The Lesser Bourgeoisie by Honore de Balzac (best ereader for graphic novels TXT) 📕

young man in a cap conveyed to Thuillier a most unexpected and

crushing blow.

"Master," said the new-comer to Barbet (he was a clerk in the

bookseller's shop), "we are done for! The police have made a raid upon

us; a commissary and two men have come to seize monsieur's pamphlet.

Here's a paper they have given me for you."

"Look at that," said Barbet, handing the document to la Peyrade, his

customary assurance beginning to forsake him.

"A summons to appear at once before the court of assizes," said la

Peyrade, after reading a few lines of the sheriff's scrawl.

Thuillier had turned as pale as death.

"Didn't you fulfil all the necessary formalities?" he said to Barbet,

in a choking voice.

"This is not a matter of formalities," said la Peyrade, "it is a

seizure for what is called press misdemeanor, exciting contempt and

hatred of the government; you probably have the same sort of

compliment awaiting you at home, my poor Thuillier."

"Then it is treachery!" cried Thuillier, losing his head completely.

"Hang it, my dear fellow! you know very well what you put in your

pamphlet; for my part, I don't see anything worth whipping a cat for."

"There's some misunderstanding," said Barbet, recovering courage; "it

will all be explained, and the result will be a fine cause of

complaint--won't it, messieurs?"

"Waiter, pens and ink!" cried one of the journalists thus appealed to.

"Nonsense! you'll have time to write your article later," said another

of the brotherhood; "what has a bombshell to do with this 'filet

saute'?"

That, of course, was a parody on the famous speech of Charles XII.,

King of Sweden, when a shot interrupted him while dictating to a

secretary.

"Messieurs," said Thuillier, rising, "I am sure you will excuse me for

leaving you. If, as Monsieur Barbet thinks, there is some

misunderstanding, it ought to be explained at once; I must therefore,

with your permission, go to the police court. La Peyrade," he added in

a significant tone, "you will not refuse, I presume, to accompany me.

And you, my dear publisher, you would do well to come too."

"No, faith!" said Barbet, "when I breakfast, I breakfast; if the

police have committed a blunder, so much the worse for them."

"But suppose the matter is serious?" cried Thuillier, in great

agitation.

"Well, I should say, what is perfectly true, that I had never read a

line of your pamphlet. One thing is very annoying; those damned juries

hate beards, and I must cut off mine if I'm compelled to appear in

court."

"Come, my dear amphitryon, sit down again," said the editor of the

"Echo de la Bievre," "we'll stand by you; I've already written an

article in my head which will stir up all the tanners in Paris; and,

let me tell you, that honorable corporation is a power."

"No, monsieur," replied Thuillier, "no; a man like me cannot rest an

hour under such an accusation as this. Continue your breakfast without

us; I hope soon to see you again. La Peyrade, are you coming?"

"He's charming, isn't he?" said Barbet, when Thuillier and his counsel

had left the room. "To ask me to leave a breakfast after the oysters,

and go and talk with the police! Come, messieurs, close up the ranks,"

he added, gaily.

"Tiens!" said one of the hungry journalists, who had cast his eyes

into the garden of the Palais-Royal, on which the dining-room of the

restaurant opened, "there's Barbanchu going by; suppose I call him

in?"

"Yes, certainly," said Barbet junior, "have him up."

"Barbanchu! Barbanchu!" called out the journalist.

Barbanchu, his hat being over his eyes, was some time in discovering

the cloud above him whence the voice proceeded.

"Here, up here!" called the voice, which seemed to Barbanchu celestial

when he saw himself hailed by a man with a glass of champagne in his

hand. Then, as he seemed to hesitate, the party above called out in

chorus:--

"Come up! come up! _There's fat to be had_!"

When Thuillier left the office of the public prosecutor he could no

longer have any illusions. The case against him was serious, and the

stern manner in which he had been received made him see that when the

trial came up he would be treated without mercy. Then, as always

happens among accomplices after the non-success of an affair they have

done in common, he turned upon la Peyrade in the sharpest manner: La

Peyrade had paid no attention to what he wrote; he had given full

swing to his stupid Saint-Simonian ideas; _he_ didn't care for the

consequences; it was not _he_ who would have to pay the fine and go to

prison! Then, when la Peyrade answered that the matter did not look to

him serious, and he expected to get a verdict of acquittal without

difficulty, Thuillier burst forth upon him, vehemently:--

"Parbleu! the thing is plain enough; monsieur sees nothing in it?

Well, I shall not put my honor and my fortune into the hands of a

little upstart like yourself; I shall take some great lawyer if the

case comes to trial. I've had enough of your collaboration by this

time."

Under the injustice of these remarks la Peyrade felt his anger rising.

However, he saw himself disarmed, and not wishing to come to an open

rupture, he parted from Thuillier, saying that he forgave a man

excited by fear, and would go to see him later in the afternoon, when

he would probably be calmer; they could then decide on what steps they

had better take.

Accordingly, about four o'clock, the Provencal arrived at the house in

the Place de la Madeleine. Thuillier's irritation was quieted, but

frightful consternation had taken its place. If the executioner were

coming in half an hour to lead him to the scaffold he could not have

been more utterly unstrung and woe-begone. When la Peyrade entered

Madame Thuillier was trying to make him take an infusion of

linden-leaves. The poor woman had come out of her usual apathy, and

proved herself, beside the present Sabinus, another Eponina.

As for Brigitte, who presently appeared, bearing a foot-bath, she had

no mercy or restraint towards Theodose; her sharp and bitter

reproaches, which were out of all proportion to the fault, even

supposing him to have committed one would have driven a man of the

most placid temperament beside himself. La Peyrade felt that all was

lost to him in the Thuillier household, where they now seemed to seize

with joy the occasion to break their word to him and to give free rein

to revolting ingratitude. On an ironical allusion by Brigitte to the

manner in which he decorated his friends, la Peyrade rose and took

leave, without any effort being made to retain him.

After walking about the streets for awhile, la Peyrade, in the midst

of his indignation, turned to thoughts of Madame de Godollo, whose

image, to tell the truth, had been much in his mind since their former

interview.

Not only once when the countess met the barrister at the Thuilliers

had she left the room; but the same performance took place at each of

their encounters; and la Peyrade had convinced himself, without

knowing exactly why, that in each case, this affectation of avoiding

him, signified something that was not indifference. To have paid her

another visit immediately would certainly have been very unskilful;

but now a sufficient time had elapsed to prove him to be a man who was

master of himself. Accordingly, he returned upon his steps to the

Boulevard de la Madeleine, and without asking the porter if the

countess was at home, he passed the lodge as if returning to the

Thuilliers', and rang the bell of the entresol.

The maid who opened the door asked him, as before, to wait until she

notified her mistress; but, on this occasion, instead of showing him

into the dining-room, she ushered him into a little room arranged as a

library.

He waited long, and knew not what to think of the delay. Still, he

reassured himself with the thought that if she meant to dismiss him he

would not have been asked to wait at all. Finally the maid reappeared,

but even then it was not to introduce him.

"Madame la comtesse," said the woman, "was engaged on a matter of

business, but she begged monsieur be so kind as to wait, and to amuse

himself with the books in the library, because she might be detained

longer than she expected."

The excuse, both in form and substance, was certainly not

discouraging, and la Peyrade looked about him to fulfil the behest to

amuse himself. Without opening any of the carved rosewood bookcases,

which enclosed a collection of the most elegantly bound volumes he had

ever laid his eyes upon, he saw on an oblong table with claw feet a

pell-mell of books sufficient for the amusement of a man whose

attention was keenly alive elsewhere.

But, as he opened one after another of the various volumes, he began

to fancy that a feast of Tantalus had been provided for him: one book

was English, another German, a third Russian; there was even one in

cabalistic letters that seemed Turkish. Was this a polyglottic joke

the countess had arranged for him?

One volume, however, claimed particular attention. The binding, unlike

those of the other books, was less rich than dainty. Lying by itself

at a corner of the table, it was open, with the back turned up, the

edges of the leaves resting on the green table-cloth in the shape of a

tent. La Peyrade took it up, being careful not to lose the page which

it seemed to have been some one's intention to mark. It proved to be a

volume of the illustrated edition of Monsieur Scribe's works. The

engraving which presented itself on the open page to la Peyrade's

eyes, was entitled "The Hatred of a Woman"; the principal personage of

which is a young widow, desperately pursuing a poor young man who

cannot help himself. There is hatred all round. Through her devilries

she almost makes him lose his reputation, and does make him miss a

rich marriage; but the end is that she gives him more than she took

away from him, and makes a husband of the man who was thought her

victim.

If chance had put this volume apart from the rest, and had left it

open at the precise page where la Peyrade found it marked, it must be

owned that, after what had passed between himself and the countess,

chance can sometimes seem clever and adroit. As he stood there,

thinking over the significance which this more or less accidental

combination might have, la Peyrade read through a number of scenes to

see whether in the details as well as the general whole they applied

to the present situation. While thus employed, the sound of an opening

door was heard, and he recognized the silvery and slightly drawling

voice of the countess, who was evidently accompanying some visitor to

the door.

"Then I may promise the ambassadress," said a man's voice, "that you

will honor her ball with your presence?"

"Yes, commander, if my headache, which is just beginning to get a

little better, is kind enough to go away."

"Au revoir, then, fairest lady," said the gentleman. After which the

doors were closed, and silence reigned once more.

The title of commander reassured la Peyrade somewhat, for it was not

the rank of a young dandy. He was nevertheless curious to know who

this personage was with whom the countess had been shut up so long.

Hearing no one approach the room he was in, he went to the window and

opened the curtain cautiously, prepared to let it drop back at the

slightest noise, and to make a quick right-about-face to avoid being

caught, "flagrante delicto," in curiosity. An elegant coupe, standing

at a little distance, was now driven up to the house, a footman in

showy livery hastened to open the door, and a little old man, with a

light and jaunty movement, though it was evident he was one of those

relics of the past who have not yet abandoned powder, stepped