Cases of Circumstantial Evidence

Nine

457 Nine It had been agreed that Nicolas would pay his own way on his adventure. Therefore, on the morning when at last the boy was to take the coach to Rouen, while he was still packing his portmanteau, it came almost as a shock to have his father place in his hand first a roll of coins sewed tightly in a bit of blue silk, and then an old money belt of chamois, stained and stretched about the buckle. He had braced himself to keep his bargain, to be entirely responsible for himself. He had braced himself also against his father’s disapproval. The hour was still before daylight, and though the wooden shutters had been thrown open above the court, Nicolas had been moving in a semi-darkness. Jean stood with his back to the windows. His face was hard to decipher, but what he offered his son was so expressive that the boy stammered as he thanked him. Jean said: “Pull up your shirt and fasten it next to your skin. You may not need it. In that case, bring it back.” And then, as Nicolas obeyed, fitting the roll, which was not large, into the belt and then fastening the clammy leather about his waist, Jean further startled the boy by adding, “In Rouen there used to live a man with whom I had some dealings. He kept a bookstore between the cathedral and St.-Ouen. He was a good man, though a Huguenot . He was not young at the time of the Revocation, and 458 Janet Lewis he died soon after. His widow, if she is still in business, will have been converted. You would risk nothing in looking her up.” “Behind St.-Ouen?” “The name is Cailloué.” The boy, too surprised for comment, repeated the name. Jean added, “She would remember me.” Nicolas had not asked his parents whether they meant to accompany him to the inn from which the coaches set out for Normandy for fear of a refusal. Also, he was unwilling to show that it mattered to him one way or the other. He was prepared to say good bye at the door of the shop. He drank the hot broth which his mother had prepared for him, and received from her a package containing food for his journey, bread, cheese, and a dried onion, and then, ready to depart, saw his father take his own hat from the peg by the door, and was pleased. Jean took up the portmanteau. Nicolas protested, but his father , as if he had not heard a word, set it on his own shoulder and led the way into the tunnel of the porte-cochère. The great door to the street was still locked, and had to be unlocked and locked again before the three of them could start off together. Jean still led the way. From the deserted rue des Lions they entered the larger thoroughfares and joined the crowd of carts and market folk traveling toward Les Halles. From time to time strangers intruded between Nicolas and his father, but he could see a little way ahead his portmanteau riding along on his father’s shoulder, just as he had seen it when as a child he had followed his father across the city in the opposite direction to become apprenticed. On that day his mother had not been with them. He did not know the streets, and all his safety depended upon his keeping that portmanteau in view. He fought against the recollection consciously , reminding himself that this day was different, that 459 t h e g h o s t o f m o n s i e u r s c a r r o n he did not need his father’s help, but when his mother put her hand on his arm to warn him of an approaching cart, he shook her off with a violence that startled them both. Nevertheless, his spirits rose as they neared the rue St.-Denis and the hostelry of Le Cerf. The coolness of the morning, the long brisk walk, even the clatter of voices all around him, were very pleasant to his young strength. When the portmanteau had been strapped in place on the roof of the coach, he felt that he was off. He turned to face his parents as someone who had already left them. The...