บทที่ บทที่ 12 · After seeing the Count de Commarin safely in his carriage at the

entrance of the Palais de Justice, Noel Gerdy seemed inclined to leave

him. Resting one hand against the half-opened carriage door, he bowed

respectfully, and said: “When, sir, shall I have the honour of paying my

respects to you?”

“Come with me now,” said the old nobleman.

The advocate, still leaning forward, muttered some excuses. He had, he

said, important business: he must positively return home at once.

“Come,” repeated the count, in a tone which admitted no reply.

Noel obeyed.

“You have found your father,” said M. de Commarin in a low tone; “but I

must warn you, that at the same time you lose your independence.”

The carriage started; and only then did the count notice that Noel

had very modestly seated himself opposite him. This humility seemed to

displease him greatly.

“Sit here by my side, sir,” he exclaimed; “are you not my son?”

The advocate, without replying, took his seat by the side of the

terrible old man, but occupied as little room as possible.

He had been very much upset by his interview with M. Daburon; for he

retained none of his usual assurance, none of that exterior coolness by

which he was accustomed to conceal his feelings. Fortunately, the ride

gave him time to breathe, and to recover himself a little.

On the way from the Palais de Justice to the De Commarin mansion, not a

word passed between the father and son. When the carriage stopped before

the steps leading to the principal entrance, and the count got out with

Noel’s assistance, there was great commotion among the servants.

There were, it is true, few of them present, nearly all having been

summoned to the Palais; but the count and the advocate had scarcely

disappeared, when, as if by enchantment, they were all assembled in

the hall. They came from the garden, the stables, the cellar, and the

kitchen. Nearly all bore marks of their calling. A young groom appeared

with his wooden shoes filled with straw, shuffling about on the marble

floor like a mangy dog on a Gobelin tapestry. One of them recognised

Noel as the visitor of the previous Sunday; and that was enough to set

fire to all these gossip-mongers, thirsting for scandal.

Since morning, moreover, the unusual events at the De Commarin mansion

had caused a great stir in society. A thousand stories were

circulated, talked over, corrected, and added to by the ill-natured

and malicious,--some abominably absurd, others simply idiotic. Twenty

people, very noble and still more proud, had not been above sending

their most intelligent servants to pay a little visit among the count’s

retainers, for the sole purpose of learning something positive. As

it was, nobody knew anything; and yet everybody pretended to be fully

informed.

Let any one explain who can this very common phenomenon: A crime is

committed; justice arrives, wrapped in mystery; the police are still

ignorant of almost everything; and yet details of the most minute

character are already circulated about the streets.

“So,” said a cook, “that tall dark fellow with the whiskers is the

count’s true son!”

“You are right,” said one of the footmen who had accompanied M. de

Commarin; “as for the other, he is no more his son than Jean here; who,

by the way, will be kicked out of doors, if he is caught in this part of

the house with his dirty working-shoes on.”

“What a romance,” exclaimed Jean, supremely indifferent to the danger

which threatened him.

“Such things constantly occur in great families,” said the cook.

“How ever did it happen?”

“Well, you see, one day, long ago, when the countess who is now dead was

out walking with her little son, who was about six months old, the child

was stolen by gypsies. The poor lady was full of grief; but above all,

was greatly afraid of her husband, who was not over kind. What did she

do? She purchased a brat from a woman, who happened to be passing;

and, never having noticed his child, the count has never known the

difference.”

“But the assassination!”

“That’s very simple. When the woman saw her brat in such a nice berth,

she bled him finely, and has kept up a system of blackmailing all along.

The viscount had nothing left for himself. So he resolved at last to put

an end to it, and come to a final settling with her.”

“And the other, who is up there, the dark fellow?”

The orator would have gone on, without doubt, giving the most

satisfactory explanations of everything, if he had not been interrupted

by the entrance of M. Lubin, who came from the Palais in company of

young Joseph. His success, so brilliant up to this time, was cut short,

just like that of a second-rate singer when the star of the evening

comes on the stage. The entire assembly turned towards Albert’s valet,

all eyes questioning him. He of course knew all, he was the man they

wanted. He did not take advantage of his position, and keep them

waiting.

“What a rascal!” he exclaimed at first. “What a villainous fellow is

this Albert!”

He entirely did away with the “Mr.” and the “Viscount,” and met with

general approval for doing so.

“However,” he added, “I always had my doubts. The fellow didn’t

please me by half. You see now to what we are exposed every day in our

profession, and it is dreadfully disagreeable. The magistrate did not

conceal it from me. ‘M. Lubin,’ said he, ‘it is very sad for a man

like you to have waited on such a scoundrel.’ For you must know, that,

besides an old woman over eighty years old, he also assassinated a young

girl of twelve. The little child, the magistrate told me, was chopped

into bits.”

“Ah!” put in Joseph; “he must have been a great fool. Do people do those

sort of things themselves when they are rich, and when there are so many

poor devils who only ask to gain their living?”

“Pshaw!” said M. Lubin in a knowing tone; “you will see him come out of

it as white as snow. These rich men can do anything.”

“Anyhow,” said the cook, “I’d willingly give a month’s wages to be a

mouse, and to listen to what the count and the tall dark fellow are

talking about. Suppose some one went up and tried to find out what is

going on.”

This proposition did not meet with the least favour. The servants

knew by experience that, on important occasions, spying was worse than

useless.