Robert Tournay Part 41

The breakfast being brought, Tappeur rolled a couple of large stones toward the lightest portion of the cell, and placed a board across them for a table. They had nothing to sit upon but their heels. The two criminals had accustomed themselves to this method of sitting at meals, but Gaillard found it more comfortable to partake of his food standing with his shoulders to the wall.

"Fall to, comrades!" cried Tappeur, breaking off an end of the loaf and taking a sausage in his other hand. "There's no cup, so we must drink from the bottle." And he handed the wine to Gaillard first, by way of attention.

Gaillard put the bottle to his lips and took a long draught of the contents while Tappeur watched him anxiously. He then pa.s.sed it over to Pet.i.tsou, who treated it in a like manner. Tappeur received it in his turn in thankful silence, and after having punished it severely, put it down by his side. Gaillard helped himself to a piece of bread and a sausage, and ate with good appet.i.te, leaving his new companions to finish the wine, to the evident satisfaction of those two worthies.

"You have a hard fist, my brave comrade!" exclaimed Tappeur, filling a pipe as short and grimy as the thumb that pushed the tobacco down into the bowl. "A hard fist and a free purse and Tappeur is your friend for life." To give emphasis to his words he puffed a cloud of blue smoke up into Gaillard's face, and drained the last few drops of wine in the flagon.

"That's very good stuff," he continued, balancing the empty bottle upon its nose, "but brandy would be more satisfying."

Gaillard refused to take the hint, and turned away to spread his cloak in a corner of the cell, where he lay down upon it and was soon in a deep sleep.

Week followed week, and Gaillard continued to live below the ground far from the sunlight which he loved so dearly, while Tournay, confined in the cell upon the second floor, wondered why he received no word from the friend in the outside world.

Thus they lived within one hundred yards of each other, thinking of each other daily, and with no means of communication. One thing Gaillard had to be thankful for, and that was the sum of money the theatre manager had paid him on the very night of his arrest. With it he had purchased many comforts to make his life more bearable. He had procured a fresh supply of straw and a warm blanket for his bed; some candles and a rough chair upon which he took turns in sitting with the two jail-birds, his companions, although at meals he always occupied it by tacit consent.

Under the influence of the additional food which Gaillard's purse supplied, Tappeur grew fat and better natured, though he swore none the less, and drank and smoked all that Gaillard would provide for him.

Indeed, he thought the actor a little n.i.g.g.ardly in furnis.h.i.+ng the brandy, and one day, after a good meal, was inclined to be swaggering, intimating that, with respect to drink, the rations should be increased.

Whereupon Gaillard cut off his potations entirely for twenty-four hours, and he became as meek as a lamb and remained so ever after.

Both the bully and Pet.i.tsou would frequently regale Gaillard with long accounts of their past crimes. During the recitals, Tappeur, although always boastful on his own account, showed a certain deference to the forger.

"I can cut a throat or rob a purse with the best blackguard in France,"

he would say to the actor, "but that little Pet.i.tsou is the true artist."

Notwithstanding these diversions, the time dragged wearily, and Gaillard's face began to lose its roundness, while the smile did not broaden his wide mouth so frequently as of old. His money began to get low, and he looked forward with dread to the time when it would be entirely gone and he would have to divide the musty black loaf and the pitcher of fetid water with the two criminals, without the wherewithal to buy even such good nature and entertainment as they could furnish. He longed for the time of his trial to come. He knew from what he had heard of the experiences of others, that he might be called for trial any day, or that he might languish in jail for months, forgotten and neglected.

Every day when he asked the jailer who brought their food, "Have I not been called for trial?" and received the response, "Not to-day," his heart sank lower.

One day when he had only five francs left in his purse, and had refrained from ordering any wine, much to Tappeur's disgust, the jailer came to inform him that he was to come forth for trial.

"Good luck attend you, citizen actor," said Pet.i.tsou, with some show of friends.h.i.+p, as Gaillard prepared to leave them, smiling.

"As we must lose you in one way or another," called out Tappeur after him as he disappeared down the corridor, "let us hope that the national razor will not bungle when it shaves you, my brave."

Gaillard's spirits rose as he came up to the light of day. In a few hours he would know what his destiny would be, and the fresh air gave him renewed courage to meet it. His wish to learn just what fate had overtaken Tournay gave him an additional interest in life.

Pa.s.sing through the main corridor he heard his name called, and looking toward the corridor of the upper tier he saw the face of his friend.

It was only an instant, and then Gaillard pa.s.sed out with others to the street. At first Tournay's heart throbbed with apprehension at the sight of his friend. He had feared all along that had Gaillard been at liberty he would have received some message from him, or other evidence of his existence, and now his fears were confirmed. Yet somehow the very sight of Gaillard's cheerful face, smiling up at him, rea.s.sured him.

"Am called for trial," the actor's lips framed. "And you?" Tournay made a negative gesture.

"Paper destroyed," Gaillard next signaled with his lips, but he dared not make the words too plain for fear of detection, and the message was lost on Tournay. Then they saw each other no longer.

It was into a small court room that Gaillard saw himself conducted. He looked round with surprise. The trials were usually attended by large and interested crowds of people.

"I am evidently considered of small importance, and so am disposed of by an inferior court," thought he. "So much the better."

The case being tried at the moment was one of petty larceny. "The other courts must be doing an enormous business, to oblige them to turn some of us over to these little criminal courts," continued Gaillard musingly as the affair in question was disposed of and he was called.

"Read the act of accusation," said the judge, "and hurry the affair. I wish to go to dinner."

"Don't let me detain you," thought Gaillard. Then he put his hands to his head to ascertain if his ears were in their proper place, for he could not understand a word of the accusation as read by the clerk. He heard a jumble about "coat," "personal a.s.sault," "refused payment," then looked in bewilderment at the judge and prosecuting attorney, till from them his eyes wandered about the dingy court room. All at once the sight of a face in the witness box caused a light to flash through his brain, and elucidate the whole matter. He recognized his tailor, who sat with vindictive eyes, holding over his arm the identical coat that had been the cause of the dispute on the very day of his arrest.

Gaillard could barely repress his merriment. The rancor of the little tailor had followed him to prison, and dragged him out to answer a complaint of a.s.sault and intent to defraud.

"I wonder," thought Gaillard, "if I am convicted and sentenced for this crime, and subsequently condemned to the guillotine, which penalty I shall have to pay first?"

"Have you any counsel, prisoner?" demanded the judge.

"I will plead my own case," replied Gaillard cheerfully.

"Call the complainant and witness."

After a long recital on the part of the tailor of the history of the coat, and the treatment he had received at the hands of the brutal prisoner, during which the judge yawned, indicating his desire to get out to dinner, Gaillard took the stand.

"My sole defense," said he smilingly, "is that the tailor wittingly, maliciously, and falsely, endeavored to palm off upon me, a poor actor, a garment never made for me."

"How will you prove it?" demanded the judge.

"By simply trying on the coat," answered Gaillard. "If you decide it was made for me, I will abandon my defense."

"Let the prisoner have the garment," ordered the judge.

Gaillard slowly proceeded to divest himself of his own coat and don the offending garment which the tailor now presented to him reluctantly.

It had fitted him badly on the first occasion he had tried it on, and now, by a slight contortion of his supple body, the actor made the misfit ridiculously apparent.

The court officers grinned, even the judge could not repress a smile, and the tailor looked foolish.

"That is quite sufficient," said the justice. "How much did the tailor want you to pay for this grotesque garment?"

"Two hundred francs the bill calls for."

"Two hundred francs?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the judge.

"In gold coin," emphasized Gaillard.

"It is very expensive material," explained the tailor ruefully.

"Down how many flights of stairs does the complaint state the prisoner kicked the tailor?" asked the judge.

"Only one short one," volunteered Gaillard, grinning at the discomfited tailor.

"Only one short one?" repeated the judge. "You were very moderate; such an absurd garment would have justified three flights."

There was a laugh in the court room. The judge tapped for order.

"The prisoner is discharged," he said.