A FALSE FRIEND.
Night had set in dark and cold. The sky, which had been clear till the
sun went down, was now covered with gray and lurid clouds; a strong wind
raised here and there, in circling eddies, the snow that was beginning to
fall thick and fast.
The lamps threw a dubious light into the interior of Dr. Baleinier's
carriage, in which he was seated alone with Adrienne de Cardoville. The
charming countenance of the latter, faintly illumined by the lamps
beneath the shade of her little gray hat, looked doubly white and pure in
contrast with the dark lining of the carriage, which was now filled with
that, sweet, delicious, and almost voluptuous perfume which hangs about
the garments of young women of taste. The attitude of the girl, seated
next to the doctor, was full of grace. Her slight and elegant figure,
imprisoned in her high-necked dress of blue cloth, imprinted its wavy
outline on the soft cushion against which she leaned; her little feet,
crossed one upon the other, and stretched rather forward, rested upon a
thick bear-skin, which carpeted the bottom of the carriage. In her hand,
which was ungloved and dazzlingly white, she held a magnificently
embroidered handkerchief, with which, to the great astonishment of M.
Baleinier, she dried her eyes, now filled with tears.
Yes; Adrienne wept, for she now felt the reaction from the painful scenes
through which she had passed at Saint-Dizier House; to the feverish and
nervous excitement, which had till then sustained her, had succeeded a
sorrowful dejection. Resolute in her independence, proud in her disdain,
implacable in her irony, audacious in her resistance to unjust
oppression, Adrienne was yet endowed with the most acute sensibility,
which she always dissembled, however, in the presence of her aunt and
those who surrounded her.
Notwithstanding her courage, no one could have been less masculine, less
of a virago, than Mdlle. Cardoville. She was essentially womanly, but as
a woman, she knew how to exercise great empire over herself, the moment
that the least mark of weakness on her part would have rejoiced or
emboldened her enemies.
The carriage had rolled onwards for some minutes; but Adrienne, drying
her tears in silence, to the doctor's great astonishment, had not yet
uttered a word.
"What, my dear Mdlle. Adrienne?" said M. Baleinier, truly surprised at
her emotion; "what! you, that were just now so courageous, weeping?"
"Yes," answered Adrienne, in an agitated voice; "I weep in presence of a
friend; but, before my aunt--oh! never."
"And yet, in that long interview, your stinging replies--"
"Ah me! do you think that I resigned myself with pleasure to that war of
sarcasm? Nothing is more painful to me than such combats of bitter irony,
to which I am forced by the necessity of defending myself from this woman
and her friends. You speak of my courage: it does not consist, I assure
you, in the display of wicked feelings--but in the power to repress and
hide all that I suffer, when I hear myself treated so grossly--in the
presence, too, of people that I hate and despise--when, after all, I have
never done them any harm, and have only asked to be allowed to live
alone, freely and quietly, and see those about me happy."
"That's where it is: they envy your happiness, and that which you bestow
upon others."
"And it is my aunt," cried Adrienne, with indignation, "my aunt, whose
whole life has been one long scandal that accuses me in this revolting
manner!--as if she did not know me proud and honest enough never to make
a choice of which I should be ashamed! Oh! if I ever love, I shall
proclaim it, I shall be proud of it: for love, as I understand it, is the
most glorious feeling in the world. But, alas!" continued Adrienne, with
redoubled bitterness, "of what use are truth and honor, if they do not
secure you from suspicions, which are as absurd as they are odious?" So
saying, she again pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.
"Come, my dear Mdlle. Adrienne," said M. Baleinier, in a voice full of
the softest unction, "becalm--it is all over now. You have in me a
devoted friend." As he pronounced these last words, he blushed in spite
of his diabolical craft.
"I know you are my friend," said Adrienne: "I shall never forget that, by
taking my part to-day, you exposed yourself to the resentment of my
aunt--for I am not ignorant of her power, which is very great, alas! for
evil."
"As for that," said the doctor, affecting a profound indifference, "we
medical men are pretty safe from personal enmities."
"Nay, my dear M. Baleinier! Mme. de Saint-Dizier and her friends never
forgive," said the young girl, with a shudder. "It needed all my
invincible aversion, my innate horror for all that is base, cowardly, and
perfidious, to induce me to break so openly with her. But if death itself
were the penalty, I could not hesitate and yet," she added, with one of
those graceful smiles which gave such a charm to her beautiful
countenance, "yet I am fond of life: if I have to reproach myself with
anything, it is that I would have it too bright, too fair, too
harmonious; but then, you know, I am resigned to my faults."
"Well, come, I am more tranquil," said the doctor, gayly; "for you
smile--that is a good sign."
"It is often the wisest course; and yet, ought I smile, after the threats
that my aunt has held out to me? Still, what can she do? what is the
meaning of this kind of family council? Did she seriously think that the
advice of a M. D'Aigrigny or a M. Tripeaud could have influenced me? And
then she talked of rigorous measures. What measures can she take; do you
know?"
"I think, between ourselves, that the princess only wished to frighten
you, and hopes to succeed by persuasion. She has the misfortune to fancy
herself a mother of the Church, and dreams of your conversion," said the
doctor, maliciously, for he now wished to tranquillize Adrienne at any
cost; "but let us think no more about it. Your fire eyes must shine with
all their lustre, to fascinate the minister that we are going to see."
"You are right, dear doctor; we ought always avoid grief, for it has the
disadvantage of making us forget the sorrows of others. But here am I,
availing myself of your kindness, without even telling you what I
require."
"Luckily, we shall have plenty of time to talk over it, for our statesman
lives at some distance."
"In two words, here's the mystery," answered Adrienne. "I told you what
reasons I had to interest myself in that honest workman. This morning he
came to me in great grief, to inform me that he was compromised by some
songs he had written (for he is a poet), and that, though innocent, he
was threatened with an arrest; and if they put him into prison, his
family, whose sole support he is, would die of hunger. Therefore he came
to beg me to procure bail for him, so that he might be left at liberty to
work: I promised immediately, thinking of your interest with the
minister; for, as they were already in pursuit of the poor lad, I chose
to conceal him in my residence, and you know how my aunt has twisted that
action. Now tell me, do you think, that, by means of your recommendation,
the minister will grant me the freedom of this workman, bail being given
for the same?"
"No doubt of it. There will not be the shadow of a difficulty--especially
when you have explained the facts to him, with that eloquence of the
heart which you possess in perfection."
"Do you know, my dear Dr. Baleinier, why I have taken the resolution
(which is perhaps a strange one) to ask you to accompany me to the
minister's?"
"Why, doubtless, to recommend your friend in a more effective manner."
"Yes--but also to put an end, by a decisive step, to the calumnies which
my aunt will be sure to spread with regard to me, and which she has
already, you know, had inserted in the report of the commissary of
police. I have preferred to address myself at once, frankly and openly,
to a man placed in a high social position. I will explain all to him, who
will believe me, because truth has an accent of its own."
"All this, my dear Mdlle. Adrienne, is wisely planned. You will, as the
saw says, kill two birds with one stone--or rather, you will obtain by
one act of kindness two acts of justice; you will destroy a dangerous
calumny, and restore a worthy youth to liberty."
"Come," said Adrienne, laughing, "thanks to this pleasing prospect, my
light heart has returned."
"How true that in life," said the doctor, philosophically, "everything
depends on the point of view."
Adrienne was so completely ignorant of the forms of a constitutional
government, and had so blind a confidence in the doctor, that she did not
doubt for an instant what he told her. She therefore resumed with joy:
"What happiness it will be! when I go to fetch the daughters of Marshal
Simon, to be able to console this workman's mother, who is now perhaps in
a state of cruel anxiety, at not seeing her son return home!"
"Yes, you will have this pleasure," said M. Baleinier, with a smile; "for
we will solicit and intrigue to such purpose, that the good, mother may
learn from you the release of her son before she even knows that he has
been arrested."
"How kind, how obliging you are!" said Adrienne. "Really, if the motive
were not so serious, I should be ashamed of making you lose so much
precious time, my dear M. Baleinier. But I know your heart."
"I have no other wish, than to prove to you my profound devotion, my
sincere attachment," said the doctor inhaling a pinch of snuff. But at
the same time, he cast an uneasy glance through the window, for the
carriage was just crossing the Place de l'Odeon, and in spite of the
snow, he could see the front of the Odeon theatre brilliantly
illuminated. Now Adrienne, who had just turned her head towards that
side, might perhaps be astonished at the singular road they were taking.
In order to draw off her attention by a skillful diversion, the doctor
exclaimed suddenly: "Bless me! I had almost forgotten."
"What is the matter, M. Baleinier?" said Adrienne, turning hastily
towards him.
"I had forgotten a thing of the highest importance, in regard to the
success of our petition."
"What is it, please?" asked the young girl, anxiously.
M. Baleinier gave a cunning smile. "Every man," said he, "has his
weakness--ministers even more than others. The one we are going to visit
has the folly to attach the utmost importance to his title, and the first
impression would be unfavorable, if you did not lay great stress on the
Minister."
"Is that all, my dear M. Baleinier?" said Adrienne, smiling in her turn.
"I will even go so far as Your Excellency, which is, I believe, one of
his adopted titles."
"Not now--but that is no matter; if you could even slide in a My Lord or
two, our business would be done at once."
"Be satisfied! since there are upstart ministers as well as City-turned
gentlemen, I will remember Moliere's M. Jourdain, and feed full the
gluttonous vanity of your friend."
"I give him up to you, for I know he will be in good hands," replied the
physician, who rejoiced to see that the carriage had now entered those
dark streets which lead from the Place de l'Odeon to the Pantheon
district; "I do not wish to find fault with the minister for being proud,
since his pride may be of service to us on this occasion."
"These petty devices are innocent enough," said Mdlle. de Cardoville,
"and I confess that I do not scruple to have recourse to them." Then,
leaning towards the door-sash, she added: "Gracious! how sad and dark are
these streets. What wind! what snow! In which quarter are we?"
"What! are you so ungrateful, that you do not recognize by the absence of
shops, your dear quarter of the Faubourg Saint Germain?"
"I imagine we had quitted it long ago."
"I thought so too," said the physician, leaning forward as if to
ascertain where they were, "but we are still there. My poor coachman,
blinded by the snow, which is beating against his face, must have gone
wrong just now--but we are all right again. Yes, I perceive we are in the
Rue Saint Guillaume--not the gayest of streets by the way--but, in ten
minutes, we shall arrive at the minister's private entrance, for intimate
friends like myself enjoy the privilege of escaping the honors of a grand
reception."
Mdlle. de Cardoville, like most carriage-people, was so little acquainted
with certain streets of Paris, as well as with the customs of men in
office, that she did not doubt for a moment the statements of Baleinier,
in whom she reposed the utmost confidence.
When they left the Saint-Dizier House, the doctor had upon his lips a
question which he hesitated to put, for fear of endangering himself in
the eyes of Adrienne. The latter had spoken of important interests, the
existence of which had been concealed from her. The doctor, who was an
acute and skillful observer, had quite clearly remarked the embarrassment
and anxiety of the princess and D'Aigrigny. He no longer doubted, that
the plot directed against Adrienne--one in which he was the blind agent,
in submission to the will of the Order--related to interests which had
been concealed from him, and which, for that very reason, he burned to
discover; for every member of the dark conspiracy to which he belonged
had necessarily acquired the odious vices inherent to spies and
informers--envy, suspicion, and jealous curiosity.
It is easy to understand, therefore, that Dr. Baleinier, though quite
determined to serve the projects of D'Aigrigny, was yet very anxious to
learn what had been kept from him. Conquering his irresolution, and
finding the opportunity favorable, and no time to be lost, he said to
Adrienne, after a moment's silence: "I am going perhaps to ask you a very
indiscreet question. If you think it such, pray do not answer."
"Nay--go on, I entreat you."
"Just now--a few minutes before the arrival of the commissary of police
was announced to your aunt--you spoke, I think, of some great interests,
which had hitherto been concealed from you."
"Yes, I did so."
"These words," continued M. Baleinier, speaking slowly and emphatically,
"appeared to make a deep impression on the princess."
"An impression so deep," said Adrienne, "that sundry suspicions of mine
were changed to certainty."
"I need not tell you, my charming friend," resumed M. Baleinier, in a
bland tone, "that if I remind you of this circumstance, it is only to
offer you my services, in case they should be required. If not--and there
is the shadow of impropriety in letting me know more--forget that I have
said a word."
Adrienne became serious and pensive, and, after a silence of some
moments, she thus answered Dr. Baleinier: "On this subject, there are
some things that I do not know--others that I may tell you--others again
that I must keep from you: but you are so kind to-day, that I am happy to
be able to give you a new mark of confidence."
"Then I wish to know nothing," said the doctor, with an air of humble
deprecation, "for I should have the appearance of accepting a kind of
reward; whilst I am paid a thousand times over, by the pleasure I feel in
serving you."
"Listen," said Adrienne, without attending to the delicate scruples of
Dr. Baleinier; "I have powerful reasons for believing that an immense
inheritance must, at no very distant period, be divided between the
members of my family, all of whom I do not know--for, after the
Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, those from whom we are descended were
dispersed in foreign countries, and experienced a great variety of
fortunes."
"Really!" cried the doctor, becoming extremely interested. "Where is this
inheritance, in whose hands?"
"I do not know."
"Now how will you assert your rights?"
"That I shall learn soon."
"Who will inform you of it?"
"That I may not tell you."
"But how did you find out the existence of this inheritance?"
"That also I may not tell you," returned Adrienne, in a soft and
melancholy tone, which remarkably contrasted with the habitual vivacity
of her conversation. "It is a secret--a strange secret--and in those
moments of excitement, in which you have sometimes surprised me, I have
been thinking of extraordinary circumstances connected with this secret,
which awakened within me lofty and magnificent ideas."
Adrienne paused and was silent, absorbed in her own reflections.
Baleinier did not seek to disturb her. In the first place, Mdlle. de
Cardoville did not perceive the direction the coach was taking; secondly,
the doctor was not sorry to ponder over what he had just heard. With his
usual perspicuity, he saw that the Abbe d'Aigrigny was concerned in this
inheritance, and he resolved instantly to make a secret report on the
subject; either M. d'Aigrigny was acting under the instructions of the
Order, or by his own impulse; in the one event, the report of the doctor
would confirm a fact; in the other, it would reveal one.
For some time, therefore, the lady and Dr. Baleinier remained perfectly
silent, no longer even disturbed by the noise of the wheels, for the
carriage now rolled over a thick carpet of snow, and the streets had
become more and more deserted. Notwithstanding his crafty treachery,
notwithstanding his audacity and the blindness of his dupe, the doctor
was not quite tranquil as to the result of his machinations. The critical
moment approached, and the least suspicion roused in the mind of Adrienne
by any inadvertence on his part, might ruin all his projects.
Adrienne, already fatigued by the painful emotions of the day, shuddered
from time to time, as the cold became more and more piercing; in her
haste to accompany Dr. Baleinier, she had neglected to take either shawl
or mantle.
For some minutes the coach had followed the line of a very high wall,
which, seen through the snow, looked white against a black sky. The
silence was deep and mournful. Suddenly the carriage stopped, and the
footman went to knock at a large gateway; he first gave two rapid knocks,
and then one other at a long interval. Adrienne did not notice the
circumstance, for the noise was not loud, and the doctor had immediately
begun to speak, to drown with his voice this species of signal.
"Here we are at last," said he gayly to Adrienne; "you must be very
winning--that is, you must be yourself."
"Be sure I will do my best," replied Adrienne, with a smile; then she
added, shivering in spite of herself: "How dreadfully cold it is! I must
confess, my dear Dr. Baleinier, that when I have been to fetch my poor
little relations from the house of our workman's mother, I shall be truly
glad to find myself once more in the warmth and light of my own cheerful
rooms, for you know my aversion to cold and darkness."
"It is quite natural," said the doctor, gallantly; "the most charming
flowers require the most light and heat."
Whilst the doctor and Mdlle. de Cardoville exchanged these few words, a
heavy gate had turned creaking upon its hinges, and the carriage had
entered a court-yard. The physician got down first, to offer his arm to
Adrienne.