you 45,000 francs — that is, 2,500 livres of income, — a fortune
such as I wish I had myself, and you are not satisfied!' — `And the
five and forty thousand francs,' inquired Caderousse in a hoarse
voice, `where are they? Come — let us see them.' — `Here they are,'
replied the jeweller, and he counted out upon the table 15,000
francs in gold, and 30,000 francs in bank-notes.
"`Wait while I light the lamp,' said La Carconte; `it is growing
dark, and there may be some mistake.' In fact, night had come on
during this conversation, and with night the storm which had been
threatening for the last half-hour. The thunder growled in the
distance; but it was apparently not heard by the jeweller,
Caderousse, or La Carconte, absorbed as they were all three with
the demon of gain. I myself felt; a strange kind of fascination at
the sight of all this gold and all these bank-notes; it seemed to
me that I was in a dream, and, as it always happens in a dream, I
felt myself riveted to the spot. Caderousse counted and again
counted the gold and the notes, then handed them to his wife, who
counted and counted them again in her turn. During this time, the
jeweller made the diamond play and sparkle in the lamplight, and
the gem threw out jets of light which made him unmindful of those
which — precursors of the storm — began to play in at the windows.
`Well,' inquired the jeweller, `is the cash all right?'
"`Yes,' said Caderousse. `Give me the pocket-book, La Carconte,
and find a bag somewhere.'
"La Carconte went to a cupboard, and returned with an old
leathern pocket-book and a bag. From the former she took some
greasy letters, and put in their place the bank-notes, and from the
bag took two or three crowns of six livres each, which, in all
probability, formed the entire fortune of the miserable couple.
`There,' said Caderousse; `and now, although you have wronged us of
perhaps 10,000 francs, will you have your supper with us? I invite
you with good-will.' — `Thank you,' replied the jeweller, `it mustyou with good-will.' — `Thank you,' replied the jeweller, `it must
be getting late, and I must return to Beaucaire — my wife will be
getting uneasy.' He drew out his watch, and exclaimed, `Morbleu,
nearly nine o'clock — why, I shall not get back to Beaucaire before
midnight! Good-night, my friends. If the Abbe Busoni should by any
accident return, think of me.' — `In another week you will have
left Beaucaire.' remarked Caderousse, `for the fair ends in a few
days.' — `True, but that makes no difference. Write to me at Paris,
to M. Joannes, in the Palais Royal, arcade Pierre, No. 45. I will
make the journey on purpose to see him, if it is worth while.' At
this moment there was a tremendous clap of thunder, accompanied by
a flash of lightning so vivid, that it quite eclipsed the light of
the lamp.
"`See here,' exclaimed Caderousse. `You cannot think of going
out in such weather as this.' — `Oh, I am not afraid of thunder,'
said the jeweller. — `And then there are robbers,' said La
Carconte. `The road is never very safe during fair time.' — `Oh, as
to the robbers,' said Joannes, `here is something for them,' and he
drew from his pocket a pair of small pistols, loaded to the muzzle.
`Here,' said he, `are dogs who bark and bite at the same time, they
are for the two first who shall have a longing for your diamond,
Friend Caderousse.'
"Caderousse and his wife again interchanged a meaning look. It
seemed as though they were both inspired at the same time with some
horrible thought. `Well, then, a good journey to you,' said
Caderousse. — `Thanks,' replied the jeweller. He then took his
cane, which he had placed against an old cupboard, and went out. At
the moment when he opened the door, such a gust of wind came in
that the lamp was nearly extinguished. `Oh,' said he, `this is very
nice weather, and two leagues to go in such a storm.' — `Remain,'
said Caderousse. `You can sleep here.' — `Yes; do stay,' added La
Carconte in a tremulous voice; `we will take every care of you.' —Carconte in a tremulous voice; `we will take every care of you.' —
`No; I must sleep at Beaucaire. So, once more, good-night.'
Caderousse followed him slowly to the threshold. `I can see neither
heaven nor earth,' said the jeweller, who was outside the door. `Do
I turn to the right, or to the left hand?' — `To the right,' said
Caderousse. `You cannot go wrong — the road is bordered by trees on
both sides.' — `Good — all right,' said a voice almost lost in the
distance. `Close the door,' said La Carconte; `I do not like open
doors when it thunders.' — `Particularly when there is money in the
house, eh?' answered Caderousse, double-locking the door.
"He came into the room, went to the cupboard, took out the bag
and pocket-book, and both began, for the third time, to count their
gold and bank-notes. I never saw such an expression of cupidity as
the flickering lamp revealed in those two countenances. The woman,
especially, was hideous; her usual feverish tremulousness was
intensified, her countenance had become livid, and her eyes
resembled burning coals. `Why,' she inquired in a hoarse voice,
`did you invite him to sleep here to-night?' — `Why?' said
Caderousse with a shudder; `why, that he might not have the trouble
of returning to Beaucaire.' — `Ah,' responded the woman, with an
expression impossible to describe; `I thought it was for something
else.' — `Woman, woman — why do you have such ideas?' cried
Caderousse; `or, if you have them, why don't you keep them to
yourself?' — `Well,' said La Carconte, after a moment's pause, `you
are not a man.' — `What do you mean?' added Caderousse. — `If you
had been a man, you would not have let him go from here.' —
`Woman!' — `Or else he should not have reached Beaucaire.' —
`Woman!' — `The road takes a turn — he is obliged to follow it —
while alongside of the canal there is a shorter road.' — `Woman! —
you offend the good God. There — listen!' And at this moment there
was a tremendous peal of thunder, while the livid lightning