The Mysteries of Paris, Volume 3 of 6. Эжен Сю

in the presence of respectable witnesses, that you would come to ruin some day, vile profligate that you are? Quit my house this instant, or I will drive you out!'"

      Rodolph and Morel were struck with horror; a system of wickedness like this seemed to freeze their blood.

      "By Heaven!" said Rodolph, "this surpasses any horrors that imagination could have conceived."

      Morel did not speak, but his eyes expanded fearfully, whilst a convulsive spasm contracted his features. He quitted the stool on which he was sitting, opened a drawer suddenly, and, taking out a long and very sharp file, fixed in a wooden handle, he rushed towards the door. Rodolph, guessing his thoughts, seized his arm, and stopped his progress.

      "Morel, where are you going? You will do a mischief, unhappy man!"

      "Take care," exclaimed the infuriated artisan, struggling, "or I shall commit two crimes instead of one!" and the madman threatened Rodolph.

      "Father, it is our benefactor!" exclaimed Louise.

      "He is jesting at us; he wants to save the notary," replied Morel, quite crazed, and struggling with Rodolph. At the end of a second, the latter disarmed him, carefully opened the door, and threw the file out on the staircase. Louise ran to the lapidary, embraced him, and said:

      "Father, it is our benefactor! You have raised your hand against him, – recover yourself."

      These words recalled Morel to himself, and hiding his face in his hands, he fell mutely on his knees before Rodolph.

      "Rise, rise, unhappy father," said Rodolph, in accents of great kindness; "be patient, be patient, I understand your wrath and share your hatred; but, in the name of your vengeance, do not compromise your daughter!"

      "Louise! – my daughter!" cried the lapidary, rising, "but what can justice – the law – do against that? We are but poor wretches, and were we to accuse this rich, powerful, and respected man, we should be laughed to scorn. Ha! ha! ha!" and he laughed convulsively, "and they would be right. Where would be our proofs? – yes, our proofs? No one would believe us. So, I tell you – I tell you," he added, with increased fury, "I tell you that I have no confidence but in the impartiality of my knife."

      "Silence, Morel! your grief distracts you," said Rodolph to him sorrowfully; "let your daughter speak; the moments are precious; the magistrate waits; I must know all, – all, I tell you; go on, my child."

      Morel fell back on the stool, overwhelmed with his anguish.

      "It is useless, sir," continued Louise, "to tell you of my tears, my prayers. I was thunderstruck. This took place at ten o'clock in the morning in M. Ferrand's private room. The curate was coming to breakfast with him, and entered at the moment when my master was assailing me with reproach and accusations. He appeared much put out at the sight of the priest."

      "What occurred then?"

      "Oh, he soon recovered himself, and exclaimed, call him by name, 'Well, Monsieur l'Abbé, I said so, I said this unhappy girl would be undone. She is ruined, ruined for ever; she has just confessed to me her fault and her shame, and entreated me to save her. Only think that, from commiseration, I have received such a wanton into my house!' 'How,' said the abbé to me with indignation, 'in spite of the excellent counsels which your master has given you a hundred times in my presence, have you really sunk so low? Oh, it is unpardonable! My friend, my friend, after the kindness you have evinced towards this wretched girl and her family, any pity would be weakness. Be inexorable,' said the abbé, the dupe, like the rest of the world, of M. Ferrand's hypocrisy."

      "And you did not unmask the scoundrel on the spot?" asked Rodolph.

      "Ah, no! monsieur, I was terrified, my head was in a whirl, I did not dare, I could not pronounce a word, – yet I was anxious to speak and defend myself. 'But sir – ' I cried. 'Not one word more, unworthy creature,' said M. Ferrand, interrupting me. 'You heard M. l'Abbé. Pity would be weakness. In an hour you leave my house!' Then, without allowing me time to reply, he led the abbé into another room. After the departure of M. Ferrand," resumed Louise, "I was almost bereft of my senses for a moment. I was driven from his house, and unable to find any home elsewhere, in consequence of my condition, and the bad character which my master would give with me. I felt sure, too, that in his rage he would send my father to prison; and I did not know what to do. I went to my room, and there I wept bitterly. At the end of two hours M. Ferrand appeared. 'Is your bundle made up?' said he. 'Pardon,' I exclaimed, falling at his feet, 'do not turn me from your house in my present condition. What will become of me? I have no place to turn to.' 'So much the better; this is the way that God punishes loose behaviour and falsehood.' 'Dare you say that I tell falsehood?' I asked, indignantly, 'dare you say that it is not you who have caused my ruin?' 'Leave my house this moment, you wretch, since you persist in your calumnies!' he replied in a terrible voice; 'and to punish you I will to-morrow send your father to the gaol.' 'Well, no, no!' said I, terrified; 'I will not again accuse you, sir; that I promise you; but do not drive me away from the house. Have pity on my father. The little I earn here helps to support my family. Keep me here; I will say nothing. I will endeavour to hide every thing; and when I can no longer do so, oh, then, but not till then, send me away!' After fresh entreaties on my part, M. Ferrand consented to keep me with him; and I considered that a great favour in my wretched condition. During the time that followed this cruel scene, I was most wretched, and miserably treated; only sometimes M. Germain, whom I seldom saw, kindly asked me what made me unhappy; but shame prevented me from confessing anything to him."