Jack (22 page)

“Let us take a drop of brandy to keep out the cold,” said Chariot. At that moment a shrill whistle was heard; it was the boat for Saint Nazarre. “Good-bye, Jack, and a thousand thanks for your good advice!”

“Don’t mention it,” said the lad, heartily; “but pray give up gambling.”

“Of course I will,” answered the other, hurrying on board to hide his amusement. When Jack was again alone he felt no desire to return to the Works; he was in a state of unusual excitement. Even the heavy fog hanging over the Loire interested him. Suddenly he said to himself, “Why do I not go to Nantes and buy Zιnaοde’s gift to-day?” A few moments saw him on the way; but as there was no train until noon, he must wait for some time, and was compelled to pass that time in a room where there were several of the old employιs of the Works, who had been discharged for various misdemeanors. They received the lad civilly enough, and listened attentively when he took up some remark that was made, and uttered some platitudes, stolen from D’Argenton, on the rights of labor.

“Listen!” they said to each other; “it is easy to see that the boy comes from Paris.”

Jack, excited by this applause and sympathy, talked fast and freely. Suddenly the room swam around—all grew dark. ΐ fresh breeze restored him to consciousness. He was seated on the bank of the river, and a sailor was bathing his forehead.

“Are you better?” said the man.

“Yes, much better,” answered Jack, his teeth chattering.

“Then go on board.”

“Go where?” said the apprentice, in amazement.

“Why, have you forgotten that you hired a boat, and sent for provisions? And here comes the man with them.”

Jack was stupefied with amazement, but he was too weak to argue any point; he embarked without remonstrance. He had a little money left, with which he could buy some little souvenir for Zιnaοde, so that his trip to Nantes would not be thrown away absolutely. He breakfasted with a poor enough appetite, and sat at the end of the boat, wrapped in thought. He dreamily recalled books that he had read—tales of strange adventures on the sea; but why did a certain old volume of Robinson Crusoe persistently come before him? He saw the rubbed and yellowed page, the vignette of Robinson in his hammock surrounded by drunken sailors, and above it the inscription, “And in a night of debauch I forgot all my good resolutions.”

He was brought back to real life by the songs of his companions, and by a pair of keen bright eyes that were fixed upon his own. Jack was annoyed by this gaze, and leaned forward with a bottle in his hand.

“Drink with me, captain!” he said.

The man declined abruptly. The younger sailor whispered to Jack, “Let him alone; he did not wish to take you on board; his wife settled things for him; he thought you had more money than you ought to have!”

Jack was indignant at being treated like a thief. He exclaimed that his money was his own, that it had been given him by———. Here he stopped, remembering that his mother had forbidden him to mention her name. “But,” he continued, “I can have more money when I wish it, and I am going to buy a wedding present for Zιnaοde.”

He talked on, but no one listened, for a grand dispute between the two men was well under way as to the place where they should land.

At last they entered the harbor of Nantes. Old houses, with carved fronts and stone balconies, met his eyes, crowded as it were among the shipping at the wharves. Large vessels lay at anchor in the harbor, looking to the boy like captives who panted for liberty, sunshine, and space. Then he thought of Mβdou, of his flight and concealment among the cargo in the hold. But this thought was gone in a moment, and he found himself on shore between his two companions, whom he soon loses and finds again. They cross one bridge, and then another, and wander with neither end nor aim. They drink at intervals; night comes, and the boy accompanies the sailors to a low dance-house, still in the strange excitement in which he has been all day. Finally, he finds himself alone on a bench, in a public square, in a state of exhaustion that is far from sleep. The profound solitude terrifies him, when suddenly he hears the well-known cry,—

“Hats! hats! Hats to sell!”

“Bιlisaire!” called the boy.

It was Bιlisaire. Jack made a futile effort at explanation. The man scolded the boy gently, lifted him up, and led him away.

Where are they going? And who comes here? and what do they want of him? Rough men accost him; they shake him and put irons on his wrists, and he cannot resist, for he is still more than half asleep. He sleeps in the wagon into which he is thrust; in the boat, where he lies utterly inert; and how happy he is after being thus buffeted about to finally throw himself on a straw pallet, shut out from all further disturbance by huge locks and bolts.

In the morning a frightful noise over his head awoke Jack suddenly. Ah, what a dismal awakening is that of drunkenness! The nervous trembling in every limb, the intense thirst and exhaustion, the shame and inexpressible anguish of the human being seeing himself reduced to the level of a beast, and so disgusted with his tarnished existence that he feels incapable of beginning life again.

It was still too dark to distinguish objects, but he knew that he was not in his little attic. He caught a glimpse of the coming dawn in the white light from two high windows. Where was he? In the corner he began to see a confused mass of cords and pulleys. Suddenly he heard the same noise that had awakened him: it was a clock, and one that he well knew. He was at Indret, then, but where?

Could it be that he was shut in the tower where refractory apprentices were occasionally put? And what had he done? He tried to recall the events of the day before, and, confused as his mind still was, he remembered enough to cover him with shame. He groaned heavily. The groan was answered by a sigh from the corner. He was not alone, then!

“Who is there?” asked Jack, uneasily; “is it Bιlisaire?” he added. But why should Bιlisaire be there with him?

“Yes, it is I,” answered the man, in a tone of desperation.

“In the name of heaven tell me why we are shut up here like two criminals?”

“What other people have been doing I can’t tell,” muttered the old man; “I only speak for myself, and I have done no harm to any one. My hats are ruined,—and I, too, for that matter!” continued Bιlisaire, dolefully.

“But what have I done?” asked Jack, for he could not imagine that among the many follies of which he had been guilty there was one more grave than another.

“They say—But why do you make me tell you? You know well enough what they say.”

“Indeed, I do not; pray, go on.”

“Well, they say that you have stolen Zιnaοde’s dowry.”

The boy uttered an exclamation of horror. “But you do not believe this, Bιlisaire?”

The old man did not answer. Every one at Indret thought Jack guilty. Every circumstance was against the boy. On the first report of the robbery, Jack was looked for, but was not to be found. Chariot had very well managed matters. All along the road there were traces of the robbery in the gold pieces displayed so liberally. Only one thing disturbed the belief of the boy’s guilt in the minds of the villagers: what could he have done with the six thousand francs? Neither Bιlisaire’s pocket nor his own displayed any indication that such a sum of money had been in their possession.

Soon after daybreak the superintendent sent for the prisoners. They were covered with mud, and were unwashed and unshorn; yet Jack had a certain grace and refinement in spite of all this; but Bιlisaire’s naturally ugly countenance was so distorted by grief and anxiety, that, as the two appeared, the spectators unanimously decided that this gentle-looking child was the mere instrument of the wretched being with whom he was unfortunately connected. As Jack looked about he saw several faces which seemed like those of some terrible nightmare, and his courage deserted him. He recognized the sailors, and the proprietors of several of the wineshops, with many others of those whom he had seen on that disastrous yesterday. The child begged for a private interview with the superintendent, and was admitted to the office, where he found Father Rondic, whom Jack went forward at once to greet with extended hand. The old man drew back sadly but resolutely.

“Out of regard for your youth, Jack,” said the Director, “and from respect to your parents, and in consideration of your hitherto good behavior, I have begged that, instead of being carried to Nantes and placed in prison, you shall remain here. I now tell you that it is for you to decide what will be done. Tell me the truth. Tell Father Rondic and myself what you have done with the money, give him back what is left, and—no, do not interrupt me,” continued the Director, with a frown. “Return the money, and I will then send you to your parents.”

Here Bιlisaire attempted to speak. “Be quiet, fellow!” said the superintendent; “I cannot understand how you can have the audacity to speak. We believe you to be in reality the guilty party, and that this child has simply been your tool.”

Jack wished to protest against this condemnation of his friend; but old Rondic gave him no time.

“You are quite right, sir, it is bad company that has led the lad astray. Everybody loved him in my house; we had every confidence in him until he met this miserable wretch.”

Bιlisaire looked so heart-broken at this wholesale condemnation that Jack rushed boldly forward in his defence. “I assure you, air, that I met Bιlisaire late in the day.”

“Do you mean,” said the superintendent, “that you committed this robbery all alone?”

“I have done no wrong, sir.”

“Take care, my lad—you are going down hill with rapidity. Your guilt is very evident, and it is useless to deny it. You were alone with the Rondic women in their house all night. Zιnaοde showed you the casket, and even showed you where it was kept. In the night she heard some one moving in your attic; she spoke; naturally you made no reply. She knew that it must be you, for there was no one else in the house. Then you must remember that we know how much money you threw away yesterday.”

Jack was about to say, “My mother sent it to me,” when he remembered that she had forbidden him to mention this. So he hesitatingly murmured that he had been saving his money for some time.

“What nonsense!” cried the Director. “Do you think you can make us believe that with your small wages you could have laid aside the amount you squandered yesterday? Tell the truth, my lad, and repair the evil you have done as well as possible.”

Then Father Rondic spoke. “Tell us, my boy, where this money is. Remember that it is Zιnaοde’s dowry, that I have toiled day and night to lay it aside for her, feeling that with it I might make her happy. You did not think of all this, I am sure, and were led away by the temptation of the moment. But now that you have had time to reflect, you will tell us the truth. Remember, Jack, that I am old, that time may not be given me to replace this money. Ah, my good lad, speak!”

The poor man’s lips trembled. It must have been a hardened criminal who could have resisted such a touching appeal. Bιlisaire was so moved that he made ar series of the most extraordinary gestures. “Give him the money, Jack, I beg of you!” he whispered.

Alas I if the child had had the money, how gladly he would have placed it in the hands of old Rondic, but he could only say,—

“I have stolen nothing—I swear I have not!”

The superintendent rose from his chair impatiently. “We have had enough of this. Your heart must be of adamant to resist such an appeal as has been made to you. I shall send you up-stairs again, and give you until tonight to reflect. If you do not then make a full confession, I shall hand you over to the proper tribunal.”

The boy was then left all the long day in solitude. He tried to sleep, but the knowledge that every one thought him guilty, that his own shameful conduct had given ample reason for such a judgment, overwhelmed him with sorrow. How could he prove his innocence? By showing his mother’s letter. But if D’Argenton should know of it? No, he could not sacrifice his mother! What, then, should he do? And the boy lay on the straw bed, turning over in his bewildered brain the difficulties of his position. Around him went on the business of life; he heard the workmen come and go. It was evening, and he would be sent to prison. Suddenly he heard the stairs creak under a heavy tread, then the turning of the key, and Zιnaοde entered hastily.

“Good heavens,” she cried, “how high up you are!”

She said this with a careless air, but she had wept so much that her eyes were red and inflamed, her hair was roughened and carelessly put up. The poor girl smiled at Jack. “I am ugly, am I not? I have no figure nor complexion. I have a big nose and small eyes; but two days ago I had a handsome dowry, and I cared but little if some of the malicious young girls said, ‘It is only for your money that Maugin wishes to marry you,’ as if I did not know this! He wanted my money, but I loved him! And now, Jack, all is changed. Tonight he will come and say farewell, and I shall not complain. Only, Jack, before he comes, I thought I would have a little talk with you.”

Jack had hidden his face, and was crying. Zιnaοde felt a ray of hope at this.

“You will give me back my money, Jack, will you not?” she added entreatingly.

“But I have not got it, I assure you.”

“Do not say that. You are afraid of me, but I will not reproach you. If you have spent a little you are quite welcome, but tell me where the rest is!”

“Listen to me, Zιnaοde: this is horrible. Why should every one think me guilty?”

She went on as if he had not spoken. “Do you understand that without this money I shall be miserable? In your mother’s name I entreat you here on my knees!”

She threw herself on the floor by the side of the bed where the boy sat, and gave way to tears and sobs. Jack, who was as unhappy as she, tried to take her hand. Suddenly she started up. “You will be punished. No one will ever love you because your heart is bad!” and she left the room. She ran hastily down the stairs to the superintendent’s room, whom she found with her father. She could not speak, for her tears choked her.

“Be comforted, my child!” said the Director. “Your father tells me that the mother of this boy is married to a very rich man. We will write to them. If they are good people, your dowry will be restored to you.”