The Wandering Jew — Complete
was one of the apartments occupied by Mother Bunch, in Adrienne's house.
They were situated on the ground-floor, and had two entrances. One
opened on the garden, and the other on the court-yard. From this side
came the persons who applied to the workgirl for succor; an ante-chamber
in which they waited, a parlor in which they were received, constituted
Mother Bunch's apartments, along with the bedroom, which Florine
had just entered, looking about her with an anxious and alarmed air,
scarcely touching the carpet with the tips of her satin shoes, holding
her breath, and listening at the least noise.
Placing the candle upon the chimney-piece, she took a rapid survey
of the chamber, and approached the mahogany desk, surmounted by a
well-filled bookcase. The key had been left in the drawers of this
piece of furniture, and they were all three examined by Florine. They
contained different petitions from persons in distress, and various,
notes in the girl's handwriting. This was not what Florine wanted. Three
cardboard boxes were placed in pigeon-holes beneath the bookcase. These
also were vainly explored, and Florine, with a gesture of vexation,
looked and listened anxiously; then, seeing a chest of drawers, she
made therein a fresh and useless search. Near the foot of the bed was
a little door, leading to a dressing-room. Florine entered it, and
looked--at first without success--into a large wardrobe, in which were
suspended several black dresses, recently made for Mother Bunch,
by order of Mdlle. de Cardoville. Perceiving, at the bottom of this
wardrobe, half hidden beneath a cloak, a very shabby little trunk,
Florine opened it hastily, and found there, carefully folded up, the
poor old garments in which the work-girl had been clad when she first
entered this opulent mansion.
Florine started--an involuntary emotion contracted her features; but
considering that she had not liberty to indulge her feelings, but only
to obey Rodin's implacable orders, she hastily closed both trunk and
wardrobe, and leaving the dressing-room, returned into the bed-chamber.
After having again examined the writing-stand, a sudden idea occurred to
her. Not content with once more searching the cardboard boxes, she drew
out one of them from the pigeon-hole, hoping to find what she sought
behind the box: her first attempt failed, but the second was more
successful. She found behind the middle box a copy-book of considerable
thickness. She started in surprise, for she had expected something else;
yet she took the manuscript, opened it, and rapidly turned over
the leaves. After having perused several pages, she manifested her
satisfaction, and seemed as if about to put the book in her pocket; but
after a moment's reflection, she replaced it where she had found it,
arranged everything in order, took her candle, and quitted the apartment
without being discovered--of which, indeed, she had felt pretty sure,
knowing that Mother Bunch would be occupied with Mdlle. de Cardoville
for some hours.
The day after Florine's researches, Mother Bunch, alone in her bed
chamber, was seated in an arm-chair, close to a good fire. A thick
carpet covered the floor; through the window-curtains could be seen the
lawn of a large garden; the deep silence was only interrupted by the
regular ticking of a clock, and the crackling of the wood. Her
hands resting on the arms of the chair, she gave way to a feeling of
happiness, such as she had never so completely enjoyed since she took
up her residence at the hotel. For her, accustomed so long to cruel
privations, there was a kind of inexpressible charm in the calm silence
of this retreat--in the cheerful aspect of the garden, and above all, in
the consciousness that she was indebted for this comfortable position,
to the resignation and energy she had displayed, in the thick of the
many severe trials which now ended so happily. An old woman, with a mild
and friendly countenance, who had been, by express desire of Adrienne,
attached to the hunchback's service, entered the room and said to her:
"Mademoiselle, a young man wishes to speak to you on pressing business.
He gives his name as Agricola Baudoin."
At this name, Mother Bunch uttered an exclamation of surprise and joy,
blushed slightly, rose and ran to the door which led to the parlor in
which was Agricola.
"Good-morning, dear sister," said the smith, cordially embracing the
young girl, whose cheeks burned crimson beneath those fraternal kisses.
"Ah, me!" cried the sempstress on a sudden, as she looked anxiously
at Agricola; "what is that black band on your forehead? You have been
wounded!"
"A mere nothing," said the smith, "really nothing. Do not think of it.
I will tell you all about that presently. But first, I have things of
importance to communicate."
"Come into my room, then; we shall be alone," Mother Bunch, as she went
before Agricola.
Notwithstanding the expression of uneasiness which was visible on the
countenance of Agricola, he could not forbear smiling with pleasure as
he entered the room and looked around him.
"Excellent, my poor sister! this is how I would always have you lodged.
I recognize here the hand of Mdlle. de Cardoville. What a heart! what
a noble mind!--Dost know, she wrote to me the day before yesterday,
to thank me for what I had done for her, and sent me a gold pin (very
plain), which she said I need not hesitate to accept, as it had no other
value but that of having been worn by her mother! You can't tell how
much I was affected by the delicacy of this gift!"
"Nothing must astonish you from a heart like hers," answered the
hunchback. "But the wound--the wound?"
"Presently, my good sister; I have so many things to tell you. Let us
begin by what is most pressing, for I want you to give me some good
advice in a very serious case. You know how much confidence I have in
your excellent heart and judgment. And then, I have to ask of you a
service--oh! a great service," added the smith, in an earnest, and
almost solemn tone, which astonished his hearer. "Let us begin with what
is not personal to myself."
"Speak quickly."
"Since my mother went with Gabriel to the little country curacy he has
obtained, and since my father lodges with Marshal Simon and the young
ladies, I have resided, you know, with my mates, at M. Hardy's factory,
in the common dwelling-house. Now, this morning but first, I must tell
you that M. Hardy, who has lately returned from a journey, is again
absent for a few days on business. This morning, then, at the hour of
breakfast, I remained at work a little after the last stroke of the
bell; I was leaving the workshop to go to our eating-room, when I saw
entering the courtyard, a lady who had just got out of a hackney-coach.
I remarked that she was fair, though her veil was half down; she had
a mild and pretty countenance, and her dress was that of a fashionable
lady. Struck with her paleness, and her anxious, frightened air, I asked
her if she wanted anything. 'Sir,' said she to me, in a trembling voice,
and as if with a great effort, 'do you belong to this factory?'--'Yes,
madame.'--'M. Hardy is then in clanger?' she exclaimed.--'M. Hardy,
madame? He has not yet returned home.'--'What!' she went on, 'M. Hardy
did not come hither yesterday evening? Was he not dangerously wounded by
some of the machinery?' As she said these words, the poor young lady's
lips trembled, and I saw large tears standing in her eyes. 'Thank God,
madame! all this is entirely false,' said I, 'for M. Hardy has
not returned, and indeed is only expected by to-morrow or the day
after.'--'You are quite sure that he has not returned! quite sure that
he is not hurt?' resumed the pretty young lady, drying her eyes.--'Quite
sure, madame; if M. Hardy were in danger, I should not be so quiet in
talking to you about him.'--'Oh! thank God! thank God!' cried the young
lady. Then she expressed to me her gratitude, with so happy, so feeling
an air, that I was quite touched by it. But suddenly, as if then only
she felt ashamed of the step she had taken, she let down her veil, left
me precipitately, went out of the court-yard, and got once more into the
hackney-coach that had brought her. I said to myself: 'This is a lady
who takes great interest in M. Hardy, and has been alarmed by a false
report."'
"She loves him, doubtless," said Mother Bunch, much moved, "and, in
her anxiety, she perhaps committed an act of imprudence, in coming to
inquire after him."
"It is only too true. I saw her get into the coach with interests, for
her emotion had infected me. The coach started--and what did I see a few
seconds after? A cab, which the young lady could not have perceived, for
it had been hidden by an angle of the wall; and, as it turned round the
corner, I distinguished perfectly a man seated by the driver's side, and
making signs to him to take the same road as the hackney-coach."
"The poor young lady was followed," said Mother Bunch, anxiously.
"No doubt of it; so I instantly hastened after the coach, reached it,
and through the blinds that were let down, I said to the young lady,
whilst I kept running by the side of the coach door: 'Take care, madame;
you are followed by a cab.
"Well, Agricola! and what did she answer?"
"I heard her exclaim, 'Great Heaven!' with an accent of despair. The
coach continued its course. The cab soon came up with me; I saw, by
the side of the driver, a great, fat, ruddy man, who, having watched me
running after the coach, no doubt suspected something, for he looked at
me somewhat uneasily."
"And when does M. Hardy return?" asked the hunchback.
"To-morrow, or the day after. Now, my good sister, advise me. It is
evident that this young lady loves M. Hardy. She is probably married,
for she looked so embarrassed when she spoke to me, and she uttered
a cry of terror on learning that she was followed. What shall I do? I
wished to ask advice of Father Simon, but he is so very strict in such
matters--and then a love affair, at his age!--while you are so delicate
and sensible, my good sister, that you will understand it all."
The girl started, and smiled bitterly; Agricola did not perceive it, and
thus continued: "So I said to myself, 'There is only Mother Bunch, who
can give me good advice.' Suppose M. Hardy returns to-morrow, shall I
tell him what has passed or not?"
"Wait a moment," cried the other, suddenly interrupting Agricola, and
appearing to recollect something; "when I went to St. Mary's Convent, to
ask for work of the superior, she proposed that I should be employed by
the day, in a house in which I was to watch or, in other words, to act
as a spy--"
"What a wretch!"
"And do you know," said the girl, "with whom I was to begin this odious
trade? Why, with a Madame de-Fremont, or de Bremont, I do not remember
which, a very religious woman, whose daughter, a young married lady,
received visits a great deal too frequent (according to the superior)
from a certain manufacturer."
"What do you say?" cried Agricola. "This manufacturer must be--"
"M. Hardy. I had too many reasons to remember that name, when it was
pronounced by the superior. Since that day, so many other events have
taken place, that I had almost forgotten the circumstance. But it is
probable that this young lady is the one of whom I heard speak at the
convent."
"And what interest had the superior of the convent to set a spy upon
her?" asked the smith.
"I do not know; but it is clear that the same interest still exists,
since the young lady was followed, and perhaps, at this hour, is
discovered and dishonored. Oh! it is dreadful!" Then, seeing Agricola
start suddenly, Mother Bunch added: "What, then, is the matter?"
"Yes--why not?" said the smith, speaking to himself; "why may not all