Do not omit the DE. And he must say,
‘I have come from the public prosecutor to fetch you know what.’— You will immediately receive three sealed packets.”
“All the letters are there?” said Monsieur de Granville.
“There is no tricking you; you did not get your place for nothing!” said Jacques Collin, with a smile. “I see you still think me capable of testing you and giving you so much blank paper. — No; you do not know me,” said he. “I trust you as a son trusts his father.”
“You will be taken back to the Conciergerie,” said the magistrate, “and there await a decision as to your fate.”
Monsieur de Granville rang, and said to the office-boy who answered:
“Beg Monsieur Garnery to come here, if he is in his room.”
Besides the forty-eight police commissioners who watch over Paris like forty-eight petty Providences, to say nothing of the guardians of Public Safety — and who have earned the nickname of quart d’oeil, in thieves’ slang, a quarter of an eye, because there are four of them to each district — besides these, there are two commissioners attached equally to the police and to the legal authorities, whose duty it is to undertake delicate negotiation, and not frequently to serve as deputies to the examining judges.
The office of these two magistrates, for police commissioners are also magistrates, is known as the Delegates’ office; for they are, in fact, delegated on each occasion, and formally empowered to carry out inquiries or arrests.
These functions demand men of ripe age, proved intelligence, great rectitude, and perfect discretion; and it is one of the miracles wrought by Heaven in favor of Paris, that some men of that stamp are always forthcoming.
Any description of the Palais de Justice would be incomplete without due mention of these preventive officials, as they may be called, the most powerful adjuncts of the law; for though it must be owned that the force of circumstances has abrogated the ancient pomp and wealth of justice, it has materially gained in many ways.
In Paris especially its machinery is admirably perfect.
Monsieur de Granville had sent his secretary, Monsieur de Chargeboeuf, to attend Lucien’s funeral; he needed a substitute for this business, a man he could trust, and Monsieur Garnery was one of the commissioners in the Delegates’ office.
“Monsieur,” said Jacques Collin, “I have already proved to you that I have a sense of honor. You let me go free, and I came back.
— By this time the funeral mass for Lucien is ended; they will be carrying him to the grave. Instead of remanding me to the Conciergerie, give me leave to follow the boy’s body to Pere–Lachaise. I will come back and surrender myself prisoner.”
“Go,” said Monsieur de Granville, in the kindest tone.
“One word more, monsieur.
The money belonging to that girl — Lucien’s mistress — was not stolen. During the short time of liberty you allowed me, I questioned her servants. I am sure of them as you are of your two commissioners of the Delegates’ office.
The money paid for the certificate sold by Mademoiselle Esther Gobseck will certainly be found in her room when the seals are removed.
Her maid remarked to me that the deceased was given to mystery-making, and very distrustful; she no doubt hid the banknotes in her bed.
Let the bedstead be carefully examined and taken to pieces, the mattresses unsewn — the money will be found.”
“You are sure of that?”
“I am sure of the relative honesty of my rascals; they never play any tricks on me. I hold the power of life and death; I try and condemn them and carry out my sentence without all your formalities.
You can see for yourself the results of my authority.
I will recover the money stolen from Monsieur and Madame Crottat; I will hand you over one of Bibi–Lupin’s men, his right hand, caught in the act; and I will tell you the secret of the Nanterre murders. This is not a bad beginning.
And if you only employ me in the service of the law and the police, by the end of a year you will be satisfied with all I can tell you. I will be thoroughly all that I ought to be, and shall manage to succeed in all the business that is placed in my hands.”
“I can promise you nothing but my goodwill.
What you ask is not in my power. The privilege of granting pardons is the King’s alone, on the recommendation of the Keeper of the Seals; and the place you wish to hold is in the gift of the Prefet of Police.”
“Monsieur Garnery,” the office-boy announced.
At a nod from Monsieur de Granville the Delegate commissioner came in, glanced at Jacques Collin as one who knows, and gulped down his astonishment on hearing the word “Go!” spoken to Jacques Collin by Monsieur de Granville.
“Allow me,” said Jacques Collin, “to remain here till Monsieur Garnery has returned with the documents in which all my strength lies, that I may take away with me some expression of your satisfaction.”
This absolute humility and sincerity touched the public prosecutor.
“Go,” said he; “I can depend on you.”
Jacques Collin bowed humbly, with the submissiveness of an inferior to his master.
Ten minutes later, Monsieur de Granville was in possession of the letters in three sealed packets that had not been opened!
But the importance of this point, and Jacques Collin’s avowal, had made him forget the convict’s promise to cure Madame de Serizy.
When once he was outside, Jacques Collin had an indescribable sense of satisfaction. He felt he was free, and born to a new phase of life. He walked quickly from the Palais to the Church of Saint–Germain-des-Pres, where mass was over.
The coffin was being sprinkled with holy water, and he arrived in time thus to bid farewell, in a Christian fashion, to the mortal remains of the youth he had loved so well. Then he got into a carriage and drove after the body to the cemetery.
In Paris, unless on very exceptional occasions, or when some famous man has died a natural death, the crowd that gathers about a funeral diminishes by degrees as the procession approaches Pere–Lachaise.
People make time to show themselves in church; but every one has his business to attend to, and returns to it as soon as possible.
Thus of ten mourning carriages, only four were occupied.
By the time they reached Pere–Lachaise there were not more than a dozen followers, among whom was Rastignac.
“That is right; it is well that you are faithful to him,” said Jacques Collin to his old acquaintance.
Rastignac started with surprise at seeing Vautrin.
“Be calm,” said his old fellow-boarder at Madame Vauquer’s. “I am your slave, if only because I find you here.
My help is not to be despised; I am, or shall be, more powerful than ever.
You slipped your cable, and you did it very cleverly; but you may need me yet, and I will always be at your service.
“But what are you going to do?”
“To supply the hulks with lodgers instead of lodging there,” replied Jacques Collin.
Rastignac gave a shrug of disgust.