CHAPTER I
THE SWINDLE
It was nine o'clock. The little town of Vauchamp, dark and silent,
had just retired to bed amid a chilly November rain. In the Rue des
Recollets, one of the narrowest and most deserted streets of the
district of Saint-Jean, a single window was still alight on the
third floor of an old house, from whose damaged gutters torrents of
water were falling into the street. Mme Burle was sitting up before
a meager fire of vine stocks, while her little grandson Charles
pored over his lessons by the pale light of a lamp.
The apartment, rented at one hundred and sixty francs per annum,
consisted of four large rooms which it was absolutely impossible to
keep warm during the winter. Mme Burle slept in the largest
chamber, her son Captain and Quartermaster Burle occupying a
somewhat smaller one overlooking the street, while little Charles
had his iron cot at the farther end of a spacious drawing room with
mildewed hangings, which was never used. The few pieces of
furniture belonging to the captain and his mother, furniture of the
massive style of the First Empire, dented and worn by continuous
transit from one garrison town to another, almost disappeared from
view beneath the lofty ceilings whence darkness fell. The flooring
of red-colored tiles was cold and hard to the feet; before the
chairs there were merely a few threadbare little rugs of poverty-
stricken aspect, and athwart this desert all the winds of heaven
blew through the disjointed doors and windows.
Near the fireplace sat Mme Burle, leaning back in her old yellow
velvet armchair and watching the last vine branch smoke, with that
stolid, blank stare of the aged who live within themselves. She
would sit thus for whole days together, with her tall figure, her
long stern face and her thin lips that never smiled. The widow of a
colonel who had died just as he was on the point of becoming a
general, the mother of a captain whom she had followed even in his
campaigns, she had acquired a military stiffness of bearing and
formed for herself a code of honor, duty and patriotism which kept
her rigid, desiccated, as it were, by the stern application of
discipline. She seldom, if ever, complained. When her son had
become a widower after five years of married life she had undertaken
the education of little Charles as a matter of course, performing
her duties with the severity of a sergeant drilling recruits. She
watched over the child, never tolerating the slightest waywardness
or irregularity, but compelling him to sit up till midnight when his
exercises were not finished, and sitting up herself until he had
completed them. Under such implacable despotism Charles, whose
constitution was delicate, grew up pale and thin, with beautiful
eyes, inordinately large and clear, shining in his white, pinched
face.
During the long hours of silence Mme Burle dwelt continuously upon
one and the same idea: she had been disappointed in her son. This
thought sufficed to occupy her mind, and under its influence she
would live her whole life over again, from the birth of her son,
whom she had pictured rising amid glory to the highest rank, till
she came down to mean and narrow garrison life, the dull, monotonous
existence of nowadays, that stranding in the post of a
quartermaster, from which Burle would never rise and in which he
seemed to sink more and more heavily. And yet his first efforts had
filled her with pride, and she had hoped to see her dreams realized.
Burle had only just left Saint-Cyr when he distinguished himself at
the battle of Solferino, where he had captured a whole battery of
the enemy's artiliery with merely a handful of men. For this feat
he had won the cross; the papers had recorded his heroism, and he
had become known as one of the bravest soldiers in the army. But
gradually the hero had grown stout, embedded in flesh, timorous,
lazy and satisfied. In 1870, still a captain, he had been made a
prisoner in the first encounter, and he returned from Germany quite
furious, swearing that he would never be caught fighting again, for
it was too absurd. Being prevented from leaving the army, as he was
incapable of embracing any other profession, he applied for and
obtained the position of captain quartermaster, "a kennel," as he
called it, "in which he would be left to kick the bucket in peace."
That day Mme Burle experienced a great internal disruption. She
felt that it was all over, and she ever afterward preserved a rigid
attitude with tightened lips.
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A blast of wind shook the Rue des Recollets and drove the rain
angrily against the windowpanes. The old lady lifted her eyes from
the smoking vine roots now dying out, to make sure that Charles was
not falling asleep over his Latin exercise. This lad, twelve years
of age, had become the old lady's supreme hope, the one human being
in whom she centered her obstinate yearning for glory. At first she
had hated him with all the loathing she had felt for his mother, a
weak and pretty young lacemaker whom the captain had been foolish
enough to marry when he found out that she would not listen to his
passionate addresses on any other condition. Later on, when the
mother had died and the father had begun to wallow in vice, Mme
Burle dreamed again in presence of that little ailing child whom she
found it so hard to rear. She wanted to see him robust, so that he
might grow into the hero that Burle had declined to be, and for all
her cold ruggedness she watched him anxiously, feeling his limbs and
instilling courage into his soul. By degrees, blinded by her
passionate desires, she imagined that she had at last found the man
of the family. The boy, whose temperament was of a gentle, dreamy
character, had a physical horror of soldiering, but as he lived in
mortal dread of his grandmother and was extremely shy and
submissive, he would echo all she said and resignedly express his
intention of entering the army when he grew up.
Mme Burle observed that the exercise was not progressing. In fact,
little Charles, overcome by the deafening noise of the storm, was
dozing, albeit his pen was between his fingers and his eyes were
staring at the paper. The old lady at once struck the edge of the
table with her bony hand; whereupon the lad started, opened his
dictionary and hurriedly began to turn over the leaves. Then, still
preserving silence, his grandmother drew the vine roots together on
the hearth and unsuccessfully attempted to rekindle the fire.
At the time when she had still believed in her son she had
sacrificed her small income, which he had squandered in pursuits she
dared not investigate. Even now he drained the household; all its
resources went to the streets, and it was through him that she lived
in penury, with empty rooms and cold kitchen. She never spoke to
him of all those things, for with her sense of discipline he
remained the master. Only at times she shuddered at the sudden fear
that Burle might someday commit some foolish misdeed which would
prevent Charles from entering the army.
She was rising up to fetch a fresh piece of wood in the kitchen when
a fearful hurricane fell upon the house, making the doors rattle,
tearing off a shutter and whirling the water in the broken gutters
like a spout against the window. In the midst of the uproar a ring
at the bell startled the old lady. Who could it be at such an hour
and in such weather? Burle never returned till after midnight, if
he came home at all. However, she went to the door. An officer
stood before her, dripping with rain and swearing savagely.
"Hell and thunder!" he growled. "What cursed weather!"
It was Major Laguitte, a brave old soldier who had served under
Colonel Burle during Mme Burle's palmy days. He had started in life
as a drummer boy and, thanks to his courage rather than his
intellect, had attained to the command of a battalion, when a
painful infirmity--the contraction of the muscles of one of his
thighs, due to a wound--obliged him to accept the post of major. He
was slightly lame, but it would have been imprudent to tell him so,
as he refused to own it.
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"What, you, Major?" said Mme Burle with growing astonishment.
"Yes, thunder," grumbled Laguitte, "and I must be confoundedly fond
of you to roam the streets on such a night as this. One would think
twice before sending even a parson out."
He shook himself, and little rivulets fell from his huge boots onto
the floor. Then he looked round him.
"I particularly want to see Burle. Is the lazy beggar already in
bed?"
"No, he is not in yet," said the old woman in her harsh voice.
The major looked furious, and, raising his voice, he shouted: "What,
not at home? But in that case they hoaxed me at the cafe, Melanie's
establishment, you know. I went there, and a maid grinned at me,
saying that the captain had gone home to bed. Curse the girl! I
suspected as much and felt like pulling her ears!"
After this outburst he became somewhat calmer, stamping about the
room in an undecided way, withal seeming greatly disturbed. Mme
Burle looked at him attentively.
"Is it the captain personally whom you want to see?" she said at
last.
"Yes," he answered.
"Can I not tell him what you have to say?"
"No."
She did not insist but remained standing without taking her eyes off
the major, who did not seem able to make up his mind to leave.
Finally in a fresh burst of rage he exclaimed with an oath: "It
can't be helped. As I am here yot may as well know--after all, it
is, perhaps, best."
He sat down before the chimney piece, stretching out his muddy boots
as if a bright fire had been burning. Mme Burle was about to resume
her own seat when she remarked that Charles, overcome by fatigue,
had dropped his head between the open pages of his dictionary. The
arrival of the major had at first interested him, but, seeing that
he remained unnoticed, he had been unable to struggle against his
sleepiness. His grandmother turned toward the table to slap his
frail little hands, whitening in the lamplight, when Laguitte
stopped her.
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"No--no!" he said. "Let the poor little man sleep. I haven't got
anything funny to say. There's no need for him to hear me."
The old lady sat down in her armchair; deep silence reigned, and
they looked at one another.
"Well, yes," said the major at last, punctuating his words with an
angry motion of his chin, "he has been and done it; that hound Burle
has been and done it!"
Not a muscle of Mme Burle's face moved, but she became livid, and
her figure stiffened. Then the major continued: "I had my doubts.
I had intended mentioning the subject to you. Burle was spending
too much money, and he had an idiotic look which I did not fancy.
Thunder and lightning! What a fool a man must be to behave so
filthily!"
Then he thumped his knee furiously with his clenched fist and seemed
to choke with indignation. The old woman put the straightforward
question:
"He has stolen?"
"You can't have an idea of it. You see, I never examined his
accounts; I approved and signed them. You know how those things are
managed. However, just before the inspection--as the colonel is a
crotchety old maniac--I said to Burle: 'I say, old man, look to your
accounts; I am answerable, you know,' and then I felt perfectly
secure. Well, about a month ago, as he seemed queer and some nasty
stories were circulating, I peered a little closer into the books
and pottered over the entries. I thought everything looked straight
and very well kept--"
At this point he stopped, convulsed by such a fit of rage that he
had to relieve himself by a volley of appalling oaths. Finally he
resumed: "It isn't the swindle that angers me; it is his disgusting
behavior to me. He has gammoned me, Madame Burle. By God! Does he
take me for an old fool?"
"So he stole?" the mother again questioned.
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"This evening," continued the major more quietly, "I had just
finished my dinner when Gagneux came in--you know Gagneux, the
butcher at the corner of the Place aux Herbes? Another dirty beast
who got the meat contract and makes our men eat all the diseased cow
flesh in the neighborhood! Well, I received him like a dog, and
then he let it all out--blurted out the whole thing, and a pretty
mess it is! It appears that Burle only paid him in driblets and had
got himself into a muddle--a confusion of figures which the devil
himself couldn't disentangle. In short, Burle owes the butcher two
thousand francs, and Gagneux threatens that he'll inform the colonel
if he is not paid. To make matters worse, Burle, just to blind me,
handed me every week a forged receipt which he had squarely signed
with Gagneux's name. To think he did that to me, his old friend!
Ah, curse him!"
With increasing profanity the major rose to his feet, shook his fist
at the ceiling and then fell back in his chair. Mme Burle again
repeated: "He has stolen. It was inevitable."
Then without a word of judgment or condemnation she added simply:
"Two thousand francs--we have not got them. There are barely thirty
francs in the house."
"I expected as much," said Laguitte. "And do you know where all the
money goes? Why, Melanie gets it--yes, Melanie, a creature who has
turned Burle into a perfect fool. Ah, those women! Those fiendish
women! I always said they would do for him! I cannot conceive what
he is made of! He is only five years younger than I am, and yet he
is as mad as ever. What a woman hunter he is!"
Another long silence followed. Outside the rain was increasing in
violence, and throughout the sleepy little town one could hear the
crashing of slates and chimney pots as they were dashed by the blast
onto the pavements of the streets.
"Come," suddenly said the major, rising, "my stopping here won't
mend matters. I have warned you--and now I'm off."
"What is to be done? To whom can we apply?" muttered the old woman
drearily.
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"Don't give way--we must consider. If I only had the two thousand
francs--but you know that I am not rich."
The major stopped short in confusion. This old bachelor, wifeless
and childless, spent his pay in drink and gambled away at ecarte
whatever money his cognac and absinthe left in his pocket. Despite
that, however, he was scrupulously honest from a sense of
discipline.
"Never mind," he added as he reached the threshold. "I'll begin by
stirring him up. I shall move heaven and earth! What! Burle,
Colonel Burle's son, condemned for theft! That cannot be! I would
sooner burn down the town. Now, thunder and lightning, don't worry;
it is far more annoying for me than for you."
He shook the old lady's hand roughly and vanished into the shadows
of the staircase, while she held the lamp aloft to light the way.
When she returned and replaced the lamp on the table she stood for a
moment motionless in front of Charles, who was still asleep with his
face lying on the dictionary. His pale cheeks and long fair hair
made him look like a girl, and she gazed at him dreamily, a shade of
tenderness passing over her harsh countenance. But it was only a
passing emotion; her features regained their look of cold, obstinate
determination, and, giving the youngster a sharp rap on his little
hand, she said:
"Charles--your lessons."
The boy awoke, dazed and shivering, and again rapidly turned over
the leaves. At the same moment Major Laguitte, slamming the house
door behind him, received on his head a quantity of water falling
from the gutters above, whereupon he began to swear in so loud a
voice that he could be heard above the storm. And after that no
sound broke upon the pelting downpour save the slight rustle of the
boy's pen traveling over the paper. Mme Burle had resumed her seat
near the chimney piece, still rigid, with her eyes fixed on the dead
embers, preserving, indeed, her habitual attitude and absorbed in
her one idea.
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