Scenes from a Courtesan's Life [134]
self-contained, and methodical man, in whom, for twenty years, no one has ever detected the smallest impulse of sentiment. It is like a molten bar of iron which melts everything it touches. And Contenson was moved to his depths.
"Poor old Canquoelle!" said he, looking at Corentin. "He has treated me many a time.--And, I tell you, only your bad sort know how to do such things--but often has he given me ten francs to go and gamble with . . ."
After this funeral oration, Peyrade's two avengers went back to Lydie's room, hearing Katt and the medical officer from the Mairie on the stairs.
"Go and fetch the Chief of Police," said Corentin. "The public prosecutor will not find grounds for a prosecution in the case; still, we will report it to the Prefecture; it may, perhaps, be of some use.
"Monsieur," he went on to the medical officer, "in this room you will see a dead man. I do not believe that he died from natural causes; you will be good enough to make a post-mortem in the presence of the Chief of the Police, who will come at my request. Try to discover some traces of poison. You will, in a few minutes, have the opinion of Monsieur Desplein and Monsieur Bianchon, for whom I have sent to examine the daughter of my best friend; she is in a worse plight than he, though he is dead."
"I have no need of those gentlemen's assistance in the exercise of my duty," said the medical officer.
"Well, well," thought Corentin. "Let us have no clashing, monsieur," he said. "In a few words I give you my opinion--Those who have just murdered the father have also ruined the daughter."
By daylight Lydie had yielded to fatigue; when the great surgeon and the young physician arrived she was asleep.
The doctor, whose duty it was to sign the death certificate, had now opened Peyrade's body, and was seeking the cause of death.
"While waiting for your patient to awake," said Corentin to the two famous doctors, "would you join one of your professional brethren in an examination which cannot fail to interest you, and your opinion will be valuable in case of an inquiry."
"Your relations died of apoplexy," said the official. "There are all the symptoms of violent congestion of the brain."
"Examine him, gentlemen, and see if there is no poison capable of producing similar symptoms."
"The stomach is, in fact, full of food substances; but short of chemical analysis, I find no evidence of poison.
"If the characters of cerebral congestion are well ascertained, we have here, considering the patient's age, a sufficient cause of death," observed Desplein, looking at the enormous mass of material.
"Did he sup here?" asked Bianchon.
"No," said Corentin; "he came here in great haste from the Boulevard, and found his daughter ruined----"
"That was the poison if he loved his daughter," said Bianchon.
"What known poison could produce a similar effect?" asked Corentin, clinging to his idea.
"There is but one," said Desplein, after a careful examination. "It is a poison found in the Malayan Archipelago, and derived from trees, as yet but little known, of the strychnos family; it is used to poison that dangerous weapon, the Malay kris.--At least, so it is reported."
The Police Commissioner presently arrived; Corentin told him his suspicions, and begged him to draw up a report, telling him where and with whom Peyrade had supped, and the causes of the state in which he found Lydie.
Corentin then went to Lydie's rooms; Desplein and Bianchon had been examining the poor child. He met them at the door.
"Well, gentlemen?" asked Corentin.
"Place the girl under medical care; unless she recovers her wits when her child is born--if indeed she should have a child--she will end her days melancholy-mad. There is no hope of a cure but in the maternal instinct, if it can be aroused."
Corentin paid each of the physicians forty francs in gold, and then turned to the Police Commissioner, who had pulled him by the sleeve.
"The medical officer insists on it that death was natural," said this functionary, "and I can hardly
"Poor old Canquoelle!" said he, looking at Corentin. "He has treated me many a time.--And, I tell you, only your bad sort know how to do such things--but often has he given me ten francs to go and gamble with . . ."
After this funeral oration, Peyrade's two avengers went back to Lydie's room, hearing Katt and the medical officer from the Mairie on the stairs.
"Go and fetch the Chief of Police," said Corentin. "The public prosecutor will not find grounds for a prosecution in the case; still, we will report it to the Prefecture; it may, perhaps, be of some use.
"Monsieur," he went on to the medical officer, "in this room you will see a dead man. I do not believe that he died from natural causes; you will be good enough to make a post-mortem in the presence of the Chief of the Police, who will come at my request. Try to discover some traces of poison. You will, in a few minutes, have the opinion of Monsieur Desplein and Monsieur Bianchon, for whom I have sent to examine the daughter of my best friend; she is in a worse plight than he, though he is dead."
"I have no need of those gentlemen's assistance in the exercise of my duty," said the medical officer.
"Well, well," thought Corentin. "Let us have no clashing, monsieur," he said. "In a few words I give you my opinion--Those who have just murdered the father have also ruined the daughter."
By daylight Lydie had yielded to fatigue; when the great surgeon and the young physician arrived she was asleep.
The doctor, whose duty it was to sign the death certificate, had now opened Peyrade's body, and was seeking the cause of death.
"While waiting for your patient to awake," said Corentin to the two famous doctors, "would you join one of your professional brethren in an examination which cannot fail to interest you, and your opinion will be valuable in case of an inquiry."
"Your relations died of apoplexy," said the official. "There are all the symptoms of violent congestion of the brain."
"Examine him, gentlemen, and see if there is no poison capable of producing similar symptoms."
"The stomach is, in fact, full of food substances; but short of chemical analysis, I find no evidence of poison.
"If the characters of cerebral congestion are well ascertained, we have here, considering the patient's age, a sufficient cause of death," observed Desplein, looking at the enormous mass of material.
"Did he sup here?" asked Bianchon.
"No," said Corentin; "he came here in great haste from the Boulevard, and found his daughter ruined----"
"That was the poison if he loved his daughter," said Bianchon.
"What known poison could produce a similar effect?" asked Corentin, clinging to his idea.
"There is but one," said Desplein, after a careful examination. "It is a poison found in the Malayan Archipelago, and derived from trees, as yet but little known, of the strychnos family; it is used to poison that dangerous weapon, the Malay kris.--At least, so it is reported."
The Police Commissioner presently arrived; Corentin told him his suspicions, and begged him to draw up a report, telling him where and with whom Peyrade had supped, and the causes of the state in which he found Lydie.
Corentin then went to Lydie's rooms; Desplein and Bianchon had been examining the poor child. He met them at the door.
"Well, gentlemen?" asked Corentin.
"Place the girl under medical care; unless she recovers her wits when her child is born--if indeed she should have a child--she will end her days melancholy-mad. There is no hope of a cure but in the maternal instinct, if it can be aroused."
Corentin paid each of the physicians forty francs in gold, and then turned to the Police Commissioner, who had pulled him by the sleeve.
"The medical officer insists on it that death was natural," said this functionary, "and I can hardly