CORRESPONDENCE
Madame de Hansfeld returned extremely satisfied with her interview with
De Brévannes. When she reflected on the proposition he had made of
presenting Bertha to her, Paula experienced singular resentment. In the
first place, knowing Arnold's love for Madame de Brévannes, she had
wished to play a perfidious and wicked trick on De Brévannes, hoping at
the same time to enjoy De Hansfeld's confusion when recognised by
Bertha, for Paula was ignorant that Arnold had disclosed his real name
and rank to Pierre Raimond.
When she told Iris of the expected introduction of Madame de Brévannes
at the Hôtel Lambert, the gipsy girl exclaimed, with a bound of joy,--
"Now you have nothing more to desire; your wishes shall be realised
whenever you please to give me the signal."
In vain Paula had attempted to make Iris explain herself, she had been
obstinately silent after having merely replied,--
"Reflect well, godmother, and you will understand me."
The princess did reflect.
First, her thoughts dwelt on M. de Hansfeld, and she inquired of herself
what were the feelings with which he had inspired lier after his
suspicions of her having committed such horrid crimes. She felt as much
hatred as contempt for him,--hatred for a man capable of conceiving such
suspicions,--contempt for a man so weak as not boldly to accuse the
individual he suspected.
Paula was doubly unjust: she forgot that Arnold had passionately loved
her, and that all his sufferings had arisen in consequence of this
struggle between his love and his doubts.
It was strange, she had never loved her husband with love--she was
passionately enamoured of De Morville--and yet she was wounded at the
prince's love for Bertha. Nothing is more absurd, and yet more common,
than the jealousy of pride.
When Madame de Hansfeld's thoughts dwelt on De Morville, in a moment
these sinister words appeared before her in letters of flame,--
_If I were a widow!_
And she dared not confess to herself that she would have been satisfied
had one of the attempts of Iris succeeded.
We have already said that nothing is more fatal than to familiarise the
thought and simple supposition, which, when realised, would become
crime. How monstrous soever they appear at first, by degrees the mind
admits them the more easily, as they the more and more incessantly
flatter the interests they subserve.
This is a sad truth; but the perpetual sight of an easy prey awakens
sanguinary appetites, however languid.
Returned home, Paula reflected for a long time on the mysterious words
of Iris, in reference to the presentation of Bertha at the Hôtel
Lambert,--
"Now you have nothing more to desire; your wishes shall be realised
whenever you please to give me the signal."
A secret instinct told her, that from the meeting of the prince, De
Brévannes, and Bertha, serious complications would result; but what
benefit would that be to her love for De Morville?
At this moment Madame de Hansfeld was interrupted by Iris.
"What want you?" she inquired sharply.
"Godmother, a messenger has just brought me a cover addressed to me, in
which was a letter for you."
Paula took the letter and shuddered as she did so.
She recognised De Morville's writing. The note contained only these
words,--
"Circumstances, madame, force me to an extreme step. At any risk I
address this note to your young companion. A fearful and final blow has
overwhelmed the unhappy man to whom you have already deigned to extend
your hand, and he has not despaired of at least your pity. This very
day, with the magic words, _Faust_ and _Childe Harold_, you can, if not
restore his life, at least soothe his agony."
For a moment Madame de Hansfeld did not fully comprehend the purport of
this letter. Then suddenly addressing herself to Iris,--
"What is to-day?"
"Thursday, godmother."
"Thursday! no, surely not," said Madame de Hansfeld. "I
thought--but----" she added, with anxiety, "is not this mid-Lent?"
"Yes, godmother; I have seen some masquers pass along the streets."
"Oh, I understand--I understand," exclaimed Paula, and hastening to her
secrétaire she wrote rapidly,--
"This evening between twelve and one--at the Opera in the same place as
before. _Faust_ and _Childe Harold_! a green riband at the hood of the
Domino."
Then sealing and giving the note to Iris, she said to her,--
"This is the answer: give it to the messenger."
Iris left the room.
* * * * *
That evening at half-past twelve, at the Opera ball, Leon de Morville
and Madame de Hansfeld, both masked as they had been at their first
interview, met at the end of the corridor of the second circle in the
left of the audience, and entered the anteroom of the stage-box in which
they had had their first and last conversation.