The Lerouge Case by Émile Gaboriau (best classic books TXT) 📕

“Are you leaving Paris, then?”

“No; but my entire time will be absorbed by an affair of immense importance to myself. If I succeed in my undertaking, my dear, our future happiness is assured, and you will then see whether I love you!”

“Oh, my dear Noel, tell me what it is.”

“I cannot now.”

“Tell me I beseech you,” pleaded the young woman, hanging round his neck, raising herself upon the tips of her toes to press her lips to his. The barrister embraced her; and his resolution seemed to waver.

“No,” said he at length, “seriously I cannot. Of what use to awaken in you hopes which can never be realized? Now, my darling, listen to me. Whatever may happen, understand, you must under no pretext whatever again come to my house, as you once had the imprudence to do. Do not even write to me. By disobeying, you may do me an irreparable injury. If any accident occurs, send that old rascal Clergot to me. I shall have a visit from him the day after tomorrow, for he holds some bills of mine.”

Juliette recoiled, menacing Noel with a mutinous gesture. “You will not tell me anything?” insisted she.

“Not this evening, but very soon,” replied the barrister, embarrassed by the piercing glance of his mistress.

“Always some mystery!” cried Juliette, piqued at the want of success attending her blandishments.

“This will be the last, I swear to you!”

“Noel, my good man,” said the young woman in a serious tone, “you are hiding something from me. I understand you, as you know; for several days past there has been something or other the matter with you, you have completely changed.”

“I swear to you, Juliette⁠—”

“No, swear nothing; I should not believe you. Only remember, no attempt at deceiving me, I forewarn you. I am a woman capable of revenge.”

The barrister was evidently ill at ease. “The affair in question,” stammered he, “can as well fail as succeed.”

“Enough,” interrupted Juliette; “your will shall be obeyed. I promise that. Come, sir, kiss me. I am going to bed.”

The door was hardly shut upon Noel when Charlotte was installed on the divan near her mistress. Had the barrister been listening at the door, he might have heard Madame Juliette saying, “No, really, I can no longer endure him. What a bore he is, my girl. Ah! if I was not so afraid of him, wouldn’t I leave him at once? But he is capable of killing me!”

The girl vainly tried to defend Noel; but her mistress did not listen. She murmured, “Why does he absent himself, and what is he plotting? An absence of eight days is suspicious. Can he by any chance intend to be married? Ah! if I only knew. You weary me to death, my good Noel, and I am determined to leave you to yourself one of these fine mornings; but I cannot permit you to quit me first. Supposing he is going to get married? But I will not allow it. I must make inquiries.”

Noel, however, was not listening at the door. He went along the Rue de Provence as quickly as possible, gained the Rue St. Lazare, and entered the house as he had departed, by the stable door. He had but just sat down in his study, when the servant knocked.

“Sir,” cried she, “in heaven’s name answer me!”

He opened the door and said impatiently, “What is it?”

“Sir,” stammered the girl in tears, “this is the third time I have knocked, and you have not answered. Come, I implore you. I am afraid madame is dying!”

He followed her to Madame Gerdy’s room. He must have found the poor woman terribly changed, for he could not restrain a movement of terror. The invalid struggled painfully beneath her coverings. Her face was of a livid paleness, as though there was not a drop of blood left in her veins; and her eyes, which glittered with a sombre light, seemed filled with a fine dust. Her hair, loose and disordered, falling over her cheeks and upon her shoulders, contributed to her wild appearance. She uttered from time to time a groan hardly audible, or murmured unintelligible words. At times, a fiercer pang than the former ones forced a cry of anguish from her. She did not recognise Noel.

“You see, sir,” said the servant.

“Yes. Who would have supposed her malady could advance so rapidly? Quick, run to Dr. Herve’s, tell him to get up, and to come at once, tell him it is for me.” And he seated himself in an armchair, facing the suffering woman.

Dr. Herve was one of Noel’s friends, an old schoolfellow, and the companion of his student days. The doctor’s history differed in nothing from that of most young men, who, without fortune, friends, or influence, enter upon the practice of the most difficult, the most hazardous of professions that exist in Paris, where one sees so many talented young doctors forced, to earn their bread, to place themselves at the disposition of infamous drug vendors. A man of remarkable courage and self-reliance, Herve, his studies over, said to himself, “No, I will not go and bury myself in the country, I will remain in Paris, I will there become celebrated. I shall be surgeon-in-chief of an hospital, and a knight of the Legion of Honour.”

To enter upon this path of thorns, leading to a magnificent triumphal arch, the future academician ran himself twenty thousand francs in debt to furnish a small apartment. Here, armed with a patience which nothing could fatigue, an iron resolution that nothing could subdue, he struggled and waited. Only those who have experienced it can understand what sufferings are endured by the poor, proud man, who waits in a black coat, freshly shaven, with smiling lips, while he is starving of hunger! The refinements of civilization have inaugurated punishments which put in the shade the cruelties of the savage. The unknown physician must begin by attending the poor who