"M. de Bevallan," I said, standing within a pace or two of him, "that
regret is quite superfluous, for though I have not thought fit to obey
Mlle. Laroque's orders, I am entirely at yours ... and I shall expect to
receive them."
"Very good, very good, sir; nothing could be better," replied M. de
Bevallan, waving his hand airily to reassure the ladies.
We bowed to one another and I went out. I dined alone in my tower.
Poor Alain waited on me as usual. No doubt he had heard of what had
occurred, for he kept looking at me mournfully, sighed often and deeply,
and, contrary to his custom, preserved a gloomy silence, only breaking
it to reply, in answer to my question, that the ladies had decided not
to go to the ball.
After a hurried meal, I put my papers in order and wrote a few words to
M. Laubepin. In view of a possible contingency I recommended Helene to
his care. The thought that I might leave her unprotected and friendless
nearly broke my heart, without in the least affecting my immovable
principles. I may deceive myself, but I have always thought that honour
in our modern life is paramount in the hierarchy of duties. It takes
the place of so many virtues which have nearly faded from our
consciences, of so many dormant beliefs; it plays such a tutelary part
in the present state of society, that I would never consent to weaken
its claims, or lessen its obligations. In its indefinite character,
there is something superior to law and morality: one does not reason
about it; one feels it. It is a religion. If we have no longer the
folly of the Cross, let us keep the folly of Honour! Moreover, no
sentiment has ever taken such deep root in the human soul without the
sanction of reason. It is better that a girl or a wife should be alone
in the world, than that she should be protected by a dishonoured brother
or husband.
Each moment I expected a letter from M. de Bevallan. I was getting
ready to go to the collector of taxes in the town, a young officer who
had been wounded in the Crimea, and ask him to be my second, when some
one knocked at my door. M. de Bevallan himself came in. Apart from a
slight shade of embarrassment, his face expressed nothing but a frank
and joyful kindliness.
"M. Odiot," he said, as I looked at him in surprise, "this is rather an
unusual step, but, thank Heaven, my service-records place my courage
beyond suspicion. On the other hand, I have such good reason for
feeling happy to-night that I have no room for rancour or enmity.
Lastly, I am obeying orders which will now be more sacred to me than
ever. In short, I come to offer you my hand."