CHAPTER III: "THERE ARE MEN WHO BEHAVE WORSE THAN SAVAGES"
What had become of "the masterpiece of French industry?" Obviously, some one had stolen it. But who? And how? No one had remained in the summer dining-room while they were all flinging themselves into ecstasies of horror at Dr. Honorat's impossible story. On the other hand, there was no way into that room except through the bar-room; and nobody had seen anybody. On the other hand, again, the windows looking on the inner yard of the inn had remained closed. "On the other hand, once more, you can't carry off an Empress of Russia's gown as you would a pocket-handkerchief.
The mystery surrounding the incident was so profound that nobody doubted that "there were Vautrins at the bottom of it." It resembled too closely a number of other indoor disappearances which had never been explained and which had always been put down to the Three Brothers. No one now doubted that Élie, Siméon and Hubert were back and that they had performed the miracle of escaping from the executioner's knife with the one and only object of rushing to Saint-Martin-des-Bois and stealing the Empress' gown. And, if M. Jules, the mayor, who had always had a sneaking kindness for those scamps, because of the relations which they kept up with the elected representatives of the nation, if M. Jules still hesitated to yield before the evidence, his hesitation did not last long. For there came a fresh knock at the door of the Black Sun; and the person who knocked seemed in as great a hurry to obtain admission as Dr. Honorat himself had been. An awful silence at once reigned inside the inn, for all were wondering if they were about to hear the voices of the Three Brothers. But no, it was the trembling voice of an old lady entreating to be let in; and everybody recognized Mme. Godefroy, the Saint-Martin postmistress.
"An official telegram! An official telegram for monsieur le maire! Open the door, M. Roubion, it's very urgent. O Jesus, Mary, Joseph!"
Mme. Godefroy's terror must have exceeded all bounds for that respectable functionary to neglect the last counsels of prudence and to dare invoke the saints of the Roman and Catholic paradise within two steps of her lord and mayor, who had distinguished himself by his stalwart paganism at the time of the separation of Church and State.
"Monsieur le maire is here, Mme. Godefroy," Roubion shouted, through the door."
"I know that," replied the other. "Let me in."
The mayor, greatly perturbed, said:
"An official telegram? Push it under the door, Mme. Godefroy."
"Never will I push an official telegram under the door!" declared the unhappy woman. "I must deliver it into monsieur le maire's own hands. . . ."
"Let her in," said M. Jules, heroically.
The door was half-opened and Mme. Godefroy appeared.
She wore the same mortal pallor, the same wild, staring eyes that had marked the entrance of Dr. Honorat. A yellow paper shook between her fingers. Monsieur le maire took it from her and read the contents of the official telegram aloud:
"Prefect to Mayor .
"Three brothers Vautrin escaped to-day from Riom gaol; take necessary steps."
The mayor, who had no armed forces at his disposal, beyond his beadle and his town-crier Daddy Drum, flung a lifeless, circular glance at those around him. The poor people seemed to have lost the power of breathing. M. and Mme. Sagnier and M. and Mme. Valentin held each other clasped in a tight embrace, forming two couples similar to those in the pictures representing the early Christian families thrown to the lions. Dr. Honorat, in his chair, gave not a sign of life. The band of little old needlewomen clustered round buxom Mme. Roubion; who, with her two hands laid flat on her enormous breast, made a vain effort to control the beating of her heart. And the terror was so great that Mme. Toussaint herself, who was supported by Mme. Boche, who was supported by Mme. Mûre, who kept a tight hold on Mlle. Franchet's hand, Mme. Toussaint herself had ceased her lamentations on the disappearance of the Empress of Russia's dress.
Monsieur le maire read the official telegram for the fifth time, without deriving from it the inspiration that would have saved him at this difficult moment. For everybody was relying on him. He kept on repeating:
"Take necessary steps. . . take necessary steps. . . he's a nice one, the prefect! . . . What necessary steps would he have me take? It's for him to take the necessary steps. . . . He ought to have sent us some gendarmes by now. . . . He must have known that 'they' would come back here. . . ."
Three loud bangs on the bar-room door. . . . Everybody gave a fresh jump. And a voice in the street said: