The Mysteries of Paris, Volume 6 of 6

But, without taking any notice of him, the Schoolmaster hid his face with his hands.

"We shall make nothing of him," said the doctor. Then, perceiving how painfully this scene appeared to affect Madame Georges, he added, "Now, then, madame, we will go to Morel, and, if my expectations are fulfilled, you will be amply rewarded for the pain you have felt hitherto, in witnessing the joy of so good a husband and father in being restored to his family."

With these words the doctor, followed by the party that had accompanied him, proceeded on his way, leaving the Schoolmaster a prey to his own distracting thoughts, the most bitter of which was the certainty of having heard his son's voice, and that of his wife, for the last time. Aware of the just horror with which he inspired them, the misery, shame, and affright with which they would have heard the disclosure of his name made him prefer a thousand deaths to such a revelation. One only, but great, consolation remained in the certainty of having awakened the pity of his son; and, with this thought to comfort him, the miserable being determined to endure his sufferings with repentance and submission.

"We are now about to pass by the yard appropriated to the use of the idiot patients," said the doctor, stopping before a large grated door, through which the poor idiotic beings might be seen huddled together, with every appearance of the most distressing imbecility.

Spite of Madame Georges's recent agitation, she could not refrain from casting a glance through the railing.

"Poor creatures!" said she, in a gentle, pitying voice; "how dreadful to think their sufferings are hopeless! for I presume there is no remedy for such an affliction as theirs?"

"Alas, none, madame!" replied the doctor. "But I must not allow you to dwell too long on this mournful picture of human misery. We have now arrived at the place where I expect to find Morel, whom I desired should be left entirely alone, in order to produce a more startling effect in the little project on which I build my hopes for his restoration to reason."

"What idea principally occupies his mind?" asked Madame Georges.

"He believes that if he cannot earn thirteen hundred francs by his day's work, in order to pay off a debt contracted with one Ferrand, a notary, his daughter will perish on a scaffold."

"That man Ferrand was, indeed, a monster!" exclaimed Madame Georges; "poor Louise Morel and her father were not the only victims to his villainy, he has persecuted my son with the bitterest animosity."

"I have heard the whole story from Louise," replied the doctor. "Happily the wretch can no more wring your hearts with agony. But be so good as to await me here while I go to ascertain the state of Morel." Then, addressing Louise, he added, "You must carefully watch for my calling out 'Come!' Appear instantly; but let it be alone. When I call out 'Come!' for the second time, the rest of the party may make their appearance."

"Alas, sir, my heart begins to fail me!" replied Louise, endeavouring to suppress her tears. "My poor father! What if the present trial fail!"

"Nay, nay, keep up your courage! I am most sanguine of success in the scheme I have long meditated for the restoration of your father's reason. Now, then, all you have to do for the present is carefully to attend to my directions." So saying, the doctor, quitting his party, entered a small chamber, whose grated window looked into the garden.

Thanks to rest, care, sufficiency of nourishing diet, Morel was no longer the pale, careworn, haggard creature that had entered those walls; the tinge of health began to colour his before jaundiced cheek, but a melancholy smile, a fixed, motionless gaze, as though on some object for ever present to his mental view, proved too plainly that Reason had not entirely resumed her empire over him.

When the doctor entered, Morel was sitting at a table, imitating the movements of a lapidary at his wheel.

"I must work," murmured he, "and hard, too. Thirteen hundred francs! Ay, thirteen hundred is the sum required, or poor Louise will be dragged to a scaffold! That must not be! No, no, her father will work – work – work! Thirteen hundred francs! Right!"

"Morel, my good fellow," said the doctor, gently advancing towards him, "don't work so very hard; there is no occasion now, you know that you have earned the thirteen hundred francs you required to free Louise. See, here they are!" and with these words the doctor laid a handful of gold on the table.

"Saved! Louise saved!" exclaimed the lapidary, catching up the money, and hurrying towards the door; "then I will carry it at once to the notary."

"Come!" called out the doctor, in considerable trepidation, for well he knew the success of his experiment depended on the manner in which the mind of the lapidary received its first shock.

Scarcely had the doctor pronounced the signal than Louise sprang forwards, and presented herself at the door just as her father reached it. Bewildered and amazed, Morel let fall the gold he clutched in his hands, and retreated in visible surprise. For some minutes he continued gazing on his daughter with a stupefied and vacant stare, but by degrees his memory seemed to awaken, and, cautiously approaching her, he examined her features with a timid and restless curiosity.

Poor Louise, trembling with emotion, could scarcely restrain her tears; but a sign from the doctor made her exert herself to repress any manifestation of feeling calculated to disturb the progress of her parent's thoughts.

Meanwhile Morel, bending over his daughter, and peering, with uneasy scrutiny, into her countenance, became very pale, pressed his hands to his brows, and then wiped away the large damp drops that had gathered there. Drawing closer and closer to the agitated girl, he strove to speak to her, but the words expired on his lips. His paleness increased, and he gazed around him with the bewildered air of a person awakening from a troubled dream.

"Good, good!" whispered the doctor to Louise; "now, when I say 'Come,' throw yourself into his arms and call him 'father!'"

The lapidary, pressing his two hands on his breast, again commenced examining the individual before him from head to foot, as if determined to satisfy his mind as to her identity. His features expressed a painful uncertainty, and, instead of continuing to watch the features of his daughter, he seemed as if trying to hide himself from her sight, saying, in a low, murmuring, broken tone:

"No, no! It is a dream! Where am I? It is impossible! I dream, – it cannot be she!" Then, observing the gold strewed on the floor, he cried, "And this gold! I do not remember, – am I then awake? Oh, my head is dizzy! I dare not look, – I am ashamed! She is not my Louise!"

"Come!" cried the doctor, in a loud voice.

"Father! Dearest father!" exclaimed Louise. "Do you not know your child, – your poor Louise?" And as she said these words she threw herself on the lapidary's neck, while the doctor motioned for the rest of the group to advance.

"Gracious heavens!" exclaimed Morel, while Louise loaded him with caresses. "Where am I? What has happened to me? Who are all these persons? Oh, I cannot – dare not believe the reality of what I see!"

Then, after a short silence, he abruptly took the head of Louise between his two hands, gazed earnestly and searchingly at her for some moments, then cried, in a voice tremulous with emotion, "Louise?"

"He is saved!" said the doctor.

"My dear Morel, – my dear husband!" exclaimed the lapidary's wife, mingling her caresses with those of her daughter.

"My wife! My child and wife both here!" cried Morel.

"Pray don't overlook the rest of your friends, M. Morel," said Rigolette, advancing; "see, we have all come to visit you at once!"

"I for one am delighted to renew my acquaintance with the worthy M. Morel," said Germain, coming forward and extending his hand.

"And your old acquaintances at the lodge beg that they may not be overlooked," chimed in Anastasie, leading Alfred up to the astonished and delighted lapidary. "You know us, don't you, M. Morel, – the Pipelets – the hearty old Pipelets, and your everlasting friends? Come, pluck up courage, and look about you, M. Morel! Hang it all, Daddy Morel, here's a happy meeting! May we see many such! Ail-l-l-l-ez donc!"

"M. Pipelet and his wife! Everybody here! It seems to me so long since – but – but no matter – 'tis you, Louise, my child – 'tis you, is it not?" exclaimed he, joyfully pressing his daughter in his arms.

"Oh, yes, my dearest father, 'tis your own poor Louise! And there is my mother; here are all our kind friends. You will never quit us more, never know sorrow or care again, and henceforward we shall all be happy and prosperous!"

"Happy? Let me try and recollect a little of past things. I seem to have a faint recollection of your being taken to prison – and – and then, Louise, all seems a blank and confusion here," continued Morel, pressing his hand to his temples.

"Never mind all that, dearest father! I am here and innocent, – let that comfort and console you."

"Stay, stay! That note of hand I gave! Ah, now I remember it all!" cried the lapidary, with shuddering horror. Then, in a voice of assumed calmness, he said, "And what has become of the notary?"

"He is dead, dearest father," murmured Louise.

"Dead? He dead? Then indeed I may hope for happiness! But where am I? How came I here? How long have I left my home, and wherefore was I brought hither? I have no recollection of any of these things!"

"You were extremely ill," said the doctor, "and you were brought here for air and good nursing. You have had a severe fever, and been at times a little lightheaded."

"Yes, yes, I recollect now; and when I was taken ill I remember I was talking with my daughter, and some other person, – who could it be? Ah, now I know! – a kind, good man, named M. Rodolph, who saved me from being arrested. Afterwards, strange to say, I cannot recall a single circumstance."

"Your illness was attended with an entire absence of memory," said the doctor.

"And in whose house am I now?"

"In that of your friend, M. Rodolph," interposed Germain, hastily; "it was thought that country air would be serviceable to you, and promote your recovery."

"Excellent!" said the doctor, in a low tone; then speaking to a keeper who stood near him, he said, "Send the coach around to the garden-gate to prevent the necessity of taking our recovered patient through the different courts, filled with those less fortunate than himself."

As frequently occurs in cases of madness, Morel had not the least idea or recollection of the aberration of intellect under which he had suffered.

Shortly afterwards, Morel, with his wife and daughter, ascended the fiacre, attended also by a surgeon of the establishment, who, for precaution's sake, was charged to see him comfortably settled in his abode ere he left him; and in this order, and followed by a second carriage, conveying their friends, the lapidary quitted Bicêtre without entertaining the most remote suspicion of ever having entered it.