Avarice-Anger Part 32

"Enough, gentlemen!" exclaimed the seconds, on seeing one of the combatants disabled.

But, unfortunately, the Breton had become so frantic with rage, that he did not hear this "Enough, gentlemen," and was about to renew the attack, when his opponent, who had conducted himself very creditably up to that time, being wholly unable to offer any further resistance, made a sudden spring backwards, and then started to run. The now thoroughly enraged Breton was starting in pursuit of him, when his seconds rushed upon him and disarmed him, though not without a fierce struggle and considerable danger, while one of the advocate's seconds bound up his slight wound with a handkerchief. Cloarek's second courteously offered his cab to the wounded man, who accepted it, and the parties separated amicably.

"What were you thinking of, Yvon, to rush upon an unarmed enemy?" asked one of the irascible magistrate's friends, as they wended their way back to the city.

"I could not believe it was over so soon," replied Yvon, with a sigh of regret.

"The fight couldn't last long at the rate you were going on."

"If I could only have an hour's fighting, it seems to me I might be peaceable for a long time," replied Yvon, so navely that his friends could not help laughing.

"Well, what of it?" stormed the choleric Breton, with a wrathful glance at his companions.

Then, ashamed of this ebullition of temper, he hung his head as one of his seconds retorted, gaily:

"You needn't try to pick a quarrel with us, my dear fellow. It wouldn't be worth your while. We should only be able to furnish you with a couple of minutes' amus.e.m.e.nt."

"Yes, yes, be sensible, my dear fellow," good-naturedly remarked the other second. "You ought to consider yourself very fortunate that this affair ended as it did. You are not injured at all, and your adversary's wound is very slight,--a very fortunate ending, you must admit. How we should have felt if we had had to carry you home dead! Think of your wife and your little daughter."

"My wife and daughter!" exclaimed Cloarek, with a violent start. "Ah, yes, you are right."

And the tears rose to his eyes.

"I am a fool, and worse than a fool," he exclaimed. "But it is not my fault. A man who has too much blood is always quarrelling, as they used to say down in Brittany."

"Then you had better put your feet in mustard water and call in a doctor to bleed you, my friend, but don't take a sword for a lancet, and, above all, don't draw blood from others under the pretext that you have too much yourself."

"And above all, remember that you are a magistrate, a man of peace,"

added the other.

"That is all very fine," retorted Yvon, with a sigh, "but you don't know what it is to have a judge's robe on your back and too much blood in your veins."

After he had thanked his seconds heartily for their kind offices, Cloarek was about to separate from them when one of them remarked: "We shall see each other again at the masquerade ball this evening, of course. I understand that all you reverend judges are to allow yourselves considerable license this evening, and disport yourselves like ordinary mortals."

"I did not intend to go, as my wife is not as well as usual; but she insisted so much that I finally consented," replied Yvon.

As he reentered his house, longing to embrace his wife and child even more tenderly than usual, he was accosted by a servant, who said:

"There is a man in your office who wants to see you. His business is urgent, he says."

"Very well. My wife did not ask for me after I went out, did she?"

"No, monsieur, she gave Dame Roberts orders that she was not to be disturbed until she rang, as she wanted to sleep a little later than usual this morning."

"Then take care that she is not disturbed on my account," said Cloarek, as he entered his office.

The person who was waiting for him was a tall, stout man about forty years of age, of herculean stature, with a coa.r.s.e face, and clad in countrified garments. Bowing awkwardly to Yvon, he asked:

"Are you Judge Cloarek?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"I am a friend of Father Leblanc, at Gien. You remember him, don't you?"

"Yes, and a very worthy man he is. How is his health?"

"Very good, judge. It was he who said to me: 'If you're in trouble, go to Judge Cloarek, he is always kind to us poor folks.'"

"What can I do for you?"

"I am the father of a young man who is soon to be tried before your court."

"To what case do you allude, monsieur?"

"To the case of Joseph Rateau," said the big man, with a meaning wink, "charged with forgery--only forgery."

Cloarek, surprised and displeased at the careless manner in which the father spoke of the weighty accusation that was hanging over his son, answered, sternly:

"Yes, monsieur, a prisoner, Joseph Rateau, who is accused of the crime of forgery, is soon to be tried."

"Yes, judge, and as there's no use beating about the bush, I may as well say that my son did it, and then, like a fool, allowed himself to be caught."

"Take care what you say, monsieur. This is a very grave admission on your part."

"Oh, well, there is no use denying it, judge. It's as plain as the nose on your face; but for that, do you suppose I would have come here--"

"Not another word, monsieur; not another word!" exclaimed Yvon, crimsoning with indignation and anger.

"I quite agree with you, judge. What is the use of talking so much, anyway? Actions speak louder than words."

And putting his hand in one of the pockets of his long overcoat, he drew out a roll of money and, holding it up between his thumb and forefinger, he remarked, with a cunning smile and another knowing wink:

"There are fifty louis in here, and if you secure my son's acquittal, you shall have another fifty."

The austerity and incorruptibility of the early days of the republic had given place to a deplorable laxness of morals, so the pet.i.tioner, believing his case won, triumphantly deposited his roll of gold on a corner of a desk near the door. Cloarek, quite beside himself with rage now, was about to give vent to his wrath and indignation when, his eyes chancing to fall upon a portrait of his wife that was hanging on the wall opposite him, he remembered that she might be disturbed and frightened by the noise, as she occupied the room directly over his office, so, with an almost superhuman effort, he managed to control himself and, picking up his hat, said to the countryman:

"Take your money. We will talk this matter over outside."

"The countryman, fancying that the judge was influenced solely by prudential motives, put the money back in his pocket, and, taking his big stick unsuspectingly, followed Cloarek out of the house.

"Where are you going, judge?" he asked, as he lumbered along, finding it difficult to keep up with Cloarek, as the latter strode swiftly on.

"This way," replied Yvon, in a smothered voice, as he turned the corner of the next street.

This street led to the market-place, which was generally crowded with people at that hour of the day. When Cloarek reached this square, he suddenly turned upon the countryman, and, seizing him by the cravat, cried, in tones of thunder:

"Look, good people, at this scoundrel. Look at him well, and then witness his chastis.e.m.e.nt."