Strange True Stories of Louisiana
Page 42
IV.
PROXY.
Camille glided to the woman's side and laid a gentle yet commanding touchupon her.
"Come, there is not a moment to lose."
"What do you want?" asked Attalie. She neither rose nor turned her head,nor even let go the dead man's hand.
"I must make haste to fulfill the oft-repeated request of my friend here."
"_Your_ friend!" She still knelt, and held the hand, but turned her face,full of pained resentment, upon the speaker behind her. He was calm.
"Our friend; yes, this man here. You did not know that I was his secretconfidential adviser? Well, that was all right; I told him to tell no one.But now I must carry out his instructions. Madame Brouillard, this manwished to leave you every cent he had in the world."
Attalie slowly laid her lips on the big cold hand lying in her two hotones and let the silent tears wet all three. Camille spoke on to heraverted form:
"He may never have told you so till to-day, but he has often told me. 'Itell you, Camille,' he used to say, 'because I can trust you: I can'ttrust a white man in a matter like this.' He told you? Yes; then you knowthat I speak the truth. But one thing you did not know; that thisintention of his was the result of my earnest advice.--Stop! MadameBrouillard--if you please--we have no time for amazement or questions now;and less than none for expressions of gratitude. Listen to me. You know hewas always afraid he would die some day suddenly? Yes, of course;everybody knew that. One night--our meetings were invariably at night--hesaid to me, 'Camille, my dear friend, if I should go all of a sudden someday before I write that will, _you know what to do_.' Those were his exactwords: 'Camille, my dear friend, _you know what to do_.'" All this wassaid to the back of Attalie's head and neck; but now the speaker touchedher with one finger: "Madame, are your lodgers all up town?"
She nodded.
"Good. And you have but the one servant. Go tell her that our dear friendhas been in great suffering but is now much better, quite free from pain,in fact, and wants to attend to some business. Send her to Exchange alley,to the office of Eugene Favre. He is a notary public"--He murmured somefurther description. "Understand?"
Attalie, still kneeling, kept her eyes on his in silence, but sheunderstood; he saw that.
"She must tell him," he continued, "to come at once. But before she goesthere she must stop on the way and tell three persons to come and witnessa notarial act. Now whom shall they be? For they must be white maleresidents of the parish, and they must not be insane, deaf, dumb, blind,nor disqualified by crime. I will tell you: let them be Jean d'Eau--at theFrench market. He will still be there; it is his turn to scrub the marketto-day. Get him, get Richard Reau, and old man Ecswyzee. And on no accountmust the doctor be allowed to come. Do that, Madame Brouillard, as quicklyas you can. I will wait here."
But the kneeling figure hesitated, with intense distress in her upturnedface: "What are you going to do, Michie Ducour?"
"We are going to make you sole legatee."
"I do not want it! How are you going to do it? How?"
"In a way which he knows about and approves."
Attalie hid her shapely forehead again on the dead hand. "I cannot leavehim. Do what you please, only let me stay here. Oh! let me stay here."
"I see," said Camille, with cold severity, "like all women, you count thefoolish sentiments of the living of more value than the reasonable wish ofthe dead." He waited a moment for these words to take effect upon hermotionless form, and then, seeing that--again like a woman--she waswaiting and wishing for compulsion, he lifted her by one arm. "Come. Go.And make haste to get back again; we are losing priceless time."
She went. But just outside the door she seemed to halt. Camille put outhis freckled face and turtle neck. "Well?"
"O Michie Ducour!" the trembling woman whispered, "those three witnesseswill never do. I am in debt to every one of them!"
"Madame Brouillard, the one you owe the most to will be the best witness.Well? What next?"
"O my dear friend! what is this going to cost?--in money, I mean. I am soafraid of lawyers' accounts! I have nothing, and if it turns out that hehas very, very little--It is true that I sent for you, but--I did notthink you--what must you charge?"
"Nothing!" whispered Camille. "Madame Brouillard, whether he leaves youlittle or much, this must be for me a labor of love to him who wassecretly my friend, or I will not touch it. He certainly had something,however, or he would not have tried to write a will. But, my dear madame,if you do not right here, now, stop looking scared, as if you were aboutto steal something instead of saving something from being stolen, it willcost us a great deal. Go. Make haste! That's right!--Ts-s-st! Hold on!Which is your own bedroom, upstairs?--Never mind why I ask; tell me. Yes;all right I Now, go!--Ts-s-st! Bring my hat up as you return."
She went downstairs. Camille tiptoed quickly back into the death chamber,whipped off his shoes, ran to a small writing-table, then to the bureau,then to the armoire, trying their drawers. They were locked, every one. Heran to the bed and searched swiftly under pillows and mattresses--no keys.Never mind. He wrapped a single sheet about the dead man's form, steppedlightly to the door, looked out, listened, heard nothing, and tripped backagain.
And then with all his poor strength he lifted the bulk, still limp, in hisarms, and with only two or three halts in the toilsome journey, to dashthe streaming sweat from his brows and to better his hold so that theheels should not drag on the steps, carried it up to Attalie's small roomand laid it, decently composed, on her bed.
Then he glided downstairs again and had just slipped into his shoes whenAttalie came up hastily from below. She was pale and seemed bothawe-struck and suspicious. As she met him outside the door grief anddismay were struggling in her eyes with mistrust, and as he coolly handedher the key of her room indignation joined the strife. She reddened andflashed:
"My God! you have not, yourself, already?"
"I could not wait, Madame Brouillard. We must run up now, and do for himwhatever cannot be put off; and then you must let me come back, leaving myhat and shoes and coat up there, and--you understand?"
Yes; the whole thing was heartless and horrible, but--she understood. Theywent up.