pierre Simon acted with that delicacy which receives from a friendly hand a perfectly useless gift, and estimates it according to the intention of the giver. The religious veneration of Pierre Simon for the Emperor had never been blind; in proportion as his devotion and love for his idol were instructive and necessary, his admiration was serious, and founded upon reason. Far from resembling those swashbucklers who love fighting for its own sake, Marshal Simon not only admired his hero as the greatest captain in the world, but he admired him, above all, because he knew that the Emperor had only accepted war in the hope of one day being able to dictate universal peace; for if peace obtained by glory and strength is great, fruitful, and magnificent, peace yielded by weakness and cowardice is sterile, disastrous, and dishonoring. The son of a workman, Pierre Simon still further admired the Emperor, because that imperial parvenu had always known how to make that popular heart beat nobly, and, remembering the people, from the masses of whom he first arose, had invited them fraternally to share in regal and aristocratic pomp.
“And I assure you,” resumed Adrienne, “the few words you have spoken cause me a vague uneasiness.”
“Well, if I must, my dear young lady,” replied the Jesuit, appearing to make a great effort, “since you do not understand my hints, I will be more explicit; but remember,” added he, in a deeply serious tone, “that you have persevered in forcing me to tell you what you had perhaps better not have known.”
“Speak, Sir, I pray you speak,” said Adrienne.
Drawing about him Adrienne, Dagobert, and Mother Bunch, Rodin said to them in a low voce, and with a mysterious air: “Have you never heard of a powerful association, which extends its net over all the earth, and counts its disciples, agents, and fanatics in every class of society which has had, and often has still, the ear of kings and nobles — which, in a word, can raise its creatures to the highest positions, and with a word can reduce them again to the nothingness from which it alone could uplift them?”
“Good heaven, sir!” said Adrienne, “what formidable association? Until now I never heard of it.”
“I believe you; and yet your ignorance on this subject greatly astonishes me, my dear young lady.”
“And why should it astonish you?”
“Because you lived some time with your aunt, and must have often seen the Abbe d’Aigrigny.”
“I lived at the princess’s, but not with her; for a thousand reasons she had inspired me with warrantable aversion.”
“In truth, my dear young lady, my remark was ill-judged. It was there, above all, and particularly in your presence, that they would keep silence with regard to this association — and yet to it alone did the Princess de Saint-Dizier owe her formidable influence in the world, during the last reign. Well, then; know this — it is the aid of that association which renders the Abbe d’Aigrigny so dangerous a man.
“By it he was enabled to follow and to reach divers members of your family, some in Siberia, some in India, others on the heights of the American mountains; but, as I have told you, it was only the day before yesterday, and by chance, that, examining the papers of Abbe d’Aigrigny, I found the trace of his connection with this Company, of which he is the most active and able chief.”
“But the name, sir, the name of this Company?” said Adrienne.
“Well! it is—” but Rodin stopped short.
“It is,” repeated Adrienne, who was now as much interested as Dagobert and the sempstress; “it is—”
Rodin looked round him, beckoned all the actors in this scene to draw nearer, and said in a whisper, laying great stress upon the words: “It is — the Society of Jesus!” and he again shuddered.
“The Jesuits!” cried Mdlle. de Cardoville, unable to restrain a burst of laughter, which was the more buoyant, as, from the mysterious precautions of Rodin, she had expected some very different revelation. “The Jesuits!” she resumed, still laughing. “They have no existence, except in books; they are frightful historical personages, certainly; but why should you put forward Madame de Saint-Dizier and M. d’Aigrigny in that character? Such as they are, they have done quite enough to justify my aversion and disdain.”
After listening in silence to Mdlle. de Cardoville Rodin continued, with a grave and agitated air: “Your blindness frightens me, my dear, young lady; the past should have given you some anxiety for the future, since, more than any one, you have already suffered from the fatal influence of this Company, whose existence you regard as a dream!”
“I, sir?” said Adrienne, with a smile, although a little surprised.
“You.”
“Under what circumstances?”
“You ask me this question! my dear young lady! you ask me this question! — and yet you have been confined here as a mad person! Is it not enough to tell you that the master of this house is one of the most devoted lay members of the Company, and therefore the blind instrument of the Abbe d’Aigrigny?”
“So,” said Adrienne, this time without smiling, “Dr. Baleinier”
“Obeyed the Abbe d’Aigrigny, the most formidable chief of that formidable society. He employs his genius for evil; but I must confess he is a man of genius. Therefore, it is upon him that you and yours must fix all your doubts and suspicions; it is against him that you must be upon your guard. For, believe me, I know him, and he does not look upon the game as lost. You must be prepared for new attacks, doubtless of another kind, but only the more dangerous on that account—”
“Luckily, you give us notice,” said Dagobert, “and you will be on our side.”
“I can do very little, my good friends; but that little is at the service of honest people,” said Rodin.
“Now,” said Adrienne, with a thoughtful air, completely persuaded by Rodin’s air of conviction, “I can explain the inconceivable influence that my aunt exercised in the world. I ascribed it chiefly to her relations with persons in power; I thought that she, like the Abbe d’Aigrigny, was concerned in dark intrigues, for which religion served as a veil — but I was far from believing what you tell me.”
“How many things you have got to learn!” resumed Rodin. “If you knew, my dear young lady, with what art these people surround you, without your being aware of it, by agents devoted to themselves! Every one of your steps is known to them, when they have any interest in such knowledge. Thus, little by little, they act upon you — slowly, cautiously, darkly. They circumvent you by every possible means, from flattery to terror — seduce or frighten, in order at last to rule you, without your being conscious of their authority. Such is their object, and I must confess they pursue it with detestable ability.”
Rodin had spoken with so much sincerity, that Adrienne trembled; then, reproaching herself with these fears, she resumed: “And yet, no — I can never believe in so infernal a power; the might of priestly ambition belongs to another age. Heaven be praised, it has disappeared forever!”
“Yes, certainly, it is out of sight; for they now know how to disperse and disappear, when circumstances require it. But then are they the most dangerous; for suspicion is laid asleep, and they keep watch in the dark. Oh! my dear young lady, if you knew their frightful ability! In my hatred of all that is oppressive, cowardly, and hypocritical, I had studied the history of that terrible society, before I knew that the Abbe d’Aigrigny belonged to it. Oh! it is dreadful. If you knew what means they employ! When I tell you that, thanks to their diabolical devices, the most pure and devoted appearances often conceal the most horrible snares.” Rodin’s eye rested, as if by chance, on the hunchback; but, seeing that Adrienne did not take the hint, the Jesuit continued: “In a word — are you not exposed to their pursuits? — have they any interest in gaining you over? — oh! from that moment, suspect all that surround you, suspect the most noble attachments, the most tender affections, for these monsters sometimes succeed in corrupting your best friends, and making a terrible use of them, in proportion to the blindness of your confidence.”
“Oh! it is impossible,” cried Adrienne, in horror. “You must exaggerate. No! hell itself never dreamed of more frightful treachery!”
“Alas, my dear young lady! one of your relations, M. Hardy — the most loyal and generous-hearted man that could be — has been the victim of some such infamous treachery. Do you know what we learned from the reading of your ancestor’s will? Why, that he died the victim of the malevolence of these people; and now, at the lapse of a hundred and fifty years, his descendants are still exposed to the hate of that indestructible society.”
“Oh, sir! it terrifies me,” said Adrienne, feeling her heart sink within her. “But are there no weapons against such attacks?”
“Prudence, my dear young lady — the most watchful caution — the most incessant study and suspicion of all that approach you.”
“But such a life would be frightful! It is a torture to be the victim of continual suspicions, doubts, and fears.”
“Without doubt! They know it well, the wretches! That constitutes their strength. They often triumph by the very excess of the precautions taken against them. Thus, my dear young lady, and you, brave and worthy soldier, in the name of all that is dear to you, be on your guard, and do not lightly impart your confidence. Be on your guard, for you have nearly fallen the victims of those people. They will always be your implacable enemies. And you, also, poor, interesting girl!” added the Jesuit, speaking to Mother Bunch, “follow my advice — fear these people. Sleep, as the proverb says, with one eye open.”
“I, sir!” said the work-girl. “What have I done? what have I to fear?”
“What have you done? Dear me! Do not you tenderly love this young lady, your protectress? have you not attempted to assist her? Are you not the adopted sister of the son of this intrepid soldier, the brave Agricola! Alas, poor, girl! are not these sufficient claims to their hatred, in spite of your obscurity? Nay, my dear young lady! do not think that I exaggerate. Reflect! only reflect! Think what I have just said to the faithful companion-in-arms of Marshal Simon, with regard to his imprisonment at Leipsic. Think what happened to yourself, when, against all law and reason, you were brought hither. Then you will see, that there is nothing exaggerated in the picture I have drawn of the secret power of this Company. Be always on your guard, and, in doubtful cases, do not fear to apply to me. In three days, I have learned enough by my own experience, with regard to their manner of acting, to be able to point out to you many a snare, device, and danger, and to protect you from them.”
“In any such case, sir,” replied Mdlle. de Cardoville, “my interests, as well as gratitude, would point to you as my best counsellor.”
According to the skillful tactics of the sons of Loyola, who sometimes deny their own existence, in order to escape from an adversary — and sometimes proclaim with audacity the living power of their organization, in order to intimidate the feeble-R-odin had laughed in the face of the bailiff of Cardoville, when the latter had spoken of the existence of the Jesuits; while now, at this moment, picturing their means of action, he endeavored, and he succeeded in the endeavor, to impregnate the mind of Mdlle. de Cardoville with some germs of doubt, which were gradually to develop themselves by reflection, and serve hereafter the dark projects that he meditated. Mother Bunch still felt considerable alarm with regard to Rodin. Yet, since she had heard the fatal powers of the formidable Order revealed to Adrienne, the young sempstress, far from suspecting the Jesuit of having the audacity to speak thus of a society of which he was himself a member, felt grateful to him, in spite of herself, for the important advice that he had just given her patroness. The side-glance which she now cast upon him (which Rodin also detected, for he watched the young girl with sustained attention), was full of gratitude, mingled with surprise. Guessing the nature of this impression, and wishing entirely to remove her unfavorable opinion, and also to anticipate a revelation which would be made sooner or later, the Jesuit appeared to have forgotten something of great importance, and exclaimed, striking his forehead: “What was I thinking of?” Then, speaking to Mother Bunch, he added: “Do you know where your sister is, my dear girl?” Disconcerted and saddened by this unexpected question, the workwoman answered with a blush, for she remembered her last interview with the brilliant Bacchanal Queen: “I have not seen my sister for some days, sir.”
“Well, my dear girl, she is not very comfortable,” said Rodin; “I promised one of her friends to send her some little assistance. I have applied to a charitable person, and that is what I received for her.” So saying, he drew from his pocket a sealed roll of coin, which he delivered to Mother Bunch, who was now both surprised and affected.
“You have a sister in trouble, and I know nothing of it?” said Adrienne, hastily. “This is not right of you, my child!”
“Do not blame her,” said Rodin. “First of all, she did not know that her sister was in distress, and, secondly, she could not ask you, my dear young lady, to interest yourself about her.”
As Mdlle. de Cardoville looked at Rodin with astonishment, he added, again speaking to the hunchback: “Is not that true, my dear girl!”
“Yes, sir,” said the sempstress, casting down her eyes and blushing. Then she added, hastily and anxiously: “But when did you see my sister, sir? where is she? how did she fall into distress?”
“All that would take too long to tell you, my dear girl; but go as soon as possible to the greengrocer’s in the Rue Clovis, and ask to speak to your sister as from M. Charlemagne or M. Rodin, which you please, for I am equally well known in that house by my Christian name as by my surname, and then you will learn all about it. Only tell your sister, that, if she behaves well, and keeps to her good resolutions, there are some who will continue to look after her.”
More and more surprised, Mother Bunch was about to answer Rodin, when the door opened, and M. de Gernande entered. The countenance of the magistrate was grave and sad.
“Marshal Simon’s daughters!” cried Mdlle. de Cardoville.
“Unfortunately, they are not with me,” answered the judge.
“Then, where are they, sir? What have they done with them? The day before yesterday, they were in the convent!” cried Dagobert, overwhelmed by this complete destruction of his hopes.
Hardly had the soldier pronounced these words, when, profiting by the impulse which gathered all the actors in this scene about the magistrate, Rodin withdrew discreetly towards the door, and disappeared without any one perceiving his absence. Whilst the soldier, thus suddenly thrown back to the depths of his despair, looked at M. de Gernande, waiting with anxiety for the answer, Adrienne said to the magistrate: “But, sir, when you applied at the convent, what explanation did the superior give on the subject of these young girls?”
“The lady superior refused to give any explanation, madame. ‘You pretend,’ said she, ‘that the young persons of whom you speak are detained here against their will. Since the law gives you the right of entering this house, make your search.’ ‘But, madame, please to answer me positively,’ said I to the superior; ‘do you declare, that you know nothing of the young girls, whom I have come to claim?’ ‘I have nothing to say on this subject, sir. You assert, that you are authorized to make a search: make it.’ Not being able to get any other explanation,” continued the magistrate, “I searched all parts of the convent, and had every door opened — but, unfortunately, I could find no trace of these young ladies.”
“They must have sent them elsewhere,” cried Dagobert; “who knows? — perhaps, ill. They will kill them — O God! they will kill them!” cried he, in a heart-rending tone.
“After such a refusal, what is to be done? Pray, sir, give us your advice; you are our providence,” said Adrienne, turning to speak to Rodin, who she fancied was behind her. “What is your—”
Then, perceiving that the Jesuit had suddenly disappeared, she said to Mother Bunch, with uneasiness: “Where is M. Rodin?”
“I do not know, madame,” answered the girl, looking round her; “he is no longer here.”
“It is strange,” said Adrienne, “to disappear so abruptly!”
“I told you he was a traitor!” cried Dagobert, stamping with rage; “they are all in a plot together.”
“No, no,” said Mdlle. de Cardoville; “do not think that. But the absence is not the less to be regretted, for, under these difficult circumstances, he might have given us very useful information, thanks to the position he occupied at M. d’Aigrigny’s.”
“I confess, madame, that I rather reckoned upon it,” said M. de Gernande; “and I returned hither, not only to inform you of the fruitless result of my search, but also to seek from the upright and honorable roan, who so courageously unveiled these odious machinations, the aid of his counsels in this contingency.”
Strangely enough, for the last few moments Dagobert was so completely absorbed in thought, that he paid no attention to the words of the magistrate, however important to him. He did not even perceive the departure of M. de Gernande, who retired after promising Adrienne that he would neglect no means to arrive at the truth, in regard to the disappearance of the orphans. Uneasy at this silence, wishing to quit the house immediately, and induce Dagobert to accompany her, Adrienne, after exchanging a rapid glance with Mother Bunch, was advancing towards the soldier, when hasty steps were heard from without the chamber, and a manly sonorous voice, exclaiming with impatience, “Where is he — where is he?”
At the sound of this voice, Dagobert seemed to rouse himself with a start, made a sudden bound, and with a loud cry, rushed towards the door. It opened. Marshal Simon appeared on the threshold!
CHAPTER XXXIX. PIERRE SIMON.
MARSHAL PIERRE SIMON, Duke de Ligny, was a man of tall stature, plainly dressed in a blue frock-coat, buttoned up to the throat, with a red ribbon tied to the top buttonhole. You could not have wished to see a more frank, honest, and chivalrous cast of countenance than the marshal’s. He had a broad forehead, an aquiline nose, a well formed chin, and a complexion bronzed by exposure to the Indian sun. His hair, cut very short, was inclined to gray about the temples; but his eyebrows were still as black as his large, hanging moustache. His walk was free and bold, and his decided movements showed his military impetuosity. A man of the people, a man of war and action, the frank cordiality of his address invited friendliness and sympathy. As enlightened as he was intrepid as generous as he was sincere, his manly, plebeian pride was the most remarkable part of his character. As others are proud of their high birth, so was he of his obscure origin, because it was ennobled by the fine qualities of his father, the rigid republican, the intelligent and laborious artisan, who, for the space of forty years, had been the example and the glory of his fellow-workmen. In accepting with gratitude the aristocratic title which the Emperor had bestowed upon him, Pierre Simon acted with that delicacy which receives from a friendly hand a perfectly useless gift, and estimates it according to the intention of the giver. The religious veneration of Pierre Simon for the Emperor had never been blind; in proportion as his devotion and love for his idol were instructive and necessary, his admiration was serious, and founded upon reason. Far from resembling those swashbucklers who love fighting for its own sake, Marshal Simon not only admired his hero as the greatest captain in the world, but he admired him, above all, because he knew that the Emperor had only accepted war in the hope of one day being able to dictate universal peace; for if peace obtained by glory and strength is great, fruitful, and magnificent, peace yielded by weakness and cowardice is sterile, disastrous, and dishonoring. The son of a workman, Pierre Simon still further admired the Emperor, because that imperial parvenu had always known how to make that popular heart beat nobly, and, remembering the people, from the masses of whom he first arose, had invited them fraternally to share in regal and aristocratic pomp.
