The clique of gold

Front matter

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Chapter I

Few houses in Paris are better kept, or of more inviting aspect, than No. 23 Rue de la Grange, where everything wears an air of Dutch-like neatness and cleanliness. The neighbors might use the brass plate on the door as a shaving-glass, the pavement of the hall is polished till it shines, and the wood- work of the staircase is varnished to perfection. In the vestibule numerous notices, couched in the peculiar style which Parisian landlords habitually affect, request the tenants to respect other people’s property, quite regardless of the high rents they have to pay. Wipe your boots, if you please,” says one of the placards to all who enter the house. “No spitting permitted on the stairs,” declares another — obviously intended for more particularly ill-mannered tenants and visitors — while a third, in the same curt style, authoritatively enunciates that no dogs are allowed on the premises.

And yet, although it has always been spick and span, “No. 23” enjoyed, at the time we write of, but a sorry reputation in the neighborhood. Was it worse than other houses — than No. 21, for instance, or No. 25? Probably not, but there is a fate for houses as well as for men and books. The first story was rented by two independent gentlemen and their families, whose minds were as simple as their lives. On the second floor were the offices and abode of a tax-receiver, who dabbled at times, it was re-

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ported, in usury on his own private account. The third story was let to a wealthy man, a baron, so people said, who only turned up at long intervals, preferring, according to his own statement, to live on his estates in the province of Saintonge. The whole of the fourth floor was occupied by an individual familiarly known as Papa Kavinet, who dealt in all sorts of second-hand merchandise — furniture, garments, bric-a-brac, and so on — his rooms being replete with a medley collection of things which Tie was wont to purchase at sales by auction. The fifth and topmost story of the house was divided into numerous small rooms and closets, mainly rented by artisans and clerks, who almost without exception left for their avocations early in the morning and returned home late at night. A second block in the rear of the building facing the street had a staircase of its own, and was occupied by still humbler tenants, whose presence in this central part of Paris was explained by the difficulty of letting small lodgings.

However this may have been, the house had a bad reputation, and its inmates had to bear the consequences. Not one of them would have been trusted with a crown’s worth of goods in any of the neighboring shops. No one, however, stood, rightly or wrongly, in such bad repute as the doorkeeper or concierge, who from a little window just inside the porte-cochere watched over ’ the safety of the whole house. Master Chevassat and his wife were severely cut by all their colleagues in the street, and the most scandalous reports were circulated concerning them. Chevassat was said to be well off, having acquired his means by lending money at the remunerative rate of a hundred per cent, per month. He increased his income, moreover, by acting, so it was stated, as the agent of the tax-receiver and the dealer in second-hand goods, superintending the executions they ordered whenever poor debtors were unable to pay. Against Madame Chevassat there were yet even more grievous charges, for folks pretended she would do anything for money, and had launched many a poor girl into a profligate career. This worthy couple had previously lived in the fashionable Faubourg St. Honore, which it was said they had been compelled to leave on account of various ugly occurrences. Finally, they were rep'ortod to have a son named Justin, a handsome fellow of five-and-thirty, who Jived in the best society, and whom they literally worshiped. He, however, was ashamed of his parents, though he would frequently co- no at night-time and ask them for money. It must be confessed that none of the gossips of the street had ev6r seen this son, and the origin of the report was altogether lost in mystery. As for the Chevassats, when any of this tittle-tattle reached their ears they simply shrugged their shoulders, and remarked that they cared little for public opinion as long as their own consciences were clear.

One Saturday evening toward the close of last December the doorkeeper and his wife were just sitting down to dinner, when an individual, wearing a flowered-silk waistcoat and a long frock coat with an immense collar, rushed precipitately into their room. He was a man of fifty or thereabouts, of medium height, with a clean shaven face, and small bright yellow eyes, which shone with restless eagerness from under thick bushy brows.

“ Quick, Chevassat !” he cried, in a tone of alarm. “Take your lamp and follow me — an accident has happened up stairs.”

The Chevassats were quite frightend by the new comer's disturbed expression of countenance, and the woman nervously inquired :

“Dear me, what is the matter, M. Ravinet?”

“The matter! the matter,” rejoined the dealer in second-hand merchandise, for the messenger of ill-omen was none other than the tenant of the fourth floor. “ Why, while I was on the landing just now I fancied I heard a death-rattle on the floor above. I listened for a moment, and hearing nothing further, I was going into my rooms again, when I heard a confused sound of sobbing and sighing— as if some one was in agony, in fact, at the point of death.”

“ And then ?” ejaculated Master Chevassat.

“Why, then I determined to come and find you,” replied the dealer. “ I cannot be positively sure, but still I could almost swear that the moans camd from the room of Mile. Henriette, that pretty young girl who lives just above me. “ Come, let us go and see if there is anything amiss with her.”

But the Chevassats did not stir from their seats.

“Mademoiselle Henriette is not at home,” said the wife, in a frigid tone. “ She went out a little while ago, and told me she would not come back till nine o’clock ; you must have been mistaken, M. Ravinet. Perhaps you had a ringing in your ears, or ”

“ No, no ; I certainly heard the moaning, and we must find out where it came from.”

During this conversation the door of the concierge’s

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room had remained open, and several people of the house overhearing Papa Ravinet’ s story, and the exclamations of the Chevassats while crossing the hall, had paused, and listened with natural inquisitiveness.

“Yes,” they repeated in chorus, “we must find out what is the matter. ”

Chevassat did not dare to resist such a collective summons, and rising from his seat with a sigh, he muttered :

“Well, let us go, then.”

The whole party, composed of Chevassat and his wife, Papa Ravinet, and the lookers-on, thereupon ascended the staircase. As they tramped from flight to flight the occupants of the various floors opened their doors to ascertain what was going on, and on learning that something was likely to happen, they almost all left their rooms and joined the procession, so that when the doorkeeper paused on the landing of the fifth floor to draw breath he had well-nigh a dozen persons behind him. Mile. Henriette’s room was the first on the left. Chevassat began by rapping gently at the door, but finding that mildness had no effect he knocked louder and louder, until at last his heavy fist shook all the flimsy partition walls around. Between each blow he cried :

“ Mademoiselle Henriette ! Mademoiselle Henriette, you are wanted !”

But as all his hammering and shouting failed to elicit any response he at last turned round with a triumphant air, and exclaimed :

“ Well, you see my wife was right ; she’s not at home.”

While Chevassat was knocking, however, M. Ravinet had been on his knees, in turn applying eye and ear to the keyhole, and at this moment he sprang to his feet, with a pale face.

“ ’Tis all over !” he cried. “We are too late !” Then, as the bystanders looked at him, bewildered, he added, furiously, “Have you no noses? can’t you smell that -abominable charcoal ?”

The lookers-on forthwith began to sniff, and soon agreed that the dealer was in the right. Moreover, Chevassat’s repeated blows had had considerable effect on the fastenings of the door, and a sickening vapor now filtered through the apertures around the frame-work. Every one shuddered, and a woman tremulously exclaimed :

“ She has destroyed herself !”

As it happens only too frequently in such cases, all the

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bystanders hesitated, and a pause ensued before Chevassat ventured to remark :

“Ah, well, I must go for the police.”

“ That’s right !” retorted the dealer in second-hand merchandise. “ At this moment there is perhaps still a chance of saving the poor girl’s life, but when you come back it will, of course, be too late.”

“What’s to be done, then?”

“Why, break in the door.”

“I don’t dare.”

“Well, then, I will,” and suiting the action to the word Papa Ravinet put his shoulder to the worm-eaten door, the lock of which almost instantly gave way. A mass of vapor rolled out into the passage, and the frightened lookers-on instinctively shrank back. But curiosity speedily mastered fear. Every one was now convinced that the poor girl was lying dead inside the room, and one and all strove to distinguish her form through the dense fumes. But their efforcs were fruitless. The feeble light of the lamp carried by Chevassat had gone out in the foul air, and the darkness would have been utterly impenetrable, save for the ruddy glow of the charcoal burning away in two little hand-stoves, amid tiny heaps of white ashes. Papa Ravinet had, however, gone too far already to remain waiting in the passage.

“ Where is the window?” he asked, turning to the houseporter.

“On the right-hand side.”

“Very well, I’ll open it,” and he boldly plunged into the dark room.

A moment afterward a crash of breaking glass was heard, and a current cf air being established, the smoke was speedily carried away into space. As soon as it was possible to breathe inside the room every one rushed in. It was certainly a death-rattle that Papa Ravinet had heard. Stretched at full length on a thin mattress, destitute alike of sheet, blanket, and counterpane, lay a young girl, barely twenty years of age, clad in a flimsy dress of black merino. Her limbs were already stiff, and she was apparently lifeless.

“To die so young, and in such a manner !” exclaimed the women of the party, sobbing aloud.

But the dealer in second-hand goods did not waste his time in sentimental lamentation. Approaching the bed, he carefully scrutinized the girl.

“ She is not dead yet,” he cried ; '“ no, she cannot be dead.

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Come, ladies, try and prolong her life till the doctor comes. Give her air — plenty of air — try to get some breath into her lungs. Cut her dress open, pour some vinegar on her face, rub her limbs with some warm woolen stuff.”

The women cheerfully obeyed these orders, though none of them entertained any hope of success. “Poor child,” said one of them, l#“ no doubt she was crossed in love.” “Or else she was starving,” significantly whispered another. It was, indeed, plain enough that this humble room was the abode of extreme poverty. The only articles of furniture were the bed, a chest of drawers, and two chairs. There were no curtains to the window, no clothes in the bag standing in a corner, not a ribbon in the drawers. Everything that could be disposed of had plainly been pawned or sold, bit by bit, little by little. The bed clothes had followed the wearing apparel, and even half the wool had been removed from the mattress. Too proud to complain, friendless owing to timidity perhaps, the poor girl had gone through all the stages of suffering which utter poverty entails.

Papa Ravinet was thinking of all this when he espied a paper lying on the chest of drawers. Taking it up he read the following lines :

“Let no one be accused — I die voluntarily. I beg Madame Chevasset to deliver the two letters I leave lying beside this paper. She will be paid whatever I may owe her. Henkiette."

Hard by the dealer perceived the mentioned missives, the addresses of which he eagerly scanned. The first was directed to the “Count de Ville-Handry, 115 Rue de Varennes,” and the second to “M. Maxime de Brevan, 62 Rue Lafitte.” As he perused the latter superscription a strange gleam came into Papa Ravinet’s yellow eyes, a wicked smile played round his lips, and he uttered a very peculiar “Ah!” A moment later, however, his brow became as dark as before, and he glanced around him with mingled anxiety and suspicion to see if any one had noticed his momentary change of expression. No, he had escaped observation, and the letters also had remained unperceived — for all the inmates of the room were busy trying to recall Mile. Henriette to consciousness. Papa Ravinet thereupon slipped the paper and the two letters into the pocket of his frock coat with a dexterity and speed that might have excited a professional pilferer’s jealousy.

He then turned toward the women who were bend.ng over the bed. They were greatly excited, for one of them

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declared that she had felt the body tremble, a statement which the others generally refused to credit. The point was soon to be decided. After perhaps twenty seconds of suspense, during which all held their breath, an exclamation burst forth.

“ She is alive ! She has moved !”

Indeed, doubt was no longer possible. The poor girl had stirred, very faintly perhaps, but still in a sufficiently perceptible manner for every one to notice it. Moreover, a slight color had returned to her pallid cheeks, her bosom began to heave, her clenched teeth parted, and she stretched forth her neck'as if to imbibe the fresh air. The women standing around were as appalled as if they had witnessed a miracle. One of them, a lady living on the first floor, who supported the poor child’s head as she gazed about her with a blank, unmeaning glance, spoke to her, but she did not answer. Plainly she could not hear.

“ Never mind,” said Papa Ravinet, “she is saved, and when the doctor arrives there will be little remaining for him to do. Still, she must be attended to, poor girl, for we cannot leave her here alone.”

The bystanders fully understood the drift of the dealer’s words, and yet only one or two of them proffered a timid assent. Uninfluenced, however, by their evident reluctance, he calmly continued :

“ She must be put to bed properly, with another mattress, a couple of blankets, and a counterpane. We want fire as well, for it’s terribly cold here, and tea and sugar, and a candle. ”

Although he did not mention everything that might be needed, his improvised list, such as it was, pro\ ed already a great deal too long for most of the people standing round. The tax-receiver’s wife grandly laid a five-franc piece on the mantel-shelf, and then slipped outside, several of the others following her example in the latter if not in the former respect. Papa Ravinet, indeed, found himself abandoned by every one, excepting the Chevassats and the two ladies living on the first floor. The worthy fellow smiled significantly, and after a momentary pause exclaimed :

“ Fortunately I deal in all sorts of goods. Please wait here a moment while I just run down stairs t^ fetch the needful. After that we’ll see what remains to be done.”

Mother Chevassat was quite amazed.

“ Am I going mad ?” she said to herself, “ or has some one changed Papa Ravinet ?”

The fact is, that the dealer in second-hand merchandise

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did not precisely enjoy a reputation for generosity and benevolence. However, he soon reappeared, quaking under the weight of two heavy mattresses ; and on returning a second time he brought not merely all the remaining articles he had mentioned, but several others besides. Mile. Henriette was now breathing more freely, though her limbs and features were still rigid. She was evidently unconscious of her situation ; and the ladies of the first floor, although very willing to help her, were extremely puzzled as to what they ought to do.

“ The only thing is to put her to bed,” said. Papa Eavinet.

“ When the doctor comes he will very likely bleed her.” And turning to Chevassat he added, “WTe are in the way of these ladies, so suppose we go down to my rooms and drink a glass together. We can come back when the child has been comfortably put to bed.”

The good-natured dealer lived in the midst of his thousand and one purchases. He slept just where he could, or rather wherever a sale cleared space for his accommodation— reposing one night in a costly carved bed of Louis Quatorze style, and the next on a common lounge merely worth a few francs. For the time being he occupied a little closet not more than three-quarters full, and it was to this incumbered apartment that he now conducted Master Chevassat.

After pouring some brandy into two small "wine-glasses, and putting a kettle on the fire, he sank into an arm-chair, exclaiming :

“ Well, what a terrible thing this is !”

The doorkeeper had been well drilled by his wife, and answered neither yes nor no, but Papa Eavinet was a man of experience, and knew well enough how to loosen his visitor’s tongue.

“The most disagreeable thing about it,” said he, with an absent air, “ is that the doctor will report the matter to the police, and there will be a legal investigation.”

Master Chevassat nearly dropped his glass.

“What? The police in the house? Well, good-by, then, to our tenants ; we are lost. Why did that stupid girl try to kill herself, I wonder ! But perhaps you are mistaken, M. Eavinet?”

“ No, I am not. But you jump to erroneous conclusions. All the police will ask you is — who that girl is, how she supports herself, and where she lived before she came here.”

“That’s exactly what 1 can’t tell.”

The dealer in old clothes seemed amazed, and frowned ominously as he asked :

“ Then how did it happen that Mile. Henriette came to live here ?”

The doorkeeper was evidently ill at ease, and it was with affected assurance that he replied :

“Oh, it’s as clear as sunlight, and if you like I’ll tell you the story ; you will see there has been no harm done.”

“Let us hear, then.”

“Well, one day, about a year ago, a well-dressed young fellow, with an eye-glass stuck in his eye — a thoroughly fashionable young man — came into my room and said he had seen a notice outside, stating that there was a room to let in the house. He wanted to see it, and although I told him it was a wretched garret, unfit for a gentleman like himself, he insisted, and so I took him up stairs. I thought he would be disgusted, but no. He looked out of the window, tried the door, examined the partition-wall, and eventually said, ‘The room suits me, and I’ll take it. ’ Thereupon he hands me a twenty-franc piece to close the bargain. I was amazed.”

If M. Ravinet felt any interest in this story, at all events he took pains not to show it, for his eyes wandered to and fro as if his thoughts were elsewhere — indeed, as if he were heartily bored with Chevassat’s tedious account.

“ And who was that fashionable young man ?” he asked.

“Ah ! that’s more than I know, except that his name is Maxime.”

At the mention of this name the old dealer almost sprang from his seat. He changed color, and a strange gleam came once more into his small yellowish eyes. However, he recovered himself so promptly that his visitor did not notice his temporary excitement ; and it was in a tone of the utmost indifference that he remarked, “ So the young fellow did not give you his family name ?”

“ But ought you not to have inquired ?”

“Ah, there’s the trouble. I did not do so,” answered Chevassat, who was now gradually surmounting his original embarrassment, and preparing himself in anticipation of the police inquiry. “I know it was wrong,” he continued, “but I don’t think you would have acted differently in my place, sir. Just think ! My room belonged to M. Maxime, for I had his money in my pocket. I asked him most politely where he lived, and if any furniture would come, whereupon he laughed in my face, and without

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even letting me finish my question, exclaimed, ‘Do I look like a man who lives in a place like this ? And when he saw I was puzzled he proceeded to tell me that he intended to rent the room for a young person from the country, in whom he took an interest, observing that the receipts for rent must all be made out in the name of Mile. Henriette. That was clear enough, wasn’t it? Still, it was my duty to know who Mile. Henriette was, so I asked him civilly enough. But he became angry, and told me that was none of my business, adding that some furniture would presently be sent.” The doorkeeper paused, waiting for Papa Ravinet to express his approval either by word or gesture, but as the dealer remained mute and motionless he continued, “In short, I did not dare to insist, and everything was done as he desired. The same day a dealer in second-hand furniture brought the goods you have seen up stairs, and on the morrow, just before noon, Mile. Henriette arrived. She had not much luggage with her — in fact, merely a hand-bag.”

The old dealer was stooping over the fire, apparently giving all his attention to the kettle, in which the water was beginning to boil.

“It seems to me, my friend,” said he, “that you did not act very wisely. Still, if that is really everything I don’t think you are likely to be troubled.”

“What else could there be ?” asked Chevassat.

“ How do I know ? But if that young damsel had been carried off by M. Maxime, if you lent a hand in an elopement, you might find yourself in a nasty pickle, ihe law is very strict when minors are concerned.”

“Oh, I have told you the whole truth,” protested the doorkeeper, with a solemn air.

On this point, however, Papa Ravinet had his doubts.

“ That is your lookout,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “ Still you may be sure you will be asked how it happens that one of your tenants became reduced to such a state of abject poverty without your giving notice to anybody.”

“Why, surely I don’t wait on the tenants. They are free to do what they like in their rooms.”

“Quite right, Master Chevassat, quite right. So you did not know that M. Maxime no longer came to see Mile. Henriette ?”

“ But he still came to see her.”

At these words Papa Ravinet raised his arms to heaven, as if horror-struck, and exclaimed :

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“What is it possible? That handsome young fellow 1 few how the poor girl suffered ? He knew that she was dying of hunger?”

Master Chevassat grew more and more disturbed. He began to perceive the drift of the dealer’s questions, and realized how unsatisfactory his answers were.

“Ah ! you ask too many questions,” he said at last. “ It was not my duty to watch M. Maxime. As for Mile. Henriette, as soon as she is able to move — the little serpent ! — I’ll send her off about her business.”

But Papa Ravinet shook his head, and softly rejoined, “No, no, Chevassat, you won’t do that, for from to-day I mean to pay her rent. And, more than that, if you wish to oblige me, you will be very kind to her — you hear ? — and even respectful, if you please. ”

There was no misunderstanding the meaning of the word “oblige,” pronounced as the old dealer pronounced it, and yet he was about to enforce the recommendation, when a fretting voice was heard calling on the stairs :

“ Chevassat ! where are you, Chevassat ?”

“My wife wants me,” exclaimed the doorkeeper, and, delighted to get away, he added, “ I understand, M. Ravinet ; she shall be treated as politely as if she were the landlord’s daughter. But excuse me, I have to attend to my duties, and as my wife call£ me I must go down stairs. ”

Without waiting for an answer he then slipped out, quite unable to guess why the old dealer should take such a sudden interest in the tenant on the fifth floor.

“ The rascal !” muttered Papa Ravinet, as soon as he was alone, “ the rascal !”

But he had not yet found out everything he wanted to know, and he knew he had no time to lose.

Removing the kettle from the fire, and drawing Mile. Henriette’s two letters from his pocket, he held the one addressed to M. Maxime de Brevan over the steam of the boiling water. In a moment the gum securing the enve-. lope softened, and the letter could easily be opened without leaving any trace of the act. The missive ran as follows :

“You are victorious, M. de Brevan. When you read this I shall have ceased to live. You may raise your head again: you are relieved of all fears. Daniel can come back. I shall carry the secret of your infamy and cowardice to the grave. And yet, no! I can forgive you, having but a few minutes longer to live; but God will not pardon you. I feel that I shall be avenged. And, if a miracle be needed, that mira-

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cle will be accomplished, so that the man who thought you were his friend may learn how and why died the poor girl whom he had entrusted to your honor. H.”

On reading these lines Papa Ravinet became furious.

“What?” growled he, in a tone of bitter hatred, “Maxime de Brevan’s honor. A pretty security, indeed.”

However, his excitement did not deter him from manipulating the other letter, addressed to the Count de Ville- Handry, in precisely the same manner. The operation wras equally successful, and, without the slightest hesitation, the dealer read :

“Deab Father, — Broken down with anxiety, and faint from exhaustion, I have waited till this morning for an answer to the humble letter which I wrote you on my knees. You have never replied to it: you are inexorable. I see I must die. Alas! I can hardly say I die willingly. I must appear very guilty in your eyes, father, for you to abandon me in this manner to the hatred of Sarah Brandon and her people. And yet, I have suffered terribly. I struggled hard before I could make up my mind to leave home— the home where my mother died, where I had been so happy, and so tenderly beloved as a child by both of you. Ah, if you but knew! And yet it was so little I asked of you! — barely enough to bury my undeserved disgrace in a convent. Yes, undeserved, father; for at the moment of appearing before God — at an hour when no one dares to pervert the truth — I declare that, despite all slanderous reports, I have ever preserved the honor of our name.”

Tears rolled down Papa Ravinet’s cheeks as he read this heart-rending missive, and it was in a half-stifled voice that he murmured :

“ Poor, poor child ! And to think that for a whole year I have lived under the same roof with her without knowing it. But fortunately I am still in time. Oh, what a friend chance can be when it chooses.”

None of the inmates of the house would have recognized Papa Ravinet at this moment, for he was literally transfigured. He was no longer the cunning dealer in second-hand articles, the old scamp with the sharp, vulgar face, so well known at all public sales, when he always sat in the front row, watching for good bargains, and keeping cool while all around were in a #state of fervent excitement. The letters he had just read had re opened more than one heart- wound of old times — wounds badly scarred and badly healed. He was suffering intensely, and pain, wrath, and hope of vengeance long delayed, imparted to his features a strange expression of energy and nobility. Resting his elbows on the table, holding his head in his hands, and looking apparently into the far past, he seemed