Towards four o'clock the following day, the officers of the old army
who were at Issoudun or its environs, were sauntering about the place
du Marche, in front of an eating-house kept by a man named Lacroix,
and waiting the arrival of Colonel Philippe Bridau. The banquet in
honor of the coronation was to take place with military punctuality at
five o'clock. Various groups of persons were talking of Max's
discomfiture, and his dismissal from old Rouget's house; for not only
were the officers to dine at Lacroix's, but the common soldiers had
determined on a meeting at a neighboring wine-shop. Among the
officers, Potel and Renard were the only ones who attempted to defend
Max.
"Is it any of our business what takes place among the old man's
heirs?" said Renard.
"Max is weak with women," remarked the cynical Potel.
"There'll be sabres unsheathed before long," said an old
sub-lieutenant, who cultivated a kitchen-garden in the upper Baltan.
"If Monsieur Maxence Gilet committed the folly of going to live under
old Rouget's roof, he would he a coward if he allowed himself to be
turned off like a valet without asking why."
"Of course," said Mignonnet dryly. "A folly that doesn't succeed
becomes a crime."
At this moment Max joined the old soldiers of Napoleon, and was
received in significant silence. Potel and Renard each took an arm of
their friend, and walked about with him, conversing. Presently
Philippe was seen approaching in full dress; he trailed his cane after
him with an imperturbable air which contrasted with the forced
attention Max was paying to the remarks of his two supporters.
Bridau's hand was grasped by Mignonnet, Carpentier, and several
others. This welcome, so different from that accorded to Max,
dispelled the last feeling of cowardice, or, if you prefer it, wisdom,
which Flore's entreaties, and above all, her tendernesses, had
awakened in the latter's mind.
"We shall fight," he said to Renard, "and to the death. Therefore
don't talk to me any more; let me play my part well."
After these words, spoken in a feverish tone, the three Bonapartists
returned to the group of officers and mixed among them. Max bowed
first to Bridau, who returned his bow, and the two exchanged a frigid
glance.
"Come, gentlemen, let us take our seats," said Potel.
"And drink to the health of the Little Corporal, who is now in the
paradise of heroes," cried Renard.
The company poured into the long, low dining-hall of the restaurant
Lacroix, the windows of which opened on the market-place. Each guest
took his seat at the table, where, in compliance with Philippe's
request, the two adversaries were placed directly opposite to each
other. Some young men of the town, among them several Knights of
Idleness, anxious to know what might happen at the banquet, were
walking about the street and discussing the critical position into
which Philippe had contrived to force Max. They all deplored the
crisis, though each considered the duel to be inevitable.
Everything went off well until the dessert, though the two antagonists
displayed, in spite of the apparent joviality of the dinner, a certain
vigilance that resembled disquietude. While waiting for the quarrel
that both were planning, Philippe showed admirable coolness, and Max a
distracting gayety; but to an observer, each was playing a part.
When the desert was served Philippe rose and said: "Fill your glasses,
my friends! I ask permission to propose the first toast."
"He said _my friends_, don't fill your glass," whispered Renard to Max.
Max poured out some wine.
"To the Grand Army!" cried Philippe, with genuine enthusiasm.
"To the Grand Army!" was repeated with acclamation by every voice.
At this moment eleven private soldiers, among whom were Benjamin and
Kouski, appeared at the door of the room and repeated the toast,--
"To the Grand Army!"
"Come in, my sons; we are going to drink His health."
The old soldiers came in and stood behind the officers.
"You see He is not dead!" said Kouski to an old sergeant, who had
perhaps been grieving that the Emperor's agony was over.
"I claim the second toast," said Mignonnet, as he rose. "Let us drink
to those who attempted to restore his son!"
Every one present, except Maxence Gilet, bowed to Philippe Bridau, and
stretched their glasses towards him.
"One word," said Max, rising.
"It is Max! it is Max!" cried voices outside; and then a deep silence
reigned in the room and in the street, for Gilet's known character
made every one expect a taunt.
"May we _all_ meet again at this time next year," said Max, bowing
ironically to Philippe.
"It's coming!" whispered Kouski to his neighbor.
"The Paris police would never allow a banquet of this kind," said
Potel to Philippe.
"Why do the devil to you mention the police to Colonel Bridau?" said
Maxence insolently.
"Captain Potel--_he_--meant no insult," said Philippe, smiling coldly.
The stillness was so profound that the buzzing of a fly could have
been heard if there had been one.
"The police were sufficiently afraid of me," resumed Philippe, "to
send me to Issoudun,--a place where I have had the pleasure of meeting
old comrades, but where, it must be owned, there is a dearth of
amusement. For a man who doesn't despise folly, I'm rather restricted.
However, it is certainly economical, for I am not one of those to whom
feather-beds give incomes; Mariette of the Grand Opera cost me
fabulous sums."
"Is that remark meant for me, my dear colonel?" asked Max, sending a
glance at Philippe which was like a current of electricity.
"Take it as you please," answered Bridau.
"Colonel, my two friends here, Renard and Potel, will call to-morrow
on--"
"--on Mignonnet and Carpentier," answered Philippe, cutting short
Max's sentence, and motioning towards his two neighbors.
"Now," said Max, "let us go on with the toasts."
The two adversaries had not raised their voices above the tone of
ordinary conversation; there was nothing solemn in the affair except
the dead silence in which it took place.
"Look here, you others!" cried Philippe, addressing the soldiers who
stood behind the officers; "remember that our affairs don't concern
the bourgeoisie--not a word, therefore, on what goes on here. It is
for the Old Guard only."
"They'll obey orders, colonel," said Renard. "I'll answer for them."
"Long live His little one! May he reign over France!" cried Potel.
"Death to Englishmen!" cried Carpentier.
That toast was received with prodigious applause.
"Shame on Hudson Lowe," said Captain Renard.
The dessert passed off well; the libations were plentiful. The
antagonists and their four seconds made it a point of honor that a
duel, involving so large a fortune, and the reputation of two men
noted for their courage, should not appear the result of an ordinary
squabble. No two gentlemen could have behaved better than Philippe and
Max; in this respect the anxious waiting of the young men and
townspeople grouped about the market-place was balked. All the guests,
like true soldiers, kept silence as to the episode which took place at
dessert. At ten o'clock that night the two adversaries were informed
that the sabre was the weapon agreed upon by the seconds; the place
chosen for the rendezvous was behind the chancel of the church of the
Capuchins at eight o'clock the next morning. Goddet, who was at the
banquet in his quality of former army surgeon, was requested to be
present at the meeting. The seconds agreed that, no matter what might
happen, the combat should last only ten minutes.
At eleven o'clock that night, to Colonel Bridau's amazement, Monsieur
Hochon appeared at his rooms just as he was going to bed, escorting
Madame Hochon.
"We know what has happened," said the old lady, with her eyes full of
tears, "and I have come to entreat you not to leave the house
to-morrow morning without saying your prayers. Lift your soul to God!"
"Yes, madame," said Philippe, to whom old Hochon made a sign from
behind his wife's back.
"That is not all," said Agathe's godmother. "I stand in the place of
your poor mother, and I divest myself, for you, of a thing which I
hold most precious,--here," she went on, holding towards Philippe a
tooth, fastened upon a piece of black velvet embroidered in gold, to
which she had sewn a pair of green strings. Having shown it to him,
she replaced it in a little bag. "It is a relic of Sainte Solange, the
patron saint of Berry," she said, "I saved it during the Revolution;
wear it on your breast to-morrow."
"Will it protect me from a sabre-thrust?" asked Philippe.
"Yes," replied the old lady.
"Then I have no right to wear that accoutrement any more than if it
were a cuirass," cried Agathe's son.
"What does he mean?" said Madame Hochon.
"He says it is not playing fair," answered Hochon.
"Then we will say no more about it," said the old lady, "I shall pray
for you."
"Well, madame, prayer--and a good point--can do no harm," said
Philippe, making a thrust as if to pierce Monsieur Hochon's heart.
The old lady kissed the colonel on his forehead. As she left the
house, she gave thirty francs--all the money she possessed--to
Benjamin, requesting him to sew the relic into the pocket of his
master's trousers. Benjamin did so,--not that he believed in the
virtue of the tooth, for he said his master had a much better talisman
than that against Gilet, but because his conscience constrained him to
fulfil a commission for which he had been so liberally paid. Madame
Hochon went home full of confidence in Saint Solange.
At eight o'clock the next morning, December third, the weather being
cloudy, Max, accompanied by his seconds and the Pole, arrived on the
little meadow which then surrounded the apse of the church of the
Capuchins. There he found Philippe and his seconds, with Benjamin,
waiting for him. Potel and Mignonnet paced off twenty-four feet; at
each extremity, the two attendants drew a line on the earth with a
spade: the combatants were not allowed to retreat beyond that line, on
pain of being thought cowardly. Each was to stand at his own line, and
advance as he pleased when the seconds gave the word.
"Do we take off our coats?" said Philippe to his adversary coldly.
"Of course," answered Maxence, with the assumption of a bully.
They did so; the rosy tints of their skin appearing through the
cambric of their shirts. Each, armed with a cavalry sabre selected of
equal weight, about three pounds, and equal length, three feet, placed
himself at his own line, the point of his weapon on the ground,
awaiting the signal. Both were so calm that, in spite of the cold,
their muscles quivered no more than if they had been made of iron.
Goddet, the four seconds, and the two soldiers felt an involuntary
admiration.
"They are a proud pair!"
The exclamation came from Potel.
Just as the signal was given, Max caught sight of Fario's sinister
face looking at them through the hole which the Knights of Idleness
had made for the pigeons in the roof of the church. Those eyes, which
sent forth streams of fire, hatred, and revenge, dazzled Max for a
moment. The colonel went straight to his adversary, and put himself on
guard in a way that gained him an advantage. Experts in the art of
killing, know that, of two antagonists, the ablest takes the "inside
of the pavement,"--to use an expression which gives the reader a
tangible idea of the effect of a good guard. That pose, which is in
some degree observant, marks so plainly a duellist of the first rank
that a feeling of inferiority came into Max's soul, and produced the
same disarray of powers which demoralizes a gambler when, in presence
of a master or a lucky hand, he loses his self-possession and plays
less well than usual.
"Ah! the lascar!" thought Max, "he's an expert; I'm lost!"
He attempted a "moulinet," and twirled his sabre with the dexterity of
a single-stick. He wanted to bewilder Philippe, and strike his weapon
so as to disarm him; but at the first encounter he felt that the
colonel's wrist was iron, with the flexibility of a steel string.
Maxence was then forced, unfortunate fellow, to think of another move,
while Philippe, whose eyes were darting gleams that were sharper than
the flash of their blades, parried every attack with the coolness of a
fencing-master wearing his plastron in an armory.
Between two men of the calibre of these combatants, there occurs a
phenomenon very like that which takes place among the lower classes,
during the terrible tussle called "the savante," which is fought with
the feet, as the name implies. Victory depends on a false movement, on
some error of the calculation, rapid as lightning, which must be made
and followed almost instinctively. During a period of time as short to
the spectators as it seems long to the combatants, the contest lies in
observation, so keen as to absorb the powers of mind and body, and yet
concealed by preparatory feints whose slowness and apparent prudence
seem to show that the antagonists are not intending to fight. This
moment, which is followed by a rapid and decisive struggle, is
terrible to a connoisseur. At a bad parry from Max the colonel sent
the sabre spinning from his hand.
"Pick it up," he said, pausing; "I am not the man to kill a disarmed
enemy."
There was something atrocious in the grandeur of these words; they
seemed to show such consciousness of superiority that the onlookers
took them for a shrewd calculation. In fact, when Max replaced himself
in position, he had lost his coolness, and was once more confronted
with his adversary's raised guard which defended the colonel's whole
person while it menaced his. He resolved to redeem his shameful defeat
by a bold stroke. He no longer guarded himself, but took his sabre in
both hands and rushed furiously on his antagonist, resolved to kill
him, if he had to lose his own life. Philippe received a sabre-cut
which slashed open his forehead and a part of his face, but he cleft
Max's head obliquely by the terrible sweep of a "moulinet," made to
break the force of the annihilating stroke Max aimed at him. These two
savage blows ended the combat, at the ninth minute. Fario came down to
gloat over the sight of his enemy in the convulsions of death; for the
muscles of a man of Maxence Gilet's vigor quiver horribly. Philippe
was carried back to his uncle's house.
Thus perished a man destined to do great deeds had he lived his life
amid environments which were suited to him; a man treated by Nature as
a favorite child, for she gave him courage, self-possession, and the
political sagacity of a Cesar Borgia. But education had not bestowed
upon him that nobility of conduct and ideas without which nothing
great is possible in any walk of life. He was not regretted, because
of the perfidy with which his adversary, who was a worse man than he,
had contrived to bring him into disrepute. His death put an end to the
exploits of the Order of Idleness, to the great satisfaction of the
town of Issoudun. Philippe therefore had nothing to fear in
consequence of the duel, which seemed almost the result of divine
vengeance: its circumstances were related throughout that whole region
of country, with unanimous praise for the bravery of the two
combatants.
"But they had better both have been killed," remarked Monsieur
Mouilleron; "it would have been a good riddance for the Government."
The situation of Flore Brazier would have been very embarrassing were
it not for the condition into which she was thrown by Max's death. A
brain-fever set in, combined with a dangerous inflammation resulting
from her escapade to Vatan. If she had had her usual health, she might
have fled the house where, in the room above her, Max's room, and in
Max's bed, lay and suffered Max's murderer. She hovered between life
and death for three months, attended by Monsieur Goddet, who was also
attending Philippe.
As soon as Philippe was able to hold a pen, he wrote the following
letters:--
To Monsieur Desroches:
I have already killed the most venomous of the two reptiles; not
however without getting my own head split open by a sabre; but the
rascal struck with a dying hand. The other viper is here, and I
must come to an understanding with her, for my uncle clings to her
like the apple of his eye. I have been half afraid the girl, who
is devilishly handsome, might run away, and then my uncle would
have followed her; but an illness which seized her suddenly has
kept her in bed. If God desired to protect me, he would call her
soul to himself, now, while she is repenting of her sins.
Meantime, on my side I have, thanks to that old trump, Hochon, the
doctor of Issoudun, one named Goddet, a worthy soul who conceives
that the property of uncles ought to go to nephews rather than to
sluts.
Monsieur Hochon has some influence on a certain papa Fichet, who
is rich, and whose daughter Goddet wants as a wife for his son: so
the thousand francs they have promised him if he mends up my pate
is not the chief cause of his devotion. Moreover, this Goddet, who
was formerly head-surgeon to the 3rd regiment of the line, has
been privately advised by my staunch friends, Mignonnet and
Carpentier; so he is now playing the hypocrite with his other
patient. He says to Mademoiselle Brazier, as he feels her pulse,
"You see, my child, that there's a God after all. You have been
the cause of a great misfortune, and you must now repair it. The
finger of God is in all this [it is inconceivable what they don't
say the finger of God is in!]. Religion is religion: submit,
resign yourself, and that will quiet you better than my drugs.
Above all, resolve to stay here and take care of your master:
forget and forgive,--that's Christianity."
Goddet has promised to keep the Rabouilleuse three months in her
bed. By degrees the girl will get accustomed to living under the
same roof with me. I have bought over the cook. That abominable
old woman tells her mistress Max would have led her a hard life;
and declares she overheard him say that if, after the old man's
death, he was obliged to marry Flore, he didn't mean to have his
prospects ruined by it, and he should find a way to get rid of
her.
Thus, all goes well, so far. My uncle, by old Hochon's advice, has
destroyed his will.
To Monsieur Giroudeau, care of Mademoiselle Florentine. Rue de
Vendome, Marais:
My dear old Fellow,--Find out if the little rat Cesarine has any
engagement, and if not, try to arrange that she can come to
Issoudun in case I send for her; if I do, she must come at once.
It is a matter this time of decent behavior; no theatre morals.
She must present herself as the daughter of a brave soldier,
killed on the battle-field. Therefore, mind,--sober manners,
schoolgirl's clothes, virtue of the best quality; that's the
watchword. If I need Cesarine, and if she answers my purpose, I
will give her fifty thousand francs on my uncle's death. If
Cesarine has other engagements, explain what I want to Florentine;
and between you, find me some ballet-girl capable of playing the
part.
I have had my skull cracked in a duel with the fellow who was
filching my inheritance, and is now feeding the worms. I'll tell
you all about it some day. Ah! old fellow, the good times are
coming back for you and me; we'll amuse ourselves once more, or we
are not the pair we really are. If you can send me five hundred
more cartridges I'll bite them.
Adieu, my old fire-eater. Light your pipe with this letter. Mind,
the daughter of the officer is to come from Chateauroux, and must
seem to be in need of assistance. I hope however that I shall not
be driven to such dangerous expedients. Remember me to Mariette
and all our friends.
Agathe, informed by Madame Hochon of what had happened, rushed to
Issoudun, and was received by her brother, who gave her Philippe's
former room. The poor mother's tenderness for the worthless son
revived in all its maternal strength; a few happy days were hers at
last, as she listened to the praises which the whole town bestowed
upon her hero.
"After all, my child," said Madame Hochon on the day of her arrival,
"youth must have its fling. The dissipations of a soldier under the
Empire must, of course, be greater than those of young men who are
looked after by their fathers. Oh! if you only knew what went on here
at night under that wretched Max! Thanks to your son, Issoudun now
breathes and sleeps in peace. Philippe has come to his senses rather
late; he told us frankly that those three months in the Luxembourg
sobered him. Monsieur Hochon is delighted with his conduct here; every
one thinks highly of it. If he can be kept away from the temptations
of Paris, he will end by being a comfort to you."
Hearing these consolatory words Agathe's eyes filled with tears.
Philippe played the saint to his mother, for he had need of her. That
wily politician did not wish to have recourse to Cesarine unless he
continued to be an object of horror to Mademoiselle Brazier. He saw
that Flore had been thoroughly broken to harness by Max; he knew she
was an essential part of his uncle's life, and he greatly preferred to
use her rather than send for the ballet-girl, who might take it into
her head to marry the old man. Fouche advised Louis XVIII. to sleep in
Napoleon's sheets instead of granting the charter; and Philippe would
have liked to remain in Gilet's sheets; but he was reluctant to risk
the good reputation he had made for himself in Berry. To take Max's
place with the Rabouilleuse would be as odious on his part as on hers.
He could, without discredit and by the laws of nepotism, live in his
uncle's house and at his uncle's expense; but he could not have Flore
unless her character were whitewashed. Hampered by this difficulty,
and stimulated by the hope of finally getting hold of the property,
the idea came into his head of making his uncle marry the
Rabouilleuse. With this in view he requested his mother to go and see
the girl and treat her in a sisterly manner.
"I must confess, my dear mother," he said, in a canting tone, looking
at Monsieur and Madame Hochon who accompanied her, "that my uncle's
way of life is not becoming; he could, however, make Mademoiselle
Brazier respected by the community if he chose. Wouldn't it be far
better for her to be Madame Rouget than the servant-mistress of an old
bachelor? She had better obtain a definite right to his property by a
marriage contract then threaten a whole family with disinheritance. If
you, or Monsieur Hochon, or some good priest would speak of the matter
to both parties, you might put a stop to the scandal which offends
decent people. Mademoiselle Brazier would be only too happy if you
were to welcome her as a sister, and I as an aunt."
On the morrow Agathe and Madame Hochon appeared at Flore's bedside,
and repeated to the sick girl and to Rouget, the excellent sentiments
expressed by Philippe. Throughout Issoudun the colonel was talked of
as a man of noble character, especially because of his conduct towards
Flore. For a month, the Rabouilleuse heard Goddet, her doctor, the
individual who has paramount influence over a sick person, the
respectable Madame Hochon, moved by religious principle, and Agathe,
so gentle and pious, all representing to her the advantages of a
marriage with Rouget. And when, attracted by the idea of becoming
Madame Rouget, a dignified and virtuous bourgeoisie, she grew eager to
recover, so that the marriage might speedily be celebrated, it was not
difficult to make her understand that she would not be allowed to
enter the family of the Rougets if she intended to turn Philippe from
its doors.
"Besides," remarked the doctor, "you really owe him this good fortune.
Max would never have allowed you to marry old Rouget. And," he added
in her ear, "if you have children, you can revenge Max, for that will
disinherit the Bridaus."
Two months after the fatal duel in February, 1823, the sick woman,
urged by those about her, and implored by Rouget, consented to receive
Philippe, the sight of whose scars made her weep, but whose softened
and affectionate manner calmed her. By Philippe's wish they were left
alone together.
"My dear child," said the soldier. "It is I, who, from the start, have
advised your marriage with my uncle; if you consent, it will take
place as soon as you are quite recovered."
"So they tell me," she replied.
"Circumstances have compelled me to give you pain, it is natural
therefore that I should wish to do you all the good I can. Wealth,
respect, and a family position are worth more than what you have lost.
You wouldn't have been that fellow's wife long after my uncle's death,
for I happen to know, through friends of his, that he intended to get
rid of you. Come, my dear, let us understand each other, and live
happily. You shall be my aunt, and nothing more than my aunt. You will
take care that my uncle does not forget me in his will; on my side,
you shall see how well I will have you treated in the marriage
contract. Keep calm, think it over, and we will talk of it later. All
sensible people, indeed the whole town, urge you to put an end to your
illegal position; no one will blame you for receiving me. It is well
understood in the world that interests go before feelings. By the day
of your marriage you will be handsomer than ever. The pallor of
illness has given you an air of distinction, and on my honor, if my
uncle did not love you so madly, you should be the wife of Colonel
Bridau."
Philippe left the room, having dropped this hint into Flore's mind to
waken a vague idea of vengeance which might please the girl, who did,
in fact, feel a sort of happiness as she saw this dreadful being at
her feet. In this scene Philippe repeated, in miniature, that of
Richard III. with the queen he had widowed. The meaning of it is that
personal calculation, hidden under sentiment, has a powerful influence
on the heart, and is able to dissipate even genuine grief. This is
how, in individual life, Nature does that which in works of genius is
thought to be consummate art: she works by self-interest,--the genius
of money.
At the beginning of April, 1823, the hall of Jean-Jacques Rouget's
house was the scene of a splendid dinner, given to celebrate the
signing of the marriage contract between Mademoiselle Flore Brazier
and the old bachelor. The guests were Monsieur Heron, the four
witnesses, Messieurs Mignonnet, Carpentier, Hochon, and Goddet, the
mayor and the curate, Agathe Bridau, Madame Hochon, and her friend
Madame Borniche, the two old ladies who laid down the law to the
society of Issoudun. The bride was much impressed by this concession,
obtained by Philippe, and intended by the two ladies as a mark of
protection to a repentant woman. Flore was in dazzling beauty. The
curate, who for the last fortnight had been instructing the ignorant
crab-girl, was to allow her, on the following day, to make her first
communion. The marriage was the text of the following pious article in
the "Journal du Cher," published at Bourges, and in the "Journal de
l'Indre," published at Chateauroux:
Issoudun.--The revival of religion is progressing in Berry.
Friends of the Church and all respectable persons in this town
were yesterday witnesses of a marriage ceremony by which a leading
man of property put an end to a scandalous connection, which began
at the time when the authority of religion was overthrown in this
region. This event, due to the enlightened zeal of the clergy of
Issoudun will, we trust, have imitators, and put a stop to
marriages, so-called, which have never been solemnized, and were
only contracted during the disastrous epoch of revolutionary rule.
One remarkable feature of the event to which we allude, is the
fact that it was brought about at the entreaty of a colonel
belonging to the old army, sent to our town by a sentence of the
Court of Peers, who may, in consequence, lose the inheritance of
his uncle's property. Such disinterestedness is so rare in these
days that it deserves public mention.
By the marriage contract Rouget secured to Flore a dower of one
hundred thousand francs, and a life annuity of thirty thousand more.
After the wedding, which was sumptuous, Agathe returned to Paris the
happiest of mothers, and told Joseph and Desroches what she called the
good news.
"Your son Philippe is too wily a man not to keep his paw on that
inheritance," said the lawyer, when he had heard Madame Bridau to the
end. "You and your poor Joseph will never get one penny of your
brother's property."
"You, and Joseph too, will always be unjust to that poor boy," said
the mother. "His conduct before the Court of Peers was worthy of a
statesman; he succeeded in saving many heads. Philippe's errors came
from his great faculties being unemployed. He now sees how faults of
conduct injure the prospects of a man who has his way to make. He is
ambitious; that I am sure of; and I am not the only one to predict his
future. Monsieur Hochon firmly believes that Philippe has a noble
destiny before him."
"Oh! if he chooses to apply his perverted powers to making his
fortune, I have no doubt he will succeed: he is capable of everything;
and such fellows go fast and far," said Desroches.
"Why do you suppose that he will not succeed by honest means?"
demanded Madame Bridau.
"You will see!" exclaimed Desroches. "Fortunate or unfortunate,
Philippe will remain the man of the rue Mazarin, the murderer of
Madame Descoings, the domestic thief. But don't worry yourself; he
will manage to appear honest to the world."
After breakfast, on the morning succeeding the marriage, Philippe took
Madame Rouget by the arm when his uncle rose from table and went
upstairs to dress,--for the pair had come down, the one in her
morning-robe, and the other in his dressing-gown.
"My dear aunt," said the colonel, leading her into the recess of a
window, "you now belong to the family. Thanks to me, the law has tied
the knot. Now, no nonsense. I intend that you and I should play above
board. I know the tricks you will try against me; and I shall watch
you like a duenna. You will never go out of this house except on my
arm; and you will never leave me. As to what passes within the house,
damn it, you'll find me like a spider in the middle of his web. Here
is something," he continued, showing the bewildered woman a letter,
"which will prove to you that I could, while you were lying ill
upstairs, unable to move hand or foot, have turned you out of doors
without a penny. Read it."
He gave her the letter.
My dear Fellow,--Florentine, who has just made her debut at the
new Opera House in a "pas de trois" with Mariette and Tullia, is
thinking steadily about your affair, and so is Florine,--who has
finally given up Lousteau and taken Nathan. That shrewd pair have
found you a most delicious little creature,--only seventeen,
beautiful as an English woman, demure as a "lady," up to all
mischief, sly as Desroches, faithful as Godeschal. Mariette is
forming her, so as to give you a fair chance. No woman could hold
her own against this little angel, who is a devil under her skin;
she can play any part you please; get complete possession of your
uncle, or drive him crazy with love. She has that celestial look
poor Coralie used to have; she can weep,--the tones of her voice
will draw a thousand-franc note from a granite heart; and the
young mischief soaks up champagne better than any of us. It is a
precious discovery; she is under obligations to Mariette, and
wants to pay them off. After squandering the fortunes of two
Englishmen, a Russian, and an Italian prince, Mademoiselle Esther
is now in poverty; give her ten thousand francs, that will satisfy
her. She has just remarked, laughing, that she has never yet
fricasseed a bourgeois, and it will get her hand in. Esther is
well known to Finot, Bixiou, and des Lupeaulx, in fact to all our
set. Ah! if there were any real fortunes left in France, she would
be the greatest courtesan of modern times.
All the editorial staff, Nathan, Finot, Bixiou, etc., are now
joking the aforesaid Esther in a magnificent _appartement_ just
arranged for Florine by old Lord Dudley (the real father of de
Marsay); the lively actress captured him by the dress of her new
role. Tullia is with the Duc de Rhetore, Mariette is still with
the Duc de Maufrigneuse; between them, they will get your sentence
remitted in time for the King's fete. Bury your uncle under the
roses before the Saint-Louis, bring away the property, and spend a
little of it with Esther and your old friends, who sign this
epistle in a body, to remind you of them.
Nathan, Florine, Bixiou, Finot, Mariette,
Florentine, Giroudeau, Tullia
The letter shook in the trembling hands of Madame Rouget, and betrayed
the terror of her mind and body. The aunt dared not look at the
nephew, who fixed his eyes upon her with terrible meaning.
"I trust you," he said, "as you see; but I expect some return. I have
made you my aunt intending to marry you some day. You are worth more
to me than Esther in managing my uncle. In a year from now, we must be
in Paris; the only place where beauty really lives. You will amuse
yourself much better there than here; it is a perpetual carnival. I
shall return to the army, and become a general, and you will be a
great lady. There's our future; now work for it. But I must have a
pledge to bind this agreement. You are to give me, within a month from
now, a power of attorney from my uncle, which you must obtain under
pretence of relieving him of the fatigues of business. Also, a month
later, I must have a special power of attorney to transfer the income
in the Funds. When that stands in my name, you and I have an equal
interest in marrying each other. There it all is, my beautiful aunt,
as plain as day. Between you and me there must be no ambiguity. I can
marry my aunt at the end of a year's widowhood; but I could not marry
a disgraced girl."
He left the room without waiting for an answer. When Vedie came in,
fifteen minutes later, to clear the table, she found her mistress pale
and moist with perspiration, in spite of the season. Flore felt like a
woman who had fallen to the bottom of a precipice; the future loomed
black before her; and on its blackness, in the far distance, were
shapes of monstrous things, indistinctly perceptible, and terrifying.
She felt the damp chill of vaults, instinctive fear of the man crushed
her; and yet a voice cried in her ear that she deserved to have him
for her master. She was helpless against her fate. Flore Brazier had
had a room of her own in Rouget's house; but Madame Rouget belonged to
her husband, and was now deprived of the free-will of a
servant-mistress. In the horrible situation in which she now found
herself, the hope of having a child came into her mind; but she soon
recognized its impossibility. The marriage was to Jean-Jacques what
the second marriage of Louis XII. was to that king. The incessant
watchfulness of a man like Philippe, who had nothing to do and never
quitted his post of observation, made any form of vengeance impossible.
Benjamin was his innocent and devoted spy. The Vedie trembled before
him. Flore felt herself deserted and utterly helpless. She began to
fear death. Without knowing how Philippe might manage to kill her, she
felt certain that whenever he suspected her of pregnancy her doom would
be sealed. The sound of that voice, the veiled glitter of that
gambler's eye, the slightest movement of the soldier, who treated her
with a brutality that was still polite, made her shudder. As to the
power of attorney demanded by the ferocious colonel, who in the eyes of
all Issoudun was a hero, he had it as soon as he wanted it; for Flore
fell under the man's dominion as France had fallen under that of
Napoleon.
Like a butterfly whose feet are caught in the incandescent wax of a
taper, Rouget rapidly dissipated his remaining strength. In presence
of that decay, the nephew remained as cold and impassible as the
diplomatists of 1814 during the convulsions of imperial France.
Philippe, who did not believe in Napoleon II., now wrote the following
letter to the minister of war, which Mariette made the Duc de
Maufrigneuse convey to that functionary:--
Monseigneur,--Napoleon is no more. I desired to remain faithful to
him according to my oath; now I am free to offer my services to
His Majesty. If your Excellency deigns to explain my conduct to
His Majesty, the King will see that it is in keeping with the laws
of honor, if not with those of his government. The King, who
thought it proper that his aide-de-camp, General Rapp, should
mourn his former master, will no doubt feel indulgently for me.
Napoleon was my benefactor.
I therefore entreat your Excellency to take into consideration the
request I make for employment in my proper rank; and I beg to
assure you of my entire submission. The King will find in me a
faithful subject.
Deign to accept the assurance of respect with which I have the
honor to be,
Your Excellency's very submissive and
Very humble servant,
Philippe Bridau
Formerly chief of squadron in the dragoons of the Guard; officer
of the Legion of honor; now under police surveillance at Issoudun.
To this letter was joined a request for permission to go to Paris on
urgent family business; and Monsieur Mouilleron annexed letters from
the mayor, the sub-prefect, and the commissary of police at Issoudun,
all bestowing many praises on Philippe's conduct, and dwelling upon
the newspaper article relating to his uncle's marriage.
Two weeks later, Philippe received the desired permission, and a
letter, in which the minister of war informed him that, by order of
the King, he was, as a preliminary favor, reinstated
lieutenant-colonel in the royal army.