Bab Bab 13 · Old Tabaret did not consider himself defeated, because he had been

repulsed by the investigating magistrate, already irritated by a long

day’s examination. You may call it a fault, or an accomplishment; but

the old man was more obstinate than a mule. To the excess of despair to

which he succumbed in the passage outside the magistrate’s office, there

soon succeeded that firm resolution which is the enthusiasm called forth

by danger. The feeling of duty got the upper hand. Was it a time to

yield to unworthy despair, when the life of a fellow-man depended on

each minute? Inaction would be unpardonable. He had plunged an innocent

man into the abyss; and he must draw him out, he alone, if no one would

help him. Old Tabaret, as well as the magistrate, was greatly fatigued.

On reaching the open air, he perceived that he, too, was in want of

food. The emotions of the day had prevented him from feeling hungry;

and, since the previous evening, he had not even taken a glass of water.

He entered a restaurant on the Boulevard, and ordered dinner.

While eating, not only his courage, but also his confidence came

insensibly back to him. It was with him, as with the rest of mankind;

who knows how much one’s ideas may change, from the beginning to the

end of a repast, be it ever so modest! A philosopher has plainly

demonstrated that heroism is but an affair of the stomach.

The old fellow looked at the situation in a much less sombre light. He

had plenty of time before him! A clever man could accomplish a great

deal in a month! Would his usual penetration fail him now? Certainly

not. His great regret was, his inability to let Albert know that some

one was working for him.

He was entirely another man, as he rose from the table; and it was with

a sprightly step that he walked towards the Rue St. Lazare. Nine o’clock

struck as the concierge opened the door for him. He went at once up to

the fourth floor to inquire after the health of his former friend, her

whom he used to call the excellent, the worthy Madame Gerdy.

It was Noel who let him in, Noel, who had doubtless been thinking of

the past, for he looked as sad as though the dying woman was really his

mother.

In consequence of this unexpected circumstance, old Tabaret could not

avoid going in for a few minutes, though he would much have preferred

not doing so. He knew very well, that, being with the advocate, he would

be unavoidably led to speak of the Lerouge case; and how could he do

this, knowing, as he did, the particulars much better than his young

friend himself, without betraying his secret? A single imprudent word

might reveal the part he was playing in this sad drama. It was, above

all others, from his dear Noel, now Viscount de Commarin, that he wished

entirely to conceal his connection with the police.

But, on the other hand, he thirsted to know what had passed between the

advocate and the count. His ignorance on this single point aroused his

curiosity. However, as he could not withdraw he resolved to keep close

watch upon his language and remain constantly on his guard.

The advocate ushered the old man into Madame Gerdy’s room. Her

condition, since the afternoon, had changed a little; though it was

impossible to say whether for the better or the worse. One thing was

evident, her prostration was not so great. Her eyes still remained

closed; but a slight quivering of the lids was evident. She constantly

moved on her pillow, and moaned feebly.

“What does the doctor say?” asked old Tabaret, in that low voice one

unconsciously employs in a sick room.

“He has just gone,” replied Noel; “before long all will be over.”

The old man advanced on tip-toe, and looked at the dying woman with

evident emotion.

“Poor creature!” he murmured; “God is merciful in taking her. She

perhaps suffers much; but what is this pain compared to what she would

feel if she knew that her son, her true son, was in prison, accused of

murder?”

“That is what I keep thinking,” said Noel, “to console myself for this

sight. For I still love her, my old friend; I shall always regard her

as a mother. You have heard me curse her, have you not? I have twice

treated her very harshly. I thought I hated her; but now, at the moment

of losing her, I forget every wrong she has done me, only to remember

her tenderness. Yes, for her, death is far preferable! And yet I do not

think, no, I cannot think her son guilty.”

“No! what, you too?”

Old Tabaret put so much warmth and vivacity into this exclamation, that

Noel looked at him with astonishment. He felt his face grow red, and he

hastened to explain himself. “I said, ‘you too,’” he continued, “because

I, thanks perhaps to my inexperience, am persuaded also of this young

man’s innocence. I cannot in the least imagine a man of his rank

meditating and accomplishing so cowardly a crime. I have spoken with

many persons on this matter which has made so much noise; and everybody

is of my opinion. He has public opinion in his favor; that is already

something.”

Seated near the bed, sufficiently far from the lamp to be in the shade,

the nun hastily knitted stockings destined for the poor. It was a purely

mechanical work, during which she usually prayed. But, since old Tabaret

entered the room, she forgot her everlasting prayers whilst listening

to the conversation. What did it all mean? Who could this woman be? And

this young man who was not her son, and who yet called her mother,

and at the same time spoke of a true son accused of being an assassin?

Before this she had overheard mysterious remarks pass between Noel and

the doctor. Into what strange house had she entered? She was a little

afraid; and her conscience was sorely troubled. Was she not sinning? She

resolved to tell all to the priest, when he returned.

“No,” said Noel, “no, M. Tabaret; Albert has not public opinion for him.

We are sharper than that in France, as you know. When a poor devil is

arrested, entirely innocent, perhaps, of the crime charged against him,

we are always ready to throw stones at him. We keep all our pity for

him, who, without doubt guilty, appears before the court of assize. As

long as the justice hesitates, we side with the prosecution against the

prisoner. The moment it is proved that the man is a villain, all our

sympathies are in his favour. That is public opinion. You understand,

however, that it affects me but little. I despise it to such an extent,

that if, as I dare still hope, Albert is not released, I will defend

him. Yes, I have told the Count de Commarin, my father, as much. I will

be his counsel, and I will save him.”

Gladly would the old man have thrown himself on Noel’s neck. He longed

to say to him: “We will save him together.” But he restrained himself.

Would not the advocate despise him, if he told him his secret! He

resolved, however, to reveal all should it become necessary, or should

Albert’s position become worse. For the time being, he contented himself

with strongly approving his young friend.

“Bravo! my boy,” said he; “you have a noble heart. I feared to see you

spoiled by wealth and rank; pardon me. You will remain, I see, what you

have always been in your more humble position. But, tell me, you have,

then, seen your father, the count?”

Now, for the first time, Noel seemed to notice the nun’s eyes, which,

lighted by eager curiosity, glittered in the shadow like carbuncles.

With a look, he drew the old man’s attention to her, and said: “I have

seen him; and everything is arranged to my satisfaction. I will tell you

all, in detail, by-and-by, when we are more at ease. By this bedside, I

am almost ashamed of my happiness.”