“I have never shed blood but on the battlefield. I ask to be heard.”
The words rang out like a clarion call. It was the first time that that voice had been heard, and it seemed to sound the rally to a distracted camp attacked by the enemy on all sides. A silence ensued, during which another sentence could be heard uttered by Hérisson, already preparing to mount the tribune:
“I withdraw my right to speak in favor of the accused!”
The words struck home, and Jacques was seen to grow pale while the Extreme Left cheered the President of the Council. Nevertheless Jacques strode down the hemicycle with a buoyant step and in two bounds was in the tribune. With hand outstretched over Carlier’s body he said:
“I swear on Carlier’s dead body to discover the assassin. If the Commission of Inquiry which you are about to appoint does not elucidate this crime which I abominate, I will do so myself. I swear that if your commissioners and police are unable to unravel the truth, I will not rest until I have brought the criminal here with my own hands — I who am not skilled in the use of the dagger and have never wielded any weapon but the sword of France!”
At these words half the Chamber gave way to prolonged cheers, and it seemed as if many of Jacques’s own partisans were relieved of an immense burden.
Mulot intervened:
“Carlier was assassinated for the purpose of stealing Lavobourg’s papers, which are not in his portfolio.”
“So, M. Mulot, you know that M. Lavobourg was robbed, and doubtless you know the thief,” returned Jacques de Touchais. “Well, you are better informed than we are, for we know nothing of Carlier’s murder. What the burglar’s jimmy began the dagger has continued. But I swear that I and my friends have had no part in this disgraceful business. And I will tell you why. Because it is a matter of indifference to my friend Lavobourg and me whether a document in which we sketched out the model of a Constitution is read from the tribune or not. Is it unconstitutional to desire to revise the Constitution? All those of you who protest so loudly have been foremost in the past in seeking revision. Every good citizen demands it to-day.”
“So as to overthrow the Republic!” shouted Coudry.
“What have you made of the Republic? What have you made of this France which has so valiantly recovered from the most terrible disasters? What have you made of this nation which astonished Europe by its steadfast prosperity and the splendor of its qualities?”
“And you — what do you wish to make of the Republic? Will you tell us that?”
“I wish to banish you from it.”
The effect was tremendous. It was as though a tidal wave had broken loose on the back benches of the Extreme Left — a thundering wave whose raging billows surged in the hemicycle and rolled as far as the tribune amid uplifted fists, blows, contorted faces, pandemonium, while in the public galleries women screamed in terror. Jacques was borne from the tribune as though he were a feather and found himself below, clothes in tatters, blood on his face; and assuredly he would have been torn to pieces had not Lieut. Frederic Héloni and two sturdy fellows suddenly jumped from the galleries like cats and as it were scattered the assembly in a trice. The impetuous rush of the invaders would doubtless have been followed by not a few violent incidents had not the strident voice of an usher risen above the din:
“Silence, gentlemen, M. Bonchamps is dying...”
Two men had died during that one sitting. It was more than enough. But the death of these two men had saved the policy and possibly the life of the daring young Major.... He was allowed to leave the Chamber accompanied by his bodyguard.
CHAPTER III
THE HOUSE IN THE MARAIS QUARTER
“DO YOU HEAR what I say, M. Barkimel? I will never forgive you for keeping me waiting six hours by the clock, as true as my name is Florent.”
“My dear M. Florent,” protested M. Barkimel, “I give you my word that I would have come out to you at once had it been possible, for in fact I was longing to get away from the awful sight, but we were held prisoners by the Republican Guard, who would not allow us to move a step. That sort of thing savors of revolution.”
“Get out with your revolution! It was agreed that the card admitting to the public galleries should be used by us in turn, and you failed to keep your word — that’s all.”
The two friends, two worthy and respectable citizens, retired shopkeepers, glared at each other as if each wished to put fear into the other. Realizing that their efforts were a failure, doubtless because of former experience of this sort of quarrel, they held out their hands in a spontaneous gesture.
“We are silly asses, Florent.”
“We are, Barkimel.”
“Ah, my dear fellow, what a cruel sight it was to see that man being carried to the tribune with a dagger in his heart! It was like an incident in a revolution, I tell you.... I saw a scene that happens in revolutions.”
“You saw a mere item of news for the newspapers,” returned Florent drily, for he was annoyed at missing the episode and could not help belittling it tormented by the thought of the success which that confounded Barkimel would achieve that evening when he told his story.
“An item of news! Oh! of course the papers are full of items of news like that every day!” said Barkimel, shocked more than he could express. “An item of news!”
M. Barkimel would never forgive M. Florent for using such language.
“Bonchamps has been ill for some time,” said Florent in a calm but slightly sarcastic tone, “the poor man had to die somewhere. I don’t see anything in that to get excited over. Clearly you don’t know what a revolution is. I mean a real revolution like the one in 1792 — in the time of Robespierre.”
“Get away with your Robespierre! You won’t admit that I have witnessed a scene from a revolution. And you take advantage of the fact that you used to keep a stationers’ shop with a circulating library attached to it, to throw Robespierre in my face.”
“We can’t all sell umbrellas.”
“Florent!”
“Barkimel!”
They glared at each other once more. They shook hands again.
“After all, are we so remote from Robespierre’s time? From what I can gather manners in those times were pretty much what they are to-day. Just think.... Everywhere this mania for dancing, general corruption, public scandals, and on the political horizon a dictator.”
“What nonsense! Let’s talk of your dictator. He’s not the first to give us a glimpse of the military tunic under his plain clothes.... Since we’ve been a republic we know to our cost what that sort of stuff means.”
“Shut up, we’re passing his mother’s house, and you wouldn’t talk like that had you seen him a little while ago.”
The two friends while chatting and wrangling had crossed the bridge near the Hôtel de Ville, and reached the Marais quarter in which they lived. Before continuing their way they raised their eyes for a moment to the stately house which, after the terrible incident in the Chamber, must be the scene of considerable emotion.
“Where is all this going to lead us?” asked Barkimel with a shiver.
“Nowhere,” declared the sceptical Florent, “or at least nowhere but home and a good supper and then a sound sleep.”
At the corner of the street M. Barkimel said:
“Let me be.... I shan’t be able to sleep tonight. I tell you that we are living in revolutionary times. And that’s the opinion of my friend Hilare of ‘Hilare’s Up-to-date Grocery Stores.’”
It was in this one-time aristocratic quarter of distinctive architecture, where the houses were now for the most part given over to trade and commerce, that the Marchioness de Touchais lived after many years spent in mourning a happiness too quickly over, and bringing up in exile after her own heart, the son who was one day to be Major Jacques.
The house was never the property of the de Touchais family. It was the family mansion of the de la Morlières in which Cecily had taken up her abode after the death of Mme de la Morl
ière, whom she dearly loved and whose daughter, Lydia, she promised to watch over as though she were her own child. Lydia was extremely wealthy. Cecily was comparatively poor. She had barely enough suitably to maintain her rank, and the change in her circumstances was the result of the follies of her elder son Bernard.
Bernard had shown himself as a youth jealous of Jacques, so jealous that one day Jacques was found with his head cut open by a blow which Bernard had given him in a fit of rage because Jacques had opposed one of his whims. Cecily, already tried greatly by her past sufferings, could not forgive him. He was growing up, and she sent him to England to finish his education.
Bernard always refused to return to his mother on the ground that he objected to meet Jacques again because of his exile, and when he became of age he went to America. Here he committed innumerable eccentricities. He plunged into all sorts of projects, signed bills for heavy sums, gambled on the stock exchange, lost several fortunes, and compromised the honor of the de Touchais’s. Cecily paid his debts to the last sou, encroaching upon Jacques’s share which he generously surrendered on attaining his majority. Notwithstanding the millions of francs thus wasted, honor itself might have been wrecked had not the earthquake in San Francisco put an end to his career.
Cecily now had only one son, but she had a daughter in the handsome and charming Lydia whom she had brought up with Jacques. Lydia was a little girl when he was a big boy. In course of time they fell in love with each other. But Jacques was a poor man, and he wished to bring fame to Lydia as his wedding present.
“We will be married when I have made a name,” he said.
His fame had brought him to the present extraordinary pass which threatened to sweep all before it and submerge them like wisps of straw. Lydia grasped the significance of it during that tragic afternoon so full of horror for Cecily and herself.
The two women were in each others’ arms, Lydia seeking to console Cecily, when Jacqueline came into the room to say that Lieut. Frederic Héloni had called.
“Show him in,” they cried in unison, rising quickly in their eagerness to hear the latest news. Héloni at once reassured them:
“All’s well.”
“What about Jacques?”
“A few scratches of no importance.”
“You saved his life.”
“It’s not worth mentioning.”
“Is he coming here?”
“Yes, for a moment before dinner.”
“We don’t know what happened in the Chamber after the incident,” said Lydia, breathing quickly. “We left when we saw him out of danger. We hoped he would hasten back here.”
“This is what happened and it was over quickly. After an adjournment, during which the bodies of the two dead men, Carlier and Bonchamps, were removed, the sitting was resumed. In five minutes the Chamber by a unanimous vote appointed a Commission of Inquiry. The Extreme Left succeeded in carrying a proposal giving the Commission the widest judicial powers. But these powers have to be ratified by the Senate, which will refuse to sanction them. We are certain of a majority in the Senate. In these circumstances it means so much time gained for us, and we ask nothing better for the moment.”
“What about the assassination of Carlier?” asked Cecily after some hesitation.
“During the adjournment and after Jacques had departed Hérisson had a conference with the Attorney-General and the leaders of the party. It seems that as far as Carlier is concerned foul play is not absolutely proved.”
“Oh, I am glad of that,” said the Marchioness with a deep sigh.
“The dagger with which he was stabbed belonged to him, his waistcoat was open as if he meant to take his own life. Was it a case of suicide? Did he lose his head on learning that his visitor had not brought him the proofs which he had promised to lay before the Chamber? These are plausible conjectures. — Moreover” — the lieutenant lowered his voice— “the papers stolen from him have been found.”
“Where?”
“At Sonia’s place... and that’s not the strangest part of it....”
“But don’t you see that this man Carlier was assassinated to get back the papers,” exclaimed Cecily in a trembling voice “and the assassin belongs to your party?”
“To our party — so we must keep silent, madame.”
“Yes, yes a man of our party.... But this death... this assassination...”
“Oh, we are not responsible for that,” exclaimed the lieutenant.
“This assassination frightens me,” said Cecily with more agitation than she had shown during all this period so fraught with danger to her son.
“It merely surprises us. But since it helps us we have, as you may imagine other things to do than to waste time over it now. Events will move quickly. We must take advantage of Bonchamp’s death. Honest but obstinate, he would have ruined the Republic in order to save the Constitution, and he stood in our way...”
“I may tell you that during that horrible sitting when I was not watching my son my eyes were on President Bonchamps, and seeing him in such pain, his laboured breathing, I wondered if the rumour were true that he was poisoned.”
“His doctor contradicted that odious rumour. And yet you, madame, repeat it.”
“Oh, I dare not think about it any more.”
“Our hands are clean. Jacques has said so,” declared Frederic Héloni, “but we are no longer at the stage of the struggle when we can choose our friends or enemies.”
“I thought, for my part, that I should go mad, and I should certainly have done so had you not rushed into the fray, my dear Frederic.”
“Oh, I was not the only one,” he said modestly. “That’s true. What have you done with your two men?” asked Cecily.
“They are in the kitchen. Jacqueline must be looking after them.”
“Go and fetch them so that I may thank them. You don’t mind?”
“Oh, they’ll be delighted.”
Héloni went out and returned with Jacqueline and the two men. They were two sturdy rascals with powerful necks and shoulders, standing on their feet as on bronze pillars. They twisted between their huge fingers their oil-cloth hats, such as children supposed to be dressed as sailors wear — hats that must have given them a singular appearance when they put them on.
Their faces might give rise to fear or laughter; and yet they were neither grotesque nor vicious; they were worse — they were startling. They had deserted from the navy, so they said, because they were the drudges of a quartermaster who put them in irons every week. Thereafter they trudged about the world abandoning the idea of returning to France in spite of their immunity from arrest, for they had no relations. Frederic met them in Subdamoun when the expeditionary force was being formed, and they offered their services as carriers. During the local fighting they behaved like heroes, rushing headlong into the path of danger and acting as a bodyguard to Jacques, who returned unscathed.
One was called Jean Jean and the other Polydore. They were very nearly of the same height and same stout figure. That which differentiated them and disclosed their origin was that Jean Jean spoke with a Caux accent and Polydore with a Breton, and more particularly a Brest accent.
When the Marchioness congratulated them on their courage and thanked them for their devotion to her son, Jean Jean, who was the spokesman of the partnership, assured her that they had no other aim but to give their lives for the Major, who had brought them back to the path “of honor.”
“Don’t be afraid, madame, you can rely on Polydore and Jean through thick and thin.”
“Good-hearted fellows,” said Cecily after they had left the room.
“Of course they are,” returned Frederic, “and though I don’t know where they come from I couldn’t put my hand on two pluckier fellows.”
“Under their rough exterior,” went on Cecily, “they are as gentle as lambs, and have the hearts of children.”
The lieutenant grinned. Cecily left him with Mlle de la Morlière.
“Tell me the
truth,” she said. “Where is Jacques? If you tell me where he is you shall be rewarded.”
“Have you got anything for me?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes.”
“Have you been to the classes? Have you seen Marie Thérèse?”
She showed him a letter.
“Give it to me!”
“Where is Jacques?”
“Why should I hide it from you,” he returned, taking the letter held out to him. “Jacques is at Sonia Liskinne’s with M. Lavobourg.”
“I suspected as much,” said Lydia sadly. “He never leaves that woman now.”
“You can’t be serious, mademoiselle. You know that matters of great importance are at stake at the beautiful Sonia’s.”
“The beautiful Sonia’s!... Yes, she is indeed beautiful. I was looking at her a little while ago in the Chamber. I can understand, you know, why she has turned so many heads. You could not leave her either. You were in her box...”
“Yes, with my two sailors hiding themselves at the back ready for any emergency. Oh, we were talking of anything but love, I assure you. There you have a woman worth ten men. Between ourselves, she is Jacques’s most valuable lieutenant.”
“Good gracious,” murmured Lydia, turning pale. “Read your letter — I won’t look.”
She sat down dejectedly by a round table on which lay some illustrated papers and turned over the pages.
“Thank you, dear little postman,” said Frederic when he had finished reading the letter. “Are you going to the classes again to-morrow?”
And he gave her a letter already written.
“This is a nice business you get me to do for you,” she said, taking the letter.
“Oh, mademoiselle, you know I love Marie Thérèse as Jacques loves you — with the same deep and sincere love...”
Lydia rose to her feet and looked the lieutenant in the eyes.
“Frederic — you see I call you Frederic — I am going to talk to you like a sister. Do you think Jacques loves me as much as he used to do?”
“What do you mean? I am sure of it,” he returned.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 207