THE MYSTERIES OF PARIS.
129
" A crime!"
" This man assassinated the brother of Madame Fer-
mont, and made her believe that this unfortunate man
had committed suicide, after having dissipated her
fertune."
" This is horrible! it can hardly be credited; and yet
I have had my doubts about this notary, for Renueville
-was honor itself.   And this money-----"
" Is deposited with a venerable priest, M. de Cure of
Bonne-So_velle; he will hand it to Mademoiselle de
Fermont."
" This restitution is not sufficient for human justice
Madame ! The scaffold claims this notary, for he has
loot only committed one murder, but two. The death
of Madame «le Fermont, the sufferings which her
-daughter has endured on this hospital bed, have been
caused by the infamous abuse of confidence of this
wretch !"
" And this wretch has committed another murder
quite as frightful!"
" What do you say, Madame?"
" If he made away with the brother of Madame
Fermont by a pretended suicide, only a few days since
he cruelly murdered a young girl, in whose destruction
.he was interested, by causing her to be drowned, cer-
tain that this would be attributed to accident."
M. de Saint Remy shuddered, looked at Madame
d'Harville with surprise, and thinking of Fleur de
Marie, cried:
"Ah ! mon Dieu ! what a strange coincidence 1"
" What is the matter, Monsieur?"
' ' This young girl 1 Where was it h e wished to drown
faer?"
" In the Seine, near Asniere.T am told."
" It is she I it is she 1" cried M. de Saint Remy.
" Of whom do you speak, Monsieur?"
"Of the young girl this monster had an interest-----"
" Fleur de Marie?"
" Do yon know her, Madame?"
"Poor child! I loved her tenderly. Ah, if you had
ftnown, Monsieur, how beautiful she was. Eut how-
did you-----"
" Dr. Griffon and myself gave her the first assist-
ance."
"The first assistance? to her? and where?"
"At the Island of the Ravageurs, when she was
oaved."
"Saved!   Fleur de Marie! saved!"
"By a good creature, who, at the risk of her life,
drew her out of the Seine. But what is the matter,
"Madame?"
" Ah, Monsieur, I dare, not believe in so much hapoi-
sness. I entreat you, tell me—this young girl—describe
iier."
" Of admirable beauty, and an angel face-----"
" Large blue eyes, flaxen hair?"
" Yes, Madame."
" And when they tried to drown her, was she with an
.aged woman?"
"In fact, it- was only yesterday she could speak.
She then mentioned that an old woman accompanied
<her."
"God be praised!" cried Clemenee, clasping her
hands fervently. " I can inform-Him that his orotegee
,ves. What joy for him, who. in his last letter,
spoke of this poor child with such painful regret! Par-
don me, Monsieur, but if you knew how happy your
information makes me, as well as another, who, still
more than myself, has loved and protected Fleur de
Marie !   But, I pray you, where is she at this moment?"
" Near Asnières,- in the house of one of the physicians
of this hospital — Dr. Griffon, who, notwithstanding
some oddities which I deplore, has excellent qualities."
" And she is now out of danger?"
"Yes, Madame; but only since two or three days.
To-day she is allowed to write to her protectors."
" Oh ! it is I, Monsieur—it is I who will do this, or.
-rather, it is I who will have the joy of conducting her
to those who, believing her dead, regret her so bit-
terly."
"1 appreciate these regrets, Madame; for it is im-
possible to know Fleurde Marie without being charmed
with her angelic qualities: her grace and sweetness
•exercise on all those who approach her an unbounded
influence. The woman who saved her, and who has
since watched her night and day, as she would, have
watched her own child, is a courageous and devoted
person, but of a temper so habitually violent that she
.hasbeen called La Louve—judge! Well! a word from
Fleur de Marie can calm her. I have heard her sob and
sitter cries of despair when, at one time, Dr. Griffon had
tout little hopes of saving Fleur de Marie."
" That does not astonish me—1 know La Louve."*
!  "You, Madame." said M. de Saint Remy, surprised;
" you know La Louve V '
"It must surprise you, truly. Monsieur," said the
marquise, smiling sweetly; for Clemenee was happy—
ohl very happy—in thinking of the joyful surprise she
would cause the prince. What would have been her
delight if she had known that it was a daughter whom
be believed dead that she was about to restore to Ro-
dolphe !
"Ah! Monsieur." said she to M. de Saint Remy,
*¦ this is so joyful a day for me that 1 wish it to be so
for others; it seems to me that there must be many
unfortunate persons here to succor: this would be ah
excellent way to express my gratitude, my joy, for the
news you have given me." Then, addressing one of
the sisters, who had just given a drink to Mademoiselle
de Fermont, she said, ,fWell my sister, is she yet
(sensible?"
¦' Not yet, Madame—she issoweak Poor demoiselle!
her pulse can hardly be felt."
" I will wait until she is able to De removed in my
carriage. But, tell me, my sister, among all these un-
happy sick, do you not know sonic who particularly
ment my interest and pity, and to whom I can be
useful before I leave the hospital?"    •
"Ah! Madame, it is God who sends you," said the
sister; "there is,"added she, pointing to the bed of the
sister of Pique-Vinaigre, "a poor woman, very sick,
and very much to be pitied: she mourns continually
about two small children, who have no one to look to
for support but herself. She told the doctor just now
(that she would leave here, cured or not cured, in eight
days, as her neighbor had promised to take care of her
Children for that time only."
"Conduct me to her bed, I pray you, my sister," said
Madame d'Harville, risiag arid following the re-
ligieuse."
Jeanne Duport, scarcely recovered from the violent
* The niaicjiiise lis»-<3 ot LaLouve when she visited St,
i*ï_re.
attack caused by the treatment of Dr. Griffon, had not
perceived the entrance of the marquise into the hos-
What was her surprise, then, when the marquise, lift-
f'fi "f the curtains of her bed, said to her, with a look
run ot kindness and commiseration, " My good mother,
you must not be any longer uneasy about your chil-
dren; I will take care of them; only think of being soon
cured, so that you can join them." .
Jeanne Duport thought that she was in a dream. In
the same place where Dr. Griffon and his students
had made her submit to such a cruel ordeal, she saw a
young woman of surpassing beauty come to her with
words of pity, consolation, and hope.
The emotion of the sister of Pique-Vinaigre was so
great that she could not utter a word; she clasped her
hands as if m prayer, looking at her unknown bene-
factress with adoration.
"Jeanne, Jeanne!" whispered La Lorraine, "speak
to this good lady." Then, addressing the marquise
she said, 'Ah! Madame, you save her; she would have
died with despair in thinking of her poor destitute chil-
dren."
"Once more reassure yourself, my good mother-
have no uneasiness," repeated the marquise, pressing
m her small white hand the burning one of Jeanne Du-
port. • Reassure yourself; be no longer uneasy con-
cerning your children; aud, if you prefer it, you shall
leave the hospital to-day; you shall be mused at home
—nothing shall be wanting. In this way you shall not
leaveyour dear children; from this time I will see that
you do not w-ant for work, and I will attend to tlie
future welfare of your children."
"Ah! mon Dieu! what do I hear? The cherubims de-
scend, then, from Heaven, as is written in the church
books," said Jeanne Duport, trembling, and scarcely
daring to look at her benefactress. "Why so much
goodness for me? How have I deserved this? It can-
not be possible! I leave the hospital, where I have
wept so much, suffered so much! not leave my chil-
dren any more 1 have a nurse ! whv, it is a miracle of
the good God."
And the poor woman spoke the truth.
If one only knew how sweet and easy it is to perform
often, and at a small expense, these miracles! Alas!
for those poor unfortunates, abandoned and repulsed
on all sides—an instantaneous, unhoped-for assistance,
accompanied by benevolent words of consideration,
tenderly commiserative, ought it not to have, has it
not, the supernatural appearance of a miracle?
"It is not a miracle, my good mother." answered
Clemenee, much affected; "that which 1 do for you,"
added she, slightly blushing at the recollection of Ro-
dolphe, " that which I do for you is inspired by a gen-
erous being, who has taught nie to relieve the unfortu-
nate: itis he whom you must bless and thank."
"Ah! Madamel I shall bless you and yours," said
Jeanne Dupont, weeping. "I ask your pardon for ex-
pressing myself so badly. I am not accustomed to such
great joy; itis the first time it has happened tome."
" Well! do you see, Jeanne," said La Lorraine, weep-
ing, " there are also among the rich some Rigolettes
and Goualeuses—on a large scale, it is true; but as to
the good heart, it is the same thing!"
Madame d'Harville turned towards La Lorraine,
much surprised at hearing her pronounce these two
names.
" You know La Goualeuse, and a young work-woman
named Rigolette?" demanded Clemenee of La Lor-
raine.
" Yes, Madame. La Goualeuse—dear little angel-
did last year for me—but, darnel according to her poor
means—that which you do for- poor Jeanne. Yes, Ma-
dame—oh ! it does me good to say and repeat to every
one, that La Goualeuse took me from a cellar where T
was confined on some straw; and the dear little angel
removed me and my child to a room where there was a
good bed and a cradle. La, Goualeuse did this out of
pure charity; lor she scarcely knew me, and was very
poor herself. That was very kind, was it not, Ma-
dame?" said La Lorraine, excited. "Ohl yes; the
charity of the poor towards the poor is holy," said
Clemenee, her eyes bathed iu tears.
" It was just the same with Rigolette, who, according
toiler means," replied La Lorraine, "offered her ser-
vices, a few days since, to Jeanne."
"What a singular coincidence!" said Clemenee to
herself, more and more affected; for each of these two
names, La Goualeuse and Rigolette, recalled a noble
action of Rodolphe. "And you, my child—what can I
do for you?" said she to La Lorraine. "I wish the
names that you have just pronounced with so much
gratitude shall bring you good fortune."
"Thank you, Madame," said La Lorraine, with a
smile of bitter resignation. " I had a child—it is dead.
I have the consumption, and am in a hopeless state. I
liave no longer nee"d of anything."
"What gloomy thoughts! At your age—so young-
there is always some remedy."
"Oh! no, Madame, I know my fate: I do not com-
plain. I saw a person die last night—here—with the
same disease: it is an easy death, I thank you for
your goodness."
" You magnify your danger."
" I am not mistaken. Madame: T know it well. But
since you are so kind—a great lady like you is all-
powerful-----"
" Speak—say, what do you wish?"
" I have asked a service of Jeanne; but since, thanks
to the good God and you, she is going away-----"
" Eh bien! this service—can I not render It?"
"Certainly, Madame; one word from you to the sis-
ters, or to the physician, would arrange all."
" This word!   I will speak it, be assured."
" Since I have seen the actress, who is dead, so tor-
mented by the fear of being cut up after her death, I
have had the same fear. Jeanne promised to come
and claim my body, and have me buried."
"Ah! it is horrible'" said Clemenee, shuddering with
affright. " One must come here to know that there
are, for the poor, misery and alarms even beyond the
tomb."
" Pardon, Madame," said La Lorraine, timidly; "for
a great lady, rich and happy as you deserve to be, this
request is a very sad one: I ought not to have made it."
" I thank you, on the contrary, my child; it teaches
me a misery of which I was ignorant, and this knowl-
edge shall not be fruitless. Be comforted; although
this fatal moment may be far off, w-hen it does arrive,
you shall be sure to repose in holy -round."
" Oh! thank you, Bladame!" cried La Lorraine. " If
I might dare to ask permission to kiss your hand."
Clemenee presented her hand to the parched lips of
La Lorraine.
Oh ! thank you, Madame. I shall have some one to
pray for and bless to the end, with La Goualeuse, and
1 shall be no longer sad, for after my death-
This resignation, and these fears for beyond the
tomb, had painfully affected Madame d'Harville; she
whispered to the sister who came to inform her that
Mademoiselle de Fermont was completely restored,
•Is the condition of this young woman really des-
perate?"
"Alas! yes, Madame; La Lorraine is given up; she
has not, perhaps, eight days to live."
Half an hour afterward, Madame d'Harville accom-
panied by M. de Saint Remy, took with her, to her own
house, the young orphan, from whom she had con-
cealed the death of her mother.
The same day, an agent of Madame d'Harville, after
having visited, in the Rue de Barillerie, the miserable
abode of Jeanne Duport, and having received the most
favorable accounts of this worthy woman, immedi-
ately hired, on the Quai de l'Ecoie, two large rooms
and a cabinet; thanks to the resources of the Temple,
they were furnished in two hours, and the same even-
ing Jeanne Duport was removed to this dwelling, where
she found her children and an excellent nurse.
The same agent was instructed to claim the body of
La Lorraine, whenever she should sink under her mal-
ady, and have it decently interred.
After having installed Mademoiselle de Fermont in
her apartment, Madame d'Harville set out at once for
Asnières, accompanied by M. de Saint Remy, in order
to conduct Fleur de Marie to Rodolphe.
Chapter XII.—Hope.
The first days of spring approached, the sun began
to resume his power, the sky was pure, the air soft and
mild. Fleur de Marie, leaning on the arm of La Louve,
tried her strength by walking in the garden of Dr.
Griffon.
The vivifying warmth of the sun and the action of
walking, colored with a rosy tint the pale and thin
cheeks of the Goualeuse; her peasant's costume having
been torn in the agitation attending the first assistance
that had been rendered her, she wore a dress of dark-
blue merino, made like a blouse, and only confined
around her delicate and slender waist by a woolen gir-
" How pleasant the sun is," said she to La Louve,
stopping at the foot of a hedge of green trees exposed
to the south, and which surrounded a stone bench.
" Will you sit down here a moment, La Louve?"
" Is there any need of askingme if I will?" answered
the wife of Martial, shrugging her shoulders
Then, taking from her neck a shawl, she folded
it carefully, knelt down, laid it on the slightly damp
gravel of the walk, and said to La Goualeuse:
"Place yourself there."
" But, La Louve," said Fleur de Marie, who had per-
ceived the design of her companion too late to prevent
its execution, " but, La Louve, you will ruin your
shawl."
"None of your arguments; the ground is damp, "said
La Louve, and taking the small feet of Fleur de Marie
in her hand, she placed them on the shawl.
" How you spoil me, La Louve!"
"Hum! you do not deserve it; always contending
against that which I wish to do for your good. Art
you not fatigued? nere is a good half hour that we
have been walking.  Noon has jiist s'.ruck at Asnières. "
" I am slightly tired; but I feel that this walk has
done me good."
" You see, you were tired—you could not ask me
sooner to sit down?"
" Do not scold me—I did not know that I was se
weak"
"It is so pleasant to walk after having been confined
to the bed so long—to see the sun, the trees, the coun-
try, when one has thought never to see them again!*
" The fact is, that you have been in a very danger-
ous state for two days. Poor Goualeuse! Yes.nowwo
can tell you that your life was despaired of."
"And then imagine, that on finding myself under the
water, the recollection flashed across my mind that a
wicked woman, who had badly treated me when I was
very little, had always threatened to throw me to the
fishes. Then I said to myself, ' I have no good fortune
— it is fated that I shall not escape.' "
" Poor Goualeuse 1 was this your last thought when
you supposed yourself lost?"
"Oh! no," said Fleur de Marie, warmly; "when I
felt myself about to die, my last thought was of hira
whom I regard as my 'dieu;' so, also, when I was re-
called back to life, my first thought was of him."
"Itis a pleasure to confer benefits on you; you do
not forget."                                                  J       '
"Oh ! no ! it is so pleasant to fall asleep and dream
of one's gratitude, and on awaking to remember it
still!"
"Ah ! one would go through fire to serve you."
"Good Louve! Hold; I assure you that.one of the
causes which render me desirous to live, is the hope of
conferring happiness on you—of accomplishing my
promise; you remember our castles in the air at Saint
Lazare?"
"As to that, there is time enough; now you are on
your feet again, I have made my expenses, as Martial
says."
" I hope that M. le Comte de Saint Remy will tell me,
directly, that the physician will allow me to write to
Madame Georges. She must be so uneasy ! And, per-
haps, M. Rodolphe. also!" added Fleur de Marie, cast-
ing down her eyes, and blushinganew at the thought
of " son dieu."   " Perhaps they think me dead !"
"As those believe, also, who ordered you to be
drowned, poor dear!   Oh! the brigands!"
"You always suppose, then, that it was not an acci-
dent, La T.ouve?"
"An accident? Yes, the Martials calls them acci-
dents. When I say the Martials, it is without counting
my man, for he is not of that family, no more than
Francois and Amandine shall be."
" But what interest could any one have in my death!
I have never harmed any one—no one knows me."
" It's all one, if the Martials are scoundrels enough to
drown some one, they are not fools enough to do it for
nothing. Some words whieh the widow made use of in
prison, to my Martial, proves this."
" He has been to see his mother, then? this terrible
woman!"
"Yes, and there is no more hope for her, nor for
Calebasse, nor for Nicolas. Many things hâve been dis-
covered, but this ' gueux' of a Nicolas, in the hope of
saving his life, has denounced his mother and his sister
for another assassination. On this account they will
all be executed ; the lawyers have no hope, the judges
say that an example is necessary."