THE EXPLANATION
"Upon your arrival at Paris, madame," said M. de Morville to Madame de
Hansfeld, "before occupying the spacious Hôtel Lambert in the Isle St.
Louis, you resided for some time in the Rue St. Guillaume; you are not,
perhaps, aware that the adjoining house belonged to my mother."
"No, sir, I was not aware of it."
"Permit me to enter into some details, puerile, perhaps, but yet
indispensable. In my mother's house, a small window, wholly concealed by
the leaves of the ivy, looked on to your garden; it was from that window
that I first perceived you, madame, and without your suspecting it, for
no one could imagine that any eye could penetrate the shady and retired
walk which you frequented."
Madame de Hansfeld seemed to recall her recollections of the place and
answered,--
"I certainly recollect the wall covered with ivy, but I did not know
there was a window there."
"Forgive my indiscretion, madame; I have bitterly suffered for it."
"Explain yourself, sir."
"Closely attending upon my sick mother, I rarely quitted the house, my
only pleasure was to gaze daily from that window, and the hope of seeing
you kept me whole hours there. At last you came, sometimes your steps
were slow, sometimes rapid, and you frequently threw yourself as if in
agony on a marble seat, or stood motionless with your head buried in
your hands. Alas, how often, when after these reveries you raised your
head, was your countenance bathed in tears!"
At these words M. de Morville's voice faltered with emotion.
Madame de Hansfeld replied austerely,--
"We are not speaking, sir, of any moments of weakness you may have
witnessed, but of a secret you are about to communicate."
M. de Morville regarded the princess with a sorrowful air, and
continued,--
"After some few days,--forgive my presumption, madame,--I fancied I had
penetrated the cause of your grief."
"Your penetration seems very great, sir."
"I was then suffering from the same cause (at least as I think) as that
which at that moment tormented you. This was the secret I believed I had
discovered."
"Surely, sir, you are not speaking seriously? and yet any attempt at
pleasantry would be most unseasonable."
"I speak most seriously, madame."
"And so then," said Madame de Hansfeld, with a contemptuous smile, "you
imagine I am a prey to grief, and that you have discovered the cause of
it?"
"There are symptoms which are infallible."
"The outward marks of every kind of sorrow are the same, sir."
"Ah, madame, there is but one mode of lamenting the person we love."
"Is this mentioned in confidence? is this an allusion to your own
regrets?"
"Alas! I, madame, have no more regrets; you have made me forget them
all."
"I do not comprehend your meaning, sir; I expected you were about to
tell me an important secret, and yet to the present moment----"
"One other word, madame. A sentiment that I believed unalterable, a
long-cherished remembrance, spite of myself, was gradually effaced from
my heart. In vain did I blame my weakness: in vain did I foresee to what
this love would expose me. The charm was too powerful. I yielded before
it. I had but one thought, one desire, one pleasure--that of seeing you.
From constantly contemplating your features, I fancied I could read in
them, so often overclouded with sorrow and melancholy, that despair,
sometimes mute, sometimes so expressive, which the absence or loss of
one dear to us invariably occasions."
Madame de Hansfeld shuddered, but remained silent.
[Illustration 02: "Each day I dropped at the foot of
the set a memento," &c.]
"Ah, madame, I repeat, I had suffered too much myself not to recognise
the same sufferings in you by indescribable, yet manifest symptoms. With
what eager curiosity did I strive to read your thoughts in your
countenance! The part of the garden that you frequented most was
separated from the rest by a gate which you opened or shut at pleasure.
You alone could enter into this secluded alley. I ventured on a folly;
each day I dropped at the foot of the seat where you were accustomed to
repose, a sort of memento of the reflections which, as I believed, had
agitated you on the previous evening. How shall I describe my suspense,
my anguish, when I saw you first open my letter. Never shall I forget
the expression of surprise you manifested after you had read it. Forgive
these foolish recollections of the past; but I did not think you were
offended, for, instead of destroying the letter, you retained it. One
day your agitation was so great, that you did not perceive the
letter--you seemed a prey to the most violent anger and grief. My own
experience told me that your sorrow was not occasioned by any fresh
event. It seemed to me rather some unhappy occurrence had been recalled
to you. It was under this belief that I again wrote to you, and on the
morrow, whilst you perused my letter, you wept."
Madame de Hansfeld made an impatient gesture.
"Oh, madame, do not blame me for dwelling on these recollections, they
are my sole consolation. Thus encouraged by the anxiety with which you
seemed to look for my letters, I wrote daily. Unhappily, my mother's
illness assumed a threatening form; I never quitted her bedside for two
nights--I thought but of her. The crisis was passed, she was out of
danger. My first thought was then to hasten to my window. Soon after you
entered the walk. I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw you go
quickly to the marble seat: there was no letter there. An exclamation of
impatience escaped you. I dared to interpret it favourably."
M. de Morville glanced anxiously at Madame de Hansfeld. Her eyes were
cast down, her arms folded, her face was devoid of expression. In thus
speaking, in thus informing Madame de Hansfeld of the facts that he had
discovered, De Morville cut off all hope of retreat; but he never
expected to see the princess more, else he would not have been guilty of
such a display of bad generalship.
"What can I say, madame?" replied he; "for two whole months I had the
happiness of seeing you: every day when I learned you were on the point
of quitting the house adjoining ours to inhabit the Hôtel Lambert, in
the Isle St. Louis, oh, how sincere, how terrible was my emotion!
Perchance it was only then that I really felt how much I loved you."
At these last words, uttered by M. de Morville in a tone of deep
emotion, Madame de Hansfeld raised her head suddenly; her cheeks became
deeply tinged, as she replied, with a satirical smile, "This strange
confession, sir, is doubtless connected with the secret you are about to
reveal to me."
"Yes, madame."
"I am all attention.
"Up to the period of your quitting the adjoining house to ours, I had
often met you at the houses of my friends, and I had never made any
effort to be presented to you. I found an indefinable charm in the
mystery that enshrouded my love. I was utterly unknown to _you_--I who
knew you so well--I who had been the unseen spectator of all the emotion
and the sorrow you had suffered; and then to talk to you on those
trivial and commonplace subjects that form every-day conversation, what
pleasure would that have afforded me, after the hours, the days I have
passed in silent and deep admiration! But, when your departure deprived
me of this pleasure, then I acknowledged the value of those meetings
that I had previously disdained, I determined to be introduced to you.
You were on intimate terms with Madame de Lormoy, my aunt, who has the
highest regard for you. As, in common with the rest of the world, she
was ignorant of the strange chance that had linked me to you, I prayed
her to present me to you. Unfortunately, the day after she had agreed to
comply with my wishes, a revelation was made to me, that instead of
seeking, I felt it my duty to avoid your society. Had it not been on
account of my mother's health, I should have left Paris, in order to
avoid you, and thus furnishing fresh fuel to my unhappy passion; for,
know, madame, that if your indifference grieves me, your love would
drive me to despair. You seem surprised--you do not understand me.
Suppose then--and pardon the folly of the supposition--that you loved me
as passionately as I love you, I should be the most miserable of men,
for I could not return your affection without inflicting a death-blow on
my mother, without trampling under foot the most sacred duty, the most
solemn oath, without becoming forsworn and criminal."
"Criminal!" exclaimed Madame de Hansfeld, rising from her seat, her
features convulsed by fear and grief. This involuntary cry of the
princess was, in fact, an avowal that betrayed her affection for De
Morville, hitherto so carefully concealed.
Had he been really indifferent to Madame de Hansfeld, would she have
manifested this despair, this emotion?--No! but she saw an impassable
barrier arise between herself and M. de Morville. Had he not said, "_Did
you love me, I should be the most miserable of men, for I could not
return your affection without becoming perjured, without inflicting a
death-blow on my mother?_"
De Morville was proverbial for his love of truth and his affection for
his mother.
Madame de Hansfeld understood his meaning perfectly. A look of joy
irradiated De Morville's face; he fancied he was loved in return, but
that first transport past, he shuddered as he thought of the abyss of
misery and sorrow which the involuntary exclamation of Madame de
Hansfeld opened before him.
The princess was too much mistress of herself not to subdue instantly
all traces of her transient emotion. Hoping to deceive De Morville, she
said with an air of gaiety that quite confused him,--
"You must allow, sir, that my surprise, I may say, my terror, was
tolerably natural on hearing you declare that my love would plunge you
into crime and perjury. Good heavens! I shudder; yet what happiness must
it be, then, for you to hear that I am utterly indifferent to your mad
passion? On my word, sir, you are really too fortunate, henceforth you
have every thing to preserve you from the temptation of being in love
with me; for you have not only the knowledge of my indifference, but
also the strongest motives that can decide a man. Only permit me to
observe that among the obstacles that seemed to cross your love for me
so insurmountably, you might have reckoned my marriage with the Prince
de Hansfeld; allow me to remind you of that obstacle, and to say that in
my eyes _that_ is the most serious impediment of all. And now let me
speak of your letters which I have received, because I could not help
it; and which I read, and sometimes preserved, because a series of
thoughts admirably worded, and supposed to be those of some ideal
creature, could not be called a correspondence. You have too much real
merit, sir," continued the princess, "to be vain; I have, therefore, no
dread of wounding your pride as an author, by telling you, that if I
read these your productions with curiosity and sometimes with a strong
emotion, it was partly because of the mystery that enshrouded you, and
partly because chance sometimes sent you thoughts so poetical and
touching as to call forth my tears; for I am so unfortunate, or rather
fortunate, as to shed tears during the perusal of any romance in the
least degree impassioned and affecting."
"Ah, madame, this satire is too cruel."
"I could wish, sir, that this interview, began under such gloomy
auspices, should at least end gaily; for, after all, are we not at a
masked ball at the Opera? Besides, why should we part in sadness? I
believed that you were acquainted with an annoying secret; it is not the
case, my fears were futile and are forgotten. I have the recollection of
my duty, to defend me from your declarations, as well as my utter
indifference as to the revelation that has been made to you. Our
position is perfectly clear, what more could any one desire? Farewell,
this interview convinces me, that your high reputation is well merited,
I know that I need not recommend you to secrecy on the subject of a step
that would painfully compromise me. For precaution's sake, I will leave
the box first; you will have the kindness to wait here a short time."
As she spoke, Madame de Hansfeld rose, replaced her mask, and opened the
door of the box.
"Ah, madame," exclaimed De Morville, "for Heaven's sake one word more."
Madame de Hansfeld made a gesture so proud, so dignified, that De
Morville no longer endeavoured to prolong the interview.
The princess opened the door and disappeared; in a few minutes De
Morville followed her example.
As he passed before the chest we have previously spoken of, he found a
crowd, so great, that whilst waiting to pass it he had time to overhear
these words:--
"My stars! Brévannes," said the malicious domino, who had been sitting
all the evening on the chest, "what a sensation you produce! what a
scream the domino with a knot of blue and yellow ribands gave when she
passed you!"
"I don't claim the merit," replied M. de Brévannes, gaily; "I am no
more responsible for the domino's scream than Fierval or Heronville."
"The domino could not have been more alarmed if she had seen the devil
himself," said M. de Fierval.
M. de Morville listened with the greatest attention when he found that
the princess formed the subject of their conversation (she wore, as our
readers will recollect, a knot of blue and yellow ribands, which she had
not removed; De Morville had had the precaution to take off his).
"It was one of your victims, perhaps," said Fierval, jestingly, to M. de
Brévannes.
"The unhappy creature has suddenly recognised him," said another.
"Faithless man!"
"Perfidious monster!"
"Who knows?" said the domino, "perhaps it was your wife, Brévannes!"
A shout of laughter followed this pleasantry.
"That would be a capital joke. You have, no doubt, concealed from her
that you were coming here, she has believed you in her candour, and in
the same spirit come here herself."
Brévannes bore admirably all the jests levelled at him, with the
exception of those relating to his wife. He could not conceal his
vexation, and endeavoured to change the conversation by saying to M. de
Fierval,--
"It's getting late, Fierval, let us go to supper."
"O the wretch!" said the domino; "it is more than probable, that he will
get up a terrible scene with his wife on his return home, and all in
consequence of the silly remark of a domino,--poor Bertha!"
"The best proof that I am not jealous, and that I bear no malice," said
M. de Brévannes, with an air of forced gaiety, "is that I shall be
delighted if you will come and sup with us."
"No, I am too amiable to do that; I could not refrain from telling you
some unpalatable truths, and they would be unpleasant for the rest of
the company. I might, perhaps, make amends to them by shewing you in a
new and very disagreeable light, but it does not suit me yet to execute
you publicly. If you are not discreet--if you come here again--I shall
find you some of these Saturdays, and then mind, for this chest shall
serve for the tribunal, and you shall hear some strange things if you
dare come, but you will not venture."
"He? Brévannes, not dare?" said Fierval, laughing.
"You evidently don't know him, charming mask."
"You don't know that he can do all he chooses," said another.
"Don't back out of it, Brévannes, and mind you come next Saturday,"
said Fierval, "discreet or not."
"I have nothing better to say to you, engaging mask," replied
Brévannes, "these gentlemen are my witnesses. On Saturday, if you defy
me, I accept the challenge."
[Illustration 03: "'Saturday be it, then,' said the domino; 'but
I warn you, you occasioned the scream the domino with the blue
and yellow ribands uttered.'"]
"Saturday, be it then," said the domino, "but I warn you again, that
_you_ occasioned the scream of surprise, almost of horror, that the
domino with the blue and yellow ribands uttered."
"Nonsense! you are mad. If you won't come with us, I must leave you."
"Very well; but mind, Saturday."
"Saturday," repeated Brévannes as he walked away. M. de Morville had
attentively listened to this conversation, and had not the smallest
doubt in his mind but that the sight of Brévannes had occasioned the
princess's alarm.
He recollected that during the interview he had just had with Madame de
Hansfeld she had alluded to M. de Brévannes as one of the two persons
who possessed the secret, whose disclosure she so much dreaded.
What circumstances could have brought M. de Brévannes and Madame de
Hansfeld together?
Where had he known her? What was the secret which he possessed?
Was the cool raillery of Madame de Hansfeld at the termination of their
conversation real or assumed?
These were the questions which passed through De Morville's mind as he
returned sorrowfully home.