Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  “That which is done can not be undone, but the devil take you, my dear, for disturbing me just at this time!” exclaimed M. Cloarek’s head gunner, raising his glass to his eye again.

  But unfortunately he was too late. The brig had completed the evolution, and the name on her stern was no longer visible, so the verification of her identity which Segoffin contemplated had become impossible.

  “So the devil may have me and welcome, may he?” responded Suzanne, tartly. “You are very polite, I must say.”

  “Frankness is a duty between old friends like ourselves,” said Segoffin, casting a regretful glance seaward. “I came here to amuse myself by watching the passing ships, and you had to come and interrupt me.”

  “You are right; frankness is a duty between us, Segoffin, so I may as well tell you, here and now, that no stone-deaf person was ever harder to wake than you.”

  “How do you know? Unfortunately for me and for you, Suzanne, you have never had a chance to see how I sleep,” responded the head gunner, with a roguish smile.

  “You are very much mistaken, for I rapped at your door last night.”

  “Ah!” exclaimed Segoffin, winking his only remaining eye with a triumphant air, “I have often told you that you would come to it sooner or later, and you have.”

  “Come to what?” inquired the housekeeper, without the slightest suspicion of her companion’s real meaning.

  “To stealing alone and on tiptoe to my room to—”

  “You are an abominably impertinent creature, M. Segoffin. I rapped at your door to ask your aid and protection.”

  “Against whom?”

  “But you are such a coward that you just lay there pretending to be asleep and taking good care not to answer me.”

  “Tell me seriously, Suzanne, — what occurred last night? Did you really think you needed me?”

  “Hear that, will you! They might have set fire to the house and murdered us, it wouldn’t have made the slightest difference to you. M. Segoffin was snug in bed and there he remained.”

  “Set fire to the house and murdered you! What on earth do you mean?”

  “I mean that two men tried to break into this house last night.”

  “They were two of your lovers, doubtless.”

  “Segoffin!”

  “You had probably made a mistake in the date—”

  But the head gunner never finished the unseemly jest. His usually impassive features suddenly assumed an expression of profound astonishment, succeeded by one of fear and anxiety. The change, in fact, was so sudden and so striking that Dame Roberts, forgetting her companion’s impertinent remarks, exclaimed:

  “Good Heavens, Segoffin, what is the matter with you? What are you looking at in that way?”

  And following the direction of Segoffin’s gaze, she saw a stranger, preceded by Thérèse, advancing toward them. The newcomer was a short, stout man with a very prominent abdomen. He wore a handsome blue coat, brown cassimere knee-breeches, high top-boots, and a long white waistcoat, across which dangled a double watch-chain lavishly decorated with a number of charms. In one hand he held a light cane with which he gaily switched the dust from his boots, and in the other he held his hat, which he had gallantly removed at the first sight of Dame Roberts. This newcomer was Floridor Verduron, the owner of the brig Hell-hound, usually commanded by Captain l’Endurci.

  Up to this time Cloarek had concealed from Verduron his real name as well as the motives which had led him to take up privateering. He had also taken special pains to keep his place of abode a secret from the owner of the privateer, a mutual friend having always served as an intermediary between the captain and the owner. Consequently, the dismay of the head gunner can be readily imagined when he reflected that, as the captain’s real name and address had been discovered by M. Verduron, and that gentleman was wholly ignorant of the double part M. Cloarek was playing, his very first words were likely to unwittingly reveal a secret of the gravest importance. M. Verduron’s presence also explained, at least in part, the arrival of the brig Segoffin had seen a short time before, and which he fancied he recognised under the sort of disguise he could not yet understand.

  Meanwhile, M. Floridor Verduron was coming nearer and nearer. Suzanne noted this fact, and remarked:

  “Who can this gentleman be? What a red face he has! I never saw him before. Why don’t you answer me, Segoffin? Good Heavens, how strangely you look! And you are pale, very much paler than usual.”

  “It is the redness of this man’s face that makes me look pale by contrast, I suppose,” replied Segoffin, seeing himself confronted by a danger he was powerless to avert.

  The servant, who was a few steps in advance of the visitor, now said to Suzanne:

  “Dame Roberts, here is a gentleman who wishes to see the master on very important business, he says.”

  “You know very well that monsieur has gone out.”

  “That is what I told the gentleman, but he said he would wait for his return, as he must see monsieur.”

  As Thérèse finished her explanation of the intrusion, M. Verduron, who prided himself upon his good manners, and who had won fame in his earlier days as a skilful dancer of the minuet, paused about five yards from Dame Roberts and made her a very low bow, with his elbows gracefully rounded, his heels touching each other, and his feet forming the letter V.

  Dame Roberts, flattered by the homage rendered to her sex, responded with a ceremonious curtsey, saying sotto voce to Segoffin the while, with a sarcastically reproachful air:

  “Notice how a polite gentleman ought to accost a lady.”

  M. Floridor Verduron, advancing a couple of steps, made another profound bow, to which Suzanne responded with equal deference, murmuring to Segoffin as if to pique him or arouse his emulation:

  “These are certainly the manners of a grandee, — of an ambassador, in fact.”

  The head gunner, instead of replying, however, tried to get as much out of sight as possible behind an ever-green. M. Verduron’s third and last salute (he considered three bows obligatory) was too much like the others to deserve any especial mention, and he was about to address Suzanne when he caught sight of the head gunner.

  “What! you here?” he exclaimed, with a friendly nod. “I didn’t see you, you old sea-wolf. And how is your eye getting along?”

  “I have no use of it, as you see, M. Verduron, but don’t let’s talk about that, I beg of you. I have my reasons.”

  “I should think so, my poor fellow, for it would be rather making light of misfortune, wouldn’t it, madame?” asked the visitor, turning to Suzanne, who bowed her assent with great dignity, and then said:

  “The servant tells me you wish to see M. Cloarek on pressing business, monsieur.”

  “Yes, my dear madame, very pressing,” replied the ship owner, gallantly. “It is doubtless to monsieur’s wife I have the honour of speaking, and in that case, I—”

  “Pardon me, monsieur, I am only the housekeeper.”

  “What! the cap—”

  But the first syllable of the word captain had not left the ship owner’s lips before the head gunner shouted at the top of his voice, at the same time seizing Suzanne suddenly by the arm:

  “In Heaven’s name, look! See there!”

  The housekeeper was so startled that she uttered a shrill cry and did not even hear the dread syllable the visitor had uttered, but when she had partially recovered from her alarm, she exclaimed, sharply:

  “Really, this is intolerable, Segoffin. You gave me such a scare I am all of a tremble now.”

  “But look over there,” insisted the head gunner, pointing toward the cliffs; “upon my word of honour, one can hardly believe one’s eyes.”

  “What is it? What do you see?” asked the ship owner, gazing intently in the direction indicated.

  “It seems impossible, I admit. I wouldn’t have believed it myself if anybody had told me.”

  “What is it? What are you talking about?” demanded Suzanne,
her curiosity now aroused, in spite of her ill-humour.

  “It is unaccountable,” mused the head gunner, to all appearance lost in a sort of admiring wonder. “It is enough to make one wonder whether one is awake or only dreaming.”

  “But what is it you see?” cried the ship owner, no less impatiently than the housekeeper. “What are you talking about? Where must we look?”

  “You see that cliff there to the left, don’t you?”

  “To the left?” asked the ship owner, ingenuously, “to the left of what?”

  “To the left of the other, of course.”

  “What other?” demanded Suzanne, in her turn.

  “What other? Why, don’t you see that big white cliff that looks like a dome?”

  “Yes,” answered the ship owner.

  “Well, what of it?” snapped Suzanne.

  “Look, high up.”

  “High up, Segoffin?”

  “Yes, on the side.”

  “On the side?”

  “Yes, don’t you see that bluish light playing on it?”

  “Bluish light?” repeated the ship owner, squinting up his eyes and arching his hand over them to form a sort of shade.

  “Yes, high up, near the top! The deuce take me if it isn’t turning red now! Look, will you! Isn’t it amazing? But come, M. Verduron, come, let’s get a closer look at it,” added Segoffin, seizing the ship owner by the arm and trying to drag him away.

  “One moment,” exclaimed M. Verduron, releasing himself from the head gunner’s grasp, “to take a closer look at anything one must first have seen it at a distance, and the devil take me if I can see anything at all. And you, madame?”

  “I don’t, I am sure, monsieur.”

  Segoffin would perhaps have attempted to prolong the illusion by endowing the light with all the other colours of the rainbow, but the approach of another and even greater danger extinguished his inventive genius.

  He heard Sabine’s voice only a few feet from him, exclaiming:

  “What are you all looking at, my dear Suzanne?”

  “Mlle. Sabine!” Segoffin mentally exclaimed. “All is lost! Poor child! Such a revelation will kill her, I fear.”

  CHAPTER XVI.

  SEGOFFIN’S RUSE.

  ON SEEING SABINE, M. Floridor Verduron began his reverential evolutions all over again, and the girl returned his bows blushingly, for she had not expected to meet a stranger in the garden.

  Segoffin, terrified at the thought that Cloarek’s secret might be revealed at any moment, resolved to get the visitor away at any cost; so, interrupting him in the midst of his genuflections, he said:

  “And now, M. Verduron, if you will come with me I will take you to monsieur at once.”

  “But my father has gone out, Segoffin,” said Sabine.

  “Never mind, mademoiselle, I know where to find him.”

  “But it would be much better for monsieur to wait for my father here, I think,” insisted the girl. “He said he would soon be back, and if you go out in search of him you run a great risk of missing him, Segoffin, and of giving this gentleman a long walk for nothing, perhaps.”

  “No, no, mademoiselle, it is such a delightful day monsieur will enjoy a little walk, and I know a very pleasant road your father is sure to return by.”

  “But he might not return that way, Segoffin,” interposed Suzanne, favourably disposed toward the visitor, by reason of his extreme politeness, and consequently anxious to enjoy his society as long as possible.

  “But I tell you that—”

  “My good friend,” interrupted M. Verduron, “I must admit that I am too gallant, or rather not sufficiently unselfish, to debar myself of the pleasure of waiting here for the return of—”

  “Very well, very well,” interposed Segoffin, quickly, “we won’t say any more about it. I thought mine would be the better plan; but it doesn’t matter in the least, in fact, now I think of it, there is something particular that I want to speak to you about. I only ask two minutes of your time—”

  “Two minutes, fair ladies!” exclaimed the visitor, laughing, “as if two minutes spent out of such delightful society was not two centuries of time.”

  “Ah, monsieur, you are really too kind,” exclaimed Suzanne, bridling coquettishly in her delight at this new compliment.

  “You will have to make up your mind to it, Segoffin,” said Sabine, who was beginning to find M. Verduron very amusing.

  “But I really must speak to you in private, monsieur, and at once,” exclaimed the head gunner, greatly alarmed now.

  “Come, come, my worthy friend, don’t speak in such thunder tones, you will frighten these fair ladies,” said M. Verduron, too anxious to exercise his fascinations upon the ladies to comply with Segoffin’s request. “I will promise you a private audience after they have deprived us of the light of their presence, but not until then.”

  “But at least listen to what I have to say,” insisted poor Segoffin, desperate now, and trying to get near enough to the visitor to whisper a few words in his ear.

  But that gentleman hastily drew back with a loud laugh.

  “No whispering in the presence of ladies, man! What do you take me for, a savage, a cannibal? This indiscreet friend of mine seems to be resolved to ruin me in your estimation, my dear ladies.”

  “Oh, you have no idea how obstinate M. Segoffin is,” remarked Suzanne. “When he once gets anything into his head there is no moving him.”

  The head gunner made no reply. Foiled in his efforts to get the visitor away, he now came a little closer to the trio, with the expression of a person who is prepared for the worst.

  “So it is to Mlle. Cloarek that I have the honour of speaking,” said the ship owner, gallantly, turning to Sabine.

  “Yes, monsieur, and you, I understand, are one of my father’s friends.”

  “He has no more devoted friend and admirer, I assure you, mademoiselle. I should be very ungrateful if I were not; I am under such great obligations to him.”

  “My father has been fortunate enough to render you some service, then, monsieur.”

  “Some service, mademoiselle? He has made my fortune for me.”

  “Your fortune, and how?” asked Sabine, much surprised.

  “Why, mademoiselle,” interrupted Segoffin, hastily, “it is in this gentleman’s interest that your father has made so many — so many trips.”

  “That is true, mademoiselle,” replied the ship owner, “and every one, almost without exception, has yielded rich returns.”

  “Yes, he is a great manufacturer,” whispered Segoffin, edging in between Sabine and Suzanne. “We sell lots of goods for him during our trips.”

  “Then you are at least partially accountable for the anxiety which my father’s frequent absences cause me, monsieur,” remarked Sabine.

  “And you have no idea how unreasonable mademoiselle is, monsieur,” chimed in Suzanne. “She frets just as much as if her father were really in some danger—”

  “Some danger! Ah, my dear lady, you may well say—”

  “Yes, it is astonishing how people deceive themselves,” interrupted Segoffin, with great volubility. “Everybody thinks that everybody else has an easy time of it, and because a person makes a good deal of money, other people think he has only to stop and rake it up.”

  “Appearances are, indeed, very deceitful, my dear young lady,” remarked the ship owner, “and though your father makes so light of the danger he incurs, I assure you that in the last fight—”

  “Fight?” exclaimed the young girl, in astonishment; “fight?”

  “What fight are you speaking of, monsieur?” asked Suzanne, in her turn, no less amazed.

  “Why, a desperate fight, a fight to the death,” whispered Segoffin, “with a merchant who didn’t find our goods to his taste, but M. Cloarek and I finally succeeded so well in bringing him around to our way of thinking that he ended by taking a hundred pieces from us—”

  “What on earth is the fellow talking
about, my dear ladies?” cried M. Verduron, who had tried several times to interrupt Segoffin, but in vain. “Has my worthy friend gone stark, staring mad?”

  “Mad!” exclaimed Segoffin, in a voice of thunder. Then advancing toward M. Verduron, he said, in threatening tones:

  “You call me a madman, do you, you old rascal!”

  For the fact is the head gunner, finding himself at the end of his resources, and despairing of averting the evil moment much longer, had resolved upon heroic measures; so, taking advantage of the amazement of the ship owner, who was very naturally stupefied by this sudden change of manner, Segoffin continued, in still more violent tones:

  “Yes, you are an insolent old rascal, and if you try any more of your impudence on me, I’ll shake you out of your boots.”

  “Segoffin, what are you saying, in Heaven’s name?” cried Sabine, all of a tremble.

  “What! you have the audacity to speak to me in this way, and in the presence of ladies, too!” exclaimed the ship owner.

  “Take mademoiselle away from here at once,” Segoffin said to Suzanne, sotto voce. “We are going to have a row, and it will be sure to throw her into a spasm. Get her away, get her away at once, I say.”

  Then, rushing upon the ship owner, and seizing him by the collar, he shouted:

  “I’ve a great mind to hurl you down the cliff through that gap in the wall, you old bergamot-scented fop.”

  “Why, this poor man has gone stark, staring mad. Did any one ever see the like of it? What has happened to him?” stammered the amazed visitor.

  “In God’s name, take mademoiselle away!” thundered Segoffin, again turning to the housekeeper.

  That lady, seeing Sabine turn pale and tremble like a leaf, had not waited to hear this injunction repeated before trying to lead Sabine to the house, but the young girl, in spite of her terror and the housekeeper’s entreaties, could not be induced to leave the spot, deeming it cowardly to desert her father’s friend under such circumstances; so, releasing herself from Suzanne’s grasp, she approached the two men and cried, indignantly: