Читать книгу The Complete Works of Emile Zola - Emile Zola - Страница 102

PARDON! PARDON!

PHILIPPE had taken the precaution of putting out the lamp before opening the door, and the gendarmes who were on the point of rushing forward, stopped short on the threshold, fearing that the darkness might conceal some snare. Perhaps the trap door of a cellar was gaping open before them or perhaps they would be attacked from behind, as soon as they entered. The mass of darkness that expanded before them struck terror into their hearts.

“We must have a light,” one of them murmured. “We cannot look for and find a man in this obscurity.”

“I have no lucifer matches on me,” said the other.

M. de Cazalis was in despair, he had not foreseen this new obstacle. Night was like an impenetrable wall which still separated him from Philippe.

“Are you afraid?” he exclaimed.

And in a moment of anger, he gave a push to the gendarmes who thus advanced a few steps into the room. Philippe who had placed himself upright against the wall at the entrance, dashed forward, passed behind them and found himself outside, after having knocked Mathéus almost over.

“Help!” the latter yelled, “the man’s escaping!”

The gendarmes were right about face in an instant. The young man had come to a standstill at a few yards from the house. He could have run away, but he thought no longer of himself, all his mind was taken up with his child. If he had put out the lamp and pretended to make oil it was merely to gain time. With crossed arms and disdainful bearing, he said in a loud voice:

“What do you want with me? Why have you obliged me to open the door?”

The gendarmes had sprung forward and each had seized him by a wrist.

“Let me go,” he exclaimed, with violence. “You can see, very well, I am giving myself up voluntarily. Had I wished to escape I could have been far away by now. Speak, what do you want?”

“We have orders to arrest you,” they said, taking their hands off him under the influence of the imperious tone of his voice.

“Good,” he continued, “I will follow you when you have shown me the warrant concerning me. Let us go in.”

He entered the room, feigning not to see either Mathéus or M. de Cazalis. When he had relit the lamp, and the former deputy and his instrument appeared, he turned towards the gendarmes and said in a mocking voice:

“Do these gentlemen belong to the police?”

The nobleman received the phrase right in the face like a cut from a whip. He was conscious of the unworthy part he was playing, and the silent anger that had been raging within him burst out.

“What are you waiting for?” he cried. “Gag the villain, pinion him. Ah! rascal, so I’ve found you, and this time you’ll not escape me!”

He was foaming, he asked for the handcuffs to put them himself on the prisoner. The latter looked at him with withering contempt. The gendarmes had given him the warrant that had been issued against him and he was reading it slowly, seeking an excuse for delay. In the meanwhile, Mathéus had disappeared. He had lit a wax taper he had on him and had slipped into the staircase. He was going to execute the orders of M. de Cazalis who had promised him a good reward if he succeeded in stealing little Joseph amidst the confusion of Philippe’s arrest.

Mathéus was a prudent man who did nothing lightly. For two days he had been studying the habits at the gardener’s house: he knew that the latter and his wife must be at Marseille, and he calculated in his mind that Philippe, hearing the gendarmes, had without doubt hidden his son in a room above. He expected to find the child alone and to be able to take him without difficulty.

He inspected the rooms on the first floor and found nothing. He burst open a door that was locked, searched in every corner and acquired the certitude that Joseph was not there.

Then, he decided he would go up to the loft.

The door only closed with a latch. Mathéus opened it and advanced a few steps on the straw which went up in a heap to the tiles; he held the taper high, looked from a distance in all the corners, not daring to advance for fear of setting fire to the place. He could find nothing. There was a quantity of things in the place impossible to describe in detail: old caved-in barrels, agricultural implements of no further utility, refuse without a name, encumbering the flooring, and throwing great dark shadows here and there.

Mathéus thought that Philippe could not have hidden his son among all this rubbish covered with dust and cobwebs, and did not pursue his search further, but returned to the first floor, where he made another minute inspection. He opened the articles of furniture, pulled up the curtains, looked everywhere. There was no child. Then he sat down and began to think. The rascal was in the habit of reasoning on all occasions, and of always acting in accordance with the strict laws of logic.

His reasoning was short and his conclusion unanswerable. He had heard the child cry, therefore he must be in the house; if he was not to be found on the first floor, he must naturally be in the loft. He had no doubt made an imperfect search.

He returned to the loft.

As soon as he entered, he placed his taper on an old watering-pot so as not to set fire to anything. He had thought for a moment of lighting the straw at the risk of burning the place down. The child was there for sure, and he had a vague idea that M. de Cazalis would be delighted at the poor little creature’s death. He had only to let the taper fall and Blanche’s heir would be roasted. But he was afraid of displaying too much zeal, of going beyond his instructions. His master had asked for the child alive and he couldn’t decently take it to him dead.

He began to search in the straw, to rummage among the old barrels. He proceeded slowly, making sure no corner escaped him, expecting at every moment to put his hand on a warm body.

The taper placed on the watering-pot, cast a yellow, vacillating light over the loft and afforded him very poor assistance in his search. When he had reached the end of the loft, he suddenly stopped, hearing the sound of restrained breathing. He smiled triumphantly. The noise came from a sort of buttress formed by trusses of hay piled up at some distance from the wall.

Mathéus stretched forward his head and hands, but when he had cast a glance into the hiding-place, he brought his hands down beside him in surprise. Fine had suddenly risen up before him, holding little Joseph against her bosom. The child was fast asleep and smiling in his slumber.

For nearly a quarter of an hour the young girl had been listening to the smothered tread of Mathéus, and during that time, had been a prey to most terrible anxiety. She almost betrayed herself when he appeared in the loft the first time. Then, when he went down, she breathed, thinking herself saved. And there he was back again, and had discovered her! She was lost, he was about to tear Joseph from her arms.

Erect, all of a tremor, determined she would sooner be assassinated than part with the child, she stared him in the face.

Mathéus was at first stupefied. He did not expect to find this young woman, whom he did not know and who appeared to be the child’s mother. Then, the wretch gave a smile of ill-omen. After all, he preferred to have to deal with this young woman than with Philippe. With a push he would tumble her over on the hay and easily take the child from her. Fine no doubt read his thoughts in his eyes, for she put her back against the wall and stiffened her legs ready for the struggle.

They did not exchange a word. The taper was dimly burning. He stretched out his hand, she closed her eyes, thinking herself already dead, when a sound, increasing as it proceeded, rose from the room where Philippe was still with the gendarmes. A well-beloved voice which the young woman recognised, was crying: “Pardon! Pardon!” amid outbursts of joy and triumph.

Fine felt her courage return.

“Do you hear?” she asked Mathéus. “Heaven has come to our assistance. It’s for you, rascal, that the gendarmes have brought the handcuffs.”

Mathéus in alarm, forgot Fine and the child, thinking only of his safety. He ran to the door of the loft and listened. Then he began thinking where he could fly to in case things took an unfavourable turn.

Down below, Philippe, after reading the warrant for his arrest, had to give himself up to the gendarmes. He succeeded, however, in delaying his departure under pretence that he could not quit the gardener’s house, without leaving him a few words of explanation. The truth was that he had seen Mathéus disappear by the staircase and was trembling for Fine and his child. He counted no longer on Marius, he simply wanted to await the gardener’s return so as not to leave the house at the mercy of M. de Cazalis.

The gendarmes allowed him to write a few lines and then told him he must set out. He gazed about him in despair and only saw the ex-deputy who was sneering.

“Well!” exclaimed the latter, “so you’re muzzled! You won’t carry off any more heiresses, you won’t cause any more scandal in families. Ah! it’ll be a curious sight to see the gallant Philippe Cayol fastened to the pillory!”

Philippe did not answer — out of disdain and so as not to be tempted to smack the man in the face. Since he had been there, he feigned to ignore his presence. Whilst M. de Cazalis insulted him, a gendarme put on the handcuffs.

“Off we go!” he said.

And Philippe was obliged to advance towards the door. He felt dreadful agony at the throat and almost burst out sobbing. Just at that moment, as the door was open, a joyful shout resounded outside, and a man walked in repeating: “Pardon! Pardon!”

It was Marius. Not having been able to get a fly, he had run all the way from Marseille. He drew a paper from beneath his dusty clothes and presented it to the gendarmes. This paper announced the pardon which the King had granted to Philippe.

The document had been promised to the condemned man’s brother for more than a month, and as chance would have it, it arrived at the very moment when M. de Cazalis was exerting his last vestiges of influence to prevail on the authorities to act. If Marius had not proceeded at once to Saint Barnabé with Fine, it was because he wanted to see once more whether the pardon had not come to hand.

The gendarmes read the all-powerful letter and bowed before it. Their errand was over: it only remained for them to withdraw. M. de Cazalis, with haggard features, terrified at this unforeseen issue, watched them leave with anger, as if they had been working for the liberty of his enemy. He was thinking in the folly of his despair, whether there was not some means of compelling them to take Philippe off to prison in spite of all. Marius had embraced his brother on entering, Saying to him:

“You are free. Heaven be praised! I’ve come in time!”

And Philippe had remained for a moment motionless, choking, not daring to understand. Then he suddenly darted upstairs. He had just thought of the man who had gone up there to rob him of his son.

Mathéus heard the sound of his footsteps. In terror, understanding that he was threatened with danger, he looked rapidly about him for something to assist him in flight. Hanging from a pulley before the window of the loft, which stood wide open, was a piece of cord. He grasped it at the risk of falling and slid down, almost falling on the head of M. de Cazalis, who was leaving with an oath on his lips, and rage in his heart.

When the ex-deputy saw Mathéus without the child, he almost struck him. His expedition had entirely failed, he had not secured either father or son.

Fine, rescued from the brutality of Mathéus, hastened downstairs with Philippe to the room below. And there the two brothers and young woman, mad with joy, smothered little Joseph with kisses.

“Now, we are strong!” exclaimed Marius. “We are no longer at the disadvantage of having a criminal sentence hanging over our heads, and can work openly for the happiness of this child.”