the nabob-第57章

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e　big　man　sitting　motionless　downstairs；　on　the　bench　in　the　monkey…　house。

For　the　Nabob；　this　death　was　his　own　death；　the　ruin；　the　end　of　all　things。　He　was　so　deeply　conscious　of　it　that；　when　he　entered　the　house；　on　learning　the　hopeless　condition　of　the　duke；　no　expression　of　pity；　no　regrets　of　any　sort；　had　escaped　him；　only　the　ferocious　word　of　human　egoism；　〃I　am　ruined！〃　And　this　word　kept　recurring　to　his　lips；　he　repeated　it　mechanically　each　time　that　he　awoke　suddenly　afresh　to　all　the　horror　of　his　situation；　as　in　those　dangerous　mountain　storms；　when　a　sudden　flash　of　lightning　illumines　the　abyss　to　its　depths；　showing　the　wounding　spurs　and　the　bushes　on　its　sides；　ready　to　tear　and　scratch　the　man　who　should　fall。

The　rapid　clairvoyance　which　accompanies　cataclysms　spared　him　no　detail。　He　saw　the　invalidation　of　his　election　almost　certain；　now　that　Mora　would　no　longer　be　there　to　plead　his　cause；　then　the　consequences　of　the　defeatbankruptcy；　poverty；　and　still　worse；　for　when　these　incalculable　riches　collapse　they　always　bury　a　little　of　a　man's　honour　beneath　their　ruins。　But　how　many　briers；　how　many　thorns；　how　many　cruel　scratches　and　wounds　before　arriving　at　the　end！　In　a　week　there　would　be　the　Schwalbach　billsthat　is　to　say；　eight　hundred　thousand　francsto　pay；　indemnity　for　Moessard；　who　wanted　a　hundred　thousand　francs；　or　as　the　alternative　he　would　apply　for　the　permission　of　the　Chamber　to　prosecute　him　for　a　misdemeanour；　a　suit　still　more　sinister　instituted　by　the　families　of　two　little　martyrs　of　Bethlehem　against　the　founders　of　the　Society；　and；　on　top　of　all；　the　complications　of　the　Territorial　Bank。　There　was　one　solitary　hope；　the　mission　of　Paul　de　Gery　to　the　Bey；　but　so　vague；　so　chimerical；　so　remote！

〃Ah；　I　am　ruined！　I　am　ruined！〃

In　the　immense　entrance…hall　no　one　noticed　his　distress。　The　crowd　of　senators；　of　deputies；　of　councillors　of　state；　all　the　high　officials　of　the　administration；　came　and　went　around　him　without　seeing　him；　holding　mysterious　consultations　with　uneasy　importance　near　the　two　fireplaces　of　white　marble　which　faced　one　another。　So　many　ambitions　disappointed；　deceived；　hurled　down；　met　in　this　visit　/in　extremis/；　that　personal　anxieties　dominated　every　other　preoccupation。

The　faces；　strangely　enough；　expressed　neither　pity　nor　grief；　rather　a　sort　of　anger。　All　these　people　seemed　to　have　a　grudge　against　the　duke　for　dying；　as　though　he　had　deserted　them。　One　heard　remarks　of　this　kind：　〃It　is　not　surprising；　with　such　a　life　as　he　has　lived！〃　And　looking　out　of　the　high　windows；　these　gentlemen　pointed　out　to　each　other；　amid　the　going　and　coming　of　the　equipages　in　the　court…　yard；　the　drawing　up　of　some　little　brougham　from　within　which　a　well…　gloved　hand；　with　its　lace　sleeve　brushing　the　sash　of　the　door；　would　hold　out　a　card　with　a　corner　turned　back　to　the　footman。

From　time　to　time　one　of　the　/habitues/　of　the　palace；　one　of　those　whom　the　dying　man　had　summoned　to　his　bedside；　appeared　in　the　medley；　gave　an　order；　then　went　away；　leaving　the　scared　expression　of　his　face　reflected　on　twenty　others。　Jenkins　showed　himself　thus　for　a　moment；　with　his　cravat　untied；　his　waistcoat　unbuttoned；　his　cuffs　crumpled；　in　all　the　disorder　of　the　battle　in　which　he　was　engaged　upstairs　against　a　terrible　opponent。　He　was　instantly　surrounded；　besieged　with　questions。

Certainly　the　monkeys　flattening　their　short　noses　against　the　bars　of　their　cage；　excited　by　the　unaccustomed　tumult；　and　very　attentive　to　all　that　passed　about　them　as　though　they　were　occupied　in　making　a　methodical　study　of　human　hypocrisy；　had　a　magnificent　model　in　the　Irish　physician。　His　grief　was　superb；　a　splendid　grief；　masculine　and　strong；　which　compressed　his　lips　and　made　him　pant。

〃The　agony　has　begun；〃　he　said　mournfully。　〃It　is　only　a　matter　of　hours。〃

And　as　Jansoulet　came　towards　him；　he　said　to　him　emphatically：

〃Ah；　my　friend；　what　a　man！　What　courage！　He　has　forgotten　nobody。　Only　just　now　he　was　speaking　to　me　of　you。〃

〃Really？〃

〃　'The　poor　Nabob；'　said　he；　'how　does　the　affair　of　his　election　stand？'　〃

And　that　was　all。　The　duke　had　added　no　further　word。

Jansoulet　bowed　his　head。　What　had　he　been　hoping？　Was　it　not　enough　that　at　such　a　moment　a　man　like　Mora　had　given　him　a　thought？　He　returned　and　sat　down　on　his　bench；　falling　back　into　the　stupor　which　had　been　galvanized　by　one　moment　of　mad　hope；　and　remained　until；　without　his　noticing　it；　the　hall　had　become　nearly　deserted。　He　did　not　remark　that　he　was　the　only　and　last　visitor　left；　until　he　heard　the　men…servants　talking　aloud　in　the　waning　light　of　the　evening：

〃For　my　part；　I've　had　enough　of　it。　I　shall　leave　service。〃

〃I　shall　stay　on　with　the　duchess。〃

And　these　projects；　these　arrangements　some　hours　in　advance　of　death；　condemned　the　noble　duke　still　more　surely　than　the　faculty。

The　Nabob　understood　then　that　it　was　time　for　him　to　go；　but；　first；　he　wished　to　inscribe　his　name　in　the　visitors'　book　kept　by　the　porter。　He　went　up　to　the　table；　and　leaned　over　it　to　see　distinctly。　The　page　was　full。　A　blank　space　was　pointed　out　to　him　below　a　signature　in　a　very　small；　spidery　hand；　such　as　is　frequently　written　by　very　fat　fingers；　and　when　he　had　signed；　it　proved　to　be　the　name　of　Hemerlingue　dominating　his　own；　crushing　it；　clasping　it　round　with　insidious　flourish。　Superstitious；　like　the　true　Latin　he　was；　he　was　struck　by　this　omen；　and　went　away　frightened　by　it。

Where　should　he　dine？　At　the　club？　Place　Vendome？　To　hear　still　more　talk　of　this　death　that　obsessed　him！　He　preferred　to　go　somewhere　by　chance；　walking　straight　before　him；　like　all　those　who　are　a　prey　to　some　fixed　idea　which　they　hope　to　conjure　away　by　rapid　movement。　The　evening　was　warm；　the　air　full　of　sweet　scents。　He　walked　along　the　quays；　and　reached　the　trees　of　the　Cours…la…Reine；　then　found　himself　breathing　that　air　in　which　is　mingled　the　freshness　of　watered　roads　and　the　odour　of　fine　dust　so　characteristic　of　summer　evenings　in　Paris。　At　that　hour　all　was　deserted。　Here　and　there　chandeliers　were　being　lighted　for　the　concerts；　blazes　of　gaslight　flared　among　the　green　trees。　A　sound　of　glasses　and　plates　from　a　restaurant　gave　him　the　idea　of　going　in。

The　strong　man　was　hungry　despite　all　his　troubles。　He　was　served　under　a　veranda　with　glazed　walls　backed　by　shrubs；　and　facing　the　great　porch　of　the　Palais　de　l'Industrie；　where　the　duke；　in　the　presence　of　a　thousand　people；　had　greeted　him　as　a　deputy。　The　refined；　aristocratic　face　rose　before　his　memory　in　the　darkness　of　the　sky；　while　he　could　see　it　also　as　it　lay　over　yonder　on　the　funereal　whiteness　of　the　pillow；　and　suddenly；　as　he　ran　his　eye　over　the　bill　of　fare　presented　to　him　by　the　waiter；　he　noticed　with　stupefaction　that　it　bore　the　date　of　the　20th　of　May。　So　a　month　had　not　elapsed　since　the　opening　of　the　exhibition。　It　seemed　to　him　like　ten　years　ago。　Gradually；　however；　the　warmth　of　the　meal　cheered　him。　In　the　corridor　he　could　hear　waiters　talking：

〃Has　anybody　heard　news　of　Mora？　It　appears　he　is　very　ill。〃

〃Nonsense！　He　will　get　over　it；　you　will　see。　Men　like　him　get　all　the　luck。〃

And　so　deeply　is　hope　implanted　in　the　human　soul；　that；　despite　what　Jansoulet　had　himself　seen　and　heard；　these　few　words；　helped　by　two　bottles　of　burgundy　and　a　few　glasses　of　cognac；　sufficed　to　restore　his　courage。　After　all；　people　had　been　known　to　recover　from　illnesses　quite　as　desperate。　Doctors　often　exaggerate　the　ill　in　order　to　get　more　credit　afterward　for　curing　it。　〃Suppose　I　called　to　inquire。〃　He　made　his　way　back　towards　the　house；　full　of　illusion；　trusting　to　that　chance　which　had　served　him　so　many　times　in　his　life。　And　indeed　the　aspect　of　the　princely　abode　had　something　about　it　to　fortify　his　hope。　It　presented　the　reassuring　and　tranquil　appearance　of　ordinary　evenings；　from　the　avenue　with　its　lights　at　long　intervals；　majestic　and　deserted；　to　the　steps　where　stood　waiting　a　huge　carriage　of　old…fashioned　shape。

In　the　antechamber；　peaceful　also；　two　enormous　lamps　were　burning。　A　footman　slept　in　a　corner；　the　porter　was　reading　before　the　fireplace。　He　looked　at　the　new　arrival　over　his　spectacles；　made　no　remark；　and　Jansoulet　dared　ask　no　question。　Piles　of　newspapers　lying　on　the　table　in　their　wrappers；　addressed　to　the　duke；　seemed　to　have　been　thrown　there　as　useless。　The　Nabob　took　up　one　of　them；　opened　it；　and　tried　to　read；　but　quick　and　gliding　steps；　a　muttered　chanting；　made　him　lift　his　eyes；　and　he　saw　a　white…haired　and　bent　old　man；　decked　out　in　lace　as　though　he　had　been　an　altar；　who　was　praying　aloud　as　he　departed　with　a　long　priestly　stride；　his　ample　red　cassock　spreading　in　a　train　over　the　carpet。　It　was　the　Archbishop　of　Paris；　accompanied　by　two　assistants。　The　vision；　with　its　murmur　as　of　an　icy　north　wind；　passed　quickly　before　Jansoulet；　plunged　into　the　great　carriage　and　disappeared；　carrying　away　with　it　his　last　hope。

〃Doing　the　right　thing；　/mon　cher/；〃　remarked　Monpavon；　appearing　suddenly　at　his　side。　〃Mora　is　an　epicurean；　brought　up　in　the　ideas　of　how　do　you　sayyou　knowwhat　is　it　you　call　it？　Eighteenth　century。　Very　bad　for　the　masses；　if　a　man　in　his　positionpsps　ps　Ah；　he　is　the　master　who　sets　us　all　an　examplepsps　irreproachable　manners！〃

〃Then；　it　is　all　over？〃　said　Jansoulet；　overwhelmed。　〃There　is　no　longer　any　hope？〃

Monpavon　signed　to　him　to　listen。　A　carriage　rolled　heavily　along　the　avenue　on　the　quay。　The　visitors'　bell　rang　sharply　several　times　in　succession。　The　marquis　counted　aloud：　〃One；　two；　three；　four。〃　At　the　fifth　he　rose：

〃No　more　hope　now。　Here　comes　the　other；〃　said　he；　alluding　to　the　Parisian　superstition　that　a　visit　from　the　sovereign　was　always　fatal　to　dying　persons。　From　every　side　the　lackeys　hastened　up；　opened　the　doors　wide；　ranged　themselves　in　line；　while　the　porter；　his　hat　cocked　forward　and　his　staff　resounding　on　the　marble　floor；　announced　the　passage　of　two　august　shadows；　of　whom　Jansoulet　only　caught　a　confused　glimpse　behind　the　liveried　domestics；　but　whom　he　saw　beyond　a　long　perspective　of　open　doors　climbing　the　great　staircase；　preceded　by　a　footman　bearing　a　candelabrum。　The　woman　ascended；　erect　and　proud；　enveloped　in　a　black　Spanish　mantilla；　the　man　supported　himself　by　the　baluster；　slower　in　his　movements　and　tired；　the　collar　of　his　light　overcoat　turned　up　above　a　rather　bent　back；　which　was　shaken　by　a　convulsive　sob。

〃Let　us　be　off；　Nabob。　Nothing　more　to　be　done　here；〃　said　the　old　beau；　taking　Jansoulet　by　the　arm　and　drawing　him　outside。　He　paused　on　the　threshold；　with　raised　hand；　making　a　little　gesture　of　farewell　in　the　direction　of　the　man　who　lay　dying　upstairs。　〃Good…bye　old　fellow！〃　The　gesture　and　the　tone　were　polite；　irreproachable；　but　the　voice　trembled　a　little。

The　club　in　the　Rue　Royale；　which　was　famous　for　its　gambling　parties；　rarely　saw　one　so　desperate　as　the　gaming　of　that　night。　It　commenced　at　eleven　o'clock　and　was　still　going　on　at　five　in　the　morning。　Enormous　sums　were　scattered　over　the　green　cloth；　changing　hands；　moved　now　to　one　side；　now　to　the　other；　heaped　up；　distributed；　regained。　Fo