The Mysteries of Paris, vol 3 | Page 6

of the law, but the breakfast was so rapidly completed, that the moment for the story arrived immediately.
Not to be surprised by the governor, they sent the office-boy, on whom the carcass and claws of the turkey had been most liberally bestowed, as a sentry into the neighboring room.
The head clerk said to his colleagues, "In the first place, you must know that, for some days past the porter has been alarmed about master's health. As the good man sits up very late, he has seen M. Ferrand go down to the garden in the night in spite of the cold and rain, and walk up and down rapidly. He ventured to leave his nest, and ask his master if he had need of anything. The governor sent him to bed in such a tone that, since then, the porter has kept himself quiet, and he will keep himself so always, as soon as he hears the governor descend to the garden, which happens every night, no matter what weather."
"The old boy is, perhaps, a somnambulist?"
"Not probable; but such nocturnal promenades announce great agitation. I arrive at my story: just now, I went in to get some signatures. At the moment I placed my hand on the lock, I thought I heard some one speak. I stopped, and distinguished two or three dull cries, like stifled sobs. After having hesitated to enter for a moment, fearing some misfortune, I opened the door."
"Well?"
"What did I see? The governor on his knees, on the floor."
"On his knees?"
"On the floor?"
"Yes, kneeling on the floor, his face in his hands and Us elbows on the seat of one of his old arm-chairs."
"It is very plain. What fools we are! He is so bigoted, he was making an extra prayer."
"In any case, it would be a funny prayer! Nothing could be heard but stifled groans, only from time to time he murmured, between his teeth, 'Lord, lord!' like a man in a state of despair. Seeing this, I did not know whether I ought to remain or to retire."
"That would have been also my political opinion."
"I remained, therefore, very much embarrassed, when he rose and turned suddenly. He had between his teeth an old pocket-handkerchief; his spectacles remained on the chair. In all my life I have never seen such a face: he had the appearance of a lost soul. I drew back, alarmed--on my word of honor, alarmed! Then he--"
"Caught you by the throat?"
"You are out there. He looked at me, at first, with a bewildered air; then, letting his handkerchief fall, which he had, doubtless, gnawed and torn in grinding his teeth, he cried, throwing himself into my arms, 'Oh! I am very unhappy!'"
"Draw it mild!"
"Fact! Well, in spite of his death's-head look, when he pronounced these words his voice was so heart-rending--I would say, almost so soft--"
"So soft? Get out. There is not a rattle, nor Tom-cat with a cold, whose sounds would not be music alongside his voice."
"It is possible; that did not prevent it from being so plaintive at that time that I felt myself quite affected; so much the more as M. Ferrand is not habitually communicative. 'Sir,' said I, 'I believe that.' 'Leave me! leave me!' he answered, interrupting me; 'to tell your sufferings to another is a great solace.' Evidently he took me for some one else."
"So familiar? Then you owe us two bottles of Bordeaux:
"'When one's master is not proud One must freely treat the crowd.'
It is the proverb that speaks; it is sacred. Proverbs are the wisdom of a nation."
"Come, Chalamel, leave your proverbs alone. You comprehend, that, on hearing that, I at once understood that he was mistaken, or that he was in a high fever. I disengaged myself, saying, 'Calm yourself! it is I.' Then he looked at me with a stupid look."
"Very well! now that sounds like the truth."
"His eyes were wild. 'Eh!' he answered. 'What is it?--who is there? what do you want with me?' At each question he ran his hand over his face, as if to drive away the clouds which obscured his thoughts."
"'Which obscured his thoughts!' Just as if it were written! Bravo, head clerk; we will make a melodrama together:
"'Who speaks so well, and so polite, A melodrama ought to write.'"
"Do hold your tongue, Chalamel. I know nothing about it; but what is sure is, that, when he recovered his Senses, it was another song. He knit his brows in a terrible manner, and said to me, with quickness, without giving me time to answer, 'What did you come here for?--have you been a long time here?--can I not be alone in my own house without being surrounded by spies?--what have I said?--what have you heard? Answer, answer.' He looked so wicked that I replied, 'I have