Once before, that very morning, the magistrate had witnessed a display
of the virile energy with which misfortune and suffering had endowed
this proud but naturally timid girl. But he was none the less surprised
at the sudden explosion of hatred which he now beheld; for it was
hatred. The way in which Mademoiselle Marguerite’s voice had quivered as
she pronounced the name of Anais de Rochecote proved, unmistakably, that
hers was one of those haughty natures that never forget an insult. All
signs of fatigue had now disappeared. She had sprung from her chair,
and remembrance of the shameful, cowardly affront she had received had
brought a vivid flush to her cheeks and a bright gleam to her eyes.
“This atrocious humiliation happened scarcely a year ago, monsieur,” she
resumed; “and there is but little left for me to tell you. My expulsion
from Sainte-Marthe made M. de Chalusse frantic with indignation. He knew
something that I was ignorant of--that Madame de Rochecote, who enacted
the part of a severe and implacable censor, was famed for the laxity
of her morals. The count’s first impulse was to wreak vengeance on my
persecutors; for, in spite of his usual coolness, M. de Chalusse had a
furious temper at times. It was only with the greatest difficulty that
I dissuaded him from challenging General de Rochecote, who was living
at the time. However, it now became necessary to make some other
arrangements for me. M. de Chalusse offered to find another school,
promising to take such precautions as would insure my peace of mind. But
I interrupted him before he had spoken a dozen words, declaring I would
rather return to the book-binders than chance another such experiment.
And what I said I meant. A subterfuge--a fictitious name, for
instance--could alone shield me from persecution similar to what I had
endured at Sainte-Marthe. But I knew that I was incapable of playing
such a part--I felt that I should somehow confess everything. My
firmness imparted some resolution to M. de Chalusse. He exclaimed, with
an oath, that I was right--that he was weary of all this deception and
concealment, and that he would make arrangements to have me near him.
‘Yes,’ he concluded, embracing me, ‘the die is cast, come what may!’
“However, these measures required a certain delay; and, in the meantime,
he decided to install me in Paris, which is the only place where one can
successfully hide from prying eyes. He purchased a small but convenient
house, surrounded by a garden, in the neighborhood of the Luxembourg
Palace, and here he installed me, with two old women and a trusty
man-servant. As I needed a chaperon, he went in quest of one, and found
Madame Leon.”
On hearing this name, the magistrate gave the young girl a searching
look, as if he hoped to discover what estimate she had formed of the
housekeeper’s character, as well as what degree of confidence she had
granted her. But Mademoiselle Marguerite’s face remained unaltered in
expression.
“After so many trials,” she resumed, “I thought I should now find rest
and peace. Yes, I believed so; and the few months I spent in that quiet
house will be the happiest of my life--I am sure of it. Judge of my
surprise when, on going down into the little garden on the second day
after my arrival, I saw the young man whom I had met at Cannes, and
whose face had lingered in my memory for more than two years as the
type of all that was best and noblest in the human countenance. He was
standing near the gate. A cloud passed before my eyes. What mysterious
freak of fate had caused him to pause there at that particular moment?
This much is certain, he recognized me as I had recognized him. He
bowed, smiling somewhat, and I fled indoors again, indignant with myself
for not being angry at his audacity. I made many plans that day, but the
next morning, at the same hour, I hid myself behind a Venetian blind,
and saw him pause at the gate, and gaze at the garden with evident
anxiety. I soon learned that he lived near by, with his widowed mother;
and twice a day, when he went to the Palais de Justice and returned, he
passed my home.”
Her cheeks were crimson now, her eyes were lowered, and she was
evidently embarrassed. But suddenly, as if ashamed of her blushes, she
proudly raised her head, and said, in a firmer voice: “Shall I tell you
our simple story? Is it necessary? I should not have concealed anything
that has passed from my mother, if I had been so happy as to possess a
mother. A few moments’ conversation now and then, the exchange of a few
letters, the pressure of a hand through the garden gate, and that is
all. Still, I have been guilty of a grave and irreparable fault: I have
disobeyed the one rule of my life--frankness; and I am cruelly punished
for doing so. I did not tell all this to M. de Chalusse--in fact, I
dared not. I was ashamed of my cowardice; from day to day I vowed that
I would confess everything, and yet I procrastinated. I said to myself
every night, ‘It shall be done to-morrow; but when the morrow came I
said, ‘I will give myself another day--just one more day.’ Indeed, my
courage failed me when I thought of the count’s aristocratic prejudices;
and besides, I knew how ambitious he was for my future. On the other
hand, moreover, Pascal was always pleading: ‘Don’t speak now. My
circumstances are constantly improving. The day is not far off when I
shall be able to offer you wealth and fame. When that day comes I will
go to your guardian and ask him for your hand; but in Heaven’s name
don’t speak now.’ I understood Pascal’s motives well enough. The count’s
immense fortune frightened him, and he feared that he would be accused
of being a fortune-hunter. So I waited, with that secret anguish which
still haunts those who have been unhappy even when their present is
peaceful, and their future seems bright. I kept my secret, saying to
myself that such happiness was not meant for me, that it would soon take
flight.
“It took flight all too soon. One morning I heard a carriage draw up
outside our door, and the next moment the Count de Chalusse entered
the sitting-room. ‘Everything is ready to receive you at the Hotel de
Chalusse, Marguerite,’ said he, ‘come!’ He ceremoniously offered me his
arm, and I accompanied him. I could not even leave a message for Pascal,
for I had never made a confidante of Madame Leon. Still, a faint hope
sustained me. I thought that the precautions taken by M. de Chalusse
would somewhat dispel the uncertainty of my position, and furnish me at
least with some idea of the vague danger which threatened me. But no.
His efforts, so far as I could discover, had been confined to changing
his servants. Our life in this grand house was the same as it had been
at Cannes--even more secluded, if that were possible. The count had aged
considerably. It was evident that he was sinking beneath the burden
of some ever-present sorrow. ‘I am condemning you to a cheerless and
melancholy youth,’ he sometimes said to me, ‘but it will not last
forever--patience, patience!’ Did he really love me? I think so. But his
affection showed itself in a strange manner. Sometimes his voice was so
tender that my heart was touched. At others there was a look of hatred
in his eyes which terrified me. Occasionally he was severe almost to
brutality, and then the next moment he would implore me to forgive him,
order the carriage, take me with him to his jewellers’, and insist upon
me accepting some costly ornaments. Madame Leon declares that my jewels
are worth more than twenty thousand francs. At times I wondered if his
capricious affection and sternness were really intended for myself. It
often seemed to me that I was only a shadow--the phantom of some absent
person, in his eyes. It is certain that he often requested me to dress
myself or to arrange my hair in a certain fashion, to wear such and such
a color, or to use a particular perfume which he gave me. Frequently,
when I was moving about the house, he suddenly exclaimed: ‘Marguerite! I
entreat you, remain just where you are!’
“I obeyed him, but the illusion had already vanished. A sob or an oath
would come from his lips, and then in an angry voice he would bid me
leave the room.”
The magistrate did not raise his eyes from his talismanic ring; it might
have been supposed that it had fascinated him. Still, his expression
denoted profound commiseration, and he shook his head thoughtfully. The
idea had occurred to him that this unfortunate young girl had been the
victim, not precisely of a madman, but of one of those maniacs who have
just enough reason left to invent the tortures they inflict upon those
around them.
Speaking more slowly than before, as if she were desirous of attracting
increased attention on the magistrate’s part, Mademoiselle Marguerite
now continued: “If I reminded M. de Chalusse of a person whom he had
formerly loved, that person may have been my mother. I say, MAY HAVE
BEEN, because I am not certain of it. All my efforts to discover
the truth were unavailing. M. de Chalusse seemed to take a malicious
pleasure in destroying all my carefully-arranged theories, and
in upsetting the conjectures which he had encouraged himself only
twenty-four hours previously. Heaven only knows how anxiously I listened
to his slightest word! And it can be easily understood why I did so. My
strange and compromising connection with him drove me nearly frantic.
It was not strange that people’s suspicions were aroused. True, he had
changed all his servants before my arrival here; but he had requested
Madame Leon to remain with me, and who can tell what reports she may
have circulated? It has often happened that when returning from mass
on Sundays, I have overheard persons say, ‘Look! there is the Count
de Chalusse’s mistress!’ Oh! not a single humiliation has been spared
me--not a single one! However, on one point I did not feel the shadow
of a doubt. The count had known my mother. He frequently alluded to her,
sometimes with an outburst of passion which made me think that he had
once adored, and still loved her; sometimes, with insults and curses
which impressed me with the idea that she had cruelly injured him. But
most frequently he reproached her for having unhesitatingly sacrificed
me to insure her own safety. He said she could have had no heart; and
that it was an unheard of, incomprehensible, and monstrous thing that
a woman could enjoy luxury and wealth, undisturbed by remorse, knowing
that her innocent and defenceless child was exposed all the while to the
hardships and temptations of abject poverty. I was also certain that my
mother was a married woman, for M. de Chalusse alluded to her husband
more than once. He hated him with a terrible hatred. One evening, when
he was more communicative than usual, he gave me to understand that
the great danger he dreaded for me came either from my mother or her
husband. He afterward did his best to counteract this impression; but
he did not succeed in convincing me that his previous assertion was
untrue.”
The magistrate looked searchingly at Mademoiselle Marguerite. “Then
those letters which we found just now in the escritoire are from your
mother, mademoiselle?” he remarked.
The girl blushed. She had previously been questioned respecting these
letters, and she had then made no reply. Now, she hesitated for a
moment, and then quietly said: “Your opinion coincides with mine,
monsieur.”
Thereupon, as if she wished to avoid any further questioning on the
subject, she hurriedly continued: “At last a new and even greater
trouble came--a positive calamity, which made me forget the disgrace
attached to my birth. One morning at breakfast, about a month ago, the
count informed me that he expected two guests to dinner that evening.
This was such an unusual occurrence that I was struck speechless with
astonishment. ‘It is extraordinary, I admit,’ he added, gayly; ‘but it
is nevertheless true. M. de Fondege and the Marquis de Valorsay will
dine here this evening. So, my dear Marguerite, look your prettiest
in honor of our old friend.’ At six o’clock the two gentlemen arrived
together. I was well acquainted with M. de Fondege--the general, as he
was commonly called. He was the count’s only intimate friend, and often
visited us. But I had never before seen the Marquis de Valorsay, nor had
I ever heard his name until M. de Chalusse mentioned it that morning. I
don’t pretend to judge him. I will only say that as soon as I saw him,
the dislike I felt for him bordered on aversion. My false position
rendered his close scrutiny actually painful to me, and his attentions
and compliments pleased me no better. At dinner he addressed his
conversation exclusively to me, and I particularly remember a certain
picture he drew of a model household, which positively disgusted me. In
his opinion, a husband ought to content himself with being his wife’s
prime minister--the slave of her slightest caprice. He intended, if
he married, to allow the Marquise de Valorsay perfect freedom, with
an unlimited amount of money, the handsomest carriages, and the most
magnificent diamonds in Paris--everything, indeed, that could gratify
her vanity, and render her existence a fairylike dream. ‘With such ideas
on her husband’s part the marchioness will be very difficult to please
if she is not contented with her lot,’ he added, glancing covertly at
me. This exasperated me beyond endurance, and I dryly replied: ‘The mere
thought of such a husband would drive me to the shelter of a convent.’
He seemed considerably disconcerted; and I noticed that the general, I
mean M. de Fondege, gave him a mischievous look.
“However, when the gentlemen had gone, M. de Chalusse scolded me
severely. He said that my sentimental philosophy was quite out of place
in a drawing-room, and that my ideas of life, marriage, and duty could
only have been gained in a foundling asylum. As I attempted to reply, he
interrupted me to sound the praises of the Marquis de Valorsay, who
not only came of an ancient family, and possessed immense, unencumbered
estates, but was a talented, handsome man into the bargain; in short,
one of those favored mortals whom all young girls sigh for. The scales
fell from my eyes. I instantly understood that M. de Chalusse had
selected the Marquis de Valorsay to be my husband, and thus the marquis
had designedly explained his matrimonial programme for my benefit. It
was a snare to catch the bird. I felt indignant that he should suppose
me so wanting in delicacy of feeling and nobility of character as to
be dazzled by the life of display and facile pleasure which he had
depicted. I had disliked him at first, and now I despised him; for it
was impossible to misunderstand the shameless proposal concealed beneath
his half-jesting words. He offered me my liberty in exchange for my
fortune. That is only a fair contract, one might say. Perhaps so; but if
he were willing to do this for a certain amount of money, what would
he not do for a sum twice or thrice as large? Such were my impressions,
though I asked myself again and again if I were not mistaken. No; the
events that followed only confirmed my suspicions. Three days later the
marquis came again. His visit was to the count, and they held a long
conference in this study. Having occasion to enter the room, after the
marquis’s departure, I noticed on the table a number of title deeds
which he had probably brought for the count’s inspection. On the
following week there was another conference, and this time a lawyer was
present. Any further doubts I might have felt were dispelled by Madame
Leon, who was always well informed--thanks to her habit of listening
at the keyholes. ‘They are talking of marrying you to the Marquis de
Valorsay--I heard them,’ she remarked to me.
“However, the information did not terrify me. I had profited by the time
allowed me for reflection, and I had decided upon the course I should
pursue. I am timid, but I am not weak; and I was determined to resist M.
de Chalusse’s will in this matter, even if it became necessary for me
to leave his house, and renounce all hopes of the wealth he had promised
me. Still I said nothing to Pascal of my mental struggle and final
determination. I did not wish to bind him by the advice which he would
certainly have given me. I had his troth, and that sufficed. And it was
with a thrill of joy that I said to myself: ‘What does it matter if M.
de Chalusse should be so angered by my refusal to obey him as to drive
me from his house? It will rather be so much the better; Pascal will
protect me.’
“But resistance is only possible when you are attacked; and M. de
Chalusse did not even allude to the subject--perhaps because affairs
had not yet been satisfactorily arranged between the marquis and
himself--possibly because he wished to deprive me of the power to oppose
him by taking me unawares. It would have been great imprudence on
my part to broach the subject myself, and so I waited calmly and
resignedly, storing up all my energy for the decisive hour. I willingly
confess that I am not a heroine of romance--I do not look upon
money with the contempt it deserves. I was resolved to wed solely in
accordance with the dictates of my heart; but I wished, and HOPED, that
M. de Chalusse would give me, not a fortune, but a modest dowry. He had
become more communicative than usual on money matters, and took no pains
to conceal the fact that he was engaged in raising the largest possible
amount of ready cash. He received frequent visits from his stockbroker,
and sometimes when the latter had left him, he showed me rolls of
bank-notes and packages of bonds, saying, as he did so: ‘You see that
your future is assured, my dear Marguerite.’
“I am only doing the count justice when I say that my future was a
subject of constant anxiety to him during the last few months of his
life. Less than a fortnight after he had taken me from the asylum, he
drew up a will, in which he adopted me and made me his sole legatee. But
he afterward destroyed this document on the plea that it did not afford
me sufficient security; and a dozen others shared the same fate. For his
mind was constantly occupied with the subject, and he seemed to have a
presentiment that his death would be a sudden one. I am forced to
admit that he seemed less anxious to endow me with his fortune than to
frustrate the hopes of some persons I did not know. When he burned his
last will in my presence, he remarked: ‘This document is useless: they
would contest it, and probably succeed in having it set aside. I have
thought of a better way; I have found an expedient which will provide
for all emergencies.’ And as I ventured some timid objection--for it was
repugnant to my sense of honor to act as an instrument of vengeance or
injustice, or assist, even passively, in despoiling any person of his
rightful inheritance--he harshly, almost brutally, replied: ‘Mind
your own business! I will disappoint the folks who are waiting for my
property as they deserve to be disappointed. They covet my estates do
they! Very well, they shall have them. I will leave them my property,
but they shall find it mortgaged to its full value.’
“Unfortunate man! all his plans have failed. The heirs whom he hated so
bitterly, and whom I don’t even know, whose existence people have not
even suspected, can now come, and they will find the wealth he was
determined to deprive them of intact. He dreamed of a brilliant destiny
for me--a proud name, and the rank of a marchioness--and he has not even
succeeded in protecting me from the most shameful insults. I have been
accused of theft before his body was even cold. He wished to make
me rich, frightfully rich, and he has not left me enough to buy my
bread--literally, not enough to buy bread. He was in constant terror
concerning my safety, and he died without even telling me what were
the mysterious dangers which threatened me; without even telling me
something which I am morally certain of--that he was my father. He
raised me against my will to the highest social position--he placed that
wonderful talisman, gold, in my hand; he showed me the world at my feet;
and suddenly he allowed me to fall even to lower depths of misery than
those in which he found me. Ah! M. de Chalusse, it would have been far
better for me if you had left me in the foundling asylum to have earned
my own bread. And yet, I freely forgive you.”
Mademoiselle Marguerite reflected for a moment, questioning her memory
to ascertain if she had told everything--if she had forgotten any
particulars of importance. And as it seemed to her that she had nothing
more to add, she approached the magistrate, and, with impressive
solemnity of tone and manner, exclaimed: “My life up to the present hour
is now as well known to you as it is to myself. You know what even the
friend, who is my only hope, does not know as yet. And now, when I tell
him what I really am, will he think me unworthy of him?”
The magistrate sprang to his feet, impelled by an irresistible force.
Two big tears, the first he had shed for years, trembled on his
eyelashes, and coursed down his furrowed cheeks. “You are a noble
creature, my child,” he replied, in a voice faltering with emotion; “and
if I had a son, I should deem myself fortunate if he chose a wife like
you.”
She clasped her hands, with a gesture of intense joy and relief, and
then sank into an arm-chair, murmuring: “Oh, thanks, monsieur, thanks!”
For she was thinking of Pascal; and she had feared he might shrink from
her when she fully revealed to him her wretched, sorrowful past, of
which he was entirely ignorant. But the magistrate’s words had reassured
her.