The Lerouge Case by Emile Gaboriau (the dot read aloud .txt) 📕

“My dear Herve, you—”

“Ah! I know what you are going to say. They are adroit, insinuating, dangerous, all that is quite true. If I had a rich old uncle whose heir I expected to be, I shouldn’t introduce one of them into his house. These good creatures are sometimes charged with strange commissions. But, what have you to fear from this one? Never mind what fools say. Money aside, these worthy sisters are the best nurses in the world. I hope you will have one when your end comes. But good-bye; I am in a hurry.”

And, regardless of his professional dignity, the doctor hurried down the stairs; while Noel, full of thought, his countenance displaying the greatest anxiety, returned to Madame Gerdy.

At the door of the sick-room, the nun awaited the advocate’s return.

“Sir,” said she, “sir.”

“You want something of me, sister?”

“Sir, the servant bade me come to you for money; she has no more, and had to get credit at the chemist’s.”

“Excuse me, sister,” interrupted Noel, seemingly very much vexed; “excuse me for not having anticipated your request; but you see I am rather confused.”

And, taking a hundred-franc note out of his pocket-book, he laid it on the mantel piece.

“Thanks, sir,” said the nun; “I will keep an account of what I spend. We always do that,” she added; “it is more convenient for the family. One is so troubled at seeing those one loves laid low by illness. You have perhaps not thought of giving this poor lady the sweet aid of our holy religion! In your place, sir, I should send without delay for a priest,—”

“What, now, sister? Do you not see the condition she is in? She is the same as dead; you saw that she did not hear my voice.”

“That is of little consequence, sir,” replied the nun; “you will always have done your duty. She did not answer you; but are you sure that she will not answer the priest? Ah, you do not know all the power of the last sacraments! I have seen the dying recover their intelligence and sufficient strength to confess, and to receive the sacred body of our Lord Jesus Christ. I have often heard families say that they do not wish to alarm the invalid, that the sight of the minister of our Lord might inspire a terror that would hasten the final end. It is a fatal error. The priest does not terrify; he reassures the soul, at the beginning of its long journey. He speaks in the name of the God of mercy, who comes to save, not to destroy. I could cite to you many cases of dying people who have been cured simply by contact with the sacred balm.”

The nun spoke in a tone as mournful as her look. Her heart was evidently not in the words which she uttered. Without doubt, she had learned them when she first entered the convent. Then they expressed something she really felt, she spoke her own thoughts; but, since then, she had repeated the words over and over again to the friends of every sick person that she attended, until they lost all meaning so far as she was concerned. To utter them became simply a part of her duties as nurse, the same as the preparation of draughts, and the making of poultices.

Noel was not listening to her; his thoughts were far away.

“Your dear mother,” continued the nun, “this good lady that you love so much, no doubt trusted in her religion. Do you wish to endanger her salvation? If she could speak in the midst of her cruel sufferings—”

The advocate was on the point of replying, when the servant announced that a gentleman, who would not give his name, wished to speak with him on business.

“I will come,” he said quickly.

“What do you decide, sir?” persisted the nun.

“I leave you free, sister, to do as you may judge best.”

The worthy woman began to recite her lesson of thanks, but to no purpose. Noel had disappeared with a displeased look; and almost immediately she heard his voice in the next room, saying: “At last you have come, M. Clergeot, I had almost given you up!”

The visitor, whom the advocate had been expecting, is a person well known in the Rue St. Lazare, round about the Rue de Provence, the neighbourhood of Notre Dame de Lorette, and all along the exterior Boulevards, from the Chaussee des Martyrs to the Rond-Point of the old Barriere de Clichy.

M. Clergeot is no more a usurer than M. Jourdin’s father was a shopkeeper. Only, as he has lots of money, and is very obliging, he lends it to his friends; and, in return for this kindness, he consents to receive interest, which varies from fifteen to five hundred per cent.

The excellent man positively loves his clients, and his honesty is generally appreciated. He has never been known to seize a debtor’s goods; he prefers to follow him up without respite for ten years, and tear from him bit by bit what is his due.

He lives near the top of the Rue de la Victoire. He has no shop, and yet he sells everything saleable, and some other things, too, that the law scarcely considers merchandise. Anything to be useful or neighbourly. He often asserts that he is not very rich. It is possibly true. He is whimsical more than covetous, and fearfully bold. Free with his money when one pleases him, he would not lend five francs, even with a mortgage on the Chateau of Ferrieres as guarantee, to whosoever does not meet with his approval. However, he often risks his all on the most unlucky cards.

His preferred customers consist of women of doubtful morality, actresses, artists, and those venturesome fellows who enter upon professions which depend solely upon those who practice them, such as lawyers and doctors.

He lends to women upon their present beauty, to men upon their future talent. Slight pledges! His discernment, it should be said, however, enjoys a great reputation. It is rarely at fault. A pretty girl furnished by Clergeot is sure to go far. For an artist to be in Clergeot’s debt was a recommendation preferable to the warmest criticism.

Madame Juliette had procured this useful and honourable acquaintance for her lover.

Noel, who well knew how sensitive this worthy man was to kind attentions, and how pleased by politeness, began by offering him a seat, and asking after his health. Clergeot went into details. His teeth were still good; but his sight was beginning to fail. His legs were no longer so steady, and his hearing was not all that could be desired. The chapter of complaints ended—“You know,” said he, “why I have called. Your bills fall due to-day; and I am devilishly in need of money. I have one of ten, one of seven, and a third of five thousand francs, total, twenty-two thousand francs.”

“Come, M. Clergeot,” replied Noel, “do not let us have any joking.”

“Excuse me,” said the usurer; “I am not joking at all.”

“I rather think you are though. Why,