Mated from the Morgue: A Tale of the Second Empire

  CHAPTER III.

  LE VRAI N'EST PAS TOUJOURS VRAISEMBLABLE.

  The crowd immediately gathered round the fainting grisette as she lay inthe arms of our friend, forgetting, in their eagerness for this freshexcitement, the morbid spectacle on the slab. With the same idle gaze ofcuriosity which they had bestowed on the dead girl they turned to theinanimate form of the living. O'Hara gently permitted the body to lapseon the ground, and quickly divesting himself of his coat, folded it inthe shape of a bolster under her head--and then looked at her and feltembarrassed how further to act. Above all things he abhorred a 'scene'and here he was fairly constrained to sit for one of the leading figuresin the picture. He lost his presence of mind amid the multifariousinquiries and suggestions and proffers of help of the craning spectatorswho pressed upon him and his breathless charge; and, to complete hishumiliation, he awoke to the fact that he had a piece of canvas sewed onwhere the back ought to have been in the waistcoat he exposed, just asa well-dressed lady put a bottle of eau de Cologne into his hand,telling him to apply it to the lips of the sufferer. How soon he mighthimself be in a condition to require a restorative we might have totell, had not an imperious voice commanded the crowd to make way, and aman, following it into the centre of the group, proceeded to put hisorders into force by a vigorous and skilful application of his elbows.

  'Stand back,' he cried; 'all the creature wants is air, and ye'regetting up a competition to smother her.'

  Turning to one of the busiest on-lookers, he urged him towards the doorof the greffier's office, directing him, as he was a smart fellow, tofetch a carafe of cold water in a hurry; and then, leaning over O'Hara,as he held the pungent bottle to the girl's nostrils, he said inEnglish, accompanying his words with an impatient gesture, 'Drat thatstuff; here's what'll revive her!' at the same time producing abrandy-flask.

  O'Hara looked up and recognised the sturdy stranger of the frieze coat.

  'Well, how long will you keep staring at me? Ay, boy, that's right withthe water--see, she opens her eyes. Now to slip a little of the water oflife down her throat. Keep her mouth open with your penknife. Ho, ho!she'll come round in a jiffy. See here, mister, you with your coat off,will you help me to trundle my sister out of this infernal hole? Catchup her legs, man. Hang it! one would think you were handling glassmarked "This side uppermost."'

  Partly in obedience to this torrent of words, and partly because he had,for the time being, no will of his own, his self-possession completelygone, O'Hara obeyed the stranger, and between them the girl, still paleand prostrate, was lifted to the door. The stranger hailed a hackneycarriage which was passing, and, helping the grisette in and pushingO'Hara after her, he mounted beside the coachman, and drove in thedirection of the Place before the gate of Notre Dame.

  When they had arrived opposite the H?tel Dieu, he stopped the carriage,dismounted, looked in at the window, and burst into a roar of laughter.

  O'Hara turned from the girl, who was leaning back in a corner, her eyesopen in a wide, wondering way, and confronted the stranger with a fierceyet perplexed look. But he only renewed his laughter.

  'Is it at me or your sister you're laughing, sir?' O'Hara found words atlength to say.

  'My sister! Ha, ha! never saw her in my life before,' and he resumed hisguffaw.

  'Open the door,' cried O'Hara, at last thoroughly roused.

  'Who's your tailor?' said the irrepressible man in the frieze coat.

  The pride of the poverty-stricken Irish gentleman was touched; his shameovercame his anger, and, foolish fellow! he blushed for that of which hehad no need to be ashamed.

  'That's the loudest thing in vestings I know; you've got the falls ofNiagara on your back, man.'

  O'Hara, removing his waistcoat in a flurry of confusion, discovered thatthe painted side of the old canvas, the remains of some artist friend,had been, indeed, turned outwards when he had put it for a patch to hiswaistcoat a few days before in his blundering amateur tailor fashion.[8]Looking at it, he could not help laughing himself.

  'When a man wears that pattern of waistcoat, he shouldn't forget hiscoat after him.'

  To heighten his difficulties, O'Hara now discovered for the first timethat he had left his coat behind him at the Morgue.

  'Can't go back,' said the stranger. 'Here, coachman, to _la BelleJardini?re_.' (This was the name of a famous clothing warehouse in thequarter.)

  'But I've no money, sir, to buy a coat, if that be what you mean bygoing there,' said O'Hara.

  'Tell me something I don't know; you're a poor devil!'

  'Ah! you've discovered that,' exclaimed O'Hara, nettled.

  'Knew it by intuition--been one myself.'

  'But I am not a mendicant.'

  'Who said you were?'

  'I have money coming to me--I'll have it--in a few days.'

  'I know it, and I'll lend you the price of a coat in the meanwhile.'

  'Thanks,' cried O'Hara, with effusion, for he couldn't help feeling theterrible awkwardness of his loss, and he began to see that his newacquaintance was a humorist. 'What might your name be, sir?'

  'What might it be! It might be Beelzebub, but it isn't.'

  'What is it, then, if that pleases you better?'

  'What's in a name?'

  O'Hara paused a moment. 'Right!' he answered at last; 'a name is nothingwithout money behind it.'

  'Ay, ay, my lad; "what's in a name?" as the divine Williams says: it'snothing, as you remark--just about as much as your purse holds atpresent. Don't be angry with me; been that way myself. Know Goldsmith?--

  '"Ill fares the cove, to hastening duns a prey, Whose bills accumulate and bobs decay."

  'Ha, ha!--see the point--Bills and Bobs. But look to the lassie; she'sgoing off again, I fear;' and the queer stranger handed him thebrandy-flask in which he had such faith.

  'Caroline,' the grisette again murmured, and dropped off with glassyeyes into a tranced sleep, irregularly punctuated with sighs.

  'Here you are, sir,' cried the coachman--'_la Belle Jardini?re_.'

  'Stay where you are,' said the stranger. 'I'll fetch you out afifty-franc coat; can size you at a glance. Shake up that girl;' and hedisappeared rapidly.

  The girl, fully roused by the sudden stoppage of the vehicle, gazedround her with a lost look, as if to collect her scattered senses, andvainly endeavoured to realize how and why she found herself in a stateof exhaustion in a carriage with a strange man. At last, under theinfluence of O'Hara's kindly reassuring face, she began to recall whathad happened. The slab in the Morgue, with its burden, which had robbedher of her senses and strength, rose before her eyes, and she shuddered.

  'Courage, my dear,' cried O'Hara firmly; 'drink,' pressing the flask ofbrandy to her lips; 'you are with friends!'

  The girl did as desired, and looked her thanks. O'Hara commencedchafing her hands. She smiled faintly, uttered a few gracious words, inwhich the magic syllable 'home,' a spell in every land, alone could bedistinguished.

  'Ha! you want to get home, my pretty one; we'll take you,' said therough yet good-natured stranger, popping in his head at the window.'What's the neighbourhood?'

  'Place du Panth?on,' whispered the girl.

  'All right, catch your coat and I'll follow it,' flinging the purchaseon O'Hara's lap, then turning to the coachman to give him his directionsbefore entering, he exclaimed, 'Hallo! What's the row?'

  The coachman either didn't hear him or was so busy with some object atthe other side of the carriage, which he was endeavouring to reach withthe lash of his whip, that he didn't mind him.

  'I'll put a flea in your ear,' and with the expression of thisbenevolent intention, he jumped on the box, doubled his fist, and wasabout to apply it to the side of the unconscious Jehu's head, when hesuddenly arrested it in its progress, snatched the whip out of theuplifted hand before him instead, and broke into a hearty laugh.

  O'Hara felt more and more puzzled at the extraordinary conduct of thisextraordinary person, and couldn't help look
ing out after him, when heheard the unexpected merriment. The stranger was descending andencountered his bewildered stare.

  'Look out of the other window,' cried he; 'blessed if it ain't thatinquisitive dog!'

  O'Hara complied, and discovered the cause of all the commotion.

  It was Pat, the foundling dog, who was panting on the pavement, thethreadbare coat of the man who had befriended him held between histeeth![9]

  The faithful creature was at once, of course, received into thecarriage, and the driver was ordered to proceed rapidly to the Place duPanth?on, taking the Boulevard St. Michel on his way.

  'We shall call into _la Jeune France_ on the route,' said the stranger,'and get this poor little wench something to revive her.'

  The girl caught the words and made signs of dissent at the mention of_la Jeune France_, which is a famous coffee-house much affected byroystering students and the frail partners of their revels. As soon asshe could find language, she uttered a feeble but emphatic 'No.'

  'What! You turn up your nose at _la Jeune France_. Well, we'll cut it.Driver, straight to the Panth?on. Nevertheless, my child, it was thereI met your dead friend first!'

  'No, never,' cried the girl with gathering energy. 'Poor Caroline!' andshe burst into a comforting flood of tears.

  'Poor Caroline, indeed! How many aliases had she? When I knew her lastshe was called Marguerite _la modiste_,[10] and that was no later thanlast night.'

  'You met her last night?' inquired the girl in excited tones.

  'I danced with her at the Closerie des Lilas!'

  'Oh no! Say you didn't. Caroline never frequented such a place,' pleadedthe poor girl in the beseeching tone of one praying for mercy from athreatened weapon.

  'It was there I made her acquaintance, too,' remarked O'Hara.

  'There must be some mystery here,' said the stranger, pausing; 'you callyour friend Caroline. I call her Marguerite, and she's known to theentire quarter by that name. We shan't speak about her reputation.' Witha wink at O'Hara, '_De mortuis nil nisi bonum_, with Swift'stranslation. Not meaning any compliment, she was more beloved thanrespected.'

  'I don't understand you, monsieur, but I'm grateful to you both for yourkindness. I'll thank you to let me alight as we arrive at the Place duPanth?on.'

  The girl arose, but the effort was too much for her strength, and shetottered back helpless to the seat, crying:

  'Oh, I am so weak! My head is on fire!'

  'Rest where you are; we'll see you to your own door, and I'll have adoctor by your bedside in five minutes,' insisted the stranger withgentle violence. 'What's your street and number?'

  'Rue de la Vieille Estrapade, thirty.'

  The carriage was quickly driven to the street indicated, which runsquite near, in close parallel with the temple of St. Genevi?ve on itssouthern side, and the Jehu, with a crack of his whip, drew up beforenumber thirty--a tall, substantial, square-built house.

  'Now, my child, take my arm,' said the stranger in the frieze coat,rising and assisting his wearied charge to the door.

  No sooner had the faltering creature reached the steps of the carriage,than a blithe female voice rang out from a window on the third story:

  'Welcome, Berthe--welcome, our little song-bird.'

  The girl raised her eyes in a stupefied daze, her frame quivered, theblood fled from her cheeks, and for the second time she sank into thearms of our friend, who stood luckily behind her, in a profound swoon;but this time it was a swoon of joy.