banished by these words. "You do not love Isaure? Then she did not
deceive me when she told me that she still loved me, that she constantly
thought of me? Her tears were not feigned! Oh! Mon Dieu! and to think
that I added to her grief by my suspicions, by my jealousy!"
"This is no time to give way to fruitless regret," said Alfred; "we must
find her, first of all. If the man I suspect is the author of this
abduction, he may still be in this neighborhood. Why, I believe that
that fellow, whose audacity is unmeasured, is capable of having taken
Isaure to the château, to the tower, into the cellars, perhaps. We must
neglect nothing. I’ll ride back to the château and search every nook and
corner of the deserted portion."
"Go, dear Alfred; meanwhile, monsieur le baron and I will continue our
search in the mountains. I shall not take an instant’s rest until I have
found Isaure."
"To-morrow, at daybreak," said the baron, "we will meet at the White
House; and there, my son, I propose to tell you the cause of my
mysterious conduct. Edouard, too, shall know my misfortunes. He loves
Isaure and she loves him; he must know the whole story of her birth, and
then he can consider whether he still wishes her to be his wife."
"Ah! always, always, monsieur!"
Alfred did not allow Edouard to discourse any farther upon his love; he
urged him to remember that at that moment it was more important to act,
and to try to overtake the girl’s abductors. Edouard mounted his horse;
Alfred did the same. The baron had his at the White House, and each of
them took a different road, agreeing to meet on the morrow at daybreak.
Alfred dug his spurs into his horse, at the risk of breaking his neck on
the mountain paths; he reached the château at three o’clock in the
morning. As the concierge had informed him, the gate was not closed, and
the Château of La Roche-Noire was open to all comers. But Alfred needed
a light, and he desired the concierge to open the underground vaults and
the deserted apartments, to which he had the keys. So he knocked loudly
at the door of Monsieur Cunette, who was sleeping like a deaf man and
did not reply. Caring little whether he disturbed the rest of the
occupants of the château, Alfred continued to hammer and call, and soon
nearly every window opened except the concierge’s.
Robineau appeared at the window of his apartment in his silk nightcap,
the marquis in one of cotton, Eudoxie half-wrapped in a pelisse,
Cornélie in a lace-trimmed dressing jacket, Mademoiselle Cheval in
déshabillé, Jeannette in a mob cap; the scullions also showed themselves
in the windows in the roof.
"What’s the matter? what’s up now?" asked Robineau.
"Why this uproar?" said Cornélie.
"Is this château bewitched?" said Eudoxie.
"A body can’t dream comfortably here," said the cook.
"Son-in-law," said Monsieur de la Pincerie, "I order you to go down and
thrash the miscreants who are disturbing my sleep."
"Monsieur le marquis, I am distressed to have awakened you," said
Alfred, "but I do not believe that anyone will thrash me for that."
"What! is it Alfred who is making this disturbance?"
"My dear fellow, go back to bed with your wife; there are no thieves or
ghosts in the château. It is possible, however, that there may be
someone hidden in the old tower; and it is that someone that I propose
to arrest."
"Someone hidden in my house!"
"It wouldn’t be the first time that that person had passed the night in
this house."
"Great heavens! People hide themselves in my château, without my
knowledge?"
"You see, monsieur, that we are well guarded," said Cornélie; "to-morrow
I shall throw the whole household out of doors!"
However, upon the assurance that there was nothing new in the château,
the windows closed one by one. The cook provided Alfred with a light,
and he decided to examine the tower and the vaults, without the
assistance of the concierge. Mademoiselle Cheval boldly offered to
accompany the young man; but he thanked her and bent his steps alone
toward the part of the château which was not occupied.
Alfred found the door of the tower still open; he went up to every
floor, examined all the chambers, and carefully secured the doors; then
he went down into the cellars, to which the more dignified name of
subterranean vaults had been given; but he saw no one there and nothing
to indicate that the vagabond had visited the place very recently.
Alfred spent nearly two hours in his investigation. The dawn was
beginning to appear when he went to his apartment, to prepare his things
for his departure. He ordered François to send his luggage and Edouard’s
to the White House, and was on the point of leaving the château, when he
saw Robineau, who had risen very early in order to see his friends
before their departure.
"So you are going away?" said Robineau to Alfred.
"Yes, my friend; nothing can stop me now."
"And Monsieur Edouard?"
"He is waiting for me at the White House."
"At the White House?"
"Yes, we know the owner now."
"The deuce you do? and the girl?"
"She has been kidnapped and we are looking for her."
"Kidnapped! the little witch!"
"Adieu; when I see you again, I will tell you more."
"But--who is this person who dares to come to my château at night?"
"The man of Clermont-Ferrand."
"Mon Dieu! and you never told me! I am going to have the North Tower
torn down."
"Simply have it carefully secured and have all the doors walled up, as
well as the gate in the garden behind the statue of Mars, and no one
will make his way into your premises without your permission, unless
your concierge continues to leave the main gate open all night."
With that, Alfred shook hands with Robineau, and, leaving him bewildered
by what he had learned, left the château to return to the White House,
feeling sure that his father or Edouard would have been more fortunate
in their search than he had been.
Alfred found only the baron at the place of meeting. Edouard had not yet
returned, and they hoped that he had discovered the track of Isaure’s
abductors.
"Poor child!" said the baron; "if we cannot find her, I shall reproach
myself with this disaster forever; and yet you shall judge, Alfred, if I
have acted ill, if love and jealousy made me unjust."
"Father," said Alfred, "if it is painful for you to reveal this mystery
to me, if you would have occasion to blush before your son, I do not
wish to know it, I do not care to hear your secret."
"My dear boy, I might have had to blush in society, although I am in no
wise culpable, but I can only be pitied by my son. You shall know all."
After they had waited two hours, Edouard arrived; but he was alone and
in despair, for he had learned nothing of Isaure.
"Before undertaking our search anew," said the baron, "listen to me, my
friends; learn at last the motive of my conduct and of the mystery of my
relations with Isaure."
XXIX
THE BARON DE MARCEY’S SECOND MARRIAGE
Alfred and Edouard seated themselves beside the baron in the living room
of the White House, the doors of which were carefully secured; and
Monsieur de Marcey, after pressing his son’s hand affectionately once
more, and heaving a profound sigh, at last gratified the impatient
curiosity of the two young men.
"I entered the service very young; the military profession had a great
charm for me, I was burning to achieve renown, eager, ardent, impulsive;
but my heart was never insensible to the sufferings of my fellowmen, and
I recall that even on the battle field, I always remembered that I was
fighting against men whom politics alone had made my enemies.
"I was passionately fond of women, too. Like yourself, my dear Alfred, I
was for some time a fickle creature; I ran from one conquest to another,
forgetting on the morrow the fair one who had charmed me the day before;
that time was the happiest in my life, but it was brief; my heart, in
reality easily moved, longed to be attached by other than trivial bonds.
But I was born jealous; that cruel sentiment had already made me unhappy
with women whom I hardly loved; it was to be feared therefore that it
would assume still greater proportions with one whom I adored. That is
why my parents induced me to contract, at twenty-three years, what is
called a marriage of reason. Although I was not madly in love with her,
I married Céline de Colleville, your mother, my dear Alfred. A year
after our wedding, she brought you into the world. Your birth and your
mother’s virtues had made my happiness secure; every day I felt that my
attachment to Céline increased, and I thanked my parents for the choice
that they had made for me; but a year after your birth, I lost my wife.
You were too young for me to seek comfort from you; but the war, which
had broken out again, recalled me to the field, and there I found
distraction from my grief.
"More than five years had passed since the death of your mother, my
memory of whom was still as sweet as that which recalls to our hearts a
friend from whom fate has parted us. A severe wound, which was certain
to be a long time in healing, caused me to quit the service, I had paid
my debt to my country, and I was determined to devote myself to my son.
Meanwhile, to reëstablish my health, which had become precarious since
my wound, the doctors ordered me to travel in the South. You were too
young for me to take you with me, so I left you in reliable hands and
went to Toulouse, to Marseilles, and lastly to Bordeaux.
"I had been in the latter city for some time; my health was entirely
restored, and I was even on the point of returning to Paris, when one
day I was presented to Monsieur de Montfort, an ex-naval officer, very
wealthy, who was a widower, and had an only child, a daughter, then
seventeen years old. Adèle was her name. It would be hard for me to
describe all her charms, all her attractions. Adèle was pretty, rather
than beautiful; but it was impossible to resist the charms of her face,
the sweetness of her expression, the enchanting tone of her voice. I
fell madly in love with her, and from the moment that I saw her, I felt
that the happiness of my life henceforth depended upon her.
"Monsieur de Montfort was far from having in his manner that charm, that
gentleness which attracted everybody to his daughter. He was a man with
a stern glance and a harsh manner; his eyes shot fire when they were
inflamed by anger; he had retained the brusque, peremptory tone common
to the naval officer, which he seemed to think that no one should
resist. However, Monsieur de Montfort received me very well; he was
almost cordial with me; and whether it was my fortune, my rank, or the
wounds which I had received for my country, that led him to regard me
with interest, he manifested considerable friendliness for me and urged
me to come often to his house.
"This permission was most precious to me; to be with Adèle was already
my only wish; determined to marry her if her father would bestow her
hand upon me, I was most desirous to please her; she seemed to take
pleasure in seeing me, and to have some friendly feeling for me; I
flattered myself that that feeling of amity would become love; but I was
distressed to observe in her a melancholy which nothing could overcome;
only in her father’s presence, before whom it was easy to see that she
always trembled, would Adèle try to be cheerful and to take some part in
the amusements of the company.
"I was never able to be alone with Adèle; only before other people was I
allowed to see her, to speak with her, to try to make her understand all
the love that she had inspired in me; she seemed to be afraid to answer
me, and I saw that she shuddered at the slightest glance which Monsieur
de Montfort cast upon us.
"Burning with the desire to make my happiness secure, I had been on
visiting terms at Monsieur de Montfort’s hardly a fortnight, when I
declared to him my love for his daughter.
"‘I had guessed it’; he replied, with his usual abruptness; ‘and if this
love of yours had not seemed to me a suitable thing, you may be sure
that I should not have allowed you to come to my house so often. I know
your family; you are wealthy and well-behaved; you have a son by your
first wife, but your fortune is more than sufficient to bring up other
children too, and I am sure that Adèle will love your son. You are
satisfactory to me as a son-in-law, and I give you my daughter’s hand.’
"I was happy beyond words. Monsieur de Montfort added: ‘I confess that I
am not sorry to marry my daughter early. I am not of the proper
temperament to be always watching a girl. My Adèle is virtuous, but she
is pretty. Several young men have seemed to be very much in love with
her already, but they did not suit me; I propose that my son-in-law
shall be agreeable to me, first of all.’
"‘But suppose that one of them had pleased Adèle?’ I said.
"‘Do you suppose that my daughter would love anybody before I had given
her permission?’ he demanded angrily. ‘No, monsieur, no; that cannot be.
A certain Chevalier de Savigny, of a very old family, I believe, seemed
to be particularly fond of Adèle; but as soon as I became aware of his
love I forbade him to come to my house again, for this Savigny is a
downright scamp, a rake, a gambler, a libertine. A scandalous business,
a duel about a woman, forced him to leave Bordeaux, where he had been
for some time. And should such a man be my daughter’s husband? No,
though she had died of love for him, I would never have consented to
that marriage.’
"‘But I trust that she did not love this Savigny?’ I said, with an
anxiety which I could not surmount.
"‘I am inclined to believe that she did not dislike him,’ replied
Monsieur de Montfort; ‘that is to say, like all women, Adèle was
dazzled, surprised, by the rascal’s gallant manners and honeyed tone;
for, in order to obtain admission to my house, he had succeeded in
disguising his vicious tastes at first. But love him! ten thousand
frigates! she would never have dared!--However, monsieur, if you do not
think my daughter worthy of you, nothing is settled as yet; but in that
case I will request you to cease visits which might have some ill effect
upon her reputation, and to say nothing more to me about your love.’
"Monsieur de Montfort was a man with whom it was necessary to decide
promptly; excessively sensitive upon everything connected with honor as
he was, I saw that, if I hesitated a moment, Adèle was lost to me. And I
was too much in love to abandon the hope of being her husband; even
supposing that she had received with pleasure the attentions of Savigny,
should I for that reason abandon my suit? Savigny was no longer received
at Monsieur de Montfort’s house, where I had never seen him. He had left
Bordeaux and no one knew what had become of him. Adèle was only
seventeen; was I not justified in hoping that my attentions, my
affection would soon efface from her heart the memories which another
might have left there? In short, I made haste to inform Monsieur de
Montfort that my only desire was to become his daughter’s husband
speedily.
"Satisfied with my sentiments, he assured me that Adèle should be my
wife within a week; and summoning his daughter, who came to us at once,
he quickly informed her of his intentions by ordering her to prepare to
give me her hand.
"At that news, Adèle turned pale, a sudden trembling shook her from head
to foot; I saw her stagger; she stammered some words which I could not
understand; I flew to her side, I put my arm about her, and implored her
to tell me if the thought of becoming my wife distressed her. But her
father was there with his threatening eyes fixed upon her, and she
answered under her breath:
"‘I will obey my father’; then she withdrew to her apartments.
"Adèle’s evident confusion had distressed me deeply; but Monsieur de
Montfort was the first to speak jestingly of it. He knew but one
thing,--obedience to his will.
"‘My dear fellow,’ he said, ‘when a girl is told that she is to be
married, isn’t it to be expected that she will blush and turn pale and
sigh and seem to be deeply moved? That is all customary. But a week
after marriage, when a husband has any strength of character, a woman
has no more vapors or giddy turns or faintings.’
"I did not propose to take Monsieur de Montfort for my model; I hoped to
obtain Adèle’s affections by gentleness and love. Monsieur de Montfort
wished that our marriage should take place at a country house of his in
the suburbs of Bordeaux. He went there at once with his daughter; I
remained a few days in the city to settle my affairs and make the
customary purchases; then I joined my new family.
"I found Adèle as sad as ever, and as terrified before her father.
During the four days which preceded our union, I flattered myself that I
should have more than one opportunity to be alone with my future bride;
but Monsieur de Montfort was almost always present, he left us very
little; and when, being alone with Adèle, I spoke to her of my love, she
sighed, lowered her eyes and did not answer me.
"Our wedding-day arrived; Adèle, whose pallor and distress made her even
lovelier in my eyes, walked with me to the altar. As we were about to
take the oath which bound us to each other, I saw her tremble and look
at her father. At last we were united, and I received her hand, which
trembled in mine. I should have been at the very summit of felicity, if
my wife’s melancholy had not secretly worried me; but I say again, I
loved her with an idolatrous love, and I still flattered myself that I
could make her love me in return.
"Our wedding-day passed quietly, without festivities; only a few friends
and neighbors spent it with us. It seemed to me that I could see
Adèle’s sadness and depression increase momentarily; but when I asked
her if she were suffering, she answered gently that there was nothing
the matter. The hour to retire arrived. Adèle went to our apartment, but
I was obliged to remain a few moments longer with the guests. At last,
everyone went away, and I hastened to join my wife.
"They had given us for our quarters a very pleasant wing looking on the
garden, and separated from the other parts of the building. I dismissed
the servants and was soon in my room, where I expected to find my wife;
but it was empty. Surprised not to find Adèle there, I went through the
adjoining rooms, looking for her and calling her; but I soon acquired
the certainty that she was not in the building. Her absence disturbed
me; I noticed that the small door opening into the garden was ajar, and
I concluded that Adèle, feeling indisposed, had gone out into the garden
for a breath of fresh air. I instantly went there in search of her.
"The garden was immense; I walked hastily along, seeking to pierce the
darkness in the paths which surrounded me. There was a heavy weight at
my heart, and my anxiety became greater every moment. I was approaching
a beautiful pond at the foot of an extensive lawn, when I fancied that I
distinguished the figure of a woman kneeling on the edge of the water. I
quickened my pace, but before I reached the bank, she whom I had seen
had hurled herself into the water. I saw my Adèle’s white garments
floating on the surface. I was soon beside her, I succeeded in grasping
her, and in swimming back to the shore with her; taking her in my arms,
I carried her to our apartment, where, without calling anyone, I
instantly bestowed on her every attention demanded by her condition.
"Adèle had been taken from the water so quickly that I had no fear for
her life; my efforts were soon rewarded; she opened her eyes and saw me
beside her, moistening with my tears the hands which I had warmed in
mine.
"‘You saved me!’ she exclaimed, with an expression of the most profound
regret.
"‘Yes,’ I said to her, ‘yes, heaven permitted me to arrive in time to
bring you back to life. But who will save me now from my despair? Who
will allay the remorse which I feel for having induced you to contract a
union which causes you such horror? Do you detest me so, Adèle? Do I
inspire you with such insurmountable aversion that you’d rather kill
yourself than be mine?’
"Adèle seemed touched by my excessive despair; her eyes filled with
tears, and she answered, while sobbing:
"‘No, I do not hate you; indeed I have the most affectionate friendship
for you; but alas! I could not be your wife, and yet I had to obey my
father, of whom I am so afraid, whose anger is so terrible! Ah! he would
have killed me if I had resisted his will; I preferred to kill myself
after obeying him. In pity’s name, forgive me and let me die!’
"The unhappy creature threw herself at my feet and held out her hands in
entreaty; I raised her and implored her to be calm, to look upon me only
as a brother, as a friend, and to conceal from me no longer the cause of
her grief.
"‘You wish it,’ she said; ‘well, I will obey you. This confession is
very painful; it would have been easier for me to die, but I must
undergo this punishment, too. As I have told you, I am unworthy to bear
the name of your wife. Another man has my love. He told me that he would
die rather than abandon me; and yet, alas! he has gone; and I, I had
the weakness to believe in his words! I hoped that my father would
consent to our union; but, far from that, he harshly refused my hand to
the man who already called me his wife; and I, when I allowed my father
to see that I shared the love of him whom he turned away from his
house--Ah! if you knew how terrible his anger was! I realized that he
would kill me if he suspected my fault and I did not wish to die by my
father’s hand.--Yes, I am guilty, I am ruined, and I bear in my womb the
fruit of my dishonor!’
"You can judge of the effect produced upon me by such a confidence;
jealous rage created a revolution in my mind. I longed to kill Savigny,
or to die at his hands; for although she had not named her seducer, I
could not doubt that it was that man, of whom Monsieur de Montfort had
spoken to me, who had abused Adèle’s innocence.--While, giving way to
the first outburst of my rage, I strode rapidly back and forth, swearing
to be revenged, the unfortunate creature who had made so painful a
confession had lost consciousness again. She lay on the floor, pale and
lifeless. That sight recalled me to myself, and I blamed myself for my
barbarity; for doubtless, after the confession of her wrongdoing, Adèle
had heard the threats inspired by my despair, and I had added to her
sufferings. I took her in my arms; as I gazed upon her sweet and lovely
features, I promised to do my utmost to restore tranquillity, at least,
if not happiness, to her heart. By my persistent efforts I restored her
to consciousness once more; but she dared not look me in the face, she
feared to read there an expression of contempt; she thought that I would
not forgive her for giving me her hand when her honor was sullied, and
she said again, in a heartrending tone, that there was nothing for her
to do but to die.
"I sat down beside her, I took one of her hands, and begged her to
listen quietly to me.
"‘Adèle,’ I said to her, ‘a villain has abused your innocence, your
candor; it is he especially who is guilty; but have no fear, this
misstep is hidden forever; no one will ever be able to divine it, your
father shall never know it. I shall have only the name of your husband;
I will be to you a brother, a friend, if you some day deem me worthy of
that title. In marrying you, when your melancholy, your secret
melancholy, should have convinced me that I had not your love, I made a
mistake. Presuming too far, no doubt, I listened only to the passion
which I felt, and flattered myself that I could make you share it. I
must renounce all hope of that happy future; and yet I feel that it will
still be sweet to me to pass my life with you, to try to allay your
suffering, and to restore peace to your soul. Yes, such henceforth will
be my only object; as the reward of my efforts, I hope only to see a
smile upon your lips some day, and in your eyes a little affection for
me.’
"Adèle pressed my hand, and said in a voice trembling with emotion:
"‘How kind you are, monsieur! and how much your conduct adds to the
remorse I feel! But, since you will have it so, I will live; henceforth,
dispose of my fate; I will have no other will than yours, even in the
most trivial actions of my life; I trust that I may, by my entire
submission, prove to you my respect and gratitude at least!’
"After such intense emotion, Adèle sorely needed rest. I left her in her
room, and withdrew to mine. That is how the first night after our
wedding passed! And when so many people were envying my happiness, I was
consecrating that unfortunate bond by bitter tears.