The Barber of Paris

by Paul de Kock

During this time Touquet had returned to his room, saying to himself,—

"Everything is going well—the little one will start without making the least difficulty. But if Marguerite is not asleep; if she should have heard some words of my conversation with the marquis and if she wishes to follow Blanche. It is important that the old woman should know nothing—it is easy to assure myself she is sleeping, since she now sleeps in the room occupied by Blanche's father. Come, I mustn't be weak. I'll go up."

The barber took his light, and directed his steps towards a closet which was at the end of his room. When he reached it he still hesitated; then, making an effort to command himself, he touched a button hidden by the hangings, and a small door opened and discovered a small and very narrow staircase which led to the floor above. Touquet turned his eyes, murmuring,—

"Since that fatal night I have not been in this passage."

He mounted the stairs, his wild eyes seeming to fear that they would meet some frightful object, the hand in which he held the lamp trembling, while with the other he held to the wall to steady his tottering steps.

At the top of the staircase was a door closed by two bolts, which he withdrew with as little noise as possible, and entered the little dark closet at the back of Marguerite's alcove, which the old nurse and Blanche had entered without perceiving the door on the staircase, because it was artistically hidden in the woodwork. The barber placed his lamp on the floor, and put his ear to the door which led into the alcove; he soon heard a prolonged snore, which announced that Marguerite was sleeping soundly; however, he softly opened the door so as to thoroughly assure himself of the fact; then he reentered the little room and left by the secret door, drew the bolts and went down, saying,—

"There is nothing to fear from her."

Suddenly the barber made a false step, he lowered his lamp and perceived some reddish stains on the staircase. Although it was difficult to distinguish what had produced these stains, Touquet recoiled with horror, his hair stood up on his head, his feet refused to carry him over the steps on which were imprinted the marks which caused his fear; in his agitation he allowed the lamp to fall from his hands; it rolled and was extinguished. The barber was left in the most profound darkness in the secret passage. Showing every sign of the most ungovernable terror, he ran as fast as possible down the stairs, bumping his head against the wall, falling and crawling on the stairs.

"Mercy! mercy!" he cried, in a suffocating voice, "do not pursue me. Is it because I am giving up your daughter that you come anew to torment me? Well, I won't give her to the marquis. No, but leave me. Don't touch me with your bloody hands."

At length he came to the foot of the stairs; he reclosed the door hidden by the hangings and without pausing in his room, where he had no light, he went down into the lower room, which was lit by one lamp and by the fire which still burned on the hearth.