Part 13

All through the war Kolb sat on a chair in the doorway, acting as watch-dog, when David had nothing else for him to do. It was Kolb who received all the notifications, and a clerk of Petit-Claud’s kept watch over Kolb. No sooner were the placards announcing the auction put up on the premises than Kolb tore them down; he hurried round the town after the bill-poster, tearing the placards from the walls.

“Ah, scountrels!” he cried, “to dorment so goot a man; and they calls it chustice!”

Marion made half a franc a day by working half time in a paper mill as a machine tender, and her wages contributed to the support of the household. Mme. Chardon went back uncomplainingly to her old occupation, sitting up night after night, and bringing home her wages at the end of the week. Poor Mme. Chardon! Twice already she had made a nine days’ prayer for those she loved, wondering that God should be deaf to her petitions, and blind to the light of the candles on His altar.

On the 2nd of September, a letter came from Lucien, the first since the letter of the winter, which David had kept from his wife’s knowledge--the announcement of the three bills which bore David’s signature. This time Lucien wrote to Eve.

“The third since he left us!” she said. Poor sister, she was afraid to open the envelope that covered the fatal sheet.

She was feeding the little one when the post came in; they could not afford a wet-nurse now, and the child was being brought up by hand. Her state of mind may be imagined, and David’s also, when he had been roused to read the letter, for David had been at work all night, and only lay down at daybreak.

Lucien to Eve.

“PARIS, August 29th.

“MY DEAR SISTER,--Two days ago, at five o’clock in the morning, one of God’s noblest creatures breathed her last in my arms; she was the one woman on earth capable of loving me as you and mother and David love me, giving me besides that unselfish affection, something that neither mother nor sister can give--the utmost bliss of love. Poor Coralie, after giving up everything for my sake, may perhaps have died for me--for me, who at this moment have not the wherewithal to bury her. She could have solaced my life; you, and you alone, my dear good angels, can console me for her death. God has forgiven her, I think, the innocent girl, for she died like a Christian. Oh, this Paris! Eve, Paris is the glory and the shame of France. Many illusions I have lost here already, and I have others yet to lose, when I begin to beg for the little money needed before I can lay the body of my angel in consecrated earth. “Your unhappy brother, “Lucien.”

“P. S. I must have given you much trouble by my heedlessness; some day you will know all, and you will forgive me. You must be quite easy now; a worthy merchant, a M. Camusot, to whom I once caused cruel pangs, promised to arrange everything, seeing that Coralie and I were so much distressed.”

“The sheet is still moist with his tears,” said Eve, looking at the letter with a heart so full of sympathy that something of the old love for Lucien shone in her eyes.

“Poor fellow, he must have suffered cruelly if he has been loved as he says!” exclaimed Eve’s husband, happy in his love; and these two forgot all their own troubles at this cry of a supreme sorrow. Just at that moment Marion rushed in.

“Madame,” she panted, “here they are! Here they are!”

“Who is here?”

“Doublon and his men, bad luck to them! Kolb will not let them come in; they have come to sell us up.”

“No, no, they are not going to sell you up, never fear,” cried a voice in the next room, and Petit-Claud appeared upon the scene. “I have just lodged notice of appeal. We ought not to sit down under a judgment that attaches a stigma of bad faith to us. I did not think it worth while to fight the case here. I let Cachan talk to gain time for you; I am sure of gaining the day at Poitiers----”

“But how much will it cost to win the day?” asked Mme. Séchard.

“Fees if you win, one thousand francs if we lose our case.”

“Oh, dear!” cried poor Eve; “why, the remedy is worse than the disease!”

Petit-Claud was not a little confused at this cry of innocence enlightened by the progress of the flames of litigation. It struck him too that Eve was a very beautiful woman. In the middle of the discussion old Séchard arrived, summoned by Petit-Claud. The old man’s presence in the chamber where his little grandson in the cradle lay smiling at misfortune completed the scene. The young attorney at once addressed the newcomer with:

“You owe me seven hundred francs for the interpleader, Papa Séchard; but you can charge the amount to your son in addition to the arrears of rent.”

The vinedresser felt the sting of the sarcasm conveyed by Petit-Claud’s tone and manner.

“It would have cost you less to give security for the debt at first,” said Eve, leaving the cradle to greet her father-in-law with a kiss.

David, quite overcome by the sight of the crowd outside the house (for Kolb’s resistance to Doublon’s men had collected a knot of people), could only hold out a hand to his father; he did not say a word.

“And how, pray, do I come to owe you seven hundred francs?” the old man asked, looking at Petit-Claud.

“Why, in the first place, I am engaged by you. Your rent is in question; so, as far as I am concerned, you and our debtor are one and the same person. If your son does not pay my costs in the case, you must pay them yourself.--But this is nothing. In a few hours David will be put in prison; will you allow him to go?”

“What does he owe?”

“Something like five or six thousand francs, besides the amounts owing to you and to his wife.”