“You see Cecily.... You see the Marchioness every day?”
“As plainly as I see you now, my dear Hilaire.”
“But she never goes out.”
“Oh, you know that, do you. Well, perhaps she is at home to me.”
“She is at home to you.”
“As you’ll see, I am only joking. But there, stand on this bench, look through this little grated opening and tell me what you see.”
“I see a garden in the moonlight with two old moss-grown stone benches, ivy-clad walls, and grass-grown paths — a cheerless little garden.”
“It is not a cheerless little garden when she comes here for a walk. It seems to me then as big as the wide world,” murmured Chéri-Bibi.
“Does she live there?” asked the Dodger. “I have called at La Morlière house sometimes, but I didn’t know this side of it looking on to the garden.”
“You see, my dear Dodger, since God gave me this little cellar window I can refuse him nothing.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“God. He can ask me to commit every crime of which he stands in need. He is sure to get them done.”
M. Hilaire, much easier now as to Chéri-Bibi’s health, began to have a little less pity for him while feeling much of the terrified admiration of the old days; but after what he had just heard he could not entirely shake off a feeling of apprehension as far as he himself was concerned. Thus it was not without a certain agitation that he heard the question, though it was put in pleasant tones:
“And you, my dear Hilaire, what has happened to you?”
They were now back in the cellar, standing between a truckle bed, an old desk with three legs, and the two sacks of peanuts lying in a corner.
“Well, things have not been too bad,” returned M. Hilaire with a somewhat ingenuous smile.
“What about Virginie? Is she still difficult to put up with?” asked Chéri-Bibi.
“Tut! Tut!”
“But after all she doesn’t make you too miserable? As I brought about the marriage I should never forgive myself if she did. And then you know — you’ve only got to say the word — I’d soon send her to kingdom come.”
M. Hilaire started to his feet in dismay.
“Heavens, monsieur le Marquis, don’t lay hands on my wife.”
“Come now, I don’t in the least want to interfere.”
“If anything happened to her she’d haunt me every night. I know her.... Oh, monsieur le Marquis, don’t frighten me. What can you have been thinking of? Why, we’ve got on very well together since our last troubles. We are looked upon by the neighbors as a model couple. Now and then we have a little difference of opinion. But in every household there are moments of impatience.”
“Of course.”
“And as long as I do what she tells me and let her have her own sweet will she ends by giving way to me.”
“Good old Virginie!”
“Oh, she has her good qualities. She looks after the money. There’s no one like her for keeping accounts. And she is faithful to me.”
“And are you faithful to her?”
“I swear I am, monsieur le Marquis. I have never forgotten your principles in this respect, and I should have been the vilest of wretches had I not profited by your precepts and example.”
“I am glad to hear it, friend Dodger,” returned Chéri-Bibi seriously with obvious satisfaction. He had never jested on the subject of morals.
“But I must tell you my wife is so domineering — for she is domineering — that she has made me take up politics in spite of myself,” said M. Hilaire, and he coughed.
“Well, my dear fellow, she was quite right. In these troublous times no one is entitled to refuse to interest himself in public affairs.”
“Since that is your opinion I am glad that Virginie is at one with you,” murmured M. Hilaire, wiping the beads of perspiration trickling down his forehead.
“So your wife wished you to take up politics? I suppose she is ambitious for you?”
“Yes, monsieur le Marquis,” returned M. Hilaire, growing more and more embarrassed. “She wants to see me a municipal councillor.”
“Well done! We will help you in that, I give you my word. It will be better than wasting your time in a club.”
“O Lord, I hope he’ll never know that I am the Secretary of the Arsenal Club,” groaned M. Hilaire under his breath; and as he suddenly recalled the extract from the evening paper, read out at the ball in the Grand Parc — the extract that told of the work being done that night and the passing of the resolution demanding the death penalty against Major Jacques — he was seized with a sort of weakness.
“Come, Dodger, are you ill?”
“No, no. I felt a slight giddiness. I suffer from it occasionally.”
“You do yourself too well,” said Chéri-Bibi. “You must be careful. Do you live far from here, my boy?”
“No, not very far. I might almost say next door.”
“Wait a bit! Ah, so that’s it. The ‘Up-to-date Grocery Stores’! You, Hilaire, are the owner of those splendid grocery and provision stores.”
“That’s my shop.”
“I congratulate you. You have got on in the world since you lived in the Rue St. Roch.... Now, my dear Dodger, let’s be serious, but first lend me a hand in emptying these two sacks of peanuts.”
With one movement the old man drew the truckle bed towards him, disclosing a trap-door in the brickwork floor of the century-old building. He pulled back the flap.... A cold, damp current of air swept into the wretched cellar and the guggle-guggle of a kind of underground waterway could be heard.
“Whatever you do, don’t come too near. The water flows into the deeps and is lost somewhere or other in the catacombs — a waterway that appears and disappears, plunges anew underground, carrying with it whatever is committed to its charge and never giving it up again!... Let it have a few peanuts, Dodger.”
Chéri-Bibi’s peculiar language was not calculated to reassure M. Hilaire.
“Look! Take hold of the sack by one of the ends as I am doing, lift it, shake it, and pull it back. There! As you see, it’s easy enough.”
The horror of it! Out of the sack, with a large quantity of peanuts, slid a dead body. And M. Hilaire recognized the fiery anarchist so full of life and ardor who that very morning was tempestuously orating from a table in the Francs Archers Club. M. Hilaire dropped the empty sack.
Chéri-Bibi with the tip of his boot rolled the body to the edge of the trap-door, it toppled over, and was lost to sight. A few seconds later a dull “flop” was heard — it was the end of that man!
It was in vain that Chéri-Bibi strove to obtain the Dodger’s help for the second sack.... He stood like a statue of terror. Therefore Chéri-Bibi emptied the sack himself, and a second dead body slid out with the peanuts. This time M. Hilaire recognized his friend Tholosée of the Arsenal Club. He fell on his knees clasping his hands, affrighted.
Chéri-Bibi closed the trap-door with his foot. Apparently he had finished his work of death for that day. But he gazed with pity on the sorry object gasping for breath in a corner of his hovel.
“Why are you groaning?” he asked in a hideously calm voice. “What matters a few specimens of humanity? Come, stand up, Dodger. Summon up the heart and pluck of the old days. Look at me and don’t trust to appearances. See, I am as physically strong and more terrible than ever.”
While speaking the old man drew himself up, his limbs unbent, his stature increased, his chest and shoulders and bust expanded in all their splendid fullness; the muffler covering his face fell away, and above the body of a Titan a head appeared, diabolic, glowing with the burning furnace of Chéri-Bibi’s eyes — eyes set free for the nonce from their tinted spectacles.
“Why do you start back in fear?” asked Chéri-Bibi, proudly folding his arms across his chest. “You used not to be afraid of me, and your friendly talk was my one consolation in those hours of fatality. Come, get up, the hour has struck
again! My services are still needed.... God seeing one day how much evil would have to be done so that good might come shrank from so great a responsibility and created Chéri-Bibi!”
He was like some monstrous, some prodigious spectre of the spirit of evil... and then it all vanished as if by magic. M. Hilaire saw before him only the mean-looking old man, who turned to him and said:
“By the way, M. Hilaire, how comes it that you haven’t yet spoken of your duties at the Arsenal Club?”
M. Hilaire remained silent. M. Hilaire, who had already suffered so great a strain in the course of this historic night, was unable to utter a syllable. He was stifling.
“The Ar... the Arsenal Club.... It was not my doing.... It was Virginie who insisted on it. I was elected a member of the Club, put on the Committee, made Secretary, but I had absolutely nothing to do with it.”
“What about your speeches?”
“Oh, my speeches.... Lord, my speeches,” returned M. Hilaire, growing deathly pale. “They were harmless — quite ordinary...”
“I beg your pardon.”
“What, monsieur le Marquis, has anyone mentioned my speeches to you?”
“Why, I heard them.”
“You heard...”
M. Hilaire fell in a huddled heap on the first step of the stairs.
“You want a little air now,” said Chéri-Bibi. “Wait a bit... I’ll open the door, and then we can go out. That’ll do you good and me too. Besides, we’re going to have a little turn together in the country.... See, the dawn is rising — the dawn of a beautiful day! Off we go.”
He drew M. Hilaire away with him, repeating some of the phrases of the speeches that had stuck in his memory.
“Citizens, have done with idle words, the time is come for deeds.... Let us demand the public prosecution of every person lifting his voice in favor of a hateful despotism.... And if necessary let the Government bring in a law by which suspected persons may be arrested....”
“That’s Virginie,” gasped M. Hilaire.
“What, Virginie! She wrote that speech for you! Well, you can congratulate her on it. Personally, I think she has worked our business very well.”
“You — you think so?”
“When I heard you make that speech I said to myself: ‘That’s jolly smart. M. Hilaire is master of the situation. The Arsenal Club is on our side.’”
“Whew!” gasped M. Hilaire. “That’s exactly what I said to myself, too — the Arsenal Club is on our side.”
“In future,” went on Chéri-Bibi imperturbably, “this terrible club may decide whatever it pleases; it can’t do anything without us.”
“Oh, it can’t do anything without us. What a consolation it is to say that.”
“We shall be in the secret of the gods.”
“Of course,” agreed M. Hilaire, gasping again. “And what power will be ours when we come forward in the name of the Arsenal Club!”
“Nothing will be able to stand against us,” murmured M. Hilaire tearfully.
“We shall know who are Major Jacques’s friends and enemies for you, my dear Hilaire, must be a rabid supporter of Subdamoun.”
“Rabid, monsieur le Marquis.”
“In case our attempt against the Republic is not such a success as we hope, our exceptional position in your district will save us. Who dare suspect you? Your cellar will become a safe refuge for our proscribed friends. Here they will find security for the time being, for we may need such a place, and, after all, we must be prepared for every emergency.”
“Hum! Hum!” said M. Hilaire, beginning to cough again.
“Put on your muffler,” advised Chéri-Bibi prudently.
“Hum! Hum!... Of course, my cellar — my cellar is always there.”
“Not forgetting that Mme Hilaire, from what you have told me, will be equal to the occasion. She will be entrusted with the job of providing these political refugees with food.”
“Hum! Hum!... Mme Hilaire...
“Why not Mme Hilaire?”
“Well, between ourselves, it will be better to say nothing about it to Mme Hilaire.”
“Don’t excite yourself, my dear Hilaire,” returned Chéri-Bibi in a kind tone. “For the time being we are only concerned with victory. And we’re going, both of us, to complete the arrangements.”
“I thought we were going into the country.”
“Yes, to Versailles. That’s where we’re going to complete the arrangements for victory, but before taking the train you must provide yourself with fifty Members’ Cards bearing the Arsenal Club stamp.”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed M. Hilaire.
“What’s the matter now?” asked Daddy Peanuts. “Does your conscience shrink from adopting such measures?”
“Not at all. On the contrary, I am very glad of the opportunity to do you a service.”
“Then what’s the trouble?”
“Well, the trouble is that I must go home to fetch them.”
“Of course.”
“If I go home my wife, I fear, will raise some difficulty about letting me out again.”
“You must tell her that it’s for the great cause, my dear Hilaire, and she’ll let you do what you wish.”
“Oh, you think so! You don’t know her.”
“Go, Hilaire, go.... Here’s your magnificent shop. This is not the moment to show cowardice. Go, old man, I’ll wait for you.”
It was a definite command. M. Hilaire did not wait to be told a second time, but with unspeakable dread approached the threshold of his imposing establishment. He opened the low door in the iron shop front with a trembling hand and closed it behind him.
Chéri-Bibi waited for him. At first nothing distracted him, and then he pricked up his ears as he caught a sound from the first floor that grew louder and louder. A certain tumult was taking place inside. He could clearly hear the smashing of crockery. And then the noise seemed to descend, to roll from the first to the ground floor with a tremendous clash. Heavy, dull blows resounded on the walls as if they were being bombarded with missiles. A window was broken, and cries, wails, entreaties rent the air.
“Mme Hilaire is waking up,” said Chéri-Bibi to himself calmly, and he was beginning to pity his friend the Dodger when his attention was attracted by a kind of whining voice emerging from the ground at his feet. It was then that he saw at a window of the “Up-to-date Grocery Stores” famous cellars the dishevelled, distraught, bruised head of poor M. Hilaire.
“Quick! Help me to get out of this,” he choked. “She’s coming.... Quick! Save me!”
“Take my hand,” said Chéri-Bibi, holding out his huge paw.
M. Hilaire clutched it with all his might.
“Up we come,” cried Chéri-Bibi, pulling poor M. Hilaire out of the inferno and the cellar; and to the echo of Mme Hilaire’s imprecations as she continued her search for him the two pals made off.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t got the Members’ Cards,” said Daddy Peanuts.
“I’ve got ’em,” gasped M. Hilaire, rubbing his head. “There now, what a commotion.... What a woman. See what a sight I am. Isn’t it awful?” Chéri-Bibi gazed at M. Hilaire with a certain compassion; and indeed he was not pleasant to look at in the wan light of the morning. He was without collar or tie, the dicky of his shirt had been torn away, his blue Sunday suit was in rags, and his hat, of course, remained on the battlefield. M. Hilaire would not have gone back for it for a trifle.
“All the same,” he said after a few minutes’ silence, “I mustn’t be seen in the streets, or even in the country, in this state. I look like a thief — or rather like a man who has been robbed.”
“I will tell you what you look like,” returned Chéri-Bibi. “You look like a club orator who has come up against a few hecklers paid by the opposition party. Keep your rags, M. Hilaire, if you don’t mind.”
They reached the corner of the street. M. Hilaire clutched Daddy Peanuts’ arm:
“Hist — Mlle Jacqueline! Do you recognize her?
”
“Sister St. Mary of the Angels,” returned Chéri-Bibi in a whisper, steadying himself against his friend. “What an early riser she is.... I wager she is still going to church to pray for me.”
“She’s going to five o’clock Mass at St. Paul’s.”
CHAPTER XV
BRUMAIRE
ON ARRIVING AT the Palais Bourbon Major Jacques was at once approached by Michel and the patriot Lespinasse.
The three men engaged in a preliminary discussion while the Deputies, betraying every sign of anxiety, hurried into the Chamber where the ushers, notified at the last moment of the proceedings by the questeurs supporting the new movement, displayed their bewilderment.
“All goes well,” said Michel. “They are in a deadly funk. If you succeed they will be grateful to you, but if you make a false step they’ll throw you over. They have nearly all of them come here pretending to be intensely surprised. But after all, they say, they could not refuse to answer a summons sent out in the usual way. So you are warned! They will grant you everything presented to them in due form, and thus they will leave themselves a door for retreat in case of failure. The thing is to do things quickly. Oh, they would like to be at Versailles, and I don’t deny that I would like it, too. They have not forgotten that Napoleon Bonaparte nearly failed to overthrow the Directory because he took two days over the job.”
“The unfortunate part is that we shan’t have Lavobourg with us,” said the Major, calmly.
Had a thunderbolt dropped between the two Deputies the effect could not have been greater.
“What do you say!... No Lavobourg. He must be coming. He ought to be here very soon.”
“No, he isn’t coming. He has thrown us over.”
“So that’s why you are so pale. But who is going to preside over the Chamber?”
Jacques was no longer listening to Michel. He was watching Lespinasse, who was shaking with impatience and anguish to see the whole thing fizzling out, since everything depended upon Lavobourg.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 218