Scenes from a Courtesan's Life [233]
and when you are back on the hulks--for you are bound to go there--you must see about escaping. It is a dog's life, still it is life!"
La Pouraille's eyes glittered with suppressed delirium.
"With seven hundred thousand francs you can get a good many drinks," said Jacques Collin, making his pal quite drunk with hope.
"Ay, ay, boss!"
"I can bamboozle the Minister of Justice.--Ah, ha! Ruffard will shell out to do for a reeler. Bibi-Lupin is fairly gulled!"
"Very good, it is a bargain," said la Pouraille with savage glee. "You order, and I obey."
And he hugged Jacques Collin in his arms, while tears of joy stood in his eyes, so hopeful did he feel of saving his head.
"That is not all," said Jacques Collin; "the public prosecutor does not swallow everything, you know, especially when a new count is entered against you. The next thing is to bring a moll into the case by blowing the gaff."
"But how, and what for?"
"Do as I bid you; you will see." And Trompe-la-Mort briefly told the secret of the Nanterre murders, showing him how necessary it was to find a woman who would pretend to be Ginetta. Then he and la Pouraille, now in good spirits, went across to le Biffon.
"I know how sweet you are on la Biffe," said Jacques Collin to this man.
The expression in le Biffon's eyes was a horrible poem.
"What will she do while you are on the hulks?"
A tear sparkled in le Biffon's fierce eyes.
"Well, suppose I were to get her lodgings in the Lorcefe des Largues" (the women's La Force, i. e. les Madelonnettes or Saint-Lazare) "for a stretch, allowing that time for you to be sentenced and sent there, to arrive and to escape?"
"Even you cannot work such a miracle. She took no part in the job," replied la Biffe's partner.
"Oh, my good Biffon," said la Pouraille, "our boss is more powerful than God Almighty."
"What is your password for her?" asked Jacques Collin, with the assurance of a master to whom nothing can be refused.
"Sorgue a Pantin (night in Paris). If you say that she knows you have come from me, and if you want her to do as you bid her, show her a five-franc piece and say Tondif."
"She will be involved in the sentence on la Pouraille, and let off with a year in quod for snitching," said Jacques Collin, looking at la Pouraille.
La Pouraille understood his boss' scheme, and by a single look promised to persuade le Biffon to promote it by inducing la Biffe to take upon herself this complicity in the crime la Pouraille was prepared to confess.
"Farewell, my children. You will presently hear that I have saved my boy from Jack Ketch," said Trompe-la-Mort. "Yes, Jack Ketch and his hairdresser were waiting in the office to get Madeleine ready.-- There," he added, "they have come to fetch me to go to the public prosecutor."
And, in fact, a warder came out of the gate and beckoned to this extraordinary man, who, in face of the young Corsican's danger, had recovered his own against his own society.
It is worthy of note that at the moment when Lucien's body was taken away from him, Jacques Collin had, with a crowning effort, made up his mind to attempt a last incarnation, not as a human being, but as a THING. He had at last taken the fateful step that Napoleon took on board the boat which conveyed him to the Bellerophon. And a strange concurrence of events aided this genius of evil and corruption in his undertaking.
But though the unlooked-for conclusion of this life of crime may perhaps be deprived of some of the marvelous effect which, in our day, can be given to a narrative only by incredible improbabilities, it is necessary, before we accompany Jacques Collin to the public prosecutor's room, that we should follow Madame Camusot in her visits during the time we have spent in the Conciergerie.
One of the obligations which the historian of manners must unfailingly observe is that of never marring the truth for the sake of dramatic arrangement, especially when the truth is so kind as to be in itself romantic. Social nature, particularly in Paris, allows of such freaks
La Pouraille's eyes glittered with suppressed delirium.
"With seven hundred thousand francs you can get a good many drinks," said Jacques Collin, making his pal quite drunk with hope.
"Ay, ay, boss!"
"I can bamboozle the Minister of Justice.--Ah, ha! Ruffard will shell out to do for a reeler. Bibi-Lupin is fairly gulled!"
"Very good, it is a bargain," said la Pouraille with savage glee. "You order, and I obey."
And he hugged Jacques Collin in his arms, while tears of joy stood in his eyes, so hopeful did he feel of saving his head.
"That is not all," said Jacques Collin; "the public prosecutor does not swallow everything, you know, especially when a new count is entered against you. The next thing is to bring a moll into the case by blowing the gaff."
"But how, and what for?"
"Do as I bid you; you will see." And Trompe-la-Mort briefly told the secret of the Nanterre murders, showing him how necessary it was to find a woman who would pretend to be Ginetta. Then he and la Pouraille, now in good spirits, went across to le Biffon.
"I know how sweet you are on la Biffe," said Jacques Collin to this man.
The expression in le Biffon's eyes was a horrible poem.
"What will she do while you are on the hulks?"
A tear sparkled in le Biffon's fierce eyes.
"Well, suppose I were to get her lodgings in the Lorcefe des Largues" (the women's La Force, i. e. les Madelonnettes or Saint-Lazare) "for a stretch, allowing that time for you to be sentenced and sent there, to arrive and to escape?"
"Even you cannot work such a miracle. She took no part in the job," replied la Biffe's partner.
"Oh, my good Biffon," said la Pouraille, "our boss is more powerful than God Almighty."
"What is your password for her?" asked Jacques Collin, with the assurance of a master to whom nothing can be refused.
"Sorgue a Pantin (night in Paris). If you say that she knows you have come from me, and if you want her to do as you bid her, show her a five-franc piece and say Tondif."
"She will be involved in the sentence on la Pouraille, and let off with a year in quod for snitching," said Jacques Collin, looking at la Pouraille.
La Pouraille understood his boss' scheme, and by a single look promised to persuade le Biffon to promote it by inducing la Biffe to take upon herself this complicity in the crime la Pouraille was prepared to confess.
"Farewell, my children. You will presently hear that I have saved my boy from Jack Ketch," said Trompe-la-Mort. "Yes, Jack Ketch and his hairdresser were waiting in the office to get Madeleine ready.-- There," he added, "they have come to fetch me to go to the public prosecutor."
And, in fact, a warder came out of the gate and beckoned to this extraordinary man, who, in face of the young Corsican's danger, had recovered his own against his own society.
It is worthy of note that at the moment when Lucien's body was taken away from him, Jacques Collin had, with a crowning effort, made up his mind to attempt a last incarnation, not as a human being, but as a THING. He had at last taken the fateful step that Napoleon took on board the boat which conveyed him to the Bellerophon. And a strange concurrence of events aided this genius of evil and corruption in his undertaking.
But though the unlooked-for conclusion of this life of crime may perhaps be deprived of some of the marvelous effect which, in our day, can be given to a narrative only by incredible improbabilities, it is necessary, before we accompany Jacques Collin to the public prosecutor's room, that we should follow Madame Camusot in her visits during the time we have spent in the Conciergerie.
One of the obligations which the historian of manners must unfailingly observe is that of never marring the truth for the sake of dramatic arrangement, especially when the truth is so kind as to be in itself romantic. Social nature, particularly in Paris, allows of such freaks