believed. I was quite happy now, thinking that man was in the
hands of the police.
Two hours later I returned to the office of the police
functionary, who was
waiting for me.
"Well, Monsieur," said he, on perceiving me, "we have not been
able to find your man. My agents cannot put their hands on him."
Ah! I felt my heart sinking.
"But you have at least found his house?" I asked.
"Yes, certainly; and what is more, it is now being watched and
guarded until his return. As for him, he has disappeared."
"Disappeared?"
"Yes, disappeared. He
ordinarily passes his evenings at the house
of a
female neighbor, who is also a furniture
broker, a queer
sort of sorceress, the widow Bidoin. She has not seen him this
evening and cannot give any information in regard to him. We must
wait until to-morrow."
I went away. Ah! how
sinister the streets of Rouen seemed to me,
now troubled and haunted!
I slept so badly that I had a fit of
nightmare every time I went
off to sleep.
As I did not wish to appear too
restless or eager, I waited till
ten o'clock the next day before reporting myself to the police.
The merchant had not reappeared. His shop remained closed.
The commissary said to me:
"I have taken all the necessary steps. The court has been made
acquainted with the affair. We shall go together to that shop and
have it opened, and you shall point out to me all that belongs to
you."
We drove there in a cab. Police agents were stationed round the
building; there was a locksmith, too, and the door of the shop
was soon opened.
On entering, I could not discover my wardrobes, my chairs, my
tables; I saw nothing, nothing of that which had furnished my
house, no, nothing, although on the
previous evening, I could not
take a step without encountering something that belonged to me.
The chief commissary, much astonished, regarded me at first with
suspicion.
"My God, Monsieur," said I to him, "the
disappearance of these
articles of furniture coincides
strangely with that of the
merchant."
He laughed.
"That is true. You did wrong in buying and paying for the
articles which were your own property,
yesterday. It was that
which gave him the cue."
"What seems to me incomprehensible," I replied, "is that all the
places that were occupied by my furniture are now filled by other
furniture."
"Oh!" responded the commissary, "he has had all night, and has no
doubt been assisted by accomplices. This house must communicate
with its neighbors. But have no fear, Monsieur; I will have the
affair
promptly and
thoroughly investigated. The brigand shall
not escape us for long,
seeing that we are in
charge of the den."
* * * * * * *
Ah! My heart, my heart, my poor heart, how it beats!
I remained a
fortnight at Rouen. The man did not return. Heavens!
good heavens! That man, what was it that could have frightened
and surprised him!
But, on the sixteenth day, early in the morning, I received from
my
gardener, now the
keeper of my empty and pillaged house, the
following strange letter:
"MONSIEUR:
"I have the honor to inform Monsieur that something happened, the
evening before last, which nobody can understand, and the police
no more than the rest of us. The whole of the furniture has been
returned, not one piece is missing--everything is in its place,
up to the very smallest article. The house is now the same in
every respect as it was before the
robbery took place. It is
enough to make one lose one's head. The thing took place during
the night Friday--Saturday. The roads are dug up as though the
whole fence had been dragged from its place up to the door. The
same thing was observed the day after the
disappearance of the
furniture.
"We are
anxiously expecting Monsieur, whose very
humble and
obedient servant, I am,
PHILLIPE RAUDIN."
"Ah! no, no, ah! never, never, ah! no. I shall never return
there!"
I took the letter to the commissary of police.
"It is a very clever restitution," said he. "Let us bury the
hatchet. We shall nip the man one of these days."
* * * * * * *
But he has never been nipped. No. They have not nipped him, and I
am afraid of him now, as of some
ferocious animal that has been
let loose behind me.
Inexplicable! It is
inexplicable, this chimera of a moon-struck
skull! We shall never solve or
comprehend it. I shall not return
to my former
residence. What does it matter to me? I am afraid of
encountering that man again, and I shall not run the risk.
And even if he returns, if he takes possession of his shop, who
is to prove that my furniture was on his premises? There is only
my
testimony against him; and I feel that that is not above
suspicion.
Ah! no! This kind of
existence has become unendurable. I have not
been able to guard the secret of what I have seen. I could not
continue to live like the rest of the world, with the fear upon
me that those scenes might be re-enacted.
So I have come to
consult the doctor who directs this lunatic
asylum, and I have told him everything.
After questioning me for a long time, he said to me:
"Will you consent, Monsieur, to remain here for some time?"
"Most
willingly, Monsieur."
"You have some means?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"Will you have isolated apartments?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"Would you care to receive any friends?"
"No, Monsieur, no, nobody. The man from Rouen might take it into
his head to
pursue me here, to be revenged on me."
* * * * * * *
I have been alone, alone, all, all alone, for three months. I am
growing
tranquil by degrees. I have no longer any fears. If the
antiquary should become mad . . . and if he should be brought
into this asylum! Even prisons themselves are not places of
security.
THE DEVIL
The
peasant was
standing opposite the doctor, by the
bedside of
the dying old woman, and she,
calmly resigned and quite lucid,
looked at them and listened to their talking. She was going to
die, and she did not rebel at it, for her life was over--she was
ninety-two.
The July sun streamed in at the window and through the open door
and cast its hot flames on to the
uneven brown clay floor, which
had been stamped down by four generations of clodhoppers. The
smell of the fields came in also,
driven by the brisk wind, and
parched by the
noontide heat. The grasshoppers chirped themselves
hoarse, filling the air with their
shrill noise, like that of the
wooden crickets which are sold to children at fair time.
The doctor raised his voice and said: "Honore, you cannot leave
your mother in this state; she may die at any moment." And the
peasant, in great
distress, replied: "But I must get in my wheat,
for it has been lying on the ground a long time, and the weather
is just right for it; what do you say about it, mother?" And the
dying woman, still possessed by her Norman avariciousness,
replied YES with her eyes and her
forehead, and so urged her son
to get in his wheat, and to leave her to die alone. But the
doctor got angry, and stamping his foot he said: "You are no
better than a brute, do you hear, and I will not allow you to do
it. Do you understand? And if you must get in your wheat to-day,
go and fetch Rapet's wife and make her look after your mother. I
WILL have it. And if you do not obey me, I will let you die like
a dog, when you are ill in your turn; do you hear me?"
The
peasant, a tall, thin fellow with slow
movements, who was
tormented by indecision, by his fear of the doctor and his keen
love of saving, hesitated, calculated, and stammered out: "How
much does La Rapet
charge for attending sick people?"
"How should I know?" the doctor cried. "That depends upon how
long she is wanted for. Settle it with her, by Jove! But I want
her to be here within an hour, do you hear."
So the man made up his mind. "I will go for her," he replied;
"don't get angry, doctor." And the latter left,
calling out as he
went: "Take care, you know, for I do not joke when I am angry!"
And as soon as they were alone, the
peasant turned to his mother,
and said in a resigned voice: "I will go and fetch La Rapet, as
the man will have it. Don't go off while I am away."
And he went out in his turn.
La Rapet, who was an old washerwoman, watched the dead and the
dying of the
neighborhood, and then, as soon as she had sewn her
customers into that linen cloth from which they would
emerge no
more, she went and took up her irons to smooth the linen of the
living. Wrinkled like a last year's apple, spiteful, envious,
avaricious with a phenomenal
avarice, bent double, as if she had
been broken in half across the loins, by the
constantmovement of
the iron over the linen, one might have said that she had a kind
of
monstrous and
cynicalaffection for a death struggle. She
never spoke of anything but of the people she had seen die, of
the various kinds of deaths at which she had been present, and
she
related, with the greatest minuteness, details which were
always the same, just like a
sportsman talks of his shots.
When Honore Bontemps entered her
cottage, he found her preparing
the
starch for the collars of the village women, and he said:
"Good evening; I hope you are pretty well, Mother Rapet."
She turned her head round to look at him and said: "Fairly well,
fairly well, and you?"
"Oh I as for me, I am as well as I could wish, but my mother is
very sick."
"Your mother?"
"Yes, my mother!"
"What's the matter with her?"
"She is going to turn up her toes, that's what's the matter with
her!"
The old woman took her hands out of the water and asked with
sudden
sympathy: "Is she as bad as all that?"
"The doctor says she will not last till morning."
"Then she certainly is very bad!" Honore hesitated, for he wanted
to make a few
preliminary remarks before coming to his proposal,
but as he could hit upon nothing, he made up his mind suddenly.
"How much are you going to ask to stop with her till the end? You
know that I am not rich, and I cannot even afford to keep a
servant-girl. It is just that which has brought my poor mother to
this state, too much work and fatigue! She used to work for ten,
in spite of her ninety-two years. You don't find any made of that
stuff nowadays!"
La Rapet answered
gravely: "There are two prices. Forty sous by
day and three francs by night for the rich, and twenty sous by
day, and forty by night for the others. You shall pay me the
twenty and forty." But the
peasant reflected, for he knew his
mother well. He knew how tenacious of life, how
vigorous and
unyielding she was. He knew, too, that she might last another
week, in spite of the doctor's opinion, and so he said
resolutely: "No, I would rather you would fix a price until the
end. I will take my chance, one way or the other. The doctor says