Pichon & Sons, of the Croix Rousse Page #4

"Pichon & Sons, of the Croix Rousse" is a novel by Joseph Thomas Sheridan Le Fanu that delves into themes of family dynamics, betrayal, and the complexities of human relationships. Set against the backdrop of the Croix Rousse district in Lyon, France, the story follows the Pichon family, who run a successful business but grapple with internal strife and external pressures. Le Fanu's narrative explores the moral dilemmas faced by the characters, illuminating their struggles and aspirations while weaving a tale rich in psychological depth and social commentary. The book highlights the intricate interplay of personal and professional lives, ultimately revealing the fragility of trust and the enduring impact of choices made.

• Horror

								

journey he was to undertake, must be reduced, so as to admit of his
carrying the casket without exciting suspicion.

The finding of the hidden treasure was not the first joint discovery
made by the daughter of the avocat and the son of the ci-devant. The
cogitations of Prosper Alix were very wise, very reasonable; but they
were a little tardy. Before he had admitted the possibility of mischief,
the mischief was done. Each had found out that the love of the other was
indispensable to the happiness of life; and they had exchanged
confidences, assurances, protestations, and promises, as freely, as
fervently, and as hopefully, as if no such thing as a Republic, one and
indivisible, with a keen scent and an unappeasable thirst for the blood
of aristocrats, existed. They forgot all about "Liberty, Fraternity, and
Equality"--these egotistical, narrow-minded young people;--they also
forgot the characteristic alternative to those unparalleled
blessings--"Death." But Prosper Alix did not forget any of these things;
and his consternation, his provision of suffering for his beloved
daughter, were terrible, when she told him, with a simple noble
frankness which the grandes dames of the dead-and-gone time of great
ladies had rarely had a chance of exhibiting, that she loved M. Paul de
Sénanges, and intended to marry him when the better times should come.
Perhaps she meant when that alternative of death should be struck off
the sacred formula;--of course she meant to marry him with the sanction
of her father, which she made no doubt she should receive.

Prosper Alix was in pitiable perplexity. He could not bear to terrify
his daughter by a full explanation of the danger she was incurring; he
could not bear to delude her with false hope. If this young man could be
got away at once safely, there was not much likelihood that he would
ever be able to return to France. Would Berthe pine for him, or would
she forget him, and make a rational, sensible, rich, republican
marriage, which would not imperil either her reputation for pure
patriotism or her father's? The latter would be the very best thing that
could possibly happen, and therefore it was decidedly unwise to
calculate upon it; but, after all, it was possible; and Prosper had not
the courage, in such a strait, to resist the hopeful promptings of a
possibility. How ardently he regretted that he had complied with the
prayer of the ci-devant! When would the signal for Mr. Paul's
departure come?

Prosper Alix had made many sacrifices, had exercised much self-control
for his daughter's sake; but he had never sustained a more severe trial
than this, never suffered more than he did now, under the strong
necessity for hiding from her his absolute conviction of the
impossibility of a happy result for this attachment, in that future to
which the lovers looked so fearlessly. He could not even make his
anxiety and apprehension known to Paul de Sénanges; for he did not
believe the young man had sufficient strength of will to conceal
anything so important from the keen and determined observation of
Berthe.

The expected signal was not given, and the lovers were incautious. The
seclusion of the Maison Alix had all the danger, as well as all the
delight, of solitude, and Paul dropped his disguise too much and too
often. The servants, few in number, were of the truest patriotic
principles, and to some of them the denunciation of the citoyen, whom
they condescended to serve because the sacred Revolution had not yet
made them as rich as he, would have been a delightful duty, a
sweet-smelling sacrifice to be laid on the altar of the country. They
heard certain names and places mentioned; they perceived many things
which led them to believe that Henri Glaire was not an industrial artist
and pure patriot, worthy of respect, but a wretched ci-devant,
resorting to the dignity of labor to make up for the righteous
destruction of every other kind of dignity. One day a gardener, of less
stoical virtue than his fellows, gave Prosper Alix a warning that the
presence of a ci-devant upon his premises was suspected, and that he
might be certain a domiciliary visit, attended with dangerous results to
himself, would soon take place. Of course the avocat did not commit
himself by any avowal to this lukewarm patriot; but he casually
mentioned that Henri Glaire was about to take his leave. What was to be
done? He must not leave the neighborhood without receiving the
instructions he was awaiting; but he must leave the house, and be
supposed to have gone quite away. Without any delay or hesitation,
Prosper explained the facts to Berthe and her lover, and insisted on the
necessity for an instant parting. Then the courage and the readiness of
the girl told. There was no crying, and very little trembling; she was
strong and helpful.

"He must go to Pichon's, father," she said, "and remain there until the
signal is given.--Pichon is a master-mason, Paul," she continued,
turning to her lover, "and his wife was my nurse. They are avaricious
people; but they are fond of me in their way, and they will shelter you
faithfully enough, when they know that my father will pay them
handsomely. You must go at once, unseen by the servants; they are at
supper. Fetch your valise, and bring it to my room. We will put the
casket in it, and such of your things as you must take out to make room
for it, we can hide under the plank. My father will go with you to
Pichon's, and we will communicate with you there as soon as it is safe."

Paul followed her to the large gloomy room where the treasure lay, and
they took the casket from its hiding-place. It was heavy, though not
large, and an awkward thing to pack away among linen in a small valise.
They managed it, however, and, the brief preparation completed, the
moment of parting arrived. Firmly and eloquently, though in haste,
Berthe assured Paul of her changeless love and faith, and promised him
to wait for him for any length of time in France, if better days should
be slow of coming, or to join him in some foreign land, if they were
never to come. Her father was present, full of compassion and misgiving.
At length he said:

"Come, Paul, you must leave her; every moment is of importance."

The young man and his betrothed were standing on the spot whence they
had taken the casket; the carved rail with the heavy curtains might have
been the outer sanctuary of an altar, and they bride and bridegroom
before it, with earnest, loving faces, and clasped hands.

"Farewell, Paul," said Berthe; "promise me once more, in this the moment
of our parting, that you will come to me again, if you are alive, when
the danger is past."

"Whether I am living or dead, Berthe," said Paul de Sénanges, strongly
moved by some sudden inexplicable instinct, "I will come to you again."

In a few more minutes, Prosper Alix and his guest, who carried, not
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