The hopes which Rodolph had entertained for a moment vanished; how could he go to work to discover these two unfortunate females, when all the trace he had of them was that the young daughter's name was Claire, and the fragment of a letter, of which we have already made mention, and at the bottom of which were these words:
"To write to Madame de Lucenay, for M. de Saint-Remy?"
The only, and very remote chance of discovering the traces of these unfortunates was through Madame de Lucenay, who, fortunately, was on intimate terms with Madame d'Harville.
"Here, ma'am, be so good as to take your money," said Rodolph to the shopkeeper, handing her a note for five hundred francs.
"I will give you the change, sir. What is your address?"
"Rue du Temple, No. 17."
"Rue du Temple, No. 17; oh, very well, very well, I know it."
"Have you ever been to that house?"
"Often. First I bought the furniture of a woman there, who lent money on wages; it is not a very creditable business, to be sure, but that's no affair of mine, – she sells, I buy, and so that's settled. Another time, not six weeks ago, I went there again for the furniture of a young man, who lived on the fourth floor, and was moving away."
"M. François Germain, perhaps?" said Rodolph.
"Just so. Did you know him?"
"Very well; and, unfortunately, he has not left his present address in the Rue du Temple, so I do not know where to find him. But where shall we find a cart to take the goods?"
"As it is not far, a large truck will do, and old Jérome is close by, my regular commissionaire. If you wish to know the address of M. François Germain, I can help you."
"What? Do you know where he lives?"
"Not exactly, but I know where you may be sure to meet with him."
"Where?"
"At the notary's where he works."
"At a notary's?"
"Yes, who lives in the Rue du Sentier."
"M. Jacques Ferrand?" exclaimed Rodolph.
"Yes; and a very worthy man he is. There is a crucifix and some holy boxwood in his study; it looks just as if one was in a sacristy."
"But how did you know that M. Germain worked at this notary's?"
"Why, this way: this young man came to me to ask me to buy his little lot of furniture all of a lump. So that time, too, though rather out of my line, I bought all his kit, and brought it here, because he seemed a nice young fellow, and I had a pleasure in obliging him. Well, I bought him right clean out, and I paid him well; he was, no doubt, very well satisfied, for, a fortnight afterwards, he came again, to buy some bed furniture from me. A commissionaire, with a truck, went with him, everything was packed: well, but, at the moment he was going to pay me, lo and behold! he had forgotten his purse; but he looked so like an honest man that I said to him, 'Take the things with you, – never mind, I shall be passing your way, and will call for the money.' 'Very good,' says he; 'but I am never at home, so call to-morrow in the Rue du Sentier, at M. Jacques Ferrand's, the notary, where I am employed, and I will pay you.' I went next day, and he paid me; only, what was very odd to me was that he sold his things, and then, a fortnight afterwards, he buys others."
Rodolph thought that he was able to account for this singular fact. Germain was desirous of destroying every trace from the wretches who were pursuing him: fearing, no doubt, that his removal might put them on the scent of his fresh abode, he had preferred, in order to avoid this danger, selling his goods, and afterwards buying others.
The prince was overjoyed to think of the happiness in store for Madame Georges, who would thus, at length, see again that son so long and vainly sought.
Rigolette now returned, with a joyful eye and smiling lips.
"Well, did not I tell you so?" she exclaimed. "I am not deceived: we shall have spent six hundred and forty francs all together, and the Morels will be set up like princes. Here come the shopkeepers; are they not loaded? Nothing will now be wanting for the family; they will have everything requisite, even to a gridiron, two newly tinned saucepans, and a coffee-pot. I said to myself, since they are to have things done so grandly, let them be grand; and, with all that, I shall not have lost more than three hours. But come, neighbour, pay as quickly as you can, and let us be gone. It will soon be noon, and my needle must go at a famous rate to make up for this morning."
Rodolph paid, and quitted the Temple with Rigolette.
At the moment when the grisette and her companion were entering the passage, they were almost knocked over by Madame Pipelet, who was running out, frightened, troubled, and aghast.
"Mercy on us!" said Rigolette, "what ails you, Madame Pipelet? Where are you running to in that manner?"
"Is it you, Mlle. Rigolette?" exclaimed Anastasie; "it is Providence that sends you; help me to save the life of Alfred."
"What do you mean?"
"The darling old duck has fainted. Have mercy on us! Run for me, and get me two sous' worth of absinthe at the dram-shop, – the strongest, mind; it is his remedy when he is indisposed in the pylorus, – that generally sets him up again. Be kind, and do not refuse me, I can then return to Alfred; I am all over in such a fluster."
Rigolette let go Rodolph's arm, and ran quickly to the dram-shop.
"But what has happened, Madame Pipelet?" inquired Rodolph, following the porteress into the lodge.
"How can I tell, my worthy sir? I had gone out to the mayor's, to church, and the cook-shop, to save Alfred so much trotting about; I returned, and what should I see but the dear old cosset with his legs and arms all in the air! There, M. Rodolph," said Anastasie, opening the door of her dog-hole, "say if that is not enough to break one's heart!"
Lamentable spectacle! With his bell-crowned hat still on his head, even further on than usual, for the ambiguous castor, pushed down, no doubt, by violence, to judge by a transverse gap, covered M. Pipelet's eyes, who was on his back on the ground at the foot of his bed. The fainting was over, and Alfred was beginning to make some slight gesticulations with his hands, as if he sought to repulse somebody or something, and then he tried to push off this troublesome visor, with which he had been bonneted.
"He kicks, – that's a beautiful symptom! He comes to!" exclaimed the porteress, who, stooping down, bawled in his ears, "What's the matter with my Alfred? It's his 'Stasie who is with him. How goes it now? There's some absinthe coming, that will set you up." Then, assuming a falsetto voice of much endearment, she added: "What, did they abuse and assassinate him, – the dear old darling, the delight of his 'Stasie, eh?"
Alfred heaved an immense sigh, and, with a mighty groan, uttered the fatal word:
"Cabrion!"
And his tremulous hands again seemed desirous of repulsing the fearful vision.
"Cabrion! What, that cussed painter again?" exclaimed Madame Pipelet. "Alfred dreamed of him all night long, so that he kicked me almost to death. This monster is his nightmare; not only does he poison his days, but he poisons his nights also, – he pursues him in his very sleep; yes, sir, as though Alfred was a malefactor, and this Cabrion, whom may Heaven confound! was his unceasing remorse."
Rodolph smiled, discreetly detecting some new freak of Rigolette's former neighbour.
"Alfred! answer me; don't remain mute, you frighten me," said Madame Pipelet; "let's try and get you up. Why, lovey, do you keep thinking of that vagabond fellow? You know that, when you think of that fellow, it has the same effect on you that cabbage has, – it fills up your pylorus and stifles you."
"Cabrion!" repeated M. Pipelet, pushing up, with an effort, the hat which had fallen so low over his eyes, which he rolled around him with an affrighted air.
Rigolette entered, carrying a small bottle of absinthe.
"Thankee, ma'amselle, you are so kind!" said the old body; and then she added, "Come, deary, suck this down, that will make you all right."
And Anastasie, presenting the phial quickly to M. Pipelet's lips, contrived to make him swallow the absinthe. In vain did Alfred struggle vigorously. His wife, taking advantage of the victim's weakness, held up his head firmly with one hand, whilst with the other she introduced the neck of the little bottle between his teeth, and compelled him to swallow the absinthe, after which she exclaimed, triumphantly:
"Ther-r-r-r-e, now-w-w! you're on your pins again, my ducky!"
And Alfred, having wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, opened his eyes, rose, and inquired, in accents of alarm:
"Have you seen him?"
"Who?"
"Is he gone?"
"Who, Alfred?"
"Cabrion!"
"Has he dared – " asked the porteress.
M. Pipelet, as mute as the statue of the commandant, like that redoubtable spectre, bowed his head twice with an affirmative air.
"What! has M. Cabrion been here?" inquired Rigolette, repressing a violent desire to laugh.
"What! has the monster been unchained on Alfred?" said Madame Pipelet. "Oh, if I had been there with my broom, he should have swallowed it, handle and all! But tell us, Alfred, all about this horrid affair."
M. Pipelet made signs with his hand that he was about to speak, and they listened to the man with the bell-crowned hat in religious silence, whilst he expressed himself in these terms, and in a voice of deep emotion:
"My wife had left me, to save me the trouble of going out, according to the request of monsieur," bowing to Rodolph, "to the mayor's, to church, and the cook-shop."
"The dear old darling had had the nightmare all night, and I wished to save him the journey," said Anastasie.
"This nightmare was sent me as a warning from on high," responded the porter, religiously. "I had dreamed of Cabrion, and I was to suffer from Cabrion. Here was I sitting quietly in front of my table, reflecting on an alteration which I wished to make in the upper leather of this boot confided to my hands, when I heard a noise, a rustling, at the window of my lodge, – was it a presentiment, a warning from on high? My heart beat, I lifted up my head, and, through the pane of glass, I saw – I saw – "
"Cabrion!" exclaimed Anastasie, clasping her hands.
"Cabrion!" replied M. Pipelet, gloomily. "His hideous face was there, pressed close against the window, and he was looking at me with eyes like a cat's – what do I say? – a tiger's! just as in my dream. I tried to speak, but my tongue clave to my mouth; I tried to rise, I was nailed to my seat. My boot fell from my hands, and, as in all the critical and important events of my life, I remained perfectly motionless. Then the key turned in the lock, the door opened, – Cabrion entered!"
"He entered? Owdacious monster!" replied Madame Pipelet, as much astonished as her spouse at such audacity.
"He entered slowly," resumed Alfred, "stopped a moment at the threshold, as if to fascinate me with his look, atrocious as it was, then he advanced towards me, pausing at each step, and piercing me through with his eye, but not uttering a word, – straight, mute, and threatening as a phantom!"
"I declare, my very heart aches to hear him," said Anastasie.
"I remained still more motionless, and glued to my chair; Cabrion still advanced slowly towards me, fixing his eye as the serpent glares at the bird; he so frightened me that, in spite of myself, I kept my eye on him; he came close to me, and then I could no longer endure his revolting aspect, it was too much, and I could not. I shut my eyes, and then I felt that he dared to place his hands upon my hat, which he took by the crown and lifted gently off my head, leaving it bare. I began to be seized with vertigo, my breathing was suspended, there was a singing in my ears, and I was completely fastened to my seat, and I closed my eyes still closer and closer. Then Cabrion stooped, took my head between his hands, which were as cold as death, and on my forehead, covered with an icy damp, he deposited a brazen kiss, indecent wretch!"
Anastasie lifted her hands towards heaven.
"My enemy, the most deadly, imprinted a kiss on my forehead; such a monstrosity overcame and paralysed me. Cabrion profited by my stupor to place my hat on my head, and then, with a blow of his fist, drove it down over my eyes, as you saw. This last outrage destroyed me; the measure was full, all about me was turning around, and I fainted at the moment when I saw him, from under the rim of my hat, leave the lodge as quietly and slowly as he had entered."
Then, as if the recital had exhausted all his strength, M. Pipelet fell back in his chair, raising his hands to heaven in a manner of mute imprecation. Rigolette went out quickly; she could not restrain herself any longer; her desire to laugh almost stifled her. Rodolph had the greatest difficulty to keep his countenance.
Suddenly there was a confused murmur, such as announces the arrival of a mob, heard from the street, and a great noise came from the door at the top of the entrance, and then butts of grounded muskets were heard on the steps of the door.
CHAPTER II
THE ARREST
"Good gracious! M. Rodolph," exclaimed Rigolette, running in, pale and trembling, "a commissary of police and the guard have come here."
"Divine justice watches over me," said M. Pipelet, in a transport of pious gratitude. "They have come to arrest Cabrion; unfortunately it is too late."
A commissary of police, wearing his tricoloured scarf around his waist underneath his black coat, entered the lodge. His countenance was impressive, magisterial, and serious.
"M. le Commissaire is too late; the malefactor has escaped," said M. Pipelet, in a sorrowful voice; "but I will give you his description, – villainous smile, impudent look, insulting – "
"Of whom do you speak?" inquired the magistrate.
"Of Cabrion, M. le Commissaire; but, perhaps, if you make all haste, it is not yet too late to catch him," added M. Pipelet.
"I know nothing about any Cabrion," said the magistrate, impatiently. "Does one Jérome Morel, a working lapidary, live in this house?"
"Yes, mon commissaire," said Madame Pipelet, putting herself into a military attitude.
"Conduct me to his apartment."
"Morel, the lapidary!" said the porteress, excessively surprised; "why, he is the mildest lambkin in the world. He is incapable of – "
"Does Jérome Morel live here or not?"
"He lives here, sir, with his family, in one of the attics."
"Lead me to his attic."
Then, addressing himself to a man who accompanied him, the magistrate said:
"Let two of the municipal guard wait below, and not leave the entrance. Send Justing for a hackney-coach."
The man left the lodge to put these orders in execution.
"Now," continued the magistrate, addressing himself to M. Pipelet, "lead me to Morel."
"If it is all the same to you, mon commissaire, I will do that for Alfred; he is indisposed from Cabrion's behaviour, which, just as the cabbage does, troubles his pylorus."
"You or your husband, it is no matter which. Go forward."
And, preceded by Madame Pipelet, he ascended the staircase, but soon stopped when he saw Rodolph and Rigolette following him.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" he inquired.
"They are two lodgers in the fourth story," said Madame Pipelet.
"I beg your pardon, sir, I did not know that you belonged to the house," said he to Rodolph.
The latter, auguring well from the polite behaviour of the magistrate, said to him:
"You are going to see a family in a state of deep misery, sir. I do not know what fresh stroke of ill fortune threatens this unhappy artisan, but he has been cruelly tried last night, – one of his daughters, worn down by illness, is dead before his eyes, – dead from cold and misery."
"Is it possible?"
"It is, indeed, the fact, mon commissaire," said Madame Pipelet. "But for this gentleman who speaks to you, and who is a king of lodgers, for he has saved poor Morel from prison by his generosity, the whole family of the lapidary must have died of hunger."
The commissary looked at Rodolph with equal surprise and interest.
"Nothing is more easily explained, sir," said Rodolph. "A person who is very charitable, learning that Morel, whose honour and honesty I will guarantee to you, was in a most deplorable and unmerited state of distress, authorised me to pay a bill of exchange for which the bailiffs were about to drag off to prison this poor workman, the sole support of his numerous family."
The magistrate, in his turn, struck by the noble physiognomy of Rodolph, as well as the dignity of his manners, replied:
"I have no doubt of Morel's probity. I only regret I have to fulfil a painful duty in your presence, sir, who have so deeply interested yourself in this family."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"From the services you have rendered to the Morels, and your language, I see, sir, that you are a worthy person. Having, besides, no reason for concealing the object of the warrant which I have to execute, I will confess to you that I am about to apprehend Louise Morel, the lapidary's daughter."
The recollection of the rouleau of gold, offered to the bailiffs by the young girl, occurred to Rodolph.
"Of what is she then accused?"
"She lies under a charge of child-murder."
"She! she! Oh, her poor father!"
"From what you have told me, sir, I imagine that, under the miserable circumstances in which this artisan is, this fresh blow will be terrible for him. Unfortunately, I must carry out the full instructions with which I am charged."
"But it is at present only an accusation?" asked Rodolph. "Proofs, no doubt, are still wanting?"
"I cannot tell you more on that point. Justice has been informed of this crime, or rather the presumptive crime, by the statement of an individual most respectable in every particular, Louise Morel's master."
"Jacques Ferrand, the notary?" said Rodolph, with indignation.
"Yes, sir – "
"M. Jacques Ferrand is a wretch, sir!"
"I am pained to see that you do not know the person of whom you speak, sir. M. Jacques Ferrand is one of the most honourable men in the world; his rectitude is universally recognised."
"I repeat to you, sir, that this notary is a wretch. It was he who sought to send Morel to prison because his daughter repulsed his libidinous proposals. If Louise is only accused on the denunciation of such a man, you must own, sir, that the charge deserves but very little credit."
"It is not my affair, sir, and I am very glad of it, to discuss the depositions of M. Ferrand," said the magistrate, coldly. "Justice is informed in this matter, and it is for a court of law to decide. As for me, I have a warrant to apprehend Louise Morel, and that warrant I must put into execution."
"You are quite right, sir, and I regret that an impulse of feeling, however just, should have made me forget for a moment that this was neither the time nor the place for such a discussion. One word only: the corpse of the child which Morel has lost is still in the attic, and I have offered my apartments to the family to spare them the sad spectacle of the dead body. You will, therefore, find the lapidary, and possibly his daughter, in my rooms. I entreat you, sir, in the name of humanity, do not apprehend Louise abruptly in the midst of the unhappy family only a short time since snatched from their state of utter wretchedness. Morel has had so many shocks during this night that it is really to be feared his reason may sink under it; already his wife is dangerously ill, and such a blow would kill him."
"Sir, I have always executed my orders with every possible consideration, and I shall act similarly now."
"Will you allow me, sir, to ask you one favour? It is this: the young female who is following us occupies an apartment close to mine, which, I have no doubt, she would place at your disposal. You could, in the first instance, send for Louise, and, if necessary, for Morel afterwards, that his daughter may take leave of him. You will thus save a poor sick and infirm mother from a very distressing scene."
"Most willingly, sir, if it can be so arranged."
The conversation we have just described was carried on in an undertone, whilst Rigolette and Madame Pipelet kept away discreetly a few steps' distance from the commissary and Rodolph. The latter then went to the grisette, whom the presence of the commissary had greatly affrighted, and said to her:
"My good little neighbour, I want another service from you, – I want you to leave your room at my disposal for the next hour."
"As long as you please, M. Rodolph. You have the key. But, oh, say what is the matter?"
"I will tell you all by and by. But I want something more; you must return to the Temple, and tell them not to bring our purchases here for the next hour."
"To be sure I will, M. Rodolph; but has any fresh misfortune befallen the Morels?"
"Alas! yes, something very sad indeed, which you will learn but too soon."
"Well, then, neighbour, I will run to the Temple. Alas, alas! I was thinking that, thanks to your kindness, these poor people had been quite relieved from their trouble!" said the grisette, who then descended the staircase very quickly.
Rodolph had been very desirous of sparing Rigolette the distressing scene of Louise Morel's arrest.
"Mon commissaire," said Madame Pipelet, "since my king of lodgers will direct you, I may return to my Alfred. I am uneasy about him, for when I left him he had hardly recovered from his indisposition which Cabrion had caused."
"Go, go," said the magistrate, who was thus left alone with Rodolph.
They both ascended to the landing-place on the fourth story, at the door of the chamber in which the lapidary and his family had been temporarily established.
Suddenly the door opened. Louise, pale and in tears, came out quickly.
"Adieu, adieu, father!" she exclaimed. "I will come back again, but I must go now."
"Louise, my child, listen to me a moment," said Morel, following his daughter, and endeavouring to detain her.
At the sight of Rodolph and the magistrate, Louise and the lapidary remained motionless.
"Ah, sir, you, our kind benefactor!" said the artisan, recognising Rodolph, "assist me in preventing Louise from leaving us. I do not know what is the matter with her, but she quite frightens me, she is so determined to go. Now there is no occasion for her to return to her master, is there, sir? Did you not say to me, 'Louise shall not again leave you, and that will recompense you for much that you have suffered?' Ah! at that kind promise, I confess that for a moment I had forgot the death of my poor little Adèle; but I must not again be separated from thee, Louise, oh, never, never!"
Rodolph was wounded to the heart, and was unable to utter a word in reply.
The commissary said sternly to Louise:
"Is your name Louise Morel?"
"Yes, sir," replied the young girl, quite overcome.
"You are Jérome Morel, her father?" added the magistrate, addressing the lapidary.
Rodolph had opened the door of Rigolette's apartment.
"Yes, sir; but – "
"Go in there with your daughter."
And the magistrate pointed to Rigolette's chamber, into which Rodolph had already entered.
Reassured by his preserver, the lapidary and Louise, astonished and uneasy, did as the commissary desired them.
The commissary shut the door, and said with much feeling to Morel:
"I know that you are honest and unfortunate, and it is, therefore, with regret that I tell you that I am here in the name of the law to apprehend your daughter."
"All is discovered, – I am lost!" cried Louise, in agony, and throwing herself into her father's arms.
"What do you say? What do you say?" inquired Morel, stupefied. "You are mad! What do you mean by lost? Apprehend you! Why apprehend you? Who has come to apprehend you?"
"I, and in the name of the law;" and the commissary showed his scarf.
"Oh, wretched, wretched girl!" exclaimed Louise, falling on her knees.
"What! in the name of the law?" said the artisan, whose reason, severely shaken by this fresh blow, began to totter. "Why apprehend my daughter in the name of the law? I will answer for Louise, I will, – this my child, my good child, ain't you, Louise? What! apprehend you, when our good angel has restored you to us to console us for the death of our poor, dear little Adèle? Come, come, this can't be. And then, to speak respectfully, M. le Commissaire, they apprehend none but the bad, you know; and my Louise is not bad. So you see, my dear, the good gentleman is mistaken. My name is Morel, but there are other Morels; you are Louise, but there are other Louises; so you see, M. le Commissaire, there is a mistake, certainly some mistake!"
"Unhappily there is no mistake. Louise Morel, take leave of your father!"
"What! are you going to take my daughter away?" exclaimed the workman, furious with grief, and advancing towards the magistrate with a menacing air.
Rodolph seized the lapidary by the arm, and said to him:
"Be calm, and hope for the best; your daughter will be restored to you; her innocence must be proved; she cannot be guilty."
"Guilty of what? She is not guilty of anything. I will put my hand in the fire if – " Then, remembering the gold which Louise had brought to pay the bill with, Morel cried, "But the money – that money you had this morning, Louise!" And he gave his daughter a terrible look.
Louise understood it.
"I rob!" she exclaimed; and her cheeks suffused with generous indignation, her tone and gesture, reassured her father.
"I knew it well enough!" he exclaimed. "You see, M. le Commissaire, she denies it; and I swear to you, that she never told me a lie in her life; and everybody that knows her will say the same thing as I do. She lie! Oh, no, she is too proud to do that! And, then, the bill has been paid by our benefactor. The gold she does not wish to keep, but will return it to the person who lent it to her, desiring him not to tell any one; won't you, Louise?"
"Your daughter is not accused of theft," said the magistrate.
"Well, then, what is the charge against her? I, her father, swear to you that she is innocent of whatever crime they may accuse her of, and I never told a lie in my life either."
"Why should you know what she is charged with?" said Rodolph, moved by his distress. "Louise's innocence will be proved; the person who takes so great an interest in you will protect your daughter. Come, come! Courage, courage! This time Providence will not forsake you. Embrace your daughter, and you will soon see her again."
"M. le Commissaire," cried Morel, not attending to Rodolph, "you are going to deprive a father of his daughter without even naming the crime of which she is accused! Let me know all! Louise, why don't you speak?"
"Your daughter is accused of child-murder," said the magistrate.
"I – I – I – child-mur – I don't – you – "
And Morel, aghast, stammered incoherently.
"Your daughter is accused of having killed her child," said the commissary, deeply touched at this scene; "but it is not yet proved that she has committed this crime."
"Oh, no, I have not, sir! I have not!" exclaimed Louise, energetically, and rising; "I swear to you that it was dead. It never breathed, – it was cold. I lost my senses, – this is my crime. But kill my child! Oh, never, never!"
"Your child, abandoned girl!" cried Morel, raising his hands towards Louise, as if he would annihilate her by this gesture and imprecation.
"Pardon, father, pardon!" she exclaimed.
After a moment's fearful silence, Morel resumed, with a calm that was even more frightful:
"M. le Commissaire, take away that creature; she is not my child!"
The lapidary turned to leave the room; but Louise threw herself at his knees, around which she clung with both arms; and, with her head thrown back, distracted and supplicating, she exclaimed:
"Father, hear me! Only hear me!"
"M. le Commissaire, away with her, I beseech you! I leave her to you," said the lapidary, struggling to free himself from Louise's embrace.
"Listen to her," said Rodolph, holding him; "do not be so pitiless."
"To her! To her!" repeated Morel, lifting his two hands to his forehead, "to a dishonoured wretch! A wanton! Oh, a wanton!"
"But, if she were dishonoured through her efforts to save you?" said Rodolph to him in a low voice.
These words made a sudden and painful impression on Morel, and he cast his eyes on his weeping child still on her knees before him; then, with a searching look, impossible to describe, he cried in a hollow voice, clenching his teeth with rage:
"The notary?"
An answer came to Louise's lips. She was about to speak, but paused, – no doubt a reflection, – and, bending down her head, remained silent.
"No, no; he sought to imprison me this morning!" continued Morel, with a violent burst. "Can it be he? Ah, so much the better, so much the better! She has not even an excuse for her crime; she never thought of me in her dishonour, and I may curse her without remorse."
"No, no; do not curse me, my father! I will tell you all, – to you alone, and you will see – you will see whether or not I deserve your forgiveness."
"For pity's sake, hear her!" said Rodolph to him.
"What will she tell me, – her infamy? That will soon be public, and I can wait till then."
"Sir," said Louise, addressing the magistrate, "for pity's sake, leave me alone with my father, that I may say a few words to him before I leave him, perhaps for ever; and before you, also, our benefactor, I will speak; but only before you and my father."
"Be it so," said the magistrate.
"Will you be pitiless, and refuse this last consolation to your child?" asked Rodolph of Morel. "If you think you owe me any gratitude for the kindness which I have been enabled to show you, consent to your daughter's entreaties."
After a moment's sad and angry silence, Morel replied:
"I will."
"But where shall we go!" inquired Rodolph; "your family are in the other room."
"Where shall we go," exclaimed the lapidary, with a bitter irony, "where shall we go? Up above, – up above, into the garret, by the side of the body of my dead daughter; that spot will well suit a confession, will it not? Come along, come, and we will see if Louise will dare to tell a lie in the presence of her sister's corpse. Come! Come along!"