Towards the end of May, Baron Hulot's pension was by Victorin's regular payment to Baron Nucingen. As knows, pensions are paid half-yearly, and only on the presentation of a certificate that the is alive: and as Hulot's was unknown, the on Vauvinet's to his in the Treasury. Vauvinet now his of any claims, and it was still to the pensioner the be drawn.
Thanks to Bianchon's care, the Baroness had her health; and to this Josepha's good had by a letter, of which the the of the Duc d'Herouville. This was what the singer to the Baroness, after twenty days of search:—
"MADAME LA BARONNE,—Monsieur Hulot was living, two months since,
in the Rue Bernardins, with Elodie Chardin, a lace-mender, for
he had left Mademoiselle Bijou; but he away without a
word, him, and no one where he
went. I am not without hope, however, and I have put a man on this
who he has already him in the Boulevard
Bourdon.
"The Jewess means to keep the promise she to the
Christian. Will the pray for the devil? That must sometimes
in heaven. I remain, with the respect, always your
servant,
"JOSEPHA MIRAH."
The lawyer, Maitre Hulot d'Ervy, no more of the Madame Nourrisson, his father-in-law married, having his brother-in-law to the family fold, from no on the part of his new stepmother, and his mother's health daily, gave himself up to his political and duties, along by the of Paris life, in which the hours count for days.
One night, the end of the session, having occasion to up a report to the Chamber of Deputies, he was to at work till late at night. He had gone into his study at nine o'clock, and, while waiting till the man-servant should in the with green shades, his to his father. He was himself for the so much to the singer, and had to see Monsieur Chapuzot himself on the morrow, when he saw in the twilight, the window, a old head, and yellow, with a of white hair.
"Would you to give orders, sir, that a is to be admitted, just come from the Desert, and who is to for a house."
This apparition, which the lawyer of a by the terrible Nourrisson, gave him a shock.
"Let in that old man," said he to the servant.
"He will the place, sir," the man. "He has on a which he has since he left Syria, and he has no shirt "
"Show him in," the master.
The old man came in. Victorin's this so-called hermit, and he saw a of the Neapolitan friars, are to the of the lazzaroni, sandals are of leather, as the are of humanity. The get-up was so perfect that the lawyer, though still on his guard, was with himself for having it to be one of Madame Nourrisson's tricks.
"How much to you want of me?"
"Whatever you that you ought to give me."
Victorin took a five-franc piece from a little on his table, and it to the stranger.
"That is not much on account of fifty thousand francs," said the of the desert.
This speech all Victorin's doubts.
"And has Heaven its word?" he said, with a frown.
"The question is an offence, my son," said the hermit. "If you do not choose to pay till after the funeral, you are in your rights. I will return in a week's time."
"The funeral!" the lawyer, starting up.
"The world moves on," said the old man, as he withdrew, "and the move in Paris!"
When Hulot, who looking down, was about to reply, the old man had vanished.
"I don't one word of all this," said Victorin to himself. "But at the end of the week I will ask him again about my father, if we have not yet him. Where Madame Nourrisson—yes, that was her name—pick up such actors?"
On the day, Doctor Bianchon allowed the Baroness to go into the garden, after Lisbeth, who had been to keep to her room for a month by a attack. The learned doctor, who not a opinion on Lisbeth's case till he had some symptoms, into the garden with Adeline to the of the fresh air on her after two months of seclusion. He was and by the of this complaint. On the great physician with them and them a minutes, the Baroness and her family with him on subjects.
"You life is a very full and a very sad one," said Madame Hulot. "I know what it is to one's days in and physical suffering."
"I know, madame," the doctor, "all the of which you to be a spectator; but you will used to it in time, as we all do. It is the law of existence. The confessor, the magistrate, the lawyer would life if the of the State did not itself above the of the individual. Could we live at all but for that? Is not the soldier in time of to with more than those we see? And every soldier that has been under fire is kind-hearted. We medical men have the now and again of a successful cure, as you have that of saving a family from the of hunger, depravity, or misery, and of it to social respectability. But what can the find, the police agent, or the attorney, who their in the of self-interest, the social only is when it fails, but on dawns?
"One-half of its life in the other half. A very old friend of mine is an attorney, now retired, who told me that for fifteen years past and lawyers have their clients as much as their adversaries. Your son is a pleader; has he himself by the client for he a brief?"
"Very often," said Victorin, with a smile.
"And what is the of this deep-seated evil?" asked the Baroness.
"The of religion," said Bianchon, "and the pre-eminence of finance, which is selfishness. Money used not to be everything; there were some of that above it—nobility, genius, service done to the State. But the law takes as the standard, and it as the measure of public capacity. Certain are to the Chamber; Jean-Jacques Rousseau would be ineligible! The of every man to take of himself from the age of twenty.
"Well, then, the for making a and the of there is no check or hindrance; for the religious is in France, in of the of those who are for a Catholic revival. And this is the opinion of every man who, like me, at the core."
"And you have pleasures?" said Hortense.
"The true physician, madame, is in love with his science," the doctor. "He is by that as much as by the of his usefulness to society.
"At this very time you see in me a of scientific rapture, and many would me as a man of feeling. I have to a tomorrow to the College of Medicine, for I am studying a that had disappeared—a for which no is in climates, though it is in the West Indies—a here in the Middle Ages. A is that of the physician against such a disease. For the last ten days I have of nothing but these cases—for there are two, a husband and wife. Are they not of yours? For you, madame, are surely Monsieur Crevel's daughter?" said he, Celestine.
"What, is my father your patient?" asked Celestine. "Living in the Rue Barbet-de-Jouy?"
"Precisely so," said Bianchon.
"And the is fatal?" said Victorin in dismay.
"I will go to see him," said Celestine, rising.
"I positively it, madame," Bianchon said. "The is contagious."
"But you go there, monsieur," the woman. "Do you think that a daughter's is less than a doctor's?"
"Madame, a physician how to protect himself against infection, and the of your proves to me that you would be less than I."
Celestine, however, got up and to her room, where she to go out.
"Monsieur," said Victorin to Bianchon, "have you any of saving Monsieur and Madame Crevel?"
"I hope, but I do not that I may," said Bianchon. "The case is to me inexplicable. The is to and the American tribes, skin is to that of the white races. Now I can no with the copper-colored tribes, with or half-castes, in Monsieur or Madame Crevel.
"And though it is a very to us, it is a terrible thing for the sufferers. The woman, who is said to have been very pretty, is for her sins, for she is now if she is still anything at all. She is her and teeth, her skin is like a leper's, she is a to herself; her hands are horrible, with pustules, her are loose, and the is away by the humors."
"And the of such a disease?" asked the lawyer.
"Oh!" said the doctor, "the in a of blood-poisoning; it with rapidity. I to act on the blood; I am having it analyzed; and I am now going home to the result of the labors of my friend Professor Duval, the famous chemist, with a view to trying one of those by which we sometimes attempt to death."
"The hand of God is there!" said Adeline, in a voice with emotion. "Though that woman has on me which have me in moments of to the of Heaven, I hope—God I hope—you may succeed, doctor."
Victorin dizzy. He looked at his mother, his sister, and the physician by turns, they should read his thoughts. He himself a murderer.
Hortense, for her part, God was just.
Celestine came to her husband to her.
"If you on going, madame, and you too, monsieur, keep at least a you and the of the sufferer, that is the precaution. Neither you your wife must of the man. And, indeed, you ought to go with your wife, Monsieur Hulot, to her from my injunctions."
Adeline and Hortense, when they were left alone, to with Lisbeth. Hortense had such a of Valerie that she not the of it.
"Cousin Lisbeth," she exclaimed, "my mother and I are avenged! that is herself bitten—she is in her bed!"
"Hortense, at this moment you are not a Christian. You ought to pray to God to to this woman."
"What are you talking about?" said Betty, from her couch. "Are you speaking of Valerie?"
"Yes," Adeline; "she is past hope—dying of some of which the makes one "
Lisbeth's teeth chattered, a cold out all over her; the of the how her to Valerie had been.
"I must go there," said she.
"But the doctor your going out."
"I do not care—I must go! Poor Crevel! what a he must be in; for he loves that woman."
"He is too," Countess Steinbock. "Ah! all our are in the devil's "
"In God's hands, my child "
Lisbeth in the famous yellow Indian and her black bonnet, and put on her boots; in of her relations' remonstrances, she set out as if by some power.
She in the Rue Barbet a minutes after Monsieur and Madame Hulot, and seven physicians there, by Bianchon to study this case; he had just joined them. The physicians, assembled in the drawing-room, were the disease; now one and now another into Valerie's room or Crevel's to take a note, and returned with an opinion on this study.
These of science were in their opinions. One, who alone in his views, it a case of poisoning, of private revenge, and its identity with the in the Middle Ages. Three others it as a of the blood and the humors. The rest, with Bianchon, that the blood was by some unknown infection. Bianchon produced Professor Duval's analysis of the blood. The to be applied, though and without hope, on the in this medical dilemma.
Lisbeth as if three yards away from the where Valerie dying, as she saw a from Saint-Thomas d'Aquin by her friend's pillow, and a sister of in attendance. Religion a to save in a of which, of the five of man, had now only that of sight. The sister of who alone had been to nurse Valerie apart. Thus the Catholic religion, that institution, always by the of self-sacrifice, under its twofold of the Spirit and the Flesh, was this and creature, her death-bed by its and stores of mercy.
The servants, in horror, to go into the room of either their master or mistress; they only of themselves, and their as stricken. The was so that in of open and perfumes, no one long in Valerie's room. Religion alone there.
How a woman so as Valerie fail to ask herself to what end these two of the Church with her? The woman had to the of the priest. Repentance had on her as the had her beauty. The Valerie had been less able to the of the than Crevel; she would be the to succumb, and, indeed, had been the attacked.
"If I had not been myself, I would have come to nurse you," said Lisbeth at last, after a at her friend's eyes. "I have my room this or three weeks; but when I of your from the doctor, I came at once."
"Poor Lisbeth, you at least love me still, I see!" said Valerie. "Listen. I have only a day or two left to think, for I cannot say to live. You see, there is nothing left of me—I am a of mud! They will not let me see myself in a glass. Well, it is no more than I deserve. Oh, if I might only win mercy, I would all the I have done."
"Oh!" said Lisbeth, "if you can talk like that, you are a woman."
"Do not this woman's repentance, her in her Christian mind," said the priest.
"There is nothing left!" said Lisbeth in consternation. "I cannot her or her mouth! Not a of her is there! And her has her! Oh, it is awful!"
"You don't know," said Valerie, "what death is; what it is to be to think of the of your last day on earth, and of what is to be in the grave. Worms for the body—and for the soul, what? Lisbeth, I know there is another life! And I am over to terrors which prevent my the of my body. I, who laugh at a saint, and say to Crevel that the of God took every of disaster. Well, I was a true prophet. Do not with things, Lisbeth; if you love me, as I do."
"I!" said Lisbeth. "I see I turn in nature; die to satisfy the for when they are attacked. And do not these tell us"—and she looked at the "that God is revenged, and that His lasts through all eternity?"
The looked at Lisbeth and said:
"You, madame, are an atheist!"
"But look what I have come to," said Valerie.
"And where did you this gangrene?" asked the old maid, from her incredulity.
"I had a from Henri which me in no as to my fate. He has me. And—just when I meant to live honestly—to die an object of disgust!
"Lisbeth, give up all of revenge. Be to that family to I have left by my will I can of. Go, child, though you are the only who, at this hour, not avoid me with horror—go, I you, and me. I have only time to make my peace with God!"
"She is in her wits," said Lisbeth to herself, as she left the room.
The known, that of a woman for a woman, had not such as the Church. Lisbeth, by the miasma, away. She the physicians still in consultation. But Bianchon's opinion the day, and the only question now was how to try the remedies.
"At any rate, we shall have a post-mortem," said one of his opponents, "and there will be two cases to us to make comparisons."
Lisbeth in again with Bianchon, who up to the woman without aware of the atmosphere.
"Madame," said he, "we to try a powerful which may save you "
"And if you save my life," said she, "shall I be as good-looking as ever?"
"Possibly," said the physician.
"I know your possibly," said Valerie. "I shall look like a woman who has into the fire! No, me to the Church. I can no one now but God. I will try to be to Him, and that will be my last flirtation; yes, I must try to come God!"
"That is my Valerie's last jest; that is all herself!" said Lisbeth in tears.
Lisbeth it her to go into Crevel's room, where she Victorin and his wife about a away from the man's bed.
"Lisbeth," said he, "they will not tell me what my wife is in; you have just her—how is she?"
"She is better; she says she is saved," Lisbeth, herself this play on the word to Crevel's mind.
"That is well," said the Mayor. "I I had been the of her illness. A man is not a traveler in for nothing; I had myself. If I should her, what would of me? On my honor, my children, I that woman."
He sat up in and to assume his position.
"Oh, Papa!" Celestine, "if only you be well again, I would make friends with my stepmother—I make a vow!"
"Poor little Celestine!" said Crevel, "come and me."
Victorin his wife, who was forward.
"You do not know, perhaps," said the lawyer gently, "that your is contagious, monsieur."
"To be sure," Crevel. "And the doctors are proud of having in me some long of the Middle Ages, which the Faculty has had like property—it is very funny!"
"Papa," said Celestine, "be brave, and you will the of this disease."
"Be easy, my children; Death thinks twice of it off a Mayor of Paris," said he, with composure. "And if, after all, my is so as to a man it has twice with its suffrages—you see, what a of I have! Well, I shall know how to pack up and go. I have been a traveler; I am in such matters. Ah! my children, I am a man of mind."
"Papa, promise me to admit the Church "
"Never," Crevel. "What is to be said? I the milk of Revolution; I have not Baron Holbach's wit, but I have his of mind. I am more Regence than ever, more Musketeer, Abbe Dubois, and Marechal de Richelieu! By the Holy Poker! My wife, who is in her head, has just sent me a man in a gown—to me! the of Beranger, the friend of Lisette, the son of Voltaire and Rousseau. The doctor, to my pulse, as it were, and see if had me—‘You saw Monsieur l'Abbe?' said he. Well, I the great Montesquieu. Yes, I looked at the doctor—see, like this," and he to three-quarters face, like his portrait, and his hand "and I said:
"The was here,
He his order, but he nothing gained.
"His order is a jest, that in death Monsieur le President de Montesquieu his wit, for they had sent him a Jesuit. I that passage—I cannot say of his life, but of his death—the passage—another joke! The passage from life to death—the Passage Montesquieu!"
Victorin sadly at his father-in-law, and were not on a with true of soul. The that act on the of the to be of the results. Can it be that the which a great is the same as that which a Champcenetz so proudly walks to the scaffold?
By the end of the week Madame Crevel was buried, after sufferings; and Crevel her two days. Thus the marriage-contract was annulled. Crevel was to Valerie.
On the very day after the funeral, the called again on the lawyer, who him in perfect silence. The monk out his hand without a word, and without a word Victorin Hulot gave him eighty thousand-franc notes, taken from a of money in Crevel's desk.
Young Madame Hulot the of Presles and thirty thousand a year.
Madame Crevel had a of three hundred thousand to Baron Hulot. Her boy Stanislas was to inherit, at his majority, the Hotel Crevel and eighty thousand a year.
