MICHEL PERRIN.
"I must go; I must depart as soon as possible. I plainly perceive that she has sold her watch without informing me. She has to work hard from morning to night; the needle of a woman cannot provide for the requirements of two persons. Ah! I ought to have left long before this! But where to go? without money, without family influence, without friends! How to get on in a world where I have never as yet lived, of the habits and customs of which I am as uninformed as an infant child! Nevertheless, I shall go, were I to beg on the highway; were I to die of hunger, I shall go."
This soliloquy is referred to the eighth year of the Republic, in a very humble apartment, which perhaps still exists at Dijon, and which was then inhabited by a former pastor of a small village in the department of the Cote-d'Or. Michel Perrin, who had lived up to that time in performing acts of charity, praying to his Creator, and cultivating the garden of his manse, had found himself torn from the asylum in which twenty-two years of his tranquil existence had been spent. Deprived of the slender stipend attached to his functions, persecuted by some agents of the Republican Government, and suspected by all, the poor priest had rambled for a considerable time from village to village, sometimes to avoid captivity, sometimes to avail himself of the friendship of the many kind hearts whose gratitude he had earned in happier times. Lastly, for a year he had lived at Dijon. There he had rejoined his sister, Madeleine Perrin, the supreme mistress of his establishment, and also his sole support in the world.
Madeleine, on leaving the manse, had betaken herself direct to Dijon, where she hoped to renew some old friendships, and to support herself by needlework. She had fully succeeded in utilising her talents for sewing to the extent of providing for her own wants; but when the good pastor, yielding to her earnest entreaties, had come to occupy one of the two little garret-rooms which constituted her residence, Madeleine soon became aware that a man, still in vigorous health and of good appetite, is more difficult to be fed than to be lodged.
She nevertheless completely refrained from discovering to her dear Michel the slightest shadow of her uneasiness regarding the future of them both. Anyone who heard her singing whilst plying her needle, or who had witnessed how, after having placed upon the table a savory repast, she cried, "Michel, your dinner is ready," would pronounce her to be a happy lass. However, at night, Madeleine was no sooner on her bed, and aware, by his loud snoring, that her brother was soundly sleeping, than a crowd of sad thoughts would arise to besiege her mind. When a delay in the payment of her earnings produced some difficulties, eight days of sickness brought a fearful aggravation of her misery. Moreover, she was becoming aged, being only two years younger than Michel, who was entering on his fiftieth year. Already her sight was weakened, and soon she might be unable to sew, even with the aid of glasses. In vain did poor Madeleine strive to dispel thoughts so dark, so afflicting. More than once did the rising sun irradiate her chamber, and recall her to work without her eyes having been closed by sleep.
On his part, Michel Perrin, notwithstanding the efforts of his sister to conceal the result of his residence with her, was not slow in discovering the sad truth. From that time he had not ceased to form plans to effect the earning on his own part of even a few pence; but Madeleine repelled every suggestion which appeared to her as tending to lessen the dignity of the reverend pastor. Only one project had received her assent. She agreed to see her brother, whose studies had been refined and extensive, giving lessons in Greek and Latin, so that no person could have a son or nephew without being besought by her to make the boy learn the dead languages, and to choose Michel Perrin as his master; but whether the people of Dijon made little of those old acquirements, or that the learning of a village pastor did not inspire them with sufficient confidence, Madeleine addressed herself in vain to her friends or employers to give the smallest pupil to her brother, at even the smallest price. "He is still very clever," the poor woman would say, when she tried one of her vain efforts; "I wish you would come and see us. He never reads anything but Latin or Greek, except when he is at his breviary. If that does not convince you of his capability, I can say no more." She derived from all her applications only deep sighs without even shallow hopes.
It was true that the worthy pastor had no other amusement whatsoever than repeated perusals of Homer and Tacitus, which he had managed to save from the wreck of his scanty chattels. They constituted his whole library. Leading a life completely retired, when the weather precluded him from taking a solitary ramble, he passed his time in reading, praying, or chatting with his sister, whose voice was almost the only one by which he had been accosted during the past twelve months; consequently, although his affection for Madeleine had been always very great, it had become so intense as to make him regard another separation from her as the most deplorable of all his misfortunes. It was therefore in a miserable state of mind that he awaited Madeleine's return, each time that she left home in a renewed hope of procuring him pupils. For a considerable time he had refrained from asking her the question too often followed by the reply of disappointment. It was enough for her to give him a silent embrace, and that after she had thrown her shawl upon the bed, she betook herself at once to her work, for him to form the determination of leaving; and the sale of her watch, to which she attached peculiar value, confirmed his resolution.
He had decided on the following week as the time for a separation too afflicting, when one morning Madeleine returned, her countenance indicating that her mind was engrossed by some recent and unusual subject. Michel Perrin, absorbed in his reflections, did not at first observe her serious features. She was seated and working near the window, whilst the pastor, with an open book lying on his knees, was racking his mind as to how he could obtain the means of sustaining life when he would quit his sole remaining asylum.
"What a misfortune that Paris is so far off," said Madeleine several times, without perceiving perhaps that she was speaking aloud.
At the fourth or fifth repetition of this expression, Michel raised his head—"Why so, my dear sister?" said he; "wherefore do you wish Paris to be nearer?"
"Ah! wherefore? It would take too much of your time to listen to me, my dear brother, and you are reading your breviary, I believe."
"Tell me fully the reasons for your wish," replied the pastor, laying his book upon the table.
"It is because I have chanced to hear a matter so astonishing, so surprising. It must be admitted that some people are extremely lucky."
"We cannot be considered so," said Michel, as he breathed a heavy sigh.
"No; but your old class-fellow, Eugene Camus. Are you aware that he went to Paris in quest of employment? Well, he has come back for a few days, after having obtained a situation of two thousand francs a-year in the consolidated taxes."
"A place of two thousand francs!" exclaimed the good pastor. "You are right in saying that some are very lucky, Madeleine, for I would adduce this poor Eugene Camus as the most thorough blockhead and dunce that ever came from the college of Juilly."
"Well, he was dying of hunger at Paris for nearly two years; but his good fortune brought it about that another pupil of the Oratorians, Joseph Fouché, of whom you have frequently spoken to me——"
"Oh! Joseph Fouché should be a very different kind of man. I am very glad to hear that he is still living. A cunning fellow without any doubt, and always amongst the first. He and I acted together, as they said in the college; he helped me in my tasks, and in return I fought for him; for I was a stout, healthy youth, and Joseph Fouché was by no means strong."
"That has not hindered him from getting forward in the world, I must say that for him. He is minister—minister of, what shall I term it? It is all the same; it appears that when one becomes minister he may do whatever he wishes, and as his greatest pleasure consists in making the fortunes of his old class-fellows"——
"If I was sure of that," interrupted the poor pastor, with great emotion.
"I think he gave you a sufficient proof in placing Camus as I have described," replied Madeleine; "but Camus, being in Paris, could see him, could speak to him."
"And why should not I go to Paris, Madeleine?" exclaimed Michel Perrin, with an air of determination. "I shall go, sister; I shall see Fouché; I shall speak with him; since he has recognised Camus, who was not more than two years at Juilly, I am certain that he will recognise me also."
"Would you wish to undertake so long a journey, Michel?" said the kind sister, in great dismay; "no, no, my dear brother."
"Hear me, Madeleine," replied the pastor, moving his seat close to her, "whether I go to Paris or elsewhere, I shall leave this place."
"You are going away! You wish to leave me!"
"Your earnings are merely sufficient for your own support, my dear Madeleine. I do not wish any longer to eat the half of them; and all that you can say to induce me to remain will only annoy me, without making me abandon my resolution. Departing from this place, is it not the better course for me to go to Paris than any other place, inasmuch as you give me the hope of finding a friend there?"
"But Paris is so far," said Madeleine, bursting into tears.
"Bah! sixty or eighty leagues, what is that distance to a good walker? What annoys me the most, is having to take from you two or three crowns to support me on the road and at the commencement of my sojourn. Can you make out so much?"
"I shall not let you depart for Paris with two or three crowns, Michel, you may be assured of that," said poor Madeleine, sobbing.
"That would be beyond my requirements, sister. Something tells that once I arrive there, I shall find resources, and that my first letter from Paris will bring you good news."
The poor clergyman appeared so full of hope from the success of his journey, that he finished by imparting it to Madeleine. Without being fully consoled, she smiled sometimes at the agreeable perspective which her brother offered to her imagination. He perhaps did not indulge in very sanguine expectations, but having decided on being no longer a burden to her, he felt that he could act as a messenger or woodcutter when the good Madeleine was not at hand to prevent him.
The preparations for such a journey not being of a nature to delay it, in two days after that of which we have been speaking, Madeleine carefully made up a bundle for her beloved brother, which he was to carry on the end of a stick, and gave him a sealed rouleau in which, she said, there were forty francs; and when the brother and sister had embraced each other again and again, in tearful affliction, they separated.
The pastor accomplished ten leagues in his first day's journey, impelled by the double anxiety for a speedy arrival, and an avoidance of expense on the road. He was far richer than he supposed; for on the second day, his purse being empty, although he had lived on bread and cheese, he opened the rouleau, and his surprise equalled his grateful affection when he found three pieces of gold besides the forty francs. Feeling certain that Madeleine had not been able to provide such a sum without contracting debts, he resolved not to spend this gold, and to send it back by the first opportunity; but he was not the less thankful for her sisterly love.
As soon as he had taken up his abode at the most moderately furnished hotel of the capital, he did not lose a moment in acquiring information on various subjects which he considered conducive to his chances of obtaining an industrial livelihood. From his landlord he learned that Joseph Fouché was the minister of the general police, and that all the ministers gave a public audience once in each week, but that in order to obtain a special interview, it was necessary to request it by letter. Accordingly he penned the following note:—
"Citizen Minister,
"Michel Perrin implores his former class-fellow, Joseph Fouché, to receive him as soon as possible. He is lodging at the hotel du Soleil, rue Mouffetard."
"Vale et me ama."
"Health and respect."
Michel supposed that prefixing a Latin adieu to "Health and Respect," would remind Joseph of the time when, seated on the same bench, they were studying Cicero. Almost an entire week elapsed without any reply from the minister; and when Michel asked his landlord if it ever happened that such notes were left unanswered, the latter mentioned about fifty instances of such neglect, almost without drawing breath.
His hopes were thus completely annihilated; and already he was only thinking of earning his bread by the sweat of his brow, when one evening the porter brought him a letter. After breaking the seal with a trembling hand, he read these words which seemed to him to be written in letters of gold:—
"The minister of the general police will receive the citizen, Michael Perrin, on Thursday the 24th inst., at one o'clock."
A person should, like our hero, have returned after having, in a state of utter despondency, traversed the streets of Paris, those streets so populous, but in which he would seek in vain for even an individual inclined to extend the hand of succour, to be able to form an idea of his joyful hope that he had at last found a protector—a powerful protector. Accordingly, he wrote, before retiring to rest, to Madeleine, that he was to be with the minister of the general police on the ensuing Thursday.
On the appointed day, Michel Perrin was in the ante-chamber of the minister before noon. Seated on the edge of a bench, he endeavoured to banish the timidity natural to those who have continuously lived apart from the world, and which the sight of a mansion in which everything indicated power and opulence tended to augment. To embolden himself, he recurred to his college days, and he was repeating for perhaps the hundredth time that Joseph Fouché had been his class-fellow, when he was called in.
Fouché was alone in his cabinet, seated before a desk covered with papers. He had hardly raised his head and fixed his small reddish eyes on the person entering, than assuming a cheerful manner—"There was no necessity," he said, "to announce you, for on my faith, I could not have met you in the street without recognising you."[13]
At this friendly reception the poor pastor fully resumed his courage.
"And you, too, citizen minister," he answered, cordially grasping the hand which Fouché extended to him, "you have so slightly changed that I believe myself recurring to the time when old Vieil allotted us our tasks."
The figure of the minister assumed an appearance of cheerfulness which was by no means habitual. Perhaps the sight of an old college comrade served to relieve him of some disagreeable reflections, perhaps it recalled to a deputy of the convention the recollection of the time when his life was simple and innocent.
"Sit down there," he said in a gay tone, "and tell me how you have got on in this world, since we lost sight of each other."
"I have lived for many years as happily as possible," replied Michel with a sigh; "for shortly after my ordination, I obtained a living in the most agreeable village of Burgundy."
"A poor position at present that of a pastor must be!" replied the minister, shaking his head.
"So poor in fact that after having been thrust out of the door of my manse, ruined, persecuted, I have lived during the last seven years on the benefactions of some charitable, kind souls."
"And why the devil did you not try to get out of your difficulties? You should bestir yourself."
"Bestir, bestir! That is easy said. At first I was obliged to hide myself in the farms, in the cottages, because I was suspected, or they pretended so; and I would ask you of what should I be suspected? But in short, matters proceeded thus in the department of the Cote-d'Or."
"And in many other departments," said Fouché; "but when you no longer feared for your head, you should have thought of your purse."
"If thinking of it would have filled it, it would never have become empty," replied Michel with a sorrowful smile. "I believe more ideas pass through the mind of a poor fellow who is trying to gain a crown than passed through the mind of Homer when writing the Iliad or Odyssey."
"And that did not lead you to any decided course?"
"To nothing but to come to Paris." Michel paused, but not without directing on his college friend a look more expressive than any words.
Fouché smiled. "Did you know that I was minister?" said he.
"Certainly."
"And you have counted on me," replied Fouché, with a kindness inspired by the thorough frankness of this man.
"Counted on you so much," replied the poor pastor, "that after God you are my only hope. Employ me where you wish, at whatever you choose, my destitution has absorbed all other difficulties. I shall not recoil from any description of employment. I am resolved to do anything by which I can earn my subsistence."
"To do anything!" repeated Fouché, with some surprise, "then you would not refuse to be employed in my department."
"Oh! that is all that I ask!" cried Michel Perrin, his eyes sparkling with joy.
"Undoubtedly you would acquire more money than your parish ever produced."
"Is it possible?"
"Certainly; men who resemble you are rather scarce." And Fouché fixed his eyes on the becoming figure of the pastor. "I know that you are very intelligent, and you can express yourself clearly and explicitly."
"It is certainly advantageous to have received a classical education," said Michel, with a modest air, although he was in fact highly gratified by the compliment.
"Besides, I can put complete confidence in you, whilst with the generality"——
The door of the cabinet opened, and an usher informed the minister that the first consul required his presence at the Tuileries immediately.
Fouché bundled a number of papers into a portfolio with all the haste of a man who fears to lose a minute.
"As to me, as to me?" said the poor pastor, who with terror beheld him preparing to leave without any definite promise.
"Hold," said the minister, writing hastily two lines on a scrap of paper, "take this to Desmarest, chief of division." He then hurried to his carriage and drove away.
The pastor had barely read these words, "Desmarest is to employ Michel Perrin, and to pay him liberally," when in the utmost delight, he proceeded to the office of the functionary mentioned, and the order which he brought procured his immediate admission.
The citizen Desmarest, who appeared to him to assume more importance than the minister himself, inasmuch as he had not been his class-fellow, took the paper, read it, and without offering him a seat, asked him if he was the person named Michel Perrin.
"The same, citizen."
"You have just left the minister?"
"Only this moment; for we had chatted together a full half-hour, as two good friends would do who had not met for a considerable time."
"Be seated, Citizen Perrin. Is it the minister's intention that you are to correspond directly with him or with me?"
"It would seem that in referring me to you, citizen."
"As he has said nothing positive in this respect, it is with me you will have to do."
"And when shall I commence?"
"Without delay; for the minister, in directing me to pay you liberally, undoubtedly believed that there was need of your ability and zeal."
"For my zeal I can fully answer," replied Michel. "I hope that, with some little experience in the discharge of actual duty, my ability shall equal it."
"I have no doubt of it, no doubt whatever. You have been sent to me by a man who is never mistaken in his estimate of individual capability. I shall enter your name on the list of those employed here. You shall have twenty francs per day, and your payment shall commence from this morning."
At these words, the poor pastor had great difficulty in restraining an enthusiastic expression of gratitude for such treatment. He said that he longed to render himself sufficiently useful to justify the good opinion entertained of him, and he asked the chief of the division to designate at once the duty he was eager to commence.
"For to-day, I have no particular directions to give you; but you will come to me in two or three days. Meanwhile, go through the city, traverse the promenades and other public places, dine in the restaurateurs, especially in the good restaurateurs."
"Ah! as for the prime restaurateurs," said Michel smiling, "they shall not see me at all. I believe them to be far too costly for my purse."
"I understand," replied Desmarest; "perhaps you are short of cash; but I am going to pay you a fortnight in advance. Will that suffice?"
"For a long time, I assure you," answered the good pastor, full of gratitude, "although I have really a scruple not having done any duty yet."
"Bah! it is almost always the usage here; the intentions of the minister were certainly not to have you sent to the mean eating-houses."
"What good angel has led me to these worthy people?" said Michel Perrin to himself; and whilst he was expressing reiterated thanks, the chief of division, having no time to lose, wrote an order for the cashier, and handed it to him, telling him to go and get his payment, and not to return before the following Monday, unless he had something pressing to say.
If the first thought of the pastor, when he found himself the possessor of three hundred francs, tended towards God, the second was for Madeleine, and he could not dream of dining before he had written four pages to that good sister, and made his letter the bearer of half his treasure to Dijon. Then, with a light heart and mind at ease, he resolved to follow the advice of the Citizen Desmarest, and to enjoy a little portion of the Parisian pleasures. "I have four good days before me up to Monday," he said, "and indeed I shall take some amusement."
In consequence, he betook himself to walk about the city. Paris, which up to this time had appeared sad, muddy, smoky, took all at once a cheerful appearance in his eyes, for a man whose mind is at ease, sees matters very differently from the aspect they present to an afflicted person. He was not fatigued by visiting the beautiful monuments, public buildings, bridges, gardens, and parks, and he imagined himself transported to fairyland. The Boulevards soon became his favorite promenade. Owing to the variety of amusements which he found there, the good pastor could pass his entire day without experiencing one moment of ennui. The shops, equipages, puppet-shows attracting and occupying his attention; not until night did he direct his steps to the Rue Mouffetard, delighted with the sights of the day, and greatly pleased at having been able to provide himself with two plentiful meals, an indulgence which he had for a long time previous been unable to procure.
When Monday arrived, Michel Perrin presented himself at the ministry of police rather anxious to ascertain whether the employment about to be assigned to him might not be beyond his capacity.
"Ah! 'tis you," said Desmarest, who appeared busily searching for a paper which he could not find on his desk. "Well! where the devil have I thrust it? What have you done these four days past?"
"I have run about the city as if I was only twenty years old," replied the pastor gaily.
"Something infernal must have happened to it," said the chief of division, opening a drawer that he had not tried before. "All was quiet, I suppose."
"Ah! perfectly quiet! Every one I saw appeared, like myself, to be bent on amusements."
"The malcontents are not giving up their designs for all that. (Could I have taken it home with me by mistake?)"
"Yes; the discontented people. That is what a poor fellow told me yesterday in a chat which we had at the Boulevard du Temple, and, in faith, I think he was one of them himself."
The pastor stopped speaking for a few moments after these words.
"Speak on; go on," said Desmarest, who continued to rummage his papers; "I am listening to you whilst I am looking for this cursed letter. What sort of man was this fellow?"
"He is a former garde du corps of the Comte d'Artois."
"Is he young? (This is enough to set one mad!)"
"About my age."
"(Ah! I have found it at last.) Well, your former garde du corps?"
"He told me his entire history."
"What a confiding man! Well?"
"It was a simple, plain story, and indeed I told him that I was a clergyman, that"——
"You told him that you had been a clergyman?" exclaimed Desmarest, laughing immoderately.
"Undoubtedly," replied Michel, rather disconcerted.
"All right, all right," said the chief of division in a tone of approval. "What makes me laugh is, that if you had told me the same thing when you first came here, you would not have surprised me, and I should have believed you at once: I observe in you so much of the air of a man who has worn a priestly habit."
"I have never been able to divest myself of that air, although it has often proved almost fatal to me," said Michel, with a sigh.
"At present, on the contrary, it is most favorable; your figure, your entire appearance inspires confidence."
The pastor bowed to express his thanks.
"And without doubt," continued Desmarest, "the good Royalist of the Boulevard is living on hope like all his friends. He has some lively expectations of a happy change of his circumstances."
"He has indeed, many."
"What do they depend on?"
"Ah! I do not know. The first time that he saw me this man could not tell me all his affairs."
"This is very natural," said the chief of division. "Have you arranged to see him again?"
"We have settled to have a game of chess one of these days, provided I may be free to return to the Café Turc."
"And what prevents you?"
"If the business which you will appoint for me to-day requires my entire time."
"I have no business to appoint for you," answered Desmarest, "but as I am greatly burdened myself at present, you may return to this matter or to any other until Thursday; come to me on that day."
Michel Perrin, not wishing to be troublesome, hastened to salute his chief and to leave the office, but not without being greatly surprised that they paid him so liberally for doing nothing. Nevertheless, feeling certain that ultimately he would be set to work, he laughed as he walked on the quay. "Three more holidays," he said, "and in faith we'll enjoy them!" And he resumed the life of a Parisian cockney.[14]
The following Thursday, after having waited near two hours in the ante-chamber with some men of very sinister aspect, the pastor was admitted to citizen Desmarest, who smiled graciously, saying—
"Well, what news?"
"News!" exclaimed Michel quite astonished.
"Yes; when you come here undoubtedly you must have something to tell me."
"In fact, citizen, as this is Thursday, I have come to know if it is to-day that you desire to commence employing me."
"No, a hundred times no! I have already told you to take your own course, to go through Paris like a man who thinks only of amusing himself and seeing everything."
"I do nothing else through the length of the day," said the pastor laughing.
"Well, that is the minister's intention and mine; have you settled your game of chess? Have you again met your garde du corps?"
"No."
"The devil!" said Desmarest, who at that time was specially looking after the Royalists; "but at least you know his name?"
"He never told it to me."
The chief of division shrugged his shoulders, smiling.
"You have let him see that you were too knowing for him."
"Quite the contrary," replied Michel, "for I told him at once that my ideas were very simple."
"I am beginning to think so too," muttered Desmarest; then to terminate the interview, he bowed and added, "let me see you on Monday."
"Certainly," said the pastor to himself, as he took the direction of the Palais-Royal with the intention of dining at the café de Foi; "certainly if this continues I can congratulate myself on having obtained a most agreeable position. As long as my business consists in waiting on my chief twice in the week, I run no risk of losing my employment through incapacity."
When he entered on the following Monday, he had waited a very long time until a number of persons passed, who stated that they were ordered to attend.
"The usher says that you have been waiting for six or seven hours," said the citizen Desmarest. "I had some important business to transact, or you should have been admitted sooner; for I suppose that you have something pressing to tell me."
"Nothing whatever, citizen," quietly replied the pastor, "I always come very early, that you may have me at hand, if you wish to have me called."
"It is certain that you are admirably punctual, citizen Perrin; I said so yesterday to the minister."
"I hope that in this respect you shall never have to reproach me," replied the pastor, bowing.
"You pass your days in your chamber," said Desmarest.
"Me! I run like a mountaineer; yesterday I did more than two leagues on the flagways of Paris."
"And you have seen nothing, heard nothing worthy of your attention and mine?"
"Ah!" said the pastor laughing; "it requires so little to attract my attention and to enable me to pass the time, that you would not wish to lose your time listening to such trifles."
"Well! be it so," said the citizen Desmarest, whose astonishment had reached its acme; "Good day, return to-morrow, I request of you."
Michel Perrin had scarcely closed the door of the cabinet, when the chief of division rang and obtained the immediate attendance of one of the mouchards or detectives who were in the ante-chamber.
"Follow the man in the brown great-coat who has just left me," said he; "follow him throughout the day, and come to report to me to-morrow morning."
Until late in the evening the poor pastor could not move a foot or hand, or speak a word without a note being made of it by the clever spy who had become his shadow; so that on the next day, when he received the order to enter the cabinet of Desmarest, the latter knew better than he did himself all that he had said or done the preceding evening.
"Now," thought the chief of division, "unless he is deaf, blind, or dumb, he will not be silent this morning;" and desiring him to be seated—"Come," said he, "you are about, I hope, to give me an account of yesterday's business."
The good pastor was always somewhat surprised at the interest which his chief seemed to take in his actions or movements; he replied, with an air of astonishment—
"My business of yesterday! I passed my time, since our last interview, in nearly the same manner as I passed all the other days since our first meeting. In the morning I walked to the Tuileries; in the evening I strolled on the Boulevards."
"I am not asking about your acts or movements," interrupted Desmarest, "but about what you were able to observe."
"Oh! nothing new," replied Michel Perrin; "I am beginning to know all these places as well as I do my own pocket."
"This man cannot be of a sane mind," said Desmarest to himself. Then taking patience—
"Do me the favor of telling me where you dined yesterday, citizen Perrin."
"At a restaurateur's in the Palais-Royal," replied the pastor, whom this kind of interrogatory surprised to the utmost.
"And afterwards?"
"I went to take my coffee at the cafe du Caveau."
"And whilst you were taking your coffee, what passed there? I beg of you to tell me."
"Oh! nothing that I know."
"What! did you not remark three young fellows who were talking just beside you, whose table was next to yours?"
"Stay, stay; I recollect now that there were indeed, just beside me, some gentlemen; I cannot say whether three or four, but I know they had a bowl of punch."
"And they used most horrible language regarding the First Consul," added the chief of division with anger; "they even went so far as to threaten his life!"
"As for that, I am completely uninformed on the subject, inasmuch as, having observed two or three times that these gentlemen lowered their voices when I turned my head towards them, I moved off to a table farther from them. I did not wish to have even the appearance of listening to them, you understand."
"By my faith, this is too bad!" exclaimed Desmarest. "What occupation do you think that you have at the ministry of police?"
"Ah!" said the pastor, quickly, "that is exactly what I have been desiring to know during the last fifteen days."
"Eh, zounds! you are a spy for the police!"
"A mouchard?"
"A mouchard!"
The pastor bounded from his seat, his cheeks flushed, his lips quivering. "Monsieur!—But it is not to you that I have to speak," said he, hastily rushing from the apartment.
He ran to the door of the minister, and wished to have it opened.
"The minister has gone out," answered one of the ushers, laughing in his face.
"I shall wait for him; I shall wait the whole day if it be necessary."
"Wait for him, then, in the street," said the usher, "for you cannot remain here."
"Be it so," replied the poor pastor, resolved to place himself before the gate of the hotel, but he had barely crossed the courtyard, when Fouché, on his return, alighted from his carriage.
Michel Perrin did not hesitate to rush towards the door.
"I beg of you to hear me for a minute, citizen minister," said he, in an altered tone.
Fouché, although somewhat surprised at the sight of this excited applicant, recognised Michel Perrin, and permitted him to follow him.
"Well! what now?" asked he, when they were alone. "Have you discovered some conspiracy, to be thus almost beside yourself?"
"I have discovered that you have made a jest of the friend of your youth," replied the good pastor, with a courage derived from resentment. "Poor as I am, and powerful as you are, I would never wish to have been subjected to such treatment."
"May I die if I know what you are speaking about," replied Fouché, looking closely at him to ascertain if he was in his right senses.
"Have you not issued your orders to your citizen Desmarest?"
"Undoubtedly; he has even told me," added Fouché, laughing, "that you earned your money very badly."
"Ah! my deepest regret is having received that sum of money, for unfortunately I am unable to return it: I have sent the half to my poor sister Madeleine. I have remaining at most only"——
"Eh! who says a word about your returning money, you fool? As long as I choose to employ you, what has Desmarest to say about it?"
"To employ me! to employ me as a spy!" cried Michel, reddening with indignation.
"Methinks your scruples arise rather late, when you have been attached to the police for fifteen days," replied Fouché.
"It was only on this day that I discovered it," cried the poor pastor.
"What! did you not know it? Was it only to-day you ascertained your function?" said the minister, as, struck by the comic tendency of the matter, he indulged in great laughter.
"I should never have supposed it," answered Michel Perrin, proudly; "your man told me of it."
"It was a fortunate thing that he afforded you such an interesting disclosure," said Fouché, who vainly endeavoured to resume his gravity; "but, in fact, Michel, did you not come to me, stating that you were dying of hunger, and that you were resolved to do anything to provide the means of supporting life?"
"Certainly; I would have agreed to sweep your apartments, to carry the fuel for your stoves, to do everything that might be done without forfeiting reputation and losing self-respect." And, in saying these words, the poor pastor raised his fine head, which fretting and privation had already covered with snowy locks.
Honor exercises an influence even upon those who have tampered with their own. Fouché discontinued his laughter, and approaching his class-fellow—
"There has been a misunderstanding, Michel," said he, taking his hand; "let us forget this, and continue good friends, especially," he added, "as I have most delightful news for you: it is that they are about to restore your parish to you."
"Another hoax," said Michel Perrin, shrugging his shoulders, with an air of incredulity.
"No; on my faith. Public worship is re-established. You know, or perhaps you do not know, that Cardinal Gonsalvi was here for a considerable time, to arrange the basis of a concordat with the Pope. This concordat is signed; the First Consul communicated it yesterday to his Council of State."
"Ah! if I again saw my good peasants! If I returned to my manse with Madeleine!" cried the good pastor, his eyes sparkling with joy; "but," added he, "perhaps the parish will be given to another?"
"I shall take special care that it shall not," replied the minister. "Your parish was in Burgundy, I believe?"
"Just beside Dijon. I had it for a year."
"You shall receive news from me very soon; but, in the meantime, I advise you to return to your sister. Paris is full of people too crafty for you; and as you must live," continued Fouché, "take this rouleau of twenty-five louis."
"No, no; I shall take no more money," said the good pastor, pushing aside the hand of the minister.
"You must take it. You do not imagine, I hope, that this would be a recompense for the services you have rendered," said Fouché, laughing heartily. "It is given to you by me for yourself, for your sister."
"Well, be it so," replied Michel, greatly softened. "I cannot reject the gift of an honest man."
Fouché stifled a sigh. "Adieu," said he; "return to Dijon."
The following year, Michel Perrin had resumed his clerical functions; and Madeleine again became the lady and mistress of the manse. The peace, the comfort, the security for the future which they enjoyed, seemed to be enhanced by the recollection of past sufferings.
If Madeleine, in whom there was a little vanity, remarked to her brother, when returning from church, that all the peasants took off their hats—
"Yes, yes," the pastor answered in a low voice, and with a smile, "The worthy fellows are not at all aware that for fifteen days I was a Police Spy."