THE COMPLETE WORKS OF ÉMILE ZOLA. Эмиль Золя
into the house where Fine and Joseph were, and the Count made himself comfortable on the third floor landing, at a window facing the square. What Philippe had said to him had made him profoundly sad.
Marius had merely come down to beg his brother to go and comfort Fine and the child, who were half dead with fright. He returned, after Philippe had promised to rejoin him. The latter wished particularly to take a look round the square. The six barricades were completed; at least, the rioters, being unable to find any more material, had renounced building them any higher. A heavy silence began to reign among the crowd, and the workmen seated themselves on the ground, resting while awaiting events. It was easy to see, from the lowered tone of voice, that the moment of the struggle was approaching.
What annoyed Philippe, was that there were so few efficient arms in the hands of the combatants. Fifty of them at the most had muskets. Some of the others carried sticks, billiard cues evidently stolen in the cafés; a great number of those who were without muskets were provided with curious kinds of weapons that had come from the shops of the secondhand dealers. Some had spits, old lances and sabres; others simply iron bars. Around the fountain which stood in the centre of the square, were a dozen workmen or so, sharpening their rusty blades on the cold stones of the basin. Cartridges also were few in number. There were at the most a hundred or two taken from the ammunition pouches of the National Guards who had been disarmed.
Philippe understood that the barricades could not resist long, but he was determined not to discourage anyone by showing his anxiety. He confined himself to advising them to occupy the houses adjoining the barricades, in the hope that the assailants would retire if a shower of projectiles were cast on them from the roofs and windows.
Several houses had already been invaded. The rioters hammered at the doors of the lodgings they wished to occupy, threatening to break them in if they were not opened. Then, they insisted on having the keys of the doors leading to the flat roofs, and made every window a loophole, and every roof a stronghold. They laboured solely, for nearly half an hour, carrying stones up into the houses. Once above, they tore away and broke up the tiles, and incumbered the tops of the dwellings with rubbish, which they intended throwing on the soldiers’ heads.
When Philippe was satisfied that all the arrangements had been completed, he decided to rejoin his brother. He had placed himself at the head of the men who were to occupy the house where Marius had hidden Fine and Joseph. This house was at the corner of the Grande Rue, and the Place aux Œufs, on the right, coming from the Cours. Philippe foresaw that the barricade in the Grande Rue would be the most vigorously attacked, and he was not without uneasiness as to the danger that would be incurred by the persons who had sought refuge there, and who would be in the midst of the fighting.
He only allowed the most devoted men to enter the building, and made them vow to defend the door to their last breath. After having placed them on the roof and at the windows, he returned to the landing on the third story, where he found M. de Girousse who pointed out a door to him and simply said:
“They’re expecting you.”
Whilst Philippe had been settling all this, Mathéus had ascended the steps of the house which was on the other side of the square. He had seen the Republican at the windows, and his quiet, rascally smile returned like a grimace to his lips.
CHAPTER XVII
WHAT MATHÉUS, THE FORESEER, DID NOT FORESEE
THE interview was short and touching. Philippe took little Joseph for a moment on his knees, and felt quite affected.
“I entrust him to you,” he said to Fine and Marius. “I shall, perhaps, never see him again, but I know he will always have a father and mother.”
Marius remained silent. He understood that his brother imagined he was performing a duty, and he did not say one word to retain him. Fine had great tears bulging out of her eyes.
Philippe seemed to be making an effort to tear himself away from the room which appeared full of mute despair. He wished to escape the cowardly feeling of tenderness that was gaining possession of him. He gave his son a last kiss, and placed him on Fine’s knees.
Then, walking feverishly, as if to stir up his thoughts, he moved towards the window facing the Grande Rue, and after casting a look outside, turned towards the young woman and said:
“You mustn’t remain on that chair. Come and sit here, away from the window. The bullets might enter there.”
He stopped, and could not stifle a cry that rose to his lips.
“Ah! War is a terrible thing! I have wished for it with all my strength, and behold, it places those I love in jeopardy.”
His head fell on his hand in despair. He was on the point of bursting into nervous sobbing, when moving towards the door, he continued in a brutal tone:
“Are you coming, Marius?”
Then on the threshold, he bid a last adieu to Fine and Joseph, who watched him depart. At that moment he and his brother thought no more of M. de Cazalis; and any idea of a surprise was far from their minds. They simply feared that the young woman and child might be subjected to brutal treatment by the rioters and soldiers amidst the disturbance.
On the landing, they found M. de Girousse who appeared to be hiding beside the window, and watching attentively.
“I say, do you know that villainous creature over there?” he inquired of them.
And he pointed with his finger to Mathéus, who was standing on the other side of the square.
“I’ve been following his movements for the last half hour,” continued the Count. “He has not ceased watching this house. Assuredly he must be actuated by some evil design.”
The two brothers looked in the direction he indicated.
“Is it the man with the red hair?” inquired Marius.
“Precisely,” answered the Count. “I detest red-haired people. But then, I have a particularly good scent for detecting rascals. That one has evil-looking eyes, and a quiet smile that predicts nothing good.”
“But,” said Philippe, “I know the man. He’s a violent democrat. I remember having heard him deliver incendiary speeches in the clubs. I never thoroughly examined him, but I confess I always had a kind of repugnance for him. Look, he’s staring this way again.”
The young man was seized with vague mistrust. He fancied Mathéus might, perhaps, be an instigating agent of the authorities, one of those traitors who glide in among the democrats, and lead them on to extremities, so as to hand them over to the police afterwards.
Marius had other fears to which he did not dare give utterance.
“Come,” he said to Philippe, “we must find out why that man is watching the house in that way.”
They went down and mixed with the crowd, and while feigning not to pay attention to Mathéus, took care not to lose sight of him. They walked about the square in this way for ten minutes, without relaxing their supervision. Mathéus, in the meanwhile, was spoiling all his beautiful calculations by being over confident. He had so correctly foreseen each event, everything had succeeded so well with him up to then, that he felt sure of victory. He thought he had already triumphed, and omitted his customary prudence, imagining that in the scrimmage, everyone had lost his head, and nobody was paying the least attention to him.
When he perceived the two brothers, he ceased examining the house, and assumed a happy-go-lucky air. He cast down his head, and seemed lost in deep thought. Then Marius and Philippe saw him leave the steps, and wander among the crowd, looking very perplexed. In truth, he was thinking if he ought not to go and steal the child then, before the outbreak, so as to avoid compromising himself, by remaining any longer amidst the barricades. It was only a question of getting rid of Fine and that did not trouble him much; he would use a gag, he thought, and if absolutely necessary, a knife. What really worried him, and gave him an air of such profound thought, was that horrid carroty