“Go, my boy,” he said; “it is good: call in a couple of hours, and remove the plates and glasses.”
The little waiter trotted down stairs, and Simon sat greedily down to discuss the capon and the white wine. He bolted the legs, he devoured the wings, he cut every morsel of flesh from the breast;—seasoning his repast with pleasant draughts of wine, and caring nothing for the inevitable bill, which was to follow all.
“Ye gods!” said he, as he scraped away at the backbone, “what a dinner! what wine!—and how gayly served up too!” There were silver forks and spoons, and the remnants of the fowl were upon a silver dish. “Why, the money for this dish and these spoons,” cried Simon, “would keep me and Mrs. G. for a month! I WISH”—and here Simon whistled, and turned round to see that nobody was peeping—“I wish the plate were mine.”
Oh, the horrid progress of the Devil! “Here they are,” thought Simon to himself; “why should not I TAKE THEM?” And take them he did. “Detection,” said he, “is not so bad as starvation; and I would as soon live at the galleys as live with Madame Gambouge.”
So Gambouge shovelled dish and spoons into the flap of his surtout, and ran down stairs as if the Devil were behind him—as, indeed, he was.
He immediately made for the house of his old friend the pawnbroker—that establishment which is called in France the Mont de Piété. “I am obliged to come to you again, my old friend,” said Simon, “with some family plate, of which I beseech you to take care.”
The pawnbroker smiled as he examined the goods. “I can give you nothing upon them,” said he.
“What!” cried Simon; “not even the worth of the silver?”
“No; I could buy them at that price at the ‘Café Morisot,’ Rue de la Verrerie, where, I suppose, you got them a little cheaper.” And, so saying, he showed to the guilt-stricken Gambouge how the name of that coffee-house was inscribed upon every one of the articles which he had wished to pawn.
The effects of conscience are dreadful indeed. Oh! how fearful is retribution, how deep is despair, how bitter is remorse for crime—WHEN CRIME IS FOUND OUT!—otherwise, conscience takes matters much more easily. Gambouge cursed his fate, and swore henceforth to be virtuous.