LITMIR.BIZ

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happened to call on the same evening, an event somewhat rare, they played at a round game called Boston; on other evenings piquet or all-fours was the rule. Noel, however, seldom remained in the drawing-room, but shut himself up after dinner in his study, which with his bedroom formed a separate apartment to his mother’s, and immersed himself in his law papers. He was supposed to work far into the night. Often in winter his lamp was not extinguished before dawn.

      Mother and son absolutely lived for one another, as all who knew them took pleasure in repeating. They loved and honoured Noel for the care he bestowed upon his mother, for his more than filial devotion, for the sacrifices which all supposed he made in living at his age like an old man.

      The neighbours were in the habit of contrasting the conduct of this exemplary young man with that of M. Tabaret, the incorrigible old rake, the hairless dangler.

      As for Madame Gerdy, she saw nothing but her son in all the world. Her love had actually taken the form of worship. In Noel she believed she saw united all the physical and moral perfections. To her he seemed of a superior order to the rest of humanity. If he spoke, she was silent and listened: his word was a command, his advice a decree of Providence. To care for her son, study his tastes, anticipate his wishes, was the sole aim of her life. She was a mother.

      “Is Madame Gerdy visible?” asked old Tabaret of the girl who opened the door; and, without waiting for an answer, he walked into the room like a man assured that his presence cannot be inopportune, and ought to be agreeable.

      A single candle lighted the drawing-room, which was not in its accustomed order. The small marble-top table, usually in the middle of the room, had been rolled into a corner. Madame Gerdy’s large arm-chair was near the window; a newspaper, all crumpled, lay before it on the carpet.

      The amateur detective took in the whole at a glance.

      “Has any accident happened?” he asked of the girl.

      “Do not speak of it, sir: we have just had a fright! oh, such a fright!”

      “What was it? tell me quickly!”

      “You know that madame has been ailing for the last month. She has eaten I may say almost nothing. This morning, even, she said to me—”

      “Yes, yes! but this evening?”

      “After her dinner, madame went into the drawing-room as usual. She sat down and took up one of M. Noel’s newspapers. Scarcely had she begun to read, when she uttered a great cry—oh, a terrible cry! We hastened to her; madame had fallen on to the floor, as one dead. M. Noel raised her in his arms, and carried her into her room. I wanted to fetch the doctor, sir, but he said there was no need; he knew what was the matter with her.”

      “And how is she now?”

      “She has come to her senses; that is to say, I suppose so; for M. Noel made me leave the room. All that I do know is, that a little while ago she was talking, and talking very loudly too, for I heard her. Ah, sir, it is all the same, very strange!”

      “What is strange?”

      “What I heard Madame Gerdy say to M. Noel.”

      “Ah ha! my girl!” sneered old Tabaret; “so you listen at key-holes, do you?”

      “No, sir, I assure you; but madame cried out like one lost. She said—”

      “My girl!” interrupted old Tabaret severely, “one always hears wrong through key-holes. Ask Manette if that is not so.”

      The poor girl, thoroughly confused, sought to excuse herself.

      “Enough, enough!” said the old man. “Return to your work: you need not disturb M. Noel; I can wait for him very well here.”

      And satisfied with the reproof he had administered, he picked up the newspaper, and seated himself beside the fire, placing the candle near him so as to read with ease. A minute had scarcely elapsed when he in his turn bounded in his chair, and stifled a cry of instinctive terror and surprise. These were the first words that met his eye.

      “A horrible crime has plunged the village of La Jonchere in consternation. A poor widow, named Lerouge, who enjoyed the general esteem and love of the community, has been assassinated in her home. The officers of the law have made the usual preliminary investigations, and everything leads us to believe that the police are already on the track of the author of this dastardly crime.”

      “Thunder!” said old Tabaret to himself, “can it be that Madame Gerdy?—”

      The idea but flashed across his mind; he fell back into his chair, and, shrugging his shoulders, murmured—

      “Really this affair of La Jonchere is driving me out of my senses! I can think of nothing but this Widow Lerouge. I shall be seeing her in everything now.”

      In the mean while, an uncontrollable curiosity made him peruse the entire newspaper. He found nothing with the exception of these lines, to justify or explain even the slightest emotion.

      “It is an extremely singular coincidence, at the same time,” thought the incorrigible police agent. Then, remarking that the newspaper was slightly torn at the lower part, and crushed, as if by a convulsive grasp, he repeated—

      “It is strange!”

      At this moment the door of Madame Gerdy’s room opened, and Noel appeared on the threshold.

      Without doubt the accident to his mother had greatly excited him; for he was very pale and his countenance, ordinarily so calm, wore an expression of profound sorrow. He appeared surprised to see old Tabaret.

      “Ah, my dear Noel!” cried the old fellow. “Calm my inquietude. How is your mother?”

      “Madame Gerdy is as well as can be expected.”

      “Madame Gerdy!” repeated the old fellow with an air of astonishment; but he continued, “It is plain you have been seriously alarmed.”

      “In truth,” replied the advocate, seating himself, “I have experienced a rude shock.”

      Noel was making visibly the greatest efforts to appear calm, to listen to the old fellow, and to answer him. Old Tabaret, as much disquieted on his side, perceived nothing.

      “At least, my dear boy,” said he, “tell me how this happened?”

      The young man hesitated a moment, as if consulting with himself. No doubt he was unprepared for this point blank question, and knew not what answer to make; at last he replied—

      “Madame Gerdy has suffered a severe shock in learning from a paragraph in this newspaper that a woman in whom she takes a strong interest has been assassinated.”

      “Ah!” replied old Tabaret.

      The old fellow was in a fever of embarrassment. He wanted to question Noel, but was restrained by the fear of revealing the secret of his association with the police. Indeed he had almost betrayed himself by the eagerness with which he exclaimed—

      “What! your mother knew the Widow Lerouge?”

      By an effort he restrained himself, and with difficulty dissembled his satisfaction; for he was delighted to find himself so unexpectedly on the trace of the antecedents of the victim of La Jonchere.

      “She was,” continued Noel, “the slave of Madame Gerdy, devoted to her in every way! She would have sacrificed herself for her at a sign from her hand.”

      “Then you, my dear friend, you knew this poor woman!”

      “I had not seen her for a very long time,” replied Noel, whose voice seemed broken by emotion, “but I knew her well. I ought even to say I loved her tenderly. She was my nurse.”

      “She, this woman?” stammered old Tabaret.

      This time he was thunderstruck. Widow Lerouge Noel’s nurse? He was most unfortunate. Providence had evidently

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