THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя
pass a few more pleasant hours.”
Marius was touched at this reception. He had often despaired of humanity since he had found himself face to face with the wickedness of life. During an hour he quite forgot the reason of his visit. It was Giraud himself who gave an opening for the delicate inquiry the young man wished to institute.
“You see,” said the master of the house, “we live happily here. We’re certainly not over rich, but the few acres of land we possess suffice for our needs.”
“I thought you were in straitened circumstances,” replied Marius. “The harvests have not been good.”
Giraud looked at the young man with surprise.
“Straitened circumstances,” he said, “not a bit of it. Why do you say that?”
Marius felt himself changing colour.
“Excuse me,” he stammered, “I don’t wish to appear indiscreet. I was told that after the last harvest, you had been obliged to mortgage your property.”
On hearing this, Giraud laughed aloud.
“Whoever told you that told you wrong,” he resumed. “Thank heavens, I’ve never mortgaged a single inch of land.”
“Yet,” said Marius further, wishing to be quite sure, “I was told the notary’s name. It’s M. Douglas who is stated to have taken the mortgage.”
Giraud continued laughing with his broad frank laugh.
“M. Douglas is a worthy man,” he replied, “but whatever property he’s got a mortgage on, it’s certainly not mine.”
The day before, Marius had seen the document in which Giraud’s property was distinctly named and it, moreover, bore the owner’s signature. The notary had, therefore, committed a second forgery, and this one could not be so easily explained as the first. He had evidently kept the money which Mouttet had intended to be invested for himself.
Marius withdrew, desirous of thinking everything over before acting. Authier did not exist, and the property on which Mouttet was supposed to have a mortgage was also a fiction, since Giraud declared it was not his. All this was a mystery which the young man dreaded to investigate.
On the Monday morning after a feverish night, he decided to call on the notary.
CHAPTER VII
THE COWL DOES NOT MAKE THE FRIAR
ON arriving at Douglas’, Marius was surprised at the religious calm reigning in the large cold rooms which he knew to be the abode of crime. He could not accustom himself to such hypocrisy, and would have liked the very walls to have proclaimed aloud the notary’s infamy. The quiet activity of the clerks, the respectable appearance of the house exasperated him and filled his mind with painful doubts. Pale and agitated, he had seated himself in the anteroom, when Douglas caught sight of him from his office, the door of which was open.
“Come in, come in,” he cried; “you won’t be in my way, and I’ll attend to you in a minute.”
Marius walked in, and found five or six priests there, among them Abbé Donadéi. This abbé, ever graceful and smiling, was cajoling the notary both by word and look. He had come to ask for alms.
“You are one of our friends,” he was saying, “and we come to you every time the poor-boxes of our parishes are empty.”
“You do well, sir,” replied Douglas, rising, and taking some gold from a drawer. “How much do you want?” he asked the priest.
“Well,” resumed Donadéi, in a soft tone of voice, “I think that five hundred francs will suffice. We are much in need of the assistance of pious and honourable persons — “
“Here are five hundred francs,” said Douglas, interrupting him. And he added in a slightly trembling voice: “Pray for me, my father.”
Then all the priests rose and surrounded the notary, thanking him and calling upon heaven to bless him. Douglas listened to them, erect and very pale, and Marius fancied he could see a slight nervous trembling of his lips and eyelids. Donadéi, with easy elegance, was inexhaustible in praise and flattering professions.
“The Almighty will repay you what you give us,” he said. “He is already doing so by making your business prosper, and by bestowing on you the peace of mind that is only awarded to the righteous. Ah! sir, you are a grand example in this city which is being corrupted by the materialism of the century. I would that the whole of our commercial population imitated your simple life and possessed your piety and kindliness of heart. One would not then see the horrible spectacle which Marseille is presenting to us — “
Douglas seemed uneasy, and wearied by the priest’s praise. He interrupted him a second time, and said as he showed him to the door:
“No, no, I am no saint. Every one is in need of divine mercy. If you think you owe me any thanks, be so good as to pray for me.”
The priests made him a final bow, and at last withdrew.
Marius, seated in a corner of the room, had assisted at this scene in silence. He felt indignant at the comedy that was being played before his eyes. Perhaps Douglas felt that he was purchasing heaven’s forgiveness, and paying well for it, with the money he had stolen. So this godly man, this kindhearted soul who relieved those in distress, this Christian, who devoted so much of his time to the churches, was but a hypocrite and a scoundrel!
And as Marius thought thus, whilst watching the priests and notary, he fancied he was dreaming with his eyes open: he had come to overwhelm a forger, and he found himself confronted by a charitable man for whom the very Church was offering up prayers.
When the first moment of surprise was over, he felt a still more eager desire to do his duty. As the notary advanced towards him, smiling and with open and extended hand, he drew back slowly, gazing at him intently. Then, he said suddenly:
“Shut the door!”
Douglas, surprised, and as though incapable of resistance, went and closed it.
“Bolt it,” resumed Marius, as harshly as before. “We have to talk together.”
Douglas shot the bolt and came back, looking astonished and displeased.
“What is the matter with you, my dear friend?” he asked.
And as Marius, influenced perhaps by a last feeling of pity, did not answer, he continued:
“But after all, you’re right. It’s best to be alone when talking business. Well! are you ready? I have procured the document that was wanting, and now I only require your signature to complete Mouttet’s mortgage on Authier’s house. You know that we are pressed for time; I received another letter this morning from my client Authier who begs me to send him some money as quickly as possible.”
The notary rose from his table, spread out some papers, and, dipping a pen in the ink, offered it to Marius, saying simply: “Sign.”
Marius had not said a word, but had quietly watched each of the notary’s movements. Instead of taking the pen, he looked him straight in the face and said in a calm tone of voice:
“I went yesterday to see the house in the Rue de Rome. I saw the tenants and the former landlord, and they all tell me that they do not know M. Authier.”
Douglas turned pale, and his lips had again that trembling motion Marius had already observed. He gathered the papers together, laid the pen down, and reseated himself as he stammered:
“Ah! You surprise me very much.”
“The day before yesterday,” continued Marius, “I received a visit from M. de Girousse, a rich landed proprietor of Lambesc, and he assured me that none of his neighbours was named Authier and that that person certainly did not exist. Today, I know that he was not mistaken. What am I to think?”
The