The Mysteries Of Paris Volume V Part 15
"Why, he has only just escaped from a plot which Velu and the Stout-Cripple laid for him lately."
"Why?"
"I don't know, but they said that in the country somewhere he had tricked one of their pals."
"I was sure of it, Germain is a spy. Well, we'll spy him! I'll go and tell our friends; that'll set them sharper against him. By the way, how does Gros-Boiteux get on with your lodgers?"
"Thank heaven, I have got rid of him,--a blackguard! You'll see him here to-day or to-morrow."
"All right; how we shall laugh! He's a boy who is never taken aback!"
"It's because I knew that he would find this Germain here that I said his affair was settled,--if it's the same chap."
"Why have they got hold of the Gros-Boiteux?"
"For a robbery committed with a discharged convict, who wanted to turn honest and work. Well, you see, the Gros-Boiteux soon got him in a string; he is such a vicious devil, the Boiteux! I am certain it was he who broke open the trunk of the two women who live in the little room on my fourth floor."
"What women?--ah, yes, two women! You was smitten by the young 'un, I remember, you old vagabond, because you thought her so nice."
"They'll not smite anybody any more, for by this time the mother must be dead, and the daughter is scarcely alive. I shall lose a fortnight's rent, and I sha'n't give a sou to pay for their burial. I've had so many losses, without talking of the little matters you entreat me to give you and your family, that my affairs are quite disarranged. I've had the luck of it this year."
"Pooh, pooh! You are always complaining, old gentleman; you who are as rich as Croesus. But don't let me detain you."
"You're polite."
"You'll call and tell me how mother and Calabash are when you bring me my other provisions?"
"Yes, if I must."
"Ah, I'd nearly forgot; whilst you're about it, bring me a new cap, of plaid velvet, with an acorn at top; mine's regularly done for."
"Come, now, you're laughing at me."
"No, daddy, by no means; I want a plaid velvet cap. That's my wish."
"Then you're resolved to make a beggar of me?"
"Come, I say, Micou, don't get out of temper about it. It's only yes or no,--I do not force you, but--you understand?"
The receiver, reflecting that he was at the mercy of Nicholas, rose, fearing that if he prolonged his visit he would be exposed to fresh demands.
"You shall have your cap," he replied; "but mind, if you ask me for anything more, I will give you nothing,--let what will occur, you'll suffer as much as I shall."
"Make your mind easy, I'll not make you sing (force you to give money under the threat of certain disclosures) more than is sufficient for you not to lose your voice; for that would be a pity, you sing so well."
The receiver went away, shrugging his shoulders with rage, and the turnkey conducted Nicholas back to the interior of the prison.
At the moment when Micou quitted the reception-room, Rigolette entered it. The turnkey, a man about forty years of age, an old soldier, with stern and marked features, was dressed in a round jacket, with a blue cap and trousers; two silver stars were embroidered on the collar and facings of his jacket. At the sight of the grisette the face of this man brightened up, and a.s.sumed an expression of benevolence. He had always been struck by the grace, gentleness, and touching kindness with which Rigolette consoled Germain when she came there to see him. Germain was, besides, not an ordinary prisoner; his reserve, his peaceable demeanour, and his melancholy inspired the persons about the prison with deep interest,--an interest which they did not manifest, for fear of exposing him to the ill-treatment of his brutal companions, who, as we have said, looked upon him with mistrusting hate. It was raining in torrents, but, thanks to her goloshes and umbrella, Rigolette had boldly faced the wind and rain.
"What a shocking day, my poor girl!" said the turnkey, kindly. "It requires a good deal of courage to leave home such weather as this."
"When we think as we come along of the pleasure we shall give a poor prisoner, we don't think much about the weather, sir."
"I need not ask you whom you have come to see?"
"Certainly not. And how is poor Germain?"
"Why, my dear, I have seen many prisoners; they have been sad for a day,--two days, perhaps,--and then gradually got into the same way as the others; and those who were most out of sorts at first often ended by becoming the merriest of all. But M. Germain, is not one of these, he has still that melancholy air."
"How sorry I am to hear it!"
"When I'm on duty in the yards, I look at him from the corner of my eye, he is always alone. I have already told you that you should advise him not to do so, but to resolve on conversing with the others, or it will end with his becoming suspected and ill-used by them. We keep a close look-out, but a mischievous blow is soon given."
"Oh, sir, is there any danger threatens him?" cried Rigolette.
"Not precisely, but these ruffians see that he is not one of them, and hate him because he has an honest and proud look."
"Yet I advised him to do what you told me, sir, and make up his mind to talk to some of the least wicked! But he cannot help it, he cannot get over his repugnance."
"He is wrong--wrong! A struggle is so soon begun."
"Can't he, then, be separated from the others?"
"For the last two or three days, since I have seen their ill-will towards him, I advised him to place himself what we call _a la pistole_,--that is, in a room."
"Well?"
"I had not thought of one thing. A whole row of cells is undergoing repair, and the others are full."
"But these wretches may kill him!" said Rigolette, her eyes filling with tears. "And if, by chance, he had any protectors, what could they do for him, sir?"
"Nothing, but enable him to obtain what these debtors who can pay for it obtain,--a chamber, _a la pistole_."
"Alas, then, he is lost, if they hate him in prison."
"Oh, don't be downhearted, we will look well to him. But I repeat, my dear, do advise him to familiarise himself a little,--the first step is half the battle."
"I will advise him as strongly as I can, sir. But for a good and honest heart it is very hard, you know, to familiarise itself with such people."
"Of two evils we must choose the least. Now I will fetch M. Germain. But now I think of it," said the turnkey, "there are only two visitors; wait until they are gone, there'll not be any more to-day, for it is two o'clock. I will then fetch M. Germain, and you can talk at your ease. I can then, when you are alone, let him come into the pa.s.sage, so that you will be separated by one grating instead of two. Won't that be better?"
"Ah, sir, how kind you are, and how much I thank you!"
"Hush! Do not let any one hear you, or they may be jealous. Sit down there at the end of the bench, and when this man and woman have gone, I will tell M. Germain."
The turnkey returned to his post inside the grating, and Rigolette sat down very melancholy at the end of the visitors' bench.
Whilst the grisette is awaiting the coming of Germain, we will allow the reader to overhear the conversation of the prisoners who remained there after the departure of Nicholas Martial.