The Beast Within - Emile Zola [96]
‘Madame,’ the Secretary-General said eventually, ‘I have no objection to interceding with the Company on your behalf if there is a genuine case to answer. As it happens, I am due to see the General Manager this evening on other business. I shall need a few details. Perhaps you would make a note of your husband’s name, age and record of employment, and anything else that might help to clarify the situation.’
He pushed a little writing desk towards her, carefully averting his eyes so as not to appear intimidating. A shudder ran through her. He wanted a page of her handwriting in order to compare it with the letter. She desperately tried to think of an excuse, determined not to write. But then she asked herself what was the point, since he knew anyway? They could always get hold of a few lines of her writing. Without any sign of emotion, she steadied her nerves, picked up the pen and wrote down what he asked. Monsieur Camy-Lamotte, standing behind her, recognized the writing immediately, although it was more upright and less shaky than that of the letter. He couldn’t help admiring her - a mere slip of a girl, but so brave-hearted! Now that she couldn’t see him, he smiled again - the smile of a man inured by long experience to all but feminine charm. Justice was such a wearisome business! It really wasn’t worth the trouble. His sole concern was the reputation of the government he served.
‘Very well, madame,’ he said, ‘you may leave it with me. I will make inquiries and do what I can.’
‘I am most grateful, monsieur,’ she replied. ‘May I count on you then to ensure that my husband is not dismissed?’
‘I am afraid, madame, that it is not quite as simple as that,’ he answered. ‘I cannot promise anything. We must see what transpires. I need to give it some thought.’
Monsieur Camy-Lamotte was in something of a quandary, remaining undecided how to proceed with the Roubauds. Séverine, on the other hand, had but one thought in her mind. She knew that she was at his mercy. He had the power to save her or to destroy her. How would he decide?
‘Monsieur,’ she pleaded, ‘think how terrible this is for us. Please do not send me away without your assurance that all will be well.’
‘I am afraid I must, madame,’ he said. ‘There is nothing more I can do for the present. You must be patient.’
He led her towards the door. She stood there, distraught and confused, on the point of confessing everything, so desperate was she to know what his intentions were. In an attempt to gain a minute more and find some other way round him, she suddenly exclaimed:
‘Oh, I almost forgot! I wanted to ask your advice about this awful will which has caused us so much trouble ... Do you think we should have declined the legacy?’
‘The will quite clearly makes the property out to you,’ Monsieur Camy-Lamotte answered circumspectly. ‘It is a mark of appreciation and personal respect.’
She was still standing in the doorway. She made one last desperate plea.
‘Monsieur, I beg you,’ she said. ‘I cannot leave without knowing. Please will you tell me if you can help us?’
Without thinking, she had seized his hand. Monsieur Camy-Lamotte withdrew it. She continued to gaze at him with her beautiful blue eyes, imploring him. He finally relented.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Come back at five o’clock. Perhaps I will be able to tell you something then.’
Séverine left the house even more perturbed than when she had arrived. Monsieur Camy-Lamotte now knew what had happened. But her future was still uncertain. At any minute she might find