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 /// Uiiifonii Stvle. 
 
 > Alexandre Dl'mas's The Count ok Monte-Cristo 
 t Eugene Sue's The Wandering Jew. . 
 Victor Hugo's Les Misérables, . 
 I, " " Toilers ok the Sea. 
 
 Nôtre-Dame, . . . 
 " '• The Man Who Laughs 
 
 t^ " " Ninety-Three. . . 
 
 Other works in preparation. 
 
 'h Vols. 
 ^ Vols. 
 Î Vols. 
 2 Vols. 
 2 Vols. 
 2 Vols. 
 2 Vols. 
 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, 
 
 LONDON AND NEW-YORK.
 
 THE 
 
 WANDERING JEW 
 
 BY 
 
 EUGENE SUE 
 
 IVITH ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-TIVO ILLUSTRATIONS FROM DESIGNS 
 
 BY A. FERDINANDUS 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 Vol. 1 
 
 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS 
 LONDON AND NEIV-YORK 
 
 1889
 
 
 Copyright, i888, 
 By Joseph L. Bl\.mirr.
 
 D.IALMA.
 
 TABLE OF CONTEÏTTS 
 
 VOLUME I 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 The Land's End op Two Worlds 
 
 PART I — "WHITE FALCON" TAVERN 
 
 Chap. I. Morok 1 
 
 IL The Tra\t:ler 8 
 
 III. The Arrival 18 
 
 IV. Morok and Dagobert 24 
 
 V. Rose and Blanche 3G 
 
 VI. The Secret 44 
 
 VII. The Traveler 51 
 
 VIII. Extracts from General Simon's Dlary 61 
 
 IX. The Cages 71 
 
 X. The Surprise 80 
 
 XL "Jovial" and "Death" 86 
 
 XII. The Burgojiaster 93 
 
 XIII. The Judgment 100 
 
 XIV. The Decision 107 
 
 PART II — THE RUE DU MILIEU DES URSINS 
 
 Chap. I. The Dispatches 117 
 
 II. The Orders 128 
 
 III. Epilogue : 140
 
 vi TABLE OF VOMEXTH. 
 
 PAKT ITT — TTIK STTJAXGLERS 
 
 Chap. I. Titk A.toupa 147 
 
 II. The Tattooixu 153 
 
 III. The SxMuggler 158 
 
 IV. xM. JosHiA Van Dael ]r)4 
 
 V. The Rrixs of Tchaxdi 171 
 
 VI. The Ambuscade 179 
 
 PART IV — THE CHATEAU DE CARDOVILLE 
 
 Chap. I. M. Kodix 189 
 
 II. The Tempest 205 
 
 III. The Shipwrecked 211 
 
 rV. The Departure for Paris 221 
 
 PART V — THE RUE BRISE-MICHE 
 
 Chap. I. Daoobert's Wife 231 
 
 II. The Sister op the Bacchanal Queen 238 
 
 III. Aoricola Baudoin 247 
 
 IV. The Return 259 
 
 v. Agricola and Mother Bunch 268 
 
 YI. The Awakening 270 
 
 PART VI — THE HOTEL SAINT-DIZIER 
 
 Chap. I. The Pavilion 293 
 
 II. Adrienne at her Toilet 301 
 
 III. The INTER\^EW 315 
 
 IV. A Female Jesuit 327 
 
 V. The Plot 336 
 
 VI. Adrienne's Enejhes 346 
 
 VII. The Skirmish 354 
 
 VIII. The Revolt 300 
 
 IX. Treachery 374 
 
 X. The Snare 377 
 
 PART VII — A JESUIT OF THE SHORT ROBE 
 
 Chai\ I. A False Friend 387 
 
 II. The Minister's Cabinet 396 
 
 III. The Visit 408
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS. \\\. 
 
 PART VIII — THE CONFESSOR 
 
 Chap. I. Presextdiexts 421 
 
 II. The Letter 429 
 
 III. The Coxfessioxal 439 
 
 lY. "Moxsieur"' axd ''Spoilsport" 453 
 
 V. Appearaxces 4.59 
 
 VI. The Convent 4G4 
 
 Wl. The Ixplcexce of a Confessor 475 
 
 VIII. The Examixatiox 482
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTEATIOXS 
 
 VOLUME I 
 
 Title i 
 
 Djalma iii 
 
 Rose and Blanche xv 
 
 Dagobert and the Sisters 9 
 
 gouath and morok 17 
 
 Dagobert Bivouacking 25 
 
 MoROK AND Dagobert .33 
 
 General Sqion 41 
 
 Rose and the Story 49 
 
 General Simon and Djalma 57 
 
 MoROK AND the Cages 65 
 
 IIadame Sdion's Death 73 
 
 The Story op the Exile 81 
 
 The Sisters before the Burgomaster 89 
 
 The Escape 97 
 
 Rodin 115 
 
 M. d'Aigrigny 121 
 
 D'Aigrigny's Departure 129 
 
 The Ne\'er-exding Journey 137 
 
 Djaljl\ and the Strangler 145 
 
 The Smuggler 155 
 
 The Ruins of Tchandi 169 
 
 Djalma's Arkest 177 
 
 Madajie de la Sainte-Colombe 185 
 
 The Tempest 193 
 
 Gabriel Renxepont, Missionary and Martyr 201 
 
 The Sjr'ggler's Death 209 
 
 Saved from the Wreck 217 
 
 Françoise Baudoin 225 
 
 ix
 
 X LItST OF ILLitiTRArioys. 
 
 AoRicoLA Baudoin 2:3:3 
 
 Mother Bunch 241 
 
 Françoise and the Sisters 249 
 
 kodin and the confessor 257 
 
 Gabriel, the Missionary 2G5 
 
 Madame (iRH'ois 281 
 
 Adrienne de Cakdoville 291 
 
 The Conspirators 295 
 
 Agbicola Shadowed 30:3 
 
 The ABBÉ-MARQns d'Aigrign'y 311 
 
 One op the Order 317 
 
 Dr. Baleinier 325 
 
 Baron Tripeaud 333 
 
 "I speak of you — not to you" 341 
 
 Madajie de Saint-Dizier Aroused 349 
 
 Baudoin Incarcerated 357 
 
 "Mademoiselle, I forbid you leaving the house" 365 
 
 Adrienne Entrapped 371 
 
 An Injlate of the Asyi^um 381 
 
 Adrienne and Dr. Baleinier 389 
 
 Rodin Behind the Wicket 397 
 
 The Police-Station 405 
 
 Offices for the Dead 413 
 
 The Confessional 423 
 
 The Arrest of Mother Bunch 431 
 
 Rose and Blanche at the Convtint 441 
 
 "Spoilsport" in the W.vy 449 
 
 Dagobert and his Wife 457
 
 THE WA^DEEIXG JEW 
 
 VOLUME I 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 THE land's end OF TWO WORLDS 
 
 The Arctic Ocean encircles with a belt of eternal ice the desert eon- 
 fines of Siberia and North Amei-ica — the uttermost limits of the Old 
 and New worlds, separated by the narrow channel known as Behring 
 Strait. 
 
 The last days of September have arrived. 
 
 The equinox has brought with it darkness and northern storms, and 
 night will quickly close the short and dismal polar day. 
 
 The sky, of a dull and leaden blue, is fiïintly lighted by a sim with- 
 out warmth, whose white disk, scarcely seen above the horizon, pales 
 before the dazzling brilliancy of the snow that covers, as far as the eyes 
 can reach, the boimdless steppes. 
 
 To the north, this desert is bounded by a ragged coast, bristling 
 wdth huge black rocks. 
 
 At the base of this titanic mass lies enchained the petrified ocean, 
 whose spellbound waves appear fixed as vast ranges of ice mountains, 
 their blue peaks fading away in the far-off snowy mist. 
 
 Between the twin-peaks of East Cape, the termination of Siberia, 
 the sullen sea is seen to tli'ivo tall icebergs across a streak of dead 
 green. 
 
 There lies Behring Strait.
 
 xii Til !■: ] \ A X DEUI X G JE W. 
 
 Opposite and toweriiiji: over the t'hainiol rise tli(> fjvaiiito masses of 
 Cape Prince of Wales, the headland of North America. 
 
 These lonely latitutles do not belong to the habitable world; for the 
 jnerciiif^ cold sliivei's the stones, splits the trees, and causes the earth to 
 bm"st asunder, throwing forth showers of icy spangles. 
 
 No living being seems capable of enduring this solitude of frost and 
 tempest, of famine and death. 
 
 And yet, sti-ange to say, foot-j)rints may be traced on tlio snow, 
 covering these headlands on either side of Behring Strait. 
 
 On the American shore the foot-prints are small and light, thus 
 betraying the passage of a woman. 
 
 She has beeu hastening up the rocky peak, whence the steppes of 
 Siberia are visible. 
 
 On the latter ground foot-prints larger and deeper betoken the pass- 
 ing of a man. 
 
 He also was on his way to the Strait. 
 
 It would seem that this man and woman had amved here from 
 opposite directions, in hope of catching a glimpse of one another across 
 the arm of the sea dividing the two worlds — the Old and the New. 
 
 More strange still, the man and the woman have crossed the soli- 
 tudes dui'ing a terrific storm ! 
 
 Black pines, the growth of centuries, pointing theii' Ix'nt heads in 
 different parts of the solitude like crosses in a churchyard, have been 
 uprooted, rent, and hurled aside by the blasts ! 
 
 Yet the two travelers face this furious tempest, which has i)lucked 
 up trees and pounded the frozen masses into splinters with the roar of 
 thunder. 
 
 They face it without for one single instant deviating f i-om the direct 
 line hitherto followed by them; you can infer that from the track marked 
 by their firm, equal, straight course. 
 
 Who then are these two beings who advance thus calmly amidst the 
 storms and conA'ulsions of nature ? 
 
 Is it by chance or design or destiny that the seven nails in the sole 
 of the man's shoe form a cross — thus :
 
 PROLOGUE. xiii 
 
 Everywhere he leaves this impress behind him. 
 
 On the smooth and polished snow, these foot-marks seem imprinted 
 by a foot of brass on a marljle floor. 
 
 Night without twilight has soon succeeded day — a night of forebod- 
 ing gloom. 
 
 The brilliant reflection of the snow renders the white steppes still 
 visible beneath the azure darkness of the sky, and the pale stars glim- 
 mer on the obsciu'e and frozen dome. 
 
 Solemn silence reigns. 
 
 But toward the Htrait a faint light appears. 
 
 At first a gentle, bluish light such as precedes moourise, it increases 
 in brightness and assumes a rosy hue. 
 
 Darkness thickens in every other direction ; the white wilds of the 
 desert are now scarcely \asible under the black vault of the firmament. 
 
 Strange and confused noises are heard amidst this obscurity. 
 
 They sound like the flight of large night-birds — now flaj^ping — now 
 heavily skimming over the steppes — now descending. 
 
 But no cry is heard. 
 
 This silent terror heralds the approach of one of those imposing 
 phenomena that awe alike the most ferocious and the most harmless of 
 animated beings. An Aurora Borealis, magnificent sight ! common in 
 the polar regions, suddenlj' beams forth. 
 
 A half circle of dazzling whiteness becomes \'isible in the horizon. 
 Immense colmnns of light stream forth from this dazzhng center, ris- 
 ing to a gi-eat height, ilhiminating earth, sea, and sky. Then a brilliant 
 reflection, like the blaze of a conflagration, steals over the snow of the 
 desert, purples the summits of the mountains of ice, and imparts a dark- 
 red hue to the l)lack rocks of both continents. 
 
 After attaining this magnificent biilliaucy, the Northern Lights 
 faded away gradually, and their vivid glow was lost in a luminous fog. 
 
 Just then, by a wondrous mirage, an effect very common in high 
 latitudes, the American coast, tliough separated from Silieria by a broad 
 arm of the sea, loomed so close that a biidge might seemingly be thrown 
 from one world to the other. 
 
 Then in the transparent azure haze overspreading both forelands 
 appeared human forms. 
 
 On the Siberian Cape a man, on his knees, stretched his arms toward 
 America with an expression of inconceivable despair. 
 
 On the American promontory a young and handsome woman replied 
 to the man's despairing gesture by pointing to heaven.
 
 KUSE AND BL^VNCHE.
 
 THE WAîiDERING JEW 
 
 PART I 
 
 WHITE FALCOX" TATEEX 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 MOROK 
 
 |HE month of October, 1831, draws to its close. 
 
 Though it is still day, a brass lamp, with fom" 
 burners, illumines the cracked waUs of a large loft, 
 whose solitary window is closed against outer light. 
 A ladder, with its top rungs coming up through an 
 open tra]), leads to it. 
 
 Here and there at random on the floor lie mm 
 chains, spiked collars, saw-toothed suatfles, muzzles 
 bristling with nails, and long iron rods set in wooden 
 handles. In one corner stands a portable funiace, 
 such as tinkers use to smelt their solder; charcoal and dry chiles fill it, 
 so that a spark would suffice to kindle this fiu'uace in a minute. 
 
 Not far from this collection of ugly instriunents, jiuttiug oue in 
 mind of a torturer's an-ay of tools, there are some articles of defense 
 and offense of a bygone age. A coat of maU, with links so flesilile, 
 close, and hght that it resembles steel tissue, hangs from a liox, beside
 
 2 77//; ^\^A^^J}J■:JïIKG JIJ^y. 
 
 iron tlujrli and arm pieces, in good oonditioii, even to l)oiii<; projici-ly 
 litteil with straps. A mace, and two long threc-eorncr-lieaded i)ikes, 
 ■with asli liandU>.s, strong and ligiit at the same time, spotted with lately 
 shed lilood, complete the anuoi-y, niodrini/.rd smiicwliiit liy the pres- 
 ence of two Tyvolcse ritlcs, loaded and pi'iiiic<l. 
 
 Along with tins arsenal of niiii'derous weapons and out-of-date 
 instruments is strangely mingled a collection of very different objects, 
 being small glass-lidded l)oxes, full of rosaries, cliaplets, menials, AdNi's 
 DEI, holy-water bottles, fi'amed pictures of saints, etc., not to foi-get a 
 goodly niimlier of those c]iap-])ooks, struck off in J"'ril)ni'',^ on coarse 
 bluish paper, in whii-li you can jicar about miracles of our own time, or 
 "Jesus Christ's Letter to a Ti'ue Believe]-," contaiuini;- awful jiredictions, 
 as for the years IKJl and '32, al)out im])ions revolutionary Fraiici'. 
 
 One of those canvas daubs with wliicli strolling showmen adorn 
 their booths hangs from a rafter, no doubt to prevent its being sjioilt 
 by too long rolling up. It l)ears th(> following legen<l : 
 
 "The Tkce and Most Memouajsle Conversion or IdNAiirs .Mouok, 
 
 KNOWN AS THE PkOPHET, HAPPENING IN FuiBURG, 1S28tH YEAK of (JltAt'E." 
 
 This picture, of a size larger than natural, of gaudy color, and in 
 bad taste, is divided into thi'ee parts, each presenting an important 
 phase in the life of the convert, surnanied "the Proiyliet." In the first 
 behold a long-bearded man, the hair almost white, with uncouth face, 
 and clad in reindeer skin, like the Siberian savage. His black-fox-skin 
 cai"» is topped witli a raven's head; his features express terror. Bent 
 forward in his sleilge, which lialf a dozen huge tawny dogs draw over 
 the snow, he is ileeing from the pursuit of a pack of foxes, wolves, and 
 big bears, whose gaping jaws and foimidalile teeth seem (piite cajjable 
 of devouring man, sledge, and dogs, a hundred times over. Beiu'ath 
 this section read : 
 " In 1810, MoROK, the Idolater, fled from Wild Beasts." 
 
 In the second pictm'e, ]\lorok decently clad in a catecliumen's wiiite 
 gown kneels, with clasped hands, to a niau wlio wears white hands and 
 a flowing black rob(>. In a coi-nei- a tall angel of rejinlsive asjiect holds 
 a trumpet in one hand, and flourishes a flaming sword with the other, 
 while tlie words which follow flow out of his mouth, in red letters on a 
 black ground : 
 
 " MoROK, the Idolater, fled from AVild Beasts ; but Wn.D Beasts 
 ■WILL flee from Ignatius Morok, converted and baptized in Fribvrg." 
 
 Then in the last compartment the new convert proudly, boastfully, 
 and triumphantly parades himself in a flo\ving robe of blue ; head up,
 
 THE WAMfERIXa JEW. 3 
 
 left arm akimbo, right hand outstretched, he seems to terrify a multi- 
 tude of lions, tigers, hyeuas, aud bears, who, with sheathed claws and 
 masked teeth, crouch at his feet, awestricken aud submissive. 
 Under this is the concluding moral : 
 
 "Ignatius Morok beintg converted. Wild Beasts crouch before 
 Him." 
 
 Not far from this canvas are several parcels of half-penny books, 
 likewise from the Friburg press, which relate by what an astounding 
 miracle Morok, the Idolater, acquired a supernatural power, almost 
 (li\dne, the moment he was converted — a power which the wildest 
 animal could not resist, and which was testified to every day l)y the 
 lion-tamer's performances, "given less to display his courage than to 
 glorify the Lord." 
 
 Through the trap-door whidi opens into tlie loft reek uj) puffs of a 
 rank, acrid, penetrating odor. From time to time are heard sonorous 
 growls and deep breathings, followed by a dull sound, as of gi-eat bodies 
 stretching themselves heavily along the floor. 
 
 A man is alone in this loft. It is Morok, the tamer of wild beasts, 
 surnamed the Proiihet. 
 
 He is forty years t)l(l, of middle height, witli lank linil)s and an 
 exceedingly spare frame ; he is wrapped in a long, blood-red i)elisse, 
 lined with black fur; his complexion, fair by nature, is bronzed by the 
 wandering life he has led from childhood ; his hair, of that dead yellow 
 peculiar to certain races of the Polar countiies, falls straight aud stiff 
 down his shouldei's; and his thin, sharp, hooked nose and prominent 
 cheek-l:)ones surmount a long Iteard, bleached almost to wliitcness. A 
 peculiarity marking the physiognomy of this man is the wide-open eye, 
 with its tawny pupil ever encircled by a rim of white. Tliis fixed, 
 extraordinary look exercises a real fascination over animals — which, 
 however, does not prevent the Prophet from also employing, to tame 
 them, the terrible arsenal around him. 
 
 Seated at a table, he has just opened the false bottom of a small box, 
 filled with chaplets and other toys foi- the use of the devout. Beneath 
 this false bottom, secured by a secret lock, are sevei-al sealed envelopes, 
 with no other address than a number and a letter of the ali)habet. The 
 Prophet takes one of these jiackets, conceals it in the pocket of his 
 l)elisse, and, closing the secret fastening of the false bottom, replaces 
 the box upon a shelf. 
 
 This scene occurs about four o'clock in the afternoon, in the "White 
 Falcon, the only hostelry in th(> little village of Mockern, situated near 
 Leipsic, as you come from the north toward France.
 
 4 IIII-: \\'.\ y iu:i: I \a .11: \v. 
 
 After a few momouts, tlio lot't is shaken by a hoarse loariiif; fr<im 
 below. 
 
 '■'■Jiidds! be quiet!" exchiiius the Prophet, in a inciiaciiig tone, as ho 
 turns liis head toward the trap-door. 
 
 Another deep growl is heard, fonnidalile as distant thunder. 
 
 "Lie down, Cdiii !" cries Morok, starting from his seat. 
 A third roar, of inexpressible ferocity, bursts suddenly on tlie car. 
 
 " Ik'dtli ! be quiet !" cries the Prophet, rushing toward thi' trap-door, 
 and addressing a tliird in\isible animal wliich Ijcars this gliastly name. 
 Notwithstanding the habitual tiuthoiity of his voice — notwilli- 
 staiiding his repeated threats — the brute-tamer caimot obtain silence; 
 on the conti-ary, the barking of several dogs is soon added to the roar- 
 ing of the wild beasts. Morok seizes a pike and approaches the ladder; 
 he is about to descend, wlieii he sees some one issuing from the 
 ai^ertiire. 
 
 The new-conici- has a bi'own, sunburnt face; he wears a gray hat, 
 bell-crowned and liroad-brimmed, with a short jacket, and wide trousers 
 of green dotli; I lis dusty leathern gaiters show that he has walked some 
 distance; a game-l)ag is fastened by straps to his back. 
 
 "The de\'il take the brutes!" cried he, as he set foot on the Hoor; 
 "one would think they'd forgotten me in three days. Jiidas thrust liis 
 paw through the liars of his cage, and Death dan<'('d like a fmy. They 
 don't know nie any more, it seems." 
 
 This was said in (ferman. Morok answeretl in the same language, 
 but with a slightly foreign accent. 
 
 " Good or bad news, Karl ?" he iiKiuirrd, with some uneasiness. 
 
 " (lood news." 
 
 " You've met them ?" 
 
 " Yesterday; two leagues from Wittenberg." 
 
 "Heaven be praised!" cried Morok, clasping his hands witli intense 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " Oh, of course ; 'tis the direct road from Russia to France ; 'twas a 
 thousand to one that we should tind tliem somewhere between Witten- 
 berg and Leipsic." 
 
 " And the description ? " 
 
 " Very close : two young girls in mourning ; horse, white ; the old man 
 has long mustache, blue forage-caj), gray top-coat, and a Siberian dog 
 at his hi.'els." 
 
 " And where did you leave them ? " 
 
 " A league hence. They will be here within the hour." 
 
 " And in this inn — since it is the only one in the village," said Morok, 
 with a pensive air.
 
 THE WAXDEBIXG JEW. 5 
 
 " And night di'awing on," added Karl. 
 
 " Did you get the old man to talk Î " 
 
 " Him ! — you don't think so ? " 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Go, and try yourself." 
 
 " And for -vx-hat reason ? " 
 
 " Impossible." 
 
 " Impohisililt' — "«"hy ?" 
 
 " You shall know all about it. Yesterday, as if I had fallen in 
 with them by chance, I followed them to the place where they stopped 
 for the night. I spoke in German to the tall old man, accosting him, 
 as is usual with wa\i:arers, ' (rofjd-dai/^ and n plcasant jnitnicji, roiiinide .'' 
 But for an answer he looked askant at me, and pointed with the end 
 of his stick to the other side of the road." 
 
 " He is a Frenchman, and perhaps does not imderstand Gennan." 
 
 " He speaks it, at least, as well as you ; for at the inn I heard him ask 
 the host for whatever he and the young girls wanted." 
 
 " And did you. not again attempt to engage him in conversation ? " 
 
 " Once only ; 1)ut I met with such a rude reception that, for fear of 
 making mischief, I did not try again. Besides, between ourselves, I can 
 tell you this man has a devilish ugly look ; believe me, in spite of his 
 gray mustache, he looks so vigorous and resolute, though with no more 
 flesh on him than a carcass, that I don't know whether he or my mate, 
 Giant GoUath, would have the best of it in a struggle. I know not your 
 plans ; only take care, master — take care ! " 
 
 " My black pantliei- of Java was also very vigorous and very vicioiis,'' 
 said Morok, with a grim, tlisdainful smile. 
 
 " What, Death ? Yes, in truth ; and she is vigorous and \-icious as 
 ever. Only to yoii she is almost mild." 
 
 "And thus I will Ijreak in this tall old man, notwith.standing his 
 strength and surhness." 
 
 " Humph ! humph ! be on your guai'd, master. You are clever ; you 
 are as bi'ave as any one; but, believe me, yt>u vnW nevei- make a lamb 
 out of the old wolf that will be here presently." 
 
 " Does not my lion, Cain, does not my tiger, Judas, crouch in terror 
 before me ? " 
 
 " Yes, I believe you there — because you have means " 
 
 " Because I have faith ; that is all — and it is aU," said Morok, imperi- 
 ously inteiTupting Karl, and accompanj-ing these words -nith such a 
 look that the other hung his head and was silent. 
 
 " Mliy should not he whom the Lord iipholds in his struggle with 
 wild l)easts be also upheld in his struggle with men, when those men
 
 6 /• // /; ir. 1 .V /> /; /.■ t \ a ./ /■; ir. 
 
 are perverse mid iinpiuus ?" atldctl tlic I'voplid, \vitli ;i tiiinii|)liiii)t, 
 inspired !iir. 
 
 Wlietlici- from liclid' in liis master's coiivirtinii or iVoiii iiialiilily to 
 eiigagt'iii a controversy with liini on so ddicati' a Miliject, Karl aiis\vci-cd 
 the Propliet, hinnlily: 
 
 "Yon are wisei' tliaii 1 am, master; what you do must be well done." 
 
 " Did you follow this old man and these two young girls all day Ion»;: f" 
 resumed the Prophet, after a moment's silence. 
 
 " Yes; Imt at a distance. As I know the country well, I sometimes 
 cut across a valley, sinnetimes over a hill, keeping my eye ujton the 
 road, where they were always to he seen. The last time 1 saw tliein, I 
 was hid l)ehind the water-mill 1iy the potteries. As they wei-e on the 
 highway for this i)lac(>, and night was drawing on, I (piickened my pace 
 to get hei-e before them, ami bo the bearer of what you call good news." 
 
 "Very good — yes — very good; and you sliall be rewardeil; for if 
 
 these people had escaped me " 
 
 The Prophet stai-ted, and did not conclude the sentence. The 
 expression of his face and tlie tones of his voice indicated the imjior- 
 tance of the intelligence which had just been l)rought him. 
 
 " In truth," re joined Karl, "it may l)e worth attending to; for that 
 Russian couriei-, all ])laster(id with lace, who came without slacking 
 bridle from St. Petersburg to Leipsic only to see you, rode so fast, 
 
 jterhaps, for the pui']iose " 
 
 Morok abrujttly interru])te(l Karl, ami said: 
 
 " ^^^lo told you tliat the ariival of the courier had anything to do 
 ■with these ti'avelers ;' You are mistaken; you should oidy know what 
 I choose to tell you." 
 
 " Well, master, forgive me, and let's say no uiore aliout it. So ! I will 
 get rid of my game-bag, and go lielj) (loliath to feed the brutes, foi- their 
 supper-time draws near, if it is not already past. Does our l)ig giant 
 grow lazy, master?" 
 
 " Goliath is gone out ; he must not know that you ai'e i-etuined ; above 
 all, the tall old man and the girls unist not see yon here — it would make 
 them suspect something." 
 
 " Where do you wi.sh me to go, then ? " 
 
 " Into the loft, at the end of the stable, and wait my orders; you may 
 this night have to set out for Leipsic." 
 
 "As you please; I have some provisions left in my pouch, and can 
 s II 1 1 in the loft whilst I rest myself." 
 
 "(n)." 
 
 " Master, remember what I told yon. Beware of that old fellow with 
 the gi-ay mustache; I think he's devilish tough ; I'm u]i to these things 
 — he's an ugly customer — be on youi' guard ! "
 
 THE WAM>ERIXG JEM'. 7 
 
 " Be quite easy ! I am always on my guard," said Morok. 
 
 " Then good luck to you, master ! " Aud Karl, having reached the 
 ladder, suddenly disappeared. 
 
 After making a friendly farewell gesture to his servant, the Pi-ophet 
 walked up and down for some time with an air of deep meditation ; 
 then, apjiroaching the double-bottomed box which contained the papers, 
 he took out a pretty long lettei-, and read it over and over with profound 
 attention. From time to time he rose and went to the closed window, 
 which looked upon the inner court of the inn, and appeared to listen 
 anxiously, for he waited witli impatience the an'ival of the three per- 
 sons whose approach had just been announced to him.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE TIîAVELEP. 
 
 IIILE tlio above scene was passing in the White Faleon at 
 ^loekevn, the three persons whose arrival Morok, the beast- 
 tamer, was so anxiously expecting, traveled on leisui'ely in 
 the niiilst of smiling meadows, bounded on one side by a 
 river, the ciuTent of which turned a mill, and on the other by the higli- 
 wa>- leading to the village, which was situated on an eminence at about 
 a league's distance. 
 
 The sky was beaiitifully serene ; the bultbling of tiie river, Ijcaten l»y 
 the mill-wheel and sparkling ^vitli foam, alone broke upon the silence of 
 an evening profoundly calm. Thick willows, bending over the river, 
 covered it with their green transparent shadow ; whilst, farther on, the 
 stream reflected so splendi<lly tlie lilue heavens and the glowing tints of 
 the west that but for the hills which rose between if and the sky the 
 gold and azure of the water would have mingled in one dazzling sheet 
 with the gold and azure of the finnament. The tall reeds on the 
 bank bent their black velvet heads beneath the light breath of the 
 breeze that rises at the close of day; for the sun was gi'adually 
 sinking behind a broad sti'eak of purjile clouds, fringed -with fire. The 
 tinkling bells of a flock of sheep sounded from afar in the clear and 
 sonorous air. 
 
 Along a path trodden in the grass of the meadow, two girls, almost 
 children, — for they had just completed their flfteenth j'ear, — were rid- 
 ing on a white horse of medium size, seated upon a large pillion, which 
 easily took them both in, for their figui'es were slight and delicate. 
 
 A man of tall stature, with a sunburnt face and long gi'ay mus- 
 tache, was leading the horse l>y the l)ridle, and ever and anon tui-ned 
 toward the girls, with an air of solicitude at once respectful and 
 l^aternal. He leaned upon a long stalï ; his stiU robust shoulders
 
 THE WAYDERIXG JEW. 
 
 carried a soldier's knapsack ; his dusty slices, and step that began to 
 drag a little, showed that he had walked a long way. 
 
 One of those dogs which the tribes of Northern Siberia harness to 
 
 their sledges — a sturdy animal, nearly of the size, form, and hairy coat 
 of the wolf — followed closely in the steps of the leader of this little 
 caravan, never quilt iiif/, to use the common phrase, the heels of his master.
 
 10 THE W A\ PKh'J Ml .li:\V. 
 
 Xotliiiij; couM he uioiv cluiriniiin- tliiiii tlic •croiii) toniicd liy tin- 
 jrii'ls. One 1r4(I witli liev left luuul the ttowiiijj; roiiis, and witli lier rif^lit 
 eneiiclcd tlie waist of her sleeping sister, whose head reposed on her 
 slionlder. Each ste}) of the horse gave a gi'aeeful swaying to thesi' 
 jiliant forms, and swung tin ir little feet, which rested on a wooden 
 ledge in lieu of a stirru]). 
 
 These twin sisters, by a sweet maternal ea])riee, had been called 
 Kose and Blanche; they were now ori>lians, as might be seen by tlieii- 
 sad mom'uing vestments, ah-eady much worn. Extremely alike in feat- 
 ure, and of the same size, it was necessary to Ik- in the constant habit of 
 seeing them to distinguish one from the other. The ))orti'ait of her 
 who slept not might serve then for l)otli of tliem; the only diffi-reiice at 
 the moment lioing that Eose was awake and dischai'ging for that day 
 the iluties of elder sister — duties thus divided between them according 
 to th<! fancy of tlieir guide, who, being an old soldiei- of the empire and 
 a martinet, had judged fit thus to alternate obedience and command 
 between the orphans. 
 
 (îreuze would have lieen inspired by the siglit of those sweet faces, 
 coifed in close caps of black velvet, from beneath which strayed a \n-o- 
 fusion of thick ringlets of a light chestnut color, floating down their 
 necks and shoulders, and setting, as in a frame, their round, fii-m, rosy, 
 satin-like cheeks. A carnation batheil in dew is of no richer softness 
 than theii" blooming lips; the wood-violet's tender blue would appear 
 dark besides the limpid azure of their large eyes, in wliicli are depicted 
 the sweetness of their characters and the innocence of their age; a jmre 
 and white forehead, small nose, dimpled cjiin, c()m])lete these gi-ace- 
 ful countenances, which present a delightful blending of candor and 
 gentleness. 
 
 You .should have seen them, ttjo, when, on tlie thi-eatening of I'ain or 
 storm, the old soldier carefully wrapped them both in a large pelisse of 
 reindeer fur, and pulled over their heads the ample hood of this imjiei- 
 vious garment; then nothing coulil be moiv lovely than those tVesh and 
 smiling littli' faces, sheltered beneath the dai'k-colored cowl. 
 
 But now theeveuing was fine and calm: the heavy cloak hung in 
 folds about the knees of the sisters, and the hood rested on the back of 
 the jiillion. 
 
 Rose, still encircling with her right ann the waist of her sleeping 
 sister, contemplated her with an expression of ineffable tenderness, 
 akin to maternal ; for Rose was the eldest for the day, and an elder 
 sister is almost a mother. 
 
 Not only did the orplians idolize each other, but, by a psychological 
 phenomenon, frecpient with twins, tliey wei'e almost always simultané-
 
 THE WANDERIXG JEW. 11 
 
 ou.sly affected ; the emotiou of oue was reflected instautly iu the couu- 
 tenance of the other ; the same cause would make both of them start or 
 bhish, so closely did their youug hearts Vjeat in unison ; all ingenuous 
 joys, all bitter griefs, were mutually felt, and shared iu a moment 
 between them. In their infancy, simultaneously attacked by a severe 
 illness, like two flowers on the same stem they had drooped, grown pale, 
 and langiiished together ; ])ut together also had they again found the 
 pure, fresh hues of health. Need it be said that those mysterious, 
 indissoluble links which imited the twins could not have been broken 
 without striking a mortal blow at the existence of the poor children ? 
 
 Thus the sweet birds called love-birds, only li\'ing in pairs, as if 
 endowed with a common hie, pine, despond, and die, when parted by a 
 barbarous hand. 
 
 The guide of the orphans, a man of about fifty, distinguished Ijy his 
 militaiy air and gait, preserved the immortal type of the warriors of the 
 republic and the empii-e — some heroic child of the people who became 
 in one campaign the first soldiei's in the world — to prove what the 
 people can do, have done, and will do, when the rulers of their choice 
 place iu them confidence, strength, and hope. 
 
 This soldier, guide of the sisters, and fonnerly a horse-gi-enadier of 
 the Imperial Cluard, had l)een nicknamed Dagobert. His grave, stern 
 countenance was strongly marked; his long, gray, and thick mustache 
 completely concealed his upper lip, and united with a large impenal 
 which almost covered his chin; his thin cheeks, brick-colored, and 
 taimed as parchment, were carefully shaven; thick eyebrows, still black, 
 overhung and shaded his light-blue eyes ; gold ear-rings reached down 
 to his white-edged military stock ; his top-coat, of coarse gi'ay cloth, 
 was confined at the waist V)y a leathern belt ; and a blue foraging-<'ap, 
 with a red tuft falling on his left shoulder, covered his bald head. Once 
 endowed with the strength of Hercules, and having still the heart of a 
 lion, — kind and patient, because he was courageous and sti'ong, — Dago- 
 bert, notwithstanding his rough exterior, evinced for his orphan charges 
 an exquisite solicitude, a watchful kindness, and a tenderness almost 
 motherly. Yes, motherly; for the heroism of affection dwells alike in 
 the mother's heart and the soldier's. Stoically calm, and repressing all 
 emotiou, the unchangeable coldness of Dagobert never failed him ; and, 
 though few were less given to drollery, he was now and then highly 
 comic by reason of the imperturbable gravity with which he did every- 
 thing. 
 
 From time to time, as they journeyed on, Dagobert would turn to 
 bestow a caress or friendly word on the good white horse upon which 
 the orphans were mounted. Its fm-rowed sides and long teeth betrayed
 
 12 Tin: \VAMn:uiX(i ,ii:\v. 
 
 a venevaV>lp age. Two deep scars, one on tlio Hank and tlie otlicrtin the 
 chest, proved that his hors(.' had l)c('u present in hot battles; nor was it 
 without au act of pride that he sometimes shook his old military bridle, 
 the brass stud of which was still adorned with an embossed ea<;lc. His 
 pace was rej;ular, careful, and steady; his coat sleek, and his bulk moil- 
 erate; the abundant foam which covered his bit bore witness to that 
 healtli wliicli hoi'ses acquire 1)y the constant but uot excessive labor 
 of a ioni; journey, performed by short stasyes. Althout^h he had been 
 more than six niontlis ou the road, the poor animal carrietl the orphans, 
 with a tolérai )ly hea\'y' portmauteau fastened to the saddle, as freely as 
 on the day they started. 
 
 If we have spokt>n of th(^ excessive len.<;-th of tlie horse's teeth — the 
 unquestionable evidence of ii:reat age — it is cliiedy because he often dis- 
 played them for the sole purpose of actint;- uj) 1o Jiis name (he was 
 called Jarial) by plajang a mischievous trick, of wliidi the dog was 
 the victim. 
 
 This latter, who, doubtless for tlie sake of contrast, was called Sjml- 
 sport (Rahat-joic), being always at his master's heels, found himself 
 within the reach of Jorial, who from time to tim(> nipped liim delicately 
 by the nape of the neck, lifted him from the ground, and carried liim 
 thus for a momeut. The dog, i)rotected by his thick coat, and no donlit 
 long accustomed to the ])ractical jokes of his comi)anion, sulmiitted to 
 all this with stoical complacency, save that, when he thought the jest 
 had lasted long enough, he would turn his head and growl. Jovial 
 understootl him at the first hint, and hastened to set him down again. 
 At other times, just to avoid monotony, Jorial wouhl gently bite the 
 knapsack of the soldier, who seemed, as well as the dog, to be perfectly 
 accustomed to his pleasantries. 
 
 These details will give a notion of the excellent understanding that 
 existed between the twin sisters, the old soltlier, the horse, and the dog. 
 
 The little caravan proceeded on its way, anxious to reach, before 
 night, the AiUage of Mockei'n, which was now visible on the summit of 
 a hill. 
 
 Ever and anon Dagobert looked around liim, and seemed to be 
 gathering up old recollections. By degi'ees, his countenance became 
 clouded, and when he was at a little distance from the mill, the noise 
 of which had arrested his attention, he stopped and drew his long 
 mustache several times between his finger and thumb, the only sign 
 which revealed in him any strong and concentrated feeling. 
 
 Jorial having stopped short behind his master, Blanche, awaked 
 suddenly by the shock, raised her head. Her tii'st look sought hei- sister, 
 on whom she smiled sweetly ; then both exchanged glances of surj^rise,
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 13 
 
 on seeing Dagobert motionless, with his hands clasped and resting ou 
 his long staff, apparently affected by some painful and deep emotion. 
 
 The orphans chanced to be at the foot of a little mound, the summit 
 of which was buried in the thick fohage of a huge oak, plantetl half-way 
 down the little slope. Perceiving that Dagobert continued motionless 
 and absorbed in thought. Rose leaned over her saddle, and, placing 
 her little white hand on the shoulder of then- guide, whose back was 
 turned toward her, said to him, in a soft voice : 
 " What is the matter with you, Dagobert ! " 
 
 The veteran tui'ned ; to the gi-eat astonishment of the sisters they 
 perceived a large tear, which traced its humid fm-row down his tanned 
 cheek and lost itself in his thick mustache. 
 
 " You weeping — ijoh ! " cried Rose and Blanche together, deeply 
 moved. " Tell us, we beseech, what is the matter f " 
 
 After a moment's hesitation, the soldier In-ushed his horny hand 
 across his eyes and said to the orphans in a faltering voice, whilst he 
 pointed to the old oak beside them : 
 
 " I shall make you sad, my poor children; and yet what Pm going to 
 tell you has something sacred in it. Well, eighteen years ago, on the 
 eve of the great battle of Leipsic, I canied your father to this very tree. 
 He had two saber-cuts on the head, a musket-ball in his shoulder; and 
 it was here that he and I — who had got two thrusts of a lance for my 
 share — were taken prisoners; and by whom, worse luck.' — whj', a rene- 
 gade! By a Frenchman — an emigrant marquis, then colonel in the serv- 
 ice of Russia — afterward . . . but one day you shall know all." 
 
 The veteran paused; then, pointing with his staff to the \-illage of 
 Mockern, he added: 
 
 " Yes, yes, I can recognize the spot. Yonder are the heights where 
 your bi'ave father — who commanded us and the Poles of the Guard — 
 overthi'ew the Russian Cuirassiers, after having carried the battery. 
 Ah, my children ! " continued the soldier, with the utmost simphcity, " I 
 wish you had seen yoiu' brave father, at the head of our brigade of 
 horse, mshing on in a desperate charge in the thick of a shower of 
 shells ! — there was nothing so gi'and as he ! " 
 
 Whilst Dagobert thus expressed, in his own way, his regi-ets and 
 recollections, the two orphans by a .sj^ontancous movement glided 
 gently from the horse, and, holding each other by the hand, went 
 together to kneel at the foot of the old oak ; and there, closely pressed 
 in each other's ai-ms, they began to weep, whilst the soldier, standing 
 behind them, with his hands crossed on his long staft", rested his liald 
 front upon it. 
 
 " Come, come, you must not fret," said he softly, when, after a pause
 
 14 ini: WASDKlilM! -I I'AV. 
 
 of a few miiiutfs, he saw tears run down the l)looinin<;' clH-cks of Rose 
 and Blanche, still on their knees. " Perliaps we may find ( ieneral Simon 
 in Paris," added he. "1 will exnlaiii all that to ymi this oveniuf? at the 
 inn. I purposely waited for this day, to tell you many thin<js al)out 
 your father; it was an idea of mine, because this (hiy is a sort of 
 anniver.sary." 
 
 " We weep because we thiuk also of our mother," said Rose. 
 
 "Of our mother, whom we shall only see again in heaven," ad<h'd 
 Blanehe. 
 
 The soldier raised the orphans, took each hy the hand, and gazed 
 from one to the other with inelïable atïoction, rendered still the more 
 touching by the contrast of his rude features. 
 
 " You must not give way thus, my children," said he ; "it is true yctur 
 mother was the best of women. When she lived in Poland they called 
 her the Pearl of Warxair — it ought to have been the Pearl of th<' "Whole 
 World; for in the whole world you could not have found her match. 
 No — no!" 
 
 The voice of Dagobert faltered; he paused, and drew his long gi'ay 
 mustache between finger and thumb, as was his habit. 
 
 " Listen, my girls," he resumed, when he had mastered his emotion ; 
 "your mother could give you none but the best advice, eii ?" 
 "" Yes, Dagobert." 
 
 " Well, what instructions did she give you before she died t To think 
 often of her, l)ut without gi-ieving?" 
 
 "It is true; she told us that our Father in heaven, always good to 
 poor mothers whose children are left on earth, would permit her to hear 
 us from above," said Blanche. 
 
 "And that her eyes would be ever fixed upon us," added Rose. 
 And the two, by a spontaneous impulse, replete with the most touch- 
 ing grace, joined hands, raised their innocent looks to heaven, and 
 exclaimed, with that beautiful faith natural to theii- age : 
 
 " Is it not so, mother? — thou seest usf — thou hearest us.'" 
 
 " Since your mother sees and hears you," said Dagobert, much moved, 
 "do not grieve her by fretting. She forbade you to do so." 
 
 " You are right, Dagobert. We will not cry any more." 
 And the orphans dried their eyes. 
 
 Dagobert, in the opinion of the devout, would have passed for a 
 very heathen. In Spain he had found pleasure in cutting down those 
 monks of all orders and colors who, l)earing crucifix in one hand and 
 poniard in the other, fought not for liberty, — the Inquisition had 
 strangled lier centimes ago, — but for their monstrous jmvileges. Y"et 
 in forty years Dagobert had witnessed so many sublime ami awful
 
 THE WANDERIXG JEW. 15 
 
 scenes — he had been so many times face to face AN-itli death — tliat the 
 instinct of tnitural relif/ion, common to every simjtle, honest heart, had 
 always remained uppermost in his souh Therefore, th(jugh he did not 
 share in the consoling faith of the two sisters, he would have held as 
 criminal any attempt to weaken its influence. 
 Seeing them less downcast, he thus resumed : 
 
 " That's right, my pretty ones : I prefer to hear you chat as you did 
 this morning and yesterday — laughing at times, and answering me wlien 
 I sjieak, instead of being so much engrossed with your own talk. Yes, 
 yes, my little ladies! you seem to have had famous secrets together 
 these last two days — so much the better, if it amuses you." 
 
 The sisters colored and exchanged a sulxlued smile, which contrasted 
 with the tears that yet filled their eyes ; and Rose said to the soldier, 
 with a little embarrassment : 
 
 " No, I assure you, Dagoliert, we talk of nothing in particular." 
 
 " Well, well, I don't wish to know it. Come, rest yom'selves a few 
 moments more, and then we must start again, for it grows late and we 
 have to reach Mockem before night, so that we may be early on the 
 road to-morrow." 
 
 " Have we still a long, long way to go 1 " asked Rose. 
 
 " "\Miat, to reach Paris ? Yes, my children ; some hundred days' 
 march. We don't travel quick, but we get on ; and we travel cheap, 
 because we have a Light pru'se. A closet for you, a straw mattress and 
 a blanket at your door for me, with Spoilsport on my feet, and a clean 
 litter for old Jorial — these are our whole ti-aveling expenses. I say 
 nothing al)Out food, because you two together don't eat more than a mouse, 
 and I have learned in Egypt and Spain to be hungry only when it suits." 
 
 " Not forgetting that, to save still more, you do all the cooking for 
 us, and will not even let us assist." 
 
 " And to think, good Dagobert, that you wash almost evei-y evening 
 at our resting-place. As if it were not for us to "' 
 
 " You ! " said the soldier, interniptinç: Blanche. " I allow you to chap 
 yom- pretty little hands in soap-suds ! Pooh ! don't a soldier on a cam- 
 paign always wash his own linen ? Clumsy as you see me, I was the best 
 washer-woman Iti my squadron — and what a hand at ironing ! — not to 
 make a brag of it." 
 
 " Yes, yes — you can ii'on well — very well." 
 
 " Only, sometimes there will be a little singe," said Rose, smiling. 
 
 " Hah! when the iron is too hot. Zounds! I may bring it as near my 
 cheek as I please ; my skin is so tough that I don't feel the heat,'' said 
 Dagobert, with imperturbable gi'avity. 
 
 " We are only jesting, good Dagobert."
 
 16 
 
 THE WAXDElilXO JEW. 
 
 '• Then, fhiklreu, if you thiuk that 1 know my trade as a washiT-womau, 
 let me continue to have your custom : it is cheaper ; and, on a journey, 
 poor people like us should save where we can, for we must, at all events, 
 keep eiioui^h to reach Paris. Once there, our pajxTs and tlie medal you 
 wear will do the rest — I hope so, at least." 
 
 " This medal is sacred to us; mother gave it to us on her death-lK'(l." 
 
 " Therefore, take great care that you do not lose it : see, from time to 
 time, that you have it safe." 
 
 " Here it is," said Blanche, as she drew from her bosom a small bronze 
 medal, which she wore suspended from her neck l\v a chain of the same 
 material. The medal bore on its fcices the following inscri2)tions: 
 
 DE 
 
 IP313EZ iP0TJ3l MOa, 
 PAIRIS 
 
 ÂIPAK3S 
 EVE S;IFSA^"Ç03SK^3 
 
 V IPIRJEZiPOVAlKIO], ,^ 
 
 Victim of the Comp.any of Jesus. Pr.iy for me. Paris. The i;?th Fibruary, 1082. 
 — At Paris. Rue St. François No. 3. You will be there 13th February, 1S32. 
 
 " What does it mean, Dagobert ?" resumed Blanche, as she examined 
 the mournful inscriptions. "Mother was not able to tell us." 
 
 " We will discuss all that this evening, at the place where we sleep," 
 answered Dagobert. "It grows late; let us be moving. Put up the 
 medal carefully, and away ! We have yet nearly an hour's march to 
 arrive at quarters. Come, my poor pets, once more look at the mound 
 where your brave fatln'i- fell, ami then — to horse! to horse !" 
 
 Tlie orphans gave a last pious glanée at the spot which had recalled 
 to their guide such painful recollections, and, with his aid, reiiiouiited 
 Jovial. 
 
 This venerable animal had not for one moment dreamed of moving; 
 but, \A'ith the consummate forethought of a veteran, he had made the 
 best use of his time by taking from that foreign soil a lai-ge contribu- 
 tion of green and tender grass before the somewhat en\aous eyes of 
 S/ioilsporf, who had comfortably established himself in the meadow, 
 with his snout protruding between his fore-paws. On the signal of 
 departure the dog resumed his post behind his master, and Dagobert, 
 trying the gi'ound mth the end of his long staff, led the hor.se carefully
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 
 
 17 
 
 aloug by the brklle, for the meadow was growing more and more marshy; 
 indeed, after advancing a few steps he was obliged to turn off to the 
 left, in order to regain the high road. 
 
 On reaching Mockern, Dagobert asked for the least expensive inn, 
 and was told there was only one in the -vdllage — the White Falcon. 
 " Let us go, then, to the AVliite Falcon," obsei-ved the soldier.
 
 CHAPTEH III 
 
 T H E A 1! li I \ A i: 
 
 LK'EADY ha<l Morok, th(> beast-tamoi-, sovoral timos oponod 
 with iiapaticnce tlio wiiuiow-sliutter of tlu' loft, to look out 
 upon tbo inn-yard, watching- ïnv the arrival of the orphans 
 and the soldier. Xot secinjï them, h(» ])e<;an once moi-e to 
 walk slowly up and down, with his head bent forward and his arms 
 folded on his bosom, meditating on the best means to carry out the plan 
 he had conceived. The ideas which possessed his mind were doubtless 
 of a ])ainful character, for his couiitcnani-o grew even more gloomy than 
 usual. 
 
 Notwithstanding his ferocious appearance, he was by no means defi- 
 cient in inti'lligcnce. The courage displayed i]i his taming exercises 
 (which he attributed, like a clever charlatan, to his recent conversion), 
 a solemn and mystical style of speech, and a hypocritical afifectation of 
 austerity had given him a species of inHucncc over the people he visited 
 in his travels. 
 
 Long before his conversion, as may well be supposed, Morok had 
 been familiar with the habits of wild beasts. In fact, bora in tlic noitli 
 of Siberia, lie had Ix'en from his l)oyhood one of the boldest hunters of 
 liears and reindeer ; latei', in ISIO, he had abandoned this profession to 
 serve as guide to a Russian engineer who was charged with an explor- 
 ing expedition to the Polar regions. He afterward followed him to St. 
 Peters])urg, and there, after some \ncissitudes of fortune, Morok became 
 one of the imperial couriers — those iron (nifaiiKifti that tlie least caprice 
 of the despot hui'ls in a frail sledge tlirough the immensity of the 
 em])ire fi-om Pei'sia to the Frozen Sea. For these men, who travel 
 night and day with the rapidity of lightning, there are neither seasons 
 nor obstacles, fatigues nor dangers ; living projectiles, they must either 
 be broken to i)iecesor reach the intended mark. One may conceive the
 
 THJJ WAXPEh'fXG Ji:\V. 19 
 
 boldness, the vigor, and the resignation of men accustomed to sucli a 
 life. It is useless to relate here by what series of singular circumstances 
 Morok was induced to exchange this rough pui-suit for another pro- 
 fession, and at last to enter, as catechumen, a religious house at Friburg ; 
 after which, being duly and properly converted, he began his nomadic 
 excursions with a menagerie of unknown origin. . . . 
 
 Morok continued to walk up and down the loft. Night had come-. 
 The three persons whose arrival he so impatiently expected had not yet 
 made their apj^earance. His walk 1 »ecame more and more nervous and 
 irregular. On a sudden he stopped abruptly, leaned his head toward 
 the window, and listened. His ear was as quick as a savage's. " They 
 are here ! " he ex(;laimed, and his fox-like eye shone with diabolic joJ^ 
 He had caught the sound of footsteps — a man's and a horse's. Hasten- 
 ing to the window-shutter of the loft, he opened it cautiously, and saw 
 the two young gii'ls on horseback, and the old soldier who served them 
 as a guide, enter the inn-yard together. 
 
 The night had set in dark and cloudy ; a high wind made the lights 
 flicker in the lanterns whieli were used to receive the new guests. But 
 the description given to Morok had been so exact that it was impossi- 
 ble to mistake them. Sure of his prey, he closed the window. 
 
 Having remained in meditation for another quarter of an hour, — for 
 the purjoose, no doubt, of thoroughly digesting his pi'ojects, — he leaned 
 over the ti'ap-door above the ladder and called, " Goliath ! " 
 " Master ! " replied a hoarse voice. 
 " Come here." 
 " Here I am — just come from tlie slaughter-house with the meat." 
 
 The steps of the ladder creaked as an enormous head appeared on a 
 level with the floor. 
 
 The new-comer, who was more than six feet high, and gifted with 
 herculean proportions, had been well named Goliath. He was hideoiis. 
 His squinting eyes were deep set beneath a low and projecting forehead ; 
 his reddish hair and beard, thick and coai'se as horse-hair, gave his 
 features a stamp of bestial ferocity; between his broad jaws, armed with 
 teeth which resembled fangs, he held by one corner a piece of raw beef 
 weighing ten or twelve pounds — finding it, no doubt, easier to can-y in 
 that fashion whilst he used his luinds to ascend the ladder, Avhi<'h bent 
 beneath his weight. 
 
 At length the whole of this tall and huge body issued from the 
 aperture. Judging by his bull neck, the astonishing breadtli of liis 
 chest and shoulders, and the vast bulk of his arms and legs, this giant 
 need not have feared to wrestle single-handed with a bear. He wore an 
 old pair of blue ti'ousers with red stripes, faced with tanned slie(>p-
 
 20 THE WANDERINd JEW. 
 
 skill, iuid a vest, or ratluT cuirass, i)f thick leather, wliicli was lien^ and 
 there shisheil by tlic sharp claws of the auimals. 
 
 When lie was fairly on the floor, Goliath unclasped his fangs, opened 
 his mouth, and let fall the great piece of beef, licking his blood-stained 
 lips with greediness. Like many other mountel)anks, this species of 
 monster had begun by eating raw meat at faii-s for the amusement of 
 the pu1)lic. Thence having gi-adually acquired a taste for this barbarous 
 food, and uniting pleasure with profit, he engaged himself to perform 
 the prelude to- the exercises of Morok by d(îvouriiig, in the presence of 
 the crowd, several iiounds of raw flesh. 
 
 " IMy share and Dcaflrs arc below stairs, and here are those of Cahi 
 and .Jitifits,'^ .said (JoUath, pointing to the chunk of beef. " Where is the 
 cleavei-, that I may cut it in two ? No preference here. Beast or man, 
 every gullet must have its own." 
 
 Then, rolling up one of the sleeves of his vest, he exhil)ite<l a fore- 
 arm iiairy as the skin of a wolf, and knotttnl with veins as large as one's 
 thumb. 
 
 "I say, master, where's the cleaver?" he again began, as lie cast 
 round his eyes in search of that instrument. But instead of replying to 
 this inquiry, the Prophet put many questions to his disciple. 
 
 " Were you below when, just now, some new travelers arrived at the 
 inn ? " 
 
 "Yes, master; I was coming from the slaughter-house." 
 
 " Who ai"e these travelers 1 " 
 
 "Two young girls on a white horse and an old fellow with a big 
 mustache. But the cleaver? — my beasts are hungry and so ami — 
 the cleaver ! " 
 
 " Do you know where they have lodged these travelers Î " 
 
 " The host took them to the far end of the court-yard. " 
 
 " The building which overlooks the fields ? " 
 
 " Yes, master — but the cleaver " 
 
 A burst of frightful roaring shook the loft, and interrupted Goliath. 
 
 " Ilark to them ! " he exclaimed; " hunger has driven the Iteasts wild. 
 If I could roar, I should do as they do. I have never seen Jmhis and 
 Cain as they are to-night ; they leap in their cages as if they'd knock 
 all to pieces. As for Death, her eyes shine more than usual like candles. 
 Poor Death ! " 
 
 " So these girls are lodged in the buikling at the end of the court- 
 yard," resumed jNIorok, without attending to the observations of Goliath. 
 
 " Yes, yes — but, in the devil's name, where is the cleaver ? Since Karl 
 went away I have to do all the work, and that makes our meals very 
 late."
 
 THE WAX DE RING JEW. 21 
 
 " Did the old man romain with the youna; g-ivls ?" asked Movok. 
 (loliatli, amazed that, iiotwith.standingliis imjiortunities, his master 
 should still appear to neglect the animals' supper, regarded the Prophet 
 with an increase of stuj^itl astonishment. 
 
 " Answer, you brute ! " 
 
 " If I am a brute I have a brute's strength," said Goliath, in a surly 
 tone ; " and brute against brute, I have not always come the worst off." 
 
 " I ask if the old man remained with the gii'ls ? " repeated Morok. 
 
 " Well, then — no ! " returned the giant. " The old man, after leading 
 his horse to the stable, asked for a tub and some water, took his stand 
 under the porch, and there, by the light of a lantern, he is washing- 
 out clothes. A man with a gi'ay mustache paddling in soap-suds 
 like a washer-woman ! It's as if I were to feed canaries ! " added Goliath, 
 shi'ugging his shoulders with disdain. " But now I've answered you, 
 master, let me attend to the beasts' supjier; and," looking round for 
 something, he added, " where is the cleaver f " 
 
 After a moment of thoughtful silence the Prophet said to Goliath : 
 
 " You will give no food to the beasts this evening." 
 At first the giant could not understand these words, the idea was so 
 incomprehensible to him. 
 
 " What is your pleasure, master f " said he. 
 
 " I forbid you to give any food to the beasts this evening." 
 Goliath did not answer, but he opened wide his squinting eyes, 
 folded his hands, and drew back a couple of steps. 
 
 " Well, do you iinderstand ? " said Morok, with impatience. " Is it 
 plain enough f " 
 
 " Not feed ? when our meat is there, and supper is already three hours 
 after time ! " cried Goliath, with ever-increasing amazement. 
 
 " Obey, and hold your tongue." 
 
 " You must wish something bad to happen this evening. Hunger 
 makes the beasts fuiious — and me also." 
 
 " So much the better ! " 
 
 " It'll drive 'em mad." 
 
 " So much the better f " 
 
 " How so much the better ? But " 
 
 " It is enough ! " 
 
 " But, devil take me, I am as hungry as the beasts ! " 
 
 " Eat, then — who prevents it f Your supper is ready, as you devour 
 it raw." 
 
 " I never eat without my beasts, nor they without me." 
 
 " I tell you again that if you dare give any food to the beasts I 
 will turn you away."
 
 •2-2 T II /•-' ir. I .V i> i: n i .v <i ./ /•; ir. 
 
 (loliath uttered ;i low fiiowl as lioarsc as a lu'ar's, and looked at the 
 Pro])het with a niixture of anger and stupet'aetioii. 
 
 Morok, having given liis onh-rs, walked ii|i ami down the Inft, 
 ajipi'aring to relleet. Then, addressing hiinself to (ioliath, who was 
 still plunged in deej» perjilexily, he said to him: 
 
 "Do you i-euiend)er the Imrgomaster, where I went to get my ] ass- 
 l)ort signed, wliose wife l)ouglit some little l)ooks and a (•ha])let.'" 
 
 " Yes," answered the giant, shortly. 
 
 "Go and ask his servant if I may ho sure to lind the Imrgomaster 
 early to-morrow morning." 
 
 " What for ? " 
 
 "I may, i)erliai)s, liave soniethiug important to eomniniiieate ; at all 
 events, say that 1 heg him not to leave home without seeing me." 
 
 "Good! But may I not feed the beasts liefore I go to tlie burgomas- 
 ter's — only the panther, who is most liujigTyf Gome, master; only 
 poor Ih'otli — just a little morsel to satisfy her. Cd'ni and I and .liuliis 
 can wait." 
 
 "It is the i)anther, al)ove all, that ! t'orliid yon to f'eecl. Yes, lier, 
 above all tlie rest." 
 
 " By the horns of the devil ! " cried ( ioliath. " What is the matter with 
 you to-day? I can make nothing of it. It is a i)ity that Karl's not 
 here. He, being running, would helji me to understand why you jn-event 
 the l)(>asts from eating when they are hungry." 
 
 "You have no need to understand it." 
 
 " "Will not Karl soon come back ?" 
 
 " He has aln-atly come back." 
 
 " Wliere is he, then Î " 
 
 " Off again." 
 
 "What can he going on here? There is something in the wind. 
 Karl goes and returns, and goes again, and " 
 
 "We are not talking of Karl, hut of you. Though hungry as a wolf 
 you are cunning as a fox, and, when it suits you, as cunning as Karl." 
 And, changing on the sudden his tone and manner, Morok slapped 
 the giant cordially on the shoulder. 
 
 " ^Vllat ! Am I cunning ? " 
 
 "The proof is that there are ten florins to earn to-night, and you 
 will be keen enough to earn them, I am sure." 
 
 "Why, on those terms, yes — I am awake," said the giant, 
 smiling with a stu]iid, self-satisfied air. "What nuist T do for ten 
 florins?" 
 
 " Y'oii shall see." 
 
 "Is it hard work?"
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 23 
 
 " You shall see. Begiu by going to the burgomaster's — Imt tirst light 
 the fire in that stove." He pointed to it with his finger. 
 
 " Yes, master," said Goliath, somewhat consoled for the delay of his 
 supper by the hope of gaining ten florins. 
 
 " Put thai iron jjar in the stove," added the Prophet, " to make it 
 red hot." 
 
 '• Yes, master." 
 
 " You will leave it there; go to the Imrgomaster's, and return here to 
 wait for me." 
 
 " Yes, master." 
 
 " You will keep the fire i;]) in the stove." 
 
 " Yes, master." 
 Morok took a step away, but, i-ecolleeting himself, he resumed : 
 
 " You say the old man is busy washing under the porch 1 " 
 
 " Yes, master." 
 
 "Forget nothing: the iron bar in the fire — the burgomaster — and 
 return here to wait my orders." 
 
 So saying, Morok descended by the trap-door and disappeared.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 MOEOK AND DAGOBERT 
 
 ( >LIATII had not boon mistakon, for Dapcobert was •wasliiii*; 
 with that imitorturljalilo gravity vrWh which he did cvoiy- 
 thiug else. 
 
 Wlion we remember the habits of a soldier a-field we need 
 not lio astonished at tliis a{)i)aront oeoontrifity. Dagobert only tlionght 
 of sparing the scanty purse of tlio orjihans, and of saving tiioni all i-aro 
 and trouble; so every evening wiim they came to a halt ho devoted 
 himself to all sorts of feminine occupations. But ho was not now serv- 
 ing his aj>pronticoship in these matters ; many times, during his cani- 
 ]iaigns, ho had industriously ropaii-ed the damage and disorder which a 
 day of battle always brings to the garments of the soldier; for it is not 
 enough to receive a saber-cut — the soldier has also to mend his uni- 
 form; for the stroke which gra/A'S the skin makes likewise a rude lissure 
 in the cloth. 
 
 Therefore in the evening or on the morrow of a hard-fought engage- 
 ment you will see the best soldiers (always distinguished by their line 
 military aiipearance) take from their cartridge-box or knapsack a house- 
 wife, fiu-nished with needles, thread, scissors, buttons, and other such 
 gear, and apply themselves to all kinds of mending and darning with a 
 zeal that the most industrious work-woman might en\-y. 
 
 We could not fiml a better opportimity to explain the name of 
 Dagobert, given to Francis Baudoin (the guide of the orphans) at a time 
 when he was considered one of the handsomest and bravest horse-gren- 
 adiers of the Imi)erial Guard. 
 
 They had been fighting hard all day, without any decisive advan- 
 tage. In the evening the company to which our hero lielonged was sent 
 to occupy the ruins of a deserted village. \'idottes being i)oste<l, half 
 the troopers remained in saddle, whilst the others, having picketed their 
 horses, were alile to take a little rest. Our hero had charged valiantly 
 that day without receiving any woun<l — for he counted as a mere
 
 THE WANDERIXG JEW. 
 
 25 
 
 memouto the deep scratcli on his thigh which a kaiserJits had inflicted 
 in awkwardly attempting an upward thrust with the bayonet. 
 
 " You donkey! my new breeches ! " the gi'enadier had exclaimed when 
 he saw the wide-yaAvniug rent, which he instantly avenged by running 
 
 the Austrian through with a thrust scientitieally administered; for if 
 he showed a stoical indifference on the subject of injuiy to his skin, it 
 was not so with regard to the rippiug-up of his best parade uniform.
 
 26 Tin: w A xDhh'iXd .u:w. 
 
 lie iiiulertook, tlii'ivroiv, the .same (>vt'iiiii<r, at tlic liivonac, to iv[iair 
 this accident. Selecting liis best ueeille and tliicad lioni tlie stores of 
 bis housewife, and arming his linger with a thimble, he l)egan to ]ila_\ tlif 
 tailor by the light of the watcli-lirc, liaving lirst drawn off his cavaliy 
 boots, and also (if it must l>e confessed) the injured gai'nient itself, 
 Avhieh Ik' turned the wrong side out tlic better to conceal tiie stitches. 
 
 This partial undress was certainly a breacli of discipline; but the 
 caj)tain, as lie went his round, could not forbear laugiiing at the sight 
 of the veteran soldier, who, gravely seated in a s(|iuitting ]iosition, witii 
 his grenadier cap on, his regimental coat on his back, liis lioots by his 
 side, and his galligaskins in his laji, was sewing with all the coolness of 
 a tailoi' upon his own slio])-b()ai(l. 
 
 Suddenly a niusket-shf>t is heard, and the videttes fall back ujion 
 the detachment, calling to arms. 
 
 " To horse!'' cries the cai)tain, in a voice of thunder. 
 
 Ill a moment the troopers are in their saddles. The unfortunate 
 clothes-mender having to lead the first rank, there is no time to turn 
 the uiducky garment; so he slijis it on as well as he can, wi-ong side out, 
 and leajjs upon his horse without even stopping to put on his Ijoots. 
 
 A party of Cossacks, profiting by the cover of a neighboring wood, 
 had atteni]it(Nl to sTU'pi'ise the detachment. The fight was liloody, and 
 oiu' hero foamed with rage, for he set nnich value on his equijMUcnts, 
 and the day had been fatal to him. Thinking of his torn clothes and 
 lost boots, he hacked away with more fury than ever. A liright moon 
 illumed the scene of action, and his comrades were able to ajiju-eciate 
 tlie lirilliant vaioi- of our grenadiei-, who killed two Cossacks and took 
 an officer prisoner with his own hand. 
 
 After this skirmish, in whicli the d<'tachm(>id had nudntained its 
 position, the ca])tain drew up his men to comidiment them on their suc- 
 cess, and ordered the clothes-nien<ler to advance from the ranks, that he 
 might thank him jjublicly for his gallant behavior. Om* hero could have 
 dispensed with this ovation, but he was not the less obliged to obey. 
 Judge of the surprise of Itotli ca])tain and troopers when they saw this 
 tall and stei'n-looking tigure ride forward at a slow pace, with his naked 
 feet in the stii-ru](s, and naked legs jiressing the sides of his charger. 
 
 The captain drew near in astoiushment ; but recalling the occu})ation 
 of the soldier at the moment when the alarm was given, he understood 
 the whole mystery. 
 
 " lia, my old comrade!" he exclaimed, "thou art lik(> King Dagobert 
 — wearing thy breeches inside out." 
 
 In spite of discipline, this joke of the captain's was received with 
 peals of ill-repressed laughter. But our friend, sitting upright in his
 
 THE WANDERIXa JEW. 27 
 
 saddle, witli his left tliuiub i)ressiug: the well-adjusted reins and his 
 sword-hilt carried close to his right thigh, made a half- wheel aud 
 returned to his place in the ranks without changing countenance after 
 he had <luly received the congratulations of his captain. From that day 
 Francis Baudoin received and kept the nickname of Dagobert. 
 
 Now Dagobert was ufJder tlie poi'cli of the inn, occupied in wash- 
 ing, to the great amazement of sundry Vieer-drinkers, who oljserved him 
 with cm'ious eyes from the large common I'oom in which they were 
 assembled. 
 
 In truth, it was a curious spectacle. Dagobert had laid aside his 
 gray top-coat and rolled uj) the sleeves of his shb-t. With a vigoi-ous 
 hand aud good supply of soap he was rubbing away at a wet handker- 
 chief spread out on the board, the end of which rested in a tul) full of 
 water. Upon his right arm, tattooed with warlike emV>lems in red and 
 blue colors, two scars, deep enough to admit tlie lingi-r, were distinctly 
 visible. No wonder, then, that while smoking their pipes and empty- 
 ing their ])ots of beer the Germans should display some surprise at tlie 
 singular occupation of tliis tall, mustached, bald-headed old man with 
 the forljidiling countenance — for the features of Dagobert assumed a 
 harsh and grim expression when he was no longer in presence of the 
 two girls. The sustained attention of which he saw himself the oliject 
 began to put him out of patience, for his employment appeared to liim 
 (juite natural. 
 
 At this moment the Proi)het entered the porch, and percei^^ng the 
 soldier, eyed him attentively for several seconds; then approaching, he 
 said to him in French, in a rather sly tone : 
 
 "It would seem, comrade, that you have not nuich coutidence in tlie 
 washer-women of Mockern .'"' 
 
 Dagobert, without discontinuing liis work, half turneil liis iiead witli 
 a frown, looked askant at the Projihet, aud made him no answer. 
 
 Astonished at this silence, ]\Iorok resiimed : 
 " If I do not deceive myself, you are French, my tine fellow. The 
 words on your arm prove it, and your military air stamps you as an old 
 soldier of the Empire. Therefore I Hnd that, for a hero, you liave taken 
 rather late to wear petticoats." 
 
 Dagobert remained mute, l»ut he gnawed liis mustache and plied 
 the soap, with which he was rul)l)ing the linen, in a most hurried, not to 
 say angry style, for the face and words of tlie beast-tamer disjileased him 
 more than he cared to show. Far from being discouraged, the Prophet 
 continued : 
 
 "I am sure, my fine fellow, that you are neither deaf nor dumb. 
 Why, then, will you not answer me ? "
 
 28 THE w A .\ i>i:i;i .\(i .1 i:w. 
 
 Losing il 11 iiaticiicc, I)ag()l)ert IuiikmI ahniptly lound, looketl Morok 
 full ill the face, and said to liiiii in a nuigli voico : 
 
 "I don't know you — I don't wisli to know ynu. Leave me alone!" 
 Aiul he betook hiniself again to his washing. 
 
 "But we may make acquaintance. We can drink a glass of Rliine 
 wine together and talk of our canii>aigns. 1 also iiave seen some serv- 
 ice, 1 assure you; and that, ])ei'ha]>s, will induce you to be move eivil." 
 
 Tile veins on the bald forehead of Dagobert swelled percei)tibly. lie 
 saw in tli<' look and accent of the man wlio thus olistinatcly addressed 
 him something designedly provoking. Still he contained himself. 
 
 "I ask you why should you not drink a glass of Avine with me. AVe 
 could talk about France. I lived there a long time ; it is a fine country ; 
 and when I incH't Frenchmen abroad, 1 feel social)le — particularly "wlien 
 they know how to use the soap as well as you do. If 1 had a house- 
 wife I'd send her to your school." 
 
 The sarcastic meaning was no longer disguised ; iinjiudence and 
 bravado were legible in the Pro])het's looks. Thiidving that with sueli 
 an adversary the dispute might become serious, Dagobert, who wislied 
 to avoid a quarrel at any price, carried off his tub to the other end of 
 the porch, hoping thus to put an end to the scene, which was a sore trial 
 of his temper. A flash of joy lighted u)i the tawny eyes of the brute- 
 tamer. The white circle which surrounde(l the ]iupil seemed to dilate. 
 He ran his ci-ooke(l fingers two or three times tlirough his yeUow beard 
 in token of satisfaction ; then he advanced slowly toward the soldier, 
 accompanied l)y several idlers from the common i-oom. 
 
 Notwithstanding his coolness, Dagobert, amazed and incensed at the 
 ini] indent pertinacity of the Prophet, was at first disposed to break the 
 washing-boanl on his head; luit remembei-ing the or])hans, he thonglit 
 better of it. 
 
 Folding his ai'ins u]ion his lireast, Moi'ok said to him in a di'v and 
 insolent tone : 
 
 "It is very certain you are not civil, my man of suds." 
 
 Then turning to the spectators, he continued in German : 
 " I tell this Frenchman, with his long mustache, tliat he is not civil. 
 AVe shall see what answer he'll make. Perha]is it will l)e necessary to 
 give him a lesson. Heaven preserve m- from (puin-els ! " he added with 
 mock compunction. " But the Loid has enligliteiied me; I am his 
 creature, and I ought to make his work I'cspected." 
 
 The mystical effrontery of this jjeroi-ation was (piite to the tastt' of 
 the idlers; the fame of the Prophet had reached Mockern, and, as a 
 perfoiTnanee was expected on the morrow, this prelude much amused 
 the company.
 
 THE WANDEKIXU JEW. 29 
 
 Ou hearing the insuhs of his adversary, Dagobert could not hi-lp 
 saying, in the German language : " I know Cxenuan. Speak in (Termaii — 
 the rest will understand you." 
 
 New spectators now arrived and joined the first comers. The advent- 
 ure bad become exciting, and a ring was formed around the two persons 
 most concerned. 
 
 The Prophet resumed, in German: 
 " I said that you were not civil, and I now say you are grossly i-ude. 
 What do you answer to that ? " 
 
 " Nothing ! " said Dagobert, coldly, as he proceeded to rinse out 
 another ]:)iece of linen. 
 
 "Nothing!" returned Morok ; "that is very little. I will be less In-ief, 
 and tell you that when an honest man offers a glass of wine civilly to 
 a stranger, that stranger has no right to answer with insolence, and 
 deserves to be taught manners if he does so." 
 
 Great drops of sweat ran down Dagobert's forehead and cheeks ; his 
 large imperial was incessantly agitated by nervous trembling; but he 
 restrained himself. Taking by two of the corners the handkerdiiff 
 which he had just dipped in the water, he shook it, wrung it, and began 
 to hum to himself the burden of the old cami:> ditty : 
 
 " From Tirlciiiont, the de\-il"s owu deu, 
 We shall ride to-morrow mora, 
 With saber in hand. 
 Good-bye, etc." 
 
 The silence to which Dagoljert had coutlemned himself almost choked 
 liim ; this song afforded him some relief. 
 
 Morok, turning toward tlu' spectators, said to them, with an air of 
 jiyjiocritical restraint : 
 
 " We knew that the soldiers of Napoleon were pagans, who stabled 
 their horses in chuix-hes and offended the Lord a hundred times a day, 
 and who, for their sins, wen» justly drowned in the Beresina like so 
 many Pharaohs ; but we did not know that the Lord, to punish these 
 miscreants, had deprived them of courage — their single gift. Here is a 
 man, who has insulted in me a creature favored by diAane grace, and 
 who affects not to understand that I reipiire an apology; or else " 
 
 " NViiat ? " said Dagobert, without looking at the Prophet. 
 
 " Or you must give me satisfaction ! I have already told you that 
 I liave seen service. AVe shall easily find, somewhere, a couple of 
 swords, and to-morrow morning at peep of day we can meet behind a 
 wall and show the color of our blood — that is, if you have any iu yom-
 
 30 '/' w A' 1 1 . 1 .\ / > /; /.' / A a .1 /; w. 
 
 This cliallrujif liegaii to t'iij;lili'ii the sitectutuis, wlio wore not ]iiv- 
 pared for so tragical a eoiiflusioii. 
 
 "What, fi,ulit i — a very liiif idea!" said one. "To get yoiirsflves Imth 
 liK'ki'd iii> ill ]ii-is(Hi. 'IMic laws against dueling arc strict." 
 
 " I'articularly with relation to sti'angers or nondescrij>ts," addeil 
 anotlu'i-. "If they wove to find you -witli amis in your hands, the burgo- 
 master would shut you up in jail, and kce]) you there two or three 
 mouths lieforc ti'ial." 
 
 "Would you he so mean as to denounce us.'" asked Morok. 
 
 "No, certainly not," cried several; "do as you like. We are only 
 giving you a friendly iiiece of ad\ice, hy which you may ))rofit. if you 
 think lit." 
 
 •'What caic I for jirison!'" exciaiimd the Proi)het. "Only give me a 
 couple of swords, ami you shall see tomorrow nioiiiing if 1 iieed what 
 tin» hurgomaster can do or say." 
 
 " What would you do \\\\\\ two swords.'" asked Dagobert i|uietly. 
 
 " When you have one in your grasp, and 1 one in mine, you'll see. 
 The Tjord commands us to have a cai'e of his honor! " 
 
 Dagobi'rt shrugged his shoulders, made a bundle of his linen in his 
 handkerchief, dried his soai» and put it cai-efully into a little oil-silk 
 bag; then, whistling his favoi'ite air of Tirlemout, moved to deiiart. 
 
 The Prophet frowned ; he began to fear that his challenge would not 
 ])e accepted. H(> advanced a stej) or so to encounter Dagobert, placed 
 himself befoic him as if to intercept his passage, and, folding his arms 
 and scanning him from hea<l to foot with bitt(n' iusolem-e, said to him: 
 
 " 8o ! an ()ld soldier of that arch-robber Napoleon is oidy fit for a 
 washer-woman, and refuses to fight ! ' 
 
 "Yes, he refuses to fight," answered Dagoliert in a firm voice, but 
 becoming fearfully ]iale. Never, jierhaps, had the soldier given to his 
 orphan charge such a jnoof of tenderness and devotion. For a man of 
 his character to let himself lie insulted with imjiunity and refuse to 
 fight — the sacrilice was innnense ! 
 
 "So you ai'e a coward — ymi are afraid of uk — an<l you confess it î\ 
 At these words Dagobei-t made, as it wei-e, a pull u|ion liinisclf — 
 as if a sudden thought had resti'ained him the moment he was aliout to 
 rush on the I'rophet. 
 
 Indeed, he had remendiercd the two maidens, and the fatal hindrance 
 which a duel, whatever nnglit be the i-esidt, would occasion to theii- 
 jouriH'y. But the imiiulse of anger, though rajiid, had been so signifi- 
 cant, the expi'ession of the stern, pale face, bathed in sweat, was so 
 daunting, that the Prophet and the spectators drew back a step. 
 
 Profound silence reigned for some seconds, and then, by a sudden
 
 THE \VAM)KRISa -I EW. 31 
 
 roaotion, Dao:obprt seemed to liave gained the general interest. One of 
 the company said to those near him: 
 
 " This man is clearly not a coward." 
 
 "Oh, no! certainly not." 
 
 " It sometimes requires more courage to refuse a challenge than to 
 accept one." 
 
 "After all, the Proj)het was wrong to pick a quarrel about nothing — 
 and with a stranger, too." 
 
 " Yes, for a stranger, if he fought and was taken up, would have a good 
 long imprisonment." 
 
 "And then, you see," added another, " he travels with two young girls. 
 In such a position, ought a man to light about tiifles ? If he should Ije 
 killed or put in prison, what would become of them — poor children ?" 
 Dagobert turned toward the person who had pronounced these last 
 words. He saw a stout fellow, with a fi'ank and simple countenance. 
 Till' soldier offered him his hand and said, with emotion: 
 
 " Thank you, sir." 
 Tlie riprman shiK>k cordially the hand which Dagobert had proiïered, 
 and holding it still in his own, lie added : 
 
 " Do one thing, sir — share a bowl of punch with us. Wf will make 
 that mischief-making Prophet acknowledge that he has been too touchy, 
 and he shall tbink to your health." 
 
 Up to this moment the brute-tamer, eni'aged at the issue of this 
 scene, for he had hoped that the soldier would accept his challenge, 
 looked on with savage contempt at those who had thus sided against 
 him. But now his features gi-aduaUy relaxed, and belie\"ing it useful 
 to his projects to hide his disappointment, he walked up to the soldier 
 and said to him, with a tolerably good gi'ace : 
 
 " Well, I give way to these gentlemen. I own I was wrong. Your 
 frigid air had wounded me, and I was not master of myself. I repeat 
 that I was wrong," he added, with suppressed vexation. " The Lord com- 
 mands hmiiility — and — I beg your pardon." 
 
 This proof of moderation and regret was highly appreciated ami 
 loudly applauded by the spectators. 
 
 " He asks your i^ardon ; you cannot expect more, my brave fellow ! " 
 said one of them, adcb-essing Dagobert. " Com»», let us all drink together. 
 Vv'e make you this offer frankly — accept it in the same spirit." 
 
 "Yes, yes; accept it, we lieg yon, in the name of your pretty little 
 girls," said the stout man, hoping to decide Dagobert b\ this argument. 
 
 " Many thanks, gentlemen," replied he, touchetl by the hearty advances 
 of the Gennans; " you ai"e very worthy people. But when one is treated, 
 he must offer drink in return."
 
 32 TU /; Il M .V l> EKIKd -1 F. W. 
 
 " Wrll, \vi' will accept it — that's iiiuU'i-.stood. Each his turn, and all 
 fair. W'c will pay for the lirst liowl, you for thf .st'coiid." 
 
 "Poverty is no cri me," answered Dagohert, "and 1 uiiisl idj you 
 honestly that I cannot afford to jmy for di-ink. We have still a loui;- 
 journey to .u'o, and 1 must not incur any useless cx])enses."' 
 
 The soldier spoke these words with such firm hut simple diiiiiity 
 that the (iermans did uot venture to reuew their offer, feelinn' that a 
 man of Dagol)ert's character eouUl uot accept it witliout Innniliation. 
 
 " Well, so much the worse," said the stout man. "I should have hked 
 to cliuk glasses with you. Good-uight, my lirave troojiei! — good- 
 niglit — for it grows late, and mine host of the AVhito Falcon will soon 
 turn us out-of-doors." 
 
 "Good-uight, geutlemeu," I'eplieil Dagobert, as he dkecteil his steps 
 toward the stable, to give his horse a second allowauce of jjrovender. 
 
 jMoi-ok approached him, and said iu a voice eveu more hmidjle than 
 before: 
 
 " I luxve acknowledged my error, and asked youi- !>ai-ilon. You have 
 uot answered me ; do you still liear malice l " 
 
 "If ever I meet you," said the veteran, in a sujijiressed and hollow 
 tone, "when my children have no longei' need of me, I will just say two 
 words to you, and they will not be long ones." 
 
 Tlu'U he turn(>d his back abruptly on the i'rt)])liet, who walked 
 slowly out of the yard. 
 
 The iuu of the White Falcon formed a parallelogi-am. At one end 
 rose the princi]ial dwelling; at the other was a range of Imildings which 
 contained sundry chandlers, let at a low price to the poorer sort of 
 travelers. A vaulted passage oj^ened a way through this latter into the 
 country. Finally, on either side of the court-yard were sheds an<l stables, 
 with lofts and garrets erected over them. 
 
 Dagobert, entering one of these stables, took from off a chest the 
 jtortion of oats destined for his horse, and, pouring it into a winnowing- 
 basket, shook it as he approached Jorinl. 
 
 To his great astonishment, his old traveling comiianion did not 
 respond with a .ioyous neigh to the rustle of the oats rattling on the 
 wicker-work. Alarmed, he called Jorial with a friendly voice; l)Ut the 
 animal, instead of turidng toward his master a look of intelligence, and 
 impatiently striking the gi'ound with his forefeet, remained perfectly 
 motionless. 
 
 More and more surprised, the sohlier went up to him. By the duhi- 
 ous light of a stable-lantern he .saw the poor ainmal in an attitude wliich 
 implied terror — his legs half bent, his h<'ad stretched forward, his ears 
 down, his nostrils quivering; he had drawn tight his halter, as if he
 
 TUE WANDERING JEW. 
 
 33 
 
 wished to Ijreak it, in order to get away from tlie partition that sup- 
 poi'ted his rack and manger; abundant cold sweat had speckled his hide 
 with bluish stains, and his coat altogether looked dull and bristling. 
 
 instead of standing out sleek and glossy fi'om the dark Ijackgroimd of 
 the stable; lastly, from time to time, his body shook with cou^^^lsive 
 starts.
 
 34 THE WAXDEKIXd JEW. 
 
 " Why, old Jdcidl !" said thi' soldier, as he jjut down the liaskct in 
 order to soothe his hoi'se with more freedom, "you ai-e like thy mastei- — 
 afraid ! Yes," he added -R-ith Intterness, as he thought of the iusult he 
 had himself endured, "you are afi-aid — though no eoward in general." 
 
 Notwithstanding the eai'esses and the voice of his master, the horse 
 oontinued to give signs of terror; still he pulled somewhat less \nolently 
 at his lialter, and, ap])roacliing liis nostrils to the hand of DagoliiM't, 
 suitfeil audil)ly, as if he doubted it were he. 
 
 " You don't know me ! " cried Dagobeit. " Something extraordinary 
 must he ])as.sing here." 
 
 The soldier looked arouud him with uneasiness. It was a large 
 staV)le, faintly lighted l)y the lantern sus] tended from the roof, which was 
 covered with innumerable cobwebs; at the farther end, separated from 
 Jorifil by some stalls with bars betweiMi, were the three strong, bla<'k 
 horses of the brute-tamer — as traiuiuil as Jovial was frightened. 
 
 Dagobert, struck with this singular contrast, of which he was soon 
 to have the exi)lanation, again caressed his horse; and the animal, grad- 
 ually reassured l)y his master's presenc(\ licked his liands, rnV)bed his 
 head against him, uttered a low neigh, and gave him his usual tokens 
 of affection. 
 
 " Come, come, this is how I like to see my old Jarial !" said Dagobert, 
 as lie took up the winnowiug-l)asket and poured its contents into the 
 manger. " Now eat with a good appetite, for we have a long day's mai'ch 
 to-morrow ; and, above all, no more of these foolish fears about nothing ! 
 If thy comrade, Spdilsjiorf, were h(>re, he would keep you in heart ; but 
 he is along with the children, and takes care of tliem in my absence. 
 Come, eat ! instead of staring at me in that way." 
 
 But the horse, having just touched the oats with his mouth, as if in 
 obedience to his mastei-, returned to them no more, and began to nil)ble 
 at the sleeve of Dagol)ert's coat. 
 
 "Come, come, my ])oor Jorial ! there is something the matter with 
 you. You have generally such a good ajipetite, and now you leave your 
 corn. 'ïis the first time this has happened since our dejtai-ture," said 
 the soldier, wjio was now growing seriously uneasy, for the issue of his 
 journey greatly depended on the health and ^^gor of his horse. 
 
 Just then a frightful roaring, so near that it seemed to come from 
 the stable in which they were, gave so violent a shock to Jovial that with 
 one effort he l)roke his halter, leaped over the bar that marked his ]tlar(', 
 and, rushing at the open door, escaped into the court-yard. 
 
 Dagol»ert had himself started at the suddenness of this wild and 
 fearful souml, which at once explained to him the cause of his horse's 
 terroi-. The adjoining stable was occu]iied by the itinerant menagerie
 
 THE WANDËRIXG JEW. 85 
 
 of the Ijrute-tamer, and was only separated by the partition which sup- 
 ported the mangers. The three horses of the Prophet, accustomed to 
 these howUngs, had remained perfectly quiet. 
 
 " Grood ! " said the soldier, recovering himself ; " I understand it now. 
 Jorial has heard another such roar before, and he can scent the animals 
 of that insolent scoundrel. It is enough to frighten him," added he, 
 as he carefully collected the oats from the manger. " Once in another 
 stable, and there must be others in this place, he will no longer leave 
 his peck, and we shall be able to start early to-morrow morning." 
 
 The terrified horse, after running and galloping about the yard, 
 returned at the voice of the soldiei-, who easily caught him by the broken 
 halter ; and a hostler, whom Dagobert asked if there was another vacant 
 stable, having pointed out one that was only intended for a single 
 animal, Jovial was comfortably installed thei*e. 
 
 When delivered from his ferocious neighbors, the horse became 
 tranquil as before, and even amixsed himself much at the expense of 
 Dagobert's top-coat, which, thanks to his tncks, might have afforded 
 immediate occupation for his master's needle, if the latter had not 
 been fully engaged in admiring the eagerness with which Jovial dis- 
 patched his provender. Completely reassm-ed on his account, the soldier 
 shiit the door of the stable and proceeded to get his supper as quickly 
 as possible in order to rejoin the orphans, whom he reproached himself 
 with having left so long.
 
 CllAl'TKK \' 
 
 KOSE AND 1!I-AN(I1 K 
 
 III' <)i])hanR occupied .i dilapidated chamber in one of the 
 most remote wings of tlie inn, with a sinule window ojjening 
 npon the country. A lied without curtains, a talile and two 
 chairs, composed the more tlmii modest furnitnic of this 
 retreat, which was now lighted 1>y a lamp. On the tahle, which stood 
 near the win(h)W, was deposited the knapsack of the soldier. 
 
 The great Siberian dog, who was Ijing close to the door, had already 
 twice iTttereil a deep gi'owl, and turned his head toward the window — 
 but without giving any furth(>r effect to this liostile manifestation. 
 
 The two sisters, half recumbent in tlu-ir bed, W(>ri' clad in long white 
 wi-appers, buttoned at the neck and wi-ists. Tlu'>' wore no caps, Init 
 their lieautifid chfstinit hair was confined at the temjiles l)y a broad 
 piece of tape, so that it might not get tangled dm-ing the night. Thestf 
 white garments, and the white fillet tliat like a halo encircled their 
 brows, gave to tlirir fresh and blooming faces a still more candid 
 expression. 
 
 The ori»hans laughed and chatted, for, in spite of some early sor- 
 rows, they still retained the ingenuous gayety of their age. The remem- 
 brance of their mothei' would somi'times make them sad, but this 
 sorrow had in it nothing liitter; it was rather a sweet melancholy to be 
 sought instead of shunned. For them, this adored mother was not 
 dead — she was ouly absent. 
 
 Almost as ignorant as Dagobert with regard to devotional exercises, 
 for in the desert where they had lived there was neither church nor 
 priest, their faith, as was ah-eady said, consisted in this — that (!oil, just 
 and good, had so much pity for the poor mothei-s whose children were 
 left on earth that Ik» allowed them to look down upon them from highest 
 heaven — to see them always, to hear them always, and sometimes to 
 send fair guardian angels to protect them. Thanks to this guileless 
 illusion, the orphans, persuaded that tlieir mother incessantly watche(l
 
 THE WAMfEKISG JEW. 37 
 
 over them, felt that to do wrong would be to afflict her aud to forfeit 
 the protection of the good angels. This was the entire theology of Rose 
 and Blanche — a creed sufficient for such pure and loving souls. 
 
 Now, on the evening in question, the two sisters chatted together 
 whilst waiting for Dagobert. Their theme interested them much, for 
 since some days they had a secret, a great secret, which often quick- 
 ened the beatings of their innocent hearts, often agitated their 
 budding l)osoms, changeil to bright scarlet the roses on their cheeks, 
 ami infused a restless and dreamy languor into the soft blue of their 
 large eyes. 
 
 Rose this eveidng occupied the edge of the couch, with her I'ounded 
 arms crossed behind her head, which was half turned toward her sister; 
 Blanche, with her elljow resting on the bolster, looked at her smilingly, 
 and said: 
 
 " Do you think he will come again to-night ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! certainly. He promised us yesterday." 
 
 " He is so good, he would not break his promise." 
 
 " And so handsome, with his long, fair curls." 
 
 " Aud his name — what a charming name! — how well it suits his face." 
 
 " And what a sweet smile and soft voice when he says to us, taking 
 us by the hand: 'My childi-en, bless God that he has given you one 
 soul. "\Miat others seek elsewhere you will find in yourselves.'" 
 
 " 'Since your two hearts,'" he added, "'only make one.'" 
 
 " What pleasure to remembei- his words, sister ! " 
 
 " We ai'e so attentive ! ^Ylien I see you listening to him, it is as if I 
 saw myself, my dear little miiTor ! " said Rose, laughing, and kissing her 
 sister's forehead. "Well, when he speaks, your — or rather our — eyes 
 are wide, wide open, oui- lips moving as if we repeated every word after 
 him. It is no wonder we forget nothing that he says." 
 
 " And what he says is so grand, so noble, and generous." 
 
 " Then, my sister, as he goes on talking, what good thoughts rise 
 within us ! If we could but always keej) them in mind." 
 
 " Do not be afraid. They will remain in our heart, like little birds in 
 their mothers' nests." 
 
 " Aud how lucky it is, Rose, that he loves us both at the same time ! " 
 
 " He could not do otherwise, since we have but one heart between us." 
 
 " How could he love Rose without lo^^ug Blanche /'' 
 
 " What would have become of the poor neglected one ? " 
 
 " And then, again, he would have found it so difficult to choose." 
 
 " We are so much like each other." 
 
 " So, to save himself that trouble," said Rose, laughing, " he has chosen 
 us both."
 
 38 THE W A MU:ji'J Ml .//v'lr. 
 
 "And is it not the licst way.' He is alone to love us; \ve ai'e two 
 togi'ther to thiuk of liiiu." 
 
 " Only, he must not leave us till we reach Pai-is." 
 
 " And in Paris, too — we nnist sec him there also." 
 
 "Oil, al>ove all at Paris; it will be good to have him with us — and 
 Dagobert, too — in that great city. Only think, Blanche, how beautiful 
 it must be ! " 
 
 " Paris ! — it must be like a eity all of gold." 
 
 " A city where every one must be happy, since it is so beautiful." 
 
 "But ought we, jioor orphans, dare so niiicli as to enter it? IIow 
 people will look at us ! " 
 
 "Yes — but every one there is hai)i)y; every one must lie good also." 
 
 " They will love "us." 
 
 "And, besides, we shall be with oui- fi-iend witli the fair liaii- and lijuc 
 eyes." 
 
 " He has yet told us nothing of Paris." 
 
 " He has not thought of it; we must speak to him about it this very 
 night." 
 
 "If he is in the mood for talking. Often, you know, lie likes best to 
 gaze on us in silence — his eyes on our eyes." 
 
 "Yes. In those moments his look recalls to me the gaze of our dear 
 mother." 
 
 "And, as she sees it all, liow pleased she must be at wliat has hap- 
 pened' to us !" 
 
 " Because, when we are so much beloved, we must, T hope, deserve 
 it." 
 
 "See what a vain thing it is!" said Blanche, smoothing with her slen- 
 der fingers the parting of the hair on her sister's forehead. 
 After a moment's reflection, Kose said to her : 
 
 " Don't you think we should relate all this to Dagobert ? " 
 
 " If you think so, let us do it." 
 
 "We tell him everything, as we told cvciytliing to mother. Wliy 
 should we conceal this from him t " 
 
 " Especially as it is something which gives us so much pleasure." 
 
 "Do you not find that since we have known our friend oui- hearts 
 beat cjuicker and stronger ? " 
 
 " Yes, they seem to be more full." 
 
 " The reason why is plain enough : our friend fills up a good space in 
 them." 
 
 " Well, we will do liest to tell Dagoliert what a lucky star ours is." 
 
 " You are right " 
 
 At this moment the dog gave another deep gi'owl.
 
 THE WAXDEEIXG JUW. 39 
 
 " Sister," said Rose, as she pressed closer to Blanche, " there is the dog 
 growling again. What can be the matter with him ? " 
 
 " Spoilsport, do not growl ! Come hither," said Blanche, striking with 
 her little hand on the side of the bed. 
 
 The dog rose, again growled deeply, and came to lay his great, intel- 
 ligent-looking head on the coimterpane, still obstinately casting a side- 
 long glance at the window. The sisters bent over him to pat his broad 
 forehead, in the center of which was a remarkable bump, the certain 
 sign of extreme purity of race. 
 
 "What makes you gTowl so. Spoilsport P'' said Blanche, pulling him 
 gently by the ears — "eh, my good dog ? " 
 
 " Poor beast ! he is always so uneasy when Dagobert is away." 
 
 " It is true ; one would think he knows that he then has a double 
 charge over us." 
 
 " Sister, it seems to me Dagobert is late in coming to say good-night." 
 
 " No doubt he is attending to Jorialr 
 
 " That makes me think that we did not bid good-night to dear old 
 Jorialr 
 
 " I am sorry for it." 
 
 " Poor beast ! He seems so glad when he licks our hands. One would 
 think that he thanked us for our visit." 
 
 " Luckily, Dagobert will have wished him good-night for us." 
 
 " Good Dagobert ! he is always thinking of us. How he spoils us ! 
 We remain idle, and he has all the trouble." 
 
 " How can we prevent it .' " 
 
 " "What a i)ity that we are not rich, to give him a little rest." 
 
 "We rich! Alas, my sister! we shall never be anything but poor 
 orjjhans." 
 
 "Oil, thei-e's the medal!" 
 
 " Doubtless there is some hope attached to it, else we should not 
 have made this long joui-ney." 
 
 " Dagoljert has promised to tell us all, this evening." 
 She was prevented from continuing, for two of the window-panes 
 flew to pieces with a loud crash. The orphans, with a cry of terror, 
 threw themselves into each other's arms, whilst the dog rushed toward 
 the window, barking furiously. Pale, trembling, motionless witli aft'riglit, 
 clasping each other in a close emltrace, the two sistei's held their breath; 
 in their extreme fear they durst not even cast their eyes in the direction 
 of the window. The dog, with his fore-paws resting on the sill, con- 
 tinued to bark with violence. 
 
 "Alas! what can it be?" murmm'ed the orphans. "And Dagobert 
 not here ! "
 
 4u Till-: w Ay i)i:i;i X(t .1 i:\v. 
 
 " Iliirk ! " criod Rose, sudtlciily seizing Hlaii-lir l>y tlic iniu; " liark ! — 
 siuine out' fomiiig up tho .stairs!"' 
 
 "Good heaven! it does not sound like llic tread of Daiioliert. Do yoii 
 not lu'iir what lieavy footsteps ?" 
 
 ''Quick! come, S/xiils/iorf, and defend us! "cried the two sisters at 
 onee,in an agony of ahirni. 
 
 Tlie hoards of the wooden staircase really creaked heneatli tlie weight 
 of unusually heavy footsteps, and a singidar kind of I'ustling was lieard 
 along the tiiin partition that divided the ehaniher from the landing- 
 place. Then a poiulerous mass, falling against the door of the room, 
 shook it violently; and the girls, at the very height of terror, looked at 
 each other without tlie ]K)wer to speak. 
 The door oiuMied. It was Dagobert. 
 
 At the sight of him Rose and Blaneln' joyrully exelianged a kiss, as 
 if they had just escaped from a great danger. 
 
 "What is the matter? why are you afraid? "asked tlie soldier in surprise. 
 
 " Oh, if you only knew !" said Rose, panting as she spoke, for both her 
 own heart and her si.ster's beat with violence. 
 
 '* If y(m knew what has just happened! AVe did not recognize your 
 footsteps — they seemed so heavy — and tiieii tiiat noise In-liind the 
 l>artition ! " 
 
 "Little frightened doves that you are! I e(mld not nui up the stairs 
 like a boy of fifteen, sei'ing that I carried my bed upon my back — a 
 straw mattress that I have just flung down before your door, to sleep 
 there as u.sual." 
 
 " Bless me ! how foolish we must be, sLster, not to have thought 
 of that !" said Rose, looking at Blanche. And their pretty faces, which 
 had together gi'own pale, together resumed their natural color. 
 
 During this scene the dog, stUl resting against the window, did not 
 cease barking a moment. 
 
 "What makes Spu/l'^/inii bark in that direction, my children ?" .said 
 the .soldier. 
 
 " We do not know. Two of our window-i)anes have just been broken. 
 That is what first frightened us so nmch." 
 
 Witiiout answering a woid Dagobert flew to the window, opened it 
 (piickly, ])ushed back the shuttei', and leaned out. 
 
 He saw nothing; it was dark night. He listened, but heaid only 
 the moaning of the wind. 
 
 " Sj)(>ilf<jnirf,^^ .said he to his dog, pointing to the open window, " leap 
 out, old fellow, and search!" The faithful animal took one miglity 
 sjjring and disap])t'ared by the window, raised only about eight feet 
 above the ground.
 
 Til !■: u. 1 .V h !■: i;ix <; ./ k w. 41 
 
 Dagobert, still leaning over, ( iR-ouraged his dog with V(jice and gest- 
 ure: "Search, old fellow; search! If there is any one there, pin hiiu — 
 your fangs are strong — and hold him fast tiU I come." 
 
 But SpoUspoti found no one. They heard liim go backward and 
 forward, snuffing on every side, and now and then uttering a low cry 
 like a lii>uii(l at fault.
 
 42 Till: \v.\ s ih:rim; ji:\\. 
 
 " TluTo is no one, my <;oo(l dn^', thnt's cloar, or yon Avonld hnvc lind 
 liim by tlio tliroat ere tliis." 
 
 Tlicn tiiiuiiii;- tu tlic luaicU'ns, wlm lislmccl to liis words and watclicil 
 his luovcnicnts witli nncasincss^ 
 
 "My cldldriMi," said lie, "how were these panes broivcn.' Did yon not 
 reuiai'k t " 
 
 "No, Dagobert; we were talking tofjether wlicii we heard a «ricat ci'ash, 
 and tluMi the glass fell into the room." 
 
 " It seemed to me," added Kose, "as if a shnttei- had sti-nck snddenly 
 against the window.'' 
 
 I)agol)ert examined the shntter, and observed a long movable hook, 
 designed to fasten it on the inside. 
 
 "It blows hard," said he; "the wind nnisl iiave swniig round the 
 shnttei-, and this hook l)roke the window. Yes, yes; that is it. What 
 interest eonld anyl)ody have to play snch a sorry trick?" Then, si)eak- 
 ing to S/)()ilsj)()ii, he asked, "Well, my good fellow, is there no one ?" 
 
 The dog answered by a bark, whieh the soldiei' no doubt un(h'rstood 
 as a negative, for he eontinned : 
 
 " Weil, then, come back! — Make the I'ound — you will iiud some door 
 open — you are never at a loss." 
 
 The animal followed this advice. After growling for a few seconds 
 beneath the window, he set off at a gallop to make the circuit of th(> 
 buildings and come ]»ack by the court-yard. 
 
 " Be quite easy, my eliildren !" said the soldier, as lie again (h'ew near 
 the or])hans; "it was only the wind." 
 
 " We were a good deal frightened," said Rose. 
 
 " I lielieve you. But, now I think of it, this draught is likely to give 
 you cold." And seeking to remedy this inconvenienc*, he took fi'om a 
 chair the reindeer p(>lisse and suspended it from the sjtring-catch of the 
 curtainless window, using the skii'ts to stf)p up as closely as jjossiljle the 
 two openings made by the breaking of the panes. 
 
 " Thanks, Dagobert; how good you are! We were very uneasy at not 
 seeing you." 
 
 " Yes, you were absent longer than usual. But what is the matter 
 with yon?" added Rose, only just then i)erceiving that his countenance 
 was disturbed and pallid, for he was still uuih^i- the ))aiufnl inHueiice of 
 the l)rawl with j\Iorok; "how pale you are!" 
 
 " Me, my pets ? — Oh, nothing." 
 
 " Yes, I assnr<' yon, your coniiteiiance is cpiite cliange<l. Rose is rigid." 
 
 " I tell you there is nothing the matter," answered the soldier, not with- 
 out some embarrassment, for he was little used to deceive; till, finding 
 an excellent excuse for his emotion, he added: "If I do look at all
 
 THE \VAN1>ERING JEW. 43 
 
 uncomfortable, it is your friji'ht that lias made me so, foi' indecnl it was 
 my fault." 
 
 " Your fault f " 
 
 " Yes ; for if I had not lost so mucJi time at supper, I shoidd have 
 been here when the window was broken, and have spared you the fright." 
 
 " Anyhow, you are hei-e now, and we think no more of it." 
 
 " Wiiy don't you sit down f " 
 
 " I will, my children, for we have to talk together," said Dagobert, as 
 he drew a chair close to the head of the bed. "Now tell me, are you 
 quite awake f " he added, trying to smile in order to reassure them. 
 " Are those large eyes jn'operly open ? " 
 
 " Look, Dagobert ! " cried the two girls, smiling in their turn, and 
 opening their blue eyes to the utmost extent. 
 
 " Well, well," said the soldier; " they are yet far enough from shut- 
 ting ; besides, it is only nine o'clock." 
 
 " We also have something to tell, Dagobert," resumed Rose, after 
 exchanging glances with her sister. 
 
 " Indeed ! " 
 
 " A secret to tell you." 
 
 " A secret f " 
 
 " Yes, to be sure." 
 
 " Ah, and a very great secret ! " added Rose, quite seriously. 
 
 " A secret which concerns us ])oth," resumed Blanche. 
 
 " Faith ! I should tliink so. What concerns the one always concerns 
 the other. Are you not always, as the saying goes, ' two faces under 
 one hood ' f " 
 
 " Truly, how can it be otherwise, when you jjut our heads under the 
 great hood of your pelisse I " said Rose, laughing. 
 
 " There they are again, mocking-birds ! One never has the last word 
 with them. Come, ladies, your secret, since a secret there is." 
 
 " Speak, sister," said Rose. 
 
 " No, miss, it is for you to speak. You are to-day on diTty, as eldest, 
 and such an impoi'tant thing as telling a secret like that you talk of 
 belongs of right to the elder sister. Come, I am listening to you," added 
 the soldier, as he forced a smile, the better to conceal from the maidens 
 how much he still felt the mipunished affronts of the brute-tamer. 
 
 It was Rose (who, as Dagol)ert saitl, was doing duty as eldest) that 
 spoke for herself and for her sister.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE SECRET 
 
 i 
 
 Ilx'ST of all, good Dagobert," said Rose, in a gracefully oaress- 
 iiig maimer, "as we are going to tell our secret, ymi iimst 
 inomiso not to scold us." 
 
 "You will not scold youi' darlings, will you.'" added 
 Blanche, in a no less coaxing voice. 
 
 "(îranted!" replied Dagobei-t gravely; " partictdarly as I should not 
 well know how to set about it — but wliy should I scold you f " 
 
 " Because we ought, perhaps, to have told you sooner what we are 
 going to tell you." 
 
 " Listen, my cliildren," said Dagobert sentention.sly, after reflectiiig a 
 moment on this case of conscience; "one of two things must be. Either 
 you were right, or else you were wrong, to hide this from me. If you 
 were right, very well; if you were wrong, it is done; .so let's say no more; 
 about it. Go on — I am all attention." 
 
 Completely reassiu*ed by this luminous decision, Rose resumed, 
 while she exchanged a smile with her sister: 
 
 "Oidy think, Dagobert; for two successive nights we have liad a 
 visitor." 
 
 " A visitor ! " cried the soldier, drawing himself up suddenly in his 
 chair. 
 
 " Yes, a charnnng visitor — he is so very fair." 
 
 " Fair! — the devil! " cried Dagobert, with a start. 
 
 " Yes, fail- — and with blue eyes," added Blanche. 
 
 "Blue eyes — blue de\als!" and Dagobert again bounded on his seat. 
 
 " Y\'S, blue eyes — as long as that,'" resumed Rose, jilacing the tijt of 
 one forefinger about the middle of the other. 
 
 " Zoimds! they might be as long as that," said the veteran, indicating 
 the whole length of his ann from the ell)OW — "they might I'C as long as 
 that, and it wcmld have nothing to do with it. Fair, and with blue eyes. 
 Pray what may this mean, young ladies f "
 
 THE WAX DJ-miXa JEW. 45 
 
 Dagobert rose from his seat with a severe and painfully unquiet look. 
 
 " There, now, Dagobert, you have Ijegun to scold us already ! " 
 
 " Just at the very commencement," added Blanche. 
 
 " Commencement ! — what, is there to be a sequel ? a finish ?" 
 
 " A finish ? we hope not," said Rose, laughing like mad. 
 
 " All we ask is that it should last forever," added Blanche, sharing in 
 the hilarity of hei- sister. 
 
 Dagobert looked gi'avely from one to the other of the two maidens, 
 as if trjing to guess this enigma; Init when he saw their sweet, innocent 
 faces gracefully animated by a frank, ingenuous laugh, he reflected that 
 they woidd not be so gay if they had any serious matter for self-reproach, 
 and he felt pleased at seeing them so merry in the midst of their pre- 
 carious position. 
 
 " Laugh on, my children!" he said. "I like so much to see you laugh." 
 Then, thinking that was not precisely the way in which he ought to 
 treat the singular confession of the young gii'ls, he added in a gi'ulï 
 voice: "Yes, I like to see you laugh — but not when you receive fair 
 visitors with l)lue eyes, young ladies ! Come, acknowledge that I'm an 
 old fool to listen to such nonsense — you are only making game of me." 
 
 " Nay, what we tell you is quite true." 
 
 " You know we never tell stories," added Rose. 
 
 "They are right — they never filj," said the soldier, in renewed per- 
 plexity. " But how the devil is such a v\s\t possiljle ? I sleep befoie 
 your door — Spoilsport sleeps under your window — and all the Ijlue 
 eyes and fair locks in the world must come in by one of those two ways 
 — and, if they had tried it, the dog and I, who have both of us quick eai's, 
 would have received their \'isits after oui' fashion. But come, children ! 
 pray speak to the purpose. Explain yourselves ! " 
 
 The two sisters, who saw by the expression of Dagobert's counte- 
 nance that he felt really uneasy, determined no longer to trifle with his 
 kindness. They exchanged a glance, and Rose, taking in her little hand 
 the coarse, broad palm of the veteran, said to him : 
 
 " Come, do not plague yom'self ! We will tell you all about the visits 
 of our friend Gabriel." 
 
 " Thei-e you are again! He has a name, then ?" 
 
 " Certainly, he has a name. It is (rabriel." 
 
 " Is it not a pretty name, Dagobert? Oh, you will see and love, as we 
 do, our beautiful Gabriel ! " 
 
 " I'll love your beautifid Gabriel, will I?" said the veteran, shaking his 
 head — " love your beautifid Gabriel ? — that's as it may be. I must first 
 
 know " Then internipting himself, he added: "It is queer. That 
 
 reminds me of something."
 
 4() Till: w AMiKh'ixa .//;u'. 
 
 "Of wliat, Duf-ohort .'" 
 
 "Fifteen years afjjo, in the last letter tliat your father, on liis return 
 from Fraiicf, hrouj;lit me from my wife, she told me that, poor as she 
 was, and with our little urowinj;' A.i;:ricola on her Ininds, slie liiid taken 
 in a poor, di'scrti'd child, with the fai-e of a eherul» and the name of 
 Gabriel — and only a short time since I heard of him again." 
 
 " And from wlioni, then ?" 
 
 " Yon shall know that by and by." 
 
 ''Well, then, sinee you have a Gabriel of y<mr own, there is tiie 
 more reason that you should love oui's." 
 
 " Yours ! l)ut who is yours ? I am on tliorns till you tell me." 
 
 "Y\)u know, Dagobert," resumed Kose, "that IManclie and 1 are 
 accustomed to fall asleep, holding each other by the hand." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I have often seen you in your cradle. I was never tirecl of 
 looking at you ; it was so pretty." 
 
 " Well, then, two nights ago we had just fallen asleep, when we 
 beheld " 
 
 " Oh, it was in a dream ! " cried Dagobert. " Sinee you were asleep, 
 it was in a dream ! " 
 
 " Certaiidy, in a dream — how else would you have it ?" 
 
 " Pray let my sister go on with her tale ! " 
 
 "Ah, well and good !" said the soldier with a sigh of satisfaction; 
 " well and good ! To be sui-e, I was tranquil enough in any case, 
 because — but still — I like it better to lie a dream. Continue, my little 
 Rose." 
 
 " Once asleep, we l)oth dreamed the same thing." 
 
 " What ! both the same ? " 
 
 " Yes, Dagobert ; for the next morning when we awoke we related 
 our two dreams to each other." 
 
 " And they were exactly alike." 
 
 " That's odd enough, my children; and what was this dream all about ?" 
 
 "In our dream, Blanche and T were seated together, when we saw 
 enter a beautiful angel, witli a long, white robe, fair locks, Itlue eyes, and 
 so handsome and benign a countenance that we clasped our hands as if 
 to pray to him. Then he told us, in a soft voice, that he was called 
 Gabriel; that our mother had sent him to be our guardian angel, and 
 that he would never abandon us." 
 
 " And then," added Blanche, " he took us each by the hand, and, 
 1 lending his fair face over us, looked at us for a long time in silence, 
 with so much goodness — with so much goodness tliat we coiUd not 
 withdi'aw our eyes from his." 
 
 "Yes," resumed Rose, "and liis look seemed by turns to attract us.
 
 THE WAXDUIUXa JEW. 47 
 
 or to go to our hearts. At l(>ngth, to our gi-eat sorrow, G-abricl quitted 
 us, lia\ing told us that we should see him again the following night." 
 
 " And did he make his appearance ? " 
 
 " Certainly. Judge with what impatience we waited the moment of 
 sleep, to see if our friend would return and \dsit us in our si umbers." 
 
 " Humph ! " said Dagobert, scratching his forehead ; " this reminds 
 me, young ladies, that you kept on rubbing your eyes last evening, and 
 I^retending to be half asleep. I wager it was all to send me away the 
 sooner, and to get to your dream as fast as possible." 
 
 " Yes, Dagobert " 
 
 " The reason being, you could not say to me, as you would to Spuil- 
 sporf, 'Lie down, Dagobert!' Well — so your friend Crabriel came back T* 
 
 " Yes ; and this time he talked to us a great deal, and gave us, in the 
 name of our mother, such touching, such noble counsels, that the next 
 day Rose and I spent our whole time in recalling every word of our 
 guardian angel — and his face, and his look " 
 
 " This reminds me again, young ladies, that you were whispering 
 all along the road this morning, and that when I spoke of white, you 
 answered black." 
 
 " Yes, Dagobert, we were thinking of Gabriel." 
 
 " And, ever since, we love him as well as he loves us." 
 
 " But he is only one between both of you ! " 
 
 " Was not our mother one between lis?" 
 
 " And you, Dagobert — are you not also one for us both?" 
 
 " True, true! And yet, do you know, I shall finish by being jealous 
 of that Uabrielf" 
 
 " You are our friend by day — he is our friend by night." 
 
 " Let's understand it clearly. If you talk of him all day and dream 
 of him all night, what will there remain for me?" 
 
 "There will remain for you yoiu- two orphans, whom you love so 
 much," said Rose. 
 
 " And who have only you left upon eartli,"' added Blanche, in a caress- 
 ing tone. 
 
 "Humph! humph! that's right; coax the old nuxn over! Nay, ])elieve 
 me, my children," added the soldier, tenderly, "I am qiiite satisfied with 
 my lot. I can afford to let you have your Gabriel. I felt sui-e that 
 SpoUsjiort and myself could take our rest in quiet. After all, there is 
 nothing so astonishing in what you tell me. Your first dream struck 
 yom- fancy, an<l yoxi talked so nuich about it that you had a second; 
 nor should I be surprised if y(m were to see this fine fellow a third time." 
 
 " Oh, Dagobert! do not make a jest of it! They are only di-eains, but 
 we thiidv our mother sends them to lis. Did she not tell lis that orphan
 
 48 '/'///•-' MM .V/'/.A'/.V'/ .//;n. 
 
 chill Ircii wt'i'c wiitchcd over l)y guuidiau anj^cls.' Well, (iubiit'l is our 
 .iruai<liiiu aiifjjol; lie will protect lis, and he will protect you also." 
 
 " Very kind of him to tiiink of nie; Imt you see, my dear ciiildn'ii, for 
 tilt' matter of defense 1 prefer tiie dofjj. He is less fair than yonr angel, 
 hut he lias lietter teeth, ami tliat is more to he depemled on." 
 
 " How jirovoking yon are, Dagobert — always jesting!" 
 
 " It is true; you can laugh at ev^erything." 
 
 "Yes, I am astonishingly gay; I laugh with my teeth sliut, in the 
 style of old Jaridl. Come, children, don't scold me; I knowl am wrong. 
 Tlie rcmcinliraiice of your dear molhcr is mixed with this dream, and 
 you do well to speak of it sericmsly. Besides," added he, with a grave 
 air, "dreams will sometimes come tnie. In Sjiain, two of the Eni|)ress's 
 dragoons, comrades of mine, dreamed, tlie night before their death, that 
 they would he ])oisoned hy the monks — and so it ha))])ened. If you 
 continue to dream of this fair angel (Tabriel, it is — it is — why, it is 
 Ijecause you are amused by it; and, as you have none too many ])leas- 
 ures in tlic daytime, you may as well get an agreealde sleep at night. 
 But now, my i-hildren, I have also much to tell \'ou; it \\ill concern 
 your mother; jiromise nie not to be sad." 
 
 " Be satisfied! When we think of her we are not sad, though serious." 
 
 " That is well. For fear of giieving you, I have always delayed the 
 moment of telling what your poor mother would havc^ confided to you 
 as so(m as you were no longer childi-en. But she died l)efon' she had 
 time to do so, and that which I have to tell broke her heart — as it nearly 
 did mine. I jmt off this communication as long as 1 could, taking for 
 jjretext that 1 would say n()thing till we came to the held of battle where 
 youi* father was made prisoner. That gave me time; but the moment 
 is now come; I can put it off no longer." 
 
 " We listen, Dagol)ert," responded the two maidens, with an attentive 
 and melancholy air. 
 
 After a moment's silence, during which he appeared to reflect, the 
 veteran thus addressed the young girls: 
 
 "Your father, CTcneral Simon, was the son of a workman, who 
 remained a workman; for, notwithstanding all that the general could 
 say or do, the old man was obstinate in not ([uitting his trade. He had 
 a heart of gold and a head of iron, just like his son. You may suppose, 
 my children, that when your father, who had eidisted as a private 
 soldier, became a general and a count of the emi)ire, it was not Avithout 
 toil or without glory." 
 
 " A count of the empire? What is that, Dagobei-tT' 
 
 " A bit of nonsense — a title, which the emperor gave over and above 
 the promotion, just for the sake of saying to the peojile, whom ln' lf)ved
 
 THE WAX in: Kl y <i .//•;ir 
 
 49 
 
 because he was oiie i>t' them, 'Hei'e, eliildveii! you wish to play at iioliil- 
 ity ! you shall be nobles. You wish to play at royalty! you shall be kings. 
 Take what you like — nothing is too good for you — enjoy yourselves!'" 
 " Kings!" said the two girls, joining their hands in admiration. 
 
 " Kings of the first water. Oli, he was no niggard of his crowns, oiu* 
 emperor ! I had a bedfellow of mine, a brave soldier, who was after- 
 ward iirnniotcd to be king. This flattered us; for if it was not one, it
 
 50 TiiK WAXi)i:ins<; .ii:\v. 
 
 was tlio other. And so, at this jj;ain(', youi' fatlior became eount; but, 
 count or not, he was oue of the best and bravest generals of tlie army.'' 
 
 " He was handsome, was lie not, Dagobert? — mother always said so." 
 
 "Oh, yes! indcid be was — but ([uite another thing from your fair 
 gnai'dian aii<;vl. I'ii'tui'c to yourself a fine, dark man, who looked 
 splendid ill jiis fidl miiform, and could pnt lire into the soldiers' hearts. 
 With him to lead, we would have chargeil u]> into Heaven itself — that 
 is, if Heaven had permitted it," added Dagol>ert, not wishing to wound 
 in any way the religious beliefs of the orphans. 
 
 " And father was as good as he was bi'ave, Dagobert .'" 
 
 " Good, my children ? Yes, I should say so! He could bend a horse- 
 shoe in his hand as you woulil bend a card; and tlie day he was takt'ii 
 prisoner lie had cut d(nvn the Prussian artillerymen on their vei'y can- 
 non. With sti'ength and coin-age like that, how could he be otherwise 
 than good? It is, then, about nineteen years ago, not far fi<»ni tliis 
 place, — on the s{)ot I showed y<m before we arrived at the village, — that 
 the genci-al, <langerously M-ounded, fell from his horse. I was following 
 liini at the time, iiiid ran to his assistance. Five minutes after, we 
 were made i)risoners — and li>' whom, think you? — by a Frenchman." 
 
 "A Frenchman?" 
 
 "Yes, an emigi'ant marquis, a colonel in the service of Eussia," 
 answered Dagobert, with bitterness. "And so, when this mai'(juis ad- 
 vanced toward us and said to the general, 'Surrendei', sir, to a country- 
 man!' — 'A Frenchman who fights against France,' rejilied thi' general, 
 'is no longer my countryinan; lie is a Irtdtor, and IM ne\-er surrender 
 to a traitor!' And, wounded though he was, he dragged himself uj) to 
 a Eussian grenadier and delivered him his saber, saying, 'I sinrender 
 to you, my brave fellow!' The marquis became pale with rage at it." 
 
 The orphans looked at each other with pride, and a rich ci-inison 
 mantled their cheeks as they exclaimed: "Oh, cmr brave father!" 
 
 "Ah, those children," said Dagobert, as he pnmdly twirled his mus- 
 tache. "One sees they have a soldier's blood in their veins! Well," he 
 continued, "we were now prisoners. The general's last horse had been 
 killed under him, and to pertVjrm the journey he mounted Jorial, who 
 had not been wounded that day. We arrived at Warsaw, and there it 
 was that the general first saw your mother. Slie was called the J'cfirl 
 (if irar.'idir; that is saying everA'thing. Now he, who admii'ed all that 
 is good and beautifnl, fell in love ■w'ith her almost immediately, and shc^ 
 loved him in return ; luit lier j)arents had jn'omised hei- to another — and 
 
 that other Avas the same " 
 
 Dagobert was unable to imjceeil. KN.se utteird a })iercing cry, and 
 pointed in terror to the window.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE TRAVELER 
 
 PON the cry of the youug girl, Dagobert rose abruptly. 
 " What is the matter, Rose!" 
 
 " There — there ! " she said, pointing to the window. " I 
 thought I saw a hand move the pelisse." 
 Slie had not concluded these words before Dagobert rushed to 
 the window and opened it, tearing down the mantle which liad ])een 
 susjjeuded from the fastening. 
 
 It was stiU dark night, and the wnd was Ijlowing hard. The soldier 
 listened, but could hear nothing. 
 
 Retm-ning to fetch the lamp from the table, he shaded the flame with 
 his hand and strove to throw the light outside. 8tiU he saw nothing. 
 Persuaded that a gust of wind had disturbed and shaken the pelisse, and 
 that Rose had been deceived by her own fears, he again shut the window. 
 " Be satisfied, children ! The wind is very high ; it is that which lifted 
 the corner of the pehsse." 
 
 " Yet methought I saw plainly the fingers which had hold of it," said 
 Rose, still tremljling. 
 
 " I was looking at Dagobert," said Blanche, " and I saw nothhig." 
 " There was nothing to see, my chilch-en ; the thing is clear enough. 
 Tlie window is at least eight feet above tlie ground ; none but a giant 
 coiild reach it without a ladder. Now, had any one used a ladder there 
 would not have Ijeeu time to remove it, for as soon as Rose cried out 
 I ran to the window, and when I held out the light I could see nothing." 
 " I must have been deceived," said Rose. 
 
 " You may be sure, sister, it was only the wind," added Blanclie. 
 " Then I beg pardon for ha\ing disturbed you, my good l)agol)ert." 
 " Never mind ! " i-<']tlied the soldier, musingly ; " I am only sorry that 
 Sjjoilsporf is not come back. He would have watched the window, and
 
 52 ////-• \\ A .\ j>i:m xc .//;\r. 
 
 tluit would have quite tnui([uiliz('il you. But lu' lut (loul)t sci-utcil the 
 stable of his eomrade, .lorhd, and will have called in to l)id liini j^ood- 
 night on the road. I liave half a mind to go and fetch hiu)." 
 
 "Oh, no, Dagohert! d<> not leave us alone," ci'ie(l the girls; '• we jire 
 too much afraid." 
 
 "Well, the dog is not likely to icniain away much longer, and 1 am 
 sure we shall soon hear him sci'atcliing at tlie door; so we will continue 
 our story," said Dagobert, as he again seated Jiimself near the liead of 
 the bed, but this time with his face toward the window. 
 
 " Now, the general was prisoner at Warsaw," eoutiuued he, " and in love 
 witli your mother, whom they wislied to many to another. In 1814 
 "we learned the linish of the war, the l)anishment of the Kniperor to the 
 Isle of p]lba, and the retuiii of the Bourbons. In concert w'ith the Prus- 
 sians and Kussians, wlio had brought them back, they had exiled the 
 Emi«'ror. Learning all this, your mother .said to the general, 'The 
 war is finished ; you are free, but your Emi)er()r is in trouble. You owe 
 everything to hmi; go and join him in his misfortunes. I know not 
 when we sliall meet again, but I will never mari'y any «me l)ut ytm. 
 I am yimrs till death!' Before he set out the general called me to him 
 and said, ' Dagobert, remain here. Mademoiselle Eva may have need 
 of you to fly from her family if they should jyress too hard upon her. 
 Our correspondence will have to pass through your hamls. At Paris 1 
 shall see your wife and son. I will comfort them, and tell them you are 
 my friend.'" 
 
 " Always the .same," said Ko.se, with emotion, as she looked affection- 
 ately at Dagob(>rt. 
 
 "As faithful to the father and mother as to their children," added 
 Blanche. 
 
 " ÏO love one was to love them all," replied the soldiei'. " Well, the 
 general joined the Emperor at Ellja; I remained at Warsaw, concealed 
 in the neighborhood of your mother's house. I received the letters and 
 conveyed them to her clandestinely. In one of those letters — I feel 
 proud to tell you of it, my children — the general informed me that the 
 Emperor himself had remembei'ed me." 
 
 " What ! did he know you ? " 
 
 " A little, I flatter myself. ' Oh ! Dagobert ! ' said he to your father, 
 who was talking to him about me ; ' a horse-gi'enadiei* of my old 
 guard — a soldier of Eg\i)t and Italy, battered with wounds — an old dare- 
 devil whom I decorateil with my own hand at Wagram — I have not 
 forgotten him!' — I vow, chiMfen, when your mother read that to me 
 I cried like a fool." 
 
 "The Emperor! What a tine golden face he has, on the silver cross
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 53 
 
 "nitli the red ribbon that you would sometimes show us when we behaved 
 well ! " 
 
 " That cross — given hy him — is my relic. It is there in my knap- 
 sack, ^vith whatever we have of value — our little purse and papers. But 
 to return to youi- mother. It was a great consolation to her when I took 
 her letters from the general or talked with her about him, for she suffered 
 much — oh, so miich ! lu vain her parents tormented and persecuted 
 her; she always answered, 'I will never marry any one but General 
 Simon.' A spiiited woman, I can tell you — resigned, but wonderfully 
 courageous. One day she received a letter from the genei-al. He had 
 left the Isle of Ellia with the Emperor. The war had again broken out — 
 a shoi-t campaign, but as fierce as ever, and heightened l)y soldiers' 
 devotion. In that campaign of France, my children, especially at 
 Montmirail, your father fought like a Uou, and his dixnsion followed his 
 example. It was no longer valor — it was frenzy." 
 
 His cheeks flushed as he spoke. He felt at that moment all the 
 heroic emotions of his youth. He recalled to his memory the sublime 
 enthusiasm of the wars of the rcpulilic from which dated the first steps 
 of his military career, as the triunii)hs of the emi^ire were the last days 
 of his semàce. 
 
 The orphans, too, daughters of a soldier and a brave woman, did not 
 shrink from the rough energy of these words, but felt their cheeks glow 
 and their hearts beat tumultuously. 
 
 " How happy we are to be the chilth-en of so brave a father ! " cried 
 Blanche. 
 
 " It is a happiness and an honor too, my ehikh-en — for the evening of 
 the battle of Montmirail, the Emperor, to the joy of the whole anny, 
 made your father Duke of Ligny and Marshal of the Empire." 
 
 " Marshal of the Empire ! " said Rose in astonishment, without under- 
 standing the exact meaning of the words. 
 
 " Duke of Ligny ! " added Blanche, with equal sm-prise. 
 
 " Yes ; Peter Simon, the son of a woi-kman, became duke and mar- 
 shal — there is nothing higher except a king!" resumed Dagobert, 
 proudly. " That's how the Emperor treated the sons of the people, and 
 therefore the people were devoted to him. It was all veiy fine to teU 
 them, ' Your Emperor makes you food foi- cannon.' ' Stuff ! ' replied 
 the people, who are no fools ; ' another would make us food for misei-y. 
 We prefer the cannon, with the chance of becoming captain or colonel, 
 marshal, king, — or invalid; that's better than to perish with hunger, 
 cold, and age, on straw in a gan-et, after toiling forty years for others.'" 
 
 "Even in France — even in Paris, that beautiful city — do you mean 
 to say there aie poor people who die of hunger and misery, Dagobert ? "
 
 54 THic \VA\in:i!i\<i.ii:\\. 
 
 " Evon in Paris? Yes, my cliildicn; tlicrcfoic I coiiu' back to the 
 point — the cannon is better. Witli it one has tlie chance of Ix'coniinjx, 
 like your father, (hike and niai'shal. When I say duke iiiid maislial, I am 
 partly y\)r)û and partly \vr<>n<;-, U)V the title and the rank wei-e not recog- 
 nizi'd in the end, because aftei- Montmmiil came a day of gloom, a day 
 of gi'eat mourning, when, as the general has told me, old soldiers like 
 myself wept — yes, wept! — on the evening of a liattle. That day, my 
 children, was Waterloo!" 
 
 There was in these sim{)le words of Dagobert an expression of such 
 deep sorrow that it thrilled the hearts of the or})haus. 
 
 "Alas!" resumed the soldier, with a sigh, "theiv are days which 
 seem to have a curse on them. That same day, at Waterloo, the 
 general fell, covered with wounds, at the head of a division of the 
 Guards. When he was nearly ciu'ed, which was not for a long time, 
 he solicited permission to go to St. Helena — anothei- island at the 
 far end of the woi'ld to which the English had carried the P]m))eror, 
 to torture iiini at their leisure; for it' lie was very foi-tunate in the 
 first instance, he had to go through a ileal of hard rnbs at last, my 
 poor children." 
 
 " If you talk in that way, you will make us cry, Dagobert." 
 
 " There is cause enough for it — the Emperor suffered so much ! He 
 bled cruelly at the heart, ])elieve me. Unfortunately the general was 
 not with him at St. Helena; he would have ben one more to console 
 him, but they would not allow him to go. Then, exasperated, like so 
 many others, against the Bourlions, the general engaged in aconsj)iracy 
 to recall the son of the Emperijr. He relii'd especially on one regiment, 
 nearly all composed of his old soldiers, and he went down to a jjlaee in 
 Picardy, where they were then in garrison; but the conspii-acy had 
 already l)een divulged. Arrested the moment of his arrival, the genei'al 
 was taken before the colonel of the regiment. And this colonel," said 
 the soldier, after a lirief pause — "who do you thiid< it was, again? Bah ! 
 it would ])e too long to tell you all, and wouhl oidy make you more sad; 
 l)ut it was a man whom your father had many reasons to hate. When 
 he found himst'lf face to face with him, he said, 'If you are not a 
 coward you will give rae one hour's liberty, and we will light to the 
 death ; I hate you for this, I despise you for that ' — and so on. The 
 colonel accepted the challenge and gave your father his liberty till the 
 morrow. The duel was a desperate one; the colonel was left for dead 
 on the spot." 
 
 " Merciful heaven ! " 
 
 " The general was yet wiping his sword when a faithful fiieml came 
 to him and told him he had oidy just time to save himself. In fact he
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 55 
 
 ha])])ily sueoeeded in lpa\'iiis France — yes, happily — for a fortni^rht 
 after he was condemned to death as a conspirator." 
 
 " What misfortunes — good heaven ! " 
 
 " Tliere was some hick, however, in the midst of his trou])les. Your 
 mother had kept her promise bravely, and was still waiting for him. 
 She had written to him, ' The Emperor iirst, and me next ! ' Not able 
 to do anything more for the Emperor, nor even for his son, the general, 
 lianished from Fi-ance, set out for "Warsaw. Your mother had lost her 
 pai-ents and was now free; they were married, and I am one of the 
 witnesses to the marriage." 
 
 " You are right, Dagobert ; that was great happiness in the midst of 
 great misfortunes ! " 
 
 "Yes, they were very happy; ))ut, as it happened with all good 
 hearts, the haj^pier they were themselves the more they felt for the sor- 
 rows of otliers — and there was quite enough to grieve them at Warsaw. 
 The Russians had again Ijegun to treat the Poles as their slaves. Your 
 brave mothei-, though of French origin, was a Pole in heart and 
 soul ; she spoke out Ijoldly what others did not dare speak in a whisper, 
 and all the unfortunate called her their protecting angel. That was 
 enough to excite the suspicions of the Eussian governor. One day a 
 friend of the general's, formerly a colonel in the lancers, a brave and 
 worthy man, was condemned to be exiled to Siberia for a military plot 
 against the Russians. He took refuge in yom- father's liouse and lay 
 hid there, but his retreat was discovered. During the next night a 
 party of Cossacks, commanded l)y an officer and followed by a traveling- 
 carriage, arrive at om- door ; they rouse the general from his sleep, and 
 take him away with them." 
 
 " Oh, heaven ! What did they mean to do with him ! " 
 
 " Conduct him out of the Russian dominions, with a charge never 
 to return, on pain of peri>etual imprisonment. His last words were, 
 'Dagobert, I intrust to thee my wife and child!' — for it wanted yet 
 some months of the time when ycm were to be born. Well, notwith- 
 standing that, they exiled your mother to Siberia ; it was an opportunity 
 to get rid of her ; slie did too much good at Warsaw, and they feared 
 her accordingly. Not content with banishing her, they confiscated all 
 her property. The only favor slie could obtain was that I should accom- 
 pany her; and had it not been for Jorial, whom the general had given 
 to me, she would have had to make the journey on foot. It was thus, 
 with her on horseback, and I leading her as I lead you, my children, 
 that we arrived at the poverty-stricken \'illage where, three months 
 after, you poor little things were born ! " 
 
 " And our father ? "
 
 56 Till-: WAX !>/:i: I .\ a .ii:\v. 
 
 "It was impossilile for liiiu to return lu lîussia; iin|iossil)le for your 
 mother to think of flight, with two chikh-en; inipossildc tor tlie goiK-ral 
 to writ»' to her, as lie knew not wix^re she was." 
 
 " So, since that time, yon have liad no news of himf " 
 
 " Yes, my eliildren — once we had news." 
 
 "And l.y whom?" 
 After a moment's sih'nce, Dagohert resume»! witli a singular expres- 
 sion of counteuanee : 
 
 " By whom ? — by one who is not like other men. Yes — that you may 
 understan<l me lietter, I will relate to ynn an extraordinary adventure 
 which happened to your father during Ids last French cam])aign. He 
 had l»een ordered liy the Emperoi- to carry a l)attery, which was jilaying 
 heavily on our army. After several unsnccessful efforts, the general put 
 himsi'lf at the head of a regiment of cuirassiers and charged the battery, 
 intendnig, as was his custom, to cut down the men at their guns. He 
 was on horseback, just before the month of a cannon where all the artil- 
 lerjnuen had been eitlier killed or wounded, wlieii one of them still 
 found strength to raise himsell' upon one knee and to apply tlie lighted 
 match to the touch-hole — and that when your father was al)out ten 
 paces in front of the loaded piece." 
 
 " Oh ! what a pei-il foi- our father ! " 
 
 " Never, he told me, had he run such imminent dangei-, for ht> saw 
 the artilleryman apply the match and the gun go off; but at the very 
 nick a man of tall statnre, dressed as a peasant, and whom he had not 
 before remarked, thrcAv himself in front of the cannon." 
 
 " Unfortmiate creature ! What a horrible death ! " 
 
 " Yes," said DagoV)ert, thoughtfully, " it should have been so. He 
 ought by rights to have been blown into a thousand pieces. But no — 
 nothing of the kind ! " 
 
 " What do you tell ns '! " 
 
 " What the general told me. ' At the moment when the gun went ofï,' 
 as he often rep(>ated to me, 'I shut my eyes by an involuntary move- 
 ment, that 1 might not st'e the mutilated body of the poor wretch who 
 had sacrificed himself in my place. When I again opened them, the 
 first thing T saw in the midst of the smoke was the tall figure of this 
 man standing erect and calm on the same spot, and casting a sad, mild 
 look on the artUleryman, who, with one knee on the gi'ound and his 
 body thi'own backward, gazed on him with as much terror as if he had 
 been the dev\\ in person. Afterward, in the tumult of the battle, I lost 
 si^ht of this man,' added vour father." 
 
 " Bless me, Dagobert ! How can this be possible ! " 
 
 " That is just what I said to the general. lie answei-ed me that he had
 
 THE H . I v i> /; /,' / .V a JEW. 
 
 d1 
 
 never been al)le to explain to liimself this event, which soemcd as 
 incredible as it was true. Moreover, your father must have been greatly 
 striick with the eounteuanoe of this man, who appeared, he said, about 
 thirty years of age; for he remarked that his extremely black eye- 
 
 ])i-ows weri> joined together and formed, as it were, one line from temple 
 to temple, so that he seemed to Inive a black streak across his forehead. 
 Renienilier this, niy cliildven; von will soon see why."
 
 58 Til i: WAXDERIXG JEW. 
 
 "Uh, Dafïobort ! we .shall uot lorf^ct it," saiil tiic oiiduuis, Ix'ouiuiug 
 more and more astouished as he proceeded. 
 
 "Is it not strange — this man with a black streak on his forehead f " 
 
 " Well, you sliall liear. Tlic general had, as I told you, been left for 
 dead at Waterloo. During tlie night which he pas.sed on the field of 
 battle in a sort of deliiiura, brought on by the fever of his wouucLs, he saw, 
 or fancied he saw, tliis same man liending over him, with a look of great 
 mildness and deep mehincholy, stanching his wounds and using every 
 effort to re\àve him. But as your father, whose senses were still wan- 
 denng, repiilsed his kindness, — saj-ing ' that after such a defeat it only 
 remained to die,' — it appeared as if this man rejilied to him, ' You niu.st 
 live for Eva!' — meaning your mother, whom the general had left at 
 Warsaw to join the Emperor and make this campaign of France." 
 
 " How strange, Dagobert ! And since then did our father never see 
 this man ? " 
 
 "Yes, he saw him — for it is he who brought news of the general to 
 your jioor mother." 
 
 "When was that ? We nev.'rheard of it." 
 
 " You remember that on the day your mother died you went to the 
 pine-forest with old Fedora ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Rose, mournfully, " to fetch some lieatli, of whicli oui- 
 mother was so fond." 
 
 "Poor mother !" added Blanche; "she appeared so well that morn- 
 ing that we could not dream of the calamity whii-h awaited us before 
 night." 
 
 " Trui', my children ; I sang and worked that morning in the garden, 
 expecting no more than you did what was to happen. AVell, as I was 
 singing in my work, on a sudden I heard a voice ask me in French, 
 ' Is this the village of Milosk ? ' I turned round and saw l)efore me a 
 stranger. I looked at him attentively, and instead of repljnng fell back 
 two steps, quite stupefied." 
 
 "Ah! Why?" 
 
 " He was of tall stature, very pale, with a high and open forehead ; 
 but his eyebrows met, and seemed to form one black streak across it." 
 
 " Then it was the same man who liad t\vice been with our father in 
 battle?" 
 
 "Yes — it was he." 
 
 " But, Dagobert," .said Rose, thoughtfully, " is it not a long time since 
 these battles Î " 
 
 " About sixteen years." 
 
 " And of what age was this stranger f " 
 
 " HartUy more than thirtv."
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 39 
 
 •' Then how can it be the same man who sixteen years before had 
 been with our father in the wars!" 
 
 " Yon are right," said Dagoljert, after a moment's silence, and shrug- 
 ging his shoulders ; " I may have been deceived by a chance likeness; 
 and yet " 
 
 " Or, if it were the same, he coidd not have got older all that while." 
 
 " But did you ask him if he had not formerly relieved our father ? " 
 
 " At first I was so surjarised that I did not think of it ; and after- 
 ward he remained so short a time that I had no opportunity. Well, 
 he asked me for the village of Milosk. ' You are there, sh-,' said I ; ' but 
 how do you know that I am a Frenchman ? ' 'I heard you singing as I 
 passed,' replied he. ' Can yon tell me the house of Madame Simon, the 
 general's wife ? ' ' She lives here, sir-.' Then, looking at me for some seconds 
 in silence, he took me by the hand and said, ' You are the friend of Gen- 
 eral Simon — his best friend.' Judge of my astonishment, as I answered, 
 ' But, sir, how do you know ? ' ' He has often spoken of you witli grati- 
 tude.' ' You have seen the general, then ? ' ' Yes, some time ago, in India. 
 I am also his friend. I bring news of him to his wife, whom I knew to 
 be exiled in Sii)eria. At Tobolsk, whence I come, I learned that she 
 inhaljits this village. Conduct me to her ! ' " 
 
 " The good traveler ! I love him already,"' said Rose. 
 
 " Yes, being father's friend." 
 
 " I begged him to wait an instant while I went to inform your mother, 
 so that the surprise might not do her harm ; five minutes after, he was 
 beside her." 
 
 " And what kind of a man was this traveler, Dagobert f " 
 
 " He was very tall ; he wore a dark pelisse and a fm* cap, and had long 
 l)lack hair." 
 
 '' Was he handsome ? " 
 
 " Yes, my children — very handsome ; but with so mild and melan- 
 choly an air that it pained my heart to see him." 
 
 " Poor man ! he had doubtless known some great sorrow." 
 
 " Your mother had been closeted with him for some minutes, when 
 she called me to her and said that she had just received good news of 
 the general. She was in tears, and had before her a largo ]iacket of 
 papers ; it was a kind of journal, which yom- father had written every 
 evening to console himself. Not being able to speak to her, he told the 
 papcn- aU that he would have told her." 
 
 ''Oh! whei-e are these papers, Dagobert?" 
 
 " There, in the knapsack, with my cross and our purse. One tlay I 
 will give them to you, but I have picked out a few leaves here and there 
 for you to read presently. You will see wliy."
 
 60 /' // / ' >!' 1 v /' /■' /'■ / ■^ '' -I I- If. 
 
 ) « 
 
 " lJa<l our fiillici' Ipccu long in India 
 
 "I gathered fioin tlie few words which your mother said tlial iIm- 
 general had gone to tliat country after lighting for the Greeks against 
 the Turks — for he always liked to side with the weak against the strong. 
 In India he made fierce war against the English — they had murdered 
 om' prisoners in their prison-ships and tortured the Emperor at St. Hel- 
 ena, and the war was a doubly good one, for in harming them lieseived 
 a just eause." 
 
 " ^Miat cause did he serve then Î " 
 
 " That of one of tlie poor native princes, whose territories the English 
 laid waste till the day when they can take pos.session of them against 
 law aud right. You see, my children, it was once more the weak against 
 the strong, and your father did not miss tliis opportunity. In a few 
 months he had so well trained and discii>lined the twelve or fifteen 
 thousand men of the prince that in two encountei's they cut to pieces 
 the English sent against them, and who, no doul)t, had in their reckon- 
 ing left out your brave father, my children. But come, you shall read 
 some pages of his jom-nal, which will tell you more and Ijetter than I can. 
 Moreover, you will find in them a name which you ought always to 
 remember; that's wliy I chose this jjassage." 
 
 "Oh, wliat hap])iness! To read the pages written l)y oui- father is 
 almost to hear him speak," said Rose. 
 
 " It is as if he were close beside us," adde(l Blanche. 
 And the girls stretched out their hands with eagerness to catch hold 
 of the leaves that Dagobert had taken from his pocket. Then by a simul- 
 taneous movement, full of touching gi-ace, they pressed the writing of 
 their father in silence to their lips. 
 
 "You will see also, my children, at the end of this letter, why 1 was 
 surprised that your guardian angel, as you say, should be called (iabriel. 
 Read, read,'' added tlie soldier, observing the puzzled air of tlie orjihans. 
 "Only I ought to tell you that when lie wrote this the general had not 
 yet fallen in with the traveler who brought the i)apers." 
 
 Rose, sitting up in her bed, took the leaves, aud began in a soft and 
 treml)ling voice; Blanche, with her head resting on her sister's shoulder, 
 followed attentively every word. One could even see l)y the slight 
 motion t)f her lips that she too was reading, l»ut only to herself.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM GEXEKAL SlilOX'S DIARY 
 
 " BivotKK (»i the Mountains ofAva, February the '20th, 1830. 
 
 ACH time I add some pages to this journal, written now in the 
 heart of India, where the fortune of my wandering and 
 prosrrilied existenoe has thro^\^l me, — a journal which, alas ! 
 my beloved Eva, you may never T-ead, — I experience a sweet 
 yet painful emotion ; for although to converse thus with you is a con- 
 solation, it biings back the bitter thought that I am unable to see or 
 speak to you. 
 
 " Still, if these pages should ever meet your eyes, your generous heart 
 will throb at the name of the intrepid being to whom I am this day 
 indebte<l for my life, and to whom I may thus perhaps owe the hapjii- 
 ness of seeing you again — you and my child; for of coui'se our child 
 lives. Yes, it must be ; for else, poor wife, what an existence woidd be 
 yours amid the hoiTors of exile ! Dear soul ! he must now be fourteen. 
 Whom does he resemble ? Is he like you ? Has he your large and 
 beautiful Idue eyes ? Madman that I am ! How many times in this long 
 day-book have I already asked the same idle question, to which you 
 can return no answer ! How many times shall I continue to ask it f 
 But you will teach our child to speak and love the somewhat savage 
 name of Djalma ! " 
 
 " Djalma ! " said Rose, as with moist eyes she left off reading. 
 
 " Djalma ! " repeated Blanche, who shared the emotion of her sister. 
 " Oh, we shall never forget that name." 
 
 " And you will do well, my children ; for it seems to be the name of a 
 famous soldier, though a very young one. But go on, my little Rose !" 
 
 " I have told you in the preceding pages, my dear Eva, of the two 
 glorious days we had this month. The troops of my old friend the 
 prince, which daily make fresh advances in European discipline, have
 
 c-j T II i: WA s It i: i; i sa ./ /; \v. 
 
 la'i-t'oniR'd womlers. Wo liavc l)cat('n the Eiifi;lish and oliligcd tlioiii to 
 abaudoii a portion of this unliai)i)y country, whirh thoy had iuvadod in 
 contcniiit of all the rijirhts of justice, and which thcj' continue to ravage 
 without i>j(M-cy ; for in these jiarts warfare is another name for treachery, 
 j>illa,u'(', and massacre. This morning, after a toilsome marcli tln-ongh a 
 rocky and mountainous district, we received information from oui- 
 scouts that the enemy had been rei'-nforced and were preparing to act 
 on the otïensive; and, as we were separated from them by a distance of 
 a few leagues only, an engagement became inevitable. My old friend 
 the prince, the father of my deliverer, was impatient to mai-ch to the 
 attack. The action liegan aliout thi'ce o'clock ; it was very l)loody and 
 furious. Seeing tluit our men wavered for a moment, for they were 
 inferior in nund)er, and the English reënforcemeuts consisted of fresh 
 troops, I charged at the head of oiu" weak reserve of cavali-y. The old 
 l)rince was in the center, fighting, as he always fights, intivpidly ; his 
 son, Djahna, scarcely eighteen, as brave as his father, did not leave my 
 side. In the hottest pai't of the engagement my horse was killed under 
 me, and rolling over into a ra^'ine, along the edge of which I was riding, 
 I found myself so awkwardly entangled beneath him that for an instant 
 I thought my thigh was broken." 
 
 " Poor father ! " said Blanche. 
 
 "This time, happily, nothing more dangerous ensued — thanks to 
 Djalma ! You see, Dagol)ert," added Rose, " that I remember the name." 
 And she continued to read : 
 
 "The p]nglish tlumght — and a very flattering opinioji it was — that if 
 they could kill me they would make short work of the ])rince's ai'uiy ; 
 so a Sepoy officer, witli live or six iiTegiilars, — cowardly, ferocious 
 l)lunderers, — seeing me roll down the ravine, threw themselves into it 
 to dispatch me. Suri-ounded iiy fire and smoke, and carried away by 
 their ardor, our mountaineers had not seen me fall ; but Djalma never 
 left me. He leaped into the ravine to my assistance, and his cool 
 intrepidity sav^ed my life. He had held the fire of his doulile-barreled 
 earliine; with one load he killed the officer on the sjjot ; with the other 
 he broke the ann of an iri-egular, who liad already pierced my left hand 
 with his bayonet. But do not be alarmed, dear Eva ; it is nothing — 
 only a scratch." 
 
 "Wounded — again wounded — alas!" cried Blanche, clas])iiig her 
 hands together and interrupting her sister. 
 
 "Take courage!" said Dagoltert; "I dare say it was oidy a scratch, 
 as the general calls it. Formerly he used to call wounds which did not 
 disable a man from fighting, blank wounds. There was no one like him 
 for such sayings."
 
 THE WAKDEKING JEW. 63 
 
 " Djaliua, seeuifi;me wouudt'd," resumedEo.se, wiping her eyes, " made 
 use of his hea^'y" earbiue as a club, and di'ove back the soldiers. At 
 that instant I perceived a new assailant, who, sheltered behind a clump 
 of bamboos which commanded the ravine, slowly lowered his long gun, 
 placed the barrel lietween two l)ranches, and took deliberate aiin at 
 Djalma. Before my shouts could apprise him of his danger the brave 
 youth had received a ball in his breast. Feeling himself hit, he fell 
 back involuntarily two paces and dropped upon one knee ; but he still 
 remained fii-m, endeavoring to cover me with his body. You may con- 
 ceive my rage and despair, while all my efforts to disengage myself 
 were paralyzed by the excruciating pain in my thigh. Powerless and 
 disarme<l, I witnessed for some moments this unequal struggle. 
 
 " Djalma was losing blood rapidly; his strength of anu began to fail 
 him. Already one of the irregulars, inciting his comrades with his voice, 
 drew from his belt a huge, hea\'7>' kind of bill-hook, when a dozen of our 
 mountaineers made then- appearance, borne toward the spot by the 
 irresistible cui-rent of the battle. Djalma was rescued in his tm-n, I was 
 released, and in a qiiarter of an hour I was able to mount a horse. 
 The fortune of the day is ours, though with severe loss ; Init the fii-es 
 of the English camp are still visible, and to-moiTOW the coiifliet will be 
 decisive. Thus, my Ijeloved Eva, I owe my life to this youth. Hap])ily 
 his wound occasions us no uneasiness ; the ball only glanced along the 
 ribs in a slanting direction.'' 
 
 " The l)rave boy might have said, like the general, ' a blank wound,' " 
 observed Dagobert. 
 
 " Now, my dear Eva," continued Rose, " you must become acquainted, 
 by means of this narrative, at least, with the inti'epid Djalma. He is but 
 just eighteen. With one word I will paint for you his noble and valiant 
 nature. It is a custom of this country to give surnames, and when oidy 
 fifteen he was called ' The Generous' — by which was, of com-se, meant 
 generous in heart and mind. By another cu.stom, no less touching than 
 whimsical, this name has reverted to his parent, who is called ' The 
 Father of the Generous,' and who might with equal propriety lie called 
 'The Just,' for this old Indian is a rare example of chivalrous honor 
 and jiroud independence. He might, like so many other poor i)rincos 
 of this country, have humbled himself before the execrable despotism 
 of the English, bargained for the relinquishment of sovereign power, 
 and submitted to brute force ; but it was not in his nature. ' My whole 
 rights, or a gi-ave in my native mountains !' — such is his motto. And 
 this is no empty boast ; it springs from the con^*iction of what is right 
 and just. ' But you will be crushed in the struggle,' I have said to him. 
 'My friend,' he answered, 'what if, to force you to a dlsgi-aceful act.
 
 04 Til i: \VA A h i: /.• / A t; ./ /•; u . 
 
 you wore told to yield <»• die?' Frnm tli;it day 1 uiidcrstuod him, and 
 iiave devoted myself mind and Ixuly tu llic ever saered cause of the 
 weak against the strong. You see, my Eva, that Djahmi shows himself 
 W(trthy of such a father. This yoiiiig Indian is so ])roHd, so lieroic in 
 Ills bravery, that, like a young (xreek of Leonitlas's age, he figlits with 
 his lircast liaiv, whili' other wan'iors of his country (who, indeed, 
 usually have arms, lireast, and slionlders uncovered) wear, in time of 
 liattie, a thick, impencti'able vest. Tiie rash daring of this youth reminds 
 me of Murat, King of Naples, whom I have so often told you I have seen 
 a hundrecl tinu's leading tlie most desperate duirges with nothing lait a 
 riding-whip in liis hand." 
 
 " Tiuit's another of those kings 1 was telling you of wliom tiie 
 Emperor set up for his amusement," said Dagobeit. " 1 once saw a Prus- 
 sian officer i)risoner whos(> face had lieeii cut across l)y that nuid-ca]> 
 King of Naples' riding-whip; tlie maik was there, a black and l>lue 
 stnpe. The Pnissian swore he was dislionored, and tlnit a sal»er-cut 
 would have been jireferalile. I should ratiier think so! That devil of 
 a king, he only had one idea : ' Forward, on to the cannon ! ' As si>on 
 as they Ijegan to cannonade, one would have thought the guns were call- 
 ing him with all their might, for he was soon up to them with his ' Here !' 
 If I speak to yott al)out him, my children, it's because he was fond of 
 repeating, 'No one can Itrcak tln-ough a sijuare of infantry if Ueneral 
 Simon or I can't do it.' " 
 
 Rose continued : 
 
 "I observed with ]>ain that, notwithstanding iiis youtli, DJahiui was 
 often sul)jeet to fits of deep melancholy. At times I have seen him 
 exchange with his father looks of singidar import. In spite of om* 
 mutual attachment, I lielie\V that both conceal from me some sad fam- 
 ily si'cret, in so far as I can ju<lge from expressions which haxe di-opped 
 from them by chance. It relates to some strange evei it w 1 1 i c i i l h e i r \ i \id 
 imaginations have invested with a supernatural charactei-. 
 
 "And yet, my love, you and 1 have no longer tlu' right to smile at the 
 credulity of others — I, since the French campaign, when I met with that 
 extraordinarj^ adventure which to this day I am quite unable to undei- 
 stand " 
 
 "Tliis refers to the man who threw himself liefoi-e the month of the 
 cannon," said Dagobert. 
 
 "And you," continued the maiden, still i-eading, "you, my dear, 
 Eva, since the visits of that young and beautifid woman, whom, as 
 your mother asserted, she had seen at her mother's house forty years 
 before." 
 
 The orjihans, in amazement, looked at the soldi<'r.
 
 THE WAXDERIXG ■/ K W 
 
 65 
 
 " Your mother never spoke to me of that, nor the general either, my 
 children ; this is as strange to me as it is to you." 
 
 With increasing excitement and curiosity Rose continued : 
 " After all, my dear Eva, things which appear very extraorcUnary may 
 
 often be explained by a chance resemblance or a freak of nature. Mar- 
 vels being always the result of optical illusion or heated fancy, a time 
 must come when that whicli ajjpeared to be superhuman or superuat-
 
 (i(i r H i: 11.1 A i> K h- 1 \ (1 .1 /•; w. 
 
 ui-al will provo to bo tho most simple ami natural event in the world. I 
 (loulit not, therefore, that the things which we denominate our prodi- 
 gies will cue day receive this commonplace solution." 
 
 "You see, my children, things apjtear marvelous which at liottom 
 ■MX' (luite simple, though for a long time we understand nothing about 
 them." 
 
 "As oiu' father relates this, we must lielieve it, and not be aston- 
 ished — eh, sister ? " 
 
 "Yes, truly, since it will all be explained one day." 
 
 "For example," said Dagobert, after a momeut's retlection, "you two 
 are so much alike, that any one who was not in the habit of seeing you 
 daily might easily take one for the other. Well, if they did not know 
 that you are, so to speak, 'doul)les,' they might be astonished, and think 
 an imp was at work instead of such good little angels as you are." 
 
 " You are right, Dagobert ; in this way many things may be explained, 
 even as our father says." 
 Rose continued to read : 
 
 "Not witliout ]>ride, my gentle p]va, have I learned that Djalma has 
 French blood in his veins. His father married some years ago a young 
 girl whose family, of French origin, had long been settled at Batavia, in 
 the island of Java. This similarity of circumstances between my old 
 friend and myself — for your family also, my Eva, is of French origin, 
 and long settled in a foreign land — has oidy served to augment my 
 spupathy for liini. Unfortunately, he has long had to inonrn the loss 
 of the Mnfe whom he adored. 
 
 " See, my beloved Eva! my hand trembles as I write these words. 1 
 am weak ; I am foolish ; but, alas ! my heart sinks within me. If such a 
 misfortune were to liaiti>en to me, — Oh, my (Jod ! — what would become 
 of OWY child without thee — without his father — in that barViarous 
 country f But no ! the very fear is madness; and yet what a horrible 
 torture is uncei-tainty ! Where may you now be f Wliat are you doing? 
 'NMiat has l)ecome of you? Pardon these black th()Ughts, which are 
 sometimes too nuieh for me. They are the cause of my worst moments, 
 for when free from them I can at least say to myself I am proscribed, 
 I am eveiy way unfortunate; but at the other end of the world 
 two hearts still beat for me with aiïecticm — yours, my Eva, and our 
 child's!" 
 
 Rose could hardly finish this passage ; for some seconds her voice 
 was broken by sobs. There was, indeed, a fatal coincidence l)etween the 
 fears of General Simon and the sad reality; and what coidd l)e moi'o 
 touching than these outpouiings of the heart, written by the light of a 
 watch-tii-e, on the eve of battle, by a soldier who thus sought to soothe
 
 THE WAXDEKTXG JEW. (J7 
 
 the pangs of a separation wliioh he felt bitterly, ])ut knew not wouLl be 
 eternal ? 
 
 " Poor general ! lie is unaware of our misfortune," said Dagobert, after 
 a moment's silence ; " but neither has he heard that he has two cliildivn, 
 instead of one. That will be at least some consolation. But come, 
 Blanche, do you go on reading; I fear that this dwelling on grief 
 fatigues yoiir sister, and she is too much affected Ijy it. Besides, after 
 all, it is only just that you should take your share of its pleasure and 
 
 its SOITOW." 
 
 Blanche took the letter, and Rose, having dried her eyes, laid in lit-r 
 turn her sweet head on the shoulder of her sister, wlio thus continued: 
 
 " I am calmer now, my dear Eva ; I left off writing for a moment, and 
 strove to banish those black presentiments. Let us i-esume our con- 
 versation ! After discoursing so long about India, I will talk to yoii a 
 little of Europe. Yesterday evening one of our i>eople (a trusty fellow) 
 rejoined our outposts. He brought me a letter which had arrived from 
 France at Calcutta ; at length I have news of my father, and am no 
 longer anxious on his account. This letter is dated in August of last 
 year. I see by its contents that several other letters to which he alludes 
 have either been delayed or lost, for I had not received any for two 
 yeai's l)pfoi"e, and was extremely uneasy about him. But my excellent 
 father is the same as ever ! Age has not weakened him ; his character 
 is as energetic, his health as robust, as in times past ; still a woi-kmau, 
 still proud of his order, still faithful to his austere repul)lican ideas, 
 still hoping much. 
 
 ''For he says to me, 'the time is at hand,' and he underlines those 
 words. He gives me also, as you will see, good news of the family of 
 old Dagobert, oui' friend; for in truth, my dear Eva, it soothes my grief 
 to think that this excellent man is with you, that he will have accompanied 
 you in yoiu- exile, for I know him — a kernel of gold beneath the rude 
 rind of a soldier ! How he must love our child !" 
 
 Here Dagoljert coughed two or three times, stooped down, and a]>- 
 peared to be seeking on the ground the little red and blue check-hand- 
 kerchief spread over his knees. He remained thus bent for some seconds, 
 and when he raised himself, he drew his hand across his mustache. 
 
 " How well father knows you ! " 
 
 " How rightly has he guessed that you would love us ! " 
 
 " Well, well, children ; pass over that ! Let's come to the part where 
 the gen(M-al s]ieaks of my little Agricola, and of Gabriel, my wife's 
 adojtti'd child. Poor woman ! when I think that in three months per- 
 haps But come, child; read, read," added the old soldier, wishing 
 
 to conceal his emotion.
 
 (58 7' // 1: H . I .V /) /•; /; / sa .1 e \x. 
 
 "I still liopc uij;aiiist Iioir', my dear Eva, tliat tlicsr p.-ii^^cs will one 
 (lay reat'h you, and therefore I Avish to insert in tlicni all that can be 
 interestiu<ï to Dagobort. It will be a eonsolation to him to have some 
 news of liis family. My father, who is still foreman at M. Hardy's, tells 
 me that wortliy man lias also taken into his house the son of old 
 DagoV)ert. Agrieola works under my father, who is enehanted with 
 him. He is, he tells me, a tall and vigorous lad, who wields the lieavy 
 forge-hammer as if it were a feather, and is light-spii'ited as he is 
 intelligent and lal)orious. He is the best workman on the establish- 
 meut ; and this does not jn-eveut him in the evening, after his hai'd day's 
 work, when he returns home to his mother, whom he truly lovi-s, from 
 making songs and writing exeellent i)atriotic verses. His poetry is full 
 of tire and ('n('ru;y; his fellow-woi'knicii sing nothing else, and his lays 
 have the power to warm tiie coldest and the most timid hearts." 
 
 "How proud you must be of your son, Dagobcrt," said Kose in 
 admiration ; " he writes sougs. " 
 
 "Certainly, it is all very tine; Itut what i)leases me best is that he 
 is good to his mothei-, and tliat he handles the hammer with a will. As 
 for the songs, before he makes an ' Awakening of the People' or a 
 'Marseillaise' he will have Jiad to l)eat a good deal of ii'on ; Init where 
 can this rascally Agi'icola have learned to make songs at all ;' No doubt 
 it was at school, where he went, as you will see, with liisadoi)ted brother 
 Gabriel." 
 
 At this name of (labriel, which reminded them of the ideal l)eing 
 whom th(>y called their guardian angel, the curiosity of the young girls 
 was greatly excited. With redoul)leil att(>ntion, Blanche contiiuied in 
 these words: 
 
 "The adopted lirother of Agrieola, the poor deserted child whom the 
 wife of our good Dagobert so generously took in, foi'ins, my fatlier tells 
 me, a great contrast with Agrieola — not in heart, for they have both 
 excellent hearts; but Gabriel is as thoughtful and melancholy as 
 Agi'icola is lively, joyous, and active. Moreover, adds my father, each 
 of them, so to speak, has the aspect which belongs to his character : 
 Agi-icola is dark, tall, and strong, with a gay and 1)old air; Gabriel, on 
 the contrary, is weak, fair, timid as a girl, and his face w<>ars an exjtres- 
 siou of angelic mildness." 
 
 Th(> orphans looked at each other in surjn-ise; then, as they turned 
 their ingenuous countenances toward the soldier, Kos(? said to him, 
 "Have you heard, Dagobert.' PVtlier .says that your Gabriel is fair 
 and has the face of an angel. Why, 'tis exactly like ours! " 
 
 " Yes, yes, I heard very well ; it is that which suri)rised me in your 
 dream."
 
 THE ^v. 1 -v I) ERixa .1 !■: 11'. m 
 
 " I should like U) know if he lias also blue eyes," said Rose. 
 
 " As for that, my ohildreu, though the general says nothing about it, 1 
 will answer for it, your fair boys have always blue eyes. But, blue or 
 Mark, he will not use them to stare at young ladies. Go on, and yf)U 
 will see why." 
 
 Blanche resumed : 
 
 " His face wears an expression of angelic mildness. One of the 
 brothers of the Christian Schools, where he went with Agricola and other 
 children of his quarter, struck with his intelligence and good disposition, 
 spoke of him to a person of consequence, who, becoming interested in 
 the lad, placed him in a seminary for the clergy, and since the last two 
 years (jala-iel is a priest. He intends devoting himself to foreign mis- 
 sions, and will soon set out for America." 
 
 " Your Gabriel is a priest, it appears ? " said Rose, looking at Dago- 
 Ijert. 
 
 " While ours is an angel," added Blanche. 
 
 " Which only proves that yours is a step higher than mine. Well, every 
 one to his taste ; there are good people in all trades ; but I prefer that it 
 should be Gabriel who has chosen the black gown, I'd rather see my boy 
 with arms bare, hammer in hand, and a leathern apron round him, 
 neither more nor less than your old gramlfatlier, my children, the father 
 of Marshal Simon, Duke of Ligny; for, after all, marshal and duke he is, 
 1 >y the grace of the Emperor. Now finish your letter." 
 
 "Soon, alas, yes!" said Blanche; "there are only a few lines left." 
 And she proceeded : 
 
 " Thus, my dear, lo\'ing Eva, if this journal should ever reach its des- 
 tination you will be able to satisfy Dagobert as to the position of his 
 wife and son, whom he left for our sakes. How can we ever repay such 
 a sacrifice ? But I feel sure that your good and generous heart will have 
 found some means of compensation. 
 
 " Adieu ! — again adieu, for to-day, my beloved Eva. I left off writing 
 for a moment to visit the tent of Djalma. He slept peacefully, and liis 
 father watched 1)eside him ; with a smile he l)anished my fears. Tliis 
 intrepid young man is no longer in any danger. May he still be spared 
 in the comliat of to-morrow. Adieu, my gentle Eva ! The idght is silent 
 and calm ; the fires of the bivouac are slowly dying out, and our poor 
 mountaineers repose after this bloody day. I can hear, from liour to 
 hour, the distant 'All's well' of our sentinels. Those foreign words 1)ring 
 back my grief ; they remind me of what I sometimes forget in wi'iting — 
 that I am far away, separated fi'om you and from my chil<l ! Poor, 
 beloved beings ! what will be your destiny l Ah ! if I could only send 
 you, in time, that medal, which by a fatal accident I carried away with
 
 70 '/•///•; WAXDERrXG JEW. 
 
 me froiu Warsaw, you nii^lit i)crhai)s ohtain leave to visit Franeo, or 
 at least to send oui- child there with Dugobert; for you know of wliat 
 
 inii)ortan('e But why add tliis soitow to all the i-est ? Unfortunately 
 
 the years are passing away, tiie fatal day will arrive, and this last hojie, 
 in whieh I live for you, will also l)e taken from m.'; ])ut I will not close 
 the evening by so sad a thought. Adieu, luy hdoved Eva! t'las]i our 
 child to your bosoiu, and co\-er it with all the kisses whicli T scud to both 
 of you from the depths of exile ! 
 
 '*' Till to-morrow— after the battle ! " 
 
 The I'eading of this touching letter was followed by a lojig silence. 
 The tears of Rose and Blanche flowed together. Dagobert, with his head 
 resting on his hand, was absorbed in painful i-eflectioiis. 
 
 Without doors the wind had now augmented in violence; a heavy 
 rain began to beat on the sounding panes; the most jnot'ound silence 
 reigneil in the interior of the inn. 
 
 But while the daughters of General Simon were reading with such 
 deep emotion these fragments of their father's journal, a strange and 
 mysterious scene took place in the menagerie of the l)rute-tamer.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE CAGES 
 
 ( )R()K had armed liimsclf. Over his deer-skiu vest he had 
 ih-awn the coat of mail — that steel tissue as pliable as cloth, 
 as hard as adamant ; uext, clothing his arms and legs in 
 their proper armor and his feet in iron-bouud buskins, and 
 (•()U('ealin<;- all this defensive equipment under loose trousers and an 
 ample pelisse carefully buttoned, he took in his hand a long bar of ii'on, 
 white-hot, set in a wooden handle. 
 
 Though long ago daunted by the skill and energy of the Prophet, 
 his tiger Caiii, his lion Jiuhis, and his black ijanther Deaf h had some- 
 times attempted, in a moment of rebellion, to try their fangs and claws 
 on his pei'son ; but, thanks to the armor concealed beneath his pelisse, 
 tliey lilunted their claws upon a skin of steel and notched their fangs 
 iipon arms or legs of iron, while a slight touch of their master's metallic 
 wand left a deep furrow in their smoking, shi'iveled flesh. Finding the 
 inutility of their efforts, and endowed with strong memory, the beasts 
 soon learned that their teeth and claws were powerless when dh'ected 
 against this in\Tilnerable being. Hence their terrified submission 
 reached to such a poiiit that in his public representations their master 
 conld make them crouch and cower at his feet liy the least movement 
 of a little wand coveretl with tlame-colored paper. 
 
 Tlie Prophet, thus armed with care, and holding in his hand the 
 iron made hot l)y Goliath, descended by the trap-door of the loft into 
 the large shed beneatli, in which were deposited the cages of his animals. 
 A mere wooden partition separated this shed from the stable that con- 
 tained his horses. 
 
 A lantern, ^ith a reflector, threw a vivid light on the cages. They 
 were four in number. A wide iron gi'ating formed their sides, turning 
 at one end upon hinges like a door, so as to give ingi'ess to the animal ;
 
 7-j '/'///•; Il I .v/w;/,/.v<,' .//■;!(". 
 
 tlu' bottom of eacli (U-ii rested on two axlc-trccs and four sniall imn 
 casters, so that tlicy could «^asily be removed to tlic larj^e covered wa{i;oii 
 in wliich tlicy were jjlaccd durinf; a journey. One of tliem was ('mi)ty; 
 tlie otlier tbree coiitaintMl, as already intimaled, n panther, a ti^i'r, and 
 a lion. 
 
 Tlu» jiantliei', oriiiinally from .lava, seemed to inei'it the fj;loomy 
 name of haitli by her urini, fei'oeious as])eet. ('om](leteiy black, she 
 hiy crouciiin<< and i-olled uj) in the bottom of her caj^e, and, her dark 
 hues minglinf; with the obscurity which surrounded hei-, uotliinj? was 
 distinctly visible but two fixed and fjlaring lij^lits — yellow, ])hosi)hores- 
 cent eyeballs, which only kindled, as it were, in the night-lime; for it 
 is the uatau-e of all the animals of the feline species to enjoy entire 
 clearness of vision only in <lai'kness. 
 
 The Prophet entered tlie stable in silence. The dark reel of his loiiir 
 jielisse contrasted with the pale yellow of his straiiiht liair and beard. 
 The hintern, placed at some heiirht above the i;ronnd, thi-ew its rays full 
 upon this man, and the strong light, opi)osed to the deep shadows aroimd 
 it, gave eflfect to the shai-p jn-oportions of his bony and savage-looking 
 tigure. 
 
 He approached the cage slowly. The white rim which encii-cled his 
 eyeball a]>]ieared to dilate, and his look rixah'd in motionless brilliancy 
 the steadily sjiarkling gaze of the j)antlier. Still crouching in the shade, 
 she tVlt already the fascination of that glance. Two or three times she 
 drojiiied her eyelids with a low, angry howl; theu re-opening her eyes, 
 as if in spite of herself, she ke])t them fastened inmiovalily on those of 
 the Prophet. And now her rounded ears clung to her skull, which was 
 flattened like a viper's; the skin of her forehead became convadsively 
 wrinkled ; she drew in her bristling but silky muzzle and twice silently 
 ojx'ned her jaws, garnished with formidaljle fangs. From that moment 
 a kind of magnetic counection seemed to be established between the man 
 and the beast. 
 
 The Prophet extended his white-hot bar towai'd lln' cage, and said 
 iu a sliarp, imperious tone : 
 " DcdfJi, come here ! " 
 
 The jtanther rose, Itut sodi-igged herself along that her belly and the 
 bend of her legs touched the ground. .She was three feet high and nearly 
 five in length ; her elastic and muscular spine, the sinews of her thighs 
 as well developed as those of a race-horse, her deep chest, her enor- 
 mous, jutting shoulders, her nervous, thick ))aws, — all announced that 
 this terrible animal united vigor with suppleness and strength with 
 agility. 
 
 Morok, with his iron wand still exteiideil in the direction of the
 
 <^h "6ttio,ti\0\i_ '' 
 
 MADAME SIMON'S DEATH.
 
 THE WANDERIXG JEW. 75 
 
 cage, made a step towai-d the panther. The panther made a stride 
 toward the Prophet. Morok stopped ; Death stoj^ped also. 
 
 At this moment the tiger, Judas, to whom Morok's back was turned, 
 hounded ^"iolently in his cage, as if jealous of the attention which liis 
 master paid to the panther. He growled hoarsely, and, raising his 
 head, showed the under part of his redoubtable triangular jaw and 
 his broad ehest of a dkty white, with which blended the copper 
 color, streaked with black, of his sides ; his tail, like a huge, red ser- 
 pent, with rings of ebony, now clung to his flanks, now lashed them 
 with a slow and continuous movement ; his eyes, of a transparent, 
 brilliant green, were fixed ui)on the Prophet. Such was the influence 
 of this man over his animals that JmJas almost immediately ceased 
 growling, as if frightened at his own temerity ; but his respii'atiou con- 
 tinued loud and deejj. Morok turned his face toward him and exam- 
 ined him very attentively during some seconds. The panther, no longer 
 sul)ject to the influence of her master's look, slunk back to crouch in 
 the shade. 
 
 A sharp cracking, in sudden 1)reaks, like that which gi'eat animals 
 make in gnawing liard sul)stances, was now heard from the cage of the 
 lion, Cahi. It di-ew the attention of the Prophet, who, leaving the tiger, 
 advanced toward the other den. Xotliing could be seen of the lion hnt 
 his monstrous croup of a I'eddish yellow. His thighs were gathered 
 under him, and his thick mane served entu'ely to conceal his head. But 
 by the tension and movement of the muscles of his loins and the curv- 
 ing of his backljoue, it was easy to perceive that he was making ^'iolent 
 eft'orts "with his throat and his forepaws. The Prophet approached the 
 cage ■R'ith some uneasiness, fearing that, notwithstanding his orders, 
 Goliath had given the lion some bones to gnaw. To assui'e himself of it, 
 he said in a quick and firm voice : 
 
 "CVf///."' 
 The lion did not change his position. 
 
 " Culii, come here ! " repeated Morok in a louder tone. The appeal was 
 useless; the lion did not move, and the noise continued. 
 
 ^^ Cain, come here! "said the Prophet a tliird time; Imr as he pro- 
 nounced these words he applied the end of the glowing liar to the 
 haunch of the lion. 
 
 Hcarcely did the light track of smoke appear on the reddisli liide of 
 Cain when, with a spring of incredible agility, he turneil and threw 
 himself against the grating, not crouching', lint at a single bound — 
 upright, superb, terrifying. The Propliet being at the angle of the 
 cage, Cain in his fury had raised himself sideways to face his master, 
 and, leaning his huge flank against the bars, thiiist between them his
 
 7() THE \y.\\ i>i:i; I S(i .1 1:\\. 
 
 euonnmis t'orclrg, wlik-li, witli his swolk'U imist-lcs, was as larj^c as 
 Goliath's thigh. 
 
 " Cam, down !" said the Projïiu't, approacliiiig briskly. 
 The lion did not obey ininiediatoly. His lips, curliii;; with ra^c, dis- 
 played fangs as long, as large, and as pointed as the tnsks of a wild Ijoar. 
 But Morok touched those lips witli the end of Ihr Imriiiiig metal ; and 
 as he felt the smart, followed by an unexpected summons of his master, 
 the lit)n, not daring to roar, tittered a hollow growl, and his great body 
 sank down at once in an attitude of sul)mission and fear. 
 
 The Proi)het took down the lantern to see what Cahi had been 
 gnaAving. It w'as one of the i)lanks IVom the floor of his den, which he 
 had succeeded in tearing up, and was crunclnng between his teeth in 
 tile extremity of his hunger. 
 
 For a fi'W moments the most ])rofound silence reigned in the Tueii- 
 agerie. The Prophet, with his hands lieiiind his back, went from one 
 cage to the other, observing the animals with a I'estless, contem])lative 
 look, as if he liesitated to make lietweeii them an imjioi-tant and difficult 
 choice. 
 
 From time to time he listened at the gi'eat door of the shed whicli 
 openeil on the court-yaril of the inn. At length this door turned on its 
 hinges and (roliath a])]ieared, his clothes di'ipping with watei'. 
 
 " Well ! is it done :' " said the Propliet. 
 
 " Not without trouble. Luckily, the night is dai'k, it blows hard, and 
 it pours with rain." 
 
 " Then there is no suspicion .' " 
 
 " N(me, master. Youi' information was good. The door of the cellai- 
 opens on the fields, just under the window of the gni-ls. Wiieii you 
 whistled to let me know it was time, I crept out with a stool I had ])ro- 
 vided; I put it up against the wall and mounted upon it; with my six 
 feet, that made nine, and I could lean my elbows on the window-le<lge ; 
 I took the shutter in one hand and the haft of my knifi^ in the other, 
 and while I broke two f)f the panes I ])ushe(l the shutter with all my 
 might." 
 
 " And they thought it was the wind :'" 
 
 " Yes, they thought it was the wind. Yon see, the 'bi-ute' is not 
 such a brute, after all. That done, 1 crei>t back into my cellar, carrying 
 my stool with me. In a little time I heard the voice of the old man ; it 
 was well I had made haste." 
 
 "Yes; when I whistled to y<m he had just entered the sui)i)er-i'ooni. 
 I tliought he wouhl have l)een longer." 
 
 " That man's not built to remain long at supper," said the giant, con- 
 temptuously. "Some moments after the panes liad been broken, the
 
 THE WAXPERIXO JEW. 77 
 
 old mail opened tiie window and called his dog, sajaug, 'Jump out!' 
 I went and hid myself at the farther end of the cellar, or that infernal 
 dog would have scented me through the door." 
 
 " The dog is now shut U]) in the stable with tlie old man's horse. 
 Go on ! " 
 
 " When I heard them close shutter and window, I came out of niy 
 cellar, rei)lact'd my stool, and again mounted upon it. Unfastening the 
 shutter, I opened it without noise, but the two broken paues were 
 stopped up with the skirts of a pelisse. I heard talking, Init I could see 
 nothing, so I moved the pelisse a little, and then I could see the two 
 young girls in bed opposite to me, and the old man sitting down with 
 his back to where I stood." 
 
 " But the knapsack, the knapsack f That is the most important." 
 
 " The knapsack was near the window, on a table, by the side of a 
 lain}); I could have reached it by stretching out my arm." 
 
 " What did you hear said ? " " 
 
 " As you told me to think only of the knapsack, I can only remember 
 what concerns the knapsack. The old man said he had some papers in 
 it, the letters of a general, his money, his cross." 
 
 " Good. What next I " 
 
 " As it was difficult for me to keep the i:)elisse away from the hole, it 
 slipped through my fingers. In trying to get hold of it again I put my 
 hand too much forward. One of the girls saw it and screamed out, 
 pointing to the window." 
 
 " Dolt ! " exclaimed the Prophet, becoming jialc with rage; " you have 
 ruined all." 
 
 " Stop a bit ! there is nothing bi'oken yet. When I heard the scream 
 I jumpe<l down from my stool and got back into the cellar ; as the dog 
 was no longer about, I left the door ajar, so that I coidd hear them open 
 the window and see by the light that the old man was looking out 
 with the lamp ; but he could find no ladder, and the window was too 
 high for any man of common size to reach it ! " 
 
 " He will have thought, like tlie first time, that it was the wind. You 
 are less awkward than I imagined." 
 
 " The wolf has become a fox, as you said. Knowing where the knap- 
 sack was to be found with the money and the papers, and not being 
 able to do more for the moment, I came away — and here I am." 
 
 " Go upstairs and fetch me the longest pike." 
 
 " Yes, master." 
 
 " And the red blanket." 
 
 " Yes, master." 
 
 " Go ! "
 
 78 THE WAM)i:i{iy(i .IKW 
 
 Goliath bojïau to mount tlio laddor; half-way np he sto]iy)0(l. 
 "Master," said ho, "may I not liriutj; down a liit of meat for DkiIIi f 
 Vou will sec that shi-'ll hear inc nialire; she i)Uts it all dnwn to my 
 account; she never forj^ets, and on the first occasion " 
 
 " The pike and the doth ! " repeated the Projthet, in an imjierious tmie. 
 And whilst Uoliath, swearing to himself, procetMled to execute his 
 iustiiietious, ^lorok opened the great door of the shed, looked out into 
 the yard, and listened. 
 
 " Hei-e's the pike and the cloth," said the giant, as he descended the 
 ladder with the m'ticles. "Now, what must I do next ?" 
 
 " Keturn to the cellar, mount once more by the window, ami when the 
 old man leaves the room " 
 
 " Who will make him leave the room ? " 
 
 " Never mind ! he will leave it." 
 
 " What next ? " 
 
 " You say the lamp is near the window ? " 
 
 " Quite near — on the table next to the knapsack." 
 
 " Well, then, as soon as the old man leaves the room, push ojien the 
 window, throw down the lamp, and if you accomplish cleverly what 
 remains to do, the ten florins are yours — you remember it all ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes." 
 
 " The girls will l)t> so frightened by the noise and darkness that they 
 will remain dund) with terror." 
 
 "Make y<mrself easy! The wolf tnnieil into a fox; why not a 
 serpent ? " 
 
 " There is yet something." 
 
 "Well, what nowf" 
 
 " The roof of this shed is not very high, the window of the loft is easy 
 of access, the night is dark. Instead of returning by th(> door " 
 
 " I will come in at the window." 
 
 " Ay, and without noise." 
 
 " Like a regular snake !" And the giant d<>part<Ml. 
 
 " Yes ! " said the Prophet to himself, after a long silence, " tiiese means 
 are sure. It was not for me to hesitate. A blind and obscure instru- 
 ment, I know not the motives of the orders I have received ; but from 
 the recommendations which accomi)aiiy them — but from the position 
 of him who sends them — immense interests nnist l)e involv<'d — inten'sts 
 connected with all that is highest and greatest upon earth ! And yet 
 how can these two girls, almost beggars — liow can this wretched soldier, 
 represent such interests? No matter," added he, with humility, "I am 
 the arm which acts — it is for the head >vhich thinks and orders to 
 answer for its work."
 
 THE WAXDHRIXG JEW. 79 
 
 Soon after, the Prophet left the shed, earryiiig ■uith him the red cloth, 
 and directed his steps toward the little stable that contained Joriul. 
 The crazy door, imperfectly secured by a latch, was easily opened. At 
 sight of a stranger SjioUspdii threw himself upon him ; ])nt his tectli 
 encountered the iron leggins of the Prophet, who, in spite of the eft'oi-ts 
 of the dog, took Jovial by his halter, threw the blanket over his head to 
 l)revent his either seeing or smelling, and led him from the stable into 
 the interior of the menagerie, of whicli he closed the door.
 
 CIIAPTEH X 
 
 TII K SI IM'KISE 
 
 HE orpluuis, after readiiif^l 111' journal nftlH'ir t'ath<n',reiiiamo(l 
 
 for soiiii' iiioiiH'iits silent, sad, ami pensive, conleinplatini::!!!»' 
 
 leaves yellowed by time. Dagobert, also plunged in a rev- 
 
 ei-ie, thought of hisAvife aud son, from whom he had 1)ih'u so 
 
 oug sejtarated and lioj)ed soon to see again. 
 
 The soldier was tli(> first to Invak the silence, whieli had lasted for 
 several minutes. Taking the leaves from the hand of Blaiiehe, he 
 folded tliein eai'efully, put llieiii into his ])ocket, ami thus adilressed the 
 orjihans : 
 
 " ( 'ourage, my children ; you S(H' vrhat a hi'ave father you ha\e. Think 
 only of the pleasiu'e of greeting him, and remember always the name of 
 the gallant youth to whom you ^y^\\ owe that pleasun», for without him 
 your father would have been killed in India." 
 
 " Djalma ! W(! shall never foi'get liim," said liose. 
 
 "And if our guardian angel Gabriel should return," addeil Pdanehe, 
 "we will ask him to watch over Djalnni as over oursehvs." 
 
 " Very well, my children, lam sure that y<m will forget n(»thing that 
 concerns good feeling. But to return to the tra\-elei- who came to \asit 
 your poor mothei- in Sil)eria. He had seen the general a month after the 
 events of which you have read, and at a moment when he was about to 
 enter on a new cam])aign against the English. It was then that your 
 father entrusteil liini with the papers and medal." 
 
 "But of what use will this medal be to us, Dagobei't .' " 
 
 " And what is the meaning of these wonls engraved upon it ;'" adde<l 
 Eose, as she drew it from her bosom. 
 
 " Why, it means, my children, that on tlie i:>tli of February, ls;{:2, we 
 must be at No. .'} Eue Saint François, Paris." 
 
 " But what are we to do there f " 
 
 " Youi- poor mother was seized so quickly with her last illness that 
 she was unaV)le to tell me. All I know is that this meilal came to
 
 THE ^yANI>EliIXG JEW 
 
 81 
 
 her from lier jiarents, and that it liad been a reUc preserved in ln-r fam- 
 ily for moi'O than a century." 
 
 " And how did our father get it ! " 
 
 " Among the articles which had been hastily thrown into the coach 
 when he was removed by force from Warsaw was a di-essing-case of 
 your mother's, in wliifh was contained this medal. Since that time the
 
 82 /■///; w'AMfEii'i .\(i .//;ir. 
 
 general liail Uecii unal)le to seiifl it l)ack, liaviug no nieaus of «•oiiniiuiii- 
 catiiig with us, and not even knowing wliere we were." 
 
 " This medal is, then, of great impoi'tance to us f " 
 
 " Un(iuestional)ly, for never, during fifteen years, ha<l I seen your 
 mother so hai)i)y as on the day the traveler brought it back to her. 
 ' Now,' said she to me, in tht^ presence of the stranger, and with tears of 
 joy in her eyes, 'now may my children's future be brilliant as their life 
 has hitherto been mi.seral)le. I will entreat of the goveiiior of Sibe- 
 ria permission to go to France with my daughters; it will perhaps be 
 thought I have been suflficiently punished Ijy fifteen years of exile and 
 the confiscation of my i)roperty. Should he refuse, I will remain here; 
 but he will at least aUow nic to send my children to France; and you 
 must accompany them, Dagobert. You shall set out immediately, for 
 much time has been aln^ady lf)st ; and, if you were not to arrive before 
 the VMh of next February, this eruel separation and toilsome journey 
 would have been all in vain.'" 
 
 " Suppose we were one day after Î " 
 
 " Your mother told me that if we arrived the 14tli instead of the llith, 
 it woidd l)e too late. She also gave me a thick letter to jiut into the 
 post for France in the fii'st town we should pass through, which I have 
 done." 
 
 " And do you think we shall Ije at Paris in time ?" 
 
 " I hope so. Still, if you are strong enough, we must sometimes make 
 fon-ed marches; for if we only travel our live leagues a day, and that 
 without acciilent, we shall scarcely reach Paris until the beginning of 
 February, and it is bettei' to be a little beforehand." 
 
 " But as father is in India, and condemned to death if he return to 
 France, when shall we see him ?" 
 
 " And wliere shall we see him ? " 
 
 "Poor chil<li-en ! there are so many things you have yet to Icani. 
 When the traveler quitted him the general could not return to France, 
 but now he can do so." 
 
 "And why is that f" 
 
 "Because the Bovu-bons, who had banished him, were themselves 
 tunnMl out last year. The news must reach India, ami your father will 
 certainly come to meet you at Paris, because he expects that ytm and 
 your mother will be there on the 13th of next February." 
 
 " Ah ! now I understand how we may hope to see him," said Rose 
 with a sigh. 
 
 '• Do you know the name of this traveler, Dagobert ? " 
 
 " No, my children ; but whether called Jack or John, he is a good sort. 
 ^Mien he left yom- mother, she thanked him with tears for all his kind-
 
 THE WAX DE RI X G JEW. S3 
 
 ness and devotion to the general, herself, and her children ; Ijut he 
 I^ressed her hands in his, and said to her, in so gentle a voice that I could 
 not help being touched by it, ' \Miy do you thank me Î Did He not 
 say. Love ye one another ! ' " 
 
 "" Who is that, Dagobert ? " 
 
 " Yes, of whom did the traveler speak ? " 
 
 " I know nothing al)out it; only, the manner in which he prononnc<>d 
 those words struck me, and they wei-e the last he spoke." 
 
 " Love one another," repeated Rose, thoughtfully. 
 
 " How beautiful are those words," added Blanche. 
 
 " And whither was the traveler going ?" 
 
 '* Far, very far into the North, as he told yoiu' mother. "^Tien she saw 
 him depart, she said to me, ' His mild, sad talk has aflEected me even to 
 tears. "NMiile I listened to him I seemed to be gi-owing better ; I seemed 
 to love my husband and my children more; and yet, to judge by the 
 expression of his countenance, one would think that this stranger had 
 never either smiled or wept.' She and I watched him from the door as 
 long as we could follow him with our eyes. He carried his liead down, 
 and his walk was slow, calm, and tirm; one might fancy that he counted 
 his steps. And, talkiug of steps, I remarked yet another thing." 
 
 " ^\^lat was it, Dagobert ? " 
 
 " You know that the road whicli It^d to our house was always damj), 
 because of the overflowing of the little spring." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, then, the mark of the traveler's footsteps remained in the clay, 
 and I saw that he had nails under his shoe in the form of a cross." 
 
 " How in the form of a cross ? " 
 
 " Look," said Dagobert, placing the tip of his finger .seven times on 
 the coverlet of the bed ; " they were arranged thus beneath his heel : 
 
 You see it forms a cross." 
 
 " Wliat could it mean, Dagol)ert ? " 
 
 " Chance, perhaps — yes, chance; and yet, in spite of myself, this con- 
 founded cross left behind him struck me as a bad omen, for hardly was 
 he gone when misfortune after misfortune fell upon us."
 
 84 TUE \\Ayi>i:uiyii.ii:\\\ 
 
 "Alas, tho (loath of ourmotlici-."' 
 
 "Yes, but Ix't'ore that another |)icc(' ol' ill-hick. Voii had nul yot 
 ivturueil, ami she was writing- Iht petition to ask leave to go to France 
 or to send yon tliere, when 1 heard tlic <;alloi> of a horse. It was a 
 courier from the governoi'-jjiMieral of Siberia. Ho brought us orders to 
 change our residence ; within three days we were to join othei" con- 
 demned i)ersons and be removed with them fmir hundred leagues fartlier 
 nortli. Thus, after fifteen years of exile, they i-edonliled in cruelty 
 toward your mother." 
 
 "Why did they thus toi-uieiil her?" 
 
 "One would think tliat some evil genius was at work against her. 
 A few days later the traveler W(mld no longer have found us at Milosk, 
 and if he had joined us farther on, it would ha\e been too far for 
 the medal and papers to be of use, since, having set out almost 
 inunediately, we shall hardly arrive in time at Paris. ' If they had 
 some interest to prevent m<' and my chihlreu from going to Fiance,' 
 said y()ui- mother, 'they would act just as they have done. To 
 banisii us four hundi-eil leagvu'S farther is to render imi»ossible this 
 journey, of which the term is fixed.' And the idea overwhelmed her 
 with gi'ief." 
 
 " Perhaps it was this unex] ted sorrow that was the cause of her 
 
 sudden illness." 
 
 "Alas! no, my chikb'en. It was that infernal cholera, who arrives 
 without giving you notice, for he, too, is a great traveler, and strikes 
 you down like a thund(>rbolt. Three hours after the ti'aveler iuid left 
 us, when you returned (^uite pleased and gay from the forest with your 
 large bunches of wild-flowers for your mother, she was already in the 
 last agony and hartUy to be recognized. The cholera had broken out 
 in the village, and that evening five persons died of it. Your mother 
 had only time to hang the medal about yimr neck, my dear little Kose, 
 to recommend you both to my care, and to beg that we should set out 
 imnie(liately. AMien she was gone the new order of exile could not 
 apply to you, and I obtained permission from the governor to take 
 ray departure with you for France, according to the last wishes of 
 
 your " 
 
 The soldier could not finish the sentence; he covered his eyes with 
 his hand, while the orphans emliraced him, sobl)ing. 
 
 " Oh ! but," resumed Dago])ert with ]iriile, after a moment of painful 
 silence, "it was then that you showed yourselves the brave (laughters 
 of the general. Notwithstanding the danger, it was imi)ossible to tear 
 you from your mother's bedside; you remained with her to the last, 
 you closed her eyes, you watched there all night, anil yon would not
 
 THE WAXDERING JEW. 85 
 
 leave the villag'(^ till you had seen me plant tlie little wooden cross over 
 the gi'ave I had dug for her." 
 
 Dagobert paused abruptly. A strange, wild neighing, mingled with 
 ferofious roarings, made the soldier start from his seat. He grew pale 
 and fried. 
 
 " It is Jovial, my horse ! What are they doing to my horse ? " 
 
 "With that, opening the door, he rushed down the stairs precipi- 
 tately. 
 
 The two sisters clung together, so terrified at the sudden departui'c 
 of the soldier that they saw not an enormous hand pass thi'ough the 
 broken panes, unfasten the catch of the window, push it violently open, 
 and throw down the lamp placed on the little table, on which was the 
 soldier's knapsack. 
 
 The orphans thus found themselves plunged into complete darkness.
 
 CHAPTEK XI 
 
 'jovial" and "death" 
 
 ()liM)l\ liad ]i'i\ JiiridJ into tin' iiiiildlc of the nieuagerii', and 
 tlii'ii rt'iiiovrd the cloth which preveutctl liiiii from seoiiij? 
 and smi'lliii.u'. 
 
 Scarcely had the tiger, lion, and ]iaiilli('r caught agliuiitse 
 of iiiin tliau they threw themselves half-famishcid against the biirs of 
 tlu'ir dens. Tlie horse, struck with stupor, his neck stretched out, his 
 eye fixed, and trenililing thiough all liis limbs, apiieari'd as if nailed to 
 the gvouud; an abundant icy sweat lojlcd suddenly down his flanks. 
 T1h> lion and the tiger uttered feaiful roarings and sti'uggled violently 
 in their dens. The panther did not roar, but her nuite rage was terrilic. 
 With a tremendous Ijouud, at the risk of breaking her skull, she sprang 
 from the back of the cage against the bars ; then, still mute, still furious, 
 she crawled l)ack to the extr(>me corner of the den, and with a new 
 sjii'ing, as impetuous as it w'as blind, she again strove to force out the 
 iron gi'ating. Three times had she thus bounded — silent, appalling — 
 Avhen the horse, passing from the immobility of stupor to the wild 
 agony of fear, neighed long and loud, and rushed in desperation at tlie 
 door by which he had entered. Finding it closed, he hung his head, 
 bent his knees a little, and rubbed his nostrils against the opening left 
 between the gi'ound and the bottom of the door, as if he wished to 
 iidiale the air frcmi the outside; tlicn, more and more affriglited, he 
 began to neigh with redoubled force, and struck (Jut violently with his 
 forefeet. 
 
 At the moment when Death was about once more to make her 
 spring, the Prophet approached her cage. The heavy bolt which 
 secured the grating was pushed from its staple by the i)ike of the brute- 
 tamer, and in another second Morok was half-way u]) the ladder that 
 connnunicated with the loft. 
 
 The roaring of the lion and tiger, mingled with the neighing of 
 Jorliil, now resounded through all parts of the inn. The i)anther had
 
 THE WAX DERI S (I JEW. 87 
 
 again thrown herself furiously on the grating, and as it this time jnelded, 
 ■with one spiing she -was in the middle of the shed. The light of the 
 lantern was reflected from the glossy ebon of her hide, spotted with 
 stains of a duller black. For an instant she remained motionless, crouch- 
 ing ui3on her thick-set limbs, with her head close to the floor, as if cal- 
 culating the distance of the leap by which she was to reach the horse ; 
 then suddenly she darted upon him. 
 
 On seeing her break from her cage Jorial had thrown himself x'iolently 
 against the door, which was made to open inward, and leaned agaimst 
 it with all his might, as though he would force it down. Then, at the 
 moment when Ikafh took her leap, he reared up in almost an erect posi- 
 tion ; but she, rapid as hghtuing, had fastened upon his throat and hung 
 there, while at the same time she buried the sharp claws of her fore- 
 feet ui his chest. The jugular vein of the horse opened ; a torrent of 
 bright red l)lood spouted forth beneath the tooth of the panther, who, 
 now supporting herself on her hind legs, squeezed her vii-tim up against 
 the door, while she dug into his flank with her claws, and laid bare the 
 palpitating flesh. Then his half -strangled neighing became awful. 
 
 Suddenly these words resounded : 
 " Courage, Jorial ; I am at hand ! Coui-age." 
 
 It was the voice of Dagobert, who was exhausting himself in des- 
 perate exertions to force open the door that concealed tliis sanguinary 
 struggle. 
 
 '■'■Jovial," cried the soldier, " I am here ; help, help!" 
 
 At the sound of that friendly and well-known voice the poor animal, 
 almost at its last gasp, strove to turn its head in the dh-ection Avhence 
 came the accents of its master, answered him with a plaintive neigh, 
 and, sinking beneath the eft'orts of the panther, fell prosti'ate — fu'st on its 
 knees, then u]ion its flank, so that its backVjone lay right across the 
 door, and still prevented its lieiug opened. 
 
 Then all was finished. The panther, squatting down upon the horse, 
 crusheil him with all her paws, and, in spite of some last faint kicks, 
 buried her bloody snout in his body. 
 
 " Help, help, my horse ! " cried Dagobert, as he vainly shook the 
 door. " And no arms," he added with rage ; " no arms ! " 
 
 " Take care ! " exclaimed the Ijrute-tamer, who appeai'ed at the window 
 of the loft. " Do not attempt to enter ; it might cost you your life. My 
 panther is furious." 
 
 " But my horse, my horse ! " cried Dagobert in a voice of agony. 
 " He must have strayed from his stable during the night and pushed 
 open the door of the shed. At sight of him the panther must have 
 broken out of her cage and seized him. You are answerable for all the
 
 88 Tin: \\a.\ih:ri.\<i .ikw. 
 
 uiisehief that may oiisue," a(Ul(>(l tho linito-taiiKT, with a monacin^ air, 
 "for I shall have to run tho greatest danger to make Itiatli return to 
 lier den." 
 
 " But my lioi-se — oidy save my horse !" cried Dagobert in a tone of 
 hojieless supplieation. 
 
 The Prophet disappeared from the window. 
 
 The roaring of the animals and the shouts of Dagobert had roused 
 from sloe]) every one in the "White Falcon. Here and there lights wei-e 
 seen moving and windows were thrown oiien hurriedlv. The servants 
 of the inn sunn appeared in the yard with lanterns, and, surrounding 
 L)agol)ert, in(iuired of him what had ha]>]iened. 
 
 "My horse is there," cried the soldier, eontiiuiing to shake the door, 
 " and one of that scoundrel's animals has escaped from its cage." 
 
 .Vt these words the i)eople of the inn, ali'eady terrified by the fright- 
 ful roaring, fled from the spot and ran to infoi-m the liost. The soldier's 
 anguish may be conceived, as, pale, breathless, with his ear close to tho 
 chink of the door, he stood listening. By degrees the roaring had ceased 
 and nothing was heard but low growls, accompanied by the stern voice 
 of the Prophet, repeating in harsh, abrupt accents, '' Ikath ! Come here, 
 Death ! " 
 
 The night was profoundly dark, and Dagobert did not perceive 
 Goliath, who, crawling carefully ahingthe tiled roof, entered the loft by 
 the attic window. 
 
 And now the gate of the court-yard was again opened and the land- 
 lord of the inn ajipeared, followed by a number of men. Ai'med with 
 a carbine, he advanced with precaution ; his people carried staves and 
 pitchforks. 
 
 " ^Vhat is the row here ? " said he, as he approached Dagobei-t. " What 
 a hulibub in my house ; the devil take wild-beast showmen and negli- 
 gent fellows who don't know how to tie a horse to the nuiuger. If your 
 beast is hurt, so much the worse for you ; you should have taken more 
 care of it." 
 
 Instead of replying to these reproaches, the soldier, who still listened 
 attentively to what was going on in the shed, made a sign to entreat 
 silence. Suddenly a ferocious roar was heard, followed by a loud 
 scream from the Prophet, and almost immediately after the panther 
 howled piteously. 
 
 " You are no doubt the cause of some great accident," said the 
 frightened host to the soldier. " Did you not hear that cry? Morok is 
 perhaps dangerously woumled." 
 
 Dagobert was about to answer, when the door opened and Goliath 
 appeared on the threshold.
 
 THE WAX DERI X(l JEW. 
 
 89 
 
 " Yoii may enter now," said he ; " the daugei- is over." 
 The interior of the menagerie presented a gloomy spectacle. 
 The Prophet, pale, and scarcely able to conceal his agitation beneath 
 an apparent aii- of calmness, was kneeling some paces from the cage of 
 
 the panther in the attitude of one absorbed in himself, the motion of his 
 lips indicating that he was praying. At sight of the host and the people 
 of the inn he arose and said, in a solemn voice :
 
 !)0 Til i: w AS i)i:i; I M! .1 i:w. 
 
 "1 tliaiik thoc, my (iod, that I have bwu able to conquiM- l>y the 
 strength which thou liast fjivon luc." 
 
 Thi'ii fokliiio: his anus, witli liauj^hty brow and imperious glance lie 
 seemed to enjoy tlic triuiiii)li lie liad acliicved over 7>rr^/A, who, stretchccl 
 on the l)<>ttom of lier deu, routinucd to utter plaintive howlings. The 
 spectators of this scene, ignorant that the jtelisse of the l)rute-tamer 
 covered a complete suit of armor, and attributing the cries of the jianther 
 solely to fear, were struck with astonishment and iidmiration at tlie 
 intrepidity and almost supernatural power of this man. 
 
 A few steps behind him stood Goliath, leaning ujHiii tlif aslicii pike- 
 staff. Finally, not far from the cage, in the midst of a pool of lilood, lay 
 the dead body of .loridl. 
 
 At sight of the blood-stained and torn remains, Dagobert, stood 
 motionless, and his rough countenance assumed an expression of the 
 deepest grief; then, throwing himself on his knees, he lifted the head of 
 Jor'nil, and when he saw thostulull, glassy, and half-closed eyes, once so 
 bright and intelligent as they turned towai'd a nnieh-loved master, the 
 soldier ccmld not sni>]ii-ess an exclamati(m of liitter anguish. Forget- 
 ting his auger, forgetting the déplorai ile consecjuences of this accident 
 so fatal to the interests of the two girls, who would thus be prevented 
 from continuing their journey, he thought only of the horrible de.ith of 
 his poor old liorse, the ancient companion of his fatigues and wars, the 
 faithful animal twice wonnded like himself, and from whom for so 
 many years he had never been separated. This poignant emotion was so 
 cruelly, so affectingly visible in the soldier's countenance that the land- 
 lord and his people felt themselves for a moment touched with pity as 
 they gazed ou the tall veteran kneeling beside his dead horse. 
 
 But when, following the course of his regrets, he thought how Jovial 
 had also been the companion of his exile, how the mother of the orphans 
 had form(n"ly (like her dangliters) nndertaken a toilsome journey with 
 the aid of this unfortunate animal, the fatal consequences of his loss pre- 
 sent(Ml themselves on a sudden to his mind. Then, fury succeeding to 
 grief, he arose with anger Hashing from his eyes and threw himself on the 
 Prophet. With one hand he seized him by the throat and with the other 
 administered five or six heavy blows in the ribs, which fell harmlessly on 
 the coat of mail. 
 
 "Rascal, you shall answer to me for my horse's death!" said the 
 soldier, as he continued his correction. Morok, light and sinewy, could 
 not struggle with advantage against Dagobert, who, aided by his tall 
 stature, still displayed extraordinary vigor. It needed the intervention 
 of Goliath and the landlord to rescue the Prophet from the hands of the 
 old gi-enadier. After some moments they succeeded in separating the
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 91 
 
 two champions. Morok was white with rage. It needed new efforts 
 to prevent his seizing the j^ike to attack Dagobert. 
 
 " It is abominable ! " cried the host, addressing the soldier, who pressed 
 his clenched fists in despair against his bald forehead. " You expose this 
 good man to be devoured by his beasts, and then you wish to beat him 
 into the bargain. Is this fitting conduct for a gi-ay-beard ? Shall we have 
 to fetch the poUce ? You showed yourself more reasonable in the early 
 part of the evening." 
 
 These words recalled the soldier to himself. He regi'etted his 
 impetuosity the more, as the fact of his being a stranger might augment 
 the difficulty of his position. It was necessary above all to obtain the 
 price of his horse, so as to be enabled to continue his Journey, the suc- 
 cess of which might be compromised by a single day's delay. "With a 
 violent effort, therefore, he succeeded in restraining his wrath. 
 
 " You are right, I was too hasty," said he to the host in an agitated 
 voice, which he tried to make as calm as possible. " I had not the same 
 patience as before. But ought not this man to be responsible for the 
 loss of my horse ? I make you ju<lge in the matter." 
 
 " Well, then, as judge I am not of your opinion. All this has been 
 your own fault. You tied up yoiir horse badly, and he strayed by 
 chance into this shed, of which no doubt the door was half open," said 
 the host, evidently taking part with the brute-tamer. 
 
 " It was just as you say," answered Ooliath. " I can remember it. I 
 left the door ajar, that the beasts might have some air in the night. 
 The cages were well shut, and there was no danger." 
 
 " Very true," said the standers-by. 
 
 " It was only the sight of the horse," added another, " that made the 
 panther furious, so as to break out of its cage." 
 
 " It is the Prophet who has the most right to complain," observed a 
 third. 
 
 " No matter what this or that person says," returned Dagobert, whose 
 patience was beginning to fail him, " I say that I must have either 
 money or a horse on the instant, — yes, ou the instant, — for I wish to 
 quit this unlucky house." 
 
 " And I say it is you that must indemnify me," cried Morok, who had 
 kept this stage-trick for the last, and who now exhibited his left hand all 
 bloody, haWug hitherto con(_-ealed it Ijeneath the sleeve of his pelisse. 
 " I shall perhaps be disabled for life," he added ; " see what a wound the 
 panther has made here ! " 
 
 Without having the sei-ious character that the Prophet ascribed to 
 it, the wound was a pretty deep one. This last argument gained for 
 him the general sympathy. Reckoning, no doubt, upon this incident to
 
 ii'j Til i: M .1 s i>i:i; I sa ■/ 1: w. 
 
 secure tlie \viiiiiiiif!;ot' a cause tliat lie unw i-ei;ar<le(l as his own, llieliost 
 said to tlie hostler: 
 
 "There is only one way lo make a tiiiish. It is to call u|i the liur<;o- 
 niasti'r aud beg- him to .ste]) her»'. He will decide who is right or wroug." 
 
 '• T was just going to propose it to you," said the soldier; "for, after 
 all, I cannot take tlie law into my own hands." 
 
 " Fritz, run to the ImrgomasterV And the hostler sttxrted in all haste. 
 His master, fearing to he compromised l)y the exannnation of tlie 
 soldier, whose papers he had neglected to ask for on his arrival, said to 
 him : 
 
 ■' The hurgomastor will he in a very bad humor to lie disturbed so 
 late. I have no wish to suffer by it, and I must therefore beg you to go 
 aud fetch me your papers, to see if they are in rule. I ought to have 
 made you show them when you arrived here in the evening." 
 
 " They are upstairs in my knajisack — you shall have them," answered 
 the soldier ; and turning away his head, and puttinghis hand befoi'c his 
 eyes as he passed the dead body of Joritd, he went out to rejoin the 
 sistei's. 
 
 The Projihet followed him with a glance of triumi>li and said to him- 
 self, " There he goes ; without horse, without money, without ])apers. 
 I could not do more, for I was forbidden to do more. I was to act 
 with as much cunning as ])ossi1)le, and jireserve ap])earaiices. Now 
 every one will think this soldier in the wrong. lean at least answer for 
 it that he will not continue his journey for some days, since sueh gi-eat 
 interests appear to depend on his arrest and that of the young girls." 
 
 A quarter of an hour after this i-eflection of the 1)rute-tamer, Karl, 
 (xoliath's comrade, left the hiding-jilace where his master had concealed 
 him during the evening and set out for Leiji-sic. with a letter which 
 Morok had written in haste, and which Karl on his anival was to put 
 immediately into the 2>ost. 
 
 The address of this letter was as follows: 
 
 A Monsieur liodhi, 
 
 lh(r (In Ml Urn (les Tl'.'^ilis, Xti. 11, 
 
 A J'dii-s, 
 
 France.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE BUKGOMASTER 
 
 ACtOBERT'S anxiety increased every moment. Certain that 
 his li(>rs(^ had not entered the shed of its own accord, he 
 ÉR'^wJ^ attiibuted the event whicli had taken place to the spite of 
 fA^^sgl the brute-tamer ; ])nt he sought in vain for the motive of 
 this wi'etch's animosity, and he reflected with dismay that his cause, how- 
 ever just, would depend on the good or biid humor of a judge dragged 
 from his slumbers and who might l>e ready to condemn upon fallacious 
 appearances. 
 
 Fully determined to conceal as long as possible from the or2:)hans 
 the fresh misfortune which had befallen them, he was proceeding to 
 open the door of their chamber, when he stumbled over Spoilsport — 
 for the dog had run back to his post after vainly trying to prevent the 
 Prophet from leading away Jovial. 
 
 " Luckily the dog has returned ; the poor little things have been well 
 guarded," said the soldier, as he opened the door. To his great surprise, 
 the room was in litter darkness. 
 
 " My children," cried he, " why are you without a light V There was 
 no answer. In terror he groped his way to the bed, and took the hand 
 of one of the sisters ; the hand was cold as ice. 
 
 " Rose ! my children ! " cried he. " Blanche ! Give me some answer ! 
 You frighten me !" 
 
 Htill the same silence continued; the hand which ho held i-emained 
 cold and powerless, and yielded passively to his touch. 
 
 Just then the moon emerged from the black clouds that surrt)unded 
 her, and threw sufficient light into the little room and upon the bed, 
 which faced the window, for the soldier to see that the two sisters had 
 fainted. The bluish light of the moon added to the paleness of the 
 orphans; they held each other in a half embrace, and Rose had buried 
 her head on Blanche's bosom. 
 
 " They must have fainted through fear," exclaimed Dagobcrt, running
 
 94 7' // /•-' H . 1 .V It i: i; I A <i J !■: w. 
 
 to fetch liis oant(>oii. " Poor tliiiifrs ! At'tor a day of so innch excite- 
 ment, it is not surprising."' And, moistening the corner i>t' a handker- 
 chief witli a few drops of brandy, the soldier knelt beside the bed, gently 
 chafed the leiuples of the two sisters, and hfld the linen, wet with the 
 spirituous lii^uor, to their little pink nostrils. 
 
 Still on his kuees, and bending his dark, anxious face over tlie 
 two ori>han.s, he "waited some moments before again resorting to the oidy 
 r(>storative in his power. A slight sliiver of Rose gave him I'cnewed 
 hope; the young girl turned her h(>ad on the piUow with a sigh ; then 
 she started and opened lier eyes with an expression of astonishment and 
 alarm ; but, ni>t innnediately I'ceogni/.ing Dagobei't, she exclaimed, " ( >li, 
 sister ! " and threw herself into the arms of Blanche. 
 
 The latter also was beginning to experience the effect of the sojilier's 
 care. The exclamation of Kose completely roused her from her lethargy, 
 and she chmg to her sister, again sharing the fright without knowing its 
 cause. 
 
 " They've come to — that's the chief jwint," said Dagobert ; " now we 
 shall soo]i get rid of these foolish fears." 
 Then, softening his voice, he added : 
 
 " Well, my chil(b"en, corn-age ! You are better. It is I who am here — 
 me, Dagobert ! " 
 
 The orplums made a hasty movement, and, turning toward the 
 soldier their sweet faces, which were still full of dismay and agitation, 
 they both, Ijy a gi'aceful impulse, extimded their arms to him and 
 cried : 
 
 " It is you, Dagobert — then we are safe ! " 
 
 "Yes, my children, it is I," said the veteran, taking tlieii- hands in 
 his an<l pressing them joyfully. " So you have been much frightened 
 during my aV^sence ' " 
 
 " Oh, frightened to death ! " 
 
 " If you knew — oh, goodness ! if ycm knew " 
 
 " But the lamp is extinguished — why is that ?" 
 
 " We did not do it." 
 
 "Come — recover yourselves, poor chikh-en, and tell me all about it. 
 I have no good opinion of this inn ; but, luckily, we shall soon leave it. 
 It was an ill wind that blew me hither — though, to be sure, there was 
 no other in the \'illage. But what has ha]>])ened ?" 
 
 "You were hardly gone when the window flew open violently, and 
 the lani)) and table fell tog(»lhei' with a loud crash." 
 
 " Then our courage failed : we screamed and clasped each other, for 
 we thimght we could hear some one moving in the room." 
 
 "Ami we were so frightened that we fainted away."
 
 THE WAXDEBIXG JEW. 95 
 
 Uufortunately, persuaded that it was the violence of the wind, which 
 had ah-eady broken the glass and shaken the window, Dagobert attrib- 
 uted this second accident to the same cause as the tii-st, thinking that 
 he had not properly secured the fastening, and that the orphans had been 
 deceived by a false alarm. " Well, well, it is over now," said he to them. 
 " Calm yourselves, and don't think of it any more." 
 
 " But why did you leave us so hastily, Dagobert ? " 
 
 " Yes, now I remember; did we not hear a great noise, sister, and see 
 Dagobert run to the staircase, crying, ' My horse ! What are they doing 
 to my horse I ' " 
 
 "' It was, then, JoriaJ, who neighiM] ? " 
 These questions renewed the anguish of the soldier. He feared to 
 answer them, and said, with a confused air: 
 
 " Yes, Jorial neighed ; but it was nothing. By the bye, we must have 
 a light here. Do you know where I put my flint and steel last evening Î 
 Well, I have lost my senses ; it is here in my pocket. Luckily, too, we 
 have a candle, which I am going to Ught ; I want to look in my knap- 
 sack for some pajters I requii'e." 
 
 Dagobert struck a few sparks, ol)tained a light, and saw that the 
 window was indeed open, the table thi'own down, and the lamp lying by 
 the side of the knapsack. He shut the window, set the little taV)le on its 
 feet again, placed the knapsack upon it, and began to unbuckle this last 
 in order to take out his portfolio, which had been deposited, along with 
 his cross and purse, in a kind of pocket between the outside and the 
 lining. The straps had been re-adjusted with so much care that there was 
 no appearance of the knapsack having been disturbed, but when the 
 soldier plunged his hand into the pocket above mentioned, he found it 
 empty. Struck with consternation, he grew pale and retreated a step, 
 crying : 
 
 " How is this ? Nothing ! " 
 
 " What is the matter ? " said Blanche. 
 He made her no answer. Motionless, he leaned against the table, 
 ^vitll his hand still buried in the pocket. Then, yielding to a vague 
 hope, — for so cruel a reality did not appear possible, — he hastily emptied 
 the contents of the knapsack on the table — his poor, half-worn clothes, his 
 old uniform-coat of the horse-grenadiers of the Imperial Guard, a sacred 
 relic for the soldier. But, turn and re-turn them as he would, he found 
 neither his purse nor the portfolio that contained his papers, the letters 
 of Genei-al Simon, and his cross. 
 
 In vain, with that serious childishness which always accompanies a 
 hopeless seai-ch, he took the knapsack by the two ends and shook it 
 vigorously ; nothing came out. The orphans looked on with uneasiness,
 
 9(î Til /; MM X n /; /.• / x a ./ /; m . 
 
 not iimlerstaiidiiin' Ills sili'iicc or liis ino^vcTiK^iits. t'nf liis hack was lunicil 
 to thorn. 
 
 Blanche vciilun'd to say to liiin, in a timid voice: 
 
 " What ails you, you don't answer us; what is it you are looking for 
 in your knaiisaek .' "' 
 
 Still mute, Dagobert searched his own person, turned out all liis 
 IKX'kets — nothing! For the first time in iiis life, jn'rhaps, his two chil- 
 dren, as he called them, had s]»okeu to him without receiving a rejily. 
 
 Blanche and Rose felt the big tears start into their eyes. Thinking 
 that the soldier was angry, they durst not again address him. 
 
 " No, no ; it is impossilile ; no ! " said the veteran, ])ressiiig liis liand to 
 his forehead and seeking in Ids memory where he might iiave jmt tiiose 
 precious objects, the loss of which he could not yet bring himself to 
 believe. A sudden lieam of joy flashed from his eyes. He ran to a 
 chair and took from it the portmanteau of the orphans. It contained a 
 little linen, tAVo black ch'esses, and a small box of white wood in which 
 were a silk handkerchief that had belonged to their mother, two locks 
 of hair, and a black ribbon slie had woi-n round her neck. The little 
 she possessed had been seized Ijy the Russian government, in pursuance 
 of the confiscation. Dagobert searched and re-searched every article — 
 peeped into all the corners of the portmanteau — still nothing. 
 
 This time, completely worn out, leaning against the table, the strong, 
 energetic man felt himself giWng way. His face was burning, yet bathed 
 in a cold sweat ; his knees trembled under him. It is a common saying 
 that drowning men will catch at sti'aws; and so it is witli the despair 
 that still struggles against desi)eration. Catching at a last chance, — 
 absm'd, insane, impossible, — he turned abruptly toward the oi'])hans 
 and said to them, without considering the alteration in his voice and 
 featui-es : 
 
 "I did not give them to you to keep for me .' Speak !" 
 Instead of answering. Rose and Blanche, teriified at his paleness 
 and the ex])ression of his countenance, littered a ci"y. 
 
 " Good heavens ! what is the mattei- with you ? " murmured Rose. 
 
 " Have you got them — yes or no Î " cried, in a voice of thunder, the 
 unfortunate, distracted man. " If you have not — I'll take tlie fii-st knife 
 I meet with and stick it into my l)ody ! " 
 
 " Alas ! you are so good, pardon us if we have done anything to afflict 
 you ! You love us so much, you wouM not do us any harm." 
 
 Tlie ori)hans began to weep, as they stretched forth their hands in 
 supplication toward the soldier. He lookeil at tin'in with haggai-d eye 
 without even seeing them, till, as the delusion passed away, the reality 
 presented itself to his mind with all its temble consequences. Then he
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 
 
 97 
 
 flasped his hands togethov, foil on his knees before the bed of the 
 orphans, leaned his forehead \\\>o\\ it, and amid his convulsive sobs — 
 for the man of iron sobbed like a child — these broken words were 
 audible : 
 
 "Forgive me — forgive; I do not know how it can be! Uh! what 
 a misfortune — what a misfortune ! Forgive me ! " 
 
 At this outbreak of giief, the cause of which they understood not,
 
 98 THE WAXDEL'IXd J i:\V. 
 
 Init whicli ill siirh a man was licart-rcndiiij;, tlic two sisters woniul their 
 arms about liis old irray head and exclaimed, amid tlieii' tears: 
 
 "Look at lis! Only tell us what is the matter with you. Is it our 
 fault ? " " 
 
 At this instant tiie noise of footstejis resounded from the stairs, 
 mingled with the barking of Spoilsport, who liad remained outside 
 the door. The nearer the stejjs approached, the more fuiious became 
 the barking. It was no doul)t accompanied ^\ith liostile demonstrations, 
 for the host was heard to cry out, in an angry tone : 
 
 "Hollo! you there! Call off yom- dog, or speak to him. It is ;Mr. 
 Burgomaster who is eoniing u]>." 
 
 " l)agol)ert, do you hear .' It is the burgomaster," said Hose. 
 
 " They are coming upstairs — a number of people," resumed Blanche. 
 The word Jnirf/ottKH^trr recalled whatever had hajipened to the mind 
 of Dagobert, and completed, so to exjjress it, the picture of his terril ile 
 position. His horse was dead, he had neither papers nor money, and a 
 day — a single day's detention — might defeat the last hope of the sisters, 
 and I'ender useless this long and toilsimie .iourney. 
 
 Men of strong minds — and the veteran was of tin' iiiiiiilier — prefer 
 gi-eat perils, positions of danger acciu'ately defined, to the vague anxie- 
 ties which precede a settled misfortune. Guided 1)y his good sense and 
 admiraVile devotion, Dagol)ert understood at once that his only resource 
 was now in the justice of the burgomaster, and that all his elïorts should 
 tend to conciliate the favor of that magistrate. He therefore dried his 
 eyc^s with the sheet, rose from the ground, erect, calm, and resolute, and 
 said to the ori)lians : 
 
 " Fear nothing, iiiy children ; it is our deliverer who is at hand." 
 
 "Will you call off yoiu' dog or no ?" cried the host, still detained cm 
 the stairs by Spoilsport, who, as a vigilant sentinel, i-ontinued to dispute 
 the passage. "Is the animal mad, I say ? Why don't y<m tie him uj» ? 
 Have you not caused trouble enough in my house? I tell you that 
 Mr. Burgomaster is waiting to examine you in your tui-ii, for lie has 
 tinislied with Morok. 
 
 Dagobert drew his fingers through his gray locks and across his 
 mustache, clasped the collar of his top-coat, and brushed th(> sleeves 
 witli his hand, in order to give himself the best appearance possible, for 
 he felt that the fate of the orphans must depentl on his intei-view with the 
 magistrate. It was not without a violent beating of the heart that he 
 laid his hand u]»oii the door-knob, saying to the young girls, who were 
 gi'owing more and more frightened by such a succession of events: 
 
 "Hide yourselves in your bed, my children; if any one must needs 
 enter, it shall be the burgomaster alone."
 
 THE WAXDEHIXG JEW. 99 
 
 Thereupon, opening the door, the soldier stepped out on the landing- 
 place and said : " Down, Spoil'ipoit ! Here ! " 
 
 The dog obeyed, but with manifest repugnance. His master had to 
 speak twice before he would abstain from all hostile movements toward 
 the host. This latter, with a lantern in one hand and his cap in the 
 other, respectfully preceded the bm-gomaster, whose magisterial pro- 
 portions were lost in the half shadows of the staircase. Behind the 
 judge, and a few steps lower, the inquisitive faces of the people belong- 
 ing to the inn were dimly visible by the light of another lantern. 
 
 Dagobert, ha\-ing turned the dog into the room, shut the door after 
 him and advanced two steps on the landing-place, which was sufficiently 
 spacious to hold several persons, and had in one corner a wooden bench 
 with a back to it. The bui'gomaster, as he ascended the last stair, was 
 sm-prised to see Dagobert close the door of the chamber, as though he 
 wished to forbiil his entrance. " Why do you shut that door Î " asked he 
 in an abrupt tone. 
 
 " Fii-st, because two girls whom I have the charge of are in bed in 
 that room; secondly, because your examination would alarm them," 
 replied Dagobert. " Sit down upon this bench, Mr. Burgomaster, and 
 examine me here ; it will not make any difference, I shovdd think." 
 
 " And by what right," asked the judge, with a displeased air, " do you 
 pretend to dictate to me the place of your examination ? " 
 
 " Oh, I have no such pretension, Mr. Burgomaster ! " said the soldier 
 liastily, fe0,ring above all things to prejudice the judge against him; 
 " only, as the girls are in bed, and akeady much frightened, it would be 
 a proof of your good heart to examine me where I am." 
 
 " Humpli ! " said the magistrate, with ill-humor ; " a pretty state of 
 things, truly ! It was much worth while to distm-b me in the middle of 
 the night. But come, so be it ; I will examine you here." Then, turn- 
 ing to the landlord, he added, " Put yom- lantern upon this bench and 
 leave us." 
 
 The innkeeper obeyed and went dow^l, followed by his people, as 
 dissatisfied as they were at being excluded from the examination. 
 The veteran was left alone with the magistrate.
 
 CHAPTER Xi! I 
 
 THE JUDGMENT 
 
 ITE -svortliy burgomaster of Mockeni wdvo a cloth cii]!, and 
 was I'livt'loiM'd in a cloak. lie sat down heavily on the 
 bench. lie was a corpiUent man, about sixty, with an arro- 
 j^ant, morose couutenauce, and he frequently rubbed with 
 his red, fat fist eyes that were still s-woUeu and bloodshot from his 
 having been suddenly roused from sleep. 
 
 Dagobert stood 1 tare-headed Itefore him, with a submissive, respectful 
 ail*, holding his old foraging-eap in his hands, and tiying to read in the 
 sullen ])hysi()gnomy of his judge what chance tlu-re might be to interest 
 him in his favor — that is, in favor of the oi-phans. 
 
 In this critical juncture the poor soldier .summoneil tu Ins aid all 
 his presence of mind, reason, eloquence, and resolution. He who had 
 twenty times braved death with the utmost coolness — who, calm and 
 serene, because sincere and tried, had never (juailed before the eagle 
 glance of the emperor, his hero and idol — now felt himself disconcerted 
 and trembling l)efore the ill-humored face of the village burgomaster. 
 Even so, a few hours befoi-e, he had subndtted, impassive and resigned, 
 to the insults of the Prophet — that he might not compromise the 
 sacred mission with which a dying mother had inti"usted him; thus 
 showing to what a height of heroic aljnegation it is possible for a simple 
 and honest heart to attain. 
 
 "What have you to say in yom* justification? Come, be (juick!" 
 said the judge roughly, with a yawn of inqiatience. 
 
 "I have not got to justify myself — I have to make a eoniplaiiit, Mr. 
 Burgomaster," replied Dagobert in a firm voice. 
 
 " Do you think you are to teach me in what terms I am to put my 
 questions ?" exclaimed the magistrate, in so sharp a tone that the .soldier 
 reiiroached himself with ha\ing begun the inter\new so badly. 
 
 Wishing to pacify his judge, he made haste to answer, with submis-
 
 THE WAXIJERIXG JEW. 101 
 
 sion, "Pardon me, Mr. Burgomaster; I have ill explained my meaning. 
 I only vrished to say that 1 was not wrong in this affair." 
 
 " The Prophet says the contrary." 
 
 " The Prophet .^" repeated the soklier, with an ah- of doubt. 
 
 " The Prophet is a pious and honest man," resumed the judge, 
 " iueapable of falsehood." 
 
 " I cannot say anything upon that subject ; but you are too just, and 
 have too good a heart, Mr. Burgomaster, to condemn without hearing 
 me. It is not a man like you that would do an injustice ; oh, one can see 
 that at a glance ! " 
 
 In resigning himself thus to play the part of a courtier, Dagobert 
 softened as much as possible his gruff voice, and strove to give to his 
 au.stere countenance a smiling, agreeable, and flattering expression. 
 " A man like you," he added, with redoubled sua^-ity of manner, " a 
 respectable judge like you, never shuts his ear to one side or the 
 other." 
 
 " Ears are uot in question, but eyes ; and though mine smart as if I 
 had rubbed them with nettles, I have seen the hand of the brute-tamer 
 with a frightful wound on it." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Burgomaster, it is very true ; but consider — if he had shut 
 his cages and his door, all this would not have happened." 
 
 "Not so; it is your fault. You should have fastened your horse 
 secui'ely to the manger." 
 
 " You are right, Mr. Biu-gomaster ; certainly you are right," said the 
 soldier, in a still more aft"able and conciliating voice. " It is not for a 
 poor de\il like me to contradict you. But supposing my horse was let 
 loose out of pure malice, in order that he might stray into the men- 
 agerie — you will then acknowledge that it was not my fault. That is, 
 you will acknowledge it if you think fit," hastily- added the soldier; 
 " I have no right to dictate to you in anything." 
 
 " And why the devil should any one do you this ill tui'u f " 
 
 " I do not know, Mr. Burgomaster ; but " 
 
 " You do not know ? Well, nor I either," said the burgomaster, 
 impatiently. " Zounds ! what a many words about the carcass of an 
 old horse ! " 
 
 The countenance of the soldier, losing on a sudden its expression of 
 forced siiavity, became once more severe. He answered in a gi'ave voice, 
 full of emotion : 
 
 " My horse is dead — he is no more than a carcass — that is true ; Imt an 
 hour ago, though very old, he was full of life and intelligence. He 
 neighed joyously at my voice, and every evening he licked the hands of 
 the two poor children whom he had earned all the day, as fonnerly he
 
 102 THE WAXnKlîl \(i JEW. 
 
 liatl carriod tlieir inotln'r. Now lie will iicvci' carry any one acaiii ; thoy 
 will throw liiiH to the clogs, and all will be liuished. You iu'ed not have 
 reminded me harshly of it, Mr. liurgoinaster, for I loved my horse." 
 
 By these words, pronounced \vith noble and touching simplicity, the 
 burgomaster was moved in s])ite of jiiniself, and regretted his liasty 
 sj)eeeli. 
 
 " It is natural that you should be sorry for your horse," said he in a 
 less im])atient tone; "but what is to be done Î It is a misfortune." 
 
 "A misfortune? Yes, Mr. Burgomaster, a very great misforlune. 
 The girls who accompany me were too weak to undertake a long journey 
 on foot, too poor to travel in a carriage, and yet we have to arrive in Paris 
 before the month of Fel)ruary. ^\nieu tlieir mother died I promised 
 her to take them to France, for these children have only me to take 
 care of them." 
 
 "You are, then, their " 
 
 "1 am their faitliful servant, Mr. Bui'gomaster ; and now that my 
 horse has been killed, what can I do for them ;' Come, you are good ; you 
 have, perhaps, children of your own. If, one day, they should find them- 
 selves in the position of two little orphans, with no wealth, no resources 
 in the world but an old soldier who loves them and an old horse to carry 
 them along ; if, after ])eing very unfortunate from their l)irth, — yes, veiy 
 unfortunate, for my orphans are the daughters of exiles, — they should see 
 hajipiness before them at the end of a journey, aiul then by the death 
 of theii" horse that journey become impossible — tell me, Mr. Burgomas- 
 ter, if this would not touch yom* heart? Would you not find, as I <lo, 
 that the loss of my horse is irreparable ?" 
 
 "Certainly," answered the bui'gouuister, who was not ill-natured at 
 bottom, and who could not help taking part in Dagobert's emotion ; "I 
 now understand the importance of the loss you have suffered. And 
 then your orphans inteivst me. How old are they?" 
 
 " Fifteen years and two months. They are twins." 
 
 " Fifteen years and two months — thatisabout theage of myFrederica." 
 
 " \^ou have a young lady of that age ?" ci-ied Dagobert, once more awak- 
 ing to hope. " Ah, Mr. Burgomaster, I am really no longer uneasy about 
 my poor children. You will do us justice." 
 
 " To do justic(» is my duty. Aftei- all, in this affair, the faults are 
 about equal on l)oth sides. Y'ou tied up yom- horse badly, and the 
 l)rute-tamer left his door open. He says, ' I am wounded in the hand.' 
 You answer: 'My horse has been killed, and for a thousand reasons 
 the loss of my horse is irreparable.'" 
 
 "You nuike me speak bettt>r than I could ever speak on my own 
 account, Mr. Burgomaster," said the soldier, with a humble, insinuating
 
 THE WAXIJERIXG JEW. 103 
 
 smile ; " but 'tis what I meant to express, and, as you say yourself, Mr. 
 Biu-gomaster, my horse being my whole fortune, it is only fair '' 
 
 " Exactly so," resumed the magistrate, intennipting the soldier ; " your 
 i-easons are excellent. The Prophet — who is a good and pious man 
 withal — has related the facts to me in his own way; and then, you see, 
 he is an old acquaintance. We are nearly all zealous Catholics here, and 
 he sells to our wives such cheap and edifying little books, with chaplets 
 and amulets of the best manufacture, at less than the prime cost. All 
 this, you will say, has nothing to do with the affair, and you will be 
 right in saying so; still I must needs confess that I came here with the 
 intention " 
 
 " Of deciding against me, eh, ^Ir. Biu-gomaster ? " said Dagobert, gain- 
 ing more and more confidence. " You see you were not quite awake, 
 and yom- justice had only one eye open." 
 
 " Really, master soldier," answered the judge, with good humor, " it 
 is not unlikely, for I did not conceal from Morok that I gave it in his 
 favor. Then he said to me (very generously, by the way), ' Since you 
 condemn my adversary, I will not aggravate his position by telling you 
 certain things ' " 
 
 " What ! against me f " 
 
 " Apparently so ; but, like a generous enemy, when I told him that I 
 should most likely condemn you to j^ay him damages he said no moi-f 
 about it ; for I -«ill not hide from you that, before I heard y()ur 
 reasons, I fully intended that you should make compensation for the 
 Prophet's wound." 
 
 " See, Mr. Bm-gomaster, how the most just and able persons are 
 subject to be deceived," said Dagobert, becoming once more the coui'tier. 
 Then, trying to assume a prodigiously knowing look, he added, " But 
 such persons find out the tnith at last, and are not to be made dupes of, 
 whatever prophets may say." 
 
 This poor attempt at a jest — the fli'st and only one, perhaps, that 
 Dagobert had ever been guilty of — ^vill show the extremity to which he 
 was reduced, and the desperate eft'orts of all kinds he was making to 
 conciliate the good gi-aces of his judge. The burgomaster did not at 
 first see the pleasantry ; he was only led to perceive it by the self- 
 satisfied mien of Dagobert, and by his inquiring glance, which seemed 
 to saj' : 
 
 " Is it not good, eh f I am astonished at it myself ! " 
 The magistrate liegan, therefore, to smile with a patronizing air, 
 and nodding his head replied, in the same jocular spiiit : 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha! you are right; the Prophet is oiit in his prophecy. 
 You shall not pay him any damages. The faults on both sides are
 
 104 T II !■: M'. I A" n i: i; i x a ./ /; \v. 
 
 e(iual, aiid tlio injuries l)alaiic(' one another. Ile has heon wonndt^l, 
 your horse has been killed ; so you may cry quits, and have douo with it." 
 
 " But how much, then, do you think he owes mef " asked the soldier, 
 with sinf^iihii" simplicity. 
 
 " How much ? " 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Burgomaster; what sum will he have t(» ])ay me? Yes — 
 l)Ut liefore you decide, I must tell you erne thing, Mr. Burgomaster. I 
 think T shall ])e entitled to sixnid only part of the money in buying a 
 horse. I am sure that in the environs of Leii»sic 1 could get a beast 
 very cheap from some of the peasants ; and, between ourselves, I will 
 own to you that if I could meet with only a nice little donkey, I 
 should not be over particular — I should even like it just as well; for, 
 aftei- my \m)ov Jorial, tlie company of another horse woulil be painful 
 to me. I nuist also tell you " 
 
 " lley-day !" cried the l)urgomaster, interrui)tiiig Dagobert, " of what 
 money, what donkey, and what other horse ai-e you talking .' 1 tell you 
 that you owe nothing to the Prophet, and that he owes you nothing!" 
 
 " He owes me nothing ? " 
 
 "You are very dull of com]irehension, my good man. I rep(>at that, 
 if the Prophet's animals have killed your horse, the Pro])het himself has 
 been badly wounded; so you may cry quits. In otliei' words, you owe 
 him nothing, and lie owes you notliing. Now do you undeistand ? " 
 
 Dagobert, confounded, remained for some moments without answei'- 
 ing, whilst lie looked at the burgomaster with an expression of deep 
 anguish. He saw that his judgment would again destroy all his hopes. 
 
 " But, Mr. Burgomaster," resumed he, in an agitatcnl voice, " you are 
 too just not to pay attention to one thing; the wound of tin' 1)rute- 
 tamer does not prevent liiiii from continuing his trade; tlie death of 
 my horse prevents me from continuing my journey ; therefore he ought 
 to indemnify me." 
 
 The judge considered he had already done a good deal for Dagobert 
 in not making Mm responsible for the wound of the Prophet, who, as 
 we have already said, exercised a certain influence over the Catholics of 
 the country and esi)ecially over their wives, by the sale of his devotional 
 treasures, and also from its being known that he was supported by 
 some persons of eminence. The soldier's pertinacity, therefore, offended 
 the magistrate, who, re-assuming his lofty air, replied, in a chilling tone : 
 
 " You will make me repent my impartiality. How is this ? Instead of 
 thanking me, you ask for more." 
 
 " But, Mr. Burgomaster, I ask only for what is just. I ^dsh I were 
 wounded in the hand like the Prophet, so that I could but continue my 
 journey."
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 105 
 
 " We ai'e not talking ( )f wliat you wish. I have pronounced sentence — 
 there is no more to say." 
 
 " But, Mr. Burgomaster " 
 
 " Enough, enough. Let us go to the next subject. Your papers ? " 
 
 " Yes, we will speak aViout my jjapers ; but I beg of you, Mr. Burgo- 
 master, to have pity on those two children. Let us have the means to 
 continue our joui-ney, and " 
 
 " I have done all I could for you — perhaps more than I ought. Once 
 again, your papers ! " 
 
 " I must first explain to you^ " 
 
 " No explanation — your papers ! Or would you like me to have you 
 arrested as a vagabond f " 
 
 " Me — arrested ! " 
 
 " I tell you that if you refuse to show me your papers it will be as 
 if you had none. Now, those people who have no papers we take into 
 custody till the authorities can disjjose of them. Let me see your 
 papers, and make haste ! I am in a hurry to get home." 
 
 Dagobert's position was the more distressing as, for a moment, he 
 had indulged in sanguine hope. The last blow was now added to all the 
 veteran had suffered since the commencement of this scene, which was 
 a cruel as well as dangerous trial for a man of his character — upright, 
 l)ut obstinate ; faithful, but rough and aljsolute ; a man who, for a 
 long time a soldier, and a victorious one, had acquired a certain despotic 
 manner of treating with ci\'ilians. 
 
 At these words — " your papers !" — Dagobert became very pale ; but 
 he tried to conceal his anguish beneath an ah- of assurance which he 
 thought best calculated to gain the magistrate's good opinion. 
 
 "I will tell you all about it, Mr. Burgomaster," said he. "Nothing 
 can be clearer. Such a thing might happen to any one. I do not look 
 like a l^eggar and a vagabond, do I ? And yet — you wiU understand 
 that an honest man who travels with two young girls " 
 
 " No more words ! Your papers ! " 
 At this juncture two powerful auxiliaries arrived to the soldier's 
 aid. Tlie orphans, growing more and more uneasy, and hearing Dago- 
 bert stiU talking ui^on the landing-place, had risen and dressed them- 
 selves ; so that just at the instant when the magistrate said, in a rough 
 voice, "No more words! Your papers!" Rose and Blanche, holding 
 eacli other by the hand, came forth from the chamber. 
 
 At sight of those chai'ming faces, which their poor mourning vest- 
 ments only rendered more interesting, tlie Inirgomaster rose from his 
 seat, struck with surprise and admiration. By a s^îontaneous move- 
 îneiit each sister took a hand of Dagobert and pressed close to him.
 
 106 THE WAXDERTXa JEW. 
 
 whilst they rofjanled tlip mapstrate with looks of mingled anxiety and 
 candor. It was so toncliinp; a picture, this of the old soldier j)rcsenting, 
 as it were, to his judge the graceful children, ■ss'ith countenances full 
 of innocence and beauty, that the Ijurgoniaster, by a sudden reaction, 
 found himself once more disposed to sentiments of ]'ity. Dagobert 
 perceived it, and still holding the orphans by the hand, he advanced 
 toward him and said, in a feeling voice : 
 
 " Look at these poor children, Mr. Burgomaster ! Could I show you 
 a better passport ? " 
 
 And, overcome by so many i)ainful sensations, — restrained, yet 
 following each other in (juick succession, — Dagobert felt, in spite of 
 hiuiseir, tliat the teai's were starling to his eyes. 
 
 Tliough naturally rough, and rendered still mure testy by the mtcr- 
 i-uption of his sleep, the burgomaster was not quite deficient in sense or 
 feeling. He perceived at once that a man tlius acconii)anie(l uuuht not 
 to inspire any gi-eat distrust. 
 
 "Poor, dear children!'' said he, as he examined tliem with growing 
 interest ; " orphans so young, and they come from far " 
 
 "From the heart of Siberia, Mr. Burgomaster, where their mother 
 was an exile before their birth. It is now more than live months that 
 we have been traveling on by short stages — hard enough, you wUl say, 
 for childnMi of their age. It is for them that I ask your favor and 
 support — for them, against whom everything seems to combine to- 
 day; foi- only just now, when I went to look for my papers, I could 
 not find in my knaijsack the portfolio in which they were, along with 
 my piirse and cross; for you must know, ^Iv. Burgomaster, — pardon 
 me if 1 say it ; 'tis not from vainglory, — that I was decoratecl liy the 
 hand' of the emperor; and a man whom he decorated with his own 
 hand, you see, could not be so bad a fellow, though he may have had 
 the misfortune to lose his papers — and his purse. That's what has 
 happened to me, and made me so pi-essing about the damages." 
 
 " How and where did you suffer this loss ? " 
 
 " I do not know, ^Iv. Burgomaster; I am sure that the evening before 
 last, at bed-time, I took a little money out of the purse, and saw the 
 portfolio in its place ; yesterday I had small change sufficient, and did 
 not undo the knapsack." 
 
 " And where has the knapsack been kei)t ?" 
 
 " In the room occupied by the childi-en ; but this night " 
 
 Dagobert was here inteiTupted by the tread of some one mounting the 
 stairs. It was the Prophet. Concealed in the sha<low of the staii-case, 
 he had listened to this conversation, and he dreaded lest the weakness 
 of the biu'gomaster should mar the complete success of his projects.
 
 CHAPTER XIY 
 
 THE DECISION 
 
 OROK, who wore his left arm in a sling, having slowly 
 ascended the staircase, saluted the bm-gomaster respectfully. 
 At sight of the repulsive countenance of the lion-tamer, 
 Rose and Blanche, affrighted, drew back a step nearer to 
 the soldiei-. The brow of the latter grew dark, for he felt his blood boil 
 against Morok, the cause of all his difficulties — though he was yet 
 ignorant that GoUath, at the instigation of the Prophet, had stolen his 
 portfolio and papers. 
 
 " What do you want, Morok ? " said the burgomaster, with an air lialf 
 friendly and half displeased. " I told tlie landlord that I did n< )t wish to 
 be interrupted." 
 
 " I have come to render you a service, Mr. Bui'gomaster." 
 
 " A service Î " 
 
 "Yes, a great ser\ace, or I should not liave ventured to disturb you. 
 My conscience reproaches me." 
 
 " Your conscience?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Burgomaster, it reproaches me for not haAang told you all 
 that I had to tell about this man ; a false pity led me astray." 
 
 " Well, but what have you to tell ? " 
 Morok approached the judge, and spoke to him for some time in 
 a low voice. At first ajjparently much astcmished, the burgomaster 
 l)ecame by degrees deeply attentive and anxious ; every now and then he 
 allowed some extilamation of surprise or doubt to escape him, whilst he 
 glanced covertly at the group formed liy Dagoliert and the two young 
 girls. By the expression of his countenance, which grew every moment 
 more uiKiuiet, severe, and searching, it was easy to perceive that the 
 interest which the magistrate had felt for the or]ihans and for the sol- 
 dier was gi'adually changed by the secret communications of the Prophet 
 into a sentiment of distrust and hostility. 
 
 Dagobert saw this sudden revolution, and his fears, which had
 
 1U8 THE WAXDEUIXa .J E^y. 
 
 1(0011 appeased for an instant, roturnoil with io(l(>ul)loil fovoo. Rose and 
 Blanohc, ooufiised, and not undorstandiiif^ the olijcot of this muto scono, 
 k)okod at tho soldiov witli inoroasi'd peri>loxity. 
 
 " The devil ! " said tho l)uro;omaster, rising abruptly. " All this never 
 ocM'unvd to nio. AVIiat oonld I have l)(»on thinkiiiir of? But you soe, 
 Morok, when one is roused up in tho middle of tho night vme has not 
 always presence of mind. You said well ; it is a gi'eat serviee you came 
 to render mo." 
 
 "I assert notliing positively, but " 
 
 " No matter; 'tis a thousand to one that you are right." 
 
 "It is only a susi)iciou founded upon divers cireimistances ; but even 
 a snsi)i<'iou " 
 
 "May give you scent of tho truth. And lioro was I, going like a 
 gull into the snare ! Once more, what could I have been thinking of f " 
 
 "It is so diificult to be on guard against certain a])poarances." 
 
 " You need not tell me so, my dear Morok ; you iiood not tell me so." 
 During tliis mysterious conversation Dagobert was on thorns. Ho 
 saw vaguely that a violent storm was about to burst. He thought 
 only of how ho should still keep his aiigor within bounds. 
 
 Morok again approached the judge, and glancing at tho orjjhans, 
 recommenced speaking in a low voice. 
 
 "Oh!" cried the Imrgomastor with indignation, "you go too far 
 now." 
 
 "I affirm nothing," said Morok hastily; "it is a mere supposition 
 
 founded on " And he again brought his lips close to the ear of the 
 
 judge. 
 
 " After all, why not?" resumed the magistrate, lifting uji his hands; 
 " such people are capable of anj'thiiig. He says that he brings them 
 from the heart of Siberia ; why may not all this i)rove to lie a tissue 
 of impudent falsehoods? But I am not to be made a dupe twice," cried 
 the bm-gomaster in an angiy tone; for, like all pei'sons of a weak and 
 shifting character, he was without pity for those whom he thought 
 capable of having beguiled his c()m])assion. 
 
 "Do not bo in a huriy to dei;ide — don't give to my words more 
 weight than they desei-ve," resumed Morok with a hypocritical affecta- 
 tion of humility. " I am, unhajipily, placed in so false a i)osition with 
 regard to this man" — pointing to Dagobert — " that I might be thought 
 to have acted from private resentment for the injuiy ho has done me ; 
 perhaps I may so act without knowing it, while I fancy that I am only 
 influenced by love of justice, horror of falsehood, and respect for our 
 holy religion. Well, who lives long enough will know ; and may 
 heaven forgive me if I am deceived ! In any case, the law wiU pro-
 
 THE WAXDEEIXU JEW. 109 
 
 nounce upon it ; and if they should prove innocent, they vrill l»e released 
 in a month or two." 
 
 " And for that reason I need not hesitate. It is a mere measure of 
 precaution ; they will not die of it. Besides, the more I think of it the 
 more it seems probable. Yes, this man is doubtless a French spy f)r 
 agitator; especially when I compare these susi)icious with the late demon- 
 stration of the students at Frankfort." 
 
 ''And, iTpon that theory, nothing is better fitted to excite and stir up 
 
 those hot-headed youths than "' 
 
 He glanced significantly at the two sisters ; then, after a pause, he 
 added, with a sigh : 
 
 " Satan does not care by what means he works out his ends " 
 
 " Certainly it would be odious, but well debased." 
 
 " And then, Mr. Biu'gomaster, look at him attentively. You will see 
 
 that this man has a dangerous face. You will see " 
 
 In continuing thus to speak in a low tone, Morok had evidently 
 pointed to Dagobert. The latter, notwithstanding Ms self-command, 
 felt that the restraint he had imposed \\\)(m himself since his arrival at 
 this unlucky inn, and above all since the commencement of the conver- 
 sation between Morok and the biu'gomastei-, was becoming no longer 
 bearable ; besides, he saw clearly that all his efforts to conciliate the 
 favor of the judge were rendered completely null hx the fatal iniluenee 
 of the brute-tamer ; so, losing patience, he advanced toward him with 
 his arms folded on his breast, and said to him in a subdued voice : 
 
 " Was it of me that you were whisj^ering to Mr. Bui'gomaster ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Morok, looking fixedly at him. 
 
 " AVhy did you not speak out loud ? " 
 Having said this, the almost con\ailsive movement of his thick mus- 
 tache, as he stood looking Morok fidl in the face, gave evidence of a 
 severe internal conflict. Seeing that his adversary preserved a contempt- 
 uous silence, he repeated, in a sterner voice : 
 
 " I ask you why you did not speak out loud to Mr. Burgomaster when 
 you were talking of me ? " 
 
 " Because there are some things so shameful that one would 1 )lush to 
 utter them aloud," answered Morok, insolently. 
 
 Till then Dagobert had kept his arms folded ; he now extended them 
 ^^olently, clenching his fists. This sudden movement was so expressive 
 that the two sisters uttered a cry of terror and drew closer to him. 
 
 " Harkye, Mr. Burgomaster ! " said the soldier, grinding his teeth with 
 rage ; " bid that man go down, or I will not answer for myself ! " 
 
 " What ! " said the burgomaster, haughtily ; " do you dare to give 
 orders to me Î "
 
 110 TUK \VAM)ERIX(1 ./AM»'. 
 
 "I ti'll you to niako that uiiiii «ro down," resumed Dagobert, quite be- 
 side liiiiisell', " or there will be misehief!" 
 
 "Dagobert! — good heaven! — be calm," eried the children, gi-asping 
 liis hands. 
 
 "It becomes you, certainly, — niiseral>le vagabond that you ai'e, — not 
 to say worse," retin-ned the Imrgomaster, in a I'age; "it becomes you 
 to give orders to me ! Oh! you thiidv to impose upon me by telling me 
 you have lost your })a})ers! It will not serve your turn, for which you 
 carry about with you these two girls, who, in spite of theii' innt)cent 
 looks, are perhaps, after all " 
 
 " Wretch !" cried Dagobert, with so terrible a voice and gesture that 
 the ollicial did not dare to finish. Taking the children by the arm Ix'fore 
 they could s})eak a woi'd, the soldier pushed tliem l)ack into the 
 chamber; then locking the door, and putting the key into his pocket, 
 he retui-ne(l jirecipitately toward the burgomaster, wlio, frightened at 
 the menacing air and attitude of the veteran, retreated a couple of 
 steps, and held l)y one haml to tlie lail of the staii'case. 
 
 " Listen to me ! " said tlie soldier, seizing the judge by the arm. " Just 
 now that scoundrel insulted me. I. bore witli it, for it only concerned 
 myself. I have heard patiently all your idle talk, because you seemed 
 for a moment to interest yourself in those poor children. But since you 
 have neither soul nor ])ity nor justice, I tell you that, burgoniastei- 
 though you are, I will si)urn you as I would spurn that dog," pointing 
 again to the Prophet, " if you have the misfortune to mention those two 
 young girls in anyothei* way than you would speak of your own child! 
 Now, do you nmrk me?" 
 
 '• What ! You dare to say," cried the Imrgomaster, stanunering with 
 rage, " that if I happen to mention two adventui'esses " 
 
 " Hats off when you sjx'ak of the daughtei's of the Duke of Ligny !" 
 cried the soldier, snatching the cap of the burgomaster and flinging it 
 on the ground. On this act of aggression, Morok could not restrain his 
 joy. Exasperated, and losing all hope, Dagolx'i't had at length yiekled 
 to the violence of his anger, after struggling so painfully against it foi- 
 some hours. 
 
 When the burgomaster saw his cap at liis feet, he looke<l at the 
 tii'ute-tamer with an aii'of stujiefaction, as if he hesitated to lielieve so 
 great an enormity. Dagobert, regretting his violence, and feeling that 
 no means of conciliation now remained,- threw a rapid glance around 
 him, and, retreating several paces, gained the topmost steps of the stair- 
 case. Tlie burgomaster stood near the 1)ench, in a corner of the landing- 
 place, whilst Morok, with his arm in the sling, to give the moi'e sei-ious 
 appearance to his wound, was close beside him. "So!" cried the
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. Ill 
 
 magistrate, deceived by the backward movement of Dagobert, " you 
 think to escape after daring to hft hand against me ! Old viUain ! " 
 
 " Forgive me, Mr. Burgomaster ! It was a bm-st of rashness that I 
 was not able t<j control. I am sorry for it," said Dagobert in a repent- 
 ant voice, and hanging his head humbly. 
 
 " No pity for thee, rascal ! You would begin again to smooth me 
 over with your coaxing ways ; but I have penetrated your secret designs. 
 You are not what you apjjear to lie, and there is perhaps an affair of 
 state at the bottom of all this," added the magistrate in a very diplo- 
 matic tone. " All means are alike to those who wish to set Europe in 
 flames." 
 
 " I am only a poor devil, Mr. Burgomaster ; you, that have a good 
 heart, will show me some mercy." 
 
 " What ! when you have pulled off my cap ? " 
 
 " And you," added the soldier, turning toward Morok, " you, that 
 have been the cause of all thi.s, have some pity upon me — do not 
 bear malice ! Yoii, a holy man, speak a word in my favor to Mr. 
 Biu'gomaster." 
 
 " I have spoken to him what I was bound to speak," answered the 
 Prophet, ii'onically. 
 
 " Oho ! you can look foolish enough now, you old vagabond ! Did 
 you think to impose on me with lamentations ? " resmued the bm-go- 
 master, advancing toward Dagobert. " Thank God I am no longer 
 your dupe ! You shall see that we have good dungeons at Leipsic 
 for French agitators and female vagi-ants, for your damsels are no 
 better than you are. Come," added he, puffing out his cheeks with an 
 
 important air, " go down before me ; and as for you, Morok " 
 
 The burgomaster was unable to finish. For some minutes Dagobert 
 had only sought to gain time, and had cast many a side-glance at a half- 
 open door on the landing-place jiist opposite to the chamber occupied 
 by the orphans. Finding the moment favorable, he now rushed quick 
 as lightning on the biirgomaster, seized him by the throat, and dashed 
 him with such violence against the door in question that the magistrate, 
 stupefied by this sudden attack, and unable to speak a word or utter a 
 cry, rolled over to the farther end of the room, which was completely 
 dark. Then turning toward Morok, who, with his arm encuni]>ered liy 
 the sliug, made a rush for the staircase, the soldier caught him l)y his 
 long, streaming hair, pulled him back, clasped him with hands of ii-on, 
 clapped his hand over his mouth to stifli> Ids outcries and, notwith- 
 standing his desperate resistance, dragged him into the chamber on the 
 floor of which the burgomaster lay bruised and stunned. 
 
 Having double-locked the door and put the key in his pocket,
 
 112 THE WAM)ElîIX<l .//•;»'. 
 
 DafTobort tlcsoondcd th(> stairs at two Uouiuls and found hinisclf in a 
 passage tluit oiieiiod on the t-ourt-yard. The gate of the inn was shut, 
 and there was no possibility of escape on that side. The rain fell in tor- 
 rents. He could see through the window of a parlor, in which a fire was 
 burning, tlio host and his people waiting for the decision of the Imrgo- 
 iiicuster. To bolt the door of the passage and thus intercept all com- 
 munication with the yard was for the soldier the aflfair of an instant, 
 and he hastened u])stairs again to rejoin the orjihans. 
 
 ]\Iorok, rerovering frova his surprise, was calling for lielp with all 
 his might ; biit even if the distance had pennitted him to be heard, tlie 
 noise of tluM\-ind and rain would have drowned his outcries. Dagobirt 
 had about an hour before him, for it would reijuire some time to elapse 
 befoi-e the length of his interview with the magistrate would excite 
 astonishment ; and, suspicion or fear once awakened, it would be nec- 
 essaiy to break open two doors — that whi<'h separated the passage from 
 the com't-yiird, and that of the room in which the biu'gomaster and the 
 Prophet were confined. 
 
 " My children, it is now time to prove that you have a soldier's blcMxl 
 in your veins," said Dagobert, as he entered abruptly the chamber of the 
 young girls, who were terrified at the i-acket they had heard for some 
 minutes. 
 
 " flood lu'aven, Dagol)ert ! what has happened?" cried Blanche. 
 
 " What do you wish us to do ?" addeil Kose. 
 AVithout answering, the soldier ran to the bed, tore off the sheets, 
 tied them strongly together, made a knot at one end, passed it over the 
 top of the left half of the casement, and so shut it in. Thus ma<le fast 
 by the size of the knot, which could not slip through, the sheets, floating 
 on the outside, touched the ground. The second half of tlir window 
 was left open, to afford a passag(> to the fugitives. 
 
 The veteran next took his knapsack, the children's portmanteau, and 
 the reindeer pelisse, and threw them all out of the window, making a 
 sign to Spoilsport to follow, to watch over them. The dog did not hesi- 
 tate, but disappeared at a single bound. Kose and Blanche looked at 
 Dagol)ert in amazement, without uttering a word. 
 
 " Now, children," said he to them, " the doors of the inn are shut, and 
 it is by this way," pointing to the window, "that we must pass if we 
 would not be ari'csted, put in prison, — you in one place, ami I in the 
 other, — and have our journey altogether knocked on the head. 
 
 " Arresteil ! i)Ut in prison ! " cried Rose. 
 
 " Separated from you ! " exclaimed Blanche. 
 
 " Yes, my poor children ! They have killed Jorial. We must make 
 our escape on foot and try to reach Leipsic. When you are tii-ed I
 
 THE WAX DERI X G JEM'. 113 
 
 will f'arry you ; and, though I have to l^eg my way, we will go through 
 with it. But a quarter of an houi- later, and all will Ije lost. Come, 
 children, have trust in me — show that the daughters of General Simon 
 are no cowards — and there is yet hope." 
 
 By a sympathetic movement the sisters joined hands, as though 
 they would meet the danger united. Theii" sweet faces, pale from the 
 effect of so many painful emotions, were now expressive of simple 
 resolve, founded on the blind faith they reposed in the devotion of 
 the soldier. 
 
 " Be satisfied, Dagobert ! we'll not be frightened," said Rose, in a firm 
 voice. 
 
 " We will do what must be done," added Blanche, in a no less reso- 
 lute tone. 
 
 " I was sure of it," ciied Dagobert ; " good blood is ever thicker than 
 water. Come ! you are light as feathers, the sheet is strong, it is hardly 
 eight feet to the gi-ouud, and the pup is waiting for you." 
 
 " It is for me to go first — I am the eldest for to-day," cried Eose, 
 when she had tenderly embraced Blanche ; and she ran to the window, 
 in order, if there were any danger, to expose herself to it before her 
 sister. 
 
 Dagobert easily guessed the cause of this eagerness. " Dear chil- 
 dren ! " said he, " I understand you. But fear nothing for each other — 
 thi-re is no danger. I have myself fastened the sheet. Quick, my little 
 Rose ! " 
 
 As light as a bird, the yonng girl mounted the ledge of the window, 
 and, assisted by Dagobert, took hold of the sheet and slid gently down 
 according to the recommendation of the soldier, who, leaning out his 
 whole Vjody, encom-aged her with his voice. 
 
 " Don't be afraid, sister ! " said she, as soon as she touched the 
 gi'ouud; "it is very easy to come down this way. And Spoilsport is 
 here, licking mj'^ hands." Blanche did not long keep her waiting ; as 
 courageous as her sister, she descended with the same success. 
 
 " Dear little creatures ! what have they done to be so unfortunate ? 
 Thousand thunders! there must be a cm-se upon the family," cried 
 Dagobert, as, with heavy heart, he saw the pale, sweet face of the 
 young girl disappear amid the gloom of the dark night, which violent 
 sqiialls of wind and torrents of rain rendered still more dismal. 
 
 " Dagobert, we are waiting for you ; come quickly ! " said the orphans, 
 in a low voice, from beneath the window. Thanks to his tall stature, 
 the soldier rather leaped than glided to the ground. 
 
 Dagobert and the two young girls had not fled ft-om the inn of 
 the White Falcon more than a quarter of an hour when a long crash
 
 lu THE ]VA.\ j)i:Rjya jj:\\. 
 
 rosoiindod tliroufrh tlio house. The door had yielded to the efforts of 
 the l)urgoniaster ami Morok, wlio liad made use of a lieavy table as a 
 batteriug-ram. Guided by the light, they ran to tlie eharaber of the 
 orphans, now deserted. ]\Iorok saw the sheets lioatiiig from the ease- 
 ment and cried, "Mr. Burgomaster, they have eseajwnl ])y tlie win- 
 dow — they are on foot. In this dark and stormy night they cannot 
 be far." 
 
 " No doubt we shall catch them, the miserable tranijis ! Oh, Î will be 
 revengeil ! (^uick, ]\Iorok ; your lionor is concerned, as well as mine." 
 
 " My lienor ? Much more is concerned than that, ^Ir. Burgomas- 
 ter," answered the Pro]»het, in a tone of gi"eat irritation. Then, ra])idly 
 descending the stairs, he ojiened the door of the court-yard and shouted, 
 in a voice of thunder : 
 
 " (xoliath ! unchain the dogs ! And, landlord ! bring us lanterns, 
 torches — arm your people — open the doors! W<' must pursue the 
 fugitives J they cannot escape us; we must have them — alite ur dead !''''
 
 m£^^ ^-^H^
 
 PART II 
 
 THE EUE DU MILIEU DES URSI^S^S 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE DISPATCHES (1) 
 
 ( )ROK, the liou-tamer seeing Dagobert deprived of 
 his horse and stripped of his money and papers, 
 and thinking it was thus out of his power to con- 
 tinue his joiu'uey, had, i^revious to the anival of 
 the burgomaster, dispatched Karl to Leipsie as the 
 Ijearer of a letter which he was to put immediately 
 into the post. The adtkess of this letter was as 
 follows : 
 
 A Monsieur Rod'iu, 
 
 Rue (hi MiUeii des Ursins, 
 Paris. 
 
 About the middle of this obscure and solitary street, situate below 
 the level of the Quai Xapoleou, which it joins not far from the Rue 
 Saint Landry, there stood a house of unpretentious appearance, at the 
 bottom of a dark and narrow court-yard, separated from the street by 
 a low bidlding in front, with arched doorway and two windows pro- 
 tected bv thick iron bars. 
 
 (1) Wlieu we read, in the rules of the Order of the Jesuits, under the title De form- 
 ula scribeiuli (Institut. 2, 11, pp. 12.j-l'2'J), the development of the Sth part of the consti- 
 tutions, we are appalled by the number of letters, narratives, rejristers, and writing's of 
 all kinds preserved in tlu' archives of the society. 
 
 It is a pohce infinitely more exact and better informed than has ever been that of 
 any state. Even the government of Venice found itself surpassed by the Jesuits. TVhen
 
 118 TUE \VAM)KRiy(l JEW. 
 
 Notliinj; rould lio moro sim])lo tliaii tlio intorior of tliis qniot dwcll- 
 iug, as was sullicicutly sliowii hy tins furniture of a im-tty large room 
 on the gi'ound-floor. Th*' walls of this apartment were lined with okl 
 gray wainscot ; the tiled floor was ])aiiited red and caref idly polished ; 
 curtains of white calieo shaded the windows. 
 
 A sphere of about fom* feet in diameter, raised on a pedestal of 
 massive oak, stood at one end of the room, opposite to the fireplace. 
 I^pon this glolie, which was painted on a large scale, a host of little 
 red crosses a}>peared scattered over all parts of tlu^ world — from tlu; 
 north to the south ; from the rising to the setting sun ; from the most 
 harbai'oiis countri(>s, from the most distant isles, to the centers of civil- 
 ization — to France itself. There was not a single country which did 
 not present some spots marked ■with these red crosses, evidently indica- 
 tive of stations or serving as points of reference. 
 
 Before a table of black wood, loaded with papers, and resting 
 against the wall near the cliimney, a chair stood empty. Farther on, 
 between the two wimiows, was a large walnut-wood desk, surmounted 
 by shelves full of paste])oard boxes. 
 
 At the end of the month of October, ls;!l, aliout eight o'clock in 
 the morning, a man sat writing at this desk. ïliis was M. Eothn, 
 the correspondent of Morok, the bnite-tamer. 
 
 About fifty years of age, he wore an old, shab])y, olive gi*eat-coat 
 with a greasy collar, a snutî-powdered cotton liandkei-cliief foi- a cra- 
 vat, and waistcoat and trousers of threadliarc black cloth. His feet, 
 buried in loose varnished shoes, rested on a jx'tty piece of green baizes 
 upon the red, polished floor. His gray hair lay flat on his temples and 
 encircled his l)ald forehead; his eyebrows were scarcely marked ; his 
 upper eyelid, flal)l)y and overhanging, like the membrane which shades 
 the eyes of reptiles, half concealed his small, sharp black eye. His 
 thin lips, absolutely colorless, were hardly distinguisliable fi'oia the wan 
 hue of his lean visage, with its pointed nose and cliiii ; and this ]i\id 
 mask (dejirived, as it were, of lips) a]>peai'ed only tiie more singula)" 
 from its maintaining a death-like immobility. Had it not been foi- the 
 
 it drove them out in 1606 it seized all tlicir papers, and reproached tliem for their great 
 and laborious citrio.iiti/. This police, this secret iiKjuisilion, earned to such a detrree of 
 perfection, may give some idea of the strenjjth of a f^overnnieiit, .--o well informed, so 
 pei-severiiig in its projects, so powerful by its unity, and, as the constitutions iiave it, by 
 the union of its members. It is not hard to understantl what immense force must belonf;: 
 to the heads of this societ;*', and how the general of the Jesuits could gay to the Duke de 
 Brissac, " From this room, your grace, I gorern not onhj Paris, but China — iiot onli/ China, 
 hut the whole uorhl — and nil without ani/ one knowing how it is done."' (CONSTITCTION oP 
 THK Jesuits, with the Declarations, Latin, after the Prague edition, pp. 170 to 178. 
 Paris, 1834.)
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 119 
 
 rapid movement of his finders, as, bending over the desk, he scratched 
 along with his pen, M. Rodin might have been mistaken for a corpse. 
 
 By the aid of a cipher (or secret alphabet) placed before him, he was 
 copying certain passages from a long sheet full of writing in a manner 
 quite unintelligible to those who did not possess the key to the system. 
 Wldle the darkness of the day increased the gloom of the large, cold, 
 naked-looking apartment, there was something awfiil in the chilling 
 as])ect of this man, tracing his mysterious characters in the midst of 
 profound silence. 
 
 The clock struck eight. The dull sound of the knocker at the outer 
 door was heard, then a bell tinkled twice, several doors opened and shut, 
 and a new personage entered the chamber. On seeing him, M. Rodin 
 rose from the desk, stuck his pen between his teeth, bowed with a 
 deeply submissive air, and sat down again to his work without uttei"ing 
 a word. 
 
 The two persons formed a striking contrast to each other. The 
 new-comer, though really older than he seemed, would have passed for 
 thirty-six or thirty-eight yeai's of age at most. His figm-e was tall and 
 shapely, and few could have encountered the brightness of his large gray 
 eye, brilliant as polished steel. His nose, broad at the commencement, 
 formed a well-cut square at its termination : his chin was prominent, and 
 the l)luisli tints of his close-shaved beard were contrasted with the Ijright 
 carnation of his lips and the whiteness of his fine teeth. When he took 
 off his hat, to change it for a black velvet cap which he found on the 
 small table, he displayed a quantity of light chestnut hair, not yet sil- 
 vered by time. He was ckessed in a long frock-coat buttoned up to the 
 neck in military fashion. 
 
 The piercing glance and broad forehead of this man revealed a pow- 
 erful intellect, even as the development of his chest and shoulders 
 announced a vigorous physical organization ; while his gentlemanlj^ 
 appearance, the perfection of his gloves and boots, the light perfume 
 which hung about his hair and person, the gi-ace and ease of his least 
 movements, l)eti'ayed what is called the man of the; world, and left the 
 iiui)ression that he had sought or might stiU seek every kind of success, 
 from the most frivolous to the most serious. This rare combination of 
 strength of mind, strengtii of body, and extreme elegance of manners 
 was in this instance rendered still more striking by the circumstance 
 that whatever there might be of haughtiness or command in the upper 
 part of that energetic countenance was softened down and tempered l)y 
 a constant but not uniform smile; for, as occasion served, this smile 
 became either kind or sly, cordial or gay, discreet or prepossessing, and 
 thus augmented the insinuating charm of this man, who, once seen, was
 
 120 TJIJ-J WAXJiJJRJXa Ji:w. 
 
 uevor attain t'ortfottou. But in spite of so many coiiibinod a<lvaiita<;es, 
 and altliough tiio iniliu'nce of his irresistible fascination was almost 
 always victorious, a vague disquiet was felt, as if the gi'ace and exquisite 
 urbanity of his manners, the eharm of his words, his delicate flattery, 
 and the caressing gentleness of his smile hid some insidious snare. In 
 yielding to an involuntary sympathy, the question arose, Was the 
 attraction toward good or toward evil f 
 
 M. Kodin, tile secretary of the new-comci', continued to write. 
 
 "Are there any letters from Dunkirk, Kodin f " inquiivd his master. 
 
 " Post not yet in." 
 
 " Without being jwsitively uneasy as to my mothei-'s health, since she 
 ■was already convalescent," resumed the other, "I shall only be (piite 
 re-assured by a letter from my excellent friend the Princess de Saint- 
 Dizier. I shall have good news this morning, T hojx'." 
 
 " It is to be tlesired," said the secretary, as humble and submissive as 
 he was laconic and impassible. 
 
 " Certainly it is to be desireil," resumed his master, " for one of the 
 brightest days of my life was when the Princess de Saint-Dizier 
 announced to me that this sudden and dangerous illness had yielded to 
 the care and attention with which she siUTOunds my mother. Had it 
 not been for that I must have gone down to her instantly, though my 
 presence hei'e is very necessary." 
 
 Then approaching the desk, he added : 
 
 " Is the summary of the foreign eorresi)ondence complete ? " 
 
 " Here is the analysis." 
 
 " Th(; letters are still sent under envelope to the places named, and ai'e 
 then brought here as I directed?" 
 
 " Always." 
 
 " Read to me the notes of tliis correspoudeuce ; if there are any let- 
 ters for me to answer, I will tell you." 
 
 And Rodin's master began to walk up and down the room with his 
 hands crossed behind his back, dictating observations of which Rodin 
 took careful note. 
 
 The secretaiy turned to a pretty large pile of papers and thus began: 
 
 " Don Ramon Olivarez acknowledges from Cadiz i-eceipt of letter No. 
 19 ; he will conform to it and deny all share iu the abduction." 
 
 " Very well ; file it." 
 
 " Count Romanoiï, of Riga, finds himself in a position of pecuniary 
 embarrassment." 
 
 " Let Duplessis send him tifty louis ; I foi-merly sei-ved as captain in 
 his regiment, and he has since given us good infonuation."
 
 à 
 
 ■My* .| i iéW/f-f'fl''W'f.M''y>::f 
 
 M. D'AKiKIiiNY.
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 123 
 
 " They have received at Philadelphia the last cargo of Hititories of 
 France, Expurnatcd for the use of the faithful. They requii'e some more 
 of the same sort." 
 
 " Take note of it and wi-ite to Duplessis. Go on ! " 
 
 " M. Spindler sends from Namnr the secret report on M. Ardouin." 
 
 " To be examined." 
 
 " M. Ardouin sends from the same town the secret report on M. 
 Spindler." 
 
 " To be examined." 
 
 " Doctor Van Ostadt, of the same town, sends a confidential note on 
 the subject of Messrs. Spindler and Ardouin." 
 
 " To be compared. Go on ! " 
 
 " Count Malipierri, of Turin, announces that the donation of 300,000 
 francs is signed," 
 
 " Inform Duplessis. What next ? " 
 
 " Don Stanislas has just tj^uitted the waters of Baden with Queen 
 Marie Ernestine. He informs us that her majesty will receive with grati- 
 tude the pi'omised advices, and will answer them with her own hand." 
 
 " Make a note of it. I will myself wi-ite to the queen." 
 While Rodin was insciibing a few remarks on the margin of the 
 paper, his master, continuing to walk up and down the room, found him- 
 self opposite to the globe marked with little red crosses, and stood con- 
 templating it for a moment with a pensive air. 
 Rodin continued : 
 
 " In consequence of the state of the pul)lic mind in certain parts of 
 Italy, where sundry agitators have turned their eyes in the direction of 
 France, Father Orsini wi-ites from Milan that it would be of importance 
 to distribute profusely in that country some little book in which the 
 French would 1)6 represented as impious and debauched, rapacious and 
 bloody." 
 
 " The idea is excellent. We might turn to good account the excesses 
 committed by our troops in Italy during the wars of the Repuljlic. You 
 must employ Jacques Dumoulin to write the little book. He is full of 
 gall, spite, and venom ; the pamphlet ^^"ill be scorching. Besides, I may 
 furnish a few notes; but you must not pay Dumoulin till after the 
 delivery of the maniiscript." 
 
 " That is well understood, for if we were to pay him beforehand he 
 would be drunk for a week in some low den. It was thus we had to pay 
 liim twice over for his virulent attack on the pantheistic tendencies of 
 Professor Martin's philosophy." 
 
 " Take note of it — and go on ! " 
 
 " The merchant announces that the clerh is about to send the banker
 
 124 TUE w.\xni:i:r\a JKW. 
 
 ta f/iir i)i his arrouiits. You uuderstaïul ? " added Rodin, after pronoiinc- 
 iug these words with a marked eiiipliasis. 
 
 "Perfectly," said the other, with a start; "they are Kiit tlie expres- 
 sions agreed on. "Wliat next Î " 
 
 "But the r/cr/i," eontinued the secretary, "is restrained liy a last 
 scruple." 
 
 After a moment's silence, during which the features of Rodin's mas- 
 ter worked strongly, he thus resumed : " They nuist eontiiuie to act on 
 the cleric''.'^ mind by silence and solitude ; then let him read once more the 
 list of cases in which ivgicide is authorized and al)solved. Go on ! " 
 
 " The woman Sydney writes from Dresden tliat she waits for instruc- 
 tions. Violent scenes of jealousy on her account have again taken 
 place between the father and son ; but neither from these new bursts of 
 mutual hatred, nor from the confidential communications which each 
 has made to her against his rival, has she yet been able to glean the 
 information required. Hitherto she has avoided gi\nng the ]ireference 
 to one or the other; but, should this situation l)e prolonged, she fears it 
 may rouse their suspicions. Which ought she, then, to choose — the 
 father or the son ? " 
 
 "The son — for jealous resentment will be niiicli more violent and 
 cruel in the old man, and to revenge himself for the preference bestowed 
 upon his son he will i)erhaps tell wluit they have both such an interest 
 to conceal. The next ?" 
 
 " Within the last three years two maid-servants of Ambrosius, whom 
 we placed in that little parish in the mountains of the Valais, have dis- 
 appeared, without any one knowing what has l)eeome of them. A third 
 lias just met with the same fate. Tlie Pi'otestants of the country ai"e 
 roused — talk of murder with frightful attendant circumstances " 
 
 " Until there is proof positive and complete of the fact, Anil)i'osius 
 must be defended against these infamous calumnies, the work of a i)arty 
 that never shiinks from monstroiLs inv(>ntions. Go on ! " 
 
 " Thompson, of Liverpool, has at length succeeded in procuring for 
 Justin the place of agent or manager to Lord Stewart, a rich Irisli 
 Catholic, whose head gi-ows daily wcakci-." 
 
 " Let the fact be once verified, and Thompson shall have a premium 
 of fifty lonis. Make a note of it for Duplessis. Proceed." 
 
 " Frantz Di(;hstein, of Vienna," resumed Rodin, " announces that his 
 father has just died of the cholera, in a little ^^llage at some leagues 
 from that city ; for the epidemic continues to advance slowly, coming 
 from the north of Russia by way of Pf)land." 
 
 "It is true," said Rodin's master, interrupting him; "may its terrible 
 march be stayed, and France be spared."
 
 THE WAX DE BIX G JEW. 125 
 
 "Frantz Didistein," resumed Sodiii, " says that his two brothers are 
 detertniued to contest the donation made by his father, but that he is 
 of an opposite opinion." 
 
 " Consult the two persons that are charged with all matters of litiga- 
 tion. What next ? " 
 
 " The Cardinal Prince d'Amalfi will confonn to the three first points of 
 the proposal; he demands to make a reservation upon the foui'th point." 
 
 "No I'eserve ! Either full and absolute acceptance, or else war — 
 and (mark me well!) war without mercy — on him and his creatui'es. 
 Go on ! " 
 
 " Fra Paolo announces that the patriot Boccari, chief of the redoul)t- 
 able secret society, in despair at seeing his friends accuse him of treach- 
 ery, in consequence of suspicions excited in their minds by Fra Paolo 
 himself, has committed suicide." 
 
 "Boccari! Is it possible?" cried Rodin's master. "Boccari! the 
 patriot Boccari ! so dangerous a person ! " 
 
 " The patriot Boccari," repeated the impassible secretary. 
 
 " Tell Duplessis to send an order for five-and-twenty louis to Fra 
 Paolo. Make a note of it." 
 
 " Hausmau informs us that the French dancer, Albertine Dueornet, 
 is the mistress of the reigning prince. She has the most complete influ- 
 ence over him, and it would be easy thi'ough her means to arrive at the 
 end proposed, but that she is herself governed by her lover, condemned 
 in France as a forgei-, and that she does nothing without consulting 
 him." 
 
 " Let Hausman get hold of this man, if his claims are reasonable 
 accede to them, and learn if the girl has any relations in Paris." 
 
 " The Duke d'Orbano announces that the king, his master, will author- 
 ize the new establishment, but on the conditions previously stated." 
 
 " No conditions ! — either a frank adhesion or a positive refusal. Let us 
 know om- friends from our enemies. The more unfavorable the cii'cum- 
 stances, the more we must show fii-mness and overbear opposition l)y 
 confidence in ourselves." 
 
 " The same also announces that the whole of the corps diplomatique 
 continues to support the claims of the father of that young Protestant 
 girl who refuses to quit the convent where she has taken refuge, unless 
 it l)e to marry her lover against her father's will." 
 
 " Ah ! the corps diplomatique continues to remonsti'ate in the father's 
 name?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then continue to answer that the spiritual power has nothing to do 
 with the temporal."
 
 126 THE ]VAM)Eiay<l JEW. 
 
 At tliis moiiieut the Ix'll of tho outer dooi-a^jcain sounded twiee. 
 
 " !See who it is," said Rodiu's master ; aud the secretary rose aud left 
 the room. 
 
 The other continiied to walk thou^litfully up and down, till, eouiiug 
 near to the hufje globe, he stopped sliort l>efori' it. 
 
 For some time he contemplated in profound silence the innumerable 
 little red crosses which ajjpeared to cover, as with an immense net, all 
 the countries of the eartli. Keflecting, doubtless, on the invisilile action 
 of liis power, which seemed to extend over the whole world, the features 
 of this man became animated, his large gi'ay eye s])arkled, his nostrils 
 swelled, and his manly countenance assumed an indescribable expression 
 of pride, energy, and daring. With haughty l)row and scornful liji he 
 drew still neai'erto the globe and leaned liis strong hand upon the pole. 
 This powerful pressure, an imperious movement, as of one taking 
 possession, seemed to indicate that h(> felt sure of governing this glolje 
 on which he looked down from the height of his tall figure, and on 
 which he rested his hand with so lofty and audacious an air of sov- 
 ereignty. 
 
 But now he no longer smiled. His eye threatened and his large 
 forehead was clad with a formi(lal)le scowl. The artist who had wished 
 to paint the demon of craft and pride, the infernal genius of insatiable 
 domination, could not have chosen a more suitaV)le model. 
 
 When Kodin returned, the face of his master had recovered its ordi- 
 nary expression. 
 
 " It is the postman," saiil Rodin, showing the letters which he held in 
 his hand ; " there is nothing from Dunkirk." 
 
 "Nothing?" cried his master, and his painful emotion formed a 
 strange contrast to his late haughty and implacable expression of coun- 
 tenance; "nothing? no news of my mother ? Thirty-six hours more, 
 then, of anxiety." 
 
 "It seems to me that if the jirincess had bad news to give she would 
 hîive written. Pi-obably the improvement goes on." 
 
 "You are doubtless right, Rodin. But no matter — I am far from 
 easy. If, to-morrow, the news should riot be completely satisfactory, I 
 set out for the estate of the princess. \Ma\- would my mother pass the 
 autumn in tliat part of the country? The environs of Dnnkiik do not, 
 I feai-, agree witli her." 
 
 After a few moments' silence he added, as he continued to walk, 
 " Well — these letters — whence are they ? " 
 
 Rodin looked at the postmarks and replied, " Out of the four, there 
 are three relative to the gi-eat and important affair of the medals." 
 
 " Thank heaven ! — provided the news be favorable," cried his master,
 
 THE WANDERIXG JEW. 127 
 
 with an expression of imeasiness which showed how much importance 
 he attached to this affair. 
 
 " One is from Charlestown, and no doubt relative to Galjriel the mis- 
 sionary," answered Rodin ; " this other from Batavia, and no doul)t con- 
 cerns the Indian, Djalma; the third is from Leipsic, and will probably 
 confirm that received yesterday, in which the lion-tamer, Morok, 
 informed us that, in accordance with his orders, and without his being 
 c()m2iromised in any way, the daughters of General Simon would not 
 be able to continue their journey." 
 
 At the name of General Simon a cloud passed over the features of 
 Rodin's master.
 
 CliAl'TKIi II 
 
 THE OKDEKS (1) 
 
 HEN he had coiuiuered the invohmtary emotion which the 
 iiainc or in'mi'inbram-e of Geucral Simon had occasioued, 
 Kodin's master said to the secretary : 
 " Do not yet open the letters from Leipsic, Charlestown, 
 and Batavia ; the information they contain will dcmhtless find its place 
 presently. It will save our going over the same ground twice." 
 The secretary looked inquiringly at his master. 
 The latter continued : 
 "Have you finislied the note relating to the medals?" 
 "Here it is," replied the secretary; "I was just finishing my 
 interpretation of the cipher." 
 
 " Eead it to me, in the order of the facts. You can append to it the 
 news contained in those three letters." 
 
 " True," said Kodin ; " in that way the letters will find theii- right 
 place." 
 
 (1) The principal hoases coiTespond with that in Paris; they are also in direct com- 
 munication with the General, who resides at Rome. The corrcspcmdence of the .Jesuits, so 
 active, \ari()us, and orpranized in so wonderful a manner, has tor its object to supply the 
 heads with all tlie information they can require. Every day the (ieneral receives a host 
 of reports, which serve to check one another. In the central house at Rome are 
 immense rejristers in which are inscribed the names of all the Jesuits, of their adherents 
 and of all the considerable persons, whether friends or enemies, with whom they have 
 any connection. In these reg'isters are reported, without altenition, liatred, or passion, 
 the facts relating; to the life/)f each individual. It is the most {rijrantic biojrrapliical 
 collection that has been ever formed. The frailties of a woman, the secret en-ors of a 
 statesman, are chronicled in this book with the same cold impartiality. Drawn up for 
 the purpose of being useful, these biographies are necessarily exact. When the Jesuits 
 wish to influence an individual they have but to turn to this book, and they know 
 immediately his life, his character, his parts, his faults, his projects, his family, his 
 friends, liis most secret ties. Conceive wliat a superior facility of action this immense 
 police register, which includes the whole world, must give to any one society ! It is 
 not lightly that I speak of these registers ; I have my facts from a person who has seen 
 this collection, and who is perfectly well acquainted with the Jesuits. Here, then, is 
 matter to reflect on for all those families who admit freely into their houses the members 
 of a communitj' tliat carries its biographical researches to such a point. (Lluri, Member 
 of the Institute. Letters on the Clergy.) 
 
 128
 
 THE WAXDERIXO JE^V. 
 
 129 
 
 " I wish to see," rejoined the other, " whether this note is clear and 
 fully explanatory. Yon did not forget that the person it is intended for 
 ought not to know all ? " 
 
 " I bore it in mind, and drew up the paper accordingly." 
 
 " Head," said the master. 
 
 M. Rodin read as follows, slowly and deliberately: 
 " ' A hundred and fifty years ago, a French Protestant family, fore-
 
 i:îo 
 
 Tii E w. 1 .V /> /; /.' / -V (l .1 E w. 
 
 set'iiig' the speedy revocatiDU of the Ediet of Nantes, went into volun- 
 tary exile in order to avoid the just and rigorous decrees ahvady issued 
 against the members of the Reformed Church, those indomitable foes 
 of om- holy religion. 
 
 " 'Some members of this family sought refuge in HollaTid, and after- 
 ward in the Dutch colonies; others in Poland, others in (iermany; 
 some in Englami, and some in America. 
 
 " 'It is sui)pos('d that only seven descendants remain of this family, 
 which underwent strange vicissitudes since. Its present representatives 
 are found in all ranks of society, from the sovereign to the mechanic. 
 
 " ' These descendants, direct or indu'ect, are : 
 '"On the mother's side — 
 
 "'Rose and Blanche Simon — minors. ((Jeneral Simon mamed, at 
 Warsaw, a descendant of the said family.) 
 
 " ' François Hardy, manufacturer at Plcssis, near Paris. 
 
 "'Prince Djalma, S(m of Kadja-sing, King of Montli. (Kadja-sing 
 married, in 1802, a descendant of the said family, then settled at Ba- 
 tavia, in the island of Java, a Dutch colony.) 
 
 "'On the fatlior's sid( — " 
 
 "'Jacques Rennepont, surnamcd Sleepinbuft", mechanic. 
 
 " ' Adrienne de Cardoville, daughter of the Count of Rennepont, Duke 
 of Cardoville. 
 
 "'Gabriel Rennepont, jn-iest of the foreign missicms. 
 
 " ' All the members of this family possess, or should possess, a bronze 
 medal bearing the following inscriptions : 
 
 VaCTllME 
 DE 
 
 IPaiSZ ï'OÏJil MO]. :| 
 
 IPASllS 
 
 IL® 33 iFEYililliR A 
 
 AFAR] s 
 ' RYE ETS'MSi-ÇOISKtJ) 
 
 L!En3iraTRnEi?.j83S. 
 
 " ' These words and dates show that all of them have a gi-eat interest 
 to be at Paris on the 13th Februai-y, 1832, and that not by proxy, but 
 in person, whether they are minors, married or single. 
 
 " ' But other persons have an immense interest that none of the 
 descendants of this family be at Paris on the 13th Febiuary except 
 Gabriel Rennepont, priest of the foreign missions.
 
 THE WAXDERIXU JEW. 131 
 
 "'At all liazai-(ls, tlun-cfore, Gal)i-i('l must be the oiili/ person present 
 at the appohitnient made with the descendants of this fainUij a eenttir/j anil 
 a halfafjo. 
 
 " ' To prevent tlie other six persons from reaching Pai'is on the said 
 day, or to render their presence of no effect, much has been already 
 done ; but much remains to be done to insui'e the success of this affair, 
 which is considered as the most vital and most important of the age, on 
 account of its probable results.' " 
 
 " 'Tis but too true," oljserved Rodin's master, inten-upting him, and 
 shaking his head pensively. "Add, moreover, that the consequences 
 of success are incalculable, and there is no foreseeing what may follow 
 failui-e. In a word, it almost involves a question of existence or non- 
 existence during several years. To succeed, therefore, all possible means 
 must Ije employed. Xnthinr/ must be shunned, except, however, that 
 aiipearauees must be skillfully maintained." 
 
 " I have written it," said Rodin, having added the words his master 
 had just dictated, who then said : 
 
 " Continue." 
 Rodin read on : 
 
 " ' To forward or secm'e the affair in question, it is necessaiy to give 
 some pi'ivate and secret particulars respecting the seven persons who 
 rei:)resent this family. 
 
 " ' The truth of these particulars may be relied on. In case of need 
 they might be completed in the most minute degree ; for, contradictory 
 information having ])een given, very lengthened CNidence has been 
 obtained. The order in wliich the names of the persons stand will be 
 observed, and events that have happened up to the present time will 
 only be mentioned. 
 
 " ' Note No. I. 
 
 " ' Rose and Blanche Simon, twin sisters, about fifteen years of age ; 
 very pretty ; so much alike one might he taken for the other ; mild and 
 timid disposition, but capable of enthusiasm. Brought uj) in Siberia 
 by their mother, a woman of strong mind and deistical sentiments, they 
 are wholly ignorant of our holy religion. 
 
 " 'General Simon, separated from his wife before they were born, is 
 not aware, even now, that he has two daughters. 
 
 " ' It was hoped that their presence in Paris on the loth of Febru- 
 ai-y would be prevented l)y sending their mother to a i>lace of exile 
 much more distant than the oue fii-st allotted her; Itut their mother 
 djing, the Governor of Siljeria, who is wholly ours, supposing, l)y a
 
 132 Tiii^ \VAM)i:in sa .1 i:\v. 
 
 deplorahlo mistako, tliat tho iiieasurc only all'i'ctfd tlie wife of OiMicral 
 iSiiuoii jK'rsoiially, uufortiinatcly allowe'd the girls to returu to Franco, 
 luiilcr the guidauee of an old soldier. 
 
 "'This man is enterprising, fuitliful, and dcteniiiiicd. lie is noted 
 down as ihtni/nons. 
 
 " ' The Simon girls are inoffensive. It is hojird, on fail' gi'ouuds, that 
 they are now detained in tlie neighborhood of Leipsic.' " 
 Rodin's master interrupted him, saying: 
 
 "Now, read the letter just reeei\etl from Leipsic; it may complete 
 the information." 
 
 Rodin read it, and exclaimed: 
 
 " Excellent news ! The girls and their guide had .succeeded in escap- 
 ing during the night from the White Falcon Tavern, but all tliree were 
 overtaken and seized about a league from Mockein. Tliey liavi' lieen 
 transferred to Leijisic, where they are im])risoned as vagalionils; tlieir 
 guide, the soldier, is accused and condemned of resisting the authori- 
 ties and using violence to a nuxgistrate." 
 
 "It is almost certain, then, considering the tedious mode of proc(>eil- 
 ing in Germany (and, besides, we will see to it), tluit the girls will not 
 be able to be here on the 13th Febniary," added Rodin's master. 
 " A])pend this to the note on the back." 
 
 The secretary obeyed, and wrote an abstract of Morok's letter. 
 
 " It is written," he then added. 
 
 " Go on ! " resuine(l his master. 
 Rodin continued reading. 
 
 "'Note No. II. 
 
 " ' François Hardi/, n/dini/iicturcr <it /'/r.s-.s/.s-, nnir Paris. 
 
 "'A steady, rich, intelligent, active, honest, well-informed man, idol- 
 ized by Ids workmen — thanks to numberless innovations to jn-oinote 
 their welfare. Never attending to the duties of our holy religion. 
 Noted down as a very dangerous man ; but the hatred and envy he 
 excites among other manufacturers, especially in M. le Baron Tripeaud, 
 his competitor, may easily be turned against him. If other meaiis of 
 action on his account, and against him, are necessary, the evidence 
 may be consulted; it is very voluminous. This man has been marked 
 and watched for a long time. 
 
 "'He has been so effectually misguided with respect to tlie medal 
 that he is comjjletely deceived as to the interests it represents. Ile is, 
 however, constantly watched, surrounded, and governed, without sus- 
 pecting it ; one of his dearest friends deceives him, and through his 
 means we know his secret thoughts.
 
 U ( 
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 133 
 
 "'Note No. III. 
 ' I'lintc Djaliiia. 
 
 "'Eighteen; energetic and generous; haughty, independent, and 
 wild ; favorite of Greneral Simon, who commanded the troops of his 
 father, Kadja-sing, in the struggle maintained by the latter against the 
 English in India. Djalma is mentioned only by way of reminder, for 
 Ids mother died young, while her parents were living. They resided 
 at Batavia. On the death of the latter neither Djalma nor the king, 
 his father, claimed their little property. It is, therefore, certain that 
 they are ignorant of the gi-ave interests connected with the possession 
 of the medal in question, whi(!h formed part of the property of Djalma's 
 mother.' " 
 
 Rodin's master interriipted him. 
 
 " Now read the letter from Bata\'ia, and complete the information 
 respecting Djalma." 
 
 Rodin read, and then observed : 
 
 " Good news again ! Joshua Van Dael, merchant at Batavia (he was 
 educated in our Pondicherry establishment), learns from his corre- 
 spondent at Calcutta that the old Indian king was killed in the last 
 battle with the English. His son, Djalma, deprived of the paternal 
 throne, is jn-ovisioually detained as a prisoner of state in an Indian 
 fortress." 
 
 " We are at the end of October," said Rodin's master. " If Prince 
 Djalma were to leave India now, he could scarcely reach Paris by the 
 month of February." 
 
 "Van Dael," continued Rodin, " regrets that he has not been able to 
 prove his zeal in this case. Supposing Prince Djalma set at liberty, or 
 having effected his escape, it is certain he would come to Batavia to 
 claim his inhei-itance from his mother, since he has nothing else left 
 him in the world. In that case, you may rely on Van Dael's devoted- 
 ness. In return, he solicits very precise information, by the next post, 
 respecting the foi'tune of M. le Baron Tripeaud, lianker and maiuifact- 
 urer, with whom he has business transactions." 
 
 " Answer that point evasively. Van Dael as yet has only shown zeal ; 
 complete the information respecting Djalma from these new tidings." 
 Rodin wrote. 
 
 But in a few minutes his master said to him, with a singular expres- 
 sion : 
 
 " Does not Van Dael mention General Simon in connection with 
 Djalma's imprisonment and his father's death .' " 
 
 " He does not allude to him," said the seci'etary, continuing his task. 
 Rodin's master was silent, and paced the room.
 
 134 THE wAxnKinxd ./ew. 
 
 In a few moments Rodin said to him : 
 " 1 have done it." 
 " Go on, then ! " 
 
 " ' Note No. TV. 
 
 ^^^ Jacques Beuiicjxti/f, siniiained '■Sleepbihuff.^ 
 
 " ' Workman in Baron Tripeaud's factory, the rival of M. Hardy. Tliis 
 artisan is drunken, idle, noisy, and prodigal; he is not without sense, 
 but idleness and debauch have ruined him. A élever agent on whom 
 we rely has become acquainted with his mistress, Cephyse Soliveau, 
 nicknamed the Bacchanal (^ueen. Through her means tlie agent has 
 formed such ties \\\W\ him that he may even now l)e considered lieyond 
 the reacli of the interests that ought to insure his presence in Paris on 
 the 13tli of l''iliruary. 
 
 " ' Note No. Y. 
 "^ GahricI lienncpouf, Priest of Foreign Wissions. 
 
 " ' Distant relation of the al)Ove, but he is alike ignorant of the exist- 
 ence of his i-elative and the relationship. An orphan foundling, he was 
 adopted by Frances Baudoin, the wife of a soldier going hy the name 
 Dagobert. 
 
 '" Should this soldier, contrary to expectations, reach Paris, his wife 
 would be a itoworful means of intiuencing him. She is an excellent 
 creatm-e, ignorant and credulous, of exemplary piety, over whom we 
 have long had unlimited control. She prevailed on Gabriel to take 
 orders, notwithstanding his re])Ugnance. 
 
 "'Gabncl is five-and-tweuty ; disposition as angelic as liis counte- 
 nance; rare and .solid vii'tues: unfortunately he was brought \\\) with 
 his adopted brother, Agricola, Dagobert's son. This Agricola is a i)oet 
 and workman — but an excellent workman ; he is employed by M. Hardy ; 
 has imbibed the most detestable doctrines ; fond of his mother ; honest, 
 laborious, but Avithout religious feeling. Marked as very dangerous. 
 This causes liis intimacy with (fabrii'l to 1)e feared. 
 
 " ' The latter, not^vithstanding his excellent (jualities, sometimes causes 
 uneasiness. We have even delayed confiding in him fully. A false 
 steji might make him, too, one of the most tJ(i)tf/rroiis. Much precaution 
 must be used then, especially till the 13th of February ; since, we repeat 
 it, on him, on his presence in Paris at that time depend immense hopes 
 and equally important interests. 
 
 " ' Among other precautions, we have consented to his taking part in 
 the American mission, for he unites with angelic sweetness of character 
 a caku intrepidity and adventurous spirit, which could only be satisfied
 
 TUE WAX I) ER IX G JEM'. 135 
 
 by allowing liiin to engage iu the perilous existence of the missionaries. 
 Luckily, his superiors at Charlestowu have received the strictest orders 
 not to endanger, on any account, so precious a life. They are to send 
 liim to Paris at least a month or two Ijefore February the 13th.'" 
 Kodin's master again interrupted him and said : 
 
 " Read the letter from Charlestowu, and see what it tells you, in order 
 to comi^lete the information upon this point also." 
 When he had read the letter, Rodin went on : 
 " ' Grabriel is ex^jected every day from the Rocky Moimtains, whither he 
 liad absolutely insisted on going alone upon a mission.' " 
 
 " AVhat madness ! " 
 
 " He has no doulit escaped all danger, as he himself announces his 
 speedy retiu'n to Charlestowu. As soon as he arrives, which cannot 
 (they write) be later than the middle of this month, he will be shipped 
 otï to France." 
 
 "Add this to the note which concerns him," said Rodin's master. 
 
 " It is wi-itten," replied the secretary, a few moments later. 
 
 " Proceed, then," said his master. Rodin continued : 
 
 "'Note No. VI. 
 " ^ Adrienne Rennepont de Cardorille. 
 
 " ' Distantly related (without knowing it) to Jacques Rennepont, alias 
 Sleepinbutf, and Gabriel Rennepont, missionary priest. She will soon 
 be twenty-one years of age, the most attractive person in the world — 
 extraordinary beauty, though red-haired — a mind remarkaljle for its 
 origiiudity — immense fortune — all the sensual instincts. The incredi- 
 ble independence of her character makes one tremble for tlie future 
 fate of this young person. Happily, her appointed guardian, Baron 
 Tripeaud (a baron of 1829 creation, formerly agent to the late Count of 
 Rennepont, Duke of Cardo\'ille), is quite iu the interest and almost iu 
 the dependence of the young lady's aunt. "We count, with reason, upon 
 tliis worthy and resi^ectable relative, and on the Baron Tripeaud, to 
 oppose and repress the singular unheard-of designs which this young 
 porsou, as resolute as independent, does not fear to avow — and which, 
 unfortunately, cannot be turned to account in the interest of the affair 
 
 in question, for '" 
 
 Rodin was hei'e interrupted by two discreet taps at the door. The 
 secretary rose, went to see who knocked, remained a moment without, 
 and then returned with two letters in his hand, saWng: 
 
 " The princess has profited by the departure of a coui'ier to "'
 
 i:?(j TUE ]\AM>EliiyG JEW. 
 
 " Give 1110 tlio letter!" oriod his mastev, witliout leiiviii": liiiii time to 
 tiiiish. "At leiigtli," he juldcd, " I shall have news of my mother!" 
 
 He had scarcely read thr liist lew lines of tlie letter, when he grew 
 deadly pale, and his features took an expi-essioii of painful astonishment 
 and i>oignant grief. 
 
 "My mother! "he cried, "oh, heavens! my niotliei!" 
 
 " AMiat misfortune has happened ?" asked Kodin, witli a look of alarm, 
 as he rose at the exclamation of his master. 
 
 " The symptoms of im]ii'ovement were fallacious," replied the other, 
 dejectedly; "she lias now relapsed into a nearly liopeless state. And 
 yet the doctor thinks my jiresence might save lier, for she calls for me 
 without ceasiug. She wishes to see me for the last time, that she may 
 die in peace. Oh, that wish is sacred ! Not to grant it would be matri- 
 cide. If I can but arrive in time! Traveling day and night, it will 
 take nearly two days." 
 
 "Alas! what a misfortune!" said Rodin, wringing his hands, and 
 raising his eyes to heaven. 
 
 His master rang the bell violently, and said to the old servant that 
 opened thi' door : 
 
 "Just put what is indispensable into the portmanteau of my travel- 
 ing-cairiage. Let the porter take a cab, and go for post-horses instantly. 
 Within an hour I must be on the road. Mother! mother!" cried he, as 
 the servant dejiarted in haste. "Not to see her again — oh, it would l)e 
 frightful!" And sinking upon a chair, overwhelmed with sorrow, he 
 covered his face with his hands. 
 
 This great grief was sincere — he tenderly loved his mother: tliat 
 di\due sentiment had accompanied him, unalterable and pure, through 
 all the phases of a too often guilty life. 
 
 After a few minutes Rodin ventured to say to his master, as he 
 showed him the second letter: 
 
 " This, also, has just been brought from M. Duplessis. It is very 
 important — very pressing " 
 
 " See what it is and answer it. I have no luuid for business." 
 
 " The letter is confidential," said Rodin, presenting it to his master. 
 " I dare not open it, as you may see by the mark on the cover." 
 
 At sight of this mark the countenance of Rodin's master assumed 
 an iudetinal)le ex]»ression of respect and fear. With a trembliiig 
 hand he broke the seal. The note contained only the following 
 words : 
 
 " Leave all business, and, without losing a minute, set out and come. 
 M. Duplessis will replace you. He has orders." 
 
 "Great God!" cried this man in despair. "Set out before I have
 
 TEE WAXDEEIXG JEW. 
 
 137 
 
 seen my mother! It is frightful, impossible — it M-oi^ld perhaps kill 
 her — yes, it would he matricide ! " 
 
 Whilst he uttered these words, his eyes rested on the huge globe, 
 
 inarki'd with red crosses. A sudden revolution seemed to take place 
 within him ; ho appeared to repent of the violence of his regrets ; his 
 face, though still sad, became once more calm and gi-ave. He handed
 
 138 TIIK WAXDKRIXd .//vil. 
 
 the fatal Icttt'V to liis secretary, and said to liiiii, wliile lie stifled a 
 sigh: "To be elassed under its proiier nnndier." 
 
 Eodin took the letter, wrote a nmnln r u|Min it, ami jilaee(l it in a 
 partieular box. 
 
 After a moment's silence, his master resumed: 
 
 "Yoii will take oi'ders fi-om M. Duplcssis, and work with liini. You 
 will deliver to liim the note on the atlair of tiie medals; he i<no\vs to 
 whom to address it. You will write to Batavia, Leipsic, and <']iarles- 
 town, in the sense ao:reed. Prevent, at any ^jrice, the daughtei's of 
 General Simon from (juitting Leipsic; hasten the arrival of Gal)riel in 
 Paris; and should Prince Djalma come to Batavia, tell ]\I. Joshua \'an 
 Dael that we coimt on his zeal and obedience to keej) him there." 
 
 And this man, who, while his dying niothei' calleil to him in vain, 
 c<nild thus ])reserve his presence of mind, entered his own apartments ; 
 while Rodin busied himself with the answers he liad b(>en ordereil to 
 write, and transeribeil tlu'm in cipher. 
 
 In about three-(piarters of an hour, the bells of the post-horses were 
 heard jingling without. The old servant again entered, after discreetly 
 knocking at the door, and said: 
 
 " The carriage is ready." 
 Rodin nodded, and the servant withdrew. The secretary, in his 
 turn, went to knock at the door of the inner room. Ilis master aiijieared, 
 still grave and cold, but fearfully l)ale, and holding a letter in his hand. 
 
 " This for my mother," said he to Rodin ; " you will send a courier ou 
 the instant." 
 
 "On the instant," replied the secretai-y. 
 
 " Let the three letters for Leijisic, Batavia, and Charlestown leave 
 to-day by the ordinary channel. They are of the last importance. You 
 know it." 
 
 Those were his last words. Executing merciless orilers with a 
 merciless obedience, he departed without even attempting to see his 
 mother. His secretary accompanied him respectfully to his carriage. 
 
 " What road, sir ?" asked the postilion, turning round in his saddle. 
 
 " The I'oad to Italy ! " answered Rodin's master, with so dee[) a sigh 
 that it almost resembled a sob. 
 
 Astlie horses started at full gallop, Rodin made a low bow ; then he 
 retm-ned to the large, cold, bare ajiartment. The attitude, countenance, 
 and gait of this personage seemed to have undergone a sudden change. 
 He appeared to have increased in dimensions. He was no longer 
 an automaton, moved by the mechanism of humlile ()l)edience. His 
 features, till now imi)assible, his glance, hitherto subdued, became 
 suddenly animated with an expression of dialxilical craft; a sardonic
 
 THE WAXDEBIXG JEW. 139 
 
 smile cui'led his tliiii, pale lijjs, ami a look of grim satisfaction relaxed 
 his Ciidaverous face. 
 
 In tnrn he stopped before the huge globe. In turn he contemplated 
 it in silence, even as his master had done. Then, bending over it, and 
 embracing it, as it were, in his arms, he gloated with his reptile eye on 
 it for some moments, tb'ew his coarse finger along its polished surface, 
 and tapped his flat, dii-ty nail on three of the places dotted with red 
 crosses. And, whilst he thus j^ointed to three towns, in very different 
 l)arts of the world, he named them aloud, with a sneer : "Leipsic — 
 Charlestown — Bataxda." 
 
 Then he stood silent, immersed in his reflections. 
 This little, old, sordid, ill-dressed man, with his livid and death-like 
 countenance, thus crawling over the sphere before him, appeared still 
 more awful than his master, when the latter, erect and haughty, had 
 imperiously laid his hand upon that globe, which he seemed desirous of 
 subjecting by the strength of his jiride and coiu'age. The one resembled 
 the eagle that hovers over his prey, and may sometimes miss it, from the 
 very elevation of his flight; the other the reptile, that, gliding in dark- 
 ness and silence, envelops its \'ictim in its inextricable folds. 
 
 After some minutes, Kodin approached his desk, rubbing his hands 
 briskly together, and wrote the following epistle in a cipher unknown 
 even to his master : 
 
 " Paris, i past 9 a. ji. 
 
 " He is gone — but lie hesitafcd ! 
 
 " His dying mother had just summoned him to her. He might, they 
 told him, save her by his presence, and he exclaimed : ' Not to go to my 
 mother would be matricide ! ' 
 
 " 8till, he is gone — but he Itesltafrd. 
 
 '' I keep my eye upon him continually. These lines will reach Eome 
 at the same time as himself. 
 
 "P. S. — Tell the Cardinal-Prince that he may rely on me, but I hope 
 for his active aid in return. The seventeen votes he can dispose of may 
 be useful to me some time ; let him increase the numljer of his adherents." 
 When he had folded and sealed this letter, Rodin put it into his 
 l>ocket. The clock struck ten, Rodin's hour for breakfast. He arranged 
 and locked up his papers in a drawer, of which he carried away the 
 key, l)i-ushed his old greasy hat with his sleeve, took a patched umbrella 
 in his hand and Went out. 
 
 AVliile these two men, in the dei)ths of their obscure retreat, were 
 thus framing a plot which was to involve the seven descendants of a 
 race formerly proscribed, a strange, mysterious defender was planning 
 how to protect this family, which was also his own.
 
 CHAPTER in 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 HE sjxtt is wild and rufïged. 
 
 It is a lofty ciiniiciico covered with luifrf^ howldevs of 
 sand.stone, between whieli rise bireh-trees and oaks, their 
 foliage already yellowed by autumn. These tall trees stand 
 out from the background of red glow which the sun has left in the west, 
 resembling the reflection of a gi'eat fire. 
 
 From this eminence the eye looks down into a deep valley, shadj'', 
 fertile, and half veiled in light vapor by the evening mist. The rich 
 m<'a<lows, the tufts of bushy trees, the fields from wliich the ripe corn 
 has been gathered in, all blend together in one dark, uniform tint, 
 which contrasts ^vith the limpid azm-e of the heavens. Steeples of gi'ay 
 stone or slate lift their pointed sph-es, at intervals, from the midst of 
 this vall(>y ; for many villages are spread about it, bordering a high- 
 road which leads from the north to the west. 
 
 It is the hour of I'epose — the hour when, usually, every cottage 
 window lirightens to the joyous crackling of the rustic hearth, and 
 shines afar through shade and foliage, while wreaths of smoke issue 
 from the chimneys, and cuii up slowly toward the sky. But now, 
 strange to say, every heai-th in the coimtry seems cold and deserted. 
 Stranger and more fatal still, every steeple rings out a funeral knell. 
 Whatever tliere is of acti\'ity, movement, or life apj^ears concentrated 
 ill that lugulnious and far-sounding vibration. 
 
 And now, lights begin to show themselves in the dark villages, but 
 they rise not from the cheerful and pleasant rustic hearth. They are 
 as red as the JBres of the herdsmen, seen at night through the midst of 
 the fog. And then these lights do not remain motionless. They creep — 
 creep slowly toward the churchyard of every \'illage. 
 
 Louder sounds the death-knell, the air trembles 1>eneath the strokes 
 of so many bells, and, at rare intervals, the funeral chant rises faintly 
 to the summit of the hUl.
 
 THE WAN DEB IX G JEW. Ul 
 
 "Why so many interments ? TTliat valley of desolation is this, where 
 the peaceful songs which follow the hard labors of the day are replaced 
 by the death dirge, where the repose of evening is exchanged for the 
 repose of eternity? What is this valley of desolation, where eveiy 
 village mourns for its many dead, and buries them at the same hour of 
 the same night ? 
 
 Alas ! the deaths are so sudden, and numerous, and frightful that 
 there is hardly time to lairy the dead. During the day the survivors 
 are chained to the earth by hard but necessary toil ; and only in the 
 evening, when they retui-n from the fields, are they able, though sink- 
 ing with fatigue, to dig those other furrows, in which their brethi'eu 
 are to lie heaped like gi-ains of corn. 
 
 And this valley is not the only one that has seen the desolation. 
 During a series of fatal years, many villages, many towns, many cities, 
 many great countries, have seen, like this valley, theii" hearths deserted 
 and cold — have seen, like this valley, mourning take the place of joy, 
 and the death-kneU substituted for the noise of festival — have wept in 
 the same day for their many dead, and l^uried them at night l)y the 
 lurid glare of torches. 
 
 For, during those fatal years, an awful wayfarer had slowly joiir- 
 neyed over the earth, from one pole to the other — from the depths of 
 India aiul Asia to the ice of Siberia — from the ice of Siberia to the 
 borders of the seas of France. 
 
 This traveler, mysterious as death, slow as eternitj-, implacable as 
 fate, terrible as the hand of heaven, was the — Cholera ! 
 
 The tolling of ])ells and the funeral chants still rose from the depths 
 of the valley to the summit of the hill, like the complaining of a mighty 
 voice; the glare of the fvmeral torches was still seen afar through the mist 
 of evening; it was the horn- of twilight — that strange hour, which 
 gives to the most sohd forms a vague, indefinite, fantastic appearance. 
 
 But the sound of firm and regular footsteps was heard on the stony 
 soil of the rising ground, and, between the black ti-unks of the trees, a 
 man passed slowly onward. His figure was tall, his head was bowed upon 
 his breast ; his countenance was noble, gentle, and sad ; his eyeln-ows, 
 uniting in tlie midst, extended from one temple to the other, like a fatal 
 mark on his forehead. This man did not seem to hear tlic distant tolling 
 of so many funeral bells — and yet, a few days before, rejiose and hap- 
 piness, health and joy had reigned in those \-illages through which he 
 had slowly passed, and which he now left behind him mourning and 
 desolate. '
 
 142 THE WAND Kin y (I .1 i:\v. 
 
 Till- travt'lcr contiiiucil on liis way, iil)sorlif(l in liis own n^Hcctions. 
 
 "The Loth of February approachi's," thought he; " the day approaches 
 in which the descendants of my beloved sister, the last scions of our 
 race, should meet in Paris. Alas! it is now a hundred and fifty years 
 since, for the third time, persecution scattered this family over all 
 the eartii — this family, tliat I have watched over with tenderness for 
 eighteen centuries, through all its migrations and exiles, its changes of 
 religion, fortune, and name! 
 
 "Oh! for this family, descendeil from the sister of tiie pour working- 
 man,* what grandeur and abasement, what obscurity and what splendor, 
 what misery and what glory ! By how many crimes has it been sullied, 
 by how many virtues honored! The history of this single family is the 
 history of the human race ! Passing, in the course of so many genera- 
 tions, through the veins of the jioor and the rich, of the sovereign and 
 the bandit, of the ^xise man and the fool, of the coward and thelirave, 
 of the saint and the atheist, the blood of my sister has transmitted itself 
 to this hour. 
 
 " What scions of this family are now remaining? 
 
 " Seven only. 
 
 " Two orplians, the daughters of prosciibed parents, a dethroned 
 prince, a poor missionary priest, a man of the middle class, a young girl 
 of a great name and large fortune, a mechanic. 
 
 "Together, they comprise in themselves the virtues, the courage, the 
 degi-adation, the splendor, the miseries of our race ! 
 
 " Sibei'ia, India, America, France — behold the divers places whei'e fate 
 has thrown them ! 
 
 " My instinct teaches me when one of them is in peril. Then, from 
 the North to the South, from the East to the West, I go to seek them. 
 I go to thi'm, yesterday, amid the polar frosts; to-day, in the tem])erate 
 zone ; to-morrow, beneath the fires of the tropics ; but often, alas ! 
 at the moment when my presence might save them, the invisible hand 
 impels me, the whirlwind carries me away, and the voice speaks in 
 my ear : 
 
 "'Go ox! Go ox!' 
 
 "Oh, that I might only finish my task! 
 
 * It is known that, according: to the legend, the Wanderinpr .Tew was a shoemaker at 
 .lerusakm. The Saviour, eavrying his cross, passed before the house of the artisan, and 
 asked Iiim to be allowed forest an instant on the stone bench at his door. " Go on ! go 
 on ! '' said the .Jew harsldy, pushing him away. " Thou shalt go on till the end of time," 
 answered the Saviour in a stern though soiTowful tone. For further details, see the 
 eloquent and learned notice by Charles Maguin, appended to the magnificent poem 
 of " Ahasuerus," by Ed. Quiuet.
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 143 
 
 " ' Go ON ! ' — A single hour, only a single hoiiv of rejiose ! 
 
 " ' Go ON ! ' — Alas ! I leave those I love on the brink of the abyss ! 
 
 '" Go ON ! Go ON ! ' 
 
 " Such is my punishment. If it is great, my crime is greater still ! 
 An artisan, devoted to ijrivations and misery, my misfortunes had made 
 me cruel. Oh, cursed, cursed be the day, when, as I bent over my work, 
 sullen with hate and despair, because, in spite of my incessant labor, I 
 and mine wanted for everything, the SaA^iour passed before my door. 
 Reviled, insulted, covered with blows, hardly able to sustain the weight 
 of his heavy cross, he asked me to let him rest a moment on my stone 
 Ijench. The sweat poured from his forehead, his feet were bleeding, 
 he was well-nigh sinking with fatigue, and he said to me, in a mild, 
 heart -piercing voice : 
 
 " ' I suffer ! ' 
 
 " ' And I too suffer,' I replied, as with harsh anger I pushed him from 
 the place ; ' I suffer, and no one comes to helj) me ! I find no pity, and 
 will give none. Go on ! Go on ! ' 
 
 " Then, with a deep sigh of pain, he answered, and spake this sentence: 
 
 " * Ver'di/, tJioH sJialt f/o on till the da// of fJii/ redemption, for so irilh the 
 Father which is in hcaren ! ' 
 
 " And so my punishment began. 
 
 " Too late I opened these eyes to the light, too late I learned repent- 
 ance and charity, too late I understood those divine words of him I had 
 outraged, words which should be the law of the whole human race : 
 
 " ' LOVE YE one another.' 
 
 " In vain through successive ages, gathering strength and eloquence 
 from those celestial words, have I labored to earn my pardon, Ijy filling 
 with commiseration and love hearts that were overflowing with envy 
 and bitterness, by inspiring many a soul with a sacred horror of oppres- 
 sion and injustice. For me, the day of mercy has not yet dawned ! 
 
 " And even as the first man, by his fall, devoted his prosperity to 
 misfortune, it would seem as if I, the workman, had consigned the 
 whole race of workmen to endless sorrows, and as if they were expiat- 
 ing my crime ; for they alone, during these eighteen centuries, have not 
 yet been delivered. 
 
 " For eighteen centuries, the powerful and the hapj^y of this world 
 have said to the toiling people what I said to the imploring and suffer- 
 ing 8a\nonr : ' Go on ! Go on ! ' And the people, sinking with fatigue, 
 bearing their heavy cross, have answered in the bitterness of their grief: 
 
 " ' Oh, for pity's sake ! a few moments of repose ; we are worn out ■with 
 toil.' 
 
 " ' Go on ! '
 
 144 THE waxdehtxc, jkw. 
 
 " ' And if we pevish iu our paiu, what will become of our little ehildroii 
 and our aged mothers ? ' 
 
 " ' Go ox ! Go ox ! ' 
 
 " Aud, for eighteen centmnes, they and I have continued to struggle 
 forward and to suffer, and no charitable voice has yet pronounced the 
 word, ' ExoiGH ! ' 
 
 "Alas! such is my punishment. It is immense, it is twofold. 1 
 suffer in the name of humanity, when I see these wi-ctched multitiides 
 consigned without respite to profitless and oppressive toil. I snft'cr 
 in the name of my family, when, poor and wandering, I am unalile 
 to bring aid to the descendants of my dear sister. 
 
 " Rut when the sorrow is above my strength, when I for»»see some 
 danger from which I cannot preserve my own, then my thoughts, 
 traveling over the world, go in search of that woman like me accursed, 
 that daughter of a queen, who, like me, the son of a laborer, wanders 
 and will wander on, till the day of her redemption. • 
 
 "Once in a century, as two jilant'ts di'aw nigli to each other in tiicir 
 revolutions, I am permitted to meet tliis woman during the dread week 
 of the Passion. And after this int('r^^('W, filled with terrible remem- 
 brances and boimdless griefs, wandering stars of eternity, we i)ursue 
 om' infinite eoui'se. 
 
 " And this woman, the only one upon earth who, like me, sees the 
 end of every centuiy and exclaims, ' What ! another f ' this woman 
 responds to my thought, from the farthest exti'emity of the world. 
 
 " She, who alone shares my terrible destiny, has chosen to share also 
 the only interest that has consoled me for so many ages. Those descend- 
 ants of my dear sister, she too loves, she too protects them. For 
 them she journeys likewise from East to West and from North to 
 South. 
 
 . . . She finds them 
 
 "But, alas! the invisible hand impels her, the whirlwind cairies liei- 
 away, and the voice speaks in her ear: 'Go on!' — 'Oh that I might 
 finish my sentence !' repeats she also. — 'Go ox!' — 'A single hour — 
 only a single horn- of repose ! ' — 'Go ox ! ' — 'I leave those I love on the 
 brink of the abvss ! ' — 'Go ox ! Go ox ! " " 
 
 \Tliile this man thus went over the hill, absorbed in his thoughts, 
 the light evening breeze increased almost to a gale, a \iAi(l flash 
 
 • According to a lefrend vcn- little Icnowii, for wliich wo are indebted to the kindness 
 of 51. ilaury, the learned sub-librai-ian of the Institute, Herf)dias was condemned to 
 ■wander till the day of judgment, for having asked for the death of St. John the Baptist.
 
 THE WAN^DElilXa JEW. 
 
 145 
 
 streamed across the sky, and long, deep whistlings announced the 
 coming of a tempest. 
 
 On a sudden this doomed man, who could no longer weep or smile, 
 started with a shuddei'. No physical pain could reach him, and yet he 
 
 -^.^^V^-T.^^'^ I 
 
 jiressed his hand hastily to his heart, as though he had experienced a 
 cruel pang. " Oh ! " cried he ; " I feel it. This hour, many of those 
 whom I love — the descendants of my dear sister — suffer, and are in
 
 146 TIU: \\AM)El{lMi .IKW. 
 
 frveat peril, — somo in tho oontor of India — somo in America — some 
 here in (Jermany. Tlie strn.iiiilc recommences, the detestalile jiassions 
 are again awake. (Hi, tliou tliat hearest me — thou, like myself wan- 
 derin<i: and accursed — Herodias ! help me to ])roteot them! May my 
 invocation reach thee, iu those American solitmlos -wheix' thou now 
 liugerest — and may we arrive iu time !" 
 
 Thereupon an extraordinary event happened. 
 
 Night was come. The man made a movement, precijiitately, to 
 retrace his steps — Imt an invisilile force prevented him, and carried 
 him r(>r\var<l in tlie (ijiposite directii)n. 
 
 At this mom(>nt, the storm hurst forth in its somher nuijesty. One 
 of those whirlwinds, which tear uj) trees by the roots, and shake the 
 foundations of the rocks, rushed over the hill rapid and loud as tliuii- 
 der. In tin* midst of the roaring of the hurricane, by the glare of the 
 fiery Hashes, the man with tlie black mark on his brow was seen 
 descending the hill, stalking with huge strides among the rocks, anil 
 between trees bent beneath the efforts of the storm. The tread of this 
 man was no longer slow, firm, and steady — but painfully irregular, like 
 that of one impelled by an irresistible power, or carried along l)y the 
 wliirl of a frightful wind. 
 
 In vain he extended his supplicating hands to heaven. Soon he 
 disappeared iu the shades of night, and amid the roar of tlie tempest.
 
 PART III 
 
 THE STRAXGLEES 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE AJOUPA 
 
 HILE Rodin dispatched his cosmopolite correspoud- 
 euce from his retreat in the Rue dn Milieu des 
 I'rsius, in Paris, whUe the daughters of General 
 iSiiuou, after qiiittiug as fugitives the White Fal- 
 con, were detained prisoners at Leipsic along with 
 Dagobert, other scenes, deeply interesting to these 
 different personages, were passing, almost, as it were, 
 <^ at the same moment, at the other extremity of the 
 world, in the furthermost parts of Asia — that is to 
 say, in the island of Java, not far from the city of 
 Batavia, the residence of M. Joshiia Van Dael, one of the correspond- 
 ents of Rodiu. 
 
 Java ! magnificent and fatal country, where the most admh'able 
 flowers conceal hideous rejitiles, where the brightest frxiits contain siilv 
 tle poisons, where gi'ow splendid trees, whose very shadow is death — 
 wlitTc tlie gigantic vampire bat sucks the blood of its victims while 
 it prolongs theii- slee^i, by surroimding them with a fresh and balmy 
 air, no fan mo\'ing so rapidly as the gi-eat perfumed "«"ings of this 
 monster ! 
 
 The month of October, 1831, di-aws near its close. It is noon — an 
 hour well-nigh mortal to him who encounters the fiery heat of the sun, 
 which spreads a sheet of dazzling light over the deep blue enamel of 
 the sky. 
 
 An ajonpa, or hut, made of cane mats, suspended from long bamboos
 
 148 Till-: ]yAXj)i:rx' r\(; .n:w. 
 
 Tvliich are drivon far into the ground, rises in tin» midst of tlie bluish 
 siiadows cast l)y a tuft of trees whose glitterinj^ verdure resembles green 
 poreelain. These (piaintlv formed trees, rouiuUMl into arches, i)ointing 
 like spires, oversjireading Hke parasols, are so 1hii-k in foliage, so entan- 
 gled one with the other, that tlieir dome is impenetialile to the rain. 
 
 The soil, ever marshy, notwithstanding the insupportai ile heat, 
 disappears beneath an inextricable mass of creepers, fenis, and tufted 
 reeds of a freshness and \igor of vegetation ahnost incredible, reaching 
 nearly to the top of the ajou])a, whicli lies hid like a nest among the 
 grass. 
 
 Nothing can Im» moi'e suffocating than the atmosphere, heavily 
 laden with moist exhalations like the steam of hot water, and inijn-eg- 
 nated with the strongest and sharpest scents; for the cinnamon-tree, 
 ginger plant, stephanotis, and Cape jasmine, mixed with these trees and 
 creepers, spread around in puffs their penetrating odors. A roof formed of 
 large Indian tig-leaves covers the cabin ; at one end is a squar(>o])ening, 
 which serves tVn- a window, shut in with a fiin» lattice-work of vegetable 
 fibers, so as to prevent tlie rejttiles and venomous insects fi-om creeping 
 into the ajoujia. The huge ti-unk of a dead tree, still standing, but 
 much })ent, and with its summit reaehing to the roof of the ajoupa, rises 
 from the midst of the brushwood. From every crevice in its lilack, 
 rugged, mossy bark springs a strange, almost fantastic flower ; the wing 
 of the butterfly is not of a tin(>r tissue, of a more brilliant i)urple, of a 
 more glossy black; those unknown Inrds we see in om* dreams hav(^ no 
 more gi'otesque forms than these specimens of the orchis — winged 
 flowers that seem always ready to fly from their frail and leafless stalks. 
 The long, flexible stems of the cactus, which might betaken for reptiles, 
 encircle also this trunk, and clothe it with their green boughs laden 
 with Ininchesof silvery white, shaded inside with bright orange. These 
 flowers emit a strong scent of vanilla. A serpent, of a brick-red, al)out 
 the thickness of a large quill, and five or six inches long, half protrudes 
 its flat head from one of those enonnous perfumed calyxes, in which 
 it lies closely curled up. 
 
 Within the ajoupa, a young man is extended on a mat in a profound 
 sleep. His complexion, of a clear golden yellow, gives him t lie appearance 
 of a statiie of pale bronze, on which a ray of the sun is playing. His 
 attitude is simple and gi-aceful ; his right arm sustains his head, a little 
 raised and turned on one side ; his ample I'obe of white muslin, with 
 hanging sleeves, leaves uncovered his chest and arms, worthy of the 
 Antinolis. Mai'ble is not more firm, more polished than his skin, the 
 golden hue of which contrasts strongly with the whiteness of his gai'- 
 meuts. Upon his broad, manly chest a deep scar is \'isible — the maik
 
 THE WAXD BRING .JEM\ 149 
 
 of the musket-ball he received in defending the life of General Simon, 
 the father of Rose and Blanche. Suspended from his nec'k, he wears a 
 medal similar to that in the possession of the two sisters. 
 
 This Indian is Djalma. 
 
 His features are at once very noble and very beautiful. His hair, of 
 a blue black, i)arted up<ju his forehead, falls waving, Ijut not curled, 
 over his shouldeivs; while his eyebrows, boldly and yet delicately 
 defined, are of as deep a jet as the long eyelashes that cast their shadow 
 upon his beardless cheek. His bright, red lips are slightly apart, and 
 he breathes uneasily ; his sleep is heavy and troubled, for the heat 
 becomes every moment more and more suffocating. 
 
 Without, the silence is profound. Not a breath of air is stii'ring. 
 Yet now the tall ferns, which cover the soil, begin to move almost 
 imperceptibly, as though theii- stems were shaken by the slow pi'ogress 
 of some crawling body. From time to time, this trifling oscillation 
 suddeidy ceases, and all is again motionless. But, after several of these 
 alternations of rustling and deep silence, a human head appears in the 
 midst of the jungle, a little distance from the trunk of the dead tree. 
 
 The man to whom it belonged was possessed of a grim coiintenance 
 with a complexion the color of greenish bronze, long black hair bound 
 aliout his temples, eyes brilliant with savage fire, and an expression 
 remarkable for its intelligence and ferocity. Holding his breath, he 
 remained quite still for a moment ; then advancing ujaon his hands and 
 knees, pushing aside the leaves so gently that not the slightest noise 
 could be heard, he arrived cautiously and slowly at the trunk of the dead 
 tree, the summit of which nearly touched the roof of tlie ajoupa. This 
 man, of Malay origin, lielonging to the sect of the Strangiei-s (Lughar- 
 dars), after having again listened, rose almost entirely from amongst 
 tli(^ l)rushwood. With the exception of white cotton drawers, fastened 
 around his middle by a parti-colored sash, he was completely naked. His 
 bronzed, supple and nervous limbs were overlaid with a thick coat of 
 oil. Stretching himself along the huge trunk on the side farthest from 
 the cabin, and thus sheltered by the whole breadth of the tree with its 
 surrounding creepei's, he began to climb silently, with as much jiatienee 
 as caution. In the undulations of his form, in the flexibility of his move- 
 ments, in the restrained vigoi-, which, fidly put forth, would have been 
 alarming, there was some resemblance to the stealthy and treacherous 
 advance of the tiger upon his prey. Ha^^ng reached, completely imper- 
 ceived, the inclined portion of the tree, which almost touched the roof 
 of the cabin, he was only separated from the window by a distance of 
 about a foot. Cautiously advancing his head, he looked down into the 
 interior to see how he might best find an entrance.
 
 150 Tin: ^\^.\ \ i>i:i;i se .1 1'AV. 
 
 At sight of Djaliiia in liis tleep slct'i), tlie 8tranf2:lt>r's lirijjht oyos 
 glittered witli iucivased brilliancy; a nei'vons (•(intractioii, or rather 
 a imite, ferocious laugh, curling the cornels of liis mouth, diew them 
 u]i tiiward the clici'k-licuics, and exposed i-ows of trctli lilrd sh;ii-|) 
 like tiie points of a saw and ilycd of a shining lilack. Djahna was 
 lying in such a manner and so near the door of the ajoupu, whicli 
 opened inward, that, were it moved in the least, lie must be instantly 
 awakcn(>(l. 
 
 The Sti'angler, with his l)ody still sheltered by the tree, wishing to 
 examine more attentively th(> interior of the cal»in, leaned very forward, 
 and in order to maintain his balance, lightly rested liis liand on the 
 ledge of the oix-ning tliat served for a wimlow. This movement shook 
 the large cactus-llowei', within which the little si-rjx'nt lay curled, and, 
 darting forth, it twisted itself ra^jidly round the wrist of the Stranglei". 
 Whether from pain or surprise, the man uttered a low cry, and as he 
 drew back swiftly, still holding liy the truidv of the tree, he jiereeived 
 that Djalma had moved. 
 
 The young Indian, though retaiidng his supine posture, iiad lialf 
 oi)ened his eyes and turned his ht>a<l toward the window, while his 
 breast heaved with a deep-drawn sigh, for beneath that thick dome of 
 moist verdure the concentrated heat was intolerable. 
 
 Hardly had he moved when from behind th(> ti-ee was heard the shrill, 
 brief, sonorous note which the bird of paradise utters when it takes its 
 flight — a cry wliich resembles that of the pheasant. This note "was soon 
 repeated, but more faintly, as though the brilliant bird were alivadyat a 
 distanee. Djalma, thinking h<> had discovered the cause of tlie noise 
 which had aroused him for an instant, stretched out the arm upon which 
 his head had rested and went to sleep again with scaix-ely any change 
 of position. 
 
 For some minutes the most profound silence once more reigned in 
 this solitude, and everything remained motioidess. The Strangler, by 
 his skillful imitation of the bird, had repaired Hie imprudence of that 
 exclamation of surprise and pain whieii the reptile's bite had forced 
 from him. When he thought all was safe he again advanced jiis head, 
 and saw the young Indian once more plunged in sleep. Then he 
 descended the tree with the same pi-ecautions, though his left hand 
 was somewhat swollen from the sting of the serpent, an<l disiijipeared in 
 the jungle. 
 
 At that instant a song of monotonous and melancholy cadence was 
 heard in the distance. The Strangl(»r raised himself and listened attent- 
 ively, and his face took an expression of surprise and deadly anger. 
 The song came nearer and nearer to the cabin, and in a few seconds an
 
 TUE WAXDERIXd JEW. 151 
 
 Indian, passing thvongli an open si)are in the jungle, approaclicd- tlic 
 spot where the Btrauglcr lay concealed. 
 
 The latter unwound from his waist a long thin cord, to one of the 
 ends of which was attached a leaden ball of the form and size of an egg. 
 Having fastened the other end of this cord to his riglit wrist, the Strang- 
 It'r again listened, and then disappeared, crawling through the tall grass 
 in the direction of the Indian, who still advanced slowly, without inter- 
 rui)ting his soft and plaintive song. 
 
 He was a young fellow scarcely twenty, with a bronzed complexion, 
 the slave of Djalma ; his vest of blue cotton was confined at the waist 
 by a parti-colored sash ; he wore a red turban, and silver rings in his 
 ears and about his wrists. He was bringing a message to his master, 
 who during the great heat of the day was reposing in the ajoupa, 
 which stood at some distance fi'om the house he inhabited. 
 
 Arriving at a place where two paths separate, the slave without 
 hesitation took that which led to the cabin, from which he was now 
 scarce forty paces distant. 
 
 One of those enormous Java butterflies, whose wings extend six or 
 eight inches in length, and oflier to the eye two streaks of gold on a 
 ground of ultramarine, fluttering from leaf to leaf, alighted on a bush 
 of Cape jasmine, within the reach of the young Indian. The slave stopped 
 in his song, stood still, advanced first a' foot, then a hand, and seized the 
 butterfly. Suddenly he sees a dark figure rise before him ; he hears a 
 whizzing noise like that of a sling ; he feels a cord, thrown with as much 
 I'apidity as force, encircle his neck with a triple band, and almost in 
 the same instant the leaden ball strikes violently against the back of 
 his head. 
 
 This attack was so abrupt and unforeseen that Dj alma's servant could 
 not even utter a single cry, a single groan. He tottered — the Strangler 
 gave a vigorous pull at the coixl — the bronzed countenance of the slave 
 became purple, and lie fell upon his knees, convulsively moving his 
 arms. Then the Htrangier threw him quite down, and pulled the cord 
 so violently that the blood spmted from the skin. The victim struggled 
 for a moment, and all was over. During his short but intense agony 
 the murderer, kneeling before his victim, and watching with ardent eye 
 his least convulsions, seemed plunged in an ecstasy of ferocious joy. 
 His nostrils dilated, the veins of his neck and temples were swollen, and 
 the same savage laugh which had curled his lips at the asj)ect of the 
 sleeping Djalma again displayed his pointed black teeth, which a nerv- 
 ous trembling of the jaws made to chatter. But soon he crossed his 
 arms upon his heaving breast, liowe<l liis forehead, and nuu'murcd some 
 mysterious words which sounded like an invocation or a prayer.
 
 152 TUE WAyDERlSG JEW. 
 
 Immediately after, ho r('tnriio<l to tlio contciiiiilatioii of the dead 
 body. 
 
 The hyena and the tiger-eat, who, Jjcfore d<'\ouriiig, eroiieh beside 
 the prey tliat they have surprised oi' hunted down, liavc not a wildei- or 
 more sanguinary look than this man. 
 
 But, remembering that his task was not yet accomplished, tearing 
 himself unwillingly tVoni tlic hideous spectacle, he unliouiid tlic conl 
 from the neck (if his victim, fastened it round liisown ImkIv, di'aggcd tbc 
 corpse out of the path, and, without attempting to rob it of its silver 
 rings, concealed it in a thick part of the jungle. 'J'hcn tlic Strangler 
 again began to creep on his knees and belly, till he arrived at the ca])in 
 of Djalma — that ea1)in constructed of mats sns]iended from bandjoos. 
 After listening attentively he drew from his girdle a knife, the sliai'j)- 
 l)ointed blade of which was wi-a{)ped in a fig-leaf, and made in the mat- 
 ting an incision of three feet in length. This was done with such 
 quickness, and with so fine a blade, that the light touch of the diamond 
 cutting glass would have made more noise. 
 
 Seeing, ])y means of this opening, which was to serve him for a pas- 
 sage, that Djalma was still fast asleep, the Stranglei- with incredible 
 temerity glided into the cabin.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE TATTOOING 
 
 HE heavens, which had been till now of transparent bine, 
 heeame gTadnally of a greenish tint, and the snn was 
 veiled in red, Inrid vapor. This strange light gave to 
 
 'Very object a weird appearance, of which one might 
 form an idea by looking at a landscape through a piece of copper- 
 colored glass. In those climates, this phenomenon, when united with an 
 increase of burning heat, always announces the approach of a storm. 
 From time to time there was a passing odor of sulphui* ; then the leaves, 
 slightly shaken l)y electric currents, would tremlile upon their stalks, till 
 again all would return to the former motionless silence. The weight of 
 the burning atmosphere, saturated with sharp perfumes, became almost 
 intolerable. Large drops of sweat stood in pearls on the forehead of 
 Djalma, still phuiged in enervating sleep — for it no longer resembled 
 rest, but a painful stupor. 
 
 The Strangler glided like a reptHe along the sides of the ajoupa, and, 
 crawling on his belly, arrived at the sleeping-mat of Djalma, besides 
 which he squatted himself, so as to occvipy as little space as possible. 
 Then began a fearful scene, by reason of the mystery and silence which 
 surrounded it. 
 
 Djalma's life was at the mercy of the Strangler. The latter, resting 
 ujion his hands and knees, with his neck stretched forward, his eye fixed 
 and dilated, continued motionless as a wUd beast about to spring. Onlj^ 
 a slight, nervous trembling of the jaws agitated that mask of 1)rouze. 
 But soon his hideous featm-es I'evealed a violent struggle that was pass- 
 ing within him — a struggle between the thirst, the cra\'ing for the 
 enjoyment of mm*der, which the recent assassination of the slave had 
 made still more active, and the orders he had received not to attempt the 
 life of Djalma, though the design which 1)rought him to the ajoupa 
 might perhaps be as fatal to the yoimg Indian as death itself. Twice 
 did the Strangler, with look of flame, resting only on his left hand, seize 
 
 153
 
 154 '/'///•' ir.i .V /»/;/,' /Av; .//;ir. 
 
 witli his riirht tho rope's end, and Iwico liis IiuikI. fell — tlic instinct of 
 murder yieMing to a ]H)werful will, of wliicli the Malay acknowledgeil 
 the irresistil)le i-nipire. 
 
 In liini the honiieitlal ora\'inj;; must have amounted to madness, for 
 in these hesitations he lost mueh preeions time: at any moment, 
 Djalnia, whose vigor, skill, and eoui-agt' wei-e known and feared, might 
 awake from his sleeji, and though iinaniied, he would j irove a terrible 
 adversary. 
 
 At length the Strangler made up liis mind; with a suppressed sigh 
 of regret he set about aecomjilishing his task. 
 
 This task would have appeared imi)ossiblc to any ouf else. The 
 readei' may judge. 
 
 Djalma, with his face turned toward tlie left, leaned his head upon 
 his curved arm. It was first necessary, without waking him, to ol)lige 
 him to turn his face toward the riglit (that is, toward the door), so that 
 in case of his being half roused, his first glance might not full upon the 
 Strangler. Tlie latter, to accomplish his projects, would have to remain 
 many minutes in the cabin. 
 
 Thi' lieavens liecame whiter; the heat arnved at its last degree of 
 intensity ; everything cond)ined to increase the torpor of the sleei)er, and 
 so favor the Strangler's designs. Kneeling down close to Djalma, he 
 began, with the tips of his sup])le, well-oiled fingers, to stroke the lu'ow, 
 temples, and eyelids of tlie young Indian, l)Ut with such extreme light- 
 ness that the contact of the two skins was hardly sensible. Wlu'ii this 
 kind of magnetic incantation had lasted for some seconds, the sweat, 
 which bathed the f(^rehead of Djalma, became more abundant; he 
 heaved a smothered sigh, and the muscles of his face gave several 
 twitches, for the strokings, although too light to rouse him, yet caused 
 in him a feeling of indefinal)le uneasiness. Watcliing him witli his rest- 
 less and Inirning eye, the Strangler continued iiis manœuvres with so 
 much patience that Djalma, still sleeping, but no longer able to bear this 
 vague, annoying sensation, raised his right hand mechanically to his 
 face, as if he would have brush(>(l away an importunate insect. But he 
 had not .streugtii to do it: almost immediately after, liis iiand, inert an<l 
 heavy, fell back upon his chest. 
 
 The Strangler saw, by this symptom, that he was attaining his 
 object, and continued to stroke, with the same address, the eyelids, 
 brow, and temples ; whereui)on Djahna, more and more oppressed by 
 heavy sleep, and having neither strength nor ^vill to raise liis hand to his 
 face, mechanically turned round his head, which fell lan.gui<lly ujion his 
 right shoulder, seeking by tliis cliangc of attitude to escai)e from tliedis- 
 agi-eeable sensation which ijursued him.
 
 THE WAXDERINd JEW. 
 
 155 
 
 The first point gained, tlie Btniiiglcr eould ai-t more freely. 
 
 To render as profound as possible the sleep lie had half interrupted, 
 he now strove to imitate the vampire, and, feigning the action of a fan, 
 lie rapidly moved his extended hands about the burning face of the 
 
 young Indian. Alive to a feeling of such sudden and delicious coolness 
 in the height of suffocating heat, the countenance of Djahna brightened, 
 his bosom heaved, his half-opeued lips drank in the grateful air, and ho
 
 156 TUE \\A.\ I>KRIS(1 JEW. 
 
 fell into a slccj) only tho more iiiviiicililc bcciuisf» it liad hccn at first 
 (listurlH'd, and was now yielded to iindi-r the iulluem-e of a pleasing 
 sensation. 
 
 A sndden flash of lii^litnin;; illnniiiiated tho shady <lonio that shel- 
 tered the ajoupa. Fearing- that the lirst clap of thunder might rouse tho 
 young Indian, the Btraugler hastened to complete his task. 
 
 Djalma lay on his l)a('k, with his head resting ou his right shouldi'r 
 and his left arm extcmled. The Strangler, ci'ouehing at his left side, 
 ceased by degrees tlie ])i-oeess of fanning; then, with incredible dexter- 
 ity, he succeeded in lulling up, above the elbow, the long, wide sleeve of 
 white muslin that covered the left arm of the slei'per. 
 
 lie next drew from the jiocket of his ilrawers a copper box, from 
 which he took a very fine, sharp-pointed needle and a piece of a l)lack- 
 Idokin;;- root. lb' inicked this root several times with tli(> needh-, and on 
 each occasion there issued tVom it a white, glutinous li(piid. 
 
 Wlieu the Htrangler tliouglit the needle sulHciently imiiregiiateil 
 with this juice, he bent down, and Ix'gaii to l)low gently over the inner 
 surface of Djalma's arm, so as to cause a fresh sensation of coolness; 
 then, with tlie 2>oiiit of his needle, he traced almost impercei^tibly on the 
 skin of the sleeping youth some mysterious and symbolical signs. All 
 this was performed so cleverly, and the jjoiut of the needle was so fine 
 and keen, that Djalma did not feel the action of the acid ujjou his skin. 
 
 The signs which the Strangler had traced soon appeared on tiie sui- 
 face, at first in characters of a palerose-coloi-, as fine as a hair; but such 
 was the slowly corrosive power of the juice that, as it worked and spread 
 l)eneath th(! skin, they would become in a few hours of a violet red, and 
 as api^arent as they were now almost invisilile. 
 
 The Strangler, having so perfectly succeeded in his project, threw a 
 last look of ferocious longing on the slumbering Indian, and creeping 
 away from tlie mat, regained the opening by wliicli lie had entered the 
 cabin ; next, closely uniting the edges of the incision, so as to obviate all 
 suspicion, he disappeared just as the thunder lu'gan to rumble Imarsely 
 in the distance.* 
 
 * We read in tlie letters of the late Vietor .Taf(|uemoiit upon India, with roprard to the 
 incredible dexterity of these meu : " Tiiey erawl on the j^round, in the ditches, in the fur- 
 rows of fields, imitate a hunib-ed different voices, and dissipate the effect of any acci- 
 dental noise by raising the yelp of the jackal or note of some bh-d — then are silent, and 
 another imitates the call of the same animal in the distance. They can molest a sleeper 
 by all sorts of noises and slig-lit touches, aud make his body and limbs take any positiim 
 which suits their pui-pose." Count Edward de Warren, in his excellent work on English 
 India, which we shall have again occasion to quote, expresses himself in the same man- 
 ner as to the inconceivable address of the Indians : " They have the art," says he, " to 
 rob you, without inten-upting your sleep, of the verj' sheet in which you are enveloped.
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. loi 
 
 This is not ' a traveler's tale,' but a fact. The movements of the hheel are those of a ser- 
 pent. If you sleep in your tent, with a servant lying across each entrance, the hlieel will 
 come and crouch on the outside, in some shady comer, where he can hear the breathintr 
 of those within. As soon as the European sleeps he feels sure of success, for the Asiatic 
 will not long resist the atti-action of repose. At the proper moment he makes a vertical 
 iueision in the cloth of the tent, on the spot where he happens to be, and just bare enough 
 to admit hira. He gUdes through like a phantom, without making the least grain of sand 
 creak Ijeneath his tread. He is perfectly naked, and all his body is i-ubbed over with oil ; 
 a two-edged knife is suspended from his neck. He will squat down close to your couch, 
 and, with incredible coolness and dexterity, will gather up the sheet in verj' little folds, 
 so as to occupy the least surface possible ; then, passing to the other side, he will lightly 
 tickle the sleeper, whom he seems to magrnetize, till the latter skrinks back involuntarily, 
 and ends by turning round and leaving the sheet folded behind him. Should he awake 
 and strive to seize the robber, he catches at a slippeiy form which slides through his 
 hands like an eel ; should he even succeed in seizing him, it would be fatal — the dagger 
 strikes him to the heart, he faUs bathed in his blood, and the assassin disappears."
 
 CIIAI'THi; III 
 
 THF. SMfcKiLEH 
 
 HE toiiipt'st of tilt' luoi'iiiii*;' has lnii<^ hci'ii over. The sun is 
 vi'igiii<>: toward the horizon. Home hours liave elapsed sinee 
 tlie Straiiglcr introduced himself into Djalma's caliin and 
 tattooed him with a mystciious sijjn durinj? his slci'i). 
 
 ,V hoiscman advanees rapidly down a long avenue of sju'cading 
 trees. 
 
 Sheltered by the thick and verdant arch, a thousand hirds salute the 
 splendid evening with .songs and circlings; red and green parrots climb, 
 by help of their lu)oked beaks, to the top of piuk-blossomed acacias ; 
 large Morea bii'ds of the finest and richest blue, whose throats and long 
 tails change in the light to a golden brown, are cliasing the })riiH)-ori- 
 olcs^ clotlied in their glossy feathers of black and orange; Kolo iloves, 
 of a cliangeable \aolet hue, are gently cooing by the side of the bmls-of- 
 paradise, in whose brilliant plumage are mingled the in'ismatic colors of 
 the emerald and ruby, the topaz and sa])phire. 
 
 This avenue, a little raised, conunanded the view of a small pond, 
 which reflected at intervals the gi-een shade of tamarind trees. In the 
 calm, limpid waters many fish were visil)le, some with .silver scales and 
 purple fins, others gleaming with azm'e and vermilion. So still were 
 they that they looked as if set in a mass of bluish crystal; and, as they 
 dwelt motioidess near the surface of the pool, on ■which iilayed a daz- 
 zling ray of the sun, they reveled in th(^ enjoyment of the light and 
 heat. A thousand in.sects — living gems with wings of flame — glided, 
 fluttered, and buzzed over the transparent wave, in which, at an extraoi- 
 dinary depth, were mirrored the variegate(| tints of the atjuatic ] liants 
 on the liank. 
 
 It is impossible to give an adequate idea of the exuberant nature of 
 this scene, luxuriant in sunlight, colors, and perfumes, which served, so 
 to .speak, as a frame to the young and brilliant rider who was advanc- 
 ing along the avenue. It was Djalma. He had not yet perceived the 
 indelible marks which the Strangler had traced upon his left arm. 
 
 158
 
 THE WAXDERIXa JE^V. 159 
 
 His Japanese mare, of slender make, full of fire and xngor, is black as 
 night. A narrow red cloth serves instead of saddle. To moderate the 
 impetuous bounds of the animal, Djalma uses a small steel bit, with head- 
 stall and reins of twisted scarlet silk, fine as a thread. Not one of those 
 admiralile riders sculptured so masterly on the frieze of the Parthenon 
 sits his horse more gracefully and proudly than this young Indian, 
 whose fine face, illumined by the setting sun, is radiant with serene 
 liapi^iness. His eyes sparkle with joy, and his dilated nostrils and 
 unclosed lijis inhale with delight the balmy breeze that brings to him 
 the perfume of flowers and the scent of fresli leaves, for the trees ai-e 
 still moist from the alnindant rain that fell after the storm. A red cap, 
 similar to that worn by the Greeks, surmounting the black locks of 
 Djalma, sets off to advantage the golden tint of his complexion ; his 
 throat is bare ; he is clad in his robe of white mvislin with large sleeves, 
 confined at the waist by a scarlet sash ; very full di-awers, in white 
 cotton stuff, leave half uncovered his tawny and polished legs ; theh* 
 classic cm've stands out from the dark sides of the horse, which he 
 presses tightly between his muscular calves. He has no stirrups ; his 
 foot, small and narrow, is shod with a sandal of morocco leather. 
 
 The rush of his thoughts, by turns impetuous and restrained, was 
 expressed in some degree by the i>ace he imparted to his horse — now 
 bold and precipitate, like the flight of unbridled imagination ; now calm 
 and measured, like the reflection which succeeds an idle dream. But, 
 in all this fantastic covu'se, his least movements were distinguished by a 
 liroud, independent, and somewhat savage grace. 
 
 Dispossessed of his i^aternal territory l)y the English, and at first 
 detained by them as a state prisoner after the death of his fathei-, — who, 
 as M. Joshua Van Dael had written to M. Rodin, had fallen sword in 
 hand, — Djalma had at length been restored to libei'ty. Abandoning 
 tlie continent of India, and still accompanied by General Simon, who 
 had lingered hard by the prison of his old fiiend's son, the young 
 Indian came next to Batavia, the Ijirthplace of his mother, to collect 
 the modest inheritance of his maternal ancestors. And amongst this 
 l)roperty, so long despised or forgotten by his father, he found some 
 important papers, and a medal exactly similar to that worn by Rose and 
 Blanche. General Simon was not more surprised than pleased at this 
 discovery, which not only established a tie of kindred between his wife 
 and Djalma's mother, l>ut which also seemed to promise great advan- 
 tages for the future. Leaving Djalma at Batavia, to terminate some 
 1 lusiness there, he had gone to the neighboring island of Sumatra, in 
 the hope of finding a vessel that would make the passage to Europe 
 directly and rapidly ; for it was now necessary that, cost what it might,
 
 160 THE ]VAM>j:iijy<i jj:w. 
 
 tlio ynxiiio; Indian also shmild be at Paris on tho l^tli of Fol)niary, is:!i^. 
 Should (iencral Simon find a vessel ready to sail for Europt-, he was to 
 retiu'u immediately, to fetch Djalma; and tiie latter, expeetinj:: him 
 daily, was now jioiny- to the jiier of Batavia, iio]iin^ to sec llic father of 
 Rose and Blanche arrive l)y the mail-boat from .Sumatra. 
 
 A few words are hero necessary on the early life of the son of Kadja- 
 sin<r. 
 
 Losing his niotluM- very young, and having been brought up with rude 
 simplicity, he had accompanied his fathci-, wliilc yet a child, to tlie great 
 tiger-hunts, as dangerous as battles; and in tlie first dawn of youth he 
 ha<l followed him to the stern and bloody war which he wagcil in defense 
 of his country. Thus living, iVom the time of his mother's death, in the 
 midst of forests and mountains and ct>ntinual combats, his vigorous and 
 ingenuous nature had preserved itself pure, and he well mented the 
 name of "The (leiierous" bestoAved on him. Boi'u a prince, he was — 
 which ])}' no means follows — a ])rince indeed. During th(> jteriodof his 
 capti\ity, tiie silent dignity of his bearing had overawed his jailers. 
 Never a rcproacli, never a comjilaint; a proud and melanclioly calm 
 was all that he opposed to a treatment as unjust as it was barbarous, 
 until he was restored to freedom. 
 
 Having thus been always accustomed to the patriarchal or warlike 
 life of the mountaineers, which he had only quitted to ])ass a few months 
 in ])rison, Djalma knew nothing, so to speak, of civilized society. With- 
 out its exactly amounting to a defect, he certainly carried his good (piali- 
 ties to their extreme limits. 01)stinately faithful to his ])ledged word, 
 devoted to the death, confiding to blindness, good almost t(^ a complete 
 forgetfulness of himself, he was inflexible toward ingratitude, falsehood, 
 or perfidy. He would have felt no compunction to sacrifice a traitoi-, 
 because, could lu^ himself have committed a treason, he would have 
 thought it only just to ex)>iate it with his life. He was, in a word, the 
 man of natural feelings, absolute and entire. Such a man, brought into 
 contact with the tem])erainents, calculations, falsehoods, deceptions, 
 tricks, restrictions, and hollownessof a relini'd society, — such as Paris, 
 for example, — wt)uld without doubt form a very curious subject for 
 speciilation. 
 
 We raise this hypothesis because, sinc(> his journey to France had 
 been determined on, Djalma had one fixed, aident desire — to be in Paris. 
 
 In Paris — that enchanted city, of which, even in Asia, the land of 
 enchantment, so many marvelous tales were told. What cliiefly inflamed 
 tlie fresh, vivitl imagination of the young Indian was the thought of 
 French women — those attractive Parisian beauties, miracles of elegance 
 and grace, who eclipse, he was informed, even the magnificence of the
 
 THE WANDEIilXa JEW. 161 
 
 capital of the civilized world. And at this very moment, in the bri.iiht- 
 iiess of that warm and splendid evening, smTounded by the intoxication 
 of flowers and perfumes, which accelerated the pulses of his young, fiery 
 heart, Djalma was dreaming of tho^e exquisite creatures, whom his fancy 
 loved to clothe in the most ideal garb. It seemed to him as if, at the 
 end of the avenue, in the midst of that sheet of golden light, which the 
 tr(>es encompassed with their full, green arch, he could see pass and 
 repass, white and sylph-like, a host of adorable and voluptuous phan- 
 toms, that threw hiiu kisses from the tips of their rosy fingers. Unaljle 
 to restrain his burning emotions, carried away by a strange enthusiasm, 
 Djalma uttered exclamations of joy, deep, manly, and sonorous, and 
 made his vigorous courser bound under him in the excitement of a mad 
 delight. Just then a sunbeam, piercing the dark vault of the avenue, 
 shone full upon him. 
 
 For several minutes a man had been advancing rapidly along a 
 path which, at its termination, intersected the avenue diagonally. He 
 stopped a moment in the shade, looking at Djalma with astonishment. 
 It was indeed a charming sight to behold, in the midst of a dazzling 
 aureole of light this youth, so handsome, lustrous, and ardent, clad in 
 his white and flowing vestments, gayly and lightly seated on his proud 
 1 )lack mare, who covered her red bridle with her foam, and Avliose long 
 tail and thick mane floated on the evening breeze. 
 
 But, with that reaction which takes place in all human desires, 
 Djalma soon felt stealing over him a sentiment of soft, undefiuable mel- 
 ancholy. He raised his hand to his eyes, now dimmed with moisture, 
 and allowed the reins to fall on the mane of his docile steed, which, 
 instantly stopping, stretched out its long neck and tm-ned its head in 
 the direction of the personage whom it could see approaching through 
 the c()])pice. 
 
 This man, Mahal the Smuggler, was di-essed nearly like European 
 sailors. He wore jacket and trousers of white duck, a broad red sash, 
 and a very low-crowned straw hat. His face was brown, with strongly 
 marked features, and, though forty years of age, he was quite beanl- 
 Icss. 
 
 In another moment Mahal was close to the young Indian. 
 
 " You are Prince Djalma ! " said h(>, in not very good French, raising 
 his hand respectfully to his hat. 
 
 " What would you ? " said the Indian. 
 
 " You are the son of Kadja-siug ? " 
 
 " Once again, what would you ? " 
 
 " The friend of (xeneral Simon ? " 
 
 " General Simon ? " cried Djalma.
 
 162 TUE WAXJtJ-Jh-lXd JEW. 
 
 "Yon aro goiiifr to meet liiiii, as you havo goiio every eveuing, since 
 you ("Xitcft his return from Sumatra 1 '' 
 
 " Yes, but how do you know all this Î " said the Indian, looking at the 
 Snuigglcr witli as much surjirise as cnriosity. 
 
 "Is he not to land at Batavia, to-day or to-morrow ?" 
 
 " Are you sent by him .' " 
 
 "Perhaps," said Mahal, with a distrustful air. "But arc you really 
 the son of Kadja-sinu- ? " 
 
 "Yes, I tell you — but where have you seen General Simon ?" 
 
 "If you are the son of Kadja-sing," resumed Mahal, cinitinuing to 
 regard Djalma with a suspicious eye, " what is your surname ?" 
 
 "My sire was called the ' Father of the Generous,'" answered the 
 young Indian, as a shade of sorrow passed over his fine countenance. 
 
 These words appeared in part to convince Mahal of the identity of 
 Djalma; but, wisliiiig doubtless to be still more certain, he rcsuiiied : 
 
 " You must have received, two days ago, a letter from General Simon, 
 written from Sumatra ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but why so many questions ? " 
 
 "To assiire myself that you are really the son of Kadja-sing, and to 
 execute the orders I received." 
 
 "From whom?» 
 
 "From General Simon." 
 
 " But where is he ? " 
 
 " Wlien I have proof that yiui are Prince Djalma, I will tell you. I 
 was informed that you would be mounted on a black mare, with a red 
 brittle. But " 
 
 " By the soul of my mother ! Speak what you have to say ! " 
 
 " I will tell you all — if you can tell me what was the printed paper 
 contained in the last letter that General Simon wrote j-ou from 
 Sumatra." 
 
 " It was a cutting from a French newspaper." 
 
 " Did it announce good or bad news for the general ?" 
 
 "Good news — for it related that during his absence they had 
 acknowledged the last rank and title bestowed on him by the emperor, 
 as they had done for others of his brothers in arms, exiled like him." 
 
 " You are indeed Prince Djalma," said the Smuggler, after a moment's 
 reflection. " I may speak. General Simon landed last night in Java, 
 but on a desert part of the coast." 
 
 " On a desert part ? " 
 
 " Because ho has to hide himself." 
 
 " Hide himself ! " exclaimed Djalma, in amazement. " Why ? " 
 
 " That I don't know."
 
 THE WAXDERIXa JEW. 163 
 
 " But where is ho ? " asked Djahna, gro-sviug pale with alarm. 
 
 " He is three leagues hence — uear the sea-shore — iu the rains of 
 Tchancli." 
 
 " Obliged to hide himself ! " repeated Djalma, and his countenance 
 expressed increasing surprise and anxiety. 
 
 " Without being certain, I think it is because of a duel he fought in 
 Sumatra," said the Smuggler, mysteriously. 
 
 " A duel — with whom ? " 
 
 " I don't know — I am not at all certain on the subject. But do you 
 know the ruins of Tchancli I " 
 
 " Yes.» 
 
 " The general expects you there ; that is what he ordered me U> tell you." 
 
 " So you come with him from Sumatra ? " 
 
 " I was pilot of the little smuggling coaster that landed him in the 
 night on a lonely beach. He knew that you went every day to the mole, 
 to wait for him ; I was almost siu'e that I should meet you. He gave me 
 details about the letter you received from him, as a proof that he had 
 sent me. If he could have found the means of writing, he would have 
 written." 
 
 " But he did not tell you irhy he was obliged to hide himself I " 
 
 " He told me nothing. Certain words made me suspect what I told 
 you — a duel." 
 
 Knowing the coui-age and temper of General Simon, Djalma thought 
 the suspicions of the Smuggler not unfounded. After a moment's 
 silence he said to him : 
 
 " Can you undertake to lead home my horse ? My dwelhng is with- 
 oiit the town — there, in the midst of those trees — by the side of the 
 new mosque. In ascending the mountain of Tchandi, my horse would 
 be in my way ; I shall go much faster on foot." 
 
 " I know where you live ; General Simon told me. I should have gone 
 there, if I had not met you. Give me your horse." 
 
 Djalma sprang lightly to the gi'ound, threw the bridle to Mahal, 
 unrolled one end of his sash, took out a silk purse and gave it to the 
 Smiiggler, saj-ing: 
 
 " You have been faithful and obedient. Here ! — it is a trifle — but I 
 have no more." 
 
 " Kadja-sing was rightly called the 'Father of the Generous,'" said 
 the Smuggler, bowing with respect and gratitude. He took the road to 
 Bata\'ia, leading Dj alma's horse. 
 
 The young Indian, on the contrary, plunged into the coppice, and, 
 walking ^vith great strides, directed his course toward the mountain on 
 which were the rains of Tchandi, where he could not arrive before night.
 
 CHAPTEli IV 
 
 M. JOSHUA VAX DAEL 
 
 JOSHUA VAN DAEL, a Dutcli merchant, and eon-espond- 
 ent of Rodin, was l)oru at Batavia, the capital of tlio island 
 of Java. His parents had sent him to be educated at 
 Poudicherry, in a celebrated religious house long establislied 
 in that i)lact', and heloni^ing to the " Socirty of Jesiis." It was there that 
 he was initiated into tlie order as " professor of the thi'ee vows," or lay 
 member, coumionly called " temporal coadjutor." 
 
 M. Joshua was a man of a probity that passed for stainless ; of sti'ict 
 accuracy in business, cold, careful, reserved, and remarkably skillful 
 and sagacious. His financial o))ei-at ions were almost always successful, 
 for a protecting power gave liim ever in time knowledge of events 
 wliicli might advantageously influenee liis connuereial transactions. 
 The religious house of Pondicherry was interested in his affairs, having 
 charged him with the exportation and exchange of the produce of its 
 large possessions in this colony. Siieaking little, hearing nnich, never 
 disputing, polite in the extreme, giving seldom, ])ut with clioice and 
 purjjose, Joshua, witliout inspiring syni2)athy, connnaiided generally 
 that cold respect which is always paid to the rigid moralist ; for, instead 
 of yielding to the influence of lax and dissolute colonial manners, he 
 appeared to live AA'ith gi-eat regulai'ity, and his exterior had something 
 of austerity about it which tended to overawe. 
 
 Tlie following scene took place at Batavia, while Djalma was on his 
 way to the ruins of Tchandi in the hope of meeting Cleneral Simon. 
 
 M. Joshua had just retinal into his private office, in which were 
 many shelves filled with paper boxes, and huge ledgers and cash-boxes 
 lying open upon desks. The only window of this apartment, which was 
 on the ground-floor, looked out upon a narrow, empty court, and was 
 protected externally by strong iron bars; instead of glass, it was fitted 
 "with a Venetian blind, because of the extreme heat of the climate. 
 
 164
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 165 
 
 M. Joshua, liav-iug i)laeed upon his desk a taper in a glass globe, 
 looked at the clock. 
 
 " Half -past uiiie," said he. " Mahal ought soon to be here." 
 
 Saving tliis, he went out, passed through au antechamber, opened 
 a secoud thick door, studded with nail-heads, in the Dutch fashion, 
 cautiously entered the coui-t (so as not to be heard by the people in the 
 house), and drew back the secret bolt of a gate six feet high, formidably 
 garnished with iron spikes. Leaving this gate unfastened, he regained 
 his office, after he had successively and carefully closed the two other 
 doors behind him. 
 
 M. Joshua next seated himself at his desk and took from a drawer a 
 long letter, or rather statement, commenced some time before, and con- 
 tinued day by day. It is superfluous to observe that the letter already 
 mentioned as addressed to Eodin was anterior to the liberation of 
 Djalma and his arrival at Bata\"ia. 
 
 The present statement was also addi-essed to Eodin, and Van Dael 
 thus went on with it : 
 
 " Fearing the return of General Simon, of which I had l)eeu informed 
 by intercepting his letters, I have ah'eady told you that I had succeeded 
 in being employed by him as his agent here. HaAang then read his 
 letters, and sent them on as if iiutouched to Djalma, I felt myself obliged, 
 from the pressure of the circumstances, to have recourse to extreme 
 measures — taking care always to preserve appearances, and rendering 
 at the same time a signal service to humanity, which last reason chiefly 
 decided me. 
 
 " A new danger imperiously commanded these measures. The steam- 
 ship Ruyter came in yesterday, and sails to-morrow in the course of 
 the day. She is to make the voyage to Europe via the Red Sea. Her 
 l)assengers -n-ill disembark at Suez, cross tlie Isthmus, and go on board 
 another vessel at Alexandria, which will bring them to France. This 
 voyage, as rapid as it is dii*ect, will not take more than seven or eight 
 weeks. We are now at the end of October ; Prince Djalma miglit, then, 
 be in France by the commencement of January ; and according to your 
 instructions, of which I know not the motive, but which I execute with 
 zeal and suljmission, his departm-e must be prevented at all hazards, 
 because, you tell me, some of the gi-avest interests of the Socicf// would 
 be compromised by the arrival of this young Indian in Paris before tlie 
 13th of February. Now, if I succeed, as I hope, in making him miss 
 tliis opportunity of the Ruyter, it will be materially impossible for 
 him to arrive in France before the mouth of April ; for the Ruyter is 
 the only vessel which makes the direct passage, the others taking at least 
 four or five months to reach Em-ope.
 
 166 TUE WAXDERIXO JEW. 
 
 " Before telling you the means whieh I have thought right to employ 
 to detain Prince Djalma, of the success of which means I am yet uncer- 
 tain, it is well that you should be acquainted with the following facts : 
 
 "They have just discoveivd, in Bi'itisli India, a community whose 
 members call themselves '■Brothers of the Good W'orh;^ or ' I'haiise- 
 ffars,'' whieh signifies simply ' Stranglers.' These mui'derers do not 
 shetl blood, but strangle their victims — less for the purpose of robbing 
 them than in obedience to a homicidal vocation and to the laws of an 
 infernal divinity named by them 'Bowanee.' 
 
 " I cannot better give you an idea of this horrible sect than by tran- 
 scribing here some lines from the introduction of a report by (."olonel 
 Sleeman, who has hunted out this dark association with indefatigable 
 zeal. The i*eport in question was published about two months ago. 
 Here is the extract; it is the colonel who speaks : 
 
 " ' From 1822 to 1824, when I was charged \nth the magistracy and civil administration 
 of the district of Nersingpore, not a murder, not the least robbery, was committed by an 
 ordinary criminal without my l)eing immediately informed of it ; but if any one had come 
 and told me at this period that a ))and of hereditary assassins by profession lived in the 
 village of Kundelie, within about four hundi'ed yards of my court of justice, — that the 
 beautiful g^i-oves of the village of Shxndesoor, within a day's march of my residence, formed 
 one of the most frightful marts of assassination in all India ; tliat numerous bands of 
 ' Brolhers of the Good Work,^ coming from Hindostan and the Deecan, met animally 
 beneath these shades, as at a solemn festival, to exeroiso their dreadful vocation upon 
 all the roads whieh cross each other in this locality,. — I should have tiiken such a person for 
 a madman, or one who had been imposed upon by idle tales. And yet nothing coidd be 
 ti'uer; hundreds of travelei-s had been buried every year in the gi'oves of JIundesoor; 
 a whole hibe of assassins lived close to my door at the very time I was supreme magis- 
 trate of the province, and extended their devastations to the cities of Poonah and 
 Hyderabad. I shall never forget when, to convince me of the fact, one of the chiefs of 
 the Stranglers, who had turned infonner against them, caused thirteen bodies to be dug 
 up from the ground beneath my tent, and offered to produce any number from the soil 
 in the immediate vicinity.' * 
 
 " These few words of Colonel Sleeman will give some idea of this dread 
 society, which has its laws, duties, customs, opposed to all other laws, 
 human and divine. Devoted to each other even to heroism, blindly 
 obedient to their chiefs, who profess themselves the immediate repre- 
 sentatives of their dark divinity, regarding as enemies all who do not 
 belong to them, gaining recruits evei'ywhere by a frightful system of 
 prosclytism — these apostles of a reliirion of murder go preaching their 
 abominable doctrines in the shade, and spreaiiing their immense net over 
 the whole of India. Three of their principal chiefs and one of their adepts, 
 
 • This report is extracted from Count Edward de WaiTen's excellent work, " British 
 India in 1831."
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 167 
 
 flying from the determined i:)ursmt of the English governor-general, 
 having succeeded in making their escape, had arrived at the Straits of 
 Malacca, at no gi'eat distance from our island. A smuggler, who is also 
 something of a pirate, attached to their association, and by name Mahal, 
 took them on board his coasting vessel and brought them hither, where 
 they think themselves for some time in safety, as, following the advice 
 of the smuggler, they lie concealed in a thick forest, in which are many 
 riiined temples and numerous subterranean retreats. 
 
 " Amongst these chiefs, all three remarkably intelligent, thei'e is one 
 ill particular, named Faringhea, whose extraordinary energy and emi- 
 nent qualities make him every way redoubtable. He is of the mixed 
 race, half white and Hindoo, has long inhabited towns in which are 
 Em-opean factories, and speaks English and French veiy well. The 
 other two chiefs are a negro and a Hindoo ; the adept is a Malay. 
 
 " The smuggler, Mahal, considering that he could obtain a large 
 reward by gi^^ug up these three chiefs and their adept, came to me, 
 knowing, as all the world knows, my intimate relations with a person 
 who has great influence with our governor. Two days ago he offered 
 me, on certain conditions, to deliver up the negTO, the half-caste, the 
 Hindoo, and the Malay. These conditions are — a considerable sum of 
 money, and a free passage on board a vessel sailing for Eiu-oiae or Amer- 
 ica, in order to escape the implacable vengeance of the Stranglers. I 
 joyfully seized the occasion to hand over three such miu-derers to human 
 justice, and I promised Mahal to arrange matters for him with the gov- 
 ernor, — but also on certain conditions, innocent in themselves, and which 
 concerned Djalma. Should my project succeed, I will explain myself 
 more at length ; I shall soon know the result, for I expect Mahal every 
 minute. 
 
 " But before I close these dispatches, which are to go to-mon-OAv l)y 
 the Euyter, — in which vessel I have also engaged a i^assage for Mahal 
 the Smuggler, in the event of the success of my plans, — I must include 
 ill ]iarentheses a subject of some importance. In my last letter, in which 
 I announced to you the death of Djalma's father and his own imprison- 
 ment by the English, I asked for some information as to the solvency of 
 Baron Tripeaud, banker and manufactm-er at Paris, who has also an 
 agency at Calcutta. This information will now be useless if what I have 
 just learned should, unfortunately, turn out to be correct, and it will be 
 for you to act according to circumstances. 
 
 " His house at Calcutta owes cousideralde sums both to me and oiu* 
 colleague at Pondicherry ; and it is said that M. Tripeaud has involved 
 himself to a dangerous extent in attempting to rain, by opposition, a 
 very flourishing establishment, founded some time ago by M. François
 
 168 Tin: W AS DEKIMJ .ij:]v. 
 
 Hardy, an ominont niannfar'tnroj-. I am assured that ^I. Trii»oaud lias 
 already sunk and lost a large eapital in this eiiteriirise. He has no 
 doubt done a unat deal of liarm to M. François Hardy; hut he has also, 
 they say, seriously couiiironiised his own fortune, and, were he to fail, 
 the eft'ects of his ilisaster would lie very fatal to us, seeing that lie owes 
 a large sum of money to me and to our friends. 
 
 " In this state of things it would be very desirable if, by the employ- 
 ment of the pow(>rful means of evei"y kind at our disposal, we eould com- 
 pletely discredit and Itreak down the house of .M. François Hardy, 
 ah-eady shaken by M. Tripeaud's violent opposition, in that case, the 
 latter wf)uld soon regain all he has lost; the ruin of his rival wouM 
 insiu'e his j)rosperity, an<l our demands would be securely covered. 
 
 " Doul)tless it is painful, it is sad, to be obliged to have recourse to 
 these extreme measures only to get back our own ; but, in these days, 
 are we not surely justified in sometimes using the arms that are inces- 
 santly turned against us ? If we are reduced to such steps Ijy the 
 injustice and wickedness of men, we may console ourselves Avith the 
 retieetion that we only seek to jn-eserve our worldly jjossessions in order 
 to devote them to the greater glory of (lod; while, in the hands of our 
 enemies, those very goods are the dangerous instruments of perdition 
 and scandal. Mter all, it is merely a humble proposition that I sultmit 
 to you. Were it in my ])ower to take an active part in the matter, I 
 should do nothing of myself. My will is not my own. It belongs, 
 witii all I possess, to those to whom I have swoi-n alisolute olie(lieuce." 
 Here a slight noise interrupted M. Joshua, and drew his attention 
 from his work. He rose abruptly and went straight to the window. Three 
 gentle taps were given on the (mtside of one of the slats of the blind. 
 
 " Is it you, Mahal Î " asked M. Joshua, in a low voice. 
 
 " It is I," was answered from without, also in a low tone. 
 
 " And the Malay .' " 
 
 " He has succeeded." 
 
 "Really!" cried M. Joshua, \vith an ex])ression of gi'eat satisfaction; 
 "are you sure of it .*" 
 
 " Quite sure; there is no devil more clever and intrei)id." 
 
 " And Djalma Î " 
 
 " The parts of the letter which I quoted convinced him that I came 
 from (reueral Simon, and that he would find him at the ruins of 
 Tchandi." 
 
 "Therefore, at this moment " 
 
 " Ujalma goes to the ruins, where he will encounter the black, the 
 half-lilood, and the Indian. It is there they have appointed to meet 
 the Malay, who tattooed the prince during his sleep."
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 
 
 169 
 
 " Have you l)een to examine tin- su))terraaeous i^assage ? " 
 " I went there yesterday. Due of the stones of the pedestal of the 
 statue tiu'ns upon itself ; the stairs are large ; it wUl do." 
 
 " And the three chiefs have no susjiieion ? " 
 
 "None. I saw them in the morning; and this evening the Malay 
 came to tell me all before he went to join them at the ruins of Tchandi,
 
 170 TUE WASDERIM! JEW. 
 
 for he had romained liiddcn anioiip: tho buslics, not daring to go tliore 
 ill the day-time." 
 
 " Mahal, if yoix have told the truth, and if all succeed, your pardon and 
 ani]>lc reward are assured to you. Your l)erth has been taken on hoard 
 the Kuyter ; you will sail to-morrow ; you will thus be safe from the 
 malice of the Strauglers, who would follow you hither to revenge the 
 death of their chiefs, Providence having chosen you to deliver those 
 three gi-eat criminals to justice. Heaven will bless you ! (Jo, and wait 
 for me at the door of the governor's house; I will inti'oduce you. The 
 matter is so important that I do not hesitate to disturb him thus late 
 in the night. Go quickly! I will follow on my side." 
 
 The steps of Mahal were distinctly auilible as he withdrew precip- 
 itately, aud then silence reigned once more in the house. 
 
 Joshua returned to his desk and hastily added these words to the 
 dispatch, which he had before commenced : 
 
 ""Whatever may now happen, it will l)e impossible for Djalma to 
 leave Batavia at i^resent. You may rest quite satisfied ; he will not be 
 at Paris by the 13th of next Feburary. As I foresaw, I shall have to 
 be up all night. I am just going to the governor's. To-morrow 1 will 
 add a few lines to this long statement, which the steamship Ruyter 
 will convey to Europe." 
 
 Having locked up his papers, Josliua rang the l)ell loudly, and, to 
 the gi'eat astonishment of his servants, not accustomed to see hhn leave 
 home in tli<> middle of the night, weut in all haste to the residence of 
 the governor of the island. 
 
 We now conduct the reader to the ruins of Tchandi.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE RUINS OF TCHANDI 
 
 () the storm in the middle of the day, the approach of 
 wliifh 8o well served the Strangler's designs upon Djalma, 
 has succeeded a calm and serene night. The disk of the moon 
 rises slowly behind a mass of lofty ruins situate on a hill, in 
 till' midst of a thick woods, about three leagues from Bata\'ia. Long 
 ranges of stone, high walls of In-ick fretted away by time, porticoes cov- 
 ered with parasitical vegetation, stand out boldly from the sheet of silver 
 light which blends the horizon with the limpid blue of the heavens. 
 Some rays of the moon, gliding through the opening on one of those 
 porticoes, fall upon two colossal statues at the foot of an immense stair- 
 case, the loose stones of which are almost entirely concealed by grass, 
 moss, and brambles. 
 
 The fragments of one of these statues, broken in the middle, lie 
 strewed upon the ground ; the other, which remains whole and standing, 
 is frightful to behold. It represents a man of gigantic proportions, with 
 a head three feet high. The expression of the countenance is ferocioiis. 
 Eyes of brilliant slaty black are set beneath gray bi'ows ; the large, dcep 
 mouth gapes immoderately, and reptiles have made theii' nests between 
 the lips of stone ; by the light of the moon, a hideous swai-m is there 
 tUmly \isil>le. A broad gii-dle adoi-ned with symbolic ornaments 
 ench'cles the body of this statue and fastens a long sword to its right side. 
 The giant has four extended arms, and in his gi-eat hands he bears an 
 elephant's head, a twisted serjient, a luunan skull, and a bird resem- 
 bling a heron. The moon, shedding her light on the profile of this 
 statue, serves to augment the weii-dness of its aspect. 
 
 Here and there, inclosed in the half -crumbling walls of brick, are 
 fragments of stone bas-reliefs, very boldly cut. One of those in the 
 best preservation represents a man with the head of an elephant and 
 the wings of a bat, devom*ing a child. Nothing can he more gloomy 
 than these ruins, buried amidst thick trees of a dark gi'een, covered
 
 172 TUE W A M) El: J Mi JEW. 
 
 witli frifjlitful «Miibloras, and seen liy the mooiiliirlit in tlic midst of the 
 deep sileiu-e of uiglit. 
 
 Against one of the walls of this ancient temple, dedicated to some 
 niysttM-ious and Idoody Javanese divinity, leans a kind of hnt, rudely 
 constructed of fragments of brick and stone. The door, made of 
 woven rushes, is open, and a red light streams from it, wiiich throws 
 its rays on the tall gi-ass that covers the gi'ound. Three men are assem- 
 bled in this liovel around a clay lamp, witli a wick of cocoa-nnt fil)cr 
 steeped in palm-oil. 
 
 The first of these three, about forty years of age, is poorl.\ clad in 
 the European fashion. His pale, almost white, complexion announces 
 that he belongs to the mixed race, being the ottspring of a white father 
 and Indian mother. 
 
 The second is a robust African negro, with thick lips, A-igorous slioul- 
 ders, and lank legs. His woolly hair is Ix^ginning to turn gi'ay ; he is 
 covered with rags, and stands close lieside tlie Indian. 
 
 The tliird personage is asleep, and stretched on a mat in lh rner 
 
 of the hovel. 
 
 These three men are tlie three chiefs of the Stranglers who, oliliged 
 to fly from the continent of India, have taken refuge in Java under the 
 guidance of Mahal the Smugglei-. 
 
 " The Malay does not return,'' said tlie half-blood, named FaringlK^a, 
 the most redoubtable chief of this homicidal sect. " In exc<'u1iiig our 
 orders, he has perhaps been killed by Djalma." 
 
 "The storm of this mi>rning 1)rought every reptile out of the eai'th," 
 said the negro. " The Malay nuist have been bitten, and his body ere 
 now a nest of serpents." 
 
 " To serve the f/ood nork,^ proceeded Faringhea, with a gloomy air, 
 " one must know how to brave death." 
 " And to inflict it," added tlie negro. 
 
 A stifled cry, followed by some inarticulate woi'ds, here drew the 
 attention of these two men, who hastily turned tlieir heads in the 
 direction of the sleeper. 
 
 Tliis latter was thirty years old at most. His beardless face, of a 
 bright copper color, his robe of coarse stuff, his turl)an striped brown 
 and yellow, showed that he belonged to the pure Hindoo race. His 
 sleep appearecl agitatinl by some painful vision; an abundant sweat 
 streamed over his countenance, contracted liy lerroi-; lie spoke in his 
 dream, but his words were brief and br()ken, and accompanied with 
 con\iilsive starts. 
 
 "Again that dream!" said Faringhea to the negro. "Always the 
 remembrance of that man."
 
 THE WAXDElilXG JEW. 173 
 
 " ^Vliat man ? " 
 
 " Do you not remember how, five years ago, that savage Colonel 
 Kennedy, the butcher of the Indians, came to the banks of the Ganges 
 to hunt the tiger, with twenty horses, fom- elej^hants, and fifty servants ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the negi'o ; " and we three, luinters of men, made a 
 Ijetter day's sport than he did. Kennedy, his horses, his elephants, and 
 liis numerous sei'vants did not get their tiger ; but we got ours," he 
 added, witli grim irony. " Yes ; Kennedy, that tiger with a human 
 face, fell into our ambush, and the brothers of the (jood work offered up 
 their fine prey to our goddess Bowanee." 
 
 " K you remember, it was just at the moment when we gave the 
 last tug to the cord round Kennedy's neck that we perceived on a 
 sudden a traveler close at hand. He had seen us, and it was neces- 
 sary to make away with him. Xow, since that time," added Faringhea, 
 " the rememl)rance of the murder of that man pursues om* brother in 
 his dreams," and he jjointed to the sleeping Indian. 
 
 " And even when he is awake," said the negro, looking at Faringhea 
 with a significant ah'. 
 
 "Listen!" said the other, again pointing to the Indian, who, in the 
 agitation of his dream, recommenced talking in aljrupt sentences ; 
 " listen ! he is repeating the answers of the traveler when we told him 
 he must die or serve with us on Thuggee. His mind is still impressed — 
 deeply impressed — with those words." 
 
 And, in fact, the Indian repeated aloud in his sleep a sort of mysteri- 
 ous dialogue, of which he himself supplied both questions and answers, 
 
 " ' Traveler,' said he, in a voice broken by sudden pauses, ' why that 
 black mark on your forehead, st retelling from one temple to the other ? 
 It is a mark of doom, and your look is sad as death. Have you been a 
 victim ? Come with us ; Bowanee will avenge you. You have suf- 
 fered i ' — ' Yes, Ilnirc (jreatUj siijf'ered.'' — 'For a long time V — ' Yes, for a 
 very long time.'' — 'You suffer even now V — ''Yes, even noir.'' — ' ^Yhat do 
 you reserve for those who injm'e youf — Tl/y jy'ifi/.'' — 'Will you not 
 render blow for blow!' — 'i irill return love for hate.'' — 'Who are you, 
 then, that render good for e\àl?' — '/ am oue irho loves, and suffers, 
 and forgives.''^ 
 
 "Brother, do you hear ?" said the negro to Faringhea. "He has not 
 forgotten the words of the traveler before his death." 
 
 " The vision follows him. Listen ! he will speak again. How pale he 
 is ! " Still under the influence of his dream, the Indian continued : 
 
 " ' Traveler, we are three ; we are brave ; we have your life in our 
 hands — you have seen us sacrifice to the f/ood irork. Be one of us, or 
 die — die — die ! Oh, tliat look ! Not thus — do not look at me thus ! '"
 
 174 TIll-J \VAXJ>EKIXG JEW. 
 
 As he iittored these hist words, the Iiidi;iii iiukU» a su(hhMi niove- 
 meut as if to keej) off some apiJroaehiiig object, and awoke with a start. 
 Then, passing his hand over his moist forehead, he looked round him 
 with a hewiklored eye. 
 
 "What! again this dream, brother?" said Faringhea. "Forabokl 
 hunter of men, you have a weak lieath Luckily you have a strong heart 
 and arm." 
 
 The other remained a moment silent, his face buried in his hands; 
 then he re^ilied : 
 
 " It is long since I last di'eamed of that traveler." 
 
 "Is he not dead? "said Faringhea, shrugging his shoulders. "Did 
 you not yourself throw the cord around his neck i " 
 
 " Yes," rephed the Indian, shuddering. 
 
 " Did we not dig his gi-ave by the side of Colonel Kennedy's ? Did 
 we not bury him with the English butcher, undei' the sand and the 
 rushes ?" said the negro. 
 
 "Yes, we dug his grave," said the Indian, trembling; "and yet, only 
 a j-ear ago, I was seated one evening at the gate of Bombay, waiting for 
 one of our brothers. The sun was setting behind the pagoda, to the 
 right of the little hill. Tiie scene is all before me now. I was seated 
 under a fig-tree, when I heard a slow, firm, even stej), and as I turned 
 round my head I saw him — coming out of the town." 
 
 "A Wsiou," said the negro; "always the same vision !" 
 
 "A vision," added Faringhea, "or a vague resemblance." 
 
 " I knew him bj' the Ijlack mark on his forehead ; it was none but he. 
 I remained motionless with fear, gaziiig at him with eyes aghast. IJe 
 stopped, bending upon me his calm, sad look. In spite of myself I coiild 
 not help exclaiming, ' It is he ! ' — * IV^,' he replied, in his gentle voice, ' it 
 is I. Si)ice (ill irhom thou killcsl nnisf nrrds llrr nqain,'' and he pointed to 
 heaven as he spoke, ' trlii/ slioiihlsf thou 1:111 !' Ilcnr iitr ! I hare just 
 come from Java. I am f/oing to ilif nlhrr cikI nffjir irarld, fn a coioifri/ of 
 nevcf-DicIfiiif/ siwir ; tiuf, here or flii-rc, on plains of Jirc or phiiiis of ice, I 
 shall still he the same. Ereii so is it with the souls of those who Jiill beneath 
 thy lasso. In this world or up abore, in this yarb or in another, the soul 
 must still he a soul; thou eanst not smite it. Why, then, lill?'' — and 
 shaking his head sorrowfully, he went on his way, walking slowly, with 
 downcast eyes. Ile ascended the hill of the pagoda. I watched him as 
 he went, without being able to move. At the moment the sun set he was 
 standing on the summit of the hill, his tall figure thrown out against the 
 sky ; and so he disappeared. Oh ! it was he ! " added the Indian with a 
 shudder, after a long pause ; " it was none but he." 
 
 In this story the Indian had never varied, though he had often enter-
 
 TEE WANDERING JEW. 175 
 
 tained his companions with the same mysterious adventiu'e. This per- 
 sistency on his part had the effect of shaking their incredulity, or at 
 least of inducing them to seek some natural cause for this apparently 
 siiperhuman event. 
 
 "Perhaps," said Faringhea, after a moment's reflection, "the knot 
 round the traveler's neck got jammed, and some breath was left him ; 
 the ail- may have penetrated the rushes with which we covei'ed his grave, 
 and so life have returned to him." 
 
 " Xo, no," said the Indian, shaking his head ; " this man is not of oiu' 
 race." 
 
 " Explain." 
 
 " Now I know it ! " 
 
 " What do you know f " 
 
 " Listen ! " said the Indian, in a solemn voice. " The number of vic- 
 tims that the children of Bowanee have sacrificed since the commence- 
 ment of ages is nothing compared to the immense heap of dead and 
 djdng whom this ten'ible traveler leaves behind him in his murderous 
 march." 
 
 " He I " cried the negi'o and Faringhea. 
 
 " Yes, he ! " repeated the Hindoo, with a convinced accent that made 
 its impression upon his companions. " Hear me and tremble ! When 
 I met this traveler at the gates of Bombay he came from Java, and was 
 going toward the north, he said. The veiy next day the town was a 
 prey to the cholera, and we learned some time after that this plague had 
 first broken out here, in Java." 
 
 " That is true," said the negi'o. 
 
 " Hear me still fm-ther ! " resumed the other. " ' I am going toward 
 tlie north, to a country of eternal snow,' said the traveler to me. The 
 cholera also went toward the north, passing through Muscat, Ispahan, 
 Tauris, Tiflis, till it overwhelmed Siberia." 
 
 " True," said Faringhea, becoming thoughtful. 
 
 " And the cholera," resumed the Indian, " only traveled its five or six 
 leagues a day — a man's tramp; never appeared in two places at once, 
 but swept on slowly, steadily, — even as a man proceeds." 
 
 At the mention of this strange coincidence the Hindoo's companions 
 looked at each other iu amazement. ^Vfter a silence of some minutes the 
 awe-struck negi-o said to the last speaker : 
 
 " So you think that this man " 
 
 " I think that this man whom we killed, restored to life by some infer- 
 nal divinity, has been commissioned to bear this terrible scourge over 
 the earth, and to scatter round his steps that death from which he is him- 
 self secure. Remember ! " added the Indian, with gloomy enthusiasm,
 
 176 TUE \VAM>j:iiJ.\<l ./AU. 
 
 " this awful wayfarer passi'd tliroui;!! .lava; tlu> cliolora wastiMl Java. 
 Ile passeil tlir()Uti,li Boiiiliay; the cliolfra wastcil lioniliay. Ile wt-iit 
 toward the north; the cholera wasted the north." 
 
 So saying, thi' Indian fell into a profound reverie. The iie,i;ro and 
 Farinujhea were .seized witli gloomy astonislnneut. 
 
 Tiie Indian spoke the truth as to the mysterious march (still unex- 
 plained) of that feaiful malady, which has never been known to travel 
 more than tive or six leagues a day or to a])pear simultaneously in two 
 spots. Nothing can he moi-e curious than to trace out, on the maps ))re- 
 l>ared at the period in ([uestion, the slow, progi-essive course of this 
 traveling pestilence, which offers to tin» astonished (\ve all tlie cajiricious 
 incidents of a tourist's join-ney — passing this way rather than that; 
 selecting provinces in a country, towns in a province, one quai-ter in a 
 town, one sti'eet in a ([uarter, one house in a street, — having its jjlace of 
 residence and repose, and then continuing its slow, mysterious, fear- 
 insjiiring march. 
 
 The words of the Hindoo, by drawing attention to th<>se dreadful 
 eccentricities, made a strong imju'ession u]pon the minds of the negro 
 and Faiinghea — wild natures, brought by horril)le doctrines to the 
 monomania of murder. 
 
 Yes, — for this also is an estal)lished fact, — there have been in India 
 members of an abominable eommnnity who killed without motive, with- 
 out })assion ; killeil for tlx- sake of killing, for the jileasiuv of murder, to 
 substitute death for life, — to iiiahr of a Uvinfj man a corpse, as they have 
 themselves declared in one of their examinations. 
 
 The mind loses itself in the attemjit to peneti'ate the causes of these 
 monstrous phenomena. By what incredilile series of events have 
 men been induced to devote themselves to this priesthood of destruc- 
 tion ? 
 
 Without doubt, such a religion could only flourish in countries 
 given up, like India, to the most atrocious slavery, and to the most mer- 
 ciless iniquity of man to man. Such a creed! — is it not the hate of 
 exasperated humanity wound up to its highest pitch by oppression .' 
 May not this homicidal sect, whose origin is lost in the night of ages, 
 have been perpetuated in these regions as the only possible protest of 
 slaveiy against des])otism f May not an inscrutable wisdom have here 
 made Phansegars, even as are made tigers and serpents ? What is most 
 remarkable in this awful sect is the mysterious bond \\ iiirh, uniting its 
 members amongst themselves, separati'S them from all other men. They 
 have laws ami customs of their own ; they support and helj) each other; 
 but for them there is neither country nor family; they owe no allegiance 
 save to a dark, invisible power, whose decrees they obey with blind sub-
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 
 
 177 
 
 mission, and in whose name they spread themselves abroad, to make 
 corpses, according to their own savage expression. 
 
 For some moments the three Stranglers had maintained a profound 
 silcnice. 
 
 Outside the luit the moon continued to throw great masses of white 
 radiance and tall l)luish shadows over the imposing fabric of the ruins.
 
 178 THE WAXDEIilXa JEW. 
 
 The stars spavklod in tho hoavciis. From time to tiint» a faint lirocze 
 rustled through tiu' thiekaud varnished k-aves of tlie bananas ami tho 
 palms. 
 
 The pedestal of the j^ij^antic statue wliich, still entire, stood on the 
 loft side of tho portico, rested upon large tiag-stones half hidden with 
 brambles. 
 
 Suddenly one of these stones appeared to fall in, and fi-om the aper- 
 ture, which thus formed itself without noise, a man dressed in uniform 
 half protrude(l his Itody, looketl carefully around him, and listened. 
 
 Seeing the rays of the lamp, which lighteil ihe interior of the hovel, 
 tremble ui)on the tall grass, he turned round to make a signal, and soon, 
 accomitanied by two other soldiers, he ascended with the greatest silence 
 and i>recaution the last steps of the subterranean staircase, ami went 
 gliding amongst the ruins. 
 
 Foi' a few moments their moving shadows were thi-own upon tho 
 moonlit gTound; then they disappoai'e(l behind some fragments of l)rokeu 
 wall. 
 
 At the instant when the large stom» resumed its place and level, the 
 heads of many other soldiers might have boon soon lying close in the 
 excavation. 
 
 The half-caste, the Indian, and the negro, still seated thoughtfully 
 in tlie hut, did not perceive what was passing.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE AMBUSCADE 
 
 HE half-1»lood Fariughea, wishing doulitless to escape from 
 the dark thouglits which the words of the Indian ou the 
 mysterious course of the cholera had raised within him, 
 aln'uptly changed the subject of conversation. His eye 
 shone with Im-id fire, and his countenance took an expression of savage 
 enthusiasm, as he cried : 
 
 " Bowanee will always watch over us intrepid hunters of men ! Cour- 
 age, brothers, courage ! The world is large ; our prey is everj-whei'e. 
 The English may force us to quit India — three chiefs of the [lood nork; 
 but what matter? We leave there our brethren, secret, nimierous, 
 and terrible as black scoi-pions, whose presence is only known by their 
 mortal sting. Exile will widen om- domains. Brother, you shall have 
 America ! " said he to the Hindoo, with an insi;)ired air. " Brother, 
 you shall have Africa ! " said he to the negi'o. " Brothers, I will take 
 Europe ! Wherever men are to be found, there must be oppressors and 
 victims. Wherever there are "s-ictims, there must be hearts swollen with 
 hate. It is for us to inflame that hate with all the ardor of vengeance ! 
 It is for us, servants of Bowanee, to draw toward us, by seducing 
 Aviles, all whose zeal, courage, and audacity may be useful to the cause. 
 Let us rival each other in devotion and saci'ifices ; let us lend each 
 other strength, help, support ! That all who are not with us may be 
 oiu" prey, let us stand alone in the midst of all, against all, and in spite 
 of all. For us, there must be neither country nor family. Our family 
 is composed of om* brethren ; our country is the world." 
 
 This kind of savage eloquence made a deep impression on the negro 
 and the Indian, over whom Faringhea genei'ally exercised considerable 
 influence, his intellectual powers being very superior to theirs, though 
 they were themselves two of the most eminent chiefs of this bloody 
 association. 
 
 179
 
 180 III /•; w- 1 .V /> K h'lxa JE ir. 
 
 " Yos, you aro nj;1it, brotlicr!" cried the Indian, shanii<; the cntlmsi- 
 asm of Fariughoa; "Hr- world is ours. Even lu-ro, iu Java, let us leave 
 some trace of ouv passage. Before we depart, let us estal^li.sh the i/dml 
 irork iu this island; it will increase quickly, for here also is great mis- 
 ery, and the Dutch are rapacious as the English. Brother, 1 luiveseen in 
 the marshy rice-lields of this island, always fatal to those who cultivate 
 them, men whom absolute want forced to the deadly task. They weic 
 livid as corpses. Some of them, worn out ^^^tll sickness, fatigui', and 
 hunger, fell, never to rise again. Brothers, the f/ood irorl; will prosper in 
 this country ! " 
 
 " The other evening," said the half-caste, "I was on the l)anks of the 
 lake, behind a rock. A young wonian came there. A few rags hardly 
 covered her lean and sun-scoi'ched body. In her arms she held a little 
 child, which she pressed weeping ti> lie)- niilkless breast. She kissed it 
 three times and said to it, ' Vou, at least, shall not be so unha]>py as 
 yoiu" father,' and she threw it into the lake. It uttered one wail and dis- 
 appeared. On this cry, the alligators, hiilden amongst the reeds, leaped 
 joj-fuUy into the water. There are mothers here who kill th(>ir children 
 out of pity. Brothers, WiQ nocxJ irork will prosper in this country ! '' 
 
 '' Tliis morning," said the negro, "while they tore the llesh of one of 
 his black slaves with whips, a withered old merchant of Batavia left his 
 country-iiouse tocome to the town. Lolling in his ))alan(piiii, he received 
 with languid indolence the sad caresses of two of those girls whom he 
 had bought, to people his harem, from parents too poor to give them 
 food. The palanquin which h(>ld this little old man and the girls was 
 carried l)y twelve young and rolnist men. There are here, you see, 
 mothers who in their misery sell their own daughters, slaves that are 
 scourged, men that carry othei' men lik(» beasts of burden. Brothers, 
 the f/oo(l irorl: will jtrosper in this countiv ! " 
 
 " Yes, in this country — and in every land uf oppression, distress, coi'- 
 ruption, and slavery ! " 
 
 " Could we but induce Djalma to join us, as Mahal the Smuggler 
 advised," said the Indian, "our voyage to Java would doul>ly profit us; 
 for we should then luuuber among our l)and this Ijrave and enteri)rising 
 youth, who has so many motives to hati' mankind." 
 
 " lie will soon be here; let us envenom his resentments." 
 
 " Remind him of his father's death ! " 
 
 " Of the massacre of his people ! " 
 
 " His own captivity ! " 
 
 " Only let hatred inflame his heart, and he will be ours." 
 The negro, who had remained for some time lost in thought, said, 
 suddenly :
 
 THE WAXDERIXd JEW. 181 
 
 " Bvothers, suppose Mahal the Smuggler were to l)etvay us ?" 
 
 " He f " cried the Hindoo, almost with iudiguution. " He gave us au 
 asylum ou board his bark ; he secured our flight from the continent ; ho 
 is again to tak(i us with him to Bombay, where we shall find vessels for 
 America, Europe, Africa." 
 
 " What interest would Mahal have to betray usf " said Faringhea. 
 
 " Nothing could save him from the vengeance of the sons of Bowanee, 
 and that he knows." 
 
 "Well," said the l)lack, "he promised to get Djalma to come hither 
 tliis evening ; and, once amongst us, he must needs be our own." 
 
 " Was it not the Smuggler who told us to order the Malay to enter 
 the ajoupa of Djalma, to surprise him during his sleep, and instead of 
 killing him, as he might have done, to trace the name of Bowanee upon 
 his arm f Djalma will thus learn to judge of the resolution, the cun- 
 ning and obedience of our brethren, and he will understand what he 
 has to hope or fear from such men. Be it through admiration or through 
 terror, he must become one of us." 
 
 " But if he refuse to join us, notwithstanding the reasons he has to 
 hate mankind I " 
 
 " Then Bowanee will decide his fate," said Faringhea, with a gloomy 
 look. " I have my plan." 
 
 " But will the Malay succeed in surprising Djalma during his sleep ?" 
 said the negro. 
 
 " There is none bolder, more agile, more dexterous than the Malay," 
 said Faringhea. " He once had the daring to surprise in her den a black 
 panther, as she suckled her cul). He killed the dam and took away the 
 young one, which he afterward sold to some European ship's captain." 
 
 "The Malay has succeeded ! " exclaimed the Indian, listening to a 
 singular kind of hoot which sounded through the profound silence of 
 the night and of the woods. 
 
 "Yes, it is the scream of the vulture seizing its prey," said the 
 negro, listening in his tui-n ; " it is also the signal of our brethren 
 after they have seized their prey." 
 
 In a few minutes the Malay appeared at the door of the hut. He 
 had wound around him a broad length of cotton, adorned with bright- 
 colored strii)es. 
 
 " Well," said the negro, anxiously, "have you succeeded?" 
 
 " Djalma must bear all his life the mark of the (food work,'" said the 
 Malay, proudly. " To reach him I was forced to offer up to Bowanee 
 a man who crossed my path ; I have left his body under the brambles 
 near the ajt)upa. But Djalma is marked with the sign. Mahal the 
 Smuggler was the fu-st to know it."
 
 182 THE WAXDERiya JEW. 
 
 "And Djaliiia did not awake .*" said tho Indian, oonfonndrd Viy tho 
 Malay's adroitness. 
 
 "Had ho awoke," replied the otlier, calmly, "I should have heen a 
 dead man, as 1 was eharged to spare his life.'' 
 
 '* Because his life maybe more useful to us than his tleath," .said the 
 the halt'-easte. 
 
 Then, addressing the Malay, he aildid: 
 
 " Brother, in riskin,<r life for the fiooil iiurl,; you have done to-day what 
 we tlid yesterday, what we may do at!:ain to-morrow. This time, you 
 obey; another, yon will comniaiid." 
 
 " We all belong to Bowauee," answered the Malay. ""What is there 
 yet to do ? — I am ready." 
 
 While he thus spoke his face was turned towai-d the door of tlic hut. 
 On a sudden he said, in a low voice : 
 
 " Here is Djalma. He approaches the cabin. Mahal has not deceived 
 us." 
 
 "He must not see me yet," said Faringhea, retiring to an obscure 
 corner of the cabin, and hiding himself under a mat. " Try to persuade 
 him. If he resists, I have my project." 
 
 Hardly had Faringhea disappeared, sajàug these words, when 
 Djalma an-ived at the door of the hovel. 
 
 At sight of those throe personages, with their forbidding aspect, 
 Djalma started in surjirise. But ignorant that these men belonged to 
 the Phansegars, and knowing that, in a country whei'c there are no inns, 
 travelers often pass the night under a tent or beneath the shelter of 
 some ruins, he continued to advance toward them. After th(} tirst 
 moment he perceived, by the complexion and the dress of one of these 
 men, that he was an Intlian, and he accosted him in tho Hindoo 
 language. 
 
 " I thought to have found here a Em'opean — a Frenchman " 
 
 "The Frenchman is not yet come," replied the Indian; "but he will not 
 be long." 
 
 (luessiug by Djalma's question the moans which ^lahal had 
 employed to di-aw him into the snare, the Indian hoped to gain time by 
 prolonging his eiTor. 
 
 " You knew this Frenchman ? " asked Djalma of tho Phansogar. 
 
 " He appointed us to meet him here, as he tlid you," answered the 
 Indian. 
 
 " For what ?" inquired Djalma, more and more astonished. 
 
 " You will know when he arrives." 
 
 " General Simon told you to be at this place ? " 
 
 "Yes, General Simon," replied the Indian.
 
 THE WANDERIXG JEW. 183 
 
 There was a moment's pause, duriiiii; which Djahna sought in vain 
 to exjjhxin to himself this mysterious adventure. 
 
 " And who are you ? " asked he, with a look of suspicion ; for the 
 gloomy silence of the Phansegar's two companions, who stared fixedly 
 at each other, began to give him some imeasiness. 
 
 " We are yom-s, if you will l)e ours," answered the Indian. 
 
 " I have no need of you, nor you of me." 
 
 " Who knows ? " ' 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 " You are deceived. The English killed your father, a king ; made 
 you a captive ; pi'oscribed you ; you have lost all your possessions." 
 
 At this cruel reminder the countenance of Djalma darkened. lie 
 started, and a bitter smile curled his lip. 
 The Phansegar continued: 
 
 " Your father was just and brave, beloved by his si;bjects. They 
 called him 'Father of the (xenerous,' and he was well named. Will you 
 leave his death unavenged ? Will the hate which gnaws your heart be 
 without fruit ? " 
 
 " My father died mth arms in his hand. I revenged his death on the 
 English whom I killed in war. He who has since been a father to me, 
 and who fought also in the same cause, told me that it would now be 
 madness to attempt to recover my territory from the English. "Wlien 
 tlii'j' gave me my lit)erty I swore never again to set foot in India, antl I 
 keep the oaths I make." 
 
 " Those who despoiled you, who took you captive, who killed your 
 father, were men. Ai'e there not other men on whom you can avenge 
 youi'self ? Let yom* hate fall upon them ! " 
 
 " You, who speak thus of men, are not a man ! " 
 
 " I and those who resemble me are more than men. We are to the 
 rest of the human race what the bold hunter is to the wild beasts 
 which he runs down in the forest. Will you be, like us, more than a 
 man ? Will you glut surely, largely, safely, the hate which devours 
 yoi;r heart for all the e\Tl done you f " 
 
 " Yoiu' words become more and more obscure ; I have no hatred in 
 my heart," said Djalma. " When an enemy is worthy of me, I fight 
 with him ; when he is unworthy, I despise him ; so that I have no hate 
 either for l)rave men or cowards." 
 
 " Treaeheiy ! " cx"ied the negi'o on a sudden, pointing with rapid gest- 
 ure to the door, for Djalma and the Indian had now withdrawn a little 
 from it, and were standing in one corner of the hovel. 
 
 At the shout of the negro, Faringhea, who had not been perceived 
 by Djalma, threw off abruptly the mat which covered him, di'ew his
 
 184 TU i-j 11 . i .V /> /; /.• / .V (,' j i: w. 
 
 eroose, started up like a tij::cr, ami witli oiic IkhiihI was ont of the caliiii. 
 Tlu'ii, sooiiig a IkhIv of suidiers ailvauciiig (.•autiously in a circle, lie dealt 
 one of them a mortal stroke, threw dowu two others, and disa])peared 
 ill the midst of the ruins. All this passed s») instantaneously that, when 
 Djalnia turned round to ascertain the cause of the negro's cry of alarm, 
 Fariiighea liad already disappeared. 
 
 The muskets of several soldiers, crowding to the door, were imme- 
 diately iK)int( il at Djalma and the three Strauglers, while others went 
 in pursuit of Faringhea. The negro, the Malay, and tlu- Indian, seeing 
 the impossibility of resistance, exchanged a few rapid words and otïered 
 their hands to the cords with which some of the soldiers had jirovided 
 tliemselves. 
 
 The Dutch captain who i-ommauded the squad entered the cabin at 
 this moment. 
 
 " And this othei- one ?" said he, ]iointiiig out Djalma to the soldiers, 
 who were occupied in binding the three Piiaiisegars. 
 
 " Each in his tui'n, captain ! " said an old sergeant. " We come to him 
 next." 
 
 Djalma had remained jietrilied with surprise, not understanding 
 what was passing round him; Imt when he saw the sergeant and two 
 soldiers approach with rdjies to liind iiim lie repulsed them willi 
 violent indignation and rushed toward llie door, where stood the 
 otficer. 
 
 The soldiers, who had suppo.sed that Djalma would submit to his 
 fate with the same impassi])ility as his companions, were astoumh'd by 
 this resistance, and recoiled some paces, being struck, in spite of them- 
 selves, with the noble and dignified air of the son of Kadja-sing. 
 
 " Why would you bind me like these men f " cried Djalma, addressing 
 himself in Ilindostaiiee to the olïicer, who understood that language 
 from his long service in the Dutch colonies. 
 
 " Why would we bind you, wi-etchf Because you form i)art of this 
 band of assassins. What ?" added the officer in Dutch, speaking to the 
 soldiers, "are you afraid of him ? Tie the cord tight aljout his wrists; 
 there will soon be another about his neck ! " 
 
 " You are mistaken," said Djalma, with a dignity and calmness which 
 astonished the officer. "I have hardly been in this jilace a quai-fer of 
 an hour. 1 do not know these men. I came here to meet a Frenchman." 
 
 " Not a Phansegar, like them ? Who will believe the falsehood i " 
 
 " Them ! " cried Djalma, with so natural a movement and expression 
 of horror that with a sign the officer stojjped the soldiers, who were 
 again advancing to bind the son of Kadja-sing. " The.se men form jjart 
 of that honiblo band of murderers, and you accuse me of being their
 
 THE WAXhERIXG JEW. 
 
 iSfj 
 
 accomplice ! Uli, in this case, sir, I am perfectly at ease," said the youug 
 mail, with a smile of disdain. 
 
 " It will not be sufficient to say that you are tranquil," replied the 
 
 officer. " Thanks to their confessions, we now know by what mysteri- 
 ous signs to recognize the Phansegars." 
 
 " I repeat, sir, that I hold these murderers in th»; greatest horror, and 
 that I came here "
 
 ^ 
 
 186 TJIE WAX hJ-JL-l.\(; JEW. 
 
 The iioirro, iiitcrni]>tiii^ Djaliiin, said to tlic officer, witli a fcrtx'ious 
 
 ^"- '\ 
 
 "You have liit it ; tiic sons of the i/doiI icurl: do loiow I'arli oilier l>y 
 
 marks tattooed on their skin. For us, the liour is rouie ; wo f::ive our 
 
 necks to the cord. Ulteii enou<(h liave we twined it round the necks of 
 
 tliose who served not with us tlic i/dml irorl:. Now look at oiu- anus, and 
 
 look at the arm of this youth ! " 
 
 The otficor, niisinteriireting tlie words of tlie notcro, said to Djalnia : 
 
 " It is (juitc clear tliat if, as this negro tells us, yon do not l)ear on your 
 arm the mysterious sjTiibol (we are going to assure ourselves of the fact), 
 and if you can ex]>lain your presence here in a satisfactory manner, yon 
 may be at liberty within two hours." 
 
 "You do not understand me," said the negro to tlie othcer. '" I*i-ince 
 Djalma is one of us, for he bears on his left arm the name of lioininrr 
 
 " Yes ! he is, like us, a son of the //ooiJ imrl: /" addeil the ^Falay. 
 
 " He is, like us, a Phansegar," said the Indian. 
 The three nu'ii, irritated at the horror which Djalma had manifested 
 on learning that they were Piuinsegars, took a savage pride in making 
 it believed that the son of Kadja-siug belonged to their frightful asso- 
 ciation. 
 
 " What have you to answer ?" said the officer to Djalma. 
 Tin» latter again gave a look of disdainful pity, raised with liis right 
 hand his long, wide left sleeve, and displayed his naked arm. 
 
 " "\Miat audacity ! " cried the officer ; for on the inner part of the fore- 
 arm, a little below the bend, the name of the Bowanee, in briglit red 
 Hindoo characters, was distinctly visible. 
 
 The officer ran to the Malay and uucovered his arm; he saw the same 
 word, the same signs. Not yet satisfied, he assured himself that the 
 negro and the Indian were likewise so marked. 
 
 "Wretch .'"cried he, turning fnriously toward Djalma; "you inspire even 
 more horror than your accomi)lices. Bind him like a cowardly assassin ! " 
 added he to the soldiers; "liki' a cowardly assassin who lies njion the 
 lirink of the grave, for liis execution will not be long di'layed !" 
 
 Struck with stupor, Djalma, who for some moments had kept his 
 eye riveted on the fatal mark, was unable to pronounce a word or make 
 the least movement: his powers of thought seem(>d to fail him in iires- 
 ence of this incomprehensible fact. 
 
 "Would you dare deny this sign?" said the officer to him, witli 
 indignation. 
 
 " I cannot deny what 1 see — what is," said Djalma, (juite overcome. 
 
 " It is lucky that you confess at last," replied the officer. "Soldiers, 
 keep watch over hun aud his accomplices — you answci- foi' them."
 
 THE WAXBERIXG JEW. 187 
 
 Almost believiug himself the sport of some -svild dream, Djalma 
 offered no resistauee, but allowed himself to be bound and removed with 
 mechanical passiveness. The officer, Avith part of his soldiers, hoped 
 still to discover Faringhea amongst the ruins ; but his search was vain, 
 and after spending an hour in fruitless endeavors he set out for Bata- 
 ■\aa, where the escort of the prisoners had arrived before him. 
 
 Some hours after these events, M. Joshua Van Dael thus finished his 
 long dispatch, adckessed to M. Rodin of Paris : 
 
 " Cii'cumstances were such that I could not act othei-wise ; and, taking 
 all into consideration, it is a very small e^àl for a gi-eat good. Tliree 
 murderers are delivered over to justice, and the temporary arrest of 
 Djalma will only serve to make his innocence shine forth with 
 redoubled luster. 
 
 " Already, this morning, I went to the governor, to protest in favor 
 of our young j^rince. ' As it was through me,' I said, ' that those thi-ee 
 great criminals fell into the hands of the authorities, let them at least 
 show me some gi-atitude by doing everything to render clear as day the 
 innocence of Pi-ince Djalma, so intei-esting by reason of his misfor- 
 tunes and noble qualities. Most certainly,' I added, ' when I came yes- 
 terday to inform the governor that the Phansegare would be found 
 assembled in the ruins of Tchandi, I was far from anticipating that any 
 one would confound with those wretches the adopted son of General 
 Simon, an excellent man, with whom I have had for some time the 
 most honorable relations. "We must then, at any cost, discover the 
 inconceivable mystery that has placed Djalma in this dangerous posi- 
 tion; and,' I continued, 'so convinced am I of his innocence that for 
 his own sake I wouhl not ask for any favor on his behalf. He will have 
 sufficient courage and tlignity to wait patiently in prison for the day of 
 justice.' In all this, you see, I sj^oke nothing but the truth, and had not 
 to reproach myself with the least deception, for nobody in the world is 
 more con\dnced than I am of Djalma's innocence. 
 
 " The governor answered me, as I expected, that morally he felt as 
 certain as I did of the innocence of the young prince, and would treat 
 him witli all possible consideration, but that it was necessary for justice 
 to have its coui'se, because it would be the only way of demonstrating 
 the falsehood of the accusation and discovering by what unaccountable 
 fatality that mysterious sign was tattooed upon Djalma's aim. 
 
 " ^Nlahal the Snuiggler, who alone could enlighten justice on this sub- 
 ject, -svill in anotlier hour have quitted Batavia to go on board the Ruyter, 
 which will take him to Egyi)t, for he has a note from me to the captain 
 to certify that he is the person for whom I engaged and paid the passage.
 
 188 r II i: M . I .V n i: u i s a j /•; \v. 
 
 At the same tinio lie will Ik- the l>oaror of this lonpc «lispateh, for the 
 KuytiT is to sail in an hour, and tlic last letter-bag for Europe was 
 made up yesterday evening. But I wished to see the governor this 
 morning, before clusing the i)resent. 
 
 "Thus, then, is Prinee Djalma enforcedly detained foi' a luontli, and, 
 this opportunity of the Ruyter once lost, it is materially impossible that 
 the young Indian can be in France by the loth of next February. 
 
 " You see, thei-efoiv, that, even as you ordered, so have I acted accord- 
 ing to the means at my disposal, considering oidy the end which justifies 
 them; for you tell me a gi'eat intei'est of the Society is concerned. 
 
 " In your hands T have been what we all ought to be in the hands of 
 our superiors, a mere instrument ; — since, for the greater glory i)f (<od, 
 we become corpses with regard to the will.* Men may deny oiu- unity 
 and power, and the times appear opjiosed to us; but circunistaiices only 
 change ; we are ever the same. 
 
 "Obedience and courage, secrecy and patience, craft and audacity, 
 union an<l devotion — these become us, wlio have the world for om* 
 country, our lirethren foi' family, Tîonie for our queen ! .T. V." 
 
 About ten o'clock in the morning Mahal the Smuggler set out, with 
 this dispatch (sealed) in his possession, to lioard the Ruyter. An hour 
 later the (U-ad body of this same Mahal, strangled in the style of the 
 Phansegars, lay concealed beneath some reeds on the edge of the desert 
 strand, whither ho had gone to take boat to join the vessel. 
 
 When, at a subse(iuent jieriod, after the departure of the steamshi)», 
 they found the corpse of the Snuiggler, ^I. Joshua sought in vain for the 
 voluminous packet which he had intrusted to his care ; neither was thei'e 
 any trace of the note which Mahal was to have delivered to tiic c.qitain 
 of the Ruyter, in order to be received as passenger. 
 
 Finally, the searches ordered throughout the country for the puqiose 
 of discovering Faringhea were of no avail. The dangerous chief of the 
 Stranglers was never seen again in Java. 
 
 • It is known that the doctniu' of passive and absohitc obedience, the mainsprinp: of 
 the Society of .Testis, is summed up in tliose ten-ihle words of the dyiiitc Loyola : " Kverj' 
 member of the Order shall be, in the hands of his superiors, even as a coi-pse (I'erinde ac 
 Cadaver).
 
 PAKT IV 
 
 THE CHATEAU DE CAEDOVILLE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 M. EODIX 
 
 HREE mojitbs have elapsed since Djalniawas thro-mi 
 into Batavia Prison, accused of belonging to the mur- 
 derous gang of Phansegars. The foUo"n-ing scene 
 takes place in France, at the commencement of the 
 month of February, 1832, in Cardoville Manor House, 
 an old feudal habitation standing upon the tall cliffs 
 of Picardy, not far from Saint- Valéry, a dangerous 
 <rg) coast on which almost every year many ships are 
 • \.-jJ totallv wi'ecked, ])eiug di'iven on shore by the nortli- 
 'y' west winds, which render the ua^-igation of the 
 
 Channel so perilous. 
 
 From the interior of the château is heard the howling of a violent 
 tempest, which has arisen during the night. A frequent formidable 
 noise, like the discharge of artillery, thunders in the distance, and is 
 repeated by the echoes of the shore. It is the sea breaking with fuiy 
 against the high rocks which are overlooked by the ancient manor house. 
 It is about seven o'clock in the morning. Daylight is not yet visible 
 tlii"ough the windows of a lai-ge room situate on tlie ground-flooi-. In 
 this apartment, in which a lamp is burning, a woman of about sixty 
 years of age, with a simple and honest countenance, di-essed as a rich 
 farmer's wife of Picardy, is already occupied with her needlework, not- 
 withstanding the early hour. Close by, the husband of this woman, 
 about the same age as herself, is seated at a large table, sorting and 
 putting up in bags divei's samples of wheat and oats. The face of this
 
 liiu THE WAS in: in \ a jew. 
 
 ■whito-haired man is intollifreiit and open, aLinouii('in<; ^ood sonso and 
 liouesty, enlivcnctl liy a touch of rustic himior. He wears a siiootinj^- 
 jacket of given cloth, and long gaiters of tan-colored leather which half 
 <'<)nceal his bhick velveteen breei-lics. The terrible storm whicli rages 
 without renders still more agi'eealjle the picture of this peaceful interior. 
 A rousing fire liiu-ns in a broad chimney-place faced with white marble, 
 and tlii'ows its joyous light on the carefully polished floor. Nothing 
 can be more cheerful than the old-fashioned chintz liangings and cur- 
 tains with red Chinese figures ui)t)n a white ground, and tlie panels 
 over the door painted with pastoral scenes in the style of Watteau. A 
 clock of Sevres china and rosewood furniture iidaid witli green — ((iiaint 
 and portly furniture, twisted into all sorts of grotesque shapes — com- 
 plete the decorations of this apartment. 
 
 Outdoors the gale continued to howl f luiously, and sometimes a gust 
 of ■\\-ind would rush down the chimney or shake tlie fastenings of the 
 windows. The man wlio was occupied in sorting the samj)les of grain 
 was M. Dupont, bailifï of Cardoville inaiioi-. 
 
 "Holy Virgin!" said his wife; "what dreadful weather, my dear! 
 This M. Rodin, who is to come here this morning, as the Princess de 
 Saint-Dizier's steward announced to us, picked out a very bad day for it." 
 
 "^Vliy, in ti-uth, I have rarely heard such a hurricane. If M. Kodin 
 has never seen the sea in its fury, he may feast his eyes to-day with tlie 
 sight." 
 
 " Wliat can it be that brings this M. Rodin, my dear ? " 
 
 " Faith ! I know nothing about it. The steward tells me in liis letter 
 to show iM. Rodin the gi-eatest attention, and to obey him as if he were 
 my master. It will be for him to explain himself and for me to execute 
 his orders, since he comes on the part of the princess." 
 
 " By rights he should come from ]\lad(Mnoiselle Adrienne, as tlie land 
 belongs to her since the death of the tluke, her father." 
 
 "Yes; but the princess being aunt to the young lad\-, hei- steward 
 manages ^lademoiselle Adrieune's affairs; so, whether one or tlie other, 
 it amounts to the same thing." 
 
 "Maybe M. Rodin means to l)uy the estate; though, to be sure, 
 that stout lady who came from Paris last week on ](urpose to see the 
 château appeared to have a great wish for it." 
 
 At these words the liailiff began to laugli with a sly look. 
 
 "What is there to laugh at, Dupont ?" asked his wife, a veiy good 
 creature, but not famous for intelligence or penetration. 
 
 " I laugh," answered Dupont, " to think of the face and figure of that 
 stout, that enormous woman. "With such a look, who the devil would call 
 themselves Madame de la Sainte-Colombe— Mrs. Holy Dove ? A pretty
 
 THE WAXDERIXG Jf:W. 191 
 
 saiut, and a pretty dove, truly ! She is round as a hogshead, with the voice 
 of a town-criei', has gray mustaehios like an old gi*enadier, and, without 
 her knowing it, I heard say to her sei-vant, ' Stir your stumps, my heart)/ /' 
 And yet she calls herself Sainte-Colombc ! " 
 
 "How hard on her you are, Dupont. A 1)ody don't choose one's 
 name. And, if she has a beard, it is not the lady's fault." 
 
 " No ; but it is her fault to call herself Sainte-Colombe. Do you imag- 
 ine it her true name ? Ah, my poor Catherine, you are yet very gi-een 
 in some things." 
 
 " While you, my poor Dupont, are weU read in slander ! This ladj' 
 seems very respectable. The first thing she asked for on aiTi\'ing was 
 the chapel of the château, of which she had heard speak. She even said 
 that she would make some embellishments in it ; and when I told her 
 we had no chiu'ch in this little place, she appeared quite vexed not to 
 have a curate in the \allage." 
 
 " Oh, to be sure ! that's the first thought of your upstarts — to play 
 the great lady of the parish, like youi- titled people." 
 
 " Madame de la Sainte-Colombe need not play the gi-eat lady, because 
 she is one." 
 
 " She ! A great lady ? Oh, Lor' ! " 
 
 " Yes. Only see how she was ib'essed — in scarlet gown, and violet 
 gloves like a bishop's; and when she took ott' liei' bonnet she had a 
 diamond band round her head-dress of false, light hair, and diamond 
 ear-di'ops as large as my thumb, and diamond rings on every finger ! 
 Nobody but one in good society would wear so many diamonds in the 
 middle of the day." 
 
 " You are a prettj" judge ! " 
 
 " That is not all."" 
 
 " Do you mean to say there's more ? " 
 
 " She talked of nothing but dukes, and marquises, and cotmts, and 
 very rich gentlemen who ^isit at her house and are her most inti- 
 mate friends ; and then, when she saw the summer-house in the park, 
 hah' l)urnt by the Prussians, which our late master never rebviilt, she 
 asked, ' What are those ruins there ? ' and I answered, ' Madame, it 
 was in the time of the Allies that the pavilion was l)m"nt.' ' Oh, my 
 dear,' cried she, ' our allies ! good, dear allies ! They and the Restora- 
 tion began my fortune ! ' So you see, Dupont, I said to myself directly, 
 ' She was no doubt one of the noble women who fled abroad ' " 
 
 " Madame de la Sainte-Colombe ! " cried the bailiff, laughing heartily. 
 " Oh, my poor, poor wife ! " 
 
 " Oh, it is all very well : Init because vou have been three vears at 
 Paris, don't think yourself a conjm'er ! "
 
 19-2 '/'///' 11 .1 .v/'/;/,"/.\w/ .//;»r. 
 
 "('utlu'riiu', let's drop il. Von will makt' lue say soiiio folly, inid 
 theiv are certain things which (U-ar, good creatures lik<' you need never 
 know." 
 
 " T eannot tell what you are driving at ; oidy, try to he less slanderous; 
 lor, alter all, should Madaiiu' de la Sainte-Cojoinlie l)uy the estate, will 
 you bo sorry to remaiu as her bailLtt", eh ?" 
 
 " Not I — for we are getting old, my good ('ath(>riiie. We have lived 
 hero twenty years, and we have been too honest to j)rovide for our old 
 days by pilfering; and truly, at our age, it would be hard to seek 
 another })lace, which )ierhai)s we should not liiid. What 1 regret is, that 
 Mademoiselle Adi'ieiine should not keep the land; it seems that she 
 wished to sell it, against the will of the princess.'' 
 
 " G-ood gi'acious, Dupont! Is it not very extraonlinary that Ma<le- 
 ïuoiselle Adrieinui shouM have the disposal of her lai'ge fortune so eai'ly 
 in life.'" 
 
 "Faith! sinijile enough. Oui- young lady, having no father or mother, 
 is mistress of her property, besides having a famous little will of her 
 own. Dost rememlxM", ten years ago, when the count brought her down 
 here one siunmer '1 What an imp of mischief ! and then what eyes ! eh .' 
 How they sparkled even then ! " 
 
 "It is true that Mademoiselle Adrienno had in lur looks an expres- 
 sion — a very uncommon exjjression for her age." 
 
 " If she has kept what her witching, luring face promised, she nuist 
 be very pretty by this time, notwithstanding the peculiar color of her 
 hair; for, between ourselves, if she had been a tradesman's daughter 
 instead ^)ï a young lady of high birth, they would have called it red." 
 
 " Thei-e again ! Moi-e slander ! " 
 
 " "What ? against Mademoiselle Adi'iemie ? Heaven forl)id ! I always 
 thouglit that she would be as good as pretty, and it is not speaking ill 
 of her to say she has red hair. On the contrary, it always appeai-s 
 to me so fine, so bright, so sunny, and to suit so well her snowy coin- 
 jilexion and black eyes, that in truth I wrmld not have had it other 
 than it was; and I am sui'e that now this very color of her hair, whi<'li 
 wovdd be a blemish in any one else, must oidy add to the cliarni of 
 Mademoiselle Adi-ienne's face — she nnist have such a sweet, vixen 
 look ! " 
 
 "Oh! to be candid, she really was a vixen, always running about the 
 park, aggravating her governess, climbing the trees — in fact, playing all 
 manner of naughty tricks." 
 
 "I grant you, .Mademoiselle Adrieiine was a chip of the old lilo.-k; 
 but then what wit, what engaging ways, and, al)ove all, what a good 
 heart ! "
 
 THE WAI^DERING JEW. 
 
 193 
 
 " Yes, that she oertainly had. Once, I rememlier, she gave her shawl 
 and her new merino frock to a poor Uttle beggar-girl, and came back to 
 the house in her petticoat and bare ai'ms." 
 
 "Oh, an excellent heart; but headstrong — terril)ly headstrong!" 
 "Yes, that she was; and 'tis likely to finish badly, for it seems that 
 she does things at Paris — oh! such things " 
 
 " What things ! "
 
 194 TUE WAS l> Kin y a JEW. 
 
 " Oh. my dear! I fan hardly V(Mituri' " 
 
 "AW'll, i)ut what arc tlicy ?" 
 
 " Why," said the worthy <laiii(', witli a sort of fiiilian-assniciit ami coii- 
 fusioii whicli slinwi'd how iinich slic was shocked iiy such ciioniiitics, 
 "they say that MadciiioiscUc Adricuiic never sets foot in a church, l.ut 
 lives in a kind of heathen teinple in her aunt's garden, where she has 
 masked women to dress her up like a goddess, and scratches them very 
 often because she gets tipsy — without mentioning that every night she 
 plays on a huntiiig-lioni of massive gold ; all which causes tiie utmost 
 grief and despair to her jioor aunt, llie princess." 
 
 Here the bailift" lnu'st into a fit of laughter, which intei-i-upted 
 his wife. 
 
 " Now tell me," said he, wheu this first excess of hilarity was ovei-, 
 " where did you get these fine stories about Mademoiselle Adrienne f " 
 
 "From Rene's wife, who went to Paris to look for a child to nurse. 
 She called at Saint-Dizier Jiouse to see Madame (îrivois, her godmother. 
 Now, Madame Griivois is first bedchamber-woman to the princess, anil 
 she it was who told her all this ; and surely she ought to know, being in 
 the house." 
 
 " Yes, a fine piece of goods, that (Jrivois ! Once she was a regular 
 good-for-nothing, but now she professes to be as over-nice as her mis- 
 tress. Like master like man, they say. The princess herself, who is 
 now so stiff and starciie(l, knew how to carry on a lively game in her 
 time. Fifteen years ago she was no such prude. Do you remenibei- 
 that handsome c(tlon(>l of hussars who was in garrison at Ab})eville ? — 
 an exiled noble, who luul served in Russia, whom the Bourbons gave a 
 regiment on the Restoration Î " 
 
 "Yes, yes — I remember him ; l)ut you are really too backl)iting." 
 
 "Not a bit — I only .speak the truth. The colonel spent his whole 
 time hei'e ; and every one said he was very warm with this same 2>rin- 
 cess, who is now such a saint. Oh ! those were the jolly times ! Every 
 evening some new entertainment at the chateau. What a fellow tliat 
 colonel was to set things going ! Hcnv well he could act a play ! I 
 
 remember " 
 
 The bailiff was unabh» to jn-oeeed. A stout maid-servant, wearing 
 the costume and cap of Picardy, entered in haste and thus addressed 
 her mistress : 
 
 " Madame, there is a person here that wants to speak to master. He 
 has come in the post-master's calash from SaiIlt-^'alery, and he says 
 that he is M. Rodin." 
 
 " M. Rodin f " said the bailiff, rising. " Show him in directly ! "
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 195 
 
 A moment after, Rodin made his appearance. According to his 
 custom, he was ch-essed even more than itlainly. With an air of great 
 liumility he saluted the bailiff and his wife, and at a sign from her hus- 
 Itand the latter withdrew. 
 
 The cadaverous countenance of Eodin, his almost invisible lii)s, 
 his little rei^tile eyes, half concealed by theii- flabby lids, and the soi-did 
 style of his di-ess rendered his general aspect far from prepossessing ; 
 yet tliis man knew how, when it was necessary, to affect with diabolical 
 art so much sincerity and good-nature, his words were so affectionate 
 and subtly penetrating, that the disagreeable feeling of repugnance 
 which the first sight of him generally inspired wore off little by little, 
 and he almost always finished by involving his dupe or -victim in the 
 tortuous windings of an eloc[uenee as pliant as it was honeyed and per- 
 fidious ; for ugliness and evil have their fascination, as well as what is 
 good and fair. 
 
 The honest bailift" looked at this man with surprise, when he thought 
 of the pressing recommendation of the steward of the Princess de 
 Saint-Dizier. He had expected to see quite another sort of personage ; 
 and, hariUy able to dissemble his astonishment, he said to him : 
 
 " Is it to M. Rodin that I have the honor to speak f " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; and here is another letter from the steward of the Princess 
 de Saint-Dizier." 
 
 '• Pray, sir, draw near the fii*e, while I just see what is in this letter. 
 Tlie weather is so bad," continued the bailiff, obligingly, " may I not 
 off'er you some I'efreshment ! " 
 
 " A tliousand thanks, my dear sir ; I am off" again in an horn-." 
 "While M. Du])ont read, Rodin threw inquisitive glances round the 
 chamber. Like a man of skill and experience, he had frequently di'awn 
 just and usefid inductions from those little appearances which, reveal- 
 ing a taste or habit, give at the same time some notion of a character. 
 On this occasion, however, his curiosity was at fault. 
 
 " Very good, sir," said the bailiff, when he had finished reading ; " the 
 steward renews his recommendation, and tells me to attend implicitly to 
 your commands." 
 
 " Well, sir, they will amount to very little, and I shall not trouble you 
 long." 
 
 " It wtII be no trouble, but an honor." 
 
 " Nay, I know how much your time must be occupied, for as soon as 
 one enters this château, one is struck with the good order and perfect 
 keeping of everything in it — which proves, my dear sir, what excellent 
 care you take of it." 
 
 " Oh, sir, you flatter me."
 
 196 THE \VAXj>jnuxa jew. 
 
 "Flatter you? A poor old man like myself has sometliiiiji: else to 
 think of. But to come to bu.siiiess: there is a rooiu here wiiich is called 
 the Green Chamber ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir; the room •which the late rouiil-Dukcdi» rai'dovillc used for 
 a study." 
 
 " You will have the gooduess to take me there." 
 
 " Unfortunately, it is not in my power to do so. After the death of the 
 count-duke, and when the seals were removed, a number of ])ai)ers were 
 shut up in a cabinet in that room, and the lawyers took the keys with 
 them to Paris." 
 
 "Here are those keys," said Kodin, showint; to the liailift" a large 
 and a small key tied together. 
 
 " Oh, sii', that is ditferent. You come to look for jiapers ? " 
 
 " Yes — for certain papers, and also for a small mahogany casket with 
 silver clasps. Do you happen to know it f " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I have often seen it on the count's writing-table. It must 
 be in the large, lacquered cabinet, of which yon have the key." 
 
 "Yon will conduct me to this chamber, as authorized by the Princess 
 de tSaint-Dizier ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir. The princess continues in good Jiealth?" 
 
 " Perfectly so. She lives altogether above worldly things." 
 
 "And Mademoiselle Adrienne?" 
 
 "Alas, my dear sir! "said Rodin, with a sigh of deep contrition 
 and grief. 
 
 " Good heaven, sir ! has any calamity happened to Mademoiselle 
 Adrienne? " 
 
 " In what sense do you mean f " 
 
 "Is she ill!" 
 
 " No, no. 8he is, unfortunately, as well as she is beautiful." 
 
 "Unfortunately!" cried the bailiff, in surprise. 
 
 "Alas, yes! For when beauty, youth, and health are joined to an 
 e\àl spirit of revolt and perversity, — to a character wliich certaiidy has 
 not its equal upon earth, — it would be far better to be deprived of those 
 dangerous advantages, which only become so many causes of perdition. 
 But I conjiu-e you, my dear sir, let us talk of something else; this sub- 
 ject is too painful," said Rodin, with a voice of deep emotion, lifting 
 the tip of his little linger to the corner of his right eye, as if to stop a 
 rising tear. 
 
 The bailiff did not see the tear, Imt he saw the gesture, and he was 
 struck with the change in Rodin's voice. He answei-ed him, therefore, 
 with much sympathy : 
 
 " Pardon my indiscretion, sir; I really did not know "
 
 THE WAWDERIXG JEW. 197 
 
 " It is I who should ask pardon for this involuntary display of feel- 
 ing — tears are so rare with old men. But if you had seen, as I have, 
 the despair of that excellent princess, whose only fault has been too 
 niueh kindness, too much weakness, with regard to her nieee, by which 
 she has encom-aged her — but, once more, let us talk of something else, 
 my dear sir ! " 
 
 After a moment's jiause, during which Rodin seemed to recover 
 from his emotion, he said to M. Dupont : 
 
 " One part of my mission, my dear sir, — that which relates to the 
 Green Chamber, — I have now told you; but there is yet another. 
 Before coming to it, however, I must remind you of a circiimstance you 
 have perhaps forgotten, — namelj", that some fifteen or sixteen years ago 
 the Marquis d'Aigrigny, then colonel of the hussars in garrison at 
 Abbeville, spent some time in this house." 
 
 "Oh, sir! what a dashing officer was there! It was only just now 
 that I was talking about him to my wife. He was the life of the house. 
 How well he coidd perform plays — particularly the character of a scape- 
 gi'ace ! In the ' Two Edmonds,' for instance, he would make you die 
 with laughing in that part of a drunken soldier ; and then, with what a 
 charming voice he sang Jocomie, sir — better than they could sing it at 
 Paris ! " 
 
 Rodin, having listened complacently to the bailiff, said to him : 
 
 " You doubtless know that, after a fierce duel he had with a furious 
 Bonapartist, one General Simon, the Mai'ciuis d'Aigi'igny (whose pri- 
 vate secretary I have now the honor to be) left the world for the 
 church." 
 
 " No, sir ! Is it possible ? That fine officer ! " 
 
 " That fine officer — brave, noble, rich, esteemed, and flattered — aban- 
 doned all those advantages for the sorry black gown ; and, notwith- 
 standing his name, position, high connections, his reputation as a great 
 preacher, he is still what he was fourteen years ago, a plain ahhé, while 
 so many, who have neither his mei'it nor his vii'tues, ai'e archbishops 
 and cardinals." 
 
 Rodin expressed himself with so nmch goodness, with such an air 
 of conviction, and the facts he cited appeared to be so incontestable, 
 that ]\I. Dupont could not heli? exclaiming : 
 
 " Well, sir, that is splendid conduct ! " 
 
 " Splendid ! Oh, no ! " said Rodin, with an inimitable expression of 
 simplicity; "it is quite a matter of course — when one has a heart like 
 M. d'Aigrigny's. But amongst all his good qualities he has particularly 
 that of never forgetting worth j' people — people of iutegi'ity, honor, con- 
 science ; and therefore, my dear M. Dupont, he has not forgotten you."
 
 U)H THE WAXBERrXG JEW. 
 
 " What ! The most uobk' manjuis dciijiis to rt'iiR'inlH'r " 
 
 " Three days ago I received a letter from him, in which he meutious 
 your name." 
 
 "Is lie, then, at Paris?" 
 
 "He will lie tliiTc siKiii, if not there now. lie went to Italy aliniit 
 three mouths^ago, ami iliiiiiit;- his absence he received a vei-y sad piece 
 of news — the death of his mother, who was ])assing the autumn on one 
 of the estates of the Princess de Haiiit-Dizier." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! I was not aware of it." 
 
 "Yes, it was a ciuel <;rief 1o him; Knt we must all resign our.selves 
 to the will of Pi-ovideiice." 
 
 "And with regard to what subject did the marciuis do me the honor 
 to mention my name ? " 
 
 " I am going to tell you. First of all you must know that this house 
 is sold. The bill of sale was signe<1 the day before my departure from 
 Paris." 
 
 "Oh, sii-, that i-enews all my uneasiness." 
 
 "Pray, why?" 
 
 " I am afraid that the new inojirietors may not choose to keep me as 
 their bailiff." 
 
 " Now see what a lucky chance ! It is just on that subject that 1 am 
 going to speak to you." 
 
 " Is it possible ? " 
 
 " Certainly. Knowing the interest which the marquis feels for you, I 
 am )>aiticularly desirous that you should keejtthis place, and T will do 
 all in my power to serve you, if '' 
 
 " Ah, sir- ! " cried M. Dupont, interrupting Rodin, " what gratitude do 
 I not owe you ! It is Heaven that sends you to me ! " 
 
 "Now, my dear sir, you Hatter me in j'our turn; but I ought to tell 
 you that I am obliged to annex a small condition to my supi)ort." 
 
 "Oh, by all means! Only name it, sir — name it!" 
 
 "The jierson who is about to inlialiit this mansion is an old lady in 
 every way worthy of veneration. Madame de la Hainte-Colombe is the 
 name of this respectable " 
 
 "What, sir? "said the bailiff, interrupting Rodin; "Madame de la 
 Sainte-Colomlje, the lady who has 1 )Ought us out ? " 
 
 " Do you know her ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; she came last week to see the estate. My wife persists that 
 she is a great lady; but, between ourselves, judging liy certain words 
 that I heard her speak " 
 
 " You are fuU of penetration, my dear M. Dupont. Madame de la 
 Sainte-Colombe is far from being a gi-eat lady. I believe she was
 
 THE WAX DE BIN G JEW. 199 
 
 neither more nor less than a milliner under one of the wooden porticoes 
 of the Palais Royal. You see that I deal ojjenly with you." 
 
 " And she boasted of all the noblemen, French and foreign, ^^•ho used 
 to visit her ! " 
 
 " No doubt they came to buy ])onnets for their ■ni.ves ! However, the 
 fact is that, having gained a large fortune, and after being in youth and 
 middle age indifferent — alas! more than indifferent — to the salvation 
 of lier soiil, Madame de la Sainte-Colombe is now in a likely way to expe- 
 rience grace ; which renders her, as I told you, worthy of veneration, 
 because nothing is so respectable as a sincere repentance — always pro- 
 viding it be lasting. Now, to make the good work sure and effectual, we 
 shall need your assistance, my dear M. Dupont." 
 
 " Mine, sir ! Wliat can I do in it f " 
 
 " A great deal ; and I will exjilain to you how. There is no church 
 in this xdllage, which stands at an equal distance from either of two par- 
 ishes. Madame de la Sainte-Colombe, wishing to make choice of one of 
 the two clergymen, will naturally apply to you and Madame Dupont, who 
 have long lived in these parts, for information respecting them." 
 
 " Oh ! in that case the choice will soon be made. The incumbent of 
 Danicourt is one of the best of men." 
 
 " Now that is precisely what you must not say to Madame de la 
 Sainte-Colombe." 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 " You must, on the contraiy, praise without ceasing the curate of 
 Roi\'ille, the other parish, so as to decide this good lady to trust herself 
 to his care." 
 
 " And why, sir, to him rather than to the other ? " 
 
 " Why ? Because if you and Madame Dupont succeed in persuading 
 Madame de la Sainte-Colombe to make the choice I wish, you will be cer- 
 tain to keep your place as bailiff. I give you my word of it, and what 
 I promise I perform." 
 
 " I do not doul)t, sir, that you have this power," said M. Dupont, con- 
 vinced by Rodin's manner and the authority of his words; " but I should 
 like to know " 
 
 " One woi'd more," said Rodin, interrupting him ; " I will deal openly 
 with you, and tell you why I insist on the jireference which I beg yovi to 
 support. I should be grieved if you saw in all this the shadow of an 
 intrigue. It is only for the purpose of doing a good action. The curate 
 of Roiville, for whom I ask yoiir influence, is a man for whom M. d'-Vig- 
 rigny feels a deep interest. Thoiigh very poor, he has to support an 
 aged mother. Now, if he had the spiritual care of Madame de la Sainte- 
 Colombe he would do more good than any one else, because he is full of
 
 200 Tin: WAXnEKIXG .IFAV. 
 
 zeal and patience; and tlion it is clear he wonld reap some little advan- 
 tages, hy which his old mother might i>rofit. Thei-e, yon see, is the secret 
 of this mighty scheme. When I knew that this lady was disposed 
 to hay an estate in the neighborhood of onr friend's parish, I wrote 
 about it to the marcjuis, and he, remembering you, desired me to ask 
 yon to render him this small serv-ice, which, as you see, will not remain 
 without a recompense; fori tell you once more, and I will jn-ove it, 
 that I have the power to keep you in your place as Viailiff." 
 
 "Well, sir," re})liçd ^I. Uui)ont, after a moment's reflection, "you are so 
 frank and oljliging that I will imitate your sincerity. In the same 
 degi'ce that the curate of Danicoiut is ivspected and loved in this coun- 
 try, the curate of Roiville, whom you wish me to prefer to him, is 
 dreaded for liis intolerance ; and, moreover " 
 
 " Well, and what more ? " 
 
 " Why, then, they say " 
 
 " Come, what do the)' say Î " 
 
 " Tlu'y say — he is a Jesuit." 
 Ul)on these words Tvodin burst into so hearty a laugli that the 
 bailiff was quite struck dumb with amazement, for the countenance of 
 Roilin took a singular expression when he laughed. 
 
 " A Jesuit !" he repeated with redoubled hilarity; "a Jesuit! Now 
 really, my dear M. Dupont, for a man of sense, experience, and intelli- 
 gence, how can you believe such idle stories? A Jesuit! Are there 
 such people as Jesuits^ In our time, above all, can you believe such 
 romance of the Jacobins — lii)ligoblins of the old ]il)erals ? Come, come; 
 I wager you have read about them in the ' Constitutionnel' ! " 
 
 " And yet, sir, they say " 
 
 " (iood heavens ! what \\i\\ they not say ? But wise men, prudent 
 men like you, do not meddle with what is said; they manage their own 
 little matters Avithout doing injury to any one, and they never sacrilice, 
 for the sake of nonsense, a good place, which secures them a comfortable 
 provision for the rest of tlieir days. I tell you frankly, however nnich 
 I may regret it, that shoukl you not succeed in getting the preference 
 for my man you will not remain bailiff here." 
 
 "But, SU-," said poor M. Dupont, "it will not be my fault if this lady, 
 hearing a great deal in praise of the other curate, shouhl prefer him to 
 your friend." 
 
 " Ah ! V)ut if, oTi the otlier hand, persons who have long lived in the 
 neighborhood — persons worthy of confidence whom she will see every 
 day — tell Madame de la Sainte-Colombe a gi'cat deal of good of my 
 fi-iend, and a gi-eat deal of harm of the other curate, she wiU prefer the 
 former, and you will continue bailiff."
 
 GABRIEL KENNEPONT, MISSIONARY AXP MARTYR.
 
 THE WAXDERIXa JEW. 203 
 
 " But, sir, that would bo calumny ! " cried M. Dupont. 
 
 " Pshaw, my dear M. Dupont ! " said Rodin, with an air of soiTowful 
 and affectionate reproach ; " how can you think me capable of giving 
 you ex'il council 1 I was only making a supposition. You wish to remain 
 baUiff on this estate. I offer you the certainty of doing so ; it is for you 
 to consider and decide." 
 
 " But, sir " 
 
 "One word more, — or rather one more condition, — as important as 
 the other. Unfortunately, we have seen clergymen take advantage of 
 the age and weakness of their penitents, unfairly, to benefit either them- 
 selves or others. I believe our protégé incapaljle of any such baseness. 
 But, in oi'der to discharge my responsibility, — and yours also, as you 
 will have contributed to his appointment, — I must request that you 
 will wi'ite to me twice a week, giving the most exact detail of all that 
 you have remarked in the character, habits, connections, pursuits, of 
 Madame de la Sainte-Colombe ; for the influence of a confessor, yovi see, 
 reveals itself in the whole conduct of life, and I should wish to be fully 
 edified by the proceedings of my friend without his being aware of it ; 
 or, if anything blâmable were to strike you, I should be immediately 
 informed of it by the weekly correspondence." 
 
 " But, sir, that would be to act as a spy ! " exclaimed the unfortunate 
 Ijailiff. 
 
 " Now, my dear M. Dupont ! how can you thus brand the sweetest, 
 most wholesome of human desires — mutual confidence ? I ask of you 
 nothing else. I ask of you to wi-ite to me confidentially the details of 
 all that goes on here. On these two conditions, inseparable one from 
 the other, you remain bailiff ; otherwise, I shall be forced, with grief 
 and regret, to recommend some one else to Madame de la Sainte- 
 Colombe." 
 
 " I heg you, sir," said Dupont, with emotion, " be generous without 
 any conditions ! I and my wife have only this place to give us bread, 
 and we are too old to find another. Do not expose our prol)ity of forty 
 years' standing to be tempted by the fear of want, which is so l)ad a 
 counselor ! " 
 
 " My dear M. Dupont, you are really a great child : you must reflect 
 upon tliis, and give me your answer in the course of a week." 
 
 " Oh, sir ! I implore you " 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted by a loud report, which was 
 almost instantaneously repeated by the echoes of the cliffs. 
 
 " What is that ! " said Rodin. 
 Hardly had he spoken, when the same noise was again heai'd more 
 distinctly than before.
 
 204 THE WAXDKRTXG JEW. 
 
 "It is the soiuiil of cannon," crit'd M. Dnjiont, rising; "no doubt a shij» 
 in distress, or signaling for a pilot." 
 
 " My dear," said the bailiffs wife, entering abruptly, " from the terrace 
 we can see a steaincr and a hirgc sliip neai'ly dismasted ; they arc drift- 
 ing right upon the sliore ; the ship is hriug signals of distress ; it will bi' 
 lost." 
 
 " Oh, it is terrible," cried the bailiff, taking his hat and jireparing to 
 go out, "to look on at a shipwreck and be able to do nothing!" 
 
 " Can no help be givi'n to these vessels f " asked Kodiu. 
 
 "If they are diiveu upon tiio reefs, no human jjower can save them. 
 Since tlu> last c(juiHox, two ships have been lost on this coast.'' 
 
 " Lost with all on board .' Oh, very frightful ! " said Kodin. 
 
 " In such a storm there is but little chance for the crew. No matter," 
 said the l)ailiff, addressing his wife ; " I will run down to the rocks with 
 till' ])cople of the farm and try to save some of them — poor creatures! 
 Light large tires in several rooms ; get ready linen, clothes, cordials. I 
 scarcely dare hope to save any, but we must do our best. Will you come 
 with me, :\r. Rodin ? " 
 
 " I should think it a duty if 1 could be at all useful, but I a)ii too old 
 and feeble to be of any service," said Rodin, who was by no means 
 anxious to encounter the storm, " Your good lady will be kind enough 
 to show mo the Green Cluiin]>er, and when I have found the articles I 
 require I will set out immediately for Paris, for I am in great haste." 
 
 " Very well, sir. Catherine will show you. Ring the big beU," said 
 the bailiff to liis servant ; "let all the people of the farm meet meat the 
 foot of the clitï, with ropes and levers." 
 
 " Yes, my dear," replied Catherine ; " but do not expose yourself." 
 
 "Kiss me — it will bring me luck," said the bailiff; and he started at 
 a f uU run, cr\-ing, "Quick! quick! By this time not a plank may remain 
 of the vessels." 
 
 "My dear madame," said Rodin, always impassible, "will you be 
 obliging enough to show me the Green Chamber ? " 
 
 "Please to tV)Llow me, sir," answered Catherine, ikying her tears — for 
 she trembled on account of her husband, whose courage she well knew.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE TEMPEST 
 
 HE sea is i-aging. Mountainous waves of dark green, niar- 
 Lled with white foam, stand out in high, deep undulations 
 from the Inroad streak of red light which extends along the 
 horizon. Above are piled heavy masses of black and sul- 
 phurous vapor, while a few hghter clouds of a reddish gi'ay, driven by 
 the violence of the wind, rush across the murky sky. The pale winter 
 sun, before he quite disappears in the great clouds, behind which he is 
 slowly mounting, casts here and thei'e some oblique rays upon the 
 troubled sea, and gUds the transparent crest of some of the tallest waves. 
 
 A band of snow-white foam boUs and rages, as far as the eye can 
 reach, along the line of reefs that bristle on this dangerous coast. Half- 
 way up a nigged promontory, which juts pretty far into the sea, 
 rises the château of CardoviUe. A ray of the sun glitters upon its 
 windows ; its brick walls and pointed roofs of slate are visible in the 
 midst of this sky loaded with vapors. A large, disabled ship, with mere 
 shreds of sails still fluttering from the stumps of broken masts, drives 
 dead upon the coast. Now she rolls her monstrous hull upon the waves, 
 now plunges into their trough. 
 
 A flash is seen, followed by a dull sound, scarcely perceptible in the 
 midst of the roar of the tempest. That gun is the last signal of distress 
 from this lost vessel, which is fast forging on the breakers. At the same 
 moment a steamer, with a long plume of black smoke, is working her 
 way from east to west, making every effort to keep at a distance from 
 the shore, leaving the breakers on her left. The dismasted ship, drift- 
 ing toward the rocks at the mercy of the wind and tide, must some time 
 pass right ahead of the steamer. 
 
 Suddenly the rush of a heaA'^" sea laid the steamer upon her side ; 
 the enormous wave broke furiously on her deck ; in a second the chim- 
 ney was carried away, the paddle-box stove in, one of the wheels ren- 
 dered useless. A second white-cap, following the first, again stiiick the 
 
 205
 
 L'()(; Tin: \\asih:uis<i.ie\v. 
 
 vessel aniidshiiis, and so increased the daniafic tliat, no longer answer- 
 iiijî to tlie helm, she also drifted toward the siiore, in the same direetioii 
 as the ship. But the latter, though farther from the breakers, presented 
 a greater surface to the wind and sea, and so gaine(l uixm tlu' steamer 
 in swiftness that a collision l)et\veen the two vessels liecame imminent — 
 a new danger added to all the horrors of tiic now certain wreck. 
 
 The ship was au English vessel, the Black Eagle, homeward hound 
 from Alexandria with passengers who, arriving from India and Java r'ui 
 the Red Sea, had disembarked at the Isthuuis of Suez froui on board 
 the steamship Ruyter. The Black Eagle, quitting the Straits of (iilt- 
 raltar, had gone to touch at the Azores. She headed tlicnce foi' i'orts- 
 mouth, when she was overtaken in tlie Channel by the iiortii-wcstci-. 
 
 The steamer was the William 'I'dl, coming from Germany by way 
 of the Elbe, and bound, in the last i)lace, from Hamburg to Havn^. 
 
 These two vessels, the sport of enormous rollers, driven along by tide 
 and tempest, were now rushing upon the breakers -with frightful speed. 
 The deck of each offered a terriUe sijectacle. The loss of crew and pas- 
 sengers appeared almost eei-tain, for ]>efore them a ti'emendous sea 
 liroke on jagged rocks at the foot of a perpendicular cliff. 
 
 The captain of the Black Eagle, standing on the poop, iiolding liy 
 the i-emnant of a spar, issued his last orders in this fearful extremity 
 with courageoiis coolness. The smaller l)oats had been carried away by 
 the waves; it was in vain to think of launching the long-boat. The 
 only chance of escape, in case tlie shij) should not be immediately 
 dashed to piec(^s on toiiching the rocks, was to establish a comnninica- 
 tion with the land by means of a life-line — almost the last and most 
 penlous resort for passing between the shore and a stranded vessel. 
 
 The deck was covered with passengers, whose cries and terror aug- 
 mented the general confusion. Some, struck \x\\\\ a kind of stupor, 
 and clinging convulsively to the shrouds, awaited their doom in a state 
 of stupid insensibility. Others wiimg their hands in des])air, or rolled 
 upon the deck uttering horrible» imjirecations. 
 
 Hei'e, women kuelt down to pray; there, otliers hid their faces in 
 tlieir liands, that they might not see the awful approach of death. A 
 young mother, pale as a si)ecter, holding her child clasped tightly to 
 her Ijosom, went supplicating fi-om sailor to sailor, and offering a ])urse 
 full of gold and jewels to any one that would take chai-ge of her son. 
 
 These cries and tears and terror contrasted with the stern and silent 
 resignation of the sailors. 
 
 Knowing the imminence of the inevitable dangei-, some <>f them 
 stripped themselves of part of their clothes, waiting for the moment to 
 make a last effort to dispute their lives with the fury of the waves;
 
 THE WAXPERIXG JEW. 207 
 
 others, venouiieiug' all hope, prejninnl to meet death with stoical 
 inclift'ereuce. 
 
 Here and there touching or awful episodes rose in relief, if one may 
 so express it, from this dark and gloomy backgi'ound of despair. 
 
 A young man of about eighteen or twenty, with shiny black hair, 
 copper-colored complexion, and perfectly regular and handsome features, 
 contemplated this scene of dismay and horror with that sad calmness 
 peculiar to those who have often braved great perils. Wrapped in a cloak, 
 he leaned his back against the bulwarks, with his feet resting against 
 one of the ]>ulkheads. 
 
 Suddenly the unliappy mother, Avho, with her child in her arms and 
 gold in her hand, had in vain addressed herself to several of the mari- 
 ners to beg them to save her ])oy, perceiving the young man with the 
 copper-colored complexion, threw herself on her knees before him and 
 lifted her child toward him ^vith a bui'st of inexpressible agony. 
 
 The young man took it, mournfully shook his head, and pointed to 
 the furious waves ; but with a meaning gesture he appeared to promise 
 that he would at least try to save it. Then the young mother, in a mad 
 transport of hope, seized the hand of the youth and Ijathed it ^vith her 
 tears. 
 
 Farther on, another passenger of the Black Eagle seemed animated 
 with sentiments of the most active pity. One would hardly have given 
 him five-and-twenty years of age. His long, fan* locks fell in ciu'ls on 
 either side of his angelic countenance. He wore a black cassock and 
 white bands. Applj-ing himself to comfort the most desponding, he 
 went from one to the other, and spoke to them pious words of hope and 
 resignation. To hear him console some and encourage others in lan- 
 guage full of unction, tenderness, and ineflfal )le charity, one would have 
 supposed him unaware or indifferent to the perils that he shared. On 
 his tine, mild features was impressed a calm and sacred intrepidity, a 
 reUgious abstraction fi-om eveiy teirestrial thought. From time to time 
 he raised to heaven his large blue eyes, beaming with gratitude, love, 
 and serenity, as if to thank God for ha^•ing called him to one of those 
 formidable trials in which the man of humanity and courage may 
 devote himself for his brethren, and, if not able to rescue them all, at 
 least die with them, pointing to the sky. One might almost have taken 
 him for an angel, sent down to render less cruel the strokes of inex- 
 orable fate. 
 
 Strange contrast ! Not far from this young man's angelic beauty 
 there was another 1)eing who reseml>led an e\al spirit ! 
 
 Boldly mounted on what was left of the bowsprit, to which he held 
 on by means of some remaining cordage, this man looked down upon
 
 208 tilt: WAXhKHiya .iew. 
 
 tho torrilile scene that was passing on the deck. A griiii, wild joy 
 Ughted up his counteuauce, of a deail yellow — that tint peculiar to those 
 who spring from the union of the white race with the mulatto. He 
 wore only a shirt and linen drawers; from his neck was suspendt^il, hy 
 a cord, a cylindrical tin box, similar to that in which .soldiers carry their 
 leave of absence. 
 
 The more the danger augmented, the nearer the ship came to the 
 breakers or to a collision w\X\\ the st(>amer, which she was now rajiidly 
 approaching, — a t('n-il)le collision, wliich would probably cause tiic two 
 vessels to founder before even they touched the rock.s, — tlic iimri' did 
 the infei'iud joy of this passenger reveal itself in frightful transport.s. 
 He seemed to long, with ferocious impatience, for the moment when the 
 work of destruction should be accomi)lished. To see him thus feasting 
 with aWdity on all the agony, the terror, and the despair of those around 
 him, one might have taken him for the apo.stle of one of those .sanguinary 
 (U'ities who, in barbarous countries, preside over murder and carnage. 
 
 By this time the Black Eagle, driven by the wind and waves, came 
 so near the William Tell that the passengers on the deck of the nearly 
 dismantled steamer were visible from the first-named vessel. 
 
 These passengers were no longer imraerous. The heavy sea, which 
 stove in the paddle-box and broke one of the paddles, had also carried 
 away n(»arly the whole of the bulwarks on that side; the waves, enter- 
 ing eveiy instant by this large opening, swejit the decks Avith irresistible 
 \nolence, and every time bore away with ihem some fresh victims. 
 
 Amongst the passengers, who seemeil only to have escajjcd this danger 
 to be hurled against the rocks or crushed in the encounter of the two 
 vessels, one gi-oup was especially worthy of the most tender and f)ainf ul 
 interest. Taking refuge abaft, a tall <>11 man, with bald forehead and 
 gray mustaclie, had lashed himself to a stanchion by winding a jiiece of 
 rope round his l>ody, while he clasped in his ai-ms and lieM fast to his 
 breast two girls of fifteen or sixteen, half enveloped in a pelisse of rein- 
 di'cr skin. A large fallow Silx-rian dog, di'ipping with water and bark- 
 ing furiously at the waves, stood close to their feet. 
 
 These girls, clasped in the arms of the old man, also pressed close to 
 each other ; but, far from being lost in terror, they raised their eyes to 
 heaven, full of confidence and ingenuous hope, as though they expected 
 to be saved by the intervention of some su))ernatural ]iower. 
 
 A frightful shriek of horror and despaii-, raised by the passengers of 
 both the vessels, was heard suddenly above the roar of the tempest. 
 
 At the moment when, plunging deeply between two waves, the broad- 
 .side of the steamer was turned toward the bows of the ship, the latter, 
 lifted to a prodigious height on a mountain of water, remained, as it
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 
 
 209 
 
 were, suspended over the William Tell during the second which preceded 
 the shook of the two vessels. 
 
 There are sights of so sublime ahoiTor that it is impossible to describe 
 them. Yet in the midst of these catastrophes, swift as thought, one 
 
 catches sometimes a momentary glimpse of a picture, rapid and fleeting, 
 as if illumined In* a flash of lightning. 
 
 Thus, when the Black Eagle, poised aloft by the flood, was about to
 
 1>1() TUE \\AMH:UIS(l JEW'. 
 
 cviish down n])0]i tlif William Tell, tho yoniip: man with tho angolio 
 ('(nuitcuanct' ami fair, wax'inj; locks lii'ut over the ju-ow of tli(^ .ship, 
 ready to cast himsolf into the sea to save somo victim. Suddenly he 
 l>('ivoivod on hoard the steamer, on which he looked down from the 
 sunnnit of the immense wave, the two girls (extending their arms toward 
 him in sui)plicatiou. They appeared to recognize him, and gazed on 
 him with a .sort of ecstasy and religious homage. 
 
 For a second, in .spit<^ of tho horrors of the tempest, in .spite of the 
 approaching shi[)wreck, the looks of those three l)eings met. 
 
 The features of the young man wex'e expressive of sudden and pro- 
 found pity, for the mai<lens, with their hands clasped in prayer, seemed 
 to invoke him as theii- ex]iected savior. The old man, struck down hy 
 the fall of a plank, lay iielpless on the deck. 
 
 Soon all disappeared together. A fearful mass of water dashed 
 the Black Eagle down ui)oh the "William Tell in the midst of a cloud of 
 lioiling foam. To the dreadful crasii of the two great bodies of wood 
 and iron wiiicli, splintering against each otlier, instantly foundered, 
 one loud cry was add<'d — a cry of agony and death — the cry of a hun- 
 dred human creatures swallowed up at once by the waves ! 
 
 And then — nothing more was visible! 
 
 A few moments after, the fragments of the two vessels appeared in 
 th(^ trough of the sea oi' on the caps of the waves — with here and 
 there the contracted arms, the livid and desi)airing faces of some 
 unhai)py wretches, striving to make theii* way to the reefs along the 
 sliore, at the risk of being crushed to death by the shock of the furious 
 breakers.
 
 CHAPTEK III 
 
 THE SHIPWRECKED 
 
 ITTTjE the bailiff was goue to the sea-shore, to render help 
 to those of the passengers who might escape from the inev- 
 itable shipwreck, Rotliu, conducted by Catherine to the 
 Green Chamber, had there found the articles that he was to 
 take with him to Paris. 
 
 After passing two hours in this apartment, very indifferent to the 
 rescue of the shipwrecked persons, which alone absorbed the attention 
 of the inhabitants of the castle, Rodin retm-ned to the chamber com- 
 monly occupied by the bailiff', a room which opened upon a long gallery. 
 When he entered it he found nobody there. Under his arm he held a 
 casket, with silver fastenings, almost black from age, while one end of 
 a large red morocco i^ortfolio projected from the breast-pocket of his 
 half-buttoned gi-eat coat. 
 
 Rodin remained pensive for some moments, but was inten-upted 
 in the ciuTent of his reflections by the entrance of Madame Dupont, 
 who was zealously engaged in preparations to give assistance in case 
 of need. 
 
 "Now," said she to a servant, "light a fire in the next room; put 
 this warm wine there ; your master maj' ])e in every minute." 
 
 " Well, my dear madame," said Rodin to her, " do they hope to save 
 any of these poor creatm-es ? " 
 
 " Alas ! I do not know, sir. My husband has been gone nearly two 
 hi »urs. I am terribly uneasy on his account. He is so courageous, so 
 imprudent, if once he thinks he can be of any service." 
 
 " Courageous even to imprudence," said Rodin to himself, impa- 
 ti.'iitly; "Tdo not like that." 
 
 *' Well," resumed Catherine, " I have here at hand my hot linen, my 
 cordials — heaven gi'ant it may all be of use ! " 
 
 " We may at least hope so, my dear madame. I very much regretted 
 that my age and weakness did not permit me to assist your excellent
 
 212 TUE ]yAXJJERIN-0 JEW. 
 
 husband. I also vofn'f't not being ablo to wait for tlio issue of his exer- 
 tions and to wish liiui joy if successful, for I am unfortunately coin])elleil 
 to depart ; my moments are precious. I shall be much obliged if you 
 will have the carriage got ready." 
 
 " Yes, sir; 1 \\'ill .see about it directly." 
 
 " One word, my dear, good Madame Dupont. You are a woman of 
 sense and excellent judgment. Now I have put your husband in the 
 way to keejj, if he will, his situation as Vjailiff of the estate " 
 
 " Is it possible ? What giatitude do we not owe you ! Without this 
 place, what would become of us at our time of life ? " 
 
 " I have only saddled my promise witli two conditions — mere trifles. 
 He will explain all that to you." 
 
 " Ah, sir, we shall regard you as our deliverer ! " 
 
 " You are too good. Only, on two little conditions " 
 
 " If there were a hundred, sir, we shouhl gladly accej)! them. Think 
 what wo should be without this place — penniless — altsolutely jK-nni- 
 less ! " 
 
 " I reckon upon you, then ; for the interest of yom* husband, you will 
 try to persuade him." 
 
 " Madame ! I say; hei-e's master come l)aek ! " cried a servant, rushing 
 into the chamber. 
 
 " Has he many with him ?" 
 
 "No, nia<lanie; he is alone." 
 
 "Alone! Alone?" 
 
 " Quite alone." 
 A few moments after, ]\I. Dujîont entered the room. His clothes 
 were streaming with water; to keep his hat on in the midst of the 
 storm he had tied it down to his head by means of his cravat, which 
 was knotted under his chin ; his gaiters were covered with chalky stains. 
 
 " At last, my dear love ! " cried his wife, tenderly embracing him. 
 " I have been so uneasy ! " 
 
 " Up to the present moment, three saved." 
 
 " God be praised, my dear ]\I. Dupont ! " said Rodin ; " at least your 
 efforts will not have been all in vain." 
 
 " Three ! Only three ? " said Catherine. " Gracious heaven ! " 
 
 " I only speak of those I saw myself, near the little creek of Goélands. 
 Let us hope there may Ijc more saved on other pai-ts of the coast." 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; happily, the shore is not equally steep in all i)arts." 
 
 "And where are these interesting sufferers, my dear sir!" asked 
 Rodin, who could not avoid remaining a few instants longer. 
 
 " They are mounting the cliffs, supported by our people. As they 
 cannot walk veiy fast, I i-an on before to assure my wife and to take
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 213 
 
 the necessary measui-es for tlieii- reception. Fii'st of all, my dear, you 
 must get I'eady some women's clothes." 
 
 " There is, then, a woman amongst the persons saved Î " 
 
 " There are two gh'ls, fifteen or sixteen years of age at the most — 
 mere ehikh'en — and so pretty ! " 
 
 " Poor httle things ! " said Rodin, with an affectation of interest. 
 
 " The person to whom they owe their lives is with them. He is a 
 real hero ! " 
 
 " A hero ? " 
 
 " Yes ; only fancy " 
 
 " You can teU me all this by and by. Just sUp on this dry, warm 
 di'cssing-gown, and take some of this hot wine. You are wet through." 
 
 " I'll not refuse, for I am almost frozen to death. I was telling you 
 that the person who saved these young gh-ls was a hero ; and certainly 
 his courage was beyond anj'thing one could have imagined. When I 
 left here with the men of the farm we descended the Little winding path 
 and aiTived at the foot of the cliff near the little creek of Goélands, 
 fortunately somewhat sheltei'ed from the waves by five or six enor- 
 mous masses of rock stretching out into the sea. Well, what should we 
 find there! Why, the two young girls I spoke of, in a swoon, with 
 their feet still in the water and their bodies resting against a rock, as 
 though they had been placed there by some one after being withdi'a^Ti 
 from the sea." 
 
 " Dear chikken ! it is quite touching ! " said Rodin, raising, as usual, 
 the tip of his little finger to the corner of his right eye, as though to diy 
 a tear, which was veiy seldom visible. 
 
 " What struck me was thek gi'eat resemblance to each other," resumed 
 the bailiff ; " only one in the habit of seeing them could teU the difference." 
 
 "■ Twin-sisters, no doubt," said Madame Dupont. 
 
 " One of the poor things," continued the bailiff, " held between her 
 clasped hands a little bronze medal, which was suspended from her neck 
 by a chain of the same material." 
 
 Rodin generally maintained a very stooping postm-e ; but at these 
 last words of the bailiff he di*ew himself up suddenly, while a faint color 
 spread itself over his livid cheeks. In any other person, these symp- 
 toms would have appeared of little consequence ; but in Rodin, accus- 
 tomed for long years to control and dissimulate his emotions, they 
 announced no ordinary excitement. Approaching the baihff, he said to 
 him in a slightly agitated voice, but still with an air of indifference : 
 
 " It was doubtless a pious relic. Did you see what was inscribed on 
 this medal ? " 
 
 " No, sii-; I did not think of it."
 
 214 THE WAS i>i:i; I sa .lEW. 
 
 "Ami the two youii^- <::irls Wfiv like one aiiotlicr — very imu-h like, 
 you say ? " 
 
 " 80 like, that one would hardly kuow which was which. I'robahly 
 they are orphans, for thoy arc drcssctl in niournin*;." 
 
 " Oh ! dressed in mourning .' " said Kodin, with another stai-t. 
 
 "Alas! orphans so young!" said Madame Dui)oiit, \vi]mii;- her eyes. 
 
 "As they had fainted away, we carried them farther on, to a place 
 where the sand was quite dry. "WTiile we were busy about this we saw 
 tlie head of a man appear from behind one of the rocks, which he was 
 trying to climb, clinging to it by one hand. We ran to him, and luckily 
 in the nick of time, for he was (juite worn out, and fell exhausted into 
 the arms of oiu- men. It was of him I si)oke wlieii 1 talked of a hero, 
 for, not content with having saved the two young girls by his admiivible 
 coiu-age, he had attempted to rescue a third person, and had actuallj' 
 gone back amongst the rocks and breakers; but his strength failed him, 
 and without the aid of our men he would certainly have been washed 
 away from the ridge to which he clung." 
 
 "He must indeed be a fine fellow!" said ^fadame Du])ont. 
 l\odin, with his head Itowed upon his ])reast, seemed (juite indiffer- 
 ent to this conversation. The dismay and stupor in which he had been 
 ])lunged only inci-eased upon reflection. The two girls who had just 
 been saved were fifteen years of age; were dressed in mourning; wei-e 
 so alike that one might be taken for the other; one of them wore round 
 her neck a chain witli a bronze medal; he could scarcely doubt tliat 
 they were the daughters of Creneral Simon. But how could tiiose sis- 
 ters be amongst the number of shipwrecked ijassengers jf How could 
 they have escaped from the jirison at Leipsic ? How did it happen that 
 he had not been informed of it ;' Could they have fled, or had they 
 been set at liberty ? How was it possiljle that he should not be ajtprised 
 of such an event l But these secondary thoughts, wliich offered them- 
 selves in crowds to the mind of Rodin, were swallowed u]> in the 
 one fact: "The daughters of General Simon are here!" His plan, so 
 laljoriously laid, was thus entii'cly destroyed. 
 
 " "When I speak of the deliverer of these yoiing girls," resumed the 
 bailiff, addressing his wife, and without remarking Rodin's absence 
 of mind, "you are exijecting, no doubt, to see a Ilei-cules ? "Well, he is 
 altogether the reverse. He is almost a boy in looks, with fair, sweet 
 face, and light, curling locks. I left him a cloak to cover him, for he 
 had Jiothing on but his shirt, black knee-breeches, and a paii' of blaek 
 worsted stockings — which struck me as singular." 
 
 " Wliy, it was certainly not a sailor's dress." 
 
 " Beside, though the ship was English, I believe my hero is a French-
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. !>15 
 
 luaii, for he speaks our language as well as we do. What brought the 
 tears to my eyes was to see the young gu'ls when they came to them- 
 selves. As soon as they saw him they threw themselves at his feet, and 
 seemed to look \\\) to him and thank him as one would pray. Then they 
 cast th(4r eyes around them as if in search of some other person, and, 
 having exchanged a few words, they fell sobbing into each other's arms." 
 " What a dreadful thing it is ! How many poor creatures must have 
 perislied!" 
 
 "When we quitted tlic rocks the sea had already cast ashore seven 
 dead bodies, beside fragments of the wreck and packages. I spoke to 
 some of the coast-guard, and they will remain all day on the lookout ; 
 and if, as I hope, any more should escajje with life, they are to be 
 In'ought here. But siu'ely that is the sound of voices ? Yes, it is our 
 shipwrecked guests ! " 
 
 The bailiff and his wife ran to the door of the room, — that door 
 which opened on the long gallery, — while Roilin, biting convulsively his 
 flat nails, awaited with angry impatience the arrival of the strangers. 
 A touching jsicture soon presented itself to his ^'iew. 
 
 From the end of the darksome gallery, only lighted on one side by 
 several arched windows, three persons, conducted by a peasant, advanced 
 slowly. This group consisted of the two maidens and the intrei)id 
 youug man to whom they owed their lives. Rose and Blanche were on 
 either side of their deliverer, who, walking with gi'eat ditficulty, siip- 
 ported himself lightly on their arms. 
 
 Though he was full twenty-five years of age, the juvenile counte- 
 nance of this man made him ai)pear younger. His long, fair hair, parted 
 in the middle, streamed wet and smooth over the collar of a large 
 brown cloak with which he had been co\-ered. It would be difficult to 
 descril^e the adorable expression of goodness in his pale, mild face, as 
 pui'e as the most ideal creations of Raphael's pencil — for that divine 
 artist alone could have caught the melancholy gi'ace of those exquisite 
 features, the serenity of that celestial look, from eyes limpid and blue 
 as those of an archangel, or of a martyr ascended to the skies. 
 
 Yes, of a martyr ! for a blood-red halo ah'eady eucù'cled that 
 beauteous head. 
 
 Piteous sight to see ! just above his hght eyebrows, and rendered 
 still more visible by the effect of the cold, a naiTow cicatrix, from a 
 wound inflicted many months before, appeared to encompass his fah* 
 forehead with a purple liand ; and — still more sad! — his hands had 
 been cruelly pierced by a crucifixion; his feet had suffered the same 
 injury ; and, if he now walked with so much difficulty, it was because 
 his wounds had re-opened as he struggled over the sharp rocks.
 
 21(J THE WANDERING JEW. 
 
 This yoiinfj; man was Gabriel, the priest attached to tlie i'orei}::u 
 mission, the adopted son of Dagobert's wife. He was a priest and 
 martjT — for in our days there are still martyrs, as in tlie time when the 
 Cfesars flung the early Christians to the lions and tigers of the circus. 
 
 Yes, in our days the children of the people, — for it is almost 
 always amongst them that heroic and disinterested devotion may still 
 be found, — the children of the people, led by an honorable conviction, 
 because it is courageous and sincere, go to all parts of the world, to try 
 and propagate their faith, and brave both torture and death with the 
 most unpretending valor. How many of them, \-ictims of some barl larous 
 ti-ibe, have perished, obscure and unknown, in the midst of the solitudes 
 of the two worlds! And for these humlile soldiers of the cross, who 
 have nothing but their faith and their intrepidity, there is never 
 reserved on their return (and they seldom do return) the rich and suni])- 
 tuous dignities of the church. Never does the purple or the miter con- 
 ceal their scarred brows and mutilated limbs ; like the great majority 
 of soldiers under other flags, they die forgotten.» 
 
 In their ingenuous gratitude, the daughters of General Simon, as 
 soon as they recovered their senses after the shipwTeck and felt them- 
 selves able to ascend the cliffs, would not leave to any other person the 
 care of sustaining the faltering steps of him who had rescued them from 
 certain death. 
 
 The black garments of Rose and Blanche streamed with water ; their 
 faces were deadly pale, and expressive of deep giief ; the marks of 
 recent tears were on their cheeks, and, with sad, downcast eyes, tht>y 
 trembled both from agitation and cold as the agonizing thought 
 recmTed to them that they should never again see Dagobert, their friend 
 and giiide ; for it was to him that Ga]>nel had stretched forth a heli)ing 
 hand, to assist him to diml) the rocks. Unfortunately the strength of 
 both had failed, and the soldier had been carried away by a retreating 
 wave. 
 
 The sight of Gabriel was a fresh sm-prise for Rodin, who had retired 
 on one side, in order to ol^serve all ; Ijut this surprise was of so pleasant 
 a natiu-e, and he felt so much joy in beholding the missionary safe after 
 such imminent peril, tliat the painful impression caused by the view of 
 
 • We always remember with emotion the end of a letter written, two or three years 
 ago, by one of these young and valiant missionaries, the son of poor parents in Bcauce. 
 
 He was writing to his mother from the heart of Japan, and thus concluded his letter : 
 
 " Adieu, my dear mother! They say there is much danger where I am now sent to. 
 Pray for me, and tell all our good neighbors that I think of them verj- often." 
 
 These few words, addressed from the center of Asia to poor peasants in a hamlet of 
 France, are only the more touching from their very simplicity.
 
 THE WANDEKIFG JEW. 
 
 217 
 
 Oeneral Simon's daughters was a little softened. It must not be for- 
 gotten that the presence of Gabriel in Paris on the 13th of February 
 was essential to the success of Rodin's projects. 
 
 The bailiff and his wife, who were gi'eatly moved at sight of the 
 oi'j)haus, approached them with eagerness. Just then a farm-boy entered 
 the room, crying : 
 
 " Sir ! sir ! good news — two more saved from the wreck ! "
 
 1^ 1 s TUE M . I X i> /; A' rx<i .1 1: \v. 
 
 " Blessing aud praise to Uod for it !" said tlic iiiissionary. 
 
 " WLoro are they f " asked the bailiff, hasteuiiig toward tli(> door. 
 
 " There is cue who can walk, and is following Ix'hind me with Justin ; 
 the other was wounded against the rocks, and tliry are cai-rying him <in 
 a litter made of lirandies." 
 
 "I will run and have liim iilaccd in the room below," said the liailiff, 
 as he went out. " "Wife, you i-an look to the young ladies." 
 
 " Aud the shipwrecked man who can walk — where is he ?" asked tiie 
 bailiff's wife. 
 
 " Here he is," said the peasant, pointing to some one who came rapidly 
 along the gallery. " When he heard that tlie two young ladies were safe 
 in the t-hâteau, though he is old, and wonndi'd in tlie head, lie took sueli 
 gi-eat strides that it was all I could do to get here before him." 
 
 TTardly had the peasant pronounced these words when Rose and 
 Blanche, springing i;p by a common impulse, flew to tlu' door. They 
 arrived there at the same moment as Dagobert. The soldier, unable to 
 utter a syllable, fell on his knees at the threshold aud extended his arms 
 to the daughters of General Simon; while SjKi'ilspoyf, running to them, 
 licked their hands. But the emotion was too nmch for I)agol)ert, and 
 when he had clasped the oi-phans in his arms his head fell backward, 
 aud he would have sunk down altogether Ijut foi* the care of the peas- 
 ants. In spite of the observations of the bailiffs wife on their state of 
 weakness and agitation, the two young girls insisted on accompanying 
 Dagobert, who was carried fainting into an adjoining ai)artment. 
 
 At sight of the soldier Kodin's face was again violently contracted, 
 for he had till then believed that the guide of (ieneral Simon's danglitei-s 
 was dead. The missionary, worn out with fatigue, was leaning upon a 
 chair, and had not yet perceived Rodin. 
 
 A new personage, a man vnXh. a dead yellow complexion, now I'Uteicd 
 the room, accompanied by auf)ther peasant, who pointed out Gabriel to 
 him. This man, who had just borrowed a smock-frock and a pair of 
 trousei's, approached the missionaiy and said to him in French, but with 
 a foreign accent : 
 
 " Prince Djalma has just been brought in here. His first word was 
 to ask for you." 
 
 " What does that man say ?" cried Rodin in a voice of thunder, for at 
 the name of Djalma he had sprung with one Ijound to Gabriel's side. 
 
 " M. Rodin ! " exclaimed the missionary, falling back in surprise. 
 
 " M. Rodin ! " cried the other shipwrecked person ; and ïvmn that 
 moment he kept his eye fixed on the corresi)ondent of M. Van Dael. 
 
 "You here, sir-?" said Gabriel, approaching Rodin with an air of 
 deference, not unmixed with fear.
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 219 
 
 " AVTiat did that mau say to you F " rej^eated Eodiu in au excited toue. 
 " Did lie not utter the name of Prince Djalma ? " 
 
 " Yos, sir ; Prince Djahna was one of the passengers on board the 
 English ship which came from Alexandi-ia, and in which we have just 
 been wi-ecked. This vessel touched at the Azores, where I then was. 
 The ship that brought me from Charlestown lia\iiig been obliged to put 
 in there, and being likely to remain for some time on account of serious 
 damage, I embarked ou board the Black Eagle, where I met Prince 
 Djalma. We were bound to Portsmouth, and from thence my intention 
 was to proceed to Franco." 
 
 Rodiu did not care to interrui^t Gabriel. This new shock had 
 completely paralyzed liis tlioughts. At length, like a man wlio catches 
 at a last hope which he knows beforehand to be vain, he said to 
 Gabriel : 
 
 " Can you tell me who this Prince Djalma is ? " 
 
 "A young man as good as brave — the son of an East Indian king 
 dispossessed of his territory by the English." 
 
 Then tvirning toward the other shipwi-ecked man, the missionary 
 said to him, with anxious interest : 
 
 " How is the Prince ? are his wounds dangerous ? " 
 
 " They are serious contusions, but they will not be mortal," answered 
 the other, 
 
 " Heaven be praised ! " said the missionary, addressing Rodin ; " here, 
 you see, is another saved." 
 
 " So much the better," observed Rodin in a quick, imperious tone. 
 
 " I will go and see him," said Gabriel, submissively. " You have no 
 orders to give me ? " 
 
 " Will you be able to leave this place in two or three hoiu's, notwith- 
 standing your fatigues ? " 
 
 " If it be necessary — yes " 
 
 " It is necessary. You will go with me." 
 Gabriel only bowed in reply, and Rodin sank confounded into a 
 chair, while the missionary went out with the peasant. 
 
 The man with the sallow complexion still lingered in a corner of 
 the room, unperceived by Rodin. 
 
 This man was Faringhea, the half-caste, one of the three chiefs of 
 the Stranglers. Ha^dng escaped the pui'suit of the soldiers in the ruins 
 of Tchandi, he had killed Mahal the Smuggler and robbed him of the 
 dispatches written by M. Joshua Van Dael to Rodiu, as also of the letter 
 by which the Smuggler was to have been received as passenger on Ijoard 
 the Ruyter. When Faringhea left the hut in the ruins of Tchandi, he 
 had not been seen by Djalma ; and the latter, when he met him on ship-
 
 220 THE WAKDEBIKG JEW. 
 
 board, after bis escape (wbich we sball explain by and by), not knowing 
 that be Ijelonged to tbe sect of Pbausegars, treated bim during tbe 
 voyage as a fellow-countrjnnan. 
 
 Kodin, witb bis eye fixed and baggard, bis countenance of a Hvid 
 bue, biting bis nails to tbe (|uick in silent rage, did not perceive tbe 
 balf-caste, wbo (juietly approacbed bim, and laying bis baud familiarly 
 on bis .sboulder said to bim : 
 
 " Your naine is Kodin ? " 
 
 " Wbat now Ï " asked tbe otber, starting and raisiug his head abruptly. 
 
 " Youi" name is Rodin ? " repeated Faringbea. 
 
 " Yes. Wliat do you want ? " 
 
 "You live in tbe Rue du Milieu des Ursius, Paris?" 
 
 " Yes. But, once more, what do you want ? " 
 
 " Nothing now, brother ; hereafter much ! " 
 And Faringbea, retiring witb slow steps, left Rodin alarmed at wbat 
 bad passed; for this man, wbo scarcely trendjled at anything, bad 
 quailed before tbe dark look and gi-im visage of the Strangler.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE DEPARTtIKE FOE PARIS 
 
 HE most profound silence reigns throughout Cardoville 
 House. The tempest has hilled by degrees, and nothing is 
 heard from afar but the hoarse murmur of the waves as 
 they wash heavily the shore. 
 Dugobert and the orphans have been lodged in warm and comfort- 
 able apartments on the fii'st floor of the château. 
 
 Djalma, too severely hui't to be carried upstairs, has remained in a 
 room below. At the moment of the shipwreck a weeping mother had 
 l^laced her child in his arms. He had failed in the attempt to snatch 
 this unfortunate infant from certain death, but his generous devotion 
 had hampered his movements, and when thrown upon the rocks he was 
 almost dashed to jiieces. Faringhea, who has been able to convince 
 him of his affection, remains to watch over him. 
 
 Gabriel, after administering consolation to Djalma, has re-ascended 
 to the chamber allotted to him. Faitliful to the promise he made to 
 Rodin to be ready to set out in two hours, he has not gone to bed ; but, 
 having dried his clothes, he has fallen asleep in a large, high-backed arm- 
 chair, placed in front of a bright coal fire. His apartment is situated 
 near those occupied by Dagobert and the two sisters. 
 
 Spoilsport^ probably quite at his ease in so respectable a dwelhng, has 
 quitted the door of Rose and Blanche's chamber to lie down and warm 
 himself at the hearth, by the side of which the missionary is sleeping. 
 There, with his nose resting on his outstretched paws, he enjoys a feel- 
 ing of perfect comfort and repose, after so many perils by land and sea. 
 We ^\^ll not venture to affirm that he thinks hal>itually of poor old 
 JoridI, unless we recognize, as a token of remembrance on his part, his 
 irresistible propensity to bite all the white horses he has met with ever 
 since the death of his venerable companion, though before he was the 
 most inoffensive of dogs with regard to horses of every color.
 
 •Jl2J THE WAXDERTXG JKW. 
 
 Presently one of tlie doors of tlic chaiiilier opeiiod, and the two sis- 
 ters entered timidly. Awake for some minutes, they had risen and 
 dressed themselves, feeling still some uneasiness with respect to Dago- 
 bert. Tiiongh the bailitTs wife, after showing them to tlii'ii- room, had 
 returned again to tell them that the village doetor f(jund nolliing serious 
 in the bui't of the old soldier, still they hoped to meet some one belong- 
 ing to the château of whom tliey coid»! make further inquirii's about him. 
 The high back of the old-fashioned arm-chair in which (Jal)riel was 
 sleeping completely screened him from view; but the orphans, seeing 
 theii" canine friend lying (luietly at his feet, thought it was Dagobert 
 reposing thei-e, and hastened toward him on tiptoe. To their great 
 astonishment they saw Galiriel fast asleep, and stood still in confusion, 
 not daring to advance or recede, for fear of waking him. Tlie long, 
 light hair of the missionary was no longer wet, and now <-m-led naturally 
 round his neck and shouldei's; th(ï paleness of his complexion was the 
 more striking from the contrast atforded by the deep piiri)le of the 
 damask covering of the arm-chair. His beautiful countenance expressed 
 a jn'ofound melancholy, either causecl by the influence of some painful 
 dream or other that lie was in the haliit of kce})ing down, when awake, 
 or some sad regrets, which revealed themselves without his knowledge 
 when he was sleeping. NotwithstaTiding this apjiearance of bitter grief, 
 his features preserved their character of angelic sweetness and seemed 
 endowed with an inexj)ressible charm, for nothing is more touching than 
 suffering goodness. 
 
 The two yoUug girls cast dowu their eyes, blushed simultaneously, 
 and exchanged anxious glances, as if to point out to each other the 
 slumbering missionary. 
 
 " He sleeps, sister," said Rose in a low voice. 
 
 " So much the better," replied Blanche, also in a whispcn-, making a 
 sign of caution ; " we shall now be able to observe him well." 
 
 " Yes, for we durst not do so in coming from the sea hither." 
 
 "Look! what a sweet countenance!" 
 
 " He is just the same as we saw him in our dreams." 
 
 " When he promised he would protect us." 
 
 " And he has not failed us." 
 
 " But here, at least, he is visible." 
 
 " Not as it was in the prison at Leipsic, dm-ing that dark night." 
 
 " And so, he has again rescued us." 
 
 ""Without him, we should have perished this morning." 
 
 " And yet, sister, it seems to me that in our dreams his countenance 
 shone with light." 
 
 " Yes ; you know, it dazzled us to look at him."
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 223 
 
 " And then he had not so sad a mieu." 
 
 " That was because he came then from heaven ; now he is upon earth." 
 
 " But, sister, had he then that bright red scar round his forehead f " 
 
 " Oh, no ! we should certainly have perceived it." 
 
 " And these other marks on his hands f " 
 
 " If he has been wounded, how can he be an archangel ? " 
 
 " Why not, sister, if he received those wounds in preventing evil, oi- 
 in helping the unfortunate, who, like us, were about to perish ? " 
 
 " You are right. If he did not run any danger for those he protects, 
 it woidd be less noble." 
 
 " What a pity that he does not open his eyes ! " 
 
 " Their expression is so good, so tender ! " 
 
 " Why did he not speak of our mother ? " 
 
 " We were not alone with him ; he did not like to do so." 
 
 " But now we are alone." 
 
 " K we were to pray to him to speak to us ? " 
 The orphans looked doubtingly at each other, with charming sim- 
 plicity ; a bright glow suffused their cheeks, and their young lx)Soms 
 heaved gently beneath their black dresses. 
 
 " You are right. Let us kneel down to him." 
 
 " Oh, sister ! our hearts beat so ! " said Blanche — believing, rightly, 
 that Rose felt exactly as she did. " And yet it seems to do us good. It 
 is as if some happiness were going to befall us." 
 
 The sisters, having approached the arm-chair on tiptoe, knelt down 
 with clasped hands, one to the right, the other to the left of the young- 
 priest. It was a charming picture. Turning their lovely faces toward 
 him, they said in a low whisper, with a soft, sweet voice, well suited to 
 their youthful appearance : 
 
 " Gabriel ! speak to us of our mother ! " 
 On this appeal the missionary gave a slight start, haK opened his 
 eyes, and, still in a state of semi-consciousness, between sleep and wak- 
 ing, beheld those two beauteous faces tui-ned toward him and heard 
 two gentle voices repeat his name. 
 
 " Who calls me ? " said he, rousing himself and raising his head. 
 
 " It is Blanche and Rose." 
 It was now Ga])riel's turn to blush, for he recognized the young 
 girls he had saved. 
 
 "Rise, my sisters!" said he to them; "you should kneel only unto 
 God." 
 
 The orphans oljeyed, and were soon beside him, holding each other 
 by the hand. 
 
 " You know my name, it seems," said the missionary with a smile.
 
 224 THE WAXBEBiya JEW. 
 
 " Oh, wo bave uot foi-gotteu it ! " 
 
 " Who told it you Î " 
 
 " Yourst'lf." 
 
 "If" 
 
 "Yes — wlit'ii you came from our mother." 
 
 " To tell us she sent you to us, and that you would always protect us." 
 
 " I, my sisters ? " said the missionary, unable to comprehend the words 
 of the orphans. " You are mistaken. I saw you to-day for the tii'st 
 time." 
 
 " But in our dreams ? " 
 
 " Yes — do you not remember f — in our dreams." 
 
 "In Germany — three months ago, for tlie lii'st time. Look at us 
 well." 
 
 Gabriel could not help smiling at the simplicity of Rose and Blanche, 
 who expected him to remcmljer a dream of theirs. Growing more and 
 more perplexed, he repeated : 
 
 " In your dreams ? " 
 
 " Certainly ; when you gave us such good ad\'ice." 
 
 " And when we wei-e so soriowfid in i)i-ison, youi* words, which we 
 remembered, consoled us and gave us corn-age." 
 
 " Was it not you who delivered us from the prison at Leipsic, in that 
 dark night when we were not able to see you f " 
 
 " I ? " 
 
 " What other but you would thus have come to our help, and to that 
 of our old friend ? " 
 
 " We told him that you would love him because he loved us, although 
 he would not believe in angels." 
 
 " And this nnirning, during the tempest, we had hardly any fear." 
 
 " Because we expected you." 
 
 " This morning — yes, my sisters — it pleased Heaven to send me to 
 your assistance. I was coming from America, but I have never been in 
 Leipsic. I cotdd not, therefore, have let you out of prison. Tell me, 
 my sisters," added he with a benevolent smile, "for whom do you 
 take nie ? " 
 
 " For a good angel, whom we have seen already in dreams, sent by 
 our mother from heaven to protect us." 
 
 " My dear sisters, I am only a poor priest. It is by mere chance, no 
 doubt, that I bear some resemV)lance to the angel you have seen in your 
 dreams, and whom you could not see in any other manner — for angels 
 are uot visible to mortal eye." 
 
 " Angels are not visible ? " said the orphans, looking soiTowf ull>- at 
 each other.
 
 THE WAX DE RI XG J FAY. 
 
 225 
 
 " Xo matter, my dear sisti.Ts," said Gabriel, taking them affectionately 
 liy the hand ; " di-eams, like everything else, come from above. Since 
 the remembrance of your mother was mixed up with this di-eam, it is 
 twice blessed." 
 
 Nv^^^>--^.^'^"^C: 
 
 At this moment a door opened and Dagobert made his appearance. 
 Up to this time the oi-phans, in their innocent ambition to be pro- 
 tected by an archangel, had quite forgotten the eii-cumstance that
 
 226 THE WAMUCklMJ JEW. 
 
 DafTobort's wifo liad adoptod a forsakon cliild, wlio was called rîalirifl, 
 and wlio was now a jiriest and missionary. 
 
 The soldier, though obstinate in maintaining: that his hurt was only 
 a hhnih inno/d (to use a term of General Simon's), had allowed it to be 
 earet'ully dressed l)y the surgeon of the village, and now wore a blaek 
 bandage, which concealed one-half of his forehead and added to the nat- 
 ural grimuess of his featm-es. On entering the room, ho was not a lit- 
 tle surjn-ised to see a stranger holding the hands of Kose and lîlanehc 
 familiarh' in his own. This surprise was natural, for Dagoliert did 
 not know that the missionary had saved the lives of the orphans, ami 
 had attempted to save his also. In th<> midst of the storm, tossed about 
 by the waves, and vainly striving to cling to the rocks, the .soldier had 
 only seen Gabriel very imperfectly at the moment when, having 
 snatched the sisters from certain death, the young priest had fruitlessly 
 endeavored to come to his aid. And when, after the shipwri'ck, Dago- 
 bert had found the orphans in safety beneath the roof of tiie Mauoi- 
 House, he fell, as we have already stated, into a swoon, caused by 
 fatigu<% emotion, and the effects of his wound — so that he had again no 
 opportunity of observing the features of the missionary. The veteran 
 began to frown from beneath his black bandage and thick, gray brows, 
 at beholding a stranger so familiar with Rose and Blanche ; but the 
 sisters ran to throw themselves into his arms, and to cover him with 
 filial caresses. His anger was soon dissipated by these marks of affec- 
 tion, though he continued fvoni time to time to cast a suspicious glance 
 at the missionary, who had risen fiom his seat, but whose countenance 
 he could not well distinguish. 
 
 "How is your wound?" asked Rose, anxiously. "They told us it 
 was not dangerous." 
 
 "Does it still pain?" added Blanche. 
 
 "No, cliildren ; the surgeon of the tillage would bandage me up in 
 this manner. If my head had been furrowed with saber-cuts, I could 
 not have more wrappings. They will take me for an old milksop ; it is 
 
 only a blank wound, and I have a good mind to " 
 
 And therewith the soldier raised one of his hands to the bandage. 
 
 " Will you leave that alone f " cried Rose, catching his arm. " How 
 can you be so unreasonable — at your age ?" 
 
 "Well, well! don't scold! I will do what you wish, and keep it on." 
 Then, drawing the sisters to one end of the room, he said to them in a 
 low voice, while he looked at the young [yriest from th<' corner of his eye : 
 
 "Who is that gentleman who was holding your hands when I came 
 in .' He has very much the look of a parson. You see, my children, 
 you must be on yom* guard ; because "
 
 TUE WAX DUE ISO JEW. 227 
 
 " He ? " cried both sisters at once, turning toward Gabriel. " With- 
 out him, we should not now be here to kiss you." 
 
 " What's that ? " cried the soldier, suddenly di-awing up his tall tigui-e 
 and gazing full at the missionary. 
 
 " It is our guardian angel," resumed Blanche. 
 
 " Without him," said Rose, " we must have perished this morning in 
 the shipwreck." 
 
 "Ah! it is he, who " 
 
 Dagobert could say no more. With swelling heart and tears iu his 
 eyes he ran to the missionary, offered him both his hands, and exclaimed 
 in a tone of gratitude impossible to describe : 
 
 " Sh-, I owe you the lives of these two chUdren. I feel what a debt 
 that serWce lays upon me. I will not say more, because it includes 
 everything." 
 
 Then, as if struck with a sudilcii recollection, he cried : 
 
 " Stop ! when I was trying to cling to a rock, so as not to be canned 
 away by the waves, was it not you that held out your hand to me ? 
 Yes ! That light hah-, that youthful countenance. Yes, it was certainly 
 you — now I am sure of it !" 
 
 " Unhappily, sir, my strength failed me, and I had the anguish to see 
 you fall back into the sea." 
 
 " I can say nothing more in the way of thanks than what I have 
 ah'eady said," answered Dagobert, with touching simj^licity. " In 
 preser\'ing these chilcb'en you have done more for me than if you 
 had saved my own life. But what heart and courage!" added 
 the soldier, ■with achniration ; " and so young, with such a girlish 
 look ! " 
 
 "And so," cried Blanche, joj'fully, "our Grabriel came to your aid 
 also?" 
 
 " Galjriel ! " said Dagobert, interrupting Blanche, and addi'essing him- 
 self to the pi-iest. " Is your name Gabriel ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Gabriel ! " repeated the soldier, more and more surprised. " And a 
 priest ! " added he. 
 
 " A priest of the foreign missions." 
 
 "Who — who brought you upf" asked the soldier, with increasing 
 astonishment. 
 
 " An exceUeut and generous woman whom I revere as the best of 
 mothers, for she had pity on me, a deserted infant, and treated me ever 
 as her son." 
 
 " Françoise Baudoin — was it not ? " said the soldier, with deep emo- 
 tion.
 
 228 THE \VA\ l>EKIX(l .1 i:\V. 
 
 " It was, sir," aiiswcivd (ialn-id, astonished in his turn. " Hut how do 
 you know this .' " 
 
 "The wife of a soldier, eh ?" eontinued Dagobert. 
 
 "Yes, of a biavc soldiei-, who, from tlio most a<lniiraMe devotion, is 
 even now passing his Hfe in exik', far from his wife, far from his son, 
 my dear brother — for I am proud to call liim by that name " 
 
 " My Agi-icola ! My wife ! When did you leave them ? " 
 
 " What ! Is it possible ! You th.- father of Agi-ioola ? Oh ! I knew 
 not until now," cried Gabriel, elasping his hands togetlu'r, — " 1 knew not 
 all the gi-atitude that I owe to Heaven ! " 
 
 " And my Avife ! my child !" resumed Dairobert, in a trembling voice. 
 " How ai-e tiiey ? Have you news of them ;"" 
 
 " The aceouuts I received three months ago were excellent." 
 
 " No, it is too much ! " cried Dago])ert ; " it is too much." The veteran 
 was unable to ]iroceed ; his feelings stifled his words, and he fell liack 
 exhausted in a chair. 
 
 And now Rose and Blanche recalled to mind that portion of their 
 father's letter which related to the child named <labrie1, whom the wife 
 of Dagobert had ailojited; then they also yielded to transports of inno- 
 cent joy. 
 
 " Our Gabriel is the same as yours ! Wliat ha)i]nness ! " cried Rose. 
 
 " Yes, my children ! he belongs to you as well as to me. We have all 
 our part in him." Then, addressing Galtriel, the soldier added with 
 atïectionate warmth : 
 
 " Your hand, my lirave l)oy ! give me your iiand ! " 
 
 " Oh, sir ! you are too good to me ! " 
 
 " Yes, that's it — thank me, after all thou hast done for us ! " 
 
 " Does my adopted mother know of your return ? " asked Gabriel, anx- 
 ious to escape from the praises of the soldier. 
 
 " I wrote to her five months since, but said that I shoidd come alone. 
 There was a reason for it, which I will explain by and l)y. Does she 
 still live in the Rue Brise-Miche? It was there Agricola was born." 
 
 " She still Hves there." 
 
 "In that case she must have received my letter. I wishe(l to write 
 to her from the prison at Leipsic, but it was impossible." 
 
 " From prison ! Have you just come out of jirison ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I come straight from Gennany, by the Elbe and Hamburg, and 
 I should be still at Leipsic but for an event which the devil must have 
 had a hand in — a good sort of devil, though." 
 
 " What do you mean ? Pray exjilaiu to me." 
 
 " That would be difficult, for I cannot explain it to myself. These 
 little ladies," he added, pointing with a smile to Rose and Blanche,
 
 THE WANDERING ./Air. 229 
 
 " pretended to know more about it than I did, and were continually 
 repeating, ' It was the angel that came to our assistance, Dagobert — 
 the good angel we told thee of — though you said you would rather have 
 Spoilsport to defend us ' " 
 
 " Gabriel, I am waiting for you," said a stem voice, which made the 
 missionary start. 
 
 They all turned round instantly, while the dog uttered a deep growl. 
 It was Rodin. He stood in the doorway leading to the corridor. His 
 featm-es were cakn and impassive, but he darted a rajjid, piercing glance 
 at the soldier and the sisters. 
 
 " Who is that man ? " said Dagobert, very little prepossessed in favor 
 of Rodin, whose countenance he found singularly repulsive. " AVhat 
 the mischief does he want ? " 
 
 " I must go with liini," answered ClaVniel, in a tone of sorrowful con- 
 straint. Then, tuiniug to Rodin, he added, " A thousand pardons ! I 
 shall be ready in a moment." 
 
 " ^Vhat ! " ci'ied Dagobert, stupefied with amazement, " going the very 
 instant we have just met I No, by my faith ! you shall not go. I have 
 too much to tell you, and to ask in return. We will make the journey 
 together. It will be a real treat for me." 
 
 " It is impossible. He is my superior, and I must obey him." 
 
 " Your superior I Why, he's in citizen's dress." 
 
 " He is not obliged to wear the ecclesiastical garb." 
 
 " Rubbish ! since he is not in uniform, and there is no provost-mar- 
 shal in your troop, send him to the " 
 
 " Believe me, I would not hesitate a minute, if it were possible to 
 I'emain." 
 
 " I was right in disliking the looks of that man," muttered Dagol)ert 
 between his teeth. Then he added, with an au' of impatience and 
 vexation : 
 
 " Shall I teU him that he will much oblige us by marching off by 
 himself ? " 
 
 " I beg you not to do so," said Gabriel ; " it would be useless ; I know 
 my duty, and have no will but my superior's. As soon as you arrive in 
 Paris I wiU come and see you, as also my adopted mother, and my dear 
 brother, Agricola." 
 
 " Well, if it must be. I have been a soldier, and know what subordi- 
 nation is," said Dagobert, much annoyed. " One must put a good face 
 on bad fortune. So the day after to-morrow, in the Rue Brise-Miche, 
 my boy; for they tell me I can be in Paris by to-morrow evening, and 
 we set out almost immediately. But, I say — there seems to be a strict 
 discipline with you fellows ! "
 
 230 THE WANDERING JEW. 
 
 " Yes, it is strict aud severe," answered Gabriel with a shudder aud a 
 stifled sigh. 
 
 " Come, shake hands, and let's say farewell for the present. After all, 
 twenty-four hours will soon pass away." 
 
 "Adieu! adieu!" replied the missionary, much moved, while he 
 returned the friendly pressure of the veteran's hand. 
 
 " Adieu, Gabriel ! " added the orphans, sighing also, and with tears in 
 theii' eyes. 
 
 " Adieu, my sisters ! " said Gabriel ; and he left the room with Rodin, 
 who had not lost a word or an incident of this scene. 
 
 Two hours after, Dagobort and the orphans had ([uitted the castle 
 for Paris, not knowing that Djalma was left at Cardoville, being still too 
 niucli injured to proceed on his journey. 
 
 The half-caste, Faringlica, remained with the young prince — not 
 wishing, he said, to desert a fellow-countryman. 
 
 We now conduct the reader to the Rue Brise-Miche, the residence of 
 Dagobert's wife.
 
 PART V 
 
 THE RITE BRISE-MICHE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 dagobeet's wife 
 
 HE followlug scenes occiir in Paris on the morrow of 
 the day when the shipwa-ecked travelers were received 
 in the châtean of Cardo\'ille. 
 
 Nothing can be more gloomy than the aspect of 
 the Rue Brise-Miche, one end of which leads into the 
 Rue Saint-MeiTy, and the other into the little square 
 of the Cloister, near the chiu'ch. At this end, the 
 <^^^JY^ ^ < ^;^;^ street, or rather alley, — for it is not more than eight 
 *; ^^/ feet wide, — is shut in between immense black, muddy 
 
 . dilapidated walls, the excessive height of which 
 
 excludes both air and light. Hardly, during the longest days of the 
 yeai", is the sun able to throw into it a few straggling beams ; while dur- 
 ing the cold damps of winter, a chilling fog, which seems to penetrate 
 everything, hangs constantly above the mu-y pavement of this species of 
 oblong well. 
 
 It was about eight o'clock in the evening ; by the faint, reddish light 
 of the street lamp, hardly ^-isible through the haze, two men, sto])ping 
 at the angle of one of those enormous waUs, exchanged a few words 
 together. 
 
 " So," said one, " you understand all about it. You are to watch in 
 the street till you see them enter No. 5." 
 " All right ! " answered the other. 
 
 " And when you see 'em enter, so as to make qiiite sure of the game, 
 go up to Franr-oise Baudoin's room "
 
 2:52 THE WAX DE RING -IIAV. 
 
 " I'lidrr tlir cloak of asking- where the Httle huini)li;(eke(l woi'k-womaii 
 lives — the sister of that gay girl, the Bacchanal Qnvniy 
 
 "Yes, and you iimst try and liiid out her address also, — from her 
 humpbacked sister, if possil)le, — for it is very important. "Women of 
 her feather change their nests like liirds, and we have lost track of her." 
 
 " Make yourself easy ; I will do my l)e.si,\viili llumiiy, to learn where 
 her sister lives." 
 
 "And to give yon courage, I'll wait for you at the tavern opposite the 
 Cloister, and we'll have a glass of hot wine on your retui-n." 
 
 " I'll not refuse, for the night is deueedly cold." 
 
 " Don't mention it! This morning the water froze on my spriid<ling- 
 Ijrush, and I turned as stiff as a nnnumy in my cliair ;it thi' church-door. 
 Ah, my boy! a distributer of holy water is not always upon roses !" 
 
 " Luckily, you have the i)ickings " 
 
 " "Well, well — good luck to you ! Don't forget No. 5, the little passage 
 next to the dyer's shop." 
 
 "Yes, yes — all right!" and the two men separate<1. 
 One proceeded to the Cloister Scjuare; the othi'r toward the farther 
 end of till» street, where it led into the Kue Saint-Merry. This latter 
 soon found the ntunherof the h()use he sought — a tall, nai'row liuilding, 
 having, like all the other houses in the street, a ])oor and wretcheil 
 appearance. When he saw he was right, the man connnenced walking 
 backward and forward in front of the door of No. 5. 
 
 If the exterior of these l)nildings was uninviting, the gloom and 
 squalor of the intei'ior cannot be described. The house No. ô was in a 
 special degree dirty and dilapidated. The water which oozed from the 
 wall trickled down the dark and filthj^ staircase. On the second flooi", 
 a wisp of straw had l)oeu laid on the narrow hm(liiig-])la.*e for wiping 
 the feet on; but this straw, being now tpdte rotten, only served to aug- 
 ment the sickening odor which arose from want of air, from damp, and 
 from the putrid exhalations of the drains. The few o])enings, cut at 
 rare intervals in the walls of the staircase, cf)uld hardly admit more 
 than some faint rays of glimmering light. 
 
 In this quartei', one of the most populous in Pai-is, such houses as 
 these, poor, cheerless, and unhealthy, are generally iidiabited by the 
 working classes. The house in question was of the nundjer. A dyer 
 occupied the gi-ouud-floor; the deleterious vapors arising fi-om his vats 
 added to the stench of the whole building. 
 
 On the upper stories several artisans lodged with their fannlies, or 
 carried on their ditferent trades. Up four flights of stairs was the lodg- 
 ing of Françoise Baudoin, wife of Dagobert. It consisted of one room, 
 with a closet adjoining, and was now lighted by a single candle. Agric-
 
 THE WANDERIXG JEW. 
 
 235 
 
 ola occupied a garret iu the roof. Old grayish paper, broken here and 
 there \>j the cracks, covered the crazy wall, against which rested the 
 bed ; scanty curtains, running upon an iron rod, concealed the windows ; 
 
 the Ijrick floor, not polished, but often washed, had preserved its natimil 
 color. At one end of this room was a round iron stove, with a large pot 
 for culinary purposes. On the wooden table, painted yellow, marbled 
 with l)rown, stood a miniatun» house made of iron — a masterpiece of
 
 2,34 THE WAXDERINO JEW. 
 
 patit'uco ami skill, made and liut togi'thur by Aj^ricola Baudoin, Dago- 
 bert's son. 
 
 A plaster crucifix, hung up against the wall, surrounded by several 
 1)i'anch(\s of consecrated box-tree, and various images of saints, very 
 coarsely colore(l, bore witness to the devotional habits of tlie soldier's 
 wife. Between the windows stood one of those old walnut-wood presses, 
 curiously fashioned, and almost black with time. An old arm-chair, 
 covered with green cotton velvet (Agricola's first present to his mother), 
 a few rush-bottomed chairs, an<l a work-tal)le on which lay several bags 
 of coarse, brown cloth, completed the furniture of this room, badly 
 secured by a worm-eaten door. The adjoining clo.set contained a f(>w 
 kitchen and liouseliold utensils. 
 
 Mean and jxior as this interior may perhaps appear, it would not 
 seem so to the greater number of artisans; for the IkmI was supjilied 
 with two mattresses, clean siieets, and a warm counteipane ; the old- 
 fashioned i>ress contained linen. 
 
 Moreover, Dagobert's wif(^ occupied, all to herself, a room as large as 
 those in wliich numerous families, lielonging to honest and laborious 
 workmen, often live and sh'e]> huddled togethi-r — only too hapi)y if th(* 
 boys and girls can have separate beds, or if the sheets and blankets are 
 not pledged at the pawnbrokei-'s. 
 
 Fran<,*oise Baudoin, seated beside the small stove, which, in tiie cold 
 and damp weather, yielded but little warmth, was busied in i>reparing 
 her son Agricola's evening meal. Dagobert's wife was about fifty years 
 of age. She wore a close jacket of blue cotton, with white flowers on it, 
 and a stuff petticoat ; a white handkerchief was tied round her head, 
 and fastened under the chin. lier countenance was pale and meager, 
 the featm'es regular, and expressive of resignation and great kindness. 
 It would have been difhcult to find a better, a more com-ageous mother. 
 AVith no re.source but her labor, she had succeeded by unwearied energy 
 in bringing up not only her own son Agricola, but also (Tabriel, the 
 poor deserted child of whom, with admirable devotion, she had ventured 
 to take charge. In her youth she had, as it were, anticipated tin* 
 strength of later life by twelve years of incessant toil, made to pay only 
 by the most \nolent exertions, and accompanied by such ])i-ivatioiis 
 as rendered it almost suicidal. Then (for it was a time of sj)lendid 
 wages, compared to the present), by sleepless nights and constant 
 labor, she contrived to earn about half a dollar (fifty sous) a day, and 
 with this she managed to educate her son and her ado))ted child. 
 
 At the end of these twelve years her health was ruined and her 
 strength nearly exhausted ; but, at all events, her boys had wanted 
 for nothing, and had received such an education as children of the
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 235 
 
 people can obtaiu. About this time M. François Hardy took Agricola 
 as an apprentice, and Gabriel prepared to enter the priests' seminary 
 under the active patronage of Eodin, whose communications with the 
 confessor of Françoise Baucloin had become very frequent about the 
 year 1820. 
 
 This woman (whose piety had always been excessive though not 
 intelUgent) was one of those simple natures, endowed with extreme good- 
 ness, whose self-denial approaches to heroism, and who devote them- 
 selves in obscuiity to a life of martjTdom — pm-e and heavenly minds, 
 in whom the instincts of the heart supplj^ the place of the intellect. 
 The only defect, or rather the necessary consequence of this extreme 
 simphcity of character, was the invincible determination she displayed 
 in yielding to the commands of her confessor, to whose influence she 
 had now for many years been accustomed to submit. She regarded this 
 influence as most venerable and sacred ; no mortal power, no human 
 consideration, could have prevented her from obejàng it. Did any 
 dispute arise on the subject, nothing could move her on this point. 
 She opposed to every argument a resistance entirely free from passion — 
 mild as her disposition, calm as her conscience, but, like the latter, not 
 to Ije shaken. In a word, Françoise Baudoin was one of those pure but 
 uiiiiistructed and credulous beings who may sometimes, in skillful 
 and daugei'ous hands, become, without knowing it, the instruments of 
 much evil. 
 
 For some time past the bad state of her health, and particularly the 
 increasing weakness of her sight, had condemned her to a forced repose ; 
 unable to work more than two or three hours a day, she consumed the 
 rest of her time at church. 
 
 After a few m( )ments she rose from her seat, pushed the coarse bags 
 at which she had been working to the farther end of the table, and pro- 
 ceeded to lay the cloth for her son's supper with maternal care and 
 solicitude. She took from the press a small leathern bag containing an 
 old silver cup, very much battered, and a fork and spoon so worn and 
 thin that the latter cut like a knife. These, her ovAy pJ ate (the wedding- 
 present of Dagobert), she rubbed and polished as well as she was able, 
 and laid by the side of her son's plate. They were the most precious 
 of her possessions, not so much for what little intrinsic value might 
 attach to them as for the associations they recalled ; and she had often 
 shed bitter tears when, imder the pressure of illness or want of employ- 
 ment, she had been compelled to carry these sacred treasures to the 
 pawnbroker's. 
 
 She next took, from the lower shelf of the press, a bottle of water, 
 and one of wine aljout three-quarters full, which she also placed near
 
 236 TUK \VAM>EliISiJ JEW. 
 
 her son's plato ; she tlioii rctuniod to tlio stov(>, to wiitdi tlio cookiiio; of 
 the suppiT. 
 
 Though Agricola was not iiiu<-li later tliaii usual, the oounteuance 
 of his luothi'r expressed both uneasiness and grief; one might liave 
 seen, by the redness of her eyes, that she had been weeping a good 
 deal. After long and painful uncertainty, the poor woman had just 
 arrived at the conviction that her eye-sight, which had been growing 
 weaker and weaker, would soon be so much imjiaired as to prevent her 
 working even tlie two or thive hours a day which had lately been the 
 extent of her labors. Originally an excellent hand at her needle, she 
 had been obliged, as hei- eye-sight gradually failed her, to abandon the 
 finer for the coarser sorts of work, and her earnings had necessarily 
 diminished in proportion ; she had at length been reduced to the neces- 
 sity of making those coarse bags for the army which took al)out four 
 yai'ds of sewing, and were paid at the rate of two sous each, she )iav- 
 ing to liiid her own thread. This work being very hard, slie could at 
 most complete three such bags in a day, and her gains thus amounted 
 to six sous! 
 
 It makes one sliudder to thiidc of the great number of unhappy 
 females whose strength has been so much exhausted by iirivations, old 
 age, or sickness that all tlie laljor of whi<'h they are capalile hardly 
 .suffices to bring them in daily tins miserai )le pittance. Thus do their 
 gains diiniiiisli in exact i)roi)ortiou to the increasing wants which age 
 and infii-mity must occasion. 
 
 IIa])])ily, Françoise had an efficient support in her son. A fii'st-rate 
 workman, profiting l)y the just scale of wages adopted Ijy M. Hardy, his 
 labor brought him from five to six francs a day — more than double 
 what was gained by the workmen of many other establishments. Admit- 
 ting, therefore, that his mother were to gain nothing, he could easily 
 maintain lioth her and hiniselt'. 
 
 But the poor woman, so wonderfully economical that she denied her- 
 self even some of the necessaries of life, had of late liecome ruinously lib- 
 eral on the score of the sacristy, .since she had adopted the liabit of visiting 
 daily the parish church. Scarcely a day passed but she had masses 
 sung or tapers burnt, either for Dagobert, from whom she had been so 
 long separated, or for the salvatioTi of her son Agricola, whom she con- 
 sidered on the high road to perdition. Agricola had an excellent heart, 
 so loved and revered his mother, and considered her actions in this 
 respect inspii-ed by so touching a sentiment that he never c()m})lained 
 when he saw a great part of his week's wages (which he paid regularly 
 over to his mother every Saturday) disappear in pious forms. Yet now 
 and then he ventured to remark to her, with as much respect as tender-
 
 TUE WAXBERIXG JEW. 237 
 
 ness, that it pained him to see lier enduriiif? ])rivation.s injurious at her 
 age, because she preferred inourring tliese devotional expenses. But 
 what answer could he make to this excellent mother when she replied, 
 with tears : 
 
 " My child, 'tis for the salvation of your father, and yours, too." 
 To dispute the efficacy of masses would have been venturing on a 
 subject which Agricola, through respect for his mother's rehgious faith, 
 never discussed. He contented himself, therefore, to seeing her dis- 
 pense with comforts she might have enjoyed. 
 A discreet tap was heard at the door. 
 " Come in," said Françoise. 
 The person came in.
 
 CIIAPTEK IT 
 
 THE SISTEK OF THE BACCHANAL QUEEN 
 
 HE person who now entered was a ff\v\ of aliont cif^liteen, 
 sliort, aud very much defonnod. Though not exactly a 
 liuncliback, lier s\nm' was curved, lier breast was sunken, 
 and her head deeply set in the shoulders. Her face was 
 regular, l)Utlong, thin, very pale, and pitted with the smallpox ; yet it 
 exi)ressed great sweetness and melancholy. Her hlue eyes beamed with 
 kindness and intelligence. By a strange freak of nature, the hand- 
 somest woman wcndd have been proud of the magnificent hair twisted 
 in a coarse net at the back of her head. She held an old l)asket in her 
 hand. Though miserably clad, the care aud neatness of her dress 
 revealed a powerful struggle •«nth her ])Overty. Notwithstanding the cold, 
 .she wore a scanty frock made of print of an indefinable color, spotted 
 with white; but it had been so often washed that its ])rimitive design 
 and color had long since disajipeared. In her resigned yet suifering 
 face might be read a long familiarity with every form of sutïering, every 
 description of taunting. From her birth, ridicule had ever pui-sued 
 her. We have said that she was very deformed, and she was vulgarly 
 called " iVIother Bunch." Indeed it was so usual to give her this gro- 
 tesque name, which every moment reminded her of her infiiinity, that 
 Françoise and Agi'icola, though they felt as much compassion as other 
 people showed contempt for her, never called her, however, by any 
 other name. 
 
 Mother Bunch, as we shall therefore call her in futin-e, was born in 
 the house in which Dagobert's wife had resided for more than twenty 
 years ; and she had, as it wei-e, been brought up with Agiieola and 
 Galniel. There are wi-etches fatally doomed to misery. ^Mother Bunch 
 had a very i)retty sister, on whom Perrine Soliveau, their common 
 mother, the widow of a ruined tradesman, had concenti-ated all her lilind 
 and absm-d affection, while she treated her defoi-med child with con- 
 tempt and unkindness.
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JE^V. 239 
 
 The latter would often come weeping to Françoise on this account, 
 who tried to console her, and in the long evenings amused her by teach- 
 ing her to read and sew. 
 
 Accustomed to pity her by their mother's examj^le, instead of imitat- 
 ing other children, who always taunted and sometimes even beat her, 
 Agricola and Gabriel liked her, and used to protect and defend her. She 
 was about fifteen, and her sister Cephyse was about seventeen, when 
 their mother died, leaving them l)otli in utter poverty. Cephyse was 
 intelligent, active, clever, l)ut différent to her sister ; she had the lively, 
 alert, stirring character, with superabundant life, which reqtdres aii', 
 exercise, and pleasm-es — a good girl enough, but foolishly spoiled by 
 her mother. Cephyse, listening at first to Françoise's good advice, 
 resigned herself to her lot ; and, ha^^ng learned to sew, worked, like her 
 sister, for about a year. But, unable to endm-e any longer the bitter 
 privations her insignificant earnings, notwithstanding her incessant toil, 
 exposed her to, — privations which often bordered on starvation, — 
 Cephyse, young, pretty, of warm temperament, and surrounded by 
 brilliant offers and seductions — briUiant, indeed, for her, since they 
 ottered food to satisfy her hunger, shelter from the cold, and decent 
 raiment, without being obliged to work fifteen hours a day in an obscui'e 
 and unwholesome hovel — Cephyse listened to the vows of a young 
 lawyer's clei-k, who forsook her soon after. She formed a connection 
 Avitli another clerk, whom she (instructed by the examples set her) for- 
 sook in turn for a traveling salesman, whom she afterward cast off for 
 other favorites. In a word, what with changing and being forsaken, 
 Cephyse in the course of one or two years was the idol of a set of gris- 
 ettes, students, and clerks, and acquired such a reputation at the baUs 
 of the Barriers, by her decision of character, original turn of mind, and 
 unwearied ardor in all kinds of pleasures, and especially her wild, noisy 
 gayety, that she was termed the BarclidiKtl (Jkcin, and p>roved herself in 
 every way worthy of this bewildering royalty. 
 
 From that time poor Mother Bunch only heard of her sister at rare 
 intervals. She still mourned for her and continued to toil hard to gain 
 her fom- francs a week. The unfortunate ghi, ha^'iug been taught sew- 
 ing by Françoise, made coarse shirts for the common people and the 
 army. For these she received three francs a dozen. They had to be 
 hemmed, stitched, proWded with collars and wristbands, buttons, and 
 button-holes; and at the most, when at work twelve or fifteen hours a 
 day, she rarely succeeded in turning out more than fourteen or sixteen 
 shirts a week — an excessive amomit of toil that brought her in about 
 seventy-five cents a week. And the case of this poor girl was neither 
 accidental nor uncommon ; and this, because the remuneration given for
 
 240 TUE ]VAM>j:Uiy(l JEW. 
 
 women's work is an oxaniplo of vovoltin»; injustice iind savajjo havliav- 
 isni. They arc paid not liait' as much as men who aie emi)loye(l at the 
 needle, — such as tailors and makers of gloves or waistcoats, etc., — no 
 doulit liecanse women can work as well as men, hecause thoy ai"e moi'o 
 weak and delicate, and because their need may lie twofold as great when 
 they become mothers. 
 
 Well, Mother Buncli livecl on seventy-five cents a week. 
 
 That is to say, toiling liard for twelve or fifteen hours every day, 
 she succeeded in keeping heix'lf alive in spite of exjiosure to hungei', 
 eold,and poverty — so numerous were h( r lu-ivations. I'rixalionsf No! 
 
 I'rirafioi/ expresses but weakly that constant and terrilile want of all 
 that is necessary to preserve the existence (rod gives, — namely, whole- 
 some air and shelter, sufficient and nf)urisliing food, and warm clothing. 
 
 Mortification would be a l)et1( r word to describe that total want of 
 all that is essentially vital which a justly organized state of society 
 ought — yes — ought necessarily to bestow on every active, honest work- 
 man and woik-woman, since civilization has dispossessed them of all ter- 
 I'itorial right, and left them no other jiatrimony than their hands. 
 
 The savage does not enjoy the advantage of civilization ; l)ut ho 
 has, at least, the beasts of the field, the fowls of the aii-, the fish of the 
 sea, and the fruits of the earth to feed him, and his native woods for 
 shelter and for fuel. 
 
 The civilized man, disinherited of th(>se gifts, considering the rights 
 of property as sacred, may, in i-cturn for his hard daily labor, which 
 enriches his country, demand wages that will enal)le him to live in the 
 enjoyment of health — nothing more and nothing less. For, is it living 
 to drag along on the extreme edge which separates life from the grave, 
 and even there continually struggle against cold, hunger, and disease ? 
 
 And to show how far the mortification wliich society imposes thus 
 inexorably on its millions of honest, industrious laborers (I )y its careless 
 disregard of all tlie (piestions which concern the just rennineration of 
 labor) may extend, we will describe how this poor giil contrived to live 
 on seventy-five cents a week. 
 
 Society, perhaps, may then feel its ol)ligation to so many unfoitu- 
 nate wretches for supporting, with resignation, the horrible existence 
 which leaves them just sufficient life to feel the worst pangs of 
 humanity. 
 
 Yes, to live at such a price is virtue ! Yes, society thus organized, 
 whether it tol(>i-ates or imposes so much misery, loses all right to blame 
 the poor ■svTetches who sell themselves, not through debauchery, but 
 because they are cold and famishing. 
 
 This poor girl spent hei' wages as follows:
 
 MOTIIKI; p.rxcH.
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JE^y. 243 
 
 Six pounds of bread, second quality 84 centimes 
 
 Four pails of water 20 " 
 
 Lard or diipping (butter being out of the question) 50 " 
 
 Coarse salt 7 '' 
 
 A bushel of charcoal 40 " 
 
 A quart of dried beans 30 " 
 
 Three quarts of potatoes 20 " 
 
 Light 33 " 
 
 Thread and needles 25 " 
 
 Total francs 3 09 
 
 To save coal, Mother Bmieli prepared soup only two or three times 
 a week at most, on a stove that stood on the landing of the foui-th story. 
 On other days she ate it cold. There remained ninety-one centimes a 
 week for clothes and lodging. 
 
 By rare good fortune, her situation was in one respect an excej^tion 
 to the lot of many others. Agricola, tliat he might not wound her 
 delicacy, had come to a secret arrangement with the housekeeper, and 
 liired a garret for her just large enough to hold a small bed, a chair, and 
 a table for which the seamstress had to pay twelve francs a year. But 
 Agi'icola, in fulfillment of his agreement with the porter, paid the bal- 
 ance, to make up the actual rent of the garret, which was thirty francs. 
 The lîoor girl had thus about one franc seventy centimes a month left 
 for her other expenses. 
 
 But many work-women, whose position is less fortunate than hers, 
 since they have neither home nor family, buy a piece of ])read and some 
 other food to keep them through the day, and at night patronize the 
 " two-penny rope," one with another, in a Avretched room containing 
 five or six beds, some of which are always engaged by men, as male 
 lodgers are by far the most abimdant. 
 
 Yes ; and in spite of the disgust that a poor and virtuous girl must 
 feel at this arrangement, she must submit to it ; for a lodging-house 
 keeper cannot have separate rooms for females. 
 
 To furnish a room, however meanly, the poor work-woman must 
 possess thû'ty or forty francs in ready money. 
 
 But how save this sum out of weekly earnings of four or five francs, 
 which are scarcely sufficient to keep her from starving, and are still less 
 sufficient to clothe her ? 
 
 No ! no ! The poor wretch must resign herself to this repugnant 
 cohabitation ; and so, graduall,y the instinct of modesty becomes 
 weakened ; the natural sentiment of chastity, that saved her from the 
 "gay life," becomes extinct; vice appears to be the only means of 
 improving her intolerable condition ; she yields ; and the first stock-
 
 244 TUE WAMUCiiiya jew. 
 
 jobl)or who can afford a «jovernoss for liis cliiklron orios out afïainst the 
 ik'pravity of tho lowi-r oi'dors. 
 
 xVud yot, painful as \\\v coudiiioii of tlif woikinji-woinan is, it is 
 relatively fortiniatc. 
 
 iSliould work fail her for one day, two days, what then ? Shoidd 
 sickness come, — sk'kness almost always occasioned by unwholesome 
 food, want of fresh air, necessary attention, and good rest ; sickness 
 often so enorvatiiii!; as to render work impossible, thonph not so dan- 
 gerous as to procure the sufferer a bed in an hospital, — what becomes of 
 the hapless wretches then ? The mind hesitates, and shrinks tVom 
 dwelling on such gloomy pictures. 
 
 This inad(>quacy of wages, one terrible somx-e only of so many evils, 
 and often of so many vices, is general, especially among women ; and, 
 again, this is not private wretchedness, but the wi'etchedness which 
 alliicts whole classes, the tj-^te of which we endeavor to develop in 
 Mother Bunch. It exhibits the moral and i>hysical condition of thou- 
 sands of human creatui'es in Paris obliged to subsist on a scanty four 
 francs a week. 
 
 This poor work-woman, then, notwithstanding the advantages 
 she unkno%\ingly enjoyed through Agricola's generosity, lived very 
 miserably; and her health, already shattered, was now wholly under- 
 mined by these constant hardships. Yet, with extreme delicacy, thouijch 
 ignorant of the little saci'itice alreaily made for her by Agrieola, Mother 
 Bunch pretended she earned more than she really did, in order to avoid 
 offers of service which it would have jiained her to accejit, because she 
 knew the limited means of Françoise and Ikm- son, and because it would 
 have wounded her uatiu-al delicacy, rendered still more sensitive by so 
 many sorrows and humiliations. 
 
 But, singidar as it may ai)pear, this defonned body contained a lov- 
 ing and generous soul — a mind cultivated even to poetry; and l(»t us 
 add that this was owing to the example of Agrieola Baudoin, with whom 
 she had IjeiMi brought u]), and who had natui-ally the gift. This poor 
 girl was the first conlidante to whom our young mechanic imparted his 
 literary essays; and when he told her of the charm and extreme relief 
 he found in poetic reverie, after a day of hard toU, the work-woman, 
 gifted with strong natm'al intelligence, felt, in her turn, how great a 
 resource this would be to her in her lonely and despise<l condition. 
 
 One day, to Agi-icola's great surprise, who had just read some verses 
 to her, the se^ving-girl, with smiles and blush(>s, timidly communicated 
 to him also a poetic composition. Her verses wanted rhythm ami hai-- 
 mony, perhaps ; but they were simple and affecting as a complaint with- 
 out a trace of bitterness intrusted to a friendly hearer.
 
 77//; WAXDERIXG JE^V. 245 
 
 From that day Agiùcola and she held frequent consultations ; they 
 gave each other mutual encouragement ; but with this exception, no one 
 else knew anything of the gii-l's poetical essays, whose mild timidity 
 made her often pass for a person of weak intellect. This soul miLst 
 have been great and beautiful, for in all her unlettered strains there was 
 not a word of murmuring respecting her hard lot ; her note was sad, but 
 gentle ; desponding, Ijut resigned ; it was especially the language of deep 
 tenderness, of mournful sympathy, of angelic charity for all poor creat- 
 ures consigned, like her, to bear the double biu-then of povertj' and 
 defoi-mity. 
 
 Yet she often expi'essed a sincere, free-spoken admiration of Ijeauty, 
 free from all en\y or bitterness ; she admired beauty as she admired 
 the sun. 
 
 But, alas ! many were the verses of hers that Agiicola had never 
 seen, and which he was never to see. 
 
 The young mechanic, though not strictly handsome, had an open, 
 masculine face ; was as courageous as kind ; possessed a noble, glowing, 
 generous heart, a superior mind, and a frank, pleasing gayety of spir- 
 its. The young gii-l, brought up with him, loved him as an unfortunate 
 creature can love, who, di'eading cruel ridicule, is obliged to hide her 
 affection in the depths of her heart, and adopt reserve and deep dissim- 
 ulation. She did not seek to combat her love ; to what pui-pose should 
 she do so ? No one would ever know it. 
 
 Her well-known sisterly affection for Agi'icola explained the inter- 
 est she took in all that concerned him : so that no one was surprised at 
 the extreme grief of the young work-woman, when, in 1830, Agricola, 
 after fighting intrepidly for the people's flag, was brought bleeding 
 home to his mother. Dagobert's son, deceived, like others, on this point, 
 had never suspected, and was destined never to suspect, this love for 
 him. 
 
 Such was the poorly clad girl who entered the room in which Fran- 
 çoise was preparing her son's supper. 
 
 " Is it you, my poor love ? " said she. " I have not seen you since 
 morning. Have you been ill ? Come and kiss me." 
 
 The yoimg girl kissed Agiicola's mother and replied : 
 " I was very busy al)out some woi'k, mother ; I did not ^vish to lose a 
 moment ; I have only ji;st finished it. I am going down to fetch some 
 ehai'coal — do you want anything whUe I'm out?" 
 
 " No, no, my child, thank you. But I am very uneasy. It is half- 
 past eight, and Agi-ieola is not come home." 
 
 Then she added, after a sigh, " He kills himself with work for me. 
 Ah, I am very unhappy, my girl ; my sight is quite going. In a quar-
 
 24(; THE \y.\\ DKUIXa JEW. 
 
 ter of an hour after I befjiu working 1 cuuiiot see at all — not even to 
 sew sacks. The idea of l)eing a burtlen to my son drives nic distracted." 
 
 " Oh, don't, ma'am. If Agricola heard you say that " 
 
 " I know tile poor boy thinks of nothing but me, and that augments 
 my vexation. Oidy I thiidv tliat rather than h'ave me he gives up the 
 advantages that his fellow-workmen enjoy at Hardy's, his good and 
 worthy master. Instead of living in this dull gai*ret, where it is scarcely 
 light at noon, he would enjoy, like the other workmen, at very little 
 expense, a good light room, wann in winter, airy in summer, with a 
 view of the garden. And he is so fond of tivrs ! — not to mention that 
 tliis ])laeeis so far from his work that it is (piitc a toil to liini to get 
 to it." 
 
 "Oh, when he embraces you he forgets his fatigue, Mrs. Baudoin," 
 said Mother Bunch ; " besides he knows how you cling to the house in 
 which he was born. M. Hardy offered to settle you at Plessy with 
 Agricola, in the building put up for the workmen."' 
 
 "Yes, my cliiid; lint tlieii I must giv(> u]) elnireh. I can't do tliat." 
 "But — be easy, I hear him," said the linnehliack, hhisliing. 
 A sonorous, joyous voice was heard singing on the stairs. 
 "At least I'll not let him see I have l)een ciying," said the good 
 mother, drpng her tears. " This is the only moment of rest and ease 
 from toil he has; I must not make it sad to him."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 AGEICOLA BAUDOIN 
 
 UR blacksmith poet, a tall young man, about four and twenty 
 years of age, was alert and robust, with ruddy complexion, 
 dark hair and eyes, and aquUine nose, and an open, expres- 
 sive countenance. His resemblance to Dagobert was ren- 
 dered more striking by the thick brown mustache which he wore accord- 
 ing to the fashion ; and a sharjj-pointed imperial covered his chin. His 
 cheeks, however, were shaven. Olive-color velveteen trousers, a blue 
 blouse, l)ronzed l)y the forge smoke, a black cravat tied carelessly round 
 his muscular neck, a cloth cap with a narrow shade, composed his 
 dress. The only thing which contrasted singularly with his working 
 lia])iliments was a handsome purple flower, with silvery pistils, which 
 he held in his hand. 
 
 " Good-evening, mother," said he, as he came to kiss Françoise 
 immediately. 
 
 Then, with a friendly nod, he added : 
 " Good-evening, Mother Bunch." 
 
 " You are very late, my chUd," said Françoise, approaching the little 
 stove on which her son's simple meal was simmering ; " I was getting 
 very anxious." 
 
 " Anxious about me or about my supper, dear mother ? " said Agric- 
 ola gayly. " The deuce ! You won't excuse me for keeping the nice little 
 supper waiting that you get ready for me for fear it should be sj^oilt, eh ? " 
 So saying, the blacksmith tried to kiss his mother again. 
 " Have done, you naughty boy ; you'll make me upset the pan." 
 " That would be a pity, mother, for it smells delightfully. Let's see 
 what it is." 
 
 " Wait half a moment." 
 
 " I'll swear, now, you have some of the fried iwtatoes and bacon I'm 
 so fond of.''
 
 24S '/ // /•; ». 1 X n /; /.- / .v a ./ /; \v. 
 
 "Being Satiu'day, of eonvso!" saiil Françoise, in a tone of mild 
 reproach. 
 
 " True," rejoined Agiieola, exehanging a smile of innocent cuuuiug 
 witli Mother Bundi ; "liut, talking of Saturday, mother, here arc 
 my wages." 
 
 " Thank you, my boy; jiut the money in the cupboard." 
 
 "Yes, motlior." 
 
 " Oh, dear," cried the young seamstress, just as Agricola was about 
 to put away tlie money; "what a handsome flower y(m have in your 
 hand, Agiicola. I never saw a finer. In winter, too! Do look at it, 
 Mrs. Baudoin." 
 
 "See there, mother," said Agricola, taking the flower to her; "look 
 at it, admire it, and especially smell it. You can't have a sweeter 
 perfume ; a l)lendiug of vanilla and orange blossom." 
 
 " Indeed, it does smell nice, child. Goodness ! how handsome ! " said 
 François(> admiringly ; " where did you find it." 
 
 "Find it, my good mother!" repeated Agricola smilingly; "do you 
 think folks jiick up such things between the Barrière du [Maine and the 
 Kuc Brise-Miche .' " 
 
 "How did you get it then?" imiuirecl the sewing-girl, sharing in 
 Francoise's curiosity. 
 
 " Oh ! you would like to k)iow ; Well, I'll satisfy you, and explain 
 why I came home so late ; for something else detained me. It has been 
 an evening of adventures, I promise you. I was hurrying home, when 
 I heard a low, gentle barking at the corner of the Rue de Babylone. It 
 was just about dusk, and 1 could see a very pretty little dog, scarce 
 bigger than my fist, black and tan, with long silky hair, and ears that 
 covered its paws." 
 
 " Lost, poor thing, I warrant," said Françoise. 
 
 " You've hit it. I took up the poor thing, and it began to lick my 
 hands. Round its neck was a red satin ribbon, tied in a large bow ; Imt 
 as that did not bear the master's luxme I looked beneath it, and saw a 
 small collar, made of small gold or silver chains. So 1 took a lucifcr 
 nuitch from my tobacco-box, and stiiking a light, I read, ''Frisky 
 brloi/f/s to M^(fllc Athieiiiic (fe CurdoiHle, Xo. 7 Bue de BalnfloiicV^ 
 
 " Why, you were just in the street," said Mother Bunch. 
 
 " Just so. Taking the little aninuil under my arm, I looked about me 
 till I came to a long garden wall which seemed to have no end, and 
 found a small door of a summer-house, l)elonging, no doubt, to the lai'ge 
 mansion at the other end of the pai-k ; for this garden looked just like a 
 park. So, looking up, I saw * No. 7,' newly painted over a little door 
 with a grated slide. I rang; and in a few minutes — spent, no douljt,
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEM\ 
 
 2-19 
 
 in obser\ang me through the 1)ars (for I am sure I saw a pair of eyes 
 peepiug through) — the gate opeued. Aud now, you'll uot beUeve a 
 word I have to sav." 
 
 " AMiy not, my child ? " 
 " Because it seems like a faiiy tale." 
 
 " A fairy tale ? " said Mother Bunch, as if she were really her namesake 
 of elfish history.
 
 25U Tilt: WAMn:iiiy<i .ii:\\. 
 
 " For all the world it does. I am quite astounded, even now, at my 
 advontiu'e ; it is like the ri'memljrauct- of a dream." 
 
 " AVell, let us have it," said the worthy mother, so deeply interested 
 tliat she did not i)ereeive her son's sujipcr was iK'^rinuiiii:; to hum. 
 
 " First," said the blacksmith, smilinj; at the curiosity he had excited, 
 "a young lady opened the door to me, but so lovely, so beautifully and 
 gi-acefuUy dressed, that you would have taken her for a beautiful jjor- 
 trait of past times. Before I could say a word she exclaimed, ' Ah ! dear 
 me, sir, you have brought l)ack Frisk// .- how happy Miss Atb-ienne will 
 l)e ! Come, pray come in instantly; she would so regret not li;ning an 
 oppoi-timity to thank you in pei'son ! ' And without giving me time to 
 reply, she beckoned me to follow her. Oh, dear mother, it is (juite out of 
 my power to tell you all the magnificence I saw, as I passed through a 
 small saloon, partially lighted, and full of pei-fume ! It would be impos- 
 sible. Tho young woman walked too (piickly. A door o])ened. Oh, 
 such a sight ! I was so dazzled 1 can remember nothing but a gi-eat 
 glare of gold and light, crystal and flowers ; and, amidst all this brill- 
 iancy, a young lady of extreme beauty — ideal l)eauty; l)ut she had red 
 hail', or rather hair shining like gold ! Oh ! it was charming to look at ! 
 I never saw such hair before. She had black eyes, ruddy lips, and her 
 skin seemed white as snow. This is all I can recollect ; for, as I said 
 before, I was so dazzled I seemed to be looking through a veil. ' Made- 
 moiselle,' said the young woman, whom I never should have taken for 
 a lady's-maid, she was dressed so elegantly, ' here is Frisky. This gen- 
 tleman found him, and brought him back.' ' Oh, sir,' said the yotnig lady 
 with the goMen hair, in a sweet, silvery voice, 'what thanks I owe you! 
 I am foolishly attached to Friski/J' Then, no doubt concluding from my 
 dress that she ought to thank me in some other way than by words, she 
 took up a silk purse and said to me, though T nuist <'onfess mth some 
 hesitation, 'No doultt, sir, it gave you some troul)le to bring my pet l)ack. 
 
 You have perhaps lost some valuable time. Allow me ' She held 
 
 forth her purse." 
 
 " Oh, Agiicola," said Mother Bunch sadly, " how peoiile may be 
 deceived ! " 
 
 " Hear the end, and you will perhaps forgive the young lady. Seeing 
 by my looks that the offer of the purse hurt me, sIk» took a magnificent 
 porcelain vase that contained this flower, and, addressing me in a tone 
 full of grace and kindness, that left me room to guess that she was 
 vexed at having wounded me, she said, ' At least, sir, you will accept 
 this flower.' " 
 
 " You are right, Agi-icola," said Mother Bunch, smiling sadly ; " an 
 involuntaiy error could not be repaired in a nicer way."
 
 TUE WAX DE RING JEW. 251 
 
 " Worthy young lady," said Françoise, wiping her eyes ; " how well 
 slie understood my Agiicola ! " 
 
 " Did she not, mother ? But just as I was taking the flower, without 
 daring to raise my eyes (for, notwithstanding the young lady's kind 
 manner, there was something very imposing about her), another hand- 
 some girl, tall and dark, and dressed to the top of fashion, came in and 
 said to the red-haired young lady, ' He is here, mademoiselle.' She imme- 
 diately rose and said to me, ' A thousand pardons, sir. I shall never 
 forget that I am indebted to you for a moment of much pleasui-e. Pray 
 remember, on all occasions, my address and name — Adi'ienne de Car- 
 doville.' Thereupon she disappeared. I could not find a word to saj' in 
 reply. The same young woman showed me to the door, and curtseyed 
 to me very politely. And there I stood in the Eue de Babylone, as daz- 
 zled and astonished as if I had come out of an enchanted palace." 
 
 " Indeed, my child, it is like a fairy tale. Is it not, my poor girl f 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," said Mother Bunch in an absent manner that Agricola 
 did not observe. 
 
 " What affected me most," rejoined Agricola, " was, that the young 
 lady, on seeing her little dog, did not forget me for it, as many would 
 have done in her place, and took no notice of it before me. That shows 
 delicacy and feeling, does it not ! Indeed, I believe this young lady to 
 be so kind and generous that I should not hesitate to have recours»' to 
 her in any important case." 
 
 " Yes, you are right," replied the seamstress, more and more absent. 
 The poor girl suffered extremely. She felt no jealousy, no hatred, 
 toward this young stranger, who, from her beauty, wealth, and delicacy, 
 seemed to belong to a sphere too splendid and elevated to be even within 
 the reach of a workgh'l's vision ; but making an involuntary comparison 
 of this fortunate condition with her own, the poor thing had never felt 
 more cruelly her deformity and poverty. Yet such were the humility 
 and gentle resignation of this noble creature that the only thing which 
 made her feel ill-disposed toward Adrienne de Cardo^•ille was the offer 
 of the purse to Agricola; but, then, the charming way in which the 
 young lady had atoned for her error affected the seamstress deeply. 
 Yet her heai't was ready to break. She could not restrain her tears as 
 she contemplated the magnifi(M^nt flower — so rich in color and jier- 
 fume, which, given by a charndng hand, was doubtless very precious to 
 Agricola. 
 
 " Now, mother," resumed the young man smilingly, and unaware of 
 the painful emotion of the other bystander, *' you have had the cream of 
 my adventures first. I have told you one of the causes of my delay ; 
 and now for the other. Just now, as I was coming in, I met the dyer at the
 
 •2Ô-2 THE \VA X nEh'IXa JEW. 
 
 foot of the stairs, liisaniis a beautiful iica-^rccii. Stopiiinj; nic, licsaiil, 
 with an ail- full of iuiportauoe, that lie tiionf::ht liciiad seen a chap sueak- 
 iug about the house Hke a spy. 'Well, what is that to you, Daddy 
 Loriot ?' sail 1 I; 'are you afraid he will nose (mt the way to uiake the 
 beautiful green with which you are dyed up to the very ell)ows?'" 
 
 "But who eould tli.it man be, Agricola?" said Frau(;oise. 
 
 " On my word, mother, I don't know and scarcely care. I tried to 
 persuade Daddy Loriot, wlio chatters like a magpie, to return to his cel- 
 lar, since it could signify as httle to him as to nie whether a spy watched 
 him or not." 
 
 So saying, Agricola went and jilaced the little leatliern sai-k contain- 
 ing his wages on a shelf in the cupl)oard. 
 
 As Françoise put down the saucepan on the end of the tiiMc, Mother 
 Bunch, recovering from her reverie, filled a basin with water, and taking 
 it to the blacksmith said to him, in a gentle tone : 
 
 " Agricola — for your hands." 
 
 "Thank you, little sister. How kind you are!" Then, with a most 
 imatïected gesture and tone, he added : 
 
 " There is my line llower for your trouble." 
 
 "Do you give it me?" ci'ied the seamstress with emotiMH, while a 
 ^'ivid hlusli covered her ])ale and interesting face. "Do you give me 
 this handsome flower, which a lovely, rich youug lady so kindly and 
 graciously gave you ? " 
 
 And the poor thing repeated, with growing astonishment : 
 
 " Do you give it to me ?" 
 
 " What the deuce should 1 do with it ? Wear it on my heart, Ikivc it 
 set as a pin?" said Agricola, smiling. "It is true I was very much 
 impressed by the chai-ming way in which the young lady thaid<e<l me. 
 I am delighted to think I found her little dog, and very hapjty to ))e 
 able to give you this flower, since it pleases you. You see, the day has 
 been a happy one." 
 
 AVhile ^iother Bunch, trembling with pleasure, emotion, and sur- 
 prise, took the Hower, the young blacksmith washed his hands, so black 
 with smoke and steel filings that the water became dark in an instant. 
 Agi-icola, pointing out this change to the seamstress, said to her in a 
 whisper, laughing: 
 
 "Here's cheap ink for us paper-stainers! I finished some verses 
 yesterday which I am rather satisfied with. 1 will read them to 
 you." 
 
 With this, Agi-icola wijied his hands naturally on the front of his 
 blouse, while Mother Bunch replaced the basin on the chest of drawers 
 and laid the flower against the side of it.
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 253 
 
 " Can't yoi; ask for a towel ? " said Franr-oise, shrugging hor sbonl- 
 dei'S, "instead of wiping your hands on your blouse!" 
 
 " After being scorched all day long at the forge, it will be all the bet- 
 ter for a little cooling to-night, won't it ! Am I disol)edi(nit, mother ? 
 Scold me, then, if you dare ! Come, lot us see you." 
 
 Françoise made no reply ; but, placing her hands on either side of 
 her son's head, so beautiful in its candor, resolution, and intelligence, 
 she surveyed him for a moment with maternal pride and kissed him 
 repeatedly on the forehead. 
 
 " Come," said she, " sit down ; you stand all day at your forge, and it 
 is late." 
 
 "So — your ann-cliair again!" said Agricola. "Our usual quarrel 
 every evening. Take it away. I shall be quite as much at ease on 
 another." 
 
 " No, no ! You ought at least to rest after yoiu* hard toil." 
 
 " What tyraiiny ! " said Agricola gayly, sitting down. " Well, I 
 preach like a good apostle ; but I am quite at ease in your ann-chair, 
 after all. Since I sat down on the throne in the Tiiileries, I have never 
 had a better seat." 
 
 Françoise Baudoin, standing on one side of the table, cut a slice of 
 bread for her son, while Mother Bunch, on the other, filled his silver 
 mug. There was something affecting in the tender eagerness of the 
 two excellent creatures for him whom they loved so tenderly. 
 
 " Won't you sup with me ? " said Agricola to the girl. 
 
 " Thank you, Agricola," replied the seamstress, looking down ; " I 
 have only just dined." 
 
 " Oh, I only ask you for form's sake. You have your whims ; we 
 can never prevail on you to eat with iis. Jiist like mother ; she prefers 
 dining all alone, and in that way she deprives herself without my 
 knowing it." 
 
 " Groodness, child ! It is better for my health to dine early. Well, do 
 you find it nice I " 
 
 "Nice! — call it excellent! Stock-fish and parsnips. Oh, I am very 
 fond of stock-fish ; I should have been born a Newfoundland fisherman." 
 This worthj" lad, on the contrary, was but poorly refreshed, after a 
 hard day's toil, with this paltry stew, — a little burnt as it had been, too, 
 during liis story; Init he knew he pleased bis mother by observing the 
 fast without complaining. He affected to enjoy his meal; and the good 
 woman accordingly observed, with satisfaction: 
 
 " Oh, I see yon like it, my dear boy ; Friday and Saturday next we'll 
 have some more." 
 
 " Thank you, mother, — only, not two days together. One gets tired
 
 254 Till-: WAS in: RI S a ./Air. 
 
 of luxuru's, you know! And uow, let us talk of what we shall do 
 to-morrow — Sunday. We must be very merry, for the last few days 
 you seem very sad, dear mother, aud I can't make it out — I fancy you 
 are not satisfied with me." 
 
 " Oh, my dear child ! You, the pattern of " 
 
 "Well, well! Prove to me that you are liaiii>y, tlicn, by taking a 
 littlf amusement. Perhaps you will do us the honor of accompanying 
 us, as you did last time," added Agricola, bowing to Mother Bunch. 
 
 The latter bluslied and looked down; her face assumed an ex^jres- 
 sion of bitter grief, and she made no reply. 
 
 "T have the prayers to attend all day, you know, my dear child," said 
 Françoise to her son. 
 
 " Well, in the evening, then ? I don't propose the theater; Imt they 
 say there is a conjui-er to be seen whose tricks are very amusing." 
 
 " I am obliged to you, my son ; but that is a kind of a theater." 
 
 "Dear mother, this is unreasomililc ! " 
 
 "My dear child, do I ever hinder others from doing what they like?" 
 
 " True, dear moth(>r; forgive me. Well, then, if it should be fine, we 
 will simply take a walk with Mother Bunch on the Boulevanis. It is 
 nearly three months since she went out with us, and she never goes out 
 •\\nthout us." 
 
 "No, no; go alone, my child. Enjoy your Sunday; 'tis little enough." 
 
 "You know very well, Agricola," said the seamstress, lilushing up to 
 the eyes, " that I ought not to go out with you and yoiir mother again." 
 
 " Why not, mademoiselle ? May I ask, without im)iroi)riety, the cause 
 of this refusal ? " said Agricola gayly. 
 
 The poor girl smiled sadly and replied : 
 
 " Because I will not expose you to a (juarrel on my account, Agi-icola." 
 
 " Forgive me," said Agricola, in a tone of sincere gi'ief, and he struck 
 his forehead vexedly. 
 
 The circumstance to which she alluded was as follows : 
 Sometimes, but very rarely, for she observed i)unctilious discretion, 
 the girl had gone out with Agricola aud his mother. Such occasions 
 were, indeed, liolidays for her. Many days and nights had she toiled 
 hard to procure a decent bonnet aud shawl that she might not do dis- 
 credit to her friends. These five or six days of holidays, thus .spent ann 
 in arm with him whom she adored in secret, formed the sum of her 
 happy days. 
 
 Taking their last walk, a coarse, vulgar man elbowed her so rudely 
 that the poor girl could not refrain from a ci-y of tei'ror, and the man 
 retorted it by saying, " What are you rolling yom- hump in my way for, 
 stupid ? "
 
 THE WAXDERI^'^G JEW. 255 
 
 Agricola, like his father, liad the patience which force and courage 
 give to the truly brave ; but he was extremely quick when it became 
 necessary to avenge an insult. Irritated at the vulgarity of this man, 
 Agricola left his mother's arm to inflict on the brute, who was of his 
 own age, size, and force, two vigorous blows, such as the powerful arm 
 and huge fist of a blacksmith never before inflicted on human face. 
 The villain attempted to return it, and Agi'icola relocated the correction, 
 to the amusement of the crowd, and the fellow slunk away amidst a 
 deluge of hisses. This adventure made Mother Bunch say she would 
 not go out with Agricola again, in order to save him any occasion of 
 quarrel. 
 
 We may conceive the blacksmith's regret at having thus unwittingly 
 revived the memory of this circumstance, — more painful, alas! for 
 Mother Bunch than Agricola could imagine, for she loved him passion- 
 ately, and her infirmity had been the cause of that quarrel. Notwith- 
 standing his strength and resolution, Agiicola was childishly sensitive ; 
 and thinking how painful that thought must be to the poor girl, a large 
 tear filled his eyes, and, holding out his hands, he said, in a brotherly 
 tone: 
 
 "Forgive my heedlessness ! Come, kiss me." And he gave her thin 
 pale cheeks two hearty kisses. 
 
 The poor girl's lips turned pale at this cordial caress, and her heart 
 beat so violently that she was obliged to lean against the corner of the 
 table. 
 
 " Come, you forgive me, do you notf " said Agricola. 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! " she said, trying to subdue her emotion ; " but the recol- 
 lection of that quarrel pains me — I was so alarmed on your account ; if 
 the crowd had sided with that man ! " 
 
 " Alas ! " said Françoise, coming to the sewiug-ghi's relief, without 
 knowing it, " I was never so afraid in all my life ! " 
 
 " Oh, mother," rejoined Agricola, trying to change the conversation, 
 which had now become disagreealjle for the seamstress, " for the wife of 
 a horse grenadier of the Imperial Guard, you have not much courage. 
 Oh, my brave father ; I can't believe he is really coming ! The very 
 thought turns me topsy-turvy ! " 
 
 " Heaven grant he may come," said Françoise, with a sigh. 
 
 " God grant it, mother. He will grant it, I should think. Lord knows, 
 you have had masses enough said for his return." 
 
 " Agricola, my child," said she, interrupting her son, and shaking her 
 head sadly, " do not speak in that way. Besides, you are talking of 
 your father." 
 
 " Well, I'm in for it this evening. 'Tis yom- tm-n now ; positively, I
 
 256 THE W Ay DE in Mi JEW. 
 
 am cn"f>'"'iiifï stn])i<], or f?oiiig crazy. Foririvc mo, motlicr! l'()rp:ivo! 
 That's tlu' only word I can get out to-iiiglit. Von kimw Ihat, wlicu I 
 do not let out on certain sul)jocts, it is because I can't hcli» it, for 1 know- 
 well the i>ain it gives yon." 
 
 " You do not ofl'end nie, my jtoor, dear, misguided l)oy." 
 
 " It comes to the same thing, and there is nothing so bad as to oflfeud 
 one's mother; and, with respect to what I said aliout fallici's n-tuin, I 
 do not see that we have any cause to doubt it." 
 
 " But we have not lieard from liim for four months." 
 
 "You know, mother, in his htli r — that is, in the letter which he dic- 
 tated (for you rememlxT that, witli the candor of an old soldier, he told 
 us that, if he could read toleralily well, he could not write) — well, in 
 that letter he said we were not to be anxious about him ; that ho 
 expected to 1)e in Paris about the end of January, and would send us 
 word, throe or ff>ur days before, by what road ho expected to arrive, 
 that I might go and meet him." 
 
 " Tnie, my diild ; and February is come, and no news yet." 
 
 "The greater reason wliy we should wait patiently. But I'll tell you 
 more: I should not be surprised if our good Oaliriel were to come back 
 about the same time. His last letter from America makes me hope so. 
 What pleasure, mother, should all the family 1)0 together ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes, my chihl ! It wouM l)o a hajjpy day for mo. 
 
 "And tliat day wnll soon coiue, trust me." 
 
 "Do you i-emcMubor your father, Agricola ? " inquired Mother 
 Buiicli. 
 
 "To tell the ti'uth, 1 remember most liis great grenadier's sliako and 
 mustache, which u.sed to frighten mo so that nothing but the red rib- 
 bon of his ci'oss of the Legion of Honor on the white facings of his 
 uniform and the shining handle of his sabor could pacify mo ; could it, 
 mother ;' But wliat is the matter ;' You are weeping ! " 
 
 " Alas ! poor Baudoin ! What he must suffer at being separated fi-oni 
 us at his ago — sixty and ]>ast ! Alas! my child, my heart l)roaks when 
 I think that he comes home only to change one kind of poverty for 
 another." 
 
 " What do you moan ? " 
 
 " Alas ! I earn nothing now." 
 
 " Why, what's become of me ? Isn't there a room here for you and for 
 liini; and a table for you, too? Only, my good mother, since we are 
 talking of domestic aflfairs," adih'd the blacksmith, imjiai'ting inereasod 
 tenderness to liis tone, that he juight not shock his motlier, " wlien he 
 and Gabriel come home you won't ^vant to have any more masses said 
 and tapers burned for them — will you ? Well, that saving will enable
 
 THE WAX DE RI XG JEW. 257 
 
 father to have tobacco to smoke and liis bottle of wine every day. Then, 
 on Sundays, we will take a nice dinner at the eating-house," 
 A knocking at the door disturbed Agricola, 
 
 " Come in," said he. 
 Instead of doing so, some one half opened the door, and, thrusting 
 in an arm of a pea-gi-een color, made signs to the blacksmith.
 
 258 THE ^y A M) Eli I y a .iew. 
 
 " 'Tis old Loriot, the pattern of dyers," said Agrieola. " Come in, 
 
 DaiMy, no oorcinoiiy." 
 
 "Impossible, my lad; I am dripping with dye from head to foot ; I 
 
 should cover the lluor with gi'cen." 
 
 " So mnch the Ijetter. It will remind me of the fields I likc^ so much." 
 ""Without joking, Agrieola, I must speak to you bnniediately." 
 " About the spy, eh ? Oh, be easy ; what's he to us ? " 
 "Xo; I think he's gone; at any rate the fog is so thick I can't see 
 
 him. But that's not it. Come, come quickly ! It is very important," 
 
 said the dyer, with a mysterious look ; " and only concerns you." 
 " Me only ? " said Agrieola, with surprise. " ^\^lat can it be Î " 
 " Go and see, my child," said Françoise. 
 " Yes, mother; but tlic deuce take me if I can make it out." 
 And the blacksmith left the room, leaving his mother with Mother 
 
 Bunch.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE KETUllN 
 
 jW^t' N five minutes Agrieola returned. His face was pale and 
 iw^ agitated, liis eyes glistened with tears, and his hands trem- 
 1 1^^ bled ; hut his countenance expressed extraordinary hapjai- 
 -^yyfc-N uess and emotion. He stood at the door for a moment, as 
 if too much affected to accost his mother. 
 
 His mother's sight was so l)ad that she did not immediately perceive 
 the change her son's countenance had imdergone. 
 " Well, my child, what is it ? " she inquu'ed. 
 Before the blacksmith could reply. Mother Bunch, who had more 
 discernment, exclaimed : 
 
 " Groodness, Agi'icola — how pale you are ! Wliatever is the matter ? " 
 " Mother," said the artisan, hastening to Françoise, without replying 
 to the seamstress — "mother, expect news that will astonish you; but 
 promise me that you vàW be calm." 
 
 "What do you mean! How you tremble! Look at me! Mother 
 Bunch was right — you are quite pale." 
 
 " My kind mother ! " and Agrieola, kneeling before hov, took both her 
 
 hands in his — " you must — you do not know — but " 
 
 The blacksmith could not go on. Tears of joy interrupted his 
 speech. 
 
 "You weep, my dear child! Yoiu- tears alarm me! What is the 
 matter ! You terrify me I " 
 
 " Oh, no, I would not terrify you ; on the contrary," said Agrieola, 
 drj-ing his eyes, " ym\ will be so happy. But, again, you must try and 
 command your feelings, for too much joy is as hm'tful as too mueh 
 grief." 
 ^ "Wliat?" 
 
 " Did I not say true when I said ho would come ? " 
 " Father ! " cried Françoise. She rose from her seat ; but her surprise 
 and emotion were so great that she put one hand to her heart to still 
 
 269
 
 •JGO THE WAXDEUIXC .JEW. 
 
 its beating, and th<ni she felt her strength l'ail. lier son snstained lier, 
 and assisted her to sit down. Mother Buneh till now had stood dis- 
 creetly apart, witnessing from a distance the scene which coniidetely 
 engrossed Agricola and his mother. But she now drew near timidly, 
 thinking she nnght 1)e useful, for Françoise changed color more and 
 more. 
 
 "Come, courage, mother," said the lilacksinith ; " now the shock is 
 over, you have oidy to enjoy the i)leasure of seeing my father." 
 
 " My poor man ! After eighteen years' absence ! Oh, I cannot Ijclicve 
 it ! " she said, bursting into tears. " Is it true ? Is it, indeed, true Î " 
 
 " So true that, if you will promise me to keep as calm as you can, I 
 will tell yoii when you may see him." 
 
 " iSoon — may I not .' " 
 
 " Yes ; soon." 
 
 •'But when will lie arrive ?" 
 
 "He may arrive any minute — to-morrow — iicihaps to-day." 
 
 " To-day ! " " 
 
 " Yes, mother ! Well, I must tell you aU — he has arrived." 
 
 "He — he is " Françoise could not articulate the word. 
 
 " He was downstairs just now. Before coming up he sent the dyer to 
 apprise me, that I might jtrepare you ; for my brave father feared the 
 surprise might hurt you." 
 
 " Uh, heaven ! " 
 
 "And now," cried the blacksmith, in an accent of indescribable joy, 
 "he is there, waiting? Oh, mother! for the last ten minutes I have 
 scarcely been able to contain myself — my heart is bursting with joy." 
 And running to the door, he threw it oi)en. 
 
 Dagobert, holding Rose and Blanche by the hand, stood on the 
 threshold. 
 
 Instead of rushing to her husbaml's arms, Françoise fell on her knees 
 in prayer. She thanked heaven with profound gratitude for hearing 
 her prayers and thus accepting her offerings. During a second, the 
 actors of this scene stood silent and motionlesss. 
 
 Agricola, by a sentiment of respect and delicacy, which stniggled 
 violently with his affection, did not dare to fall on his father's neck. He 
 waiteil with constrained impatience till his mother had finished her 
 prayer. 
 
 The soldier experienced the same feeling as the blacksmith; they 
 understood each other. The first glance exchanged by father and son 
 expressed their affection, their veneration, for that excellent woman, 
 who, in the fullness of her religious fervor, forgot too much the creature 
 for the Creator.
 
 TUE VrAKDEIilNG JEW. -201 
 
 Rose and Blanche, confuse*! and affected, looked with intei-est on 
 the kneeling woniau ; while Mother Bunch, shedding in silence tears of 
 joy at the thought of Agiicola's happiness, withdrew into the most 
 obscure corner of the room, feeling that she was a stranger and neces- 
 sai'ily out of place in that family meeting. 
 
 Françoise rose and took a stei^ toward her husband, who received her 
 in his arms. There was a moment of solemn silence. Dagobert and 
 Françoise said not a word. Nothing could be heard but a few sighs, 
 mingled with sighs of joy, and when the aged couple looked up their 
 expression was calm, radiant, serene ; for the full and complete enjoy- 
 ment of simple and pure sentiments never leaves behind a feverish and 
 violent agitation. 
 
 " My children," said the soldier, in tones of emotion, presenting the 
 orphans to Françoise, who, after her first agitation, had sm-veyed them 
 with astonishment, "this is my good and worthy wife; she will be to 
 the daughters of General Simon what I have been to them." 
 
 " Then, madame, you will treat us as yom- childi'eu," said Rose, 
 approaching Françoise with her sister. 
 
 " The daughters of General Simon ! " cried Dagobert's wife, more and 
 more astonished. 
 
 " Yes, my dear Françoise; I have brought them from afar, not without 
 some difficulty; but I will tell you that by and by." 
 
 " Poor little things ! One woiild take them for two angels, exactly 
 alike ! " said she, contemplating the orphans with as much interest as 
 admiration. 
 
 " Now, for us," cried Dagobert, tm-ning to his sou. 
 
 " At last," x'ejoiued the latter. 
 We must renounce all attempts to describe the wild joy of Dagobert 
 and his son, and the crushing grip of thoii- hands, which Dagobert inter- 
 nipted only to look in Agiicola's face, while he rested his hands on the 
 young Ijlacksmith's broad shoulders, that he might see to more advan- 
 tage his frank, masculine countenance and I'obust frame. Then he 
 embraced him again, exclaiming : 
 
 " He's a fine fellow, well built. What a good-hearted look he 
 has ! " 
 
 From a corner of the room Mother Bunch enjoyed Agricola's happi- 
 ness ; but she feared that her presence, till then unheeded, would be 
 an intrusion. She wished to withdraw unnoticed, but could not do so. 
 Dagobert and his son were between her and the door, and she stood 
 luiable to take her eyes from the charming faces of Rose and Blanche. 
 She had never seen anj'thing so winsome, and the extraordinary resem- 
 blance of the sisters increased her sui-prise. Then, their humble moui-n-
 
 2G2 TUE WASDEUISa JEW. 
 
 iug revealing that they wen» poor, Mother Rniicli invohuitarily felt 
 more sympathy toward tlieiii. 
 
 " Dear childreu ! They are cold ; theii* little hands are frozen ; and, 
 nufortunatt'ly, the fire is out," said Françoise. 
 
 She tried to warm tlie ori)hans' hands in hers, while Dagobert 
 and his son gave themselves up to the feelings of affection, so long 
 restrained. 
 
 As soon as Françoise said that the fire was out, Mother Bunch 
 hastened to make herself useful as an excuse for her presence, and, 
 going to the cupboard where the charcoal and wood were kept, she took 
 some small pieces, and, kneeling liefore the stove, succecdeil by the aid 
 of a few embers that remained in relighting the fire, which soon began 
 to draw and blaze. Filling a coffee-pot with water, she placed it on the 
 stove, presuming that the orphans required some warm drink. The 
 seamstress flid all this with so much dexterity and so little noise — she 
 was naturally so forgotten amidst the emotions of tlu; scene — that 
 Françoise, entii-ely occupied with Rose and Blanche, only perceived the 
 fire when she felt its warmth diffusing roun<l and heard th(^ boiling 
 water singing in the coffee-pot. This ^jhenomenon — fii-c rekindling of 
 itself — did not astonish Dagobert's wife then, so wholly was she taken 
 up in devising how she could lodge the maidens ; for Dagobert, as we 
 have seen, had not given her notice of their arrival. 
 
 Sud<ieidy a loud bai'k was heard three or foui- times at the door. 
 "Hallo! there's Spoilsport,^ said Dagobert, letting in his <log; "he 
 wants to come to make acquaintance with the family, too." 
 
 The dog came in with a bound, and in a second was quite at home. 
 After having rubbed Dagobert's hand with his muzzle he went in turns 
 to gi-eet Rose and Blanche, and also Françoise and Agiicola ; but, seeing 
 that they took but little notice of him, he perceived ^Ioth(>r Bunch, who 
 stood apart in an obscm-(> corner of the room, and carrying out tlio 
 popular saying, " the friends of our friends are our friends," he went 
 and licked the hands of the young work-woman, who was just then 
 forgotten by all. By a singular impulse this action affected the girl to 
 tears ; she patted her long, thin, wliite hand sevei-al times on the head 
 of the intelligent dog. Then, finding that she could be no longer useful 
 (for she had done all the little services she deemed in her power), she 
 took the handsome flower Agricola had given her, openc>d the door 
 gently, and went away so quietly that no one noticed her departure. 
 
 After this exchange of mutual affection, Dagobert, his wife, and son 
 began to think of the realities of life. 
 
 " Poor Françoise ! " said the soldier, glancing at Rose and Blanche ; 
 " you did not expect such a pretty surprise ! "
 
 THE WAX DE BIN G JEW. 263 
 
 " I am only sorry, my friend," replied she, " that the danghtei's of 
 General Simon will not have a better lodging than this poor room ; for 
 with Agricola's garret " 
 
 " It composes our mansion," interrui:»ted Dago1)ert ; " there are hand- 
 somer, it must be confessed. But be at ease ; these young ladies are 
 drilled into not being hard to suit on that score. To-morrow I and my 
 boy will go arm and arm, and I'll answer for it he won't walk the more 
 upright and straight of the two, and find out General Simon's father, at 
 M. Hardy's factory, to talk about business." 
 
 " To-moiTow, father," said Agricola to Dagobert, "you will not find at 
 the factory either M. Hardy or Marshal Simon's father." 
 
 " What is that you say, my lad f " cried Dagobert, hastily ; " the 
 Marshal !" 
 
 " To be sure ; since 1830, General Simon's friends have secm'ed him 
 the title and rank which the emperor gave him at the battle of Ligny." 
 
 " Indeed ! " cried Dagobert with emotion. " But that ought not to 
 surprise me ; for, after all, it is just ; and when the emperor said a thing, 
 the least they can do is to let it abide. But it goes all the same to my 
 heart ; it makes me jump again." 
 Addressing the sisters, he said : 
 
 " Do you hear that, my childi'en ? You arrive in Paris the daughters 
 of a duke and marshal of France. One would hardly think it, indeed, 
 to see you in this room, my poor little duchesses ! But patience ; all wiU 
 go well. Ah, father Simon must have been very glad to hear that his 
 son was restored to his rank ! Eh, my lad ? " 
 
 " He told us he would renounce all kinds of ranks and titles to see 
 his son again, for it was during the general's absence that his friends 
 obtained this act of justice. But they expect Marshal Simon every 
 moment, for the last letters from India announced his departure." 
 
 At these words Rose and Blanche looked at each other, and their 
 eyes fiUed with tears. 
 
 " Heaven be praised ! These children rely on his return. But why 
 shall we not find M. Hardy and father Simon at the factory to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Ten days ago they went to examine and study an English mill 
 established in the south ; but we expect them back every day." 
 
 " The deuce ! That's vexing ; I relied on seeing the general's father, 
 to talk over some important matters with him. At any rate, they know 
 where to wi-ite to him ; so to-morrow yoii will let him know, my lad, that 
 his granddaughters are arrived. In the mean time, children," added the 
 soldier, to Rose and Blanche, " my good wife will give you her bed, and 
 you mi;st put up with the chances of war. Poor things ! they will not 
 be worse off here than they were on the journey."
 
 •2M Tin: \\Ayj)LL'l\(i jjjw. 
 
 "You know wo shall always lie well off with you and madame," said 
 Rose. 
 
 "Besides, we only think of the pleasure of Iteing at length in I'aris, 
 sinee here we are to find our father," added Blanclie. 
 
 "That hope gives you i)atience, I know," said Dagohert. "But no 
 matter ! Mtar all you have heard about it you ought to be finely .sur- 
 prised, my children. As yet, you have not found it the golden city of 
 yoiu' dreams by a)iy means. But patience, patience ; you'll find Paris 
 not so bad as it looks." 
 
 " Besides," said Agricola, " 1 am sure the arrival of Marshal Simon in 
 Paris will change it for you into a golden city." 
 
 " You are right, Agricola," said liose, with a smile ; " you have indeed 
 guessed us." 
 
 " What ! do you know my name f " 
 
 "Certainly, Agricola, we often talked abotit you with Dagoliert; and 
 latterly, too, with Gabriel,"' added Blanche. 
 
 "Gabriel!" cried Agricola and his mother at the same time. 
 
 " Yes," replied Dagobei-t, making a sign of intelligence to the ori>hans, 
 " we have lots to tell you for a fortuight to come ; and, among other 
 things, how we chanced to meet with (îabriel. AU I can now say is 
 that, in his way, he is quite as good as my boy (I shall never be tired of 
 saying 'my boy'); and they ought to love each other like brothers. Oh, 
 my brave, brave wife !" said Dagobert, with emotion, "you did a good 
 thing, poor as you were, taking the unfortunate child and bringing him 
 up with your own." 
 
 " Don't talk so much abf)ut it, my dear; it was such a simple thing." 
 
 "Y'^ou ai'e right; but PU make you amends for it by and l»y. 'Tis 
 down to yoiu" account; in the mean time, you will be sure to see him 
 to-morrow morning." 
 
 " My dear brother arrived too !" cried the Idacksmith; "who'll say, 
 after this, that there are not days set apart for happiness Î How came 
 you to meet him, father ?" 
 
 "PU tell you all, by and by, about when and how we met (Tabriel, 
 for if you expect to sleej) you are mistaken. You'll give me half your 
 room, and a fine chat we'll have. SpoUspoii will stay outsi<le of this 
 door; he is accustomed to sleep at the children's door." 
 
 " Dear me, lov^-, I think of nothing. But, at such a moment, if you 
 and the young ladies wish to sup, Agricola will fetch something from 
 the cook-shop." 
 
 " What do you say, children V 
 
 "No, thank you, Dago])ert, we are not hungi-y; we are too happy." 
 
 " You will take a little wine and water, sweetened nice and hot, to
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 
 
 265 
 
 warm yoii a little, my dear yonng ladies," said Franr-oiso ; " unfortunately, 
 I have nothing else to otïer you." 
 
 " You are right ; the dear chihh-eu are tii'ed, and want to go to bed. 
 
 ^^^■i;*ftS!sîC~^*:ri*^ 
 
 I * 5<tT'^£/;giy^VOI/c> 
 
 While they do so, I'll go to my boy's room, and before Rose and Blanche 
 are awake I will come down and converse with you, just to giv< 
 ola a resi)ite." 
 
 A knock was now heard at the door. 
 
 re Agi-ic-
 
 2G6 THE n'AXlUJRIXa JEW. 
 
 " It is good ]\Iotli('r Buiicli coinc to see if wo want lier," «aiil Agricola. 
 
 " But I think she was hero when my husband came in,'' added Fran- 
 çoise. 
 
 " Right, mother ; and the good girl left lest she should be an intruder ; 
 she is so thouglitful. But no — no — it is not she wlio knoeks so loud." 
 
 " Go and see wlio it is, tlien, Agricola." 
 Before the blaeksmith could reaeh the door, a man, decently dressed, 
 witli a respectable air, entered tlie i-ooni and glaneed rapidly round, 
 looking for a moment at Rose and Blanehe. 
 
 " Allow me to observe, sir," said Agi-icola, " that after knocking you 
 might have ■waited till the door was opened, before you enten d. Pray, 
 what is your business ? " 
 
 "Pray excuse me, .sir," said the man very politely, and si)eaking 
 slowly, perhaps to prolong his stay in the room; "I beg a thousand 
 }iardons — I regret my intrusion — I am ashamed " 
 
 " Well, you ought to be, sir," said Agricola, with impatience. " What 
 do you want f " 
 
 " Pray, sir, does Mademoiselle Soliveau, a deformed needle- woman, live 
 here ? " " 
 
 " No, sir ; upstairs," said Agi'ieola. 
 
 "■Really, sir," cried the polite man, with low bows, "T am ([uite 
 annoyed at my blunder; I thought this was the room of tiiat young 
 l)erst)n. I brought her propos^ilsifor work from a very respectable pai'ty." 
 
 " It is veiy late, sh-," said A^-icola, witli surprise. " But that young 
 person is as one of oiu* family. Call to-morrow; you cannot see her 
 to-night ; she's gone to l)ed." 
 
 " Then, sir, I again beg you to excuse " 
 
 " Enough, sir," said Agricola, taking a step toward the door. 
 
 " I hoi)e madame and the young ladies, as well as this gentleman wiU 
 be assured tliat " 
 
 "If you go on much longer making excuses, sir, you will have to 
 excuse the length of yom- excuses ; and it is time this came to an end !" 
 Rose and Blanche smiled at these words of Agricola ; while Dago- 
 beii; rubbed his mustache with ijride. 
 
 " What wit the boy has ! " said he aside to his wife. " But that does 
 not astonish you — you are used to it." 
 
 Dunng this speech the ceremonious person witlidrew, having again 
 dii-ected a long, inquiring glance to the sisters, and to Agi'ieola and 
 Dagobert. 
 
 In a few minutes after, Françoise, lla^'iug spread a mattress on the 
 gi'ound for herself and put the whitest sheets on her bed for the orphans, 
 assisted them to imdress with maternal solicitude, Dagobert and Agric-
 
 TEE WAXnEIilXO JEW. 267 
 
 ola lla^^ng pi-pviously withdrawn to their garret. Just as the l)lack- 
 smith, who } (receded his father Avith a Ught, passed before the door of 
 Mother Bunch's room, the latter, half concealed in the shade, said to 
 him rapidly, in a low tone : 
 
 " Agricola, great danger threatens you. I must speak to you." 
 These words were uttered in so hasty and low a voice that Dagobert 
 did not hear them ; but as Agricola stopped suddenly, ^N-ith a start, the 
 old soldier said to him : 
 
 " Well, l)oy, what is it ? " 
 
 " Nothing, father," said the blacksmith, turning round ; " I feared I 
 did not light you well." 
 
 " Oh, stand at ease about that ; I have the legs and eyes of fifteen 
 to-night." And the soldier, not noticing his son's sm-pvise, went into the 
 little room where they were both to pass the night. 
 
 On leaving the house, after his inquiries about Mother Bunch, the 
 over-polite gentleman slunk along to the end of the Eue Brise-Miche. 
 He advanced toward a hackney-coach di'awu up on the sc^uare of the 
 Cloître Saint-Méry. 
 
 In this carriage lounged Rodin, wi'apped in a cloak. 
 
 " Well ? " said he, in an inquiring tone. 
 
 " The two girls and the man with the gray mustache went directly to 
 Françoise Baudoin's. By listening at the door I learned that .the sisters 
 will sleep with her in that room, to-night. The old man with the 
 gray mustache will share the young blacksmith's room." 
 
 "Very well," said Rodin. 
 
 " I did not dare insist on seeing the defonned work-woman this 
 evening on the subject of the Bacchanal Queen; I intend returning 
 to-morrow, to learn the eflt'ect of the letter she must have received this 
 evening by the post about the young blacksmith." 
 
 " Do not fail ! And now you will call, for me, on Françoise Baudoin's 
 confessor, late as it is ; you will tell him that I am waiting for him at 
 Rue du Milieu des Ursins — he must not lose a moment. Do you come 
 with him. Should I not be retru'ned, he "will wait for me. You will 
 tell him it is on a matter of great moment." 
 
 " All shall lie faithfully executed," said the ceremonious man, cringing 
 to Rodin as the coach drove quickly away.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 AGRICOLA AND MOTIlEli BUXCH 
 
 [TIIIX oue hour after the different scenes which have just 
 lieeu described, the most profound silence reigiied in the 
 Soulier's huiahle dwelling. 
 
 A nickering light, which played through two panes of 
 glass in a dooi", betrayed that Motlier Bunch had not yet gone to sleep ; 
 for her gloomy recess, without air or hght, was impenetrable to the 
 rays of day except by this door, opening upon a narrow and obscure 
 passage, connected with the roof. A sorry bed, a table, an old port- 
 manteau, and a chaii' so nearly filled this chilling abode that two pei*- 
 sons could not i)ossibly be seated within it unless one of them sat upon 
 the side of the bed. 
 
 Th(^ magnificent flower that Agi-icola had given to the gh-l was care- 
 fully placed in a vessel of water ui)on the table on a linen cloth, diffus- 
 ing its sweet odor around, and ex))anding its purple calyx in the very 
 closet, whose plastered walls, gray anddamj), were feebly lighted by the 
 rays of an attenuated caudle. 
 
 TIh! seamstress, who had taken off no part of her dress, was seated 
 upon her bed ; her looks were downcast and her eyes full of tears. She 
 siipported herself with one hand resting on the bolster, and, inclining 
 toward the door, listened with painful eag(»rness, every instant hoping 
 to hear the footstep of Agi-icola. The heart of the young seamstress 
 beat violently: her face, usually very pale, was now partially flushed, — 
 so exciting was the emotion by which she was agitated. Sometimes she 
 cast her eyes with terror upon a letter which she held in her hand — a 
 letter that had been deUvered by post in the coiu-se of the evening, and 
 which had Ijeen placed by the housekeeper (the dyer) upon the table 
 while she was rendering some trixnal domestic services, during the rec- 
 ognitions of Dagobert and his family 
 
 After some seconds ]Mother Bunch heard a door, very near her own, 
 softly opened.
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 269 
 
 " There he is at last ! " she exclaimed ; aud Agricola immediately- 
 entered. 
 
 " I waited till my father went to sleep," said the blacksmith in a low 
 voice, his ijhysiognomy e\'incing more cmiosity than uneasiness. " But 
 what is the matter, my good sister f How yoiu" countenance is changed ! 
 You weep ! What has happened ? About what danger would you 
 speak to me ? " 
 
 " Hush ! Read this ! " said she, her voice trembling with emotion, 
 while she hastily presented to him the open letter. 
 
 Agricola held it toward the light and read what follows : 
 
 " A person who has reasons for concealing himself, hut who knows the sisterly inter- 
 est you take in the welfare of Agricola Baudoin, warns you. That young and worthy 
 workman will probably be ari'ested iu the coui'se of to-moiTow." 
 
 " I ! " exclaimed Agricola, looking at Mother Bunch with an air of 
 stupefied amazement. " AMiat is the meaning of all this Î '" 
 
 " Read on ! " quickly replied the seamstress, clasping her hands. 
 Agi-icola resumed reading, scarcely believing the evidence of his 
 eyes. 
 
 " The song entitled ' Working-men Freed ' has been declared Ubellous. Numerous 
 copies of it have been found among the papers of a secret society, the leaders of which 
 are about to be incarcerated as being concerned iu the Rue des Prouvaii-es eonsph-aey." 
 
 " Alas ! " said the gii-l, melting into tears, " now I see it all. The man 
 who was lurking about below, this evening, who was observed by the 
 dyer, was doubtless a spy, hiug in wait for j'ou coming home." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " exclaimed Agiicola. " This accusation is quite ridicu- 
 lous. Do not torment yourself. I never trouble myself with politics. 
 My verses breathe nothing but philanthropy. Am I to blame if they 
 have been found among the papers of a secret society f " 
 Agi-icola disdainfully threw the letter upon the table. 
 
 " Read ! pray read ! " said the other ; " read on." 
 
 " If you wish it," said Agricola, " I will." 
 He resumed the reading of the letter : 
 
 '■ A warrant is al).)ut to be issued against Agricola Baudoin. There is no doubt of his 
 innocence being sooner or later made clear : but it will be well if he screen himself for a 
 time as much as possible from pursuit, in order that he may escape a confinement of two 
 or three months pre^^ous to tTial — an imprisonment which would Ije a temble blow for 
 his mother, whose sole support he is. 
 
 " A Sincere Friend, who is compelled to remain unknown." 
 
 After a moment's silence the blacksmith raised his head ; his coun- 
 tenance resumed its serenity, and laughing, he said :
 
 270 TUE WAyj)Eiax(! .//,'ir. 
 
 " Ro-assiire yoursolf , fr<iod Motlier Buncli ; tln/se jokors liave niadc a 
 mistcxko by trying tlieir games on me. It is plainly an attempt at mak- 
 ing an April-fool of me before the time." 
 
 "Agricola, for the love of heaven," said the girl, in a .'!U])plicating 
 tone, " treat not the warning thus lightly. Beheve in my forebodings 
 and listen to my advice." 
 
 "I tell you again, my good girl," replied Agricola, "that it is two 
 months since my song was published. It is iu)t in any way political; 
 indeed, if it were, they would not have waited till now before coming 
 down on me." 
 
 " But," said the otlitn*, " you forget that new events have ai-isen. It 
 is scarcely two days since the conspiracy was discovered in this very 
 neighboi'hood — in the Rue des Prouvaires. And," continued she, "if 
 the verses, though perha^js hitherto unnoticed, have now been found in 
 the possession of the persons appreheude<l for this conspiracy, nothing 
 more is necessary to compromise you in the i>lot." 
 
 " Compromise me ! " said Agricola. " My verses ! in which I only 
 pi-aise the love of labor and of goodness ! To arrest me for that ! If so, 
 Justice would be l)ut a blind noodle. That she might grope her way, 
 it would be necessary to furnish her with a dog and a pilgrim's staff to 
 guide her steps ! " 
 
 " Agricola," resiimed Motlier Bunch, ovei-whelmed with anxiety and 
 terror on hearing the lilacksiiiitli jest at such a moment, "I conjure 
 you to listen to me ! No doubt you uphold in the verses the sacred love 
 of labor; but you do also giievously dei)lore and deprecate the unjust 
 lot of the poor laborers, devoted, as they are, without hope, to all tlie 
 miseries of life. You recommend, indeed, onlj^ fraternity among men ; 
 but your good and noble heart vents its indignation, at the same time, 
 against the selfish and the wicked. In tine, you fervently hasten on, 
 with the ardor of your wishes, the emancipation of all the artisans who, 
 less fortunate than you, have not generous M. Hardy for employer. Say, 
 Agi'icola — in these times of trouble, is thei-e anything more necessary 
 to comi»romise you than that numerous copies of your song have been 
 found in possession of the persons who have been apprehended f " 
 
 Agricola was moved by these affectionate and judicious expressions 
 of an excellent creature, who reasoned from her heai-f, and he Ijegan to 
 view with more seriousness the ad\ice which she had given him. 
 
 Perceiving that she had shaken him, the sewing-girl went on to say : 
 
 " And then, bear your fellow-woi-kman Eemi in recoUection." 
 
 " Eemi ! " said Agricola anxiously. 
 
 " Yes," resumed the seamstress; "a letter of his — a letter in itself 
 quite insignificant — was found in the house of a person aiTested last
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 271 
 
 year for conspii-acy, and Eemi, in consequence, remained a month in 
 [)rison." 
 
 "That is true; but the injustice of his implication was easily shown 
 and he was set at Uberty." 
 
 " Yes, Agiicola, but not till he had lain a month in prison ; and that 
 has furnished the motive of the person who advised you to conceal 
 yourself ! A mouth in prison ! Good heavens ! Agi-icola, think of that ! 
 and your mother ! " 
 
 These words made a powerful impression upon Agricola. He took 
 up the letter and again read it attentively. 
 
 "And the man who has been lurking all this evening about the 
 house ? " i^roceeded she. " I constantly recall that circumstance, which 
 cannot be naturally accounted for. Alas ! what a blow it would be for 
 youi- father and poor mother, who is incapable of earning anything. 
 Ai-e you not now their only resoiu'ce ? Oh ! consider, then, what would 
 become of them without you — without your labor ! " 
 
 " It would indeed be terrible," said Agricola, impatiently casting the 
 letter upon the table. " What you have said concerning Eemi is too 
 true. He was as innocent as I am ; yet an error of justice, an involun- 
 tary error though it be, is not the less crael. But they don't commit a 
 man without hearing him." 
 
 " But they arrest him first and hear him afterward," said Mother 
 Bunch bitterly ; " and then after a month or two, they restore him his 
 liberty. And if he have a Avife and children, whose only means of liv- 
 ing is his daily labor, what becomes of them while their only supporter 
 is in prison ? They suffer himger, they endure cold, and thej' weep ! " 
 At these simple and pathetic words Agi-icola trembled. 
 
 " A month without work," he said, with a sad and thoughtfiû air. 
 " And my mother and fatlier, and the two young ladies who make part 
 of our family until the arrival in Paris of their father, Marshal Simon. 
 Oh ! you are right. That thought, in spite of myself, affrights me !" 
 
 " Agricola ! " exclaimed the girl impetuously, " suppose you apply to 
 M. Hardy. He is so good, and his character is so much esteemed and 
 honored, that if he offered bail for you perhaps they would give up 
 their persecution ? " 
 
 " UnfortiTuately," replied Agi-icola, " M. Hardy is absent ; he is on a 
 jouniey with the father of Marshal Simon." 
 
 After a silence of some time, Agi-icola, striving to surmount his 
 fears, added : 
 
 "But no! 1 cannot give credence to this letter. After aU, 1 had 
 rather await what may come. I'll at least have the chance of proving 
 my innocence on my first examination ; for indeed, my good sister,
 
 272 THE WAXDEKIXa .//;ir. 
 
 wlit'tlicr il 1h> that 1 aia in prison or tiiat I lly to conceal niyscif, my 
 woi'king for my family will be e(iually jn-evcntcil.'' 
 
 "Alas! that is true," said the poor girl. " What is to lie done ! Oh, 
 what is to be done!" 
 
 "My brave fatlier," said Agricola to hiiiiscir. " If this misfortune 
 happen to-morrow, what an awakeninji it will be for Inm, who came 
 hero to sleej) so joyously !'' 
 
 The blacksmith buried his face in his hands. 
 
 Unhappily Mother Bunch's fears were too well founded, for it will 
 be recollected that at that epoch of the year 1832, before and after the 
 conspiracy of the Rue des Pronvaires, a very .ureat number of arrests 
 had been made among the working-classes in consequence of a violent 
 reaction against democratical ideas. 
 
 Suddenly the girl broke the silence which had l)een maintained for 
 some seconds. A blush colored her features, which bore the impres- 
 sions of an indefinal)le expression of constraint, gi'ief, and hope. 
 
 " Agi'icola, you are saved ! " 
 
 " Wliat say" you ?" he asked. 
 
 "The young lady, so beautiful, so good, who gave you this flower" 
 (she showed it to the blacksmith), " who knew how to make reparation 
 with so much delicacy for having made a ]iainful offer, cannot but have 
 
 a generous heart. You must apply to her " 
 
 "With these words, which seemed to be wrung fi-oni liei- ])y a vio- 
 lent eflfort over herself, gi'cat tears rolled down lici' cheeks. I"'oi- the first 
 time in her life she experienced a feeling of grievous jealousy. Another 
 woman was so hapjiy as to have the power of coming to the relief of 
 liiiu whom she idolized ; while she herself, poor creature, was powerless 
 and wretched. 
 
 " Do you think so .'" exclaimed Agricola, surprised. "]^>ut what could 
 this ytmng lady do?" 
 
 " Did she not say to you," answered Mother Bunch, "'Rememljcr my 
 name, and in ail circumstances address yourself to me'?" 
 
 " She did imleed ! " replied Agricola. 
 
 " This young lady, in her exalted position, ought to have powerful con- 
 nections who will l)e able to jirotect and defend you. Go to her to-moiTow 
 mornini;; tell her frankly what has hapijeued, and request her support." 
 
 " But tell me, ray good sister, what it is you wish her to do?" 
 
 '• Listen. 1 r(>member that, in fonner times, my father told us that 
 lie had save(l one of his friends from being piit in ]>rison by becoming 
 surety for him. It will be easy for you so to convince this young lady 
 of your innocence that she will be induced to become surety, and after 
 that you will have nothing more to feai-."
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 273 
 
 " My poor child ! " said Agrieola, " to ask so great a service from a 
 person to whom one is almost uukiiowu is hard." 
 
 " Believe me, Agrieola," said the other sadly, " I would never counsel 
 what coiild possibly lower you in the eyes of any one, and above all — 
 do you understand? — above all, in the eyes of this young lady. I do 
 not propose that you should ask money from her, but only that she 
 give surety for you, iu order that you may have the liberty of continu- 
 ing at yoiu' employment, so that the family may not be without resources. 
 Believe me, Agrieola, that such a request is in no respect inconsistent 
 with what is noble and becoming upon jo\w part. The heart of the 
 yovmg lady is generous. She will comprehend your position. The 
 required surety will be as nothing to her, while to you it wiU be every- 
 thing, and will be even the very life to those who depend upon you." 
 
 " You are nght, my good sister," said Agrieola, with sadness and dejec- 
 tion. " It is perhaps worth while to risk taking the step. If the young 
 lady consent to render me this service, and if giving surety will indeed 
 preserve me from prison, I shall be ])repared for every event. But no, 
 no ! " added he, rising, " I'd never dare to make the request to her ! What 
 right have I to do so ? What is the insignificant service that I rendered 
 her, when eomjjared with that which I should solicit from her ! " 
 
 " Do you imagine, then, Agrieola, that a generous spirit measures the 
 services which ought to be rendered by those i)reviously received I Trust 
 to me respecting a matter which is an affair of the heart. I am, it is 
 true, but a lowly creature, and ought not to compare myself with any 
 other person. I am nothing, and I can do nothing. Nevertheless, I am 
 sure — yes, Agrieola, I am sure — that this young lady, who is so very 
 far above me, will experience the same feelings that I do in this affair. 
 Yes, like me, she will at once comprehend that your position is a cruel 
 one ; and she will do with joy, with happiness, with thankfulness, that 
 which I would do, if, alas ! I could do anything more than uselessly 
 consume myself with regi*ets." 
 
 In spite of herself, she pn^nounced the last words with an expression 
 so heart-bi'eaking — there was something so moving in the comparison 
 which this vinfortunate creature, obscure and disdained, infirm and mis- 
 erable, made of hei'self with Adrienne de Cardoville, the very tyjje of 
 resplendent youth, ])eauty, and opulence, that Agrieola was moved even 
 to tears ; and, holding out one of his hands to the speaker, he said to 
 her, tenderly : 
 
 " How very good you are ; how full of nobleness, good feeling, and 
 delicacy ! " 
 
 " Unhappily," said the weeping girl, " 1 can do nothing more than 
 advise."
 
 1274 '/'///■-' WA M'Kiiiyr, J i:\v. 
 
 " And your counsels sliall \>o followed out, my sister dear. Tliey are 
 those of a soul the most elevated 1 have ever known. Yes, you luive won 
 me over into makinfz; this experiment, I'V persuading me that the heart 
 of Mademoiselle de Cardoville is ]ierlia])s ('(pial in value to your own ! " 
 At this charming and sincere assimilation of herself to Adrieinie, 
 the seamstress forgot almost everything she had sulïered, so exquisitely 
 sweet and consoling were lier emotions. If some poor creatures, fatally 
 devoted to sufferings, experience gi-iefs of which the world knows 
 naught, they .sometimes, too, are cheered l)y humhle and timid joys of 
 which the world is equally ignorant. The least woid of true tenderness 
 and affection which elevates them in their own estimation is ineffal)ly 
 blissful to these unfortunate beings, ha))itually consigneil not only to 
 hai'dships and to tlisdaiu, but even to desolating doubts and distrust of 
 themselves. 
 
 " Then it is agreed that you ■will go to-morrow morning to this young 
 lady's hou.se f " exclaimed Mother Bunch, trembling with a new-born 
 hope. " And," she quickly added, " at break of day I'll go down to watch 
 at the street door, to see if there 1)0 anything suspicious, and to apprise 
 you of what I jjerceive." 
 
 " Good, excellent girl ! " exclaimed Agricola, with increasing emotion. 
 
 " It ^vill bo necessary to endeavor to set off before the wakening of 
 your father," said the hunchback. " The quarter in which the young 
 lady dwells is so deserted that the mere going there will almost serve for 
 your present concealment." 
 
 " T think T hear the voice of my father," said Agricola suddenly. 
 In truth, the little apai-tment was so near Agricola's garret that he 
 and the seamstress, listening, heard Dagobert say, in the dark : 
 
 " Agi'icola, is it thus that you sleep, my Ijoy f Why, my first sleep is 
 over and my tongue itches deucedly." 
 
 " Go quick, Agricola ! " said Mother Bunch ; " your absence would dis- 
 quiet him. On no account go out to-morrow morning before I inform 
 you whether or not I shall have seen anything sus])icions." 
 
 " Why, Agricola, you are not here ?" resumed Dagobert, in a louder 
 voice. 
 
 " Here I am, father," said the smith, while going out of the seam- 
 stress's apartment and entering the garret to his father. 
 
 " I have been to fasten the .shutter of a loft that the wind agitated, 
 lest its noise should disturb you." 
 
 " Thanks, my boy; but it is not noise that wakes me," said Dagobt^rt 
 gayly ; " it is an appetite, quite furious, for a chat with you. i)h, my 
 dear boy, it is the hungering of a proud old man of a father who has not 
 seen his son for eighteen years."
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 275 
 
 " Hhall I light a candle, father ? " 
 
 " Xo, no ; that would be luxurious ; let us chat in the dark. It -will 
 lie a new pleasure for me to see you to-morrow morning at daybreak. 
 It will be like seeing you for the first time twice." The door of Agidc- 
 ola's garret being now closed, Mother Bunch heard nothing more. 
 
 The poor girl, without undi-essing, threw herself upon the bed and 
 closed not an eye during the night, painfully awaiting the appearance of 
 day, in order that she might watch over the safety of Agricola. How- 
 ever, in spite of her vivid anxieties for the morrow, she sometimes 
 allowed herself to sink into the reveries of a bitter melancholy. She 
 compared the conversation she had just had, in the silence of night, 
 with the man whom she secretly adored, with what that conversation 
 might have been had she possessed some share of charms and beauty — 
 had she been loved, as she loved, with a chaste and devoted flame ! But 
 soon sinking into belief that she should never know the ravishing 
 sweets of a mutual passion, she found consolation in the hope of being 
 useful to Agiieola. 
 
 At the dawn of day she rose softly and descended the staircase with 
 little noise, in order to see if anji:hing menaced Agricola from ^vithout.
 
 CHAPTEK VT 
 
 THE A M' A K E X I X G 
 
 I IE weathor, dam]) and foggy during a portion of tho night, 
 ln'came elear and cold toward morning. Through the 
 ghized skylight of Agi'icola's garrot, where he lay with his 
 father, a corner of the blue .sky could be seen. 
 
 The apartment of the young blacksmith had an aspect as poor as 
 the sewing-girl's. For its sole ornament, over the deal taV)li' upon which 
 Agricola wrote his poetical inspirations, there hung suspended fi-om a 
 nail in the wall a portrait of Béranger — that immortal poet whom the 
 people revere and cherish because his rare and transcendent genius 
 loved and enlightened the people, and sang their glories and their 
 reverses. 
 
 Although the day had only begun to dawn, Dagobert and Agricola 
 had already risen. The latter had sufficient self-command to conceal 
 his in(iuietude, for renewed rcflcM-tiou had again increased his fears. 
 
 The recent outbreak in tlie Rue des Prouvaires had caused a great 
 numlior of precautionary arrests, and the discovery of numerous copies 
 of Agricola's song, "Labor Enfranchised," in the possession of one of 
 the chiefs of the disconcerted i)lot was, in truth, calculated .slightly to 
 compromise the young l)lacksmitli. His father, however, as we have 
 already mentioned, suspected not his secret anguish. Seated by the 
 side of his son, upon tlie edge of their mean little bed, the old soldier 
 by break of day had dressed and shaved with military care; he now 
 held between his hands both those of Agricola, his countenance radiant 
 with joy, anil unable to discontinue the contemplation of his boy. 
 
 "You will laugh at mo, my dear boy," saiil Dagobert to his son, "but 
 I wished the night to the de\il in order that I might gaze upon you in 
 full day, as I now see you. But all in good time; I have lost nothing. 
 Here is another silliness of mine ; it delights me to see you wear mus- 
 taches. "What a splendid horse grenadier you would have made ! Tell 
 me — have vou never had a wish to be a soldier?"
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 277 
 
 " I thouKht of mother ! " 
 
 " That's right," said Dagobert ; " and besides, I believe after all, look 
 ye, that the time of the sword has gone by. We old fellows are now- 
 good for nothing but to be put in a corner of the chimney. Like rusty 
 old carbines, we have had our day." 
 
 " Yes, youi- days of heroism and of glory," said Agi'icola, -witli excite- 
 ment ; and then he added, with a voice profoundly softened and agi- 
 tated: 
 
 " It is something good and cheeriiîg to be your sou ! " 
 
 " As to the good, I know nothing of that," replied Dagobert ; " but as 
 for the cheering, it ought to be so, for I love you proudly. And I think 
 this is but the beginning ! What say you, Agricola f I am like the 
 famished wretches who have been some days without food. It is but 
 by little and little that they recover themselves and can eat. Now you 
 may expect, to be tasted, my 1)oy, morning and evening, and every day. 
 No, I wish, not to think that — not every day. No; that thought dazzles 
 and perplexes me, and I am no longer myself." 
 
 These words of Dagol^ert caused a ])ainfal feeling to Agricola. He 
 believed that they sprang from a presentiment of the separation with 
 which he was manaced. 
 
 " Well," continued Dagobert, " you are quite happy; M. Hardy is 
 always good to you." 
 
 " Oh ! " replied Agricola, " there is none in the world better, or more 
 equitable and generous ! If you knew what wonders he has brought 
 about in his factorj" ! Compared to all others, it is a paradise in the 
 midst of hell ! " 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Dagobert. 
 
 " You shall see," resumed Agricola, " what welfare, what joy, what 
 affection are displayed upon the countenances of all whom he employs, 
 and how they work with an aixlent pleasure." 
 
 " This M. Hardy of yours must be an out-and-out magician," said 
 Dagobert. 
 
 " He is, father, a very great magician. He has known how to render 
 labor pleasant and attractive. As for the pleasure, over and above good 
 wages he accords to us a portion of his i:)rofits according to oi;r deserts; 
 whence you may judge of the eagerness with which we go to work. 
 And that is not all; he has caused large, handsome buildings to bo 
 erected, in which all his work-people tind, at less expense than else- 
 where, cheerful and salubrioiis lodgings, in which they enjoy all the 
 advantages of an association. But you shall see — I repeat — you 
 shall see ! " 
 
 " They have good reason to say that Paris is the region of wonders,"
 
 278 TUE w.i X ih:l-[X(; .fi:w. 
 
 ol)si'rve(l DagoUort, "and T am here again at last, never more to quit 
 you uor your good niothor ! " 
 
 " No, father, we will never separate again," said Agi'ieola, stifling a 
 sigh. "My mother and I will lioth ti-y to make you forget all that you 
 have suffered." 
 
 " Suffered ! " exclaimed Dagobert, " who the deuce has suffered ? Look 
 me well in the face and see if I have a look of sulïeriug ! Since I have 
 put my foot here, I feel myself (piite a young man again ! You shall 
 see me march soon ; I bet that I tire you out ! You must rig yourself 
 up something extra ! Lord, how they will stare at us ! I wager that in 
 beholding youi- l)lack mustache and my gray one, folks will say : There 
 go father and son! But let us settle what we are to do with the day. 
 You will write to the father of Marshal Simon, informing him that his 
 gi-anddaughters have arrived and that it is necessary that he should 
 hasten his return to Paris, for he has charged himself with matters 
 which are of great imi)ortaiice for them. While you are ^\Titing, I will 
 go down and say good-morning to my wife and to the dear little ones. 
 We will then eat a morsel. Your mother will go to mass — f( )r I perceive 
 that she likes to be regidar at that, the good soul ! no great harm, if 
 it amuse her! — and during her absence we will make a raid togetiiei-." 
 
 " Father," said Agricola, with embarrassment, " this morning it is out 
 of my power to accompany you." 
 
 "How! Out of your power?" said Dagobert. "Recollect, this is 
 Sunday." 
 
 " Yes, father," said Agi'icola hesitatingly ; " but I have promised to 
 attend all the morning in the workshop, to finish a job that is required 
 in a hurry. If I fail to do so, I shall inflict some injury ujion M. 
 Hardy. But I'll soon be at liljerty." 
 
 " That alters the case," said Dagobert, with a sigh of regret. " I 
 thought to make my first parade through Paris with you this morning, 
 but it must be deferred in favor of your work. It is sacred, since it 
 is that which sustains youi* mother. Nevertheless it is vexatious, devil- 
 ish vexatious. And yet no — I am unjust. See how quickly one gets 
 habituated to and spoilt by happiness. I growl like a true grumbler at 
 a walk Ijeing put off for a few hours ! I do this ! I who, during eigh- 
 teen years, have only hoped to see you once more, without daring to 
 reckon very much upon it ! Oh ! I am but a silly old fool. Hurrah for 
 joy and — my Agricola ! " 
 
 And, to console himself, the old soldier gayly slapped his son's 
 shoulder. This seemed another omen of evil to th(> blacksmith, for he 
 dreaded one moment to another lest the fears of Mother Bunch should 
 be realized.
 
 THE WAX DE RI XG JEW- 279 
 
 " Now that I have recovered myself," said Dagobert, laughing, " let 
 us speak of busiuess. Know you where I can find the adckesses of all 
 the notaries in Paris f " 
 
 " I don't know, but nothing is more easy than to discover it." 
 
 " My reason is," resumed Dagobert, " that I sent from Russia by post, 
 and by order of the mother of the two children that I have ln*ought 
 here, some important papers to a Parisian notary. As it was my duty 
 to see this notary immediately i;pon my arrival, I had written his name 
 and his address in a portfolio, of which, however, I have been robbed 
 during my journey; and as I have forgotten his devil of a name, it 
 seems to me that if I should see it again in the list of notaries I might 
 recollect it." 
 
 Two knocks at the door of the garret made Agricola start. He 
 involuntarily thought of a warrant for his apprehension. 
 
 His father, who, at the sound of the knocking, turned round his 
 head, had not perceived his emotion, and said with a loud voice : 
 
 " Come in ! " 
 The door opened. It was Gabriel. He wore a black cassock and a 
 broad-brimmed hat. 
 
 To recognize his bi'other by adoption and to throw himself into his 
 arms were two movements performed at once by Agricola — as quick as 
 thought. 
 
 " My bi'other ! " exclaimed Agricola. 
 
 " Agricola ! " cried Gabriel. 
 
 " Gabriel ! " responded the blacksmith. 
 
 " After so long an absence ! " said the one. 
 
 " To behold you again ! " rejoined the other. 
 Such were the words exchanged between the blacksmith and the 
 missionary, while they were locked in a close embrace. 
 
 Dagobert, moved and charmed by these fraternal endearments, felt 
 his eyes become moist. There was something truly touching in the 
 affection of the young men — in their hearts so much alike, and yet of 
 characters and aspects so very different ; for the manly countenance of 
 Agricola contrasted strongly with the dtdicacy and angelic physiognomy 
 of Gabriel. 
 
 " I was forewarned by my father of your arrival," said the lilaek- 
 smith, at length. " I have been expecting to see you, and my happi- 
 ness has been a hundi-ed times the greater because I have had all the 
 pleasures of hoping for it." 
 
 " And my good mother ? " asked Gabriel, in affectionately grasping 
 the hands of Dagobert. " I trust that you have foimd her in good 
 health."
 
 280 TUE \\Ayj)JJliI\U JEW. 
 
 " Yes, my luavo ])oy !" r(']ilic'(l Dairobcrt ; " and her liealth will havo 
 become u luiiulri'd times hi'tter, now that we are all together. Notiiiiig 
 is so healtlit'ul as joy." 
 
 Then addri'ssiiig himself to Agi-ieola, who, forgetting his fear of 
 being arrested, regardetl tlie missionary with an ex[»ressiou of ineffable 
 affection, Dagobert addi'd: 
 
 "And just think, that, with the soft cheek of a young girl, Gabriel 
 has the courage of a lion ! T luive already told with wliat intrepidity he 
 saved the lives of Marshal Simon's daughters and tried to save mine 
 also." 
 
 "But, Clabriel ! what has happened to your forehead?'' suddenly 
 exclaimed Agricola, who for a few seconds had been attentively exam- 
 ining the missionary. 
 
 Gabriel, having tlii'own aside his hat on entering, was now dii'cctly 
 beneath tlu> skylighr of the garret apartment, the bright light through 
 whieh shone u](on his sweet, pale countenance, and the round scar, 
 which extende(l tVoiii one eyebrow to the other, was therefore distinctly 
 visible. 
 
 In the midst of the powerful and diversiticd emotions, and of the 
 exciting events which so rapidly followed the shipwreck on the rocky 
 coast near Cardoville, Dagobert, dining the short interview he then had 
 with (Jaliriel, had not pei-ceived the sear whieh seamed the forehead of 
 the young missionary. Now partaking, however, (»f the sm'i)rise of his 
 son, Dagobert sai( 1 : 
 
 " Aye, indt>ed ! How came this scar upon your brow ? " 
 
 "And on iiis hands, too. See, dear father!" exclaimed the l)lack- 
 smith, with renewed sur[)rise, while he .seized one of the hands which 
 the young priest held out tcfward him in order to traiKpiilize his fears. 
 
 " Gabriel, my brave boy, ex)>lain this to us ! " added Dagobei't. " Who 
 has wounded you thus Î " Then in his turn, taking the other hand of the 
 missionary, he examined the sear upon it with the eye of a judge of 
 W(»unds, and added : 
 
 " In Spain, one of my comrades was found and taken down alive from 
 a cross, erected at the junction of several roads, upon which the monks 
 had crucified him, and left him to die of hunger, thirst, and agony. 
 Ever afterward he bore scars ujion his hands exactly similar to this 
 upon your hand.'' 
 
 " My father is right ! " exclaimed Agi-icola. " It is evident that your 
 hands have l)een pierced through ! ^ly pooi- brother ! " And Agricola 
 became gi'ievously agitated. 
 
 " Do not think about it," said Gabriel, reddening with the embarrass- 
 ment of modesty. " Having gone as a missionary amongst the savages
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 
 
 281 
 
 of the Rocky Mountains, they erucified me, and they had begun to scalp 
 me, when Providence snatched me from their hands." 
 
 —M- ûn'i>iik] 
 
 ni' "^ 
 
 1 
 
 V. 
 
 
 
 \ 
 
 1 
 
 H 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 / 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 " Unfortunate youth ! " said Dagobert. " Without arms, then ? You 
 had not a sufficient escort for your protection? " 
 
 " It is not for such as me to carry arms," said Grabriel, sweetly smil- 
 ing, " and we are never accompanied by any escort."
 
 282 THE waxi>i:ri\(; .ii:w. 
 
 " Well, but your conipauioiis, — these whoAverc alon<; with you, — how 
 came it that they did not det'oud you ? " impetuously asked Ajaùeola. 
 
 " I was aloue, my dear brother." 
 
 " Aloue ! " 
 
 " Yes, alone ; without even a priiide." 
 
 " You aloue ! unarnied ! in a barbarous couutry ! " exclaimed Dago- 
 bei"t, scarcely crediting a step so unmilitaiy, and almost distioisting his 
 own sense of hearing. 
 
 " It was sublime ! " .said tlie young blacksniitli and j)oet. 
 
 " The Christian faith," said Gabriel, with mild simplicity, " cannot be 
 implanti'd by force or ^^olence. It is only by the power of persuasion 
 that the Gospel can b(> spread amongst poor savages." 
 
 " But when i»i'rsuasi(>ns fail ?" said Agricola. 
 
 " Why, then, dear brother, one has but to die for the belief that is in 
 him, pitying those who have rejected it, for it offei-s the blessings to 
 mankind." 
 
 There was a period of profound silence after the reply of Gabriel, 
 which was uttered with simple and touching pathos. 
 
 Dago])ert was in his f)wn nature too courageous not to com|»re- 
 h<'nd a heroism thus calm and resigned ; and the old soldier, as well as 
 his son, now contemplated Gabriel with the most earnest feelings of 
 mingled admrnition and respect. 
 
 Gabriel, entirely free from the affection of false modesty, seemed 
 quite unconscious of the emotions which he had excited in the breasts 
 of his two friends, and he therefore said to Dagobert : 
 
 " What ails you ? " 
 
 " "What ails me ! " exclaimed the brave old soldier, with gi-eat emotion. 
 " After having been for thirty years in the wars, I had imagined myself 
 to be about as courageous as any man, and now I find I have a master, 
 and that master is yourself ! " 
 
 " I ! " said Galji-iel. " Wliat do you mean ? What have I done f " 
 
 " Thunder ! Don't you know that the brave wounds there" (the veteran 
 took Avith transport both of Gain-id's hands) — " that these wounds are 
 as glorious, are more glorious, than ours, — than all om"s, — as warriors 
 by profession ! " 
 
 "Yes! yes! my father speaks truth!" exclaimed Agricola; and he 
 added, with enthusiasm : 
 
 " Oh, for such priests ! How I love them ! How I venerate them ! How 
 I am elevated by their charity, their courage, their resignation ! " 
 
 "I entreat you not to extol me thus," said Gabriel, with embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 " Not extol you ! " replied Dagobert. " Just look here ! When I have
 
 THE WAX DE RING JEW. 283 
 
 gone into the heat of action, did I rnsli into it alone ? Was I not under 
 the eyes of my cajatain ? Were not my comrades there along with me ? 
 In default of true coiu-age, had I not the instinct of self-preservation to 
 spur me on, without reckoning the excitement of the shouts and tumult 
 of battle, the smell of the gunpowder, the flourishes of the trumpets, 
 the thundering of the caunou, the ardor of my horse, the devil and all ? 
 Need I state that I also knew that the empei'or was present, who, in 
 recompense for a hole being made in my tough hide, would give me a 
 bit of lace or a ribbon as plaster for the wound ? Thanks to all these 
 causes, I passed for game. Fair enough ! But are you not a thousand 
 times more game than I, my brave boy ; going alone, iinarmed, to con- 
 front enemies a hundred times more ferocious than those whom we 
 attacked, — we who fought in whole squadrons, sword in hand, supported 
 by shells and case-shot ? " 
 
 " Excellent father ! " cried Agi'icola. " How noble of you to render to 
 Gabriel this justice ! " 
 
 " Oh, dear brother," said Gabriel, " his kindness to me makes him 
 magnify what was quite natural ! " 
 
 "Natural ! " said the veteran soldier ; " yes, natm-al for gallants who 
 have hearts of the true temper ; but that temper is rare." 
 
 " Oh, yes, very rare," said Agricola, " for that kind of courage is the 
 most admirable of all. Most bravely did you seek almost certain death, 
 alone, bearing the cross in hand as your only weapon, to preach char- 
 ity and Christian brotherhood. They seized you, tortured you ; and 
 you awaited death and partly endured it, without complaint, without 
 remonstrance, without hatred, -without anger, without a wish for venge- 
 ance ; forgiveness issuing from your mouth and a smile of pity beaming 
 upon your lips ; and this in the depths of forests, where no one could 
 witness yom" magnanimity, — none could behold you, — and without 
 other desire, after you were rescued, than modestly to conceal blessed 
 wounds under your black robe ! My father is right. Can you stUl con- 
 tend that you are not as brave as he f " 
 
 " And besides, too," resumed Dagobert, " the dear boy did all that for 
 a thankless paymaster ; for it is true, Agricola, that his wounds will 
 never change his humble black robe of a priest into the rich robe of a 
 bishop ! " 
 
 " I am not so disinterested as I may seem to be," said Gabriel to Dago- 
 bert, smiling meekly. " If I am deemed worthy, a great recompense 
 awaits me on high." 
 
 " As to all that, my boy," said Dagobert, " I do not understand it, and 
 I will not argue al:)out it. I maintain it, that my old cross of honor would 
 be at least as deservedly affixed to your cassock as upon my uniform."
 
 284 Till-: \\'AXJ)EEIXa JIJW. 
 
 "But tlicso rocoinponses are nover conferred upon lniin])lo priests 
 like (riilirii'l," said Aj^ricola ; "and if you did know, dear fatlier, liow 
 niudi viftuc and valnr is aiuon*;- tiiose whom the highest orders in the 
 jn'it'sthood insolently eall the interior <-lt'ri;y, — Ihf unsct-n merit and 
 the blind devotedness to be found amongst worthy but obscure country 
 curates, who are inhumanly treated and sul)jugated to a pitiless yoke 
 by their bishops! Like us, those poor priests are woi'thy laborers in 
 their vocation ; and for them, also, all generoi;s hearts ought to demand 
 enfrancliisement ! Sons of common peo])le, like ourselves, and userni 
 as we are, justice ought to be i-eiidered l)()th to theiii .iiid to us. Do 1 
 say right, Gabriel ? You will not contradict it, for you have told me 
 that your ami)itiou would have been to obtain a small country cui'acy, 
 because you understand the good that you could work within it." 
 
 "My desire is still the same," said (ialiriel sadly; " ImiI unl'oi-tii- 
 
 nately " 
 
 And then, as if he wisli(>d to escape from a painful thought, and to 
 change the conversation, he, addressing himself to Dagobert, added: 
 
 "Believe me, Im^ nioi'e just than to iuid(M-value your own courage by 
 exalting mine. Your courage must l)e very great — very great; for 
 after a battle the spectacle of the carnage must be truly terrible to a 
 generous and feeling heart. Wo, at least, though we may be killed, do 
 not kill." 
 
 At these words of the missionary the .soldier drew himself up erect, 
 looked ujK)!! (Jabriel with astonishment, and said : 
 
 " This is most surprising ! " 
 
 " What is f" inquireil Agricola. 
 
 "What Gabriel has just told us," replied Dagobert, "brings to my 
 mind what I experienced in warfare on the l)attle-fieM in piMpoi'tion as 
 I advanced in years." 
 
 Then, after a moment of silence, he added, in a graver tone than 
 usual : 
 
 " Listen, my children : more than once, on the night aftei- a geni>ral 
 engagement, I have been mounted as a vidette, — alone, by night, — 
 amid the moonlight, on the field of battle which remained in our pos- 
 session, and upon which lay the bodies of seven or eight thousand of the 
 .slain, amongst whom were mingled the slaughtei-ed remains of some of 
 my old comrades; and wdien this .sad scene and the profound silence 
 had restored me to my senses fi-om the thirst for Ijloodshed and the 
 delirious whirling of my sword (an intoxication like the r<»st), I liave 
 said to myself, ' For what have these men been killed f For what I — 
 For what?' But this feeling, well understood as it was, hindered me 
 not on the following moi'ning, when the trumpets again sounded the
 
 THE WAX^DEEING JEW. 285 
 
 charge, from rushing once more to the slaughter. But the same thought 
 always recui'red when my arm became weary with carnage ; and after 
 wiping my saber upon the mane of my horse I have said to myself, ' I 
 have killed ! — killed ! ! — killed ! ! ! and. For Wliaf ! ! ! ' " 
 
 Tlie missionary and the blacksmith exchanged looks on hearing the 
 old soldier give utterance to this singular retrospection of the past. 
 
 " Alas ! " said Gabriel to him, " all generous hearts feel as you did 
 during the solemn moments, when the intoxication of glory has sul isided 
 and man is left alone to the influence of the good instincts planted in 
 his bosom." 
 
 " And that shoul<l prove, my brave l)oy," rejoined Dagobert, " that you 
 are greatly better than I ; for those noble instincts, as you call them, 
 have never abandoned you. But how the deuce did you escape from the 
 claws of the infuriated savages who had already crucified you f " 
 
 At this question of Dagobert, Gabriel started and reddened so ^dsibly 
 that the soldier said to him : 
 
 " If you ought not or cannot answer my request, let us say no more 
 about it." 
 
 " I have nothing to conceal either from you or from my brother," 
 replied the missionary with altered voice ; " only, it will be difficult for 
 me to make you comprehend what I cannot comprehend myself." 
 
 '• How is that f " asked Agricola, with surprise. 
 
 " Surely," said Gabriel, redilening more deeply, " I must have been 
 deceived by a fallacy of my senses during that abstracted moment in 
 which I awaited death with resignation. My enfeebled mind, in spite 
 of me, must have been cheated by an illusion or that, which to the 
 present hour has remained inexplicable, would have been more slowly 
 
 developed, and I should have known who was the strange woman " 
 
 Dagobert, while listening to the missionary, was perfectly amazed ; 
 for he also had vainly tried to account for the unexpected succor which 
 had freed him and the two orphans from the prison at Leipsic. 
 
 " Of what woman do you speak ? " asked Agricola. 
 
 " Of her who saved me," was the reply. 
 
 " A woman saved you from the hands of the savages ! " said Dagobert. 
 
 " Yes," replied Gabriel, though absorbed in his reflections ; " a woman, 
 young and beautiful ! " 
 
 " And who was this woman ? " asked Agricola. 
 
 " I know not. AVhen I asked her, she replied, ' / (iiii tlw sister of the 
 distressed !''' 
 
 "And whence came she? AVhither went she?" asked Dagobert, 
 singularly interested. 
 
 " ' / go ivheresoever there is sufferituj,^ she replied," answered the mis-
 
 286 Tin: WAXDERIXa JEW. 
 
 sioiiary; "ami she deimrti-d, jioiiij; tuwunl the north of Anieriea — 
 toward those desolate vegious iu whicli there is eternal snow, where the 
 nights are without end." 
 
 "As in (Siberia," said Dagobert, wlio liad become very thoughtful. 
 
 "But," resumed Agrieohi, addressing himself to (iabriel, who st'cmed 
 also to have become more and more absorbeil, " in what manner or ]»y 
 what means did this woman come to ycmr assistance ? " 
 
 Thi- missionary was about to reply to the last (juestion when there 
 was heard a gentle tap at the door of the gan-et apartment, which 
 renewed the fears that Agrieola h.id foi-gotten since the ari-ival of his 
 adopted brother. 
 
 " Agiicola," said a sweet voice outside the door, " I wish to speak with 
 you as soon as possible." 
 
 Tlie blacksmith recognized Mother Bunch's voice and opened the 
 doi)V. But the young seamstress, instead of entering, drew back into 
 the dark passage and said, \vith a voice of anxiety : 
 
 " Agrieola, it is an hour since broad day and you have not yet 
 dejiarted! How imprudent! I have been watching below, in the street, 
 until now, and Iiave seen nothing alarming; but they may come any 
 instant to arrest you. Hasten, I conjure you, your departure for the 
 abode of Mademoiselle de Cardoville. Not a minute should be lost." 
 
 " Had it not been for the arrival of Gabriel I should have l)een gone; 
 but I could not I'esist the happiness of remaining some little time with 
 him." 
 
 " Gabriel here ! " said Mother Bunch, with sweet surprise ; for, as has 
 been stated, she had been brouglit uj) with liim and Agrieola. 
 
 " Yes," answered Agrieola ; " for half an hour he has been with my 
 father and me." 
 
 " What ha])piness I shall have in seeing him again !"said the sewing- 
 girl. " He doubtless came upstairs while I had gone for a brief space 
 to your mother, to ask if I could be useful in any way on account of 
 the young ladies ; but they have been so fatigued that they still sleep. 
 Your mother has requested me to give you this letter for your father. 
 She has just received it." 
 
 " Thanks." 
 
 " Well," resumed Mother Bunch, " now that you have seen (iabriel, 
 do not delay long. Think what a blow it would be for your father if 
 they came to arrest you — heavens ! — in his very presence ! " 
 
 " You ai-e right," said Agi-icola ; " it is indispensable that I should 
 depart. "\Miilc near Galjriel and him, in spite of my anxiety, my fears 
 were forgotten." 
 
 " Go quickly, then ; and if Mademoiselle de Cardoville should grant
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 287 
 
 this favor, perhaps in a couple of hours you will return, quite at ease 
 1)oth as to yourself and us." 
 
 " True ! A very few minutes more and I'll come down." 
 
 " I return to watch at the door. If I perceive anything, I'll come up 
 again to apprise you. But, pray, do not delay." 
 
 " Be easy, good sister." 
 Mother Bunch hurriedly descended the staircase to resume her 
 watch at the street door, and Agi'icolu reentered his garret. 
 
 " Dear father," he said to Dagobert, " my mother has just received 
 this h'tter, and she requests you to read it." 
 
 " Very well ; read it for me, my boy." 
 And Agi-icola read as follows : 
 
 " MADAiiK : I understand that your husband has been charged by General Simon 
 with an affair of very gi-eat importance. WLU you, as soon as your husband arrives in 
 Paris, request him to come to my office at Cliartres without a moment's delay? I am 
 instructed to deUver to himself, and to no other lurson, some documents LucUspensable to 
 the interests of General Simon. Duraxd, Notary at Chartres." 
 
 Dagobert looked at his son with astonishment, and said to him : 
 
 " "WTio can have told this gentleman akeady of my arrival in Paris ? " 
 
 " Perhaps, father," said Agiicola, " this is the notary to whom you 
 transmitted some papers, and whose address you have lost." 
 
 " But his name was not Durand ; and I distinctly recollect that his 
 address was Paris, not Charti'es. And, besides," said the soldier thought- 
 fully, "if he has some important documents, why didn't he transmit 
 them to me ? " 
 
 " It seems to me that you ought not to neglect going to him as soon 
 as possible," said Agricola, secretly rejoiced that this circumstance 
 would ^vithth•aw his father for about two days, dm'ing which time his 
 owni fate would be decided in one way or other. 
 
 " Your counsel is good," replied his father. 
 
 " This thwarts your intentions in some degi-ee ? " asked Gabriel. 
 
 " Rather, my lads ; for I counted upon passing the day with you. 
 However, duty before everything. Having come from Siberia to Paris, 
 it is not for me to fear a journey from Paris to Chartres, when it is 
 i(Mpnred on an affair of importance. In twice twenty-four hoiu's I shall 
 1 »e back again. But the deuce take me if I expected to leave Paris for 
 ( 'hartres to-day. Luckily I leave Rose and Blanche wdth my good wife ; 
 and Gabriel, their angel, as they call him, will be here to keep them 
 company." 
 
 " That is, unfortunately, impossible," said the missionary sadly. 
 " This visit on mv arrival is also a farewell ^isit."
 
 288 T]ii-: WAy DKiiixa .j fay. 
 
 " A farowoll visit! How!" exflaiincd l)afrob(M-t and Agiùcola butli 
 at oucc. 
 
 " Alas, yes ! " 
 
 '' You start alroady on another mission ? " said Dagobert ; " surely it 
 is not possible f " 
 
 " I must answer no question upon this suVgect," said Gabriel, sup- 
 pressing a sigh ; " but from now, for some time, I cannot and ought not 
 come again into this house." 
 
 " Wliy, my brave boy," resumed Dagobert with emotion, " there is 
 something in your conduct that savors of constraint, of oppi'ession. I 
 know soiui'thing of men. Tie whom you call suix'rior, whom I saw for 
 some moments after the shipwreck, at Cartlovillc, has a bad look, and I 
 am sorry to see you enrolled under such a commander," 
 
 " At Cardo\àlle ! " exclaimed Agricola, struck with the identity of the 
 name witli that of the young lady of the golden hair ; " was it in the 
 chateau t)f Cardoville that you were received after your shipwreck ? " 
 
 "Yes, my boy; why, does that astonish you .' " asked Dagobert. 
 
 " Nothing, father ; but were the owners of the castle there at the 
 time ? " 
 
 "No; for the steward, when I applied to him fni- an opportunity to 
 return thanks for the kind hospitality we had experienced, informed 
 me that the person to whom the house l)elonged was resident at Paris." 
 
 " Wiiat a singular coincidence," thouglit Agrioola, " if the young lady 
 should be the proprietor of the dwelling which Vx-ars her mime ! " 
 
 This reflection having recalled to Agricola the jiromise which lie 
 had made to Mother Bunch, he said to Dagol^ert : 
 
 " Dear father, excuse me; but it is already late, and 1 ouglit to lie in 
 the workshop by eight o'clock." 
 
 " That is too true, my boy. Let us go. This party is adjourned till 
 my return from Chartres. Eml)race me once more and take care of 
 yourself." 
 
 Since Dagobert had spoken of constraint and opi)ression to Gabriel, 
 the latter had continued pensive. At the moment when Agricola 
 approached him to shake hands and to bid him adieu, the missionary 
 said to him solemnly, with a grave voice, and in a tone of decision 
 that astonished both the blacksmith and the soldier : 
 
 " My dear brother, one word more. I have come here to say to you, 
 also, that within a few days hence I shall have need of you ; and of 
 you also, my father (i)ermit me so to call you)," added Gabriel, with 
 emotion, as he turned round to Dagobert. 
 
 " How ! You speak thus to us ! " exclaimed Agi-icola. " What is the 
 matter ? "
 
 THE WAXDERIXf} .JE^V. 289 
 
 " Yes," replied Gabriel, " I need the advice and assistance of two men 
 of honor, of two men of resolution ; and I can reckon upon you two, 
 can I not .' At any horn", on whatever day it may be, upon a word 
 from nie, will you come I " 
 
 Dagobert and his son regarded each other in silence, astonished at 
 the accents of the missionary. Agrieola felt an oppression of the 
 heart. If he should be a prisoner when his brother should require his 
 assistance, what could be done i 
 
 " At every hour, by night or by day, my l)i'ave boy, you may depend 
 upon us," said Dagobert, as much surprised as interested. " You have 
 a father and a l)rother ; make your own use of them." 
 
 " Thanks, thanks," said Grabriel ; " you set me quite at ease." 
 
 " I'll tell you what," resumed the soldier, "were it not for your priest's 
 robe, I should believe, from the manner in which you have spoken to 
 us, that you are about to be engaged in a duel — in a mortal combat." 
 
 " In a duel f " said Gabi'iel, stai"ting. " Yes ; it may be a duel — un- 
 common and fearful — at which it is necessary to have two witnesses 
 such as you — a father and a bp.othek ! " 
 
 Some instants afterward, Agiicola, whose anxiety was continually 
 increasing, set off in haste for the dwelling of Mailemoiselle de Cardo- 
 ^^lle, to which we now beg leave to take the reader.
 
 C-£ -r< 
 
 
 ^- OirjoiyfAfJpi/^ 
 
 ADHIENNE DE CARDOVILLE.
 
 PART VI 
 
 THE HOTEL SAIXT-DIZIEE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE PAVILION 
 
 HE Hotel Saiiit-Dizier was one of the largest and 
 handsomest in the Rue Babylone, in Paris. Noth- 
 ing could l)e more severe, more imposing, or 
 more depressing than the aspect of this old man- 
 sion. Several immense vs-indows, filled with small 
 squares of glass, painted a gi'aj-ish white, increased 
 the somljer eU'ect of the massive layers of huge 
 ^ stones, blackened by time, of which the fabric was 
 ■??Sf s^ composed. This dwelling boi'e a resemblance to all 
 V the others that had been erected in the same quarter 
 
 toward the middle of the last century. It was a vast mansion, sur- 
 mounted in front by a pediment, with a flattened roof raised on a first- 
 story and a ground-floor which was reached from the outside Ijy a 
 circular flight of broad stone steps. One of the fronts looked on an 
 immense coiu't-yard, on each side of which an arcade led to the vast 
 inferior aijartments. The other front overlooked the garden, or rather 
 ]iavk, of twelve or fifteen roods; and on this side wings, approacliing 
 the principal jjart of the structure, formed a couple of lateral galleries. 
 Like neai-ly all the other gi-eat habitations of this quarter, there might 
 1 )(> seen at the extremity of the garden what the owners and occupiers 
 called the small hotel or the small house. This was a summer-house in 
 the Pompadom- style, Imilt in the form of a rotunda, with the charmingly 
 bad taste of the era of its erection. It presented, m eveiy part where it 
 was possible for the stones to be cut, a profusion of leaves, knots of rib- 
 
 293
 
 294 '/'///■-' WAX i>i:li .\<; .ikw. 
 
 bons, fjavlands of flowci-s, and eluibby Cupids. This pavilion, inliabited 
 by Adrioiuu' dc Cardovillo, was (-(.Jinposfd of a gn_)und-tloor, wliicli was 
 reached by a peristyle of several steps. A small vestibule led to a circu- 
 lar hall, lighted from the roof. Four principal apartments met here; 
 anil ranges of smaller rooms, concealed in the upper story, served for 
 minor purposes. These dependencies of great habitations are in our 
 days disused, or transformed into irregular conservat<n-ies ; but, by an 
 uncommon exception, the black exterior of the pa\iliou had b(>en 
 scraped and renewed, and the entire structure repaired. The white 
 stones of which it was built glistened like Parian marble, and its reno- 
 vated, cotpiettish aspect contrasted singularly with the gloomy mansion 
 seen at the other extremity of an extensive lawn, on which were planted 
 here and there gigantic clumps of verdant trees. 
 
 The following scene occuri'ed at this residence, on the morning fol- 
 lowing that of the arrival of Dagobert with the daughters of IMarshal 
 Simon in the Rue Brise-Miche. The hour of eight hail sounded from 
 the steeple of a neighboring church; a ])rilliant winter sun ai-ose to 
 brighten a pure blue sky Ijehind the tall, leafless trees, which in sunmier 
 formed a dome of verdm-e over tlu' summer-house. The door in the ves- 
 tibule opened and the rays of the morning sun beamed upon a charming 
 creature, or rather upon two charming creattires ; for the second one, 
 though tilling a modest jilace in the scale of creation, was not less dis- 
 tinguished by a beauty of its own, which was very striking. In plain 
 terms a young girl and a tiny English dog of great beauty, of that breed 
 of spaniels calle<l King Charles's, made their api)earance under the per- 
 istyle of the rotunda. The name of the young girl was Georgette; the 
 beautiful little spaniel's was Fris hi/. Georgette was in her eighteenth 
 year. Never had Florine or Marton, never had a lady's maid of Mari- 
 vaux, a more mischievous face, an eye more quick, a smile more roguish, 
 teeth more white, cheeks more roseate, figure more co(piettish, feet 
 smaller, or form smartei-, attractive, and enticing. Though it was yet 
 very early, Georgette was carefully and tastefully dressed. A tiny Valen- 
 ciennes cap, with flaps, of half-peasant fashion, decked with rose- 
 colored ribbons, and stuck a little backward upon bands of beautiful 
 fair hair, surrounded her fresh and piquant face ; a robe of gray levan- 
 tine, and a cambric neckerchief fastened to her bosom by a large tuft of 
 rose-colored ribVions, displaye<l her figure, elegantly i-ounded; alioUands 
 apron, white as snow, trimmed below by three large hems surmounted 
 by a row of open work, encircled her waist, which was as round and 
 flexible as a reed ; her short, plain sleeves, edged with l)one-lace, allowed 
 her plump arms to be seen, which her long Swedish gloves, reaching to 
 the elbow, defended from the rigor of the cold. When Georgette raised
 
 THE WAXDEKIXG JEW. 
 
 295 
 
 tho bottom of her dross, in order to descend more quickly the steps, she 
 exhibited to Frisk tj''^ iudilïereut eyes a beautiful ankle, and the begin- 
 
 ^^>s^^r^SV\;_^-.'^"W u^ 
 
 f0. 
 
 nin»; of the plump calf of a fine leg incased in white silk, and a charm- 
 ing little foot in a laced half-boot of black Turkish satin. 
 
 When a blonde like Georgette sets herself to be ensnaring, when 
 vivid glances sparkle from her eyes of bright yet tender blue, when a
 
 '_>!»() THE WAXIUJh'IXa JEW. 
 
 joyous excitement sutïusi's lier traiisinircnt .skin, .she is more resistless 
 for the conquest of everything bcfoi-e her tlian a biiuiette. 
 
 This bemtehing and nimble lady's-maid, who on the prexdous even- 
 ing liad introdueiMl Agricola to the pavilion, was first waiting-woman to 
 Mademoiselle Adrieuue de Cardoville, uieee of the Princess de Sainl- 
 Dizier. 
 
 Frisk ji, so happily found and brought back by the Idacksmith, 
 uttered weak biit jo}i:'ul l)urks, and bounded, ran, and frolicked ujjon 
 the turf. She was not much bigu;er than one's fist; her curled hair, of 
 lustrous black, shone like eliony nmler the broad, red .satin rildinii 
 which encircle(l her neck; her i)aws, fringed with long, silken fur, were 
 of a bi'ight and fiery tan, as well as her muzzle, the nose of which was 
 inconceivably pug ; her large eyes were full of intelligence ; and her 
 curly ears so long that they trailed u[)on the ground. Georgette seemed 
 to be as brisk and petulant as Ffiakji, and shared her sportiveness, — 
 now scampering after the hai)py little spaniel, and now retreating, in 
 order to be pursued upou the greensward in her turn. All at once, at 
 the sight of a second person, wlio advanced with «lelilierate gravity, 
 (ieorgette and Frisky were sudilenly stoi)ped in their diversion. The 
 little King Charles, some steps in advance of Georgette, faithful to her 
 name, and bold as the de\àl, held herself firmly upon her nervous paws, 
 ami fiercely awaited the coming up of the enemy, displaying at the 
 same time rows of little teetli, which, though of ivory, were none the 
 less pointed and .shai'jt. 'IMie enemy consisted of a woman of mature 
 ag(% accompanied l)j' a very fat dog, of the coloi' of coffee and milk ; his 
 tail was twisted like a corkscrew ; he was pot-bellied ; his skin was 
 sleek ; his neck was tui'ued a little to one side ; he walked with his legs 
 inordinately spread out, and stepped with the air of a doctor. His 
 black muzzle, quarrelsome and .scowling, showed two fangs sallying 
 forth, and turning up from the left side of the mouth; and altogetlier 
 he had an expression singidarly forbidding and vindictive. This dis- 
 agreeable animal, a perfect type of what niiglit l)e called " a church- 
 goei''s pug," answered to the name of Motisiciir. His mistress, a woman 
 of about fifty years of age, corpulent and of middle size, was dressed 
 in a costume as gloomy and severe as that of Georgette was gay 
 and showj'. It consisted of a brown robe, a black silk mantle, and a 
 hat of the same dye. The features of this woman miglit have V)een 
 agreeable in her youth ; and her florid cheeks, her eon-ect eyebrows, hei- 
 black eyes, which were still very lively, scarcely accorded with the ]>ee- 
 visli and austere physiognomy which .she tried to assume. This matron, 
 of slow and discreet gait, was Madame Augiistine Grivois, first woman 
 to the Princess de Saint-Dizier. Xot only did the age, the face, and
 
 THE WASUERIXG JEW. 297 
 
 the di'ess of thei^e two women present a striking r-ontrast, bnt the con- 
 trast extended itself even to the animals wliich attended them. There 
 were similar differences between Frlski/ and Moiisiexr, as between 
 Georgette and Madame Grivois. When the latter perceived the little 
 King Charles she could not restrain a movement of surprise and re^jug- 
 nance, which escaped not the notice of the young lady's-maid. Fr'ishj, 
 who had not retreated one inch since the apparition of Moiisiiiir, 
 regarded him valiantly with a look of defiance, and even advanced 
 toward him with an air so decidedly hostile that the cur, though thrice 
 as big as the Uttle King Charles, uttered a howl of distress and ter- 
 ror and sought refuge behind Madame Grivois, who bitterly said to 
 Georgette : 
 
 " It seems to me, miss, that you might dispense with exciting your 
 dog thus and setting him upon mine." 
 
 " It was doubtless for the purpose of protecting this respectable but 
 ugly animal from similar alarms that you tried to make us lose Fiiahif 
 yesterday by diiving her into the street thi-ough the little garden gate. 
 But fortunately an honest young man found Frishi/ in the Rue de 
 Babyloue and brought her back to my mistress. However," continued 
 Georgette, " to what, madame, do I owe the pleasm-e of seeing you this 
 morning ! " 
 
 " I am commanded by the princess," replied Madame Grivois, unable 
 to conceal a smile of triumphant satisfaction, '' immediately to see Mad- 
 emoiselle Adrienne. It regards a very important affair, which I am to 
 communicate only to herself." 
 
 At these words Georgette became purple, and could not repress a 
 slight start of disquietude, which happily escaped Grivois, who was 
 occupied with watching over the safety of her pet, whom Frisky con- 
 tinued to snarl at with a very menacing aspect ; and Georgette, having 
 (piickly overcome her temporary emotion, firmly answered : 
 
 " Mademoiselle Adrienne went to rest very late last night. She has 
 for])idden me to enter her apartment before midday." 
 
 " That is very possible ; but as the present business is to obey an 
 order of the piincess, her aimt, you will do well, if you i)lease, miss, to 
 awaken yom- mistress immediately." 
 
 " My mistress is suliject to no one's orders in her ovai house and I will 
 not disturb her till midday, in pursuance of her commands," replied 
 Georgette. 
 
 " Then I shall go myself," said Madame Grivois. 
 
 " Florine and Hebe will not admit you. Indeed, here is the key of the 
 saloon ; and through the saloon only can the apartments of Mademoi- 
 seDe Adrienne be entered."
 
 2!)S Tin: w.iy ]>Ei;iya jew. 
 
 *' How ! do you (larc refuse me permission to (>xoeute the orders of 
 the pj-int-ess .' " 
 
 " Yes; I dare to couimit tlie great crime of beiug unwilling to awaken 
 my mistress ! " 
 
 "Ah! such are the residts of the lilind atl'eclion of the })rinc.ess for 
 her niece," said the matnm, with affected giief. "Mademoiselle Adri- 
 eune no longer respects her aunt's orders ; and she is surrounded by 
 young liare-lirained persons, who from the first dawn of moi-ning dress 
 tliemselves out as if for hall-g()ing." 
 
 " Oh, madame ! how came you to revile dress, who were formerly the 
 gi'eatest cocjuette and the most frisky and fluttering of all tlie i)rincess's 
 women. At least that is what is still spoken of you in tlu' hotel, as hav- 
 ing been handed down from time out of mind, by generation to gener- 
 ation, even unto ours ! " 
 
 " How! from generation to generation! do you mean to insinuate that 
 I am a hundred years oV\, Miss Im})ertinence ? '' 
 
 " I speak of the generations of waiting- women ; for, except you, it is 
 the utmost if they remain two or three years in th<' princess's house, 
 who has too many tempers for the poor girls ! " 
 
 " I foi-bid you to speak thus of my raistri'ss, whose name some people 
 ought not to pronoiince but on their knees." 
 
 "However," said Georgette, "if one wished to speak ill of " 
 
 " Do you dare ! " 
 
 "No longer ago than last night, at half-past eleven o'clock '' 
 
 "Last night f" 
 
 " A four-wheeler," continued Georgette, " stopped at a few i)aces fi'oni 
 the house. A mysterious personage, wrapped up in a cloak, alighted 
 from it, and directly tapped, not at the door, but on the glass of the 
 porter's lodge window ; and at one o'clock in the morning the cab was 
 still stationed in the street, waiting for the mysterious personage in th(! 
 cloak, who doubtless during all that time was, as you say, pronouncing 
 the name of the jirincess on his knees." 
 
 Whether Madame (Jrivois had not been instructed as to a visit made 
 to the Princess tie Saint-Dizier by Rodin (for he was the man in the 
 cloak) in the middle of the night, after he had become certain of the 
 arrival in Paris of General Simon's daughters, or whether Madame 
 Grivois tlumght it necessary to appear ignorant of the visit, she replied, 
 shrugging her shoulders disdainfully : 
 
 " I know not what you mean, mademoiselli'. T have not come 
 here to listen to your impertinent stutf. ( )nci' again I ask you, will 
 you or will you not introduce me to the presence of Mademoiselle 
 Adrienne ? "
 
 TEE WAXDERIXG JEW. 299 
 
 " I repeat, madame, tliat my mistress sleeps, and that she has for- 
 bidden me to enter her bed-chamber before midday." 
 
 This conversatiou took place at some distance from the summer- 
 house, at a spot from wliieh the peristyle could be seen at the end of a 
 grand avenue, terminating in a group of trees. All at once ^ladame 
 Grivois, extending her hand in that direction, exclaimed : 
 
 " Great heavens ! Is it possible f What have I seen ? " 
 
 " Wliat have you seen I " said Georgette, turning roimd. 
 
 " What have I seen t " repeated Madame Grivois, with amazement. 
 
 " Yes ; what was it ? " 
 
 " Mademoiselle Adrienne." 
 
 " Where I " asked Georgette. 
 
 " I saw her rim up the porch steps. I perfectly recognized her by her 
 gait, by her hat, and by her mantle. To come home at eight o'clock in 
 the morning ! " cried Madame Grivois ; "it is perfectly incredible ! " 
 
 " See my lady ? Why, you came to see her ! " and Georgette burst 
 out into fits of laughter and then said : " Oh ! I understand ! You 
 wish to out-do my story of the four-wheeler last night ! It is very neat 
 of you ! " 
 
 " I repeat," said Madame Grivois, " that I have this moment seen " 
 
 "Oh ! Madame Grivois, you have forgotten your spectacles ! " 
 
 " Thank God, I have a pair of good eyes ! The little gate that opens 
 on the street lets one into the quincuHX near the pavilion. It is by that 
 door, doubtless, that mademoiselle has reentered. Oh, what shameful 
 conduct ! What will the princess say to it ? Ah ! her presentiments 
 have not yet been mistaken. See to what her weak indulgence of her 
 niece's caprices has led her! It is monstrous! — so monstrous that, 
 though I have seen her with my own eyes, still I can scarcely believe it ! " 
 
 " Since you've gone so far, madame, I now insist upon conducting you 
 into the apartment of my lady, in order that you may con%-ince yom-- 
 self by yom- own senses that your eyes have deceived you ! " 
 
 " Oh, you are very cunning, mj^ dear, but not more cunning than I ! 
 You propose my going now ! Yes, yes, I believe you ; you are certain 
 that by this time I shall find her in her apartment ! " 
 
 " But, madame, I assure you " 
 
 " All that I can say to you is this : that neither you nor Florine nor 
 Hebe shall remain here twenty-four hours. The princess will put an 
 end to this horrible scandal, for I shall immediately inform her of what 
 has passed. To go out in the night ! Eeënter at eight o'clock in the morn- 
 ing ! Why, I am all in a whirl ! Certainly, if I had not seen it with 
 my own eyes, I could not have believed it ! Still, it is only what was 
 to be expected. It will astonish nobody. Assui-edly not ! All those to
 
 ;;()() THE \VA.\ i)i:i:iX(; .ikw. 
 
 wlioiu I am ,u:iiiii<i; to rolatc it will say, 1 am quitf surt', that it is not at all 
 astoiiisliiiin' ! Uh ! what a hlow to oiu' respeotod priucoss ! What a 
 ])low for ln'i- ! " 
 
 Madame Grivois returned jirecipitately toward the mansicm, followed 
 by her fat pug, which appeared to be as embittered as herself. 
 
 Georgette, aetive and light, ran, on her part, toward the pavilion, 
 in order to apprise ^lademoiselle de Cardoville that Maihune Grivois 
 had seen her, or fancied she had seen lier, furtively enter by tlif little 
 garden gate.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ADKIEXNE AT HER TOILET 
 
 BOUT an hour had elapsed since Madame Grivois had seen or 
 l)retended to have seen Adrienne de Cardoville reenter in 
 the mornins: the pa^-ilion of the Hotel Saiut-Dizier. 
 
 It is for the purpose, not of excusing, hut of rendering intel- 
 igilile the following scenes, that it is deemed necessary to bring out 
 into the light some striking peculiarities in the truly original character 
 of Mademoiselle de Cardo\iUe. 
 
 This originality consisted in an excessive independence of mind, 
 joined to a natural horror of whatsoever is repulsive or deformed, and to 
 an insatiable desire of being surrounded by everything attractive and 
 lieuutiful. The painter most delighted with coloring and 1)eauty, the 
 scidptor most charmed Ijy proportions of form, feel not more than 
 Adrienne did the noble enthusiasm which the view of perfect beauty 
 always excites in the chosen favorites of nature. 
 
 And it was not only the pleasures of sight which this j'oung lady 
 loved to gratify ; the harmonious modulations of song, the melody of 
 instruments, the cadences of poetry, afforded her infinite pleasures, while 
 a liarsli voice or a discordant noise made her feel the same painful impres- 
 sion, or one nearly as painful, as that which she involuntarily experi- 
 (Miced from the sight of a hideous olgect. Passionately fond of flowers, 
 too, and of their sweet scents, there are some perfumes which she enjoyed 
 equally with the delights of music or those of plastic beaiity. It is 
 necessary, alas, to acknowledge one enoi-mity : Adrienne was dainty in 
 her food ! She valued more than any one else the fresh pulp of hand- 
 some fruit, the delicate savor of a golden pheasant cooked to a turn, 
 and the odorous cluster of a generous vine. 
 
 But A<lrienne enjoyed all these pleasures with an exquisite reserve. 
 She sought reUgiously t(i cultivate and rétine the senses given her. 
 She would have deemed it black ingratitude to blunt those divine gifts 
 by excesses, or to debase them by unworthy selections of objects upon 
 
 301
 
 302 Til i: It . I .V /' /; /.■ / .V (; ./ /•; ir. 
 
 which to exercise them — a fault from Avliii-h, iiuleod, shi' was prcsorvcd 
 by the excessive and imperious dehcacy (»f lier tasti'. 
 
 The BEAUTIFUL aud the hideous occupied loi' lier tlic ]>laces which 
 GOOD and evil hold for others. 
 
 Her devotiou to grace, elej^ance, and pliysical bcaiily, had led iicr 
 also to the adoration of moral 1 )eauty ; for if the expi'ession of a low 
 and ])ad passion render uncomely the most beautiful countenances, those 
 which ai'i- in themselves the most ugly are ennobled, on the contrary, by 
 the exiu'ession of g(»od feelings aud generous sentiments. 
 
 In a word, Adiienne was the most complete, the most ideal personi- 
 fication of SEXSUALITY — uot of Aidgar, ignorant, non-intelligent, mis- 
 understood seusuousuess which is always affi'cted and corruj)tetl by 
 habit or by the uecessity for gross aud ill-regulated enjoyments, but 
 that exquisite sensuality which is to the seuses what Atticism is to 
 the soul. 
 
 The independence of this young lady's character was extreme. Cer- 
 tain humiliating subjections, imposed upon her success by her social 
 position, above all things were revolting to her, and she had the hardi- 
 hood to resolve to withdraw^ hei-self from them. She was a woman, the 
 most womaulj' that it is possible to imagine ; a woman in her timidity 
 as well as in her audacity ; a woman in hei' hatred of the brutal despotism 
 of men as well as in her intense disposition to self-devoting herself — 
 madly, even, aud blindly — to him who should merit such a devotiou 
 from her ; a woman whose piquant wit was occasionally paradoxical ; a 
 superior woman, in brief, who entertained a well-grounded disdain and 
 contempt for certain men, either placed very high or greatly adnlated, 
 whom she had from time to time met in the drawing-room of her aunt, 
 the Princess de Saint-Dizier, when she resided with her. 
 
 These indispensable ex])laiuitions being given, we usher the reader 
 into the presence of Adrienne de Cardoville, who had just come out of 
 the bath. 
 
 It would require all the brilliant colorings of the Venetian school 
 to represent that charming scene, which would rather seem to have 
 occuiTed in the sixteenth century, in some palace of Florence or 
 Bologna, than in Paris, in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, in the montii 
 of February, 1832. 
 
 Adrienne's tb'essing-room was a kind of miniature temple, seemingly 
 one erected and dedicated to the worship of beaiity in gratitude to the 
 Maker who has Lavished so many charms u))on woman not to be n<'g- 
 lected by her, or to cover and conceal them with ashes, or to destroy them 
 by contact of her person with sordid aud harsh hair-cloth, but in order 
 that, with fervent gi-atitude for the divine gifts wherewith she is
 
 THE WAKDERIXG JEW. 
 
 303 
 
 endowed, slie may ciihanee her channs with all the illusions of grace 
 and all the splendors of apjjarel, so as to gloi'ify the divine work of her 
 own perfections in the eyes of all. Daylight was admitted into this 
 
 semicircular apartment through one of those double windows, con- 
 trived for the preservation of heat, so happily imported from Gei-mauy. 
 The walls of the pavilion being constructed of stone of gi'eat thickness,
 
 ;jo-i Til A' ir. 1 .V /> t: /.' / .V <; ./ /; m . 
 
 the (loptli of the aperture for tlie windows was therefore very gi-eat. 
 That of A(hieiiiie's dressing-room was closed on the outside by a sash 
 containing a single large pane of plate glass, and within by another large 
 plate of ground glass. In the interval or si)aoe of about three feet left 
 between these two transparent inelosures there was a ease or box tilled 
 with furze mold whence spi-ung forth climbing plants, which, directed 
 round the gi'ound glass, formed a rich garland of leaves and flowers. 
 A garnet damask tapestry, rich with harmoniously ])lended arabescpies 
 in the purest style, covered the walls, and a thick carpet of similar color 
 was extended over the floor ; and this somber gi'ound, presented by the 
 floor and walls, marvdously enhanced the effects of all the harmonious 
 ornaments and decorations of tlie chamber. 
 
 Under the window, opposite to the south, was pkced Adi'ieune's 
 dressing-ease, a real masterpiece of the skill of the goldsmith. Upon 
 a large tal)let of luph Uizidi there were scattered boxes of jewels, their 
 lids preciously enameled ; several scent-boxes of rock crystal, and other 
 implements and utensils of the toilet, some formed of shells, some of 
 mothi'r-of-pcarl, an<l others of ivory, covered \\\\\\ ornaments of gold 
 in extraordinary taste. Two large figures, modeled in silver with 
 antique purity, sujiported an oval swing miiTor, which had for its rim, 
 in place of a frame cin-iously carved, a fresh garland of natui-al flowers, 
 renewed every day like a nosegay for a ball. 
 
 Two enormous Ja])anese vases of purple and gold, three feet each 
 ill (liaiiietei-, were placed upon the cai-pet on each side of the toilet, and, 
 hlled with camellias, ibiscures, and Cajie jasmine, in full flower, formed 
 a sort of grove, diversified with the most brilliant colors. At the farther 
 end of the apartment, opposite the casement, was to be seen, surrounded 
 by another mass of flowers, a reduction in white marble of the enchant- 
 ing group of Daphnis and Cliloe, the more chaste id(>al of graceful mod- 
 esty and youthful beauty. 
 
 Two golden lamps liuiiied perfumes u]>nii the same p<'destal which 
 supported those two charming figures. A coffer of frosted silver, set 
 ofï with small figures in jewelry and precious stones, and supported on 
 four feet of gilt bronze, contained various necessaries for the toilet; 
 two frosted Psyches, decorated with diamond ear-rings ; some excel- 
 lent drawings from Raphael and Titian, painted by Adrienne hei-self, 
 consisting of portraits of both men and women of exquisite beauty; 
 sev'eral consoles of oriental jasper, supporting ewers and basins of 
 silver and of silver-gilt, richly chased and filled ^vith scenteil watei-s ; a 
 voluptuously rich divan, some seats, and an illuminated gilt table, 
 completed the furniture of this chamber, the atmosphere of which was 
 impregnated with the sweetest perfumes.
 
 TUE \\'AXI>EEIXG JEW. 305 
 
 Adi'ienne, wliom her attendants had just helped from the bath, -was 
 seated before her toilet, her three women suiToimding her. 
 
 By a caprice, or rather by a necessary and logical impidse of her 
 soul, filled, as it was, with the love of beauty and of hai-mony in all 
 things, Adrienne had wished the young women who served her to be 
 very pretty, and be dressed Avith attention and with a charming origi- 
 nality. We have already seen Georgette, a piquant l)londe, attired in 
 her attractive costume of an intriguing lady's-maid of Marivaux ; and 
 her two companions were quite equal to her both in gracefulness and 
 gentle manner. One of them, named Florine, a tall, delicately slender 
 and elegant gu'l, with the air and form of Diana the Huntress, was of a 
 pale-brown complexion. Her thick, black hair was turned up behind, 
 where it was fastened with a long golden pin. Like the two other girls, 
 her arms were uncovered to facilitate the performance of her duties 
 about and upon the person of her charming mistress. She wore a ch'ess 
 of that gay green so familiar to the Venetian painters. Her petticoat 
 was very ample. Her slender waist curved in from under the plaits of 
 a tucker of white cambric, plaited in five minute folds, and fastencnl l)y 
 five gold buttons. The third of Adrienue's women had a face so fresh 
 and ingenuous, a waist so delicate, so pleasing, and so finished, that 
 her misti'ess had given her the name of Hebe, Her dress, of a delicate 
 rose color and Grecian cut, displayed her channing neck, and her lieauti- 
 ful arms up to the very shoulders. The physiognomy of these three 
 young women was laughter-lo\aag and happy. On their features there 
 was no expression of that bitter sullenuess, unwilling and hated ol)edi- 
 ence, or offensive familiarity, or base and degi'aded deference, which are 
 the ordinary results of a state of servitixde. In the zealous eagerness 
 of the cares and attentions which they lavished upon Adrienne there 
 seemed to be at least as much of affection as of deference and respect. 
 They appeared to derive an ardent pleasure from the services which 
 they rendered to their lovely mistress. One would have thought that 
 they attached to the di'essing and embellishment of her person all the 
 ments and the enjoyment arising from the execution of a work of art, 
 in the accomplishing of which, fruitful of delights, they were stimu- 
 lated by the passions of love, of pride, and of joy. 
 
 The sun beamed brightly upon the toilet-case, placed in front of the 
 window. Ach-ienne was seated on a chair, its back elevated a little 
 more than usual. She was enveloped in a long morning gown of blue 
 silk, embroidered with a leaf of the same color, which was fitted close 
 to her waist, as exquisitely slender and delicate as that of a child of 
 twelve years, by a girdle with floating tags. Her neck, delicately slen- 
 der and flexible as a bird's, was uncovered, as were also her shoulders
 
 and arms, and all woro of ineom))aral)lo beauty. Di'spitc the vulgarity 
 of the c'oiuiiariison, the purest ivory alone ean give an idea of the 
 dazzling whiteness of her polished satin skin, of a texture so fresh and 
 so firm that some dro]is of water, collected and still rciiiaining aliout 
 the roots of her hair from the bath, rolled in serpentine lines over her 
 shoulders like pearls or beads of crystal over white marble. 
 
 And what gave enhanced luster to this wondrous carnation, known 
 bi;tto auburn-headed beauties, was the deep pur])lcof her humid lij>s, — 
 the roseate transparency of her small ears, of her dihilecl nosti-ils, and 
 lier nails, as bright and glossy as if they had been \ aiMiisiied. In eveiy 
 sjiot, indeed, where her ]mre arterial blood, full of aiiinwition and heat, 
 could make its way to the skin and shine through the suil'ace, it pro- 
 claimed her high health and the vivid life and joyous buoyancy of her 
 glorious youth. Her eyes were very large, and of a velvet softness. 
 Now th(>y glanced, sparkling and shining with comic humor oi- intelli- 
 gence and wit ; and now t hey widiMied and extended themselves, languish- 
 ing and swinuning between theii- double fringes of long, crisp eyelashes, 
 of as deep a Idack as her finely drawn and excjuisitely ai-ched eyebrows; 
 for, by a delightful freak of nature, she had black eyebrows and eye- 
 lashes to contrast with the golden red of her hair. Her forehead, small 
 like those of ancient Grecian statues, formed with the rest of her face a 
 perfect oval ; her nose, delicately curved, was slightly aiiuiline ; the 
 enamel of her teeth glistened when the light fell upon them ; and her 
 vermeil mouth, voluptuously sensual, seemed to call for sweet kisses, 
 and the gay smiles and delectations of dainty and delicious jileasure. It 
 is impossible to behold or to conceive a carriage of the head freer, more 
 noble, or more elegant than hers, thanks to the great distance which 
 separated the neck and the ear from their attachment to her outspread 
 and dimpled shoulchM's. We have already saiil that Adrienne was ivd- 
 haired; but it was the redness of many of the admiraljle portraits of 
 women by Titian and Leonardo da Vinci, — that is to say, molten gold 
 l)reseuts not reflections more delightfully agreeable or more glittering 
 than the naturally undulating mass of her very long hair, as soft and 
 fine as silk ; so long that, when let loose, it reached the fl(Jor ; in it, she 
 could wholly envelop herself, like another Venus Aphrodite. At the 
 present moment Adrienne's tresses were ravishing to behold. Georgette, 
 her arms bare, stood behind her mistress, and had carefully collected 
 into one of her small white hands those splendid threads whose naturally 
 ardent brightness was doubled in the sunshine. When the jiretty lady's- 
 maid jilunged a cinnb of ivory into the midst of the undulating and 
 golden waves of that enormously magnificent skein of silk, one might 
 have said that a thousand sparks of fire darted forth and coruscated
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 307 
 
 away from it iu all directions. The sunshine, too, reflected not less 
 golden and fiery rays from numerous clusters of sjjiral ringlets, which, 
 divided upon Adrienne's forehead, fell over her cheeks, and in their elastic 
 flexiliility caressed the risings of her snowy Txjsom, to whose charming 
 undulations they adapted and aj^plied themselves. 
 
 WhUe Georgette, standing, combed the beautiful locks of her mis- 
 tress, Hebe, with one knee upon the floor, and having ujjon the other the 
 sweet little foot of Mademoiselle de Cardoville, busied herself in fitting 
 it with a remarkal)ly small shoe of black satin, and crossed its slender 
 ties over a silk stocking of a pale yet rosy flesh coloi', which imprisoned 
 the smallest and finest ankle in the world. Florine, a little farther 
 back, presented to her mistress, iu a jeweled box, a perfumed paste, 
 with which AcWenne slightly rubbed her dazzling hands and outspread 
 fingei's, which seemed tinted with carmine to their extremities. Let us 
 not forget Friski/, who, couched in the lap of her mistress, opened her 
 great eyes with all her might, and seemed to observe the diffei-ent opera- 
 tions of Adrienne's toilet with gi-ave and reflective attention. A silver 
 bell being sounded from without, Florine, at a sign from her mistress, 
 went out and presently returned, Ijearing a letter upon a small sUver- 
 gilt salver. Adrienne, while her women continued fitting on her shoes, 
 dressing her hair, and arranging her in her habiliments, took the letter, 
 which was wi-itten ])y the steward of the estate of Cardoville, and read 
 aloud as follows : 
 
 " ' Honored Madame : 
 
 " ' Knowing your g(io<lness of heart and generosity, I venture to addi'ess j-ou with 
 respectful confidence. During twenty years I served the late Count-Duke of Cardoville, 
 your noble father, I believe I may truly say, with probity and zeal. The castle is now 
 sold ; so that I and my wife, in our old age, behold ourselves about to be dismissed, and 
 left destitute of all resources ; which, alas ! is very hard at our time of life.' 
 
 " Poor creatures ! " said Adiienue, interrupting herself in reading ; 
 "my father, certainly, always prided himself upon their devotion to him, 
 and their probity." She continued : 
 
 '' ' There does indeed remain to us a means of retaining oiir place here ; but it would 
 constrain us to be guilty of baseness ; and, be the consequences to us what they may. 
 neither I nor my wife wish to purchase our bread at such a price.' 
 
 " Good, very good," said Adi-ienne ; " always the same — dignity even 
 in poverty — it is the sweet perfume of a flower, not the less sweet 
 because it has bloomed in a meadow. 
 
 " ' In order to explain to you, honored madami», the unworthy task exacted from us. it 
 is necessary to inform you, in the first place, that j\I. Rodiu came here from Paris two 
 days ago.'
 
 308 Till-: WAyinuuyu .iew. 
 
 " Ah ! 'SI. Rodiii ! " said Madomoisollo de Cardoville, intormptiuff 
 herst'lt' anew; "tlu' secretiuy <>t' Ablu' d'Aif^nguy Î I am not at all sur- 
 prised at him hciuLC ougagi'd iu a i)erfidious or l)la('k iiitrigiu". But let 
 us see. 
 
 " ' M. Rodin came from Paris to announce to us that the estate was sold, and that he 
 was sure of boiufj able to obt^dn our continuance in our place if we would assist him in 
 inii)osing a piicst not of pood character upon the new proprietor as her future confessor; 
 and if. the botti-r to att;iin tills end, we would consent to caliunniate another i)riest, a 
 dcscrvinjf and excellent man, much loved and much respected iu the country. Hven that 
 is not all. I was required to write twice or thi-iee a week to M. Rodin, and to relate to 
 him everjlhin;; that should occur in the house. I ought to acknowledge, honored 
 madame, that these infamous proposals were as much as possible disguised and dissim- 
 ulated under sufficiently specious pretexts; but, notwithstanding the aspect winch with 
 more or less skill it was attempted to give to the atïair, it was precisely and substantially 
 wh.it I have now had tlu: honor of stating to you.' 
 
 " Corruiitioii, cahiiiiuy, ami false and treacherous spying!" said 
 Adrienne, with disgust. *' I cauiiot think of such wretches without 
 involuntarily feeling my mind shocked hy dismal ideas <>f lilack, veno- 
 mous, and vile roi)tiles, of aspects most hideous indird. How much 
 more do I love to dwell upon the consoling thought of honest Dupont 
 and his wife ! " Adrienne proceeded : 
 
 " ' Believe me, we hesitated not an instant. We (piit Cardoville, which has been our 
 home for the last twenty years ; but we shall quit it like honest people, anil with the con- 
 sciousness of om- integiity. And now, honored madame, if, in the brilliant circle in 
 which you move — you, who are so benevolent and amiable — could find a place for us 
 by your recommendation, then, with endless gratitude to you, we shall escape from a 
 position of most cruel euibaiTussment.' 
 
 " Surely, surely," said Adrienne, " they shall not in vain tippeal to nie. 
 To wi'est excellent persons from the gripe of M. Rodin is not only a 
 duty, but a pleasure, for it is at once a righteous and a dangerous enter- 
 ]irise, and dearly do 1 love to brave powerful oppressors!" Adrienne 
 again went on reading: 
 
 " ' After ha\'ing thus spoken to you of ourselves, honored madame, permit us to implore 
 your protection for other unfortunates, for it would be \ricked to think only of one's 
 self. Three days ago, two shipwrecks took place upon our iron-liound coast. A few 
 passengei-s only were saved, and were comlucted hither, where I and my wife gave them 
 all necessary attentions. All these passengers have departed for Paris except one, who 
 still remains, his wounds having hitherto prevented him from leaving the house, and, 
 inileed, they will constrain him to remain for some days to come. He is a young East Indian 
 prince of about twenty years of age, and he appears to be as amiable and good as he is 
 handsome, which is not a Httle to say, though he has tawny skin, like the rest of his 
 countrvmeu, as 1 understand.'
 
 TEE WANDERING .JEW. 309 
 
 " An Indian prince ! twenty years of age ! young, amiable, and 
 handsome ! " exclaimed Adrienue gayly ; " this is quite delightful, and 
 not at all of an ordinary or vulgar nature ! Oh ! this Indian prince has 
 already awakened all my sympathies ! But what can I do with this 
 Adonis from the Ixauks of the Ganges who has come to wreck himself 
 upon the Picardy coast ? " 
 
 Adrienne's three women looked at her with much astonishment, 
 though they were accustomed to the singular eccentricities of her 
 character. 
 
 Georgette and Hebe even indulged in discreet and restrained 
 smiles. Florine, the tall and beautiful pale-l)rown girl, also smiled like 
 her pretty companions ; but it was after a short pause of seeming reflec- 
 tion, as if she had previously been enth-ely engrossed in listening to 
 and recoUecting the minutest words of her mistress, who, though pow- 
 erfully interested by the situation of the " Adonis from Ganges' banks," 
 as she had called him, continued to read Dupont's letter : 
 
 " ' One of the countrymeu of the Indian prince, who Las also remained to attend upon 
 him, has given me to understand that the youthful prince has lost in the shipwreck all he 
 possessed, and knows not how to get to Paris, where his speedy presence is required by 
 some affah's of the very greatest importance. It is not fi-om the prince himself that I 
 have obtained this infonnation. No ; he appears to be too dignitied and proud to com- 
 plain of his fate ; but his countiyman, more communicative, has confidentiallj' told me 
 what I have stated, adding that his young compatriot has ah-eiidy been subjected to 
 gretit calamities, anil that his father, who was the sovereign of an Indian kingdom, has 
 been killed by the English, who have also dispossessed his son of liis crown.' 
 
 " This is very singular," said Adrienne thoughtfully. " These cir- 
 cumstances recaU to my mind that my father often mentioned that one 
 of our relations was espoused in India by a native monarch, and that 
 General Simon (whom they have created a marshal) had entered into 
 his ser\dce." Then interrupting herself to indulge in a smile, she 
 added : 
 
 " Gracious ! this affair wiU be quite odd and fantastical ! Such things 
 happen to nobody but me ; and then people say that I am the uncom- 
 mon creature ! But it seems to me that it is not I, but Providence, 
 which, in truth, sometimes shows itself veiy eccentric ! But let us see 
 if worthy Dupont gives the name of this handsome prince ! " 
 
 " ' We trust, honored madame, that you will pardon our boldness : but we should have 
 thought ourselves very selfish if, while stating to you our own gi-iefs, we had not also 
 informed you that there is with us a bi'ave and estimable prince involved in so much dis- 
 tress. In fine, lady, trust to me ; I am old, and I have had much experience of men. and 
 it was only necessary to see the nobleness of expression and the sweetness of countenance 
 of this young Indian to enable me to judge that he is worthy of the interest which I have
 
 310 Till: \VA s i>i:i; I sa ■! i:\\'. 
 
 taken the liberty to request in Lis belialf. It would be suffieieut to transmit to him a small 
 sum of njoney for the purchase of some European clothing, for he has lost all his Indian 
 vestments in the shipwreck.' 
 
 " Good lieaveus ! EuroiJeau clotbiiif; ! ** exolaimt'(l Adrieniie f^ayly. 
 "Poor young i>i-inoe! Ilcavcu presorvc liiin from tliat; and mo also! 
 Cliauce has seat liitbor, ffom tlie heai't of India, a mortal so far favori-d 
 as never to have worn the abominable European costume — those hideous 
 coats and frightful bats which render men so ridiculous, so ugly, that 
 in truth there is not a single good quality to be discovered in them, nor 
 one spark of what can either captivate or attract ! There comes to me 
 at last a handsome young prince from the East, where the men are 
 clothed in silk and cashmere. Most assuredly I'll not miss this ran- and 
 uni(jiie opportunity of exposing myself to a very serious and foruiidalilc 
 temptation Î No, no ! not a European dress from me, though poor 
 Dupont recpiests it! But the name — the name of this dear prince! 
 Once more, what a singular event is this ! If it should turn out to l)e 
 that cousin from beyond the Ganges! During my childhood I have 
 heard so much in praise of his royal father ! Oh ! I shall Ije quite rav- 
 ished to give his son the kind reception which he merits ! " And tln-n 
 she read on : 
 
 '• ■ If, besides this small sum, honored mademoiselle, you are so kind as to jrive him, and 
 also his companion, the means of reaching Paris, you will confer a very great service 
 upon thLs poor young prince, who is at present so unfortunate. 
 
 " ' To conclude, I know enough of yoiu- delicacy to be aware that it woidd perliaps be 
 agreeable to you to afford this succor to the prince without being known as liis benefac- 
 tress; in which case I beg that you will lie pleased to command me ; and you may rely 
 upon my discretion. If, on the contrary, you wish to address it du-ectly to himself, his 
 name is, as it has been written for me by his countrjnuan, '' Prince Djalina, .ion of Ka/lja- 
 sing, King of Miindi." ' 
 
 " Djalma ! " said Adrienne quickly, and appearing to call up her recol- 
 lections ; " Kadja-sing ! Yes — that is it ! These are the very names that 
 my father so often repeat<'d, while telling me that then' was nothing more 
 chivalric or heroic in theworld than the old king, our relation by marriage; 
 and the son has not derogated, it would seem, from that character. Yes, 
 Djalma, Kadja-sing — once more, that is it — such names are not so com- 
 mon," she added, smiling, "that one should either forget or confound 
 them with others. This Djalma is my cousin ! Brave and good — young 
 and charming! above all, he has never worn the hon-id Em-opean dress ! 
 And destitute of eveiy resource ! This is quite ra\-ishing ! It is too 
 much happiness at once ! Quick, quick ! let us impro\dse a pretty faiiy 
 tale, of which the haudsome and beloved prince shall be the hero ! The 
 I>oor bird of the golden and azui-e plmnage has wandered into our dis-
 
 THE WAXDJ-JL'IXG J£W. 
 
 311 
 
 mal climate ; but he will find here, at least, something to remind him of 
 his native region of sunshine and perfumes ! " Then, addi-essing one of 
 her women, she said : 
 
 "(leorgette, take pajrter and wi'ite, my child." 
 The young girl went to the gilt illuminated table, whit'h contained 
 materials for writing, and having seated herself, she said to her mistress : 
 " I await orders."
 
 312 THE WAXJJKIUMJ JEW. 
 
 Ailrionne de Cardovillc, whose charminfï coimteiianee was radiant 
 with the gayetyof hapitiiif.ssand joy, in'occeded to dictate tlir I'ollowiiig 
 letter to a meritorious old painter, who had long sinee taught her the 
 arts of drawing and designing, — in which arts she excelled, as indeed 
 she did in all others : 
 
 " Ml/ dear Titian, tnij good Veronese, my worthii Raphael : You can render me a very 
 good service, — aud you will do it, I am sure, with that pert'ect au<l obligriiif;: complais- 
 ance by which you are ever distinguished. 
 
 " It is to go immediately and apply yom-self to the skillful hand who designed my last 
 costumes of the fifteenth century. But the present affair is to procure modern East 
 Indian dresses for a young man, — yes, sir, — for a young man, — and according to what I 
 imagine of him, I fancy that you can cause his measure to be taken from the Antinous, 
 or, rather, fi-om the Indian Bacchus ; yes — that will be more likely. 
 
 " It is necessjiry tliat these vestments be at once of perfect propriety and con-ectuess. 
 magnificently rich, aud of the greatest elegance. You will clioo.sc the most beautiful 
 stuffs possible ; and endeavor, above all things, that they be, or resemlde, tissues of 
 Indian manufacture ; and you will add to them, for turbans and sashes, six splendid long 
 cashmere shawls, two of them white, two red, and two orange, as nothing suits brown 
 complexions better than tho.se colors. 
 
 " This done (and I allow you at the utmost only two or three days), you will depart 
 post in my can-iage for Cardovillc, which you know .so well. The steward, the excellent 
 Dupont, one of yoiu- old friends, will there introduce you to a young Indian jn-ince, 
 named Djalma ; and you will tell that most potent, grave, and reverend signior of 
 another quarter of the globe that you have come on the part of an unknown friend, who, 
 taking upon )nmself the duty of a Virother, sends him what is necessary to j)reserve him 
 from the odious fashions of Eui'ope. You will add that his friend expects him with so 
 much impatience that he conjui-es him to come to Paris immediately. If he objects that 
 he is suffering, you will tell him that my carriage is an excellent bed closet and you will 
 cause the bedding, etc., which it contains, to be fitted up, tOl he finds it quite commo- 
 dious. Remember to make very humble excuses for the unknown friend not sending to 
 the prince either rich palanquins, or even, modestly, a single elephant ; for, alas! palan- 
 quins are only to be seen at the opera, and there are no elejjhants but tho.se in the 
 menagerie, — though this must make us seem strangely barbarous in his eyes. 
 
 " As soon as you shall have decided on your departure, perform tlie journey as rapidly 
 as possible, and bring here, into my house, in the Rue de Babylone (what predestination ! 
 that I should dwell in the street of Bahijlon, — a name which must at least accord with the 
 ear of an Oriental). — you will bring hither, I .say, this dear prince, who is so happy as to 
 have been bom in a country of fiowers, diamonds, and sun ! 
 
 " Above all, you will have the kindness, my old and worthy friend, not to be at all 
 astonLshed at this new freak, and refrain from indulging in extravagant conjectures. 
 Seriously, the choice which I have made of ymi in this affair — of you. whom I esteem 
 and most sincerely honor — is because it is sufficient to say to you that, at the bottom of 
 all this, there is something more than a seeming act of folly." 
 
 In uttering these la.st words, the tone of Adrienne was as serious 
 and dignified as it had been pre\'iously comic aud jocose. But she quietly 
 resumed, more gayly, dictating to Georgette :
 
 THE WAXDEEIXG JEW. 313 
 
 " Adieu, my old friend. I am somi'tliing- like that commander of ancient days whose 
 heroic nose and conquering chin you have so often made me di-aw. I jest with the utmost 
 freedom of spmt even in the moment of battle ; yes, for within an hour 1 shall give bat- 
 tle — a pitched battle — to my dear pew-dwelling aunt. Fortunately audacity and 
 corn-age never faOed me, and I bum with impatience for the engagement with my 
 austere jarincess. 
 
 " A thousand heartfelt recollections to youi' excellent wife. If I speak of her here, 
 who is so justly respected, you will please to understand it is to make you quite at ease 
 as to the consequences of tliis running away with, for my sake, a charming young 
 pi-ince — for it is proper to finish well, where I should have begun, by avowing to you 
 that he is charming indeed. 
 
 " Once more, adieu ! " 
 
 Then, addi'essiug Georgette, she said : 
 " Have you done writiug ? " 
 " Yes, mademoiselle." 
 " Oh ! add this postscript : 
 
 "P. S. — I send j-ou draft on sight on my banker for all expenses. Spare nothing. 
 You know I am quite a ymnd seiyneur ! I must use this masculine expression, since your 
 sex have exclusively appropriated to yom-selves (tyrants as you are) a term so signifi- 
 cant as it is of noble generosity." 
 
 " Now, Georgette," said Adrienne, " bring me an envelope, and the 
 letter, that I may sign it." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Cardoville took the pen that Georgette presented 
 to her, signed the letter, and inc4osed in it an order upon her banker, 
 which was expressed thus : 
 
 '* Please pay M. Xorval, on demand, the sum of money he may require for expenses 
 inciuTed on my account. 
 
 " Adrientce de Cardoville." 
 
 Dm-ing all this scene, while Georgette -svTote, Florine and Helje had 
 continued to busy themselves with the duties of their mistress's toilet, 
 who had put off her morning gown and was now in full dress, in order 
 to wait upon the piincess, her aunt. From the sustained and immov- 
 ably fixed attention with which Florine had listened to Adrienne's dic- 
 tating to Georgette her letter to M. Norval it might easily have been 
 seen that, as was her habit indeed, she endeavored to retain in her 
 memory even the slightest words of her mistress. 
 
 " Now, chit," said Adrienne to Hebe, " send this letter immediately to 
 M. Norval." 
 
 The same silver liell was again rung from without. 
 
 Hebe moved toward the door of the tb'essing-room to go and inquire 
 what it was, and also to execute the order of her mistress as to the letter.
 
 314 Till: WAS i)i:i;i m; ■! i:\v. 
 
 Hut Florine pvo('i])itat('(l licrsclt', so to speak, licforc her, aii<l so as to 
 prevent her leaving the apartment, and said to Adriennc: 
 
 " Will it jjlease my lady for me to send this letter .' T liave occasion 
 to go to the mansion." 
 
 " Go, Hebe, tlieii," said Achiriinc, " and see wlio it is. (reorgette, seal 
 the letter." 
 
 At tlie end of a secf)n<l or two, during wliicli (îeorgette had seale(l 
 the letter, Hehe returned. 
 
 " Madame," said she, reentering, " the working-man wlio l)rougiit luick 
 Frisk// yesterday entreats you to admit him for an instant. He is veiy 
 pale, and he appears quite sad," 
 
 " Has he already need of me ! I should be too liapjiy ! " said Adriennc 
 gayly. "Show tlie excellent young man into the little saloon. And, 
 Florine, dispatch this letter immediately." 
 
 Florine ■went out. i\rademoiselle de Cardovillc, followed by F/v's/,//, 
 entered the little reception-room, where Agi-icola awaited her.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE INTERVIEW 
 
 HEN Adrienne de Cardoville entered the saloon where 
 Agrieola expected her, she was dressed with extremely 
 elegant siniplioity. A robe of deep bine, i^erfectly fitted to 
 her shape, emljroidered in front with interlaoings of Ijlaek 
 silk, according to the then fashion, outlined her nymi^h-like figure and 
 her rounded bosom. A French cambric collar, fastened by a large 
 Scotch p('l)l)le, set as a In'ooch, served her for necklace. Her magnifi- 
 cent golden hair formed a framework for her fair countenance, with an 
 incredible profusion of long and light spiral tresses, which reached 
 nearly to her waist. 
 
 Agrieola, in order to save explanations with his f athei-, and to make 
 liim believe that he had indeed gone to the workshop of M. Hardy, 
 had been obliged to array himself in his working-dress; he had 
 put on a new blouse, though, and the collar of his shirt, of stout linen, 
 very white, fell over upon a black cravat, negligently tied ; his gray 
 trousers allowed his well-polished boots to be seen ; and he held between 
 his muscular hands a cap of fine woolen cloth, quite new. To sum uj), 
 his blue lilouse, embroidered with red, showing ofl: the nervous chest of 
 the young blacksmith, and indicating his robust shoulders, falling down 
 in graceful folds, put not the least constraint upon liis free-and-easy 
 gait, and became him much better than either frock-coat or dress-coat 
 would have done. While awaiting Mademoiselle de Cardoville, Agrie- 
 ola mechanically examined a magnificent silver vase, admirably graven. 
 A small tablet of the same metal, fitted into a cavity of its antique 
 stand, bore the words, " CJiascd hi/ Jean J\I(irie, irork'/nf/ rhasn; 1831." 
 
 Adrienne had stepped so lightly npon the carpet of her saloon, only 
 separated from another apartment by the doors, that Agiicola had not 
 perceived the young lady's enti-ance. He started and turned quickly 
 round upon hearing a silvery and brilliant voice say to him : 
 " That is a beautiful vase, is it not, sir f " 
 
 315
 
 3i(i Till-: \\AMn:i:i.\t!.ii:w. 
 
 " Very l)eautiful, madanu'," iiuswovod Aj;rit'<)la, j2;i'oatly ombavrassod. 
 
 "You may si-e from it that I likowliat is t'quitaltlo," added Madomoi- 
 sello de Cardovill<', poiiitiiin' with hor tiiigcr to tho little silver tablet. 
 " An artist puts his name upon his i)aintin<;; an author jmblislies his 
 on the title-]>a.u;e of his book; and T contend that an artisan ou|Lrht also 
 to have his name eonneeted with his workmanship." 
 
 " Oh, madame, so this name f " 
 
 " Is that of the poor chaser who exeeutcMJ this nuisterpiece at the 
 order of a rich goldsmith. "NMkmi the latti'r sold me the vase he was 
 amazed at my eccentricity, he Avould have almost said at my injustice, 
 when, after liaving made him tell me llie name of the anlliur of this 
 production, 1 order<'(l his name to lie inscribed upon it instead of that 
 of the goldsmith, wjiich had ali'eady been allixed to the stand. In the 
 absence of the rich profits, let the artisan enjoy the fame of his skill. Is 
 it not just, sir ?" 
 
 It would have been impossible for Adrienne to commence the con- 
 versation moi-e gi'aciouslj' ; so that the blacksmith, already beginning 
 to feel a little more at ease, answered : 
 
 " Being a mechaidc myself, madame, I cannot but be doubly affected 
 by such a proof of your sense of equity and justic(\"' 
 
 "Since you are a mechanic, sir," resumed Adi'ienne, "1 cannot Imt 
 felicitate myself on having so suitable a hearer, lint jilease to Ije 
 seated." 
 
 With a gesture full of atïability she ]>ointed t<> an arni-cliair of 
 piu'ple silk embroidered with gold, sitting down iiei-self upon a trfc-à-téte 
 of the same matiM'ials. 
 
 Seeing Agricola's hesitation, who again cast down his eyes with 
 embarrassment, Adrienne, to encourage him, showed him /V/.s///, and 
 said to him gayly : 
 
 " This poor little animal, to whicii 1 am A'ery much attached, will 
 always att'ord me a lively remembrance of your obliging conii)laisance, 
 sir. And this visit seems to me to l)e of happy augury ; 1 know not 
 what good presentiment whispers to me that perhaps I shall have the 
 l)leasuro of being useful to you in some affair." 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said Agiieola resolutely, "my nann^ is Baudoin — a 
 blacksmith in the employment of M. Hardy, at Plessis, near the city. 
 Yest«n-day you offered me your purse, and I refused it : to-day I have 
 come to request of you ten or twenty times the sum perhajjs that you 
 had generously proposed. I have said thus much all at once because 
 it costs me the greatest effort. The w<n-ds blistered my lips, but now I 
 shall be more at ease." 
 
 " I appreciate the delicacy of your sci-uples, sir," said Adrienne ; " but
 
 THE WAXDUIilXG JEW. 
 
 317 
 
 if yoii knew me you would address me without fear. How much do 
 you require f " 
 
 " I do not know, mademoiselle," answered Agricola. 
 
 .■v^>^-. «--i--^ ^^.v;w..^-■^M?«^*♦.v^^^^,J^*.v■Xî*ï 
 
 " I beg your pardon. You don't know what sum ? " 
 " No, mademoiselle ; and I come to you to request not only the sum 
 necessary to me, but also information as to what the sum is." 
 
 " Let us see, sir," said Adrienne, smiling ; " explain this to mo. In spite
 
 318 '/'///' \\'Axni:m.\o .ii:\v. 
 
 of my good-will, you feel that 1 cannot divine, all at once, what it is 
 that is requiivd." 
 
 " Madoinoisclle, in two words I can state the truth. I have a good old 
 mother, who, in her youth, broke her health by excessive labor to enable 
 her to bring nie up ; and not only me, but a jioor abandoned child whom 
 she had {iicke(l up. It is my tiu-n now to maintain her, and that 1 have 
 the happiness of doing. But in order to do so I have only my lal)i)r. 
 If I am dragged from my employment, my mother will be without 
 support." 
 
 "Your mother cannot want lor anything now, sir, since I interest 
 myself for her." 
 
 '' You will interest yourself for her .* " said Agricola. 
 
 "Certainly," replied Adrienne. 
 
 " But you know her, tlieii ! " exclaimed the blacksmith. 
 
 " Now I do ; yes." 
 
 "Oh, mademoiselle!" saiil Agricola, with emotion, after a moment's 
 silence. " I understand you. But indeed you have a noble heart. 
 Mother Bunch was right." 
 
 "Mother Bunch?" .saitl Adrienne, looking at Agi'icola with a very 
 surprised air, for what he said to her was an (Miignia. 
 
 The blacksmith, who Mushed not for his fi-iends, replied frankly : 
 
 " Mademoiselle, permit me to explain to you. Mother Bunch is 
 a poor and very industrious work-woman, with whom I have been 
 brought up. Sli(> is deformed, which is the reason why she is called 
 Mother Bunch. But though, on the one hand, she is sunk as low as 
 you are highly eh'vated on the other, yet as regards the heart — as to 
 delicacy — oh, lady, 1 am certain that your heart is of equal worth with 
 hers. That was at once her own thought after I had related to her in 
 what manner, yesterday, you had presented me with that l)eautiful 
 flower." 
 
 " I can assure you, sir," said .\diienne, sincerely touched, "that this 
 comparison flatters and honors me more than anything else that you 
 could say to me, — a heart that remains good and delicate in spite of 
 cruel misfortunes is so rare a treasure; while it is very easy to be good 
 when we have youth and beauty, and to be delicate and generous when 
 we are rich, I accept, then, your comi)arison, but on condition that you 
 will quickly i)ut me in a situation to deserve it. Pray go on, therefore." 
 In spite of the gi-acious cordiality of Mademoiselle de Cardoville, 
 there was always observable in her so much of that natural dignity 
 which arises from independence of character, so much elevation of soul 
 and nobleness of sentiment, that Agricola, forgetting the ideal physi- 
 cal beauty of his protectress, rather experienced for her the emotions of
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 319 
 
 an affectionate and kindly thougli profound respect, which offered a 
 singular and striking contrast with the youth and gayety of the lovely 
 being who inspired him with this sentiment. 
 
 " If my mother alone, mademoiselle, were exposed to the rigor which 
 I dread, I should not be so gi'eatly disquieted with the fear of a com- 
 pulsory suspension of my emi^lojTueut. Among poor people, the poor 
 help one another ; and my mother is worshiped by all the inmates of 
 om* house, our excellent neighbors, who would willingly succor her. 
 But they themselves are far from being well oft' ; and as they woidd 
 iucm" privations by assisting her, their little benefits would be still more 
 painful to my mother than the endurance even of misery by herself. 
 And besides, it is not only for my mother that my exertions are required, 
 but for my father, whom we have not seen for eighteen years, and who 
 has just arrived from Siberia, where he remained during all that time 
 from zealous devotion to his former general, now Marshal Simon." 
 
 " Marshal Simon ! " said Adiienue quickly, with an expression of 
 much surprise. 
 
 " Do you know the marshal, mademoiselle ? " 
 
 " I do not personally know him, but lie married a lady of our family." 
 
 " "What joy ! " exclaimed the blacksmith. " Then the two young ladies, 
 his daughters, whom my father has brought from Eussia, are yom- 
 relations ! " 
 
 " Has Marshal Simon two daughters ? " asked Adrienne, more and 
 more astonished and interested. 
 
 " Yes ; two httle angels of fifteen or sixteen ; and so pretty, so sweet ; 
 they are twins so very much alike as to be mistaken for each other. 
 Their mother died in exile, and the little she possessed ha\'ing been con- 
 fiscated, they have come hither with my father, from the depths of 
 Siberia, traveling very wretchedly ; but he tried to make them forget so 
 many privations by the fervency of his devotion and his tenderness. 
 My excellent father ! you wiU not beUeve, mademoiselle, that with the 
 courage of a lion he has all the love and tenderness of a mother." 
 
 " And where are the dear children, sir ? " asked Adrienne. 
 
 " At ovu" home. It is that which renders my position so very hard ; 
 that which has given me courage to come to you. It is not but that my 
 lal)or would be sufficient for om* httle household, even thus augmented, 
 but that I am about to be arrested." 
 
 " About to be aiTested ? For what f " 
 
 " Pray, mademoiselle, have the goodness to read this letter, which has 
 been sent by some one to jMother Bunch." 
 
 Agricola gave to Mademoiselle de Cardo^'ille the anonymous letter 
 which had been received bv the work-woman.
 
 320 Tin: \VAM)i:i;i S(i .1 i:\v. 
 
 After having read the letter, Acli-ieuuo said to the lilacksmith, with 
 surprise : 
 
 " It appears, sir, you are a poet ! " 
 
 " I liave neitlicr the ambition nor the pretension to be one, mademoi- 
 selle. Only, when I retiu-n to my mother aftei- a day's toil, and often 
 even wliile forging my iron, in onler to tlivert and rehix my attention 1 
 amuse myself with rhymes, sometimes composing an ode, sometimes a 
 song.'' 
 
 " And your songof the 'Eiifruiultisi il 1 1 'orliintf-iiiuii,^ whieh is mentioned 
 in this letter, is, therefore, very disaffected — very dangerous f" 
 
 "Oh, no; quite the contrary. For myself, I have the good fortune 
 to be employed in the factory of M. Hardy, Avho renders the condition 
 of his work-people as happy as that of their less-forlunate comrades is 
 the reverse; and 1 had limited myself to attempt, in favoi' of tlir great 
 mass of the working-classes, an equitabh», sincei-e, warm, and earnest 
 claim — nothing more. But you are aware, perhaps, that in times of 
 conspiracy and commotion jjcople are often incriminated and imjn'isoned 
 on very slight grounds. Should such a misfortune befall me, what will 
 Itecome of my mother, my father, and the two orphans whom we are 
 bound to regard as part of our family until tlie return of tlieir father. 
 Marshal Simon ? It is on this account, mademoiselle, that, if I remain, 
 I run the risk of l^eing arrested. I have come to you to reciuest you to 
 provi<le surety for me, so that I should not be compelled toexcliango 
 the workshop for tlie prison, in which case I can answer for it that the 
 fruits of my labor Avill suffice for all." 
 
 " Thank the stars ! " said Adiieinie gayly, " this affair will arrange 
 it&elf quite easily. Henceforth, Mr. Poet, you shall (h'aw your inspira- 
 tions in file midst of good fortune instead of adversity. Sad nuise ! But 
 first of all, bonds shall be given for you." 
 
 " Oh, miidenioiselle, you have saved us ! " 
 
 " To continue," .said Adrienne, " the physician of oui- family is inti- 
 mately connected with a very important minister (iinderstand that as 
 y<)U like," said she, smiling; " yoti will not deceive yourself nuich). The 
 doctor exercises very great influence over this great statesman, for he 
 hcxs always had Ihf happiness of recommending to him, on accountof his 
 hi'nlth, the sweets and repose of jii-ivate life to the very eve of the day 
 on wliich his portfolio was taken frf)m him. Keej) yom-self, then, per- 
 fectly at ease. If the surety l)e insuflficient, we shall be able to devise 
 some other means." 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said Agricola, with great emotion, "I am indebted 
 to you for the repose, perhaps for the life of my mother. Believe that 
 I shall ever be grateful."
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 321 
 
 " That is all quite simple. Now for another thing. It is proper that 
 those who have too much should have the right of coming to the aid of 
 those who have too little. Marshal Simon's daughters are members of 
 my family, and they will reside here with me, which will be more suit- 
 able. You will apprise your worthy mother of this ; and in the evening, 
 besides going to thank her for the hospitality which she has shown to 
 my young relations, I shall fetch them home." 
 
 At this moment Georgette, throwing open the door which sepa- 
 rated the room from an adjacent apai'tment, hm'riedly entered with 
 an affrighted look, exclaiming : 
 
 "Oh, mademoiselle, something extraordinary is going on in the street." 
 
 " How so ? Explain yourself," said Adrienne. 
 
 " I went to conduct my dressmaker to the Uttle garden-gate," said 
 Georgette, " where I saw some ill-looking men attentively examining 
 the walls and ^vindows of the little out-1)uilding belonging to the pavil- 
 ion, as if they wished to spy out some one." 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said Agricola, with chagi-in, " I have not been 
 deceived. They are after me." 
 
 " What say you f " 
 
 " I thought I was followed, from the moment when I left the Rue St. 
 Méry ; and now it is beyond doubt. They must have seen me enter 
 your liOTise, and are on the watch to arrest me. Well, now that yoiu* 
 interest has been ac(:[uired for my mother, — now that I have no further 
 uneasiness for Marshal Simon's daughters, — rather than hazard yoiu- 
 exposure to anything the least unpleasant I run to deliver myself up." 
 
 " Beware of that, sir," said Adrienne quickly. " Liberty is too pre- 
 cious to be voluntarily sacrificed. Besides, Georgette may have been 
 mistaken. But in any ease, I entreat you not to surrender youi'self. 
 Take my advice and escape being arrested. That, I think, will greatly 
 facilitate my measures, for I am of opinion that Justice evinces a great 
 desire to keep possession of those upon whom she has once pounced." 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said Hebe, now also entering with a terrified look, 
 " a man knocked at the little door and inquired if a young man in a 
 blue blouse had not entered here. He added that the person whom he 
 seeks is named Agricola Baudoin, and that he has something to tell him 
 of great importance." 
 
 " That's my name," said Agricola ; " but the important information is 
 a trick to draw me out." 
 
 " Evidently," said Adrienne, " and therefore we must play off trick for 
 trick. What did you answer, child f " added she, addressing herself to 
 Hebe. 
 
 " I answered that I didn't know what he was talking about."
 
 322 THE \\AM>i:Ul.\tl JEW. 
 
 "Quito rifîht," saiil AdrieiiiK» ; "and the luaii who ]mt tlic (luostion?" 
 
 " He went away." 
 
 " Without doubt to come back again, soon," said Agricola. 
 
 "That is very probable," said Adrienne, "and therefore, sir, it is nec- 
 essary for you to remain here some hours with resignation. I am, 
 unfortunately, obliged to go immediately to the Princess de Saint-Dizier, 
 my aunt, for an imjjortaut iuter\'iew, which can no longer be delaye<l, 
 and is rendered more ]iressing still liy what you have told me concern- 
 ing the daughters of Marshal Simon. Remain here, then, sir; since, if 
 you go out, you will certainly be arrested." 
 
 " Mademoiselle, pardon my refusal, Init I must say once more that 
 I ought not to accept this generous offer." 
 
 " AMiy ? " 
 
 " They have ti'ied to draw me out, in order to avoid penetrating with 
 the power of the law into your dwelling ; Init if I go not out, they ^sill 
 come in; and never will I expose you to anything so disagreeaV)le. Now 
 that I am no longer uneasy about my mother, what signifies prison ? " 
 
 "And the giief that your mother A\"ill feel, her luieasiness, and her 
 fears, — nothing ? Think of your father ; and that poor work-woman 
 who loves you as a brother, and whom I value as a si.ster ; say, sir, do 
 you forget them also Î Believe me, it is better to spare those tonnents 
 to yom* family. Remain here, and l)efore the evening I am certain, 
 either l)y giWng sm-ety or some other means, of deUvering you from these 
 annoyances." 
 
 " But supposing that I do accept your generous offer, they will come 
 and find me here." 
 
 " Not at all. There is in this pa^alion, which was formerly the scene 
 of a nobleman's intrigues — you see, sir," said Atbienue, smiling, "that I 
 live in a very profane place — there is here a secret place of concealment 
 so wonderfully well contrived that it can defy all searches. Georgette 
 will conduct you to it. You will be very well accommodated. You will 
 even be able to write some verses for me, if the place insj)ire you." 
 
 " Oh, how gi-eat is yom- goodness ! How have I merited it ? " 
 
 " Oh, sir, I will tell you. Admitting that yom- character and your 
 position do not entitle you to any interest, — admitting that I may not 
 owe a sacred del)t to your father for the touching regards and cares he 
 has bestowed upon the daughters of Marshal Simon, my relations, — do 
 you forget Frisky, sir f " asked Adrienne, lavighing, — " Frishj, there, 
 whom you have restored to my fondlings Î Seriously, if I laugh," con- 
 tiniied this singular and extravagant creature, " it is because I know 
 that you are entirely out of danger, and that I feel an increase of happi- 
 ness. Therefore, sir, write for me quickly your address, and your mothei"'s,
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 323 
 
 in this pocket-book ; follow Georgette ; aud spiu me some pretty verses, 
 if you do not bore yourself too much in that prison to which you fly." 
 
 While Georgette conducted the blacksmith to the hiding-place, Hebe 
 brought her mistress a small gi'ay beaver hat with a gray feather ; for 
 Adrieune had to cross the park to reach the house occupied by the 
 Princess de Saiut-Dizier. 
 
 A quarter of an horn- after this scene, Florine entered mysteriously 
 the apartment of Madame Grivois, the first woman of the princess. 
 
 " Well ?" demanded Madame Grivois of the young woman. 
 
 " Here are the notes which I have taken this morning," said Florine, 
 putting a i^ajjer into the duenna's hand. " Happily, I have a good 
 memory." 
 
 " At what time exactly did she return home this morning f " asked the 
 duenna quickly. 
 
 " Who, madame ? " 
 
 " Mademoiselle Adrienne." 
 
 " She did not go out, madame. We put her in the bath at nine o'clock." 
 
 " But before nine o'clock she came home, after having passed the 
 night out of her house. Eight o'clock was the time at which she 
 returned, however." 
 
 Florine looked at Madame Grivois with profound astonishment, and 
 said : 
 
 " I do not understand you, madame." 
 
 " What's that ? Mademoiselle did not come home this morning at 
 eight o'clock ? Dare you lie ? " 
 
 " I was ill, yesterday, and did not come down till nine this morning, 
 in order to assist Georgette and Hebe help oru" young lady from the bath. 
 I know nothing of what passed previously, I swear to you, madame." 
 
 " That alters the case. You must ferret out what I allude to from 
 your companions. They don't distrust you, and will tell you all." 
 
 " Yes, madame." 
 
 " What has your mistress done this morning since you saw her ? " 
 
 " ]\radame dictated a letter to Georgette for M. Norval. I i-equested 
 permission to send it off, as a pretext for going out, and for writing 
 down all I recollected." 
 
 " Very well. And this letter ? " 
 
 " Jerome had to go out, and I gave it to him to put in the post-oifice." 
 
 " Idiot ! " exclaimed Madame Grivois, " couldn't you bring it to me Î " 
 
 " But, as madame dictated it aloud to Georgette, as is her custom, I 
 knew the contents of the letter and I have wi-itten it in my notes." 
 
 " That's not the same thing. It is likely there was need to delay send- 
 ing off this letter. The princess will be very much displeased."
 
 324 TUE WAS DERI \ a JJ-:W. 
 
 " I tliought T did n<;lit, inadanic." 
 
 '■ 1 know tliat it is not j^ood-will that fails you. For these six months 
 I have been satisfied with you. But this time you have committed a 
 very great mistake." 
 
 " Be indulgent, madame! what I do is sutfieiently jiainful !" 
 The girl stifled a sigh. 
 Madame Grivois looked fixedly at her and said, in a sai-donic tone : 
 
 " Very well, my dear, do iKif <M)iitiiin(' it. If you have» sr-rnples, you 
 are free. Cto your way.'' 
 
 "You well know that I am not fiee, madame," said Floriue, redden- 
 ing; and \\'ith tears in lier eyes shi- added, "I am dependent upon M. 
 Rodin, who placed me hei'e." 
 
 " Wherefore these regrets, then Î " 
 
 " In spite of one's self, one feels remorse. Mademoiselle is so good, 
 and so confiding." 
 
 " She is all perfection, certainly ! But you are not here to sing her 
 praises. What occiUTed afterward f " 
 
 " The working-man who yesterday found and brouglit back Frisk// 
 came early this morning and requested jtermission to sjieak with my 
 young lady." 
 
 " And is this working-man still in her house ? " 
 
 "I don't know. He came in when T was going out witli tlic letter." 
 
 "You must contrive to learn what it was this working-man came 
 about." 
 
 " Yes, madame." 
 
 " Has your mistress seemed preoccupied, uneasy, or afraitl of the 
 int(!rview which she is to have to-day with the princess ? She conceals 
 so little of what she thinks that you ought to know." 
 
 " She has been as gay as usual. She has even jested about the 
 inter%dew ! " 
 
 " Oh ! jested, has she ? " said the tire-woman, muttering between her 
 
 teeth, without Florine being able to hear her, " They laugh most who 
 
 laugh last. In spite of her audacious and diabolical character, she would 
 
 tremljle and would pray for mercy if she knew what awaits her this day." 
 
 Then addressing Floriue, she continued : 
 
 " Return, and keep yourself, I ad\àse 3'ou, from those fine scruples, 
 which will be quite enough to do you a bad turn. Do not forget ! " 
 
 " I cannot forget that I belong not to myself, madame." 
 
 " Anyway, let it be so. Farewell." 
 Florine quitted the mansion and crossed tlie park to regain the sum- 
 mer-house, while Madame Grivois went immediately to the Princess de 
 Saint-Dizier.
 
 DR. BALEINIER.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A FEMALE .TEsriT 
 
 kB^'^ira TURING the preceding scenes, wliicli occurred in the Pomiia- 
 âlisi^^v (lour rotiinda, occupied by Mademoiselle de Cardo\àlle, other 
 events took place iu the residence of the Princess de Saint- 
 Dizier. 
 
 The elegance and siunptuousness of the former dwelling presented a 
 strong contrast to the gloomy interior of the latter, the first floor of 
 which was inhabited by the princess, for the plan of the gi'ound-floor 
 rendered it only fit for gi^'ing parties, and, for a long time past, Madame 
 de Saint-Dizier had renounced all worldly splendors. The gravity of 
 her domestics, all aged and dressed in l)lack; the profound silence 
 which reigned in her abode, where everything was spoken, if it could be 
 called speaking, in undertone ; and the almost monastic regularity and 
 order of this immense mansion, communicated to everything around the 
 princess a sad and chilling character. 
 
 A man of the world who joined great courage to rare independence 
 of spirit, speaking of the princess (to whom AcMenne de C'ardovUle 
 went, according to her expression, to fight a pitched battle), said of her 
 as follows : " In order to avoid ha\àug Madame de Saint-Dizier for an 
 enemy, I, who am neither bashful nor cowardly, have for the first time 
 iu my life been both a noodle and a coward." This man spoke sincerely. 
 
 But Madame de Saint-Dizier had not all at once arrived at this high 
 degi-ee of importance. 
 
 Some words are necessary for the purpose of exhibiting distinctly 
 some phases in the life of this dangerous and implacable woman, who, 
 by her affiliation with the Order of Jesuits, had acquired an occult and 
 formidable power. For there is something eveu more menacing than 
 a Jesuit : it is a Jesiiitess ; and, when one has seen certain circles, it 
 becomes evident that there exist, unhappily, many of these affiliated 
 " Jesuits of the short robe." 
 
 327
 
 328 THE WAXDKlUya ./A'lr. 
 
 Madame do Saiiit-Dizicr, once very beautiful, had l>e(>ii, duriii<; the 
 last years of the Empire autl the eai-ly years of the Restoration, one of 
 the most fashionable women of Paris — of a stirring, active, adventurous, 
 and commanding spirit, of cold heart, but lively imagination. She was 
 gi'eatly given to amoroiis adventures, not from tenderness of heart, but 
 from a passion for intrigue, which she loved as meu love i)lay — for the 
 sake of the emotions it excites. 
 
 Unhii])i)ily such liad always been tlie bliiubiess or the carelessness 
 of her husliand, the Prince of Saint-Uizier (ehlest brother of the Count 
 of Rennepont and Duke of Cardoville, father of Adrieune), that (hu-iug 
 his life he had never said one word that could make it be thouglit that 
 he susjiected the actions of his wife. Finding, tluMi, no difliculties in 
 such intrigues, which were so easy under the Emigre, tlu^ princess, 
 without renouncing gallantry, longed to render it more piquant by 
 blending it with i)olitical intrigues. To attack Napoleon, to dig a mine 
 under the feet of the Colossus, that design at least afforded emotions 
 sufficient to gratify the humor of the most insatiable. During some 
 time, all went well. The princess was beautiful and spirited, dextei'ous 
 and false, perfidious and seductive. She was suri'ounded l)y fanatical 
 adorers, \x\H>n whom slie jjlayed off a kind of ferocious cocpietry, to 
 iniluce them to I'uii tlieir heads into grave conspiracies. She lii>)ie(l 
 to resuscitate the Fromlexr ]iarty, and «'arried on a very active secret 
 correspondence with some intluential jjersonages abroad, well known 
 for their hatred against the emperor and France. Hence arose her 
 first epistolary i-elations with the Marquis d'Aigrigny, then colonel in 
 the Russian service and aide-de-camp to General Moreau. But one day 
 all these pi'etty intrigues were discovered. Many knights of Madame 
 de Saint-Dizier were sent to Viucennes ; but the emperor, who might 
 have punished her terribly, coutent(^d himself \vith exiling the princess 
 to one of her estates near Dunkirk. 
 
 Upon the Restoration, the persecutions which Madame de Saint- 
 Dizier had suffered for the Grood Cause were entered to her credit, and 
 she acquired even then very considerable» iufliionce, in spite of the light- 
 ness of her behavior. The ^Nlarepiis d'Aigrigny, having entered the 
 military service of France, remained there. He was handsome, and of 
 fashionable manners and address. He had corresponded and consjiired 
 with the princess without knowing her, and these circumstances neces- 
 sarily led to a close connection between them. 
 
 Excessive self-love, a taste for exciting pleasures, aspirations of 
 hatred, pride, and lordliness, a species of evil s^-mpathy, the pei-fidious 
 attraction of which brings together perverse natures without mingling 
 them, had made of the princess and the marquis accomplices rather
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 329 
 
 than lovers. This couueetion, based iipon selfish and bitter feelings, 
 and upon the support which two characters of this dangerous tem- 
 per could lend to each other against a world in which their spirit 
 of intrigue, of gallantry, and of contempt had made them many ene- 
 mies — this connection endured till the moment when, after his duel 
 with Gfeneral Simon, the marquis entered a religious house without any 
 one understanding the cause of his unexpected and sudden resolution. 
 
 The princess, ha-\dng not yet heard the hour of her conversion strike, 
 continued to whirl round the vortex of the world with a greedy, jeal- 
 ous, and hateful ardor, for she saw that the last years of her beauty 
 were dpng oiit. 
 
 An estimate of the character of this woman may be formed from 
 the following fact : Still very agreeable, she wished to close her worldly 
 and volatile career with some brilliant and final triumph, as a gi-eat 
 actress knows the proper time to withdraw from the stage so as to leave 
 regi-ets behind. Desirous of oifering up this final incense to her own 
 vanity, the princess skillfully selected her victims. She spied ov;t in 
 the world a young couple who idolized each other, and by dint of 
 cunning and address she succeeded in taking away the lover from his 
 mistress, a charming woman of eighteen, by whom he was adored. 
 This triumph being achieved, Madame de Saint-Dizier retii'ed from the 
 fashionable world in the full Idaze of her exploit. After many long 
 conversations with the Abljé-Marquis d'Aigrigny, who had l)ecome a 
 renowned preacher, she departed suddenly from Paris, and spent two 
 years i^pon her estate near Dunkirk, to which she took only one of her 
 female attendants, viz., Madame Grivois. 
 
 Wlien the princess afterward returned to Paris, it was impossible 
 to recognize the frivolous, intriguing, and dissipated woman she had 
 f(n-nierly been. The metamorphosis was as complete as it was extraor- 
 dinary and even startling. The Hotel Saint-Dizier, heretofore open to 
 the banquets and festivals of every kind of pleasui-e, became gloomily 
 silent and austere. Instead of the world of elegance and fashion, the 
 princess now received in her mansion only women of ostentatious piety, 
 and men of consequence who were remarkably exemplary ])y the 
 extravagant rigor of then- religious and monarchical principles. Above 
 all, slie drew around her several noted members of the higher orders of 
 the clergy. She was appointed patroness of a bodj' of religious females. 
 She had her own confessor, chaplain, almoner, and even spiritual 
 director; but this last performed his functions in parfihiis. The Mar- 
 quis-Abbé d'Aigi-igny continued in reality to be her spiritual guide, and 
 it is almost unnecessary to say that for a long time past their mutual 
 relations as to flii'ting had entirely ceased.
 
 330 Tilt: WAX DE RI y G JEW. 
 
 This Ruddon and complote convorsioji of a };ay and distiiif^nished 
 woman, espei-ially as it was loudly trumpeted t'oi-tli, struck the greater 
 number of persons witli wonder and respect. Others, more discerning, 
 only smiled. A single anecdote from amongst a thousand will suffice 
 to show the alarming inlluence and power whi<'h the princess had 
 acquired since her affiliation with the Jesuits. This anecdote will also 
 exhil)it the deep, vindictive, and pitiless character of this woman, whom 
 Adrienne de (îardoville had so imprudently made herself ready to brave. 
 Amongst the j)ersons wiio smiled more ()r less at the conversion of 
 Madame de Saiut-Dizier were the young and diarming couple whom she 
 had so cruelly disunitcnl b(>fore she quitted forever the scenes of revelry 
 in wliich she had lived. The young couple became more impassioned 
 and devoted to each other than ever ; they were reconciled and married 
 after the passing storm which had hurled them asunder, and they 
 indulged in no other vengeance against the author of their tem])orary 
 infelicity than that of mildly jesting at the pious conversion of the 
 woman who had done them so much injury. 
 
 Some tim(> after, a terrible fatality overtook the lo^'iIlg paii-. The 
 husband, until then blindly unsus2)icious, was suddenly intlameil by 
 anonymous communications. A dreadful rupture ensued, and the 
 young wife perished. 
 
 As for the husband, cei-tain vague rumors, far from distinct yet preg- 
 nant with secret meanings, perlidiously contrived and a thousand times 
 more detestable than formal accusation, which can at least be met and 
 destroyed, were strewn about him with so much perseverance, with a 
 skill so diabolical and by means and ways so very various, that his best 
 friends by little and little withdi'ew themselves from him, thus yielding 
 to the slow, irresistible influence of that incessant whispeiing and buzz- 
 ing, confused as indistinct, amounting to some such result as this: 
 
 " Well ! you know ! ■' says one. 
 
 " No ! " replies another. 
 
 " Peo})le say very vil(> things about him ! " 
 
 " Do they ? "really ! What then ? " 
 
 " I don't know ! Bad reports ! Rumors grievously affecting his 
 honor ! " 
 
 " The deuce ! That's very serious. It accounts for the coldness with 
 which he is now everywhere received ! " 
 
 " I shall avoid him in futiu'e ! " 
 
 " So will I," etc. 
 Such is the world, that very often nothing more than gi'oundless 
 surmises are nece.ssaiy to brand a man whose very happiness may have 
 incurred envy. So it was with the gentleman of whom we speak. The
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 331 
 
 nufortuiiate man, seeing the void around him extending itself, — feeling 
 (so to speak) the earth crumljling from beneath his feet, knew not where 
 to find or grasp the impalpable enemy whose blows he felt ; for not once 
 had the idea occm-red to him of suspecting the princess, whom he had 
 not seen since his adventure with her. Anxiously desiring to learn 
 why he was so much shunned and despised, he at length sought an 
 explanation from an old friend ; but he received only a disdainfully 
 evasive answer; at which, being exasperated, he demanded satisfaction. 
 His adversary replied, " Find two persons of our acquaintance and I 
 will fight you ! " 
 
 The unhappy man could not find one ! 
 
 Finally, forsaken by all, without having ever obtained any explana- 
 tion of the reason for forsaking him, suffering keenly for the fate of the 
 wife whom he had lost, he became mad with grief, rage, and despair, 
 and killed himself. 
 
 On the day of his death Madame de Saint-Dizier remarked that it 
 was fit and necessary that one who had lived so shamefully should 
 come to an equally shameful end, and that he who had so long jested 
 at all laws, human and divine, could not seemly otherwise terminate 
 his wretched life than by perpetrating a last crime — suicide ! And the 
 friends of Madame de Saint-Dizier hawked about and everywhere 
 repeated these terrible words with a contrite air, as if beatified and 
 convinced. 
 
 But this was not all. Along with chastisements there were rewards. 
 
 Observant people remarked that the favorites of the religious clan 
 of Madame de Saint-Dizier rose to high distinctions with singidar 
 rapidity. The virtuous young men, such as were religiously attentive 
 to tiresome sermons, were married to rich orphans of the Sacred Heart 
 convents, who were held in reserve for the purpose. Poor young girls, 
 who, learning too late what it is to have a pious husljand selected and 
 imposed upon them by a set of devotees, often expiated by very bitter 
 tears the deceitful favor of being thus admitted into a world of hypoc- 
 risy and falsehood, in which they found themselves strangers without 
 support, crushed by it if they dared to complain of the marriages to 
 which they had been condemned. 
 
 In the jiarlor of Madame de Saint-Dizier were appointed prefects, 
 colonels, treasurers, deputies, academicians, bishops, and peers of the 
 realm, from whom nothing more was required in return for the all- 
 powerful support bestowed upon them but to wear a pious gloss, some- 
 times pul)licly take the communion, swear furious war against every- 
 thing impious or revolutionary, and, above all, correspond confidentially 
 upon "different subjects of his choosing" with the Abbé d'Aigrigny,—
 
 332 Til i: M . 1 .V i> /; A' / XG J E ir. 
 
 an amusemont, moroovov, which was very agi-eeable ; for the abbé was 
 the most amiable man in the world, the most witty, ami, above all, the 
 most obliiring. 
 
 The followin<r is an historical fact, which reijnires the liitter and 
 vengeful irony of Molièi-e or Pascal to do it justice 
 
 During the last year of the Restoration, there was one of the mighty 
 dignitaries of the court, a firm and independent man, who did not make 
 profession (as the holy fathers call it), that is, who did not communicate 
 at the altar. The splendor amid wl)ich lie moved was calculated to give 
 the weight of a veiy iujm-ious example to his indifference. The Abb»'-- 
 Marquis d'Aigrigny was therefore dispatched to him; an<l he, knowing 
 the honorable and elevated character of the nou-communieant, thought 
 that if he could only In-ing him to profess by any means (whatever the 
 means might be) the effect would be what was desired. Like a man of 
 intellect, the abl)é prized the dogma but cheaply himself. He only 
 spoke of the suitableness of the step, and of the highly salutary example 
 which the resolution to adopt it would afford to the public. 
 
 " M. Abbé," repli(Ml the j)erson sought to lie influenced, "I have a 
 gi-eater respect for religion than you have. I should .consider it an 
 infamous mockery to go to the communion-table without feeling the 
 proper conviction.'' 
 
 "Nonsense! you inflexible man! you frowning ^Ucestes ! " said the 
 marquis-abbé, smiling sadly. " Your profit and your scruples will go 
 together, believe me, by listening to me. In short we shall manage to 
 make a hianh romiiiioiioit for you ; for, after all, what is it that we ask Î — 
 only the appntrtiiicr I'' 
 
 Now, a hidiik roniDiKiiion means breaking an unconsecrated wafer! 
 The abbé-marquis retired with his offers, which were rejected with 
 indignation; — but, then, the refractory man was dismissed from his 
 place at court. This was but a single isolated fact. Woe to all who 
 found themselves opposed to the interest and principles of Madame de 
 Saint-Dizier or her friends ! Sooner or later, directly or indirectly, thi'y 
 felt themselves cruelly stabbed, generally irremediably — some in their 
 dearest connections, others in their credit ; some in their honor, others 
 in their official functions ; and all by secret action, noiseless, continuous, 
 and latent, in time becoming a teiTible and mysterious dissolvent, which 
 invisibly undermined reitutations, fortunes, positions the most solidly 
 established, until the moment when all sunk forever into the abyss, amid 
 the surprise and teiTor of the Iteholders. 
 
 It will now be conceived how, uniier the Restoration, the Piiucess 
 de Saint-Dizier had become singularly influential and fonnidable. At 
 the time of the Revolution of July, 1830, she had "rallied"; and,
 
 THE WAX DE RI XG JEVT. 
 
 333 
 
 strangely enough, "wliile still pi-e.ser\àng some relation of family and of 
 society with persons faithful to the worship of decayed monarchy, peo- 
 ple still attributed to the princess much influence and power. Let us 
 
 mention, at last, that the Prince of Saint-Dizier having died many years 
 since, his very large personal fortune had descended to his younger 
 brother, the father of Adiienne de Cardoville; and he, having died
 
 334 THE WAXDEh'TXa JEW. 
 
 eiglitoen rnontlis a<;o, that young lady found litTsi'lf to bo tlio last and 
 only represeutativo of that l)i-anch of tlu' family of the Rcnncponts. 
 
 The Priuoess of Saint-Dizier awaited her niece in a very large room, 
 rendered dismal by its gloomy gi'een damask. The chairs, etc., covered 
 with similar stuff, were of carvecl ebony. Paintings of scriptural and 
 other religious subjects, and an ivory erueilix thrown up from a back- 
 gi'ound of black velvet, contributed to give the apartment a lugubrious 
 and austere as])ect. 
 
 Madame de Saint-Dizier, seated before a large desk, liad just finished 
 putting the seals on numerous letters, — for she had a very extensive and 
 very diversified correspondence. Though then aged about forty-five, 
 she was still fair. Advancing years had souK'what thickened lier shajx', 
 which, formerly of distinguishcil elegance, was still sulHcicntly liand- 
 some to be seen to advantage under the straight folds of her bhick dress. 
 Her head-dress, A-ery simple, decorated with gray ribbons, allowed hei- 
 fair, sleek hair to bo seen, arranged in broad ])ands. At fii-st lo!>k, i)eo- 
 ple were struck with her dignified though unassuming ap])earance, and 
 would have vainly tried to discover in liei' physiognomy, now marked 
 with repentant calmness, any trace of tlie agitations of her ])ast life. 
 80 naturally grave and I'eserved was she that people could not lielieve 
 her the heroine of so many intrigues and adventures and gallantry. 
 Moi'eover, if l)y chance she ever heard any lightness in conversation, 
 her countenance, since .she had come to believe herself a kind of " mother 
 in the Church," immediately expressed candid but grieve<l astonishment 
 which soon changed into an air of ofïended chastity and disdainful pity. 
 
 For the rest, her smile, when requisite, was still full of gi'ace, and 
 even of the seducing and resistless sweetness of seeming good-iuitui-e. 
 Her large blue eyes, on fit occasions, became affectionate and caressing. 
 But if any one dared to wound <>r ruffle her pride, gainsay her orders, 
 or harm her interests, her countenance, usually placid and serene, 
 beti-ayed a cold but imi)lacable malignity. Madame Grivois entered 
 the cabinet, holding in hei- hand Floriue's report of the manner in which 
 Adrieune de Cardo ville had spent the morning. 
 
 Madame Grivois had been al)out twenty years in the sei^vice of 
 Madame de Saint-Dizier. She knew everything that a lady's-maid 
 could or ought to have knowii of her mistress in the days of her sowing 
 of wild (being a lady) flowers. Was it from choice that the princess 
 had still retained about her person this so-well-informed witness of the 
 numerous follies of her youth ? The woi-ld was kept in ignorance of 
 the motive; but one thing was eAndent, viz., that Madame Grivois 
 enjoyed gi-eat privileges under the jjrincess, and was treated by her 
 rather as a companion than as a tiiing-womau.
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 335 
 
 " Here are Florine's notes, madame," said Madame Grivois, gi\àng the 
 paper to the princess. 
 
 " I will examine them presently," said the princess ; " hnt tell me, is 
 my niece coming ? Pending the conference at which she is to be pres- 
 ent, you will conduct into her house a person who will soon be here to 
 inijuire for you Ity my desii'e." 
 
 " Well, madame I " 
 
 " This man will make an exact inventory of everything contained in 
 Adrienne's residence. You will take care that nothing is omitted, for 
 that is of very great importance." 
 
 " Yes, madame. But should Georgette or Hebe make any opposi- 
 tion?" 
 
 " There is no fear ; the man charged with taking the inventory is of 
 such a stamp that, when they know him, they will not dare to oppose 
 either his making the inventory or his other steps. It will be necessary 
 not to fail, as you go along with him, to be careful to obtain certain 
 peculiarities destined to confirm the reports which you have spread 
 for some time past." 
 
 " Do not have the slightest doubt, madame. The reports have all the 
 consistency of truth." 
 
 " Very soon, then, this Adrienne, so insolent and so haughty, will be 
 crushed and compelled to pray for pardon ; and from me ! " 
 
 An old footman opened both of the folding-doors and announced 
 the Marquis-Abbé d'Aigrigny. 
 
 " If Mademoiselle de Cardoville present herself," said the princess to 
 Madame Grivois, " you will request her to wait an instant." 
 
 " Yes, madame," said the duenna, going out with the servant. 
 Madame de Saint-Dizier and D'Aigrigny remained alone.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE PLOT 
 
 n Vj Al)lié-J\[ar(juis d'Aigi'lt^iiy, as the reader has easily divined, 
 was the jiersoii ah'eady seen in the Rue du Milieu des L'rsins, 
 whence he had departed for Rome, in which city he had 
 reiuaiucd aliout three months. Tlie marquis was dressed in 
 deep mourning, but with his usual I'leganee. Ilis was not a priestly robe. 
 His black coat, and his waistcoat, tightly gathered in at the waist, set 
 olï to great advantage the elegance of his figui-e ; his black cassimcre 
 pantaloons disclosed his feet neatly fitted with varnished Iwots, and all 
 traces of his tonsui'e disappeared in the midst of the slight lialdness 
 which whitened slightly the back part of his head. Tliero was nothing 
 in his entire costume oras[)e('t that revealed the priest e.xeept, perhaps, 
 the entire absence of l)eard, — the more remarkable upon so manly a 
 countenance. His chin, newly shaved, rested on a large and elevated 
 lilack cravat, tied with a military ostentation which reminded the 
 lu'lioldcr that this ab])é-mai-iiuis, tliis celel)ratpd preacher, now one of 
 the most active and iiiHuential chiefs of liis order, had commanded a 
 regiment of hussars upon the Restoration, and had fought in ai<l of the 
 Russians against France. 
 
 Returned to Paris only this morning, tlie manjuis had not seen the 
 princess since his mother, the Dowager Marchioness d'Aigrigny, had 
 died near Dunkirk, upon an estate belonging to Madaine de Saint- 
 Dizier, while vainly calling for her son to alleviate her last moments; 
 but th(* order to which M. d'Aigrigny had thought fit to sacrifice the 
 most sacred feelings and duties of nature, having been suddenly trans- 
 mitted to him from Rome, he had inmiediatcly set out for that city, 
 though not without hesitation, wliich was remarked and denounced Ijy 
 Rodin ; for the love of M. d'Aigngny for his mother had been the only 
 pure feeling that had invariably distinguished his life. 
 
 "Wlien the servant had discreetly withdrawn with Madame (Jrivois, 
 the marcjuis (piickly ajjproached the princess, held out his hand to her, 
 and said, with a voice of emotion : 
 
 336
 
 THE WAN DEE IX G JEW. 337 
 
 " Herminie, have you not conccaleil something in your letters ? In 
 her kist moments did not my mother curse me ? " 
 
 " No, no, Frederick, compose yourself. She had anxiously desired 
 your i>resence. Her ideas soon became confused. But in her delirium 
 it was still for you that she called." 
 
 " Yes," said the marquis bitterly ; " her maternal instinct doubtless 
 assured her that my presence could have saved her life." 
 
 " I entreat you to banish these sad recollections," said the princess ; 
 " this misfortune is irreparable." 
 
 " Tell me for the last time, tridy, did not my absence cruelly affect my 
 mother? Had she no suspicion that a more imperious duty called me 
 elsewhere ? " 
 
 "No, no, I assure you. Even when her reason was shaken, she 
 believed that you had not yet had time to come to her. All the sad 
 details which I wrote to you upon this painful subject are strictly true. 
 Again I beg of you to compose yourself." 
 
 " Yes, my conscience ought to be easy, for I have fulfilled my duty in 
 sacrifieing my mother. Yet I have never been able to arrive at that 
 complete detachment from natural affection which is commanded to us 
 by those awful words, ' Ho who hates not his father and his mother, even 
 with his soul, cannot be my disciple.' " * 
 
 " Douljtless, Frederick," said the princess, " these renunciations are 
 painful. But, in return, what influence, what power ! " 
 
 " It is true," said the marquis, after a moment's silence. " What ought 
 not to be sacrificed in order to reign in secret over the all-powerfid of 
 the earth, who lord it in fidl day ? This journey to Rome, from which 
 I have just returned, has given me a new idea of oui- formidable power; 
 for, Herminie, it is Eome which is the culminating point, overlooking 
 the fairest and broadest quai'ters of the globe, made so by custom, by 
 tradition, or by faith. Thence can our workings be embraced in their 
 full extent. It is an uncommon view to see from its height the mjTiad 
 tools whose personality is continually absorbed into the immovable 
 personality of our Order. "^Hiat a might we possess ! Verily I am 
 always swayed with admh-ation, aye, almost frightened, that man once 
 thinks, wishes, believes, and acts as he alone lists until, soon ours, he 
 becomes but a human shell ; its kernel of intelligence, mind, reason, 
 conscience, and free will shi'iveled within him, dry and "withered by the 
 
 • With regard to this text, a eommeutary upon it wall be found in the Coiisfitiitioiis of 
 the Jesuits, as follows : " In order that the habit of lansruage may come to the lielji of the 
 sentiments, it is wise not to say, ' I hare parents, «r I hare brothers : " but to say. • I had 
 parents; I had brothers.'" — General Examination, p. 29; Constitutions. — PauUn, 1S43. 
 Paris.
 
 338 TUE WAMJUJUSa JEW. 
 
 habit of mutoly, foariiisjly bowiiijj; niidcr iiiystorions tasks, wliich sliat- 
 ter and slay every thing spontaneous in the human soul! Then ilo we 
 infuse iu such siniitless clay, speechless, cold, aud motionless as corpses, 
 the Ijreath of our Order, and lo ! the dry hones stand up and walk, act- 
 injï and executing, though only within the limits which are circled 
 round them evermore. Thus do they become mere limlis of the gigan- 
 tic trunk, whose impulses tliey mechanically carry out wliile ignoi'ant of 
 the design, like the stone-cutter who shapes out a stone, unaware if it 
 be for cathedial or bagnio." 
 
 In so speaking, the marquis's features wore an incredible air of 
 jiroud and domineering haughtiness. 
 
 "Oh, yes! this power is great, most great," oljserved the princess; 
 " all the more formidable because it moves in a mysteiious way over 
 minds and consciences." 
 
 " Aye, TTevminie," said the manjuis : " I have had under my command 
 a magnificent regiment. Very often have 1 ex{)erieii('ed the energetic 
 and exquisite enjoyment of command! At my word, my scjuadrons 
 jiut tliemselves in action ; bugles blared ; my officers, glittei-ing in golden 
 emljroitleiy, galloped everywhere to repeat my orders ; all my brave 
 soldiers, burning with courage and cicatrized by l)attlcs, obeyed my 
 signal ; and I felt proud and strong, holding as I did (so to sj^eak) in my 
 hands the force and valor of each and all combined into one being of 
 resistless strength and invincil)le intrepidity, — of all of whicli 1 was as 
 inucli the master as I mastered the rage and fire of my wai-horse! 
 Aye ! that was gi'eatness. But now, in spite of the misfortunes which 
 have befallen our Order, I feel myself a thousand times more ready for 
 action, more authoritative, more strong, aud more daring, at the head of 
 our mute and black-robed militia, who only think and wish, oi- move 
 and obey, mechanically, according to my will. On a sign they scatter 
 over the surface of the globe, gliding stealthily into households under 
 guise of confessing the wife or teaching the childi'en, into family affairs 
 by hearing the dying avowals, up to the throne through the (piaking 
 conscience of a credulous crowned coward — aye, even to the chair of 
 the Pope himself, living manifesto of the (lodhead though he is, by the 
 services rendered him or opposed liy him. Is not this secret lulc made 
 to kindle or glut the wildest amlntion, as it reaches from thi' ciadle to 
 the grave, from the laborer's hovel to the royal palace, from palace to 
 the papal chair? What career in all the world pj-esents such si)lendid 
 openings ? what unutteralile scorn ought I not feel for the l)right butter- 
 fly-life of early days, when we made so many envy us ? Don't you 
 remember, Herminie ? " he added, with a bitter smile. 
 
 " You are right, perfectly right, Frederick ! " replied the iJi"iucess
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 339 
 
 quickly. " How little soever we may reHeot, with what contempt do 
 we uot think upon the past ! I, like you, often compare it with the 
 present ; and then what satisfaction I feel at having followed your 
 counsels ! For, indeed, without you I should have played the miserable 
 and ridiculous part which a woman always plays in her decline from hav- 
 ing been beautif id and siUTOunded by admirers. What could I have done 
 at this hour f I should have vainly striven to retain around me a selfish 
 and ungrateful world of gross and shameful men who court women only 
 that they may turn them to the servnee of their passions or to the 
 gratification of theh- vanity. It is true that there would have remained 
 to me the resource of what is called keeping an agreealJe house for all 
 others, — yes, in order to entertain them, be visited by a crowd of the 
 indifferent, to afford opportunities of meeting to amorous young coupies, 
 who, following each other from parlor to parlor, come not to your 
 house but for the pm-pose of being together ; a very pretty pleasure, 
 tiiily, that of harboring those blooming, laughing, amorous youths, who 
 look upon the luxury and brilliancy with which one suiTounds them as 
 if they were then- due upon bonds to minister to their pleasure and to 
 their impudent amours ! " 
 
 Her words were so stinging, and such hateful enxj sat upon her 
 face, that she betrayed the intense Ijitterness of her regi-ets in spite of 
 herself. 
 
 "No, no; thanks to you, Frederick," she continued, "after a last 
 and brilliant triumph I broke forever with the world, which would soon 
 have abandoned me, though I was so long its idol and its queen. And 
 I have only changed my queendom. Instead of the dissipated men 
 whom I ruled with a frivolity superior to their own, I now find myself 
 surrounded by men of high consideration, of I'edoubtable character, and 
 all-powerful, many of whom have governed the state ; to them I have 
 devoted myself, as they have devoted themselves to me ! It is now only 
 that I really enjoy that happiness of which I ever dreamed. I have 
 taken an active part and have exerciseil a powerful influence over the 
 greatest interests of the world; I have been initiated into the most 
 important secrets ; I have been able to strike, surely, whosoever scoffed 
 at or hated me ; and I have been able to elevate beyond their holies 
 those who have served or respected and obeyed me." 
 
 " There are some madmen and some so blind that they imagine that 
 we are struck down because we ourselves have had to struggle against 
 some misfortunes," said M. d'Aigi-igny disdainfully ; "as if we were not, 
 above all others, secm'ely fovmded, organized for every struggle, and 
 di'ew not from om* very struggles a new and more vigorous acti^-ity. 
 Doubtless the times are bad. But they will become better ; and, as you
 
 340 Tui: WAXDEnrxo jew. 
 
 know, it is nearly certain that in a tVw days (the 13th of Febiiiary) we 
 •shall have at our ilisjiosal a means of action snllicii'iitly powerful for 
 reestablishing our intlueni*e, which has been temporarily shaken." 
 
 " Yes, doubtless this affair of the medals is most important," said the 
 princess. 
 
 " I should not have made so much liaste to return liither," resumed the 
 abbé, " were it not to act in what will be, perliaps, for us, a very great 
 event." 
 
 " But you are aware of t]i(> fatality which lias once again overthrown 
 Ijrojects the most laltoriously conceived ami matured .' '' 
 
 " Yes ; immediately on amviug I saw Rodiu." 
 
 " And he told you f " 
 
 "The inconceivable arrival of the Indian and oi (Jeneral Simon's 
 daughters at Cardoville, after a double shii»wreck, which threw them 
 upon the coast of Picardy; though it was deemed certain that the 
 young girls wi're at Leipsic and the Indian in Java. Pre<-autions wort' 
 so well taken, indeed," added tlie maniuis in vexation, '' that one would 
 tliink an invisible power protects this family." 
 
 " Happily, Rodin is a man of resources and activity," resumed the 
 princess. " He came here last night, and we had a long conversation." 
 
 " And the result of your consultation is excellent," added the niar- 
 (juis. "The old soldier is to be kept out of the way for two days, and 
 his witVs confessor has been posted; the rest will jiroceed of itself. 
 To-mori'ow the girls need no longer be feared, and the Indian remains 
 at Cardoville, wounded dangerously. We have plenty of time for 
 action." 
 
 "But that is not all," contiiuied th(^ princess; " there are still, with- 
 out reckoning my niece, two pei'sons who, for our interests, ought not 
 to be found in Paris on the 13th of February." 
 
 " Yes — M. Hardy ; but his most dear and intimate friend has betrayecl 
 him, for by means of that friend we have tli-awn M. Hardy into the 
 .south, whence it is impossible for him to return before a month. As for 
 that miserable vagabond workman, surnamed ' Sleepinlmff ! ' " 
 
 " Fie ! " exclaimed the princess, with an expression of outraged 
 modestj'. 
 
 " That man," resumed the marquis, " is no longer an object of iiKjui- 
 etude. Lastly, (raViriel, upon whom our vast and certain hope reposes, 
 will not be left by himself for a single minute until the great day. 
 Everything seems, you see, to promise success ; indeed, more so than 
 ever ; and it is necessaiy to obtain this success at any price. It is for 
 us a question of life or death ; for in returning I stopped at Forli, and 
 there saw the Duke d'Orbauo. His influence over the mind of the king
 
 THE WAX DERI XG JE^y 
 
 341 
 
 is all-powevful — indeed absolute; and he has completely prepossessed 
 the royal iiiiud. It is -with the duke alone, then, that it is possible to 
 treat."' 
 "Well?" 
 
 " D'Orbano has sained strenscth ; and he ean, I know it, assure to us 
 a legal existence, hiijlily protected, in the dominions oï his master, "v\-ith 
 full charge of popular education. Thanks to such advantages, after two
 
 342 THE WAS DERI X(l JEW. 
 
 or tliroc years in that coiiutry, we sliall Ih'coiiu' so (lee}>ly rooted tliat 
 this very Duke d'Orbano, in iiis turu, will have to .solieit su{)i)ort ami pro- 
 tection from us. But at present he has everything in his power, and he 
 l)uts an absolute condition upon liis services." 
 
 "What is the condition?" 
 
 "Five millions down, and an annual pension of a hundred tiiousan<l 
 francs." 
 
 " It is very much.'" 
 
 "Nay, but little if it be oousidered that, our foot once i)lanted in that 
 country, we shall promptly repossess ourselves of that sum, which, after 
 all, is scarcely an eighth part of what the affair of the medals, if happily 
 brought to an issue, ought to assure to the Order." 
 
 " Yes, nearly forty millions," said the })rincess thoughtfully, 
 
 " And again : these five millions that Orbano demands will be but an 
 advance. They will be returned to us in voluntary gifts, by r^-ason 
 t'ven of the increase of influence that we shall acipiire fi'oin the educa- 
 tion of childi'en, through whom we have their families. And yet the 
 fools hesitate ! Those who govern see not that in doing om* own busi- 
 ness we do theirs also; that in abandoning education to us (which is 
 what we wish for above all things) we mold the people into that mute 
 and quiet obedience, that servile ami V)rutal su])mission, which assures 
 the repose of states by the immobility of the min<l. They don't vetlect that 
 most of the upper and middle classes fear and hate us ; don't understand 
 that (when we have persuaded the mass that their wi'etchedness is an 
 eternal law, that sufferers must give up hope of relief, that it is a crime 
 to sigh for welfare in this woi'ld, since the crown of glory on higli is the 
 only reward for misery here) then the stupefied people will resignedly 
 wallow in the mire, all tlieir impatient aspirations for better days 
 smothere(l, and the volcano-])lasts blown aside which ma<le the futui'e of 
 rulers so horrid and so dark ! They see not, in truth, that this blind and 
 passive faith which we demand from the mass furnishes their rulers 
 with a bridle with which both to conduct and curb them, while we ask 
 from tlii^ happy of the world only some a])))eai'ances which ought, if 
 they had only the knowledge of their own cori'Uption, to give an increased 
 stimulant to their pleasures.". 
 
 "It signifies not," resumed the ])i-iiicess; "since, as you say, a great 
 day is at hand, bringing nearly forty millions, of which the Order can 
 become possessed by the happy success of the affair of the medals. We 
 certainly can attempt very great things. Like a lever in your hand.s, 
 such a means of action would be of incalculable power in times dui'ing 
 whicli all men buy and sell one another." 
 
 " And then," resumed M. d'Aigrigny, with a thoughtful air, " here the
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 343 
 
 reaction continues ; the example of France is everj-thing. In Austria 
 and Holland we can barely maintain ourselves, while the resources of the 
 Order diminish from day to day. We have arrived at a crisis, but it 
 can be made to prolong itself. Thus, thanks to the immense resource 
 of the affair of the medals, we can not only brave all eventualities, Ijut 
 we can again powerfully estabUsh ourselves, thanks to the offer of the 
 Duke d'Orbano, which we accept; and then, from that unassailable 
 center, our radiations will be incalcula] )le. Ah ! the 13th of February ! " 
 added M. d'Aigrigny, after a moment of silence, and shaking his 
 head; " the 13th of February, a date perhaps fortunate and famous 
 for oiu- power as that of the council which gave to us (so to say) a new 
 life ! " 
 
 " And nothing must be spared," resumed the princess, " in order to 
 succeed at any price. Of the six persons whom we have to fear, five are 
 or will be out of any condition to hurt us. There remains, then, only 
 my niece ; and you know that I have waited but for your arrival in 
 order to take my last resolution. AU my preparations are completed ; 
 and this veiy morning we will begin to act." 
 
 " Have your suspicions increased since your last letter ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I am certain that she is more instructed than she wishes to 
 ajjpear ; and, if so, we shall not have a more dangerous enemy." 
 
 " Such has always been my opinion. Thus it is six months since I 
 advised you take in all cases the measures which you have adopted, in 
 order to provoke on her part that demand of emancipation the conse- 
 quences of which now render quite easy that which would have been 
 impossible without it." 
 
 " At last," said the princess, with an expression of joy, hateful and 
 bitter, " this indomitable spii'it will be broken. I am at length about to 
 be avenged of the many insolent sarcasms which 1 have been compelled 
 to swallow lest 1 should awaken her susi^icions. I ! 1 to have borne so 
 much tni now ! for this Adrienne has made it her biisiness (imprudent 
 as she is !) to irritate me against herself ! " 
 
 " Whosoever offends you offends me ; you know it," said D'Aigrigny. 
 " My hatreds are yours." 
 
 " And you yourself ! " said the princess ; " how many times have you 
 been the butt of her poignant irony !" 
 
 " My instincts seldom deceive me. I am certain that this young gii-1 
 may become a dangerous enemy for us," said the marquis, with a voice 
 painfully broken into short monosyllables. 
 
 " And, therefore, it is necessai-y that she may be rendered incapable 
 of exciting further fear," responded Madame de Saint-Dizier, fixedly 
 regarding the marquis.
 
 344 THE WASJ)KliJy<l JEW. 
 
 "Have you seen Dr. BaL'iiiicv ami tin» siil)-p:nav(lian, iM. Triiicand ?" 
 a.sk(.'(l lit". 
 
 " They will lie here this mominjr. I have informcil tliciu of every- 
 thiu.ir." 
 
 " Did yuu liiul thciu well (li.sposccl to act aj^aiust her .' " 
 
 " Perfectly so; and the best is, Adrieime does uot at all suspect the 
 doctor, who has known how, up to a certain point, to preserve her con- 
 fidence. Moreover, a circninstanee which a]>poars to mo inexplicable 
 has conje to our aid." 
 
 " What do you allude to ? " 
 
 " This niorniniï ]\Iadanie Grivois went, aecordinj? to my orilers, to 
 remind Adrienne that I expected her at noon upon important l»nsiness. 
 As she approached the pa^^lion, Madame Grivois saw, or thouglit slie 
 saw, Adrienne come in by the little garden-gate." 
 
 " What do y(m tell me Î Is it i)ossil)le ? Is there any positive ])roof 
 of it ? " cried the marquis. 
 
 " Till now, there is no other ]ni ml' than tlie spontanecms declaration 
 of Madame Grivois; but while i tluuk of it," said the in-iucess, taking 
 up a paper that lay before her, "here is the report which, every day, 
 one of Adrienne's women makes to me." 
 
 "The one that Rodin succeeded in inti'o( hieing into your niece's 
 service ? " 
 
 " The same ; as this creature is entirely in Rodin's hands, she has 
 hitherto answered oui- purpose very well. In tliis report we shall per- 
 haps find the confirmation of what ]\Iadame Grivois afifirms she saw." 
 
 Hardly had the princess glanccnl at the note than she exclaimed, 
 almost in terror, " What do I see î Why, Adrienne is a very demon ! " 
 
 " What now .' " 
 
 " The l)ailifi:" at Cardoville, lun-ing written to my niece to ask lu-r 
 recommendation, informed her at the same time of the stay of the 
 Indian prince at the château. She knows that he is her relation, and 
 has just \vi"itten to her old ilrawing-master, Norval, to set out post with 
 Eastern dresses and bring Prince Djalma hither — the man that must 
 be kept away from Paris at any cost." 
 
 Tlie marquis gi-ew pale and said to Madame de Saint-Dizier: " If this 
 be not merely on(^ of her whims, the eagerness she displays in sending 
 for this relation hither proves that she knows more than you even sus- 
 pected. She is ' posted ' on the affair of the medals. Have a care — she 
 may ruin all." 
 
 " In that case," said the princess resolutely, " then» is no room to hes- 
 itate. We must carry things further than we thought, and make an 
 end this very morning."
 
 THE WANDER IXG JEW. 345 
 
 " Yes, thongh it is almost impossible." 
 
 " Nay, all is possible. The doctor and M. Tripeaud are ours," said the 
 princess hastily. 
 
 " Though I am as sure as you are of the doctor, or of M. Tripeaud, 
 under present circumstances we must not touch on the question of act- 
 ing — which will be sure to frighten them at first — until after our inter- 
 view with your niece. It will be easy, notwithstanding her cleverness, 
 to tind out her armor's defect. If our suspicions should be realized — if 
 she is really informed of what it would be so dangerous for her to 
 know — then we must have no scruples, and above all no delay. This 
 very day must see all set at rest. The time for wavering is past." 
 
 " Have you been able to send for the person agreed on f " asked the 
 princess, after a moment's silence. 
 
 " He was to be here at noon. He cannot be long." 
 
 " I thought this room would do very well for our purpose. It is sep- 
 arated from the smaller parlor by a curtain only, behind which your 
 man may be stationed." 
 
 " Capital ! " 
 
 " Is he a man to be depended on ? " 
 
 " Quite so — we have often employed him in similar matters. He is 
 as skillful as discreet." 
 
 At this moment a low knock was heard at the door. 
 
 " Come in," said the princess. 
 
 " Dr. Baleinier wishes to know if the princess can receive him," asked 
 the valet-de-ehambre. 
 
 " Certainly. Beg him to walk in." 
 
 " There is also a gentleman that M. l'Alibé appointed to be here at 
 noon, by whose orders I have left him waiting in the oratory." 
 
 " It is the person in question," said the marquis to the princess. " "We 
 must have him in first. It would be useless for Dr. Baleinier to see him 
 at present." 
 
 " Show this person in first," said the princess ; " next, AA'hen I ring the 
 Tm>11, you will beg Dr. Baleinier to walk this way ; and if Baron Tripeaud 
 should call, you will Ijring him here also. After that, I am at home to 
 no one except Mademoiselle Adrienne." 
 The servant went out.
 
 CllAPTKi; VI 
 
 adriexxe's exemies 
 
 LIE Princess do Saint-Diziers valet soou retiirned, showing 
 ill a little, pale mau, dressed in black, and wearing spec- 
 tacles. He carried nndm- his left arm a long black morocco 
 writing-case. 
 
 The jirincess said to this man : " M. l'Abbé, T suppose, has already 
 informed you of what is to lie done ?" 
 
 "Yes, your highness," said the man, in a faint, shrill, pijiiiig voice, 
 making at the same time a low bow. 
 
 " Shall you be conveniently placed in this room ? " asked the princess, 
 conducting him to the adjoining ajiartment, which was only separated 
 from the other by a curtain hung licfore a doorway. 
 
 " I shall do nicely here, yom* highness," answered the man in spec- 
 tacles, with a seconil and still lower bow. 
 
 " In that case, sir, please to step in here ; I will let you know when it 
 is time." 
 
 " I shall wait your highness's order." 
 
 " And pi'ay remember my instructions," added th(> manpiis, as he 
 unfastened the looi>s of the curtain. 
 
 " You may be perfectly tranquil, M. l'Abbé." The heavy drapery, as 
 it fell, completely coucealecl tlie man in si)ectacles. 
 
 The princess touched the l)ell ; some moments after, the door opened, 
 and the servant announced a very important personage in this work. 
 
 Dr. Baleinier was about fifty years of age, middling size, rather 
 plumj), with a full, shining, ruddy countenance. Ilis gray hair, veiy 
 smooth and rather long, parted by a straight line in the middle, fell flat 
 over his temples. He had retained the fashion of wearing short, black 
 silk breeches, pei-haps liecause he had a well-formed leg; his garters 
 were fastened with small golden buckles, as were his shoes of polished 
 morocco leather; his coat, waistcoat, ajid cravat were black, which gave 
 him rather a clerical appearance ; his sleek, white hand was half hidden
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 347 
 
 beneath a oambrir- ruffle, very elosely plaited ; on the whole the gravity 
 of his costume (hd uot seem to exclude a shade of fopperj'. 
 
 His face was acute and smiling ; his small gray eye announced rare 
 penetration and sagacity. A man of the world and a man of pleasure, a 
 delicate epicure, witty in conversation, polite to obsequiousness, supple, 
 adroit, insinuating. Baleinier was one of the oldest favorites oï the 
 congi-egational set of the Princess de Saint-Dizier. Thanks to this 
 powerful support, its cause unknown, the doctor, who had been long 
 neglected in spite of real skill and incontestable merit, found himself, 
 under the Restoration, suddenly provided with two medical sinecures 
 most valuable, and soon after with numerous patients. We must add 
 that, once under the patronage of the princess, the doctor began scni- 
 pulously to observe his religious duties ; he communicated once a week, 
 with gi'eat publicity, at the high mass in the Church of Saint Thomas 
 Aquinas. 
 
 At the year's end a certain class of patients, led by the example and 
 enthusiasm of Madame de Saint-Dizier's followers, would have no other 
 physician than Dr. Baleinier, and his practice was now increased to 
 an extraordiuaî-y degree. It may ho conceived how important it was 
 for the order to have amongst its " plain-clothes members " one of the 
 most popular practitioners of Paris. A doctor has in some sort a priest- 
 hood of his own. Admitted at all hours to the most secret intimacy of 
 families, he knows, guesses, and is al)le to etïect much. Like the priest, 
 in short, he has the ear of the sick and the dying. Now, when he who 
 cares for the health of the body and he who takes charge of the health 
 of the soul understand each other, and render mutual aid for the 
 advancement of a common interest, thei'e is nothing (with certain 
 exceptions) which they may not extract from the weakness and fears of 
 a sick man at the last gasp — not for themselves (the laws forliid it), 
 but for third parties belonging more or less to the veiy convenient class 
 of men of straw. Dr. Baleinier was therefore one of the most active 
 and valuable assistant members of the Paris Jesuits. 
 
 When he entered the room, he hastened to kiss the princess's hand 
 with the most finished gallantry. 
 
 " Always punctual, my dear M. Baleinier." 
 
 " Always eager and happy to attend to your orders." Then, turning 
 toward the marquis, whose hand he pressed cordially, he added : 
 
 " Here we have you, then, at last. Do you know that three months' 
 absence appears very long to your friends ? " 
 
 " The time is as long to the absent as to those who remain, my dear 
 doctor. Well ! here is the gi-eat day. Mademoiselle de Cardoville is 
 coming."
 
 348 TUE \VAMn:i;i.\a jew. 
 
 "I am not quito oasy," said the ]irinooss; "sn]>poso sho li.-nl any sns- 
 pirion ? " 
 
 " That's impossible," said ]\I. lialcinicr; "we arc tlic hcst tVicnds in 
 tlic world. Yon know tliat ^ladcnioiscllc Adriennc has always had i>ivat 
 confident'O in me. The day bct'oro yesterday we lauj^lied a good deal, 
 and as 1 made some observations to her, as nsnal, on lier eceentrie mode 
 of life, and on the .singular state of exeitei.ienl in whirh I sonn'times 
 found her " 
 
 " ^I. Baleinier never fails to insist on these cirenmstanoes, in apjiear- 
 ance so insignifieant," said Madame de Saint-I )izicr In 1 he iii,-in|uis, with 
 a meaning look. 
 
 "They are indeed very es.sential," I'eplied the other. 
 
 "Mademoiselle Advienne answered my observations," resumed tin» 
 doctor, "by laughing at mo in the gayest and most witty mannci-; l'or 
 T nuxst eonfess that this young lady has one of the n])test and most 
 aecomplished minds I know." 
 
 " Doctor, doctor ! " said Madame de Saint-Dizier, " no weakness ! " 
 Instead of answering immediately, M. Baleinier dr(>w his gold snnflF- 
 box from his waistcoat-poeket, opened it, and took slowly a jiineh of 
 siuiff, looking all tlu; time at the princess with so significant an air that 
 she appeared quite re-assm-ed. " Weakness, madanH^ ? " observed he at 
 last, lirushing some grains of snutf from his shirt-front with his plump 
 white hand; "did 1 not have tlu; honor of voluntei'ring to extricate you 
 from this embarrassment?" 
 
 "And you are the oidy person in the world that coidd render us this 
 important service," said D'Aigrigny. 
 
 " Your highness sees, therefore," resumed the doctoi-, " that I am not 
 likely to show any weakness. I ])ei'fectlyianderstan(i the resiumsibility 
 of what I und(>rtake; Imt such immense interests, you tuld me, were at 
 stake " 
 
 "Yes," said D'Aigrigny, " interests of the first consequence." 
 
 " Therefore I did not hesitate," proceeded M. Baleiniei- ; " and you need 
 not be at all uneasy. As a man of taste, accustomed to good society, 
 allow me to render homage to the charming qualities of ^ladiMnoiselle 
 Adrienue; when tlie time for action comes, y(m will liud me (|uite as 
 willing to do my work." 
 
 " Perhaps that moment may be nearer than we thought," said Madame 
 de Saint-Dizier, exchanging a glance with D'Aigrigny. 
 
 "I am and wOl be always ready," said the doctor. "I answer for 
 everything that concerns myself. I wish I could be as tranquil on 
 every other point."
 
 THE WAXDjUliiya JIJ]]'. 
 
 349 
 
 "Is not yonv asylniii still as fashioiialili' as nn asylu:ii can well lie ?" 
 asked Madame d<' Saint-Dizier, witli a half sinili'. 
 
 "On the contrary, I might almost complain of ha^dng too many 
 
 '"^-y^^^cFeRtiii/ktii! 
 
 <r~ 
 
 
 5"^-^^yf?JS.'^^^^\'--^'Xv:?:*^a:Ns^- ^^n; wsi 
 
 boarders. It is not that. But while we are waiting for ]\Iademoiselle 
 Adrienne I will mention another snltjeet which oidy relates to her indi- 
 rectly, for it concerns the person who bought (Jardoville — one Madame
 
 350 THE W AS DEKiyr, JEW. 
 
 de la Saiiitt'-Colonibo, who lias taken nu' for a doctor, thanks to Kodin's 
 able management." 
 
 "True," said D'Aigiigny; " Kodin wrote to me ou the subject, but 
 without entering into details." 
 
 "Tiiese are the facts," resumed the docloi-, "This Madame de la 
 Sainte-Colombe, who was at first eousidered easy enough to lead, has 
 vsliown herself very refractory on the head of her conversion. Two 
 spiritual directors have already renounced the task of saving her soul. 
 In despair, Rodin unslii)i)ed little Philippou on her. He is adroit, 
 tenaeious, and above all pitilessly patient — tlie veiy man that was 
 wanted. When I got Madame de la 8ainte-('olonil)e fora ]>atient Philip- 
 pnn asked my aid, whicli he was naturally entitled to. We agi-eed ujton 
 nui- plan. 1 was not to appear to know him the least in the world; and 
 he was to keep me informed of the variations in the moral state of his 
 penitent, so that I might be abk' by the use of very inoffensive medi- 
 cines — for there was nothing dangerous in the illness — to keep my 
 patient in alternate states of improvement or the revei'se, according as 
 her director had reason to ])e satisfied or dis])leased, so that he tnight 
 say to her, ' You see, madame, you are in the good way ! Spii-itual 
 grace acts upon your bodily lu'altli, and you are already ])etter. If, on 
 the contrary, you fall back into evil courses, you feel immediately some 
 physical ail, which is a certain proof of the powerful inlluenee of faith, 
 not only on the soul, but on the body also.' " 
 
 " It is doubtless painful," said D'Aigriguy, with perfect coolness, " to 
 be obliged to have recourse to such means to rescue pervei'se souls 
 from perdition; but we must needs proportion our moiles of action to 
 the intelligence and the character of the individual." 
 
 " By the bye, the princess knows," resumed the doctor, " that I have 
 often pursued this i)lan at St. Mary's Convent, to the great advantage 
 of the soul's i)eace and health of some of our patients, being extremely 
 innocent. These alternations never exceed the difference between 
 ' jn-etty well,' and ' not (piite so well'; yet, small as are the variations, 
 they act most efficaciously on certain minds. It was thus \\Ttli Madame 
 de la Sainte-Colombe. She was in such a fair way of recovery, liotli 
 moral and physical, that Rodin thought he might get Philippon to 
 ailvisethe country for his penitent, fearing that Paris air might occasion 
 a relapse. This ad\'ice, added to the desire the woman had to play 
 ' lady of the parish,' induced her to buy Cardoville Manor, a gofxl 
 investment in many respects. But yestei'day unfortunate^ Philip] )on 
 came to tell me that Madame de la Sainte-t'oloml)e was about to have 
 an awful relapse — moral, of course, for her physical health is now 
 desperately good. The said relapse appears to have been occasioned by
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 351 
 
 an iutervàew she has had with oin' Jat-ques Dumouliu, whom they tell 
 me you know, my dear abbé ; he lias introduced himself to her, nobody 
 can guess how." 
 
 " This Jacques Dumoulin," said tlie marquis, with disgust, " is one of 
 those men that we employ while we despise. He is a writer full of gall, 
 envy, and hate — qualities that give him a certain unmercifully cutting 
 eloquence. We pay him lai-gely to attack our enemies, though it is 
 often painful to see principles we respect defended by such a pen; 
 for this WTeteh lives like a vagabond, is constantly in taverns, almost 
 always intoxicated. But I must own liis power of abuse is inexhausti- 
 ble, and he is well versed in the most abstruse theological controver- 
 sies, so that he is sometimes very useful to us." 
 
 " Well, though Madame de la Sainte-Colombe is hard upon sixty, it 
 ai)pears that Dumoulin has matrimonial views on her large fortune. 
 You will do well to inform Rodin, so that he may be on his guard 
 against the dark designs of this rascal. I reaUy beg a thoi;sand pai-- 
 dons for having so long occupied you with such a paltry affair. But 
 talking of St. Mary's Convent," added the doctor, addressing the prin- 
 cess, " may I take the libertj' of asking if your highness has been there 
 lately ? " 
 
 The princess exchanged a rapid glance with D'Aigiigny and 
 answered: " Oh, let me see ! Yes, I was there about a week ago." 
 
 " You will find gi-eat changes then. The wall that was next to my 
 asylum has been taken down, for they are going to Vniild a new wing 
 and a chapel, tlie old one being too small. I must say, in praise of 
 Mademoiselle Atlrienne," continued the doctoi-, with a singular smile 
 aside, " that she promised me a copy of one of Raphael's Madonnas for 
 this chapel." 
 
 " Really ? Very appropriate ! " said the princess. " But here it is 
 almost noon, and M. Tripeaud has not come." 
 
 " He is the deputy guardian of Mademoiselle de Cardoville, whose 
 property he has managed as former agent of the count-duke," said the 
 marquis, with evident anxiety, " and his presence here is absolutel_y in- 
 dispensable. It is greatly to be desired that his coming should precede 
 that of Mademoiselle de Cardoville, who may be here at any moment." 
 
 " It is unlucky that his portrait will not do as well," said the doctor, 
 smiling maliciously and dra-«-ing a small pamphlet from his pocket. 
 
 " What is that, doctor ? " asked the princess. 
 
 " One of those anonymous sheets wliicli are pulilished from time to 
 time. It is called the ' Scourge,' and Baron Tripeaud's portrait is drawn 
 with such faithfulness that it ceases to be satii-e. It is really quite life- 
 like ; you have only to listen. The sketch is entitled :
 
 ;j5l> '/'///■-' WAX i>i:h'rx(i JfJW. 
 
 " • TYPE OF THE LVNX-SPECIES. 
 
 ■• ■ The Barox Tripeaud. — This man, who is as basely humble toward his social superi- 
 ors as he is iusolent and coarse to those who depeud upon him, is the li\'ing, frightful incar- 
 nation of the worst portion of the moneyed and commercial aristocrai-y — one of tlie rich 
 and cynical siieculators, without heart, faith, or conscience, who would speculate for a 
 rise or fall on the death of his mother, if the death of his mother could influence the 
 price of stocks. 
 
 "'Such persons have .ill tlic odious vices of men suddenly elevated ; not like those 
 whom honest .nnd patient labor has nobly enriched, but like those who owe their wealth 
 to some l)lind cajirice of fortune or some lucky east of the net in tlie miry waters of 
 stock-jol>bin'r. 
 
 '• • Once up in the world, they hate the peoi)le. l)ecause the people remind tliein of a 
 mushroom origin of which they are ashamed. Without pity for the dreadful misery of 
 the masses, they ascribe it wholly to idleness or (li-l)auchery, because this calumny fovnis 
 au excuse for their barbanuis selfishness. 
 
 " ' And this is not all. On the strength of his well-filled safe, mounted on his ritrlit as 
 an elector eligible for office, Baron Tripeaud insults the poverty and jiolitical inca- 
 pacity — 
 
 " ' Of the officer who, after forty years of wars and hard sei-vice. is just al)le to live tm a 
 scanty pension — 
 
 " ' Of the magistrate who has consumed his strength in the disehiU'ge of .stern and sad 
 duties, and who is not better remunerated in his latter days — 
 
 " ' Of the learned man who has made his country illustrious by useful labors, or the pro- 
 fessor who has initiated enth'e generations in the various branches of human knowledge — 
 
 '' ' Of the modest and virtuous country curate, the pure representative of the (tosi)el in 
 its charitalile, fnitirnal, and democratic tendencies, etc. 
 
 " ' In such a state of things, how should our shoddy baron of hi-ilKst-n/ not feel the most 
 sovereign contempt for all that stupid mob of honest folk who, having given to their 
 eountiy their youth, their mature age, their blood, their iutelUgence, their learning, see 
 themselves deprived of the rights which he enjoys because he has gained a million by 
 unfair and illegal transactions ? 
 
 " ' It is true that your optimists say to these p.-iriahs i)f ci\-ilization, whose proud and 
 noble poverty cannot be too much revered ami honored, " Buy an estate, and you too 
 may be electors and candidates ! " 
 
 '' ' But to come to the biogi-aphy of om- wortliy l>aron — Andrew Tri]]i;iiiil. the son of 
 an ostler, at a roadside inn ' " 
 
 At this instant the f()l(ling-dooi-.s were thrown n])oii and the valet 
 announced, " The Baron Tripeaud ! " 
 
 Dr. Baleinier put his pamphlet into his pocket, made the most cor- 
 dial bow to the financier, and even rose to jnve him his hand. The 
 bavou entered the room, overwhelming every one with salutations. "I 
 have the honor to attend the orders of your highness the princess. She 
 knows that .she may always count upon me." 
 
 " I do indeed rely upon you, ]\I. Tripeaud, and particularly under ]ires- 
 ent circumstances.'' 
 
 " If the intentions of yom* highness the princess are still the same 
 with regard to Mademoiselle de Cardovillc "
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 353 
 
 " They are still the same, M. Tripeaud, aud we meet to-day ou that 
 subject." 
 
 " Your highness may be assured of my coucm-rence, as, indeed, I 
 have already jn-omised. I think that the greatest severity must at length 
 be employed, and that even, if it were necessaiy " 
 
 " That is also our opinion," said the marquis, hastily making a sign 
 to the princess and glancing at the place where the man in spectacles 
 was hidden ; " we are all perfectly in harmony. Still we must not leave 
 any point doubtful, for the sake of the young lady herself, whose inter- 
 est alone guides us in this affair. We must draw out her sincerity by 
 every possil)le means." 
 
 "Mademoiselle has just arrived from the summer-house and wishes 
 to see your highness," said the valet, again entering, after having 
 knocked at the door. 
 
 " 8ay that I wait for her," answered the princess ; " and now I am at 
 home to no one — without exception. You understand me ; absolutely 
 to no one." 
 
 Thereupon, approaching the cm-tain liehind which the man was 
 concealed, Madame de Saint-Dizier gave him the cue, after which she 
 returned to her seat. 
 
 It is singular, but during the short space which preceded Adrieime's 
 arrival the different actors in this scene appeared uneasy and embar- 
 rassed, as if they had a vague fear of her coming. In about a minute 
 Mademoiselle de Cardoville entered the presence of her aunt.
 
 CHAPTER Vil 
 
 THE SKIllMISH 
 
 N ontering, Mademoiselle de Cardoville threw down upon a 
 eliair the gray beaver hat she had worn to cross the garden 
 and displayed her fine golden hair, falling on citlKM- side of 
 her faee in long light ringlets, and twisted in a broad knot 
 lu'liind lier head. She presented herself without boldness, but with per- 
 fect ease. Her countenanee was gay and smiling ; her large black eyes 
 appeared even moi-e brilliant than usual. Wlien she perceived Abbé 
 d'Aigrigny she started in surprise, and her rosy lips were just tcmched 
 with a mocking smile. Aftei- nodding graciously to tlic doctor, she 
 passed Baron Tripeaud by without looking at him and saluted the ])rin- 
 cess with a stately ol)eisance, in the most fashionable style. 
 
 Though the walk and bearing of Mademoiselle de Cardoville were 
 extremely elegant, and full of propriety and truly feminine gi-ace, there 
 was about her an air of resolution and independence by no means com- 
 mon in women, and jjarticularly in girls of her age. Her movements, 
 without being abrupt, l)ore no traces of restraint, stiffness, or formality. 
 They were frank and free as her charactei', full of hto, yoiith, and fresh- 
 ness; and one coidd easily divine that so buoyant, straightforward, and 
 decided a nature had never been aV>le to confonn itself to the rules of an 
 affected rigor. 
 
 Strangely enougli, tiiough he was a man of the world, a man of 
 great talent, a churchman distinguished for his eloquence, and, above 
 all, a person of influence and authority. Marquis d'Aigi-igny experienced 
 an involuntary, incn'(lil)le, almost painful uneasiness in j^vesenco of 
 Adrieune de Cardoville. He — generally so much the master of him- 
 self, so accustomed to exercise gi'eat power — who (in the name of his 
 Oi'der) had often treated with crowned heads on the footing of an equal 
 felt himself al)ashed and lowered in the presence of this girl, as remark- 
 able for her frankness as for her biting irony. Now, as men who are 
 accustomed to impose their will upon others generally hate those who,
 
 THE WAXDEIilXG JEW. 355 
 
 far from submitting to their iiifiueuee, hamper it and make sport of 
 them, it was no great degree of atïeetiou that the marquis bore toward 
 the Princess de Saint-Dizier's niece. 
 
 For a long time past, conti-ary to his usual habit, he had ceased 
 to try u2ion Adrienne that fascinating adtlress to which he had often 
 owed an h-resistible charm ; toward her he had become dry, curt, seri- 
 ous, taking refuge in that icy sphere of haughty dignity and rigid aus- 
 terity which completely hid all those amiable qualities with which he 
 was endowed, and of which, in general, he made such efficient use. 
 Adrienne was much amused at all this, and thereby showed her impru- 
 dence, for the most vulgar motives often engender the most implacable 
 hatreds. 
 
 From these preliminary observations the reader will understand the 
 divers sentiments and interests which animated the different actors in 
 the following scene. 
 
 Madame de Saint-Dizier was seated in a large arm-chair by one side 
 of the hearth. Marquis d'Aigrigny was standing before the fire. Dr. 
 Baleinier, seated near a bureau, was again tiu*ning over the leaves of 
 Baron Tripeaud's biogi-aphy, while the baron appeared to be very atten- 
 tively examining one of the pictures of sacred subjects suspended from 
 the wall. 
 
 " You sent f(ir me, aunt, to talk upon matters of importance ? " said 
 Adrienne, ]>reakiug the silence whi(;h had reigned in the reception-room 
 since her entrance. 
 
 " Yes, madame," answered the princess, with a cold and severe mien ; 
 " upon matters of the gravest importance." 
 
 " I am at your service, aunt. Perhaps we had better walk into your 
 library ? " 
 
 " It is not necessary. We can talk here." Then addressing the mar- 
 quis, the doctor, and the baron, she said to them : 
 
 " Pray be seated, gentlemen." And they all took their places round 
 the table. 
 
 " How can the sulgect of our intei'view interest these gentlemen, 
 aunt ?" asked Mademoiselle de Cardoville, with surprise. 
 
 " These gentlemen are old family friends ; all that concerns you must 
 interest them, and their advice ought to 1)e heard and accepted by you 
 with respect." 
 
 " I have no doubt, aunt, of tlie bosom friendship of M. d'Aigrignj' for 
 our family ; I havi^ still less of the profound and disinterested devotion 
 of M. Tripeaud ; M. Baleinier is one of my old friends; still, l)efore accept- 
 ing these gentlemen as spectators, or, if you will, as confidants of om- 
 interview, I wish to know what we ai'e going to talk of before them."
 
 356 TUE WAMJKUISd .IKW. 
 
 " I thouirlit that, iiDioiiji: yonr iiuiiiy siujj^iilai- pretensions, yon liad at 
 least tlinsc of tVaiikiicss ami couragi'." 
 
 "l\c;illy. aunt," sai<l A<lriciiiir, smiling' with iimck liuniilily, " 1 have 
 no niov(; pretensions to frankness and conraj^e than yon liave to sincerity 
 and <:;oodness. Let us admit, onee for all, that we are what we ari' — 
 without jiretension." 
 
 " Be it so," saitl Madame de Saint-Dizicr in a diy tone ; " 1 luive lonj? 
 heen accustomed to the freaks of your indfjiendent spirit. I supposes, 
 then, that, courageous au'l fi'ank as you say you are, you will not bo 
 afraid to speak before such grave and respectable persons as these 
 gentlemen what you would speak to me alone ?" 
 
 "Is it a formal examination that lam to submit to.' If so, upon 
 what suljjeet ? " 
 
 " It is not an examination; Ijut as 1 have a right to watch over you, 
 and as you take advantage of my weak compliance with yom- cajjrices, 
 I mean to put an end to what has lasted too long, and tell you my irrev- 
 ocable resolutions for the future in pi'esence of friends of the family. 
 And, first, you have hitherto had a very false and imperfect notion of 
 my power over you." 
 
 " I assui'e you, aunt, that I have never had any notion, true or false, 
 on the subject, for I have never even dreamed about it." 
 
 "That is my own fault, for instead of yielding to your fancies I 
 should have made you sooner feel my authority. But the moment is 
 come to submit yourself; the severe censures of my fritmds have 
 enlightened me in time. Your character is self-willed, independent, 
 stubborn; it must change. Either by fail' means or by force, under- 
 stand me, it slutll change." 
 
 At these words, pronounced harshly before strangers, with a sever- 
 ity whicli did not seem at all justifie(l by circumstances, Ailri<'iine 
 tossed her head proudly ; but restraining herself, she answered, with a 
 smile : 
 
 " You say, aunt, that I shall change. I should not be astonished at 
 it. We hear of such odd conversions." 
 The princess bit her lips. 
 
 " A sincere conversion can never be called odd, as you term it, madame," 
 said Abbé d'Aigrigny coldly. " It is, on the contrary, meritorious, and 
 forms an excellent example." 
 
 "Excellent?" answered Adi-ienne. "That depends ! For instance, 
 what if one converts defects into \'ices ? " 
 
 " \y\\a.i do you mean, madame .' " cried the princess. 
 
 " I am speaking of myself, aunt ; you reproach me with being inde- 
 pendent and resolute; suppose I were to become hypocritical and
 
 THE WAKDERINd JEW. 
 
 357 
 
 wicked ? In truth, I prefer keepiuo; my dear little faults, wliieli I love like 
 spoiled children. I know what I am ; I do not know what I might be." 
 " But you must acknowledge, Mademoiselle Adrienne," said Baron Tri- 
 peaud, with a seLf-coneeited and sententious air, "that a conversion " 
 
 " I believe," said Adrienne disdainfully, " that M. Tripeaud is well 
 versed in the conversion of all sorts of property into all sorts of profit 
 by aU sorts of means, but he knows nothing of this matter."
 
 358 '/•///•; \\AM>KJn.\<i .1 i:w. 
 
 "But, madame,"' rcsumcd tho fiiiaiiciiM', j^atlicriii;:; courasje from a 
 gluuci' of the priiicess, "vi>u forget that 1 have tlie lioiioi- to be yoiu" 
 deputy guardiau, aud lliat " 
 
 " It is tnie that ]M. Tri|>eaud has that lienor," said Adrieiiue, with still 
 more haughtiness, and not eNxni looking at the baron ; " I could never 
 tell exactly why. But as it is not now the time to guess enigmas, I wish 
 to know, aunt, the objei-t and cud of this meeting?" 
 
 " Von shall be satisfied, madeinniselle. I will exjilain myself in a very 
 rlcar aud precise mannei'. You shall know the }»lan of conduct that yoii 
 will have henceforth to pursue; and if you refuse to submit thereto 
 with tlie olK'(lience and respect that is due to my orders, I shall at ouce 
 see what course to take." 
 
 It is impossible to give an idea of the imperious tone and stern look 
 of the princess as she pronounced these words, which were calculated to 
 startle a girl until now accustomed to live in a great measure as she 
 pleased; yet, contrary, pei'liajis, to the expectation of Madame de Saint- 
 Dizier, instead of answering impetuously, Adrienne looked her full in 
 the face and said, laughing : 
 
 " This is a perfect declaration of war. It's Ijecoming very anmsing." 
 
 " We are not talking of declarations of war," said the Abbé d'Aigrigny 
 harshly, as if oflfended by the expressions of Mademoiselle de Cardoville. 
 
 "Now, M. l'Abbé!" retiu'ned Adrienne, "for an old colonel you are 
 really too severe ujwn a jest ! — you are so much indebted to wai', which 
 gave you a French regiment after fighting so long against France — 
 in order to learn, of course, the strength and the weakness of her 
 enemies." 
 
 On these words, which i-ecalled painful remembrances, the marquis 
 colored. He was going to answer, but the princess exclaimed : 
 
 " Really, mademoiselle, your behavioi- is (juito intoleral)le ! " 
 
 " Well, aunt, I acknowledge I was wi'ong. I ought not to have said 
 this is veiy amusing, for it is not so at all ; l)ut it is at least very curious, 
 and perhaps," added the young girl, after a moment's silence, " perhaps 
 very audacious ; and audacity pleases wuk As we are upon this subject, 
 and you talk of a plan of conduct to which I must conform myself, 
 under pain of (iuten-upting herself) — under pain of what, I should like 
 to know, aunt ? " 
 
 " You shall know. Proceed." 
 
 " I will, in the presence of these gentlemen, also declare in a veiy plain 
 and precise manner the determination that I have come to. As it 
 requii'ed some time to prepare for its execution I have not spoken of it 
 sooner, for you know I am not in the habit of saj^ng ' I will do so and 
 so ! ' but I do it."
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 359 
 
 " Certainly ; and it is just this habit of culpable independence of which 
 you must break youi'self." 
 
 " Well, I had intended only to inform you of my determination at a 
 later period ; but I cannot resist the pleasure of doing so to-day, you 
 seem so well disposed to hear and receive it. Still I would beg of you 
 to speak first ; it may just so happen that our views are precisely the 
 same." 
 
 " I like better to see you thus," said the princess. " I acknowledge at 
 least the courage of yom- pride and your defiance of all authority. You 
 speak of audacity ; yours is, indeed, gi-eat." 
 
 " I am at least decided to do that which others in their weakness dare 
 not, but which I dare. This, I hope, is clear and precise." 
 
 " Very clear, very precise," said the princess, exchanging a glance of 
 satisfaction with the other actors in this scene. " The positions being 
 thus established, matters will be much simplified. I have only to give 
 you notice, in yoiu- own interest, that this is a very serious affair, — much 
 more so than you imagine, — and that the only way to dispose me to 
 indulgence is to substitute for the haljitual arrogance and irony of your 
 language the modesty and respect becoming a young lady." 
 
 Adrieuue smiled, but made no reply. Some moments of silence and 
 some rapid glances exchanged between the princess and her three 
 friends showed that these encounters, more or less brilliant in them- 
 selves, were to be followed by a serious combat. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Cardoville had too much penetration and sagacity 
 not to remark that the Princess de Saint-Dizier attached the greatest 
 importance to this decisive interview; but she could not understand 
 how her aunt could hope to impose her absolute will upon her, the 
 threat of coercive measures appearing, with reason, a ridiculous menace. 
 Yet knowing the \dndictive character of her aunt, the secret power at 
 her disposal, and the terrible vengeance she had sometimes exacted, — 
 reflecting, moreover, that men in the position of the marquis and the 
 doctor would not have come to attend this interview without some 
 weighty motive, — the young lady paused for a moment before she 
 plunged into the strife. 
 
 But soon the very presentiment of some vague danger, far from 
 weakening her, gave her new courage to brave the worst, — to exagger- 
 ate, if that were possible, the independence of her ideas, and uphold, 
 come what might, the determination that she was about to signify to 
 the Princess de Saint-Dizier.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE REVOLT 
 
 A DE^rOISELLE," said the princess to Adrienne de Cardo- 
 ville, ill a cold, sevoro toiio, "I ovre it to myself, as well as 
 ti) these geutlenieii, to recapitulate in a few words the events 
 that have taken place for some time past. Six months ago, 
 at the end of the mourning for your father, you, being then eighteen 
 years of age, asked for the mauagenient of yourfortime and for emanci- 
 pation from control. Unfortunately, I had the weakness to consent. 
 You quitted the house and esta]>lished yourself in the pavilion, far from 
 all sujieriiitendenoe. Then ])egaii a train of expenditures, each one 
 more extravagant than the last. Instead of being satisfied A\itli one or 
 two waiting-women, taken from that class from which they are generally 
 selected, you chose another class of attendants, whom you dressed in 
 the most ridiculous and costly fashion. It is true that, in the solitude 
 of your pavilion, you yourself choose to wear, one after another, cos- 
 tumes of different ages. Your foolish fancies and unreasonable whims 
 liave been without end and without limit : not only have you never ful- 
 filled your religious duties, but you have actually ha<l the audacity to 
 profane one of your rooms, by rearing in the center of it a species of 
 pagan altar, on which is a group in marble representing a youth and a 
 givl" — the princess uttered these words as if they would burn her lips — 
 " a work of art, if you will, but a work in the highest degi-ee unsuitable 
 to a person of your age. You pass whole days entii'ely secluded in your 
 l)avilion, refusing to see any one ; and Dr. Baleinier, the only one of my 
 friends in whom you seem to have retained some confi<leiice, having 
 succeeded by much persuasion in gaining admittance, has frequently 
 found you in so excited a state that he has felt seriously uneasy with 
 regard to yom- health. You have always insisted on going out alone, 
 without rendering any account of your actions to any one. You have 
 taken delight in opposing in every possible way your will to my 
 authority. Is all this true Î "
 
 THE WAXDEHIXG JEW. 361 
 
 " The picture is not much flattered," said Adrienne, smiling, " but it 
 is not altogether unlike." 
 
 " So you admit, mademoiselle," said Abbé d'Aigrigny, lajàng stress 
 on his words, " that all the facts stated by your aunt are scrupulously 
 true?" 
 
 Every eye was turned toward Adiienne, as if her answer would be 
 of extreme importance. 
 
 " Yes, M. l'Abbé," said she ; " I live openly euough to render the 
 question suijerfluous." 
 
 " These facts are therefore admitted," said Abbé d'Aigrigny, turning 
 toward the doctor and the baron. 
 
 " These facts are completely established," said M. Tripeaud, in a pom- 
 pous voice. 
 
 " Will you tell me, aunt," asked Adrienne, " what is the good of this 
 long preamble ? " 
 
 " This long preamble, mademoiselle," resumed the princess, with dig- 
 nity, " exposes the past in order to justify tbe future." 
 
 " Really, aunt, such mysterious proceedings are a little in the style 
 of the answers of the Cvimiean Sibyl. They must be intended to cover 
 something formidable." 
 
 " Perhaps, mademoiselle ; for to certain characters nothing is so for- 
 midaljle as duty and obedience. Your character is one of those inclined 
 to revolt " 
 
 " I freely acknowledge it, aunt — and it will always be so, until duty 
 and obedience come to me in a shape that I can i-espect and love." 
 
 " ^Yhether you respect and love my orders or not, mademoiselle," said 
 the princess, in a curt, harsh voice, " you will, from to-day, from this 
 moment, learn to submit blindly and absolutely to my Avill. In one 
 word, you will do nothing without my permission. It is necessary ; I 
 insist upon it ; and so I am determined it shall be." 
 
 Adi-ienne looked at her aunt for a second, and then bm-st into so 
 free and sonorous a laugh that it rang for quite a time through the vast 
 apartment. D'Aigrigny and Baron Tripeaud started in indignation. 
 The princess looked angiily at her niece. The doctor raised his eyes to 
 heaven, and clasped his hand over his waistcoat with a sanctimonious 
 sigh. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said Abbé d'Aigi-igny, " such fits of laughter are 
 highly unbecoming. Your aunt's words are serious, and deserve a dif- 
 ferent reception." 
 
 " Oh, sir ! " said Adrienne, recovering herself, " it is not my fault if I 
 laugh. How can I maintain my g^•a^^ty, when I hear my aunt talking 
 of blind submission to her orders Î Is the swallow, accustomed to fly
 
 362 TIIIC \VAMH:iU S<! .1 i:\v. 
 
 upward and (Mijoy tho sunshine, ])l(>d<j:od to liv(^ with tlic mole in dark- 
 uess Î " 
 
 At this answer, D'Aigrifçny alïectcd to stare at the other nienil)ers of 
 this kind of family eouueil with bhink astonishment. 
 
 "A swallow? what does she mean ?" asked the abbé of the baron, 
 making a sign, which tho latter understood. 
 
 " 1 do not know," answered Tripeaud, staring in his turn at tho doc- 
 tor. ".She spoke too of a mole. It is (juite unheard of — inconijn-e- 
 hensil)le ! " 
 
 "And so, mademoiselle," said the princess, appearing to share in the 
 surj)rise of the others, " this is the reply that you make to me ? " 
 
 " Certainly," answered Adrienne, astonished herself that they should 
 pretend not to understand the simile of which she had made use, accus- 
 tomed as she was to speak in figurative language. 
 
 " Come, come, madame," said Di-. Baleinier, smiling good-humorodly, 
 "wo must be indulgent. My dear ]\Iademoiselle Adrienne has naturally 
 so uncommon and excitable a nature ! She is really the most charming 
 mad woman I know; I have told her so a hundred times, in my position 
 of an old friend, which allows such freedom." 
 
 " I can conceive that your attachment makes you indulgent ; but it is 
 not the less true, doctor," said D'Aigrigny, as if reproaching him for 
 taking the part of Mademoiselle de Cardoville, " that such answers to 
 serious questions are most extravagant." 
 
 " The evil is, that mademoiselle does not seem to comprehend the 
 serious nature of this conference," saiil the princess harshly. " Slie 
 will perhaps understand it better when I have given her my orders." 
 
 " Let us hear these orders, aunt," replied Adrienne, as seated on the 
 other side of the table, opposite to the princess, she leaned her fine dim- 
 pled chin in the hollow of her pretty Inuid, with an air of graceful 
 mockery, charming to behold. 
 
 " From to-morrow forward," resumed the princess, " you wdll quit the 
 summer-house that yoi; at prescTit inhabit, you Avill discharge your 
 women, and come and occupy two rooms in this house, to which there 
 will be no access except through my apartment ; you will never go out 
 alone ; you will accompany me to the services of the church. Your eman- 
 cipation terminates, in consequence of your prodigality duly proved. I 
 will take charge of all your expenses, even to the ordering of your clothes, 
 so that you may be properly and modestly dressed. Until your majority 
 (which will be indefinitely jjostponed, by means of the intervention of 
 a family council), you will have no money at yom* own disposal. Such 
 is my resolution." 
 
 " And certainly your resolution can only be applauded, madame," said
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 363 
 
 Baron Tripeaud ; " we can but eneoui'age you to show the gi'eatest firm- 
 ness, for such disorders must have an end." 
 
 " It is more than time to put a stop to such scandals," added the abbé. 
 
 " Eccentricity and exaltation of temperament may excuse many 
 things," ventured to observe the smooth-tongued doctor. 
 
 " No doubt," replied the princess dryly to Baleinier, who played his 
 part to perfection ; " but then, doctor, the requisite measures must be 
 taken with such characters." 
 
 Madame de Saint-Dizier hud expressed herself in a firm and pre- 
 cise manner ; she appeared convinced of the possibility of putting her 
 threats into execution. M. Tripeaud and D'Aigrigny had just now given 
 their full consent to the words of the princess. Adiieune began to 
 perceive that something very serious was in contemplation, and her 
 gayety was at once replaced by an air of bitter irony and offended 
 independence. 
 
 She rose abruptly, and colored a little; her rosy nostrUs dilated, 
 her eyes flashed fire, and, as she raised her head, she gently shook the 
 fine, wavy, golden hair, with a movement of pride that was natural to 
 her. After a moment's silence, she said to her aunt in a cutting tone : 
 " You have spoken of the past, madame ; I also wiU speak a few 
 words concerning it, since you force me to do so, though I may regi-et 
 the necessity. I quitted your dwelling because it was impossilile for 
 me to live longer in this atmosphere of dark hypocrisy and black 
 treachery." 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said D'Aigrigny, " such words are as violent as they 
 are unreasonable." • 
 
 " Since you interrupt me, sir," said Adi;^enne hastily, as she fixed her 
 eyes on the abbé, " tell me what examples did I meet with in my aunt's 
 house ? " 
 
 " Excellent examples, mademoiselle." 
 
 " Excellent, sir f Was it because I saw there, every day, her conver- 
 sion keep pace with your own f " 
 
 " Mademoiselle, you forget yourself ! " cried the princess, becoming 
 pale with rage. 
 
 "Madame, I do not forget — I remember, like other people: that is 
 all. I had no relation of whom I could ask an asylum. I wished to 
 live alone. I wished to enjoy my revenues — because I chose rather to 
 spend them myself than to see them wasted by M. Tripeaud." 
 
 " Mademoiselle," cried the baron, " I cannot imagine how you can 
 presume " 
 
 " Sir ! " said Adi-ienne, reducing him to silence by a gestiu'e of over- 
 whelming haughtiness, "I speak of you — not to you. I wished to
 
 364 THE 11. I .V I) E li I S (1 -/ /•; w. 
 
 speud my iueome," she coiitinutMl, "according to my own tastes. I 
 embellished the retreat that I had chosen. Instead of ut^ly, ill-taught 
 servants, I selected girls, j^retty and well brought ii]), though i)0()r. 
 Their ediu-ation f()rl)ade their being subjecti'd to any luuuiliating 
 servitude, though 1 have endeavored to make their situation easy and 
 agreeable. They do not serve me, but render me service. I i)ay 
 them, but I am obliged to them — nice distinctions that your ladyship 
 will not understand, I know. Instead of seeing them badly or ungrace- 
 I'ldly dressed, I have given them clothes that suit their charming faces 
 well, because I like whatever is young and fair. ^Vhether I dress 
 myself one way or the other concerns oidy my looking-glass. I go out 
 alone, because I like to follow my fancy. I do not go to mass ; but, if I 
 had still a mother, I would ex^Dlain to her my devotions, and she would 
 kiss me none the less tendcily. It is true that I have raised a pagan 
 altar to youth and beauty, because I adore God in all that he has made 
 fair and good, noble and gi'and; because, morn and evening, my 
 heart repeats the fervent and sincere prayer : ' Thanks, my Creator ! 
 thanks !' — Your ladyship says that M. Baleinier has often found me in 
 my solitude, a i)rey to a strange excitement. Yes, it is true ; for it is 
 then that, escaping in thought from all that renders the present odious 
 and painful to me, I find refuge in the future; it is then that magical 
 hoi-izoTis spread far before me; it is then that such splendid visions 
 apjiear to me as make me feel myself rajjt in a sublime and heavenly 
 ecstasy, as if I no longer appertained to earth ! " 
 
 As Adrienne pronounced these last words with enthusiasm, her coun- 
 tenance appeared transfigured, so resplendent did it become. In that 
 moment she had lost sight of all that surrounded her. 
 
 " It is then," she resumed, with sj^irit soaring higher and higher, 
 " that I breathe a pure air, reviving and free — yes, free — above all, 
 free — and so salubrious, so grateful to the soul! — Yes, instead of see- 
 ing my sisters painfully submit to a selfish, humiliating, brutal dominion, 
 which entails upon them the seductive vices of slavery, the graceful 
 fraud, the enchanting perfidy, the caressing falsehood, the contemi>t- 
 uous resignation, the hateful obedience, I behold them, my noble sisters ! 
 worthy and sincere because they are free, faithful and devoted because 
 they have liberty to choose ; neither imjierious nor base Ijecause they 
 have no master to govern or to flatter; cherished and respected l)ecause 
 they can withdraw from a disloyal hand theii- hand loyally bestowed. 
 Oh, my sisters ! my sisters! I feel it. These are not merely consoling 
 visions, they are sacred hopes." 
 
 Carried away, in spite of herself, by the excitement of her feelings, 
 Adrienne paused for a moment, in order to return to earth ; she did
 
 "MADEMOISELLE, I FORBID YOU LEAVING THE HOUSE."
 
 THE WAXDFRIXG JEW. 367 
 
 not perceive that the other actors in tliis scene were looking at each 
 other with an air of delight. 
 
 " What she says is excellent," murmured the doctor in the princess's 
 ear, next to whom he was seated ; " were she in league with us she would 
 not speak differently." 
 
 " It is only by excessive harshness," added D'Aigrigny, " that we 
 sliall liring her to the desired points 
 
 But it seemed as if the indignant emotion of Adrieune had been 
 dissipated by the contact of the generous .sentiments she had just 
 uttered. Addressing Baleinier with a smile, she said : 
 
 " I must own, doctor, that there is nothing more ridiculous than to 
 yield to the cmTent of certain thoughts in the presence of jjersons incap- 
 able of understanding them. This would give you a fine opportunity to 
 make sport of that exaltation of mind for which you sometimes reproach 
 me. To let myself be carried away by transports at so serious a 
 moment! — for, veiily, the matter in hand seems to be serious. But 
 you see, good M. Baleinier, when an idea comes into my head, I can no 
 more help following it out than I could refrain from running after butter- 
 flies when I was a little girl." 
 
 "And heaven only knows whither these brilliant butterflies of all 
 colors," said M. Baleinier, smiling with an air of paternal indulgence, 
 " that are passing through your brain are likely to lead you. Oh, mad- 
 cap, madcap ! when will she be as reasonable as she is charming I " 
 
 " This very instant, my good doctor," replied Adrienue. " I am about 
 to cast off my reveries for realities, and speak plain and positive lan- 
 guage, as you shall hear." 
 
 Upon which, addressing her aunt, she continued : 
 
 "You have imparted to me your resolution, madame; I will now 
 tell you mine. "Within a week I shall quit the pavilion that I inhabit, 
 for a house which I have arranged to my taste, where I shall live after 
 my own fashion. I have neither father uor mother, and I owe no 
 account of my actions to any but myself." 
 
 " Upon my word, mademoiselle," said the princess, shrugging her 
 shoulders, " you talk nonsense. You forget that society has inalienable 
 moral rights, which we are bound to enforce ; and we shall not neglect 
 them, depend upon it." 
 
 " So, madame, it is you, and M. d'Aigiigny, and M. Tripeaud, that 
 represent the morality of society ! This appears to me very fine. Is it 
 because M. Tripeaud has considered (I must acknowledge it) my fortune 
 as his own Î Is it because " 
 
 " Now, really, mademoiselle," began Tripeaud. 
 
 " In good time, madame," said Adiienne to her aunt, without noticiug
 
 368 THE WAX DE H I S a JEW. 
 
 the bavoii, " as the occasiou offert^, I shall have to ask you for explana- 
 tions with regard to certain interests, wliieh have hitherto, I think, been 
 concealed from me." 
 
 These words of Adrienn»' made D'Ai^i'iuiiy and the ])rincess start, 
 and then rapidly exchange a glance of uneasiness and anxiety. Adrieuue 
 did not seem to pei'ceive it, but thus continued : 
 
 " To have done with yom* demands, madame, here is my final resolve : 
 I shall live where and how I please. I think that, if I were a man, no 
 one would impose on me, at my age, the harsh and humiliating guai'd- 
 iauship you have in view, for living as I have lived till now — honestly, 
 freely, and generously, in the sight of all." 
 
 " This idea is absurd ! is madness ! " cried the princess. " To wish to live 
 thus alone is to carry immorality and immodesty to their utmost limits." 
 
 " If so, madame," said Adrienue, " what oj)inion must you entertain of 
 so many poor girls, ori)hans like myself, wiio live alone and free, as I 
 wish to live .' They have not received, as I have, a refined education, 
 calculated to raise the soul and jnirify the heart. They have not wealth, 
 as I have, to protect them from the evil ti'inptatioiis of misery; and 
 yet they live honestly and proudly in their distress." 
 
 " Vice and A-irtue do not exist for such ragged vermin Î " cried Baron 
 Trii)eaud, with an expression of anger and hideous disdain. 
 
 " Madame, you would turn away a lackey that would venture to speak 
 thus before you," saiil Adrienne to her aunt, miable to conceal her dis- 
 gust, " and yet you oblige me to listen to sixch speeches ! " 
 
 The IMarquis d'Aigrigny touclied ^I. Tripeaud with liis knee under 
 the table, to remind him that he must not exi)ress himself in the prin- 
 cess's pai'lors in the same manner as he would in the lobbies of the stock 
 exchange. To repair the baron's coarseness, the abbé thus continued: 
 
 "There is no coni])arison, mademoiselle, ])etwecn people of the class 
 you name and a young lady of your rank." 
 
 "For a Catholic priest, M. l'Àbbé, that distinction is not very Chris- 
 tian," rejilicd Adrienne. 
 
 " I know the purport of my words, mademoiselle," answered the abbé 
 dryly ; " besides, the independent life that you wish to lead, in opposi- 
 tion to all reason, may tend to veiy serious consequences for you. 
 Your family may one day wish to see you married " 
 
 " I will spare my family that trouble, sir ; if I marry at all, I will 
 choose for myself, which also appears to me reasonaljle enough. But, 
 in truth, I am very little tempted 1)y that heavy chain, which selfish- 
 ness and brutality rivet forever about our necks." 
 
 "It is indecent, mademoiselle," said the princess, " to speak so lightly 
 of such an institution."
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 369 
 
 " Before you, especially, madame, I beg pardon for having shocked 
 your ladyship ! You fear that my independent manner of living will 
 frighten away all wooers ; but that is another reason for persisting in 
 my independence, for I detest wooers ; I only hope that they may have 
 the very worst opinion of me, and there is no better means of effecting 
 that object than to appear to live as they live themselves. I rely upon 
 my whims, my follies, my dear faults, to preserve me from the annoy- 
 ance of any matrimonial hunting." 
 
 " You will be quite satisfied on that head," resumed Madame de 
 Saint-Dizier, " if unfortunately the report should gain credit that you 
 have carried the forgetfulness of all duty and decency to such a height 
 as to return home at eight o'clock in the morning. So I am told is the 
 case — but I cannot bring myself to believe such an enormity." 
 
 " You are wrong, madame, for it is quite true." 
 
 " So you confess it ? " cried the imncess. 
 
 " I confess all that I do, madame. I came home this morning at 
 eight o'clock." 
 
 " You hear, gentlemen ? " ejaculated the princess. 
 
 " Oh ! " said M. d'Aigi-igny in a bass voice. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the baron in a treble key. 
 
 " Oh ! " muttered the doctor with a deep sigh. 
 On hearing these lamentable exclamations, Adrienne seemed about 
 to speak, perhajis to justify herself ; but her lip speedily assumed a 
 curl of contempt, which showed that she disdained to stoop to any 
 explanation. 
 
 " So it is true," said the princess. " Oh, wi-etched gii'l ! you had 
 accustomed me to be astonished at nothing; but, nevertheless, I 
 doubted the possibility of such conduct. It required your impudent 
 and audacious reply to convince me of the fact." 
 
 " Madame, lying has always appeared to me more impudent than to 
 speak the truth." 
 
 " And where had you been, mademoiselle ? and for what ? " 
 
 "Madame," said Adrienne, interrupting her aunt, "I never speak 
 falsely, but neither do I speak more than I choose ; and then, again, it 
 were cowardice to defend myself from a revolting accusation. Let us 
 say no more about it : your importunities on this head will be alto- 
 gether vain. To resume : you wish to impose upon me a hai'sh and 
 humiliating restraint ; I wish to quit the house I inhabit, to go and live 
 where I please, at my owni fancy. "Winch of us two will ^-ield remains 
 to be seen. Now for another matter: this mansion belongs to me! 
 As I am about to leave it, I am indift'erent whether you continue to live 
 here or not ; Ijut the gi'ound-floor is uninhabited. It contains, besides
 
 370 THE WAS ItERIXO JEW. 
 
 the recoption-ruoins, two coiuplfto sets ol' upai'tiuent.s ; 1 liuve let them 
 for some time." 
 
 "Indeed!" said the princess, looking? at D'Aii^riguy witli intense snr- 
 prise. "And to wlioni," slie added ironically, "have you dis]iose(l of 
 them ? " 
 
 " To three members of my fandly." 
 
 " What does all this mean ? said ^Madame de Saint-Di/.ier. mon' and 
 mure astonished. 
 
 "It means, mailam(\ that I wish to offer a generous hospitality to a 
 young Indian prince, my kinsman on my mother's si«le. He will arrive 
 in two or three days, and 1 wish to have the rooms ready to receive 
 him." 
 
 " You heai', gentlemen f " said D'Aigrigny to the doctoi- and '{'rijieaud, 
 witli an affectation of pi'ofound stu]K)r. 
 
 " It sm'passes all one could imagine ! " exclaimed the liaron. 
 
 " Alas ! " observed the doctor benignantly, " thi; impulse is generous 
 in itself — but the little madcap still ei-ops out ! " 
 
 " Excellent ! " said the princess. " I cannot prevent you, imidemoiselh^ 
 from announcing the most extravagant designs; but it is presumable 
 that you will not sto]> shoi-t in so fair a ])ath. Is that all ;' " 
 
 " Not cpiite, your ladyship. 1 learned this morning, I liat two of my 
 female relations, also on my mother's side, poor children of fifteen, 
 orjyhan daughters of Marshal Simon, arrived yesterday from a long 
 joui'uey, and are now with the wife of the brave soldier who bi-ought 
 them to France from the dei)ths of Sibei'ia." 
 
 At these words from Adrienne, D'Aigrigny and the pi'incess could 
 not help starting suddenlj^, and staring at each other with affright, 
 so far were they from expecting tiiat Mademoiselle de Cai'doville was 
 informed of the coming of Marshal Simon's daughters. This discovery 
 was like a lightning-flash to flnnu. 
 
 " You are no dou])t astonished at seeing me so well informed,'' said 
 Adrienne; " fortunately, before I have done, I hop(> to astonish you still 
 more. But to return to these daughters of Marshal Simon : your high- 
 ness will understand that it is impossible for me to leave them in charge 
 of the good people who have afforded them a tem]iorary asylum. Though 
 this family is honest and hard-woi-kiug, it is not the i)lace for then). I 
 shall go and fetch them hither and lodge them in apartments on the 
 ground-floor, along with the soldier's wife, who will take care of them." 
 Upon these words, D'Aigingny and the baron looked at each other 
 and the baron exclaimed: 
 
 " Decidedly, she's out of her head." 
 "Without a word to Tripeaud, Adrienne continued:
 
 THE WANDERIXG JEW. 
 
 371 
 
 " Marshal Simon cannot fail to arrive at Paris shortly. Your high- 
 ness perceives how pleasant it -will be to be able to present his daugh- 
 ters to him, and prove that they have been treated as they deserve. 
 
 To-morrow morning I shall send tor milliners and dressmakers, so 
 that they may want for nothing. 1 desire their surjirised father, on his 
 retui'n, to find them every way beautiful. They are pretty, I am told, 
 as angels — but I will endeavor to make little Cupids of them."
 
 372 THE \v.\ S in:i; I S(i .ii:\v. 
 
 "At last, niudcinoisoUe, you must Imvc fiuishi-d .' " said the iiriiu-oss, 
 in a sardouic and dot'])ly irritated tone, while D'Ai<irij?iiy, calui and cold 
 ill appearance, could hardly dissemljle his mental aiij;nish. 
 
 "Try again!" continued the princess, addressing Adrienne. "Are 
 there no more relations that you wish to add to this interesting family 
 group f " Really, a queen coukl not act with more magnificence." 
 
 " Right ! I wish to give my family a royal reception — such as is duo 
 to the son of a king, and the daughters of the Duke de Ligny. It is 
 ■well to unite other luxuries of life with the luxury of the hosi)itablo 
 heart." 
 
 "The maxim is certainly generous," said the princess, becoming more 
 and more agitated; " it is only a pity that you do not possess the mines 
 of Peru to make it practicable." 
 
 " It was on the subject of a mine, said to be a rich one, that I also 
 wished to speak to your ladyship. Could I liud a better opportunity ? 
 Though my fortune is already consideral)le, it is nothing to what may 
 come to our family at any moment. You will perhaps excuse, therefore, 
 what you are i)leased to cull niy royal in-odigalitics." 
 
 D'Aigi-igny's dilemma became momentarily more and more thorny. 
 The aflfair of the medals was so important that he had concealed it 
 even from Dr. Baleinier, though he had called in his services to forward 
 immense interests. Neither had Tripeaud been informed of it, for tho 
 princess l)elieved that she hud destroyed every vestige of those papers 
 of Acb'ieime's father, which niiglit have put him nn the scent of this 
 discovery. The abbé, therefore, was not only greatly alarmeil that 
 Mademoiselle de Cardoville might be informed of this secret, but he 
 trembled lest she shoixld di^oilge it. 
 
 The princess, sharing the alarms of D'Aigi'igny, inteiTupted her 
 niece by exclaiming : 
 
 "Mademoiselle, there are certain family affairs which ought to be 
 kept secret, and without exactly understanding to what you allude, I 
 must request you to change the sulgect." 
 
 " What, madame ! are we not here a family party .' Is that not suffi- 
 ciently evident by the somewhat ungi'acious things that have been 
 here said ? " 
 
 " No matter, mademoiselU' ! when affairs of interest are concerjie(l, 
 which are more or less disputable, it is perfectly useless to speak of 
 them without the documents laid before every one." 
 
 " And of what have we lieeii speaking this hour, niadaine, if not of 
 affairs of interest ? I really do not understand your surprise and eniV)ar- 
 rassment." 
 
 " I am neither sui-prised nor embaiTassed, mademoiselle ; but for the
 
 THE WAXDERING JEW. 373 
 
 last two hours you have obliged me to listen to so many new and extrav- 
 agant things that a little amaze is very permissible." 
 
 " I beg yoiu' pardon, but you are very much embarrassed," said Adri- 
 enne, looking fixedly at her aunt, "and M. d'Aigrigny also — which 
 confirms certain suspicions that I have not had the time to clear up. 
 Have I then guessed rightly ? " she added, after a pause. " We will 
 see " 
 
 " Mademoiselle, I command you to be silent," cried the princess, no 
 longer mistress of herself. 
 
 " Oh, madame ! " said Adrienne, " for a person who has in general so 
 much command of her feelings, you compromise yoiu-self strangely." 
 
 Providence (as some will have it) came to the aid of the princess 
 and the Abbé d'Aigrigny at this critical juncture. A valet entered the 
 room ; his countenance boi-e such marks of fright and agitation that 
 the princess exclaimed as soon as she saw him : 
 
 " Why, Dubois ! what is the matter ? " 
 
 " I have to beg pardon, your ladyship, for intermpting you against 
 your express orders, but a jiolice inspector demands to speak with you 
 instantly. He is below stairs, and the yard is full of policemen and 
 soldiers." 
 
 Notwithstanding the profound sui'prise which this new incident 
 occasioned her, the princess, determining to profit l)y the opportunity 
 thus afforded, to concert prompt measures ^\^th D'Aigrigny on the sulj- 
 ject of Ach'ienne's threatened revelations, rose, and said to the abbé : 
 
 " Will you be so obliging as to accompany me, M. d'Aigi'igny, for 
 I do not know what the presence of this commissary of police may 
 iiify." 
 D'Aigrigny followed Madame de Saiut-Dizier into the next room.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 TKKACHEEY 
 
 ITE Princess de Saiiit-Dizier, accompanied by D'AijJci'it^uy 
 and followed by tlie servant, stoi)ped .short in the next 
 room to that in which had remained Aikieuue, Tripeaud, 
 and tlie doctor. 
 
 '• Where is the jjolice eoniinissary ? "aske(l the jn'ineess of tlie servant, 
 who had just Ijefore announced to her the arrival of that magistrate. 
 " In the blue saloon, madame." 
 
 "My compliments, and beg him to wait for me a few moments." 
 The nuin bowed and withdrew. 
 
 As soon as he was gone. Madame» de Saint-Dizier approached hastily 
 M. d'Aigi-igny, whose countenance, usually iirni and haughty, was now 
 pale and agitated. 
 
 " You see," cried the i)rineess in a hurried voice, " Adi'ieiine knows 
 all. What shall we do?— what?" 
 
 " I cannot tell," said the abbé, with a fixed and absent look. "This 
 disclosure is a terrible blow to us." 
 " Is all, then, lost ? " 
 
 "There is only one means of safety," said ^l. d'Aigrigny — "the 
 doctor." 
 
 " But how ? " cried the princess. " So sudden .' tiiis vei-y day .' " 
 " Two hours hence it will be too late; ere then this infernal girl will 
 have seen Marshal Hhnon's daughters." 
 
 " But, Frederick, it is impossil)le! M. Baleinier will never consent. 
 I ought to have been prei)ared beforehand — as we intended, after to-day's 
 examination." 
 
 "No matter," replied the abbe (piickly ; "the doctor must try at any 
 hazard." 
 " But under what pretext ? " 
 " I -will trv and find one."
 
 THE WAXBEEIXG JEW. 375 
 
 " Suppose you were to find a pretext, Frederick, aud we could act 
 immediately — nothing would be ready doivn there." 
 
 " Be satisfied : they are always ready there, by habitual foresight." 
 
 " How instruct the doctor on the instant ? " resumed the princess. 
 
 " To send for him would be to rouse the suspicious of your niece," 
 said M. d'Aigi-igny thoughtfully ; " and we must avoid that before 
 everything." 
 
 " Of course," answei'ed the princess ; " her confidence in the doctor is 
 one of oiu" gi-eatest resources." 
 
 " There is a way," said the abbé quickly : " I will write a few words 
 in haste to Baleinier ; one of your people can take the note to him, as 
 if it came from without — from a patient dangerously ill." 
 
 " An excellent idea ! " cried the princess. " Yoii are right. Here, 
 upon this tal)le, there is everything necessary for writing. Quick ! 
 quick — but will the doctor succeed?" 
 
 " Indeed, I scarcely dare to hope it," said the marquis, sitting down 
 at the table with repressed rage. " Thanks to this examination, going 
 beyond our hopes, which our man, hidden l)ehind the curtain, has faith- 
 fully taken down in shorthand, thanks to the ^^olent scenes, which 
 would necessarily have occurred to-morrow and the day after, the doc- 
 tor, by fencing himself round with all sorts of clever precautions, would 
 have been able to act with the most complete certainty. But to ask 
 this of him to-day, on the instant ! — Herminie, it is folly to think of ! " 
 The marquis threw down the pen which he held in his hand ; then 
 he added, in a tone of bitter and profound irritation : 
 
 " At the very moment of success, to see all om- hopes destroyed ! — Oh, 
 the consequences of all this are incalculable. Yoiu* niece will be the 
 cause of the greatest mischief — oh ! the gi-eatest injury to us." 
 
 It is impossible to desci'ibe the expression of deep rage aud implac- 
 able hatred with which DAigrigny uttered these last words. 
 
 " Frederick," cried the princess, with anxiety, as she clasped her hands 
 strongly around the abbe's, " I conjure you, do not despair ! The doctor 
 is fertile in resources, and he is .so devoted to us. Let us at least make 
 the attempt." 
 
 " Well, it is at least a chance," said the abbé, taking up the pen 
 again. 
 
 " Should it come to the worst," said the princess, " and Adi'ienne go 
 this evening to fetch General Simon's daughters, she may perhaps no 
 longer find them." 
 
 " We cannot hoj^e for that. It is impossible that Rodin's orders 
 should have been so quickly executed. We should have been informed 
 of it."
 
 376 THE WAXDERIXa JEW. 
 
 "It is truo. Writt', then, to tht' doctor; 1 will send you L)ul)ois, to 
 carry your letter. Courajrc, Frederick ! we shall yet be too niucli for 
 that ungovernable girl." 
 
 Madame de Saiiit-Dizit-r added, with eoneeutratiMl raire:"()h, Adri- 
 enue! Adrienne ! you shall pay dearly for your insolent sarcasms and 
 the anxiety you have caused us." 
 
 As she went out, the princess turned towartl D'Aigrigny and said 
 to him : 
 
 " Wait for îue here. 1 will tell you tiic meauing of this visit of the 
 police, and we will go in together." 
 
 The ]>riiicess disappeared. D'Aigrigny dashed off a few words with 
 a ti'eniMing haud.
 
 CHAPTEE X 
 
 THE SX ARE 
 
 FTER the departure of Madame de Saint-Dizier and the 
 inaj-quis, Adrienne remained in her aunt's apartment with 
 M. Baleinier and Baron Tripeaud. 
 
 On hearing of the commissary's arrival, Mademoiselle 
 de Card<)\ille had felt considerable uneasiness; for there could be no 
 doubt that, as Agiicola had apprehended, this magistrate was come to 
 search the hotel and pavilion, in order to find the blacksmith, whom he 
 beheved to be concealed there. 
 
 Though she looked upon Agricola's hiding-place as a very safe one, 
 Adi'ienne was not quite tranquil on his account; so in the event of any 
 imfortunate accident she thought it a good opportunity to recommend 
 the refugee to the doctor, an intimate friend, as we have said, of one 
 of the most influential ministers of the day. So, drawing near to the 
 physician, who was conversing in a low voice with the baron, she said 
 to him in her softest and most coaxing manner : 
 
 " My good M. Baleinier, I wish to speak a few words with you." She 
 pointed to the deep recess of one of the windows. 
 
 " I am at your orders, mademoiselle," answered the doctor, as he I'ose 
 to follow Adi'ienne to the recess. 
 
 M. Tripeaud, who, no longer sustained by the ablié's presence, 
 dreaded the young lady as he did fire, was not sorry for this diversion. 
 To keep up appearances, he stationed himself before one of the sacred 
 pictures and began again to contemplate it, as if there were no bounds 
 to his admiration. 
 
 ^Mien Mademoiselle de Cardoville was far enough from the baron 
 not to be overheard by him, she said to the physician, who, aU smiles 
 and benevolence, waited for her to explain : 
 
 " My good doctor, you are my friend, as you were my father's. Just 
 now, notwithstanding the difficulty of yom* position, you had the cour- 
 age to show youi'self my only partisan." 
 
 377
 
 378 THE WAS i>i:ui sa .//•;»'. 
 
 "Not at all, inaiU'inoisi'llc; do not go and say such things !" oried 
 
 the doctor, atlecting a j)loasant kind of anger. " Plague on't ! you 
 
 would get me into a pretty scrape; so pi'ay be silent on that subject. 
 
 Vuilc rrfio SdtaiKis! — which means, Get thee lu'liiml nie, charming 
 
 little demon that you are ! " 
 
 " Do not be afraid," answered Adrienne, with a smile ; " I will not 
 compromise you. Only allow me to remind you that you have often 
 made me offers of service and spoken to me of your devotion." 
 
 " Put me to the test, and you will see if I do not keep my promises." 
 
 " Well, then, give me a proof on the instant," said Adrienne qiiickly. 
 
 "Capital! This is how 1 like to be taken at my word. ^Miat can I 
 do for you Î " 
 
 "Are you still very intimate with your friend the minister ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I am just treating him for a loss of voice, which he always has 
 the day they put «piestions to him in the house. He prefers it." 
 
 " I want you to ()l)taiu from him something very important for me." 
 
 " For you ? Pray, what is it ! " 
 At this instant tln' valet entered the room, delivered a letter to ^I. 
 Baleinier, and said to him : 
 
 " A footman just brought this letter for you, sir ; it is very pressing." 
 The physician took the letter and the servant went out. 
 
 " This is one of the inconveniences of merit," said Adrienne, smiling ; 
 " they do not leave you a moment's rest, my poor doctor." 
 
 " Do not speak of it, mademoiselle," said the physician, who could not 
 conceal a start of amazement as he recognized the writing of D'Aigrigny ; 
 " these i^atients think we are made of iron, and have monopolized the 
 health which they so much need. They have really no mercy. With 
 your permission, mademoiselle," added M. Baleinier, looking at Adrienne 
 before he xmsealed the letter. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Cardoville answered by a graceful nod. Marquis 
 d'Aigrigny's letter was not long ; the doctor read it at a single glance, 
 and notwithstanding his habitual i>rudence he shrugged his shoulders 
 and said hastily : 
 
 " To-day ! — why, it's impossible. He is mad." 
 
 " You speak no doubt of some poor patient who has placed all his 
 hopes in you — who waits and calls for you at this moment. Come, my 
 dear M. Baleinier, do not reject his prayer. It is so sweet to justify 
 the confidence we inspii'e." 
 
 There was at once so much analogy and such contradiction between 
 the oljject of this letter, written just l)efore by Adrienne's most implac- 
 able enemy, and these words of commiseration which she spoke in a 
 touching voice, that Dr. Baleinier himself could not help being stmck
 
 THE WAXBEBIXG JEW. 379 
 
 with it. He looked at Mademoiselle de Cal•do^-ille with an almost 
 embarrassed air as he replied : 
 
 " I am indeed sj^eakiug of one of my patients, who counts much upon 
 me — a great deal too much, for he asks me to do an impossibility. But 
 why do you feel so interested in an imknown person ? " 
 
 " If he is unfortunate, I know enough to interest me. The person for 
 whom I ask yovu* assistance with the minister was quite as little known 
 to me, and now I take the deepest interest in him. I must tell you that 
 he is the son of the worthy soldier who brought Marshal Simon's 
 daughters from the heart of Siberia." 
 
 " ^V^lat ! he is " 
 
 " An honest workman, the support of his family ; but I must tell you 
 all about it. This is how the affair took place." 
 
 The confidential communication which Adrienue was going to make 
 to the doctor was cut short by Madame de Saiut-Dizier, who, followed 
 by M. d'Aigriguy, opened abruptly the door. An expression of infernal 
 joy, hardly concealed beneath a semblance of exti'eme indignation, was 
 ^^sible in her countenance. 
 
 M. d'Aigrigny threw rapidly, as he entered the apartment, an inquii- 
 ing and anxious glance at M. Baleinier. The doctor answered by a 
 shake of the head. The al^bé bit his lips with silent rage ; he had built 
 his last hopes upon the doctor, and his pi*oject seemed now forever 
 annihilated, notwithstanding the new blow which the princess had in 
 reserve for Adrienne. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Madame de Saint-Dizier, in a shai-p, hun-ied voice, 
 for she was nearly choking with wicked pleasure, " gentlemen, pray be 
 seated ! I have some new and ciu'ious things to tell you on the subject 
 of this young lady." 
 
 She pointed to her niece with a look of ineffable hatred and disdain. 
 
 " My poor child, what is the matter now f " said M. Baleinier, in a soft, 
 
 wheedling tone, before he left the window where he was standing with 
 
 Adrienne. " Whatever happens, count upon me ! " And the physician 
 
 went to seat himself between M. d'Aigrigny and M. Tripeaud. 
 
 At her aunt's insolent address, Mademoiselle de Cardoville had 
 proudly lifted her head. The blood rushed to her face, and, ii-ritated at 
 the new attacks with whicli she was menaced, she advanced to the table 
 where the princess was seated and said in an agitated voice to M. 
 Baleinier : 
 
 " I shall expect you to call on me as soon as possible, my dear doctor. 
 You know that I wish particularly to speak with you." 
 
 Adrienne made one step toward the arm-chair, on which she had 
 left her hat. The princess rose abraptly and exclaimed :
 
 380 Tin: w A .\i>i:h'ixa jkw: 
 
 "What arc you doiug, iiuideiuoiselle ?" 
 
 " I am about to n-tire. Your ladyship has express('(l \i> me your will, 
 and I have told you luiiic It is onough." 
 
 She took her hat. Madame de Saiut-Dizicr, scciui,^ her prt-y about 
 to escape, hastened toward her niece, and in dcHance <>l' all propriety 
 seized her violently by the arm with a con\-ulsive grasp and bade her: 
 
 " Remain ! " 
 
 "Fie, madame!" exclaimed Adrii,'iiii(\ willi an accent of ])aint'nl con- 
 tempt. " Have we sunk so low ? " 
 
 " You wish to escape — you are afraid!" resumed Madame de Saint- 
 Dizicr, looking at her disdainfully from head to foot. 
 
 With these words, " you are afraid," you could have made Adricnnc 
 de Cardoville walk into a liery furnace. Disengaging her arm from her 
 aunt's grasp, with a gesture of nobleness and ])ride she threw down the 
 hat upon the chair, and, returning to the table, said imperiously to the 
 priuce.ss : 
 
 "There is something even stionger than the disgust with which all this 
 inspires me — the fear (A' being accused uf cowardice. Go, ou, madame! 
 I am listening ! " 
 
 With her head raised, lier coloi- somewhat heightened, her glance 
 half veiled by a tear of indignation, her arms foldecl over her l)Osom, 
 which heaved in spite of herself with deep emotion, and her little foot 
 beating convulsively on the carpet, Adrienne looked steadily at her 
 aunt. The i^rincess wished to infuse, drop l)y di'op, the poison with 
 which she was swelling, and make her victim suffer as long as possible, 
 feeling certain that she could not escape. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Madame de Saint-Dizier, in a forced voice, " this 
 has occurred : I was told that the commissary of police wished to speak 
 with me; I went to receive this magistrate; he excused himself, with 
 a troubled air, for the natui'e of the tluty he had to perform. A man 
 against whom a warrant was out had 1)een seen to enter the garden- 
 jjavilion." 
 
 AtMenne started ; there could be no doubt that Agricola was meant. 
 But she recovered her tranqidllity when she thought of the security of 
 tlui hi(ling-plac(> she had given him. 
 
 " Tlui magistrate," continued the princess, " asked my consent to 
 search the hotel and i)avilion, to discover this man. It was his right. 
 I begged him to commence with the garden-house, and accompanied 
 him. Notwithstanding the impropei- conduct of mademoiselle, it never, 
 I confess, entered my head for a moment that .she was in any Avay mixed 
 up with this police business. I was deceived." 
 
 " What do you mean, madame ? " cried Acb'ienne.
 
 THE WAXJH:iiIXG JEW. 
 
 381 
 
 " You shall know all, inaclemoiselle," said the princess, "nitli a trium- 
 phant air, " in good time. You were in rather too great a hurry, just 
 now, to show yoiu'self so proud and satu-ical. Well, I accompanied the 
 
 commissary in his search ; we came to the summer-house ; I leave you 
 to imagine the stupor and astonishment of the magistrate on seeing 
 three creatures dressed up like actresses. At my request the fact was
 
 382 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 
 
 iiuted iu the official rt-port, for it is well to reveal such extravagances to 
 all whom it may concern." 
 
 " The princess acted very wisely," said Tripeaud, l)owinjj: ; " it is well 
 that the authorities should be infoi-med of such matters." 
 
 Adrieuue, too much interested iu the fate of the workman t<> tliink 
 of answering Tripeaud or the princess, listened in silence, ainl strove to 
 conceal her uneasiness. 
 
 ''The magistrate," resumed Madame de 8aint-Dizier, "l)egau l)y a 
 severe examination of these young girls to learn if any man liad witli 
 their knowledge been introduced into the house ; -vvith incredible etïront- 
 ery they answered that they had seen nobody enter." 
 
 " The true-hearted, honest gii'ls ! " thought Mademoiselle de Cardo- 
 ville, full of joy. " The poor woi-kman is safe ! The protection of Dr. 
 Baleinier will do the rest." 
 
 " Fortimately," continued the princess, " one of my women, Madame 
 Grivois, had accompanied me. This excellent person, remembering to 
 have seen mademoiselle retuin liome at eight o'clock in the moridng, 
 remarked with much simi)licity to the magistrate that the man whom 
 they sought might ])roba])ly have entered by the little garden gate left 
 open accidentally by mademoiselle." 
 
 " It would have been well, nuulaine," said Trijieaud, " to have caused 
 to be noted also, iu the rejjort, tliat mademoiselle had returned liome at 
 eight o'clock in the morning." 
 
 " I do not see the necessity for this," said the doctor, faithful to his 
 part ; " it would have been (piite foreign to the search carried on by the 
 commissary." 
 
 " But, doctor," said Tripeaud. 
 
 " But, bai-on," resumed M. Baleinier, in a firm voice, " that is my 
 opinion." 
 
 "It was not mine, doctor," said the princess. "Like 'M. Tripeaud, I 
 considered it important to establish the fact by an enti-y in the i-eport, 
 and I saw, by the confused and troubled countenance of the magistrate, 
 how painful it was to register the scandalous conduct of a young per- 
 son placed in so high a position in society." 
 
 " Certainly, madame," said Adi'ieiine, losing patience, " I believe your 
 modesty to be about equal to that of this candid commissary of 2>olice ; 
 but it seems to me that your niutual innocence was alai'med a little too 
 soon. You might and ought to have reflected that there was nothing 
 extraordinary in my coming home at eight o'clock, if I had gone out 
 at six." 
 
 " The excuse, though somewhat tardy, is at least cunning," said the 
 princess spitefully.
 
 TBE WAXDEEIXG JUW. 383 
 
 " I do uot excuse mj'self, madame," said Adrieune ; " but as M. Balein- 
 ier has been kind enough to speak a word in my favor, I give the pos- 
 sible interjiretation of a fact which it would uot become me to explain 
 in your presence." 
 
 " The fact will stand, however, in the report," said Tripeaud, " until 
 the explanation is given." 
 
 Abbé d'Aigi'iguy, his forehead resting on his hand, remained as if 
 a sti"anger to this scene. He was too much occupied with his fears at 
 the consequences of the approaching interview between Mademoiselle 
 de Cardoville and Marshal Simon's daughters, for there seemed no pos- 
 sibility of using force to prevent Acbienne from going out that evening. 
 Madame de Baint-Dizier went on : 
 
 " The fact which so gi'eatly scandalized the commissary is nothing 
 compared to what I yet have to tell you, gentlemen. "We had seai'ched 
 all parts of the pavilion without fintling any one, and were just about to 
 quit the bed-chambei", for we had taken this room the last, when Madame 
 Grivois pointed out to us tliat one of the golden moldings of a panel did 
 not appear to come quite home to the wall. We drew the attention of 
 the magistrate to this circumstance ; his men examined, touched, felt, 
 the panel flmv open, and then — can you guess what we discovered ? 
 But, no ! It is too odious, too revolting ; I dare not even " 
 
 " Then I dare, madame," said Adrieune resolutely, thougli she saw 
 with the utmost grief that the retreat of Agricola was discovered. " I 
 will spare your ladyship's candor the recital of this new scandal ; and 
 yet what I am a1>oi;t to say is in nowise intended as a justification." 
 
 " It requires one, however," said Madame de Sainî-Dizier, with a dis- 
 dainful smile ; " a man concealed liy you in your own liedi'oom." 
 
 " A man concealed in her liedroom !" cried the Marquis d'Aigrigny, 
 raising his head with apparent indignation, which only covered a cruel 
 
 joy- 
 
 " A man ! in the bedroom of mademoiselle ! " added Baron Tripeaud. 
 " I hope this also was inserted in the report." 
 
 " Yes, yes, bai'on," said the princess, with a triumphant air. 
 
 " But this man," said the doctor, in a hj^Docritical tone, "must have 
 been a robber ? Any other sup])ositi()n would be in the highest degi'ee 
 improbable. This explains itself." 
 
 " Your indulgence deceives you, M. Baleinier," answered the princess 
 dryly. 
 
 "We know the sort of thieves," said M. Tripeaud; "they are gener- 
 ally young men, handsome, and very rich." 
 
 " You are wi-ong, sir," resumed Madame de Saint-Dizier. " Mademoi- 
 selle does not raise her vdews so high. She proves that a dereliction
 
 384 THE WAX DERI y G JEW. 
 
 from iliity may ht.' igiioljlo as well as fiimiiial. I am no longer aston- 
 ished at the sympathy whieh was just now ])rol'essed for the lower 
 orders. It is the more touching and affecting, as the man concealed by 
 her was dressed in a Ijlouse." 
 
 " A blouse ! " cried the baron, wilh an air of cxti'c nn' disgust ; " then 
 he is one of the common people? It really makes one's haii' stand 
 on end." 
 
 " The man is a working blacksmith — he confessed it," said the prin- 
 cess ; " but, not to be unjust, he is really a good-looking fellow. It was 
 doubtless that singular worshij» which mademoLselle pays to the beauti- 
 ful " 
 
 '* Enough, madame, enough ! " said Ailricnne smldenly; for hitherto 
 disdaining to answer, she had listened to hev aunt with gi'owing ami 
 painful indignation. " I was just now on the point of defending myself 
 against one of your odious insinuations, but I will not a second time 
 descend to any such weakness. One word only, madame ; has this hon- 
 est and worthy artisan l)een arrested ? " 
 
 "To be sure — he has been arrested and taken to prison under a 
 strong escort. Does not that pierce your heart ?" sneered the princess, 
 with a triumphant air. "Your tender pity for this interesting smith 
 must indeed be very great, sin<-e it deprives you of your sarcasti<' 
 assurance." 
 
 " Yes, madame, for I have something better to do than to satiiize 
 that which is utterly odious and ridiculous," replied Adrienne, whose 
 eyes grew dim with tears at the thoiight of the cruel hurt to Agricola's 
 family. 
 
 Then, putting her liat on, and tying the sti'ings, she said to the 
 doctor : 
 
 "M. Baleinier, I asked you just now for your interest with the 
 minister." 
 
 "Yes, mademoiselle; and it will give me great i)leasure to ai-t on 
 your behalf." 
 
 " Is yom' carriage below ? " 
 
 " Yes, mademoiselle," said the doctor, much surprised. 
 
 "You will be good enough to accompany me immediately to the 
 minister's. Introduced by you, he will not refu.se me the favor, or 
 rather the act of justice, that I have to solicit." 
 
 " What, mademoiselle ! " said the princess ; " do you dare take such a 
 course without my orders after what has just passed ? It is really quite 
 unheard of." 
 
 "It confounds one," added Tripeaud; "but we must not be surprised 
 at anything."
 
 TEE WARDERING JEW. 385 
 
 The moment Adrieuuc asked the doctor if his carriage was below, 
 D'Aigriguy started. A look of intense satisfaction flashed across his 
 countenance, and he conld hardly repress the violence of his delight 
 when, darting a rapid and significant glance at the doctor, he saw the 
 latter respond to it by twice closing his eyelids in token of comprehen- 
 sion and assent. 
 
 When, therefore, the princess resumed in an angry tone, adckess- 
 ing herself to Adrienne : 
 
 " ]\Iademoisell<>, I forljid you leaving the house ! " D'Aigriguy said to 
 the speaker, witli a peculiar inflection of the voice : 
 
 " I think, your ladyship, we may trust the lady to the (Jocfor^s carc.^ 
 
 The marquis pronounced these words in so significant a man- 
 ner that the princess, having looked by turns at the physician and 
 D'Aigriguy, understood it all, and her countenance grew radiant with 
 
 joy. 
 
 Not only did this pass with extreme rapidity, but the night was 
 already almost come, so that Adrienne, absorbed in painful thoughts 
 with regard to Agricola, did not perceive the different signals exchanged 
 between the princess, the doctor, and the abl)é. Even had she done so, 
 they would have been incomprehensible to her. 
 
 Not wishing to have the appearance of yielding too readily to tlii> 
 suggestion of the marquis, Madame de Saint-Dizier resumed : 
 
 "Though the doctor seems to me to be far too indulgent to made- 
 moiselle, I might not see any great objection to trusting her with him, 
 but that I do not wish to establish such a precedent, for henceforward 
 she must have no will but mine." 
 
 " Madame," said the physician gravely, feigning to be somewhat 
 shocked by the words of the Princess de Saint-Dizier, "I do not think 
 I have been too indulgent to mademoiselle, but only just. I am at her 
 orders, to take her to the minister if she wishes it. I do not know what 
 she intends to solicit, but I believe her incapable of abusing the con- 
 fidence I repose in her, or of making me support a recommendation 
 undeserved." 
 
 Adrienne, much moved, extended lier hand cordially to the doctor 
 and said to him : 
 
 " Rest assured, my excellent friend, that you will thank nic for tlu^ 
 step I am taking, for you ■will assist in a noble action." 
 
 Trijieaud, who was not in the secret of the new plans of the doctor 
 and the abbé, in a low voice faltered to the latter, with a stiipefied aii-: 
 " What, will you let her go ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes," answered D'Aigriguy abruptly, making a sign that he 
 should listen to the princess, who was about to speak. Advancing
 
 386 THE WAX D ERIN a JEW. 
 
 toward hor nioco, she said to lier in a slow and im asuivd toue, layiujj; a 
 peculiar emi^basis ou every word : 
 
 " Ouo moment more, madenioisolU' — one last word in presence of 
 these gentlemen. Auswer me ! Notwithstanding the heavy charges 
 impending over you, are you still determined to resist my formal 
 commands f " 
 
 " Yes, madaiiir." 
 
 "Notwithstanding the seamUdous exposure which has just taken 
 place, you still persist in withdrawing yourself from my authority Î " 
 
 "Yes, madame." 
 
 "You refuse positively to submit to the regular and decent mode of 
 life which I woidd impose upon you .' '' 
 
 " I have ah-eady told you, madame, that I am about to (juit this 
 dwelling in order to live alone after my own fashion." 
 
 " Is that your linal tlecisiou .' " 
 
 " It is my last word." 
 
 " Ketlect ! The matter is serious. Beware ! " 
 
 " I have given your ladyshij) my last word, and I never speak it twice." 
 
 " Gentlemen, you hear all this .'" resumed the princess. " I have tried 
 in vain all that was possible to conciliate. Mademoiselle will have only 
 lierself to thank for the measures to which fliis audacious revolt will 
 oblige me to have recourse." 
 
 " Be it so, madame," replied Adrien iic Then addressing M. Baleinier, 
 she said quickly to him : 
 
 "Come, my dear doctor; I am dying with impatience. Let us set out 
 immediately. Every minute lost may occasion bitter tears to an honest 
 family." 
 
 So saying, Adricnne left the room precipitately with the pliysician. 
 One of the servants called for M. Baleinier's carriage. Assisted by the 
 doctor, Adrieuue mounted the step, without perceiving that he said 
 something in a low whisper to the footman that opened the coach-door. 
 Wlien, however, ho was seated by the side of Mademoiselle de Car- 
 doville, and the door was closed upon them, he waited for about a second, 
 and then called out in a loud voice to the coachman : 
 
 " To the house of the ministei-, by the private entrance ! " 
 The horses started at a gallop.
 
 PART VII 
 
 A JESUIT OF THE SHORT KOBE 
 
 CHAPTEE I 
 
 A FALSE FRIEXD 
 
 IGHT had set in dark and cold. The sky, which had 
 been clear till the snn went down, was now covered 
 with gray and lurid clouds ; a strong wind raised 
 here and thei'e, in eu-cling eddies, the snow that was 
 beginning to fall thick and fast. 
 
 The lamps threw a dubious light into the interior 
 of Dr. Baleinier's carriage, in which he was seated 
 ^'^' alone with Adi-ienne de Cardo\-ille. The charming 
 countenance of the latter, faintly illumined by the 
 lamps beneath the shade of her little gi-ay hat, 
 looked doul)ly white and pm-e in contrast with the dark lining of the 
 carriage, which was now hUed with that sweet, delicious, and almost 
 voluptuous perfume which hangs about the garments of young women 
 of taste. The attitude of the girl, seated next to the doctor, was full of 
 grace. Her slight and elegant figiu-e, imprisoned in her high-necked 
 di-ess of blue cloth, imprinted its wavy outline on the soft cushion 
 against which she leaned ; her little feet, crossed one upon the other, 
 and stretched rather forward, rested upon a thick bear-skin, which 
 carpeted the bottom of the carriage. In her hand, which was ungloved 
 and dazzlingly white, she held a magnificently embroidered handkerchief, 
 with which, to the gi-eat astonishment of M. Baleinier, she dried her 
 eyes, now filled with tears. 
 
 387
 
 388 /'///' W AXBERfMi .//•;»'. 
 
 Yes; Adiicimo uow tVlt the riuvction from llio i)aiiifiil sociios through 
 which she had passed at tlu> Hotel Sahit-Dizier; to tlie feverish and 
 iH'i-vous excitement which had till then sustaincil lier had succeeded a 
 soiTowful dejection. Resolute in her iudependence, proud in her dis- 
 dain, inii>lacal)le in her irouy, audaeioiis in her resistance to iinjust 
 oppi-ession, Adrieune was yet endowed with acute sensibility, which she 
 always concealed, however, in the presence of her aunt and those who 
 surrounded her. 
 
 Xotwithstandiiifi: her courage, no one could have been less mascu- 
 line, less of a virago, than Mademoiselle de Cardoville. She was essen- 
 tially womanly, l)ut as a woman sh(> knew how to exercise great empire 
 ovei' herself the moment that the least mark of weakness on her part 
 would have rejoiced or emboldened her enemies. 
 
 The carriage had rolled onward for some minutes ; but Adrienne, 
 drying her tears in silence, to the doctor's great astonishment, lia<l not 
 yet uttered a word. 
 
 " What, my dear Mademoiselle Adrienne ? " said M. Baleinier, truly 
 surjirised at her emotion; "what ! You, that wer(> just now so cour- 
 ageous, weeping t " 
 
 " Yes," answered Adrienne, in an agitated voice; " I weep in presence 
 of a friend ; but before my aunt — oh ! never." 
 
 "And yet, in that long interview, your stinging replies " 
 
 " Ah me ! do you tlunk that I resigned myself with pleasure to that 
 war of sarcasm ? Nothing is more painful to me than such combats of 
 bitter irony, to whi<-h I am forced liy the necessity of defending myself 
 from this woman and her frii'uds. You speak of my courage; it does 
 not consist, I assure you, in the display of bad feelings, but in the power 
 to repress and hide all that I suffei- when I hear myself treated so 
 rudely — in the presence, too, of peoi)le that I hate and despise — when, 
 after all, I have never done them any harm, and have only asked to be 
 allowed to live alone, freely and (juietly, and see tliose about me happy." 
 
 " That's where it is; they envy yoiu' happiness, and that which you 
 bestow upon others." 
 
 "And it is my aunt," cried Adrienne, wilh indignation, " my aunt, 
 whose whole life has been one long scandal, that accuses me in this 
 revolting manner ! — as if she did not know that I am proud and honest 
 enough never to make a choice of which I should be ashamed ! Oh ! if 
 I ever love I shall proclaim it, I shall be proud of it; for love, as I 
 understand it, is the most glorious feeling in the world. But, alas ! " 
 continued Adrienne, with redoubled bitterness, "of what use are truth 
 and honor if they do not seciu'e you from suspicions which are as 
 absm-d as they are odious ! "
 
 THE WAXDERIXO JEW. 
 
 389 
 
 So saying, she again pressed her haudkerchief to her eyes. 
 " Come, my dear Mademoiselle Adrieuue," said M. Baleinier, in a 
 
 voice full of the softest unction, " be calm — it is aU over now. Yon 
 have in me a devoted friend." 
 
 As he pronounced these last words he blushed, in spite of his diabol- 
 ical craft.
 
 300 TUE WAXDERTXa JE^y. 
 
 " I know you are my friend," said Advienne ; " I sliall never for- 
 pot that })y takiiij; my part to-day you ox])osod yonrsolf to the resent- 
 ment of my aunt; for 1 am not ignorant of lier power, which is very 
 great, alas ! for evil." 
 
 " As for that," said the doctor, affecting a profound indifference," we 
 medical men are pretty safe from personal enuiities." 
 
 " Nay, my dear M. Baleinier, Madame de Saint-Dizier and hi'i' liicnds 
 never forgive," said the young girl, with a shudder. " It needed all my 
 invincible aversion, my innate horror for all that is ])ase, cowardly, and 
 licrfidious, to induce me to break so openly witli her. But if ilcath 
 itself were the penalty, I could not hesitate ; and yet," she atlded, with 
 one of those graceful smiles which gave such a charm to her beautiful 
 countenance, " yet I am fond of life. If I have to reproach myself with 
 anything, it is that I would have it too bright, too fair, too harmonious; 
 l)ut then, you know, I am resigned to my faults." 
 
 " Well, come ; I am less anxious," said the doctor gayly, " for you 
 smile ; that is a good sign." 
 
 " It is often the -nisest course; and yet, ought I smile after the threats 
 that my aunt has held out to nic ? Sfill, what can she do ? what is the 
 meaning of this kind of family council .' Did she seriously think that 
 the advice of a M. d'Aigrigny or a M. Tripeaud could influence mo ? 
 And then she talked of rigorous measures. "Wliat measures can she 
 take ; do you know ? " 
 
 " I think, between ourselves, that the princess only wished to frighten 
 you, and hopes to succeed by persuasion. She has the misfortune to 
 fancy herself a mother of the Chui'ch, and dreams of your conversion," 
 said the doctor maliciouslj', for he now wished to traiKjuilize Adrienne 
 at any cost ; " but let us think no more about it. Your fine eyes must 
 shine with all their luster, to fascinate the minister that we are going 
 to see." 
 
 " You are right, dear doctor; we ought always avoid grief, for it has 
 the disadvantage of making us forget the sori'ows of others. But here 
 am I, availing myself of your kindness without even telling you what 
 I require." 
 
 " Luckily we shall have plenty of time to talk over it, for our states- 
 man lives at some distance." 
 
 " In two words, here lies the mystery," answered Adi-ienne. " I told 
 you what reasons I had to interest myself in that honest workman. This 
 morning he came to me in gi'eat gi'ief to inform me Ihat he was com- 
 ]>i'omised by some songs he had written (for he is a poet), and that, 
 though innocent, he was threatened with an arrest, and if they put him 
 into prison his family, whose sole support he is, would die of hunger.
 
 THE }yAKDI]EIXG JEW. 391 
 
 Therefore he came to beg me to i^rocure }»ail for him, so that lie miglit 
 be left at liberty to work. I promised immeiliately, thinking of your 
 intei'est with the minister ; and, as they were already in piu'suit of him, 
 I chose to conceal him in my residence ; and you know how my aunt has 
 misinterpreted that action. Now tell me — do you think that by means 
 of your recommendation the minister will grant me the freedom of this 
 workman, bail being given for the same ? " 
 
 " Xo doubt of it. There will not be the shadow of a difficulty — 
 especially when you have explained the facts to him with that eloquence 
 of the heart which you possess in perfection." 
 
 " Do you know, my dear Dr. Baleinier, why I have taken the resolu- 
 tion (which is jjerhaps a strange one) to ask you to accompany me to 
 the minister's ? " 
 
 " Wliy, doubtless, to recommend your friend in a more effective 
 manner." 
 
 " Yes — but also to put an end, by a decisive step, to the calumnies 
 which my aunt will be sure to spread with regard to me, and which she 
 has akeady, you know, had inserted in the report of the commissary of 
 police. I have preferred to address myself at once, frankly and openly, 
 to a man placed in a high social position. I will explain all to him, who 
 will believe me, because truth has an accent of its own," 
 
 " All this, my dear Mademoiselle Adrienne, is wisely i:)lanned. You 
 will, as the proverb says, kill two birds with one stone — or I'ather, you 
 will effect by one act of kindness two acts of justice : you will destroy 
 a dangerous calumny and restore a worthy youth to liberty." 
 
 " Come," said Adrienne, laughing, " thanks to this pleasing prospect, 
 my light heart has returned." 
 
 " How true tnat in life," said the doctor philosophically, " everything 
 depends on the point of view." 
 
 Adi'ienne was so completely ignorant of the forms of a constitu- 
 tional government and had so blind a confidence in the doctor that she 
 did not doubt for au instant what he told her. She therefore resumed, 
 with joy : 
 
 " What happiness it will be, when I go to fetch the daughters of Mar- 
 shal Simon, to be able to console this workman's mother, who is now 
 perhaps in a state of cruel anxiety at not seeing her son return home ! " 
 
 " Yes, you will have this pleasiire," said M. Baleinier, with a smile, " for 
 we ■n'ill solicit to such purpose that the good mother will learn from you 
 the release of her son before she even knows that he has been arrested." 
 
 " How kind, how obliging you are ! " said Adrienne. " Really, if the 
 motive were not so serious I should ])e ashamed of making you lose so 
 much precious time, my dear M. Baleinier. But I know your heart."
 
 ;W2 Til />' H . 1 .\ /> /; /.' / .V (/ ./ /!-' n'. 
 
 " I have no othor wish than to prove to you my jn'ofoinul devotion, 
 ray sincere attaehniciit, " said the iloetor, inhaling a piiicli of snnfF. 
 
 lîut at the same time lie cast an imeasy glance througii tlic window, 
 for the carriage was just crossing the Place ile rOdron, and in spite of 
 the snow he could see the front of the Odéon Théâtre l)rilliantly iUuini- 
 nated. Now AcMenne, who had just turned her head toward that side, 
 might perhaps be astonished at the singular road they were taking. 
 
 In order to draw oft" her attention by a skillful diversion, tlie doctor 
 exclaimed suddenly : 
 
 " Bless me ! I had almost forgotten." 
 
 "What is the matter, I\r. Baleinier ? " said Adrienne, turning hastily 
 towartl him. 
 
 " I had forgotten a thing of the highest importance in regard to the 
 success of our petition.'' 
 
 "What is it, please ?" asked the young girl anxiously. 
 M. lîaleinier gave a cunning smile. 
 
 " Every man," said he, " has his weakness — ministers even more 
 than others. The one we are going to visit has the folly to attach the 
 utmost importance to his title, and the first impression would be unfav- 
 orable if you did not lay great stress on the Minister." 
 
 " Is that all, my dear M. Baleinier f " said Adi-ienne, smiling in her 
 turn. "I will even go as far as ' Your Excellency,' which is, I Ix'liove, 
 one of his adopted titles." 
 
 " Not now — liut tliat is no niattei- ; if you could even slide in a ' My 
 Lord' or two, our l)usiness would l)e done at once." 
 
 " Be satisfied ! Since there are upstart ministers as well as bourgeois 
 gentlemen, I wiU remember M. Jourdain, and feed full the gluttonous 
 vanity of your friend." 
 
 " I give him up to you, for I know he will ])e in good hands," replied 
 the physician, who rejoiced to see that the carriagt' had now entered 
 those dai-k streets which lead from the Place de l'Odéon to the Pan- 
 theon district. " I do not wish to find fault with the ministei- for being 
 proud, since his pride may be of service to us on this occasion." 
 
 " These petty devices are innocent enough," said Mademoiselle de Car- 
 doville, " and I confess that I do not scruple to have recourse to them." 
 Then, leaning toward the door-sash, she added : 
 
 "Gracious! how sad and dark are these* streets. What wind! what 
 snow ! In which quarter are we ! " 
 
 " What ! Are you so ungi-ateful that you do not recognize, by the 
 absence of shops, your dear (piarter of the Faubourg Saint-Germain ? " 
 
 " I imagined we had quitted it long ago." 
 
 " I thought so too," said the physician, leaning forward as if to ascer-
 
 HIE WAX JJE RING JEW. 393 
 
 tain whore they were, "but we are still there. My poor coachman, 
 blinded by the snow, which is beating against his face, must have gone 
 wrong just now ; but we are all right again. Yes, I perceive we are in 
 the Rue Saiut-Giiillaume — not the gayest of streets by the way ; but 
 in ten minutes we shall arrive at the minister's private entrance, for 
 intimate friends like myself enjoy the pri^dlege of escaping the honors 
 of a gi'and reception." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Cardo\'ill(', like most carriage people, was so little 
 a('quaiut('d ^\-ith certain sti'cets of Paris, as well as wdth the customs of 
 men in office, that she did not doubt for a moment the statements of 
 Dr. Baleinier, in whom she r(']K)sed the utmost confidence. 
 
 When they left the Hotel Saint-Dizier the doctor had upon his lips 
 a question which he hesitated to put, for fear of endangering himself in 
 the eyes of Adrienne. The latter had spoken of important interests, 
 the existence of which had been concealed from her. The doctor, who 
 was an acute and skillful oljsei'ver, had quite clearly remarked the 
 embarrassment and anxiety of the princess and D'Aigi"igny. He no 
 longer doubted that the plot directed against Ach-ienne — one in which 
 he was the blind agent, in submission to the will of the Order — related 
 to interests which had been concealed from him, and which for that very 
 reason he burned to discover ; for every member of the dark conspiracy 
 to which he belonged had necessarily acquired the odious \ices inherent 
 t(j si)ies un<l informers — envy, sus})icion, and jealous curiosity. 
 
 It is easy to understand, therefore, that Dr. Baleinier, though quite 
 determined to serve the i^rojects of D'Aigrigny, was yet very anxious to 
 learn what had been k^pt from him. Conquering his irresolution, and 
 finding the opportunity favorable and no time to be lost, he said to 
 Adrienne after a moment's silence : 
 
 " I am going perhaps to ask you a very indiscreet question. If you 
 think it such, pray <lo not answer." 
 
 "Nay — go on, I entreat you." 
 
 "Just now — a few minutes before the arrival of the commissary of 
 police was announced to your aunt — you sj^oke, I think, of some great 
 interests which had hitherto been concealed from you." 
 
 " Yes, I did so." 
 
 " These words," continued M. Baleinier, speaking slowly and enqiliati- 
 cally, " appeared to make a dt'<'p inqji-essiou on the princess." 
 
 " An impression so deep," said Adrienne, " that sundry suspicions of 
 mine were changed to certainty." 
 
 " I need not tell you, my charming friend," resumed M. Baleinier, in 
 a bland tone, " that if I remind you of this cii-cumstance it is only to 
 oflfer you my services in case they should be required. If not, and there
 
 3S»4 TUE ]VAy DERIM! JEW. 
 
 is the shadow of impi-opricty in lettiiiix iin- know more, forf^ot tliat T 
 have said a word." 
 
 Adrienne Ix'carae serious and pensive, and after a silence of some 
 niomi'iits she thus answered Dr. Balt'iiiicr : 
 
 "On this sul)jeet there are some things that 1 do not know, others 
 that I may tell you, others again that I must keej) from you ; but you 
 are so kind to-day that I am happy to be able to give you a new mark 
 of eonfidonce." 
 
 "Then I wish to know notliiui;'," said llic doclor, witli an air of 
 humble deprecation, "for 1 sliould have tlic appearance of accepting a 
 kind of reward ; wliile, 1 am paid a t liousand times over by the pleasure 
 I feel in serving you." 
 
 " Listen," said Adrienue, without attending to the delicate scruples of 
 Dr. Baleinier ; " I have powerful reasons for believing that an immense 
 inheritance must at no very distant period be divi<led between the 
 members of mj' family, all of whom I do not know, for after the 
 Revocation of the Edict of Nantes the ancestors from whom "we are 
 descended were dispersed in foreign countries and exjjerienced a gi'oat 
 variety of fortunes." 
 
 " Really ! " cried the doctor, becoming extremely interested. " Where 
 is this inheritance — in whose hands?" 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 " Now, how will you assert your rights?" 
 
 " That I shall learn soon." 
 
 " Who will inform you of it ? " 
 
 " Tluxt I may not tell you." * 
 
 " But how did you find out the existence of this inheritance?" 
 
 " That also I may not tell you," retin-ned Adrieime in a soft and mel- 
 ancholy tone, which remarkaVjly contrasted with the habitual ^^vacity 
 of her conversation. "It is a secret — a strange secret; and in those 
 moments of excitement in which you have sometimes surprised me, I 
 have been thinking of extraordinary circumstances connected ^\•ith this 
 secret which awakened within me lofty and magnificent ideas." 
 
 Adrienne i)auscd and was silent, absorbed in her own reflections. 
 Baleinier did not seek to disturb her. In the first place. Mademoiselle 
 de ("ardo ville did not iierceive tlie direction the coach was taking; sec- 
 ondly, the doctor was not sorry to ponder over what he had just heard. 
 Witli Ids usual perspicuity, he saw that the Abbé d'Aigrigny was con- 
 cerned in this inheritance, and he resolved instantly to make a secret 
 report on the subject. Either M. d'Aigi'igny was acting under the 
 instructions of the Order or by his own impulse. In the one event,
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 395 
 
 the report of the doctor would oonfirm a fact ; in the other, it woiild 
 reveal one. 
 
 For some time, therefore, the lady and Dr. Baleinier remained per- 
 fectly silent, uo longer even disturbed by the noise of the wheels, for 
 the carriage now rolled over a thick carpet of snow, and the streets had 
 become more and more deserted. Notwithstanding his crafty treachery, 
 notwithstanding his audacity and the blindness of his dupe, the doctor 
 was not quite tranquil as to the result of his plans. The ci-itical moment 
 approached, and the least suspicion i-ouscd in the mind of Adi'ienne by 
 any inadvertence on his part might ruin all his projects. 
 
 Adrienne, already fatigued by the painful emotions of the day, 
 shuddered from, time to time, as the cold became more and more pierc- 
 ing ; in her haste to accomi^any Dr. Baleinier, she had neglected to take 
 either shawl or mantle. 
 
 For some minutes the coach had followed the line of a very high 
 waU, which, seen through the snow, looked white against a black sky. 
 The silence was deep and mom-nful. Suddenly the carriage stopped, 
 and the footman went to knock at a large gateway ; he first gave two 
 rapid knocks, and then one other at a long interval. Adrienne did not 
 notice the circumstance, for the noise was not loud, and the doctor had 
 immediately begun to speak, to drown with his voice this species of 
 signal. 
 
 " Here we are at last," said he gayly to Adrienne ; " you must be very 
 winning — that is, you must be yom-self." 
 
 " Be sure I will do my best," rejjlied Adrienne, with a smile ; then she 
 added, shivering in spite of herself : " How cbeadfully cold it is ! I 
 must confess, my dear Dr. Baleinier, that when I have brought my poor 
 little relations from the house of our workman's mother, I shall be truly 
 glad to find myself once more in the warmth and light of my own 
 cheerful rooms, for you know my aversion to cold and darkness." 
 
 " It is quite natui'al," said the doctor gallantly ; " the most charming 
 flowers require the most light and heat." 
 
 While the doctor and Mademoiselle de Cardoville exchanged these 
 few words, a hea\^ gate had turned creakiug upon its hinges, and the 
 carriage had entered a com-t-yard. 
 
 The physician got down first, to offer his arm to Adrienne.
 
 CHAPTEK II 
 
 THE MINISTEll'S CAHIXET 
 
 HE eamap:e had stopped before some steps covered willi 
 suow, ■which k'd to a vestibule lighted l)y a lainp. The bet- 
 ter to ascend the steps, which were .soiuevvhat slippery, 
 Adrienue leaned upon the doctor's arm. 
 '• Dear nie ! how you tremble," said he. 
 
 "Yes," replied she, shuddering, "I feel deadly culd. In my liaste I 
 came out without a shawl. But how gloomy this house ai)pears ! " she 
 added, ]")intin,i;' to the entrance. 
 
 "It is wlnit you call the minister's private house, the sdiicfidu siuic- 
 tontni, whither our statesman retires far from the sound of the profane," 
 said Dr. Baleinier, with a smile. 
 
 " Pray come in ! " Ami he pushed ()]icn the door of a lai'ge hall, com- 
 pletely empty. 
 
 " They are right in saying," resumed Dr. Baleinier, who covered his 
 secret agitation with an appearance of gayety, " that a minister's house 
 is like nobody else's. Not a footman — not a page, I shoidd .say — to be 
 found in the antechand)er. Luckily," added he, oiieuing the door of a 
 room which communicated with the vestibide, 
 
 " ' lu this sonig'lio reared, I know the secret ways.' " 
 
 Mademoiselle de Cardoville was now introduced into an ai>artment 
 Imng with green embossed paper, and very simi)ly furnished with 
 mahogany chairs, covered with yellow velvet; the floor was carefully 
 polislu;d, and a globe lamp, which gave at most a third of its proper 
 light, was suspended at a much gi-eater height than usual from the ceil- 
 ing. Finding the appearance of this habitation singularly plain for the 
 dwelling of a minister, Adrienm^, though slie had no suspicion, could 
 not suppress a movement of surjjrise, and paused a moment on the 
 threshold of the door. M. Baleinier, by wliosc arm she held, guessed 
 the cause of her astonishment, and said to her with a smile:
 
 THE WAX DE RING .TE^Y. 
 
 397 
 
 " This place api3ears to you very paltry for ' his excelleuey/ does it 
 not ? If you knew what a thing constitutional economy is ! — More- 
 over, you wUl see a ' my lord ' who has almost as little pretension as 
 
 his furnitui'e. But please to wait for me an instant ; I will go and 
 inform the minister you are here, and retiu'n immediately." 
 
 Gently disengaging himself from the grasp of Adi'ienne, who had
 
 398 THE VTANDERING JEW. 
 
 involuntarily pressed close to him, tho physician opened a small side- 
 door, by which he instantly disappeared. 
 
 Advienne de Cardovillf was left alone. 
 
 Tliongh slie could not luive explained the cause of her impression, 
 there was something fear-inspiring to the young lady in this large, cold, 
 naked, curtaiidess I'oom ; and as, by degrees, she noticed certain pecul- 
 iarities in th(^ furniture, wliich slic had not at first perceived, she was 
 seized with an indeiinalile feeling of uneasiness. 
 
 Approaching the cheerless hearth, she perceived witli surprise that 
 an iron grating completely inclosed the opening of tlie i-liimney, and 
 that the tongs and shovel were fastened with iron chains. Already 
 astonished liy this singularity, she was about mechanically to draw 
 toward her an arm-chair placed against tho wall, when she found that 
 it remained motionless. She then discovered that the back of this piece 
 of furniture, as well as that of all tlu? other chaii's, was fastened to the 
 wainscoting by iron clamps. Unable to repress a smile, she exclaimed : 
 " Have they so WUlc contidenee in the statesnnin in whose house I 
 am, that they are oldiged to fasten the fvu-niture to tho walls ? " 
 
 Adi'ienne had recom-se to this somewhat forced pleasantry, as a 
 kind of effort to resist the painful feeling of apprehension that was 
 gradually creeping over her; for the most profound and mournful 
 silence reigned in this habitation, where nothing indicated the life, the 
 movement, and the activity which usually surround a gi-t>at center of 
 business. Only, from tiiui; to time, the young lady heard the violent 
 gusts of wind from without. 
 
 More than a quarter of an hour had elapsed, and M. Baleinier did 
 not return. In her impatient anxiety, Adrienne wished to call some one 
 to inquire about the doctor and the minister. She raised her eyes to 
 look for a bell-rope by the side of the chimney-glass; she found none, 
 but she perceived that what she had hitherto taken for a glass, thanks to 
 the half oliscurity of the room, was in reality a large sheet of shining 
 tin. Drawing nearer to it, siie accidentally touched a bronze eandle- 
 stick; and this, as well as a clock, was fixed to the marble chimney-piece. 
 
 In certain dispositions of mind, the most insignificant circumstances 
 often assume terrific pro^iortions. This immovaljh? candlestick, this 
 furniture fastened to the wainscot, this glass replaced by a tin sheet, 
 this profound silence, and the prolonged absence of M. Baleinier hatl 
 such an effect upon Adrienne that she was struck with a vague terror. 
 Yet such was her unplicit confidence in the doctor that she reproached 
 herself with her own fears, persuading herself that the causes of them 
 were after all of no real importance, and that it was unreasonable to 
 feel uneasv at such trifles.
 
 THE WAXDERING JEW. 399 
 
 Still, though she thus strove to regain courage, her anxiety induced 
 her to do what otherwise she would never have attempted,— she 
 approached the little door by whicli the doctor had disappeared, and 
 applied her ear to it; she held her breath and listened, but heard 
 nothing. 
 
 Suddenly a dull, heavy soun<l like that of a falling body was audil)le 
 just above her head ; she thought she could even distinguish a stifled 
 moaning. Eaisiug her eyes hastily, she saw some particles of the plas- 
 ter fall from the ceiling, loosened, no doubt, by the shaking of the floor 
 above. 
 
 No longer able to resist the feeling of ten-or, Adrienne ran to the 
 door by which she had entered with the doctor, in order to call some 
 one. To her gi-eat surprise she found it was fastened on the outside. 
 Yet, since her arrival, she had heard no sound of a key tm-ning in the 
 lock. 
 
 More and more alarmed, the young girl flew to the little door by 
 which the physician had disappeared, and at which she had just been 
 Ustening. This door also was fastened on the outside. 
 
 StiU wishing to struggle with the terror which was invincibly mas- 
 tering her, Adiienne called to her aid all the fli-mness of her character, 
 and tried to argTie away her fears. 
 
 " I must have been deceived," she said ; " it was only a fall that I 
 heard. The moaning had no existence, except in my imagination. 
 There are a thousand reasons for beheving that it was not a person 
 who fell down. But, then, these locked doors ? They, perhaps, do not 
 know that I am here ; they may have thought that there was nobody 
 in this room." 
 
 As she uttered these words, Ackienne looked roimd with anxiety ; 
 then she added, in a firm voice : 
 
 " No weakness ! it is useless to try to blind myself to my real situa- 
 tion. On the contrary, I must look it well in the face. It is evident 
 that I am not here at a minister's house ; no end of reasons prove it 
 beyond a doubt ; M. Baleinier has therefore deceived me. But for what 
 end I Why has he brought me hither ? Where am I ? " 
 
 The last two questions appeared to Adrienne both equally insoluble. 
 It only remained clear that she was the victim of M. Baleinier's perfidy. 
 But this certainly seemed so horrible to the young girl's truthful and 
 generous soul that she still trit'd to combat the idea by the recollection 
 of the confiding friendship which she had always shown this man. She 
 said to herself, with bitterness : 
 
 " See how weakness and fear may lead one to unjust and odious 
 suspicions ! Yes ; for until the last extremity, it is not justifiable to
 
 400 THi: W A XDERIXd .1 1'AV. 
 
 believe in so iiit'enial ii deceittioii — irinl then only upon the clearest 
 evidence. I will rail some one; it is the only way of coni|il('tcly satis- 
 fyiniï these doubts." Then, reiueuiberiug that there was no bell, she 
 added: "No matter; I will knock, and some one will doubtless 
 answer." 
 
 With her little, delicate hand Adrienne struck tlie door several 
 times. 
 
 The dull, heavy sound which came from tlic door showed that it 
 was very thick. No answer was returned to the young girl. She lan 
 to the other door. There was the same appeal on her part, the same 
 profound silence without — only interrupted from time to time by the 
 howling of the wind. 
 
 " I am not more timid than other people," said Adrienne, shudder- 
 ing: " I do not know if it is the excessive cold, but I tr(>mble in s]iite 
 of myself. I endeavor to guard against all weakness; yet I think tliat 
 any one in my position would find all this very strange and frightful." 
 
 At this instant loud cries, or rather savage and dreadful howlings, 
 burst furiously from the room just above, and soon after a sort of 
 stamping of feet, like the noise of a violent struggle, shook the ceiling 
 of the apartment. Struck with consternation, Adrienne uttered a loud 
 cry of terror, became deadly pale, stood for a moment motionless with 
 aiïright, and then rushed to one of the windows and abruptly threw it 
 open. 
 
 A violent gust of wind, mixed with melted snow, beat against 
 Adrienne's face, swept roughly into the room, and soon extinguished 
 the flickering and smoky light of the lamp. Thus, plunged in profound 
 darkness, with her hands clinging to the bars that were placed across the 
 window, ]\[udemoiselle de Cardovillo yielded at length to the full influ- 
 ence of her fears, so long restrained, and was about to call tdoud for 
 liclli, when an unexpected apparition rendered her for some minutes 
 absolutely dumb with terror. 
 
 Another wing of the building, opposite to that in which she was, 
 stood at no gi'eat distance. Thi-ough the midst of the l)lack darkness, 
 which filled the space between, one large, lighted window was distinctly 
 visible. Through the curtainless ])anes, Adrieinie perceived a white 
 figm-e, gaunt and ghastly, dragging after it a sort of shroud, and pass- 
 ing and repassing continually before the window, with an abrupt and 
 restless motion. Her eyes fixed upon this wdndow, shining through the 
 darkness, Adrienne remained as if fascinated by that fatal ^^sion; and, 
 as the spectacle filled Tip the measure of her fears, she called for help 
 with all her might, without quitting the bars of the window to which 
 she clung. After a few seconds, while she was thus crying out, two
 
 THE WAKDERIXG JEW. 401 
 
 tall womeu entered the room in silence, unpereeived by Mademoiselle 
 de CardoviUe, who was stiU clinging to the window. 
 
 These women, of about forty to fifty years of age, robust and mas- 
 culine, were negligently and shabbily dressed, like chambermaids of the 
 lower sort ; over theh- clothes they wore large aprons of blue cotton, 
 cut sloping from their necks, and reaching down to their feet. One of 
 them, who held a lamp in her hand, had a broad, red, shining face, a 
 large pimpled nose, small green eyes, and tow hair, which straggled, 
 rough and shaggj^, from beneath her dii'ty white cap ; the other, sallow, 
 withered, and bony, wore a mourning-cap over a parchment visage, 
 pitted with the small-pox, and rendered still more repulsive by thick 
 black eyeln-ows, and some long gi-ay hairs that overshadowed the upper 
 hp. This woman carried, half unfolded in her hand, a garment of 
 strange form, made of thick gray stuff. 
 
 They both entered silently Ijy the little door, at the moment when 
 Adrienne, in the excess of her terror, was grasping the bars of the 
 window, and crpng out : " Help ! help ! " 
 
 Pointing out the young lady to each other, one of them went to 
 place the lamp on the chimney-piece, while the other, who wore the 
 mourning-cap, approached the window and laid her great bony hand 
 upon Mademoiselle de Cai'dovillc's shoulder. 
 
 Turning round, Adiienue uttered a new cry of terror at the sight of 
 this gi-im figiu-e. Then, the first moment of stupor over, she began to 
 feel less afraid; hideous as was this woman, it was at least some one to 
 speak to ; she exclaimed, therefore, in an agitated voice : 
 " Where is M. Baleinier I " 
 
 The two women look at each other, exchanged a leer of mutual intel- 
 ligence, but did not answer. 
 
 " I ask you, madame," resumed Adrienne, " where is M. Baleinier, 
 who brought me hither f I wish to see him instantly." 
 " He is gone," said the big woman. 
 
 "Gone!" cried Adrienne; "gone without me! — Gracious heaven! 
 what can be the meaning of all this ? " 
 
 Then after a moment's reflection, she resumed : " Please to fetch me 
 a coach." 
 
 The two women looked at each other and shrugged then- shoulders. 
 " I entreat you, madame," continued Adiienne, with forced calmness 
 in her voice, "to fetch me a coach — since M. Baleinier is gone without 
 me. I wish to leave this place." 
 
 " Come, come, madame," said the tall woman, who was called " Tom- 
 boy," without appearing to listen to what Adrienne asked, ' it is time 
 for you to go to bed."
 
 402 THE WAND ERIN O JEW. 
 
 " To g,o tu IkmI ! " fried Mademoiselle de ( 'ardoville, iu alarm. " This is 
 really enough to drive oue mad." Then addressing the two women, she 
 adde<l : 
 
 " What is this liouse ? where am I Î answer ! " 
 
 " You are in a house," said Tomboy, in a rough voice, " where you 
 must not make a row from the window, as you did just now." 
 
 "And where you must not jiut out the lamp as you have done," added 
 the other woman, who was called (Jervaise, " or else we shall have a 
 crow to pick with you." 
 
 Adrienne, unable to utter a word, and ti'em1)ling with fear, looked 
 in a kind of stupor from one to the other of these horrible women ; her 
 reason strove in vain to comprehend what was passing around her. 
 (Suddenly she thought she had guessed it, and exclaimed : 
 
 " I sei' there is a mistake here. I do not iind(>rstand how, but there 
 is a mistake. You take me for some one else. Do you know who 1 am Ï 
 My name is Adrienne de Cardoville ! You see, therefore, that I am at 
 liberty to leave this house ; no one in the world has the riglit to detain 
 me. I command you, then, to fetch me a coach immediately. If there 
 are none in this (puirter, let me have some oue to accompany me home 
 to the Rue de Babylone, Hotel Saint-Dizier. I will reward such a per- 
 son liberally, and you also." 
 
 " AVell, have you tinisiicd Î " said Tomboy. " What is the use of tell- 
 ing us all this rubbish ? " 
 
 " Take care," resumed Adrienne, who wished to try every means ; " if 
 yoii detain me here l)y force, it will ])e very serious. You do not know 
 to what you expose yourselves." 
 
 " Will you come to bed ; yes or no ? " said Gervaise, in a tone of harsh 
 imjiatience. 
 
 "Listen to me, madame," resumed Ailrienne precipitately; "let me 
 out of this place, and I wiU give each of you two thousand francs. Is it 
 not enough ? I will give you ten — twenty — whatever you ask. I am 
 rich — only let me out — for Heaven's sake, let me out! — I caniK^t 
 remain here — I am afraid." As she said this, the tone of the poor girl's 
 voice was heai-t-rending. 
 
 " Twenty thousand francs ! — that's the usual figure, ain't it. Tommy?" 
 
 " Let her be, Gervaise ! they all sing the same song." 
 
 " Well, then ! since reasons, prayers, and menaces are all iu vain," 
 said Adrienne, gatheiing energy from her desperate i^osition, " I declare 
 to you that I will go out, and that instantly. We will see if you are 
 bold enough to employ force against me." 
 
 So sajnng, Adrienne advanced resolutely toward the door. But, at 
 this moment, the wild, lioai-se cries, which ])ad preceded the noise of the
 
 THE WAXDERING JEW. 403 
 
 struggle that had so frightened her, again resounded ; only, this time, 
 they were not accompanied by the movement of feet. 
 
 " Oh ! what screams ! " said Adrienne, stopping short, and in her ter- 
 ror drawing nigh to the two women. " Do you not hear those cries ? 
 What, then, is this house, in which one hears such things ! And over 
 there, too," added she, almost beside herself, as she pointed to the other 
 wing, where the lighted window shone through the darkness, and the 
 white figm-e continued to pass and repass before it ; " over there ! do 
 you see ? What is it ? » 
 
 " Oh ! that one," said Tomboy ; " one of the folks who, like you, have 
 not behaved well." 
 
 " Wliat do you say ! " cried Mademoiselle de Cardoville, clasping her 
 hands in terror. " Heavens ! what is this house ? Wliat do they do to 
 them ? " 
 
 " What will be done to you, if you are naughty, and refuse to come to 
 bed," answered Gervaise. 
 
 " They put this on them," said Tomboy, showing the garment that 
 she had held under her arm ; " tliey claj? them into the strait-waist- 
 coat." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Adrienne, hiding her hands in her face with hoiTor. A 
 terrible discovery had flashed suddenly upon her. 
 She understood it all. 
 
 As a climax to the violent emotions of the day, the effect of this last 
 blow was dreadful. The young girl felt her strength give way. Her 
 hands fell powerless, her face became fearfully pale, all her limbs trem- 
 bled, and sinking upon her knees, and casting a terrified glance at the 
 strait-waistcoat, she was just able to falter in a feeble voice : 
 
 "Oh, no — not that — for pity's sake, madame. I will do — whatever 
 you wish." And, her strength quite failing, she would have fallen upon 
 the ground if the two women had not run toward her, and received her 
 fainting into their ai-ms. 
 
 " A fainting fit," said Tomboy; " that's not dangerous. Let us carry 
 her to bed. We can undress her, and this will be all nothing." 
 
 " Carry her, then," said Gervaise. " I will take the lamp." 
 The tall and robust Tomboy took up Mademoiselle de Cardoville as 
 if she had been a sleeping child, carried her in her arms, and followed 
 her companion into the chamber throi;gh which M. Baleinier had made 
 his exit. 
 
 This chamber, though perfectly clean, was cold and bare. A gi-een- 
 ish paper covered the walls, and a low, little iron bedstead, the head of 
 which formed a kind of shelf, stood in one corner ; a stove, fixed in the 
 chimney-place, was sun-ounded by an iron gi-ating, which forbade a near
 
 404 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 
 
 approach ; a table fastoiiocl to the wall, a chair i)lact'(l before this table, 
 and also clamped to the floor, a mahogany chest of drawers, aud a rush- 
 bottomed ai-m-chah- completed the scanty furniture. The curtainless 
 window was furnished on the inside with an iron gi-ating, which served 
 to i)rotect the jiaues from being broken. 
 
 It was into this gloomy retreat, which formed so painful a contrast 
 with the charmijig little summer-house in the Rue de Babylone, that 
 Adrienne was carried l)y Tomboy, who, with the assistance of Gervaise, 
 placed the inanimate form on the bed. The lamp was deposited on the 
 shelf at the head of the couch. "While one of the nui-ses held her up, the 
 othci- unfastened and look off the cloth dress of the yt>ung girl, whose 
 head drooped languidly on her bosom. Though in a swoon, large tears 
 trickled slowly from her closed eyes, whose long black lashes threw 
 their shadows on the transparent whiteness of her cheeks. Over her 
 neck and breast of ivory flowed the golden waves of her magnificent 
 hair, which had come down at the time of her fall. "Wlien, as they 
 unlaced her satin corset, less soft, less fresh, less white than the \-irgiii 
 form beneath, which lay like a statue of alabaster in its covering of lace 
 and lawn, one oï the horrilile hags felt the arms and shoulders of the 
 young girl with her large, red, horny and chai)ped hands, though she 
 did not comi>letely recover the use of her senses, she stai'ted involuntarily 
 from the rude and brutal touch. 
 
 " Hasn't she little feet f " said the nurse, who, kneeUng down, was 
 employed in drawing off Adrienne's stockings. " I coiUd hold them 
 both in the hollow of my hand." In fact, a small, rosy foot, smooth as 
 a child's, here and there veined with azure, was soon exposed to view, 
 as was also a leg with pink knee and ankle, of as pure aud exquisite a 
 form as that of Diana the Huntress. 
 
 " And what hair!" sai<l Tomboy; "so long and soft! — .She might 
 almost walk upon it. 'Twould be a pity to cut it off, to put ice upon 
 her skull ! " 
 
 As she spoke, she gathered up Adrienne's magnificent hair, and 
 twisted it as well as she could behiml her head. Alas ! it was no longer 
 the fail-, light hand of Georgette, Florine, or Hebe that an-auged the 
 beauteous locks of their mistress with so much love and pride ! 
 
 And as she again felt the nide touch of the nurse's hand, the young 
 girl was once more seized with the same nervous trem))ling, only more 
 frequently and strongly than befoi'e. Aud soon, whether by a sort of 
 instinctive repidsion, magnetically excited during her swoon, or from 
 the effect of the cold night au-, Adrienne again started and slowly came 
 to herself. 
 
 It is impossible to describe her alai-m, horror, and chaste indigna-
 
 THE POLICE STATION.
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 407 
 
 tion as, thrusting aside with both her hands the numerous curls that 
 covered her face, bathed in tears, she saw herseK half naked between 
 these filthy hags. At first she uttered a cry of shame and terror; then, 
 to escape from the looks of the women, by a movement, rapid as 
 thovight, she threw down the lamp placed on the shelf at the head of 
 her bed, so that it was extinguished and broken to pieces on the floor. 
 After which, in the midst of the darkness, the unfortunate girl, covering 
 herself with the bed-clothes, burst into passionate sobs. 
 
 The nurses attributed Adi'ienne's cry and violent action to a fit of 
 furious madness. 
 
 " Oh ! you begin again to break the lamps — that's your fancy, is it ? " 
 cried Tomboy angrily, as she felt her way in the dark. " Well ! I gave 
 you fair warning. You shall have the strait-waistcoat on this very 
 night, like the mad girl upstairs." 
 
 " That's it," said the other ; " hold her fast. Tommy, while I go and 
 fetch a light. Between us, we'll soon master her." 
 
 " Make haste, for, in spite of her soft look, she must be a regular 
 fury. We shall have to sit up all night with her, I suppose." 
 
 Sad and painful contrast ! That morning, Adrienne had risen free, 
 smUing, happy, in the midst of all the wonders of luxury and art, and 
 surrounded by the delicate attentions of the three charming girls whom 
 she had chosen to serve her. In her generous and fantastic mood, she 
 had prepared a magnificent and fairy-like surprise for the young Indian 
 prince, her relation ; she had also taken a noble resolution with regard 
 to the two orphans brought home by Dagobei't ; in her interview with 
 Madame de Saint-Dizier, she had shown herself by turns proud and 
 sensitive, melancholy and gay, ironical and serious, loyal and courag- 
 eous ; finally, she had come to this accursed house to plead in favor of an 
 honest and laborious artisan. 
 
 And now, in the evening, — delivered over by an atrocious piece of 
 treachery to the ignoble hands of two coarse-minded nurses in a mad- 
 house, — Mademoiselle de Cardoville felt her delicate limbs imprisoned in 
 that abominable garment which is called a strait-waistcoat. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Cardoville passed a horrible night in company with 
 the two hags. The next morning, at nine o'clock, what was the young 
 lady's stupor to see Dr. Baleinier enter the room, still smiling with an 
 air at once benevolent and paternal. 
 
 "Well, my dear child!" said he, in a bland, affectionate voice; "how 
 have we spent the night ! "
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THF, V I S I T 
 
 HE kci'iMM-s, yielding' to Miidémoiscllt' de Caivlovillc's pray<'rs, 
 and, alj(>\e all, to Iilt promises of good behavior, had only 
 lift on the strait-waistcoat fora portion of the time. Toward 
 niorurug they had allowed her to rise and di'ess herself with- 
 out interfering. 
 
 Adrienne was seated on the edge of lier bed. The altei'ation in her 
 featui-es, her tlivadfiil paleness, the lurid lire of fever shining in her 
 eyes, the convulsive ti'embling whicli ever and anon shook her fi-anie, 
 showed already the fatal effects of this terrible night upon a susceptible 
 and high-strung organization. At sight of Dr. Baleiniei", who, with a 
 sign, nuide Gervaise and her mate leave tliiî room, Adrienne remained 
 petrified. 
 
 She felt a kind of giddiness at the thought of the audacity of the 
 man, who dared to present himself to her! But when the physician 
 repeated, in the softest toni; of affectionate intei-est : 
 
 " Well, my poor child ! how have we si»ent the night :' " she pressed 
 her hands to her burning forehead, as if in doubt whether she was 
 awake or sleeping. Then, staling at the doctor, she half opened her 
 lips; but they trembled so much that it was impossible for her to utter 
 a word. 
 
 Anger, iiulignation, contempt, and, above all, the bitter and acutely 
 painful feeling of a generous heart whose coiifidonee has l)een l>asely 
 betrayed, so overpowered Adrienne that she was unable to break the 
 silence. 
 
 " Come, come! I see how it is," said the doctor, shaking his head sor- 
 rowfully; "you are very much displeased with me — is it not sof Well! 
 I expected it, my dear child.'' 
 
 These words, pronounced with the most hypocritical effrontery, made 
 Adrienne start up. Her pale cheek flushed, her large eyes sparkled, .she 
 
 108 •
 
 THE M'ANDERIKG JEW. 409 
 
 lifted i^roucUy her beautiful head, while her upper lip curled slightly 
 with a smile of disdaiuful bitterness; theu, passing in angry silence 
 before M. Baleinier, who retained his seat, she dii'ected her swift and 
 iirm steps toward the door. This door, in which was a little wicket, 
 was fastened on the outside. Adrienne tui'ned toward the doctor, and 
 said to him, with an imperious gesture : 
 
 " Open that door for me ! " 
 
 " Come, my dear Mademoiselle Adrienne," said the physician, " be 
 calm. Let us talk like good friends — for you know I am your friend." 
 And he inhaled slowly a pinch of snuff. 
 
 " It appears, sir," said Adrienne, in a voice trembling witli indigna- 
 tion, " I am not to leave this place to-day I " 
 
 " Alas ! no. In such a state of excitement — if you knew how inflamed 
 yoiu- face is, and yom- eyes so feverish, your pulse must be at least 
 eighty to the minute. I conjure you, my dear child, not to aggravate 
 your symptoms by this fatal agitation." 
 
 After looking fixedly at the doctor, Adrienne retiu-ned with a slow 
 step, and again took her seat on the edge of the bed. 
 
 " That is right," resumed M. Baleinier ; " only be reasonable ; and, as 
 I said before, let us talk together like good friends." 
 
 " You say well, sir," replied Adrienne, in a collected and perfectly 
 calm voice ; " let us talk like friends. Yoii wish to make me pass for 
 mad — is it not so I " 
 
 " I wish, my dear child, that one day you may feel toward me as much 
 gi-atitude as you now do aversion. The latter I had fully foreseen ; but, 
 however painful may be the performance of certain duties, we must 
 resign ourselves to it." 
 
 M. Baleinier sighed, as he said this, with such a natural air of con- 
 viction that for a moment Adrienne coidd not repress a movement of 
 surprise ; then, while her lip curled wth a bitter laugh, she answered : 
 
 " Oh, it's very clear ; you have done all this for my good t " 
 
 " ReaUy, my dear young lady, have I ever had any other design than 
 to be useful to you ? " 
 
 " I do not know, sir, if your impudence be not still more odious than 
 your cowardly treachery ! " 
 
 " Treachery ! " said ]\I. Baleinier, shrugging his shoulders with a 
 grieved air; " treachery indeed ! Only reflect, my poor child — do you 
 think, if I were not acting with good faith, conscientiously, in youi- 
 interest, I should return this morning to meet your indignation, for 
 which I was fully prepared f I am the head physician of this asylum, 
 which belongs to me — but I have two of my pupils here, doctors, like 
 myself, and might have left them to take care of you. But no — I could
 
 410 THE WAXUERING JEW. 
 
 uot L-uii.sout to it ; 1 knew your fhavuctor, your uatuix», your jjrevious 
 history, and (leaviug out of the question the interest I feel for you) I 
 can treat your case better than any one." 
 
 Adrienne had heard M. Baleinier without interrujitiiij^ him; slie 
 now looked at him fixedly and said: 
 
 " Pray, sir, how nnicli do they pay you to make me pass for mad ?" 
 
 "Mademoiselle!" ci'ied M. Baleinier, who felt stung in spite of liim- 
 self. 
 
 "You know I am rich," eontiiiuiMl Adrionne, with overwhelming dis- 
 dain: "I ^vill double the sum that they give you. Come, sir, — in the 
 name of fi'iendship, as you call it, — h't me have the pleasure of out-bid- 
 ding them." 
 
 " Your keepers," said M. Baleinier, recovering all his coolness, " have 
 iufoi-med me, in their report of the night's proceedings, that you made 
 similar pi-opositions to them." 
 
 " Pai-don me, sir, I offered them what might be acceptable to poor 
 women, without education, whom misfortune has forced to undertake a 
 painful employment — l)ut to you, sir, — a man of the world, a man of 
 science, a man of great a])ilities, — that is quite different — the pay must 
 be a great deal higher. There is treachery at all prices; so do not found 
 your refusal on the smallness of my offer to those wretched women. 
 Tell me, how much do you want ? " 
 
 "Your keepers, in their report of tlie night, have also spoken of 
 threats," resumed M. Baleinier, with the same coolness; "have you 
 any of those likewise to address me? Believe me, my poor child, 
 you will do well to exhaust at once your attempts at corruption and 
 youi- \i\.\n threats of vengeance. We shall then come to the true state 
 of the case." 
 
 " So you deem my threats vain ! " cried Mademoiselle de Cardoville, 
 at length giving way to the full tide of her indignation, till then 
 restrained. " Do you think, sir, that when I leave this place — for this 
 outi-age nnist have an end — that 1 will not proclaim aloud your infa- 
 mous treachery ? Do you t]iiid< that I will not denounce, to the contempt 
 and Imrroi- of all, your base conspiracy with Madame de Saint-Dizier ? 
 Oh! do you think that I will conceal the friglitful treatment I have 
 received ! But, mad as I may be, I know that there are laws in this 
 country, by which I will demand a full reparation foi* myself, and shame, 
 disgrace, and punishment for you and for those who have employed 
 you! Henceforth, lietween you and me will be hate and war to the 
 death; and all my strength, all my intelligence " 
 
 " Permit me to intemipt you, my dear Mademoiselle Adi-ienne," said 
 the doctor, still perfectly calm and affectionate ; " nothing can be more
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 411 
 
 unfavorable to your cure, tliau to cherish idle hopes : they will only 
 tend to keep up a state of deplorable excitement. It is best to put the 
 facts fairly before you, that you may understand clearly your position. 
 First. It is impossible for you to leave this house. Second. You can 
 have no communication with any one beyond its walls. Third. No one 
 enters here that I cannot perfectly depend upon. Fourth. I am com- 
 pletely indifferent to your threats of vengeance, because law and reason 
 are both in my favor." 
 
 " What ! have you the right to shut me up here ? " 
 
 " We should never have come to that determination, without a num- 
 ber of reasons of the most serious kind." 
 
 " Oh ! there are reasons for it, it seems." 
 
 " Unfortunately, too many." 
 
 " You will perhaps inform me of them ? " 
 
 " Alas ! they are only too conclusive ; and if you should ever apply 
 to the protection of the laws, as you threatened me just now, we should 
 be obliged to state them. The fantastical eccentricity of youi- manner 
 of living, your whimsical mode of dressing up yoiu- maids, your extrav- 
 agant expenditure, the story of the Indian prince, to whom you offered 
 a royal hospitality, your unprecedented resolution of going to live by 
 yourself, like a young bachelor, the adventure of the man found con- 
 cealed in your bed-chamber ; finally, the report of your yesterday's con- 
 versation, which was faithfully taken down in shorthand, by a person 
 employed for that siu'j^rise." 
 
 " Yesterday I " cried Adrienne, with as miich indignation as siu-prise. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! to be prepared for every event, in case you should misin- 
 terpret the interest we take in you, we had all your answers reported by 
 a man who was concealed behind a curtain in the next room ; and 
 really, one day, in a calmer state of mind, when you come to read over 
 quietly the particulars of what took place, you will no longer be aston- 
 ished at the resolution we have been forced to adopt." 
 
 " Go on, sir," said Adrienne, with contempt. 
 
 " The facts I have cited being thus confirmed and acknowledged, you 
 will understand, my dear Mademoiselle Adrienne, that your friends are 
 perfectly free from responsibility. It was their duty to endeavor to cure 
 this derangement of mind, which at present only shows itself in idle 
 whims, but which, were it to increase, might seriously compromise the 
 happiness of your future life. Now, in my opinion, we may hope to see 
 a radical cure, by means of a treatment at once physical and moral ; 
 but the first condition of this attempt was to remove you from the 
 scenes which so dangerously excited your imagination; while a calm 
 retreat, the repose of a simple and solitary life, combined with my
 
 412 Tin: WAS i)i:i; I X(i .jew. 
 
 tiuxious, 1 may say patcrual curt', will i;Tiiilually lirin«x alumt a ctuuplete 
 recovery " 
 
 " So, sir," said Adrieiiiie, with a bitter lauf?h, " the love of a iioV)le 
 independeiiee, sjeiicrosity, the worsliij) of the l)eautiful, detestation of 
 what is base and odious, such are tlie maladies of which you wish to eure 
 me; I fear that my case is desperate, for my aunt has long ago tried to 
 effect that l)eue volent i)urpose." 
 
 " Well, we may perhaps not succeed ; but at least we will attempl it. 
 You see, then, there is a mass of serious facts, quite enough to justify 
 the determination come to by the family council, which i)uts me com- 
 pl(»tely at my ease with regard to your menaces. It is to tjiat T wish to 
 return: a man of my age and condition never acts lightly in sueh cir- 
 cumstances, and you can readily understand what I was saying to yon 
 just now. In a word, do not hope to leave this place Ijefore your com- 
 plete recovery, and rest assured that I am and shall ever be safe from 
 your resentment. This being once admitted, let us talk of yom* actual 
 state with all the interest that you naturally inspire." 
 
 "I think, sir, that, considering I am mad, you speak to me very 
 reasonably." 
 
 "Mad! no, thank heaven, my poor child, you are not mad yet ; and 
 I hope tliat, by my care, you will never be so. It is to prevent your 
 becoming mad that one must take it in time ; and believe me, it is full 
 time. You look at me with such an air of surprise. Now tell me what 
 interest can I have in talking to you thus ? Is it the hatred of your 
 aunt that I wish to favor ? To what end, I would ask ? What can she do 
 for me or against me? I think of her at tliis numient neithei' more nor 
 less than I thought yesterday. Is it a new language that I iiold tf) 
 yourself ? Did I )iot speak to you yesterday many times of tlie danger- 
 ous excitement of mind in which you were, and of your singular whims 
 and fancies? It is tme I made use of stratagem to bring you liither. 
 No doubt, I did so. I hastened to avail myself of the opportunity, 
 which you yourself offered, my poor, dear child ; for you would never 
 have come hither with your own good-will. One? day or the other we 
 must have found some pretext to get you here; and I said to myself: 
 
 ' Her interest befor(^ all ! Do your «lut}', let whatever will betide ! ' " 
 
 While M. Baleinier was speaking, Adrienue's countenance, which 
 had hitherto expi-essed alternately indignation and disdain, assumed an 
 indefinable look of anguish and horror. On hearing this man talk in 
 such a natural manner, and with such an a|)pearance of sincerity, jus- 
 tice, and reason, she felt herself mon; alai'ined than ever. An atrocious 
 deception, clothed in such forms, frightened her a hundred times more 
 than the avowed hatred of Madame de Saint-Dizier. This audacious
 
 THF WANDERING JEW. 
 
 413 
 
 hjq:)Ocrisy seemed to hei* so monstrous that she ahiiost Ijclieved it 
 impossible. 
 
 Adrieune had so little the art of hiding her emotions that the doctor, 
 
 a skillful and i)rufouud physiognomist, instantly perceived the imiu'es- 
 sion he had produced. 
 
 " Come," said he to himself, " that is a great step. Fright has sue-
 
 4U TIIIC \VAM}Ki;i\a JEW. 
 
 copcled to disdain and aiifjjor. Doubt will come noxt. I shall not loave 
 this 2)laeo till sho has said to me: 'lietiu'n soon, my good M. Jîak'in- 
 ier ! ' " 
 
 "With a voice of sorrowful emotion, which seemed to come from the 
 very ilepths of his heart, the doctor thus continued: 
 
 " I see, you are still suspicious of me. All I can say to you is false- 
 hood, fraud, hypocrisy, hate — is it not so ? — Hate you f why in Heaven's 
 nanu> sh<mld I hate you ? What have you done to me ? or rather — you 
 will perhaiis attach more value to this reason from a man of my sort," 
 added M. Baleinier bitterly — "or rath(>r what interest have I to hate 
 you ? You, that have only been reduced to the state in whieli you 
 are by an over-abundance of the most generous instincts, — you, that 
 are suffering, as it were, from an excess of good qualities, you can 
 bring yom'self coolly and deliberately to accuse an honest man, who has 
 never given you any but marks of affection, of the basest, the blackest, 
 the most a1)ominable crime of whieli a human l)eiiig could lie guilty. 
 Yes, I call it a crime; because the atrocious deception of which you 
 accuse me would not deserve any other name. K'call y, my poor child, it 
 is hard — very hard; and I now see that an independent spirit may 
 sometimes exhibit as much injustice and intolerance as the most narrow 
 mind. It does not incense nic — no — it only ]iains me: yes, I assui'e 
 you — it pains mo cruelly." And the doctor di-ew his hand across his 
 moist eyes. 
 
 It is impossible to give the accent, the look, the gesture of M. 
 Baleinier, as he thus exi)ressed himself. The most able and ])racticed 
 lawyer or the greatest actor in the world could not have played this 
 scene with more effect than the doctor — or rather, no one could have 
 played it so well ; for M. Baleinier, carried away by the influence of the 
 situation, was himself half convinced of what he said. 
 
 In few words, he felt all the horror of his own 2)erfidy; but he felt 
 also that Adiienne could not believe it ; for there are combinations of 
 such nefarious character that pure and upright minds are unal)lo to 
 comprehend them as possible. If a lofty spirit looks down into the 
 abyss of evil, beyond a certain depth it is seized with giddiness and no 
 longer able to distinguish one object from the other. 
 
 And then the most ])orverse of mon have a day, an horn-, a moment, 
 in which the good instincts, planted in the heart of every creature, 
 appear in spite of themselves. Adrienne was too interesting, was in 
 too cruel a position, for the doctor not to feel some pity for her in his 
 heart ; the tone of symi)athy whicdi for some time past he had been 
 obliged to assume toward her, and the sweet confidence of the young 
 girl in return, had become for this man habitual and necessary gi'atifi-
 
 THE WAN DE RI KG JEW. 415 
 
 cations. But sympathy and haVjit were now to yield to iuiplaca])le 
 necessity. 
 
 The Marquis d'Aigrigny had idolized his mother ; dying, she called 
 him to her — and he turned away from the last prayer of a parent in 
 the agony of death. After such an example, how could M. Baleinier 
 hesitate to sacrifice Adrienne ! The members of the Order, of which 
 he formed a part, were bound to him ; but he was perhaps still more 
 strongly bound to them, for a long partnership in evil creates ten'il^le 
 and in<lissoluble ties. 
 
 The moment M. Baleinier finished his fervid address to Mademoi- 
 selle de Cardoville, the slide of the wicket in the door was softly piished 
 back, and a j^air of eyes peered attentively into the chamber, unper- 
 ceived l)y the doctor. 
 
 Adrienne could not withdraw her gaze from the physician's, which 
 seemed to fascinate her. Mute, overpowered, seized with a vague 
 terror, unable to penetrate the dark depths of this man's soul, moved 
 in spite of herself by the accent of sorrow, half feigned and half real, 
 the young lady had a momentary feeling of doubt. For the first time 
 it came into her mind that M. Baleinier might perhaps be committing 
 a frightful error — committing it in good faith. 
 
 Besides, the anguish of the past night, the dangers of her position, 
 her feverish agitation, all concurred to fill her mind with trouble and 
 indecision. She looked at the physician with ever-increasing surprise, 
 and making a violent effort not to yield to a weakness of which she 
 partly foresaw the dreadful consequences, she exclaimed : 
 
 " No, no, sir ; I will not, I cannot believe it. You have too much 
 skill, too much experience, to commit such an error." 
 
 " An error ! " said M. Baleinier, in a grave and sorrowful tone. " Let 
 me speak to you in the name of that skill and experience, which you 
 are pleased to ascribe to me. Hear me but for a moment, my dear 
 child ; and then I will appeal to yourself." 
 
 " To me ! " replied the young girl, in a kind of stupor ; " you wish to 
 
 persuade me that " 
 
 Then, interrupting herself, she added, with a convulsive laugh : 
 
 " This only is wanting to your triumph — to bring me to confess that 
 I am mad ; that my proper place is here ; that I owe you " 
 
 " Gratitude. Yes, you do owe it me, even as I told you at the com- 
 mencement of this conversation. Listen to me then : my words may 
 be cruel, but there are wounds which can only be cured with steel and 
 fire. I conjure you, my dear child — reflect — throw back one impartial 
 glance at your past life — weigh your own thoughts — and you will be 
 afraid of yourself. Remember those moments of strange excitement,
 
 41() Tin: WAXDERiya JEW. 
 
 (luring which, as you have tukl mi', you .slvukhI to soar al)ove tlie earth ; 
 and, above all, while it i.s yet time, — while you presei-ve enough clear- 
 ness of miud to compare and judge, — coniitaic, I entreat, yom* manner 
 of living with that of other ladies of your age. Is there a single one 
 who acts as you act ! who thinks as you think ! unless, indeed, you 
 imagine yourself so superior to other women that, in virtue of that 
 supremacy, youcan justify a life and habits that have no parall.l in the 
 world." 
 
 "1 liavc ncvei' had such stupid jiride; you know it well," said 
 Adrienne, looking at the doctor with growing teiTor. 
 
 " Then, my dear child, to what are we to attribute your strange and 
 inexi)licable mode of life ? Can you even i)ersuade yom'self tliat it 
 is founded on reason? Oh, my child! take care! As yet, you only 
 indulge in charming originalities of conduct, poetical eccentricities, 
 sweet and vague reveries — l)ut the tendency is fatal, the downward 
 course irresistible. Take care, take care ! The healthful, gi-aceful, 
 spiritual portion of your intelligence has yet the upper liand, and 
 imprints its stani]) uiioii all your cxti'avagances; l)ut you do not know, 
 l)elieve me, with what friglitful force the insane jjortion of the mind, at 
 a given moment, develops itself and strangles up the rest. Then we 
 have no longer graceful eccentricities, like youi's ; but ridiculous, sordid, 
 hideous delusions." 
 
 " Oh ! you frighten me," said the imfortunate girl, as she passed her 
 trembling hands across her burning brow. 
 
 "Then," continued ]\I. Baleinier, in an agitated voice, "then the last 
 rays of intelligence are extinguished; then madness — for we must pro- 
 nounce the dreaded word — gets the upper liand, and displays itself in 
 furious and savage ti'anspoi-ts." 
 
 " Like the woman upstairs," nnniuured Adi'ieinie, as, with fixed and 
 eager look, she raised her finger toward the ceiling. 
 
 " Sometimes," continued the doctor, alarmed himself at the terrible 
 consequences of his own Avords, but yielding to the inexorable fatality 
 of his situation, "sometimes madness takes a stu])id anil brutal form; 
 the unfortunate creature who is attacked by it preserves nothing 
 human but the shape — has only the instinct of the lower animals — eats 
 with A-oracity, and moves ever backward and forward in the cell in 
 which such a being is obliged to be confined. That is all its life — all." 
 
 " Like the woman yonder," cried Adrienne, with a still wiMei' look, as 
 she slowly raised her arm toward the window tliat was visible on the 
 other side of the biiilding. 
 
 "Why — yes," said M. Baleinier. "Like you, unhappy child, those 
 women were young, fair, and sensible, Tint like you, alas ! they had in
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 417 
 
 them the fatal germ of iusanity, which, not having been destroyed in 
 time, grew, and grew, larger and ever larger, until it overspread and 
 destroyed their reason." 
 
 " Oh, mercy ! " cried Mademoiselle de Cardoville, whose head was get- 
 ting confused with terror ; " mercy ! do not tell me such things ! — I 
 am aft-aid. Take me from this place — oh ! take me from this place ! " 
 she added, Avith a heart-rending accent ; " for, if I remain here, I shall 
 end by going mad ! No," added she, struggling with the terrible agony 
 which assailed her, " no, do not hope it ! I shaU not become mad. I have 
 all my reason. I am not blind enough to believe what you tell me. 
 Doulitless, I live differently from others ; think differently from others ; 
 am shocked by things that do not offend others; — but what does all 
 this prove ? Only that I am different from others. Have I a bad heart ? 
 Am I euA-ious or selfish ? My ideas are siugiûar, I know — yes, I con- 
 fess it ; but then, M. Baleinier, is not their tendency good, generous, 
 noble! — Oh!" cried Adi'ienne's supi^licating voice, while her tears 
 flowed abundantly, " I have never in my life done one malicious action ; 
 my worst errors have arisen from excess of generosity. Is it madness 
 to wish to see everybody about one too happy '? And again, if you are 
 mad, you must feel it yom-self, and I do not feel it ; and yet — I scarcely 
 lînow — you tell me such terrible things of those two women ! You 
 ought to know these things better that I. But then," added Mademoiselle 
 de CardoA'iUe, with an accent of the deepest despah-, " something ought 
 to have been done. Why, iE you felt an interest for me, did you wait so 
 long ? Why did you not take pity on me sooner I But the most fright- 
 ful fact is that I do not know whetlier I ought to believe you, for all this 
 may be a snare. But no, no! You weep! It is true, then! You weep!" 
 She looked anxiously at M. Baleinier, who, notwithstanding his 
 cynical philosophy, could not restrain his tears at the sight of these 
 nameless tortures. 
 
 " You weep over me," she continued ; " so it is true ! But, good 
 Heaven ! miist there not be something done ? I will do all that you 
 wish — all — so that I may not be like those women. But if it should 
 be too late ? No, it is not too late — say it is not too late, my good M. 
 Baleinier ! Oh, now I ask your pardon for what I said when you came 
 in ; but then I did not know, you see — I did not know ! " 
 
 To these few broken words, intermpted by sobs, and nishing forth 
 in a sort of feverish excitement, succeeded a silence of some minutes, 
 during which the deeply affected physician dried his tears. His resolu- 
 tion had almost failed him. Adrienne hid her face in her hands. 
 Suddenly she again lifted her head ; her countenance was calmer than 
 before, though agitated by a nervous trembling.
 
 418 THE WAS DEIilXa JEW. 
 
 " M. BaK'iiiit'i,"' slie resumed, with touching «Ugiiity, " I hardly know 
 wliat I said to you jxist uow. Terror, I think, made me wander ; I have 
 again coUt'ctcd myself. Hear me! I know that I am in your power; 
 1 know that notliing can deliver me from it. Are you an ini]ila<'alile 
 enemy, or are you a friend .' I am not able to determine. Do you really 
 apprehend, as you assure me, that what is now eceentricity will here- 
 after become mailness ; or are you, ratlier, the accomplice in some 
 infernal machination I You alone can answer. In spite of my boasteil 
 courage, I confess myself conquered. Whatever is required of me — 
 you understand, whatever it may be — I will subscribe to; I give you 
 my word, and you know that I hold it sacred ; you have therefore no 
 longiM" any interest to keep me here. If, on the contrary, you really think 
 my reason in danger, — and I own that you have awakened in my mind 
 vague but frightful doul>ts, — tell it me, and I will believe you. I am 
 alone, at your mercy, without friends, without counsel. I trust myself 
 blindly to you. I know not whether I address myself to a deliverer or a 
 destroyer, but I say to you, here is my haii])iness, here is my life; take 
 it — I have no strength to dis[)ute it with you ! " 
 
 These touching words, full of mournful resignation and almost hope- 
 less reliance, gave the finishing stroke to the indecision of M. Baleinier. 
 Already deei)ly imived l)y this scene, and witliout reflecting on the con- 
 sequences of what he was about to do, he iletermined at all events to 
 dissipate the terrible and unjust fears with which he had inspired Adri- 
 enne. Sentiments of remorse and pity, which now animated the physi- 
 cian, were visil)le in his countenance. 
 
 Alas ! they were too \'isible. The moment he approached to take 
 the hand of Mademoiselle de Cardoville, a low Imt sharp voice exclaimed 
 from behind the wicket: 
 
 " M. Baleinier ! " 
 
 " Rodin ! " muttered the startled doctor to himself ; " he's been spying 
 me ! " 
 
 " ^V^10 calls you ? " asked the lady of the physician. 
 
 " A person that I promised to meet here this morning," replied he, 
 with the utmost depression, " to go with him to St. Mary's Convent, which 
 is close at liand." 
 
 " And what answer have you to give me ? " said Adrienne, with mor- 
 tal anguish. 
 
 After a moment's solemn silence, duiing which he turaed his face 
 toward the wicket, the doctor replied, in a voice of deej) emotion : 
 
 "I am — what I have always been — a friend incapable of deceiving 
 you." 
 
 Adj-ienne became deadly pale. Then, extending her hand to M.
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 419 
 
 Baleiuier, she said to him iu a voice that she endeavored to render 
 calm: 
 
 "Thank you — I will have courage — but will it be very long?" 
 " Perhaps a mouth. Solitude, reflection, a proper regimen, my atten- 
 tive care, may do much. You will be allowed everything that is com- 
 patible with your situation. Every attention will be paid you. If this 
 room displeases you, I will see you have another." 
 
 " No — this or another— it is of little consequence," answered Adrienne, 
 with an air of the deepest dejection. 
 
 " Come, come ! be of good corn-age. There is no reason to despair." 
 " Perhaps you flatter me," said Adrienne, with the shadow of a smile. 
 " Eetiu-n soon," she added, " my dear M. Baleiuier ! My only hope 
 rests in you now." 
 
 Her head fell upon her bosom, her hands upon her knees, and she 
 remained sitting on the edge of the bed, pale, motionless, overwhelmed 
 with woe. 
 
 " Mad ! " she said, when M. Baleinier had disappeared. " Perhaps 
 mad ! " 
 
 We have enlarged upon this episode, much less romantic than it may 
 appear. Many times have motives of interest, or vengeance, or perfid- 
 ious machination led to the abuse of the imprudent facility with which 
 inmates are received iu certain private lunatic asylums from the hands 
 of their families or fi'iends. 
 
 We shall subsequently explain our views as to the establishment of a 
 system of inspection, by the ci^il magistrates, for the periodical survey 
 of these institutions, and others of no less importance, at present placed 
 beyond the reach of all superintendence. 
 
 These latter are the nunneries, of which we will presently have an 
 example.
 
 PART VIII 
 
 THE COXFESSOR 
 
 CHAPTEE I 
 
 PKESENTIMENTS 
 
 'HILE the precediug events took place in Dr. Balein- 
 ier's asylum, other scenes were jjassiug about the 
 same hour at Françoise Baudoin's, in the Rue Brise- 
 Miche. 
 
 Seven o'clock in the morning had just struck at 
 St. Méry Church ; the day was dark and gloomy, and 
 
 the sleet rattled against the windows of the joyless 
 
 ^pW^ '^^ '^Tfif'P chamber of Dagol)ert's wife. 
 \Zi^\}^'' HM ^^ yetign(jrant of her sou's arrest, Françoise had 
 
 y"^ waited for him the whole of the precediug evening, 
 
 and a good part of the night, ^vith the most anxious uneasiness ; jneld- 
 ing at length to fatigue and sleep, about three o'clock in the morning 
 she had thrown herself on a mattress beside the bed of Rose and Blanche. 
 But she rose with the first dawn of day to ascend to Agi"icola's garret, 
 in the faint hope that he might have returned home some hoiu's before. 
 Rose and Blanche had just risen and dressed themselves. They 
 were alone in the sad, chilly apartment. Spoilsport, whom Dagobert 
 had left in Paris, was stretched at full length near the cold stove ; with 
 his long muzzle resting on his forepaws, he kept his eyes tixed on the 
 sisters. 
 
 Having slept lint little dui'iug the night, they had perceived the agi- 
 tation and anguish of Dagobei't's wife. They had seen her walk up and 
 
 421
 
 422 THE WAXDERIXri J I.W. 
 
 down, now talking to lirrself, now listening to tlic Ifiist noise tliat ciinic 
 np tlio staircase, and uow kneeling before tin' ciucilix placed at one 
 extremity of the room. Tlie orplians were not aware that, while slu^ 
 l>rayed with fervor on behalf of her son, this oxoellent woman was 
 praying for them also, for the state of their souls filled her with anxiety 
 and alarm. 
 
 The day before, wlien Dagobert had set out for Chartres, Françoise, 
 having assisted Kose and lilanelie to rise, had invited them to say their 
 moruing prayer. They answered with the utmost simplicity that they 
 did not know any, and that they never more than addressed their 
 mother, who was in heaven. AMien Françoise, struck with ])ainfnl sur- 
 prise, spoke to them of catechism, confirmation, comnninion, the sis- 
 ters opened widely their large eyes with astonishiueiit, understanding 
 nothing of such talk. 
 
 According to her simjile faith, terrified at the ignorance of the yoimg 
 gii-ls in matters of religion, Dagobert's wife believed their souls to be in 
 the gi'eatest i)eril — the more so as, having asked them if they had ever 
 been Ijaptized (at the same time explaining to them the nature of that 
 sacrament), the oi-phans answered they did not tliiidc they had, since 
 there was neither church nor priest in the village where fliey wei-e bora 
 during their mother's exile in Siberia. 
 
 Placing one's self in the position of Françoise, you may understand 
 how luuch she was gi'ieved and alarmed; for in her eyes these young 
 girls, whom she already loved tenderly, so charmed was she mtli their 
 sweet disposition, were nothing but poor heathens, innocently doomed 
 to eternal damnation. So, unable to restrain her tears or conceal her 
 hoiTors, she had clasped them in her arms, promising immediately to 
 attend to their salvation, and regretting that Dagobert had not thought 
 of having theui bajitizeil ])y the way. Now, it must be confessed that 
 this notion had never once oecuiTed to the ex-gi"enadier. 
 
 "\Mi(Mi she went to her usual Sunday devotions, Françoise had not 
 dai'cd to take Rose and Blanche with her, as their complete ignorance of 
 saci-ed things would have rendered theii- presence at church, if not use- 
 less, scandalous ; but in her owni fervent prayers she implored celestial 
 mercy for these orjihans, who did iiot thoms(>lves know the desperate 
 jjosition of their sovds. 
 
 Rose and Blanche were now left alone, in the absence of Dagobert's 
 wife. They were still dressed in mourning, their charming faces seem- 
 ing even more i)ensive than usual. Though they were accustomed to a 
 lif(> of misfortune, they had been sti'uck, since their an-ival in the Rue 
 Brise-Miche, with the painful contrast between the poor dwelling which 
 they had come to inhabit and the wonders which their young iniagimi-
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 
 
 423 
 
 tiou had conceived of Paris, that golden city of then- dreams. But soon 
 this natural astonishment was replaced by thoughts of singular gravity 
 for their age. The contemj^lation of such honest and laborious poverty 
 
 
 
 
 \ . /ê^É^ 
 
 made the orj^hans have reflections no longer those of children, but of 
 young women. Assisted by their admirable spirit of justice and of 
 sympathy for all that is good, by their noble heart, by a character at
 
 424 THE WW X DERI X (I .JEW. 
 
 once delicate ami courageous, they had observed and nie<litated much 
 diu-iiig the last tweuty-four hours. 
 
 " Sister," said Rose to Blanche, when Françoise had quitted the room, 
 " Dagoliert's poor wife is very uneasy. Did you remark, in the night, 
 how agitated she was? how she wept and prayed?" 
 
 " I was grieved to see it, sister, and wondered what could lie the 
 i-ausc." 
 
 " I am almost afraid to guess. Perhaps we may be tli»' cause of lier 
 uneasiness ? " 
 
 " Why so, sistci' ? Because we cannot say prayers, nor tell if we 
 have ever l)een baptized ? " 
 
 " That seemed to give her a good deal of pain, it is true ; I was quite 
 toucheil by it, for it proves that she loves us tenderly. But I could not 
 understand how we ran such terrible danger as she said we did." 
 
 " Nor I either, sister. We have always tried not to displease om- 
 mother, who sees and hears us." 
 
 " We love those who love us ; we hate nobody ; we are resigned to 
 whatever may happen to us. So who cau reproach us with any harm ? " 
 
 " No one. But perhaps we may do some without meaning it." 
 
 "We!" 
 
 "Yes, and tlierefore I tliought wo may perhajis be tlie cause of her 
 uneasiness." 
 
 " How so Î " 
 
 " Listen, sister ! Yesterday ^Madame Baudoin tried to work at those 
 sacks of coarse cloth there on the table." 
 
 " Yes, but in about half an hour she told us, soiTowf ully, that she 
 could not go on, because her eyes failed her and she could not see 
 clearly." 
 
 " So that she is not able to earn her living." 
 
 " No — but her son, M. Agidcola, works for her. He looks so good, so 
 gay, so frank, and so happy to devote himself for his mother. Oh, 
 indeed ! he is the worthy brother of our angel Gabriel ! " 
 
 " You will see my reason for speaking of this. Our good old Dago- 
 bert told us that when we arrived here lie had only a few pieces of 
 money left." 
 
 " That is true." 
 
 " Now, both he and his wife are unable to earn their li\'ing. What can 
 a poor old soldier like him do ? " 
 
 " You are right ; he only knows how to love us and take care of us 
 like his children." 
 
 " It must then be M. Agi-icola who will have to support his father, for 
 Gabriel is a poor priest who possesses nothing and can render no assist-
 
 THE WANDERIXG JEW. 425 
 
 auce to those who have brought him up. So M. Agi'ieola ■will have to 
 .sui^port the whole family by himself." 
 
 " Doubtless — he owes it to father and mother; it is his duty, and he 
 will do it with a good will." 
 
 " Yes, sister, but he owes us nothing." 
 
 " What do you say, Blanche Î " 
 
 " He is ol)liged to work for us also, as we possess nothing in the world." 
 
 " I had not thought of that. True." 
 
 " It is all very well, sister, for our father to be duke and marshal of 
 France, as Dagobert tells us; it is all very well for us to hope gi-eat 
 things from this medal ; but as long as father is not here and our hopes 
 are not realized we shall be merely poor orphans, obliged to remain a 
 burden to this honest family, to whom we already owe so much, and 
 who find it so hard to live that " 
 
 '• Why do you pause, sister .' " 
 
 " \Miat I am about to say woiUd make other people laugh, but you 
 will understand it. Yesterday, when Dagobert's wife saw poor Spoil- 
 spurt at his dinner, she said, sorrowfully, ' Alas, he eats as much as a 
 man ! ' so that I could almost have cried to hear her. They must be very 
 poor, and yet we have come to increase their poverty." 
 
 The sisters looked sadly at each other, while Spoilsport pretended 
 not to know thej- were talking of his voracity. 
 
 " Sister, I understand," said Rose, after a moment's silence. " Well, 
 we must not be at the charge of any one. We are young and have 
 courage. Till our fate is decided, let us fancy om'selves daughters of 
 workmen. After all, is not our grandfather a workman ? Let us find 
 some employment and earn our own living. It must be so proud and 
 happy to eai'u one's living ! " 
 
 " Good little sister," said Blanche, kissing Rose. " What happiness ! 
 Y( >u have forestalled my thought ; kiss me ! " 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 " Your project is mine exactly. Yesterday, when I heard Dagobert's 
 wife complain so sadly that she had lost her sight, I looked into your 
 large eyes, which reminded me of my own, and said to myself, ' Well ! 
 this poor old woman may have lost her sight, but Rose and Blanche 
 Simon can see pretty cleai'ly' — which is a compensation," added 
 Blanche, with a snnle. 
 
 " And, after all," resumed Rose, smiling in her turn, " the young 
 ladies in question are not so very awkward as not to be able to sew up 
 gi'eat sacks of coarse cloth, though it may chafe their fingers a little." 
 
 " So we had ])oth the same thought, as usual ; only I wished to siu'- 
 prise you, and waited till we were alone to tell you my plan."
 
 4-2(J THE WAS DERI Ml ./All. 
 
 " Yes, Imt tlicrc is soiiictliiug t^'ascs inc." 
 
 "What is that ?" 
 
 " First of all, Dagohci-t and his witV will he surc^ to say to us, ' Youiio; 
 ladites, you are not litted for such work. What, dau<;htt'rs of a marshal 
 of Frauro scwinjic up great ugly bags!' And tlicn, if wo insist \\\nn\ it. 
 th»'\- will add, 'Well, we have no work to give you. If you want any, 
 you nuist hunt for it.' What would IMisscs Simon do then f 
 
 "The faet is, that when Dagobert has made up his mind to any- 
 thing " 
 
 " Oh ! even tiien, if we coax him well " 
 
 " Yes, in eertain things ; l)ut in othei's he isinunovaljle. It is just as, 
 wheu upon the journey, wo wished to prevent his doing so much for us." 
 
 " Sister, an idea strikes me," cried Rose ; " an excellent idea ! " 
 
 " ^Miat is it ? (|uick ! " 
 
 " Y'ou know the young womau they call Mother Bunch, who appears 
 to be so serviceable and persevering ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! and so timid and discreet. She seems always to Ije afraid 
 of giving oflfeuse, evo'.i if she looks at one. Y'esterday she did not ])er- 
 ceive that I saw her, but her eyes were fixed on you with so good and 
 sweet an expression tliat tears came into mine at the very sight of it." 
 
 " Well, we must ask hei- how she gets work, for cci'laiidy slie lives by 
 her labor." 
 
 "You arc right. Sin' will tell us all abcmt it; ami wiien we know, 
 Dagobert may scold us, or try to make great ladies of us, but we will be 
 as obstinate as he is." 
 
 " That is it ; we must show some spirit ! We will prove to him, as 
 he says himself, that we have soldier's blood in oui" veins." 
 
 "We will say t(» him, ' Sup])ose, as you say, we should one day be 
 I'ieh, my good Dagobert, we shall only remember this time with tiie 
 more pleasure.' " 
 
 " It is agreed then, is it not, Rose ? The first time we are alone with 
 Mcjther Bunch we must make her oiu' confidante and ask her for 
 information. She is so good a poi-son that she will not refuse us." 
 
 " And when father comes home he will be pleased, I am sure, with our 
 courag<>." 
 
 " And will approve our wish to support ourselves, as if we were alone 
 in the world." 
 
 On these words of her sister. Rose started. A cloud of sadness, 
 almost of alarm, passed over her charming countenance, as she 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh, sister, what a horrible idea ! " 
 
 " 'NYliat is the matter ? Y'our look frightens me ? "
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 427 
 
 " At the moment I heard you say that our father would approve our 
 wish to support ourselves, as if we were alone in the world, a frightful 
 thought struck me — I know not why, but feel how my heart beats, just 
 as if some misfortune were about to happen to us." 
 
 " It is trae ; your poor heart beats violently. But what was tlii.s 
 thought ? You alai-m me." 
 
 " AMien we were prisoners they did not, at least, separate us ; and, 
 beside, the prison was a kind of shelter " 
 
 " A sad one, though shared with you." 
 
 " But if, when arrived hei'e, any accident had parted us from Dago- 
 bert — if we had been left alone, without help, in this great town ? " 
 
 " Oh, sister ! do not speak of that. It would indeed be terrible. "What 
 would become of us, kind Heaven I " 
 
 This crael thought made the girls remain for a moment speechless 
 with emotion. Their sweet faces, which had just before glowed with a 
 noble hope, gi-ew jjale and sad. After a pretty long silence Rose uplifted 
 her eyes, now tilled with tears : 
 
 " Why does this thought," she said, trembling, " afit'ect us so deeply, 
 sister ? My heart sinks within me, as if it were really to happen 
 to us." 
 
 " I feel as frightened as you yourself. Alas ! were we both to l>e lost 
 in this immense citj', what would become of us ? " 
 
 " Do not let us give way to such ideas, Blanche ! Are we not here in 
 Dagobert's house, in the midst of good people f " 
 
 " And yet, sister," said Rose, ^vith a pensive air, " it is perhaps good 
 for us to have had this thought." 
 
 " Why so ? " 
 
 " Because we shall now find this poor lodging aU the better, as it affords 
 a shelter from all our fears. And when, thanks to our labor, we are no 
 longer a burden to any one, what more can we need until the arrival of 
 our father ? " 
 
 " We shall want for nothing — there you are right ; but still, why diil 
 this thought occm- to us, and why does it weigh so hea^•ily on our 
 minds ? " 
 
 "Yes, indeed — why? Ai-e we not here in the midst of friends that 
 love us ? How could we suppose that we should ever be left alone in 
 Paris f It is impossible that such a misfortune shoidd happen to us — 
 is it not, my dear sister ? " 
 
 " Impossible ! " said Rose, shuddering. " If, the day before we reached 
 that A-illage in Germany where poor Jorinl was killed, any one had said 
 to us, ' To-moiTow, you will be in prison,' we should have answered as 
 now, ' It is impossible. Is not Dagobert here to protect us ; what have
 
 428 THE WAXDERTXCf JEW. 
 
 we to fear ." Ami yot, sisttT, the day at'tiT wo ^VL'l^' in ju'lsuii at 
 Leipsic." 
 
 " Oh ! do not speak thus, my dear sister ! It f riglitens me," 
 By a syiiipathctie impulse the oi-phaus took each other liy the hand, 
 wliile they jiresscd elose togetlier and looked around with involuntary 
 fear. The seusatiou they felt was iu faet dt<]., strange, inexplicable, 
 and yet lowering; one of those dark presentiments wliich come over us 
 in spite of om'selves — those fatal gleams of prescience wiiicli tlirow a 
 lurid light on the mysterious profundities of the futui'e — unaccountable 
 glimpses of di\anation, often no sooner perceived than forgotten, but, 
 when justitied by the event, apiieaiing with all the attributes of an 
 awful fatality ! 
 
 The daughters of ^larshal Simon were still al)soi'bed in the mourn- 
 ful reverie which these singular thoughts had awakened, when Dago- 
 bert's wife, returning from her son's chamber, entered the room w'ith a 
 painfully agitated countenance.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE LETTER 
 
 HE agitation of Frauyoise was so perceptilAe that Rose could 
 not help exclaiming, " Good gracious ! what is the matter f " 
 " Alas, my dear young ladies ! I can uo longer conceal it 
 from you," said she, 1)nrstiug into tears. " Since yesterday 
 . have not seen him. I expected my son to supper as usual, and he 
 never came ; but I would not let you see how much I suffered. I con- 
 tinued to expect him, minute after minute. For ten years he has never 
 gone up to bed without coming to kiss me ; so I spent a good part of 
 the night close to the door, listening if I could hear his step. But he 
 did not come ; and, at last, about three o'clock in the morning, I threw 
 myself down upon the mattress. I have just l:ieen to see (for I still had 
 a faint hope) if my son had come in this morning " 
 
 " Well, madame'? " 
 
 " There is no sign of him ! " said the poor mother, drying her eyes. 
 Rose and Blanche looked at each other with emotion. The same 
 thought filled the minds of both : If Agricola should not return, how 
 would this family live f Would th(>y not in such an event become 
 doubly Ijm'densome f 
 
 " But perhaps, madame," said Blanche, " M. Agricola remained too 
 late at his work to return home last night." 
 
 " Oh ! no, no ! he would have returned in the middle of the night, 
 because he knew what uneasiness he would cause me by stopping out. 
 Alas ! some misfortune must have happened to him ! Perhaps he has 
 been injured at the forge, he is so persevering at his work. Oh, my 
 poor boy ! And, as if I did not feel enoiigh anxiety aliout him, I am also 
 uneasy about that poor young woman who lives upstairs." 
 
 " Why soj madame ! " 
 
 " When I left my son's room I went into hers to tell her my grief, for 
 she is almost a daughter to me ; but I did not find her in the little closet
 
 430 THE w AS i>i: i; I sa .t kw. 
 
 whi'iv she lives, ami tlic ImmI had ii<.)t even been slept in. W'lierc i-aii she 
 have goue so early — she, that never goes out f " 
 
 Rose and Blanche looked at each other with fresh nneasint'ss, tor 
 they eounted inueh upon Motlier Bunch to help them in the resolution 
 they hiid taken. Fortunately botli they and Franc.-oise were soon to 1)o 
 satisfied on this liead, for they lieani two low knocks at the door and 
 the seam.stress's voice, sayin*;-: 
 
 " Can I come in, Madame Baudoin ?" 
 By a spoutaueous impulse, Rose and Blanche ran to the door and 
 opened it to the young girl. Sleet and snow had been falling incessantly 
 since the evening before ; the gingham dress of the young seamstress, her 
 scanty cotton shawl, and the black net cap wliidi, leaving uncovered 
 two thick bands of chestnut haii-, encircled her ]iale and interesting 
 countenance were all di-i] «ping wet ; the cold had given a livid a])])ear- 
 ance to her thin, white hands; it was only in the tire of her blue eyes, 
 generally so soft and timid, that one perceived the extraordinary energy 
 which this frail and timid creature liad gathered from the emergency of 
 the occasion. 
 
 " Dear me ! where do you come from, my good Mother Bunch ? " said 
 Françoise. " .Fust now, in going to see if mj' son liad retuincd, i opmcil 
 your door, and was ([uite astonished to find you uone out s() eai'ly." 
 
 " I bi'ing you news of Agiicola." 
 
 " Of my son ! " cried Françoise, trembling all over. " What has hap- 
 pened to him ? Did you see him ? Did you speak to him ? Where 
 is he ? " 
 
 "I did not see him, but I know wlieic lie is." Then, perceiving tliat 
 Françoise grew very pale, the girl added : 
 
 " He is well ; he is in no danger." 
 
 "Blessed be God, who has pity on a poor sinner! — who yesterday 
 restored me my husband, and to-day, after a night of cruel anguish, 
 assures me of the safety of my child ! " 
 
 So saying, Françoise knelt down u])ou tlie lloor ami crossed herself 
 with fervor. 
 
 During the moment of silence caused by this pious action Rose and 
 Blanche approached Mother Bunch and said to her, in a low voice, with 
 an expression of touching interest : 
 
 " How wet you are ! you must be very cold. Take care you do not 
 get ill. We did not ventm-e to ask Madame Françoise to light the fire 
 in the stove, but now we will do so." 
 
 Surprised and affected by the kindness of Marshal Simon's daugh- 
 ters, the hunchback, who was moi-e sensible than others to the least 
 mark of kindnes.s, answered them with a look of ineffable gratitude.
 
 THE WANDERING .TE^y. 
 
 431 
 
 " I am much oljliged to you, young ladies ; but I am accustomed to 
 the cold, and am, moreover, so anxious that I do not feel it." 
 " And my son ? " said Françoise, rising after she had remained some 
 
 moments on her knees. " ^Miy did he stay out all night f And could 
 you tell me where to find him, my good gii'l ? Will he soon come Î 
 
 Why is lie so long ? "
 
 432 '/'///-' WAX i>i:iîrx(i .ii:w. 
 
 "I assiirt' ynu A^rirohi is well ; luit 1 must iiilonu yi )U that for some 
 tinit' " 
 
 "AV.'ll?" 
 
 " You must have courage, uiotlu-r." 
 
 " Oil ! the blood runs cold iu my veins. "What has happened. Why 
 sliall 1 not sec liiin .' " 
 
 "Alas! he is arrested." 
 
 " Avrestetl ! " cried Rose and Blanche, ^vith aflfright. 
 
 " Father ! Thy will be done ! " said Françoise ; " but it is a great 
 misfortune. Arrested! for what ? He is so good and honest that there 
 must l)e some mistake." 
 
 " The day before yesterday," resumed Mother Bunch, " I received au 
 auonymous letter, b\' wliicli I was informed that Agi'icola might be 
 arrested at any moment, on account of his song. We agreed together 
 that he should go to the rich young huly in the Eue de Babylone, who 
 bad offered him her services, aud ask her to procure bail for him, to 
 prevent his going to prison. Yesterday moniing he set out to go to the 
 young lady's." 
 
 "And neitht>r of you told me anything of all this; why did you hide 
 it from me? " 
 
 " That we might not make you uneasy, mother; for, counting on the 
 generosity of tliat young lady, I expected Agricola Ijack every moment. 
 When he did not come yesterday evening I said to myself, ' Perhaps 
 the necessary formalities with regard to the Itail have detained him.' 
 But the time jiassetl on and he did not make his appearance; so I 
 watched all night, expecting him." 
 
 " So you did not go to bed either, my good girl ? " 
 
 " No, I was too uneasy. This morning, Tiot Ijeing able to conquer my 
 fears, I went out l»efore dawn. I remenil)ereil the address of the young 
 lady iu the Rue de Babylone, ami I ran thither." 
 
 "Oh, well!" said Fran(,'f)ise, with anxiety, "you were in the right. 
 Acc^)rding to what my sou told us, that young lady appeared very good 
 and generous." 
 
 Mother Bunch shook her head sorrowfully; a tear glistened in her 
 eyes, as she continued: 
 
 " It was still dark when I arrived at the Rue de Babylone; I waited 
 till daylight was come." 
 
 "Poor child! you, who are so weak ami timid," said Françoise, with 
 deep feeling, " to go so far, and in this dreadful weather ! Oh, you have 
 been a real daughter to me." 
 
 "Has not Agricola been like a brother to me?" said Mother Bunch 
 softly, with a slight Ijlush.
 
 THE WAXBEKIXG JEW. 433 
 
 "When it was daylight," she resumed, ''I reutm'ed to ring at the 
 door of the little summer-house ; a charming young girl, but with a sad, 
 j3ale eounteuauee, opened the door to me. ' I come in the name of an 
 unfortunate mother in despair,' said I to her immediately, for I was so 
 poorly dressed that I feared to be sent away as a beggar ; but seeing, 
 on the contrary, that the yoimg girl listened to me with kindness, I 
 asked her if, the day before, a young workman had not come to solicit 
 a gi-eat favor of her mistress. ' Alas ! yes,' answered the young girl ; 
 ' my mistress was going to interest herself for him, and hearing that he 
 was in danger of being arrested she concealed him here. Unfortunately 
 his retreat was discovered, and yesterday afternoon at four o'clock he 
 was arrested and taken to prison.' " 
 
 Though the orphans took no part in this melancholy conversation, 
 the sorrow and anxiety depicted in their countenances showed how 
 much they felt for the sufferings of Dagobert's wife. 
 
 " But the young lady ? " cried Françoise. " You should have tried to 
 see her, my good Mother Bunch, and begged her not to abandon my 
 son. She is so rich that she must have influence, and her protection 
 might save us from gi'eat calamities." 
 
 " Alas ! " said MotTier Bunch, with bitter gi'ief, " we must renounce 
 this last hope." 
 
 " Why ? " said Françoise. " If this young lady is so good she will 
 have pity upon lis when she knows that my son is the only support of 
 a whole family, and that for him to go to prison is worse than for 
 another, because it will reduce us all to the gi'eatest misery." 
 
 "But this young lady," rej^lied the girl, "according to what I learned 
 from her weeping maid, was taken last evening to a lunatic asylum ; it 
 appears she is mad." 
 
 "Mad ! Oh ! it is horrible for her, and for us also — for now there 
 is no hope. What ■will l:)ecome of us withoiit my son f Oh, merciful 
 Heaven ! " 
 
 The unfortunate woman hid her face in her hands. 
 A profound silence followed this heart-rending outburst. Rose and 
 Blanche exchanged mournfid glances, for they perceived that their pres- 
 ence augmented the weighty embarrassments of this family. Mother 
 Bunch, worn out with fatigiie, a prey to painful emotions, and trembling 
 with cold in her wet clothes, sank exhavisted on a chaii" and reflected on 
 their desperate position. 
 
 That position was indeed a cruel one. 
 
 Often, in times of political disturbances, or of agitation amongst 
 the laboring-classes caused by want of work or by the unjust reduction 
 of wages (the result of the powerful coalition of the capitalists) — often
 
 4:U TUE WAXltERIXa .iKw: 
 
 arc whole families reduced, by a measure of preventive imprisonment 
 to as deplorable a position as that of Dagobert's household by Agricola's 
 arrest — an arrest which, as will afteiwaid appear, was entkely owing 
 to Rodin's arts. 
 
 Now, with regard to this " i»recautionary imprisonment," of which 
 the victims are almost always honest and industrious mechanics, 
 driven to the necessity of conibiiiing tno-othor by tlie fnorf/oii'udtloii of 
 Ldl/of auil the IiisHjJiciriK!/ of Wai/rs, it is painful to sec tlu; law, wliicli 
 ought to be equal for all, refuse to strikers what it gi-ants to masters, 
 liecause the latter can dispose of a certain sum of money. Thus, 
 uniler many circumstances, the rich man, by gi\'ing bail, can escape 
 the annoyance and inconveniences of a preventive incarceration ; he 
 deposits a sum of money, pledges his word to appear on a certain <lay, 
 and goes back to his pleasures, his occupations, and the sweet delights 
 of his family. 
 
 Nothing can be better; an accused person is innocent till he is 
 proved guilty ; we cannot l)e too nnich impressed with that indulgent 
 maxim. It is well for the rich man that he can avail himself of the 
 mercy of the law. 
 
 But how is it with the poor Î 
 
 Not only has he no bail to give, for his whole ca])ital consists of 
 his daily la})or, lait it is upon him ehiedy that the rigors of preventive 
 measures must fall with a teiiilile and fatal force. 
 
 For the rich man, imi)risoninent is merely the jirivation of ease and 
 comfort, tedioiis hours, and the pain of separation from his family — 
 distresses not unworthy of interest, for all suffering deserves pity, and 
 the tears of the rich man separated from his children ai'e as bitter as 
 those of the poor. But the absence of the rich man does not condemn 
 his family to hunger and cold and the incural)le maladies causecl l)y 
 exhaustion and misery. 
 
 For the workman, on the contrary, imprisonment means want, 
 misery, sometimes death, to those most dear to him. Possessing noth- 
 ing, he is unable to find bail, and he goes to prison. But if he have, as 
 it often happens, an old, infirm father or mother, a sick wife, or children 
 in the cradle? "What \\nll become of this unfortunate family? They 
 could hardly manage to live from day to day upon the wages of this 
 man, wages almost always insuflBcient, and suddenly this only resom-ce 
 will be wanting for three or four months together. 
 
 What will this family do f To wliom will they have recourse ? 
 
 What will liecome of these infirm old men, these sickly wives, these 
 little children, unable to gain their daily bread? If they chance to 
 have a little linen and a few spare clothes, these wiU be carried to the
 
 THE WAXDEEIXa JEW. 435 
 
 pawnbroker's, and thus they will exist for a week oi- so — Ijut after- 
 ward I 
 
 And if winter adds the rigors of the season to this frightful and 
 inevitable misery ? 
 
 Then will the imprisoned artisan see in his mind's eye, during the 
 long and sleepless nights, those who were dear to him, wan, gaunt, hag- 
 gard, exhausted, stretched almost naked upon filthy straw or huddled 
 close together to warm their frozen limlis. And, should he afterward 
 be acquitted, it is ruin and desolation that he finds on his return to his 
 poor dwelling. 
 
 And then, after that long cessation from labor, he will find it difficult 
 to return to his old employers. How many days will be lost in seeking 
 for work ! and a day without employment is a day without bread ! 
 
 Let us repeat our opinion, that if, under various circumstances, the 
 law did not afford to the rich the facility of giving bail, Ave could only 
 lament over all such victims of individual and inevitable misfortune. 
 But since the law does provide the means of setting provisionally at lib- 
 erty those who possess a certain sum of money, why should it deprive 
 of this advantage those very persons for whom liberty is indeed indis- 
 pensable, as it involves the existence of themselves and families ? 
 
 Is there any remedy for this deplorable state of things f We believe 
 there is. 
 
 The law has ûxed the minimum of bail at five hundred francs. Now, 
 five hundi-ed francs represent, upon the average, six months' labor of an 
 industrious workman. 
 
 If he have a wife and two children (which is also about the average), 
 it is evidently quite impossible for him to have saved any such sum. 
 
 So, to ask of such a man five hundred francs, to enable him to con- 
 tinue to sujiport his family, is in fact to put him beyond the pale of the 
 law, though more than any one else he requires its protection, because 
 of the disastrous consequences which his imprisonment entails upon 
 others. 
 
 Would it not be equitable and humane, a noble and salutary exam- 
 ple, to accept, in every case where bail is allowed (and where the good 
 chai'acter of the accused could be honoraljly established), moral guar- 
 antees, in the al)sence of material ones, from those who have no capital 
 but tlieh" labor and tlicir integrity — to accept the word of an honest 
 man to appear upon the day of trial ' Would it not be gi'eat and moral 
 in these days, to raise the value of the i)lighted word and exalt man in 
 his own eyes, by showing him that his promise was held to be sufficient 
 security ? 
 
 Will you so degi'ade the dignity of man as to treat this proposition
 
 4:!(; THE WAXDERiytl JEW. 
 
 as ail iiupos:<iblo aud Utopian tlivaiu .' We ask, how many jn-isoniTs of 
 war have ever broken their parole, and it" otficers aud soldiers are 
 not brothers of the workiiifr-nian .* 
 
 Without exaggerating; the virtue of promise-keeping in the honest 
 and laborious jjoor, we feel certain that an engagement taken by the 
 accused to appear on tiif «lay of trial would be always fulfilled, not only 
 with fidelity, but with the warmest gratitude; for his family wouM not 
 have suffered by his absenee, thanks to the iudiUgenee of the law. 
 
 There is also another fact of which France may well 1 >e proud. It 
 is that her magistrates (although miseraltly paid as the army itself ) are 
 generally wise, upright, humane, and ind(>]iendent ; they have the true 
 feeling of theii- own useful and sacred mission ; they know how to 
 appreciate the wants and tlistresses of the working-classes, with whom 
 they are so often l)rought in contact ; to them might lie safely granted 
 the power of fixing those cases in which a moral security, the only one 
 that can be given by the honest and necessitous man, should be received 
 as sufficient.* 
 
 Finally, if those who make the laws have so low an opinion of the 
 people as to reject with disdain the suggestions we have ventured to 
 throw out, let them at least so reduce the minimum of bail as to icinlcr 
 it availal)le for those who have most need to escape the fruitless ligors 
 of imprisonment. Let them take, as theii- lowest limit, the month's wages 
 of an artisan — say eif/hfi/ francs. 
 
 This sum would still be exorbitant ; l>ut, with the aid of friends, the 
 pawnln-okers, and some little advances, eighty francs might ijcrhajis be 
 found — not always, it is true — but still sometimes; and, at all events, 
 many families would be rescued from frightful misery. 
 
 Ha\nng made these oljservations, let us return to Dagobert's family, 
 who, in consequence of the preventive arrest of Agi'icola, were now 
 reduced to an almost hopeless state. 
 
 The anguish of Dagobert's wife increased, the more she reflected on 
 her situation ; for, including the daughtei's of Marshal Simon, four per- 
 sons were left absolutely without resom-ce. It must be confessed, how- 
 ever, that the excellent mother thought less of herself than of the grief 
 which her sou must feel in thinking over her deplorable position. 
 
 At this moment there was a knock at the door. 
 " Who is there ? " said Françoise. 
 
 • In another work we have mentioned, with respect and sympathy, the excellent 
 book of M. Prosper Tarbe, Procureur du Roi, upon " Work and Wa^es " — one of the best 
 and most sterlinyr productions that an enlightened love of humanity ever called forth 
 from generous heart and clear, practical intellect.
 
 THE WAXDERIXO JEW. 437 
 
 " It is me — Father Loriot." 
 
 " Come in," said Dagobert's wife. 
 Tlie dyer, who also performed the functions of a porter, appeared 
 at the door of the room. Tliis time his arms were no longer of a bright 
 apple-gi'eeu, but of a magnificent violet. 
 
 " Madame Baudoin," said Father Loriot, " here is a letter, that the 
 giver of holy water at Saint-Méry's has just l)rought from Abbé Dubois, 
 with a request that I would bring it up to you immediately, as it is very 
 pressing." 
 
 " A letter from my confessor ? " said Françoise, in astonishment ; and, 
 as she took it, added : " Thank you. Father Loriot." 
 
 " You do not want anything 'l " 
 
 "No, Father Loriot." 
 
 " My resj^eets to the ladies ! " And the dyer went out. 
 
 " Mother Bunch, will you read this letter for me ? " said Françoise, 
 anxious to learn the contents of the missive in question. 
 
 " Yes, mother." And the young girl read as follows : 
 
 '• Mv DEAR Madame Baudok: I am in the habit of hearing your confession 
 Tuesday and Saturday, but I shall not be at libertj' either to-moiTOW or the last day of 
 the week ; you must then come to lue this morninsr, unless you wish to remain a whole 
 week without approaching the tribunal of penance." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! a week ! " cried Dagobert's wife. " ^Uas ! I am only 
 too conscious of the necessity of going there to-day, notwithstanding 
 the trouble and grief in which I am plunged." 
 
 Then, addressing herself to the orphans, she continued : 
 
 " Heaven has heard the prayers that I made for you, my dear young 
 ladies; this very day I shall be able to considt a good and holy man 
 with regard to the great dangers to which you are exposed. Poor dear 
 souls, that are so innocent, and yet so guilty, without any fault of youi* 
 own ! Heaven is my witness that my heart bleeds for you as much as 
 for my son." 
 
 Rose and Blanche looked at each other in confusion ; they could 
 not understand the fears with which the state of their souls inspired 
 the wife of Dagobert. The latter soon resumed, addressing the young 
 seamstress : 
 
 "My good girl, will you render me yet another service !" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 "My husband took Agricola's week's wages with him to pay his jour- 
 ney to Chartres. It was all the money I had in the house ; I am siu'e 
 that my poor child had none about him, and in prison he will perhaps 
 want some. Therefore take my silver ('U]\ fork, and spoon, the two
 
 4;{8 THE WAXDERING JEW. 
 
 pair of sheets that reinaiu over, and my wadiled silk shawl, tliat Agric- 
 ola gave me on my birthday, and carry them all to the pawnbroker's. 
 I will try aud tiud out in which prison my sou is confined, and will send 
 him halt' of the little sum we get upon the things ; the rest will serve 
 us till my husliand comes home. And then, what shall we do ? ^Vhat 
 a blow for him! and only more misery in prospect — since my sou is 
 in prison, and 1 have lost my sight. Almighty Father!" cried the 
 unfortunate mother, with an expression of impatient and bitter grief, 
 '* why am I thus afflicted I Have I not done enough to deserve some 
 pity, if not for myself, at least for those belonging to me ! " But imme- 
 diately reproaching herself for this outlnirst, she added, " No, no ! I 
 ought to accept with thankfulness all that thou sendest me. Forgive 
 me for these complaints, or i)unish only myself ! " 
 
 "Be of good courage, mother !" said Mother Bunch. " Agricola is 
 innocent, and will not remain long in jirison." 
 
 " But now I think of it," resumed Dagoltert's wife, " to go to the 
 ]iawiibroker's -will make you lose much time, my poor gii-l." 
 
 "lean make up that in the night, ^ladame Françoise ; I could not 
 sleep, knowing yoii in such trouble. Work will amuse me." 
 
 " Yes, but the candles " 
 
 "Nev(>r mind, I am a little lieforehand with my work," said tin» ]ioor 
 girl, telling a falsehood. 
 
 "Ki.ss me, at least," said Françoise, with moist eyes, "for you are the 
 very best creatm-e in the woi-ld!" So saying, she hastened out of the 
 room. 
 
 Kose and Blanche were left alone with Mother Bunch ; at length 
 had arrived the moment for which they had waited with so much 
 imi)atience. Dagobert's wife proceeded to the Church of St. Meiy, 
 wh(>re her confessor was expecting to see her.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE CONFESSIOXAL 
 
 OTHESTCt could be move gloomy than the appearance of the 
 Chuvoh of St. Méiy on this dark and snow^y- -winter's day. 
 Françoise stopped a moment beneath the porch, to behold a 
 lugubrioiTS spectacle. 
 
 While a priest was mumbling some words in a low voice, two or 
 three dirty choristers, in soiled surplices, were chanting the prayers for 
 the dead, with an absent and sullen air, round a plain deal c<jffin, fol- 
 lowed only by a sobbing old man and a child, miserably clad. The 
 beadle and the sacristan, very much displeased at being disturbed for so 
 wretched a funeral, had not deigned to put on their liveries, but, yawn- 
 ing with impatience, waited for the end of the ceremony, so useless to 
 the interests of the establishment. At length, a few ckops of holy 
 water being sprinkled on the coffin, the priest handed the bi'ush to the 
 beadle and retu-ed. 
 
 Then took place one of those shameful scenes, the necessary conse- 
 quence of an ignoble and sacrilegious traffic, so frequent with regard to 
 the burials of the poor, who cannot afford to pay for tapers, high mass, 
 or A-iolins — for now there are \aolins even for the dead. 
 
 The old man stretched forth his hand to the sacristan to receive the 
 brush. 
 
 " Come, look sharp ! " said that official, blowing on his fingers. 
 
 The emotion of the old man was profound, and his weakness extreme ; 
 he remained for a moment without Stirling, while the brush was clasped 
 tightly in his trembling hand. In that coffin was his daughter, the mother 
 of the ragged child who wept by his side — his heart was breaking at 
 the thought of that last farewell ; he stood motionless, and his bosom 
 heaved with convulsive sobs. 
 
 " Now, will you make haste ? " said the brutal beadle. " Do you think 
 "we are going to sleep here f " 
 
 The old man quickened his movements. He made the sign of the
 
 440 Tin: w'AxniJh'TXd .ii:\v. 
 
 cross ovor tlie eoi-pse, and, stooping down, was about to phu-c thf hrush 
 ill the baud of his gi-aiidson, when the sacristan, thinking the affair had 
 ksted long enough, i<iiatched the sprinkling-brusli from the child, and 
 made a sign to tlic bearers to carry away tlic cotlin, which was itmncdi- 
 ately (hnic. 
 
 " Wasn't that old beggar a slow-coach ? '' said the beadle to his com- 
 panion, as tlicy went ])ack to the sacristy. " \Vc sliall hardly liavc time 
 to get ijreakt'ast and to dress ourselves for the bang-up funeral of tliis 
 morning. That will be something like a dead man, that's worth the 
 trouble. I shall shoulder my halberd in style ! " 
 
 •' And mount your colonel's epaulets, to throw dust in the eyes of the 
 women that let out the chairs — eh, you old rascal ? " said the othtM-, with 
 a sly look. 
 
 " AYliat can I do, Tjitillard ? AVhcn one has a fine figure, it must be 
 seen," answered the beadle, with a triumphant air. "1 cannot blind tlui 
 women to prevent their losing their hearts ! " 
 
 Thus conversing, the two men reached the sacristy. The sight of 
 the funeral had only increased the gloom of Françoise. When she 
 entered the church, seven or eight persons, scattered about upon chairs, 
 alone occupied the damp and icy Imildiiig. One of tin- distributers of 
 holy water, an old fellow with a i-uliicund, joyous, wine-bibbing face, 
 seeing Françoise approach the little font, sai<l to lier in a low voice: 
 
 " Abbé Dubois is not yet in his box. Be quick, and you will have the 
 first wag of his beard ! " 
 
 Though shocked at this pleasantry, Françi^ise thanked the irrever- 
 ent speaker, made devoutly the sign of the cross, advanced some steps 
 into the church, and knelt down upon the stones to repeat the prayer 
 which she always offered up before ai>proacliiiig the tribunal of juMiance. 
 Having said this prayer, she went toward a dark corner of tlie churcii 
 in w'hich was an oaken confessional with a black curtain drawn across 
 the grated door. The places on each sid(( were vacant; so Françoise 
 knelt down in that upon the i-iglit hand, and remained there for some 
 time absorbed in Ijitter reflections. 
 
 In a few minutes a priest of tall statui'e, with gray hair and a stem 
 countenance, clad in a long black cassock, stalked slowly along one of 
 the aisles of the church. A short, old, misshapen man, l)adl_\- dressed, 
 leaning upon an umbrella, accompanied him, and from time to time 
 whispered in his ear, when the priest would stop to listen with a i>ro- 
 found and respectful deference. 
 
 As they approached the confessional, the short old man, perceiving 
 Françoise on her knees, looked at the priest with an air of interrogation. 
 
 " It is she," said the clergj^man.
 
 THE WAXDERING JEW. 
 
 441 
 
 " Well, iu two or three hours they will expeet the two girls at St. 
 Mary's Convent. I count upon it," said the old man. 
 
 " I hope so, for the sake of their souls," answered the priest ; and, bow- 
 ing gravely, he entered the confessional. 
 
 The short old man cpiitted the church. 
 
 This old man was Eodin. It was on leaving Saint-Méry's that 
 he went to the lunatic asylum, to assure himself that Dr. Baleinier
 
 44:2 Tin: WAXDEUisa -ir.w. 
 
 had faithfully i-Xfcuted hi.s iiistniclions with ivj;ard to Adricimu do 
 Cardovilk'. 
 
 Frauçoise was still kneeling in the interior of the confessional. One 
 of the slides opened, and a voice ])egan to speak. It was that of the 
 priest will) fur the last twenty years had heen the confessor of Dago- 
 bert's wife, and exercised over her an irresistible and all-powerful 
 influence. 
 
 "You received my letter ?" said the voice. 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 " Veiy AvcU — I listen to you." 
 
 "Bless nie, father, for I have sinned !" said Françoise. 
 The voice proiiouneed the fornnda of tlie l)enedietiou. Dago]>ert's 
 wife answered " amen," as was proper, said her roiijitcor, gave au 
 account of the manner in which she had performed her last penance, 
 and then jjroceeded to the enumeration of the new sins, committed 
 since she had received absolution. 
 
 For this excellent woman, a glorious martj'r of industry and 
 maternal love, always fancied herself sinning; her conscience was 
 incessantly tormented by the fear tliat she had committed some incom- 
 prehensi])le offense. This mild and ctmrageous creature, who, after a 
 whole life of devotion, ought to have ])ass(>d what time remained to her 
 in calm serenity of soul, looked u\nni herself as a gi'eat sinner, and 
 lived in continual anxiety, doubting much her ultimate salvation. 
 
 " Father," said she, in a trembling voice, " I accuse myself of omitting 
 my eveidng prayer the day before yesterday. My husband, from whom 
 I had been separated for manj^ years, returned home. The joy and the 
 agitation caused by his arrival made me commit this gi-eat sin." 
 
 " "\r^'^lat next ?" said the voice, in a severe tone, which redoubled the 
 poor woman's uneasiness. 
 
 " Father, I accuse myself of falling into the same sin yesterday even- 
 ing. I was in a state of mortal anxiety, for my son did not come home 
 as usual, and I waiteil for him minutt» after minute, till the hour had 
 passed over." 
 
 " What next ? " said the voice, 
 
 " Father, I accuse myself of having told a falsehood all this week to 
 my son, ])y letting him think that on accoimt of his reproaching me for 
 neglecting my health I had taken a little wine for my dinner ; whereas I 
 had left it for him, who has more need of it, because he works so much." 
 
 '' (lO on! " said the voice. 
 
 " Father, I accuse myself of a momentary want of resignation this 
 morning, when I learned that my poor son was arrested. Instead of 
 submitting with respect and gratitude to this new trial which the Lord
 
 THE WAXDERINO JEW. 443 
 
 hath sent me, alas ! 1 rebelled against it in my grief — aud of this I 
 accuse myself." 
 
 " A bad week," said the priest, in a tone of stUl greater severity, " a 
 bad week ; for you have always put the creature before the Creator. 
 But proceed ! " 
 
 " Alas ! father ! " resumed Françoise, much dejected, " I know that I 
 am a great sinner ; and I fear that I am on the road to sins of a stUl 
 gi'aver kind." 
 
 " Speak ! " 
 
 " My husband lirought with him from Siberia two young orphans, 
 daughters of Marshal Simon. Yesterday morning I asked them to say 
 their prayers, and I learned from them, with as much fright as sorrow, 
 that they know none of the mysteries of our holy faith, though they 
 are fifteen years old. They have never received the sacrament, nor are 
 they even baptized, father — not even baptized ! " 
 
 " They must be heathens ! " cried the voice, in a tone of angiy sm-prise. 
 
 " That is what so much grieves me, father ; for, as I and my husband 
 are in the room of parents to these young orphans, we should be guilty 
 of the sins which they might commit — should we not, father ? " 
 
 " Certainly, since you take the place of those who ought to watch 
 over their souls. The shepherd must answer for his flock," said the 
 voice. 
 
 " Aud if they should happen to he in mortal sin, father, I and my 
 husband would be in mortal sin ? " 
 
 " Yes," said the voice ; " you take the place of their parents ; and 
 fathers and mothers are guilty of all the sins which their children com- 
 mit when those sins arise from the want of a Chiistian education." 
 
 " Alas, father ! what am I to do ? I address myself to you as I would 
 to Heaven itself. Every day, every hour, that these poor yoiing gh'ls 
 remain heathens, may contribute to bring about their eternal dam- 
 nation, may it not, father!" said Françoise, in a tone of the deepest 
 emotion. 
 
 " Yes," answered the voice ; " and the weight of this terrible respon- 
 sibility rests upon you and your husband ; you have the charge of 
 souls." 
 
 " Lord, have mercy upon me ! " said Françoise, weeping. 
 
 " You must not giieve yom-self thus," answered the voice, in a softer 
 tone; "happily for these unfortunates, they have met you upon the 
 way. They will have in you and youi- hi;sl)and good and pioiis exam- 
 ples; for I suppose that your husband, though formerly an ungodly 
 person, now practices his religious duties ? " 
 
 "We must pray for him, father," said Françoise sorrowfully; "gi-ace
 
 444 THE WAX DE Kl y <1 .1 E\V. 
 
 has not yet touclied his heart. He is Hke iiiypDor rhihl, who lias also 
 uot been called to holiness. Ah, father ! " said she, drying her tears, 
 " these thoughts are my heaviest eross." 
 
 " So neither yonr Imshand nor yonr son prncticvs,^ resumed the voice, 
 in a tone of reflection; " this is serious — very serious. The religious 
 education of these two unfortunate girls has yet to begin. In your 
 house th(\v will have ever before them the most deplorable examples. 
 Take care ! 1 have warned you. You have the charge of .st)uls ; your 
 responsibility is immense ! " 
 
 " Father, it is that which makes me wretched. I am at a loss what 
 to do. Help me, and give me your counsels: foi- tw(>iity years your 
 voice has been to me as the voice of the Lord." 
 
 ■' Well, you must agive with your husbaii<l to scud these unfortimate 
 girls to some religious houses where they may be instructed." 
 
 " We are too poor, father, to pay for their schooling, and unfortunately 
 my son has just been put in prison for songs that he wrote." 
 
 " Behold the fruit of impiety," said the voice severely ; " look at 
 Gabriel ! he has followed my counsels, and is now the model of every 
 Christian Airtue." 
 
 " My son, Agi-icola, has had good qualities, father; he is so kind, so 
 devoted ! " 
 
 '' Without religion," said the voice, with redouljled severity, " what 
 you call good qualities are only vain appearances ; at the least breath of 
 the de\il they will disappear — for the devil lurks in every soul that has 
 no religion." 
 
 " Oh ! my poor son ! " said Françoise, weeping ; " I pray for him every 
 day that faith may enlighten him." 
 
 "I have always told you," resumed the voice, "that you have been 
 too weak with him. God now punishes yoii for it. You should have 
 parted from this irreligious son, and not sanctioned his impiety by lov- 
 ing him as you do. ' If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off,' saith the 
 Scri])ture." 
 
 "Alas, father! you know it is the oidy time 1 have disobeyed you; 
 but I coidd not bring myself to part fiom my son." 
 
 "Therefore is your salvation uncertain — but (lod is mercifid. Do 
 not fall into the same fault with regard to these young girls, whom 
 Providence has sent you that you might save them from eternal 
 damnation. Do not i)lang(' them into it by your own cnljialtlc indif- 
 ference." 
 
 "Oh, father! I have wept and praye<l for them." 
 
 " That is not sufficient. These unfortunate children cannot have any 
 notion of good or evil. Their souls must be an abyss of scandal and
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 445 
 
 impurity — brought ui^, as they have been, by an impious mother and a 
 soldier devoid of rehgion." 
 
 " As for that, father," said Fi-ançoise, with simplicity, " they are gentle 
 as angels, and my husband, who has not quitted them since their l)irth, 
 declares that they have the best hearts in the world." 
 
 " Your husband has dwelt all his life in mortal sin," said the voice 
 harshly ; " how can he judge of the state of souls ! I repeat to you, 
 that as you represent the parents of these unfortunates, it is not to-mor- 
 I'ow, but it is to-day, and on the instant, that you must labor for their 
 salvation, if you would not incur a terrible responsibility." 
 
 " It is true, — I know it well, father, — and I suffer as much from this 
 fear as from grief at my son's arrest. But what is to be done ? I could 
 not instruct these young girls at home — for I have not the knowledge — 
 I have only faith; and then my poor husban<l, in his blindness, makes 
 game of sacred things, which my sou, at least, respects in my presence, 
 out of regard for me. Then, once more, father, come to my aid, I con- 
 jure you ! Advise me ; what is to be done ? " 
 
 " We cannot abandon these two young souls to frightful perdition," 
 said the voice, after a moment's silence ; " there are not two ways 
 of saving them; there is only one, — and that is to place them in a 
 religious house, where they may l^e srirrounded by good and pious 
 examples." 
 
 " Oh, father ! if we were not so poor, or if I could still work, I would 
 try to gain suflficient to pay for their board, and do for them as I did for 
 Gabriel. Unfortunately, I have quite lost my sight ; but you, father, 
 know some charitable souls, and if you could get any of them to inter- 
 est themselves for these poor orphans " 
 
 " Where is their father f " 
 
 " He was in India ; but, my husband tells me, he will soon be in 
 France. That, however, is uncertain. Besides, it would make my heart 
 bleed to see those poor children share our misery — which will soon be 
 extreme ; for we only live by my son's labor." 
 
 " Have these girls no relation here ! " asked the voice. 
 
 " I believe not, father." 
 
 " It was their mother who intrusted them to your husband, to bring 
 them to France l " 
 
 " Yes, father ; and he was obliged to set out yesterday for Chartres 
 on some very pressing business, as he told me." 
 
 It wiU be remembered that Dagobert had not thought fit to inform 
 his wife of the hopes which the daughters of Marshal Simon founded 
 on the possession of the medal, and that he had particularly charged 
 them not to mention these hopes, even to Françoise.
 
 44»; •/•///: \\AM>i:i:iX(!iE]y. 
 
 "80," resumed the voice, after a pause of some moments' duration, 
 " your husband is uot in Paris." 
 
 " No, father; Imt lie will doubtless retui'n this evening or to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 " Listen to me," said the voice, after another pause. " Every minute 
 lost for those two young girls is a new step on the road to perdition. At 
 any jnoment the hand of God may smite them, for he alone knows the 
 hour of our death; and were they to die in the state in which they now 
 are they would most probably be lost to all etei-nity. This very day, 
 therefore, you must open their eyes to the divine light and ])laci' them 
 in a religious house. It is your duty — it should be your desire." 
 
 " Oh, yes, father ; but, unfortunately, I am too poor, as I have already 
 told you." 
 
 " I know it — you do not want for zeal or faith ; but even were you 
 capable of dii'eeting these young girls, the impious examples of your 
 husl)and and son would daily destroy your work. Others must do for 
 these orphans, in the name of Cliristian charity, that which you cannot 
 do, though you are answerable for them l)efoi'e Heaven." 
 
 " Oh, father ! if, thanks to you, this good work could be accomplished, 
 how grateftd I should be ! " 
 
 " It is not im])ossil)le. I know the su]ierior of a convent where these 
 young girls would be instructed as tliev ought. The <-harge for tlieir 
 board would be diminished in consideration of their poverty ; but, liow- 
 ever small, it must be paid,- and there would be also an outllt to fur- 
 nish. All that would be too dear for you." 
 • " Alas ! yes, father." 
 
 " But by taking a little from my poor-box and by apph-ing to one or 
 two generous persons, I think I shall be able to complete the necessary 
 sum, and so get the young girls received at the convent." 
 
 " All, father ! you are my deliverer and these chikken's." 
 
 " I wish to be so; but in the interest of their salvation, and to make 
 these measures really etheacious, I must attach some conditions to the 
 support I offer you." 
 
 " Name them, father ; they are accepted beforehand. Your commands 
 shall be obeyed in everything." 
 
 " First of all, then, the children must be taken this very morning to 
 the convent by my housekeeper, to whom you must bring them almost 
 immediately." 
 
 " Nay, father; that is impossible ! " cried Françoise, 
 
 " Impossible ! Why ? " 
 
 " In the absence of my husband "
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 447 
 
 " I dare not take such a step without consultmg him." 
 
 " Not only must you abstain from consulting him, but the thing must 
 be done during his absence." 
 
 " What, father ? should I not wait for his return ? " 
 
 " No, for two reasons," answered the priest sternly : " first, because 
 his hardened impiety would certainly lead him to oppose yom- pious 
 resolution ; secondly, because it is indispensable that these young gii'ls 
 shoidd break off all connection with your husljand, who, therefore, must 
 be left in ignorance of their place of retreat." 
 
 " But, father," said Françoise, a prey to cruel doubt and embaiTass- 
 ment, " it is to my husband that these chikken were intrusted, and to 
 dispose of them without his consent would be " 
 
 "Can you instruct these children at your house — yes or no?" 
 inteiTupted the voice. 
 
 '' No, father, I cannot." 
 
 "Are they exposed to fall into a state of final impenitence by 
 remaining with you — yes or no I " 
 
 " Yes, father, they are so exposed." 
 
 " Are you responsible, as you take the place of their parents, for the 
 mortal sins they may commit — yes or no ? " 
 
 " Alas, father ! I am responsible before God." 
 
 " Is it in the interest of their eternal salvation that I enjoin you to 
 place them this veiy day in a convent ? " 
 
 " It is for their salvation, father." 
 
 " Well, then, choose ! " 
 
 " But tell me, I entreat you, father, if I have the right to dispose of 
 them without the consent of my husband ? " 
 
 " The right ! You have not only the right, but it is your sacred duty. 
 Would you not be bound, I ask you, to rescue these unfortimate 
 creatui'es from a fire against the will of your husband, or dm-iug his 
 absence ? Well ! you must now rescue them, not from a fire that ■will 
 only consume the body, but from one in which theii' souls would burn 
 to all eternity." 
 
 " Forgive me, I implore you, father," said the poor woman, whose 
 indecision and anguish increased every minute ; " satisfy my doulits ! 
 How can I act thus when I have sworn obedience to my husl)and ? " 
 
 " Obedience for good, yes ; but never for e^il. You confess that, 
 were it left to liini, the salvation of these orphans woiild be doubtful 
 and perhaps impossible." 
 
 " But, father," said Françoise, trembling, " when my husband returns 
 he will ask me, where are these chUdreu ? Must I tell him a false- 
 hood f"
 
 448 THE WAX/>J:ii-l\(l JEW. 
 
 " Silence is not falsehood; you will till liiiii that you cannot answer 
 his question." 
 
 "My hiisbaml is the kindest of men, hut such an answer will drive 
 him almost mad. He has been a soldier and his anger will be terrible, 
 father," said Françoise, shuddering at the thought. 
 
 "And were his anger a hunch'ed times more teriible, you shouM be 
 proud to brave it in so sacred a cause ! " cried the voice, with indigna- 
 tion. " Do you think that salvation is to be so easily gained on earth .* 
 Since when does the sinner, that would walk in the way of the Loi'd, 
 turn aside for the stones and briars that may bruise and tear him ?'' 
 
 "Pardon, father, pardon!" said Françoise, with the resignation of 
 despah". " Pei-mit me to ask one more question, one only. Alas ! if 
 you do not guide me, how shall I find the way ? " 
 
 "Speak!" 
 
 " When Marshal Simon an-ives he will ask his childi'en of my husband. 
 "What answer can he then give to their father ? " 
 
 " "SMien Marshal Simon arrives you will let me know immediately, 
 and then — I will see what is to be done. The rights of a father are 
 only sacred in so far as he makes use of them for the salvation of his 
 children. Before and above the father on earth is the Father in heaven, 
 whom we must first serve. Keflect upon all this. By accepting what I 
 l)roi>ose to you, these young girls will be saved from perdition; they 
 will not be at yom- charge ; they will not partake of yom- miseiy ; they 
 will l)e brought up in a sacred institution, as, after all, the daughters of 
 a marshal of France ought to be ; and when their father arrives at Paris, 
 if he be found worthy of seeing them again, instead of finding poor, 
 ignorant, half-savage heathens, he will behold two girls, pious, mod- 
 est, and well iufonned, who, being acceptable with the Almighty, may 
 invoke his mercy for their father, who, it must be owned, has great 
 need of it, being a man of ^dolence, war, and battle. Now decide ! 
 Will you, on i)eril of yoiu' soul, sacrifice the welfare of these girls in 
 this world and the next because of an impious dread of your husband's 
 anger Î " 
 
 Though rude and fettered l>y intolerance, the confessor's language 
 was (taking his "snew of the case) reasonable and just, because the honest 
 priest was himself convinced of what he said. A blind instrument of 
 Rodin, ignorant of the end in %dew, he beUeved firmly that in forcing 
 Françoise to i)lace these young girls in a convent he was performing a 
 l)ious duty. Such was and is one of the most wonderful resources of 
 the order to which Rodin belonged — to have for accomplices good and 
 sincere people who are ignorant of the natm'e of the plots in which 
 they are the principal actors.
 
 ■SPOILSPORT" IX THE WAY.
 
 TUE WAXDERIXG JEW. 451 
 
 Franf'oise, long accustoiucd to submit to the influence of her con- 
 fessor, coukl find nothing to object to in his last words. She resigned 
 herself to follow his directions, though she trembled to think of the 
 furious anger of Dagoljert when he should no longer find the chilcken 
 that a dying mother had confided to his care. But, according to the 
 priest's opinion, the more terrible this anger might appear to her, the 
 more she would show her pious humility by exposing herself to it. 
 
 "(lod's will be done, father!" said she, in reply to her confessor. 
 " Wliatever Tuay happen, I Avill do my duty as a Christian, in obedience 
 to your commands." 
 
 "And the Lord will reward you for what you may have to suffer in 
 the accomplishment of this meritorious act. You promise, then, ])efore 
 God, that you will not answer any of your husband's questions, when 
 he asks you for the daughters of Marshal Simon ? " 
 
 " Yes, father, I promise ! " said Fran(,'oise, with a shudder. 
 
 " And will preserve the same silence toward Marshal Simon himself, 
 in case he should return, before his daughters appear to me sufiiciently 
 gi-ounded in the faith to be restored to him f " 
 
 " Yes, father," she said, in a still fainter voice. 
 
 " You will come and give me an account of the scene that takes place 
 l)etween you and your husband, upon his return f " 
 
 " Yes, father. 'Wlien mixst I jjring the orphans to your house ? " 
 
 " In an hour. I will write to the superior, and leave the letter with 
 my housekeeper. She is a trusty person, and will conduct the young 
 girls to the convent." 
 
 After she had listened to the exhortations of her confessor, and 
 received absolution for her late sins on condition of performing pen- 
 ance, Dagoliert's wife left the confessional. 
 
 The church was no longer deserted. An immense crowd pressed 
 into it, drawn thither by the pomp of the grand funeral, of which the 
 beadle had spoken to the sacristan two hours before. It was with the 
 greatest difficulty that Françoise could reach the door of the church, 
 now hung with sum][)tuous drapery. 
 
 What a contrast to the poor and himible train which had that iiiorn- 
 ing so timidly presented themselves beneath the porch ! 
 
 The numerous clei'gy of the parish, in full procession, advanced 
 majestically to receive the coflBn covered with a velvet pall ; the watered 
 silks and stuffs of their copes and stoles, their splendid silvered embroid- 
 eries, sparkled in the liglit of a thousand tapers. The beadle strutted 
 in all the glory of his brilliant imiform and flashing epaulets ; on the 
 oiiposite side walked in high glee the saciistan, carrjHug his whalebone
 
 452 THE WAS DE m Ml .WAV. 
 
 start" witli a inai^istcrial air; tlii> voices of the c-lioristors, now dad in 
 1'iv.sh, white surplices, rolled out iu Imrsts of thunder; the trunijiets' 
 blare shook the windows ; and upon the countenances of all those who 
 were to have a share in the spoils of this lich corpse, this excellent 
 coipse, this tirst-class corpse, a look of satisfaction was visible, intense 
 and yet sulitlucd, wliidi suited admirably with tiic air and attitude of 
 the two heirs, — tall, vioforous fellows witli lloiid complexions, who, 
 without oversteppinij; the limits of a charminj; modesty of enjoyment, 
 seemed to cudtUe and hug themselves most comfortably in their muurn- 
 iug-doaks. 
 
 Notwithstanding her simplicity and pious faith, I)agol)ert's wife was 
 painfully impressed with this revolting ditference between the r(»ce]>tion 
 of the rich and the poor man's colîin at the door of the house of (iod — 
 for surely, if equality be ever real, it is in the presence of deatii and 
 eternity! 
 
 The two sad spectacles she had witnessed tended still furthei- to 
 depress her spirits. Having succeeded with no small ti'ouble in making 
 her way out of the church, she hastened to return to the Rue Biise- 
 Miche, in order to fetch the oiphans and conduct them to the house- 
 keeper of her confessor, who was in her turn to takt> them to St. jMary's 
 Convent, situated, as we know, next door to Dr. Baleinier's lunatic 
 asylum, in which Adrienne de Cai'do ville was coutiued.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 AND "SPOILSPOET' 
 
 HE wife of Dagobert, liaviug quitted the cliui-eh, arrived at 
 
 the comer of the Rue Brise-Miohe, when she was accosted 
 
 Ijy the distributer of holy water; he came muiiiug, out 
 
 of breath, to beg her to return to Saint-Méry's, where the 
 
 Abbé Dul )uis had yet something of importance to say to her. 
 
 The moment Françoise turned to go back a hackney-coach stopped 
 in front of the house she inhabited. The coachman quitted his box to 
 open the door. 
 
 " Driver," said a stout woman (kessed in l)lack, who was seated in the 
 ean-iage, and held a pug-dog upon her knees, " ask if Madame Françoise 
 Baudoin lives in this house." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," said the coachman. 
 The reader -«^11 no doul^t have recognized Madame Grivois, head 
 waiting-woman to the Princess de Saint-Dizier, accompanied by Mon- 
 sieur, who exercised a real t^Taniiy over his mistress. The dyer, whom 
 we have already seen performing the duties of a porter, Ijeing questioned 
 by the coachman as to the dwelling of Françoise, came out of his work- 
 shop and advanced gallantly to the coach-door to inform Madame Grivois 
 that Françoise Baudoin did in fact live in the house, Imt was at present 
 from home. 
 
 The arms, hands, and part of the face of Father Loriot were now of 
 a superl) gold color. The sight of this yellow personage singidarly jiro- 
 voked Monsieur, and at the moment the dyer rested his hand upon tlie 
 edge of the coach-window the cm- began to yelp fiightfully, and bit him 
 in the wrist. 
 
 " Oh ! gracious Heaven ! " cried Madame Grivois, in an agony, while 
 Father Loriot withdrew his hand with precipitation ; " I hope tliere is 
 nothing poisonous in the dye that you have about you — my dog is 
 so delicate ! "
 
 454 THE WAXDEKIXa -lEW. 
 
 .So .saying, she caivfuUy wilted llic pug nose, now stuiiicd with yt'lU)W. 
 Father Loriot, not at all satisfiecl with this speech, when he had expected 
 to receive some apology from ]\Iadaine (irrivois on account of her dog's 
 behavior, said to her as with difficulty he restrained his anger: 
 
 "If you did not belong to the fair sex, wliich (tbliges nie to resitect 
 you in the person of that wretched animal, I would luive the pleasure 
 of taking him by the tail and making him in one minute a dog of the 
 brightest orange color by itlunging him into my caldron, which is already 
 on the fire." 
 
 "Dye my pet yellow!" cried Madame Grivois, in gi'eat wrath, as 
 she descended from the haekney-eoaeh, clasping MotiKiciir tenderly to 
 her bosom and surveying Father Loriot with a savage look. 
 
 " I told you Madame Baudoin is not at home," said the dyer, as he 
 saw the pug-dog's mistress advance in the direction of the dark stair- 
 case. 
 
 " Never mind ; I will wait for her," said Madame Grivois tartly. •' ( )n 
 which story does she live Î " 
 
 "LTp four pair!" answere»! Father Loriot, returning abruj^tly to his 
 shop. And he addeil to himself, with a chuckle at tlie antici])ation : 
 
 " I hope Father Dagobert's big growler will be in a Imd humor, and 
 give that ^^llainous pug a shaking hy the skin of his neck." 
 
 Madame Grivois moiuited the .steeji stain^ase with some dilliculty, 
 stopping at every landing-place to take lireath and looking about her 
 with profound disgust. At length she reached the fourth story, and 
 paused an instant at tlie door of the humble chamber in which th(> two 
 sisters ami Mother Jiunch then were. 
 
 The young seamsti'ess was occupied in collecting the different articles 
 that she was about to carry to the pawnbroker's. Rose and Blanche 
 seemed happier and somewhat less uneasy about the future, for they 
 had learned from Mother Bimch that when they knew how to sew they 
 might between them earn eight francs a week, which would at least 
 afford some assistance to the family. 
 
 The presence of Madame (irivois in Baudoin's dwelling was occa- 
 sioned by a newresolution of Abbé d'Aigrigny and the Princess de Saint- 
 Dizier; they had thought it more prudent to send I\Iadame Grivois, on 
 w^hom they could blindly depend, to fetch the young girls, and the con- 
 fessor was charged to inform Françoise that it was not to his house- 
 keeper, but to a lady that would call on her with a note from him, that 
 she was to deliv«>r the orphans, to Ite taken to a religious estal)lishment. 
 Ha\-ing knocked at the door, the waiting-woman of the Princess de 
 Saint-Dizier entered the room and a.sked for Françoise Baudoin. 
 
 " She is not at home, madame," said Mother Bunch timidly, not a
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 455 
 
 little astonished at so uuexpocted a visit, aud casting down her eyes 
 before the gaze of this woman. 
 
 " Then I will wait for her, as I have impoi"tant affairs to speak of," 
 answered Madame Grivois, examining with curiosity and attention the 
 faces of the two orphans, who also cast down their eyes with an air of 
 confusion. 
 
 So saying, Madame Grivois sat down, not without some repugnance, 
 in the old arm-chair of Dagobert's wife ; and believing that she might 
 now leave her favorite at liljerty, she laid him cai'efully on the floor. 
 Immediately a low growl, deep and hollow, sounding from behind the 
 arm-chair, made Madame Grivois Jump from hei- seat and sent the pug- 
 dog, yelping with affright and trembling through his fat, to take refuge 
 close to his mistress, with all the symptoms of angry alarm. 
 
 " What ! is there a dog here ? " cried she, stooping precipitately to 
 catch up Monsieur, while, as if he wished himself to answer the ques- 
 tion, Spoilsport rose leisurely from his place behind the arm-chair and 
 appeared suddenly, yawning aud stretching himself. 
 
 At sight of this powerfid animal, with his double row of formidable 
 pointed fangs, which he seemed to take delight in displaying as he oj^ened 
 his large jaws, Madame Grivois could not help gi\'ing utterance to a cry 
 of terror. The snappish j^ug had at first treml)led in all his limbs at 
 the Siberian's ajjproaeh; but, finding himself in safety on the lap of 
 his mistress, he began to gi-owl insolently, aud to throw the most pro- 
 voking glances at Spoilsport. These the worthy companion of the 
 deceased Jovial answered disdainfully by gaping anew ; after Avhich he 
 went smelling round Madame Grivois with a sort of uneasiness, turned 
 his back upon Monsieur, and stretched himself at the feet of Rose and 
 Blanche, keeping his large, intelligent eyes fixed upon them, as if he 
 foresaw that they were menaced with some danger. 
 
 " Tui'n out that beast," said Madame Grivois imperio^^sly ; " he fright- 
 ens my dog and may do him some harm." 
 
 " Do not be afraid, madame," replied Rose, with a smile ; " Spoilsport 
 will do no harm if he is not attacked." 
 
 " Never mind ! " cried Madame Grivois ; " an accident soon happens. 
 The very sight of that enormous dog, with his wolf's head and terriljle 
 teeth, is enough to make one tremble at the injuries he might do one. I 
 tell you to tm-n him out." 
 
 Madame Grivois had pronounced these last words in a tone of irri- 
 tation which did not sound at all satisfactory in SpoilsporVs ears ; so he 
 growled and showed his teeth, turning his head in the direction of the 
 stranger. 
 
 " Be quiet, Spoilsport ! " said Blanche sternly.
 
 456 Tin: WAXDL'KIXa .fE]y. 
 
 A iifw pt'i'soiiafjc hciv fiitcn'd tlic room and jtut an cml to this situ- 
 ation, which was emharrassinj^ enoiigli for the two young girls. It was 
 a couiniissionaire, with a letter in his hand. 
 
 " What is it, sir?" asked Mother Bunch. 
 
 " A very pressing letter from the goodman of the house; the dyer 
 below .stairs told nie to bring it iij) here." 
 
 "A letter from Dagolnnt!" cried Rose and Blanche, with a lively 
 expression of jileasure. " He is returned then ? Whei-e is he ?" 
 
 "I do not know whether the goodman is called Dagobert or not," 
 said the porter; "but he is an old trooper with a gi'ay mustai-hc, and 
 may be found close by, at the otïice of the Chartres coaches." 
 
 "" That is he ! " cried Blanche. " Give me the letter." 
 The porter handed it to the young girl, who opened it in all haste. 
 Madame (Jrivois was struck dumb with dismay; she knew that 
 Dagol)ert had been decoyed from Paris, that the Abbé Dubois might 
 have an oj)portunity to act ^\nth safety upon Françoise. Hitherto all 
 had succeeded ; the good woman had consented to place the young gii-ls 
 ill the hands of a religious community, and now amves this soldier, 
 who was tliougiit to be al)sent from Paris for two or three days at least, 
 and whose sudden return might easily ruin this laborious machination, 
 at the very moment when it seemed to promise success. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Blanche, when she had read the letter, " what a mis- 
 fortune ! " 
 
 " What is it, then, sister ? " cried Rose. 
 
 " Yesterday, half-way to Chartres, Dagobert perceived that he had lost 
 his purse. He was una1)le to continue his journey ; he took a place upon 
 credit to retwn, and he asks his wife to send him some money to the 
 oflRce, to pay what he owes." 
 
 "That's it," said the porter; "for the good man told me to make 
 haste, because he was there in pledge." 
 
 " And nothing in tlie house ! " cried Blanche. " Dear me ! what is to 
 Vte don(^ ? " 
 
 At these words, Madame Grivois felt her liopes revive for a moment ; 
 they were soon, however, dispelled l)y Mother Bunch, who exclaimed, 
 as she ])ointe(l to the parcel she had just made up: 
 
 "Be satisfied, dear young ladies! here is a resource. The jjawn- 
 broker's, to which I am going, is not far off, and I will take the money 
 direct to M. Dagobert. In half an liour at latest he will be here." 
 
 " Oh, my dear friend, you are right ! " said Rose. " How goorl yf)u 
 are ! you think of everything." 
 
 " And here," said Blanche, " is the letter, with the address upon it. 
 Take that with you."
 
 THE WAN^DERiyG JEW. 
 
 457 
 
 " Thauk you," answered Mcjtlier Bunch. Then, addressing the por- 
 ter, she add(Kl, " Retm-n to the person who sent you, and tell him I 
 shall be at the coach-office very shortly." 
 
 "Infernal hunchback!" thought Madame Grivois, with suppressed 
 rage ; " she thinks of ever^i■hing. Witliout her, we should have escaped 
 the plague of this man's return. What is to be done now ? The girls 
 would not go with me before the arrival of the soldier's wife ; to pro-
 
 458 Till-: WANDERIKO JEW. 
 
 pose to them would expose me to a refusal and might comi)romise all. 
 Ouce more, what is to be doue Ï " 
 
 " Do uot be uneasy, ladies," said the porter, as he weut out; " I will 
 go and assure tlio good man that ho will not have to remain long in 
 pl.-dgc." 
 
 AMiile Mother Bunch was occupied in tjnng her pared, in wliidi she 
 had placed the silver cup, fork, and spoon, Madame Grivois seemed to 
 reflect deeply. Suddenly she started, lier countenance, which had 
 been for some moments expressive of anxiety and rage, Vn-ighteued up 
 on the instant. She rose, still holding Monsieur in her arms, and said to 
 the young girls, "As IMadame Baudoin does not come in, I am going 
 to pay a visit in the neighliorhood, and will return innnediately. Pray 
 tell her so ! " 
 
 "Willi these words, ]\Iadame Grivois took her departui'e a few min- 
 utes before Mother Bunch left.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 APPEARANCES 
 
 FTER she had again endeavored to cheer up the orphans, the 
 sewing-girl descended the stairs, — not withont difficulty, foi", 
 in addition to the parcel, which was already heavy, she had 
 fetched down from her own room the only blanket she pos- 
 sessed, thus leaving herself without protection from the cold of her icy 
 garret. 
 
 The evening before, tortured with anxiety as to Agricola's fate, the 
 girl had been unable to work ; the miseries of expectation and hope 
 delayed had ])revcnted her from doing so ; now another day would be 
 lost ; and yet it was necessary to live. Those overwhelming sorrows 
 which deprive the poor of the faculty of labor are doubly dreaded ; they 
 paralyze the strength, and -with that forced cessation from toil, want 
 and destitution are often added to grief. 
 
 But Mother Bunch, that complete incarnation of holiest duty, had 
 yet strength enough to devote herself for the service of others. Some 
 of the most frail and feeble creatures are endowed with extraordinary 
 vigor of sold ; it woidd seem as if, in these weak, infirm organizations, 
 the spirit reigned absolute over the body, and knew how to inspire it 
 w^th a factitious energy. 
 
 Thus, for the last twenty-four hom-s. Mother Bunch had neither 
 slept nor eaten ; she had suffered from the cold through the whole of a 
 frosty night. In the morning she had endui'ed great fatigue, in going, 
 amid snow and rain, to the Rue de Babylone and back, twice crossing 
 Paris, and yet her strength was not exhausted, so immense is the power 
 of the human heart ! 
 
 She had jvist arrived at the corner of the Rue Saint-Méry. Since 
 the recent Rue des Prouvaires conspiracy there were stationed in tliis 
 poprdous quarter of the town a much larger number of pohce officers 
 than usual. Now the young seamstress, though bending beneath the 
 weight of her parcel, had quickened her pace almost to a run, when, just
 
 4(!() '/■ // /; ir. 1 .V i> i: i; i x a ,/ /•; w. 
 
 as .she passed in I'ront of oiio of tlio police, two live-franc piei-es fell ou 
 the groiiud behiiul her, tlirowii there by a stout woman in blaek, who 
 followed her closely. 
 
 Immediately aftei', the sti>nt woman pointed out the two picves to 
 the polieeinan ami saiil sometiiinn' hastily to him with regard to ^lother 
 Buneh. Then she withdrew a1 all speed in the direction of the lvU(^ 
 Brise-Miche. 
 
 Tlie i)oliceman, struck with what Mathime (irivois had said to him 
 (for it was that person), jjicked u|) the money, and, running after the 
 hunchback, cried out to her: 
 
 " Hi, there ! young woman, I say — stop ! sto]) ! " 
 
 On this outcry several persons turned rouml sudilmly, jind, as 
 always happens in those (juarters of the town, a nui-leus of five or six 
 persons soon grew to a considei'able crowd. 
 
 Not knowing that the policeman was calling to her, Mother Bunch 
 only quickened her speed, wishing to get to the pawnbroker's as soon 
 as possible, and trying to avoid touching any of the jiassers-by, so much 
 did she dread the brutal and cruel railleries to wliich her iufirmity so 
 often exposed her. 
 
 Suddenly she heard many persons running after her, and at the 
 same instant a hand was laid rudely on her shoulder. It was the police- 
 man, followed by anothei' officer, who had l)een drawn to the spot by 
 the noise. Mother Bunch turned round, struck with as much sui-prise 
 as fear. 
 
 She found herself in the center of a crowd composed chiefly of that 
 hideous scum, idle and in rags, insolent and malicious, besotted with 
 ignorance, brutalized ])y want, that is always loafing about the corners. 
 Workmen are scarcely ever met with in these mobs, for they are for the 
 most part engaged in their daily labors. 
 
 " Come, can't you hear ? You are deaf as Punch's dog," said tln' policc- 
 man, seizing Mother Bunch so rudely by the ai'in that she let her ]i;iiccl 
 fall to her teet. 
 
 When the unfortunate girl, looking round in terroi-, saw hei-self 
 exposed to all those insolent, mocking, malicious glances, when she 
 beheld the cynical and coai'se gi-imace on so many ignoble and filthy 
 countenances, she trembled in all her limbs and became fearfully pale. 
 No doubt the policeman had spoken roughly to her; but how could 
 he speak otherwise to a poor deformed girl, pale and trembling, wath 
 her features agitated l)y grief and fear — to a wretched creature, miser- 
 a1)ly clad, who wore in winter a thin cotton gown soiled with mud and 
 wet with melted snow, for the poor seamstress had walked much and 
 far that morning. So the policeman resumed, with gi-eat severity, fol-
 
 THE WAN^DERIXG JEW. 461 
 
 lowing that supreme law of aj^iteai-ances which makes ixn-erty always 
 susijeeted : 
 
 " Stop a bit, young woman ! It seems you are in a mighty hurry, 
 to let your money fall without picking it uj)." 
 
 " Was her jnoney hid in her huni]:) f " said the hoarse voice of a mat<*h- 
 boy, a hideous and repulsive specimen of precocious depravity. 
 
 This sally was received vnth laughter, shouts, and hooting, which 
 served to complete the sewing-girl's dismay and terroi". She was hardly 
 able to answer, in a feeble voice, as the policeman handed her the two 
 pieces of silver : 
 
 " This money, sir, is not mine." 
 
 " You lie ! " said the other officer, approaching ; " a respectaljle lady 
 saw it drop from your pocket." 
 
 " I assure you, sir, it is not so," auswei'ed Mother Bunch, trembling. 
 
 " I tell you that you lie," resumed the ofticer ; " for the lady, struck 
 with youi" guilty and frightened air, said to me : ' Look at yonder little 
 hunchback, running away with that large parcel and letting her money 
 fall wthout even stopping to jjick it up — it is not natural.'" 
 
 " Officer," resumed the match-vender in his hoarse voice, " be on your 
 guard ! Feel her hump, for that is her baggage-car. I'm sure that you'll 
 find boots, and cloaks, and umbrellas, and clocks in it — for I just heard 
 the hour strike in the bend of her back." 
 
 Then came fresh bursts of laughter and shouts and hooting, for this 
 horrible mob has no pity for those who implore and suffer. The crowd 
 increased more and more, and now they indvdged in hoarse cries, pierc- 
 ing whistles, and all kinds of horse-play. 
 
 " Let a fellow see her ; it's free-gratis ! " 
 
 " Don't i»ush so ; I've paid for my place ! " 
 
 " Make her stand up on something, that all may have a look ! " 
 
 -' My corns are being ground ; it was not worth coming ! " 
 
 " Show her properly — or return the money ! " 
 
 " That's fair, ain't iit t " 
 
 " Give it us in good style ! "' 
 
 " Trot her out in all her paces ! " 
 Fancy the feelings of this unfortunate creature, with her delicate 
 mind, good heart, and lofty soul, and yet -«àth so timid and nervous a 
 character, as she stood alone with the two policemen in the thick of the 
 crowd, and was forced to listen to all these coarse and savage insults. 
 
 But the young seamstress did not yet understand of what crime she 
 was accused. She soon discovered it, however ; for the policeman, seiz- 
 ing the parcel which she had picked up and now held in her trembling 
 hands, said to her rudely :
 
 4(;l' '/■///; WAXDEHIXG JEW. 
 
 " What is tln'iv ill that 
 " Sii- — it is — I am i^oinir 
 
 The iiut'ortiuiato girl hesitated, unablo in her tervov to find the word. 
 
 " If tluit'.s all yoii have to answer," said the polieenian, " it's no great 
 shakes. Coiue, make haste ! Turn yom- bundle inside out." 
 
 So saying, the policeman snatched the parcel from her, half opened 
 it, and repeated, as he enuniei'ated the divers articles it contained: 
 
 "The devil! — sheets — a spoon and fork — a silver mug — a shawl — 
 a blanket — it was not so bad a move. Dressed like a beggar, and with 
 silver plate about you. Oh, yes ! of course." 
 
 " Those articles do not belong to you," said tht> other officer. 
 
 "No, sir," replied Mother Bunch, who.se strength was faiHiig her, 
 " but " 
 
 "Oh, vile huncldiack! you have stolen more than you are big!" 
 
 " Stolen ! " cried Mother Bunch, clasping her hands in horror, for she 
 now understood it all. " Stolen ! " 
 
 " The guard ! make way for the guard ! " cried several persons at once. 
 
 " Oh, ho ! here's the tramps ! " 
 
 " The fire-eaters ! " 
 
 " The Arab devourers ! " 
 
 "The inth Dromedaries!" 
 In the midst of these noisy jests two soldiers «and a corporal advanced 
 with mtich ditïiculty. Their bayonets and the barrels of their guns 
 were alone visil)le above the heads of this hideous and compact ci-f)wd. 
 Some officious person had been to inform the officer at the nearest 
 guard-house that a consideral)le crowd obstructed the public way. 
 
 " Come, here is the guard — so march to the guard-house ! " said the 
 policeman, taking Mothi'r Bunch by the arm. 
 
 "Sir," said the poor girl, in a voice stilled by sobs, clasping her hands 
 in terror and sinking upon her knees on the pavement — " sir, have pity ; 
 let me explain " 
 
 " You will ex})lain at the guard-house ; so come on ! " 
 
 " But, sir, I am not a thief," cried Mother Bunch, in a heart-rending 
 tone; "have pity upon me — do not take me away like a thief, before 
 all this crowd. Oh ! mercy, mercy ! " 
 
 "I tell you there will be time to explain at the guard-house. The 
 street is blocked up ; so come along ! " Grasping the unfortunate creat- 
 ure by both her hands, he set her, as it were, on her feet again. 
 
 At this instant the coiT^oral and his two soldiers, ha\'ing succeeded 
 in making their way thi-ough the crowd, ajiproached the policeman. 
 
 " Corporal," said the latter, " take this girl to the guard-house. I am 
 an officer of the police."
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 463 
 
 "Oh, gentlemen !" ciied the gii-1, weeping hot tears and wringing her 
 hands, " do not take me away before you let me explain myself. I am 
 not a thief — indeed, indeed, I am not a thief! I Avill tell you — it was 
 
 to render ser\'ice to others — only let me tell you " 
 
 "I tell you you shoidd give your explanations at the guard-house; 
 if you will not walk we must drag you along," said the policeman. 
 
 We must renounce the attempt to paint this scene, at once ignoble 
 and terrible. 
 
 Weak, ovei-powered, tilled with alarm, the unfortunate girl was 
 dragged along by the soldiers, her knees sinking under her at every step. 
 The two police officers had each to lend an arm to support her, and 
 mechanically she accepted their assistance. Then the vociferations and 
 hootings burst forth with redoubled fmy. Half swooning between the 
 two men, the hapless creature seemed to drain the cup of bitterness to 
 the dregs. 
 
 Beneath that foggy sky, in that dirty street, under the shadow of the 
 tall black houses, those hideous masses of people reminded one of the 
 w-ildest fancies of Callot and of Goya. Children in rags, drunken women, 
 gi-iin and l^lighted figures of men, rushed against each other, pushed, 
 fought, struggled, to follow with howls and hisses an almost inanimate 
 Aactim — the victim of a deplorable mistake. 
 
 Of a mistake ! How one shudders to think that such arrests may 
 often take place, founded upon nothing but the suspicion caused by the 
 appearance of misery or by some inacciu-ate description. Can we for- 
 get the case of that young girl who, wrongfully accused of participating 
 in a shameful traffic, found means to escape from the persons who were 
 leading her to prison, and, rushing up the stairs of a house, threw her- 
 self from a window, in her despaii", and was crushed to death upon the 
 paA-ing-stones ? 
 
 INIeanwhile, after the abominable denunciation of which Mother 
 Biinch was the Aictim, Madame Grivois had returned precipitately to 
 the Rue Bi-ise-Miche. She ascended in haste to the fourth story, opened 
 the door of Françoise Baudoin's room, and saw — Dagobert in company 
 with his wife and the two orphans !
 
 riTAPTElJ AT 
 
 THE COXVEN'T 
 
 ET US ex])laiii in ii few words the prosoncc of Da<;obert. His 
 couiitfiiaiici' was imiircsscd with sm-li an air of military 
 tVaiikiu'ss tliat tlic niaiiaycr of tlic coat-h-otlicc would have 
 l)t'eu satisfied with his promise to retui-n and pay the money ; 
 litit the soldier had obstinately insisted on remaining in pledge, as he 
 called it, till his wife had answered his letter. When, however, on the 
 return of the porter, he found that the money was coming, his scruples 
 were satisfied and he hastened to run home. 
 
 We may imagine the stupor of Madame Grivois wjien, u] n >n entering 
 the chamber, she perceived Dagobert (whom she easily rei-ognized l)y 
 the description she had heard of him) seated beside his wife and the 
 orphans. The anxiety of Françoise at sight of Madame Grivois was 
 equally striking. Rose and Blanche liad told her of the \isit of a lady, 
 dui'ing luM" a1)sence, upon important Imsiness; and, judging ]»y the 
 information received from her confessor, Françoise had no doubt that 
 tliis was the person charged to conduct the oi-phans to a religious estab- 
 lishment. 
 
 Her anxiety was terrible. Resolved to follow the counsels of Abljé 
 Dubois, she dreaded lest a word fi-om Madaine Grivois should put Dago- 
 bert on the scent, — in which case all woiild be lost, and the orphans 
 would remain in their pres(Mit state of ignorance and mortal sin, for 
 which she believed herself res^jonsilile. 
 
 Dagobert, who held the hands of Rose and Blanche, li It his seat as 
 the Princess de Saint-Dizi<>r's waiting-woman entered the room and cast 
 an inquiring glance on his wife. 
 
 The moment was critical — nay, decisive; ])ut Madame Grivois liad 
 profited by the example of the Princess de Saint-Dizier. So, taking 
 her resolution at once, and turning to account the precipitation with 
 which she had mounted the stairs after tlie odious charge slie had 
 
 4C4
 
 THE WAXDEBIXG JEW. 465 
 
 brought against poor Mother Bunch, tiud even the emotion caused bj* 
 the unexpected sight of Dagobert, which gave to her features an expres- 
 sion of uneasiness and alarm, she exclaimed in an agitated voice, after 
 the moment's silence necessary to coUeet her thoughts : 
 
 " Oh, madame ! I have just been the sjjectator of a gi"eat misfortune. 
 Excuse my agitation, but I am so excited " 
 
 "Dear me! what is the matter?" said Françoise, in a trem])ling 
 voice, for she dreaded every moment some indiscretion on the part of 
 Madame Grivois. 
 
 " I called just now," resumed the other, " to speak to you on some 
 important business ; while I was waiting for you a poor young woman, 
 rather deformed, put up suncby articles in a parcel " 
 
 " Yes," said Françoise, " it was Mother Bunch, an excellent, worthy 
 creature." 
 
 " I thought as much, madame ; weU, you shall hear what has hap- 
 pened. As you did not come in, I resolved to pay a \'isit in the neigh- 
 borhood. I go out, and get as far as the Eue St. Méry, when 
 
 Oh, madame ! " 
 
 " Well ? " said Dagobert, " what then f " 
 
 "I see a crowd — I inquire what is the matter — I learn that a police- 
 man has just arrested a young girl as a thief because she had been seen 
 carrying a bundle composed of different articles which did not appear 
 to belong to her — I approached — what do I behold! — the same young 
 woman that I had met just before in this room." 
 
 " Oh ! the poor child ! " exclaimed Françoise, growing pale and clasp- 
 ing her hands together. " What a cb'eadful thing ! " 
 
 " Explain, then," said Dagobert to his wife. " 'V\Tiat was in this 
 bundle ? " 
 
 " Well, my dear, to confess the truth, I was a little short, and I asked 
 our poor friend to take some things for me to the pawnbroker's " 
 
 " What ! and they thought she had robbed us ! " cried Dagobert ; " she, 
 the most honest girl in the world ! It is dreadful — you ought to have 
 interfered, madame ; you oi;ght to have said that you knew her." 
 
 " I tried to do so, sir ; but, unfortunately, they would not hear me. 
 The crowd increased every moment, till the guard came up and earned 
 her off." 
 
 " She might die of it, she is so sensitive and timid ! " exclaimed 
 Françoise. 
 
 " All, good Mother Bunch ! so gentle ! so considerate ! " said Blanche, 
 turning with tearful eyes toward her sister. 
 
 " Not being able to help her," resumed Madame Grrivois, " I hastened 
 hither to infoiTU you of this misadventure — which may, indeed, easily
 
 4(i() Til i: \v. 1 v i> K h' I X a J i: w. 
 
 be ropairi'd — as it will duIv be iu'ct'.s.sary to go aud olaiui the young 
 girl as soou as possible." 
 
 At these words Dagobert hastily seized bis liat and said abruiitly to 
 Madame (Irivois: 
 
 " Zounds, madame ! you should liavc licguu liy tclHui;- us that. Wlicre 
 is the poor child ? Do you know Î " 
 
 " I do not, sir ; Imt there ai'f still so many cxciti^d ]i("o]ilt' in the street 
 that, if you will have the kindni'ss to step out, you will lie sure to learn." 
 
 "Why the devil do you talk of kindness? It is my duly, niadanu-. 
 Poor ehild!" repeated Dagobert. "Taken up as a thief — it is really 
 horrible. I will go to the guard-house ami to X\w commissary of police 
 for this neighborhood, and by liook or crook I will find her, and have 
 her out, aud bring her home witli me." 
 
 So saying, Dagolu'i't hastily departed. Françoise, now that she felt 
 more tranquil as to the fate of Mother Bunch, thanked the Lord that 
 this circumstance had obliged her husband to go out, for his presence 
 at this juncture caused her a terrible emljarrassment. 
 
 Madame Orivois had left Moiisirur in the coach below, for the 
 moments were precious. Casting a significant glance at Françoise, she 
 handed her Abbé Dubois' letter and said to her, with strong emphasis on 
 every word : 
 
 "You will see by this letter, nuidauie, what was the olijec) of my 
 visit, which I have not before been able to explain to you, biit nn which 
 I truly congi-atulate myself, as it In-ings me into connection with these 
 two charming young ladies." 
 
 Rose and Blanche kK)ke(l at each other in surprise. Françoise 
 took the letter with a trembling hand. It required all the pressing and 
 threatening injunctions of her confessor to conquer the last scru])les 
 of the poor woman, for .she sliudderetl at the thought of Dagobei't's 
 terrible indignation. Moreover, in her .simplicity she knew not how to 
 announce to the young gii-ls that they were to accompany this lady. 
 
 Madame Grivois gues.sed her embarrassment, made a sign to hei- to 
 be at ease, and said to Rose, while Françoise was reading the letter of 
 her confessor : 
 
 " How happy your relation will be to see you, my dear young lady ! '» 
 
 "Our relation, madame ?" said Rose, more an<l more astonished. 
 
 " Certainly. She knew of your ari-ival here, but as she is still suflfei-- 
 iug from the effects of a long illu<>ss she was not able to come hei'self 
 to-day, and has sent me to fetch you to her. Unfortunately," adiled 
 Madame Grivois, perceiving a movement of uneasiness on the part of 
 the two sisters, "it will not be in her power, as she tells ^ladame 
 Baudoin in her letter, to see you for more than a very short time, so
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JEW. 467 
 
 you may be back here in al)ont an houi* ; but to-morrow or the next 
 day after she will be well enough to leave home, and then she will come 
 and make arrangements with Madame Baudoin and her husband to take 
 you into her house — for she could not bear to leave you at the charge 
 of the worthy people who have been so kind to you." 
 
 These last words of Madame Grivois made a favorable impression 
 upon the two sisters, and banished their fears of becoming a heavy 
 burden to Dagoljert's family. If it had been proposed to them to quit 
 altogether the house in the Rue Brise-Miche without first asking the 
 consent of their old friend, they would certainly have hesitated ; but 
 Madame Grivois had only spoken of an hour's visit. They felt no 
 suspicion, therefore, and Eose said to Françoise : 
 
 " We may go and see oiu' relation, I sujapose, madame, without 
 waiting for Dagobert's return ? " 
 
 " Certainly," she replied in a feeble voice, " since you are to l)e back 
 almost directly." 
 
 " Then, madame, I would beg these dear young ladies to come with 
 me as soon as possible, as I should like to bring them back before 
 noon." 
 
 " We are ready, madame," said Rose. 
 
 " Well, then, young ladies, embrace your second mother and come," 
 said Madame Gi'ivois, who was hardly able to control her uneasiness, 
 for she trembled lest Dagobert should return from one moment to the 
 other. 
 
 Rose and Blanche embraced Françoise, who, clasping in her arms 
 the two charming and innocent creatures that she was about to deliver 
 up, could with diificulty restrain her tears, though she was fully con- 
 vinced that she was acting for their salvation. 
 
 " Come, young ladies," said Madame Grivois, in the most affable tone, 
 '' let us make haste ; you will excuse my impatience, I am sure, but it 
 is in the name of your relation that I speak." 
 
 Having once more tenderly kissed the wife of Dagobert, the sisters 
 (juitted the room hand in hand and descended the stah'case close behind 
 Madame Grivois, followed (without their being aware of it) by Spoil- 
 sport. The intelligent animal cautiously watched their movements, for 
 in the absence of his master he never let them out of his sight. 
 
 For greater security, no doubt, the waiting-woman of Madame de 
 Saint-Dizier had ordered the hackney-coach to wait for her at a little 
 distance from the Rue Brise-Miche, in the cloister square. In a few 
 seconds the orphans and their conductress reached the carriage. 
 
 " Oh, madame ! " said the coachman, opening the door ; " no offense, 
 I hope, but you have the most ill-tempered rascal of a dog ! Since you
 
 468 THE wAMunaxa .11: \y. 
 
 put liim into iny coach lie has never ceased howling like a roastccl cat, 
 and Inoks as if he would eat us all up alive ?" 
 
 in fact, Moiisintr, who detested solitude, was yelling in tlic most 
 deiiloralilc manner. 
 
 " Be (juiet ! Here 1 am," said Madame (irivois; tlieu, addn'ssinj;- the 
 two sisters, she added : 
 
 " Pray get in, my dear young ladies." 
 Rose and Blanche got into the eoach. Before she followed them, 
 Madame Grivois was giving to the coachman in a low voice the dii-ec- 
 tion to St. Mary's Convent, and was adding other instructions, when 
 suddenly the pug-dog, who had growled savagely wlien the sisters took 
 tlu'ir seats in the coach, began to bark with fury. The cause of this 
 anger was clear enough: Spoilsport, until now unperceived, had with 
 one boiind entered the carriage. 
 
 The img, exas])erated by this l>oldness, forgetting his ordinary 
 prudence, and excit<'d to the utmost by rage and ugliness of temper, 
 sprang at liis muzzle and bit liini so cruelly that, in his turn, the Id'ave 
 Si1»eriiiii dog, maddened by the pain, tlu'ew himself upon the teaser, 
 seized him by the throat, and fairly strangled him with two grips of 
 his powerful jaws — as appeared by one stifled groan of the pug, i)re- 
 viously half suffocated with fat. 
 
 All this took place in less time than is occupied by the description. 
 Rose and Blaiiclu! had hardly opportiuiity to exclaim twice: 
 
 "Here, Spoilsport! down!" 
 
 " Oh, good gracious ! " said INIadame Grivois, tui-ning roun<l at the 
 noise. "There again is that monster of a dog — he will certaiidy hurt 
 my love. Send him away, young ladies — make him get down — it is 
 impossible to take him with us." 
 
 Ignorant of the degi'ee of Spoilsport's criminality, for his paltry 
 foe was stretched lifeless under a seat, the young girls yet felt that it 
 ■would be improper to take the dog with them, and they therefore said 
 to him in an angiy tone, at the same time slightly touching him with 
 their feet : 
 
 "Get down, Spoilsport! go away!" 
 The faithful animal hesitated at first to ob<>y this order. Sad and 
 su]iplicatingly looked he at the orphans, and with an air of mild i-e})roach, 
 as if l)laming them for sending away their oidy defender. But upon 
 the stern repetition of the command he got down from the coach with 
 his tail between his legs, feeling perhaps that he had been somewhat 
 over-hasty with regard to the pug. 
 
 Madame Grivois, who was in a great hurry to leave that quarter of 
 the town, seated herself with precipitation in the carriage ; the coach-
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 469 
 
 man closed the door and mounted Lis box, and then the coach started 
 at a rapid rate, while; Madame Grivois prudently let down the blinds, 
 for fear of meeting Dagobert by the way. 
 
 Having taken these indispensal )le precautions, she was able to turn 
 her attention to her pet, whom she loved with all that deep, exaggerated 
 affection which people of a bad disposition sometimes entertain for ani- 
 mals, as if they concentrated and lavished upon them all those feelings 
 in which they are deficient with regard to their fellow-ereatm-es. In a 
 word, Madame Grivois was passionately attached to this peevish, cow- 
 ardly, spiteful dog, — partly, perhaps, from a secret sympathy with his 
 vices. This attachment had lasted for six years, and only seemed to 
 increase as Moiislrnr advanced in age. 
 
 We have laid some stress on this apparently puerile detail because 
 the most trifling causes have often disastrous effects, and because we 
 wish the reader to understand what must have been the despair, fury, 
 and exasperation of this woman when she discovered the death of her 
 dog — a despair, a fury, and an exasperation of which the orphans might 
 yet feel the cruel consequences. 
 
 The hackney-coach had proceeded rapidly for some seconds wlicn 
 Madame Grivois, who was seated with her back to the horses, called 
 Monsieur. Tiie dog had very good reasons for not replying. 
 
 " Well, you sulky beauty ! " said Madame Grivois soothingly, " you 
 have taken offense, have you I It was not my fault if that great ugly 
 dog came into the coach, — was it, young ladies ? Come and kiss your 
 mistress, and let us make peace, old obstinate ! " 
 
 The same obstinate silence continued on the part of the canine 
 noble. Rose and Blanche began to look anxiously at each other, for 
 they knew that Spoilsport was somewhat rough in his ways, though they 
 were far from suspecting what had really happened. But Madame Gri- 
 vois, rather surprised than uneasy at her pug-dog's inseusil)ility to her 
 affectionate appeals, and believing him to be sullenly crouching beneath 
 the seat, stooped down to take him ujj, and feeling one of his paws, 
 di-ew it impatiently toward her, while she said to him in a half-jesting, 
 half-angiy tone : 
 
 " Come, naughty fellow ! you will give a pretty notion of your tem- 
 per to these young ladies." 
 
 So saying, she took up the dog, much astonished at his unresisting 
 torpor ; but what was her fright when, having placed him upon her lap, 
 she saw that he was (piite motionless. 
 
 " An apoplexy ! " cried she. " The dear creatm-e ate too much — I was 
 always afraid of it." 
 
 Turning round hastily, she exclaimed :
 
 470 THE ]\.i\in:i,-/.\(;.ii:\v. 
 
 " .Stop, coac'hiuan ! stop ! " witlioul ivllcctiiij;- that the coaclimau c-ould 
 not hear her. 
 
 Then raising tlie cur's liead, still tliiiikiiig that he was only in a fit, 
 she perfoived with liorror the bloody hok's iin]iriiited by five or six 
 sharp fangs, which left no donltt of the cause of liis deplorable end. 
 Her fii'st impulse was nue of giief and despair. 
 
 " Dead!" she exclaimed; "dead! and already <-(.]d ! Oli, .•iooduess! " 
 Ami this woman burst into tear.s. 
 
 The tears of the wieked are ominous. For a bad man to weep, he 
 must have suffered much ; and with him the reaction of sutïeinng, 
 instead of softening the soul, inflames it to a dangerous anger. 
 
 Thus, after yielding to tluit first painful emotion, tiie mistress of 
 Monsieur felt herself transported with rage and hate — yes, hate — vio- 
 lent hate for the young girls who had beiMi the involuntary cause of the 
 dog's death. Her countenance so plainly betrayed her resentment that 
 Blanche and Rose were frightened at the expression of her face, which 
 had now gi-own purple witli fui-y, as with agitated voice aud wrathful 
 glance she exclaimed : 
 
 " It was your dog that killed him ! " 
 
 " Oh, madame ! " said Rose ; " we had nothing to do with it." 
 
 " Tt was your dog that bit Sjio'iJspart first," added lîlandie, in a 
 2)laiiitive voice. 
 
 The look of teiTor impressed on the features of the orphans recalled 
 Madame Grivois to herself. 8he saw the fatal consequences that might 
 arise from \-ieldiug imprudently to her anger. For tlu' very sake of 
 vengeance she had to restrain herself, in order not to awaken sus])i- 
 eioii ill tlie minds of Marshal Simon's daughters. But not to api>ear to 
 recover too soon from lier first impression, she continued for some min- 
 utes to cast irritated glances at the young girls; then, little by little, her 
 anger seemed to give way to violent grief ; she covered her face with 
 h(M- hands, heaved a long sigh, and appeai-ed to weeji bitterly. 
 
 "Poor lady !" whispered Rose to Blanche. "How she weeps! No 
 doubt she loved her dog as much as we love Spoil.sporf.'" 
 
 "Alas! yes," replied Blanche. "We also wept wlieii our old JarinI 
 was killed." 
 
 After a few minutes Madame (îi-ivois raised lier liead, dried her 
 eyes definitively, aud said in a gentle aud almost affectionate voice : 
 
 " Forgive me, young ladies ! I was unable to rejjress the first moment 
 of irritation, or rather of deep sorrow, for I was tenderly attached to 
 this poor dog ; he has never left me for six years." 
 
 "We are very sorry for this misfortune, madame," resumed Rose; 
 " and we regi-et it the more, that it seems to be irreparable."
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 471 
 
 " I was just saying to my sister that we cau the better fancy your 
 gi-ief, as we have had to mourn the death of our old horse that carried 
 us all the way from Siberia." 
 
 " Well, my dear j'ouug ladies, let us think no more about it. It was 
 my fault ; I shoidd not have brought him with me ; but he was always so 
 miserable whenever I left him. You will make allowances for my weak- 
 ness. A good heart feels for animals as well as people ; so I must trust 
 to your sensibility to excuse my hastiness." 
 
 " Do not think of it, madame ; it is only your gi'ief that afflicts us." 
 
 " I shall get over it, my dear young ladies — I shall get over it. The 
 joy of the meeting between you and yom- relation will help to console 
 me. She wdll be so happy. You are so charming ! And then the sin- 
 gular circumstance of your exact likeness to each other adds to the 
 interest you insi)ire." 
 
 " You are too kind to us, madame." 
 
 " Oh, no — I am sure you resemble each other as much in disposition 
 as in face." 
 
 " That is quite natural, madame," said Rose, " for since our ])irth we 
 have never left each other a minute, whether by day or night. It would 
 be strange if we were not hke in character." 
 
 " Really, my dear young ladies ! You have never left each other a 
 minute I " 
 
 " Never, madame." The sisters joined hands wdth an expressive smile. 
 
 " Then how unhappy you would be, and how much to be pitied, if 
 ever you were separated." 
 
 " Oh, madame, it is imiiossible," said Blanche, smiling. 
 
 " How impossible f " 
 
 " Vfho would have the heart to separate us ? " 
 
 " No doubt, my dear young ladies, it would be very cruel." 
 
 " Oh, madame," resumed Blanche, " even very wicked people would 
 not think of separating us." 
 
 " So much the better, my dear young ladies — pray, why ? " 
 
 " Because it would cause us too much grief." 
 
 " Because it would kill us." 
 
 "Poor little dears!" 
 
 "Three months ago we were shut up in prison. Well, when the 
 governor of the prison saw us, though he looked a very stern man he 
 could not help sapng, ' It would be killing these children to separate 
 them ' ; and so we remained together, and were as hajjpy as one can be 
 in prison." 
 
 " It shows youi" excellent heart, and also that of the persons who knew 
 how to appreciate it."
 
 47J THE WAXDEKIXa JEW. 
 
 The carriage stopiH'd, and Wwy licanl tlic coaclmiaii rail mit : 
 
 " Auy one at tbc gate there f " 
 
 " Oh ! here we are at your relation's," said Madame (Tiivois. 
 Two wings of a gate ticw ojkmi and the carriage rolled over tin- gravel 
 of a court-yard. 
 
 Madame Grivois having drawn up one of the blinds, they found 
 themselves in a vast court, across the center of which ran a high wall, 
 with a kind of porch upon columns, under which was a little door. 
 Behind this wall they could see the upper part of a very large Ituilding 
 in freestone. Compared with the house in the Rue Brise-Miehe, this 
 building appeared a i)alacc : so Blanche said to Madame (irivois, with 
 an expression of artless aibniration: 
 
 " Dear me, madame, what a tine residence ! " 
 
 " That is nothing," rçi>licd ^Madame Grivois. "' Wait till you see the 
 interior, which is much tincr." 
 
 When the coachman opened the door of the carriage, what was the 
 rage of Madame Grivois and the surprise of the girls to see Spoilsport, 
 who had lieen clevei- enough to follow the coach. Pricking up his ears 
 and wagging his tail, he seemcil to have forgotten his late oifenscs and 
 to expect to be praised for his intelligent fidelity. 
 
 "^Vbat!" cried ^Madame (rrivois, whose sorrows w<M-e renewc(l at the 
 sight ; " has that al)ominal)le dog followed the coach '! " 
 
 "A famous dog," answered the coachman; "he never once left the 
 heels of my hor.ses. He must have been trained to it. He's a powerful 
 beast, and two men couldn't scare him. Look at the throat of him 
 now ! " 
 
 The mistress of the deceased pug, enraged at the somewhat unseason- 
 a])le praises bestowed upon the Siberian, said to the orphans : 
 
 " 1 will announce your arrival ; wait for me an instant in the coach." 
 
 So saying, she went with a rapid step toward the porch and rang 
 
 the beU. A woman clad in a monastic garb appeared at the door and 
 
 bowed respectfully to Madame (îi-ivois, who addressed her in these few 
 
 words : 
 
 " I have l)rought you the two young girls. The ordei'S of Abbé 
 d'Aigingny and the princess ai-e that they be instantly separated and 
 kept apart in solitary cells — you understand, sister — and subjected to 
 the rule for impénitents.'" 
 
 "I will go and iufoiTU the superior, and it will l)e done," said the 
 portress, with another bend. 
 
 " Now, will you come, my dear young ladies Î " resumed Madame Gri- 
 vois, addressing the two young gii'ls, who had secretly bestowed a few 
 caresses upon Spoilsport, so deeply were they touched by his instinctive
 
 THE WAXDEBING JEW. 473 
 
 attachment ; " \o\\ will be introduced to your relation, and I will return 
 and fetch you in halt' an hour. Coachman, keep that dog Vjack." 
 
 Eose and Blanche, in getting out of the coach, were so much occu- 
 pied with Spoilsport that they did not perceive the portress, who was 
 half hidden behind the little door. Neither did they remark that the 
 person who was to introduce them was dressed as a nun till, taking 
 them by the hand, she had led them across the thi'eshold, when the door 
 was immediately closed behind them. 
 
 As soon as Madame Grivois had seen the orphans safe into the con- 
 vent she told the coachman to leave the court-yard and wait for her at 
 the outer gate. The coachman olieyed; but Spoilsporf, who had seen 
 Rose and Blanche enter by the little door, ran to it and remained there. 
 Madame Giivois then called the porter of the main entrance, — a 
 tall, vigorous fellow, — and said to him : 
 
 " Here are ten francs for you, Nicholas, if you will beat out the brains 
 of that great dog, who is crouching under the porch." 
 
 Nicholas shook his head, as he observed SpoUsporf^ size and 
 strength. 
 
 " Devil take me, madame ! " said he ; '" 'tis not so easy to tackle a dog 
 of that buUd." 
 
 " I will give you twenty francs ; only, kill him before me." 
 
 " One ought to have a gun, and I have only an iron hammer." 
 
 " That will do ; you can knock him down at a blow." 
 
 " Well, madame, I will try, but I have my doubts." And Nicholas 
 went to fetch his mallet. 
 
 " Oh ! if I had the strength ! " said Madame Grivois. 
 The porter retm-ned with his weapon, and advanced slowly and 
 ti'eacherously toward Sjjoilsiwrt, who was still crouching beneath the 
 porch. 
 
 " Here, old fellow ! here, my good dog ! " said Nicholas, striking his 
 left hand on his thigh and keeping his right hand behind him, with the 
 hammer grasped in it. 
 
 Spoilsport rose, examined Nicholas attentively, and no doubt per- 
 ceiving by his manner that the porter meditated some evil design, 
 bounded away from him, outflanked the enemy, saw clearly what was 
 intended, and kejit himself at a respectful distance. 
 
 " He smells a rat," said Nicholas ; " the rascal's on his guard. He will 
 not let me come near him. It's no go ! " 
 
 " You are an awkward fellow," said ]\Iadame Grivois, in a passion, as 
 she threw a five-franc piece to Nicholas : " at all events, drive him away." 
 
 " That will be easier than to kill him, madame," said the porter. 
 Indeed, finding himself pursued, and conscious, probably, that it would
 
 474 TUE WASDElilMJ JEW. 
 
 be useless to attempt au open resistance, Spoilsport flod from the conrt- 
 yanl into the street ; but once there he t'elt himself, as it were, upon 
 neutral gi-ound, and notwithstanding all the threats of Nicholas refused 
 to withilraw an inch farthei' than just suflScieut to keep out of reach 
 of the sledge-luimmer ; so that when Madame (irivois, pale with rage, 
 again stepped into her hackney-coach, in which were Moi/sintr^s lifeless 
 remains, she saw witli tlic utmost vexation that Spoilsport was lying at 
 a few steps from tlic gate, which Xicliolas had just closed, having given 
 u}) tlie ciiase in despair. 
 
 The Siberian dog, sure of (indiiig liis way back to tlie Rue Brise- 
 Miche, had determined, with the sagacity peculiar tu liis race, to wait 
 for the orphans on the spot where he then was. 
 
 Thus were the two sisters confined in St. Mary's Convent, which, as 
 we have already said, was next door to tlie lunatic asylum in whieli 
 Adrierme de Cardoville was imnnired. 
 
 We now conduct the reader to the dwelling of Dagobert's wife, who 
 was waiting with dreadful anxiety for tlie return of her husband, know- 
 ing that he would call her to account for the disappearance of Marshal 
 Simon's daughters.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE INFLUENCE UF A CONFESSOR 
 
 ARDLY had the orphans quitted Dagobert's wife when thi^ 
 poor woman, kneeling down, began to pray with fervor. 
 Her tears, long restrained, now tlowed alnindantly. Not- 
 withstanding her sincere conviction that she had performed 
 a religious duty in delivering up the girls, she waited with extreme fear 
 her husband's return. Though l^linded by her jnons zeal, she eoidd not 
 hide from herself that Dagol)ert would have good reason to be angry; 
 and then this poor mother had also, under these untoward circumstan- 
 ces, to tell him of Agi'icola's arrest. 
 
 Every noise upon the stairs made her start with treml>ling anxiety ; 
 after which she would resume her fervent prayers, supplicating strength 
 to support this new and arduous trial. At length she heard a step upon 
 the landing-place below, and feeling sure this time that it was Dagobert, 
 she hastily seated herself, dried her tears, and taking a sack of coarse 
 cloth upon her lap appeared to be occuj^ied with sewing, though her 
 aged hands trembled so much that she could hardly hold the needle. 
 
 After some miniites the door opened and Dagobert appeared. The 
 soldier's rough countenance was stern and sad. As he entered he tlung 
 his hat violently upon the table, so full of painful thought that he did 
 not at first perceive the absence of the orphans. 
 " Poor girl ! " cried he. " It is really terrible ! " 
 
 " Did you see Mother Bunch ? didst claim her ? " said Françoise has- 
 tily, forgetting for a moment her own fears. 
 
 " Yes, I have seen her — but in what a state! — 'twas enough to break 
 one's heart. I claimed her, and pretty loud too, I can tell you; but 
 they said to me that the commissary must first come to our place, in 
 
 order " 
 
 Here Dagoljert paused, threw a glance of surprise round the room, 
 and exclaimed abruptly : 
 " Where are the children ? " 
 
 476
 
 476 THE WAXJiKinXd -I KW. 
 
 Fraii<,'«>isi' tV'lt horsflf .st'izt-d witli an icy sluuldci". 
 
 "My dear," she began, in a tVcbli' voiri.' — but .she was unable \u cnn- 
 tinue. 
 
 " Wliero aio Host' and Blauelu' ! Auswei* me, then ! And S/ioil sport, 
 who is not here i-ither!" 
 
 " Do not be angiy." 
 
 " Como," said DagoViort abruptly, " I see yon have lot them go out 
 with a neighbor; why not have accompanied tliem yourself, or let them 
 wait for me, if they ■wished to tak(^ a walk — which is natural enough, this 
 room being so (hdl .' But I am astonished that they should have gone 
 out before they had news of good Mother Bunch — they have such kind 
 hearts. But how pale you are," added the soldier, looking nearei' at 
 Françoise. What is the matter, my poor wife Î Are you ill Î " 
 
 Dagobert took her hand alïeetioiuitely in his own ; but the latter, 
 painfully agitated l)y these words, pronounced witii touching goodness, 
 bowed her liead an<l wept as she kissed her husliand's hand. The soldier, 
 gi'owiug more and more uneasy as he felt the scalding tears of his wife, 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "You weep; you do not answer. Tell me, then, the cause of your 
 gi'ief, poor wife ! Is it because I spoke a little loud in asking you how 
 you could \ot the dear children go out with a ueighboi- 1 Rememljer, 
 their djnng mother intrusted them to ray care. 'Tis sacred, you see ; 
 and with them I am like an old hen after her chickens," added he, 
 laughing to enliven her. 
 
 "Yes, you are right in loving them!" 
 
 " Come, then, be calm ; you know me of old. With my great, hoarse 
 voice, I am not so bad a fellow at bottom. As you can trust to this 
 neighbor, there is no gi-eat harm done ; Init in future, my good wife, do 
 not take any step with regard to the children without consulting me. 
 They asked, I suppose, to go out for a little stroll with Sjioilsporf ."" 
 
 " No, my dear — 1 " 
 
 "Xo! Who is this neighl)or to whom you have intrusteil them T 
 Where has she taken them ? AVhat time will she Ining them l)ack f 
 
 " I do not know," murmured Françoise, in a failing voice. 
 
 " Y^'oii do not know ! " cried Dagobert, with indignation ; but restrain- 
 ing himself, he added, in a tone of friendly reproach, ' You do not 
 know ? You cannot even fix an horn", or, better still, not intrust them 
 to any one? The children must have been very anxious to go out. 
 They knew that T should return at any moment, so why not wait for 
 me — eh, Françoise ? I ask you, why did they not wait for me Î Answer 
 me, will you ! Zounds ! you would make a saint swear ! " cried Dago- 
 bert, stamping his foot ; " answer me, I say ! "
 
 THE WAXDERIXG JE^V. 477 
 
 The coui'age of Françoise was fast failing. These pressing and 
 reiterated questions, whieli might end by the discovery of the truth, 
 made her endiu'e a thousand slow and poignant tortiu'es. She preferred 
 coming at once to the point, ami determined to Ijear the full weight of 
 her husband's anger like a iiumljle and resigned victim, obstiuatelj' faith- 
 ful to the promise she had sworn to her confessor. 
 
 Not having the strength to rise, she bowed her head, allowed her 
 arms to fall on either side of the chaii", and said to her husband in a 
 tone of the deepest despondency : 
 
 " Do with me what you will, but do not ask what is become of the 
 children ; I cannot answer you." 
 
 If a thunderbolt had fallen at the feet of the soldier he would not 
 have been more violently, more deeply moved. He became deadly pale ; 
 his bald forehead was covered with cold sweat ; with fixed and staring 
 look, he remained for some moments motionless, mute, and petrified. 
 Then, as if roused with a start from this momentary torpor, and filled 
 with a terrific energy, he seized his wife by the shoulders, lifted her 
 like a feather, placed her on her feet before him, and, leaning over her, 
 exclaimed in a tone of mingled fm-y and despair: 
 
 " The childi-en ! " 
 
 " Mercy ! mercy ! " gasped Françoise, in a faint voice. 
 
 " Where are the children ! " repeated Dagobert, as he shook with his 
 powerful hands the poor frail body, and added in a voice of thunder, 
 " Will you answer I The childi-en ! " 
 
 " Kill nie, or forgive me; I cannot answer yoi;," replied the unhappy 
 woman, with that indexible yet mild obstinacy peculiar to timid charac- 
 ters when they act from convictions of doing right. 
 
 " Wretch ! " cried the soldier. Wild with rage, grief, dos]mir, he lifted 
 up his wife as if he would have dashed her upon the floor ; but he was 
 too brave a man to commit such cowardly cruelty, and after that first 
 burst of involuntary fury he let her go. 
 
 Overpowered, Françoise sank upon her knees, clasped her hands, 
 and by the faint motion of her lips it was clear that she was praying. 
 Dagobert had then a moment of stunning giddiness ; his thoughts wan- 
 dered. What had just happened was so sudden, so incomprehensible, 
 that it required some minutes to con%'ince himself that his wife (that 
 angel of goodness, whose life had been one course of heroic self- 
 devotion, and who knew what the daughters of Marshal Simon were to 
 him) should say to him, " Do not ask me about them ; I cannot answer 
 
 you." 
 
 The firmest, the strongest mind would have been shaken by this inex- 
 plicable fact. But when the soldier had a little recovered himself he
 
 478 THE WAXDEKIXG JEW. 
 
 began to look coolly at the cii'cumstauoe.x, aud roasoued tlius .sensibly 
 with himself: 
 
 " My wife alone can explain to me this inconceivable mystery. I do 
 not mean either to l)eat or kill her. Let ns try every possible method, 
 therefore, to induce her to speak; and, above all, let me try to control 
 myself." 
 
 He took a chair, handed another to his wife, who was still on her 
 knees, and said to her: 
 
 "Sit down." With an air of the utmost dejection Françoise obeyed. 
 
 " Listen tome, wife," resumed Dagoljert in a broken voice, interrujited 
 by involuntary starts, which lu'ti'ayed the boiling imjiatieiice he could 
 hardly restrain. " Understand me — this cannot pass over in this man- 
 ner — you know. I yfiW never use violence toward you; just now, I 
 gave way to a first moment of hastiness — T am sorry for it. Be sure, 
 I shall not do so again; but, after all, 1 must know what has }pe<'()ine of 
 these childi-en. Their mother intrusted them to my care, and 1 did not 
 l)ring them all the way from Siberia for you to say to me : ' Do not ask 
 me ; I cannot tell you what 1 have done with them.' There is no reason 
 in that. Suppose Marshal Simon were to arrive, and say to me, ' Dago- 
 bert, my children V what answei- am 1 to give him Î See, I am calm — 
 judge for youi'self — I am calm; but just jmt yourself in my place, and 
 tell me — what answer am I to give to the marshal ' Well, what say 
 you ! Will you speak Î " 
 
 " Alas ! my deai- " 
 
 "It is of no use crying alas /" said the soldier, wiping liis forehead, 
 on which the veins were swollen as if they would l)urst ; " what am I 
 to answer to the marshal ?" 
 
 "Accuse me to him — I will l>ear it all — I will say " 
 
 " What will you say f " 
 
 " That on going out you intrusted the two girls to jue, and that not 
 finding them on return, you asked m(> abcnit them — and that my answer 
 was, that I could not tell you what had become of them." 
 
 " Aud you think the marshal will be satisfied with such reasons Î " 
 cried Dagobert, clenching his fists convulsively upon his knees. 
 
 " Unfortunately, T can give no other — either to him oi- you ; no — not 
 if 1 were to die for it." 
 
 Dagobert bounded from his chair at this answer, which was given 
 with hopeless resignation. His patience was exhausted ; Imt determined 
 not to yield to new bursts of anger, or to spend his breath in useless 
 menaces, he abniptly opened one of the windows and exposed his burn- 
 ing forehead to the cool air. A little calmer, he walked uj) and down 
 for a few moments, and then returned to seat himself beside his wife.
 
 THE WAXDERING JEW. 479 
 
 She, witli hor eyes bathed in tears, fixed her gaze upon the crucifix, 
 thinking that she also had to bear a heavy cross. 
 Dagobert resumed : 
 
 " By the manner in which you speak, I see that no accident has hap- 
 pened which might endanger the health of the children." 
 
 " No, oh, no ! thank Grod, they are quite well — that is all I can say to 
 you." 
 
 " Did they go out alone ? " 
 
 " I cannot answer you." 
 
 " Has any one taken them away?" 
 
 " Alas, my dear ! why ask me these questions ? I cannot answer you." 
 
 " Will they come back here ! " 
 
 " I do not know." 
 Dagobert started up ; his patience was once more exhausted. But, 
 after taking a few tui'ns in the room, he again seated himself as before. 
 
 " After all," said he to his wife, " you have no interest to conceal from 
 me what is become of the children. Why refuse to let me know ? " 
 
 " I cannot do otherwise." 
 
 " I think you will change your opinion when you know something 
 that I am now forced to tell you. Listen to me well ! " added Dagobert, 
 in an agitated voice : " If these children are not restored to me before 
 the 13th of February — a day close at hand — I am in the position of a 
 man that would rob the daughters of Marshal Simon — rob them, d'ye 
 understand ? " said the soldier, becoming more and more agitated. 
 
 Then, with an accent of despair which pierced her heart, he con- 
 tiinied : 
 
 " And yet I have done all that an honest man could do for those poor 
 children — you cannot tell what I have had to suffer on the road — my 
 cares, my anxieties — I, a soldier, with the charge of two girls. It was 
 only by strength of heart, by devotion, that I coiild go through with 
 it — and when, for my reward, I hoped to be able to say to their father : 
 
 ' Here are your children ! ' " 
 
 The soldier paused. To the \dolenee of his first emotions had suc- 
 ceeded a mournful tenderness ; he wept. 
 
 At sight of the tears rolling slowly down Dagobert's gray mustache, 
 Françoise felt for a moment her resolution give way ; but recalling 
 the oath which she had made to her confessor, and reflecting that the 
 eternal salvation of the orphans was at stake, she reproached herself 
 inwardly with this evil temptation, which would no doubt be severely 
 Ijlamed by Abbé Dubois. She answered, therefore, in a trembling voice : 
 
 " How can they accuse you of robbing these children ? " 
 
 " Know," resumed Dagobert, drawing his hand across his eyes, " that
 
 480 THE WAXDERIXG JE]y. 
 
 if these young gii'ls have braved so many dangers, to come hithei-, all the 
 way from Sibei'ia, it is that great interests are concerned — perhaps 
 an immense fortune — and that, if they are not present on the VMh 
 February — liere, in Paris, Rue Saint François — all will be lost — and 
 through my faidt — for I am responsible for your actions." 
 
 " The 13th Feln-uary ? Kiie Saint François Î" cried Françoise, look- 
 ing at her husliand with snrjirise. "Like Gabriel!" 
 
 " What do you say al)Out ( îabriel ? " 
 
 " When I took him in (poor deserted child !), he wore a bronze medal 
 about his neck." 
 
 " A bronze medal ! " cried the soldier, struck with amazement ; " a 
 l)ronze medal with these words, ''At Paris you nill be, the I'Stli of 
 Fcbruari/, 1832, Biw Saint François .*"" 
 
 " Yes — how do you kuow f " 
 
 " (Tabriel, too ! " said the soldier, speaking to himself. Then he added 
 hastily : " Does Gabriel know that this medal was found upon him f " 
 
 " I spoke to him of it at some time. He had also about him a jioi-t- 
 folio, filled with papers in a foreign tongue. I gave them to Alibé 
 Dubois, my confessor, to look over. He told me afterward that they 
 were of little consequence; and, at a later period, when a charitable 
 l)erson, named I\I. Kodin, undertook the education of Gabriel, and togct 
 him into the seminary, Al)l)é Dubois handed botli i)apers ami medal to 
 him. Since then, I have heard nothing of them." 
 
 Wlien Françoise spoke of her confessor, a sudden light flashed 
 across the miml of the soldier, though he was far from suspecting the 
 machinations which had so long been at work \vith regard to Gabriel 
 and the orphans. But he had a vague feeling that his wife was acting 
 in obedience to some secret influence of the confessional — an influence 
 of which he could not imderstand the aim or oljject, but which 
 explained, in part at least, her inconceivable obstinacy with legard to 
 the disappearance of the oi-jihans. 
 
 After a moment's reflection, he rose, and saiil sternly to his wife, 
 looking fixedly at her : 
 
 " There is a priest at the bottom of all this." 
 
 " \Vliat do you mean, my dear f " 
 
 " You have no interest to conceal these children. You are one of the 
 best of women. You see that I suflfer ; if you only were concerned, >ou 
 would have pity upon me." 
 
 " My dear " 
 
 " I tell you, all this smacks of the confessional," resumed Dagobert. 
 " You would sacrifice me and these children to your confessor ; but 
 take care — I shall find out where he lives — and, a thousand thunders!
 
 THE WAXBERIAG JEW. 481 
 
 I will go and ask him who is master iu my house, he or I — and it' he 
 does not answer," added the soldier, with a thi-eatening expression of 
 countenance, " I shall know how to make him speak." 
 
 " Gracious Heaven ! " cried Françoise, clasping her hands in horror at 
 these sacrilegious words ; " remember he is a priest ! " 
 
 " A priest who causes discord, treachery, and misfortune in my house 
 is as much a wi-etch as any other, whom I have a i-ight to call to account 
 for the evil he does to me and mine. Therefore, teU me immediately 
 where are the children, or else — I give you fair warning — I will go 
 and demand them of the confessor. Some crime is here hatching, of 
 which you are an accomplice without knowing it, unhappy woman ! 
 Well, I prefer ha^^ng to do with another than you." 
 
 " My dear," said she, in a mild, firm voice, " you cannot think to 
 impose by violence on a veneralile man, who for twenty years has had 
 the care of my soul. His age alone should be respected." 
 
 " No age shall prevent me ! " 
 
 " Heavens ! Where are you going ? You alarm me ! " 
 
 " I am going to your churcli. They must know you there. I will 
 ask for your confessor, and we shall see." 
 
 " I entreat you, my dear," cried Fi-ançoise, throwing herself in affright 
 before Dagobert, who was hastening toward the door; "only think to 
 what you will expose yoiirself ! Heavens ! insult a priest ? Why, it is 
 one of the reserved cases ! " 
 
 These last words, which appeared most alarming to the simplicity of 
 Dagobert's wife, did not make any impression upon the soldier. He tlis- 
 engaged himself from her grasp, and was going to rush out bareheaded, 
 so high was his exasperation, when the door opened and the commissary 
 of police entered, followed by Mother Bunch and a policeman can-ying 
 the bundle which he had taken from the young girl. 
 
 " The commissary ! " cried Dagobert, who recognized him by his offi- 
 cial scarf. " Ah, so much the better ; he could not have come at a fitter 
 moment."
 
 CHAPTER vnr 
 
 THE EXAMINATION 
 
 ADAME FRANÇOISE BAUDOIN?" asked the magistrate. 
 " Yes, sir ; it is I," said Fran(,'oise. Then perceiviug the 
 pale and treinl)liiig sowiiig-j^irl, who did not (hire to fome 
 t'orwai-d, she stretclied out her arms to her. " Oh, my poor 
 child ! " she exclaimed, bursting into tears; " forgive — forgive us, since 
 it is for our sake you have suffered this humiliation ! " 
 
 When Dagohert's wife had tenderly embraced the yoimg seamstress, 
 the latter, turning toward the commissary, said to him with an expres- 
 sion of sad and touching dignity : 
 " You see, sir, that I am not a thief." 
 
 " Madame," said the magistrate, addressing Françoise, " am I to 
 understand that the silver mug, the shawl, the sheets contained in this 
 
 bundle " 
 
 " Belong to me, sir. It was to i-ender me a sei-vice that this deai- girl, 
 who is the best and most honest ci'eatinc in the world, undertook to 
 carry these articles to the pawnbroker's." 
 
 " Sir," said the magistrate sternly to the policeman, " you have com- 
 mitted a deplorable error. I shall take care to report you, and see that 
 you are punished. You may go, sii'." 
 
 Then addi-essiug Mother Bunch, with an air of real regret, he 
 added : 
 
 " I can only express my sorrow for what has happened. Believe me, 
 I deeply feel for the cniel position in which you have been placed." 
 
 " I believe it, sir," said Motliei- Bunch, " and I thank you." Overcome 
 by so many emotions, she sank ui)on a chau*. 
 
 The magistrate was about to retire, when Dagobert, who had been 
 seriously I'eflecting for some minutes, said to him in a firm voice : 
 " Please to hear me, sir ; I liave a deposition to make." 
 " Speak, sir." 
 
 " WHiat I am about to say is very important ; it is to you, in your 
 quality of a magistrate, that I makci this declaration."
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 483 
 
 " And as a magistrate I will hear you, sii*." 
 
 " I arrived here two days ago, bringing with me from Russia two girls 
 who had been intrusted to me by their mother — the wife of Marshal 
 Simon." 
 
 " Of Marshal Simon, Duke de Ligny ? " said the commissary, very 
 much sui'prised. 
 
 " Yes, sh\ Well, I left them here, being obliged to go out on pressing 
 business. This morning, during my absence, they disappeared ; and I 
 am certain I know the man who has been the cause of it." 
 
 " Now, my dear," said Françoise, much alarmed. 
 
 " Sii'," said the magistrate, " your declaration is a very seiious one. 
 Disappearance of persons, sequestration perhaps. But are you quite 
 sure f " 
 
 " These young ladies were here an hour ago ; I repeat, sir, that during 
 my absence they have been taken away." 
 
 " I do not doubt the sincerity of your declaration, sii* ; but stiU it is 
 difficult to explain so strange an abduction. Who teUs you that these 
 yoiing girls will not return f Besides, whom do you suspect ? One 
 word, before you make your accusation. Remember, it is the magis- 
 trate who hears you. On leaving this place the law will take its com'se 
 in this affair." 
 
 " That is what I wish, sir ; I am responsible for those young ladies to 
 their father. He may arrive at any moment, and I must be jjrepared 
 to justify myself." 
 
 " I understand all these reasons, sir ; but still, have a care you are not 
 deceived by unfounded siispicious. Your denunciation once made, I 
 may have to act provisionally against the person accused. Now, if you 
 should be iinder a mistake, the consequences woiild be very serious for 
 you; and, without going fm'ther," said the magistrate, pointing to 
 Mother Bunch, with emotion, " you see what are the results of a false 
 accusation." 
 
 " You hear, my dear," cried Françoise, terrified at the resolution of 
 
 Dagobert to accuse Abbé Dubois; "do not say a word more, I entreat you." 
 
 But the more the soldier reflected, the more he felt convinced 
 
 that nothing but the inflvience of her confessor could have induced his 
 
 wife to act as she had done ; so he resumed, with assurance : 
 
 " I accuse my wife's confessor of being the principal or the accomplice 
 in the abduction of Marshal Simon's daughters." 
 
 Françoise uttered a deep groan, and hid her face in her hands; 
 while Mother Bunch, who had dra^\^^ nigh, endeavored to console her. 
 The magistrate had listened to Dagobert with extreme astonishment, 
 and he now said to him with some severity :
 
 4S4 Tin: WANDERING JEW. 
 
 " Pi'iiy, sii', do not uccuse uiiju.stly u muii whose position is in tho 
 liighost (li'fjroo respectable — a priest, sir! — yes, a priest! I warned 
 yon beforehaiKi to reflect npon what yon advanced. All this becomes 
 very serions; ami at yonr ajjc, any levity in sncli matters wonld l)e nn- 
 pardonable." 
 
 " Bless me, sir ! " said Dagobert, with impatience ; " at my age, one 
 lias coiunion sense. Tliese are tlie facts. My wife is one of the best 
 and most honorable of human creatures, — ask any one in the neigh- 
 borhood, and they will tell you so, — but she is a devotee ; and, for 
 twenty years she has always seen with her confessor's eyes. She adoi-es 
 her son, she loves me also ; but she puts the confessor before us l)oth." 
 
 " Sir," said the commissaiy, " tliese family details " 
 
 " Are indispensable, as you shall see. I go out an hour ago, to look 
 after tiiis poor girl here. When I come l)ack, the young ladies liavedis- 
 ajtpeared. I ask my wife to whom she has intrustetl them, antl where 
 they are ; she falls at my feet, weeping, and says : ' Do what you will 
 with me, but do not ask nic what is become of the cliildrcn; I cannot 
 answer you.' " 
 
 " Is this true, madame; ! " cried the comjiiissary, looking at Françoise 
 with sui'prise. 
 
 "Anger, threats, entreaties, liad no effect," r(>snmed Dagolicrt; "to 
 everything she answered as mildly as a saint : ' I can tell you nothing ! ' 
 Now, sir, I maintain that my wife has no interest to take away these 
 children ; she is under the absolute dominion of her confessor ; she has 
 act(Hl by his orders and for his purposes ; he is the guilty party." 
 
 Wliile Dagobert spoke the coinmissary looked more and more atten- 
 tively at Françoise, who, supported l)y the hunchback, continued to 
 weep bitterly. After a moment's reflection, the magistrate advanced 
 toward Dagobert's wife and said to lier: 
 
 " Madame, you have heard what your husband has just declared Î " 
 
 " Yes, sii-." 
 
 " What have you to say in your justification ? " 
 
 " But, sir," cried Dago])ert, " it is not my wife that I accuse — I do not 
 mean that ; it is her confessor." 
 
 " Sir, you have applied to a magistrate ; and the magistrate must act 
 as he thinks best for the discovery of the truth. Once more, niadanu;," 
 he resumed, addressing Françoise, " what have you to say in your jus- 
 tification ? " 
 
 " Alas ! nothing, sir." 
 
 " Is it true that your husband left these young girls in youi- charge 
 when he went out?" 
 
 " Yes, sir."
 
 THE WANDERING JEW. 485 
 
 " Is it true that ou his return they were uo louger to be found ? " 
 
 " Yes, sh-.» 
 
 " Is it true that when he asked you where they were, you told him 
 that you could give him no information on the subject ? " 
 
 The commissary appeared to wait for a reply with a kind of anxious 
 curiosity. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said she, with the utmost simplicity ; " that was the answer 
 I made my husband." 
 
 " What, madame ! " said the magistrate, with an air of painful aston- 
 ishment ; " that was your only answer to all the prayers and commands 
 of your husband ? What ! you refused to give him the least informa- 
 tion ? It is neither probable nor possible." 
 
 " It is the truth, sir." 
 
 " Well, but, after all, madame, what have you done with the young 
 ladies that were intrusted to your care ? " 
 
 " I can teU you nothing about it, sir. If I would not answer my poor 
 husband, I certainly will not answer any one else." 
 
 '' Well, sir," resinned Dagobert, " was I wrong ? An honest, excellent 
 woman like that, who was always fuU of good sense and affection, to 
 talk in this way — is it natural ? I repeat to you, sii', that it is the work 
 of her confessor. Act against him promptly and decidedly, we shall 
 soon know all, and my poor childi'en will be restored to me." 
 
 " Madame," continued the commissary, without being able to repress 
 a cei'tain degree of emotion, " I am about to speak to you very severely. 
 My duty. obliges me to do so. This affair becomes so serious and com- 
 plicated that I must instantly commence judicial proceedings on the 
 suljject. You acknowledge that these young ladies have been left in 
 your charge, and that you cannot produce them. Now, listen to me ; if 
 you refuse to give any explanation in the matter, it is you alone that 
 will be accused of their disappearance. I shall be obliged, though with 
 great regret, to take you into custody." 
 
 " Me ! " cried Françoise, with the utmost alarm. 
 
 " Her ! " exclaimed Dagobert ; " never ! It is her confessor that I 
 accuse, not my poor wife. Take her into custody indeed ! " He ran 
 toward her, as if Ikî would protect her. 
 
 " It is too late, sir," said the commissary. " You have made yoiu* 
 charge for the abduction of these two young ladies. According to youi* 
 wife's own declaration, she alone is compromised up to this point. I 
 must take her before the Public Prosecutor, who will decide what course 
 to pursue." 
 
 " And I say, sir," cried Dagobert, in a menacing tone, " that my wife 
 shall not stir from this room."
 
 48G '/' // /•; MM .V /> E li I X U ■/ K 11 . 
 
 "Sir," said the commissary coolly, "I can aiiprefiato your feelings; 
 but, ill the interest of justice, 1 would beg you not to oppose; a necessary 
 measure — a measure which, moreovei', iu ten minutes it would be quite 
 im])ossible for you to prevent.'" 
 
 These words, spoken with calmness, recalled the soldier to himself. 
 
 " But, sir," said he, " I do not accuse my wife." 
 
 "Never mind, my dear — do not think of me!" said Françoise, with 
 the angelic resignation of a martyr. " The Loi-d is still pleased to try me 
 sorely ; but I am his servant, and must gi-atefully resign myself to 
 his will. Let them arrest me if they choose ; I will say no more in 
 prison than I have said already on the sulgect of those ]ioor cliildren." 
 
 " But, sir," cried Dagobert, " you see that my wife is out of her head. 
 You cannot arrest lier." 
 
 " There is no charge, proof, or indication against the other person 
 whom yoit accuse, and whose character should i>e his protection. If I 
 take your wife, she may perhaps be restored to you after a preliniinai-y 
 examination. I regret," added the commissary, in a tone of pity, " to 
 have to execute such a mission, at the very moment when your son's 
 arrest " 
 
 " What ! " cried Dagobert, looking with speechless astonishment at 
 his wife and Mother Bunch ; " what does he say? My son?" 
 
 "You were not then aware of it? Oh, sir! a thousand pardons!" 
 said the magistrate, with ])ainful emotion. " It is distressing to make 
 you such a communication." 
 
 " My son ! " rej)eati'd Dagobert, pressing his two hands to his fore- 
 head. " My sou arrested ! " 
 
 " For a political offense of no great moment," said the commissary. 
 
 " Oh ! this is too much. All comes on me at once ! " cried the soldier, 
 falling overpowered into a chair, and hiding his face with his hands. 
 
 After a touching farewell, during whi<'li, in spite of her terror, 
 Françoise remained faithful to the vow she had nuido to the Abbé 
 Dub()is, Dagolx'rt, who had refused to give evidence against his wife, 
 was left leaning upon a table, exhausted by contending emotions, and 
 could not help exclaiming: 
 
 " Yesterday I had with me my wife, my sou, my two poor orphans, 
 and now I am alone, alone ! " 
 
 The moment he pronounced these words, in a despairing tone, a 
 mild, sad voice was heard close l)ehind liini, saying timidly: "M. Dago- 
 bert, I am hei-e ; if you will allow me, I will remain and wait upou you." 
 
 It was Mother Bunch. 
 
 END OF VOLUME I.
 
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