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They were referable at a glance to the dregs of civilization. They had the stooped shoulders, the dragging gait, the half-servile, half-threatening expression that hallmarks the apache. It was to the fourth that Rufin turned with an overdue thrill of excitement. A young man not more than twenty-five built like a bull for force and wrath.
If they take to crying for more, what old man can be sure of dying in his bed? My grandfather was an old man, and his head fell in the Revolution." "But this," said Rufin, rustling the newspapers before him "this is clamor. It is panic. It is not serious." "That is why I am afraid of it," replied the Minister. "I am always afraid of a frightened Frenchman.
The Huissier was memorizing for the little official the closing scene of the trial. Rufin heard words here and there in his narrative. "Called the judges a set of old . . . Laughed aloud when they asked him if . . . Yes, roared with laughter roared." And then for the final phrase: "Condamnes a la mort!" "You hear?" inquired the little official, nudging him. "It is too late.
"But," began the officer excitedly, "how can I " Rufin turned on him gravely, a somber, august figure of reproof. "Sir," he said, "you are in the presence of a tragedy. I beg you to be silent." The officer made a hopeless gesture; the shadow of it fled grotesquely up the walls.
"He retired down the street with it, walking backward in the middle of the road and not ceasing to make outcries at us," said the concierge. "He uttered menaces; he was dangerous. Could I leave my poor husband to imperil myself by following such a one? I ask M'sieur could I?" "I suppose not," said Rufin, staring at her absently.
His eyes traveled across her to Rufin. "They told me you would come. Say is it because of my picture?" "Yes," said Rufin. "I have done all that I could to save you because of that. But " "I know," said the other. "They have told me. You like it, then my poor 'Mona Lisa' of Montmartre?" Rufin stepped closer.
"Perhaps I have not had my full share of recognition. Since Corot, no artist has been magnanimous; they have become tradesmen, shopkeepers." "You are hard on us, Musard," said Rufin. "We're a bad lot, but we do our best. Here is a small matter of money that may help to make you comfortable. I'm sorry you have such an unpleasant neighbor." "You are going?" demanded Musard. "I must," said Rufin.
"To-morrow I go into the country for some weeks, and nothing is packed yet." "Corot would not have left an old man to die in solitude," remarked Musard thoughtfully. Rufin smiled regretfully and got away while he could. Papa Musard in an hour could wear down even his patience.
For mercy for blessed charity ah, M'sieur, M'sieur, I will carry your sins for you; I will go to hell in your place! You are great one sees it; and he is great, too! M'sieur, I am your chattel, your beast only save him, save him!" It tore the barren atmosphere of the office to rags; it made the place august and awful. Rufin bent to her and took her clasped hands in one of his to raise her.
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