Part 103

“The lan’lord!” said Chardin, still trying to sketch arabesques. “And then my son, you see, has come back from Algiers through Spain and Bayonee, and, and--he has found nothing--against his rule, for a sharp cove is my son, saving your presence. How can he help it, he is in want of food; but he will repay all we lend him, for he is going to get up a company. He has ideas, he has, that will carry him--”

“To the police court,” Lisbeth put in. “He murdered my uncle; I shall not forget that.”

“He--why, he could not bleed a chicken, honorable lady.”

“Here are the three hundred francs,” said Lisbeth, taking fifteen gold pieces out of her purse. “Now, go, and never come here again.”

She saw the father of the Oran storekeeper off the premises, and pointed out the drunken old creature to the porter.

“At any time when that man comes here, if by chance he should come again, do not let him in. If he should ask whether Monsieur Hulot junior or Madame la Baronne Hulot lives here, tell him you know of no such persons.”

“Very good, mademoiselle.”

“Your place depends on it if you make any mistake, even without intending it,” said Lisbeth, in the woman’s ear.--“Cousin,” she went on to Victorin, who just now came in, “a great misfortune is hanging over your head.”

“What is that?” said Victorin.

“Within a few days Madame Marneffe will be your wife’s stepmother.”

“That remains to be seen,” replied Victorin.

For six months past Lisbeth had very regularly paid a little allowance to Baron Hulot, her former protector, whom she now protected; she knew the secret of his dwelling-place, and relished Adeline’s tears, saying to her, as we have seen, when she saw her cheerful and hopeful, “You may expect to find my poor cousin’s name in the papers some day under the heading ‘Police Report.’”

But in this, as on a former occasion, she let her vengeance carry her too far. She had aroused the prudent suspicions of Victorin. He had resolved to be rid of this Damocles’ sword so constantly flourished over them by Lisbeth, and of the female demon to whom his mother and the family owed so many woes. The Prince de Wissembourg, knowing all about Madame Marneffe’s conduct, approved of the young lawyer’s secret project; he had promised him, as a President of the Council can promise, the secret assistance of the police, to enlighten Crevel and rescue a fine fortune from the clutches of the diabolical courtesan, whom he could not forgive either for causing the death of Marshal Hulot or for the Baron’s utter ruin.

The words spoken by Lisbeth, “He begs of his former mistresses,” haunted the Baroness all night. Like sick men given over by the physicians, who have recourse to quacks, like men who have fallen into the lowest Dantesque circle of despair, or drowning creatures who mistake a floating stick for a hawser, she ended by believing in the baseness of which the mere idea had horrified her; and it occurred to her that she might apply for help to one of those terrible women.

Next morning, without consulting her children or saying a word to anybody, she went to see Mademoiselle Josepha Mirah, prima donna of the Royal Academy of Music, to find or to lose the hope that had gleamed before her like a will-o’-the-wisp. At midday, the great singer’s waiting-maid brought her in the card of the Baronne Hulot, saying that this person was waiting at the door, having asked whether Mademoiselle could receive her.

“Are the rooms done?”

“Yes, mademoiselle.”

“And the flowers fresh?”

“Yes, mademoiselle.”

“Just tell Jean to look round and see that everything is as it should be before showing the lady in, and treat her with the greatest respect. Go, and come back to dress me--I must look my very best.”

She went to study herself in the long glass.

“Now, to put our best foot foremost!” said she to herself. “Vice under arms to meet virtue!--Poor woman, what can she want of me? I cannot bear to see.

“The noble victim of outrageous fortune!”

And she sang through the famous aria as the maid came in again.

“Madame,” said the girl, “the lady has a nervous trembling--”

“Offer her some orange-water, some rum, some broth--”

“I did, mademoiselle; but she declines everything, and says it is an infirmity, a nervous complaint--”

“Where is she?”