For some little time there had been a noise of footsteps and a subdued
murmur of voices in the vestibule. Annoyed by this interruption,
although he perfectly understood its cause, the magistrate rose and
hastily opened the door. He was not mistaken. His clerk had returned
from lunch, and the time of waiting seemed extremely long to him. “Ah!
it’s you,” said the magistrate. “Very well! begin your inventory. It
won’t be long before I join you.” And closing the door he resumed his
seat again. Mademoiselle Marguerite was so absorbed in her narrative
that she scarcely noticed this incident, and he had not seated himself
before she resumed. “In all my life, I had never seen such an imposing
looking person as the Count de Chalusse. His manner, attire, and
features could not fail to inspire a child like me with fear and
respect. I was so awed that I had scarcely enough presence of mind to
bow to him. He glanced at me coldly, and exclaimed: ‘Ah! is this
the young girl you were speaking of?’ The count’s tone betrayed such
disagreeable surprise that the superior was dismayed. She looked at me,
and seemed indignant at my more than modest attire. ‘It’s a shame
to allow a child to leave home dressed in this fashion,’ she angrily
exclaimed. And she almost tore my huge apron off me, and then with
her own hands began to arrange my hair as if to display me to better
advantage. ‘Ah! these employers,’ she exclaimed, ‘the best of them are
bad. How they do deceive you. It’s impossible to place any confidence in
their promises. Still, one can’t always be at their heels.’
“But the superior’s efforts were wasted, for M. de Chalusse had turned
away and had begun talking with some gentlemen near by. For the office
was full that morning. Five or six gentlemen, whom I recognized as the
directors of the asylum, were standing round the steward in the black
skullcap. They were evidently talking about me. I was certain of this by
the glances they gave me, glances which, however, were full of kindness.
The superior joined the group and began speaking with unusual vivacity,
while standing in the recess of a window, I listened with all my might.
But I must have overestimated my intelligence, for I could gain no
meaning whatever from the phrases which followed each other in rapid
succession; though the words ‘adoption,’ ‘emancipation,’ ‘dowry,’
‘compensation,’ ‘reimbursement for sums expended,’ recurred again and
again. I was only certain of one point: the Count de Chalusse wished
something, and these gentlemen were specifying other things in exchange.
To each of their demands he answered: ‘Yes, yes--it’s granted. That’s
understood.’ But at last he began to grow impatient, and in a voice
which impressed one with the idea that he was accustomed to command, he
exclaimed, ‘I will do whatever you wish. Do you desire anything more?’
The gentlemen at once became silent, and the superior hastily declared
that M. de Chalusse was a thousand times too good, but that one could
expect no less of him, the last representative of one of the greatest
and oldest families of France.
“I cannot describe the surprise and indignation that were raging in my
soul. I divined--I felt that it was MY fate, MY future, MY life that
were being decided, and I was not even consulted on the matter. They
were disposing of me as if they were sure in advance of my consent. My
pride revolted at the thought, but I could not find a word to say in
protest. Crimson with shame, confused and furious, I was wondering how I
could interfere, when suddenly the consultation ceased and the gentlemen
at once surrounded me. One of them, a little old man with a vapid smile
and twinkling eyes, tapped me on the cheek, and said: ‘So she is as good
as she is pretty!’ I could have struck him; but all the others laughed
approvingly, with the exception of M. de Chalusse, whose manner became
more and more frigid, and whose lips wore a constrained smile, as if he
had resolved to keep his temper despite all provocation. It seemed to me
that he was suffering terribly, and I afterward learned that I had not
been mistaken. Far from imitating the old gentleman’s manner, he bowed
to me very gravely, with an air of deference that quite abashed me, and
went away after saying that he would return the next day to conclude the
arrangements.
“I was at last left alone with the superior, whom I longed to question,
but she gave me no time to do so, for with extreme volubility she began
to tell me of my surprising good fortune, which was an unanswerable
and conclusive proof of the kindness and protection of Providence. ‘The
count,’ she said, ‘was to become my guardian. He would certainly give me
a dowry; and by and by, if I were grateful to him for his goodness, he
would adopt me, a poor, fatherless and motherless girl, and I should
bear the great name of Durtal de Chalusse, and inherit an immense
fortune.’ In conclusion, she said that there was no limit to the count’s
generosity, that he had consented to reimburse the asylum the money that
had been spent on me, that he had offered to dower, I do not know how
many poor girls, and that he had promised to build a chapel for the use
of the establishment. This was all true, incredible as it might seem.
That very morning, M. de Chalusse had called at the asylum, declared
that he was old and childless, a bachelor without any near relatives,
and that he wished to adopt a poor orphan. They had given him a list
of all the children in the institution, and he had chosen me. ‘A mere
chance, my dear Marguerite,’ repeated the superior. ‘A mere chance--or
rather a true miracle.’ It did, indeed, seem a miracle, but I was more
surprised than elated. I longed to be alone, so as to deliberate and
reflect, for I knew that I was free to accept or decline this dazzling
offer.
“I timidly asked permission to return to my employers to inform them of
what had happened and consult with them; but my request was refused. The
superior told me that I must deliberate and decide alone; and that when
once my decision was taken, there could be no change. So I remained at
the asylum, and dined at the superior’s table; and during the night I
occupied the room of a sister who was absent. What surprised me most of
all was the deference with which I was treated. The sisters all seemed
to consider me a person of great importance. And yet I hesitated.
“My indecision may seem absurd and hypocritical; but it was really
sincere. My present situation was certainly by no means an enviable one.
But the worst was over; my term as an apprentice had nearly expired, and
my future seemed assured. My future! What could it be with the Count de
Chalusse? It was painted in such brilliant colors that it frightened me.
Why had the count chosen me in preference to any of the other girls? Was
it really chance which had decided him in his choice? On reflecting,
the miracle seemed to me to have been prepared in advance, and I fancied
that it must conceal some mystery. More than this, the thought of
yielding myself up to a stranger terrified me. Forty-eight hours had
been granted me to consider my decision, and till the very last instant
I remained in doubt. Who knows? Perhaps it would have been better for me
if I had returned to my humble life. At all events, I should have been
spared a great deal of sorrow and humiliation. But I lacked the courage;
and when the time expired, I consented to the new arrangement.
“Should I live a thousand years I shall never forget the day I left
the foundling asylum to become the Count de Chalusse’s ward. It was
a Saturday, and I had given my answer to the superior on the evening
before. The next morning I received a visit from my former employers,
who, having been informed of the great change in my prospects, had come
to bid me good-bye. The cancelling of my apprenticeship had at first
caused some trouble, but eventually the count’s gold silenced their
objections. Still, they were sorry to part with me, as I plainly saw.
Their eyes were moist with tears. They were sorry to lose the poor
little servant who had served them so faithfully. At the same time,
however, I noticed evident constraint in their manner. They no longer
said ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ to me; they no longer spoke roughly; but they
said ‘you,’ and addressed me as ‘mademoiselle.’ Poor people! they
awkwardly apologized for having ventured to accept my services,
declaring in the same breath that they should never be able to replace
me at the same price. Madame Greloux, moreover, declared that she should
never forgive herself for not having sharply reproved her brother for
his abominable conduct. He was a good-for-nothing fellow, she said, as
was proved by the fact that he had dared to raise his eyes to me. For
the first time in my life, I felt that I was sincerely loved; and I was
so deeply touched that if my decision had not been written and signed, I
should certainly have returned to live with these worthy people. But it
was too late. A sister came to tell me that the superior wished to see
me. I bade Father and Mother Greloux farewell and went downstairs.
“In the superior’s room, a lady and two shop-girls, laden with boxes and
parcels, were waiting for me. It was a dressmaker who had come with some
clothes suited to my new station in life. I was told that she had
been sent by the Count de Chalusse. This great nobleman thought of
everything; and, although he had thirty servants to do his bidding, he
never disdained to occupy himself with the pettiest details. So, for
the first time, I was arrayed in rustling silk and clinging cashmere.
My toilette was no trifling affair. All the good sisters clustered round
me, and tried to beautify me with the same care and patience as they
would have displayed in adorning the Virgin’s statue for a fete-day. A
secret instinct warned me that they were overdoing the matter, and that
they were making me look ridiculous; but I did not mind. I allowed them
to please themselves I could still feel Madame Greloux’s tears on my
hand, and the scene seemed to me as lugubrious as the last toilette of a
prisoner under sentence of death. When they had completed their task,
I heard a buzz of admiration round me. If the sisters were worthy of
belief, they had never seen such a wonderful transformation. Those who
were in the class-rooms or the sewing-room, were summoned to view and
admire me, and some of the elder children were also admitted. Perhaps I
was intended as an example for the latter, for I heard the lady superior
say to them, ‘You see, my dear children, the result of good behavior. Be
diligent and dutiful, like our dear Marguerite, and God will reward
you as He has rewarded her.’ And, meantime, miserable in my finery, I
waited--waited for M. de Chalusse, who was coming to take me away.
“At the appointed hour he appeared, with the same air of haughty
reserve, that had so awed me on the occasion of our first meeting. He
scarcely deigned to look at me, and although I watched him with poignant
anxiety, I could read neither blame nor approval on his face. ‘You see
that your wishes have been scrupulously obeyed, Monsieur le Comte,’ said
the superior. ‘I thank you,’ he replied; ‘and I shall prove the extent
of my gratitude to the poor children under your charge.’ Then, turning
to me: ‘Marguerite,’ he said, ‘take leave of--your mothers, and tell
them that you will never forget their kindness.’”
The girl paused, for her emotion had rendered her words almost
unintelligible. But, with an effort, she speedily conquered her
weakness.
“It was only then,” she continued, “that I realized how much I loved
these poor nuns, whom I had sometimes almost cursed. I felt now how
close the ties were, that bound me to this hospitable roof, and to these
unfortunate children, my companions in misery and loneliness. It seemed
to me as if my heart were breaking; and the superior, who was generally
so impassible, appeared scarcely less moved than myself. At last, M. de
Chalusse took me by the hand and led me away. In the street there was a
carriage waiting for us, not such a beautiful one as that which had been
sent to fetch me from my workshop, but a much larger one, with trunks
and boxes piled on its roof. It was drawn by four gray horses. I felt
more dead than alive, as I entered the carriage and took the seat which
the count pointed out. He sat down opposite to me. All the sisters had
assembled at the door of the asylum, and even the superior wept without
making any attempt to hide her tears. ‘Farewell!’ they all cried;
‘farewell, farewell, dear child! Don’t forget your old friends. We shall
pray for your happiness.’ Alas! God could not have heard their prayers.
At a sign from M. de Chalusse, a footman closed the door, the postilions
cracked their whips, and the heavy vehicle rolled away.
“The die was cast. Henceforth, an impassable gulf was to separate me
from this asylum, whither I had been carried in my infancy half dead,
and wrapped in swaddling clothes, from which every mark that could
possibly lead to identification had been carefully cut away. Whatever my
future might prove, I felt that my past was gone forever. But I was
too greatly agitated even to think; and crouching in a corner of the
carriage, I watched M. de Chalusse with the poignant anxiety a slave
displays as he studies his new master. Ah! monsieur, what a wondrous
change! A mask seemed to have fallen from the count’s face; his lips
quivered, a tender light beamed in his eyes, and he drew me to him,
exclaiming: ‘Oh, Marguerite! my beloved Marguerite! At last--at last!’
He sobbed--this old man, whom I had thought as cold and as insensible as
marble; he crushed me in his close embrace, he almost smothered me
with kisses. And I was frightfully agitated by the strange, indefinable
feeling, kindled in my heart; but I no longer trembled with fear.
An inward voice whispered that this was but the renewal of a former
tie--one which had somehow been mysteriously broken. However, as I
remembered the superior’s assertion that it was a miracle in my favor--a
wonderful interposition of Providence, I had courage enough to ask: ‘So
it was not chance that guided you in your choice?’
“My question seemed to take him by surprise. ‘Poor Marguerite!’ he
murmured, ‘dearly beloved child! for years I have been laboring to bring
about this chance!’ Instantly all the romantic stories I had heard in
the asylum recurred to my mind. And Heaven knows there are plenty of
these stories transmitted by the sisters from generation to generation,
till they have become a sort of Golden Legend for poor foundlings. That
sad formula, ‘Father and mother unknown,’ which figures on certificates
of birth, acts as a dangerous stimulant for unhealthy imaginations, and
leaves an open door for the most extravagant hopes. And thus influenced,
I fixed my eyes on the face of the Count de Chalusse, striving to
discover some resemblance in his features to my own. But he did not
seem to notice my intent gaze, and following his train of thought, he
muttered: ‘Chance! It was necessary that they should think so, and
they did think so. And yet the cleverest detectives in Paris, from old
Tabaret to Fortunat, both masters in the art of following up a clue, had
exhausted their resources in helping me in my despairing search.’ The
agony of suspense I was enduring had become intolerable; and unable
to restrain myself longer, I exclaimed, with a wildly throbbing heart:
‘Then, you are my father, Monsieur le Comte?’ He pressed his hand to my
lips with such violence that he hurt me, and then, in a voice quivering
with excitement, he replied: ‘Imprudent girl! What can you mean?
Forget that unfortunate idea. Never utter the name of father--you hear
me--never! I forbid it!’ He had become extremely pale, and he looked
anxiously around him, as if he feared that some one had overheard me--as
if he had forgotten that we were alone in a carriage which was dashing
onward at full speed!
“I was stupefied and alarmed by the sudden terror which M. de Chalusse
had displayed and could not control. What could it all mean? What
sorrowful recollections, what mysterious apprehensions, had my words
aroused in the count’s mind? I could not understand or imagine why he
should regard my question as strange or unnatural. On the contrary, I
thought it perfectly natural, dictated as it had been by circumstances,
and by the count’s own words and manner. And, in spite of my confusion
and agitation, the inexplicable voice which we call presentiment
whispered in my heart: ‘He has forbidden you to CALL him father, but
he has not said that he is not your father.’ However, I had not time to
reflect or to question M. de Chalusse any more, though at that moment I
should have had the courage to do so; afterward I did not dare.
“Our carriage had drawn up outside the railway station, and the next
instant we alighted. Then, for the first time, I learned the magical
power of money, I, a poor girl--reared by public charity--and who for
three years had worked for my daily bread. M. de Chalusse found the
servants, who were to accompany us, awaiting him. They had thought of
everything, and made every possible arrangement for our comfort. I had
scarcely time to glance round me before we were on the platform in front
of a train, which was ready to start. I perceived the very carriage that
had brought us to the station already fastened on a low open truck, and
I was advancing to climb into it, when M. de Chalusse stopped me. ‘Not
there,’ said he, ‘come with me.’ I followed him, and he led me to a
magnificent saloon carriage, much higher and roomier than the others,
and emblazoned with the Chalusse coat-of-arms. ‘This is our carriage,
dear Marguerite, he said. I got in. The whistle sounded; and the train
started off.”
Mademoiselle Marguerite was growing very tired. Big drops of
perspiration stood out on her forehead, she panted for breath, and her
voice began to fail her.
The magistrate was almost frightened. “Pray rest a little,
mademoiselle,” he entreated, “there is no hurry.”
But she shook her head and replied: “It is better to go on. I should
never have courage to begin again if I paused.” And thereupon she
continued: “I had never gone farther than Versailles. This journey was
at first as delightful as a glimpse into fairy-land. Our carriage
was one of those costly whims which some millionaires indulge in. It
consisted of a central saloon--a perfect chef-d’oeuvre of taste and
luxury--with two compartments at either end, furnished with comfortable
sleeping accommodation. And all this, the count seemed never weary of
repeating, was mine--mine alone. Leaning back on the velvet cushions, I
gazed at the changing landscape, as the train rushed madly on. Leaning
over me, M. de Chalusse named all the towns and villages we passed:
Brunoy, Melun, Fontainebleau, Villeneuve, Sens, Laroche. And each time
the train stopped the servants came to ask if we wished for anything.
When we reached Lyons, in the middle of the night, we found a delicious
supper awaiting us. It was served as soon as we alighted, and in due
time we were warned that the train was ready to start, and then we
resumed our journey. You can imagine, perhaps, how marvellous all this
seemed to a poor little apprentice, whose only ambition a week before
was to earn five francs a day. What a change indeed! At last the count
made me retire to one of the compartments, where I soon fell asleep,
abandoning my efforts to distinguish what was dreamlike in my situation
from reality. However, when I woke up I became terribly anxious. I
asked myself what was awaiting me at the end of this long journey. M.
de Chalusse’s manner continued kind, and even affectionate; but he had
regained his accustomed reserve and self-control, and I realized that
it would be useless on my part to question him. At last, after a thirty
hours’ journey by rail, we again entered the count’s berline, drawn
by post-horses, and eventually M. de Chalusse said to me: ‘Here is
Cannes--we are at our journey’s end.’
“In this town, which is one of the most charming that overlook the blue
waters of the Mediterranean, the count owned a palace embowered among
lovely orange-trees, only a few steps from the sea, and in full view of
the myrtle and laurel groves which deck the isles of Sainte Marguerite.
He told me that he proposed spending a few months here in seclusion, so
as to give me time to accustom myself to my new position and the luxury
that surrounded me. I was, indeed, extremely awkward, and my excessive
timidity was increased by my pride. I did not know what to say, or what
to do. I did not know how to use my hands, nor how to walk, nor how
to carry myself. Everything embarrassed and frightened me; and I was
conscious of my awkwardness, without being able to remedy it. I saw my
blunders, and knew that I spoke a different language to that which was
spoken around me. And yet the memory of Cannes will ever be dear to me.
For there I first met the only friend I have now left in this world. I
did not exchange a word with him, but by the quickened throbbings of
my heart, when our eyes met, I felt that he would exert a powerful
influence over my life, and events have since proved that I was not
deceived. At that time, however, he was a stranger to me; and nothing
on earth would have induced me to make inquiries concerning him. It
was only by chance I learned that he lived in Paris, that his name was
Pascal, and that he had come south as a companion to a sick friend.
“By a single word the count could have insured the happiness of my
life and his own, but he did not speak it. He was the kindest and
most indulgent of guardians, and I was often affected to tears by his
tenderness. But, although my slightest wish was law, he did not grant me
his confidence. The secret--the mystery that stood between us--was like
a wall of ice. Still, I was gradually becoming accustomed to my new
life, and my mind was regaining its equilibrium, when one evening the
count returned home more agitated and excited, if possible, than on the
day of my departure from the asylum. He summoned his valet, and, in a
tone that admitted no reply, he exclaimed, ‘I wish to leave Cannes at
once--I must start in less than an hour--so procure some post-horses
instantly.’ And in answer to my inquiring glance, he said: ‘It must
be. It would be folly to hesitate. Each moment increases the peril that
threatens us.’
“I was very young, inexperienced, and totally ignorant of life; but my
sufferings, my loneliness, and the prospect of being compelled to rely
upon myself, had imparted to my mind that precocious maturity which is
so often observed among the children of the poor. Knowing from the very
first that there was some mystery connected with the count’s life, I had
studied him with a child’s patient sagacity--a sagacity which is all the
more dangerous, as it is unsuspected--and I had come to the conclusion
that a constant dread rendered his life a burden. Could it be for
himself that he trembled, this great nobleman, who was so powerful by
reason of his exalted rank, his connections, and his wealth? Certainly
not. Was it for me, then? Undoubtedly it was. But why? It had not taken
me long to discover that he was concealing me, or, at least, that he
endeavored by all means in his power to prevent my presence in his house
from being known beyond a very limited circle of friends. Our hurried
departure from Cannes confirmed me in my impression.
“It might have been truly called a flight. We left that same evening at
eleven o’clock, in a pouring rain, with the first horses that could be
procured. Our only attendant was the count’s valet--not Casimir, the man
who insulted me a little while ago--but another man, an old and valued
servant, who has since died, unfortunately, and who possessed his
master’s entire confidence. The other servants were dismissed with a
princely gratuity, and told to disperse two days after our departure. We
did not return to Paris, but journeyed toward the Italian frontier, and
on arriving at Nice in the dead of night, we drove directly to the quay.
The postilions unharnessed the horses, and we remained in the carriage.
The valet, however, hastened off, and more than two hours elapsed before
he returned. He declared that he had found it very difficult to procure
what he wished for, but that at last, by a prodigal outlay of money, he
had succeeded in overcoming all obstacles. What M. de Chalusse desired
was a vessel ready for sea, and the bark which the valet had chartered
now came up to the quay. Our carriage was put on board, we went below,
and before daybreak we were under way.
“Three days later we were in Genoa, registered under a false name in a
second class hotel. While we were on the open sea, the count had seemed
to be less agitated, but now he was far from calm, and the precautions
he took proved that he still feared pursuit. A malefactor flying from
justice could not have taken greater pains to mislead the detectives on
his track. And facts proved conclusively that I was the sole cause of
the count’s apprehension. On one occasion I even heard him discussing
with his valet the feasibility of clothing me in masculine attire.
And it was only the difficulty of obtaining a suitable costume that
prevented him from carrying this project into execution. I ought to
mention, however, that the servant did not share his master’s anxiety,
for three or four times I overheard him saying: ‘The count is too
good to worry himself so much about such bad stock. Besides, she won’t
overtake us. It isn’t certain that she has even followed us. How can
she know anything about it?’ She! Who was she? This is what I racked my
brain to discover, but without success. I must confess, monsieur, that
being of a practical nature, and not in the least degree romantic, I
arrived at the conclusion that the peril chiefly existed in the count’s
imagination, or that he greatly exaggerated it. Still he suffered none
the less on that account, as was shown by the fact that the following
month was spent in hurried journeys from one Italian city to another.
“It was the end of May before M. de Chalusse would consent to return to
France; and then we went direct to Lyons. We had spent a couple of days
there, when the count informed me that prudence required us to separate
for a time--that our safety demanded this sacrifice. And without giving
me time to say a word, he began to explain the advantages that would
accrue from such an arrangement. I was extremely ignorant, and he wished
me to profit by our temporary separation to raise my knowledge to
a level with my new social position. He had, accordingly, made
arrangements for me to enter the convent of Sainte-Marthe, an
educational establishment which is as celebrated in the department of
the Rhone as the Convent des Oiseaux is in Paris. He added that it would
not be prudent for him to visit me; and he made me solemnly promise that
I would never mention his name to any of my schoolmates. I was to send
any letters I might write to an address which he would give me, and he
would sign his answers with a fictitious name. He also told me that the
lady superior of Sainte-Marthe knew his secret, and that I could confide
in her. He was so restless and so miserably unhappy on the day when
he acquainted me with these plans, that I really believed him insane.
Nevertheless, I replied that I would obey him, and to tell the truth,
I was not ill pleased at the thought of the change. My life with M.
de Chalusse was a monotonous and cheerless one. I was almost dying of
ennui, for I had been accustomed to work, bustle, and confusion with the
Greloux, and I felt delighted at the prospect of finding myself among
companions of my own age.
“Unfortunately, M. de Chalusse had forgotten one circumstance, which
made my two years’ sojourn at Sainte-Marthe a lingering and cruel agony.
At first I was kindly treated by my schoolmates. A new pupil is always
welcome, for her arrival relieves the monotony of convent-life. But it
was not long before my companions wished to know my name; and I had none
other than Marguerite to give them. They were astonished and wished to
know who my parents were. I could not tell an untruth; and I was obliged
to confess that I knew nothing at all respecting my father or my mother.
After that ‘the bastard’--for such was the name they gave me--was soon
condemned to isolation. No one would associate with me during play-time.
No one would sit beside me in the school-room. At the piano lesson, the
girl who played after me pretended to wipe the keyboard carefully
before commencing her exercises. I struggled bravely against this
unjust ostracism; but all in vain. I was so unlike these other girls in
character and disposition, and I had, moreover, been guilty of a great
imprudence. I had been silly enough to show my companions the costly
jewels which M. de Chalusse had given me, but which I never wore. And on
two occasions I had proved to them that I had more money at my disposal
than all the other pupils together. If I had been poor, they would,
perhaps, have treated me with affected sympathy; but as I was rich,
I became an enemy. It was war; and one of those merciless wars which
sometimes rage so furiously in convents, despite their seeming quiet.
“I should surprise you, monsieur, if I told you what refined torture
these daughters of noblemen invented to gratify their petty spite. I
might have complained to the superior, but I scorned to do so. I buried
my sorrow deep in my heart, as I had done years before; and I firmly
resolved never to show ought but a smiling, placid face, so as to prove
to my enemies that they were powerless to disturb my peace of mind.
Study became my refuge and consolation; and I plunged into work with the
energy of despair. I should probably still live at Sainte-Marthe now,
had it not been for a trivial circumstance. One day I had a quarrel
with my most determined enemy, a girl named Anais de Rochecote. I was a
thousand times right; and I would not yield. The superior dared not
tell me I was wrong. Anais was furious, and wrote I don’t know what
falsehoods to her mother. Madame de Rochecote thereupon interested the
mothers of five or six other pupils in her daughter’s quarrel, and one
evening these ladies came in a body, and nobly and courageously demanded
that the ‘bastard’ should be expelled. It was impossible, outrageous,
monstrous, they declared, that their daughters should be compelled to
associate with a girl like me--a nameless girl, who humiliated the other
girls with her ill-gotten wealth. The superior tried to take my part;
but these ladies declared they would take their daughters from the
convent if I were not sent away. There was no help for it: I was
sacrificed. Summoned by telegraph, M. de Chalusse hastened to Lyons, and
two days later I left Sainte-Marthe with jeers and opprobrious epithets
ringing in my ears.”